Kisara: Joining the Guard

Nobody quite knew what to make of the new Lord Dohalim il Qaras. Kisara and Migal and Lagill heard the announcement in Viscint, the three of them listening to the proclamation from a Renan in armor who… became obviously emotional about the policy changes that were being brought about. Allowing Dahnans into the guard? Compensation? Rest? Nobody could really believe it was true, but Migal was, perhaps of course, the first to get an idea out of it.

"We should join the guard," he said, looking at the two women. "Even if they're lying about pay, it'll be three meals a day. Guaranteed."

"But won't we be in charge of beating other Dahnans?"

"But we'll be eating."

Kisara wasn't as sure - she had a few fishing spots, when things were bad she could supply for them, but it was hard. Everyone was hungry - all the food they farmed went to the Renans, harvest season was twenty-hour shifts and happened four times a year because of all the earth astral energy.

They started to wonder, however, when there was a proclamation to beautify the city, and Dahnans were to be hired for the project and given compensation. The three of them, Kisara thirteen, watched as several people they knew, desperate for food, took up the project. And… they didn't disappear. Kisara and the others could see them framing and repairing facades. They watched on a roof the day payroll came, and saw some of their friends gape at actually being paid.

The Renan soldiers were glaring, but Lord Dohalim himself handed out the coin, explaining they could use it however they wished, that they were free to live their lives as they saw fit. Visibly tall, even from the distance they were at, dark skin and fascinating red hair. They couldn't hear him of course, but every move was elegant, artful, and apparently his speech was tear-inducing, as they heard later.

Lagill was still cagey, but Migal was convinced: they were joining the new Dahnan Guard. "This guy is going to be interesting," he said. "I wanna see what he does up close."


The Dahnan guard… weren't the same as the Renan guard. Their armor was definitely smaller, and the training was brutal. Their captain put them through their paces at the castle, a member of the old guard and not part of the new entourage - something none of the three of them even knew was a Thing when a new Lord was installed.

"If the young Lord wants you livestock to protect him I'll have to whip you lazy slobs to shape. I know how this works - you all think you'll be treated special - fancy armor and all the food you can eat for doing nothing but standing around. That's not what soldiers do, and if I have to beat that into you I will. You're all looking for a hand out, think the world somehow owes you something when you've done nothing to earn it. Well, let's see how many of you are willing to work for it."

They were put in simple leathers while the captain walked around them in full armor, taking his mace and using it as a cattleprod, poking at formation or footing. Always demeaning, always insulting, always trying to get the Dahnans to give up. Migal refused, as did Kisara and Lagill. This guy wanted to be proven wrong. Well, they were going to prove him wrong.

Every grunt, every admission of pain, was a weakness the captain exploited. One was expected to put up with it all, and so many did out of sheer habit - this was no different than working in the fields, overseers watching for the slightest break or catch of breath to whip or report someone. Punishment? The mines, and everyone knew that as a death sentence since before they were born. The captain enjoyed making them hurt, would take them - untrained - and spar with them one on one to show them how inept they were.

But Kisara was determined, and so was Migal. They were going to beat this guy at his own game. They were going to conquer this "training," they were going to be Dahnan guards, and they were going to eat.

Eventually.

Hopefully.

"Soldier rations" were unfilling protein bars, and Kisara worried as Lagill slowly lost more and more weight. Migal was getting thin, too and Kisara knew her rags were getting loose. They weren't allowed out of the castle to get food, and the kitchens refused to serve them. Lagill stole from the gardens, sometimes finding a fallen apple no one had picked up or guessing that a flower was edible. No one saw Lord Dohalim, and no one questioned why that was the case. Lords were mysterious figures, and while it was odd he distributed payroll, he obviously had other "duties" to do. None of the three of them knew what that meant - probably beating or bedding the locals for kicks? But he didn't seem the type, and honestly the captain kept them too busy to really think about it.

Well, until the Lord appeared, that is.

They were doing drills - drills meaning they tried to keep up with the relentless pace of the captain. Barely a dozen of them were left, the others giving up or being sent to the mines, and the captain was getting impatient.

