Chapter Text
When tragedy struck the Nightmare Orioles, Illuga survived, but not without paying a price.
He remembers waking up in the infirmary at Piramida, the echoes of his comrades' screams still fresh in his mind. Strangely, his body didn't ache the way he expected, it was only when he tried to get up that he realized something was wrong with his legs.
He had broken a leg before; he knew what it felt like. Even if he had hit the jackpot in the lottery of misfortune and broken both at once, he still would feel something. Now, there was nothing.
His trembling hands reached out toward his lower limbs. He could see the contact, but he couldn't feel it. His fingers sank into the infirmary blanket, and yet, there was no sensation. Shock and horror washed over him.
The scream Illuga let out that day was heard across almost all Piramida.
A punishment, he kept telling himself. A divine punishment for refusing to accept the Death. He should have embraced the Death seven years ago and died alongside his family. Now, the Death had come for him again, and — like the coward he was — he tried to run. Death made sure he would never be able to do that again.
His life became reduced to lying on a soft mattress surrounded by pillows, whether at the hospital or in his own home. Nikita would carry him to the sofa in the living room or out onto the balcony to get some sun, but the bed remained his primary — prison — resting place. He preferred it over burdening his father any further.
Nikita had practically moved into Illuga’s house after the incident, refusing to leave his son helpless at a time like that.
The living room became his new office, where he shared some of the workload with his son, knowing the boy would somehow blame himself for the situation. Illuga was good at what he did, and perhaps a mix of boredom and guilt was making him more productive than usual, constantly asking the Starshyna for more and more work.
A little over a month had passed when Nikita informed him that he would need to be away for a while, a rare occurrence that worried Illuga. His father hadn't even gone out for the recent victory banquet, and the last time he needed to step out was to buy supplies. They didn't need supplies.
Those few hours dragged on longer than they should have. Finally, the sound of the front door opening lifted Illuga’s spirits amidst his pillows. When Nikita entered the room, he was pushing a strange-looking chair.
“I explained your situation to Miss Aino and she designed this for you. It will let you leave the house again and return to work. In the logistics company, if you wish.”
Nikita carefully placed his son in the wheelchair, securing his waist with a seatbelt and his legs with side straps. He taught him how to adjust them so it wouldn't be too tight and cut off the blood circulation. “Just because you don’t feel pain doesn’t mean your body won’t react”, were his words.
They went out to the balcony, where Illuga began practicing how to maneuver the chair. It felt a bit awkward at first, requiring more strength than he’d anticipated, but within just a few days, he was able to move around Piramida once more.
Nikita ensured ramps were installed in key areas and near the elevators, allowing Illuga to access all important locations without major issues, striving to restore as much autonomy to his son as possible.
Unfortunately, he couldn't control the reactions of his subordinates. Illuga had to learn to ignore the pitying stares, the whispers, and the way people treated him as if he were fragile or incompetent. It was harder than it seemed, and it drove him to hole up in his department’s area, returning home — when he did return — only when he knew the streets would be deserted.
It was on one of those nights, while reviewing supply routes, that he noticed something odd. An old outpost, still operational near Paha Island, had only a single ratnik permanently stationed there. A one-man squad practically abandoned by his own comrades, as months had passed since a supply route had been directed to that region.
Illuga unfolded a massive map over the desk, cross-referenced the outpost’s coordinates: The Final Night Cemetery. A heavy knot formed in his throat, wondering what would make someone choose to stay permanently stationed in a cemetery, but that was a thought for another time.
He spent the night gathering as many supplies as he could fit into his backpack and in the compartment of his wheelchair. He left before the first rays of morning light, hoping to avoid unwanted attention or someone shouting after Nikita that his wheelchair-bound son was doing something dangerous or reckless. Which he probably was.
The Geo Vision he had received when his determination returned — a flickering flame that suddenly found fresh fuel to burn — proved to be utterly essential for him and his wheelchair.
Although Piramida had been adapted for him, the dirt roads outside the fortress could not receive the same treatment. Illuga coordinated his elemental energy with Aedon, allowing the bird to create small paths for him to advance across the uneven terrain.
