#skyguard

    When Stratos climbed to the top of his brother’s temple; what he expected and what he found were two completely different things. He had expected the violet to be all over his brother, corrupting his mind and destroying everything in its wasteful path. He hadn’t in fact expected his brother to stand there in white and gold; back turned to him.   “Hello, brother,” Exos murmured, his voice almost inaudible. “So we finally meet. After how long?” He turned to his sibling. “It almost seems as if there’s no place left for me to go. You’ve scoured the continent how many times? Searching, looking, hunting for me. And here I am.”   Exos seemed calmer than what Thea had told him. Less jealous and more... Peaceful, he commented inwardly. As if he’s past panic and fear and hate, and is left with nothing and stares his death in the eye. But he is.   “You can’t run, Exos. You’ve threatened Lore for far too long.” he replied. Stratos’ voice was cold, emotionless. High Command told him to stay; they didn’t know where his loyalty would lie; it was his brother after all - what had they ever known about him?   Exos gave a brutal laugh. “So you think. But really, what have I done? I work - worked - behind the throne. We aren’t supposed to take the stage. Let Drakath take the spotlight. Keeps us out of danger. But now... Now, that isn’t so.” He shook his head slow; disagreeing with the notion.   Stratos stared at him. “I don’t understand. Let Drakath take the spotlight? Is he working for you?” The thought was unbelievable. There was no way his brother was that powerful. Chaos belonged to Drakath and Exos was chaorrupted.   “No. I am simply his third-in-command. See, Stratos, it’s not so easy, doing what I do. Not so easy, living the way I’ve been forced to. But you didn’t give me a choice! No home... no more home. Couldn’t work a job. Too young, not able-bodied. Couldn’t join a gang. Same reasons. Couldn’t sell drugs. No money. And that left me with what? Well, what was I supposed to do? I ended up a damn prostitute. Lariette lost me, we separated, she joined a gang. I was fourteen.”   Exos whipped around on his heel to face his brother. “I was fourteen, Stratos! Your fault! You pulled the knife on me. Lithos died because you never understood me. You stopped loving me when Dad died. We used to be best friends. But you stopped loving me. That’s the difference between your life and mine.”   “How is that a difference?!” Stratos snapped. “You didn’t even make an effort. You just let yourself fall. You didn’t even fucking try!”   “I couldn’t! That’s how I know. You don’t understand. You - never - fucking - have!” Exos had started to raise his voice above the growing sounds of the storm coming towards them, on the rooftop. “You never got what it was like. Death was just... Too violent for what I wanted. It would hurt. Everything hurt. You have no idea how it was. How often I begged to die in my sleep. Do you have any idea how long it was before someone understood that?! It was Drakath. Out of all people, it was a fucking runaway prince that got it!”   Stratos paused, completely lost. “What...? What did he get?”   “He got... me. He understood the hurt. He understood that sometimes the hurt was there. Other times it’s all just numb, and he got that. He knew what it was like. He told me what things help, even if I had no energy to deal with it. He knew. He knew.”   No... This is the worst to hear. Stratos hated to admit that the Champion of Chaos had understood his brother better than he had. He knew he had been a terrible sibling, and he knew that everything Exos had blamed him for was right. He’d pulled the knife on him in anger; and it had lead to Lithos’ death. He cleared his throat and folded his arms in an attempt to find some sort of comfort. “And what am I supposed to do about this? You’re still threatening Lore. Look, I really don’t care how much you love him-”   He was cut off by Exos’ indignant laugh. “I don’t love anyone. Can’t, more like. Not since I woke up.”   A memory flashed through Stratos’ mind - Twelve-year-old Exos laying in a clean bed, his hip bandaged and bloody; his eyes closed and his breathing laboured. Wrists sliced and scarred, face pale and stained with far too many tears.   “I always thought so.” He looked away. “So my theory was right.”   “A theory?” Exos sounded dismissive. “Well, do tell me what you decided was the truth so you can remain guiltless for what you’ve done.”   “You’re not my brother.”   Exos gave him a look.   “At least... You were,” Stratos started, realizing Exos had no idea of what he meant. “You were. Before you threw yourself over that cliff. You were quiet and you were hurt. But you were still my brother. My brother Exos never woke up from that coma.” Lightning cracked in the distance, and Stratos raised his voice - partly to be heard, partly in hate and anger. “My brother never would have done what you’ve done. Whatever in the nine circles of hell you are- fucking tell me! Because you’re not Exos! You’re some guilt-riddled, malevolent spirit haunting my dead brother’s body! You’ve grown so accustomed to being called by his name that you think you are him!” Stratos looked back, and locked eyes with the monster he was convinced was there. “But you’re not my brother. My brother never woke up. You killed him and took his place.” Stratos had gotten into a rant of anger he’d bottled in for years; and didn’t notice Tropos standing a few feet away.   