Work Text:
Aphelios.
"Why can't I go play like the rest of them?" he had asked, nose scrunched up in distaste, looking at his mentor with pleading eyes.
His mentor looked over at him, eyes stern and mouth set. That always seemed to be their expression; always serious, always grave. They laid their hands solemnly on Aphelios' shoulders, eyes boring into them. The weight settled into his shoulders, pinning him in place like a rabbit in a trap.
"Aphelios," they said. Their hands were heavy, bearing down on him. "Aphelios, you are different from them. You are special. You were chosen by the moon itself."
Aphelios, you are our only hope. You will bring our people out from the darkness.
When Aphelios is still young enough to cry, his face is always streaked with tears. As a small, sensitive boy, he cries all the time. He cries when he finds an injured bird dying on the ground, leg twisted and bleeding. He cries when he breaks his nose and spends the rest of the week nursing it. He cries when Alune gets a cut on her hand, wide eyes peering up at her like he’s afraid she would die on the spot.
"It's only a cut," Alune says bravely, shoulders squaring. She frowns down at the bleeding like it's an inconvenience, seemingly unconcerned. Or maybe she's only putting on a brave face; she smiles reassuringly at her brother.
Aphelios sniffles, blinking away tears. He takes one look at her hand before his face crumples again, fresh distraught stealing over his features. He hiccups, tearing his gaze up to Alune's face. "Doesn't it hurt?"
Alune sighs and brushes away his tears with her uninjured hand, lingering on his cheek. "It's okay," she declares. "It's only pain, Phel."
"It hurts," Aphelios gasps himself later that week, tears pricking at his eyes. He hunches in on himself as if it would provide a respite for the pain, trying to wring comfort from himself. He throws a pleading glance up at his mentor, helpless to stop the sob that breaks from his lips. "I'm sorry; I'm sorry—it really hurts. I can't—I can't do it. Please, can we stop—"
"Absolutely not." His mentor's voice cracks like a whip through the air, and Aphelios flinches. Rough hands grab his arm and yank him upright. Aphelios gasps as pain shoots through his arm, fresh tears stinging his eyes. "You cannot take a break. You need to train. Stand up straight! You cannot cower like this. It is shameful."
"I'm sorry," Aphelios cries again. His bottom lips trembles as he sways, trying to straighten his posture even through his distress. "I think something's wrong—it hurts—"
"Stop crying," his mentor snaps. "You cannot cry. You are to be a warrior. Your sister would be better at this. She never cries."
Aphelios peers at his mentor through the tears, flinching again. Their disapproval cuts into him like a wound; face drawn up in an expression that veers on disgust. His mentor lets go, shoving him away. Ashamed at his weakness. Aphelios scrambles to try and right himself and scrub tears from his face. A blade is shoved into his hand, his mentor's rough fingers forcing his hand to close around the handle.
"Again.”
Aphelios scrubs at his face, blinking rapidly. He balks at the idea of running through his forms again, nausea swelling up in his throat. "Please," he begs. "Not again—not again. Anything but that. Just for today—"
"Again," his mentor barks, tone unyielding.
Aphelios nods miserably, fingers trembling as he hoists his weapon into the air. He takes a deep breath, still trying to wipe tears out of his eyes even as he drops into a trembling stance.
"Weak," his mentor snaps. When they lunge at him, he barely sees it coming, parrying far too late. The attempt is weak, and he cries out as the training weapon strikes his unprotected chest. "Your form is sloppy. You're slacking. How do you expect to fight the Solari like this?"
Aphelios chokes back a sob, fumbling to get a grip on his weapon as he tries to catch sight of his mentor through his tears. He doesn't see the next strike coming, and his next parry is as sloppy as the last.
"Weak," his mentor hisses, contempt shining on their face as they circle him. "Weak. Weak. Weak."
"Phel!"
Alune is outraged when he’s finally done with his training and goes crying to her. He clutches her, muscles weak and trembling from pain.
"Phel, what happened?"
Aphelios doesn’t respond, batting away Alune’s attempts at taking a look at his expression. He curls into the embrace, burying his face into Alune's shoulder.
"Phel?" Alune coaxes, running her hands through his hair. "It's okay. Who did this to you?"
Aphelios is silent for a long moment, blinking away tears. "I don't want to be a warrior," he mumbles, voice quiet.
