For ToffeeWeek
----
“Only when we are not afraid do we begin to live”
Dorothy Thomson.
MONDAY
The gravestone was gone.
Milo hurried his pace, climbing the Crysateos hill as fast as he could, where the remains of the Gold Saints fallen in the 12 Temple battle had rested undisturbed for the past eleven months.
“That’s odd,” he whispered to himself, squinting his eyes and craning his neck as far as he could, in order to get a better view of the top where Camus’s gravestone was supposed to be.
“It was here last week,” he said, annoyed. He turned around to see the path that had lead him there, which forked into two different, uneven roads; One led to the main area of the Sanctuary, where the Dypilon Gate and the Agora was and the other, to the temples and the training grounds.
For a moment he thought he had taken a wrong turn to the Nekrofrateria, since lately all the main roads that interconnected the many places of the Holy Land were nothing but messy paths. Now it was easy reaching the Nekrofrateria from behind, instead of from the main entrance which was blocked with a pile of rubble. Nothing seemed to have been left alone in Athena’s plan of bringing the Holy Land into the modern world.
He sighed, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by all the changes. While he appreciated his Goddess’s wishes to start anew after Saga’s cruel dictatorship, Milo thought that she was going all high wire about it.; pushing everyone to the limit to have everything ready for the Panathenaea festivities, that were taking place, just six days from that day.
He continued climbing quickly, searching his mind trying to remember all the changes that Athena had ordered. As far as he knew the Nekrofrateria was staying put.
He looked both ways, trying to find any clue as to why his best friend’s graving mark wasn’t there, trying not to panic. The other gravestones, Aphrodite’s, Death Mask’s, Saga’s and Shura’s were still there, placed one after the other all the way up. Their neat formation was interrupted before reaching the top, by two foot soldiers who stood there in a casual way.
“I told you to get rid of that,” One of the soldiers said, annoyed. “It smells awful.”
“Well, it wouldn’t have if you had actually done your job quickly, and carefully as we were told. Besides it doesn’t smell as bad as it did an hour ago...”
Milo would have ignored them if it wasn’t because of the huge shovel that one of them was carrying. The other one was holding something that he could not identify at first sight, as the man was standing with his back to him.
The soldier holding the shovel didn’t answer, shoving the tool down in a way that told Milo that he was tired of the task. His shovel dug deep into the ground with a loud sound.
Milo didn't know why two low rank soldiers dared to carry shovels inside the Nekofrateria.
Nobody was allowed to do this, especially on the Crysateos. It was the final resting place of the highest ranking members of the order, who as a last gift for their services had a magic seal placed on top of their chests, that prevented their bodies from rotting, preserving their remains beautiful and untouched for all eternity.
Opening a grave meant breaking the seal, if one was not careful enough. If the shovel hit the wrong spot, it would cause the body to decompose in a matter of minutes, which would mean the ultimate insult, not only to the deceased but to the order as well; the punishment for this desecration was death.
For that reason every exhumation had to be supervised by the Pope or by Athena herself, carried out, by the most experienced staff, so that the whole procedure was done quickly and if needed, the seal replaced instantly.
Only godless looters would risk opening a Gold Saint’s grave because they were filled with countless treasures: Golden shields, silver embossed vases carrying the crest of Athena’s armies on their sides and hand crafted weapons that were richly decorated; all of which could be easily sold on the black market in Athens.
During Saga’s reign looting had become a customary practice, an easy way to get cash for the poorest inhabitants and, since it was on the outskirts of the sanctuary and thus the most accessible area, the Crysateos became the instant jackpot of all the Holy Land.
Milo knew that little by little treasures that belonged to former Gold Saints had disappeared from their graves and had reappeared in houses of collectors and, ironically, even in local museums. At the end, fear of death hadn’t been enough to deter the most desperate looters. People would risk everything to enter the Nekrofrateria and reach the hill. Even the very same foot soldiers that were appointed to patrol the premises, were known to be the ones that looted the tombs freely and unpunished.
Milo crouched as soon as this thought registered on his brain and began to crawl towards them, covering his body behind a gravestone. He wanted to have a better look at what was going on before he could decide what to do. Even if Camus’s gravestone was gone, and the two soldiers were carrying what could be ‘looting equipment’ there was still the slightest possibility that the gravestone had been removed for repair. Still, there were no signs of Mu or Athena near the area, and as protocol dictated, they should’ve been there, supervising any procedure.
