Caesarion

Chaos is Freedom [with Noah]

He could see, more apparent than could be portrayed by words, that Noah had begun to accept Caesarion's whispers as truth. The Kelvic was not one to fight against the Ravokian for long, and Caesarion was not one to be locked in such a dispute. It was relieving to know that perhaps the storm had passed, although evidently he could still feel pain and a sort of dubious hesitation. He knew Noah trusted him, but he imagined there had to be a sort of fear of falling back again - one would say into Caesarion's clutches, even, at risk of being abandoned again without a word. The man knew such fears well, for he carried the same mistrust for others. Even bonding with Noah was something as marvelous as it was fearsome, as he had known that life was unpredictable.

The question began to race in his mind, as Noah said the words I love you to him again - would they bond again, like before? He could only feel that a life they could have shared, one that would have been fulfilling and long, was cut short; stolen. Bonding again felt a natural response to this travesty, but the apprehension to such idea had merit as well. Was the life Caesarion led one that Noah would want to take part of? His ambitions had been many and each a terrifying beast. He had sought to overthrow the systems of Kenash, and instate new practices to the ancient city. He had already begun to conspire. The hunters from before were dead, but before long, a hunter of a new breed would arrive to seek the same goal: Caesarion, the slave-sympathizer and heretic, eradicated.

This life of his was vile and violent. Noah had always, on the contrary, seemed a sweet and dignified soul. Not one that would enjoy groveling in the arms of Dark Lords for the power to topple an established rule.

His thoughts faded for a moment, as he realized his fears would only ruin the moment. He smiled as the man admitted that he had continued to love him, and believed him. The Kelvic came into his embrace, and Caesarion accepted him eagerly, wrapping his arms entirely around the other man's back and holding him close. He could do this, at least - offer Noah warmth and comfort, after all of the time he had been gone from his sight.

You should have told me, he said. The Ravokian's expression changed subtly, becoming more cool. The smile vanished as he didn't wish to seem patronizing. Noah was very clearly upset that he left, and perhaps he was right to say that he should have warned the Kelvic. Maybe he was wrong to do as he did, but he did not imagine that Noah was as much of a fighter as Caesarion was or the hunters were. Perhaps things had changed, but the boy he knew was not one he felt could face a trained Sahovan blade.

"Noah, I know. I know. I know." His expression became something of a grimace. "I've already said all these things to myself, and questioned, and pondered. You imagine that you would have been able to fight them at my side. But you don't know how dangerous this world can be. You might think so - everyone might think so. We live in an apocalyptic shithole. I'm sure the farmer who labors sixteen bells a day just to dig up rotten crops imagines they know the harshness of our world. I'm sure the slaves here, who have experienced the whip, thorns and nails would say they know how dangerous this land can be. But you don't know - really - how bad it really is until you've experienced that place - that fucking island of corpses. You can call me selfish for sparing you from the horrors that they create. That's fine. But-"

He paused. The man started to speak again, saying that he forgave him at least, but that he didn't know what to do. That was to be expected, though. Caesarion had no clue what to do either. He didn't know anything ever; he always doubted his words, his actions, everything. But with Noah it wasn't about knowing, it was about doing - feeling. That was the benefit of the bond. The complications of being a human, always having to worry and ponder and frustrate yourself, vanished and were instead replaced by a simplicity.

"What do you want to do? What does your body tell you? Your heart?" The man placed his fingers beneath Noah's chin and made the boy look directly into his eyes, then leaning forward and planting a soft kiss onto his lips.

"You created feelings in me that I had not previously known. Before our bond, I didn't know what real elation was, nor the simple joy of being there as a pillar of strength for another living thing. I can't speak for you, but... know that I really do love you, Noah. If you love me too, like you said you do, then . . . can we just . . . move forward from all this?"

Chaos is Freedom [with Noah]

Why? he asked. Why. That was a glorious question given the situation - Caesarion was the one who needed forgiving, considering he had gone. But what he didn't understand was why Noah didn't seem to consider possibilities other than abandonment. Perhaps he had some fear of abandonment. Maybe he'd been abandoned? Caesarion had been told that many Kelvics, in their lives, were abandoned. Abandoned by their 'owners', with little care for their wellbeing, considering many were only treated as housepets. Abandoned by their parents, who were often mentally handicapped compared to your average sentient adult. And why? Because they were abandoned too - by their bonds, by their family, by everyone. The life of a Kelvic was one of abandonment.

He could only presume that this was the reason why Noah felt angered at his presence, why he assumed that Caesar too was a craven who left him without a word. And this saddened him. Although their bond had broken, Caesarion had hoped all along that perhaps instead of questioning his loyalty, Noah would inquire more deeply as to why he had gone. And so the man would tell him.

