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Of Age (23)

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“What is it that you've wished for, solnyshko?” Flins asked serenely without a hint of his usual mischief. 

Illuga was startled at the sudden endearment and the fondness that laced Flins’ tone. Still, the lightkeeper smiled. Although their relationship is unclear, he still welcomed his senior’s rare moments of intimacy. 

Illuga smiled. His eyes radiate radiance that would make even the sun shy. He did not answer Flins’s question and only made the gesture of setting the lantern alight. Flins followed, withholding his curiosity to not spoil his dear young master's mood. 

The traveler told them of Liyue’s tradition when it comes to setting off Xiao Lanterns and even graciously taught them how to make one. Aether told them its significance and the importance of making wishes with your loved ones. 

Flins does not necessarily believe in the grace of the Geo Archon or the heavenly dao. Yet he made a wish. Not for himself, but on behalf of someone else. 

I wish for my dear young master Illuga to live a long happy life.

Illuga watched as Flins carefully released the lantern. The latter’s eyes did not leave the lamp-like object of wishmaking until it joined the multitude of its kind. Illuga wonders how the heavens would go about in making the people's wishes come to life.

“My wish is for Flins’s wish to come true.”

Though he is not aware of his senior’s wish, maybe the wish-granting gods would consider his senior's wish a priority if two people were to ask for it. 

Illuga’s eyes snapped in surprise. With a quick hand, the warm towel was discarded in favor of a glass of water that he's now coaxing in Flins’s elusive mouth.

“You need to moisten your throat, senior. You've been asleep for an entire day.” 

Illuga tries to coax him once more. This time, he relents to the young master’s whims. Illuga helped him sit while repositioning the pillow behind his back. He watches him fret around with amusement. Like a mother hen–heh, what a fitting analogy. 

“I don't understand. Even when you've regained consciousness, the temperature is not rising even a bit.” Illuga’s forehead creased in frustration. His feather-shaped eyelashes seem to quiver with an emotion indiscernible to the fae. 

“Sir Flins, can you please tell me if there's a specific prescription for a being of your nature? I'm afraid the conventional methods humans use to cure fever have yielded the most disappointing results when applied to you.” Illuga’s earnest show of distress stirred the tangled threads in the fae’s heart. Even so, Flins find amusement in his self-imposed silence. The young master regarded him with impatience yet the hands that wiped his body its grime and sweat gave no indication. Flins, have, on many occasions, tested the young master’s forbearing nature. He has earned either an earful of nagging or an equivalent consequence for testing his colleague’s patience during those times. But right now, Illuga seems bent on suffering in Flins' company. As for the reason, he’s more or less aware. 

Illuga could only smile weakly when he noticed the prolonged silence. He felt even more helpless than the patient before him. He pressed the man’s pulse lightly, yet his meridians remained unbearably weak despite waking up. Illuga’s face was pinched with worry. He's lost on how to help him and Flins’ indifference to his own well-being isn't helping much. It aggravates Illuga more than anything else yet he can't bring himself to scold someone looking so ill and frail. Dressing down Flins would have to wait. 

“I apologize for my ineptitude and while I am aware of your hesitations to accept more from me, help me care for you just this once, hm?”

Flins heaved a sigh. While Illuga’s devotion to his health is admirable, he's afraid the youth can do little to aid him. Maybe if he didn't hear a word of his confession—one that he saw from a mile away—then maybe he wouldn't be in this predicament.

In the first place, Flins is a fae. He's never been sick the same way as mortals did. His fainting was not caused by the pseudo-vessel he conjured to walk this realm. 

His was the illness of the soul. 

It was almost the same as the disease that plagued him after the Belyi Tsar’s fall hundreds of years ago except it was quite different this time. 

Sorrow, as humans called it, is similar but is vastly different from love. Yet both emotions are strong enough to shatter his resolve and make him suffocate. Enough to make him want to forfeit life. 

Still. Sorrow is merciful. In the unyielding hands of death, Flins was aware of his own powerlessness which made it easier to accept. It was an inevitability.

