WARNING: Nothing explicit, but this chapter does depict a nonconsensual kiss.
~*~
Excitement throbbed inside Zenith's core, making the light spark and sizzle. Though almost an hour had passed since Cyrias's announcement, it showed no sign of calming down.
He glanced at the map of Tielos covering the large table in the center of the control room. Rather than ink on paper, this map was like an elaborate diorama complete with lovingly sculpted mountain ranges and miniature models of settlements. Even the ocean and rivers flowed as if filled with genuine water.
Most amazingly, a tiny version of the workshop floated above the map. As it crept forward, it drew ever closer to the snow-capped peaks at the wasteland's northernmost edge.
An area Zenith had never visited. Even for the wasteland, the north had a forbidding reputation. Travelers spun tales of a frozen world where fires refused to start and blizzards swallowed entire armies without a trace.
Now he was here. Based on its last known location, the Blue Sky would have taken weeks to arrive at best. But for Cyrias's workshop, it had been two smooth, uneventful days.
His gaze drifted from the model of the craft to the tallest mountain in the range. Or rather the castle protruding from its summit, its icy walls sparkling in the golden light. More than any Infernal Legion base, it was the headquarters for a Grand General.
Serac, apparently. In some dim, distant lifetime, Zenith remembered Mirage speaking of General Serac's reputation for deviousness. Cyrias hadn't given much more information, but it didn't matter.
An image swam into Zenith's mind: General Hellebore beckoning him, a mocking sneer on his face. Now this is a real fight, homunculus knight.
Without realizing it, he clenched his hands into trembling fists. No matter how strong this General Serac might be, Zenith would defeat him.
Activity buzzed around him, but it might as well come from another world. Zenith felt as though an invisible shield surrounded him, like the one made of Levia encasing the map. Cyrias's brisk voice drifted from the front of the room; he seemed to be conferring with the navigators, mini-medusids positioned at panels covered with buttons and switches. Across the map, Solstice was pacing and cracking his knuckles. Meridian bent over a panel alongside another mini-medusid, taking in readouts of their surroundings.
A white blur swirled outside the windows, the only sign of the raging blizzard. The Blue Sky would have never dared fly in such conditions, but inside Cyrias's workshop, Zenith could not hear the wind, let alone feel it.
Good. At this critical juncture, he needed no distractions. Once again, he fixed his gaze upon the castle on the map. It looked deceptively fragile, like he could crush it in his fist.
Footsteps nearby. Alarmed, he snapped his head up only to see Sir Azimuth approaching.
"Am I interrupting?" she asked.
Zenith shook his head. "No. Is something the matter?"
"Nothing at all, Sir Zenith." Azimuth stopped beside him, though she kept a respectful distance, and surveyed the map as well. "I only hope that we don't disappoint you on the battlefield."
"You won't," Zenith said. "I'm certain you're ready."
When a smile lit up Azimuth's face, the breath caught in Zenith's throat. How many times had Theo looked at him the same way? Full of pride and wonder, as if he couldn't believe Zenith had so much faith in him....
Just like that, ice stabbed Zenith's core. Damn him! Why couldn't he make himself stop thinking about Theo?
It was pointless. In the end, Theo had only returned his faith with betrayal.
When Azimuth's voice drifted to his ears, he realized she had been talking. Cursing inside, he forced himself to listen. "Our victory will surely come down to your leadership and experience. Just give us the word, and we will follow."
"Of course," Zenith said, though he couldn't look Azimuth in the eye. In truth, her confidence made him uncomfortable. After all, he had yet to defeat a Grand General himself.
That was still more than could be said for the others. Not only had they never battled the Infernal Legion, but they possessed little in the way of actual combat experience. From what he'd gathered, they had spent most of their existence training amongst themselves.
In any other circumstances, he would never enter battle with such an untested crew. But they were fellow knights, and this was what they had been created to do.
Still, the discomfort didn't go away. In spite of everything, he found himself remembering the words a young sage had said to him once, how he wanted to be a knight who protected the weak...
"We are the Knights of the Firmament." Azimuth's proud voice drowned out the ghost of Oren's. She pressed a fist to her chest, her eyes sparkling. "It is our duty to enact the justice of the seraphim. With our swords, we will put an end to the demons' vile designs."
