Chapter Text
She walked and walked and walked.
Up a dirt trail and it was raining red.
Down the road and she was stepping over, around, and into puddles of red.
Sweat dripped and she wiped it with flashes of red at the edges of her sight.
Red, red, red, there is red everywhere.
She was covered in red, breathing in red, walking in red, and drowning in red.
Again, and again and again.
Rinse and repeat and she was clean but then red again in the next.
It was blue and it turned red again.
It was clear and it was dark again.
It was the smell of perfume and smokes, trees and iron, red and red and red.
The red won't leave her alone.
It wouldn’t go away, never had it gone away. She had worn a pristine white uniform with black and her flame embellishment before as if that falseness was to cover up the red beneath. As if it would fool others to think that beneath that black glove was clean skin and not red and red and red.
A mere illusion, a fact that the white devil thought was hilarious. False, false, false, false it was false. An ironic joke that the one covered in the most red was clad in the purest white.
She blink and the sky turned red, she blinked again and the dirty puddle turned into a puddle of red, she blinks and the perfectly fine person in front of her turned into pieces of mutilated flesh, she blinked and she blinked and she blinked—
Clean it was and it turned red.
Red it was and it turned clean again.
Rinse and repeat over and over and over.
In 1965, Randy Gardner, a 17-year-old high school student kept himself awake for 264 hours and 25 minutes, an eleven days record that broke the previous bar of 260 hours held by Tom Rounds.
It was an experiment that questioned how long humans can stay awake and it was at that science fair that Gardner broke the world record. Several other ordinary experiments had a record of about eight to ten days with no side effects in the form of serious medical, neurological, physiological, or psychiatric problems.
However, these individuals showed progressive and significant deficits in concentration, motivation, perception, and other higher mental processes as the duration of sleep deprivation increased.
Nothing caused permanent issues after a day or two of recovery sleep. Some soldiers were said to be able to stay awake for four days, perhaps due to their training which built up their resistance, or just plain adrenaline. Unmedicated patients with mania go without sleep for three to four days, deprivation of sleep could cause various high-risk ailments to a human.
For other experiments such as one on lab rats, they were said to be able to stay awake for two weeks before ultimately succumbing to death due to hypermetabolism.
However, the execution of the aforementioned experiment was done under great scrutiny to ensure the health of the participant wouldn’t be impaired. Further examination revealed that in self-defense in the middle of the dangerous endeavor, the brain of the participant had been cat-napping to ensure peak condition. In years after, attempts of breaking the sleep deprivation record were then forbidden in response to the fatality of it.
In the limitation of flameless humans, it was concluded that losing days of sleep wasn’t entirely fatal but could aggravate any other preceding condition. Thus, increasing the chance of life being lost due to the lack of rest.
Flames, however, could increase the chance of living for its user. Commonly would be the sun flame which had an activation attribute and the storm which had the disintegrating attribute. Sun users would use activation to boost their bodily function for anything they needed while storm users would dispose of the accumulation of toxins in their user’s brains. The latter is due to sleep being another method of removing the said substance.
Other attributes could ensure the same needs even if utilizing a different method. It, however, must be kept in mind that utilizing flame attributes in one body is an exceedingly difficult practice. Unless either the quantity or quality of the flame of an individual was above the common standard that it would fulfill a body’s needs without prompting or the user was consciously using said flame for such activities, it would be no more than a simple adrenaline rush.
Furthermore, the adrenaline rush is also in fact, another usage of dying will flame.
Pain assaulted her sense when the bullet pierce through her thigh. Having the caster’s mind disoriented, her illusions faltered. At the weakness shown, the target started to advance on her. Shooting as he did so, even if she showed false images at him.
It’s not painful.
With a twist, she blared a loud sound and the man stumbled at the way his eardrum burst. Another attempt made him slap a hand over his eyes as it suddenly felt like lava was dripping into them.
There was no bullet in her thigh.
Yet, his gun hand was still up even if unsteady.
It’s… not painful.
She jolted in realization at what he was attempting to do. Her injured leg buckled for a moment as the illusion she was casting trembled. Quickly, she flashed close to him and let her blade slice his hand off, then tucking his head into her domain. Flicking a cautious look at the gun, she flinched as it started to glow a dreadful red
—red so much red, why is there so much red—
In that fraction of time, the gun exploded and it was the flare of her rain to slow the storm flame that gave her enough time to flash away. Gasping in pain she grasped at her legs. The skin burnt off her legs as blood started to seep out, drenching the green grass with red blood.