The situation looked awfully suspicious. But if he was right and those soldiers were looters, there was no chance in Hades they would get out of there alive.
They sure had picked the wrong graveyard to loot.
“Well, excuse me your highness,” the soldier finally retorted with a mocking tone. “It’s not like I’m a professional at this... And I don’t know why you are still carrying that with your bare hands. It’s disgusting, man...”
“I was told to keep everything,” the other one defended himself, turning in Milo’s direction,. The Scorpio Saint instantly ducked his head to be out of sight. “The shield, the shroud, even this box.”
Milo’s eyes opened wide when the soldier shook a small wooden box.
He had placed it in Camus’s grave before he had been lowered down into the earth. It contained two objects that were of no value to anyone, except for the former Aquarius’s saint. In his life time, they were the only belongings that he had held dear.
“People sure put all kind of crap with their dead... Just look at this,” the soldier said moving the box with disdain. The objects that were inside, rattled from one side to the other. “I mean, this doesn’t look at all like a grave of a Gold Saint. I thought this would have coins as protocol dictates, but it doesn’t. Only useless trinkets.”
“I hear ya!” The shovel soldier nodded, kneeling down, picking something round that shone when the sun hit its surface. “Even the oboli that was placed on his mouth wasn’t even a current coin. Whoever placed the payment for the Aquarius Saint, must have thought that Charon was an idiot or something.”
They laughed, but Milo paid no attention to them as he had finally spotted Camus’s grave stone far past the shovel soldier, tossed aside as if it didn’t deserve any respect.
Milo’s blood began to boil.
His eyes went to the one that was carrying his friend’s mortuary belongings, who had been flipping the oboli in the air before shoving the shroud into a garbage bag.
And it was not the obvious disrespect to Camus’s shroud what incensed Milo, but the casual way in which Camus’s belongings had been treated. The oboli in particular had been placed by Milo himself on his friend’s lips. His friend had given him the coin a long time ago when they had first come to the Sanctuary as a small loan for candy.
Milo had never bought the candy or returned the money, as Camus said he didn’t need it. The coin was not current when Camus died, but Milo thought it would be a small a token to commemorate their friendship in the afterlife.
“The only thing that has any value is the shield. I wonder how anyone manages to sell these things on the black market, It’s not as if they are easy to carry out of the Sanctuary...”
Milo saw how the shovel soldier picked up the golden shield off of the floor and lifted it with difficultly above his head. It shone beautifully as the sunlight hit its surface where the Aquarius crest was embossed on it. The sight sent shivers down his back, making his heart shrink for a moment.
It didn’t matter if almost a year had gone by since the passing of his friend. He still could remember everything as if it had been yesterday. The procession, the burial, the few people that mourned Camus’s passing over such a futile battle.
It had been a moving ceremony, when Mu held the shield up high, before placing it on top of Camu’s chest, identifying him for eternity as one of Athena’s Gold saints.
Milo hadn’t been sure that he could identify that body as his friend.
Camus had looked so pale. Milo had always thought that describing a dead body as a mere ‘shell” was an exaggeration, just a metaphor to help one self to cope with what was going on, but it had turned out, that it was the most fitting word to describe the flesh that had been left behind.
All that Camus had been was long gone, and Milo had known just by looking at the body, when he was making his way up to face Saga, at Athena’s chambers, when the battle had ended.
It was all that was left for him. For the living. First an empty body and now a grave.
“I know,” the soldier answered, bringing Milo back to reality. “I don’t even know how we are going to carry it out of here! If only we could melt it, it’d be easier.... Besides all this gold could be put to some use, Don’t you think?”
“Melt it?” the other soldier added with a mocking tone. “Man, you are unbelievable! I really think, you should shut up. Someone is going to hear us.”
“Come on...!” the man answered between laughs while the other one turned around to see over his shoulder to check that they were alone. “I will shut up, but you know I do have a point, or would you want to hang it on your wall, as a little reminder of what it represents?”
“Nice to know you’ve never been to a museum.”
Both of them laughed, but Milo paid no attention. He felt something snapping inside of his mind.
It had been enough.
