The Eternal Dance of Light and Dark

by The King of Ravens

Having just survived a nine year long civil war, those of Lucael would be forgiven for entertaining the notion of peace. However, new threats are rising, and as the son of the king, it is Caiellis's job to combat them, despite his youth. But as the leaders of a rival nation declare war and mysterious figures pull strings in the shadows, Cai will be drawn into the fate of the world.

40. Sunset

Marik watched, with baited breath, as his son laid silently on the ground after killing one of the most powerful demons that the man had ever seen, blood pumping from numerous wounds and each breath strained and ragged. He was immensely proud of the boy, proud of what he had done, but he also wished that it hadn't taken Caiellis risking his life and almost dying after being tortured at the hands of the Lord of Riots for him to see that.

The power levels that he had seen from his thirteen year old son had been insane, but also extremely disturbing – Caiellis had managed to generate as much mana as the king himself had at the height of some of his most powerful spells, or perhaps even more so, but the boy had not had access to his angel and the surge of magic had seemingly been formed from his grief and distress at what Rakdos had shown him, something that Marik simultaneously wished that he could have seen so that he could know what it was that truly afflicted his second son (although he did have a good idea that it was to do with the other members of the army in the city, especially young Alexander given the youngster's initial reaction) though also thought that it was probably something that he would have hated to see if it had made Caiellis react in a way that he had not done since his mother's death.

He hoped that Alexander was alright, that the seventeen year old had survived the battle that, while still probably raging across Usnaan, had effectively been ended by the youngest Lucerna's slaying of the Defiler, unscathed, but what he was more concerned about was the awful state of his fragile youngest. Caiellis was heavily wounded, and not one part of his body had seemed to escape some form of bruising or bloodying even though the Rain of Gore had stopped and the angry clouds of the Tempest of Craving were beginning to dissipate.

Marik hated seeing his son in pain more than anything in the world, and the boy was definitely nowhere near out of danger, especially in the state that he was in. The king did not even know if the thirteen year old was going to wake up again, although whilst the damage he had sustained was awful it wasn't as life-threatening as what Marik had seen in the past – which included Alexander's wounding at the hands of the last vampire. That didn't at all take away from the pain, emotional and physical, that the youth had been subjected to, and Marik knew that there would be a very strenuous and painful healing process ahead for Caiellis to be nursed back to health, but he promised himself that he would do everything in his power to help his thirteen year old son recover and make him feel safe and loved, no matter how hard that would be.

Although the fact that the forty year old had been possessed by the same horror that had stopped Caiellis from aiding his brother a week ago was no excuse whatsoever for Marik's actions as he, a Lucerna king and a father with a duty to protect his vulnerable sons from danger instead of thrusting them head first into it, he hoped that by giving the boy that information it would help Caiellis recover and know that his father would have never hurt him.

He should never have hurt him, but he was too weak, too stupid to notice that something was wrong with him, too focussed on the war and the problems of his teenage son instead of himself, and as such Caiellis had paid the price instead of Marik doing it himself – though his son's pain was definitely his pain and every wound that the youngest member of the royal family suffered was one that Marik felt inflicted onto himself.

Caiellis, sweet, kind and brave Caiellis, deserved a perfect life, and the king was going to do his damned hardest to make sure that his youngest son – and his eldest son – got one, was finally given the chance to be a child instead of the adult that almost everyone expected him to be. Marik was filled with equal amounts of pride and worry, but currently the latter far eclipsed the former in urgency because he needed to wake up and aid his wounded youngest son as well as ascertain the location of his eldest and lead the army to the victory that Caiellis had given it the chance to obtain.

Marik willed his unconscious body which had been freed from Caiellis's cage of his own blood to move, but he was trapped within this slumber from nothing more than his own wounds and the magic of his son wearing off slowly. He should have been at the boy's side, helping him fight and protecting him from the huge amount of pain that he had gone through because of him, doing something right for once in the lives of his sons, and the impotence that he had felt was killing him as he watched his son lay, restlessly unconscious and heaving in pain from the wounds he was suffering through.

Even though what he had seen was horrible, the king was glad that the horror who had turned him against his son and almost made him choke the poor innocent boy to death had allowed him to see what was happening, obviously wanting Marik to be tormented by his guilt of seeing the boy die to an Archdemon and be powerless to stop it, but through the power of his heart and his convictions Caiellis had prevailed, done something that his father might not have even been able to do. Despite all of the pain his son had gone through, all that he had seen and all that had been done to him, Caiellis hadn't given up and had fought a battle worthy of a Lucerna.

What Marik was more scared about was what his son would think and do once he woke up, the sadness and sorrow that would rightly suffuse him as well as the pain that he woke up to, and the king kept trying to force himself to wake up and move so that he would be there to greet and comfort his son and explain everything to him before Caiellis regained consciousness. It would allow him to tend to the boy's numerous wounds, get him out of the very real danger of an enemy city, and make sure that he was safe, but no matter how hard the mental form of the king inside of his Mind Realm tried to leave his body refused to awaken.

When he saw his son's eyes fluttering and heard a series of pained coughs from the boy who had his lower half covered in the sticky blood of the Lord of Riots which was hopefully not seeping into the wounds on his lower body and corrupting him, Marik knew that the boy would wake up before he did to his shame, as because the king was the father of Caiellis he should have been awake to protect him and see to him. Caiellis's green eyes snapped open, the man wincing as he stood inside of his empty Mind Realm cathedral at the wounds on his son's face and the painful noises that the youngster was making, wishing that all of the boy's pain could be transferred onto him instead so that his son was not hurt.

He deserved it for what he had allowed to happen to the boy, what he had done to him in a possessed rage that had made it even harder to destroy the Lord of Riots, but in spite of all of what his dad, who was supposed to protect, nurture and love his son, had said and done, Caiellis hadn't given up, even when he was being tortured by the demon and shown things that could easily stay with him forever.

Marik watched on as his son painfully tried to free himself from his restraints, the bruised and bloodied boy crying out in pain and throwing up, though what was more disturbing was the amount of blood that was in the vomit spilling out of Caiellis's hand. If Marik could have felt the Mind Realm around him, if he could have looked away from the tunnel into reality that the horror had given to him so that he could observe his son's pain and be powerless to stop it, he might have started smashing things because of the sheer frustration and worthlessness rushing through him.

He should have been awake, helping out his youngest son, taking the burden of the pain onto him and carrying his unhealthily light form away from this city of horrors, and he only hoped that Caiellis wasn't too hurt to move or get himself somewhere safe. With the amount of mana that his son had released, the man wouldn't be surprised if Caiellis would be suffering from pain caused by mana deficiency like the king had done after annihilating the traitorous city of Vectura in a rage because of what Johnias had done, so the boy would be absolutely exhausted and his natural regeneration given to him by the blessing of a First Sisterhood angel would be nullified – meaning that he would be in even more pain as his body would be in agony because of his wounds and his massive usage of mana.

Caiellis looked devastated, that was for certain, and even though he hadn't broken down yet in tears like the king had almost been expecting him to the boy still looked broken and miserable. However, in his emerald green eyes that were misted up by tears of pain there was a bit of confusion, and it hit Marik that the reason his son was not reacting to what had happened very much, what had been done to him by his father and the nefarious Archdemon Rakdos, was because he couldn't quite remember it.

Caiellis … I'm so, so sorry. Just hold on until I wake up, and I will try to make everything better, you hear me?

The boy managed to get a hold of a knife that must have slipped out of his jacket in all of the violence and destruction which had swept through the courtyard when the youngster had to fight against three distinct enemies, trying to suppress screams of pain all the while and fight for some semblance of dignity that made the king pity his son even more. Caiellis was trying his damned hardest to be a good Lucerna, and he was certainly one of the royal family. He had nothing to prove, it was only his father's stupidity and callousness that had made him think that he did have to show that he was capable of being a prince.

It was a truly awful thing that a thirteen year old boy who should have been focussing on a multitude of other things had to worry about being suitable for the throne in the event that the ruling monarch died and chose them in the Death Vision that swept through them, but that was the way of the Lucerna family – but instead of being left to deal with it on his own, Caiellis should have been given all of the support of his father, firm but gentle censure when he made mistakes because no one was perfect, as opposed to the angry disciplining that Marik had done in an attempt to get his petulant teenager in line.

Caiellis looked into the self-defence blade that the king was certain was the one that he had used to cut himself in all of the visions that he had been forced to watch and had made him ache within his heart at the pain his little boy had gone through alone, the man having not been informed that the dagger had been thrown into the peaceful river of Tranquillity's Descent on the Scholaria Magnus island.

And then he broke down in tears, the clear liquid that had been brimming in his eyes because of the pain and the sadness that he had been able to admirably hold back until this point cascading down his bruised and cut pale cheeks as he sobbed his heart out. The worse thing about it, apart from the fact that Marik couldn't get out of his Mind Realm to comfort his son just like he had hadn't been able to help him in this battle or salve his emotional state when he had been cutting himself to alleviate the crushing weight of pressure, was the harsh truth that the king couldn't even cry because his body was not his to control in its unconscious state and the him in the Mind Realm was utterly transfixed on Caiellis in the real world.

Caiellis, his baby boy, was throwing up blood in his sadness and pain, and the king was sharply reminded of the wounds that he had inflicted onto his fragile son in his possession, the broken ribs and the numerous bruises on his face and throat. The small thirteen year old was crying, worse than Marik had seen before, even worse than when he had been slicing open his own skin, even worse than when he had been fighting the Archdemon as his guts heaved and more insubstantial sick was ejected out of his mouth. The boy's bloodshot and exhausted green eyes, so much like Emili's but with noticeable traits of both his brother and father within the sorrowful orbs, fixed upon the blade in his hand, and it didn't take a genius to realise what he was going to do with it.

Caiellis, no! Please, don't do that! Your life is worth so much, so, so much, and so many people love you, baby boy, I love you!

The horror of the last vampire's words came back to the king unbidden, slicing through his mind like a dagger of pure malice that stabbed into his heart: "If Rakdos somehow doesn't kill him, then he'll finish himself off soon enough..." And, as much as he hated it more than he had hated anything in his life apart from his traitorous twin brother who had caused the death of his beloved wife, he could see the truth of that statement now.

He could see it so clearly that it hurt. Caiellis had lost all hope, all sense of purpose and self worth. What Marik had been forced to say to him combined with whatever the Archdemon Rakdos had shown him had clearly ruined all of the boy's confidence and desire to keep living, having all of his thoughts of others that lived him beaten and choked out of him by the man whose duty it was to protect and care for him. It hurt Marik to see how sad his son was, how hard he had taken all of the words and vile accusations and horrible shouting, and the king knew that the worst thing for the boy was the fact that the horror controlling the forty year old had forced him to say that it was his son's fault for the potential danger that Alexander was in, his fault for the death of Emili that had made his youngest boy's life a hell already.

Marik had already blamed the boy for Alexander almost dying to the last vampire as an outlet for the rage that he felt at the closeness to death of his eldest, and while he had known that it had cut very deeply it was only recently that he had realised how much it had hurt his son. And accusing him of making his mother die when he was only four years old, something that had scarred all of the Lucerna family for life but perhaps Caiellis even moreso because of his age and the fact that he had been awake whilst Alexander had been forced into an unnatural slumber, was one of the worst things that a father could ever say to his child – only matched by what else he had said, that his son was a burden and should just die to make all of their lives easier.

Of course it was going to hit Caiellis hard, especially coming from him, the man that he had fought against but still loved, which was precisely why he fought in the passionate way that he did, the man who he had looked forward to seeing from the day that he was ripped away from his perfect life at the extremely tender age of four and had only been a disappointment to his son. Marik had made so many mistakes, and now Caiellis was paying for it in a way that he should never have had to.

No … Caiellis, don't to that! Please … son, please! Just wait for me to wake up, for someone to come and find you! Take out all of this sadness on me instead, not on yourself!

Marik was forced to helplessly watch his son raise the knife to his slender and bruised throat, tears dripping onto the clean blade as they spilled down the vulnerable and despondent boy's face. Breath hitching in misery, Caiellis cried as quietly as he could, tears rolling down his bruised and bloodied face that was contorted in such sadness that Marik would have given anything to take away from his youngest son, his precious, intelligent, driven, brave, quiet and brilliant baby boy.

Caiellis … don't … The man pleaded uselessly, knowing that his child couldn't hear him. Caiellis shouldn't have ever have had to even consider doing such a thing, let alone have the willingness to enact it because his life was so awful and he wanted more than anything to get away from the pain.

Shaking violently, the hand that was holding the knife was positioned expertly next to the carotid artery in his youngest son's thin throat, and Marik felt sick to his stomach at the fact that it was so easily done, like he had mastered the motions. He had seen his son in this position before, crying his eyes out and placing the dagger next to his neck, ready to end it all, but none had been as bad as this.

The king hoped beyond any rational hope that Caiellis would realise how much people loved him, even wishing for him to turn on his body again and start cutting himself, anything to stop him from doing what Marik knew deep down that he would, but all the boy knew now was that his older brother who he loved more than anyone else, who had almost died already because of "his weakness", was in danger because of him, that his mother had died due to him being too pathetic to protect her at the age of four years old, and that his father hated him more than he hated an Archdemon that had corrupted an entire nation and caused the deaths of possibly thousands of soldiers.

The boy's dad had told his son that he wanted him dead, no matter that it hadn't been him speaking the words, and now Caiellis thought that the only way he could help anyone was to die.

Caiellis murmured something to himself, shutting his eyes as the tears still flowed freely out of the closed lids, and Marik could vaguely himself slamming at the wall of the Mind Realm that he could not leave because he was unconscious, trying to wake himself up so that he could stop his son and save him from the fate that the boy's father had caused.

Caiellis … please … please … don't do this to yourself … CAIELLIS!

The knife was whipped across his throat, blood spurting out from the wound as the boy's eyes flashed open again, and he began to sway, slumping backwards onto the ground as crimson fluid poured from the efficient and almost painless incision that would kill him within a few minutes. His eyelids began to droop again, but the tears didn't stop, still spilling out of his wide green eyes which were full of pain.

His once beautifully clear and expressive emerald eyes glazed over before finally disappearing under heavy lids, the tears stopping their flow as his eyelashes formed dark crescents against his ashen face. Marik was filled with pain, pain that encompassed his entire being, pain that he would never get a respite from, pain even worse than he had felt the night that Emili had died in front of his eyes and his perfect life had been destroyed.

Marik howled in anguish, and the Mind Realm collapsed around him.

.*.*.*.

Alexander was still fighting for his life when the Rain of Gore stopped its torrential storm of blood over the entire City of Pleasure. Exhausted and wounded, the seventeen year old only just managed to dodge a blindingly fast strike from Zankranith, the Master of Cruelties's spear slicing through the empty air that the boy had been in a second ago as he launched a spear of radiance at the greater demon.

The crimson beast laughed as it almost casually batted it away, retaliating with a spray of spines that wriggled with a life of their own and throbbed to the sound of Alex's own pounding and adrenalized heartbeat. They were then annihilated, turned to purified ashes, by a cleansing wave of flame shot out by the furious Warleader. Aurelia was in the process of battling against the huge Master of Violence whose heart was swelling with the corruption given to him from the presence of one of the most powerful greater demons, the strongest source of taint within the sprawling capital city of Usnaan apart from the massive beacon of rapturous hedonism and violent depravity in the centre of it, residing like a canker at the heart of the City of Pleasure.

Alex grimaced, spitting blood from his mouth, his agitation and concern rising all the while because of the fact that the power level of the being at the centre of Usnaan was steadily and exponentially rising, beginning to eclipse everything else in the besieged capital and corrupting the entire city. All of his wounds hurt, but this was no time to indulge in his minor aches and pains, not when his father and little brother were in great danger and he was stuck here fighting the Master of Violence that he should have overcome quickly.

Arendus's horrific patchwork face of scars and stitches twisted into something that was a sickening mixture of a sadistic smile and a leering sneer, breaking off from the storm of clashing blades that was him fighting against Aurelia and regrouping with his demon. Alexander took the chance to do the same, practically panting as he made his way to the side of the Warleader, the First Sisterhood angel's divine features forming a perfect snarl of zealous anger as she shone with a righteous radiance like a miniature sun. The Rain of Gore still pounded at them like before, the unholy blood from the sky turned to ash when it touched the Warleader, steaming off of her likes waves of fanatical anger from the seraph.

Alexander was at the height of his power, but this long and drawn out battle was draining him, and he knew that he would have to initiate an aggressive push for victory if he wanted to emerge triumphant in this engagement and get to his dad and Caiellis as soon as possible, if he wasn't too late already.

He pushed the thought of his mind as soon as it arose, his concern for his family still prevalent within his mind, but the teenager couldn't allow himself to think that anything awful had happened to either of them while he was delayed here. It would distract him, and that would definitely be fatal against such strong opponents, but in spite of his attempts to get rid of it the horrible possibility of his dad or his younger brother being hurt refused to utterly leave his mind, nestling within it and digging deep, staying out of the way but still making the boy feel hollow inside.

Ever since the greater demon had been Summoned by the savage Master of Violence, Zankranith had been targeting the middle Lucerna whereas Arendus himself had held off Aurelia so that she could not come to the aid of her young Summoner, and constantly defending against the demon was taking its toll on the youngster. One strike from that spear connecting with him would kill him instantly, Lucerna heritage and the blessing of a First Sisterhood angel or not, so he had been forced to place a lot of his White mana into shields which he used to protect himself form blows that he wouldn't have been able to dodge otherwise, as well as casting enchantments formed from the speed augmenting aspects of Red mana so that he could keep himself at a good distance at all times, meaning that he had a lot less power to put into his offensive attacks.

In spite of his savage and insane demeanour and outer shell, the Master of Violence was a methodical and efficient fighter, aware that he had time on his side and that he was far more durable than the eldest prince because the boy was still only seventeen years of age, and was playing for the long game even with his aggressive Red and Black mana. He had delayed Alex this far, and the adolescent knew that was only going to get worse as he slowly ran out of mana by having Aurelia Summoned, but if there was one thing that would stop the boy from ever entertaining the idea of giving up (besides all of the other reasons) it was his family in danger.

The boy took a very brief moment to glance at the sky, having vaguely seen what was happening in a desperate clash with the Master of Violence and his greater demon but unable to focus on it when he was trying to stay alive and avoid the weapons of his opponents. Imprinted on the Tempest of Craving was a malicious symbol of dark intent that made the seventeen year old feel like he was a powerless mortal utterly at the mercy of the malicious entities that ruled the abyssal hells, and despite the fact that he had never seen it before he somehow knew at the core of his being that it was the unholy sigil of this Rakdos, the Lord of Riots that Zankranith had mentioned being the favoured son of, the dark deity of all of these demons of passion and excess and the source of the contamination at the heart of the Welkalite people.

In the distance he could also see massive, curling spires of obsidian rock that pulsed with chaotic energy in tracing patterns of pulsating red that looked like veins, and that simply made him even more angry at what the thing Marik and Cai were fighting against was doing to the city, the destruction that selfish Tradax had invited upon thousands of innocent people who had been abused and exploited by the despotic Orders of Passion, and that gave Alexander even more mana than he already had as his emotions powered his magic. He quickly looked away from the devastation wreaked upon the sky and the city, the idea that there were probably thousands – if not millions – of innocent people just like Kaled and the Resistance still in Usnaan made his blood boil.

It didn't really matter to him all that much that they were not Lucaelian; he hated injustice wherever he saw it, and hated people exploiting the innocent or those that were weaker than them – especially in the name of dark goals such as these. Alex would always care more about his own people, because they were the ones who he had a duty to protect and had been given this power so he could do so, they were the ones who, like he, had spent their entire lives within the darkness and fighting against the forces of the abyss, but that didn't mean he was utterly apathetic when it came to other nations.

He glared at the two enemies on the other side of the street that they were fighting in outside of the looming Slaughterhouse Colosseum, the stone and mud of the pavement saturated with the huge amounts of blood that had poured into it ever since the Rain of Gore first started, sodden with the crimson vitae that made fighting treacherous as it ran in rivulets of red down across the ground like snaking rivers of vital fluids, though Alex was an experienced and agile enough warrior to be aware of the terrain around him.

Aurelia stared down at the boy for a moment, her fiery eyes glancing over him in a way that made Alexander feel that she was simultaneously assessing his capabilities to fight further and making sure that he was relatively unharmed, which, apart from his broken ribs (the ones that hadn't healed properly since Aksua broke them a week ago, though at least he had managed to hide that from Cai and their dad) and a few minor (ok, while they weren't really "minor" in any sense of the word the fact that the boy was able to fight with them and they were ignorable meant that Alexander would push them from his mind) wounds he was fit to keep fighting, not that he would stop, not with his vulnerable baby brother in danger and the father who loved both of his sons in peril.

He wished more than anything that he could be at Caiellis's side and helping him through fighting this extremely powerful demon at the centre of Usnaan, aiding him in backing up their father against the main threat like he was supposed to, but simply wishing that it would come true wouldn't make it do so.

However, he focussed the thoughts into his mind, combining them with his passionate anger and righteous hatred of Arendus Draal who had killed the soldiers from Cassida Principia who had fought alongside the prince in his charge through the city to get to his reckless brother (who he was only angry at because of his pure older brother concern for him and more furious at their father, and more prominently himself for failing Cai), who had kidnapped the seventeen year old's innocent kid brother and choked him.

He drew upon his large reserves of Red and White mana, intending to end this battle once and for all, as he knew that there was no way he could be delayed any longer from bringing the aid of another seraph of the highest angelic order, and his eyes were infused with an ardent fire as the magic flowed through his limbs. Not for him and Aurelia were the long and drawn out rituals that he knew Caiellis and Orzhova employed from the younger boy's description of casting the Merciless Eviction to him when he had asked, and while he still did need to go through the appropriate motions of casting a powerful spell like the one that he had in mind, because of his age and the identity of his First Sisterhood angel Alex was able to cast spells of a high magnitude much faster than his younger brother could.

The boy's skin began to glow with incandescence as his hair began to be buffeted by the wind of a thousand angelic wings beating as they flew to war, and light shimmered off of him like ripples of heat rising from a horizon scorched by the holy Lucaelian sun. Vortices of energy played around his muscular and healthy limbs, and circles of power much like the ones that he conjured up on his Summoning ritual began to spread out across the ground around him. This was one that Aurelia had taught to him, but one that he had never had the chance to enact before – as either the enemies stopped it or they were not powerful enough to require such a large release of magical energy to subdue.

Aurelia landed on the ground in front of him, the straight edged blade in her left hand blazing with luminescent fire that would purify the corrupt and sear their tainted flesh from their unholy bones whilst the curved and more elaborate sword held in her right flashed with arcs of radiant electricity, helices of lightning forming around it and ready to be discharged at her command, although because of the malicious influence of the perpetual deluge of viscera from the burning storm above the blasts of holy energy wouldn't be able to heal her and her young Summoner.

"You think that you can slay me with a little magic, boy princeling?!" Zankranith taunted and jeered, an incredulous note to his painful voice that set the seventeen year old's teeth on edge and made him feel a sharp tingling down his spine. The tone of the demon was paradoxically extremely high pitched to the point where it was agonising to all who heard it but in the same instance a deep and malevolent boom, an atavistic and primal roar of indulgence and a sadistic desire to inflict pain in all of its many forms.

It angered the eldest prince even more that these evil creatures whose only purpose was to cause misery, violence and suffering existed and that there were those who would give up their souls and chance of entering the Third Realm to these demons, and that anger fuelled more of his mana generation as the powerful Warleader prepared to defend her Summoner at all costs until he completed the spell that he was in the midst of as he held his sword given to him personally by his father aloft, the blade shining with a blinding light from the White and Red mana poured into it.

Arendus Draal pulled up Black and Red mana from within him, the blade of his midnight axe still glowing with the spiteful aura of dark red around it, and he held the weapon at a ready position in front of him so that he could be protected from the spell that he knew his young opponent was soon to release. However, Alexander's spell was not made of entirely magical attacks, and he was confident that it would give him the strength to end the Master of Violence now, or at the very least even the playing field – no. None of that. No half-measures now. Your father who you are supposed to reinforce and back up and your little brother who you have to protect and keep safe are in grave danger, and you have wasted enough time here already whilst they could be getting hurt.

Alexander blew out a long breath, a tense exhalation that allowed him to focus his mind and fill it with discipline and strength, heightening the strength of his White mana and letting it temper the passionate emotion of his Red, giving his zeal direction and moulding it into a powerful weapon that infused his young body with strength and martial skill. The Tempest of Craving screamed down at him from the heavens above, crackling with blindingly vibrant crimson and pink electricity as it spat out swarms of meteorites in the city below, their distant detonations shaking the ground on which the seventeen year old stood as the Rain of Gore upped its intensity even more.

The strange sigil that was stamped upon the heavens and glaring down at the city below it glowed with an even more frenzied light, and at the back of his mind the middle Lucerna could feel a frenetic itch to do violence that might have overtaken him in spite of all of his mental defences if not for the fortifying presence of Aurelia that focussed his mind and refused to let the psychotic corruption take hold and taint his pure intent to one of destruction and revelling in the bloodshed.

Alexander's mana rushed through his young body, infusing it with energy that would allow him to completely ignore his wounds as Red and White mana flowed to the extremities of his limbs, pooling in his fingers and rushing into his elegant sword that he would use to purge the greater demon Summoning of Arendus Draal from this world as the tension in the battlefield of the area outside the arena that had been the site of many deaths rose to breaking point, the Master of Violence and the Master of Cruelties each straining at the ends of their tethers in preparation to violently attack Aurelia and prevent the seventeen year old Lucerna from using the spell that he was planning to implement.

Then the rain stopped.

There was no warning of it, no prior signs that the Rain of Gore would cease its endless deluge of viscera upon the City of Pleasure below, but Alexander suddenly felt the splattering impacts of blood that had been perpetually pattering upon him stop, the warm blood that was trickling off him not replaced by any more apart from the vital fluids dripping from his own wounds.

The prince wasn't going to let this spontaneous peculiarity distract him, however, even though it could herald a change in the Tempest of Craving like it had done before (as it had relented for a very short time before exploding back into life in full force as the Lord of Riots at the centre of the city was Summoned into this world in spite of Caiellis's efforts) and that such a thing could be extremely dangerous to him. He had no more mental power to divert to concentrating on such things, he mind becoming filled with an army of volatile and impassioned emotions that heightened his Red mana and a desire to punish the evil and aid the innocent that empowered his White magic, moulded together and disciplined by his Lucerna will that made sure he could wield his emotions like an extension of himself, as much a weapon as the sword gripped tightly in his right hand.

