The door at the end of the staircase opens just as easily as his bedroom's and a gush of cold air hits Joshua’s flushed cheeks. He ignores the two soldiers standing guard to both sides of it and steps out into the abbey’s courtyard. There, he pauses for a moment, trying not to breathe in too greedily the outside air he’s so long been denied.
Two more soldiers and two maids are waiting to escort him, towers of black iron and nests of white cloth, wrapped in banners of red for the House of Roses. They seem perfectly at home in the scene of pointed arches, iron and glass windows, dull dark grey rock and flying buttresses surrounding them. Somber and sinister.
Joshua ignores them too, sets out towards the wall with confident strides. They fall in line behind him, a grim procession of grating sound and soundless stalking. Their gazes bore into the back of his head and a shiver runs down his spine that makes him straighten his shoulders, stand taller, in an instinctive attempt to make himself look bigger before the giants.
The maze of paths lined with rose bushes gives way to a clearing and the wall comes into view. The gate is closed, as always, its shape not even made to be open. There are no hinges on it, rather the sides are bolted solidly to the stone wall. The wrought metal curls and curves not around any kind of lock, but a tall mirror, its frame etched with the intricate designs of God’s alphabet. An old spell to keep their enemies out. But one that also keeps them in.
The surface of the mirror is dark, a black born of a mix of deep jewel tones. It seems to pulse and undulate, like the surface of a lake when something stirs deep within it, rather than anything made of glass and silver. Used as he is to seeing the doors to the demons’ distortions, they never fail to make him feel sick to his stomach.
Joshua looks away. “Where is…”
He sees her before he can finish the question, coming from the opposite direction, an entourage just like his following at her heels. If he rushed, she’s outright running, as if she’s trying to get away and the titans behind her are simply giving chase, not even having to hurry due to their wider stride. She stops in front of him, short of breath, long black hair in disarray. While he’s not surprised to see her wearing her nightgown, -- it’s not the first time it happens and she doesn’t seem embarrassed by her state, either -- her bare feet stir a hint of worry in his chest. He falters, almost wants to offer her his own, but they’re not alone. They never really are, when they are together.
“Ready?” he asks, instead.
His face is a trained mask of indifference as he speaks. Kayla doesn’t seem to begrudge him. She nods, grabs the key wound around her wrist, connected to the chain embedded deep into the back of her neck. Joshua does the same to his and licks the corner of his lips in anticipation for the day when they’ll be able to transform inside the abbey, burn it all down to cinders.
“Let’s go, then,” he says.
There’s a slight lilt to his voice, the typical tones of the heirs of the Archons, but that’s not uncommon before a demon hunt. His thoughts of rebellion remain a well-hidden secret.
Armor creaks behind him, a warning that he’s already talked enough. Their interaction is to be kept to the bare minimum necessary. That’s the second rule and he’ll do well to remember it.
Kayla steps into the murky surface of the mirror and the blackness ripples inwards, as if eager to swallow her. Joshua shudders. The irrational fear that, one day, they will end up separated and trapped inside a distortion, isolated from each other, always creeps into his mind when he watches this happen. It’s why he always let’s her go first; he doesn’t want her to have to watch and feel the same.
Metal groans at his back again, another warning.
Joshua holds his breath and steps into the mirror. He always expects to feel something sticking to his skin, some sort of oily film covering his body, but it never happens. There’s only the cold pressing against his skin, the slightest sensation of vertigo before he steps outside and a weight lifts off of him.
He rolls his neck, bares his teeth unconsciously as that small relief settles in. But it’s short-lived. The mark on his neck, the tangle of protruding black veins and tissue calcified into red gems that make up a letter no one remembers how to read, is now pulsing fast. A frenzied rhythm, one that he can’t tell whether it’s born out of fear or excitement for the battle to come. He grasps the key tighter in his hand, the sharp metal threatening to cut into his palm, to calm it and looks around.
The city is different from the other times when he came out to hunt, as he had expected. This time, the ground is broken and uneven, thick roots rising up from it and enveloping the nearby buildings. Spindly, limb-like branches sprout from them and the whole mass seems to pulse at an even beat. A hot, dry wind blows from the south, carrying with it the sound of rustling and wailing murmurs. A sanguine glow hangs in the air, even though there’s no apparent source for it. Joshua’s stomach turns in response to it and he looks for Kayla, seeking something familiar to anchor himself to.
She’s standing small and silent in the nightmarish light and raises her brows at him, lifts her right hand in a silent question. He gives her a slight nod in response, lifts his own key. This wordless kind of communication comes easily to them now, after years since luck, or chance, or whatever it is the compatibility tests are based on paired them together. There’s no other choice, after all. The maids and soldiers are listening and watching, even now, making sure they don’t break the rules.
Joshua looks away from her, switches the key to his left hand and pulls on it. The chain connected to it gives way, unraveling from somewhere inside him and scraping the skin at the back of his neck as it uncoils. When there is enough space to maneuver it, he stabs it into the mark on his jugular.
The razored end slices through the raised flesh, parting it easily until one of the points catches on a gem, grinding against it. He hisses as the metal sends sharp vibrations through his nerves before digging deeper into his neck. A grimace of pain twists his face as he turns the key fully once and pulls it back out. Blood trickles down his neck, thick and viscous, and his whole body seems to light on fire as the magic releases and runs through it.
The result is immediate. With a simple ghost of a thought that is more emotional desire than rational process, his and Kayla’s relics materialize.
Her red and black lace dress takes shape, the corset and armor following suit over it. A bouquet of roses sprouts from the back of the dress, blooms all across her waist and hips. A red veil cascades down her back to cover her hair, stockings envelop her legs and a garter cinches at her thigh. Gloves cover her hands and delicate shoes slip over her feet. There are bracelets on her wrists and earrings dangling from her ears, a ring rests on her finger.
Joshua’s attire matches hers. Only he sports a half cape on his right shoulder instead of a veil, thigh-high boots instead of dainty shoes, leather pants and a long coat with a lace shirt underneath it instead of the stockings and dress. The gloves and corset are still present, as is the jewelry. The chains that dangle from the pieces rattle as he shifts and moves, strangely weighty for how dainty they are and there is a part of him that seems to hiss and recoil from the coolness of their touch against his skin. The whole ensemble is a monument of lace, leather and brass that seems bent on caging him, suffocating him. He has long learned to ignore it. It’s the price to pay for safety against the demons. The price to pay for wielding the powers he does.
Joshua lets go of the key and the chain coils back to its original position, retreating into his skull with a quiet whirr that makes his teeth clench and his ears buzz. The air around them smells of burnt wood and ozone now, crackles with the stray bits of magic their bodies can’t quite control. They stay still for a moment, waiting for it to settle. A Knight and a Bride, as whoever invented the system intended it to be. Whether she is meant to be his bride or God’s bride as some insist, no one really knows. And no one ever thought to ask them what they think or want, either.
