ARC 1: BACK AGAIN, LUKEDONIA

1: His Ten Years

Warnings: Heavily Rael centric. Strays from canon drastically. OCs will make major appearances later. No real pairings, though canon crushes and romances are retained. Updates whenever. Will be hella long. Spelling of names is a mix of my preferences and what's official on the wiki. Ex. Rajak = Lazark but Gechutel = Gejutel. There'll be some language and violence later.

I couldn't sleep, and I want to read this more than anyone else does. There's only two other Noblesse time travel fics I know of, and barely any Rael centric fics. First chapter is slow, and the first arc will deviate very little from canon. I think. Please tell me your thoughts, because I don't even have a conclusion in mind yet. There's a lot to be done. I'll randomly edit the chapters as events change while I write, but I'll make a note if I do anything major.

*EDIT: Still haven't figured out Chp. 4, but I am editing the first three chapters to change some things and just make the writing better. This chapter has the heaviest edits of the three thus far!

"Talking"

'Thoughts'

Sound effects/memories

(memory/thought fragments)

Memories trickled in as they pleased: confusing glimpses from the life changing to the mundane, spread out with little rhyme or reason, all at once and sometimes only a bit at a time. He spent the first year quiet, then the next six screaming.

In the dark, there hadn't been much else to do apart from stew in the mess. Recall things down to the last detail; let the memories over take his reality as they came. Scream in pain, terror, and confusion. Scream and scream for any number of reasons because sometimes it felt real and other times he was simply dreaming. He was on the battlefield with blood on his hands, face, soul, and then he sat alone in the dark not bleeding, not mourning, not fighting. He was remembering forty of the most crazy, conspiracy filled, desperate years of his life which hadn't happened yet. Four fleeting decades, but oh how fast things had went after the Noblesse had awoken once more.

Honestly, he was surprised he hadn't brought more people running with his hysterics, but more often than not he was yelling with anger (hunted like animals; family - clan - precious being picked off, lost, abandoned). Considering his original reason for imprisonment, Rael thought himself lucky that Lazark had not further punished him for such disrespect. They all believed young and spoiled Rael was throwing a tantrum over - (his princess, gentle smile frozen, such blank empty eyes- he couldn't stop screaming at that) Seira for years and years. A blink in the lifespan of a noble, but a long blink nonetheless. Ultimately for the better. They'd surely have thought him mad if they knew the truth; he certainly thought himself so.

Nobles lived long lives, but they lived them assuredly in the past. The future bore little meaning when the present stretched so infinitely. There were no seers amongst "vampires".

He wished he weren't so empty sometimes. The only things left were dark and malicious; the feelings of a devil rather than anything remotely human. Wasn't that ironic? At one point he'd detested humans - seen them as little more than ants to be crushed - now here he was, wishing he were more like one.

They could hear him raging from outside.

Gejutel had come to collect Lazark on a personal summon from the Lord. The younger clan leader had been in the Kertia gardens, and now the two strolled through the Kertia mansion to cut through to the front door.

As they turned the corner, the great racket arose again: furious screaming which emanated from a rather ominous steel door. Other similar doors spread out along this hall, but only this door seemed to house anyone. It sounded like someone cursing the world. Or someone losing their mind.

Gejutel turned to stare at the chamber - as if answers would come forth from the metal. The raging was violent, incoherent screaming peppered with expletives now and then. There could really be only one person in there.

"Lazark, it's been four years of this?"

The other shook his head. "Three."

They listened for a moment longer: Rael's angry shouts reverberated from inside the chamber, neverending, utterly shameful, before Lazark made to continue down the hall. Mildly alarmed, Gejutel lingered then sent one final, stern glance at the steel door before following.

"You allow him such deplorability," Gejutel stated after a time. "Perhaps it would be best to force his silence?"

Lazark merely shook his head though. "I have tried several times. Rael has committed his sins and he is more stubborn than anticipated. There is little to be done than allow him to follow through with his punishment. We'd do him a disservice to end it early."

As he'd told Gejutel, Lazark had checked on Rael - several times - from the first night he'd begun to rage three years ago.

