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It's not that Mikh'li is avoiding his work.
It really isn't.
Okay, maybe a little bit. Look, what Vedis didn't know wouldn't kill her. Besides, he'd go by later and do whatever was left. It didn't take that many people to inventory all the ammunition they still had in stock.
Plus, it's a nice day out. Haven't been that many of those lately. Too much smoke from the Wall.
Mikh'li sprawls out on his perch. It's comfortable, up here on the ruins. Not supposed to be climbing on them, but he doesn't feel like making a pilgrimage all the way up to the temple right now just for a decent view. That and he's still in trouble for sneaking in that one time.
It helps that people don't tend to look up. Nobody spots him enjoying a bit of afternoon sunlight. And it gives him the best view of the Reach. Can see from here to the Fringes, near about.
Which is why he's the first to spot the newcomers.
Five, maybe six of them. Even from this distance, Mikh'li knows they're not part of the Resistance; he knows everybody here, and anyone he doesn't, he meets soon enough. Takes him a while to spot Lyse among them, blond hair freed from her mask.
These must be the friends she'd mentioned, then. Mikh'li squints against the sunlight, trying to make the figures out. A Lalafell, he can see that much, but the rest—
"Mikh'li! Get down from there!"
Mikh'li yelps and nearly tumbles from his spot. He leans over the side to see a Highlander woman scowling up at him. Vedis. "You were supposed to help me a bell ago! Get down!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming," Mikh'li sighs.
Great. Now he can't go eavesdrop on them.
———
By the time he finishes organizing what feels like the entire armory, there's no sight of the newcomers. He wanders the Reach, half out of curiosity and half because he's nosy. It's rare enough the Reach gets visitors.
He spots the Lalafell and a white-haired Miqo'te in the infirmary, deep in discussion with the healers on shift. He finds an Elezen in the markets, then blinks and realizes there's two of them, twins. Lyse he doesn't see at all, though he's sure she's gone to the Temple to pay her respects to those fallen.
But there's no sign of that other figure that was with them. Mikh'li hadn't gotten a good look, but from the height, maybe a Hyur, or another Elezen—
Or the Miqo'te he's just walked into.
Tall. Certainly taller than him, but that's nothing odd; Mikh'li's short for their kind. Bright hair, nearly golden in the fading sunlight, or is it orange? Burgundy eyes, or perhaps gray, wide and staring at him.
Right. "Sorry," Mikh'li says, sheepish. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, don't worry." The man smiles a bit. "Do you live here? I'm lost."
"Oh! Yeah! What are you looking for?"
"Somewhere to rest, ideally. I don't mean to impose, but I've had a very long day."
"Yeah, sure. Follow me."
Mikh'li can't help but glance back at the man as he leads him. He's attractive, that much is obvious, and Mikh'li allows himself to fantasize a bit. Probably has nice hands under those gloves, and he's certainly broad enough to be pretty built underneath those clothes. An adventurer, most likely. Nice arms, certainly.
Gods, when’s the last time he even got laid? Has to have been weeks at this point. Mikh’li can go without, but it’s hard not to imagine. And with a guy like this, he’s sure to be satisfied. Maybe he’d even—
"Er. Are you sure this is where you meant to bring me?"
Mikh'li blinks. Looks up. Blushes all the way to his neck.
He'd led the man straight back to his own room. Blankets lie rumpled atop his sleeping mat, his things strewn about the tiny room as usual. Dirty clothes lie in a heap at the foot of his mat.
Well. Might as well add to them. Mikh'li turns to the man, a slow smirk curling across his lips. "That's up to you," he purrs. "Because I'd be happy to give you a tour of my room."
The man's eyebrows disappear behind his bangs. A snort escapes him. "You're... forward."
"Is that a no?" Mikh'li wiggles his ears.
The man stares back at him. Dark eyes look him over. Mikh'li isn't much to look at himself: too scrawny for most, wearing cheap leathers that match his dark hair, save the pink highlights he'd put in a while back. Hands bare for once, showing his scars.
Just as Mikh'li's about to apologize and laugh the whole thing off, the man steps forward. Warm lips find his. Mikh'li sighs into the kiss, tilting his head up to let the man lick against his lips. When he steps back, there's nothing but heat in his gaze.
