Lethality

by scntlla

Curiosity killed the cat, and satisfaction brought it back.

21. Xeniums and Xenodochiums

Note: Hey there! This chapter was a long one coming. It's 22,000+ words in all, and even though I tried my best to make it the same length as the last chapter, things got away from me~ There is mention of animal death and other gory things, so just be careful as you go through this. I also want to say that I'm so, so, so appreciative of you all, and I thank you all for being as patient as you've been. School will start up soon so I'll be infinitely busier, but this fic is definitely one I want to finish this year, so look forward to that! Enjoy the next part of Lethality!

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It was a Monday night.

They were out late, as the sun had long since set into the horizon. The orphanage in front of them was dilapidated, ruined, and dirtied in every way possible. Despite this, it was their only option of refuge while the world temporarily came down around them.

Gaius had seen Henry's reaction to this place, though. He reached out to him, but the sorcerer already kicked himself into high gear. "I wonder what's in here?" He spoke in a curious voice, and turned on his heels to face the rest of the group. The smile on his face was too bright to be real, but they expected this amount of fakeness in the first place. "Let's find out!"

The assassin stayed silent, for once. There was no hiding the part of him that wanted to confront Henry, but there was no need to get so serious in front of the others, either. Besides, they really did need to get inside, before the possibility of the orphanage being a "safe haven" disappeared into the dusk air.

Gaius followed the crowd as the doors were opened, and one by one, the Shepherds and merchants entered the orphanage.

They were all greeted with an awful amount of dust, which sent nearly everyone into coughing fits. The exceptions were Henry and Earnest, the latter whose mouth hung open in sheer awe of the disparity of the building, the former who seemed starstruck for different reasons entirely.

He followed the stars further in, and the image of his white hair disappeared down a hallway, as he was quick to leave the others behind and do some exploring of his own. Gaius quickly caught his bearings, cleared his throat for the second time in a row, and motioned to the others.

"I'll be with Junior."

"Okay," Libra said. "Tarun, Earnest, let's find a good resting place. Maybe somewhere less dusty…"

"Finally, someone gets it!" Tarun shouted, the cadence of his voice carried down the empty hallways and worn out walls. "Lead the way, priest. Earnest, you stay closeby."

"Of course, sir."

"I'm tired," Tharja announced to no one in particular. "I'm going to find a room to sleep in."

"Hmph. In the meantime I'll search for any useful supplies." Lon'qu sounded exasperated—maybe all the talking and shouting today tired him out to some degree. Although displeased, he didn't let the true exhaustion show, and he continued to walk with an unbothered stride.

Gaius was glad when everyone dispersed, because it made focusing on Henry that much easier. With the resolve strengthened in his mind, Gaius straightened up his shoulders, inhaled, exhaled, and took the first step forward.

Time to find his favorite sorcerer.

.

.

Henry wasn't an idiot. Of course, he was rude, brazen, bloodthirsty, and near damn impossible to figure out—but he wasn't stupid. He knew that this place held some sort of power over him. Whether it was the curses he used to cast, or the memories that haunted him like ghosts, or the actual ghosts haunting him, he understood that there was a connection between him and this Gods-forsaken place.

Oh, how he wished such a thing were severed.

He left the others far behind him, and instead focused on the walls. The wallpaper was drab, dreary, and torn, so he drifted his fingers alongside the uneven surface, feeling around for paper rips, holes, and bumps. His fingers dragged over moldy curtains, uneven picture frames, and old notice papers that were forever taped to the wall. The whites of the paper had aged—the pulp as yellow and crisp as dried daisies. He came across one certain notice that said "NO RUNNING IN THE HALLWAYS. DEFILERS OF THE RULES WILL BE DEFILED THEMSELVES."

He couldn't help but laugh. "Man," he said to no one in particular. "Those were the days!"

"Were they?"

The two words spoken formed a modernized spell, made to freeze Henry in his tracks. It's such a shame that Gaius doesn't want anything to do with magic, he thought. He'd be a natural ice magic user in no time!

Of course, it took a lot of (nonlethal) cursing and antagonizing on Henry's end to face Gaius. He blamed it on the nature of the orphanage, but it was hard to look anyone in the eye right now. In fact, there were a million things that Henry would rather do than look Gaius in the eyes. But doing any of those things meant avoiding Gaius, and Henry learned his lesson about ignoring Gaius the first time around.

He wouldn't make the same mistakes again.

So he would grin and bear it—all of it. Henry turned around to face Gaius, and the boy was wearing the most pained smile imaginable, with furrowed brows and clenched teeth. His arms and legs shook, and he tried hard to calm himself down with a painful squeeze on his left arm.

Well, Gaius thought. This is awkward.

"Uh," he began to say. "So, you didn't answer me."

"What did you ask?"

"You said 'these were the days!' so I asked 'were they?' and you didn't answer. And now we're here."

"Huh. That's weird."

"Yeah, so. Were they the days or weren't they?"

"..."

"Did you go here before, Henry?"

"Aw, Honeybuns," he cooed. "Do I look like a 'tired and troubled' child to you?" He curled his fingers into air quotes, and it was so funny and accurate that Gaius chuckled out loud. It was so funny and accurate after that, that the sounds morphed into a halfway-laugh, and he forcibly covered his mouth to stifle the noise.

"Ha, you're a funny one, Junior. But I'm serious, though. Did you stay here?"

"Why do you always go straight for the good stuff? Sometimes it's good to settle with bad things, too." Henry sighed, and although his shoulders unfurled, the rest of him remained unnaturally stiff and stressed. The eyebrows, mouth, and even the eyes were the same way, although those were closed. Gaius could only hope that they were slowly easing their way through what was the second most excruciating conversation they shared thus far in their lives.

He didn't want to think about the first one at all.

"If I can help it, I'll do more than just settle. I gotta get my kicks in too, yeah?" Gaius smiled softly, something which helped to ease Henry's nerves. The sorcerer's fingers stopped twitching (because he clasped his hands together and hid them behind his back) and his mouth finally evened out (but that was hard to do, too).

Just then, Gaius had an idea.

He started walking away. "Well, y'know, it doesn't really matter. I will tell you, though, I'm starving. Guess I'd better look for a kitchen, and see what I can do about this hunger." He spun around completely, smiling to himself as his face was out of Henry's view. "Oh, gosh, this place is just sooo huge. Dunno how I'll ever find my way around…"

"I know where the kitchen is!" Henry suddenly piped up. All his nerves seemed to dissipate into his excitement, and he skipped ahead of Gaius. "Follow me!"

"Okay."

They ran down the long hallway, where Gaius noticed more details about this abandoned orphanage. For a place that was apparently used by the Plegian army as a storage, there was a lot of dust and disrepair. Wouldn't it do them well to clean the place up, especially if they were meant to use it? Or maybe they only used it in emergencies? The questions arose because, really, the amount of dust was lethal and Gaius had to be careful about how much he breathed in.

Not that talking to Henry helped that effort in the least, but still.

Eventually, they made their way to the kitchen, which was a large room at the end of the eastern hall, leading out to the foyer. All the doors had the same pattern of being made from dark wood, and having silver handles. But the wood had holes, stains, and scratches, while the silver had long since tarnished—the shiny material worn away to reveal a dull brown color. The kitchen was different from this, however, because there was no actual door to the kitchen, and a rounded archway served as an entryway, instead.

Gaius glanced from the moldy crown-moldings, to the boy inside the kitchen.

He sighed.

"Here it is! What do you think?" Henry spread his arms wide, and spun around in a circle. When he faced Gaius again, he stood up as straight as possible. "Could probably use more blood and meat, huh? Maybe some cleaning, too? Hahaha!"

"Cleaning is for sure," Gaius offhandedly remarked. He took in his basic surroundings: marble countertops (some of them were missing. his hypothesis? removed by the Plegian soldiers and sold for a cheap price), dark cabinets (did everything in this damned place have to be so dark?), a stone oven, a soup cauldron, and a large empty space where he could only assume that an icebox used to be. There were kitchen utensils hanging from hooks and jumbled up in jars, mysterious bread boxes, and a vase full of wilted flowers on top of the center island.

Everything had a fine layer of dust and grime to it, and Gaius could detect the faint smell of rotten food in the air. Definitely bread, he thought wistfully to himself. A damn shame. I could make some fine toast right now, if I could.

"Yeah," Henry agreed. He ran his hands through the wilted flowers mindlessly, the shriveled petals coming loose at his touch. Gaius watched the blackened scraps of the plants drift down to the countertop, intermingling with the visible gray dust. He turned up his nose at the sight, and Henry laughed again. "Yeah, it's pretty bad."

"I'd say so."

"Well, if we put the grossness aside, the stove could work with some fire magic. We could look in the supply rooms for any ingredients, too." His voice was suddenly hopeful, and he strutted around the kitchen with an inspired gait. "If there's one thing I learned from being with the Shepherds, it's that you could make a soup with pretty much anything, hehe!"

Gaius snickered. Maybe it was the desperation of the situation, but Henry was hitting all the right funny bones today. "You're not even wrong, y'know. Soup is just a bunch of ingredients in one pot. It's the ultimate 'all-this-stuff-is-gonna-go-bad-so-let's-put-it-in-a-pot' meal."

"Yes, yes! That's exactly right~ Good to know that we're on the same wavelength, Honeybuns."

"I'm just glad that you finally answered my question."

Henry's smile lessened ever-so-slightly, but even the smallest difference was monumental in Gaius' eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I asked if you used to stay here before."

"Yes, and? I didn't answer it one way or another."

"Yeah, but I asked where the kitchen was, and you knew where it was without blinking an eye." Gaius pointed this out, while drifting closer to Henry. He was too shocked to step back, for once. "You also talked about supply rooms, too. How could you know those things about a place we just arrived at?"

"Hey, that's not fair. I—"

"The answer is that you've been here before, Henry. You don't have to lie or cover up, you know. You can trust me."

"It's not a question about trust!" Henry suddenly cut in. His voice sounded cold, angry, but his smile was ever in place. Gaius wanted to tear down that useless expression now more than ever. "It's not that."

"Well, I'll stop harping on you. I know you used to stay here, Henry. You're way too familiar with the place to just know it in passing." Gaius threw his hands to the back of his head, and yawned overzealously. "Look, I know I made it seem like a big deal, but I was just worried about you. Now that I know, I won't ask you about it if you don't want to answer. Okay?"

"Okay," Henry quickly said. "Okay, that's fine."

Gaius turned around, and started towards the exit. "Let me just say this: You can tell me anything. I wish you would tell me something. I like knowing stuff about you. But I'm not forcing you." He glimpsed over his shoulder, and stared at Henry for a good moment, before adding, "So, please, for the love of sweets, stop walking around and making faces like you've eaten something bad. It only makes things worse."

"..."

"I'll check on the others real quick. Catch you later."

"Bye."

Gaius disappeared into the hallway, and Henry counted the footsteps until he could no longer hear them. When it became quiet, he collapsed onto one of the counters, and stared at his warped reflection in the marble.

He wanted Gaius to call him by his real name, because he wanted Gaius to be real with him. Yet, whenever he did just that, Henry turned everything on its head, and almost took a step backward in their relationship. Why? Why was it so hard to talk to Gaius sometimes, when he was the only person that Henry ever felt like talking to these days? How come in the most opportune moment, when they were alone and without interruption, Henry choked on the chance to get closer to Gaius, and reveal to him the impurities in his heart?

Why was he like this?

Why? He internalized. But I know why.

The reason why is right here. I'm right here.

He staggered backward, and stared at the wall in front of him. Unbeknownst to Gaius, Henry found an old picture hanging on the wall, and he'd been guarding it throughout the entire duration of their conversation. He was just tall enough to obscure it behind his head, but now that there were no onlookers, he could eternally bask in the picture's glory.

Or lack thereof.

The picture was old, black and white, and ripped on one edge. A few faces of past children were cut out, as a result, but Henry could see his own image perfectly. He saw the depiction of a young, scrawny, and scared little boy, standing in the front row with the orphanage's Headmistress behind him. She had her hands planted on his little shoulders, and she wore a smile so bright, it burned just to witness it.

But he knew the truth. He knew that her fire was real, and it—alongside everything else this accursed orphanage had within—burned Henry, scarred him, and turned him into the monster he was today.

It was the first photographic evidence of Henry ever to exist, because if his birth parents had their way, he would never be seen, in the first place. It was the first image, first mark that he ever made in history, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Henry neglected to realize that in the picture, he wasn't smiling. It was such a dark time in his life that he couldn't hide the way that everything hurts, and how each day in this place was a waking nightmare.

So it's no wonder he wasn't smiling in that picture. He hadn't learned how to do that yet.

"Damn it," he cursed. "This is the worst road trip ever!" Without a second thought, Henry reached out for the picture, and tore it out of its framed boundary on the wall. It caused another rip in the image, but he didn't care.

The edges started to glow red. Then, they began to smolder, until finally, smoke rose from the places where Henry touched the photo. The destruction spread beyond his fingertips, however, as the whole photograph began to burn. Outward in, it was like the world was burning for the people trapped inside. He even remembered the context of the photograph: Headmistress wanted to show the world how "happy" the children were, so she made use of the modern photography devices.

