Work Text:
It starts with a rumor:
A ghost is haunting Yuri Lowell.
An elderly woman stops him in the marketplace one evening to ask him if he’s alright. Is he feeling under the weather? Afflicted by a curse, perhaps? Does he need an exorcism? Because she knows a man in Dahngrest who specializes in “those sorts of things.”
Yuri stares at her for a long moment, torn between confusion and amusement. No, he assures her, he’s perfectly fine, and this is the first he’s heard of any supposed “haunting.”
“Really?” she says. “Breton Elbert – he lives right across the street from you – claims he’s seen a ghost every night for a week now, standing outside your room for hours on end. Says the only feature he can make out is something long and white. Everyone I’ve spoken to thinks that it must be a bridal veil, and you’re being haunted by the ghost of a bride killed on her wedding day. Those tend to be the angriest ghosts, you know.” She nods to herself solemnly. “Terrible luck, my boy. Those kinds of spirits aren’t easily appeased.”
“… I see,” Yuri says slowly, biting back an incredulous smile. “I’ll make sure to watch out, then.”
Laughing to himself, he turns to walk away. He’s curious about what this so-called “ghost” wants with him.
(Maybe tonight he’ll invite them in and find out.)
.
.
At half-past midnight he opens his window and leans out on the sill, eyeing his visitor exasperatedly.
“You do realize you’re scaring my neighbors, right? They all think you’re some kind of evil spirit.”
Duke lowers his eyes. “My apologies, Yuri Lowell,” he says. “I did not mean to cause you any trouble.”
“Forget it,” Yuri sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Why exactly have you been standing guard outside my door in the dead of night for the past week? Or should I not ask?”
“I was… thinking,” Duke says. He frowns ever so slightly, brow knitting together. There is an awkward artlessness to his voice that Yuri has never heard before. “All things considered, I was unsure of how to broach the topic at hand.”
Yuri raises an eyebrow. “So basically… You were trying to work up the nerve to talk to me? For an entire week?”
Duke ponders this for a moment, then nods gravely.
Yuri has to swallow his laughter. “Wow. You are… really something else, Duke. You want to come in? Or would you rather continue lurking alone in the darkness?”
“… The former,” Duke says, and Yuri reaches over to unlock the door.
.
.
“I need your help.”
Yuri finishes pouring their drinks – potent Nordopolican whiskey – and slides one across the table to his guest. He leans back in his chair and takes a thoughtful sip, liquid warmth pooling languidly on his tongue.
“With what, exactly?”
“With the elimination of a monster,” Duke says. He hesitates, an indistinct emotion flickering across his face, but quickly soldiers on. “I travel to Ehmead Hill every year, to visit Elucifer’s grave. This year, there was… something there. Something I cannot rightly describe. It was viciously territorial, and perhaps saw me as a threat, because it would not let me pass without a fight. It was… astonishingly strong. In the end I was no match for it, and was forced to retreat.”
“And you’re coming to me?” Yuri levels him with a questioning look. “I’m not a hunter or a sword-for-hire. Wouldn’t it make more sense to go to the guilds over this?”
“Yes. But I feel more comfortable begging the assistance of someone I know. And speaking honestly… I do not know anyone other than you.”
Yuri laughs into his drink. “Yeah,” he says, with a wry smile. “Living out in the wilderness really narrows one’s social circle, doesn’t it?”
Duke doesn’t even crack a smile. Some things never change.
“You are stronger than I,” he says. “Dispatching the creature should be simple enough for the two of us combined. And I am more than willing to pay you for your services.” He reaches into the pocket of his coat and withdraws a large gold coin, placing it on the table in front of Yuri. Yuri picks it up and whistles appreciatively, holding it up to the light in astonishment.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs. “I didn’t even know they made 50,000 gald coins. Where did you get this kind of money?”
“It is… the last of the Pantarei family fortune.”
Yuri pauses; shakes his head and pushes the coin back towards him. “I can’t take the last of your money, Duke. You did save my life, you know. I owe you one. If you want something from me you don’t have to pay me for it.”
But Duke merely slides the money back. His eyes are somber. “Yes,” he says. “I saved your life. And then I tried to take it away, along with the lives of every other human on this planet. So I believe, Yuri Lowell, that we are more than ‘even’ in that regard.”
Yuri stares at him over the rim of his glass. Seconds tick past, the silence hanging like a fog over the room. And then, finally, he shrugs.
