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The sunlight blinds him, a red-rimmed crescent smoldering in his vision for a few dizzying moments. Like looking directly at an eclipse, or an explosion—Lino petals fluttering like shattered glass, conspicuously silent. Rean doesn't realize he is shell-shocked until he hears her voice again. How long had it been—A month? A year? He doesn't remember anymore, yet the unexpected breach on his defenses unfurls the flower of his mind regardless.
Realization comes in waves; he'd been so busy stamping out fires and gathering the scraps of his education to graduate that he'd only skimmed over his on-boarding documents. Even though he hadn't missed that two-syllable name amongst the staff list, after months of silence he never thought she'd come to him. It was almost unfair how the sight of her was enough to crack the dam, every precious memory he'd dutifully tucked away under his orders for the past year drowning him.
Heat crept across his cheeks and down his collar—her jackhammer heartbeat against his ear, the scent of her shampoo, her dark lashes. They seemed even longer now, fluttering over the bright jade of her eyes as he towered over her.
"I barely recognized you!" She says, blushing, and his chest swelled with a little pride; the five rege he'd only known as a scratch on his medical evaluation and a trip to the tailor now turned medal on his lapel.
Wordless, he hesitates even as she prods him for a reply, a strange fear in the thought of reaching out. If this had been the end of his first year at Thors, he might have even hugged her—
(There is a constant rattling, iron snakes biting into his wrists as he strains to reach—but the deeper their teeth sink in the less he can remember why it matters.)
His restless hand settles casually on his waist instead, the conversation trailing down familiar dried riverbeds. Towa falls into step beside him in the same way he remembered, and if the bird's eyed view of her little white hat didn't remind him of everything that changed between them it could've been any spring morning in Trista. Perhaps it was a bittersweet—almost painful—thought, but Rean had been so starved of joy that the sting hardly registered.
"Let's work together as fellow graduates of Thors and get through this!" She says, her voice unchanged from their days in the Student Council.
He ignores the flip of his stomach, smiles sheepishly and agrees. As if he hadn't spent an entire civil war with the memory of her face in the locket of his heart, as if every unanswered letter and beeping dial tone from his ARCUS hadn't carved a Towa-shaped hole in his chest—although there was so much space inside him he felt more cavern than man these days.
Her words echo between his ears until the sight of Orlando snapped him back to reality. Another stark reminder that he should know better than to think they could pick up where they left off. Despite all the hints of what could've been, friends and colleagues were all they ever were—how could she think anything more of him. There was no way he had any right make any more promises after his failure, and the ex-jaeger smiling before them could testify that Rean had only fallen lower in the year since.
Still, he catches her peeking at him from his peripheral, smiling when their eyes meet, and nothing else seemed to matter.
***
The rubber dummy hit the ground with a sickening slap as Crow knelt beside it, and with the flick of two fingers he motioned to Rean to do the same. The afternoon light streaming into George's workshop cast strange shadows across his upperclassman's face, and Rean could almost believe Crow would never scam him out of 50 mira with how serious he looked.
"First thing about first aid is—" Crow said casually, hands resting on his folded knees, which Rean quickly emulated. "Gotta check the situation real quick, ten seconds tops. You find the injured, note the most handsome senior in the area, and get to work."
"Alright… and then I call for help?"
"Nope, you're the guy who's got the first aid training, you're the help."
"Then what are you doing there?"
"Me? Freaking out—" He brought a hand to his forehead, "Oh nooo, no cool guy ever taught lil' ol' me CPR, what should I do?"
"Erm—Crow, go fetch a medic?"
"Perfect." Crow grinned, and Rean couldn't help but let the satisfaction settle in chest. "You assess the situation and take the helm, otherwise everyone is going to be running around like headless chickens. Not like you can do everything alone anyways; best way to save lives is by working together."
Behind them, he heard George hum in agreement, the rhythmic tinkering from the workbench ceasing for only a moment. "They really like that part, when you can confidently bark out orders. Like 'You! Bring the first aid kit!' and all of that."
"So this test won't just be about our technique."
"Nah, this is the military. They want to know how well you work as a cog in the machine—hah, sorry, in this case it's for a good reason I guess."
Rean looked down at the blank-faced figure between, trying to imagine how he'd feel if it were his comrade and failing. "Got it."
"You said you know how to dress basic wounds, yeah? So we'll go straight to CPR." Crow rolled forward onto his knees, putting his hands on the dummy's chest. "It's easier to show you."