Flown into the chamber, prepared for whatever enemy there was, but not for the sight of his brother tearing at his hair. Rael was completely lost, all shouts and screams, and the single detail Lazark could glean was that it involved Seira. For Rael, who truly did care for Seira, to draw such ire from one incident showed Lazark most clearly how much of a child he still was.

After calming Rael, Lazark had stated that he would not do this again. This was to be a lesson after all. Time for reflection and repentance. He'd locked the chamber, but had been forced back in several nights later, when Rael's raging shrieks pierced the air once more. It'd been a shock to see his brother disobey so blatantly. Rael had always been immature, but he had never been insubordinate. Lazark was disappointed, but mostly he was worried.

"Why does fury consume you so completely?"

His younger brother had stared back with eyes so hard and unseeing that Lazark was unsure who he thought he was looking at. "Because...it was injustice."

They danced like so, Lazark questioning with increasing concern, and Rael deflecting with vague and petulant answers. He tried thrice more before Rael told him to either release him and leave him be. With great reluctance, he had locked the door one final time and left it locked since. With every year that passed, his disappointment grew. Rael's frustration never cooled, and Lazark could only wonder if ten years solitude was enough punishment for a noble who would not grow up.

The majority of his memories were battle oriented: fights against the Union, fights against werewolves, fights against anyone really. That didn't mean every memory he received was important. At least, Rael could not discern the importance of certain memories he saw.

During his ten year confinement he'd fixated on those unimportant memories in particular. There had been one Tuesday, during a lull between battles, in which he'd had afternoon tea. He could recall every tiny detail from the smoke curling out of the ochre liquid to the faint flowery aroma wafting about; even the cup with a chip in its edge and worn sunflowers along its sides. He'd been all alone, but it was peaceful as he sat and looked out the window. That feeling of peace - true peace without the metallic edge of tension - had been rare. Of all the stupid inane memories he'd received, the Tuesday tea had to be one of the silliest, just one rank above the memory of mopping Frankenstein's kitchen.

Thinking on them, Rael wasn't sure if mundane memories like these were what kept him sane between stretches of battle and death or if they were flags that his sanity was long gone. They meant nothing in the grand plot of the future, but like a sentimental fool, he could feel their significance to himself and held onto them with desperation regardless. Quiet little anchors in the sea of confusing flashes.

'Grey hair matted with blood. Those magnificent silver strands torn out and littering the earth because that human toy had always been stubborn. If he'd only left when Rael demanded.'

Four figures on the horizon. He'd like to tear two of them in half, but then he'd run into trouble with the other two. Only Regis' hand kept him from being rash.

A reminder.

Frankenstein bled and nothing was the same. The infallible. The mighty. The devil laid slain, and it was all the more wrong because he was not there; gone when he should have most been there.

The human scum had lost his mind. With the other two gone, the only one with even a hint of common sense was lost to himself.

"He's been quiet lately."

Seven years into his sentence, and the Kertia clan leader's younger brother was increasingly silent.

Worried for Rael despite the reception he'd received, Lazark had stationed guards around the containment chamber. They'd been on rotation for years, but there'd been no change until recently.

The other guard nodded, but otherwise said nothing in reply. His companion kept talking. "Do you wonder what he does in there? He screamed for years, and now it's suddenly quiet."

He received no reply.

Forty years...technically fifty years of received memories if one were to include his time in confinement. Rael disliked including them.

He'd only ever remembered one moment from his first ten year confinement, and it hardly left an impression. Dark, absolute dark. He sat in the corner, the solid firmness of two walls pressing at his back, and stared off into the abyss. It wouldn't have made a difference if he'd kept his eyes closed. No sound. No movement. Merely absolute silence. He'd been inside for five years in this way.

Funny how his current go-around was more lively than the first despite how badly he sometimes wished to die.

The first time he left the chamber in ten years, and Rael very nearly turned right back in. The sunlight was too strong, the air too fresh, and the first glimpse of his brother since he'd gotten these new (old) memories was a punch to the gut. Dazed and slightly unhinged, Rael was left with a great urge to curl up and cry, but no he couldn't because he last saw Lazark a measly ten (forty into eternity) years ago. Ten years was a blink (forty into eternity was not). He'd be seen as weak for sure, bursting into tears at the sight of his big brother like a child, or perhaps they'd be alarmed instead. Rael had never been a crier.

