Disclaimer: Oh, BUGGER! Three flippin’ fics and the Sorcerer Hunters STILL don’t belong to me! >.< ::glowers:: Bugger it all. Anyhoo, these charas are not my property to bitchslap and this fic is not intended to infringe on anyone’s ruddy copyrights. The storyline IS mine, so dun steal it unless you want me to gut you like a fish. Oh, and I wrote the poem, so that’s mine too, lalalalalala :P Also, be aware that although I SWORE I would never write citrus again, this part of the trilogy contains a bit of lemon-ness. I warned you.

“When Killers Cry”
Sequel to The Day the Phoenix Fell
By Fala

A murderer who, through his days,
rifles life and blindly slays,
will never be, for us to see,
regretting, much less shedding tears.

But when a killer hides his eyes,
and in seclusion, coldly cries,
his lashes drip with crimson-red;
tears of blood, blood his blade shed.

The world faded into a freshly hatched brightness from the velvet dark. Marron blinked, his vision swimming.
The off-white ceiling tiles seemed to merge, blending into each other in a slow, fluffy masquerade. Another voice in a different corner of Marron’s awakening mind made him aware of the non-visual elements of his surroundings; the soft wool of a light blanket was keeping the chill of a draft at bay, and every breath he drew brought a hint of the heady scent of tea. Finally, Marron was aware of what felt like cool, damp terricloth finding his forehead and leaving it in a irregular pattern. Three unfamiliar faces swam into view, all belonging to a violet-haired person, and all tending to blend together... No, scratch that. As Marron’s mind took its baby-steps into coherence, the faces all came together in his vision and he realized that it was Mille Feuille leaning over him, blotting his forehead with a damp washcloth.

“You slept like the dead,” the Knight commented quietly enough so as not to stir the dull dregs of a headache that seemed to have settled into Marron’s waking mind.

“Milphey...” Marron commented, his voice betraying how very unstable and giddy he felt, “How long was I unconscious?”

“Four days,” Mille answered in the same quiet voice, “Gateau carried you back to the group late that night. You both were soaking wet. He refused to say anything to your brother or the girls about what happened,” and amused smile played over the knight’s lips as he sighed gently, “Poor Carrot certainly did pitch a fit. I think he would've given Gateau a lot more than a piece of his mind and a black eye if Chocolat and Tira hadn’t tied him up to stop him from doing so.”

Marron blinked worriedly at what Mille just said. The knight smiled knowingly, “Aw, don’t worry about it, Marron. Gateau is fine. And you know how your brother is. Carrot loves you and he cares a lot about you. You’re not the only Glace who is an overprotective sibling, you know.”

The mage managed a tiny smile at this and released a gentle sigh of relief.

“I made some tea,” Mille said charitably, “Can you sit up?”

Being careful not to rise too quickly, lest the nausea-inducing motion cause him to have the sudden need of a basin, Marron carefully sat up in bed and leaned back against the headboard before accepting the cup Mille offered him. It was then that Marron realized how very thirsty he was and he had to take care to not drink the hot tea quickly and burn himself. After a few grateful sips, Marron asked his companion, “Where is my brother now?”

“On assignment,” Mille answered, casually tucking a fuschia ringlet of hair behind his ear, “It’s really not a big deal. Just another forbidden magick-spawned monster fixing to wreak havoc on the whole blessed continent unless it’s taken care of,” Mille smiled good-humouredly, “Carrot never left your side. He sat here all day, and at night, he got curled up in a blanket and went to sleep right in this chair. But Mother insisted that this monster be taken care of today, so I’m just filling in.”

Marron took another sip of tea and swallowed the warm, semi-sweet liquid along with a certain lump of leaden fear in his throat, “And... Gateau?”

Mille sighed, “He insisted on helping out, but Carrot refused to let anyone else take care of his little brother besides himself. That and he kept calling Gateau various forms of pervert, pedophile and other nastey things. He wouldn’t even let Gateau in the room. But both of them are as stubborn as bulls, so while Carrot sat in here, Gateau sat on the floor in the hall, just outside the doorway. I almost tripped over him when I brought Carrot breakfast yesterday; the big guy must’ve fallen asleep while sitting on the floor and fell to the side. Either way, he was curled up on the floor, blocking the doorway,”

Marron listened to all of this whilst looking into his hazy, browned reflection in his tea cup, allowing the steam to gently, seductively caress his face. It was then that Mille decided to ask the question Marron was hoping he would not have to answer.

“What happened between you and Gateau anyway?”

Marron released a wistful sigh as he continued to stare at his tea, “It’s a long story.”

Off to Marron’s left, Mille chuckled a bit, and said knowingly, “Marron dear, I’m immortal. I like long stories.”

Marron shook his head slowly, sighing once again, “We fell into a pool. And that was all.”

“Oh,” Mille said casually, “Okay, Marron. You and Gateau fell into a pool. But somehow I don’t think you would be so reluctant to tell me this if that’s all there is to it.”

Marron looked up, keeping a calm front despite the very slight edge of anger feathering along his nerves, “The reason we were wet was because we both happened to fall into the pool at the hotel we were staying at. What else is there to know?”

“Well, why were you unconscious?”

Marron’s mind flashed a colourful collage of possible excuses for a moment before he chose the one that made the most sense.

“I... hit my head on the deck.”

Mille sniffed at this, “Don’t try that now. If that were true, there would be some kind of bump on your head. And even if there wasn’t, you’re not a very convincing fibber, Marron.”

Upon hearing this, Marron bowed his head in shame, and placed the now empty teacup on his bedside table. He then pretended to be fascinated by the folds in his bedsheets so that he wouldn't have to look at his accomplice. Mille was right. He’d never been very good at lying. But the truth was just frightening. So frightening...

“Marron, you can trust me,” Mille said, his voice more gentle and reassuring this time, “Tell me what’s on your mind. You’ll feel better if you get it off your chest, I promise.”

Marron sighed, admitting to himself that Mille was right. He would feel slightly relieved to tell someone who understood, but he did not take his eyes off of the woolen blanket. It would be easier if he didn’t have to see the shocked statement Mille’s face was certain to adopt when he learned the awful secret for himself...

“Gateau has feelings for me,” Marron began, slowly, carefully, truthfully, “But I don’t know how to deal with them...”

The mage paused, fear and shame spawning a certain blockage within his throat. Mille waited patiently for Marron to collect his thoughts, watching the young magic user’s hands as he multi-tasked his uncertainty via his blanket, kneading it under his palms as if the wool were fresh dough.

“...and,” Marron continued, swallowing against what felt like barbed wire that had lodged itself in his throat, “I have certain feelings for him. Feelings I don’t quite know what to do with.”

Mille shrugged, “So, tell him how you feel. Gateau really likes you. Maybe he even loves you. You two should try for a relationship if you have these feelings for each other.”

Marron sighed yet again, this one a bit heavier and possessing an edge of silent grief, “It’s not that simple. I can’t... be with Gateau.”

“Why?”

“.....” Marron thought for a moment, then shook his head, making a little noise in his throat that sounded like a forced half-sigh laced with a whisp of a whimper, “I’m not the kind of person who can be involved with other people in... such a way.”

“Oh?” Mille inquired, his question tipped with skepticism, “And why do you say that?”

The younger man withdrew behind a sheaf of hair, so as to obscure his woeful statement, before answering.

“...I’m a Core Mage.”

“And I’m the bastard son of a prostitute!” Mille responded, shaking his head indifferently and gesturing wildly with one hand, making his hoop-bracelets clink against one another, “Does it really make a difference?”

“Yes,” Marron said with no hesitation, but with a slight note of frustration in his voice, “It makes a difference when he who wishes to be my lover does not understand that I, for who I am, endanger his life. Do you even know what a Core Mage is, Mille?”

