#sisycid

Omg thank you!! This ask is worded incredibly 😭 I know Ive been going ham on those polls 🤡 I want my little goatman to win SisyCid are my favs too 🥺 I always want to draw them and I have a bunch of wips... hopefully Ill get off my ass enough to want to fix them up at some point... In the meanwhile I have these silly tutorials haha

This is poorly disguised Saint Seiya- The Lost Canvas fanfiction, I admit it. Sendoa is Capricorn El Cid, and Iason is Sagittarius Sisyphus. Written for a writing contest on Flight Rising, this was the Freestyle entry, meaning it didn't have to be about the site's pet dragons. The mythology here is kept purposefully vague.

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"In the act of killing the gods of the Dreaming thou hast inherited their powers. Congratulations, new gods, may thy reign be blessed, and may thou not abuse thy powers as they did.”

The words still echoed in his ears, even days later. Iason never wanted to kill anyone, his hand had been forced by the circumstances. He sighed softly, looking over at Sendoa. Sendoa was even more at odds than he was. The dream gods had stolen Iason’s soul, putting his body in a comatose state. Sendoa had quested to free him, but his freedom had come with a cost- and a dubious reward. That he now had their powers- well, if it troubled Iason, it troubled Sendoa even more.

Their transition into immortality had been seamless- Iason wasn't even sure when it had happened, before or after they had spoken to the god of death. Sendoa was staying at his house, unable to leave Iason alone. Iason knew Sendoa was scared that he'd wake up and it would have been a dream, actually rescuing him. Iason hadn’t slept in three days, and neither had Sendoa, and he at least felt none the worse for wear for it. However, this denial wasn't sustainable.

“Sendoa,” he broke the silence tentatively, voice soft in the oppressive atmosphere. “We need to face this. We have to accept it, or the world is going to suffer, and that includes our families. My brother and his wife, my nephew, they all need to be able to dream, and if we don't confront this…” his voice failed him, and he stood from his seat by the window. “I'm going to sleep, Sendoa. I'd like it if you joined me.” He held his hand out to his dearest friend, and Sendoa stared at it for a long moment. He was frowning deeply, a muscle jumping in his jaw from tension. Sendoa was wound tight as a spring, and it wasn't healthy. Was he even going to be able to sleep? Sendoa had always been a serious, quiet man, his kindness hidden by an intense drive to better himself.

“Will you lie down with me?” Sendoa asked finally, hard-won vulnerability peeking through his tense and unhappy demeanor. Iason smiled, taking his hands and pulling him to his feet.

“If you want me to, I'll be happy to.” He said warmly. They hadn't shared a bed in long years, and Iason always loved company while sleeping. It probably stemmed from all of his time caretaking his nephew for his brother- Regulus was a very physically affectionate child. He told Sendoa to meet him in his bedroom, and changed into a soft, long nightshirt and equally soft shorts. Sendoa met him wearing soft long pants, and they curled up under the sheets of his bed.

A few long moments passed, before Iason sighed softly.

“When we go to bed, you're supposed to sleep, Sendoa.” He said softly, turning onto his side. Sendoa stared stubbornly at the ceiling, jaw set. He sighed again, sitting up and tugging at Sendoa until his head was in his lap. Sendoa looked up at him, expression belligerently bewildered. “Relax,” he murmured, beginning to gently rub his temples. Sendoa sighed softly, and slowly relaxed. Once he was nearly asleep, Iason gently rearranged them so he could lie down too, and pulled him close.

Sleep descended gently, pulling them under sweetly.

Iason opened his eyes to dim darkness. Sitting up he discerned the shapes of large pale stone gates, the space within them filled with formless voids. That struck him as wrong, as he climbed to his feet, seeing that the space was vertical as well as horizontal, and gates loomed above him, too, seemingly to float in the air, but also planted on solid ground. It only struck Iason as strange if he thought about it too long, so he tried not to. He wandered down one formless hallway, looking around for Sendoa.

“Sendoa?” He called, listening for any response.

“Iason! There you are!” Sendoa looked a little wild around the eyes as he jumped down from another level and caught him up in his arms tightly.

“Easy, Sendoa, I'm here!” Iason soothed. “What has you on edge?” He asked, stroking Sendoa’s back softly. He was holding Iason so tightly he swore he could hear his ribs creak.

“These are the Gates of the Dreamers. They had you locked up in here, stuck in your gate, sealed with a wall of magic. It took the power of the Lady to open it and release you, while I distracted the gods of dreams.” He told Iason, shuddering at the memory. Iason had no memory of this- probably for the best.

“I'm sorry, Sendoa. My weakness made you suffer-”

“Never say that!” Sendoa interrupted, practically shouting in Iason’s face. “I'm sorry. But please, don't say that,” he asked in a more reasonable tone. “It, it hurts me, when you say you're a burden, or that your actions have caused others suffering, because it's not true. You are sweet and kind and selfless, and a stronger person than I will ever be.” The words were dragged out from someplace deep inside him, aching and honest. Iason felt tears prick his eyes.

“Oh, Sendoa. You're a better person than you think you are, I promise.” Iason murmured, tucking his face into the crook of Sendoa’s neck. They stayed like that for a moment, before Iason stepped back, wiping his eyes and looking around with newfound determination. “Well. I'm not keeping this place like this, all dark and gloomy and full of bad memories.” A thought occurred to him. It's a dream, right? They could do anything here, and he's always wanted…

A gasp told him his idea had worked. He unfurled huge, golden wings, shining with inner light, and laughed, jumping up into the air.