They were called "cameras," or so Henry was told. They were old, ancient devices rediscovered at the time, so not many people knew about it. He remembered sitting out in the front yard, when, the grass was greener, but his world had so much more pain because of it. The children were wild, unstable, and running amok. Headmistress beat up at least five of them before they could all sit still for a photo. The girl behind him, the one whose hair was now on fire, pulled his hair in between shots, and stuck some candy on his back. The boy next to her, who was halfway charred and deserving of it, made fun of Henry for being a "Sticky Back Boy" and beat him up with a stick when no one was watching.

The memories flooded back at once, and Henry felt disturbed that the only thing that comforted him more than burning the photo was burning the children. Diana and Roger, those two were called. Oh, they paid for their abuse in blood. They paid. Henry smiled at the fond memory. He recalled the way they cried, snivelling brats with fat tears rolling down disparate faces. He remembered the way they threw themselves to his feet, and begged for forgiveness. He never answered them, in actuality. He only laughed as their images were drowned in red and orange. He thought back to the way that they screamed for water, for Grima, for mercy—only to have the Headmistress beat the flames from their bodies. They bore scars and burn marks for weeks. They blamed it on Henry. They all did.

He got away with it somehow. He had to have. Otherwise, he would have been stuck there, forever and ever, rotting away like some of the older kids did. Jamal, Lisa, Sarya...he shuddered at the thought of them—whimpered at the remembrance of their punishments. Did they burn in this photograph, too? Or were they the source of the screams he heard at night, from the basement where no one but Headmistress was allowed to go?

How did Henry escape the same fate?

The questions and answers returned to him, but in mixed pairs so he couldn't tell what was what. He didn't even realize that his own fingers were simmering, too, until someone pulled him, grabbed him, and forced him out of his own bewitching memories.

He looked up helplessly, and asked in a monotonous voice, "What is it?"

"Your fingers," Libra (oh it's Libra) said. "They're burnt."

Henry stared down, and saw ashes where the picture used to be. His nose was assailed by the prevalent smell of smoke, uncurling like fingers in the air. They intermingled with another nauseating smell, one that wasn't as unfamiliar to Henry as it should have been.

It was his own flesh, cooking and sizzling before his very eyes. Wherever he touched the picture and set it ablaze was where he suffered. Fortunately, it was limited to his index finger, thumb, and some part of the middle finger. He hadn't held onto the photograph as tightly as he thought he did.

He wondered why that realization made him feel so hollow inside. He shrugged. "Oh, I guess they are."

"I have just the thing for that. Allow me," Libra gently enforced. "Please."

"Okay."

"Good. Come with me, there's no seats in this kitchen."

"There's a dining room right across from us," Henry automatically recited. "We can sit there."

Libra wasn't Gaius. He didn't think twice about the information presented to him. "Alright, let's go." Libra wasn't Gaius, so he only dragged Henry by the edge of his cape, and then not at all. "Be more careful next time." Libra wasn't Gaius, so he didn't really mean it when he said that. "I brought some burn cream with me."

Libra wasn't Gaius, so nothing after that really mattered. Henry only sat obediently (as he always did), and watched as smooth, white ointment was pressed over his burns, instantly bringing him relief.

Some relief, anyway. After talking to Libra, he understood something crucial. Libra wasn't Gaius, but no one else was like Gaius, anyway, because Gaius was an irreplaceable, important person in Henry's life, and it didn't do him good to just slip by the bare minimum with him. Gaius was one of the few people who were truly concerned for Henry, and it showed when something emptier and hollower in comparison—like Libra's sentiments—showed.

Of course, Henry was glad for no more ouchies. He would thank Libra later by doing something awesome, surely. But for now, the priest's simple kindness was enough to bring Henry back to reality, and remind him what exactly he was doing in a place like this.

Was he still the Henry from back then, who was beaten and who beat others? Was he the boy who couldn't smile, the one drenched in misery so great, that a new self had to be crafted from the ashes of the past? Was he the person his parents despised and world hated, the one abandoned by warmth until he froze?

Or was he the Henry now, who had pretty cool friends, pretty reliable allies, and a pretty amazing person called Gaius in his life? Was he the Henry now, who could cast more than just party-trick spells, and instead summon forth a lifetime worth of fire and pain? Was he the Henry now, who faced with a remnant of the past, had to decide between moving forward or moving backward?

Was he, or wasn't he?

"So that's what Gaius meant," he wondered aloud. "That's what he was asking me."

"Huh?" Libra gawked, suddenly surprised by Henry's random utterings. He was done with the healing process now, and Henry's bandaged fingers could attest to that. Yet the look he wore on his face was as if Henry had grown a second head. "What about Gaius?"

"Nothing, nothing! I just realized something kinda important. Thanks for healing me, Libra." Henry stood up, and gave a friendly wave. "You know, you're always so helpful. One of these days, I'll make it up to you."

"It's a simple burn heal," Libra insisted. "You don't have to go to such great lengths for me."

"It's not just that. You've helped me once before, and it was a big time helping, at that! Even if you didn't do anything but stand there while I did all the hard work."

"What?"

"Oh, Libra. One day I'll explain it to you, but not today. Anyway. I'm gonna go find Gaius. See you 'round!"

"Ah, alright. I'll see you later, Henry."

The sorcerer skipped out of the dining hall, his lofty chair skidding out of place in his wake. As he disappeared out of sight—and kicked up a crazy amount of dust as he did so—Libra fell back in his seat, and wondered if he missed something important just now.

.

.

"I get it. You owe the guy that much, huh?" Gaius took a sip from the flask, savoring the taste of mead. "I mean, I guess I'd understand, if I were in your shoes."

"That's not the least of it," Earnest groaned. He was a flask down, already, and his flushed face and slurred words were more than enough to signal what a lightweight drunk he was. "Maaan...I do everything for that idiot! I know I owe him, but did I owe him this much?"

"Probably not," Gaius sympathized. "But, hey, on the bright side. At least you're not off killing hordes of Risen. Or driving away brigands from vaults. Or saving villagers in peril. Or—"

"Yes, yes. Shepherds are the best, I owe you guys my life, hoo hah!" Earnest threw his hands in the air, and squarely collapsed in an armchair. "This thing is still soft, huh. I could just sleep in it. I could just sleep…"

Tarun's beloved (and underpaid) assistant passed out instantly, and Gaius took that as his cue to leave. It was small talk at first, but he ended up becoming a pseudo-therapist to Earnest in those moments. It was tiring and awkward, but there was one important thing he realized from talking to a civilian like that.

He was so glad that he was a Shepherd, and not anything else. If it meant living out a mundane life like Earnest or Tarun, he'd rather be a soldier time and time again to avoid such a lofty fate.

Of course, if he had millions and millions of gold and silver to himself, he wouldn't need to be a thief or a soldier or anyone that worked day-to-day. Oh well, he thought to himself as he finished off the last of his drink, beggars can't be choosers, now.

"Gaius?"

He nearly dropped the flask. His hands felt dumb and unused as he fumbled with it like a nervous drunk. Once the initial shock wore off, Gaius retained his skillfulness, and steadied the flask in a single movement. Then he stood up straight, and spoke in the most tame voice possible. "Yeah?"

Henry appeared from the doorway. It was the middle of the night, so everything was dark, but his presence seemed to make things brighter. Either that, or Gaius was starting to feel tipsy already.

He desperately hoped it was the latter.

"Uh, about before…"

"Yes?"

"Well, I mean. You were right. I used to go here."

"I know. I figured it out—"

"From the kitchen thing, right? Hey, sly trick you did there, by the way. I guess that's why you're an assassin and I'm a sorcerer."

"I guess so, but that's not the only reason for that, y'know. Besides, I figured out you used to stay here way before the whole kitchen thing."

"What?" Henry blinked once, twice, and thrice before Gaius realized that his eyes were open this whole time. Actually, Gaius thought to himself, his eyes are more open these days than ever before. Did I influence him, or something?

"Gaius?"

"Uh, sorry. I got sidetracked—must be the mead—but yes, I knew from the beginning that this used to be your home. Or your house, whatever."

"How?"

"When we first got here, you stared at the place like it was death itself." Gaius scoffed, but there was no ill intention in his voice. "I can't blame you. It's obvious that this place is barely what the name says it is."

"Do you mean—"

"Listen, like I said before—" Gaius walked over to Henry, and placed a firm hand on his shoulder— "don't feel forced to tell me anything. But I know a bad place when I see one, and this one reeks of disaster."

"..." Henry stared past Gaius, to some unknown destination in the world. Even if he wanted to uphold eye contact, Gaius' sincerity made it hard to come to terms with it.

So for now, this would have to do.

"You know, 'disaster' is putting it lightly."

"Really?" Gaius removed his hand from Henry's shoulder, and used it to rub the back of his own head—awkwardly.

Everything was awkward, lately.

"Yes."

"Alright, so, if you ever want to tell me something, I'm all ears."

"Something? Something about what?"

"Anything, anything at all. Of course, since we're here, I wouldn't mind hearing about your experiences at the orphanage, but I understand if that's off-limits." Gaius sighed. "Hell, I've got skeletons in my closet, too, so—"

"You should get rid of them, then. They'll stink up the joint!" For the first time in their conversation, Henry's smile appeared to be genuinely bright, and not just the standard-fake-brightness he was known for showing. That small glimmer of hope was enough to send Gaius' heart aflame, but he blamed all his sudden, bodily warmth on his intake of alcohol.

He was partly right about that, anyway.

"Y'know what? I might just do that. But when I'm ready, of course. The same goes to you." Gaius wrapped an arm around Henry, an action which immediately sent Henry's heart into a tizzy. He felt the blood rush upward like fire, and secretly hoped that Gaius couldn't feel the flames from his close contact.

Although, at this distance, Henry smelled the light aroma of alcohol, and figured that Gaius was probably more altered than usual.

Maybe even a bit more truthful than he'd like to be.

It was reassuring, though, and because of it, Henry laughed. Gaius joined in, and soon the two of them broke out into uncontrolled fits of laughter, for absolutely no reason at all. It might have been Henry's bad habits rubbing off on Gaius, but there was something funny about serious situations like this one. There was something cathartic about shrugging off worries in a resounding manner, and it was too easy to let all their troubles and worries be downplayed by a chorus of carefree laughs and giggles.

Gaius wiped away a tear, and slapped Henry on the back with minimal force. "I know that things don't happen overnight, though. So don't worry about having to clear everything out in a day. Take your time, because I'm right here next to you."

"So what you're saying is—"

"Let's get rid of our skeletons together."

Henry wanted to get another word in, another sentence. He wanted to tell Gaius something, anything. He still wasn't sure how to emote all the things he felt, but he knew that there was a time and a place for the thrumming in his heart, and the jumbling in his brain. He knew that there was something to call the feeling he got when Gaius said things like that, held him the way he did, or just generally existed as Gaius and no one else.

He didn't know, but those things could all be described by one thing.

Hope.

Before he could actually say anything, though, a third voice roared from the back of the room. "Hey, you two lovebirds! Go get a room, already, sheesh!" Earnest stumbled from his place in the armchair, and Gaius and Henry dreaded the attendant hearing anything just now. Although from the way Earnest stumbled and tripped over himself (and from the way he burped and groaned in pain immediately after) they could tell that the man was stone-cold drunk.

What a relief!

"Uh, sorry."

"We're not birds of any kind, mister! We're real, bonafide humans!"

"Henry—"

"Well, at least I am. There's no telling what kind of creature Gaius is."

"Haha, very funny. Let's just go, already!"

"Roger that!"

"I thought his name was Gaius," Earnest slurred. "Okay, whatever. Bye now."

"Bye!" Henry hollered as he was nearly dragged away by Gaius. When the two of them reached the safety of the hallway, Henry snickered at the other's expense. "Intoxication is a funny thing, huh? It's like a curse we cast on ourselves."

"You're right about that," Gaius agreed. "I mean, it's also because that Earnest is a complete lightweight. We only had a few flasks of mead on us, so I dunno how he got so plastered so soon."

"Where'd you even get that stuff?" Henry asked. "The kitchen?"

"Nope," Gaius said, making a popping sound with his mouth on the 'p'. "I grabbed some stuff from Tarun's caravan before we left. The alcohol's only part of it."

"So you stole from our client, basically?" Henry smiled. "That's not very Shepherd-like of you."

"That's exactly what the Shepherds do," Gaius rebounded. "But it's not stealing if he stole from himself, too. And don't think I didn't see you snatch up some stuff for yourself." He smirked, and looked Henry up and down, an action that Henry only understood what it meant in one meaning of it.

A challenge. It was familiar territory, egging each other on like this, and Henry gladly reciprocated. "You call it stealing, I call it returning. Wanna see?" A dangerous smile appeared, and it was perfectly fitting for the dangerous boy he was.

If Gaius was really an assassin, he would like both things in equal measure.

And he did. "Alright, alright, go ahead. So what are you 'returning' on this fine night?"

"Something to our favorite worshipper, Libra!" Henry clapped his hands together, and as if on cue, the war monk himself appeared at the end of the hallway—a bit confused at the sudden need for him. "There you are! C'mere real quick!"

"Uh, alright." Libra hesitated, but eventually caught up with the other two. He grinned sheepishly at the both of them, before asking, "Do you need something from me?"

"Nope, I came to return something near and dear to you." Henry reached around his back, and unfastened something that was once clasped to his sash. When he brought it out into the light, Gaius and Libra clearly saw that it was a Mend staff, with shiny tassels and a healing aura enveloping it whole.

Libra gasped. "I feared I left this back on the caravan! How did you find it?"

