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Beneath the Blindfold

“Tsungrai, Ventari, help me mend this wound.”

The blindfolded charr’s paws swirled with energy from the Mists. He pressed it against the sylvari’s cut, a bad evisceration at the abdomen which would leak sap at an alarming rate if pressure were removed for even a moment. The opening sealed at his touch, leaving barely a scar.

“Thank the gods you’re here,” the human magister currently in charge of Amber Sandfall said. “We’ve run out of troll unguent, healing elixir, pretty much everything to deal with injuries.”

The charr grunted. “You’re welcome. Thank the legends of old, though, not in the gods who’ve forsaken humanity and left this world to the mercy of the dragons.”

The magister said nothing out of respect. After all, he had a point. The Six Gods hadn’t answered their prayers, and the human race was receding, their glory days seemingly behind them. They hadn't even left him with a box of band-aids, let alone healing elixir.

“Sir!” Another voice. “I’ve news!”

“Report,” the fort commander said.

A scout ran to a stop in front of the magister and huffed. “The jungle burns, sir. Destroyers are popping up in droves. The Pact is spread too thinly in Maguuma. We need reinforcements, or all our encampments will be lost.”

“I’ll relay the news to the Marshall, but the Pact’s efforts are focused in the east now, against Kralkatorrik and Jormag.” The Priory leader sighed. “It’s only been a year since we’ve cleared the jungle of Mordremoth, and Primordus is already taking his territory? The Elder Dragons don’t usually act with such haste, do they?”

“Perhaps they’re taking us more seriously,” the charr said, “what with two of them slain and all.”

“Perhaps.” The magister shook his head and said to the scout, “Send word to all Pact soldiers. We cannot possibly hold all our camps. Tell everyone that can make it out of the jungle back to the Silverwastes to do so immediately. Everyone else must make for the refuge of Tarir. Try to get the Itzel scouts to pass on the message. We’ll request for airships there, but there’s so many gone to fight on the eastern front.”

“Right away, sir!” The scout saluted and ran back into the jungle.

“Well,” the charr said, “it seems I’ve come at the right time.”

The sylvari rubbed his scar and relaxed. “Thank you,” he said. “What was your name, by the way?”

“Cain,” the charr said, “and don’t mention it. Thank you for staying on our side against Mordremoth. It was worth suffering one dragon if it still means you’re immune to being corrupted by the others.”

“You can count on me fighting until they’re gone or until I’m dead.”

“Good to hear, soldier, but rest up for a day at least. Rytlock wasn’t very keen on teaching how to commune with healers in the Mists, so I’ve had to learn mostly by myself. Try not to do anything strenuous for a week.”

“Will do.”

Cain got up and breathed out a sigh of relief. That was the last of the wounded today. He was the only revenant in Tribune Brimstone’s first class of training who had really done well with healing from the Mists, but this was the first time he’d worked his newfound skills on the battlefield. It was far different from dealing with the relatively minor injuries at the Black Citadel’s medical ward, but he already felt twice as adept as he was when he’d been assigned to the Silverwastes just two days ago.

He felt drained now, having patched a whole platoon that had been ambushed by Destroyers a few hours ago, and was ready to retire for the evening. He took off his blindfold, tuning his sight back to the world of the living, and went to his assigned bunk in the fort.

Cain remembered how it’d felt taking off the blindfold after the first time he’d seen into the Mists. It had been quite a jarring experience going from the spirit world back to the real one, though oddly it hadn’t felt as strange seeing the other way. Maybe that was why Rytlock had chosen him to be amongst his first trainees.

That was nearly a year ago, right after Mordremoth’s fall at the hands of the Pact Commander and a small group of comrades, which had included his master. Now he was able to see the world of the Mists at will without a blind, and could overlay it against reality if he wanted to. Just a few years ago, when he was a young and inept warrior, he would never have believed he would be of any use to the fight against the Elder Dragons.

The charr settled into his bunk, a larger one made for charr and norn, and tried to rest, but he couldn’t stop remembering. Something tugged at his mind, something which dragged his thoughts to old memories of the days he’d poorly wielded a sword in the mires of Orr, where all had seemed hopeless until the fall of Zhaitan.

Oh, he remembered those embarrassing days. He’d tried to wield a greatsword, but the other members of his squad had pretty much forced him to downgrade to a sword and shield because he was more dangerous to them swinging around a cleaver than the undead were.

His squad captain had been a sober norn. He was all business, a Vigil commander through and through, and he had Cain’s respect as would any other charr who’d met him. The norn’s serious demeanor meant he didn’t much care for his ineptitude, even though he had been trying his best to learn and fight.

