Owlen Forest, Xeto's Home, Two Years Earlier
Xeto sat hunched atop a hollow trunk with, elbows on his knees. He let out a sigh as he tried to relax with the sound of the river. He wasn't a child, why would Roxas treat him like one? On many occasions his brother would deny him from spending time with his newmade friend, it was ridiculous. And now he belittled him in front of the entire village for trying to help? He claimed that others were nothing more than a nuisance. That putting one's trust in others was dangerous. But there was nothing dangerous about Roy or Anaria…especially Anaria. An image of her flashed in his mind.
"Xeto?" a soft voice called from behind.
Xeto flinched and turned to find Anaria under the shadow of the forest. How long had she been standing there? His face grew warmer and he quickly looked away. "Uh…what are you doing here?"
"You were upset and I wanted to help." Her voice was as soft as the forest's warm wind.
"Thank you but—"
Anaria took a seat beside him.
Xeto swallowed hard. "But you don't know me."
"True, but I would like to. Roy has done nothing but sing your praises ever since he met you."
"Really?" Xeto met her gaze.
"Really." She chuckled. "You're the first person that he's called a friend in a long time."
The compliments help lift the weight of disappointment from his shoulders. "I've only known him a few months and I…"
"What is it?" She leaned in closer.
"I'm restricted from spending too much time around others. Brother's orders."
"That's why you live in a cabin at the center of the woods." Her sight was set on the river below them.
Xeto leaned into his balled fist. "I don't understand why…"
"I think your brother is trying to protect you." Her words were lined with serenity.
"From what?" His voice turned to a shout. "Roy? You?" He felt a sudden lump in his throat. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine. I know how it can be here in Owlen, away from family and all."
"Actually." He paused for a second as he lost himself in thought. "Roxas is my only family. Our parents died when we were young. I can't even recall their faces. We were survivors of Nyre." He felt a pit form in his chest. Saying those five words drew the same reaction from all who heard it.
Anaria narrowed her eyes. "Nyre? But they say Nyre had no survivors."
The stories are false. Xeto recalled the dozens of versions of the tale. It seemed everyone knew more about his birth town than him. The town that was swallowed by demons. Yet there were no monsters within miles of the town, as if the culprits of the massacre vanished into nothing. Bosh. Demons did exist of course, but they were no different than rabid animals. They didn't hold any magic properties or traits that allow for the birth of the countless rumors.
"I'm sorry," said Anaria. "But if that were true then I understand your brother's wanting to protect you. He's lost loved ones in the past and he holds you close in fear of losing you too."
"I never looked at it that way," said Xeto between parted lips. "But even before now, Roxas only trains me in mild combat. He shuns my idea of becoming a knight." Roxas seem to have no flaws to the open eye. But Xeto felt a sense of dread when thinking of his work. Being a sword for hire brought in a good coin. But it also came with injuries, injuries that Roxas attempted to mask. A minor limp in his step, a quiver in his hands, or simply a new scar to mark a battle. Xeto wanted to be like him, a level head under pressure, strong, agile, skilled. He cursed the thought that Roxas would only allow him train with wooden weaponry. If his brother would only better train him, they could do jobs together. Not only could they do twice as much work but he could protect his brother as well. "It was thanks to Roxas," he mumbled. "He's the one that saved me." He bowed his head. "I owe everything to him and I'm not going to let him down."
"You love your brother very much, don't you?"
He gave her a nod. "I owe him everything. He's the strongest person I know. The smartest, the most focused. And one day I hope to be just like him." As he voiced his thoughts, guilt released its grip and make way for a newfound inspiration He felt a soft touch on his hand.
Anaria smiled. "Look here." She pointed at a tree at their flank.
The tree was short of almost all its verdure. Unlike the other lush green oaks of the forest, this one had pale orange leaves.
Time and time again Xeto had gathered water here and not once did he notice the tree.
"It's called a Restless Oak," Anaria's grip on his hand tightened she lifted his and pointed towards the top of the tree.
The warmth of her soft hand felt soothing yet somehow nerve-wracking.
"It's restless because unlike other trees, this tree's leaves fall multiple times a year. It's restless because it cannot wait for autumn to shed it leaves." She let out a light giggle. "Or at least that's what the stories say."
As she spoke two of the leaves made their decent onto the dew-covered grass.
"They say that if you make a wish as the last leaf falls, that your wish will be granted."
Two lone leaves fluttered with a gust of wind. One broke free and was on its way across the river.
"Here it is. The final leaf. Make your wish," she said, her serene amethyst eyes locked on him.
He felt a bit flustered. But his wish would be a clear one. With or without the miracle of a tale, he would make it a reality. He gave Anaria a glance as she turned to the orange oak.
The final leaf wriggled from its branch; it made its journey slowly around the trunk of the tree as the wind hesitated on allowing it to reach the ground. It found its place at the center of the river, causing a miniscule ripple as it continued down the river.
Anaria returned her gaze. "Did you make your wish? Wait." She put up her hand. "Don't tell me." She gave him a final smile before she looked towards the distant mountains.
The last of the sun's rays hid behind the sleeping giants.
It was a beautiful sight, one that he had delayed his eyes the gift of seeing for far too long.
Anaria's beauty was highlighted by the light of dusk. "I wished for your success, Xeto. That one day you would be looked up to and cherished the same way you look at your brother." She leaned on him.
His racing heart slowed as he accepted her advance. There was no danger, there was no Commander Giase. Only Anaria, himself and the beauty of the day's end.
~0~
The day was young, the warm winds ceased, giving the illusion of frozen time.
Xeto stood at the termite-ridden porch of the cabin he called home. Anaria had convinced him to try talking with Roxas. When she had suggested it, it felt like a simple query, but now that he stood here his palms trembled with a light coat of sweat.
The door creaked open.
Roxas emerged wearing his usual mask of indifference. "Back from balling in the woods like some lost child?" He walked down the steps and passed him.
"I wasn't balling," retorted Xeto.
Roxas looked back at him. "Hmmm. Your eyes aren't bloodshot, so maybe you're telling the truth."
"Roxas I…" He stood straight. "I don't understand why you don't want me around the people of Hansel."
"Exactly the reason. You don't understand the world around you. Choosing to allow others to get close to you, it means putting yourself in danger."
Xeto swallowed hard. "Danger? Does Roy seem dangerous to you? Does Anaria?"
Roxas glared back at him. "We've survived years without the care of others. We've survived because we've kept our trust solely between us. Because I've been here to protect us."
Xeto felt his annoyance reignite. "I don't need to be protected. I need—"
"Is that so?" Roxas reached under his cloak and tossed him a sheathed sword.
Instinct allowed him to catch the heavy steel mid-air. "What are you—"
"Draw that sword," said Roxas as he circled him. "Prove to me that you don't need any protection."
Xeto pulled the sword from its scabbard which proved more difficult than he'd imagine. He'd sparred with countless wooden swords in the past but the weapon before him was far more exquisite than any other he'd seen. The handle was long with a sharpened spike at the bottom. The hilt was X shaped, allowing for easier blocks or parries. But the most impressive feat was the sword's black steel; dark as night yet shined so well that sunlight reflected gallantly from its surface. "Wait, I've never used a real sword before."
"Though you have the training. Your choice of weapon would make little difference." Roxas reached for his sword and freed it from its sheath.