"I

had a dream last night."

His voice was so tiny, no louder than a whisper. It was small and frail, full of a fear he wouldn't accept as his; he was afraid to, truth be told - afraid of reality, afraid of dreaming, afraid of himself, but whenever Amadeus rested his face in his hands like that and stared at him with those eyes as blue as the ocean, Theo's throat closed up in a knot and he had no choice but to spill it all out like bile.

"A dream where you died," he said, intertwining his fingers in front of his chest, as if they could somehow stop the flood of words that wrecked his throat like thorns, with those eyes as wide as the moon following his every move. It was nerve-wracking just how close and how far Amadeus was, barely at arm's reach but also distant like a galaxy; and all Theo wanted, needed, was to reach out, to take his hand, to feel the man's cold skin slowly seeping his warmth. "A dream where I..."He didn't say it, wouldn't dare to say it - for fear of it becoming true, for fear of it being true.

Amadeus allowed himself a small chuckle, tucking rogue strands of dark hair behind an ear. It was eerie how ethereal he looked, with the sun kissing his olive skin and his white dress fluttering to the breeze, like he was walking in the clouds and the splashes created by the ocean's crashing waves surrounded him, glittering, shimmering and reflecting the twilight, becoming million tiny stars

"It's not good to dwell on these things," Amadeus told him with the littlest of smiles, tiny dimples forming on his marred cheeks. "You should know that by now."

It was a sight so beautiful he could die.

It was some sort of sick joke, it had to be; the outrider mustered a joyless laugh as an answer, unwinding his fingers and stretching his arms over his head, as if he could touch the very heavens - that faraway place where Amadeus seemed to be from. "Guess I always was the hardheaded one, weren't I...?"

His smile didn't falter, but there was something glittering, flickering, burning behind Amadeus blue eyes, just like the wisps of the forest, catching wind of Theo's inquietude and shifting accordingly.

"Walk with me," the man said with a tone Theo could never say no to, wrapping his hand around the outrider's wrist and pulling him closer without meeting resistance. His fingers were long, delicate and slender in a manner that you could mistake him for being frail, similar to the rest of his build - but oh, how they burned, searing Theo's skin with how cold they were.

He was dragged through the beach, with Amadeus in front of him stepping so lightly that he barely left a trail, as if he weighted as much as a feather, and beyond them, the vast horizon revealed itself to them: where blue previously blended into green when the sky met the sea, the sun colored with gold, orange, pink, crimson, slowly drowning the world in red and inviting the stars to come out, robbing Theo of breath while Amadeus didn't seem to mind.

"It's a beautiful world, isn't it?" the man asked Theo, and he could see the sunset reflected in his eyes, burning red like a ghost's. "No matter where you are, it's the same sky, the same ocean - so no matter where it falls, a raindrop finds its way back to the sea. "

Once again, he laughed oh, it was a wonderful sound, the sort that angels made: it was low in tone but high in volume, as strident as everything Amadeus did, with his voice sounding both raspy and smooth, flowing like a river.

"You and I are the same. You're my sky, my boundless sea. So even if we get separated, I shall find my way back to you."

"Amadeus..."

He was beautiful, Theo thought, and whatever he was going to say got lost in the crashing of the waves.

"My beloved friend," Amadeus called, cupping Theo's face with his hands. "You no longer need to dream and forget about reality."

Ah.

That's when he realized, he should have kissed him.

I

t was no longer a dance.

If anything, the clamoring sound of steel meeting steel was nothing more but the swansong of two rabid, savage beasts.

How long had it been since they found themselves locked in that standstill, waltzing away what little time they had left before that ballet of fools came to a close? How many hours - nay, days, years, centuries - had it been ever since their fates became intertwined like that, defined by the heat of battle and sworn to the sword, with only one possible end in sight? And yet - and yet! - wasn't it foolish how this battle was in vain, for there was no life left to live, no fight left to fight, no victory to be found in their opponent's downfall, and all came down to the ticking seconds on the clock.

Tonight, they would both fall - it was only a question of how quickly - but even his enemy knew they were friends once.

- so was it always doomed to be this way?

Maybe if he never took that sword to his chest, things would have been different.

Or maybe it was perhaps something more quintessential, something intrinsic to their being - or maybe it was simply the sadism of the gods, playing their tragedies and odes with the fickle life of mortals, who were all but abandoned by the True Creator.

Maybe it was simply meant to be.

They no longer cared about the morrow, abandoning all hope for another morning; there, they pirouetted in the footsteps of once glorious days, edge meeting edge, bared fangs snapping at each other and the guttural sounds that escaped their chests no longer resembling anything like mortal tongues.