The squad lieutenant was Rhys, a human from the Reach. He’d been rather young to be second in command of the squad, but he’d proven his prowess in battle and could have him flat on his tail in less than ten seconds every sparring duel. Cain didn’t care much about the animosity between his people and humans. He’d been born to farmers, and his life would’ve headed down the same road if not for the call of the Pact, and he hadn’t paid much attention to Ebonhawk or the ghosts of Ascalon. His life had been boring, toiling on the fields all day and growing crops, and never would he have thought he’d be at the forefront of a war against the most powerful forces in Tyria. He was technically part of Iron Legion, but he had shown no skill with explosives, firearms, or blades in his fahrar, and was sent back to his parents instead of being put in a warband, like most farmhands, gardeners, foragers, and other commoners were handled. And he would’ve stayed there, one notch above gladium status, if he hadn’t taken the call of the Pact and dropped his shovel for a sword, even if he would always be more competent with the shovel.

Rhys had always been curious about him because of his, well, not very charr-like history. The human, in his mind, had the stereotype of all charr being like a horde of Blood Legion, always hungry for glory and battle, or explosions, and was fascinated to hear about his life on a farm. Cain, in kind, had always thought of humans being all about talking and diplomacy, and a bit on the weaker side. The smaller human had proven himself to be deceptively strong, however, and could whoop most everyone, including battle-hardened charr, in a duel, and a farmer’s son never stood a chance against him.

Cain tried to sleep, but his memories kept nudging at him like he was a shell on a beach where the tide of reminiscence wouldn’t cease flowing over him. He recalled the last time he’d seen his squad whole, when they’d been ambushed by a mob of Risen, including a pair of hulking abominations. One of the engineers had gotten a lucky rocket shot at one of the abominations and blew apart its rotting flesh at the corpse seams, but an undead Hylek had poisoned and killed him before he could launch another missile. He’d been pinned down by that Hylek and was grateful for his shield which, regretfully, he could only cower behind as his team was killed off.

Poison darts clanged against his shield, making little warped bubbles appear on his side. It was Pact standard issue: balanced weight and protection, but it lacked heavy resistance against acid or magic. And it certainly wasn’t going to protect him from the towering abomination that was rearing its legs to charge right at him.

What did save him from the rotting hulk was Rhys. The man was like a baby compared to the mass of corpses, but he used his sword like a stinger while he danced around the abomination’s legs, cutting its muscles and dodging its wild attempts to flick him away until the creature fell to its knees. He’d only ever seen such a deliberately quick and unrelenting move afterwards once from Tribune Brimstone, when he was communing with Shiro Tagachi and wielding Sohothin. But Rhys had neither the presence of a legendary assassin who’d caused the Jade Wind bolstering his strength, nor did he have an ancient magical sword, and he alone couldn’t hold back an entire legion of undead. The Risen, after killing many of his comrades, started converging around him, but with a bit of Guardian magic, he’d teleported behind him, sending a surge of swiftness to his feet.

“Retreat!” Rhys had shouted. “Everyone out! Get behind Cain! Cain, keep up your shield and for the love of the gods, keep up with us!”

“Yes sir!” the charr remembered yelling back. His voice had been full of fear, nothing like Rhys’s inspiring commands, although his charr accent had covered it, he hoped.

He had to run sort of backwards and sideways to keep up the shield against poison darts and arrows, but he could keep up because much of the company were slowed by their wounds. They’d been slowed too much. To throw the Risen off and give them time to flee, their norn captain had jumped back in with his greatsword and became a whirlwind of wrath, taking whatever arrows and projectiles would strike him and kept on going until he reached the body of the dead engineer. With undead coming at him from all sides, the captain had unpinned two of the engineer’s grenades and tossed the chill grenade out to keep the Risen slowed, and then the frag grenade he kept so that it would explode in his hand, killing him and keeping his disintegrated body from being corrupted by Zhaitan.

Cain’s hands clenched as he thought about his former captain’s sacrifice. He wasn’t sure if he could ever do something like that himself, but he knew things could’ve been so much different if he was there now. He could’ve called on Ventari to protect his allies from those wretched projectiles that were flying everywhere, instead of only having been able to protect himself with his shield. He could’ve wrapped his injured comrades’ legs temporarily with mist energy so that they could’ve fled unhindered, and there would’ve been no need for the captain to sacrifice himself. He could’ve created a rift, teleporting them all to safety.

The charr sighed and flicked a claw at his muzzle. “Could have. Could have done many things, if I’d been competent. Now stop remembering the past, and go to sleep.”

He had to concentrate to stop remembering, but the quiet darkness was able to blanket his raucous imagination before too long.

Yet even in his dreams, he dwelled upon his past. He’d been hurt badly in the ambush, but his adrenaline and Rhys’s confidence had made him unaware of being struck by anything in the ambush until he’d gotten back to base. A rot-tipped arrow had snuck past his shield and buried itself in his right hamstring, and it would’ve made his leg gangrenous and permanently useless if not for the fact that he was shipped off to Fort Trinity right away.