Yes. That was right. Zenith let her words cycle through his core, each one resounding with the truth. The light sparked inside him again, bright and pure.
Yet why did it feel so distant?
~*~
When the miniature workshop hovered directly above the castle on the map, Cyrias announced their arrival. Outside the windows the view remained blank white, but Zenith had no reason to doubt his creator.
To say nothing of the Levia brushing the edge of his consciousness. Faint as it might be, he could never mistake that darkness anywhere.
So he joined the other knights in the workshop's atrium, the vast chamber in which he had first arrived. Awe swept aside all unease when Cyrias spread his arms and a golden diagram flared across the floor.
He barely glimpsed the diagram's intricate lines before its Levia engulfed his vision. As the power surged through his body, he felt as if every atom was being forged anew. Strength flooded his muscles, while his senses sharpened and expanded.
His Levia responded as well, erupting from his core until it blazed like the sun itself. Even when the golden glow began to fade, the light in his core remained strong and steady.
Just like it felt after an elemental spell, only magnified a hundredfold. And his body had been enhanced as well, thrumming with the kind of vigor only a high-level strengthening spell could bring.
"That should do it," Cyrias said. Though the diagram was gone, golden light still shimmered around his outline. "I believe you're more than ready to take on the demons."
"Thank you, Master," Azimuth said. "We won't let you down."
She turned toward Zenith, her eyes bright and eager. Yet for the first time, he didn't see Theo looking back. Her expression was too naive, almost childlike.
A strange pressure gripped his throat, but he made himself nod. Just as he stepped forward, Cyrias put a hand on his arm.
Zenith froze. The seraphim's touch, though light, jolted through his Levia like static electricity.
"Go on ahead," Cyrias said to Azimuth. "I just need a brief word with Sir Zenith."
Azimuth obeyed without protest, along with the other knights. His skin prickling, Zenith faced his creator.
"What is it?" he asked. For some reason, he could not bring himself to call Cyrias 'Master.'
Cyrias didn't seem to mind, anyway. His smile widened, and his hand slid up to Zenith's shoulder. Though the armor should have kept him from feeling anything, every movement of Cyrias's fingers seemed to resonate through his very core.
"Are you ready?" Cyrias's voice wrapped around his ears, quiet and intimate. Somehow, it reminded Zenith of when they had spoken in the cabin, after he and Theo....
Wrenching his mind away, Zenith blurted, "So you aren't coming?"
The instant the words left his mouth, he cringed. But as ever, Cyrias remained unruffled. If anything, his eyes crinkled with amusement.
"It's as I said. I have faith in you. And even if we can no longer allow the Legion free reign, it still wouldn't be right for seraphim to interfere directly. Besides, I'm not much of a fighter myself. That's the reason why I made all of you."
His grip tightened, fingers digging into the engraved grooves of the armor. For a moment, Zenith gazed into his creator's eyes, and Cyrias gazed back.
Yes, this explanation made sense. It wasn't as if Zenith wanted Cyrias to do everything for him. He made to step back, but Cyrias didn't seem ready to let go.
Indeed, he only leaned closer. Inch by inch the distance between them shrank, until Cyrias's pale blue eyes filled his vision. Zenith could count every point of light twinkling inside them. But only when his creator's fingers closed around his chin did alarm sear through his head.
Too late. Cyrias tilted his head up and their lips met.
His mouth molded around Zenith's with expert precision, hungry and devouring as if he wanted to possess all of Zenith. No, as if he already did – and that was the truth, wasn't it?
Yet the physical sensations didn't overwhelm Zenith half as much as the Levia flooding his body. It seemed to flow from their clasped mouths directly to his core, an undiluted torrent of golden light. So unbearably hot, setting his skin on fire and melting the marrow of his bones.
When Cyrias finally pulled away, Zenith's harsh breathing echoed in his ears. It drowned out everything else, even the violent throbbing of his core. But Cyrias gazed back with a calm smile, not a trace of a blush on his bronze skin.
So unlike Theo, who kissed with such raw desperation. Or even Darian, whose kisses were confident but never overwhelming. And damn it all, why was he still thinking about them when his creator's Levia pulsed so powerfully inside him?
"There we go." Cyrias patted his shoulder. "Consider it a little gift from me, all right?"
Zenith nodded mutely. Though he knew he ought to thank Cyrias, the words refused to break free.
Perhaps for the better.