I

Avex slouched uncomfortably on the stool he'd been provided, glancing between two small stacks of paper as the Captain-General's voice carried distantly through the back rooms. His right hand trailed a claw over the words on the paper as the Captain-General said them, sometimes pausing to mark where he'd made changes in the delivery. His left hand was idly doodling vague, flowery shapes around the freshly rewritten list of contacts the Captain-General needed to check in on. He'd been watching the progress through the script, mainly, but kept looking back to the expanding mess of doodled lines with a sense of unease. Something didn't feel right, and it wasn't the furniture made for someone a foot shorter and without a tail. If he could just put a finger on it -

A bang from the theater startled him out of it so badly that he tore a hole in the script, and he swore half-heartedly at it as he tried to process the noise. It was silent now at this distance - maybe something had fallen? Avex hesitated getting up, straining to listen.

A second bang echoed through the building and, with the suddenness of a crowd realizing something was wrong, a din of shouting and the rumble of movement immediately followed.

Avex stood up so fast the stool fell behind him with a crash of its own, drowned out by another two of the sounds he still couldn't place - something like a lightning strike, though it didn't have the uncanny shiver to it that magic usually did. The sounds of the crowd were already fading as Avex raced up the back steps and to the edge of the curtain - and then he skidded to a stop and recoiled back into the shadows.

It was a bare scene to take in: a guard dead, obviously so, mangled into a twisted, unexpected tree that had the fresh-rotting strangeness to it that only magic could explain; distantly, in the theater's seats, a cluster of people he felt hesitant to call a group, who seemed to be talking; and the part he had noticed first but was struggling to process, a lone guard still standing and staring in equal shock at the Captain-General, who was down on the floor, ominously still.

It felt like a lifetime before things suddenly jarred back into motion. The people in the seats scattered; one took a shot at the person standing furthest away, and they were passed a moment later by one of the main group running for the stage. They barely paused to gesture a spell that solidified into walls of stone around the same, most distant target. It was a group against a solitary attacker, Avex decided, reassured - and caught a hiss in his throat as the runner stepped on something that exploded in a painful-looking, yet gravely inspiring light. Avex focused back on the Captain-General as the attacker's prison rattled with muffled explosions and watched the sole guard slam her barrier between them and the stone cage with shaking arms.

The fight was still going, but Avex couldn't look away from the guard, from the Captain-General; the guard's movements shuddering between hesitancy and frantic movement as panic threatened to overwhelm training. She cast a healing spell, glimmering behind the shield, and Avex felt something in his chest sharpen as the light uselessly dimmed and left only her hands desperately gripping the Captain-General's torn uniform.

The stranger that cast the stone spell reached the stage and hauled themself up, scrambling to get behind the meager shelter of the tree and the corpse tangled into it.

"Is he alive?" They shouted across the stage.

Avex bit his tongue to keep from yelling back to shut up and not draw attention. The guard didn't say anything in reply either, though from how still she'd gone Avex wasn't sure she'd even processed the question.

The stranger cast a spell anyway, another healing glow, and despite the gentle warmth of it the Captain-General didn't move. They were followed by another person from their group, a tiefling who practically sprinted across the stage - hesitating only for a moment to reassure the guard as she reached for her weapon - to kneel beside the Captain-General. The first person ducked in after them a few seconds later.

Avex's heart pounded in his throat to the rhythm of the muffled explosions behind the stone walls, wishing he had anything other than his stupid dress uniform.

The stone prison exploded in a mess of shrapnel and fizzling magic, and Avex instinctively slammed back up against the wall behind him as - almost faster than he could see - the shield exploded and the first person fell backward, so quickly they'd barely bled, and the tiefling curled in pain around a hit of their own. The room rang with spells and the clatter of weapons as the rest of the group made use of the opening.

The tiefling spared a healing spell for their ally - who opened their eyes and rapidly reviewed their injuries - and then Avex saw the glint of light in their palm as they moved their hands over the Captain-General; the spell shimmered diamond-bright over the small wound, and Avex had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from shouting as the Captain-General moved, barely.

The guard cast another healing spell on the Captain-General, and time seemed to slow as the attacker paused in the seats and turned once again to the stage, raising their weapon with a dramatic and precise ease, and fired two shots that tore through the Captain-General's body with fresh, bloody streaks. Avex felt the impact like a physical blow, claws digging into his palms, and everything in him screamed for him to run.

He forced himself still.

His hand went to his throat, desperately pulling up the pendant around his neck until he was able to fumble it free from the collar of his uniform. The little golden heart gleamed innocently on its chain as he stared down at it, bracing himself. He was used to the off-warmth of it resting on his collarbone, but feeling the spell in his hand felt like holding a hot coal.

