Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“There’s something in the air– flying and searching the tops of houses, peering into their stony stems for soot.”

A crackle from the fire comes shooting up and the Eliksni children, sitting front and center, flinch away. They watch the spark fizzle until suddenly it’s awake again, prancing from the ashes into the navy sky.

“This little helper draws the must and dust into balls packed hard and tight in its pocket.” 

The man, a human with a whisper of a voice, reaches into his pocket and reveals several black balls rolling around in the palm of his hand.

“The balls are packed dense with all matter of material, but their favorite ingredient is the final one; one that alights the night and tracks the course for the flying beast.” Into the air, the man throws the orbs, and for a second, the entire Eliksni Quarter is silent as they watch with wonder at what will happen next.

At the peak of their tension: kids teetering on tippy toes and adults craning their necks, the balls explode! Loud whoops and bangs whiz in the air and the children rush with fright into the arm of their parents. One even jumps into the lap of the storyteller, gripping his outer robes.

His jubilant laugh rides above the noise as he shouts to them.

“The beast follows the lights to the northernmost city!”

Out of the dark nothingness came a sparkling pink light like fire flying into the bursts, illuminated by their glints. It was a great winged beast much like that of the fabled dragons from the Awoken histoire.

Holding the child in his lap tight, he swung his arm out in the air and the dragon dipped and wove through the sparks.

“With a raucous roar, it plunges to the earth in search of the one thing it desires most!”

The blasts left the children’s eyes open wide and unblinking. Oohs and ahhs fluttered throughout the crowd of Eliksni with their sights on the dragon rather than the lavender-haired man and his twirling fingers. As he described the swooping of the beast, so too did his hand, and therefore the beast. It dives down nearly touching the tops of the crowds’ heads. With the popping of firecrackers partially muted, everyone notices the dragon’s neon-like gait jumping from rooftop to rooftop. Children and adults alike are engrossed in the light above them. 

Several tots jump at the dragon’s hanging feet only to miss by millimeters. The beast roars and struggles in the air, twisting and turning about.

“Oh no!” The kids yell. “Is it okay? What’s wrong?”

Their storyteller's look sombers, his prior bravado fading as he addresses them.

“She is not okay,” he says. “She is looking for something that will help her. It only comes around in the winter months and provides a great relief to her fiery belly.”

“Is she hot?” The little one in the man’s lap looked up at him with each eye gleaming with interest and worry. “If her belly is full of fire, maybe she wants to cool down?”

With delight plastered on his face, the man nods and conducts his hand across the sky with careful guidance.

“That’s right. She flies all over the city each Dawning season, looking for a place to land. that will cool her fury. And when she finds it–” the dragon searches the Eliksni Quarter until she happens upon a large mound of white piled in a corner of the hold. She burrows into the snow, her pink light dimming until it is a faint, warm glow stretching to the ground around them. “...she is finally able to rest and no one has to be afraid anymore.”

Their daring adventure-turned-naptime causes several yawns in the young crowd below who seek to mimic the dragon in her snowy blanket.

“After a cold night’s sleep and you wake in the morning to frost on the ground, remember that it is because the dragon is sleeping peacefully. The frost is her blanket just as it is our delight to look at.”

Noise gone and children dazed by the fall of such a frighteningly beautiful creature, parents collect their young, give thanks to the storyteller, and leave to tuck them in for the night.

Eido scooches closer to the man. “I am overjoyed to hear your stories again, Palamon. It is like when we were in the wild. Your gift for fables remains unmatched.”

‘Palamon’ shakes his head whilst thanking her for the compliment. “That is an old name, Eido. Please call me Palm from now on.”

“My apologies,” she bows her head. “I am used to the Palamon from my childhood. Misraaks-kell often remembers you as Cain.”

Palm laughs, holding her youngling against his chest. “It seems we are all in the past tonight. I could have sworn I was holding you again as the curious little one you were was somehow transported to this fireside tonight.”