They go through the basics: both hands on chest, shoulders directly over them, push down to at least five rege, go to the beat of that new song they keep playing on the radio…
"You might hear or feel a crack—don't stop." Crow said quietly, now close enough for Rean to feel his warm breath, his hands pushing down on Rean's own to show how much strength to use. They were calloused and rough; hardworking ones. "Broken ribs can be healed, but lives… 28, 29, 30."
Glancing at him through his lashes, Crow's face was too close for him to get a read on.
"Tilt the head up, hold the chin—just one second per breath, make sure you seal the deal."
(███ closes his eyes, the scarlet crescent of Crow's eyes smoldering behind his eyelids.)
Rean opened his eyes to the sound of birdsong.
More memory than dream—a distant afternoon from his first semester at Thors nearly two years ago now. It was rare for him to sleep so peacefully, but his heart still seized up as if it were a nightmare.
Funny how Crow had taught him so many skills he'd failed to put to any use. Rean had passed his midterm then, but when the cards were down and he held his dying friend, it had all gone in one ear and out the other. He'd played the scene out in his mind so often that it had begun to fray at the edges, the shape of Crow's bloody smile growing confused with each revisit. What he should've been taught was how to stitch a heart back together—even if he couldn't have saved Crow's, at least his own wouldn't still lay in tatters.
The weight of Crow's body growing more leaden, the shudder of his cough against him, that overwhelming taste of iron… Rean gets up to get ready for the day, unable to stop himself from ruminating. Of course, the solution would have been to save him from getting pierced in the first place, but barring that—
You assess the situation and take the helm.
He grabbed his tachi and tucked a change of clothes under his arm, shivering as he made his way across the cool hallway of the dorm. Moments like that were never about technique, but your own resilience—back then, Rean had frozen so solidly he wasn't able to say a single word. Class VII's 'leader', no better than a stone. So much for being a—
(Blood and iron beats in his throat, an entire briny ocean threatening to spill at the word.)
Mindlessly, he enters the training room while it is still dark outside. An hour of moving through his forms does nothing for him, but if he was going to think he would rather do it in motion. He's danced through each kata enough times to carve concentric circles in his floorboards back in Ymir, so it comes easily. First form, helix, second form—
"Most importantly, don't break yourself down trying to resuscitate somebody. You gotta know your limits." Crow simply smiled back at Rean, who was struggling not to scrunch his face up at the idea. "Doesn't mean you have to give up on them, but you can switch out with someone else—taking turns and all that. It's not weird for people to pass out from this, and if that happens then your friends would have another problem."
Pathetically enough, he falters, slicing the school's training dummy clean in two instead of the controlled graze he'd intended. Dawn had broken, soft pink light flooding the room—his time was up.
After doing his due diligence to report and dispose of the dummy, he wandered into the baths before the little voice in the back of his head could stop him.
It seems a bit too indulgent to take a bath in the morning like this, but still...
"But maybe it's a bit too indulgent to take a bath in the morning..."
Water splashed behind the dividing wall, a familiar voice carrying a bit too clearly into the men's bath. His skin prickled, the hair on the back of his neck raising as if he'd been caught committing in a crime—but a glance upwards revealed that the wall never fully connected with the ceiling.
"Towa?"
"Wha—! Is that you, Rean?!"
What a coincidence to run into her after his dream, and the stupor it had put him in throughout the morning. Were he forced to admit it, even through that solid concrete wall her company would be the perfect balm, but—he focused his mind on the loosening knots in his shoulders, the aches leeching from his joints and into the warm water—Rean wouldn't allow himself to be so spoiled. Whatever pain he nursed couldn't be anything but a pebble next to the mountain she must carry.
Sinking deeper into the water as they talked, he curled in on himself. Almost like she could read his mind, she brings up a memory that felt more like a dream, that small trip they took two years ago to Ymir.
"You let me come along with you and Class VII." She sighed wistfully.
"Yeah, Instructor Sara, Sharon, Angelica, and George were all there too..." The words come out without thinking, but even in this relaxed state his name still—
"… and Crow, too."
Like a little needle, threading through his tattered heart.
She was so much stronger than him.
"The school year's just begun, and we don't know what to expect. We don't even know what future Erebonia itself is headed towards." Between the warm embrace of the water and her words, he decides to open up a little—to let go of the memory, to work towards making a new one in its place. "But if we persevere and overcome all the challenges before us, I know the chance will come again..."
There were so many questions he wouldn't dare seek answers to, but still he allows himself to imagine. Towa laughing under a rain of snowballs, flecks of frost on her lashes—then later by the fire, her reddened fingers threading through his own, searching for warmth. A future where he'd have all the courage he'd lacked back as a boy, and one where she would, somehow, want him too. After everything.
