Author's Note:
I have long wanted to explore more of the Sin eater affliction when it comes to my character since I played Shadowbringers back then. Headcannons I share with many, but they too good to not be applied. This is but a glimpse being a one shot, mostly being focused around the Exarch and his thoughts, but I plan to explore further with my character in time.
Without further ado, enjoy.
As always this is also posted on AO3 under same name.
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Stars twinkle overhead on a darkened veil, calm, serene, but the hooded figure walking in a hurried pace beneath their ethereal lights is anything but. His thoughts on just one person, and one person alone. The Warrior of Darkness.
Y'sato...
Ahm Araeng…Wasn't kind to him.
The Crystal Exarch was but a short moment ago briefed of their foray and he paid his attention duly to the many accounts from the Scions. Most importantly from Ryne and Y'shtola about the current state of the Warrior, about the state of his aether. The Warrior himself ordered to retire to his quarters in the Pendants, urged to rest despite his many protests. He has ever been a stubborn one, always insisting he is fine. The Exarch's heart had sunk, his stomach having tied into tight knots from hearing the news, but he had held on to his composure, assuring them all he had foreseen this, that he had a way to undo it all once the last Lightwarden is felled. Still it doesn't change the fact.
The light within him has grown monstrous.
The Crystal Exarch is already on his way to his quarters, barely being able to mask his growing anxiety. Struggling to keep a steady pace. Y'sato he is hurting, the light corruption steadily twisting and warping his aether from within. The baleful primordial energies penetrating him, corroding his very being.
It hasn't slipped his notice how more scars dares to chisel his skin, how dark bluish circles loom beneath flickering eyes. Eyes the colour of the purest green fluorite, an impossible lustre, near translucent in the light. Eyes the Exarch has long since come to love, loved since his youth. In a different lifetime, in a different world. Eyes that once regarded him with such fondness, bespeaking of an acceptance he had never felt.
But there is a coldness to them now he does not like. Unflinching, cutting, staring right through him. Predatory, like a snake, and every time his Warrior returns from a mission it gets worse. His gaze more piercing, more cold, unfeeling. Any trace of kindness, of the gentle warmth The Exarch knows them to hold, slowly fading away...
And yet despite his gaze being one of the more upsetting changes, it is the way his appetite for violence has devolved to sate the rampant energies within him that gets to the Exarch the most. He has seen it in his scrying mirror in the tower, how Y'sato for each Lightwarden slain rips and cleaves his way through foes with increasing unbridled savagery. His great sword and mastery of the dark arts shredding through sin eaters and monsters alike like they are nothing. Especially so after he defeated the Lightwarden known as Eros.
Defeating the beast and absorbing its light seems to have unlocked a primal animalistic side of him, bringing it to light. A bloody carnage is now left in his wake whenever he fights, his eyes wide, predatory, his tail twitching with readiness in anticipation for the next blood hunt. His ears keeping track of any potential prey being near. There is a bloodlust in him. One that cannot be sated, one that unsettles even his most battle tempered of friends. Y'sato doesn't even put much consideration into his appearance any more, although he ever was one to keep it more practical. Blood streaks his features now, soaks into his hair, soils his leather armour and boots. His great sword hums from the blood slicking it, its pulsating red heart glowing brighter than ever. Like its owner it too seems to revel in the bloodshed.
It all makes for a disturbing sight and The Exarch can tell his newfound savagery is troubling even to his dearest comrades, and that alone is telling. The Scions have known him for longer than he, known him being a wielder of the dark arts for years. For them to be this unsettled…
He squeezes his eyes shut, unseen under his hood.
The light, it has changed you, and not in a good way...
It takes all of his willpower to keep a steady pace, to not fall into a sprint. He well knows this would happen and yet it pains him so. To know his friend is suffering. Breathing in a sharp steadying inhale he opens his eyes. He has to stay the course. He can't falter now, not when they are so close.
Keeping his composure he comforts himself with the fact that despite it all his friend is surviving. He seems vital, strong as ever even when he can tell it isn't the case internally. Still it is all he could ever hope for and yet in its wake The Exarch can only pray, pray his friend will endure long enough to be unburdened. To be delivered as he deserves.
Yet something nags at him. In light of recent days events a part of him doubts how much in control Y'sato really is. He has seen it. How during the battle with Storge when Alisaie had called out to him to watch out for an incoming attack, he had for a split second regarded her with a cold piercing predatory glare. As if he in that moment had difficulties distinguishing friend from foe. It is a hard pill to swallow. Never in all of his days could he ever imagine the Warrior unravelling, that he would look upon a friend as he would a foe. But the evidence is laid plain before him. Plain in the way what hungers inside him is surging to the surface, reclusive feelings and thoughts he would never bring to light brimming to the forefront. They scorch his bones to the degree of fever, boils his bottled up emotions to a sweltering degree. Akin to magma they teeter at the edge, sputtering and hot, afflicting anyone who stands him near.
