A Compilation of Nonsense

            An honest yawn shows off pointed canines while the man attempts to rouse himself enough to shuffle to his next class.

            “Thanks,” he grumbles, shoving the mane from his face. A fist rubs at the dull ache.

            “Y’know, I’ve been curious,” the prefect hums.

            Leona gives the powerless human only half his attention as he stands. That is, until the question demands it.

            “How did you get that scar?”

            Ice crawls beneath his skin, threatening to arrest all function. His consciousness attempts to recede into darkness triggering his demeanor to act on autopilot—a routine he programed to run amidst his disassociation.

            “This? Hmph. I’ve had it so long I don’t even remember how I got it.”

            The prefect thinks on his words but, thankfully, does not press further. For Leona, though, it’s already too far. Only the paltry excuse he can’t even remember warns the other of his departure before he’s already out the door.

            It’s so effortless a deceit despite the ice creeping across his heart. How many times he’s heard that question is the same as the number of lies. Leona knows very well how he got this scar and it will haunt him until his dying breath.

~~~~~

            “Farena, wait up!”

            Small feet beat against the stone floor as the young cub tries to keep up with his sibling.

            “C’mon Leo! Hurry up!” The red-head turns back for the briefest moment, grinning like the fool he is. Through moonlit halls, the brothers rush to the palace study.

            “Why are we going to the study?! We already did our lessons! And it’s past our bedtime!” the younger hisses.

            “One of the guards said they’d teach us about Unique Magic if we got the class ready!”

            “Really?!” Suddenly, little Leo is completely on board with his brother dragging him out of bed in the middle of the night.

            With reckless abandon, the boys fly through the night, excited whispers marring the silence with excitement.

            Through the blackened doorway, the brothers rush until the elder says, “Turn the lights on!”

            The little brunette head nods eagerly.

            A rounded ear flickers, goosebumps rippling across his skin. Harlequin eyes drawn by the foreboding aura find the corner of the room. At first, he doesn’t quite comprehend what it is that he sees.

            Then ice floods his veins. Breath hitches in his chest. Barely visible among the shadows is a figure—a monster stalking in the unknown. Peering from the darkness glints a pair of cold, piercing blue eyes.

            The cub freezes, petrified by that boring gaze. Fear stunts his breathing, seizing every muscle and thought. Even as his brother’s hand rattles his shoulder, he can’t tear his eyes away.

            “Leo?”

            Spotting what it is that has Leona’s attention, the elder prince lets out a scream.

            The monster moves quick, far faster than the cub can process, but when he hears the heavy thud that echoes in his ears, Leona turns. Looming over his sibling is a man that seems impossibly large, like a mountain the cub could never hope to overcome. And at the monster’s feet lies his brother’s body.

            “Farena?”

            But his brother doesn’t response. He doesn’t move a single muscle, though his chest continues to rise and fall.

            Leona simply stares, petrified as the beast reaches for something. The sound of sliding metal blares like sirens in his ears, his breath practically cut by the blade that reveals itself in the cold moonlight. Gleaming as it turns, the blade rises, the point aimed for the helpless body on the floor.

            Shaking, quivering, the younger brother snaps from his freeze to put himself in front of his family. Teeth bare in his best snarl, ears plastered against his skull. Though terror is coursing through his system, this is his brother who can no longer fend for himself.

            Piercing, ice blue eyes gleam through the shadows at the children sprawled at his feet.

            “What a brave cub you are.” His voice creeps through the air, scraping at the child’s faulty confidence. “Poor little Leona. Second prince of the Sunset Savana, shunned by his own people. Let me help you.”

            From the darkness, a pale palm extends to him.

            The cub has spent his short life in the shadow of his older brother. Whatever feat he might achieve could never compare to the future king. His frustrations meant nothing in the face of the throne that would never belong to him. Leona knows that.

            “Let me give you the crown. There will be no one left in your way and you won’t ever have to settle for being looked down on again.”

            The glimmer of silver in the light pierces the boy’s resolve.

            “All you have to do is step aside.”

            Bravery crumbling in on itself, Leona’s gaze falls. Arms cover his chest to shield the child who wishes he’d stayed in bed.

            A hand snags the cub, the sharp tug pulling him from the path to his sibling. The weak little boy can’t possibly stand against this beast. Unarmed, untrained, less than half the size of this beast—it’s hopeless.

