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“I don't want you to worry about me.” Illuga is promising him, eyes staring into Kyryll's. “I will be fine.”
This daydream, perhaps, may be what mortals call a nightmare. His mind has wandered to the worst possibility, to wonder if Illuga would burn out as brilliantly as the stars hanging in the sky.
Kyryll is on the edge of the battlefield, listening to the shrieks of lost souls, as Illuga looks at him dead in the eyes. He's smiling as he usually does, although it's filled with an unsteady hesitation that undoubtedly leads to a faulty foundation. No matter what lie Illuga tries to spin him, the young master is no seamstress in comparison to the fae. And yet, how could Kyryll ever disobey Illuga? Even when in full control, buried into his dreamscape, all Kyryll can do is nod in affirmation.
Illuga breathes a sigh of relief, hesitating before pulling Kyryll close into an embrace.
This is quite possibly the most convoluted scenario his mind has decided to come up with to dream of Illuga’s embrace. Now, Kyryll has regrettably never felt the warmth of Illuga's actual hugs. All he can do is imagine, wonder if Illuga squeezes until you can't breathe, wonder if Illuga holds and treasures those he holds dear, wonder if Illuga's warmth and blinding radiance is spread to whoever he's holding.
Would Illuga cling onto the fae like the world would cave in if he were to let go?
“Um… sir?” A voice interrupts his thoughts, and oh right, he was trying to purchase new coins from the antique shop stationed in Nasha Town, but along the way he had gotten distracted and started thinking about his dear young master. Kyryll looks back at the voice, and sees a young woman standing in front of him in confusion. “Are you alright? You’ve been staring at this particular floor tile like it’s personally wronged you.”
The woman has a beanie pulled over dirty blonde hair, expressive eyes and a mechanical arm that looks well loved. Shiny, well oiled, quiet. “I do apologize, young lady. I did not mean to unsettle you.”
“Huh? Oh, no no, I’m not unsettled at all- I’ve got tough skin! Just– you’re making everyone else worry.” Her eyes are darting everywhere, like she has places to be but is willing herself still, before eventually they land once more on Kyryll’s face and she smiles. “Bad for business.”
Kyryll nods, choosing to retreat humbly. He couldn’t have haggled the employee down to the price he wanted, anyways, and truly, humans are impossible creatures, before he hears him. That loud, boisterous ‘ha-ha-ha’ that Kyryll has been hearing in his nightmares. The fae shudders, choosing to step away and place his lantern onto a nearby table, shedding his physical form and hiding away from the Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius. The last time he had indulged in Varka’s company, Kyryll found himself sitting in the Flagship, surrounded by a bunch of sweaty grown men who are drinking an unorthodox amount of alcohol all whilst he valiantly resisted the urge to create a molotov cocktail as a distraction so he can leave.
Illuga wouldn’t want to see anyone injured, Kyryll remembers mourning more than once, momentarily hating the squad leader’s altruism. And the paperwork would truly be the bane of his existence.
Damned Varka. After Kyryll had granted Varka supplies, the man kept showing up like a pest, offering a drink (why is it always drinks?), a story (which Kyryll listens to, although begrudgingly) or a new trinket after observing Kyryll’s steadily growing collection (which the fae turns down everytime), and then Varka would always, always find a way to drag Kyryll to the local tavern. Drinking. Something Kyryll only did out of social obligation back then and apparently now.
Varka’s getting closer, he can hear the footsteps, and Kyryll prays that the Grandmaster is a sufficient amount of inebriated to not notice his lantern form sitting innocuously on the nearby table. The last time Varka had spotted him out in the wild, he had run up and ended up clapping the fae on the back which Kyryll is sure if he were a mortal man would send him flying with enough force to go through the wall. The Grandmaster, although he certainly didn’t look too ‘grand’ at the moment, just finishing drinking the tavern into poverty, was smiling like they’re old friends. Kyryll shivers– he just washed his coat. Please, do not let Varka find him.
He could be spending this time doing anything else. He could be dreaming of the young master, his voice softened and face tender as he holds the inhumanity of Kyryll and embraces it, or better yet, he could actually be spending time with Illuga. But no! He’s hiding!
