Ingressus woke to the sound of a rainstorm. The steady pattering of sky-borne water flowed through the caves like a river of sound, slowly rousing him from his sleep. He opened his eyes, felt something hard in his hand, and–
Oh, frostbiters!
Ingressus shot fully awake, whipping out his blade as his gaze darted around the cave, looking for blue markings, the glint of iron or diamond. He felt at his neck, feeling the pulse racing under his skin, feeling the breath rush through his lungs. He was– he was not dead. It was morning, and he wasn't dreaming; his ribs were tender from lying on them all night, and his ankle was as sore as ever. You didn't feel pain in dreams, and everyone said there was none in the afterlife. He had fallen asleep, he had woken up– and he was still alive.
Ingressus straightened, looking around. There was no blood anywhere in the cave, and even the shoddily-replanted flower was still sitting there as serenely as ever. Nothing, truly nothing had happened. Despite having fallen asleep, despite being blind to danger, he was alive. Galleous had not decided to kill him. And from what Ingressus could hear, that wasn't because the Sendaris had overslept. He could hear Galleous's tramping footsteps, and the sound of things being moved around outside.
Ingressus couldn't wait any longer. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, then grabbed his crutch and limped out of the cave. No more waiting. No more hiding. Whatever would happen to him, he wouldn't face it cowering in a corner.
Galleous was kneeling beside one of the chests, rummaging through its contents. Ingressus winced at the fist-shaped bruise darkening the skin under Galleous's eye. If there had been any hope that last night had been a dream within a dream, that hope was no more.
Galleous glanced up at Ingressus, having spotted him lingering. "Good morning."
Ingressus would look back at that moment many times over the years, and he would never be able to say why those words had snapped him. It was just such a Nether-blasted ordinary greeting, so at odds with the turmoil in his mind and the retribution he expected, that drove his nerves to and beyond the breaking point.
The words exploded out of him like a candle thrown into gunpowder. "Why are you acting like this?!"
Galleous jumped, but Ingressus barely noticed. "You're a Sendaris! You're a Champion's brother! You're not supposed to be kind! You're supposed to hate me! Why are you acting like I'm from any other clan? I'm not Sendaris, I'm Voltaris! You had no reason to save me! Your people have killed so many of mine I wouldn't even be missed! Stop dragging this out! Whatever you're going to do to me, just do it already!"
Ingressus fell silent, out of breath and words. The echoes of his shouts faded to nothingness as he shrunk into himself, clinging to his crutch. There. It was done. Galleous's true colors would show themselves at any moment. And if Ingressus were to die, he would go down fighting, like a true Voltaris.
Galleous recovered from his surprise, shooting a glance in the direction of the cave entrance. Ingressus couldn't bring himself to care if he'd been heard. Let someone come looking; anything would be better than the agony of waiting.
"Child," Galleous said. "I'm not going to harm—"
"Of course you will!" Ingressus shouted. "It's what your clans do! You think I believe you'd let me get away with attacking you? You never do that, you always get revenge!"
"You're talking about last night?" Galleous said, gesturing at his bruise. "You thought I was part of your dream, am I right? That's hardly your fault."
"What do you care? I gave you the perfect excuse!"
"Kid, please," Galleous said, with another glance at the entrance. "Listen, I'm not looking for an excuse to murder you. What kind of person do you– no, don't answer that, I already know."
He rubbed at his temples. "I've told you before that I'm not going to hurt you. You clearly don't believe that, but I don't know what else I can say or do to convince you."
"I have no reason to trust you."
"I know," Galleous sighed. "Six centuries of bloodshed aren't going to be overcome by some food and bandages. I didn't think this through enough."
He met Ingressus's gaze. "But I promise, I am not dragging anything out. I'm not saving you for my brother, or trying to give you some false sense of security, or anything else. My conscience wouldn't accept leaving an injured child to die. That's all."
He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I know I'm probably the last– or second-last– person you would've wanted to find you. But there's nothing I'm 'going to do to you.' Once you've healed up, you can be on your way and you'll never have to see me again."
Ingressus said nothing, leaning on his crutch and staring at the floor. He wanted to argue, to accuse, to blame, but his energy had fled him, leaving nothing but an empty shell in its wake. He had no family, no friends, no clan, no home. He had nothing.
"Oh, child, I'm sorry."
The pity was written across Galleous's face as clearly as it had sounded in his voice. "You didn't deserve this. The war should have been over long ago."
"Then why isn't it?" Ingressus said hollowly.
"I don't know."
Galleous reached out as if to rest a hand on Ingressus's shoulder. But Ingressus flinched and Galleous lowered his hand again, crouching before Ingressus to look him in the eyes.
