I am here.

Occtis let out a short, unnecessary huff of breath and adjusted his grip. 

Julien sighed when he noticed that Occtis still held the sword like a wizard, all loose fingers and unsteady wrists as though expecting the weave of arcane energy to answer his motions instead of muscle.

He’d have to train that out of him if was going to be a remotely decent swordsman. Julien studied him for another heartbeat before giving a small shake of his head. The kids' feet were awkwardly distant from each other.

"Too wide."

Occtis glanced down at his feet.

"If someone gets close enough that you will have drawn a blade instead of casting, you've already lost precious seconds. Thinking is what will get you killed."

The warning had barely left Julien’s lips before he struck.

Occtis reacted on instinct and brought his sword up and clenched his eyes closed while wood cracked against wood with a hollow clack, the force of the impact jolting through his arms. Julien immediately stepped in behind the blow, driving forward until Occtis had to stagger backward to keep his feet under him.

"Better but your stance should hold up against a basic strike" Julien lowered his sword just enough to gesture at Occtis's legs. "You had too much weight over your front foot, you must lead with your non-dominate leg, it allows yourself to brace with your strongest."

He demonstrated, shifting into a guard stance with all of the finesse born from years of practice.

"Keep your knees loose. Your legs are springs, not fence posts. A swordsman with locked knees falls over the first time someone stronger leans into him."

Occtis refined his stance and rocked gently between his feet until his weight settled naturally beneath him.

Julien gave a single nod.

"Again.” He raised his own blade. "Keep your point on me. Guard your center line. If you drop your sword, you've invited mine to strike."

Julien rolled his shoulders, "Attack."

This time Occtis stepped in without hesitation. The strike came straighter, aimed squarely at Julien's chest.

Julien smiled, almost imperceptibly, before he pivoted on his heel, and let the blade slip harmlessly past him.

"There we are.” Julien said and settled back into his guarded stance. “Again.”

Occtis reset his feet and lunged once more, faster this time. His wooden blade hissed through the air with enough force that Julien heard the whistle of the practice blade before the strike hit; he deflected it easily even though the impact rattled down through his wrist. “Better, but reckless. Strikes are not about brute strength, the power of your strike comes from the ground.”

To hone in his point Julien struck out at Occtis, the boy’s blade rising to deflect the strike but Julien pivoted at the last second, pushing with his back leg to rotate his hip for his strike, and smacked Occtis on the backside when the he fumbled forward awkwardly a few steps.

The expected complaint never bubbled from Occtis and Julien frowned before resetting. “We go again.”

Occtis adjusted his grip on the practice sword and his feet quickly found the stance Julien had been drilling into him the last few hours. The movements were becoming automatic now; feet just wider than shoulder width, left foot forward, right hand under the hilts guard, left hand near the pommel. 

Julien nodded in approval and settled his wooden sword in front of him with a furrowed brow at the gaunt look he saw in Occtis’ eyes. The normally vibrant eerie green of his undeath now a dulled lime color in the bright mid-day sun. Julien pursed his lips and quickly stepped forward with a sharp thrust towards Occtis’s ribs.

Occtis caught the strike a fraction too late causing the force of the impact to skid the wooden blades apart in a shrill scrape that set Julien’s teeth on edge. 

“Watch my shoulders,” Julien reminded him. “The sword follows the body.”

He expected a nod or some sort of absentminded acknowledgement but instead his only answer was another attack.

He met the attack with a harsh breath, the strike had carried far more weight than before. Occtis was still relying on muscle where technique failed him. It was a good way to get himself disemboweled in an actual sword fight. Julien redirected the blade and expected Occtis to recover and reset his footing; instead, the kid pushed.

Julien braced for the impact, the wooden blade slammed against his own with heavy force; he redirected the blow but Occtis had already recovered and was coming at him again this time with hunched shoulders and a snarl.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Julien back pedaled and stepped away from the wild swing and by the time he righted Occtis was already turning to strike once more, the kid’s chest heaving with needless breaths and sword raised.

Julien tried to disengage but Occtis struck hard towards his center and forced him to push back or risk some very uncomfortable splinters. “Easy, Occtis.”

But the quiet warning went unheeded and the next strike whistled through the air, reckless and utterly uncoordinated. Julien parried, feeling the jolt of the clash travel up his arm; he watched as Occtis’s footwork, which had been improving, faltered and drove him heedlessly forward.

Julien caught the next blow on instinct and winced when his shoulder jarred from the sloppy strength behind it. He shoved Occtis back hoping to get him to readjust his footing, or force him into a recovery posture but the boy kept coming. 

One strike flowed into the next with every swing being overcommitted with no thought how to defend every glaring opening Occtis left himself exposed to. 