Her lips wobbled and involuntary tears accumulated at the pain. Clawing at her eyes, she willed the urge away.
Focus. Breath instead. She thought.
Laying stomach down, just outside the mansion, she trembled.
Don’t let me cry. Fil-Garof— She begged.
The sky in her chest tightened its grip on her soul.
Why is there so much red
Time was a hard concept to perceive in this world of not-dream.
At times she found herself on the border of Rome to Czechoslovakia to Brazil and back to Italy, Sicily. If it was the mere conjuring of her mind and she was actually still standing in the same spot, she couldn’t differentiate it from her actually going to those places with the help of her mist. Did she walk there? Was it mist travel? Perhaps it was not those places. There was a possibility that she was in Japan when she thought she was in Yugoslavia and was in the Vatican instead of the Alps.
West to the east, south to north.
Morning to night and afternoon to dawn.
Was the answer important?
Ah.
Her head kept throbbing uncomfortably and her chest with leads in it.
She kept her gaze on the hot chocolate filled with marshmallows. It was a warm drink to have during winter, one she only had for a few rare occasions when her mother was still alive and no longer during the three years with Berlusconi. Sipping on the velvety drink, she couldn’t help the pleased hum that echoed out of her at the nutty taste.
Soft chewy marshmallows melted in her mouth and she swallowed them with appreciation.
There was an odd tinge in the drink. It fizzed from her tongue and spread out, slightly cold like peppermint but mostly warm. It made her head fuzzy and her body relaxed. Her head nodded slightly to the side and a little yawn escaped from her.
It was weird.
She felt… calm. It felt like it had been a while since she had the chance to relax. But as she slumped lightly to the cold body of Bluebell who happily leaned back at her, she fell into a light doze.
Byakuran was right across her and she was still suffocated right under his flame. Breathing and exhaling the sky he emitted, she still felt like she was going to lose air. Sitting beside Bluebell though, the feeling was still present yet far away. Like she was in a safe bubble, still underwater where she was drowning but for just a brief moment, she was granted a gulp of precious air.
She was forgetting something.
Distantly, through the haze of her sleepy mind, she felt someone take away the glass of hot chocolate as she nuzzled into the blue-haired girl’s side.
Warm, warm body beneath the thin cloth, a loving caress and slide beneath the rib and angle it down for the kidney and hot searing red spurting and colouring perfect white with imperfection and it would turn that angel to a devil to a human pull him down tear apart that fake wings and stain him, them it with—
Her stomach gurgled and she thought of the warm taste of chocolate.
In less than a second she had a cup of hot chocolate with a generous topping of perfectly gooey marshmallows on top. The white sight and sweet smell reminded her of sea salt and amber.
Rot crawled out of her mouth at the thought and the once tantalizing scene shattered into dirt.
She watched it drop haphazardly onto the asphalt road.
The sound of honking cars suddenly broke the haze she was in. She looked to the side at flashes of colorful lights. Screams resounded and she closed her eyes at it. Turning away from it, she looked down again at the dirt.
With a jingle of her bracelet, cracking the asphalt, a single flower bloomed out of it.
A simple yellow camellia.
Her lungs heaved and her stomach churned uncomfortably. Squeezing her eyes shut, she exhaled shakily.
For a moment that yellow was stained with pretty red.
It was hard to breathe.
Her whole body jerked as she started seeing doubles. Colors intermingled into an array of iridescent haze over her sight.
Her skin was too tight as if a weight had been placed upon her chest.
She heaved and slumped against the nearest vertical structure. Breathing in with metaphorical shrapnel tearing apart her throat. It was with great agony she tried to keep her bodily function going without her mist tearing everything and even her apart.
Back, she needed to go back.
Byakuran—
She needed to find him, so it will hurt less—
Crack.
It's breaking, her fire, it’s going to stop burning—
Shuddering, she fell back into the mist.
She reformed outside of his room with wobbling legs. This close, inside the hotcoldhothotcold flame of his, with closed eyes breathing in the uncomfortably searing yet freezing sky, the emptiness in her chest was refilled to the -disgusting- brink it was.
She gasped and choked in water, liquid clinging around her, her or her soul? But it was there and forcing itself into her mouth and she couldn't breathe—
Closing her eyes, she stood still for a few moments before knocking on the room.
It wouldn't pass, it never did.
But it was becoming more manageable.
