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Mushrooms were hard to come across the lands of Nod-Krai, with much of the land being islands—nowhere suitable for the hardy little fungi to grow aside from the caverns Illuga has seen while patrolling and occasionally fighting in to eradicate The Wild Hunt. The caves were dangerous, unstable, and often left him wondering if the land above them would bury them in, never to be seen again. He’s heard the drunken ramblings of his comrades occasionally, and the horrors that they’ve seen were better kept quiet than to be said.
It’s not that those stories should be left unsaid, or completely forgotten, no, it’s just slightly horrific to imagine and think of it, despite the nature of their work. Celebrations would be dampened, and speaking of the dead always seemed to cause all of them to bleed a little, even if it strengthened their determination. Logically, such incidents wouldn’t occur as often, or preferably, never, considering the protocols they were expected to follow.
Not that Illuga obeyed them very often. He knows he’s caused his father countless headaches from his recklessness when he first joined. Although he has learnt better and rose the ranks to lead the Nightmare Orioles in their investigations, the habit of sneaking into caves hasn’t ceased at all, much to his teammates distress, occasionally. Yet no one could fault him, since he came back with information almost all the time. His duty is to protect the present from The Wild Hunt, and if it saved a few caves from being infested with the dastardly creatures, it was just something he had to do.
So, it comes to his surprise that he stumbles upon a circle of mushrooms on his regular patrol route, a light scent lingers around the place, not that he is able to discern it. Odd, considering that he was mostly able to recognise the local specialities of Nod-Krai—well, that was only natural, although Sir Flins was leaps and bounds ahead of him, able to regale countless tales from Snezhnaya and Nod-Krai alike, though he most often recounts the stories of when he used to fight along his comrades, something that Illuga has chosen not to question in fear of prodding at his wounds. Though it makes him wonder why he has not retired, yet his services are most appreciated, indeed.
Some sort of childlike wonder seems to take over him as his legs divert from the path he regularly takes, approaching the mushroom circle before squatting down to inspect the mushrooms closer. Flins was just a few meters behind him, persuaded by Illuga to come out of the run-down lighthouse he lived in just for a brief walk till they were a little far out from Final Night Cemetery. Just for him to get some fresh air, Illuga supposes that the older Ratnik deserves to see it too. To see mushrooms anywhere aside from the dark and humid caves was something that blew his mind, much less a bunch of them in a circle.
“Sir Flins, look at this.” He calls for him, not bothering to look over his shoulder, where Flins had trailed a few steps behind him. “Mushrooms—there are mushrooms here!”
The mushrooms had thin stalks, the caps broad and flat. He wonders what it tastes like, he’s never seen such strange looking mushrooms before. Perhaps Flins would know what they were, considering his seniority.
Just as he makes the move to crawl amongst the mushrooms, a hand is on his back and hooking over the collar of his coat, dragging him backwards gently. Yelping, he looks towards Flins with a pout on his face, questioning him. “What’s wrong?” Illuga watches as Flins squats next to the spot he was at, his eyes focused intently on the mushrooms. “Are you worried about their quality? Don’t worry, they looked fine.” Despite his grumbling, he stays put, not moving an inch from where Flins has settled him.
“This bunch seems to be lacking, young master.” Flins says, plucking a mushroom from the ground—well, half a mushroom. The rest simply looks as if they’ve been razed to the ground by flames as he tosses the upper half of the mushroom aside before tilting his head to the left. “There are finer crops to be found, and I believe that our wishes have been answered, considering the fine haul just to our left.”
Illuga barely has a second to turn to look before Flins is by his side once more, offering his hand to Illuga. “Let us make a move, I believe that they suit you far better compared to such dullness.”
Taking Flins’s hand, they walk till they hover in front of the “better” mushrooms. Illuga feels reluctant to eat his words, but finds himself closer and closer to admitting that Flins certainly had a keener eye than him. It wasn’t as if mushrooms glowed on the regular, but these mushrooms seemed to be the first that would ever light up its surroundings. The smooth caps and the thick stalks…it seemed to bear far more value than what Illuga had found, though appearances cannot be judged so quickly, Illuga finds himself willing to concede.
Dirt crunches beneath Flins’s boots as he takes the first step into the ring of fungi, carefully treading past the base of the mushrooms before guiding Illuga to follow as he did, a fond smile flickering over his face once Illuga crosses the threshold of mushrooms. “I believe that my observation from before was correct.” Illuga looks at him expectantly, already anticipating his elaboration, but Flins does not elaborate, nor does he say anything more.
