Writing.

First Card: The Wheel of Fortune

*The Wheel of Fortune: Symbolic of changes in motion. The Wheel goes ever round and round, what goes up comes down and vice versa. Changes are inevitable but not always bad. The Wheel of Fortune also represents fate or destiny.

It’s one of the slow evenings spent around the big fire at the heart of the camp, the low crackling of the flames a steady background noise. The sun has set a while ago, but no one’s in a hurry to leave.

“That’s it, I’m folding!” Demyx throws his cards down in defeat.

Vexen looks over to where the younger blond has been playing poker with Axel, Xigbar, and Larxene. “You could have known playing poker of all things against Axel of all people wasn’t the smartest idea,” he remarks dryly.

Xig rumbles a laugh. “Don’t need a fortune teller ta read Demyx, tho.”

Axel grins, patting his friend’s shoulder. “Sorry, Dem. You’re an open book.”

Demyx pouts. “You guys are so mean sometimes,” he says, mock-hurt. He clutches his chest melodramatically. “I thought we were friends!”

“There are no friends in poker, Sunshine.” Larxene sighs. “I’m folding. This is going nowhere… At least we’re not playing for breakfast duty this time.”

Demyx shivers. “Yeah, you’re not going near spices and food ever again.”

Larxene sticks her nose up. “You guys are just weak. That was perfectly edible.”

The banter goes on while Axel and Xigbar finish the round. The gruff man is way more perceptive than others give him credit for, and he’s good at reading tells himself, but in the end it’s not enough. To be fair, Axel has been reading fortunes for roughly two years now, and he’s been reading people even before that.

When he, inevitably, to be honest, wins, Xigbar shrugs easily. “Fair ‘nough, I guess. Knew who I was playin’.” He grins wolfishly. “If I wanted ta see ya lose, I’d watch ya play Luxord at chess.”

Axel hums. “Still don’t know how he does it… It’s like he’s planned for everything before he even starts playing.”

Demyx snorts. “And that’s surprising why…? I mean, he’s Luxord,” he says as if that were explanation enough, which it kind of is. The troupe master is a force of his own: always calm, always deliberate, and always three steps ahead.

Larxene nods. “Yeah,” she says. “I swear he’s got a sixth sense. Always turns up out of the blue where he’s needed.”

They sit in silence for a while, watching the fire dance, enjoying the evening peace and each other’s easy company.

Now that they’re done playing, Axel pulls out his deck purely out of habit, shuffling it lazily and fanning the cards. Firelight catches on the gold edges, and under the flickering of flames the cards look almost alive.

He doesn’t know what draws his eyes toward the tent flap beyond the firelight. Maybe it’s the faint rustle of wind against canvas, maybe something quieter, or something older. Whatever it is, it makes him pause mid-shuffle. He looks closer, stilling. It’s the tent where they keep extra blankets and bedding. Spare props. Costume pieces that don’t fit in the main wagons and aren’t needed at the moment.

“What’s up, kiddo?” Xigbar asks, watching him.

Axel blinks, realizing he’s been staring into the dark. “Nothing…” he says slowly, distracted, the words thinning out. “Just… thought I heard something.” He stands, taking half a step around the fire.

Larxene lifts an eyebrow. “If it’s another raccoon raiding the supplies, you’re on watch duty, Red.”

But Axel’s not really listening anymore. The feeling of something tugging at him, the familiar instinct that’s guiding all his readings and hasn’t failed him once yet… It doesn’t lessen—it grows.

His cards are warm in his hands, almost humming with something unspoken he couldn’t put into words if he tried. He fans them, eyes flickering across their backs until one seems to call to him. He turns it over: the Tower.

Behind him, the conversation picks back up as he studies the card; they’re used to his moods, to the way the world seems to shift around him when he’s in one. The Tower always speaks of change; the sudden kind, the collapse of something old to make way for something new.

It’s not fear that stilled him before, and it’s not fear that sets him into motion now; it’s a quiet certainty that something is coming. Something is changing and it feels as if his cards were pulling at him to see for himself what it is.

“Where you going, Ax?” Demyx calls out, frowning. He’s rarely seen Axel like this. Distant, thoughtful, yes, but not to this extent.

“Nowhere far,” the redhead says, quietly. “Just… a feeling. Be right back.” 

