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The village of Mamook fair dripped in the fresh aftermath of its monsoon season, the dark stones covered in the moss of years plumped and vibrant in their time of plenty. The percussion of myriad raindrops filtered through the heavy canopy to gather in pools and puddles atop the canvas rooftops, sagging a little under the weight, and eventually the mamool ja of the settlement would climb the sides of their homes, claws catching in the worn-in grooves amidst the brickwork to scoop up the clear water in earthenware pots for later use. No sense not to use what was freely given to them, after all.
Ever since Alxaal had taken up the offer (which he had refused twice for propriety’s sake and was both times rebuked for his politeness), Miilal Ja’s home in the centre of the city had also become his place of rest. Not a place to live-in permanently, as others were wont to do, but a stopping point each time his and Prishe’s wanderings demanded rest at the end of an adventure and, having first come to life beneath the iridescent trees of this forest, it felt odd to rest his wings anywhere else.
He had a hammock fitted for his smaller stature stretched across a corner of Bakool Ja Ja’s bedroom, right beside the brothers’ mammoth slab of a stone bed. In the mornings, in favourable weather, the brief peek of sunlight that penetrated the thickness of the rainforest would slip in through the gaps in the stonework and cloth to alight gently upon his face.
It felt familiar; a fond memory from a far shrouded past, yet during the recent seasonal change it was the rhythm of the rain that helped to lull him off to sleep at night, in his hammock or… elsewhere.
He was elsewhere right now, laying his body against the woven mats of Bakool Ja Ja’s bed while the brothers themselves laid beside him, resting their weight on an elbow as their sheer size cast him into near perfect shadow. Alxaal’s armour was gone, stripped from his body and left neatly arranged on a nearby table for polishing later, leaving him in only a set of mamook-style garb sewn extra small for him by Bakool Ja Ja’s mother.
A big blue claw moved down and touched him on the chest with a gentleness that belied the blessed siblings’ hulking form, fiddling with the red and yellow patterned fabric.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” The right head of Bakool Ja Ja, the Mighty, asked.
“To have us do this for you, instead of someone more… equipped to handle the task?” The left head of Bakool Ja Ja, the Mystic, added in his usual soft lilt.
Alxaal felt the weight on his chest, on his skin, beneath his clothes; knowing there was little difference in the composition of both. Material, taken from the bones of this land and spun into something else with aether and intent. He let out a soft breath, wondering for a moment that if he held it in would he, like a living person, suffocate? He and Prishe had discussed it not long ago over the light of a campfire, but neither of them had been willing to put the theory to the proof.
“I need not an experienced touch, just someone with a good pair of eyes.” He reassured them, looking up at Bakool Ja Ja with a smile. “The engineers of Solution Nine were kind enough to evaluate the structural integrity of the electrope within mine and Prishe’s bodies, mending any outstanding cracks they discovered in the process. I am told they used some kind of sealant that will not disrupt the lightning aether powering my core, but it must needs be checked a sennight after the procedure to make certain the seal has set properly. Rather than attempt the trek back to the city, you need only have a quick look for me.”
“And that is all you need? A quick look?” The Mystic pressed, adjusting the bulk of his and his brother’s body to lie with better ease.
“It won’t hurt you, right?” The Mighty frowned, not entirely certain what was being asked of them. Alxaal’s core was somewhere deep in his body, and he couldn’t think of a way to get it out of him to look without having to remove the elvaan from the equation entirely, just like how the Shadow Lord had ceased to be when their electrope cube had popped out after his defeat, inert and silent.
Alxaal pushed himself up on his elbows and shook his head, his black bangs falling a little into his eyes. “No, the engineers of that city taught me how to expose my core manually for repairs, just a moment whilst I focus…” He mumbled, grimacing faintly from some sort of internal exertion as he pulled back the flap of his tunic, revealing to his friend his bare chest.
At first he was merely soft skin with nary a scar to show for his prowess in combat, his developed warrior’s muscles intriguing enough that Bakool Ja Ja had often wanted to trail the very tips of his claws down the pale expanse of his flesh, so unlike that of his and his brother’s two-toned scales, but then faint lines of near-neon purple seemingly spidered down his veins, from his sternum to his lower ribcage.
Connecting. Opening-up, like a rectangular door. The skin within its shape faded and there was… a cavity. It was hard for Bakool Ja Ja to properly describe. The inside of Alxaal wasn’t flesh, but it wasn’t darkness either. It was a space, flickering purple, like looking into the kiln of a potter in the middle of firing up their clay moulds, only forged of levin instead of flame.