            His fearful gaze falls on helpless Falena, embers of fury glowing. That’s his brother and he’s not just going to let this man hurt him—not without a fight.

            Lips part, the words of his heart escaping on a whispered breath.

            “I am the one who hungers. I…am the one who thirsts.” Anger rises in his chest at this demon who thinks he can simply come in here and do as he pleases. A breeze brushes past. “I am the one to rob you of your future. Kneel before me! King’s Roar!”

            Realizing that the younger cub is not done, the man turns just in time for the little lion to lunge. Fangs bared, the prince latches onto the intruder and, within seconds, dust begins to fall.

            Immediately, the thrashing begins. A hand jerks and pulls at the kid, but Leona—fueled by adrenaline and fear—digs his claws deeper. Meanwhile, sand continues to dust the floor. This man came here to hurt his family, to kill his brother, but even if he was ignored and looked down on, he loves Farena.

            A blaring roar fills the darkness. Silver flashes as it swipes through the moonlight, joined by a crimson glint.

            Without warning, a blinding pain sears across the young cub’s eye. He hits the ground, a scream tearing from his mouth. His fear is set aside at the outcry of the monster. Peering through the unmaimed eye, Leona sees the whirlwind engulfing the man as it slowly devours him. His knife clatters to the floor, hands trembling in front of him. Those piercing eyes stare in disbelief while sand falls through his grasp.

            It’s working—whatever magic the child conjured has taken hold without relent.

            Leona stumbles to his feet.

            “Stop! STOP IT!” the man howls in horror.

            His words fall on deaf ears as the cub lunges again, screaming in fury and fear and pain. All the while, the intruder’s form dissolves in a whirl of sand beneath the boy’s hands. Even when there’s nothing left but a pile of dust, Leona is swept along by the surge of negative emotion. The sand continues to eat away at the world around him like the terror in in his poor little heart.

            “—na—”

            Eyes clamped shut, hands pressed over his own ears, the cub wallows. From his burning throat, the screams continue.

            “—eon—”

            He’s alone, he’s afraid, he’s hurt—all of it overwhelming him in a vicious cycle he’s trapped in. A muffled sound barely breaks through the roaring despair.

            “Leona!”

            By the back of the arm, a hand snatches up the younger prince. The cub thrashes, slamming his hand down on the threatening hold.

            “Prince Leona!”

            And all at once, the magic douses itself, leaving behind a scared, pathetic child, staring up at a blurry vision of the Grand Chamberlain. Seeing the fear and disappointment in that man’s eyes almost hurts more than the open wound.

            “What have you done?”

            From that day on, no one looked at Leona the same. The staff now fled at the sight of him. His parents were ashamed of the destructive potential of their youngest. The Grand Chamberlain he thought his only friend now seemed disappointed just looking at him. Even his brother, the reason he was attacked, the reason he awoke this wretched magic, the reason he’s nearly blind in one eye—even his brother seemed to be afraid of him now. This was his fault, but Leona is the only one who’s suffering. It’s almost as if he’s the monster that snuck into the palace that night.

            “Yo, Leona.”

            A hand grazes against his left, seizing the heart in his chest. Fangs bared, magic rushing to his palms, Leona turns on the unexpected presence. When his harlequin gaze meets that of a familiar hyena, he realizes that this is not that time. The snarl falls from his face. Though the underclassman flinched, there’s no fear there. Tension melts off the lion and so too does the hyena relax.

            Voice filled with concern, he asks softly, “You okay, man?”

            Leona’s head shakes in hopes of dispelling the darkness. A shoddy attempt as its ink-covered fingers leave stains on his sanity.

            “I’m fine. What d’you want?”

            Ruggie’s lips twist in doubt and Leona already knows his mask is slipping. In all his life, only two people have ever caught on to the prince’s insecurities. However, the Grand Chamberlain didn’t seem to think that mattered when the young prince disintegrated an intruder within palace walls. Ruggie, however, knew immediately, persistent until he was almost shredded.

            Yet it’s the only comfort Leona’s ever received regarding what happened.

            Unphased by the sharpness, Ruggie lets his head tilt. There’s no smile, no fear or appeasement—only understanding.

            “You know I just finished washing your blankets. I’ll bring dinner by later.”

            For a moment, Leona simply stares at the second year. The proud part of him wants to snap back, say he’s fine and push on, but a larger part is just so very tired of fighting.

            Exhausted and on the brink of crumpling right there, Leona mutters, “Okay.”

            With that, he slumps away back to the Savannaclaw Dorm, back to his room, and back beneath the covers of his bed. It’s there he finds a second of solace before the depression wracks his chest until he falls asleep alone, as he always has been.

