Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The thing known as Alatus couldn’t help shaking as he left the room. That was bad. If Master saw… but Master was more focused on the one called Leilani, for now.

If he had been stronger… if he’d stayed and supported her, tried to plead with Master to let her rest for a bit– but no. She probably wouldn’t want to see him again.

His presence would just hurt her. He had been her only comfort for centuries, and she his, and now… now even that had been stripped from them.

A sob ripped itself from his chest before he ever reached the cleansing room, and he didn’t even bother to check to see if anyone heard. What did it matter now?

Would it be better, or worse, if eggs resulted? Master would just make him hurt her again, if they didn’t, probably. Over and over. But he didn’t want anyone to hatch to this life. 

That thought was disloyal, his Master deserved better. Master was good and kind and never let his mortals starve…

The cold water came as a shock, but a needed one. The thing’s thoughts stopped floating past and narrowed to removing the evidence, to frantically scrubbing the blood from that area, to checking whether any of the bruises and cuts that resulted from his rebellion were visible beyond the edges of his clothes. He was lucky; none required cosmetics to hide, so he wouldn’t be punished for the waste. The echoing pain inside from defying Master’s orders would linger for hours, but it wasn’t visible, so it didn’t matter.

The thing couldn’t feel his face properly, for some reason, so he stared at the giant mirror against the wall, arranging his features until none of the fear showed. None of the hatred of that adult-seeming form reflected back at him. None of the despair or self-loathing, none of the grief over what he’d lost, the guilt over what he’d done.

Finally, he achieved apparent neutrality, and left to complete his usual duties for the day.

─── • ☆ 𓆩✦𓆪 ☆ • ───

The usual chaos of preparation for battle made it easier to cast aside the fog that had consumed Alatus, the thoughts and guilt from days before. The unusual circumstances cleared its mind further; not only was Master the one being attacked, and near his own stronghold, for the first time in centuries; but Leilani was missing.

She was always there to fight with it.

Without her pyro to swirl with its anemo, surviving today would be much more difficult.

Was that a bad thing?

It shoved the thought down, grabbing its current spear and ensuring its combat attire was appropriately displayed. Maybe she’d be waiting when it got to the front lines after all. It wouldn’t blame her for not wanting to get ready with it, the way they always did before. Not after…

No, it had to keep its mind on the fight to come. Thinking about other things was how you got yourself killed. The thing closed its eyes for a stolen moment, taking a deep breath to clear its mind.

With the exhale, it was teleporting.

It swirled back into existence in midair, spreading its wings to catch the air and turn the fall into a glide. There was no sign of Leilani, which was bad, and made worse by the size and quality of the army approaching.

The colors were unmistakable. What had Master done to cause Morax to attack? Alatus had thought he was a fairly neutral god, and one that approved of Master’s policies with regards to mortals… He had at least seemed to approve, when he’d shown up a month before to negotiate a treaty with Master. Alatus and Leilani had been there, playing the part of display pieces and secret bodyguards. The dragon-god hadn’t so much as looked at them, but it remembered the sheer strength of his presence, dwarfing even Master’s…

Had Master completed that alliance treaty with the gods Osial and Beisht? If not–

It was none of Alatus’ concern. Its duty was to obey, to die if necessary. To fulfill Master’s whims and will, to protect him and his interests.

Right now, that meant its duty was to fight to protect Master’s people and territory– even if it didn’t have Leilani facing it, ready to spread flame for his tornados to carry across the enemy forces. Even if it was far less useful as an individual soldier.

Another deep breath, another attempt to clear its mind, and Alatus plunged into chaos.

─── • ☆ 𓆩✦𓆪 ☆ • ───

By the grace of its god and Master, Alatus survived to the end of battle. Morax’s forces were retreating, with no trace of the god himself appearing; Master had kindly provided a surge of electro to be carried by its winds, and it had been able to paralyze a good portion of the enemy with that assistance. Not for long; but it was enough for the rest of the adepti, and Master’s mortal soldiers, to rip them to pieces.

They were just mopping up the last of the ones that hadn’t fled when Alatus felt the distinctive harsh yank in his soul, felt the pain shoot through his deepest self. Master was Calling. He didn’t hesitate– long experience had taught him that doing so would just result in the stronger pull that would force him into the teleport. Better to respond himself.

