“Lancel…”
The little boy stirs, royal blue scales flickering faintly with his happy dreams.
“Lance… Wake up, sweetheart.”
“Mnh.” Lance stirs, rubs his eyes. “Papa?”
“Hey. You wanna go swimming?”
The boy’s eyes blink away sleep. “Now? But Daddy said it’s night-night time.”
“Well.” Papa leans down, level with his small son. There’s a bag over his shoulder. “What if- What if we made it our secret? We can go out to the grotto. What do you think?”
“Hmm…” The boy pretends to think, bright eyes sparkling. “Yes!”
Lance throws his arms around his papa, who scoops him up in his arms with a laugh. “Okay, but we have to be very quiet, remember? If we get busted, we’ll be in big trouble with Daddy.”
“Very quiet,” Lance whispers, nodding with wide-awake eyes. His brown hair, shot through with white streaks, sticks every which way on his head.
Papa sneaks through already-abandoned halls, the occasional patrol forcing them into shadowed corners. Lance giggles into his papa's nightshirt, sleepiness long gone in the face of adventure. Papa only sets him down once they're outside.
“Shhh.” Papa puts a finger over his grinning lips, playfully leading his laughing boy into the forest. The moss is soft and cool under his tiny bare feet and the summer air is still warm on his skin. The bumblemoths, especially the blue ones, bob and weave all over, chasing after the powerful alchemists.
“Oooh… Pretty!” The grotto looks different at night, clumps of algae and tiny creatures glowing in the dark, illuminating the space. Lance clings to his papa’s pantleg, catching his breath.
Alfor strips down to his undergarments, helping his boy do the same. The moment he’s out of his clothes, Lance runs for the water. He loves swimming. It’s his favorite. He can hear his father laughing as he paddles through the water.
It’s fun, swimming with his papa. Climbing the walls until he drops from the ceiling -Papa helps- and into the pool, diving down to bother the little fish and bottom-crawlers, floating on his back to look at the creatures crawling on the ceiling.
Papa lets him swim by himself for a while before throwing him up on his shoulders. Lance squeals, squirming -and kicking his papa in the head by accident- until he’s standing on his papa's shoulders.
Lance leaps off Papa’s shoulders with a squeal, curling himself into a ball just before he hits the water. The grotto pool is cool and wet, way prettier than the manufactured pool at the castle. That pool is a lot bigger, but so boring. Even Adam thinks it’s boring, and Adam reads big books with no pictures. None at all!
His little body sinks to the sandy bottom. Holding his breath, Lance reaches out, tickling a slippery salamander. The boy explores the bottom until his chest feels like it might burst. Pushing off a stone, his brown-and-white head pops up above the surface, water slapping in little waves against the walls of the grotto pool. He giggles.
“Papa! The salamanders are slippery now! No fuzz at all!”
“Yeah? That’s good! It means summer is here.”
“Will they get fuzzy again when it starts getting cold?”
“Yes, they will!” Papa grins. He picks the child up, sets him on his hip. “You’re getting so good at swimming, sweetheart.”
“I’m gonna be the best EVER!” Lance hollers, tipping backward off his Papa’s hip into the water. When his head pops up, bobbing at the surface, breathing heavily, Papa picks him up again, recognizing the signs that his child is tiring.
“I think it’s time to go home, sweet boy.” Papa wraps a towel around his boy’s skinny shoulders. He uses his own to dry Lance’s hair before fixing it around his waist. The starlit strands come into stark relief the more it dries, his alchemical potential gradually washing out the warm, brown shade he was born with.
“Can we go look at the stars before we go?” the boy whispers.
Papa pushes a stray lock of hair away from his boy’s eyes. “Of course we can. Come on.”
Papa leads him into the valley, Lance skipping alongside, humming some little song. They stop atop a grassy hill painted with fuchsia juniberries. Lance leans down to pick one, tucks it behind a pointed ear. He hands one to his papa, who does the same, ruffling the boy’s hair.
“Thank you very much, sweetheart. I love it.”
That done, the young boy tilts his head back to look up at the stars.
“Look at them all!” Lance gasps, blue eyes big and wide, a blanket of stars reflected in their shaded hue. A tiny hand lifts up, tries to touch them.
Papa beams, scooping Lance up again. Papa’s so big and warm. Lance feels so safe with his Papa. “Pretty, aren’t they?”
“So pretty, Papa. I love them all.” The little boy points up at the stars. “Look! There’s Isola, and The Maiden, and Sormau, and- So many! Ooh! Trija! Adam says that- that Trija married a sorceress and got buried in a mountain under a moon!”
“You’ve learned about a lot of stars, haven’t you?”
“Mhm! Adam helps. He likes the stars too!”
Papa smiles, settles on the moss, holding him in his lap, gazing up at the stars. Lance settles against his father, sighing. He’s starting to feel a bit sleepy again.
“You make stars, don’t you, Papa?” The little boy tugs his father’s giant hands up, holds them out in front of them. He can only wrap his hand around one or two of his papa’s fingers.