Looters or no looters, he had had enough.
“Fuckers...” he said in a whisper, standing up with bloody murder in his eyes.
In a swift movement, Milo jumped the gravestone in front of him and got ready to fight. One of the soldiers noticed him and opened his mouth to say something, but it was too late for explanations.
“What the hell...?” the soldier exclaimed, making the other one turn, who in an attempt of running away, tripped over, throwing the oboli and the box into the air. Milo caught up both items in midair, and grabbed the nearest soldier by the neck, who squealed like a pig.
He was going to enjoy this.
“Wait...” the soldier said between gasps, while he tried to make Milo let him go before his neck snapped.
“Shut the fuck up!”
Milo’s eyes went straight to look for the body, but the grave was empty. And not only there was no sign that Athena or Mu having been there, but to make things worse, his nostrils detected a slight odor in the air, already fading away, as if something had gone rotten, hours ago.
Oh please, don’t let it be Camus...
Now it was time to panic.
“Where the hell is the body?” he asked with his teeth clenched in anger, flaring his cosmos as a warning.
“Please, let go of him” the soldier holding the shield begged, not backing down. The gesture only made Milo angrier.
“How dare you?” Milo said in a hiss, squeezing harder. “You’d better answer me, because you are next on my list.”
“The... body... is... with...Lady Athena...” the one on his grasp answered with tears already falling from his eyes. He was blue due the lack of air in his lungs. Milo was sure he was going to pass out any minute now. “They told us...the Aquarius... Saint....will live again...please... let... me... go...”
Milo narrowed his eyes, and turned around to verify if what he had been told was true. The Soldier nodded with a terrified expression in his eyes, while his hairy hands went up and down the edges of the shield, nervously.
“He’s telling the truth Sir,” the man answered, now addressing him as protocol dictated. “He’ll be brought back in the upcoming Panathenaea festivities. We were just sent here to pick up the remains of the burial.”
Milo thought it was a joke. It sure sounded like one. It was then when he heard footsteps approaching the top.
He turned around to meet Shaina and two men climbing up the hill. He didn’t recognize either of the men, but both wore the black capes that identify them as part of Athena’s staff, the Skabo, who among other things were in charge of dealing with every ritual that concerned the dead, and who could prepare a body that had been long dead for a successful resurrection.
Milo loosened his grip on the soldier, who fell down to the ground, coughing for air.
He didn’t wait for Shaina to reach the top of the hill. The presence of the Skabo, indicated that it was all true anyway, so he climbed down from the Crysateos and hurried up his step towards the path that led to the 12 temples.
The Aquarius Saint will live again...
Those words haunted him. Even when he knew such things were possible in this place, he could not force himself to believe it.
The day that Camus died had been the darkest moment of his life. He could still remember his friend’s cosmos fading away into the night, barely reaching him in an unspoken goodbye.
Milo had known that day would come. They both were warriors and their life was not theirs to spend. Still, he had never thought that Camus would fall the way he did: by teaching a last lesson to his student. A lesson that had nothing to do with the war that had almost destroyed the Order.
That was the reason why, Milo had pleaded to Athena to reconsider Camus’s case. Seeing how all the bronze saints that had fought on her side had been brought back to life, gave him a little hope. Maybe not everything was lost. He was sure that when he explained Camus’s true feelings about the battle, the Aquarius Saint would be granted with a second chance.
But he had been wrong.
Athena said she would consider it, but at first dismissed his request, as there had been far too many important things to attend to, like the foretold coming of Hades, which the order was not prepared for. There was too much to do before thinking about bringing back someone who, in Athena’s eyes, even if he had been loyal, had put his personal decisions before the Order’s needs.
Milo had been crushed. Before Camus came along, he didn’t know if he was ever going to become a Gold Saint, and now that he had died, he wasn’t very sure he would be able to go on. As to what had changed Athena’s heart, he didn’t know, but it was something that he was not going to question. After all, Camus was coming back and that was all that mattered.
Many men and women had asked what they would do if they had a second chance with the people that had passed away. A question with no possible answer as death was something that one could not undo. But now that he had been granted with that opportunity, nothing could go wrong from now on.
He pressed the box slightly to his body, thinking about all the things he would be able to do, in all the things he would be able mostly, to continue once his friend was alive again.
