Archive of Our Own

Temenos didn’t believe in fate.

Well, no, scratch that—Temenos didn’t believe in quite a lot of things. Church doctrine, people, the concept of good and evil. Fate hardly deserved any sort of special honor in terms of his long list of disbelief. Really, he’d learned from a young age that he should be hard pressed to believe in just about anything.

So no, it wasn’t fate that woke Temenos up that night. Simply a strange twinge in his chest telling him that something was amiss.

For just a moment, he thought he was in his little home beside the Flamechurch chapel, just waiting for the telltale knock of Mindt to remind him that he had duties to attend to. But no, as he blinked the sleep from his eyes, it was clear that it was far too cold for the Crestlands. And he could make out the shapes of others nearby. Four beds, one of which was empty. This was hardly a surprise, Osvald tended to get by more on coffee than on sleep.

Temenos sat up, blinking slowly in the dark and cold as his eyes adjusted. Had something awoken him? A noise, perhaps? But no, his two remaining companions appeared dead to the world. Hikari slept peacefully in the bed across from Temenos, still battered and bruised from his parley with Rai Mei but safe and whole nonetheless. In the bed beside that was Partitio’s…feet? Was he upside down? How in the Gods’ name did…? Temenos squinted for a moment, before simply shaking his head and pulling himself upright. A mystery for another night perhaps. Or maybe not at all.

He padded silently from the room.

Perhaps his sleeping troubles were simply the results of a mind ill at ease. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time his poor brain was too preoccupied with the mysteries of the day to rest, and Flamewilling it wouldn’t be the last. Still, he had much to do come the morning, and he could only imagine Castti’s disapproval were he to simply give up an entire night’s rest.

Oh well, perhaps a bit of fresh air would clear his mind.

As predicted, there was a light and a looming scholar sitting out in the front hall of the inn as Temenos stepped into view. Osvald glanced up, glasses gleaming in the dim light, giving Temenos a single nod before returning to the large tome in his hands.

“Good evening, Osvald,” Temenos greeted.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Osvald replied flatly. Temenos almost chuckled, but held off, stretching his back as he glanced around the room.

No hooded figures coming at him with a sword, so far as he could tell. A marked improvement from earlier in the day. Still, as he stood there, the unease in his chest refused to abate. It gnawed at the back of his mind, like he was forgetting something important. How strange. Perhaps he should wake Castti, ask for a draught that could put him to sleep.

“You’re up awfully late, Detective.”

Temenos blinked in surprise, glancing up to find Throné just beside him, leaning against the wall. “Goodness, I will never understand how you move so quietly,” he mused.

Throné stretched her arms over her head. “Just trying to keep you on your toes,” she replied. “If you have assassins coming after you, you should probably get better at noticing it.”

“Ah, I see,” Temenos said. “Good thinking, though I can’t imagine any of them getting past your watchful eye.” She snorted slightly, but Temenos couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes gleamed at the praise. “And what are you doing up this time of night?”

“Ochette runs in her sleep.”

Silence. The two of them blinked at each other.

“...O-Oh?”

“Yup.”

“I…Hmm.” Temenos frowned to himself, for once not sure how to react to that. “How very…Ochette of her.”

There was a clearing of the throat. Temenos and Throné turned to find Osvald fixing them with a cold stare, book still in hand. He raised an eyebrow.

“Ah, my apologies,” Temenos said with a laugh. “Are we interrupting you?”

“Yes.”

“This is a public place, you know,” Throné replied, but Temenos shook his head.

“Not to worry, I was hoping for some fresh air anyhow,” he said, stepping past Osvald to the door.

“Hmm.” Osvald sent him another reproachful glance, rubbing the corner of a page in his fingertips. “That seems ill advised, all things considered.”

“I won’t go far,” Temenos laughed, just as Throné added, “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Osvald hummed, glancing between the two of them before returning to his book. “If you need me for anything, please reconsider,” he said simply, which earned him one last laugh from Temenos as he stepped through the door.

The cold hit him like a solid wall of ice. He winced slightly, glancing up at the sky as the wintery air stabbed into his lungs. The weather had tamed since Ochette’s little foray up the mountainside, but the sky was still devoid of stars, smothered in a blanket of clouds. How anyone could live here was beyond Temenos, though the locals seemed to get by well enough.

“So I can’t help but notice you didn’t answer my question from earlier.”

“Oh?” Temenos stepped to the side as Throné slipped out the door behind him. “And what question was that, pray tell?”

“What are you doing up at this time of night?” She’d crossed her arms against the cold, though her garb was still rather ill suited for the clime. “I always figured all you religious types were early risers.”

“Yes, yes, early to bed, early to rise, as Mindt always says when I oversleep,” Temenos replied smoothly, leaning himself against the wall of the inn as he took in the world around him. “But truthfully, I don’t have a particularly interesting answer to your query. I’m simply…” A frown. “...awake.”

“Hmm.” She brushed her bangs from her face, eyes scanning the nearby area for danger as they always did.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, simply watching the snow flutter gently past as their breath misted into the air. Temenos shut his eyes, shockingly glad for the silence, happy to let it lie as they stood there. And yet, even the loveliness of the evening did little to settle the strange sense of unease roiling in his stomach.

Why was that? Temenos wasn’t what you’d call a particularly anxious person. He was confident in his abilities as Inquisitor, even with a threat on his life. And he was confident too that the truth would be illuminated before he was finished. And, well, what else was there to concern himself with? He didn’t have anything else he particularly cared for, save for…

You don’t even believe in your own gods, do you?

Temenos’s eyes trailed toward the silhouette of the Sacred Guard’s headquarters, looming in the distance.

“...you could’ve invited him to spend the night, you know.”

“Hmm?” As he glanced back toward Throné, he found her cold eyes smug on his. “What do you mean?”

“Crick,” Throné said calmly, inclining her head toward the building. “You could’ve invited him in. If you wanted more time with him.”

“In front of our companions?” Temenos asked, hand to his chest and doing his best to look scandalized. “Really, Throné, what sort of man do you take me for, hmm?”

“You’re right, my apologies,” she said with a smirk, shaking her head, glancing off into the darkness. “But you know that isn’t what I meant.”

“Oh? You weren’t trying to talk me into finally seducing the world’s most uptight Godsblade?” Temenos rubbed his chin in faux thought. “That would be quite the achievement, wouldn’t it? Perhaps I shall bed him tomorrow night. Why, I’m sure Partitio could talk himself and the others into some sort of lodging for the night.”

