Chapter Text

overture.

Basilio was too young when they died, but Fidelio remembers them:

Their mother, soft eyes and sharp tongue, who somehow always had a quip ready for any argument Fidelio threw at her. Their father, frail fingers hiding a hearty smile, who gave his sons everything despite having nothing for himself. It was hard to say their life was ever good in the slums, but with their parents, it was bearable. It was only when Bas was born that a switch flipped in his life-- this place wasn’t good enough for his little brother, cherry-red eyes and big bushy ears, to grow up in.

It was their mother who chose their names. Fidelio, which had once meant loyalty, a titular ode in a long-lost play that carried on their mother’s love for music in her son’s name; Basilio, a name once bestowed upon royalty, but chosen mostly because Fidelio insisted that his little brother must have a similar-sounding name to him. A name for kings, Fidelio thought, suited his brother well-- even when he was not very kingly at all, rolling around in cloth diapers and finding a way to break all of Fidelio’s rickety toys.

He remembers the first day his parents trusted him to watch over the baby, and the moment he wasn’t looking, Bas rolled right out of his makeshift cot. Fell right on his head with a sound and then sat right back up as if nothing had happened. It was the first time Fidelio ever remembers crying for someone who wasn’t himself, and the worst thing, Bas spent the whole time just staring at him and trying to put Fidelio’s tail into his mouth. Damn it, he remembers thinking, still at that age where kids are too shy to swear out loud. I hope this doesn’t make him daft. He carried Bas back into the cot and rocked him over and over with constant apologies that a baby couldn’t understand, all until they fell asleep right there.

A week later, their mother went out to work and never came back. Their father was never the same-- no more smiles, no more laughter, not even a glance towards his sons. Especially not to Bas, who looked so much like her. For a while, Fidelio thought she’d run away somewhere, out of this slum and into the great unknown; but he knows better now. She was beautiful, their mother. Bad things happen to beautiful paripus girls.

Not long after that, their father disappeared. Left a note and everything, going on and on about how sorry he was, how he couldn’t hang on anymore, how he hoped his sons could go on without him. Absolute hogwash, Fidelio remembers thinking, even back then. He took the easy way out and left a mere pittance for them to try assuaging his conscience. As if two paripus orphans in the slums would have any chance of surviving on their own. Fidelio burnt the suicide note and spent the paltry sum on a week of baby food.

But if Bas took after their mother in looks, it was Fidelio who inherited her craftiness. He was a pitiful, starving orphan, and damn did he play the part well. Even the most stone-hearted person would melt under Fidelio’s pathetic gaze, dirt rubbed onto his cheeks and his baby brother wrapped up in a bundle carried on his back. Let me stay for one night, he’d ask. Just one night out of the cold, and we’ll get out of their hair. And he always kept to his word-- it took just one night for Fidelio to stuff his pockets with all the reeve he could find before slipping out before the crack of dawn.

From the moment Bas could babble, Fidelio involved him in his schemes. He didn’t very well want to, but in a situation like his, you’ve got to use every tool at your disposal, and-- Bas was a very cute toddler. He remembers using the reeve from their first ‘dual heist’ to buy Bas a good luck charm-- how big his smile was and how Fidelio smiled right back. Sometimes, Fidelio would wonder if Bas would ever grow up to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him. He just seemed so… small, even as he was growing rapidly over the months and years. And as he grew, Bas started to look up to Fidelio like he had to their parents-- there was never any rebelliousness from Bas. Fidelio can’t remember Bas throwing a single tantrum. He always did as he was told. Probably for the best, because Fidelio was always strict like their mother, with none of the weakness and indulgence of their father. No, Fidelio was never going to be like their father. He would take the reins on his own life, no matter how it thrashed under his grip.

As Bas got bigger, he started to get real strong. It’s probably because Fidelio always let him have more food than he afforded himself, but even so, Fidelio always found himself surprised when Bas revealed he could lift boxes and throw other kids around without breaking a sweat. His strength became a blessing when the two of them started getting into situations they couldn’t talk their way out of; Fidelio was a scrappy fighter, but Bas was a bonafide bruiser, and eventually, Fidelio started to trust Bas to hold his own in a crisis.

That was their arrangement: Fidelio Magnus would do the thinking, and Basilio Magnus would make it happen. Somehow, the two of them made it work, and though they often went to bed hungry, they would have just enough to survive.

The issue with making a living from stealing is that, most of the time, you can’t trick the same person twice. Word gets around, and there aren’t many people matching the description of two paripus brothers with golden and cherry eyes. Plus, Bas was growing up fast, and his cuteness was quickly wearing off (not to Fidelio, but he’d die because he’d admit that to anyone)-- they’d have to find some other way of getting by.

“Del,” Bas said one day, after Fidelio had licked every crumb off a plate of leftovers they’d nicked from a restaurant table before the server came to get it, “I heard some people talkin’ today. Said the army’s lookin’ for new recruits.”

Fidelio broke a stale bun in half. He gave Bas the conspicuously larger piece. “We’re not joining the army, Bas. We’re petty thieves, not--”

“They’ve got a recruitin’ operation down that ol’ street,” Bas continued, then lowered his head. “...Said they got a ten thousand reeve ‘sign-on bonus’.”

Fidelio paused. “Alright. I’ll consider it.”

-----

In truth, Fidelio should’ve figured that army recruitment was just a way of finding desperate souls. People who had nothing to lose and would risk anything to get themselves out of the slum they were born into. And he did know that, yes, but he thought they’d just be assigned meat shields for the actual soldiers to use in a pinch. That they just had to get lucky and hope there wasn’t any real trouble, or if there was, they would just desert at the first opportunity.

Reality, as it were, always tends to be worse than fiction.

The igniter experiments were the kind of nightmare that even Fidelio would wake up from. When he was younger, their mother used to rock him to sleep on their that half-rotten crate he’d called a bed, and when she was gone, Bas used to roll over in his sleep and drape his tail over Fidelio’s side, as if on instinct. But now there was no mother, and this was not a dream he could wake up from. He couldn’t go looking to Bas for comfort either, not when it was his decision to sign on. And not when he was the older one, the one who had to call all the shots, the one who always had to be strong for his little brother.

Every night he would be waiting in their shabby sleeping quarters, filled in dread, until Bas walked in and Fidelio let out a terrific sigh of relief. They always pushed Bas harder, and he would always be the last to be released for the day-- well, save for the ones who didn’t make it. “I have a real knack for takin’ punishment,” Bas joked, all while he tried to pull his messy hair over his fresh bruises. As if Fidelio could just stop worrying about them when they were out of sight. “And ‘sides, the more they test on me, the less they have for everyone else.”

“You can’t be thinking like that, Bas!” Fidelio shouted back, and Basilio’s ears flattened slightly. “You can’t just smile through the torture like that! You’re worth too much to be sacrificing yourself for the rest of us mutts!”

“Way I see it, we’re all worth the same down here,” Bas reasoned, eyes still bright despite it all. “Cannon fodder.”

And Fidelio couldn’t argue. When they’d first arrived, Fidelio tried to learn everyone’s name. Helps to keep tabs on who owes who what, which is always good to know when you want to exploit someone. But over time, he’d given up-- the weeks turned into months, and half the people they’d started with washed out onto the streets to be picked clean by the vultures. It would be a waste to spend his days trying to know someone who was going to end up dead sooner than later. So unlike Bas, who, despite losing his childish cuteness, still had that incredible ability to make everyone fall in love with him. He always had the energy to play cards using that one tattered deck someone brought in, and somehow spared enough creativity to make up the strangest games to keep everyone entertained. One of the guards even liked Bas enough to give him a few books, and Bas instantly took to doodling all their cellmates down on the pages. All the drawings were of them smiling, and whether it was accurate or not, Basilio’s efforts somehow brought that sketched smile onto every recipient’s real face.

Then again, it shouldn’t be surprising-- he’d won Fidelio over the very moment Bas first grabbed Fidelio’s hand and proceeded to put Del’s whole thumb into his mouth. He was a natural charmer. Sometimes, Fidelio thought about how that charm could’ve gotten Basilio into so many better places than this if they just weren’t born paripus.

Through the passage of time, Bas had hit a growth spurt of some sort, and he’d shot up a whole head taller than Fidelio. “It’s ‘cus everyone gives you their food,” Fidelio grumbled, when deep down he knew it was much more likely that his own body had somehow been broken. “How can I catch up t’you when Vinca’s giving you all his bloody sides? You’re puttin’ down twice as much as I do!”

Not that Fidelio would be able to eat all of that. In the shitty half-hour block they got to stuff their faces with food, Fidelio would scan the room, the vents, the doors… he’d already identified several weak points in security they could theoretically use to escape, but if they were caught, there wouldn’t be a second chance. He pooled Basilio's slave wages with his own, hoping to make enough for a bribe. Not that he’d ever get a chance for that.

Because it happened-- the inevitable. It started with Bas rejecting food, saying he couldn’t handle the taste, or how the grit inside the mash scratched against the roof of his mouth. It surprised Fidelio, because he was never the picky sort, and besides, it’s not like they could afford being picky. The way Bas described the way sour vegetables made his skin burn like he’d been hit by a fire igniter-- it wasn’t normal.

It was the bloody side-effects of the experiments. The same reason why Fidelio found he’d stopped growing, and the same reason Bas was getting sicker and sicker. “Just doesn’t taste right,” Bas had said, three days in the row, and Fidelio could see the hollowness in his cheeks, the cherry-red of his eyes fading into dusty old blood. His brother was either going to turn into skin and bones or he was going to get snapped in half by a faulty igniter. Already, the wounds that Bas used to shrug off like nothing suddenly refused to close up and scab over. It was just a matter of time until--

-----

“Bas.”

On the morning Fidelio had steeled himself to make a break for it, Bas didn’t wake up when Fidelio first called for him. He grabbed Basilio's hand, and for a moment, his skin felt ice-cold.

Fidelio’s heart stopped like that day he watched Bas roll out of the cot when he was a baby. He grabbed Basilio's shoulder to shake him as forcefully as he could. “Bas, you-- don’t ya dare! Wake up, right now!”

“...Del…?” His eyes fluttered open just seconds later, barely conscious but alive. Fidelio knew it was now or never, but he didn’t think he’d be cutting it this close-- “‘m sorry, Del. Sleepy…”

“You’re not sleepy,” Fidelio said, trying to hide his horror. He pulled Bas out of bed, trying to keep quiet as he did, but Basilio's legs didn’t move along with him.

He had to carry Bas on his back the whole way-- tied a cloth around his bum and hoisted Bas over his shoulders like a backpack. “Just like old times,” Bas had just enough wherewithal to chuckle. “Carried around on your back like I was still a baby. I could just doze right off…”

“Don’t ya dare go to sleep, Bas! Come on, you gotta stay awake!” Fidelio snuck out of their sleeping quarters through a barely-opened window, dropping into an empty storage room and squeezing through a large crack in the wall they’d neglected to patch up.

He ran through the empty hallways, praying to whatever false god out there that the guards would be too busy waking the rest for their daily experiments, and made it to the cafeteria before crawling into the kitchen. There, he found their escape route: the tiny garbage chute, too small for anyone sane to go through. But desperate paripus lads always find a way out of every tight corner.

He pushed Bas through, and maybe it’s a blessing that he’s so out of it, because it’s easy to move his limbs and squeeze past the filthy walls till they both fall right out, face-first, into the wet bags of rotten trash. It’s disgusting, but it’s also outside the facility, and he pulls Basilio's body out of the bin before racing down the street. Fidelio thought he’d enjoy the first glimpse of sunlight after so long, but he had no time to notice anything else except the way Bas slumped over his back, breathing getting shallower and shallower.

“Damn it, Bas! We’ve made it out! Don’t you die on me now!” Fidelio said that, but in truth, he hadn’t the foggiest idea of what to do now. He had only been obsessing over securing the perfect escape route, but he hadn’t expected it to be done in such dire circumstances. Where the hell could he get Bas healed? They sure as shite didn’t have enough coin to pay for the treatment. And no one cared enough about a dying paripus boy to waive the fee.

Everyone except the ishkia lady who laid eyes on them from the cathedral doorstep.

