water the flowers, pray for a garden

These are the last blues we're ever gonna have

The market is alive with the pulse of Flowerbirth—warm, humid air thick with the scent of salt and citrus, voices rising and falling in an easy rhythm as merchants call out their wares. Brightly coloured stalls are stacked high with baskets of fresh fruit, glistening fish packed in crushed ice, and bolts of fabric dyed in hues that match the sea. It’s familiar, steady, the kind of predictable chaos that keeps Remi grounded despite the way his heart hammers in his chest every second that he's away from Ronin.

But today the usual hum of the market feels more like background noise. His attention is divided, hands moving on instinct as he selects a few ripe mangoes, a bundle of fresh herbs, and a wedge of cheese wrapped in waxed cloth. He murmurs quick thanks to the vendors as he exchanges payment, his sea-glass gaze flickering up every so often, scanning the crowd. Sunjata had been vague in his letter—urgent, but not explicit—and while that in itself wasn’t unusual, it left a coil of tension wound tight beween Remi’s ribs. He didn’t like being away from Ronin longer than necessary, not now, not with grief still gnawing at the edges of his husband’s every breath. If this was something important, though, something that warranted a private meeting, then it was better to get it done as quickly as possible.

Adjusting the strap of the woven bag over his shoulder, Remi moves toward a stall selling fresh bread, the scent warm and inviting. His fingers drum absently against the wooden counter as he makes his selection, but his eyes are on the crowd, scanning for a familiar, too-tall figure amid the press of people.

the glow of the cities below lead us back to the places that we never should have left

SUNJATA

at another place in time, you were infinitely mine
relatively alright, when berenstein was fine

Luckily, Remi doesn't have to wait too much longer, as he waits by the stall of fresh bread, the tall figure of Sunjata cuts through the crowd with practiced ease, almost like he’d never left its shores. But rather than the confidence of someone wandering through and meeting everyone’s gaze, he keeps it expertly trained on everything that isn’t a person. The goods in the stalls, the pathway he walks, the sky at times.

The citrus scent that lines the humidity of Torchline is a welcome reprieve, one that eases the discomfort already clinging to his gut and the lingering sorrow of Seren’s funeral. But he keeps it quiet and closed off through any attuned bond as he sidles in beside Remi. A small nod is offered, his gaze drifting to the bread in the stall and the comforting scent it offers. “Thanks for meeting me.” He rumbles softly, before he seems particularly interested in the bread so that he can get it across through the Attuned bind without him coming off weird. I’m just gonna cut to the chase, but… I asked to meet you privately because Ronin’s, uh, he’s infected… He glances over at him after, trying to see how he takes it.

at another place in time, only parallel to mine
the universe was alright, when berenstein was fine

These are the last blues we're ever gonna have

For a moment, the world around him narrows into a pinpoint, the scent of fresh bread and salt air vanishing, the murmur of the market dissolving into nothing. Sunjata's words, well just one in particular—infected—ring in his ears, sharp as broken glass, rattling through his skull like a wasp trapped beneath a jar.

No. No, that’s not—

Remi blinks hard, shaking his head once, twice, as if to physically reject the thought, to force it away before it can settle. His grip tightens around the loaf of bread in his hands, fingers pressing so hard against the crust that it threatens to crumble.

That’s not possible.

His heart stutters, trips over itself. His mind scrambles for an anchor, for anything to cling to that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—Ronin is strong. Ronin is careful. Ronin is—

"What?" Remi hears himself say. The word is hoarse, barely audible over the hum of the market, like the air’s been stolen straight from his lungs. His sea-glass eyes snap to Sunjata’s face, searching, demanding something—reassurance, contradiction, proof that this is some kind of sick fucking joke—but there’s nothing in the Flood’s expression that suggests even a hint of dishonesty.

A cold, crawling dread curls around his ribs, tight and merciless before slithering down the attuned bond. He almost wants to laugh. A bitter, broken thing. Because of course, of course the gods haven’t finished with them yet. Of course this isn’t over.

"How," he manages, voice rough, fraying at the edges. His mind whirls through every moment, every breath they’ve shared since Seren’s funeral, searching for something—a sign, a mistake, something he should have noticed but didn’t. "How do you know?"

the glow of the cities below lead us back to the places that we never should have left

SUNJATA

at another place in time, you were infinitely mine
relatively alright, when berenstein was fine

He’d thought it might be better if he was up front and blunt about it, but seeing the emotion strike across Remi’s face when their eyes meet. All his grey gaze can offer is sorrow, sadness, a crinkle of apology that he knows does absolutely nothing but something he can’t help but to offer anyway.

