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He accepted her hug. But seemed incredibly tense about it all. It wasnt the same sort of "Oh no human contact" tension that she endeared to. This was focused. And it was focused on her. And it was focused on those bandages.

And when she squeezed, well it was a kind of hate oozed out.

It was Hate and Love.

Max loved her more than most anything. But she left him. She left him like everyone else did. He gave her life, he gave her love, he gave her family, and she left him. At the height of their time together. He could have kept her safe, and happy. But at the time he understood, greater good after all right? And a year later what did she have to show for her choice? Oh, just the ruination of the form he had worked to prepare and repair for her. She came back a broken mess. That was her choice. He had trusted her...and she had come back to him broken with a bomb strapped to the soul he put so much effort into saving. She left, and he told himself that he trusted her to know what was right. And this is what his trust earned him. He offered her a lifetime of happiness, and she chose to be a damsel in distress. Everything ventured, nothing gained. Oh but those bandages looked awesome.

He was doing his best not to feel smacked in the face for all he'd done. He was fighting back, tooth and nail not feeling enraged. He did not want to talk about it. He did not want to argue, or discuss or be reasonable. He just wanted to give this to her...and make it right. But most off, despite the fact he did not pull away, he really...really did not want to be touched...and hear...and feel...her cracking apart. He felt no remorse for her blindness as it was an effect of her choice. Instead he wondered why she wandered aimlessly instead of saying, "Max can you fix these"?

Max was full of so much hate right now that love was holding him together like thread in a hurricane. It was his consolation. He knew, that through Nocturne's grace and good effort, he would make it all better. He was a tumultuous storm of emotion. But, he would make it right. Looking into those bandages, deep inside, Max for reasons he could not explain remembered very clearly the day D was born. Not the child, but what represented.

She made a face at the poor taste of his joke and stuck out her tongue, even as she held out her right arm, palm up.

"Always and forever Nii-chan... you have my love, and my trust."

She held out her arm, and Maximos very gently did his left hand cup around hers. And he very bluntly and coldly said.

No!

A smash was heard as something hard was smashed into something else. It bit and then came a familiar sound, it was the sound of a blade against metal. Grinding, scraping, sharpening in one quick pass. Though much more violently that seemed necessary.

No!

Was that anger? He sounded so strangely intense, and then a heart beat later it melted away into silkly, smooth innocence as he chuckled to himself. He shook his head, took his hand off of hers. No, it was more like his hand discarded hers with a sort of unspoken frustration that belied or added confusion to an equally honest, equally real, and he equally warm statement that followed.

Haha, that just wont work my dear! These things...these things have-the-they have to be done right.

Another shrill squeal of metal grinding against metal. Now Teira would be privy to the details. As Max said.

There is a mysteriously moving coffin not ten feet ahead of you, and a large, intimidating, rusty blade in my hand.

WHAM. The blade bit the table then cried out another metal on metal grinding screech. All of sudden, a character to his voice was lost. A depth was torn away and his voice sounded like every bit of what it was. His hand was at his mouth, and just a hint, a hair of those more negative emotions were creeping through. Maximos' voice was small, weak, and scratchier than it had been. Mumbles mostly.

I...I could give you sight....you know that...but your stumbling through the halls. S-sstill-...still...we must...

WHAM. And another scrap. This time followed by the sound of something soft sliding along metal. It was a sound any sword wielder knew.

...Obey the formalities...

A sighing sort of breath, and the sound of Maximos adjusting his clothes as he continued.

Now, If you trust me...

The large blade spun again. Whub, whub.

....Please give me your hand...

Now, there were factors at play here that Teira simply would not and could not know. Factors that put this entire affair in a completely different light, but as expected considering the nature of Shadow Island and its inhabitants...she was very much in the dark.

But for answers about what follows, one must review what passed. One must go back several minutes ago, to before Teira arrived on the island and brought about beauty from Maximos' deep deep pain. One must look at the facts from a slight objective skew.

Teira arrived, and Maximos was swinging his sword. He was fighting against invisible enemies. Foes that did not exist, and he was losing to them. In other words, Maximos was fighting imaginary enemies as he tried to drown the guilt from lost Teira.

Then Teira suddenly arrived. His heart leaped...life, which was normally unkind had given the Shadow a sudden good turn. A turn akin with thousands of his victims praising him...or multitudes of Reaper targets thanking him...Teira was here.

Sure she was. That was reasonable. That she would suddenly appear out of the blue when he needed her most? Sure Maximos was lost in the emotional rush of seeing her, to tears even but...

Max led her through the house. But as emotion gave way to logic, he had to ask himself how he could be sure this was her. This wasnt the first time he had seen her magically arrive, only to wake up face down in a puddle or mud, or being hefted by Skullies back to his room in a groggy haze. If this was Teira...he had to be kind. If this wasnt Teira...he was free to loosen the straps he kept on his emotions and maybe vent? But the very fact that he had to have this quandary, this quarrel, this double...well it left Max more than a little strained.