Lagill, the thinnest of the three of them, was so hungry she stumbled, and that was all the captain was looking for.

"Fall back in line, you useless waste of space!"

She didn't hear him, on her knees and struggling to keep her head up, obviously dizzy. The captain moved in, mace up, and Kisara had had enough.

"Hey!" she called out. "Try and hit me instead!"

Everyone froze, even Kisara - shocked that she had stood up like that instead of just taking it. Migal was glancing between her and Lagill, and the captain's helmet slowly turned to face her.

"What did you say?" he demanded in a low, dangerous voice.

Unable to back out, Kisara instead dug her heels in. "I said try and hit me instead," she repeated, spreading her feet. "I assume you're not too chicken to hit someone who can take a hit?"

how had that come out of her mouth?

"You insolent little bitch. You'll pay for that."

He grabbed her arm, Kisara too hungry to truly dodge, and dragged her out of formation and into the sparing ring. He let go to move to the armor rack, and Kisara knew she wasn't going to be able to dodge this guy. She darted to the side to grab a shield, balking at the weight but adjusting quickly - it wasn't any heavier than a harvest basket strapped to her back, so she would be fine. The gem in her hand glowed slightly, and she planted her feet to face the captain.

"You think that's going to save you?" the man sneered, face hidden behind his armor and towering feet over her. "I'm going to make an example of you!"

He ran forward and Kisara lifted her shield up, the massive thing big enough to hide her entire body. The blow was enormous, sending her skidding back, but she was able to control the stop and peaked up from the shield. He was advancing again, and she ducked into her safe space again, tanking the hit. The next was even harder, making her stumble, but she held her ground a second time.

"See, Embedded?" the captain sneered. "This is what you really are: quivering behind a Renan shield because you can't take care of yourself. You need us, you need to be told what to do, you can't handle independence. Take that away," he swung, at a different angle that Kisara couldn't see from her hide spot, and all at once the shield was twisted out of her hand, leaving her wide open, "And you're nothing."

The blow was brutal, Kisara lifted her arm up to block, like formation had taught her, but there was no armor, and the hit easily snapped her arm in two. She screamed, she couldn't help it, falling to the ground and struggling to find a way to hold her arm that wasn't agony. Migal ran up to her, Lagill not far behind, and the captain had his mace raised again.

This was it, Kisara decided. This was how she was going to die.

She flinched.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Everything froze: Migal hovering over her, Lagill to her side, the captain looking over all of them. And slowly they turned, seeing the Lord himself, surrounded by Renans and Dahnans, staring at them.

The man moved forward, elegant steps making his voluminous pantlegs swish one way then the other.

"My Lord," the captain said. "These Embedded were being insubordinate-"

Dark eyes snapped to the captain. "You seem to forget the use of that word is forbidden in this land," he said, voice smooth and melodic. "And if you cannot remember a simple instruction such as that it leaves your reliability of this incident suspect. Step aside."

"My Lord-"

"I said step aside."

The captain did so, saluting and taking four steps back. The Lord now towered over them, Kisara trying to put her tears away, holding her arm and desperately wondering what was going to happen next. All three of them flinched when the Lord knelt down, none of them seeing him freeze for the briefest of moments.

"Be at ease, child," the Lord said, gentle. "Please allow me to see your injury."

"Don't hurt her," Migal said, ever the big brother.

"I will do no such thing, I promise."

The three of them looked at each other, all of them at a loss for what to do. They had never met a Lord before, they didn't know how to survive an encounter. Migal ultimately made the decision, silently nodding, and Kisara winced as she tried to use her good arm to lift up the broken one.

"Benediction light," the Lord said, his eyes glowing blue - no wonder they were called Bright Eyes - "Heal thy wound."