When he saw what was waiting for him, Alatus froze.

No. No.

She hadn’t been on the battlefield, he knew she hadn’t, so how could she– 

“You must be severely injured as well, to be so slow to join my side,” Master’s cool voice came. His voice was rich with sympathy, but Alatus couldn’t help but flinch. He should have moved faster, should have ignored his own insignificant concerns and immediately rushed to his Master’s side. He moved to rectify that, trying not to allow himself to be distracted by what– who– lay moaning at Master’s feet.

Leilani.

Swallowing hard, Alatus knelt before its god, It hoped it would not be too harshly punished for its slowness, its selfishness, its unintended deceitfulness– “My apologies, Master. This one has not sustained any major injuries, and has no excuse for its slow response. How may this one serve?”

“I had thought you might provide the comfort of the mercy stroke to your mate,” Master bit out. “But this defiance you show, so soon after the last time…”

Alatus held as still as he could, eyes on the ground at Master’s feet. He mustn’t show any reaction, not with Master’s attention so heavy on him– but– his mate?! He felt sick. Leilani wasn’t his mate, no matter what he’d been made to do to her. She was– was– was his sister, in all but blood. Or had been, before– now, he didn’t know how she– 

Then the words penetrated. Mercy stroke. Was she–

“Then again, this is for Leilani’s sake, not yours. She has served me well, regardless of your behavior of late.”

The faint moaning shifted to a high keening, full of pain. He couldn’t stand this. He didn’t want Leilani to– to– but he couldn’t leave her in pain like this. She hardly ever made a sound in pain, if she was keening she must hurt so badly– “ Please, Master. This one knows it is owed punishment, but please don’t punish her for this one’s selfishness, its slowness, its…”

Alatus swallowed. Its list of infractions and faults was a long one, and listing it all would mean more time Leilani was in pain. “ Please.”

It felt wrong to be begging to be allowed to kill his sister. But if Master had deemed her unsaveable, her life was over anyway. Better a quick end, than– 

There was a long moment of silence, and Alatus felt the weight of Master’s gaze as he considered. Sweat dripped down his neck, cold as it ran down. So recently he had been hot, overheated by the strain and clash of battle, but now Alatus felt hollowed out and empty. It no longer even feared death, only that it might have caused her more terrible pain with its incompetence.

“Very well. I suppose it would be kind to tell you why this is necessary, as well… Your mate foolishly flew too close to the enemy, and they tore her from the sky, broke her wings.” Alatus sucked in his breath, couldn’t help a quick glance to the side. He jerked his gaze back to the ground as Master continued. 

“I see you understand; Leilani is now grounded, and we all know the fate of a grounded bird. She will never fly again, and so will die inside, should she survive the initial injuries. Leilani’s fate is sealed. The only question is whether she will die mercifully by her lover’s blade, or by my teeth. The choice is yours.”

Feeling that flickering pyro presence at his side, already on the edge of going out, Alatus knew it was no choice at all. The shark god didn’t always wait for his adepti to die before consuming them– he knew that all too well.

Memories tried to rise up in him, and he shoved them down.

He would not let that happen to his sister.

Alatus lifted his spear.

─── • ☆ 𓆩✦𓆪 ☆ • ───

The fresh alert from the battlefield came as a relief. Alatus pulled free from the haze it had sunk into to escape the sounds of tearing meat and cracking bones, and obediently launched itself into a teleport.

Once it had reached the battlefield once more, however, a wave of despair hit before the emotion could be suppressed.

The fall back earlier had apparently been a false retreat, a tactical ruse to buy time for their god to arrive. The enormous, snake-like dragon now curved through the air, opening the earth beneath Alatus’ fellow fighters and somehow bringing great boulders from the sky to rain on them from above.

How were they supposed to stand against this?

How could anyone?

This was the first time Alatus had seen any god but his own unleash their full strength on the battlefield, and it was terrifying.

Was this how their enemies felt, facing Master, with his lightnings from a clear sky and the crackling snakes he’d send across the ground?

But Master wasn’t here yet. Alatus’ orders were to fight; he couldn’t leave to warn him, that would have to be left to another of the adepti. His duty then, must be to buy time.

Time for Master to learn of this crisis. Time for him to arrive, and save them all.

Because he would. Master was strong, and good. He wouldn’t leave them to die.

