Seventh III: The Mists of Summer
The Twenty-First Day of the Seventh Moon, 873 AD.
The Woodsroad, Eastern Teleytaios, Klironomea.
It wasn't outside on the training ground that Seventh had found Rhema, but inside his tent. He was still hacking away at dummy of straw and wood, but for some reason he was choosing to do it inside rather than out in the purpose-built training area. Sometimes they really didn't know what it was that ran through their friend's mind.
Suddenly an axe whizzed an inch to the left of their head, a gentle breeze rustling their hair, and with a 'thunk' the bladed edge of the weapon embedded itself into a second straw dummy next to the entrance that they hadn't even known had been there.
"Rhema," they said in a faux-exasperated tone as they let the shock run through them and out of their system, "you can't expect to bludgeon and carve your way through every problem. Violence isn't always the answer."
The prince grinned at them as they walked over, tugging at the haft of the axe a few times so that he could wrench it free.
"You're right; violence isn't always the answer. But nine times out of ten, it is a bloody good guess."
"Shit, I can't argue with that. When did you become so wise?"
"I'm still waiting on the day that I gain wisdom. The Angels knew I'd be too powerful with wisdom on my side. Anyhow, I got you good there, didn't I? Figured you'd need a little shock to your system after meeting with your boss again; you're normally pretty out of it when those chats finish."
They rolled their eyes fondly at the prince. He displayed remarkable maturity at times, and yet still he managed to pull things like this out of nowhere and have it make perfect sense. Still, they hadn't flinched this time, so they must have been getting better at predicting Rhema's 'unique' form of greeting.
"He's my mentor, not my boss. And they're lessons for that matter, not chats. That makes it sound like we're middle aged fishwives."
Rhema snorted, then looked them up and down. Seventh didn't move as he did so, but they couldn't help but notice the hint of concern in Rhema's expression when he'd finished.
"So, how was it?"
How was it? It had been a lot, in all honesty. They'd stared into the soul of a man who'd watched the world tear itself apart more times than they could count, a man who had once tried to change things and held genuine convictions in how best to help the world, but who now was reduced to making sarcastic comments whilst living in resignation for whatever the future held. It wasn't that he was rude or mocking when he questioned why on earth Seventh would bother trying to help change the world of men, rather it more seemed as though he were genuinely confused. After trying and failing to better the world so many times Seventh guessed that maybe his mentor had simply been worn down. The man had tried a great many times to intervene, as had his friends who were now scattered and lost, and in all honesty it did seem that any sort of positive outcome was very rare indeed.
The initial goal may have been achieved, the darkness staved off, but in the process the roles that his mentor's kinfolk played had just inspired newer, more destructive branches of religion and philosophy to take root. Entire ways of life centred around war, around slavery, around death; not at all what had been intended, but it was what had come about as a result of their 'divine intervention' all the same.
Seventh dearly hoped that, when they tried to change the future, nothing like that happened.
They came back to as Rhema poked their cheek, staring at them with a confused expression.
"Hello? Anyone in there?"
Seventh swatted his hand away whilst giggling a little.
"Ah, sorry about that. I've been tormented with visions of a future that must never come to pass and things that must not be, so you can imagine that I'm pretty busy at the moment."
They made sure their voice came across as sufficiently humorous, for there was every chance Rhema might take their words at face value instead of as the sarcastic joke they were meant as. Luckily, judging by the tone of voice he got in response, Rhema had cottoned on pretty quickly.
"Damn, that sounds like it sucks. Good luck with that though, all the best."
Seventh couldn't help but snort at that. There was something about Rhema that just cracked them up.
Thinking on Rhema, for some reason, brought back thoughts of the young man's soul. Rhema was absolutely coated in wild energies, and it was clear that his heart belonged to the wilderness in its entirety. His brother, on the other hand, did not seem that way at all. Prince Lykourgos seemed stern and dutiful, not at all given over to impulse and wild abandon. But then they had looked closer, had delved deeper. Lykourgos' soul held much of the wild in it as well, just like his brother, but it was masked. Caged. It was there, but it had been painted over and almost forgotten about. Seventh wondered if the elder of the two princes even knew how wild he truly had the capacity to be, how feral he might be driven if he were pushed just a little too far. A part of them wanted to see what would happen, what it would be like to see the normally composed and stolid royal lose their composure and turn into a rabid hound like Rhema was want to do in battle, but the majority of them wanted the exact opposite. They'd caught a glimpse of his Grace's wild spirit at the gallows and watched two-score men and women hang. That was... it was different to a battle. That was something else entirely.
