36 – Moros is tragically misunderstood

In a cramped, windowless, underground room, Moros stood before an array of stacked wooden boxes. Each one was scrawled with a magical seal and tightly secured with three different types of locks.

Aloud, he murmured, “Did you know? Basilisk are a species that are native… to the island I was born on. Perhaps you saw them once or twice, while you were there.”

Despite these precautions, someone had managed to wrench all of the boxes open, revealing the now-deceased cargo that lingered inside.

“The ones in the wild… aren’t that dangerous, really,” he continued, reaching out to pick up the stiff body of one of the lifeless snakes. Examining it, he concluded that the monster had died via decapitation, a surprisingly merciful choice of death for a creature most people were taught to hate and fear. “They’re rather shy, more likely to flee from humans than attack them, and… their cursed venom isn't that strong. Whether or not one dies from a bite largely depends on where one was bitten.”

Basilisks were not large monsters. The adults rarely grew past three feet in length, so judging by their size, these snakes should still be juveniles. Their dark scales had an intense iridescence that shone even in the dim light, bringing out the vibrant peacock-like eye markings patterned in warning down their backs.

Beautiful, he thought.

Setting the body down, Moros picked up the head and felt it over, gently palpating the empty venom sacks in its cheeks.

Someone had milked this snake dry after its death, carefully removing both its fangs and every last drop of what made it so valuable to humans.

Not sparing a glance for the guardsman bound and gagged in the center of the room, Moros continued, “These snakes are different, of course. They’ve been bred to increase the lethality of their venom, as well as to increase their aggression. I’ve heard that… after enough generations of selective breeding, they become so fierce that they can no longer survive their natural mating process. In fact, many clients like to use those pheromones to force the snakes to attack specific targets… really, quite fascinating…”

The guardsman, a weathered middle-aged man, let out a muffled cry in anger, his face reddening as he strained against the loops of cold stone holding him in place like a fish in a net.

Moros closed the mouth of the severed head he was holding and took it over to the guardsman, where he crouched down before him and held it aloft.

“To take something innocent and twist it with so much hatred that it can never live a normal life… How should that kind of cruelty be repaid, do you think?”

The guard shied away from the snake’s head, darting nervous glances at it.

He doesn’t realize it has been defanged.

Taking note of this, Moros stood back up and frowned at the creature, gently running a gloved finger across the scales of its cheek.

He’d stumbled upon one in the wild once, when he was younger. She was curled up over a clutch of jewel-like eggs, concealed beneath a patch of vibrant poisonous pink flowers like a fish hiding among anemones. 

He’d just enough time to recognize those eye-like markings before she hissed and snapped at him. His first instinct had been to run, but then he heard a whisper from Tisiphone, who back then was as pink as those flowers and only about the size of his palm. She told him not to be afraid, and explained that some animals protected themselves by pretending to be more dangerous than they really were.

In the floor beneath his feet, a strong vibration distracted him from his memories.

Right now both his magic and a good portion of his attention were spread out in a web beneath the mansion and its grounds. He could feel the hurried footsteps of the people milling by the front gate, the impacts of the battle in the ballroom, and even the scurrying of rats in the pantry. The fact that he himself was hundreds of feet away from all of it, hidden beneath a cabin in the forested section of the grounds, mattered little.

Moros crinkled his brows in annoyance, sensing the sudden thunderous rush of water as clearly as if it were happening next to him. As a reflex he reinforced the magic he’d already sunk into the mansion, using it to absorb most of the shock generated by this unexpected tsunami and letting out an unhappy sigh at the huge amount of mana this took.

Though he and Iphis were currently apart, this was the way most teams of clerics were meant to work. The destructive potential of high level magic was so great that the only reliable way to minimize casualties and property damage was to have someone specifically dedicated to that role, which was why Moros focused on keeping things from falling apart and maintaining barriers while Iphis did most of the dirty work. 

Ideally, Moros would also have been responsible for any healing, and indeed he’d once trained to do so. Unfortunately, his curse had stolen that ability from him, and though he could still technically heal another way, it wasn’t very pleasant for anyone involved.

Luckily for him, Iphis rarely needed healing. Moros was somewhat worried for Hunter, however. 

