A/N: Kyros Bancroft aesthetic.
The train in front of me rushes into the station, wind whipping everywhere as it squeaks and groans to a halt.
There's still two days between me and the Koraki mission, but tomorrow night, I have to go to a New Byzantinian gala to pull off the elimination of the corrupted governor. The train will take me from Lystra into the heart of the capital, to get some supplies, recon the area, and hopefully check on Brynn while I'm at it.
I hand my ticket to the attendant by the doors, taking my seat on the cushy but faded reddish leather seats. The luxury of New Byzantine is not lost here, even in public transportation. With earbuds blasting music through my skull, I lean back and close my eyes as I wait for the train to fill up with well-to-dos going who knows where. I barely notice the pinch of the handgun on my skin under my shirt.
When I first started working for Argos, the knowledge that I was dangerous had terrified me. Everywhere I went, the weapons I always had on me and the training I knew were a reminder of the destruction I could cause, of the fear that would fill hearts if they knew who I was or what I could do. I was a living, breathing hurricane, taught and ready to strike any who would stand in the way of the powers above me. Not anymore. One of the first things that Gwen taught me was that those weaker than the power are powerless. To be powerful, you have to swallow your grief and replace it with strength. There is no longer any grief left to haunt my tired bones; not when there is daylight, anyway. I am powerful because I do not feel. I've finally made myself strong enough to stand alone.
The man by the door calls out for the final stragglers to make their way in, and before long, the train begins its movement with a hiss.
The ride to the city isn't terribly long, especially considering how massive and far away the capitol is, so I settle down for the hour-long ride.
I'm soon rudely interrupted.
About half an hour in, my phone goes off like a siren from the table it's resting on in front of me. With a start caused by taught reflexes, I snap to attention and answer it quickly. Callista's panicky voice greets me on the other end.
"Change of plans. Do you have a weapon on you?" Callista asks, not giving time to answer before continuing.
"Pff. Of course you do, why am I asking. Nerves. Holy crap. Okay. Koraki is on the train you're on. Right now." she says, voice trembling with adrenaline. I feel my heart rate speed up. I don't have a whole lot of time to work with now.
"How do you know?" I ask, controlling my voice to sound casual rather than tense.
"The phone just went off again. There's no guard with him. Row 15, B-side of the train. Put your earpiece in and go," Callie says, hanging up to give me time to get ready.
Moving quickly, I put in the earpiece, which, thanks to Canaan's insane technology, quickly registers that it's being used and goes invisible.
This is routine to me: mechanical movements, cold and calculating, carry me to my feet and towards the front end of the train. The goal is simple: take him out, quietly if possible, and end this war of misery that has been raging for nearly two years now.
"Can you see him?" Callista asks frantically, and I mumble a "yes" under my breath to avoid suspicion.
His back is turned to me, but I can pick up a few clues to try and assess what kind of situation I'm entering. He's younger than I thought he would be, probably not too far from my own age, with a head of dark hair hanging slightly over his ears. Not quite untrimmed, but not quite well-kept either. Unexpected, considering his position of high power. Broad shoulders indicate that he's strong and well-built, meaning if this were to come down to a fight, it might not go too well for me if I'm not cautious. I can see the back of his shoulders, and the edge of his leg as it pokes out slightly from his seat. His attire is not that of the New Byzantine elite, but street clothes more likely to be found in the dome where I grew up or on a Saturday in CANAAN. Unusual, to say the least. A small part of me wonders if Callista might be wrong, or if this is a trap.
I take in a deep breath and decide to try and play this casually if possible.
The seat in front of him is empty, but my mind follows suit even before I manage to sit down.
I never thought that I would see him again. I had no plans to. But his eyes are still the same ones that I had found so much hope is, and something within me that I've been trying to ignore for three years breaks its way back into my life. Hurt.
I can still see the look in his eyes on a rooftop at the Refuge, comforting me when I wouldn't let anyone else near me. I can still see the way he fought for me in the desert, I can still see the look in his eyes on the night that everything fell apart. His eyes still look like the ocean, like a tidal wave just waiting to show up and tear me apart all over again.
Kyros Bancroft.
My head is still reeling, both with the fact of seeing him again and the fact that he is Koraki, and so I don't say anything for a few split seconds. I can hear Callista in my ears like white noise, asking me over and over again about what's wrong.
"You got the wrong guy. I'll call you later, Callie." I say, trying to hide the panic in my voice but failing.
What the heck, Ari?! I'm failing my mission already. My position is already compromised, and if Kyros were to decide he wanted to up and bolt out of the train right now, I'd be too awestruck to stop him.
Rest in peace, three years of Argos work and my career.
Thankfully, Kyros seems just as shocked as I am.
I yank the earpiece our and shove it in my pocket, and immediately just blurt out his name.
"Kyros?!" I hiss, and the shock in his face mirrors my own.
"Ariadne!" he breathes, with something akin to awe in his voice.
Without waiting any longer, the instincts I've gathered over the past three years finally kick in, and I grab his wrist and lead him to his feet.
I can't just attack him. This is by far the hardest situation I've ever had to face.
