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Encke had said his piece and Faustite was either not listening to him at all or just blowing it off. If it was because he knew the reality, fine, but if he tried to leave chaos behind without actually leaving it behind – Encke thought of an old conversation with Metis, and grimly noted to himself that ridding himself of the youma definitely wouldn’t happen. Nothing would happen.

And at that point, faced by at least a royal, and likely an accompaniment, Faustite would have been in a whole new kind of trouble.

He’d end up just as dead as his classmates.

He let it go, less concerned about cautioning Faustite at that point and more concerned about the reassurance he asked for. Flattered wasn’t the word Encke would have chosen, and he snorted under his breath for it, but he let that go too. Faustite wasn’t wrong. The crux of the issue was exactly that: how did he know this was serious? What did Encke have to trust that he wasn’t just walking whoever agreed to see Faustite straight into a trap? What did he have to trust that he wouldn’t just make sure they were dead after the fact, or during the fact, or before the fact? What did he have to know he wasn’t luring them into a false sense of trust? And what did he have to know this wasn’t just another game?

What did Encke have to know that any of them were safe? That he was actually safe? Tricks of pretending a desire to purify weren’t new, either–

But the civilian name.

That was.

“Elex Yorke,” repeated Encke, taken a bit aback by hearing that, of all things. “Your name?”

He quickly took note of that in his senshi phone and debated taking out his civilian phone to cross-check it. Making sure he wasn’t in view of any cameras, he moved to do just that, keeping the phone tight to his chest when he wasn’t typing on it. The phone was in a nondescript black case; it would take significant effort to determine anything else just from seeing the back.

“That is better collateral than most things you can give in this war.”

Until he had the proof in front of him, there was no saying if Elex Yorke was just a name he had pulled out of his a**, maybe from the annals of the people he had starseeded over the years. Diving into the internet about it had been the easiest way to confirm the name and confirm Faustite’s words, especially in the days of social media where rarely anyone was able to hide. If Elex Yorke was truly the man in front of him…

Man. Elex was clearly an adult by now, by his own experience of seeing Faustite year after year, but the profile he found had been a stunning reminder of how young he must have been when he was recruited. The timing of when he moved from California matched up with when he had started running into Faustite, too, pinning his recruitment fairly shortly after he arrived. If he had a knight form to call upon, he might not have even had the time to find it.

His personality seemed to track, even if it was wrapped up in teenage angst more so than bitterness and a disconnect from humanity. His appearance lined up, even if it was smoky now, and not smoky in the sense that he had gotten the ability to go to headshops recently. His age lined up, if Encke was judging how he looked when they had first started their endless inability to just stay away from each other. Everything lined up.

There was one other thing he could use to confirm, and he scrolled through Elex's tagged videos until he found something with his face and not just something else entirely. With another face. Cautiously, he tapped the volume on his phone up beyond muted and listened.

His face fell with the sounds of joy that accompanied. A strange reminder of what they faced, an uncomfortable sinking in his gut that he was uncertain how to process.

In the end, that was definitely him. That voice was usually yelling at him, but that was definitely him, him and someone else very important. He quickly paused the video.

Was that why Elex had just faded away from these platforms? A combination of familial death and getting deeper into the Negaverse? At what point had he become a half-youma? Did social media stop having relevance? Did he want it to stop having relevance? Seeing things like on this day, seven years ago...

He had seen enough, and he signaled that by the disappearance of his civilian phone back to wherever it had come from.

“Alright, Faustite.” Encke let out a slow breath. “That’s clearly you.”

But now what was he supposed to do with it? Continuing to prod felt uncomfortably invasive for someone he wasn’t close to, already felt so, and yet having done so in the first place had been necessary. Faustite hadn’t proven himself trustable in the past. Any time Encke had trusted him to even a minor degree, it hadn’t led to anything good. (Even if he had taken delight in the way Faustite had been repelled by his new transcendence, if it hadn’t been for that transcendence, he would have been dead for several years. Perhaps even removed from the rebirth cycle and used for some temporary power source for the literal burning man in front of him.)

“Echoing back to the rules of a few years ago. If you still have any starseeds on you, fork them over.” Encke shifted back to his senshi phone. “Let’s see what we can do to get the ball rolling on this.”

Before he regretted it.

Encke didn’t know what he was feeling, quite, as he looked at Faustite’s face, as he listened to how tense he sounded in response, as he listened to the way he spat, as he watched how the man paced back and forth. His fingers tap, tap, tapped, and his eyes averted for a moment, looking at some distant cloud as if it would provide an answer, and just as soon wandered back toward Faustite not quite wanting to take his eyes off him in case the illusion would break and Faustite would be back to the fiery pit he expected.

He sure was fiery. That was still true.

But there were black streaks on his cheeks, and Encke didn’t know what to do with it. Hearing Elex’s father’s voice–Faustite’s father’s voice–had offset Faustite enough that he was crying. Faustite. Offset him enough to be proof on its own. Proof that Encke felt like an a*****e for obtaining. But it was necessary proof. How the hell was he supposed to believe this guy otherwise? How the hell would he know?

It felt necessary as much as it felt horrid. He had no love lost with his own genetic father. Encke’s fingers briefly breezed over his nose in a way that looked like an idle fidget, even as he took a deep, stabilizing breath. He knew that wasn’t the case for others. Richard loved Luke, for one.

He didn’t know the ripple effect it would have if Luke suddenly died, and it was something Encke never wanted to consider.

“It doesn’t get me going,” replied Encke, taking on a quieter, wry tone. “Never desired to do any of it.”

The ******** was he supposed to do? Say sorry? Why did he feel bad at all?

This guy had nearly murdered his husband. Would set Nectaris aflame if given the chance. Tortured and helped keep captured people like Cybele and Ganymede. Killed countless others, countless who he would never know considering the several he had rescued alone. In many ways, this guy had been a monster.

And not in the obvious way that most people would cite.

“Just want people to not ******** die.”

Somehow, at the moment, that included this b*****d.

“Let’s get to work, then.”