When he reached the 12 temples entrance, he made a turn and headed to his temple.
He gave a sprint and started to jump, to shorten the long distance and in a matter of minutes he was at his doorstep.
The entrance of the Scorpius temple looked somber. In other times it had made a great view against the clear blue skies of Greece. Now it looked mangled, worse than it had looked when it had been partially destroyed during his last battle, due to all the scaffolds that had been raised against the main facade of the building, for about a month now. There were buckets of paint, wide brushes and a ridiculous amount of plastic, some of which had already been spread wide through out the main hall, indicating that his temple had been scheduled for painting.
Milo rolled his eyes, cursing for a moment that Lady Athena was not a wide bellied pirate with little understanding of interior decoration. He was tired of seeing his home turned upside down on behalf of what could be regarded as a party. It indicated him that the period of turmoil that had cast a shadow over them for the past 13 years, just wasn’t over yet.
He sighed, leaning against one of the pillars, shaking his head and trying to focus on what was important now: Camus’s return.
Yes, that was all that matters now, he thought with a smile on his lips and walked to one side of the temple where the marble floor ended and the cliffs began. He stopped right on the edge and stared below where the training grounds were and Milo couldn’t help to acknowledge how far he had come.
He and Camus used to sit on this very spot to stare at the training grounds, with a grin on their mouths, reminiscing old times when they both were fighting their way to the top, to the very houses in which they sat on so grandiosely as Gold Saints.
It was Milo’s favorite spot, and way before the war, when Camus was far away in Siberia, he would walk there, and stare to his friend’s temple, that had been a safe spot where he could shelter himself when the cloth became a duty too heavy to bear.
But it had been long since he had done this.
The Aquarius temple had been empty for quite a while and now instead of a shelter to which he can count on regardless, it had become an immovable reminder of what he no longer possessed. When he stared at it, he saw what it lacked: the master that should’ve been staring back at him in the distance, just as Camus’s body was missing a soul that was meant to connect to his.
He’d tried not to forget their tradition just to keep things normal, but after a couple of days, he soon realized that he could not go on pretending that everything was as before, because it just wasn’t. And if he was to move on, he would have to put the past behind him.
And so the cliffs became off limits and the grass and the weed that in other times had been nicely trimmed and kept and bay, now ran freely within all the crevices of the marble.
What would Camus say if he saw the placed where they used to hang out so untidy? What would his friend say if he knew how hard it had been for him to be without him?
Probably he would disregard the whole thing, branding it as childish. After all, they were warriors, were they not? Personal lives, he would say, were not important, only their duty.
And that’s why Milo was still here, carrying on, despite his loss.
The order had done the same, rebuilding his temple to all it’s glory, as soon as all the dead were buried, covering the past with each layer of paint. Life, after all goes on.
Milo let his head fall into his hands and started to laugh, softly. Out of nervousness, more than anything else. This was unbelievable.
The Aquarius Saint will live again...
The words echoed in his mind.
The Aquarius Saint Will live again...
“Oh Camus....you lucky son of a bitch...”
“Oh, so you know?”
Milo turned around to find Hyoga staring at him. He was wearing only jeans, carrying on his hands two six packs of beer.
“I just found out this morning. Cool, uh?”
Milo couldn’t say anything. He was absorbed in the image of Camus's student, who despite coming to the Sanctuary as a treacherous rebel, had risen to become one of the most powerful warriors in the Order, earning the Aquarius Cloth in the process.
He had grown to become a confident and attractive young man, with fine features that were framed by his golden mane that now ran to his middle back.
Hyoga, The Aquarius saint...
Milo closed his eyes briefly, feeling suddenly dizzy. Even if the Skabo successfully resurrected his friend, they would be bringing back only that: a friend, because the Aquarius saint was already there, in front of him, looking at him with a calm expression set in his clear blue eyes.
“Yes, I found out this morning on my weekly visit to his grave,” Milo said, trying to conceal his shock for the little epiphany he had just by looking at him. “I thought someone had looted his grave, go figure...”
“I did, actually,” the Russian said, leaning on one of the columns. “ I figured no one had told you. That’s why I went to look for you, to warn you, but you’d already left, so...”
