Chapter Text
In hindsight, Laios always knew he was hungry.
Hunger, gnawing at his stomach, his heart, his skin practically itching for it. As a kid, hungry to be understood, to be out from under their overbearing parents, to make sure his sister was safe. As an adolescent, hungry to make friends, to be normal , to survive the army hellscape he found himself in. As a man, hungry to learn, to discover, to experience and dream and overcome.
Hungry, every sense of the word living in him, thrumming like a drum with each heartbeat, coating him like a second skin.
Maybe that was what the winged lion was really looking for: someone just as hungry as it was.
Laios dreams of what it felt like to be full; belly distended, mind and body lax with the weight of a good meal. He always wakes up sweating, desperate, his teeth gnashing to bite down into something that would satiate him.
In his waking hours, Laios surrounds himself with the friends that live in the castle with him. Really, it’s not like he has a choice in the matter. He is the king, after all. It’s his duty, his shackles, to stay where he is expected, to serve a country he didn’t totally deserve or was ready for.
Still, he tries. Kabru drags him to meeting after meeting, whispering in his ear about important topics and talking points, pinching and kicking him under the table when he nods off or zones out. Marcille continues his magic lessons; unable to cast any spells herself, she mostly instructs him, nudging his hands into the correct positions or poking at his temples to try and direct his thoughts, mostly with mixed results. Yaad walks him through the countryside, showing him the blooming agriculture, the flourishing towns, the benefits of his efforts and his rule. Falin finds him in his free time, a stone or a jewel or a monster remnant always in tow, filling him in on the dead dungeon exploration and what explorers are finding and exchanging in the markets. He keeps every treasure she brings him, the shelves and tabletops in his sleeping quarters littered with each gift, carefully sorted and curated.
Sometimes, when even sleep evades him, Laios sits and documents each one by candlelight, noting their origins, their significance, their purpose.
Other times, he explores the castle. At first, it was to get his bearings, memorizing which hallways lead to where, how many doors down until the war room, the way someone would map out a particularly challenging floor of a dungeon. When the important bits were memorized, Laios started expanding, exploring rooms that were never used, peeking into cupboards and prying up loose tiles for any secrets.
That’s how he found the box. It was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, its dark wood covered in a heavy layer of dust that hid the carvings of intricate swirling letters in a language he didn’t know.
“Oh, Laios, that’s pretty!” Marcille coos at breakfast as Laios sets the box down on the dining table. He didn’t even realize he was carrying it with him, a strange magnetism tying his hand to the box.
“Where did you find that?” Kabru hums, taking a sip from his glass, eyebrows raised.
“Around, I guess,” Laios shrugs, taking his seat. A plate is placed in front of him immediately, piled high with what used to be his breakfast favorites. They look bland, unappealing, now. He makes no move to pick up his utensils.
“Well, that’s comforting,” Marcille pouts. Worry creases her brow, her delight towards the box immediately soured.
“It’s thrilling!” Falin says through her mouthful, her fork clattering to the table before clapping a couple times. “It’s just like a little mystery! What is it used for? Is there anything in it?”
The questions occurred to him when he found it, and Laios smiles just a bit at his sister’s enthusiasm. Emboldened, Laios picks up the box and shakes it lightly, a small clinking emanating from inside.
“There’s something inside it, all right,” he hums in affirmative, “but there’s no way to open it. I’ve already tried.”
“That really is comforting,” Kabru says sarcastically, eyes darting to Marcille as he echoes her suspicion. “Shouldn’t you just, I don’t know, put it back or something? It could be dangerous!”
“Kabru, it would’ve hurt him or someone else by now if it was truly dangerous,” Falin soothes.
“It doesn’t seem malicious either,” Marcille considers, “from a magical standpoint, at least.”
“Maybe the castle wanted me to find it,” Laios says.
“Laios, the castle isn’t alive,” Kabru sighs. “It’s not like the dungeon! A building can’t want anything!”