~~~~~

Several plates find their way to the table before him, a proud glow on his partner’s face who sits across from him. Excited words spill from those pretty lips describing each dish, occasionally taking pleased bites of the offering.

As explanations are going on, Azul picks a piece that he thinks is a good starting point.

The regret is swift. A few bites in, the pain bursts across his tongue. Instinctively, the housewarden spits out the food in his mouth, reaching for the water, while his partner watches in shock.

A lot of panic and one glass of milk later, Azul asks if perhaps his partner made a mistake. Lo and behold, the prefect takes a bite, mulls over the flavor, and claims that it tastes just fine. Again, Azul stares, both dumbfounded and a little terrified. From that moment on, he asks he frequently asks that food be graded on a scale of one to ten in spiciness, then always adds at least five before daring to taste anything else.

“Dear, is…is it meant to be this hot? You’re joking. It’s meant to be like this?! N-No, it tastes fine—I mean what I can taste of it tastes fine. You eat like this all the time? How is this normal in your world? On a scale of one to ten, how spicy is this? Three?!”

Jade

Happily, Jade sits at the counter, watching his wonderfully, talented darling make dinner. The prefect rambles on and on about food from home and being a little homesick. The vice housewarden is happy to indulge his darling if it makes them happy; besides, he can also use this moment to catch up on a bit of paperwork for Azul. And he’d be lying to say he wasn’t a little bit curious about what kind of food the strange little human is used to eating.

Happily, his darling plates up two dishes and presents one before Jade. As the prefect is busy explaining the different foods laid upon his plate, Jade takes a stab at one of them.

At first, he enjoys the flavor. Yet as he begins to compliment his darling, the stinging begins to spread. Jade pauses in his words, assessing the pain setting in. Nevertheless, a grin spreads across his face, the heat starting to work its way under his skin.

The eel asks if it’s supposed to be so spicy. Confused, the prefect takes a bite and declares that this is how it should be. Surprised, intrigued, and somewhat daunted, Jade excuses himself to the kitchen where he proceeds to drink straight from the milk carton in an attempt to soothe his burning tastebuds.

Now this doesn’t deter Jade from trying his darling’s food in the slightest. He will, however, ensure he comes prepared with something to combat the bite—that is, unless he’s serving it up to someone else.

“Forgive me for asking, but is this dish meant to be this spicy? It is? Oh that’s fascinating. No, no, it’s lovely. Admittedly, the spice is perhaps a bit too much for my palate but I insist you make more for me sometime. I want to experience the charm of your world’s cuisine.”

Floyd

The eel lays across the counter, complaining about the wait as his little shrimpy bustles about the kitchen. At first, Floyd was all excited when the prefect expressed interesting in cooking some foods from home. Surely, it’ll be something weird but he’s all down for something new. And, he doesn’t have to do any of the cooking after cooking for the lounge all day. On the other hand, this is taking forever!