It wasn’t Fidelio who approached her. He’d been running for god knows how long, ignoring the ways his legs hurt and how his throat felt raw from all the screaming for help. Most gave them a wide berth, and the clemar cunt out at the gate tried to shoo them away, saying they were not going to give two dodgy paripus who stank to high heaven any time of day-- it was that woman, who was still just a girl, that walked up to them. “Hold on,” she’d said, barely catching her breath. “I heard your cries for help. What’s--”

“My brother’s dying!” In the years to come, Fidelio would regret the way he screamed into her face like that. But at the same time, it was the only reaction anyone who’d lived the life he had could give. That same clemar tried to hold her back, but she held up her hand, standing her ground. “He’s dyin’, and no one’s coming to help! Even the church to turn us away-- aren’t ya all about protecting the weak?! Then help him!”

“I’ll help him,” she answered swiftly, and Fidelio’s ears stood up in shock. “Bring him inside.”

A nervous jolt shot through Fidelio’s spine. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was another trap. It was natural for a swindler like him to suspect all those offering charity were trying to screw him up, when he would be pouncing on the opportunity to do the same to them. But Bas made a loud sigh, and Fidelio could feel his heartbeat with his body lying on his back, and-- “Okay,” Fidelio gasped, putting his brother’s life into someone else’s hands for the first time in years.

He’d never set foot in a Sanctist church before, and from how everyone in the pews turned to him before wrinkling their nose in disgust, he never will again. But he could hardly care about their scathing stares now. As it seemed, the ishkia girl-- her name is Rella, Fidelio gathered from the whispers around him-- didn’t give a hoot either, leading him wordlessly to a small room and rolling out a mat. “Lay him down here,” she instructed, and Fidelio did as he was told, trying not to internalise how thin and sickly Bas looked when he laid him on his back onto the mat. Rella hovered a hand over Basilio's wounds and pointed at a cupboard with the other. “Get me some of the bandages in there. Any will do.”

He dug through the cupboard, doing anything and everything Rella asked for-- get this, do that, wrap this around here, apply that there… Fidelio moved like an automaton under her orders, all until she laid a hand over Fidelio’s shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. “It’s going to be okay. You’ve done well bringing him here, even with your own injuries.”

Fidelio didn’t feel any pain until the moment Rella acknowledged it herself. Only then did he allow himself the luxury to notice how his scraped knees stung with drops of fresh blood. “It’s nothin’,” he dismissed, eyes constantly fixed on her hands. At first looking for a knife, but eventually growing amazed in how she sealed even the deepest of Basilio’s festering wounds. “My little brother’s got it much worse.”

“Your little brother?” Rella smiled, and for a second, he thought she’d say something about how Fidelio looked like the little one-- “You must love him very much.”

Fidelio felt his hands trembling. “‘Course I do. Basilio-- he’s all I’ve got.”

“I understand. My little sister--” Rella stopped herself as Bas suddenly began coughing, and Fidelio was right on him, hands on Basilio's shoulders.

“Bas?!” Fidelio shook him, and Basilio's eyes gazed up lazily to meet Fidelio’s own. They were still hazy, but sharper now, slowly healing. He was healing, thank whatever god was out there. “Bas, you all there? Count how many fingers I’ve got up!”

Bas blinked slowly, paying little mind to the three fingers Fidelio was holding up in front of him. Instead, he looked all around the room, before narrowing his eyes as he found Rella by his side. “Del… wha… who’s the pretty lady?”

“Fuck’s sake, Bas--” Fidelio’s cursing barely fazed Rella, who bit down on her lip to stop herself from laughing. “He doesn’t mean it, I swear. He’s just dizzy and all--”

“What’cha mean? ‘Course I mean it,” Bas drawled out. “Don’t be mean, Del…”

“I--” Fidelio fixed Bas with a weary glare. “Instead of that, shouldn’t you be askin’ where you are?”

“I know,” Bas said, letting a thin smile grow across his face. “You got us outta there, that’s where. I knew you’d manage it. You’re always so smart like that, Del.”

Fidelio looked away, having nothing more to say to that.

-----

Lady Rella (as Bas would come to call her, endearingly) made them stay till the next day. “For observation,” she said, and only when Basilio was fully healed did Fidelio finally notice the way Rella’s voice trembled as she spoke. “Just in case. This was… the first time I’ve managed to heal such life-threatening injuries.”

The confirmation that Bas would’ve died without her hit Fidelio like a rock to the stomach, even though he’d already known that. Bas, in the meantime, seemed completely unaffected by that, instead wagging his tail in joy as Lady Rella spoke. “Aye, we’ll be more than happy to stay ‘ere for a bite longer, Lady Rella!”

“Don’t say it like that,” Fidelio scolded, lightly punching Bas on the arm. “Have some respect, she just saved your bleedin’ arse.”

Basilio's ears perk up in sadness. “I’m bein’ respectful!”

Despite having done more than Fidelio could’ve ever dared to ask her for, Lady Rella insisted on looking at Fidelio’s wounds before he left. And when Bas made a casual mention about how he hadn’t eaten in days, she hurried out the room like she’d seen a ghost before carrying in plates upon plates of meat. “You shouldn’t have,” Fidelio gasps, just as he watched Basilio grab fistfuls of food and ripping into it with his bare hands. “Bas, you--! Ah, nevermind. Thanks, Lady Rella… I dunno how we’re ever gonna pay you back, but if you’re ever in need of a tour guide that knows their way ‘round the slums…”

“You’ve no need to give me any sort of compensation,” Rella said, vaguely amused and also slightly sad.

Fidelio’s ears twitched. “We’re not really in the business of acceptin’ handouts like this,” he admitted fully. Behind him, he could hear Basilio gnashing his teeth and mumbling through a mouth full of food about how tasty it was. “And I don’t like bein’ in debt… though, in all honesty, there’s nothin’ I can do to truly make up for savin’ his life. Listen, if you need to teach anyone a lesson, I’m happy to deliver--”

“N-nothing of that sort!” Rella flustered, immediately shaking her head in shock. “But if you truly insist, then… Fidelio, Basilio, whenever the opportunity arises, reach out to help others as I had reached out to you. If you promise me that, I’ll be happy to consider any debt between us settled.”

Would’ve been easier if you just told me beat someone up, Fidelio had the wits not to say aloud. “We’ll try,” Fidelio answered instead, and that was enough to get a satisfied nod out of Lady Rella.

The rest of the church weren’t thrilled by their presence, but Lady Rella had enough authority to grant them leave to wash themselves up in a real bath with running water, and even a room with real beds in them to sleep in for the night. Bas was so thrilled that he immediately began to bounce on the mattress hard enough to break the bloody bed frame, and Fidelio was about to slap him over the head for it till Lady Rella said it was alright. Fidelio didn’t really like it-- the idea of staying one more night under the ‘watch’ of someone else, even if it was a much gentler place than the igniter experimentation facility-- but the moment Basilio's head hit the pillow, he was fast asleep, snoring away by the candlelight. And Fidelio, too, allowed himself just another moment more of being taken care of by someone else. He fell asleep to the church hymns; lyrics of mercy for all that did not apply to them. He remembers how much their mother loved music.

By the time morning rolled around, it became crystal-clear that Bas was at the peak of his health. About time, too-- Fidelio was itching to finally enjoy their freedom without the anxiety of seeing his brother on death’s door, and also, he had about enough of witnessing Bas looking all doe-eyed at his saviour whenever she walked into the room. “Come on,” Fidelio said, first thing in the morning and shaking Bas awake once again. “We shouldn’t impose on Lady Rella anymore than we already have. We’ve gotta get movin’.”

“Del…” Bas groaned as he woke up. The smile he’d had in his sleep from some sort of sweet dream suddenly disappeared. “You think we’ll ever see her again?”

“Oh, belt up, Bas. We’ve got bigger things to worry ‘bout than that…” Fidelio trailed off as Lady Rella opened the door, apparently hearing them speak. “Lady Rella.”

She was holding something in her hands. Some kind of bottle with golden cream. “Leaving already?”

“Wouldn’t wanna force ya to kick us out,” Fidelio responded, all while pulling Bas to his feet. “Thanks again. We won’t forget this, I swear.”

“Lady Rella!” Bas suddenly raised his voice, and Fidelio flattened his ears, bracing himself for Bas to say something stupid. “Thanks for everythin’, and-- I-- I ‘ope I’ll see you again!” Immediately, Bas inhaled sharply, as if trying to hold back tears.

“Ah… please don’t be sad,” Lady Rella said, a little surprised. “This place will always have its doors open to all who need its help, no matter who you are.” That was a lie, too-- such a thing only applied to Lady Rella herself.

She stepped forward, bending down slightly to meet Basilio's eye level. “You were very brave,” she said, softer this time. “Even though it must’ve been agonising, you didn’t shed a tear. Keep holding your head high just like that, Basilio.”

Bas sniffled. “Lady Rella…”

“Do you know what this is? It’s a perfume, made from a kind of rare beeswax.” She uncapped the lid and scooped a dollop out with her fingertips. “It’s said to bring good luck. I don’t know what happened, to have you two to me in such a state, but I hope your fortunes change soon.”

She gave Bas a little dab on both cheeks. Fidelio, trying to help him maintain his dignity, grabbed Basilio's hand and gave him a squeeze. “And I hope you can smile again,” Lady Rella said, more genuine than anyone’s ever been to them besides their own parents. “I’m sorry-- you’re free to go now. I’m sure you both have somewhere to be.”

Fidelio hadn’t the heart to correct her. “Let’s go,” he said, for the final time before Bas began to move his legs out of the room. “Before you start cryin’ like a baby in front of her.”

He gave Bas time to sob it out in the alleyway by the church for the next hour. Fidelio could hardly blame him-- it’s all too much, seeing the sun and the birds and the kindness of another person while knowing they’re going back onto the dirty streets with only each other. But they’ve survived well enough on their own before being dragged into the experimentation facility, and that wasn’t going to change.

Fidelio just wished it didn’t feel so hard. To walk away from relying on someone else, for a change. Even if he knew something like that could never last.

-----

In the years that followed, the both of them do absolutely everything they could to stray ever-further from their promise to Lady Rella.

As Basilio’s taste remained painfully sharp, they quickly figured that pickpocketing loose change wouldn’t be enough to feed him anymore. Even ignoring that, there was the… pain, smashing through periodically like a drill running right into their skulls. Bas had it worst, but Fidelio got it too: would wake up screaming sometimes, thinking he was being stabbed to death.

Lady Rella had done her best, but some things were unhealable, and of all the things they tried, they could find only one magic-repelling herb that worked on the pain, if only for a few days. And it was pricey.

They tried joining a gang, but Fidelio was always too independent to follow someone else’s orders, and when you gather a bunch of hopeless cradle-to-grave criminals in one place and get them all drunk off their arses after a successful heist, things tend to get ugly more often than not. Fidelio tried to win them over with his words, like he’d always done, but someone unsheathed their sword, and Basilio ripped out an axe, and Basilio was taller so his reach was just enough to--

Neither of them felt much when they killed someone for the first time. It was scary, yes, because he’d nicked Fidelio’s shoulder and nearly dug into his neck before Basilio hacked his spine into five separate pieces, but besides the initial surge of adrenaline, they could only feel annoyance at the bloody mess they'd made. Maybe it was because they’d seen enough death to care little about it, but Fidelio supposed it was just the natural order of things: kill or be killed, and now, they were on the former side. Besides, even if they felt any guilt, the extra reeve they got from reducing the amount of hands in the pie washed that away real quick. Even if there wasn’t a material reward, Fidelio found himself liking this precarious state far more than tiptoeing on the line of morality: it was better to be a savage. At least that way, you were in control.

They began doing this as a habit; joining a band of fellow shitheads and biding their time until they could run off with all their earnings, even if that means they ended up with blood on their hands. They got better and better each time they escaped with their lives: Basilio’s strikes became more self-assured, and the half-assed butcher job he made the first time soon disappeared in favour of clean cuts to the neck. Meanwhile, though Fidelio’s height hadn’t budged an inch, he’d become just as deadly with his collection of stolen igniters: ironic, after all they’ve been through.

Eventually, they found themselves entangled with the military again, but not as experimental fodder. It was the state army that came to them and roped them into the lower ranks of the Shadowguard, left to do the most dangerous jobs in the most lawless of slums. It wasn’t luxurious by any means, but it paid better than most jobs they could get, and besides, soldier kids like them would never have much of a better choice.

