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Follows The Price of War

The change in temperature from the laundromat to the Moon was disarming at best, sickening at worst. To go from the violent chill to the comfortable warmth felt like another blow.

They arrived in quick succession–Lisse with Halle, Reims with Yvoire, Ephesus with Amarynthos, Lyon with Stirling.

And Dering, alone.

He was on his feet, but barely. His knees buckled again and again, each time threatening to give out, but he caught himself at the last second. This repeated several times before, finally, he dropped.

He collapsed to his knees, and vomited on the floor of the Celestial Theatre. There hadn’t been much in his stomach to begin with; all that came up was water, and bile, and blood.

Dering was as pale now as he had been in the laundromat–but now his skin had an unnatural, sickly sheen to it, too.

He threw up again. And again. And again, until there was nothing left but air, and he gagged on that, too.

“H-hey,” Lyon said, torn between holding up Stirling and trying to check on Dering. He wasn’t sure if he could do both, but between trying to lay her down safely, he couldn’t help but stare at the blood.

There was so much blood.

Had the starseeds cut him when he chewed? Was it like gnawing on glass shards? –Had they cut his throat on the way down? Shredded his stomach?

Lyon expected to see the fragmented souls of his friends–chewed up shards of crystal, regurgitated. He didn’t know why he stared, didn’t know why he couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to see that.

But why didn’t he see that.

Dering wretched again, on his hands and knees. Blood spilled down his chin but his eyes were far away, somewhere else. He was pale and gaunt, with dark shadows that seemed off on his face. He looked like he’d aged ten years, twenty.

Lyon had never seen a living person look so dead.

When Dering stopped moving entirely, Lyon’s gaze jerked to Reims like he thought he could do something. Or Ephesus–he could heal–no. No, he couldn’t, because the General made him waste all his healing on his arm.

Before Lyon could speak, Dering shuddered violently. His shoulders trembled, and his head hung low.

And then, he held out his hand.

Cradled in his palm, plucked from thin air, were four starseeds.

Glowing. Bursting with life.

And very, very desperate to get home.

One of the four starseeds returned to Yvoire.

Regaining consciousness didn’t happen all at once, but seemed to progress in stages. His breathing deepened. His pulse, once faint, became steadier. His body twitched as sensation crept in. His arm shifted against something solid and warm. A dull ringing in his ears gave way to muffled sounds—a sharp inhalation; a quiet sob. His eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened to a familiar white room.

He winced as a dull ache settled in behind his eyes, the kind that came with too much exertion and too little sleep. His next breath came with difficulty, like something heavy sat on his chest, crushing his ribs and squeezing his lungs. An uneasy chill slithered up his spine. He didn’t remember falling unconscious, but he knew instinctively that he was lucky to have survived whatever caused it. Something pulsed deep in his chest—an echo of magic. His starseed?

Yvoire forced the next inhale. It hitched halfway up his throat, like his body was still in the process of learning how to function again.

Slowly, Yvoire’s surroundings came into better focus. He blinked sluggishly, gaze landing on Reims’ tortured face. Yvoire’s hand seemed to move of its own accord. Too weak to lift it, he satisfied the urge to touch by grasping Reims’ gray waistcoat. Reims’ heart pounded. His face was wet, stained by blood, streaked with tears.

Yvoire swallowed and searched for his voice.

“... Reims?” he said, too feeble for more than a whisper.

Halle felt like he’d skipped ahead. The last thing he remembered was a fist in his chest and falling. And now nothing was the same. Even before opening his eyes he knew it wasn’t the abandoned laundromat. Not a hospital either. But not completely unfamiliar and the innate feeling of safety surrounded him like a warm bath. There were upset voices, all familiar.

He’d lost his starseed, hadn’t he?

Cahir had grabbed Stirling’s, then went for him.

Blinking his eyes open with a soft groan, he asked, “What…happened? After.”

Reims sank to his knees the moment his legs gave out. It wasn’t graceful, more like collapsing, but he kept Yvoire held carefully against his chest, adjusting his grip so his ribs wouldn’t stab further into his lungs. He tucked Yvoire closer, one hand trembling as it cradled the back of his head.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice still raw and hoarse. “It’s okay. You’re here. You’re okay.”

He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Yvoire’s for a moment, allowing himself to breathe finally.

When he managed to look up again, his gaze went straight to Dering.

There was blood everywhere.

“Dering?” His voice cracked. “Are you okay?”

A stupid question, he knew. He didn’t dare stand, not with Yvoire’s weight in his arms, but he shifted closer on his knees, ignoring the stabbing pain in his chest. He stared at the blood smeared across Dering’s shin, his shirt, the floor.