- and somewhere, far in the distance, the noises of the surrounding battle died down as their death by daylight quickly approached.

His blood ran thin as he used magic to cut and slice and whirl through the battlefield, and in one desperate attempt, he twirled around, joining his hands together and raining fire upon his enemy, who cut through it as if his sorcery was nothing of note. The beast, then, was upon him, drawing a wide arc with his own sword that the dragonrider wouldn't be able to parry or dodge, and all that was left for him to do was to coil into himself like a scared little child; he felt his bones break and grind into dust as the edge sliced through them and flesh alike, and from his throat, the roar of a great wyrm reverberated across the endless empty.

Through his pained tears, he looked up and for a second, Amadeus' determination seemed to falter, taken aback by the sheer hatred that contorted his features.

"Oh, my friend..." Amadeus whispered, and the pity in his voice filled him with rage.

hat distraction was all the dragonrider needed, completely forgetting his magic focus. He sublimated his soul into spirit, desperately putting his weight into one last attack, to lunge his rapier forward with both hands, striking and perfuring the animal's chest as he broke rib, and lung, and heart, pushing ever forward until they were both fallen on the ground and the blood climbed up the monster's trachea and throat, spilling from his mouth alongside bile and vomit, coming forward with an undignified noise and blemishing Amadeus' beautiful black hair.

A wicked grin took hold of his face. Good; it was as it should be - but Amadeus still extended a feeble hand in desperate friendship, cupping his face like a lover might do, and the feeling of calloused skin against his cheek made his fire burn out, leaving nothing behind but ice.

"Theo," the man whispered softly, and the sound of his name sent a chill down his spine.

"Amadeus," the outrider echoed as all his strength left him and he fell to the side with unceremonious noise, curling himself over as to stare at his opponent's features, and when he blinked, he wondered how could he possibly look so peaceful after being stricken down like an animal - for the features that now beheld him were not distorted in distress or joy, but the smile on his face was blissful and genuine.

No life left to live.

No fight left to fight.

"It's over," he stated, and a small chuckle escaped Amadeus' lips as he turned to admire the rider's features, tracing them with the tip of his bloodied fingers - as if attempting to commit them to memory while his eves became clouded and the soul deep within their hearts stopped to swirl and churn, becoming nothing but a peaceful stillness.

"It is," the knight agreed, closing his eyes and listening to his enemy's heartbeat for a second too long. "Oh," a little murmur escaped his lips. "I'm happy..."

"I'm glad I met you," he admitted with his failing breath, smiling at his own words - and wasn't it blinding, like a child's innocence. "You made me believe this world is beautiful."

Simple, genuine happiness.

- Maybe at the very end, he could find it as well.

Their bodies and blades were broken and beyond mending, abandoned and cast aside to waste away, and the dawn broke as the first rays of sunlight shone brightly alongside the end of the world - where all was still, and for a long moment, they could simply be. He laughed, joyfully, maniacally, bitterly at this world. Maybe now, they were finally fr-

And yet, every ending marks a new beginning.

So maybe someday, someone like you will meet someone like me - then let us go back to the start and begin anew.

N

o matter how much time had passed, they found themselves walking those same steps as always.

The walls around them crumbled and fell, and the days passed by in the blink of an eye. The hot Vendanian summer changed into a mellow winter typical of southern Lamúria, and before either of them realized, the years had dragged on as if by a storm, leaving them confused and disheveled and pulling away their masks and pretenses, but making them wiser and stronger in their old age - and as they climbed up those same steps again and again, they had hand in unlovable hand, like it should always have been.

Long gone were the days of the Empire, and those who were yet to be born would soon forget about the reign of the King of Ruin; instead, the anthems and hymns spoke about the graces of the Republic and the Rebellion, courageous fighters who freed the Loft from the thorns of tyranny, those who rose like stars in the kind night sky, gathering around the one who would shepherd them, guide them, deliver them: a lone outrider.

A hero takes a sword in hand, clasping a closed hand to his heart.

- and no matter how many times he beheld his face, he still found himself transfixed by his beauty.

The painting was an old thing, a beautiful thing, a wretched thing; the hero raised his sword high, pointing towards the sun - the shining star that would lead Lamúria to a new dawn - leaving naught but tears and ash in its wake. He was made to fall if he was petals from falling flowers, unimportant and already forgotten, forged to be broken beneath time's ever ongoing march. And yet, despite all that, he threaded on.

It made his heart soar.

