tofi's trail

Initially, he had no idea where he was, but as the fog of sleep lifted he came to recognize the canopy of his bed in the Silva’s castle. Nozel pushed himself up to sit. Mid-motion, his body tensed at the sudden pain, and he curled in on himself, grasping at the sheets and gasping for air like a drowning man. Everything rushed back to him with brutal clarity.

He pressed a hand to his throat, to the bandages wrapped around it. His back ached. He had refused to let anyone heal him magically; he didn’t want to lose the wounds yet, didn’t want to lose the reminder of the mistakes that he had made. (But was that it? He didn’t know why he had insisted.) At this rate, he would end up allowing the wounds to leave behind scars left behind by sharp teeth, a hidden blade. (Why, though? Why was he doing this to himself?)

He had been dreaming for what felt like a lifetime. It had been vivid and clear, as if he were fully awake. He had seen another life — Jack’s life — through eyes not his. Why? How had his mind made up such details? He had never been told many details about Jack’s past. And why would he make up such details? Was his mind trying to make up an excuse? Was it trying to defend the feelings, the fact that he had suddenly been taken over by such uncontrollable regret that he lost control over his capability to stand, his composure, and his voice?

Not even once had Jack actually claimed to love him, so why was his dreams adding something like tender touches and unsaid words of affection, when they never could have happened?

Wasn’t what Jack had said and done to him in the prison cell proof of that? He had just used him, all these years—

Maybe it was his shame at having been unable to not enjoy what Jack was doing to him that made his mind need an excuse. That Jack had done what he did not because he didn’t care, but because he cared too much.A twisted excuse like I need to make him hate me so he won’t suffer was just messed up. But it was an excuse. But it shouldn’t be. But he didn’t want to hate him, he didn’t want the fear and shameful pleasure that had permeated him during those moments in the prison cell to corrupt all the good memories that spanned near a decade. He didn’t want to think that he only had been with him to prove to himself that he could fuck a royal in all sorts of corrupt ways. He didn’t want that.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to think. He didn’t know what he was supposed to feel.

Nozel let out a scream that tore at his throat.

“Cease that incessant ruckus this instant.”

The voice made him freeze, unable to breathe, and pure hatred poured into his veins. His fingers slowly grasped the sheets tightly, creasing the emblem blazoned across the cover. He could feel his father’s gaze burn, imagined that they might scorch holes through his skin and turn him to dust.

It was father who had done this. No matter what Jack had done in the darkness of that cell, it was his father’s fault. If not for him, then Nozel would have still been able to escape into that bony, sharp embrace. It didn’t matter if he had been tricked, if he had been cheated, if he had been used. His relationship with Jack, messed up and built on twisted pleasure as it were, had been what kept him warm during cold nights, it was what seeped into his loneliness and held it at bay. The pain in his heart, his soul, had been swallowed up by the pain in his skin, had etched itself into his very being and enabled him to feel whole.

And his father had taken that from him. Maliciously, out of pride and insult, because no matter how much Nozel pleaded and explained, the man refused to listen, refused to accept that getting bedded in such fashions by Jack had been his choice.

And now. Now he had nothing. Once again, he had nothing. He didn’t even have the pretense of love left.

“Stop sulking, it’s unsightly. You have been corrupted. You are to remain here until you have returned to your senses. Passing out from witnessing a beheading, you have grown pathetic.”

The hatred made it feel as if the blood inside of him was boiling.

And it was easier to focus on the anger than it was to focus on the fear and the insecurity and the doubt.

“Go take a bath, the maids will clean away the barriers.”

His father left, but the hatred did not.

...

The water was neither hot or cold, tempered by magic into the perfect temperature. He wished that the water had been either scalding hot or freezing cold. He had tried to scrub the bad memories away repeatedly, scrubbing his skin raw and red despite how soft the sponges were, had scratched bloody lines in his skin with his nails while his father had kept him locked up in the castle.

But the wounds still stung as they were lowered beneath the soapy water surface, and it brought the memories that he didn’t want to think about to mind. Jack had— It was bizarre. Despite everything that they had done together, despite how dangerous he knew Jack to be, he would never have imagined that Jack would do anything to him against his will. He also hadn’t believed — wondered sometimes, but that was different — that Jack was just using him because he thought it was funny to corrupt a royal. Nozel raked his nails across his upper arms. Had there been signs of that being true? His mind was even muddier on the details because they mixed with the dream that insisted that it was all lies- that Jack had actually cared for him a lot. So was what he had said in the dungeon wrong?