That man made such exquisite ectoplasm. It really would be a shame to lose it.

Once Moros was sure the worst had been contained, he pulled out his receiver to record a message.

“How are things going, Boss? You should already have everyone. I can’t sense anyone left inside except for the… relevant parties.”

As he spoke, he unconsciously felt for the centipede-like scar that wound around his neck. That part was visible to others, so he usually kept it hidden, but only he could feel the way the mark extended under his skin and down his throat, where it branched out into his chest.

His curse was mostly dormant now, but it was always hard to forget the sensation of constantly struggling for air. Even now he could not help but take big breaths, as though at any moment his lungs might fail again.

A reply came swiftly, with Chiron saying, “You did good work. We’ve rounded up all the guards, no injuries. Any update on the Commander?”

“Yes. Our Consultant was right, he was indeed possessed. He transformed not long after being confronted, and like predicted… seems to have both a form and a domain that favors the ocean. Iphis is handling him now. However, there is something else I need to report…”

Since their people had already searched all the other houses in the area, finding the snakes here wasn’t exactly a surprise.

But according to the game, this shouldn’t have been the case.

“When I connected with the estate, I discovered a concealed room and… found our basilisks inside.”

“What!? Really? But… how? I know we thought they’d be in this neighborhood, but to find them in the Archduke of Kastri’s mansion… there’s no way that wouldn’t have been mentioned during the trial!”

Over the years, Moros had learned that things he found very obvious were not always obvious to other people. The good news was he enjoyed explaining puzzles almost as much as he did solving them.

“When your nieces ran into that warden last Saturday, normally they would have followed up later of their own accord, yes? However… since Euphrosyne was frightened by Hunter, she got confused and broke into Thalia’s dorm room rather than go to her own, thus distracting both Psyche and Thalia… one of whom, I am guessing, later asked you to follow up on their behalf? At which point, recognizing this as one of the plot points from the game, you leant considerable manpower…”

Alas, most people, when recounting an event in passing, did not bother to preface it with, ‘at this time on this day in this month at this specific location this occurred and now I shall list the full names, descriptions, and addresses of all relevant parties involved.’ 

This meant that a lot of information they had from Rabbit Heart was frustratingly vague. In the game, Psyche mentioned that she and her cousin ran into a basilisk while in Kastri, which eventually became relevant to future plot developments.

The fact that this occurred the very day the girls arrived would have been useful to know, but they hadn’t until it was too late.

“Gods below, damn it! So you think if I hadn’t helped speed up the investigation, they would have had time to catch on and plant the evidence somewhere else?” Chiron demanded.

“That is my assumption, yes. However, you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself… Grandmother warned us that ‘the plot’ would fall apart quickly and, considering we have not one chaotic interloper, but two… I think we ought to be grateful any information is holding up at all.”

“Alright. Then what would you advise?”

“Ah, that brings me to the other detail I needed to report… It looks like whoever was behind the Flensing Shadow attack may have also found this room. The basilisks have all been slain, which is a call I do not believe their owner would have made… simply put, it’s a staggering loss of money to commit to when we weren’t even able to get in until today, and I also… estimate that the snakes died last night, probably within hours of the other victims.”

Chiron’s reply was a concise yet emphatic, “Fuck!”

“Indeed. Even if we pretend we never found this room, we cannot hide the fact that the Shadow already did… If whoever is behind this place has any brains at all, they will conclude any assets here have been compromised, and likely… go to ground to reformulate their plans. In my opinion, we should seize as much evidence as we can find, and later we might still be able to use it to prove a royal connection behind the conspiracy.”

He paused, glancing at a desk in a corner covered in papers and folios, and the bookshelf of ledgers next to it.

Antinous hadn’t been someone on Moros’ list, but he was connected to people who were. 

If someone else wanted to prune the parasitic tree that was the imperial family, Moros had no qualms. However, he was a little worried that he and the Shadow might get in one another’s way.

Since their goals seemed to roughly align, maybe it would be beneficial if he could track them down before the rest of the Golden Shield did, and reach out.

“Chiron, please allow me to take a look on my own first. There’s a great deal of things I’ll need to go through. Once I’ve catalogued everything potentially Calamity-related, I will… deliver my report to you and to whatever team takes over this case.”