"I will do all I can to help you, child," Galleous said. "I don't think I can stop my brother anymore. But if I can make right some part of what he's done, then that is what I will do. I swear by my clan, you have nothing to fear from me. May my Songs forsake me if I've lied."
Galleous didn't consider himself an impulsive person. It wasn't often an issue; his life was a simple one. Wake up, eat breakfast, get to work in the forge. Sell or deliver the tools he'd made, go back to sleep. Go out to buy ores every so often, and teach children about their Songs when they came of age. Simple, reliable, the way he liked it. Thalleous had teased him about it when they were younger: "What do you have against adventures? Come on, you'll never have any fun in life if you're not reckless once in a while!" Rescuing the Voltaris child was easily the least thought-out decision Galleous had ever made– and possibly the worst.
He had thought the child was dead at first. He'd been walking along the water looking for shells– his niece's birthday was coming up, and he knew she was fascinated by the sea. He'd just found a nice-looking spiral shell when he'd spotted a small gray form lying half out of the water. The child was bedraggled and cold, wounds scattered across his thin body and his foot twisted in an unnatural way, but he was alive; his faint markings still held color– still held red.
Before confronting Thalleous– back when he'd still thought his brother might listen to reason– Galleous had looked for several arguments that might convince him to give up his revenge quest. The feud had accomplished nothing over its six hundred years. Revenge cycles never had an end. Thalleous had more than extracted his pound of flesh for Lairen's death. He had made the Voltaris suffer enough to pay for it, he could stop risking his neck to compound it. Galleous hadn't been particularly sympathetic towards the banished clan itself; he was just looking for anything that might stop Thalleous's downward spiral. But maybe it was his own arguments, affecting him more than they ever had Thalleous, that made him gather the unconscious child into his arms and lift him from the water.
He hadn't been entirely blind to how risky a move this was. The four clans weren't the sole aggressors in this conflict; the Voltaris weren't simply victims. Not to mention that if Master Atanal learned he was harboring a member of the enemy clan... well, it wouldn't be a pleasant conversation. But what was he supposed to do now, throw the child back into the water like a too-small fish?
Is this reckless enough for you, Thalleous?
Galleous really should've thought more about how things would actually go. He'd figured the Voltaris wouldn't be inclined to trust him, but he hadn't fathomed how intense the distrust would prove to be until the kid was limping on a broken foot to get away from him, stabbing at him with a flowerpot shard and accusing him of murder. Not that he could blame the boy, in retrospect. But Songs, if the kid thought Galleous was going to murder him for lashing out in the throes of a nightmare... a nightmare his brother had undoubtedly given him...
Galleous set a plate of breakfast in front of the boy. The Voltaris was still hunched into himself where he sat at the table, holding the crutch in one hand like the grip of a sword. His head was lowered but his eyes were still watching Galleous's every move, from the food chest to the furnace to the table. The shadows under the kid's eyes testified to his lack of sleep, and Galleous wondered just how long his fear had kept him awake the previous night.
Galleous hadn't planned on getting this emotionally invested in the Voltaris child. He hadn't expected the stab-happy kid from day one to break down so entirely, to be so dreading some cruel comeuppance that he would dare Galleous to do his worst just to get it over with.
Galleous sighed inwardly. He was undoubtedly the worst person in Ardonia to have tried to help an injured Voltaris, much less a scared child. But Nether, who else could do it?
He watched the boy scarf down a mouthful of bread, then notice his attention and glare at him in a way that had roughly zero intimidation power. Nevertheless, Galleous obligingly returned his attention to his own food.
He had once feared the Voltaris, like any Ardoni raised on the tales of the exiled fifth clan and the twisted forms of magic they'd practiced before their exile. He had even hated them for a time, after Lairen's death. But it was a lot easier to feel that way about the nameless, faceless sorcerers from children's tales than about the child before him, who reminded Galleous of nothing so much as a lost puppy.
Speaking of nameless...
"I never did get your name," Galleous said.
Either the kid would tell him, and Galleous would actually have something to call him besides "kid," or he would refuse, showing that he was getting back to his old self. Galleous would consider either as a win.
The boy hesitated, then answered with a sigh. "Ingressus."
"Nice to meet you."
The rest of the meal was eaten in the same silence as before, with only the sound of rain and the occasional distant rumble of thunder interrupting the sound of chewing. When they were both finished Galleous stood to gather the plates, but paused when Ingressus spoke again.
"You really didn't tell anyone about me? Not even your Master?"
"Nobody," Galleous confirmed. "And I won't. No one will know you were ever here."
Ingressus said nothing to that. His eyes flickered to Galleous's face as Galleous stacked the plates, ready to carry them to be washed.
"I'm sorry for punching you," Ingressus said suddenly.
Galleous waved it off. "No hard feelings."
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(1964 words)
Total word count: 12,117