Luck seemed to be on his side when no one at the small harbor stopped him from taking a motorboat. In fact, they even helped him load his wheelchair and the items he was carrying onto the vessel.
The stares were still there, of course they were. Pity for the poor young ratnik who had lost the ability to walk and seen his life ruined. The hesitant touch when helping him, as if holding too tightly might worsen his condition. Perhaps even disgust, for no one seemed to hide the glances and whispers exchanged before that help was offered.
He tried not to to think about it, focusing solely on the mission. If his calculations were correct, he would arrive in the early hours of the morning.
The massive lighthouse of the cemetery could be seen from a distance, growing increasingly imposing as he drew closer. The sky suddenly darkened, though there was no sign of rain. It was as if the sun felt it shouldn't shine upon that place of mourning and melancholy. The temperature dropped as well, forcing him to pull his coat tight against his chest and check if his boots were securely tied.
Anchoring the boat was the worst part. There was nothing resembling a dock, forcing him to run it onto a sandbank, hoping he could get it free later. With any luck, the island’s ratnik might lend a hand.
Aedon created the first platform for him to unload his wheelchair from the boat. It was a slow task that required more effort than anticipated, especially settling into the seat without falling into the beach sand. He trusted Aedon and his aerial view to forget a path across the island’s terrain, weaving around gravestones that rose up like bizarre garden ornaments.
The deck outside the lighthouse proved the most difficult stretch. There were too many obstacles to simply maneuver around, and if not for his companion's scolding, Illuga would have given up and dragged himself to the door to complete the delivery. He felt strange to be out of breath — a sensation he hadn't experienced since losing the use of his legs — brought on by the extra exertion.
Three firm knocks rapped against the metal door. Only then did it cross his mind that he might be waking someone up. In the worst-case scenario, there would be no one home, and he would be deeply annoyed with himself.
There was no sign of anyone inside, yet the door opened before he could decide to knock again.
The hinges creaked, as if the door hadn't been opened in a long time, and a tall figure emerged from the lighthouse's darkness, standing with impeccable posture. Remarkably, he blinked upon seeing no one, immediately lowering his gaze as if searching for something.
"Good morning. I am a Lightkeeper from the logistics company. I’m here to deliver some supplies." Illuga’s voice was steady, despite betraying a bit of weariness from the journey.
The man stared at him in surprise for a few more seconds before blinking once and regaining his composure. He placed a hand over his chest and gave a brief bow, causing a few strands of his long hair to fall over his shoulder.
“I am honored by such dedication from a fellow comrade. I am Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins, the ratnik stationed at this lighthouse. But you may call me Flins; it is a pleasure to meet you.”
The man’s voice was soft and almost melodious, imbued with a level of politeness Illuga had never heard before, even from travelers of other nations.
“You may call me Illuga, sir, and it is a pleasure to meet you as well.”
Flins recognized that name. He had heard it countless times over the past decade, in moments of both joy and sorrow. Now, looking more closely at the visitor, he felt like a fool for not recognizing his old friend’s son.
“I confess I did not expect the Starshyna’s own son at my doorstep performing a simple task like this. Truly, it is a great honor.” Another bow followed, this time bending a little lower.
“There is no need for such flattery. I’m merely doing my job and ensuring that all members in the field have the necessary supplies.” He slipped the backpack straps off his shoulders, lifted the pack from his lap, and handed it to the man. “There’s enough here to last you comfortably through the week, but I promise to return with more.”
“That is more than I could ever ask for.” Flins smiled as he held the backpack from below, almost cradling it with one hand. “Might I offer you a glass of water or two? I imagine the journey from Piramida to my humble lighthouse was not an easy one.”
Illuga’s gaze lowered, taking in the small doorway behind Flins’s tall figure.
“I appreciate the offer, sir, but I don’t believe my chair would fit through your door.”
This was something that had caught the fae’s attention from the very first moment. He recalled seeing the boy walking through the corridors of Piramida a few times — the last time being just over a year ago, when he was nearly asleep outside Nikita's office, waiting for the man to come out so he could approach him — on none of those occasions this strange chair was present.
“There’s a table on the deck we can use,” Flins gestured briefly with his free hand, “please, make yourself comfortable while I fetch some water.”
