Karmic Weaver {mik3la & Sosuke0549}

[mik3la]

Alexander caught him before he hit the ground.

It was instinct as his hands closing around Alistair’s arm and shoulder, light flaring on reflex as he steadied the weight of a body that had finally surrendered. For a terrifying second, Alex thought he’d waited too long. Thought the stillness meant something worse.

“Hey...no, no.... stay with me,” he whispered, pressing two fingers to Alistair’s throat, relief breaking through when he felt a pulse. Weak, but there.

He didn’t hesitate after that. He lifted him carefully, adjusting his grip so Alistair’s head rested against his shoulder, shielding him from the mountain’s pressure as best he could. The bond hummed faintly and warm but it was there. 

“Healers,” he called the moment he reached the inner halls, voice calm but urgent. “I need the healers. He’s exhausted, spiritually and physically. Please be gentle.”

He carried Alistair all the way to his room himself, ignoring the looks, the murmurs, the weight of judgment that followed. He laid him down on the futon, pulled blankets over him with hands that trembled only once, then stepped back to let the healers work.

Only when they assured him Alistair would live and that he needs rest, a lot of rest, did Alexander finally sit down beside the bed, exhale shakily, and keep watch.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, soft enough that only the bond might hear. “You’re safe now.”

 

----------------------------------- <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 ----------------------------------------

 

Alexander hadn’t left the room for long in four days, but his body remembered every moment he had been forced away from it.

When his father had found him at the foot of the mountain, blood still drying on his palm and a demon bound to his soul, there had been no shouting. That had been worse. Silence first. Then judgment.

He had been dragged before the altar at dawn.

Prayer had come first, hours on his knees on bare wood, arms raised until they shook, forced to recite purification sutras meant to strip doubt from the spirit. When that hadn’t broken him, when Alexander had repeated the words but refused to renounce what he’d done, the punishment had changed.

Discipline, his father called it. Correction.

He remembered the sting vividly, the sharp, precise strikes meant not to maim but to teach. To remind him where obedience ended and heresy began. Pain blooming across his back and arms, ribs aching where fingers had dug in hard enough to bruise. His father’s voice calm throughout, disappointed rather than angry.

“You chose a demon over doctrine.”

“I chose a soul,” Alexander had answered, breathless but unyielding.

The punishment had ended only when the elders intervened, not out of mercy, but necessity. The ritual could not be undone. The demon was bound to Alexander now, and harming him further risked destabilizing him as the holly vessel. The symbol of the temple. They still needed him. So they confined him instead. Restricted him and watched him. And when he was allowed back to his room, Alex sighed in relief.

Still, the first thing Alexander had done every single time was go to Alistair.

He had sat with his back against the wall, ignoring the ache in his body, ignoring the way his bruises throbbed when he breathed too deeply, and watched the demon sleep. Four days. He had barely slept himself, just enough to keep standing.

He had been drifting in that fragile space between waking and sleep, the kind where thoughts blur into memories and guilt weighs heavier than dreams. He thought he was imagining it at first. Which was why, when his name slipped into his half-dream like a whisper …

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"A- Alexander..."

His breath caught, eyes snapped open and for a heartbeat, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Then his vision focused and …

Alistair was awake. Sitting up, looking at him. Alive.

The relief hit him so hard it almost hurt. His shoulders sagged before he even realized they’d been tense, and a quiet, shaky breath escaped him as if he’d been holding it for days.

“You’re—” His voice came out hoarse. He swallowed and tried again, softer. “You’re awake.”

He shifted, uncrossing his arms with a small wince he didn’t quite hide. The movement tugged at bruises blooming beneath the fabric of his robes, fading now, yellowed at the edges, but still tender. His father had made sure the lesson hurt. Prayers had not been enough this time. But Alex didn’t regret it. Not once.

Without thinking, without doctrine or restraint or caution, Alexander wrapped his arms around him. It wasn’t tight but it felt warm, real and full of relief.

For just a second, he pressed his forehead against Alistair’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut, breath trembling as weeks of fear finally loosened their grip.