“Alright. Whatever you say.” He reaches over to take the money, pocketing it with a subtle flick of his wrist. (Another one for the community donation box, he supposes.)
“So you will help me?” Duke asks.
“Sure. I’ve got nothing better to do.” Yuri grins. His fingers curl instinctively, eager for the hilt of his sword. “And I’ve been itching for a battle lately. You came at just the right time, honestly. I might go stir crazy if I don’t get out of Zaphias and do something soon.”
“… Thank you,” Duke says softly. He hasn’t even touched his drink, but his fingertips gently trace the rim of the glass, faltering every so often like a nervous tic. “You are a good person, Yuri. I’m sorry. I… am taking advantage of your kindness.”
And before Yuri can protest Duke is pushing back his chair and walking to the door, raising a hand in farewell before stepping out into the night.
.
.
There is pain and little else.
The wound in his abdomen is throbbing mercilessly. His thoughts are muddled and thick, and the more he reaches out, trying desperately to remember how it came to this, the more his memories slip through his fingers like many grains of sand. A veil of haziness hangs over his eyes. Everything is spinning, tilting dizzily, fading in and out of focus.
A face appears in his line of vision, framed by long white hair. Serious and solemn, with delicate features. Almost like a doll. It’s a face he knows, but in this addled state their name escapes him. They’re speaking to him, now. They sound very far away, but even so their voice is soothing, settling on his skin like a healing balm.
“Go back to sleep, Yuri Lowell,” they say.
He goes back to sleep.
.
.
In the early morning he exits his room to find Duke waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.
“Have you been here long?” he asks.
“… No,” Duke says, but his pointedly averted gaze tells a different story. Yuri fakes a yawn to disguise his amusement. It’s strange to think it, but something about this guy is almost… cute?
“Yuri,” a voice calls. “Are you going somewhere? Who’s your friend?”
His neighbor Nadine is peering down at him from her balcony, eyes barely visible over her vast array of potted plants.
“This is Duke,” he calls back. “Me and him are going on a trip. I’ll be back in… I dunno. A week? Something like that. Tell everyone to keep calm without me, okay? Try not to panic or get depressed or set anything on fire.”
“As if!” Nadine exclaims, laughter echoing across the rooftops. “You get out of here this instant, boy. That ego of yours might be contagious! … Oh, but before you go!” She vanishes behind her plants and the muffled sound of rummaging can be heard.
“Catch!” A small burlap sack is thrown over the balcony, and Yuri snags it expertly in midair. He opens it to find an assortment of Apple and Orange Gels.
“Thanks, Nadine,” he calls. “But you really didn’t have to. I can afford my own Gels, you know.”
“Shut it, brat,” the woman replies. He can’t even see her eyes now – only a tuft of grey hair – but there is a smile in her voice. “I’ll give presents to whomever I damn well please. Now get a move on!”
“Yes ma’am,” he says, turning away with a laugh, and motions for Duke to follow.
It is only when they arrive at the Lower Quarter’s central square that Yuri notices Duke staring at him strangely.
“The people here… They seem to like you very much.”
Yuri shrugs. “Ah, well… I’ve lived here a long time. Most of the older folks have known me since I was a kid. Everyone in the Lower Quarter is sort of like my family, I suppose.”
“Family,” Duke echoes. “…I see. That must be nice.”
(Yuri knows very little about history. He’s always believed in looking towards the future rather than wallowing in the past. But what he does know is this:
Once upon a time there was a city called Pharihyde. A wealthy city, inhabited by noblemen and politicians, with golden fountains and extravagant gardens and mansions of marble lining most every street. The people of Pharihyde lived in luxury and comfort, paying little mind to the state of the world outside their walls.
Until the day the Great War came to their doorstep.
Their barrier was broken, and Pharihyde was razed to the ground by beasts. There were no survivors, save for those with the luck to be elsewhere at the time.
But luck, it seems, is often a double-edged sword. How would it sit in a heart, to fight a losing war only to be told that there was nothing to go home to? To be told that your family, friends, everyone you once knew were all suddenly gone – scorched to ashes and buried beneath the rubble of their lives? And after all of this, to see your beloved comrade murdered out of fear, leaving you alone in the world with nothing but anger to sustain you?
Yuri remembers Tarqaron and wonders.
