You got into the habit of humming the song he taught subconsciously; the melody etched into your brain. He wasn’t sure if you did it because you liked the song or if you were doing it to comfort him. Regardless of the reason, it soothed him greatly—you soothed him greatly—he had stopped fidgeting and bouncing his leg rapidly after that day.

The two of you were practically attached to the hip at this point. Every few days, strolling around town with your arms locked together; the whole town thought you were newlyweds from the way you both looked at each other with those very obvious lovestruck eyes.

Aunt Jane got nosy about this new development and had subtly asked you both separately when her poor old husband caught a cold.

“Not a thought, Jane. I'm far too focused on my career to make room for a relationship.” Tor responded, checking John's temperature as the man was asleep in his bedroom, “My purpose is to be by my friend's side, and I would never dream of leaving him.”

“H-huh?! I don't… I don't have any plans on getting married!” You jumped in your seat, cookies spilling out of your mouth. You were hiding in their kitchen looking for snacks, “I'm not even dating anyone. W-what gave you that impression?”

Oh dear, poor Auntie Jane. Neither of you knew what was going on and seemed completely clueless. She expected it from you considering you were always a little oblivious, but this was an utter disappointment from the ever so intelligent and reliable Doctor.

“Did Auntie say anything weird to you?” you asked, walking back home with Tor by your side.

“The couple say a lot of weird things,” he hummed, “you need to be a bit more specific.”

“Nevermind...” 

He watched you sigh dramatically, too tired to give any pushback to his fake ignorance. At least that was what you thought he was doing, but Tor wasn't feigning ignorance there—Jane and the sick ol' John were having nonsensical banters throughout the checkup that he tuned out most of the noise. He raised a brow but shook his head. It was probably nothing.

“Oh?”

You stopped in your tracks, staring at the rundown tavern you were both passing by. It's a humble establishment with basic wooden furnishings but because they kept the building simple, food was cheap; a lot of people like going there in the evenings.

It was already evening when you both left the old couple’s house, yet the tavern seems empty today.

“Are they closed?” Tor thought aloud. His focus went back to you as you made your way to the entrance and invited yourself in. Naturally, he followed.

“Whoa!” 

You gasped at the sight of a grand piano in the far corner of the room being positioned by the old owner. The stout man stretched his back and turned to see who had waltzed in. 

He wiped the dust from his hands onto the front of his shirt and gave a toothy grin, “Well if it ain't the good doctor and his firecracker! Are ya here to help redecorate fer me?”

You and Tor walked up to him, your eyes sparkling, “When did you have a piano?!”

“Oh, this ol’ thing? The folks down the street donated it—said they needed space for the baby.” He patted the top cover, “Haven’t the foggiest idea how to play this thing but a buncha singin’ drunkards would appreciate some tunes.”

Your fingers instantly made their way onto the keys, pressing them to hear its sound.

“Can ya play?”

“Nope. I wanna see someone play it live though!” You kept pressing random keys excitedly.

Firecracker is such a funny name for you, Tor thought. He wouldn't disagree with it either seeing how bright your eyes were. He couldn't resist. He let out a soft sigh and held your shoulder, gently moving you to the side so he could seat himself, stretching his fingers.

“Forgive me, I'm a little out of practice but let's give this a try,” he grinned at you.

“You can play the piano?!”

“I took some classes early in my youth but that was about it.” He stated.

Fingers dancing on the keys, Tor began to play the melodies he memorised from his childhood—when his father was gone for months, leaving him and his ever-so-loving mother behind in their big lonesome home—melodies she would teach him while they both waited together.

He felt your eyes glued on him while he played, sneaking glances at you whenever he could. When he was done, both you and the owner eagerly applauded his performance.

In the back of his mind, he recalls himself doing the same whenever his mother played the piano when he was a child; starry-eyed and enchanted.

What a lovely expression. He hopes you look at him with such awe like this more often. The things it does to his ego is almost addicting.

“That was beautiful, Doc!” The owner praised, “Never heard anythin’ like it!”

“A doctor that can slay monsters, sing and play the piano!” You were literally sparkling.

“I can also play the harp and clarinet,” Tor puffed his chest out, “On my off-time, I carve tiny owls from wood.”

“Is there anything you can’t do?” You playfully rolled your eyes.

“Perhaps,” he flashed a charming smile, “you might find something one day if you stick around long enough.”

“I’ll take you up on that offer.”

His smile grew slightly bigger hearing your answer.

You and Tor sat at the piano a little while longer while the tavern owner prepped the rest of his equipment for tomorrow's opening—the seat was a little small but you both naturally squeezed in together, as always.

“You make me feel inferior sometimes, you know that?” Your fingers lightly pressed on random keys as you pouted.

“Nonsense, dear patient, you have your own set of capabilities.” Tor’s hand found its way on your back, planting itself there as a gesture of gentle reassurance.

“Nothing wrong with expanding those capabilities…” You mumbled, hearing him chuckle at that before agreeing with you.

It was minute, barely noticeable that even Tor would've missed it if he wasn't carefully watching you from the side. Something changed in the air, the way your fingers lingered on the keys felt heavier. He waited for you to speak up again, noting the hesitation. “Do you think you could teach me?” your voice was so… fragile, and the words that fell from your mouth afterwards made it all the more clearer why, “Before you leave?”

Leave?

Oh.

For a second, he had forgotten his mission. A wave of disgust towards himself drowned him in a way he'd never felt before.

Delayed in response, Tor nodded as he said whatever was correct at the moment with his usual smile but despite doing his best to mask his emotions, he felt it…

You were vanishing from him.

This was a problem—the entire grey-area relationship he's cultivated with you—surely it was. He wakes up every day to bond with you as if it wasn't temporary. To even acknowledge that your friendship was temporary in itself made Tor feel a burn deep in his heart. 

Who was he angry at? He wasn't sure. It's such an ugly emotion, it made his skin crawl knowing that this was happening. He enjoys being with you. End of story; nothing more, nothing less. There should be no guilt in what was between the both of you.

He convinced himself this wasn't a problem as the two of you went back to his place, hand-in-hand absentmindedly. 

Your hands were so warm yet all he felt throughout the walk home were chills.

“So what's the progress like, doctor?” 

Back at his place, you were watching your nerdy companion flip through the remaining books he hadn't studied yet, head tilted curiously. He sat at the fireplace while you remained at his study a few metres away.

“Nothing to help me go home, unfortunately… unless this powerful Fae king still exists?” He turned the book around to show you a page spread of a tall dragon-like man.

“That old fairy tale?” You raised a brow, “The story ends with his human lover passing away, so he wiped his entire kind along with himself to reunite in the afterlife.”

“So he doesn't exist anymore…”

“Nope. That was like, three thousand years ago or something.”

Tor put the book down, dejected. He didn't want to concern you so he tried to lighten the mood “...A bit psychotic to express his love like that, isn't it?”

“A fae’s a fae, I guess. They're kinda always a little unhinged.” You shrugged, scribbling on papers scattered on Tor's desk. He wrote a lot of notes when learning your language so he had a lot of junk paper lying around that you had permission to use.

You heard him walk over to you but didn't bother looking up, engrossed in your little activity. “What are you doing here?” He put a hand on your shoulder and peeked at your drawing. “What is that creature supposed to be?”

“That's you, silly. I'm drawing you in a house made of books since you like them so much.”

His smile dropped, “Is that what you think of me?”

“Here’s me as the wolf that'll blow the house away.”

“That's a bit cruel…” He pretended to stagger at your words. “You wish me to be homeless?”

“...I wish you to be free.” 

You said it softly but it was enough for him to hear. His lips parted slightly, not expecting that response at all but he remained quiet—letting a sigh escape him as he relaxed himself. You must've been worried again, he thought. 

He knew how that felt as well. Tor recalls times when his mother was clearly worried when his father didn't return, but he didn't feel like he was enough of a person to console her properly so all he could do was watch from afar.

He didn't mean to put you in the same situation. Guilt started to flood his heart, but at the same time, he was glad you cared for him that much.

“Tor.”

“Hm?”

“My name.” He walks behind you, leaning down to hover above to gently cover the hand holding the pencil, guiding it. “Where I’m from, this is how you write it.”

“Tor…”

“Yes. That’s me.”

“It’s a nice name.” you smiled, looking up to see his face.

“...That means a lot.”

He shouldn’t have told you.