“You are sure that doesn’t hurt?” The Mighty asked of him again, incredulous. It felt like if he tried to reach his hand around Alxaal’s core and into the cavity he would be shocked by the lightning aether inside. If he did that, how would his friend react? Would it harm him too?
Alxaal was breathing a little heavier now, the mild tightness in his voice sounding like he was intentionally flexing a seldom-used muscle to hold himself open like that. Even so, his smile did not falter. “It does make me feel somewhat exposed; as though I am standing naked in the village square during the busiest time of day.”
The Mystic couldn’t help but chuckle at the amusing visual, and emboldened by this Alxaal continued. “However… if it is only you evaluating my body, then I am fine. Pray tell me, how do the repairs look?”
Bakool Ja Ja had no idea what electrope was supposed to even look like. There had been a wealth of it covering the deepest reaches of the Skydeep Cenote and even more of the substance seeded into the echoes of Sareel Ja’s magicks taken form, but the blessed siblings were in no qualified position to really tell fraught craftsmanship from good.
Alxaal’s electrope cube was smaller than the Shadow Lord’s, perfectly sized to float unmoored to anything save gravity in the recesses of the elvaan’s chest–an unknown metallic stone grooved with carved petroglyphs from a completely different world to his. It rotated extremely slowly in its depression, glittering with drawn lines of caulked gold and thrumming very softly in activity.
Wait. Not just a thrum; a hum. Usually Alxaal’s body muffled the sound of it, but now if the brothers strained their hearing they could make out the gentle purr of their friend’s life-force.
It was strange to the both of them, knowing how the same alien material they’d trod all over deep inside the cenote, or smashed to pieces in the hunt for Sareel Ja behind the wall of his many minions, could house the artificial spirit of someone so near and dear to him now.
Alxaal was fragile. Already cracked, and a re-tempering and spackling in the City of Lightning would not fully restore what had been lost.
“Bakool Ja Ja?”
“Eh?” Both the Mighty and the Mystic muttered in unison, returning to reality at once with a single claw poised mere ilms from the surface of the other man’s core.
The elvaan adventurer chuckled, looking up at him fondly. “Do you see the parts gilt with sealant? Are they holding the cracks together?” He asked.
“I see no signs of the seal failing.” The Mystic acquiesced, tilting his head to get a better look at the stone with his boonewa eye.
“That is a comfort to hear.” Alxaal sighed; his shoulders slumping a little in relief before a rogue thought seemed to touch him then and there, causing the man’s sweet smile to quirk up just the barest mote in mischief. “… You may touch it, if you wish.”
Bakool Ja Ja tensed all at once, drawing his claw back and curling it into his palm as though he’d been shocked by the lightning aether inside Alxaal’s body, struck at once by the guilt of privately mulling the idea over in his heads and, somehow, his adventurous roommate had managed to read both his minds.
“I, er…” The Mighty spluttered.
“We would not wish to…” The Mystic trailed off, aghast.
Without warning Alxaal reached out and gripped his small hand around Bakool Ja Ja’s wrist, his fingers completely unable to meet all the way around the wide girth of it. He tugged the siblings back down towards his chest cavity, not all the way, but enough to keep him from running away with their anxieties.
“You won’t hurt me. I promise.” He murmured to him, glancing down at himself in chagrin. “Just… do not pluck my core from my body entirely and I shall be fine. I found I enjoyed the touch during my repairs, as embarrassing as it is to say.”
“It brings you pleasure?” The Mighty gasped, his fanged maw agape.
“Perhaps. It is hard to describe. It is like a hug, or sharing the warmth from another, or… – ohhh.” Alxaal began, but his words broke off into the softest and sweetest moan when Bakool Ja Ja reached down and brushed the lower pad of his thumb down along the undamaged surface of Alxaal’s cube, minding the curve of his wicked claws.
His digit tingled with the contact, like something mild and prickly was nibbling gently at his skin. He liked the feel of it, paired with the smooth-yet-carved glossy surface. He’d never be able to walk around in the depths of the Skydeep the same way again.
Bakool Ja Ja the Mystic smiled alongside his sibling as he felt Alxaal arch forward an ilm, trying to press his core further against his and his brother’s warm hand.
“You truly do have a heart of gold, my friend.” He chuckled, leaning in for more.