The Crystal Exarch did this to him.
G'raha Tia…Did.
His decisions has brought his friend untold suffering. All for the greater good. To ensure he will live…For his torch to burn bright again.
It is a distant memory, but he still remembers it so keenly, feels the ache in his heart even now. The wailing devastation upon learning in a Shard post-calamity that his friend, his inspiration wasnot alive. His life cut short much to soon, much too abrupt, but in the wake of it the hell fires of that doomed world steeled his resolve. One that stands unwavering, even now.
A century of toil he has endured, of endless hardship, of sacrifices made. All in the name of love.
The love for a friend he left behind oh so long ago. One he misled, one he longed so desperately to see live again more than anything, even amongst the countless other lives lost.
It is a damning truth. A truth he wants to deny with all his being, but try as he might his heart protests it, refuses to relinquish the affections he holds for the Warrior. Refuses to let go of memories of halcyon days.
He has tried. Oh gods he has tried, knowing what awaits him. He knows what he must do, knows how keenly carrying it all to his death will hurt him, and yet he cannot. Those memories...They are all he have left, his only regret being he didn't spend more time with the Warrior. Didn't tell him how he truly felt for him, how he still feels for him.
If only there was a different way…You wouldn't need to suffer...You would-We both could...
No it is a fools errand. To even think it. To think he could in anyway be accepted after everything he has done, everything he has wrought. It borders on insanity.
He bows his head. It is already too late. Much too late. He doesn't expect forgiveness. He can't even forgive himself.
The door comes into view before he can fully register it and without hesitation he raps his knuckles against it, unable to keep his hands from fidgeting as he waits.
Silence.
He is about to rap shaken knuckles on the door a second time, considering the possibility he might have hallucinated doing it the first time. It is hard to tell, to hear with blood thrumming in stifled ears. It is loud enough to obscure the encroaching echo of footsteps. He has been standing out there for so long it would be borderline scandalous if anyone was to see him acting like he is, still wringing his crystalline hand around his spoken wrist, but if anything his eccentricities are excused easier these days. He knows this and yet he fights to regain any semblance of calm.
A click of the lock, a jolt of a door handle and the door finally opens, the Exarch managing to reign in his fraying composure just enough to look presentable. Suddenly aware of his trembling tail under his robe he swiftly forces it to cling to one of his legs, and just in time as a familiar face greets him. Y'sato's, framed with his flaxen shock of unkempt hair as it is. Blond ears flick once in recognition, and a resigned smile broadens his features. One that doesn't reach his eyes.
"Exarch. To what do I owe the pleasure?" His tone is polite, as ever in the presence of the revered city leader, but there is an undercurrent to it. Something tired, something worn.
The sight of him stuns the Exarch. So much he for a moment finds himself unable to speak, his breath catching in his throat. Y'sato, the eyes that regard him, they aren't his. No, the eyes staring at him in this very moment are eyes of liquid acid green, vertical pupils thin, predatory. Cold. The gleaming green defies shadow, vibrant with sin eater corruption. It is wrong, unnerving, and he laments how they once were oh so long ago. Filled with mirth at the lakefront of Silvertear lake, dazzling, sparkling like gems in the sunlight...
And his hair, he sees it now backlit by the warm glow of his chambers as he are, how golden strands are streaked with silvery white. Nor does he fail to notice the metallic sheen of gold flowing through his visible veins in his now bare arms. It is subtle but there, shimmering under his sun kissed skin. If not for his friend still looking and behaving much like a man otherwise, he would almost take him for being a sin eater. He can feel it, even from his distance. How the light fairly roils within him, teetering at the edge, threatening, biding its time to swallow him whole.
Everything with him is just so wrong, it brings him pause...
What have I done…
"Exarch?" Y'sato tilts his head slightly in confusion, and the revered city leader is quick to reclaim his bearings, first now realising he has been staring. He blinks, unseen under the shadows of his hood as he adopts his usual calm and collected demeanour.
"Ahem. Forgive the intrusion, but Minfillia that is, Ryne and the others were asking after you."
Liar...
"Is everything all right?"
Y'sato sighs, a deep seated weary one, his gaze falling to the floor. "Could be better. As much as I hate to admit it, Y'sthola and Ryne have the right of it. I am not... The pain. It is still...I felt it."
The way Y'sato unexpectedly looks so weary before him, reassigned. His eyes listless. It is like a punch to the gut. Unable to keep his growing concern in check, The Exarch takes a step forward, his voice betraying his inner turmoil. "That pain again? And did it pass?"