Not everything, judging by the dream. He said that he had murdered, he had brought up disembowelled women, had indicated that he was the one who had done that, and in the dream he had done exactly that. Should Nozel go to that town called Farka to find out if it was true? He had said that he had murdered his mother, and the dream had shown him doing that. But she had wanted him to, or at least it seemed that way. But was that real? He couldn’t know without confirmation. But he didn’t know if he wanted to do that. If he wanted it to be true or if he wanted it to be fabrications.

He didn’t know if he wanted to know any truth, he just wanted to remember to good stuff. If it weren’t for Solid, this last month wouldn’t have happened. Solid only had been concerned for Nozel’s well-being but that concern had still ruined everything- But father knowing was what broke everything. This wouldn’t have happened if he, if father or if Solid or if anyone had not found out. He didn’t know what to think, he didn’t know how he was supposed to feel- He winced as he felt pain in his arms, and he looked down at his blood-stained fingers. He couldn’t even tell what he was feeling right now, everything inside him was in a turmoil. He felt his mind go numb, he watched the blood drip down his arms, down his hands, blossom into small red clouds in the water. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. How did you behave, after something like this?

...

His father had always been a distant man. He may not turn as cold words as he did toward Noelle toward his other children, but his words nonetheless never held any warmth.

Nozel had relied on his mother's love, for fourteen years. It was the only love he had ever received from his parents. He sucked up her love like a sponge, lived on it for years after her death. Only allowing himself to tap into that reserve when he was at his absolute lowest, scared that the memories might one day fade and be nothing but images, the way his memories of his father were. Monochrome with a tin box sound, void of all emotion.

When he was in his late teens, he had become unable to find it without knowing why. He had become terrified. He had been grasped by loneliness and cold. He had been lost, drifting among an ocean of dark emotions in which he felt he was drowning. Rising in the ranks was meant to make everything fall into place, it was the way his father saw it, but it did nothing for Nozel’s mental state.

A sharp, barked out laugh and gleaming eyes- a warped smile- a shove, had found him, had dragged him forcibly out of the raging ocean. Exploring hands invading his every crack warmed him, made his insides boil and burn and crave. Words, action, touches, warm cruelty, they had saved him from himself.

And with the fading of a raspy breath that continued spewing terrible, terrible things until the end, the darkness returned. It crashed down upon him like a giant wave, it swept him into the depths and it tried to tear him to pieces.

...

The fresh, crisp bed sheets crinkled as he sat down on the bed. His windows were no longer locked, no longer warded to hinder him from leaving the confines of his bedchamber, the way they had before.

There was no place for him to go. Not where he could feel that for even just a moment, the world was right.

He stared blankly at the drawn curtains, heavy and darkening the room with its shadows. There were barely visible, intricate details in the fabric, pure white silver thread in white. They bore the crest of the Silva family in the center, same as the bedspread on top of the sheets.

With a sudden wave of anger wrapping around his heart and rising in his throat, Nozel suddenly flew to his feet and he tore at the curtains, ripped them down from the window and both gilded frame and heavy hangers crashed to the floor with a loud crash.

He tore the family crest with his mercury, used its blades to shred the crest to nothing. It left a large, gaping wound in the beautiful curtain.

He went loose on the other curtains as well, rushed to the next window with hatred burning in his chest and the window blew out, glass raining toward the ground far below, and he tore down every single curtain, shredded every single crest. He ripped a wooden chest to pieces, and splinters lodged in his skin though he didn't care. He smashed the wardrobe and gained deep wounds cut into his face. Nozel’s bandages had come loose and his old wounds reopened. Blood stained pristine cloth and gleaming furniture. He tore the clothing, he ripped the bedspread from the bed and down scattered in the room as knives of mercury tore at everything, carved deep bleeding wounds into walls, bedposts, tables, floor, fireplace.

He stopped, but only to calm his raging breath and wildly beating heart. He still held so much emotion inside his chest.

Everything in the room was an utter mess, but all he saw as he stood in the middle of the mess he had caused to both himself and his rooms was the things still left unbroken. It needed to be broken, everything needed— Everything was in pieces, a disarray, mirroring the chaos in his mind. It wasn’t enough. His breathing was rough, his shoulders heaved, and his skin was tight with drying blood, his eyes burning with tears refusing to fall.

When he heard a knock his head snapped up and he stared with wide eyes at Fuegoreon, and he met his flabbergasted gaze.

“What do you want?” Nozel’s voice came out raspy and worn, and he wondered if he had been screaming. He wondered how his father had not sent someone to stop him from tearing everything asunder.

“I wanted to see how you were doing, since I heard that you had woken up...” Fuegoreon’s gaze flickered across the room, taking in what of the mess that he could see from the doorway. “You have been asleep for days- are you, why have you caused all this destruction? It’s not like you.”