That had been the end of his short tour of duty in the campaign against Zhaitan. He’d been saved from being crippled for life by a sylvari healer, which made him more than happy to forgive them for what had happened with Mordremoth. The racial tension had lessened greatly in the aftermath of the jungle dragon’s fall, but there was still some animosity, particularly amongst the Pact members who had suffered great losses at the hands of turned sylvari. Still, their inability to be corrupted by other Elder Dragons was a blessing for the future, and even the worst deeds had to be forgiven for the sake of the war effort. Subconsciously, however, he wasn’t sure if anyone but other sylvari would’ve worked as hard to help the ones he’d mended at the fort, including the one he’d finished last for the day, as much as he had.

Then he dreamed of crops and tilling, of feeding the cows and prepping for Meatoberfest. He had resigned himself to a boring life, following his parents’ clawsteps, and had put away his sword and shield for good. He never saw Rhys or the survivors of his squad again, only hearing general news about the war when he visited the Black Citadel.

He had heard about the Pact’s grand airship army. He had only seen skeletons of the now renowned vessels being constructed at Fort Trinity. He had heard about how they had brought down Zhaitan, but also of how they had suffered tremendously at the hands of Mordremoth. The Pact had tripled their recruiting efforts after that, but he couldn’t bring himself to pick up his blade again, not after the shameful performance he’d done the first time.

So he lived on in relative peace. The Elder Dragons didn’t bother him in his quiet life, and even Kralkatorrik seemed to lay dormant to the east. So it came as an absolute surprise when Tribune Brimstone himself appeared, years after Orr, at his homestead and requested to see him specifically. He’d said he was looking for people with a special talent, an affinity for seeing into the Mists, an ability he hadn’t even known he’d possessed until the Tribune had taught him how to unlock it.

And that was how he went from a shovel and a rake to a sword and shield to, finally, a staff. He mainly had his staff to help focus his healing powers, but he’d gotten skilled enough with his new magic that he could fight with it as well and didn’t really have to use it to tend to most non life-threatening injuries. Maybe he could even last a whole minute in a friendly spar with Rhys, if he ever saw the human again.

His memories had their due. Then Cain drifted into a deep sleep, dreaming of ancient history and potential futures, but there was one man’s face who kept coming up over and over again...

---

Wake up.

_ Wake up!_

_ _ “Sir, you need to wake up!”

Cain blinked once, and then he remembered where he was and his eyes shot open to full alert. “What? What’s going on?”

A norn was hovering over him, and boy could norn hover. He didn’t waste time with a salute or anything. “Sir! A team’s just made it out of the jungle. Multiple minor injuries, some moderate, but the captain is badly wounded. Magister Salma said time was critical for him.”

Cain slid out of the bed, wrapped his blindfold around his forehead, and grabbed his staff. “Lead the way.”

“Infirmary,” the messenger said, and then they ran off.

Amber Sandfall had developed since the jungle campaign, but the infirmary was now just a room with a bunch of slightly softer beds since most of the equipment had gone to the east. Nobody was prepared for the Maguuma Jungle to become a threat again, and if Primordus was here, then who knows what could happen at Orr? The Pact couldn’t fight on so many fronts, but that was a grim thought for another day.

The scent of blood hit Cain as soon as he entered the infirmary. He hated it even though he’d never admit it to any other charr.

There was a lot of pain in there. He could see it with his partial Mist sight, but only one person’s spiritual energy was unsteady and flickering. He didn’t wait for the norn to point him to the dying captain and rushed to him while focusing on a stabilizing heal.

A wide, full-body cleanse. It would keep him from septic shock. There was an awful thing to see afterward, however. A Destroyer had stuck a spiked claw or something into his gut. He’d cut the Destroyer off, judging from the clean flat cut on top, but there were molten fragments now inside the man’s body, like a dagger which had broken into little corrosive pieces inside.

“Shit,” Cain said, concentrating on pulling the fragments together. “I don’t think I can save him. This wound is too terrible to—”

“C-Cain? Is that you? Hells, I can barely stand to open my eyes, but that is you, isn’t it?”

The charr had been so focused on the wound that he hadn’t looked at its owner. A shadow of fear traveled down his tail, for he knew that voice, and his eyes didn’t want to turn to look at his face. It didn’t matter though. He could sense it now that he wasn’t concentrated on his injury. “Rhys...”

“Heh. I know that voice. The most soft-spoken charr I’ve ever heard. Why are you here, my old friend?”

Cain was feeling his eyes start to swell against his will. He was a soldier, damn it, not some crying cub. Here he was again with that feeling of uselessness, but there was something else too. He hated seeing people around him die. He remembered, in Orr, how much it had hurt every time he’d been told someone he knew had died. But even worse was the feeling that he had no power to stop his friends from dying, and here he was in that situation again. He had newfound strength, but it still wasn’t going to be enough, not unless he tried with everything he had in him.