Alune's eyes widen, and she draws back to look her brother in the face. "How can you say that?" she cries. "The Solari—"
"I don't care about the Solari!" Aphelios bursts out, hands clenched at his sides. He breathes out unevenly, face screwed up, wet tear tracks shining on his cheeks. "Let's run away, Alune. I don't care about any of this!"
Alune physically balks, shock spreading through her face. Then—dread plummets in Aphelios' stomach. Clear as day, there’s disappointment shining on Alune's face. Disappointment in him. "How can you say that?" she demands, voice soft and dangerous. "We have to fight. It's our duty. The moon chose us—"
Hysteria lashes through him at her words, sweeping away his apprehension in a wave of anger. "I don't want to be special!" he cries. "I wish the moon chose someone else. I want to be normal!"
Alune is quiet. There's a mutinous expression on her face, the quiet expression that she takes on when she is truly angry. Aphelios has seen it many times, but never at him.
"We'll never be normal!" Alune screams, shoulders hitched up, hands tight on the loose fabric of her dress. "No matter what, we'll never be normal! We have a duty to our people. No cost is too great, no pain is too much—do you understand, Aphelios? You don't matter! The only thing that matters is the Lunari!"
Aphelios is silent, staring at Alune in horror. For a moment, he feels nothing—numb to the world, numb to her words. Then the hurt rushes in, visceral enough that he stumbles back from the force. Alune seems to realize what she said, horror replacing all of her anger. Her hands rush up to cover her mouth, and she takes several steps toward Aphelios.
Aphelios steps away from her, legs shaking. Alune did not understand. No one understood. Right now, he was entirely alone. The Lunari took everything from him; his free time, the friends he could have had, and now his only friend. His sister. He's never felt so far from her. They would break apart, and Alune would be like a stranger to him, and then he would be entirely, entirely alone—
"Phel, I didn't mean—"
Alune reaches out to him. Aphelios ignores her outstretched hand and pushes past her. Ignoring her as she calls out to him, he runs.
Their fight doesn’t last very long.
Aphelios runs to their room and locks the door, and Alune knocks on it tentatively before taking a silent vigil at the door. It only takes an hour before Aphelios cracks, silently opening the door.
Alune looks up when the door creaks open, hope flashing on her features. However, Aphelios only looks away, bottom lip trembling.
"I'm sorry,” Alune bursts out.
Aphelios says nothing. Alune shuffles her feet.
"I can't do this without you," she blurts. "We’re siblings. Even if it weren’t for the Lunari, we need to work together, even when—especially when everything is against us."
Aphelios exhales slowly. He nods, once, and Alune crumples. She rushes forward, and Aphelios lets himself be drawn up into her embrace. He clutches her, trying to imagine that as long as he holds her, she won't slip away from him. That they won't end up seperated.
"They all say you need to be a warrior," Alune says, voice trembling. "But you're more than that. You know that, right? You're not just a warrior. You're my brother."
Just like that, the dam breaks. Aphelios blinks, tears welling up in his eyes. He shakes with a quiet sob, clutching Alune tighter. Seeing him, she cries, too, silent tears running down her cheeks.
They stay like that, lost in the sorrow that only the two of them can understand. Caught in the fate that was forced upon them the moment they were born, the cruel path forward that would be paved with blood. They hold each other as if they could draw the strength to move forward from the meager comfort they could offer each other, given from one scared child to the other.
"If it gets too bad," Alune whispers, hardly loud enough to be heard above the stagnant air, a secret mutiny between the two of them, "Then we'll run. We'll reject our destiny."
Aphelios exhales quietly. Slowly, slowly, a minute movement that can't be seen, only felt, he nods.
"Aphelios, are you… angry?"
Aphelios flinches, focus broken. He tightens his grip on his moonstone weapons and does not answer.
His mentor sighs. "Aphelios," he coaxes. His voice is a touch gentler than it usually is, and Aphelios looks up at him. His mentor's face is weary, shoulders slumped as if carrying the weight of the moon itself.
They look incredibly tired. Aphelios feels a pang deep in his chest.
"You must know that this is greater than you. It is greater than me; greater than all of us. It is the fate of our entire faith."
Aphelios says nothing. His mentor smiles sadly, the lines of their face deep with exhaustion. They place a hand on Aphelios' shoulder. He feels the weight of their fatigue as if taking it on himself.