His name slipped from his mouth before he even realised it. In some ways, you were right; Tor was proud of who he is and the man he became after so many broken paths and dead ends he’s walked in his youth. He earned his name, through and through.

And he missed it. He didn’t realise until sooner, but he missed Tor. It had been eight months since his disappearance and it was the last familiar thing that reminded him of who he was, the people in his life, his country. They’ll find me… I know they will.

It wasn’t just his small error; another thing waned on him. 

This was a warm moment, wasn’t it? 

Shouldn’t this make him feel happy? 

Why did Tor feel a sting in his heart seeing your smile? 

Somehow, this was a negative to his subconscious and he wasn’t sure why…

So he brushed it off.

“Didn’t I tell you to put that gel on before leaving?”

“I didn’t know there were this many mosquitoes!”

Tor laughed lightly, watching you lift your legs up for you to scratch them as the two of you walked up a nearby hill. It has officially been about nine months since Tor had vanished, entering a whole new year. You had pestered him to get out of the house and celebrate the new year together—running around town in each other's hands, eating all the festive foods and dancing at the town square with the other folks.

The Sun was setting by the time you brought him uphill, with him holding onto the lantern you had been working on for the past few weeks. You clearly seemed to be in a rush, and extremely stressed out that the itch on your legs was slowing you down.

“Damn it, damn it! Hurry up, Tor, we’re really late!” You powered through, letting his arm go as you jogged the remaining distance, frantically looking at the sky spinning in circles once you were at the top.

That was when he watched you groan loudly, falling into the grass backwards in defeat. “I knew we shouldn’t have watched the fireworks!” 

“Someone’s upset,” Tor sat beside your lying figure. “Was there something else besides fireworks today?”

You groaned again, covering your face with your hands. “Aurora borealis…”

“Oh… but we saw that even from down at the square, didn’t we?”

“The lantern…”

“Lantern?” Tor held up the paper lantern, brow raised at it.

“It’s soaked in excess magic.” you hinted, rolling on your stomach to observe him.

If you owned a recording device, you would’ve captured the way his eyes opened, curiously studying the lantern like a child receiving a new toy. The way Tor behaved was enough of a dead giveaway that he wasn’t from this world, so you knew that something normal like this would’ve excited him greatly.

“I’ve read about this!” Tor grinned, turning the lantern around in his hands with his eyes full of wonder, “The waste glimmers in certain types of lighting so it works amazing as a projector,” he explained to you.

“So I’ve heard.” You simply smiled, pretending like this was your first time seeing one.

“Was that why you were drawing so much lately?”

“Wanted to commemorate the day you came,” you pouted, looking away from him, “I drew a whole story sequence of your time here… but I guess we can’t see it after all.”

He smiled, heart melting at the gesture. He inched closer to pat you on your back, “I guess we can always catch it next year. No harm lighting up two lanterns, right?”

Silence.

He called your name, but you lowered your head as if he said something wrong. That was when he realised the elephant in the room—he still needed to leave. Next year? Is he really willing to stay for another year?

Tor wasn’t even sure of the answer. A part of him knows he has to go, but he really doesn’t want to; especially if it meant leaving you behind.

He was too distracted to notice you sit back up, tugging on his sleeve to grab his attention. By this point, you already knew he tends to drown in his thoughts like this. You wanted him out of that state.

“Hey, let’s… forget about it.” You try to bring him back. “We don’t have to make any promises like that.”

“You don’t mind?” He held your hand, almost desperate. “That I’ll just… leave?”

“That’s what people do when they love someone, I suppose. Even if it hurts.”

Love

Tor released his breath he didn't even realise he was holding, feeling a wave crash down onto his shoulders—both a good and bad feeling.

I love you.

He wanted to tell you that a while back when he revealed his eyes, but he couldn't muster the courage to do so.

Yet you loved him back, the person who at every turn of his time here, demonstrated bravery and confidence far beyond his. He wanted to pull you close and kiss you right there and then, hold you until the Sun rose once more—his body felt free yet shackled, throat burning hot but frozen at the same time.

“...I can’t return your feelings,” Tor said matter of factly, “I’m sorry.”

He felt bad for saying it, but his heart ached in a particular way for the first time in his life when he saw the look in your eyes—

—Warm, gentle, and accepting. You stood with the lantern snugly cradled in your arms like a newborn. “I know,” you simply smiled, “I know.”

He felt like a villain. All that time spent bonding with you and he has no choice but to throw your feelings into the trash bin. 

He thought for certain that he was not allowed to embrace the light of day, under a beautiful blue sky any longer. He believed he deserved the bloodied red skies of Pandemonium that the fallen angel once attempted to call forth.

The sounds of glass shattering were so vivid to him, your heart. He would step on the shards and watch himself bleed to death from it as atonement for his words.

Tor opened his mouth, hoping to mend the situation.

Until the night sky burst open, revealing an unknown cosmic phenomena.

Thunderous cracking roared through the night with echoes of ticking clocks.

Hues of colours painted the calm stars for an instant, emitting a radial light that dissipated as if an explosion blew off part of the dimension.

Something shone within the hole before hurling down at an ungodly speed. 

Tor pulled you close instinctively to shield you, sensing danger. The sheer might of the anomaly was beyond anything he's ever felt. He watched its trajectory and deduced it would land somewhere in the woods, far from town, but a night's trek would probably have it arrive if left alone.

“Tor-”

“Head home and lock the doors.” His arms retreated from your figure but you gripped his sleeve before he could sprint.

“You're not going out there alone, are you?” 

“Head home,” He pleaded, open eyes softly looking into yours. “Please.”

Your brows furrow, lowering your gaze in defeat as you nod. He knew you wanted to follow but by the distance of the anomaly’s land site, you wouldn't be able to keep your strength on the way there. 

He sees a glint of anger in your eyes, aimed at yourself. You were frustrated with your seemingly permanently weakened state, unable to assist him with this mission.

If he wanted to say something to comfort you, he couldn't. You've fled down the hill before he could even get a word out.

With his knife tucked to his side, hanging off his belt, he made his way to the crash.

The trek down the woods was full of caution. Whatever that manifested had scared away other monsters lurking around. If you knew, he was sure you’d be punching the air telling him that it was right of you to accompany him but he simply couldn’t risk having you falling over from trying to keep up with his pace.

He estimated that he was about a quarter of the way there, mind readying itself for combat. A part of him laughed pathetically at himself.

“The primary duty of a knight is to fight,” Lord Aglovale spoke frankly. This was around the time of their first encounter together, “Do you believe you possess the necessary strength?”

“Well…” Tor exhales from his nose, “I typically hire mercenaries for protection..”

Aglovale simply smiled at his response. “I'm sure you do,” he said, “Your bearing alone leaves you full of openings.”

“...Is it that obvious at a glance?”

“Stay here if you have reservations.” The stern voice of Dalmore’s legend boomed. Looking down at Tor as if he were an interference to their current dilemma.

“I think not,” Tor pushed back, “I was told to cooperate with this investigation.”

“Then quit whining and bring up the rear.” He pushed him aside, walking off while Tor stood in place frowning at the poor treatment. He didn’t think it was this often people would look down on him after becoming a knight… was it because he wasn’t as strong as the others?

His frown goes unnoticed.

“Wait, everyone!” Tor called out urgently, “If we don’t account for the contingencies–”

“What use is there in dawdling?!” Gawain interjected once again, clearly irritated by the lack of action from him, “After them!”

The mix-matched team of fighters ran forward without hearing Tor’s thoughts out, leaving him behind once again. His eye twitched, clicking his tongue in frustration before catching up to the others.

“Pathetic,” Tor’s heart stung immediately at her venomous voice, “Aren’t you a man? You couldn’t have shielded her from this all yourself?”

“They held me down–” A younger, more fragile Tor attempted to explain. Covered in bruises from the robbery that happened the day prior.

“Don’t bother being alive if you can’t even protect your own mother, boy,” His aunt narrowed her eyes, angered at the news of her dear sister being hospitalised from the break-in.

“But I,” Tor’s voice shook, tears threatened to spill from his eyes.

“Once she wakes up, you better be gone.” She turned her back, leaving Tor wallowing in sadness.

Damn it, damn it all.

Tor’s face twisted in anger at the barrage of memories flooding back into his consciousness. Out of all times, why are they haunting him now?

