Chapter Text
The snapping of twigs were all that could be heard in the still of the forest, save for the desperate pants of a young man trying his damnedest to escape execution.
Pointed jeers cut through the thick night as lanterns bobbed in total darkness, their dim flames being the only sources of light for miles around. The actual number of those carrying them were indiscernible at the moment, though it hardly mattered to the one they chased; his only concern was to run as fast and far away as he could. He made no attempt to cover his tracks, as there would ultimately be no point in doing so. True, his pursuers could barely see any father than he could, but they had something else up their sleeves. An ace-in-the-hole of sorts, guaranteed to find him.
Without warning, still-night gave way to baying howls.
Mongrel hounds had suddenly joined the hunt.
The young man sucked in air. He'd been fine up until that point. He knew he could outrun the bandits, especially since he'd gotten a good head start on them to begin with. The dogs, though...their presence would surely spell his doom. With what little breath he had, he cursed himself under his breath for ever going through with that stupid plan of his in the first place. Why not thieve from thieves? It's not like they could report it, and any coin lifted from such delinquents would surely be spent better in the hands on a more honest person such as himself.
He now knew why not to steal from bandits.
Desperately, he killed the light of the small lantern on his hip. His only option was to slip into darkness, but that ended up becoming just as much a detriment to him as it was a boon. Still running as fast as he could, the young man was now at the mercy of the woad; he could see no more than a few inches in front of him, and with every step came something else to trip over. Once or twice he nearly stumbled over a rock. The one time his foot finally did catch something, it ended up being a gnarled tree root. His boot became entangled in it. He fell over and immediately felt a sharp pain shoot up his leg. It was disorienting. He'd never felt such agony so quickly before, but there was no time to dwell on it. He covered his mouth to muffle the scream that fought its way past his lips. He looked back behind him.
More lamps. Closer this time. Again, accompanied by howls.
The voices of the bandits whose gold he lifted were starting to get louder. He had no time to nurse his injury. In-between their heartfelt promises to feed him his own balls when they finally caught him, the young man ripped his leg free from his boot; it belonged to the tree now. He couldn't keep from screaming, not entirely, but kept quiet enough to where it was no louder than the other, more boisterous shouts of his pursuers. Biting through the pain, he picked himself up and tried his best to run. The most he could manage was an awkward shuffle, made all the slower by the forest floor.
There was a clearing up ahead. He could tell as much by the soft glow of fireflies, a large swarm of them at that. If he could maybe make it out before the bandits got close enough, they might spend their time searching the woods for him instead. Besides, only an idiot would think to hide in plain sight like that; all the more reason why he was banking everything he had on doing just that. It's not like he had much of a choice, anyway. He couldn't run anymore, and the dogs were still hot on his trail. He just prayed whatever wildlife was out and about at the moment would muddle his scent.
The young man shuffled as fast as he could until soon the trees were behind him. Guided by the light of hundreds of fireflies, he had no real way of knowing just what was around him other than what lay directly ahead. A large rock and...a glow? More fireflies, perhaps? He stopped for a moment and held his breath, both to focus on identifying the source of the light and also to figure out where the bandits were. The former he had no idea, while the latter he unfortunately knew all too well. There came a whistle. The young man froze. He spun around, and at the edge of the woad he saw lamplight.
Bobbing on the hips of at least a half dozen men, orange lit the forest. At their side came hungry growls; as to how many mouths they belonged to, the young man couldn't say.
"There's the whoreson!" one of the bandits seethed.
Another whistle from among them. "Go earn your scraps, you fucking mutts!"
The young man's eyes grew wide as the blood-chilling call of several dogs rang throughout the clearing. He could only vaguely see their silhouettes as they disappeared into the tall grass. Immediately he spun back around and tried with everything he had to start running again, but his leg would not oblige. It was stiff, and every step was a new wrack of pain. It came as no surprise to him when all of a sudden he buckled under his own weight and fell to the ground. He landed on his stomach, left facing away from the quickly approaching hounds.