“Approved. I’m counting on you.”

Pocketing his receiver, Moros turned his attention back to the guard he’d captured.

Pausing only to check that the summoning circle he’d inscribed under him was flawless, he removed the man’s gag.

“Who are you!? Why are you doing this!?” the guard shouted, his dark eyes burning with anger and desperation. “Even if you’re a cleric, you can’t treat me like this!”

“I have some questions for you,” Moros said evenly, looking down at the man from behind his mask. “Such as… you’re one of the guards who helped bring these basilisk into the city, aren’t you?”

“What? Of course not! How dare you accuse me of such a thing!” the man spat, his voice full of overblown indignation as his eyes darted away.

Lying, Moros thought.

The upside about having an expert prevaricator like Iphis for a partner was that Moros had so much practice detecting deception that everyone else felt transparent in comparison.

The downside was the countless times that scheming bastard had fooled him into humiliating situations, or tricked him into getting in trouble, or outright scammed him before Moros had learned enough to protect himself.

“I see, so you are. It’s not just you, though. There are quite a few others?”

“I already told you there’s no such thing, now release me at once or you’ll be the one getting arrested!”

“Tch… Aren’t you at least going to ask me how I know it’s you?” Moros sighed, crouching down and propping his masked chin up on his hands.

This should have been the time when Moros would have explained everything aloud, but normally Iphis would have been here to ask him to do so. In fact, sometimes he suspected that Iphis asked even when he already knew the answer simply because he knew Moros liked explaining.

“I already told you, I have nothing to do with any of that!”

“… Oh.”

Moros frowned softly. 

Fine. He’d just tell Iphis later.

He had more important things to do, anyway.

He removed his veiled hat and mask, then pushed back his hood to let his hair loose. Looking the guardsman in the eye, he asked, “Do you recognize me?”

“Should I?” the man asked sarcastically.

How disappointing. He’d recognized Elatus the moment he’d spotted him.

“Well, I know it’s been a while, but I’ve been told that my appearance is… quite distinctive.”

“No, but I’ll make sure to provide a good description of you to my Commander in the future,” Elatus sneered.

“Yes, yes, your Commander… Did you know you were working for a demon?”

“What? What the hell do you mean!?”

“Your Commander was possessed by a demon. He’s being arrested as we speak.”

“Are you mad? That’s impossible!”

Ah, this time he’s being genuine.

Good. It would have been problematic for Moros if Elatus had been involved in the Commander’s possession.

“Hmm. Then do you mind… explaining why you’re wearing the badge of a captain? Because I’ve familiarized myself with all the members of the Kastri Guard, but I don’t recall seeing you among them, nor have I heard any announcement… that a new captain had been hired.”

“That’s none of your business!”

“I see… Well, regardless… you really don’t remember me?”

“No! Are you crazy? Are you even a real cleric? What the hell is wrong with you!?”

Pushing his curtain of white-blonde hair away to better reveal his face, Moros prompted, “Try to think a little harder, please. We met one another almost thirty years ago, on the island of Keos… I was just a child then, and you… you were working as my aunt’s Second Mate aboard the Golden Hour. Surely you remember that ship, at least?”

The guard’s pupils narrowed in understanding as recognition finally struck him, and all the color drained from his face as he went still.

His earlier bravado gone, Elatus hesitantly asked, “You’re… that Fairweather girl?”

As Moros nodded, Elatus muttered under his breath, “Merciful gods.”

“Good. Since you do know, let’s move on,” Moros said, briskly standing back up and smoothing his robes.

“Wait! But—how did you survive? And how did you come here?”

The answers to those questions were his teacher and Calliope respectively, but Moros had no interest in catching up with this man.

All he wanted was for Elatus to understand what was about to happen to him.

Tilting his head to the side, Moros checked back in on the activity in the mansion. Judging by what he felt, the fight was well and truly over, so he ended those spells and began a new one.

Holding his palm upright, there was a shimmer of soft blue light in its center, and then thick white mist began to bloom. Swiftly pooling over the edges of his hand, it dripped downwards, crashing against the floor and spreading out in a series of lazy, slow motion waves. 

Elatus began to thrash harder against the stone holding him, his eyes widening in panic.

