18. Colt

Colt

After they ate, Colt went with Owen and Brom to meet Elian and Harlan at the training grounds. The fort wasn't nearly as big as Colt thought it would be, and there were only about forty soldiers overall. Elian seemed on edge, and Harlan seemed overly eager for them all to train in the training yard.

"Are you familiar with the sword?" Harlan asked them.

Brom shrugged. "I have a bit of skill."

When Harlan took a wooden shortsword from the nearby rack and handed it to Brom, Colt raised his brows. "You want us criminals armed at your fort?"

Despite Colt's worry, Harlan chuckled, and the tension in the air dissipated. "If the Gate has been opened, and Owen is going to take on the task of destroying whatever has come out of it, who am I to stop that? It would be foolish to halt your plight."

"But what about your men?" Owen asked, looking around at a couple of soldiers in the distance who glanced their way.

"They know what's going on. You've come to us for refuge from something out there ." He gestured vaguely beyond the walls of the fort. "It's our sworn duty to protect you. Though we'd hardly turn down the addition of three strong men. You can practice here in case our fort is attacked. If so, we'll need all the help we can get. "

Nodding, Colt said, "It'll do. But I don't have much experience. I'm rather sloppy."

"After all the sparring we did while traveling?" Brom asked and shook his head. "Colt doesn't give himself enough credit. He's a quick learner and a decent fighter."

"I'm not used to flattery from you." Colt smirked at him.

"I feel a knife is best for you, Owen," Harlan said, handing him a wooden knife that was as long as his forearm.

When Owen looked down at it for a moment, Colt thought he might take it, but then he said, "I'm not very good with a blade. I'd rather use my Essence."

"Very well."

When they came to an area that served as the training yard, Colt and Brom made their way to a row of practice dummies set up in the corner. There were a few men here already.

As Colt and Brom prepared to practice with their new swords on the straw dummies, Owen leaned against the stone wall and watched. With a vigorous swing of his sword, Colt struck the dummy with a satisfying thwack. Each slice made the straw man swing back, until the straw began falling. Brom took his turn, handling his sword expertly, his strikes landing more powerfully than Colt's.

After a few minutes of relentless hacking, Colt pulled away and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Alright, this one's seen enough action for today."

Owen came up beside him and cast an approving glance at the ragged dummy with its head nearly falling off. "I'd say you really gave it a piece of your mind. Poor thing."

"Yeah, well, I'd rather use arrows." Colt shrugged. "Besides, I didn't do nearly as much damage as Brom. His is practically shredded." He glanced at Brom's dummy right as the rest of it fell to the ground.

Brom chuckled. "What can I say? I gave it my all."

They made their way nearby to the sparring area next. Colt stretched his arms and back for a minute, and to his surprise, Owen stepped into the yard as well. He hadn't sparred with Owen in a while, but it was something he enjoyed doing, as it kept his mind off things. He liked pushing Owen to his limits, knowing that he was much more powerful than Colt himself, but also knowing Owen would never hurt him.

"You want me to start—" Colt was cut off when purple fire swirled past him, nearly grazing his shoulder. His heart pounded, his eyes widening at how close the flames had come to him. To his relief, there had been no heat, and instead it felt like a cool breeze. "Trying to kill me already?"

Owen met Colt's gaze and gave a lopsided smile. "You looked like you needed a nudge." His purple flame shimmered in his hand with a playful energy, brightening his brown eyes. "Besides, I know how to control the heat now. I wouldn't have burned you."

Colt's heart skipped a beat as he gripped his wooden sword.

"Well, I guess we're ready, then." Brom chuckled and positioned himself.

The flame flickered around Owen's fingertips, and the competitive energy crackled between them as they started their fight, all of them moving and blocking and dashing out of the way of one another's attacks.

Colt trusted Owen wholly. While Owen had certainly gained muscle in the past month, he was still smaller than him. But a few rough jabs to his sides showed Colt that he was tough as nails. Every attack from Colt prompted Owen to redirect the force with his Essence, leaving Colt impressed and a little breathless.

I always underestimate him. He's been through hell, and still he's fighting.

After a while, Colt calculated Owen's moves as he maneuvered around his fire. Whenever Owen threw out his left hand, it created a blind spot for Colt to dip to the right and ambush him that way. After taking advantage of this, Colt darted into his blind spot and popped him lightly on the thigh with his wooden sword.

"You're dead," Brom said, who stood to the side, and Colt realized their friend hadn't even taken part in their sparring at all.

Owen hung his head in defeat. "I thought I had him." He puffed out a breath, then looked at Brom funny. "Wait, why'd you stop fighting?"

"Me?" Brom's brow popped up. "Oh, you two were just too interesting not to watch."

"That's amazing," Harlan said from the side. "That you can create such fire."

"Your Legion would never think so," Colt replied.

Harlan shook his head. "I don't serve the Legion. I serve my country and the people who live here. I've never fought for the Legion's ideals. They should never have been able to be in power as long as they have."

Colt looked away, pondering the man's words as they prepared for another round.

At lunchtime, they ate in the mess hall. Rumors of Owen's purple flame had probably circulated through the fort. If any soldiers guessed what was transpiring by now, no doubt they were on edge.