Nozel looked away. His movements were stiff because of wounds in his skin and flesh and blood both wet and dry covering his skin. He collected pools of fallen mercury, made them form into an orb which shrunk in size until it had disappeared into nothingness. “I’m not sure about that.” Fuegoreon didn’t know everything about him. He didn’t know how much pain he constantly was in.

Fuegoreon regarded him with silence for a long time, until he asked, “Did you actually love him?”

The question made Nozel both freeze in place and flinch. He pressed his lips tightly together. “No,” he said with certainty in his voice. “Maybe. I thought that I didn’t, but I also thought that I did. Now I don’t know.” He turned his gaze back toward Fuegoreon. “It doesn’t matter anymore, either way.” He didn’t know what expression he was making. Whatever it was, Fuegoreon seemed to be shook to his very core. But maybe it was the admittance of his feelings. Nozel turned his gaze toward the outside, looking past the broken glass shards sticking out of the frame. Eventually, he turned his gaze back toward his rival and friend. The reason that he had remained silent appeared to be the shock.

For Nozel’s part however, he had managed to cool down considerably, and he had pulled his composure back in place. “Fuegoreon, you may want to take your leave. You don’t want to get involved.” Fuegoreon flinched. “What do you intend to do?”

Nozel pressed his lips together, considering. But no, it would be better if Fuegoreon didn’t know the details. “Vengeance.” More, he would not say. “It would be better for you not to know.”

Perhaps he could call it retribution. After all, the accusations had initially been false. Initially. He didn’t know what to think about Jack right now, but he knew that had his father not gotten involved, nothing would have been out of the ordinary. (Solid was also partly to blame, but he had done what he did out of actual concern. Nozel felt resentment toward his younger brother, but he had not been acting out of malice or selfishness.) Retribution was not the same, though. In the end it was vengeance that he sought, not retribution. Because the only one left to care was him. Or maybe not- he didn’t know for sure. It didn’t matter. This was not to make anyone else feel better, nor was it due to a desire to restore a moral balance. It was only for himself. Because he needed to focus on something, he couldn’t simply stay holed up, under his father’s thumb where he would only feel worse. And focusing on the anger was far more preferable to the fear.

“Nozel, you-...” Fuegoreon looked to be at a loss for words. That was for the better, anyway. “Leave, Fuegoreon. I have things to do and don’t have time to entertain your sympathy. It will make no difference either way. The only thing you can do is stay out of my way.”

...

Nozel planned, he played the long game, however impatient he was. But he could not rush it. The more he rushed it, the more reckless he may become, and the more easily he may be discovered.

It took months to prepare everything, he returned to work, he sent subordinates on missions, saw his squad gain more and more stars, accepted new members to the Silver Eagles, and even was forced to see his sister get accepted into a Magic Knight squad; during that time, his desire to hide in the bony embrace he had known for so many years, the cutting touches, the rough kisses, had been unbearable then.

It was at a ball in the King’s Hall that he finally knew that everything had fallen in place and was settled to satisfaction. Everything would be over soon.

He had approached his younger brother a few days prior. Because even while he understood his motivation to tell their father about what he had seen Jack do, he had come to understand that the resentment that he felt wasn’t going away so easily. Solid had been with Nebra at the time, and he knew that Solid had told her in much more detail than he had told their father- though he had told father enough, far too much- and she just as Solid, visibly carried a hatred toward the dead man Nozel still wasn’t entirely sure what to feel about even though they didn’t know the truth.

The disbelief was still clear, even days later. The two were by themselves most of the ball, but this was nothing unusual in itself. But he could feel their gazes follow him. Trying to understand him and the truth he had spilled.

It was not strange that they didn’t believe him. Who would? Had he been in their position, he wouldn’t have believed a single word. That he had allowed Jack to deliberately harm him repeatedly, that he enjoyed it, that it made him feel better about himself. That he kept tools for healing close at hand for this specific reason, so that nobody would know what he was up to. That he, though unsure about it, may have been in love with him. That he might still be. That his death hurt him daily. He hadn’t been able to talk about the attack in the dungeon at first, but because it had gotten back to his father, it had reached their ears as well. So though it was difficult, he told them about that as well. That he didn’t know what to think about it. That it confused him and made him unsure of what to believe about the man.

It was during that conversation- though it couldn’t really be called a conversation, because his two siblings sat staring in mostly silence, shocked and incredulous- it was then that he had fallen silent, as the realization that Jack had, not once during his attack in the dungeon, called him by the nickname that he used for him- he had not once called him his little bird. Princess, yes. But the little bird endearment had always meant more to Nozel. It had been a nickname that had, when spoken by that man, warmed him and made him feel safe no matter the situation. Even when a knife carved marks into his skin and teeth broke it, and blood stained the sheets.