“Well, the residents’ ghosts are still lurking around,” Yaad says, entering the dining room with a plate and glass of his own. He smiles at everyone, polite as always, as he starts to dig in. “It’s possible there are things about this castle that were lost or forgotten. Maybe it’s part of their mission to uncover these things before they pass on.”
“There has been talk of documenting the history of the Golden Country before it fell,” Kabru says, taking a thoughtful bite of his food before swallowing forcefully, shaking the point of his fork in Laios’ direction. “If you open it and it looks important, bring it to me, okay?”
“So I should figure out a way to open it, then?” Laios asks, waiting for Kabru’s nod of approval.
By the time everyone is done with their meal, Laios’ cheeks ache from smiling.
Diplomatic meetings usually bring the restlessness out of Laios, but today, his knee never stops bouncing under the war room’s table, his eyes skittering around the room helplessly trying to find something that would ground him. His fingers memorize the ridges of the intricately carved box, cradling it in his lap where Kabru was sure not to notice it.
The box holds a promise out to him, open and honest despite its locked contents, and the yawning hunger inside him flares at the prospect. It’s a miracle he has enough restraint to sit through it all.
As soon as the meeting breaks, though, Laios is yelling a hasty farewell as he bolts through the castle and to the stables.
Chilchuck’s shop was situated just far enough away from the castle for one to have to actively seek it out. Since being crowned ruler, obligation and duty kept him journeying far enough to see his ex-party member, his expert lockpick, his friend .
Laios has heard what he’s been up to, though. Chilchuck’s popularity almost rivaled his own. With Chilchuck spearheading the half-foot union on the island, being a major player in the party who resurrected the Golden Country, and being the best locksmith on this side of the continent, people regard him as a legend almost as much as they do Laios. His new locksmith shop had no shortage of clients or praise being sung about him since it opened.
The horse Laios chooses for the journey is a plain one, the tack he slings across his back as simple as he could find as well, before he draws his cloak’s hood up and heaves himself into the saddle. His fingers delve into his pocket, touching the wood of the box, reassuring himself that it was still there, before he takes the reins and eases the horse into a steady pace.
The ride is a fairly easy one but the steady thrum under his skin grows more and more insistent the closer he gets. By the time he gets to the town Chilchuck has set up shop in, nearly an hour later, he’s basically shuddering with every movement, muscles tensing and spasming with want.
His head spins, feet tripping, as he sets his eyes on the humble locksmith shop.
Laios ties the horse up to the nearest post, making sure it had access to the trough of water nearby. He pats its face in thanks before stumbling into the shop.
A bell chimes above the door, and a familiar voice shouts, “Just a second!” as he steps inside. Laios pulls the box from his pocket and approaches the workbench in the center of the room. He rocks on his feet, his breaths coming in shallow, as he waits. His chest is pulled tight, emptiness expanding inside of it, like the dungeon was still living inside of it, groaning for someone, something, anything to attempt to fill its chasms and make it whole again.
Lack of air has him swaying on his feet. Laios catches himself, leaning on the workbench’s surface as the door to the back of the shop swings open, and there he is.
Chilchuck. His hair is longer and disheveled, his face slightly rounder and his frame more filled out, his long-sleeved turtleneck barely disguising how much healthier he looks. He’s looking down at his hands as he wipes them with an oil-stained rag, but his eyes flash towards Laios and widen in recognition.
Laios pulls in a breath, sharp and quick, the chasm in his chest snapping closed the instant their eyes meet.
“Laios!” Chilchuck shouts, surprise dripping from his voice, and ah , Laios is moving before he can stop himself. He pulls the half-foot close, stooping slightly so Chilchuck crashes into him as he wraps his arms around his shoulders. “Woah!” he hears Chilchuk breathe, feels how his hands hesitate before they settle around Laios’ midsection, returning the hug. “I didn’t think you’d miss me this much.”
Still smug, still sarcastic. After all this time, he’s still Chilchuck. It gives him hope that he’s still Laios.
“I did miss you,” Laios says, and he means it, he always does, before breaking the embrace. “The others… the others miss you, too, of course. You look good. Better, I mean.” The words spill from him, like blood from a wound, as he stands. He can feel the way his cheeks are flushed.
