[Vix] Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall... (Part 2)

[myxstorie]

back to part one



When they eventually returned to the others, the already despondent mood had taken a turn for the worse. Bleak faces greeted them, the sudden quiet jarring in comparison to the loud, boisterous atmosphere Ryota had quickly grown used to. Takki was nowhere to be found, but Yabu approached them as they hovered in the entrance, his face ashen. His expression was carefully blank, but Ryota could see the first signs of despair creeping in around the edges. His mouth was pulled into a tight line, and his eyes appeared more sunken than they had been before, a dark, dull curtain pulled across them and at complete odds to the cheerful, smiling face he’d seen before.

“Poison,” he choked.

“What?” Ryota asked, more breath than speech. Yara stiffened beside him, and Ryota’s heart crept up into his throat.

“They poisoned him,” Yabu replied, voice shaking. “Takki said he’d heard, but never really believed, and-” His voice cracked, and he leaned easily on Takaki when the other man shifted closer and slid an arm around him. “-and if his body can’t fight it it, it’ll- it- he won’t-”

“He won’t make it.” Takaki supplied, deep voice even lower than usual. Yabu drew in a shaking breath and Takaki squeezed gently, his fingers tightening visibly on the other man’s shoulder.

“Takki said he knew somewhere they could go for some medicine to dull the pain, so he took Tatsumi and some of the older guys up with him.”

“Up?!” Yara interrupted, and Yabu nodded desolately.

“He didn’t say anything else, just that they’d be back as quickly as they could.”

“They’ll be back,” Takaki murmured softly, and Yabu let the other man lead him away, “They’ll be fine.”

“They went up?” Ryota asked, keeping his voice quiet. He felt like he was about to be sick, stomach roiling anxiously, and was grateful when Yara tugged him to the floor. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, but his arm was bare where he pressed their shoulders together, and Ryota welcomed the touch, however small.

“Into the storm,” Yara said. “We have to, sometimes, for food and water, but... ever since Chura...” His eyes glistened in the firelight, and Ryota’s arms ached with the urge to hug him.

“Chura?” He asked instead, and placed his hand over the top of Yara’s, feeling the scrape of jeans against his palm.

“My sister,” his friend whispered, “Kind of, I guess.” Yara was blinking fiercely now, staring straight ahead, but his face was blank, unseeing, and when he spoke it was almost like he was talking to himself. “My parents found her when she was just a baby. She wouldn’t leave for the borders with them, so I was supposed to look after her and now she’s... She went up to the surface to look for stragglers, people caught in the storm, and... she didn’t come back.

“And now Takki and Tatsumi have gone too, and Miyata... If we lose Miyata, Tamamori won’t be able to...” He trailed off, and Ryota squeezed his hand through the denim separating them.

“Tamamori won’t be able to what?” He asked softly, more out of a need to keep Yara talking than to satisfy his own curiosity. He was curious, that much he couldn’t deny, but in short time he’d known Yara, he hadn’t seen anything quite as scary as the blank, lost look the other man had on his face just then.

Yara turned to face him, face grim. “Tamamori used to be one of them.”



Tamamori couldn’t remember the beginning. He remembered growing up in the dark, knew he didn’t look like the rest of them, felt odd and ugly because he had such straight teeth instead of long, sharp ones, and he was covered with soft, brown feathers and creamy skin where the rest of them had nothing but coarse, black fur. He’d asked once, when he was too small to know any better, why he looked so different to the rest of them, and had found out that he’d originally come from the surface. His biological parents had abandoned him, terrified, when they found him curled up next to the tattered remains of a human body with blood around his mouth, and he’d been down here ever since. He hadn’t called the human, nor had he killed them, being far too small to manage anything of the sort, but he’d had his first taste. After the first taste, they told him, there was no going back.

As he got older, he learned to call humans himself. Without a strong enough Carrier amongst them, it was impossible for them to cross over and take humans as their ancestors had done without the transition killing them, but there was still enough power lingering for them to reach through the cracks. All Tamamori had to do was find a crack large enough. Humans were incredibly fickle, he found, and even easier to manipulate, if you knew what words to use. Women and children were the easiest, and soon he was enticing them through with ease, far better than any of his companions could ever manage even with the power of a reflection to aid them.

Over time, the darkness became too heavy and oppressive, and Tamamori took to sneaking up to find a quiet, sheltered spot to lay back and soak everything up like a sponge, the lush green grass, blindingly bright sun, the sounds, the smells, the world above him.

It was on one of these mornings when the rest of them were still sleeping that he’d crept out of their home and climbed the crude ladder none of them thought he knew about, the one that would take him up and out. He’d found his favourite spot partway down the hillside, the overhang giving his eyes enough shelter from the brightness of the dawn, and he’d sprawled on his back, arms folded as a cushion beneath his head.

