A Gorgeous White

The wistful cold kissed the delicate toes which slipped out from the warm blankets. Comfortable serenity clouded the room and not a single soul could resist being lured into the land of dreams such as one particular youth slumbering quietly. Silver hair messily spread out on the pure white pillows, cradling the head of the sleeping man. His lashes cast shadows on his unblemished face. Beauty laid before the light of the floating crystal which illuminated the room alone. 

The room is dim. The lonely crystal on the bedside could not fully light up the bedroom. There was the sound of shuffling fabric as Moulin shifted. His lashes quivered until bright silver pupils peeked out between them. Although drowsy and sluggish, Moulin forced his body to awaken. His arm stretched out, reaching for the person who had long left his side. His fingers are splayed open, limp, and weary. Realization came to him and a frown etched his face. 

With a moan, he rose to sit and he tried to blink away the sleepiness in his brain. In his sleep-addled state, he gazed at the door before the bed. The quietness irked him. Not long after, his gaze shifted to the empty space of the wide bed and his eyes dimmed. A certain lord had disappeared from his bed. Moulin wasn't normally angered in this situation. Lord Hercullio had always been busy. However, Moulin could not forget the onslaught he had suffered last night. They did it too much, too long, that he finally begged the man to stop. His bones CREAKED and he was too tired to speak. 

'Bride...'

'Bride my ass! And Why should I be the bride?!' Moulin mentally pulled his hair, internally cursing. 

A few minutes later, his face relaxed and a sigh escaped his lips. Aside from the humming wind making the curtains flutter, another sound entered his ears. At the foot of the bed, a furry back raises and lowers. Slowly huffing with ease, a particular giant furry creature curled itself against the foot of the bed, slumbering quietly. Moulin did not feel threatened. How could he be wary of his dear Keir? But where was Snow? Normally, Keir wouldn't let that brat out of his sight? 

Despite his hectic thoughts, Moulin's face remained calm as he reached for the robe, neatly folded on the chair. He slipped into the silky sleeves and paused. 

He smelled like fresh lavender and honey...

"..."

A corner of his lips lifted. Hadrian must have washed him. 

His bare feet met the carpeted floor and he strode towards the sleeping Keir. Crouching slightly, the maeruthan reached out and ran his fingers through the thick midnight black fur. Keir sensed his touch in an instant. His eyes opened briefly before he lazily leaned against the youth's gentle hand before going back to sleep. Moulin chuckled faintly as he stood up and walked out of the room. "Where is that brat?"

Dawn approached the islands and a touch of gold spread out in blotches in the dim skies. Fully awake, Moulin dressed before he left his quarters. Aimlessly, he walked, breathing the cold air. There was tiredness in his walk but he wasn't forcing himself. Men and women passed by him and threw curious and hooded stares at his figure. Countless gazes took in the elegant flutter of his loose silver hair, devoid of any ornaments, and the otherworldly aura wafting from him as he walked. They whispered silently to each other while making sure not to disrupt the quiet silver-headed creature. 

As the skies lightened, Moulin finally realized where he was. He's headed east of the fortress. His curiosity got the best of him. Or more like he lured himself towards every interesting-looking place he set his eyes on. Surprisingly, the guards didn't even move to stop him. Moulin ducked as he entered a bushy arched entryway. Blanketed by thick vines and shrubbery, the old brick wall stood mightily as though it could never crumble for years. Emerging, Moulin's face met a cold gentle gust. 

Moulin's footsteps ceased suddenly as he recognize a man in the distance, sitting at the edge of the stoned floor. Legs dangling above thousands of feet from the foot of the great tree. His silhouette faded slightly, combined with the shadow of the gigantic hanging bell. Its bell yoke is connected to one tremendous branch of Gala'En, gilded with gold and made of strong wood. Furthermore, the bell itself looked thrice the size of a human with intricate carvings embellishing its bronze surface. 

Silver eyes softened as he stared at fluttering strands of dark hair. 

"Jagra..." Moulin finally spoke. 

Jagra raised his brows, turned away from the breathtaking view, and glanced at the person behind him. "Moulin..."

"Ao?" Snow's head popped out from Jagra's arms. Wagging his tail, the snow-white fox jumps out from the maeruthan's hold and scurried towards his master. From Moulin's perspective, the little one looked as if he was bouncing.

Moulin crouched and took Snow into his arms. His eyes are amused and annoyed, "Here you are..."

