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Summer came the closest the Lightkeepers got to an off-season, a scant month when the sun glowed at all hours, never setting. Since the Wild Hunt preferred the cover of darkness, the greatest enemy to Ratniki was boredom, this summer more than any in memory. Only two weeks into the nightless days, Illuga hadn’t fought the Hunt in a month, and it was much the same over the rest of Nod-Krai, a welcome rest after three successive crises, beginning with Rerir and ending with Roland.
Illuga should be elated. He passed by the graves of Lightkeepers every night on patrol. He shouldn’t want to fight something.
What Illuga truly wanted, he told himself, was a cigarette. He got the craving every summer. The light kept him awake, the heat made his scars itch, and a pounding headache throbbed in his skull at all hours. Smoking helped, some. It had been easy to promise his pops he wouldn’t take to drinking as a hobby when he didn’t like getting drunk, but he'd smoked for two years before Flins made him quit.
The fresh, warm air outside would have done his scars some good, but the light kept Illuga huddled in his office reading reports. Later today, he’d be traveling to Piramida so he could catch a ship out to Nasha Town for the League meeting, where he’d be updating everyone on the movements of the Hunt. He’d already written his report, but rechecking the information gave him something to focus on.
The strength of the Hunt seemed to have waned considerably, but they wouldn’t have a good grasp on things until their usual surge in the autumn. Assuming the Hunt operated on its old logic. At the last League meeting, Miss Nefer had asked Illuga what the Lightkeepers would do, if the Hunt went dormant again. A part of him had felt angry, even almost called Nefer naive. Thankfully better instincts prevailed, and he simply said they would address that topic come winter.
If the Hunt hadn’t rallied by then… A full season without the Hunt seemed impossible.
At first, Illuga thought the high cry cutting into his office was a trick of his memory, but in the next moment he snatched his pole arm up and ran. He was the first to reach Valdis standing in the middle of camp.
Illuga didn't see or hear any signs of the Hunt, and Valdis hadn’t been on patrol. “What’s going on?”
“It was the Hunt! … I think?"
“You 'think'?" Illuga asked incredulously. “Give me your report!”
Valdis straightened. “Right! I was sorting through a crate of ore near the forge and a small creature jumped out at me! It was about the size of a treasure weasel but it had the coloration and odor of a Hunt creature. It was quick; it got away from me before I could get a better look.”
Illuga suppressed a shiver of unease. The Hunt was always going to return. It didn't come to his call.
The other Ratniki had gathered to hear, except those on watch. New tactics from the Hunt was never good news. Shortly, Illuga had them organized into a search, with himself and a couple others doing random checks.
Most Lightkeepers knew Illuga was especially good at sensing the Hunt. They were polite enough to call it experience, but that came from proximity rather than seniority: Illuga had been at the heart of the two worst abyssal disasters in the last decade.
And part of two of the greatest triumphs, the defeats of Rotwang and Roland. Surely that meant more.
He walked to the far edge of the camp, out of sight, and shut his eyes, tuning out the noise of the wind. The Hunt's grudge against the living ran too deep; it could not stay silent, always whispering and chittering to itself, whispers Illuga could hear and understand from his earliest, flame-scorched memories.
He caught a wisp that led him up a ladder, into one of the storerooms used for food. Illuga frowned. Even a small abyssal creature could contaminate a lot of provisions.
He entered as quietly as the creaking door allowed, shutting it behind him. The whispers seemed to echo in the small space, making them hard to pinpoint, but shortly, he saw a long stalk of rye twitch in its barrel with no breeze to stir it.
The Hunt had lost much of its guile, but Illuga took no chances, pretending to look elsewhere as he planned his approach. He’d need to get the creature on the ground to have enough clearance for his pole arm. He watched the shifting rye as he wandered closer, waiting for it to be still.
Then he thrust his hand down, snapping through stalks until he his fingers closed on something writhing and hissing. Instinctively, he jerked his hand, the same way he’d break a chicken’s neck. He felt a hot sting on his arm, and then the Hunt creature dissolved between his fingers.
Illuga stood there as his pulse and breathing slowed, bleeding into the grain.