"And we'll be able to go on a trip with all our friends and finally relax..."
"Rean..." He hears the water lap against the walls, imagines how she'd look now were she beside him—tilting her head up at him, cheeks flushed to a lovely pink in the steam. Her doeful eyes, sparkling. "Yeah. Let's make that day a reality!"
***
Rean had always thought himself as brave, primed to face the future. Every time he'd lost his way, he'd found a foothold—a helping hand, a smile, a solid back against his own—and it made him believe he could embody those legendary words he had emblazoned in his heart. Arise, O'youth, and become the foundation of this world.
Reality had been a harsh teacher—first with Crossbell, and then again in North Ambria.
No, that first time had been when he…
The pitiful looks—first from Class VII and later on the Golden Rakshasa—had withered the fruit of his self-esteem. When the sting of that cold truth had begun to fade, he began to understand why the Chancellor had surrounded himself by children, why he seemingly peddled Dreichel's words despite their direct opposition to his existence. Having come to teach at Thors, seeing new Class VII's face peering up at him guilelessly, it was crystal clear.
He looked deep into Lechter's eyes, searching in vain. The man never let his guard down—Rean had no idea how he truly felt about all of this.
(He should be rotting beside him, in chains. That much he knows. After everything she did, how much she—)
It was terrifyingly easy how well he'd learned the dance of their little ritual. The step into false bargaining, the falling into neutral acquiescence. He could sense Towa suppressing a shiver beside him, and Randolph's expression would have once chilled him out of any pride he clung to—but those reactions had, too, become familiar. Tugging on his leash in front of anyone who might respect him was part of the Ironbloods' gambit. He'd come to learn how to bear the burning coal of shame and hold it deep within his core.
Now, a year into his 'service', the sight of Lechter unsheathing the pre-signed orders no longer felt like dying. The amount of times he'd folded over had begun to forge a solid layer of steel over his tender heart. Lechter knew well how to perfectly parcel out the truth to remind those who mattered of his place—that Rean Schwarzer was a coward. The hero of Erebonia nothing but a dog beholden to a bloodthirsty master.
How much longer until he'd hone himself into a fine sword? Until he could could stop offering himself hilt first to the Empire who so cravenly wielded him?
Until he could slash back?
Still he accepts his orders hand over chest, as any good Erebonian man would. As many did every day in this war-hungry country. Rean pretends his reply didn't taste of iron, having bitten through his cheek in frustration. Even with all of this understanding he still lacked any sort of answer. He meets Randolph's gaze without pretense, means to show that he bears the weight of his actions, that this is the sort of man who laid Crossbell low. Randolph only frowns at him. Somehow his colleague instantly knows he's still running away from it; why else would Rean avoid looking down at the woman between them?
None of that mattered right now. If he didn't fold, then Sutherland would burn, and the Branch Campus would shatter.
Kurt, Juna, and Altina, would be sent to face Ouroboros and—
B-But this plan is just too much! He remembers Towa slamming her hands down, near tears, They're just being used as scapegoats! Even knowing what he did, having been held by her in the worst weeks of his life and sensing the dark well she'd carved out to hold their shared grief, he still startled when she'd shouted the silent part out loud at Major Michael, They'll die out there!
He remembers the nondescript casket at Crow's funeral. It seemed so much smaller than the boy laid inside it—Rean had never had to strain his head down to look at him before then.
(He doesn't want to remember, but her death had been the first time he'd look up at her too.)
Rean wants to ask Lechter, if we're short-staffed enough to make soldiers of children, why keep starting wars on every border?! But the answer laid in his own clenched fist, in the one word only he had the right to say—the one word everyone kept trying to pry out of his own chest.
No, not everyone. He looks back at Class VII—at his dearest friends—and remembers. Later on, when he's chased his students away from danger as best he could, Towa reminds him, too. Quietly, for his ears alone. "Just leave Juna and the others to me."
"Thanks Towa, I appreciate it."
***
(The light blinds him again, and he realizes its not so much like an explosion but a tidal wave—blinding bright mana like an ocean, drowning him, refracting endlessly inside each little shattered glass piece that remained.)
Towa blinks, willing her eyes to adjust to harsh orbal lights in the hangar. There was no one there—the students, Mint, and Professor Schmidt likely still asleep at that early hour—yet she still looked around nervously. Although the hangar wasn't off-limits, it felt at least a little inappropriate to slink around such a place without a good reason. At the very least, a reason someone like Major Michael would accept if he caught her.
Her heels clacked against the metal flooring, the sound still echoing when she stopped in front of Valimar.