If he had been in Duke’s place, would he have done the same?)
.
.
They hitch a ride with a friendly caravan and make it to Deidon Hold by nightfall. The Hold is bustling even after dusk – merchants arguing heatedly over stock, carts of freight still passing through the gates, lamplight and raucous laughter spilling out from an open tavern doorway. They make their way to the inn and find that, because of the day’s unusually heavy traffic, there’s only one room left available for the night. Yuri exchanges a glance with Duke, who seems suddenly tense, hands curling into fists at his sides.
“You alright with that?” he asks. “I’m not a sleepwalker or anything, I promise.”
“Yes,” Duke says quickly. “It’s fine.”
Yuri shrugs at the inn clerk and pushes a few hundred gald across the counter.
The room is sparse and cheerless, with a window that won’t open and threadbare blankets on the beds, but it’s better than camping outdoors at the very least. Yuri lowers himself down on to one of the beds with a groan, stretching his arms over his head. He’s grateful to the caravanners for letting them onboard, but he’d been hoping for a little more walking and little less sitting on this so-called ‘journey.’
Duke is still hesitating by the door.
“Are you gonna come in?” Yuri asks, raising an eyebrow. “I know it looks pretty grim in here, but it’s honestly not that bad.”
Duke nods tersely and edges his way inside, sitting down on the edge of the other bed. His posture is stiff and tense, hands folded in his lap as if this were some kind of formal affair. Yuri can feel a headache coming on. He’d have turned Duke down if he’d known this trip was going to be so inexplicably awkward.
“Hey,” he says, attempting to take the edge off the strained atmosphere. “What was Elucifer like?”
Duke turns to him with visible surprise written on his face.
“Why do you ask?”
“We’re going to visit his grave, aren’t we?” Yuri falls back on to the bed and stares up at the dingy ceiling, which was undoubtedly a nice shade of blue once upon a time. “I feel like I should know something about him.”
Duke is silent for a long moment.
“Elucifer was different from the other Entelexeia,” he says finally. “Most of them were like Phaeroh. They were ancient and inscrutable and they never spoke plainly. But Elucifer… He was more like a human, I suppose. He was always finding enjoyment in the little things – things that other Entelexeia cared little for. Perhaps, in the end… that’s why we were so suited to each other. Neither of us fit in with our own kind.”
Yuri ‘hmm’s absently. “Still preoccupied with that ‘me against the world’ shit, huh?”
“…What?”
“C’mon, Duke. You’re just holding yourself back with that kind of mindset,” Yuri says. “You’re strange, yeah, but you’re not that strange. I’ve met people far weirder than you.”
The room falls quiet again.
“Thank you,” Duke says, so quiet that Yuri almost doesn’t catch it, and when he glances over there’s the beginnings of a smile tugging at Duke’s lips.
Now that, Yuri thinks, is progress.
.
.
He drifts in and out of consciousness.
At one point he wakes to see Flynn there next to him, but when Flynn speaks his voice sounds wrong – too low and too calm, with a melancholy undercurrent.
“Flynn,” he says. Each word is a struggle. “What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?”
Flynn merely stares down at him, silent and unmoving.
“No,” he says finally. “I’m fine. You’re the one who’s hurt, Yuri. You need to eat to keep your strength up.”
He lifts a bowl to Yuri’s lips – a thin broth that smells of herbs and vegetables. But Yuri turns his head away.
“You… You aren’t Flynn,” he says. Flynn would be scowling right now, impatient, telling him to hurry up and get his ass out of bed. Reprimanding him for whatever he did to end up like this. ‘Honestly, Yuri,’ he’d be saying. ‘Do you purposefully go looking for trouble? Or does it just come to you?’
He blinks, trying to push aside the hallucination and focus on their face. He knows them. They’re not Flynn but he knows them…
His eyelids are so heavy, though. He sinks back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut, listening to the way they call his name until even their voice fades away.
.
.
They set out a little after dawn, managing to slip through the gate before the morning rush begins. The plains stretch out in front of them like a canvas of green, dotted here and there with the vague shapes of roaming beasts, and Yuri breathes in the air contentedly.
“You okay with staying over in Halure tonight?” he asks, turning to Duke. “Or is your heart set on roughing it in the wilderness?”
“Halure is fine,” Duke says. Several strands of his hair are sticking up in the back, and Yuri bites his lip to keep from laughing. He has to resist the urge to reach out and smooth them down.