He must have come off more concerned than he intended judging by the way Y'sato looks up at him, eyes wide, as if taken aback by the unexpected shift in The Exarch's voice. "It did. It comes and goes. Hopefully this will be the last."
The Exarch breathes out a sigh of relief, visibly relaxing. "Thank goodness for that. I would hate to see you suffer. Though I know only too well how much you have suffered on our behalf in recent days."
And isn't that the truth. Even now he can see them, the tired lines on Y'sato's face. The faint scars marring the skin of his arms, his neck. He has no right to be this forthcoming with him. To even stand in his presence, but he had to make sure. Had to make sure his friend is doing alright. At least well enough for the time being. He voices this and with it he also gives a message, unwavering resolve laced in his voice. "Indeed I have no right to impose on your further. Nevertheless I must ask one last thing of you. That you survive this no matter what. When the dust settles you must return to your world. For the battles to come and wars yet unwon. The final Lightwarden is all that stands between us and victory. There is still much we most do to prepare, but for now, I will see if there is aught that may remedy the strange affliction which plagues you."
He just hopes it is enough. Reassurances. It is all he can give. All he can offer Y'sato in this moment, on the eve preluding the final battle...One that might very well break him. Kill him.
He hates it. Hates his powerlessness to change the course.
He wishes he could offer something more...
"I'll see it through. I have already gotten this far haven't I? If I have to fell one more Lightwarden, it will be done. You have my word." There is a steely resolve in Y'sato's eyes. One that glints through the sin eater corruption. Familiar, unyielding and it brings the Exarch heart. Despite all his changes, his deep seated weariness, his friend is still in there, as resolute and confident as always.
I have no reason to fear. He is the Warrior of Light and Darkness both. If anyone can prevail over the final Lightwarden it will be him.
In the face of such unflinching bravery he smiles. "Of that I have no doubt. Even if I had my pick of every reflection's heroes. I could not have asked for a finer champion. I'll not keep you from your rest any longer. Take as much time as you like."
Reassuring smile still on his lips he turns to leave, and has but walked a couple of steps when he hears Y'sato's voice call out for him,
"Wait."
Keeping up his calm composure he turns, confused. "Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?"
He senses some hesitance from his friend, something uncharacteristic of him, but his eyes, they do not waver, looking at him unflinchingly. "Stay with me. Please if just for a little longer. I could use some company."
The Exarch lingers. Of everyone Y'sato would ask to keep him company he had never expected his friend to ask him, the revered unaging leader of the Crystarium. For all ends and purposes he is still pretty much a stranger in his friend's eyes. An act done on purpose. Ever hooded, enigmatic. Sworn to secrecy. An image the Exarch strives to uphold, even now. He smiles politely, thinking it must all be a simple misunderstanding. "Certainly one of your companions would offer you far better companionship than I. Should I call on Alisaie perhaps? She seemed especially worried for you when we spoke earlier in the Ocular,"
Y'sato remains unswayed. "I ask you. Not Alisaie, not Thancred or Alphinaud. You."
"My friend I-Certainly this is just a big misunderstanding. I am but a stranger to you. How could I possibly-"
"Please, I insist." Y'sato stands his ground, eyes boring into him, unblinking. In that moment the Exarch is immensely grateful his eyes are obscured by his hood. The easier it is for him to subtly avert his gaze, to remain unseen. Y'sato's eyes are so intense, not made any better by the rampant sin eater corruption shinning within, and under the scrutinizing glare he hesitates. It isn't without cause he has gone to great lengths to keep the Warrior at arms length. To keep his careful guard up around him at all times. To yield, to give in to his friend's request now would be like playing with fire, to tempt fate and yet knowing what awaits on the horizon come the morn, what awaits them both...
He decides to indulge. Just this once. "Very well, if that is your wish. I will stay, if just for a short while."
The unflinching glare in Y'sato's eyes softens, if just by a margin, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Happy to hear it. I can't offer much, but please make yourself comfortable." He stands aside, allowing the Exarch to enter. Something he does, never letting his careful guard slip, even for a second. This is indeed strange. He has visited Y'sato's suite before, but without him in it, his visits brief only meaning to deliver him food. Sandwiches made ready waiting for his return for more than just one of his many forays, knowing his friend isn't always good at looking after himself. The place still looks pristine except from some stray flecks of blood here and there on the floor. Blood he can tell isn't Y'sato's.
He hears the door close behind him as he walks further into the room, the lock not clicking in it this time, and he turns to regard his Warrior once more, getting a closer look. He can tell Y'sato has freshened up a little at least. No obvious blood smears his features or his hair, him wearing a simple black singlet top. He has yet to swap his leather pants and boots for his usual sleep clothes. Yet despite him finally having put some thought into his appearance there are flecks of blood visible in the leather he wears, too rubbed in, too soaked into the skins to ever truly being washed away. The rest of his armour lays on the floor in a heap, bloodied sword resting against a wall in a corner. It should all be disconcerting but the Exarch is used to this by now. This is who his friend is. What he has become.