"After you, then," the man says.
Mikh'li doesn't have to be told twice. He leads the man into his room, closing the door behind him and praying for once he doesn't get interrupted. That he has a room at all is a sign of the times — they're meant for those with seniority, not camp brats like him. But so many had left with the Griffin, there'd been enough space for him to snag a room not far from the medical bay. It's small enough to be a closet (and probably is meant for one), but his sleeping mat had fit and that was all that mattered.
"I'm Mikh'li," he offers, as the man follows him. "What's your name?"
For some reason, this gives the other Miqo'te pause. "Cálei," he says, slowly.
"What?"
Cálei laughs to himself and shakes his head. "You don't know who I am, do you?"
Mikh'li's pretty sure he's never met a "Cálei" before; it's not a Miqo'te name. Adopted, maybe. "No? Should I? You're one of Lyse's friends, right? That's good enough for me."
"Yeah, sure."
Introductions done with, Cálei wastes no time in pushing him down to the sleeping mat. Mikh'li hadn't dared to hope, but a delighted little thrill shoots through him as Cálei effortlessly takes the lead. Gods, it's been so long since someone held him down properly.
His hands roam over Cálei's torso, even more pleased to find firm muscles beneath his clothes. He really has gotten lucky.
Even nicer is that Cálei doesn't shy away from kissing him. Mikh'li's always loved kissing, but most of his experience is in trysts like this: quick little encounters that leave little room for emotion. Not that Mikh'li expects anything from Cálei — or from any of his other partners — but it's nice to enjoy everything about the person he's with. He'd had a few partners who refused to kiss at all, to his disappointment.
This is turning out to be quite the opposite, especially as Cálei presses him down onto the mat. There's a very firm bulge pressing against his own, which only makes him twitch in his pants.
So when Cálei starts to undress him, Mikh'li takes the opportunity to flip them around. "You said you had a long day, right?" Mikh'li purrs, placing a hand on Cálei's thigh. "Let me take care of you."
Cálei's lips quirk up into a smile. "You're eager."
"We don't exactly get many visitors," Mikh'li grumbles, unbuckling Cálei's pants. "Much less ones as attractive as you—" His eyes go wide as he gets a better look at his bulge. "Or as big."
"Not a problem, is it?"
"Gods, no." Mikh'li has to wriggle a bit to pull Cálei out of his pants — he's big enough to fill his palm. His mouth waters at the sight of him. Not sure if he can actually manage to take him, but the prospect makes his cock throb in excitement.
Gentle fingers curl around one of his ears. "Go slow," Cálei advises. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Uh-huh," Mikh'li says, distractedly. He wets his lips and bows his head over him, letting out a soft breath before wrapping his lips around the head. It's not an easy fit, but after a few tries he manages it, and lets out a sigh of pure delight.
He bobs his head over Cálei, getting used to the feel of him, and works the rest of his cock in his hands. The best part is, Cálei hasn't stopped stroking his ears. It's such a soothing motion that it's even easier for Mikh'li to relax and swallow him deeper.
He pulls off after a few quick swallows, panting and flushed. His own cock is heavy between his thighs, aching against the seam of his pants. He feels lightheaded, even after getting a few good lungfuls of air.
"You okay?" Cálei asks.
A smile blooms on Mikh'li's lips. "Very, very okay."
He goes back down before Cálei can say anything else, and earns a low moan for his work. It doesn't take Mikh'li long to find a rhythm, bobbing his head on him a few times before swallowing him deep, taking in as many ilms as he can before pulling back up. Cálei is thick, yes, but it's a pleasant ache, and one he's long missed.
Can't remember the last time he got to do this. Mikh'li isn't choosy when it comes to partners, but living in the Reach means his options are usually limited. It's rare enough anyone comes through here, much less someone who matches what he wants.
But as Cálei's hand settles on Mikh'li's head, he realizes he's gotten more than lucky. He's not pushing down, just cupping one of his ears and stroking it, but the hint is enough to send shivers down his spine. Mikh'li pulls off him with a wet gasp.
