Disassociation

The flash of lightning was bright, giving the old ruins an eerie glow and highlighting stone figures of legendary knights in such a way Kay had to blink away the ghosts that lingered afterward. Thunder rolled low and far away as the clouds opened up and let loose their cold and bitter downpour. He wiped the rain from his face and slicked back his hair, stumbling through an ancient establishment blindly until he found his way in front of a pillar. Even squinting and shielding his eyes from the rain, Kay couldn't quite make out the engraved image on the old, weathered stone. The lightning flashed again.

A knight is sworn to valor.

Kay took a step back, brow furrowed in confusion, heart racing anxiously. The afterimages the lightning produced didn't fade away this time. The aged voices of knights that may or may not have been were carried on the wind, and they chilled Kay more than the storm.

His heart knows only virtue.

He spun around, looking in all directions, into the hollow, sunken eyes of Lancelot and Galahad and Percival, and the one that shared his name.

“This isn't happening,” he whispered, voice lost to the elements and specters. “This can't be happening.”

His blade defends the helpless.

Their voices rose. Louder, louder until he could no longer hear the thunder roaring above.

His might upholds the weak.

His knees were about to give out, the depth of their voices weighing him down to the worn, cobbled stone. He sunk down slowly, eyes wide as he stared at a pair of feet clad in pristine boots guarded by shining, silver armor.

His word speaks only truth.

Trembling, he looked up slowly, into the eyes of King Arthur, but the ghost king was not looking at him, nor were the others. They looked beyond him, into the shadows and to a man fast approaching.

“His wrath undoes the wicked,” the man said once he stood within the circle of stones, and the ghosts vanished once the verse of the Code was completed. He drew his sword from its black sheath, the blade scarred down the center.

Kay recognized him, or at least the man's image, from The Glockenspur Chronicles. “Bowen?” He questioned breathlessly. “Christ, this seriously can't be real,” he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face.

The knight scoffed and made an upward motion with his sword. “On your feet,” he ordered. Kay obeyed, and Bowen began to circle him.

“This is a dream of some kind,” Kay mumbled to himself, watching the knight warily. “It has to be.”

“A dream, you say?” Bowen laughed hollowly. “I'd say it's more of a nightmare!” And he lunged forward, the tip of his sword catching on Kay's shirt and tearing it as the boy managed a lucky dodge.

Putting his hands to his chest, to make certain the rogue knight had torn only his shirt and not his flesh, Kay felt something out of place. Looking down, he saw that over his heart was a wretched, knotted scar. He tore his eyes away from it, in time to see Bowen come at him again, and the pounding of his heart slowed down as the sword pierced his chest.

Kay coughed, choking on the bile that was rising in his throat. He stared into the older man's face, noting the tears streaking their way down Bowen's cheeks through the paths the rain made. But the tears didn't stop Bowen from driving the sword in deeper, and Kay clutched weakly at the blade, daring to lower his gaze at the same time.

The reflection forced Kay, in his weakening state, to do a double-take. It belonged to another man, and in the back of his mind Kay could match the name Einon to the spectral image cast in the metal that shared with him the same ice blue eyes.

Bowen pulled the sword out, jerking Kay back and then forth as he did. Kay put a hand to his chest again, dipping his fingers gingerly into the deadly wound as he fell to his knees again, blood staining the white tunic he couldn't remember donning a cruel shade of crimson. Through blurry vision, he looked back to Bowen as the knight, too, fell to his knees and wept silently for reasons Kay could vaguely recall in the form of kinship and heartache and broken vows.

He fell to his side and his blood pooled in the rain slowly, beautifully. His dying heart beat slowly, incompletely, as the rain began to peel away his skin, scales rising in their place. He groaned weakly as his body twisted and contorted into a shape he knew from long ago, tucked safely away in his memories and in between the pages of a sketchbook.

“Forgive me,” Bowen whispered with his head bowed, and it was hard to hear over the thunder that came not from the sky but from Kay's chest. Kay made a weak sound as everything began to fade away into a darkness not even the sudden glow of his blood could vanquish. The last thing to reach his ears was Bowen's sorrowful request, “forgive me, Draco.”



Kay gave a shout as he was frightened out of sleep. He panted, his hands on his chest searching for wounds and scars that were his another lifetime ago. Feeling nothing but smooth flesh, chilled and sweating, he breathed a sigh of relief, and fell back on his bed. He was used to these dreams that were distorted memories of the tyrant he was long ago, but been scared him into waking, drenched in a cold sweat, shaking like a leaf in the wind because of them.

He laid there, still and staring at the ceiling, until his heart beat at a regular pace once more and no visions of his dream stared back at him every time he blinked. He forced himself out of bed, then showered and dressed before leaving his apartment to walk until the dream-like memory was completely forgotten, like so many others.

Rounding a corner, he caught sight of two people he could never mistake for others. He took a step back to ensure he wouldn't be seen as he watched Jael and Draco head up the street. Once a good distance was set between the two and himself, he began to walk again, slowly, and with his eyes on them.

He rose an eyebrow, noticing Jael had dyed her hair a dark shade of burgundy. In the light of the sun, it shone a strange, bright red. Red like blood. Like fire. Like red hair from long ago.

No peace, Einon's voice wafted by on the wind, quiet, maddened. No peace.

Kay shook his head clear of the horrible echo, pressing onward despite the way his head was reeling again. He had always wondered how Draco and Jael interacted when he wasn't around, and no was as good a time to find out as any.

The pair crossed the street and entered a park, and she stepped closer, hesitantly wrapping an arm around Draco's. Kay rose a brow as he waited for the light to change to green. Draco made no point to show any discomfort with the girl's action, if he felt any at all. He simply put his free hand into the pocket of his pants and continued to walk, as though nothing were out of the ordinary.

The light changed and Kay crossed into the park, still keeping that perfect distance between him and the two ahead. There was a chill surging through his veins that wasn't brought on by his past-self but the moment she leaned in closer and put her head to his shoulder, laughing over something he had said.

Until now, Kay had never felt jealousy before. He'd had no reason to, having been content with his dragons and his sketches, the stars and what lied beyond for those who dared to believe in such magic. For a bitter moment, he wished he was a kid again. Then the only kind of pain that had frequented his heart was the disappointment of being unable to finish a sketch because his stub of a pencil clutched between calloused fingers decided to break.

Then it had been as easy as taking out a new pencil, and the ache would be gone. Now things were very different, because he wanted her and she wanted the dragon.

A love dart from Cupid... Einon's presence chuckled, repeating words the object of his own affections had uttered after stabbing him in the shoulder.

“Shut up,” Kay muttered under his breath as he sat down on a park bench, running a hand through his hair and tilting his head skyward, eyes squeezed into a squint to block out the glare of the sun.

Kay heard Jael laughing again, and Draco laughed with her this time. He sighed and cursed inwardly.

No peace.