“Of course I do,” Mille said, his ringlet bangs bouncing slightly as he nodded, “But I also know that a life without the courage to face your fears and the willingness to take risks... A life without love... Why, it isn’t a life at all. It’s a hollow existence, that’s what it is. It’s just pointless and awful.”

“No, falling in love, only to end up killing your partner is what is pointless and awful,” Marron countered bitterly from behind the sanctuary of his hair.

“Why would you go so far as to kill Gateau?” Mille asked.

“That’s just it. I wouldn’t,” Marron responded. His voiced was raised slightly, as if his words served as but a pinhole of an outlet for the frustration mounting within him, “I would never hurt Gateau on purpose, but he doesn’t seem to understand that touching me in certain ways could very easily kill him.”

“Marron,” Mille said, shaking his head slowly, his tone gentle, almost as though he were addressing a small child, “If what you two feel for each other is love, and if that love is true, it will survive without sex, and other such forms of physical love. Just let him love you, if only to make you feel loved, and love him back in the same way. Despite what people say and do these days, that’s what love is really about.”

Marron didn’t respond to this. He simply continued to stare at his hands in silence as they clutched at the blanket and his breathing remained steady, though forcedly so. Mille gave his friend a few moments to mull over what words had been exchanged before speaking once again.

“What is it for you, Marron?,” Mille asked, taking care to not sound harsh as he voiced his inquiry, “Is it that you are afraid?”

For all the gentleness in Mille’s voice, that question brutally wrenched Marron’s heart. All along, he had refused to accept the truth, but now, it was staring him in the face and he had no choice. The answer to Mille’s question was ‘yes’. Marron was afraid. Marron Glace, who had always been calm, collected, and courageous to the core in his own quiet way... Marron Glace, who had staked his life in battle without hesitation countless times and gone up against the most powerful forces of evil the universe had to offer... Marron Glace, the avatar of the holiest of The Heavenly Four... Marron Glace was afraid of his own feelings, and ran and hid from the possibility of the
purest and most eternal force of them all; Love. He was afraid. That was the truth. The truth stung like a hornet in the heart.

Marron’s hands shifted slightly on the blanket, though they still held onto it, before he managed a minute nod, “Yes Mille...” he answered, his voice possessing an odd quiver as he struggled to keep his shame bottled up within him. It was like trying to keep an encroaching tiger at bay with nothing but a stick for aid, “I am afraid for Gateau, and I am afraid for myself. I can never touch, and I can never be touched by another,” Marron drew in a deep, shuddering breath in hopes it would support him. It only made his voice more reduced and unstable.

“I’m afraid...”

Mille’s statement was suddenly soft, his voice the same.

“Marron...”

The younger man flinched and drew back in alarm at the first gentle touch of Mille’s fingers upon his face. A few uneventful seconds passed, then Marron’s breath hitched as the knight sought him out again and found him. The young mage could almost see the cracks that were creeping up over his solid, icy core of control and felt as though he might shatter like a porcelain vase as Mille tenderly caressed the side of his face with the back of one hand. The other traveled downward, finding Marron’s hand and holding it. By now, the mage was trembling all over from the effort required to keep himself collected. It was an overwhelming task. Especially when Mille took it upon himself to plant a gentle kiss upon Marron’s forehead...

“Mille?” Marron quietly inquired, hating how his voice seemed to be in tatters, “May I ask you a question?”

The knight chuckled mildly, sounding comfortingly close to his younger companion, who stubbornly kept his gaze turned downward, “You just did, but you may ask another.”

“Are you really a prostitute’s son?”

Mille’s eyes widened slightly, but his smile didn’t fade, “Well, I must say I really wasn’t expecting that, but it’s alright. I’m guessing I am. Mother says she found me when I was a baby. It was raining and I was in a basket outside of a somewhat reputable whorehouse. But whether I’m a lost orphan or the captain of Mother’s most trusted knights, I’m still Mille Feuille, now and forever.”

Mille released Marron’s hand, rose from the bed, and picked up the spent teacup, the two pieces of porcelain making a slight, grainy clinking noise as he did so. As he was walking out of the room, he paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder.

“I am who I am. And as for what I am... well, does it really matter?”

Marron, whose gaze had yet to leave his hands, did not see Mille leave, and he barely heard the knight’s footsteps as they faded away. The mind of the mage was a tangled mass of musings. His threads of thought had no beginning and no end. They twined and entwined within his mind. It was a frenzied madness, and yet there lurked meticulous method within the whole confusing mess. Marron wanted to shut out Mille’s input, and willed his brain to oust the knight’s words. Yet they stuck, like grains of rice to a china bowl. Passion vs, Reason, Consequence vs. Prevention, Desire vs. Fear. The seeds of doubt had been sown. Marron reclined on the infirmary cot, laying his magnificent head, so heavy with mental stress, upon his pillow until he fell into a
troubled sleep.



The odd, sparkling sensations of a cold mist settling around him intruded upon Marron’s mental tranquility. He was suddenly aware of the fact that he was surrounded and enshrouded by a silver, glittering fog, which left a glistening sheen on his pale skin. The young mage shivered as the cold tickled him. He felt stony dread sink its claws into his heart when he found he could not feel solid ground beneath his feet. Marron cast his eyes downward, a little afraid of what he might see, meanwhile getting an eyeful of his surroundings (or lack thereof).

From what he could see, he was surrounded by neither light, nor darkness, but rather silver-lined shrouds of a fog that showed nothing but dim grey space through its more translucent patches. When his wandering gaze finally arrived at what lay below his feet, Marron felt his heart clench in terror. He was suspended in midair above what appeared to be a bottomless pool of oil.

No sooner had he set eyes upon this, when a taloned hand plunged upward through the oil and locked around one slender ankle. What could have been a scream caught in Marron’s throat as he was brusquely yanked downwards, into the glittering black mass. The mage heard a series of sickening squelching sounds, followed by a fantastic tearing noise before he broke through the black barrier and found himself plunging toward what could have very easily been Hell.



In an upward surge laced with a little cry of fright, Marron found himself baffled to be suddenly surrounded by impersonal white walls, bedsheets of the same colour, and a table off to his right. After a few seconds spent wandering through the darkness of his puzzled mind, Marron was able to deduce that he’d been dreaming. Now awake and well, though still a little shaken from the very frightening things his mind had shown him in his slumber, the mage laid back, trying to take comfort in the softness of the cotton beneath him. Breathing deeply and willing his fretting heart to resume its regular pace, Marron closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. But for Marron, rest would not come tonight.

The sound of a familiar voice and uneven footfalls approaching announced that Marron was no longer alone in the room.

“Agh... Goddamn freaker...”

The words and the shuffling noises were made by Gateau espresso. Back from that assignment, Marron inferred. There was a heavy thud from the chair beside the bed followed by a few telltale clattering noises.

Curious, Marron parted his eyelids slightly so that he could make out the shape of his warrior comrade seated a few feet away from him, rummaging through a box that Marron decided had to be the first aid kit.

The mage’s focus fell upon the warrior’s bare chest, the bronzed skin showing where the leather vest hung unzipped and open in the front. Why was Gateau not wearing a shirt? Marron’s gaze then traveled over to a shoulder and mapped a path down one heavily muscled arm until his sights fell upon a makeshift bandage that consisted of shreds of a familiar hunter green material, stained rusty-red with blood. So, Gateau had been hurt while on assignment and had ripped up his shirt for use as a dressing for the wound. Probably forgot to look before he leapt and found himself with a blade in his arm, Marron thought to himself. How wrong we was.