Her feet brought her to the more impoverished part of the town she was in. Briefly, through blurred eyes, she wondered where she had found herself. While heavily slumped on a colorful wall she could barely smell the rotting rubbish around. If she tried a deeper inhale, perhaps she could find the smell of piss and alcohol if not the familiar smell of sweet iron.
Exhaling, she took a moment to wonder why did she stop at an alley.
Familiarity.
Filippa had been used to this sort of place had she not?
Full of the degenerates of the town. Screams, wailing and often the sound of moaning was all around. If there came the time it became silent, then it meant that soon enough gunshots would sound and gunpowder would instead invade the people’s nostrils. Not the familiar smell of rot.
For them, the smell of rot was preferable to the gunpowder and sweet iron.
Blinking she lifted her gaze, for a moment it doubled and she saw a dark room with screaming and wailing children. Red sticky on her hands, it curled slightly as the knife she was gripping fell with loud clangs. Harsh breathes rattling but she stepped forward, toward another small figure holding some sort of weapon. Reaching down for the lost wea—
Another blink and she was back in the alley.
Distantly, she heard another scream. High pitched and clearly the sound of someone being hurt.
Her mind blanked.
“L-let me go! Please don’t— M-my daughter is here, please—” Mama, they are hurting mama again and again and again—
Filippa could feel her face twist as she stalked toward the voice. Mama, mama, answer me, mama, please— An exhale and the click-clack of heels resounded.
Filippa stumbled out of the bathroom as it was suddenly opened. Wincing as her knees slammed into the wooden floor she yelped in pain. More than that sting though, she was more concerned about her mother who was shaking as she leaned against the wall.
With a sob, she rushed toward her.
Keeping fearful attention on one of the men who had let her out, she kneeled beside her mother. A hand clutched on the shirt left messily, and she pulled it over her unresponsive mother. Another keen left her as she tried to ignore the red and blue coloring of the tan skin. The harsh flinch when she accidentally brushed against her left her shaking as her eyes felt hot.
She looked at the suited man still standing. Nails clenching so hard it break into her skin she stared silently at him. The man tilted his head and chuckled in amusement before leaving with just a backward wave.
When the door finally clicked shut, she turned her complete attention to Mama.
Dull eyes stared down and when Filippa followed the gaze down, she barely kept her meager lunch down.
There, written with a sharp pen with some parts gouged was a messily written ‘Berlusconi’s’ on her mother's thigh.
With proper abbreviation of ”’s”, even. She thought hysterically.
Sword was a rarely used weapon for mists. As was typical for most illusionists, they would fight from a distance where their safety was certain. More so when one was fighting against fellow flame users. For them with strong mist flame, eight out of ten, they would be mid-range to long-range fighters unless they had secondary flame to use. It was less of pride but more of playing to their advantage.
For her, it was the latter.
Even before she was trained in mist flame, she was first trained in how to use a weapon with sharp edges. Out of all the variations from knives to bayonets, she was best with a sword. Barely as tall as double the length of one, she was the best of her batch in close combat with a weapon.
For the Berlusconi, that was that and in the Gesso she was trained again with a sword but then a rapier alongside her mist.
Swiping the sword up, the man’s hand fell off with a wet squelch, and the woman he was pining down scrambled away with a strangled scream. Tripping over herself as she did so.
She ignored the flash of white and focused instead on the man. He screamed and screamed, crawling away from her. In response she let vines grow out of the crack of the concrete. Tying and holding him down. She squeezed the blood out of where she had maimed him like a faucet. When all left of that limb and up to the shoulder was dark purple, she let the unconscious man wake up.
The man said something incomprehensible but she let it slide out of her ear with bare a thought. He kept patting his right hand as if he was surprised by something. The smell of something rancid reached her nose and she furrowed her forehead.
Tilting her head, she stared silently at him as he started babbling. Apologies overlap with begs for his life alongside curses.
Red, red, red pretty red, smelly red disgusting red but red on white let it stain, let it stain, let it stain, let stain him with red red red so that mask is broken and black is shown and its all mud black mud disgusting mud scary mud but true mud red black and white and amber and and and and and—
Ah.
Would it remind him enough?
Would he do it again?
Perhaps, he would.
Perhaps she should—
“I wish—"
Slamming both hands against her eyes as visions assaulted her again, she was the one who let out a strangled sound this time.
Something, someone—
There was someone that she had forgotten.
Someone that she promised, someone that had wanted to—
No, she didn’t forget—
She never would, after all, he was—
She just—
He was kind.