"Fuck me," he begs. "I can take it, just fuck me—"
Cálei's eyebrows lift, but a smirk slides across his lips. "You really are needy," he hums, thumbing over the curve of Mikh'li's jaw. "You want me to choke you? Is that it?"
His mouth waters at the idea. "Please."
"And you even know how to ask nicely." Cálei's voice is a low purr as he guides his cock back into Mikh'li's waiting mouth. He gives him a few moments to adjust, then slides his hand to the back of Mikh'li's head and pushes him down, nice and slow.
Mikh'li closes his eyes and basks in it. He's only had one partner who did this to him, years ago, and he'd nearly forgotten how nice it felt. Sex has always been about letting go of his troubles, and there's little better for it than being held down. Mikh'li's tail quivers with each slow thrust, until he's taken most of Cálei's cock. Then Cálei pulls him back up and starts again.
Eventually Cálei withdraws completely and gives him a chance to catch his breath. "You okay?" he asks again, stroking Mikh'li's ear.
"Yeah," Mikh'li sighs, happily. "Thank you."
Cálei snorts. "I should be thanking you. This really wasn't how I planned on spending my evening, you know."
Mikh'li flushes, but he can't help a coy grin. "Are you complaining?"
"Hardly. Just surprised, is all. But this has been rather one-sided, don't you think?"
Cálei tugs Mikh'li up towards him, then starts undressing the both of them. Within moments they're both bare, and Cálei pins Mikh'li back down to the mat with a searing kiss. There's nothing but intent in his eyes, and it makes Mikh'li's tail curl.
Sure enough, Cálei wastes no time in spreading Mikh'li's legs. He palms his cock a few times, but it's no more than a brief tease. Instead he fumbles in his pack for a moment and comes out with a small jar. As soon as his fingers are slick, Cálei's sliding them into Mikh'li, easing him open.
All the while, Mikh'li can't help but touch. Cálei has no shortage of scars, but he's got the body of a fighter, and Mikh'li wants to run his hands over every ilm of his skin. Would love to follow it with his lips, but he's not quite that limber. Maybe later.
It doesn't take long for Cálei to prep him, though instead of pushing him down to the mat, Cálei instead turns him over. Mikh'li understands why immediately, and happily arches his back, pushing his ass back into Cálei's hands. Cálei rewards him with a quick squeeze of his ass, then shifts behind him.
Mikh'li's anticipation only grows as he listens to Cálei finish preparing himself. Wishes he could see the look in Cálei's eyes, but he's not about to suggest they change positions. This is exactly what he wants.
A warm hand squeezes his hip. "If you need me to stop or slow down, just tell me."
That's all the warning he gets before Cálei presses into him. Mikh'li inhales at the sheer heft of his cock, more anticipation than strain, but he is a lot to take. Mikh'li lets out a loud moan as Cálei fills him, tail arching up in a curve. Gods does he feel full, in the best of ways.
Cálei's hands find his hips as he slides in deep. He keeps his thrusts shallow at first, letting Mikh'li adjust. Mikh'li appreciates it, he does, but he wants this, and he pushes his hips back towards Cálei, eagerly.
"Come on," he urges. "Fuck me, hard, I can take it—"
Cálei chuckles. "If you insist."
The first snap of his hips makes stars flash before Mikh'li's eyes. Cálei is heavy and thick inside him, filling him to the brim, and every thrust makes him tremble with want. Cálei fucks him slow, not fast, each thrust deep and precise. It's not what Mikh'li is used to, but he finds he doesn't mind at all. His own cock quivers between his thighs, but he can't spare a hand to touch himself; his balance is bad enough already.
Doesn't matter. Cálei isn't letting up. Each roll of his hips sends his cock deep, so much so that Mikh'li isn't sure where he ends and Cálei begins. He's been moaning, he realizes, nonsense words and thoughtless pleas for more, more, more.
He doesn't notice when Cálei speeds up. Not at first. Not until each thrust comes fast and hard, driving every last thought out of Mikh'li's head. He finds himself whimpering, desperate for more even as Cálei fills him.
