Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It began as a joke at first.

The cheeky Earth-born Cyrus Ziker was looking to rise to the rank of Colonel from his mere status as a Soldier in the short period of six years-- a feat that had never been accomplished in intergalactic history.

And rumor had it he was doing it all for the hand of Aden Asketura, the crown jewel of Aesern. 

***

Cyrus wasn’t always so determined. Before, as a fresh-faced member of the Aesernian army, and someone who was not a child of Ventari descent like most of his fellow soldiers, he knew to keep his head down. On the planet Ventare, Earthlings were looked down upon. And it was already so painfully obvious that he was one. 

He didn’t have wings, gills, pointed ears, vibrantly colored hair, or a metallic sheen to his eyes. Nor did he have the supernatural beauty that was characteristic of Ventari people. Anyone of any Ventari descent had at least one of those features, as they were practically a different species of biologically and aesthetically superior humans who evolved from the upper populations who could afford to leave Earth hundreds of years ago. 

In fact, Cyrus was rather plain. He was handsome by Earth standards, sure, but by Ventare’s, he was average looking, at best. It ironically made him more noticeable.

Cyrus’ father immigrated with him to Ventare when he was still six years old. Earth was falling apart from over a century of exploitation and pollution. They had little options left, so Masen Ziker sold all his possessions to get safe passage to Ventare with his son. Masen Ziker died on the journey due to his body’s staunch refusal to adapt to new conditions. Thus, young Cyrus was left alone. Left to fend for himself, he had no choice but to work in Ventare’s diamond mines. The Aesernian government wasn't very keen on providing for an Earthling orphan. So Cyrus grew strong that way, hauling stones from miles under the surface and back every week, then carving out the precious jewels when it got dark, only to go back and do it all over again at first light. Cyrus was forced to grow terribly resilient for his age, too.

So much for Ventare being a beacon of enlightenment, justice, and equality.  

Still. Luck coincidentally smiled down on him one day. It just so happened that one afternoon in the city, while fetching lunch for his taskmaster, he overheard an orator on the streets announcing that the Aesernian military was now testing young initiates from the ages of 7 - 15 to train and become future soldiers for the brewing war. At first, he shook his head and kept walking. But that night, in his threadbare bed inside a too-hot, too-cramped tenement, ten-year-old Cyrus became curious. He took his meager life’s savings. He took a chance, just as his father did, all those years ago. He registered for the exam. 

And he passed. 

The other initiates picked fights with him throughout his childhood. He spent most of that time losing. But he had a strong fighting spirit. It’s not as if he was completely helpless, after all. The thing about him was that he fought like a cornered street dog. He had instinct, he had drive, and he evidently had smarts. All Cyrus was missing then was the chance he needed. 

His potential didn’t go unnoticed. A seasoned general happened to walk by an alleyway in Aesern's underbelly just before Cyrus was about to get beat down again. After scolding the boys inciting the incident, Cyrus expected to be turned away from, as he always was. And yet, a thickly gloved hand offered to help him up. The rest was history. He was shortly adopted by General Xerus, a man who came from a long line of genetically modified humans with box jellyfish DNA. He could infamously paralyze and kill a man with just a swipe of his bare fingertips-- the main reason why no one ever questioned his frequent visits to the red light district. 

No one really messed with Cyrus after that. 

It was through his rigorous training under the general that Cyrus was able to be officiated as an official Soldier under the Aesernian army, the first Earth-born to do so. And further through General Xerus’ high opinion of him, Cyrus obtained a job as the official bodyguard of the Aesernian Head Councillor’s youngest son. 

This was how Cyrus met Aden Asketura, the so-called prince of Aesern. 

You see, Aden is not technically a prince- the Ventari people only titled him that because of his superior beauty, even by their standards. From the moment Cyrus saw him, he knew exactly why he was spoken of as if he were a god himself. 

Cyrus first caught sight of the boy on a tour of the estate. By chance, his eyes just so happened to find the young prince through a window that looked down into the courtyard garden. 

Aden was like a precious jewel that Head Councillor Eldios Asketura had no choice but to hide away in his home, far away from the appraising eyes of the public. 

It rained softly outside, but Aden precariously balanced an umbrella by the crook of his arm and the flat of his shoulder. Meanwhile, in his lap, his slender hands held open a book. Somehow, that drew Cyrus in more. 

The little prince’s silvery-white hair caught the wane glow from the oil lamps in a way that made it look as if there was a radiant, ethereal halo around his head. His similarly colored, long lashes fanned against his deeply tanned cheeks as he continued to read cross-legged on the edge of the marble fountain. His golden eyes, so captivating that they were visible from even such a height, skimmed over each page rapidly, and with so much attentiveness, that it was almost certain he could become a high scholar if he so chose. Even the curve of his delicate jaw seemed as if it were carved with the utmost care by angels themselves. 

And by some other impossible chance, the boy blinked out of his concentration, looking up to meet Cyrus’ gaze. Cyrus, already entranced, couldn’t bring himself to look away. And when they were finally, formally introduced in the dimness of a dinner only lit by the backdrop of a crackling fireplace, the boy offered a shy smile to him. Immediately, Cyrus knew he’d do anything to protect that smile. Cyrus knew exactly from that moment, and every moment on, that he had to have him. 

Aden and Cyrus spent about a year happily content in that home. Predictably, there were no real threats to the young prince inside the heavily guarded Asketura home, so they were free to spend their time however they wished. Cyrus learned that the young prince loved spending time in the home library or in the gardens. 

Aden Asketura had two older siblings- Ikarus and Zeru, but both were significantly older, and often traveled, so Aden had no one until Cyrus came along. 

Aden wasn’t nearly as timid as Cyrus was led to believe, though. The boy often spent afternoons avidly explaining to Cyrus the variety of Ventari flowers in the garden, or the information from the book he was currently reading (which changed every two or three days), or the complaints he had about the intricacies of intergalactic politics. And Cyrus showed that he cared about what the young prince had to say. The boy would eventually also prattle on to him about the differences between planetary species, the nuance of languages, then the strategy of past battles already fought when he got more comfortable with him. Those topics seemed to be his favorite. Cyrus wouldn’t mind. He was never given access to any library growing up. Plus, he was especially curious about military history. He’d ask Aden questions about literally anything. And Aden had answers for him.

In return, Aden asked about Cyrus’ life. His upbringing, his home planet (from the little he could remember), combat strategies- anything and everything, for that’s what Aden found interesting. As Aden was raised entirely in the Asketura home, barely allowed to venture out at all, even having been homeschooled his entire life, Aden was rightfully curious about the world outside. The questions really were endless. Cyrus couldn’t say he minded that, either. Cyrus wasn’t much of a talker, but when he was with Aden, he felt as if he could open up about anything. And Aden always had his charming little responses. He always knew what to say. 

When General Xerus would be assassinated only a few months after, Aden would be the one tenderly, patiently stroking Cyrus’ dark hair while he wept. They spent that day thankfully unbothered in Aden’s chambers with the crimson curtains drawn while soft rain pattered outside. He’d encourage Cyrus to tell him fond memories of the late general. It was difficult at first, but it aided the loss. 

Slowly, Cyrus grew to love Aden for more than just his beauty. If anyone really bothered to know him, they would know the more beautiful parts of him, from his soft heart, to his snarky grins, to the way he could practice his embroidery one moment then throw a mean uppercut the other. 

And Aden had adored Cyrus ever since he was a boy. 

They were naïve enough to think an engagement wouldn’t be too big of a deal. What they failed to consider was that Cyrus was Earth-born. And Aden was the golden boy- the prince of Aesern. 

***

The war between Ventare’s nation of Aesern and the aquatic nation of Naleh broke out not soon after. The Nalehi kept encroaching on Aesernian resources. It was a breach of contract. Thus, the Council decided to engage in full-on war. Cyrus was going to go off and fight. But not before ensuring something first. 

“I came before you to humbly ask for Aden’s hand in marriage, Councillor Asketura.”

The dim boardroom, which only sat Eldios and Helidae Asketura, became deathly silent. After a moment, Eldios spoke, but only out of incredulity. Spit flew from the man’s mouth in pure outrage. “Aden? Marriage?!”

“I… understand that this request is a bit unorthodox-”

Helidae, the Head Councillor’s wife, elaborated on her husband’s outburst with a measured voice, but the detestment in her expression was clear as her gold and white feathered wings bristled behind her. She had absolutely hated Cyrus Ziker since he arrived, on account of his lineage. However, she made little effort to hide it. “With all due respect, Ziker– and all due respect to your late father, General Xerus, may the gods rest his soul– Aden is reserved to a man of blood status.”

Cyrus winced. “I apologize for my arrogance, Councillor Asketura. Lady Asketura.”

He turned to leave, but he was saved by no other than his paramour himself, who had been covertly listening just outside the slightly ajar doors. “Father, if I may intervene?” He spoke softly, carefully.

Caught a bit off guard, Eldios waved the boy in. “Yes, Aden, what is it?”

“Well… according to the house rules, an individual with at least the rank of Colonel also has the authority to marry into nobility without having been born into high status.” Those molten gold eyes flitted over to Cyrus, but even he knew it wasn’t much of a lifeline. 

“Hah!” Eldios Asketura reclined back in his chair, obviously smug. “Well, Aden, you being born of high status, and now as the youngest of House Asketura, you know you must be engaged by the time you’re of age. Unless Cyrus here can reach the rank of at least Colonel before then…” 

Helidae shook her head. That gave him so little time. “That gives him... six years. At most.” Her lips pursed in an expression that almost resembled pity. 

“And the fastest to gain the title of Colonel from the rank of Soldier in our planet’s thousand-year history took almost double that time.” Eldios nearly laughed. He knew it was close to impossible. Only a madman would attempt such a feat. 

Cyrus glanced over at Aden, who could only look back helplessly. Well. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t try. It would be difficult beyond anything Cyrus will ever experience, trying to break a record like that, but he knew it would be even harder to watch Aden marry someone else. “So you’re saying if I become a Colonel in the next six years…”

“Only then may you have my son Aden’s hand in marriage.” Eldios Asketura said with a smirk. 

“And you’re certain you’ll honor this agreement?”

“I give you my word as Head Councillor of Aesern, with my son and wife as my witnesses.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be off now.” 

He was dismissed. He went off to war. 

But not before saying goodbye to Aden. 

***

He stood at the iron gates of Asketura manor, the rain pouring as he waited for the military shuttle to pick him up. He was going to risk everything and push himself past every limit for a boy he hadn’t even kissed yet. And he wouldn’t. Not until he had begun formally courting him. The least he could do was do this right, for Aden’s sake. 

Eldios wouldn’t let him say his farewell to him before he left. Not when Cyrus formally requested it, anyway. He’d return in between missions or when he was gravely injured, but he could easily die on the field at any time. He had never fought in a real war before, after all. And despite Ventare’s high-tech training methods, no simulation could amount to the real thing. 

Cyrus thought he was alone out there while he continued to wait. Then he felt something cold quickly pressed into the palm of his hand in passing. He’d only catch sight of a flash of bright white under a black cloak. The hooded prince would hurry off in the rain, before his parents could notice he’s gone, offering only a small fleeting glance over his shoulder to satisfy Cyrus’ rising curiosity. 

When Cyrus opened his palm, he found two small idols, both carved out of pure white jasper, barely bigger than Cyrus’ thumbprint. One of Celudiere, Aden’s patron god– the god of Love, War, and Wrath (along with Mischief, to a lesser degree). The very same god that was immortalized in marble adorning the Asketuras’ garden fountain, the very same one that Aden sat under to read, as per habit. And the other figure was one of Adenna– the minor goddess of Honor, Bravery…. And Luck. Cyrus looked up to thank Aden for these charms of goodwill, but any lingering trace of the boy was already long gone. 

All Cyrus knew now was that Aden was still rooting for him. So now he had no choice but to succeed.

It began as a joke. 

Even the cadets joked amongst themselves that the Earthling Soldier U-789, Cyrus Ziker, was looking to climb the ranks supernaturally fast– like no one had done before– in order to prove himself worthy to marry the prince of Aesern. No one thought it could be done. No Ventari had ever done it before. But what everyone failed to consider was that Cyrus was not, in fact, Ventari by blood. And he was about to prove everyone wrong. 

Sure, it was impossible to gain the standard amount of experience he needed to get promoted in only six years. The other option was maintaining an above average performance, and/or earning heroic honors in order to rise through the ranks. It would be difficult, of course. However, Cyrus was determined. 

General Xerus’ first words always found a way to echo back to him again. When he stumbled during drills. When he dropped his rifle during a simulation and was immediately shot out. When he was slightly off during target practice, warranting an extra set of laps. 

“How many times have you lost, boy?” Xerus was referring to the little skirmishes Cyrus always found himself falling into. Though they were genuinely not his fault– it was simply unbelievable to any Ventari initiate that a filthy Earthling was in their ranks. Cyrus was eleven at that time. 

Before he was ever a soldier, before he had taken on this impossible task, before he had decided to fight for his right to marry the one he loved, he was just some snot-nosed kid from Earth who was struggling to survive. One who never knew who he really was until General Xerus showed him. From the ground of that fateful alleyway, he answered, twenty, in the past month.  

“And how many times did you pick yourself right back up again?” Young Cyrus thought for a moment. Twenty. He recalled the feeling of his former mentor’s hard calluses through his poison-resistant gloves as he helped a young Cyrus to his feet. It always drew him back into reality. It stuck with him as he formed rough calluses of his own, then continued to root him every time he pressed the trigger of his rifle. “You’re stronger than you think.” Xerus would smile at Cyrus with his golden-capped teeth.  

“Losing doesn’t make you weak, boy. You’re only weak if you decide not to get back up.” 

Cyrus wasn’t only doing this for a potential future with Aden anymore, but also to represent Earth-borns everywhere. He had to prove himself twice as hard as any Ventari did. He took missions no one else wanted to take. He challenged both himself and his peers to get better. He kept pushing himself, even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt. 

Eventually, he never missed a bullseye again. 

The diamond mines had hardened him a long time ago. He still had that strength, that desperation to live another day. Just one more day. And when his field commander got severely injured in his very first battle, he was the one who quickly took charge, thought well on his feet, and won them the victory that time. 

Cyrus Ziker made it known that he was not to be underestimated. And within two years of service, against all odds, he became an official lieutenant. He set a new record in that regard. 

Getting to Captain, then Colonel after that, however, would prove even more difficult. 

The war was not won yet. 

Chapter Text

Cyrus lost a lot of things to war. But most notably, after two years, his left eye was now gone after a scrap with an Aquilian Nalehi soldier went south. Instead, there was now a bronze eyepatch strapped over it, with a jagged scar poking out from the top right and lower left corner of it, like a crooked streak of lightning from behind a black storm cloud. 