Too kind—
That’s wh—
The first wish that she dared to voice since the white descended and red drowned everything up. Since the amber swallowed her up and she was but a doll, like a playing clay to be molded to whatever the white wanted, and was no longer the indigo and azure she was for she had touched that wa—
“I wish— I wish I had met you sooner. If so, then perhaps there wouldn’t be so much red, perhaps that sky would be blue, or maybe your amber rather than his. Perhaps this world wouldn’t be this room full of water but instead a garden under the sky. Perhaps I wouldn’t smell sea salt each time I breathe, no more iron, no, not th—”. He stopped her rambling with a sudden hug, and something warm hit the back of her neck, along with the smell of salt.
She flinched and tried to wrench herself away from him before she realized it.
It was… tear.
The man was crying.
Why, why was he crying? Did she hurt him? Again, did she hurt someone again again again no, no, not again—
“Over there! The device reacted!”
She snarled as the voice interrupted her. Turning towards the sound she found men, approaching her. Suited men, guns on hand and guns concealed. Blades on hand, blades in sheathes.
Again, they found her, they would take her and she would be trapped inside the room again she would be forced again and then there will be red, so much red, and it's all slick and gooey on her hand like how chocolate melt in her mouth and it's delicious but disgusting and she is scared again—
The black will come to take her away again, again, again and it will be hot again it will sear again it will burn again and that white and amber will come again it will whisper lies to her ears and she would follow because she was scared and she was foolish stupid unsavable no one will come and it will be red and white and amber and red and white and amber—
I made a promise—
They approached her, rushing at her weapons at hand and they would take her again and she won’t be taken again.
The ground cracked and bones crept up, flowers bloom and the building all crumbled like dirt. Turns into mud and the pretty flower bloom from mud and mud become flowers. They are pretty, so pretty and they are the weakest but strongest. Don’t let them pluck, don’t let them take, bloom, bloom, bloom so none will take again. Down, to the wonderland, the intruder will fall and they would fall and fall and fall—
A sweet blade, stained red on iron kissed her forehead and she lunged back forward and down his sword. Her blade, hold her hand and she let it dance beneath that pipe so the red would taint that black.
Kling and Klang, another blade met her blade, and another come forward. Light spilled from his head just like like like like that white and amber and it will take her again and then then then then—
Snapping her head back as an elbow met the side of her head. The man between them backed away from her blade and pain disoriented her mind. Snapping out of the downward spiral, she takes another look and found long silver instead of messy snow.
Vines crept up his body but the man walked away from it with barely a glance and he— she— he— is strong and again they will take her, chain her, choke her drown her stain her in red until she would forget again—
What did she forge—
Remember, she need to remember so she know what to do, so she would do right, so she could find him again.
…who was him?
No, red red red no run run run run.
Sh— F— Gar— she runs.
“I wish—” The man had choked on his next breath, body trembling as he hugged her as if it could shield her from the pain.
Filippa stumbled to a stop and looked around. Her body spun around as she looked at where she was.
The sky was bright atop and she stood on the concrete floor, up far from the people where red is inside and behind that skin is so black, so black like how people are—
No, not black, they are not black not black not bad not all bad he was kind—
Who, who, who was him—
She crumpled down to her knees and retched.
Blink and all of it is black and red and white and black and red red red.
She coughed as she press a palm against the red. Curving the other against her stomach because it hurt, hurt so much, and its all hollow and she was empty—
She blinked and Filippa blinked as well.
Empty, she was empty, there was no longer amber in her chest. She was not Garofano who was drowning in amber and choked with red and white but she was Filippa. Filippa who was her Mama’s child and Filippa who loved Mama and then that Filippa who finally died.
But Filippa came back again and that amber, not that black red white red white amber who drowned her but that kind amber, her sky took her red stained hands and hugged her. She was not hot nor cold but she was warm. She was not drowning and drowning others in red anymore because he stopped her—
Filippa coughed more red and its pain but it was okay because—
A sob rose and she pressed red-stained palms on her eyes.
No tears, no tears, no tears—
“It’s okay, just cry, because— Because this time, I’ll hold you as you cry, I won’t let you be alone anymore, so, so this time, let’s go home, Filippa.”
He was not here, though.
He, who was he, she can’t remember—
No tears, no tears, no tears.
Until he is here, until she is not alone anymore, she doesn’t want to cry.
Nails tore into the skin and more red dripping on the red on the ground. So much red, it’s pretty, it’s disgusting, it’s scary, it dirty—
Her next breath rattled her lungs and it hurt.