Miyata had been a shadow across his face at first, until Tamamori had blinked his eyes open and seen the other man hovering above him.

“Hi!” Miyata had said brightly, “Mind if I join you?”

Tamamori panicked and scrambled backwards, but only hit the side of the overhang, and whipped his head around frantically searching for an escape. He’d heard terrible things about the people that lived on the surface, and now one of them had him trapped, cornered, with nowhere to go.

“Woah, woah!” Miyata raised both hands in front of him and took a step back, “Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you.” He peered at Tamamori carefully, frowning in a way that made Tamamori want to squirm. “Are you okay?”

Tamamori nodded stiffly and shrank as far back as he could, hoping desperately that this too-bright, too-happy creature would take pity and leave him alone.

“You’re so pale,” Miyata said, his frown only deepening, “And your eyes... Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Tamamori muttered, voice rough and scratchy. None of them talked very much, and although he could, he didn’t do it often enough for his voice to be comfortable with it.

Miyata shrugged, long, furry ears in the same auburn shade has his hair flopping about with the motion, and Tamamori wondered if he’d decided against letting him go free.

“Well, can I join you?” He said simply, and Tamamori gulped, fingers pulling up grass where they were clenching in it. He hastily let go and brushed the green strands from his palms, studying the indentations they’d left behind closely, as if they were the most fascinating things he’d ever seen.

The other man didn’t seem to need an answer, because he flopped down in the grass on his stomach next to him and leaned his chin on his hands. Tamamori saw a thick, fluffy tail twitch and sway gently before it settled across the back of his thighs. It looked so soft that he wanted to reach out and touch it, his hand making it half way before he snatched it back. Miyata must have seen, because he just grinned, showing bright white teeth, and wagged his tail in Tamamori’s direction.

“It’s okay, go ahead. Just don’t pull it, that hurts.”

And that was how it had started. Tamamori had started sneaking out more and more, and more and more Miyata would be there to meet him, hidden beneath the overhang with stories and food and jokes. Tamamori developed quite a taste for the things Miyata and his people fed on, and eventually for Miyata himself after they shared their first, tentative kiss. They carried on this way for months, until Tamamori snuck out one day, and didn’t go back. By the time he was caught searching for a human, Miyata had already figured out what was going on, and instead of running for the hills like Tamamori expected him to, he stayed.

It took a long time, and Tamamori could still remember the sleepless nights, the cold sweats and burning fevers, the hallucinations and the unbearable, crippling pains as his body yearned for what it couldn’t have, but in the end, when he could stand and look Miyata in the eye and not feel a trace of the urge to reach out for anyone else, it was all worth it.

He couldn’t go back to that, wouldn’t, wouldn’t ever let Miyata down like that, not after everything the other man had been through for him. Miyata had fed him when he hadn’t the strength to eat, held his hand whilst Tamamori cursed at him, and talked to him all night when he couldn’t sleep. Miyata had done everything his parents couldn’t bring themselves to even try, and when Miyata had wanted to stay and help find the King, Tamamori hadn’t even considered not being by his side.

And now the ones he used to call family had hurt the one he loved.

He knelt beside Miyata’s body, his friend convulsing and writhing in pain, and wondered if this was how lost and helpless Miyata felt when he was trying to help him. He looked like someone else was controlling his body, pulling him around like a marionette then letting him drop, boneless and panting when they got bored, only to yank him up again a moment later. Tamamori wiped the cold sweat from his face with a cloth and a bowl of water - the last they had, he knew, but none of them had even mentioned that when they’d brought it to them. He hoped whoever had gone to find more would stay safe.

Miyata looked up at him and Tamamori smiled as best he could, the motion tight around his mouth. He reached for Miyata’s hand and squeezed, brushed the damp hair away from his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead, making the most of it while he could - Miyata’s lucid moments were getting fewer and farther apart. Whether he was lucid or not, the pain never stopped pouring from Miyata’s lips, keening whines turning into rasped howls and groans and cries as the venom ate away at his insides like a billion frantic, rabid parasites trying to claw their way to the surface. He whimpered quietly, and Tamamori leaned down to press their lips together, hoping Miyata wouldn’t notice his tears.

He couldn’t stop thinking that every time Miyata’s eyes opened, every time they kissed, every time Miyata gazed at him with recognition in those warm, soft eyes, it could be the last.



Everyone else had gathered in the larger cave when they could no longer bear to watch. Miyata cried out, then choked on a cough, the makeshift door of wood and blankets they had made to give the two of them the illusion of privacy doing nothing to muffle his pain. They didn’t want to be protected from it, Ryota knew.

His eyes only met Yara's for a split second, but it was long enough for him to see the lost devastation all over his face. It wasn't the kind of look he was used to seeing on someone usually so composed, so calm, and it shook him to his very core. In that moment, he realised what Yara already knew, what they were all so scared of.