He weighed his chances in his warped reflection. The rest of the group seemed to be confronting the attacker, with a degree of capability that was as relieving as it was surprising for a chance encounter. He could make it across the stage if he ran, probably; the fact he was visibly unprepared to fight might work in his favor, given that the guard who seemed equally unprepared had been left alive for now.

It could work. It would work. But it was only a single chance.

He closed his fist around the charm.

Avex waited a second more, until the crash of magic gave him an opening, and ran like hell across the open stage. He wasn't sure if he was intending to kneel or if his legs simply gave out as he thumped to the ground beside the strangers and the Captain-General.

The first stranger asked him something about healing; Avex meant to shake his head, or explain, but found himself staring blankly at the Captain-General's body, at the blood, at the - fuck, had his arm been torn clean off by whatever that thing was? Not even just his arm, his leg was missing too. A fresh dread settled in Avex's stomach as the charm in his hand felt pathetically small. The stranger muttered something else and cast the stone spell again, barricading them all on the stage - no, almost all of them, the guard was on the other side. Nothing he could do about it now.

Avex awkwardly leaned over the Captain-General, tangling legs and tail to stay balanced as he gently cradled Kruuxish's upper body. Some part of him was desperate to at least have him off of the blood-slick floor, even though it meant getting it all over himself. He pressed the necklace to the wounds in Kruuxish's chest, and in the muscle memory of comfort, lowered his head to press their foreheads together.

Avex squeezed his eyes shut, and his voice came out as a shaken whisper. "Please."

The heat under his palm died for a terrifyingly long moment before flaring into life, stinging at senses that weren't quite nerve endings as it washed him and Kruuxish in golden light made brighter by the enclosed walls.

Then Hebroth's chest heaved under his hand with an agonized breath, and it was only the cold fear of the situation that kept Avex from sobbing.

The battle was continuing, he was sure, but he didn't untangle himself from Hebroth. He wasn't sure he could. Moving seemed to require a lot of steps that he couldn't think of, so he didn't try. He kept Hebroth in his arms, shifting only to lift him further away from the mess of the stage. His hand was still to Hebroth's chest, feeling his heart shudder as it struggled against his injuries. Avex opened his eyes only long enough to see that his were shut before he closed them again.

Something had changed, Avex noticed, and he decided as he lifted his head that he'd noticed far too late. The strangers were talking, and the stone walls were gone, and they were in too good a mood as they exchanged healing spells to have lost any of their party. The guard was still there, alive, looking as blank and unsettled as he could imagine he did - a very distant part of him noted remember to check in on her, though even that isolated voice couldn't recall her name at the moment - and then there were three newer newcomers, ones that he did recognize, though he wasn't sure how. And Hebroth, whose name surfaced without hesitation, who stirred enough to wheeze out a curse.

That distant analytical part was talking again, and Avex tuned in to it briefly, though it drowned out the conversation happening around him. The arm isn't bleeding, he muttered, contemplative. Maybe that was an old injury that was disguised. Maybe the leg, too. He lapsed into a thoughtful silence. Belatedly, he added, I thought he would be heavier.

Two of the not-strangers jarred him from the consideration when they moved forward to take Hebroth from him, as Hebroth muttered something resigned and exhausted. For a moment he hunched lower over Hebroth and felt the edge of his lip pull into a snarl before he caught himself, realizing for a second time that these weren't strangers. They didn't comment on it as he drew back, and the more exuberant of the two was gentle as they lifted the Captain-General from the stage. Uniform dark, and torn, and bloodied, the Captain-General seemed smaller cradled in their arms.

Avex turned to the third not-stranger, the red of their coat a reassurance against the red of the stage platform. There was a point where the stage wasn't bloody wood, by Avex's heel, and he felt his fragile attention snap to the spot like a taut string. It took him a second to process what the shape was, the familiarity of it outweighed by the strangeness of the past - how long? Time wasn't working. It was a music box.

Something compelled him to pick it up. It fit in his hand, easily; as if it was made for a child, though the weight of it felt old. As he turned it over, careful to keep from dirtying it further with hands he'd discovered were clammy with blood, his claws slipped into notches on the base, claw marks of familiar wear.

It had to be Hebroth's. Thinking the name with such familiarity startled him into focus. It had to be the Captain-General's - though why he would be carrying a music box around was a puzzle Avex couldn't think clearly enough to solve. He felt around his jacket for a clean pocket and found his front stained with damp that he immediately forced his thoughts away from. He'd just carry it for now.