The demon on the other side of the street extended its snake like tongue out of its gaping mouth filled with cruel needle teeth, lapping at the air in front of it like a rabid dog eager for blood or a malevolent serpent tasting the air for the aroma of its prey, frowning in consternation as Alexander sensed a rise in familiar Black mana from the centre of the city, the levels of Caiellis's dark energy increasing to the point where they met the output of foul mana that the demon demon which he and his dad was fighting against was emitting, rising even more as Alex somehow sensed deep despair and hatred coming from his little brother, power from the younger boy transmitted across the city that he had never sensed before apart from at the back of his mind after the night that their mother had been slain.

Alexander's eyes widened as, behind the Slaughterhouse Colosseum that he faced (with the Master of Violence and his demonic Summoning with their backs to it, a massive pillar of combined light and darkness imprinted with Cai's well known mana rose up into the roiling and tempestuous sky, splitting apart the howling Tempest of Craving and saturating the air with huge quantities of White and Black magic that made the boy immensely proud of his little brother but also extremely concerned of what consequences such a release of mana could entail for the fragile kid.

Furthermore, no matter how hard his mind instantly began to look into it with his sixth sense as the gigantic column of mana crashed through the storm above and rent it asunder with its shining blackness mixed with dark light, the seventeen year old couldn't sense his father's mana in the slightest, which, coupled with the pure hatred and despair that he could detect very strongly in his sibling's spell (if it could be called that as it was more a discharge of huge amounts of energy), did not bode well for the fate of the forty year old that Alex was only just getting to know once again after the nine years of being apart (although in the period before they were sent to the Scholaria Magnus the eldest son of the king had spoken to his father far more than his little brother had as the younger boy had been obsessed with his Summoning trial).

That infused Alexander with more urgency that turned into determination to be done with these foes so that he could get to and protect his baby brother who would be exhausted after such a release – Cai had already dealt with his much more powerful enemy, judging by the cacophonous and agonising death screams echoing across the entire City of Pleasure as the storm split in half and the unnatural clouds were destroyed, replaced by their dark but natural counterparts, so that meant that Alex should be finishing off here instead of wasting time.

"No! NO! THIS CANNOT BE! HOW?! HOW HAS THE LORD OF RIOTS BEEN SLAIN?!" Zankranith howled at the sky, his voice raking lines of pain down Alexander's ears and cutting through the determined chorus that had sprung up around him, a heart stirring and zealous war anthem that inspired him to achieve victory even more and promised death to those who would abuse and exploit the innocent people of this world at the hand of their protectors such as Alex and the Warleader, the mana around him becoming blind.

The demon's form began to change, tendrils of flesh and mutations ripping out of it as it screamed, and Aurelia wasted no time. In a rush of energy Alexander felt all of the energy that he had channelled within him suddenly being pulled out, although not painfully and as soon as he quickly realised what was happening he poured the mana out of him and into the fiery First Sisterhood seraphim at his side. The Warleader shot forwards at blinding speed, her blades crackling with golden energy as she broke the sound barrier, a sonic boom of energy rippling out from her and knocking Arendus Draal away – almost off of his feet as he couldn't block the natural energy on his numbing mage bane axe, but years of experience in fighting brutal battles against a variety of opponents to get to the rank that he was in now prevented him from losing his balance completely and he quickly regained his footing, sliding across the blood-slick ground and carving deep grooves into it with his heavy footwear.

Aurelia crashed into the Master of Cruelties like and thunderbolt, her twin blades raised up to the neck of the demon as she ripped into it with a crashing slice that reminded Alexander of the thunderous detonations he had seen from his father's Angel of Wrath when she fought. Its head was decapitated, but instead of just that its body was burned from existence by a massive explosion of cleansing Red and White mana that was discharged into the area behind it, lightning up the darkness with a gigantic flare of energy that ripped into the Slaughterhouse Colosseum.

As the rock of the crude but undeniably horrible building crashed to the ground from the force of the extremely fast shockwave smashing into it, Zankranith didn't even have the chance to scream in pain or rage as he was torn from this world by the force of the Warleader's zealous attack as she instantly spun round to the Master of Violence, her fiery eyes like radiant flares of dazzling energy that fixed upon the hulking Welkalite who looked completely nonplussed by the sudden turning of the tide within his city.

Alexander glared over at him, his own blue orbs that he had inherited from his father (although according to the man he had inherited Emili's warmth as well and the passionate fire within his eyes rather than his father's coldness) suffused with the ardent flame of righteous anger at the Welkalite, who simply stared back, his face twisting into a small smile as he beheld the shining middle Lucerna and his awe-inspiring First Sisterhood angel who shone like a beacon of holy light and would give the Lucaelians a point to rally around if Alex wasn't intending to go instantly to his father and brother once he had finished with him.

"Impressive," the Master of Violence's gravely voice, like the rumbling of a distant earthquake mixed with a bloodthirsty need for violence and death, though the sarcastic tint to the growl made the compliment less than genuine as he stalked round so that there was an equal distance between him and Alex as there was him and the Warleader. His scarred face smiled grimly at the boy, who snarled back, hoping that the man's confidence wasn't indicative of something he knew that the boy didn't – like he was about to Re-summon his demon, or that the Lord of Riots was not slain at all. He would give a lot to wipe that sadistic smirk from the Welkalite's maliciously smug features, and that was what he was about to do before the man's words gave him pause.

"I'll admit, to say I originally wanted to fight against your brat of a brother, that was a lot more enjoyable than I expected it to be," the Master of Violence ground back, the timbre of his voice deep, harsh, and brutal as Alex focussed his mana into his hands, dragging up more from his severely lacking reserves now that he had expended the large quantities he had gathered up to allow Aurelia to deal with the demon, the angel gifting him with her own Red and White mana in response to his emotions.

There was a modicum of amusement in his tone that made the younger man bristle at the thought that Arendus wanted to battle against Cai because of the fact that he thought the boy was easy prey "And you definitely put up a lot more of a fight than he did the first time. But this is where it ends."

"Not if I have anything to do about it, monster," Alexander snarled back without even thinking, the words spat out of his mouth at the mere thought that the Master of Violence had wanted to prey upon Caiellis, Alex's little brother that he had done an awful job at protecting the past month after the ending of the civil war in Lucael. He automatically tensed even more, knowing that while Draal could be bluffing it didn't hurt to be careful and that the Master of Violence was very powerful even without his Summoning and did not seem concerned with the loss of the demon as screams of demonic rage resounded across Usnaan, a cacophony of frustration and anger at their plans being thwarted.

Arendus laughed then, the sound unfamiliar and grating as he thrust the stump of his right arm forwards before staring at it in annoyance as if he had forgotten that the Warleader had hacked it off at the elbow, before turning back to the boy he had been fighting against who had white lightning ensorcelled by coils of orange fire and grinning widely at him, exposing a mouth missing teeth but with the rest filed down to points so that they could be used to tear out an opponent's throat in the midst of a gladiator battle.

"There is nothing that you can do to stop me, prince Alexander. You should be grateful that I am leaving like this, as that will allow you to go and see to your precious baby brother," the Master of Violence replied belligerently, spitting Alex's title in a mocking attempt of a Lucaelian accent, before bowing derisively to the frowning youngster. Even though he executed the slightly contemptuous but very insulting motions the Master of Violence kept up his combat ready stance, the position of his feet and the way that he held his posture assuring Alex that any movement or attack that he would make would be quickly reacted to by the hulking man.

How the hell did Arendus expect to leave with him and Aurelia standing there, ready to chase him down and end him? He can't ... unless he has some form of teleportation magic … It suddenly hit Alex what Arendus Draal was intending to do to escape the wrath of the prince when the mana around his axe glowed black as he ripped it through the fabric of reality in a way that Caiellis had done to propel himself into the middle of the City of Pleasure at the start of this battle, dark tendrils reaching out of the abyss in a way that they had not done when the youngest Lucerna and embracing the Welkalite with their dark touch.

Arendus didn't react it any way to them as he turned back to the eldest prince, the boy forcing himself to look away from the shifting abyss that was so much like the darkness outside of the safe Lucaelian metropolises, and raising his hands so that a helix of silver and gold electricity spat out of his extended left palm towards the Welkalite, who, as Alexander had anticipated, casually batted it away with his axe that forced the mana to dissipate as he stepped backwards into the darkness with a lot less nervous trepidation than Caiellis had shown when he had done it.

Fleeing from a battle now that he was losing and contacting dark powers like the ones inside of this nether realm that would contain far more demons than just the hedonistic variety that the denizens of the New Empire of Passion were accustomed to did not fit with the character profile that the seventeen year old, usually a very good judge of character and personality, had created for the brutal Master of Violence, but throughout the fight Alexander had constantly thought that there was lost about Arendus Draal that did not add up and match with how he had shown himself before, although then and now the second youngest Lucerna didn't particularly care about that so long as it didn't affect his chances of victory.

"I will take my leave now, my liege," Arendus snarled back at him, his gruff voice unused to enunciating the sounds of the syllables as he growled at the angry prince who was tempted to dive at him and chase him into the eternal void in which he was about to depart to. However, the fact that the Master of Violence was leaving now, even though it meant that he would survive to spread his savage influence elsewhere and escape punishment for his horrendous crimes, would allow Alex to get to his precious family even faster so that he could protect them and ascertain their conditions, and so he refused to reply and forced his lips shut as the man stepped into the scar of the world he had just created.

I assume that we are not going to prevent the Master of Violence from leaving and bring justice down upon him? Aurelia's zealous but not unwelcome voice spoke into Alex's mind, able to do so because the massively disrupting influence of the demon Rakdos and the Tempest of Craving that had died with him was now gone, leaving the city's atmosphere almost as it had been the last time that the seventeen year old and his kid brother had been forcefully brought here. Alexander shook his head, knowing from the timbre of her angelic words that the First Sisterhood angel was disappointed and would have liked to kill him here so that he could not harm any others, but she also knew that there was little way that they could prevent him from departing in the abrupt way that he was almost finished with and that Alex's first concern was getting to the eldest and youngest Lucernas as fast possible.

The void swallowed up the brutal man who had played a vital role in engendering this slaughter of a war within its endless depths of grasping shadow, though Alexander distinctly had the feeling that they would meet again despite a lot of evidence pointing to the contrary, and the boy was left feeling hollow as he departed. Alex would have to train a lot harder, unlock more power and become able to cast many powerful spells in quick succession, become more resistant to wounds and improve his reaction time even further, as he was immensely angry at himself because of the fact that he hadn't even defeated Arendus Draal and had left his father and brother alone against the greatest threat.

He looked up at Aurelia, urgency and concern flooding him in the wake of the adrenaline of combat slowly leaving him, though it did not dissipate completely because of his worry for his family now that he could sense barely anything of them, only a small amount of his dad's pure White mana and none of his brother's magical energy, and met the flaming seraph's fiery golden orbs of eyes that would be blinding to her enemies and those who could not wield mana in great amounts.

Even though sometimes her angelic eyes seemed inscrutable and did not yield any emotion whatsoever, Alexander knew that his angel always showed some of her emotions because of the fact that she used Red mana, and some were simply different forms of the ones that humans felt, elevated to a point where the seventeen year old couldn't tell exactly what they were.

However, right now Alex could definitely see what Aurelia was thinking because she made no effort to conceal it from him or repress it. There was anger, anger at the Master of Violence for what he had done to her young Summoner (concern that Alexander felt he did not deserve), the fact that he had fled and escaped her rage causing even more of it to be formed and fury at the demons of Rakdos that had abused and corrupted this city and forced the Lucaelians into coming and cleansing it with massive losses of innocent lives from both sides.

There was a faint glimmer of pride as well, pride in Alexander himself that he knew he did not merit because he had taken so long and not even defeated the warrior he had been fighting, allowed Telaia Gladium and her soldiers to die whilst under his leadership and not been there for the little brother that it had been his job to protect ever since their mother had been killed by demons and he had been handed the unconscious form of the four year old and had been told to run out of the city whilst the others covered his retreat and kept him as safe as possible (and even before that, when his fragile brother had been born too early it had been his responsibility to keep him safe, but less than it was now since back then life was nowhere near as dangerous and they hadn't gone through a civil war relying upon one another) and the father who he should have supported.

Nonetheless, the most predominant emotion in those impressive and impassioned eyes was the concern and worry of her Summoner echoed within her own fiery gaze.

It was an angelic form of anxiety for Alex's own wounds that he had sustained and that could not yet be healed with the Rain of Gore still affecting him even though it, and the one who had caused it, had been ended, combined with concern for the rest of the Lucaelian army, the other two Lucernas that Aurelia also cared quite deeply about (as she cared about every member of the Lucerna family, but especially those that were alive whilst she had a Summoner and could speak to when Summoned as the one who was the host of the Warleader always cared deeply about their family members) and her sisters who had fought alongside them that she could no longer sense.

Alex knew, from the softening of his angel's glare, that his eyes must have been reflecting the large amount of worry that he felt, and any hurt that was done to his family made him sick inside, the possibility of his brother or father being seriously hurt or worse worming around in his stomach, icy fingers gripping at his heart from the inside as he couldn't managed to shake the sensation that his family could have been hurt because of his weakness that made his moistureless mouth even drier.

Aurelia sheathed the curved blade in her right hand and placed a perfect hand on her young Summoner's shoulder, saying that which could not be communicated with words to him through the comforting gesture. If Alex hadn't felt the touch of his angel before the armoured hand would have felt far heavier than it should have done to him, and even though it radiated with huge amounts of holy heat that would burn any taint away from those that it came into contact with to the young teenager it was a reassuring warmth that didn't quite manage to dispel the coldness of worry pervading his insides, though it was appreciated.

Alexander realised that the simple but powerful gesture had infused him with the direction that he had needed, and thanked his angel by bowing his head, not wanting to break the silence that had descended, punctuated only by the sounds of violence in the distance that reminded him there was still a war going on. Aurelia pulled away after a second or so, knowing from her Summoner and herself not to waste any time delaying the Lucerna she gave her blessing to, and it was her divine voice that shattered the quiet which had filled the two for a short moment, "I will be leaving you now, Alexander. You need to conserve your mana, and having me Summoned is not going to do that. Remember that you fought well, my Summoner."
With that she departed herself in a flash of golden mana and flames that washed over her, her form dissipating into particles of luminescence quickly swept away by the natural wind that had sprung up across the city. Alex felt a rush of exhaustion as the mana conjured naturally within him when he Summoned left him, his tired and bruised limbs aching for a rest that he was not going to give them, not until he left this city victoriously and safely with his family and the army that they led.

He knew that technically, as a Lucerna prince with a duty to keep the people safe with the power he had been blessed with by the exalted angels, he should have rallied the army and led it to victory against the Welkalites that they were still fighting against, but all he could think of was his precious family and the two people that he cared about more than any others, the two who he had let down by being held up here for so long. While he felt like he was making excuses for himself, the youngster told himself that the generals who led the army were masterful and probably much better at strategy than he was (in spite of him memorising the plan and not giving himself nearly enough credit for it), and that he wouldn't be much use overall to the war effort without access to his First Sisterhood angel that he could probably Summon again for a very limited time if he had to.

Bone tiredness percolated through his limbs and muscles, but it was something that didn't stop him from instantly beginning a sprint towards where he could only just sense his father's kingly White mana, pushing himself as fast as he could go with no regards to his own safety or the state of his own wounds. His sword was ready to kill any enemies that made the mistake of getting in his way now, though at the moment all he could see where a few Enforcers from the Augur's Quarter "tactically withdrawing" from the battlefield. Alexander's eyes met those of the one in command who had taken off his helmet, who instantly looked away from the powerful intensity in the blue orbs that pierced into his soul, and the Lucerna prince ignored the fleeing rabble as he kept running towards the location of Caiellis and Marik.

Pushing aside one part of his psyche's insistences that he needed to slow down before he seriously hurt himself as his abused lungs burned and his own broken ribs ground against one another in the sprint, Alex shot through the city with a speed borne of his concern for his father but mostly his brother because he was the one that the seventeen year old could no longer sense any more, he was the one that was the most fragile out of the two, the youngest and the smallest Lucerna who had got to the centre of Usnaan first and fought against the greatest threat the longest. His breathing was laboured by pain, but mostly worry for his father and sibling, his inspiration and his heart, who had just got out of immense danger.

Hold on dad, little bro, I'm coming! Just hold on!

.*.*.*.

As the malignant Tempest of Craving, no longer powered by the Lord of Riots's unholy magic, began to dissipate, the baleful red orb of the Welkalite sun could be seen setting in the distance. The wan orange light that spilled into the burning city was shadowed and broken by the angry black clouds spreading out across the sky, no longer crackling with crimson light.

Shafts of golden orange sunlight illuminated the war torn Usnaan, waves of subtle red pastels flowing surprisingly gently over the streets still embroiled in brutal violence between Welkalite and Lucaelian, those from the New Empire of Passion refusing to be taken alive and urged onwards by their psychotic and cruel generals who still insisted that they could achieve victory. It was a moving watercolour of an evening, though the fact that it was still in the middle of winter even in temperate Welkas meant that it was only just past five in the afternoon.

The dazzling display of natural light penetrating through the hedonistic and angry darkness of the clouds that had shrouded the City of Pleasure, representing the breaking free of depraved tyrants and the true power of the Welkalites should they be able to obtain it without being sidetracked by promises of corruption or temptation, was completely lost on the king as his eyes fluttered restlessly behind their lids.

The first thing that hit him was the pain in his lower stomach of an untreated internal bleeding that was stinging and most likely infected by exposure to the corruption of the Welkalite capital. A sense of numb confusion worked its way into his mind, a fog of bewilderment and exhaustion shrouding his thought processes as he fought to awaken from the cloying darkness that had wrapped him in its clammy embrace. Marik tried to get a hold of what was going on in his head as he slowly came to awareness, his body splayed out across fractured stone like he had been unceremoniously dumped here, discarded like an unwanted toy and left to rot, and the thick stench of blood pervaded his nostrils to the point where he wanted to gag and throw up the breakfast he had eaten this morning.

His eyes snapped open, though his vision was blurred with pain and stinging tears that he assumed had come from the agony in his lower half, which was strange since even though the pain was awful he had gritted his teeth and suffered through far worse without his eyes even moistening, so to awaken with his mind fuzzy and his eyes streaming with transparent liquid was quite a surprise to the king who tried to get aware and combat ready as soon as possible when he remembered that he was still in the hostile City of Pleasure that would still be filled to the brim with Welkalites despite – despite what? Why can I not put my finger on it? It's like I have just woken up from a nightmare that I can't remember, but instead of it being a bad dream that I cannot recall it is reality. Work mind, damn it!

The king frowned. His memories were fuddled, some fractured almost beyond repair as he subconsciously began to piece them back together. He remembered the damned horror within his mind with almost complete clarity, and snarled in pure hatred of the being that must have jumbled up his recollection of events for when he would awaken with full control of his body once again. The bastard creature had plundered his thoughts, and he only now was he beginning to place them back in the order that they should have been in. He searched for anything, anything, that would reveal to him why his worry was on overdrive and the tears wouldn't stop streaming out of his eyes no matter how hard he tried, but all he go were misty recollections of events.

All he could tell with complete clarity was that he had been forced into reliving some of his best but also his worst memories once again, and even though he had seen his wife die right in front of his eyes without it being in a nightmare, felt the fresh and raw emotions of her death for a second time instead of the sense of loss that he was familiar with now, that didn't explain it at all. Marik slowly sat up, pushing away the fallen rock that had pinned him to the ground, and then gaped like a dying fish, blinked wildly for a few seconds, and abruptly stood up, used to ignoring the protestation of his wounds from years of doing so.

Then it all came flooding back to him.

Worthless...

Should have just left you there to die...

Why can't you do us all a favour, and just die?

CAIELLIS!

Marik's head instantly swivelled round on his neck, concern and worry in equal amounts drowning out everything else as it consumed him in its entirety and he tried to locate his youngest son, his head instantly beginning to pound as the image of his baby slitting his own throat because of how sad his life had become thrust itself into the forefront of his mind.

Marik's throat constricted to the point where he couldn't breathe and tears streamed out of his eyes when he saw his son laid on the ground like he was sleeping only a few metres away, and fear flashed its way through him. The boy's chest wasn't moving. It wasn't moving!

"Caiellis!" he choked out, the words having trouble leaving his tightening throat as he stumbled desperately towards him, his arms outstretched towards his youngest son in front of him just like they had been extended towards Emili as she had been laid on the ground after dying in the arms of the demon that had killed her. The journey to his son's side seemed to take years as he staggered in the unmoving boy's direction, his eyes closed shut and his cheeks unnaturally pale.

Marik Ensis Lucerna could face down traitors, psychopaths, reanimated zombies, banshees and evil spirits, demons, horrors too terrible to describe and countless things from the most imaginative nightmares of the most deranged lunatics without a blink of his eye, but seeing his bright and inquisitive and defiant and gentle so still and hurt scared him more than the worst things that he had killed.

"Caiellis..." he gasped out again, repeating his son's name over and over and over and over, but the boy still didn't respond, he didn't react to his father calling him. The man's voice, infused with strength and hatred the last time it had been used, was raw and broken, ripped to shreds like the happiness of his youngest son, the heart that he had only just managed to piece back together after the death of his beautiful wife in the nine years with her gone shattering within his chest completely as he fell to his knees beside his baby, reaching out towards him.

Caiellis was dead. Marik didn't even have to check – he just knew. Just like he had known the night that his wife had left this world, known at the back of his mind despite refusing to think of the possibility, just like he couldn't even think of his son dying now. The inevitability, the awful, stark, unavoidable truth. Marik had killed his son. It had not been his hand that had dealt the final blow, but it had been his that had brought Caiellis to this point, it had been his that had driven the thirteen year old to do it.

"No ... no … nonono … not you as well … not you as well ..." Marik sobbed, his voice pathetic, gasping, wheezing for breath as his world collapsed around him, the second breaking of his heart carried over in his words. He drew his youngest son into his arms, the boy moving limply in his father's grip, his eyes remaining shut as the wound on his throat looked stark against his pale body, the wound that had killed him stark against the rest of the many injuries scattered across the child that Marik easily held against him.

Not Caiellis … no … not Caiellis … why him? Not him … can't lose him as well … please not him … please not my son … not Caiellis … not Caiellis …

He placed his hand to his son's throat that was gaping open from the crimson slash upon it, ignoring the warm blood that leaked out of it when he touched it, and it confirmed the worst. There was no pulse within his son, none at all, not even a tiny thud that would assure Marik that his son was still alive, that his son wouldn't leave him, that his son wouldn't die...

Caiellis was broken, and as Marik's fingers pressed to Caiellis's neck, desperately seeking a pulse that would give him some indication that his son was living, unready to give up on the idea that he was still alive in there, the man couldn't stop himself from being wracked with desperate sobs as he held the boy's lifeless and still body in his arms, his mind flashing back to the time when he had done the same to Emili, but this was even worse. This was his flesh and blood, his baby boy that he had done nothing for in his extremely short thirteen years of life, and the man shook with distress and sadness as his son refused to open his eyes or even breathe out.

Caiellis … Caiellis … you can't go … you can't leave us … I have so much to say to you … so much love to show you … that I should have shown you before …

"Caiellis..." Marik repeated the word, the name, of his baby boy in his arms again, the child's slender arms falling limply by his side as Marik rocked him, the tears streaming out of his eyes dripping onto Caiellis's pale face as he tried to conjure up mana to heal the boy, but none came to him. Why … WHY? I CAN'T BE THAT EXHAUSTED! I NEED TO HELP HIM! I NEED TO SAVE HIM! HE IS TOO YOUNG … he is so young … I can't let him die … I can't … him and Alexander … they are everything to me …

Why did it have to be him … why did it have to be my baby … Marik repeated the words over and over and over again within his skull, refusing to give up on his youngest son as he moved the boy's lifeless and light body round, beginning chest compressions with his gauntleted hands that looked too large and destructive next to his delicate son, managing to drag up some form of mana from within him and infusing his son with holy light as he performed the CPR that would undoubtedly leave large bruises that the king did not care about at all if it saved his son's life.

The boy's head was tilted backwards, blood spilling from his lips, though it simply dripped from them instead of pumped out of them because of the fact that he wasn't breathing and his heart wasn't beating, and Marik kept going until his own arms fell limply at his sides. Caiellis looked almost exactly the same now as he had done a few minutes ago, the little thirteen year old still and pale and small in his father's arms as Marik sobbed, pulling the boy closer to his chest in a way that he hadn't done for years as the body of his son shudder with the whimpers that wracked the king, a torrent of despair flooding through his mind.

He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe, and the world was going blurry around him, everything apart from his son mixing together in a muddle of colours and shades that meant nothing at all to him.

All that he could focus on with his teary gaze was his baby boy in his arms, and while he wanted desperately to close his eyes, imagine that Caiellis was alive and happy again, smiling in a way that the father had never seen from his youngest son in the month that he had been back with him again, laughing like the young teenager that he was and unburdened by the problems pressing down on his painfully thin shoulders, so that he could pretend that this was just a horrible nightmare and that his son would be there, alive in his father's large arms when he reopened them, but the king knew that that was giving up on the boy, that if he looked away now any life that might still be clinging to Caiellis could leave him.

Desperation made Marik's throat tight as he pulled his weightless son closer, the boy's head resting on his broad shoulder as the blood kept trickling down his chin and the Black Sun birthmark that wasn't glowing at all and was much less stark than it had been before. He had seen this from his father, when the Shield Inviolate on his wrist had faded in the moments that he had died and suffered his Death Vision, and even though the realisation of that was crashing through Marik's head he refused to focus on it, screaming at the unavoidable truth to leave him alone, leave his son alone!

The golden light encircled his son, wrapping him in a cocoon of luminescence that poured forth from Marik, the king releasing mana without even thinking about it that did all that it could to heal the broken boy in his arms, but there was nothing the White mana could do for the dead, even if Marik refused to admit that his son was dead, that his youngest son had died thinking that his father hated him more than anything else, died thinking that Marik blamed him for the death of his mother and the danger that his brother was in.

"No … you can't die like this, Caiellis … you can't … you have too much … too much to live for …" Marik wailed, the sounds that were escaping his mouth hoarse and broken like they had been when Emili had died, but this was even worse, and the king couldn't even work up the anger, the rage and hatred, to howl at the sky in defiance of the injustice of the world. All he could think, as the world span around him and lost all meaning, was how fragile his son was in his arms, how delicate the boy that he was holding was, yet how hard he had fought for victory even as the world threw everything at him. The boy had battled and emerged victorious against an Archdemon, one of the most powerful things that Marik had seen, he had overcome that, but he hadn't wanted to live any more because of what his father had said to him in the grip of the horror.

"I'm sorry … please, baby boy, I'm sorry … please come back … I'll make it all better … your dad will make it all better ..." Marik wept uncontrollably, shuddering in the grip of a depression that would never let go of him, and his son shuddered with him, wracked by his father's sobs. He had thought that the worst feeling in the world was to lose one's soul mate, to lose the person that you would gladly spend the rest of your life with and the person that your heart was devoted utterly to.