But love is different. He believed it to be a choice. Something he can control. Yet deep inside, he fears. For he once witnessed the consequences borne from it. 

It is all-consuming. A raging fire that threatens to boil down the very depths of his dark, dark grave. And Flins, for the very first time, is terrified of what sin he will be willing to commit should he attempt to dip even a sliver of his soul in it. After all, was he not a product of rebellious hearts too? The apple does not fall from the tree. What guarantee does he have that he will not commit an act of sacrilege should he lose him? 

Flins is naturally selfish. He knew himself best and if he were to allow himself to revel in the same emotions as the pure, untainted young master, he would undoubtedly pull them both to hell and he wouldn't regret a second of it. 

So he attempted to suppress it. Even when the very object of his affection came to him and laid his heart and soul bare, he couldn't accept it. He refused Illuga’s confession decisively and dismissed the young man’s admiration as fleeting. Insensitive it may be. 

Yet Illuga did not question it. Flins wished he did. He was a contradictory fool who says one thing yet wants another. And not long after, as if in lieu of a punishment for depriving himself of the blessing that doomed his creator for eternity, a fainting spell caused by his perturbed soul hit him at the most inopportune time. 

He was on a patrol and happened to stumble upon a few Ratnikis who were having trouble with the Wild Hunt. Instead of lending them aid, he fainted on the spot which Bjorn had outrightly reported to Illuga who had just come back at Piramida. 

Illuga looks at him as if he holds all the answers in the world. He doesn't even need to try to see the unspoken longing in his eyes because Illuga had always been honest and transparent with his desires. Unbearably stupid and naive. A man who wears his heart on his sleeve. 

Too good for this world. Too good for a heartless fae who had been cursed by the heavens and rejected by earth. 

Flins opened his mouth yet not a sound was heard. Illuga stares at him expectantly, still waiting for an answer to his trivial inquiry. Flins found him endearing and so, so lovely. 

“You.” 

Illuga tilted his head, confused.

“My cure is you.” Flins said softly. Before his young master could react, the fae took the initiative to dip and bask on the lightkeeper’s afterglow. The kiss was slow and brief yet filled with unspoken words and answers long overdue. Flins chuckled in amusement as Illuga blinked dumbly. A flash of excitement and embarrassment combined colored his pale visage. 

Flins is not a human. He is a fae. A heartless fairy who leads hearts astray. He is an artificial existence born from a union of rebellious love. He fears not the heavenly retribution for the sins he is willing to commit. He was merely afraid of implicating the one he chose to be with and be consigned to the same damnation his creators were forced with. Still, he always lived selfishly. There is no point in worrying over an uncertain future. He would regret it more if he were to allow this moment to pass without savoring every second. 

Flins stares lovingly at his flustered lover. Illuga’s nagging had always been a gospel he willingly listens to without any intentions to follow. Something the young lightkeeper is deeply aware of. 

“Sir Flins, I am angry. You seem to regard your own life as a joke—even going as far as to tease me!”

Flins laughed airily which made Illuga even more annoyed. 

Flins emerged inside, stoic as ever. Ivar looked surprised to see the man while Illuga felt a mix of disappointment and gratitude towards him.

Flins regarded Illuga's disheveled and sickly appearance with great scrutiny. The lightkeeper’s eyes wandered to Ivar's hands that likely supported Illuga’s frail body from the short journey from the youth’s home to Nikita’s office. He didn't even bother to cover up properly. The fae’s heated gaze fell on the wounded shoulder clumsily covered by a coat that isn't even Illuga’s own. Flins’ displeasure flickered briefly, disappearing just as quickly yet the older lightkeeper managed to catch it. Ivar retreated and guided Illuga’s hand to Flins for support. In turn, Flins dismissed the former with a nod. The lightkeeper was quick to make himself scarce.

“It seems you are quite fond of courting death, young master Illuga.” The usual playfulness of Flins’ tone was absent. Instead, it was substituted by a cold, biting remark that seemed bent on suppressing any response from him.

