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In the monotony and loneliness of Caedus’ life, he treasured the meetings he had with his friends. He was hiding now, differently than before and certainly with more help from allies and friends, but things felt heavier now.

Before, he’d slipped from the Negaverse unnoticed. Now, he was hunted by his own kind.

He’d learned to be elusive and was relying on tricks old and new. Every now and then he was allowed to lower his guards, even if just only for a short while. With Oberon, he could relax.

Probably.

He did not trust easily after Lyndin’s betrayal, and there was a hole in his heart that might never heal. Anyone could turn against him.

But, he trusted, anyway.

Caedus first lurked through the shadows, just for peace of mind that there was no one hiding too close to their rendezvous point. Oberon didn’t seem anxious or unnerved, which was as good a sign as any. Caedus was wearing his uniform, though he wore a familiar, tattered old cloak. It helped him blend into the night, even if it wasn’t particularly good for making a nice impression.

Though he’d moved silently, he stiffened when the Senshi spoke and had to question if he’d been spotted, but–

No. Oberon wasn’t looking at him. The moonlight reflected in the facets of the stone, and even if Caedus hadn’t been ready to approach, he was still lured like a moth to the flame.

“I would insist that you did not need to bring me gifts, but I would be hypocritical to do so tonight. I have brought you something as well.” And not just the bag he meant to return to Oberon.

Caedus moved slowly, as though his age were showing now. He might have been standing still for quite some time for as stiff as he seemed. He was happy to sit down on a fallen log across from Oberon, and he mimicked his companion by stretching out his legs as well. Once seated, he pulled back his hood with one hand and with the other he opened a pouch at his side and extracted a stone half the size of his palm.

It was smooth and round but perfectly symmetrical. A line of strange glyphs was carved on the front, and when he presented the stone for Oberon, the text illuminated in the moonlight. At first glance, it was impossible to tell if it was a clever trick of the light or if it seemed to have some magical properties, but Caedus explained what he could for him. “I cannot read it. I found it in the river after a heavy rain. There are many strange things in the ground.” Not just bottle caps and vintage trash, of which he had mostly learned to tell the difference. “It is old. Can you feel it?”

Caedus tried not to be too distracted by the crystal, but his eyes landed on it even as he offered his gift to Oberon. The black stone itself was fairly unremarkable; it was smooth, either sanded by hand or done by the river. It was cool to the touch, and the matte surface only enhanced the shiny lettering that had been carved into it. More than just its physical weight, it had a different weight, too–like stepping into an ancient cathedral, or adventuring in underground caves.

It had the presence of age and antiquity about it, and seemed touched as if by something otherworldly.

It was always difficult to judge Caedus’ condition. His clothes obscured much of his physical form and the cut was clean and fitted in such a way that it would have been impossible to tell if he were healthy or malnourished. Even his face was difficult to read. Evening shadows hid what might have been dark circles under his eyes or hollowness of his cheeks.

For a moment, he was happy.

The burden he carried on his shoulders was impossibly heavy and it wasn’t like a cape he could shed when the weight was too much. It had worked its way into muscle and bone and the mantle of loneliness had borne its mark.

Oberon’s joy brought some into Caedus’ eyes, and his smile–tired as it was–illuminated his face somewhat.

With Oberon’s insistence, Caedus accepted the red crystal. He held it delicately, as even some little gift shop trinket deserved proper admiration. It had a good weight to it, and he held it up to his eyes so he could look at the moon through it.

“I like these,” he said, even if Oberon already knew. “Thank you very much.” Caedus continued to collect all manner of gems and rocks, no matter how mundane or unimpressive anyone else might have found them. This one was indisputably a treasure and borrowed his attention for nearly a full minute as he turned it to examine each facet in the light.

When he finally lowered it, his eyes sank to Oberon’s hands. “Are you injured?”

He had seen the expression of pain cross the Senshi’s face, and though his attention seemed to have been on the red crystal he was still aware of the peculiarity of Oberon’s mannerisms.

Caedus’ expression betrayed no surprise, and it was a long moment before the guilt seemed to etch into his features. He didn’t have to ask how old, he didn’t have to ask when. He could assume many things–Oberon was a Senshi, after all. He got into such an array of shenanigans that it was unlikely Caedus himself could even imagine them.

But this, he felt. This, he knew.

“I am sorry,” he said first, though he supposed Oberon was not telling him because he expected an apology. He received one regardless.

Caedus would not have wished this on him. Oberon had helped him and now bore a suspicious scar that he had, until now, hidden from Caedus?

It was easy to piece it all together.

Even if Oberon insisted that it didn’t hurt, Caedus still seemed sorrowful. He still held the crystal gently in his hand but he’d lowered it to rest in his lap so he could focus on Oberon. Brows knit with apology and focus, he glanced over the lines on Oberon’s arm, from his elbow to his wrist and back up again. It was difficult for him to look at Oberon’s palm and he wouldn’t admit that when he did he felt a sharp sting in his starseed.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but a bit heavier. “Have you sought any treatment?”

“That is a very good question,” Caedus replied solemnly. From the folds of his uniform, different from the pouch that held his collection of stones and other shiny things, he extracted a palm sized source stone.

For a moment, he rolled it around in his hand like he was contemplating it–or warming it up–and then he gestured for Oberon to offer his hands.

“I will see what I can do. I have yet to see our Source Stones provide aid for humans but I think this is a special situation.”

This was not a human ailment, and just below skin he could feel a familiar crackling energy. If there was anything he could do to ease Oberon’s discomfort, Caedus was willing to try it. He had faith in the Source Stones for most things, though they were not able to heal him. His starseed was a constant source of new pollution–the same he suspected had taken root in Oberon.