He crosses over to the tent that’s caught his attention as if in half a trance. With every step away from the fire the world darkens, softens, and his eyes adjust. He pulls open the tent flap, peering in. What little light from the fire is spilling in deepens the shadows and it takes a moment for Axel to make out shapes. He sees the props, crates with costumes, there are the baskets holding the blankets; and there, half behind one of those, crouches another silhouette, one that doesn’t belong.

It's a kid, he thinks, and then the shadow moves. It springs forward, the clumsy lunge carrying more panic than strength. Axel’s body moves before his mind catches on, pure muscle memory after countless sparring matches with Xigbar. He takes half a step back to dodge, raising his hands in a defensive stance that he immediately relaxes when the kid’s momentum sends them tumbling to the floor.

“Whoa—easy, there,” Axel says, voice calm but firm. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

The kid scrambles up, then freezes; chest heaving, eyes darting wildly between Axel and the empty space behind him as if desperately searching for a way out. Now that he’s closer, Axel can make out that it’s a boy: scrawny, dark hair mussed and wearing a tattered, too-big coat, but a boy nonetheless. He’s holding his wrist, probably hurt it when he fell.

It takes no genius to read him; the way he holds himself—ducked, ready to bolt or attack Axel isn’t sure—the way his gaze darts around from baskets to crates to Axel and behind him, fear oozing from him. He looks closer to a frightened, cornered animal than a boy. He’s still breathing heavily, close to hyperventilating.

Slowly, Axel lifts his hands, palms open. “Not gonna hurt you,” he repeats, pitching his voice somewhere between steady calm and gentle warmth. “I’m gonna move, okay?” He waits a moment before he steps to the side so he’s not blocking the entrance anymore. As soon as he does, wild eyes zero in on the tent flap. With a nervous lick of his lips the boy stills—then bolts for it.

The next Axel hears is a thud, then Xigbar’s voice. “Whoa there!”

Axel’s halfway out of the tent when he sees them: Xigbar standing just beyond the flap, one hand half raised in reflex from when the boy slammed straight into him. The kid’s fallen backward onto the floor, scrambling away so fast he nearly trips over himself and his too-long coat.

“Hey, easy,” Xigbar says, voice low. He glances at Axel. “Friend o’ yours, kiddo?”

“Not yet,” Axel answers quietly.

The boy’s breathing quickens again, wild eyes darting between them, frantically searching for a way out. He looks ready to run if either of them so much as twitches wrong.

Axel takes a careful step toward the fire, close enough that the boy can see his face more clearly. “You’re okay,” he says softly. “You’re not in trouble, buddy.”

The words earn him a sharp look; calculating, wary, like it’s all a trap, one he’s fallen for before. The boy clutches his wrist tighter, pulling the sleeve of that tattered coat down. It’s instinct, probably, hiding a perceived weakness, yet the motion is what draws Axel’s eyes to it.

Behind them, the others have noticed. The fire’s crackle fills the quiet, then Dem’s uncertain voice calls over: “Uh… we got company?”

Larxene rises halfway, but Axel gestures for them to stay put. “It’s fine,” he murmurs, looking back at the boy. Is he talking to them, or him, or both?

He crouches, lowering himself to the boy’s level without closing the distance, each movement deliberate, as non-threatening as he can manage. He catches the boy’s gaze, holds it for a few seconds until it flits away again. “You hurt?” he asks, softly.

The boy doesn’t answer. Axel can see his throat work once, but no sound comes out.

He nods slowly, taking that as an answer in and of itself. “Okay,” he says. “Tell you what. There’s a fire over there, and some food left from supper. There’s some bread and stew that’ll go bad by tomorrow, but we’ve already eaten.” He gives him a small grin. “It’d actually help if you could eat some, you could sit by the fire where it’s warmer, too.” He catches the boy’s gaze again, because this next part is really important. “You don’t have to do anything, and nobody is gonna touch you unless you tell us to.”

Still nothing. But the boy hesitates, pauses just for a second, his eyes flicking toward the glow and warmth of the fire.

Xigbar looks on, then mutters, half to Axel, “Kid’s cold, ‘n scared shitless.”

“No joke,” Axel replies softly. Then, to the boy: “My name is Axel, and this is Xig. What’s yours, buddy?” No answer; alright then, he won’t push. “You don’t have to trust me, or any of us. Just… don’t run off into the woods or anything, okay? You’ll freeze before morning.”

The boy’s lips press tight. Another heartbeat, then he gives a single, jerky nod.