Rollon called from outside. “Captain! I thought I heard—”
He opened the door. “I found it. Tell everyone to keep searching, just in case there are more. It was weak, but it has a long, sharp tail, so flush it out with a weapon. ”
Rollon blinked. “Understood, squad leader.” His eyes flicked Illuga’s arm. “I’ll tell Egle to meet you at the med station.”
He smiled. “Thank you. And please make sure everyone knows not to use any food from here until it’s been checked. We’ll need to burn the rye.”
The wound was shallow and barely worth the bandage, but Illuga let Egle tie it up. If anyone else had neglected a similar injury, it would be Illuga in their face, reminding them how easy it was for abyssal wounds to become infected.
“The cut looks normal,” Egle told him, “but with how weird that thing was, I’d feel better if you left for Piramida now.”
Illuga would have liked to inventory the food first, but she was right, and Piramida should have the new intelligence as soon as possible. He gave Egle a reassuring smile. “Good idea. If it gets any worse, I can ask Miss Lauma to take a look at it tomorrow.”
He packed quickly and didn’t argue when his squad insisted on sending along an extra escort. The others would follow the example he set, and he always wanted them to be careful.
The sun glowered eye-level all the way back to Piramida. He had a light fever, normal enough after an abyssal wound, but his head hurt too much to distract his squad with talk, and the worried looks wore at his patience. It galled him to leave his squad run off to play politician in Nasha Town with the Hunt finally on the move again. Unfortunately, he couldn’t skip a League meeting like one of Aino’s classes.
Illuga left his squad at the foot of Piramida. As he rode up the lift, he pulled on his arm warmers and took out a sheaf of reports from a pocket sewn inside his sweater, a leftover from his courier days. He had learned over the years that Lightkeepers were so allergic to paperwork that just carrying some was enough to keep most of them at bay. But he had less to worry about than usual; a lot of Ratniki had taken long overdue leave, and Piramida was emptier than Illuga had ever seen it.
No more a fan of the summer than Illuga, Nikita was in his office, his thick, scarred arms bare on the desk. Even after only a few days away, it was always a relief to lay eyes on him, one of the few faces left from Illuga's first days at the fortress.
Illuga gave him the rundown on the Hunt creature while he did his best to sketch it for the notice board. No-one else had reported anything similar, but Cliffwatch sat right up against the most corrupted lands.
As he rose to leave, Nikita beckoned him closer. “Let me see it, Illuga.”
Ruefully, Illuga pulled down his arm warmer and let Nikita exam the bandaged wound. He prodded it a bit, and nodded. “I'm far from senile, so there's no need to go testing my sharpness. Now get some rest. Sleep through as much of this heat as you can.”
After posting the notice, Illuga headed to the showers. They didn't run hot water in the summer, to save on fuel, and that suited him perfectly right now. He braced his wounded arm against the wall keep it out of the water, and bowed his head under the cold spray, hoping the throbbing in his skin and head would fade.
He could talk to Miss Lauma about some kind of salve. Abyssal wounds never healed clean, and nearly every experienced Lightkeeper had a scar that troubled them. If the costs of frontline medical supplies decreased, they could offer to pay for commissions like that, and provide other help for Ratniki with old injuries or faulty prosthetics.
If Illuga encouraged the Lightkeepers to attend Aino’s lecture, they might be able to build their own prosthetics one day. Illuga couldn’t picture himself tinkering with electronics. Or maybe it would be more honest to say he couldn’t picture being satisfied with that.
The creature earlier proved the Hunt would always adapt. Even if it slept for a time, it would return. Illuga would be waiting.
A soft voice spoke in his ear. “Don’t fight.”
The voice belonged to someone dead. It bothered him he couldn't immediately place a name. Illuga dreamed of his departed comrades often, though he didn't remember falling asleep.
He turned, but the phantom pushed him against the wall with its larger body. Heat poured off of it, not like someone dead at all.
“What do you—”
It's tongue touched the back of Illuga’s neck, heat sizzling through his body. He gasped. This was wrong. Illuga had never dreamed about this. He tried to buck the phantom off, but he had no strength.