He was wrong. So, so, wrong. This was somehow much worse than that, despair that was soul-crushing and made Marik want to die a thousand times over so that his son could even live a second longer consuming him utterly as he cried whilst holding the unmoving body of his youngest child close enough so that he would have been able to feel the boy's breath puffing onto his cheeks had he been breathing.

"Come back … Caiellis, come back … you are loved here … I am so sorry … you can't leave … you are too young … too young … PLEASE!" Marik's voice finally managed to rise to a howl of pure and unadulterated loss, screaming out the monosyllable at his son's lifeless form and stepping up the pace of the compressions that he had stopped, pressing his lips to his son's and breathing for the boy, ignoring the taste of copper that was the boy's blood that Marik had caused to be shed, the light that was surrounding them both becoming blinding in its intensity had there been anyone else to see it.

Marik was unaffected by the glow as everything apart from the body of his son had blended into one once colourful but now harsh and grey expanse of coldness, and his son couldn't see because his eyes were closed and dead underneath their lids. Marik, the person who had promised to keep his son safe, was holding the still and weightless body of the thirteen year old in his arms, and he was pretty sure that he was just as dead as Caiellis is. That crouching there, with his youngest son looking pitifully small in his father's heavily armoured arms, his insides and the world around them numb and cold and blank, that's he was just as dead as his baby boy was. Only his body hadn't quite got the message yet.

Marik was screaming, an incoherent howl of pure sadness and despair at the unmoving child that he was holding and gently rocking, the unadulterated darkness and coldness of a life without another one of his family members wrapping around him and stabbing into him from every side.

Why did it have to be him … WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE HIM?! HE'S SO YOUNG … HE HAS SO MUCH LIFE LEFT … he … he has only just become a teenager … I haven't … I haven't told him that I love him yet … Marik was severely regretting that, just like he was regretting every single choice that he had made to do with Caiellis ever since the civil war that he had let tear him apart and make him an awful father had ended. He hadn't yet told his son that he loved him through his own words after the civil war, assuming that Caiellis would know at the back of his mind, that it was unnecessary for him to express that. He hadn't ever thought of doing it, because he wasn't used to being a father, because he had forgotten the things that had come naturally to him before Johnias's betrayal, all meaningless excuses because all that mattered now was that his baby boy had died thinking that Marik had hated him and blamed him for the death of his mother.

"I don't hate you … I could never hate you … It wasn't me! I love you! Come back! Come back, Caiellis! C-come b-back, s-son..." Marik sobbed his heart out over the boy, cradling his fragile and broken form close to his chest, starting to scream at the injustice of the cruel and uncaring world that had taken away not just Emili Noctis from him, but their youngest son as well, before Marik had seen the truth and seen how much he loved his children, had seen that he had been making a massive mistake with what he was attempting to do in parenting the boy.

It was such a simple thing that Marik had missed out on, but it was one that could have saved his son's life. He would have known that, in spite of all their arguments and the violence that Marik had been forced to show to his son by the horror, his father did truly love him more than anything else in the world apart from his brother. It might have given him more pause when he had used his Black mana to enter the centre of Usnaan alone, and it might have gifted him with a faint glimmer of hope that perhaps his father wasn't himself, that another force had taken over the king who did love him and did want him.

If Marik had been more diligent in ensuring that his sons were happy and knew how much they were loved, if he had looked past the constant arguments that had snapped his tether multiple times with his youngest son and made it up to him in the end, Caiellis might not have taken his own life, and he wouldn't be here in his father's arms with the man sobbing desperately and pleading with the unmoving boy to come back to life.

He felt like his entire body was being ripped inside out, that the true and raw and now broken emotion that he had been unable to show to his youngest son spilling out of him in a tide of wracking sobs that made him feel like he was dying, which he was.

He tried compressions again for a third time now, refusing to give up on any possibility of his son being alive in the slender and slight thing covered in crimson blood that was his body, and as Caiellis's chest moved underneath his hands, the man hating the fact that he could feel the brittle and young bones of his son almost bending under the pressure that he was putting on his broken heart in an attempt to get it restarted again, alternating between screaming like a mad man and howling in loss with whispering comfort and encouragement to his youngest son, he was reminded of earlier times.

He remembered how fragile Caiellis had been as an infant. Alexander had been large and robust, meaty and eager to meet the world outside of his mother's womb. Caiellis had been small and weak, premature but tenacious all the same, clinging to the slender thread of his life with all that he had as he had done all the way through that life which he had earned with tears and pain, that life which had been broken by the words and actions of his father, the man who was supposed to protect him from the danger of the world instead of thrust him into it, and brutally cut short because of the sadness that had consumed him that Marik would have done anything to take away from his young second son. He'd always been afraid to hold Caiellis, afraid of somehow hurting his baby boy.

To think, all these years later, he had been right about that.

With a wracking sob, Marik pulled his gauntlets that had been desperately trying to restart his son's heart and instil it with motion that would pump his blood around his body away, choosing instead to huddle the body of his son close once again like he had done when the boy was a young child. Caiellis had missed out on almost all of his father's love with him, and now he would never get the chance to truly see it, having taken his own life with the certainty that the king hated him and had never loved or wanted him.

"I'm so sorry … I'm so sorry … you didn't deserve … you shouldn't have been … I should have …" the babbling whimper of fractured pieces of pure emotion was sobbed out of Marik's heart as he held his son close like mere presence to his father would bring him back to life, rocking him gently like he was just asleep. And he could have been asleep if not for the bloody rent in his throat, the wounds and bruises and cuts and burns that scattered his son's body that Marik wished more than anything he could take onto himself a million times over if it would only bring his son back to life, if not for the fact that his chest wasn't moving in the steady rhythm of soft breaths that perpetuated his slumber when he wasn't in a nightmare, although this time it was Marik that was in the nightmare and it was one that he would never wake up from.

Caiellis was angelic looking when he slept, and it was no different now apart from the wounds that covered him and the fact that his skin was becoming colder and was already extremely pale, greying by the second. He was innocence and purity personified, rent asunder by the cruel world and his father's failure to do the one thing that was expected as him as a parent – make sure that his son knew he was loved. Everything else, no matter how horrible it was, could have been forgiven if he had just managed to do that, if he had just managed to show love to Caiellis when he was awake and able to receive it. But he had failed him even in that, and now his undeserving, innocent and too young had paid the price that should have been Marik's to suffer, as was a father's duty.

It was the greatest terror of any parent to outlive their children, and Marik was in the endless despair that was caused by that. It had only been less than a minute since he had began holding his son in his arms, two since he had woken up (and if he had done so earlier he could have saved Caiellis, just like if he had managed to do anythingelse, succeed in anything, change even one small thing, then his son could have lived), but Marik's mind had lost all sense of time as his heart and his psyche broke, smashed apart like the will of his youngest son to keep on living.

He shook his youngest son gently, rocking him back and forth and back and forth like Caiellis was a young child suffering from a nightmare or the pain of his premature birth once again, and although it had been Emili who had normally completed these motions for their fragile youngest son, Marik had of course partaken in it and done his best to comfort his son.

If only he had done more. Marik wished that he had done so much more for Caiellis, done so much more with Caiellis because he had missed out on so much of the boy's life and made no effort to get back into it once the war with his brother had ended. His son was so young and so fragile, and it hurt Marik more than anything else had ever done before to see him like this, with his lips cold and blue from the fact that he hadn't been breathing in minutes and his normally pale cheeks ghastly and grey where they weren't covered in splatters of stark crimson blood and the blotches of purple and black bruises desecrating the innocence of the boy.

"You can't go … not you … not you … you're … you're too young ..." Marik muttered the almost incoherent words without thinking at all, because if he had he knew that they were meaningless platitudes and that his youngest son wasn't going to come back because of them. This was all the king's fault, and it was brutally killing the last vestiges of personality and love that had remained after the death of Emili which he had been slowly bringing back together after the civil war, the father inside of him that had risen to the fore with all that the horror had forced him to see dying within him and taking everything with it.

He would give everything to talk to his son one last time again, to see his baby boy's smile directed at him and to be able to show Caiellis the love that he deserved, the love that he had earned, but the boy wasn't moving, he wasn't breathing, his strong and gentle heart wasn't beating and had been cracked in half by what Marik had done, and that was killing the man. He felt cold, colder than he had ever done before, like he was trapped within a frozen ocean of endless sadness and despair, drowning within the freezing waters and unable to break through the icy surface of solid misery and loss that would forever keep him within.

Come back to me, son … please … we can work everything out … I will do anything for you … I will show you all the love that I have for you … please, come back … for your brother and for everyone who loves you … for Emili, for your mother who brought you into this world and loved her perfect sons more than anything else … come back, for me. I need you to know that I love you so, so much, Caiellis …

Tears spilled onto the boy's cheeks after they had trickled off his father's, running down tracks in the youngster's gaunt cheeks drawn by the ones that had ran out of his own eyes in a flood of despair no child should have ever been subjected to. The blood flecked within the man's breath from his own internal bleeding that meant nothing to him now, as it was just as cold and detached as the rest of the world, dappled splotches of scarlet onto Caiellis as he held him closer than he had ever done after the civil war that had torn his life apart, and now that he had finally managed to rebuild it after countless, irredeemable, unforgivable mistakes with his youngest son, his life was being ripped to shreds again. And this time it would not repair itself.

But Marik, as he sobbed and cried like a young boy himself over the slender and small body of his innocent and cute youngest son suffused with the stillness of death, cared nothing about that. Caiellis's blood was on his hands, both literally and figuratively, and the king was consumed by the sadness of knowing that what he had done had killed his son who had his whole life ahead of him. Caiellis didn't deserve this. Such a kind, heroic, thoughtful, gentle, compassionate, strong-hearted, intelligent and understanding young boy did not deserve to die like this, had not deserved to go through so much pain and suffering in his short life, and Marik was all to blame as he cried pitifully as he held his youngest son, one of the two lights of his life and the one that had been the most fragile, the one that he had failed to protect.

The king couldn't hear anything over the sound of his mind screaming at him because of what had happened to his son, what Caiellis had done to himself because of his father's words and actions that he should have been able to prevent. Caiellis shouldn't have ever been in this war; he was only thirteen years old and had lived nine years of that life within conflict, the fact that he was a Lucerna prince – an exemplary Lucerna prince, a much better Lucerna than Marik could ever hope to be even at this tender age – be damned to the hell that the boy had sent Rakdos to, and not the hell of the abyss because the Archdemon was fully dead and never coming back.

Caiellis was a hero, but that didn't matter at all because he wasn't breathing and his heart wasn't beating no matter how many times Marik tried to rectify that, screaming until his own voice was bloody and hoarse and his voice box was shredded by the grief-stricken noise. Even then he didn't stop, howling his misery at the sky because of the death of his second son, the heart of his family and the youngest member of it that he should have protected.

He didn't want to have to live in a world without Caiellis, and even though he had endured the death of Emili that had shattered his heart apart, known the loss of family members keenly and become familiar with the death of those that he loved more than anything else in this cruel and bleak world, even though he had been filled with a father's fear at seeing his children in mortal danger, seen Alexander almost die in front of his eyes and seen Caiellis battling a desperate battle for his life against his possessed father and an Archdemon that he had only won with the same fire of grief and annihilation that had killed the murderers of Emili, he somehow hadn't truly considered the possibility of either of his infinitely precious sons, the last things that were left of Emili and brilliant people in their own right, dying in this battle.

He had known that they were in immense danger, but somehow his mind hadn't quite ever properly considered the possibility, not able to think that far about his children because of the fact that he loved them so much, and now he was paying the price for it. No, that wasn't right. Caiellis had paid a greater price for his father's mistakes than Marik ever had and ever would.

The king had never felt so powerless, so useless, so utterly pathetic – not even in the days after Emili had been coldly murdered when all of the planning had been done and all he could do was sit and stare at a wall, not even in the years that he had murdered all the traitors that he came across like it would do anything to bring his perfect wife back to him had he felt this impotent. His mana still bled into his son's cold body, and even though the light seeped into him and illuminated the young child in its golden and white glow Caiellis's skin did not seem to get any brighter and the coldness of death did not leave him.

"Caiellis..." he choked out, because there was nothing else he could say, no other words that his mouth would make, nothing that he could do to bring his dead son, his dead heart, back to life, and started sobbing and crying with the endless grief suffusing him once again, gasping and whimpering as he felt like he was retching up the entire contents of his sorrowful mind through the horrible sounds that didn't get anywhere near doing justice to the anguish that Marik felt flooding through him and tearing everything apart.

He should have spoken with his son so much more, and now there were thousands of things that Caiellis would never be able to talk about him with, so many things that the king did not know about his more reserved and less confident son. Caiellis's favourite colour, his favourite book, what he thought about different things, his favourite food, his favourite drink, his favourite place, what he liked to spend his time doing the most.

What he dreamed about, what he longed to do, his fears and concerns and worries, of which there would be many because of the fact he was a young teenager only just going through puberty (though, before it had been halted by Marik's carelessness and stupidity, it had been quite slow, his son's voice hadn't broken and his growth spurt hadn't begun, although he was still as painfully thin as a lot of teenagers and that coupled with the smallness of his body for his age made him look even younger).

And there were endless other things that Marik had been too foolish and presumptuous not to find out that did not require him talking to his son. Like how the best way to put him to bed after an exhausting day was, the best way to comfort him through pain or a nightmare, how Caiellis reacted to different things and the best way to cheer the boy up or make amends with him after an argument that had drained them both and made them both strongly dislike one another. All he had asked about was how good he was at combat, how well he was developing mentally and how adept he was at wielding magic, not caring about how his sons had developed as people until he started talking to them again after the weeks proceeding the civil war but before the fated Scholaria Magnus departure.

Marik had missed out on all of these things, too focussed on ensuring that Caiellis was a good little prince and followed all of his orders, was good at fighting in hand to hand combat and able to lead the army to victory, all things that were necessary at his station as a Lucerna but things that should have gone hand in hand with being a good father and communicating with his son as a person instead of a prince for once.

Instead of that, he had concentrated far too much on quelling Caiellis's defiance, wasting time and effort attempting to extinguish the obstinate fires at his heart without bothering to ask why Caiellis was showing him that sort of disrespect, why Caiellis was like that him with him and only him and excelled when out of the presence of his father.

And now there was no time left for that, his son was dead in his arms and all Marik could think of was how much he had failed as both a father and a king, how his little baby boy didn't deserve any of this pain and anguish and should have been cared for much better by his dad – as this all came down to him in the end.

He could try and blame the enemies, blame Johnias for forcing him to leave his sons and not see them for nine years, blame the corrupt Welkalites for abducting his children and attacking the innocent Lucaelian people, blame the Archdemon for singling out Caiellis and subjecting his son to all this torture, blame the horror of Aksua for forcing him to be violent towards his youngest boy, wrap his hands round his fragile throat and tell him that he wanted him to die, but these were all things that were caused by the evil of the world and they wouldn't have acted differently.

However, none of these things would have happened if he had paid more attention, if he had shown more love instead of displeasure and censure to the baby of his family, if he had made Caiellis safer and happier, and it was like a thousand million daggers ramming into him at once that reminded him of that fact.

He couldn't feel anything apart from the boy in his hands, the silence of a heart that should have been beating softly in repose and the stillness in the air where there should have been gentle puffs of breath wafting up to him, the motionlessness in his arms where Caiellis should have been gently squirming to unconsciously get more comfortable in his sleep, and the coldness and anguish and pain in his chest where there should have been happiness and love and joy knowing that his youngest son was safe in his arms.

Caiellis … Caiellis … Why Caiellis?

Then another sensation finally broke through to his despairing and tortured mind, a sensation that was very familiar to him and almost heralded a glimmer of hope to the distraught king that he grasped onto with all his might. He span for a second, turning his tear filled and blurring gaze upon the shining figure stood at his shoulder, though even her divine radiance was dimmed by the tragedy of the youngest prince's death. Akroma stared, almost blankly, back at the father who was living one of his worst nightmares (of which there were only three – and those three comprised of the three combinations of his sons dying) and gasping out broken words that wouldn't bring Caiellis back.

"Akroma … you can help … you can help him, can't you?!" Marik's voice rose to a howl of raw anguish as he stared up at the Angel of Wrath at his side, her exalted visage distorted by the stinging tears that refracted the light of her angelic being that did nothing to warm or reassure Marik. Knowing better than to answer the distressed king, the angel merely stared back and shook her head, a gentle motion that conveyed no emotion whatsoever and was imperceptible to the king who could not see through the tears streaming out of his eyes.

"Akroma?! AKROMA! HELP ME! HELP CAIELLIS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! WHY ARE YOU JUST STANDING THERE?! SAVE HIM! SAVE MY SON! BRING HIM BACK!" Marik screamed in a rage borne of his anger at the mistreatment to his infinitely and immeasurably precious and fragile youngest son and the utter impotence that he felt being able to do nothing to help him, nothing to atone for the mistakes that little Caiellis had wrongly paid for – and neither could his First Sisterhood angel, and deep down in spite of his howling at Akroma he knew it. Anything that would have saved his son's life should have been done in the past, and now it was too late.

"SAVE HIM! PLEASE! HE CAN'T DIE!" Marik cried, a desperate plea for aid from his angel who stared blankly and emotionlessly back. He was directing his fury at the seraph because his mind had sensed an outlet, a way to focus the blame on someone else as well because he was angry and scared and his son had died because of him, but no matter how much he might want to blame the angel it wouldn't change the cold truth. Caiellis was dead, and it was his fault.

He screamed at Akroma again, letting go of Caiellis with one hand and hurling a shard of jagged rock at the angel, accompanied by a howl of rage and anguish, turning back to his son as Akroma deflected the pitiful attack with her hand.

She knew that the king wasn't intending to hurt her, that he was distressed and anguished because of the loss of his youngest son, and she had seen the same from him when his wife had been slain by the demons who had infiltrated the Lucerna palace. Another spray of rocks thrown by the frantic and anguished king pattered off of her armour, though the austere angel did not react in any manner to what some would consider the highest heresy.

"HE CAN'T! … he can't..." the king's voice broke in a way that Akroma had only seen once before, his screams of desperation at him grasping with all of his might upon the brief hope the entrance of the Angel of Wrath, who had Summoned herself, had provided, if only for a very short moment, becoming sobs and anguished snivels as he hugged his son closer as if he was trying to give him all the attention and love that he had deserved but had been neglected by his father instead now that he was dead and gone.

"Please … Akroma … please … you can't just let him die … please … he's my son, Akroma … he doesn't deserve to die … he's so young … Akroma, please!" the king cried, his words broken sobs that carried all of his emotion within them that was quickly being drained out of him. In time that despair, that sadness, would fade to nothingness, a cold emptiness that he had felt keenly after Emili's death and would consume him with Caiellis's. But the angel's face didn't change, and she didn't make any move towards her Summoner nor his son.

She turned away, neither quickly nor slowly, and began to patrol the area to ensure that the king, her Summoner, could grieve without interruptions. The First Sisterhood angel was sharply aware that nothing she could say would help or comfort him and that there was nothing she could do for the dead, do nothing for Caiellis, her Summoner's son and her sister's host, other than hope that he reached salvation in the form of the heaven that he deserved.

Marik started crying again, wallowing within his grief and despair that was worse than he had ever felt before, because he had failed the kingdom in allowing one of its prized Lucerna princes to die, he had failed his beautiful wife who would be disappointed in him from paradise, he had failed Alexander who loved his little brother more than anyone else, and most of all he had failed his youngest son in letting him get this emotionally distraught and hurt that he would prefer death to a life within the misery and pain of his father's hatred.

Marik couldn't live with the pain of another one of his beloved family dying. He wouldn't be able to, even though he had to for the kingdom that he ruled, and tenderly brushed Caiellis's brown hair that was matted with blood from his eyes when the fringe obscured them, his youngest son so much like his mother and yet so different, a unique and fantastic person who had been hurt and killed because of the failure that dared to call himself his father.

Caiellis … no … Caiellis … Caiellis! NO! Don't die … you can't die … I have so much time to spend with you … you have so much to live for … you can't die … you're my baby … you can't … I need you in my life …

It took me so long to see that, but I need you in my life … Caiellis … baby boy … I can't go on without you … I should have been there for you … I should have protected you … I should have loved you, cherished you for the brilliant son that you are … I'm sorry … I'm sorry … I'M SORRY! COME BACK!

NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NONONONONO! THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING! YOU CAN'T DIE! YOU ARE ONLY JUST THIRTEEN YEARS OLD! IT'S TOO YOUNG … IT'S TOO YOUNG TO DIE! I LOVE YOU! I'M SO SORRY!

It took a Marik to realise that he was screaming the words at the cloudy sky that was breaking up with beams of natural sunlight, shining down on the scarred and savaged city with a warmth that the king didn't feel, a warmth that he would never feel again, but that didn't make him stop. He deserved so much more torment than the pain of his sobbed words through his shredded and raw vocal cords for what he had failed to do for his youngest son, and kept on rocking the body of the small boy that was near weightless in his arms, wishing that the son he was cradling was still alive to be comforted by it.

However, whilst Marik may have been a father that dragged his young sons into brutal wars that were far too dangerous for them, he may have been the father that cared more about how well his children could lead an army or execute a combat move instead of how they were developing as people and what they were achieving in school, he may have been the father that punished his children – well, his youngest – by not letting them read books and he may have been a father that had expected them to lead armies of soldiers twice their age to victory.

But he was not the kind of father that admitted defeat, not when his youngest son was on the line, not when he was certain there was some way that he could bring the still boy back to life and make sure that he knew he was loved, loved more than anything else in the world by his father who had hurt him and hadn't been able to stop his possessed body damaging the boy beyond repair.

He had lost once.

He wouldn't lose this.

He couldn't.

He had lost Emili, he had lost happiness and normal and safety and joy and love that his dying heart still ached for all these years, but even worse than that was the all-consuming anguish that he felt from looking down at his son and knowing that he was hurt worse than he had ever been before. He wouldn't lose Caiellis.

The king easily manoeuvred the boy round to his front again from where his small body had been nestled against his father, trying not to think about how Caiellis was too thin, too small for this type of warfare – or any type of warfare – too young to die because of his idiotic and selfish father's mistakes. He tried to ignore the feeling of the blood of his son leaking into his gauntleted hands from gaps in the metal after all the abuse it had sustained today, knowing that it was all his fault that Caiellis had chosen to take his own life, knowing that his son had been unbreathing and his heart hadn't been beating for at least a minute, though all time had lost all meaning just like everything else in the world apart from the dead body of his son.

NO! He can't be dead … he has to be still alive … I can't live without him … he can't die … he's only thirteen … have to … have to save him … have to … have to be a good father … for once in his life.

The anguished storm of grief in his mind kept repeating the words over and over again, refusing to acknowledge the cold hard truth of the world and give up on his youngest son, the boy who had fought so hard and had defeated the greatest foe he had ever faced before, one of the most powerful things Marik had ever seen that had been threatening the army and had been destroyed by his hero of a youngest son.

Have to help Caiellis … he wouldn't give up on me … Marik knew the truth of the thoughts. Even though he had done horrible, horrible things to his second son that he would never forgive himself for, the compassionate, gentle and kind boy hadn't hurt Marik in any way, even when fighting for his life against the man who had choked him to an inch of being unconscious and sliced into him with his ancient sword, the wound on his stomach one of many other bloody rents and gashes in the youngster's pale, small and too-thin form, and the hand- and finger-shaped bruises on his throat were purple and black contusions joining many others that made Marik baulk at the pain inflicted onto his precious and fragile but internally strong baby boy.

But none were as bad as the cut on his carotid artery that had been inflicted by the boy's own hand, the self-defence knife that had incised the deliberate and self-inflicted life taking injury laying discarded on the ground next to Marik, covered with the blood of his youngest son that was still leaking and dripping out of the wound on his throat, the wound that had killed him and freed him from the pain of his young life. It was pain that he should have been kept away from, torment that should have been taken by his father who should have protected the youngest member of his family, and anguish that he should have never had to feel, and even though Marik would wallow within regret and grief because of what he had failed to do for an eternity, the tears of broken emotions still coursing out of his eyes that beheld the broken body of his youngest son, he couldn't do anything to change time now, as much as he wanted to.

Caiellis had been so brave, and so kind to want to take the pain away from others by putting it on himself, and even though it spoke volumes of how badly Marik was treating his son that the thirteen year old felt he needed to act like that the king couldn't help but be immensely proud of his heroic little youngster, even though none of Caiellis's positive points had ever come from his father. And even through all that Marik had done to him, his son had never given up on him, hadn't hurt him in any way because he was so kind and thoughtful.

Marik was not going to give up on his son, and he couldn't even if he had wanted to.

He pressed his lips to Caiellis's again, ignoring the blood in it and trying to breath for his son, and even though he breathed into the slack mouth the boy's lungs weren't taking the breath and making it their own, only moving because of the air occasionally going through them and the desperate chest compressions that the king began once again, tears blurring his vision of everything else apart from his son as he felt the boy's thin bones almost bending beneath the pressure that he was putting on his unbroken ribs.

But broken ribs would be preferable to Caiellis being dead and no longer having a chance to do all the things that he deserved to, all the things that should have been given freely to him instead of having to fight for them like the youngest Lucerna had.

"Come on … come on, son … come back to us … come back to the world … I'm sorry … I'm so so sorry … I need you in my life, Caiellis … I love you ..." Marik gasped and choked out in between panting breaths of coming up for more air that he could try and put inside of his son, though his hands did not cease their rhythm of compressions, blinding light still surrounding the parent and his youngest child as he tried harder than he had tried anything before to bring Caiellis back to life so that he could have the love he deserved.

"Come on! COME BACK! PLEASE!" the king howled, breaking off the connection and gasping at the air that flooded into his lungs, his son's blood spilling down his face and on his hands as he screamed in incoherent rage and anguish at the fate of his baby boy. Tears spilled in an even greater intensity than before out of his eyes, which, if Marik had been thinking properly, would previously have seemed like the maximum amount that could be shed, to the point where it felt like his eyes were going to be wrenched out of his sockets because of the flow of sadness, and he hitched in breaths filled with broken and raw sadness worse than he had experienced even at the time of Emili's death.

This can't be happening … Caiellis can't be dying … he is too young … he isn't supposed to die … he is supposed to outlive me … he is my son … and I've killed him … I'm so sorry … please, forgive me … no, don't forgive me … I don't deserve your forgiveness … just come back … JUST COME BACK! I can't live without you … you and your older brother are everything to me … please, son … I will gladly die for you …

Marik was filled with more wracking sobs that shuddered through his large form that held his son who seemed so small and fragile in his father's grip, so delicate and easily damaged by one as strong as he, and it hurt Marik more than anything else to know that his youngest son could face down the foulest of demons with only the weakest and smallest flinches, that he could fight against traitors who had murdered thousands and battle valiantly in the face of some of the darkest and most vile evil this world had ever seen given form in a manifest avatar of debauchery and carnal carnage, but it was his father's words and actions that had broken him, the sight of those that he loved in danger coupled with the accusations and attempts to kill him from a man who was supposed to love him unconditionally that had destroyed his will to live, to fight against the evil of the world, his will to keep on defying the pain that perpetuated his life in the hope that he would finally have peace and happiness.