“Are you worried about him?”

“Who? Partitio?”

“Crick,” Throné said, rolling her eyes. “Are you worried about him?”

Temenos snorted at that. “Worried?” he repeated. “Whatever for?”

And that gave her pause for a moment, frowning as she thought to herself. She glanced out at the darkness. “He’s a good man,” she finally said, her eyes saying a million things neither of them could articulate.

Temenos turned away, wind tousling his hair. “I suppose he is,” he said with a humorless smile. “But all the more reason not to get too attached, hmm?”

A soft snort. “Here here.”

They lapsed back into silence. The snow continued to fall, beginning to dust the tops of their heads as Temenos stared out into the dark. After a moment, he shut his eyes, feeling his mind begin to wander.

“You’re a good man, Roi.”

“And why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?” Roi asked with a little laugh as he fiddled with the Staff of Judgement in his hands. “Isn’t that our job as clerics? To do good in the name of the Sacred Flame?”

They’d seated themselves in a little room far from the main hall, the one they’d spent much of their youth in. Most signs of Roi and Temenos’s childhoods had long been worn away, save for a few little drawings carved into the walls with something sharp, hidden carefully behind the furniture.

Temenos ran a finger along the edges of one of those drawings. “Of course, of course,” he said with a laugh, waving his other hand dismissively. “Though that’s going to be an official job for you now, isn’t it, Sir Inquisitor?” He gave Roi a smirk. “I can scarcely imagine it. Inquisitor Roi, smiting evil with a mighty swing of his staff, striking fear into the hearts of those who would do the innocent harm.”

“You make it sound like I’m going to be walking around simply beating heretics into unconsciousness.”

“Oh? Is that what you’re planning on doing?” Temenos asked, sending Roi a smile. “My, how fun, perhaps we should trade duties for a while. What are your thoughts on paper plays—”

“You know you shouldn’t hide when something is bothering you.”

Temenos stiffened, before turning back toward the wall. Why was it that Temenos was the one person who could never truly pull the wool over Roi’s eyes? “And what makes you think something is bothering me?” he replied tersely. “I am perfectly fine, as it so happens.”

He could feel rather than see Roi’s eyes on the back of his head. “You’re allowed to be honest with me, you know,” the man said softly.

“Oh? But isn’t figuring out the truth your duty now, Mr. Inquisitor?” Temenos replied smoothly. “Perhaps I should start lying to you more, give you some practice, Gods know you need it—”

“You don’t think His Holiness should’ve made me Inquisitor.” It was a statement, not a question, and Temenos froze. The two of them looked at each other. It took a while for Temenos’s voice to return to him.

“As I said, you’re a good man,” he said softly, the admission falling from his lips. “A better man than I ever could be, certainly. And yet, is goodness enough to combat the evils of this world?” He sighed. “You’re an Inquisitor now, Roi. That means that there are people out there who would do you harm. It is not an easy task set out before you, all the more so when your duties may very well take you to all corners of the world, where I’d scarcely be able to…to…”

For a moment, Roi simply stared at him, seemingly shocked by the frankness of Temenos’s words. And then a smile played across his lips. “You know, you do yourself a disservice if you don’t think you’re a good man too,” he said.

“Wh—” Temenos scoffed. “I feel as though I should take offense to that.”

“You needn’t worry so much, Temenos,” Roi said gently, reaching out to tap Temenos’s arm with the Staff of Judgement. “I have faith in the Gods. I know they will guide me so long as I keep the faith and do what is right.”

“Mindless belief will only go so far if you don’t put in any work yourself.”

“So you say,” Roi said with a chuckle. “Though, I must say, it would be much easier to do so if I knew there was someone here who had faith in me, hmm?”

“Oh dear, is his Holiness’s faith not good enough for you, Roi?”

“Please, Temenos?” Temenos paused, glancing up to find Roi’s eyes on his, hopeful and kind. And then with a sigh, he relented, head leaning back.

“Fine, yes, I have the utmost faith in you,” he muttered reproachfully. “Is that all you wanted?”

“Thank you, Temenos.” Roi was smiling now. “I will make you all proud. You, the Pontiff, the Church, I promise I’ll—”

“Oh hush. Don’t make this into some big thing,” Temenos muttered. “Just don’t make me regret putting my faith in you, alright?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“...Temenos? Hey Temenos.”

Something cold brushed the back of his neck, and he jumped, head snapping up. Throné smirked, pulling back.

“Must you do that while I’m thinking?” Temenos asked with no real heat, rubbing his neck, shaking his shoulders as snow slipped down the back of his robe.

Throné shook the end of her snow-covered dagger. “Sorry,” she said.

“You certainly don’t look it.”

“Oh, I was lying.” She turned, peering into the darkness. “I heard something. Thought I should let you know.”

Immediately, Temenos’s staff was in hand, eyes scanning the area. “I see. How mysterious.”

“Should we check it out, Detective?”

Temenos frowned out into the darkness. Truth be told, they probably shouldn’t be wandering around in the middle of the night. It would be safer to just stay inside, warm and safe from any more attempts on his life. And yet, something stirred in the pit of his stomach, something cold. “Yes, perhaps we should.”

They went slowly. While Throné was known for stepping quietly, Temenos was not, and neither of them were too keen on catching anyone’s undue attention. Fortunately, it was later (or perhaps earlier) than they usually walked the streets, so most of the townsfolk had taken shelter from the cold hours before. The why was abundantly clear once they reached the large stretch of cobblestones outside of the Sacred Guard’s headquarters, a perfect windtunnel that stung Temenos’s face and tore at his robes.

Throné stopped first, holding out an arm to stop Temenos in his tracks. Immediately, Temenos squinted forward.

There was a figure just beside the steps to the Sacred Guard’s headquarters. Lying against the wall. Still. Unmoving.

“...Something isn’t right,” Temenos murmured, and wordlessly, Throné pulled out her lantern and lit it.

For a moment, the world was bathed in a soft yellow, blinding him. The next moment, the world was spattered crimson.

Temenos stiffened. “Someone’s hurt,” he said, starting forward.

“Hold on, Temenos, it could be a trap—”

“Erm, pardon me, are you alright?” Temenos called, ignoring Throné’s warning as he moved across the snow, lighting his own lantern. “Or alive, perhaps…?”