“Wait! Wait, I’m—I’m sorry, I’m sorry okay? I swear I didn’t know what they were planning, I thought they just needed a place to land so they could move on. You have to believe me!”

The mist was easy to control while it was cool, so Moros initially gathered it into a neat, serpentine column of white. However, the moment he began heating it up its shape became more difficult to contain, growing wispy around the edges as it slithered in circles around Elatus, silently surrounding him.

A few stray strands of vapor accidentally touched the guard, scalding his skin as he shrieked and tried to twist away. His voice breaking in panic, he cried out, “No! Please, I had no choice! If I’d refused, they—they would have just killed me and found someone else!”

Moros hummed absently in agreement, as Elatus’ statement was probably true.

Sometimes people had no good options. In those cases, it was understandable that they would choose the one that best preserved themselves, even at the cost of others.

That was why all the soldiers and sailors he’d tracked down received such merciful deaths, whereas he had something far more exciting planned for the true architects behind the scenes.

“You’re—you’re a cleric now, aren’t you!? You can’t do this!”

Elatus’ voice was cut off as Moros used his other hand to raise a sound barrier around him. Once contained, he released his hold on the coils of super-heated mist, allowing them to burst outward and fill the entire barrier, thus hiding what was happening to Elatus’ body behind a film of mercifully opaque white. 

Moros, his pale blue eyes somewhat unfocused, sat on the floor and expressionlessly observed the graceful whorls of vapor dancing before him. 

The first time he saw something like this he hadn’t understood what it was. He’d only thought that it was lovely and strange, like someone had called all the clouds down to earth and trapped them in a giant soap bubble. 

Now, even knowing what it was, he still found it enchanting.

Unfortunately, that was all.

He’d really expected to have some kind of reaction this time. After all, Elatus could be considered the very last of the small fry, and to have run into him today by chance, after so many years of searching, felt like fate.

Here he was, on the verge of finally fulfilling the obsession that had consumed him for most of his life, and yet the closer he came the less he seemed to feel, as though reality itself was a tide steadily ebbing away from him, leaving him like an abandoned bit of flotsam on an empty shore.

Was he the problem, or was it the obsession itself? Had he made some vital mistake, some overlooked miscalculation that had unintentionally hollowed out the very concept of victory?

… Or maybe the real issue was that no matter how many people he killed, nothing important changed.

He and Tissy were still the only ones left.

Wrapping his arms around his knees, he lowered his head and hummed an old lullaby as he counted the seconds drifting past.

After a while, he got back to his feet and approached the barrier. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself as he activated the summoning circle within it, wincing in discomfort as what felt like the last dregs of his mana drained from him all at once.

It was possible to summon a spirit over vast distances, but it still took a lot of effort. The more powerful the spirit, the greater the amount of mana demanded, and since he had no innate talent or blessing for abyssal magic the difficulty was even greater. 

Luckily, Tisiphone responded quickly. After only a few seconds, the faintly glowing circle flashed with brighter pink light as she contributed to the cost of maintaining it. 

No sound escaped the barrier, but the mist inside was suddenly sucked down into the intensely glowing floor, revealing the bloated corpse it concealed. Rising up through that light came a series of spindly black legs as long and thick as tree-trunks, which felt around for a moment before grasping hold of the body.

Once she had her prey, Tisiphone tore it from the loops of stone and vanished back into the floor without so much as showing her face.

Moros, abruptly freed from the burden of powering the circle, swayed briefly and ended up leaning against the sound barrier. With his forehead and palms pressed against it, he let out a sigh and mumbled, “Ah, I really wish you still fit in my pocket… Summoning you was so much easier when you were little…”

Ah, well. At least she’d taken the body and all of the tainted air around it on his behalf. As a spirit, she’d never bothered to cultivate a sense of smell, so the stench of boiled flesh didn’t bother her. He was not so lucky, and just the thought of trying to keep the scent away from him in such a small room made him shiver with fear and disgust.

There was a reason he usually chose well-ventilated areas for this sort of thing.

He donned his mask and spent a great deal of effort and emptied mana stones purifying the air, his clothing, and his skin before he went about fixing the floor.

By the time Iphis arrived, unannounced and uncalled for, the room had been put back to order.