Rhema went wild in battle because he found it freeing, perhaps even fun. Lykourgos went wild because he'd been backed into a corner, because he or someone he deeply cared about had been grievously harmed. Rhema was dangerous because he allowed himself to be freed from inhibition, but of the two of them Lykourgos could be far more savage. Their mentor had showed them a vision of a stag drenched in gore, standing atop a mountain of weakly writhing serpents and wolves whilst a doe lay silent behind him, having long since bled out. Visions were still something they struggled to understand, but that one felt rather clear in their mind. The eldest prince would never abandon his duty, the tasks he believed that he had to complete, but the second someone he loved was harmed then bringing the culprits to justice would become his duty. Just who that doe was they was unsure, but it the rest was clear enough in their mind.
And, just like their mentor had said to them, Lykourgos always did his duty. Even if he needed to cross the Drakespine mountains through a tide of blood knee-high, he would do his duty.
Seventh had made a mental note to ensure that the part of their mind that wanted to watch the composed royal lose his shit and go wild was sufficiently quelled. It was too dangerous for so powerful a man to lose himself like that.
Rhema must have noticed their thoughts had turned darker, for they smiled softly at them and nudged their shoulder.
"Hey, what's up? The old man giving you shit again?"
'The old man' in this context of course referred to his mentor, Hydran. Seventh knew that was not his real name, but the man had asked them not to speak it aloud and, just to make sure they didn't accidentally get muddled up and blurt out the wrong name, they'd taken to calling him by the name he'd asked for even within their own head.
"Nothing like that, for once. He's backed off a little now that he's realised I'm still mad at him for his mishandling of trust on a number of things that you don't need to know about."
"What? Come on, you can tell me!"
Seventh laughed at Rhema's over-the-top whining voice. It was clear that he was putting on his voice to try and cheer seventh up, and credit where it was due because it was working, but this was genuinely something that didn't concern Rhema. They cared about their friend deeply, and trusted him equally as much, but there were some things it was better for them not to know.
The history of their kind was one such thing. Hydran had been rather... intensive, with the lessons he'd given about the downfall of their kind in the distant past, leavened by no small amount of very obvious personal bias and opinion. To the man's credit he had at no point tried to pass his personal version of events off as fact, and had in fact made sure that they understood what he was telling them was how everything seemed from his point of view.
The sentiment was noble, but the fact that he was the only person Seventh could learn this from rendered it pretty much moot. After one particularly heated argument stemming over the actions of one of their mentor's brethren Seventh had taken a step back from the lessons, refusing to sleep for about three days to get the message across that they did not want to be bothered in their own head at the moment. Their mentor had, seemingly, acknowledged and respected that particular notion.
He might have been forceful at times and several millennia of life followed by one of sleep hadn't exactly left him with the best grasp on interacting with others, but he was making an effort. Seventh had to, if begrudgingly, concede that point to the man. What he lacked in tact, he made up for in a willingness to listen. He might not admit when he was wrong, but he would at least listen and learn from his mistakes. Seventh got the feeling that he was relearning several millennia of people skills over the course of a few months, and sifting through memories to think on what was acceptable now. It was easy to forget that when their mentor had only been a few millennia older than them slavery was seen as the norm across the world, and those nations that didn't have entire sections of their society dedicated to keeping men in chains were few and far between.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The world had changed much over the course of their mentor's long life, far more than that example could possibly get across, and so it made sense that he was a little out of his depth at the moment when it came to interacting with people.
"Speaking of your mentor," Rhema began, interrupting their thought process, "you said you'd ask him if you could tell me his name. Have you?"
"I said I'd tell you the name you'd know him by, not his true name. And he... well, he said he had no reason to keep it from you. He did tell me to make sure you didn't go around telling everyone, and in his own words 'I know his first instinct will be to tell his brother. Put his mind at rest by telling him that his brother knows already'. So yeah, would you like to know who he is?"
"Of course!"
"Rhema," they said as seriously as they could, "I need you to understand that when you know who he is, you won't be able to unknow it. I won't be able to dull the effect that learning this has on you, for I don't have the experience that he does. I mean, I could try, but I might accidentally erase any memories of your childhood before the age of ten."
"Oh, fucking could you?" Rhema said, his tone dry and yet obviously joking, "I fucking hated every moment of that shitshow."
"Rhema."
The prince rolled his eyes at them, though Seventh couldn't miss the fondness behind the motion.
"Okay, okay, Angels you're uptight about this. He must be real important then, huh?"
Seventh nodded.
"Yes. He's- well, he goes by many names across the world, and has doubtless gone by many more that no-one besides himself remembers. To you though, and to your brother, he is Hydran."