“Come on, Sendoa! Fly with me!” He laughed, and Sendoa awkwardly, haltingly lifted into the air to meet him. He gave Sendoa a wry little smile. “I meant give yourself wings, it looks a bit silly just like that.” He said gently. Sendoa closed his eyes, frowning in concentration. After a few minutes, black wings to match Iason’s gold spread from his shoulders. Iason smiled in delight. “Beautiful, Sendoa, you're beautiful,” he said, and bit his inner cheek. He hadn't meant to compliment him that obviously. Sendoa smiled, though, quiet and private, and took his hand.

“Come on.” He said softly, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. Iason smiled shyly, and they flew.

“Why are the gates dark?” Iason murmured, pressing a hand to pale stone. Light spiraled out from his hand, and the stone turned pale, glimmering gold, spreading throughout the endless halls of the Dreaming.

“Iason,” Sendoa gasped his name in awe. Iason smiled, awed and delighted by the change. “The gates are still dark within. When I was here… before, they showed scenes of their dreamer. But this, this is an entirely pleasant change.” Iason smiled back, newly energized.

“I think I could make it better,” he murmured, before flinging himself into the air and spreading his wings wide, willing what he wanted to come to fruition. The air filled with golden motes of light, making the endless gloom softly lit and welcoming. Sendoa laughed, a rare and cherished sound.

“Beautiful, Iason. Like you.” His answering smile was a little cheeky and sly, and Iason giggled, even as his heart swelled.

“A gate over there is unlit, though,” Sendoa pointed, clasping Iason’s hand. “I wonder why?” Iason followed his direction, curious, and indeed, one gate is still unlit. He flew over, touching the stonework. It was cold to the touch, and made a shiver slide down his spine. “Perhaps if I touch it?” Sendoa asked, pressing his hand to the stone. Immediately doors filled the empty void, wrought of silvery metal, with elaborate, scrollwork handles. Dark scrollwork marked the stone frame of the massive double door, and Iason and Sendoa exchanged surprised looks.

“Go on,” Iason whispered, curious. Sendoa set his hands to the doors with a sigh, and pulled. They opened smoothly, not even a whisper of a creak marring their hinges. Inside was a study, dark and draped in soft fabrics. The candles lighting the room burned pale and dim, the only source of light. On one wall stood a massive mirror that reflected only cloudy mist, framed in heavy velvet drapery. Iason attempted to exert his will upon the space, unsuccessfully.

Sendoa glanced from him to the room, before closing his eyes with a frown. The room brightened, the candles now burning tall and smokeless. A window with a view of a starry night, full moon shining down, opened on the wall. the drapery of the room lightened from black to a rich red and brown. With the improved light, Iason saw something he hadn't earlier: a crown wrought of dark, filigree metal resting on a black velvet pillow on the desk.

“You should put it on, Sendoa. I think it's important.” Iason said softly, pointing the crown out to Sendoa. Sendoa looked incredibly reluctant, but picked up the delicate thing, resting it among his curls. It sat against his brow like it was meant to be there, and Iason smiled softly. “You look terribly regal, Sendoa.” He murmured. Sendoa managed a small, tight smile, before he turned to look at the mirror.

“I think I know what that is.” He said. “If you are all that is sweet and golden in the Dreaming… then I must be your opposing force.” He strode forward, Iason shadowing him, and pressed a hand to the misty mirror. After a moment, he sank through the surface. Iason hesitated for a moment, before following, shivering when passing through the surface made him feel like he'd been plunged into an ice bath. He staggered into Sendoa’s back, clinging and strangely afraid. His skin and wings lost their strange golden luster, but Sendoa was now emitting a dark radiance. Perhaps this was his domain, then, as the world of doors was Iason’s? He peered over Sendoa’s shoulder to see monstrous shapes approaching through the mist. There was only one place this could really be: the realm of nightmares. Sendoa stood firm, uncowed by the monsters of nightmare, and one by one they bent knee to him. Sendoa inclined his head in return.

“You may remain, but know this: fear may play an important role in the human psyche, but it does not rule anyone.” He said, quiet and stern. All the monsters seemed to agree somehow, and departed back into the mists.

Iason was relieved when they returned to the cozy little study. As necessary as the nightmare realm was, it was, well. Unpleasant. Strangely, Sendoa retained his radiance, even out in Iason’s realm.

“It seems odd that our realms don't seem to be on an equal level.” Iason said instead of commenting on that. Sendoa frowned, nodding slowly.

“I have a theory. This must have been my dream gate from when I was mortal. Which means you have one somewhere as well.” He said. That made sense. Iason’s eyes lingered on Sendoa’s crown, and a thought occurred to him as well.

“What if putting on that crown symbolized an acceptance of your powers? If I have one too, maybe we can restructure this realm of dreams into something balanced, stable.” He said slowly, growing more sure of himself as he spoke. “Yes, I think that's it. We need to find my gate!” He took wing again, looking around helplessly. Sendoa caught his hand, and pulled him along, arrowing straight for a gate that looked like all the others. Perhaps slightly more golden, but, still…?

“How did you know?” Iason asked softly, pressing his hand to warm stone. His door sprang into being, identical to Sendoa’s but for golden scrollwork in place of dark.

“You forget. I've been here before, and this is where you were trapped.” Sendoa murmured, as Iason pushed the doors open. The room was similar to Sendoa’s, except draped all in white, with no mirror. Iason concentrated, and the colors shifted to cream and pale blue, window appearing to the same night sky. He strode to the desk, and allowed himself a brief moment of hesitation, before taking up the white-gold crown and placing it on his head.

The world seemed to suddenly snap into place, and an anxiety Iason didn't realize was there eased. He turned, stretching a hand out to Sendoa.

“Shall we make this world anew?” He asked, and Sendoa smiled faintly.