“So, you’re saying I looked like crap before?” Chilchuck says sharply, and a laugh bubbles from him before Laios can take his words back. “I figured since I don’t have to be light enough to not set off traps in the dungeons anymore, I can enjoy the simpler things in life again.”
“Senshi would be happy to hear that,” Laios hums. He isn’t able to help the smile that finds itself plastered to his face. “He was always talking about how ‘the youngin’s’ needed to eat more.”
“Hey! You were included in that!” Chilchuck scolds, wagging a slender finger in his direction. His mouth opens, sharp words just on the tip of his tongue, before his eyes trail up and down Laios’ frame. A shudder racks through him, sudden and powerful, as Chilchuck’s features school themselves into a barely contained grimace. “I wanted to say you looked good, too… you know, to be polite, but that would’ve just been a lie.” Chilchuck says, terse. “What’s Kabru doing, running you into the ground?”
The accusation pulls no punches, and Laios deflates like a sail without a guiding wind behind it. Of course, Chilchuck would be the first to tell him that he wasn’t okay .
“It’s not Kabru’s fault,” Laios sighs. “Running a country is harder than I thought. I would be lost without him. But…” His words die on his tongue. His eyes seek Chilchuck out, and he’s met with a critical look, eyebrows raised. “Back then, when I ate the winged lion’s desire… the curse it put on me…” Laios swallows thickly, forcing himself to say it. “Nothing feels like enough . So, I’ve stopped bothering.”
“Laios.” His name, double-edged from Chilchuck’s tongue, has his eyes flitting back to the half-foot. “You might be king, but you’re not invincible,” he lectures, “you still need to eat. And sleep. From the looks of it, you haven’t been doing much of either.”
“It’s…” Laios grits out, “ difficult .”
“And it’s necessary,” Chilchuck counters. “Besides, for as long as I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you back down from a fight, even if you were in over your head. Are you really going to start now?”
He’s coy, goading, a smirk pulling at his lips in a way Laios never recognized was charming before now. He wonders if he’s sick, or sleep deprived, or maybe a mixture of both.
“I guess not,” Laios concedes, swallowing the arguments that balled up into his throat.
“Anyways, I know you didn’t come here just for a lecture,” Chilchuck huffs, his eyes softening. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Your Highness?”
“ You, of all people, don’t have to call me that.”
“I didn’t think you’d let anyone call you king.”
“They insist,” Laios says bitterly, before walking back to the worktable and shoving the wooden box across its surface, towards Chilchuck. “I found this in the castle. Think you could help me open it?”
“What is it?” Chilchuck asks, staring at it.
“No idea.”
“You know, I usually charge a fee for unknown objects,” Chilchuck says. He prods at the box with a single finger, flinching back reflexively before sighing when nothing happens.
“My pockets are deep enough for a fee like that, now,” Laios says.
“Keep your coins,” Chilchuck bites, shaking his head. He picks the box up gingerly, giving it a thorough onceover before reaching for one of his tools. “Just promise me you’ll eat something akin to a meal at least once a day, and we’ll call it even.”
“Deal,” Laios says.
Chilchuck handles a small, flat tool, something like a nail file that Falin would have on hand. He shoves its point into the backside of the wooden box, and it slips through the material easily, wedging open what used to be an nearly imperceptible seam in the woodworking. With a little shimmying, the bottom of the box pries loose.
“Child’s play,” Chilchuck laughs, handing the box back to Laios. Inside is a small corked vial, as innocent as anything.
“Huh…” Laios hums, taking the vial and holding it to one of the lights lit in the corners of the shop. The contents shimmer in the light, the thick purple syrup clinging to the vials walls. Laios is about to uncork it, trying to take a sniff or a small taste to help identify it, when Chilchuck grabs his arm and viciously pulls it down, snatching the vial from Laios and throwing it back into the carved box.
“Dammit, Laios!” he curses, turning on his heels and glaring at Laios. “Who gave that to you?! You have to report them, or get them arrested! Exile them! Something !”