He caught a face full of dirt, and immediately his mind reeled; this was his legacy. Everything that had ever happened to him up until that point was just a testament to how pathetic he was. He couldn't do anything right. He couldn't live up to the expectations of others and was promptly disposed of. He couldn't make it on his own and quickly fell into a life of thieving. He couldn't see the one good thing to happen to him in his life until it was too late, and failed to save her. And now, after all of his failures, he couldn't even will himself up to making a proper fucking getaway after doing something stupid in the name of keeping a promise. Just a little gold to get him where he needed to go. On the road, back towards her...but so much for all of that. Where had that all gotten him, exactly?
Oh, right. He was dog food.
No, lower than that; utter garbage.
His head fell to the ground once more, and he had no strength to lift it back up. He accepted his fate begrudgingly, and wholly expected to feel the thrashing fangs of canines as they sunk into him like the lackluster meat he was. The young man had given up entirely; so much so that he failed to notice the glow from before had gotten bigger since last gazing upon it. Having failed to discern its true nature, it was understandable that he would have given up faith so easily. It wasn't until he felt it that the young man slowly pulled his head back up. Something warm against his cheek.
Hot, even. Actually...blazing fucking hot.
He immediately rolled at the sight of it. Red flames caught the dry grass like oiled kindling. They quickly spread throughout the clearing and illuminated everything. More still, the dogs suddenly wanted nowhere near him. Growls turned to whimpers as fire licked at their paws, and the bandits just as quickly whistled for their beasts to return to their side. Meanwhile, the young man found himself in a similar situation. He scooted away as fast as he could, towards the one direction where the fire was thinnest. He kept his eyes on it and nothing else. His sole attention was on not getting burned, and he pushed back farther and farther until...he couldn't anymore. Not because he was tired though, or even because of his leg.
Instead, it was because he bumped into something solid. Heavy. Metallic.
Eyes wide once more, the young man looked behind him to find steel greaves pressed against him. He looked up slowly, and found the person they were attached to; a tall man, with blonde hair singed orange by the glow of the flames around them. Cool blue eyes drenched the young man with a feeling of ease. For some reason, he knew not to terror before this person. He wasn't an enemy...which was good, considering he bore a short-sword in one hand and a rondache shield in the other. Despite his greaves, the man wore no armor. Just gauntlets on his forearms.
"Follow my lead," the swordsman instructed. His voice was calm, despite the chaos surrounding them.
The young man couldn't help but nod his head, despite not knowing what on earth he was supposed to do. "...Got it."
The swordsman nodded back, and took his cue. He walked till he was at the edge of the fire and pointed his sword at the now-illuminated bandits. The young man could see them clearly now; there were seven of them, and they all gazed in horrified confusion at the scene before them. Moments ago they were hunting someone. Now...they had no idea what was going on. They all watched warily as the stranger with a sword pulled something out from behind him. A small vial of clear liquid. He loosed the cork and bathed his blade with it, although nothing seemed to happen.
"On behalf of Archduke Desmond, I thank you fine gentleman for leading me to my quarry!" the swordsman shouted out over the roar of the flames. "I'll see to it that the entire country side is informed of your exploits!"
...Desmond. The young man's blood ran cold at the sound of that name, despite the stifling heat surrounding him. Likewise, the bandits seemed thrown off at its mention. "The fuck you going on about!?"
"You see, this boy here is a traitor to Ostania and the crown," the swordsman motioned behind him. Playing his part, the young man feigned true horror. "I was beginning to think we'd never find him."
"...Is that right?" one of the bandits piped up. He crossed his arms, and his compatriots did the same. "A traitor to the Archduke? Such a fella must be sportin' a hefty bounty for all that trouble, then!"
"Indeed. His head alone is worth a thousand dalc. He's a menace to the public, and one I mean to deal with personally." The swordsman glanced behind him. The young man nodded again, albeit weakly.
"Eh!? So where's our cut, then!?" another of the bandits shouted this time. A chorus of anger soon erupted from the others. "We did all the work in finding 'em! And who're you anyway? Some pissboy with a tiny sword!"
There came a rabble of jeers and pointed remarks all aimed at the swordsman. Insults flew, though none found their mark. The man remained calm through it all, not even a hint of emotion showing through on his expression. The boy on the floor swallowed a lump in his throat at the sight; the bandits were placated for the moment, but he still had no idea how they were going to get out of this. The meadow was still on fire. The swordsman had arms, but no armor, and there was no way he could take all those men on by himself. Their backs were against the wall. They were trapped...
...So why then could he see a tiny smirk start to pull at the man's face?