If he did not wish to say anything more, Illuga supposes that they should proceed on with harvesting the mushrooms. As expected, Flins was right, and he couldn’t deny it. He reaches out to grab one by the base and yank it from the ground, but finds himself unable to move. He tries to move again, but in a smaller range, attempting to curl his fingers towards his palm. He is not successful, and a brief wave of panic runs through his veins before he breathes in deeply, eyes squeezing shut tightly. Flins was still here, and if anything happened, he’d be in good care. But what if something happened, and he was completely unable to help at all? Oh dear, just the thought had him nervously racking his head for a solution—Flins had lived an arduous life, so Illuga should try to at least make it slightly easier for him.
Maybe using his vision would help, yes—that would at least create a barrage of rocks around them, like barricading themselves away from The Wild Hunt. So he calls for his vision to respond, hoping to feel the surge of power that ran through his veins, but nothing answers his call. Never-mind, he still had Aedon. Aedon was reliable—his companion.
Yet when Illuga calls out for the bird, Aedon doesn’t respond. Aedon always responds, except when Aedon got upset, but Aedon always knew when to do it, and it wasn’t like Illuga did something either! Maybe he gave Aedon the wrong directions to the Lighthouse, but Aedon always knew the way and would’ve pecked him silly if he had forgotten! Aedon never left Illuga hanging before, and oh archons, he feels himself going dizzy at the prospect of Aedon never answering him again. Aedon wasn’t just his messenger bird or a tool to fight with, he was his companion!
“Dearest young master, a mora for your thoughts? You’ve been awfully quiet since we’ve stepped into the ring of mushrooms.” Flins hums, placing his hand over Illuga’s back. Somehow, it feels like a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders, and he gasps sharply. “Perhaps you aren’t pleased with the mushrooms we have picked?” Their hefty haul is tucked under Flins’s arm, and Illuga feels his spirit fading away. He didn’t even get to pick any mushrooms!
“No!” Finding his words once more, Illuga blurts out the thoughts at the front of his mind, hoping to create a flimsy excuse to pardon his lack of participation earlier. “I was just mildly shocked by how beautiful the mushrooms looked!”
Flins chuckles, linking their arms together. “Hold on tight to me, young master.”
They finally exit the ring of mushrooms, well, not so much mushrooms anymore. Just the area where they had grown, and Flins bent down to pluck the mushroom Illuga was staring at with a pop, the dirt beneath it scattering. The land seemed to change after that—something odd persisting in the air, yet nothing seems to have changed, and Flins doesn’t comment. The older Ratnik had a penchant for being far more aware than Illuga, so he supposes it was just his mind playing tricks on him.
Well, they had mushrooms to roast over the fire now. From the expression on Flins’s face, it looks as if he presumes that Illuga would be following him back to the lighthouse despite the fact that he was on patrol, and he has no time to sputter a word of protest as he is dragged back unceremoniously.
Oddly enough, Aedon had begun to chirp frantically and even flew out from his lantern, fluttering around the both of them like it had just seen the unravelling of a horrific incident. Flins merely whispers something inaudible to Aedon before flashing a languid smile towards Illuga. Reluctantly, his heart begins to soften, and the warnings that spill from Aedon’s beak fall onto deaf ears.
That night when he returns to the Lighthouse, he is said to have been out several hours later than he usually is. Time seemed to pass by incredibly quickly when he was with Sir Flins.
As of late, many of Illuga’s belongings had begun to disappear. Luckily, that did not include his lantern or Aedon. There were a few other precious keepsakes that disappeared and reappeared over the course of several days—such as his quill for writing reports disappearing from its perch in his inkwell, or the neat stack of parchment paper held down by a paperweight that his father had given to him after receiving one too many reports with missing pages. They always appeared by the end of the day, so there was no major fuss that came with their disappearances aside from minor inconveniences.
He also often found his things to be misplaced—Aedon and his lantern were unfortunately included, and where they were usually found by his bedside had turned into an odd game of seeing where they ended up for the night. His lantern shone brightly on some nights, albeit with a purplish tinge—did he not clean it thoroughly enough once he’d returned to Piramida? And on other nights, it was dim, aside from Aedon sleeping peacefully inside. Most days, his lantern ended up in all sorts of places in his bed, next to him, by his pillow, or the foot of his bed.
