[closed] and he said, 'times, they gotta change'

[stonefaith]

Date & Time: 09/21, dawn
Location: miles out of the city, on the moors
Characters: Bariyan e Kodhi (stonefaith), Martin Darkov (theguideless)
Summary: a contract is made
Warnings: GROSS AMOUNTS OF PATHETIC SAD. SERIOUSLY GROSS.

---

It had been a little more than a week.

Bariyan crossed barren fields and left yet more death behind him. The plant life, already struggling, withered further; the ground cracked dry. He moved quickly over it all, in long, sure strides, as if he had some fixed goal in mind.

He did not. He had nowhere to go. He had nothing at all.

They said a lot of things of the boy.

They said....

They said that he had been a good person. That he was loyal, that he was brave, that he was kind, that he had grown up to be everything that his father had expected of him, and more. That he was the best of them. That it would be a long while before anyone of his caliber was seen again.

They said that he had had plans, and the strength and faith to carry them out. They said that he had vision. They said that he could have saved the world. They said that he had burned so bright.

They said that he had not expected Bariyan to come for him.

They said that when he had realized his situation, he'd cocked his head to the side and looked away and grinned -- and that was the hardest thing for Bariyan imagine, somehow, harder than all the rest, because the boy had always been such a solemn child, and his smiles had only grown rarer as he grew older -- and they said that he'd laughed.

My father will not come for me. My father will not care.

The world was passing him by in flashes -- the city -- forest -- shore, land suddenly giving way to ocean -- then inland, again, disappearing, climbing high -- rivers, low mountains in the distance, broken roads and burnt houses and -- finally, nothing at all. Moorland. Clouds. Grey sky. Morning, or...? No. He gave up on deciding.

He tried not to remember. He tried not to remember anything at all.

Go, then, he said. Leave. If you are so unhappy here.

The boy was sixteen, but already the better man between the two of them. He was slow, conscious, never rash. So he paused here. He stared back, unblinkingly, ignoring the sunlight that fell in a sharp line against his cheek. Silent. Not the silence of shock or disbelief, but the silence of deliberation.

That was Bariyan's chance to retract his anger, his chance to do right, to change.

Instead, he said, You have two hours.

His son nodded, very shortly, and backed away. Yes, sir.

He was gone within the hour.

Bariyan carried his guilt and his loathing and his sorrow with him as he went, all twisted up inside until he could not tell them apart. It did not matter. All three ate away at him, equally.

He burned, eyes dull and angry, fists clenched tight. There was something wrapped up in the fingers of his right hand, held against his palm, hidden from sight and momentarily forgotten. Cold and metallic. The only thing he had taken out of the city with him.

That, and his memories.

Komini used to be afraid of the dark.

So he would sneak into Bariyan's room every night, dragging his blankets with him to form a little nest at the foot of Bariyan's bed where he would sleep until morning. It was not a behavior that Bariyan had wanted to encourage and so he'd tried, once, to stop it.

Just once.

He'd locked his door before going to sleep. The next morning, he went to open his door and nearly tripped over Ko sitting in the hallway, huddled small within his blankets, frowning and bleary-eyed and more somberly offended than Bariyan could have ever expected of a four-year-old. There had been such accusation in those eyes. Bariyan had never felt guiltier.

As apology, Bariyan had lifted Ko up onto his shoulders and taken him out to see the city. But the boy had been so tired that he fell asleep within the hour, snoring gently into Bariyan's hair. So Bariyan had returned to the tower instead, to put his son back to bed. As he did so, Ko had woken up again -- just briefly -- and he'd grabbed for Bariyan's sleeve with tiny hands, mumbling through his sleepy daze: don't put me back in the dark.

I won't, Bariyan had said.

But he had, years later. He'd buried his boy, dug a hole and left him there and said his goodbyes and never looked back. He knew, then, as he'd always known, as he knew now: you will never see him again.

Ko was long gone. Worlds and centuries away. Bariyan could accept that, had long since accepted that. He remembered Ko only as a dull, aching absence, because he would always remember, because how could he forget? His son, his child. His charge.

But Martin Darkov had been his, too.

