The Road Home

[old_man_acht]

The driver does not protest at being awakened at this late hour; he has had protest culled from his code and replaced with a perfect knowledge of the roadways between Fuyuki and the nearest airfield. When Acht says, "There is a man on the road ahead. Keep the headlamps off, and search for his light," the driver says only, "Yes, sir" in reply and starts the car.

Acht has never heard him say anything but "Where to?" and "Yes, sir." While rage burns hot in his breast, he thinks that he would never like to hear anything but "Yes, sir" again.

He forces himself calm, forces his circuits open. He lacks Larasviel's innate ability to interface with the terrain--but one man on a smooth-stuttering engine, while the rest of the forest huddles under the new-fallen snow, he can follow like a trail of blood.

Comments

[old_man_acht]

"Why would I hurt her?" He still has that shuttered look; he sees Risei as through a window of pieced glass, tinted snow-blue and blood-red. "She has no intention of calling Executors down on Fuyuki. She had nothing to do with the bloodbath on the train." SORRY YOU MISSED THE PARTY, PRIEST, those bloody letters had said; those passengers had died for him, had they not?

[come_to_spoil_everything]

Risei chokes on his breath and the swelling steam from his bike. The train. Of course they know about the tragedy on the train, and of course a magus would use that to hurt Risei, make him seem the monster. "Good, then--then there's nothing. Don't blame her. I came to the forest. She told me not to and I came anyway. I'm sorry, Mr. Einzbern."

And with that, he barely manages to lift the bike a precious three inches off his leg. The old man's blood drips onto it, the same color as the casing.

[old_man_acht]

"Stay." The melting snow around the hot bike freezes to ice--holds the bike clear of Risei, but also holds Risei to the frozen ground. "Think on why you disobeyed her until the ice takes you."

He returns unsteadily to the car; the driver has arisen from his seat to hold the door for him. "Drive," he says, this time in Japanese, and the driver restarts the engine.

[come_to_spoil_everything]

Risei's heart stalls, then flares up until the arteries in his neck protrude from his skin with every burst. The cold is unbearable, holds him frozen up to the thigh, and it's all Risei can do to open his circuits and call on his ability to heal so that he doesn't lose the leg entirely. But that healing is confined to his skin, and if anything the expansion of his flesh makes the ice even more painful.

The car drives away, skirts the pool of black ice and takes off back into the forest. A slap of slush floors over the bike and Risei's legs, adding insult to injury and compounding the thickness of the ice. He'll never be able to get the bike out on his own now, no matter the magic, but he has to survive first--

The flare casing. That first. If Risei pulls himself up from the snow he can just barely reach it. He does, cracks the top and sets one flare alight and rams it into the snow beside him in case he passes out. The next, he brings closer to the ice around his leg, carefully strafes it until the ice begins to melt. He can spare enough magic to warm his body and speed this along, but only that, and he mostly just twists and pries, millimeter by millimeter, until the ice chips and the circumference is wide enough escape.

It takes nearly an hour to free his leg. If not for his healing magic he would have died of exposure fifteen minutes ago.

And he still has a long ride--no, walk--back to the church.