When Cyrus was promoted to Lieutenant, he was sent back to Aesern on orders of Eldios Asketura to celebrate his record-setting accomplishment.

The bastard only wanted to gloat, Cyrus knew, but he was in no position to refuse a personal invitation from the Head Councillor himself. So he sailed back, afraid. Not of Eldios, but of what Aden would think of him. It had been two years since they’d seen each other in person. They weren’t even allowed to exchange letters or electronic communication, since they would invariably be blocked entirely by Eldios Asketura. 

As he made the voyage back, Cyrus found himself habitually brushing his fingers over his eyepatch, across the intricate carvings made there by the artisan he met on the Roccaman coast. He’s grown out his hair since he left Aesern. He even sported a beard now. A lot had changed since he left. No doubt Aden did, too. Would Aden be afraid of him? Would he be frightened by the ugly scar across his missing eye? 

Worst of all: Would Aden love him anymore? 

Cyrus’ fears were quickly alleviated, however, when, no sooner than the instant he stepped off the transport, Aden had run into his arms-- to the befuddlement of everyone on board, and even more satisfyingly, Councillor Asketura himself.

Aden didn't care. He was only glad Cyrus had returned alive. 

In the time he was gone, Aden had nearly grown to the height of Cyrus’ shoulder. Not only that, but Aden’s parents insistently introduced their son to Kalix Vildara, the eldest kin of General Vildara of Roccam. Aden refused his proposal for marriage, but he could tell, as he told Cyrus, that he knew exactly what his parents were trying to do. They didn’t believe in Cyrus. Nobody did. Except Aden. But this was more than enough for Cyrus. He already knew this would be an uphill battle, after all. 

That night, after a thorough bath and changing into ceremonial Lieutenant’s attire, Cyrus was forced to socialize with the prominent figures of Aesernian high society, all who wanted to meet this model Earthling who finally proved that his kind could be just as upstanding as any Ventari. It was all so condescending, Cyrus swore he would’ve broken his jaw from all the teeth-grinding he was doing. But then he’d feel a feather-light touch against his bicep, view a subtle shake of Aden’s head, and he'd immediately be filled with a sense of unbridled calm. They had to be careful, after all. The Head Councillor and his wife spoke possibly a total of three words to Cyrus the entire night, but he could still feel their eyes on the back of his skull the moment he turned away. 

After the formalities and the dinner ended rather unceremoniously, Cyrus glanced around the banquet hall and felt the slightest panic rise in his chest when couldn’t find Aden. But he knew exactly where he was. He found him in the garden, in their favorite spot right under the fountain shrine of Celudiere. 

Cyrus noticed how Celudiere and Aden bore much resemblance, both with such eternally youthful features. It was hard to translate into stone, but whoever sculpted Celudiere in that fountain somehow also captured the fiery look in the god’s eyes. It reminded Cyrus of the expression on Aden’s face when Cyrus taught him how to sweep the feet of his enemies for the first time. 

Aden sat curled up on the edge of the monument, donned in a white, sleeveless jumpsuit which exposed a generous amount of his toned midriff. Cyrus smugly knew Aden had picked to wear it himself because his mother didn’t like him wearing anything “unseemly.” 

Cyrus quickly shifted the white Lieutenants’ coat off his back- it was lined on the inside with furs due to it being close to Aesern’s snowy season- and placed it over Aden’s shoulders. Aden pulled it closer around his form and wordlessly smiled his thanks. 

“Why aren’t you wearing a shawl or something? It’s cold out here.” 

Aden shrugged, a playful smile lifting the very corners of his perky lips. 

“...You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Cyrus accused. 

“Perhaps. Care to join me?” Aden opened one side of the coat to Cyrus as an invitation.

“Tsk. I’m fine. It was stuffy enough being in there, anyway.” Cyrus took a seat next to Aden, though noticeably much more distant than they used to be. 

Aden glanced away. Wrong choice. He definitely internalized that. Cyrus wanted to kick himself.

“I’ll give it back, don’t worry.” He assured quietly. It took Cyrus a beat too long to realize he was talking about the coat. 

“You don’t have to. It’s not a real uniform, it’s merely ceremonial.” Cyrus moved himself closer-- enough to feel the natural body heat coming off Aden, anyway. He so desperately wanted to reach out for Aden– brush a thumb against those plush lips, his palm against his soft cheek, his fingers through his hair, anything really– but his hands froze at his sides. Some part of him still felt like Aden was so far removed from his sphere. He was so beautiful that Cyrus felt as if he didn’t even have a right to touch him. Aden watched. He lowered his gold-dusted lids ever so slightly in silent invitation. But to no avail. 

Eternity passed between their exchanged gazes. There was so much to talk about, so much in the past two years that happened, that it almost seemed like there was nothing to say at all, in some strange way. Where would they even begin? 

Aden was not quite the same boy Cyrus had left behind that rainy day.

And Cyrus was not the same young man Aden had bade goodbye with twin gifts of jasper. 

While Aden had somehow become more refined, his chin held high at dinner and his voice ever so softly polite around the other men– all suitors who practically drooled over him. Meanwhile, Cyrus only became rougher around the edges than he was before. He was once again grimly reminded that he didn’t belong in Aden’s world. He never would. Not as an Earthling. 

The weight of the two idols in Cyrus’ pocket suddenly felt heavier than ever. 

Then as always, as if nothing had ever changed at all, Aden broke the silence. “Can I braid your hair, Lieutenant Ziker?” 

He’d said those last two words with a bit of a lopsided smile on his face, as if trying out how they sounded. Cyrus wrinkled his nose in response, to which Aden laughed his bright laugh. Cyrus had to admit, no matter how many times he’d thought about the title, it would never sound right. "Your hair's gotten a little ruffled throughout the night," Aden explained amicably, "so if you don't mind, I can..." 

Cyrus sent his own wordless grin over his shoulder before he gently laid his head in the boy’s lap. He mentally thanked the gods he was allowed an extensive bath before the banquet. Slowly, he felt those nimble fingers start working through his dark cascading locks. Only then did he feel safe again. The muscles in his shoulders fully relaxed when he didn’t even know they’d been this tense. 

He never truly had a home on Ventare, but Aden sure as hells felt like one. 

Aden expertly worked through his task- as suspected, since his own wavy hair, now holding a shimmering property under the light of Ventare’s moons, was often worn in a braid over his shoulder– while he hummed some Ventari lullaby Cyrus had heard him absentmindedly sing under his breath around the house.

That’s the thing. 

Cyrus always thought that it wasn’t just Aden’s eyes or his face that were beautiful, but also the little parts of his personality that slipped through, past that docile facade. The way he anxiously bounced his knee while reading a particularly harrowing part of his new favorite novel, how he would ever so slightly tilt his head while examining his own handwriting before crumpling up the paper and restarting, the way he mumbled snide remarks to the side while attending Council meetings with his father. 

…How he laughed when he was only with Cyrus. Oh, how he laughed. Cyrus would take note of every single one of these little bits and pieces– let them sink deep into his skin and engrave themselves into his heart. In the hardest of times, those quaint memories with his beloved were the only thing that could keep him going. 

Aden paused only to remark, “I find braiding hair to be a soothing activity. Really takes my mind off things, you know?” After all, he was used to Cyrus’ characteristic silence. He didn’t mind filling it, just as much as Cyrus didn’t mind listening to the sound of his voice. Cyrus even found himself replaying memories of he and Aden in that garden, back when times were simpler. Just to hear it again when the anguished screams of his men were the only thing he could think of. 

“Is that why you keep your hair long?” Cyrus murmured. 

He could feel Aden’s hands cease once more, still interlocked in his hair. “...No. Mother just doesn’t want me to cut it.” He paused only for a second more before continuing seamlessly.

“Do you want to cut it?” Cyrus inquired softly. 

“Perhaps.” Aden sighed heavily. "You know... no one asks about what I want anymore." He quickly finished the braid down the middle of Cyrus’ head, quickly moving to another strand to braid that one, too. “There’s a lot of things Mother says I’m not supposed to do. I suppose I should start listening to her… I’m the third child of a Councillor, after all.” 

In Ventari society, the number three was considered the most ideal, thus, most officials sought to have three children. Three was perseverance, and refinement, and luck. Three children represented the three most important gods of this day and age: Darius, Jorgun, and Adora.

The first child would represent the first god birthed during creation: Darius, the god of Reincarnation, the Underworld, and Justice. As such, first-borns would often serve in the military– in this case, that was Aden’s eldest brother, who Cyrus himself was only two years younger than: Captain Ikarus Asketura. The first-born had to marry well, but they had more choice in the matter, for they would continue bearing their family’s name. Ikarus, for instance, chose to court the youngest son of the most prominent leather merchant in Aesern. He seemed the most content out of the three.

The second child would then serve as strictly a diplomatic figure– for Jorgun, the younger brother of Darius, embodies The Heavens, Light, and Virtue. For the Asketura children, this was Ambassador Zeru Asketura, Aden’s elder sister. The second-born was not allowed to marry at all. Their duty was to remain virtuous. If they wanted children, they could not have them through conventional procreation. The cool-headed Zeru didn’t seem to have any staunch complaints about her situation, though Cyrus would never know for sure. 

As for the third born child of a noble, Aden was meant to epitomize Adora, the goddess of Life, Marriage, and Children– who rose to prominence after marrying the son of Darius. Through this union, she effectively harmonized the worlds of both the living and the dead. A third-born’s main duty, therefore, was to secure the connections between prominent families through unions. It was another reason for why he and Cyrus’ union was so absurd of an idea. It would be a stark break from tradition. 

Aden was supposed to marry into a wealthy house and bear the children of the eldest son (or in a rare case, daughter) there. Through this, the most obvious power he has is the power to create and destroy alliances between preexisting houses. But like Helidae Asketura, who was also the third born of her own family, Aden couldn’t take any official office positions, serve in the military, or sell merchant’s goods. 

These principles were not to be confused with each individual Ventare-born’s patron god, however. That was entirely different, and chosen by the individual. 

While Zeru chose Achereyu, the goddess of Agriculture and Prosperity, Celudiere was the chosen patron god by both Ikarus and Aden. The second and third generation deities had gained many more worshippers in the past decade, evidently. 

In the Asketuras’ garden, the Love and War god’s stone facade stood stoically above Cyrus and Aden with his iconic scimitars at his sides, as if ready to protect the two at any moment.

“Ever since you left, I can’t even practice the combat moves you taught me anymore.” Aden continued solemnly. “My mother makes me embroider as a punishment. I’m good at it, but it’s still so...” He sighed heavier. “Then I also can’t leave the manor past dark, I can’t whittle because my mother says it’ll chafe my hands, I can’t spread butter on my crumpets, I can’t hum, I can’t wear Telukkan silks because they’re too ‘provocative…’” Aden quieted. Long enough, in fact, for Cyrus to open his eyes. He looked up at that tragically beautiful boy and the sadness behind that gaze, which was already transfixed on him. “And I…  I’m not supposed to talk to you."

"...Alone?" Cyrus dared to ask, though he knew the answer already.

"At all." Aden admitted. "Mother keeps telling me it’s unseemly, but I… Well…”

The garden around them seemed to slow to a standstill. They weren’t meant to be. That much was clear. It seemed like even the universe itself was telling them they could never be together. And yet… 

Yet when Cyrus’ eyes met Aden’s, he felt like nothing was impossible, nothing at all. He could see his entire universe in that gaze. 

When Cyrus was gone for so long, it was easy to forget what exactly he was fighting for. Who he was fighting for. 

Then, tentatively, as if afraid to hurt him, Aden gently drew a hand down Cyrus’ cheek, his thumb affectionately brushing against the edge of the fleshy elevated scar which remained exposed despite his eyepatch. “Were you afraid, Cy?” Aden breathed.

Cyrus stared up at the boy contemplatively. “…Every day. There isn’t a damn moment out there where I’m not terrified.” He laid his hand on top of Aden’s. There were no more words he needed to say right then.

“Please… Promise me you’ll come back to me, Cyrus Ziker.” He whispered, his breath forming steam in the cold night air. Something ached in Cyrus’ heart, hearing Aden’s voice so broken. "Even if you can't... just tell me you will."

Cyrus pressed his lips to Aden’s palm. “I promise. I promise, my dear one, I will. I will always come back to you.”

***

Cyrus had to leave for the front lines again the following morning. Aden was not awake when he left, but in the darkness of dawn, Cyrus made sure to toe into Aden’s bedroom to leave a parting kiss on the sleeping boy’s temple before he had to go. The neatly folded Lieutenant’s coat tucked under Aden’s pillow didn’t go unnoticed. It physically pained him to step away. 

Cyrus didn’t intend to break his promise, but he knew the risk was real. Not only were they fighting Aquilians, who were known to have thicker skins than the standard Ventari type, but they were also fighting on Nalehi territory– in Ventare’s forgotten swamps and coasts. Cyrus attributed his survival thus far to his prayers every night. He walked in two years ago with a full unit, around his age, laughing, young, and now half of them were gone. Now the survivors looked as if they had aged half a century. Gaunt, tired, and weary. 

They didn’t even have the energy to ridicule Cyrus anymore. They simply congratulated him on his promotion, then stared at him in hopes of fully competent leadership. And of living through all of this. To see their families again. That was possibly worse than the usual comments he’d get. This war- this war that half of them didn’t even know why they were fighting anymore–  was long from over. 

***

Exactly a week after he was thrown right back into action, Cyrus found himself up against the largest Aquilian he’d ever seen. Those scaly hands were wrapped around his throat, tight, pinning him underwater against the stone seafloor. He could feel his windpipe getting crushed against the sheer pressure. He could only struggle so much. He could kick, he could try to scratch at that thick Aquilian skin, he could punch at the Aquilian’s face. But it was all in vain. He was losing oxygen. He could feel his fingertips getting cold, even numb. Black dots invaded the edges of his vision, then began to dance across it. 

There was impending peace on the brink of washing over his entire body. He could’ve given up. Cyrus wouldn’t have to fight anymore. No more pain, no more ridicule. He was tired. 

Gods, was he tired.

If he died there, he’d at least have died with honor. 

His unit was not in sight. He had no bullets left, only a knife strapped in his boot.

Cyrus couldn’t think of anything better. 

And yet… yet he could not let go. His memories persisted. He had someone waiting for him back in Aesern. Bright eyes, that gentle smile, those soft hands in his. He could hear that enchanting voice in his head, humming that soothing lullaby once more. But instead of putting him to sleep, it only made him more aware. He had a future to continue fighting for. He did, didn’t he?