"I lost my temper yesterday. I shouldn't have done that. But you understand, don't you, Aphelios? You must grow strong. We need you. We need all of the warriors we can get."
Aphelios exhales. He looks at his mentor, the same person who's trained him his entire life. They look so tired. They didn't mean it. They were only doing what was best for all of them.
Once, some time ago, Aphelios must have done well in training. His mentor had been happy. The next day, they’d brought him a mooncake for him to eat, filled to bursting with sweet bean paste. Aphelios had finished it, licking the crumbs off his fingers, and beamed up at them. His mentor had smiled back, and something in their face had seemed—proud. He had patted him on the head, and there had been so much care in that tiny gesture, like they would fight to protect him if the Solari ever came to their village. Like he—cared about Aphelios.
Aphelios blinks. His legs still tremble. His side still hurts. Whenever he sees them, all he can think of is them looming above him, face set with disapproval, spitting disappointment.
He needs to forgive them. He needs to.
“I understand.”
Aphelios stops crying, after that. He trains and trains until he bleeds instead of crying. Alune loses herself in her own training, until it is only Aphelios; alone.
Noctum flowers, Aphelios muses as he looks down at the bright blooms. They are so innocuous, so lovely as they sway in the quiet breeze. They are beautiful.
A flower cultivated by the light of the moon, the Lunati elders had told him. A potent poison, but small doses will enhance your focus. Will make you stronger, will remove your weakness.
The poison that they make is beautiful, as well. Aphelios sighs and stares at his wavering reflection in the tiny pool. Is he really that boy, the image reflected back, that looks back at him with such hesitance? He seems so far away.
There's the smallest tremor on the poison's surface, and he notes faintly that his fingers are trembling. He brings the bowl closer to his lips, and pauses.
We need you, Aphelios.
You were chosen.
Weak.
You must become strong.
He hasn't seen Alune in a long, long time.
If it gets too bad, whispered quietly to him, a salvation, a promise, Then we'll run. We'll reject our destiny.
Why was he remembering that foolish promise now? They were children that knew nothing of the world and could only conceive of their brief, insignificant pains. They had only just begun to grasp the weight of their duty, the amount that their people depended on them.
His fingers tighten. His image in the poison's reflection shatters as fresh ripples break out across the surface. He needed to stay. He needed to help his people. He could not afford to waver, even when Alune was not by his side.
Aphelios lifts the poison to his lips and drinks.
The taste is bitter on his tongue. He swallows, the noctum poison disappearing down his throat.
For a moment; nothing. There's a brief, hesitant moment in which Aphelios dares to think that it will not be so bad, and then—
Pain.
Aphelios gasps as agony cracks through him. Tears prick at the edges of his vision as he gasps, poison dripping from his lips. His fingers spasm, the bowl crashing on the stone floor. He doubles over helplessly, heaving. For a moment, he can't do anything but curl in on himself, whimpering and desperately hoping for something, anything, to take the edge off the pain.
His throat burns, stomach roiling. His body heaves again, once, twice. Bile wrenches from his throat and drips from his lips. The bitter, sickly taste of it lingers on his tongue, and he chokes as more nausea drowns him. He gags as his body heaves again, not sure whether to try and force it down or to expel it from his body.
It hurts—it hurts, please—
Stand up. This is nothing. Fight, Aphelios. You must be strong.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Aphelios tries to prop himself up on shaky limbs, gritting his teeth against the pain. He gasps as his arms waver and threaten to fail him, fresh tears springing to his eyes. Through blurry vision, he can make out the broken shards of the bowl sprawled across the floor. Though they're shattered, he can still spot pools of noctum poison shining on the shattered fragments, deceptively beautiful.
Aphelios crawls toward them, limbs shaking. His arm jerks out and grabs one. The liquid sloshes, threatening to spill as his hand quavers.
He stares at it. Silver, like the moon's glow. So beautiful. So deadly. Already, nausea swamps him just at the sight of it. His mind summons the memory of the sickly liquid travelling down his throat, and he feels his body heave at the thought. His arms rebel at the thought of bringing it close to him again, of shoving even more of the sickening poison into his mouth. Bringing it into his throat, his stomach, his body.
Aphelios breathes. In, out. Again.