He didn’t have time to react when he heard a snap of a twig from his right, immediately getting tackled by a streak of purple, gold and white. Tor pulled out his knife and tried to slash the beast’s eyes out, similar to his tactic when he first appeared in this world, but the creature caught his arm in a death grip.

He didn’t even have time to react when the assaulter jumped back and screamed, dropping to their knees and bowing profusely. Did his eyes deceive him? Was it trying to charge at him, or was it really grovelling?

When the night breeze blew the clouds away, the moonlight revealed an unfamiliar man in a lab coat.

“I’m sorry!” the dragon bows his head down repeatedly, “I’m super sorry! Super extra duper Bahamut levels of sorry!”

Orologia was calculating probabilities as usual. He was fascinated by the mechanisms of mana waste and decided to lurk around the outskirts of town, observing their norms. Unfortunately, the dragon was emitting an aura that nearby monsters sensed as high-mana food and charged towards his direction—towards the town. This was when Logia panicked, and while attempting to tear a hole in the dimension to crawl back to the Sky Realm, he didn’t realise a grown man had fallen out of the hole and was left behind.

“So that’s how it happened…” Tor sighed.

“I assumed if I disappeared, the monsters would leave. I didn’t realise they’d go straight to the town! It was a complete miscalculation on my end! I’ll atone for this sin for the rest of eternity!”

“Well, I ended up saving everyone so it turned out fine,” he tried to calm him down, “this means I can finally return, yes? You can send me home?”

“Totally! I can send you back right now with a snap of my fingers!” Logia holds his hand up to his face, ready to do exactly as he described until a thought comes to mind. “Oh… um, are you really sure you want to leave now now? Like, now, at-this-second now?”

Tor scrunches his face in confusion. He hasn’t had the opportunity to talk to the Time Wedge before this moment, he’s a little perplexed at the odd mannerisms he exhibits.

“Do you have any goodbyes to say before we go? We… might not be able to come back here again.”

Ah…

“Is…” Tor thought aloud, hopeful, searching for any compassion for his situation, “Is it possible if–”

“No.” He was interrupted, Orologia’s voice now stern and serious, unlike how he was mere seconds ago. The man knew exactly what was about to be asked and refused to entertain the notion. “What originates here, stays here. End of story.” He said matter-of-factly, “Whatever you’ve built here dies once we return to the Sky Realm.”

He felt his feet being cut by the shards of your heart digging into his skin further, his blood rapidly gushing out.

Tor took a pained, shaky breath in as he muttered his sorry to you under his breath as he exhaled.

The two trekked back to town, uttering no words to each other. Each step Tor took somehow felt heavier the closer they were.

“Is that the friend you were searching for?” you peeped behind him, curious of the funny-coloured hair man.

The Sun journeys itself back into the sky much faster than the Sky Realm, Tor learned this quite early on during his prolonged stay here. By the time he and Logia returned back to town, it was already bright. You were awake—anxiously pacing his living room, waiting for his return through the window the entire night—bolting out the front door to check on him, only to find an unfamiliar face accompanying your companion.

“We're friends?” Logia gasped in shock, hands flying to cover his mouth. Tor's brows furrowed, head snapping to the dragon behind him with a silent warning to shut up.

“He's not,” Tor deadpanned, “but close enough, I suppose.” His focus shifts back to you, smiling apologetically at the dark rings under your eyes.

You smiled back, about to say something back but your little moment together was interrupted once again by a now impatient Orologia. “The power surge I let into the air is waning,” he warns. “I did it to scare off all the beasts. If it's gone, they'll sense me and make a beeline for the town again.”

Tor felt like crying from the stress right now. What can he say to you on such short notice? He's not even given the time to explain it all.

“I have to go, I’m sorry.”

Pathetic.

“Will you visit sometime?”

“... I’m sorry.”

Utterly pathetic.

“I see…” you looked down at your feet, clearly heartbroken, “I suppose this is goodbye, then?”

Unfair, Tor thought. This is wholly unfair.

Tor's body moved on its own—pulling you towards him, wrapping his arms tightly around you with his face nuzzling the side of your neck as if it were home. His heart grew tenfold when you returned the gesture and hugged him back.

He has to leave you. He has to leave you forever.

“Tor?”

“Yes?”

“I finally found one thing you're bad at—” 

You gently pushed on his chest to take a step back, giving some distance between the both of your bodies. 

Instinctively, Tor's arms tried to reach for you, missing the embrace but paused mid-air as he felt your index finger poke his chest.

—love.”

Your last words echoed in his head, haunting him as he jolted awake. Where…? He looks around in panic trying to find you and then it clicks. Heavy gasps turn calm breathing as he frantically looks around and realises he's in his room.

In Wales.

In the Sky Realm.

“What…” his face twisted in disbelief as he jumped out of bed, tossing the covers to the floor and scrambling out of the room. 

The all too familiar corridor of the barracks greets him outside. The carpets, the decor, the emblem… he's really…

He spots a smaller figure on his right, humming a local tune while swiping her feather duster on the grandfather clock. 

The maid…!

“How long…” Tor near collapsed as he grabbed the maid by the shoulders, shaking her urgently, “How long was I missing?”

The sudden ambush caused her to drop her housekeeping tools, hands springing upwards to instinctively shield herself. “T-that’s a bit drastic even for you, isn’t it?! You’ve only slept in for two hours!” She squeaked.

“Two…” he let go of her, regaining his composure. He must’ve looked deranged.

“As far as my memories can recall, you did your regular duties before sleeping last night.” she took a deep breath, taking a step back for precaution. “Were you that tired? Or is it that you missed a meeting? I’m sorry we didn’t assist in waking you sooner.”

“N-no, no, no, it’s not your fault. I mistook my dream for reality, I thought I was gone for a year.”

The maid looked at him as if he grew two extra heads, but she simply shook her head and excused herself so she could continue with her tasks.

There was no way it was all a dream… but he needed to keep a cool head and clean himself up. If he’s truly two hours behind schedule, the king of Wales is definitely waiting to see him.

“Tor,” Aglovale spoke once he saw Tor slide into the room a little more rushed than usual. He didn’t wait for his reply, gesturing his hand for him to look to the other side of the room.

“Yes?”

As Tor turned his head, he saw the famous colourful crew waving excitedly at him. The young captain of the Grandcypher himself, Lyria, the lizard and an all too familiar pale man with a lab coat on.

“Hi, Tor!”

“What’s up, Mr. Sleeping Eyes!”

Tor flashed a courteous smile, “Hello. Are there matters you need to discuss with Lord Aglovale?”

“Actually… we’re here for you.” Gran spoke, “Or more like Logia here wanted to see you. Said it was urgent so we docked the ship as soon as we could.”

“Lyria’s here for strawberry tarts.”

“V-Vyrn! Shh!!”

Outside the grand halls in the castle’s private garden, Gran stood with his arms crossed, candidly watching Lyria and Vyrn play with fishes. One of the gardeners was trying to catch them into a bucket so he could clean the pond, so the trio took it upon themselves to help out while they waited for Orologia.

Behind the rose bushes and wooden white arc slightly further off from them, however, the atmosphere was less pleasant.

“Aha…ha… It wasn't a dream!” Orologia’s voice held no confidence as he awkwardly clapped, head retracting itself into his body like a turtle in danger. “Hooray! …Yippee!”

“You came out all this way just to mock me?” Tor's words spilt out like knives. He tried his best to be cordial but he couldn't keep himself composed after everything.

Logia flinched at his tone.

“If you have nothing better to say, I suggest you leave. You've already ruined my morning.” As Tor was about to turn away, the dragon latched onto his arm in desperation.

“W-wait! Wait, wait, wait! Just a second!” He begged, “I know you probably hate me now but I wanna make things right!”

Tor’s right eye twitched, face still in a scowl. Logia wanted nothing more than to vanish from existence purely from that expression alone, but he acknowledged Tor's silence as his sign to continue speaking. “Um… so time works differently in each dimensional pocket and- yadda yadda, you probably don't wanna hear the whole lecture but what I'm trying to say is…! If you want, I can send them a letter for you.”

“... Oh?”

“Like, if you can, within 5 days! 2 hours translates to about 10 months there so if you want to… um… say whatever was left hanging… you know?” Logia struggled to explain, but Tor’s expression softening meant that he wasn't in trouble anymore, easing the tension in the air.