The knight stood before her, unresponsive, and she felt a little aimless. There hadn't been a real reason for her coming here—she had seen Valimar countless times before, had watched it wield its fists, a sword, then its strange and blinding tachi in defense of her and everything she loved all throughout the civil war. Its image had been burned into her memory for nearly two years now, from the day she looked to the sky and saw its figure fleeing Trista to the sounds of stone and metal cracking; the sound of the Noble Alliance's soldats rushing into their little town.
(That endless scream, the moment he'd first sunk beneath the great black lake of Erebonia and felt, instinctively, that he would never resurface. Even then, her voice had reached him—no matter how far, she always found a way.)
It was likely waiting for her to speak, as she knew its sensors were always somewhat functional. He was almost like a sleeping cat, ears flicking yet allowing you to approach.
She giggled at the thought, and his eyes glowed in response with a low thrum, "Good morning, Towa. Is there something amiss?"
"No, nothing!" Towa replied quickly, holding her hands up as if caught red-handed. By now, everyone on campus knew how well his speech had developed—but to her, the most shocking part was how much he'd come to sound like Rean. "I-I just… wanted to look at you, I guess. Sorry if that's a little strange."
"Do as you wish—Meister Mint and Meister Tita have done a most satisfactory job with my maintenance. I have never been in better shape."
"Oh, that's great to hear." She files the praise away for later; Tita deserved to hear it after everything she put up with from Professor Schmidt. "Its… for more of a personal reason though, not for the Military Finance course. Erm, do you already know where we'll be heading out to for our next field exercises?"
"Yes… Rean spoke with me last evening about the particulars." Valimar paused as if to measure her emotions—but it must have been a habit he picked up from his Awakener. "The city of Crossbell. I have only been there for one mission, but its impact on Rean's psyche cannot be understated. He seemed burdened yesterday."
"Mm…"
"However, I do not believe it will impact our mission performance."
Smiling sheepishly, she fiddled with the hem of her pencil skirt, right where her gun holster would normally be strapped. She'd have to begin carrying her orbal gun again soon enough. "I know. But our field exercises are more complex than simply winning battles—you being in Crossbell is a problem for us in and of itself."
"Oh?" She could almost imagine him tilting his head in question.
"If you're deployed, it could give Calvard the wrong idea about the Imperial Government's goals for the inspection, as well as make Crossbellans even more nervous."
"I see. I apologize for causing such a disturbance to you all."
"No, no—It's unavoidable. No matter what, I wouldn't want the students to not have as much protection as possible, especially after Sutherland…" She shifted uncomfortably, hesitant, "Did Rean ever tell you what happened? Back then, when I went to Crossbell…"
"Not explicitly, although I can find hints of this in my records of Rean's conversations."
"There was a big trade conference before with a bunch of VIPs—I went with Chancellor Osborne's team as, erm, kind of a trainee. Terrorists attacked Orchis Tower, where the trade conference was being held, and I…"
"I detect an elevated heart rate. You fear something similar could happen again?"
"Yeah… But I know its just my anxiety—the data doesn't explicitly support it, even though Ouroboros is on the move again. What I'm really thinking about is… What if something like you had been there at that time?"
"Despite Rean's frequent participation in covert operations, I am not well-suited to terrorism prevention, so I do not believe I personally would have changed the events leading up to it; only the outcome."
"That's exactly it." Towa placed a hand on Valimar's leg plating—it was the same temperature as her skin, as if the mana flowing through it was warm blood. "In fact, I feel as if it would've been much worse, since they would've been too afraid of you to not bring their best…"
"I understand. Every weapon has its purpose—and battles are won through more than sheer strength. You learned this lesson well throughout your time as acting captain of the Crimson Wings."
"Heehee—Honestly, I think my time with the NGOs last year had a bigger role in realizing that. Everywhere I went, people had so many perspectives on you and Rean, and on Erebonia…" For a moment they stood in silence. "I'm scared, Valimar. I wish you two didn't have to go—I can't help but suspect these exercises are just an excuse to force you onto the field at the expense of everyone else." Then, softly, she added, "At the expense of Rean's heart most of all…"
The world outside must have begun to wake up, but inside the hangar it was silent. Towa almost feared Valimar had gone back to sleep, until the low thrum of his voice sent a warm vibration through her palm.
"As a Divine Knight, I am merely a tool in my Awakener's arsenal; I have little opinion beyond tactics and personal readiness. Yet, my makers saw it fit to grant me the ability to peer into my Awakener's heart, to measure their strength of will—to understand their alignment, so to speak." Towa closed her eyes, taking in his words through both touch and sound. "Rean is young and his struggle is unending, but his spirit is strong. Mostly in part to his allies; people like you, who take care of him in all the ways I cannot. I trust that he will not betray his heart when making use of me, and I trust that you will protect him from the forces which tirelessly endeavor to lead him astray."