"I swiped it before we left," Henry explained. There was an obvious sense of pride flavoring his voice. Gaius let him have his moment. "Thought you might need it now more than ever. Here you go!"

He handed the staff back to its rightful owner, and Libra seemed moved to tears. Or at least, the closest thing to tears, since Henry was pretty sure that Libra never cried—which was a relatable thing in and of itself, but that was beside the point. He looked grateful, nonetheless. "Thank you, Henry. I appreciate it. Bless your heart."

"Can you actually bless it?" Henry asked in a high voice. "Oh, I wonder what it'd be like to get touched by Naga?"

"Oh, I think I know what it's like to get touched by—"

"Anyway," Libra cut in. "Anyway, I'll pray for your blessings for tomorrow. I can only pray, you see, as it's up to the Gods to grant you the blessings you need."

"Hmm," Henry muttered. "I'm not sure if I like leaving things up to chance like that. To the big guys upstairs."

"Same here," Gaius concurred. "But I respect it, Padre. I really do."

"As long as you consider it, then we're all the better for it," Libra simply said. "Well, I'll leave it at that. I must admit that I'm rather tired, considering the events that transpired today. I'll see you two in the morning."

"Good night, Libra!"

"Good night Henry. And Gaius. Sleep well."

"Oh, don't worry about us," Henry shouted as Libra headed down the hallway. "We'll sleep when we're dead!"

.

.

There were three stories to the Mallory E. Webcott Orphanage. Tharja found a decent bedroom on the second floor, and locked herself in there for the entire night as soon as they arrived. Also on the second floor was Earnest, who took up residence in a joint-room. He had the smaller side room, while Tarun was supposed to sleep in the obviously bigger room. They had a simple door connecting the two areas, although Tarun wasn't in his newfound "residence."

Rather, the merchant was on the third floor, seated in the library where—to his surprise—there were still books to be read. Most of them were gone or torn, likely as a result of the years of misuage. The ones left behind were either the long, scholarly texts, or the self-help and cookbooks. All in all, the remaining text was to serve one purpose: bore the common mind reading them.

But Tarun was not just any commoner! No, he was far from it: he was one of the wealthiest, well-to-do merchants in Plegia, and his work carried him across the globe on a constant basis. He was a busy, busy man, who had no time for goofing off.

Unless it was for his family, then he'd be as unconventional as it took to get there. Which was why he was reading How to Remove Curses without Magic Interference, Vol. III in his free time, because there was simply nothing else to do.

"Tarun?" A voice asked. "You're still up?"

"Yes," he merely answered. "And what of it?"

"I just thought that after everything today, you'd be the first to take a rest. Guess that's what they call 'burning the midnight oil', huh?"

Maybe it was the erratic nature of the late hours, but Tarun felt giddy enough to humor this voice. "Haha, yes, that's certainly what they call it. I'm a fan of candlelight, myself. Or rather, it's better to read during the day and not at all otherwise."

"Then why don't you follow your own advice?"

"What do you mean?"

"You should get some rest. It'd be a waste if you didn't. We came all this way and—"

"Rhys!" Tarun suddenly shouted. He closed his book, and his brows furrowed into the deepest "v" possible. He was so stunned by anger that he merely stared in the direction of the voice, and kept shouting. "Don't question me! I'm your father! If I want to read books during this damned family function, then I'll do it!"

The spell broke, and Tarun realized it too late. By the time he lowered his hand (and his voice), he watched in horror at the terrible mistake he made. He shouted at a youth, one with ginger hair and deep hazel eyes, and a height that outmatched him since the boy was sixteen. Everything was the same as it had been, with the same facial features—the same gleam of fear in his eyes.

Only, the blue clothes weren't made of silk this time, and he wasn't sure how in the world Rhys was able to wield a sword and a bow if he was too heavy-handed to go into something as delicate as archery.

Then it clicked.

That wasn't Rhys.

It was Gaius.

"Uh," Gaius mumbled. He wasn't alone, either. A young man with black hair and brown eyes stepped out from behind him, scowling so deeply. Tarun wanted to shout at Chrys—wanted to say No, Chrys! Stop frowning all the time! You'll never get a woman to like you if you don't learn to loosen up.

Only it wasn't Chrys, either. Chrys would never wear Feroxi clothing, not since his ex-fiancée (who happened to be from Regna Ferox, herself) left him at the altar. He would never don a sword, either. Chrys always thought weapons were clunky, so he stuck to his forte: magic.

That wasn't Chrys, though. It was Lon'qu.

And behind the two of them was a third horror. From the glimpse of snowy hair and glimmer of golden accessories, Tarun knew it was the most infuriating member of this ill-begotten party by far. From the closed eyes and long robes, he knew it was the devil himself.

Henry.

"Tarun?" Gaius—not Rhys—asked. "You, uh, you alright there?"

"Yeah, old man, what's the deal?" Henry chuckled. "Finally going senile?"

"That's not it!" the merchant snapped. "I just thought—I mistook you for—"

"Your sons?"

Silence.

"Your sons, Rhys and Chrys." Lon'qu stepped forward, with a dangerously indignant look in his eyes. "We've been informed about your familial situation beforehand. We'll have you know that after going the extra mile in securing you beyond the border, the least you could do is remember our names."

"Hey, Lon'qu, I don't think that's the best way to deal with things right now."

"Unlike the rest of you, I'm not comfortable with these blatant lies." He sneered at everyone in the room, and swiveled on his heels at once. "If you care at all about the ones you've lost, you'd do well to live your life with purpose and honor."

"...I…"

"That's all. I'll take the first night watch." He was halfway out the door, when he murmured a quiet "Gaius?" afterward.

"I'll take the next one," he agreed softly. "No worries."

"Good."

Lon'qu left, but his absence spoke more than his presence did, because the air felt heavy with static and discomfort. Gaius shifted weight from one foot to another, and Henry's bright giggles died down into singular guffaws.

Tarun was at a loss for words. He dropped his book, after the thing had gone slack in his hands for who knows how long. His wrinkled hands twitched feebly with longing, like everything he loved slipped away from him just now.

Gaius spoke up, albeit reluctantly. "Listen, this is kind of a sour situation, so why don't we all just—"

"Good night, gentlemen. I'll see you in the morning."

"Tarun, wait!"

The merchant didn't listen as he stormed past Gaius and Henry, without so much as a word or a glance in their direction. Though, they didn't need either of those things to understand the hidden truth: Tarun loved his late sons to a point where he could get lost in their memory without a second thought. He still missed them, loved them, cherished them, and mourned them after all this time. This was the sadness, sorrow, and regret that filled that man's heart, and made him as embittered as he was today.

And Gaius and Henry could do nothing for his unraveling, except watch.

.

.

"Well, this is just a library. We only came up here to check on him, but we should get going, too." Gaius blew raspberries out of defeat, and ran a hand through his hair shortly afterward. "I know I signed up for the next night watch, though. If you want, you can nap until it's your turn and—"

"I used to read the books here," Henry interrupted. "I found some magic tomes hidden in the back one day. No one else was interested in them but me." He started towards the bookshelves slowly, as if moving quickly would damage them further. After a careful scan, he removed a single book from its place, and started poring through its contents. "Like this one. Beginner's Curses I."

Gaius had no words to respond in kind. He simply ogled Henry, and watched the way he thumbed through the book, page after worn out page. When the tenth page had flipped over, Gaius became aware of himself again, and he quickly moved in order to get the conversation flowing once more. "How'd you get away with that? This doesn't seem like the place that would willingly let its kids learn magic."

"I sneaked it, of course!" Henry's "happy" tone wasn't its usual luster, but there was a semblance of joy in there. Maybe nostalgia, too. "And even before the orphanage, I already knew some magic of my own."

"I see, so you really are a bookworm at heart. You must have loved this place, huh?"

"It was one of my favorite places, for sure. At least, one of my favorite visible places." Henry snickered as he replaced the book on the shelf. After a moment of reflection, he turned around, and faced Gaius with a calm smile. His eyes were opened, but they were softened with this newly found remembrance, if the faraway blue-grey color was any indication of it.

Gaius tried to keep his excitement under wraps, so he croaked out a pathetic, "Lemme guess: secret hiding spots?"

"Tons of them!"

"Show me."

"Are you sure?" Henry tilted his head to the right ever so slightly.

Gaius fought the urge to tell him how cute it was when he did that.

He went on to say, "If I show you the dirty secrets of this place, you have to swear to keep it to yourself. Or else I'll haunt you, for real."

"You have my word," Gaius declared. "My honor as a person. And a thief."

"Thieves aren't so honorable, though." Henry countered. "Can you really be trusted?"

"How about this?" Gaius smiled, and took another step forward. "Trust me as much as I trust you."

Henry matched his stride, and took a step of his own. They were quite close to each other, now, that any more steps taken would result in a convergence. Henry leered up at Gaius, although his breathy hums belied the maliciousness of it all. "Well, well...I guess you're in. For now."

"Good. Now, show me."

"Alright! First things first!"

The sorcerer cooed as he inspected the bookshelf a second time. Slender fingers dragged along their spines, until one book in particular was selected. It was thick, bulky, and green in color. It stood out from the other books in the sense that it was dustier than usual, and far untouched.

The last time it was used had to have been years ago—and by the same person using it now, or so it seemed.

Gaius watched as Henry removed the book, and all at once, the entire bookcase shifted. There was a low rumbling, but it was strong enough to shake the whole room. Gaius was worried that this movement would disturb the others (not to mention that it reminded him of a certain earth-shattering incident they'd been in before), and so he was ready to speak up against it.

However, just as soon as it started, it ended, and all that was left in its wake was a large hole in the wall behind it: a dark, secret passageway. Henry lit up flames in the palm of his hand, and grinned madly at Gaius. "Well, Honeybuns? Are you in or are you out?"

"In," he swiftly answered. "Now let's get a move on."

"Let's!"

Henry's laughter echoed yet again, only this time, it was cut off halfway by a moving bookcase, which shifted back to its old spot. The only evidence of them having been there was the memory in Lon'qu and Tarun's minds, and the tiny finger imprints left on the dust layer of a too-green book.

It was very quiet after that.

.

.

Gaius didn't know what to expect from that point onward. For all he knew, the secret passageway lead to nowhere, or this was a sleep-deprived dream he was having, and he was actually lying down in a dusty bed on the second story somewhere.

Luckily, it was neither of those things. Although the passageway was dark and narrow, Henry's thin physique and magical fire flames seemed to mitigate the difference. Gaius noticed the way that the shadows bounced off the walls, and he could see that the stone was much more uneven and dislodged in this area. There were burn marks and ash all around them, too, which unsettled and displaced with each step they took.

How secret was this passageway, anyway?

He had to ask. "How'd you discover this?"

"Easy," Henry answered. "I made it."

"What?"

"In the middle of the night, I was playing with crow friends! But Headmistress found out, and told me to get rid of them or else. I didn't want to, obviously, so I tried to hide them. At first, there was just a small hole behind the bookcase, but I tried my hardest, and ended up blasting the walls down with fire and earth magic." The words were like water spilling from his mouth. Gaius caught every last one with attentiveness, hoping they would stay with him before they evaporated.

Although if it was Gaius by his side, Henry supposed it didn't matter either way. "So, there you have it! Secret passages made by yours truly."

"Did they ever find out?"

"No!" Henry bragged. "Other kids talked about how they felt tremors at night. Some of them even suspected that I was up to something. But in the end, Headmistress didn't believe them."

"Nice. I guess that old hag is good for something, huh?"

"Hmm…" Henry murmured, and stopped at a crossroads. He shone his light down each pathway, but Gaius could hardly discern between their dark lengths. "Okay, here's something new. The left path goes to the kitchen, while the right path goes to the roof. Which way do you want to go?"

"Let's go to the rooftop," Gaius decided. "It's getting cramped in here."

"To be fair, I was half my size when I first made this place." Henry moved the fires closer to the top of the wall, and inspected the lowered height of the ceiling with delicacy. "It looks like it's just your height. Maybe a little shorter."

"Oh, for sure, because I bumped my head at least a dozen times," he agreed. "I've gone gray from all the dust in here, too. As lovely as this is, I want out."

"Fair enough~ This way!" Henry skipped down the rightmost passageway, and Gaius ran after him.

The two of them broke out into the night sky, on top of one of the four pillars that formed the four corners of the building. There was a big, circular area atop the spire, with just enough space for two people, like Gaius and Henry, to lie down and enjoy the stars.

And that's exactly what they did.

This brought them back to a similar time, only a week or two ago, where the two of them watched the stars from a forest floor—Henry at the time had been avoiding his night watch duties, and Gaius was exploring the rest area. The Shepherds were in the midst of camp relocation, and the two of them were seriously judging and considering their relationship at the time.

Henry wondered if anything about them really changed since then.

"Can I ask you something?" Henry asked.

"Go ahead," Gaius said. "Anything."

"Earlier when you said that I could talk about anything I wanted, did you also mean everything?"

"That depends. What kind of everything?"

"I mean, I used to live here. And I never told anyone about that. I did mention to Ricken that I grew up in a different home, but I never got this far." He closed his eyes and sighed, and let his head collapse to the side, lulling itself in Gaius' direction.

It was at that moment that Gaius realized something crucial.

It was a real shame, but the fact of the matter was that Henry would never be able to see what a sweet and charming person he really was. He'd never get to see himself in the way that Gaius saw him now: starlight setting his body aglow, moonlight showering over them, bright white hair falling into stands in his face, lips slightly parted, eyelashes downcast—all of the perfection and imperfection that was Henry.