For once, Rhema was totally silent. The prince stepped back once. Twice. His mouth opened and closed a few times, words seeming to die in his throat before passing his lips. When he did speak his voice was strangled, almost reverent.
"You mean- you mean that Hydran? As in Angel of the Seas and the Stars? That Hydran?"
Seventh nodded.
"I do."
"And if he's your kinsman then... Saints, you're-"
Rhema seemed to take a moment to gather his thoughts, a wide grin coming across his face.
"Wait, are you seriously telling me that you, my best and closest friend, are a fucking Angel?"
Seventh nodded slowly, wondering where Rhema was going with this. He was certainly taking it well, not that they'd really expected-
"You do understand how much more ammunition this gives me that I can use to flirt with you, right? Like, you do understand that? I can now call you an Angel and not only fluster you but have it be factually accurate. This is fucking perfect."
Seventh did their best to stifle their laughter, but they didn't succeed. Of course, out of all the revelations to take from this, the one that Rhema stuck with was the fact that he would now be able to flirt with them in an improved manner.
"Somehow it doesn't surprise me that, of all the things most people would have killed to know in that sentence, you care more about the implications this has on you flirting with your best friend."
"I like to think I can focus on the important things in life, thank you very much."
Seventh shook their head, still giggling a little, as they made to continue talking.
"Well, at least you're honest. In all seriousness though, that's who he is. As a few ground rules if you do happen to speak with him, there are a few things you probably shouldn't bring up: his brethren, his children, and prophecy. The first two he lost, some more literally than others, whilst the third one really rubs him the wrong way for some reason."
"And you know this because he told you?"
"Nope," they replied with a sigh, "I know because I have brought up all three of them with him in the wrong circumstances. That was not a fun conversation."
Rhema snorted, hand rising covering his face a little. Seventh might not have been able to say it much, but they would be eternally grateful that it was Rhema who had woken them up and not anyone else. Most people would have seen them as a threat, a witch, a daemon, and tried to kill them outright. Even worse would be someone recognising them for what they really were; a changeling. Basileous, no, Hydran, had told them not to think of themselves as such, had told them that the word had been used as a derogatory term or slur aimed at those Angels who had been raised by or bestowed upon other races by the Angel that made them. In a way it was like a twisted form of adoption, and whilst Hydran had derided those that may have seen 'changelings' as being any different than 'normal' Angels he did acknowledge that it was a pretty loaded term with a lot of history.
Not that any of that history had much relevance anymore.
Still, their mentor had made it perfectly clear that the fact they were raised by humans was a good thing; in his words they lacked the arrogance and complacence of his ancient kin amongst the heavens.
Still, he had conceded that it was a bitter thing, knowing that there was now an Angel alive who had never once seen the heavens. Not only that, but they never would. Seventh didn't know much about the history of their kind, but they did know that there were very few left. Very, very few. They knew this for a fact, just as they knew that the true home of the Angels was no more. It was a sobering thought, knowing that one would never see their home, but it at least seemed that his mentor shared their pain. He'd seemed really rather torn up when he'd admitted that he couldn't remember his home anymore. He'd tried to make another home down here, but... well, that hadn't gone well. He'd flown too close to the sun, and that was putting it mildly. It was shared moments of mourning such as those that really made Seventh realised just why his mentor was the way that he was.
It didn't excuse him for being a generally cryptic dick though. They weren't going to let him off the chain for his poor attitude just yet.
So yeah, all things considered they were glad that they happened to be awakened by the one person who managed to be completely unfazed by just about every curveball they threw.
"Yo, you've gotten lost in your head again. I'm not that boring to talk to, am I?"
Seventh blinked and dragged themselves out of their mind for what must have been the third or forth time this conversation, whereupon they smiled apologetically at Rhema.
"No, of course not. Hell, you're one of the like... three people that I enjoy talking to on a regular basis. Maybe four. Even so, you still sit at the top of that list."
"How flattering. You'll make me blush, Sev. Who else is on that list?"
"There's you, there's your brother, and there's Ilias."
Rhema raised an eyebrow.
"My brother and Ilias. Not your mentor?"
Seventh shrugged.
"Your brother is a rather interesting human, and I don't think it's possible for anyone to hate Ilias. Hydran is the 'maybe' on that list. He's interesting to talk to, but I don't know if many of our conversations are particularly enjoyable. But that's enough of that for now; not to pry or change the subject, but have you... you know, seen her again? Since the Suthdaal I mean?"