“Don't fight."
Burning hands grasped his hips. To Illuga's mortification, his cock was responding, eagerly. His skin felt starving for the touch, a hunger that tore his thoughts to shreds. He arched into the phantom's hands as it swept over his ass and thighs, his mouth open and panting.
The touch, the heat, disappeared. Illuga spun, almost slipping, to find himself alone. No noise from the outer door opening. Nothing remained of the incident but his erection.
Illuga pulled his clothes over wet skin and took the shortest route to his quarters. On the floor of his room, with his back against the door, Illuga considered whether he was suffering from abyssal corruption or simply losing it.
The distinction mattered less than he'd like. The abyss only ever spoke his own worst thoughts back to him.
How long had it been since someone touched him like that? Well, never like that. Most of the sex he’d had had been more for comfort than pleasure, rushed and wordless in the dark. Situations he agreed to, never asked for. He didn't think about the other Lightkeepers like that, save for one exception he wouldn’t start thinking about now.
He had put an end to all fooling around when he became a captain three years ago. Was he that pent up? He still felt hot and sensitive. He undressed and laid down, resting his hand on his stomach, but he couldn't make himself do more. It still bothered him that he couldn't remember the phantom's name.
Illuga shoved his head under a pillow to escape the late afternoon light. In his half-dreams, warm hands held him down and touched him gently, coaxing. The Hunt, the Lightkeepers, the spirits of his fallen comrades. The distinctions didn't matter; they all wanted the same impossible thing.
Don’t fight don’t fight don’t fight.
But Illuga always knew that if he stopped fighting, there would be nothing left of him.
🌣🌣🌣
Eventually, Illuga couldn’t stand lying down anymore. Despite the low fever and the questionable sleep, he didn't feel tired at all. He pulled on an old sweater that covered his arms and headed to the kitchen to help with breakfast. The morning crew was never chatty, so he slipped in and out without more than a few words.
Several of the Lightkeeper’s suppliers offered free transport for Ratniki. Illuga caught the earliest ship heading to Nasha Town, a captain and crew he'd known since back when he'd worked logistics. It seemed better not to be alone, so Illuga joined them for cards, which had the benefit of shade, and plenty of second-hand smoke. They didn't mention Illuga’s quiet mood. Ratniki were allowed their eccentricities, Illuga thought wryly. A trick Flins used all the time.
He excused himself after a couple hours for some air so he could check on Flins’s lighthouse as they passed by. Typically, it had attracted the only clouds in the sky. Illuga remembered thinking, when he had first set foot on the small, shadowed isle, that it felt like a different world. A haven from the constant clamor of Piramida. A childish part of him had taken pride in befriending the isle's mysterious master, the most aloof of the Ratniki.
Practically overnight Flins had gained a troupe's worth of friend who knew him far better than Illuga did. After years of worrying Flins would perish alone among the ruins, Illuga should feel happy about it. If he had to skip their usual meet-up on his way back from Nasha Town because he couldn't get a handle on himself, he could ask Jahoda to check on Flins.
… Then again, Jahoda couldn't lie very well, and it would probably get back to Miss Nefer, who would ask Illuga about it. Better to send Aedon with a note.
The ship reached town in the evening, with the sun more or less in the right place, low in the sky. Despite the Captain's protests, Illuga had helped with loading at both the stops they’d made, but he still felt restless, and wide awake.
He ate dinner under the awning at Speranza, then headed to the Flagship. Miss Nefer had helped him get a good rate on one of their monthly rentals. It felt like a waste to Illuga, but it was nice to not to worry about a bed. The room was similar in size to his quarters at Piramida, big enough for a bed, a desk, and a wash basin.
Illuga pulled the curtain closed, and redid the dressing on his arm in the half-gloom. If he was under abyssal influence it would clear in a day or two. If he wasn’t… Either way, the best thing he could do was to tire himself out so he would sleep. Tarno had tried to wheedle him into going dancing a few times, claiming it would be good for making friends. He wouldn't be alone, at least.