The boy blinked. He watched in silence as the swordsman brought his arm around in front of him. Meanwhile, the bandits continued to let their hate fester. They slung more words, and their courage started to roil. Some reached for their knives, while others still their bows and arrows. The dogs had found their voice again as well, and were starting to growl despite the flaming tongues that lapped at the air in front of them. Cinders blew in the wind. Night became day. Both parties stood their ground and eyed one another from across the way; seven bandits and a handful of dogs vs...one man.
The swordsman lowered his arm and dipped his blade in the flames.
Immediately, cold steel burned bright crimson. He pulled it out and held it high in the air for his opponents to see; the fire lingered, and lapped at the air higher even than the inferno surrounding them. A sight to behold, and one that promptly silenced whatever fresh insults were being readied. Out from behind, the boy held his breath. He knew something wasn't quite right about all this. He knew the swordsman must have had something up his sleeve, but...watching him stand his ground and carry his own blade like a blazing beacon...even he had to admit it was an awesome sight to behold.
"My name is Loid Forger!" The meadow crackled as if bending to his will. "Unity Knight of Fire, and loyal servant to his highness Archduke Desmond!"
All became silent, save for embers. A long pause came from both the boy and the bandits; meanwhile, the man named Forger stood between them both. The fire on his blade started to move down towards the hilt, but he made no move to avoid it. His hand slowly started to kindle as well, and yet the swordsman offered not even so much as a twitch of discomfort. Truly the elements seemed at his command, and as the seconds ticked by all seven bandits looked to one another in muted uncertainty. They conversed, silently, before turning back to Loid.
The one out in front, the boldest one, sheathed his dagger. A crooked smirk cut across his face. "Aye then...one of the duke's boys."
"A right freak, if you ask me-!" a brash bandit started to shout, but was promptly silenced with a jab in the ribs by one of his compatriots.
"Cut it out, ya fucking ninny..." The warning was repeated in various words by several other bandits. "You want to be immolated? He's a Unity Knight."
"Elementalists, them. I seen one woman who could spout ice at people. Froze a poor bastard right in front of me a few months back. A right demon, that one!"
There was quick counsel amongst the would-be-killers. Despite not seeming the brightest nor sensible bunch in Ostania, it didn't take them long to come to the same conclusion; they were severely outmatched here. Even with numbers on their side, none of them could hold a candle to both the literal and metaphorical torch that a knight of Archduke Desmond held against them. Warily, they stared across the flames at the man named Loid Forger. Fire continued to spread down his arm. Again, he gave no hint of feeling anything. His blue eyes cut through the sea of red, and falling under his gaze was enough to send a chill down up their spines despite the heat. The boy on the floor waited with bated breath for something to give.
Eventually, he got his wish. One of the bandits in the back whistled, and he was promptly answered by muted barks. The dogs followed their master back into the woods, as they too were soon followed by a majority of the bandits. Without so much as another word, most of the group were swallowed by the inky blackness of the woad. Only the bold one out in front remained for a minute longer. He seemed smarter than the others, something the boy noted as he continued to stare at Loid. Something was turning in his head, but he couldn't quite place what.
"Never let it be said Keith and his band did nothing for the crown!" the bandit exclaimed. A weary smile turned his lips. "We may be devils and whoresons...but traitors we are not."
"I'll pass your message along to Lord Desmond," Loid countered. His eyes narrowed. "Assuming he hasn't already sent the knights to exterminate every bandit this side of Eastern Nieselberg."
There came a snort from the bandit. A self-piteous sort of gesture; he knew full well such a fate might await him and his men. Unable to do anything about it though, the bandit named Keith accepted the cards fate had dealt him in stride. He gave a mocking sort of bow to his adversary, and just as soon turned heel to leave both him and the boy by their lonesome. The inferno, as if somehow sensing the bandits' departure, seemed to wane almost instantly. It continued to crack and smolder, but it would go no farther than the meadow. It stopped at the trees.
Once it was just the two of them, the boy fell on his back to the floor. Sweat fell in buckets from the side of his brow; both from the hot air and the entire situation. Everything hit him all at once, and there were a million questions in the back of his throat all fighting to be the first one spoken aloud. What was all this? Who was this person? How were they still alive? And, maybe most importantly...what next? The boy let his head fall to the side, and from his spot watched weakly as Loid made his way towards him. The swordsman immediately dropped his blade and just as quickly pulled off his now-enflamed gauntlet. Metal pinged as it fell to the floor, followed by a thud as Loid collapsed on his backside tiredly next to the boy.