Things had happened again when he was distracted; it settled in the weight of the music box in his hand like a magnet pulling his thoughts to the ground. People had been talking, and it had been important, and he'd missed all of it. Something was wrong with his thoughts that he couldn't find the word for, but Kruuxish was awake, and that was important..

The tiefling who attempted the revival first asked the Captain-General something Avex didn't catch, something that wasn't responded to as the robed stranger reviewed his injuries with a hand rose-bright with magic.

The tiefling frowned and turned to Avex. "What happened to his leg?"

Avex stared at them for a moment and then glanced towards Kruuxish, still quiet in Thymos's - Thymos, that was the name - arms. "I'm not - telling you that."

The tiefling's frown deepened. Avex registered, a moment later, that he probably could have worded that better, but by then they'd turned back to their group. He was considering how to apologize for that - his thoughts were only providing sorry, I just saw a man die twice and I'm having some difficulty processing, which seemed a little blunt for the situation - when he felt a hand on his arm.

The warlock - Fotia - let go as soon as Avex looked towards him. "We need to get him to Moribund," he said quietly. "The General isn't staying conscious."

"I-" Dread settled heavy in his gut. "Fuck. Okay. Let's-"

Fotia turned on his heel and started walking towards the door, and Thymos easily caught up to him and matched his pace. Avex hesitated, trying to figure out where to start with resolving it, and then thought of the Captain-General lurching back to life under his hand and found himself already moving to follow them out.

Fotia was keeping one hand on Kruuxish's chest as they hurried out of the building, passing through the beginnings of a gathering crowd seemingly through sheer force of will. Avex anxiously trailed behind, trying to keep an eye on Kruuxish over Thymos's shoulders.

"You don't have to be here," Fotia said sternly as they rounded a corner. "You aren't trained for this."

"I'm a corporal."

"You're a secretary." Fotia paused, distracted by Kruuxish. "He's unconscious again. If you want to help, run ahead and get Moribund prepared. You can't do anything here."

Avex wanted to argue, even though he knew it was true. He forced himself to nod and stepped around Thymos, rested his hand briefly on Kruuxish's shoulder, and then firmly shoved all of his feelings out of the way and took off running.

He knew the layout of the Presage by heart, but he checked every sign as he passed it, just in case. It was almost easy to think of this as normal, as just a morning jog, if he ignored the sun midday-high above him and the concern and horror on the faces he ran past as the few pedestrians realized he was covered in - well. No use lingering on it.

Either the entire security force of the Presage had decided to take the day off or looking like you'd just come from a - no, not thinking about it, Avex corrected. The lack of response from the guards was worrying in a way he'd have to think about later.

Rounding a corner to see Moribund's grim exterior had never felt so welcoming. The guards here did watch him intently as he approached, but evidently there were different guidelines in place for visible emergencies, because one of them waved for him to go through before he was even in speaking distance.

The waiting room was quiet, bare in the middle with empty chairs to the side. The receptionist looked up as he entered, and then stood up as they realized how he looked. "We can help," they reassured him, stepping around the desk to grab his arm. "Can you tell me what's going on?"

Avex looked down at his front and felt his mind go blank. "The blood isn't mine."

"Do you need to sit down?"

"No." Avex looked at their hand, saw how firmly they were having to hold on to him. "Yes. The Captain-General - they're on the way."

He sank into one of the waiting room chairs as the receptionist went back to the desk. He was vaguely aware of runners being sent from the room, but all he could focus on were his hands, the music box still carefully held in one of them, the blood drying in flakes in the folds of his palms. Everything else was vague and distant; actually, his hands were also vague and distant, while he was on the subject. He was having trouble remembering what the subject was.

Someone knelt in front of him, a human, not the receptionist or the people he was waiting for. Either they didn't speak, or he didn't recognize it, as they cupped his chin in one hand and checked his eyes with the other.

He pushed all of his focus into watching their mouth move. "He's right about not being injured," they said, head tilted as if they were talking to someone behind them but didn't want to look away, "but his pulse is high and his breathing's fast. Pupils are dilated. Does someone have time to get a low-grade relaxant prepped before the General arrives?"

Someone made a noise of assent from the space behind them, but by the time Avex pulled his attention up, whoever was there had already gone.

"I'm not the one in trouble," he managed to say. "Don't focus on me."

"It'll just be something to ease the shock. Just wait here, and we'll have someone help you in a minute, okay?"

Avex nodded, unsure if he could accomplish anything else, and then the world snaps into abrupt focus as Fotia pushes the door open and holds it for Thymos to walk in behind him, still cradling Kruuxish in his arms.