He washed his face, and, after some hesitation, stripped off his sweater so he'd have something somewhat clean tomorrow. His black undershirt showed his stomach, and more of his scars. Nothing new in Nasha Town but Illuga knew his scars looked worst than the usual, like he should have died three times over.
The Flagship was already full, hazy with smoke and the heat of crowded, sweating bodies. Illuga looked at the dance floor, so packed he could barely tell couples apart, and debated on retreating.
A hand clapped him on the shoulder. “Illuga!” Tarno said, turning him around. “You decided to experience the town a little?”
“I had some energy to spare, so…”
“I’m glad.” Tarno did seem pleased. He looked Illuga over, gaze snagging briefly on his stomach. Illuga didn't blame him. “Look, I’ve got to meet a client, but come on, let me have your first dance.”
"Oh, of, uh, course. Thanks." He hoped running into Tarno first thing was a good sign. Illuga had liked Tarno as soon as they'd met after the League's formation. He was clever with words and numbers, much more suited to be a League representative than Illuga.
His hands were shockingly soft on Illuga's bare waist, and confident despite Illuga's nervy stiffness. Tarno was a good dancer, and a good teacher, but having hands on him put Illuga's pulse through the roof. The ones in the shower had felt just as real.
After a couple of songs, Tarno pulled Illuga to the side, leaning close so he didn't have to shout. “Just saw my client walk in. I’ll try to speed things along.” He squeezed Illuga's hip. “Stick around until I’m done, alright?”
Before Illuga could panic, a new partner gripped his waist from behind, pulling him back on to the floor. He tried to twist around, but there were too many people. Other couples were dancing front to back. Illuga made himself move.
The stranger's hands wandered, sweaty fingers dipping past his waistband. Illuga grabbed his forearm, then froze, heartbeat drowning out the music. He couldn't know if it was real and it didn't even matter—he couldn't cause a scene in front of half of Nasha Town. Don't fight. The only choice.
Darkness eclipsed the amber lights of the Flagship. A different pair of hands pulled Illuga forward, into the black.
A familiar voice: “May I have this dance?”
Illuga couldn't see Flins's face while pressed to his chest, but he caught the blue glow of his lantern tucked under his coat. He tried to turn, to see if his partner had been real, but Flins wouldn't let him.
“You know how to dance?” He said stupidly. It made sense. He had always thought Flins looked graceful, weaving between enemies, and now he knew Flins had a whole life he never bothered to tell Illuga about.
“The styles I'm familiar with are a tad old-fashioned.” The cool leather of Flins's glove cupped Illuga's hip. “But I assure you the steps are simple enough.”
“Wait…” Illuga recalled he a good reason to not let Flins touch him, though not the specifics.
His doubts disappeared as Flins whisked him into a dance. Everything did. His aching head, his itching scars, his twisting thoughts. With Flins, he felt light enough to float, like a leaf on the wind.
But questions snatched at him as Flins spun him around. Where had all the dancers gone? What instruments made music like sparkling crystals? Why would Flins leave his shady isle, in summer of all seasons?
The Hunt had found the right phantom to break him, this time. He shuddered, dropping his face against Flins’s chest. “Please be real,” he whispered.
“How can I convince you that I am?”
Humiliating tears welled in Illuga's eyes. He couldn't even tell fake-Flins from his friend. No wonder Flins had found better company. “I don’t know.”
An arm around came around Illuga's shoulders. “Young Master, you seem unwell. Let me escort you to your room.”
"Um, I told Tarno…"
Illuga looked for him, but somehow, they had already made it halfway up the staircase to his floor. Flins urged Illuga along with a hand at his lower back. “I informed Master Tarno I would escort you home.”
Illuga twisted around, affronted. “You call him master, too?”
Another blink, and now they stood in Illuga's room, full of the soft, blue light of Flins's lantern. Flins bent over Illuga, cupping his face in his gloved hands. Illuga had no choice but to meet his eyes, faintly luminous like faraway stars.
"You are my master, Illuga. Would you have me render courtesy to no-one else?"
Yes! he wanted to say. But he remembered Flins shouldn't touch him. “... You should go," he mumbled. He tried ducking out of his grip. "I don’t feel well.”
Flins wouldn't let him budge. "In that case, I’ll stay and care for you.”