(He screams, the iron snakes returning to gnash and mangle his wrists, his arms, his body—)
"Valimar…"
Then—birdsong. The entrance to the hanger slid open to reveal the young man himself, eyes wide when he sees her across the building. "…Oh?"
She turned to look him, retracting her palm as he approached. "Ah—Good morning Rean!"
"Good morning, Towa… Is there something wrong?" Walking to stand beside them, he glanced between her and Valimar with a furrowed brow.
She laughed—Valimar had truly picked up a slew of habits from him. "No, no. I was just curious about Valimar… We had an interesting talk."
"Indeed." Valimar said, "Truly, you have no shortage of wonderful allies, Rean."
Rean smiled, confused. "Haha. I mean, I agree but, what brought that on…"
"Heehee—" Putting a finger to her lips, she winked at him. "That's a secret!"
"Alright… Well, I just came to check up on Valimar, but if you already did it for me then—do you want to get some breakfast, Towa?" Rean said, "You're here so early because you're working on our schedule for Crossbell, right? You'll need at least a little coffee and food in you for that."
"He's right." Valimar hummed, "I have heard repeatedly from Meister Mint that people should not trust their judgment unless they've eaten."
"Well, you've got me there!" She held up her hands in mock surrender, "I was already planning to take a snack with me to the office but, it'll be nice to start the day off together."
"Oh, uh—"
Looking up at Rean, whose cheeks had taken a little more color than before, she tilted her head.
"… Nothing. You're right." He coughed, hiding away whatever emotion had briefly surfaced. She had always thought it was a cute habit—just like when he scratched his cheek when shy, or how he pouted at people when holding back his words. "As fellow graduates of Thors, let's work together and get through this."
Towa giggled at the cheeky smile he gave her. She thought of him sitting in the student council room, smiling despite his tear-stained cheeks, the crater of Crow's absence stretching wide between them. It hadn't gotten any smaller in the two years since, but in this moment she knows it hasn't gotten any wider. No matter what, Towa would reach him again. She refused to lose anyone else to that abyss that yawned beneath Erebonia's surface.
These—at times painful—feelings she had quietly tended to for the past three years… They would be worth it as long as she could support him. As long as he lived.
"Right!"
***
The last thing he remembers of the Infernal Castle was drowning.
No matter how many people had rallied behind him, he'd always barely held his head above water. No, he was like a stone, skidding across the surface. Should he stop running for even a moment, if the scenery slowed and his thoughts were given space to stretch and—
Osborne's chest solid beneath his fists, Rean felt the torrent of his words beneath his palms as his lungs filled with water—stinging, salty brine that burrowed into every cut and tear. It chilled his body to its very core, the sound of its rushing waves drowning out reality until the very air shattered around him; until someone fished him out of the swelling tides of change and tossed him back to Class VII.
But that was almost two years ago.
Here and now that tide swallowed him still, regret pounding the drum of his chest. He'd never stopped drowning. Juna screams and he could barely hear it—his body full of salt water. He couldn't even move a finger, the thought of bending even one strand of her hair making him seize up into the river stone he'd always been. No matter the lies he'd told himself, there was only so far a stone could skim the water's surface before it sunk forever.
That's why he couldn't wield his powers, that's why he couldn't save anyone, that's why—
Rean takes the orders, hand on chest; douses the hot coals in his stomach, swallows the taste of iron. If he could just do this one thing, if he could look Randy and Juna in the eyes by the end of this field exercise, then maybe drowning would be worth something. It was the same pathetic thought that had given him the momentum to live after Crossbell, that had dragged him to North Ambria and into his greatest regret—
He stamps the thought under his heel. He couldn't want any more than that what he'd gotten. Only heroes thought of saving everyone and everything; all Rean Schwarzer could do was struggle to save at least one. Every life another skip on the water, another chance to avoid sinking, his existence nothing but a relentless struggle to save another and another and another until he died.