Not really feeling comfortable enough to take his ease this close to his friend and in his quarters the Exarch remains where he now stands, the warm lights from the lamps affixed to the ceiling above him hitting him in such a way it deepens the shadows of his hood. All done intensionally, all in a bid to keep his elaborate veil of secrecy intact.
He decides to break the silence, settling for some obligatory small talk to lift the mood. "I hope you still find your accommodations agreeable?"
"I do. I almost feel spoiled from how outfitted it is. Such comforts. It's not something I am used to." Y'sato says passively, walking over to join the Exarch, coming to a slow stop before him standing just out of reach. An arms length away. Still from their respectable distance the Exarch finds it impossible not to take note of his scent. Of leather, steel, blood, of dust from roads long travelled and underneath it all the musky scent of sandalwood.
"It's just a shame I won't be able to use it more. As strange as it may sound this room, this city, has become like a second home to me." Y'sato says with a small shrug, a wistful look in eyes as his gaze is drawn to the stars, the night sky he helped bring back to Lakeland. He has left the shutters to the small balcony open, revealing the spectacle of the myriad mystifying lights twinkling above. As soothing as they are magical "I know I eventually will have to return to my own world as you say, but a part of me. I...I will miss this. All of this." He gestures vaguely around the room, his gaze now downcast.
In that moment the Exarch can't help but notice. A chill is creeping into the room. He can feel it so clearly against his arm still comprised of flesh and bone there he stands angled a bit away from the window, and yet feverish heat radiates off Y'sato, a slick sheen of sweat sticking to his brow, his neck, the beads growing more and more numerous the more time seems to pass them by. The light churning within him is the cause and in the face of it the Exarch can't help but wonder. How can he stand being this dressed? Surely he must be burning up in those leather pants, those thigh high boots.
"Perhaps you should have a seat. Forgive me for saying this but you do not look well."
"Your concern for me is unwarranted. I have been through worse. Much worse. Don't worry." Y'sato says with an annoyed flick of his tail, and there is a poorly veiled growl to his voice. Something incensed. Something that doesn't go unnoticed by the Exarch. It is clear to him his friend is putting up a brave front. The unnatural light in his eyes doesn't waver, doesn't even flicker as they regard him, but he can see it, how his friend is suffering. It is subtle, but clearly there in the slight droop of his ears, the weariness in his gaze, how his tail hangs more listless. Still the message from Y'sato is clear. On this matter he will not budge, he doesn't even move closer to any of the chairs or the bench, still standing in front of the Exarch, folding his arms over his chest. Guarded. "That said there is a matter I wanted to discuss with you."
The Exarch smiles politely, not shying away from the pointed look Y'sato now gives him. This much he has already surmised. "As I thought. Well I am all ears. Pray enlighten me of your troubles."
For a moment, Y'sato doesn't move, doesn't twitch an ear, nor his tail until he bows his head ever so slightly, eyes darkening. "I want you to be honest with me. You are absolutely sure you found no one in the tower? No trace of anyone at all?"
The way Y'sato's cold eyes bores into him like daggers, the way his voice is so dangerously low, carrying such malice unbecoming of him has the Exarch's skin crawl. But he doesn't show it, his voice calm and words measured as ever as he speaks. "That is correct. It is as I told you I am afraid. I have scoured the entirety of the structure more times than I care to recall over the years. I assure you if I found anyone befitting the description of the individual you seek I would have told you post-haste."
Y'sato's eyes narrows at him in suspicion, not entirely convinced, but he lowers his guard, his arms falling back to his sides. His gaze falls to the floor. "...I see. And here I had clung to the hope...That I would see him again."
There is a brokenness to him now. A pained longing in his gaze, in the set of his ears as they droop further. His lips press into a firm line as he looks away and bows his head, as if he is feeling ashamed. "I am sorry for taking up your time. You can go."
The sight of him looking this despondent has a painful lump form in the Exarch throat, and for a fleeting moment he wants nothing but to cast aside his charade, to pull the heavy cowl off his head, to at last step forth into the light. To see the flicker of recognition in Y'sato's eyes when he would realise just who he has been speaking to all along.
But there he stops. He won't. He can't reveal himself. He knows if he does, Y'sato will try to stop him. Stop him from what he must do, what must be done. Everything would come undone. Every carefully laid plan, everything he has ever strived for, worked so hard to preserve. Everything he has ever sacrificed would all go down the drain.