Milo looked to the ground biting his lip. He didn’t know what to say. The previous happiness of the moment was leaving him, his feelings of joy replaced by something that resembled shame. Of having dismissed Hyoga on behalf of his best friend.
They remained silent for a couple of minutes, until Hyoga turned around, with the intention of leaving.
“I was on my way to tell you...” Milo said, almost blurting out the words, making Hyoga stop on his tracks.
Of course, he was lying . He now knew, just by looking at Hyoga, that he wouldn’t be able to tell him.
In other times, the news would have come as a breath of fresh air for both. Milo had been mourning and Hyoga had had to take too many responsibilities. Camus’s presence would surely have been the perfect medicine for both of them.
But Camus hadn’t been there. He had died, leaving an unsolvable dilemma that had become an unexpected beginning. It had been the perfect catalyst for empathy, for trust, for friendship, and later on, an unsaid invitation for both of them to explore something beyond the limits of friendship.
Now the former solution to their problems, was if anything, a bucket of cold water. At least, it felt like that for Milo.
There was no need to deny that Hyoga had only been here, because Camus hadn’t. Milo couldn't help but to wonder if they would have connected the way they did, if his friend had been alive. Probably not in the intimate way they had done. Still, speculating about things that weren’t wasn't important now, it was a waste of time. The reality was that they both had committed to each other, stretching out their arms in order to form a bridge which would lessen the distance between their two worlds.
The result had been a relationship so deep and meaningful, that just wouldn't be fair, or easy, to disregard.
But if Camus came back, would the relationship continue to go on unchanged?
Milo didn't know how Hyoga felt about it though, but even when he knew where he was standing, he could already feel that the news alone had formed an invisible barrier between them.
“No need... I was the first to know, because of you know... obvious reasons.” Hyoga answered him, with a smile set on his lips.
“Yes, of course” he said, swallowing hard.
It was Hyoga’s turn to nod, before he turned around and slowly began to walk out of the temple.
Milo gave a few steps, with the intention of following him. He lifted his hand as if trying to reach Hyoga. He wanted to tell him nothing would change between them, even if Camus became part of the picture now, but he stopped midway. After all who was he trying to fool? Of course things would change.
They already had.
TUESDAY
Hyoga sat down using the remains of a column as an improvised bench.
The gates of the Sanctuary stood in front of him, where several soldiers ran back and forth very attentive to all the military vehicles that arrived one after another, carrying all sorts of items for the upcoming celebration. Above, the scorching sun was at its zenith, letting Hyoga known that it was 12 o’clock already.
He knew he should be playing the role that protocol demanded; running errands for Athena, taking part on every ritual that was compulsory for the high ranked members of the order, but he just wanted to take a break.
Thankfully Saori had let him have his way, and so he retreated to the entrance of the Holy Land, where he could see the city of Athens and be with himself, if only for a little while. He could only think about Camus. In fact that was the only thought that occupied his mind, ever since Saori had told the news to him.
His teacher, and all that he represented, terrified him.
Camus had been cold and strict, a man so unreachable who above all despised human emotions because he regarded them as a weakness. A weakness that Hyoga had as his main trait, and that he couldn’t get rid of, no matter how hard his teacher had tried to strip him of it.
For that reason alone his teacher had bullied him, never leaving an inch open to show that he cared about him beyond training, to the point that Hyoga couldn’t help but to wonder if the man in front of him was in fact human at all.
Hyoga now realized that this last conclusion was childish. After all, now that he was an adult, he understood that Camus had been committed to his craft, to train the perfect warrior.
But back then, that assumption had been taken literally. Camus must have come from outer space and Hyoga would sometimes observe his teacher with the corner of his eye, trying to figure him out, thinking that at some point he would be able to break the ice, and be treated with the same considerations as Isaac.
That never happened though.
Once, during a local country fair, Camus had allowed both of them to go to it, as training had been interrupted by a good unexpected weather and ice was running so thin that neither of them could use the surroundings to practice their lessons.
He and Isaac had returned late at night, to find their teacher sitting on a chair near the chimney reading. Hyoga had bought a small tin toy that had cost a few rubles, that for some reason despite its misshapen form, had reminded him of his teacher. The small toy was an abstract and childish representation of the ice warriors, whom the town’s people had in high regard due to the peace and justice they had brought along with the order to the far edges of Siberia.