Exos laughed. He raised a hand to the sky and snapped his fingers. Rain began to fall, but only in a two-foot circle where Stratos was standing. The rain soaked him, and he brushed his bangs out of his goggles.   “I fucking hate you.” Stratos muttered, stepping out of the circle. The rain followed him.   “Hate me if you will. But I can promise you. I woke up. As much as I never wanted to. But I have a question... One I’ve wondered all these years, and never gotten an answer.”   “And what’s that?”   “When I walked off the Academy cliff... Why did you save me? Why? What the hell prompted you to do that?” Exos’ voice had quietened.   Stratos blinked. Out of everything, that was what he wanted to know. He didn’t have an answer.   “Because... I don’t know.” He faltered. “I... I just had to. I didn’t save you when you went comatose. I didn’t save you. I had to save you. I... I had to make it right.” He looked into Exos’ eyes, and he didn’t see anything but chaos.   “You had to make it right. And now what are you doing? You’ve hunted me down. You saved me, and now you want me dead. How does this make it right? You failed me, Stratos, failed me when I needed you. You can wonder all you like as to why I went to chaos. You failed me. But see, Drakath didn’t. That’s what he does. He’s the martyr of the broken. The beaten. The damned. And you wonder why we’re so loyal.”   “You’re good at acting. I only failed Exos once. When all this is over, I’ll find him. I’ll find my actual brother. And I will make it right. Exos can’t live because you stole his body. Exos is dead, and you killed him.” Stratos drew his sword, shaking his head and with it, shaking out the agony and ignoring what the monster was saying.   Exos smiled. “So it comes to this. It always comes to this. Always comes to us fighting. But so be it.” He raised his own blade, and set himself in duelling position. He closed his eyes, and the chaos eye on his forehead stretched open wide to see.   Stratos moved quick. A stab, a twist, a slash. Exos was faster. He realized soon that somehow, Exos had learned to fight better. But he had to make it right.   Tropos stood back as they fought. He stared; wide eyes watching his brothers fight. Thermos’ words were coming back to haunt him. A death in the family will bring them together again. If they don’t kill each other first, they’ll never forgive. Mutual despair will repair that bond. The only question is whether or not it’ll be you or me.   He blinked and the fight was over.

  Stratos had disarmed Exos and his blue and gold tachi lay through Exos’ chest. Exos was only half-standing, his face to the sky and his arms limp. Stratos, his face hidden, withdrew his blade. Exos’ body fell to the ground.   Stratos dropped the sword and collapsed beside his brother. To Tropos, it became very evident that he had truly convinced himself Exos was still in there. He’d never seen his brother heal so quickly - blue and gold magic twisted around the wound that caused his death; which soon began to close and fade.   Tropos stepped closer. His elder brother could barely be heard about the storm, but he seemed to be singing. He knelt beside Stratos and Exos, wondering what he was singing.   “You’re in quest for more; to find the core... Your quest still ain’t over, go on...” He was repeating it over and over. A lullaby their father had sung to them before he had died.   The healing did nothing for Exos. He lay dead still in Stratos’ arms, and did not move.   “Stratos, I don’t think he’ll wake.” Tropos leaned close to check his pulse, and found nothing. “Could we kickstart his heart again?” Stratos stared at him, eyes wet behind air tight goggles. He simply shook his head. Tropos sighed. “Stratos... what if that was him? What if he had woken up?”   “He didn’t. Nothing you say can make me believe my brother chose chaos over family.”   “We all chose our professions over family. Therm left early... I chose slaying dragons. You chose the SkyGuard. Lithos... Lithos was the only one to ever trust more in his family than in his career. And it got him killed.”   “That doesn’t convince me.” Stratos refused him, refused to believe Exos was really, truly gone.   Tropos scanned Exos’ body. Something caught his eye. “This might.” He tugged at something around Exos’ neck, and realizing what it was, snapped it off without a second thought. He held the dangling pendant in front of Stratos’ face.   Exos’ SkyGuard Academy necklace.   He opened the locket with an expressionless face. The admiral’s words came back to him. Inside your locket, two things must be done. On the inside of the door, put your name. Full name if you can fit it. On the actual inside, I want you all to put a photo of your happiest memory. Your favourite moment. And I want you to never change that photo. Don’t lose your lockets. It’s easier to return to a time when you were happy if you’ve got a memory. Exos had written his full name - Exos Alius Lombardi - on the door of the locket. The picture was enough to make Stratos’ blood run cold. He remembered that picture being taken.   It was their entire family at Frostval, the Frostval before his father had died. All were smiling in the joy of winter festivities. Except where Exos had been standing, he had scribbled himself out with a marker, leaving a black stain. Taking himself out of the picture.   Exos’ happiest memory was of his family without him. Smiling.