Miyata wasn’t going to make it.

Yara must have seen the horrified understanding in Ryota’s eyes, because he pushed himself off of the wall he had been leaning against and came to sit beside him. He nudged until Ryota shifted to give him enough room to slide in behind him, then pulled him back against his chest and wrapped him up in an embrace. Ryota’s arms were pinned to his sides by Yara’s hold, but Yara's chin settled on his shoulder and Yara's breath was soft in his ear, and Ryota leaned back into it, grateful for the comfort. It was unfathomable that he’d only known these people for a few short days, yet had come to care so much for them all that he shared in their laughter, their tears and their pain like he’d always been one of them. Suddenly, he missed home, missed Ryu’s teasing and his mother’s nagging and his safe, normal life, but guilt settled in around him almost as quickly, ugly and sour-tasting on the back of his tongue. He couldn’t be thinking of himself, not when these people who had welcomed him so quickly and easily into their fold, these people who had shared the little food and supplies they had, these people who had treated him like a friend since the day he arrived were suffering so much, were clinging desperately to the hope that everything would be okay. As long as Miyata was crying out in pain, was shouting and groaning and whimpering and breaking their hearts a little more every time, he was still alive.

Suddenly, all too soon, there was nothing. Silence, broken only by the sound of their hope shattering.

The space between them did nothing to muffle the heart-wrenching, soul-destroying wail that was ripped from Tamamori's throat.



Tamamori felt numb.

He had no more tears left to cry, no more voice left to scream. No more heart left to feel. Slumped against the wall as he was, he could see Miyata’s body clearly - and it was just a body, that much he knew, because there was nothing of Miyata left inside it now. Miyata was gone, and Tamamori was alone again.

Alone, except for the hungry parasite inside of him.



It was so quiet.

Ryota could hear someone crying softly outside, but so far, nobody had said a word. Gradually, everyone had filtered out, moving away from the fire and into the darkness of the tunnels. Maybe they wanted to be alone, maybe they couldn’t bear to be so close knowing what was just behind the flimsy door they’d made, but eventually the cave was as empty as it had been back when Ryota had first opened his eyes.

The cave was too big and too empty for just the two of them, and when Yara slid out from behind him and stood, scooping up a lamp on the way out, Ryota followed without consideration. They nearly fell over Yokoo where he was huddled in one of the passages, hidden amongst the shadows that the lamp couldn’t quite breach, and after one look at his face, Yara dropped down next to him silently.

Ryota stood awkwardly in front of them for a long moment, but then Yara looked up at him and opened his arms. Ryota didn’t have to think twice before taking up his place again, Yara’s arms fitting easily around him.

They were talking softly to one another, words that Ryota wasn’t really focusing on past the warm, gentle sound of Yara’s voice in his ear when suddenly, Yara started, halting mid-sentence and jerking Ryota’s body with the force of it.

“What was that?” He asked, eyes searching for something Ryota couldn’t see, and shared a loaded glance with Yokoo.

“It felt like...” Yokoo started. “But he wouldn’t. Not after...”

“He might.”

Yokoo’s face turned white, and he bolted back down the passage. “Tama!”



Nothing mattered now.

And it was easy, really. So easy. Like learning how to breathe, it was something he had never really forgotten. All Tamamori had to do was reach out, and there she was, nightgown loose around her thighs with hair flowing down her back like a silky, black waterfall. He took her hand and she came to him without question, gazing dreamily into his eyes as he pulled her close and leaned in, smelling vanilla and fruit on the curve of her neck.

Miyata was gone.

Closing his eyes and tightening his fingers around her upper arms, soft and supple in his grip, Tamamori lowered his mouth to her throat, and fed.



“Yuuta!”

The wood gave in easily beneath Yokoo’s weight as he flung himself through it, barely catching himself before he tripped over the feminine body sprawled on the floor. Her throat was a ragged wound, the flesh torn away as if by a wolf or a bear, and her head lolled back at an angle that had never been natural to the human form. Blood stained the front of her white gown and matted her hair, pooling around her where she lay.

“Yuuta...” Yokoo whispered, stepping back from the girl.

“Don’t call me that,” Tamamori growled, looking up from where he was brushing Miyata’s hair from his face in soft, tender strokes. “Don’t ever call me that.”

He glanced down at Miyata’s pale, empty face one last time, then stood and drew the back of his hand across his mouth, blood smearing and eyes blazing as he approached the doorway Yokoo was blocking. Ryota stepped back instinctively at the fire in Tamamori’s gaze, but Yara held his ground behind Yokoo, and neither of them moved.

“Get out of my way.” Tamamori said, voice lower and more terrifying than Ryota had ever heard it.

Neither man moved, and Tamamori’s glare intensified.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.” He said again, carefully enunciating each word as if they hadn’t heard him perfectly clearly the first time.