Eido joins with giggles. “I have indeed been transported back this evening thanks to you. Please stay so we can speak more of your long adventures.”

“Of course,” Palm obliges. “There is no greater joy than reuniting with old friends."

“Then we shall look forward to your company tomorrow and perhaps another of your tales,” Eido concurs, picking her young out of his lap and hoisting her into a warming pouch. “Sleep well and Happy Dawning, Palamo– Palm”

“Good night, Eido.”

Palm stays by the fire, keeping it fed while night descended and steadily-climbing ice frosted over the broken windows of the Eliksni Quarter’s home unit. The cold would not bite at them now.

Finally, Palm thought, they can enjoy the Dawning in peace.

Chapter Text

‘Stop moving!’

Kit fought his ghost’s fussing, tossing his arms around until he looked like a child denying his bedtime. “But… I want to… see the snow.”

Ghost loosed an electric grumble. ‘Dumbass, you did that for five hours and now you’ve got a fever that won’t go down!’ Ghost was absolutely adamant about getting Kit to shut up and rest, but his guardian wasn’t the type to listen without force. ‘This is the last time I’m saying it. Stop! MOVING !’ Ghost sent a zap straight into Kit’s face, knocking him back on the bed.

Tears welled up in Kit’s eyes, feigning the look of a puppy as he whined. “Why would you do that? I’m already sick. How cruel!”

‘Shut up and drink your tea.’

His body hurt, his head hurt, and now his face felt singed. So that was that. If Kit complained anymore, there was no way he could handle that little spark again. In response he sipped at the tea Ghost prepared for him, leaned back into his pillow, and burrowed under the covers so only the top of his head showed.

Beneath the duvet, Kit mumbled.  “Sorry… Ghost.” 

It drove Ghost up a wall to try and improve Kit’s lack of attention to his own well-being, but he couldn’t deny he was worried.

‘Don’t mention it. Just rest, okay?’

Getting sick, for a guardian like Kit who loved to be out and about, was worse than dying. Making the choice to suffer through a natural sick and healing cycle was crazy to some, but since their last vex gate visit, Kit was hesitant to let himself die without being certain he’d come back. Although in this way he was overly conscious of death, he remained reckless and now lay under heavy layers of bedding with the light of a lamp beside him. Kit was sick beyond his wits all because the first snowfall stuck to the ground and he wanted to see it up close. Correction: he wanted to play in it and did so for the aforementioned five entire hours in which he could’ve put on warmer clothes or gone inside for a break, but those kinds of thoughts didn’t reach his head until it was too late.

Admittedly, Kit was exhausted and dozed off soon after his tea was finished. Kit was foolhardy and spontaneous, but he easily succumbed to his limits, much to Ghost’s anticipation. Once the warlock was well on his way to dreamland, Ghost took the rare opportunity to enjoy the silence and tidy up around the home. It wasn’t until nighttime that he checked on his guardian’s condition. Kit’s room was dark. The lamp had run out and the cold at the windows threatened to peer inside. Kit was in the same position, wrapped like a present; hidden under the covers. 

Ghost took a vitals scan of his face and jumped back. He was on fire! In fact, Ghost couldn’t believe there weren’t flames leaping from his body at that very moment. Kit's temperature was so high that Ghost looked for molten brain coming out of his ears.

‘AH! Goddamnit, Kit. You–!” His electronic voice shook as Ghost rushed in a frenzy to every corner of the house, collecting towels, water, serums, and medicines from the city. He called whoever he could… Ikora, Perse, Crow…

Some were busy, and others rushed to help, asking the same question: why not revive him? Nonetheless, Ghost respected Kit’s wishes and worked tirelessly to help bring his fever down. Was it possible for ghosts to burn a circuit? It was quite possible if that ghost belonged to a certain stubborn Warlock.

Kit gasped in his sleep from the temperature and Ghost replaced wet towels on his forehead for him until he silenced once more.