But the deafening silence had Logia worried for a different reason so he tried to get more words in, “Mr Tor, I meant it when I said I was really really sorry. I shouldn’t have yanked you out like that before you guys said your goodbyes but we were running out of time and-”

“They'll be dead in a week…” Tor exhales, looking down to his feet in horror.

“L-let's not think about mortality right now!” Logia’s voice flew up a few octaves, panicking. “Let's just think about getting that letter written, okay?! Okay! I think that's a great idea! Genius even!”

“Everything okay over there?”

The two men turned their heads towards the source of the voice—Gran popped in, leaning on the decorative arc looking a little concerned. Logia straightened himself while Tor simply gave a courteous nod as if nothing happened. “Pretty cold this side of the garden, huh?” Gran joked.

No response.

“Huh,” Gran exhales, looking around absentmindedly while whistling. “I think we'll head out now, Tor. If that's aight with you, of course.”

“Ah, I suppose you have adventures waiting for you.” Tor smiles, “Thank you for your visit today. I'll let Lord Aglovale know of your departure.”

“Cool beans. C’mon, Logia.”

The captain removed himself from the group and walked off, joining the now-wet Lyria and Vyrn at the entrance of the garden. Logia, surprised by the announcement at first, bowed profusely to Tor before scurrying away together.

Perceptive, Tor thought. No doubt that the young man sensed the tension between him and Logia and decided to break them up before an argument transpired. Would Tor have fought the purple-haired man? His hand came up to rub his face as he let out a breath of frustration. He feels less in control of his emotions today, reminding him of his younger naive self.

He couldn't shake the anxiety of knowing you exist, though. How he will quite literally outlive you easily thanks to the convoluted time gap between you both. 

He then remembers the embrace—the warmth of having you around and the comfort it brought him—something he's already starting to miss.

…

Perhaps he should retreat to his quarters and do as the dragon says.

“Are you sure the letter was delivered?”

There stood a younger Tor, in his early 20s, now living alone after being banished by his aunt. His brows furrowed in worry, knowing that he had sent his mother letters as to not concern her after his disappearance and had not received any letter back.

“Lad, for the third time, I personally handed the letter to the resident.” The postal man sighs, “It ain't my fault if she ain't replying to ya.” 

“...Was she in a wheelchair?”

“Walkin’ fine last I saw.”

Ah.

Tor would tell anyone that one of his hobbies was to write to his family.

The honest truth. He truly does find tremendous comfort in writing about his well-being and journeys, hoping his mother would read them and wish him well throughout the bumps in his life, and feel proud of his achievements.

What Tor can never tell anyone is how those letters were never read.

Tor doesn't know if his mother got any of his letters—if she even knew what came of him after the incident. He suspects his aunt had taken a room for herself in their home and has been throwing them all out whenever they reach the mailbox.

His heart twists wondering if his mother does know, and has been trying to send letters back but his aunt would toss it out secretly before the postal service retrieves it. Was she worried? Has she been calling him home this entire time? He likely will never know.

Family—something that Tor has never been able to resolve, out of fear of himself being a failure and the possibility of upsetting the only family that still cared. A hopeless man holding onto what remains of an elegant vase, too afraid to put it back together in fear of shattering the pieces even further.

The honest truth. Tor feels a great weight on his shoulders expressing his emotions—something he's poured into his thrown-out letters—resulting in a very bottled-up man afraid of expressing any form of love. It was too much to bear, the idea of his heart being discarded without a thought. It felt almost like it was disgusting to be cherished by him.

Something you've acutely pointed out before his world went black.

God, he misses you. You were the first person in years where he felt safe to just let all his walls down and be the rawest form of himself—The jittery, anxious, lost boy thrown into the world without a hand to hold onto. The one time in eternity where he felt like speaking his mind wouldn’t result in being subjected to extreme scrutiny.

A part of him feels like this was the same case of fear as with his family; unable to give you his heart because he would eventually leave and cause you nothing but sadness. Another intricate vase shattered by his own doing. He feels horrible.

Tonight, the knight sits alone in his room, staring intensely at the blank sheet of paper on his desk as he struggles to calmly hold onto the quill.

He doesn't even know what to say to you. Will… the letter even make it to you? Will it get tossed aside too? He grips his head with the other hand, stressed.

“Spring’s such a wonderful season, isn’t it?” The gentle voice of a woman hummed as she dusted the books in an all-too-familiar wooden home. “I’ve heard from my grandparents how sparse the flowers bloom when they were younger thanks to all the waste. I can’t imagine being robbed of this view if I were born then.”

She looks over her shoulders to the elder lying across the room, on a wooden bench filled with blankets and pillows. They were flipping through yet another book on ancient creatures, eyes half-lidded. “Living with less makes you appreciate life more,” they spoke. “It even took nearly a month to travel to the nearest town, those days.”

“I can’t imagine taking one month to come clean this place weekly.” She laughed at the thought, walking over to them.

“It’s good for your stamina, I hear. Housekeeping’s a serious duty.”

“You might actually be right.” She placed her hands on her hips, teasing, “The way you vanish into the woods, I need more leg power to catch you.”

“Hah! Don’t tempt me.”

Knock. Knock.

“Hang on, I’ll go get it.” The housekeeper left to open the front door, the elder turned their head to see who it could be, but noticed their companion’s confusion.

“Who is it?”

“Not a soul outside. Peculiar.” She peeked outside the windows before returning, carrying an envelope in one hand, “This was on the floor though, addressed to you.”

“Me?” They grunted, lifting themselves up to inspect the envelope handed to them.

“As much as I can read. Never seen this language before,” she replied.

The elder laughed softly, fingers tracing the writing on the peculiar letter with care. “No, I don’t blame you.” They stood up, walking to their disorganised study to find their knife, “Only I can read this”. Gently cutting open the top, they walked over to the front window so that it was bright enough for their old eyes to read.

Below the addressed name, a familiar string of foreign symbols.

‘Tor’

You smiled, grey hairs falling to frame your face, the wrinkles on your face more apparent than last time. How long has it been for him, you wonder? His penmanship, the way he writes in your world’s writing system hasn’t changed from the many papers he’s written years ago. Of course you remember—you’ve archived everything in his tiny home, now yours, to preserve the memories—how could you ever forget someone like him?

“You know the song from beyond?” you turned to face your housekeeper, a mischievous woman from another town who ventured her way to you after catching wind of your little castle of history. A stubborn woman who wanted to help you maintain the house, a fanatic of stories from times where mages would fly on broomsticks and non-human allies were present.

“Of course I do. You made me memorise it from start to finish.” She tilts her head.

“It was his mother’s song.”

“The fae?”

“He wasn’t a fae.”

“Sounded like a fae to me.” She shrugged.

You chuckled at her disbelief, shaking your head as you stared out the window once more. There he stood, as a statue at the centre of the plaza, holding a drawn sword in his left hand and onto a vase on his right. Real flowers and vines grew out, covering that side of the body as it joined the rest of the flowerbed surrounding him. 

Tor had made himself an integral pillar to the town that they carved his likeness into marble, wanting to honor him after his disappearance. Eyes closed, his signature gentle smile. The only way to thank him—to remember he existed. Those who knew talked of him as a miracle worker who protected them from monsters and gave life to a dying town.

Who was Tor? You never truly knew in the end. The town’s suspicions led them to theorise that he was probably of fae descent.

A man who refused to give his name, odd behaviours, strong, very well versed in healing, musically inclined, came from seemingly nowhere, and you expect to believe he was human? 

Not to mention the silhouette of a horned beast during the night before his departure. Wasn't that a dragon? You personally deduced it was the purple-haired man that came along with him, and not Tor himself since you were with him during its appearance. 

The fae king lives! They must've fled to another realm this entire time while we thought they went extinct…

But you knew better—Tor was simply a man, outwardly composed and talented but inwardly a kind of mess that was equally endearing as it was worrying. Fae or not, he was merely a dear friend and you refused to see him in such a questioning manner.

“His mother must’ve known you two would cross paths,” your younger friend chimed, joining you to watch him from the window. “The song’s a little too literal with your context.”

“Funny enough,” you agreed, “I bet he hasn’t realised it himself, as smart as he is.”

“Were all the music sheets on the top shelf from him too?” She points to the many shelves built to hold his possession; the books he borrowed were never returned in the end, the former chief had permission to keep them for you… and some of the other towns had their libraries destroyed by monsters throughout the years so it was better kept with you.