“Tama,” Yokoo started, and lifted a hand as if to rest it on Tamamori’s shoulder, “You can’t-”

The moment Yokoo’s fingers touched him, Tamamori flinched away like they burned, and shoved his way past them and through the throng of people that had begun to gather, all of them wearing practically identical looks of worry.

Someone called his name, but Tamamori showed no sign of hearing them, just broke into a jog as soon as he was free, then a run when he reached the mouth of the cave, letting the darkness swallow him whole.

“Get that door back up,” Yokoo shouted, immediately turning to business, “and take the little ones away.”

Takaki and Yabu rushed to pick up the fallen pieces of wood as the younger boys were ushered away from the scene. Yokoo didn’t bother feeling for a pulse or checking to see if the girl was still breathing - there was no need. He scooped her up carefully and laid her on the ground next to Miyata’s body, then spread a blanket over the two of them. When he turned away, Ryota could see his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Find him,” he said softly, for their ears only. “Please.”



Yara held the lamp in front of them as they walked, lighting the way as best he could. The heavy, impenetrable shadows still bore down on them from every angle, and Ryota pressed himself close to Yara’s side as they searched, hoping for any sign of Tamamori. It looked incredibly easy to get lost down here, and he wondered how Yara managed to keep track of where they were, where they’d been, where they were going.

“King Domoto’s line have been trying to put an end to it all,” Yara explained as he led Ryota through the tunnels. He found the distraction of Yara’s voice welcome, and wondered if that distraction was why Yara kept talking, too. “To stop them feeding on humans for good. Takki says King Domoto crossed over once when he was just a boy, and that it was your Prime Minister Nagase that helped him find his way back. Takki says he’s been empathetic towards humans ever since, more so than any of his predecessors.”

“Anyway,” Yara continued as they trudged slowly through the darkness, their small circle of light flickering with every step, “Legend says the King of centuries past forbade them to feed on humans, but he didn’t understand that instinct and survival run far deeper than any loyalty to him did, so when that didn’t work, he banished them down here, hoping that would cut off their supply. He thought that without anything to give them a reflection, they wouldn’t have a crack strong enough.”

“A reflection?” Ryota questioned when Yara paused to check where they were. He had no idea how the other man could possibly tell - every wall and corner down here looked the same to him - but eventually Yara seemed satisfied, and they were moving again.

“Haven’t you ever looked at your reflection and wondered about the world behind you? The King thought that was how the cracks were formed, because of the power a reflection holds.”

Something blinked sleepily in Ryota’s mind and, as if it had been waiting for that little nugget of information, the memory of what had come before he’d found this place, the dancing and the wind in the mirror, awoke. “So why didn’t it work?”

Yara smiled, but there was no happiness in it. Ryota didn’t like seeing such a bitter expression on the other man’s face, and was glad when it was gone.

“It’s true that reflections cause the strongest cracks, but they aren’t the only cracks. Not everything that looks like a crack is one, but anything that looks like one could be one. He banished them to these caves and the darkness, hoping to cut off their food supply. But they found other cracks. It was difficult, but there were still those among them that Carried enough to reach through and feed the rest. Now they're getting old, fading, dying, and because the younger ones can't provide well enough, they're hungry. But they’ve become too dependant on humans for any other kind of flesh to do the job.”

Ryota shivered, nodding, but Yara didn’t seem to notice.

“They’ve lived down in the dark for so long now that they don’t even look like us anymore. They’ve become something else entirely, and they’re desperate. They’re trying to bridge the gap again, to join both worlds completely so that they can have access to an unlimited food supply.” Yara’s shoulders rose and fell in a sigh that never made it to Ryota’s ears. “And they already know how to do it. That’s why they’ve kidnapped the King.”

“Oh...” Ryota breathed, worry settling like lead in the pit of his stomach. “But they can’t really do it, right? They can’t, can they?”

Yara didn’t answer. Ryota hugged his arms around himself, and asked something else instead.

"How do you know so much about these things?" He'd only mentioned it out of an idle curiosity niggling away in the back of his mind, but he couldn't miss the way Yara's face turned suddenly ashen and for the first time, he refused to meet Ryota's eyes. His friend was silent for a long white, but eventually he slowed their pace to a halt.

"It's... complicated," Yara said softly, taking hold of Ryota's arm and easing him gently forward. Within moments they were mere inches apart, and Ryota's breath caught in his throat, all thought fleeing his mind. His eyelids drooped of their own accord as Yara tugged him closer still, close enough that he could feel the other man's breath on his cheek, and Ryota swallowed reflexively, leaning into the warmth radiating from Yara's body.

"I'm sorry," Yara whispered, every word like a tiny kiss. Ryota's head was spinning from the anticipation alone. "I'm so sorry. I had to. They... they've got my sister."