Axel gives him a smile, open and honest. “Thank you.” He stands, slowly, and looks at Xigbar. “C’mon, let’s get back to the others.” They make their way back and Axel sits with his back to where they’ve left the boy, projecting calm. At the same time he listens for movement from behind. When he finally hears the rustle of clothes, hesitant steps coming closer, he quietly exhales in relief.

He pushes the pot with the leftover stew over, away from the others. Demyx hands him a bowl he puts next to it. Axel sits back and pulls out his coin (the one he’s been carrying for years, ever since he was the skittish boy about to bolt), rolling it idly over his knuckles.

Keep it, Luxord had said, for practice… or luck, if you prefer stories over effort. When Axel had asked, flabbergasted, Why?, he’d held his gaze, smiling. Because everybody deserves to hold a little of both. He hadn’t understood, back then, had still been trying to figure out the price of it all, but now he sees it from the other side.

The fire crackles, steady and soft. Axel watches the sparks drift up into the dark and doesn’t turn when the footsteps stop a few paces behind him.

“Still some left,” he says, keeping his tone casual, nodding toward the pot. “You can grab a bowl. It’s nothing fancy, but it should still be a little warm.”

A beat of silence. Then the faint clinking of metal, a rustle of fabric. Axel catches the sound of a spoon scraping against the pot. He smiles to himself and pretends he doesn’t notice, still rolling the coin over his knuckles, slow and steady.

Larxene’s voice, for once, is quiet. “Guess we’ve got another stray,” she murmurs.

“Seems so,” Xigbar replies, voice light and eyes watchful.

Axel leans back a little, glancing sidelong. The boy is crouched near the fire now, bowl in both hands, coat sleeves hanging over his fingers. He eats like he expects someone to take the food from him; quick, careful, eyes still flitting around nervously.

Axel doesn’t move. “Better?” he asks softly, after a few minutes.

The boy doesn’t answer, but his shoulders loosen by a fraction. He nods, once, barely noticeable.

One by one, the others begin to drift off. Larxene is the first to rise, stretching and muttering something about needing actual sleep if she doesn’t want to kill someone in the morning. Demyx yawns, wide enough that it looks like it hurts, rubbing his eyes. “Night, guys,” he mumbles before wandering off in the direction of their shared tent. Even Xigbar eventually pushes himself to his feet with a grunt, tossing a last look at Axel over the fire, a silent you’ve got this, kiddo, before heading off.

The fire settles lower, soft embers pulsing in the darkness.

Axel and the boy are the only ones left. The night feels kind of… bigger with just the two of them. But the boy is still sitting close to the fire, bowl empty now but held tight in his hands as though he’s not quite ready to give it back. He’s not running, at least for now. Instead, his eyes keep darting toward Axel’s hand, where the coin is still dancing back and forth over his knuckles, catching the firelight every now and then.

Axel notices, of course. He lets the coin roll between his fingers one more time, then holds it, palm up, smiling calmly. “Wanna see?”

The boy hesitates, caught between suspicion and curiosity. Axel remembers the feeling so clearly as if he himself found the troupe just yesterday. He remembers constantly asking himself when the other shoe would drop, when they’d show their true colors, what price he’d have to pay for their kindness. Thankfully, just like him, the boy’s curiosity wins after all. His fingers brush Axel’s palm, quick and uncertain, before he snatches the coin and holds it close.

Axel lets the boy turn the coin in his fingers. It looks bigger in his hands, too big, almost, glinting each time it catches stray sparks of firelight. They’re quiet, for a while, the night settling around them like it holds its breath.

“Pretty, huh?” Axel asks softly, barely breaking the silence. The boy nods before he catches himself doing it, eyes darting up as if he’s afraid he’s given something away. Axel keeps his smile steady and honest. “I think so, too, buddy. Got it a long time ago, from my teacher.”

“Teacher?” The boy’s voice is rough, from disuse, maybe, and there’s a sliver of surprise flickering over his face as if he didn’t mean to talk.

Axel nods, looking over at the fire and the sparks dancing above it. “Yeah… He taught me a lot, and it all started with that coin. So it’s really important to me.”

The boy freezes. His fingers tighten around the coin, then jerk open as if burned. “I—I’m sorry,” he blurts, voice cracking, eyes wide. He scrambles, makes as if to hand it back, panic flashing across his face.