“Everything alright down here?” Iphis asked as he descended the stairs, no longer bothering to wear a mask since Moros had essentially kicked everyone else off of the property. “Boss said you found the snakes?”

“What are you doing here?” Moros asked, not bothering to hide his displeasure. “I don’t recall asking for help.”

Moros was now seated at the desk where he was thumbing through a book and a stack of letters. He turned slightly in his chair to shoot a cold look at Iphis.

One of the many unfortunate side effects of being cursed by Iphis was that, as long as he was within a certain distance, the man could find him no matter how well he hid.

The fact that the reverse was true as well wasn’t important because Moros found this ability annoying regardless.

“I missed you too, Beautiful,” Iphis replied with a smile as he trotted over to inspect the crates. “The poor things are all dead, I see. I’m sorry, Moros, I know how fond you are of critters.”

“Nevermind that.” Since he doubted he could get rid of him without resorting to violence, Moros gave up on the book. “Any injuries?”

Since Iphis couldn’t wear defensive magic directly, Moros had taken it upon himself to embroider additional enchantments into his uniform. He couldn’t see or smell any blood on him, though it was possible Iphis had cleaned it up already, but he noticed the charred and torn sleeves and let out a small sigh in resignation.

There was about to be a lot of sewing in his future.

“A little poison, but nothing a potion couldn’t handle.”

“Ah. What about Hunter?”

“He gave me a little scare at the end, but mostly fine otherwise," Iphis said, his hands behind his back as he did a circuit of the room, examining all the things Moros had already inspected earlier. “Actually, he really seemed to enjoy himself. Even though he nearly got eaten, I think I had a harder time than he did.”

“You don’t sound as happy about that as I… thought you would.”

“To be honest, I’m torn. He’s fun to play with, and better than I thought he’d be, but considering how dedicated he is to his daughter I can’t help but find his willingness to needlessly throw himself into danger a little strange.”

Leaning his cheek against his first, Moros said, “I see. I had a feeling you let him stay because… you thought the demon might be up to something.”

“Ah, no one knows me as well as you do,” Iphis replied, dragging out his words with a teasing lilt.

Moros snorted, adjusting his gold-framed glasses.

As though he’d had a choice. Originally he’d tried to get to know Iphis so he could figure out a way to take him down, but later he’d done it simply so he could survive being around him so much. While it was true that time, shared experience, and the burdens of responsibility had mellowed both of them out, none of this changed the fact that Iphis was still a black-hearted and silver-tongued bastard who never did anything without some manipulative motive or another.

“No, it’s just the most obvious conclusion. If I was trapped among my enemies and had… no way to escape, the first thing I’d do would be to convince them that I’m not someone they need to worry about. Then I’d try to find a way to act in my own interests without alerting them.”

Just how some animals pretended to be more dangerous to survive, others chose to do the opposite.

In a way, he and the demon had that in common.

“Exactly! But other than a suspicious lack of fear and a surprising amount of enthusiasm, I didn’t catch anything. Then again, it’s possible he’s always been like that and it’s got nothing to do with the demon at all,” Iphis said with a sigh, pushing aside some papers and taking a seat on Moros’ desk.

“Hmm.”

Swinging his legs like a bored child, Iphis looked down at him and asked, “So, Moros. Where’s the body?”

Ah.

Damn.

He knew there’d be trouble if Iphis showed up.

Alas, there was no point in trying to lie to him, so Moros replied, “What gave me away?”

“Do you think I’m stupid enough to tell you?” 

Moros gave him a dry look silently asking why he couldn’t at least pretend to cooperate, but received nothing except a patronizing smile in return. 

Personally, he’d always felt that Iphis would be a lot more tolerable if he was just a little more stupid. 

Since he had to guess…

“It was probably the air, wasn’t it?”

A dank cellar full of decaying monster corpses wasn’t supposed to smell nice. 

Yet another reason why well-ventilated locations were so important.

“Moros,” Iphis said, his grin fading, “I think we need to have a talk.”

No. 

Absolutely not. 

Any conversation like this with Iphis was always a trap, so Moros grabbed the book, stood up, and immediately put some space between them with obvious suspicion.

“I have work to do, we can talk later.”

