AltTheodore

Lore by gay4dragonz

Dendril. Priest. The catalysts.
Alberto. Ragnar. The fragmentalists, alternatives.
Alt Romeo. Octavian. The phantoms in the clock.
Alt Albrecht. No-one. The alone.
Theodore. The impostor.
Clavier. The one that belongs at his side.
Himself. The righteous. The bright. The revolutionary. The one to go back in time and fix it all.
The ruler of them all.

In reality, the story of the families Baltimore and Vinheteiro was simpler to grasp than one would expect. It had taken his soulless mechanical servants barely a few minutes to understand it, wired into their brains so they wouldn't dare misstep their boundaries and get themselves disassembled, so they could remember who they came from and which great family ruled the entire world in the timeline that should never have existed to begin with. The only part they failed to understand was the need for companionship, why the families were even bonded to each other so closely to begin with, keeping their lineages alive for the prestige of having predetermined companions for their male offspring. There were no questions to be asked. Specifically, none that would be tolerated. Questioning Alt Theodore's way of life, the agenda woven into his very DNA, was a sin of the highest order.
He required respect, so he would have it as he pleased.

The photo album rustled in his hands, ancestors depicted in the pages, some gleeful, some not. Neat photographs of his great grandfathers, one pale sickly, the other with a helpless tinge of worry in the corner of his eye, both holding delicate eggs, blight spreading in the corner of Ragnar's. They had been the first to invent and use the chronoscope, the little tool being the love child of their partnership and union. While the grief from Ragnar's short-lived times in the alternate timeline spanned generations, not a single reason for their escape, the needless fracturence of time, was ever passed down. Alberto Baltimore was left alone, setting his sights and hopes for his young son's companion to be the unhatched egg, which - to his obvious dismay - withered shortly after its father passed.

The rest of the story passed rather quickly, Alt Theodore liked to think. Anything that he himself was not involved in did not need his time that much, the dragon only really spending time on studying his family's lineage out of respect for his late father and as proof for his research into Clavier Vinheteiro. The Alternate version of Romeo, so desperate for a Vinheteiro mate, extracted the DNA out of the dead egg in hopes to clone it, using the kingdom's prisoners and test subjects, too vulnerable to know that death was the single thing that could defy him and get away with it. Theodore's father had told him stories of auditions that his grandfather had held with other families, well-known ones from the land itching to get a piece of the Baltimore riches so they could offer up their children as young Albrecht's mates, once again letting his hubris cloud his mind, for no family could ever have the same bond the Baltimores and Vinheteiros would, other possibilities considered simply absurd. Perhaps Romeo's clouded judgement and flared personality was a dominant trait; seeing one's fathers' closest companion die must surely be impactful. Weak? Surely, but impactful. Theodore furrowed his eyebrows. What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.

The next part was quite hard for the Alternate Theodore to speak about, even recall, looking at pictures of his father smiling with him by his side, plastered on the album. Perhaps his father hadn't always been the best, but, well, he certainly tried, without a Vinheteiro mate by his side, to reach into the proper timeline and snag some poor heirs from there, slaving over the chronoscope every free moment of his life, paranoid enough to build up his father's army of cyborgs into a full on empire, taking over the throne. Once he had grasped all power there was to obtain from the timeline that never should have come into contact with the proper one, Albrecht tried to spread his reach out, clawed hands pawing in jealousy at the timeline where there was no wrong. Theodore did not believe in karma, but if he did, he'd say it was at play. It was a heartbreaking yet fitting death for his father, a seizure out of all things taking the overwhelmed Albrecht. If Alt Theodore didn't know better, he would pity his father, shoving all emotions deep inside.

One had to steel themselves to be a Baltimore, figuratively and literally. There was little warmth to be found inside the echoing chambers of the estate, watching the half-mechanical servants whose soul had been mercilessly ripped out and replaced by machinery, all in his grandfathers' paranoia to nobody discovering his plans of rather unethical experimentation and attempts to reach through time to frankly kidnap helpless Vinheteiros who had no idea who he was. The servants always make their location known - mostly unknowingly - the spats and artificial bodies they have been supplied and replaced with clink whenever they make the slightest movement. Alt Theodore takes quite a bit of comfort in the noise, a reassurance that despite the servants' incremented souls, he is not alone.

The leather cushions creaked as he shifted his stance, the quiet crackle of the fireplace sounding almost artificial to his ears. He liked to fill up his room and laboratory with noise, constant ticking of clocks or sizzling of smoke; it infuriated him, sure, strict to his servants to not make a lot of noise while he was working, delivering punishments left and right if he heard the slightest clink that wasn't from his test tubes, simultaneously thankful for the noise.