He had to be sure. This why he asked for her hand. And now, his hand again laced its fingers around her wrist, squeezing a bit tighter than might be normal. He did not answer her, because in a few seconds, to him...her question would be moot.

His hand pulled back slightly, as if making sure the hand and arm were fully, or near to fully extended. The rusty...and now crudely sharpened...blade was heft up like a butcher about to chop a piece of meat. And Maximos looked Teira right in the eyes.

Now here is where a pair of eyes all her own would have been handy. Now is where the question of "Why is he so doubtful?" addressed. Here is where Teira would miss the fact that both of Maximos' eyes were just about black. Maximos had dark vision, his eyes did not dilate in the dark. And his teeth were absolutely normal. But Maximos' pupils were dilated to an unnatural extreme. Until the point where the black and white of his iris were barely visible rims.



It came hard and fast, and it was meant for all intents and purposes to lop Teira's arm off at the elbow. And shadow or not, it would hurt. It would hurt badly, it would bleed a mess all over the floor. And for some reason in the heartbeats it took the blade to fall, Maximos was grinning intently with something other than mirth. Anyone who's ever wielded a blade would know that sound. They would know that soon after the wet smacking sound, milky blood would spill to the floor. Did she trust him? Would she pull away? Doubtless she would recognize a blade careening for her.



No cut. No smack. No nothing, but silence. A tense and powerful silence. It was the deafening and roaring kind of silence that was all you could hear, and made the moment stretch for eternity.

Was he even breathing? If he was it was so softly that even Teira couldnt hear it.

And then all of a sudden it was shattered by a clang and rattle, like someone dropped a large metal pot on stone. The blade had dropped to the ground haphazardly, as it fell loose from Maximos' fingers.

There was a breath, not a gasp, but a caught breath. It was the kind you make when your suddenly dipped into very cold water. When your so shocked, so scared, so...so many things at once...you cannot even organize your breathing.

Teira had the breadth and width of time it would take for her to think about moving.

Because Max's eyes were wide, wide open, and "under the influence" as he was his reflexes were on overdose.

She budged, she flinched, a hair perhaps twitched, and he snapped into motion with every bit of the force and determination that came from a singularity and solidarity of purpose.

Max wasnt feeling doubt. Remorse. Fear. Sadness. None of that. Maximos knew, in an instant, with every inkling of his body exactly what he had to do now. And he did it.

He flung both arms out like a man trying to grab the world. And he was infact grabbing his world. His heart. What had become his everything. He would reach around her and grab her, and squeeze her to his chest so hard there would be a literal "thud" when she impacted. But that didnt matter.

Teira...

He said, his mouth inches from her long ears. His voice had a quiver to it, but it was love. It was anticipation, it was desperation.

...what have they done to you...?

He said, barely above a whisper, but to elven ears likely much more. She was real. Every hallucination he had indulged in to this day had done its best to make him happy. If he insulted her, she laughed. If he attacked her, she defended as if she had already knew the attack was coming. His "feedings" his "highs" had been haunted by a doll of a person.

If she was fake, she would have stopped that sword before he did. She would have somehow escaped it and made the moment sickeningly blissful. But she didnt. A trust only the real Teira could have.

Max squeezed her. He squeezed her like he would never let go. He squeezed so tightly that what cracks she may have had would likely start splintering into something worse, and chips of flesh colored shadow would be sprinkling the floor. So hard that when black oozed out behind it, it would stain his shirt and jacket, and face.

My Teira...

He said, clear that if he could hear her he was so lost in what he was about to do, that he didnt hear her. And all of a sudden, the space in Maximos' embrace was getting hot. Hot like a sauna. Hot like warm tea. Hot like a jacuzzi. Which fit as Max did as always smell like bath soap.

And just as soon as she might realize it was getting hot, it got hotter. Hot like fire, hot like a blaze was burning around them and the only thing keeping her from being charred was Max's strong, squeezing arms pressing her sides against her.

...I'll make it better...

All at once, the flame rushed in, it rushed over her form in one searing pass, it covered every inch of her, inside and out. It was overwhelming, like it might choke away all the air, and life and then...just when the heat and intensity had reached a point where they might be destructive...they vanished.

Max was still squeezing her. But she was whole. No cracks. No cuts. No wounds or even stains of any kind. He had done it once before at the Crimson Hawk, but it was clear now that he had refined and mastered the process.

He knew she was going to speak, or respond or react, and so he quickly said.

Sshh.

And brought up his right hand and pressed his index finger to her lips then said.

You have light poisoning.

His voice sounded exceedingly serious now. Like a doctor informing a patient they have days left to live.

Every action will seep it deeper until it eats you away. Stay perfectly still.

One hand to her shoulder and squeezed, the other already on her lips slid up the bridge of her nose to slip under her bandages and pull them off on one pass. She might notice she was still blind.

She might also notice that the fingers of Max's right hand were rushed up to her face and positioned so his pinky was over her left temple, and his thumb over her right. Searing heat, entirely unlike what had just passed would well up behind her eyes.

The eyes are the window to the soul. Blindness means the soul has little time left. That damned demoness knows nothing about how you work. Now, you will feel some slight discomfort.