Oddly enough, he lets me lead him through the train cars until we get to an empty one, where I finally release his wrist and whirl to face him. Nothing leaves my mouth; I'm too shocked to speak.
"You're the one they sent to kill me, aren't you?" he merely asks, with no anger or even sadness in his voice. His tone is nonchalant, almost apathetic about the fact that I'm supposed to murder him. It makes me wonder if he's used to things like this happening to him.
I nod once, and he raises his hands as almost a question.
"Well? Are you gonna follow through?"
"You're Koraki?" I ask, voice cold as ice as I stare him down, trying to figure out what to do. Kyros merely gives me a lopsided grin, taking a slight bow in what I think he attempts to be comical.
I let out a slow breath, head reeling as I try to separate the situation from my emotions. If you had asked yesterday, I would've told you I was good at that. Now? I'm suddenly not so sure.
My training moves faster than my brain does, and before Kyros even fully realize what I'm doing, I shoot him with the drug-filled dart I carry for missions where kidnapping is involved. He kind of freezes, and then looks at me shock before falling to the ground with a thump.
Everything is already hitting the fan anyway.
I call Brynn immediately to at least try and patch something up.
"Hey!" she greets cheerily, and I feel myself cringe a little under the weight of what I'm doing.
"Hey Brynn! Would you be willing to run recon for me today? I realized that I don't need any more supplies, so there's really not that much of a point for me to head in if you can get everything set up for me," I try, hoping that my tone comes across as casual instead of tense. More often than not, I usually let her run recon for me on a lot of these missions. This time was different because of my own boredom, so hopefully this pans out.
Brynn is silent on her end of the phone, listening to the background of wherever I am for clues.
"Everything alright?" she asks her tone cold now as she listens intently for anything suspicious. Vocal intonations, syllables emphasized-anything to hint to her that something is off.
"I'm fine, Brynn. Just tired is all. I'll see you on Tuesday?" I offer, and that seems to satisfy her.
"Sounds good. Bye,"
Switching trains proves to be more obnoxious than anything. The drug I shot Kyros with leaves him groggy enough that he can pass off as drunk, so although his slurred speech and senseless babbling turns some heads, no one questions anything enough to stop us. The biggest obstacle ends up being the bellhop at my hotel.
I stumble into the lobby, with Kyros' arm heavy on my shoulder as he looks around the magnificent room with hooded eyes. The boy by the door looks over us curiously, placing a hand on my shoulder and stopping my beeline to the elevator.
"Miss, is he alright?" he asks, eyebrows furrowed with concern as he looks over Kyros.
"Yes, yes. Just... had a bit too much to drink,"
I struggle not to stumble through the lobby, and the bellhop gives me a quizzical glance. He doesn't quite believe me, but he's seen stranger things stumble through the lobby by the side of CANAAN's agents. A "drunk" man is nothing to him.
It's only really when I manage to get Kyros into my suite and manage to tie him securely to the chair that I can think everything through again.
Three years. I spent three years running from this boy, running from the pain of what feeling would mean again, running from everything I gave up.
Yet here he is, all messy dark hair and ocean eyes and a world of hurt and heartbreak that I can't go through again.
He's changed; he's not a boy anymore. At 22, he's far more built than he used to be, his hair longer than it was before. It used to be trimmed and well kept on the sides, I think partially because of his adopted family's military background, but it's far from that now. It's vaguely shaggy, hanging about halfway down his forehead and over the edges of his ears. There's a tattoo running up his left arm, like a vine growing along his skin. Alongside all that are countless scars that I probably also have, but it hurts a little bit to see them on him. I left to protect him. I left to protect all of the people who were close to me, and here he is, the cornerstone of the same things I'm fighting against once again.
With a heavy sigh, I take a seat across from where Kyros is tied, merely studying his face as I debate on what to do.
Apart from being half the reason I ran from CANAAN, he's also the leader of the thorn in Gwen's side. It's almost too much to process: three years ago, the boy was dreaming up ways to work for Gwen. Now, he's leading the very movement against her. It explains why Echo never mentioned him. It doesn't explain why none of my friends ever told me he left.
Although at the same time, I never asked, and they never bothered to tell me.
But why? Why is he fighting against the people that saved us? It doesn't make any sense.
I stand up with a huff and pace the room slowly, thinking through my options about where to go from here.
I can't kill Kyros. There's no way. I also don't know if I'm capable of turning him in to Argos. Gwen hates anything to do with the Orebite movement. I did too, until now. She'll kill him herself.
I can't just let him go, though. My job is still to deal with this mess.
I decide to wait it out until the end of the next few days, waiting to see how this pans out. I'll still complete the mission with the governor, and go from there. Unless Brynn stops by here, I should be okay to dismiss her before the gala on Saturday night. Maybe I'll just take Kyros there with me? Who knows.
With a groan, Kyros comes back to the world of consciousness, looking around the room with heavy eyelids as he struggles to situate himself and wake from the effects of the drug.
"Where am I?" he mutters, his voice gravelly as if he just woke up from a nap.
I let out a slow breath before sliding an expression of nonchalance across my face.
Time to play my part, like I have learned to do so well over the past few years.
Let the games begin.