They were all the things that Gaius loved.

He swallowed the hesitation in his throat (and resisted the urge to reach out and touch the stray hairs on Henry's head) as he said, "You don't have to tell me everything. To be honest, I don't think I could even handle everything."

"Oh."

"It's not a bad thing," he quickly remedied. "It just means that in the end, you get to keep some stuff to yourself."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. You don't have to tell me anything that you don't want to."

"Then—"

"But," Gaius cut in. "But, I do want to ask you some things. And I'd really like the answer to those things, if you don't mind."

"Ask away."

"Okay, first question." Gaius kept his gaze steady as Henry's eyes opened again, and they stared at each other for an indefinite amount of time—violet-blue into earthen green, and green back to the blue again. They were water and earth, pulling at each other, testing each other, and seeing how much it took for them to break.

They were both happy to find that things turned up steady.

Gaius spoke. "How did you get here? You mentioned that you didn't always live here, right? There used to be a wolf and stuff. What happened that made you have to live here, Henry?"

"I…" His smile wasn't gone, but it was the smallest version of his smile that Gaius had seen yet. In fact, if he didn't know Henry the way he did, he would have swore that Henry frowned, just now.

Before he could think harder about it, Henry piped up. "It's a long story."

"I have time."

"You have night watch."

"Not for another hour, at least."

"It'll take longer than an hour."

"Then you'd best start sooner, rather than later."

"Ugh, fine."

Henry redirected his attention to the sky, and reached out for the twinkling stars, as if doing so would allow him to grasp them. His hand opened, closed, and opened again, before he ultimately accepted the futility of it all. "Alright," he conceded. "Alright, I'll tell you."

"Okay."

"Or, I'll try to tell you. I don't know, I've never done this before."

"As I always like to say, there's a first time for everything."

"Okay." Henry paused. "Well, here goes nothing."

.

.

There were shadows all around him. They gathered at his sides, above him, below him, and reached out for him like he was their salvation.

He knew in his heart he was damned. They didn't have to lie to him.

"Henry," one shadow whispered in his ear. "Henry, we're doing this for your own good."

"You don't belong in our family," another voice admonished. "This is your new home now."

The shadows parted, and they revealed something greater than them. More than several shadows at his heels, ankles, wrists, and neck, there was one large, monumentous, malignant, overpowering shadow towering over all of them. It was sharp, squarish, and seated with roots and thorns that could reach to the core of the earth itself. Henry felt one of those roots, now, wriggling free of the ground and rising upward, until it wrapped its slimy length around his neck—until the breath was wrestled from his throat.

He cried out for them as he laid down in misery. "Mom!" he yelled. "Dad!"

"Mother! Father!"

"DON'T LEAVE ME HERE ALONE!"

The world shut him out. It was cruel, cold, and calculating. His feet were sore, blistered, and dirty. His eyes were so strained and tired that it was dangerous to close them for even a second. He forced himself to trek on tired feet—forced himself to wander path after aimless path, until the sun rose and he had no choice but to collapse beneath its rays.

No choice but to drown in its warmth.

The distance between here and his origin point felt more than a world away. Even so, he knew that he was only a village or two over, and that the shadows that cast him out were never far behind.

He had to get moving.

It was simple, really. That lady walking ahead of him was carrying too many groceries. He could see round shapes stick out from the bag she was carrying. His memories were foggy, but he still knew what apples were.

Those apples looked delicious.

He moved closer.

She wouldn't have noticed him then, slinking underneath her arm, reaching out a dirty hand to take an apple—just an apple. She wouldn't have seen him at all, if it weren't for the high-pitched scream coming from the little girl walking next to her.

"Mommy! There's a monster next to you!"

He paused out of fear. Monsters? The shadows once told him that monsters existed in their world. There were feats of magic, strength, and might, but none were more powerful than the monsters—those that lived under beds, hid in broom closets, and ran for local office. They were foul, ugly things, and they had to be exterminated, or else they would destroy everything that everyone held dear.

Where were the monsters?

"Ah! You thief!" The woman shrieked, and he couldn't remember answering her, because the next thing he knew, his mouth was full of plastic, and there was a throbbing pain in the side of his head.

Then the entire side of his body stung with dirt and pain, and he realized he'd been knocked to the ground.

They were ganging up on him, now.

He had no choice. He couldn't fight against so many people. He scrambled up to his feet and ran away, far away, from the woman and the apples. There was nothing in his veins except for fear and adrenaline, and at the time he didn't understand why his chest ached so horribly, or why there was redless blood coming out of his eyes.

To this day, he still doesn't understand.

…

He found refuge in the forest. First, he threw himself into the bushes, and cried inconsolably. Then he vomited, which was the most confusing part, because he hadn't eaten in days, so what was there to throw out? His body thought otherwise, though, because there were rotten shades of green and black escaping him, staining the forest with uglier versions of their natural shades.

Maybe he was so hungry, his insides had no choice but to eat themselves.

It was the only thing that seemed to make sense.

After the sickness passed, he cried harder, and dragged himself away. He didn't care where he went, but he had to be as far away from the woman, the apples, and the stench as much as possible. By the time he stopped, his legs were crying and screaming with him, and his head began to move and shake on its own. He threw himself into the ground, and muffled his sobs with mouthfuls of grass and dirt, instead.

That was when he heard the soft padding of footsteps. Immediately, he rose to his feet, and tried to run away. But in his haste, he tripped over the large root of a tree, and stumbled face first.

He heard his foot snap before he felt it.

When he sat up, the pain echoed through him, and he knew that he couldn't stand or walk on it anymore. At least, not without some help.

But there was no help. The shadows abandoned him long ago, so he needed outside intervention if he had any hope of surviving. Yet, the woman with the apples proved herself to be a prime example of his next dilemma: no one was willing to help. It was a cruel, cold, and hungry world. No one would help other people if it meant they could help themselves, instead.

So when the footsteps grew closer and closer, he wept again. This time, he didn't scream for the shadows. Not those people that brought him into this world, no. He cried for women, men, children alike to come rescue him. He cried for Naga, Grima, and any other Gods he could remember the names of. He cried for himself, his future, his past—things and concepts he did not yet fully understand.

He cried.

Instead of something hurtful, there was something soft and warm at his face—something moving at his fingertips. There was a thunderous heartbeat near his, and hot breath that blew life into his cold, stagnant body.

His eyes opened wide, and he saw this angel for himself.

Or, what he thought was an angel. There was too much fur to discern.

"What?" He reached out in front of him, but found only an endless expanse of black fur. "Who are you?"

There was no answer, or at least, none that he was familiar with. He expected words of human delicacy, but instead he heard guttural noises, deep and strong from someone's chest. He heard teeth chatter and snag against each other, and a wet hiss of forewarning and precaution.

He couldn't have known it then, but his body began to softly glow, and in a moment, the noises became more than just that.

They became words.

Child, they signaled. He didn't understand why he could hear the words, when no actual sound was made. He clutched his head out of fear. Child, do not be afraid.

"W-What?"

You are gifted, Child. You can speak to our kind.

"Y-Your kind?"

Yes. I am not human.

"Then what are you?"

Instead of words, he heard a loud shout, which—after mulling it over—was identified as something else: a roar, maybe, or a howl. He had the image of an old, sick dog in his head, but this voice was healthier and brighter than that image could ever be.

He looked up and met with the silver eyes of a wolf.

"A wolf! But wait, if you're a wolf, then h-how come I can hear you?"

Unsure. You smelled different, so I approached you. I did not expect to find a babe, clinging to life, crying its little eyes out. What a pathetic sight. Do you want to be killed?

"No!" he yelled. "Not at all!"

Then what is it you do want?

"I want to live!" he shouted. His eyes grew bleary with tears, and he cried anew because of it. "I want to live!"

As do we all. Very well, you and I shall live together. I will teach you the ways of the forest, and in return, you shall listen to every word I say. Do you understand?

He really didn't. He had no idea what was going on now. All he knew was that some magical wolf had kinda-sorta rescued him. Actually, did it really count as rescuing, seeing as his foot was broken and his eyes were full of tears? He didn't know, although if accepting this situation meant that he could be spared the misery of it all, then he also didn't care.

The boy reached out and wrapped his arms around its neck. His tiny fists clenched at their scruff. "I-I can't move, though," he whined. "My foot hurts."

Clumsy thing. Very well, I will allow you to ride my back. The wolf lowered itself, and glanced up with impatient eyes. Don't just sit there. Get on.

"O-Okay…"

He crawled over to its side, and flung himself over their back with a practiced movement. The fur was a bit coarser up there, but the way it bristled with warmth and life was even more reassuring. He buried his face in it, and wrapped his arms and legs around its body like a koala clinging to a branch.

The wolf snarled in a way that sounded like a scoff. He tightened his hold accordingly. We shall return to my den.

"Alright."

Tell me your name, Child.

"Henry. My name is Henry."

Henry. I am Ailah, a mother amongst these woods. Remember my name as if it were yours.

"Ailah," he muttered. "Ailah." He repeated her name over and over again, until the word became a lullaby that put him to sleep. In his tear-induced drowsiness, he heard leaves crunch under them, with wind blown against him—sending his hair flying in different directions, drying the tears streaming down his face.

Henry fell asleep on Ailah's back, and for the first time in his life, he knew what it was like to have good dreams.

…

He woke up to the sound of rain. His surroundings were dark and unfamiliar. As a result, he couldn't see very well, and—afraid of the shadows chasing him—he reached out and sobbed.

"Be quiet," a voice said. "You're loud."

"Ailah?"

"Who else would it be? Imbecile."

"But, I hear you talking."

"So it would seem. Before it was something like mind reading, but now you can understand our spoken language, too. How fortunate."

Henry crawled forward, on all fours as he blindly tested his surroundings. Beneath him felt like dirt and stone, but there were times where he felt leaves and branches, instead. The air was thick with sour odors, something that was halfway-rotten and halfway-familiar. He decided that it was Ailah's den, and Ailah's scent, and so he was relieved when his hands eventually grazed the end of her tail.

He scrambled to her side, and stared ahead of them. The moonlight was barely shining through the rain clouds, yet he still recognized the shapes and silhouettes of the forest trees. And it was as if the downpour had drowned everything else out, because he couldn't hear the sounds of wildlife anymore. Only the rhythm of raindrops pulsating, and the harsh breathing coming out from his own mouth.

Ailah was calm, composed, and cool. She looked at peace with the world, and Henry grew jealous of her immediate success.

He sighed.

"How is your foot?"

"Huh?"

"I threw some herbs onto it. They are poisonous to wolves, but I've seen humans gather them before. Surely they must have helped in some way."

Henry stretched out his foot, and realized there was a tiny layer of leaves wrapped around his ankle. While the area they covered was still tender and sore, it hurt much less than it did before—and before, it hurt a lot. He gasped at the realization.

"It works!"

"Good."

"Thank you, Ailah."

"Don't be mistaken. You're no use to me if you cannot walk."

"I—"

"Starting tomorrow, I will teach you the ways of this forest, and the ways of those who live differently from humans." She sat up on her hind legs, and gazed at the endless scenery before them. Her voice started up again with a newfound sense of pride. "You must forget what you know. Abandon the human's teachings and ideals. Those things cannot help you out here."

"Okay."

"Very well. It's late for humans now, so you should rest some more."

"Wait, are you leaving?"

"Of course."

"Wait!" He threw himself onto her, clinging onto her tail and hind legs, in all. "Please...please don't leave me alone."

"You fool," she hissed. With little effort, Ailah threw him off of her body, and shook herself free of the lingering touch. "I shall return! I won't be gone forever."

"Then why—"

"I'm going to hunt." He could see her eyes glint in the dark, and suddenly the divide between the two of them grew larger. "All things that live must eat. If you forget this, then you'll never survive the night."

"W-What are you going to hunt?" Henry was talking just to hear his own voice, at this point. He knew he didn't actually have to ask these questions. "What are you going to hunt, Ailah?"

She stayed silent for a moment, then made a noise that could only be a laugh. "It doesn't matter what I hunt, Henry," she said to him. "It matters what I bring back."

Lightning struck, and in those split seconds, Henry could see Ailah's face in the illuminated den. He could see the way her silver eyes narrowed, her toothy muzzle curled into an adjacent smile, her back straightened up as she lifted herself from her haunches.

It was the same moment that he knew he was no match for her.

She laughed again. "I'm bringing back meat, of course."

…

For several seasons, Henry lived with Ailah, and he began to understand the world in a new way. Of course, living with a wolf made him feral, and there were times where he crouched low, got on all fours instead of his feet, and slept during the day, instead. Needless to say, he ate everything with his hands and mouth, and when he found out he could read Ailah's mind as well as understand her words, he would sometimes be physically silent for days while they spoke internally to one another.

For several seasons, Henry was more wolf than human, and the only thing that set him apart was through his use of magic.

It grew stronger one midsummer day, in which he and Ailah planned out an attack on a small group of hunters. They carried out stunts like this before, where they would corner travelers, and steal away their supplies in the night. Most of the time it was harmless—lots of children, old people, and otherwise peaceful humans walked on their own, and they usually carried nothing more than a rucksack on them, which was less trouble than it was worth. Most of the time, there weren't humans worth pursuing, and Henry and Ailah would settle for hunting the local deer or rabbits.