Then, like two burning knives stuck through her knives, two beams of white would rip through her eyes from inside, it would hurt. Alot. But Max would hold her still as his hand moved back, his cursed right arm sucking the light from her. It might feel like days but, in moments it would have passed.

I'll kill whoever did this to you.

He said with steely, cold, and vicious determination. And seconds after, her eyes would naturally focus.

Her first sight would be Maximos, clutching his right hand with brilliant white searing down the rune burns covering his arm. His eyes would be normal. As normal as mismatched eyes can be. Both mending her, and removing the light would have cost him the excess energy used for his high.

Gladly.

And with a weak, and somewhat paler and more drained than she might remember. He would be slipping on a smile as he said.

Nice to see you.

Because Max was horrible at puns.

He could have stayed there smiling at her forever.

The pain in his arm however was quite sobering. Maximos was not made of shadow and so light poisoning was alot harder to achieve. But that didnt mean that pure light did not have a sort of uncomfortable sting to it.

It seemed, oddly enough, as he looked into her eyes and smiled, that the white glow was now moving down his arm and toward his hand, instead of upwards. It swirled up the runic burns, and swirled around his palm like water down a drain. The glow began to take shape around an odd eye shaped glow in his palm. And then without warning, and with the sword of whipping speed one uses to snatch a fly out of the air, Max's hand snapped shut. White and yellows could be seen bleeding and crying out from between his fingers, turning them a sort of bright pink as it poured through skin and flesh.

And then it was gone. He opened his hand to reveal what looked like a pendant. It was in the shape of a crescent moon and even in the lightlessness of Shadow Island it seemed to shimmer. His fingertips touched the top of the moon and threaded out a small string which he leaned forward and tied around Teira's neck. And then said.

This should keep that from happening again...

Something other than sadness crept on his face, his eyes lost a bit of their sparkle as he said, softly, sadly, yet honestly. His hands paused, resting on both of her shoulders.

...There is so much I never had the chance to teach you...

Because he knew, that for any shadow creature there were means and methods of purifying poisons from the body. As he had lived as shadow for so long he could teach them, but they took time and effort and training and many other things they did not have at the moment.

Still, sadness could not hold its footing against on a ground made of happiness and duty. And there was still much to be done. Max shook his head and suddenly blurted.

I, have a present for you.

Two, infact.

Maximos said with a smirk. Holding up two fingers.

She'd never guess.

Surprises were his specialty. If he wrapped a present he stuffed the box so that it made no noise when it was shook. No matter what the size of the present they all got the same size box. Magic sometimes necessary. When a present was given, Max may smirk or smile, but the size of his reaction gave away the size of the present. His tone was kept completely even, it had his usual charm, and usual aplomb.

Along with that, he took two steps back and tossed his arm over the top of the chained and bound coffin. Teira would be able to see the steel chains, each rink about an inch thick, and how they bound the coffin shut and met up at one large skull emblem. It was a screaming steel skull with its mouth wide open.

At this point, she might notice how the coffin was infact small enough for Maximos to put his arm over. It was short. But not shorter than her, or taller than her. Infact this coffin would fit her perfectly.

Casually Max said.

Do you like art? Teira? Have you ever drawn, sketched, sculpted, or wrote?

A silly question, but not rhetorical even as much as it seemed Maximos should know the answer. He lived with her for quite sometime. But he knew that most "kids" when they grew up and move on their own adopt habits and passions they did not know they had. And it had been quite some time. Either way, his smirk still present, his entire stance relaxed, Max waited patiently for an answer.

Max chuckled light heartedly and said.

It counts. It most certainly counts.

His hands came together in front of himself, fingers interlacing, save for both index fingers which formed a sort of steeple and tapped his lips.

Now...

A pause, the same sort pause Maximos always gave when teaching a lesson. And there had been many lessons. It was the "let me organize this into a way that makes it simple", pause. And it lasted only a few seconds before his steepled fingers turned and pointed at Teira.

...For me, during the creation process I feel a rush. An excitement. But after its all said and done, I look back at the creation that gave me so much joy, and feel entirely different.

That smirk stretched again.

Do you know the feeling I mean? Do you know why its felt?

There was so much emotion in her response! Not really an overpowering amount, but enough. The coffin jumped. It was very clear to anyone with good ears that the cause of the jump was not Maximos, because the resounding thump came from inside. Seemingly ignorant of it, Maximos said.

Precisely!

Then kicked his foot back to knock the black box back against the wall as he continued.

But its more...Once the work is complete you begin picking out flaws and mistakes. A line off. A color shaded wrong. A word out of place. You see where you rushed part, where you did not put your full effort into another.

As he continued, Max's voice emphatic. As if he was truly feeling this feeling even as he described it, and at the last sentence he let out a sigh.

What was a source of joy, is now an blinding, blatant, advertisement of your flaws as a creator.

He shook his head, as if recounting a thousand such advertisements, and flaws. Then, suddenly, the dismay was replace with his smirk, and he said.

Do you know why I'm telling you this?