So much so that his lantern has become a glorified teddy-bear, and Illuga does away with the routine of leaving it on the nightstand, and just hugs it to sleep. If not his lantern, then it ends up being his boots which travel across the room, his gloves on the table ending up draped over the back of his chair, or his vision ending up on the windowsill instead of the nightstand.
At first, he had thought that perhaps his father had come about to meddle with his things, but he had always submitted his reports on time, and if there were any updates to be made, he would’ve let him know in advance unless it was of utmost urgency.
Perhaps he had lent a few items to his teammates and forgotten, so they had returned them when he was out during his patrols, but that was unlikely, as they all freely approached Illuga without any qualms on anything, not to mention it was an invasion of his privacy if they just waltzed into his quarters.
At an utter loss, he declares it to be an issue once his coat goes missing—it had been with him since his father had let him join the Lightkeepers, and he hadn’t gone a day without it before in his life. Not to mention that although it was warmer than Snezhnaya, Nod-Krai was still part of the wintry wasteland, and thus, their temperatures still dropped rather low. It was still bearable if you were in town with all the hustle and bustle, but the outskirts left much to be desired.
The point is, he needs his coat. He would never let anyone borrow it nor would he have lost it, unless someone randomly decided it needed a wash, which it didn’t, because Illuga already washed it last month when a bunch of weird gunk had been sprayed all over him during an investigation. It was fine, really. His coat had faced far worse, and it was durable enough to withstand the battles and investigations he went through. He certainly wasn’t about to walk through Nod-Krai without his coat, considering the sleeveless turtleneck he wore that didn’t work so well to conceal the large scar from his neck to his shoulder. The last thing he needed was anyone to start prying into it, plus the fact that it would likely deter more volunteers from joining the Lightkeepers, perhaps. It was just a risk he had to account for.
Yet no matter how long he searched, it was completely futile. He had to do another supply run from Piramida to the cemetery today too, and the boat ride over was bound to be cold, with how late it was. Even if he could just do it tomorrow in the morning before his patrol, what if Flins went hungry tonight because of it? Even worse, he could be injured and left without any medicine to help.
Thoughts steeled and actions decided, Illuga took a deep breath before slinging his bag over his shoulder, a relic of the past, his father likes to say. It’s all too easy to remember that Illuga had not originally been the captain of the Nightmare Orioles, often running to and fro from Piramida and various lightkeepers over Nod-Krai, a messenger. Perhaps that was why he found himself so endeared to Aedon. They were both messengers with the same lantern—well, somewhat. He held the lantern and Aedon lived in it. It was similar-ish.
He sets off with his shoulders uncovered, and it is because of the dark that he can trust that no one will see the horrific scar that marred his skin. Perhaps he treated it far too callously, for his peers had praised him so, yet it was a touchy subject, even his father knew.
The moment he steps out from headquarters, the frigid wind sets upon his skin with a biting vengeance, and he curses under his breath. He hasn’t even stepped a few meters away from headquarters till the desire to head back and curl up in bed is wrought upon him. With the lack of his coat, he isn’t able to have more freedom to choose what he carries either. Usually he could lug a crate or two, enough to last Flins a week—although rightfully it should’ve been about a month, but he wouldn’t question the senior Ratnik. If he just brought the bare minimum to last him till tomorrow, they could make a quick trip to Nasha Town just to restock as well.
Right. Supplies and the dock. He just has to run to the warehouse and back to the docks if he wants to catch the last boat for the night. He got this. The weather would clear up too—certainly!
Illuga does not got it, and the weather is not clear either. If one could say that flailing out in sea is anything close to getting it, Illuga would’ve been better off being tossed in a grill and eaten for a victory feast. He holds onto his lantern tightly and summons Aedon, yelling in between gurgles of water to check on the ferryman. The things in his bag are heavy, but they are for Flins, so that sort of reckless abandon is acceptable, in his opinion. His lantern was something he’d never let go of—he’d have to be possessed by The Wild Hunt before that was even an option. Not to mention he still had to repay Flins for the mushrooms they had enjoyed together, his choice of drinking hot chocolate was laughed at endlessly as Flins nursed a glass of wine.
He could really hold a grudge, but it wasn’t worth it in this case, nor was it an option. Illuga should just be happy that Flins has trusted him enough to share a meal and even make fun of him at his expense, but perhaps there were better things to worry about when he’s a few seconds away from having saltwater up his nose.