Julien sidestepped another wild cut and smacked Occtis on his shoulder hoping the move would jar him back into thinking. “If I’d had a real blade, you’d already be dead.”

He waited for the stuttered answer wrapped in sarcasm to come but there was none. Julien frowned and gave another measured step backward even as Occtis rounded on him sword raised. Every strike grew more sloppy, the technique he’d spent the last several hours drilling into Occtis disappeared beneath something heavier than the exhaustion of repetitive practice. 

Julien sighed, he’d seen this before, when technique gave way to emotion. He’d seen it when young recruits would receive word from home, when soldiers would recognize enemies across the battlefield – men who struck not to survive but because they wanted, needed, someone to hurt as badly as they did.

“Occtis-...” Julien started but another overhead strike cut him off and forced him to absorb the blow with his bracers or risk a knock to the head. 

Occtis shoved as hard as he could against Julien’s block and Julien let him try to break through for a moment before he shoved him away. He noticed that while Occtis had no need for breath his chest was rapidly rising and falling, catching in his airway in a stuttered puff of false air; his jaw had locked so tightly the muscles undulated beneath his taught pallid skin and his knuckles had gone bone white around the hilt of the practice sword, his focus on something far away.

“Oh, kid.” Julien murmured in understanding; he’d seen this before on men after someone they loved had passed on. 

Occtis shouted and drove forward barely giving Julien time to lower his center of gravity to catch the next strike squarely and parry before redirecting.

The next exchange lasted only a few seconds, a fast strike with a fumbled follow through that Julien parried and redirected once more. 

Again and again and again Occtis attacked before he finally stumbled, his foot catching on some invisible object on the ground forcing him to one knee. 

Julien’s breath was harsh, sweat running down his face and stinging his eyes and for one fragile moment he had the grace to think it was over before Occtis shoved himself up, wooden sword left forgotten on the grass, with a scream that echoed through the training yard.

Julien dropped his own practice sword and brought his hands up in time to catch Occtis’s fists and shoved. Another strike followed immediately by another one. Julien met each punch worried that whatever was trying to claw its way from Occtis would only be stopped when Occtis had nothing left in him. 

Another wild strike came and this time the impact was wrong, Julien tried to pivot but instead he ended up catching Occtis’s wrist on his bracers with a sickening crunch staring in shock as Occtis’s hand fell limp but he didn’t slow down. 

Julien blinked and side stepped another strike watching as Occtis either ignored or didn’t feel his broken wrist and decided the lesson was over what ever was eating at Occtis wasn’t worth breaking the kids body over. 

When the next hit came, Julien stepped inside the strike instead of meeting it; the punch went wide past his shoulder and he rotated beneath Occtis’s arm, one hand catching Occtis’s broken wrist while his other settled firmly between the kids shoulder blades. 

With a shift of weight he turned Occtis, his hip blocking Occtis’s attempt to break free. With a grunt he pinned Occtis’s free arm between his chest and Occtis’s back while he wrapped his arm tight around Occtis’s chest careful to bring his other hand in tight in an awkward reverse bear hug. 

“Easy.” He tried to keep his voice calm but Occtis tried to lurch forward anyways but Julien held strong. “I’ve got you.”

Occtis twisted harder, his feet leaving the ground to try and kick at Juliens shins and knees forcing Julien to tightening his hold. “Enough.”

“No!” The word tore from Occtis’s throat and he bucked violently, his head cracking against Julien’s cheek.

Julien grunted from the impact but didn’t loosen his hold. “Occtis enough.”

Occtis either didn't hear him or didn't care, his legs continued to kick wildly, pulling uselessly against the hold on his broken wrist. Julien adjusted his grip and did his best to keep him pinned down, one arm locked tightly across Occtis’s chest while the other kept the damaged limb immobilized against his body.

“They never…” Occtis swallowed hard and his lips parted again. “I was j-just…useful. A tool made from their own blood. Their means to an end.”

He slammed his head back again, trying to break free. Julien turned his face away from the blow this time, taking it on the shoulder instead. 

“I kept thinking…” Occtis’s words came in ragged bursts between his struggles. “I kept thinking if I worked harder, learned faster, became powerful enough–I…they’d finally. Fuck!” 

He bucked against Julien’s hold once more before seeming to deflate. 

“I was never their son.” His voice cracked completely, body heaving. “I was just–just a thing they were making.”

The energy drained from him as he sagged in Julien’s hold, head bowed with a black watery substance trailing from his eyes. “They never wanted me, they wanted what I could become. If–if it hadn’t been for Thjazi and Thimble.”