"I'm fine. I can handle it." He tried again to pull away.
Flins's grip tightened. "You work so hard to bring a little light to my isle but you hardly allow me to pour you a glass of water. Won't you let me care for you this once?"
"No," he said. He felt tears welling again, and blinked rapidly to make them go away. "That was for me. I wanted…"
To bask in the quiet of no-one shouting his name, to sleep uninterrupted for eight hours, to see Flins, to be the sole recipient of his attention, to feel like he earned something special that wouldn't turn to ash in his hands.
"You are far too sweet, my master." Flins kissed his forehead. "If it were true that you came to my lighthouse for your own selfish desires, I could rest assured having been of service to you and be entirely pleased."
Flins's thumb slipped between Illuga's lips as his own moved closer. Close enough to mingle their breaths.
“I-if you stay I, I might…”
"Please do," Flins murmured. "There is nothing you could do or say that would lessen my esteem for you."
Before Illuga could answer, a strand of smoke slipped from Flins's lips and slid down his throat, cool as melt water. Illuga swallowed, and again as it kept flowing. It spread through his lungs, his stomach, his blood, and the more it filled him, the emptier he felt of anything else, except the certainty that this could only be Flins.
But something still struck Illuga as wrong.
“… You don’t let me smoke!” He said accusingly.
Flins let go of his face, chuckling. “The leaf that grows in this land would do you harm.” He offered a cigarette, burning blue at the end. "Here. This herb hails from Snezhnaya. It will help you rest."
Flins hadn't had that cigarette before, and when did he light it? Illuga crossed his arms. “No.”
“You don’t care for smoking anymore? I’m relieved.”
"You're doing something to me," Illuga muttered.
Flins stroked his face. "I'm almost done. Will you trust me?"
“It's because I trust you!" He said. "You told me not to smoke. So... you should give me the rest like you did before. So I don't smoke.”
“... Ah, my young master. I apologize for underestimating your diligence.”
Flins gently sat Illuga on the edge of the bed, cupping his nape to angle him back. His thumb stroked Illuga's throat as the cool smoke slithered down his throat. As Illuga drifted downward, he felt his way to Flins's hair, twisting the tail around his fist, tangling the strands around his fingers. To keep him there.
🌣🌣🌣
Illuga woke to soft, blue light, with no fever and no idea of what time it was. He sat up, and heard a faint grunt next to him.
“It’s just after midnight, Master Illuga. You can go back to sleep.”
Illuga jerked away, and discovered he still had Flins hair clutched between his fingers. Flins lay next to him without overcoat or boots, luminescent eyes winking out with a slight wince.
Illuga frowned down at him. He didn't let go of his hair yet. “What you did…”
“I apologize if anything felt unpleasant. The nature of your affliction required a certain amount of subterfuge for me to counter.”
Illuga looked away, stomach clenching. "So you did all that because I was sick."
Flins caught Illuga's chin, and turned him around, smiling in that sly, gentle way of his. "Everything can be repeated, now that you are well."
He snorted. "So I get to smoke whenever I want, as long as it's you?"
Flins sat up, his face was close again; Illuga could feel the cold currents of his breath. "You are so faithful to my requests, you forgo pleasures without complaint, even to your own detriment. I would happily make up for that lack in any way you ask."
"What… exactly was that? What you did to me?"
"Hm… I introduced some of my own essence into you. If we liken your affliction to a sickness, we can say the Hunt was forced to contend with my constitution, rather than yours."
"And yours is that much stronger?" Illuga sighed.
"You do not care much for your constitution."
Illuga couldn't argue that, but he still frowned at him. "You didn't lose anything, did you?"
"Nothing that cannot be gained back as easily as breath. I am fully restored already, I assure you."
Illuga swallowed. Maybe he could take some pride in forcing Flins to be plain for once, but now he had to do the same. Flins could probably hear his heartbeat, but he tried to keep his voice steady. "Then I want to… feel more of you inside me."
Flins's eyes widened before settling into their usual, amused slits. "… The young master is very eloquent."