As they wrecked havoc on those they were assigned to kill-- plus a few ‘extra jobs’ in the side-- their bloodthirsty reputation grew into a malignant shadow that lingered over the Grand Trad. People started to avoid them like the proverbial devil himself, but more importantly than that, others began approaching them to request their violent services. The slums of Grand Trad soon stirred with a saying, one that could quieten even the most raucous of laughter and have everyone looking over their shoulders: run your mouth again, and the Magnus brothers are gonna shut it for you.

But living a dangerous life means you tend to run into dangerous people. They were far from their old life of being invisible slum rats: now, they had to watch out for attacks at any moment. Whether it be from jilted ex-gangmates, counter-assassins or even bereaved relatives seeking revenge, Basilio’s axe saw a whole lot of work. They could finally afford to rent a steady place to sleep, but found themselves moving often once their location was exposed. They also needed new weapons, deadlier igniters, healing items-- damn, lifestyle creep was a real thing, and they found themselves taking dodgier and dodgier jobs with the only stipulation of payment upfront.

That’s how they met Louis, actually. As a target.

It wasn’t everyday that a Sanctist lout came knocking for their services. They would normally never be seen dead working with the Shadowguard, especially in a non-official capacity. He was real shifty about it, too, keeping a hood over his head the whole time and refusing to give his name. But the reeve he brought was real enough for them, even considering the difficulty of the job: Louis Guiabern, a once up-and-coming officer who quickly rose through the ranks of the actual military with his exceptional skills. But for reasons unbeknownst to Fidelio, he has fallen from grace, and in spite of his achievements in crushing rebellions in surrounding principalities, he had been posted to the middle of nowhere with only a small company of soldiers-- making him open to attack. “Sounds like a right headache,” Bas immediately confessed, all while Fidelio poured over the supposedly-accurate maps of Louis’ military encampment he’d bought from a shady informant. “S’pose we’ll have to keep our wits up, yeah?”

“We always have to keep our wits up,” Fidelio muttered. He traced his finger over their almost-flawless route right into the main camp. “And… here. Got it. Listen up, Bas. We’ll be sneakin’ right into Louis’ camp under the cover of night. We’ll go in through the north gate, which has the lightest security detail, and we’ll go ‘round the west side to-- oi, Bas, pay attention!”

Bas looked over from the sizzling stove and yelled: “I’m hungry, dammit!”

“Why now?! It’s 2am!”

“Yeah, but you’re still up lookin’ at some scribbles, so what am I to do?”

“They’re not scribbles, Bas! They’re important intel! You know, the shite that keeps our arses alive!”

“I’m makin’ eggs, you want any?”

“...Scrambled.”

Bas gave Fidelio a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs on buttered toast, both of them ignoring the truly godless hour they’re up at. Sometimes, breakfast food tasted the best when you ate it at an unfitting time. “You’ve gotten good at cooking,” Fidelio spoke while chewing through the bread. “Shame about your tastebuds, but I guess I’m the one benefitin’ from it.”

“Mmhm,” Bas hummed through a mouthful of food. As they ate, he counted through the reeve they’ve accumulated so far-- an instinctual habit, one borne of having to ration out their meals in measures of days rather than months. “Crikey, that Sanctist git paid well! Must really want this Louis guy dead.”

“He said no one else would take the job. Must’ve been desperate,” Fidelio noted, and Bas stared at him.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Huh,” Bas said. “But one guy shouldn’t be that hard to kill. ‘Specially for this price…” There was a tinge of concern fraying at Basilio’s voice.

Fidelio scoffed. “What, you gettin’ cold feet?”

“No, just thinkin’... we could just blow all this money without actually doin’ the job, and we’d be set for months.”

Fidelio raised his eyebrow. “So… you are gettin’ cold feet.”

“No,” Bas repeated, unconvincingly. “It’s just… you’re puttin’ a whole lotta effort into plannin’ this one, Del. Got me a bit wary, is all.”

“Peh, I’m always puttin’ in effort, you just don’t see it--”

“Dunno,” Bas said, cherry-red eyes looking down at the maps. “I can’t explain it. Call it intuition, I guess, but… I think we really gotta be on our toes for this one, Del.”

When Fidelio eventually passed out right there and then on the table, he woke up to the dishes on the rack and Basilio’s shaggy jacket draped over his shoulders. But it’s not a bad night of sleep from an unconventional position that’s put him on edge; call them both crazy, but what Bas said rang true in the back of Fidelio’s mind, too.

Even so, they’ve got a bloody reputation to maintain. And besides, as Bas also said-- one guy shouldn’t be that hard to kill.

-----

In stark contrast to most of their jobs, sneaking in was the easy part. 

Fidelio casted a spell to dampen the sound of their footsteps, ensuring that the guards didn’t hear a damn thing. Save for the crack of their own bones, snapping and splintering under the weight of Basilio’s axe. “Easy does it,” Bas hissed, prying the struggling guard’s hand away from his own before crushing their neck under his boot. “That’s done with.”

Slowly, Fidelio crept up behind him, eyeing the bloody handprint of Basilio’s neck. “You’ve got to be more careful, Bas. If that bastard ‘ad snuck up on you, you’d been toast.”

“Got it, got it,” Bas groused wearily. He heaved the axe over his shoulder and dragged the dead guards off to the side of the road to delay anyone from finding them, if only for a while. “C’mon, let’s get to it. I’m hungry.”

“You-- how? You just ate--” Fidelio shook his head in exasperation. “Take this seriously, Bas!”

Bas pouted. “I am.”

“Just follow me.” Scurrying into the perimeter of the encampment, Fidelio pulled out another igniter and whispered an incantation to slowly flood the camp with fog. Nothing too extreme, and aligning with the common weather phenomena in the area-- but every little bit of cover helps. The sound of other soldiers chatting came to Fidelio’s ears, and he kept his head down. “Stay right on me arse. No strayin’, got it?”

“I never stray,” Bas whined.

Fidelio had always been the slippery one. Bas, who had grown to almost twice of Fidelio’s height in the past few years, was a lot harder to conceal-- so much bigger than the day Fidelio squeezed him through that garbage chute to save his life. “Quiet,” Fidelio snapped for about the thirteenth time that day as Bas somehow found every dried twig on this square metre of forest and smashed it underfoot with a loud crack. “Gods, what am I to do with you…”

“You’re nervous,” Bas pointed out. When Fidelio turned to glare at him, his smile turned a little cocky. “I’m right, aint’I?”

“It’s your fault. You were talkin’ on and on last night about havin’ a bad feeling about this stupid job--” Fidelio’s ears shot upright. They’d just reached the tent they were looking for, and Fidelio expected it to be completely silent-- but if he focused, he could clearly hear the sound of a sword being whetted. “Shite. That Louis guy’s awake? Intel said he should’ve retired to ‘is bed by now!”

“Told ya not to rely on that intel for everythin’,” Bas remarked dryly.

Fidelio cursed under his breath. They could hang around and wait for Louis to fall asleep, but those guards they brutally murdered would be found soon enough, either at the next lookout shift swap or when the morning sun started baking their flesh into a putrid swell. They could escape with their tails between their legs, but it would be hard to find another opportunity to infiltrate-- security would triple in size once they realised someone was after them. “Fuck it,” Fidelio decided, beckoning Basilio to follow him. “We’re goin’ in.”

“Fine by me.” Bas, perhaps in an attempt to assuage Fidelio’s own anxiety, gave him a wide smirk. “‘Sides, it ain’t fun when our target’s just snoozin’ away.”

“Smug little shite,” Fidelio huffed, even though Bas wasn’t very little anymore. Silently, he reached under the tent, lifting it up just enough to stick his hand and igniter inside. “We go in, kill him, and get the hell out of here. In the count of three… two… go get him!”

Fidelio sent a wall of fire into the tent, followed quickly by Basilio himself.

Perhaps it’s just in a paripus’ nature to blow their covers wide open with bombastic entrances. Basilio ripped a hole right into the tent and used Fidelio’s fireball as a cover, racing up to their target just as he raised his arm to dispel the flames.

Fidelio’s never seen anyone just banish fire like Louis just did. The spell flickered out without leaving a single coal behind. Not even a trace of ash landed on Louis’ untouched face. But it didn’t matter, because that just left Basilio face-to-face with a pair of copper patina eyes, axe shining--

Louis swung his arm out, punching Bas right in the chin. It would be rather comical, if not for how that one hit sent Basilio’s whole weight flying across the tent and right into Fidelio.

“Ahhfffuck! Bas!”

“Shit, shit, shit that hurt--”

Plan B came in the form of thick smoke, spilling out Fidelio’s hands and filling the tent. They couldn’t see Louis anymore, but that meant Louis couldn’t see them either. “Get back up,” Fidelio yelled, “and run to the right, I’ll take left-- we’ll flank ‘im! Now go!”

Bas did just as he was told, rushing to the right of the smoke plume while Fidelio raced left. There wasn’t any countdown needed-- he heard the sound of Basilio’s boot as he jumped into the air and Fidelio twisted his foot to leap right at the same time. “Hah,” Fidelio gasped, “you’re toast, mate--!”

But Fidelio’s spell hit only thin air, and Basilio’s axe failed to connect. Only when the two of them landed back on the empty ground did they look up and see Louis’ sword swinging down from the ceiling.

“Bas, move!” Fidelio tried to shove Bas away, but Louis’ sword still managed to hurt him-- cutting down the right side of his face, through his eye. He pulled Basilio back, hoping dearly that the wound was just skin deep.

“How’d he jump right over us?!” Bas, for what it was worth, seemed more preoccupied with their target’s fighting prowess than his own injury. “At just the right moment, too…”

Louis stepped forward, flicking the drops of Basilio’s blood off his blade. Fidelio jerked back on instinct as Louis said: “You know, you haven’t introduced yourselves yet. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with tonight?”

“Augh, he’s toyin’ with us,” Bas growled, ears straightening with aggression. “Oi, don’t talk like you’ve already won! Fight’s not over yet!”

Louis shrugged his shoulders. “Very well. I can always extract your identities from you both later.”

“He’s a lot stronger than he looks,” Fidelio whispered. “And I bet we’re already drawin’ attention.”

Sword drawn, Louis pulled his arm back, getting ready to charge. Basilio’s frown deepened. “I know that, Del! Got any ideas?”

“Always,” Fidelio huffed. “Bas, get ready to boost me up.”

Louis charged, and he came at them so quickly it felt like he was flying. His sword almost sliced right through the both of them-- almost, because the two brothers split right at the last moment, letting Louis stab into thin air. Bas tried again with his axe, but Louis parried it away before the blade could even touch his garments.

Fidelio, having abandoned any hope for a cheap victory with magic, seized the brief distraction Bas posed to hop up and slap his hands over Louis’ eyes. “Peekaboo!” he laughed, making sure to stick a finger into his eye socket to guarantee he couldn’t be ignored.

Louis immediately sent a blast of wind screaming out behind him, slamming right into Fidelio and loosening his grip on Louis’ face. But it’s just another distraction, and Basilio’s axe swung low this time, cutting through thick leather and finally finding its mark: a small cut on Louis’ ankle, just before Louis raised his other leg and kicked Bas away like he were as heavy as a puppy.

“Bas!” Fidelio wiped the blood from his mouth-- turned out that a strong enough wind could knock a tooth out-- and scrambled back to his feet. “Now!”

“You got it, Del!”

They both rushed back into the fray, and when Louis’ sword once again came flying towards him, Basilio ducked under it-- while grabbing Fidelio by his sides and flinging him into the air, letting Fidelio somersault mid-air over Louis’ head.

And it gave Fidelio just enough time to whip out the knife he’d tucked under his sleeve-- and bring it right down Louis’ back.

Sadly, Fidelio had little time to admire his work. With a mere snap of Louis’ fingers, he summoned an even stronger torrent of wind, practically ejecting both paripus away from him and tossing them gracelessly onto the ground. “Dammit,” Fidelio cursed, trying to pull himself back up for another round-- only to find his leg wasn’t working. He’d fallen on it at just the wrong angle. “Dammit, dammit, dammit-- Bas! I can’t run-- you get the fuck out of here!”

“What?!” Basilio, after all his years of following every order, disobeyed Fidelio’s words and made a break for him. But Louis stood in the way, sword gleaming in the moonlight, and their fight had finally attracted attention from the rest of the soldiers, who were now flooding into the ruined tent. “Shite…!”