In some shapeless space, he could sense the memory of nimble fingers combing through his hair as soft singing continued very close to his ear. Cyrus envisioned a little boy held in Aden’s arms with Aden’s beautiful molten eyes and his own dark raven hair. He could see a life ahead of him– their marriage, their first child. Shamelessly dancing at a ball with his husband despite the swirling gossip, then in private with their feet in the sands of the Roccaman coast– their laughter reverberating off the redstone cliffs nearby all the while. He could see Aden standing on his toes to kiss him in a dimly lit foyer to see him off every morning, reminding him to be back before dinner. He could see him and Aden and their children traveling the quadrant together, free at last. He could see happiness. And loving. And being loved. All simple pleasures– but all he had been denied his entire life. 

Cyrus felt warmth, but also a sensation like static electrifying his limbs back to life. 

And it was then he finally realized he couldn’t just give up. 

He also realized something else. 

The knife. 

The knife strapped firmly against his lower calf, in his boot. 

Gods, he was so stupid.

In a moment of temporary blindness, ironically granting him a certain clarity, he could finally think. He was no longer just a cornered street dog who had to fight strictly off instinct, desperate for survival. He was now Lieutenant Ziker, the Earthling who had to do General Xerus proud. He couldn’t choose to give up here. 

He made a promise. He would not die here, he could not. Aden was waiting for him to come back. The least he could do was try. 

Suddenly, Cyrus remembered something he’d heard feverishly, excitably whispered by Aden himself, years ago– a whispered fact that Aden relayed to him from one of his old books. It struck him like a punch to the gut. 

“Aquilians are weakest in the gills. However, most of them now have protective plates between each one due to natural selection. So often, military personnel no longer aim for them, but up close, you can angle your blade at least forty-five degrees with the ground as your leveling standard if you want to incapacitate them in a matter of seconds. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

Cyrus thanked Aden and the gods themselves for this second chance. He opened his eyes now with newfound information. 

And with a roar, he took a swinging stab. He was released as the Aquilian recoiled, screaming in high-pitched pain. With a few wretched last pumps, Cyrus rapidly put one arm in front of the other, kicking with his last breath. He broke the surface. He breathed. 

Cyrus felt his lungs expand with life, contract, then fill themselves again. All in a whirlwind, he heard a shout in the distance as he was busy choking out murky Nalehi water. He was found by his men, then carried back to their camp. He could live another day. 

Lying in his tent that night with a makeshift ointment around the purplish-blue bruises on his neck, Cyrus held Aden’s jasper idols close to his chest. He prayed. And yet something about his encounter earlier that day still bothered him. Outside one of the folded tent flaps, he watched some of his soldiers spar. 

One of the rookies had gotten another one in a headlock against the ground. It was a simple maneuver, but in that position, The other boy strenuously tapped the mat twice, then he was released. 

Cyrus blinked as he brushed his fingers across his light wound. The physician has even said he was lucky that no major damage was done.

Finally: Cyrus realized with some horror that the Aquilian he potentially killed... Even a surface dweller, who was much weaker by comparison, could easily break, or at the very least, fracture, another soldier’s neck to kill them if they needed. In fact, Cyrus could’ve sworn any standard military training taught exactly that for a quick kill. 

That Aquilian… he didn’t exert nearly enough force for that. It was as if he only sought to hold Cyrus underwater in a mere chokehold until he fell unconscious. He chose not to definitively kill him there. And yet… This was how Cyrus chose to repay him. 

Cyrus prayed for him, too, that night.

Chapter Text

Three years after that, Ziker found himself promoted to Captain.

That only gave him a year left to become a Colonel. 

Yet again, he was invited to the Asketuras’ manor to celebrate his promotion. Now that he was the model Earthling, the one who proved himself worthy of Ventari society, Eldios and Helidae Asketura now proudly proclaimed themselves as his patron house. As if they were the sole reason this inferior, weak Earthling was educated and trained enough to become a Captain in merely his first five years of service. 

But as much as they prided themselves over the young Captain, they still didn’t want him to marry their precious youngest son. It wasn’t explicitly stated, but rather implied: they didn’t want his Earth-born DNA to taint their bloodline. 

Cyrus was too tired to be angry over this anymore. 

All he cared about now was that he could see Aden again. 

Thankfully, when he arrived back on the Asketuras’ property, Aden wouldn’t see him in his disheveled state since he was out to lunch with his elder brother, his elder brother’s partner, and his older sister, who had come home to formally meet Cyrus themselves. This meant Cyrus would finally have to meet Ikarus and Zeru Asketura, along with the youngest son of the Idaellys leather merchants’ clan– the one who is rumored to soon marry Ikarus Asketura. This, he cared about deeply. 

Besides, he already wasn’t on good terms with Aden’s parents. If he couldn’t win over his siblings and his future brother-in-law, either, then he was truly doomed. 

Cyrus was allowed an hour in the manor’s baths with the most expensive, fragrant soaps and oils he’d ever seen. Then he could go back up to his suite, which remained untouched since he’d last visited. He trimmed his raven hair, then his beard, to a more agreeable length. He noticed a few of his hairs had grown grey in the process. He tried to ignore it. 

He was interrupted in his rumination by one of the house’s maid’s, who Cyrus remembered to coincidentally be named Zari. “Captain Ziker?” She called.

“Yes?”

“Captain Asketura has arrived, and has summoned you. He and young master Idaellys wait for you in the Upper East wing’s reading room.”

***

“So, you’re the Earthling who wants to marry my little brother.”

The eldest Asketura child’s voice carried over to Cyrus from across the room with the strength of a north-bound wind. 

Ikarus Asketura lounged with a lithe, hazel-haired Ventari teenager under his arm in one of the many Asketuras’ reading rooms. Cyrus observed the latter the most as he entered. He knew from the young man’s mindful, pale green gaze and his exquisitely made clothing that he was Saros Idaellys, the third child and sole son from the Idaellys leather merchants’ clan head, Zarich Idaellys. The pair weren’t officially engaged. 

However, just by judging Captain Asketura’s way of fondly gazing down at Saros while all the young man did was sew up one of said captain’s field uniforms, it could safely be guessed that it was only a matter of time. They were both of the feathered winged variety of Ventari– Avians, they were called. While Saros’ wings were of a delicately soft beige quality with a light speckling of white towards their inner sides, Ikarus’ were similar to his mother’s– broad and powerful, with stark white cascading into gold at the tips, even a slight metallic sheen in the right light. Cyrus assumed they’d be a good match. He was sure their bond hadn’t caused any stir whatsoever. 

He bowed. “Yes, my name is Cyrus Ziker. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, young master Idaellys. And you as well, Captain Asketura.” 

When directly addressing important figures in Ventari society in the same room, it was customary to hail a high merchant class citizen before anyone of even political or militaristic origin. Aesernian society valued commerce and artisanship more than government and war. The only person who would be addressed before someone as esteemed as an Idaellys clan member would be the high priest of a temple. 

Saros nodded approvingly as he continued his work. 

“You’re very well-mannered, Ziker. I’m impressed.” Ikarus commented earnestly, and noticeably not demeaningly. “You’re even better than I am at formalities.” He got up from where he laid, careful not to disturb Saros as he walked over to greet Cyrus. However, not before leaving a soft kiss atop Saros’ head. “I’ll be back in a bit.” He informed him softly.

Saros silently nodded once to him, as if giving him permission to go. Not once did his hands stop working during the exchange. 

As Ikarus Asketura made his approach, Cyrus couldn’t help but feel as if he were prey, cornered against a cliff. Ikarus Asketura had the exact same intense golden gaze and bright white hair against darkly tanned skin as Aden, but there was something about him that was sharper, more angular, more physically imposing that Cyrus couldn’t quite put his finger on, and it was neither his superior height nor musculature. He was like a falcon. The man was even a tad bit shorter than Cyrus, for gods’ sakes, and their shoulders about the same amount of broad, but somehow, Ikarus Asketura felt a million times more intense. 

Cyrus felt a tap on his shoulder in passing as Ikarus began towards the exit of the room. “Walk with me, Captain Ziker.” 

He did as he was told. 

As soon as they were a safe distance away from the double doors of the reading room, Ikarus leaned over to murmur, “Saros is quite timid, especially around new people.” He paused to sigh. “...And, admittedly, he’s still a little angry at me for… ah, you don’t want to hear about our lovers’ spat. The point is, I promise you he isn’t always this cold.” It was a surprisingly intimate thing to tell Cyrus right off the bat, and this was how Cyrus could tell Ikarus wasn’t at all like his parents. 

“So, I take it you haven’t seen Aden today yet?” Captain Ikarus Asketura walked with his hands neatly folded behind his back as proof of his high class upbringing. Cyrus simply let his own swing lightly at his sides. 

“No, I haven’t.” 

“Ah. I trust he’ll come and find you soon. He’s been anxious to see you since the past few days I’ve been here.” Ikarus informed him casually.

Cyrus’ ears warmed to a faint tinge of pink. “Is that so?” 

“Indeed, indeed.” The two strolled down the sprawling, teal-carpeted halls of Asketura manor once more. Silver crests of the Asketura house– two crossed swords behind the silhouette of a dove carrying an olive branch– were meant to symbolize democracy and peace, but also honor and might as they shone over the arched entryways between every wing. Ikarus even sported one on the military coat he wore. “I wish I could’ve had the chance to speak with you before, but those doomed negotiations had me tied up for years. Regardless, though– How’s your experience been in the military? Do you enjoy it?”

“It is… satisfactory.” That was… the best way for Cyrus to put it, at least. “I’m only disappointed I couldn’t have seen you on the field. Perhaps one day soon, hm?”

“No, no, don’t get your hopes up.” Captain Asketura chuckled. “I plan to retire from the military in three to five years’ time, whether this war ends or not. I’ve already gone ahead and put in my notice to General Frey.” Ikarus had stated this plainly, almost as if he was canceling his newspaper subscription. 

Cyrus stared at him, blinking for a few seconds as they came to a halt near an arched window. “You, Captain Asketura? But–”

“Please, just call me Ikarus.” The (slightly) older man insisted. 

“Well– Ikarus– you are a living legend. Even at the Academy, people praised your name nonstop. You were the top student, the top soldier, you– you’re known for your fierce leadership and your skill– no one could ever even beat your level of accuracy during target practice.”

“Until you came along and enrolled at the Academy yourself, Cyrus. Congratulations, by the way.”

“I– well, thank– but that’s not the– what about Aesern?”

Ikarus shrugged loosely. “What about Aesern? Please, you flatter me, but… I can’t imagine either of us especially love risking our lives for this gods-forsaken city so often, hm? If all goes to shit, people could always go to Sa’af, or Kyolas, or even Uleniad. And what about our future spouses, Cyrus?” He nodded out the window, which conveniently looked out into the courtyard gardens, where Aden, as ethereal as always, read a book under the watchful, stony eyes of Celudiere. 

He was three years older than he was when Cyrus was last able to see him. His jawline and cheekbones were now a little more defined. And his gaze… it was set with more of a hardened coldness characteristic of maturity than Cyrus remembered. But that didn’t make him any less captivating to Cyrus besides. Cyrus also noticed, with some delight, that Aden’s wavy hair had been cut shorter, especially on the sides and back of his head so his curls were more noticeable as they spilled off the top. It suited him. 

“...I hate knowing that Saros waits up for me on the days I’m supposed to return. He’s understandably troubled because I forgot to contact him this time and let him know my arrival was delayed by three days due to transportation.” Ikarus Asketura shook his head mournfully. “Many loved ones wait tirelessly like that, Cyrus. I don’t doubt Aden does the same, either. In our line of work… it’s nearly impossible for people back home to know whether we’re safe, you see. Or… alive, even.” Cyrus’ chest ached at the thought of Aden, curled up in his bed, glancing out the window every once in a while, hoping to see a military transport vehicle pull up. He thought of all the soldiers he lost, of how their loved ones had to watch them leave one day and some still continue to wait for someone who will never, ever be coming back home. 

Of the empty chairs left at dining tables.

Of the cold wedding beds they were supposed to occupy.

Of the funerals that sometimes don’t even have a body to bury.

He knew all too well. In a position of leadership, he was the one who was told of the numbers he lost each day. He rationalized them just as tally marks on a note taped to a medical tent. It’s what he had to do. But it still hurt to see such young hopefuls walk in, then never come back. 

It was the same for Aquilians, he knew. Cyrus never believed the Aesernian propaganda that the creatures were senselessly violent and barbaric. Nor that they were the ones who incited the whole conflict. Sometimes he wished he did, though. He reckoned it would’ve been much easier to face them on a battlefield that way. 

“I plan to marry Saros very soon,” Ikarus confessed quietly, “and the two of us have agreed that we’d like to start a family as early as possible, as well. Besides, I’ve already fulfilled the compulsory three years I need in the military as a first-born, so personally, I’d rather stay here and focus on political matters, at home. And on the people I love.” It was the very same choice that Eldios Asketura made, many years ago. Ikarus’ golden eyes, as fluid as Aden’s and their mother’s before them, slid over to Cyrus once more. “I understand wanting to protect this nation and the people you care about, but remember not to sacrifice more for Aesern than it is willing to sacrifice for you, Cyrus.”

Cyrus considered it. He thought about his life as a child, before General Xerus picked him up. Of all the upper class boys who would call him worthless, of the days he had collapsed under the weight of the coal he had to carry from the depths of the ground at less than eight years old, of the instructors at the Academy who purposely gave him impossible tasks just to watch him fail. 

But it was in those dark corners of Aesern that he also found the most kindness. A bar owner near the tenement used to give out old pretzels each weekend to the children from the slums. A street food vendor would give discounts to the elderly of the area, despite how she already struggled to make a living. The mother of a fellow mine worker who was around Cyrus’ age would invite him to dinner some nights. Said mother worked in the red light district. But these people never found themselves terribly unhappy. 

They were also a part of Aesern, and yet no one ever thought about them. They weren’t Ventari, most of the time. Still, if this city were to be ruined by war, Cyrus didn’t want to think about what would happen to them. They would've been the first to suffer, as they always had. 

They strolled further in silence, past bustling servants preparing for the banquet that night, until Ikarus seamlessly spurred conversation once more. “On a lighter note: Do you know why I chose to court Saros?” 

Cyrus pretended to think for a moment. “…Because he’s handsome?”

Ikarus chuckled appraisingly. “Well, yes, at first. But aside from that, he is more intelligent and talented than anyone I’ve ever met. He is also diligent, firm, and business-minded, yet kind when he needs to be. It took months before he’d even give me any time of day, let alone speak so much as a word to me in the beginning, but I know now that it was all worth it. I wouldn’t be happy with anyone else.” Ikarus smiled to himself at the thought. “Most importantly, though… Zeru and Aden get along with him. Saros and Aden are even friends, in fact.”

