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The door was open when he woke up. Silveus frowned, then patted around the bed. [i Basil?]
The cat was gone. Silveus blinked and rubbed his forehead. The cat could open locked doors? [i Clever little thing.] It was smarter than he'd given it credit for.
He adjusted his shirt and buttoned it back up. After being slept on all night, it was wrinkled. Silveus tried to flatten it down, then sighed. There were probably clothes somewhere. Logan's family had been nothing if not generous. Still, he didn't know where they were. Besides, it felt presumptuous to just go pull on a shirt that didn't belong to him. Even if it was Faustus's fault he didn't have any clothes.
Silveus checked in the mirror real quick to make sure the little wings weren't showing through his shirt. It looked fine enough to him. No real hint of wings poking up through the white fabric.
Compared to all the others, he felt formally dressed. He glanced around as he joined the line. [i Overdressed and ugly,] he thought. Everyone was so gorgeous. He felt like an ugly little pug amidst a flock of showdogs. The little wings fluttered on his back as if to agree. He pulled the shirt tighter, trying to still them.
He glanced at Faustus as the man entered, gorgeous as could be. He even gazed into the middle distance like a model, serene and unflappable, a mirror still lake. Silveus frowned and rubbed his brows. Hopefully that unflappable model hadn't forgotten the stupid little wings on his back. He needed to get that fixed. He wasn't going to sit here and have little fluttery things all day.
[i Is he wearing anything under that robe?] Silveus wrenched his eyes away. Today was not the day he wanted to find out.
He grabbed some food from the many plates and found a seat. [i He's probably forgotten already. Or 'forgotten.'] He wouldn't put it past Faustus. The guy didn't like him, and he'd made no secret of that.
Silveus glanced at Faustus. He scooted closer. "Are we gonna... fix that?" he asked, gesturing at his back.
[center Basil purred quietly, close to sleep. He was perfectly comfortable where he was, dozing atop the softness of the duvet. The house quieted considerably, Faustus’ footsteps receding down the hall. No more disturbances for the remainder of the night, hopefully. Even Angeleau and Bastion had quieted down and we’re likely knocked out somewhere.
Faustus entered his chambers, stepping out of his loafers and throwing himself dramatically into bed. He had to bathe, but he was too tired for all of that. The stress of the day had worn on him. At least Silveus wouldn’t get attacked in his sleep. He took a little comfort in that.
Peeling himself back up out of bed, he stripped down to bare skin and tossed them into a hamper, letting the top drop back closed before ambling on in for a wash. Oddly, wandering around nude like this reminded him of that awkward moment they’d shared not too long ago. Not that he was one to judge, but the man had been surprisingly cool about it.
Faustus started up his waterfall shower and stepped in once a proper steam had cropped up, letting the tension of the day melt out of him. He felt heavier in its absence, and once he was sufficiently clean, he’d wrapped his head up in a towel and thrown himself into bed. No patience for blow drying tonight.
The last thought to cross his mind as he faded was the prospect of Silveus scarring poor Basil. He wasn’t... with the cat in the room? Right? He wouldn’t.
...would he, though?
He wouldn’t dwell on it. Instead, he rolled over into his front, buried his face into his pillow. The morning. He would leave all of that contemplation for the morning.
Which honestly arrived way too quickly. It felt like barely any time had passed between when his eyes had shut and the sun had coaxed him back into consciousness. Or maybe it was the scent of breakfast. That was totally possible.
It could also have been the incessant scratching at his bedroom door. Basil, no doubt. How had he escaped Silveus’ bedroom, even?
Breakfast was only just being laid out, the sleepy members of the household all making their way down to have a bite. Faustus drew on a long silk robe and joined the march with his tousled mess of a head and dreamy gaze. He almost looked serene in a way when he was just barely conscious.
“Morning, all. Mother.” He acknowledged politely.
Angeleau was breathing in his coffee and Bastion was already eyeing the various dishes as if deciding what to decimate first. Juno must have still been asleep, or gone by then, and Krista has already eaten, quietly reading in the salon. Apparently she had only felt for fruit.]
Silveus scratched at his back. He shrugged. No way to tell if it'd changed. Couldn't see his back, after all. "Dunno," he yawned. "It doesn't feel any different." Honestly, he was ready to go back to sleep. After a little... well. Arm exercise.