"You're so good for me," Cálei breathes on the edge of a moan. "So good—"
Bruises will litter his hips come morning if Cálei clutches him any harder. Mikh'li doesn't mind. Relishes it, in fact, because each bruise is a reminder of this moment. This feeling, right now, when nothing matters but the next slide of Cálei's cock. Of being overwhelmed in his favorite way.
There's nothing better than this.
But he needs more. Mikh'li braces himself against the bedroll with one hand while the other pushes between his legs. His own cock is painfully stiff, and the first touch is a relief beyond measure. He's close, close, he just needs a little more—
Cálei's fingers slide over his. "Come for me," Cálei purrs.
That's all it takes. Mikh'li spills himself into their hands, moans muffled against the bedroll. He pushes his hips back against Cálei's, eager, wanting even as his own pleasure crests. "Please," he begs, not sure himself what he's asking for. "Please, just— please—"
Cálei obliges him. Doesn't take long for his thrusts to slow again, each one precise and heavy, meant to make Mikh'li shudder from the inside out. Mikh'li feels it when he comes, legs quivering as Cálei pulses inside him in one heavy burst after another.
Feels sticky, afterwards. Sticky and sweaty and utterly, completely satisfied. Cálei smears a few lazy kisses down his spine as they both catch their breath. Pulls out of him slow, letting him feel that last slide before he collapses onto the bedroll beside him. Leans in for a kiss, warm and gentle.
Mikh'li isn't sure he can move. Fairly sure he doesn't want to. He sprawls across his bedroll, utterly content.
"Gods, that was..." Mikh'li laughs, astonished. "You're amazing."
"Speak for yourself," Cálei replies, grinning. His tail finds Mikh'li's, brushes against it, twines with his. An intimate touch for any Miqo'te, but they're far past such boundaries.
Silence blankets them both as their bodies cool. Mikh'li feels the same exhaustion he always feels after good sex, the kind that makes him want to curl up and nap in a nice spot of sunlight. Or with someone. Cálei's arm winds around him, pulling him in for another lazy kiss, and Mikh'li lets out a noise that could almost be a purr.
Cálei chuckles again, quietly. "You really have no idea who I am."
"Nope," Mikh'li yawns. He really could fall asleep like this. "Does it matter?"
"I suppose not." Cálei kisses him again, gentle as he'd been earlier. "Thank you for the warm welcome."
Mikh'li beams. "Any time."
———
Cálei's still there the next morning, though he doesn't linger. It's only after he leaves that Mikh'li does wonder who he is. The Resistance doesn't have the funds to hire mercenaries for any length of time, and most adventurers know better than to get caught in a guerrilla war.
Still, he's probably here to help in some way, if he's one of Lyse's friends. She'd mentioned her organization a few times, the Scions of Something-or-Other, dedicated to defending Eorzea against any ill that might befall it. Took them long enough to care about Ala Mhigo, but Mikh'li doesn't expect any better by now.
Makes him wonder, though. Is life really so much better on the other side of the Wall that Gridania could turn a blind eye to the Garleans for years? Or are they finally threatened, and only fighting to save themselves?
Doesn't really matter in the end, he thinks. Either the Garleans are defeated, or you die trying. Hasn't served him wrong so far.
———
Mikh'li doesn't see Cálei for a few days. He spots a few of his Scion companions around the Reach, though they stick near the infirmary. Least they're doing their best to help.
As for him, Vedis keeps him hard at work rebuilding their armory. The Griffin had depleted the Reach of much of its matériel, to say nothing of the people. Hard not to be bitter about it, but there's no space in Mikh'li's mind for that. Hasn't been for years.
His story isn't anything special. Really, there are many here at the Reach with more personal stories than his. They'd grown up under the yoke of the Garleans, or seen friends and family butchered by them.
Mikh'li's seen it too, of course, but this war is all he's ever known. He'd been a child when the Wall went up, and he'd ended up on the wrong side. Vedis had taken him in, brought him to the Reach, looked after him. What was he supposed to do except join in the fight?
It's not as though he could have turned away from it.
———
Cálei turns back up in the last place Mikh'li expects: a mission briefing.
Everyone's heard about the Alliance troops taking Castrum Oriens, of course, but Mikh'li's not so sure about working with them. Sure, they'd captured the Wall, but what took them so long to try? What's in it for them? Nothing good, he's sure.