"Well then..." the man sighed as he shook his head. He looked up at the fire around them, then back down at the boy. He shrugged. "...Who's hungry?"
Wood snapped from the heat of a fire, only this time the source came not from a meadow, but a pot.
The young man listened to it intently. It was all he could do at the moment, aside from letting his toes warm by it. A bowl of stew steamed from his outstretched lap, and he stared down at its contents in contemplation. His eyes lingered for a while before looking up to survey the destruction all around him. The meadow was no more, and a few sparks still caught here and there from its remnants. All of these sights and sounds came to him as he let Loid's words sink in slowly. Meanwhile, his savior seemed not-at-all concerned with just how he looked to the boy at the moment. After all, he saved his life; did it really matter about the how or why? Apparently so, as Loid soon found out. Again, not that it very much concerned him at all.
"...So all of that right now," the boy mused aloud, almost incredulously. "Was complete bullshit?"
"Yeah." The response was quick and matter-of-fact. A smirk accompanied it, and the boy twitched. "That's the right of it."
"Unity Knight of Fire, huh?" The words tasted bitter on the boy's tongue. "Tell me, is there even such a Unity Knight in the first place?"
"I certainly hope not," Loid grumbled. He raised a spoonful of stew into his mouth and shrugged. "The last thing I need is another knight to worry about."
The boy paused. He looked to Loid, who at that point was busy focusing on his dinner. His comment made him ponder; why worry about a Unity Knight in the first place? They were the Archduke's lackeys. Powerful knights given domain over the elements by Lord Desmond himself. True they were an unsightly bunch most of the time, but ultimately they protected the country from threats both inside and out. A typical commoner wouldn't concern themselves with their presence, so why then was it a relief to Loid that there may be potentially one less out there in the world?
Brown eyes fell over to the lone, giant rock they sat next to; the only such boulder in the entirety of the meadow. Set up against it was something he hadn't seen previously, seeing as how everything had taken place next to the forest on the other side. The armor whose existence he'd previously mused over was very much there, propped up neatly as if to reveal every tiny detail. The design was unlike any he'd seen in Ostania. Elegant, yet practical. Squared pauldrons lined with the white fur of some unknown beast. A breastplate that seemed equal parts fitted and broad. Long, tight skirt to cover the codpiece. And the helmet...it most certainly wasn't Ostanian. Elongated protrusions on the side like the horned feathers of an owl. A long, vertical slit visor...
"That armor..." the boy murmured aloud, mesmerized at the sight of it. Loid looked up. "...It's from Westalis, isn't it?"
There was a moment of silence. Loid seemed to consider for a moment before answering. "That's right."
A shuddered breath came from the boy. He hesitated before continuing, "...A paladin's armor?"
"Blessed by Lady Sylvia herself," Loid nodded. He left it at that and continued eating.
The boy's heart stopped. His blood ran cold as he looked back at the armor and examined it more closely. The area they made camp in had not been spared by the flames; the two of them sat in burnt grass and weeds, and yet the armor, which had been here the whole time, sat on a bed of green grass completely untouched by fire. Such was the work of strong magic. Impossible.
Unity Knights pledged their allegiance to the Archduke and, by extension, Ostania.
Paladins, however, were soldiers of the country's mortal enemy; Lady Sylvia of Westalis.
This man made no attempt to hide it, either. He was a foreign invader, and a very dangerous one at that. Paladins were just as strong as Unity Knights, something evidently clear as he took a fistful of fire without even so much as batting an eye. The boy looked over at Loid's arm and found it just as charred as when he'd taken off his gauntlet earlier; it held the bowl in his lap while he ate with his other hand, and he gave no indication of it causing him pain despite it being very clear to the boy that that was most likely the case.
Suddenly, Loid's eyes shot up. He could feel the boy's stare, and immediately the latter froze. Something seemed to click in Loid's head, and at the same time he set his dinner aside and picked himself off the floor. He started to walk briskly over, and at that point the boy started to scramble backwards. Shit. Shit! Shit! Loid was a paladim, and now that he knew his secret he was going to dispatch him!