“How did you--”

Reims’s stomach turned. “I heard something break. Like… glass.” His expression shifted to something more grim. “Dering… what did you eat?”

With the starseeds returned to their friends, Reims let out a shaking breath. They were okay. Their starseeds hadn’t been destroyed. He gathered Yvoire a little closer, holding him as if someone might try to take him away.



Ephesus didn’t realize he’d stopped breathing until the light sank back into Amarynthos’s chest. For one frozen, impossible moment, all he could do was stare. His vision blurred with tears.

It was his starseed. His heart. His entire life, sliding back into the body of the person he loved more than anything in the world.

“Mary…” he choked on a sob, watching as Amarynthos’s eyes fluttered open. Relief flooded in him so fast that it hurt.

Amarynthos’s thumb brushed his cheek, and a sob escaped, because it was proof that he was alive.

“I’m okay,” he said immediately, even though he wasn’t. His broken voice probably gave it away. “I’m okay, I promise.”

He pressed his hand to Amarynthos’s, holding it against his cheek like it was the only thing that mattered. His chest felt too tight, his throat too thick, his shoulder too painful, but he forced himself to breathe. Slowly. Quietly. For him.

“I thought-- I thought you--...”

He couldn’t finish. He knew Amarynthos would just use this moment as proof that he wouldn’t ever leave him. He wasn’t sure if he could handle the grief he’d just experienced again, so there was no point in arguing. Instead, he focused on his question about the others.

Ephesus nodded quickly, wiping his eyes with the back of his wrist. “They’re okay. I think-- they’re all alive. Dering’s hurt, but… but he did something. He saved everyone.” He swallowed, forcing his voice to be calm.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead softly to Amarynthos’s. His fingers slipped into Amarynthos’s hair, trembling but tender, still uncertain how Dering managed to keep them all safe. At the expense of his own health, of course. Ephesus owed him everything.

Nothing made much sense just yet, but Reims said Yvoire was here and that he was okay, and Yvoire believed him. Here turned out to be the Celestial Theatre; Yvoire knew this from the white walls and the moving star map above. It was the same sight which had greeted him when he’d regained agonizing consciousness after their ordeal in the basement of the abandoned building. These days, Yvoire associated it with suffering and death almost as much as he associated it with safety and comfort.

The pain was different this time—duller, but just as deep. Yvoire breathed through it and listened to a smattering of other voices, even if the words they spoke made no sense.

He looked into Reims’ face blearily, saw the blood but didn’t understand how it got there.

Reims had lowered himself to the ground, so Yvoire shifted, curling his legs beneath him to take some of his weight on his own. He stayed in Reims’ arms but turned to look around at the others. Their shapes were blurry but he knew them by their colors. The two in pale purple were Ephesus and Amarynthos. The brighter purple was Stirling. The blue shot through with pink was Halle. The pink shot through with purple was Lisse. The blur of black and white was Lyon. The pile of blue huddled on the floor was Dering.

Yvoire couldn’t remember his last moments this time; they had been obscured—maybe permanently, maybe only temporarily—by shock and panic. He didn’t understand what anyone was saying, or the motions Dering made, but he knew even through his confusion that something was wrong.

Reims was worried, stuck between holding Yvoire and checking on Dering.

Yvoire let go and settled more heavily against the floor, giving Reims the freedom to move.

Reims didn’t understand the gestures. He didn’t understand the blood or the trembling or the horrible, empty way Dering curled in on himself like he was trying to disappear.

He didn’t understand how someone could collapse like that and still show a thumbs up.

But he understood fear. He understood pain. And he understood Dering well enough to know how much he was probably holding back.

When Yvoire shifted out of his arms, Reims hesitated for a moment, torn. But Yvoire’s weight settling on the floor made the choice for him. Yvoire was conscious. Breathing.

Reims pushed himself forward on shaking arms, his teeth clenched as his broken ribs protested each movement. He didn’t touch Dering, but he knelt close.

“Dering…” he said softly, covering his own mouth with his hand as he choked on the blood that had to be swallowed. There was too much blood already to deal with. “You don’t have to clean anything. It’s okay. Everyone is okay. You’re safe now,” he managed, even though he wasn’t sure how long that would be true. “Just rest. We’re right here.”

His hands hovered uselessly at his sides. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what would help. He didn’t know how to fix anything. But he could guard Dering while he rested. Not from their friends, but from the attention.

The warmth of Amarynthos’s arms made it almost impossible to move. Ephesus wanted to stay there forever. To press close, breathe with him, pretend that none of the horrible things they’d just experienced had actually happened. Like he hadn’t watched his whole world die in front of him.