From the way he described Saros, Cyrus could imagine how similar he and Aden were. It was nice, knowing Aden had people to avidly keep him company. “I’m not sure if you know this,” Ikarus adjusted the low knot he had his hair in, “but in Ventari high society, the connection between one’s lover and their own family is most important for the engagement process. One’s lover and their blood relatives are supposed to be the people we care for most, after all. And I fit into that category quite snugly.” His eyes, like glowing embers, gleamed at Cyrus. “Worry not. I can assure you I like you already. Everyone’s heard about your impressive accomplishments on the front lines.”

“Thank you, sir.” Cyrus bowed his head an inch.

“‘Sir?’ Again with the needless titles. To hells with my blood status, have you forgotten, Captain Ziker, that we’re on level ground now?” 

Cyrus did not raise his head. 

“I’m just messing with you, no need to look so serious all the time, man. I mean, if we're going to be brother-in-laws one day, you need to start treating me like one, yeah?” Cyrus earned himself a more-than-firm slap on the back as a reward. “Anyways, Zeru will be a tougher nut to crack, but once she sees how much you and Aden adore each other, I’m sure she’ll come around.” 

“And… your parents?” Cyrus asked hopefully. And in the back of his mind, he knew, a little foolishly. 

Ikarus mournfully shook his head as he turned on his heel and they continued walking. “They’re close-minded people, Captain Ziker.” They reached an open balcony, where Ikarus gestured out across the sprawling city below the stone hill the Asketura home was built on. The buildings were made of white marble and gold, shining in the orange glow of the afternoon sun while Ventari citizens– mere specks from such a distance– bustled down below, each more perfect and decadent than the last. The horizon of the tops of gilded skyscrapers, filled with noble airships making their way leisurely through the sky… it would’ve all been beautiful if Cyrus didn’t know what lurked below this grand city. Or that all of it was only for show. 

If only all those flawless people knew what really went on under the surface. The things really required to keep Aesern running. 

Ikarus let his hand fall back to his side. “You’d think after we prided ourselves for being the most progressive species that we would actually follow through on that title.” 

“…I didn’t know you were also a social commentator, Captain Asketura.”

Ikarus barked out a hoarse laugh. “And I didn’t take you for a dry comedian. Come, now. I believe your banquet will start shortly.”

***

The Captain’s decorative uniform, in contrast to the Lieutenant one, was a medium-toned blue. Cyrus let some servants help dress him, figuring his hands would be too shaky to button everything correctly. It had been three years since he’d seen Aden. They say that distance makes the heart fonder, but when they haven’t been allowed much contact at all except those small pockets of time when Cyrus was permitted to visit, it was almost difficult to remember the sound of Aden’s voice. It frustrated him to no end sometimes.

He was, of course, welcomed into the teal-curtained banquet hall with a great cheer and the bright eyes of many nobles. Many whispered amongst themselves, but Cyrus didn’t listen to one word said. Thankfully, the attention soon flocked to Saros, understandably because he was the most well-dressed person in any room. Cyrus had no eye for fashion, but he could at least appreciate the fine craftsmanship of Saros’ navy blue vest and matching tailcoat with golden engraved insignias of the Idaellys clan– a thorned rose and some ancient Ventari text on a scroll beneath it that Cyrus couldn’t read– running along his white gold vambraces. Ikarus stood proudly with Saros on his arm. With Saros’ fine hair partially tied back behind his head, his pointed ears were visible. His left ear in particular was adorned with an elaborate jeweled cuff, which shimmered effortlessly even in the low light. Traditionally, Cyrus knew this was a sign that the wearer was currently being courted. No doubt, Ikarus gave that to him when he officially initiated the process. 

Wings were somewhat rare among Ventari, but pointed ears were even more scarce, mostly only common in Ventari with pure noble blood. It was just further proof of Saros’ high birth. 

He and Ikarus must’ve been a coveted pair. The red liner around Saros’ eyes, which Cyrus knew was made from the very same coal he would have to harvest pounds upon pounds of as a child. His stomach sank at the thought, at how one ounce of the powder used to make that product had cost him an entire year’s salary as a child back in those filthy mines. Down below the shimmering city’s facade, where Aesern stuffs all the people they want to ignore. 

The pre-dinner festivities ensued, as guests drank and laughed to their delight. Unfortunately, Aden was nowhere in sight. Cyrus was dragged into a conversation or two with the Aesernian elite, but otherwise, they had a habit of speaking more of him than to him. 

Cyrus continued watching from across the grand hall as Saros stood on his toes to whisper in Ikarus’ ear– Ikarus also bent down a bit to aid him– then as Ikarus turned his head to utter back a response, to which the corners of Saros’ lips curved upward, ever so subtly. They were such a picturesque couple. 

“You know, I never believed Ikarus would think of getting married.”

When Cyrus looked over, he was shocked to see the same stark white, wavy hair that all the Asketura children had, but cut in a short, bold style Cyrus only saw in news broadcasts and magazines. The soft, golden glow of the dim oil lanterns around them didn’t do much to make the woman next to him all that much more recognizable, but that one clue was all Cyrus needed. 

“Good evening, Ambassador Asketura. I apologize for not recognizing your presence sooner.” 

Zeru Asketura, dressed in a sleek and simple black gown, didn’t seem to mind very much as she passed a drink to Cyrus with that cool, calculating smile on her face all the while. “Oh, don’t be. It was my fault for sneaking up on you like that, Captain Ziker. I assume you’ve already met Ikarus and Saros by now, then?”

“Yes, Ikarus more so than Saros, but…”

“Ah, to be expected. He’ll warm up to you in due time, I’m sure.” She took a sip of the sweet sparkling Roccaman wine in her glass, which was almost empty by then. Zeru, the slightly chilling smile still plastered on her face, leaned forward a bit to place a hand on Cyrus’ shoulder. Suddenly, her voice lowered. “Do not, by any means, let your guard down, by the way. The people still discuss you when they think no one is listening.” 

Cyrus grimaced at that. “I gather their perception of me is still… admirable on the surface level, but then…” 

“Contemptuous beyond that?” Zeru Asketura suggested. Her dark sepia eyes seemed to gleam as she lost herself in thought for a moment, took the last sip of her drink, then shrugged rather evenly. With the plentiful grace and poise expected of someone of her station. “It’s a little more complicated. In my professional opinion? These people can be read like a picture book.” She lowered her voice even more. Still, though, her tone never failed to command respect, to demand to be listened to. She was frightening in that way. But Cyrus still found himself trusting her just as he did Ikarus.

“They’re all afraid of you, Captain Ziker. Always were. They can see that you’re better than them, than their own children. And that makes them angry. But that also makes them fear you.” She tilted her head. “Really, it is and will be a useful weapon if you can wield it correctly.” And with that, she patted Cyrus on the arm and floated off to converse with some other officials. It was safe to assume he had somewhat earned Zeru Asketura’s own respect, at least. 

When he was seated for the dinner, he was surprisingly seated next to none other than the person he wanted to see the most. Aden flashed him a small smile as he settled in the chair next to Cyrus. Next to him sat Saros Idaellys, then Ikarus Asketura, who covertly winked at Cyrus. Ah. So it was his doing. That made more sense than Helidae and Eldios warming up to Cyrus himself. 

“How are you feeling?” Aden asked him softly, just under the din of the general occupants. In the years passed, Aden’s voice had naturally lowered in pitch just a bit, now having an even more refined, more velvet-like quality. It comforted Cyrus to no end. 

“Better, now that you’re here.” Cyrus felt himself smile as he took Aden’s gloved hand in his. This was the first time they’d be doing something so overt in public. He and Aden ignored the palpable stare from Eldios Asketura at the far head of the table. “You look stunning, by the way.” 

“Thank you. Saros designed the ensemble himself,” Aden chuckled low. He let his gold-dusted eyelashes flutter shamelessly. The form-fitting, deep red leather across his form had to have caused some outrage from his mother. His deeply tanned shoulders, smooth lower back, and curves of his sides were exposed in a way that made Cyrus want to press his hand against every bit of that exposed skin, then down the black flared trousers Aden was wearing. Somehow, Aden was even more alluring after all this time apart. 

As if able to read his thoughts, Aden gently guided one of Cyrus’ hands around his waist. Cyrus’ fingers trembled as Aden pressed the palm of the older man’s hand against his bare flank. “You don’t have to be nervous.” Aden grinned mischievously, his eyes filled with light. “It’s just me, after all.” 

Cyrus laughed quietly as he leaned in close to Aden. “That’s precisely why I’m nervous, Aden.” 

The younger one, giggling in an effort to hide the heat rising in his cheeks, leaned his head on Cyrus’ shoulder, in spite of knowing he was being watched. Cyrus, of course, let him. 

“Ah, young love.” Ikarus Asketura noted with a smirk, two seats away. “It seems as if only yesterday, I was just like you, Cyrus. All awkward and hesitant. But look.” He easily placed an arm snugly around Saros’ slim waist. Saros, who was peacefully eating a ball of sweet rice, simply let him do what he wanted. No one spared them so much as a glance. 

“‘Young love?’” Aden scoffed. “You’re practically senile in comparison.” As the brothers squabbled over semantics, Saros’ eyes flitted to meet Cyrus’ for a moment, and it was like a certain understanding passed between them. 

Cyrus had never really spoken to the young master Idaellys, but something told him he didn’t really have to. He had a feeling they’d get along just fine.

The rest of the banquet went without much incident. Cyrus noticed as the last course was served that his hand no longer trembled as it steadily rested on Aden’s warm skin. 

*** 

They met once again as the dinner concluded, at their favorite spot in the garden. 

Celudiere, miraculously unworn by time or weather, continued standing stoically over them as he held his infamous scimitars by his sides with a solemn but eternally boyish expression. His eyes were inlaid with alexandrite, so at night, his eyes gleamed a mischievous yet stately tone of deep violet, lined with undertones of rich green. It was said that people with violet colored eyes are the most rare of any Ventari, and symbolize favor with the god— or perhaps that iris pigment signifies that an individual is actually Celudiere himself. He is said to enjoy taking part in battles directly in seemingly mortal skin, to wander the realm in order to stir chaos, or to simply visit his own temples, perhaps seducing a few unfaithful high priests here and there. 

Legend also said that no war ended without his affirmation, and neither did any matrimony flourish without his blessing. Otherwise the marriage would end inevitably in horror. 

“Have you ever heard the myths surrounding Celudiere? I think they’re all very entertaining.” Aden said softly as he and Cyrus settled on the edge of the fountain furthest from public view. Washed away in shadows, it almost felt like he and Aden were doing something scandalous. Which, them being alone together at all could be considered such. 

“I have not,” Cyrus responded as he laid his head into Aden’s lap, “care to recount them for me?” 

Aden grinned. He knew it was a lie. Everyone in Aesern had heard most, if not every last one. But he continued nonetheless, for he knew Cyrus was absolutely enraptured by the sound of his voice. “Would you rather me tell of his first mortal love, the hunter, who he bore and raised Adenna with? Perhaps of the eight acts of reconciliation he had to complete out of punishment for ravaging the Heavens and committing a massacre? Or of how he scorched half of all Bristhe’s temples for trying to force his elder twin sister, Yuxina, into servitude? Or perhaps how he manipulated each of the generals on the Northern side of the Faldarian War to instead serve as spies for the South? In that one, he is also mentioned to castrate his personal enemies on the battlefield.” 

“You enjoy the morbid details of the legends too much, my dear.” Still, it filled Cyrus’ hollow little heart to hear Aden talk to lively again, to be so eager to spill his knowledge to Cyrus. It felt like he was bestowing a gift every time. 

“Oh, I could go into much more depth than this.”

Cyrus quickly said, “No, please go on, you’re doing wonderfully.” 

They shared a lighthearted laugh, let that sweet sound bounce off the pristine stone walls and towering blooming trees around them. For an instant, in the silent peace of that garden, they could pretend everything was as it had always been, just a blissful frozen moment where it seemed almost as no time had mattered, nor passed since their first fateful meeting. Aden gazed down at Cyrus meaningfully. Cyrus looked up at him, too, before raising a hand to caress the side of his tender face, allowing his thumb to trace thoughtfully down Aden’s feather-soft lips. The dark velvet of Aden’s pants was gentle against the back of Cyrus’ head. Not long after, he felt thin fingers absentmindedly trace through his hair. Cyrus closed his eyes as Aden predictably began to braid. It was for that reason that Cyrus had never cut it. 

He could feel Aden hesitate a bit here and there, seeing as he didn’t have his own hair to braid anymore. Yet once he fell into a rhythm, it became clear that his movements were still just as skillful as before. Then there came the humming. The very same humming Cyrus would hear in his dreams, sometimes accompanied by the warmth of morning sunlight through a bedroom window, others with the cooing of a small child, one he could feel was theirs. It all gave him comfort when he so desperately needed it. 

And now that he thought about it… 

“Ah, right.” Cyrus sheepishly sat up as he reached into his coat pocket. “I, uh… got you something.” In his hand, he revealed a folded handkerchief, which concealed something within. “I… was stationed by a market in the Roccaman seaside. You, um… if you don’t like it, I can always take them back.” 

Aden carefully took the parcel, unwrapping it with delicate fingers. Immediately, his molten eyes widened when they took in the sight of a thick, similarly colored ear cuff, intricately swirled with white gold and a few imperceptibly thin stripes of aquamarine and hammered pearl. From a couple of hanging chains, droplets of sea glass reflected the moonlight above in a way that filled Aden’s gaze with wonder as he raised the cuff to get a better look. “Oh, Cyrus…”

Cyrus was asking to officially start the courting process with Aden. 

Just like in the way Saros wore a cuff during the banquet that night from Ikarus, if Aden accepted, he would also wear the one Cyrus gave him until after they were married. It was an official declaration of devotion, timelessness, and of love. Not an engagement, necessarily. Not yet. 

But a promise of “soon” was the best way it could be described. Now it was up to Aden.

Cyrus looked away. He didn’t want to pressure Aden in any way. He just saw the cuff being made by an artisan as he passed and immediately thought of him. He had no choice but to buy it. Aquamarine had been Aden’s second favorite color, Cyrus remembered, next to purple. 

And when they had a day to themselves around the time Cyrus first arrived in Asketura manor– before the war and before everything became complicated– there was this one afternoon when they traveled down to a secluded cliffside beach on Roccam, just the two of them. While they lounged in the sand, Cyrus had unearthed a vibrant piece of sea glass and given it to Aden in the innocent way a teenager would always give pretty things to the person they adored. Cyrus could still vaguely recall the adorable way Aden’s eyes widened when he ran his fingers along the stone’s smooth edges. Then, how, in an unexpected turn of events, quickly held it up to the Northern Sun to blind Cyrus temporarily so he could get a running start on a little impromptu game of tag. Aden had laughed brightly while Cyrus chased after him down the shoreline, yelling every obscenity he knew. 