"Little brat," he muttered at the cat. Basil purred in response, absolutely unworried.
"Thanks, I--" he adjusted the blanket awkwardly. He really hadn't wanted Faustus to see that. Of all people! Faustus seemed like the kind to bring it up at awkward moments forever. "Just... just a natural reaction."
As Faustus walked away, Silveus glanced up. "Thanks! For the sigil, I..." He seemed to be getting into a lot of trouble with magic. Even the stupid wings were kind of his fault. He shifted uncomfortably. His back hurt from sleeping on his side. "I can't wait to get back to normal."
He waited until Faustus had retreated, then sighed out and fell onto his side. Silveus shifted. He lifted his legs up and shifted. [i Should probably take care of this.] It'd been too long. And there was no way he'd be getting back to sleep with it at attention.
Silveus paused, then got up and locked the door. No more unwanted entrants! [i I'd die if anyone saw.] This was already too much.
Well, this had gotten weird. Faustus squinted at Silveus, at his blanket, at the misplaced tea stain. Little really fazed him, he guess. He wasn’t so much offended by the sight as he was momentarily concerned it had something to do with the cat. The explanation was definitely appreciated, though.
“I was about two seconds from forbidding you from spending time with him, but that’s reassuring.” After all, he’d seen much worse.
“How are your—“ he gestured behind himself. “Any change?” Of they had shown any change, then it wasn’t a good sign. It meant he had been more deeply affected than they initially thought. Jus the prospect worried him. He didn’t want to wake tomorrow to some hell creature tearing down the house.
Their furry friend was circling to settle into a proper loaf. “I’m going to call him Basil for now. Calling him ‘cat’ feels foolish, and at least if he has some sort of moniker he might be easier to discipline going forward.” If the cat objected to this name, he didn’t show it. In fact, for someone who had just clawed poor Silveus’ pride, he was looking fairly relaxed.
Faustus pushed his hair back out of his visage, eyes haunted in the low light. “I placed a sigil on your room. You should at the very least be safe from anything coming in. My room is at the far end of the house - the french doors. I’ll see you in the morning proper and leave you to your... whatever it is you’ll be getting up to.” Not that he was judging.
Truthfully, he’d probably also subjected others to worse. Especially given he wasn’t particularly shy about wandering the grounds naked.]
"Oh, yes, absolutely." He kept one hand clenched low on the blanket and reached out with the other. [i It's okay. No one's going to notice.]
A little ball of fur and claws dropped into his lap from nowhere. Silveus's eyes went wide at the jolt of the cat's landing. He rolled his hips back in hopes of moving things out of reach. The motion was a mistake. The blanket swirled, drawing the cat's attention. It pounced. Razor sharp claws closed in on the target. Silveus shifted awkwardly at the very last second, only just preserving his manhood. The tea sloshed over his hand.
Krista didn't notice. She leaned in to pet the cat, and the stupid thing rolled backward. [i Stupid little thing is heavy!] It hurt. He hissed in a breath and sighed it out between clenched teeth, a forced smile on his face.
Faustus appeared to save him. Silveus heaved a sigh of relief when Krista retreated. He picked up the cat and set it on the floor. "You are a little bastard, you know that, right?" he asked the cat. It felt like it'd done that on purpose.
He relaxed and leaned back to sip on his tea. After a second, he realized the blanket had pulled up a little too far. Silveus sat up straight and tugged it back into place. "I, um. Crazy dream," he excused himself. And no human touch for too long. He'd rather Faustus know the truth than think he got excited by cats leaping around in his lap.
[center Krista inched her way in to crosses the room, heels clicking softly against the dark wood. She must not have noticed, but Faustus was lurking in the hall, peering in on the man to see how he was doing. In the meantime, their kitty friend had awakened as well. He posed about the bed as Krista set down the tea tray. “I’m sorry to have awakened you. Please drink this before you fall back asleep?”
As she said this, the kitty had seen fit to hop up onto the bed’s headboard, tail swishing to and fro as he examined their guest. Before long, he hitched up his little bum and leapt back down into Silveus’s lap, missing when he turned his body and reaching, claws out and all to catch himself on the material of the blanket.
Nothing like needle sharp cat claws to put your priorities back into perspective. Not exactly the kind of attention you wanted between the hips, though.
Krista eyed the cat with amusement, stroking betwixt it’s ears and along its back. The feline turned over and twisted, mewling affectionately. Because why not have a full cat crushing your dick. It was one way to solve your problem.