And Martin had died nine days ago by Bariyan's own hand and now there was nothing left of him save for injured victims and soured recollections and grief, and Bariyan had failed, yet again, always, failed in a way so awful as to be almost incomprehensible. He'd wanted to save Martin. He'd grown to care for the boy, wanted him to be happy at the expense of all else. He'd made promises. Vowed to send him home, all those months ago. He'd tried. And instead....

Bariyan's next step turned into a fall and he went down hard on his knees, head hanging, nails curling into the dirt as he swore-- remembering, now-- remembering holding on to Martin, the boy clinging to him like Bariyan was the only thing keeping him together, remembering the tears, the terror, Martin's guilt and all the sadness that Bariyan could not fix or make better, remembering the promises gone broken and unfulfilled, remembering--

If Bariyan had stayed in the city, he would have gone mad. He would have shed what few friends he had left in that place and he would have hunted the Initiative down until they sent him back through time, not years, but mere months. He had hindsight, he just needed time-- time which he knew, even now, that he could not have. He could not. He could not interfere with death any more than he already had.

But it hurt so much.

He curled up into himself, doubled over, clawing at his face with his hands. The medallion pressed between his palm and his cheek, its edge biting into his skin. He made a strangled sound, muffled and broken and continuous.

Cold and numb to all physical sensation, Bariyan failed to recognize that he was crying.

Comments

[theguideless]

What was written off as failure in all traditions Darkovs had would not erase the value of Martin's standing at the Old Stone Door – or the value of the so-called empty medallion a grieving, foreign man carried. Like all the hunters before him, he wore it because it would never come off in his life, but unlike them, there was no otherworldly aid from it. Regina had Skiigaa, Alex had Fexis...even Adam, never a hunter, had that great, looming seer at his call from the metal. No one had come for Martin; this fact had begun to sculpt the boy's own disappointment and eventual hatred of himself.

It had been made with his own bone – an old tooth – just the way the others were. Bound, by bone, to be his. His door. His gate to a contracted guide. In failing, he and all the rest deemed it useless. Odd, to still affix itself to him the way it did, but useless all the same.

Like the medallion, were things about Martin the Darkov the living did not know, but the creatures and those residing on the Other Side did.

His door, his conditions. No one else's. And with the tears of a man from a forever-ago time and place, a knock. For him. Others would not answer the call – they would not dare. His door. Metal, mixed with his own body, was wet with the tears of somebody he loved; there were no calls louder than this.

From something deemed empty came heat and light, of the sort more than bodily felt. It wasn't a physical part of the world, but it manifested all the same as the tiny door permitted.

Before the weeping man was another, though shape and form were hazy and loose at best. Focused on long enough, there was a face – there were faces. Old and young. Under billowing folds of light and gold, traces of what had been Darkov stood, wearing a smile empty of any familiar stress or strain.

Bariyan.

It was both sound and feeling in the form of words, a whisper heard and felt.

[stonefaith]

His dreams had haunted him, in the years following Ko's death. They had wrapped around his neck, choked him, these dreams of summer and light, of mountains and seas far away from home, of a child who used to follow at his heels until Bariyan had finally turned his back on him, forever, for good, and when he walked away the shadow of death had thronged forwards and swallowed his boy up to carry him home. But his dreams had borne his son back to him, turned his nights into cruel deceptions; ones that he would not give in to. As much as it hurt to do so, he had always mistrusted his dreams.

As he mistrusted this one.

But he unfolded, all the same, the muscles of his back coiling and shifting to pull himself up. Still on the ground, still on his knees, shoulders hunched forwards, looking up unblinking and unflinching at what he was sure was delirium. Could not be otherwise.

He hung his head again. This light, this warmth, this call to him; all nothing, of course. All would turn to ash as soon as he woke from this delusion.

His fingers curled into the chains of the medallion.

Though he knew better, he spoke.

"I sent you home."

[theguideless]

There was little time to argue or console; the door wouldn't be open forever. If what glimmers of a future were true in Exsilium, those moments were the start. Bariyan, the focal point. The one who gave Martin the chance to even be there once more.

If he were to have that future, the chance to address the guilt, share his story, and all the rest would be there waiting. If he were wanted for one. It's what drew Martin to the call.