“Good,” he says. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure we’ve got free lodging there, as long as I ask nice enough.”
.
.
Estelle beams and throws her arms around his neck as soon as she opens the door.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming!” she exclaims. “I would’ve cleaned this place up a bit if I’d known… Oh.” Her voice trails off. She releases her grip on Yuri and takes a step back, staring at Duke with a kind of polite bewilderment.
“Lady Estellise,” Duke says, inclining his head. “It is good to see you well.”
“Uh… Yes! Yes, same to you, Duke! Very good… to see you.” She gives Yuri a look that clearly reads ‘what in the world is going on?’ He mouths the words ‘it’s a long story’ back at her, and she nods ever so slightly, plastering her sunny smile back in place.
“Come in, come in!” She gestures for them to follow her into the house. “You two are just in time, you know. I’m making scones.”
“Sounds good. Where’s the genius mage? Not off terrorizing the local children again, I hope?”
“She’s in her workshop,” Estelle laughs. “She should be finished soon. And don’t bring up that incident! It’s a banned topic in this household.”
As if on cue there is the muffled sound of something exploding. Thick black smoke begins to seep out from underneath the workshop door, and the acrid smell of burnt chemicals permeates the kitchen. Estelle is humming blithely, continuing to measure the sugar as if nothing were amiss.
“Estelle,” Rita coughs, slipping out of the workshop and slamming the door behind her so as to let as little smoke out as possible. “I think we’re going to need a new rice cooker. And a new clothes iron. And possibly a… What the hell is going on here?”
Yuri waves at her from his seat at the dining table.
“We have guests,” Estelle says with a smile.
“Yeah, I can see that.” She scowls at Yuri. “When did I invite you over, exactly?” Her eyes travel to Duke and her frown falters, confusion warring with annoyance. “And more importantly… Who said you could bring the freak show along?”
“Rita!” Estelle admonishes. “Don’t be rude!”
(Duke merely blinks, unfazed.)
“C’mon, Rita,” Yuri says, cajoling. “Don’t be like that. You wouldn’t turn friends away at the door, would you?”
“… The definition of ‘friends’ must have changed while I wasn’t looking,” she grumbles, sliding into the seat across from Duke and eyeing him suspiciously.
Estelle, sensing Rita’s mood, pointedly clears her throat. “Duke,” she says. “Could you help me in the kitchen, perhaps? I’ve just got so many things to do… An extra set of hands would be wonderful.”
Duke holds Rita’s heated gaze for a moment longer, then slowly nods. “Of course, Lady Estellise.”
As soon as he’s out of eavesdropping range Rita rounds on Yuri.
“What the hell are you doing?” she whispers. “Why are you with him?”
Yuri shrugs. “He showed up outside my place and asked me to help him with something. I said okay. Simple as that. What’s the big deal?”
“Because he tried to kill us all! I mean, fine, you’re not required to hate the guy, but doing him favors? And showing up with him at my house unannounced?? Seriously, Yuri?”
“Yes, Rita. Seriously.” Yuri rolls his eyes. “He’s not a bad guy, you know. A little off at times, but hey, isn’t everybody? And I’d be dead if it wasn’t for him, remember?”
Rita tries to maintain her righteous indignation but cannot. She sighs and slumps back in her chair. “Yeah, yeah,” she mutters. “How could I forget that he’s the one-time savior of the great Yuri Lowell? That clearly excuses all the terrible shit he’s ever done.”
“… So we can stay, right?”
Rita makes an aggravated noise and throws her hands up in defeat. “It’s not up to me,” she sighs. “Estelle’s technically the owner of this place, you know. You would not believe some of the weirdoes that have used our guest room since we moved in. She would let a stranger wielding a bloody axe stay over so long as they said ‘please.’ So I’m pretty sure you’re already in the clear.”
Yuri laughs, his gaze drifting back to Estelle and Duke. She’s tied his hair back in an awkward ponytail to keep it out of the way and is currently instructing him on how to properly mix the batter, complete with helpful demonstrations. Duke nods solemnly all the while, as if the baking of scones were a matter of life and death.
“Y’know, ‘trying to destroy all of humanity’ aside… Don’t you think there’s something kinda… endearing about him?”
Rita looks at him like he’s grown a second head.
“Yuri,” she says. “There’s so many things wrong with what you just said that I’m not sure where to start.”