The boy audibly flinched as Loid suddenly dropped to his knee beside him. "Ah, I forgot about your leg. I'm sorry."
Loid held his charred hand above the boy's injured leg. The latter watched, stunned, as a soft glow of white light started to emanate from the paladin's outstretched palm. Immediately, the lingering twinge of stinging nerves were soothed. The boy watched in awe as, at the same time, the burnt flesh on Loid's hand started to quickly mend. Open sores closed, and black became pink again. In almost no time at all, both men had their injuries healed. When it was done, Loid looked to his patient and offered him a mild smile.
"Better?" he asked.
The boy nodded. "...Who are you?"
"Just a passing hunter," the man replied simply before rising.
Loid returned to his bowl, leaving the boy there to ponder everything to himself. Nothing about any of this was adding up. An enemy of the state, of the crown, had just healed him using magic. A paladin . Someone who could have easily dispatched those bandits if he so chose, and yet...he hadn't. Instead, upon seeing the boy in trouble, he set the meadow ablaze with the embers of his campfire. He doused his sword in the strongest liquor Westalis had to offer (Loid's own words), and bluffed his way out of the situation without spilling a drop of blood in the process. He saved him; him, a lowly thief who openly admitted to stealing from bandits. Despite the choice words Loid had for him regarding his life choices, the man held no contempt for the boy. Again, adding another layer of confusion to the situation.
The boy deflated. He had nothing else to say other than to ask again. "Please, tell me who you really are."
"Loid Forger." Annoyance twinged the man's words this time. He looked up to find the boy looking pleadingly at him. Loid hesitated for a moment, then he muttered, "...otherwise known as Twilight."
"...Twilight," the boy repeated incredulously. His eyes grew bigger than they'd ever had before, and he stared in awe at his savior. "The legendary paladin? Hero of Westalis? Ender of the war...?"
"All fine accolades a decade ago, but nowadays I'm just a simple hunter," Loid faintly growled. He glanced at his previously burned hand and frowned. "Or at least I was until recently."
The boy stared, mouth agape, as a living legend sat across from him lost in thought. A shudder ran up his spine just looking upon him; Twilight of Wise, paladin to the god of order. Growing up in his...previous home, the young man had heard all the tales. The war had started just a year after his birth and had ended by the time he'd turned the tender age of six. Even now with him being sixteen and at the threshold of adulthood however, he couldn't help but to feel like a little kid again. Suddenly all the stories he'd heard growing up came rushing back to him. He may have been Ostania's sworn enemy, but even the common folk respected the man immensely.
Twilight, the greatest knight in neighboring Westalis.
Twilight, Lady Sylvia's personal attendant and leader of her army.
Twilight, who single-handedly brought down the Iron Curtain from the heavens.
With a grandiose plea to his god, the man achieved what was considered to be impossible at the time; end the four-year war between Westalis and Ostania. A mountain of iron fell from the sky and separated the two nations almost instantly. The final battle of the war ended with nary a casualty, though it came at the cost of a forever separated continent...or at least that's what most people assumed. Clearly that must not have been the case; how else could Twilight's presence be explained, then? When the curtain fell, he was on the Westalis side. How did he come to be in Ostania?
What changed? He asked the question aloud, and flinched when Twilight's head snapped up. The boy gulped before rephrasing his question. "Why are you here?"
Loid stroked his chin. He pondered for a moment before relenting. "I'm looking for my wife and daughter. It's a bit of a long story, actually."
"Your family? " the boy became exasperated. Loid tilted his head. "I thought paladins never married? That you serve Lady Sylvia in mind, body, and soul?"
Twilight chuckled lightly and shrugged. "All the more reason why such accolades no longer apply to me. I haven't been a paladin since the end of the war. I'm retired."
"I see..." the boy squirmed slightly. "...So what makes you think your wife and daughter are in Ostania? The curtain is impenetrable and...well, actually, how did you get here, anyway?"
"I placed the curtain, I can traverse it whenever I wish," Loid revealed. "My wife and daughter can't, though that hardly matters since they never lived in Westalis to begin with. They're both Ostanian."
"Wait, but that would mean...?" the boy's mind boggled as a knowing smile spread across the legendary paladin's face. "...You've been living in Ostania this whole time!?"