“Moros…”

Not falling for it, Moros thought, hugging the book to his chest as he gritted out, “I’m busy.”

“When was the last time you ate? Not a snack, a proper meal.”

Moros hesitated, caught off guard by the unexpected direction of Iphis’ inquiry. 

“Did you eat lunch today? Breakfast?”

“I… I don’t know… I ate this morning, maybe? Yesterday morning? I can’t recall,” Moros answered automatically. 

Iphis asked about this sort of innocent thing so often and became so incredibly annoying if he didn’t get an immediate answer that Moros had been unconsciously conditioned to reply just to avoid trouble. 

Realizing too late that Iphis had used this as an ‘in’ to trick him into talking anyway, Moros backed off a few more steps and glowered at him threateningly. 

“What about sleep? Or are you just subsisting on naps again?”

“What if I am?” Moros asked, refusing to cooperate further. “What does any of that… have to do with you?”

“Moros—”

“These correspondences are all written in code, but I’ve already found the cipher,” Moros interrupted, moving to set the book he was holding down on the desk and allowing it to fall open naturally. Then, summoning a weak mage light, he held it behind one of the pages and said, “It’s the 20th sentence from the top—you can tell because someone’s oily finger ran under it so many times that the paper has become slightly more see-through when you shine a light through it.”

“…”

“Don’t you think it’s funny? A book of rather obscure Hesperian poetry, used as a cipher in an Aeonian hideout. I think the paper and ink were sourced from Hesperia too—in fact I’d guess both products are somehow unique to Lycoscura, but I’ll need to follow up on that later. These people really have been planning this frame-up from the beginning.” 

“Moros,” Iphis interrupted, putting his hand on Moros’ and trapping it flat against the paper. “I would be very happy to listen to everything you’ve found another time, but right now I am worried about you. You’ve never been good at taking care of yourself, but it feels like you’re getting worse.”

Moros bristled at how close Iphis was, although Iphis himself was not the primary issue with this.

The problem was that Iphis always smelled good, which made his teeth itch.

Pulling his hand back and leaning away, he mumbled, “I’ve just been a little distracted lately.”

“Is that really all it is? Because it used to be that only your curse would worsen while I was gone, but now we’re barely apart for a month and you’re so malnourished you’re fainting, barely apart for a few days and you’ve already stopped eating and sleeping, and now, today—"

“I’ve always turned a blind eye to your indiscretions, it’s not unreasonable for me to… expect you to do the same,” Moros protested, his heart starting to beat faster. “You’ve always… done the same.”

He wasn’t sure what about this was making him so uncomfortable. 

If Iphis genuinely suspected him of something, they wouldn’t be having this conversation. Iphis was very much the type to ambush first and ask questions later, and while they hadn’t directly targeted one another in a long time, surely he knew better than to give Moros a head start.

“But this is different, isn’t it? After all, you’ve never jeopardized a mission like this before. Stealing a suspect from an active investigation, one who might be related to the game’s plot, and doing it all right under Chiron’s nose?” Iphis asked, his golden eyes blazing with concern as he leaned closer. “Moros, I’m serious. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I…”

Actually, Iphis had a point. Frowning slightly, Moros wrinkled his brow as he tried to remember.

Everything had been fine in the ballroom earlier, hadn’t it? But then the Commander entered, and beside him was a face Moros had not seen in many years. 

Elatus was the man who used to ruffle his hair whenever he’d visit his aunt’s ship, who’d always have some candy or trinket ready to give him, who’d tell him all sorts of ridiculous jokes just to prove it was possible to make him laugh. A lot of the sailors used to tease him, they found it strange how quiet and expressionless he usually was, but Elatus would defend him, he’d say it was just because Moros had too many big dreams clamoring for attention inside his little head…

Moros recalled all of this, and then he decided to kill him. 

It hadn’t felt like he could wait, so he hadn’t, and as a result he ended up making all sorts of little mistakes.

“In retrospect, I… may have acted impulsively.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, that's all.”

Iphis didn’t say anything, but the heartbroken expression on his face made Moros retreat once more and look away.

Damn it. Keeping things to himself was so much easier back when they hated one another. 