Occtis looked up towards the sunny sky, letting his head rest against Julien’s shoulder. “Gods only know what I would’ve become. Their perfect little celestial, dutiful, empty, nothing.”

He snorted and rolled his head to stare off into the woods that surrounded the yard. “Without Thaisha I wouldn’t even know what a mother’s love even was. Just cold orders and inordinate expectations. And now I’ll…I’ll never get the chance.”

Julien swallowed and loosened his grip just enough to turn Occtis toward him. The younger man rested his head against Julien’s collarbone. Black tears stained his cheeks, streaking across Julien’s shirt. His broken hand still lightly clutched in Julien’s own.

The bruise blooming across Julien’s cheek throbbed with every heartbeat as he leaned down to hear Occtis.

“I’ll never…” Occtis’s voice caught. “I’ll never get to have children.”

The words seemed to surprise him and Occtis squeezed his eyes closed. “I wanted… I wanted to be everything my father wasn’t and-and now…I…”

“They stole it.” His shoulder shook and Julien tightened his hold, concerned Occtis was crying but instead he heard laughter bubbling up from the half hidden face.

“I wanted to grow old.” Occtis barked a laugh so loud it made Julien’s ears ache. “I wanted aching knees, gray hair. Gods below… I wanted to complain about growing up.”

The laughter gave way to a sob. “And they stole it.”

In the quiet that followed Julien looked at the young man in his arms. In the craziness of the last few weeks he’d missed just how young Occtis truly was. The anger had made him seem older, the confidence with how he weaved his magic, the impossible responsibility he seemed to carry since Julien had met him, and the quiet way he always seemed to put everyone else’s needs ahead of his own – which now he realized was most likely a learned response to placate his family's anger – had painted Occtis as a peer.

But here with black splotches staining his cheeks, he looked so painfully young. 

His face was still soft around the edges despite everything his death and rebirth had stolen from it. There wasn’t a single line earned from age, only the hollow exhaustion of someone who’d been surviving instead of living. His shoulders were slender, not yet filled into the way they might have been in another decade. He should have been worrying about making foolish mistakes, concerned about finishing his schooling at the Penteveral and annoying Murray with his incessant questions; worried about first loves and finding his place in this fucked up world they inhabited… not mourning a life he’d never be allowed to live.

Julien’s jaw tightened and he swallowed against the anger he could feel building in his chest. House Tachonis hadn’t simply raised a future possible weapon, they had taken a boy, stripped away every chance he had to discover who he wanted to become and taught him his worth was measured only by what he could give.

Julien had buried boys not much older than Occtis but they had marched willingly into battle believing they were men. Occtis had never even been given the dignity of choosing his battlefield.

He shook Occtis to gain the younger man’s attention. He waited until Occtis looked at him. “You think your future to be gone.”

Occtis laughed bitterly, “It is.”

“No.” Julien answered without hesitation. “It is just one you did not foresee. Those are two very much different things.”

He watched Occtis’s expression scrunch in confusion. “My family…”

“Is who you choose to surround yourself with. Blood does not make a family.”

“They would’ve killed Thimble.”

Julien nodded. “I know.”

“They’d have used Thaisha.”

“I know” 

“They killed Thjazi.”

Julien’s jaw tightened trying his best to ignore looking at his shadow. “I know.”

“So, why…”

“Because they are assholes who crowned themselves kings in place of gods.”

“There has to be a better answer than filling the vacuum of power.” Occtis said with a shake of the head. “Th-there has to be, there has to be some grandiose reason.”

Julien looked at Occtis for a long moment before sighing. “There probably will never be an answer that will justify their actions.”

The words hung between them and Julien took a deep breath. “And you have three by the way.”

“Three?”

“You counted wrong back at Obrimus Manor.”

Occtis looked confused at his statement, so he held up his free hand, the one not grasping Occtis’s broken limb.

“Thimble.” One finger rose.

“Thaisha.” A second.

“And me.” A third.

Occtis opened his mouth to say something then closed it.

“As long as I draw breath, you will always have three.”

Occtis simply stared even as Julien shrugged a shoulder. “You think I spent all afternoon getting the piss beat out of me because I needed the exercise?”

Despite everything, a watery snort escaped Occtis. 

Julien latched onto the noise with a half grin. “There is that insufferable know it all that I’ve come to be acquainted with.”

Occtis cleared his throat with an apology on the tip of his tongue.

“Don’t apologize for grieving.” Julien looked at Occtis’s hand and sighed. “Let’s get you patched up.”

Julien let go of Occtis and bent to retrieve the forgotten practice sword. He held it out to Occtis who hesitated staring at his limp hand.

“Use the other hand.” Julien advised.