Faustus, none the wiser, watched on from the hall, aware of Krista’s curiosity. “Let him rest, yes?”
“Of course, brother. Apologies, Silveus.” She bowed her head in apology and retreated, door left ajar in her absence. Faustus’ frame seemed to fill it entirely and then some.]
He peered over his shoulder. Were those... were those wings? They fluttered pathetically when he looked at them, like they were afraid of his gaze. Silveus pulled a face. How ugly. "How...are they permanent? Is this forever?" The black marks obscured his tattoos. He'd paid good money for them. His heart stopped--and one was Logan's design. One of the black marks tore right down the middle. Silveus reached up to touch it. [i They have to be able to fix this.]
He frowned when Faustus touched one. It felt weird. Like it was somewhere that shouldn't be touched. Not painful, but not good either. The little wings flinched against his body in response. He couldn't consciously control them, but they seemed to move on their own.
Reversion. He relaxed a hair. It could be fixed. Silveus sagged down onto the bed. One hand pulled the shirt back over his shoulders to hide the stupid-looking wings. Tonight, he was too tired to think about Logan or worry about his future. His eyes shut.
The cat cuddled up next to him. He raised a heavy hand to pet the small creature. [i So soft.] It felt like a cotton ball, but warm.
He was asleep by the time Faustus offered to come at a word. It had been too much. All he wanted was to sleep.
In his dreams, Logan was there. The man extended a hand to him, and Silveus took it. "Just up ahead, Silvie," Logan promised. His hand was cold. As cold as ice.
"Where are we going?" Silveus asked. He followed Logan through a field of tall grass. Stalks of wheat tickled his legs.
They toppled in the grass. Logan drew Silveus down on top of him, still cold. Fingers pushed at his shirt. Lips nipped at his body. "Silvie," Logan said, looking him in the eye, and smiled. He slid his hands down Silveus's back, just the way he always had.
Silveus arced into his body. He wanted it. Wanted it too bad. Logan was there, already reaching further down. "Love you, Silvie."
The thump of fist against wood startled him awake. Silveus's eyes snapped open. A dream like that... he glanced down. [i Oh dear.]
The door creaked open. Silveus drew the covers up and rolled over to face the door, sitting up a bit so he wouldn't press the little wings into the bed. "Thanks," he said. He sat up slowly, careful to pull the covers with him and preserve Krista's eyes from his dream's mishap.
[center Patiently, Faustus allowed him to divest himself of the garment without assistance, his tone even when he spoke again. "That's to be expected of a brush with such darkness." He lacked the restitution to take on such creatures yet. Sighing, Faustus regarded the wings. "It's not bad," He admitted. "It's definitely a clue - unlike what we already knew, you are in fact a warlock." He explained, reaching out to brush a finger pad over one.
They were... for lack of a better word? Cute. Nothing compared to his own, but he was... ancient. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what Silveus would make of him in his darkest form, but who knew. Perhaps nothing would faze him with enough time spent with their family.
"For now, just rest." all of this was a lot for one to take in. "And don't sleep on your back. You'll find it most uncomfortable. Forcing reversion is uncomfortable, and I'd prefer to not in your weakened state." He explained, rising from the edge of the bed. "I'll have tea brought for you. We'll discuss your adventure here tonight when its light."
After all, despite how little time might have seemed to pass in the presence of so many magickal relics, in the world beyond time had sprinted on. Magick could get so messy.
Just as Faustus was preparing to take his leave, the kitty had made a reappearance, leaping onto the bed beside Silveus and affectionately nuzzling his ears up agains the man. Interesting. Perhaps their little friend was meant to come along all the while.
"I'm sure he will look after you well in my absence." In the meantime, he would be busy working on a better means of strengthening his shield from such beings. Seemed his to do list was steadily growing, but it had to be so.
Oddly, despite how deeply it had irritated to take on the task of looking after Silveus and assuring he didn't somehow manage to get himself killed in his brother's absence, he didn't absolutely hate it. He wasn't heartless, just... reserved. One had to be to live a life as long as they did sometimes. At least, that's what his own had demanded of him.
Too much loss, misplaced hope, and regrets that weighed heavily upon his heart and mind all of these centuries later.
"Call if you should need me, I won't be far." Especially now that he was certain they would have trouble on their hands.