They were so close to shore—Illuga would really suspect that he’d never hear the end of it if he ended up dying by drowning in a simple supply run. He still had to lead his team, he still had investigations, he still had his duty to uphold. He had to—had to…
Aedon breezes past him and tugs at the straps along his sweater in a vain attempt to propel him forward but it only leads to him swallowing a mouthful of seawater—gross! Salty and—it’s pretty much choking him, and he’d really appreciate the water Sir Flins gave him more than he ever has in his entire life! Between sputtering and gasping for breath, Illuga loses his grip on his lantern—shit—he’s useless, unable to move, drifting along the current. A flash of light strikes somewhere in the distance, the sound of waves crashing against each other drowns out any sound that comes from the sky, and he loses sight of Aedon. Illuga doesn’t die against The Wild Hunt or in an endless abyss, he’s drowning! From a capsized boat! What the hell?!
Surely he’d have more words to be infuriated with, but his throat burns and it's spasming uncontrollably, and everything seems to come crashing down as he tries to suck in a breath only to swallow water, but it's okay. It’s okay for some reason and that terrifies Illuga. He sees the sky, shadowed by dark clouds and lightning. It’s purple, everything’s purple with water babbling in his ears.
The world goes dark.
The world is very purple for some reason. Dark blue too, with wisps of light blue following along. Illuga feels weightless, as if he’s floating while being shaken around like a rag doll. Illuga must have reappeared as a ghost in Final Night Cemetery. He’s warm and wet. Why is he wet?
He makes a soft sound and attempts to move. Something settles over his back firmly as something is whispered into his ear—something foreign he cannot understand, or it simply must be his ears that aren’t working with water trickling down his chin. The words in his ears aren’t intelligible, they don’t sound like the common tongue they use at all. It’s soft and deep, lulling him to sleep. Something creeps up along his head and gently combs through his hair before Illuga succumbs to the darkness growing along the edges of his vision.
Illuga wakes up in a daze to a damp cloth over his forehead, a black coat draped over his body, and a lump digging into his back. He can barely move and his throat aches horribly, an itch beginning to form as his gaze surveys the room, and it takes him several seconds to realise that he was in the decrepit lighthouse that Flins called home.
Water drips down the wall opposite of him, and Illuga takes a while to realise Flins had been sitting next to the bed, his head lolling to the side, as if he was deep in sleep. Yet it seemed that no matter how much rest he got, the eyebags under his eyes never seemed to abate. A pang of sorrow shot up in Illuga’s chest, and he knows that he is one of the issues which has contributed to his sleepless nights, as it is evident he has survived.
His lantern chimes softly, and Aedon emerges in a shrill, warbling cry. Flins does not react any further aside from opening his eyes, before his sight falls onto Illuga trying to sit himself up quietly, the cloth atop his forehead already halfway down to falling off.
“Young master, let me help you.” Flins moves from his spot, his hand coming to rest on the nape of his neck before trailing down to the small of his back—wait, what on earth was he wearing?! His hands were completely engulfed in purple, the sleeves hanging off his hands and dear archons, did Flins undress him?! Illuga would’ve had more time to feel scandalised if not for his absolute mortification at the thought—getting saved from drowning then getting changed and wearing his colleague’s blouse?! Not to mention he was here on just a supply run too—oh archons, he’s troubled Flins far too much for his position. So much blab on being the youngest team leader who’s extremely capable and efficient, he’s no better than a dog!
Finally sitting, Flins pauses before speaking. “Young master, do you remember your name?”
“Yes?” His brow furrows. Why would Flins ask him that? Did he say something ridiculous while he wasn’t aware? “W-why?”
“To merely check on your cognition. Could you tell me your name?”
“Illuga.” He chokes out his name as he attempts to suppress the cough rising in his throat. “I-Illuga.”
“I am most relieved. Have you given your name to anyone else as of late?”
“No.” He sighs, and thinks of the influx of people who've chosen to leave as the Fatui circled Nod-Krai viciously. There is more he wishes to say—to comment more, to prod more at Flins, but a cough is already leaving his lips, and he grimaces.
That seems to satisfy Flins, a smile gracing his features as he steps away to pour a glass of water.
The rim of a glass is carefully held to his lips, gentle and patient as Flins supports him upright. “It seems that I’ve caught you in quite a predicament, young master.” Flins pulls the cup away from Illuga once he starts sputtering and hacking, whether from embarrassment or the itch in his throat, no one knows. “I must remind you that your safety is paramount, should death not encourage you.”