“Hey, hey, easy—” Axel says quickly, raising his hands in a small gesture of peace. “It’s okay, buddy. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He keeps his tone light, soothing, even as his heart breaks a little at the reaction and another boy, not much older, it reminds him of. “If I didn’t want you to touch it, I wouldn’t have offered, yeah?”

The boy hesitates, staring at him like he’s trying to find the catch. Slowly, uncertainly, he lowers the coin again.

Axel gives him a smile, soft and easy. “Tell you what, how about you hang onto it a bit longer? I trust you. Just give it back in the morning. Deal?”

That gets him a startled look, caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief, but the boy nods anyway, fingers curling around the coin again. He keeps the coin clutched to his chest even as sleep starts tugging at him; Axel can see it from the corner of his eye, the slow droop of his shoulders, the way his head jerks back up each time it starts falling forward. He’s trying so hard to stay awake, to stay alert, to not let himself be that vulnerable.

Axel recognizes the stubbornness—it used to be his.

The fire has burned low, soft enough that shadows weave lazily across the ground. Axel waits until the boy’s blinking slows into long, heavy pauses before he speaks.

“Hey, buddy… you look tired.”

No response, just the small, quiet fight of someone who’s learned that sleep can be dangerous and hasn’t accepted its inescapability quite yet. 

Axel shifts, as slowly as he can manage. “You can sleep,” he adds gently. “I’ll stay right here and keep watch. Nobody’s gonna touch you.”

The boy’s eyes flick toward him; checking, searching, trying to decide if he’s lying now. Whatever he sees must be enough, or maybe he’s just realizing he can’t fight off sleep much longer. The next time he blinks, he doesn’t quite open his eyes all the way again.

Axel waits a minute longer. Two. Three.

Then he pushes himself to his feet and steps lightly toward the supply tent. Luxord would be proud of him; he’s not making any sound. He returns with a blanket for each of them, putting one down where he’s been sitting before stepping over to the boy. He crouches beside him, moving slowly, trying to telegraph every motion just in case he’s still awake enough to notice.

“Got you a blanket so you don’t freeze, okay?” he whispers. “Everything’s alright.”

The boy doesn’t flinch or shoot up again, so maybe sleep has already claimed him fully. He drapes the blanket over him gently, tucking it in at the shoulders. It’s a soft, instinctive gesture he just now remembers from his own first night at Emberlight. He still doesn’t know who did it for him; maybe Xigbar or Luxord. What he does remember is waking up to it, feeling the warmth and the safety it promised. He just hopes it will be the same for the boy.

Axel stays beside him for a while, watching the way sleep slowly smooths the tension on his face. With the fire’s glow brushing across his features, he looks even younger, more vulnerable.

After a moment, Axel exhales and sits back, pulling his deck from his pocket. The cards feel warm in his hands; not from magic, but from meaning. From habit. From comfort. As always, their weight calms him. He shuffles in silence, letting the night guide him.

His eyes flick over to the sleeping form next to him. “One card for him,” he murmurs under his breath. He draws one, placing it face up in front of him. 

Footsteps come closer and suddenly there’s a guy in front of him, messy blond hair sticking out under the hood of a raincoat. What’s alerting Axel more is the lantern he’s holding—seriously, a lantern? In this day and age? He flinches away from the fire before he can think, then flinches again when his back hits the crate he’s been leaning against.

“Whoa, easy! Didn’t mean to scare you, honest!” He speaks quickly, rambling. “You just—uh—you’re… really pale. And wet. Holy shit, you look like you’re dying or something!”

“’m fine,” Axel mutters. Don’t be weak now, come on, just get up. “I’ll leave…” But his legs won’t obey him, his back burns, his body starting to tremble.

The blond holds up his hands as if in surrender, as if Axel were the one threatening. The lantern swings wildly, catching Axel’s full attention. “No, no, don’t! I mean—you’re in the wrong tent, yeah? We have actual people tents and you’re in cargo! Not, like, tents made of people, tents for—“

He closes his mouth as if realizing that he’s not making much sense. Before Axel can say something else, though, there’s another flap of canvas and another silhouette, bigger and broader, cuts in front of the light. The voice is deep, a low drawl, and gruff.

“Demyx, why you talkin’ to a drowned rat?” he asks, coming into the light. Long hair tied in a ponytail, an eyepatch over one eye; he’s looking like a super soldier or something. And Axel still can’t make his legs work.