Gateau worked at the knots he’d hastily made, occasionally grunting in frustration at the difficulty of having to do this with one hand. When he finally had the fabric suitably untied, the warrior winced a bit and hissed against the pain as he peeled the fabric away from where it had plastered itself to the wound. When the moonlight fell upon his bared forearm, Marron all but gasped at what he saw. It was not an injury made by a blade, as he had guessed, but a series of large puncture wounds forming an arc the size of a horseshoe. They looked deep, like they had been made by the fangs of a snake. Mille had said that this assignment had to do with taming a magical beast. Whatever this thing was, it must have bitten Gateau. Opening his eyes just a little bit more so as to have a better view, Marron noticed the sickly yellowish tone that coloured the skin around where it had been punctured; Evidence that venom had been injected during the bite.

Gateau looked up in surprise upon hearing the creaking of rusty bedsprings and saw that the mage was sitting up and looking at him with dark eyes that very possibly could have been warm with concern.

“Oh, hey Marron,” Gateau said, looking up from his injury and giving his accomplice a friendly half-smile. True to what Mille had said, Carrot had indeed given him a black eye, “Sorry if I woke you.”

“You were bitten by something, Gateau,” Marron said as if he hadn’t heard his team mate, his gaze never leaving the holes that decorated the injured arm. Fresh blood was pooling at the edges of the wounds, their scabs having been pulled off when the bandage was unwrapped.

“Yeah,” the warrior confirmed, cocking his head at an angle and joining Marron in staring at his arm, “That bitch nearly took a chomp out of me. ‘Had to use my arm to block it, if only to keep the damn thing from biting my head off.”

“What was it?”

“I forget what Mamu said it was called exactly,” Gateau said, his brow furrowed in thought, “It looked like a snake... But it was a big damn bugger. Almost as big around as a tree, and gods only know how long the bastard was. But those teeth were at least as long as my little finger, I know THAT much for sure.”

“Well, whatever it was, it was poisonous and it seems to have given you a fair dosage of it’s toxins,” Marron explained. The mage then proceeded to kneel on the floor beside the chair, taking the injured arm into both hands and pressing his lips to a wound.

Gateau flinched at the burning pain as Marron sucked harshly at the break in his skin like some sort of long-haired leech before releasing his flesh and spitting blood and saliva on the floor. He repeated this action with the next puncture, and the one after that.

“How long ago did this happen?” Marron asked, pausing at one of the larger wounds.

Gateau instinctively turned his head to face him as he answered, but suddenly regretted doing so. Somehow, the sight of his own red blood staining the lips of the younger man was just a little too disturbing.

“Uh, well... It was noon and the sun was directly overhead when I jumped on the thing’s back and was trying to get it in a head lock, but it squirmed out of my grip and bit me. A few seconds after that, I blacked out. When I came to, it was sunset. Tira was kneeling over me,” Gateau chuckled mildy and shook his head once, “and she was muttering some REALLY foul language. Apparently she was trying to heal me with that power of hers, whatever it’s called, but for some reason it just wouldn’t work. And then, the walk back here took about a half-hour... so it’s been a couple hours.”

“If it has been that long,” Marron’s voice and statement became grave, “Then the poison has had more than enough time to circulate throughout your body. It has probably passed through your heart several times already.”

Blond caterpillar brows quirked, “And that is very very bad,” Gateau stated wisely.

Marron sniffed, wiping the blood from his lips, “No shit, sherlock.”

“Hey, when did you learn to do that?”

“What?”

“Be sarcastic.”

Marron rose from his kneeling position and ventured over to the other side of the room where he retrieved a hand towel, “My dear Gateau,” the mage said flatly, his tone all but condescending, “Often, there is more to people than what you take the time to see. Someday you will see that for yourself.”

Gateau frowned as he looked down at the dark-haired man, who by now had lowered himself to the floor and was cleaning up the warrior’s blood and his own spit.

“Are you saying I’m blind when it comes to seeing a person for something other than what he looks like?”
Gateau asked, his voice laced with the same dark tone that Marron’s words had possessed. The older man wondered why he’d even bothered saying ‘he’ when the reference was perfectly obvious to both of them.

“No,” Marron replied thickly, “I’m saying that you do not see because you do not wish to see.”

“You’re saying I don’t love you for who you are?”

“I’m saying that you don’t care.”

The deafening crash of a chair falling over was all that rung clear in the next instant that nanoseconds later found Gateau on his knees before Marron, the collar of the mage’s white cheongsam held fast in the warrior’s iron fist.

“How dare you...” Gateau hissed fiercely, his eyes like nitroglycerine, his face a mere inch or two from the mage’s. Marron simply remained in a relaxed, but by no means submissive kneel, not bothering to try to pull away. Furious blue met smoldering onyx as the two stared each other down, both men shaking with a certain suppressed rage, “How dare you... How dare you say something like that about me!”

“I can say anything I want if I have evidence to back it up,” Marron replied slowly, simply, the loathing look on his face reflected in the tone of his voice, “And I have plenty of evidence to support that statement,”

“But you don’t know the whole truth,” the warrior countered, his voice deep and thick with contempt, “You read books as big as packing crates and you can bend the elements to your will with a flick of the wrist and few fancy words... but you know nothing about true love.”

“I know that true love does not exist,” Marron stated thickly,the intensity and fury of his glare never fading, “That which people call love is nothing but a plethora of physical pleasures, material needs, and future put-downs to waste tears on. Pure love only exists in storybooks, Gateau. Not anywhere in our world, and certainly not here.”

“Rmmmh...” Gateau either grunted or growled, releasing Marron’s collar and sitting back a little, his intense blue eyes narrowing, his frown deepening, “You are so cold,” the warrior remarked quietly, shaking his head as if in awe, his gaze never leaving Marron’s face, “If I were to punch you in the heart, I’d get frostbite on my fist.”

“You would never do that. You couldn’t do it,” Marron said, almost challenging. Gateau knew he spoke the truth.

“You’re right,” the warrior said, his eyes twin mirror-pools of anger and ache, “I would never do that to someone I loved.”

Marron shook his head and heaved an exasperated sigh, “You never learn do you?” that said, it was the magic user’s turn to look doleful. He inquired quietly, “How can you love someone such as me? I’m a cold-blooded killer, Gateau.”

“Don’t say things like that about yourself,” Gateau chastised gently, his broad hands finding the younger man’s shoulders and holding them carefully, “You have to be the most kind and gentle person I know.”

Marron’s breath hitched in his throat as these words descended upon him, and he had to fight to keep his voice steady, “My mind may be a passivist, but my body is a predator,”

Gateau’s statement softened yet again as he added in what was but a pinch above a whisper, “...And your heart?”

A very pregnant pause followed. The silence screamed in their ears and the stillness clenched at the hearts of both men. The air suddenly felt thick and heavy around them.

Marron released a breath he did not remember holding before screwing up the courage to lift his head so that he could speak to Gateau face-to-face, and feeling a frigid stab of foreign pain as the two intense, cerulean eyes met his own.

“My heart...” the mage began, slowly, quietly, carefully, “is but a temple to darkness and ice. My heart is nothing. It cannot feel, it cannot love. My heart is dead.”

Seconds slinked by in silence, providing the cold calm of the younger man’s words to settle into Gateau’s acceptance. The warrior then sighed gently and rose without saying a word, turning his back to Marron, who stayed put right where he was.

As he was leaving the room, Gateau paused in the doorway, remaining only long enough to say this much to Marron, who still refused to look up at him.

“I love you, Marron Glace,” the warrior said from far away, in a sad, steady voice, “Whatever damnation it is, I love you still.”

The dull sound of booted footfalls faded into the distance. Marron did not see Gateau leave, though he heard him walking away. As soon as those sounds had disappeared completely, proving that the heartsick man was nowhere close by to see him or hear him doing so, Marron seized the porcelain vase that had been sitting on his bedside table, and violently threw it against the wall.