Blood. Blood streaking the fresh snow. Still crimson, still fresh. The figure was collapsed against the stone, a sword clattered beside its outstretched hand. They were dressed in the Sanctum Knight’s armor, the blues and golds soaked through with gore, red standing out horribly against deathly white skin and shaggy brown hair and…and…

“...Crick…”

He didn’t even register the lantern slipping from his fingers, or the way his feet seemed to rush forward on their own. He didn’t register falling to his knees, surging forward to grab the limp figure in front of him. All he knew was that one moment he was standing in the snow, and the next there was a body in his hands.

Why? What was this? How could…? He fumbled forward, pressing his fingers to the man’s neck. A heartbeat, where was the heartbeat? Was he…? His skin was cold. No signs of breath. No signs of life. Crick was…but he’d been alive just hours ago, he couldn’t be…he couldn’t…

And then he found something. A pulse, fluttering weakly against his fingertips like a dying bird.

Someone was talking to him, but he couldn’t listen. He pulled back, quickly prying armor from Crick’s chest, mouth dry, no thoughts, so much blood, heal him, heal him, heal him.

The light burst from his fingertips, and he pressed his hands against Crick’s chest, against the wound, the hole Gods damn it what happened?! Why Crick?! Why Crick, why do this to Crick?! Bile rose in Temenos’s mouth but he swallowed it down quickly.

Stop the bleeding. That was the first priority, nothing more. He pressed in hard, as if he could hold Crick together with his bare hands alone, feeling something warm and slick slipping through his fingers.

“Crick,” he tried, scarcely able to hear his own voice over a buzzing in his ears. “Crick, wake up. You need to wake up. Crick.” Another healing spell cascaded down Temenos’s fingertips. “W-Why Crick, you’re—you’re late for your duties as a Sanctum Knight,” he tried, leaning in, desperately searching Crick’s face for any signs of life. “You mustn’t be late, tardiness is a…a sin after all.”

Nothing. No movement. He should’ve reacted. He should’ve groaned, glared, rolled his eyes, sent Temenos a reproachful glance, anything, anything, please, please, please…

More healing light swirled around them, through Temenos’s hands, through Crick’s cold, unmoving body. Cold, too cold, what was a bigger priority, moving Crick somewhere warmer or staunching the bleeding? Which was killing him faster? He tried to think, but for once his mind was a blank. Why? Why couldn’t he think straight? He needed to think, needed to concentrate. Surely there was something he could…

…Castti. Castti, he needed to find Castti! Castti would know what to do. His head snapped up. “Throné! Throné I need—”

There was no one there. He was alone. Where did Throné go? His breath caught in his chest as he looked around. No one here. No one to help him. No one to save him.

He turned back, staring down at the body, at Crick, at Crick not a body, he wasn’t just a hunk of flesh, he was alive, he was Crick, he was Crick—

Temenos was on his feet. He scrambled back, fumbling for the lantern still lying on the stone. He threw it down beside Crick, groping for a soulstone and shoving it inside. Fire erupted in a shatter of glass and metal, blinding him for a moment as he jumped back, ignoring the sharp, blistering pain in his arm. Then he returned, more words tumbling from his mouth as he shoved his hands back at the wound.

“There we are. That should help, shouldn’t it?” The fire roared beside them, casting horrible sunken shadows across Crick’s pallid face as Temenos continued to speak nonsense. “You’re not going to die from a little scratch like this, now, are you? I’ll be very disappointed if you do, you know.” More healing light. His hands were beginning to go numb. His breath was coming shorter. “Barely a scratch and yet here you are, sleeping on the job. Really Crick, what would your superiors say?”

He leaned in closer, one hand reaching up to cup Crick’s face, which lulled like a ragdoll. “Perhaps you just need to follow the sound of my voice?” he crooned, forcing up as irritating of a smile as he could. “Come, my wayward lamb, follow the sound of my voice. Let my dulcet tones guide you home.”

Temenos’s healing light began to flicker. His eyesight was beginning to blur. He cast his spell again, and suddenly there was static running through his veins. He winced, forcing himself through the feeling, forcing out another healing spell.

“Oh, no protests this time?” he asked. “You’ve finally accepted your new title? Then I shall say it again. I shall call you that forever more, my little lamb. And if you wish for me to stop, all you have to do is wake up and tell me off. Quite the simple solution, if I do say so myself.” His spell fizzled out. He cast again. An awful numbness shot through his hands, through his arms and into his chest.

“All you have to do is wake up,” he repeated. He cast again, fingers curling into the wound on Crick’s chest as sensation began to fade. The world was beginning to sway. He felt sick. “All you have to do is wake up. Wake up, Crick. Wake up.”

The light disappeared. All that remained was the fire, already flickering out in the snow beside them.

“...Wake up.” Barely a whisper. No more light at his fingertips. “Wake up, Crick. Please.”

The world went silent. The world went still. The Gods themselves seemed to hold their breaths.

And then, the slightest flicker of eyelids. And a whisper, barely audible.

“T…Tem…en…”

“...Crick?”

“Temenos!”

Temenos jumped, Crick slipping from his grasp and falling to the ground with a clatter as suddenly there were figures around him.

“Oh no, he’s lost so much blood already.” A woman. Castti? She was on her knees, grabbing Crick and rolling him onto his back with a severe look on her face. “We need to get him inside, now. Osvald.”

“I’m on it.” Another figure pushed past, scooping Crick into his arms and climbing to his feet.

Temenos sat there, unable to follow their movements as they began to shuffle away, eyes fixed on the blood smeared against stone, against his robes, against his hands— 

“Temenos.” There was a hand on his shoulder, sending another shock up his arm. He looked up to find Throné, face stone. “Come on, we should go with them.”

“I…” It was all he managed before she reached down, hauling him to his feet by the arm. For a moment, his knees buckled like a newborn deer, but he forced them still and stumbled after the others.

They moved in silence. Ahead of them, Temenos could see Castti sprinting ahead, Osvald walking carefully behind her as he clutched the body to his chest. He simply trailed behind them, unable to so much as speak as the sound of static continued to pulse in his ears. At some point, he glanced toward Throné, but she was once again nowhere to be found.

The inn. Suddenly Temenos was inside, with only the vaguest recollection of stepping through the doorway. He could see the others, crowding toward Osvald and Castti, but it was like he was watching them through fogged glass.

“What happened?” Agnea was saying from far away, eyes wide and frightened. “What happened to him? What—”

“—happened, Temenos, why are you crying?” Inquisitor Jörg asked, kneeling in front of him. “Oh dear, have you broken your new toy already?”