“Every single one, yes.”

You glanced at the paper in your hands, taking the letter out of the already opened envelope. It had dried sploshes of water(?), it was enough to misshapen the paper and blur some of the text. At least it was still readable from what you could tell. Your friend moved her face closer to snoop, “That’s the sorriest piece of paper I’ve ever seen.”

That made you laugh, “Let it be, I’m sure he tried,” you swatted her shoulder.

“‘He?’ The fae wrote this?”

“Not a fae.”

“Hah, you should’ve told me sooner.” She stepped back from you, ignoring your correction. “I’ll give you some privacy. Anything you want? —Pastries? Sandwiches? The bakery should still be open.”

“Whatever tarts you think I’ll eat.”

“Oh wow, a challenge.” She raised her brow, “Gotcha! I’ll be back in a bit.” She waved goodbye to you before walking out the door. If you listened closely, you could hear her hum one of the few tunes you learned from Tor.

You shook your head, holding the letter closer to your eyes to read its contents. Your expression softened at the state of the paper; undoubtedly ruined by the tears that he must’ve tried hard to wipe away. If only you were there to console him… but you supposed he wouldn’t be crying if you could, now, would he?

This letter may never reach you, the letter starts. Somehow you felt like these specific words had more context behind them, but you brushed it aside.

I’m sorry.

You probably already know, but I don't belong to your world.

But if I were honest—I wished I did.

He opens by telling you that he was but a meek person who kept to himself, only engaged with others for business matters as it was the only way for others to respect him, as pitiful as it sounds, he writes.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but I am far from the miracle worker you see in me—fully flawed, ugly in and out, and downright weak.

He admits that that was the reason for his ‘doctor’ title, and that he believed he would only be staying for a week before finding his way back home so he didn’t feel the need to give out his name.

…I was wrong, and I feel the need to apologise once more.

I used to wonder what would have happened if you all knew. A part of me feared you would cast me aside like the others in my world. If that had happened, if I had been truly alone in that unknown place, I would have rotted away in despair.

But you didn’t.

You kept me together despite looking beyond the cracks between my mask. The honest truth. You never saw me as lesser, never looked at me like I was nothing. It hurts to say, but even among my allies back home, I still struggle to find a place to belong. A knight only by name, a man too lacking to be called an equal. That was why finding my dear friend was important; he saw something in me that even I couldn’t.

You remind me a lot of him—similar, but different all the same.

He tells you how he hasn’t felt like he belonged anywhere for the longest time before crossing paths with you—whether by coincidence or fate, for the first time in years, I was finally home.

The confines of a house were no longer me and my demons, but the Sun and all its warmth and radiance as well.

And now I’ve returned to my world, all the familiarities feel foreign; to return to my lively nation, yet my heart more hollow than it's ever been.

He confesses what you’ve deduced from the dried tears that stain the paper, he has not stopped crying since his return—about his departure, about you, and the words he hadn’t had the courage to say when he had the chance. 

 I feel utterly pathetic not being able to do more. I failed at holding onto someone I treasured yet again…

The truth is—I wanted to take you with me.

Tor wrote about the country he’s from, known as Wales, renowned for its vibrance, bountiful agriculture and history. The creatures, the many races, the primals and otherworldly beings, he described as much as he could about his world in return for showing him yours. 

He tells you of masses of lands, defying gravity, floating throughout the bluest skies imaginable and people boarding flying ships to traverse between each island—a description that felt like it was ripped out of a fairy tale.

I would have found a way to get you onboard the greatest Skyfarer crew alive. You would've fit in like a glove there—everyone would've loved you, this I was confident. 

We could've travelled the expanses of the skies together, the ink belonging to this particular sentence smudged slightly, the part of the paper that took in his tears the most. His writing became notably shaky, you felt every word emit sorrow.

But it was a foolish, selfish thought. And in the end, an impossible one.

I was reminded once again that I am merely Tor, the coward who can't do anything to keep his life together.

As the letter nears its end, he thanks you for your time together. He feels as though he did more damage than good by disappearing without a word, something he feels wholly guilty about, even if it was out of his control.  I just want you to know that you've been the greatest person I've ever had the pleasure to meet, he writes. I don't think an eternity is enough to help me get over our goodbyes.

Even if we are now worlds apart—if this letter reaches you, know this:

I love you.

I always will.

My only wish is that you remember me, as I will never forget you.

The next time Tor went out to the training grounds for practice, he noticed something was carved into the base of his blade when taking it out of its sheath.

‘I love you’

Your handwriting, surely, he recognises it and the foreign characters anywhere. That must’ve meant Orologia managed to send his letter after all. In return, three simple words, but the knight smiled for the first time since his return.

Don’t cry because it’s over; Smile because it happened, his mother always taught him.

He rubs his swollen eyes, exhausted from the tears and restless five nights. He supposed it was about time he started looking at things in a positive light. You would’ve scolded him for letting the storm clouds overtake him, after all.

.

.

.

Wedged between time and space

And the boundless unexpressed emotions flowing in between.

.

.

.

Wales has fallen…

Tor's mother's song! (English captions available)  ✦  Piano Song!

A/N: Thanks for reading this massive fic! I hope this experimental detour from Gawain is fine with everyone. The DAZBEE cover song is honestly the main reason for the plot since I had this dream after listening to it on repeat and wanted to include it.

I'm aware this fic will become stale if CyGames ends up revealing more about Tor's past, and I'm not the best writer with the best English so I hope whatever happens in the future, that this was at least a fun read.

I titled it the way I did because Logia opens up a lot of possible fic ideas, we might wedge between time and space with another person one day!

Tor’s knee buckles from fatigue but he remains standing. He can hold his own in a fight, but he wouldn’t necessarily classify himself as a skilled combatant… having faced four monsters on his own while townsfolk were running from every direction in utter chaos made it so much harder than it should be.

Now limping to the fountain at the centre of the plaza, he takes a deep breath to regain his composure. Now’s not the time to rest, he lifts his head, “Bring the injured to me! I need water, rags and any medical supplies you can find!” His voice was heard clearly through the town as the people scrambled to follow his orders.

One round, two round, just like how he was trained. He let go of the bandages he tied around the last of the injured, “I’ve closed your wound, it’s going to be fine,” he smiled reassuringly.

“Thank you,” the man spoke, “you saved us all.”

His wife knelt beside him held some curiosity, however. “Who… are you? Where are you from?”

“Ah,” Tor opened his mouth only to close it back again, “I’m… simply a travelling doctor.”

This wasn’t Wales; Tor has trekked every inch of the forest, cities and towns of the nation. It doesn’t matter if it wasn’t, Tor was always a capable navigator and knows how to find his way back home.

But this wasn’t the Sky Realm; everything felt… grounded. No airships, no floating islands, no talk about Skyfarers, Primals – nothing.

Tor woke up panicked, buried in a bush in an unfamiliar woods area wearing nothing but his beige, long-sleeved shirt and regular brown pants. He doesn’t remember how he ended up here; his last memories were attending meetings with Lord Aglovale before turning in for the night after settling the usual paperwork.

Grabbing some rocks in his hands, he cautiously walked through the woods… passing trees he didn't recognise… passing wildlife he'd never seen before.

And then he heard it.

Screams of terror followed by disembowelled howling akin to demons.

He ran towards the noise and stumbled upon an isolated town, people running in fear as their soldiers got ripped apart by the monsters. Picking up a sword that was in the hands of a corpse, he leapt into action without hesitation.

“Are you sure there’s no way for us to repay you?” The town’s elderly chief spoke up.

“No, it’s quite fine. There were people that needed help so I did. It’s only natural.” Tor shook his head lightly at the idea until he realised the severity of his situation, “Ah, on second thought… if it’s no burden, do you happen to have a place to stay?”

“We have a small cabin that hasn’t been occupied in a while. Stay for however long you’d like.”

Tor hasn’t been able to make out his situation at all. His only sound theory is that, just like some crew members of the Grandcypher, he was somehow sucked into a void and transported to another dimension. It’s concerning to think a hole tore within Wales, in my quarters no less, he thought, but that’s a problem he’ll have to solve once he finds a way back home.

He walks around the dining table of his new temporary residence. Thankfully, the town was delighted that he stayed… apparently, they lacked any doctors so that kept Tor in their good graces, as much as it busied him throughout the day.

