Gira is strong at first.
He ignores the whispers and grumbles around him. He holds himself upright, confident and proud, because he truly believes he belongs. With Cheza standing behind him, and Zess at his side, Gira smiles and orders his army.
They follow him at first.
The king’s stern approval of Gira keeps their discontent silent; whatever Gira commands, they obey. But there is unrest growing within their eyes as they watch the small man walk with a woman and a Demon alongside their king. They spit in disgust whenever Gira turns his back.
“Gira? What happened to your arm?”
“I fell down the staircase. Don’t worry it’ll heal in a few days.”
“You’re not telling me the whole truth. What happened?”
“Just leave it, Cheza.”
“Gira-”
“Leave it!”
Zess is constantly by his friend now, appointed as his second-in-command. He may not know much language, and he may not be able to communicate well, but he is skilled in battle. His sword is his pride, and he cuts through enemies with power and grace. The king watches Zess when the soldiers practice, feeling pride well up in his chest each time the blond giant sends an opponent into the dust, the silver shine of his sword catching the Sun’s light. He turns to Gira, a small smile on his face.
“You’ve done well in choosing him.”
Gira beams. “Thank you, my lord. He’s worked harder than anyone else and it shows.”
The king lays his hand on Gira’s head, startling the younger man, and threads his fingers into his hair. “I can see that. He’s been trained to perfection.”
“Trained?” Gira echoes, trying to ignore the uncomfortable sensation crawling up his back.
“I had my doubts about him, being a half-breed and all. And honestly I was worried if keeping him was a good idea, especially without chains.”
Gira’s eyes widen.
“But you did well. You and your sister.”
Zess slams down another opponent, and the bell calls for training to end.
“My gamble on you paid well. Good work.”
The king waves at his soldiers, pats Gira’s back, then takes his leave. The younger man stands, unease rumbling in his chest like a storm, as he watches the others gather their things. Zess spots him and smiles; he hurries over to greet him.
All Gira can do is smile back weakly.
…
The soldiers choose to attack Zess when Gira goes on an errand for the king.
He is inspecting the blade of his sword when someone hits him over the head. His vision blurs for a moment, stars and pain spreading throughout his eyes, and he stumbles onto the ground. Someone’s foot rams into his side, followed by a solid kick to the back of his head again. He can only grunt as he loses strength.
“Damned freak,” someone curses. Another kick, but this time, on his leg. Zess can feel an intense pressure, like something is trying to crush it, and he grits his teeth in agony.
“We should’ve killed it when it was born. Now look,” the scabbard of a sword nails him on the nose, “It’s become Gira’s loyal dog.”
“Better watch out before Gira turns it on the king.”
“To think Leon called it his son.”
“Leon’s a dead old failure, don’t bring him up around me.”
“Let’s just kill him now! And without this thing, Gira can’t fight back.”
Zess feels anger build within. It is a nasty sensation he never liked; it always made him feel like crying. But it becomes his strength get up. The soldiers growl and continue to hit and kick him, but because all Zess can think about is how they insulted his father and Gira, the pain is dull.
“Take… that… back…”
The man closest to him laughs bitterly. When Zess looks up, he sees that it’s Officer Roane. “Look, the idiot speaks.”
“My father… was not… a failure…” Shakily, he manages to stand on his own two feet. “And… Gira… deserves… to be…”
Roane smashes his fist into Zess’ face; he can feel the blood well up and spill out of both his mouth and nose.
“Shut up, you pathetic monster. You don’t know anything.”
“Not… a monster…”
Not a monster.
He makes fists with his hands and glares at each face before him. Zess is taller than them, and not one could beat him in a fair brawl. And he is confident that he can win even when they attack him all at once.
His eyes burn slightly.
“Your father,” Roane spits the word like it’s toxic, “was one of our best. He was strong and performed his duties perfectly. The king trusted him more than anyone else, and what does he do? Disappear from the villages for years only to come back suddenly with the child of Demon.”
“Traitor.”
“Disgusting.”
“He deserved to die.”
Each remark makes Zess shake with more anger, makes something akin to flame burn in his chest, makes that power feel like it’ll burst out in order to completely annihilate the hatred that he sees before him.
“Hatred is a pain that hurts others, Zess. It’s alright to feel anger, because that’s normal. Everyone has a right to feel mad at the things they think are wrong, but never let it turn into hatred. If you let hatred into your heart, it’ll end up ruining not only you, but those around you. Instead of hating, forgive.”