Flins kissed him. Illuga whimpered at the touch of Flins's tongue against his own. He tasted of ozone and mist and nothing like human salt.
"Don't tease me right now," he begged. He could feel tears welling again.
Flins caught a falling drop on his thumb, and licked it. "Patience. Would you have me rut you like a beast after only one kiss?"
Illuga wanted exactly that, so he couldn't think enough to second-guess. He tried to wipe his face clean, but Flins pinned his wrists to the bed and tasted his fill.
"You don't even like water!" Illuga huffed.
"It is you, Illuga. Even the air in your lungs is as sweet to me as the scent of my home."
Flins licked into his mouth until Illuga grew dizzy and weak from lack of air, then fed him a plume of smoke. It felt so strange and distinct, like cool silk twisting inside him. When Flins drew back, Illuga chased him for more, but Flins pushed him back to strip his clothes off.
Illuga tugged his sleeve. "You, too…"
Flins brushed a kiss against his lips and sat back to remove his shirt and gloves, revealing skin like pure moonlight. It seemed unbelievable he would put his perfect hands on Illuga. He looked away, but Flins cupped his cheek and brought him back.
"Don't you think you had best accustom yourself, if we're to make a habit of it?"
Illuga lasted three seconds before he had to squeeze his eyes shut again. "I'll need years!"
"You shall have them," Flins murmured. "Open your eyes."
The room had gone dark except for glow of Flins's eyes, hoovering above him. The light disappeared as Flins bowed his head, nuzzling into Illuga's neck. Illuga's hands hoovered over his back, afraid to scratch his smooth skin with his rough hands. Then sharp teeth teased the edge of his scar, shocking a cry out of him and startling his fingers into claws on Flins's shoulders.
Flins soothed the sting with his tongue. "Was that unpleasant?"
Illuga panted for breath. "Uh, no? I think?"
"Hm…"
A few more bites along his chest and shoulders and Illuga locked his legs around Flins's hips, writhing at every press of his teeth. He smacked Flins's shoulder. "I've been going crazy all day, Flins, just put it in!"
Flins's cool laughter ghosted over Illuga's sweaty shoulder. "Forgive me, I didn't expect… Ah, but no, it's my fault entirely. Let me make it up to you."
He pulled Illuga's hips into his lap, the perfect angle to feed Illuga the full length of his cock. It occurred to Illuga that Flins could probably see his burning, tear-streaked face in the dark just fine, so he wrapped his arms around Flins's shoulders, pushing his face against his neck. He finally had as much of Flins as he'd always wanted, and he couldn't stop crying, because it felt so good he didn't know how he could do without.
🌣🌣🌣
Golden sunlight streamed through a crack in the curtains. After a few moments of drowsy peace, Illuga shifted, and realized he was trapped by Flins's heavy, naked limbs. Because he had sex with Flins last night. After crying… a lot.
Illuga spent awhile hoping embarrassment might turn him into wisps of steam. Then he remembered he had an amazing excuse to leave.
"Sir Flins—" Illuga couldn't squirm without rubbing Flins cock, still inside of him. "I have a meeting I need to get ready for."
"No need, young master. I informed Miss Nefer and Miss Lauma that you would be ill for the day."
"No you didn't! Flins!"
Flins arms tightened around him as Illuga tried to scramble out of the bed. "I confess I have not yet had time to deliver the news, but won't you consider? The meeting is not for two hours."
Struggling only made Flins sigh contentedly into his hair. It didn't do Illuga's willpower any favors, either—all according to Flins's plan, no doubt. He tried to calm down and not immediately give in to Flins's game. Too many things had happened, he needed to think.
"What are you doing in Nasha Town, anyway? Is everything alright?"
"Very much so. I brought good news with me. You are on leave, assigned to my isle."
Illuga frowned. "I'm on leave, but it's an assignment?"
"So the Starshyna, in his wisdom, spoke."
Illuga tried unsuccessfully to sit up. "For how long?" When he tried more aggressively, Flins simply rolled them over, pressing Illuga face-down into the sheets. His hair fell around them, a private twilight for the two of them.
He kissed the back of Illuga's neck. "Trust me again."
There was no fighting against that.