Finally, his other half sets a plate before him, beaming with pride. However, before any sort of words can be said to explain what’s on his plate, Floyd stabs into the food and jams a forkful into his mouth. He admits that it’s good, even if it seems kind of weird. But just as he goes to take another bite, the bite gets to him first.

At first, Floyd rolls his tongue through his mouth, waiting for the heat to die down but it doesn’t. Huffing, the eel stands and heads for the kitchen, coming back with the milk and growling about the spicy food prank. But when the prefect’s head tilts and reaches out to test the food, Floyd is actually surprised to learn that this is how it’s meant to be. Even more, this shrimpy has no problems eating it.

Well now Floyd has to eat it. He does eventually grow accustom to the heat, enjoying the flavor the lies beneath it. It becomes his own little challenge to eat at least as much as his partner. It also becomes a game to get others to eat it. He finds it hilarious that everyone else has a weaker constitution that his little prefect.

“Haha, you got me. Very funny. What d’you mean what do I mean? There’s no way you eat food that spicy every day where you’re from. Wait, seriously? Yo, that’s crazy! And you just eat it? No problem? Hey! Get yer mitts off my plate! I’m eating that! No! It’s mine! I'm gonna eat it!”

~~~~~

               Not that he could be so easily charmed by honeyed words, but the stranger’s confidence was laced with something he could mistake for genuine. Though the conversation itself was mundane—something about marmots—Erenville found his attention wholly invested. And when what little intel he had to offer was spent, more sweet sentiments crashed against his defenses. Even as the wanderer bid goodbye, a tether held his gaze captive. For once, Erenville wanted to call out, to continue the interaction, but reason held his tongue.

               Too much time has been spent building walls.

               Etheirys is a star of hopeless promises. Every soul born of man is entwined with another. This bond affirms itself as a mark on the skin. Dubbed the Mark of Promise, only those with souls intermingled will share the same design. The problem is that match could be anywhere, from the house next door to the other side of the star. That’s not even accounting for the fact that one’s partner could have met an untimely end. Ultimately, the chances of two true partners meeting are slim to none. That’s not to say that love doesn’t exist. Some people do actually find their soul mate. However, most just accept the fact that destiny doesn’t bring souls together and instead build relationships founded on trust and mutual affection. Because life goes on.

               However, there have been some instances where marks have been falsified. It’s actually not uncommon for two unmatched partners to receive matching tattoos as a symbol of the love built together. This, unfortunately, has sparked some desperate individuals to forge marks so that they may fool another. This is what happened to his mother.

               Though Erenville grew up with a caring, outgoing maternal figure, knowing the scam that begot his existence has made the viera wary of relationships. Not just the romantic kind, but even friendships made his chest tighten with anxiety. It took time for Erenville to trust another, but only so long as he followed precautions. Only his mother has ever seen the golden mark beneath his collar and he intends to keep it that way.

               That adventurer has the man questioning all his guards, practically urging him to seek out company. Only his rationale provides second thoughts of the deceitful nature of man. Surely he’s better off playing it safe. Yet temptation has snared him so deeply he can’t just forget that encounter, that smile, those eyes—those words.

               “See you around, beautiful.”

               Fire surges into his ears. He’s being ridiculous. Words like that probably thrive on those lips and fall like autumn leaves for any pretty face. Twelve knows that warrior’s probably seen hundreds of pretty faces; his isn’t any special. Even if he felt it in that moment.

               He’s getting nowhere with this train of thought. Grumbling to himself, he lifts his notes and attempts to resume his work. Besides, it would be best not to create such attachments to people like that. Even should the Warrior of Light survive the edge of existence, that adventurer spirit would surely seek out new, far-away lands. Erenville himself enjoys travelling—it’s part what drew him to gleaner work—yet the wayward soul of an adventurer took those journeys to the extreme. Afterall, even Erenville can’t imagine himself venturing beyond the heavens.