Other times, there were hunters, poachers, and the occasional criminal. They all ran to the forest for cover, for sport, for a chance to escape. Henry shivered at the sight of them: loud, rowdy, disrespectful as they littered constantly. Armed to the teeth. Henry hadn't seen so many sharp things since the early days, where the shadows would corner him and beat him senseless.

Those weapons were meant to kill creatures like Ailah.

They wouldn't stand for it.

One fateful day, Henry waited in the bushes near their camp. Their current strategy was a common one: Henry would pretend to be in need of assistance, and most humans would see that he was just a helpless child, and drop their guard in front of him. Then, while they were distracted with Henry, Ailah would run by and swipe their supplies. She'd take food, clothing, small weapons. They were all for Henry's sake, because she could go without those things.

But there were instances where Henry fell ill, and Ailah couldn't heal him with local herbs. The first time that happened, the she-wolf ran out, and attacked a cleric in the middle of the day. She was lucky that the vial of medicine she stole was the correct one needed to treat his illness, otherwise he would have perished that night.

They were more careful since then. Their attack strategies proved it.

Yet, as Henry crawled forward, everything changed. Suddenly, he wasn't in the bushes anymore, as something latched onto him, and pulled him upward where he couldn't see. He cried out pitifully, unable to move as the skies and trees warped above him—blurring into green and blue streaks that disoriented him.

By the time he stopped spinning, Henry realized too late that he was caught in a net.

The hunters' net, no doubt.

They laughed.

"Well, well, look what we got here, boys," one of them taunted. "A little thief, trying to pull a fast one on us."

"C'mon, man! He's just a kid, and a scrawny one at that," another hunter jeered. "He couldn't hurt a fly!"

"Hey, wait a second." A third hunter stepped forward, and Henry instinctively backed away. From his place in the net, he could see in between the ropes that this person was a scholar of some sort, because they had round reading glasses and pristine robes on. He distantly wondered what kind of person they were to be running around with hunters and vagabonds, but that was replaced by thoughts of fear as the strange man reached in, and cradled Henry's face through the net. "I recognize him."

"What?"

"Yeah, in a few towns over. He's a runaway, and his parents have a huge reward for bringing him back."

"No way!" Another voice joined in. "Well, what are waiting for? Let's take him down and—"

"Yeah, and how will we know if those parents won't accuse us of kidnapping him or something?"

"And who knows, they could pay more for a ransom than whatever reward they got set up."

Henry's heart sank into his chest.

No, no, no, he begged. Don't take me back there, please.

Don't let the shadows take me.

"Then I say we keep the squirt for ourselves, and see what we can make of him."

"I agree," the scholar said. He readjusted his glasses, and stepped back from Henry. "Until then, let's tie him up and gag him. Don't want him making a fuss, now."

"No!" Henry yelled. His voice was gravelly and thin from lack of use. "Put me down! Get away from me!"

Most of them broke out into laughter so loud, his ears hurt.

"Can't do that, kiddo."

"Just shut up and stay quiet."

"Yeah, and if you're good, you can eat our leftovers!"

He scrambled for purchase, but found none as his arms and legs dangled uselessly. The net was too strong for him to break apart, and the holes weren't big enough for his whole body to slip through. Instead, his legs were dragged down out from under him, and Henry felt rough hands and rope work around his ankles.

He felt tears forming in his eyes. "Please," he begged. "Don't do this."

"Sorry, kid," one of them said. "Should have stayed away from us when you had the chance."

Just as he thought that they would move on to tie his hands, a scream erupted. Everyone turned to look, and Henry's jaw dropped at what he saw.

It was Ailah, and she shot out from the darkness like a lightning bolt. Her jaws were clamped around one of the hunter's arms, and he dropped his bow as a result of it. Henry met eyes with her, and saw a look of determination that burned brighter than any fire he had ever seen (or caused, for that matter).

Don't just sit there! she mentally cursed at him. Fight back!

Henry forced his legs to move, so he could kick his offenders, but it was useless as they ran away from him, and focused on the new threat.

"Gods damn it!" The bitten hunter yelled as he threw Ailah off of him, and held his bleeding arm with a scowl. "Kill it! Kill it now!"

The scholar hid behind the others as they brandished their weapons. From what Henry could see, there was an ax, a sword, and a lance. Plus a bow and a quiver of arrows, if he included the one that got bitten just now. The odds were obviously against them, and even though Henry knew that Ailah was strong, he knew that she wasn't strong enough to take them all on at once.

She was doomed.

He screamed out for her, but was ignored as the threat of blades and arrows hung over her head like a guillotine. She lithely jumped from one hunter to the next, dodging their blows and biting at their legs. One of them—the swordsman—miscalculated his swing, and when he brought his blade down, she jumped at him and bit, and he screamed while stumbling backward.

He tripped over himself and cracked his head open on a large stone at the fire pit. He convulsed feverishly, then went completely still, and everything slowed down to a halt.

Once the realization hit, the rest of the hunters were enraged. "You'll pay for that!" The presumable leader cried out. His arm was still injured—so he couldn't properly use the bow—but he wielded the arrow single handedly, and stabbed at Ailah.

She dodged it, and managed to bite at the lancer, instead. She passed his defenses and struck him in the throat. He screamed and bled and thrashed, but she committed herself fully, biting down until there was a sickening crunch.

He was dead long before his neck tore, although the way he slouched over was slow and forthcoming.

It got worse from there.

The hunter with the ax was the only capable fighter left, what with the scholar hiding behind him like a child, and their archer-leader injured. Henry was sure that Ailah would win, but things turned on their head quickly.

She must have been blinded by the adrenaline, because she didn't see the ax-user sneak up behind her, and couldn't resist the blow to her head.

"No!" Henry screamed. "Ailah!"

She wasn't dead, yet, but her pitiful howls and staggered movements showed that she was stunned by the attack. It was the perfect opportunity to strike, and so the man with the ax raised his weapon high in the air, eyes alight with fury and vengeance.

Henry was so busy crying, he hadn't noticed the electricity sparking in his hand. He didn't realize that he was reaching out through the net, now, hands shaking and trembling with overstimulation and anxiety. His lips quivered, his eyes widened, and his throat wrenched itself as he screamed.

"LEAVE HER ALONE!"

The electricity shot out from his palm in streams. The hunter saw this happen a few seconds too late.

The streaks angled and ran their course like lightning, but disappeared altogether as they embedded themselves in the hunter's chest. Ailah was just as surprised as the others to witness this, as her silver eyes widened, and she stood up a bit straighter—finally able to breathe through all this madness.

The archer ran to his comrade's side, but was in for a nasty surprise, as the second he touched the body, he was electrocuted himself.

He fell to the ground with a dull thud.

All that was left was the scholar, who turned tail and ran. Ailah watched him as he left, and once he was out of sight, she ran over to Henry. The boy flailed helplessly in the net once again, whining and sobbing like he was lost.

When he felt the forest floor come up below him, and the air rush above his head, he was relieved. Ailah helped to swat away the netting from his body, and once he was clear, he threw himself around her. "You're okay!" he exclaimed. "Oh, Gods, you're okay!"

"I should be saying the same thing to you," she muttered. "You saved us, Henry."

"No, you did!" He let go of her, and wiped at his still-crying eyes. "If you didn't take out those guys, then, then I wouldn't know what to do and—"

"Why didn't you tell me you could use magic?"

He stiffened at her words. "Huh?"

"Magic, Child. That was magic just now. Do not tell me that you think shooting lightning from your paw is normal."

"Uh," he stared down at his hands. He hadn't seen them in the act, but now they were free of electricity, and the only thing noticeable about them was how dirty the nails were.

He shrugged. "I-I don't know. It just...happened."

Ailah was quiet as she mulled it over. "You are more powerful than I first anticipated," she admitted. "Very well. Let's leave before more people show up."

"Okay," he agreed. "Wait, let's take their stuff first!" The campsite was full of supplies, although they only rummaged for the most important things: food, medicine, water. Ailah sniffed around and discovered a trunk full of spare clothing, which she insisted that Henry change into.

"You're getting bigger," she insisted. "You must shed anew."

He was quiet as he clothed himself. His old outfit was two sizes too small, but it had been a while since they could steal clothes like this. The hunter's outfits were too big, but he found some that were just his size, which was odd, because the men would have surely outgrown these sort of clothes already.

It didn't occur to him then that they might have had family members back at home.

It still didn't, to this day.

Ailah only stared at him proudly, and let him ride her back as they returned to their den. The forest was quiet again, and they took in every inch of it.

It would be one of the last times they were able to do so.

…

"I used to have pups of my own."

"What happened to them?"

"..."

"A-Ailah?"

"What happens to all of them," she sighed. "Death."

"Oh."

"Promise me, Henry, that you will live to be strong and healthy. Promise me that you'll never forget the things I taught you."

"What you taught me?"

"Recite to me the three most important rules."

"Take everything and waste none. Life is a sacred thing and should not be wasted. And, uh…"

"...The third one?"

"Survive," he muttered. "Live. Survive above all else."

"Perfect. Although, you mixed up the order."

"Huh?"

"Surviving is important. But you are a human, Henry. So you should always remember that life is sacred and shouldn't be wasted. One day, you will leave this forest, and I will not be there to remind you of this."

"That's—"

"So that's why I want you to understand everything I'm telling you now. Promise me that you will. Promise me now."

"I promise."

"Very good," she said. "Now, get some rest. I'm going to hunt for some mountain lions tonight."

"Oh? And what's the occasion?"

Her eyes glittered when she said, "The cycle of the seasons is complete. It is, as you humans would say, our one-year anniversary together."

"Ailah—"

"So let's celebrate."

…

There were shadows around him again. He couldn't see. He couldn't see anything, except for Ailah. She was his everything, really. His savior, his caretaker, his protector, his mother. She was the mother he always wanted—someone strong, resilient, and caring. Someone unafraid to stand by his side.

Nothing like the woman that birthed him. No, that person wasn't his mother.

But why were her shadows here? Why were there shadows anywhere? The forest was a sacred, wondrous place full of warmth and life. So why couldn't he understand? And why was Ailah just lying there, unmoving? Why was she…

…

The shaft was sticking out of her chest. There was blood leaking out of her eyes. All over her body, she was dirty, defiled, and ruined. There were too many blades, too many sharp things in places that weren't her claws. And when he pressed his ear against her chest, he didn't hear anything except for the wind passing through her.

Passing through her.

He screamed.

"Oh, poor thing," one of the shadows said. "This wolf kidnapped his child, see, and now he doesn't know what to do." The voice was familiar. "This wolf attacked him alongside myself and my friends in the forest, a few months ago. He's in shock."

"Don't worry, the threat has been quelled. Wolves are nasty, terrible things. People reported their things missing in the forest all the time—there were missing person reports left and right. It's all 'cause of this wolf."

"Yes, and I was merely passing through. I'm a scholar from Valm, you see, and I was away on business. I hired a group of sellswords to protect me, but the wolf was too strong."

"How terrible! We'll have to see you out to Valm at once."

"Why, thank you."

"And as for the boy, I heard he lives a few towns over."

"Let's find his parents."

"Yes, let's."

"Burn the wolf, though. What a foul and wretched creature."

"What a foul and wretched creature, indeed. Alright boy, move. You're in the way."

…

…

…

"Boy, are you listening? You're blocking us. Let go of the dog, boy. It's dead now."

…

…

…

"Hey, listen here, you brat! It's just a wolf! It eats children and people—you should count yourself lucky that this nice man here helped you when he did. If it wasn't for him, then the town guards would never have found that wolf in time."

…

…

…

"Alright, that's enough. Get it through your head that everyone would rather have this wolf be dead. Don't get attached to a fucking dog, for Gods' sake!"

"...Shut up…"

"Excuse me?"

He didn't feel anything as he moved. He barely remembered moving. His hands were at his side, his head downcast, and the others naturally backed away from him. What a tiny, desolate thing he was, that even the shadows made him feel small.

His chest burned. His eyes strained. He saw colors and light dance around in the dim shadows. He saw a warm cascade of colors fall around him, setting his feet aflame with light and fury.

He looked up.

"You ruined everything," he said. "You killed her."

"Of course, we—"

"You'll pay for that. All of you will pay for that." His body felt warm, but he didn't sweat. His hands twitched with energy, but nothing came out. Only the shadows moved. Only the shadows. And it felt so good to do that, because for so long, this darkness followed him around, and destroyed everything he loved. His parents, his Ailah, his forest, his home. The shadows were at his command, now, and they wrapped around him like a big, fuzzy blanket.

He heard screams. They echoed dully in his ears. One step forward, and the shadows stepped with him. "You'll pay."

"What the fuck?! Get away from this kid, now!"

"You will all pay!"

"You stupid Valmese, what have you done?"

"Me? All I did was tell you about the wolf and the boy. I didn't do anything!"

"What is that? By the Gods, what is that?"

"He and his wolf killed my friends! I didn't do anything!"

"Daddy? What's going on?"

"Sweetheart, not now! Gods damn it, go back to your mother this instant!"

"But Daddy—"

Everything hurt. Everything stung. His head was full of so much, and yet not enough. His chest constrained itself—it grew hard to breathe. But he didn't need air right now. He didn't need zephyrs, gales, storms, or fire. He needed something that was much worse than all of those things put together. He needed them to understand the pain he felt, the anguish that constantly tore away at his body and devoured his mind.

He needed them to suffer.

The shadows understood his will, and they moved out in waves.