Screaming a war cry, Alatus teleported higher, then dove for the god in the sky. It was a suicide run, in all likelihood, and he knew it. No adeptus was a match for even the weakest of the gods. But Leilani was gone, now, like the others. Meiling. Shiliu. 

Jian.

Alatus was alone now. What did it matter if he died? There was no one left who needed him. Master could as easily use another, more competent adeptus in his place. But maybe, just maybe– his death could buy life for some of the others.

He felt almost free and light, in a way he didn’t remember ever feeling before, as the wind whistled past his ears. The way the air supported his mostly-folded wings felt almost like being held, and he had no doubt his aim was true, as he plunged with his spear pointed between the dragon’s shoulders.

He was at peace.

Then his spear point shattered on Lord Morax’s shield, doing no damage at all. The dragon rolled in midair to swipe at him, and he fell, deep gashes in his arm, wing, chest…

The chaos of battle below swallowed him whole, and for a moment pain and sound and movement was all he knew. Then the bird’s mind caught up, and he tucked his wings into his bodily subspace, safely out of the way, and he lifted the remnants of his spear to continue to fight.

He was pinned beneath an enormous boar adeptus, barely holding them off with the splintering haft of his spear, when a familiar crackle announced Master’s arrival on the field. The same crackle of electro set the boar to twitching, allowing Alatus to finally heave the heavy adeptus to one side and stand once more. 

Alatus wished he were in shape to fly. He was surrounded by enemies– albeit currently half-paralyzed enemies– and most of Master’s people he could see were dead on the ground. Surely it was better elsewhere, now that Master was here—

There was no warning to the Call, no chance to obey on his own as he was pulled through existence by the bolts and chains in his soul. When he snapped through the other end of the forced teleport, Alatus found himself facing a tall, muscled man who felt like the dragon in the sky– a man who looked startled, and oddly pulled the strike that would otherwise have run the bird through. 

He felt his Master at his back, and knew why he had been Called. He was here to protect his god and Master, as well as he could with the remains of his spear. Though Master likely had not known the state of Alatus’ weapon— 

Then pain exploded in his lower back, and Alatus looked down to see the long blade of Master’s sword exiting his stomach.

────── • ✧☆ * 𓆩✦𓆪 * ☆✧ • ──────

The use of an adeptus as a sacrificial shield was repugnant, but not unexpected from a contract-breaker like Electimus. 

To then smirk as he ran his own devoted servant through in an attempt to strike at an enemy, however– 

Morax had rarely encountered such filth.

The dragon-god growled, quickly considering the situation. Defeating the shark god would not be difficult; the bastard accumulated power through alliances and trade, not battle, usually. From reports, his usual methods involved supporting his armies from the backlines, and not confronting other gods directly unless forced to it. Doing so without killing the adeptus before him, however, was another matter. The adeptus might technically be an enemy at the moment, but being used in such a fashion implied that their service to their god was less than fully willing; or, if willing, was a result of coercion and false information in all likelihood. More than one god forced faith from their followers, unfortunately, in a variety of unpleasant ways.

He circled the cocky bastard, looking for an opening, noting the blood running not just from the young one’s abdomen, but from other gashes that he recognised sickly as being from his own claws. Was this the bird that had so courageously, if foolishly, struck him from above at the start of the battle?

Definitely one to save, if he could.

It did not seem possible without further injury to the adeptus, unfortunately. Injury that might well kill them as well as Electimus. But delay would surely kill them, so–

“I am sorry, little one,” Morax whispered, and drove his spear through the bird adeptus’ shoulder into the beating heart of the god behind him. The warrior god hardly noticed Electimus’ dying scream as he slammed a shield around the bastard, containing the explosion of power before it could evaporate the adeptus and, quite likely, anyone else of insufficient power in a wide radius. He felt resistance as the shield formed, and hoped desperately it was only the two weapons being sheared through, and that he had not caught the flesh of the adeptus now slumping towards him.

Morax caught the small adeptus before they could fall far, locking the weapons in their body in place with stone. He knew from long experience removing them without a healer present was beyond foolhardy. He had just started to wonder whether the lightness of their body could be explained just by their avian nature when he felt some sort of odd… power, or awareness, or something slip into his mind.