"Why would you be elated?" He asked. At first he responded as if casually, as if simply reciting the question. But his blood stirred at the notion that he was some careless wretch who had gone away without consideration for the bond bestowed upon him. As if Caesarion was not, among all his weaknesses, at least a faithful man. He had always been loyal to those who were loyal to him, and so he knew in his heart that he did not leave Noah out of anything less than necessity.

"Because I am the man you lay with for the first time, as you were mine. Because I am your first love, as you were mine. Because you know, and cannot doubt, that I have been true to you since the moment we first spoke. I am not merely Caesarion to you, a name attached to a man. I am linked to you. Even though your ties to me were severed, I know the feeling still remains in you. I can feel it myself." His hands pulled back to clench his chest, fingers pressed against the skin that concealed his heart.

He could imagine all that had conspired in the mind of his lover. Since Caesarion had gone, he had begun to build a wall to block him out. Thoughts of him, senses of nostalgia, images even in dreams; all mentions of Caesarion were barred from Noah. And he could only imagine that the mechanism he built to answer for why he buried the man's memory was that he had betrayed him, and left him alone and forlorn. Thoughts about all that must have transpired raced through his mind. Why Noah was acting like this. Why Noah was hesitant of his touch. Why Noah seemed so angry.

But what troubled him the most was that he believed that Caesarion was to blame for all of this. As if, at the end of his perilous journey, his only reward was to be remembered as a fickle beast.

"I caused no wound," he said to him, drawing closer regardless of the man's warnings. Perhaps he underestimated the severity of his threats, but honestly Caesarion did not believe he would resort to retaliation. "Circumstance caused the wound. I met you at the apex of a crisis I had been avoiding for half a year. You do not know all there is to know about me. My past. That I was a slave. That I was abused and that my fate was predetermined. I know pain, Noah. I know scars. I have a bloody T burnt onto my wrist for the rest of my life; the mark of my master." Emarus Telemaran. He thought him a witless log, considering Caesarion had fried his mind through hypnotic conditioning. But he recovered - to Caesarion's dismay.

"I ran in order to spare you from the consequences of my freedom. Even in your anger you must understand that what happened between us was not my fault. It wasn't my want. I did not leave you because I grew tired of you or anything of the like. I left you because I cherished your life, which was forfeit if it continued to be bound to my own. I was being hunted, Noah. Do you not understand that? Do you wish to claim that you would be happier now if your spine had been torn from your back and set ablaze?" He stopped his slow forward momentum, and paused.

"Forgive me. I'm sorry that I left, and especially that our bond severed as a result. But I won't ever kneel and lie and say that I did so out of weakness, merely so that you will have me again. If you love me, or ever did, then believe me when I tell you that my departure was so that we may spend the rest of our lives together. You and me."

Chaos is Freedom [with Noah]

The man turned to look at him. In the time he spent turning, he had already begun to absorb his features; his jawline, his hair, the tint of his eyes. Everything had changed, but in subtle ways. Caesar, with his attention to detail, would note each individual difference discounting the obvious change of physical shape. He seemed more . . . human. He couldn't help but feel like that animalistic aura to him had diminished, which was something of mixed feelings to the man, who had come to love the bird for what he was by day and by night. Before he could take in more of his visage, he had to pause. He wasn't quite sure if this man was real or not, before him, as he had been in Caesarion's sight before - falsely. Since he had adopted Rhysol's mark he had been given the power to tap into things he had never before glimpsed upon. He could see people's weaknesses, their lies, their faults. He could cast hexes upon them or manipulate them to his bidding.

And also, he would see things constantly, whether surrounded by others or not. Darkly things - the ill history of the land he walked upon, perhaps not directly but as an energy that lingered over him. This, combined with the strange paranoia that sometimes followed the use of his hypnotic magic, he could sometimes find himself not trusting the things that appeared before him. And yet if he ignored them, he could find himself in peril; ignore an enemy? Death could follow. Ignore an ally? A loss of opportunity. These false visions tormented him for the very reason that if they were not false indeed, his mistrust could lay fatal.

. . .

He could never know, but he could only trust his eyes and trust his sense of touch. Noah felt real, from the contact he held of his shoulder. He felt real from the air leaving his lips as he spoke, and from the words that imparted from them; his name. Caesarion. And then a question.

Why are you in Kenash? Caesarion couldn't answer that very easily. It was a long and complicated story. But he could try to give a brief synopsis, especially after the words that followed - words that sounded painful, even desperate, asking why he would be here after he had taken the initiative to leave Noah behind.