“Not stars, sweetheart. It’s life.” Papa forms a small werelight in his hands, watching the hands of his son reach out and cradle the small quintessence orb. His hands are so small, the streaks of white just now coming into his hair. A late bloomer, Tavo tells his fathers, but more than a little powerful. He was eavesdropping the other day after he accidentally blew up a mannequin.
“Life?”
“Alchemy uses quintessence, the energy that resides in all of us.”
“Wow!”
“You know, alchemy wasn’t always like this. It used to be much more complex.”
“Complex?”
“Harder. See, it used to be specific quintessence work with a specific element. Yellow quintessence controlled the earth, purple quintessence controlled the air, green controlled organic matter, red quintessence controlled fire, and blue-” Papa brushes a thumb over his little son’s scaled cheek, eliciting a giggle. “-controlled water.”
“Black?”
“Black controlled everything. And you had to learn how to use that element’s power to achieve your desires. But it’s different now. Now we manipulate life, instead.”
“What changed?” the boy asks, staring as Papa manipulates the light into different shapes and colors, enchanting his son.
“One of the Ancients, Rheydon, sought a way to save the woman she loved, Trija-
“Like the star?” Lance gasps, finding the somber, lonely speck.
“Yes, sweetheart. Like the star. You see, Rheydon’s wife, Trija, had pushed her power too far.”
“How?”
“Well, Trija wanted to prove her love for Rheydon, and so she chose to carve a great mountain into a home for them. The effort involved sent her into a dark sleep, her mind into a place between places. Rheydon sought a way to bring her back.
“Ancient Rheydon traveled to a place known as Oriande, where the secrets of the First Ones are kept hidden. She faced a great and mysterious trial, but passed, and was granted access into the Arcanaeum. There, she found the secret to life itself.”
“What secret?” Lance whispers, turning to stand between his papa’s crossed legs. Like this, he barely reaches his father’s chin. He’s not little; Papa is just a giant.
“No one knows, but we do know it came with a price. In order to save Trija, Rheydon would have to surrender the Alteans’ elemental powers for something far more primitive.”
“Primitive?” Lance's eyes widen, staring at the pretty light in his Papa's hands.
“Savage. Yes. You see, to manipulate the elements is to create art, to mold the world into something beautiful. To manipulate life is to drain either yourself or another, to decide who lives and who dies. And Rheydon chose. She chose to save her wife. And so, Ancient Rheydon traded one power for another, the planet fell into darkness and chaos, and now we have a responsibility to ensure life is treated as a gift, even as we utilize it as a tool.”
“I don’t wanna hurt anybody, Papa.”
“Neither do I. But sometimes, we might have to. And sometimes, someone comes along who would enjoy using the lives of others.”
Papa’s eyes grow sad, and Lance knows he’s thinking of Melanor, his mama who died. He always looks sad when he thinks of her. Daddy says it's because they were best friends, and Papa loved her very much.
“How do I know?” Lance whispers, finger curling into his Papa’s robes. “If I’m doing good or not?”
“Ask yourself: is what you’re doing for you, or for someone else? Life should always, always, always be a gift, sweet boy.”
Papa is a gift. He’s strong and brave and nice. The boy turns back around, sprawls out on the moss between his papa’s legs with a sigh, gazes up at the stars. Papa releases the werelight to drift up into the sky.
“Woah. Amazing!”
Papa leans around, smiling at him. “Amazing indeed.” A big hand ruffles Lance’s hair. “Now come on. We have to get back before Daddy finds out I’m missing!”
“Ooooooooooh! You’re gonna be in trooouuuuublllllee!!!”
“Oh yeah?” Papa stands, picks him up again. “Well if we get caught, you’ll be in trouble, too!”
Lance gasps. He doesn’t want to be in trouble with Daddy. “Oh no! Papa! We gotta hurry!”
“Let’s go!” Papa takes off running, putting Lance on his shoulders. Lance whoops, stealth forgotten, arms in the air. He’s never had so much fun.
And it’s a secret.
...
...
...
Lance stirs. An old memory disguised as a dream. He barely remembers those few nights, the ones where his father would take him to the grotto to swim, into the valleys ripe with juniberries, into the watery caverns beneath the earth. Looking back on it, Alfor must have coordinated with the guards, planned the whole thing quintants in advance, colluded with Coran on how to get almost caught. He resolves to ask Alfor how he did it, so he can one day do the same with his children.
Blue-and-pink eyes fluttering open, Lance spied something just as beautiful as a nighttime grotto or a valley of juniberries swarmed with bumblemoths: Keith, naked, sleeping soundly next to him, tail curled around Lance's waist. Lance reaches out, drawing knuckles over his cheek. The sleeping Galra leans into the touch, a gentle purr thrumming in his throat.
Lance's heart swells, so full of love he's overflowing. He'll do better, he swears. He'll do better than his father did. Better by their peoples. Better by his spouse. Better by his children. Resolved, he snuggles closer, fur against skin and scales, smiling when Keith once again pushes his head up under his chin. Satisfied with his thoughts, Lance pulls the furs and blankets over himself and Keith, fighting the nighttime's bitter cold.
One day, when his children dream of their childhood, it won't make them feel lonely upon waking.