“Can’t you heal him?” Temenos asked, holding up the little toy soldier, its body crushed, gears rattling in its chest. “You can heal him, can’t you?”

The Inquisitor’s face fell as he took the little toy in hand. “Oh, Temenos, I don’t—”

“—know,” Castti said, face hard as she looked the body over. “I don’t know for certain yet, we have to remove his armor quickly or we run the risk of infection. And he’s so cold… We can’t apply heat directly, we should—Osvald, once he’s on the bed, I need you to make the room as warm as you can, alright?”

“Understood.”

“Hang on, hand him here,” Partitio said, reaching forward. “Get the room ready, me ‘n’ Hikari can handle this.”

“Yes, please leave this to us,” Hikari said. “We just need to keep pressure on the wound, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Castti said, as Osvald turned and—

—deposited the mangled little toy back to Temenos’s outstretched hands, its unseeing eyes staring up at the ceiling, arms bent all wrong.

“Sometimes things happen that even our healing magic can’t fix,” Jörg said gently, a hand soothing Temenos’s hair. “Sometimes, things happen, and prayer isn’t enough to take away the hurt.”

“But. But.” Temenos sobbed. “I-It was an accident. I didn’t mean to step on him. Why can’t you heal him?”

“Sometimes accidents can hurt the people we love,” Jörg said, not unkindly. “But that is why the Sacred Flame asks us to learn to care for each other. And when we make a mistake, we must—”

“—hurry,” Castti was saying, already rifling through her bag. “We need to hurry, there isn’t much time. We have to—”

“—learn to be careful with those we love, we—”

“—can still save him, we must save him—”

They were all moving quickly, and Temenos watched as if they were underwater, as Castti and Osvald hurried forward, as Hikari and Partitio carefully took the—

—broken little doll with its lifeless eyes and its—

—arms dangling like a puppet with its strings cut as the blood—

—dripped to the floor from its outstretched hands—

—that Temenos broke with his carelessness—

—that Temenos led into the lion's den—

—lifeless and empty and broken and—

“...menos? Temenos!”

And then there was a hand on his arm, and the world snapped back into focus.

Temenos jumped, turning to find Agnea beside him, eyes shining with unshed tears as she spoke to him gently. “Temenos, are you alright? You haven’t…you haven’t moved in a while.”

It took a moment for the words to catch up with him. “A-Ah. Yes, thank you Agnea,” he said quickly. “But I am quite alright, not to worry.”

“Are you sure?” she pressed. “I could…maybe get you a glass of water? Or…”

“No no, that is alright,” Temenos said. He’d meant to wave his hand, but when he tried, his entire arm went numb again, so he simply turned away, letting his eyes wander the room.

Castti and Osvald had disappeared farther into the inn. He could see Ochette and Akalā standing in the doorway, peering after them with their ears flat and tails tucked between their legs. Nearby, Partitio and Hikari seemed to be double-teaming the poor innkeeper at the front desk.

“O’ course, we’d be more than happy to pay for any damages to the premises, replace any of the bedsheets and cover any cleaning costs,” Partitio said, a silver leaf gleaming in his hand. “That is a merchant’s guarantee, and a merchant’s guarantee is as good as gold.”

“Yes, indeed,” Hikari agreed, hands on the desk as he fixed the frightened-looking innkeeper with a calm gaze, “and of course we’d also be more than happy to pay extra for your discretion, if that’s alright with you…”

His eyes peeled away, giving the room another thorough glance. He caught sight of Throné, slipping through the front door and dusting snow from her shoulders.

“Throné, there you are,” Agnea called. “Where have you been? Did you hear, Crick is—”

“I was just covering our tracks,” Throné replied, shaking snow from her hair. “No assassin worth their salt is going to let their mark wander off without a fight. This should at least buy us some time.”

Temenos’s stomach twisted. Yes, even now, even if Castti could save him, would they come after him again? But who could’ve done this? Who could’ve attacked Crick? Who could’ve…

“H-Hey Temenos…?”

His head snapped up. Ochette had moved closer while he was looking elsewhere, ears still pressed back as she wrung her hands. “Do you…maybe want to pet Akalā? He’s really soft…”

Almost in response, the strange little fox began butting his head against Temenos’s legs. Temenos gazed down, fingers flexing only to realize they were trembling. “No, that is alright, Ochette, but thank you for the…” But as Akalā gazed up at him, something else caught Temenos’s attention. “Hmm? What’s this…?”

The crumpled ball of paper sat just beside Akalā’s feet. Hands still shaking, Temenos knelt, grabbing it to find it soaked in blood.

Blood…then had this belonged to Crick? How strange, why was Crick carrying something like that? Straightening up, he carefully unfolded the parchment.

Surrender yourself not unto silent dusk

For the light shall fade

“...these words…”

“Oh, what’s that?” Ochette asked, peaking over his shoulder.

Temenos stared. And stared. These words, the same as Vados the Architect. A clue. A clue Crick had meant for him.

A clue Crick may very well die for. 

His fingers tightened around the paper like a lifeline, the world slowly beginning to sharpen around him once more.

“I won’t let this go to waste,” he said, knuckles white. And something began burning in his chest. “I won’t let this all be for nothing, Crick, I promise.”

“Oh, are we leaving now?” It was Partitio, adjusting his hat with a fire in his eyes. “Well then, come on, we’re burning moonlight.”

“Oh, are we all going?” Agnea was holding a cup of water, setting it down on a small side table.

“Yeah!” Ochette cheered. “Come on, let’s—”

“No, hold on.” Hikari stepped forward. “Someone should stay and keep guard, we don’t know who could still be—”

The rest was lost to the wind as Temenos stepped out into the snow. It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter who else was there. The world around him faded out, all focused on the tiny scrap in his hands, a single pinprick of light in the dark. He walked, eyes fixed forward even as several other figures joined, their muffled voices doing little to pierce Temenos’s focus. Nothing mattered. Not his companions, not Temenos, nothing but that single page in his hands.

And then he was standing in front of the crime scene, staring down at the blood as his own fingernails began to pierce through his palms.

“The truth lies in the flame.”

///

The sun was almost directly overhead when Temenos stepped out of the headquarters of the Sacred Guard.

It was done. Deputy Cubaryi was dead. His true target had been identified. He had his next goal, his next destination, possibly the final one on this long and arduous journey. He knew what he had to do.

And he felt numb.