Eventually, his hands stopped pressing down on the youngster's small chest, the fabric that was frayed and shredded there by numerous assaults on the fragile child utterly destroyed by his compressions that had left many dark bruises to join countless others heaped onto the youngest Lucerna, desecrating the innocent purity of his form that should have been kept away from the pain instead of forcefully shoved into it. The king's fingers were shaking and trembling too much to do it, and his whole body was shuddering with the emotional torment wracking it, his son vibrating in the shakes of his distraught father who was forced to stop trying to bring the boy back from the horrible and unjust death that had claimed him, taken him away from his family and those that loved him.

"I'm so sorry ..." the king blubbered the words like he was a young child trying to stop his father from beating him again and apologising too late for his natural disobedience, but, like then, the apologies wouldn't change anything, they wouldn't instil life into Caiellis's cold body and they wouldn't offer Marik forgiveness for what he had done to his youngest boy, what he had allowed to happen to the person that he was supposed to protect above all else, the innocent baby of his family who had fought for the perfect life that had been ripped away from him harder than anybody else and been given scorn and displeasure, censure and anger, hatred and pain because of it.

He wrapped his shaking arms around the youthful teenager who had been placed on the floor so that he could perform the desperate chest compressions, the strength that was within the limbs useless in the task of helping his youngest son, instead hurting the boy as opposed to protecting and guarding him from the horrors within this cruel world.

One large hand went around the back of the boy's head and neck, whilst the other arm was pulled around his chest and lower body so that he could be pulled into a cradling position once again, held close against his father as the man choked on his sobs and pulled his son into his arms, gently stroking the back of his blood-matted hair that was so much like Emili's but with some of his father's slickness and straightness within it, not as curly as the queen's had been but more wavy and just as lovable if only Marik had realised that before being trapped within his mind, realised that he had two brilliant sons instead of just one and another that wasn't worth his time.

"I'm sorry ..." he whimpered and sobbed again, driven to a deep sadness that was further within anguish than he had ever been before, because he had lost two members of his perfect family now due to his horrible failure to protect them, and this one had died thinking that his father hated him and blamed him for Alexander's pain, for his mother's death. He pressed his head against Caiellis's soft fringe that was slick with his own blood and the rain of viscera from the sky that Marik couldn't tell and didn't care if it had stopped or not, though the fact that his healing hadn't hurt him would have informed him that it was no longer affecting the city if he had been able to think through the grief.

"Caiellis … I love you ..." he held his son close, trying to imagine what his breathing would be like, what mumbling would slip out of his son's quiet mouth, before the images were tainted by the fact that he didn't know well enough, he hadn't held his son enough to know, and the truth that Caiellis was dead, his lips grey where they weren't covered in crimson vitae and his throat slit by his own blade so that he would not have to endure any more hatred and pain that he should never have been exposed to in the first place.

Marik's vision was blurring because of the fact that he couldn't breathe and was hyperventilating, but the injuries on his son and the broken body of the boy that did nothing to dispel his youthful innocence was still as clear as anything had ever been to him. He stroked his son's hair gently, feeling a large bruise on the back of his son's head that was covered in blood from where it had been split open when his father had thrown him against the wall that had almost been the site of his death whilst he had still been in the grip of the horror that he had never managed to purge out of his mind until it chose to leave once the damage had been done.

"Come back … come back, son … you are so welcome here ..." Marik whispered, like Caiellis was asleep and he didn't want to wake the boy up, like the thirteen year old was a very young baby once again and for once Marik was speaking to him, rocking him gently in the grip of one of his painful nightmares and the agony that his young body had been in. But that had been preferable to this stillness, the only thing moving Caiellis the motion of his utter failure of a father, the utter immobility of the boy as his arms flopped listlessly at his sides until the king grabbed hold of both painfully thin wrists in one large hand and gently laid them still on his stomach.

The pain within the sobs still wracking the man didn't diminish, but their volume had done as he spoke softly to his son, his words coming out in between cries of utter misery as a parent's worst nightmare unfolded in front of his eyes and he could do nothing to stop it. Being the king of one of the most powerful civilisations on the planet, having an army that numbered in the millions and comprised of heavily trained and elite individuals at his beck and call, being blessed by a First Sisterhood angel from the highest order of the divine heavens above, having the ability to command magic that could destroy whole cities and turn entire hordes of corrupt enemies into dust.

All of it meant nothing because none of it could help his youngest son, none of it could bring him back into this world of life that he belonged within, a world that would be barren and cold without his presence within it. The king couldn't take this, he couldn't take another one of his family dying, and part of him wanted to flee, run as far as he could from everything that he had ever known in the hope that it would free him from this anguish, but that was a cowardly thought and he needed to be here to take all of the punishment that he deserved because of what he had allowed to happen to his precious youngest.

He couldn't run from this no more than he could bring his son back to life, and those disgraceful notions were soon drowned underneath a tide of grief and sorrow that poured in physical form out of the king's blue eyes that were full of emotion in a way that they hadn't been since the beginning of the civil war, even at the time when Alexander had almost died. No, that was not true, his eyes had been suffused and filled to the brim with feeling, but instead of despondency and despair that would remain with him through the life that he no longer wanted to live back then his cold blue orbs had been consumed by anger directed at his youngest son.

He had known that Alexander would pull through, known at the back of his mind because of a father's belief in his son, and he had seen his eldest son fighting against his fate with all that he had so that he could still be there to protect other people. But now … Caiellis had willingly given into this fate, not that Marik could ever blame him because the words that he had been forced to say to his son had hurt him more than words had ever done before, and he had not even been the recipient of them so had not been harmed by them nearly as much as the already vulnerable and exhausted and terrified thirteen year old, and he was in an even worse state than his more resilient big brother had ever been in.

His forehead was pressed to Caiellis's in a way that he had only done before the civil war, before Emili had been ripped away from him, before the blindness and the insatiable desire for vengeance had claimed him and prevented him seeing what was right in front of his eyes – that his wife was still alive, living within her living and breathing sons, their living and breathing sons that Marik had neglected and ignored as much as possible when the war had finished.

He wanted to scrunch his eyes shut and imagine a time where they could all be happy, where he had made good relationships with both his eldest son and his youngest boy, where Caiellis would willingly share anything with his father and confide his worries within him, but that would be selfish to his youngest son who was cold and all alone here. That would be abandoning the boy just as much as running away was, and Marik had done that too much in his life already, left Caiellis alone to face the darkness too often.

Instead he kept them open, pulling his head away from his still son so that he could look at his face again, gently brushing his fringe from where it obscured closed eyes, eyes that had been screwed up back when his son was still alive but were now slack and shut only because there was nothing within the boy to open them again. Caiellis was utter innocence, perfection like Emili had been, like Alexander was, and it hurt Marik so much to see him like this, hurt him more to know that it was him that had done this to his amazing son.

He wasn't going to leave his son here. He would stay here forever, cradling the boy in his large arms and Caiellis remained still within them like he was just asleep and would crack open those expressive and crystalline green eyes again and favour his father with a soulful puppy dog look. He couldn't leave his son, the youngest member of his family that had already lost one member, and he knew that Alexander would understand. He tried to relax his breathing, managing only to stop his frantic hyperventilation and reduce it to something slower but no less anguished as he couldn't stop himself from failing to stifle horrible sobs that had nothing on the sadness his son had been forced to endure over the course of his life.

He would never leave Caiellis again, even though it was too late now, too late to start acting like the father that his son had always deserved and wanted after the death of his mother, the father that had been ripped away from him at the incredibly tender and too young age of four years old and never given back to him, though what made it worse was that the dad he needed was there, just too stupid, selfish and angry to pull himself out of the shell he had created for himself that was supposed to stop the shattered pieces of his heart from feeling any more emotional pain or being pulled apart even more but had instead stopped him from repairing it and had endangered his sons.

Caiellis had deserved so much more, and because of his father he had never got it, but Marik could at least do one thing right and never leave his infinitely precious youngest son, not now or ever.

The thought of mindlessly fleeing from all of this pain, or adversely trying to pull the fractured heart within his chest that had been destroyed far beyond repair now when it had been so close to being pulled back together again back into its cage of duty and vengeance, was swamped under tidal waves of sorrow and a father's anguish seeing his son dead and knowing it was his fault.

It was slowly replaced by a new idea, one that burned within Marik's breast alongside the sadness once again, the twin forces of despair and hatred springing to life once again within the king as he gently rocked his youngest son in his arms, unable to let go of him or ever be able to move past him like he had been almost been able to move on from Emili – not that he would ever forget her, but he would have continued on with life like his wife would have wanted to and been as close to the perfect father to his children that they deserved as possible.

He wouldn't ever leave his son, but that did not mean that he could not extract divine vengeance for what had happened to the boy. He would make sure that the Welkalites would pay for the part that they had to pay in the death of Caiellis, the innocent and pure prince who should never have died within this accursed city. Marik could never make reparations for what he had done to the youngest Lucerna, he could never earn forgiveness for what he had allowed to happen to the precious thirteen year old, but that did not mean that he could not make the Welkalites understand what they had done.

This city would be Caiellis's tomb, until his body was interred within the vaults like the other heroes of the past, like he deserved. Marik would make the darkness of the world pay, and he would die here with his son, his light, his heart, but right now he didn't want to think of that, couldn't think about the burning yet cold vengeance growing within him past the sheer anguish and emotional pain flooding through everything within him as he held the unmoving and heavily wounded body of his youngest son close to his chest, his heart pounding within his head and his wracking sobs the only thing that he could hear as he gave one final how of absolute pain at the sky, streaks of sunlight breaking through the dark clouds which had once constituted the Tempest of Craving and shining down upon him and the city that would be the last place that Caiellis was alive within.

Marik was dead, as dead as his son, only his body hadn't yet realised it. But his mind knew, it knew that he could not take another one of his family members dying.

He had always known that, after the loss of Emili, that he wouldn't survive one of his sons dying, but never even in his wildest and saddest imaginations could he have ever predicted how soul-crushingly painful it would be.

Caiellis … I'm so, so sorry … you deserve so much better, my baby … my youngest son … I'm so sorry …

.*.*.*.

Coldness.

That is the first thing that I feel, a sense of coldness that permeates through my bones, suffusing my entire being and becoming everything that I am.

The second thing that comes to me is the confusion, the murk within my head. I don't know where I am. I don't know what is happening. I can't remember what has happened, and if I try to all I see is a mist of grey covering everything but the core memories of my being.

But even then, only scattered flecks of light manage to get through the fog in my head, fragmented images of memory that are blurred by the endless shades of colourlessness, distorted and becoming more akin to ideas and notions rather than actual recollections.

A mother's touch, a brother's love, friendship and happiness, things like that. They are facets of existence that I know that I have been able to experience before but can't recall specific examples of, like I was simply an observer of these things through a mist of greyness.

I open my eyes. Then I realise that my eyes were never closed, I was merely not looking through them, a disconcerting sensation that somehow doesn't make me feel anything as I look at this strange yet familiar world around me. It is a vast expanse of water, transparent water the non-colour of silver and emotionless grey that stretches out as far as they eye can see and far beyond that.

Where am I? What is this place? What is happening to me?

Who is me? That question stings the most, because I feel like I should know who I am, but at the same time the realisation of that is muffled beneath the blanket clouding and smothering all sensation within me. I think about it for a moment, yet only half formed letters manage to come out of the blankness in my head, ideas and perceptions of things bereft of relation to the things in question, form without dimension and words without definition, incomplete things that mean nothing to me.

I soon realise that I don't care. The lack of identity, at once concerning and frightening yet strangely unburdening and weirdly pleasant, soon becomes covered with the grey and nondescript clouds of nothingness in my mind, and I feel a tide pulling at my legs, urging me forwards and giving me direction within this endless ocean of greyness and strangeness. I don't know where it will lead me, and I don't know how there can be any form of destination within this formless sea, or lake, but I only know that it is the right way to go.

I step forwards, my eyes scanning the endless distance. All of it looks the same. A grey blanket of water the same colour as the silver sky that is only separated by a thin line of light, which lets me distinguish between it. I look down, past my slender legs, and onto the water on which I walk. It flows around and through my feet, the tides gently yet firmly encouraging me onwards, and I'm not sure if I would be able to resist if I even wanted to.

What is more strange is the fact that I have no reflection within the still yet moving water, and as I stare into the strange blankness where my face that I can't imagine should be, I notice that instead of being fully submerged within the infinitely deep water only my feet are beneath the grey sea, like there is an invisible barrier only a few inches underneath the surface. Although this barrier feels no different to the water.

The water reaches my ankles, and though I am not sure what size I am because everything is bigger than me here and there is no one else to compare myself to I know that the water would reach my ankles no matter what height I was.

I take another step, still looking down to see what will happen as my foot rises through the water that does not leave the lake like my foot does, not obeying what I think are the laws of water at all, and there is no resistance as my bare toes meet the glistening yet muted surface once again. There are no ripples, strangely, which, coupled with the fact I have no reflection, is very strange and almost concerning.

Only almost because I can't think properly through the barriers of mist and endless fog in my head that I might have been worried about, but I can't find or create the emotion to be bothered by it. Instead, a kind of curiosity that I can simultaneously remember yet is unknown to me and something which I cannot recall no matter how hard I try overcomes me, and I kneel down within the water.

Then it hits me that the coldness I feel isn't because of the water, because the temperature of my knees and lower legs doesn't change despite being submerged. The water doesn't feel like anything that I have ever touched before, like the impression of sensation without the sensation itself stimulating nervous response, and as I extend my pale hand in front of my face, the fingers looking bony and thin, long in comparison to the smallness of the palm and the rest of me, I realise that the coldness is within me.

However, for all I know my hand could be far bigger than those possessed by other people, because I can't liken it to anything. I only have the strange, half formed sense that I am a thin person, that this hand is small, and though it does not matter to me that is all I have to go by.

I skim my fingers along the surface of this grey liquid that behaves like water unless I do anything to try and change it, no ripples forming up from the movement of my hand within it, and then plunge my hand in. It feels like nothing, no different to if I was holding my hands above it, no change in temperature or density, and as I try to pull my hand up, placing my other one in the grey ocean and cupping them together to try and take out some more, the moment my hands reach the surface the water simply parts for them like they had no effect on it at all, and none leaves the sea.

It is like I am not here at all, like this world and this strange environment is not affected at all by my presence. It is endless, eternal, and I am merely just another traveller following the tides of forever. Or, at least, that is the impression I get. Though I have always been one for the metaphorical. I think. I don't know.

Puzzled, I stare at the water for a few moments longer, before I feel the tide increasing it intensity, pushing me forwards – wherever forwards is, as this direction could easily be backwards or left or upwards for all that I know, though something at the back of my mind tells my that the direction the water is unmoving in is forwards. It is becoming impatient with my delaying, urging me onwards, the spaces of greyness blocking me out from my mind whispering strange sounds that have never been spoken by human tongue that I shouldn't be able to understand.

But I can. I know that they are telling me to follow the tide, just as the motion of the water itself is more forcefully pushing me with it. I have no doubt that if I remain here longer the tide will sweep me along with it, so I quickly return to my feet and begin to walk in the direction of the waves, the only movement the massive body of water that stretches out past the horizon miles away has made so far, though I get the distinct feeling that the ocean is not moving at all.

Instead of stumbling in the waves and losing my footing, the motion of the water complements my movements, urging me along again, and once more I get a strange impression that it is encouraging me, that it wants me to come with it and is excited for me. That last bit is strange, though I cannot think about it.

I walk, not wanting to run, knowing that to outpace the tide would be wrong, but equally as wrong would be to fall behind the movement of the silver and infinite waters so my pace is still reasonably fast to keep up with it as it gets more excited and animated.

The world is endless and infinite, and I have no idea if I have covered any distance at all within it, but I cannot look back to see even if I had wanted to. Besides, the ocean of grey behind me is the same as the ocean of grey in front of me, so there is nothing there that is important to me.

Seconds blend into minutes into hours into days as I walk, the tide seemingly happy with my progress and not increasing in speed to force the body I have designated as small into a jog. Time loses all meaning here, and I could have easily been walking for less than a second, or adversely been part of a journey which is lasting longer than a thousand years. The dimensions of this place are infinite and eternal, and as I look up into the sky I can see the same waters that are beneath me forming the air above me.

Within the water and the sky I can see dream-like images of light scrawled onto the world, single droplets of purest illuminescence dancing to an unknowable rhythm in time and yet impossible out of synch with the waves below and above me. They draw sublime and incomprehensible things to me that I cannot focus on, my gaze endlessly drawn back to the invisible path ahead as the unknowable light sings to me at the edges of my vision.

I cannot see any of this world, in fact. It is sight without sight that allows me to perceive it, sound without sound that I can hear, and even though the thought that I am imagining this place crosses my mind I know instantly that it is not true.

I cannot see nor hear it, but I can feel it, feel that I have made progress.

The tide feels it too, lapping at my legs like the tongue of an exhilarated puppy happy to see its owner, though that analogy is flawed as the waves are more like my master than I am their owner. It normally would have made me feel happy, or content, or give rise to a surge of satisfaction within me at having made progress, but I still feel nothing. Nothing expect the eternal need to keep moving that comes from the core of my being, nothing expect the nothingness itself within me.

This place is at once ephemeral and everlasting, a new place created just for me and a location that has felt the touch of innumerable others, unseen figures wandering this expanse like I am and joining me within my walk. Even with that, I still feel that I am alone, alone within this boundless world of colourless grey, and the singing of the light falls on my deaf ears as I keep walking. The sempiternal tides urge me ever onwards, and even though I feel like I could have been walking for months I never question it again, I know that to follow it is the right thing to do.

The grey in my head stops me wondering who I am, what I have done, who knows me, where I come from, and for that I am grateful. Such things would only slow me down, make me hesitate instead of keep walking, and although it feels like I have been on this sojourn through the silver ocean forever I do not tire.

I am not tired, but nor am I exited by the prospect of what, if anything, I will face. Perhaps this in itself is my fate, to be forever walking onwards, to be forever tempted by something at the corner of my vision. Such a thing doesn't bother me, which is something I would have found strange had I not got used to the feeling of eternal apathy suffusing me like the mist within my head that stops me from thinking.

Part of me almost wants to stop, to stop and consider the world around me, but as if in response to the sudden rebellious thoughts the tide picks up its pace again, the animated motion of the waves half pushing me forwards and forcing me to increase the speed of what are distinctly skinning limbs the more I occasionally get a glimpse of them at the bottom of my vision. I almost stumble and fall with this sudden increase in speed, but the waves do not slow down and I know that if I fall then I will be either swept along or be left behind.

Neither thought appeals to me, whatever me is, even with the lack of anything resembling emotion that I feel, and through something that I cannot describe I know that I want to never be left behind the waves that guide me and that I cannot be mindlessly pulled along by them because I, for a reason I cannot quantify, want to have some semblance of independence.

Then I see it, and the strangeness of the sudden change in the landscape makes me stop. The tides stop as well, pooling around me and ready to urge me onwards once I start moving again but giving me this brief respite that I neither need nor want. But I cannot move through the spontaneous push of confusion, and my eyes that I do not know the colour or the size of narrow so that I can focus on this thing in the distance.

It is a figure, like me, though I have a suspicion that they are taller than I am, something I should not have been able to pick out at this distance – but then, distance means as little as time in this place, and I do now know how far they are away. Or if I even want to walk to them. They may not know who I am, they might be scared of me should I approach. As I pull myself back to my feet, though I do not remember falling to my knees, the tide gently urges me onwards, like a parent giving encouragement to their child, something that I somehow know has been lacking in my life.

My life. I know nothing of what that is, or what that means, whether it is something that is important and to be preserved at all costs or something to be discarded and regained in cycles of existence through endless time. I do not know if my life has just begun, or if it has lasted for an eternity. I do not know if my life is only this journey through the colourless seas tenderly goading me towards the figure stark against the limitless background, or if there was or is more to it than this, but that is something I can think of another time.

Right now, I know that the tide wants me to keep going, that this is what it wanted to lead me to, and that it will force me given time of I take too long. Moonlight dances atop the upturned world, and the conversation of two timeless beings writes itself out on the walls of the boundless and unconfined world to the side of me in whirls of lyrical and enigmatic melodies that sing for me to carry on. I know that I must continue, and there is little point in staying here. What's more, I can feel that I am nearing my destination, that I am closing in on the point that the tides of silver wanted to lead me to.

I start walking again, the grey waters brushing against my slender calves as if in praise of my confidence as it pushes me forwards, towards the figure in the distance who turns towards me as if able to hear me even though I am certain that I am not making any sound.

As I get closer, I am able to pick out features, distinct things about this person, this woman stood in front of me that send shudders of actual emotion up and down my spine, feeling that manages to break through the mist of grey within my mind that rushes out within my head as I walk faster towards the figure that is getting closer at a faster rate than I am walking towards her. It is a burst of euphoria and happiness that overwhelms everything else, though the nothingness is still within me and ready to return at any time, clouding the joy and following its path throughout me.

She is of a reasonable height, wearing an amethyst dress that fits her slender form perfectly as she makes no moves towards me. She is pale, like me but not as much as myself, and has curly brown hair that half-masks one of her eyes. The eyes themselves were emerald green orbs full of intelligence and the expression of her emotions, the emotion filling them at the current moment predominantly confusion as I run towards her now. She is the only colour in this vast realm of nondescript grey, but it is colour that could satisfy and fill the entire world with life.

"Caiellis?" she asks, with concern, her lyrical and soft voice soothing the worry I hadn't felt flowing through me. So that is what I am called. Caiellis. The word seems familiar. I suppose that is because it is my name. But it is not as familiar as I think a name should be. Though that does not matter now.

She is here, exactly as I remember her, exactly the same as the moments before she was ripped away from me all those years ago. Memories, almost fully formed but still slightly distorted and broken, come flooding back to me, and I smile for the first time in what feels like an eternity as her eyes meet mine as I stop in front of her.

This is what the tide wanted to show me! My mum! My brilliant mother who I have missed ever since she was taken away from me, though I cannot remember or think of what took her away from my life, or the exact circumstances in which it happened. All I can think of, however, is kindness, and love, and knowing that I was protected by this woman, and that is all that I need to be happy as I stop a couple of metres or so away from her, the tide parting around me and stopping once again.

"Mum?" I reply, my voice shaking and breaking with the emotion flooding through it as I feel warm tears welling up within my eyes, my eyes that are very similar to my mother's, a sensation that I am unfamiliar and yet intimate with and one that is not entirely unwelcome as they begin to stream down my cheeks, though these are not tears of sadness. My voice is weak, like a young boy's, and I suppose that Caiellis was a young boy, that Caiellis is a young boy because I am Caiellis.

"What are you doing here, Caiellis?" she asks, her graceful and comforting voice that has helped me through nights of pain that I can barely remember because I was so young tinted with heavy amounts of concern for me that show in her bright green eyes as I look up into them. They are welling with tears themselves, tears that are already spilling down my face, as she looks me up and down.

I do not know how to answer the question. I do not know what I am doing here, but I really hope that it is to meet my mum again after years that I cannot count – no! Nine years. It has been nine years since I have seen here, nine long years of pain and wishing that she was here. I cannot remember what happened to her, or what happened to me so that I could come to see her, because those parts of my mind are the ones most deeply concealed by the fog that shrouds Caiellis's life, my life, but I don't care because she is here. Mum is here!

Instead, with tears blurring my vision of everything but her, I reply with my thoughts, the only thing that I can think of, the single word that means more than anything to me in this colourless path and evokes emotions far more powerful than the few letters that makes it, "Mum?"

"You shouldn't be here," she responds, stepping towards me again. She shoots a quick glance backwards as she does so, though I do not see what she is looking at. However, she cannot conceal the fear in her forest green eyes, fear not for herself but me, her son, stood in front of me, fear that I can't see the source of. It makes me hesitate, though I repress the urge to step backwards. That would be increasing the distance between me and my mum, something that I am not willing to do, and I cannot step back now.

My legs simply refuse to make the motion, but I trust my mum more than I trust myself so I stay where I am.

She turns back to me, the same fear in her eyes that is overwhelming the brief happiness at seeing me again, and I can tell that she is pushing back the joy at seeing me that I am filled with, pushing back her want to grab hold of me and hold me tighter than ever before and pushing back her desire to want to talk to me.

"I don't understand," I tell her, suddenly annoyed at the blubbering quality to my voice that sounds too young, the fact that it is shaking with joy mixed in with confusion at her actions. It is truthful, because I don't know what is going on, and I don't know why she is so concerned to see me here, the fog is blocking all of that out, but to be honest I don't care. All I need to know is that she is here, my mother who I haven't seen since I was very young, and that this truth fills me with elation that can't be pushed back down by her worry.

She smiles at me, a smile of genuine happiness that extends to her, but that doesn't stop it from being a grim smile, a gesture of concern for her son that is far more predominant in her emerald green orbs. I look up at her, waiting for her response, instinctively waiting for guidance because I know that everything she says is right, everything that she does is for my safety because she loves me. I love her as well, an undying love that a young son feels for his mother, not having had the time to be tainted by arguments or anger at one another.

"You don't have to understand, Caiellis. I don't want you to understand," she says, and my I blink in bemusement, some of the tears sticking to my eyelashes and glistening in my vision as I stare up at her. I know that she is saying these things for my benefit, but I don't like not understanding, I don't like not knowing why she is scared.

I shake my head, because I don't know what else to do but look up at my mother as tears pour out of my eyes, tears that I would have violently brushed away had this been any other situation than a reunion with the woman who gave birth to me. She smiles sadly back again, and takes a step forward. A slender palm reaches out, joined by another at the other side of it, and two soft digits gently thumb away the tears of happiness and confusion that are running down my cheeks. I slightly lean into my mother's touch, having not felt it for so long, and shut my eyes, wanting to stay here forever. I feel so safe, so protected, more than I have ever done in years.

"You are still so young," her voice makes me open my eyes, still wet with tears that I push back, and look up at her again. She hasn't let go of me yet, her palms still cupping my cheeks like I am a baby boy once again, and I can smell the distinct scent of lavender that I always associated with her from the perfume that was her favourite, a sweet aroma that never failed to make me feel safer. I still don't understand, but I have already told her that and repeating it to her won't achieve anything.

"So, so young," she repeats, her voice coloured with deep sadness as she gently brushes hair out of my eyes, and I smile up at her, the strange way that she was acting only doing little to dispel my utter happiness at seeing mum again. Unwilling to break off the contact when it seems like she might pull away, I reach up, my thin fingers wrapping round her wrists, barely managing to fit all the way around them and only doing so because she is quite a thin woman, and she can't help but smile back at me. I know that it is needy, but I don't care because I haven't seen her in so long. I want to hug her like I used to back when she was around, but I sense that she still wants to speak to me, that she wants to look me in the eyes as she talks to me.