Hyoga had thought the gift was perfect for his teacher and he had bought it with hopes that Camus would see the gesture as a sign of the admiration that he had for him. Camus had accepted the gift, but he had lectured him about how irresponsible it had been, to spent his money on something useless. Hyoga had told him as an excuse that he had been reminded of him, but the explanation only made his teacher angrier and ended up leaving both of them alone in the living room to make dinner for themselves.
That was the way things were with the former Aquarius Saint. And that’s how they remained even after Hyoga had gained his armor, because as soon as the training was done Camus had gone back to Greece, to continue with his life. A life that was cut short on behalf of a lesson, which raised Hyoga as the master of ice and as the ideal substitute for a person that he did not quite like or understand.
It was true that the image of his teacher softened, during their battle. Camus, after all, had been the father that he had never had, and the conscience that for so long prevented him from falling into the abyss. For that, Hyoga had let his heart open in the last minute, telling Camus what he hadn’t been able while he had been by his side: that he was grateful to him and regretted the way things had turned out.
Nevertheless there was this other side of his teacher that conveyed what he feared the most, because his detachment from everyone and everything around only showed how trivial and purposeless Hyoga’s life had been up until that moment. And that scared the hell out of him.
Even if Camus had been right and he had Hyoga figured out, the young man didn’t want to face that again. Not now, not ever.
And now that he was the Aquarius Saint, he couldn’t help but wonder how his teacher was going to take the news. Camus himself had told him that he was not fit for the cloth, when Isaac had died. It didn’t matter if he had been appointed to be the bearer. It was clear to him that his teacher would not be impressed with that.
Layers of metal would not make a damned difference to the person who was wearing them, because despite the experiences that he had had as the Cygnus Saint, he still was all too emotional.
Hyoga sighed heavily, looking down at the ground. This was getting too complicated by the minute.
“Greeting, Aquarius Gold Saint,”
He lifted his head, to meet Shun who was bowing in front of him in mock reverence, carrying the Andromeda cloth on his back. Hyoga rolled his eyes.
It was the last thing he needed, to be addressed as that, as it sent shivers down his back because it inevitably reminded him of what he would have to face in less than a week.
Still, he offered his brother a smile. It had been quite a while since he had seen Shun and his presence brought a distraction to his problems. It was better to play it cool as his brother, despite his happy go-lucky attitude, had proven to be bad ass when he was angry. It was better to follow his lead and let him have his way.
“Hi, Andromeda Saint. What is the most powerful, and beautiful saint doing in the Holy Land?” Hyoga answered, without being able to restrain himself.
“I get the powerful, but beautiful?” Shun said frowning, putting his finger on his cheek.
“Well,” Hyoga answered, with an amused tone in his voice. “Since Misty is dead and you killed Aphrodite...”
Shun only rolled his eyes, and smiled “If you say so...To answer your question, I came for the festivities. Saori invited me, you know. I thought she had told you about it, Seiya and the others are coming as well...”
“Is that so?” Hyoga asked, standing up to face his friend who was wearing jeans and a flowery shirt, as if he was just a mere tourist that had strayed off the path, and not a Saint of Athena. Now that Shun had been relieved from his post, he looked weird carrying his cloth on his back. It simply looked out of place.
“Yes. I thought you were here waiting for me...” Shun answered, amicably as usual.
“Sorry to disappoint, you my friend,” he answered, with a crooked mischievous smile. “But I was taking a break from duty.”
“Well, since you are here. Would you mind helping me with my bags?”
Shun pointed to three heavy bags that were next to him. Hyoga just raised an eyebrow. The bags looked heavy as hell, with bumps coming out all over the surface as if the things inside of them had been crammed with force.
“Do you expect me to carry that?” it was Hyoga’s turn to point at the bags. “I’m not your lackey, you know?”
“No, but you are my brother,” Shun answered, matter of factly, offering an innocent smile. And you owe me, I saved your life risking mine remember?”
“You are never letting that go, are you?”
“Nop...” Shun said lifting a finger. “Besides Ikki said that as the youngest, I’m your responsibility so you have to help me. What if I get bruised on my way up?”
It was Hyoga’s turn to roll his eyes. There was no chance that Shun could get bruised carrying a bunch of bags, nevertheless, his brother stared at him with his eyes wide open, and his face set with the cutest of looks.