“Those herbs should help with your son’s fever,” Tor stood at the open entrance of another townsfolk’s home, “mix it in tea and have him drink it twice a day until it disappears. It tastes sweet so it shouldn’t bother his picky eating whatsoever.” 

“Thanks again, doctor. We’re just glad it wasn’t the plague or anything drastic.”

“No worries,” he smiled, “you may call me any time for assistance; it doesn't matter big or small.”

Doctor – that was what the townspeople called him. He felt guarded giving out his name after learning that the writing system of this world was completely different to that of the Sky Realm. Wouldn’t want them to accuse me of witchcraft or anything of that sort, he reasoned. Instead, he opted to become the random friendly doctor who got lost looking for ‘someone important to him’. It wasn’t a lie, after all, he did need to get back to His Lordship as soon as he could.

“Doctor,” an old voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Ah, hello John,” Tor noticed the man’s uncertain face, “You… seem a little off. Is there anything I can do for you?”

That was how he learned of you, the only child of John’s deceased friend that he promised to look after. He had stopped coming over to give you space after you’ve reached your twenties, adults need their space and privacy after all, but he didn’t know how adventurous you were and what it led to.

“They ventured into the woods and fell into a creek,” he explained, “The water was contaminated with a dead monster not that far away. I think it went into their eyes and they never told anyone.”

Tor frowned, sitting on one of the stools in John’s cottage, “This sounds like it happened before? Do the creatures carry some sort of disease?”

“No, surely you know? Monsters run on mana waste in the atmosphere,” John continued, “When they die, they secrete the waste back into the surroundings in the form of liquids. It kills the environment.”

“So that’s why hunting is discouraged.”

“Yes, if one were to accidentally get slain too close to town, our crops may suffer. It’s too risky.”

“I see,” So they produce some sort of toxic chemicals, “And where does the mana waste come from?” Tor asked.

John awkwardly laughed, “You’re really gonna make me recap history, doc?”

Yikes. 

This knowledge must be something everyone knows.

Everyone except Tor, of course.

“A quirk of mine,” Tor lies, smiling, “It’s hard to explain illnesses and cures to others when both parties use different terms. I just want to know things from your perspective so we can communicate better.”

“Makes sense… I think.” 

John’s wife giggled as she poured out a cup of tea for the both of them.

Apparently, the world used to be populated with mages but while society became more dependent on magic, no one realised that mana was finite. Once it dried up, all that was left was waste in the air and people returned to being… people. Modes of teleportation and portals became obsolete, cutting off most towns from the rest of civilisation; including this one.

This revelation made Tor a little worried that he would be stuck here forever, but that matter can wait. The issue at hand is you, living alone in your own small home, with essentially a parasite in your eyes that would eventually move elsewhere and affect the rest of your already weakened body. John and his wife felt guilty for not knowing sooner, even if you kept your worsening condition from them (was there anything they could do if you did?). They knew Tor wasn’t a miracle worker, he simply knew how to practise medicine. They were still hopeful, though; hopeful that somehow it was curable, and that you wouldn’t have to be robbed of your vision and die young.

Tor accepted.

“You’re going to sedate me?”

If Tor’s eyes were open, he would’ve blinked twice in surprise. He was at your home, with the couple in tow as your emotional support, “Er, I suppose that would be the tactless way of saying it,” he humoured, “these herbs should work as anaesthesia. They’ll put you to sleep and make sure you won’t feel a thing while I operate your eyes.”

“Have you… performed surgery before?”

“Yes, many times,” Tor confidently replied, “You can trust me.”

Tor wasn’t lying when he told you he had operated on others before. He had to learn and do many things in the past before he crossed paths with Lord Aglovale. He wouldn’t dare call himself a doctor, but he won’t deny that he’s skilled for the task. It would be better to have a knight who’s capable of aiding his own men when no surgeons were around, anyway.

Tor wasn’t lying when he told Lord Aglovale that he was a merchant either. Tor was, in fact, many things, looking back on life. It gives him a bit of an identity crisis but it didn’t matter after being knighted. Serving his Majesty helped him with that, feeling more grounded and focused than he used to. A purpose, he would say.

Tor also wasn’t lying when he told the old couple that he would help you. You seem like the stubborn type, insisting to your partial caretakers that you can handle yourself fine and there isn’t a problem. “I don’t want to rely on others. It’s my life – I’ll see it through until it’s over” you confidently told them. Admirable.

He was also impressed hearing that you were hiding with a knife during the monster attack, believing that you could fend for yourself if one lunges at you. You were very brave, he noted, braver than most. 

Ironic for a man who doesn’t open his eyes to be curing someone of blindness, he tells himself as he sits on the edge of your bed. Beside him was a washcloth, bucket of warm water, a syringe and a vial that had a couple of special rare herbs mixed in. He had procured them from the woods after studying many books from the local library… After teaching himself how to read and write in the language. Behind him was the couple, his wife held onto her husband anxiously praying that nothing bad would happen.

“J-Jane, dear, don’t panic too much. The doc might flinch!”

“No such thing, John, I have full control of my reflexes,” Tor teased as he leaned towards you, hands gently prying open your left eye with his fingers. 

Clouded.

It seemed as if whatever that got into your eye made itself home in your lenses. His theory was that it was simply covering your pupils from receiving light, something similar to the non-magic ailment that he had seen in some from the Sky Realm. One that can be treated if brought to a genuine doctor. 

The problem is that there is no certified doctor present; just a humble knight who happened to have a somewhat dodgy past that required brutal survival skills. He hoped to the Skies above that he was correct nonetheless – it’s a person’s eyeballs after all. This isn’t anything like sewing a deep wound or amputating an arm. People don’t normally go poking at it with needles hoping something will happen. He’s hesitant.

Somehow the person left unconscious in that room was braver than he was right now. Well, that can’t do, I’m a sworn knight.

Tor whispers a prayer after dripping some handmade concoction into both eyes; something he felt would help keep your eyes from drying or feeling irritated after this entire event. He brought the syringe closer, laying right on the lens as he began to carefully extract the fluid from your eyes, one by one.

“It’s done,” Tor sighed in relief, “they’ll be a bit sensitive to light for now, but they’ll recover. I'll have to take a look at their overall health afterwards. Just make sure they get enough food, water and sleep since you mentioned they tend to skip out.”

“Thank you… thank you…” Jane started tearing up, “You have no idea how much this means to all of us.”

A month has passed, and no progress whatsoever on finding his way back home. Tor felt it was futile after finding no traces of foul play from Primals or those… otherworldly creatures.

“Surely Lord Aglovale would’ve gotten assistance from Gran by now… they’ll find me… somehow,” he convinced himself, lying defeated in his bed. He’s going to come back to the craziest pile of paperwork.

Tor walked to the bakery today, hoping to get some pastries he's been craving. “I think a cheese tart or two is in order after everything this week,” he joked. Because of the monsters decaying in town, some of the farm animals and pets fell ill. Tor has had… experience caring for horses in the past, so he volunteered to be their vet.

“Only one or two? Friend, you deserve a whole set of six!” The baker started packing some tarts into a small box.

“Ah, no, that's not necessary! I'm still lodging for free, I can't pay anything.”

“You’re healing this whole place all on your own, I think everyone can agree that your selfless self can have our goods for free. Here,” he pushed the box into Tor’s arms, not allowing him to refuse.

“Ahaha, I'm honoured.” Tor blushes, “Oh, how's your sister?”

“Over the moon! She's about two months pregnant now.” he smiles brightly, “I don't know how you do it, but I'm finally gonna be an uncle! I can't wait.”

All while the baker was rambling about the baby, Tor froze. I treated her three weeks into my stay here, he realised, it's been three months since I've left Wales.

Was this bad? Should he do something? What could he possibly do?

His mind was spinning. He had circled the area of the forest he spawned from thousands of times now – even gone deeper into the woods with a sword looking for answers, only to find nothing. Books helped him understand the world but had nothing that had anything to do with his dilemma. He had thought that maybe other towns would have more information, but the nearest one was a whole fortnight's worth of travel and absolutely nothing! Tor’s face spelt nothing but distress while walking back to his little wooden home that seems less temporary now until he spots an odd silhouette on the ground from the corner of his eye.

You were passed out on the pavement in a back alley.