He drinks.
He gags on it, on the bitter taste that sends fresh tears to his eyes. It's harder to force it down the second time, his body all-too-aware of the pain it brings with it. But he chokes it down. He drinks, and retches it up immediately after.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Until he can keep the poison down.
The noctum, he learns, only hurts for a moment.
When pain is the only thing you feel, it's like feeling nothing at all. The only thing that is jarring is the transition between two worlds, the twilight of moving from light to dark. Afterwards, the pain becomes so ordinary, so banal that it is hardly worth his notice.
He likes the transition, though, the moment when he sputters around the taste of noctum. It reminds him of why he's alive. Of what he's fighting for.
Afterwards, there's no room for feeling anymore. When all of his nerves are already alight with pain, crackling with the highest extent of agony they can provide, there's no other stimulation that can crank it further. There's no room for anything else. He doesn't feel the brush of cloth on his chest; he doesn't feel the cool touch of moonstone against his palms, the slide of a tear down his cheek. He doesn't taste the bitter traces of noctum on his tongue, or feel the agonizing path of a blade as it slashes through his flesh.
When he's drunk noctum, the only thing in his head is his mission. His world focuses down to only him, the moonstone weapons at his side, and the enemy he needs to destroy. There are no distractions; nothing to split his focus, no trivialities to take care of. There is no need to speak, even if he were able. There is no need to feel.
Aphelios has been crying a lot lately.
It's inconvenient. He doesn't even know why he does it. The tears just come, and he's helpless to stop them from marching down his cheeks, so he stops trying to stop them. They just go, and he is too tired to sob, too tired to wipe them away, too tired to do anything but stare blankly at the wall. There's a small, persistent ache in his chest, not caused by any physical wounds or ailments. It just lives there, no matter what he's doing, weighing down his steps.
Aphelios looks at the wall, the cavern ceiling above him, and thinks, why?
Why, why, why? Why were they ‘chosen,’ born at that cursed time that marked them as ‘special’? Why were they forced to fight, when none of it would ever matter in the end? No, Aphelios knows the exact path of his future; filled with blood, warm red spilling over his hands and clothes, over and over and over, until finally the red was his instead. He would die as he lived; a weapon. And the fight would not die with him, no; it would stretch on, it would outlive him, for countless generations after him. It would never end.
Aphelios needs to train. He needs to get stronger. He needs to get up and make himself useful. He doesn't want to. All he wants to do is curl up and try to keep his vulnerable parts from hurting. He wants to go to sleep. He just—
Why is he alive at all?
Aphelios exhales and tries to blink away tears. Fresh ones spring up to replace the ones that roll down his face. He exhales, and gives up trying to keep his face free of tears.
He misses Alune.
He hasn't seen her for a long time. She was off on a sacred pilgrimage, an important mission to develop her skills. If he's being honest, Aphelios doesn't care. He just wants to see her. She could hold him and he could hold her back and she could make everything alright. She could say things that would make him feel like he was a person after all, that there was a purpose in everything. Everything was better when she was around, the reassurance that she was there with him.
Aphelios sighs. He drags himself away from his bed, scrubbing at his face to no avail. Lately, he's found a thing that helps when he misses Alune too much.
The taste of noctum is just as sickening as it always is.
He can't feel the tears on his cheeks anymore.
Aphelios exhales. His grip tightens on his moonstone blades. He raises them, then lunges at his invisible enemy.
Breath. Slash. Parry. Dodge. Fight.
The only thing that matters is him and his blades, the forms that he needs to drill into every muscle until it is as natural to him as breathing. He is not Aphelios; he is not a brother, a friend, or a person: he is a weapon. A weapon that only knows the best way to kill. A weapon that does not doubt, does not have fears or insecurities or despair—
When he bleeds, weapons wearing themself into his hands until rough wounds form, it's a relief. It's a piece of the noctum that he brings with him even when he is weak.
"Hurry up, Phel! You're so slow!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming! Wait up a little bit!"
Alune bursts into a small house near the edges of the Lunari village, beaming. Aphelios skids in after her, expression set in disgruntlement.
"Nana!"
"Alune, you're always in such a rush—"
The old woman in the house brightens as the two children burst through the door, turning away from her cooking to look at them. Her face softens, smile lines and crow's feet creasing as she catches sight of them.