It wasn’t until the middle of the night, after their visitors had all come and gone, that Kit’s eyes opened. His body still ached and was drenched in sweat, but Ghost lay on his chest as he took shallow breaths. His fever broke before Ghost laid on him else he'd surely still be mad-dashing around the room. The room was messy and hot, yet the curtains were drawn, so when Kit woke up, he saw the snow outside billowing in the city night lights. Slipping his hand out from under the covers, he placed it on Ghost and rubbed his thumb on the cool gold of his shell. 

‘Stupid, Kit.’

Kit chuckled, continuing to pet Ghost as the two dozed off, warm inside with the cold outside waving to them from the window.

Chapter Text

BOOM!!

A piercing shwoop sounded followed by the cracking of metal against stone. These noises which would’ve been muffled and mute in close-range were roaring like lions.

Abel watched from afar as one of the two men raised his rifle up and aimed for the horizon. He stayed in one position, put his finger up, pulled the trigger, and an arc-charged bullet raced from the chamber into the air toward a mountaintop. A minute of silence followed before that heart-gripping crack rang in the air again.

‘Having fun?’ She asked.

Cain turned and nodded his horned helmet in her direction.

“Look at this, Abel.” He said excitedly, motioning to his partner.

The man beside him in all black paid her no mind. Focused on the same point the bullet made contact, he didn’t lift up a weapon, rather, he steadied his hand over his shoulder and took an audible breath. Before their eyes, the man conjured a ball of void in his hand, letting it grow until it was over twice his height.

Abel saw nova bombs on the daily. She was intrigued, but not impressed... until that void bomb vanished. Only, it didn’t disappear; it had shrunk in an instant into a ball the size of a fingernail in the man’s palm. With just as much speed, the man launched the ball outward and it disappeared into the clouds.

She searched the sky for a trace of purple and found nothing. Then, mere seconds later, the crash of void ripped the sky in half, clearing the area of the snow clouds, and streaming violet from the top of the neighboring mountain. The blast sent a heavy gust of wind their way, whipping their clothes against them.

Abel hid behind Cain as the wind passed them by. When she looked over his shoulder, the sky was blue and the mountaintop ahead of them was… missing. A small stream of smoke rose and dissipated before their eyes.

The man turned to Cain, face covered by a helmet and impossible to read, but he seemed to want praise for the deed. 

Cain shook his head. “That was too much, Felwinter.”

The warlock stared him down.

"Abel could’ve been knocked over."

For a moment, Felwinter’s gaze shifted towards her. “It can fly,” he said.

This wasn’t anything new for the ghost, but she often wished that the Iron Lord would just once say her name.

Sensing the tension, Cain perked up to say something more when another sound met their ears like waves crashing and echoing in the mountain range. Cain ran toward the edge of the cliff, eyes peeled on the mountaintop which had gone through a huge makeover. Turns out it wasn’t finished. Felwinter joined them just in time to see the remaining snow from the upper part of the mountain crumble and fall at rapid speed.

Cain was especially flabbergasted. “The mountain! This really was too much! What if there was a city down there?”

Feltwinter looked away and responded while watching the avalanche from afar. “There is no city there.”

“Not this time…” A certain desperation was added to Cain’s tone. “Alright. You’ve shown off enough for today. Let’s just go back…”

The two left the mountain mess behind them and returned to the hall. Inside, Cain took up refuge in a stone chair near the window while Felwinter went straight for the stairs leading into the lower hall. However, Efrideet’s voice stopped him before he could disappear.

“You’re back,” she addressed them both. “What was all that noise earlier? A Warlord? If you needed backup, just call me.”

Felwinter lingered at the top of the stairs and shared a direct look with Cain.
“Mountain,” he said and disappeared downstairs.

Efrideet was taken aback. “What does that mean?” She asked Cain.

He held his book up high in front of his helmet. “No idea,” he lied.

Chapter Text

The Festival of the Harvest was a centuries-old tradition. Although Palm couldn’t recall his living memories, he certainly partook in the event before and after being risen and finding stability. Yes, stability. It was one of the most fickle concepts in the world. Was there ever a moment when one would be truly stable? Be completely rid of the tidal wave life wrought?

