Chapter Text
Soren was used to thinking several steps ahead. If the Crimean army took a shortcut, it could land them in a vulnerable position; if the Greil Mercenaries stocked up on too much food, it would spoil; if he stopped to stretch his cramped hand, he would fall behind in his note-taking, provoking the sage’s ire.
As the Crimeans’ cheers formed a wave around Ashnard’s corpse, his formidable armor as harmless as scrap metal, there was still a future to plan. For Crimea as a nation with an empty throne and a battered populace; for the Greil Mercenaries as a company that would be hailed as heroes (or villains); and for Soren, who came from nothing and had finally found a place amidst it all.
Yet whether the past year had pushed him to his limit or a life-long fight for survival had caught up to him, Soren couldn’t think past the present moment. As people of all nations crowded around Ike, Soren cleaved to his side. To remain grounded, to remain sure they both breathed.
Yes, Soren must have reached his limit. Because now, it wasn’t even Ike that held his attention. It was the Mad King’s mount.
Moments ago, Soren would have been happy to see the beast that had snapped its jaws at Ike put down. That said beast was apparently a man did little to change his feelings. Except that his feelings suddenly were not his own, and not in the way that a port town’s emotions overwhelmed him or a villager’s pointed anger put his body on alert. This was a knock against the door of his mind, an eye peering through the keyhole.
When a spirit attempted to make a pact with a mage, raw intent flowed from it. Soren had always shaken off the attention. This, he couldn’t so easily dismiss.
Because even before the galdr’s magic permeated the chaos possessing the dragon, in the moment it reached for him, it stopped thrashing.
A surge of relief and something stronger hit him. Those weren’t his emotions, either, nor the dragon’s—at least, not that dragon. He was simply caught in the crossfire. Without thinking, he grasped Ike’s hand as if he could squeeze the excess feelings from himself. Though Ike gave him a questioning glance, he didn’t pull away. Soren would have taken note of that if not for his arrested focus.
The dragon’s presence flickered, a mighty flame reduced to a candle. Soren didn’t know whose panic it was that he felt before new kindling fed the presence. It stabilized before finally falling dormant.
Ena pressed her forehead to her lover’s silently, as if saving all her words for him. Throughout the rest of the castle, soldiers were all but stampeding to reclaim the space, to celebrate, to try to clear a path to a healer—but within his own mind, Soren was once again alone.