"He's not responsive," Fotia announces to the room. "Where should we take him?"

One of the staff hastens over, awkwardly trying to lead the way and check Kruuxish's vitals at the same time, and Avex lurches back to his feet and follows them. Fotia hesitates for one step, just long enough to bring him into stride with Avex.

"You can't just go in with him." Fotia warns. "They're going to have too many hands in the way as it is, and those ones will belong to medical professionals. Go sit down and let them help you."

"I don't need help," which is a lie, and he knows it. "I have to be there. I can't leave him."

"Avex -"

"It's Corporal Lumivarax," he snaps, bristling, "and I'm not leaving."

"It's not a matter of your rank," Fotia snarls back. "This is a hospital. It's not the place for - for employees -"

"If you can name someone who should be here for him, be my fucking guest." Avex tries to catch up to Thymos and the hospital runner, but Fotia has a death grip on his arm. "Look, stop trying to -"

Fotia's voice is lethally sharp. "By the time the doctors get here, half of Jorenn will be clamoring for news, and that news comes from us. Right now, until someone more appropriate arrives, you are speaking and acting on the Captain-General's behalf. Act like it. If you don't get out of the way when they ask you to, I will drag you out of there by the tail. Okay?"

"I know my job," Avex mutters bitterly.

Fotia releases him, and stays matched to his pace as he jogs to catch up to Thymos and the Captain-General. The runner stops all three of them as they approach, and holds open one of the doors for Thymos.

Avex ducks into the room after them, rounding the foot of the bed before Thymos has even set Hebroth down. He looks - wrong.

Avex shoulders Thymos aside as he shoves his fingers against Hebroth's throat, forces himself to take deep breaths so his own frantic pulse doesn't overwhelm the one he's searching for. It takes an agonizingly long time to find it, weak and fluttering under shallow breaths.

"He's dying," Avex says bluntly, looking frantically towards the doorway behind Thymos. "It's not enough, he's dying again, he's going to die again -"

Thymos leans over the bed and grabs his shoulders, which is unusual enough that he stops mid-sentence.

"We are in a hospital and he is the Captain-General. They will take care of him." They shake Avex a little, probably for emphasis. "You've done your part."

"What I did doesn't matter if he dies." Avex protests, but when Fotia takes his arm again he lets himself be steered to the chair beside the bed.

Fotia stays standing, keeping one hand on Avex's shoulder so he doesn't try to get up. Now that he's sitting, things are going fuzzy and not-quite-slow again; people come in and out of the room - mostly in - and sometime in the midst of it all Thymos nods to Fotia and leaves the room. Someone hands Avex a cup of something, and he drinks it when Fotia prompts him to; medicinal-bitter, not that he expected anything different.

Eventually, someone talks to Fotia; or maybe to him, but he's not really sure, and Fotia tugs him back on his feet anyway. He doesn't have the fight left in him; once he's pulled unceremoniously into the hallway, he tries to lean against the wall and slides down it to the floor.

"Nap, if you can," Fotia advises from beside him.

Avex shakes his head, but pulls his knees up and coils his tail in anyway, just in case.

He doesn't know how long it's been when he wakes up to someone jostling his shoulder, but things seem... quieter. The person squatting in front of him is a stranger, and not in a foggy kind of way. They're a tabaxi, a fair bit smaller than he is. Younger, too, if he had to guess, though the hospital scrubs imply his perception of young might not be a universal standard.

"The Captain-General is awake and requesting your audience," they tell him. "We're going to knock him out again soon so the healing can do its work, so please try to make it quick."

Professionalism slides into place as best it can. "Of course."

They step back so he can stand, and he feels his muscles complaining as he does. Exhaustion is a problem for later. He schools the discomfort out of his expression before he walks into the room.

Everything's clean - it's a hospital, of course - but it's clean in that sanitized way that implies that, recently, something had happened. It's clean to an extent that it shouldn't be, and in the middle of it all is Kruuxish, looking fragile and drawn under the sheets. He's been stripped down, cleaned, and bandaged, but his breathing shakes unevenly as he tries to look at Avex with eyes that keep drifting shut.

"He's fighting the anaesthetic pretty hard," the doctor says as they pass Avex's elbow and calmly check Hebroth's pulse. "We're going to be upping the dose."

Avex nods, not really processing, and walks up next to the bed. Hebroth strains to look at him, but when he can bring his eyes into focus, he looks like himself.

"The group at the theater," Hebroth says softly. "I'd like to speak to them."

"You'll be unconscious until tomorrow if you let the medications work," the doctor admonishes him.

