“Maybe ime you see a skinny and dirty sve oreet, you shouldn’t kick him with your metal-heeled boots, which will save us some time because I won’t o fix his cussion,” Man said as they were about to approach the moon.
“Oh, with pleasure, Madam. ime we meet a suspicious stranger who holds up our carriage on the way home, I’ll let him touch me all over so I bring a curse back to you and Yvain,” Burn said sarcastically.
He tinued, “If we’re lucky, you even catch a disease from the clothes I wore whenever I embrace you after saving a random dirty person oreet.”
Man scoffed. “Fine. I’ll never argue with you anymore.”
Burn mock-gasped, “What? What have I done? Heavens forbid—no, the Gods have forsaken me. What did I do to deserve never being able tue with you anymore?”
Man desperately held back her smile.
“I’m serious, Man. Don’t take my arguing privilege away, I beg you. It’s the only thing keeping me alive. Please, argue more with me,” his tone was almost too serious now, and Man g him, only to see the little sneer on his lips.
Man gred. “Caliburn.”
Pinch—well, it was barely a pin the arm since she had delicate fihat couldn’t twist his skin, and also because she wasn’t seriously trying to hurt him.
Burn grasped her arm and put it ba the mana rope she had created to secure the two of them on this ride. The man became genuinely serious now. “I don’t want to take ces after your st death.”
“I get it, but you could’ve dodged if you actually didn’t want to get touched,” Man sighed.
“It’s a habit. I’m used to kig people away. And I didn’t kick him that hard. There are a dozen other reasons why I didn’t dodge, too. Do you wao list them one by one?” Burn asked.
“Okay.”
“First, what if I dodged and he somehow got to you in the blink of an eye? After the surprises, I ’t guarahat I’ll be able to protect you even in my owory,” Burn said.
“Alright, I get it; you don’t have to—”
“And you know I don’t like dodging or avoiding things. It’s kinda stupid in hindsight, but I’m familiar with danger, and I like to front it directly most of the time. It’s part of my instind experience.”
“Fine, you stop—”
“And I was this close to killing something that day. He was just vely there,” Burn said, reminding Man of his mood after returning from the future.
Man couldn’t argue anymore.
After a lengthy silence, Burn sighed and ceded. “Fine. I’ll apologize to him when and if he maain sciousness.”
“Thank you, Caliburn,” Man said, looking at him with a hint of pride and relief.
Why did it feel like he was still in the wrong, even though he was clearly right? Why did this feel like a loss? This persistent nagging at his pride as a man, feeling like he was in a dilemma…
But theuran, and there she was—smiling at him, brimming with pride and affe. He couldn’t utter a single word. She acted as if he had improved and risen to the occasion, while he felt like a character in a bad py, getting cheated out of his rightful lines.
What is this ridiculous feeling?! Is this what they called… marriage?!
“Thou art correct, Mistress Momo. The son of Arthur is a good man,” Isaiah suddenly interjected, rather helpfully.
“Right? He’s not only strong and cool but also a good man,” Man chimed ily.
Burn uood the problem. He had ged—!
“I am not a good man,” he replied sullenly, with the enthusiasm of a wet b. “I have always bee person you could call good.”
Man shook her head, smirking faintly. “Nope. You’re the goodest man in the world.”
Burn blinked. Switch out "man" for "dog," and suddenly it all became painfully clear for Burn. He’d been tamed?! When? How? The memory hit him hard—the one where he’d buckled, dropping to one knee when Man first uhed his little secret—his history of sapiophagy.
He had caved long ago.
Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t stop the worst thing he’d ever done, not by a long shot. He’d do it again in a heartbeat. Gnawing on the flesh of a se being? Sughtering his own family? Hard to top that, holy. But he’d do it again, all of it, if it pushed him closer to his goals. Every siime.
Like when he had to kill Man to reset the loop. Again. Just yesterday.
Bur a twisted sort of relief wash over him, bitter and sharp. No, he hadn’t ged, not even an inch. Still the same wicked soul. If he had bee a better person, well, he’d have killed himself instead, wouldn’t he? But nope—he killed her.
The burden of being the cruel one? Let him be the oo shoulder that.
***
Man hadn’t read Burn’s mind.
For whatever whim, she thought peering into those murky depths would not just shatter her heart, but also steal something fual from Burn.
Naturally, she opted for the charmingly old-fashioned approach: listening to his words directly. But, of course, surprise, surprise! Unlike looking directly into his memory, there were certain "minor" details he vely left out.
Like…
“Mama! Papa! Unc—? Big? Brother? Uncle…?”
Man’s jaw dropped, and Isaiah’s followed suit, his own disbelief crashing to the floor.
“We meet again, Nemo,” Burn grinned.
Mnemosyne’s Aeons radiated joy with the innoce of a little girl spinning gleefully at her father's return from work. She eveed sounds resembling giggles, albeit with the endearing quality of baby babble.
Burn hovered nearby, attempting the most awkward of gestures, possibly to pat her head. The ouroboros snake performed a pyful headbutt against his palm before coiling back around her form.
“H-how…?” Man finally found her voice, deep in fusion.
The man turo her and Isaiah, his expression a mix of incredulity and bewilderment. “What?”
“Caliburn, did you know what just happened?” Man asked once more.
“I hadn’t really told you this, but Nemo and I made a tract to share our perspectives of the futu—”
Isaiah interjected, shaking his head vigorously. “Nemo shouldst not even be capable of speech!”
Burn creased his eyebrows.
“Well,” Man resumed, her tone now tinged with gravitas, “for her to gaiiehis is… a miracle.”
“What do you mean? Isn’t she your catalyst? I assumed she was like those se legendary or mythical swords they prattle on about in stories and fairytales,” Burn asked.
“Caliburn, Nemo… she’s a struct. Grahere have been instances of a struct gainiience, but they… usually don’t talk—”
“Nemo! Talk! Help! Mama, Papa!”
“Holy fuck.”
“Fuck!”
“No! Bad Nemo. Don’t mimic your Papa!”
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
----------------------------------------
o Isaiah: Uncle? Big Brother?
Isaiah: Uncle is most proper. *Smiled* Yet why didst thou not speak to me, when thou couldst already wield thy tongue ere I departed for the assembly?
Nemo: Awkward.
Isaiah: ... *Awkward*
Isaiah: I must needs mend mine cursed tendency toward introversion...