Something inside her shifted, and there was an ache she didn't have a word for, she winced, but it wasn't quite pain. Warmth bloomed in her arm, and dark hands held the break in place as everything… just… faded. She stared, wide eyed, and found she could move her arm - it still hurt, was not completely healed - but the break had been mended, she could tell. Migal and Lagill were staring as well, and then the Lord's hand cupped her face, making her stare up at him. Red curls fell everywhere, artful like everything else about him - a narrow chin and a straight nose, and eyes absolutely full of pain. The hand traced down her face, and there were infinitesimal tremors, a tightness in his posture that would take her years to recognize on sight.

"When have you children last eaten?" he asked softly, leaning in and voice barely carrying.

"... two days ago," Migal admitted.

"And how long have you been training?"

"... Two months."

The pain in his eyes doubled before disappearing, everything evening out. "I understand," he said, bowing his head.

All three of them blinked, having never even conceived of the idea of a Lord - of all people - bowing to a Dahnan.

"Please forgive my egregious inattention in this matter," he said. "It will be corrected presently."

The Lord stood, his entourage closer now, as he turned to face the captain.

"You," he said, his tone soft but somehow ominous, "were at my first administrative training, were you not?"

"Yes, m'lord."

"So then, you were there, Captain, when I said that derogatory slurs were banned in Elde Menencia?"

"..."

"Well?"

"Y… yes, m'lord."

"And you were there when I introduced my new policies, were you not? About changing how Elde Menencia was to be run, about how the Dahnans were to be treated? About how to welcome them into the fold?"

"Y… yes, m'lord."

"What was my vision statement?"

The captain didn't answer, and Kisara and Migal were staring in wide-eyed awe.

"Hm, it would seem your memory is not as clear as you indicated. Very well, I shall repeat myself - it is just as well that these Dahnans here know my words to you. I said this would be A Country with No More Screams. Does that ring any bells?"

The captain said nothing, just stared straight ahead.

"I told everyone in that room that the Dahnans were to be treated with respect, as equals, and not as slaves. I told everyone that production would improve if they were allowed to rest, to be happy with their work, to know that they were lauded for their contributions to the Sovereign. Was I somehow unclear?"

Silence.

"Is it perhaps that you feel differently than me?" the Lord said, back straight and red curls shifting slightly in a breeze. "Do you not agree that the people best suited to safeguard Elde Menencia are her own people?"

"They're not people, m'lord," the captain said - not quite disrespectful but obviously trying to save face. "You don't know what they're like, you haven't been here long enough. They are animals. Watch them long enough, and you can see it in their eyes. There's nothing there."

"Of course there wouldn't be," the Lord said, making Migal gasp at Kisara's side. "How could they act any other way if animals were all they were treated as? I hear their screams at night, Captain. They are not the sounds of a feral zeugle, they are the sounds of an abused people. I, for one, will not add to their burden. This will be a land where they are valued. If you cannot abide in my wishes as your Lord, then perhaps Elde Menencia is not the place for you."

"My lord! I've served the il Qaras house for forty years!"

"And serving and listening seem to be two diametrically opposed things, it would seem," the Lord countered, unbending. "Let us try a different track. You say they were insubordinate. Please enlighten me as to how your leadership created such a reaction?"

"I'm not to blame!"

"Aren't you? How is a starving child expected to react to a beating and a broken arm? How is a girl to do a drill if she is faint with hunger? How is a boy to serve if he fears living through training? Look at them, captain, really look at them."

The Lord turned, facing Kisara and her friends. "Children," he said, his firm tone immediately becoming gentle. "Would you be so kind as to remove that paltry armor, and perhaps a few layers of clothes? The captain might be ignorant of your condition but I am not."

Migal got on his feet immediately. "Yes! My Lord!" he said, pulling the leather gear off and removing his shirt. Kisara followed suit, wincing as her arm still hurt, and tugged at the vest she wore. Lagill swayed as she stood, needing time to undo the knots of her leathers, and her short sleeves showed off her thin, bony arms. Several Renans made faces of disgust, turning their heads, but the few Dahnans among them looked on with deep knowledge and empathy.

"These children have told me they have not eaten in two days, Captain. You can tell by looking at them that food was clearly not a priority of their training. Should I instruct you on how controlled my diet was while preparing for the Crown Contest? Should I elucidate the regiment I was expected to follow so that my physical prowess would match my skills in the astral artes? Perhaps it is you who was insufficiently trained. Another reason that you are ill fitted for serving in Elde Menencia."