No moment left to marvel; immersed back into time, there was no time at all.

I've come home. The hazy shape split, settling the impression of small feet on the ground, the boy left standing. The man lingered overhead, bowed and vigilant; their bodies moved as one, in perfect time, and so two heads tilted slightly as they leaned.

I've come home, if this is home. If I will be had.

Is it what you want? Bariyan.

[stonefaith]

He raised his head to watch, again. There was so much of the strange and unfamiliar in this vision that he was terrified, suddenly: fearing to look, fearing to hope, fearing.

But the call tugged at him. It sounded hard and heavy in his heart and he nearly wept for the pain. Bariyan. Martin's voice echoed in his ears, small, unhappy. The memory of it was fresh and Bariyan could hear traces of it in this new voice, but only the traces. Strange. Unfamiliar. Grown.

It all seemed all too familiar, all too close to the heart. Komini on the field had not been Komini who'd left home; he'd grown too, grown tall, grim, weary, his eyes sharp with bitter understanding until he had looked up and met Bariyan's eyes -- and then there was the child, again, wide-eyed and incredulous.

And at the end of things, Bariyan had walked to the body and knelt down in the soft dirt and reached out to close those eyes, knowing full well that they would never open again.

What I want. Bariyan briefly wrenched himself away from the past to look at the present, to the boy, to the man. And he wondered, now, what Ko would have grown up to become had the world given him ten, twenty more years. What could have been.

Bariyan had never trusted in his dreams again, after Ko. Never. But he had indulged in them all the same, let them wrap around him and trick his conscious mind, leaving him loathe to wake in the mornings. The darkness had, for a time, bought him more time with his son. Time that had been snatched away from him, time that he did not deserve. He had taken it anyway, longing and unable to refuse, and he had always felt guilty for that. He, who had always stood strong against the faults of the world. He, who held death sacrosanct above all.

But had the world only given him the chance, he knows what he would have done.

Bariyan would have broken himself to bring his son back.

Is that what you want?

Bariyan unclenched his fist. He reached out, towards the light, towards the being that he so desperately wanted to be Martin Darkov.






"Yes."

[theguideless]

The response was swift.

The boy closed his hands, heat and light, over Bariyan's, and in withdrawing, took the medal and its chain. And from his hands, it lifted, in view for all eyes. And all of Martin grinned.

"Our terms are this." He bent the air around him to make the words actual sound. "To stay on this side of the door, flesh and breath, as man, our host will wear our standard, now and always. We will be the lance with no price of blood."

While the younger spoke, the elder raised a finger and traced along the face of the medallion, drawing a mark onto its surface as if it were butter.

"Wear our standard and give us flesh for flesh, and we will do as you wish."

The hand drew away, and both sets of eyes settled on Bariyan, wide and burning.

Do you accept?

[stonefaith]

The words rushed Bariyan, woke him, hurt with the agony of hope. Dreams, long since taken away from him, too, suddenly spilling out of the ether to whirl around his head, kindled by the force of Martin's words. Words, sound, reverberating true and real in Bariyan's ears. Dare he accept? Surrender? Systematically, purposefully demolish all that he believed in and thought right for the chance of redemption?

For the chance to bring Martin back.

All his doubts and misgivings vanished. He barely hear the terms, hardly understood them, but that did not matter. Not to him. He would have given up anything, anything that could be asked of him, all that he had to give. As he had always done. As he was bound to do. And for the briefest of moments his eyes flashed blue, wide and white and helpless with desperation and yearning.

He looked into Martin's eyes -- the child, the man, the both of them. One and all together.

"I accept."

There was a dream, here. He walked into it, and he hoped to never awake.

[theguideless]

The second the words were out, objective expressions broke to warm smiles. The medallion and its chain lowered to the boy's hands, broken at a link and pulled apart. Each end followed his hands as he leaned, bringing them around Bariyan's neck, where there the chain was linked anew and grew as Martin's hands drew away, pulling the medal along. He was one shape again as he bowed his head and kissed it, fealty to his new contract. In letting it go, the chain shortened, so as to not be taken off so easily – if ever.