Tears turned the world underwater and she was drowning again Filippa want him but where was he who was he—
But.
But she wouldn't find him and he wouldn't find her. If one or the other happened it would not change the end. Filippa had died and she was stuck in an illusion. This is a dream, one that was as sweet as it was bitter. When had she forgotten the taste of freedom in her chest? No longer with chain tying and choking the life out of her.
But.
She was here and he wasn't and she was dead, dead, dead, deaddeaddeaddeaddead—
She was drowning in red again.
Filippa hoped that she would never meet that kind of sky again. That he wouldn't die, that would live long, that he would never be alone and that both he and his were happy.
"That's a lie, isn't it?"
Flinching she pressed her head harshly onto the floor and breathed in rancid bile and sweet iron.
Her lips wobbled as she whimpered. What did she say to that person again? What did he say again?
Ah, that's right.
"My wish is—"
To that person whose name she couldn't remember, she had said—
“I wish that you never had to have that thought. That— that you could have had a normal childhood, that you could be happy. Away from the pain this world had caused you. That even if you hadn’t met me, a wretched man like me who failed to protect you, save you even if we never knew of each other, that you be—”
Filippa blinked and smiled hesitantly. She reached up behind his back and let her fingers curve, crumpling his coat up. Clean of blood unlike the real world.
A human inherently always has desire.
Wishes.
Her Mama had wanted to be free from the place that was their home.
Wish—
Filippa had a lot of wishes.
Something that must not be granted.
She wanted to die.
Something that couldn’t be granted.
She wanted her Mama to hug her again.
Something that couldn’t possibly be….
She wanted to meet that man again.
She curled into a ball and hope the dream would just end.
What was his name?
.
.
.
.
“Oya? Then I suppose I could grant that wish of yours, Cara.”
.
.
.
.
.
“Just… for a little price, of course.”
.
.
.
.
.
The first time she felt that warmth, she was drenched in blood.
She was thirteen and she only knew him by name, because how could she know for more or less than that?
Blood on white, blood on the blade, blood on clothes.
She remembered trying to wipe her mouth but to no avail. The red merely spread further on her skin. There was also a moment when she wondered if licking the blood away from her lips was worth it. The liquid was uncomfortably stained. At this time, her control over her mist was not well yet. As such, she had to limit her usage in case of emergency. Blood bothering her was the rank rather low on her worries.
She squinted a little when she felt unfamiliar flames entering the threshold of her half-made domain.
While they did walk through the castle carefully, it was null when the whole castle was trapped with her flame. It was not fully hers, but she made it a part of her. Enough so that slowly but surely, the rain flame laced faintly throughout the building started to affect them and she could feel their mind slow. It dulled their thinking and made them less wary.
She rose both hands in front of her, her rapier hovering mid-air.
With finesse, she weaved layers upon layers of illusion.
Creaking windows, dripping liquid, and endless walk. Getting lost and stumbling on fallen stuff or slipping on blood. Run around, find the bodies, find the fake bodies, mix it up, the inhabitants of the castle died horribly, see? The blood, the limbs, how gruesome, it could be you next. Fear rose, a small amount, but just enough that she could influence.
Shadow on the peripheral of their vision, a sudden chill, instinct starting to betray you. Before they knew it, it was night. It was mid-afternoon just before. They start to feel bitterness, they found nothing but dead bodies, which means they didn’t manage to find the perpetrator. Their mind started going erratic and they started arguing against each other.
Good, it will be easier to influence their mind.
Suddenly the storm started to realize the possibility of an illusion, his watch showed the time was still late noon. Ah, a small mistake of hers, but no matter. At this point, their mind was almost hers. No, don't believe that she nudged the thought away. Get distracted, she sent.
The lighting was affected the most, so she fooled his mind, you are getting nauseous, she sent a little more rain, making him stumble then more mist and the lightning started vomiting. Drag out their fear, paranoia, and illogical thought birthed into irrationality. Lash out, let the fear guide their mind. Then let mist flame latch onto it through that imbalance. She let their mind guide the illusion, what they fear and what they wanted.
The sun quickly tried to help but the mix of rain started to get to him too, he started fumbling and fainted. Only the storm left, the hardest, ah, he thought it was poison and lighted his flame, intending on burning the 'poison' out of the two that had fallen.
With the storm more focused on the other two, she drowned him in mist, uncaring of how he panicked just a second too late, realizing it was an illusion. But he was already hers by then. She got him lost in the product of his mind.
With that, she had trapped them.