“Bas, I told you to run!” There wasn’t any time to panic-- if Fidelio didn’t come up with an idea, the both of them were going to get killed right there and then, and if Fidelio had to die, he should at least make an opening for Bas to escape-- there, one of his igniters! He ignored the screaming pain in his leg and rolled to the side, trying to reach it, trying to cast something--!

Louis stepped on the igniter and kicked it far out of reach. “I think you’ve done enough. Let’s not interrupt our conversation any further,” he hummed, and Fidelio grit his teeth hard to try drowning out the way his heart was racing.

“Hey!” Bas rushed forward, which led to about a dozen different soldiers pointing their weapons right at him. “Listen, just let him go! I’m the one who roped him into this fat-headed idea, you hear? He’s innocent, I’m telling ya!”

“Bas, just let me do the talking!” Dammit, Fidelio thought, halfway resigning himself to their hopeless situation. I guess that fall really made him daft after all.

But that’s when the situation turned on its head once again. “Lower your blades,” Louis commanded, as his soldiers looked at him in an array of shock and confusion. Only then did Fidelio see the deep, weeping wound he’d ripped into Louis’ back, large but a mite too far to the side to hit the spine-- Fidelio was just centimetres from victory. “You heard what I said. Put your weapons away, and leave us be… no, actually. Someone, fetch us a pot of tea. I’d like to talk to them.”

Fidelio blanched. “What?”

“The Magnus brothers, was it?” As Louis smiled, Fidelio wracked his brain trying to remember when they introduced themselves to him. “You both fought admirably, especially considering your improvised tools. I’d like to know what-- or rather, who sent you here to kill me. Now that I’ve seen your skills, I am certain we’ll have a very productive conversation.”

Basilio, completely unsure, looked at Fidelio for guidance. Fidelio met his eyes of cherry-red and slowly, deliberately, nodded.

“Right.” Fidelio forced himself to sit up, biting the inside of his cheek as his leg roared in agony. “You’ve got us, Louis. Let’s talk.”

-----

It was, as Fidelio remembers, the strangest fucking conversation he’d ever had in his life. “Drink,” Louis offered, sitting cross-legged at his desk and completely ignoring the blood flowing from the hole Fidelio had stabbed into his back. Basilio, too, has a fresh stream of blood rolling from his cut eyelid, while Fidelio just grinned and beared with the very-obviously broken leg of his. “All that fighting must have left you weary.”

“Uh.” Basilio’s eyes darted to Fidelio, studied the equally confused look on his brother’s face, and darted back to Louis. “Aren’t you gonna… heal yourself…?”

“Yeah,” Fidelio stammered, eyes tracing the deep gouge. “It looks… mighty painful.” He omitted mentioning how he’d been the one to inflict it on Louis.

Louis, as made of stone, simply let an amused smile slip across his face. “I’ve snapped your leg in half too,” he pointed out, and Fidelio supposed he was right. “And yet, you’ve been valiantly ignoring to speak with me with your head held high. I’d like to return that courtesy.”

Bas suddenly stood up in shock. “‘Scuse me, Del? Wait, is that why you had to crawl into the chair?!”

“It’s alright, Bas.” Fidelio grabbed the end of Basilio’s tail and yanked it, forcing him to sit back down. “I’m too tough to be taken out by a broken leg. Sit down ‘n let me do the talkin’.”

Louis’ gaze, even with that smile on his face, seemed to burn right through them. “You speak for two people, then?” And every damn thing out of his mouth somehow felt like its own test, where Fidelio had no idea whether he was acing it or failing hard enough for Louis to give up and kill him. “Very well. I’ve heard of two mysterious paripus in the Shadowguard who have been haunting the outskirts of the Grand Trad before, but I’d like to hear your story from your own lips. Go on.”

“Right. So… we’re the Magnus brothers. Handymen--” Fidelio coughed. No use throwing around that flimsy cover story anymore. “Ah. Well. Contract killers in the Shadowguard, as you already know.”

Bas wiped the blood from his cheek. “We say we’re handymen, but no one actually believes that. Ain’t many kinds of ‘hands-on work’ that’ll take on two paripus lads with no skills ‘sides bustin’ skulls open.”

“We started with bounty huntin’, but the military scooped us out. ‘Sides, their hits paid better,” Fidelio explained. “And one of those hits was on you, though it didn’t come from the army itself. A Sanctist priest came knockin’ on our door, all dodgy-like, and dropped a hundred thousand reeve right at our feet. More coin than we’ve ever seen in our lives. Said he had twice as much as that waitin’ for us at his church if we brought him your head.”

“A story I’ve heard many times,” Louis stated without an ounce of surprise. “You wouldn't be the first assassins the Sanctist dogs has thrown at me. Nor, would I presume, will you be the last.”

“Whew,” Bas mumbled under his breath. “Aren’t ya part of their army? Wonder what made them hate you so much.”

Louis continued smiling. “I could tell you, but that depends on how you answer.” And then-- “I haven’t poisoned the tea, if you’re wondering.”

Both brothers looked at each other with uncertainty before both reaching out and grabbing their cup of tea. If Louis had wanted to kill them, he would’ve done so already, and… Fidelio was getting thirsty. “Um,” Basilio remarked awkwardly, “bottom’s up?”

Fidelio threw back the tea into his mouth like he’d expected it to burn through his tongue. But instead, it tasted pleasantly tart, and mildly sweet. “My first question,” Louis began, leaning back and crossing his arms. “What made you think you could defeat me?”

Biting back on his pride, Fidelio answered. “Basilio and I, we’ve been fightin’ our way up from the day we learnt how to walk. Not sure how much you clemar know ‘bout the slums, but it’s where Bas and I were born in. Ain’t a nice place, I’ll tell you that much. We’ve had to get our hands dirty to protect ourselves, and we found ourselves gettin’ rather good at it. So… we made it our job. Easy paydays whenever we wanted ‘em.”

“No man too tough for the Magnus brothers.” Basilio was doing a marvellous job of putting on a steely expression, although his tail flicked nervously behind him. “That’s our motto.”

Fidelio looked away. “We figured some noble clemar brat would be an easy job for us.”

“To your credit, that would be true almost every other time,” Louis said plainly. Fidelio looked back at him, still wary but slightly more receptive. “The progeny of most noble families are worth less than the cost of their armour. They may have the manpower and even the most expensive weaponry that reeve can buy, but no true experience outside of their meticulously-tailored training rooms. In the meantime, true warriors, such as yourselves, do not confine themselves to the niceties of refereed duels within high society. When faced with such foes, most noblemen would crumble.”

“But you didn’t.” As Fidelio said that, he could feel the flesh in his leg going numb from the trauma. “You fought a lot better than anyone else we’ve faced.”

“Thank you,” Louis said. Fidelio couldn’t tell if he meant it. “Now that I’ve asked one question, it is only fair that you have your turn. Ask me anything you would like, and I will answer.”

“You’re a strange one,” Fidelio said out loud. “I haven’t got much to ask you-- ‘cept for one thing. Why’s your outpost so far out in the forest? What’re you lookin’ for out here?”

“A fair question.” Louis nodded. “I am searching for a human.”

Bas cocked his head in confusion, but Fidelio recognized that word instantly. “A human--?!” He hadn’t seen one himself, and he sure as hell wasn’t signing up to do so. He’d heard about the destruction those creatures have wrought, though. They rarely left any survivors, and when they did… every single story went the same way: the human came out of nowhere and killed everyone in sight. “You’re sayin’ a bloody human is out here?!”

“If the reports are to be believed, yes. I’ve stationed here to act as a defensive wall to keep the human back from destroying a minor settlement nearby. But now is time for my next question,” Louis redirected. “What drives you to fight?”

Fidelio narrowed his eyes. “Just said, didn’t I? For the coin.”

“And yet, every single day, many more paripus are born into the very same situation you found yourself in. Surely all of them would be willing to do anything to improve their lives. Despite that, many of them stay trapped within the slums, unable to claw their way out.” Louis gestured towards them. “But you two have done quite well for yourselves. You are by no means rich, but still better off than most who shared your predicament. What makes you two so special?”

“That’s…” Fidelio trailed off. Why have they succeeded where so many have failed? There were so many times they should’ve rolled over and died-- when they became orphans, when they were trapped in the experimentation facility, when Fidelio first got a sword swung at his neck… yet, every single time, they triumphed.

“‘S not ‘cus we’re lucky.” But before Fidelio could answer, Bas piped up, suddenly sounding fully confident in his words. “It’s ‘cus of Del. He’s the one comin’ up with all the bright ideas. He’s gotten us outta trouble more times than I can count.”

Fidelio turned to Bas. “Not just me. Bas does all the heavy lifting. My little brother can take a bloody beatin’, too. Doesn’t know when to quit, that one.”

“You do carry the air of an older sibling.” Louis lifted the teapot and refilled Fidelio’s cup. “I can certainly see how your mind has been instrumental to your survival. If I recall, you were the one giving your brother commands during the fight. But while I’m interested in your competency, that’s something I can see with my own two eyes. Rather…”

Louis dumbed down his question. “Why do you put yourself in danger? Why are you dissatisfied with the life you’d been born into? You fight, but why?”

Bas looked to Fidelio for that.

“...That’s simple too, isn’t it?” For a moment, the pain in his leg came second to the undercurrent of anger swirling in Fidelio’s stomach. “You could guess why easy enough. This world-- it’s broken. We’ve been shut off and left to rot in the gutter filth when we were just kids, all ‘cus we’ve been born the wrong race. People go ‘round preachin’ about god and mercy, but all paripus kids know that if there’s a god out there, they sure fuckin’ hate us. We’ve gotta work, beg, kill and claw our way up till our fingers are all but bloody stumps, and even then, we’ll be worth less than some run-of-the-mill arsehole with two horns or four wings.”

Fidelio knew it was a bad idea to keep harping on this point while a clemar was staring him down, but he couldn’t help it. “That’s why we fight. ‘Cus we deserve better than our lot. And ain’t no one gonna convince me otherwise, even if you put a sword to me neck.”

“Well-said,” Louis replied. “I won’t put you to the sword for simply stating the truth. Your--”

“I’ve got my second question,” Fidelio said. It was rather daring of him, cutting Louis off like that, but he seemed amused rather than offended by it. “Once you find that… human… what’re you gonna do with it?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Louis pulled out the sword hanging at his hip. “I’ll kill it.”

“A human?” Fidelio grimaced. “You’re mental. No one’s ever killed a human before-- right?”

Louis’ smile widened. “I aim to be the first.”

Bas sighed. “Dunno what this ‘human’ business is, but if you’re that good at fightin’, I reckon you’ll take it down easy.”

Fidelio turned back to Bas. “Bas, it’s a lot worse than you think--!”

“Hahaha!” Louis took an unexpected level of mirth from Basilio’s frank comment. “Thank you again. I’ll prove you right soon enough. Now, for my last question.”

Louis leaned forward. If Fidelio didn’t know better, he’d think Louis was simply that eager to hear their answer. Right now though, it felt like he was just getting a better angle to stare through them. “Would you give your lives for a world of true equality?”

Fidelio’s ears twitched. “Hell do you mean by that?”

“Imagine this: a world where no one cares about your tribe, your family, or any detail about your origin.” Louis’ face lit up as he spoke, as if weaving a most beautiful fairytale. But this wasn’t a fairytale-- deep in Louis’ gaze, Fidelio could tell that this guy wasn’t bullshitting. His copper-patina eyes wouldn’t be gleaming like that if he was lying. “No prejudice based on petty criteria such as appearance or pedigree. Instead, our standing would be decided on the very thing you’ve already acquired in abundance: power.”

“Heh,” Bas chuckled. “Sounds amazin’.”

“Doesn’t it?” Louis’ smile changed again. Fidelio was too blind to see it at the time, but now, in his memory, it looks just slightly cruel. “That would be the foundation of my world-- if, of course, I had the power to enact such changes.”

Fidelio’s tail straightened. “You’re pullin’ my leg. A clemar like you fightin’ for equality?”

“You are both overflowing with martial talent,” Louis declared, and Fidelio felt something rouse from the very inside of his soul. “You have struck a nearly fatal blow on me, when most who have gone their whole lives training for battle have made nary a scratch on my body. You should be by my side as high-ranking officers in the military, earning medal after medal-- yet, you’ve been given no recognition. Simply relegated to the Shadowguard, left to do all the work while languishing in obscurity.”

“Worse than that,” Fidelio couldn’t help but say. “Most paripus just end up as expendables. Foot soldiers. Meat shields.”