He especially didn’t want to lose Rhys. Rhys, who had saved his life countless times in Orr. Rhys, who alone of all the soldiers he’d met had listened to his dull stories about cows, corn, and devourer wrangling with genuine interest. Rhys, who had believed in him despite how many times he’d dropped his sword.

Cain clenched his teeth and tightened his blindfold over his eyes. “I’m here to save you,” he said, and then he focused on the task at hand.

“I’m done for. It’s only by virtue of resolve that I made it here. I’m glad I was able to see you again, Cain.”

“You’re not going to die. I’ve learned a thing or two since we parted ways.”

The charr had to force himself to believe it too. With Mist energy, he pulled the rock shard out of the man’s belly, letting his magic keep him from bleeding out. He reached in with his mind and grabbed at the molten fragments that were burning their way deeper into his friend, but they snaked through his metaphysical fingers like water.

“It feels so hot, but it’s spreading, like it’s trying to sear my heart,” Rhys said. “I can feel something soothing inside. Is that you?”

“I need to focus,” Cain said.

The human grunted and shut his eyes. His spirit seemed to fade again, and the charr redoubled his efforts, but the tighter he grasped, the more the lava flowed through his claws. “No, no, no, come on! Heal!”

“H-hell, Cain, if y-you can’t save me, p-please don’t feel bad about it. I should be dead, by all rights.”

“Damnit Rhys, you saved my life countless times. I’m not going to let you die.” The charr tightened his blindfold and growled, focusing on the Mists. He called, no, he cried out desperately for aid, begging the legends of old for help. A human healer for a wounded human, that was what he needed, but the ones he knew were not powerful enough to mend this terrible molten wound.

It grew quiet. Rhys had stopped speaking, and his breaths were weakening. He grasped and grasped, but he found no purchase against the burning shards inside his friend’s body. He didn’t feel shame this time. He felt a great sadness wash over him instead, for the best friend he’d had in the Pact was about to stop breathing.

And then there was a presence. A strong echo. It took shape in his blindness, an old spirit next to a fading one.

You need someone who has experience with this sort of thing.

“And would you be that someone?” Cain asked through the echoes of the past.

I’d be your best bet. I would not have ever foreseen myself aiding a charr who was trying to save a human’s life. It is intriguing how the future unfolds. My name is Mhenlo, and I will help you heal this man.

Then the old spirit took shape, appearing as a bald headed young human. “Lucky for you,” he said, “I’ve dealt with Destroyers before.”

“So help. Please.”

“I will. Here.”

The spirit of the old monk dissipated, and a gush of gaseous vapor flowed into the wound. Cain could feel the spirit guiding him, letting him take hold of what he could not before.

He is beyond most mortal help now. You truly are lucky to be here, mist-walker, for the only other who could stay his death would be Dwayna, and she has hid her presence from the world, and her followers are no longer capable of mending such a grievous wound.

Cain was too full of fear and need to insult the old gods this time. “Just show me what I must do.”

Funny, I thought you would have said something snarky about charr and gods. Alas, the musings of one who had lived through the Searing. Come, you can take hold now, can you not? Don’t try to extract the fragments, they will only slip away again.

“What do I do with them?”

Extinguish them. Let them be consumed by the Mists.

Cain did as he was told and willed it so. In fact, he did it with such efficiency that he could sense even Mhenlo was surprised at how quickly he was able to eradicate the Destroyer fragments, stopping them from burrowing to the human’s heart.

Well, good job. Now tend to the burned flesh as you would normally, and I believe he will survive.

“He will. Thank you, Mhenlo.”

You are welcome. Call upon me as you will. I feel you will have much need of my assistance soon, though the future is always difficult to tell in the Mists.

The spirit departed, flowing back to the Mists, and Cain channeled strength from a charr healer who had dealt with wounds from the fires of the Flame Legion during the great charr rebellion. With a final shove of effort, he was able to seal the wound enough that the man’s body could recuperate on its own.

Thankfully, the rest of the group’s injuries were not so grievous. A few broken bones, but nothing life-threatening. Still, Cain found himself exhausted by the end of the day, and a deep sleep swept away his worries.

He slumbered well past dawn. The next day brought a well-deserved respite, for there were no new wounded soldiers to tend to when he woke up. He moved slowly, still feeling worn out from straining himself the day before, and walked about like a Risen, but he trudged through to the infirmary so he could check up on Rhys.

The man was awake. His bedding was propped up so he could sit up slightly, but he seemed bored. Undoubtedly, he was under doctor’s orders to stay and rest. Cain could see his recovering spirit brighten considerably when he entered.

“Cain!” The human tried to sit up straight, but a pang of pain in his gut brought him back down to his pillow. “Ugh. Still hurts, but hey, I’m alive. Thanks to you, apparently. We have a lot of catching up to do! I always knew your fate would not end on a farm, at least not until you were old and retired. Your heart was too courageous for that.”

