A House Filled With Night
When the Cracks Make Us Crumble

Runa was at a complete loss. Torin was draped over her shoulder in an impenetrable slumber, Fiske was downstairs bleeding his life out, the rest of the Sons of Midnight were outside fighting an army—and her stupid, stupid mind couldn’t form a clear thought for three seconds straight before returning to some detail of Torin’s kiss.

I should try to haul him upstairs so I can help Casimir to…

The image flashed in her mind once again: Torin’s eyes an inch away from her face, his heavy eyelids slowly falling. The pools of his eyes were watery and dreamy, frightened but desperate. What else was it that she had seen in that expression? Had she imagined it? Was it the tears? The haze? The heat in the room? The insanity of their reality? If not insanity, was it actually—

Runa grew red, slapping her cheeks in frustration. Not now. Stop thinking about it.

She pulled herself to her feet, bending over to catch Torin as he slid to the floor. Taking him upstairs might not be the easiest option, but she had to try. They couldn’t waste another moment in that awful room. But how?

Gathering her strength, she leaned down and tried to haul him upward. She barely got his back one inch off the ground. She positioned herself behind his head, hooked her arms underneath his, and tried to drag him along the floor. She groaned, slipped, and landed backwards onto the ground. He weighed a lot more than she had expected. His deceptively slim figure seemed to be almost entirely composed of heavy muscle. It took her an embarrassing amount of time to just to heave him to the foot of the doorway.

She paused for a break, bending over and panting. Just then, the door swung open and whacked her on the backside. She stumbled and fell forward on her face.

“Oh. Sorry, Runa, I didn’t know you were there.”

Casimir offered a hand.

“Th-thank you.”

He looked down at the limp body just a foot away on the floor. “What’s going on here?”

“I—he—I was trying to take him upstairs.”

“Yeah, I see that, but what happened?”

“Well, he—I’ll tell you, but let’s get him somewhere else first. He shouldn’t be on the floor like this.”

Casimir just shrugged and grunted his assent. It was much easier to transport Torin with the help of his brother. Runa thought he must have a lot of experience dragging others around, based on what she’d seen around the House. She also thought, with something like a shiver, that Niko must be freakishly strong if he could toss Torin over his shoulder like it was nothing.

While the two entered the drawing room and settled Torin onto a couch, Sylvain walked in.

“They’ve retreated,” Sylvain announced, setting his musket on the floor. “How’s Fiske?”

“He managed to stay alive,” answered Casimir, turning.

“Thank God. And Torin?” He eyed the place where his brother lay.

Casimir looked at Runa.

“He’s asleep.”

“Asleep?”

“He fell asleep after…after he—” her voice disappeared into a squeak and all the Sons of Midnight stared at her with various expressions of expectant confusion.

“After…?”

Niko walked in just in time.

“Oh, my goodness, Niko, are you alright?” she asked.

As blatant as the change-of-subject was, both Sylvain and Casimir immediately began fussing over their little brother. He was having none of it. He wanted to see Fiske and Torin.

With their last drop of energy, they hauled Torin to his bedroom and went to check on Fiske in his. The floors were strewn with bloody cloths, pots of water, bandages, and medicine. On the bed, chest bobbing up and down with shallow breaths, but breathing nonetheless, was Fiske.

“This should not have happened,” said Sylvain.

“Agreed,” said Casimir. “Did you find out what’s wrong with the House?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure. It’s just…strange. Everything’s mixed up. Things are out of place, or they’ve changed. After the window broke, I couldn’t think clearly through all the chatter of the House. Nothing makes sense. But there is one thing…something I should show you.”

“What is it?”

Sylvain hesitated. “Not right now. We should at least get something to eat and drink. And wait for Torin to wake up. This isn’t normal for him.”

They brought some food and water and settled down in the salon for a while. Niko began telling Runa about how many soldiers he had bested during the battle, Sylvain stared pensively out of the window, and Casimir started dozing off in a chair.

She saw, out of the corner of her eye, how Sylvain quietly approached Casimir and took him aside to talk in hushed tones. They left for about ten minutes, only to return without saying a word. It wasn’t enough to escape the notice of the two who had been left behind.

“Where did you go?” Niko asked.

Sylvain tossed him a pouch. He opened it, taking out a cookie and popping it into his mouth without question.

“I thought could use more snacks. Looks like Torin is starting to wake up.”

He hadn’t really answered the question. It wasn’t the complete truth, and Runa knew it. But the part about Torin seemed true enough, and she decided it wasn’t worth staying to find out what was really going on if that meant she’d have to face him again so soon.