Immediately his head snapped up to narrow his eyes at the contents of his shield, but no, Electimus was most emphatically dead. Flakes of whitened ash floated within the shield, dancing on the purple lightning still bouncing within the confines as the dead god’s power dissipated. And the– power– did not feel like a threat.

There was no time to consider further. This adeptus needed to see a healer immediately, and likely others on the battlefield did as well. Morax roared, summoning his generals, and left the cleanup of the battlefield and other arrangements to them.

The little one, he would bring to his top healer himself.

Chapter Text

The healer’s halls were chaotic, as always. Wounded from the battle began arriving well before a battle ended; and though the adeptus he had brought had been the first of the post- battle rush, Morax had known they would be far from the last.

He might have underestimated just how chaotic the place would get, though— and how quickly. As the god had little healing ability of his own, and was far more durable than his people, he generally spent little time here. Better to keep out of the way of the healers, let them do their work, and leave the well-wishes to Guizhong, who was far better at finding the right words and tone.

The quiet slide of the door was hardly audible over the scurrying of healers and their assistants– much less the cries of the wounded, before they reached their soundproofed rooms– but Morax had been waiting for it, and turned immediately to face his top healer. Who, unfortunately, looked rather grim. “Was I too late bringing him, Healer Ping?”

“No.” The healer shook her head and sighed, “Though if you could have brought him before he lost consciousness, we would have been able to do more. We have dealt with all the adeptus’ accessible wounds, but he is still losing blood from somewhere– we suspect he has some injured body part tucked away—”

“And without him awake to bring it out, you cannot heal it. I see.” Morax stood silently for a moment, thinking, but he knew too little of the healers’ abilities. “Is there nothing more that can be done?”

Healer Ping sighed again, shaking her head. “Short of him waking on his own, or risking the lives of others by assigning one of our few hydro healers to keep him topped up– No, not really. I’ll set one of the assistants to watch him and fetch me if he wakes, but…”

“No need. I will watch over him myself.” It was the least he could do. If the small one died, it would likely be a result of wounds Morax had inflicted himself, after all.  

Such bravery as the adeptus had shown deserved a better reward than a fruitless death.

Time passed slowly. Morax watched as the adeptus breathed shallowly, as he grew oh-so-slowly paler. He looked so small and fragile now; almost childlike, rather than the fierce-but-small creature that had plunged at him out of the sky, heedless of the way his spear splintered on Morax’s shield.

Was this how most warriors were, off the battlefield? When injured and recovering? His generals never seemed this small. Did he look this small, when he was injured?

Was this why Guizhong so emphasized that he learn to be kind and compassionate to all? He wanted to be, he truly did, he just did not know how. Where were the instructions on how to behave around the injured, the fragile, the weak and helpless, the young or otherwise unable to defend themselves? She had told him not to be condescending, to ensure that he did not impugne their dignity and independence, but what did that mean?

He never meant to be condescending.

Morax’s wandering thoughts were interrupted by a faint stirring from the bed– well, it barely qualified as a bed to his mind, but he was aware of the necessity of keeping the patient rooms small. There was only so much space that could be allocated for such.

The adeptus did not wake, but the motion had drawn the god’s thoughts to the more immediate situation. He was not sure why he was so invested in the survival of this particular adeptus– there was not even a guarantee they would agree to stay in the Plains under his and Guizhong’s auspices. It did not seem likely that guilt alone was the answer; he had slain many opposing adepti over the millennia, and one more, no matter how recklessly brave, should not have such an impact.

He had long since learned how to shove down the guilt for that, after all. They were nothing to his power, yes, but generally speaking they had made the choice to attack him of their own accord. 

The way this one had fought and been used by his god, however…

He would not have his answers unless the adeptus woke before he bled to death. “I wish you would wake and bring forth your injured limbs, little one. You deserve better than a cold death in the healer’s halls.”

────── • ✧☆ * 𓆩✦𓆪 * ☆✧ • ──────

The welcoming, restful darkness trembled. Pain threaded through it, a remembered pain, and for a long moment Alatus tried to pull away from it, to hide.

  But there had never been any hiding from the need to obey. Even if he had no idea what the order was… he hadn’t heard anything, had he?

Wait. Wasn’t Master– that last strike from the other god. Lord Morax. It had gone through Alatus, as expected, but…

But then, Master was a god. Of course he’d be able to survive things an adeptus couldn’t. And of course he had kept Alatus alive… it didn’t deserve the freedom of death. Not like Leilani.

