Battle Buddies Part Three
***This is a continuation of the Battle Buddies fan fiction. If you have not read parts One and Two, I highly recommend it. However, part One was mostly a short, irregardless piece–Part Two leads into this piece. Again, I do not own these characters or setting. This is based upon the game Rune Factory 4 and is a Dylas x Frey pairing. Please comment, like, and follow if you enjoyed~***
The insect was as large as a small car. Every swipe of his sword yielded no breach to the iron-hard husk. Dylas grunted, and flung his magic attack forward at it. Frey finished with the gate and hurled herself into a flurry of spear-cuts, her body moving faster than his eye could make out. When she’d finished with her rampage, she hoisted the large shield over her face just in time to deflect the brunt of a push that sent her skidding through the dirt at the slam of the insect’s hull flinging itself at her.
The sound of iron rang through the air, and Dylas jumped into action again, hurling himself at the monster. Aim for the head, aim for the head. He twisted around the backside of the monster and took a running start at a stalactmite, launching himself into the air above the bug. He hoisted his carrot over his head and threw it downward, catching the bug between husk and skull. The insect flung itself about, squealing in its atrocious voice, throwing its assailant off. Dylas was lucky to have a tight grasp on the hilt of his carrot, and landed a few feet away with sword still in hand.
This had given Frey enough time to resituate herself, and she flung into action as she had just moments before. This time, after her flurry of spear-thrusts, she flung her sword arm out with a fling of earth magic that cut a line of green from the insect’s neck.
Just a little more…
They’d been in this same room for at least an hour, taking their turns at the single large insect. Their arms were growing weary, sweat ran into Dylas’ eyes; it was only a matter of time before they were injured and would need to use the escape spell Frey had learned when she had first come to Selphia. Dylas took his turn at the insect, slashing and hacking at the soft parts of the insect’s armor, chest heaving and legs shaking.
Frey threw herself into battle with Dylas, taking up the rear while Dylas hacked at the insect’s face. It startled him; it wasn’t part of the plan. Frey lifted her arm and threw a spike of wind rolling through the dirt and cutting through the insect’s body. It threw the insect off-kilter and onto its back, large legs wiggling and grasping to turn itself back over. Dylas wasn’t going to let the opportunity go to waste, and sliced downward with his carrot-sword, plunging the blade deep into the insect’s body. The shaking halted, light erupted beneath his blade, and the insect monster flashed away into nothingness, leaving behind an antenna that Frey wearily thrust into her pack.
“Three,” she huffed, coughing and swiping the sweat from her face with her forearm. She settled into the dirt, resting her sword and shield arms.
Dylas resisted the urge to join her on the floor, sliding his carrot into its sheath and wiping the sweat away from his eyes. “That was fun.”
“Yeah. It was.”
Dylas peered down at the young woman sitting in the dust. “You look exhausted.”
She looked back up at him and cracked a grin, “You don’t look much better yourself.”
“We should go back now.”
Frey seemed unsettled by this and hastily stood up, stretching her arms over her head and shaking her limbs out. “I still have one more beetle in me.”
“Frey, you’re exhausted, I’m exhausted. Another beetle and we’ll be injured—or worse,” Dylas shook his head, “No, we’re going back.”
The girl sighed. “You’re right, I know you’re right, but…”
Dylas put a hand on her shoulder, “She would be mad if you kept going,” he said simply, raising an eyebrow pointedly.
Frey couldn’t look at him. Not even the whole walk home. She didn’t ask him for a piggy back ride like she usually did. She didn’t chatter away about nothing. Up until the moment they parted at her doorway, she hadn’t uttered a single word–she simply stared at the ground.
She gave him a sideways glance as she unlocked her door, cracked a forced grin, and gave a little half-wave with her hand.
Dylas grunted in return. He wanted to ask her if she was okay. He didn’t want to be a bother. Besides, he wasn’t very good with words.
When the door to her room closed, he twisted on his heel and entered the throne room where Ventuswill was still sleeping.
He shoved his hands into his pockets awkwardly, watching the scales on the back of his dearest dragon friend, the heaving of the great chest and the wheezing of breath through her snout.
Suddenly, he was in the forest. He could see his pale hands in the moonlight holding a fishing rod. The great dragon was beside him, her head poking out over his shoulder, a large reptilian grin on her long face. Her head entire easily dwarfed his body, but she wasn’t as scary as he’d thought originally.
“That’s it,” she crooned, yellow eyes dancing in excitement. “You just let the fly sit in the water until you get a tug.” She wiggled her head. “Let me know if you get a tug. That’s when the fun starts.”
Her large body was warm against the cold of the night. Maybe that’s what made the large goddess not as scary as he’d wondered.
“I’m sorry, Dylas…”
The murmuring knocked him from his vision of the past, setting his hands shaking. He glanced around the room frantically, and finding that Ventuswill was still sleeping, found his breath again.
He smiled to himself. Was he ever truly afraid of this beast?
Certainly, Venti had a bark–but the bark is always louder than the bite, as they say. Her attitude was always aggressive, but Dylas knew that it was only for show.
He let loose the resistance that held himself back and reached forward to place a hand on her crown, his hand significantly cooler than the hot, smooth scales. “Shut up,” he murmured back with a snide grin.
Frey was cornered in the hallway between her room and the throne room. She had been in her room only to discard her armor before going to check on Ventuswill. She hadn’t expected to be the only one with that intention. She watched quietly from the doorway to her room, afraid to make a sound and disrupt the image of blue and black Dylas–still covered in dust, grime, and scrapes from their excursion–petting the sleeping dragon with a fondness that made her heart ache.
She knew from previous encounters between the two that Dylas was regarded to be Venti’s best friend. She knew that Ventuswill’s act of erasing the man’s memory of his Guardianship and therefore their age-old friendship really hurt the dragon. She had missed him so terribly in the hundred years that Dylas acted as Thunderbolt of the water ruins. The God of the Winds was never so lonely as the moment he’d given himself to replenish her life force…
Frey felt a twinge of guilt and anger at the Sechs Empire. How could they take the only way that Venti could both live, but also make new memories with old and new friends? How could she have let them?
The idea itself was simple, but it was just as easy to steal something once you leave it without any protection. Frey chided herself on this thought, reminding herself that the Sech’s Empire struck before they could establish such stability. There wasn’t any time to think or to breathe–even to blink before the orbs were taken.
She shook her head to clear it from the negativity. She shook herself to ease the pain in her chest and took a deep breath to set the heartbeat at a slower pace. She looked up again to find Dylas sitting by the sleeping dragon’s head, murmuring softly to her.
She wondered what he could possibly be telling her. Was it the stories of the day? Was it reassurances that he had taken up the mantle of Guardian because he cared for her? Frey smiled to herself. The possibilities were endless with what Dylas could talk about when he thought no one was looking. Nothing could stop the cascade of broken and confused words from spilling from his lips.
That was the thing about Dylas, Frey supposed. He was pure. Pure, unadulterated, stern… resident unknowing goofball. She smiled to herself and turned, supposing to let the two have their time together. She wondered if Venti could hear him in her fevered state. Frey earnestly hoped so.
Perhaps the one thing that Frey, nor Venti would ever know, was that Dylas didn’t talk about the battles that day. He didn’t talk about the past, like the time Venti taught him how to fish. He didn’t talk about the weather or the Sechs Empire. He didn’t talk about Arthur’s unending letter-writing to the Capital to get reinforcements. Dylas spoke of one thing; the one thing he spoke of was Frey.