"But my lord!"

"No, we are done. You are relieved of duty, Captain, and will be reassigned once I have a more thorough assessment of what you do know how to do competently. Dismissed."

"But they're just Embedded!" the captain roared, unable to take more humiliation. "They're nothing! You don't know anything!"

The captain moved forward, mace raised. "Look out!" Kisara said, but the Lord was already turning, summoning a staff and eyes glowing bright blue. Vines shot out of the ground, through the sand of the sparing circle and engulfing the captain.

"You are in a bind, captain. Think on that while I determine what to do with you. Kelzalik."

"I'll handle it at once, my lord."

The Lord turned to face Kisara and the others again, once more kneeling down. "What are your names?"

"M… Migal, my lord. This is my sister Kisara, and our friend Lagill."

The Lord nodded. "Very well. You three are to come with me for a short while. Would you mind?"

They were escorted first to a room with a Dahnan woman and a Renan man were, the Lord explaining that he wanted a full assessment of their health and the health of the remaining Dahnan guard recruits, as well as a diet regiment to bulk them up and an analysis of who may or may not be fit to be a guard. He stayed for a few minutes before returning to his entourage, but he appeared again just as they were being escorted to the kitchens. The other recruits were there, sitting at a table full of foodstuffs like they had never seen before.

The Lord sat and ate with them, all of them watching in silent awe until he started asking questions: names, ages, where they came from, how they came to sign up for the Dahnan Guard. Kisara had never seen someone so attentive before, didn't realize a Renan could be… nice. He asked if any of them could read, what kind of music they liked, what their favorite games were when they were playing.

"What's a game?"

The Lord froze, face placid, before saying, "Something you do for fun, that makes you smile."

"Fishing!" Kisara said immediately, "I like knowing we'll have food that night!"

"Oh, I like the game where the overseer is asleep, we can hide in the barns and sleep with the livestock."

"There's the game when the overseer is visiting the city - I like that one!"

"Does sleeping count as a game? I like sleeping!"

"Well," the Lord said. "If any of you are of a mind, I would be remiss if I didn't someday show you some Renan games."

Law: The Pyre

Their third hideout were the Zionne mines; they were dark, narrow, and hotter than outside. The fires skittered the edges of the tunnels, smoke making the air thick before they had managed to blow out some holes for the fumes to funnel. But it was the smoke, in the end, that made it worse.

Law, fourteen, had watched his mother's health deteriorate, watched her cough get rougher and rougher in the smoke of the abandoned mines. He took her outside as often as he could, but in the last two years it was obvious to everyone that it was getting worse. Her breathing was always rattled, and she couldn't run to stitch someone up like she used to. Her chest always hurt, and lately there was blood in her cough. Her voice was raspy, and sometimes he could tell she had trouble swallowing.

"Don't worry about it, Law," she would tell him, voice so different from when he was a child. "The Crows all knew this day would come. You can't toil in Calaglia without it taking parts of you. Some of us is skin, some of us is scars, and some of us is lungs. I used to work in Glanymede, working the fans to keep the smoke out of the Lord's quarters. All of us there knew how we were going to go. I'm lucky I got as long as I did, and I have your father to thank for that."

"No," Law said, shaking his head. "He should be here, helping you."

"Oh baby, he is," she would say, and Law didn't understand.

Nayth and Grenar were working with the Crows full time now, out on missions. Law was still considered too young, and he didn't want to leave his mother regardless. He needed to be near her in case… in case. Patvo had been a recent recruit, found crying in a ditch by the ashen remains of someone. Two years younger he clung to Law's side as one of the few kids left in the mines, and they tried to train together. Patvo had no skill, but it was fun and he was nice to talk to.

He was on look out, reading the smoke and keeping an eye out for any wild zeugles. He could take the wolves out on his own if it were one or two, but the bigger armadillos were still… uh… a challenge. Not scary, just so you know, just… a challenge. He stretched his arms at the thought, wondering how he could break through their armor with just his fists.