The charr felt more than a twinge of embarrassment at being so highly complimented by someone who had seen him fumble to hold a weapon, but he treaded through it and stood by the man’s bed. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said. “Though my road was a bit, well, rather unpredictable.”

“Rightly so,” the human said. “Who would have thought? A charr of no grand upbringing, no offense meant of course, with poor hands for a blade, but like the gardens you tend to, you instead found that you had healing hands, hands meant to nurture and grow and support those around you. We have much to talk about, eh?”

“I’ve heard only rumors of what happened with the Pact after I was sent home. Your story would be much more interesting, I think.”

“And I’ve heard rumors of a mystical power that Rytlock Brimstone, member of Destiny’s Edge and a Tribune of the High Legions, brought back from the Mists which helped the Pact Commander rid us of the jungle dragon. That, along with how you came to have this power, seems to me to be at least as interesting as my story could be.”

Cain smiled and took a stool to sit down on since none of the chairs in the room had a cut-out for his tail despite one being sized for a norn. “Well, I guess we can judge after we’ve spoken. I suppose I should start first, since I’m sure it’s still a strain to speak after suffering such a terrible wound.”

And so they recounted the events that had occurred in each other’s absence, though they were often interrupted by new evacuees from the jungle who needed Cain’s skill to tend to. It took them several days to tell their tales to each other. They spoke about the Glory of Tyria and how it had brought down Zhaitan, Rytlock’s obstinate refusal to explain what exactly he’d been doing in the Mists after he had tried to banish the ghosts of Ascalon, new skills they had both learned over the years, the fall of the Pact Fleet, and so much more. By the third day, Rhys was finally able to walk on his own, and he was able to describe his journey through the past few years in greater detail. He spoke of great deeds and valiant efforts at first, but Cain could tell there was great sadness in the man’s tone as his story became more and more detailed, though he would never touch too much upon the stories of the lives of those he had lost under his command. There was something else too—Cain could see his spirit was hiding something, but he dared not pry.

By the end of a week, there was no evidence that Rhys had ever been stabbed. He even challenged Cain to a sparring match to prove he was well enough to fight again. The human had opened by wailing on his old friend with rubber-tipped arrows, but the revenant had managed to block them all with a spin of his staff. The man doved in with a wooden sword and swept at his legs, but unlike before, Cain dodged by stepping through the mists, appearing behind the slightly surprised human. He brought his staff down to strike him from behind, but Rhys had much more combat experience than he had and had his sword in place to block the strike from sheer reflex. Stunned by how fast Rhys had parried him, the charr wasn’t able to react to the swift kick which had, unfortunately, hit him square in the gonads and brought the bigger charr down for the count.

The human had apologized profusely, but Cain laughed it off and brushed off the pain with a spell while Rhys helped with a healing breeze. Though the human had some skill with guardian magic which had improved over the years, he was still not very good at the healing aspect of it, and he certainly couldn’t hope to be as good as the revenant was.

“I’m really sorry still,” Rhys said after his sparring partner was fine again.

“Nah. Like you always said, you’ve got to take advantage of whatever you can, especially in war. I should’ve worn armor too, though I like my mobility. Besides, that was pretty much reflex for you. I still have a lot of practice to do. I don’t think I can ever be good in a fight, let alone beat you.”

“You’re much better with the staff than you ever were before,” Rhys said. “I think you’ll be a great fighter in the future.”

“I ought to get as much practice as I can this next week. I heard the fort commander is trying to get a carrier airship assigned here, and then who knows what she’s going to do with it.”

Rhys nodded. “Well, as a veteran captain, I already know. The higher ups are planning on putting together a search and rescue team. I’m to be in charge. We’re taking the carrier up and leaving it at high altitude. Primordus isn’t so strong on the surface yet that he can blast us out of the sky, but we’re being overly cautious since Mordremoth’s vines brought us down before. We’ll be taking choppers down to pick up any stranded and wounded we can spot. I think the fort commander was going to tell you tonight, but you’re going to be on the team.”

“With you.”

“With me.”

Cain smiled. “It’ll be like old times.”

“Yeah.” Rhys suddenly seemed distant. “Just like old times.”

The charr could see sadness wash over his spirit again, but he still dared not ask. There were some wounds which only an abundance of time could heal, and he felt like this was one of those lingering hurts.

The days passed on. Amber Sandfall was quiet, save for smaller and smaller groups coming out of the jungle. The carrier would bring a load of supplies to relieve Cain of his healing duties in the Silverwastes, so he spent most of his time, when he was not chatting with Rhys, steeling himself for the journey ahead by meditating and focusing on the flow of the Mists, feeling the physical and the metaphysical world around him.