There was a low, feral growl from further down the passage.

"I'm sorry," Yara said again, and even in the dark Ryota could see his friend's eyes were filled with tears. “I’ll find Tamamori.” Then Yara stepped aside, leaving nothing between Ryota and the creature advancing on them, hiding in the shadows as it moved. Ryota's heart lodged in his throat as Yara ran back the way they'd come, disappearing into the darkness. Leaving him completely, utterly defenceless.

Another growl echoed off the walls, louder than the last. Ryota took a shaky step backwards, too terrified to feel the harsh sting of betrayal, and it pounced.



Tamamori ran.

He ran until his lungs burned, until his legs felt like they’d give in at any moment, but still it clawed and gouged, fueling the anger blazing inside of him. His fury pushed him on, up and out and through the edges of the storm, further and further from everything he’d come to know and love. Back to where it had all started.

He remembered the path like he’d walked it yesterday, only now he was taking it in leaps and bounds, all but flying down the hillside as the bloodsucking freeloader inside him urged him faster and faster, feeding on the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

He rounded the bend, and felt like he’d run into a wall.

In place of what he’d expected to find was... a wreck.

His temper flared in a scalding flash of white heat as he took in the absolute destruction of the place they’d once sat, together in the shadow, Miyata spread out on the grass next to him with his head in Tamamori’s lap. The place he’d had his first glimpse of what affection really was. He could still remember the tentative way Miyata had laid shaking fingers on his cheek, how his thumb had brushed over his bottom lip, and when Tamamori hadn’t recoiled in disgust, the way he’d leaned in, ever so slowly, and pressed their mouths together.

But now it was gone. The only place they’d ever had to call their own was ruined, destroyed by the storm just like the poison had destroyed Miyata’s body.

Tamamori screamed.

He was going to make them pay.



The first thing Ryota felt when he came to was, mostly, surprise. When that thing had lunged at him, all filthy, matted fur and rank breath, he'd been convinced that he'd just drawn his last breath. But here he was, still breathing, still alive. But his elation was short lived when he realised what they'd done to him.

He was bound firmly around the ankles and wrists, his limbs throbbing in protest when he tugged at them experimentally. They didn't give an inch, and panic began to settle in, clenching tight around his chest and rising high into his throat. Starting to struggle against the ropes holding him, Ryota tried to shout out into the darkness, but discovered that they'd gagged him too. He still yelled as best he could, the sound coming out muffled and terrified as he fought and yanked against his binds. They held fast, tied with what must have been an inhuman kind of strength, and soon all he'd succeeded in doing was chafing his bare wrists raw and bloody, and screaming himself hoarse.

With a soft, strangled whimper of defeat, Ryota slumped. How long had Yara planned this? I knew you were one of them right from the start, he’d said. Was that why he’d rescued him from the storm, planning to hand him over to these creatures - because that thing he’d caught a glimpse of, that thing could never be anything else - the entire time? Was every word they’d shared, every smile, everything a lie?

"Finally awake, I see."

Ryota started, wincing in pain as his body went rigid. Squinting to try and see anything was just as futile as his fighting had been, and the heavy, black shadows surrounding him just seemed to get darker the more his eyes strained.

"Who's there?" He rasped, words scratching against his abused throat, and coming out thick and muffled around the gag, "What do you want?"

They laughed, rich and deep, the sound calming him with ease, and Ryota felt realisation wash over him.

“You’re the King.”

“And you’re human,” King Domoto said, obviously understanding Ryota's garbled voice. “And if we don’t get out of here, we’ll both be dead.”

“What?” Ryota breathed, the panic he’d so recently calmed from threatening to bubble up again.

Before the King could reply, there was a creak of hinges and rhythmic, thudding footsteps. Something grunted, and Ryota tried to shrink back, only to be reminded that his bonds held him fast. More shuffling followed, enough for two, three, maybe even more of them, and Ryota squeezed his eyes shut against the darkness, struggling anew when he smelled that sour, rancid breath on his face.

“Stop.” It growled, the world barely recognisable, and Ryota froze. He could hear the King scuffling with another of them, until there was some more shuffling and the sharp, pained sound of breath sucked in between clenched teeth. Ryota only had a split second to wonder what had happened because there was a blade on his skin, slicing through his arm like butter. Ryota didn’t have the dignity the King was blessed with, and had no qualms crying out his pain to echo off the walls. He felt something cool press against the flow of blood and hissed, his head automatically turning away from the injured arm.

There was a murmur of sound from across the room, gruff voices all melding together and rising to a strangely melodic pitch, but they broke off as something slammed against the wall and a circle of blindingly bright light burst through the entrance. The creatures all hissed and recoiled, and Ryota hid burning eyes against his arm, whimpering when a fresh knife of pain shot through him.

“Ryota!”