“Nnnm, starving...” Carrot complained, his chin resting upon the tabletop, drool pooling around it. He stared intently at the plate before him, heaped with a sundry of steaming vegetables, noodles and the occasional shrimp. The boy’s left hand rose as if on its own and ghosted toward his plate, only to be swatted promptly.

“Yeow! Hey, whad’ya do that for?!” Carrot yelped, petting his poor, offended hand and glowering at Tira. The younger girl simply tipped an eyebrow at her step-brother, reaching across the table and wagging a finger in his face.

“You know the rules, Carrot. No one eats until everyone is at the table.”

“Whatever,” was the response that Tira received. Until his breath, Carrot muttered, “If I ever find the fruity twat who invented etiquette, I’ll beat his ass.”

On Carrot’s other side, Chocolat heaved a weary sigh. She too was looking longingly at her food while poking at it with a fork.

Heads turned when a certain crossdressing haz knight entered the room, carrying a teacup and saucer to the sink before taking a seat at the table.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re forgiven. Let’s EAT already!” Carrot amended, eagerly plucking up his utensils. Tira hastily put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from diving into his plate, “Shouldn’t we wait for Gateau?”

Mille’s ponytail swung a bit as he shook his head, “I don’t think it’s necessary. You guys had to wait long enough for me. If we don’t eat now, it’ll just get cold.”

“Milphey, my friend, you are GOD,” Carrot remarked before descending upon dinner in a way that reminded Tira of a wolf bringing down a deer. Chocolat was doing much the same thing, both of them creating quite a din between themselves. Tira sighed and shook her head, wondering why she even bothered. She stole a glance across the table where Mille was taking his time with his supper and eating like a perfect gentleman.

‘At least some of us are remotely civilized,’ she thought, shaking her head as she looked back at her older sister and step brother who were still shoveling food into their mouths. Releasing a tiny sigh of defeat, she turned back to Mille, “So where have you been, anyway?”

“In Marron’s room,” the knight responded, adding a little soy sauce to his supper, “I was having a chat with him.”

“He’s awake now?” Carrot asked, nearly choking on a shrimp.

“Yes,” Mille nodded, then added a little grimly, “but I’m afraid your brother is a little distraught at the time, so I’d recommend letting him be alone at least until tomorrow.”

“Mmph,” Carrot snorted, “Distraught indeed. ‘Scarred for life’ is probably a more accurate way of saying it. I’ll bet Gateau got him drunk off his ass and did indecent thingies to him while he was too snogged to res-OWwow!” a yelp finished that statement as Chocolat dealt a smart crack to the back of his head.

“That’s really mean, Carrot,” Tira added, frowning, “You shouldn’t say things like that when you don’t know the whole story.”

“Quite right, quite right, my dear Tira,” Mille said, gesturing with his fork, “And you’re wrong Carrot. They fell into a pool.”

Chocolat frowned, “How did that happen?”

“Well isn’t obvious?” the ever-flippant Carrot stated more than asked, “They were on the pool deck and they just so happened to ‘roll off’- SHUTTING UP.”

Tira frowned quizzically when Carrot slapped a hand over his mouth and sat ramrod straight in his seat, eyes bugging out. Then she saw her sister and understood. Chocolat was narrowing her eyes at Carrot in a menacing way that seemed to say ‘Don’t make me put this on’ as she fingered the brim of her gestapo hat suggestively.

“Really, Carrot-honey,” Mille said, “You are being kind of unfair to Gateau, speaking about him like that.”

Carrot slumped in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling, “That big, dumb hornball. Always flirting with my brother, trying to pervert the poor guy.”

“Well,” Mille reasoned, twirling his fork between his fingers, “Maybe Gateau knows something about your little brother that you don’t.”

Carrot sat up sharply, slamming both hands onto the table, “What are you saying, Mille? That Marron’s a queer?”

The Haz Knight shrugged, “Maybe.”

“Don’t ‘maybe’ me, you pansy!” Carrot shouted, banging his fist on the tabletop, “And Marron just hasn’t found the right girl yet because that buggering feckwit keeps trying to confuse him.”

“He certainly didn’t seem confused about it when I talked to him a few minutes ago,” Mille countered casually.

Carrot’s statement turned grave, “What did Marron say to you?”

Mille smiled a little and responded, “That he has feelings for Gateau.”

Carrot’s eyes went wide and a frown disrupted the grim calm of his features. He rose from his seat and thrust an accusing index finger in the Haz Knight ‘s direction, his mouth opening as if in protest, but no words came out. He tried again. Unsuccessful. Mille grinned a little as Carrot continued to point at him, his mouth opening and closing not unlike that of a hungry goldfish. The knight tittered at the younger man’s struggles and stuck his tongue out.

“Wow, Carrot,” Chocolat commented, her voice dry with sarcasm, “That has to be the most sensible thing you’ve said all day.”

“Well, I don’t hear any of you brilliant ho-bags coming up with anything better,” Carrot snapped, sitting back down.

“Personally,” Tira offered her own two cents, “I think that all this time we’ve been focusing too much on Marron. We’ve never really considered how Gateau feels.”

The elder Glace sniffed at this, “And why should I give a damn about what that musclehead feels, that is to say IF he feels at all?”

“Well, I beg your pardon, Carrot,” Tira replied quietly, looking down at her plate, “But one-sided love never made anyone in this room very happy.”

Silence. Even Carrot couldn’t bring himself to blurt something rude and impulsive after that statement. The only sound was that of Chocolat idly tapping her fork against the edge of her plate. A mute, awkward moment passed before another word was spoken.

“You’re right, sis,” Chocolat agreed, breaking the silence, “I think all of us kind of know how Gateau must feel.”

Carrot’s brow quirked when all three of his accomplices stared at him, “Eh, w-what’s wrong?” he stammered, shrugging for effect.

Carrot didn’t receive an answer. At that very moment, there was a loud thud from outside the dining room.

“Did you hear that?” Tira said, rising from her seat, “I... I’ll be right back!”



Gateau sullenly made the long trek down the hallway, following the aroma of what could only be supper. However appealing the scent might have been, it brought no comfort to the warrior, who wondered why he was even bothering to join his companions at the table. He was far too heartsick to even think about eating. So sick at heart. So very, very sick...

The warrior felt his knees weaken beneath him and his vision began to swim. He thrust a hand against the wall as he felt his equilibrium failing him. Worry jolted his heart when he heard the sound of his own breathing; it was harsh and raspy, and try as he may, he couldn’t seem to bring in a sufficient amount of oxygen. A foreign chill coiled around Gateau’s heart and squeezed. Instinctively holding his hand to his chest, Gateau fell against the wall, his world turning velvety with darkness, his long, ragged breaths whooshing in his ears. He felt as though frost was creeping up his throat, slowly but surely sealing it shut as the strength seeped out of his body, and cold replaced it. Gateau finally collapsed on the hallway floor in a wheezing, shaking heap.

I’m so cold... so very very cold...

Somewhere to his right, he heard a vaguely familiar voice shouting from far away.

Gateau barely felt a warm touch to his shoulder, and the last thing he heard before his world went black was a female voice shouting, “Oh my GODS! Sis! You guys! Come here quick! Something is really wrong!”



>> knock, knock << “Hey Marron? Is it okay if I come in?”

“Yes, of course brother.”

Carrot opened the door to find Marron sitting up in bed and reading. No surprises there.

“Hey, little bro,” the elder Glace said amiably, having a seat on the edge of the mattress. As he did so, Marron closed up his book and placed it on the bedside table before greeting his brother with his own subtle, but friendly smile. Carrot could not help noticing that behind the happy-to-see-you flicker against the inky irises, there was troubled dimness hovering within Marron’s eyes. He decided to ignore it.