He laughs again, and ruffles her hair affectionately, and points out that her left eyebrow seems to have been singed off in the previous explosion.
.
.
His body is on fire, and there are shivers running down his spine.
Someone’s hand is on his forehead, and their skin is strangely cool against his own, a welcome respite from the burning heat. He wishes, desperately, that they would touch him more, and reaches up with a shaky hand to grab their wrist.
“Please,” he breathes. Their face swims in and out of his vision, and he thinks that they are beautiful.
“Yuri, what are you…?”
His fingertips trace the length of their arm, coming to rest on their shoulder. He reaches out and places his palm on the back of their neck, fingers twining in their hair, pulling them closer and –
.
.
Yuri wakes with a jolt, pulse pounding in his ears, feeling as if he’s forgotten something. It’s an unpleasant sensation, similar to having a word on the tip of one’s tongue – a faint, irksome emptiness prodding at the back of his mind.
But Rita can be heard from the other room, complaining about being woken up at such an “ungodly hour,” and so he merely smiles and pushes this nagging feeling aside. Later, he tells himself. He’ll think about it later.
Estelle hands them a paper bag full of scones and sees them off at the door.
“Have fun doing… whatever it is you’re doing,” she calls. She waves and nudges a glowering Rita to do the same. “Come back soon, okay? But next time some advance notice would be nice!”
“Sure thing,” he calls back, raising a hand in farewell. “See you soon.”
“You’re lucky,” Duke says quietly, as they round a bend in the road. “To have friends like that, I mean.”
“…Yeah,” Yuri says. He shields his eyes from the sun and stares up at the imposing figure of Halure’s tree, its branches still laden with pink blossoms despite the lateness of the season. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
.
.
It’s nearly sundown when they arrive at Ehmead Hill. Shadows are stretching long across the ground, and the fading light turns the greenery to coppery shades of red and orange.
It’s quiet. There is the rustle of leaves, and the soft hum of summer insects, and the creak of wagon wheels in the distance – a merchant, probably, driving his cart through the pass on the way to Capua Nor. But otherwise the air is still, lying heavy and pleasantly warm on his skin.
“So,” Yuri says. “Where’s this ‘vicious beast’ you told me about?”
Duke stops; turns to look at him long and hard.
“I lied,” he says. “There is no monster.”
“…Yeah,” Yuri says. “I thought as much.”
Duke blinks at him, a hint of surprise flickering across his face. Clearly he was expecting a different reaction.
“Duke… Do you have any idea how many travelers from Capua Nor come through the Lower Quarter every day?” Yuri shakes his head, amused. “Not to mention Flynn being the obsessive over-achiever he is, keeping track of everything that happens in a fifty-mile radius of Zaphias… If there was some ultra-powerful creature living on Ehmead Hill I’m pretty sure I would’ve heard of it. Y’know, you… aren’t a very good liar, are you?”
“It would seem not,” Duke says softly. “Why did you accompany me if you knew the truth?”
“Cause I felt like it, I guess,” Yuri says with a shrug. “You wanted someone to visit Elucifer’s grave with you, right? Less lonely and all that. But you weren’t comfortable asking directly, so you made up some ridiculous story. And I had nothing better to do, so I thought ‘what the hell, might as well go along.’ That’s all there is to it, really.”
Duke is still staring at him intently. The silence between them stretches on for several moments, until finally he says:
“You have just taught me something, Yuri Lowell, and so now I will teach you something, too. For ten years I have visited Elucifer’s grave without the company of others, and as you can plainly see my so-called ‘loneliness’ has yet to crush me beneath its weight. I am not so sickeningly fragile. And I do not by any means need a shoulder to cry on. That is not why I asked you on this trip.”
Duke seems different, suddenly. Less the self that Yuri had glimpsed in the kitchen with Estelle and more the self he’d seen atop Tarqaron, miserable and hating the world. He takes a step towards Yuri, who unwittingly takes a step backwards in response. Something presses against his back – the trunk of a wide, ancient-looking tree, which leaves him trapped with no other escape routes.
“I’ve been having these strange dreams lately,” Duke continues, each word slow and deliberate. “About you.”
“…Oh. What, uh… What kind of dreams, exactly?”
Duke merely raises an eyebrow.
“Ah,” Yuri says. He clears his throat and forces a nonchalant grin. “Those kind. Right. Gotcha.”