"Mum..." I try, though the word comes out too weak and tremulous, the high pitched voice that belongs to me filled with a sadness that I don't feel, but a sadness associated with loss and nights of crying into another's side, though the identity of the person I can't quite recall even though I know they were and are very important to me. I take a deep, shuddering breath, letting go of her hands as she moves one of them to the shoulder beneath, giving it a reassuring squeeze that I knew at once was both automatic and intended.

Being a mother was as natural to this woman as breathing, and I admire her for it. She is a person that I would be happy sharing anything with, a person that I would come to with my worries and a person that would listen to them and help me through the toils of life without a second thought. She would have been the perfect parent, even though I am not naïve enough not to know that there would have been some occasional friction between us because that was the way of a parent and a child.

But she would have been perfect, better than anything or anyone else in raising me, and that feeling of loss and heartache is why tears are still gathering in my eyes, though at least I am not crying like a baby again. When I finish my breath, the lump in my throat is distinct and uncomfortable when I want to speak, but it won't stop me. Emili watches on encouragingly, occasionally flicking her eyes backwards, and knowing that it is my mother who I have not seen for years waiting to hear my voice fills me with strength.

"What is happening to me, then? Where are why? Where am I supposed to be if not here?" I inquire, enjoying the feeling of finally being able to speak to her. Once I ascertained the source of her worry and allowed her to think past it, there was so much that I wanted to talk about with her. And I am sure that there are things that she wants to ask me as well, I can see it in her expressive eyes that had always been filled with emotion underneath the worry and concern that she was using to force it away.

Although I'm not sure I can answer her questions considering the fact that I can barely remember my life and the only things that I can recall are experiences that I shared with her when I was very young, too young to remember them too well. And even then one is missing, the final piece of the puzzle of happiness and loss that I'm not sure I want to remember because I know it is the one where she is ripped away from me.

"Do you remember anything before you came here? Anything at all?" the woman asks her son, asks me as she stares deep and seriously into my eyes. I wrack my brain, trying to peer through the fog that is clouding everything but the memories of me and my mum spending time together. I know that she is trying to protect me, know that she wants the best for me even after so long spent away from one another, so I try as hard as I can to comply to her request. I shut my eyes, hoping that it will allow me to focus on the things within myself instead of without, and try to delve into memories that I know I have past the colourless mist within my head.

I remember a time long ago, where I was just a small child, trying hard to understand some of the things that my beloved mother attempted to teach me. Whenever I failed with some of them, when I couldn't get the answer out of my mind and I just couldn't think of it, mum would always be very proud of what I had already done, telling me that I was doing fantastically for a four year old and that she never expected me to get this far, but I was always left feeling slightly bitter and thinking that I had failed her in spite of that – although because I was a child that state of mind would soon fade.

I then realise the group of similar memories for what it is – a distraction – and I try to pull away, to remember what happened before I came to this place of endless grey tides, but I am unable to force my way through the wall of grey and solid memory. I screwed my eyes shut, trying hard to comply with her request because she was my mother and she wanted to help protect me and she couldn't if I didn't help her myself, because if I fail her again she might leave me once more.

Obviously my consternation and strain must be showing as I batter my mind against the barriers around it to no avail, lost in the fog of the past and the mist of confusion within my head, as mum then interjects, "It is alright if you don't, Caiellis. Don't hurt yourself."

I open my eyes again, disappointed to know that I had failed mum again, and my vision is filled with blurring tears that I haven't quite managed to suppress completely, burning streaks of disappointment mixing with the remnants of happiness at seeing mum again stinging my eyes. She smiles at me again, still holding protectively onto my thin shoulders, and I shake my head sadly when I see that disappointment is reaching her eyes as well.

"I'm sorry..." I tell her, almost hanging my head in shame, but she is quick to assuage me.

"Don't be, Caiellis. It's alright if you can't remember. I thought that you probably wouldn't be able to, but I couldn't take that chance in case you could. It doesn't matter," she says, but even though she is smiling at me and her voice is reassuring I can see that it does matter from her expressive green eyes. I do not know why it matters, because I am here with her and I don't want to be anywhere else, but mum seems to think that it does so I'm inclined to agree.

I trust her more than I trust anything at the moment, even though I know it is because the inner four year old in me is breaking out and seizing hold of my mind, telling me that there is no way my mum could be wrong or mistaken about anything and that she can do anything, and if I was younger I would have missed the flash of concern and something akin to fear, but not for herself, in her eyes.

Since I am no longer that young, although I must be because of how she is treating me and how I barely reach the bottom her neck in height, I can see that me not remembering anything is a cause for worry. To break the silence and make myself seem like less of a failure to mum, and supposing that any bit of information could help her, I say: "All I can remember are the times that we spent together, and even then some are missing."

She smiles sympathetically back at me, and for once I feel like a child. I want to let her take the lead, which is what she is doing, because I'm tired of doing it myself, because even though I can't feel that emotion, can't feel any emotion past the ones that the impermeable miasma of grey lets through, I know that I am scared.

It is strange, however. Despite her comforting touch, despite the fact that she should be hot with the life flowing through her, mum is just as cold as me, and no warmth comes from her. It is as if I am frozen, both within and without, unable to feel any heat from the world and blocked from seeing my mind properly by walls of mist and ice freezing me in place. All of my senses and almost every one of my emotions are dulled down, blanketed by waves of bitter fog that drown out almost all stimulus to the point where it feels distant and far away, and no warmth can reach me from the coldness consuming my body.

"Can you-" the woman stood in front of me was cut off by a sudden noise, like a breaking in the walls of this world combined with a splash of water, the splattering of silver droplets on my skin a strange and otherworldly feeling that alerts me as to how dangerous what is happening could be – as the tide has only moved of its own accord so far. It surges around me and my mum, sent rippling backwards in great waves of colourless spray, and figure begins to be formed of scintillating light behind my mum.

"Caiellis. You trust me, right?" mum asks quickly, gently but firmly holding my chin with her hand when I try to look round her, to face this new potential threat and to prepare myself for helping mum against it. I strain automatically for a second, but despite her slender frame mum is still stronger than I am, because I am small and because I am not fighting against her, and I give up and look back into her eyes.

But not before catching a glimpse of shining crimson armour spiked by spines of the same bloody colour, wings like a gigantic version of a raven's pinions stretching out behind and above it. A scythe, or axe, made from some sort of golden stone, brutal and large yet belying elegance and sophistication past its outwardly crude appearance. A flash of brilliant red fabric entwined within midnight black hair, and eyes concealed by a blindfold of scarlet.

The smile that mum was wearing has now dissolved completely, her motherly features forming an expression of shock and worry that she is trying desperately not to show me, I can see that much. I feel quakes of real fear trembling up and down my spine, spilling out of the mist and tingling through my slender bones as I stare into mum's worried eyes, knowing that my own green irises must be even more frightened than hers.

I nod quickly, like an eager puppy anxious for its master's orders, and she grips onto my painfully thin shoulders again with her hands.

"I need you to keep looking at me. Look into my eyes. Do not look behind me, Caiellis, no matter what you do, no matter how much you want to. Do not look behind me, my son," she explains quickly, her voice filled with worry and anxiety for me, and I nod again, to let her know that I know what to do. I focus on staring at her, even as I can hear the wings of darkness unfurling, and see the black pinions at the corners of my vision, joined back pulses of red from the fabric fluttering around her.

The waves rippled around us, the presence of this being behind mum causing large undulations in the silver ocean that originate from its point, the grey tides recoiling from it. I focus on staring at mum, who looks back reassuringly and brushes a thumb up one of my cheeks from the attached hand still on my shoulder to try and calm my nerves. I know that I shouldn't be frightened, that I should be fighting against this scary thing with mum instead of letting her handle it, but the fright is filling me now that I can feel it and all I want to do is let mummy handle it like she would always do in the old days.

A booming, thunderous laugh, like the impossibly deep sound of thousands of souls crying out for deliverance, washes over me and sends water surging up out of the infinite lake and crashing down around us. The tremors of fear that were cascading up and down my spine develop into full blown earthquakes of unnatural dread and terror, and I can't help but let out a little, pathetic whimper of fear as the laughter echoes over and over again inside my head, ricocheting off of the walls of mist and filling me with fright that makes me want to turn around and run as fast as I can.

I let out another sob of pure fear that I know shouldn't be concerning me because I am suppose to be something which means I should be brave, and mum wraps her arms around me and hugs me close so that all I can see is her. I fall into the embrace willingly, having not felt something like this for years as I press my head into her and put my hands on my ears, willing the sound that chases me down into my deepest sanctuaries to go away.

"Just focus on me, Caiellis. Everything is going to be alright. Just keep focussing on me, little one," mum's voice made its way through the pain in my skull as she pulled me in tightly so that I could not be harmed, and I tried to just focus on her voice.

"You cannot save him, Emili Noctis," the booming voice of the woman behind mum rings out, seemingly spoken from inside of myself instead of from where she was stood, and mum makes sure that I am close as she hugs me, preventing the woman – the angel, as she could be nothing else – from getting to me without going through her first. She rubs soothing circles on my back in a manner that had always calmed me during my childhood pain, and even though I do feel scared the motions create a sense of safety and security within my head that stops me from breaking down in absolute terror and sobbing my heart out.

"And I won't let you take him either. It can't be his time yet. I'm sure of it, and I won't let you have him," the strong voice of mum, tinted with concern for me that made me feel loved and filled me with my own sense of anxiety in equal measures, opposes the words of the angel. I don't understand what is happening, why she wants to take me, why mum can't save me and what she is supposed to be saving me from, but I find solidarity in the embrace of the only other human in this strange realm of endless grey.

The being laughs again, sending tears spilling down my cheeks as I bury my head in my mother's dress to wipe them away, unwilling to even look up at my mum for fear of what I might see as my body trembles in the grip of the fear holding onto it. I wonder, through the turmoil inside of me, how my mum isn't as scared as I am – perhaps I am just weak, which would not be surprising, or perhaps it is because this woman who has to be an angel, though not an angel I have ever been in the presence of before, wants me and wants to take me.

"How would you even know if it is your son's time or not, Emili Noctis? You are a mere mortal. I am the arbiter of the Veil, and what I see in front of me are two souls that I must take beyond it. I do not know how you managed to escape through the Veil, or why you think that your son is exempt from the rules that govern the transient mortal coil of human existence, but you cannot save him," the angel spoke, her words like a sonorous dirge combined with mourning hymnals that sing of passage, though what sort of passage I cannot begin to fathom, especially in my frightened and agitated state.

"I can't explain it. I simply know that it is not Caiellis's time, that he has so much more life left to live. I will not let you take him beyond the Veil," Emili replies whilst hugging me to assure me of that fact as I stifle whimpers and sobs, wishing that I could be strong like her and hating myself for being as pathetic as I am. It is utterly pitiful, but I can't stop myself from acting this way, and the terror and emotional instability is completely controlling me in spite of my resistance to it.

I feel ripples in the water as the beating of massive wings buffets my mother's hair, the presence of the angel that is sublime and intangible to me yet I can still sense it moving closer and filling my mind with even more wisping tendrils of fright that claw into my head.

"And you would deprive your son of peaceful Passage beyond the Veil?" the angel asks mum, her terrifying voice sending shivers of coldness through me that I can't suppress as I tremble in the arms of mum, the woman whispering comforts to me to try and calm me down and help me overcome the unnatural dread. "You would deprive him of entering the afterlife that he deserves simply because you think that you, a mere mortal, knows more than the Sightless?"

I don't understand what is happening, and I can barely hear her words over the screaming in my head. I don't pick up on some of the terms, and I don't hear my mother's response as I press my head into her and whimper pathetically, the sound inside of my skull like the blood-curdling howling of hunting dogs encircling me and driving me onwards as well as thousands of moaning souls reaching out to me and trying to drag me with them. I try to fight it, but it is consuming me and dragging me under the grey waves, the only thing that is constant in my vision my mum holding tightly and protectively onto me.

I am certain that I would have been drowned and pulled under by now if not for her, that she is the only thing stopping the angel from taking me.

"Everything is going to be alright, Caiellis. Just concentrate on me, and only me. Try to block everything else out of your mind. It is not your time yet, I know it, and I will not let any harm come to you," Emili repeats over and over, whispering into my ear like she did when I was a young child suffering through horrible and gruesome nightmares and the pain of my body growing.

"Not my time for what?!" I want to ask, but I cannot force the words out through the shaking of my body and the lump in my throat. I can barely breathe I am that frightened, hyperventilating into my mum who rubs me soothingly and makes sure that I cannot see past her to the thing that wants to take me away from my mum.

I can feel droplets of warm moisture dripping onto my forehead and cascading down my face along with the tears still spilling out of my eyes that I won't bother to brush away because I know that they will be replaced just as quickly.

At first I think that it is rain, that some form of warm and unnatural precipitation is trickling down from the sky, or that the silver water had sprayed up onto me from the angel's movements, but then I realise that its origin is much more mundane. Mum is crying, glistening tears spilling from her own eyes as her lip quivers and she tries admirably to keep control of herself and not make me any more worried. I can't see much of that in the embrace of her, but her tears still make me feel like I should be doing something to emotionally reassure her as she is comforting me as well.

"D-don't c-cry, m-mum," I tell her, through my own tears and sobs, and her right hand briefly lets go of the back of my head to presumably brush them away. I don't think that she even realised she was crying, but when her hand returns the grip is firmer and more encouraging.

I do not know why she is sad, but it must have something to do with the fact that the angel wants to take me away from her – that is why I am crying as well – or perhaps the fear engendered by the strange being in this realm that speaks from inside of me instead of her position behind mum has finally got to mum only she has been able to hold it back longer.

She kisses me on the top of the head by way of thanks, and I whimper as I hear the angel raising her weapon as she stalks towards us even more.

"Shh. Shhh, Caiellis. I will protect you. I will make sure that no harm comes to you, my precious son," mum murmurs, her voice full of love and strength as well as sadness from the possibility of being separated once again – or at least that is what I think it is. I want to extricate myself from my mother's grip, to stop being a baby and face this threat head on, but I know that if I truly look upon the terrifying visage of the angel of the grey tides then I will be lost forever. All I can do is to trust in mum, trust that she will be able to protect me like she always did in the past when we were together. I squeeze my half open eyes shut as I hear the angel's chains jangling as she pulls her weapon upwards, ready to strike down at mum and me.

Then, suddenly, something changes, a flash of twilight purple within the mists of my mind that are threatening to consume everything that I am and cover up the memories of my mum once again.

I feel something behind me, a presence intimately familiar and yet one that I cannot recognise forming in the grey expanse and reaching out to my mind with fingers of solidarity and reassurance. I know that I should be able to identify what this new thing is, the fourth presence in this realm of silver oceans and blindfolded angels, that I should know what it is and that I have met it before, but the fog blocks out all memories that might have sprung to the fore in answer of my question.

"What ..." the scary angel mutters, though her thunderous voice still rumbled up from within me and evokes more unquenchable fear, and mum squeezes my shoulder and the back of my head reassuringly. She has stopped crying, which is good since it was scaring me and making me feel empathetically horrible as well, and I know that if I was able to understand what was going on I know why she was crying.

I hear another rippling splash within the waves, new wings unfurling wide as a melancholy and sombre aura makes itself known to me within my head, and mum gasps. I try to pull out and twist my head around to gaze upon this new arrival, but I don't want to leave mum's embrace after so long of not being able to have it. Besides, my legs are frozen to the spot by fear and by the strange rules of this unknown realm, and just like all the way throughout my journey here I cannot turn to look around even if I did want to, which I don't because I don't know whether this new presence is a friend or foe yet.

"What are you doing here, Orzhova?" the first angel, the one who said things that meant nothing to me and spoke up from inside of my head and caused trembles of fear to cascade up and down me, demands, her scythe or axe returning to presumably its normal position with a swish of air.

"Tariel," comes the reply from behind me, making me hug my mum tighter as my thin arms wrapped around her from where they had been holding my ears in an attempt to block out all the noise. This woman's otherworldly voice is honeyed and sweet, inflected with a hint of melancholy that I feel in small, fragmented pieces that manage to break through the clouds in my mind. I'm scared, but more scared of the other angel than this one (as I assume that she is one because I can hear more wings), and mum mutters something reassuringly to me as she makes sure that I am protected, her chin on my head and looking over me as she gently soothes me.

"Saying my name does not answer my question, Angel of the Black Sun," the one who this Orzhova called Tariel snarls back, her angry voice simultaneously impatient for an answer yet filled with the knowledge that she knows it inevitably must come to her soon, recklessness and impetuousness mixed with inexorability in a paradoxical blend that only serves to send more wracking shivers through my thin and cold body. "What are you doing in the Lake of Emptiness?"

I don't like this, I don't like only feeling the cold, but worse than that I don't like the chance that I could be ripped away from mum again, that I might be torn away from her love and forced to live without it like I had done before this. I can feel eyes staring into me from behind, the powerful gaze of this Orzhova piercing and almost physical. The name and the title of the second angel are familiar to me, but I can't place them. It is like I am trying to read a book to locate the information only to find that all of the pages, once filled with swathes of information and colour, are now empty and blank. It is irritating, but not frustrating enough to block out the cold and inevitable fear gripping me, fear that I cannot describe but fear that is unopposed by any of my frozen emotions.

It promises loss, loss that I cannot go through again, and I grab onto mum's wrist with my hands, my eyes still squeezed shut and my head still close to her. I should have been able to hear the steady or heightened beating of her heart, but there is nothing there and the pounding in my skull must be drowning it out.

"I have come for him," Orzhova replies succinctly and simply, her voice resolute and certain of that course of action, but I can barely hear it over the sounds inside of my head that scream out of the endless mist. The response from the first angel is almost instantaneous and coloured with tempestuous wrath that makes me shudder in fear even more to the point where mum has to squeeze me tighter to stop me from beginning to convulse violently. "What do you mean you have come for him?! You cannot take him, Angel of the Black Sun, for he is already gone! I cannot let you have him; I cannot let either of you prevent him from following his mortal course and piercing the Veil! He must enter the Third Realm, because that is the law that governs this world, and I will not allow you to defy it."

What is happening? What is this Third Realm that I am supposed to be entering? Why do both mum and this Orzhova want to stop me from going into it? I don't understand! I want to scream out all these questions, but I can't force the words out through the paralysis-inducing and freezing fear holding me tight within its cold embrace exactly like how mum holds me protectively in her own hug. The fog's level is rising, and with it the indescribable fear that ascends through my mind with it. I lose memories in time to the angel's words, images and remembrances shattering in tandem with each statement as I suppress a wail, holding onto the only thing that I can trust in this world, the only thing that I know will protect me and keep me safe.

"Tariel," the Angel of the Black Sun behind me says again, making no moves towards the coldly furious angel who seethes like a tempest of frost and a heavenly inferno of ice, lightning and death. Her voice betrays no fear, no emotion at all even with the haunting resonance to it, but there is a slice of endless determination within it that I would not want to be on the receiving end of. The eternal will of Orzhova to endure and achieve her goals battles against Tariel's raging storm fury in a display of crashing waves that avoid me and mum, holding each other close even with the power of the two angelic beings on a completely different scale to us clashing around us.

"You owe me a debt, or have you forgotten that so easily? I have come to claim the favour that you owe me, Reckoner of Souls."

"You cannot do that, Orzhova. You are correct, I do owe you a favour, but I cannot obey the natural laws of the three realms simply because of an obligation to help you because of what you have done in the past," Tariel tells the other angel, her voice still coloured with huge amounts of freezing anger, far more than a human could ever muster, but not as furious as before – more bitter and resentful and frustrated than frenzied. The angel behind me sighs, but it is not a sigh of resignation – it is a sigh of vexation and irritation.

I can barely hear or understand the words of the angels, and to my shame I can't stop crying, although at least I have snapped my mouth shut and stopped making pathetic whimpers. Mum keeps whispering to me, her words too quiet for me to be able to truly know what she is saying, but to know that she is saying something is enough for me, just like it was when I was too young to understand words. Merely the fact that she is filling the little space between us with her words, building up a cocoon of safety around me with them, makes me feel more secure.

"Would you like me to reveal my knowledge of your secrets to all, Tariel? I do not wish to have to manipulate you, but rest assured if you do not surrender my Summoner to me now the entire Sisterhood of the Sanctum Angelica shall know of you and your whereabouts, the whereabouts of the Lake of Emptiness that leads to the Veil between realms," the angel closer to me states, her calm voice belying a sense of impatience and agitation utterly at odds with the rest of her heavenly tone that would have invoked inevitability and inexorability, like she could wait forever for this if not for that quite significant tinge of anxiety and distress much like that which my mum felt.

I find myself warming to this Angel of the Black Sun ever so slightly because of a few reasons – she feels the same as mum, although I cannot be certain because her emotions are on a different level to those of humans, and she wants to do similar to mum as well. Besides, she is trying to protect me and mum from the terrifying angel named Tariel, and I can be nothing but grateful for that.

Tariel snarls back, a sharp sound like a hiss from a gigantic, world-spanning tempest raining down cold fire and death, and my breath catches in my throat as the world spins around me. I can barely breathe, and when I do it is in short gasps for air from my hyperventilation, and mum more urgently rocks and rubs my back.

"Breathe, Caiellis. Just breathe, young one. I am here for you. Just focus on my voice. In, out. In, out." mum tries to steady me, but I still can't force much air into my lungs as I shake violently from all of the strain of the fog and the angel's hissing voice of pure cold anger that is ripping through me. I feel that I am the recipient of two sympathetic stares, one significantly different to the other, but I do not want to open my eyes. All I do is focus on mum's sweet and comforting voice, trying to block out everything else, which I mostly succeed it.

"You seek to blackmail me, Orzhova?!" Tariel shrieks at her, spontaneous bursts of cold emotion reaching out from the seething angel and clawing at me with talons of light, dark and fire from the inside that send shudders of strange pain through my small body. The other angel's response was determined, cold, resolute, but also urgent, "Yes, I do, Tariel. Your debt to me will be paid in full if you just give Caiellis to me. I can feel that it is not truly his time, that he lingers in the Lake of Emptiness, but your presence is pulling him over to the other side. I cannot allow this. I need him, Tariel. And even though I do not want to threaten you, if you do not free him I will make you pay."

"What is one mortal to you, Angel of the Black Sun? What is he to you, Orzhova?!" the other angel rages back, waves of unnatural fury washing over me and causing the dread within me to rise, but another presence reassures me alongside my mum, reinforcing power rushing through me from the Angel of the Black Sun that I am grateful for, though I do not know why she is helping me and mum or what she is saving us from. "He is very important to me, Tariel, because he is my second Summoner and I will not allow him to leave before it is his time. Now give him to me, Reckoner of Souls. I know that you can do it, that Caiellis has not truly been claimed yet."

The fury of the other angel rushes through me completely, surging throughout my body as I can't help but cry out in agonised pain, and mum holds me close as I scream and gasp for breath and sob murmuring to me all the while. "You're going to be alright, Caiellis, you're going to be ok. Just listen to me, and ride through the pain. You can do it. It will stop soon, Cai, it will stop soon."

The pain rises to its apotheosis of agony before draining out of me in a blaring whoosh of torment that would have had me staggering to my knees if not for mum holding me up and making sure that I don't stumble or fall. She tells me, though I can barely hear what she is saying over the slowly dissipating ringing in my head, "That's it, Caiellis. You're alright now. You did well."

"Fine. You can have the boy," Tariel spits, her voice originating from where she is standing instead of from inside of me, something that I am immensely grateful for. "But consider my debt to you paid in full, Orzhova. And do not think that I will ever help you again, Angel of the Black Sun."

She leaves as abruptly as that, though remnants of her presence still lingered which tell me that she is still watching us for some reason. Mum is about to pull away, but remains close to me after experimentally tugging away when I still hold onto her, unwilling to break off the contact after so long and wanting her to help me with the swirling morass of grey and colour within my head that I can't distinguish from one another.

"Thank you. Thank you so much," mum says, though the words are not directed at me but the angel behind me who I cannot turn to look at and don't want to. With the departure of the first angel to speak to me and mum, the dread has let go of its vice like grip on my mind, and now the happiness and joy at seeing her, the woman who gave birth to me and showed me love that only a mother can give, again comes flooding back.

"It is the least I can do," comes the reply, the urgent tone of the angel's more empathetic and less terrifying voice filling the silence and with some of the agitation gone, though I do not pay much attention to her.

All I care about is the fact that I am with mum again, and now that Tariel has gone I can be with her forever and have the love that was taken away from me when I was almost too young to truly remember it. Mum shifts slightly into a more comfortable position for her with me still hugging her, so I pull back a bit to give her more room, remembering that I'm not a toddler any more and despite the fact that I am small and light it could still be uncomfortable – my lack of size didn't stop it from having another human hanging off you awkward.

"You saved my son, Ang- Orzhova. I don't think I will ever be able to repay

you for that," mum says, and I open my eyes again now that the pain has gone, though the grey confusion still remains in some parts and I still don't really understand what is happening. What I do understand is that mum is here, which means I am happy and safe, protected from the danger of the world and given love freely. The angel speaks, "It is my fault he is here in the first place, Queen Emili. I should have protected him. He should never have been sent here, and I will do everything in my power to ensure that it is many, many years in the future when he will return. And besides, I'm not sure I would have got here quickly enough if you hadn't been able to delay Tariel for so long, which I'm not sure how you did."

"Call it a mother's power to protect her child," the woman holding me answers back, though the conversation goes unnoticed by me. The angels' reply is simply, "Ah. I see. I'm not going to question you on it, because it helped us save Caiellis."

Mum nods, her arm still around my back and her free hand automatically brushing my tears from my cheeks as I smile up at her. The worry and concern, while not completely gone from her eyes, has dissipated somewhat in her emerald green gaze, replaced by happiness and love directed at me, and she smiles back, though it is still a sad smile rather than a smile of joy like the one that belongs to me.

"It is time for us to go now, Caiellis," the angel's voice pierces into me from behind, and I narrow my eyes, shock running through me. That is exactly what I don't want to do. I want to stay here with mum, with the woman who gave birth to me and was ripped away from me before I truly got to know her as a person past a mother. I don't want to leave her with an angel that I don't know. But I am not opposed to leaving with her, so I ask, "Is mum coming with us?"

"No, Caiellis," the woman holding onto me answers after a brief moment of silence where the angel didn't respond, and I feel a surge of panic flooding through me, the empty and cold pit at the bottom of my stomach growing in size and dragging away all the happiness and joy which had been filling me. "I am not coming with you. I cannot come with you, young one, and that is how it is supposed to be. Don't cry, little one."
I am barely even aware of the fact that tears have sprung up in my eyes again, barely able to feel the reality of them trickling down my cheeks for the second time as I stare in horror at mum who smiles sadly back at me, the sorrow in her eyes obvious even as she tries to hide it.