“Damn it, Shun. But you can’t use this against me again. Not while you are here.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” His brother answered, jumping a little. “Shiryu, Ikki and Seiya are coming too. So just don’t tell them that I already used this on you and we’re even.”
“Unless you are bringing a piano, I don’t think that’s much of a consolation for me, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t be such a lazy bones!” Shun retorted, picking up a bag by the handle and offering it to him “It’s not like it’s going to kill you anyway, and besides we can have a nice conversation in our way up, which we haven’t had for a long time...”
Hyoga did as he was told, carrying two of the suitcases. Shun grabbed the third one, and a portable easel that had been standing behind him, and they both made their way up to the stairs towards Saori’s private chambers while they caught up about their lives.
“What the hell are you carrying, Shun? Rocks?” Hyoga asked, half panting, when they reached the inner hall of his temple.
“Just my painting materials,” Shun answered, while putting the case of his armor down next to him, along with the easel that rattled heavily as soon as it touched the marble floor. “I forgot to tell you, but now that you brought it up, I was chosen to do an exhibit in Germany during September. I was hoping you could come.”
Hyoga smiled upon hearing this. Of all the bronze saints, Shun had been the most successful on moving on after the war, making the most of his days as a civilian. He sure had come back whenever Saori needed him, just like he had done now, for the festivities, but duty itself was something that he had long ago put behind. Now he was a rising promising landscape artist, who had a future that wouldn’t be tarnished by war, at the grasp of his hands. And Hyoga couldn’t help but to envy him a little for that.
He had never been able to stray off the path that had been given to him, because he knew that straying of, led to destruction.
It was true that all of the Kido siblings, had been forced into sainthood. But it was also true that some of them had remained there because they had found a purpose through it. Shiryu and Seiya were the perfect example of this, and neither of them had wanted any life beyond the walls of the Sanctuary, not because they were shortsighted but because they saw in their duty the noblest of ways in which to conduct their lives.
For Hyoga however, being a Saint meant going back to his mother. To the world that had ended when she had died, and he had felt nothing but loneliness without a direction to go from there. If he had been given a choice, he would have rather drowned alongside his mother, so that all that pain would have ended forever. But Sainthood had brought him closer to his mother and to the path that he had so abruptly lost when he had been only five years old.
Now he realized he had lied to himself, because no matter how strong or good a Saint he became, he would not be able to bring his mother back. Still he had denied this for a while, killing several people due to his stubbornness.
That had been no path at all, and even if Camus had tried to teach him that, giving Hyoga a chance to find a different way to live, he could not reach his hand out to fully embrace it because he wanted to stick to the past. Just as he was doing now as a saint of Aquarius, in which he was honoring old orders that would distance him from the new.
Hyoga was not only tied to his past, he was also afraid of change. He didn’t know how to handle it.
“You are very brave Shun,” he said, walking besides him. “I’m very proud of you”
Hyoga hugged him and Shun tensed a bit in his embrace. Then after a couple of seconds his brother returned the gesture, placing his arms around him, holding him tight.
“I’m proud of you too, you know? All of us are.” Shun said, breaking their embrace. Hyoga looked at him, with a sad expression set on his face.
While he appreciated the comment, he didn’t understand why everybody kept regarding the possession of the Gold Cloth as something to be proud of. It was his just because the former owner had forfeited his right with his death.
“Well, yeah...” Hyoga answered, scratching his head, diverting his eyes to a wall.
“Hey,” Shun said, looking directly at him while touching Hyoga’s head forcing him to face him. “Look how far you’ve gone Hyoga... You are the Aquarius Saint, and that’s something to be proud of, right?”
“Yeah, of course” he answered batting his hand, laughing a little and lying completely about his true feelings. “But is not that big a deal...”
Being the Aquarius saint only showed how things remained the same. He had just accepted it because Saori had asked him as a friend. He couldn’t have cared less about the post.
If they only knew...
Shun closed the distance on him. Now their faces were inches apart.
“Isn’t it?” his brother asked again, fixing his gaze on him and pronouncing all the words carefully as if he was addressing a child.
“No,” Hyoga answered truthfully this time, with a dry tone in his voice, remembering the box which contained the cloth which was now hidden in his closet. “I haven’t even worn the armor yet, you know?”