The screaming intensified.

Everything, everything, everything drowned in a sea of black, purple, gold, and red. The black overtook everything else. His eyes were black, too, and his heart beat so fast he was afraid it would rip out of his body. The blood ran itself hot and cold, and his skin fluctuated, as if about to peel off.

But he remained in tact, all the while.

Yet he didn't see Ailah, the scholar, or the town anymore.

He didn't see anything.

"IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT. YOU TOOK HER FROM ME."

"...NOW I'M TAKING EVERYTHING FROM YOU."

…

"It's unfortunate that you have to part with dear, sweet Henry. I'm sure that he wasn't to blame for those incidents. How could such an innocent face have caused such mass destruction? A whole town, dead? What nonsense!" A woman, whose name tag only read HEADMISTRESS in big letters, told them. "But he will surely have a place here, along with the rest of them."

"Of course," another woman said. Her hand was too tight on Henry's shoulder as she cooed, "We love our dear boy, but we can't give him the home he needs. The drama is too much on its own, and we're sure he needs some assistance to make it through. Not to mention, I've heard wonderful things about this place."

"This is the finest establishment for cases like this."

"So we can entrust him to you, yes?"

"Absolutely."

"Then, that settles it. Come on, Henry, give us a hug goodbye."

"We'll miss you, dearie."

He looked up at them, but saw nothing except shadows, leering in the false facade of sunlight. His eyes narrowed, his shoulders stiffened, but he obeyed them, nonetheless. "Goodbye," he muttered. Yet he did not go in for the hug as promised. He turned his back on them, although this seemed for the better, as they simply sighed.

"Well, we'll be off."

"Bye now."

They shut the door loudly as they went, and Henry could still hear their voices as they walked farther and farther away. He knew they were smiling, laughing, and singing to themselves about what a relief it was to be rid of their greatest burden. He knew that once they returned to the carriage, they would do their best to forget they ever had a son, and they would live their lives as a happily married couple, with no burdens to hold.

Henry's thoughts grew so malignant, he gave himself a headache. There were constant mantras of ill will resonating through his head, and while he knew it was better to forget about them, the pain stayed throughout. The memories burned themselves into his mind, unforgettable and irreversible as his heart smoldered black. Henry let all of this happen, body wracked with nerves and disparity.

Headmistress appeared much less friendly now that the other adults were absent. She spoke in a very haughty voice, and explained to Henry that they had rules at Mallory E. Webcott Orphanage, and if he broke any one of them, he was subject to severe punishment like the rest of the children were.

He heard all and none of that, as the sounds melted into his ears, and his eyes lowered themselves so much that he felt like he was bowing to her.

She loved that, and for the longest time, he didn't realize that he inadvertently handed her some form of power over him. He didn't know that on that day, the smallest hint of subservience would grant him a front row seat to the most hellish performance of his life.

Weirdly happy about the situation, she finished her explanation, and showed him to his room. All the while, he couldn't stop thinking about Ailah, his parents, or the lies that clouded his head like fog. The pain, the blood, the darkness…there was something dangerously familiar about all of those things, and bit by bit, he felt his chest sinking into itself, until there was nothing but a hollowness.

He was self-carved.

Later on, he learned that his parents died in a vehicular accident less than a day after they dropped him off at the orphanage. On their way to a very posh and proper party, their coachman careened off the side of the road, and they were trampled over by their own horses.

A very fitting end to them, but it didn't enliven Henry as much as it should.

Because the shadows lingered with him, and they'd continue to do so, even as the years passed.

Even as he left the abuse of the orphanage behind, even as he took on magic so dark, it made everything else feel insignificant—even as he enlisted in the Plegian army, and racked up kills like they were points in a game.

The game was still on to this day.

The shadows were still at his back.

They were still there, watching him…

…waiting for him to make a mistake…

and it'd be that way forever, so long

as his name was

.

.

.

"Henry!"

"G…" he stuttered. "Gaius?"

"Snap out of it already!"

It didn't happen right away. He wasn't exactly aware of his surroundings. In fact, he wasn't aware of the fact that he lost awareness, in the first place. Yet it seemed as if in the midst of his explanation, he trailed off, and things greater than hesitation or anxiety clung onto him.

He stared down at his palms, and realized an ugly black-and-purple aura surrounded them—surrounded his whole body, actually. And it moved back and forth in waves, like ink spilling from a pen, or blood leaking from a wound. The more he tried to make sense of things, the less he understood. Then he glanced at Gaius, got a good look at his terrified face, and made a harrow realization.

The shadows were back.

They would destroy everything around him, including Gaius.

He had to do something to prevent that. But what?

"Don't even think about it," Gaius sneered. "If you're thinking about hurting someone, or worse, yourself, then you'd better stop. I won't let you."

"I, I just—"

"Henry, calm down. What's going on? After you started talking about Ailah, you got all weird."

"Um…"

"Whatever it is, just listen to me, I—"

"Sorry, Honeybuns!" Henry stood to his feet. The darkness that clung to him moved with his every step, and he teetered back and forth with uncertainty. His face, which was hidden by anxious hands and obscured by shadows just now, turned up with a familiar expression.

A smile. "I lied about everything just now!"

"You did not."

"Did too! I was making stuff up as I went along, y'see." He spread his arms wide, and the shadows flared out in curved shapes behind him.

Like wings.

Gaius gulped.

"That's very detailed for a made-up story."

"Yup, I'm that talented. I mean, with a sprinkle of dark magic here and a hex there, I can do just about anything! I can even—"

"So, tell me." Gaius stood up, too. Even though he was the last person that should be facing magic as unstable and unpredictable as Henry's, he seemed completely undeterred by it all. "Why make it up, then?"

He faltered. "H-Huh?"

"I wanted you to tell me your experiences," Gaius reminded him. "Not some made up bullshit."

"Uh, well, that's—"

"Do you know that I think is 'made-up', Henry?"

His arms fell back to his side, but the shadows were still displaced. They seemed to fade in and out of him. His smile was present, but it was clear that he struggled to keep its appearance. "I don't know. What?"

"I think you're trying to make up excuses for yourself."

"I mean, that's literally the point of a lie, so I guess—"

"When'd you learn to smile like that?"

"W-What? You're asking weird stuff today. Is it all the dust? Because I bet it's the dust."

"No, seriously, answer me. Who taught you to smile like that?"

"No one," he answered firmly. "I taught myself."

"Okay. Why do you smile all the time? Even when you're not obviously happy, you smile. So why do you do that?"

"I'm always happy!"

"That's a lie!"

"I'm not lying!"

"Yes you are!"

"Why would I lie to you?"

"That's," Gaius clenched his fists, "exactly what I'm trying to find out."

"Please just leave it alone," Henry murmured. "Please."

"Why?"

"Because, because—"

"I have a feeling about something, and I'm going to say it, so correct me if I'm wrong." Gaius didn't care if he was mean in the way that he talked over Henry. He knew that a little force was necessary to get him to finally fess up.

And, the way that the darkness choked him—made his throat close up, made his heart palpitate, made his eyes water—was difficult to deal with. He had to be quick about this, or else he wouldn't stand a chance against Henry, and whatever volatile secret he was hiding.

There was no room for failure.

He continued. "I think that someone did teach you to smile."

"Why don't you ever listen to me? I just said that I—"

"I used to think that it was your parents, but now I know that's not true. And it can't be Ailah, because she'd never tell you to lie to yourself like that."

"..."

"I think," Gaius hinted. "I think it was the Headmistress."

Henry's blood ran cold.

Gaius felt his own ignite.

"I think that she told you to suck it up. I think she wanted you to look like a stuffed up kid so no one would get curious about what she was doing behind the scenes. She told you, and all the other kids, to smile through it all. Which isn't bad advice at all, if you ask me."

"But—"

"But, what she didn't realize was that you weren't like the other kids. You were screwed up all sorts of ways before you got here, and she only made it worse." His tone lessened from anger to remorse, and Henry almost begged for him to stop. He almost fell to his knees, and cried out that it was fine, and he didn't need to go this far.

Yet he lacked the energy to do all that. He could only stand there, wide-eyed and speechless, utterly helpless as Silvertongued Gaius outsold him like he did any day of the week.

Merciless as the assassin he was, Gaius continued. "She told you to grin and bear it. You took it to heart. And all this time, you've been fooling us, making us all think that you're just messing around. I know the truth, though. I know you're for real."

"Please, stop—"

"You should smile when you're happy, and that's it."

"I am happy."

"Are you?"

He wasn't ready for that. "Uh, I. I don't know."

"That's fine," Gaius insisted. "It's okay to not be happy."

"What are you saying?"

"Henry, it's okay. It's okay to be unhappy." Gaius laughed, but it was the heaviest, saddest, and most distraught excuse for a laugh that Henry ever heard. The cadence alone was enough to send him into tears, but he refused to do so.

The tears sat at the brim of his eyelids, however. Gaius felt hope when he saw their wet sheen.

He was getting close.

"Let's just say it as it is, okay? Your life sucked. Your parents hurt you, Ailah was killed, and you were forced to live here for years. Your life was terrible, Henry."

"I know that," he murmured. "I know that."

"So you don't have to pretend that none of that happened! You don't have to act as if it was all a lie, or a story you made up in your head." Gaius stepped forward, and it wasn't long before he was right in front of Henry—close enough that the darkness emanating from the sorcerer reached him, and flickered against his body like spectral beings.

When the darkness ebbed and flowed, Henry could see bruises and cuts left behind on Gaius' skin where they were. It seemed painful, but Gaius barely flinched as it happened. And the closer he was, the more he got hurt, and the more he got hurt, the more Henry wanted to jump off the damn building because he couldn't handle watching Gaius hurt himself in the process.

But strong hands clamped around his wrists, preventing him from moving, and he let out a little gasp. "What are you—"

"Henry, I promise you that no one will hate you if you act the way you truly feel."

"..."

"If you frown, if you look sad, if you look like you want to punch someone—you'd be okay. I swear it."

"You don't know that. Everyone will hate me. But that doesn't matter. It's just. I. I can't—I don't understand what you're telling me."

"You don't have to smile all the time. You don't have to lie to anyone."

"It's all I know, Gaius."

"Well, I can teach you more."

"Hey, smart guy, ever think that I'm using you?" Henry's smile widened into a smirk, and his eyes were so intensely dark, that Gaius felt his own willpower fading. "Ever consider that this is what I want and you're an idiot for doing this?"

"Of course," Gaius said. "Anyone would think that way after a while."

"Then—"

"But I know you're not like that. You're a pain in the ass, Henry, but you're not terrible. Everyone knows how capable you are in battle. How loyal, and how hardworking you are." A thoughtful pause ensued, before he added on, "Well, after you complain a bunch, but still."

"...I disagree."

"That's okay."

"Why are you doing this? You're getting hurt," Henry pointed this out, and nearly winced when a larger laceration ran down from Gaius' shoulder to the nape of his neck—a place where one tendril of darkness lingered for some time. "Just stop it already."

"Nope," he simply said. "Not gonna happen."

The smile remained, but it wavered with each passing second. Henry's voice was barely above a whisper. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you care so much?"

"About you, or about this?"

"Both."

"It's because I care about you, obviously." Gaius stared at him like he was stupid. Apparently he was. "I thought that went without saying."

"I'm serious about the murder stuff," Henry pointed out. "I've killed a lot of people, y'know."

"I know. I've got blood on my hands, too."

"No, seriously. And I collect Risen parts for fun."

"Everyone's got a shitty hobby. Mine is gambling."

"I killed my parents," he stated as a matter-of-factly. "And I killed the Headmistress."

"Anyone with those parents and that Headmistress would have done the same," Gaius rationalized. "Next."

"I'm literally hurting you by doing nothing except stand in front of you."

Gaius flinched as another shadow lashed out at him, and left behind a large yellow-and-black bruise on his cheek. Henry almost whined at the unwanted sight. He squirmed, but Gaius' hold was iron. He knew it would only take a spell or two to get him off of him, but that's not what he wanted to do.

He wasn't the Henry from before.

He didn't want Gaius to die.

"That's where you're wrong, Henry," Gaius said quietly. "That's where you're wrong."

"What?"

"You're not just standing there."

"No, I literally am!"

"You're keeping it all in," Gaius snapped. "You never let anyone in. All of this," he motioned to the palpable shadows flickering around them, "is your doing."

"I know that!" Henry bit back. His voice cracked and his smile wavered. It was only a matter of time before he'd lose that, too. "That's why I want you to stop, feathers-for-brains! I don't want you to get hurt!"

"How come?" Gaius smiled. "I thought you were always happy."

Henry's heart was beating too quickly for it to be normal. The shadows accelerated in movement, too. "That's not—that's not what I meant!"

"That's what you said, though. Twice, in fact."

"I—"

"If it makes you happy, then I'll stand here and get my ass kicked by your supernatural ghosts or whatever this is. It's no big deal."

"It is a big deal. You'll die."

"But you'll be happy."

"What?"

Gaius closed his eyes, and brought one of Henry's hands up to his own face, where he pressed a thin, tremulous palm against his cheek. It was the same one that had the bruise from before, but the way he caressed Henry's skin was so caring and so light that Henry had no resistance of his own.

Then, when Gaius let go of his hand, he revealed his cheek, which was now dripping with blood as a deep cut sweltered over the place where the bruise once was. His once beautiful, smooth and clear skin was now marred with a mosaic of red, yellow, black, and blue.