"No! No. I'm not leaving you … I won't be forced to leave you again..." I begin to sob, my voice starting to sound like that of a very young child's, but I don't care. All I care about is the fact that the angel wants to make me leave mum, and that is something that I do not want to happen more than anything in this strange world. "I can't leave you again ..."

My voice breaks, swallowed up in a sob of pure loss and torment at facing leaving my mum again as the horrible memories begin to rise above the surface of the mist clouding my mind, the sheer emptiness and depression that I felt when I was four years old and my mum had been ripped away from me.

"You have to, Caiellis. I know that you don't want to leave me, and believe me I don't want to leave you again either, but you have so much more life left to live. Think of your brother and father, Caiellis. They would miss you so much. And it is not your time yet," mum tells me, but despite her encouragements and words I still feel the same sense of horror at having her torn away from me once again as she puts her hands on my shoulders once more and looks into my tear-blurred and welling eyes.

"I don't want to..." I reply, sadly, sorrow suffusing my young voice as I cry, diverting my vision away from her because I don't want to meet her sad smile, because I don't want to see her eyes that tell me she wants me to leave. "You have to, sunbeam, you have to. I will be fine. And I will be waiting for you once it is truly your time."

"We have to leave," Orzhova's serious and urgent voice cuts in, stirring up more fractured memories within me. I know that I know the angel, and that she probably wants the best for me as well, just like mum, but that doesn't mean I want to go with her and leave mum. The tide is rippling around me, recoiling from me like I am a threat to it now, a far cry from when it surged around me and lead me forwards a few indeterminable moments ago which could have comprised seconds or months.

Her heavy and angelic hand that radiates power grips onto my shoulder as mum lets go, and I twist away, pulling myself towards the woman who raised me up to the age of four and was pulled away from me at that tender age.

"No! Let g-go of me! I d-don't w-want t-to l-leave m-mum! G-get away f-from me!" I shout, my voice raw with the emotion surging within me as I grab hold of mum's hand like it is a lifeline when she is about to turn away. She turns back to me, meeting my desperate gaze once again, her face the only thing not blurred by the tears pouring out of the eyes I inherited from her.

She kneels down to my height, though she is slightly smaller than me when she does it, and gently grasps my chin in her slender hand, tenderly turning it towards her when I send my dejected gaze to the ground.

"Listen to me, young man. You have to go now, or Alexander and Marik will be missing you for as long as they live. And you have to live long as well, my youngest son, and have the happy life that you deserve. That is why you have to go with Orzhova. I will be safe here, Caiellis, and you will see me again when the time is right. Don't cry, baby. I know you are sad, but everything is ok."

How can I live a happy life without her in it? The question doesn't have an answer, and though I cannot remember my father and brother at all I know that they must have some importance to me from the brief glimpses of them in my memories of mum.

"I-I w-want t-to l-live w-with y-you," I protest weakly, all of my defiance of this fate drained out of me by her words. She smiles, a genuinely happy smile that almost hides the sadness in her eyes, sadness that I am here and sadness that I was nearly taken away by Tariel, whoever she is.

"He won't remember this, will he?" mum asks, though I do not see Orzhova's response. I assume it is a shake of the head by the way mum smiles sadly again and nods her head with a form of sorrowful contentment. She leans forwards and plants a kiss on my forehead, smoothing the hair that is so much like hers from my eyes, and then pulls away. "I love you so, so much, Caiellis. You won't remember this, but you have grown up into a fantastic young man. Though you are still my little boy (she smiles and pats my head affectionately, getting back to her feet) You will face pain when you get back into the world of the living, otherwise you wouldn't be here, but I'm sure that with the help of your dad and brother you will be able to get through it. Goodbye, my son. I will see you when it is the true time."

"No!" I call out as a feel an arm encircling my waist from behind. Mum begins to shine with a strange light from within, infusing her with an ethereal quality that makes her more translucent. Illumination spills out from the woman as I struggle against the iron-hard grip holding me back, but her smile does not fade as she does.

The whole world is dissolving into darkness around me as I feebly bat at the arm holding me still and stopping me from getting to my mum, but even as she fades she is the only thing that remains light in my vision as I try to call out to her, the memories of losing her, the memories of her death coming back to me in floods of tears and fragments of sheer pain and loss that overload my vision. Pain it pulling at me, cuts, burns, bruises and other types of agony rushing through my body and inflicting themselves onto me as I am pulled by Orzhova away from mum and away from the realm of endless silver water.

"Mum! MUM!" I scream out without even knowing that I am doing so, wriggling in the grip of the angel as hard as I can, but nothing I do will stop her from dragging me away from the woman who is beginning to dissipate into particles of light. First her legs dissolve into flecks of gentle and warm golden illuminescence, then her lower body, and I cry and sob all the way till only her face is left in the darkness clouding my eyes.

"I love you, my son."

And then everything faded into blackness, and Caiellis wasn't able to stop himself from slipping back into the waiting shadows that wrapped around him and forced him into an agonising slumber.

.*.*.*.

"Son … Caiellis ..." Marik whispered to his baby boy as he held the lifeless body of the slender youngster in arms that looked far too big compared to the scrawny teenager, rocking him gently like he was still asleep as he held Caiellis close. He should have held him close so long ago, before this happened, before his son had decided that taking his own life was better than enduring the pain of his existence any longer.

Caiellis was dead. Caiellis was dead!

And there was nothing that Marik could do to help him, to save his son from the cold abyss that would drag him to the paradise the compassionate and brave boy deserved, and that scared him and thrust him into a deeper depression than he had ever been in before. His son was still in his arms, had bled out and probably choked on his own blood as the artery was slit, and though it would have been a quick dead it would have by no means been painless.

It hurt Marik to the core of his being to know that his youngest son had chosen that fate over living on because of what his father had said and done to him, horror possession be damned, leaving deep scars that would never heal in all of his remaining life.

His son was dead, and this city would die with him. It would not be what Caiellis would want, it was not what Marik would want either, but the Welkalites had gone too far and they needed to be punished so that they would never, ever threaten the safety of Lucael and the innocent children, like Caiellis, within it. Marik wasn't sure whether or not he could control his grief-stricken magic either out of him that was flooding out of his limbs, and he definitely didn't care at all about that.

"I'm so sorry … angels I'm so sorry ..." he murmured, but it was too late now, far too late for his son who had died because of his father's flaws and mistakes that should never have affected him. Marik's whole body was cold, as cold as his son's lifeless form that was limp in his father's embrace. Caiellis was too small, too thin, too young for this war, too young for any sort of violence or danger, and Marik didn't care about the fact that he was a Lucerna, that Caiellis had proved himself to be an exemplary warrior with a strategic mindset and a compassionate approach to warfare, something that had proved to be in his detriment.

Nothing he could say or do could help the boy now, and it was the most painful thing in the world to know that he could have easily saved his son from this horrible fate if he had only tried. Caiellis was his baby, his youngest son and the smallest member of his family, his heart and light alongside his brother, and he should have outlived them all. He shouldn't be the one dead here, that should be his worthless, good for nothing father who was crying over him and trying to repair fatal wounds, trying to infuse life into the lifeless.

Marik's world was going cold and dead around him, everything already having lost feeling apart from the boy in his hands as he gently stroked his blood-slick hair, and as such he barely heard the sound from around him. It was loud, but so, so quiet to the man who could only stare futilely at his son and wish that it was him in the boy's place and that Caiellis would be the one crying over the dead, the way that it was supposed to be. Fathers were not supposed to bury their sons. It was not supposed to happen.

"Dad?! Dad!" the words sounded as if they were distant, like they were shouted from many miles away and by the time they reached Marik's ears had grown quiet, but in actual fact they came from very close by. They were pained, and urgent, but that was it and Marik couldn't pay attention to them if he had wanted to. He kept staring at the still body of his youngest son, the innocent boy that was small for his age who he should have protected more than anything else, his mind freezing up with anguish and loss.

"DAD?! Caiellis?!" the shouts came to Marik, becoming more and more hysterical as time passed and the pounding of footfalls on the blood-slick ground could be heard, as well as the panting and pained breaths of another individual obviously suffering with his own wounds coming closer and closer every moment that stretched out into an eternity of coldness and sorrow to the king. He could not respond, could not turn from the still body of his youngest son to address this new arrival, and he could barely pay any attention to it as his first son neared the kneeling form of his distraught father holding the cold and slender body of his little brother.

The boy was turning more and more urgent by the second as his father didn't respond and he began to identify the small and broken body in his arms, terror flooding through Alexander as he pushed his wounded body to the extreme, hurtling blindly across the ruin of the courtyard covered in glass refracting the orange light of the evening sun that illuminated everything in a wan amber glow, ignoring Akroma's brief and almost mournful but calculating glance, as if assessing Alexander as not being a threat to her Summoner's grieving, and skidding to a halt beside his father.

Marik didn't even look up, and he couldn't even if he had wanted to. His attention was still fixed upon his poor youngest son, his precious baby who had been hurt so badly both emotionally and physically to the point where he didn't want to live any more. He didn't know how many minutes had passed since he had woken up and found his son like this, how many minutes had passed since Caiellis had decided that death was a better fate than living out a life where his father hated him and he blamed himself for the harm done to his family members, and he had no idea at all when Alexander arrived.

"DAD?! CAIELLIS! CAI! CAI!" the boy shouted, howling his brother's name as the boy was still in his father's arms. Marik felt himself being roughly shoved out of the way, almost sent tumbling backwards by the desperate push from his eldest son who ripped the body of his youngest out of his arms and instantly started screaming at the wounds inflicted upon the thirteen year old, the way that Caiellis's chest wasn't moving and his face was cold and infused with the grey pallor of death, lacking anything resembling life.

Marik wanted to stop his eldest son, wanted to shake him and tell him "It's over, we've lost. Caiellis is dead, and it is all my fault," but he couldn't. He couldn't do anything. He just stood there as his first son wrenched the body of his second from their father's arms and gripped the boy tightly with a ferocity that the man had never seen from Alexander before, not even whilst watching him fight the Welkalites opposing them or when Caiellis had been captured by the Master of Violence Arendus Draal. Alexander shouted loudly at the boy, who for once did not respond to his big brother's calls or movements.

All this screaming … it was too late. It would never be enough. And the fact makes Marik want to fall to his knees again, belatedly realising that he had stood up and was towering over his eldest and youngest son. The seventeen year old held the body of his little brother in his arms in a reflection of Marik's earlier actions, sobbing incoherently and screaming frantically at the unmoving younger boy, his eyes already blinded by tears of terror and anguish at seeing Caiellis like this.

Alexander was screaming, but Marik couldn't hear what he was saying. He wasn't even sure that the teenager was using words, but it didn't matter because the horrible noises aptly carried his grief, grief that Marik felt himself and grief that had already consumed the king and was dragging the middle Lucerna underneath its tides of anguish also.

The supreme king of Lucael could only watch as Caiellis's body fell limply to the floor as Alexander let go of him. The older boy was hovering over his brother, trembling and shaking in a way that Marik had been doing himself and was probably doing now, shaking the younger boy's body, checking for a pulse, screaming at Caiellis, screaming at Marik.

"DAD! CAI! CAI!" he howled, his voice becoming rawer and rawer as he screamed at the two members of his family. Neither of the two were moving, not even a little – unless one counted Alexander's frantic shaking of his baby brother. Alexander was moving enough for all of them, with frantic and desperate movements that spoke of the deepest denial and grief that Marik knew was flooding through him, though with the latter far eclipsing the latter now that he was beginning to truly come to terms with the scale of his mistakes.

The eldest prince was grabbing at his small and heavily wounded younger brother, pulling at the younger boy who didn't respond in any way to his brother's touch just like he hadn't responded to his father's. Marik felt that if Caiellis was going to react to anything, it would be the older brother who he had lived his whole life with and was closer to than anyone else in this cruel world, but the fact that he didn't only confirmed the worst.

Tears were already streaming down Alexander's bruised and battered cheeks that looked too young for this war as well, the seventeen year old who always acted much older than his age when he wasn't teasing or arguing with his brother breaking down in front of the corpse of the younger boy and crying over him.

Caiellis's body had no life of its own and it flopped in Alexander's unsteady and violently shaking hands as he unceremoniously dumps his brother on the ground, preparing to go through the desperate motions that the king had only executed what seemed like lifetimes but could only have been a few seconds ago. But Alexander didn't notice and he didn't care to the point that he acknowledged it meant that his little brother was in an extremely bad condition. He hauls his brother's across the courtyard, the small body stretched out at an awkward angle as the seventeen year old begins to desperately pump at his chest in an ultimately futile attempt to restart his heart, much more violently than Marik had done it.

Blood spurted out from the younger boy's mouth and dripped down his chin at the forceful motions of his big brother using all of the strength he could muster to pound his hands on the thirteen year old's chest that wasn't moving of its own accord, and the boy knew he would probably be breaking Caiellis's fragile bones and at the very least leaving more horrible bruising by doing this, but he didn't care. Anything was worth saving him. Anything.

He was screaming and whispering in alternating bursts of hysteria and anguish as he panted for breath, his own wounds aching with a fiery pain that refused to be ignored but one that the seventeen year old disregarded anyway. Caiellis's head fell back, his brown hair matted with both unnatural and natural crimson blood making it sticky and thick. His arms slid backwards limply, dragging backwards against the shredded ground as his brother moved him in the attempt to bring him back to life.

"DAD! WE NEED TO HELP CAI!" the boy shrieked in misery and anguish and frustration at his father who was just standing there behind him and making no moves in helping the older boy with saving the youngest member of their small but infinitely precious family that Alexander would easily give up everything for. "DAD!"

Marik just watched, watched as if he wasn't even there as the middle Lucerna frantically pumped at his brother's chest and tried breathing for him, coughing at the blood in his mouth as he resumed the compressions which would have been ineffectual even if Caiellis had still been alive because of how much the older adolescent was shaking violently, his blue eyes wide and pouring with tears. It was like he was watching some form of theatrical tragedy production playing out in front of his eyes that he couldn't stop or change or even comment upon as the older boy desperately tried to save the youngest from a death that he had already entered before the seventeen year old came here.

Shuddering violently and feeling like he was going to throw up his guts, Alexander pulled his brother closer, momentarily abandoning his chest compressions to drag Caiellis's chest against his own, burying his head into Caiellis's painfully thin shoulder and sobbing his eyes out against his little brother as the boy's own head fell forwards and rested on Alexander's shoulder.

From a distance it would look like the two were simply embracing after the battle, but Marik knew better than that. Alexander's cries were far away. His grieved motions were untouchable as he pulled his baby brother away once again so that he could get a better look at the still body, his own form still wracked by brutal sobs that sounded like his heart was being wrenched out of his chest and dragged out of his mouth.

The king could only watch as his eldest son desperately tries again to repair the mistake of his father, stood still barely a metre away but convinced that he might as well have been thousands of mile distant for all the help that he could provide. He simply stood still with his arms unmoving at his sides, covered in Caiellis's blood, resting on legs that he couldn't feel. He wasn't even sure if he was breathing or not.

Alexander's hands were on his little brother again, and the older boy wished that they didn't look so big compared to his sibling's small body, the fragility of Caiellis that he should have protected, the thing that he needed to protect more than anything else but the thing that he had failed by being delayed by Arendus Draal for so long. They went over his brutally cut and bruised chest, to the horrible, horrible cut on his slender throat that undoubtedly put Caiellis in the state that he was in currently, to his face that looked too innocent and too young in the orange light of the Welkalite sun piercing through the black clouds above the City of Pleasure.

Long and reasonably thick, though not huge fingers that usually showed strength but were now radiating panic and shaking unstably landed on the pulse point on Caiellis's cheek, placed on the faded Black Sun that always made Caiellis look even more innocent and pure and had never stopped Alexander from loving him more than anything else in spite of what it might entail, searching desperately for any signs of life within the broken body of the youngster.

The thirteen year old didn't twitch, didn't move other than his body automatically shifting under the pressure like any normal object, just laid there as his big brother tried frantically to salvage something from Marik's horrible mistakes as his father watched powerlessly. When that yielded nothing, the boy hugged his baby brother close once more, spinning around back to his father who watched with streaming eyes, though he could not feel the tears spilling down his own cheeks and matching the liquid pouring down Alexander's own.

Anger, anger worse than Marik had ever seen before even when the boy had been shouting at him because of Caiellis's self harming, was suddenly directed at the king, fiery anguish that could have incinerated him in the flames of their grieving fury if not for the fact that the king was already consumed by an inferno of cold sorrow blazing out across the distance between the two.

The king was sure that his son would have slammed him up against the wall if it meant that he didn't have to let go of his little brother, and Marik wouldn't have resisted at all because he deserved the pain, deserved his son's anger. Alexander would be even more furious if he had known what circumstances had led to Caiellis being like this, but right now the only reason his anguished anger was targeted towards his father was because of the fact that he could make no moves towards his two sons.

"HELP ME! I WON'T LET HIM GO! HELP ME, DAMN YOU! YOU WILL HELP HIM!" Alexander was losing it, screaming hysterically at his father, sounding like a toddler in the midst of a terrible tantrum, and Marik couldn't blame him. He wanted to reach out to his eldest son, to stop him, to tell him that it is too late for Caiellis now, but he didn't have the heart, didn't have the will, didn't have the power to break out of his own freezing tides of grief.

Caiellis was dead.

"HELP HIM! H-Help h-him!" the boy choked out, and for a brief moment Marik realised that this was probably similar to how Akroma had felt when he had howled at her in desperate sorrow only minutes ago. Alexander's words become slurred, gurgled out through the tears that were defiant of Caiellis's fate, painful sobs that should have stirred out sadness within Marik if not for the fact that his heart had died with his youngest son and all that was left within him was anguish worse than the cries of his eldest could ever create. "H-he's y-your s-son! H-how c-can y-you j-just s-stand t-there?! Y-you h-have t-to h-help h-him! W-we c-can't l-let C-Cai d-die ..."

When Marik didn't respond in any way, Alexander howled in fury and incoherent rage at the fact that his dad was just stood there and making no moves towards his little brother, turning back round and hugging the younger boy close. But instead of there being a response from his little sibling, there was nothing, no snuggling closer as Caiellis leaned into the comfort given by his big brother, no half-hearted defiance as the smaller boy tried to push Alex away because the embrace was far too harsh and hurt, nothing, just endless stillness that scared the seventeen year old more than anything else in the world. Alexander almost collapsed, his forehead pressed to his little brother's and his lips to Caiellis's pale and grey cheeks, showing such affection that made Marik ache even more in empathetic pain because he wished he had done similar in the past.

"No … no … you can't … little brother … you can't ..." the boy sobbed, though even through that Marik barely heard. Alexander's emotions were much stronger than the ones that had and were flooding throughout his forty year old father, because of his more intimated connection with the youngster that had been stolen from them by the sheer cruelty of the world. The seventeen year old forced acidic bile back down his throat, refusing to be sick on his little brother and affording him that one dignity as he easily manoeuvred him around, refusing to accept the fact that Cai might be dead.

He just couldn't. Such a concept did not exist to the eldest prince, and as such he could never give up on his baby brother, the person who he should have protected, the person who made everything better just by being around and the person who had helped Alex so much through his own life. And his cries were so far away to the Lucerna king who could feel the world being ripped away from him, the brief happiness that he should have been able to cling onto and should have protected but which he hadn't seen and hadn't realised was right in front of him departing with Caiellis's life. Alexander's denial flared up again, and his grief broke for a moment as he dropped his brother down once more. "No."
The monosyllable was brief but utterly adamant, filled with an older brother's will to protect their younger siblings. The boy leaned over for a second time, and Marik thought that the middle Lucerna was going to kiss his little brother again, but instead Alexander started to breathe once more into his brother's mouth, puffing air into him that was not taken up by Caiellis, tears of pain and self-loathing and sheer despair coursing down his cheeks all the while as he tried everything to bring life back to the younger brother that he loved so much and couldn't live without.

Alexander was snapping in half, but Marik could do nothing to help him because he had already been torn apart by the death of his youngest, and now that he had accepted it and given into his overwhelming grief the world was cold and dead around him. Alexander pulled back for only a second and let out a screaming howl of defiance mirroring Marik's own but somehow much worse because he was still only the tender age of seventeen years old and he should never have been forced to cope with such loss. The sound was horrible, like the young boy's heart breaking right in front of his father's eyes with nothing he could do to stop it as the eldest son of the king tried to revive the youngest.

"W-why d-did i-it h-have t-to b-be h-him? H-he i-is o-only t-thirteen … Why him?! Why my little brother?! Why couldn't it have been me?! WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE CAI?!"

And then suddenly, with a rush of alternating life and coldness that would never leave the king now that his youngest was gone, Marik's feeling of being immeasurably distant to the plight of his seventeen year old boy shattered like his heart had already done. The king would not survive this, he would never survive the grief of seeing two of his infinitely precious family members dying in front of him and because of him, especially with one who had died thinking that his father hated him and blamed him for the death of his mother, but that did not mean that in spite of all of the loss and the death Alexander couldn't have a happy life, couldn't have the life that they all deserved but only he was able to take now.

He was at his sons' side without even realising it, leaning over the two boys as Alexander howled and cried in anguish and sloppily tried to save his brother through the panic, terror and hysterical sadness gripping him and refusing to let go because of the condition that his four year younger brother was in. The boy couldn't even see him or Caiellis, his eyes blinded by the tears cascading out of them, and while Marik still cried it was done so silently, without the agonised sobs that wracked the blonde youngster which had afflicted his father only moments before the seventeen year old arrived. Even though the boy couldn't see, he still looked up at his dad, his welling eyes wide and full of tears and emotion that Marik wasn't sure he could ever repair.

Even after all these years, Alexander still looked to his father who he trusted almost more than anyone else to do the right thing for guidance in this horrible situation, guidance that he couldn't provide as he stared into the boy's wet eyes, Alexander still fixing him with his anguished gaze defiant of the state of his little brother even as he tried to breathe for the boy who wouldn't make the air his own and whose lungs wouldn't restart after being still and cold for so long.

Marik knew that during that horrible night long ago that was somehow eclipsed by this, had he been able to turn around when Alexander had woken up after the death of his mother and the start of the civil war, he would have been presented by something exactly the same as how the seventeen year old looked now. Wide blue eyes brimming with tears staring up at him, hoping that he could do something to fix this mess, to fix Caiellis and fix the family that would be shattered apart if he left if, and Marik knew that he could do none of these things so it made it even more painful to watch his eldest struggling at the impossible task of bringing Caiellis back from the dead.

He turned away once more, breaking off the contact with his father in favour of focussing on Caiellis even more, something that seems right to the king even though he wanted to help his eldest son. Alexander loved his little brother so much, and it was his father's fault that the thirteen year old would be ripped away from his best friend, protector and brother.

"Alexander ..." Marik barely recognised his own voice. It was so empty and broken and terrified that it sounded alien to him, and would have been doing nothing to aid his eldest son. The boy was almost choking himself to death trying that hard to make his brother's lungs inflate with air, blood leaking from the cut in Caiellis's neck that had killed him and crimson liquid trickling down Alexander's mouth like he was some sort of vampire feasting upon the younger boy.

The seventeen year old was killing himself he was pushing his quite heavily wounded body so far to try and save his little sibling, though if he was anything like Marik then his own injuries had lost all of their sting in the face of the void of grief that threatened the swallow them both up at the death of the youngest member of their small but precious family that was far from perfect but could have been close to it if only the head of it hadn't been so blinded and angry, letting his negative emotion rule him and using that to fuel his rage directed at the one of them who was still.

"Alexander," Marik tried again when the boy didn't change his position, his words almost coughed out of his raw throat and almost too quiet to be heard, as if because his youngest son had been deprived of the opportunity to make any more sound his father could not do so either. This time it was pleading and desperate. They couldn't help Caiellis, it was too late for that now, far too late, and Marik was beyond saving from the chasm of despair and utter coldness that was consuming him, but he would be damned if the last remaining member of his family didn't get to live on and at least battle through the grief.

Failure passed between the two. Failure and resignation and utter hopelessness, though the second was refusing to be adopted by Alexander no matter how much of it flooded through him and screamed at him that his thirteen year old brother who had so much left to do and had his whole life ahead of him was dead and he had failed to protect him. Marik knew that there was no recovering from this. This was the failure that would kill them both, and they could both feel it happening, the stillness of the smallest Lucerna sapping away at their energy, draining their will to keep on living and destroying the strength of their grip upon the happiness that was denied to them. But while Marik was certain that he would never be able to escape that, Alexander still had the chance to do so and obtain happiness once more, and as a father the only thing that he could do was to help his sons as much as he could.

The king felt himself breaking as he reached towards his eldest son, his face puffy and red from all the exertion of trying to force air into his brother still held tightly in his arms. He was reaching towards the only son that he could help now, the last remaining member of his broken family that had started so perfectly but been torn asunder by jealously, negligence, war and darkness. He was still cradling his younger brother, the thirteen year old small and young in his brother's arms, any growing that he had done utterly eclipsed by the gains of height, weight and muscle Alexander had put on in the same time.

Alexander breathed again, hacking out a pained cough that spoke of broken ribs like the ones that were the least of their concerns about Caiellis and spitting blood, both that which belonged to him and that which had gotten to him from his dead brother, as he did so, panting for air which he could use to try and save his brother with. His free hand touched the side of Caiellis's cold face, brushing the cheek that was cut and covered in bruising and scars and shuddering even more at the thought of the amount of pain that his little brother went through.

Marik couldn't let this happen.

He could not let more than one son be broken in front of him, and Alexander was perilously close to shattering. He needed to help the seventeen year old – it would be what Caiellis would have wanted –; he needed to help Alexander let his brother go when the time came. He gripped onto the boy's broad shoulder that still had a measure of youthfulness to it, still small enough to have his father's large hand clamping round it fully. It was a strong grip, even though the forty year old was trembling, though that was lost underneath Alexander's frightened and violent shaking that was tantamount to convulsing in the terror running through him at the thought of a life without his little brother.

"It's too late," he told the younger male, trying to keep his voice as emotionless as possible, as strong and firm as he could make it because for once, just like when Alexander was younger, he would provide solidarity and security for his eldest son, solidarity and security that he had failed to give to his youngest and paid a horrible price for it. There was no easier way to say this, no possible way to say it nicer because of the truly terrifying information that it contained.

The king let the words sink into them both like a brand that seared their souls, a failure that would mark them forever but one that Alexander played no part in, one that he shouldn't have to carry grief and guilt over for the rest of his life like Marik would. Alexander shook his head, trying to argue, trembling and unable to catch his breath as his pants broke upon a renewed burst of sobbing. The boy tried to pull away, but the man's grip was firm and unyielding on his shoulder as the seventeen year old cried.

An ounce of more defiance gurgled up from the sobbing youngster holding his little brother in his arms and he pulled away, fighting to regain control of himself so that he could help his younger sibling who did not deserve to die, who did not deserve to have gone through all the pain that he did, once more. He growled back at his dad, whose hand was gripping his shoulder tightly to stop him from breaking away and to offer the young teenager as much reassurance and comfort as possible without forcing him to let go of his brother, and his voice was throaty and barely human it was saturated with so much sadness. "No. No!"