She nudged their mind, getting information, and ah. That is interesting. He didn’t think that the storm was a guardian of Don Cavallone. But it was a boon, he would have more information than what she got from her mission. Her fingers twitched as she gently rummaged through his mind, peeling open layers and getting secrets. Before she could get too far though, she realized that the storm was feeling oddly calm even as he battled his will against her, and oh, so that was why.
There was reinforcement coming, how long they were not sure as communication had fallen before they ascertain it, they were the first responders.
More, tell me more, she sent but he wouldn't budge anymore without her breaking his mind. A little vexing, but no matter. She must finish the mission and there was not much time left to get away from the premise if the reinforcement was close.
She stilled one hand, palm down and slightly curved as if she was holding something down, and the other side way as if she was gripping something.
Decisive, she squeezed and—
—and suddenly there was the wrath of a sky burning through everything. From outside, the threshold of her mock domain, the mist holding everything together, the carefully laced rain, at a pace that she couldn't follow up quickly with newly constructed illusion, it swallowed up and burned through everything until the only safe place in the building was the room she was in. Her illusions broke—
Panicked, she tried to leave but the sky flame managed to latch onto her, harmony leaving her disoriented. It told her it was safe but it was clearly not, this was her enemy, the mission—
Mind and body's intent not corresponding—
Byakuran’s flame hissing at the foreign sky flame—
Her flame went haywire, lashing out in defense but suddenly her trapped storm victim woke up and burned through it easily. Stricken, her body spasmed and she fell to her knees. Mission, the mission she focused on—
But the sky latched on deeper, he was confused, he was raging, oh so angry—I'm sorry, don't be mad, sorry— but he was also happy—
The tar-like case that covered her flame started cracking apart, it crumbled lightly beneath the heat—warm, so warm— of the gentle sky whispering reassurance to her. Her flame started purring because it was home. Her very soul was being hugged and how long has it been since she was hugged like this? The sky rumbled, coaxing her to calm, telling her it was okay—
Eyes shut, she pulled back her flame, hiding it deep inside but choked on the next breath when she felt gentle hands on her elbows holding her upright, not realizing in the sudden happening that flipped her mind upside down, she ended up on her hands and knees—warm, warm, warm, she was cold? But now it was warm, so warm, where were you—
She opened her eyes, blearily she saw a blur of gold and orange and green—
The flame stroked and rumbled with hers, so gentle, oh so gentle, she felt warm, she was safe, she was home—
But the mission, she must, must—
The mission—
The jagged piece of Byakuran’s flame suddenly tightened, piercing her core and it hurt, it was shredding everything apart, even the kind sky—
She forced her flame away, ignoring the half-formed bond of element and sky, it hurt, but hide—
The sky, so kind, the sky panicked and pulled away slightly, feeling her sudden deep fear and she took advantage of that.
She lashed out her rain—skyskysksy, home, but no, not hers, and she mustn't, not hurt, cannot hurt, it was home— to disorient him and whirled away from the building.
Her chest stings, it felt cold again, she wanted that warmth, the kind sky that rumbled her reassurance, it told her of freedom, of a home around verdant trees, wide fields, and galloping horses. Walking through the streets meeting friends everywhere, feeling the sea wind on my skin and not fearing it for once, and smelling the smell of homemade pizza. Of protection for the weak and what is considered theirs. Of warm hugs beneath the sunlight, companionship whenever she needed it or not because she was theirs and they were hers—
And they protect their own.
Her mist faltered and she fell to the ground, gasping at the missing piece in her chest.
For a second, she had the urge to go back, because—
Because that was home and she could be safe again, away from the disgusting tendril of hot and cold that constrict her very being. She could be herself again, she could hold onto that warm hand, walk beside that golden figure who would laugh with her and she could smile again. But that was all for naught when she felt the chillingly familiar flame approaching her.
Ah.
It’s too late.
He had already sent people after her, he must have felt it when his flame crumbled like dirt beneath that beautiful and kind amber flame. Wryly, she couldn’t help but thought, as she landed in the cold white room and smelled the now sickening sweetness of marshmallows, that he must feel slighted. For the first time in a while, with a little bit more clarity and defiance than she ever felt to the de—
No, he was not so infallible anymore, was he?
The man stared down at her with freezing-cold eyes. The ever-present smile on his lips was gone as he looked down on her with blankness in his eyes. Made sense, the man who thought of himself as god was kicked right in the face by a mere horse’ after all.