A little warlock... it all made sense. Logan must have known long ago this was the case, but why he chose not to fully divulge was a very good question.
Regardless, it wasn't his place to doubt his brother's intentions now. Surely it had been in the best interest of his husband. Who was he to speak on that?
Soon, he was within the reliquary once more. All seemed to have gone relatively back to normal with the exception of the tome he steadily approached. Keeping anger out of the equation was difficult as even the slightest annoyance would taint them, but he drew up borders for the altar. They were invisible, and not unlike with the salt circle, not to be trifled with.
They would keep what wasn't to be wandering contained for the time being, but it also meant the dark grimoire would be off limits for the time being. A small price to pay for safety in his opinion. The following days would already be so difficult. To have that book tempt yet another innocent soul was simply out of the question. He didn't even have the heart to tell Silveus that bringing Logan back from the dead was possible - if only because it was [i forbidden]. He would return as a hellish creature, in his darkest form but without the parts of his soul that would make him the Logan Silveus had loved.
Pure darkness in his brother's likeness and nothing more. No need for that mess when they already had lineage and all of that to sort out.
A soft rap was laid to the door, followed by the softest "Silveus? It's me, Krista. I've brought you some tea to help soothe your body."]
Before he knew what was happening, Silveus found himself lifted into the air. He tensed, surprised, but he only had so much strength. They hadn't even left the reliquiem before he relaxed in Faustus' arms.
Something about them was familiar. The strength. The... warmth. [i He's not Logan.] He wasn't. He wasn't Logan, and yet it felt similar. Not the same. Just... similar.
His eyes had nearly drifted shut when Faustus set him down. Silveus managed to engage his legs seconds before he toppled like the unstrung puppet he felt like. There was no energy left in his body to keep standing. He twisted his body and plopped down to sit beside Faustus on the bed.
An apologetic Faustus. [i Someone call the news, the sky is falling,] Silveus thought sarcastically. Too tired to say anything out loud, he just nodded.
How did he feel? "Tired, I... I'm tired." He let Faustus turn his head this way and that, then gestured at his shirt. Clumsily, he started to undo the buttons. "It scratched my back, I think. It's... it's blurry." His back didn't hurt, but he could feel the lingering hint of cold where the creature's claws had been.
He pulled his shirt down and turned his back to Faustus. "Is it bad?" he asked.
Two long black claw marks were scraped into his back, dark as frostbite. Where they ran over his shoulderblades, little black wings had sprouted, smaller than the palm of his hand--proof of his daemonic bloodline. Proof that he was, in fact, a Warlock--though one already on his way to corrupting, if the apparition had its way.
[center Tension melted from Faustus’ form, his brow smoothing out just a bit. He could feel the harshness in his features. “You’re not an idiot.” He was desperate. Heartbroken. But he wasn’t an idiot. Reaching forward, Faustus gathered Silveus carefully, arms sliding beneath the crooks of his knees and gently around his back.
He moved effortlessly to his feet, as if the man weighed no more than an ounce of flour, turning to venture back to the less frigid parts of the reliquary. At least they would be away from that damned tome. Its reach had extended. It was strong enough to render apparitions now - even with the seal? Inwardly, he scowled at the prospect of what might’ve happened had he not returned in time.
“We’ll continue this tomorrow.” His tone left no room for dispute as he toted him back to his room. He’d gingerly set Silveus down, glancing to his feet. “On or off?”
He had perched himself on the edge of the bed, lighting one of the nearby herbal candles. “That apparition was the keeper of the tome you saw. Almost an embodiment of the book itself. Ugly thing.” He almost sounded...apologetic?
“How do you feel?” It was likely an odd side of Faustus to see - so concerned, despite his gruff nature. He reached to take Silveus’ chin in hand, tilting his face this way, then that. He could see nothing evident as yet as to whether he had been physically injured.
He would most definitely have to cleanse him the next day, though. Tonight, he would likely be too weak for that.
He couldn't see anything. Couldn't feel anything but cold. He shivered, struggled to breathed. Everything hurt. It'd be nice if it would all just end.
Warmth. Silveus shifted pathetically toward it, a moth towards a flame. He barely understood the words, though he instinctively registered the displeasure. [i Why is the warmth so angry?]
