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The crowd went wild as Ike threw the young wolf over his shoulder. Even Queen Nailah looked pleased, leaning her chin on one palm as she watched. She’d lamented once, Soren recalled, that she hadn’t gotten the chance to face Ike herself during the war. There were beorc in Hatari, but Soren didn’t think he was being biased when he said there were none like Ike. From his stature to his sword work to the depths of kindness in his soul, Ike always stood apart.
Hand to hand wasn’t Ike’s usual method of fighting but as always, he excelled. He’d bested two other wolves already, one after the other. When he straightened up, there was a pleased look on his face. The ring around his neck glinted in the sunlight. That, at least, made Soren’s face feel as hot as the desert around them.
He reached up to touch his own matching ring, worn beneath his light Hatari clothing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rafiel, seated by the queen, smiling indulgently at him.
Soren bit back a scoff. Herons.
The matches were three for three. With his victory secured, Ike and his opponent spoke for a moment before he made to leave the arena. Soren rose quietly as the crowd shouted their disappointment and made his way through the stands. A huge violet wolf darted past him, light on her feet despite her immense size.
Soren sighed to himself. It seemed Queen Nailah would beat him in congratulating Ike. He tried not to mind it; after all, when he saw him approach, Ike looked up at him and smiled. It was a smile meant only for Soren.
“Are you sure I can’t interest you in another round?” Nailah was asking when Soren had meandered his way through the stands and back to Ike’s side. She cupped a hand to her chin in consideration. “You have the stamina.”
Ike glanced at Soren, amusement shining in his eyes. Soren raised his eyebrows in reply.
“Thanks for the offer,” Ike said, turning back to Nailah. “It was good to stretch my muscles, but I have to decline.”
“Suit yourself, beorc hero,” Nailah said, shrugging her shoulders languidly. Her one eye traced over Ike’s form in a way that always made Soren bristle when those looks came from shopgirls and noble ladies. Queen Nailah was different, though—her interest in Ike had to do entirely with his fighting prowess. The golden laurels resting on her head crowned her as the last festival’s champion. “Enjoy the rest of the festival. All Hatari has to offer is yours.”
She strode off, back towards the sparring grounds, giving Soren a barely perceptible tilt of her head as she went. Soren returned the gesture. She’d gladly welcomed them to Hatari, after all.
Ike turned to him when they were alone.
“Were you impressed?” Ike asked.
“You’re always impressive,” Soren said, brushing a lock of his hair back. The delicate veil he wore over his hair, presented to him before the festival by Prince Rafiel, fluttered in the wind.
Ike smiled and shook his head, snorting, as if they both knew that wasn’t the same thing. But Soren, unlike Ike’s new gaggle of admirers, had watched him fight a mad king and a goddess. A handful of overeager wolves was a light workout as far as Ike was concerned.
Even though he was—they were—retired now.
A year of traveling and it still felt strange. They still took odd jobs here and there, when they needed to, but it was different than before. Soren had watched over the past year of traveling as the tension had gradually lifted from Ike’s shoulders, the line between his brows smoothing out. Even now, though, Soren had the urge to lean up on his toes and reach up and touch his fingers to Ike’s brow.
They were in public, so he resisted.
Ike cleared his throat.
Soren blinked and realized Ike had offered him his arm.
“Do you want to enjoy the rest of the festival with me?” he asked.
Soren paused, glancing at the sandy dunes on the horizon, the ancient ruins that flanked the city.
(It had been Rafiel who had pointed out the ancient ruins to him. His eyes had sparkled as he explained that local legend said they belonged to a long abandoned city that had once been ruled by dragons, thousands and thousands of years ago.
Dragons, Soren thought, and felt a shiver go through him. He told himself it was only the chill desert night.
It was only a legend, he told himself. Not that it mattered. No one would be able to ever confirm it now, not with the Black Dragon King dead.)
He shaded his eyes against the sun. If they were going to make it further into the desert before nightfall, it was important that they take their leave soon.
First, the desert. Then whatever lay beyond it. There were texts in Hatari, written in the ancient tongue, that spoke of an ocean on the other side of the sands, and strange lands far beyond it. Soren had poured over them the first week of their stay, taking meticulous notes, planning a route through the ruins.
The supplies were gathered and packed. The map was drafted. All there was to do now was set off.