“Illuga's very grateful for the Knights of Favonius's help in battle. He’s in town, but he stated himself to be rather busy, so he asked me to give you this bottle of wine as a token of his thanks.” The Starshyna’s voice is nearby, and Kyryll finds himself straining to hear.
That damned laugh again. That wheeze, and then the ‘ha-ha-ha’ afterwards. “That's very kind of him! But honestly, he's the one who worked the hardest. Ah, too bad he's not here. I can't exactly refuse... How about we open it here? I'll tell you all about how promising the kid really is…”
Nikita laughs in return, and Kyryll idly wonders what collaboration the Grandmaster could have with the Lightkeepers. Could it be in relation to the Wild Hunt? It would make sense, the man has said he’s here on an expedition to help with ‘the crisis’. However, ‘the crisis’ is vague. There’s plenty of disaster everywhere, and it’d be impossible for just one person, one squadron, one faction to solve it. “Heh, drinking's fine. Tell me, is it true that Mondstadt is a relatively safe place? I hear it from your soldiers all the time.”
“Haha! You’ve heard well then!”
This conversation is going to very quickly devolve into the ramblings of drunken men, from the mention of alcohol, so Kyryll stops listening. He wasn’t aware that Nikita and Illuga were in Nasha Town, but judging by the ‘peace conference’ that he’s heard whispers about and the amount of attacks happening near Nasha Town recently, it’s not too surprising. The Lightkeepers are a volunteer force, after all, and they can’t be everywhere at once. The fae resolves to stay hidden, just for a moment longer, hoping that he’ll be passed over idly when a shadow is cast over his lantern.
His sight and sense of smell in this form is practically nonexistent, and in return his other senses are sharpened. Kyryll strains to make out who it is in front of him, exactly, but this mysterious figure reveals himself to the fae rather quickly.
“What’s Sir Flins’ lantern doing all the way out here? This is nowhere near Paha Isle…” Illuga wonders idly to himself, and Kyryll has never been more thankful for the young master’s tendency to think out loud. “It’s unlike him to leave something out, like this. It is the Lightkeeper's oath, there's no point in abandoning your care for it unless-”
Illuga’s breath hitches, and oh. Whoops, Kyryll hadn’t meant to add on to Illuga’s stress. Surely, though, Illuga has faith in him, no? He means to reach out, to comfort and assure Illuga of his continued presence, before he feels it. The warmth of Illuga’s fingers wrapped around him tightly as if the young master never wants to let go, picking up his lantern with a ginger care, inspecting him. “Pops would kill me if he saw me holding this so close,” Illuga mumbles while turning Kyryll in circles, taking in every detail of the lantern. “Would call this a ‘fae’ trap, or something. Sir Flins, can you hear me?”
He can, but Kyryll wants to see what Illuga would do if he thought Kyryll couldn’t. The lantern remains silent, flickering innocuously, and he can feel himself being fastened to Illuga’s side. “Stay with me, I’ll bring you back to your owner, then, after I finish my own errands.”
The young squad leader is truly his savior, at times, freeing him from having to hold another polite chat with Varka, instead making his way out of Nasha Town and down the pathway. Illuga’s silent, for a part of the way, before he sighs and starts speaking to Kyryll’s lantern himself.
“That jerk,” Illuga grumbles, mostly to himself. “He makes no sense, honestly. In what world would a lightkeeper leave behind their lantern? He’s much too flippant, this is how we identify one another after all, and now I’m carrying two. Two! Where could he even be?”
The familiar sound of dirt beneath feet reaches Kyryll’s ears, and he surmises they’re getting closer to Barrowmoss Barrens. While he’s not well acquainted with the place, only visiting once or twice to clear out the Wild Hunt, Kyryll can most certainly appreciate the aesthetics of such a place. There was an incident a while back, he can vaguely remember, but by the time Kyryll ended up in the area the disturbance had ended. He had just used the Tideseal Stone to seal away the remaining abyssal force, popping the weird stones into his lantern as he did it, but–
The corrosion here feels too new. There’s a larger event on the rise, and the squad leader can feel it too, from the way his body grows tense like an arrow about to fire. Illuga summons his own polearm, the sound of the shing indicating that the young man is ready to engage at any time, and Kyryll is just about ready to shed this form and join the fray as well before he hears it.