Even as she was dragged to his feet, knowing that whatever he might do would hurt more than anything, she couldn’t help but feel a little vindicated. Because her sky whom she would likely lose in the next moment as Byakuran’s raging sky pulsed managed to slap that grinning smile on his face without even seeing him.
So, as pain wrecked through her mind and body as the half-formed bond between her mist and Cavallone’s sky was torn apart, she kept her eyes on his for as long as she could, gifting him a smile.
Despite them being cousins and having almost similar coloring, their looks were already eerily familiar. At that moment though, when she smiled at him, the two probably looked more alike than they had before. She learned the light curve of her smile through watching him after all. It must make him burn in rage, having his pet taken away even if it was for a brief moment, and said pet throwing the fact right at his face.
She couldn’t help but feel glad, that while she would intricately feel the pain of her sky’s flame being burnt right off her mist, Don Cavallone would only feel the pain of being rejected. Still hurt, because how could it not? It was their first meeting and probably only meeting, yet they ended up almost falling into a bond right away, even while being enemies. It spoke a lot about their affinity, they were practically a match made in heaven without the romantic part.
Truly, she was glad that her sky wouldn’t know the feeling of fire burning parts of their soul off, however new that part was.
It was unlikely she would ever meet him again if she even survived this forced separation. Byakuran would make sure of it.
.
.
.
.
.
"Ah, so that was his name," Filippa said quietly.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
He pulled her tighter into his embrace, almost like he was hugging an oversized doll but at the same time, telling her of his love for her. Despite all the blood that had been shed and all the mistakes that could never be forgiven nor could it be fixed. As if he was a child that was ignoring the reality of things.
“Ah, but Dino,” Filippa said.
She let tears drip as well.
“I think I’m already happy.”
And she was sad as well. Because this is no tale with a happy ending.
.
.
.
.
.
Blood dripping out his mouth, the Cavallone Decimo struggled to keep himself upright with the help of Romario. In the middle of the room, sat a single figure. Petite, she sat on a throne made of white marble. It was bare of anything, just her, that throne and windows granting the view from sky high.
Dino couldn't see her face through the veil, but that snow-white hair was distinctive enough. Wearing a variation of Millefiore’s white spell uniform along with a black cape, the elusive Garofano looked barely old enough to even graduate grade school. She sat primly like a doll waiting to be played with. The impression made him bite his tongue.
More than that, it was her flame that made his sky trembles in rage.
Three years ago, he met his mist guardian amidst strewn bodies, much like how his little brother met his. But unlike Tsuna’s whose mist was unrepentant and left no deaths for that particular incident, many died in that mansion at the edge of his territory. Some his, some his allies, and some Millefiores. Just thinking of that night made his sky more erratic.
He was certain that he would have burnt the entire building if not for the other reason that had him barely keeping the snarl off his face.
The mist was crying.
The mist was shaking as she tried to control her flame away from his sky and it was not because she didn't want a bond. It was not because she was afraid of him. Nor was it because of anything that had a direct relation to him. Dino had an almost full set of guardians by then, all but mist left. He was already familiar with bonding and his sky had always been more sensitive.
Reborn had said that while he was not an all-encompassing sky, he was close to it. If nurtured properly, he could probably reach that prowess. Dino was clumsy, awkward, and couldn’t read the room for the life of him when he was young. But the one thing that he had then in the past, then in that accursed mansion, and now again in this floating fortress, was that he knew when people were hurting. He had good flame sensing, even when he was latent.
Just like how he knew something was wrong with Sawada Nana when he first met her, something that Reborn only had a hunch on. Something the man-turned-toddler knew only because of encounters with previous victims.
Dino knew of sky control. He knew how disgusting one could feel.
Knew the sickening cloy on your very soul that threatened to swallow one whole as it felt cold and hot at the same time. Knew the way it fooled your heart and brain to do what the sky told you. Knew how running away would never work. For where should one run to if the heart itself knew nothing? What was wrong when logic was gone with the soul chained and the heart knew no wrong as it was fooled?
That mist was either unlucky or lucky enough to know the oddness of the situation surrounding her. Her flame had been avoiding harmonization with the sky that controlled her. But, was it better for her to know something was wrong, and yet she couldn’t stop it either way?
The mist in front of him and the mist of that night was the same.
The mist who ran away from him in fear despite his sky recognizing the chain binding the mist's very soul, the hope he felt when the mist's flame touched his sky, the hope and longing he felt when the bonding entered the first state. His flame just barely subverted the sky chaining her.