“Igniter experiments,” Bas added. Fidelio tried not to let his face twist.

“Everywhere… except for my company.” That was when Louis extended his hand. His white glove, streaked with drops of his own blood, somehow seemed more inviting than a pristine one would’ve. “I will see you not by the boundaries of your tribe, but by the weight of your merits. Join me, and one day, I shall make that world of true equality a reality.”

Both brothers stared at Louis’ outstretched hand. Bas spoke first: “You’re… offerin’ us a place in your company? Ya know we killed two of your guys, right?”

“I’m aware. That they were unable to detect your attack and thus died as a result proved that they had no place under my command,” Louis said. Those words should sound unbearably cold, but Fidelio could not help but find them alluring all the same. “You two, on the other hand? I am confident you would not die as easily.”

“…Was wonderin’ why the intel showed you had so many paripus in your ranks,” Fidelio muttered. “And not just paripus… a buncha eugief and even those three-eyed people. Thought I was just ‘cus you were some third-class battalion, but…”

“Then you should already have proof that I award my soldiers based purely on their performance.” Louis’ arm remained outstretched. He was eager to hear their answer.

It’s a trick, Fidelio’s mind tried to say. It’s too good to be true. No one cares about our plight like we do.

“…Are you unconvinced?” Louis frowned, and despite only knowing him for mere minutes, Fidelio’s heart twisted like he’d just disappointed someone important. “I would not have sat down and spoken plainly with my would-be assassins if I did not mean everything I said. You both have incredible skill, yet the world would see it wasted. But I will not.”

In the end, it was an out. Fidelio should take his hand because if he doesn’t, Louis might order them to be killed, and what would be the point of defiance once he was dead? And yet, when Fidelio began to move his hand, he felt a surge of something real inside his gut: that this is it, somehow. This is the real deal, and this absolute basket case of a man was truly going to change the word. Maybe it was the earnest look in Basilio’s eyes as he took in Louis’ every word. Maybe it was the racing of Fidelio’s heart, probably struggling against the fucking broken leg he wasn’t attending to, but also fluttering at the thought that one day a world of true equality might come. Maybe it was the appeal of serving a real brigade, instead of just joining them with the intention to cut and run.

Maybe it was because, deep down, Fidelio had always been looking for a real answer to that question: you fight, but why?

Without any cue, both Fidelio and Basilio’s hands shoot out to grab Louis’ at once. “You really are mental,” Fidelio rasped, fully aware he was signing away his soul. And yet, when Louis shook his hand, he felt that he didn’t mind at all. “But so are we. We’re in.”

“Excellent,” Louis said, and his smile returned to put Fidelio’s in an unfamiliar amount of ease. “You’ve made the right choice.”

-----

Once their discussion was over, the healers finally got around to stitching up their injuries. They weren’t anywhere near Lady Rella’s level, but they were serviceable enough, and certainly better than the backdoor mender they’ve paid for-- Fidelio’s left shoulder still hurt from that botch job a few moons again. This time, they managed to realign every broken bone back into its rightful place, which was good enough for his standards.

Basilio, however, rocked up to Fidelio with a new scar running down his right eye. “Skin’s all mended, but Louis’ sword got me good. Doesn’t hurt, but they can’t get rid of the mark.”

“No matter. Looks good on ya, if I have to say so meself.” Fidelio instinctively reached out and flattened the hair on Basilio’s head, subconsciously checking for bumps on the head while ruffling his hair. “Makes you look battle-worn. Like a real soldier.”

Bas sat down next to Fidelio. “After all that’s happened today, we are real soldiers. Honestly, we always have been.”

“Fair ‘nuff.” Fidelio looked away and clicked his tongue. “Damn. I’ve gotta figure out how we’ll cancel our lease and get our down payment back.”

“Ah-- don’t worry about that now, Del!” Bas playfully knuckled Fidelio on the side of his head, earning a glare from his older brother. “We’re gonna be fightin’ on the front lines against the humans soon! They even took my measurements and got armour for me and everythin’.”

“Call me a coward, Bas, but I don’t fancy our chances against a real human.” The sun was beginning to rise over the horizon-- they’d arrived in the night, and though dawn was here, Fidelio wanted nothing more than to throw himself right into a soft bed and go right to sleep. But, even though Louis assigned them a comfortable private room for two in the barracks, Fidelio couldn’t quite get comfortable enough to sleep. Not when he kept thinking about the human that’s supposedly nearby.

“What’s with that quitter talk?” Bas brought his tail around Fidelio’s shoulder, draping it across his back. “Ya know, Del, I was talkin’ to the other soldiers at the healer’s--”

“How’d you find the energy to talk to other people at a time like this?” Fidelio shook his mind. “Nevermind, I shoulda known. Keep going.”

“Del… they really believe in this guy.” The way Basilio’s eye light up as he spoke encourages Fidelio to put his fears aside, at least for a moment. “There’s other paripus, but there’s also roussaintes, nidia, mustari-- think I even saw a bloody halfblood out there, though he was lookin’ at the ground the whole time. This guy’s got more kindsa people in his guard than we’ve even seen before, and they’re all here for Louis!”

Fidelio sighed. “Not all recruited under duress like we were, eh?”

“Oh, c’mon, Del. I could see the look on your face when you shook his hand.” Basilio’s voice took on a more serious tone. “If you thought he was trying to trick us or somethin’, like all the other bastards who think we’re gullible ‘cus of our age, you would’ve told me by now. But ya haven’t, so a part of ya must believe in him too, right?”

“Good god, Bas, I’ve got to sleep.” Fidelio shut down the conversation by walking to one of the beds and throwing himself on it. Bas frowned-- it was a bad habit of his, Fidelio knew. To just walk away from Bas when he didn’t like what his brother was talking about. “If we’re to survive meeting that human, then we should get a bloody wink of sleep. Good night.”

“...Del…” Bas rose to his feet. He walked over to Fidelio’s bed, and, annoyingly, sat down. Fidelio could feel Basilio’s weight on the mattress and squeezed his eyes shut. “Be honest with me. What’s the plan now? Are we just gonna run away again?”

“Of course we’re gonna run away,” Fidelio grumbled, trying to ignore how unsure he sounded even to himself. “Do ya really think we stand a chance against a human? Sure, Louis might, but the rest of us are gonna be fresh meat for whatever number of mouths it has. No thanks.”

“But--”

“No ‘buts’, Bas. I’ve made up my mind.” Fidelio grabbed the blanket and yanked it over himself, shoving Bas off his bed at the same time. “We’ll play along as good little soldiers, but when the right time comes, we’ll get the hell out of here. You got it?”

Bas didn’t respond. For a moment, he stood there at Fidelio’s bedside, quietly fuming but having too much respect for his brother to say it out loud. “...I got it,” he relented, before sitting down on his own bed. “We’ll run.”

“That’s right,” Fidelio affirmed. He tried to ignore the way his own heart twisted in his chest, the same way as when he saw Louis frown. “Now, good night. We’ll talk more tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“‘Kay…” Bas flopped down on his own bed, shedding his rags and curling up under the blankets. “...But, Del--”

“Good night!”

“--You’re sure this is the best for us, right?” Fidelio could hear the flick of Basilio’s ear against the pillow, that little twitch that Bas does when he thinks something isn’t quite right. “And not just because you’re scared of putting your faith in somethin’ and watching it fall apart?”

Fidelio’s fingers gripped the sheets tightly. “Just sleep, Bas. Don’t trust anythin’ you think about after midnight. S’ not a time to be philosophising and all that.”

“...Alright.” Basilio flipped over in bed to lay on his stomach. “Talk tomorrow.”

Finally, Fidelio closed his eyes, feeling the softness of the pillow and the mattress beneath him. It’s not the best bed he’s ever laid on, but it’s far from the worst, and Fidelio could sleep just about anywhere anyway. He relaxes his muscles, feeling the whole day’s exhaustion pouring out onto it, shoving his thoughts about the human far away for--

“...I hear the food here’s real good, too--”

“Bas, shut up!”

-----

The food was, in fact, really good.

Far from the rice gruel that Fidelio assumed passed for military rations, Louis fed his soldiers well. Piles of meat and vegetables were laid out of the table, finished with layers upon layers of freshly-baked cake. Bas had the time of his life sniffing around and digging into the best portions he could find. He didn’t have to hold back, because there was more than enough for everyone. Fidelio supposed it made sense. If you were going to throw people into the jaws of an unkillable beast, you might as well let them eat a good last meal.

It was the armoury that first caught Fidelio off-guard. Louis was a brave man: he’d just pointed out how the brothers failed to kill him partially because of their ineffective weapons, and immediately proceeded to arm them with top-of-the-line equipment. Bas got to try a whole range of axes and pick his favourite, while Fidelio was plied with all sorts of igniters. Being provided with enough igniters to buy out a noble family’s fortune without any questions asked was jarring, to say the least, but Fidelio liked to think he dealt with it gracefully enough. He took special note of the Courier and Escorte igniters: they were particularly high-class. Good for helping them evade detection once they make a break for it. They were also offered plated armour, but both of them declined. They’d spent so long fighting in their rags that actual protection would feel stifling. Fidelio picked a sturdy-looking gambeson instead.

The second thing that surprised Fidelio was how everyone wanted to fucking fight them.

“So you two are the new recruits?” For the fifth time in the day, some cunt sauntered up to them and interrupted them while they were in the middle of trying out their new gear. He stood right next to Bas as he was revving up to swing an axe, hands on his hips and purple hair swept behind his long ears. “The whole camp has been abuzz with the ex-assassins who managed to land a hit on Lord Louis. With all the fanfare, I expected both of you to look…”

The roussainte bitch turned his gaze onto Fidelio. “...Taller.”

It took all of Fidelio’s graces to ignore that comment. “If you’re here to spar us, wait till after dinner,” Fidelio grumbled as he pointed to the four other soldiers knocked out on the ground behind them. “Bas needs to give his knuckles a break.”

“Already tired?” The roussainte haughtily brushed his terribly-cut hair back. His scalp looked like the patchy shrubs in a backyard garden after the town council hacked away at it for being too green. The dog at his heels, however, was much cuter than its owner. “A shame. You won’t last long in Lord Louis’ service with such low-- agh, what the hell?!”

Bas, who had just elbowed the roussainte man in the chest hard enough to make him fall onto his arse, shrugged. “Move outta the way. Unless ya fancy getting an axe stuck in ya thick skull.”

“Thick--?” The roussainte scrambled back to his feet with fury in his eyes. Fidelio held back a sensible chuckle. “You little…! Draw your swords! I, Glodell the Black Hound, will not take such insults from some pompous new recruits!”

“Jeez,” Fidelio sighed, cracking his knuckles. “People just can’t take ‘no’ for an answer, aye, Bas?”

“Aye.” Bas dropped his axe onto the ground as well. “Guess we’ll have to beat it into him!”

Glodell, seeing them go bare-fisted, laughed as he drew his sword. “Handicapping yourself out of sheer pride, are we? All the easier for me to put you both down! You should know that in Lord Louis’ company, there is no notion of holding back. Every duel is a fight to the death-- ack!”

Basilio punched Glodell in the chin, knocking him out.

He fell gracelessly to the ground with his sword clattering to the side, and his dog racing up to lick his face. “Wow,” Fidelio said, blinking. “Didn’t even need me help for that, did ya?”

“For all that talk, he went down like a sack of potatoes. Pretty sure even his pup is tougher than he is.” Bas knelt on the ground, reaching out to scratch Glodell’s dog behind its ears. It licked Basilio’s hand affectionately. “Speakin’ of… you’re a good boy, aren’t ya? Sorry about your owner. Heheh, he trained ya well, I’ll give him that much.”

Fidelio, in the meantime, pressed his fingers onto Glodell’s neck to make sure he was still breathing-- not that he cared very much about whether Bas accidentally killed him with a hard-enough punch, but just because he wanted to try keeping a low profile, and something told him that if they successfully killed an opponent while unarmed, they would only be getting more people knocking on their metaphorical door to challenge them. Glodell was, in fact, still alive, so Fidelio moved him the pile of other people they’d knocked out and fetched a chicken leg to feed to his dog. Hopefully, that would stave the poor thing over till its master woke up from his little nap.

