WE BECOME THOUGHTLESS

thirty-four | oceans in the space between us

All the rage in the world couldn't have compared to what Cole was feeling now. It was a storm in human skin, lightning flashing from behind his eyes, and his pulse roared in his ears like the rumbling of thunder. He could see him – he wasn't just the tall, black-cloaked silhouette from his nightmares, he was a man, flesh and all, and he was standing at the very end of the battlefield, watching him advance.

Ba-dump, ba-dump.

It was like a cake left to cool on a windowsill, all ready to be snatched up by some kid with rotting teeth. How could he resist? How could Alistair possibly ask for him to abandon the people that took him in, abandon Ivar?

And Tobias was here.

There was no way he could run away, he was born to be here, on the battlefield. This was what he had been moulded into – the perfect storm, the perfect warrior. Alistair was mad if he thought Cole had it in him to just... leave.

Still, Alistair's voice echoing his name was a tear in his heart. It very nearly had him turning back around, throwing him over his shoulder and running in the other direction. Nearly.

General Tobias' face got clearer the closer he got. He could see the mop of his dark hair, slicked back against his head, the pretentiousness in every line of his body and set of terrible grey eyes. Cole realised, with an edge of bitterness, that he was probably searching for his mindrenderer. He wanted to snatch Alistair right back and force him, again, to harm more Welish people.

A bonfire lit itself in the curve of his stomach. Cole pushed himself forward, kicked up mud and snow, and counted down his steps. Six, five, four...

Ba-dump, ba-dump.

Three, two, one...

He was right there, the general, standing on Welish dirt. He was so close.

But Cole was thrown to the side by two Chrysosian soldiers before he could reach him. His shoulder hit the earth first, which sent his axe skidding away, and the force of it reverberated in his bones like battle drums. Two weights descended upon him, and one fist cracked against his jaw – this was not what was supposed to happen.

He tasted blood before he felt it, warm against his chin. His shoulders thrashed as two sets of hands took his arms, and he threw two punches before two more soldiers were suddenly upon him, sending their fists into his gut. He barrelled over. Every wisp of air was stolen from his lungs.

When he imagined this – because he had imagined his next meeting with Tobias countless times before – he had imagined the man on his knees, blubbering and begging through a mouthful of blood. Imaginary Tobias was much more appealing than the real one, who stood over him as he was forced to his knees, lip curled. This was not how it was supposed to go.

It was unfair. This was utterly unfair.

The general lowered himself down to his eye-level. Cole gathered up a ball of bloodied saliva in his mouth before spitting it into the dirt, where it hit his polished shoe. Tobias raised a single brow. "Hm," he hummed. "You're the advena that took my mindrenderer from me, aren't you?"

Cole felt rage flare up in his chest like a great bubble, ready to burst. "I am not advena." The term in itself was insulting. Demeaning. "And he isn't yours."

"So you are then," Tobias straightened. "I couldn't be too sure."

Cole lurched forward, surprising himself with his snarl. He had almost come loose from the two soldiers on either side of him before a third unsheathed his sword and pressed it close to his throat. He could feel the kiss of steel nick at his skin and the hot trickle of blood down the curve of his throat.

Tobias cast his gaze over the battlefield, and Cole could feel the fight dwindle out around him – warriors were brought to their knees, hands tied behind their backs, and children were being ripped from their homes. The sound of it all was chillingly familiar.

His chest was in knots. He couldn't breathe. But he couldn't let it show, not in front of the general, out of all people. Never in front of the enemy. So he struggled in silence, heaving in tight breaths, and shuddered as the soldiers pulled him to his feet and turned him around.

Alistair stood in the middle of the village, uncharacteristically still and stoic. Blond hair whipped at his face and whirled around him like a tornado in the desert, pulling up sand, turning his lips chapped. An abrupt seriousness had dawned his face.

"Alright, Tobias," he said evenly, voice carrying across the clearing. "I'm here. You've found me."

The general took a few careful steps forward, and Cole would've lunged again if not for the dizziness in his skull. The last few punches had worn him down. "Believe it or not, Alistair, I'm not here for you." Tobias said. "I suppose it is rather lucky that I should happen upon you, though. Saves me the trouble of searching."

"You came here without a mindrenderer?"

"No, I brought one. I suppose I won't need her now." There was a visible thought process going on from behind Tobias' eyes as he inspected Alistair from head to toe, tilting his head in careful consideration. "She's about as young as you were, I think, when you first joined the army."

Cole watched Alistair's expression shift from still severity to shocked anger – such a shift, that Cole was left slightly startled by the suddenness of it. He huffed out another breath, turned his head slowly and peered through his veil of tangled hair. Tobias stepped forward again – the fluidity of his movements were eerie.

"How did you end up here, Alistair?" He asked coolly. "I thought you were dead."

"What a relief that must've been for you, then."

"Don't be a nuisance," Tobias rolled his eyes – his terrifying, pale pair of eyes. "Answer the question."

Alistair's eyes went back and forth between Cole, slumped between two soldiers, staring right back, and the general. His lips thinned with tension. "It's a long story actually." He supplied tersely. "One I'm sure you'd like to hear after everything's calmed down."

There was a beat of heavy silence. Heavy enough to weigh on Cole's shoulders as he watched the two of them, exchanging words without saying anything at all, and he knew then that he had found himself in very deep shit.

What would past-Cole have said if he could see him now? Past-Cole, from barely a month prior, wouldn't even have been able to form the words.

"Alright, we'll calm down then," Tobias said finally, breaking the silence. "And you'll tell me everything, will you?"

Alistair nodded. "Yes."

The general's lip curled into that halfway smile. "Good. See, you're learning again. Four weeks away might've done a number on you, but you'll get there." Cole watched as Alistair's jaw clenched and unclenched. Tobias turned around, gesturing loosely with his hand with an air of dismissal. "Knock him out, we'll deal with him later."

Alistair opened his mouth and stepped forward. His boots crunched in the half melted snow. "Wait, you can't—"

Cole lurched back as someone threw a fist into the side of his face, then another, then another. Again and again. Blood pooled in his mouth, and his gums were torn up between his teeth, stringy against his tongue.

He felt, distantly, his body collapse into the earth. His head dropped into the dirt, shaken by the sudden and overwhelming weight of it, like an entire ocean and crowded into his skull and made a home there. His vision blurred as he coughed up blood, and he could see Alistair's boots stomp through the snow towards him.

Cole frowned, and his face hurt as a furrow formed between his eyes. He found himself wondering, through his beaten-down delirium, how on earth had he managed to snag a new pair of boots in the time they had been apart?

It was not long after before he found himself sinking deep into oblivion.