“Supply run,” Illuga rasps, lungs burning. “Couldn’t…couldn’t leave you.”
Flins’s eyes narrow, the striking gold gleaming sharply in the night. “Your dedication touches me, truly. Though I must inquire as to where your coat is. Seeing you without it is akin to seeing a bird bare of its feathers.”
Aedon seems to take offense to those words. Flins merely flashes the bird a smile, before pointing towards Illuga’s lantern.
Shaking his head, Illuga looks down in shame. “Missing. It just disappeared.”
Flins nods, mumbling something inaudible to Illuga, and he’s already in motion, settling Illuga back down onto the bed, and ruffling his hair.
“I’m certain it will return to where it belongs.” Something seems…off about his smile. Flins has always been an enigmatic figure, but it felt as if Illuga was looking into something otherworldly, something that did not belong to the land. His worries are assuaged once Flins places his palm over his eyes, oddly enough. Then he’s speaking on getting a doctor, with some other supplies. His words were so far away, and Illuga wanted nothing more but to chase them in the sea of unconsciousness that threatened to sweep him up again once more.
He wasn’t tired. Illuga wasn’t tired. Illuga, who had just woken up, yearned to stay awake.
A dreamless slumber awaited him, and gently embraced him.
The next time Illuga wakes up, it is to the sunlight of noon shining through the window, his lamp on his bed, Aedon perched over the head of his bed like a watcher. His boots, gloves, and everything were in place—most importantly, his coat was folded by the foot of his bed.
It smelt slightly of burnt wires, like someone had just messed with one of Aino’s things. The scent was close, but not the same. A shimmer of light bounced off an object by his bedside. Iron?
Nails—something that Aino would find useful, horseshoes? They didn’t have any horses here, did they? Unless someone wanted him to find a Rimehorn Deer and use it as a substitute—on second thought, it was wiser to not provoke any of the Frostmoon Scions if he did—or Lauma, for that matter.
Time had passed, and it was evident with how some Lightkeepers nearly dropped their lanterns or belongings when the door to his room creaked open. Some of them rush over quickly to support him, but he waves them off quickly with a smile, insisting he was alright.
If he heard anyone snickering as he walked past, he ignored it. He had to find his father first. Even if he was lauded as a capable young man, the leader of the Nightmare Orioles, or if he was his father’s son, it did not deter the whispers in the streets, nor did it tamper resentment from those who wish to hold more.
His father had left the door to his office ajar, as if he were expecting someone—perhaps Illuga, or the grandmaster. His knuckles rap against the doorframe three consecutive knocks, announcing his presence. He pokes his head in to see a glimpse of purple that disappears rapidly, and he supposes it's just his mind playing tricks on him—the sun always shines from an angle whenever he steps into the office.
“Dad,” he enters the room and beelines straight to Nikita’s desk, taking care to not peer at the documents strewn across the table. “I’m awake.”
Two pouches laid untouched next to Nikita’s side, and he gently ruffles Illuga’s hair before sitting him down, and Illuga realises belatedly that the expression he wore was not one of mercy—rather, he was relieved, but also quite livid.
By the time he is released from Nikita’s lecturing, the sun has set, and he is left with two odd pieces of information, plus a gift from Flins.
First was the request to take the first pouch—heavy and full of salt. Nikita instructed him to sprinkle a thick line down his windowsill, and the horseshoe on his nightstand should be hung sideways over his door, in the shape of the crescent moon.
Then, the iron nails should be carried on his person at all times. Whether he wore it as a necklace, a bracelet, or in a satchel, it didn’t matter. They should just be worn as a new precautionary measure. Nikita had said that Flins had attested to its reliability in repelling The Wild Hunt, apparently. He supposed he’ll have to test that out another day considering that he’s effectively on bedrest for the next two weeks, much to his disappointment.
Turns out drowning warranted at least a week of bedrest, and not waking up for several days resulted in more. Rightfully, it should’ve been a week and three days, but Nikita decided to give him a break he didn’t need, as well as some time to reflect, which added on another four days.
Perhaps he could bargain a little.
Right, he nearly forgot in his haste—looking at the small box in his hand, it had rather plain packaging—nothing like the jewellery he’s seen on display in the markets, carefully seated within satin boxes, sitting in a velvety cushion whilst glimmering in the light.