Anything was better than the silence that had set over the manor once his father had passed. He rules the land, now, sure, but it doesn't change that when the paperwork piles end, the lack of noise penetrates him to the bone. He likes to say he doesn't mind, but deep down, he knows he does. He needs someone else. A voice to fill the silence, not tinted with iron and scorn and obedience as his servants often were. He needed someone that wasn't boring, a companion that his ancestors in this timeline had always dreamed of having; not just for life, but a study partner, to banter with and work together and experiment, and unlike others he had collaborated with in the past his ideal partner would never once turn back from a proposal no matter how unethical. But here? The Vinheteiro lineage was over. The corresponding bloodline in the timeline his ancestors stemmed from were alive, but unreachable, mated with the proper versions of Theodore and his fathers before him.

Working alone is fun, sure, but there comes a point where the passion dwindles away, nobody to hold a beaker or add a concoction, to run a test of electricity or take a sample of a specimen, but yourself. Maybe Alt Theodore would not have minded as much if it would have been an issue of him only having two arms - he could easily attach two more to himself, with his mechanical prowess, but after pondering on it he decided that a helper was still better - he needed a muse, someone pretty and just the right kind of smart and independent, who wouldn't fall for him, rekindle his desire to create and turn his talent from duty to hobby as it once was.

Alt Theodore snaps the book shut, mind flowing immediately to a certain pale tundra. Damn it, Clavier, sneaking his way into his brain at every free moment of the day. A side of him still hoped he'd be able to one day, consensually or not, bring the pale man over to his side, to keep him imprisoned like a neat little bird in a cage, that someday Clavier may forget the real Theodore and choose the timeline that should have never existed versus the one where all was well. It was a low chance, sure, but one cannot blame oneself for wanting happiness. Well, not like Clavier could exist freely here anyway. His lungs were not adapted enough to take in the amount of toxins that floated through the air in this timeline, not suited to eat the food one would need to obtain vitamins. Well, he could always take samples with him, simulate a safe environment, as if he were caring for a pet and not a companion who he hoped dearly would stay. Alt Theodore stared off into space, deep into the pits of the fire, then swallowed, discarding the album gently next to the plate of his dinner which he wished to have served in one of the manor's many sitting rooms.

He was ever-so-different from the dragon Clavier would have even the most remote affections for, ruthless and cold towards all those other than him. It was a brand new level of psychopathy, to know you need to change to be loved yet being unable to do so because of the habits wired into the depths of your very soul, the irritability a natural part of you, the uncaring messiness with blood and otherwise unsettling fluids after a biological experiment considered rather criminal the maniacal smirk; all fronts carefully built up in favor of nurturing his own development in his fatherless, supportless lonely world. It would be hard to change for Clavier; impossible, really, for in this twisted timeline there would be no solace for his weeping heart at the face of betrayal, no safety net to fall back on in terms of a companion - the only thing left is to assume the worst immediately, to always keep up his guard and let his cold exterior become a part of him, driving out any possibility of the kindness he once had inside him, for everyone. Everyone but Clavier, for the tundra made his heart somehow beat and resonate with joy, perhaps idolizing the prospect of a true Vinheteiro mate as everything he would ever need, but he didn't care, so set on his goal that he would never dare take the other dragon's actions and predicaments into account, wanting to be with him at all costs.

Goodness, is it soulless without a good assistant.

Or a father. No matter the affections Clavier could offer no matter how hard he tried to the Alt Theodore, he would never replace the Alternate Albrecht, a father so dedicated to making his and his son's life brighter, driven mad with loneliness and rage, throwing himself into work to drown out personal needs, enough for the wine to spill over the edge of the cup and end in him splayed out on the floor, the son kneeling over him, eyes for once not filled with cold calculation but helplessness as he watched his father die, for it had been too late. Alt Theodore sneaks one more peek at a picture of his father, young and bright in the last few pages of the filled photo album, shifting again to take a sip of his drink and pick off a few crumbs from the platter. It was healthier to think about his father than Clavier.

What didn't kill him, made him stronger, after all. Through his father's efforts, the chronoscope was repaired, allowing his son to venture into the correct timeline to hope to extract the only dragon he belonged with, ever. And by all the gods did Alt Theodore swear he was going to catch the elusive bird in his cage, someday, if not for personal satisfaction then for his father's honor and pride in him. When all died away, only memories were left. With a final glance at the album, Alt Theodore turned his eyes back to the fire, blinking languidly at the flicker of the flames.

---
Servant:

His wings, automated to click with every movement, stilled as he, near silently, approached his master. It wasn't often he was able to get some shut eye, these days, constantly working instead of coming to terms with what he felt deep inside, the impostor syndrome and phantom heartbreak that had been accumulating as a course of most of his life.

