#theorchardofbones

When the fighting stopped, when the adrenaline subsided, the scales tipped back, the far reaching resources of the Empire weighing heavy as death against them.

“These things are Scourged!” Pelna declared once the skirmish ended, kicking one of the Banshees with an armored foot.

Nyx watched as Gladio knelt beside the same corpse, armor whirring quietly as he lowered his body to the ground.  When Gladio peeled back the Banshee’s eyes, Nyx was met with two inky pools of black instead of vertical pupils in red irises.

“Yup.  Not like we didn’t know from the ichor, but the shitting things are Scourged.” Gladio shook his head as he stood. “Empire keeps up like this, they won’t have a fuckin’ planet left that isn’t infected to rule.”

“Like they give a shit about that,” Crowe scoffed, brown curls frizzed from the lightning grenade.

“Enough chatter!” Drautos snapped. “Everyone to their standard posts and report for debriefing on the bridge in 60 standard.”

War was ugly, but nothing reminded Nyx more of that ugliness than the cleanup after battle.  Burned corpses, counted casualties, scrubbing blood out of every crevice and orifice known to the galaxy… all just to do the same fucking thing again in another hour, another day, another week.

In another year, he’d be dead, a slave, or on the winning side. Nyx didn’t know which. Not yet.

He finished his perimeter check and helped Pelna with hostile disposal—two clean words for a dirty process—but didn’t re-board the L.S.S. Solas Gladius immediately. For all the carnage, the air on Cleigne smelled fresh and pure; Nyx indulged in several silent minutes of deep breathing, crouched on an outcropping of rock that was typical of the landscape in this section of the planet.  His gaze fell on the jagged obsidian ridge of the Ravtough Mountains in the distance, their peaks marbled with veins of magma, visible from an absurd amount of kilometers away.

“Stargazing?”

Nyx tossed a grin over his shoulder.  Gladio stood a meter away, stripped out of his armor and in standard issue Coalition fatigues, stupid man bun back in place. “Just enjoying some peace and quiet before Drautos reams us a new asshole for not setting up scout drones.”

“Not sure they would have helped much.  Banshees being able to shapeshift puts a dent in using the drones.”

“Sure, but they still have heat signatures, yeah?” Nyx hopped off the rock and stretched, joints popping as he raised his arms above his head. “You need something, G?”

“Came to tell you the debriefing’s about to start.”

Nyx raised an eyebrow. “You could have commed me.” He tapped his earpiece for emphasis. “Still wearing the thing.”

“Yeah, I could have, but I like the personal touch.”  Nyx didn’t need daylight to see the swagger in the words, the confidence, the youthful enthusiasm the Empire had cut off of Nyx like a limb.  As he spoke, Gladio stepped closer to Nyx, close enough that they stood side by side.

A smart-ass remark rested on the tip of Nyx’s tongue—I bet you do like the personal touch, G—but when he flicked his eyes up towards the Cleigne sky, the retort vanished.

“I’ll be vexed,” Nyx murmured, his own voice distant, “it’s a godsdamned meteor shower.”

Streaks of white light coursed across the black sky, a few at first, then more, until countless trails appeared and vanished in the time it took Nyx to blink.

“Not a meteor shower,” Gladio said with a smug grin.

“You get popped in the head out there? Concussion? Sure as fuck looks like a meteor shower to me, yeah?”

“Just wait, Ulric.”

Nyx waited.  And, after 47 seconds of waiting, according to the clock on his internal HUD, he swore under his breath. “Shitting Astrals.”

Each shooting star had begun to explode in prismatic bursts of colour, iridescent and beautiful, one point of light shattering into a hundred.  In the space of a breath, the sky filled with luminous fragments, bathing Cleigne with light intense enough to rival that of Eos itself.

“I heard about this back at the Academy… Shiva’s Grace, they call it.  Never thought I’d get a chance to see it for myself.”  Gladio stared up at the sky, looking as enraptured as Nyx felt.

Nyx was torn between watching Gladio and watching the sky, a scarred portion of his heart stirring at Gladio’s joy.  “You big fucking nerd.  Only you, son of the Clarus Amicitia, go to Lucis’ premier military academy and remember some meteor shower.”

Gladio snorted and turned towards Nyx, amber eyes sparkling like the atmosphere above them. “Hey, I needed to get top marks in all my classes, not just the ass kicking ones.”

The same pull from earlier tugged at Nyx with a different spin, a planet infinitesimally shifted on its axis, changing the course of the moons along its star.  Gladio was his favourite regulation to break, Nyx thought as their mouths met, a once in a century astrological phenomena playing out above them. Gladio’s hands found the small of Nyx’s back, and Nyx dug his fingers into Gladio’s shoulders, and for an aching instant, he forgot about the mission ahead of them and the war around him.

“Thought you said we weren’t gonna do this anymore,” Gladio rumbled.

“Yeah, well…” Nyx started, hands braced on either side of Gladio’s neck, “it’s a special occasion.”

· The group of them all spend Christmas Eve at Monica and Dave’s house, since it’s big enough to fit everyone.  Monica and Ignis work together to make a grand feast that’s fit to everyone’s taste.  And that’s everyone, too.  Not just the boys, but every single member of their extended family is there, too, and that’s a lot of mouths to feed and please.· They all sit at Monica’s massive dining table and eat until they can’t eat anymore, and then (after Ignis insists that Prompto, Noctis, and Gladio help he and Monica with the dishes), they disperse throughout the house to socialize.· Prompto’s night is not complete unless he’s caught Noctis under the mistletoe at least once.  And he always does.· Ignis and Gladio claim not to need that silly kids game, but that doesn’t stop Talcott from playing Christmas Cupid and making sure that his new dads have to adhere to that tradition at least once.· They don’t complain.  Not even a little bit.

· Years ago, Noctis created the tradition that the massive group of them set out caroling.  It is a tradition that he refuses to let die, and honestly, the people of Lucis have come to expect it.· They hit every single house they can possibly hit.  They’re all cold and tired, but they all trudge back to Monica’s for hot cocoa and a gift exchange.· Most of the gifts are typical.  Prompto and Noctis are saving their special ones until morning, after all.· Gladio, though?  Not so much.  He whispers a secret to Iris, who dashes off somewhere and retrieves something for Gladio, who immediately gathers Ignis’ attention.  Talcott is a little bit confused by his new dad’s secrecy. But then Gladio gets down on one knee, in the middle of a room full of family and friends, and asks Iggy to ‘officially’ marry him. “Since, you know.  We’ve been married for years, more or less.”· When Ignis says yes, there isn’t a dry eye in the room.  Especially not Talcott’s, who calls the whole situation a Christmas Miracle.· They celebrate until well into the night, Talcott and Iris are fast asleep on the couch and being carried to the car by Ignis and Gladio respectively.

· The next morning, Prompto and Noctis exchange private gifts.  Noctis’ gifts are a year’s prepaid passes to Wiz’s ranch, a new camera bag, a personal mix tape, and an approved loan application for them to get a brand new house so that they can start their family.· “Funny you should mention that, heh,” says Prompto.· And then he surprises Noctis by telling him that he, too, was planning on proposing.  He had a ring made and everything, but wasn’t sure if Noctis would have wanted him to do it in front of the whole family.· “You could’ve done it in front of the whole world, and I wouldn’t have cared.  This is good, too, though.”· So, Prompto does.  Noctis says yes, and they take a little bit of extra time for themselves, before they head over to Ignis and Gladio’s apartment.