"The lengths we go to for the ones we love," Loid mused. A distant fondness filled his eyes. "Never thought I'd say those words aloud when I was your age, but...maybe someday you will, too."
Immediately, a somberness swept over the boy. His eyes grew wide at the implication; not because he disagreed with Loid, but rather the exact opposite. The shock over everything that had happened that night parted for a moment, and he could suddenly focus on something he'd forgotten in all the chaos. A face he hadn't seen in weeks. Emerald green, the color of which he'd gotten lost in almost immediately. A distant memory, yet one that he clung to desperately. The sole reason he'd done something so reckless as to steal from bandits in the first place.
Scrounge up money. Buy supplies. Ready for a long journey, and find her. The girl behind the emerald green eyes.
The only person he ever truly felt safe with, and whom he had failed to protect despite giving it his all.
His throat grew tight at the thought. He turned his head away to hide the obvious red that started to burn his eyes, and Twilight took notice. He said nothing though, and instead fiddled with the gauntlet he'd previously removed. Despite the fire, there was not a scratch on it. He inspected it before sliding it back on and flexing his fingers; still as good as the day it was blessed by Lady Sylvia.
"Why are you telling me all of this?" the boy choked a bit. He cleared his throat, trying his best not to sound whiny and weak.
Loid looked up and smirked. He shrugged. "It's not like the authorities would believe you if you snitched. You're a thief, and besides they'd think you'd lost your mind."
"Fair point," the boy grumbled. Truly his situation was bleak, though Twilight at least got some amusement out of it. The man pointed to him.
"Now, what's your story?" he inquired. "You seem too smart to be stealing from bandits, and you don't sound like a common thug. Why are you out here?"
"I'm looking for someone, myself..." The boy paused. Brown eyes met cool blue, and he eased enough to continue. "...A girl with emerald eyes, pink hair, and a smile that can light up all of Berlint."
A change. Almost immediately, cool blue turned frigid. The boy blinked; he noticed Loid's gaze turn the instant it happened. He had no idea what he'd just said that caused such a reaction, but knew right away that it didn't bode well for him. Loid, Twilight, visibly gaped. His whole body went limp, and yet there was a noticeable twitch in the man's fingers. He was bursting at the seams.
"...Tell me your name, boy." This wasn't a request; it was a calm command. "Now."
And just like that, things seemed to click in the young man's head. He didn't know the specifics, not truly, but understood that his answer had struck a nerve with Twilight. There was only one thing that could have elicited such a reaction, and he had a pretty good idea as to what. Still, that didn't make his request any easier to honor. His name...true, Twilight had shared his, but...
The boy sucked in air at Loid's icy stare. He'd hoped it wouldn't have to come to this, but ultimately knew there was no choice. "My name is Damian Desmond."
"...The Archduke's son?" Twilight's eyes widened. He stared, slack jawed, as the boy he saved hardened his resolve. There was no turning back now.
He knew what might happen upon revealing his identity, and to his credit things proceeded about as he'd envisioned. Before Damian knew it, there was a blade to his throat. He flinched, of course, but didn't devolve into a blubbering mess like most others would have done in his situation. He tilted his head up to avoid steel as it teased the knot of his throat and held his breath, lest any tiny thing set off a visibly disturbed Twilight. The pleasant smile Damian had come to expect from Loid was no longer there; only an empty stare of emotionless fury. He loomed over the boy.
"You just described my daughter," Twilight shook with restraint. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't cut you down right here and now!"
...One reason?
For the life of him, Damian couldn't think of a single thing. Morbidly, in his mind's eye, he smiled to himself; there wasn't a single reason for a wretch like him to continue living...save of course for the girl who'd entered his life in an instant and disappeared just as quickly. From the moment he was cast out of his father's life, Damian could rely only on himself. Thieving and larceny were how he survived for years. Taking things from others came second nature to him, likely since it wasn't too far off what dear old dad did to his subjects on a daily basis. Thieves and nobles were two sides of the same coin, after all.
A meager existence. An empty one. That is, until he met Anya. She put him in his place. Exactly how still remained a mystery to him (he wasn't at all sure how she caught him so easily in the act of stealing someone's coin), but that was just one of the things he planned to ask her when he next saw her. It was that thought that made things click for Damian; he still had to see her again. He had to ask her how she did the things she did. How she could effortlessly read his mind as if he were an open book. How she could make him forget all about the Archduke and how he'd treated him. How she could somehow make herself the one thing that kept him hanging on through the darkest of times. That was his reason for not dying. Anya was still out here, somewhere, and he had to help her father find her.