               As the thought occurs, golden eyes peer to the sky. Lips part to expose the surprise he feels at the distant sight of an approaching aircraft. It’s only a moment after when people start calling and pointing, drawing crowds towards the docks with applause and hollers. Even the viera can’t quite keep the miniscule smile from his lips.

               The hero has returned victorious.

               Curiosity guides his feet towards the landing ship, like so many others gathering to greet the returning Scions. A flutter in his chest rattles his confidence, yet he can’t convince himself to walk away. Right now, he just has to catch a glimpse of the heroes—of the Warrior.

               Cheers erupt as the bay doors open. Though quickly the jubilation turns to gasps, sending ripples of murmuring through the gathered. Before his ears can catch wind of the concern, orders break through the gossip.

               “Make way! Move!”

               “Send someone to alert the head sage!”

               At those words, all other sounds fall away for Erenville. The only reason they would need to alert the head sage is if something went wrong. The fluttering turns to pounding as prayers to The Wanderer begin racing through his head. Those standing in his way pose little resistance as he shoves his way through, desperate for a glimpse that proves his fears unfounded.

               Reality slams into him like a brick wall.

               Between several Scions and Sharlayans, they carry a stretcher upon which lies a body. Never in his life has Erenville seen someone so mangled. What gear he remembers adorned is completely ruined, much of it simply gone. Bruises meld with the grime across the skin, having taken a significant beating. And the blood—so much blood. It soaks through the warrior’s clothing, hardly impeded by the ivory jacket serving as makeshift gauze.

               As if his heart wasn’t already in a vice, a flash catches his eye and, for him, the world comes to a jarring halt. Crimson crawls along the arm hanging at gravity’s whim. Its path draws nearly the entire length, crossing the crease of the elbow and the gold imprinted just below it.

               His knees hit the ground, a wild storm of emotions bursting within him. Telling himself that he’d been mistaken would be all too easy, except that the entire image is now burned into his brain. Forgetting it now is no option.

               Stumbling through the stupor, Erenville rises and makes a beeline straight for the Physis Technon. His haze begins to clear, giving way to blood-curdling fear that spurs the edges of his vision to blur. Racing past the sullen Scions, the usually composed man insists on seeing the Warrior. Unfortunately for him, the woman at the entrance holds her ground and informs him that there will be no visitors while the sages work. He nearly breaks—nearly falls to his knees to beg her to let him through—but the faintest sliver of logic tells him he would just be in the way.

               So Erenville resigns himself to waiting well into the night. There’s nothing else he can do. His mind is too frazzled to work, his constitution is too weak to eat, even his heart is too anxious to sleep. He simply sits in the foyer of the Physis Technon, waiting for absolutely anything, and fearing everything.

               He’s not entirely sure how long he waits—wallowing in bell upon bell of realization that everything he warded against was pointless and that he still might lose it all—but eventually, the woman approaches him.

               “You’ve been waiting a long time,” she hums.

               Weary eyes rise to acknowledge he heard, but his lips refuse to part. Her gaze is full of pity for the vierra that twists knots in his stomach.

               “Come with me.”

               Erenville rises in silent obedience. His heart stammers in his chest as he follows the woman through the halls; he dares not hope to think where she’s taking him but it’s proving difficult not to.

               She pauses beside a door. The thrumming in his ears nearly drowns out her words.

               “It was an arduous procedure that almost ended in tragedy…”

               He swallows past the lump in his throat.

               “But the Warrior of Light is resting now. And if you promise not to make a nuisance of yourself, you may visit.”

               Long ears stand at attention, tension infesting every fiber of muscle in his body.

               “Do you understand?”

               Erenville nods hastily, willing to do almost anything at this point to see the hero.

               “I’ll be back to check on you shortly.”

               She pushes aside the door to allow him inside.