“Somebody…!”
There’s a cry out from beyond the mist, and Illuga’s panic seems to heighten. “Sir Flins?!”
The voice is uncanny, though. Just like before, just like every other incident he’s cleared with ease, there’s been a voice calling out for help. Never before could Kyryll recognize it, always shifting between man, woman, child and elderly, and he couldn’t imagine why it chose to take on his voice this time. Illuga doesn’t seem to consider the ‘oddness’ of the voice, though, and instead sends Aedon to light the way, from the slight pulsation of kuuhvakhi filling Kyryll’s ears.
A trick, Kyryll realizes all too quickly. This is a trick organized by the Wild Hunt. Turn around, he wants to scream at Illuga. Focus on the enemy, don’t go to ‘me’, especially since that isn’t actually me in the first place.
Alas, lanterns don’t talk. And so he’s helpless to Illuga rushing to ‘his’ side, instead his flame is left to breathe in the suffocation of the Abyss, the ends of the flames fading into the ugly purple he’s grown acquainted with. That phantom, that terrible phantom–
“Sir Flins?” He can hear Illuga speak to ‘Flins’, concern evident, and Kyryll mourns the fact it’s not actually toward himself. “What happened?! What’s the situation?!”
“Illuga,” ‘Flins’ responds, and Kyryll pauses. Can the Phantom actually… is Illuga seeing something, that Kyryll can’t usually? “You’ve arrived… thank you.”
The young squad leader’s anxiety is palpable in the way he frets over the imposter, and that ache that’s been worsening every time Kyryll faces off against the plague against this land tightens around his core. “The soil here… it’s completely devoid of kuuhvakhi. What’s happening?”
The Phantom seems to adjust himself, the distant groans of the Wild Hunt growing farther away, isolating Illuga away from the disaster in order to speak. “This area was fine before, but it appears that a large-scale attack is under way. I was attempting to deal with it early, but it seems as if…”
“I see.” Illuga’s voice sounds grave, deadly serious, even, and the squad leader sighs. “Again? This has been happening for a while now, but still. Why didn’t you call for help? You didn’t even have.. Your… is that a lantern on your hip?”
The young master sounds dumbfounded, unsure, and instinctively takes a step back. It seems the Phantom wasn’t anticipating Kyryll himself to actually be ‘without’ his lantern, making his disguise imperfect. Good, Kyryll thinks to himself. Silently, he finds himself making a mental reminder to indulge in Varka’s drinking habit, the next time the man stops by.
“My lantern. This one is… It’s just a copy, and…” ‘Flins’ stumbles conversationally, and Illuga seems to pick up on this, taking another step backwards. The Phantom gives up, instead deciding to plead. “Give it here, Illuga, and I’ll be able to disperse the fog.”
But Illuga, wonderfully clever Illuga, hesitates. “Sir Flins..? You’re not… why are you?”
“There’s no time to wait, the corruption only grows.”
Silence. Terribly aching silence, a silence that grows the fae’s own anxieties as Illuga slowly unclips the lantern from his side, holding it in his palms. The ghost of a touch reaches his handle, and Kyryll braces for the worst, when Illuga snatches it back. “Something isn’t right here, you’re acting weird– weirder than usual. Sir Flins, are you alright?”
There’s a step back, and the sound of something guttural, not quite akin to a scream and most definitively not human- enough to make Illuga yelp in surprise and begin retreating, from the way Illuga clutches Kyryll close to his chest. It’s not quite a hug, not the one Kyryll has been dreaming of, but it’s close enough. Illuga’s arms are filled out, holding the lantern securely against his chest as the steady ‘thump, thump’ of the young master’s heart beats against the metal frame. No doubt, the Phantom is chasing Illuga down, and while it’s always been quite weak the last few times Kyryll has encountered it, Kyryll isn’t exactly a fair scale to power.
“Aedon!” Illuga’s voice comes out somewhat raw, and suddenly, they’re going upwards.