But then Amarynthos asked, Do you need to go heal anyone? And guilt tore straight through his heart.

He had nothing left.

Not after using his magic on Cahir. Not after the panic and the fear and the grief.

He swallowed hard, nodding wordlessly as he leaned forward to press a trembling kiss to Amarynthos’s cheek. Then another to his temple. A third to his jaw, soft and lingering like he could absorb some strength just from the contact.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure if the words were for Amarynthos or himself.

He forced himself onto his feet. His vision wavered, his dislocated shoulder screamed, his head throbbed with every beat of his heart. But he ignored it all, stumbling toward the dim blur of blue curled on the marble.

When he reached Dering, he sank down to his knees harder than intended. He winced, but it was the sight of Dering that made his breath hitch with emotion.

“Dering…” he said softly, voice thick with leftover and new tears. “I’m here.”

He didn’t touch him, but he lifted his scepter with his good hand and gathered the last bits of energy still holding on.

It wasn’t much. Barely anything. But healing wasn’t just magic. It was care. It was love.

He guided the remnants of his magic toward Dering, letting it settle across his trembling form like a blanket of warmth.

It wouldn’t fix much, but it was something.

“You saved us,” Ephesus whispered, tears slipping again, quietly this time. “Let me help you. Please.”

Yvoire listened to the muffled voices even if the words didn’t entirely register yet. He watched the blurs of color move—the splotch of black that was Reims dragging himself toward the smudge of blue on the floor; Dering bright but frail against stark white; Ephesus drifting close, pale purple and a golden scepter, pushing his magic into their ailing friend.

A sour smell hung in the air, mingling with the tang of blood. Yvoire looked down at himself, pawing at his midsection with trembling hands, but he remained whole. His clothing was unstained. The graphic flashes of torn flesh were nothing more than memory. He looked toward the others again, cataloguing their colors one by one, searching for movement, straining his ears for every word.

Alive again. They were all alive. Tired, maybe. A little sluggish. Unsteady. Yvoire didn’t think he could stand. No one else seemed to be in any rush to do so either. Instead, he focused on his breathing, certain the rest of his senses would return to normal once he had that one thing under control. Yvoire put a hand to his chest where the ache burned deepest. He rubbed the tips of his gloved fingers against it through his vest and shirt, like he could soothe the pain away. His starseed pulsed again, a rapid flutter beneath skin and muscle and bone.

Slowly, his vision began to clear. Colors coalesced into shapes. Yvoire blinked determinedly and the lingering blur receded. He saw Dering on the floor. Reims and Ephesus crouched beside him.

Yvoire crawled. He still didn’t understand what had happened. He probably wouldn’t be able to process Dering’s explanation until much later, once the haunting memories of a hand in his chest returned. He stopped at Reims’ shoulder. The smell was strongest there—acrid vomit beneath the stronger scent of blood. Red streaked down Reims’ face, leaving bright trails from his mouth over his chin. Red stained Dering’s robes.

“I have this,” Yvoire said, voice so strained the words almost cracked and cut off.

He lifted a single shaking hand, squeezed his eyes shut and searched inward. It took several agonizing seconds of painstaking concentration, but he managed to summon a small piece of bone into his palm.

“I found it,” he tried to explain, but he didn’t have the energy for anything more elaborate than that. “It’s what you used on me, right? If either of you need it…”

For a moment, Lyon held Stirling’s starseed. The little gem had floated through the air with less desperation than Lyon thought appropriate, but it settled into her chest like it had done this before. Like it knew what to do.

Like there wasn’t any point worrying.

And yet, she didn’t wake up like the others. She didn’t burst to life, with all her fire and fury. She was warm in his arms. She breathed. Her eyelids fluttered briefly, but exhaustion–or something heavier–must have pulled her deeper.

Lyon cradled her carefully, pressing two fingers to her neck as he searched for a pulse. At first, he thought she didn’t have one. He was pressed in the wrong spot. He tried again and found success.

Slumping, with an audible exhale of relief, he tracked her steady pulse. If he’d been more patient, he could have simply observed the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

She was unconscious, but alive.

He kept her close, arms wrapped around her as if he thought the General might have manifested here to finish the job.

It didn’t seem worth drawing anyone’s attention. This didn’t feel like a medical emergency. Maybe if she didn’t wake up in the next few minutes, but for now, it was as if her body was simply taking a moment to embrace the starseed and stabilize.

She probably wouldn’t want everyone to see her like this. Maybe the less attention, the better. For now.

Lyon smoothed her hair gently.

Nearby, Amarynthos opened his arm for Ephesus and pulled him close.