Ryota’s heart soared, and he watched with white-spotted eyes as Yara dropped the lamp next to what he could now see was an actual door, with a handle and two crude, metal hinges. Yara took a step forward, and they all seemed to spring into action. One of the creatures snarled and flew at him, who dropped onto his stomach to send it sailing over his head and crashing into the wall. Before it had even hit the ground, another was already moving, advancing a little more slowly this time, and soon it was joined by a second, and a third, closing in on Yara in a steady circle. They were angry, furious that they'd been interrupted, foaming like rabid dogs as they trapped Yara between them.

The relief Ryota had felt at seeing Yara again quickly faded, replaced by the terrified panic he was beginning to feel so familiar with. He fought, bucking and wrenching at the ropes, but did little more than tear into his already bloody wrists. Woozy from the loss of blood, Ryota's vision began to blur around the edges, but he had to do something, anything to make them stop, and it was like Yara had read his mind when his friend glanced over at him and winked.

Ryota froze, confused, and saw Yara crouch down low, almost pressing himself into the floor. Then he leapt straight upwards with a smooth, feline grace, and landed ten feet away from them. Ten feet closer to him.

There was no time to be amazed, because the King was shouting, struggling harder, making a show of it, Ryota thought. And maybe he was, because the creature that had been draining Ryota's blood into a small, silver bowl turned with a growl, crossing the room to strike an arm across his face. The King’s head snapped back with the force of the blow, and Ryota heard a small cry from behind him.

In the few seconds it took Yara to appear by his side, Ryota saw the feminine figure curled up in the far corner, naked but for the tousled, shining silver hair covering her from view. Her wrists and ankles, covered in scales almost as bright as her hair, were tied together, keeping her in a permanently hunched position. She was peering out from behind her hair through slitted eyes, and even in the shadows, even feeling as dizzy as he was, Ryota could see the hopeful shock written all over her face.

Chura.

The King was still bucking and yelling, so much so that it took two of them to keep him under control and collect the blood they needed from him. Three more of them had clustered back in the corner with their backs to the chaos, chanting rapidly now, and another was approaching Ryota with a determined stride. Yara snatched up the bowl and tossed it away, the thick, glutinous fluid spilling out over the floor, and the creature hissed and leapt for it instead of him. It only bought them a few more seconds, but it was enough time for Yara to cut Ryota’s binds, a knife pulled from his belt making quick work of the knots and gag.

“Run!” He said firmly, and pushed Ryota towards the entrance at the same moment a wave of nausea rocked him, and he clutched onto Yara’s arm.

"What about your sister?" He asked breathlessly, swallowing convulsively against the need to vomit.

Yara shoved Ryota behind him as the one now clutching the bowl came for him, and punched it in the face hard enough that Ryota heard a sickening crunch.

"Just run!” He shouted, steering Ryota towards the exit. “It’s you they need, get out of here!”

The cluster in the corner had broken apart when they realised one of their captives was getting away, and were headed for the door. Ryota took one last look at Yara, saw the firm decision on his face, and bolted.

He’d barely made it one turn when there was a startlingly familiar growl, and he shot down a passage in the opposite direction. His legs shook and his head spun, but still he ran, twisting left and right through the never-ending maze. He was so conscious of the pounding feet behind him that he didn’t notice the pounding feet in front of him until Tamamori was on him, racing straight past him and tackling the creature chasing him to the ground.

“Go!” He shouted over the sound of bone snapping, and this time, Ryota didn’t hesitate.



Tamamori let the dead weight of the body fall and immediately took off, even more fired up than before now that he had taken one of them down. Navigating through the labyrinth of tunnels, it was like he’d never left, and it took him barely no time to reach his destination.

Yara was valiantly blocking the door, the space small enough that he only had two or three of them to fight off at a time, but Tamamori knew that even then, he was only holding them back so well because they were starving, weak and dying. Any sympathy he might have felt for them in the past had been consumed by the pain and anger they’d left him with, and he pushed his way through the brawl, using his fists when they didn’t part like water for him.

With all of them clamoring for the door, desperate to get out and retrieve the missing blood to complete their ritual, none of them paid him half a mind as he snatched up Yara’s fallen knife and sliced through Chura’s bonds. The King’s gave way just as easily, and Koichi knotted a piece of them around his arm to slow the bleeding.

After that, it got easy.

Between them, Tamamori and Koichi hauled the creatures back one by one, tossing them like ragdolls and beating them off when they got back up. If any bones broke in the process, all the better. The moment Yara could, he abandoned his place blocking the door and ran to Chura, dropping to his knees in front of her. She threw her arms around him with a choked sob, and he scooped her up, cradling her protectively against his chest.

“Take her somewhere safe,” Koichi ordered, calmly kicking one of them hard enough in the shin that the bone snapped. It shrieked and joined several of its fallen companions on the floor, writhing in pain. Tamamori stood away from the door, dragging one of the creatures with him with an arm around its throat, and Yara didn’t argue.