“Uh, Mille said you weren’t up for visitors, but I saved you a little something,” Carrot said, holding out a fork and plate with a thin slice of cake he’d managed to salvage from the evening’s dessert.

“Oh, that was thoughtful of you,” Marron commented, accepting what he was offered, “Thank you.”

Carrot smiled cheerfully, “So, what’s up? You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine, I suppose,” the younger Glace replied, after having sampled his dessert. His voice darkened only slightly when he added, “But I did want to ask you something.”

Carrot shrugged, “Shoot.”

Marron thought for a moment, continuing to eat his dessert as he took the time to think of how to best ask such a personal question. The hypothetical path was usually pretty safe, he decided. Finally, he spoke.

“Carrot, just for a moment pretend that you live in a palace and are the grand vizieur to a prince. The prince is in his adolescent years, but seems not to show interest in anyone, even though he’ll become King when he marries. Then, one day, a...” Marron’s brow furrowed as he thought quickly, “a... wicked Maharaja arrives and finds himself attracted to the prince. Actually, the Maharaja isn’t truly evil... deep down, he has a good heart. He just does not do a very good job showing it. But the prince knows that the Maharaja cares deeply for him, even if everyone else has their doubts.

“One day, the Maharaja comes to the prince and says that he would like to spend the rest of his life with him. The prince isn’t sure what to do about this, so he comes to you. He tells you about the Maharaja’s feelings for him, and the proposal. The prince then adds that he would like to try for a relationship with the Maharaja, if only to see if he... the prince, I mean... is capable of upholding a romantic relationship. He also wants your approval. This comes as a total surprise to you. You had expected this to be like any classical fairy tale in which the prince marries a fair princess, they produce an heir, and live happily ever after. You are also worried about how other
people will react to the idea of their prince being with another man. However, you have known the prince his entire life and you two are very close. To him, you are like a father, or a...” Marron swallowed and clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking, “a brother... And he would feel simply awful if he chose to do something that you did not approve of.

“Considering all of this, what would you say to this prince? What should he do?”

Big brother laughed, “I’d tell him to get the royal genie to give the Maharaja some tits and a dress.”

“Brother, do be serious,” Marron requested, his voice soft, but sounding a feather from desperate.

“Geez Marron, I don’t know!” Carrot shrugged, shaking his head, “Where you dig this shit up anyway? No more books for you, brother-dear.”

The older Glace let out a shrill yelp of surprise as his younger sibling seized him by the wrist. Carrot was shocked to see his little brother’s deep, dark eyes wide and beseeching, “Brother, I’m begging you! Tell me what I should do!”

Time froze for a fraction of a second, before the realization of his error slapped Marron in the face.

“He, I mean... The prince. Tell me what he should do,” Marron said guardedly in an attempt to make amends. A cold stab of defeat found his heart when the mage realized that he knew all too well it was too late for that.

Carrot nodded mutely, finally understanding, “Well, Marron, in this kind of case, it’s not for the advisor to say,” Carrot said, finally sounding semi-serious, “The prince is the only one who can decide whom he will be with. It’s his decision, and his decision alone.”

“And...” Marron added quietly, hating how his voice seemed to tremble, “What about the people around him? And those close to him? What about you, the vizieur?”

“What other people say doesn’t matter,” Carrot answered, “Look Marron, if the prince loves the Maharaja, then he should be with him. The vizieur may not like it very much, but it would be mean of me to make you feel like you have to lie to yourself for my sake.”

Marron said nothing. Carrot understood. Marron would have liked to have been able to say he understood, but his mind was still a cluster of troubles. Oh, would it ever come clean? Would the answers ever find him?

There was nothing more to be said and the silence was awkward, so Carrot sighed and stood. Just before he exited the room, he stopped in the doorway and turned.

“Marron?”

“...Yes?”

“You’ll always be my kid brother, and you don’t need worry about what I think. It’s all up to you. Go to your maharaja and tell him how you feel.”

“... Brother?”

“Eh?”

“Thank you.”

Carrot gave his younger sibling a bracing smile and flashed him a thumbs-up along with a wink, “Hey, that’s what I’m here for. G’night, Marron.”

Marron watched as Carrot left the room, then stared at nothing in particular while mulling over what had been said. When reality finally made its return into his mind, Marron retrieved his book and continued his search. Flipping past page upon page and picture upon picture of various dragons, serpents, and beasts, he looked for one in particular. His keen gaze fell upon a picture of a snake-like creature. It appeared to be quite large, and two sails were perched on the sides of its head where ears might have been. Two of its sharp fangs were so long that they poked downward from under its upper lip and a long purple tongue with a triple fork at the end slipped out of a
small notch in the front of its jaw. The eyes were a cold, lemon-yellow colour and the entire beast was covered in shining pearl-white scales with an occasional patch of vermilion here and there.

“The Titania Serpent,” Marron’s fingertip underscored the words he read, “also known as The Stellar Snake...”

... there was a loud thud as the heavy book hit the floor, its owner having dropped it after having read certain words. Marron felt himself shaking all over as he bent and slowly turned the volume over without picking it up, and kneeling to finish reading the paragraph. As he did so, seven words left his lips in a grave whisper.

“So... this is what it comes to...”



“Oh, come on... come on...”

Chocolat muttered a nervous legato to herself, toying with a curl of hair as she watched her sister work. Gateau was resting on his back on Mille’s bed while Tira slowly, rhythmically massaged the unconscious warrior’s temples.

Carrot leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and trying to look bored. Though he wouldn’t admit it, he was a little worried about his simple-minded team mate. The elder Glace’s arms rose and fell with his chest as he sighed, “What are you doing anyway, Tira? How is that helping Gateau?”

“I’m projecting Gaias into his mind to restore his consciousness,” Tira replied, not taking her eyes off the task at hand, “I don’t know it if will work, but it’s worth a try.”

“Gaias?”

“The healing powers Auntie Apricot taught me.”

Carrot smacked his forehead, “Well, if you’re a healer, then why don’t you fix that weird bite on his arm? It’s probably the reason he blacked out in the first place.”

The redhead frowned behind her enormous round glasses, “You think I haven’t tried that? I was trying to heal the damned thing when he first got it, but the wounds just won’t close up.”

Carrot frowned, “Well why?”

Tira shrugged, “I really don’t know.”

“It sounds to me like there is some kind of block that is more powerful than Gaias,” Milphey reasoned, “What kind of animal was it?”

Carrot was just about to reply that he had no clue what the son of a bitch was, when the sound of a tearing cough caused all heads to turn.

“He’s awake!” Chocolat cried happily, jumping a bit. The four Hunters leaned over Gateau, looking at him with concern as he slowly stirred into wakefulness, his every breath hitching slightly. Blue eyes gazed blearily up at the four worried faces above him.

“Are you okay?” Tira inquired, sounding far away.

“I- I fainted...” Gateau muttered vaguely, pressing one hand to his perspiring forehead.

“How do you feel?” the younger of the Misus persisted, placing one hand on her patient’s forehead. Gateau released what was either a moan or a growl and pulled away from her touch, curling up on his side, his body tense, “I’m... so cold...”

Tira’s brow furrowed a little, “What? But it’s not cold in here... And you’re burning up,”

True to her words, the temperature in the room was mild, and Gateau’s face was flushed red with fever. He felt hot to to the touch and his forehead was dewy with sweat, yet he was clutching himself and shaking as though he was surrounded by ice and snow.

“Very...c-cold...”

“I’ll get you a blanket,” Mille volunteered and rose from his chair. As he was heading down the hallway, the Haz Knight noticed a flickering light dancing upon the wall. It came from the doorway to the sitting room.