But he does not know if he can forgive the words these men hurl. Do they not feel the pain their hatred causes? He feels as if he will cry from the utter agony crushing him.
His eyes shine as bright as the morning sky, and the men curse.
“Watch out, he’s about to do something! Call the king!”
Zess does not understand. Why are they always scared of him? He is not a Demon. He is not a Demon. He is not a-
“Zess!”
A familiar voice.
“Gira.”
He lets out a relieved, distressed breath as he spots his friend rushing towards him, Cheza close behind. They push past all the others and throw themselves onto their friend, embracing him without reserve. He stands, motionless, as they press their bodies onto him.
They are there, their warmth somehow cooling the burn growing inside him. Cheza reaches up to kiss his neck and jaw, whispering words of love and comfort as Gira drags Zess’ head down to look straight into his eyes. Gira looks at him, his own eyes filling with tears, as he says softly, “It’s alright. You’re alright. You’ll be okay.”
Zess can feel the anger slip away.
He begins to sob, gripping both of them tight to his body.
…
Cheza tightens the bandage around her brother’s leg with a frown while Zess runs out to fetch more water. She is a silent, brooding tempest that Gira knows better than to test. He cannot bear to look at her face and avoids it by staring out the window. He swallows once.
“I hurt myself during practice-”
“You don’t participate in practice.”
“One of the soldier’s accidentally hit me with his scabbard on his way-”
“This was intentional.”
“Maybe with more force than necessary-”
Cheza pulls the bandage she was tying into a painful knot; Gira grimaces.
“Enough, brother. I don’t want to hear anymore of your excuses.” Her voice, usually as firm and as piercing as ice, cracks slightly when she speaks. “Just… just tell me you won’t let it get too bad, alright? I won’t ask questions. I’ll trust you.”
Gira looks at his sister’s tightened lips and creased brows.
“I’m sorry, Cheza. It’ll be alright.”
He kisses her forehead and whispers, “You took care of me all those years when our parents weren’t there anymore. I love you more than they can ever hurt me.”
Cheza’s hands begin to shake.
Gira wraps his arms around her, hugging her without another word, letting his sister cry in his arms as he kisses the top of her head.
Zess returns a short while later and joins them. He rubs Cheza’s back while giving Gira concerned looks now and then, like a dog unsure of how to comfort his owner. It almost makes Gira laugh.
But he instead smiles and kisses Zess’ head too.
“I love you both more than anything in this world. I hope you know that.”
Zess nods.
“We… love… you… too…”
The three of them sit in that warm sphere until the Sun sets and both Gira and Zess must retire. Up until they close the door, Cheza grips their hands.
When they leave, Cheza is left with only the Moon as comfort.
…
Zess notices his partner is distracted. She keeps looking out into the distance, vacantly in thought. Even when the wind blows her writings into the air, she does not stir; Zess shoots up to catch them all, and decides to wake her.
“Cheza?”
She starts.
“Sorry, Zess. I went off into another mood again.”
He shakes his head, “It’s… alright. I’m used… to it…”
She smiles sweetly, knitting their hands together, “Yes, I suppose you are.”
She kisses him again before turning back to the book they were working on. He is getting better at pronouncing larger words, and Cheza is getting more enthusiastic about teaching.
But Zess can tell she is still distracted.
“What’s… wrong?”
Cheza does not look up from the reading, but her lips purse together in concern as she thinks. For once, she is unsure about sharing her thoughts. When Zess’ fingers tighten around hers, however, she breaks.
“Gira hasn’t spoken to me since yesterday. Actually, it’s more like I haven’t seen him since yesterday. The king said he went off on an expedition but…” she trails off.
Zess noticed as well, but thought it was normal for him to be out of contact. Nonetheless, he pats Cheza’s hand.
“It’s alright… he’ll come… back…”
Cheza sniffles slightly, her nose running from both the cold and the anxious sobbing she finished only moments before their lesson. “I know, I know. Besides,” she looks up happily at Zess, “He’s got both you and me to go after him if anything goes wrong.”
Zess smiles and kisses her hand.
“Of course…”
…
Gira returns with the expedition, wrapped in his robes and the furs they collected, as cold as winter’s night, skin pale and lifeless.
Cheza drops to her knees.
There are no more tears left inside of her.