“I wondered if there was any truth to these dreams.” Duke advances another step and Yuri’s fingertips stray reflexively to the hilt of his sword. “If they had any… basis in reality, so to speak.”
He lifts a hand; places it on the trunk of the tree just above Yuri’s shoulder and leans in close. It’s strange, Yuri thinks. They’re roughly the same height – perhaps Duke has half an inch on him – but in this moment he seems so much taller. His hair falls forward, brushing lightly against Yuri’s arm, sending a shiver down his spine.
“And I think,” Duke murmurs, “that they most definitely do.” His free hand is reaching up, yanking at the collar of Yuri’s shirt, fingers curling into the fabric. His face is much too close – Yuri can see in great detail all the differing shades of red in his eyes.
And then he is leaning in and pressing their lips together.
(Strangely enough, Yuri’s first coherent thought is a memory of Duke’s voice.
You are stronger than I, he’d said, back in Zaphias, and Yuri would laugh if he weren’t otherwise preoccupied. What a fucking joke. Duke is holding him in place with barely a touch. Perhaps he’s a better liar than Yuri had originally given him credit for.)
Duke’s lips are startlingly soft, but the way in which he kisses Yuri is forceful and demanding, with an underlying hint of desperation. His teeth graze against Yuri’s bottom lip and Yuri feels a jolt of pleasure, unconsciously leaning forward –
Duke abruptly breaks the kiss and takes a step back. He looks startled, almost, taken aback by what he’s just done. His face is flushed, breathing uneven, and he hurriedly averts his eyes, tension present in the hard line of his jaw.
“Go home, Yuri Lowell,” he says. His voice is cold and distant, but it can’t fully disguise the faint shakiness buried beneath. He turns on his heel and walks away, vanishing round a bend in the trail without a backwards glance.
Yuri stares after him, uncomprehending. Several moments pass as he stands there in stunned silence. And then he leans his weight against the tree trunk and lets his head fall back against it with a soft yet sharply-painful thump.
“Holy hell,” he whispers.
.
.
Dusk is encroaching upon the sunset when finally he approaches Elucifer’s grave.
Duke looks over his shoulder at him, expression unreadable. “You’re still here?” he says. “I thought I told you to go home.”
“Never been very good at following orders,” Yuri says with a faint smile. “Plus, I came all this way. Seems like a waste not to pay my respects.”
He crouches down next to the grave and places a small bunch of flowers there, their stems all uneven from being plucked unceremoniously from the earth.
“Fire lilies?”
“Yeah…” Yuri shrugs. “They were the favorite of someone else I never got to meet because of that shitty war. So it seemed fitting, I guess.” He pauses, trying to work out the right words to say. “Listen, Duke – ”
“You were right,” Duke says, cutting him off. “I got angry with you, but you were right. I have been alone for a long time, Yuri. I think the solitude is starting to get to me. Which is why I find myself so… intent upon you, I believe. You have to understand: it has been many years since anyone took a positive interest in me. In my confusion I may have… overstepped my boundaries.”
“It’s fine,” Yuri says.
“…What?”
“It’s fine,” he repeats. He rubs the back of neck awkwardly. “Honestly? I didn’t mind it. I don’t really know what that says about me, but… whatever. I’m not much for soul-searching anyhow.”
Duke looks positively dumbstruck. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but no words come.
“I mean, I don’t know if I can give you everything you want,” Yuri continues. “But we can start small for now, right?” He digs the bag of scones out of his pack and holds it up with a grin. “C’mon, take a seat. We’ve been carrying these things around all day and we haven’t eaten a single one. It’s a fucking travesty.”
Duke is quiet and unmoving for a long moment, and then he lowers himself down on to the grass next to Yuri. Yuri hands him a blueberry one – he seems like a blueberry kind of guy – and he takes it reverently, taking a cautious bite.
“… They’re a bit odd,” he says. “Probably due to an error on my part.”
Yuri tries one of the cranberries. There’s a flavor to it that he can’t quite place, savory and thick with spice, unlike any of Estelle’s baking he’s ever tasted. “Definitely odd,” he says. “Still good, though.”
“Yes,” Duke says softly. “Still good.”
He smiles, then – fully and completely, without a trace of sadness.
They sit side by side in front of Elucifer’s grave as the sun slips away beyond the ocean and everything slowly fades into night.