Rhema's face darkened a little as he nodded slowly. Seventh wouldn't admit it, but seeing Rhema acting like that had genuinely scared them a little. Rhema could be reckless, and he hadn't exactly been left with the soundest of minds, but seeing him actually trying to... Seventh didn't really know what Rhema had been trying to do, save make the image of his sister go away, but the method by which he'd gone about it was about as unhealthy as any they could imagine. They wanted to be there to help their friend with this issue moving forwards, and had meant what they'd said when they'd happened across him hammering his head into the stone wall.
They didn't want their friend to be hurting, especially not when they could do something to help.
"I haven't, not really, but I still... I still feel like I do, sometimes. You know, like half a second, corner of your eye sort of thing. I haven't had a headache like I did last time, and yes I am keeping an eye on that sort of thing. It was my headaches that heralded my downwards spiral when I was younger, and now that I've had one that bad again I know that they must be tied to this... hallucination."
Rhema shivered a little, his eyes going distant for a moment before he spoke again. His voice carried anger born of sadness, of confusion, letting them know just how frustrated he was with this whole situation.
"I don't understand, Sev. I know she isn't real, I know she's gone and dead and buried beneath the Westcoast Church, so why does it feel so real? Why did I see her? I can- I know I'll see her again, she told me as much, but then that was a hallucination and not real so I don't know if- was that something to discard? To ignore? Or was that my mind trying to warn me, to allow me to prepare myself?"
Their friend shivered a little more despite the temperature being quite warm, so Seventh did the first thing that came to them. Slowly and deliberately so as to allow their friend to back out if he didn't want physical touch at the moment, they settled into a hug with Rhema. He was a head taller than they were, allowing them to very comfortably nestle into his chest and rub small circles on his back.
"You're strong, Rhema. I know you can get through this, through anything, and come out on top of it all. That doesn't mean you need to do it alone. I can help you with this, even if all I can do is try and keep you company after the fact and ground you if and when it happens again. I promise that you'll be okay."
Rhema hugged them back tightly, and Seventh did their best to politely ignore the almost-shed tears that their friend was hurriedly swiping away with his free arm. Seventh led him to sit down on the edge of the bed in the room, still hugging him, and once they were seated the prince spoke once more.
"I, uh... I'm still on the lookout for the two of them, you know."
Seventh furrowed their brow, confused.
"Them?"
"Turnkey and Aenethar. I've spoken with the Master of Silver more than once, and he's told me he'll keep me informed if he gets any word of their whereabouts. I know it might seem like I've forgotten about them, but I haven't; I'm going to hurt them for what they did to you, but the war means that I've needed to put such things to one side for now."
A small smile crept over their face. It was nice to have Rhema's support in such things, not that it was ever in question.
"You might be waiting a long time, in that case."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you really think your brother is content to stop at the end of this war? Do you think that this will mark the end of his march?"
Rhema stilled for a moment, a huffed laugh escaping the prince's throat before he spoke.
"Yeah, that's true enough. We might be at war for quite a long time, Sev. Don't think even for a second that I'll ever have forgotten what they put you through though. There are many things my... sickness, such as it is, makes harder for me. Memory might be one of them, but that's something I'll never let myself forget. Not until justice has run its course."
"Well for what it's worth, I appreciate it. A better person than me would probably tell you not to bother, that you should let go of what they did to me. I'm not willing to do that. What if there's someone else like me out there? My mentor never knew I existed until he met me, since he can't use his mystical senses very much anymore. There might be others out there that neither he nor I know of, and I don't want people like that to get anywhere near them."
They were silent for a moment, and Seventh moved themselves even further into the side of their friend, nestling between his arm and his side.
"I don't want them to get me again. I don't want people like that to exist in this world. How can people be so twisted as to cut open the still-living even after recognising them as divine? I don't understand?"
"Nor do I," Rhema replied, the prince tightening his arm a little to pull them closer still in what felt to them like a very grounding move, "but if that's what you want then I'll do it. By myself if I have to, but I'll do it nonetheless. People like that don't deserve to live."
They huffed out something that was halfway between a laugh and a scoff. There was plenty that didn't need to exist in this world that did anyway. Or maybe that was just the cynicism of their mentor talking?
Either way, the path forwards for them was clear. They would be content to remain by Rhema's side and enjoy the next few decades, because they wouldn't last forever. The responsibility for safeguarding this world would be theirs to bear one day, but for now they still had so much to learn. Even their mentor, as critical and harsh as he could be, would not deign to force them into a role they weren't ready for yet. One day they'd stand by his side and face down darkness, knowing full well it was a fight they could never truly win, but at this moment there was nowhere they'd rather be than by the side of their greatest and closest friend. Rhema had done so much for them, and they for him in turn. If they stayed together over the years then Seventh had little fear for what the future would bring.