The same mist who he resonated with, whom he felt the pain of knowing how sky control felt. The mist who he wanted to bundle up with his coat and bring home to the warmth of his home, his protection. If there was something he was sure about then it was the resolution to protect he decided as his.
Right before the chain he was burning away broke, it suddenly turned inward and stabbed into the mist's flame. Tearing apart both his and the mist flame and filling her with their intent. It was panic at the irredeemable pain it would do to the mist that he let go of her. It was regret that filled him right the moment the mist vanished from his and his subordinates’ flame range and it continued for the entirety of the war.
Barely an hour later, Dino could feel the realization and despair from the fledgling bond. The regret and gratefulness towards him. Then, the tentative bond was forcibly broken by the sky which chained the mist.
It had left him incapacitated for months from the backlash before he could take the field again. Rendering the Cavallone unable to protect the area outside of their jurisdiction. Even his elements were not exempted from the scarring, even if a few weeks of rest was all they need.
Three years later, staring at the slumbering form of that mist and the discordant, muted flame in his sky, Dino was reminded of those days again.
The room was instantly filled with his flame and his mist woke up. His intel had called the mist, Garofano. The mist funeral wreath of Millefiore, they called her. Laughter bubbled up at that. Because to him, it was clear that she was not Byakuran's. But then again few reached the proximity that he had with her.
His eyes screwed shut at the flickering of indigo, purple, amber, and brief azure. It surprised him that he could be more enraged than he already was.
Because—
Because that purple and amber weren't supposed to be there. It was a sign of flame discord for a mist that had been firmly a rainy mist and the total possession of a sky. He had suspected discordant flame, that was inescapable considering that the mist had tried to shield him from the opposing sky flame—his failure, how could he, cazzo, she was his, how dare that puttana hurt his mist, how dare h—.
Then—
Even then, the flickering colors, the mist, his mist despite the forcibly broken bond, was still struggling. Her flame was still weakly reaching toward him behind that thick cage of flame.
Suddenly, the flame turned entirely amber for a moment, as if it was being scorched. It was being scorched, he realized with no little horror. It was a reminder, branding, and no mere chain. Only then, did it start glowing indigo again with flickers of darker and brighter spots of what must be purple and amber. The purple increased more than it was just moments ago. The rain gone, either suppressed or scorched away until it would again.
"Multiple hostile individuals confirmed." The small figure intoned quietly, the voice echoed through the room and the world itself seemed to still. "Breach on the fifth, fourth, third, and second gate confirmed."
He slapped a hand against his mouth as his very soul itself rebelled. Heaving out the brief ration he had right before the mission he slumped more against Romario.
That was no longer the extent of mere sky control. It was beyond mist possession or was it just control anymore. It was a direct maiming of the soul. A complete breaking of mind like a vase and then piecing it together with sky flame with mock harmony. Byakuran had thrown away what he deemed was unneeded from the young mist’s mind and soul, the pieces that made her, her, and constructed her like what he wanted.
He swallowed down bile and a wave of rain washed around him.
How old, was that girl when he first met her? How old was she, after three years had passed and that small frail-looking form hardly changed?
Slowly, ever so slowly the room started to glow with shades of indigo. Purple and just the slight azure.
“Possible threat to the main powerline, confirmed.” At that line, his mist stood up and forward. In response, his men readied their weapons. Grimly, he let Don Cavallone rise and step away from the comforting hold of his rain. Bono took his hands off his shoulders and he take in a breath as the scars where his injuries were dully twinged.
“Execute existing command, ‘remove hostile entities from the premise.’”
Tears prickled the edges of his eyes.
Ah, what to do with all this anger, he thought.
He let his flame suffuse into the room itself, fighting for control as he petrified the mist flame that ruled over the room. Spreading it as far as he could as he let out a harsh breath. His gut rebelled at him as he re-enacted what he did to defeat the mist, years ago. With reluctant pride, he realized that it wouldn’t be as easy as it was.
He wanted nothing more than to burn the entire fortress to the ground now. Uncaring of the initial plan. Because if what he thought was correct then—
Then—
Dino thought of the flashes of images. Of that pair of thin hands of a child with malnutrition holding a knife with a deathly grip. The blood on his hands and the impression of pain. The despair and heaviness tugged his limbs.
Of the dead form of a once beautiful woman and the grief that had overtaken his body, of calling for his mama but the men in suits pulled him harshly away, all the while laughing and lamenting on another dead whore.
Of the laughers that ran around as he ran around a woman he knew not but knew she loved so.