He laid hands on Bariyan, cupping his face by the jaw, and leaned forward again, kissing his brow before withdrawing again, fingers curling and drawing to each other. In them, a tooth – one of Bariyan's. It was the cornerstone, in a sense; everything had to built up from something. Flesh couldn't stand alone without bone to hold it up.

The billowing cloak of gold and light pulsed and drew him away a small length while the little tooth grew and changed in-hand. All the rest was a blazing light that overtook sight and color...and ebbed away to nothing.

Martin's feet settled into the dirt beneath them, eased into gravity and the space surrounding him by unseen hands. They held him steady, tilted his head up, and opened his mouth to breathe in – loud and long, shocking the body to life, eyes snapping open, wide and yellow and alert from the start.

Freed and awake, he wavered, feeling the chill air and his own weight in space. His stare dropped and fixed on Bariyan. Squeezing all the life of something after life into something with new life...it was taking him time to fully register it. He felt his fingers twitch and his skin prickle – but no dreadful warning, like the monster hunter. It was chilly, and when something really exciting was happening, there were always goosebumps.

He held the next breath, mouth twitching on one side. Real...

[stonefaith]

Bariyan raised a hand to his mouth. He thumbed the gap where there had once been a tooth, looking up to meet Martin's stare. The blue of his eyes had faded away, back to red, but the awe was still there.

He dropped his hand from his mouth to his neck, running over the stitches and catching in the chain links that wrapped the medal to him. Pulling it away to hold the medal between his fingers and look, at the surface, at the edges, the curve and the reflection. And there: the boy, too, reflected and indistinct in the metal gleam, but there all the same. Not some ghost, not some delirium-induced vision come to make Bariyan suffer further -- here.

Bariyan looked up. He did not move to stand. He only let go of the medallion, and hesitantly reached forwards again, fingers surprisingly steady. But his movements were slow, and his disbelief was still etched into sharp, painful lines across his face.

"Martin."

[theguideless]

A moment passed before Martin moved to react, still settling into place in time, pieces of mind. With the first breath was new life, but the second was the old...a rollercoaster rush of sensation in memory. Yet the present remained in the forefront – the awareness established, which would remain with him evermore. The contract.

He was alive as man only because Bariyan willed it to be. Life beyond the traditions of Darkov. Human. The sad boy he was not there, but boy he remained, and already his stomach began to flutter with the scope of it all. Already it was beginning to become shuttered by temporal, human senses, and the longer he looked on Bariyan, the more he took him back into account.

He was being called – hearing his own name said aloud with human ears. Another small thrill. Martin moved, taking the pair of small, tentative steps he needed to close the distance. He reached in turn, gliding careful, sometimes grasping fingers along from wrist to elbow to shoulder.

"Yes," he said, and immediately sucked in the breath after, eyes widening at the sound of his own voice. His mouth split in a startled, amazed smile as he staggered forward, flinging arms around Bariyan's shoulders.

"Here I am!"

[stonefaith]

Slowly, Bariyan's arms closed around Martin's back. His palms flattened against the boy's shoulders, cold and numb, unable to feel the solidity of him -- unable to confirm his existence through his touch.

But Martin's voice resonated in his soul.

Bariyan went rigid and dragged Martin in, his head bowed against Martin's shoulder, shoulders pulling in tight for one short moment before releasing, the entirety of his being snapping, the very structure of him threatening to collapse as he clung to Martin. And he wept.

He'd spent so much time here chasing after Martin. Staggering in Martin's footsteps, just a week ago, following the trail of blood and death and violence, exhausted to the bone. Trying to find Martin whenever he lost himself in his own misery, those times when he had refused to stay in his room and disappeared into the streets. Calling for him when the Initiative called for them, always anxious to keep him out of their reach, to protect him. Always. All the way back to the very first: when Martin had wandered out of the city and wandered further, so far, all the way up north. He was only a stranger to Bariyan, then, only some nervous boy who did not deserve to be here. No responsibility of Bariyan's. Yet-- yet he had gone after the boy, all the same. Where are you?

And now: the answer.