He swallows hard, hearing the breathless question. “I saw him at the festival.” Sunjata offers unhelpfully, muscles feathering in his jaw in an old habit — twisting away from the stall in the market that harbors such warm and lovely loaves of bread. It all feels cold in the face of the news, he’s sure. I can see them now.. it’s how I could tell Ru was. He explains, unsure if he’d mentioned it before (his memory can be foggy here and there). I confirmed it at.. the funeral. He sends quietly over the attuned bond, his hesitation evident in explaining it but the importance of it weighs heavily.

“I’m so sorry, Remi.” Comes the quiet, accented murmur, low enough he could hear but not too loud to where it sounds as if their conversation had gone off the rails.

at another place in time, only parallel to mine
the universe was alright, when berenstein was fine

These are the last blues we're ever gonna have

I saw him at the festival.

It’s such a normal sentence. It should be such a normal sentence.

Remi stands there, fingers still digging into the bread in his hands, but he doesn’t feel it anymore. Doesn’t feel the press of crust against his skin, doesn’t smell the warm spice of the market or hear the mingling voices around them.

All he feels is the weight of Sunjata’s words.

I confirmed it at the funeral.

The funeral. Seren’s funeral. When Ronin was—

Remi’s breath leaves him all at once, torn from his lungs like it’s been stolen. He can barely see Sunjata now, barely register the tension in the Flood’s jaw, the quiet grief threading through his voice.

His mind is moving too fast, careening violently through memories of the past few days, past few weeks. How many nights had he lain beside Ronin, listening to him breathe, watching the way grief hollowed him out like a man barely holding himself together? How many times had he touched him, curled fingers against the nape of his neck, traced his jaw, kissed his temple? A shudder wracks through him, his grip tightening around the loaf until it starts to crumble apart in his palm.

Through the bond, his voice is a raw, tangled thing. Them. Is that what Ronin was now? One of them?

"He...he came back from Stormbreak and said he'd seen Dahlia. That she'd threatened to kill our children if he interfered with their plans." Remi's seaglass stare widens as he forces himself to see Sunjata rather than just a gnawing void of purple. "It must have been then."

No longer a leader, Remi hadn't received the notes from Deimos detailing what had happened in Halo, and so with a shuddering sigh he straightened, their next move seeming quite clear. "Will you help me bring him to Halo?"

the glow of the cities below lead us back to the places that we never should have left

SUNJATA

at another place in time, you were infinitely mine
relatively alright, when berenstein was fine

Yeah… Sunjata says quietly, a low murmur of a current through the turmoil of an attuned bond shared. He can’t offer much more, feeling woefully unhelpful despite having a unique perspective into having been one that Dahlia had her claws into.

Nodding when the explanation comes, he puffs out a small sigh. “It doesn’t take her much, unfortunately.” He says with a hint of frustration, before he pushes past it to find Remi’s focus on him. He gives the Bastion his entire focus, even as the scars on his face light up with the request and his gaze drops to the bread that’s crumbling in the other demigod’s hand.

He reaches out, resting his lightning scarred hand on Remi’s shoulder, trying to convey a closeness they’ve never really had, but need to now. “I would.. but.. Remi, the springs were destroyed over LongNight.” His jaw works again, feathering for a moment. “I’m happy to come with to help and see if Mort or Vi can do something for him.. If that’s a possibility.” He’s willing to do whatever it takes to get the White Knight out from under Dahlia’s violet claws.

at another place in time, only parallel to mine
the universe was alright, when berenstein was fine

These are the last blues we're ever gonna have

The springs were destroyed.

The words land like stones in Remi’s chest, sinking deep, heavy, final. He doesn’t speak for a moment, his breath pressing tight behind his ribs, his mind moving too fast in too many directions at once. Without the springs, there’s no way to cleanse Ronin the way they'd cleansed Sunjata or Hotaru. The way Isla was meant to cleanse Everest.

The hand on his shoulder is unexpected, but grounding. It stills something inside him that was threatening to spiral too fast, too far. His seaglass eyes flick up to Sunjata’s face, tracing the tension there, the way grief and exhaustion settle into the lines of his jaw. It’s a strange thing, this momentary closeness between them, if only because for all the bad blood once between them and the hilarity of friendship that had come before, gods but Remi is relieved that out of anyone who might have told him this news, that it's Sunjata doing it.

"Fuck." His fingers tighten, briefly, in the torn bread still clutched in his other hand before he tosses the ruined loaf aside, dusting the crumbs from his palm. "I've got to get home to him." Panic nearly has Remi's feet moving before his mind can catch up, and already he's mid-turn before he stalls and glances over his shoulder at the Flood.

"When you were infected...if someone had asked you about it...would you have told them? Would..did you have to hide it?"

the glow of the cities below lead us back to the places that we never should have left

SUNJATA

at another place in time, you were infinitely mine
relatively alright, when berenstein was fine

Understanding, because Remi didn’t have the ability to see how the void affected those under its spell as he does, he gets how Remi would want to return to his husband to ensure he was okay. Sunjata had been too terrified, too unable to look at her dead in the face if he was required of it when she was infected. It’s perhaps what made the entire ordeal worse.