(But, right—that was the Schwarzer in him, he supposed. Just a little part of him, in the grand scheme of things. A story he'd been told that he'd kept repeating. Teo Schwarzer had swaddled him in the fairy tale, had bandaged the throbbing wound that was his being with his love and now look at him. A father's ruin—the whole world holding its final breath, half-dead from the rage of all the sons that tried and failed to save it. Teo took a bullet for his family just like His Majesty took a bullet for the Empire, except this time Rean was the lead and Erebonia the heart and the world was all just blood and iron for blood if iron was—)
Rean tries to fit the entirety of that one man into words, but even just his title rolls around in his mouth like marbles, overflowing until he was gasping sanguine-tinted darkness. Blood and iron, blood like iron. Repetitive, emphatic—one and the same, if he thought about it. Which he did, often. As if Osborne had wanted to lay claim to the concept of life and death in one. To spill blood, to taste iron. He tries to snatch the thread, the ripple in the dark felt night his life had become. It was important, he knew, if he wanted to keep going.
Eventually the mission takes him up a tower. A tale as old as time, except here there was no hero.
(And he knows that someday he'll be the dragon.)
Rean pounds the ground with enough force to crack his boot heel, hoping the negativity leeches into the stone and out of that hollow inside him. There was hope—there had to be. If he couldn't look him in the eyes at the end of this, then…!
(For a moment he sees stars so close he could touch them, the glint of two familiar jade-green stars. He hadn't wanted her to see that ghost then, up on the tower—hadn't wanted her to see how easily his resolved crumbled before it.)
The birdcage tips over, a flock of swallows spangling the horizon when, finally, their operation comes to a close. Success. Another day Rean Schwarzer allows himself to liv—
(███ tries to raise his fist, to clutch his future with his own hands the way he'd always been able to, no matter the odds. He hears a pop, a mewling screech. Then a touch like water—a cool current in the deep.)
***
It was a surprisingly quiet evening in George's workshop—Angie and him had gone off to test their newest contraption out on the highway after Instructor Sara dismissed them early. Despite not being a combatant, their Instructor had pushed her into wielding some kind of weapon; a hand gun, they'd decided, after a weapons aptitude test. They wouldn't know how much danger they'd face during the new experimental field exercises, and Towa more than anyone didn't want to be a burden.
Now it was just her and Crow, who was leaning back dangerously on a chair with his hands behind his head. Simply watching the motes of dust catch the golden afternoon light, all while she fretted over the unmade gun spread out on the table.
"Oh, why did Instructor Sara leave me to figure this out on my own…" Towa whined, leaning to the side to peer at the little maintenance manual held open by a wrench. "If only I knew how to wield a sword or something. Then I'd just need to wipe it down, right?"
"C'mon." Crow snorted, "Guns are way cooler than swords, so its totally worth it. Wait, maybe a sword would suit you, since your opponent might be laughing too hard at how silly—"
"I'm serious, Crow!" She cut him off, not wanting his lame jokes to distract her even more. "Ugh, what if I put it back together wrong and it, like, I dunno, explodes on me!"
Turning back to the mess in front of her, she doesn't see his exasperated smile, or the gentle way he scooted his chair over to her side. It's only when his laugh sounds closer than expected that she looks at him—his red eyes reflecting the sunset itself. "Alright alright, we can't have little miss class prez blowing up; Thors would fall apart in hours."
Towa worked quickly underneath the workbench light, the empty workshop train car echoing every clink of her tools. Ever since his passing she'd always think of Crow when performing her routine gun maintenance—at first it had hurt, but now she was grateful. She'd never be much of a gambler, and she couldn't say she foresaw a long future of playing hooky, but with this near daily ritual he'd always be a part of her.
"Your hands are small so, actually I think this is probably way easier for you than it is for me." Crow had said, his chin digging into her shoulder with each word as she dabbed solvent onto a shred of cloth. "Hey—"
"—Towa?" A familiar voice spoke from behind, but for a moment she could hardly believe the sound.
Her heart knocked against her ribcage as she whipped around—
(His body rioted against the memory—a black wave cresting over the exhaustion and the ache to swallow him again. He imagined a cracked ivory shell, scarlet splattering on the cool wall to the tune of that incessant yowling. He didn't want to see anymore. He knew, he knew, he was sorry, he was so so so—)
—to see Rean by the door, hand on his hip with his usual gentle smile. "Are you doing maintenance on your weapon?"
"O-Oh, yeah, I am!" She ignored the painful squeeze in her chest, that irrational hope deflating into nothing. How careless of her, she really shouldn't get so lost in thought while on a field exercise. "I haven't used it lately, but I do train with it on occasion. I should always try to be ready for any situation."
"True... But man. Talk about nostalgic."
***
It went like this—four classmates walk into a tavern. There's only three chairs at the table, but all four are still seated. There's no punchline, just a ghost pressing down on them, red storms in its eyes. Pushing Rean beneath foaming waves, salt on his tongue.
