#yezan

MY IDOL （＾＿－）≡★

eng: i loved the outfit so much that I had to make fanart

esp: amé tanto el oufit que le tuve que hacer un fanart

Yara is laying in the garden among the roses, and Lios will not leave his side.

Something was terribly wrong.

               Yezan had noticed it first. When every window that he had been polishing and caring for had suddenly cracked, and the bright colors of the tiny shards that made the beautiful mosaic that only he could read drained and pooled to the floor, he had run out into the main hall in time to hear his sisters scream.

               Ilya had come stumbling out from her archives, eyes wild and fingers dripping with ink. “It just came off!” She spoke with such a quiver in her voice that it resonated around them. But they had no time to question it when Phisa could be heard in hysterics from the den.

               They found her in a heap on the floor, clutching gray threads in her hands, sobbing and trying to form words. The only one she could consistently belt forth was why. Why?

               “Sister, please…” Yezan gathered her in his arms to try and get her to stand on her own. She leaned into him instead, shaking her head over and over. “We do not have time to panic. We have to be prepared for the end—“

               “You know as well as either of this that this is no end.” Ilya snapped. “This has never happened before!”

               “My tapestry… my b-beautiful tapestry… I can’t see…” Phisa moaned against his shoulder, tugging hard at him.

               Her words stuck out to her siblings, and they glanced at each other. Neither could they. Without the words in the records, or the distinctive colors on the stained glass windows, they were unable to see anything. No past, no present, and certainly no future.

               Phisa suddenly looked up. “The scales… Where’s Yara?”

               “Guarding the Horseman, I’m sure.” Ilya scowled.

               But no sooner had she said it, Phisa had broken away from Yezan and went bolting back into the den. Yezan and Ilya were quick to follow.

               “Phisa…” Yezan hesitated as he watched her wildly drawing on the door that allowed them to travel wherever they willed it to lead them. He recognized the symbols for Hell and for War and he took a step closer. “Phisa…”

               “We have to find him.” She looked back at him. “If we are affected, he must be as well. There is no telling what War will do if Yara cannot defend himself.”

               “She’s right.” Ilya clenched her fist. “And we cannot afford to let anything serious happen to him. We do not know what it would do to the rest of us. We are Four of One.”

               Yezan’s jaw set with tension and he looked away in an effort to better hold his tongue. It was no fault of theirs that the youngest Fate chose to endanger himself by constantly bothering War. Surely he did not think his influence was that strong. He was selfish, naïve, and irresponsible.

               “I swear if this has something to do with him…” He growled under his breath, but he had no choice but to follow his sisters through the door as it opened up.

 The moment they stepped foot into the home of the most violent of the Horsemen, there was a distinct shift in the air that none of them had been expecting. It was cool, almost entire devoid of the heat that constantly plagued Hell. The tiles were not heated with anger, the air was not thick with malice. There was nothing to be felt.

               Phisa absently reached for Ilya’s arm, staying close as Yezan stepped further into the sprawling estate. Not a single candle was lit, and the fireplace was cold, as if it hadn’t been touched in days. Every step echoed at least three times over despite how the walls and mantles were swath with trophies of past battles.

               “No one is here.” Yezan murmured, and was almost startled by the volume of his own voice. It was far too quiet.

               “But he has to be.” Ilya whispered as she pulled Phisa along with her to join him. “I can feel Yara’s barriers around us. There is no way that he could have escaped.”                Yezan looked around for any sign to prove otherwise. “Then what in the hell is going on here?”                For what felt like ages, they wandered in the unfamiliar manor searching for answers. Every room was the same; unoccupied and nearly cold. It was not until they passed by one of the windows that Phisa happened to look out and she paused.

               “There!” She called out, startling the other two, but they rushed to join her.

               The massive form of the god of wrath was imposing, even from a distance; but there he sat in the courtyard on his knees with his back to the house. But even more surprising was the garden that was in full bloom around him. There were plants and blossoms of various shapes everywhere, but for some reason, they were all an eerie shade of silver.