He stood in the snow for a second. It was strange, without the immediate goal of following Crick’s lead set out before him, he felt untethered. Like he was floating, like he was watching his own body move mechanically forward. As if Crick’s page had been all that was holding him together, and now there was nothing left to anchor him to this world.

The truth had laid in the flame. The truth was set out before him. He had a lead. A trail. This was the moment he should feel confident, the moment all of his hard work came together for one final climactic confrontation.

Except. Except except except. 

Crick. Had he lived, or had he died? Did he cling to this world, or was he just a sacrifice for Temenos’s cause, a lamb led carelessly to slaughter?

He should return to the inn, see the truth for himself. Why did Temenos want the truth so badly anyway? He didn’t want to know. Was Crick alive or dead? Maybe he was both, so long as Temenos never took a step forward. Alive and dead, all at once. 

His companions stood around him, quietly murmuring to each other. He hardly even recognized them. Who even was it, standing beside him as he struck down his adversary? Why did it matter?

The truth lies in the flame. But the flames had singed him. What use was the truth when the truth brought about such pain? What…?

“…Inquisitor? I-Inquisitor Temenos!”

A voice drew Temenos back into his body with a snap. He’d made it to the steps leading into the residential district, and he pulled himself to a stop, turning to glance over his shoulder.

A figure was rushing toward him. A young man, wearing the armor of a Godsblade. For a second, just the briefest of moments, it was Crick, running toward him with a bright look in his eyes. And then, just as quickly, he blinked, and it was a stranger.

“Ah, and the crows descend,” Temenos said lightly, staff in hand as he turned. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Had they discovered Cubaryi already? Was he to be arrested? It wasn’t as if an assassin would chase him down in broad daylight and run him through. Although with Temenos’s luck, it wasn’t completely out of the question.

The man finally stumbled to a stop, doubling over to catch his breath. He was young for a Sanctum Knight, maybe Crick’s age give or take a year, with black, shoulder length hair and a face red from exertion.

“Really, now, you didn’t have to chase me down,” Temenos said lightly, crossing his arms. “I don’t think I was moving so fast.”

Finally, the man straightened up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…have…have you seen Crick?”

Ice shot down Temenos’s spine as he arched his eyebrows, hoping for all the world he just looked mildly surprised. “Crick? No, I haven’t seen him for quite a while. May I inquire who’s asking?”

“Wh…Oh. Oh! M-My apologies, sir.” The man straightened up, as prim and proper as any Sanctum Knight, practically saluting, and once again, Temenos found his heart hurting for another Godsblade. “Yes, he probably never…My name is Ort. I’m Crick’s friend.”

“Oh, I see. Crick’s friend.” Now Temenos recognized him. He was one of Kaldena’s personal bodyguards. What was he playing at? Hoping to finish the job, perhaps? It was too risky to interrogate the man in broad daylight, perhaps he could lure him away from prying eyes. “And you don’t know where he is?”

The man shook his head quickly. “No, I…I worried perhaps he was running late again, but he’s not at his lodgings, nor any of the places he’d normally be, nor…nor anywhere! He…” The man’s face fell, and Temenos found his stomach sinking at the worry in the man’s eyes. “He’s never missed out on his duties. Sure, he can get distracted, he’d never turn down someone in need, but he’s never just disappeared like this without a word. I…I know Crick, I know he wouldn’t abandon his duties unless…” And the words trailed off.

“...Is that so,” Temenos murmured, as Ort began fiddling with his sword.

“He…He talks of you often,” Ort said softly, and Temenos felt his heart tighten in his chest. “I know he thinks highly of you, and was quite anxious for your arrival. I thought if anyone knew where he might be, it would be you.” A pause, and a small chuckle. “Ah, but perhaps don’t tell him I told you any of that, I doubt he’d appreciate it…”

Talks of you often… Temenos swallowed. “My apologies, but I don’t have anything to tell you,” he said smoothly.

Ort’s eyes dimmed, shoulders slumping. “I…I see,” he murmured. “That is…unfortunate.”

The two of them stood in silence for a moment, Ort’s brows drawn together as he stared off into nowhere, looking deep in thought. Was it real worry, or was it a trap? Did Crick trust this man? Or rather, did this man deserve Crick’s trust? Who among those carrion scavengers truly deserved Crick’s trust anyhow?

Crick…he’d believed in them all, in their goodness, their righteousness. And his only reward was a sword through the chest…

“Could you pass on a message, perhaps?” Ort asked, drawing Temenos from his musing. “If you see him, I mean. Captain Kaldena has called me away, and…well, if you could have him send word that he’s alright, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“I will certainly do my utmost,” Temenos lied primly, folding his hands behind his back. “But I’m sure Crick is just fine, wherever he is. Now, fly along, little crow, I have much to do today.”

“Erm.” The man seemed a bit perplexed by the name, but nodded all the same. “Right, of course. Thank you, Inquisitor.” He gave a polite smile, and with one final nod, he turned and started off.

Kaldena had called him away. Likely already heading to the Nameless Village. Then he would need to move quickly. He couldn’t risk letting her succeed in her dark machinations, not after all that had happened. He should gather his companions and leave this place behind, never look back.

…He glanced back.

The blood was gone. Someone must’ve tried to clean it, and their sins along with it. No more unsightly blood, no sign of a Godsblade who’d had his trust run through like a stuck pig.

Slowly, he breathed in through the nose. “...We should go collect the others,” he said brightly, turning. “It does us no good to simply stand around gawking.”

Partitio, Agnea, and Throné all nodded. “Sure thing, Detective,” Throné said calmly, though he could see the anxiety in all of their eyes as they started off toward the inn.

No one spoke, not even Agnea or Partitio. Each step twisted the knot in Temenos’s chest tighter and tighter, till he was sure it would break. But he forced himself forward, eyes fixed ahead until finally he could see their destination.

Outside the building was Ochette and Akalā. There was a path in front of the inn worn clean of snow, as Ochette paced back and forth, back and forth, squeezing her cheeks together and looking torn. But before Temenos could do so much as call out for her, her ears snapped up, and then her head.

“Temenos!” she shouted, eyes wide. “Temenos, you’re back! Oh man, oh man, thank goodness! Hurry up! You have to come inside!”

“Why? What’s happened?” Temenos asked, quickening his pace even as his heart began to freeze solid.

“It…It’s Crick!” she said, wringing her hands. “He…He…”

Oh Gods, he was dead, it was too late, Kaldena had come back to finish the job—

“He punched Hikari in the face!”