Thankfully he'd already gotten used to drowning. Rean looks over, blinks past the ghost to look at Towa sitting beside him. Cheeks flushed, happy—for the moment, at least—with her beer mug tilting dangerous between her palms. He'd been so foolish during the past year, waiting for her call, thinking there could be the smallest chance between them after everything he'd cost her. Wasn't her happiness what he'd wanted most?
You really are spoiled, he thinks, the golden reflection from his own mug frowning back at him. If that was all it was, then why does he keep wishing for someone to fish him out of the water?
Well, Rean supposed he just wanted her to try.
He drinks, letting George and Towa's conversation take him back to that time a little earlier, before the drowning, a little dream he'd built out of a memory. The story he told himself, if only so he could stop wishing for it to be real.
I don't really believe there are natural-born heroes out there who are superior to everyone else.
(███ weeps, openly, scarlet tears from his scalp trailing down the wall, and the little warm void meows quietly, the mana emanating from it like a gentle lap of cool water against him.)
In the memory there's a sparkling night sky outside the window, her eyes a constellation unto themselves as he looks up at her, kneeling.
We might not be heroes, but that's all the more reason we'll see this through to the end without giving up.
In the memory she presses his head against her heart, smelling of vanilla as she lays her head atop his own.
And we'll do it without losing a single one of us along the way!
In the dream he reaches up, cups her face with no small amount of bravery. In the dream he stands again, in the dream he leans down to press their lips together, and in the dream he doesn't grow into what he is now. There are no funerals or year-long silences; they kiss and he doesn't ever cry and she won't have move mountains in order to see something worthwhile in him.
In the dream he tells her the story from the beginning. Because she'd listen, because it wouldn't press sharp against her throat, no longer a blade forged in blood and iron. The Civil War, Crossbell, North Ambria… nothing but proper nouns in his would-be well-worn textbooks.
In the dream Towa doesn't speak of dead boys in her sleep.
(In the dream he doesn't cleave the world in two, a little girl dead in his hands.)
***
Rean doesn't notice the ARCUS until the slice of bread is already in his mouth, cheeks bulging with the embarrassingly big bite he decided to take. The shutter goes off, and Towa's face peeks out from its side, grinning. "I want to show Angie and George when when we're all together again… I hope you don't mind!"
He chews, swallows, smiles sheepishly up at her. "Haha, but wouldn't they'd rather see your face?"
"Heehee, they've seen it enough, I think." Sitting beside him, she sets her ARCUS aside, and he promptly hands her a slice of their raisin bread as soon as her hands are free. The bakery had been kind of enough to offer a selection of spreads, so he took the liberty of smearing butter on a corner of it for her to try. "Is it good?"
"It's delicious." He says, hand fiddling with his own ARCUS beneath the table. "But I'm not surprised, you're always helping out the cooking club. I'm just glad I didn't hold you back."
When she's taken her bite, dainty hand resting on her cheek in delight, he takes his own revenge.
"H-Hey!" She sputters at the sound of the shutter, before remembering she needed to finish chewing. "No fair, Rean!"
Peeking over the ARCUS screen, he smiles. "What? Can't I show my friends too?"
"Ugh…" Towa pouts, and he feels his thumb hovering dangerously over the shutter button again. "It'll give them the wrong idea if you have a picture of a girl on your phone, especially at… at a cafe…!"
"Oh? What's so wrong about it?" She flushes red, eyebrows knitting together in embarrassment, and he scratches his cheek. Rean supposed this was probably the limit of his teasing, if he wanted to remain respectful. "I'll tell you what, why don't we take one together then?"
Her eyes widen, and for a moment he fears he's overstepped, but she merely swallows another bite of bread before giving him a bright smile. "Oh, yeah! That'll be so fun. The students taught me a good pose too!"
Without hesitation, she towels the crumbs off her fingers before flicking open her ARCUS again and opening the front camera. She was so much faster at it than him, he noticed, but that's the last thought he can muster before she leans back into him. She's nearly resting against the crook of his shoulder—as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He can smell that nostalgic vanilla scent, heat radiating off her with each beat of her heart, and for the first time in months he doesn't think about anything at all.
For all her complaints, Towa played just as dirty as him sometimes.
(Someone came to visit, just the one time. ███ had sensed him the moment he'd awakened underground, a presence that remained permanently equidistant from his cell for those first few days. For some reason, ███ thought he'd come wreathed in white Fainel flowers.)
"Like this, Rean." She holds up her hand up to her eye, fingers in a tilted V-shape over it, as she smiled up at the camera. "You should do it too!"
Well, he was never one to deny the Student Council President's requests.