“Moros, I realize you’re on some kind of secretive quest for vengeance and I want you to know I’ve always respected that. In fact, respect is exactly why I’ve never gotten in your way, or reported you, or pushed you to tell me why you’re doing this. In fact, I think deep down I’ve been under this ridiculous notion that if I could be patient enough and show you that you can trust me, one day you’ll open up to me on your own… but that’s never going to happen, is it?” Iphis said, distress and despondency making his voice rougher. “But maybe I’ve been unreasonable, expecting you to give me something I’ve never explicitly asked you for, so I’m asking you now: Moros, please, tell me what you’re up to. I’m your friend, and I’m worried, and I think I need to know.”

Feeling aggrieved, Moros lowered his head, hiding his face behind his long hair.

It wasn’t fair. What exactly could he say?

That he’d heard enough about the game to realize he had a role in it the rest of them weren’t aware of?

That he’d never expected to end up on the wrong side? 

That he didn’t want to hurt any of them, but he’d worked too hard for too long to give up now?

When Moros remained silent, Iphis approached him again and took him gently by the arms, saying softly, “Moros, don’t you hate this sort of thing the most? People refusing to properly communicate, people refusing to confront their conflicts in favor of letting things fester? Isn’t that why you drugged me and locked me in a carriage with Hunter?”

Hesitating, Moros shifted his weight from foot to foot, his discomfort steadily growing.

Of course he hated that sort of thing. Didn’t Iphis hate it too? Moros had hurt him so many times, for so many years, over one such ridiculous misunderstanding, and the guilt he felt over that was one of the reasons he let Iphis get away with so much no one else could.

“Well… yes…”

“Then why are you doing it to me now?”

A thick, choking feeling in his throat prevented Moros from responding, and no matter how many times he swallowed it wouldn’t go away. Growing frustrated, he shook Iphis off, turned around and walked away instead, unwilling to put up with the questioning any longer.

He hadn’t felt anything when he’d killed Elatus, but now the pillars of his resolve seemed to tremble.

Gods, this was embarrassing. It used to be he’d go to all sorts of ridiculous lengths just to see a hint of pain on Iphis’ face, and now he couldn’t handle so much as a frown?

No. No, it did not matter if he had to hurt Iphis’ feelings now because in the end, everything would be fine. He already had a good idea of what the game version of himself had done wrong, he would change things enough to guarantee his plan went smoothly, and then once it was all over he’d worry about confessions and apologies—

Iphis grabbed him by the forearm, halting his retreat.

In a quiet yet heavy voice, Iphis asked, “Moros… do you have any idea what it’s like, being your friend?”

Turning back, he saw that Iphis’ disappointment had been replaced by a much colder emotion, one that filled Moros with a confused sense of panic.

It had been a very long time since Iphis had genuinely attacked him, but he was almost certain that was what this expression meant.

Moros wasn’t afraid, he’d been preparing to run since the moment he joined the Temple. Still, he couldn’t help but feel… Feel…

The curse around his neck seemed to tighten as he realized he felt a little betrayed that Iphis was willing to go this far.

“It feels like if I don’t always keep an eye on you, if I ever let you fall a single step behind, then one day I’ll turn around and you’ll be gone,” Iphis continued, his chilling smile growing bitter. “That frightens me, Moros.”

Moros tried to pull his arm out of his grasp, but Iphis’ grip just tightened, adding more and more pressure until he suspected his bone might have snapped if his forearm hadn’t already been replaced by corruption. 

“Let go,” Moros demanded, steadily growing upset at being handled like this, but Iphis ignored him and pulled him so close they were nearly pressed together. 

“Don’t forget: no matter how much you pride yourself on your self-restraint, we both know you can’t resist the curse on your own forever,” Iphis hissed through gritted teeth.

….

Oh.

So that’s what that look was about.

Officially, the curse between them was considered an unfortunate accident, but Moros knew that wasn’t true.

No one gave him the idea to destroy Iphis, and nobody made him do it. Every scheme he came up with, every step he carried out, every violence he committed was his fault and his alone.

He hurt Iphis, and was hurt in return. 

For this reason, he’d never blamed Iphis. As annoying as the curse was to deal with, he knew that the Lord’s retaliation was justified.