"Think none of it. As always it has been pleasure to be in your esteemed company. Again I bid you rest for as long as you like." The Exarch gives him another polite smile, one Y'sato does not see before turning to make his departure. He is about to open the door when he remembers something. "Oh before I forget. I was meaning to inform you Y'shtola and Ryne wants to see you first thing in the morning. Nothing of great import I am sure. I assume they just-" And he stops. He has just turned to regard his Warrior one last time, expecting him to still be looking into the floor or at him or out the window.
Instead he sees tears. Silent tears streaming down flushed cheeks. Y'sato is still looking into the floor, and he does nothing to move away to hide the proof he is hurting, the tears flowing, ever silent, as if unnoticed by himself.
The sight has his heart squeeze painfully in his chest. The Exarch struggles to keep his composure as he speaks, to not have his growing concern bleed into his voice. "Y'sato? Are you all right, my friend?"
Y'sato blinks towards the floor, not looking up, his voice alarmingly even. "Yes, I'm fine."
The Exarch stands unconvinced. He is not fine. He needs me. I cannot in good conscience leave him like this.
"Forgive me my intrusion, but you do not seem fine." He murmurs, almost whispers, not wanting to disturb the kind ears now pinned back against Y'sato's head.
His friend does not respond, his eyes now shadowed too well beneath his bangs for The Exarch to gauge where his traitorous thoughts are at. Y'sato's tail gives an agitated lash, every hair standing on end. Fur white tipped at the edges, even they not spared the unforgiving corruption of the light.
Silence drags between them, reminiscent of fear, of shame. The air in the room heavy with unsaid words wanting to be said. It feels like another eon spans, contracts and Y'sato's tears does not cease, his recovery a lost effort. If he even tries to conceal himself before the Exarch, it is a weak attempt. Y'sato's lower lip starts to quiver, and it is only then he realises his friend is trembling as a whole.
He cannot stand it.
Hesitantly the Exarch approaches him, wary his friend might lash out. It isn't lost on him, how Y'sato's tail flicks in another agitated lash, but he stands fast. He raises a hand, the one of crystal, but thinking better of it he aborts it, it wilting to his side in the place of his other hand. The one yet of flesh and blood. Gingerly he reaches out to push aside golden bangs, gently wiping one of his friend's tears away with a careful stroke of his fingers.
Y'sato flinches, shying away from the touch, already turning. "Don't touch me!"
His voice comes out harsh, a vile bite lacing his words as they come out clear. Too clear.
"My apologies." It is all he can say in the face of such vehemence, but he doesn't back away. He keeps his hand hovering near him, but he lowers it out of courtesy. Y'sato never liked to be touched unexpectedly. The Exarch knows better and yet-
To see his friend distraught like this. He cannot- Will not leave him to suffer alone. Will not do nothing. He sensed it. Felt the slight pleased breath escaping Y'sato's lips upon his touch before the sudden flinch, the shout. Knows his friend genuinely likes to be touched. He recalls it from halcyon days back in Mor Dhona, how Y'sato had at last let him in, allowed him to lightly scratch him behind one his proud, kind ears. A privilege only granted to a select few. To family, to close friends. He knows his friend likes it. An innocent touch, a touch from someone not meaning him harm, but
a touch that touches him because they care, genuinely care for him. Someone who cares for the man hidden beneath his lofty titles. The Exarch now knows the inexplicable tears streaming down his friend's face are not born from angry fire, but from deep wells of misery, of untold sorrow he has buried for so long only the agony of fourfold tainted light could bring it forth
He cannot do nothing. He wants to show Y'sato he genuinely cares, that he always did and with such undying devotion.
You don't need to suffer alone...
He cannot reveal himself, but offering him solace...That he can do.
In front of him Y'sato only worsens. Sobs. Choking them back he quickly stifles them with a hand clasped to his mouth, but his shoulders still shake, his tail held quivering between his legs.
The Exarch closes the distance, his spoken hand hovering around Y'sato offering him what little body heat he may. He is deliberately slow and delicate in placing his fingertips on Y'sato's back. His friend doesn't shy away. Not this time. Heartened he relaxes the full weight of his palm against his spine. Even through the cotton of his singlet top he can feel it. How Y'sato's skin burns. How he trembles.
His gentle touch seems to stir something in his friend, him starting to bend over, a choked sob escaping him. In the wake of it the Exarch decides to lower himself down to a kneel, Y'sato too bent over to meet his expression in any other manner. His hand gently drags along his side as he crouches before him, he himself coming to a rest on his knee. He looks up at his friend, hood obscuring his eyes in deepest shadow.
"Is there aught I can do for you, my friend? "
The murmur of his voice is not abashed, holding the leading steadiness required of him as the Crystarium's revered leader, but it wavers. Wavers with his worry and compassion. They suffocate him, but he stands fast. As he has countless times before.