“Leave.” Tamamori growled as the Koichi approached, and threw the one he was holding to the floor. Carnage surrounded them, not one of the creatures still standing, too weak or broken to do more than crawl. One of them tried for the door, pulling its body and broken legs along by its gnarled hands, and slowly, Tamamori brought his heel down on one of them, just enough to hurt.

The King looked him straight in the eye, then nodded, once. “Do what you must,” he said softly.

Then Tamamori was alone.

And he knew what he had to do.

He pressed down on the hand beneath his boot until it crunched, then released it. He didn’t stop to watch the creature clutch its hand to its chest, nor did he waste time kicking the ones with strength left to move down again. The tall lamp Yara had brought with him had been knocked over in the scuffle, but was still lit, and there was just enough oil left to pour over the ones that were still breathing. He soaked the bonds they'd used to tie his friends up in the pool of oil spilled on the floor, then tossed the ropes in amongst them, deaf to their anguished wails of pain and despair. Every time he looked at one of them, it was Miyata’s face he saw, the wounded flesh of his leg and the way he’d looked in his final moments, expression contorted in unbearable agony. Every time he heard one of them cry out, it was Miyata’s screams he heard ringing in his ears, and every time one of them reached out to try and stop him, it was Miyata’s hand he remembered, reaching for him, trying to comfort him despite everything he was going through himself.

Tamamori kicked the lamp over, stepped out into the tunnel, and from the doorway, he watched them burn.



The sunshine of this world, Ryota found, was even more beautiful than the sunshine he was used to.

As the news of the King’s safety reached the borders, and with the creatures gone, the storm began to dissipate, until finally it was warm enough to be a midsummer’s day. As if it had the Midas touch, the sun turned everything to gold, making the grass glisten like emeralds and the sky shine blue topaz overhead.

Things weren’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but the land was picking up the fallen pieces it had left behind, and better than anything else they could salvage, they had found hope.

“Is he going to be okay?” Ryota asked softly, glancing over to where Tamamori was huddled against a tree, knees pulled up to his chest. His face was pale and drawn, his feathers losing their rich, bronze shade, and his eyes were so dark they looked almost sunken. He’d wanted to stay inside with Chura - who was severely malnourished but recovering well - but Yokoo had been firm in his decision. Almost as soon as they’d brought him outside, Tamamori had started to shiver despite the blanket around his shoulders, but the air was warmer out here beneath the sun, and they hadn’t wanted to leave him inside when he was still so sensitive. Tamamori had always loved the sunshine, and they hoped the clean, fresh air would do him some good.

“He’ll be fine,” Yokoo promised with a confident smile, looking past Ryota to gaze at Tamamori fondly. “It’ll take some time, after everything he’s been through, but deep down he knows Miyata would only ever want the best for him. He knows he has to get better, and he’d do it even if we weren’t here to help him. All we can do is make it a little bit easier for him.”

“Give him some time, and he’ll be right as rain,” Yara added, and Ryota spared a thought as Yokoo left them to wonder if they weren’t being too positive about it. But despite his worry, he couldn’t help but believe them. Tamamori had fought and won once before, and Ryota had every faith that with his friends around him, he could do it again.

Like the rest of this world, Ryota discovered, Yara was even more magnificent above ground. Freshly washed (as there was no shortage of water now) and bathed in golden sunlight, Yara was like a bright, shining flame, and Ryota was as powerless to him as a tiny moth, living just for that chance to touch something so beautiful.

“Come with me,” Yara murmured into his ear, and Ryota went.

Away from everything, Yara caught Ryota’s good hand in one of his and laced their fingers together, swinging their arms gently between them as they walked. Ryota caught Yara’s eye and the other man winked, quirking his lips in a cheeky smile that made Ryota’s cheeks burn as he grinned bashfully back.

They walked together in a comfortable silence for what felt like an age, gradually leaving the chattering of their companions far behind them. Unlike before, when Ryota had welcomed the noise in the dank darkness of the caves, now it felt good to be away from them, to relax, basking in the quiet and enjoying Yara's company without the need for words. It did feel like they were wandering rather aimlessly, but Ryota soon realised Yara had had a destination in mind all along.

And it took Ryota’s breath away.

If he’d thought his surroundings had been beautiful before, now they were spectacular. Tall, rolling hills sprawling as far as the eye could see, joining so seamlessly with the horizon that Ryota could barely see where one ended and the other began. He almost wanted to shield his eyes from the brightness all around him, colours like he'd never even imagined painting the landscape and making his head spin in wonder.

Then there was the lake, the lake, spread out endlessly before them. Still and flawless, its surface was untouched by the breeze that ruffled his hair, yet still it sparkled and shone like a giant, glistening crystal in the centre of it all.

