Drops of Dew in Our Glass (Tales of Zestiria fanfiction)

Praetor

Berseria AU with the boys. Praetor!Sorey and Malak!Mikleo. I've watched about 10 hours of Berseria's story, so this may butcher its canon terribly. Berseria spoilers towards the end.

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"It's Lord Sorey!"

"Welcome!"

"Have you been well?"

"Take care of yourself after taking down those daemons for us, ya hear?"

Sorey raised his hand and smiled, appeasing the crowd before him with a small wave. His malak was a silent presence behind him. A statue, cold and quiet, devoid of life. The crowd made up for it in more than full, but it was still a bit unnerving at times.

"Thank you, everyone," he said, scanning the faces of the people in front of him. There was Lawrence, the yak herder with a warm laugh and kind heart. Melody, the peppy florist. Medea, the composed herbalist... They all looked up to him with such hope. It was his duty to protect these people. "In the name of Lord Artorius, I shall dispatch the daemons that plague these fields and return to you all safely!" he finished, thumping his chest.

The crowd cheered, wishing him well as he strode out the village's gates. His malak trailed behind him like a silent shadow.

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Sorey shivered as a frigid breeze brushed past him, snow swirling about in the air. It was always so cold in these parts, white snow and glistening ice spread for miles. One of his hands clutched his cloak closer to him as the wind picked up, the other ready to draw his sword at a moment's notice.

They'd run into a few traces of daemonblight so far, but no actual daemons. His nerves were starting to get worn out.

If his malak was cold, it-- no, he said nothing.

Sorey turned around, "Are you doing alright, M? The wind's getting nasty out here."

His malak, M, was a pale thing. He was clad in the traditional white and gold robes provided by the Abbey, with a blue tunic to denote his affinity with water. There was supposed to be a mask, but Sorey had objected to that, and so he'd been given a big black collar to wear around his neck instead.

It really might not have made a difference, though. M's face was as calm as a still lake, deep amethyst orbs staring into him, colder than ice. The only sign of emotion he showed was the hand he had raised to keep the snow out of his face, his only reply to Sorey a single nod.

Sorey deflated a bit. M was never one for conversation, not like the other malaks were, but still. "Well, keep on the lookout for now. Hopefully we can dispatch these real quick and get back home to warm up, okay?"

Another nod. Although this time, M began moving his head to check their surroundings.

Sorey focused his gaze ahead again. The blight was getting stronger as they travelled, an uneasy weight that pressed against his chest.

"I think we're getting close," he called out behind him, "Be on your guard!"

Just as he said that, a great beast burst out of the bushes beside him, snarling with thick curls of blight rolling off of its mutated flesh. A daemon.

Sorey wasted no time in drawing his sword, a burst of light in his peripheral signalling that M had drawn his staff.

The daemon lunged at him, and Sorey had only a heartbeat to raise up his sword as its razor sharp fangs met with metal. He got to enjoy the reeking smell of its maw, gritting his teeth and putting all his strength into pushing it back. Its jaws gnashed at his sword, a deep growl emerging from its throat before ice shards embedded themselves into its side. The daemon yelped, knocked to the ground and tainting the snow red with its blackened blood.