He watched the white smoke of the slave encampments, marking them out with his mind: Mosgul, Ulzabek the capitol, the Trenches, and over there were the Iglia Wastes, where he had been born - one of the few places he could note because there was no smoke. There was nothing there to burn. He sighed, wiping sweat off his forehead with the linen wraps he kept around his hands to hide his missing slave scar. Another boring watch.

Sometimes there were so many things inside him he just wanted to shout, it built all this energy up and he couldn't figure out what to do with it. He wanted a zeugle to attack, so he could at least hit something, but at the same time he didn't want a zeugle attack because he didn't want his mom's rest disturbed. He wanted his dad here, to help look after her, to take on the load that Law had been carrying for as long as he could remember, but at the same time he didn't want his dad there, because he hadn't earned the right to be there, hadn't bothered to look after them from the start. He was too busy with his revolution, fighting since before Law was born and with nothing to show for it. Law wanted to help, to feel like he was building freedom with his own hands, but at the same time he was so sick and tired of the Crows he just wanted to run away and start over fresh.

He couldn't figure out how to live with all these things in his growing body, and all he could do was stare out at the sky and read the smoke. Same boring thing every boring day.

"Pst! Law!"

He pulled his gaze away from the sky, padding down the lookout and ducking his head under a wooden rail. "Patvo?"

"Hey!" the boy said, "It's official - I'm thirteen now!"

Law smiled, so grateful for the distraction from his thoughts. "Good for you!"

"Yeah," the boy said, rubbing his sooty nose. "Wanna celebrate?"

Law frowned. "Celebrate? How?"

"Well, if we're ever gonna get good with the girls we should probably practice, right?"

Law made a face.

"Aw, come on, don't be like that! You want to be good with the girls, too, right?"

"I guess," he drawled. "Come on, get up here," he said before straightening and walking the narrow plank back to his post. He listened to Patvo scrambling up the poorly made ladder and across to his position. Patvo was many things, but subtle wasn't one of them, and before even asking for permission he pulled Law's shoulder out of the way and planted their lips together. Law felt a skitter of electricity and leaned in, but neither of them knew what they were doing and just held their lips there before breaking apart.

"I still don't get how kissing girls is supposed to be so interesting," Patvo said, rubbing his chin. "I don't feel anything when I practice."

Law's cheeks were already red with the heat of the fires, and he weakly shrugged his shoulders in agreement, deciding he must not be much of a good kisser. Not like he knew what the hell he was doing, and if Patvo wasn't into it he wasn't going to press. Besides, it was probably way better kissing a girl. He frowned, eyes drifting out to the skies, before he sighed. "Here, let me try something. Grenar told me once."

The two leaned in again, pushing mouths together, and Law felt the tiny shock again, and this time he licked along the lips. Grenar said if the girl was into it she'd open her mouth and more "stuff," whatever that was, would happen. Patvo's lips were cracked and sweaty, like everyone in Calaglia, but there was a saltiness Law could taste that… did… things that he didn't have time to process before Patvo was pulling away.

"W-what the hell was that?" he demanded, cheeks bright pink. "That was gross! Why do people even kiss anyway?" He rubbed at his lips, the scar of the removed opal on the back of his hand visible in the noon light. "Geez, how can girls be so pretty and gross at the same time?"

"... no idea," Law said, needing to turn to hide… whatever was happening to his body. "Look, I've got responsibilities up here."

"Law, don't be like that," Patvo said, reaching out and grabbing his hand. Law's entire body shivered, and he swiveled his head back to Patvo. "It's my birthday, you're supposed to hang out with me."

"What, and mess around some more?" Law asked, trying for bravado.

"How else am I gonna get Tilsa to notice me?"

Law blinked. "Tilsa? That's the girl you're practicing for? She's too old for you!"

"No she's not!"

"She's eighteen!" Law said, louder than he intended, because something was hurting inside him and he couldn't figure out what was causing it. "Are you stupid?!"