He opened his mouth to remind Ike of their schedule, only for Ike to speak first.
“It’s fine,” he said, like he knew what Soren had been about to say. He probably did. “We have time now, don’t we? We can set off in the morning.”
Soren looked up at him. Ike’s lips were just slightly quirked upwards, in a way where, if someone couldn’t read him the way Soren could read him, they might not even realize he was smiling at all.
Time, he thought, looking at Ike, at his shining eyes and his bare, bronzed chest, loose Hatari pants low on his hips. It was time and distance that had lifted some of the weight from his shoulders, freed something inside of him. Soren felt honored that he was allowed to see it. That Ike trusted him to see it.
He was pink across the tops of his bare shoulders and the bridge of his nose, the desert sun exerting its influence over even the strongest of warriors. Soren knew Ike didn’t mind it.
“Keeps me grounded,” he’d said to Soren once as Soren spread a cooling salve made from desert plants over the broad expanse of his back. “Reminds me where I am, and everything I’ve left behind.”
He’d squeezed Soren’s hand then, as if to remind himself—he’d left so much behind, but not Soren.
It was a fond memory, tinged just slightly bittersweet. There had been a hundred nights just like it, he and Ike squeezed into rickety inn beds barely big enough for Ike alone, let alone the two of them, or camping under the stars.
“All right,” Soren relented. His fingers danced along the inside of Ike’s elbow. “Let’s go see the rest of the festival.”
“Here. Take a bite.”
Soren eyed the piece of meat Ike held out. A Hatari delicacy, it was heavily spiced and served on the bone. Exactly the kind of dish Ike preferred.
All around them, couples and families were sharing food. It would look out of place if they didn’t do the same. Ike knew that, if the tiny lift of his lips was any indication. Soren flicked him an annoyed glance, then leaned in and took a small bite.
Spice exploded on his tongue. Soren wrinkled his nose. Ike huffed a quiet laugh as Soren pulled back.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll find something you like better.”
“No need,” Soren said. Hatari cuisine wasn’t for him.
He appreciated it because Ike liked it. That was enough for him.
It seemed that when Hatari celebrated, they went all out. The streets of the main city were covered in colorful streamers dancing in the desert breeze, and all kinds of stalls lined the way. Their merchants, both laguz and beorc, hawked their wares, jewelry and clothing and children’s trinkets. The scents of meat and spices filled the air, and the streets were full of people shouting, haggling, enjoying themselves. Evening was falling, but the atmosphere stayed bright and joyful.
Children ran past them, laughing, and Ike quickly turned to the side before one of them could go careening into his legs.
Soren glanced after the child, who was completely heedless of the fact that he’d almost run into the Hero of Crimea. A prickle of awareness came over him, the way it always did when he encountered another one of the Branded.
The boy looked happy and carefree. He beamed at Soren and Ike and waved, laughing, before he ran off to join his friends. Soren scanned the group of children, but none of the others were Branded. It didn’t seem to matter to them.
It wasn’t the first time he had seen the Branded mingling with both laguz and beorc since they came to Hatari, but it still gave him pause every time.
A brush against his hand made him look up.
Ike stared down at him, warmth in his gaze. He took Soren’s hand, tangling their fingers together, and squeezed gently. He didn’t need to speak for Soren to know what he was saying.
“It’s different here,” Soren said. “That’s all.”
“Everything feels different now,” Ike said. There was an oddly contemplative note in his voice.
“We’re a long way from Crimea,” Soren agreed, brushing his hair behind his ear as the desert wind tossed it. A long way from Crimea, and Gallia, and the abuse Soren had suffered there just because of the circumstances of his birth. These children would never know the same, and it was a strange feeling to reflect on that. Not comforting, but perhaps grounding, like Ike felt when something made him remember just how far they’d traveled.
“It’s not just that,” Ike said. He looked around the market, at the children running around in the half-gloom. “I don’t know if it’s Yune’s influence, or just the idea that we’re leaving Tellius, but I feel like the world has… shifted.”
The line of his mouth was rueful as he rubbed the back of his neck, the way he did sometimes when he wasn’t sure he was getting his point across. No matter—Soren always understood him.