Palm spent many of his years pondering questions like this and found himself in the midst of a similar scene without end. One moment was solitude; the black void completely usurped of light and reason, and then the next; sat around a fire, a table, a podium, beside any number of people to keep him company. 

It was in these two scenarios which Palm found himself most. Desolate or desired, each brought its own solace. Even now, as he passed Eliksni-spun baskets of human-made bread across a makeshift table from an excavated Red Legion warcraft, he felt the call of every shadow, yet was simultaneously embraced by twinkling lights in city windows and strung up between balconies. So went every harvest: crops to their fullest potential and people to the height of their generosity and compassion, paired with a dooming question of: will we be here again next year?

The light and dark worked like this for an eternity and Palm found this answer during a very early Harvest Festival: the battle of Round River. Hardly worth mentioning in the history books, it was a battle Palm fought while he still held the name Cain.

That morning was pierced with ice invading his encampment. He’d camped out of the way of common roads and well on the tree side. He and Abel were woken one morning by the shrieks of men and women down the river. Warlords. The kind that didn’t care if they had people to rule. Cain avoided as many scuffles as he could with them, desperate to stay alive and forget the mortals who fell behind him. This morning; however, there was a strange smell in the air; a shift in the energy around them, so once Cain saw the blood coming from upstream, something told him to run and not away from the battle, but toward it.

Carried to the scene by his own two blasphemous feet, he saw what could only be described as a slaughter. Body parts scattered like fertilizer and blood drained into the water. Cain shook as a hot stream of energy flowed through him… rage. He was a Risen, wasn’t he? An immortal! And so were they!

Before Abel could advise, Cain rushed to where several warlords played with the remains of a child and her toy. They sent shots of indiscriminate light at anything that moved. Cain was next. The burst would hit him point blank, yet in a flash, Cain was above them, driving his heel into the back of one’s head. Pink sparks followed him and landed on the warlord’s shoulders, then in an instant, the sparks ignited and tore at them until they screamed and disappeared into ash.

Cain ran ahead, brandishing several small blades between his fingers. What was he doing? Fighting?! Now he’d have a target on his head! But instinct kept him moving right into the path of another warlord standing in the middle of town. This man was bigger and much more powerful, sporting the hides of several animals on his shoulders. Half were stained with orange.

With a cry, Cain threw his blades. They would’ve made a direct impact if they weren’t wrenched from the air by the man’s own fist. His face was shrouded, but it didn’t stop him from seeing exactly where the lightning-speed Risen was headed next. In a moment, Cain went from the air to face down in the dirt, held down by just the man’s hand. 

This was it. Death was imminent. He’d been a fool to think he could help anyone and not suffer for it. What a dreaded curse this was. Only, death didn’t come. A loudly-sniffing nose made its way across Cain’s arms and head, but no death came.

“You didn’t kill them.”

Cain was shocked to be alive while trapped by such a brute.

Abel quickly came to his aide. ‘Please let him go! Please don’t kill us! He just wanted to help!’

The man looked him up and down and released him. 

“Try throwing a grenade next time!”

It was the first time Cain had a warlord speak to him with advice. When he finally took a look around, humans were helping each other out of ditches and applying first aid treatments, and this man was actually standing on the body of a felled warlord! How embarrassing! Going berserk and then attacking a helper!

“I–” Cain failed to find the words.

The man crossed his arms across his broad chest. His stance was confident; awe-inspiring. “Shaxx.”

Slowly he sat up and bowed his head. “Cain.”

The rest was history. Cain stayed to clean and bury the dead, and on the same night, after so much sorrow, the town still prepared for a feast in celebration of their harvest.

So he didn’t do a whole lot of fighting at the battle for Round River but certainly took a beating from fate or whoever the Nine had to answer to.