“I thought I put the fire out for the night,” Mille thought to himself, puzzled. He quickly fetched the promised quilt from the hall closet and delivered it as he said he would, then allowed his curiosity to lead him to the sitting room where he found a certain dark-haired youth sitting peacefully on the couch with his back to him.

“Oh, pardon my intrusion,” the knight said apologetically, “I saw a light.”

“It’s alright,” Marron answered quietly without looking over his shoulder. His voice sounded oddly grave, “Actually Mille, I would like you to do something for me now that you are here.”

“Oh?” the knight replied, approaching Marron. When he was finally close enough to face the younger man, Mille couldn’t help noticing a distant sadness hovering in his eyes, which were like pools of ink with shards of the firelight dancing in their depths.

“Yes,” the mage said, his voice remaining quiet and almost soulless, “Gateau. I need to speak with him immediately. Would you please tell him to come to me?”

Mille inhaled sharply and raised his eyebrows at the request, “Uh, I don’t think so, Marron. You see, he’s not really in a state to do much of anything at the time.”

The mage regarded the knight with urgency etched in his features as the light from the fire caressed the side of his face, onyx eyes glittering in desperation.

“Please.”

Mille sighed, “I shall try. But I can’t promise anything.”

“Very well,” Marron said, his statement revealing nothing, his voice quiet, but with a faint note of stone-cold seriousness in its depths, “Wait until the others have gone to sleep. Then find Gateau and bring him here. Once he is inside, close the door and leave immediately. Do not wait around, and do not let anyone see you. No one must know of this. Do you understand?”

Though he was slightly disturbed that Marron was being so secretive, Mille nodded slowly and quietly responded, “I understand.”

“Good. Thank you my friend,” the mage said, his words serious, but infused with a hint of solemn gratitude.

With that, Mille exited the room and all that remained to do was wait.



The mage did not stir when the grandfather clock struck eleven, just seconds before he heard the door open and then close. He did not look up. Silence hung in the air for a moment as the younger man felt the presence of his accomplice’s aura, and contemplated the way it seemed to pulse with some foreign force.

“Hello, Gateau.”

The warrior supported himself by pressing his free hand to the wall. He had recovered somewhat from his ordeal, but felt a tad unstable still.

“Hey, Marron.”

Silence again, save for the whispered crackling from the fireplace. The air between them was so quiet that the very absence of sound seemed to hum in the ears of both men, while the awkwardness of the situation groped at their hearts with clammy fingers.

“Erm... Mille said you wanted to talk to me about something,” Gateau stated, more to break the unsettling silence than anything else.

“Yes,” Marron replied softly. The silence returned. Just as Gateau was about to say something random and out of place for the sheer purpose of providing some kind of sufficient sound, the younger man spoke again, “Come sit with me, Gateau. Here by the fire. It’s cold tonight.”

“Uh... Okay.”

The warrior ambled over to the couch and sat down a ways away from Marron. After taking a sip from his teacup, Gateau placed it on the coffee table and pulled the quilt (which he happened to be wearing like a cape) tighter around his shoulders. The tea had helped to ward off the strange chills that were creeping through his body, but he still felt a little cold, hence the reason why he was bundled up.

Gateau allowed his gaze to wander over to the opposite end of the couch, where Marron was sitting, his dark eyes intently watching the flames that danced in the fireplace. There was something different about the younger man, besides the presence of the strange black bag he held in his lap. After a few short seconds of observation, Gateau noticed the subtle change was in Marron’s attire; though he was still draped in virgin whites, he was not wearing the usual fancy cheongsam, but rather a simple, loose yukata. This was certainly not a hot springs inn, so why
was Marron dressed in such a way? Gateau’s unease increased tenfold when he noticed the way the white fabric fell upon the mage’s body, revealing its every curve and dip to perfection. From this, the warrior was able to conclude that Marron was wearing nothing underneath that single layer of cloth. His heart gave an especially sharp lurch when he saw that the garment was not belted at the waist and that the only thing holding it closed was one of the mage’s hands, curled around the fabric in a loose fist. What in the name of the gods was the guy thinking?!

“I heard you were ill today,” Marron said, his words intruding upon the warrior’s train of unsettling thoughts, “How are you feeling?”

“Uh,” Gateau said, trying to piece his mind back into clarity, “I feel okay, I guess,” he said finally, only half-aware that he was lying, for he was still quite hung up over Marron’s choice of apparel. Marron, however, seemed to notice the falseness in the other man’s answer.

“Really?,” he asked, narrowing his eyes as he finally turned to face Gateau, succeeding in making the older man feel very uncomfortable.

“Let me ask you this...” Marron said simply, the faintest hint of a frown darkening his features, “Is that blanket doing anything for you?”

Gateau thought for a second, “Now that you mention it, not really,” he answered, shrugging off the heavy fabric, and feeling no change in the temperature as he did so.

“That is because the cold is inside your body, rather than out,” Marron said.

The warrior cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowed in query, “What are you talking about?”

The mage reached into the black bag with his free hand and retrieved a book, which he opened and held out for the other man to see.

“Is this what you fought today?”

Gateau looked at the book, immediately recognizing the serpentine white and orange beast pictured on the open page.

“Yep, that’s the one,” he said, nodding.

The mage set the book on his lap, “A Titania Serpent. The reason Tira’s healing powers did not have any effect on the bite is because there are traces of powerful magic laced within its venom,” Marron explained, “and when I was sucking at the wounds earlier today, I did so purely out of instinct, forgetting that the touch of my lips could easily kill you.”

The warrior frowned quizzically, “Then why didn’t anything happen?”

Marron took a deep breath, “The Titania Serpent is an elemental dragon that holds the powers of both flame and ice within it’s body. Cold Fire, as it is called. The magic within my body is Pure Fire. When your poisoned blood touched me, I suppose the venom’s powers neutralized mine.”

“Fire and Ice,” Gateau said to himself, holding his chin pensively, “So that’s why Tira said my forehead was warm even though I was freezing my ass off.”

“Cold Fire is a fatal compound,” Marron continued gravely, “A lesser man would probably be dead by now. Your ample strength has kept you alive this long. However, your life is slowly but surely slipping away from you... the toxins have spread throughout your system and will kill you. Before the night is out, I am sure.”

Gateau’s pulse kicked lazily, painfully within his veins as Marron said these words. He could almost see a glowing frost creeping through his body, chilling, and killing as it went. He could not oust the sickening image of his flesh darkening and curling underneath what could be best described as ‘flaming fungus’. Although he knew very well how effective the power of suggestion was, Gateau couldn’t help but feel like his energy and consciousness were ebbing away from him at that very moment, like a cool eddy of water, darkness filling the holes they left.

Marron stated grimly, “You are dying, Gateau.”

“I’m dying...” the warrior echoed, his voice vague and far away as he stared at the flames in the fireplace with blank blue eyes. He jumped a little when he felt the upholstery descend a little with the other man’s weight as Marron scooted toward him.

“There is one antidote...” the mage said, though Gateau detected a ripple of hesitation swaying the velvet voice.

“What is it?” he asked, getting a sinking feeling that he wouldn’t like the answer to his question.

Marron took a deep breath before explaining the whole awful truth to the older man beside him, “Since the Titania Serpent’s venom can not be treated, the only way to save you is to destroy it. Tira’s powers were not strong enough to do this... But mine may be.”

“What are you saying, Marron?”

“... Well, if we are joined together, united as one so to speak, my magic will combat the serpent’s venom, and hopefully illiminate it. For this to happen, you must...” Marron paused, attempting to swallow the intangible blockage within his throat, feeling a thread from brave enough to conclude his recipe of recovery. To say it out loud...

Gateau’s heartbeat accelerated as a bright green talon of anxiety sank into it. Somehow he knew precisely what words the mage would speak next... But no... It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible...