“I thought I lost you,” he admitted softly. “I kept telling myself you’d wake up, but …”

He froze as realization hit all at once.

Alexander pulled back abruptly, hands dropping as if burned. His face flushed pink, heat rushing to his ears as he took a step back, suddenly very aware of how close he’d been. How intimate.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to… I mean, I’m glad you’re awake, I just…”

He glanced away, embarrassed, then back at Alistair, concern immediately overriding his fluster.

“Are you dizzy? Does anything hurt?” he asked quickly, already slipping back into care. “You’ve been unconscious for four days. I should’ve woken you slower, I …”

He stopped himself, took a breath, and softened his tone.

“You’re safe,” he said again, quieter now. “You’re in my room. The binding is holding. And… I’m here.”

“I brought you to my room,” he said quietly, answering questions Alistair hadn’t yet asked. “It was the only place I could keep you close… and safe. The binding made it easier—the mountain’s pressure doesn’t reach you here. Not while you’re tethered to me.”

His gaze flicked away for a moment, toward the window where distant chanting drifted in. Four days of incense. Four days of scrutiny. Four days of punishment delivered behind closed doors so no one would question the High Priest’s control over his son.

“I stayed, but …” Alex continued, voice steady despite the ache in his ribs. “You didn’t wake up. Not once. The healers said your body needed rest … like real rest. So I stayed, in case you…” He trailed off, then shook his head. “In case you needed someone.”

He looked back at Alistair then, really looked at him. The color in his face. The way his chest rose and fell without strain.

Gods I’m so happy that he is awake and safe. 

 

OOC: [if you want we can make the bond so that Alistair now can hear Alelx's thoughts which Alex doesn;t know as he never read more about this bond ritual and what it implies. But only if you'd like :)]

[Sosuke0549]

The first thing Alistair became aware of was the absence of pain. The absence of untamed emotions bashing against him. He no longer felt the sharp pain in his lungs when he took a breath or when the pressure of the mountain.
No. This was different.

This was quiet. Peaceful.

He had never experience something like this.

Alistair watched Alexander slowly, watching relief flood his features, and he felt something crack open in his chest. Not painfully. Just... unexpectedly. Like a door he'd kept locked for centuries had suddenly creecked open, letting in light he wasn't prepared for. This boy...this priest...

[ "You're— You're awake." ]

Alexander's voice was hoarse.

Alistair wasnt sure how to respond, no words were coming to his mind. He had so many questions, and there just didnt seem to be enough answers. So he just... watched. Watched Alexander wince as he moved, he noticed the bruises fading beneath his robe, noticed the way he held himself like someone who'd been hurt and was trying not to show it.

( Because of me...)

The weight of guilt was heavy in his chest, along with a rage he couldn't explain. A sudden desire to hurt the ones who hurt Alexander.

But then he suddenly felt Alexander's arms around him and the demon went completely still.

He couldn't remember the last time someone had held him. Couldn't remember if anyone ever had. Demons didn't receive embraces—they received exorcisms, banishments, th end of a holy blade. They didn't get warmth. They didn't get foreheads pressed against their shoulders and warm breath against their skin , and the words, ' I thought I lost you,' were....

His hands lifted, hesitated, hovering in the air somewhere between Alexander's shoulders and empty space. He didn't know what to do with them. Didn't know what to do with any of this.

When Alexander pulled back, flushed and stammering apologies, Alistair's hands fell back to his sides. Empty and uncertain.

He watched Alexander ramble—worried about dizziness, about pain, about waking him too fast—and felt something twist in his chest. Not the curse. Something else. Something that made his eyes sting in a way that had nothing to do with the light.

"I...I don't... hurt," his voice dry.

It was the truth, and the truth felt strange on his tongue. He didn't hurt. The curse was silent. Dormant.

Was he truly bound to him? This wasn't a dream?


Alistair's gaze dropped to his own hands, turning them over slowly as if expecting to see visible proof of the bond. Still in a daze.