“Do you like it?”

Ryota's eyes drifted closed and open again in a slow blink, eyelashes dusting his cheeks for the briefest of moments. “It’s amazing,” he breathed, lips parted slightly in wonder.

“It’s your way home,” Yara said, and Ryota tore his eyes away to look at his friend.

“What?”

Yara smiled, but there was a sad edge to it. “It’s the most perfect reflection we have, and the purest source. You want to go back, here’s how you can do it.”

Ryota felt the unspoken ‘if’ at the beginning of that sentence, and a lump formed in his throat when Yara's fingers tightened around his own.

“I don’t belong here,” he said softly, and even though part of him wanted to stay, he knew he had to go back.

Yara turned to face Ryota fully and drew the tips of his fingers gently over the ragged scar that ran along the inside of Ryota’s injured arm. Ryota shivered, and Yara took hold of his other hand. “I’m sorry... for what I did,” he murmured, “I was... I couldn’t...”

Ryota shook his head and pressed their foreheads together, “Don’t be sorry. You came back.”

Yara nodded, nudging Ryota’s nose with his own, and Ryota’s eyelids fluttered.

“I’ll miss you,” He felt Yara whisper, no more than a breath against his cheek.

“Maybe I could come and visit.”

Ryota smiled, and Yara closed the final inches between them, catching the curve of Ryota’s mouth with his own and kissing the smile from it. Ryota’s heart soared, flying higher than any gust of wind could ever take it, and he released Yara’s hands to wrap his arms around his waist instead. Yara’s fingers found his cheek, his hair, the back of his neck, and Ryota melted helplessly into him.

Under the sun, the lake shimmered.

Ryota danced, and Yara danced with him.



When he woke up, Ryota was being shaken. Again.

“Ryota!”

Ryota grumbled and rolled away from the noise, flailing an arm in the direction of it to make it stop.

“Ow! What the hell?!”

“Ryu?” He asked sleepily, rolling back onto his back and rubbing a hand over his eyes. His mouth tingled, and Ryota touched his fingers to it gently, soft, dream-like kisses lingering in the back of his mind.

“Of course Ryu, were you expecting someone else?” Ryu answered sharply, “What do you think you’re playing at, passing out like that?!”

Ryota didn’t hear worry in Ryu’s voice often, but when he did, even if he was in a bad situation, it never failed to bring a small smile to his face.

He pushed himself upright, resting his back against the mirrored wall of the studio, and felt his head spin. He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead as everything started to come back to him in waves, and Ryota found himself panting at the memory. But when he looked around, he was still in the dance studio, and it was still dark outside.

“What time is it?” He asked, voice still gruff with disuse.

“Just after ten,” Ryu told him, and showed Ryota his watch in case he didn’t believe him. “You’ve only been out for a few minutes, but what the hell! You need to take better care of yourself. If you pass out when Sensei’s around you won’t be allowed to perform. They’ll make you take a whole week of bed rest and I can’t dance opposite Eda! Have you seen the way he dances lately?!”

Ryota laughed and held out a hand for Ryu to pull him to his feet. The arm he could swear he remembered being badly sliced up looked absolutely fine now, despite being a little sore, and bruises he remembered blossoming on his skin were nowhere to be found.

But try as he might, Ryota couldn’t shake the feeling of arms wrapped around him, and breath warm on his lips.



The day before opening night came around much faster than Ryota had expected.

He knew every step, every turn, could do the whole thing backwards if they asked him, but Ryota knew the real trick to choreography was not thinking about the dance steps. He only felt like he’d really learned a new set of steps once they flowed from him without conscious thought, one after another like a song or a concerto. It was that need for it to be perfect that had kept him at the studio long after everyone else, even Ryu, had gone home to rest.

He was half way through the third number when he felt eyes on the back of his head, and almost tripped over himself. He couldn’t shake the sensation all through the fourth set, but no matter how often he looked around, he was always alone. Shaking out his limbs, he flung himself into the dance once more, but despite his determination, he couldn’t make it to the end. Glancing up towards the mirror one final time, convinced he was still only going to see himself staring back at him, Ryota nearly fell over when he saw a second figure, hunched up behind him.

Their hands were shoved deep into the pockets of their baggy jeans, and they wore a sleeveless, black hooded sweatshirt that kept their face shrouded from the light.

But Ryota didn’t need to see that face to recognise those arms.

His heart leapt into his throat and he spun around, only to find the studio completely empty. His eyes flickered back and forth, in case he’d been mistaken, but there was nowhere to hide. There was definitely no-one there besides himself.

Blinking, and wondering if he was starting to go crazy, he turned back towards the mirror. The figure was still there, leaning against the wall just behind him, and as Ryota watched, they reached up and lowered their hood.

Yara smirked as their eyes met, and winked.