The younger man took a deep breath and finally balled up the courage to look Gateau in the eye, his own eyes warm with a flawless darkness no mortal could hope to decipher.

“Gateau... Make love to me.”

At first Gateau thought that it was the venom that made his heart freeze as those words left Marron’s lips. The warrior found himself frozen and helpless as he sat a mere couple of inches away from the one over whom he had agonized for years. The one to whom he had offered a life of love on many an occasion, only to be softly spurned each time. The one person who could save his life...

“I can’t.”

Marron inhaled sharply, reaching for his companion’s shoulder, dismayed and a little hurt when the older man pulled away from his touch.

“Gateau...”

“Marron...” The warrior regarded the younger man with a soft sadness in his blue eyes. The mage tried to recall a time when he had seen his comrade looking so full of sorrow and sincerity. His mind drew a blank. Suddenly Gateau seemed so unlike a warrior. Under all of the muscles, strong features and adult masculinity, something about the man’s current composure reminded Marron of a lost little boy.

“Marron,” the older man repeated, shaking his head slowly, despairingly, “Believe me when I say I’ve been waiting for you to say those words to me for gods only know how long... But I just can’t do it.”

“But... why?” Marron asked, hating how his voice was faltering.

“One word,” Gateau replied firmly, “Virginity.”

“And what of it?”

The warrior almost laughed. What came out was a short exhalation that sounded almost like an insolent snort, “I wouldn’t be so eager to lose it if I were you.”

Marron frowned, “Don’t tell me you’re a virgin, too.”

“I’m not!” Gateau said, throwing his hands in the air, “But that’s not my point. My point is that the first time is painful as hell, and if I ever, ever hurt you, I’d never forgive myself. I don’t want to be your first.”

“You have to, Gateau,” the mage insisted, leaning closer to his companion, “You have to do it now, or you’ll die.”

The warrior regarded the mage with heavy eyes and a heavy heart as he spoke darkly, softly, but without hesitation, “I would rather die a thousand deaths than live a thousand years knowing I forced myself on you to save my life.”

These words moved the mage so profoundly, he feared he might never be able to rival them. Yet, the situation called for speech, so he simply spoke from his heart.

“But you wouldn’t be forcing yourself on me,” he countered softly, not seeming to notice the way the fabric of the yukata fell away from one of his shoulders, coming to a subtle halt just below it, “You wouldn’t need to be forceful because I would be willing.”

The fact that Marron was showing skin (something very abnormal for Marron of all people to be doing) made Gateau a little uncomfortable. He then realized why the heck the mage had bothered to trade his usual elaborate cheongsam for the loose yukata; Easy access.

Gateau shuddered, “Uh, Marron...”

“I think I have finally come to terms with my feelings, and that’s why you have to do this,”

Gateau made a noise of protest, but the mage, it appeared, had more to say. The younger man leaned in a bit closer to his companion and seemed not to notice the fabric falling away once again, baring his entire upper body. Maybe he did notice. Even so, he cared not.

“Now that I know that your feelings for me are out of love, and not just lust...” he said in earnest, his statement remaining calm while his eyes spoke volumes, “I want you to live. For both of us.”



They would make love quietly, keeping in mind that what they were about to do had a greater goal than physical pleasure. Because Marron’s powers would become potentially harmful to Gateau once the poison had diminished and was out of the way, they would have to stop immediately when the task was done (‘”How will we know... I mean, when the poison is gone and all?” “We will know.”) Seeing as Marron was dazzlingly inexperienced, the role of leadership and dominance fell solely upon Gateau. And so, the warrior found himself suspended between dreams and reality as he began to prepare the mage for what was to come...



Marron hissed slightly at the pressure he felt building inside. It was as if his heart was pressing in on itself, fixing to implode. It was as if he were being attacked by foreigners, but they all were strangers he knew. One was a pair of of supple, experienced lips that brush-stroked pleasure along the graceful sweep of his neck and shoulders. Another was an arm that had snaked around his narrow waist, holding his body a willing captive. A third was one hand (the one connected to the aforementioned arm) that assisted in holding him while its twin ventured deeper into the fabric that fell in folds about his lower torso. Said stranger stimulated sin and fire within him, coiling deep inside his lower body as calloused, but gentle fingertips touched down upon locations that had been previously unexplored. Heels of bare feet dug against the floor as the mage pressed himself against the chest behind him, as if he wanted to meld his back with the expanse of skin supporting him from behind...

The warrior bowed his noble head and let it come to a rest in the space between his mate’s neck and shoulder, feeling warm flesh against his own as well as the occasional ribbon of hair. He couldn’t help but feel a pleasant tightening sensation in his own lower body as the frame of the smaller figure ever so slightly brushed against his inner thighs. Despite the pleasure and thrills that occupied his mind, Gateau couldn’t help but marvel. Marron did not thrash and gasp or moan and shriek in escasy the way the warrior’s previous lovers had when he pleasured them like this. Rather, the mage shuddered delicately every once in a while. He squirmed only slightly between the two muscled legs and against the broad chest, creating a delicious pleasurable friction for the older man. His breathing betrayed him only slightly. Each breath was shallow, irregular, and shaky, as if he were hyperventilating...

Not wanting to ignite any explosives prematurely, the warrior withdrew his hand. His smaller mate released what was something between a whimper and a growl.

... it had come onto him slowly and gently; the broad hand like a stalking fox, seeking him out, plundering his submissive body for weaknesses. But in one brusque second, like the splash of cold water on heated glass, it was gone. ‘No...’ his desire moaned pitifully,’No...”
why did those strong, but ever so gentle hands leave him? He’d felt... complete when they were there, and he felt alone with their absence. His heart had been so cold for so long. Now that Marron had tasted that medicinal warmth, he could not do without it. He had driven it away for so many years, only to replenish the gaping holes it left with cold and darkness. Yet now, he wanted it...

Needed it...

After a few seconds that lasted an eternity, Marron felt what he wanted finally return to him as his older counterpart gently took the little mage into his arms. Gateau noticed, with some concern, that Marron looked as though the fever was upon him. There was a sheen of perspiration along his forehead and his pale skin was flushed. His eyes were partially-overshadowed by their respective lids and lashes and his lips were parted slightly as he breathed through them. Gateau had never been a virgin’s first, and he knew that being touched for the first
time could be an almost nightmarish experience, but he hadn’t expected his smaller mate to be so... drained.
What Gateau did not know was that what his counterpart was experiencing was shock. With warmth introduced to his frigid heart for the first time in years, naturally, Marron felt a bit on the faint side.

The younger man stared up at his counterpart with half-hooded eyes, and Gateau stared back, his own eyes a gentle, contemplative blue. One arm cradled the magic user’s shoulders, while the free hand delivered calming caresses to the pale face and slender neck before coming to a halt upon the side of the mage’s jaw. The warrior then leaned forward and sought out Marron’s lips with his own. The younger man was one of submission
tonight, so he permitted entry almost immediately. Clearance granted, Gateau ventured further into the warm cavern, exploring its many clefts and crevices. Dominating the virgin’s tongue with his own, he tasted fire, sorrow, and regret.

The mage emitted a tiny sigh when Gateau’s lips left his own. Sensing that Marron had had a sufficient amount of rest, the older man removed the yukata completely and carefully laid his mate on his side upon the floor. Firelight swept over flesh like a wash of delicate gold dancing over ivory.

Marron exhaled in an almost relieved way when he felt the warmth of the larger body settling down behind his own. He full-out sighed when the comforting embrace of two muscle-bound arms encircled his waist. A certain golden warmth flooded him whenever he felt the warrior’s flesh upon his own. It was a revelation. It was... right.


Familiar lips brushed against his ear and whispered to him gently.