Illuga gave a slight nod, maneuvering the chair and turning away. Flins watched him a moment longer than he should have before stepping into the lighthouse with the supplies and returning with a pitcher of water and two glasses. He served the drinks with a touch of grace and handed both to the young man.
Sitting at the head of the table, Illuga felt a slight urge to laugh at the fact that Flins had taken the "one or two glasses" so literally but remained in silence He drank the liquid of the first glass eagerly, not realizing until then how much he needed it. The second was emptied at a calmer pace. The glass clinked with a faint echo against the metal of the table.
“You’re staring, Sir Flins.” He commented, not looking directly at the man but sensing the strange presence of those golden eyes upon him.
“I beg your pardon, I did not mean to be so rude.”
Taking a deep breath, Illuga turned his attention to the man, bracing himself for the look of pity everyone usually directed at him… But that wasn't what he found. If he had to put it into words, he would say Flins looked like a child enchanted by seeing something for the very first time.
He couldn't blame him for it. A chair like that was a novelty, even in Piramida. Aino herself had said she never dreamed of designing anything like it, giving all credit for the design to Ineffa. Perhaps something similar existed in other nations, but to a reclusive man like Flins, undoubtedly seemed out of this world.
“You can ask. I don't mind.” Illuga said with a slight shake of his head, already having a list of his standard answers ready on the tip of his tongue.
Flins stared at him as if caught doing something wrong, though his expression softened a second later. He seemed to hide part of his face in the high collar of his outfit before speaking.
“Once again, I apologize for my improper behavior. I believe I have never seen such a device in my long life, and I found myself a bit too intrigued. Is there a particular reason for you to use it?”
He didn't know? Of course he didn't, Illuga thought, furrowing his brows. Although telling the whole story was out of the question, something about the way the man acted prompted him to share a slightly longer version than he usually would.
“I lost the ability to walk after a Wild Hunt attack at Cliffwatch Camp. The Starshyna had this chair designed so I could continue serving as a Lightkeeper.”
“I see...” Flins murmured, seemingly talking more to himself than to his guest.
The massacre a few months ago was one of the most devastating ever faced in the history of the Lightkeepers, perhaps even surpassing the tragedy at the cemetery decades prior. Not in sheer numbers, but in brutality.
His gaze returned to the chair and the large wheels on its sides, which lacked any sort of traction mechanism. Then, he tilted his head up slightly, scanning the expanse of the cemetery as if looking for something. Even though he tried to be discreet, Illuga noticed and let out a faint laugh.
“I use my Vision and Aedon’s help to get through places like this.” He admitted with a touch of pride, lifting the lantern toward where his companion rested.
Flins looked at him once more. He had known people who had lost limbs in combat — his own sergeant-major was one of them — but this was the first time in all his years that he saw someone in Illuga’s condition. And though the sadness in the boy's voice was clear when speaking of his state, he didn't seem ready to give up.
The path to the lighthouse was proof enough of that. Flins had witnessed many comrades and adventurers alike struggling to stay upright on the main path’s steep, uneven terrain.
He thought humans could no longer surprise him, yet here was Illuga — a boy who had barely stepped into adulthood — proving there was still so much to witness in this world.
“It’s getting a bit late. I should probably get going.” Illuga remarked, feeling his stomach begin to growl with hunger.
“Allow me.” Flins was already on his feet before he even finished the sentence, causing Illuga to look at him in confusion. He cleared his throat lightly before continuing. “Allow me to accompany you on the way back.”
Illuga thought about protesting but then remembered the state of his boat. He agreed, noting that he would likely need the man's help to free the vessel from the sand. Flins chuckled softly, amused by the flush rising on Illuga’s cheeks. He also offered to push the wheelchair, an offer Illuga vehemently refused. They set off together as Geo platforms formed beneath their feet.
The fae marveled at how Illuga managed to return to the boat on his own, despite the visible strain on his arms, and helped him load the wheelchair aboard. Freeing the boat from the sand was easy enough for him, though a human might have found it far more difficult. He didn't mind soaking his boots or the hem of his coat to ensure nothing was caught in the vessel's propeller.