Slowly, everything came back. Silveus blinked against the darkness until he was finally able to make out Faustus's angry expression. "Wha...what?" Why was Faustus here? Why was he angry? "Logan, I saw, I... I was trying to find Logan," he muttered. He furrowed his brows. Why had he thought Logan was alive? He knew Logan was dead. There was no magic to bring him back. He knew that, so why--how had he been fooled so easily?
"I'm an idiot," he muttered, disgusted with himself. Actually, why was he on the floor? Silveus started to shove himself up, but his arm faltered. He flopped back down to the floor. [i Why am I so tired?] He felt like he'd run a marathon. He reached out to Faustus for help, then stopped himself. He was as likely to find help there as in the Arctic.
Silveus drew his legs up toward his body. Using both legs and arms, he managed to pull himself to a sit. "What happened?" He knew about as much as Faustus did. Less, maybe. All he remembered was that he'd been following Logan's voice, and then... He shivered. It'd gotten so cold. So very cold.
[center Everything seemed to go down at once - the cat clawing and squatting at the strange apparition, Silveus’ seal faltering, Faustus bursting into the reliquary. He had entrusted the owl and such to Bastion the moment he was through the doors, and his arrival sent a tremor through what seemed the entire frame of the house.
Frantic eyes scanned for Silveus, as the rest of him hurried toward the source of energy emanating from deep within the reliquary’s depths. It was almost too strange for his eyes to make sense of. He acted first( hand rising to dispel the apparition, an abrupt and absolute repulsion to at least attempt to separate it from Silveus.
Their feline friend hissed and prowled protectively, taking stance bear Silveus’ head. He challenged even Faustus, not keen on trusting any suspectfigure at present.
“What the bloody hell happened here?” He left him to complete a simple task and here he was, nearly being fed upon by some creature from the nether realm!
His eyes darted suddenly to the tome, anger bubbling and burning in his chest. Of course. He should have known.
“Just what were you doing back here?” Came his deep baritone. If there could ever be more displeased a note, it didn’t yet exist to compete with that in his deep timbre.
It was one thing to stick your nose into things it shouldn’t have been, but for him to have immediately gotten himself attached? Was his luck naturally this terrible, or was it something he had done in a past life?
Regardless, the fates really seemed to have it out for him.
The tome had quieted, perfectly well behaved atop its altar. No tricks, no whispers, not a peep. Faustus narrowed eyes upon it and scooped up the unnamed feline.
“And you, what’s your excuse?”
Him? The kitty’s ears flattened. He was doing his best! How was he to know?
He turned the corner, and there was Logan. Silveus's breath caught in his throat. "Logan," he breathed. He stumbled forward. He was real. How could it be? [i Magic.] Anything was possible.
It was so cold. So icy cold. Silveus's ears were going numb. His fingertips were ice. His eyes flicked to the horrifyingly beautiful grimoire beside Logan, then back to the man. Nothing mattered if Logan was there.
Something furry pressed up against his shins. Silveus tried to step around the cat, but it pushed him back. He stepped over it. The cat arched its back and blocked him. "Shh, please," Silveus pleaded with the cat. Why was it getting in his way now? Logan was right there.
It blocked him again. Frustrated, Silveus bent and picked up the cat. "Be good," he told it, petting it to quiet it. Logan was right there. Stupid cat.
Logan beckoned, a wild smile on his face. Silveus stepped forward.
Sharp claws dug into his arm. The cat squirmed and escaped. "Ow!" Silveus complained, clapping a hand to the bloody scratch. "Stupid cat, you--"
He glanced up and the words died in his mouth. Before him wasn't Logan, but some horrifying transparent creature. it beckoned to him. A black void of a mouth sucked at the air.
Silveus staggered back, eyes wide. "No," he breathed. [i What is that? Where's Logan?]
They locked eyes. There was a horrifying second where it stared, silently, black hole eyes boring into him. Silveus stared back, frozen solid.
Then the creature lunged.
Silveus turned and ran, but the apparition was far too quick. Talons of ice dug into his back. At the touch, all his strength faded from his body. Silveus gasped. Legs too weak to hold him, he fell to his knees. The creature followed him down. It had no weight, but it pinned him with a touch. Just a single touch sucked all the strength from his body. His chest ached with cold, muscles winding up to a tight ball of cold. "Logan," he gasped, one last time. He reached out.