Now, there were many things that could’ve come out of Ochette’s mouth in that moment that Temenos had prepared for. So many scenarios that he’d steeled himself against, playing out over and over in his mind. And yet, instead, Ochette said her piece, and suddenly all of the words were gone, save for a single solitary, “...What?”

A crash from inside. A shout. Ochette shot forward, grabbing Temenos’s wrist and pulling him into the building.

“Hikari said I should guard the door in case the assassins came back, but then Crick woke up and he’s all delirious and he keeps shouting your name and no one knows what to do and I wasn’t sure if I should go look for you or—”

“Sir Crick!”

As Temenos stumbled to a stop in the doorway, he froze.

“Sir Crick!” Castti was shouting, trying to ease him back into the bed as he thrashed against Osvald and Hikari’s panicked grips on his arms. His skin was ghastly pale, face covered in sweat, eyes wide and terrified. “Sir Crick, please, no one is in danger, you’re going to reopen your wounds, stop—stop wriggling—”

“Temenos!” Crick’s voice was hoarse, and desperate, and Temenos started forward on trembling legs. “Temenos! He—I have to—he’s in danger—” A choking sound, blood escaping Crick’s mouth. “Unhand me, I—I have to warn him, I have to—”

“Crick!”

At the sound of Temenos’s voice, Crick seemed to freeze in place, head snapping toward the noise. “Tem…Temenos,” he rasped, and for a moment, such relief flooded his face that Temenos would’ve thought he were the one found bleeding to death in the snow.

“‘Tis I,” Temenos replied, head buzzing again, but suddenly for quite a different reason. “In the flesh.”

“Temen…Temenos.” Crick turned, as if to throw his assailants off of him, both of whom quickly dragged him back. “Temenos, we…it was Captain Kald—” He made a noise of pain, choking again, and Temenos rushed forward, grabbing Crick’s shoulder just as Castti did.

“Crick, please lay down down,” Castti said, halfway between gentle and furious as Crick finally ceased his thrashing. “You mustn’t reopen your wounds.”

“It…Temenos…” Crick wheezed, grabbing at Temenos’s wrist. “It was…It was Kaldena—”

“Yes, yes, I know, Captain Kaldena and Deputy Cubaryi, they’re both traitors to the sacred flame and so on and so forth,” Temenos said firmly, running a hand through Crick’s hair. “Really, Crick, what in the Heavens were you thinking, gallivanting around by yourself like that?”

“You…” Finally, Crick’s body began to go slack. “You figured it out…?”

“Yes, yes, everything is over and done now,” he said, not sure if he should be irritated or relieved but feeling both in full force. “Now listen to what our dear apothecary has to tell you, hmm? Before you take another five years off my lifespan, preferably.”

“...Oh. You…” Crick slumped, whatever fire that had possessed him finally snuffed out. “You…you figured it…without me,” he murmured weakly, eyes already beginning to flutter. “You…you already…”

“Yes, everything is alright now,” Temenos said, belatedly realizing he was still petting Crick’s hair. “Nothing left to do but sleep, eh, little lamb?”

Crick’s eyebrows twitched downward. “Must you…when I’m on my deathbed…” But the rest of his protests were lost to mumbles as his eyes finally drifted shut. And then he was limp.

Beside him, Castti let out a sigh of relief. “Well,” she said, leaning back to inspect her handiwork, “thank goodness that’s over with.”

“Thank goodness,” Temenos echoed weakly, unable to do much more than simply sit where he was and stare.

The others burst into chatter around him, background noise to the buzzing in Temenos’s ears as he watched Castti return to her work, quickly beginning to examine the unconscious body before her.

“He’s alive! Oh my stars, I was so worried.”

“Ha, he can throw quite the punch, certainly.”

“A-As I said, sir, full cost of any damages, ’n’ I’d be more than happy to replace anything that…”

“How’re you feeling, Detective?” It was Throné who cut through the noise first, edging up beside him as his arms fell to his sides.

“Never better,” he managed with a weak little laugh, finally forcing himself fully to his feet. “Well now, that was quite the adventure—”

And then suddenly he was facedown on the floor.

He blinked a few times, trying to process how that happened. When had he gotten down here? How strange. And…he blinked again, brows drawing together as someone started talking to him. The static had spread from his ears to his eyes, dissolving the entirety of his peripheral vision into nothing. His arms, too, those had fizzled entirely into a million pinpricks, a strange sensation shooting through his forearms that would be pain if not for the fact that it felt like nothing at all.

The others stood over him, some falling to their knees, grabbing his arms. Castti leaned in close, searching his face.

“You’ve over-exerted yourself,” she said softly, worry twisting her face. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve seen it sooner.”

“I’m…” For once in his life, he had nothing clever to say, as Osvald and Throné reached down and began hauling him upright. “My…apologies. I…I should…use a plum, perhaps.”

“No, you need rest,” Castti said, standing up and dusting off her skirt, before reaching into her bag. “Here, I have some herbs that should help you get to sleep. Take them and get some rest. I’ll make sure Crick is well cared for while you’re out.”

Temenos shook his head as he was sat on the nearest bed. “That is quite alright, Castti, if I could simply sit down for a moment—”

Suddenly, a bottle was thrust into his hand. “That was not a request,” she said coldly.

He stared for a moment. She stared back, eyes burning. And then, with a deep sigh, he brought the bottle to his lips and shut his eyes.

///

It was dark.

Temenos blinked a few times, brows drawing together as he slowly came back to consciousness. He felt sluggish, sleep clinging stubbornly to his brain like he’d just pulled himself from a pit of tar. Everything hurt, every inch of him, a dull, throbbing pain just below the skin. Why was that? How odd.

He shut his eyes as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Perhaps he’d drank too much wine the previous night? For…some reason? But no, that didn’t seem right. Why ever would he be drinking during an investigation?

He frowned, focusing hard. Mentally retracing his footsteps. He’d been at the Sacred Guard’s headquarters. Captain Kaldena was plotting something dangerous. He’d fought Deputy Cubaryi in a secret library. A secret library full of dark tomes, one he’d found by following the lead that Crick had—

Crick.

Temenos shot upright.

There was a small lantern flickering on the floor, bathing the room in the faintest glow. Beside Temenos was a woman sitting on a small chair. Castti, sound asleep with her elbow on her knee and her face in her hand. Some of her hair had slipped from her bun, loose pieces hanging limply in her face.

And just beside her, lying in the next bed over, was Crick, eyes shut, chest rising and falling gently under the blankets.