Solid and Nebra had not understood his sudden silence either. Nozel wondered if Jack had refrained from using that nickname because he knew how much it meant to Nozel. He didn’t tell them about that. He didn’t tell them that he wondered if it changed things for the better if even a little, or if it only made them worse. The pain was immense.

Solid and Nebra had not understood how he could have enjoyed it, being with Jack, being with Jack like that, but Solid seemed to realize that he was at fault. Since then, Solid seemed even more wary of Nozel’s moods. Perhaps it was for the best that Solid was avoiding him right now.

He felt Fuegoreon’s gaze on him across the room, as he often did whenever they were in the same room since his admission. Fuegoreon didn’t approve, but he had not pried, and he didn’t know what Nozel had done. Not yet.

He would not forgive him, once he realized. If he realized. He probably would at some point, but not until it was too late.

...

Everything came crumbling down when the King summoned the entire Silva family. It was clear that he could not understand how a relative, a royal, had plotted against him. Had conspired with an enemy nation, plotted to overthrow him and replace him.

But he was terribly angry.

Nozel had been very careful, and incredibly meticulous. It proved fruitful when nobody — not even Fuegoreon though he had known that Nozel would do something, he had not expected that he would bring down the entirety of the Silva family in his desire for vengeance on his father — knew that he had been machinating everything to turn out this way.

His siblings were in shock, and it showed on their faces. Nozel, who was much more involved in politics than the rest of them, masked his shock well. As expected of the eldest son, he’s so composed; that was what the whispers later would say. His father’s shock was determined to be due to his shock of being discovered. After all, it was a very small mistake, just a letter that was slightly misplaced in the wrong moment, that had led to the discovery of his betrayal.

The King was livid. He could not accept or forgive treason. In reality, he wanted to execute them all. This was to be expected— the King threw temper tantrums the way a child did, and ordered executions far too often for a noble king.

Lord Julius would not agree to it. Of course he wouldn’t. After all, the children were not responsible for the father’s sins. He tried to advocate leniency for them all, at least initially, but there was no way that the perpetrator would get away with it. The children, however, would be allowed to keep their lives. But they would be stripped of their titles, of their ranks, and they would not be allowed to keep living within the castle walls— He wanted Nozel to be demoted, and Nozel was secretly fine with this. Surprisingly, he was allowed to keep his position, but only under many special conditions that would last until he appointed a new captain, which he would have to do before the year was out. There was still many months left of the year, so he did not need to make a hasty decision. Then, he were to retire completely from the Magic Knights.

Merely taking his father’s life would not have been enough. His father would die for his pride. But having his father see that pride crushed with the destruction of his legacy, of the good name of the Silva family, that was different. Without the ruin of the Silva name, his father would not break. He had not broken when mother died. He would not break in the face of execution. But this— this did break him.

The proud noble man crumbled, suddenly brittle and old, and they all saw how he spiraled.

Lord Silva would never conspire against the King in a desire to claim the throne for his house? That was not something anyone could say without it sounding false. What made this plan that much more easy to execute was the fact that his father was ambitious, and indeed would jump at the chance to see the Silva family elevated to the throne.

With the decision that the elderly Silva patriarch were to be placed on the chopping block, Nozel was pleased. The rest was necessary collateral. Once the execution was carried out, he was finished.

...

It was the cold gaze. It was what made father understand what had happened. What had led to this. He realized who had betrayed him. He never would have believed that Nozel would do something like this, frame him for treason, ruin their family, lead him to his death, despite how he had taken the one person Nozel cared for the most away from him.

Heat befitting Vermillion fire more than Silva water burned in his eyes as he turned his gaze upon Nozel. He swore, spat cruelties over his eldest son, and he bellowed a curse upon him. Nozel remained cool, quiet, and didn’t let his gaze sway. You deserve this, he tried to convey through his gaze. You brought this upon yourself.

There was nothing left to lead the crime back to Nozel.

And no matter how father cursed and protested, nothing could change his fate.

Nebra and Solid clung to each other, stricken with grief. Noelle was wrapped around herself and leaning against her captain’s large frame for both mental and physical support. Nozel stood alone, rigid, staring at his father as his yells were silenced by a blade of magic.

Nozel watched as blood pooled on the ground, watched as father's coat stained a deep red, watched as the light went out of his eyes.

Watched, with cool indifference, as the man who had brought him into this world breathed his last wet breath and his head stopped rolling.