It’s surprisingly light in his hold, and the box looks slightly worn with time, as if it was an ancient relic waiting to be uncovered, burning with the desire to see the light of day once more. It could’ve been procured from an auction that Flins had gone to recently, or a piece from his collection. The idea makes him laugh—he couldn’t possibly fathom Flins spending that much on him.
A gift from Flins was special. Illuga sets it down onto the table carefully before sliding into his chair. His hands tremble as he lifts the cover of the box, surprise colouring his face as a Flins’s handwriting appeared, scrawled on the underside of the cover.
‘Dearest young master,
I trust that this finds you well. On the day that you came to visit me, I had a gift prepared for you to celebrate your day of birth. However, you had met a mishap. Unable to wait, I requested that your father give this to you in my stead.
Regards, Flins.’
A smile finds its way up to Illuga’s face. It had trailed off towards the end, as if he was running out of ink, and the words were cramped together. There was hardly any space on the box, so that served as no surprise. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted a note to be lost in any case.
Tilting the cover slightly, he watched as the ink faintly shone in the light—it looked like a veil of stars over the sky. It must’ve been expensive ink—Illuga should keep the box.
Then, he looks down to set his eyes on the gift that Flins had given him—perhaps it’d be a book full of those tales that Flins enjoyed telling so much. There had been the story of the nobles that lived under the Belyi Tsar, the battles with his comrades, and the rambles of those who knew no better in the auction house—he still felt a little peeved when he was deceived by the older Ratnik, but that had come with a truth as well.
Colour drains completely from his face.
In front of him in a small, unassuming box laid a bracelet that held a gemstone, weaved amongst strings and other tiny jewels across its circumference. A soft gasp leaves his lips—this—this surely was worth more than he thought, wasn’t it?!
If the ink before had shimmered with the stars, then the gemstone at the very center of the bracelet was a drop of the night sky condensed into stone, the speckles of white sparkling on its unpolished surface, the inky dark blue of the gem mesmerising his eyes.
The smaller stones seemed to be of no less quality, shades of purple gleaming as it caught the light. It was beautiful. Illuga was left with no words on how to describe it. The idea of wearing it seemed ludicrous—not when he went into battle, not when his duty was something so demanding. The thought of bringing something so precious to the battlefield felt like a sin—just from the idea of it ever breaking should he fall.
Yet Illuga felt selfish, he wanted to be selfish. A compromise he could make with himself—he would keep the bracelet in the box with him at all times. In the inner pocket of his coat perhaps, not to be kept with nails that should be on him. The nails were still weird—how on earth did they discover that?
What a thoughtful gift. Illuga ought to give him something even better the next time he visits.
“Young master, are you not wearing the bracelet I’ve given you?”
When Illuga sees Flins again, he is not alone—standing with Lauma in Nasha Town.
“Ah…? The bracelet—it’s in my coat.” Illuga nods before taking it out, clutching it close to his chest. “No take-backs Mr. Flins, you said it was for me.”
“You misunderstand me so, my, I would say I’m wounded from the assumption alone.” Flins laughs, as Illuga flashes him a cheeky smile, before he begins to explain himself. “I thought of it as too precious to be worn since we’re always in and out of dangerous situations—it’d be irresponsible of me to not treasure a gift from you.”
Illuga shifts a little as Flins looks him over—ah, he carried the nails as instructed. Just one, tied to the belt hanging around his thigh. His gaze seems to flicker between Illuga’s face and the nails, and Illuga can’t help but feel that he’d done something wrong.
Flins hums lowly, looking around briefly before clearing his throat. “I’m afraid I’m rather preoccupied at the moment, young master, so I must leave you with Miss Lauma for now. Don’t worry about the gift getting damaged—it can be fixed, and it was chosen in your likeness.”
With that, Flins leaves—oddly quickly. Ah...the least he can do is shout out his thanks.
“Thank you for sharing the information with my dad too—the nails!” He waves goodbye before staring at the box once more. Could he really?
Lost in his thoughts, he thinks he hears Lauma bid goodbye herself—his attention sways and drifts even as he says a farewell of his own, before he opens the box—reluctantly taking it out as he fiddles with the strings. It glimmers in the light, and Illuga only feels drawn in to put it on, and he does, sliding it over his hand till it rests on his wrist, and he tightens it—albeit with difficulty. No one told him that you had to hold onto the other side before trying to pull the string!
Ah, well—he supposes fulfilling Flins’s wish was something he wanted to do as well. He pockets the box once more before looking at the time—ah! He was going to be late for his patrol!