Y'sato doesn't look at him, tears still streaking down his face as he squeezes his eyes shut in denial. He can't see, hear, feel in his current riled up state. He shakes his head, voice coming out stifled, begging. "Please, just go. Leave me alone."
The pain in his voice, the anguish on his face. He cannot stand it!
Everything is simultaneously too much and too little at once. His heart a shattered and broken thing of fractured time. Alive and yet so unwell. It's enough to drive him mad. To ignore it would be to ignore himself, to accept death. Something he will on the morrow, but now in this very moment, he can't. The sheer agony of it would certainly be lethal. It would certainly kill him, the mighty unaging Crystal Exarch, at last brought to heel from the love born from a friendship he cannot have. Agonizing over a life he could never live to the fullest. The man he was, his youthful adventurous spark, his undying curiosity long having fizzled out under the mantle he was forced to don, the heavy burden he was forced to carry. In this moment he is thin and frail made of nothing but crystallized bone and abused nerves. Empty yet whole. Want and need, they mingle within him to an unbearable degree. He is old yet young. He is nothing and everything and it is under this heavy deluge weighting down on his shoulders he with the very same young and old hands, these hands with palms of flesh and crystal, reaches up to cradle his tear streaked Warrior's face. Wanting so desperately to offer comfort to his hero, his inspiration, his dearest friend.
His touch is featherlight, tentative, but Y'sato doesn't shy away and heartened he gingerly starts to wipe away his tears. Pearlescent clear beads trails down the smooth, jagged cerulean panes of his crystalline thumb. The ethereal blue light pulses gently in response. His friend, his skin feels just as soft and smooth as he remembers. Warm, heated from a fire within, and he still doesn't shy away from the gentle touch.
Emboldened he gently tilts Y'sato's face up so he can see him more clearly. Obscured as his eyes are under the shadows of his hood, the Exarch knows it is but a small comfort, but still he will do what he must. What his heart tells him to.
"Allow me to carry some of the burden. If just for a moment." His voice is but a whisper, but it has its intended effect. Y'sato finally looks at him, eyes still so luminous with sineater corruption, unwavering. Silvery tears clings to blond lashes, and the anguish, the sheer pain contorting his mouth into one of agony has the Exarch's already battered heart break.
"Why are you still hiding from me?"
His voice his low, fractured, but the weight of his words carry enough force to shatter glass.
The Exarch struggles to keep his tone composed, even. "What do you mean?"
Y'sato's eyes flashes. "You know what I mean. You think I wouldn't notice?"
The Exarch finds his hands roughly pushed away from Y'sato's face. His friend's voice drips with such venom it nearly turns his blood to ice.
"I can tell you know? Your scent. Try as you might you can't mask it. Can't hide it. Not from me." He pauses, leans in. He is so close now. So dangerously close. Their noses almost touching. The Exarch can do nothing but sit rigid., taken aback by what he is hearing, what he is seeing. "You smell just like him." Y'sato forcefully grabs onto the city leader's wrists, eyes of liquid acid pinning him down, threatening to corrode his aether like the primordial light does within him. His eyes flicker, the anger giving way to a crestfallen look. "Why do you smell like him?"
"Y'sato. I can explain. If only you could be so kind to unhand me I would-"
"Tell me!"
It happens so fast he can't react. One moment he is kneeling, the next he is shoved back onto the floor with such tremendous force he can do nothing but gasp. Instinctively he tries to break his fall, arms flying out behind him. His crystalline elbow resonates with a shimmering crackling din as it slams into the unforgiving surface, it doing almost nothing to break his fall. He winces, a sharp pain shooting through his crystalline arm, but before he can get his bearings Y'sato is upon him, fingers digging into his shoulders as he pushes him into the floor roughly. The staff on his back resonates with a deafening metallic ring as his back hits the stone floor. Miraculously his hood still manages to stay on his head, still obscuring his eyes. Swiftly he pins his ears back down onto his skull, and he presses his tail firmly into the floor, it laying partly squished under his leg. It is painful, uncomfortable, but he won't move. Can't move. Y'sato he is still upon him, acid eyes burning into him as he pins him down.
He straddles his hips, calloused hands pressing his arms into the floor so hard he can hear the damaged crystal of his arm crackle in protest. Flashes of pain shoots through it when he instinctively flexes his fingers in response, but he will asses the damage later. Y'sato, the look on his friend's face is one of unbridled rage. Eyes narrows, his lips pull back, baring his fangs. He hisses, a sharp spitting sound the Exarch has never heard from him. He sounds more like an animal than a man, and in the wake of it he turns his face away unable to look on. The sound is so wholly unexpected he involuntarily shudders. He feels them, stray droplets of spittle landing on the side of his face, falling over the jagged crystal cutting through his cheek.
