The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

Welcome to the New Age

Jan
08

Aura still sparked in Fushimi’s veins, but he could actually feel it fading, bleeding out slowly until one day, he knew, it would no longer answer his call. He wasn’t even sure he’d miss it.

The roiling burn of fire lighting off his nerve endings, electricity flickering at his fingertips, and crystal cold lying familiar beneath his skin.

“I’ll miss it,” Misaki said frankly, beside him on the bed.

Saruhiko was unsurprised. They’d joined Homura for power and aura was that. Perhaps it was less complicated for Misaki as well, with only fire humming through his body, lighting off his hands as he held them up and squinted at them just now.

Saruhiko didn’t want to see it. He reached up and dragged Misaki’s hands back to the bed.

They’d been together in their own small world before they’d been together in Homura and the sight of red aura hadn’t made his stomach turn, or light up with the anticipation of battle. There weren’t any kings now, and though their unnatural strength remained, there weren’t really clansmen either. It was just Saruhiko and Misaki again, together, with no one else around to change that.

It was an age ago when Saruhiko had claimed his power just by grasping flames with an open hand. He felt powerful now, grasping Misaki’s last flames and holding with a touch less innocent. It was just Misaki now lighting his veins, sparking in his nerve endings, burning in his hands. It was everything he wanted.

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