And it was all Henry's fault.

"No!" he scolded him, and pulled his hand back. "Why are you doing that? Stop it!"

"I thought it was clear," Gaius muttered. The pain was reaching his voice, now, but he kept up the facade of invincibility. "I thought it was pretty damn obvious that I want you to be happy. And I'm talking about real, genuine, one-of-a-kind happiness."

"Gaius!"

"And if this makes you happy, somehow, then I'll let it happen. Henry, I care about you. I like you a lot. So if this is like, the only weird courtship thing I can get into with you, then I'm all in."

"Stop joking around," he pleaded. "It's not funny."

"Aren't you happy, though?"

"I…"

"You're always happy, right? You're always smiling? So what's the big idea?"

"..."

"Henry?"

"I'm…"

The words felt foreign in his mouth. Henry spoke a lot of languages, including the common one used with Gaius and nearly everyone else. But he also spoke regional dialects of Plegian, a few obscure Ylissean tongues, and some watered down version of the main Chon'sin dialect. He spoke all those languages, and yet none of them were appropriate in the way he wanted to use them. His mind didn't even comprehend the sentence that was about to leave his mouth, and the ringing in his head grew louder and louder and louder to the point where it was hard to focus.

The shadows reeled back and forth. They, too, were displeased.

But Henry spoke, anyway. He spoke the forbidden words into existence.

"I...am not...happy…"

"What's that?"

"I'm not happy," Henry repeated. It was like a mantra, a chant—one of those beginner's curses he learned to utter long ago. "I'm not happy."

"So, you're not happy," Gaius echoed. "Then what are you?"

"I...I…" His face fell, and for the first time in his life, Henry was not smiling at all.

For the first time in his life, the mask broke, and it seemed as if his entire world came screeching to a halt. The wind, the sky, the shadows, the stars—everything paused and waited for him to make a move. Everything was on him, now, and the pressure had never been this great.

He never had to say things like this before.

Well, as Gaius recently and expertly said, there was a first time for everything.

Here goes nothing.

"I'm not happy," Henry reiterated. His face fell, and the wetness of his eyes increased, until his vision blurred. The redless blood—the tears—were about to fall. "I don't know what it is, but I'm not happy. I don't, I don't like this."

"I know you don't," Gaius. "That's what I've been trying to say."

"No, not just this," Henry sneered as he motioned to everything around them. "It's not just this. I don't like...I don't like a lot of things."

"Like what?"

"I don't like Frederick's Fanatic Fitness Hour," was the first thing Henry said. Something fell from his eyes, because the blurriness in his vision lessened. "I don't like when people put mint and chocolate together. I don't like doing the morning patrols because I don't like waking up early. I don't like it when people hurt animals, especially crows. I don't like this place, the merchant we're working for, or anything that happened yesterday. I don't like it at all!"

Gaius fell silent.

Henry continued.

"And I don't like it when you get hurt," he admitted. "I mean, I used to curse you all the time, and that was fun, but things have changed since then and now it's weird."

"I'm sure it is."

"So I don't like this," Henry feebly whined as he wriggled around the one hand that was still trapped in Gaius' grip. "I'm not happy."

"There are a lot of things to call something that's unhappy, you know. So which one are you?"

"Huh?"

"You're not happy, and that's fine. So what do you call this?" Gaius waved his free hand around to the shadows, Henry, and himself. "What is this to you?"

"I…"

"Henry, don't lie to me. And if you can't do that, then at least, I want you to promise me something."

"What is it?"

"Don't lie to yourself."

It fell. The last of the blurriness fell, but it didn't stop there. His eyes kept filling and emptying themselves with liquid—with tears. When he thought the last of them escaped, some more rose out from him, and the cycle continued over and over again.

He remembered the Headmistress the day he killed her.

She smiled at him, and cursed him with her dying strength.

You'll never find someone that cares about you, she said to him. No one likes monsters, Henry.

And monsters like you should live in the shadows and never come out until the day you die.

Those words were the darkness around him. That curse was the ghost haunting him, the hex which ruined his life and made him miserable. His emotions were unchecked, raw, and volatile things that, if left to their own devices, would run wild. Except, he never properly let them. For so long, he watered himself down. For so long, he let her words have power over him, and he forced himself into a state of emotional reclusion. Beyond jokes, jests, and jabs, Henry never once felt real or genuine in his whole life. The death, murder, and struggle of it all was just a void trying to replace the place in his heart where sincerity should have been.

It was all so clear to him now.

He threw himself into Gaius' arms, and wept.

His smile was gone.

"I'm, I'm so sorry," he gasped. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"It's okay," Gaius consoled him. "It's okay. You'll be okay."

"It's not," Henry insisted. "It's really not."

"You're fine. You're fine. I'm sorry for not coming clean to you all this time, either. I've always known something was wrong but I never said anything. So, sorry for that, I guess." Gaius laughed. "I'll be honest, here. I'm so dizzy that I don't think I'm actually saying anything."

"You are," Henry murmured, voice barely audible over hiccups, sobs, and sniffles. "You're here."

"Good. And let me tell you something while I'm here."

Henry looked up at Gaius, with bleary eyes and a flushed face. But the darkness that surrounded him—the aura that enveloped him whole—slowly faded, and rose out of his body and into the air, where it dissipated into wisps of golden light.

Relieved and happy, Gaius spoke. "It's okay to cry, too. It's okay to be sad."

"Sad…"

"Yeah, this is pretty fucking sad."

"I'm sad," Henry mumbled. "I'm not happy, I'm sad."

"Yeah, that's it."

"And I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"I don't know. I just felt like I should say it."

"I don't think words will work this time," Gaius teased. "You'll need to repay me somehow."

"W-What?"

"C'mere."

Gaius pulled Henry in close for a hug, where he could feel him all at once, and bury his face into a crown of snow white hair. It was the same shade of hair that he once detested, but now grew to love with all his heart. And Henry's body was thin and airy in his hands, like he was a ghost that could slip away at a moment's notice. But as they embraced, Gaius relished in the realness of the other. The happiness that left him in a sigh made him overlook all the pain and darkness that marred his body just now.

He smiled. "Now it's my turn to apologize, Henry."

"What for?"

"For passing out on you."

.

.

.

"They were my two eldest," Tarun explained. "Rhys and Chrys. They were close in age, less than two years apart. They always took care of their family first, which is why they ended up enlisting in the Plegian Army. They felt that they had an obligation to us. To the world." His eyes turned up cloudy with tears and regrets. He clutched a picture frame close to his chest.

"Is that them?" Henry asked. "That's what you kept locked up in that box this whole time?"

"This and some trinkets of them," Tarun muttered. "Not just them, but my other children, and my wife. This is more important to me than any gold or merchandise."

"Can I look at it?"

"That's…"

"It's okay if not," he said. "Just curious, y'know."

"Go ahead." He slowly reached out, hands shaking all the while. "Take it."

Henry grabbed the frame. It was a small one that could fit in one hand, but he carefully looked it over, anyway. Surely enough, there were two young men in the photograph. One was ginger-haired, with deep hazel eyes that matched Tarun's perfectly. He wore dark blue silks and an easy smile, and stood with a posture that was carefree and happy. He had his arm thrown around another man, who was taller than him and had darker hair. There was a very serious expression to this second person, and his lips were barely not frowning.

The resemblance that Tarun's sons had to two of the wittiest Shepherds was uncanny. If it weren't for minor differences here or there, Henry could almost swear that Gaius and Lon'qu were captured in this moment, instead.

He hummed quietly, and returned the photograph to its owner. "That's nice," was all he said. "Must have been nicer when they were alive."

For once, Tarun looked undisturbed by the blatantly macabre words spoken by Henry. Although even he could tell that there was something more tame in the boy's voice just now. He sighed, nonetheless. "It was. We'd go to Runal, a seaside village near the coast, and spend days out in the ocean. I'd take them with me to trips to Chon'sin, Ylisse, Valm. We'd go everywhere together."

"So, you guys were kind of like your own Shepherds."

"When you put it like that, I guess you're right," Tarun admitted. "I...I do have to thank you all, though. This journey hasn't been easy, what with bandits and mobs of Risen...and to end up in a desolate place like this in the end wasn't something I anticipated, either."

"Aw, but I thought we were here to get souvenirs," Henry whined. "Was that a lie, too?"

"Damn you and your eccentricities," Tarun scolded. "I'm going out of my way to thank you of all people, and this is the reaction I get?"

"Sorry, sorry~" Henry nearly sang, not sounding apologetic in the least. His eyes lit up in that moment, colors melding into a slightly brighter shade of blue. "You're welcome! But next time, if you're mean to us or the Shepherds, I will turn you into a frog. Or a ghost."

"Point taken. In that case, I—"

"Sorry to interrupt."

The two of them glanced at the doorway, where Earnest and Libra had suddenly appeared. Earnest bowed before his liege, and stood off to the side, while Libra wore a soft smile. It was the brightest expression Henry had seen him make yet, and he vaguely wondered if Libra was also cursed by his former Headmistress.

If he was, then he had just the cure for the shadows hounding him, too.

Libra cleared his throat before speaking. "Excuse me, but I wanted to tell you something, Henry."

"Yeah?" He rose to his feet, and playfully tilted forward, hands behind his back. "Did Tharja die in her sleep, or something?"

"Nothing like that," the monk denied. "No, it's nothing to do with Tharja at all."

"Then—"

"It's Gaius," Libra said. "He's awake."

.

.

.

Late morning sun passed through the moth-eaten curtains. Gaius groaned as a few rays of sunlight scanned over him, hitting his eyes where they were most sensitive. He felt oddly light, for some reason, and not like the half-dead weight he expected himself to be. No, his body was light against the dusty bed sheets and flat pillows. His body was light underneath threadbare blankets and a wispy canopy.

He stretched, remembered Libra's warning, and immediately recoiled out of pain. It wasn't the biting, burning, or smoldering agony he felt when confronted with Henry's shadows, but it was sharp and bright, reminding him that he was still human, and pulling off stunts like last night's would only end in tragedy.

Or, with a lecture. Which was equally tragic, in and of itself.

He heard a voice.

"Gaius? Are you awake?"

"Nope," he joked. "Come back later."

"Huh. Are you sleeptalking, then?"

"I'm awake, Henry," he groaned. "Hold on."

He slowly rose up in bed, and found that his head spun with a mass of gray static, collecting in the back of his head and manifesting in the tiredness of his eyes. He placed his hands over his face, and dragged his fingers down his cheeks as he came to full lucidity.

The sorcerer was there, and smiling a usual smile.

The assassin was all too happy to see how genuine it was, for once.

His hands fell on his lap and he chuckled. "You look like you're in a good mood."

"I'm just glad to see you didn't die!" Henry chirped, and he flitted to Gaius' side with a spring in his step. The way he moved reminded him too much of his crow friends, and was exceedingly cute, yet Gaius smothered the thought as it appeared. "Uh, sorry about that, by the way. It's 'cause of me that you almost died, so…"

"It wouldn't be the first time that my life was in danger because of you," Gaius snorted. "It's fine."

"Do...do you hate me for that?" Henry seemed sincere and worried as he said this. Gaius wasn't used to seeing such a different expression (eyes open, brows furrowed, mouth curved downward), but he tried not to look so shocked. This is what he wanted, and ultimately, it's what Henry wanted, too.

There was no need to look so sorry in the face of the truth.

Henry continued to say, "I wouldn't be surprised if you did."

"Of course I don't hate you for that," Gaius reassured. "I've only got myself to blame, pretty much. Although I guess it doesn't help that you were serious about being haunted by ghosts or shadows or whatever."

"It's complicated black magic stuff," Henry insisted. "Way too complicated for feather-brains like you."

"I'll take your word for it," Gaius agreed. "But seriously, I forgive you for that. Don't beat yourself up over it, Junior."

"At least this time you woke up the next day." Henry got on his knees, and rested his arms on the bedside. There was an intense look in his eyes, and it wasn't the bleak darkness from their confrontation last night, nor was it the light colors of regret or sorrow that existed countless times in the past.

He seemed thoughtful, or at least, attentive. Gaius had seen Henry's open eyes before, and he knew that the other had such colorful eyes due to a childhood spell gone wrong. But every time he witnessed the sight, there was always some trepidation, dishonesty, and illusion present. There were the walls Henry put up that were nearly impossible to pass, and Gaius noticed it every time he saw his eyes.

For the first time since meeting him, Gaius felt as if he had seen Henry's true gaze just now, with a serious look and fluttering lashes that could fluster even the most steadfast of hearts. Gaius sensed his own thunderous life beat within him, and hoped that his face wasn't easy to read as heat flooded to his ears, cheeks, and eyes.

He gulped. "Yeah, I've got a bad habit of passing out, don't I? You'd think I was a drunkard with how often I'm out."

"I think I've got a bad habit of making people pass out," Henry scoffed. "It's okay. I like seeing you, even if it's like this."

"Seriously?"

"As serious as Risen are dead."

"That's damn serious, then."

"Yup."

"Well, I'm fine. Libra's pretty good at his job, isn't he?" Gaius chuckled as he stretched his arms and rolled his neck. "Although I was in and out of it, I remember him saying that these were surface level wounds at best."

"Wait, really?" Henry's eyes widened. "You mean that?"

"I mean it. All the injuries looked worse than they were," Gaius pointed out. "It's almost like you really didn't want to hurt me."