Eventually, it all came to an eerily quiet halt. The execution ground started to clear out. Nozel watched the fresh blood gleam on top of the old, dried blood that was stuck in the stone. Some of that blood was Jack’s— He didn’t want to think about that.

He turned, his cloak billowing behind him as he left the execution ground behind.

...

Once outside again a movement caught at the corner of his perception, he looked up, followed the movements of a small white bird in flight across the blue, cloudless sky.

The air was cool and fresh, the smell of iron and blood getting washed out of his nostrils by the wind.

...

His siblings were all well situated. They would mourn, but they would manage. All three of them would survive well in their respective squads, despite the soiled family reputation. Being humbled would do them good, and their cousins would not abandon them.

...

Nozel headed down the path, away from the prison.

Revenge was a terrible business. It was ugly, and it was cruel to the innocents dragged into it.

But now, he was done.

And so tired.

The lake stretching beyond the royal capital lay calm. Its surface reflected the starry night sky, and bats swooped down to catch insects hovering there. It was a beautiful sight, and a calm evening.

He didn't know if Hell existed or not, but now, he was done, and he would leave behind no regrets upon leaving this world behind.

...

A voice calling his name stopped him on his way. The black water speckled with stars rippled around his legs. He looked over his shoulder, and he saw the captain of the Golden Dawn behind him, standing at the edge of the shore. His face was hidden by the darkness surrounding them. Nozel said nothing. William stepped into the lake and up to him, and placed a hand on his arm. Nozel’s gaze shifted down to the touch, and then up again, to William’s face. There was a concerned bend to his lips, and a frown in his eyes. The rest of his face was as obscured by the mask as it always were.

“You did do it, didn’t you?” His voice was soft, and lacked any note of accusation within it. Nozel’s lips tightening seemed an indication, a confirmation, judging by the small, concerned smile that made way onto William’s lips. “Why do you believe that?” Nozel finally asked. William moved his hand away from Nozel’s sleeve, and lifted it to his neck, slipping his fingers around the fringe of his collar. “Only a true curse leave marks.”

Nozel’s frown seemed to tell William that Nozel didn’t see where such a statement came from. “How would you know such a thing?”

William hesitated. He moved his hands up to his helmet, and slipped it off. His face was covered in dark marks, like scars, but different. Nozel was reminded of the supposed memory that wasn’t his, the sight of a face marked by burns and scratches. He lifted his hand to touch the younger captain’s face, to feel its texture. It was rough yet smooth at the same time, a bit scratchy. A little like sand, perhaps. “This is?”

William slipped his helmet back on, and his body frame relaxed. It appeared as if he was highly uncomfortable with showing his face to others. “A curse,” he said, but offered no explanation yet. At the moment, Nozel didn’t particularly care if he did or not. “Or so I have surmised. I have tried to find a way to remove it, which is why I know that only true curses leave such marks.” Nozel lifted his hand to his own neck; his skin had the same sand-like texture, ripples like cuts, merging with the scars left behind by Jack’s teeth. “I see. I will need to ensure it is covered up.”

The water rippled quietly, reflecting light, as William took a step forward. “Will you, truly?”

Nozel let his hand fall, and he met William’s gaze. A knowing gaze. Words and eyes, holding similar feelings. As if he knew Nozel’s thoughts on a personal level.

“No.”

William’s lips turned into a pale, straight line. He did know, then. Was it thoughts that he, too, had had at some point?

“Don’t.”

Nozel felt his face tighten.

“And you expect me to simply allow myself to be found out? My siblings will manage on their own. They’ll cope.”

William slipped a hand into Nozel’s; though he didn’t know why, Nozel let him. William’s touch was too gentle, but it was the only touch he had properly felt, skin to skin, in a long time now. In months. He looked at their interlocked hands in silence.

“Perhaps so. But I don’t believe you to be that careless. And are you truly done?” Nozel’s gaze turned questioning, when it was once more directed at William’s face. “Lord Silva- Your father- Is not the only one who would do things such as this. If this country remains as it is, then nothing will ever change, and more people will get separated like you were, because of prejudice and a lack of acceptance and understanding. Just for being in love with the wrong person.” Nozel’s grip tensed reflexively. Love. Love was a strong word— Love was a true word— Was it a true word? William didn’t complain about his hand nearly getting crushed in Nozel’s grip. “It can’t remain like this. You could make a difference.”

“Perhaps so.” He forced his hand to relax around William’s. “You intend to see this country change?”

William’s hand was sure around his. “Yes.”

Nozel gazed down at the stars strewn out beneath them and the shadows that blocked them out. It would do nothing for him, for what had already happened, but- but—

“Fine.”

Chokehold 4: Painfully, Yours For Eternity