"Hey, I'm thirteen now!" Patvo said, voice also rising. "I've got a shot!"

Law rolled his eyes, turning away and looking back out to the smoke. "Yeah, sure. Whatever. I'm sure you'll be real happy together." So much for a distraction, now he wanted to be left alone.

"Law… Law, don't be like this… please?"

Law turned his head away, refusing to answer. Patvo pressed, flopping his chin onto Law's shoulder and wrapping arms around his waist. "See?" he pleaded. "I'm really bad at this. I figure it's your fault, you don't have curvy hips. Feel how bony they are!"

The callous hands on his hips did not help his mood, and he wedged an arm between them and shoved. "Go away Patvo, you're too much of a kid for me."

Patvo loitered a little longer before finally going back below, and Law breathed a sigh of relief. As if living in his head wasn't confusing enough. He felt low, now, and a little numb, and all he could do was watch the sky and hope something would change.

An hour later Dyron came up with hurried steps. "Law, good, you're here."

The teen turned, blinking slowly from his almost daydream. "What is it?" he asked.

"Tilsa sent me. It's your mom."

A younger Law might have felt anxiety, a trickle of ice down his back, but those two sentences were told to him so often now all he could do was sigh and nod. "Okay," he said. "Should I finish watch?"

"No, go see them now," Dyron said, nodding. "I'll finish your watch."

Law nodded, walking down and hopping back into the caves. He navigated the fires and dirt paths, moving into the main quarters of the mine. An actual rug lay across the floor, a table littered with scraps of tools and crates and the odd chipped plate. Beyond it were sleeping quarters - if it could be called that - most of the Crows slept out in the field on some mission or other, but Law and his mom diligently wove and maintained grass mats and linen tarps to create something softer than the rocks everyone was accustomed to sleep on. His mom was on one of those mats, curled to her side and coughing as bad as she ever did. Tilsa was crouching over her, and as she stood Law saw in her hand a bloody towel. What…?

"Law," his mother's apprentice said. "Good, you came fast. Let's talk outside."

"... outside? Why?"

But she ushered him back to the main room. His eyes trailed down to the bloody cloth.

"It's bad," she said without preamble. "Her lungs have been deteriorating for years now, we all know this, but this morning she took a turn for the worse. You can hear it, one of her lungs collapsed. The Renans might have some medicine to ease her symptoms, but there's no coming back from this. Law, your mom isn't going to last the night."

His world disappeared, sound slowly turning off as the words sank in, eyes widening as his own breath caught in his lungs. All he could offer was a confused, small, "... what?" He felt frozen, small but somehow too big for the cavern. Everything felt claustrophobic, his eyes were burning, and Tilsa was staring at him with such compassion, giving him the space to understand… understand…

"I'll… I'll get my dad," his voice said. Yes, yes, he could get his dad. He was a big damn revolutionary, he would know how to fix this, he would make this all go away. He had to get his dad, he had to get…

The spell broke, Law felt like he could move, and all at once he couldn't move fast enough. He ran through the tunnels, full tilt, rubbing at his eyes so he could see as he bolted to the lookout, scrambling up and past Dyron and then up onto the mountain face. He wasn't going to make it all the way up to the volcano, but he found the highest place he could get to, a butte large enough to set up a fire. The bones of it were already there, set up when they first settled into the mines. Never to be used except in case of emergency.

"Well, this is a damn emergency," Law muttered, grabbing bundles of grass for kindling with the drywood. He grabbed one of the fire rocks, burning his hand and throwing it onto the fire to get it started. He built it and built it, throwing more onto it until he was sure it could be seen from everywhere. Then the linen tarp, tossing it over the fire and removing it quickly, getting the signal started.

Mom dying come home.

Four words, and he repeated them over and over, sweating in the heat, rubbing at his tears before his emotions overcame him. He collapsed to his knees, sobbing and trying to stop. He couldn't afford to cry now, he couldn't afford to be a baby when his mom needed him. When he had to get to his dad. He searched the skies through his blurry vision, desperate for a response. "Come on," he muttered. "Come on, you bastard, where are you?"