The kuuhvakhi made creature has always had unique abilities, ones that Kyryll couldn’t see himself before his departure from Cliffwatch Camp, but he doubts one of them is flying. There’s still the thump of feet making contact with ground, even as the elevation rises, and the lick of the Abyss is on Illuga’s heels even as he runs.
“It’s mine!” The Phantom doesn’t bother trying to keep his ‘Flins’ voice consistent anymore, the imitation melding with a scream into every other person Kyryll has heard in the fog before. The noise is particularly grating to Kyryll’s ears, both in his ‘human’ form and as of now, while his hearing is exceptional. “That’s mine, it’s mine, give it back- GIVE IT BACK—”
Illuga’s boots keep hitting the ground, as if ascending into the sky is like climbing stairs, before he suddenly stops. The shadow is going to catch him, if he doesn’t move, but before Kyryll can question it they’re falling.
Falling. From where?! What in the world could Illuga be doing?! He hears the familiar pulse of kuuhvakhi, even as he’s being held tight and is stationed right next to Illuga’s heart, and he most definitely hears Illuga’s words.
“Begone, shadow of darkness–” the young master hisses, wincing slightly at the scream that the shadow releases, before putting more force behind his words. “The light compels you!”
A shing goes through the air, a thunk hitting something, a scream, and Kyryll can feel the soft moonlight he’s grown so familiar with washing over him, cleansing the dullness in his flames and weakening constraints, allowing him to erupt into a brilliant blue flame once more and place his human form safely on the ground.
It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but there in the air, Illuga is freefalling, still clinging onto Kyryll’s lantern as a brilliant lightshow goes on above him. There’s platforms in the air, glittering geometrically as seams of kuuhvakhi flicker and vanish, and the Phantom is dissipating rapidly at the glowing polearm lodged into its shoulder. Kyryll reaches out, moving as quick as he can, as gravity waits for nobody.
The young master has Kyryll’s lantern in a deathgrip, even while in the air. There’s no attempt to break his own fall, so Kyryll wills his flames to bend and cocoon Illuga, catching the young master and breaking his fall. Kyryll ignores the wet thunk of the Phantom’s body hitting the ground, along with the hiss and dispersion of the mist around them. Only when the danger is gone and Illuga is in his arms can Kyryll breathe, and he lets out a low murmur. “Young master.”
Illuga’s eyes open, and Kyryll is left stunned by the worry in the periwinkle eyes, the dash of crimson encapturing him, as the squad leader assesses the fae. “Sir Flins! You… You are him, right?”
“The one and only.”
“Sir Flins–” Relief seems to be crashing over Illuga in waves, even as he looks at the remainder of the battlefield. Kyryll adjusts his grip, ensuring Illuga is comfortable, solid confusion emerging from underneath all of that worry. “Who was that?”
In truth, Kyryll doesn’t know. He’s encountered this foe a couple of times in the past, and while the Phantom has been fixated on defeating Kyryll no matter how many times the fae beats it into submission, Kyryll hadn’t thought that the Wild Hunt surrounding him was because of his lantern. So, instead, he places Illuga down near the underbrush, choosing to brush a strand of misplaced hair out of Illuga’s face. “It matters not. Are you hurt?”
Illuga pauses, assessing his own wellbeing, before shaking his head no. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all. I expended a lot of kuuhvakhi there, actually, not just elemental energy.”
“I felt that,” Kyryll nods, curiosity overtaking other concerns. “Is that a thing you do often?”
“No. Aedon can reveal invisible platforms, so I led the stupid shadow up there and jumped off so that it would be forced to come after me, that was no problem, but actually throwing my spear infused with both elemental energy and kuuhvakhi… blegh.” The young leader grumbles, making a face, delicate features contorting into displeasure. “He didn’t even impersonate you correctly. Terrible performance.”
The fae blinks, before laughing.
(Illuga has to return to the front lines early, because of this incident. When the duo returned to Nasha Town, Kyryll supporting Illuga, the Starshyna had sobered up in rapid pace before separating the two.)
(A shame, really. Having Illuga so close lessened the ache in his chest, making him feel light and airy.)