"Who are you?"
You know that voice. It sends shivers down your spine and sets your heart racing, fills you with hope you haven't felt in a decade. You know it's impossible, but you would recognize that voice anywhere.
The man slumped against the wall is pale, so pale, that the blood painting his side seems so violently red in comparison. The man has your lover's face, as well as his voice, the same vibrant eyes and round cheeks and full mouth. The same tall, reedy frame. The same untamable mess of scarlet hair that he used to let you braid, woven with fragrant white Cecilias.
You want to cry out, to run to him, but you understand that it isn't him. You know this. You held his hand as you watched the life leave his eyes.
The world had known him as the Red-Haired Warrior, and so had he been immortalized in stories and songs, but to you, he had simply been Luc. Your Luc, with his flaming red hair, and his warm, easy smile, with small crinkle lines around the blue eyes that you had fancifully likened to sapphires.
He holds onto your arm as the two of you weave a path through the evening crowd, filled with those going home after work or possibly seeking nighttime entertainment. Luc tells you that you look beautiful, and the two of you talk of inconsequential things: the weather, gossip, day-to-day affairs ...
Luc takes you to a secluded spot, just outside the walls of Mond. There's a thick woolen blanket spread out on the grass, with a wicker basket on top and a lantern to keep it from blowing away in the wind. You stretch out next to the lantern and lie down on your back, staring up at the black velvet sky above, studded with thousands of diamonds. There's a chill in the air, but it's just enough to dull an otherwise warm evening. Luc settles down next to you, closer than you think he would if the two of you were anywhere else. A strange, yet warm peace blossoms within your chest, the most beautiful flower.
An amused smile quirks up your lips. "I have questions."
"That's fair." Luc says, revealing the contents of the picnic basket for your approval. A bouquet of flowers, a bottle of dandelion wine, two long-stemmed glasses, a small chocolate cake, still warm from the oven, and two forks.
There's a prickle over your skin, the smallest energy change as the wind picks up speed, chafing your cheeks and your hair. "Why is Barbatos hiding behind a bush?"
"Moral support." Luc spits out the words almost like a curse, and his tone implies that if he could, he would be chasing the Archon off into the wilderness.
You have to muffle your laughter with the back of your hand. "Next question. Why are there flowers?"
"They're – They're Cecilias. They grow only on Starsnatch Cliffs. And they're for you."
"Why would you go all the way to Starsnatch Cliffs just for flowers?" Your chest cramps at the thought of Luc getting hurt. You know he's more than capable of protecting himself, but human lives are so fragile, so easily snuffed out. The Bard had been proof enough. And even the Gods themselves had been unable to bring him back. "That was so dangerous, you could have gotten hurt!"
"They're for you," Luc repeats, his cheeks reddening in the flickering lantern light. "And – I was hoping – I want to – I want to court you. If you'll allow it."
Oh.
Your heart clenches, and your eyes sting as a thousand different emotions hit you in a tidal wave, overpowering the fear, the uncertainty. It's a mixture of emotions you recognize, but haven't felt in a very long time. And this is stronger. It feels real. It's palatable; it tastes like salt, like tears left in the cold. It's warm too, as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a hug, pressing your entire body to his.
"Okay. Yes." The hope, the joy, bubbles out of you in a bright rash of laughter. "You can court me."
And Luc's answering smile had been dazzling.
You bring yourself back to the present with an effort, your eyes losing their dream-like haze. The sense of security and warmth vanishes with the last vestiges of the dream; when you blink, there are Abyss Mages in front of you, and an injured boy at your back. The pages of your Catalyst unfurl, glowing with a silvery light. It's a beautiful book, aqua-coloured, lined with gold and decorated with pure-white feathers.
Your back straightens, your hands fisting at your sides. "Back off. Last warning."
You're rewarded with a laugh, sliding over you like shards of glass. And that's answer enough, really. You haven't fought in centuries, but your body remembers what your mind has forgotten, and it eases back into the most beautiful, deadly dance. Water pours out from your fingertips, bending to your every command, wreaking blood and pain with each blow.
You're vaguely reminded of your early days, when the rebellion had reached its brutal peak. When you had fought alongside your allies, watched as they had struggled and bled and triumphed.
You don't stop, not until the last Abyss Mage has crumbled into ash, blown away on the wind.
"Who are you?"
The man asks again, as you tuck your Catalyst away, into the pouch upon your hip, and set to treating his wounds. The contact tenses his frame like a bow stretched taut enough to break. But he allows you to continue your ministrations as you labor over him. It's rudimentary treatment at best, strips of your shirt torn apart and used as makeshift bandages. The white strips bloom instantly with red, and your forehead pleats with worry.
This isn't good.
You lift your head up to stare at him, searching his face. Now that you and him are put together, side by side, you can see that there are definite similarities. It's not in the shape of the mouth but the set of it, the sheer determination that silvers both your eyes. Your blood flows through his veins, after all. You wonder if he can see it too, the resemblance hitting you like a well-placed knife to the gut.
"Why did you save me?" Your descendant asks, and for the first time since you've met him, he sounds vulnerable. Unsure.
Your smile is fragile, and your eyes are soft. "You just – Reminded me of someone. That's all."