"Children! Come in, come in."
"Nana! The elders said I could start my training soon!"
"Oh, is that so? You're all grown up."
Alune preens. Beside her, Aphelios scoffs.
"As if! She cried, you know."
Alune gasps, whirling on him. "Did not!" she exclaims, cheeks red. "I wasn't crying!"
"Yeah? So when your face is all red and covered in snot, you're not crying—"
"Shut up, Phel! As if you were any better! You cried more than I did!"
"So you admit that you cried—"
The old woman laughs, patting the two children's heads. "Settle down, you two," she chides, even though her face is still set in fondness. "It's alright to cry, you know."
Alune sits down in a huff, sulking. Far too smug, Aphelios sits across from her. He sticks out his tongue, and Alune gasps.
"Now, now! We should celebrate!"
Alune sits up in excitement, eyes shining. "Celebrate?" she asks. "Will you make us a cake again, like on our birthday?"
The old woman laughs. "If that's what you want," she agrees, bustling over to the kitchen to serve bowls of soup from the meal she was making. "For now, you two should eat. We can go out and buy you something later, Alune!”
Aphelios grits his teeth as he's thrown to the ground. Before him, his moonstone blades crack on the ground, shattering into worthless shards. Aphelios strains for them uselessly, muscles failing him. All of his training—all of the time he had spent practising—all for this. He couldn't save anyone. He couldn't win against the Solari. He was useless, after all.
Bodies of Lunari litter the ground around him. Aphelios squeezes his eyes shut. The image of their unseeing eyes, the blood streaked across their skin, burns into his mind. They were all people that he had known. The man with the nice dog that he let Aphelios pet; the kids who had laughed and played across from his house; the people that he had trained and fought beside.
He had to save them. This was his home. He had to push himself—he could grow stronger, he could still stand—
Aphelios cracks his eyes open, and freezes.
Across from him are the dead eyes of the woman who he used to call Nana.
The woman who had fed him and Alune when they had come to visit her house; the woman who had smiled and brushed his hair out of his face; the woman who had let him sleep at her house when he was too tired to trek all the way back to his own bed. The last remaining piece of his happy childhood,
She’s dead in front of him, slain by the Solari. Her last expression is one of pain; her face contorted in agony, tears running down from her sightless eyes.
The Solari—the Solari—why, why, why—
She was only a civilian. She was a harmless old woman. They had killed her in cold blood, just another life in their endless slaughter—
Monsters. Monsters, all of them. This was why. This was what all of his teachers had tried to tell them.
Aphelios had a duty. To his people, to the children who would grow up afraid, to the parents who would end up slaughtered. Aphelios could not run from it. He needed to fight.
In the aftermath of the battle, the Solari lose many troops. Many of them lose their lives. The Lunari lose, as well. Many of their best warriors, of innocent civilians, are slaughtered in one night. The losses are immense on both sides.
But the Lunari do gain something. Something important:
Hope.
Just a little bit. Just enough to keep moving forward. They gain the weapon of the faithful.
But Alune loses herself. She loses her place in the physical world. She loses the ability to see the world, the sun and the stars, the lush and bountiful forests, starshine that glitters on endless lakes and oceans, the comforting rock of their childhood home. She loses the ability to meet new people, to make bonds or form connections or ever have a life outside of the Lunari, outside of the destiny that she was born into.
Their pipe dreams of running away are no more; of a life that was free of pain, free of sacrifice, free of their fate. No, they are well and truly tied to the Lunari and the suffering of darkness.
The only way they could ever be together was through pain. Through sacrifice. Through the Lunari. The only way that they could ever speak again was through noctum poison. And the only way that Alune could ever pretend to have a life was through him, through their connection; that she could look through his eyes and see everything that she would never be able to see for herself, everything beyond the cool fortress that was now her prison. In return, she would keep Aphelios from losing his way, keep despair from overwhelming him.
Through each other, they could truly fulfill their duty. Aphelios would grow strong enough to give the Lunari hope for a future. Alune would guide him on the way. It only cost the both of them.
They would never truly see each other again. They would never be able to feel the other's touch again, never be able to hold each other.
Aphelios… Aphelios lost the only thing he had left. His sister.
He had already lost himself. Somewhere among noctum flowers and moonstone weapons, he had lost the little boy who cried when others were hurt.