"Alexander … he's not ..." there were no words that weren't cruel, so Marik simply kept his large hand on his son's shoulder, wanting to break every single person and thing that put his sons through so much pain and wishing that he could do anything to change this, to swap places with Caiellis and give his sons the lives that they had fought for and the lives that had been torn away from them nine years ago by his brother and the demons he sold his soul to for dark power. Tears spilled down his own cheeks as he beheld his two sons, one of them dead and the other one extremely close to it and dying inside, and his grip on Alexander's shoulder shook. He had to put all of his will power into stopping himself from wrapping the shuddering and sobbing boy, his eldest son, into a hug and letting him cry over his father, because Alexander needed time with Caiellis and would react violently to being torn away from him.

He deserved time with his younger brother who had died because of Marik's failure to be a father, his failure to protect the things that were closest to him and his failure to make sure his sons knew that they were loved more than anything else in this world. Alexander deserved to be with his little brother, because he was the only one in Caiellis's family that had shown him the love that Marik should have given him after the loss of Emili, and if anything the seventeen year old had been a better father to Caiellis than his actual one.

He had protected the younger boy, taught him about the world, stayed with him throughout the civil war, fought their dad for the thirteen year old's sake and always been there to emotionally reassure and comfort him, was always there to be whatever Caiellis needed, and the second the youngest Lucerna was in his father's care Marik failed both of his sons and his wife who had given birth to both of them, failed himself because he had been too stupid to embrace the happiness of the world that still existed even after the death of his soul mate, pushing away and despising the gift of his two wonderful sons who had survived the civil war.

If anything, Alexander had much more of a reason to be sad than their failure of a father, as he wept over the slender and small form of his younger brother who was as thin as a tall teenager should be but without the height to match it, making him seem so young and fragile which he was, so vulnerable. Caiellis limply rested his head on his brother's shoulder as Alexander gave up trying to breathe for him for another short moment, panting for breath desperately as the body of his sibling leaned into him, the two innocent boys appearing like they were embracing each other without the fact that Caiellis's arms were hanging at his sides instead of wrapped part way across his brother.

And how many times had Marik seen his sons like this, peeking in on his sons to see them sleeping in the same bed and drawing comfort from one another? There had been the night after the Aksua incident and the first of the horrible arguments between father and youngest son, where Caiellis had calmed down his scared and pained older brother and likewise gained security and safety from being with someone he could trust after being hurt by their dad. And then there had been the early hours of today, whereby his young sons had cuddled up to each other before the battle because of how scared they both were, and how many arguments Marik and Caiellis had gone through the day before, the day when the horror had made the king strangle his youngest son for the first and what should have been the last time he ever laid a hand on his son with the intent to do harm.

They had snuggled together, sensing what each other had needed and giving it freely and readily, setting aside the proprietary barriers of being teenage boys who also needed personal space to do so and help one another, whereas Marik hadn't been able to set aside the role of being a Lucerna king to come to the aid of his youngest son when he needed emotional reassurance that his brother was almost too wounded to give.

But now, instead of them sleeping in the same bed as one another and snug in the presence of each other, innocence and brotherly love made manifest, Alexander was wracked with shivers of fright and grief that wouldn't stop and his brother wasn't moving at all of his own accord, would have been still without the trembling seventeen year old trying to fix his father's mistakes.

Marik kept his hand heavy on his son's shoulder, ready and waiting to provide comfort when needed even though he doubted that anything he could ever do would help either of his sons or even himself. He wouldn't be able to salvage Alexander's heart, because his own was broken and there was no way that he could fix it after seeing Caiellis take his own life and cry his eyes out because of what he thought his father's true opinion of him was, sadness equal to that which Alexander and Marik felt afflicting his youngest son and making him not want to live any longer, but instead of running from the pain of his children this time, he would do his damned hardest to help the last remaining member of his family.

Alexander would let go of his brother eventually, because he had to, even though Marik knew that it could be hours before he did so, and the king would wait all that time and more for the point where his seventeen year old son, too young for this type of grief, although there was no one old enough for it, no one that deserved it, curled into his father and sobbed into the man instead of his still younger brother. And Marik would be there for him.

He had nowhere else to go, and the world was cold around him. The army could be winning the battle for Usnaan, especially after his son's sacrifice, the destruction of the Archdemon Rakdos and the annihilation of the Tempest of Craving that was giving the Welkalites a massive advantage, or it could be being slaughtered without the Lucernas to lead it. Marik didn't care, even though a small part of him insisted that now he had failed his sons he could not fail the kingdom, but he knew that the generals of the Lucaelian force were adept enough to finish the battle without him or Alexander.

He needed to remain with his eldest son, to help him through this as much as he could. The boy was the only thing that was left to Marik, and while he would never obtain happiness again that didn't mean that Alexander should be left bereft of it for the rest of his life.

Marik was about to say something as the snivelling of his eldest child abated somewhat, the boy sobbing more quietly and managing to whisper to his brother, too quiet and broken for the forty year old to hear even in the silence all around them, about to do something to try and help the only son that he had left, when Alexander shrieked loudly.

"He's not dead!"

The words were alien to the king, who automatically assumed, trapped within his own freezing ocean of anguish making everything cold and colourless around him, dulling down every sensation and every emotion apart from the grief and the guilt consuming him, that Alexander was simply protesting defiantly in the face of his brother's horrible predicament, that he refused to believe that Caiellis was dead because of the awful reality that the thirteen year old would not live out the rest of his life being too harsh for the youngster. The boy shouted again at his brother, "Caiellis!"

But instead of defiance within the tone, this time it was not resistance to the stillness of his baby brother, it was belief and truth and relief and utter desperation that wracked the seventeen year old. Marik leaned forwards, his hand slipping from his son's shoulder involuntarily as he did so.

And, just like that, Marik bore witness to a miracle.

Alexander quickly pushed his little brother away from him so that he could see the boy who was vibrating without his brother's trembling movements, something so infinitesimal and small that Marik hadn't noticed it, though even with how imperceptible it would have been he was not in the least bit surprised that Alexander had picked up on it because of his intimate connection with his younger brother.

Alexander was crying again, tears of shock and joy mixed with the anguish and sadness that hadn't truly gone yet but was having none of the boy's attention, and while Caiellis was still limp in his brother's arms he was limp but trembling himself as well.

It can't be …

While Marik did not know how long his baby boy had been dead and cold for as time had lost all meaning to him after waking up and being confronted by his corpse, he knew for certain that Caiellis was dead, and the boy wouldn't suddenly restart without his brother or father doing anything at the time to help him. The king was afraid to believe, afraid to believe that the boy's body wasn't just trembling from releasing the magical energy that had been poured into it when his father had desperately tried to use White mana borne of his protective grief to repair his broken form, but when he saw the sparkles of light above the boy's birthmark he knew that his son was coming back to life.

There were sparkles of gold and purple, but more so of the latter, a haunting and melancholy yet innocent and pure sphere of radiance and iridescence floating above the Black Sun on the boy's bruised and bloody cheek, dancing around it like the luminescent flight of a Goldenglow moth Summoning. It was a weak light, but it was there, filled with a strength that was much more than its dimmed form, and Marik somehow knew that this little ball of light was as much his youngest son as the small and thin body held tightly and protectively in his big brother's arms.

"He's alive!" Alexander cried, choking on the words of utter and unadulterated joy flooding through him. Marik didn't want to be premature, he didn't want to be filled with the hope that his son was alive only for it to be a trick of the light. He had known that his son was dead, but his skinny chest was hitching forwards like he was trying to breathe as the light was slowly absorbed into him. The paleness of his bloodied cheeks did not dissipate, but the dead greyness of them did, and even though the boy was as white as a sheet where he was not wounded he was still alive.

He knew what he saw. He knew that he lost one son today at the price of his arrogance, at the price of his failure to be the only thing that the boy needed from him. He knew it … but …

A flicker of scintillating darkness and resonant light caught him at the corner of his vision, and even though he was loathe to tear his eyes away from his sons for the fear that Caiellis would leave him whilst he wasn't looking, he had to look over at it. There, stood by his sons' side, was an angel, the most magnificent angel that Marik had ever seen, the angel that Marik had been the most grateful to see out of all of them.

She was weak, and infused with an ethereal quality that made her fade in and out of the world and allowed the king to see through her even when she was there, and for a second Marik though he was imagining the image, imaging his son coming back to life as his grief-stricken mind refused to accept the reality that he was dead. But she was there, Marik could see her, her hand outstretched where she had released the little ball of light that was his youngest son into the abused body of the boy here, and he was not imagining it as she turned towards the king.

There was hatred in her eyes, hatred that Marik deserved, and grief, grief that the king was intimately familiar with, as well as some sympathy that he did not merit at all. However, the greatest part of her haunting and awe-inspiring gaze was the pleading note to it, something that he had never seen from an angel before but something that alerted him to the direness of the situation despite the miracle of life in his son once again.

Her lips, purple and infused with an angelic glow that could have made Marik fall to his knees and weep, moved. Even though no sound came out of them, the king could still read the words that were spoken.

"Save him."

And suddenly, the coldness around the king shattered as the dark angel dissolved into twinkling particles of beautiful and iridescent purple illumination, and sensation returned to the king as he staggered forwards, his eyes instantly going towards his youngest son as the light pulsed into his Lucerna birthmark and disappeared. Marik was still scared to believe, scared to even breathe, because of how terrified he was at the possibility of losing his youngest son once again, but the boy was breathing right in front of him.

Or at least trying to. Caiellis's skinny chest hitched up and down, and his mouth opened, gaping for air as his brother watched with bated breath and eyes blinded by tears. His eyes remained resolutely shut, and he was clearly unconscious, but that didn't stop him from making horrible wheezing, gasping sounds as blood began to bubble up from his lips and choke him, the pained noises he was making breaking Marik completely out of his stupor as he knelt down quickly beside Alexander, the seventeen year old still clutching onto his younger brother as he gazed at him with a mixture of pure relief and hysterical panic as the smaller boy trembled, blood spilling from his slightly open mouth.

"Caiellis..." the older boy whispered, his eyes still wide with shock and horror as his brother moved weakly in his hands, his arms wrapped around Caiellis but not clutching him too tightly so that he could not see what was happening. Marik leaned forwards, stretching out his hand to his youngest son and searching for a pulse. There still wasn't one, which was extremely bad, as the little life that had been given back to his little boy by the Angel of the Black Sun would soon run out without any air and no beating of his heart to pump blood around his body and infuse him with energy.

He quickly took of his gauntlets, ripping off the ornate and artificer relic armour and tossing the metal gloves aside so that he could better help his son as his heartbeat was loud inside of his head, thumping desperately inside of him as the hope of having his son back after being swamped by endless freezing anguish clashed with the horrible possibility of not being able to save him once again, not being able to help his son because his wounds were too bad even with the life given to the boy.

That would not happen. Now that Caiellis was alive, Marik would not fail him again, he would never fail him again, and while the man and his child still drew breath Caiellis would be protected and safe and he is going to live angels damn it if it is the last thing I do! He deserves to live, and Orzhova has given me this chance to make up for all of my mistakes and I am not going to waste Caiellis's last opportunity for life.

He wouldn't lose Caiellis again. He wouldn't lose Caiellis. He wouldn't lose Caiellis, Alexander wouldn't lose his little brother, Emili wouldn't see her youngest son in paradise until, many, many more years had passed, and Marik would be the first out of his family to see his wife once again. Johnias wouldn't, because there was a special place in hell reserved for the king's twin brother, but right now Marik did not care about that at all. All he cared about was the truth that his second son had been given a lifeline by his angelic Summoning Orzhova, a thin strand of life that Marik had to secure and allow Caiellis to never let go of for as long as his dad lived.

The king quickly wiped away tears with his bloody hands, the amount of crimson vitae that had spilt upon his gauntlets when he had been wearing them meaning that some had leaked through the very small gaps in them and now covered his hands. He needed to see his son; he couldn't be crying now or indulging in his own emotions because Caiellis's hold upon life was very weak, his son still couldn't breathe on his own and his heart wasn't beating.

Alright, Marik, stop panicking. You can do this. Caiellis needs you, and you can do this. He consciously managed to stop most of his shuddering, only to the point where it wasn't going to hurt Caiellis, but he couldn't stop all of the shaking because he was still scared for his son.

His eldest boy still held his brother, his motions and shaking frozen up as he stared at his younger sibling, his eyes fixed upon the younger boy's face that was still motionless apart from the crimson bubbling up from his pale, blue lips and spilling down his face and chin. Alexander was still trembling, as was his brother in his arms, but neither of them were moving apart from that. It seemed that the seventeen year old who had tried desperately to save his dead brother when his father had been stood still and unable to help was now prevented from reacting by his horror at seeing his brother dying right in front of his eyes, the tiny bit of life given to him by the angel, his saviour, running out as his older brother was powerless to act.

The boy was transfixed by seeing his brother die, because he hadn't seen it the first time and couldn't do anything to help him, couldn't force his body into moving as he forgot how to move.

"We need to perform CPR and breathe for him, Alexander," Marik told the boy, quickly, efficiently, his voice only carrying how scared he was at the possibility of losing Caiellis for the second time now that he could help the much younger male, losing almost all of the grief and broken anguish within it as he grabbed hold of the chance to save his son with all of his might. He didn't even notice Akroma dissipating because of the fact that all of his mana had been used up, didn't feel her returning to him as he spoke to his eldest son. He sounded far saner than he truly felt, but he had to be strong now, for Caiellis.

Alexander looked up at him once again, and once again he appeared extremely young and barely put together, like a tiny breeze would knock him over and shatter his body. His blue eyes were wide and scared for a second time, gazing up at Marik with a mixture of confusion borne from severe shock and fear as tears pour out of his eyes. The boy then murmured, "He's going to be ok."

There was a scary shade of hope and brokenness in Alexander's voice, and it made Marik wonder when and how he forgot his children were still only young boys and unsuited for this amount of emotional and physical pain. He needed comfort, stability, and love. Both of his sons needed comfort and love, but Marik couldn't give these things right now, he didn't know how to give them now, he didn't have the time to give them now. But he could offer them strength. It was all that he had right now, welling up from a source that Marik couldn't identify within him but one that he was immensely grateful for.

"Alexander? Do you understand me?" the king asked, his voice too harsh, but he couldn't control his tone now, not when it didn't matter. He was reminded of when Alexander had been as close to dying as Caiellis was now (though even then the younger boy was probably much closer), when he had acted with irritation and anger at everything because of how scared he was, shouting at Caiellis for being unable to help hoist his brother up. This was similar to that, but instead of anger there was just desperation that made his voice hard and growling.

He reached out to take his youngest son from his eldest, the boy too shocked watching his baby brother struggle to breathe or live to act, but Alexander's grip was fierce and he was not letting go. Alexander didn't know how to let go. He had been holding onto Caiellis as the world and everything they had known was ripped apart around them since he was eight years old, and he wasn't about to stop now, not for anything.

"He's going to be ok?" Alexander repeated, but this time it was much more of a question, a desperate inquiry that sent waves of terror through the king. The boy sounded younger than eight years old this time, though the words were infused with all of the terror he had felt waking up to a dead mother in the arms of his father and being held back by former Guardian Axeclion.

If the Lucerna patriarch had any intentions on answering truthfully and as factually as possible, he would have told the younger man that all signs pointed towards Caiellis not surviving this, that Caiellis needed a hospital and dedicated healers to save his life but there was no way that he would be able to get to one in time, that the only thing his father and brother could do to help him was to stabilise his condition as much as possible and even then his hold upon life would still be perilous and he wouldn't be able to breathe on his own.

But Marik wasn't even thinking of these facts himself. All he was thinking about was the safety of his youngest son, the second chance he had been given to save the boy's life when he had been too late and too negligent the first time around, so instead he answered with the only words that he knew, "He will, Alexander. But we need to help him, and I need to have him."

That was enough to convince the seventeen year old to be able to relinquish his grasp upon his fragile little brother who was barely moving but was moving all the same, even if those movements were only frail little shakes as blood was spat up from his mouth and the cut in his neck. Alexander wasn't subdued enough to let go of his brother fully, however, which was a good thing as Marik went about quickly and extremely efficiently going into a routine of examining his youngest son, sharply aware of how little time they had to save Caiellis.

"We are going to perform CPR, do you understand me Alexander?" Marik asked, keeping his voice as level and even as he could as to not scare his eldest son who ideally needed someone seeing to his wounds as well. This was something that he knew how to do, and with that came the strength to act. He hadn't been able to do anything for Caiellis when he was dead, but now that he was alive again he could approach each problem as it came and right now what his son needed was to be able to breathe and have his heart pumped around his body.

"Shouldn't we call for help? Shouldn't we get a healer?" Alexander asked quickly as his father gently pulled his youngest son completely away from his eldest, the boy coming round the side and instinctively grabbing hold of one of Caiellis's small and delicate hands which shouldn't have ever been wrapped around the handle of a weapon, much less wielding the weapon against the foulest horrors and demons of the forsaken abyssm.

He quickly wiped the tears of joy and shock and grief away from his face and vision, his eyes still transfixed by the horrible image of his brother choking on his blood almost silently that would remain with him for as long as he lived. Marik positioned Caiellis flat on his back again, tilting his head backwards.

"There is no time," Marik replied quickly, "We either do this ourselves or Caiellis will be gone. Do you hear me, Alexander? Caiellis will be gone if we don't help him."

He didn't want to scare his son past the terror that was already flooding through the seventeen year old boy, but the words had to be said and honestly Marik couldn't care less about the emotional state of Alexander when Caiellis was dying in front of his eyes once again – but this time he wasn't trapped in his mind and only able to watch, no, this time he could help. He could save his youngest son, and he needed Alexander's help to do that no matter how the teenager felt.

He didn't wait for the boy's response, but leaned over and pinched Caiellis's nose once again, blowing hard into his mouth to the point where his own vision was blurring with streaks of darkness. With one hand he held his son's head still and in the right position, and with the other he put pressure on the wound slicing open his throat, dearly wishing he hadn't wasted all of his mana earlier trying to heal a corpse because now he might be able to seal it up. Watching Caiellis's chest begin to rise and fall even as the boy made horrible choking noises, he positioned himself over the youngster's thin chest.

"I need you to breathe for him," Marik ordered, because orders he could work with, orders he could give out and orders he could follow, so as he commanded his son he commanded himself in a series of steps inside of his head that prevented the despair and anguish and guilt which would do nothing for Caiellis from overwhelming him.

He grabbed hold of Alexander's bare and bruised left wrist with a blood-slick hand, the one that had been preventing Caiellis choking as much on his blood and putting pressure on the self-inflicted wound which hand killed him, his son's hand smaller than his but still much larger than the slender hand within its grasp that belonged to the youngest Lucerna which was let go of quickly. He wrapped the seventeen year old's hand around Caiellis's slender throat, trying not to think of how his own larger hands had been doing the same only an hour or two ago and had been crushing the life from the young adolescent.

"I need you to breathe for him, and to put pressure on his wound so that he can breathe. Just like I did just then, just like you did earlier. Can you do that?" the king asked, though really it was more of a demand. Alexander nodded quickly, the horrified and shocked expression on his face not leaving but blending with one of pure determination to save his younger sibling and brotherly love. It wasn't a question that Marik had to ask. Alexander always followed his father's orders, unless those orders compromised his brother's safety – but that was the only exception. And Alexander always protected Caiellis.

But that was the way that Marik was. Asking questions that didn't need to be asked and not asking the ones that actually mattered. Not asking why Caiellis had fought so hard against things with his father but had been so polite and pleasant to everyone else. Not asking his youngest son how he actually felt, not asking him if he knew that he was loved even through all of the arguments and fights. Not asking if there was more to his violent anger directed towards the youngest Lucerna when they fought. Not asking if Caiellis could be right.

Not asking if it was possible that Marik was wrong about everything.

The seventeen year old bent down to breathe for his younger brother, firmly pressing down in the horrible slice on his neck that must have made Caiellis go fully unconscious, stop breathing and having his heart not beating earlier, because Alexander refused to believe that his younger sibling had actually died. He had just coded, that was all, his heart had stopped and he had not been breathing, but he had never died. It was a very near death experience.

He winced at the horrible bruising all across the younger boy's throat, the tiny mark where he had been choked by dad the day before seemingly small and innocent in the face of all of these awful finger marks and horrific red lines that looked something like rope burns. The middle Lucerna tried not to think of his baby brother being strangled by chains of darkness and blood from the greatest demon in the capital city of Usnaan that the youngster had fought, of Cai being sliced and cut and burnt by knives and fire from the deepest pits of hell.

And most of all he tried not to think of Cai dying, falling unconscious because he couldn't breathe with the wound on his neck and bleeding out, tried not to think of the coppery, metallic tang of his brother's blood in his mouth as he breathed for the boy. He forced down the vomit that threatened to rise up from his stomach, because throwing up would stop him from breathing for his little brother and that was something that was not going to happen for as long as he could still breathe himself, but even if he couldn't he would find a way to do it.

Caiellis's fragile chest moved under the king's hands, and whilst his son was trying not to think about anything but saving the younger brother he loved so much Marik couldn't think of anything else but the boy who he had failed that he needed to bring back to life now. He could feel Caiellis's cold skin underneath his hands, the low temperature of the boy worrying him tremendously as the cold seeped out from the remnants of his shredded clothes. His son made another terrible strangled, wheezing sound, and Marik tried not to snap as he said, "Don't squeeze his throat too hard, Alexander. Too much pressure on it will choke him even more and set off the bruising. Just be firm but not squeezing, and if you have any mana left this would be a good time to use it."

The boy nodded back, though his father didn't see, not that he needed to check that the command had been acknowledged by the eldest teenager here. He shifted his grip on Caiellis's neck even if he hadn't been choking him, a few pathetic golden particles drifting out of his fingers and doing pitifully little to repair the gaping wound in his throat that was leaking, no, pumping blood at a greater rate now that their dad was restating his hand and covering Alexander's hand in crimson vitae.

Alexander breathed for his brother. Marik pushed at his chest. True to form when with his father, Caiellis didn't respond past making a few more noises that would haunt Marik's nightmares. But, angels damn everything, Marik wasn't quitting, wasn't intending to ever give up or ever surrender now that he had been given the gift of having a second chance with saving his youngest son, and Alexander sure as hell wasn't either. And neither was Caiellis, even though he wasn't in the position to decide whether he wanted to or not.

Alexander breathed deeper. Marik pushed harder, putting all of his determination and resolution that Caiellis would get the life that he deserved into the compressions. And Caiellis sucked in a strangled breath from the air his brother was giving him. A surge of hope pushed its way into Marik's almost broken heart. Maybe Caiellis would be ok after all, even with the wounds he had suffered and the emotional pain he had gone through. Alexander backed off for a moment, heaving in breaths of air and spitting blood again but keeping his hand pressed on his brother's throat as firmly as possible without choking him as the small body sprawled out on the obliterated ground took one stuttering breath, followed quickly by another.

Marik stopped his compressions for a moment, holding his palm out flat across his son's abused chest and blocking out the sounds of his gasping breaths for a second as he focussed on his heart. There were vibrations there, in his youngest son, too weak and too erratic and far too fast, but there was a beat there and it made Marik want to punch the air in joy and cry tears of happiness. But it was far too early for that right now, as Caiellis was nowhere near safe or in a good condition – or even a bad but stable one.

He executed a few more compressions, if only to strengthen and steady the beating of his baby boy's heart, and then stopped. The monarch of the Kingdom of Light was tempted to place his hand on his son's throat alongside Alexander's so that he could have contact with both of his sons, but personal comfort could wait until Caiellis was fine.

The boy was breathing on his own, but he wouldn't be able to do it without the pressure his big brother was putting on the wound that would prevent in inhalation of air and stopped too much blood from spurting out from it. He was thankful for a second that Caiellis was so small compared to his brother as otherwise more blood would be getting out, the thirteen year old couldn't afford to lose much more, and was pleased when Alexander let his brother's head drop as he moved his other hand round to better focus his lacking healing mana, allowing Marik to hold the youngster's head up.

The hope within him turned to more grim determination as Caiellis's back suddenly arched off of the ground, his small muscles pulling taut as he convulsed. Caiellis might have been breathing on his own but he was also seizing, something that Marik had know had been possible but something that he wanted to avoid. Even though the boy was unconscious, and deeply so, Marik could see that he was in pain, huge amounts of it that the king wished he could take away as he thrashed, Alexander's panic rising instantly the second his brother began to move.

"Dad? Dad?! What is happening?! What is he doing?!" the boy instantly screamed in pure terror at having the almost perfect state of his younger brother ruined, shaking again as Caiellis moved underneath his palms, and while he didn't want to take away his hands from his brother's wounds it hurt him to see Caiellis thrashing and scraping himself on the ground as sounds akin to choked hyperventilations emerged from his mouth.

"He's just seizing up. Let me handle this," the king told his son sternly, though there was a note of shaky desperation to his voice that he couldn't quite erase from his tone. The eldest Lucerna didn't want his firstborn son moving his lastborn in a way that would hurt Caiellis even more as he could tell that Alexander wasn't able to think straight and could do more harm than good if he started holding the small thirteen year old down. Marik didn't understand how he could think straight either, but all he was focussed upon was his youngest son, his baby, and that he had to save him.

The forty year old father grabbed Caiellis's thin and bony right arm, manoeuvring it so that it was at a right angle to his body with the jutting elbow bent and the cut and burned palm facing outwards, a task made slightly harder by the teenager's convulsing but thankfully (well, not really, but in this case it was a good thing) it was weak enough so Marik could easily overwhelm it. Not that if his son had been at full strength his father wouldn't have been able to overpower the small and physically weak boy, but that wasn't important now and only meant that Marik should have protected him even more.

The boy's equally thin left arm was placed across his heavily marked chest with the back of his hand against his cheek that was more marked by his Lucerna heritage and the angel that had chosen him, the angel that Marik had admittedly mistrusted but the angel which had saved his life and brought him back from death's door. Pulling up Caiellis's left knee, mildly concerned by the fact that the boy's thigh was thinner than his father's arm though there were far more pressing issues currently, Marik bent the leg and moved it forwards until the foot was flat on the ground, Alexander's panicked eyes watching his movements all the while and making sure he kept up the pressure.

The single father of two and the king of the entire nation of Lucael rolled Caiellis back over so that he was flat with his back on the ground instead of curling to one side in his spasms, tilting his head back so that his airways could remain open and he could breathe. He hated seeing his son in pain more than anything apart from seeing him dead, and holding the still body of Caiellis in his arms was a memory that he was never going to forget, just like he was never going to forget these shivering convulsions after the boy had just started to road to, while it couldn't be called recovery, stabilisation at the very least.

