Community Zine

“I figured I would find you with these things,” says Dimitri, words carrying over
the wind as though he is far away. Felix is sitting against a geolith in the figure of a
worn lion, his back to the westward wind. He forces down the instinct to tense at the
sudden noise, blinks away the veil of half-sleep from his eyes and picks out the slight
tremor in Dimitri’s voice.
It’s out of place. Dimitri only sounds like that on nights he wears a hole in the
ground from pacing, unable to sleep. Only when he jerks awake, eyes wild and wet,
bright like the carnage of his dreams.
Felix sneers. “Don’t you have some coronation to be at?”
“I wanted you to be there,” Dimitri replies, rounding the geolith so he is but a few
paces away. “So it’s on hold until you will be.”
Felix takes in Dimitri’s appearance. He has changed into newer clothes, ones that
fit with his monstrous height with a combat edge. A blue synthetic cape flows down
from his shoulders like the crush of a distant avalanche. Destructive and renewing.
Admittedly a welcome distraction from the endless white and grotesque hearts that
do not beat for him. Even through his smile, the princeling looks haggard.
“You look like hell,” Felix says, and Dimitri laughs.
“I do,” he says. When Felix does not respond, he sighs and walks a bit closer. Not
close enough that they would be sitting side to side, as they had done before, but with
just enough distance to be out of Felix’s sword range. “I asked the archbishop about
the war. About why he chose to put us to sleep as the world destroyed itself instead of
letting us fight.”
“You know me well,” Dimitri intones. The tremor in his voice has died down, just a
bit. His hands are still clenched.
“The war is done, the threat is long dead. This time has no need for soldiers,” Felix
says scathingly, finding that the words come out angrier than he feels. Right now, he
is just so tired. “Faerghus needs a king, not someone who wants to relive the memories
of a god’s massacre.”
“He had his reasons,” Dimitri says, “And the archbishop has made it clear he will
provide all the assistance we will need in reawakening our home. Would you accompany
me?”
Felix closes his eyes. On his other side, the geolith’s lights pulse in time with a heartbeat
he cannot hear or feel. “Why should I.”
“I could never ask Sylvain,” Dimitri says, so suddenly and seriously that Felix bites
his lip to keep from chuckling. “The others don’t like to fight. Many have already set
aside their weapons for other pursuits, but you haven’t. You haven’t forgotten battle.”
He doesn’t even falter when Felix fixes his glare on him. “You can’t forget.”
“Shut up,” Felix says, standing abruptly. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
Dimitri’s smile is sad and Felix hates it. Hates that he cannot look away from it.
“Edelgard died by his hand,” Dimitri continues. “There are… pieces of the war, memories
of those who died scattered into these geoliths around. I could never speak with
them when we were younger but,” he stops himself for a moment, turning around so
that he can lean back against the uneven structure and slide down. “I tried again just
before I found you. I saw things from even before the war.”
“Duscur,” Felix says, almost reflexively. He quickly averts his eyes when Dimitri turns
to him.
“I won’t ask you to go to Garreg Mach,” Dimitri says. “But I do want you to return
with me to Faerghus soon.”
“You plan to go memory diving,” Felix says numbly. He finds it gut wrenchingly
ironic that despite being launched a century into the future, the poor prince is still
scouring for anything to piece together what had been denied to them.