“Remember... breathe.”

And then came the pain.

There was a sudden shift of the elements within him, and Marron felt a certain heat rising like magma inside his body. Backing this was an extensive sting, sliding into him like a frosted dagger.

Gateau himself was, to say the least, surprised at the sensations that flew upon him when he first entered Marron. He had felt so cold within his body, as if his insides were lined with ice. Now, warmth slithered up over him, creeping over the cracks and infusing flames within his very bones. It might’ve been pleasurable under different circumstances, but the contrast was just too stark. It borderlined agonizingly painful. It was searing.

He sensed the change in his smaller mate almost immediately. Marron had latched onto the arm that held his waist and gripped it in response to the shock of the entry. His fingertips dug into the warrior’s skin, growing warmer and warmer and drawing together the lines of heat that had been laced along his insides.

It was when the older man actually began to move against his smaller counterpart that the change in Marron’s body chemistry became visually evident.

Gateau noticed, with a certain degree of alarm, that a pallid golden glow was hovering beneath the mage’s pale skin. The heat was becoming more intense, flooding his body, conquering the ice it met, proof of the battle that was taking place within the both of them.

The foreign fire blazed a searing trail through the younger, frailer body, leaving a glowing crescent along each hip, snaking up his spinal cord like lava with shards of ice floating within it, clenching at his inner abdomen and finally injecting its fury into his very core. If his heart had been a temple to ice and darkness, its frigid barriers now lay in ruins, having been stormed by a ruthless and powerful newcomer. Flames flowed through the younger man, forming fiery crescents along each inky iris, shining through his skin. The glow revealed subtle runes, like watermarks, stamped along the insides of his limbs, his chest, his neck; The marks of a Core Mage.

The glow within Marron became more and more prevalent until he was emitting light bright enough to shine upon the floor, waltzing over the wood as he moved in time with his dominant partner. He clutched at the arm that held him, fingernails biting into flesh hard enough to draw blood.

The golden light that blazed within Marron’s body then began to take on a more silvered tint. As this was happening, Gateau felt a certain change with his own body. There was now a certain heavy escasy coursing through him, thickening the present heat. Pain gave way to pleasure, and the warrior continued to move against his mate in a slow, physical rhythm, pumping pleasure into the other.

The hands that mapped over Marron were gentle and loving, but relentless and domineering, like twin wolves as they scaled the length of his body, plundering the pale flesh. A torrid torrent tore through him, the scarlet fringe of a flame, the silver sting of a blade. Writhing within his restraints, the mage’s body begged for... something... The plea received a response of a savage sort. The pace of the bodily mantra quickened, decisive and demanding as the glow beneath the paler flesh paled into pearl-white. There was a coup within the colour-change, a conqueror hard at work.

As he was nearing the peak of his pleasure, Gateau heard a subtle string of words escape the mage’s lips upon a breath.

“Not yet...”

Gateau could hardly bring himself to wonder what Marron meant by that. He was too cloyed by warmth and by pleasure. The heat seemed to be poking pinholes in his heart, through which it infiltrated on a strict ‘seek and destroy mission’ in regards to whatever remained of the cold.

“...Almost...”

By now, Marron was like a star in the night. While the glow within his body was alarmingly bright already, the runes had taken on a brilliance of their own, smoldering against his skin, bright enough to blind. Gateau had to close his eyes, the light was so strong. The pressure within his heart had built and by now was so intense, he felt he might burst. His quickening pulse, his boiling blood, his heart, so full with fire...

Then, in one fleeting moment, the battle was won, the breaking point was reached.

“NOW!!!”

The pleasure erupted in a blindlingly bright cataclysm, and the warrior’s world was strangled in white.




Sunlight was bathing his face when he awoke. Blue eyes opened slowly and lips parted in a yawn. The warrior rose to greet the day, his mind blank and balmy, save for the dregs of escasy. Pushing his fingers through his short, tawny hair to smooth it, memories flooded him... Had it all been a dream? Yet another sparkling fantasy generated by his yearning mind? Looking down at his arm, he shook his head, for all the proof he needed lay there. It was no dream. It had been real.


Gateau ventured outside, where the grass was still dewy from the morning’s mist, and birds were chorusing to each other, there songs mingling with the sunlight. After a short, rather effortless search, he found what he sought. The white-clad man was standing out in a sunlit field with his back to Gateau, his sable tresses dancing gently as the breezes coaxed them with invisible fingers. The older man approached, taking care to make just enough noise so as not to surprise the mage. It was not until he was but a mere few feet away that Gateau heard the young one draw in a harsh, shallow breath that could only be a sob.

“Marron?” He inquired softly, “Why are you crying?”

The mage did not stir when he spoke, nor did he turn to face his accomplice, “Because things must return to the way they were before last night, and I do not want them to. What happened could be considered a blessing in disguise. A fluke. You were able to make love to me because my powers were neutralized by the Titania Serpent’s Cold Fire. But in the end, Pure Fire prevailed, and conquered the serpent’s venom. You have that poison within you no longer, and I am a Core Mage. I will never be able to love or be loved in such a way ever again. I cry because I have to let go.”

Gateau sighed, feeling the sting of tears upon his eyes. He reached out to touch the shoulder of his younger accomplice, then thought better of it and withdrew his hand.

“I’ve never seen you cry before.”

A gentle sigh escaped the mage before he softly explained, “There is not a day or night when a Core Mage allows his emotions to overpower him. He wish push them away, or lock them up within him until they fade. Yielding to his feelings endangers his abilities.”

It was then that Marron turned to face his accomplice, and Gateau stifled a gasp of shock at what he saw. The mage’s tears were red; Blood.

“Over ten years have passed since the last time I allowed myself to shed a tear,” Marron continued, “thus I lost my ability to do so. But now the need to weep can not be ignored, so I bleed instead.”

The broad, gentle hand of the warrior was warm against the mage’s face as he cupped it, brushing away the scarlet moisture with a thumb, “Are you saying that you don’t let yourself be happy, or sad, or angry?” the warrior asked, his voice very much reduced, “That you don’t let yourself feel?”

“Close enough,” Marron replied, “I can feel sorrow, but part of my magehood means avoiding indulgence, obeying the whim of reason and none other, and above all things, never regretting what I have done or become. My love has belonged to my studies for so many years, but last night, I found myself in love with another. What sets me apart from other mages is that now, this morning, after having experianced something that will never happen to me again, I feel it. I feel regret.”

“Then,” Gateau said, his voice firm with guilt and grief, “I have done you evil after all. I’m sorry, Marron.”

“No...” the mage shook his head slowly,”You have simply opened a door to me. You have made me unique among my kind. I am still a prisoner of my power, and a certain sorrow will live in me forever now that I have known a love I will never feel again. I have been a lover, and part of me is a lover still. The fact of the matter is that I did feel it, even if only once, “ a small smile, “and I thank you for that.”

“So...” Gateau said quietly, not a little bitter, “Does this mean it’s over?”

The mage regarded him with dark, passive eyes, still rimmed with scarlet. Despite his tears, he looked peaceful as he spoke, “Far from it, unless ending it is your wish. We both know what happened last night, and I am sure you will never forget it. I know I won’t. As long as the both of us always remember, what took place between us will live forever.”

The warrior looked at the younger man for a few contemplative seconds, allowing the mage’s words to sink in. Then his hand left the pale cheek and fell at his side seeking out Marron’s hand and holding it. As he did this, Gateau cast a downward glance at his arm and allowed himself a small smile.

He could never forget. Ten tiny, crescent-shaped scars decorated the warrior’s forearm where Marron’s fingernails had pierced his flesh, each serving as a sufficient reminder for all time. Each a glyph of his love, and the love of the other. A love that would never be forgotten.