Lauma turns the corner of the building they were in front of, and she looks at Flins—tilting her head as if to question why. “Avoidance does not seem to be something that you favour,” she begins, giving him a once-over. “That gift…it must convey your sincere feelings if you brought it up.”
Shaking his head, Flins smoothens out his coat. It seems that the nails worked just as he thought. “It’s just ink,” he smiles, and Lauma frowns. “Oh? Does the idea disagree with you?”
“Ah, of course not.”
Not wanting to push the issue further, Lauma lets the subject gracefully fall from their conversation—there were some things that were better left unanswered. The smile that Flins always wears seems to grow a little fonder—that change had happened once he saw Illuga put on the bracelet, she supposes.
“Illuga, I don’t think you need to carry the nails anymore.” His father starts one day as they were eating dinner, placing his fork to the side of his plate. “Or placing salt on the windowsill, and you can take down the horseshoe by your door.”
“I thought the nails were for The Wild Hunt.”
“It turned out to be a bit more of a hassle when—er—Rolf scratched himself with it.”
“Oh dear…is he alright?”
“Nothing major—just—take off all of that stuff.”
Trusting his father, Illuga went to do all of the above—Aino could get the nails, he supposed. If he ever ran into Ineffa, it would be easier. The salt…was a little trickier, and messier too. The horseshoe…disposed of properly. He doesn’t want anyone to start thinking about it.
As Nikita watches his son scurry away, he sighs in relief. Seeing his son return home slightly forlorn despite the smile on his face every time he returned to Headquarters had him scratching his head—clearly he was sad from being sent back home early by Flins, unable to stand the proximity to the nails.
Nikita doesn’t know whether to sigh or start falling to his knees in defeat. On one hand, he should be very grateful that Flins was not a fae searching for trouble despite the mischief he caused, and even extended goodwill to most people he met. The only thing troubling him was that it was a fae that had an unprecedented amount of interest in his son, with his son being just as attached to the fae.
Some battles are lost before being fought, and this was one such case.
He had asked Flins whether he was truly certain to go to such lengths if it’d force him away from Illuga’s company out of curiosity, and he knew the dangers more than anyone else—his own son had drowned, but it was nagging at him to see how far he could prod.
The answer he received that day was very clear, and Nikita could finally rest a little easier.
Attending a large celebration party was hardly something that Illuga wanted to fit into his schedule, but he supposes that he could indulge if it was something that raised morale.
Flins seems to be content standing next to him, his gaze drifting down to Illuga’s wrist every so often as he swirls the wine in his glass idly. He hasn’t moved at all from his spot, and Illuga would be much more willing to go around to make conversation if it wasn’t Flins he was standing next to.
“Indulge me, young master, do you wish to hear the story of a fallen soldier?”
“Now? You must be looking to sour the mood—tell me something that’s a little lighter.”
“I suppose I can only do what the young master wishes.”
Soon, only Flins’s voice fills the silence between them, and everyone around them sighs.
The bracelet on his wrist is warm, even against his gloves. Illuga laughs as Flins continues story-telling. Sometimes they feel far too real for someone who claims to have heard them second-hand, but perhaps that came with the language he used.
“Huh, Flins and Illuga are practically joined together at the hip!” Paimon looks somewhat disappointed that their new friends wouldn’t be indulging in the festivities with them—especially Illuga, but Lauma shakes her head and laughs.
Clasping her hands together, she looks over to them, her gaze betraying her thoughts. “The both of them have shared many walks under the moonlight together.”
Paimon seems to miss the meaning completely, while the traveler’s eyes widen. Oh—they didn’t know that their relationship was so intimate. Yet even so, it didn’t seem as if Flins was completely honest with Illuga—or they just haven’t reached that stage yet?
Yet Flins had mentioned to Varka to keep his secret safe—did he enjoy the idea of toying with Illuga? Yet seeing how he easily gave in to Illuga, how he took care of him—it was hard to say that, so perhaps it was Illuga that wasn’t on the same page?
The sound of munching fills their ears, and traveler looks up to smirk at Paimon, watching as she holds a large sugar sculpture. One could only wonder where she got it from.
Well…it wasn’t their job to worry about Flins’s and Illuga’s relationship. Stepping away from the railing, the traveler follows Lauma to join Jahoda and Nefer—Varka’s laugh echoing from where the drinks were.
The moon shines brightly over Nod-Krai.