Instinctively, he dropped his box of pastries and ran towards you, calling your name in worry. This was the first time he had seen you after the scuffed surgery. He knew from your caretakers that your vision came back, but since you did fall into contaminated waters entirely, you’re still not the greatest picture of health. He offered to take a look at you post-treatment to see if he could do anything, but apparently, you were (once again) insistent that you could live your life normally without the help. He respected your wishes.

Wishes be damned if you’re passed out on the ground though, so he ended up carrying you to his place where he made a makeshift bed for you; the wooden bench in the main room with extra pillows and blankets piled onto it.

As distressing as it is to see your current state, he was a little glad there was something to pull his mind away from his own problems. Tor feels a great amount of unrest when left idle, after all.

He slumps over in a chair waiting for the kettle to boil, the palm of his hand running through his face trying to soothe himself. That’s when he spotted movements from your side.

“...where…?” you were groggy, eyes barely opened. He sees colour in your face again though – a good sign.

“My home,” he saw the way you jumped at his voice, “You were passed out behind the shops.”

“Huh?!” Your eyes were now open wide, head snapping to face his direction in surprise once you realised whose voice was speaking to you. “D-D-D-Doc-?!” your hand flew up to point at him in disbelief.

Tor thought your reaction was cute.

“God, doctor, how many books do you need to read?”

“As many as I can get a hold of, to be honest with you.”

Four months since his disappearance, Tor’s living space started to look like the Library of Alexandria the way it was stacked to the ceilings with books he got from… anywhere and anyone who had some. Luckily the town chief was acquainted with other neighbouring (in loose terms) town chiefs that didn’t mind lending over carts full of historical, magic and even science-adjacent books – a lot for a person to digest, but Tor was getting desperate.

As for you, Tor assured that he wouldn’t force any treatments but he heavily insisted that you drop by regularly and spend time at his place when you can. For my peace of mind, he reasoned. He wasn’t fond of the idea of you roaming around the town or even in the woods and just falling over like a leaf for God knows whatever monster to swallow you whole afterwards. He thought you’d scoff at his not-so-subtle invite and call him weird, but you ended up lounging around his home willingly whenever you felt like it. The makeshift bed ended up becoming a sofa of sorts for both him and you to lay on. 

As of right now, you were lying on it while he sat on the ground close to your face with his back resting on it.

“That’s fine and all but…” your head slowly turned to the massive pile of untouched books, “isn’t this a little too extreme?”

“It’s a hobby of mine.”

“To panic read journals like you’re gonna die in the next few seconds?”

“Maybe I’m a masochist like that,” Tor grinned.

“There you go again…” you slumped further into the bench, sighing. Tor must come off as some deranged man from the way he’s either constantly reading or interrogating you on random things about the world. Whenever you ask what his motivation was, he gives you a non-answer, sometimes even playing around with it like right now. Any normal person would run for the hills thinking he’s concocting something sinister but you seem to be unfazed – curious even. “Y’know, when you begged me to hang out here more often, I thought I’d get to learn more about you but all I’ve learnt so far is that you’re the craziest bookworm alive.”

He chuckled at your comment, head still buried in that damn dusty book, “‘Begged’ is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

“I distinctly remember you holding both my hands with your knees bent.”

“Hm…” he lifts his head, contemplating before going back to reading, “I don’t recall.”

He heard you snort before feeling a light push at the back of his head. Tor grinned at this, putting down the book so he could turn to pinch your cheek. “You’re quite the curious one, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah, a mysterious guy appears from nowhere, completely nameless, no background, pokes my eyes, won’t open his own, and is now probably trying to summon a world-ending demon for all I know.” You shrugged, slapping his hands away from your face, “How can I not be curious?”

“Besides,” you continued, “I think it’s almost cruel that we keep calling you ‘Doctor’.”

Now that’s an odd opinion, Tor thought. “Nothing cruel about it. I was the one that insisted on being called that.”

“But aren’t you proud of your name? Why hide it?”

“Hm, I wonder,” he tapped his chin, pretending to think. What's holding him back now is commitment issues, really. He didn’t see the benefit of giving out his name for a temporary stay. Giving his name will just make him feel like this predicament of his is permanent.

Tor let out a soft giggle hearing you groan at his response – he finds that he enjoys messing with you. “It won't change anything if I told you about myself. Are you perhaps bothered that I'm hiding things?”

“I am,” he watches you lift yourself up from the couch to sit, staring off into the distance. Your expression looked so uncharacteristically melancholic that it caught his attention. “It's that feeling when people think they’re close to you, but don’t know anything about you…”

“You could have a million people by your side at every second of your life and it still feels isolating. At least that’s how I felt my whole life,” When you turned to look at him, he saw pain in your eyes, “I thought maybe… if there’s anyone else that feels the same, it’ll be you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” You held out your hand, silently asking for his. He complied, feeling you squeeze his hands firmly. “You’re stressed out over something – I can tell. I don't like that feeling, so I don't want you to feel that either.”

He fell silent.

“You’re trying to get back home, right? To your friend.” You recalled, “All these books travelled far just to lie in this house… that means that you’re from somewhere further? How did you even end up here?”

He smiled as if it wasn’t a problem, but he knew that you could hear the genuine defeat in his voice, “I don’t know... I really don’t.”

“And we can’t help you?”

His smile faded, brows furrowed as he turned to stare at all the books he caged himself with. He didn’t have anything to reply with this time, and he felt his energy was too drained to engage with the topic any further. 

That was when he felt you get up from the couch to sit on the ground next to him, pulling his head so he rests on your shoulders while you gave him a reassuring side hug. He exhales, not realising he was holding his breath the whole time, relaxing his body.

Tor was distressed beyond belief behind his cool facade.

But he’s happy you were here, at least.

“Doctor-”

Your very poor attempt to hold in your laughter rang in his ears as he just groaned in response. It had been one week since his miniature breakdown – Tor had decided (you nagged him to do this) to take a break from whatever he was doing to rest his body and mind. However, Tor is someone who dislikes stagnancy in life and needs to busy his hands so this ended up being punishment for him.

“Stop laughing…” he let out a muffled whine.

He feels like a slimy ol’ slug, lying down on his stomach like a plank with his arms and feet straight and rigid. He heard you knocking outside but he didn’t make any effort to move from his position; that was when he heard you open the door and walk around inside his house to find him, splat on the bed with his bedroom door ajar.

“I never thought I’d get to see a guy with so much elegance like this.” You leaned on the doorframe smirking, arms crossed.

Okay, that caught his attention. “You think I’m elegant?”

“You do carry yourself like a prince.”

“A lousy prince…”

He heard you giggle before feeling the bed dip. You lay right next to him, poking his temple. “Is this the doctor’s clinical method of resting?”

“It’s the clinical method of torture.”

“You’re so dramatic.” You tugged his hair, toying with him.

“I bet this is entertainment to you, hm?” He finally turned his head, eye peeking out from his pillow.

“Absolute cinema.” You flashed your teeth, grinning mischievously.

“At least someone’s enjoying themselves…” He grunts, now turning his body to finally face you. “What brings you here today?”

“You, silly. I’m here to check up on you.”

“My dear patient’s checking up on their doctor?” He sighed exaggeratedly, “The world is doomed. There’s no hope for me.”

“Oh my God, doctor, do you not have a hobby that doesn’t involve rotting in bed?” you slapped his arm after you heard nothing but silence from him, “Hey, come on.”

“...Market research… Stock prices…” He started zoning out, counting on his fingers the things he enjoys.

“Excuse me?”

“...Strategies… politics…”

“No way…”

“...Solving puzzles…”

“You’re so boring!” Tor jolted in surprise at that comment, “So you’re really just a big nerd this whole time!”

“Well, apologies if the mundane is so distasteful for you. I happen to find comfort in my brain churning innovation at all times.” He quipped, falling back into plank position. He was pouting at your reaction, he’s boring to you?

You then got out of bed, grabbing his arm trying to get him to follow you. He didn’t budge so you resorted to trying to pick him up like a baby. “You’re going to break your bones attempting whatever you’re attempting.”

“I’m… attempting to get you... out of this house… for a walk.” You heaved, “That’s what I do when I feel miserable.”

He refused to respond.

“You’re such a diva, doctor. Fine, I’ll leave you alone.” You put your arms on your hips, sighing. He heard you shuffle out of his room to the front entrance.