“It should not hurt, whether it works or not. It will tingle. But I will be gentle while handling this. Please trust me.”

Caedus didn’t look up from Oberon’s hands, especially not when he advised be careful about who you trust.

Guilt was nearly a permanent fixture on Caedus’ face, and he knew Oberon wasn’t speaking to remind him of his poor choice in trust before. Even while guarded, Caedus still tried to give people the benefit of the doubt.

He’d been alone for so long. Solitude was the only way to avoid betrayal but he didn’t want to live a lonely life.

Although, it was what he’d drifted into. Again.

He was alive but it wasn’t much living when so much of his time was spent hiding. He didn’t get to enjoy much of anything. He made nearly no progress on anything. Velencya was still dying. The Negaverse was still growing.

He held one of Oberon’s hands in his own and gently placed the Source Stone against his palm. It was cool to the touch and began to glow.

Along with Oberon’s skin.

It traced small, lightning shaped lines over his hand and up his arm. It followed the path of his scars. It was painless, like a soothing balm over sunburned skin. Caedus was quiet and focused on this.

It bought him a few seconds to collect himself again. Velencians were supposed to be emotionless–or, at least, capable of concealing them.

Caedus had always been an anomaly, but even now he seemed stoic.

“I do not remember much from that night. Not like you do, probably.”

He remembered the way it felt like he shattered when Lyndin took his starseed. Mind, body, and spirit folded into one brittle pain of glass that exploded in every direction. He still hadn’t picked up all the pieces. He didn’t think there was any way to put them all back together. The pain of losing his starseed was one thing, but the betrayal was another. He felt shame, and failure, and grief.

More people wanted him dead than alive, but Oberon at least helped give him the chance to influence that decision.

Caedus held the crystal firmly, but gently, against Oberon’s skin as he worked it.

“Do you ever think you might have made the wrong decision?”

There was no doubt that Caedus was curious to hear Oberon’s story; he glanced up a few times when he spoke of another Senshi, of distant Chaos, of magical artifacts…

His eyes returned to Oberon’s hand when he asked if he thought Caedus had made the wrong decision.

For a long moment, Caedus didn’t answer. He moved from one hand to the next and began to repeat the treatment.

When he did answer, it was quiet. “I wonder, sometimes.”

But then, he had lived for a very long time. He’d made many choices and lived long enough to question them.

“...I do not want to die. I still do not feel as though I have gotten to live. Perhaps it is selfish of me.” It was almost certainly, he thought. “...I should do everything I could for my people, though. Maybe Lyndin knows more than I do. If he could be certain that my death could save Velencya…”

His voice tapered off. Caedus didn’t want to die.

“...I thought I could go home. I thought things could go back to the way they used to be. I had such hope that we would save Velencya, and Earth. But I am needed on neither world. Not me.” He was, for the most part, not wanted, either.

There were some, like Oberon. But for the most part? He had fewer Velencian friends–or allies–than he did those of Earth.

Caedus was not making an effort to be difficult or self pitying. He had been alone for a long time. He’d had time to think.

“If I could awaken, who would want me? I do not know what has been reported to Velencya. I do not know if they think me a traitor. Or untrustworthy. Or if they would resent me for failing for so long.” He sighed once more, but it was softer and came from a place of great weariness, as if had only escaped because the pressure of everything had forced it from his lungs.

“I have heard of some worlds being purged of Chaos. Velenia did not have Chaos, that I know of. And I do not know enough about Velencya to know what troubles it faces or how to help it. Lyndin did not tell me. I do not know what else he has kept me in the dark about. Even if I cannot be involved in helping my people…”

His voice trailed off again but he eventually found the words. “I hope someone can. I appreciate how much you have done for me, and for them. You are a good person, Oberon. I am sorry you have been suffering for that kindness.”

The stone glowed brighter, and it seemed like the more he used it, the more intense it became.

Caedus raised his gaze again, almost as if he meant to reprimand Oberon for beating up Lyndin but the exasperation was so fleeting on his face that it might as well not have been there at all. His face relaxed and he finally nodded.

“Your family has been so generous to me. I appreciate how much you have given me.” And given for him.

“You say such thoughtful things. I suppose I had not thought of such things in that way before. It makes sense, when you put it like that.”

Maybe it was easier for them to say they could sacrifice themselves when they weren’t the one with their head on the chopping block. Maybe his unfortunate circumstances made him pitiable enough to deserve a chance at life. Oberon’s words resonated with him, though.

‘Of course they’d want you to sacrifice yourself. It’s easier that way, and they can say you were doing it to save everyone and they don’t get to be called murderers.’

He’d never considered it like that before and it stirred something in him. He didn’t dwell on the thought but he held onto it.

“You should not be sorry to tell me that the only home I will have is my birth world.” He sighed. “I still feel its call. I have hope that it is alive. Though, I can only imagine the condition. Perhaps it is but a cosmic corpse and I am haunted by its restless spirit.”

The stone flickered but he continued to handle it easily. Caedus seemed to recognize that its abilities had begun to sputter, as if there was very little left that it could do. He did one final, thorough sweep over Oberon’s hands.

“If I could save my world, I would share it with any in need. I would prefer not to have to live out the rest of my days on another foreign planet but I am grateful that you think there are those who would help me if I needed to. I want to do more, Oberon. I want to save it. I am not strong enough. I do not know where to start. I feel that I have exhausted all of my options. And I am so tired,” he sighed. He sounded exhausted, worn down by the world and all of his burdens.

“How are your hands?”