[theguideless]

Martin's voice was a mix of winded laughter and hiccuping sobs, reeling from the tidal waves of emotional and sensory feedback. It'd only been a few days, but he'd been pulled right out of time itself; immersed again, he had a completely new body and purpose. It didn't rip him away from his past – as much as he rejoiced in the laughter, he grieved in the tears. Likewise, as much as he tried to laugh off his fears, he wept in absolute gratitude.

His fingers grasped tufts of hair, clumps of shirt – real things. Not that things outside of time were fake...only different. Dirt on his bare knees was practically a revelation. It all threatened to drown out what mattered most, but the heat he felt from the metal that used to be his grounded him, fixed his attention back on the wrecked and weeping shape that held him – that made him. The one who suffered so much on Martin's behalf – seemingly needlessly, from the boy's confused, frightened state of things. Always the words someone has to colored what little rhyme or reason he could come up with as to why.

Far away from it all, from the end of those things, he had much better perspective. His own motivations, reactions, and reasons were laid bare and apparent when he'd been freed of the black shell his old body had become.

Bariyan, the second father. Always working hard for his sake. Martin's heart almost broke again just thinking on the turmoil he'd caused him, let alone so many others. I have so much to atone for.

"Thank you," he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. "You did what you promised. I'm so sorry, being so awful. It won't happen again, ever. Ever. Because you fixed it."

[stonefaith]

Bariyan could not form words. He did not need to breathe, had not in years, but he was choking all the same as the sobs heaved through him in spasms. His nails started to dig into Martin's new skin until he caught himself and clenched his hands into fists, instead, crossing his wrists and squeezing Martin close with his arms. Like he hoped to enclose the boy in his heart and keep him there, keep him safe. Forever.

Don't leave. Come back to me. Please, come home.

And home Martin had come.

His laughter and his tears were so painfully, heartbreakingly real. Here. Alive. His words threatening to bring Bariyan's world crashing down, once and for all.

You did what you promised. You fixed it-- for the first time in Bariyan's whole, wretched life. From birth to death to resurrection.

The first.

"I'm sorry," Bariyan said, suddenly, in one awful, shuddering breath. His voice wrecked and hoarse, syllables punctuated by yet more sobbing. "I'm so sorry, Martin, I never, I, I'm sorry, please--"

And memories flashed by in his mind, bright and aching, his boy with sunlight caught in his teeth and eyes and hair and turning away from home, turned, smiling, leaving, gone--

"My son," Bariyan whispers, the words harsh and fierce, his sorrow coming anew. He reached up, tangling his fingers into Martin's hair, shaking. "Forgive me."

[theguideless]

Martin's body kept squirming and tensing against the rough handling – something he had to consciously stop. There was no danger in the little hurts or too-tight holds or the hair pulling, which made his face scrunch up each time a heavy finger dragged too roughly along his scalp. The little hurts were not important because Bariyan wept with greater hurts...and he said my son.

Those words, along with the endless torrent of apologies, caused a shudder of physical fear. In his past, hearing an apology meant for him had frightened Martin, had made him start to search for something wrong with himself. Why would anyone apologize? Why would Bariyan? For all the boy had done, the trouble caused...the deaths, still days fresh.

The both of them were so grossly buried in their guilt and apologies; how Martin had never realized before was hardly a wonder, but still a great shame. I never saw how much you truly suffered. I was too busy looking for reasons to blame myself. He wanted to apologize, truly and with all that awareness behind it, but...that wasn't what Bariyan needed then and there. He said my son. Martin's throat tightened. Are these words for me?

Did it matter?

"I forgive you," he uttered, and again, to be heard. "I do."

Please. Forgive yourself.

[stonefaith]

There was nothing left in him, no breath left to speak. But his actions said what he could not, his grip softening, his shoulders uncoiling with the relief, profound and all-encompassing.

Bariyan had needed those words so badly, so much, more than he could ever know. Here was, in part, the reconciliation that he had never made with his own son. An end to the thing he'd regretted most. And all of the mistakes that he had made afterwards, all of them gone unforgiven and soured. This, this moment-- this was not enough to absolve him of all his sins. But it was a start. One step forwards.

He would do better, this time.