Illuga was deftly aware of Flins’ displeasure when he opened the door and saw him outside. Though the fae is adept in hiding and masking his emotions, Illuga had become accustomed to Flins’ antics to not detect the fluctuation of his mood. He is quite fickle but Illuga is pissed too.

“Please release my hand, Sir Flins. I need to speak to the Starshyna—”

Illuga attempted to pull away yet Flins had him on a vice grip. He could feel a dull ache on his waist from where the latter’s unrelenting hand was placed. Illuga frowned.

“You and I know that I am the best person to answer your questions. Your insistence of meeting the old man purely came from your stubborn heart so why not ask me the question that bugs you so much to forgo your recuperation?"

Illuga shot Flins a damning look. His glare sharp and fierce yet the rim of his eyes spoke of unshed tears. The young lightkeeper grits his teeth while Flins remain unmoved of Illuga's unspoken grief.

Even if he doesn't fire his inquiry, Illuga was already vividly aware from the moment he regained consciousness. The absence of the fussy Rollon and the usually loud Anleifr was testament enough. He just did not want to accept that Flins saved him at the cost of two more lives. Illuga deems himself unworthy and though he should be grateful to Flins, he couldn't find it in himself to feel gratitude for something so undeserved.

“Lightkeepers have long pursued this profession while knowing its risks. The demise of your subordinates is not a burden that should fall solely on your shoulder. If anything, I should be the one to carry the blame. My miscalculation cost them their lives. Had I been fast enough…”

Illuga collapsed on Flins’s hold. The latter’s concise answer to a question unasked shattered all hopeful fantasies Illluga had for his subordinates. The Wild Hunt came barreling on their way back from Kipumaki Cliff. The horde of abyssal creatures had always been unpredictable but the horde that attacked them was unprecedented. He was prepared to die and only sought to save his men from peril—recklessly throwing himself to the fray while clearly on the lookout for any possible openings for escape.

Flin's sudden arrival amidst the thickening miasma was a hope amid the sea of despair. Even so, his intentions did not change at the senior lightkeeper's appearance. Granted they were all heavily injured, Rollon was the worst of them. Anleifr was not looking any better than him but of the three of them, he was still the less injured party. With this in mind, he motioned for Flins to save the pair. Illuga believed Flins could escape the Wild Hunt and save his subordinates but instead, he found himself to be the one pushed towards his senior by Rollon’s bloodied hands. The burning warmth of his hand and the stench of putrid death still clung to his nose upon waking up. He could vaguely make up Anleifr’s weak smile of approval in his mind as Flins carried him away from the battlefield that was meant to be his grave. His screams at Flins’ audacity to unhand him and disregard for orders fell on deaf ears as his consciousness eventually failed him. The next time he woke up, he was already in Piramida, bandaged and burning with fever and unacceptably alive.

The next time he saw Flins was at a graveyard near Cliffwatch Camp.

Illuga was visiting his squadron’s grave and offering bouquets of Winter Iceleas when he arrived. The young man appeared embarrassed more than surprised at his appearance. Flins could more or less hazard a guess for the reason why.

“Sir Flins, what brings you all the way here?”

With practiced ease, Flins offered a smile overflowing with genuine sincerity. Though traces of his relaxed nature can be discerned behind his words.

“I did not realize that the young master would be visiting today as well. Had I known, I would have picked a separate date to spare you from this encounter.”

The last time they saw each other, Illuga fainted in distress because of the truth. Flins is aware of how fragile a human heart can be—especially Illuga’s given the many losses he faced despite his young age. He could have lied and chosen to spare him from the truth for the meantime until he was of good health before delivering the news (an agreement he arrived with Nikita), but seeing the frail Illuga look at him with complex defiance and dare he say bordering on dislike, Flins was bewilderingly filled with displeasure he blurted out the truth without embellishments. Though he tried to alleviate the guilt that he knew would plague Illuga later on by shifting the blame to himself, Illuga still passed out in wretchedness. Flins was surprised with himself too for acting against a gentleman’s etiquette, allowing his better judgement to be clouded by his own insecurities and anxiety.

For three days, he reflected on his own in the lighthouse on the cemetery. The cause of his misconduct, along with the reason for his deliberate need to cause Illuga emotional harm.