"Rael Kertia," stated his brother, all solemn business. "Your sentence has been served. I hope you've reflected upon your actions sufficiently."

Blood everywhere. Comrades dead, not enough enemy bodies to show for their efforts. If only he was stronger.

"Of course," Rael murmured. He couldn't even find the energy to stand straight. The curt response would seem obstinate to the two nobles flanking his brother, but it mattered not. He had only one individual to impress and he knew he hadn't managed to cover the strain in his reply. Lazark would hear it, his remorse.

He'd been free for less than a day when Lazark was summoned to council along with the other clan leaders.

Events were already in motion; he hadn't even had a day to rest. He'd anticipated as such having spent the last three years of his sentence plotting for the future. Planning, thinking, strategizing. For all his five hundred some years, he'd entered that chamber a child and emerged something not quite. He could rest when things were...over? Safe? Neither felt right on his tongue, but nevertheless, now was the time to move.

"Rael," Lazark called. He waited a half beat before turning and leaving the front door. Rael trailed after, silent as a shadow.

The younger Kertia had wanted to instigate events like in his memories: stroll by the Lord's compound casually after Lazark had left, appear and ask to fetch Seira. However, something in the way he'd followed after Lazark like a lost duckling, or maybe the way he'd stared off at the walls for stretches in the hours after being freed, must have made his brother worry. This time his brother was asking that he come along from the start.

It was the first marked change from his memories, and it only cemented Rael's resolve. Things could not be the same as the first time. 'For that happy life there.'

The journey to the Lord's compound was quick. It was late evening and the sun was already descending in the sky. Long shadows stretched everywhere. Both back at the Kertia House and here at the Compound, Rael could feel it from the guards, nobles, passersby - the silent evaluation in their glances and whispers. Judgement. He hadn't exactly been discreet when he went on his rampage, and word of his punishment had to be just as loud to show that the Kertia did not tolerate his behaviour. Not the for the first time, Rael felt admiration in the kind of leader Lazark had become. Had it been himself, he could not have been so firm to his brother.

"Behave yourself," Lazark cautioned before slipping inside the Lord's chamber.

Rael gave him a nod then strolled to an archway to look out at the forests.

Bright, eye-searing crimson. The setting sun painted the world on fire.

Lazark emerged from the Lord's chamber sometime during the night. Moonbeams, white and gentle, streamed into the passageway from the arches, lighting everything in a mystic way. Rael had long stopped staring outside. He emerged from the dark and fell into step behind Lazark. They seemed to glide down the hall; two tall silent spectres.

"Hey," Rael greeted gently. "How was the meeting?"

Ever conscientious, Lazark made no mention of the going ons of the family council. Rael hadn't thought he would, but what else was there to talk about?

"Are you headed home?"

"No," Lazark replied. "I'm to carry out the Lord's orders."

Stump, stump, stump.

Their footsteps could have echoed for eternity.

"In person? But you're a family leader." A script. The same conversation, but tone and context completely different.

"I am to bring Seira back," Lazark continued.

It didn't need to, but his heart beat loudly in his chest. The tolling of the bell. Time to put everything in motion. There was no running away after this. Rael's next words would define him until the end of his mission.

"Please, brother. Let me collect Seira."

Strange. It was strange. Rael himself was over five hundred years of age (six hundred with the added memories), and the forty years he hadn't seen Lazark should have felt like a blink. Looking upon his brother's back, it somehow felt like they'd been separated for centuries. Lazark didn't correct him for calling him "brother" this time.

He'd had all of his reasoning lined up, ready to convince Lazark to let him go, but his brother simply agreed after a moment's hesitation. Was it something in his tone? Was it the way he hadn't quite hid how lost he felt stranded amongst ghosts and nightmares?

Like the first time, his brother kept walking off down the corridor, an unspoken "go" reverberating in his footsteps.