But Remi could navigate it. And he trusts that the Bastion would be able to balance the worries and fears that came with Ronin being infected.

But when the question comes and his hand drops from the other man’s shoulder, he rubs his bicep in the interim as he shakes his head. “I only knew because of Frey. But no, I didn’t tell anyone if they asked. And any thoughts about the void weren’t scary, it was.. nice, almost. They call it a friend of the family for a reason, I guess.” His nose wrinkles as he hisses a sigh under his breath before his hands drop limply to his sides. “I don’t know if Ronin’s under the same, but, when Dahlia infected me it was like I felt stupid for being so scared of it. Everything felt great, so why would I need to be healed?” He imagines Ronin might feel the same way.

“So, if you need anything, I’m here for you Remi. Just let me know.” They had healed him and Hotaru after everything. It was the least the Flood could do.

at another place in time, only parallel to mine
the universe was alright, when berenstein was fine

These are the last blues we're ever gonna have

Remi listens, absorbing Sunjata’s words with a stillness that is unnatural for him, his breath shallow, his fingers twitching at his sides. It felt nice. That single thought claws at him, burrows deep into his ribs like something gnawing its way inside. Because if Ronin feels like that—if he feels like there’s nothing wrong—then how is Remi supposed to make him see the truth?

Before he goes, there’s one more thing he needs to know. One last, bitter question pressing against his teeth.

"If they had wanted you to hurt Hotaru—if Dahlia had told you to—would you have done it?" He doesn’t look away as he asks it; if anything, he turns more toward the Flood. "When Hotaru took Flora...I don't think she'd ever have hurt her, but.." Gods, who could really say? She'd forced her to sleep and stolen her away during the middle of the night.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head, jaw tight. "My immortality," he begins, voice too quiet for the weight of what he’s saying. "..Ronin could still kill me." His gaze locks onto Sunjata’s, hard, despite the cracks he can feel forming through his resolve. "If it comes down to it...is their hold that strong, do you think?"

the glow of the cities below lead us back to the places that we never should have left

SUNJATA

at another place in time, you were infinitely mine
relatively alright, when berenstein was fine

It was why they had to lure Sunjata there in the first place, wasn’t it? Because the idea of the springs while knowing what it meant, sent his skin crawling. The mere thought about being uninfected was something that sent the hair on the back of his neck lifting, discomfort of dread settling into his gut. He doesn’t know how Ronin would feel about it, though, but he can assume he has an idea.

For now, though, Remi has his full attention – that stillness not totally uncommon from all the predator shifts that lingered under Remi’s skin, meeting Sunjata’s own with a steadfast determination to pay attention. He doesn’t expect the question – though he probably should have… It steels him. “I… I don’t really know.” He knows - Gods does he know – that it isn’t the answer Remi wants, but it’s his honesty he can offer here.

“I think it might be easier or more likely for them to want to infect you, too, rather than kill you.” He admits – what was better than one old god demigod? Two? Especially two of the strongest amongst them? “But I can’t say for sure if it is or isn’t. When you’re infected everything Dahlia says just.. makes sense? She never asked anything huge of me, though.” A small blessing of being infected at the early stage, he supposes, but it doesn’t help them now.

at another place in time, only parallel to mine
the universe was alright, when berenstein was fine

These are the last blues we're ever gonna have

Sunjata’s honesty cuts like a knife, not because it’s cruel, but because it’s true. Remi doesn’t want half-answers, doesn’t want reassurances that mean nothing—he wants the truth, no matter how sharp it is, no matter how deep it bites.

I don’t really know.

Remi exhales, slow and measured, like he’s forcing the tension from his lungs even as it coils deeper into his ribs. It isn’t the answer he wants, but it’s the one he expected, truthfully. His lips press into a tight line as he turns his gaze toward the market’s lantern-lit sprawl, watching people move between stalls, blissfully unaware of the quiet, gnawing horror threading through this conversation. If the Family’s influence is so strong, if their whispers could turn the people he loves against him, then—

"Fuck." His fingers flex at his sides, nails biting into his palms before he forces them to relax. He meets Sunjata’s gaze again, nodding once. "I’d better get back to him," he says, voice steady, careful, as if by keeping it controlled he can hold everything else together. "Thank you, Sunjata. For telling me. And—" His throat tightens, but he pushes past it. "If it comes to it...if you or Deimos ever need to take Ronin or I out for a time, know we wouldn't hold it against you." Remi did not love either man despite how much he respected them, and as far as he was aware neither possessed star-related magic. They could kill the Taliesins, yes, but only for a short time.

But then he’s already turning, already moving, because every second he stands here is a second he’s not with Ronin, and gods— gods—he needs to see him.

Now.

~FIN

the glow of the cities below lead us back to the places that we never should have left