After the day’s display of (requested) force, most of the would-be duelists wizened up and kept their distance from the two. Dinner was as superb as lunch, and while Fidelio’s natural inclination towards solitude begged for some personal space, it wouldn’t be Basilio if he didn’t somehow make friends with a dozen new people in the space of one day.

“Del! This is Vesna, and that’s Frederius.” Bas rocked up to the table with both arms looped around two unfamiliar paripus. “They’re both from Brilehaven. Frederius here says he can cook up a mean plate of halibut!”

“How’d you make friends so fast,” Fidelio sighed fondly. It wasn’t really a question.

As both strangers laughed, Bas just grinned widely at Fidelio, teeth showing. They already looked whiter from the one day he’d spent here. “Well, we were all ‘round the meat table waiting for it to get cut up, so…”

“Only you’re charmin’ enough to make friends in the time it takes for an army chef to break down a cut of pig, Bas. Only you.” Fidelio moved to the side, letting Basilio’s new friends sit with them at the table.

Despite the fatal nature of their mission (and the sanctioned in-fighting that has been bothering them the whole day), the air of Louis’ company wasn’t as sombre as Fidelio had expected. Instead, the people around them seemed remarkably friendly, and almost infectiously hopeful-- so very different from the drudgery of soldiers who only signed up for the pay. “How’d you guys end up here?” Basilio asked while chewing his food.

“I was the best marksman in my old company,” the woman-- Vesna?-- said. “But no one gave a hoot about what I could do. Not until some bandits tried to overrun our position, and I struck them right in the eye, one after another! I saved all our lives, but I didn’t get a lick of credit. My superior took all the glory, and all I got was a pat on the back! Well… but word got around, and when Lord Louis was coming around, he heard about what I did. Came down to recruit me personally. Now I’ve earned my place here, and I’ve held my head high ever since.”

“Hah, my story’s not as impressive. I’m just a weaponsmith,” Frederius explained. “I apprenticed at an old smithy when they couldn’t find anyone else. It was supposed to be a short-term thing, but I got good at it. Lots of people liked my work and business was booming. I got offered a full job, but I found I was gonna be paid less than everyone else, and I left in a huff. But the day after I walked out, someone came looking for me… turns out Louis’ company was looking for people to make their weapons in-house. That recruiter told me about Lord Louis’ vision, and the rest is history.”

“S’ all different stories, but the meat’s just the same.” Basilio muttered through his mouthful of food with obvious discontent. “We’ve been spat on and kicked around all our lives.”

“No one’s had it as bad as Zorba,” Vesna said, and Fidelio tilted his head at the new name. “Oh, you haven’t met him? He used to be an army engineer. Real good at what he did, but he never bragged about it. Soft-spoken, almost shy. Couldn’t blame him… everyone could see he was a halfblood. People treated him terribly.”

Fidelio glances around. There were a lot more halfbloods here than he’d ever seen, even in the slums. Sometimes, even the paripus wouldn’t want them around. “Heard his old regiment got overrun by a human,” Frederius whispered. “Almost everyone was killed, save for him. Only got away because Lord Louis showed up to drive the beast off… Zorba’s been a bit batty ever since, but he’s loyal, no doubt about it.”

That’s when Fidelio briefly locked eyes with a man who only had one clemar horn. Even in that brief look, he could see the unopened third eye on his forehead, half-covered by his long purple hair. “That’s him,” Vesna confirmed, watching Fidelio’s gaze. “Sticks out even here, poor lad.”

“Nothing poor about him. He’s probably Lord Louis’ favourite,” Frederius muttered. “Always talking to him late into the night…”

Vesna’s ears went straight. “Really!? Wait, do you think they’re--”

“By the way, he’s comin’ right towards us,” Fidelio said bluntly. Both quietened down, glancing backwards to see that Zorba was, in fact, striding right towards them: he had a long shawl all around him, trawling onto the ground. It looked almost like he was floating.

“You two… the new blood, I take it?” Even though Zorba’s third eye was closed, Fidelio could almost feel its gaze fixed on him. “You landed a blow on Lord Louis. He was impressed. It took me all night to seal it up.”

“Thanks,” Fidelio replied. “Appreciate the--”

“But remember one thing.”

All of the sudden, Zorba leaned in real close, his hair almost tickling the sides of Fidelio’s mouth. He instinctively leaned backwards and looked at Basilio with a ‘what the fuck’ expression, who aptly stared back in a ‘I don’t fuckin’ know!’ expression. “That’ll be the last time you’ll ever lay a finger on him. Understood?”

“Yeah,” Fidelio answered, a bit too quickly. “‘Course. We’re on his side now, remember?”

Zorba pulled his head back, nodded firmly, and walked right on.

…Once Zorba was out of sight, Fidelio let out an involuntary shudder. “What was that about?”

Basilio’s tail remained pointed upwards in alarm. “That was a bit creepy, innit?” 

“Yeah, that’s Zorba alright.” Frederius, having kept his head down the entirety of the encounter, finally looks up. “He can be a bit… intense.”

“He wasn’t always like this,” Vesna explained. “But when Lord Louis is involved, he’s all-in. Though, I guess that’s just the natural result of watching Lord Louis in action against a human. I can’t wait to see it for myself when we finally find the damn thing!”

Fidelio kept his ears flattened to hide how they shook at the thought. “Can’t wait meself.”

-----

One more day, Fidelio would think, over and over. One more day, and we’re getting out of here.

At the end of every day, he’d mentally pledge to escape, and by the next night time he was back in the barracks with his muscles aching from a whole day of work. One more day, Fidelio reasoned with himself, until he couldn’t anymore. It was just too obvious-- how he enjoyed working in a group instead of relying on himself as the one to plan everything from top to bottom. How he and Bas felt a lifetime of worry drift off their shoulders when they found themselves no longer worrying about food or lodging. Sure, it was a kill-or-be-killed environment, just like the rest of the world-- but unlike the rest of the world, they weren’t hammered over the head with prejudice at every corner, like having the tendons on their ankles cut before being thrown into an arena fight. Here, they were fighting on a level playing field, and their skill was more than enough to prove that they truly belonged.

Eventually, the plan changed. “Bas,” he finally decided, “we’ll stay till the day the human shows up. Once that happens, we run for our lives.”

“But we can’t!” Bas argued, of course. Fidelio couldn’t be surprised by that. “We need to help them fight it off. Or else, that human’s goin’ to find another town filled with people, and when that happens--”

“It’ll be none of our business,” Fidelio argued back, and pulled the blanket over his head to muffle out the rest of Basilio’s retort.

For about three weeks, there was nothing. Glodell challenged them to a few more spats, and though he lost each time, to his credit, he was taking longer to beat. Bas made friends with the army chefs, and they started letting him into the cookhouse. With his sensitivity to taste necessitating high standards, his meals were a hit.

…Overall, he seemed to be having fun.

On the day they found the human, a clap of thunder shook the forest and out came a torrential downpour of rain. “It’s absolutely pissin’ the whole sky down,” Basilio complained. His already frazzled hair ballooned to twice its usual volume. “What a miserable day. Can’t get any worse, eh?”

Fidelio’s left ear twitched. “Don’t say that, Bas. You’re just inviting trouble.”

It happened at midday. Fidelio was just two bites into his lunch when the alarm screamed through the camp like a woman who’d just found you peeking at her in the shower. “ALERT!” It howled out in warning, as if the piercing wail of the siren wasn’t enough. “WE ARE UNDER ATTACK! TO YOUR BATTLE STATIONS! TO YOUR BATTLE STATIONS!”

The cookhouse cleared out all around them, chairs clattering backwards in a cacophony as everyone smacked on their armour and ran for it. “Ho boy,” Fidelio said first, pulling his gambeson on like everyone else. “Don’t sound good. Stay here Bas, I’ll check it out and… oi, Bas!”

Bas didn’t seem to be listening. Bas was donning a helmet and just about to dash out of the cookhouse with the rest when Fidelio grabbed his tail. “Bas, slow down!”

“There’s no slowin’ down, Del!” Bas turned back and gave his brother an incredulous look. “If this is what I think it is, then-- I’m gonna see it with me own eyes!”

“Bas, that’s not-- Bas!” As his younger brother ran off, tail slipping from Fidelio’s hand, he cursed and sprinted after him. “Hey! Wait up!”

A veritable throng of soldiers raced off, running with spears and swords in hand. The brothers were right at the end of it, and Fidelio couldn’t look over the shoulders of everyone else in front of him, damn his condemnation to shortness-- “Lord Louis is already in the fray!” Someone screamed from elsewhere, and the crowd moved faster. “Attack! All attack!”

“I can’t see a bloody thing!” Fidelio tried to go onto his toes, then he tried jumping. When that failed to get a view, he just grabbed Basilio’s arm and started climbing onto his back.

“Ow, Del!”

“Lemme up!” Fidelio grabbed one of Basilio’s ears as he pulled himself up onto Basilio’s shoulders. “Goddamn! Where’s that attack coming-- from…”

“Del?” Bas glanced upwards. “Whatcha see?”

Fidelio didn’t answer. Honestly, he had no idea how he could answer-- he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

The threat remained far in the distance, half-shrouded in the trees and the heavy rain, but Fidelio could see it moving: smashing onto the ground, hopping without any feet to guide it. Its body, if that word could be used to describe it, was a golden lute the shade of Fidelio’s own eyes. From the hole in its centre emerged a harp, with a man of indeterminate tribe strung upon its strings like a slab of meat hooked up to dry.

As it moved, papers would fly from its tremendous gait. Sheets of music, Fidelio realised. He remembers how much their mother loved music.

That was a human, no doubt about it. And it was going to kill fucking everyone.

“Bas,” Fidelio breathed, fingers unconsciously sealed around Basilio’s ears in a death-grip. “Let’s go.”

“What?” Bas stopped in his tracks. “But everyone else is fighting!”

Fidelio, with his head peeking above the crowd, watching as the human’s strings surged from its body and pierced through dozens of people. It ripped through their skulls, necks, down their throats and right through their bodies-- “We’ve got to go!” --its strings rang out with each attack, thrumming like a lullaby.

Having seen enough, Fidelio leapt down from Basilio’s shoulders. “I don’t care how strong you think we are. We’re no match for that thing,” Fidelio hissed. The last few loyal troops rushed past them-- meanwhile, a handful ran screaming in the opposite direction. It seemed they weren’t going to be the only ones making a break for it. Good; it kept the heat off them. In the panic, it would be easy to slip out unnoticed. “Come on, Bas. Follow me.”

“But…” Bas bit down on his tongue. “...Del--”

They were interrupted by a brand new cacophony of screams. “I-- I think that’s Vesna,” Basilio gasped, before turning back to the human’s direction. Fidelio desperately grabbed on this coat, trying to pull him back. “Del, we’ve got to get her!”

“If she’s up against the human, then trust me on this: there’s nothing left of her to save,” Fidelio rasped. “Listen, Louis is mighty enough on his own. He’ll kill it, no problem.”

Another shriek. “I dunno about that,” Bas muttered. “Del, I think we really gotta--”

“Oh, come on, Bas! I told you a million times already! We’re--”

“What are you two doing out here?!” A voice came towards them. Fidelio turned his head: it was Frederius, decked out in armour two sizes too big for him. “We’ve got to kill that thing! Let’s get a move on!”

“You? Kill a human?” Fidelio shook his head. “You’ll get turned into meat paste, kid. Best run back and flee with us.”

“What? Flee?!” Frederius looked scandalised. “We can’t flee. We need all hands on deck! If it gets through us, it’s goin’ right towards the nearby villages!”

“Who cares about the villages?!” Fidelio yelled that as if he didn’t feel the way his gut wrung itself over his own self-disgust at the thought of leaving all those people to die. “You must understand-- we’re all paripus. The world wouldn’t lift a finger for us, so why should we throw ourselves into the bloody firin’ line for people we don’t even know?”

Frederius scoffed. “Then stay here and wallow in your own cowardice,” he said, before marching off to join the fight.

Fidelio tried not to look affected by his words. “Okay, enough of that! We can’t risk that human catching up and finding us. Let’s get going, Bas!”

“Del…”

Fidelio clicked his tongue. He knew that tone. “No, Bas. How many times do I gotta repeat myself?!”

“Del,” Basilio repeated, cherry-red eyes meeting Fidelio’s gaze. “We’re not cowards. Are we?”

…

“I’d rather be a coward than dead,” Fidelio lied.

“If that thing goes on’ta kill a whole bunch of people… Del, I won’t be able to live with meself.” Basilio’s frown tightened. “And neither will you.”

