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Karteley Pedrolino. She was the wielder. The one that carried him in and out of the battlefield. She was the one that saved him from the cold, miserable life of living in that back room of the Ation city museum. In personality, they resembled each other it was almost guaranteed they'd get along fine. Of course, they had their differences. She wanted no lasting connections with the military while most of his life was spent being raised to succeed his mentor as the Mage of the Elondri Queen's court.

The title was bathed in blood, supernatural forces, and many other unpleasent things. He was forged to murder the enemy forces. In the war, he was gifted with the alias: "The Mage of Torture", for his unusually cruel methods of killing the invading forces. So, of course they had their differences. But that didn't mean he looked at her in a romantic light.

As the rest of the "Chosen" had come to believe, they were together. They had to be together. They were so alike that it was almost impossible for them not to like each other in that sort of limelight. The Weaponians knew the real truth. The Weaponians had spent centuries in the same room as him, locked away from the rest of Humanity. They knew him almost as good as he knew himself.

He and Karteley loved each other, alright. But they looked at each other as brother and sister. Or in some cases, father and daughter. Usually, the pair spend time plotting different ideas of all kinds. Pranks. Jokes. Strategies. Anything. He came to understand her the most, as far as he understood. The one that knew her better than anyone else in the group. And in the other, lesser happenstances, he was the mature figure. The one that filled in the role that her disgraced father had left when he abandoned them.

Nobody, including the other Weaponians, knew about the occasional heart-to-heart chats that he and his wielder had.

But the one that he came to, dare he say, think of romantically? It was someone that reminded him much of the late middle Princess of Elondri. Whenever she wasn't in the court room and politically impressing her stick-in-the-mud mother, of course. The one person that nobody could've possibly conceived the notion of him ever getting with. The one person that was the least inclined to fall for his charms.

... and her name was Gemma.

Dragomir Fane Ionescu watched the sleeping blond, watching as she basked in the afterglow of their activities. She was sleeping in the middle of the Hotel bed; a full-sized bed, and had a quaint little smile on her face. It was adorable. It was beautiful. It made him love her more than anything. The similarities between Gemma and the middle Princess of his past were so alike that, often times, he questioned who he was in love with.

A memory, or the real thing.

He preferred thinking that he was in love with this young female. That he wasn't using her to satisfy his sexual urges or to relive the memory of being with his last lover. The one that he was forced to leave to the mercy of the Empire that King Jelorent was leading into battle. The one that had touched his heart like nobody else, except for the blond laying not ten feet from him. "Things are rarely so simple."

It was one of the most basic laws of the Magi world. Even in the off chance that something looked simple, it really wasn't. All of the mechanics and technical knowledge that went behind every little thing in existance, it was amazing that he hadn't succumbed to insanity in his stint in the backroom. He knew so much and with nobody but the same people to really discuss topics with, people would feel inclined to believe he'd slippined into a quiet insanity.

And he was inclined to believe them. He was sleeping with a sixteen-year old that had barely tasted the vast, exquisite wonders of the world.

But that wasn't the real topic at the moment, was it?

Dragomir sipped at his coffee; french vanilla with extra cream and extra sugar, and turned the idea over in his head for yet another countless time. As much as he loved the middle Princess, their time had come and passed them by. The invasion from the Empire had robbed them over whatever relationship they would've had. So, it was alright that he moved on to someone new. Right? That was probably the most pressing issue on his mind.

Even the looming battle with Jelorent was but a insignificant issue. This was the one thing that required, no, demanded his complete and utter attention. This was the question that needed his final answer. Gemma was too nice, too... too Gemma for him to use and push off to the side when he was finished. She really didn't deserve that. He needed to find his answer; the answer that would ultimately decide the future of their relationship.

"Do I love you, Gemma? Do I really?" the man questioned lightly.

He was careful to avoid rousing her in her sleep. After several hours of strenuous love making, she both needed the rest and didn't need to hear his debating. It would probably break her heart to hear him asking himself that question. How many times, how many nights, had he spent whispering in her ears that he loved her? That he would never betray her.

Was all that lies, sweet lies that meant nothing? "I hope not."

Dragomir looked down into his steaming cup of coffee, spotting his reflection in the murky brown liquid. He recognized the subtle happiness in his chestnut brown eyes, something that had been missing for the longest time. The small, satisfied smile that tugged on his pale lips at the mere thought of the girl sleeping in the bed. The warm spring of emotions that flowed in his chest at the, amusingly enough, dream of having children with her. All of which were the same things that he'd felt when he was in love with the Princess.

And one thing solidified that it was Gemma that he was thinking about, not the Princess. As he daydreamed of rocking away on the front porch of an aging home, watching his children practicing Magic in the front yard, it was Gemma rocking right beside him. It was beautiful. A teardrop fell into the cooling coffee, a trail left behind on his cheek. "Is that even possible for me, anymore? I'm a Weaponian. I could never offer her the things that she deserves. Could I?"

Weaponians, as he'd come to understand, were practically immune from the hand of time.

He could never offer her the chance to grow old together. He probably couldn't even give her children. He had no life in this era, no title or fame to rely on. He had nothing, he was nothing. What in the world did he have to offer her in the long run? Nothing.

Rebria, was he over-thinking this?

Dragomir finished the cup of coffee and left the cup on the dining room table, joining the blond by climbing into bed and snuggled into her side. All of his problems, all of his mental turmoil, melted away as he came in close proximity with her. A smile, a true smile, appeared on his face as he slowly drifted to sleep. One thing was clear in that moment for him. He may not have all the answers, the solution to all of his problems but...

... they would find them. Together.