ā. 1 || The Paladin || #D4AC0D
āHello?ā His voice was scratchy from the early morning, the cobwebs of sleep still tugging his mind back under. Heād arrived in Rio Grande a few days ago and was still adjusting to the time change. Lucien was early for this year's fishing season, so heād promised to be on call for a new fishing crew he didnāt normally sail with. Usually his phone was lost somewhere in a coat pocket or bag, but heād actually kept the ringer on and phone charged for once.
āLucien,ā Lucky whispered in a hush tone, as if her voice could carry down the hall and stairs, into the formal where Sven and Ronan waited. āPlease say youāre on the way.ā
The sun was filtering in the small window next to his bed, warming a patch across his face and giving him enough of a charge to pull himself upright. He āhmmmedā into the phone at his sister, scratching a hand through salt tangled hair as he tried to sort out why the hell she would think heād be on the way anywhere.
āGot any idea what time it is here?ā He grumbled as he pulled the blinds up the window and directed himself fully into the sun's light, āAre you drunk or something?ā
āWhat the fuck are you talking about? You better be on the same time zone as the rest of us because right now I am standing in my room. In the Anchor Academy. With Szen and Ronan downstairs.ā Lucky spat as she spoke, her urgency pressed into her consonants. She looked out the window at the sound of the drawbridge lowering, squinting to make out who it was. āDidnāt you get the letter?ā
Lucien let out a shaky breath, Luckyās stressed voice seeping into his bones. Sven, Ronan, and Lucky were are back at the Academy? His mind immediately went to the the last true time the family had gathered, lowering Benās body into the ground while they all stood around him in matching uniforms. Lucienās mind immediately screaming someone died again and he couldnāt stop the wave of anguish that passed over him. If Ronan, Sven, and Lucky were there, then it had to be Vya, Nathan, Uma, or Sav.
āNo. No letter. I'm south for the season and I donāt have an address down hereā His voice was shaking but he was trying his best to adopt that āNumber Oneā tone that meant all business. āWho was it?ā
Lucky almost laughed, sinking back into the chair and massaging her temples. It was some sick irony that left it to her to break the news. The same person who had worked so hard to drive the wedge between them to deliver the final nail in the coffin. She used the butt of one cigarette to light another, wondering to herself if sheād have to go into town to buy another pack before the rest of them showed up.
āItās dad,ā She eventually sighed, watching as Vya exited the car below. āHeās dead.ā
Lucien wasnāt really sure what the first feeling that washed through him was. Relief? That didnāt both him, they all knew Reginald deserved it, but it was also twinged with something like frustration. Leave it to their father to die and still make him feel like he should have been there to stop it. That haunting savior complex that only existed because of that man, what Lucien had spent the majority of his adult life running away from. Now he was washed in the hot morning sun of Argentina, half a world away, and wished he could just be there.
He was quiet for a while, glaring out the window and trying to figure out how to puzzle out his next words and the heaviness in his chest.
āYou donāt have to comeā¦.ā She eventually broke the silence, āI can manage the mess - who knows, maybe even Sav will show. Iāve already seen a couple of ghosts today; another one wouldnāt surprise me.ā
His head was in his hands, the sunlight streaming against his bare back but doing little to comfort him. That relief turned frustration was beginning to darken to anger at his own reaction- Lucien shouldn't care this much. Heās wanted Reginald dead ever since Lucky had tugged him out of their fathers grasp. Maybe he was mad that he wasnāt the one to kill him, though Lucien had never thought of himself as a killer. Maybe he was just angry that Reginald was leaving them all to sort this shit out.
āHow is everyone taking it?ā
Lucky watched as Vya ran full sprint across the drive way toward the graveyard, pulling himself onto Benās statue and melding their foreheads together.
āUgh....well, too soon to tell - but I guess theyāre managing. You know, all things considered.ā Lucky said, her face twisting into a combination of confusion and mild amusement as she watched Vya slowly unravel. āI mean, I havenāt really left my room yet so thatās just based off of first impressions from watching them through the window.ā
āAnd you?ā He paused for a moment, āYou said I don't have to come, but do you want me to come?ā, Do they want me to? went unsaid, but the thought was just one of those pieces he was trying to sort out.
Lucky felt her voice caught in her throat. Not because she didnāt want him to come, or maybe a part of her did - but more than that small bit of regret in that corner of her mind she just wanted to hug her brother. To actually have some sort of physical proof that he wasnāt just some voice at the other end of the phone.
āOf - Of course I do,ā She stumbled over her words at first, suddenly realizing this was the first time sheād spoken to Lucien while sober in maybe years. āI know Iām not the only one either....
āVya, he needs you.ā She added, though her tone made it clear she was referring to herself.
He snorted, āVya needs a lot of thingsā But he actually had a pang of longing for their weird, chaotic brother, āIt would be good to see Mom and Pogo too, Iām sure this is hard on themā
Lucien stood and stretched, suddenly feeling like if he didnt act now heād chicken out and hide with his fishing nets for a few more years.
āI'm south for the season so I gotta figure out a way backā He explained as he walked into the adjoining bathroom, already beginning to pull together a light bag, āIā¦ well I have a vague idea of how to do it, Iāve never flown that far beforeā
Luckyās brow furrowed, āDonāt you fly from Alaska to Argentina? - you know what, it doesnāt matter. Just if you can try to get here before the burial please?ā
Her eyes drifted back to Vya, āI can - do my best to keep them all from spiraling out in the meantime.ā
āThank youā Lucien breathed out, āReally, thank you Lucky. I wouldnāt have known unless you called. Iām kinda proud the old man couldnāt find me in Argentina. Iāll see you when I landā
He hung up, his brain already cycling through how the fuck he was going to fly 6,536 miles without tiring. He probably should have explained to Lucky that he wouldn't be using a plane, though explaining this new growth in his power would take too much of his energy. Lucien understood the logistics, stay high above the clouds, keep the sun on him to charge up, and pack some energy bars for the flight. But the last time Lucien had flown for any length of time beyond some light power practice was six years ago when heād skipped out on the Air Force and flown straight to Alaska.
He texted the fishing crew a vague ātake me off the crew listā and tossed his phone in his small pack. Heād grabbed a change of clothes, his stash of cliff bars, a couple water bottles, and his toothbrush. The small apartment heād rented and few random belongings heād brought would have to be ditched, but he didnāt care. Lucien hadnāt felt a drive like this to act in almost a decade and he was riding that adrenaline ever since Lucky had said yes, she did need him.
The morning was cold unless he stood in the direct sun, but his second-story apartment landing served as a great charging pad. The sky was cloudless, that burning ball that kept him alive a welcome warmth and electric pulse against his tanned skin. He stood there for ten solid minutes, a statue with his eyes closed and head tilted skyward. When he focused on it, it felt like the sun had its piercing eye on him and him alone, its light and warmth zeroed in on its favorite human.
Lucien whispered it a silent thanks, crouched, and allowed glowing tendrils of its light to bloom from his back. Hot like the glowing star itself, they shaped themselves into long feathery wing-like forms. Nothing concrete, only light manifested into power in order to keep him aloft. Similar to his shields, they pulsed with his light power and expelled in all direction, it only took a little maneuvering for Lucien to force them in a specific direction. Lucien reasoned that as long as he stayed high and allowed the sun to keep them charged, heād have no issue reaching the Academy by nightfall.
They moved like his shields, heavy with power but light as the air itself. Lucien drove them downwards, threw himself on the balcony ledge, relished in the freefall before catching himself with a single beat of light, and aimed himself northward.