Colt sat at a table near the corner with Owen and Brom and dug vigorously into his stew. He groaned at the juicy flavors and soaked his bread in it. When he looked up, he was glad to see Owen eating as well.

"This is good," Brom muttered. "Wonder if I can get the recipe from the cook."

Colt gave a mock smile. "Just… try not to steal any of his spices. I'm not sure how he'd take to a ‘stew thief' in the ranks."

Owen smirked as he took a bite from his bowl. "Imagine if Brom gets something really good from the kitchen, though? It could end up being his ticket to owning his own cafe."

"Ah, right, I can see it now. All the soldiers here lining up for a bite of Brom's signature dish." Colt leaned his elbow on the table and put his hand up as he said, "‘Brom's Beloved Basil Broth.'"

Brom smirked. "At least I have people lining up." He lifted his bowl in mock triumph. "Fame and catastrophe go hand in hand, my friends."

They all laughed heartily in a rare moment of joy, but their mirth soon faded as they finished their stew. Exhaustion settled on Colt's mind as he thought of the preparations they needed to make in the coming days. Beside him, Owen propped his elbow up on the table and rested his chin in his hand, his sorrow seeming to return as his smile faded. A strange sensation gripped him, an ache that reached deep into his heart and hurt him too. It was such a jolt to his body and mind, that Colt felt a strong desire to tell Owen how he felt.

He cleared his throat and said, "Take a walk with me? "

Owen relaxed. "Alright." He got to his feet, and Colt led the way outside while Brom made his way with the dishes to the kitchen.

The afternoon had turned dreary, and snow flurries swirled around them. As they made their way back to their room, Colt asked, "You tired?"

"Yes. I can… feel that heavy feeling more everyday. Mordren is getting closer."

"I'm almost finished with the knife. I just need to work on the handle so it's secure."

Owen took Colt's hand. "I suppose you can add rock and crystal shaping to the list of things you're good at."

"And what else am I good at?"

"You know, playing cards, whittling figures out of wood, snoring…" Owen smirked.

Colt furrowed his brow in question. "Do I snore?"

"Sometimes, but I just nudge you and you usually stop."

They laughed, and Colt gazed at him for a moment, admiring the sharp contours of his jaw. He squeezed Owen's hand as they came to the door of their room. Colt glanced around, relieved no one else was around, as he had the urge to talk about things he'd never tried to explain before, and he didn't want any distractions.

"I feel… very connected to you," he started, facing Owen as they stood before the door. "It's like I can feel your pain." He looked down and winced.

Colt, that's not how you say I love you.

Owen laughed softly and said, "Oh?"

"I mean, it's more than just seeing and knowing when you're not alright. It's as if I'm feeling what you're going through. It hurts me too. "

Owen shook his head. "What do you mean, you can feel what I'm going through?"

"I don't know." Colt turned his face away. He sounded like an idiot.

"Are you saying you feel as if you're connecting with me in the same way I do with you? With the scents and smells?" Owen craned his head to peer at Colt.

"I don't sense smells like you, it's just that lately… I see your pain… and I can feel it. I want to make it better, but I don't always know how, and it kills me inside." Their eyes met, and Owen blinked, letting out a breath as Colt brushed a strand of hair out of Owen's face. "Sometimes, I think just holding you and talking about your troubles makes it better. But I know you're still carrying so much guilt and responsibility, and I hate it, because I can feel the weight of your burdens."

Closing his eyes, Owen grabbed Colt's hand and smiled against it. "You've helped me more than you know, Colt, so don't worry about me."

"Right." Colt embraced him, knowing there was more he wanted to say. "Tell me, when all of this is over, where do you want to go?"

Owen laid his head against Colt's chest and looked out at the snow. He was quiet for so long, Colt wondered if he'd asked the wrong thing, but then finally, Owen said, "I don't know. I just know that wherever I go, I want you to be there with me."

Colt kissed the top of his head as the tender love he felt took over his mind. It traveled to his chest, and something harmonious filled his heart, making it swell and glow so much, it made his throat tighten, as if he might cry. He hardly cried. What was wrong with him? But there was no denying what he felt with Owen. He had to say it now. Being close to all of this madness that was coming, he had to let him know before it was too late.

"Owen," he started, pulling away and looking down at him. He locked onto those brown eyes as he stumbled over his next words, "I… I love you."

Owen's mouth dropped open, hesitating, then he closed his eyes and dropped his head. Colt held his breath. He wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't to see Owen looking unsure of what had just been said.

Letting out a breath of white air, Colt tilted his head. "You don't have to say anything back," he assured him. "I just wanted you to know. I adore you, Owen, more than anyone I've ever known."

Owen closed his eyes, as if he was thinking deeply, then he said, "I… thank you…" He pulled away and threw up his fur-lined hood. "I just… " Owen didn't finish his thought before he turned and walked away.

Colt's heart felt as if an arrow had pierced it, numbing him completely. He knew Owen didn't mean to be so cold, but his response had hurt more than any physical wound he'd ever experienced. It was doubly painful from the intense feeling that came from Owen, as if his lover was radiating doubt, and Colt could grasp it.

He clutched his chest and grunted.

You're a fucking mess, Colt O'Malley.