This wasn't what he had in mind when he reached out for him. Such ire, such untamed fury, but he will bear it. It is no less than what he deserves.
His friend is unravelling before him and faced with the stark reality a part of him can't help but wonder. For how long has Y'sato kept this buried inside? For how long has he suffered, allowing it to fester in his heart. Unchecked, and with nary a complaint?
The answer is simple.
Too long…
"Tell me!" Y'sato shouts, a growl in the back of his throat. "Why are you hiding! You say you haven't found evidence of him being anywhere in the tower, but it is obvious to me you know where he is." He can feel it, the way Y'sato's tail lashes wildly behind him, showing his unfettered fury. Trusting his hood to still conceal his gaze, he dares to look his friend in the eye. The liquid acid green, while seething with anger they have this feverish, glazed look to them. Y'sato, he is delirious. Not even fully aware of what he is doing, and he burns. The Exarch can feel it so clearly from where his friend pins down his spoken arm, his hand like a furnace against pale skin.
"Y'sato I assure you I told you the truth about the matter. I found no individual going by the name of G'raha Tia in the-"
"Liar!"
The venom in his voice has the Exarch flinch.
"You are him aren't you? That would explain everything. Let me see what hides under that cowl. Let me see if I am right!" Y'sato hands relinquishes their fierce hold on his arms and moves to grasp the edges of his unmoving hood. Panic flares in his chest. Y'sato. He can not know!
He does not think, does not hesitate as he grabs onto Y'sato's wrists with a fierce hold, unheeding even when his friend visibly winces from his stony crystal fingers digging into his flesh.
"No!"
The desperation in his voice is strange to even his ears. He scrambles, struggles against Y'sato's weight still straddling him. What a compromising position. One he could have wished for in any other circumstance. In another life, but now all he wants is to get away from his friend. His friend who is clearly not in his right mind. "I cannot. Will not allow it. Now get off of me."
He pushes back at his friend, expected politeness long having left him, his voice one of unflinching authority. His fierce hold still on Y'sato's wrists his friend relents and moves away from him, seating himself on his knees by his side. The Exarch only lets go of him then, crystal fingers seeking out the tip of his hood to pull it down further as he straightens, shakily pushing himself up to his feet. The weight of his leg finally off his tail he subtly flicks it under the robe, unseen from his friend's angle. He winces. His tail, it is going to feel sore for a while. He takes a moment to inspect his crystalline elbow, and true enough as he feared there are cracks. They aren't very deep, ethereal calm blue light shining through the fissures like light through shattered glass, but it is enough. It will take some time to heal.
Y'sato in his delirious feverish state has finally noticed. "I'm sorry I-I don't know what came over me and now your arm. I didn't mean to-" He chokes. The tears are back, pooling in eyes too vibrant for their own good, eyes that can still return to their true colour if only he is successful. If they both are successful.
To see him this broken, this despaired…The Exarch kneels before him once more, his spoken hand softly, delicately landing on Y'sato's shoulder. There it stays, his thumb soothingly rubbing circles into the burning skin. "Tis alright my friend. Truly. It has been a trying day and for you most of all. I will leave you to your rest, but first let me at least ease the pain I so thoughtlessly inflicted on you."
He looks down to Y'sato's wrists, skin red with harsh crescent imprints from nails and fingertips alike. Gingerly, honourably he cradles them in his hands, and calling on his magic he weaves a simple healing spell. His hands suffused in a gentle glow he watches as the redness and imprints fade, ensuring nothing will bruise. He hears a sob, glimpses the swish of a blond tail sweeping over the floor behind Y'sato, but it tells him enough. His friend appreciates the gesture. More than he lets on.
"You feeling better, my friend?"
"Yeah," Y'sato breathes, relieved, his wrists still cradled protectively in the Exarch's hands, his feverish gaze not straying from them. "Thank you."
A smile grazes the Exarch's lips. "I am glad to hear it."
Y'sato's hands moves in his, his gaze still not lifting up to meet one obscured by shadow but it is enough. Crystal fingertips meets callous, and the Exarch takes Y'sato's hands in his own with languid trepidation. His Warrior calls to him, wants him to stay a bit longer, and he answers. In this simple gesture he will not deny him. Not now. Not ever.
It starts as a static jolt. Y'sato yelps, flinches violently as searing sparks cripple him with no warning. Burst of white light envelopes him, and he clutches a hand to his chest. His chest shudders, collapsing into itself with a sharp pained exhale, and alarmed the Exarch moves in to catch him. If not for their closeness Y'sato would have crumpled unarmed into the floor. Their skin hisses as they meet, the Exarch's spoken arm held securely around his friend's shoulders. He is ablaze, the churning addled aether within unbalanced, riling with anger.