It figures, then, that his next assignment is to work directly with them. And Cálei, it turns out, isn't just one of them, but the godsdamned Warrior of Light himself.
He doesn't speak to Cálei then, nor when they head across the Fringes to the castrum to meet with the Alliance leaders. Raubahn Aldynn is as imposing a figure as the stories say, though Mikh'li is more impressed by the tiny Lalafell at his side. Lalafell are few around the Reach, but any who choose to bear the blade deserve his respect.
The mission is simple: cause trouble for the Garleans. Mikh’li’s favorite thing.
———
Getting the Garleans' attention is easy. Skirmishes between the Alliance and the Garlean patrols are common, and it takes no time at all to find one wandering close.
As usual, Mikh'li works alongside M'naago — technically his commander, according to Resistance hierarchy. Only technically, because after all the time they've spent together, it's hard to think of Naago as anything but a long-lost sibling. They get along well enough, when Mikh'li's in the mood to listen to her.
They gather on a ridge overlooking Castrum Velodyna. There's a stretch of land between here and Bittermill that makes for a prime ambush site, if they can lead the Garleans here. Which makes it his job.
"Mikh'li, how many bombs do you have?"
"They're not bombs, they're grenades," Mikh'li says, for what must be the hundredth time. This time, Naago doesn't bite and simply keeps staring at him. "About a dozen. I didn't have time to make more."
"It should be enough," Naago muses. "All right, you watch the flank and take out anyone who tries to run. That work for you, General?"
Raubahn nods, though he looks over their small party with a frown. There's only a handful of them here on this mission: Naago, Raubahn, that Elezen twin who came with Lyse, and Cálei. Mikh'li knows he can hold off a couple of Garleans on his own, but if they meet more than a dozen, they'll be in trouble.
"Cálei, you and Alisaie take point," Raubahn says. "We'll need your magicks to take down the prototype magitek armor. M'naago, you and your forces will handle any individual soldiers. Everyone ready?"
Mikh'li glances at Cálei. There's a sword hanging on his belt, but it looks so thin he doubts it can stand up to imperial magitek. And he's supposed to be a mage? What kind of mage uses a sword? Unless he's a red— no, he can't be.
No time to worry about that. There's a unit of Garleans approaching, a Roegadyn at the front. Behind him marches a massive magitek armor and a few Garlean soldiers.
Time to dance.
———
Mikh'li doesn't have a name for his chosen fighting style. He's not sure there is one. He'd learned a little from everyone who's passed through the Reach, mages and soldiers alike.
What he is comfortable with is his choice of weapon: a pair of chakrams he'd gotten from a Thavnarian troupe passing through the region. They'd taken a lot of practice to get used to, but now they feel like extensions of his body.
While Cálei and the Elezen girl take the magitek armor, Mikh'li focuses on the foot soldiers. Easy to take down the first, a stick-wielding mage, but the next proves more troublesome. Mikh'li weaves out of the way of the soldier's axe and throws a chakram at his face, catching it when it bounces off his helmet. The soldier advances, axe clashing against Mikh'li's chakrams and pushing him back.
Times like this call for his other weapon. Mikh'li drops one chakram and pulls a grenade off his belt, then throws it at the man and darts backwards. It explodes in a pillar of fire and ice, just as he'd planned. Mikh'li's no dab hand at magic himself, but he has enough mana to fill a few grenades with spells. They've come in handy more than once.
"Damn it all!" the Garleans' leader yells. "Haven't we got anything else? More armor or weapons or something?"
He looks around wildly, but no reinforcements appear. Raubahn uses his distraction to push his attack, blade flashing against the man's green armor. Meanwhile, Cálei continues to harry the magitek armor, spells flying from his blade and something in his hand.
They've won. Just a little further, and the Garleans will be routed. He lobs another grenade, this one at the magitek armor, and watches it spark as its joints freeze from the ice spell inside.
But the Roegadyn doesn't seem fazed. "You think you've won, eh? Then we go together!"
A mechanical voice emits from the magitek armor. "Self-destruct sequence initiated. Sixty... fifty-nine... fifty-eight..."