“Is it just me?” Ike asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
For so many years, all the world had been to Soren was a source of pain and cruelty, with Ike as his one bright light. It had taken so long for that weight to lift, for the ice to thaw, little by little, so slowly he’d barely noticed it. One day he’d simply looked around and realized that everything was spring.
For Soren, if the world felt different, then it was because he was with Ike.
Ike looked down at him, his eyes just barely crinkled at the corners like he knew. He probably did.
“No,” Soren said. “It’s not just you.”
These days, when Ike held out his hand, Soren didn’t hesitate to take it. Their fingers tangled together, Ike’s thumb trailing over the back of Soren’s knuckles. By some unspoken agreement, they ducked into a corner, away from prying eyes. Soren tilted his head and Ike’s eyes danced as he started to lean down.
A loud bang made them both look up. Even years after the end of the war, sudden noises or movements could have them both instantly alert.
But instead of attacking wyverns or pegasi, what greeted them was a shower of golden and blue sparks as fireworks exploded in the sky. One after another, they exploded, beautiful sparkling flowers in the sky. Ike craned his head up even as his arm came around Soren, pulling him close.
While Ike watched the fireworks, Soren watched Ike. There was an odd, almost melancholy look in his eyes. It reminded Soren of how Ike had looked when Yune had vanished.
For a long time after that, there had been something melancholy deep inside Ike. He hid it well. Soren wasn’t sure who else had noticed it besides him, Mist, and Titania. Allowed the time to rest and freed from the constant pressure of the war, the weight of everything they had seen and everything he had lost was heavy on Ike’s shoulders. Soren could see it, but for a long time he felt like he couldn’t touch it.
Ike’s hand tightened on his hip. He looked down at Soren, and the melancholy was gone. He smiled, just the faint lift of his lips.
“Not watching the fireworks?” he asked.
Soren tilted his head back, watching the sparks paint colors across Ike’s face.
“I have better things to watch,” he said.
Ike snorted.
Here, in the privacy of their shaded corner, Soren leaned up on the tips of his toes and Ike leaned down accordingly. Their lips met, soft and sweet, almost but not quite chaste. He could taste the spice lingering on Ike’s lips, far more tolerable to him now.
Soren sighed when they pulled away.
“Husband,” he murmured, touching Ike’s ring. He rarely let himself say it. To say it made it feel somehow more impossible, that he had found the boy who had reached out a warm hand again, and that the boy loved him back.
Ike cupped his face between his hands and kissed him again. Soren smiled into it, a thousand fireworks in his chest even as sparks danced in the rapidly darkening sky.
They stood there together until the fireworks ended. Ike had his arm wrapped around Soren and Soren didn’t feel particularly inclined to move. He could hear the festival from their little alcove, the laughing people, the raised voices. Somewhere there were children laughing. That little Branded child was probably laughing with them.
When the last sparks had faded from the sky, Ike pressed his lips to the top of Soren’s head. Soren bit back a smile, reaching up to thread their fingers together.
“Thank you,” Ike murmured against his hair.
Soren hummed, leaning back against him.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked.
“I did,” Ike said. “It was nice, just spending the day around people enjoying themselves.” He paused, a weighty little moment to gather his thoughts. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”
“Of course,” Soren said, craning his head back to look at his face. “I’m always with you.”
“Yeah,” Ike said. “But I don’t get tired of it.”
Soren sucked in a breath. Ike’s hand tightened on his hip.
“I don’t get tired of it, Soren,” he said.
“Oh,” Soren said, a waver in his voice. “Me neither, Ike. Not for one single moment.”
Ike smiled.
“Okay,” he said. “Thank you for indulging me.”
“It was only a short delay,” Soren said. “We can leave in the morning.”
Part of him wondered if Ike wanted to stay for longer. It hadn’t been the easiest journey through the desert, even for the two of them. If Ike wanted to rest, there were worse places than Hatari, where his presence was celebrated by everyone. But there was still a little bit of wanderlust in Ike. Soren could feel it when they touched.
He’d be honored to indulge him again, just as he always was. When Ike took his hand and pulled him back into the street, Soren willingly fell into step with him. Side by side, step by step, like they had walked for hundreds of days now. The sparks had faded from the night sky, but Ike’s hand was warm and there were new experiences waiting for them, somewhere beyond the ruins, the desert, the sea.
Soren smiled as they made their way through the crowd.