When she's happy with the picture, she scoots away to reach for her next topping—cream cheese, this time—and Rean is left hollow. All too aware of her and her fading vanilla warmth. Despite the little selfish voice wanting just the opposite, for the sake of his sanity he hoped the scent didn't cling to him, or else his students wouldn't let him hear the end of it later.
(For once, he didn't fill the silence with his jokes—no pretenses. Perhaps he thought ███ wasn't conscious enough to appreciate the pleasure of idle conversation, or maybe he was a ghost; only the dead went to sleep on white flowers, after all. With a terse exchange with the shadow in his peripheral, the ghost strode right up to the growling mess of him without fear, taking out a plain steel bottle before grabbing ███ chin with enough strength to keep his arm and all five fingers safe.
"I know he can subsist off of mana right now. I'm an Awakener too, you know." He says to the fuzzy black void, although his half-lidded gaze was boring dark-scarlet crescents into ███. The same familiar face so many others had given him before. "But subsisting isn't the same as living. This ought to make things move quicker, anyway.")
"Mm, this is so good." She lets out a little sound of enjoyment, before ripping off a piece of bread. Rean is looking at her blankly when she offers it to him, mere rege from his mouth. "I think this one's my favorite combination, try it!"
(He presses a button that unseals the lid, pulling off the rubber seal with his teeth before pressing the lip of the bottle against ███'s own. "Drink."
A sweet, mineral smell wafted to him, and his throat ached in response. He'd brought… water. Didn't he know he was drowning?
"Don't be an idiot. Whether you're waiting on a miracle or letting yourself be used as a Sacrifice, don't half-ass it by letting yourself waste away. You're still a person, you know?")
Worldlessly, he takes a bite, the tips of her nails scraping against his lips.
(Well, it seemed he did still have a bit of humanity left in him after all.)
***
The ogre regrets it—all of it.
Every moment he'd hesitated, every missed connection, all the sad faces and trailing words he'd never followed up on, all the moments where he could've been better. Time flows backwards, all the way to his birth—the birth of the real Rean, not the ogre here now. Son of Kasia and Osborne, the boy with his very own heart, destiny still unwritten. Even with his untimely death, the ogre is so envious of him he could choke. At least he'd died never knowing the feel of another's blood, never chasing ghosts, never dreaming of how peaceful sleeping in a casket must be, nestled amidst fragrant flowers.
He feels the pressure of the great black inkwell of Erebonia pressing down on him, nearly reaching the bottom, and he hates that he's scared. Hates that drowning is so silent, that no one could hear, please, I'm drowning—Why couldn't this damn curse take his mind along with his body? Why did he have to kneel supplicant here, chained like a fiend from Gehenna, until he died bloated with the rot that he'd worked so hard to root out of himself.
He just wanted someone to care about him.
Even if he had grown into a wretched man, pathetic and cowardly, unable to save anyone.
Even if he was not the hero of this fairy tale, just a heartless ogre; the demon king's pet.
Someone always willing to accept people for who they are, strengths, flaws, and all.
Then he'd be able to try and keep moving forward as he was, instead of losing faith in himself.
(He doesn't hesitate when he turns to walk away with her. After visiting Crow's grave, after learning Angie and George's disappearance, he couldn't bring himself to act any more spoiled than he already had during the festival. She deserved better—a man who didn't let her friends die, for one. He wouldn't ruin this happy moment by saying everything out loud, all the little feelings he'd kept locked up for the better part of the past three years.
"Oh! Umm, ███?")
There it is—he feels the bottom of the ocean, his lungs nothing but salt, burning him up from the inside. Everything feels so small and stupid now, when it tastes like salt water. Why speak? Why breathe? It was nothing but salt all the way down.
("I'm sure there are a lot of things you're concerned about right now..." She says, and ███ struggles to meet her gaze, two jade stone irises glinting blindingly in the daylight.)
None of it really mattered. He felt it in his stolen, wretched, heart—the ogre is slain at the end of every story. Fairy tales had no room for them, they're born to trudge through mud and flame until the hero rises.
("...but I know it'll all turn out fine—because you're you.")
"I…?" He rasps, "Who am…?"
("...Class VII, Elise, and everyone else will help you when you need it.")
How could they, 1,000-arge deep in the earth as he was? The Ogre, the Ghost, and the Sword's very own tailor-made coffin. It hurt. It hurt so deeply that it even brought an Ogre to his knees—Was it really okay, to try again? To get back up, to try and swim out of this neverending darkness?
("Of course, that includes me, too.")
It only took an instant. Fresh water—cool, brackish currents rushing until he tasted nothing but sweetness.
A flash of light that illuminates the darkness, shorter than a heartbeat.