Temenos stared for a moment, shoulders going slack with relief. Right. Right. There he was. Alive. Breathing.

Alive.

Slowly, he eased himself up, feet gently touching the hardwood floor. As he did, Castti shifted, head slowly slipping from her hand before it fell forward and she jerked awake with a gasp. She sat up, grabbing the arm of the chair and looking around. As her wide eyes fell on Temenos, he gave her a smile.

“Well, looks like I’m not the only one running myself ragged today,” he said.

“O-Oh. Temenos.” She blinked a few times, shaking her head. “How long was I out? No, don’t answer that, you wouldn’t know, would you?”

“I’d say you’ve been out for about three days,” Temenos replied with a cheeky smile. “We’ve all been quite worried, we were thinking we may need to leave you behind.” She snorted at that, shaking her head, so Temenos continued. “How is our dear little lamb, by the way?”

Castti glanced to her other side. “...he’s been in and out,” she murmured. “Though he hasn’t always been the most…lucid for those moments.”

“How so?”

She leaned over, scanning over Crick’s sleeping form. “Well, at times he seems aware of where he is, and what happened, and who I am. But the combination of medicine and fever has left him delirious.” After a moment, she leaned back, seemingly satisfied with her inspection before returning to her bag. “At times, he’s fretting about Kaldena and her machinations. At other times, I’m his mother and he’s asking me where his stuffed bear went.”

“Oh, is that so?” Temenos said, a smile curling across his lips.

Immediately, Castti paused, frowning at him. “Why do I have the feeling you’re going to tease the poor thing if I say anything more?” she asked dryly.

“Why, I have no idea what you mean, Mrs. Wellsley.”

A soft sigh, and a shake of her head. Then she reached up, rubbing her eye with her thumb, grimacing.

“Ah, but I suspect I’m keeping you awake,” he murmured, resting his arms on his knees. “Here, I’ve slept long enough. Let me watch him. You should go rest.”

Castti’s eyebrows shot upward. “That’s certainly rich coming from you.”

“Ah, but pots and kettles should look after each other, should they not?” he said simply, sending her a smile. “Please, Castti, you’ve done more than enough for the day.”

Pursing her lips, Castti narrowed her eyes. She seemed to think on it a moment. And then she turned, rummaging through her bag once more and setting several bottles on the side table.

“If he seems to be in excruciating pain, have him drink this. Give him this one in three hours, it should help prevent any further infection. This is a salve that needs to be applied directly to the wound itself when you change the bandages, so if you’re not comfortable changing his dressing, wake me immediately.”

“Of course, of course.”

She listed out medicines and tinctures, enough to make even Temenos’s head begin to spin, each one with specific instructions and times to be given. Once she was finished, she’d pulled herself to her feet.

“And please, if you have any questions, please wake me immediately. I don’t want you poisoning him by accident.”

“Your instruction is more than adequate, Castti,” Temenos assured her. “Now off with you. Get some sleep.”

“Yes, you’re right,” she said softly, turning and padding toward the door.

“...And Castti?”

“Hmm?” She paused, glancing back. “Yes?”

Temenos hesitated, just for a moment. “Thank you,” he said softly. “Truly.”

For a moment, she looked surprised, before sending him a soft smile. “Crick is lucky to have a friend like you,” is all she said, before turning and disappearing out the door.

A quiet filled the room after that, pressing into the corners as Temenos carefully set himself down where Castti had been moments before. He quickly went over the medicaments on the table once more, memorizing the look and feel of the various containers for a minute or two. Eventually, though, he couldn’t help but turn.

He looked smaller like this, without the armor. Some of the color had returned to his face, now flushed, his brows drawn together even in his sleep. His breathing was slow, but uneven. Labored, ever so slightly. Just looking at him made Temenos’s heart ache.

“Well, my wayward lamb, it seems you’ve wandered your way back to the land of the living,” Temenos mused, brushing back the man’s hair, letting his hand rest against his forehead. Feverish, as Castti had said. “That is certainly quite the feat.”

His brows twitched slightly, eyelashes fluttering. Temenos cocked his head. “Oh? Waking up already, are we?”

A soft groan. Crick’s eyes cracked open, just barely. “Who’s…there?” he mumbled weakly. “What…What happened…?”

“Why, you tripped and fell as you left the Sacred Guard’s headquarters,” Temenos told him, a smile on his face. “Landed directly on your blade. It was quite the sight. I never took you for the clumsy type, truly.”

“Who…” Crink groaned again, eyes screwing shut for a moment. “Who’re…you?”

Temenos blinked in surprise, before he quickly recovered, shaking his head. “Ah, yes, Castti did say you were delirious,” he mused, rubbing his chin. Then he grinned, leaning in with a gleam in his eyes. “Why, I am your guardian angel,” he said. “Sent by Aelfric himself to prevent wayward lambs from falling on their own swords—”

“You’re…” Suddenly, there was a hand brushing Temenos’s cheek, and he stopped short. “You’re…beautiful.”

“Wh…” Temenos froze, suddenly rooted in place by the touch. For a moment, all he could do was stare. And then, slowly, a cheshire smile played across his lips. “Why Crick,” he said, unable to mask his glee, “how flattering. Though I do hope you realize I am never going to let you live this down, hmm?”

Crick hummed a bit, clearly not lucid enough to follow what Temenos was saying. His hand fell to his side, the other reaching up to rub his face. Temenos felt his smile soften at the sight. “Perhaps you should rest now,” he suggested. “I’m sure you’ll feel much better come morning.”

“No, I…I’m…forgetting something,” Crick said, frowning. “I’m…Gods, what was it…?”

Temenos sighed, pursing his lips. Would a reminder help or hurt in this situation? “Did it have something to do with Captain Kaldena, perhaps?” he tried.

“Captain…Kaldena…?” For a moment, Crick’s face screwed up in thought. And then suddenly he jolted, sitting up. “Temenos! Augh—” He gasped in pain, grabbing his chest as Temenos quickly steadied him.

“Calm yourself, Crick, everything is alright now.”

“No, I have to warn—” Another grimace, as Temenos eased him back into the bed. “I have to…warn him.”

“I believe Temenos is sufficiently warned,” Temenos said with a laugh. “Not to worry.”

Crick’s hand shot forward, wrapping around Temenos’s wrist. “He’s…I don’t need a…guardian angel,” he rasped. “You need to…protect Temenos. Please, you must. I-I beg you, I…”

A chuckle. Gently, Temenos pried Crick’s hand away. “Well. Perhaps I can manage something,” he said. “Though you may need to describe this Temenos fellow to me, I can’t say I’ve ever heard of him before.” He leaned back in his chair, setting Crick’s arm carefully onto the bed. “What’s he like? He sounds very smart and attractive.”