"I am here because God called me here," he replied. That was not a good answer, and he knew that, even saying it. But it was so much easier to say, for now, than a life's worth of words trying to justify why he left. "Much has happened to me since we last spoke. I have been changed, Noah. Darkness encroached on me, as it had been doing for all my life. When it came, I did not flinch. I made it mine." It was true, that the darkness came. In what form? The form of Rhysol? Of the Sahovan hunters, the ones that nearly flayed him alive? Of the boy, in Syliras, that he once befriended; the one that now lay dead?

All of the events that brought him here were ones that he needed to face alone, in the wilderness, where Caesarion exceeded . . . guided only by the will to survive. And as a result, he had emerged from his tribulations as a man unlike the one he had always been.

"Let me tell you something, Noah," he drew closer. The man was almost near enough to whisper, brazenly, from mouth to ear. "I can see inside of your heart, just like I could before, when we were bound. I see your hesitation. I see your anger, and your grief. These emotions are not new to me, and I don't fear them. What I fail to see in you is hatred of me, and absent this hatred I instead see desire. So would you tell me why you are not smiling as you see me again, after all this time, and instead grimacing as if I am the devil come to destroy you?" The man's hand moved from his shoulder, running down his back. His other hand, gripping his waist. He did not desire an argument, nor an altercation, those things that always came upon him where he would rather find an embrace.

Noah had been far away for too long, and if this image was not one falsely implanted by God or by magic, then it was of the man that he came to love with the intensity of a star. Even if that love had dwindled in Noah, Caesarion still felt it somewhere, veiled by curtains colored in ambition and pride. He felt that love now, and magnifying as his body drew nearer and nearer.

Chaos is Freedom [with Noah]

It wasn't long before his tasks for the day had ceased. The hill upon which he stood was scarred by rocks jutted from below, and the man lay in clothes marked by sweat. His routine had been difficult, and tiresome. Every day he would awaken and proceed to his duties as an instructor. When his paying work was finished, there was the work necessary to maintain and improve himself - hours of physical exercise, building him as a stronger and hardier man than he'd already been. His physical form had developed to reflect his fancy in bodybuilding, and he had also begun to tie in Reimancy to the whole equation - dumbells made out of earth, equipment entirely made of refined stone, so on and so forth.

Caesarion's life lately had been... productive. Just productive. He had been in Kenash for only a month or two, and in all that time he'd made few friends and found few hobbies other than the regular. He had spent nearly all of his time teaching, training, exercising, hunting, or sleeping. Perhaps an hour out of every day, he'd study. And that was all. These things consumed every moment of his regime - with little words outside of ones necessary to maintain his position. As such, his life had changed somewhat dramatically from all the years before, where talking and being the center of a crowd had been something of a comfortable position. He would always learn of others and grow close to them - there was always some dear friend of his to be had, somewhere.

Except for right now. He had to admit, even though he was progressing fantastically physically and magically, mentally he had felt himself begin to draw far away from how he desired his life to be. Was this the side effect of becoming a powerful mage - the development of antisocial tendencies? He would think so some days, but other days he could swear that it was something different - that he had lost faith in himself, and most importantly, lost faith in others. Throughout his life he'd faced many challenges and surpassed them, but he could never retain his social circle. There was no 'old friend' of his in any sphere. No family to settle in with. No lover, anymore. Each phase in his life that he moved through, he was forced to find an entirely new sphere to step inside of. And he was beginning to lose faith - that he'd ever find a stable home, that he'd ever be made to feel comfortable in the shoes he walked in.

He inquired about life, laying shirtless on the grass upon the hill. Evening was beginning to come, and he did not mind this. The stars had always been constant companions at least, and he had stared into them as a lonely wanderer for years now. But they didn't give answers. They were just pretty things to stare at as he meditated in silence.

. . .

When night fell, really, and the moon was in clear view, he began to walk home. The moon was nearly full, just a day or two and it would shine its brightest. He'd dabble with magic on that day like with many others, but with more vigor - he swore that the fullness of the moon resounded with his energy. It could have been a real phenomenom, or it could have just been a personal feeling. He did not know, but he had begun to study his limits through each of the phases, and the results were interesting.

Tonight, for example, he felt grand - while at the beginning of the month he had felt drained and fatigued after his daily labors were finished. This could have been the result of a plethora of things, like the advancement of his living conditions. He knew these studies were highly nuanced, especially given that the experimental subject was himself. And yet his studies continued - into this topic, and more. He would go home now and write in his journal, about his findings with Reimancy, with the children of the Highborn, with the phases of the moon; the stars; the sun, hell even the flowers he looked at this morning. His life had become one big scientific journal of sorts, his own words becoming his companion, for he had no other.

But he would never forget the companions he had lost on the road here. Sometimes, insanely enough, he swore he could see them. He would always reach out to them, their shades, though upon contact they'd fade into his peripheral and vanish. A trick, perhaps due to extensive usage of Hypnotism. Magic always did play with mages minds. He knew that one for sure.