On the fourth evening before the carrier was scheduled to arrive, Cain, while meditating, sensed something pulling at him. He shifted back to reality and followed the spiritual energy as if it were an irresistible aroma of grilled food, and it led him to Rhys’s captain’s quarters. The fort had been upgraded so that captains, commanders, and other high-ranking Pact members could have their own private quarters, but Rhys usually only went into his for sleep or to write letters in peace.

The spiritual tug took on a strange hue as he saw it bleed through the tall door, upgraded like most of the fort to accommodate norn and charr. Like most others, there was even a knob on the bottom for asura to use. He knocked on the door, curious as to what this strong...desire, it felt like, was.

“Err, just a minute!” Rhys shouted through the door. “One minute!”

“Umm, it’s Cain,” the charr called back. “Is everything fine in there?”

“Yes, a minute, please!”

Cain heard some fumbling through the door, but it opened up soon enough. The man beckoned him to come in. The charr did so, and then his senses were bombarded with information.

His nose picked it up first. Sweat and something musky. Then he saw Rhys’s face, illuminated by an asuran lamp, and it was trailing with bits of sweat. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Rhys said. “What do you need?”

“Well, it was odd, I felt like I was being pulled here.” Cain tuned his sight more towards the spiritual end to figure out what it was, and then he was the one who was embarrassed. “Oh. I see, you were just, umm, sorry to bother you, then.” Cain started backing out, but then he saw the pull again, a torrent of color streaming from Rhys’s spiritual form going straight to the charr’s heart. “Wait, were you thinking about me?”

Rhys’s eyes widened. He was caught. He couldn’t hide his emotions from the revenant’s magic, it seemed, and now he was sure he had to face the end of their long friendship. “I, umm, I see I can’t lie.” He sighed. “I couldn’t lie to you of all people anyway. Y-yes, I was, tense, and needed some relief. And I was thinking of you. I—look, I’m sorry. I’ll transfer out and you can go on the rescue team without my perversion affecting you. I’ll never speak to you again, if that’s what you want, but, yes, that’s how I feel about you, and I can’t help it. I’m sorry.”

Cain saw the affection pull back and clamp tight under a veil of secrecy again, the same cloak he’d seen that was covering his secret before. It must’ve not been until he’d started masturbating that it was flung off and made discernable to him. It was replaced by shame and a deep, horribly deep sadness. “N-no,” the charr said, “don’t leave.”

The human looked into the charr’s eyes. Cain’s eyes had never been menacing, unlike many charr’s, but even then he found it difficult not to look away. “Do you mean that?”

There was a bit of silence as both soldiers had to gather their thoughts. “Yes,” the charr said. “You’re a good friend. You’ve saved my life many times. I—I just want to know. Why me?”

Rhys couldn’t bear to keep his eyes on him, but he was relieved. “I—no, this time I can’t keep my feelings to myself. Fate has finally forced my hand. I have had intimate feelings for others too, but I have had a cruel relationship with them all. They’ve all perished at the hands of the Elder Dragons. I’ve stopped myself from having feelings for anyone after the fourth potential romantic interest, but then you came back. You. I had liked you so much, Cain. I’m sure you recall how I would talk to you when nobody else would. You were so human, for a charr, and I just started to have feelings for you. I stopped caring about how you were a different race very shortly after I got to know you, and when you were sent home, it was the first time I was wounded in the heart.”

Cain closed the door and tried to make his face look as friendly as possible. “I always took you for a very good friend. I always remembered you after I went home, and I always hoped to see you again. I didn’t know you felt so strongly about me.” The charr blinked, and then he smiled warmly. “But now that you’re opening my mind up to that possibility, I don’t give a damn if you’re not a charr either. I think...I think I have feelings for you too.”

The human was able to look at him again through blurred eyes. “That would be all my dreams come true. Are you sure I haven’t died from the Destroyer shards?”

“No,” Cain said. He could sense the adoration, the desire, and the lust start to seep out again, and the charr wanted to see more now. “And I’m telling the truth. I’ll show you.”

Rhys’s gaze was fixed now, for he couldn’t look away from the big charr who was stripping off his clothing for him. First his shirt, to reveal a fuzzy torso with a slightly striped fur pattern. He didn’t have much opportunity to see a charr take off his armor and clothing before, and he could feel himself quickly stiffen in his pants again as Cain started pulling down his trousers. His eyes were glued to the big reveal, the sheath and fluffy sack he had imagined so often before.

When his pants hit the floor, Cain could see the emotions flow from the human like a river breaking a dam. It was so strong and bright that he had to shift completely out of his spiritual sight to keep himself from being dazzled. The charr stepped closer, letting the man’s eyes feast upon what they’d desired so much. “And how about you? I’d like to look at you, too.”

Rhys’s cheeks flushed, but he was so eager that he didn’t hesitate to take off his clothing. Just as it was with him, Cain was curious to see the human’s naked flesh as well, and he was fascinated by how much strength lay in those comparatively smaller muscles which were sculpted throughout his body and not hidden by fur. It was different, and exciting, and they both stepped ever closer to each other.