               At first, Erenville steps inside without hesitation, but as soon as the threshold is crossed, all initiative dissipates. On the bed lies the hero, battered, bruised, and covered in a thick layer of bandaging. He’s spent the last several bells wanting nothing more than to see this person and confirm everything, yet now that the moment is upon him, Erenville almost wants to retreat. A myriad of terrible thoughts mar his confidence. What if he was boring? What if the hero didn’t like him? What if he screwed up? What if he was wrong? That last one—in spite of everything he’s done until now—is the one that scares him the most.

               The closing door rattles the man back to reality. His golden gaze peers back at the now-sealed entrance before he takes a deep breath. Doing his best to shake his worries, the man approaches the bed, wary that any false move might wake the patient, as unlikely as that may be.

               As he draws nearer, Erenville takes in the sleeping visage before him. If he’d been stricken before, he’s downright enamored now. Even in this beaten state, he can confidently say he’s never seen anyone more beautiful. If not for the grievous wounds, he’d find himself tempted to curl up on the bed as well. Beneath his palm, his heart pounds mercilessly, on the verge of imploding.

               Without reason’s permission, Erenville’s hand reaches out to gently brush away a stray strand of hair. Yet his touch lingers, taking in the skin beneath his touch. Slowly—keeping his eyes focused—fingers trail lower, skimming the corner of those tempting lips. Along exposed skin and across a bandaged shoulder, his tactile exploration hesitates. Eyes clamp shut to steels his nerves as he lets his hand fall away.

               Golden magic stains the skin just above the crease of the elbow. A million times he’s seen that mark, but never has it been as important as it is right now, because this time, it’s not in the mirror. That’s his mark—on someone else.

               A sudden rush of emotions nearly brings Erenville down, but he finds the visitor’s chair before he too becomes a patient. Tears trail his face, his lungs desperately trying to keep a steady pace. Heartache, relief, fear, joy: all of it he feels in the moment, unsure which is most prevalent until all of it inevitably washes away, leaving behind a weary man.

               Finally, the sullen words find his voice.

               “Do you even know who I am?”

               “You’re that beautiful bunny from Labrynthos.”

               His heart nearly leaps from his chest. He hadn’t been expecting an answer, but he got one nonetheless—the adventurer is awake.

               Immediately, worried fingers find their way into the hero’s bandaged palm. Upon realizing this, Erenville thinks to retreat, but the frail grip that takes his hand convinces him to stay.

               “Erenville, right?”

               With little answer to his true question, a weak smile etches across his lips.  

               “You remembered.”

               Oh, how that laugh chimes in his ears. “I’d never forget your beautiful face.”

               While a flutter flitters in his chest, Erenville can’t help the anxiety bubbling in his brain. “You must charm everyone with that flattery of yours.”

               It’s subtle, but the Warrior’s head shakes. “If so, none of it was intentional.”

               That twinge in his chest almost draws his hand back.

               “At least not until I met you.”

               He can’t take much more of this; his defenses are already down yet this reckless, terrifying, amazing, gorgeous stranger keeps taking hits at Erenville’s composure.

               That thumb brushes across the back of his hand.

               “You know, I told myself that if I made it back, I was going to ask to spend time with you.”

               This time, the smile is real—the first real one he’s felt in a long time.

               “I suppose it would be remiss of me to refuse the savior of the star.”

               The hero smiles bashfully. “Only if you want to.”

               He almost can’t say the words fast enough.

               “Oh I want to.” His gaze once against finds the golden mark, filling him with joy beyond measure. “I would like nothing more than to get to know who you really are.”

               “Interesting, because I feel like I already know you.”

               Fire surges into the viera’s ears as he stammers, “Wh-What?”

               That’s a fool’s grin plastered on that face and Erenville suddenly becomes aware just what kind of time he’s going to have trying to keep his composure around this one.

               “I already know—inside and out—you’re beautiful.”

~~~~~