"...Because I want to be your squire!" Damian shouted with all his conviction. His eyes twisted at Twilight. "I want to become stronger so I can protect Anya!"
The burnt meadow fell still. At the same time, the blade that floated dangerously close to Damian's throat jerked back slightly. He continued to stare intensely at Loid, and for once he spied a glint of uncertainty in the man's normally solid eyes. Damian waited. Loid remained silent. Then, after a few more moments of silence, the latter retracted his sword. Not entirely, but enough to where Damian could finally lower his head. Cold steel still teased his vision, though Damian paid it no mind. He just kept staring at his new would-be master. Twilight's face twisted at the sight.
"Of all the...!" Loid clutched his face with his free hand and growled heavily. His wasn't the reaction of a paladin, but rather an exasperated father. "Anya, just what the hell have you been up to!? The Archduke's son!?"
Damien blinked. He remained silent and simply let the man work through his frustrations. Loid shook his head and heaved. "You're too old to be a squire! Besides I don't need one, anyway!"
"Then your apprentice?" Damian shot back immediately. Loid narrowed his eyes, but Damiam kept going. "Cook! Attendant! I'll carry your things all up and down Ostania! Just please let me come with you-!"
"-I don't need any of those things!" Loid barked, immediately silencing the boy. "Having another person will only slow me down, and I'll look suspicious hanging around you!"
"More suspicious than walking around in paladin armor!?" Damian countered. Loid flinched; admittedly a fair point. "I'd lay my head on the sword for your daughter! She's the only one who ever gave a damn about me!"
Again Loid's face twisted, though this time it came at the sight of Damian's expression. He looked into the eyes of a boy who reminded him very much of someone he knew a very long time ago, someone with exactly one thing left to lose and the conviction to protect said thing with everything they had. It was like looking at his younger self, and Loid was unnerved by just how much it got to him. Desperation painted the backdrop of Damian's stare, but it was his determination that ultimately made Loid rub his face tiredly. This was beyond stupid, but...maybe...
"...Please, sir..." Damian's voice came through at the worst possible time. Loid closed his eyes in an effort to tune him out, but to no avail. "...I love her."
Immediately Loid threw his head back and made a sound that Damian had never quite heard before. It was a really weird mix of pain, anger, exasperation, pity, tiredness, and about thirty other emotions all rolled into one. Twilight of Wise, legendary paladin of Westalis, was laid bare for Damian to see. At the moment, he bore no title other than Anya's father. There was a clear message in his eyes when he finally looked Damian square in his, and the boy didn't need psychic powers to read what he was saying; don't say another goddamn word.
"From henceforth, you, Damian Desmond, son of Archduke Donovan Desmond, will be my squire..." Loid ground out, as if the words physically caused him pain.
Damian's jaw dropped. He went to say something, but immediately shut up; right, not another word. "...I am your master, and you are my shadow..."
"...With my sword I fell the darkness, and with my shield I provide bastion from the harshest storm. Follow me. Witness me, and take heart..."
"...By the grace of Lady Sylvia, your mind, body, and soul now belong to her. Your duty is to Westalis, until your chosen god takes you..."
Finally, Loid eased up a bit. He exhaled. "...In the name of my god, Wise, let the eye of the owl forever guide and protect you."
Damian shuddered as Loid suddenly brandished his sword. He held it straight out in front of him, not unlike how he'd done so in the fire previously. Despite minutes ago being afraid of the weapon, Damian now eyed the blade with pride. Eyes forward, he felt sharp steel lay gently on his shoulder. Then, Loid did the same to his other side. Once that was done, the man withdrew his sword and stared down at his newly ordained squire. Until the day he became a full paladin and chose a god to follow, Wise would be his patron deity; a one-eyed, all seeing owl of order.
"You are to address me as Ser, or Ser Forger," Loid informed him tiredly. "Under no circumstance are you to refer to me as Twilight. Understood?"
"Yes, ser!" Damian nodded stiffly. He looked up at his new master with a newly lit fire in his eyes, one that did not go unnoticed by Loid.
