King and Sorceror

The memories come gradually—a trickle, not a flood, a thin line of sand through an hourglass that he doesn’t even realize is running low.

When Vincent is a child, he dreams of stardust and silver blades and a world that is saturated with vivid color, a world where the air is so crisp that it almost hurts to breathe. But he is a child, and thinks them nothing more than dreams, for the idea that they could be anything else simply does not occur to him.

As he grows, his dreams expand to encompass people. Vincent dreams of two other children just his age, laughing and playing and running by his side. The name they call him is not the name he bears in waking life, but somehow it fits like a well-worn glove all the same. These children grow with him, rounded edges becoming sharp and lean and elegant, all three bonded so closely that they function as one unit. It is then that he begins to wonder, thinks that maybe, just maybe—

After all, mere dreams would not be so constant or so detailed, would they? Surely these must be something else. If there’s even the slightest chance that they are real…

Well. There’s no sense in wondering about something that he has no control over. Time will tell, and all he must do is wait.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One day, the trickle runs dry. The sand is gone, the hourglass still.

One day, he wakes—and knows exactly who he is.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vincent is sixteen when he meets a boy with the sun in his eyes and the stars on his fingertips. The boy has a face right out of his dreams; literally. Vincent knows that face as well as he knows his own, having watched it develop from childhood.

Or, well. He says meet, but it goes more like this:

Vincent is hurrying to school. It’s a frozen winter’s morning, his breath billowing out in thick clouds and what little exposed skin he has is numb. Never has he been so glad to be a sorcerer; if he was anyone else, he wouldn’t have the benefit of hidden warming charms sewn into his clothes.

Mind wandering, it’s little wonder than he doesn’t notice when he turns a corner and runs smack into someone who's pelting the other way, bodies crashing headlong into each other. He staggers back with a yelp, barely managing to keep his balance. The other teen is less lucky, all flailing limbs that end up sprawling into a hedge. At first, Vincent doesn’t see his face, hair covering the side of it and the keychains on his backpack swinging, but then—

Vincent freezes, because he knows those symbols.

(Protection in battle, good luck, warding away sickness, a high voice whispers in his memories, pointing out runes in a book that is yellow with age and far too big to comfortably hold in child-sized hands. These are the symbols of the gods.

The two on either side of him stare in awe, wonder etched in every line of their faces. Symbols of the gods, they echo. Wow.

Yeah, he laughs. Wow.)

The boy hauls himself out of the hedge, babbling apologies, but Vincent is too stunned to reply. Words die to ash in his throat, magic rising involuntarily to the surface as something in him shifts back into place. Like a piece that has been missing from a puzzle, slotting back into its spot after a long absence. Vincent reaches out with metaphysical arms to grasp the storm that whirls around the other teen, heart in his throat, and then—

Their eyes meet, and magic sings.

“My sorcerer,” the boy whispers, staring at Vincent like he is home. “Aranies.”

Vincent smiles up at him. “It’s Vincent now,” he says. “Kesevon. My king.”

“Then call me Roy.” The boy who was once a king draws Vincent into a tight hug, choking out a watery laugh. “You are here, you’re alive—how can this be?”

Vincent hugs him back, uncaring of the passerby that stare at them. “I don’t know,” he admits, “but we defied Death so many times that maybe it just gave up on us. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Roy snickers. “Only us, eh?” He lets Vincent go, grinning wide and bright. “If you’re here, and I’m here… do you think that Likana’s wandering around this world somewhere, too?”

Vincent blinks. “…You know, I can’t believe I never thought to check.” Without a moment’s hesitation, he casts out his senses like a fisherman’s net, feeling for the shining beacon that would be—

As one, both teens turn towards the edge of town.

“So,” Roy starts, already starting to move, “what do you think about skipping school today?”

Vincent falls into step beside him. “We won’t miss much. They’re all boring children anyway.”

Roy knocks his shoulder against Vincent’s, laughing. “Hey, be nice. We’ve got decades of experience on them.”

Vincent inclines his head to concede the point. “Fair enough.”

Side by side, the two of them set their eyes on the horizon and move to reclaim the third member of their triumvirate. The King has his Sorcerer. Now, they go to fetch his General.