The apparition drew out the man's energy. After so long stuck in the library, it was sweet. It dug in deeper, but something stopped it. Confused, it plucked at the spell. The seal on Silveus shuddered. It pulled again, harder.
One of the threads that bound the seal snapped.
Silveus's eyes flew open. White was eclipsed by black. He sucked in a deep breath.
A pull drew on the apparition. It sunk its talons deeper, seeking out the sweet energy it had unlocked. A furrow appeared between its brows; it froze. The apparition yanked on its talons. They were stuck, latched into the man. It pulled again. No give. It was trapped.
Slowly, inexorably, the apparition's arms were drawn deeper.
[center The voice had faded by then, echoing - distorted as though through a thick wall of water. Or the sort of truncated acoustics you got from pressing a glass to a door. And all the while, as Silveus ventured further into the depths of the reliquary, the apparition ever beckoned him, encouraging him to come just a bit further.
"[i I miss you...]" It whispered. "[i Don't you want to see me?]"
Beyond the apparition, there existed a special altar - the sort you reserved for some seriously powerful shit - but unlike the altar of the grimoire, this grimmie was far different. The leather was black, and it was decorated not just with jewels but bone as well. At its centre, a beautifully in tact scull graced the centre, blooded jewels cut perfectly for the eyes, the spiralling ram's horns catching the moonlight that bled from the panes above. It was the first light for what must've surely felt like ages to anyone who ventured that far.
"[i Come.]" beckoned the apparition, stroking at the magnificent tome. Every second was bound with thread spun from the hairs of Hades himself, and it would have been apparent now that this was where the draft originated. This was the source of the frigid cold. It rolled from the altar in waves, from the carefully rune-carved black leather and gold-trimmed pages.
However, unlike the other grimoire, this one was chained down, in addition to a lock that was clearly part of the book itself. [i Sealed.]
[i Finally.] That had been quite a ride. Faustus brushed the ash from his trousers and picked up the cage containing their owl friend. In his satchel, he had already managed to gather the other items. How many hours had passed? Was Silveus alright?
Just the question itself drove him to pull out his phone. He called the main line.
"Marvelous house of Witchkroft."
"Very cute, Bastion. Is Silveus around?"
"Him? Still up in the reliquary, I believe. Haven't heard much from him. Maybe you should have gone a bit easier on him with that list."
"I don't have time for this. Do you know if he's gotten everything?"
"I don't, but I can check - just a mo'!"
Faustus rolled his eyes so hard he could feel the ache in his sockets.
A soft mewl suddenly sounded, the stray Faustus had brought along on the trip moving hurriedly through the darkness. He had practically materialised from nowhere, mewling insistently as he caught up with the blond - putting himself distinctly betwixt he and the altar.
His eyes flashed, bushed tail flicking to and fro with warning.
He hurried around the corner. More shelves. Always more shelves. They twisted and turned as if trying to confound him. "Logan!" he called again.
It was colder back here. He ran his hands over his arms and hugged himself. [i They really crank the AC in here.] Was one of the relics temperature-sensitive?
Again. Logan sounded hurt. Silveus flinched and pushed on, deeper. "Where are you? Tell me."
He knew there was no way this could be Logan. But then, a few days ago, he'd known there could be no such thing as magic. [i There's magic. If there's magic, then maybe there's a spell to bring back the dead.] He was preparing a spell to commune with the dead. Why not bring someone back? It was just one more step. One teeny, tiny step.
His breath clouded in the air. Silveus shivered uncontrollably, unable to stop himself. It was frigid. He felt like he'd stepped into a freezer. "Logan, please." It took effort to move. Every breath ached in his lungs. He could hear him, so close, but so far. Just around the turn, but then there was another turn, another turn, always another.
Silveus sagged against the wall. He was exhausted. He wanted to sleep. Take a break and rest. He sucked in a ragged breath and let it out in a thick cloud. He couldn't feel his fingertips or his toes. Everything was so cold.
Logan called out again. "I'm coming," Silveus muttered. He forced himself upright. Logan was just around this corner. Another few feet, and he could see him again. It felt like he was pushing against a wall of ice. Still, he soldiered on. [i A little further.] Logan's voice was so close. So clear. He hadn't heard it in so long. It felt like home. He forced himself to lift his foot, pushed forward, stepped again. Silveus gasped a breath. It hurt. It hurt so bad. But just ahead. Just another step, and he'd... he'd see Logan...
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