Despite everything leading up to that point and all the reservations he had about this whole arrangement, Loid nevertheless let a tiny smirk creak across his lips. Damian noticed right away, but knew better than to say anything. His expression remained resolved. His chest swelled with a strength that hadn't been there previously, and all he could think about was the promise he'd made to himself to see Anya again. He'd done a lot of things in the name of living up to that promise, but this was the first time he could honestly say he was proud of the choice he'd made.
To be squire to the legendary Twilight...and Anya's own father, no less...
...Wait a minute. It suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks; Twilight was Anya's father . Damian's eyes became huge. That information was old at this point, but the weight of it was finally starting to sink in. The strongest paladin in the entire world...and he had a crush on his daughter!? What if he said the wrong thing!? What if he embarrassed himself in front of him and he ended up telling Anya not to bother with him!? Or even worse ...what if Anya felt the same way about him? Would daddy Twilight be okay with that, or would he end up being on the market for a new squire...!?
"Now that that's all settled," Loid's voice interrupted Damian's thoughts. The boy shook himself out of it. "I think it's time for bed."
"W-what?" Damian blinked. He looked into the sky and found the moon's position; it couldn't have been later than eight o'clock. "Now?"
Loid nodded. "I've got a lot of questions for you, but honestly that can wait until morning. It's best we save our strength for tomorrow."
"But I'm not even tired!" Damian argued back. Even taking into account all the craziness of that night, he was still running strong on adrenaline.
"Let this be your first lesson, Damian," Loid replied simply. "On the battlefield, sleep is a rare opportunity. Never pass on the chance to rest your eyes."
Immediately, Damian hushed. He nodded when Twilight looked his way, and the two set about getting ready for bed. The pot on the fire was taken and its contents discarded far away from camp so as to not attract any scavengers. The fire remained lit; as Loid explained, now that there were two of them they could take turns keeping watch for added security. It also worked out since there was only one bed roll between the two of them and taking turns seemed the most logical conclusion, at least to Twilight (Damian just assumed he'd be relegated to the cold floor regardless).
"I'll take first watch," paladin informed squire. "That way if I hear you dreaming about my daughter I can poke you with my sword."
"...Noted," Damian replied flatly. Loid smirked smugly back, and Damian got the feeling he was only partly joking.
Against his better judgement, Damian climbed into bed. He rolled over to face away from Loid and the fire, and the moment he rested his head against the makeshift hay pillow he immediately became exhausted. It seemed his body needed time to catch up just like his mind did. His leg, though healed, suddenly throbbed like no tomorrow. It ached, and he imagined it was because Loid's magic only mended the injury; not necessarily the trauma. It would likely hurt even more tomorrow, though he did not dwell on it. Thoughts in general seemed to escape him at the moment. All he wanted to do now was close his eyes and rest. He blinked slowly. Once. Twice. Three times, and...they stayed closed. Just like that. A dead stop at the end of a marathon evening, likely as Loid had envisioned.
The man watched his new squire intently. Once his breathing became even, Loid let himself ease as well.
He didn't trust the boy, not entirely. He was quite familiar with the old adage keep your friends close and your enemies closer , however even he didn't think there was much to worry about. True, the boy was Desmond's son, but from what he could gather just now they didn't seem on amicable terms. What's more, if Damian did have something to do with his wife and daughter's absence, there wouldn't really be a need for him to go looking for the latter. Loid was cautious, but only appropriately so. He wasn't paranoid at the boy's presence, mostly because he'd just cut him down if he tried anything.
With a tired sigh, Loid rested his back against the boulder and looked up at the stars above him. They swirled in a vast sea, and he tried to pick out the ones that reminded him of his family. A big, bright twinkling one; that was Anya. Farther to the left was a small, soft glowing one; that was his wife, Yor. And somewhere up there he imagined himself, although for the life of him he couldn't pick out a start that suited him. If there was a dull, minuscule star that reflected how he felt at the moment, then that one was probably him. Just a tiny speck in a sea of much more important faces.
"Wise, I know you've only got one eye. I'm not asking you to find them for me..." he muttered softly. "...Just please point me in the right direction."
Loid closed his eyes and listened to the gentle snaps of smoldering fire. Then, before he knew it, he was asleep.