  It didn’t register for a few moments. But the dust over the photo meant that Exos had removed himself from the picture when he put it in the locket. He had been fourteen.   Something in Stratos broke once it registered. Exos had never stopped wearing his locket. He always had felt connected. He had a feeling the locket had been the only possession that Exos had ever kept with him.   It hurt. It hurt to know how alone his brother had felt. How lonely, when he wasn’t numb. Suddenly, Stratos understood. He understood the hurt and the numbness. He had never experienced it, but it seemed so clear.   He took the locket charm from the broken chain, and placed Exos’ body on the ground, making sure to not hurt him. He untied his own locket chain, and threaded the charm into it. Two lockets now hung from the chain. Stratos lifted his brother from the ground, and adjusted how he had been sitting; to properly cradle his brother’s body. Like Tropos had cradled Lithos all those years ago.   Tropos held them both, his attempt to soothe him failing miserably.   “Stratos, he loved you. He loved you, and never knew how to say it.” Tropos’ voice was quiet, but gentle. It didn’t help.   Ativala had made him a quick shovel upon being asked. It was a fifteen minute shovel, and although it wasn’t great, it did the job of digging Exos’ grave. Tropos had put him in the ground, adjusting his coat so it hid his wounds. He had found one of Terra’s old dolls pinned to his breast, and had taken it without Stratos noticing. He also took Exos’ gloves as his own memory of his brother.   Stratos had to be carried back to his ship; as he wouldn’t leave Exos’ side. Valin had carved Exos’ name, birth and death dates on a rock at the head of his resting place.   The crew of the Phereless said their prayers and farewells, before turning away to head home. Exos’ threat was no more.

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  “This was a waste of time. He was a terrible puppet, and far too weak to serve me.” The woman’s voice echoed across the sky; the storm long over.   “An interesting conclusion. Do you think he was so useless?” A young man’s voice answered the old woman’s. His voice was gruff, but smooth like silk all the same.   “Of course. My next attempt to prove myself will go much more smoothly.” The woman seemed angry. The man glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. “I take consolation in the fact that a good deal of chaos was caused. You must admit that.”   Drakath rolled his eyes, glad she couldn’t see his face. Exos’ body lay in front of them, dug up before they got there. The daybreak at his back, he lifted a hand. Exos’ corpse raised itself and faded, being teleported to somewhere that Invidia wouldn’t know about. “You chose poorly; and didn’t compensate for your pawn’s past. That error lead to chaos. Not you.” He held a steady tone. He had known Exos before Invidia had chosen him. He had wanted to see the boy’s redemption and victory. A plan began to form in his mind. Perhaps he could fix her mistake.   Perhaps, Exos would get his redemption after all. For that, he needed Invidia to believe Exos was useless. Drakath didn’t need her to go after him.   “Were he to be truly useful as a servant of chaos, I doubt you could supervise him. You are not fit to serve me.” He dismissed her, green eyes held emotionless; hiding the raw anger that had begun to bubble and froth.   Invidia looked away and turned red at his words - he had touched a nerve. “I did all this, and you still do not think I can serve chaos? Watch the skies, Master... And your dreams.” She teleported almost immediately.   “Hmph.” His cheek turned upwards with the barest trace of a smirk. Exos’ crazed desire for revenge had lead Invidia to them both. And now he was gone.   Whatever the Champion had felt for the pawn, it was still there. It had done him harm to know the boy as he had. From before Drakath had fallen to Chaos. From before either of them had known.