Shun just looked to the floor, apparently not knowing what to say. Maybe having taken the hint that Hyoga felt uncomfortable around that subject.
“Well, all in good time, Hyoga. All in good time,”
“Yeah” Hyoga said, tilting his head. “Although I don’t know how to feel about it. He is coming back you know?”
“He who?” Shun asked, confused.
“Camus,” Hyoga answered with a tired tone in his voice. He had though that the news would shock his brother, considering that he had already show him, if only briefly, how conflicted he felt about his post. But on the contrary, Shun smiled widely and hugged him.
“That’s so perfect!” he exclaimed and Hyoga had to give a few steps back not to fall over with Shun on top. “I knew Saori would reconsider...I bet Milo is also beaming with joy.”
Hyoga’s body tensed as soon as Shun uttered Milo’s name.
Yesterday when he had looked at him, the Scorpio Saint had a weird expression on his face, and Hyoga couldn’t help but to feel that Milo had forgotten him completely because of the news. It had been as if Milo didn’t know who he was when he had looked at him.
“What do you think...?” he finally answered returning back to reality, with a hint of disappointment in his voice. “They were best friends, remember...?”
Shun pressed his lips tight, evidently noticing things had gone sour while Hyoga tried his hardest to recollect himself.
“Don’t worry, I know things will stay the same between you and him...”
Hyoga diverted his eyes again, blushing a little. Of course things would never be the same between him and Milo.
Over the last months they had developed a relationship that had started as a consequence of Camus’s death. Friendship and curiosity from Hyoga’s part had ended as something that could be labeled as an affair.
Back then, when both of them started to hit it off as friends, the rest of the bronze saints had objected to the experiment. They knew Hyoga was vulnerable, and would cling to anyone who could be somehow related to his past. They were very aware of this, and they advised him not to be open with Milo, who besides of being his teacher’s best friend, had one of the worst reputations at the Holy Land.
He had done otherwise in an attempt to understand Camus and change himself.
Hyoga knew that Milo, as the best friend of his teacher would broaden the picture not only of the cold man, but that of his years as a trainee and set him free somehow.
But Milo had done more than that, talking his ears out with endless anecdotes about life beyond the Sanctuary. Stories that involved women, men and missions that varied from duty to personal affairs.
Hyoga ended up truly admiring Milo for who he was. He was a Saint, yes, but also a man in all the complete sense of the word, who had experimented all paths in life without fearing the outcome. Without fearing what was in front of him. He was so much more than the cruel killer for hire, or the crazy sex-driven bisexual that everyone thought he was.
Milo was, in many ways, the voice that came from inside Hyoga. A voice that he was never able to hear and which with Milo by his side, he was starting to decipher.
Up until then, Hyoga had no clue about the world that laid beyond the Order, but through Milo he was able to have a taste of it, without risking much. And so kisses and caresses became a habit between them and though they never crossed the line to become lovers, Hyoga knew he was enjoying the game which increased in level every now and then, and forced him to go up a notch to test himself.
It had highlighted a new path for him. He had allowed himself to fantasize that Milo would be always there. Their friendship, after all was strong, something that Hyoga was happy to have in this new stage of his life. But with Camus’s returning, there was no knowing what could happen.
It would be petty of him to say that Camus would force him to give things up. After all, Camus had been Milo’s friend up until the moment he had died. But how would his teacher feel about a relationship that went beyond friendship? More over, how would Milo feel about Hyoga, when that gap of friendship in which the role of confident had been played by him during the last months was restored by the presence of his true friend?
Hyoga smiled, looking to the floor. There were so many things that they said they would do, but they never did for being so caught in filling the void that Camus had left for better or for worse in his lives. Even if he didn’t love Milo, he wanted to know him better and now he was running out of time...
“Hyoga?” Shun asked, bringing him back to reality. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yeah,” Hyoga answered, faking a smile. “I know that Milo cares about me, but you know... My teacher... I mean Camus will always be his best friend... And I wouldn’t want to be the third wheel.”
“He befriended you for a reason, Hyoga. Camus can’t give him everything, you know?”
Hyoga sighed feeling, overwhelmed and conflicted by the comment. Still his brother was right. There were some things that Camus could not give to Milo.