Before the portrait, all the works in the gallery seemed monotone in comparison - commissioned some two hundred years ago by a prime minister whose name he no longer remembered to commemorate the anniversary of the Loft's independence. In a way, the outrider still kept guard, watching over the people he loved so dearly - the young and the adventurous, people from all of Lamúria, the Isles and beyond, coming from all across the world to congregate at the heart of the city, to walk its streets and to bask in its warmth, for today again all weapons lied down abandoned and gathering dust, left to rot away and decay as people called themselves free.

It's a beautiful world, he could hear his companion speak with a tiny smile, and he wondered if the heroes of eld somehow sounded like him

"Theo," Amadeus called only to find that the youth was long gone, spirited away by his own whimsical impulses - so the boy took a deep breath, shaking his head in silent disapproval.

He spared the painting one last glance before leaving the room, its mismatched black and silver eyes peering into him like they knew something he didn't, gleaming cold like singing steel. He pressed on through the gallery, descending its steps and walking by the faces of the great warriors and heroes of the story of Lamúria- all looking at him, judging him for what he was worth, as if he had lost the rights to traverse those hallowed halls long ago due an unspeakable sin.

Coward, they seemed to scream at him.

But those were memories of long ago, weren't they?

Memories that he no longer remembered, that no longer belonged to him.

- and outside, it was a beautiful day.

The sun shone above illuminating all of the creation, with the warm weather being offset by the gentle breeze, and there few clouds in the infinite blue sky that stretched away endlessly. At the very heart of Saint Auror, the crowds passing by were bustling, idling away their day of rest, where so long ago blood was shed and spilled.

What a sight! Oh, how he could get drunk in the city, to take his companion's hand in his own and get lost amidst the endless streets and alleys as if they were the adventurers of eld, uncovering the nooks and crannies of a new land! And if the night were to fall, that would be alright, for they had each other and the moon always shone brightly over those she favored.

But alas, it was not his most pressing concern.

Lost amidst the chaos of the city, he found him in its quiet corners, following narrow paths to the small gardens atop the city- and where, from his vantage point, the boy in the wheelchair observed the city bellow with a sleepy disposition; examining his profile revealed soft features, and albeit his face seemed young, his eyes betrayed what burned inside him.

"Took you long enough," he complained, lazily turning his head to look at his only companion and just the sight of him was enough to make Amadeus' lips curl ever so slightly - slightly, discreetly, sincerely.

"Theo," Amadeus called again, and the boy pruned up at the sound of his name, letting out a lengthy sigh as if holding his breath or disapproving the tone of his friend. "You need to stop disappearing like this."

"But you've found me, haven't you?" he asked, resting his face in a hand and daring to smile that shit eating grin of his, as if this was a game, or a joke at Amadeus' expense. "Like you always do."

And wasn't that the everlasting question? For Amadeus would find his way back to Theo, no matter how much time had passed, like it always had been since that fateful day in the riverbed of the Wardens, overseeing the sunset.

But it was not like he knew that.

At his side, Theo ditched his wheelchair to walk a couple steps, prompting Amadeus to raise a worried hand to his back. "Careful!" the boy warned, but his companion simply snorted, guiding him further like a magnet; the youth sat by the railings that separated them from certain death, staring towards the horizon from atop the walls of the Loft, and below him, the sprawling metropolis never slept: it was a brief moment of stillness as their day of rest came to a close, as tomorrow they would resume their usual schoolings, but today they could simply be. And for a long while, Theo was - calm, still, peaceful.

No fight left to fight.

Only this life left to live.

A brief moment of simple, genuine happiness.

"Isn't it beautiful?" the boy raised his voice to ask, and Amadeus realized that sitting at his side, in a stunning evening like that, it was hard to disagree.

"I'm happy," he admitted, in turn, in a low voice. For how else he could voice it? To have met him, to have befriended him, to have had the chance to walk by his side - he was truly, truly happy.

For tis world was a beautiful, and Theo was too kind.

"I've been thinking about your offer," Theo admitted, intertwining his fingers close together as he spoke, and his face was a mask: impassive, with eyes burning bright as if the steel of a blade as they reflected the evening sun. It stole his breath away, and it was only when he saw the faintest hint of a curve in his lips that he dared to breathe again. "Let us go, Amadeus. Let us go to the Isles!"

- and then a smile, a beautiful, wonderful, blinding smile.

"Won't you complain about the cold?" he asked, flabbergasted. And no matter how many times he beheld his face, he still found himself transfixed by his beauty.

"No," Theo assured him, and whatever existed between them, it was about to begin - slowly, then crashing as if the waves of the sea against his chest, threatening to drown him with their sheer violence - for he was truly glad. "Not while I have your hand to hold."

Because now, they were free.