Flins felt crossed that Illuga allowed dislike to fester in his heart alongside his name. He did not like the idea or even the reality of Illuga hating him so he intentionally diverted his attention to the death of his subordinates so he can forget how upset he was with Flins. He is truly despicable by human standards for resorting to such cheap ploy. However, he is not human by spirit and nature. Illuga is aware of that too. Flins often resort to other means if it means gaining peace and advantage. What he did was hardly beyond his original nature, only a lot less refined.

“About that time…” Illuga’s lips were pursed, as if hesitant. Despite his words of departure a while ago, Flins made no move to leave. He isn't exactly remorseful that his visit to the lightkeeper's grave coincided with Illuga’s schedule. Besides, this encounter was hardly coincidental.

“I apologize for my ingratitude. Thank you for saving my life (though undeserved), Sir Flins.” The self deprecation was left unsaid yet Flins can discern the empty gratitude from a mile. He reckoned Illuga’s empty statement came not from his thanklessness of Flins' aid but from the thought that he did not deserve to be alive while his men lay dead.

“What I told the young master before was not a lie.” Illuga ground-peeled eyes finally met Flins’s indifferent ones. “I told you it was a miscalculation on my part. I did not lie. I wholly thought that leaving the two of them together for some time would raise their chances at survival. Granted I could have rescued two people at the time, the one who will remain in that horde was guaranteed to die.” It was a lie. Flins did not make such deliberation before choosing to rescue Illuga instead of the two. While it was true that he could have carried another one with him, the speed with which he could bring Illuga to the nearest medic would be greatly reduced which could imperil him. Flins did not want to take chances. Even Illuga's subordinates knew that they would not last long even if they were rescued. Their wounds were far too grave and their prolonged exposure to abyssal miasma was already beyond what human medicine could afford to save. The only reason why Illuga was able to retain his sanity was due to the overflowing kuuhvaki in his body that offsets the abyssal energy. Had his constitution been the same as an average human, he would have been corrupted even when Flins managed to take him away from the battlefield.

His little sun who stubbornly lit up his dreary world. And Flins, he was so worn down by solitude after centuries of slumber and a decade of treading the waking world alone. Besides, he is so, so curious. How long can a human who was born embroiled in tragedy persevere on this cruel simulation that is played by the gods?

So, before he knew it, he was already following him around, teasing every blush, every frustration in his ever serious facade. Illuga always seems to lose his composure with him around, bearing only the truest of his form and being. Flins found he liked to undress him in ways no soul could ever presume to replicate. Overtime, his curiosity grew into a selfish need to engrave himself upon the very flesh of his soul. Exhaust his fire to keep him warm—burn alongside him so at very least, they are joined in ash.

But Illuga is precious and Flins, mischievous he may be, selfish he may be, he would not harm him just to possess him. Even so, Illuga is a short-lived mortal. When the knowledge first dawn upon him, Flins was struck with a fear so great it almost evolved into the edge of blasphemy—of a sin almost parallel to his creator’s own.

Attempting to twist the destiny bestowed by the principles is a sin far greater than killing one’s own.

He wouldn't be the sole sufferer should he even entertain the thought. Illuga would inevitably be dragged down with him; a conclusion that gnawed him enough to awaken a rational mind. So, Flins settled for the next best thing.

For he cannot bear waking in a world that no longer hosts his precious young master, then he merely has to stop looking at the world itself at the moment of Illuga’s cessation.

He shall live with him and die a minute later than he. He shall have his final rest once Illuga’s body is lain down in peace beside his own grave. And even before that, he shall tear down that lighthouse, so that he will no longer have to sleep in worry of being awakened in a world that has long buried and taken the soul of his beloved.

He may not accompany him in traversing the ley lines after death, at the very least he can lay beside his earthly flesh. Grotesque, it may be. But love, he finds, always has been. Morbid. Sick and appaling.

“This is why I told you to move to Piramida! It's a good thing I visited. Who would look after you if I wasn't around?” The young lightkeeper nags.

At the same time, so, so tender.