Then they were nearly face to face, though Rhys had to stand on his toes to close the gap between their heights. “You know,” the human said, “you’re still the only charr I know who doesn’t seem to be snarling all the time. It’s really...cute.”

Before Cain could say anything about that, the man had leaned just a little more upward to plant a kiss on the charr’s muzzle. Cain hunched over more to give him easier access to his mouth, and their tongues swirled while they side-stepped to the norn-sized bed and prepared for the most memorable night of their lives.

Rhys nudged the charr to sit down, and then he hunched over and traced his nose along his partner’s fur, going lower and lower, until he was basking in male musk, his nose going so far as into Cain’s sheath, a unique position which few humans had ever delved into, but he doubted very much he was the absolute first considering some of the interesting glances he’d seen between several Pact soldiers, which had occurred for almost any combination of races. It was a stray thought which was pushed away as soon as his nose was pushed out of the bigger male’s sheath, the charr’s hardening cock emerging and showing off its lovely length.

The human took hold of his partner’s knees and spread his legs so that he could receive better access to his loins. As his nose slipped out, it slid under the hardening member until it reached the center of the charr’s pouch. Rhys had dreamed of this moment, and he savored it by laying his face against Cain’s massive set of balls, reveling in their scent and resting his head upon them as if they were a fluffy pillow. He sniffed and sniffed, sending tingles of pleasure to the modest charr above him.

After being satisfied with the charr’s sack, Rhys raised his head to find himself staring at the biggest cock he’d ever seen. It was no surprise, of course, since he’d only dealt with other human males before, but the spire before him made his back ache just seeing it. It was crowned like a human’s shaft, but there were little soft fleshy barbs around the edge of the head. He took hold of its base and licked the barbs specifically as a test, and he found his sensitivity hypothesis correct since Cain started quivering and moaning out loud.

Rhys licked the massive spire a few more times and retreated, though a line of saliva stubbornly kept them connected. “Gods, you’re a big guy. I, uhh, I don’t think this will ever fit in me. Not even if I had the slickest lube in all of existence. Didn’t think about how much bigger a charr would be.”

Cain chuckled and wondered if he could ever find a soul of any legendary brothel patron to aid them in their deviant endeavors, but he knew the physical facts now were plain as day. “Well, I could meditate on this, but I didn’t think you’d be a taker. You know, since you can knock me down on my ass so easily.” He rested his back onto the bed and lifted his legs up, showing off all his assets to the man who was so dear to him now. “I think you deserve this, anyhow.”

The man reflexively licked his lips at the sight of the massive male submitting himself to his pleasure, but he sauntered over to a drawer to retrieve a bottle of oil, which had, until now, been used only for his own self-pleasure. Even though he was much smaller, Rhys wanted to make the entry as painless as possible. He covered his palms with a layer of the oil and gave his own cock, which was more than modest for a human, a few good strokes to slicken it up.

The man hovered over Cain for a moment, teasing him by pressing his cock against his tight hole while the charr’s tail curled around his legs and tugged at him to hurry up. “I’ve heard some alchemists fond of pranks have been able to create a potion which makes people’s heads temporarily bigger. I wonder, perhaps, if more sensuous alchemists have made potions which make charr penises smaller.”

Cain growled lustfully at the thought, but now wasn’t the time. “Fuck me already, my sexy guardian. You’ve wanted it for so long, and I didn’t know I wanted it until now. So come on!”

Encouraged, Rhys dove in. Cain was a big guy, like all charr, but his ass was surprisingly tight. It was somewhat difficult to get all the way in, but perseverance showed the way. “You okay?” the man asked when he was hilted.

“I feel great,” Cain said. “Don’t worry about being rough. I might be a soft-hearted charr, but I’m still a charr.”

Rhys gave his barbed cock a few strokes and grunted. He pulled out teasingly slow, and then he crammed himself back in, drawing out the air in Cain’s lungs. Then he did as he was asked, and he grabbed the charr’s raised legs and started thrusting into him properly.

Shivers took control of Cain’s body as he took the man’s pounding, and he almost regretted letting him have free reign over his tail hole, but the sharp stinging pain quickly gave way to beautiful pleasure. It felt so good, and his big cock was leaking pre without being touched. The man was aiming purposefully, hitting him where it was making him moan like a bitch in heat. He tilted his head so he could see the handsome muscle-layered human drill into him, his abs and strong arms rippling as they took what their owner had wanted for a long time. He was lost in bliss, and as his neck strained, he dropped his head back onto the bed and forgot to turn it sideways, and his horns punctured the bed, but that only served to anchor him against his partner’s ever increasing speed.