"Y'sato!"
His friend doesn't respond to the call of his name. He gasps, trembles in the Exarch's protective hold, breaths coming out too fast through clenched teeth. His eyes are wide, staring into the ceiling. The acidic green of his irises fairly burns, searing into him and he makes a choked pleading sound. Pleads for the pain to stop. The sight, it is almost too much to bear.
The Exarch looks away. His friend is too frail, hair too white, stamina much too spent…
He knows what he must do.
"You need rest. You will have need of your strength. For tomorrow." His voice is low, almost mournful. His friend is nothing but a heap cradled to his chest, so weak, and he hates it. Hates to see him suffer so. He calls upon his magic, crystalline hand held close to Y'sato's heaving chest. A delicate sapphire glow starts to manifest around ethereal fingertips, gently probing the baleful light into kinder waters.
Y'sato shudders, trying to push himself up through a bout of fatigue. His breaths leaves him in ragged gasps. "I don't want to rest. Not yet."
"You must." The Exarch voice is calm, soft, not betraying a hint of emotion. He keeps his spell flowing, can see from the way Y'sato's eyes grows more unfocused it is taking hold.
"I'm so tired." He protests. His voice. It is so small, so vulnerable. His hands clutch on to star woven fabrics. Onto deepest scarlet, onto the blackest onyx. Searching for purchase anywhere on the Exarch. His gaze burns into him, into shadowed eyes. "I'm so tired of fighting. I don't want there to be a tomorrow. This light it is eating me up alive, I can't-" He shudders again, fighting to remain conscious, but it is a fruitless endeavour. His eyelids, they start drooping. All the while the Exarch holds on to him steadily, reassuringly, his mouth a firm line as he lets his spell flow, the gentle blue light swirling around his fingers pulsating, almost hypnotic.
Y'sato gasps, his body starting to relax unwillingly into the arms of his captor. "I don't want to fight. Please…Let it end. I want it all to end." He falters, trembling hands loosing their grip around soft fabrics, him no longer having the strength to argue. Sleep beckons, coaxed by the ephemeral lullaby of the Crystal Exarch. As mighty as he is merciful.
Breathing slows, extends and Y'sato's eyes finally slip shut. A whimper dies in his throat as his head falls back, but the Exarch swiftly catches him, deft crystalline fingers coming to rest at the back of Y'sato's head. He wanes his healing, the sleep spell weaved within. He shifts the now slumbering hero in his arms in a bid to make him more comfortable, gingerly resting his head in the crook of his elbow. His friend is fully relaxed in his hold, at least for the moment, finally getting some much needed rest.
And there the Exarch stays, gazing at his unconscious friend's features, lax in sleep, induced as it is for what could be minutes, hours. Time itself having lost all meaning, being less tangible the longer he lets it pass, the longer he lets it slip. Even asleep as he is Y'sato looks utterly exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes now even more pronounced. His skin is still scorching, beads of sweat sticking to his cheeks, his forehead. Wanting to try ease his blazing fever in anyway he can, the Exarch calls upon a simple ice spell. Just enough to cool his crystalline fingers.
He brushes them over flushed skin, returns unkempt tresses to their home, wipes away tears. His friend doesn't stir. Not that he expects him too, drained and spent as he is. Aimlessly cerulean fingertips starts to trace tribal markings, the familiar scar marring his right cheek. He etches it all to memory, the sculpt of his nose, the smooth curve of his cheek, the soft feel of his parted lips as he with the barest of touches caresses them with his thumb. Plush lips he never got to kiss. Will never be able to feel meet and move against his own…
He quickly looks away, his heart squeezing so painfully in his chest he can't breathe. It is better this way. It has to be this way. The path he walks was laid down a century ago and he will walk it to its end. He must.
Y'sato must survive. No matter the cost.
He looks down to him again, and with the same crystalline hand gently starts to caress his cheek, then moves it up to lightly scratch him behind one of his ears, hoping it will bring him a small measure of comfort. He almost starts singing to him, but he catches himself. What good will it do when he cannot hear him? Cannot treasure the memory?
He fights the noise that strangles him, the choking whimper he refuses to let escape.
You will get your wish, Y'sato. Soon it will end. It will all end. Just hold on a little longer...
He bends down, softly pressing a kiss into his Warrior's forehead. A final indulgence as he murmurs against sun bronzed skin, his voice strangled.
"Forgive me."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
I know I ended it on a sad note, but it gets better. Well worse to be truthful, but then it gets better.
I have more up my sleeve when it comes to these two in the future so stay tuned.
As always hoped you enjoyed.