By the time the suns set and they had to pack up their picnic, the sitting blankets, and their newfound seashells and other new trinkets, Cyrus had watched Aden place the piece of sea glass in his pocket, like it meant more to him than the rest. 

Cyrus wouldn’t doubt it, though, if Aden no longer remembered that day. 

Cyrus always would, though. He tried his best to hold on to those memories, for they were his most cherished. 

Aden smiled softly. He leaned forward, kissing Cyrus on the cheek. “I accept.” He affirmed. 

Cyrus felt an immense weight lift of his shoulders as his heart swelled with joy, too. “Thank the gods.” He sighed, feeling his lips curve into an easy smile. That’s something he liked about Aden. Ultimately, loving him felt so easy. 

He took the slender hand of his beloved into one of his own. Aden squeezed his fingers, chuckling at he and Cyrus’ difference in size there. Even now, the top of Aden’s head only reached up to Cyrus’ chin. Cyrus reassuringly squeezed back. “If I’m going to court you, I decided the least I could do was do it correctly.”

Aden smirked. “So as per tradition, you’ll also buy a parcel of land to give to my father in no more than a year’s time, right?”

Cyrus paused. “...Shit.”

“And you’ll also prepare a dozen seasonal flowers, three roasted pheasants, and a spool of golden thread to give to my mother and siblings, yes?”

Cyrus had most definitely forgotten about those as well.

One dozen seasonal flowers for timelessness– a tradition begun by Adora, the goddess of life, and her husband, Denarius, the god of death, who both met as demigods in the mortal realm.

Three roasted pheasants to represent the dedicated vow about to be taken– which began after Raunaeril, the god of festivity, took three hundred tries before he perfected how to cook pheasant in order to romance Pyrmortus, the god of food and drink. 

A spool of golden thread to symbolize longevity, prosperity, and a connection after death– which was taken from the mythology of Fyrios, the god of commerce and travel, and his making of gloves out of gold thread so that his soul-expelling touch couldn’t taint the hands of his beloved (and at the time, still mortal) Enziore, who would later ascend to become the god of literature.

Aden leaned against Cyrus’ shoulder. Cyrus liked that he was able to do that so reflexively, as if it were a safe place for him. “And… you’ll start visiting me often?”

Cyrus grimaced. He hated to disappoint Aden like this. But… “You know I can’t do anything about that. I’m sorry.” 

Aden still grinned bittersweetly, though. “It was worth a shot." He traced his other hand against the firm line of Cyrus' jaw, which was still covered from his now-stubby beard. He looked at the trimmed raven hairs there with curiosity. It only then occurred to Cyrus that this was actually the first time Aden had seen him with a shorter beard like this. 

"Do you hate it?" Cyrus chuckled as Aden's light fingertips tickled his chin and cheeks. 

"No," Aden smiled, leaning over to kiss the side of Cyrus' face, "I think it makes you look more dashing."

Cyrus let the warmth that built in the pit of his stomach rise, all the way to his once-bruised ribs, then up to his once-cold heart. In return, he pressed his lips against Aden's cool forehead. Aden lay his head on the other man's chest with a content grin on his face. Peace settled across their intertwined forms, like wan moonlight cast over serene mountaintops surrounded by a light blanket of silvery-blue mist. 

"Oh!” Aden gave Cyrus’ arm a light press. “You know, the Summer’s Amorous Festival is beginning tomorrow night. Most…” Aden’s face flushed lightly, his eyes subtly glancing away. “...Most newly courting couples visit Celudiere’s shrines or temples to… pray for a joyous future together. Saros and Ikarus were planning to go. Would you perhaps want us to go with them?”

Cyrus’ lips were usually, naturally downturned at the corners in a bit of a permanent scowl. Yet he always found that his lips defaultly curved into a resting grin when he was with Aden. When he talked to him. When he was able to hold him. Even when he dreamed of Aden from hundreds of miles away, Cyrus could feel his chest lighten. “Of course. I–”

“There you are, Aden!” 

Cyrus and Aden quickly separated by a full meter. On the other side of Celudiere’s statue, Eldios and Helidae Asketura quickly breezed towards them, fake graceful expressions painted over their faces. Eldios flashed his frighteningly white teeth in an equally unsettling smile. Most Ventari were indeed very good looking by conventional standards, and Eldios Asketura was no exception, but a certain metallic glint behind his entire demeanor made him exceedingly handsome in a slightly unnerving way. “...And Captain Ziker. Lovely to find the both of you here. I hope you don’t mind that I must call our dear youngest one back inside. It’s getting late, you see. The shrine cleaners are soon coming to polish our Celudiere monument any moment, anyways. Come along now, Aden. Bid Sir Ziker here a good night.”

“Yes, Father.” Aden obediently stood, careful to discreetly fold the courting cuff into the handkerchief once again to tuck into his pocket. He disguised the movement as him smoothing out the wrinkles in his trousers. “Goodnight, Captain Ziker.” Aden sent a covert wink over his shoulder at Cyrus. His parents didn’t notice a thing. It was a little secret just between them, as everything was. 

Eldios Asketura nodded at Cyrus, his silvery white hair not moving a millimeter from its stiff position as he did. “We’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow morning, then, Captain Ziker?”

Cyrus stood to address the head of the household directly. “Yes, Councillor Asketura. I look forward to it, sir.”

“Very well.” Eldios courteously nodded at the young man shortly before hurriedly leading Aden away, obviously displeased that his precious youngest child was in the presence of a lesser earthling. Based on the dull look behind Helidae’s eyes as she watched them go, Cyrus couldn’t really tell that she held a similar sentiment. Her passiveness gave him no indication as to why she didn’t just walk off with her husband and child. 

When her empty gaze settled on him, Cyrus had to resist the urge to draw himself back. He had met a series of terrifying opponents on the field, but somehow, his worst ones were always in Aesern. Unlike his other combatants, he could never predict an Aesernian’s next move, let alone an Asketura. He believed he might never know what they were thinking. 

Cyrus awkwardly bowed his head to the woman when she said nothing else. “I’ll be off. Have a good night, Lady Asketura.”

Helidae straightened her spine. “Actually, Captain Ziker… may I have a word with you?” She eyed the shrine cleaners who began to make their way over to do their job of cleaning and polishing the statue of Celudiere, which was required to be done every day, every other hour. “Alone.” Helidae added haughtily.

Cyrus’ jaw clenched. Not really having much other choice but to accept, Cyrus followed Helidae Asketura to the grand library not far inside the manor, hoping whatever “word” she needed to share with him would be much less harsh than he expected.

Chapter Text

“I will make this brief.” Helidae Asketura stated blandly. “I’m no idiot. I know you love my son. And he adores you as well, though I’d never know why.” 

Out of all the things Cyrus could’ve expected, it was certainly not this. He would’ve been less surprised if she had stabbed him in the gut and ran. “...I see.” Cyrus replied slowly, knowing there was something else soon to come. 

“But I don’t want to see Aden getting hurt, Ziker.” And there it was. “You wouldn’t know the extent to which a mother’s love goes for her child. I do. Do you realize that if you marry Aden, he risks losing his own status? His future would be doomed. Your kin will be doomed.”

Cyrus had realized this. He had realized this a long time ago on one of those nights when the sounds of explosions outside roared. He wanted to marry Aden– he knew this by now– but on nights when he couldn’t sleep, he thought of these doubts. If he and Aden had children, they would hardly have a future in distinguished society. They wouldn’t be accepted anywhere because they would be half Earthling by blood. They’d have to suffer the same way Cyrus did his entire life, unless they left Ventare entirely. He’d be asking Aden to leave his home planet forever, just for loving him. And how could he?

With a small voice, he told Aden’s mother the truth. “...I know.”

Helidae looked upon him with what almost seemed like a mix of pity and grief, just like that day in the boardroom when Cyrus asked for Aden’s hand in marriage the first time. “I’m glad you understand.” In the passive way she always did, she looked off in the distance, past the fountains and minutely trimmed hedges. This garden was a representation of the luxury afforded to House Asketura for generations. On Ventare, gardens the size of them were a sign of status. They showed a House’s power to conquer nature, but also an admiration for the beauty of it.

Everything related back to power. Helidae seemed to know this. “...I loved a woman like you, once.” Cyrus turned towards her, unable to hide his surprise. “I was young, as Aden is now.” Helidae continued, her eyes shut as she seemed to relive this memory of the past. “And… She was a poor Aamirrdan from the slums who took a job cleaning the windows of my mothers’ estate.” Helidae Asketura’s broad wings twitched despite her face giving no indication of distress. “Do you know what happened to that girl when my parents found out I cared for her?”

Cyrus had a dreaded feeling that he already knew. “...What?”

Helidae tore her gaze away from this garden, which quite possibly didn’t look like flowers and trees to her, but a representation of the prison she found herself in because of her high birth— and because she was born the third of three daughters. “…They made her disappear.” She admitted with some difficulty. “I never saw her again.” Her eyes of gold, which were somehow less radiant than those of her children, looked right into Cyrus’. “Recently, Eldios suggested doing the same to you. It’d be easy for him. But I stopped him.”

Cyrus blinked. “...I see.” What else was he supposed to say to that? Thank her? If he was Ventari, this wouldn’t have even been a concern, or a question. The life Cyrus’ father sentenced him to here would’ve been so much easier for him. 

Still, he bit his tongue and said nothing. He had gotten good at that. 

Helidae tilted her chin up, once more, red lips set in a straight line, as if she was suddenly reminded of her proper mannerisms. “I saved your life, Ziker. All I ask you to do in return? Stay away from Aden.” She took a step forward while Cyrus backed away, instinctively. He suddenly, belatedly understood that the killer intensity in Ikarus’ gaze was inherited from his mother. “Because say you win. Say you end up being able to court my youngest son, and that you two are wed. What then?” The mother raised a dark brow in challenge. “Even if you don’t want to take my advice for your own sake, at least do it for his. If you truly loved him, you would let him go for the good of you both.”

Cyrus couldn’t find any words to say. Helidae Asketura would smooth out her blouse before bidding Cyrus a goodnight and strolling inside. Leaving Cyrus alone with his thoughts, among the luxuries of that garden he didn’t belong in.

***

It’s like he simply blinked, then only a moment later, he found himself facing the bedroom doors of Aden Asketura. He was able to get through the guards since he personally knew the ones stationed by Aden’s quarters that night. They were probably the only people at the manor, aside from Aden, who were on his side. 

The gilded exterior of Aden’s bedroom doors depicted the marriage of Denarius and Adora– the unification of the underworld and the land of the living. Cyrus found his eye focusing on the happy couple’s joined hands, and of their realms behind them. 

He saw Denarius’ father, Darius, and his winged guardians with their hands on the young god’s shoulder. Adora’s mother, Teara, the spirit of forests, rivers, and lakes, appeared next to her daughter holding a treaty of peace between the realms. 

This wasn’t just a well-known myth, it was also a representation of Aden’s duties as a third-born child of an upper-class family. Cyrus knew from his years guarding the Asketura Manor that Ikarus’ door was engraved in a similar manner, but with the Creation Myth, and Zeru’s had the succession of Jorgun to the throne of the Heavens. 

The Asketuras’ own bedroom doors were constant reminders of who they had to be. And right now, to Cyrus, it was a reminder of who he couldn’t. He could not be the Denarius to Aden’s Adora. There was no peaceful coalition that would result from their union. Perhaps Helidae… had a point. Cyrus knew that he loved Aden more than life itself, but if he was going to hurt Aden by continuing to pursue this relationship, it would be best that he just leave. 

…Wouldn’t it? 

With great strength, he raised his fist, hesitating, then knocked once. Silence. Then twice. For a moment, he thought maybe Aden had already gone to bed, but then the door swung open, almost into his face. 

“Mother, I told you, I–” Aden’s gold-tinted gaze trailed up to meet Cyrus’. “Cy?”

“Yes, I–” Cyrus took a step back, a little belatedly. “Sorry. I know it’s late–”

“Get inside, oh my Gods, what if someone sees you?” Cyrus chuckled as Aden hastily pulled him into the room by his sleeve. It really did feel like they were doing something scandalous, like teenagers sneaking out to see each other. Which yes, perhaps Aden could still be considered such, but Cyrus remembered, with some somberness, that those years were far past he himself now. After safely shutting and locking the door, Aden turned to Cyrus with wild eyes. “How did you even–”

“Laila agreed to keep quiet, don’t worry.” Cyrus easily wrapped his arms around Aden’s slender waist, pulling him in so close they shared a hushed breath. “...Your parents will never know.” Cyrus leaned down to touch his forehead with Aden’s. It only took two seconds for him to forget what he came here to do. All he saw was Aden in his silk night robes and his mind went blank. 

They were so thin that Cyrus was afraid to look down, knowing he’d very clearly see the very clear way the fabric draped against his beloved’s bare, goosebumped skin, from his bowed collarbone, to his soft chest, down to the dip of his waist. How badly Cyrus wanted to trace every inch of those curves, angles, and lines just to feel them, and know them, deeply and truly. He’d dreamed of it for so long, like a starving man dreams of sweet figs and honeyed bread. Cyrus didn’t mind waiting. Of course he didn’t. He’d wait a million years to touch Aden if he had to. Still, he had to admit it was difficult. And he knew, from the way Aden looked at his hands with a trembling breath, that it was difficult to stay away for him, too. 

Aden traced a hand down Cyrus’ jaw as his eye fluttered open. “Is there something on your mind, my love?” He asked quietly. 

“You.” Cyrus answered without a second thought. 

Aden laughed timidly. Even with only the glow of a dimmed oil lamp at his bedside and the moonlight through the balcony, it wasn’t hard to see the blush rising in the younger man’s face. Cyrus found himself smiling at that. “You know you don’t have to resort to flattery, Cy, I already like you.”

“Right.” Cyrus pulled away. “Uh...About that.”

Aden’s face fell. As Cyrus sat them down on the bench at the end of the bed, Aden stared at his face, his brow knit. 

Cyrus, a little apprehensive about the topic at hand, considered his next words carefully. “Aden, what do you plan to do after… after we get married?”

A somewhat relieved Aden shifted to cross his legs. “I don’t know. Find somewhere to live. Roccam, maybe. Perhaps buy a ship with the wedding money. Why? Do you have other ideas?”

“No, I was just… I wanted to know… if… you’re really… I don’t know, sure about this.” Cyrus glanced away. When Aden didn’t immediately respond, Cyrus thought for sure he was going to be slain on the spot. 

“...What did my mother say to you just now?”

Cyrus froze. “Uh…”

“Because whatever she told you, I think she’s told me before, too.”

Cyrus sighed. After five years in the field, if there was one thing he learned, it was knowing when he was defeated. “She… said I should… let you go. For your own good, so you can keep your status and– and so if we… had children…” The implications of that were enough to make Cyrus blush like a scandalized maiden. “...then…” Cyrus shook his head. 