"Because I didn't want to hurt you," Henry groaned. "Gaius, how many times do I have to repeat myself? You make me feel cursed sometimes."

"So now you know how it feels."

"How what feels?"

"Nevermind." Gaius shook his head. "But, you know, I've noticed something."

"What's that?"

"You didn't call me the usual 'Honeybuns' just now. Or at all in this entire conversation, actually." Gaius leaned back against the headboard, and Henry took this time to move a little bit closer to him. "Did you get tired of it already?"

Henry didn't answer right away. Instead, he decided to stand up, and sit next to Gaius properly, on the other side of the creaky bed. They were both facing the holey curtains, now, and warmed by the sun, which rose higher and shone brighter as each second passed.

A single ray of sunlight moved over them, and stayed motionless at a certain place—a horizontal streak of light that remained over the two of them. Due to the height difference, the top of Henry's head was aglow, while Gaius' mouth and lower jaw was accentuated by the newly risen brightness.

Henry tried not to stare at Gaius' lips as he answered. "It's not that," he began to say. "Um, y'know, I was pretty sure of how smart I was before I met you. Now it feels like I'm the feather-for-brains because I don't know how to say this."

"As long as you're not telling me that you like cucumbers, then there's nothing you can say that'll make me feel bad," Gaius said with utmost sincerity. "Okay, there's obviously a few things, but I'm alright. Let's hear it."

"Right, so...I like your name. Of course, 'Honeybuns' is a classic that I'll never stop using, but I thought it was okay if I just...didn't use it sometimes." He stared at Gaius, for once, and not through him.

Gaius did his best to speak through the sheer emotion that was surely filling him now. "T-That's all? Of course you can call me by my name. That's what names are for and—"

"So, can you just call me Henry sometimes?" he asked quietly. "I mean, Junior is fine and all, but maybe when we're just like this...I'd like it if you called me by my name, too."

"..."

"Oh, is that actually not okay? I can't really tell with these kinds of things, but—"

"Henry," Gaius simply said. "That's fine with me."

"Whoa, that was easy!" Henry grinned. "I thought I'd have to curse it out of you! Nice to know you can do things my way, for once."

"I think you're underestimating how often I do things your way," Gaius muttered. "But fine. You know, you really aren't good with these kinds of things."

"Huh?"

"You were so serious, I thought you were about to ask me 'Can you never talk to me again?' or something like that! But all that buildup was to ask me to call you by your name?" Gaius laughed at his own expense. "I've gotta teach you how to read the room sometimes, Henry."

"Hey, if I can read spellbooks, how hard can a room be?" His grin spread wider, and Gaius couldn't help but laugh harder in his face about how easily the humor came to him. The joy resonated throughout the both of them, and it only increased when Gaius made an important realization.

Henry's smile reached his eyes.

It was the brightest thing Gaius had the honor of seeing.

He needed to thank him for such a pure and wondrous display, certainly! Gaius mirrored Henry's smile with his own as he spoke. "Not hard at all, that's for sure."

"Mmhmm."

"Like I said, you look like you're in a good mood. Did something happen while I was out?"

"We found a stray dog," Henry said. "Lon'qu fed it some scraps and it ran away. Oh, and Tharja finally came out of her room. Said she was hungry. "

"Hmm, I see. Anything else?"

"Tarun told me about his sons." He drew his knees up to his chest, and wrapped his thin arms around them. "He even showed me a picture! I tell you, the resemblance that you and Lon'qu have to Rhys and Chrys is uncanny. Are you sure that they're not your doppelgangers or something?"

"I hope not," Gaius scoffed. "You know what they say about doppelgangers, right?"

"That you have to kill them before they kill you," Henry quickly recited. "Maybe that's why they died and you guys didn't."

"Well, I don't know about the killing thing, but we're not dead. Not yet."

"Oh, I think it would be hard for you to die as long as I'm around." Henry giggled as he curled in on himself even more. "I'd kill whoever seriously hurt you without hesitation. I don't even know what I'd do if you truly died."

"That's my line. The last one, at least." Gaius sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. "Well, the goal is that neither of us die. I'd like that a lot, actually."

"Me too."

"You know, it would be easier if we worked together on that," Gaius pointed out. "It's hard to do things when we're apart. I mean, if Bubbles decides that we need to do separate missions or something, that's pretty much unavoidable. But otherwise—"

"You want to hang out more often?" Henry tilted his head. Gaius resisted the urge, again, to tell him how endearing he found that certain action to be. "That's pretty easy. We're almost always together, anyway."

"Not always."

"Okay, well, for the most part…"

"And it can start here," Gaius said. He reached for Henry's hand, and grasped it in his own.

Henry tried not to stare at the bandages that were wrapped around Gaius' fingers, despite all the dread in his body urging him to do so. He kept his eyes locked on the other's, instead. "What do you mean?" His hand was slightly limp, but at Gaius' insistence, Henry tightened his hold, until their fingers were interlocked and their hands were merged into one embrace.

He liked it a lot. He didn't have time to say it as Gaius resumed.

"I figured there would be better ways to do this," he admitted. "But I'm gonna strike while the iron is hot."

"Uh—"

"Do you know what love is, Henry?"

Silence.

"Is that a 'no'?"

"I know the general idea of it," he scoffed. "I know how to make a love potion, too. Most beginning mages know how to do that kind of thing."

"But what about love, though? Like, say if Nowi or Ricken or someone else asked you to explain what love was. What would you tell them?"

"That's easy. I would tell them that they'd know more about it than I do."

"Don't you want to know it, too?"

"Sure," Henry said offhandedly. "There's lots of secrets and magic in the world. It'd be cool if I could find out all the secrets, like the way I figured out how to switch bodies or fly with crows. Like, the transformation into an animal would be—"

"So, how about this? I'll tell you what love is."

"Okay?" Henry blinked. He obviously couldn't tell what was going on, but a few things were certain. First, he suspected that Gaius was up to something—he was always up to something, whether it was baking, stealing, scheming—and they were quite similar when it came to that. Second, he finally understood that there were some things, lots of things, that Gaius knew and he didn't. Where Henry suffered and kept to himself, Gaius bore and embraced the world. They both knew darkness and light, but it was Gaius who knew how to maintain those things. Which lead to the third and final conclusion that Henry came to in those few moments in time.

If there was anyone that Henry loved, Ailah was one of them. She was his surrogate mother, his true mother in some sense, and she was the one good thing about the mess that was his childhood. But these days, there were more people that he could potentially "love," and Gaius was the least and most of them.

If love was Gaius, then maybe Henry already understood what the other meant to say.

He let him say it, anyway.

"Love is the way that people who care about each other, look at each other." He made no mistake as he stared Henry straight in the eye. Henry's stare was unwavering, too.

He went on to say, "But it doesn't end there, either. Love is also the way that they take care of each other. Like, if someone hates waiting in lines, they'll wait in line with their loved ones because they love them that much. For us, sometimes love is the way that we take hits from enemy soldiers or Risen, just because we can and we know that it's a sacrifice we're willing to take."

Henry listened intently, and Gaius could see the rationalization forming itself in his eyes. The way his brows drew in, eyes deepened in thought, and lips slightly parted showed that Henry took all of this in earnest, and it wasn't just one of those nonsensical things that Gaius said that went in one ear and out the other.

There was hope for them, after all.

He continued. "Maybe love is traveling together, training together, sitting next to each other in the morning. Love is the way you treat animals, birds, crows—it's the way I like to eat sweets, and how I bake in my free time. Those things could all be love."

"Alright."

"And I know we started off the wrong way," Gaius recalled. "It didn't help that I was unfair to you to begin with, but you didn't make it easy by making my life difficult, either."

"You made me bleed."

"You made me blind."

"My legs hurt for a week."

"My stomach was upset for two."

"Okay, fine, you're right." Henry conceded. "Yeah, we were pretty annoying back then, huh?"

"Yes. We started off the wrong way, but...I had the wrong idea about you the whole time," Gaius admitted. He squeezed Henry's hand harder, and Henry almost squeaked at the new pressure. Instead, he tightened his hold on Gaius' hand, and ignored the way that their nails were pressed into each other's skin, almost painfully so.

Gaius didn't let up. "Even though I used to say it all the time...you're not a bad person, Henry. You're not the nuisance I said you were. Although you've still got a mean sense of humor, and any bloke can see that."

"Right back at you." Henry smiled softly. "I heard rumors that you were the Shepherds' lead funny guy, but that your jokes and puns weren't actually funny. I think they're right about that, at least."

"Oh, how you wound me," Gaius dramatically sighed. "Yeah, but that's what I mean. I judged you without knowing anything. And now that I know you, and after all we've been through, I think I finally have the courage to say what I've been meaning to for a while."

"Oh boy," Henry bemoaned. "Is this the part where you stab me and say you're just kidding me?"

"Nope," Gaius said. "Rest assured, I'd never steal your lines from you, Henry."

"Okay." He still sounded unsure, but he wasn't about to protest Gaius while seated at his side. He shifted a little bit closer to him—shoulders touching—before speaking. "Go ahead."

"Another thing about love is that people love each other. As lovers, friends, spouses, whatever. You joked about this once before, right?"

"Yeah, well. You assume I have any experience with that. I'm as pure as a first-time ritual sacrifice." Henry giggled as he crossed his chest in the motions of a typical Naga devotee, although they both knew they were as far from religious as any two people could get. "I said all those things back then without thinking. It just happens that sometimes, my thoughts disconnect with my body and I have to catch up the next day."

"I think it's more than that," Gaius said. "I think you were trying to tell me something back then, and I never answered you until later. But even then, I don't think I was clear enough."

"What," Henry nearly whispered, "do you mean by that?"

"Love is a lot of things. It's mostly what people make of it, 'cause everyone's got a different idea about it, see." Gaius leaned forward a bit. Henry felt the imposition of his height and power, but wasn't scared. Somehow, Gaius moving closer to him was comforting, and if he closed his eyes, he could almost remember a time where someone else moved close to him like this, and how much that person meant to him.

How much she means to him.

But Gaius wasn't a wolf, a bird, or an imagined sight. He was a real living, breathing, person that was nearby now, and he gave him the same comfort that Henry's once-family had given him all those years ago.

How could that be?

Gaius gave the answer all too easily.

"Love, to me, Henry, is the way that I feel. I do and say a lot of things, but what matters is how I actually feel about all that stuff. Not that those touchy-feely things do anyone any good, but even I won't deny how powerful sentiment can be."

"Then—"

"Henry." Gaius leaned in so close, and his hand was so tight that Henry was afraid his fingers would break. His eyes were earthen, they always were, but before they shook and trembled with uncertainty. Those eyes were the ones that discerned the world around them in the highest analytical matter possible—eyes that dissected every possibility, and worked out the best option from the resources available. Eyes that moved along to everything and anything, never staying in one place.

Gaius' eyes now were different. They were steady, assured, and unmoving. They were the earth that remained after all tragedy and blessings had passed—after all the natural disasters, extinction events, new life, happiness, and joy came to be. His eyes were those belonging to someone that found something unchangeable, and his will was as steely as his heart, because for the first time in a long time, he knew exactly what he wanted.

And Henry, who had been blind, who had closed his eyes to the world and to himself, finally knew what it was like to feel that way, too.

"Love is the way I feel about you," Gaius said. His voice was so sweet, so honest, and so pure that Henry almost cried. But his eyes were dry and his lips were quivering, all in the presence of Gaius, who never faltered with his words. At least, not in the way that Henry did.

In the way that he could never hope to be.

"Love is the way I care about you."

"..."

"I guess, after all this time, I finally decided how it is I feel about you."

"I—"

"Henry, I love you."

"I love you, too," he suddenly said. The words weren't thoughts this time. They came unbidden from his lips, like a memory.

Like a prayer.

"I love you, too."

"I'm so happy to hear that. If you can believe me, and if you'll let me, then I can show you what it really means to love someone."

"Sure. I mean, yes," Henry said. He was giddy, and it took all of his own willpower to prevent himself from springing off the bed. It was as if all the blood in his body was replaced by surging electricity and happiness. "Yes, yes, yes! Yes, I'll let you. I-If you let me, too."

"Of course."

"Okay! I'm happy! I'm really happy!"

"Me too," Gaius agreed as he moved in closer. He was too close, now, to the point where Henry couldn't see the sunlight in front of them, but he still felt the warmth emanating from the windows. He sensed the warmth coming from Gaius and himself, in the form of bated breaths and flushed skin. He knew the warmth which cascaded over him, because he felt it a few times before, and even though his mind scattered, his body could never forget the light and flames that washed him—made him new.

"Can I show you how much I love you?"

"Oh, Gaius." Henry leaned in closer, too, no longer afraid of that light.

He lived in the shadows for far too long.

"I thought you'd never ask."

Then Gaius drew Henry in closer, as if there was still space between their bodies left to mitigate; as if there was still a distance he had to cross. He placed his hand on Henry's face, and caressed his cheek with a bandaged hand, but the gauze didn't feel strange at all. Nothing was strange, because Henry had gone almost his whole life without a caring touch, and his body didn't know the difference between rough hands and soft ones—not really, anyway. But Gaius' hands were special, and Henry trusted them, and him, more than anything. He closed his eyes and let Gaius reach out to him, go past his barriers, and find somewhere unknown.

Find a heart that was still beating, after all this time.

The sun was shining on them in streaks.

"I love you," Gaius whispered. "I love you so much."

He took the confirmation out of Henry's lips as he kissed him.