Illuga reiterated his promise to return the following week with more supplies, and Flins assured him he would be waiting, bidding farewell with another bow.
When they parted ways, Flins hadn't expected to see the young Lightkeeper again, much less hear him knocking on his door the very next week.
Humans break promises, he had grown accustomed to that fact, and offering water in exchange for supplies felt like a fair trade to him. That’s why, upon seeing Illuga outside the lighthouse with two stacked boxes in his lap, he felt just as surprised as the first time.
“Young Master, what a pleasant surprise.”
Illuga’s eyebrows arched at the strange title, but he chose not to comment on it.
Flins offered to take the boxes, lifting the larger one by its sides. They were heavier than he had initially anticipated, not truly problematic for him, but the weight sparked a thought in his mind.
“I hope you did not injure yourself carrying the weight of these boxes. I would be quite distressed if I were the reason you woke up sore tomorrow.”
There was something about Flins that made Illuga want to open up a little more than usual. Perhaps it was that gaze completely free of pity, or his calm, gentle tone.
“Don't worry, I don't feel anything here.” He gave his lap a light pat, it felt no different than touching someone else's leg.
And there was that curious look again.
Despite his eyes giving him away frequently, Flins managed to mask his curiosity behind an exceptionally respectful demeanor. He never asked too much and always paid close attention to Illuga’s reactions when he answered.
The boy was equally curious about the solitary ratnik, even though the man’s vague answers annoyed him most of the time. He wanted to know more, to understand him — likely in the same way Flins wanted to understand him.
It was this mutual curiosity that led to Flins being spotted more frequently in Piramida, usually crossing paths with Illuga to exchange a few words, as if by sheer accident.
Visits to the cemetery became a regular occurrence. Although the excuse of merely delivering supplies — which Flins didn't need, though Illuga didn't know — was maintained every two weeks, the boy's true intentions were clear.
It became natural for one to orbit the other.
It was the third month of regular visits when the weather turned sharply cold, making it impossible to stay outside comfortably. Flins was aware of the wheelchair's size, but carrying Illuga was no difficult task. In fact, he lifted him with incredible ease, causing the younger man’s face to flush red as he buried his face in Flins' chest.
Since the attack, Flins was the first person to carry him aside from his father. The feeling of fragility returned, along with the shame over his current state. Before he could fall into a spiral of negative thoughts, the man's voice anchored him back to reality.
“Would you like to sit somewhere specific?”
Uncovering his face from Flins' chest, Illuga looked around and was shocked by what he saw — or what he didn’t see. The lighthouse interior was... Decrepit. At best. Aside from a fireplace in the far corner, a sink with a simple counter, a wooden table as old as its owner, and some low stools, there was nothing in the room.
Illuga stared at him with raised eyebrows, asking a silent question, but Flins marely stared back, awaiting the answer to his own question. Returning his gaze back to the room’s interior — and trying to ignore the fact that it didn't look like anyone actually lived there — he lowered his voice.
“I need back support to stay seated.” His face flushed deeper, unable to meet the gaze of the man carrying him.
That sentence made something click in Flins’s mind as he observed his own home, realizing something essential had slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. It was almost obvious.
“I’m afraid the only place I have to offer is the bed, Young Master.” There was a touch of embarrassment in his voice.
Illuga made no comment, recognizing the way Flins seemed to shrink into the high collar of his coat whenever he committed what the ratnik called a “social misstep”. He allowed himself to be carried into the small room, separated by a thin wooden wall that clearly wasn't part of the lighthouse's original design. His body was carefully laid onto the thin mattress, his hands bracing against the sides to maintain his balance.
“Do you need assistance taking off your boots?” Flins was still hovering over him, though not intrusively.
“I’d prefer to keep them on, if it’s no problem...” Illuga looked away, feeling his face grow even warmer at the proximity.
“Certainly,” he nodded slightly. “If you don't mind my asking, is there a reason for that?”
A faint laugh escaped Illuga’s lips. Still unable to look at Flins, he shook his head slightly during his reply.
“It’s kinda ironic, I can’t feel my legs, yet they’re the most sensitive part of my body. I might not feel the cold, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect me.”