Bariyan stayed on Martin's shoulder a moment longer, needing the moment to piece himself back together. When he pulled away he was still shaky, broken, but recovering. He reached up to wipe the tears from Martin's face. Slowly, unconsciously, he smiled. Weak and wan and grateful.

"Thank you."

[theguideless]

The boy smiled back, feeling a flush on his face. Relief and gratitude washed much of the tension out of his limbs, but his stomach was still knotted with a dozen emotions unresolved. He felt exhausted, overwhelmed...even a little afraid; things were not going to be the same anymore.

Things already weren't. And after a lingering moment, Martin reached and moved one of the hands from his face for the chance to look around. He shuddered again.

"Bariyan...where are we?"

[stonefaith]

Bariyan had to look, too. He hadn't had any destination in mind when he'd started stumbling away from the city, hadn't meant to go anywhere but away for the past -- week, or so. However long it had been.

The moors were still grey, hazy, and devoid of all sign of life, sloping downwards as he looked east towards the horizon. Nothing for miles save for overgrown trails and struggling grass. He thought he knew which way the city was from here, but it would be a long walk back.

"Outlands," he said. He gestured southwards. "The city is miles that way."

He pulled his shirt off as he spoke. The movement disturbed the medallion now around his neck and he paused to look down at it. Then he finished the motion, pulling his shirt down over Martin's head instead. It was big enough to almost reach Martin's knees, but the cloth was thin, ragged; Bariyan did not take good care of his clothes. Still, it would have to do for now.

He meant to move on -- but he still hadn't the strength to do so. He kept looking at Martin, the new eyes, new flesh, all the worried lines smoothed out and gone... was that really Martin? Was this still only some dream that he would soon wake from? He feared that he would, and still hoped that he would not.

[theguideless]

"Oh, so–!" Martin's reply was muffled by the shirt draping over his head; he fidgeted, twisting the thing around to find armholes and get all that taken care of. Busier work than necessary, really, but it felt really surreal to do something so mundane. It felt...ages ago, even if it wasn't.

Was it? He started to doubt the knowledge he'd had when he stepped across the threshold. It's what any normal person would've done, after all, and that's almost what he was.

While he fished his hand out of a sleeve, his nose scrunched up a bit and a small, crooked smile pulled on his mouth – He keeps having to find me out in the wilderness... – though only for a moment. If he was even looking this time.

Dressed, he shifted, climbing up off his knees and to his feet, letting his toes curl into the dirt, all cold and grainy. He turned his head into a lethargic kind of breeze and let it push his bangs away from his eyes for him, squinting a little. Needlessly; it didn't feel so bright as it once did, but there was more color. It was colder, too. He'd been bred to better adapt to those things before, but that was over. Slowly he turned his head toward where Bariyan had gestured moments ago. That way...

Martin looked back at him and stared for a length of time. Miserable, always, but the scowl was gone. He'd even smiled...had he ever done that on Martin's behalf before? He couldn't remember. Something like that...wasn't sought after before. Perhaps if he'd wondered on it moments before donning flesh again...

Not right now. He blinked a few times, shoulders going up with a deep breath, looking around again. Well...if he wants to be out here, it's fine. But that didn't stop him from feeling the little pinpricks of worry at the thought of others he'd known before. Others he'd hurt. Really hurt...

He'd already decided, however. Agreed, signed and sealed. With that firmly in mind, he sat back down at Bariyan's side, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them.

[stonefaith]

With Martin's silence came Bariyan's own. He shifted himself, off his knees, crossing his legs in front of him and straightening his shoulders out. He felt cold, suddenly, drained. Almost at peace. He had come through these lands by himself, yet not alone; every step had brought out more of his guilts and his ghosts. Haunted, berated, hounded the whole way here.

Now all of that was gone -- at least, temporarily so. Now he was quiet. Now he had time to reflect. Time to rest. And he took it, for the first time in a long while. Reflection did not come easily. Rest did. His consciousness slowly emptied itself. Something terribly close to tranquility poured in.

As he contemplated the horizon he reached out to Martin beside him, resting a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder. He could not feel, but the support that Martin's shoulder provided was proof enough that he was here. Bariyan kept seeking that proof, needing constant reassurance. It would take him a while, to fully believe....