No one replied, and Law felt impotent, unsure what else to do.

"Law…"

He looked up, saw Grenar standing over him. The Crow crouched down, put a strong hand on his shoulder. "I'll man the signal," he said in a soft voice. "You should be with your mom."

Law sniffled, forced himself to nod, and slowly made his way back down to the mines. He kept rubbing at his eyes, trying to put himself together. He hovered at the entrance of the sleeping quarters, pushing it all down, and down again, and down again, before he could finally take a breath. He padded in softly, saw Tilsa at his mom's head, rubbing warm water on her face to keep her cool. She was still coughing, blood leaking out of her mouth.

"H-hey, Mom," he said, kneeling down. "I just sent word to Dad, he'll be here before you know it."

His mom looked up, green eyes fevered, but she smiled gently before succumbing to coughing again. She held up a hand, a soft offer, and Law dutifully curled up against her, digging an arm under her back and wrapping his other across her front, hugging her as her body shook with her spasm. He pressed an ear to her chest, and Tilsa was right, the rattle was only on one side. His eyes watered all over again, and he pressed his face in, his shoulders starting to shake.

Weak arms embraced him, and he hated himself for being so weak, for forcing his mom to be strong for him when the reverse was supposed to be true. He tried to push it down again, holding her as tight as possible and mentally shouting at himself to pull it together, stop being so stupid. But it wouldn't stop, it poured out of him in ugly sounds. "P-please don't go," he begged between shuddering breaths. "... I don't want you to go…"

"Law… I… love… you…"

"I love you too, Mom… please…"

He held her for hours. Tisla disappeared and slowly he ran out of tears. He held his ear to her chest, listening to the one-sided rattle as the Crimson Crows came in one by one to say their goodbyes. Law resolutely stayed with his mother, unwilling to miss even one second if time was running out. He was numb, lost in his head, and the only thing that kept him remotely grounded was listening to that rattle and the coughs, knowing it meant she was still here. He couldn't even look at her face, just pressed his eyes into her shoulder or chest. He listened, with everything that was in him, tuning the rest of the world out, tracking as the breaths came further and further apart, as the rattle became weaker and weaker, as the night stretched on and on.

A weak hand patted his arm, and something pulled him outside of his mother's breathing. He blinked, focus returning, and he saw his mothers hand floating in the air, reaching for him. He sniffled, lifting his head and reaching up to grab it.

It fell limp.

His heart froze, eyes doubling in size, and he finally turned to face his mother. She was facing his direction but she was looking at nothing, blank, a gentle smile on her face.

He… he missed it…

He missed her last smile…

Tears long since dried up flooded his eyes, and he wailed, a watery ugly noise and drew several bodies into the space.


His next clear memory was sitting in the main room. Patvo was at his side, playing with his hands, and a bunch of adults milling around. He watched, detached and uncertain if he was even there, as Tilsa came in and nodded. Everyone was grim faced.

"Come on," Grenar said softly, and he and two men moved into the sleeping quarters. Law academically knew what was happening next, and he stood, following them in. She was already wrapped in a linen tarp, and they all helped in picking her up. Law numbly let himself be guided by the others, moving through the fiery tunnels and outside to the ravine. Surrounded on all sides by cliffs and buttes they were hidden from prying eyes, and several women had already set up the bonfire. Law helped Grenar and the others toss his mother onto the fire. He sat down, and he watched. Numb all the way down, his eyes traced the flames as they licked at his mother, burning first the linen and then the rest of her. He watched skin peel and blacken, smelled the smoke of cooking meat, watched the light as the night stretched to morning.

The Crows tended the fire for hours, well into the afternoon until there was nothing but ash, and Law sat and watched all of it. He didn't really feel like he was there, like someone else was sitting there watching his mother turn to charcoal and collapse in on itself. He wasn't even sure he blinked, just stared as the images moved around him, meaningless and lifeless. He watched the ashes be collected, watched himself be shuffled up to the smoke signal with the other Crows, watched as they scattered her to the winds.

He felt nothing.