And on the path home, he swore again he could see one of his companions of old . . . though this time it wasn't one from so very long ago, but instead a little bird he'd been forced to leave only a season or two past. He could see the figure of Noah, though as if his memory failed him, the man was more of a figure than before. More muscular. His walk was confident. Perhaps this was what his mind desired to see - that lover of his, but strong rather than vulnerable. He still did not yet even know if the Hunters had gotten to him.

And so, like he always did with each visage played upon him by his mind, he stepped forward and placed his hand upon the man's shoulder. Caesarion's grip was stronger than before - he had become something of a man of stone. This time, though, when his grip hardened on the man's shoulder? He didn't fade away. The mage paused. His overgiving must have gotten worse.

Chaos is Freedom [with Noah]

Leaves dangled in the wind in this fine summer morning. The view was serene if sadly transient, though this was merely indicative of the nature of this world of ours. This beautifully temporary reality had been written long ago, like all other things, on the scroll of God who sought to illustrate the world so that all who lived below could live at all. Do you remember, little Luka, the apple that had fallen from above when you were but a starving child - too small to grab it and too weak to go on? The one that gave you the strength to step forward into the gates of Kenash? The apple falling from above - this was a gift from God. The water that you drank to sate your thirst had been a vessel of the blood of the Creator.

And yet, the shackles that bind you now - too - are gifts from the Creator. He gave you life, he gave you love, he gave you family, he gave you warmth, he gave you food . . . and he gave you illness, disease, famine, heartbreak, pain, blood, slavery. You might think - woe is me, for I have been cursed by God. But realize, little Luka, that God did not curse you - he merely brought you into a world of infinite possibilities. Of Chaos. And your masters, too, face possibility. They can rule over you and treat you with ill spite as they always have, or you can overturn the structures that bind you and let their fate be as your father - of spilled blood, of pain, of death.

Within the infinite possibilities of Chaos lies their pain, and your pleasure. The wails of death. The breath of freedom.

Luka. What a beautiful child. Unfortunately those words had been wasted, as he is gone now - dead. He had developed an illness, but one far too expensive to cure when the masters look at men as merely trade investments. What did Luka have going for him, other than his smile? He was cute, surely, but not cute enough. None would raise him for all that many years for the purpose of being a pleasure slave, when no one could be sure how cute he'd end up. He was strong, but only just slightly above average. He was smart. That was actually a burden. Smart boys were more likely to cause trouble than stupid ones, as the stupid ones could be controlled with the whip, or whores, or some other thing.

So he was dead. Caesarion couldn't even work the glands to shed a tear, for he had already mourned over too many dead slaves . . . in Ravok, in Sahova, and now here, in Kenash.

Kenash. The city of chains. Perfect place for a slave liberator to be - especially one who had developed as much as he had. Sahova, for all of its burdens, had been good for him. He had learned from the Masters and had become a man of renown - a powerful mage. A master Reimancer, capable of manipulating all four of the elements. He had learned the tricks and the trade of lava, lightning, steam, ice, even mud. He had been noticed by Rhysol, and given his first mark. He had become a somewhat proficient maledictor, a skilled morpher, a -

He had grown. Tremendously. Without the city even realizing it, they had let in an extremely powerful mage, as Freeborn. He would not labor under the Masters, but serve them as a tutor to teach their children Reimancy. But little did they know that what he taught them - more than just Reimancy - was his virtues. For none knew, not even the great Highborn of Kenash, that Caesarion was also a powerful Hypnotist. The children that he taught would be conditioned from youth to adulthood that slavery was evil and that slaves should be free. So the sons and daughters of the great houses, whoever they were, would begin to conspire with their instructor to tear down the foundations of Kenash . . .

and install leadership in the Black Sun.

But first, of course, he would merely walk - merely talk, merely flirt words with the wise men of the city and offer them a massage. He'd speak to them in philosophical terms, and they'd find him enchanting, but little did they know that he was their greatest enemy waiting to bloom.

. . .

It was morning. He had risen from bed a minute or so after the 8th Bell, and now he was instructing little boys from atop a small hill in the art of Earth Reimancy. He taught them form, control, and the intricate nature of Djed and Res. The location was discreet, so proverbs and moral lessons followed handsomely as well. All had been as other days were. The pay was well, as he was a Reimancer of extraordinary rarity. He had afforded himself a nice home near the Highborn houses.

And yet only a while ago, he had been forced to leave everything behind. Forced to abandon his bondmate and lover to survive the onslaught of Sahovan hunters. Killers. Beasts who sought to wear his skin to prevent their own rot. This would be a story of reclamation - of the acquisition of that love, once lost, or posthumous mourning - for most important of all to him, above the slaves and their freedom, was one little bird.