"You..." He stopped himself...his voice was flat, but his eyes weren't. They lifted to Alexander's face, searching for something—deception, regret, the inevitable disgust he always saw on peoples faces. But Alexander just looked tired. And worried. And so fiercely glad that he was awake... no disgust...no regret.

"Why?"

The word came out before he could stop it. Small and vulnerable. "Why would you..." He bit his lip, seeing the bruises Alexander tried so hard to hide. "Your people—they hurt you because of me. I could feel it. Through the bond. The pain, I mean. Not the details, just... pain."

His jaw tightened. Something flickered in his eyes—guilt?

"You should have let me die on that mountain." The words weren't bitter. Just factual. "It would have been easier. For everyone."

He looked toward the window where distant chanting could still be heard. Alistair was behaving different...becoming something he couldn't even begin to comprehend.

"I don't know how to....." He sighed. Starting over. "I don't know what you expect from me. I don't know how to... repay this. Or..... what happens now."

Silence settled between them, heavy with everything unsaid. Alistair's hands curled into the fabric beneath him.

Would Cain come for him?
 

[mik3la]

Alexander’s chest ached as he listened, the weight of Alistair’s words settling heavily between them. The warmth of his presence grounding him in ways he couldn’t explain. He could feel the tension in the demon’s hands, the uncertainty, the flood of emotions simmering beneath his surface, and yet… he felt no fear, only an odd, gentle determination to be there.

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"Why?""Why would you..." "Your people—they hurt you because of me. I could feel it. Through the bond. The pain, I mean. Not the details, just... pain."

“I… I didn’t bring you here to repay anything,” he said softly, keeping his voice steady despite the knot of emotions coiling in his chest. “I… I couldn’t just leave you there. Not like that. Not when I could help. And you needed my help.” He swallowed, brushing a strand of hair from his own face.

He lifted his hand and  rested lightly on Alistair’s shoulders, guiding him to ease the tension in his body, even if just a little. The bruises along his own arms throbbed faintly, remnants of his father’s punishment, of hours kneeling in prey, lashes across his back, the sharp sting of the cane. But every pang of pain was a reminder that it had been worth it. Worth it to see Alistair alive, safe, and… here. 

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"You should have let me die on that mountain." "It would have been easier. For everyone."

"Probably my father would had done so ... but not me" he shacked his head showing a faint smile., knowing to well how his father would had handle this situation. Maybe he had gotten softer as his father was saying, but his essence was telling him that he did the right choice even if he used a forbidden ritual. 

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"I don't know how to....." He sighed. Starting over. "I don't know what you expect from me. I don't know how to... repay this. Or..... what happens now."

Alexander’s gaze softened, his brow furrowing. “You… you shouldn’t feel like you owe me. I didn’t save you to put you in my debt. I did it because… I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you there.” His voice wavered slightly, betraying the tension he fought to hold in. “And I don’t know why I care as much as I do. I… I can’t explain it. But I do. And I will. I’ll stay, I’ll protect you… even if it’s wrong in my father’s eyes.”

He drew a slow breath, unsure whether his words would make sense, or if the demon would even believe them.

Alexander stayed still for a long moment, letting the silence stretch between them, filled only by the faint rustle of the curtains and distant chanting outside. He could feel Alistair’s uncertainty in his posture.

He swallowed, steadying himself. “I know… I know it’s hard to understand,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve been alone for so long… taught that the world only wants to use you, punish you, or destroy you. And maybe some of that… is true. But not here. Not with me.”

Alexander reached out again, hesitating just a heartbeat before letting his fingers brush Alistair’s hair back from his forehead. The gesture was gentle, intimate, but entirely innocent. A priest’s care, yet one that carried all the weight of the nights he had watched over the demon while he slept. “It doesn’t matter what’s happened before, or what you’ve done… not now. You needed help and i provided it. Easy as that" he smiled as he shrugged locking his eyes with Alistair.  

Alex's eyes were almost glowing like gold with little sparks in it. Maybe it was the light in the room making them look like that or maybe that's how they were normally, but that's what Alistair was seeing.