Flins’s gaze shifted from Illuga’s face down his torso, noticing how his hands seemed to lift his upper body off the mattress, before trailing down to his legs. He had initially assumed Illuga wearing his pants tucked into his boots was a mere stylistic choice, but now, something told him otherwise.
“Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable, Young Master?” He looked back at him.
There was no headboard on the bed. The single pillow looked pristine, as if it had never been used, and the thin sheet was likely nothing more than a large cloth spread over the mattress.
“Do you have a blanket?”
Flins nodded softly, stepping over to a small chest of drawers and pulling a blanket from one of them. It wasn't particularly thick, but the interior of the lighthouse stayed quite warm.
Flins watched with focused fascination as Illuga unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around his legs. When the younger’s breathing seemed to falter from the exertion, Flins supported him from behind, providing the stability the headboard would have offered.
“Thank you.” The boy said with a faint smile touching his lips as he finished.
“I am here for whatever you need.” Flins placed a hand over his chest and closed his eyes solemnly. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“You owe me the ending of a story, Sir.”
“Indeed, I do.” He agreed slightly, remaining silent for a few moments. “How about some tea to accompany the story?” Illuga agreed with a nod and a smile. “Please, try not to strain yourself too much. I shall return shortly.”
It took Flins only a few minutes to prepare the tea, using his flames to speed up the process. He handed a mug to Illuga and sat on the bed behind him to serve as a backrest — ignoring the boy’s protests — and resumed the story where they had left off.
Even though the lighthouse interior was warm, it was noticeable when the temperature dipped a bit further. Illuga began to shift restlessly on the bed and Flins paused his storytelling at the third time the boy moved to adjust the blanket over his legs.
“Is something wrong, Young Master?”
The answer didn’t come immediately and Flins waited patiently. He had realized early on during his first visits how much Illuga disliked being a burden, almost as if he expected to be thrown out of the cemetery at any moment.
“C-Could you...” The words caught in Illuga’s throat, his face turning red again. “Could you... Check my legs? I can’t tell if they’re cold.”
“Of course, Young Master.” Flins stood up carefully, ensuring Illuga wouldn’t lose his balance, and sat at the foot of the bed, unraveling the blanket. “Is there anything specific that I should do, or simply ensure they are warm?”
Another answer that took a while to come. Illuga replied only after Flins unbuckled one of his boots and slipped it off in a fluid motion, revealing a foot covered in two pairs of socks and the hem of his trousers rolled around the ankle. He laid back onto the mattress to avoid looking at Flins.
“Could you... Could you also move my feet a little? Like... Like a warm-up exercise?”
Flins agreed, lifting Illuga’s foot slightly. The way the boy’s body yielded beneath his fingers was almost unsettling. A sensation Flins had only ever encountered on the battlefield when a comrade had a broken limb, yet Illuga didn't cry out in pain as the fae rotated his ankle or flexed his foot up and down.
His curiosity got the better of him for a brief moment, pinching a sensitive spot between his index finger and thumb, receiving not even a hiss of discomfort. His fingers wandered inside the pants leg, moving a little way up the calf.
“You truly feel nothing?” The words came out carefully, slow and hushed. It might have been wrong to call it admiration, but Flins couldn't help himself.
“Does it bother you?” Illuga risked a glance at him.
“Not at all,” he denied gently, “it only makes me even more captivated by your willpower and determination.”
“Is that really something to say right now...” Illuga covered his face with one hand, feeling a blush spread across his cheeks.
With his fingertips concealed by the fabric, Flins released his blue flames, adjusting his hold to ensure Illuga wouldn't see them traveling up his leg like a second skin, guaranteeing he would stay warm throughout the night. He adjusted the pants back inside the boot, taking care not to fasten the buckles too tightly, and repeated the process on the other leg. In the end, he wrapped the blanket around his legs, creating a sort of cocoon.
“The flame from my lantern might help keep the room warmer.” He unhooked the object from his waist and set it on an improvised nightstand. “Let me know if it becomes too hot.”
“Thank you, Sir Flins.” He tried to roll onto his side to hug the pillow, unable to hide the smile.
“What kind of host would I be if I let my precious guest remain uncomfortable in my own home?” He chuckled softly.