Tisla and Patvo slept with him that night, but he didn't really understand why they were so concerned. He didn't really understand much of anything. He wondered if he was suffering heat stroke, it was like there was this thick blanket wrapped around him, holding the entire world far, far away. Only it wasn't heat; he didn't feel faint, he didn't feel anything. He knew the adults were talking about him, but he couldn't do more than sit in his room, staring at the empty grass mat he had woven for her, eyes tracing the blood stains of her coughing fits.

He was empty. He didn't even know if he was supposed to be worried that he felt empty. He just… didn't want to do anything… without his mom…


"Law!"

Something of the voice managed to pierce his silence, and he recognized that he was looking up. His dad was there, out of breath, Nayth at his side with a crate of something.

"Law, the mission was a success!" he said, voice booming, sweating like everyone did in Calaglia. "I've brought medicine!"

"Law…? Where's your mother?" His father crouched down, tension in his frame.

But something in the question twisted inside of Law, his numbness set on fire and burning away at the audacity of the question. He blinked, eyes slowly widening as he looked around, saw the field team finally back, and mentally counted how many days… since… and he was on a mission…? He was… he was…

A hot tear trickled down his cheek, and all at once he felt something.

Rage.

"You bastard!" he shouted, jolting up and giving the most powerful uppercut he could muster. His dad, crouched as he was and not expecting the violence, stumbled back, and Law scrambled onto the old man, kneeling on his chest. "You bastard!" he shouted again, pulling back and giving a right cross. "You weren't there! You missed all of it! You even missed the funeral!" He gave another punch and another, words giving him even more fuel, even more rage. "You should have been here! I had to do it all myself! You weren't there!"

Every shout was matched with a punch, Zephyr defenseless until hands were pulling Law off of him. He strained against the grips, managing to pull one arm free for another assault, clipping at his father's jaw.

"Your damn revolution was more important than her! It's all your fault!"

The words poured out of him, and so did the tears, and finally the fire that had ignited in him went up in smoke, spent and leaving him in his misery. He screamed, a piercing guttural sound that held every emotion shouting through his veins. He was finally let go, thinking he was spent, but he dashed forward for another punch, right in that stupid shocked face.

"You bastard!" he shouted, voice cracked and split from his efforts. "I hate you! It's all your fault! It's all your…"

And finally, the rage disappeared, and he fell to his knees, bawling. The others left, and his father sat there in stunned silence, and Law couldn't bother himself enough to care.


Author's Notes: The Kisara scene is the first one we wrote as a proof of concept for the fic, to see if we could actually write. Her first meeting with Dohalim was certainly dramatic, wasn't it? It's also a decent demonstration that, after X years of work Dohalim did before Alphen and the others arrived there were some obvious gaps in his policy changes. He spot corrects where he can, but his privilege is going to give him a lot of blind spots. Kisara and the others, however are so deeply impressed with everything that happened.

And then there's Law. This is probably the closest we get to pointing to our headcannon that he gay. Even with his character design (there is no straight explanation for it. We don't make the rules), his relationship with Rinwell in the game screams siblings to us and we both genuinely cringed at their pairing off, and at his repeated bad-faith attempts at getting a girl just fed into the idea that he hasn't come out to himself yet.

But then again, Law at the beginning of the game has really low emotional intelligence, and one of the greatest arcs of the game is him gaining that. Law in the game is trying so hard to be what he thinks a man is supposed to be, he wants to be strong and he tries to scoff at girly things (even while wearing eye liner, having pink streaks, and all those exposed abs. Bless this boy.) but his best moments are when he's doing something coded as feminine: being emotional. His sensitive asides to Alphen (who is such a great beacon of positive masculinity), his protection of Rinwell born of learned experience, when he reads his father's letter, these are when he shines the most.

This is before all of that, though, and so here he is the definition of a troubled teen, struggling with a hundred feelings inside him and then smashed in the face with tragedy. The scene practically writes itself after that, just hit every button possible to light the fireworks.

Yeah. Law's a favorite. Anyway.

Next chapter: Who haven't we broken yet? How about Shionne.