"Tomorrow would work, though?" Avex asks.

The doctor nods, and Hebroth sighs, relaxing into the bed.

"I'll be here if you need me, sir," Avex whispers, though he's not sure if Hebroth is still awake to hear him.

The doctor waves him out, and he obediently leaves the room, careful to close the door as gently as possible.

Thymos and Fotia are a few paces down the hall, speaking into a stone in Fotia's hand. Well, Thymos is shouting, and Fotia's tone is one that could be generously called a venomous mutter.

"We should be going after that person," Fotia says as Thymos cheers him on.

Avex is close enough to hear that Captain Ignis's replies, though he can't make out the words. Fotia grimaces, sighs, and closes his hand over the stone.

"Is he with that group from earlier?" Avex says as he walks up to them. "Call him back, I need to pass a message on. From Kruuxish."

Fotia sighs again and holds it up.

"The Captain-General wants to speak to you tomorrow at noon. Fuck, I meant them-"

Fotia's already pulled the stone away and shoved it in his pocket. "He'll figure it out. We," he gestures at Thymos, "are going to be here on guard duty. I think you're just allowed to go back to the Bastion. You look like a mess."

"Thank you for that assessment." Avex glares down at him. "I'm going to stay with the Captain-General. I don't suppose you'd be willing to hassle someone else into getting a desk dragged up here?"

Fotia shakes his head. Thymos nods enthusiastically.

"Wonderful. Thanks, team." Avex flashes them a smile that's mostly sharp teeth and then returns to the room.

It feels like trespassing, to see him like this, but it feels like a worse crime to turn away from it. The room is nearly silent now that he's stable and asleep. The doctor is sitting on a stool next to the bed, watching Kruuxish intently. Hebroth himself is asleep, looking more relaxed than Avex has ever seen him. The stump of his arm is resting over the blankets, and Avex is relieved to see the faintest veins of pink glimmering through the scarred pits in his scales.

The doctor doesn't turn to face him, but seems to know what he's looking at anyway. "They're self-repairing," they whisper. "I think they'll repel the sheets as it reforms, but I'll check the leg in a few hours anyway. Wouldn't want to have to have a piece of hospital blanket stuck in there forever."

Avex makes a vague noise of agreement as he goes back around the bed, settles back into the chair he left. The rasp of Kruuxish's breathing is steady, and magic hums in notes just beyond hearing in time with the light glinting from his arm..

There will be alarms if something changes. There are people here to help, and Avex can guess that within half a day there will be so many specialists in the place that they'll need to mark out special temporary housing for them, and he's exhausted and disheveled and doesn't have to be here, in this cold room and its pale lights and the acrid tang of sanitizer, and he just folds his hands in his lap and waits.

It's stupid. They're coworkers - not even coworkers, really, given that Kruuxish is arguably the most important person on the continent and Avex just makes sure his appointments don't overlap - and there are still guards outside, and the doctors, and the everything else, again.

But the room is empty. That's what gets to him. The most important man in the world is - was - dying, and Avex doesn't even want to think about the political ramifications of that event, and the room is empty.

Kruuxish doesn't look like the Captain-General like this, in this room, in this bed, in these bandages. He looks like a man who's been through hell and, in a way that makes Avex's heart twist, he doesn't look like he made it out by winning. He only glimpsed the mess of scarring on Hebroth's torso, and with the blankets pulled up now he can only really see the discolored tangles across his shoulders and upper arms, but those alone seem to be stories of catastrophe. Avex can't imagine how much magic was poured into his face and remaining arm to make them look as unmarked as they do.

Avex is tired, but not stupid. Kruuxish was - is - a champion, a hero. You can't promote the battle if you don't look like you've won it and, bitterly, it's cost effective to only repair the parts that others will see. It's a sour thought for a hospital room.

Without the glamour of the Bastion, the uniform, the title, Hebroth is just Hebroth. He's just an old soldier in an empty room. Old, Avex scoffs to himself, as if I'm that much younger.

"You're staying, then?" The doctor asks quietly.

Avex nods.

"I can bring you some towels, and there's a sink in the corner, if you'd like to get cleaned up. I can bring some spare scrubs, too, if you want us to wash your clothes for you." They flick one feline ear towards Avex, though they don't look away from Kruuxish.

"That would be great. Thank you." Avex pauses. "And thank you. For helping him."

"It's just my job," they reply. "If anyone deserves thanks, it's you."

Avex doesn't know how to reply to that, and the doctor doesn't force him to; they stand up and quietly leave the room. The door clicks shut behind them.

And he waits.