"Ao!" Snow licked Moulin's chin before burrowing into his arms. 

Sighing, Moulin raised his head to meet Jagra's gaze once again. Particularly, staring at the calm yet confused look on his friend's face. His heart thumped uneasily.

"Couldn't sleep?" Moulin began as he walked towards his friend. 

"..." Jagra smiled briefly before he turned away. He shifted a little as Moulin sat knelt to sit beside him. The breeze fondly surrounded them. Unlike his dear friend, Jagra felt the biting cold but he didn't mind it. Somehow, it felt reassuring. 

"..."

Moulin lowered his head, watching his fingers comb through the thick fur of Snow's back. Occasionally, he'd glance down at the threatening height, feeling as though it would swallow them. A worried look filled his face as he turned to look at the calm expression of his friend. He'd heard that Jagra wasn't doing too well lately. Something was always making him uneasy and afraid ever since they left Helios. The aching need to unravel the truth about his nightmares must have overwhelmed him. 

Moulin could only lower his head, unsure of how to help.

Suddenly, Jagra interrupted his thoughts. "Eight years ago... When you fell to your death, were you afraid?"

Moulin's eyes turned hooded, uncertain about the sudden question as well as trying to recall what he felt. His brief silence broke and he spoke, "I was... "

"I was afraid of dying and feared forgetting everyone I loved... and to be forgotten." Moulin smiled faintly.

  He realized how absurd it would be if Jagra knew that he had once taken his own life. There was no one and nothing waiting for him in his previous life. But now, it was different and he was afraid of losing everything. 

"I see." Jagra smiled. "And I thought our 'fearless' young master, didn't fear death even at his last breath."

Amused, Moulin shook his head, "We all fear something."

He raised his gaze to Jagra, "What are you afraid of?"

"..."

The young maeruthan stared at his hands. A wistful cloud swirled within his eyes, "I... am different from you and Ghana. I am weaker. My abilities are unsound. They aren't elemental and I can only rely on my intellect and swiftness to advance. This is who I am... I do not fear weakness..."

Moulin quietly stared as he listened. Shortly, Jagra turned to him. 

"I am afraid of changing." He confessed, hoarsely. "If I turn to power, I am afraid to be consumed by it. Of others coveting my strength... and my mind."

A dark drop of doubt plunged into Moulin's thoughts. Jagra... wasn't one to care of changing. During their first days of the guild, he was the most enthusiastic about growing stronger. Why?... 

However, eight years was long enough for a person to change. Could it be that something happened to him? Wait... clearly there is something wrong. Jagra wasn't acting like this when they left Helios. 

Jagra turned away, muttering with unblinking eyes. "My mind, my thoughts. I cannot control it. I am myself but my body feels foreign. I can feel something changing inside of me. It feels disgusting. but... when the nightmare comes... it all stops."

"The world is dark and quiet. All I hear is his voice. His laugh." 

His? Moulin's eyebrows are drawn together. 

"And when I wake up, nausea comes up and I don't feel like myself anymore." Jagra buried his face in his hands. His teeth clenched and the veins of his hands bulged with strength. "I'm becoming strange..."

'The more the nightmare comes...' Moulin narrowed his eyes. 'Jagra becomes different.'

Moulin's hands clenched, 'I should've done something sooner. However, what could I have done? His sickness... I do not know much of it.'

Moulin paused and he raised his eyes at Jagra. 

The skies lightened but they are as dim as any other day in Corahn. The gears in the youth's brain creaked and clanked in the silence. 

A shuddering breath left Jagra's lips and he abruptly raised his face from his hands, glaring at the rolling clouds in the skies. His face paled and he hurriedly turned to Moulin when he finally realized the words he'd said to his friend. 

"Ah, I was only talking to myself. It isn't that important. Come, the sun's up and we must hurry. There is a lot to do." Jagra scooted backward and started to lift himself off the rocky edge of the floor. His hands almost slipped. Sweat accumulated on his palms. 

"Jagra..."

"-Please," Jagra interrupted. "We must go-"

"Look at me."

"..." Jagra turned to Moulin. Fear was evident in the pools of his eyes. Moulin could not bear to ignore them. 

"Don't be afraid..." His voice gently flowed into Jagra's ears like the relaxing rush of river water. 

Slowly, his hand reached out to touch the cold cheek of his confused friend.