“Why?” Laios asked, cocking his head to the side in his confusion. Seeing Chilchuck whip himself into a frenzy has his hackles rising too, unease prickling at the base of his neck. “It looks like some sort of medicine, why would I…?”
“It’s poison , Laios!” Chilchuck huffs. “Someone was trying to kill you!”
Oh. Well, at least Chilchuck’s reaction made some sort of sense now. Laios leans forward and picks up the vial once more, considering with a little more care. From what he could see, the cork inside the bottle was saturated with the syrup and was starting to break down a bit. That, and the fact that the box was covered with dust when he found it…
“I was supposed to find this,” Laios says slowly, “but no one’s trying to kill me.”
“How can you be so sure?” Chilchuck demands, his voice almost cracking with how worked up he is. “You’re king now, Laios! People have ulterior motives and they all want power for themselves! They’ll do anything for it!”
“Would you?” Laios asks. The question makes Chilchuck sputter.
“Well, no,” he says, cheeks puffing in irritation, “but that’s only because I trust you to do a good job and all. But everyone else--!”
Gently, Laios sets the vial back into its box and leans over the workbench, placing a hand on Chilchuck’s shoulder. The room sways, the world shifting under his feet, the second he touches him. Laios swallows the feeling down.
“Chil, no one’s trying to kill me.” His first name tastes sweet, effortless, on Laios’ tongue, and it seems to do the trick. Chilchuck all but deflates at the words, his eyebrows drawn into a worried line but his big brown eyes are fixed on him, listening. His attention settles at the bottom of Laios’ stomach like a warm meal in the middle of winter. “Kabru mentioned something about documenting the history of the Golden Country. I think this was the residents’ way of saying they liked the idea and that they’d like to help.”
Chilchuck brushes Laios’ hand off him, his eyes narrowing. “So, you’re saying ghosts gave you poison.”
“I’m saying ghosts gave me poison to preserve ,” Laios amends. His palm is still warm with Chilchuck’s borrowed heat. He wants to cradle it to his chest to try and keep it warm for a while longer. “Who better to help retell history than the ones who lived it, right?”
“You’re ridiculous,” Chilchuck says, laughter threatening the edges of his voice. “I should’ve known it was going to be something related to monsters. It always is, with you.”
The generalization isn’t barbed as it could have been, less like an accusation and more of a resignation. It sounded like Chilchuck was relieved, of all things, that Laios was sticking his nose into something he probably shouldn't be, or maybe relieved that Laios was coming to him for help.
He swallows the thought down, a mouthful of hope disappearing down his throat as soon as it arises.
“Laios?” A hand waves in the corner of his vision, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“I should be heading out,” Laios says, in lieu of an explanation. He wasn’t even sure if he had one to begin with.
“You’ll be alright out there?” Chilchuck asks. “It’s already dark out.”
“I’ll be alright,” Laios confirms. He slips the vial back into its box and seals it shut once more before pocketing the thing. The weight of Chilchuck’s gaze settles on his shoulders like a blanket, warm and a little overbearing. “You should stop by the castle sometime,” Laios says, cutting the silence. “It was good to see you.”
“It was good to see you, too,” Chilchuck echoes, before scoffing, “but if you think I’m making that trip myself, you’re delusional.”
They part for the night with the doorbell jingling overhead, several locks clicking into place, and a final wave spotted through the window of the shop.
When Laios makes it back to the castle, he runs his thumb over the box’s carvings as he makes his way through the corridors. His feet take him to the kitchens.
A deal’s a deal. He slaps together a rudimentary meal, meat, veggies, a slice of bread baked that morning, and swallows it dryly.
It does nothing to stave off the hole that’s opening in the pit of his stomach once more, but it’ll have to do.
That night, Laios dreams. Not of a succulent feast nor the thrill of a fight, but of small hands, quick lips, and a familiar voice calling his name, breathless.
He wakes sweating, the front of his pants drenched. The intricately carved box stares at him innocently from his nightstand.