"Seven hells!" Raubahn curses. "There's no time to get to safety! Everyone, concentrate your fire on the magitek armor!"
Mikh'li doesn't have to be told twice. He tosses another grenade at the armor and follows it up with a few hits from his chakram. It's Cálei who's making the biggest dent in it, though, his sword flashing against its metal chassis. Within a matter of moments, the armor crumples, falling into a heap on the road.
"You'll pay for this!" the Roegadyn shouts, even as he turns tail to run. "Mark my words, the next time we meet will be the last!"
Mikh'li grabs another grenade, but Raubahn holds out an arm. "Aye! Run and tell your viceroy!"
Of course. A show of strength, to prove their might. Mikh'li smiles to himself and tucks away the grenade. A good day's work, indeed.
———
They party in the Reach that night, ale flowing like water. There's not been much to celebrate of late, what with the mess the Alliance had made of taking the Wall, but this? This is a clear victory, and one long overdue.
Mikh'li winds his way through the camp, and finds Cálei sitting among his Scion friends, along with another Miqo'te, a redheaded Keeper who's playing the lute. His brother, he learns later.
Cálei spots him across the fire and smiles. "Mikh'li. Good work today."
Mikh'li tells himself it's the fire warming his cheeks.
———
Mikh'li is chosen for the next attack on the Garleans. No surprise there; they don't have that many ready to fight. Much as he hates to admit it, the Griffin had taken their best and brightest.
It's fine. Mikh'li's already doing the work of six people, he might as well fight for that many.
Besides, he's been wanting to do something about Castrum Velodyna for years. It's nothing but an eyesore, and it never seems to be empty of Garleans. The plan is simple enough, but it'll be tricky to pull off.
Both twins are along for this particular encounter, as is that Lalafell who'd been at Castrum Oriens. Pipin, he's called, and Mikh'li can't help but be fascinated by him.
Oh, and Cálei, of course.
It's different, seeing the Warrior of Light in action. There's something undeniably noble about his bearing, even as he does his best to lie low with the others. Mikh'li has never put much stock in heroes, but even he has to admit that Cálei isn't what he expected. It's hard to believe that he's really the storied Warrior of Light, slayer of primals across Eorzea, bane of the Garleans. In person, he simply looks... tired. Mikh'li's barely seen him since that first night; it seems the Resistance has him traveling all over the region to help those in need.
It's not that he wants a deeper connection with him. It really isn't. Mikh'li doesn't put much stock in that kind of thing anyway — his line of work can't afford it. He's as likely to see someone slain on the battlefield as not. There's little time for sentiment.
But above all else, Cálei had been kind. That, more than the rest, had mattered to Mikh'li. He doesn't want to see him get hurt, like so many others.
Probably won't have a choice, in the end.
His thoughts are cut short by the sharp retort of cannon fire. Mikh'li reaches for his chakrams automatically, but there's no immediate threat; the Garleans haven't found their position.
"Oh, gods," one of the twins says, pointing. In the distance, Mikh'li can just make out a column of smoke. "It's Rhalgr's Reach!"
Mikh'li reaches for his linkpearl automatically, calling Vedis, but all he hears is static. The other twin is doing the same, and shakes his head. "I think someone's jamming our communications. We must return to the Reach at once."
———
By the time they near the Reach, the smoke has blackened the stars. Mikh'li only catches a glimpse of the figures emerging from the Reach and races forward, chakram in hand. It's the sight of the yellow-garbed Lalafell that stays his hand — that Scion healer who's been in the infirmary.
His vision clears, and he realizes she's not alone. "Godwyn! Are you all right?"
"For now, lad," the Hyur replies. He'd been badly injured in the fight at the Wall some weeks ago. "Lyse and Conrad rallied the guards, bought us time to get out, but..."
Mikh'li curses. He turns to the Scions, unable to hide his desperation. "We have to get in there, we have to help them—"
Cálei puts a hand on his shoulder. "We will. But we can't rush in unawares." He turns to the Lalafell. "Krile, any idea of their numbers?"
She shakes her head. "Only that there were too many of them. I'm not sure you can win this fight, Cálei."
"Maybe not, but I intend to save as many as I can." He closes his eyes and holds out a hand, and in it appears a staff of pure light. "Let's go."