               The Fates went together to the Courtyard, Yezan in front with Phisa clutching one of his arms and Ilya trailing cautiously behind. There was absolute silence as they drew closer, but in the way that War’s shoulders tensed, they could tell that he was well aware of their presence.

               “We do not mean to disturb you,” Yezan began as he edged closer. “We just want to know what’s become of our kin. Nothing more.”

               But the Horseman did not move to acknowledge them otherwise. Another soundless moment passed, and Yezan began to fear the worst. Ilya came to his side, hands balled tightly into pale knuckled fists.

               “Where is Yara, War?” she asked, tried to demand. But still, they were met with no answer.

               Finally Phisa stepped forward, tears springing to her eyes. “What did you do to him?!” she cried out.

               “Nothing,” came the rippling snarl.

               They stepped back in tandem, as if expecting him to lash out. But War turned finally turned his attention to them, his eyes blacker than coal.,

               “I did nothing to the Fate.” He said again. “I found him this way.” And he turned his back again.

               A cold sense of terror threaded through the three of them, but ever compassionate Phisa was the first to break from their collective huddle to go to stand beside the Horseman. It took more willpower than she thought she had not to shriek at the sight. There Yara lay, unceremoniously tangled in a rose bush, his face turned to the darkening sky. Thorns pulled at his hair and tore through his clothes and flesh, as if he had fallen without any hope of catching himself, yet the flowers seemed to frame him. It was a strange and terrible duality and it brought Phisa to her knees.

               “Wh--… what is… what happened to him?”

               “I have done everything. He will not wake.” War’s voice was strange—it was without its usual grit, unlaced entirely of the fire that always claimed him. Instead, the only darkness the colored his tone was of genuine frustration.

               Phisa covered her mouth, shrinking back. “What is happening…? What did this?”

               “And what’s more… will the same happen to us?” Ilya muttered, looking to Yezan. “This doesn’t explain anything.”

               “Something is out of balance…” The words left Yezan’s lips and he froze in realization. “The scales. Where are they?”

               Ilya stepped forward, as if she was going to search for them, but War snarled at her with such ferocity that she hesitated. But she frowned. “You are not above my jurisdiction. Do not make me remove you, War. I will take any punishment that is due if you stand in my way.”

               War glowered at her, his hands flexing as his nails lengthened into claws. “He does not bring them here. I have not once seen them.”

               “I told him specifically not to. Not with as destructive as you are.” Yezan grimly agreed. “We have to go back.”

               “We can’t just leave him like this…” Phisa whimpered, her voice edged with tears yet again.

               “I will not leave his side.”

               The Fates all looked at the Horseman with varying levels of surprise, but he was already looking back at Yara’s too still figure. There was no doubting his resolve, and though they were very reluctant, they returned to the Hall to search for the scales.

               It was strange that they were hard to find at all—they were rarely removed from their pedestal on the far side of the den, and yet they were nowhere to be found. Impatience and terror drove Yezan into a fury, tearing down draperies and tossing aside every cushion and pillow from furniture.

               “This doesn’t make any sense…” Ilya hissed as she swept the den once more. “If he did not take them, why are they not here?”

               “I didn’t touch them.” Phisa insisted. “I have been where I always am.”

               “THEN WHERE ARE THEY?” Yezan bellowed.

Lucifer smiled as he held the two small plates in his hands.

               “I always thought gold was heavier than silver.” He cocked his head as he looked between them. “These are the same size and yet they seem to weigh the exact same. I wonder how they were able to manage that.”

               “You mean to tell me that you went to the Hall of the Fates, and all you took as a souvenir were a pair of tea plates?” Maelic pursed his lips with disappointment.

               “I’ve been requesting council with them for a millennia. Of course I am going to want something to commemorate the occasion.” Lucifer glanced at him. “But, they are a bit underwhelming, aren’t they? Even with all of these fancy little marks.” Still, he could not hide his grin. “I’m sure that they will not be missed. I’m sure that they have hundreds. Thousands even.”

               “But you said you wanted to go there for something important, not for tea.” The Prince of Greed sneered. “You could have gotten silver and gold anywhere.”