………

“God, Basilio!” Finally, Fidelio grabbed Basilio’s arm and turned towards the source of the danger. “If we end up dying to this thing, I’m gonna spend our entire afterlife beatin’ the shite of you!”

“I’ll take that,” Basilio laughed, almost amused. Amused? How could he be amused at a time like this? Goddammit, he’s mental.

And I’m mental!

They caught up with the carnage soon enough-- before they even reached the human, they stumbled upon a forest floor littered with corpses, all with traces of a harp’s string gripped around their neck or punctured through their vital organs. Blood mingled on the ground with the soft soil and the rainwater. “No,” Basilio said suddenly, turning away. “Think that’s Vesna…”

Fidelio wasn’t going to look. “Her arrows weren’t much use against a human,” he said, sombre. “Doubt our blades will be either.”

“We’ve still gotta try,” Bas said. Fidelio just didn’t know how Bas always sounded so self-assured while saying the most nonsensical things.

Fidelio forced Bas to stay behind the treeline as they approached, and for good reason-- you don’t want to be in direct line of sight when a monster like this could kill in seconds. They made it to the scene of the current battle, all with their backs to the tree trunks, but Bas couldn’t help but risk a small peek--

“It’s Louis!” Basilio gasped at the sight. “He’s beatin’ the human back! Goddamn, Del-- look! He’s got this!”

Fidelio, against his better judgement, looked. Once he did, he couldn’t turn away-- that human, which appeared to them as tall and unbent, now looked like it was about to fall apart. Cracks formed in all the ‘wood’ of its body, and half its harp strings were cut loose. Its music sheets, once filled with notes, now spilled out of it in tatters and smudged ink.

And there was Louis, looking proud and stern and almost entirely untouched. There was blood on his coat, but only on the edges, and obviously from the splatter of another’s corpse. The only flaw in this spectacle was the marks on Louis’ arm-- his glove was shredded, and Fidelio could see the flesh of Louis’ hand torn deep into the sinewy layer of his muscles. A permanent disabling injury, if not attended to quickly by a healer.

The healer, as it turned out, was the halfblood standing next to him. Zorba held his hands out, and Louis’ flesh began to mend under his palm. “Don’t just stand there all slack-jawed, you idiots!” He screamed out at the soldiers still standing, all of whom looked scared out of their minds. “Distract the human! If Lord Louis goes down, all of you gormless fools are gonna get gutted! So stop shitting into your trousers and GET A BLOODY MOVE ON!”

The soldiers, perhaps moved by Zorba’s proclamation or more terrified of him than the human, charged. Most of them didn’t make it far; despite being heavily injured, the human still put up a hell of a fight, ringing out in discordant song as its broken strings strangled the soldiers who came too close. One thing stood out to Fidelio: no one besides Louis could keep up with this thing in a straight fight.

But they didn’t need to fight it head-on.

“Bas, look.” When Fidelio said that, Bas threw his head left and right. “I mean, at the strings. Notice anything?”

Basilio gulped. “Very sharp…”

“Not that.” Fidelio pointed at a screaming soldier. At the very last moment, they dive out of the way, and-- the string chasing him goes taut. “They’re deadly, but they only go so far. And this human’s been hurt badly, so it can’t run as fast as it used to.”

Basilio looked at his brother with growing realisation. “What. So you mean…”

“...Long as we keep our distance, we can outrun it.” Fidelio reached out to tighten Basilio’s helmet around his head, though he didn’t bother with any such protection for himself.

With a bark of laughter, Basilio slapped Fidelio over the back. “Aye, Del, you always know what to do! It’s a solid plan-- there’s no way that oversized bard’s toy can catch up with us!”

“After me,” Fidelio said, standing upright and letting the adrenaline flood through him. So much for all that talk about running away. “Belt up, Bas. We’re gonna be runnin’ for our lives. Ready, set, hot on ya heels, let’s go!”

Just as the last soldier of the lot fell dead, the two brothers sprinted right in front of it. And its eye-- there was an eye, right where the lute’s soundhole should be, peering out at them from behind the harp wood with a glossy sheen of pitch-black-- tracked them as they sprinted past, hollering at the top of their lungs. “OIIII! OVER HERE!” Fidelio threw as many rude finger gestures he could remember at the human, hoping it understood. “AREN’T YOU AN UGLY PIECE OF SHITE? WHEW! I WOULDN’T EVEN USE YA AS A FOOTREST!”

Its strings screeched back at them in some bastardised facsimile of a once-beautiful song. It roared out to the tune of their feet against the wet, bloodied ground. Bas was just a little faster than Fidelio, but always made sure his brother was right in-step, looking behind himself to check for Fidelio and the beast they were attempting to distract. “Think it heard us, Del!”

“It better have!” Just as Fidelio spoke, the human’s body pivoted firmly in their direction, the harp dislodging from the lute in an attempt to lengthen its reach. “Hold on, it could do that!?”

Bas grunted. “Better run faster!”

“I already know that!”

Hearing the creaking wood and caterwauling melody playing hot on their heels was almost like having a dying orchestra chasing after them-- the decaying stage groans under every step and the musicians at the helm don’t quite remember the song they’re meant to play. Over the din of heavy wood hopping against the mud, Fidelio could barely hear the tinkling of wet flesh, scraping against and around thick musical strings. The man who was impaled within the harp strings made something akin to a quiet sob.

Despite their great (or extremely impulsive) analysis of the situation, the human was, in fact, rapidly catching up to them. If this kept up, they were going to get turned into chopped liver in more ways than one. “Dunno how long we can keep this up, Del!” Bas, too, was starting to feel the heat, or rather, became cognizant of how the human’s shadow on the ground was fast-beginning to eclipse their own as it loomed overhead. “Ugh-- got anymore bright ideas!?”

“I’m thinkin’, Bas!” Fidelio looked everywhere, but this human could stomp right through any treeline, so ducking into the forest would do nothing for them. He arched his neck back to Louis, and dammit, Zorba sure was taking his own sweet time healing him. They had to buy more time. They had to find someplace the human couldn’t, or wouldn’t, attack.

Something it wouldn’t attack--

“Bas, keep going!” Fidelio turned on his heels, going eye-to-eye with the human. This was an insanely risky gambit, but if they were doomed anyway, he’d want to buy time for Bas to run. “Whatever you do, don’t look back!”

Basilio, thank goodness, just yelled back: “Aye! I’m runnin’!”

As they separated, Fidelio dug his heels into the ground, watching as the human’s strings swung closer. “Right,” he breathed, meeting eye-to-eye with the human: locking in on his target. “Right! Let’s fuckin’ do this!”

Bas was always the fastest sprinter, but Fidelio can keep up the pace for hours. When the strings surge towards him, he dashes just out of the way, barely escaping getting impaled as strings strike the ground behind him instead.

He made it right to the bottom of the lute, below the curve of the harp. Right there, in the soundhole, was the human’s eye, staring down at Fidelio in what he assumed to be fury.

Fidelio right into the soundhole and began jabbing its fucking eye. “Got your eye, ya divvy!” The eye didn’t seem to react like a normal person’s-- it shuddered under his vicious clawing, but not much. It was the rest of the human that wracked in agony, howling at its wooden frame swung and splintered loudly.

The strings hovered by the soundhole, but Fidelio ducked in the space behind the eye; just as he gambled on, the human didn't strike, too afraid of hurting itself. “Coward!” Fidelio barked, trying to drown out the sound of his own heart. “C’mon, come get me! Can’t be too hard to fish one paripus outta your eyehole, huh? And god, you stink in here! Where’d you get all this wood from? The sewer drain under Sanctifex Forden’s toilet?”

With a flick of his wrist, Fidelio activates one of his igniters and summons a ring of fire around his hand, before punching the eye once more. This time, the whole body tipped over in agony, and, perhaps deciding that the benefits outweighed the risks, the strings began to creep into Fidelio’s hiding spot. “Fuck,” Fidelio cursed, trying to find another way out--

An axe came shooting into the soundhole, embedding itself right in the human’s eye. Its strings flexed away from Fidelio in sheer torment as it let out a blood-curdling symphony of screams.

Then, the entire human split in half.

Grey skies suddenly appeared over Fidelio’s head, and he was too surprised to register the rainfall drenching his hair. It felt like a gust of wind had just cleaved the human in two, but the cut was far too clean for that. The human was sliced right through with a sword, but what kind of sword could achieve such a thing?

Before Fidelio had much time to think about it, the top half of the lute collapsed down onto the mud, joined quickly with the shrill tang! of the broken harp. Out came Fidelio next, tumbling unceremoniously into the puddling water, face-first into the dirt. Over the downpour, he can hear Bas calling for him.

“Del!” Basilio ran right over to him, putting his hands around Fidelio’s arms and picking him off the ground. “Bloody hell, Del! I thought that human swallowed you right up!”

“Oh, belt up, would ya? I’m fine,” Fidelio huffed, still high off the adrenaline rush. “...Good throw on that axe, by the way.”

Bas looked a little sheepish, but he smirked all the same. “Gods, you should’ve told me that was your plan! Took all my bloody wits to aim that huge axe at the eye! Could’ve missed, and hit you instead, but I just…”

“Well, ya didn’t, so pipe down.” Fidelio wasn’t going to clarify just how close to death he was, and how timely Basilio’s intervention was. He’ll just let his smile do the talking. “So… it’s dead, yeah? Dead dead?”

“Dead dead,” Bas confirmed. “I turned ‘round just in time to see Louis slice the whole bloody human in half!”

Fidelio’s eyes wandered from Bas. There he was: Louis Guiabern, wood splinters all over his sword and water drenching his hair momentarily flat. “My apologies for the wait,” Louis said first, and Fidelio looked at him slightly incredulously. “I had but one chance to strike true before the both of you would be killed, leaving Zorba and I as the human’s next target. I had to charge my power to ensure my next attack would be the final blow.”

“It was one hell of a wind-up, but it sure paid off!” Basilio’s eyes were wide with awe as he spoke. Awe, huh? Fidelio would tease him, if he wasn’t feeling the same way. That massive beast, cut in half like it was nothing but a Forgiveness Day beef wellington. “Never seen anythin’ like it me whole life!”

“Basilio and… Fidelio, yes?” Louis smiled slightly. Despite the epic fight, he seemed untouched by exhaustion, glowing like the sun hidden behind the grey cloud that made up his backdrop. “Very impressive. Most of the soldiers either fled or offered their lives up uselessly to the human, but you crawled into its very body and walked away with your life. Your coordinated assault on the eye bought me precious time. How did you both learn such resourcefulness?”

“Stand upright when Lord Louis is talking to you,” Zorba warned, though his voice was significantly less harrowing than before. “He deserves your full attention and more.”

Fidelio moved onto his legs, standing upright but rather shakily. Bas wordlessly put a hand on Fidelio’s shoulder, steadying him. “Bas and I’ve been gettin’ ourselves out of sticky situations since the day we could walk,” he quipped. “After all of that experience, distractin’ a human came naturally.”

“A suitably bold answer,” Louis hummed, satisfied. “Zorba, call the remaining forces and have the human corpse loaded into our gauntlet runner. The masses will be eager to know that this human threat can, indeed, be killed.”

Zorba gave Louis a ridiculously deep bow before walking away. “As for you two,” Louis started again, “you should return to camp and rest your bodies after such a trying battle. I will not forget what you’ve done here, Fidelio, Basilio.”

“‘Course, Lou-- Lord Louis,” Fidelio corrected himself. He didn’t give a bow like Zorba did, but lowering his head was the most deference he’d ever given anyone else that wasn’t just a bluff. “We’ll get outta your hair.”

“Please, do not mistake this for an act of dismissal. I would love to continue speaking,” Louis said, in a certain tone of voice that made Fidelio’s ears stand upright. “But I must attend to the human corpse and make arrangements to inform the village that they have been saved.”

“We saved ‘em,” Basilio said to himself, rather giddily. “We did, right?”

“We did,” Fidelio claimed, even though he knew it was really Bas who deserved all the credit. Bas was the brave one here, not him. But it wasn’t the time for that.

It was time to enjoy the first big win this world had ever afforded them.

-----

The world changed, once with the first human attack, and once more with the first human corpse.