“He’s not a rat!” Demyx protests. “He’s—he’s a person. I think. Look at him, Xig!”

The big guy, Xig, does, and Axel feels like he’s sizing him up. “Looks a bit like a rat to me,” he says. “Though there might be a boy under the rat if we treat ‘im right.”

Axel frowns. “I don’t need charity,” he grinds out. “Sorry for disturbing you, I’ll just leave.” Again, his legs won’t obey him.

“I don’t need charity, sorry for disturbing you,” Xig parrots. “What’re ya, a prince or summin’? Anyway, ya don’t look like yer going anywhere soon.”

Now Axel is glaring. “I said I’m fine.”

The big man has the gall to laugh at that, crossing his arms. “Sure you are. ‘n I’m a flyin’ purple elephant.”

Demyx glances between them, chewing his lip. “Uh… Xig? Should we, like, get him off the floor? Can’t be good sitting in a puddle… Can it?”

Xig sighs. “Prolly not.” He thinks for just a moment, then reaches out and hauls one of the crates closer. “C’mon, kiddo. Sit on that so ya don’t drown.”

Axel weakly protests but lets himself be manhandled onto the crate. For a man that size, radiating such gruffness, Xig’s hands are surprisingly gentle where they need to be. It does feel better to sit on the crate, not that he’ll admit it.

“Good. Dem, go find ‘im a blanket before he freezes. ‘n maybe some o’ that leftover stew.”

Demyx nods, clearly relieved Xig is taking charge like that, and before Axel knows it, he’s out of the tent. A moment later he comes back and hangs his lantern on a hook so they don’t sit in the dark before ducking out again. Axel is glad it’s farther away now and not in the hands of a waving madman who seems to have no clue about how dangerous fire can be.

The tent feels smaller without him, quieter. Silence spreads, Xig studying Axel for a few seconds that drag far too long.

“Yer bleeding through yer shirt,” he finally says. “Care ta tell me ‘bout that before we scare Demyx?”

Axel freezes. He’s not talking about that night with a total stranger. He’s not even thinking about it if he doesn’t have to. “It’s nothing,” he says, but he can’t meet the other man’s eyes. “I’ll be fine.” Who’s he trying to convince, with his voice shaking like that?

Xig just shrugs. “Suit yerself.” A pause. “Ya have a name, at least?”  

Axel hesitates. Is it bad to give some rando his name when Father may be searching for him? “…Does it matter?”

Another shrug. “Eh. Only if I needa yell it if ya pass out. Yer holding on well, tho.”

Axel is tired, tired of running, tired of the pain, tired of thinking… “Axel,” he says, before he can find a reason not to.

The bigger man just nods. “Nice ta meetcha. Name’s Xigbar. Call me Xig, everybody does anyway. The chatterbox is Demyx. Yer at the Emberlight Circus, in case ya missed the sign outside.”

“Didn’t exactly come in through the front door,” Axel mutters, wincing as he shifts. His wet clothes are clinging to him, and he has to fight to keep from chattering.

“Yeah, I noticed. Not the first stray ta wander in, won’t be the last.” Xig picks up a wrench from a nearby table and starts idly turning it in his hand. “Yer safe for now. Nobody here’s gonna ask questions. Not unless ya start causin’ trouble.”

Demyx reappears with a blanket draped over one arm and a dented tin cup in the other. “Here! It’s, uh, kind of cold, but still food.” He startles when he hands him the blanket and sees Axel’s back for the first time. “What the fuck! Your back—! Is that blood?!”

“Relax, kiddo,” Xigbar cuts in. “He’ll be fine. One thing at a time.” His matter-of-fact tone—just how can he be so sure?—does seem to help, even though Axel is rather concentrated on the food.

He blinks at the offering. “…You’re really giving that to me?”

Demyx shrugs, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “I mean… yeah? We’re not monsters. Well, except Xigbar before coffee, but that’s a whole different story.”

“Watch it, kid.”

The banter feels strange, almost comforting. Axel doesn’t want it to. He pulls the blanket tight around his shoulders and hunches forward, staring into the stew like it might bite him.

“Don’t get too cozy,” Xig says, though his voice has softened. “We’ll see what Vexen can do about yer back; he’s kind of a doctor, knows how ta help usually. Then ya can decide if yer stickin’ around. Pay us back with some grunt work once yer better.”

“I’m not staying,” Axel says automatically.