———
The Garleans are everywhere.
They're in the markets. They're in the infirmary. They're even in the Temple, gods damn them, defiling it with their very presence.
Mikh'li doesn't think. Can't. He strikes the first Garlean he sees and doesn't stop, throwing his chakrams over and over until the man slumps to the ground in a heap. He throws every grenade he's got, watching pillars of fire and ice light up. He fights and he fights and he fights, cutting down everything in his way.
It's not enough. There's too many of them. For every one he kills, two more follow. A half-dozen Garleans surround him, weapons at the ready.
So this is it, huh. All that fighting, just to die in the place he grew up. Least his blood will be spilled on Rhalgr's altar. He'll have his place in the heavens.
Mikh'li grins and raises his chakrams.
Then something hits him from behind, and everything goes dark.
———
Not sure how long it's been when he wakes. Still dark. His hands are tied behind him, his chakrams gone. Nearby lies Lyse, breathing shallowly.
And before him—
It takes Mikh'li a moment to realize who he's looking at. He's heard of Zenos, everyone has, but he didn't expect the man to be so... imposing. Even standing still, he looks as though he could slay a thousand men without breaking a sweat.
Even the two fighting him don't seem to be making a dent. Cálei and his brother trade blows with Zenos, and he simply shrugs them off. Yet neither is falling. Cálei's staff glows bright in his hand, holy magic keeping both of them up.
But it doesn't seem to be enough. As Mikh'li's head swims with pain, he watches Cálei drop to a knee, then glow with white light and rise again. He'll run out of mana eventually, and then—
Zenos charges forward, sword in hand, too fast to follow. Cálei raises his staff, but it's not enough to block the strike. Zenos sends him to the ground, alongside his own sword, snapped from the force of the blow.
"Pathetic," Zenos growls.
And then, impossibly, he turns away. Strides from the battlefield, as if it means nothing. As if none of this matters to him.
He can't even give them the dignity of death. Only defeat.
Gods damn them.
———
The worst part is, they stick him in the infirmary.
"Lie down," Vedis chides, pushing him down against the bed. "You're not a child anymore, Mikh'li. Stay still for once in your life, will you?"
Mikh'li only scowls at her. He's not that badly injured, not compared to the others. He'd gotten away with his life. Most hadn't.
First the Wall, then this. What use is he if he can't fight? If he can't do anything?
"Let me help. Maybe he'll listen to me."
It's Cálei. Considering he fought Zenos, he really should be worse off, but he seems in fine health save for a few bruises. Vedis steps away, relieved to be free of her most irascible charge.
"You look well," Mikh'li says, not hiding his bitterness.
"I got lucky," Cálei replies. "So did you. I heard you tried to take down a dozen Garleans. You're lucky you weren't killed."
"I could have taken them."
"Right."
Cálei places a hand on Mikh'li's. The tingly sensation that accompanies healing magic follows, and while it makes Mikh'li itch, he has to admit it helps.
"We're not enough," Mikh'li murmurs. "The Resistance. We gave all we had, and still we lost. We'll never defeat the Garleans at this rate."
"No, you won't." Mikh'li flinches, but Cálei doesn't sound accusatory. He's simply stating facts. "But that doesn't mean you're out of options."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm heading east. Ala Mhigo isn't the only land Garlemald has subjugated. The more we can divide their forces, the easier it'll be to take them all down."
All Mikh'li hears is, "You're abandoning us."
"I'm leaving to get help," Cálei corrects. "It's the best chance we've got. But it won't work if the Reach falls while I'm gone. I need you to hold down the fort." Cálei studies him, dark eyes serious. "Can you do that? Can you hold onto hope?"
"Of course I can. That's all I've been doing, for years." And it hasn't amounted to anything, he thinks. He swallows, sighs. "Fine. We'll hold out. But if you come back empty-handed, you're not welcome here."
"Deal." Cálei lets go of his hand, and with it goes the nice healing sensation. Instead he reaches up to brush Mikh'li's hair back. "I'll be back, with help. I swear it."
It's not much of a promise. It's not much of anything, if Mikh'li thinks about it. But just then, it feels like hope.
And that has to be enough.