Faster and faster the man above him went, and Cain was leaking more and more onto his belly, wetting his fur with pre. This was absolute bliss, and he would definitely be on the lookout for any such shrinking potion which would help Rhys experience the same, but for now there was nothing but sensual pleasure. Pleasure. And love. He could sense it. It bled into his revenant sense, even though he had willed his second sight away. Rhys was absolutely in love with him, now that their natures were revealed to each other. Cain didn’t need his extra sense to see the love Rhys had in his eyes though, but there was a fear. A fear he knew himself. The fear of loss. The fear that he would lose his friends, and now his lover. It was a fear he knew just as well as he did, the same fear he’d felt when he’d almost lost Rhys.

The fear was but a shadow under the pleasure, yet it would have its due afterwards. For now, they filled the room with moans and pleasing rumbles.

Rhys was glistening with sweat as he closed in on the peak of pleasure. He’d gotten his long-time secret lover so wet just by slamming against his prostate, but he didn’t want to finish without seeing the charr blast over himself first. He slowed down his thrusts and kneaded Cain’s furry balls, coaxing them to empty their precious seed. He was extra gentle with them, as if begging their pardon for the earlier bruising they’d gotten from his kick, and they soon answered by pulling back against the charr’s loins. Rhys felt Cain’s legs tense up as his toe-claws curled, and his tail constricted around his leg. There was a feral roar from below, and then the man felt the clamping around his cock. He looked down and saw the charr shoot out streams of white seed, the first of which managed to hit Cain right on the snout, and he could take no more. The man let out a deep moan and released the charr’s legs, letting his hands move down to palm against his furred chest as he came into him, pouring his warm cum into his long awaited lover.

They rode out their wonderful orgasms together, and Rhys couldn’t help but marvel at the output of his charr. He imagined all those warm globs being shot inside him instead of being plastered all along Cain’s belly and leaking onto the bed, of having himself so utterly full that not even the charr’s cock could plug all his seed in him. But even his imagination had to wind down, for exhaustion was taking hold, and he pulled his spent shaft out of the charr and fell on top of him, content with snuggling against his warmly wetted fur.

“That was lovely,” Rhys said, lying on top of the wonderful charr that he had fallen in love with. Cain’s heat and comforting heartbeats warded away his fears for the moment, and the human never wanted to leave.

Cain was worn out too, and he muttered out something affirmatively. He made himself more comfortable by lowering his legs and putting himself entirely on the bed, which he was able to maneuver without making the human get off his stomach, and then he folded his arms over Rhys, letting him sink into a warm embrace.

The human was content for a good while, enjoying the feeling of being held by such a big strong male, even if he could best him in a duel any time of day. But thinking about friendly duels led him to think about swords and war, and then the fear returned.

Cain sensed the feeling of dread fall upon him and decided to tackle the problem head on. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

To the charr’s utter surprise, he heard Rhys start to sniffle, and then outright cry. He didn’t know what to do—never had he seen such a fine warrior break down like this. He only did what he felt he should, and he tightened his arms around him, letting him drain his tears onto his chest in guarded peace. It took him several minutes to wind down, and then the human gathered himself.

“I’m not sure if you would understand,” Rhys said. “I joined the Pact to defend my home and keep my friends and family safe, but I’ve made friends here and watched them die. After Orr, it was enough. I became distant, and stopped talking to my troops. I’d always wondered why our old captain, may the spirits bless him, didn’t like to speak to us much, and I know now why. It hurts, Cain. It hurts every time you make a connection with someone and then have it ruthlessly severed by war. So I walked the road of loneliness.”

“Until I came back.”

Rhys raised his head so he could look up at the handsome charr. He stroked his muzzle and rubbed each of his four ears. “Until you came back. And now I’m scared. Scared of losing you. But I also want to be with you. As, I suppose the charr would say, a mate?”

“It would have to be a secret amongst the troops. Not all charr are as open-minded as I am. And believe me, I know exactly how you feel. I know, because I was close to crying when I saw you so close to death.”

“I’m glad we both are of the same mind, then. Now that we’re so close, I couldn’t bear to lose you. And I wouldn’t worry about anything else, since the the minds of all races are becoming more open as the war drags on. Regardless, we could keep it a secret until we’ve finished the fight, and then we can live in Lion’s Arch, or the Grove, where the Sylvari don’t judge. If you think about it and will take me as your mate, then we’ll retire and live on a farm together, okay?”

“I look forward to it,” Cain said, “because my answer is yes already. It’s always been yes. I just never knew it until I could see.”

Rhys burrowed his head against his mate’s furry bosom again and hugged him tightly. “If you fall to the Elder Dragons, I will fall with you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Cain said, knowing it was the human thing to say, but he also meant it. “And I’ll train harder so you don’t have to worry about me. We’ll be old and planting herbs before you know it.”

The human smiled and fell asleep in his lover’s arms.

Somewhere in the Mists, Brother Mhenlo smiled at his good deed.