“Look alive, Guardian.” Shaxx interrupted Palm’s memory. “There’s plenty more where that came from!” His voice faded toward a bowl of wild-grain stuffing.

Yes. the harvest brought a lot of memories back and it constantly begged the question of who or what might come after them next, but now was the time for happier memories and Palm recalled many happy moments next to Shaxx.

Like they did many years before, they ate beside the water as the sunset sky painted Round River red.

Chapter Text

“How often do we do this?

    “Mmm…” Lucky closed his eyes, leaving himself to the gentle sway of their steps together. “Not enough. Besides–” he cracked one eye open to peek at his dance partner. “–I’m tired of throwing people over my head.”

    Uldren chuckled. “I suppose your performances all end up that way.” Lucky’s reputation became somewhat of a dancing devil. He’d follow the pace of his opponent, and once they locked into the rhythm, he hoisted them overhead and claimed victory.

    “Don’t remind me,” sighed Lucky as he brought his temple to gently rest on Uldren’s shoulder.

Since they took most control of the Tangled Shore and didn’t need the big guns to sate the chaos every day, regular rank Wrath were deployed and Crows finally had time to spend with their family and friends. The same went for Uldren and Lucky, who’d taken up charge of a small squadron of Wrath under Petra’s advisal. It wasn’t much, but the work was enough to keep him busy and very tired. 

He still had issues sleeping at night and found a loss in his appetite after particularly gruesome battles; all things that Uldren understood as he experienced them himself. Nonetheless, he worried the boy was pushing himself too far for the sake of a dead woman, his aunt, but saying so was unwise.

“Lucky.”

Responding to the call, he raised his gaze. 

Uldren’s feet stalled as they stood still together, eyes twinkling under the garden lights strung to and fro across the yard and floating on the pond pods. Lucky waited for further explanation, eagerly searching the orange strands woven into Uldren’s gold irises.

When several moments passed and neither moved, Lucky put his head back on Uldren’s collar and began their dance again.

“Understood,” he murmured.

Falling back and forth to a silent rhythm, the two danced in the garden until the stars beckoned them forth.They sat on the edge of the upper island, looking up at the sky from beneath the blooming tree.

“Will we be able to do this forever?” Lucky asked. He leaned on the prince.

Uldren hummed. “If I have my way…” His gaze never once left Lucky. It was as if he’d disappear into foam at any moment, so he couldn’t look anywhere else. “... forever.” Carefully, he stroked his purple hair as the younger man showed the obvious nodding of sleep taking him.

When he finally looked at the stars, Uldren made a wish. How many times was he  told that wishes were dangerous and they most often brought misfortune? Despite that, he did so, and he stayed there under the twinkling night until he was certain his wish was heard by someone… anyone.

Chapter Text

“I guess this is it for a while.” Kit bent down and picked up more scattered leaves, carefully placing them over his tracks.

    ‘We’ll come back,’ assured Ghost. ‘It’s only until your lessons are over anyway.’

    Kit grimaced. He loved his current home so much. It was quiet and hidden and loud when he wanted it to be. No one but Perse and sometimes Crow came by, but that was about to change as Kit had a rental contract in the city so he’d be closer to Ikora and closer to what he was learning: to be a Hidden. When Ghost first heard about it, he laughed for a good hour and a half.

    ‘YOU? A HIDDEN?! BAHAHAHAHA!”

    “Really, Ghost?”

    ‘Can you blame me? You! One of the flashiest warlocks I’ve ever seen is going to be a Hidden: the most secretive group of warlocks under Ikora, never to be known or seen by the public eye. That’s so not you!’

    “I’m doing it anyway! I’m tired of feeling stupid and not being able to improve.”

    ‘You plateaued, Kit. You’ll get past it eventually.’

    “This is how I’m getting past it. I want to go back to learning. Back to when I knew what I was doing…”

    Ghost still had reservations about the whole thing, but once he saw how excited Kit was to pick out an apartment and collect books again, he knew it was the right choice.