“I think I’d like to go to bed, if that’s okay.”

“You don’t want to wait for Torin?”

“N-no. That’s fine. I’m tired.”

“Do you need help finding your way there?”

“I think I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.”

She hurried out, hoping her demeanor didn’t seem too odd.

On her way to her room, Runa passed by the door to art gallery. She paused, turned, and looked back up at the door. Perhaps she would take a different route today.

It was empty inside. She looked around, searching for any sign of change, studying the paintings for any clue. There are some things anyone can see if they look hard enough, Sylvain had said. Well, she was certainly looking. Everything looked just as dark and bizarre as usual. Had she missed something?

She passed by another corridor—the corridor, where that unnatural light of the Heart seeped down to the place where she stood. She stopped, hesitated. As much as she didn’t want to go back into that room, to see that strange, pulsating thing that seemed as much a living heart as any other, she somehow knew, in her bones, that it held the answers she was searching for.

Quietly, cautiously, she crept down the corridor, fighting the shiver that pushed up her spine as the eerie glow grew. The great globe of the Heart gradually appeared in her line of sight, rising above the horizon of the corridor like a great, awful moon. The light burned in her eyes, blurring her vision for a moment before it cleared. That was when she saw it: the fine lines, rippling up the sides, jagged and haphazard, gripping the curves of the Heart in a relentless hold.

It had begun to crack.

—

Torin’s bedroom was empty. Sylvain had gone to check on him and bring dinner, only to find a pile of tangled sheets and a discarded pillow on the floor. He frowned.

Ten minutes and six rooms later, Sylvain’s search led him to a dark hallway, deep at the center of the House. He almost tripped over the huddled form pressed against the wall. He almost laughed at himself incredulously. His senses were all off that day.

“Torin?”

A meager groan of affirmation answered him. Despite his size and build, Sylvain couldn’t help but think of a small boy hiding in the darkness as he looked down at his brother: knees pulled up to his chest, head smothered beneath his crossed arms.

“What on earth are you doing here?”

“Sylvain…” he began, lifting his head just enough to be heard. “I’ve done something…I’ve done something, and I can’t undo it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me—what came over me. I’ve never felt any of this before. I-I…I don’t know what to do.”

Sylvain crouched down so he could see his brother face-to-face. Cold streaks of saltwater glistened on his cheeks in the dim light of the room.

“Tell me what’s troubling you.”

Torin nodded, his eyes falling. “Runa.”

Sylvain stiffened. “Go on.”

“She brings something out in me—something I never knew existed. She makes me impulsive, angry, selfish, and foolish. In the past, I could keep it in, I could get a handle on it. But it’s like I can’t control myself anymore.”

His brother frowned but only nodded, urging him to continue.

“That time…when she disappeared with Fiske while we were in town I—I thought my blood was going to boil over. And toward Fiske, my own brother! He’s one of the most precious people in the world to me. Why did I want to punch him so badly, then?”

He exhaled and shook his head, running a shaky hand through his hair. “And when I came back to my senses in the black room today, when I realized how she had stayed with me the whole time, I should’ve scolded her, but I was so happy. But I shouldn’t have been. I hurt her, Sylvain. I could have done more—would have, if not for Casimir’s ribbon. But even after I saw what I had done, how I had hurt her…why? Why did I do that?”

His face fell into his hands.

“Even after all that, I couldn’t stop myself from touching her, from holding her.”

Sylvain’s cloudy thoughts had begun to clear. He saw, in his mind, memories of how his brother had looked away when asked about the missing ring, how he had hidden Runa behind him before the terror of Celemine, how he had trembled with resolve to protect her from any harm. He saw the relentless shame that hid behind his brother’s eyes, that burden which he refused to be free of. The foreboding feeling that had at first weighed in Sylvain’s stomach finally began to dissipate as he recognized the reality behind Torin’s muddled, despairing thoughts.

“You love her.”

Torin’s head shot up, his eyes cold and narrow. “Don’t you dare suggest such a thing. I would never do that to her.”

“You don’t understand what love is, Torin.”

“Oh, yes. I think I do. Or am I not evidence enough of its consequences?”

“You’re lying to yourself. You’re just afraid.”

Torin stood slowly, stretching himself out to his full height so that he could stare his brother straight in the eyes.

“Fear is the last thing standing between me and complete madness. Fear is all I have left.”

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~ A/N ~

Okay, I’m curious - now that we’re a little farther along in the story, is your favorite brother still the same? Or has your opinion changed since then?

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