And that brought another thing to mind.

"Martin." He turned to the boy, closing his other fist over the medal now chained round his neck. "What do I do with this?"

[theguideless]

Bariyan's hand was heavy on his shoulder. Neither cold nor warm, not like a living body's would be. Martin had seen through flesh, though, and knew better than to be bothered by it. No more unsettling sensations under the skin, no more throbbing hurt in his veins...It was a heavy hand on his shoulder and not danger. A comfort, rather. It anchored the both of them in one time and place.

He looked up at the sound of his name, watching Bariyan regard the medal.

"You wear it," he replied. "Like we...I asked. It's like a door. For me. It let me come here, and it'll let me stay as long as you wear it."

[stonefaith]

"And if it comes off?" The obvious, unsettling question. He pulled very gently at the chain. It seemed secure and tight, and he wasn't even certain if he could take it off himself. "Where will you go?"

He looked back to Martin, regarding him carefully, critically. Dead. He'd been dead, Bariyan had killed him, and now... now he was here. But where had he gone? What had changed? Where would they go, from here?

There was a future, now. For Bariyan. For Martin. For the both of them.

That was strange to contemplate.

[theguideless]

Martin's eyes followed the motion of fingers about the chain even throughout the questioning. His door.

"Back," he said, his voice sounding distant. "Where everything goes when their time's up..." His eyes flickered up. "In places like this. In time."

Glorious and beautiful and endless, yes, but...not human the way a human in time was. It made his chance back in Exsilium all the more important...and exciting. And frightening. It brought a small, but bright smile back.

"But I'd rather be here right now. So...I'm glad you said yes."

[stonefaith]

When their time is up. Guilt started to return, in trickles, slow but steady. Guilt, giving way to horror-- but Bariyan stifled it, sudden and violent, hanging his head and squeezing his eyes shut and drawing his shoulders together to keep it out. His fist closed over the medallion again, tight, fingers shaking.

I did what I had to. I sent him home, and I brought him back....

He'd made his decision. He'd made it here, now, this day, made it when he'd taken the medallion -- when he'd given up -- and now he would simply have to come to terms with it, himself.

Only then did he allow himself to unfold again.

"You will..." His hand drops, from the shoulder to Martin's hand, closing over small fingers. He gives Martin a look that is both grateful and hopeless. "...let me know when you want to go back, then? When you are ready."

[theguideless]

That's not the contract. Martin almost said it automatically, but pursed his lips together instead, letting his gaze drop to the heavy hand over his own. Large, steadfast. Earnest. Bariyan was much and more, despite what thoughts he harbored against himself.

So Martin simply nodded. If that's what you want. In the end, it would be Bariyan's choice, not his. And going back was too far from his mind to put much serious thought to it; he was a living human.

Because of Bariyan.

He slumped against Bariyan's arm, fingers curling around his. There was no body heat from the other, but it seemed to Martin he could imagine it. Or at least, being so full of thought and emotion made him feel a little warmer than before.

[stonefaith]

Something deep in Bariyan twisted as Martin curled against his arm, wrenching hard at him, painful, but in a way that did not make him hurt. There.

Had he atoned here, with Martin, with this? Had he done right? Even putting Komini's memory aside, had he done right by Martin himself? Bariyan could not be sure. Perhaps he never would be.

But even as his doubts crawled through his soul, he could not bring himself to care, not now, not yet. Because Martin was here again, he was alive, and... and for now, Bariyan felt nothing short of blessed. This was the calmest he'd been since arriving in this world; the happiest.

He tightened his fingers around Martin's hand, tight but not crushing. Another chance. Not one that he deserved, gods knew, but one that he had received despite all. Not just a second chance, but a third. For there had been a first....

Martin had never been just some scared boy; no child ever was, in Bariyan's eyes. Not after his own son. Ko, always Ko, the first of his failures, Ko whom he had sent away, banished further than he'd ever meant to. And in the end, that was it, wasn't it? That was always it, as much as Bariyan kept it under, as much as he refused to admit it. In all this time. All this suffering. Because--

Because I have to, Bariyan had said. Because I must atone for my mistakes.