    They shuffled through the forest floor, making it unnoticeable that anyone ever lived there. Fallen leaves and pinecones camouflaged the ground in front of the home and their security screen was helped by the cover of several fallen pine branches.

    The two already spent the week before moving essentials from home to apartment with a few special goodies in the mix, and now it was finally time to leave. Kit couldn’t stop staring at the door.

    “We’re going to come back,” he said. But there was a sort of sorrow in his voice that Ghost understood. They were leaving their home; the place that held all of their memories good and bad.

    Ghost nudged his shoulder, squinting his optical up like a smile would. ‘We’re going to come back.’

    Kit smiled, nodded to his ghost, and picked up the last little bit of their move. He turned and they walked away with their eyes fixed forward. They would come back.

Chapter Text

‘If we want any chance of making it,’ said Glint. ‘We need to stay close.’ 

He was well aware of Kit’s history with Uldren and was brought up to speed several times by a timid Crow who explained that they weren’t like that anymore and that Kit was completely over the prince. It was just such a strange thought that the Kit he came to know through Ikora was the formerly living, Lucky.

Of course, this brought its own kind of tension and added to their current predicament: staying warm using ding ding ding you guessed it!: each other . 

“There’s nothing we can do about it.” Kit's face darkened, but slowly, he closed the gap and put his arms around Crow.

“You’re cold!” Crow exclaimed.

Kit grumbled. “Well, yeah. I main void…”

Without his solar warmth, at least one of them would turn into a popsicle, and the quicker they avoided that, the better.

The hunter shivered both from Kit’s frigid embrace and from the awkwardness of their situation. However, the longer they stayed there, the more natural it felt. Soon, they were both warm and had a sure chance to leave the cave once morning came, but for that moment, those minutes flitting by, they kept warm.

In the midst of the silence, Crow spoke, letting the words come out of his mouth without hesitation.

“Kit… I want to tell you about why Uldren– Why I left after Oryx attacked. I want to tell you everything from before, just so you can know. Kit, I knew you when you were al–”

Crow couldn’t finish his sentence because it was interrupted by a soft snoring from behind him. Craning his neck to see, it turned out Kit had dozed off and was now sleeping soundly with his arms around the hunter as if he was some giant stuffed animal.

An immediate dread filled Crow from his gut to his chest. He almost told Kit about his past… about them. Why would he do that? They weren’t an item and Kit made it clear that he wasn’t going to try and find something with him when he very much still loved Uldren Sov. Even though it hurt a little, Crow understood, yet he wanted Kit to know so much… How was it fair for him to get these memories back and feel so conflicted while this silly warlock lived his life not having to know about everything he did in the life before this one? Crow tucked his head down. When he talked to Glint about his memories, he always felt so helpless and pathetic like he should’ve had everything figured out by now… but… 

He looked back again and met with Ghost’s open gaze.

“Ah! Ghost, did I wake you?”

‘No, Crow. I was listening… I know it’s hard to have those thoughts… but please don’t put them on Kit right now.’ He flew out to Crow’s front where he and Glint could see him. ‘He’s finally living on his own terms. He stopped sleeping around, he stopped hoarding strange things, he stopped drinking so much… Please…’

Crow’s face fell. “I’m sorry, Ghost,” he murmured. “I didn’t realize Kit was doing all of that. I didn’t mean to–” Compared to the man he was before, Crow really didn't know anything about Kit. What he did know was information almost anyone could point out and the last thing he wanted to do was force a history on Kit that wasn't his to give. He wasn't going to do what Savathun did to him.

"Can I do... something else?"

Ghost shook his shell. ‘Crow, Glint, in my eye, the best thing you can do for Kit right now is to just be his friend. Despite appearances, he doesn’t have a whole lot of those.’

Glint and Crow nodded. Sure it was awkward sometimes to think about what happened in the past, but Kit was a new person now, the same as Crow. He deserved to live how he wanted, so Crow cleared his thoughts on the matter and focused on the one thing he could do for Kit at that moment: keep warm.