“I knew it.” Aden whispered. He abruptly stood to fetch something from his dresser across the room. Cyrus panicked a bit, unsure of what he was about to do. Propose they run away now? Go talk to his mother?

But instead, Aden turned to reveal a stone in his hand. It was hard to see until he came back to sit next to Cyrus. He held it out to him, and only then did Cyrus recognize it. It wasn’t a stone at all, it was… 

“Sea glass.” Cyrus whispered. As the cold sea glass touched the skin of his palm, he immediately felt regret for ever doubting their bond. He was foolish for ever even wavering in the slightest. He cursed himself for it. “You kept it.” It had been over five years since their time on that private beach in Roccam, and yet…

“Of course I did.” Aden huffed, obviously a little annoyed. He turned away. “You mean a lot to me. But… If I don’t mean anything to you anymore, Cyrus, you should’ve just said so instead of hiding behind my mother’s words.”

Cyrus was beginning to regret everything now. “That’s not what I meant, my dear, really, I–”

Aden’s brow knit. “Then why are you so quick to let me go?”

“Aden…” Cyrus reached to gently squeeze Aden’s hand. He was not impressed. “I’d much rather die a thousand times over than have to watch you marry another. But… the thing is, I love you so much that I’d let you go if… if it means you’ll live a better life without me.”

Aden scoffed, something vulgar enough that he was only really comfortable doing in front of Cyrus, which was endearing in its own strange way. “Don’t be such a martyr, Cyrus.”

Then Cyrus felt as if he’d really been stabbed. “What–”

Aden jerked his hand away from Cyrus to stand in front of him instead. “What about how I feel? What if I never want to be with anyone else but you, have you ever considered that?” 

Cyrus was taken aback. “I–”

“I don’t care about ‘what’s best for me’ or any of that other bullshit, alright? I’m sick of it. I’m sick of everyone telling me what to do or who to be or what to think, of feeling like no one… no one actually cares about me… and I– I just…” Aden paused, and only then did it occur to Cyrus, upon closer inspection, that Aden was close to tears. 

The sight almost broke his heart in two. “Aden…” Cyrus stood. He brushed the back of his hand against his beloved’s cheek, as a small test. Aden was not so angry as to push him away, so Cyrus went further and wrapped Aden in his arms. “Aden, I’m sorry. I never should’ve said that. I didn’t mean a word of it, you know I’d never…”

“I know.” Aden whispered. He let one of his hands fold over the back of Cyrus’ once again. “You would’ve deserted if you really thought I wasn’t worth fighting for anymore. I know how much you hate being here.” Aden was more observant about these things than anyone gave him credit for. Cyrus breathed easy. 

“But mark my words.” Aden squeezed Cyrus’ hand with a determination so strong that Cyrus felt strengthened through that gesture alone. “Even if by some chance, you give up on us, Cyrus, I won’t. If you don't want to go back into battle, then I'd run away with you tomorrow if you asked. Don't underestimate my affection for you.” 

“Aden… why? Why sacrifice so much for me?” Cyrus, to an extent, couldn’t understand. Not only did Aden have everything he couldn’t when he himself was a child, but Cyrus also knew how much more Aden could have if he just married one of the first-borns his mother lined up for him. They were all rich, with status and wealth and mansions larger beyond Cyrus’ wildest dreams. Any of them would be a better fit for Aden than Cyrus ever felt he could be. 

“I’m not the only one making a sacrifice here, Cyrus. You’re fighting for our right to wed, too.”

Cyrus shook his head, mostly to himself. “But then… then you’ll only ever be known as the Ventari who bred with a lowly Earthling. And our children…”

Aden’s cool touch brushed against Cyrus’ stubbled cheek. “I know. I knew even before I vouched for you years ago to my father. If… If it bothers you so much, then we can always go off together.”

“I can’t take you away from your home.” That would be isolating him from Ventari society, possibly forever. 

“To be honest, it hasn’t felt like home ever since you left, Cyrus.” 

The response was so easy and immediate, like Aden had been thinking about this for years. “...Truly?”

Aden laid his head on Cyrus’ broad chest. “Sometimes I lay awake at night worrying. About– well, silly things, small things like… wondering if you’re eating well, or if you’re cold, or hurt, or worse…” Aden glanced away. “And I… I just miss you. There’s not a day that goes by where my heart doesn’t break because you’re not here.” 

“Aden…” 

“I love the family and friends I have here, but ultimately, just as Saros will be integrated into our family to be with Ikarus, you are my home, Cyrus. I will admit that this hasn't made my life any easier, sure. Still... I have never felt more like myself than with you. And don't I deserve to choose myself-- and us-- for once?” Aden tentatively smiled. It inclined Cyrus to do the same. “So, no, I’m not going to let you back down just because my mother got into your head. Besides, you just gave me a courting cuff. You made a promise, Cyrus. Better see it through.”

Cyrus chuckled– his heart was so much lighter than before. “…You’re right. You always are.” 

“I know.” Aden slotted a cool hand against Cyrus’ now-scarred cheek, the way he always did so comfortably. “Just… why is it that you think you’re so undeserving of love?” He asked softly. 

Cyrus shook his head. How could he begin to explain that Aden, born in his shining palace up on a hill, with all the jewels and well-off suitors in the world, was not meant to marry a poor Earthborn boy from the slums? “You’re too good for me.” Was all he whispered back. 

“No such thing. You chose me, didn’t you? And I chose you. Just as Adora accepted Denarius, and as Celudiere accepted Jorgun, I accept you.” Aden’s words rang with a strong certainty that reminded Cyrus why he had fallen in love in the first place. This part of Aden, which rarely anyone saw but him, was what made Cyrus fall even harder in love with Aden in the first place. “Besides… Isn’t that what matters?” 

“Aden.”

“Mm?”

“You know… Some nights, the only thing that kept me going was the thought of returning to you.” This time, Aden was the one who silently grabbed hold of Cyrus’ trembling hand again, reassuring him. It gave Cyrus enough strength to steady his voice and keep going. “But it was more than enough. So… Thank you. For choosing me. I’m still standing today because of you.”

Wordlessly, Aden tilted his head with a soft gaze. “I’m glad. I pray for you when I can.” 

“And I, you.” 

Aden sighed against Cyrus’ chin. “...How many more days are you able to stay?”

“Just two more.” Cyrus wished he could stay. He wished he could be in that room, with Aden in his arms, forever. 

But the war was not won yet. 

And now, he had a duty to his men to return as soon as he could. It was a strange thing, people depending on you. 

Aden carefully looked at Cyrus, as if trying to read his expression. “Cyrus… How come you’ve never kissed me?” 

The older man grimaced. It’s not that he didn’t want to, it was just… “...Not yet. After I’ve properly won you over, then I will. Still– not yet. If I’m going to do this, then at least I’m going to do it the right way.”

“But you’ve had my heart since the day we met.”

“But let’s not give your parents and the gods more reason to be angry with me.” It pained Cyrus to say it. Nonetheless, it was true, at least for him. Once he rose to the proper rank required to be allowed to marry Aden, then… then they would have all the time in the world.

Aden sighed impatiently, though ultimately agreed. They settled for laying in each other’s embrace instead. Which, in Cyrus’ opinion, was just as good. 

Sleep never came as easy for him, though. It never would, never again. He could still hear the sounds of gunfire, of screams, of dying men’s groans. He laid still, though, in the hopes that Aden would fall asleep, but he, too, seemed to have something to say. 

As they began to wind down, Aden sighed contentedly. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” It was easy to say– that’s how much of a plain truth it was to them. 

Just as certain as the sky was blue and grass was green, Aden Asketura and Cyrus Ziker loved each other. Cyrus was certain, too, that they never even had to say it for each other to know. Still… It was comforting for Cyrus to hear it aloud. Sleep didn’t come easy, but at least it would come that night for the young couple as they stayed tangled in each other’s arms. Desperate, almost. As if hoping to make up for all the years spent apart in a single night. 

***

Cyrus left Aden’s room early that morning. If his parents found him in there when they woke up, Cyrus would be flayed alive. So he straightened his clothing, left a kiss atop his sleeping beloved’s head, and soundlessly snuck out. 

There was, however, something interesting Cyrus noted as he looked closer at the bedroom doors as he shut them. Slightly below the main focus of Adora and Denarius… 

There was a subtle relief carving hidden within the patterned shapes created by dancing nature spirits. It is a common motif often hidden in the backgrounds of bathhouses, as well. The image was of Celudiere in a pearl throne next to Jorgun’s golden one in the Court of the Heavens. Undoubtedly a hint towards their faithful union, the very last for the both of them, a few millennia after Celudiere’s time spent in the mortal world. Theirs was the great union between all the realms, for Celudiere, representing both the underworld and mortal world as a child of Denarius and Adora, married Jorgun, the mighty king of the heavens himself. As a love, war, and mischief god, Celudiere is not a role model for third borns, however. Otherwise, things would be much different. 

And Jorgun, even if he is the model for secondborns… in some testimonies believed in this region of Ventare, he broke his oath of celibacy so that Celudiere could have his children. Most people tend to ignore that fact when it’s convenient, as if their three godly children’s parentages aren’t known. 

The traditions which Aesern built their society around were always a farce, after all. 

More than that, though, Cyrus remembered what Aden had told him about accepting him. If Adora and Denarius could choose to marry each other by no obligation, same with Celudiere and Jorgun, why couldn’t mortals? 

***

Eldios Asketura would summon Cyrus to their dining room for breakfast to offhandedly accuse him of creating disputes so that he himself could solve them and therefore look more heroic in the war while Helidae Asketura would defend him, but Cyrus wouldn’t be listening. He’d instead be looking at Eldios’ youngest son, who inconspicuously read his book across the table. Cyrus would feel a faint nudge against his ankle by the toe of a distinctively well-crafted leather boot while Aden looked innocent. And he’d know.

Saros and Ikarus headed out to the festival later that night, but Cyrus figured he and Aden were under watch. So they didn’t go. Instead, they sat on the roof of the mansion and shared a bottle of strawberry wine while stargazing. They talked quietly by themselves, whispering about everything and nothing all at once. 

Cyrus wouldn’t have had it any other way. He wished he was able to spend the rest of his life just like this, with his love beside him. Perhaps, when the war was over, he would. That’s all he ever fought for anymore. It was worth it, he knew. Their evening together was quiet. The two of them never once stopped touching, as if in disbelief that the other was really there. 

A hand against a cheek.

Fingers intertwined. 

An arm around the waist. 

It was peaceful and quiet, just how they liked it. 

When Saros and Ikarus returned over the garden wall that night, they all convened in the sun room to talk and spend their last night together for a while. They played cards. They drank. They laughed. Ikarus and Saros announced their official engagement to Aden and Cyrus first. And a content Cyrus felt light again for the first time in a while. For maybe a few hours, he could forget the lives he took and the lives that were lost under his command. 

Or about the single year he had left before Aden was given away to someone else.

But Aden… Aden believed in him so strongly that there was no ounce of doubt in his eyes when he looked over at Cyrus. Not one. It was like he already knew Cyrus would emerge alive and triumphant. Cyrus appreciated it. He did. Still, he didn’t know how someone could have so much faith in him. Love was such a funny thing. Perhaps, he thought, he could take a page out of Aden’s book. He made it this far, after all. Whatever god that was looking out for him obviously wasn’t going to take him this far just to let him fail. 

Cyrus had to become a Colonel within the next year. He had to. For Aden. He had no choice. Either that, or he’d die trying, and he was going to be damned if he was going to let Aden mourn for him. 

He spent that last night in Aden’s bed again, this time praying. He needed all the luck he could get. 

The next morning, before sunrise, Cyrus had to leave. Aden asked to be woken up before Cyrus had to board the transport, so they were able to say their goodbyes aloud, at least. 

Aden was a little pissed that Cyrus left without telling him the past two times, understandably. 

The problem was, when he was awake, Aden was more unwilling to let Cyrus go. Cyrus could kiss Aden’s soft white curls and make all the promises he wanted, but he had no way of making the hurt of missing one another disappear. 

As Aden traced lazy circles against the back of Cyrus’ scarred hand, he whispered, “There’s this fire in your eye, my brave darling. So keep fighting. Fight for us. I will wait as long as it takes. Fight, and then find your way back to me. Promise me that.” 

It wasn’t even a question for Cyrus to begin with. Even if he couldn’t promise, he was going to, anyway. “I promise.”

Reassured, Aden leaned into Cyrus’ broad chest, sighing through his nose. Cyrus pulled him close. Being away from Aden almost hurt as much as knowing he could die any day, never to return back to him. Cyrus had to push that thought away immediately– he couldn’t bear it.

And there was also nothing else to say. And Cyrus had to go. 

So, at last, stubborn tears in his eyes, Aden touched his forehead to Cyrus’ in a silent farewell and an “I love you” at the same time. Cyrus helplessly leaned into it, knowing that realistically, this could be the last time he saw Aden again. Cyrus kept a strong face, though, as they pulled away from each other’s embrace. He smiled confidently at his beloved, telling him he’d be back in a year. 

And he felt Aden’s eyes follow him as he boarded a transport of other sullen soldiers, and as it took him back to the source of all his nightmares– the front lines. 

Once the Asketura manor had disappeared from view, Cyrus dropped his smile and began to think about how he was going to survive yet another year. 

***

Days passed as if Cyrus had never left. 

Then, weeks.

Months.

Soon, almost a year passed, and Cyrus hadn’t risen to the rank of Colonel yet. When every day was a gamble for his life, though, he had slightly bigger things to worry about. 

In one of the battles, Cyrus ended up outnumbered. Stabbed through the side by an Aquilian claw. Then pushed off a short cliff into a flat meadow, straight onto his back. Gasping for breath, gripping his wound… desperately trying to apply pressure, stop the bleeding, anything… 

But, Gods, did it fucking hurt. 

With all the air knocked out of him, he couldn’t even think. 

He didn’t have any medical supplies on him… no reinforcements… aside from the piercing pain, all he could feel was the deep sinking feeling of dread. His fingertips were growing cold, numb… his mind full yet empty, like it was filled with cotton. 

Cyrus couldn’t help but feel as if he was supposed to die there. 

Still, a part of him screamed, No. 

No. He couldn’t give up. 

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t… but he was so tired. 

It would’ve been easy, walking towards the light. He felt so cold. So alone. As the sounds of warfare a few kilometers in the distance grew muddier, so did his senses. His strength was being drained, just as his life was. 

He didn’t have long. He knew.

Vaguely, he wished he could’ve hugged Aden a little tighter that last time they were together. Hopefully, then, Aden would forgive him. He could no longer see their life together. Cyrus couldn’t see a future at all. Everything was so… foggy. His heart was racing, certainly, but that did nothing as blood continued to profusely spill out from his wound. 