Tremors rippled through his youngest son and Marik could only stare. He had done all he could in putting the wounded thirteen year old in a safe and stable position, and now it was up to Caiellis to stop. Marik didn't want to think about what would happen If the boy's seizures caused by having his heart suddenly restarted and his body coming to terms with all of the injuries inflicted upon it didn't abate, because there would be nothing that he could do.

"Why aren't they stopping? Come on, Cai, stop. Caiellis, please, stop moving. Caiellis..." the boy's big brother said to him, his voice suffused with a pleading note as he wished he could hold the younger boy still and help, but he knew that he was helping by allowing the smaller male to breathe. Alexander's voice was desperate, they both hated seeing Caiellis in this much pain and it still hurt even though they had seen him still and dead and this was better than that, and Marik wished that he could do something for Caiellis. He settled on stroking the back of the boy's head with a bloody thumb, moving the youngest Lucerna's sticky hair around with it as he forced himself to keep watching and not look away. More bloody spittle was frothing up from Caiellis's mouth that was closed and shut, the boy breathing out of his nose when he could though he alternated between that and his mouth.

"Cai … please, little brother, stop. Please, Caiellis, you're just hurting yourself," Alexander spoke to him like Marik wasn't even there, like his baby brother wasn't asleep and convulsing in the grip of violent seizures even as his father ensured he was in the optimal position for recovering from them and made his grip steady the boy. Marik wondered if he should be saying something along those lines to his youngest son as well, saying something to reassure and comfort Caiellis despite the fact that the boy wouldn't be able to hear it, but he couldn't think of the words so stayed silent.

He continued with his motions of gently rubbing the boy, glad Alexander hadn't stop putting pressure on the wound on the child's neck and that the seventeen year old was healing the smaller boy as much as possible with his severely lacking mana. Whilst he didn't know what to say and didn't want to interrupt Alexander, Marik hoped that simply keeping contact with his youngest son and soothing his pain as much as possible in that way would help, even if it was only a tiny bit, and reassure the thrashing boy that his family was here to help him through this pain and protect him.

He held the boy's head up to stop him from smashing it into the ground repeatedly, and grasped both of Caiellis's small wrists in his large hand to stop his arms from flailing weakly around, hating how they were covered in blood, cut, bruised and burnt by the chains of darkness which had held him down and stopped him from saving himself. Marik would have shivered in fright as he remembered the awful images of his youngest son being tortured and broken by the Archdemon Rakdos, images that would stay with him forever just like all of the ones playing out in front of him now would, if he hadn't been so focussed on helping his little boy.

The entire city could be falling down around the two, but as long as it did not affect Caiellis or stop them from helping him neither would pay attention to it, such was their devotion to the youngest member of their small and broken family. "Come on, little bro. Stop this now. You can do it. I believe in you, Cai, and me and dad are here for you. Please, stop. Please, just wake up."

With an explosive exhalation of air that sprayed saliva flecked with heavy amounts of blood all around him, Caiellis's seizure ceased, and returned to being scarily still once again. Marik instantly spread out his palm and could have wept with joy when he felt the faint vibrations of Caiellis's heartbeat in his chest. It was small, weak, and far too fast despite that, but it was there and that was all that mattered.

"Dad," Alexander let go of his brother's throat with one hand, the vital artery within it almost healed up by the meagre healing he had poured into it with all of his strength and all of his need to protect his brother, and grabbed onto his father's arm, clinging to the larger man like he was a lifeline. The words he spoke were desperate and needing Marik to reassure him as he asked, "Is Caiellis going to be ok now?"
The voice of his eldest son was so young and so uncertain and the king wished to the angels that he had an answer to the question. No, Caiellis wasn't alright now, because if he had another seizure it would probably be much worse as his breathing was already awful, and there was nothing either of them could do to stop it, but Marik couldn't say that to his son – he could barely even think it to himself, but it was his job to think of the potential dangers to his sons so that he could eliminate them.

Concentrating on Caiellis's chest, the king of Lucael waited for the tell-tale and systematic rise and fall of it that would be indicative of his son being able to breathe on his own once again, forcing the panic back when at first he didn't feel anything. He consciously stopped himself from shaking and shuddering because he would be no use to his son that way, stilling his frightened and shocked shivering so that he would be able to actually feel if Caiellis was breathing or not. It was there, now that he had stopped himself trembling, the movements of his chest slight and his breathing shallow. But it was there. That was all that mattered for now.

Infusing as much authority and determination as he could muster up into the words, Marik answered his son, "Yes, Alexander. Caiellis will be fine."

The words lacked conviction but Alexander seemed to be satisfied by it, his hard grip on his father's arm that would probably leave a bruise with how strong his eldest son was becoming relaxing infinitesimally.

They needed to move Caiellis, to get him somewhere safe and somewhere where there was a trained Ordo Medella operative that was a master of the healing arts. But Marik didn't want to move his son because he was, for now, stable here. He recalled Akroma to him, before then realising that she had been forced to leave when he had run out of mana, something he had not noticed with all of the fear of losing his youngest once again as well as the renewed hope of seeing him breathe and feeling his small but strong and kind heart beating.

Akroma would have been able to carry the boy to the camp outside of the city where the non-combative Ordo Medella personnel would be waiting to take care of the wounded if they hadn't started entering the City of Pleasure already now that the Rain of Gore had stopped. Aurelia would be able to do that too, but Marik knew already that if his eldest son had enough mana to Summon her then she would already be here.

But without an angel there was no way they could get Caiellis to a Medella doctor with the resources, knowledge and expertise to help him without carrying him through the city that would still probably be in the midst of the brutal war waged to save the foolish Welkalites from their idiocy and their leaders' pacts with demons, demons like the Lord of Riots that Caiellis had not just banished but killed.

"Shouldn't he be waking up? Why isn't he waking up?" Alexander asked nervously, and Marik was sure that his seventeen year old son would have been practically bouncing up and down if he didn't have to keep pressure on Caiellis's throat wound. Marik didn't even glance at him, just kept focussing on the youngest member of his family. The king let his hand slide across the thirteen year old's hair, a movement of comfort and solace which should have been given freely in the days before this, a movement of comfort and solace that shouldn't have had to wait until Caiellis had already nearly died and left the world of the living to be delivered. He didn't want to answer; he didn't know how to answer the burning question.

"He's weak," Marik tried, pushing his son's long (for a boy) hair out of his eyes. It was a gigantic understatement. Caiellis's chest was barely moving and Marik was keeping his other hand there just to be sure that it kept at it. "His breathing is still shallow."

"But shouldn't he be waking up now?" Alexander pressed, because he was so concerned for his little brother and needed to know everything that was wrong with him. He knew that the boy had just come back from the dead, knew that he was very weak, but he just wanted Caiellis to wake up and know that his big brother was there to protect and help him. He wanted to be able to know that Cai was aware he was safe and that Alex was here, and the younger boy's stillness scared him.

Caiellis had always been a quiet and shy boy, even though he had been a bit of a chatter box when he had been younger and in the company of people he liked and felt comfortable talking around, always asking questions in an attempt to satiate the endless curiosity his ridiculously sized brain had. Though even with that Alexander had always been louder than his brother, that was just how it had been and how it was, and despite the fact that Cai had never really made much noise this unnatural silence was terrifying him.

He remembered the days, the weeks, after their mother's death where the four year old Caiellis had refused to talk, even to his big brother, locked away all of his emotion and declined to speak to anyone until a week or so after it when he had exploded in tears when Alexander had started crying in front of him (something that the older boy would never admit to anyone, not even his brother, telling him he had imagined it) and then couldn't stop crying almost continuously for days on end until his throat was raw from the sobs. But this silence was even worse then that.

Alexander knew that he was being ridiculous even thinking that Caiellis would be in a condition to speak with the appalling wounds on his throat, much less be aware enough to do so coherently, but the seventeen year old desperately wanted to hear his little brother's voice – even if it was confused and only semi-conscious. He just wanted Cai awake, because firstly it would mean that his condition wasn't as bad as he thought it was and secondly even if his brother was only ever so slightly aware of the outside world Alex would be able to calm him down and comfort him.

The man quickly ripped a piece of fabric from his bloody shirt underneath his armour that he had half-shrugged off for more manoeuvrability with his stricken son, gently prying Alexander's hand away from the younger boy's wound and wrapping the cloth quite tightly but not constrictively around it. They needed to move, and soon, before Caiellis's fragile body gave out again. Once he had done that, Marik acknowledged the boy's question.

The king sent a small glance over to his eldest son, loathe to look away from Caiellis even for a second in case something happened to the boy, but he had two sons and an obligation to make sure that both of them were alright. Alexander's eyes, the same colour as his father's, though the blue in them was much warmer, but with the same expressiveness and love as Emili's even though the boy could adopt the mask as quickly as any of his family and much better sometimes so that he could force others to ignore his own pain and help themselves, were periodically flicking between little brother and father, checking one was alright and looking to the other for guidance that Marik wasn't sure he could provide but would do all he could to try to.

The seventeen year old looked so damn scared, so lost within this world and unable to help his little brother, and Marik felt so much sympathy for his son in that one single moment. He wished he could drag Alexander into his arms, drag both of his sons into his arms, but there would be time for that later, when Caiellis got the help that he needed to get through this.

Marik didn't know how to answer the question, so he didn't, because there were no reassurances that would help his eldest son that he could give right now, with Caiellis slipping away slowly in front of them. He pulled the younger one of his two sons into his arms, the boy almost weightless within them. Caiellis almost stirred, a faint, fleeting flicker of infinitesimal awareness that diminished the instant it sprang into life and the boy was slack in his arms as he pulled him up, still kneeling down.

The king coughed, involuntarily, his breath coloured with blood that suggested his own internal bleeding was even worse, but it wasn't possible for him to care less about that right now so long as it didn't stop him from helping his son. The pain was distant, ignorable, and nothing compared to the danger that Caiellis was in, so as a father he repressed it.

Since there had been no response from his dad, Alexander turned back to his younger brother in his father's arms, wanting to keep contact with him but not wanting to get in the way and almost wishing he was carrying the younger teenager who needed to be able to live out the rest of his teenage years.

The eldest loyal Lucerna hefted the boy up, preparing to stand, one arm under his son's skinny knees just above the wounds in his lower abdomen, the other one round his shoulders and holding his head still and in a position where he could still breathe. The man gently pulled Caiellis forwards so that the little boy was resting against him, his head cradled in the crook of Marik's neck and his messy hair tickling his chin. The king wondered whether he should leave his son with Alexander instead of standing up with him in his arms and go and find help on his own, stay with Caiellis and send Alexander (he instantly dismissed that, because the thought of his son going alone in the city with that little mana terrified him) or to carry Caiellis and have Alexander follow them.

All of the decisions had their own positives and potential consequences and downfalls, but what was certain that keeping Caiellis, who was slowly dying in spite of him not wanting to acknowledge that or let Alexander know, here in the courtyard was and simply waiting for help was achieving nothing.

He stood up to his full height, Alexander following the motions and rising to his own feet, the seventeen year old quickly grabbing and sheathing the sword that he had dropped when he had first seen his dead little brother in preparation for moving, such efficient motions that someone looking in from the outside might not be able to tell that he was panicked and lost and terrified apart from the shaking movements his body was still making.

But for now Marik paused. He held his baby boy in his arms, striving to feel the tiny tremors that constituted Caiellis's pained and shallow breathing. He was still extremely worried, and not only because of the fact that the boy was slowly slipping away back into the cold chasm of death that Orzhova had dragged him out of, because of the numerous things that could be wrong – oxygen deprivation, organ failure, potentially permanent brain damage – but Caiellis was alive, and it was such an unexpected gift that Marik didn't know how to understand the joy that was breaking his chest.

He didn't know how to understand any of this. All he knew that this was his son, his precious baby boy, and he was still clinging to life with all of his might.

"Caiellis, please, wake up. Please, dad, make Cai wake up," Alexander begged him, though Marik knew that if his eldest son had been thinking clearly he would have known that there was probably no way Caiellis would awaken any time soon from his weak and hopefully restorative slumber (although Marik feared the worst and feared that his son's condition was indicative of him getting worse as time went by and he didn't get any medical aid). The king looked back at his first son again, the tall boy seemingly very small and cowed by his brother's wounds; he was so vulnerable, so young, and Marik could tell from the wideness of his eyes that he was probably in shock himself over all that had happened. But the king couldn't deal with that now, he couldn't deal with Alexander's wounds because he would live just like he couldn't deal with his own wounds because the boy in his arms was far more important at the moment.

Marik looked down at Caiellis, then back at his eldest son, and then down to the boy held tightly once again, noting how his face was screwed up in pain and he was making awful sounds now that he had been picked up, his broken bones and wounds flaring into life once again.

"Please, dad. Make this right," Alexander murmured, only heard because of the fact that the youngster nestle up against Marik had such quiet and shallow breathing, and the utter desperation in his voice made Marik wish that he could have hugged the boy and put them both in impenetrable spheres of safety where the danger of the world could not harm them, or at least kept them in the Kingdom of Light away from the violence of this war after so recently being abducted.

And Alexander was a mixture of four or eight years old again, looking at his father with complete trust and faith that, while not extremely rare from the middle Lucerna, was unknown to the man in this amount after the civil war. There was no doubt whatsoever in his eyes with the pupils dilated almost over all of his blue irises, no question, and Marik was the hero that would put everything back together, repaired all of the pieces of their family and fixed everything that was wrong with their lives.

Even if it wasn't true, even if Marik didn't believe it himself, it was enough to make the king of Lucael act. His sons had lost too much over the years and in this battle within the capital of the New Empire of Passion, come too close today for them to lose anything more, even if it was something as transient and ethereal as Alexander's belief in his father.

Marik made his decision, turning back from the small and frail youngster in his arms to the bigger but no less fragile teenager stood behind him, waiting on his every move and looking pleadingly at the last two members of his small family that was infinitely precious and valuable beyond words to them all.

"I need you to hold your brother, Alexander. I am going to scout ahead and make sure the path down to the city streets is clear. Wait for my signal before you move," Marik told the younger man, ever so slightly loosening his grip on his slack youngest son who was still freezing cold but breaking into a sweat because of the amount of pain he was in in preparation for passing him over to his brother. Marik didn't want his seventeen year old to have to ensure that there were no enemies in their way, not in the state that he was in right now because it would be tantamount to a death sentence for the boy.

No, instead he would have his sons trailing behind him, trusting the older one of the two to be able to protect and carry the youngest whilst their father destroyed all the resistance in their way. They could not stay here, with Caiellis's condition slowly deteriorating, and while Marik hated the thought of breaking off contact with his second son it was the only thing that was feasible at the current moment if the thirteen year old was going to get the medical help that he needed to get through this.

"You call me right away if your brother stops breathing or he has a seizure again," Marik ordered, securing the fabric that was already wet and dripping with crimson blood around Caiellis's neck and ensuring it was putting enough pressure on the horrible wound that hadn't been healed much by his big brother's lacking mana, planting a kiss on his head as he did so when he thought of it. Alexander's attention and his eyes remained fixed on his younger brother, and the king had to shake his shoulder hard in order to elicit a response from the eldest prince.

Panicked eyes in a white face quickly turned towards Marik, a few freckles that Marik didn't even know his son had standing out because of how ashen his eldest son was, paler than he had been when it was him that had been dying because of the vampire's curse where the blood didn't splatter on his young face. "Got it, dad … call if Cai stops breathing or has a seizure."

Alexander stretched out his arms, ready to take his little brother within them when Marik chose to hand him over. The king smoothed back his son's hair, consciously aware that he was wasting time so that he could hold onto Caiellis for longer and not have to break off contact with his youngest son, an incredibly selfish action that was only prolonging the amount of time it would take to get Caiellis to safety, but he was loathe to let go of the boy.

The youngest Lucerna's birthmark then suddenly flashed with a haunting purple glow, wisping coils of gold and shadow pulsing out of it for a few seconds, and Marik pulled him forward and glanced at him alarm as Caiellis's almost slack face screwed up in pain, like he was going to begin another seizure and hurt himself.

"Dad?" Alexander's panicked voice rang out as he quickly shot through the very short distance between the two to his brother's side, hoping beyond hope that Cai would be ok and that he wasn't about to start convulsing once again, not now they needed to go and get him to help and safety – otherwise Alex didn't know what would happen. He wanted to hold Caiellis's hand but both of them were quite heavily injured, just like almost everywhere on the little teenager's fragile and easily damaged body that was littered with wounds, and he didn't want to get in the way of his father.

The sudden luminescence formed up next to Alex, who pried his eyes away from his brother as it did so, coalescing into a recognisable, albeit it weak and fading and infused with an ethereal quality that made it partly transparent, and the boy could have smiled in pure relief if he wasn't still shocked and horrified by what had transpired on this day and seeing his little brother still and almost dead, because while he may have coded, his heart may have stopped beating and he may have stopped breathing, he had not died as Alexander refused to believe that.

"That will not be necessary," a voice, normally honeyed and lyrical but instead suffused with urgency and strangely distant and quiet, evoking a little less of the awe-inspiring yet slightly terrifying resonance that it normally did which little Caiellis seemed to be completely immune to, or at least able to ignore it. Orzhova Summoned herself, which, while unexpected because of the fact that Alexander thought that Caiellis wouldn't have any mana whatsoever left with the amount that he had released and the amount of pain he was in – he was unconscious, which meant that he shouldn't have enough mana for the angel to use to Summon herself.

She continued on quickly, ignoring the two shocked stares that pierced into her and looking straight into king Marik's eyes, glaring at him with all of her divine force, "With the same technique that got my Summoner here in the first place, Voidwalking, I can take you two and Caiellis back to the City of the Sun, back to the Ordo Medella hospital that was responsible for saving Alexander from Aksua's curse. The medical tent back at the war camp will not be sufficient for saving Caiellis, but we can make a detour there to take Choirmaster Esmelde back to Civitas Sol so that she can work with Surgeon-general Mortan, who I presume stayed back in Lucael and save Caiellis."

Marik frowned for a moment, although inside he was glad because it would mean that they would be able to instantly leave Lucael and not have to move Caiellis far to get help. But the abyss would be dangerous, sensing the weak Lucerna and the exhaustion of the other two loyal members of the royal family travelling within its dark depths, and while he was sure that Orzhova would protect them she could be Unsummoned at any time if Caiellis became too weak to sustain her – which he already seemed to be, and if the way that she was pulsing in and out of reality was any indication then she wouldn't last much longer.

Besides, the doctors would be confused and uncertain without any way to contact them like they had done when Alexander had been wounded, and there was no way to ensure that they would all be in the same place – or if the ones within the Ordo Medella hospital were even trained for combat wounds, or how many of them were left there. Marik knew that they were extremely rigorously trained to react to any emergencies extremely quickly, but the king wasn't sure if such a course of action would have been more beneficial than simply Voidwalking Caiellis to the operatives within the war camp in spite of what the First Sisterhood angel said.

"Surely Choirmaster Esmelde should remain with the army so that she can help in saving the other wounded across Usnaan?" Marik replied, keeping hold of his son tightly despite Alexander's arms still being outstretched towards him and ready to take the younger boy himself. The Angel of the Black Sun glowered at him in a way that made it blatantly clear that it was physically impossible for her to care less about the other soldiers within the city, and Marik had to suppress a nervous gulp at the amount of hatred that he saw within the angel's eyes, remembering that his youngest son's Summoning had seen him when he had been possessed, spoken to him after he almost choked the boy to death and nearly killed him in numerous ways.

Marik knew that he deserved the angel's detestation, but he had never had hatred from a First Sisterhood angel (or any angel for that matter, but that made it worse) directed towards him before and it filled him with dread, dread that was pushed aside by his growing worry for Caiellis. He just hoped that Orzhova wasn't going to strike him down like he deserved, because he needed to make everything right with his son and hoped that his determined gaze conveyed that, even as staring into her onyx eyes made him want to run away screaming as fast as he could, fall to his knees in supplication, or weep at the shortness of life in equal measures.

Her presence was diminished by Caiellis's abject lack of mana, but she was still very impressive and Marik could only hope that she understood he had never meant to hurt his son, hurt her second ever Summoner.

"I sent warning ahead already," Orzhova told them as if she had been reading Marik's thoughts straight out of his head, her voice still agitated and urgent, though the emotions were different to the ones that humans felt and her angelic urgency was simultaneously incomparable to mortal haste and worry yet very close to it, almost parallel. "And we need to go quickly. The surgeons at the war camp outside of Usnaan have insufficient equipment for saving Caiellis's life, king Marik. I would not be able to carry him either, because I am too weak to have a proper physical form at the moment and he would simply pass straight through me."

Marik didn't want to have to leave the Lucaelian force of his subjects on its own within the City of Pleasure, but the battle had almost been won in one fell swoop by Caiellis's bravery and sacrifice, and he would be little use to the army in the state that he was. They would understand that he wanted to preserve the life of his Lucerna heir, even if Marik was still guilty about it because he didn't think in that manner about his family. However, the generals remaining in the army would be able to wipe out the remainders of the Orders of Passion now that their demonic power had gone, and honestly the king had ceased to care about what happened to Usnaan now so long as it didn't threaten the Kingdom of Light or his children.

The king still had severe doubts, but when the boy in his arms started coughing and gasping, but nowhere near as violently as before, his mind was set. Caiellis stopped again, nestling closer against his father as his body trembled weakly and his breathing became harsher yet shallower as well.

Alexander was still holding out his arms for his younger brother, wanting to carry the thirteen year old himself as Orzhova quickly spun around next to him, the edge of her scythe dripping with Black mana as she hacked open a rent in the fabric of the world to the darkness on the other side. Once again, Marik was loathe to let go of his baby boy who was in pain and close to death once again.

Alexander's arms were reaching, waiting, expectant for his little brother, but Marik wanted to hold Caiellis close. The forty year old knew that he didn't have that right, not now, not after what he had allowed to happen and after all that he had done to his youngest son. Alexander had much more of a right to hold his little brother because he had done so much more for the younger boy, but Marik wasn't ready to relinquish his hold on his baby boy even if his first son deserved to hold him much more than he did.

"We need to go. Now," Orzhova stated, her exalted voice brooking no dissent in the matter as she turned to the two, and Marik nodded quickly, gathering up his little son in his arms and turning away from Alexander, not missing the flash of pain in his eyes at not being able to touch his brother and be able to make sure he was safe as his arms fell back at his sides.

I'm sorry, Alexander. But I am not letting go of him, not any more. There will be plenty of opportunities to help him when we get there, son. Orzhova, or the much weaker version of her than Caiellis normally Summoned (not that the king had actually seen his son Summon her much, not counting watching Caiellis and the Angel of the Black Sun fighting together through the vision that the horror who had caused this had granted him), stepped quickly into the abyss, opening her shimmering midnight wings wide as the pulsed in and out of existence.

If Caiellis hadn't been in such a bad condition, as he was half-choking on his blood once again in spite of the king's attempts to hold him and his breathing was getting much more pained and much weaker because of the fact that he had to be moved, Marik might have hesitated to dragging his sons into the void, especially with the state that they were in. Additionally, Orzhova was fading and blinking out of reality periodically, suggesting that she might return to Caiellis's Mind Realm any time soon, and if she did whilst they were walking through the dark nether they would be trapped forever – three Lucernas dead.

But Caiellis would surely die if they did not. Marik turned to his eldest son, half wanting to tell him to stay here so that one of them would survive if this went wrong, even though he did not want to leave Alexander in Usnaan on his own and he did not want to tear him away from his brother, but one look into his first child's lost eyes told him that such a thing would end the seventeen year old.

"Come on then, Alexander," he encouraged, wishing that his voice was more comforting to help his teenage son instead of terse and brusque, but with his fragile youngest in so much danger not controlling his voice could be forgiven. He walked into the darkness unflinchingly, thinking only of his sons and not of himself, adjusting Caiellis's position in some ridiculous notion of comfort as he did so. The seventeen year old was at his side instantly, and the rift in the world closed up behind them, leaving Orzhova as the only light within the endless shadows that seemed stiller and safer than Marik had expected – though obviously Caiellis's angel would choose the safest path possible.

"Do not look around you, whatever you do. Simply focus your mind on your destination, what you want to achieve with this journey, and do not look into the shadows. I have picked as safe a route as possible, but as you well know the abyss is always dangerous," Orzhova behind her, the edge of her golden scythe and the medallion representation of the Black Sun symbol in her left hand both shining with pure white incandescence, a rare colour for the dark seraphim as Marik normally saw her use more imperious and golden light instead of white light akin to Akroma's wrathful radiance.

She still felt huge amounts of hatred for the king because of what he had put her Summoner through, making Orzhova have to watch the boy killing himself, something that even though she was an angel would probably stay with her forever. However, strangely enough the man looked distraught and immensely guilty, and was doing all that he could to help her Summoner, so for now she would tolerate him around. Perhaps he had been controlled by some dark force, but in that case it meant it was Akroma's fault he had been made to act the way that he did towards his son.

To all intents and purposes Orzhova blamed Marik for the death of her son and the emotional pain that Cai had gone through, but perhaps if the king could prove that he did love the boy she would forgive him with time. It all boiled down to whether or not Caiellis did forgive him, because it was not Orzhova's place to hold grudges against her Summoner's father if her Summoner himself didn't do the same. But right now Caiellis needed help, and that was what they were walking through the void for.

The king hoped that Alexander had heard, but their intentions were pure and concentrated wholly on saving Caiellis, the youngest member of their family and the most vulnerable to the predation of the darkness and the most fragile in general, so he refused to worry about this path they were taking.

Orzhova led the way, beating her wings and releasing the occasional circle of purifying light around her to presumably ensure that nothing was nearby, and Marik followed dutifully with his son limp in his arms. Alexander was at his side, trailing his dad and little brother a little like a lost puppy, and if Marik hadn't have been holding his youngest son he would have placed a reassuring arm around the boy's quite broad shoulders.

Caiellis didn't move, his arms were like a rag doll's inanimate limbs, and the king couldn't walk through the eternal void fast enough.

Hold on, Caiellis! Just hold on, son! I will not let you die again! You will get the help that you need!

Marik's thoughts were joined by those of his eldest son, the seventeen year old feeling lost and helpless as he ran alongside his dad and baby brother, wishing that he could have arrived before Caiellis had gotten this wounded and hating himself for it. He quickly banished the thoughts from his mind, remembering what Orzhova had said about not being focussed on his destination and what he wanted to accomplish, and concentrated on his little brother, the person he loved most in the world apart from their father.

Just stay with us, baby bro. Big bro is going to make everything alright, just you wait.

The two were afraid to speak, afraid that if they spoiled the silence, they would miss the unsteady intake of air that would signal Caiellis was in trouble as they ran desperately through the unchanging yet ever shifting shadows around them.

With all of their attention focussed upon the youngest member of their family and the angel leading their way through the abyss, a small torch in the endless darkness, they did not see a pair of vibrantly blue eyes gazing at them knowingly from the shadows behind them.