Louis had insisted that the brothers stand next to him as he presented the human to the State Army General. It would be poetry, he said, for those Sanctist dogs to see two paripus standing proud for doing what none of the state army could. And he was right; the sight of the State Army General, tall and imposing and terrifying for Fidelio in any other moment except for the one where they were standing with Louis, was made ever-so-sweeter by the anger reverberating in his voice when he confirmed that yes, that is a human and yes, Louis Guiabern’s company had killed it with two paripus and a halfblood leading the final assault, what about it? Neither of them could say anything about it-- had been instructed by Louis and warned by Zorba to keep their mouths shut-- but they could definitely smirk to themselves about it.

“Never thought I’d see armour shake like that,” Fidelio chuckled as they walked out of the general’s chambers. “Couldn’t see his face, but ya could hear his voice, couldn’t ya, Bas?”

“Aye, loud and clear!” Bas looked mighty pleased with himself. “The way Lord Louis said it, too! ‘Couldn’t have done it without their bravery’! If he were anyone else, I thought they’d be blowin’ smoke up me arse!”

“This better get Lord Louis a bloody promotion,” Fidelio said. Behind the door, he could faintly hear the State Army General yelling somehow distorted and furious while Louis replied coolly to his every pathetic jab. “Human-slayers as we are now, we should get a better chariot to carry us ‘round the country. Thought that old gauntlet runner’s heart was gonna give out, ferryin’ all those soldiers to the Grand Trad like that.”

Bas snorted. “That ‘ave to, don’t they? Even if they hate his guts enough to try killin’ him. Else… with the rate those beasts are going, they’re gonna be getting humans knockin’ on their doors soon enough.”

The afterparty was what really took the cake. If Fidelio thought the meals at their camp were delicious, then the catering at the Grand Trad was totally out-of-this-world. Louis had cleared out a whole tavern for them-- they had to, because most of the usual guests wouldn’t stand for having paripus and pagans standing within fifty feet of them. But on Louis’ coin, they were now the VIPs of the venue, and a top-end too-- a storefront right in the middle of Sunlumeo Street. A bit too high-class for Fidelio’s taste, but if Bas enjoyed the food, that was all he cared about.

Louis showed up late, which was why Fidelio and Basilio were bombarded with questions the moment they stepped through the tavern doors. “Look, it’s them! The ones who took the human with Lord Louis!”

“I heard the short one threw himself right into the human’s mouth! Hey, is that true?!”

“It was the eye-hole, not the mouth! Still… it was amazing!”

“Tall one’s aim wasn’t half-bad, either… and he’s a looker, to boot!”

Some random clemar woman ran up to them and took Basilio’s hand without even asking for permission. Instinctively, Fidelio swatted her away, which left her yelping and Basilio looking dumbfounded. “Hands to yourself, ya slags! He’s not even a full-grown lad yet! God almighty…”

Basilio blinked. “I’m not that young.”

“You’ll be a wee kid to me always,” Fidelio admitted, before slapping Bas on the back. “Right, whatever! Go enjoy the party, Bas, just ‘long as ya don’t let some hussy get into your head. I heard the army chefs survived, if you wanna go talk to ‘em.”

Bas immediately perked up. “They made it?! Well, I’ll be! I’ll see ya later, Del!”

Fidelio watched as his younger brother beelined it to where the food and drink was. Once he’d made sure Bas was suitably well-settled, Fidelio got a drink for himself. He didn’t know what was coming out of the kegs, but it was malty, almost delicately creamy, and definitely much higher in quality than the vile back alley piss he chugged the first time he got shitfaced. A whole bunch of people try to strike a conversation with him, but without Bas by his side, Fidelio instantly became about a thousand time more impossible to talk to, and they walked away quickly enough when Fidelio couldn’t reply with anything beyond an ‘uhuh, yeah sure, got it mate’.

He’s just about to make his way to the food selection when a familiar purple-haired roussainte man called out for him. “Fidelio Magnus!”

“Ah, it’s you.” Fidelio’s unenthusiastic greeting soured the look on Glodell’s face more than it already was. “Was wonderin’ where you were during that human fight. Thought you got turned into string cheese by that thing.”

“You may have leave to gloat about your victory now, but just you wait!” Glodell grabbed his mug of ale so hard that the wood cracked under his fingers. His dog happily hopped up onto the bench and stole the sausages right from Glodell’s plate. “The next human will be mine to exterminate!”

“Sure,” Fidelio dismissed. “Anyway, why weren’t you at the fight? Got cold feet, eh?”

Glodell blanched. “Absolutely not! How dare you suggest such a thing!”

“So why…?”

“...I was on medical leave,” Glodell said. “The cooks must’ve served me something raw the previous day.”

“Wait? Really?” Fidelio shouldn’t laugh, but that was pretty funny. Actually, fuck it-- he’s laughing his ass off. “Hahahah! Defeated before the dawn of battle by a plate of undercooked chicken!”

“It’s not funny!”

“Fuck, me sides, mate! God, you’re gonna put me in medical leave with how hard I’m laughin’!”

“Enough!” All of the sudden, Glodell rose to his feet and drew his sword from its scabbard. The glint of steel made the people next to them gasp in shock. Fidelio took a step back, not wanting to ruin the party, but also welling magic into his igniter bracelet, just in case. “I said once, and I will say again! I will not lay down as you pelt such insults to the name of Glodell the Black Hou--!”

Basilio promptly ran up behind Glodell and put him in a headlock. “Whoa there, chum! Guess someone had too much to drink, eh?”

“Grrrgghh!” Glodell struggled valiantly against Basilio’s grip, but it was no use. His arms could not squirm free, and his sword was useless without much freedom to move.

“Give him some breathing space, Bas. He’s gonna pass out,” Fidelio said. Bas immediately let go, and Glodell gasped loudly for air. “There. I think he’s learnt his lesson.”

“Hah… hah… you think this will stop me?!” Glodell stumbled out of Basilio’s loosened grip and stood somewhat upright on shaking legs. “I will let you go for now, but mark my words! I will find my way to Lord Louis’ side and usurp your position soon enough!”

Fidelio made a face. “Wait, slow down a bit. Whaddya mean by that?”

Glodell scoffed. “Oh, spare me the act! Everyone knows Lord Louis is considering you both as his private military advisors!”

“Huh?” Now, Fidelio was the one on the back foot. “You serious?”

“You can’t possibly be this stupid! Why else would he request you both be paraded in front of the damned State Army General as his right-hand men?! You simply went through all of that without even a second thought as to why?!” That vein in Glodell’s forehead looked about ready to pop. “I swear, Lord Louis will regret this!”

“Am I interrupting something?”

It was only then that Fidelio became cognizant of how quiet the tavern had become. He looked towards the source of the voice and found Louis standing behind Glodell, arms crossed. He looked just as composed as ever, unshaken by whatever shouting argument the State Army General put him through. “L-Lord Louis!” Glodell instantly bowed with his hand over his heart, and Fidelio gave him a scathing look. “I was just sharing my congratulations with the Magnus brothers for their part in your glorious victory. Please do go ahead.”

“Very well,” Louis hummed, and proceeded to not give Glodell another glance for the rest of the conversation. “Fidelio, Basilio. I trust you two are both enjoying the party?”

“This is amazin’, Lord Louis!” Basilio answered before Fidelio could, loudly and genuinely. “Never had such a proper bash meself!”

“Excellent.” Louis turned to Fidelio next, copper-patina eyes looking faintly holy in the tavern’s candlelight. Which was an insane thought for Fidelio to have, so he put it aside for the moment. “You see now that I endeavour to treat the best under my command as they deserve. With that said… what happened yesterday was just our first encounter with humans. You have proven yourself once, but I must have you prove yourselves over and over again to demonstrate that your power is not just a coin toss that landed on the betting side.”

“You got it,” Fidelio replied, a thousand times more confident than before. “Throw whatever ball you have at us, Lord Louis. We’ll catch it.”

Louis’ smile widened slightly. Fidelio felt an involuntary grin playing at his own lips too. “Both of you, follow me. I have an announcement I would like to make.”

Fidelio could feel Glodell’s hateful glare burning into his back. “‘Course,” Fidelio agreed, and Basilio followed in-step with eagerness.

For most, Louis’ mere presence was enough to silence them. But for some, on the further corners of the tavern, they haven’t quite noticed the presence of their commander yet. He stood in the middle of the tavern, Basilio to his right and Fidelio to his left, before turning to Bas. “Would you kindly get everyone’s attention?”

“Me?” Then, Basilio pulled his ears up, appearing as tall as he could. “Right! Your attention, everyone! Lord Louis has an announcement to make!”

Louis, satisfied, addressed the now captivated crowd. “Comrades, we stand here tonight as soldiers from all walks of life, born from all across this nation. Despite our differences, we stand here on common ground, united by one truth: we have put to the sword and slain what was once the unkillable. We have defeated a human and brought its corpse to the witless general, all while he and the other cowards of the Sanctist church have been burying their heads in the sand!”

Everyone broke out into cheers. “Yeeeah! We killed the human!”

“Lord Louis finished the job without even breaking a sweat. He’s incredible!”

“Lord Louiiis! Please have my children!”

Fidelio’s ears twitched towards the direction of that last shout. “Proper yikes! Have some shame!”

“In sight of our feat, even the general could not deny my achievements.” Louis held his arms out for emphasis. “We have been granted the right to form a private army-- but even if we had not, we would have claimed that right with our own hands, damn their ‘permission’. Even so, this proves that one crucial fact: the state army is nothing compared to us! For all their glory, they haven’t been able to take a single human down! But we? We, a single company of soldiers, purposefully posted far out of sight in an attempt to diminish our influence-- we have taken one down!”

That was when Louis’ hand fell on Fidelio’s shoulder. He back stiffened on instinct, though he tried not to show it. “These two have beaten all odds to enter my command. Abandoned in the slums, they made a name for themselves with their own skill. Even so, the state army could only afford a paltry placement in the Shadowguard, until they were sent to kill me. Despite their loss, they held their own and have decided to join us in achieving my vision. And yesterday, they were a key factor in our triumph against the human! I will honour their contribution in ways that the Sanctist church would not dare to! They will join my private army as my right-hand men!”

“Whoa?” Basilio looked just as dumbstruck as Fidelio was minutes before. “Really?! Lord Louis, you sure? It wasn’t long ago that we were just nameless street rats…”

“And is that not exactly the kind of person I am looking for?” Louis turned to Bas, and Fidelio couldn’t see his expression, but it must have been something absurdly convincing if Basilio’s anxiety dissipated so quickly upon seeing it. “You have been beaten down by this broken society and forced to hide your power to live on mere scraps. No more! In my command, you will fly to heights far beyond your wildest dreams, or else sink beneath the deepest waves!”

“Sink or swim, huh?” Fidelio smirked. He’d never had so many people looking at him with such respect in all his life, and, daresay, he could certainly get used to it. “Or fly, rather. Not too far from what we've already been doin’ our whole lives. ‘lright, Lord Louis; we’re your right-hand men. We’ll fly with you, no matter what cloud or sky you’re rising above.”

“I already know you will,” Louis said, and in that copper-patina, Fidelio could just faintly see the reflection of his own golden eyes. His colour bled into Louis’ iris, like the glow of sunset, or maybe the hot wax stamped on a contract sealed. “Now, tell them your names. Shout it, so that you may stake your claim on the annals of history, written right beside my own!”

That didn’t seem like a strange statement. Not at all, not from Louis. From him, it sounded like a prophecy. They’d stumbled into this role, but lots of heroes had strange beginnings, right?

“My name is Fidelio Aureus Magnus!” His voice carried across the tavern, echoing off the walls. It made him sound much bigger than he thought he ever would be. “I’ve been fightin’ my way out of the pit that the Sanctist bastards has dug for us, and I’m not gonna stop now! We’re gonna smash the inequality in this under our own fists!”

“I’m Basilio Lupus Magnus!” Bas shouted next, and when Fidelio turned to see him, his face looked utterly gleeful. “I’ve got no fancy big words to say. Always been Del’s job for that. I’ll say that I’m ‘ere to beat the shite out of anyone standin’ in our way! Who’s with me!?”

Fidelio roared with the crowd as they rose to answer Basilio’s call. In truth, he was the one following Basilio’s word, too-- without his insistence, they would’ve never made it this far. Fidelio would’ve just run away, disappearing into the forest and right out of the history books.

But now? Now, they’ve earned their place in its pages.

-----

(They just didn’t know how they’d be remembered, yet.)