Thud

CRASH 

Tor sprung out of bed and rushed to the main room, calling your name. “Are you okay?! Hey!” He fell on his knees beside you who was on all fours, breathing heavily and shaking on the porch. Holding your hand, he cradled you in his arms trying to get you to sit down before checking your temperature. “Your temp feels normal, how do you feel? Is it your legs? Are you dizzy?”

“I…” you coughed.

“Yes?” He leaned closer to you.

“I feel…” you slowly reached for him, hands weak. His mouth was agape, waiting for what you were about to say.

Then he felt a sting on his forehead – you flicked him. “I feel like we should go for a walk,” you smirked, voice now normal. Before he could react, you broke free from his grasp and started running into the woods laughing.

“Wha…” he was left outside his home in complete confusion. You pranked him. You actually manage to make a grown man sprint out of his room like an idiot. He hung his head in defeat, standing up to jog after you. “At least have some courtesy to wait for me!”

The two of you hopped and skipped around the trees and bushes like two children in a playground. Running through piles of leaves from Autumn’s arrival, chasing each other in a game of tag (Tor was letting you run away from him every time he got close). It didn’t take long until you got tired so Tor held onto your hand as you both enjoyed an actual walk through nature. Luckily, the changing seasons meant that the monsters started to retreat to the mountains for whatever reason before hibernating in the winter.

The casual conversation slowly died down and turned into comforting silence, sitting down on a log for a quick rest together. Tor started to hum a tune, head propped on his right palm while he watched you take off your shoe to adjust the inner soles.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” you commented.

“I’m merely humming, it’s much different from singing.”

“So semantical,” you chuckled, shaking your head, “Your humming sounds nice, I assume you can sing.”

“You speak too highly of me, but thank you.” He smiled innocently.

You put your shoe back on, arms now set behind you as you leaned back, raising a brow, “What song was that, anyway? Never heard of it before.”

Tor adjusted himself on the log, choosing his words carefully. “My mother used to sing me an old lullaby from her hometown when I was young.” He looked out to admire the tranquillity of their surroundings and the way the evening light shone onto the small pond in front of them. “I don’t often see my parents after leaving for my work,” To be by Lord Aglovale’s side, “so it’s one of the few things that help me deal with homesickness.”

“You don’t visit them often, I take it?”

“No, my line of work requires me there at all times,” He said, “You don’t have to feel bad for me, though. I write to them as often as I can.”

“You work with that friend of yours?” You leaned closer, interested.

“For him, actually. I take my role working for him with great pride.”

“That sounds nice,” you smiled, reaching out for his hand, full glad that he trusted you enough to say all this, “I hope you manage to find your way back one day.”

“Thank you. I hope so too.” He put his hand in yours, smiling back. The both of you sat there quietly basking in the sounds of nature once more.

“Can you teach me? Your mother’s song?”

His heart swelled hearing your request. How could he say no?

The trek back home was slightly clumsy, as your legs ended up giving out – that was the last of your energy for the day. Luckily, you fell into a pile of leaves so you weren’t hurt. Tor took it upon himself to carry you on his back for the remainder of the walk.

“Hey, doctor,” you spoke up, half asleep. You had your head rested in the crook of his neck while you watched the path he took – he was taking you to your house, which was on the other side of town.

“Yes?” He slowed down, looking over to you to make sure you were still okay.

“Sorry, can I… spend the night at your place?”

The way you shyly ask, the way your face turned red and how you turned your head away so he wouldn’t see, he couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. “Are you going to rob me of my bed?”

“The bench is fine, I don’t mind.”

You’re very sweet, he thinks. 

“Alright, let’s go home, then.”

“Am I not heavy?”

“I used to be a knight in my past life so no, not at all.”

Tor was laying down on the makeshift bed in his main room, now considered yours, while you lay on top of him, head resting on his right shoulder. He had a book in his left hand, the other draped over your figure so you don’t fall off.

“Oh, you’re a knight now?” You raised a brow, amused.

“I’ve always been a knight, my wonderful patient.” You shook along with his chest as he chuckled, “Have I not demonstrated my discipline and decorum?”

“You had your entire forearm in a horse’s butthole yesterday”

“...Please don't remind me.”

He could feel your mouth curve upwards due to the proximity of your bodies. There was no explanation for why you were laying on top of each other so intimately like this, he just somehow laid there while you were eating breakfast and gestured for you to come squeeze in with him since he was oh so lazy to get up from your little nest. It was after you settled on top of him that he realised how scandalous the invite was and started to blush. He didn't dislike it though, and you spent the time climbing on him already so he didn't have the heart to push you off. Yes, that's exactly it, that's all there is to it, he thought, ignoring the fact that he quite liked this little cuddling position you two ended up in.

He felt little soft pokes from your index finger on his eyelids, putting his book down to hold your hand. “Is something the matter?”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two.”

“How about now?”

“Five.”

“How can you see with your eyes closed?” Your eyes were round, so full of curiosity and wonder.

“I have omniscient powers, I can see it all,” he plainly replied but he broke character seeing you roll your eyes, clearly not buying it. “I have my ways. My eyes aren't fully closed, I'll have you know.”

“So you're peeping? Why do that?”

“I don't really like my eyes.”

“Why's that?”

“They're a bit peculiar. Kids used to tease me about it so I just keep them closed.” He frowned at the memory.

“Do people still make fun of it?”

“Well, no, but it's obvious enough for people to notice and I don't enjoy it when people make comments about it or stare at me like I have two heads.” He started to rub his eyes on instinct, “You said it best; I'm proud of my name. I don't want my life's worth to be boiled down to my appearance.”

“Well, now I'm even more curious…” you pouted.

“Do you want to see them?”

“You don't have to if you don't want to.”

His eyes are a sore topic, he's never revealed them to Lord Aglovale either. With how unique the Skyrealm was, someone who goes about their day with their eyes closed is just a regular person. It's somehow less odd to society than if he opened them… but for some reason, he feels like he could show them to you. Maybe it was because this world wasn't his, so there's nothing here that had any bearing on his legacy.

Or maybe he has a soft spot for you and would cave in to anything you ask at the very second you ask for it.

Tomato, tomato, he supposed.

“You rob me of my autonomy,” he smiled at your consideration, “I want to, don't worry.”

He watched you remain still, eyes not blinking as if you'd miss it. You were really good at tugging at his heart with all these expressions.

With a few seconds of hesitation at first, he opened his eyes, staring right into yours. You jumped a little in surprise when it happened, he felt a tad bit hurt by the reaction and closed his eyes immediately after. He inhaled, feeling tense about the situation.

Then his eyes fly open once again, hearing your words;

“Pretty.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You look even prettier than I imagined.” The way your mouth hung in awe as if you saw your very first rainbow in the sky.

His heart started to feel strange.

Coloboma.

Tor was born with an iris defect that makes his pupils look melted down. It was only a defect in appearance, luckily, as his parents had him tested for his vision regularly to make sure of it.

That was why he thought it was humorous how he was the one that had to fix yours when it was far too expensive for his parents to fix his.

The kids used to point at him and call him a monster in disguise because of how uncanny it looked. It made him feel less of a human, especially after it carried into adulthood where people just look for things that don't look normal.

It made him frustrated because he was a boy trying to live an accomplished life, but he simply got reduced to ‘the guy with the weird-looking eyes’. So he decided to just keep them closed for good.

Yet here you are, an average townsfolk from a completely different world, looking at him like he was a magnificent swan. His lips quiver just slightly, touched by the genuineness of your compliment.

For the first time in his life, he decided to open them again – slowly, widely, as if he misheard you. His brows furrowed in confusion, unable to process your words.

“You… really think so?” His voice was so soft, so vulnerable, he would quite literally break like glass if you poke fun at him now.

“Of course, dummy,” your smile was somehow the sweetest he'd ever seen at this very moment, “They’re beautiful. I like them.”

“Beautiful…” he repeated.

“You look really cool, you know, doctor. I don't mind seeing you like this more.” You caressed his cheek, staring deep into his eyes.

Oh, he had never thought he'd ever felt so elated hearing those words in his entire lifetime. He could hear his own heart beating loudly because of you, it could burst.

He wasn't thinking anymore, both his hands wrapped around you instinctively to embrace you tightly, one on your back, and one behind your head. You could hear little shaky sighs from him, you weren't sure if he was crying or not.

But you returned the gesture and melted into his arms.

His throat felt sore and full, his voice wanting to say something important but he wasn't able to let it spill from his mouth –

– Three little words that make a meaningful sentence.