Minutes passed like hours. His vision only worsened in that time, as if his access to the world of the living was beginning to wane. 

Cyrus’ head felt heavy as it lolled to one side. And there, as he tried to blink away the blurriness threatening to overtake his entire field of vision… he saw flowers. Softly swaying in the wind.

A perfect juxtaposition to his pain. A perfect last sight to end his life on.

And yet… 

He recognized those flowers. Those forked purple petals, those orange streaks on the bottom, the shallow red thorns along the stem, just right under the bloom itself. Where… Where had he seen those before…? 

The memory mercifully found its way back to him from the back of his mind, from years ago. Aden’s voice replayed in his mind. Suddenly, his pain numbed as he was bathed once more in the warm sunlight from the garden of Asketura manor: 

“These Venus Devil’s Tails are actually not poisonous, as the name and look may make you believe. They’re used in a lot of pharmaceuticals since they have strong healing properties. They not only increase adrenaline, but also improve blood clotting, decrease anxiety, and alleviate pain. The flowers may be bitter in taste, but they’re often used in small doses for medications since they can save your life in a pinch. They have instant effects.”

He remembered the way Aden had tickled his nose with one such bloom, the feeling vivid in the mist-laden landscape, before the memory of Aden disappeared into oblivion once more. 

This scene alone, given back to him like a gift from the gods, was enough to fill his mind with that resolve he was reminded of by Aden the last time they met. 

No. It would not be the last. 

Cyrus had to see him again. He had made a promise that he would return to him. And gods be damned if he were to become the reason Aden wept in his empty garden at night. 

Cyrus didn’t care about the beckoning of Denarius in his ear. He couldn’t die here. Not like this. 

Not like this. 

Cyrus, using his last ounce of energy, reached for the dubious bloom. Mere centimeters felt like miles. Maybe his memory didn’t serve him completely right, but Aden had done nothing but right by him thus far. 

And Cyrus wasn’t going down without a fight. He couldn’t. 

He scratched his fingertips against the thorns in his pursuit. It stung as blood dotted against his reddened skin. 

Biting the inside of his cheek to ignore the pain, he grasped the bloom. He withdrew his hand. He shakily brought it to his mouth, chewing it raw, wincing at its staunch bitterness. He fought against his gag reflex, twice, and swallowed dry. 

His tongue almost went numb from the taste. 

But its effects were indeed instant. 

The throbbing in his side lowered to just a faint thrum, then a few excruciating minutes later, as he found himself able to breathe deeply again… he no longer felt his warm blood leaking down into the grassy soil underneath him. 

The gods had allowed him some mercy, against every odd imaginable. 

And so, Cyrus Ziker was able to live another day. 

Chapter Text

“Aden, I received a letter from the eldest child of House Faire. I’ll leave it on your dresser so you can write them back. Also, you’re scheduled to meet with that Vildara man tomorrow, so be prepared.”

Across the master bedroom, where Aden was seated while his mother got ready for the day at her gilded vanity, Aden paused his embroidery. “Kalix, you mean?” He didn’t have to glance up to even know his mother was making an indifferent expression in the mirror while preening her hair for the umpteenth time that day. This wasn’t her life she was making decisions for, after all. 

“Yes, that’s his name.” Helidae dabbed at her lip tint with the tip of her index finger, her face only frowning at the very slightest in concentration. This made Aden remember how she always told him never to frown or smile too often, or his face would form wrinkles. His mother, as if hearing his thoughts, let her face slacken again to resume her vaguely pleasant expression. “He’s very eager to meet you again.”

Aden continued needling the vibrant pink roses on the edge of a certain someone’s handkerchief he was currently working on. It had been months since his last visit, and he was soon going to return, after all… triumphant or not. “...I don’t want to marry him, Mother, if that’s what you aim to accomplish with our more frequent meetings. I know I made that clear the last time.” 

Helidae Asketura, in the middle of admiring an earring, turned to him, her eyes a bit wide. “What’s wrong with Kalix Vildara? He graduated at the top of his class at the Intergalactic Academy, his family is just as well-off, and–”

“And he’s what’s expected of me. He’s intelligent, yes, but he’s cold. He just expects to buy my affection. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the multitudes of furs and jewels he gifts me every time we meet.” Aden glanced down at his hands. They were trembling. With some effort, he tried calming himself before going back to his needlework– with the hope that the conversation would be over when his mother didn’t immediately reply. 

Then, unexpectedly, Helidae’s tone of voice darkened from its usual pleasant airiness. “What, do you expect to marry that Earth-born instead?”

Aden paused again, but did not look up to meet his mother’s eyes. He didn’t answer. There was no point in replying to a question that she already knew the answer to. Perhaps she always took it to be a joke– just something Aden pursued to fulfill his need for teenage rebellion. And as for his father… Well, Aden wasn’t quite sure he took anything his youngest said very seriously. The thought only irritated him further. 

“Aden, look, I–” Helidae sighed, averting her gaze out the ajar window, which looked out over the expansive gardens. She did that often, like she was a bird trapped in a cage that could only gaze longingly at the sky. As if she were only ever to watch the world outside as it went on from inside her gilded little home. Aden had some sympathy for her in that regard. Not enough to forgive her for trying to sentence him to the same fate, however. 

“Aden, I understand you have hope for Ziker, but face it. You’re already of age, and he hasn’t reached the rank of Colonel yet. And you know it isn’t possible. Your father was merciful enough to entertain this long enough, but in the end, he is right. You have a duty to be engaged very soon. It is your responsibility to. For appearance’s sake.”

“For your appearance’s sake, Mother.” 

“Aden–” Her face contorted, then quickly softened once more– though Aden didn’t know if she did this to lessen her chances of forming wrinkles, or because she realized that it was Aden she was speaking to. “Aden…” She said, more gently this time. She stood, made her way to sit on the rug with him, and placed a hand on his shoulder, to his surprise. He immediately felt terrible for reacting that way. This was his mother, after all– the one who nursed and fed and bathed him as a child. Her. Not a governess. Not some maid. Not Zeru. Her. She insisted on it. 

Aden knew she wasn’t entirely heartless towards him, even if it was hard to remember that in between mandatory etiquette lessons. She was stern, not cruel. Not entirely, at least. 

Helidae’s shimmering eyes caught sight of the handkerchief Aden was embroidering, though she visibly chose not to address it. “Aden, I know you believe you truly love Captain Ziker. I’m not dense enough not to notice the way you two look at each other, even from across the room.” Aden finally met the gaze of his mother. She looked and she looked at him, then sighed, deeper this time, before drawing her hands to her lap to wring them. “But… as third-borns, you and I– we simply don’t have the luxury of choice that our siblings do. And I…” Helidae’s brows knit as she turned her head away from Aden. “I’m terribly sorry that I took that away from you, too.” Helidae’s eyes dulled. “I never told you this directly, but– I never wanted a third child for that exact reason. Your father, though, wouldn’t see it my way, and gave me no choice.” Aden did not respond, but lay a hand over his mother’s in mutual understanding. She didn’t have to say anything else about the matter. 

“I understand how arranged marriages can be… less than ideal. My mothers… hated each other.” Helidae continued hesitantly. Her lips pressed together in a thin, resolute line. “And so, they were less understanding when I stated I didn’t think your father and I would be a good match.” Aden had his suspicions. He'd overheard her speaking with Ikarus once, confiding to him that she married Eldios when she was just thirteen and he was twenty since her parents were so eager to marry her off to “save” their family after their eldest daughter died. 

Luckily, Eldios wasn’t so desperate and times had changed just slightly. Otherwise, Aden would have already been married off to Kalix straight from his debut four years ago. With his purpose only to sit in the house, look pretty, and bear children. Just like his mother. 

(But were modern third-borns like Saros truly any different?) 

Helidae looked at her son with what almost looked like pity, had her expression been less neutral. “I wish I could let you marry for love, for what it’s worth, but these marriages are the only way people like us– and my mother, Iridessa– could survive. We’re pretty jewels to be traded between treasuries, nothing more. The sooner you accept that, the easier your life will be.” 

Aden looked and looked at her, unsure of what to say. Instead, silently, he gently squeezed her hand in a show of tentative appreciation. Helidae’s eyes noticeably flickered at that in surprise, and… something warmer, almost, before she shook her head and it was all gone. “I’m not saying this to be cruel, Aden. I am saying this because I know what you’re going through. Trust me. And I fear you or he will only hurt yourself in the same way I did.”

Aden sighed quietly. “...Mother… I–”

“Madame? Your Grace?” A servant from the hall stepped inside, giving a small bow to each of them. “I apologize for interrupting, but it’s urgent news from General Frey.”

Helidae blinked as her neutral facade befell her face. Just like that, the moment was gone forever. “What is it, Zari?”

“Due to his exceeding merit, General Frey has officially decided to promote Cyrus Ziker to the rank of Colonel. They will return in a week’s time.” 

***

Cyrus found himself in a private booth aboard a luxury airship headed back to Aesern, a little stricken. Right when he was about to formulate a plan to run away with Aden, when all hope was lost… the general pleasantly sipping tea across from him had promoted him.  

Cyrus was grateful, of course he was, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why. 

There was something exceptionally untouchable about Frey’s demeanor ever since they sat down. Frey was a man in his mid forties, therefore one of the youngest ranked generals, but the most peculiar thing about him were actually his violet eyes. Those were extremely rare, even among Ventari. Cyrus had never met him before that day, which only made everything all the more baffling. 

Not much was known about General Frey except that his late parents were patrons of a few temples and shrines. He was also married, a fact that was only evident by a ring on his finger during public events and not by any declaration of any kind. He took great care to separate his personal and professional lives. But no one ever pried. In the military, he made a name for himself as an ideal soldier. 

Extraordinary in combat, marksmanship, strategy… After actively serving in the military for a few decades, he even instructed advanced hand-to-hand at The Intergalactic Military Academy shortly before the war, though he mysteriously had to take a few years of leave until recently. 

If Cyrus remembered correctly, Frey was also a good friend of Xerus when the man was alive. Maybe Cyrus’ promotion was merely a posthumous favor, then? No one would dare question Frey’s judgement, after all. The man was scarier than death itself. Almost scarier than Xerus. When faced between having a disagreement with General Frey or being struck by a planet-destroying meteor, even the most sensible man would choose the former. 

“You must be glad to be returning to young master Asketura.” 

Cyrus looked up, unable to hide how his dark brows shot up in surprise that the man was even speaking to him at all. “Oh. I… yes, sir. I am.” He found himself unnerved by Frey’s intense stare, so he cleared his throat as he focused back down at the carpet under his feet. “I see you’ve already heard the news of our impending engagement.” He stated, only a hint of apprehension to his words. It felt strange to say it out loud. For years, he was never quite sure. He didn’t stay with the army because he knew he would be successful, he did because he simply felt he had to. If not for Aden, then himself. And now that his impossible dream had come true… 

The older man waved off the notion of hostility with one hand. “No need to worry about judgements on my end, Colonel Ziker. I already had a shining impression of you.” He was shockingly similar to Ikarus Asketura in terms of attitude. 

“Well… you did play a large part in my being able to marry Aden, sir. For that, I have to thank you.” Cyrus bowed his head slightly. 

“Not just me alone, my boy. The other Aesernian generals and I convened to reach an agreement. I was simply the one to sign off the papers.” 

“I see.” Cyrus felt the tension leave his back and shoulders, finally reassured that he earned the privilege by his own merit and that alone. He could rest easier with a light conscience. 

“I have heard of your accomplishments while out of commission. You have a bright future here.” General Frey shrugged while placing his cup and saucer down on the table to his side. “Though, if you and your lover decide to disappear from the public eye, I completely understand that, too. When I got married, I did the same.” 

Cyrus thought of what Ikarus said about leaving the military so that he and Saros could settle down and start a family. Cyrus had rarely ever entertained himself with such thoughts when it came to Aden… 

So a normal life on Ventare would be completely possible. It would just have to not be in Aesern. He and Aden could always go to an island, to be fair, or perhaps escape to the mountains. Realistically, if they didn’t want to travel between planets. “I’m guessing that when you courted your now-spouse, you didn’t have to go through nearly as many hoops.” Cyrus stated in a sad attempt at humor. 

And to his credit, Frey did chuckle slightly. “Ah. Common mistake. I didn’t court my spouse. I was courted by them.” Cyrus stared at General Frey for a second too long. Frey stared back. Frey blinked. “What I’m saying is, I’m a third-born, Colonel Ziker. My partner is the one who is a first-born.”

Cyrus felt part of his entire world crumble. And here he was, thinking General Frey could only be a first born with the amount of respect he had. Which was presumptuous of him, sure, but in Aesernian society, you couldn’t exactly blame him for the assumption. “...They are?” Cyrus pathetically asked. 

“Is it really so hard to believe I can serve in the military and have my spouse’s child at the same time?” General Frey offered some unexpected but welcome beginnings of a grin. 

So that’s why he took a mysterious leave in the first three years of the war, along with many other times besides. And that’s why he kept to himself, his own life somehow kept private for all these years. He had given the excuse of needing to take time for family, and no one would ever question him because truth be told, the man was intimidating beyond all reason. But no one would ever think it’s because he had a baby. It must’ve been hard on him.

“But… if you’re a third-born… I thought you wouldn’t be allowed to enlist.” Cyrus asked, finding himself more comfortable now that such a secret had been revealed. It was like they were confidants now. 

General Frey’s violet eyes seemed to twinkle with a subtle spark of mischief. “My father always said that if it is not the strongest who survive, then it is the most clever. And if not the most clever, then the most wily, for the former understands how to best break the laws of our world, but only the latter has the guts to do it.” He shrugged. “So I lied on my application. Bribed a few officials. Besides, my older brother and sister were hopeless in combat. I did them a favor.” He sipped his tea like it were whiskey (and now that Cyrus thought about it, it very likely could’ve been) before continuing, “I was found out, of course, but by that point, I was already such a good Lieutenant that they would’ve been fools to get rid of me. The other generals were furious.” He blinked. “Though, Xerus thought it was funny. So he convinced the committee further to let it pass.”

Cyrus smiled, a bittersweet taste filling his mouth. “That sounds like him.” 

General Frey paused then. Since Xerus had no family to speak of, Cyrus was the closest thing he had to an adoptive son (not that most people liked to acknowledge that). Cyrus, though, now knew General Frey wasn’t like most people. 

“He used to tell me about you, you know.” Frey paused in thought for a moment, a faint gentleness tinging the edges of his words. “He showed me your records. Most impressive, young man. You’ll surely die of honor one day if you continue your path here.” 

That was… one way to put it. Suddenly, the easy atmosphere was gone. Sucked straight out of the room, like the wall had been punctured to create a vacuum. He didn’t know if those last few words were said in earnest, or if they were a warning of some kind. 