After all, death only hurt those left behind. It was a blessing to those who no longer had to experience this world.

The pain was still growing, swelling to fill his being, bringing with it an urgency to obey, to fulfill his function and the commands of his god and Master. But obey what? What had been the order?

Its eyelids were heavy, weighted as though with stone and iron, but he wrestled to open them anyway. There was no choice, he had to obey, had to know what to obey, there might be a clue if he could see…

The world seemed blurry and bright and teal and gold, with no trace of the familiar purple that pervaded Master’s domain. He didn’t see Master anywhere, though he felt him– and somehow, able to see, he felt a hint of what he was to do. Master needed his wings.

Lifting himself was difficult. It’s body was so heavy, and didn’t want to move right. But wings wouldn’t fit beneath its back, so he had to– hands appeared from nowhere, supporting him, and he twitched. That it had struggled so obviously that a higher being felt the need to aid such a worthless thing as itself… but with that help, he finally managed to sit upright.

“Yes, Master,” Alatus whispered, and the deep pain faded as he brought his wings out of his bodily subspace. He dimly felt blood drip down one, oddly cold where it touched his skin under feathers, and a wave of weakness threatened to steal his awareness. He fought it, for a moment– the darkness was welcome, but he felt the pull of Master, knew Master was here, but didn’t see him— 

The only one in the room with Alatus was Lord Morax.

────── • ✧☆ * 𓆩✦𓆪 * ☆✧ • ──────

Those whispered words echoed in Morax’s mind as he stared in shock and horror at the small adeptus, once more passed out on the tiny bed. ‘Master’? Master?! He was no-one’s master. Neither in the benevolent sense, as a mentor and teacher, nor in the abhorrent sense as the owner of a slave.

This was wrong. This was all wrong. And even worse was that sickening sense he had felt in a corner of his mind, that same corner that had felt an odd power added to it with the death of that foul electro god- almost a sense of pain, but not his own, that faded as the adeptus once again lost consciousness.

…no, no, it could not be, it was impossible— 

There had been rumors of adepti enslaved in such a way. Of a twisted former Soulhealer who sold their services to chain an adeptus’ very spirit to a god’s command… But that should not be possible. Every story maintained that a Soulhealer’s abilities required the cooperation of their patient, and who would cooperate with that?

And he had certainly never met this supposed Shaper, or contracted their work. If they ever had the misfortune to cross Morax’s path, he would rip them to shreds. So that odd space in his mind could not be related, whatever the little one had called him. It was likely his imagination running away with him. His budding sense of empathy for others that Guizhong had been encouraging. That was all.

In all likelihood, the adeptus had sensed Morax’s own immense power, and mistaken him for his former god. Yes, that must be it.

A faint whimper from the cot-like bed caught his attention, and guilt swamped the dragon as he realized he had yet to summon the healers as promised. All of two long strides took him to the door, and moments later the runner was on his way to inform Healer Ping.

────── • ✧☆ * 𓆩✦𓆪 * ☆✧ • ──────

Guizhong paced in her chambers, having been evicted from the healers’ halls. In all his urgency and near-panic about the winged adeptus’ mental state, Morax had failed to mention that the boy was still in critical condition physically. The healers had been less than pleased at her barging into the middle of their surgery, and she could hardly blame them. She had so rarely seen the dragon in such a state that she had been acting without thinking, herself.

On the other hand, the Lord of Dust couldn’t help smiling fondly, a little. That the prospect of being perceived as the sort of god who owned slaves had sent Morax into a panic, proved she had been right about him. No being without a heart, without that crucial innate sense of empathy, would react that way– he just needed to learn how to use and express it properly. And that Morax had come to her for help…

There had been a time when he would have been too wary of her, of any god, to seek help with something so personal. When he wouldn’t have dared ask advice of any adeptus or mortal, either, lest they think less of him. Not only had Morax immediately sought her aid and advice, he had been willingly talking out his fears on the matter with that promising General Bosacius when she’d left to check on this adeptus.

This adeptus who already had such a hold on Morax’s heart, and who they didn’t even know the name of yet. Guizhong wondered if Morax even realized how much he cared about this one already.

A knock came at the door, and Guizhong opened it to find a runner in a lighter shade of the usual dark healer blue. She was moving before she even heard his full message.