However…

Looming above him, his golden eyes glinting in shadow, Iphis whispered, “You can’t leave me, Moros. Not in life, and not in death. You need me.”

Sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder if Iphis wasn’t as innocent as he seemed.

No matter how many times he thought back to what happened, he couldn’t come up with any real signs or evidence that pointed to such a conclusion, and he knew it was absurd to suspect a teenager would open themselves up to a fatal attack just to forge a permanent magical entanglement with someone they hated, and yet… 

He was just as certain it was the kind of thing Iphis would do if he could.

Ah, that reminded him… he really needed to take some time later to warn Hunter about a few things.

With a thoughtful expression, Moros reached up with his free hand and held it over Iphis’ face, hesitating. For a moment, Moros saw surprise and anticipation in those hawklike eyes.

Then Moros smacked Iphis on the forehead. Hard.

“Fuck!” Iphis cursed, his head snapping back from the blow. Letting go of Moros’ arm, he rubbed his forehead and demanded, “Moros, what the hell?”

“You’re being an ass,” Moros admonished him.

“I—excuse me, I’m being an ass? You insist on pretending you’re not planning some grand conspiracy right in front of me, but I’m the ass?” Iphis declared, practically shouting. Then, much more quietly under his breath he added, “And it’s not like I said anything untrue…”

“No, but you know better,” Moros insisted, folding his arms across his chest. “How would Calliope put it…? Ah, yes, something like… ‘don’t use my poor behavior as an excuse for your own.’”

“Oh, so you do know you’re in the wrong!?”

“Iphis…” Reaching out to tug on his burnt sleeve, Moros murmured, “I’ve made you feel insecure. I’m sorry.”

Far from being mollified, Iphis threw his hands in the air and yelled, “For fuck’s sake, I don’t want an apology, I want you to agree not to do crazy shit behind my back! Especially when it’s clearly making you miserable!”

“I can’t. I need to finish this, but I’ll confess everything to everyone once I have.”

“What do you mean ‘confess,’ are you insane!? Don’t confess, you’ll go to prison forever! Just don’t do whatever it is, or—or at least wait until after the Calamity—”

“Iphis, I believe you’re smart enough to have figured out… why I might be keeping this to myself, but I swear by the Crucible, I would never try to harm either of the Saints. If you don’t believe me, then turn me in. With the Temple’s help… you might even be able to stop me,” Moros interrupted, watching Iphis’ face very closely as he did so. 

Just in case he really did need to flee.

“That—first of all, what do you mean ‘with the Temple’s help,’ when have I ever needed anyone’s help to deal with you? Second of all, betrayal isn’t what I was worried about! Have you listened to a single thing I’ve said?”

Iphis reached out, grabbing him by the collar and shaking him. Recognizing that there was no real violent intent behind the act, Moros tolerated it with mild confusion.

“You do realize I’m not joking? I really do have to stop you? That I can’t just let you run around creating extra chaos when we’re already in so much deep shit!?”

“Really?” Moros said, a little dizzy but also surprised and delighted.

Iphis wasn’t going to turn him in. He was going to try and stop him personally, which meant he’d probably start watching him a lot more closely, but that wasn’t too much of a problem since Moros was used to trying to get things done while Iphis tripped him up. 

In fact, the whole situation felt rather… nostalgic?

“Yes ‘really,’ you idiot! Do you want me to lock you up?”

“Well… you can try?”

“I’m not flirting, Moros, I’m being serious! Gods, I am so fucking fed up with your bullshit!”

Iphis pushed him away and then began to pace, tearing his fingers through his tangled hair. He laughed and muttered to himself, “Why am I the only one who knows what you're really like? Everyone thinks I’m the troublemaker, but no, it’s you, it’s always been you, but no matter what I do no one ever fucking believes me! Gods, you're going to ruin both of our lives and you don't even care!”

In contrast to Iphis’ distress, Moros began smiling, although he was unaware that he was doing so.

Somehow the gloom he’d felt ever since spotting Elatus in the ballroom had dissipated, replaced by a bubbly lightness that filled his chest.

Maybe Iphis was right. Maybe there really was joy to be found in doing things, even unpleasant things, with friends.

For the first time in a long time, Moros felt like he had something to look forward to.