Cyrus cleared his throat. “Again, I’m sorry for assuming you were…”

Frey waved it off goodnaturedly, as if to say, ah it’s alright. And that was that. 

If Frey could find ways to bend the rules, perhaps Ventari social customs weren’t as stringent as Cyrus had initially thought. Not for the middle class, anyway. Cyrus paused at the thought that he could indeed live out a normal yet private life on Ventare if he so chose. General Frey had proved that through his own existence. He was almost inclined to thank him profusely, but as he watched the man pick back up his tea and watch the sky pass through the windows, Cyrus decided against it and simply enjoyed the view with him. 

***

Right before docking, General Frey walked him out. He insisted, despite Cyrus’ polite protests. “Good luck in your future endeavors… Colonel.”

“Thank you, sir. And good luck to you, too. I wish good health upon you and your family.”

General Frey nodded at him solemnly, with what seemed like the very slightest upturn to his lips. “How kind. And, Colonel Ziker?”

Cyrus was still staring out across the dock, hoping, praying he’d see a familiar face... “Yes, sir?”

“May Celudiere bless you and your covenant.” 

But when Cyrus turned to thank General Frey for his well wishes, the man had already disappeared. Right at that moment, belatedly, Cyrus felt the strange suspicion that he’d just come in contact with a godly being. 

He had no time to linger on this, however, when he stepped away from the departing ship and found a golden pair of eyes already staring at him across the dock. Waiting. 

Lo and behold, who was it greeting him the instant he stepped off the ship and onto solid Ventari ground again? 

None other than his beloved, his very own beloved, smiling and looking radiant in rich violet Telukkan silks which so perfectly contrasted the stark white of his hair as it reflected the fiery orange of the rising suns. He held out his arms to embrace Cyrus and Cyrus, smiling like a child for the first time in years, couldn't help but run forward, even trip at first, to relish in the way his lips easily gave against Aden’s, to lift him off his feet and into his arms, because finally, finally the two of them could be together. 

And he is no longer just Aden Asketura, the prince of Aesern, but also Cyrus Ziker’s– Colonel Cyrus Ziker’s– betrothed. The mere thought made his heart leap with a joy he didn’t think could be ignited in him anymore after so many years at war.

The war that was not yet over but felt like it was– at least to Cyrus– as Aden kissed away the tears Cyrus didn’t even notice were streaming down his face. Cyrus held him tight all the while– almost as if he were afraid that if he let go, he’d wake up, and all six of the past years would’ve been a dream.

But Aden was real. Their embrace was real. The other soldiers exiting the transport who’d known of their journey cheered, even throwing friendly jabs at their colonel, yet Cyrus couldn’t even hear them. 

That moment, forever suspended in Ventari history, was so wonderfully real. 

All of it was. 

And nothing could ever take that away from them.

***

News of Cyrus Ziker and Aden Asketura’s engagement spread like wildfire.

To say that subsequent celebration at the Asketuras’ estate was enormous would’ve been an understatement. When Cyrus arrived at the front gates, it seemed like everyone in Aesern had been invited. 

Suddenly, Eldios was telling people he’d “seen something” in Cyrus, and that he’d let Aden go untethered for so long because he’d known that this guard he hired would make military history. Cyrus decided to say nothing. What was the point? Nothing could ruin his good mood. He had Aden now (and possibly, if Eldios meant what he said, a modicum of support from Aden’s parents), so it felt like all was right with the world. 

Many Ventari– all upper class– came to superficially congratulate Aden and Cyrus on their engagement, asking when the wedding was and when they planned to have children. Luckily, Aden took it all in stride, because all Cyrus could do was stare at him, dumbstruck. He was still wearing the silks from earlier, which didn’t help matters. And compounded with the fact that he was still in disbelief that Aden was his, and he was Aden’s? He was hopeless. Anyone could see that. 

“Congratulations to the happy couple! What a romantic ending this is turning out to be!”

“Isn’t it? Thank you, Lord Idaellys.”

“When is the wedding?”

“In a few months, at least. Don’t worry, sir, you’re practically family already, so you’ll be invited for certain. My mother’s already planning out the details.”

“I’ll bet! And– I hate to ask, but– When will we be seeing little ones from the two of you?”

“We’re not planning for that anytime soon. Cyrus still has time to serve.” 

“Not for long, I’d hope! What with the armistice going into effect…”

This snapped Cyrus back into the conversation. “Armistice?” 

The round-faced man that Aden was speaking to seemed puzzled at Cyrus’ question. “Why, yes.” He chuckled good-naturedly. “The council announced it yesterday. It seems the Aquilians and Aesernians reached an agreement. No hope for a peace treaty, but at least the dreadful fighting will be over for a time, eh, Colonel Ziker?” 

Cyrus nodded numbly. “Yes, sir. Of course…” No more war. No more fighting. What was his life like before that? 

The man slapped Cyrus on the shoulder in a similar manner to Ikarus. “Ah, but you must’ve been too busy thinking of your sweetheart back home to hear the good news!” 

“I’m sure he had more important things to worry about, My Lord.” Aden stated, despite the obvious blush spreading across his face. 

“Nothing was ever more important than you.” Cyrus replied, mostly on instinct. Aden gently squeezed his arm at that. 

“Alright, alright, I know when I’ve overstayed my welcome.” Lord Idaellys– who Cyrus belatedly realized was Saros’ father– patted Cyrus on the arm a few times with a wink. “You two lovebirds enjoy your night.” 

No sooner than Cyrus had breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he might get to be alone with his betrothed for a minute, Ikarus and Saros seemed to sneak up on them. “Good to see you, Colonel!” Ikarus greeted him loud enough for the whole room to hear, while Saros nodded to him quietly. 

“You, too, Captain.” Cyrus responded genially, he liked to think, but Ikarus overdramatically feigned a wound over his heart at hearing his title. 

“Reminding me of my lower ranking, Cyrus? I never thought you’d stoop so low!” 

“Oh, quit.” Zeru Asketura, also appearing out of thin air, hit Ikarus in the arm as she joined their little circle. 

“I know, I’m just teasing– he’s about to become our brother, after all.” 

Cyrus liked that the Asketura siblings welcomed him, at least. Even if he didn’t have Helidae or Eldios’ blessing, at least he’d have someone’s. As Aden was about to spark up conversation again, though, the languid beginnings of a standard waltz started to swirl through the room. Aden perked up. “Oh– do you want to dance, Cy?” 

His acceptance was on the tip of his tongue, it was. Shouldn’t he have been proud to dance with his fiancé in a public space like this? Weren’t the people around them celebrating their impending union, anyway? 

Still, Cyrus paused. He didn’t dare glance behind him, knowing Eldios’ gaze from miles away now. He had won the battle, yes, but not the war, it seemed. He wasn’t sure he’d ever win. 

Thankfully, Ikarus winked at Saros, then offered his arm to Aden instead. And Aden, with an understanding look on his face, allowed Ikarus to sweep him away. And as Zeru was also taken onto the dance floor by a nondescript ambassador, this left Cyrus with Saros alone with each other. 

Cyrus wasn’t sure if this was worse. If he remembered correctly, it was improper for a courting person to be alone with another promised one– but surely it must’ve been fine if they were in a public space with plenty of other people around, right? If Saros wasn’t bothered, then Cyrus should’ve been reassured. Still, he watched people watch Ikarus lead Aden in a waltz, and he wondered whether he should’ve just swallowed his fear and gone out there with him. 

Seeing their easy, practiced steps and turns, Cyrus was once again reminded that this opulent world was never one he belonged in. Despite his adjacence to the sphere of decadence, he’d never once danced before. Aden was the first to ever ask. 

“You know, I never asked,” Cyrus coughed, “how did you two meet? Uh. You and Ikarus, I mean.”

Saros’ pale brow raised just the slightest bit out of what had to be surprise (whether out of the fact that Cyrus was speaking to him, or speaking at all), but after he regained his composure, he airily replied, “Oh. Well… Your typical story for courtships like this. We knew of each other our whole lives since our fathers did business together. It just made sense.” Cyrus could understand that, to a degree.

Saros fiddled with his champagne flute– a pondering habit, Cyrus supposed. Cyrus realized that he never really drank at these things. “Though I suppose things really started years ago. When Ikarus saw me from across the room at my societal debut, then asked my father for my hand, my father already liked him enough to inform me about the offer. I was formally acquainted with Ikarus during a commerce meeting between our fathers. And the rest is history.” Saros pointedly gazed over at Helidae Asketura right then as she stood placidly next to Eldios, who was deep in conversation with one of his colleagues. “The only difference is, most other third-borns don’t get a choice.” Now that Cyrus thought about it, that seemed to be Helidae’s job at these parties. To be pretty next to her husband, like an accessory. 

One thought led to another. Cyrus realized he’d never seen Saros unless he was by Ikarus’ side, either. Not until now, at least, but judging by the eyes on them, he knew this must not have been normal for them. Even as someone with such high status, being a third-born still kept Saros from being able to take over his father’s businesses. 

Saros grinned faintly, sardonically– he must’ve known what Cyrus was thinking. “Well– not like we ever had many choices to begin with.” It dawned on Cyrus just how much of an age gap must’ve been between Saros and Ikarus if Ikarus was older than Cyrus and Saros younger than Aden– Cyrus didn’t know how old Saros was, but he knew how old Aden was. Saros avoided eye contact. Perhaps Saros still didn’t have a choice if Ikarus was the only safe and sane option he had. Saros murmured exactly what Cyrus was thinking: “He is the best suitor I could’ve hoped for, though.”

“That’s… all?”

“We’re an affectionate match now, don’t worry. But when we first met, I was too young to really understand what he wanted from me.” 

His societal debut… Cyrus remembered Aden telling him about this: Third-borns often formally debuted in an elaborate ball somewhere in their mid-teens, after they prove themselves to be fertile. Since it’s somewhat of an old-fashioned practice now, Aden was thankfully able to avoid one. 

But there were rare cases where a third-born debuted earlier. And if Saros was implying what Cyrus thought he was… 

Ikarus and Saros had been together for some time now, after all. Years.

“…How old are you really, Saros?” 

He was younger than Aden. That’s all Cyrus knew, but… that may very well have been too young, and Cyrus would never know under Saros’ deceivingly mature facade. It was only then, under all the red eyeliner and golden stitched garments that Cyrus would recognize the roundness of Saros’ eyes when they weren’t half-lidded, could notice how slight his form really could be beneath all the layers of finery, and the way the light behind Saros’ eyes still flickered, as if still with a naive hope for things to get better. 

Could Ikarus– the genial, outgoing, and kind Ikarus– really have seen this child and thought of nothing but how to make him his bride? The first born man who gladly called out upper class Ventari society still benefited from it. Of course. Cyrus should’ve known better. 

And everyone surrounding him likely knew this and said nothing as well. And for what, the sake of propriety? 

Was he any better? If Aden was five years Cyrus’ junior, could Cyrus really say anything about Ikarus and Saros, with their presumed ten? 

Saros nodded at Cyrus once, though his face became neutral once more as dance partners were beginning to return to their conversations. “You have the fire of revolution in your heart, Colonel, I can feel it. You may go on to do great things for this society.” This was all Saros murmured as the waltz fully ended in the background. “But be careful who you trust. Not everyone is as they seem.” This time, he glanced pointedly at his betrothed, who Cyrus could no longer look at without chills running down his spine. 

Cyrus then couldn’t help thinking of Frey and Celudiere. And on the opposite end, most of the third-borns in Aesern’s underbelly or middle classes, who had to work dangerous jobs in the mines just like everyone else, regardless of their perceived frailty or birth order. 

Winning the battle, but not the war. 

And what would happen when Cyrus and Aden got married? Cyrus already knew. Aden would lose everything. His status, his parents, any inheritance he had any chance of earning… all gone because he loved Cyrus– for reasons Cyrus would never understand why. 

As someone who never had any of what Aden did, it was difficult for him to really understand why Aden would give any of it up, either. At least not for him. Cyrus Ziker, who was born on a dying planet and raised underfoot a glittering city, who never had a title, money, or a house to belong to. Some part of him always told himself he never needed it. 

Seeing how these people lived once Xerus pulled him to the surface made everything a bit more complicated, though. Sometimes he wondered if he and Aden would’ve been better off had he never enlisted in the army to begin with. 

Maybe he would’ve been promoted to the taskmaster of the mines by now. 

Aden returned to Cyrus, eventually. As did Ikarus. 

As if sensing his thoughts, Aden squeezed Cyrus’ arm as he continued speaking with Saros and Ikarus. Without having to even look over at him, it’s like he knew. Then Cyrus was at ease once more, and it felt like everything– everything– for them was going to be okay. 

Still, his stomach churned. 

Was it really alright to ignore all of this? 

***

Before long, Aden pulled Cyrus aside, kissing him again under the cover of shadows in the garden. Once they’d tasted each other, it was hard to stop. All their years apart and the resulting repression was beginning to claw back up. Cyrus didn’t know when or how, but one of his hands was under Aden’s silks, tracing the soft skin of Aden’s chest and counting the rapid, fluttering beats of Aden’s heart. 

It felt right, to a degree. Despite everything, this was something Cyrus also fought for– the right to touch Aden, and to have him. 

But then, it felt wrong, too. They shouldn’t have been engaging in such a deep stage of intimacy until after their second stage of courtship (where Saros and Ikarus were– did Ikarus do this to Saros, too, Cyrus wondered?) and in addition to this, they could’ve been walked in on at any second by a wandering guest, or worse, one of Aden’s parents (who were undoubtedly looking for the both of them by now). 

Still. Aden was sweet and intoxicating– while Cyrus felt like a man, starved. 

“Cy–” Aden sighed in between kisses and soft gasps, “Cy, it feels like you’re about to eat me alive.” 

“If you let me, I would.” 

Aden chuckled, a sweet sound, as he hesitantly pulled away. “Not here.” 

“I know.” Cyrus murmured, his hands still tracing Aden’s smooth skin from under his clothes. “Sorry.” He still couldn’t quite believe Aden was his, and he was Aden’s. And he knew that even years later, it would never feel real. 

“Don’t be.” Aden stood on his toes to kiss Cyrus’ jaw one last time– sending warm shivers of heat down Cyrus’ spine– before finally stepping away. “It’s getting late. I’ll be in my chambers if you need me. I’ll see you tomorrow, I suppose?” 

“Wait.”

Aden glanced back curiously. “Yes, Colonel?”

Finally, Cyrus steeled himself and summoned the courage he didn’t have during the waltz. “Shouldn’t… shouldn’t the youngest son of a councilman have someone escorting him back to his chambers?” 

“Oh.” Aden blushed, understanding. “Yes. Good idea, Colonel Ziker.”