“Yes,” Crick murmured. “He’s…insufferable.”

A snort. “Not what I said, but do go on.”

“He’s infuriating,” Crick said, letting his hand fall. “But he’s also so clever, and stubborn, and…and kind, even if he pretends he isn’t.” His eyes drifted away, up toward the ceiling. “He’s…so strange,” he murmured. “But he’s the…the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

“I…I-I see,” Temenos said, smile fading as he stared down at his companion. He talks of you often… For once in his life he felt small, strangely exposed, like Crick could see straight through him.

“Or…” A beat. “Or did you mean a physical description?” Crick said suddenly, brows drawing together in concern. “His—his hair looks like starlight—”

“No no, I think I’ve heard quite enough for one night,” Temenos said quickly, trying hard not to laugh at that one. “Your friend sounds like quite the interesting man.”

Crick snorted. “Friend,” he murmured. “No, he…he probably thinks of me as nothing more than a convenient little fool, doesn’t he.”

And instantly the mirth was gone. Temenos straightened up, smile disappearing. “What?”

“He cares little for me,” Crick said, face worn and tired as the words dripped like poison from his mouth. “Anyone can see that. What was I playing at, thinking otherwise?”

“Crick, that—that’s ridiculous,” Temenos protested, sitting forward. “Of course I…erm…” A frown, and a cough. “I-I’m sure this Temenos thinks very highly of you,” he tried. “In fact—”

“I wanted to prove him wrong.”

Temenos blinked. “Hmm? How do you mean?”

“I wanted to prove him wrong,” Crick said. “Just this once. He’s…I thought I could do it. Just this once.”

“Prove what wrong?”

“He’s…all alone,” Crick murmured, gripping the front of his bandages. “He’s always all alone, even when he’s surrounded by people. He doesn’t have anything he can believe in, he…he doesn’t even believe the Gods are on his side.”

Why did Temenos’s chest feel so tight? He swallowed. “Crick…”

“I wanted to prove him wrong,” Crick repeated. “Just once, I wanted to be right. I wanted to show him there was good in the world, I wanted him to believe in something. Even if it was just that there was someone who cared enough to try and do right, I wanted him to believe in something.”

“C-Crick.”

“But it’s all wrong,” Crick said in a rush. “It’s all wrong, I didn’t even…” For a second, Crick’s voice cracked, and Temenos felt his chest split in two. “He was right. He was right, he’s always right, I didn’t accomplish anything. I wandered into Kaldena’s Gods forsaken sword and Temenos simply found the truth without me.”

“That’s not true,” Temenos said quickly, grabbing onto Crick’s hand. “Crick, you were—you were invaluable in this investigation. I never would’ve gotten this far without you—”

“None of it mattered,” Crick whispered, eyes squeezed shut, shoving his other hand into his face as tears began to escape. “He was right, none of it mattered, none of my belief ever meant a damned thing. I couldn’t help him, I couldn’t help anyone, I would’ve accomplished just as much had I simply died on Kaldena’s sword like I was supposed to—”

“THAT IS ENOUGH.”

Temenos slammed a fist onto the bedside table, and Crick jumped. He looked up to Temenos, confusion evident on his face. “What—”

“Crick Wellsley, hold your tongue,” Temenos hissed. “I will not have you spewing this self-flagellating nonsense at me, you hear me?”

“Wh…What are you…? I don’t understand—”

Temenos reached forward, pressing a hand to Crick’s face and turning it toward him, much to Crick’s apparent surprise.

“Crick.” He leaned in, taking Crick’s face in his hands. “Crick.” Once again, for the millionth time in this impossibly long day, the words that always came so easily failed him. He swallowed, and suddenly, he realized his eyes were stinging, throat tight. Before he could do anything else, he simply squeezed his eyes shut, taking a horrible, shuddering breath, and pressing his forehead to Crick’s.

Silence filled the room. Silence, save for Temenos’s stuttering breaths as he held onto Crick like a lifeline. His chest ached, ached so hard he thought it may just burst.

“Crick,” he murmured. “I…I want you to live. I need you to live. Yes the world is a cruel and unkind place, but there is good so long as men like you yet live, I…”

“...Temenos?”

Temenos startled, jerking back slightly. Crick’s eyes were focused on him now, brows drawn together in confusion. “Temenos, are you…alright? What's wrong, what…happened?”

“Wh…” Temenos blinked, pulling back further as his shoulders fell. Crick just squinted at him. “...Erm, Crick, how much of our conversation just now do you recall?”

“...Conversation?”

“Ah.” Temenos sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, before chuckling, shaking his head. “Oh, Crick, whatever am I to do with you.”

“What…?” Crick scowled as Temenos reached forward, putting a hand against Crick’s cheek. “Are you…insulting me again?” he demanded weakly, making Temenos smile with how very Crick he sounded then. “I don’t appreciate your…”

“Now now, my wayward lamb, I think it’s about time you started counting some sheep of your own, hmm?” And he quickly murmured a prayer, healing light bursting from his hands and drifting around the two of them.

Instantly, Crick’s body went slack, all signs of pain melting from his face. “Oh,” he mumbled, turning his face toward Temenos’s palm. “Oh, that feels…nice.”

“Sleep now, dear Crick,” said Temenos gently. “I shall watch over you until you wake.”

“Hmm…” Crick’s eyes drifted shut, nosing sleepily against Temenos’s hand as the healing spell finished.

Silence filled the room once more, gentle this time. The snow and wind blew heavy outside, but here they were, safe and sound. Crick’s breathing began to even out, less labored than before, face peaceful.

He’s a good man.

I suppose he is. But all the more reason not to get too attached, hmm?

He let himself sigh, hand slipping from Crick’s cheek to his own lap.

I wanted him to believe in something.

“Well, doubt is what I do,” Temenos murmured, not to Crick so much as himself. “But I suppose you’ve gone and proven your point, haven’t you.”

Crick didn’t respond, chest continuing to rise and fall in the stillness of the night. Temenos stared down at him, allowing himself to just watch. Just watch, and know that Crick was there, and alive. Then he shifted, leaning forward, brushing his lips against Crick’s forehead.

“I supposed I can believe in something, just this once,” he whispered to no one. “...Good night, Crick.”