If he hadn't been wired to be loyal to the Baltimores, Hector would still forever pity his master, deep inside, despite the automated parts of his body, the things the family had done to him.

With his mechanical talons, he isn't afraid to snuff out the candles with simply squishing the flame, feeling it sizzle out, vaguely warm against the claws. with the same movement, he lifts up the empty plate and glass, glancing once more at the sleeping troubled dragon. He cocks his head to the side, with a little click, fake eyelids closing as his breath stills. With a practiced smile on his features, he turns on his heels and walks to the door, as carefully as possible so as not to wake the dragon's rage inside his master.

His hand lingers on the doorknob, the dragon spends a second longer thinking before turning his head, twisting his neck.

"Master, I know." He says, almost stammering over his words at just how unnatural they sound, voice with a tint of mechanics, quiet.

"I know how lonely you feel." He repeats, slightly more feelings in his voice this time, emotion in his eyes barely noticeable for nobody to see.

"We all feel the way you do." Hector reassured. He wouldn't dare to say it normally, keeping to himself, always at Alt Theodore's aid whenever necessary.

"We do." He repeats again. "And we hope, with all our hearts, that your new plan works out."
It wasn't only for the happiness of their master, that would cause him to be kinder to them, that they cared.

Sometimes, in their mechanical hearts, they could scramble up some emotions of their own.

bidding in terms of staying still, and wouldn’t reveal the truth to the inhabitants until the same evening when the sun was setting in the darkened sky. Clouds swirled with Darker’s fury as the seven Sins stared at the lone periwinkle feather on the table, surrounded by light flecks of dust. It had been less than a few moments since Theodore had barged in, doors angrily shutting behind him as he threw the object down, to announce the news.

“Clavier’s gone.”

Darker had already stood up, about to say exactly what they were all thinking. That blue feather. The culprit.

“Then we’ll get him back.” He spits, rash, permanent frown on his face masking into a terrifying neutrality.

Paws hit mouths in utter horror at the event. There hadn’t been a chance this could go unnoticed, and yet -

Newton’s thoughts are loud and clear, the skydancer gently masking his yawn.
There’s only one dragon who could have done this.

—

Just barely a few hours past, in the depths of Clavier's laboratory, he toiled away at his craft with great fervor. A plethora of ancient tomes, their pages weathered with age, lay scattered around him as he delved deep into the secrets of the old masters and their unparalleled mastery of the arcane art of necromancy. His ultimate goal? To hone his skills and surpass even the greatest necromancers of old. Within a dusty cage, the remains of long-dead mice awaited his spellbinding touch, as he summoned his powers to raise them from the dead and imbue them with the magic they had never known in life. His ambitions were grandiose, for he was determined to create a new breed of mice, superior to any that had ever existed before. With each incantation, he could feel his power growing stronger, and the thrill of the unknown was intoxicating.

Despite the potential risks involved in imbuing mice with the power of magic, Clavier remained undeterred. He had faced great challenges before, such as the recent debacle with the rat king he had summoned forth, and he knew that nothing could stand in the way of his insatiable thirst for knowledge and power. As he completed his spell, a sense of anticipation filled the air, and he awaited with bated breath to see what new wonders his creation would unveil. Perhaps these mice would soar through the skies on wings of magic, or conjure up succulent cheese from thin air with but a flick of their tiny tails. Whatever the outcome, Clavier was confident that his experiment would be a resounding success - after all, what could possibly go wrong?

The squeaking of mice was drowned out by the thunderous creak of the wide laboratory doors, gilded with metal and cloth, being thrown off their hinges. The only thing Clavier remembered was the silhouette emerging from the dust and debris before everything faded to black.

And when he awoke -

No.

Lords, heavens, gods, no. Not the bars, not the fluorescent lighting and the cold tiled floor, the metal sheets and paper thin sheets covering the windows from the sunlight, no, not again. The only thing he could do was attempt to stand, stand his ground, despite feeling the lack of magic in his veins again, his only protection. The lack of papers strewn across the floor and an occasional half-alive mouse made him deduce this laboratory wasn’t his. It took another sweeping glance and a light wince at the sound of his own nails scratching against the pristine metal for the blue figure on the other side of the room to turn around.

His movements were practiced, the facade put up. Clavier squinted his eyes and refused to step back, straightening up and standing his ground. He’d step closer if the cage wasn’t so darn small, for the blue skydancer did not look particularly threatening. He was doing his best to be - with the evil smirk, somehow polite eyes and the way he tipped his head for a bow. The false confidence shines through him, his stance steady but still fake, all fake, utterly opposite of the real Theodore who stood tall and indescribably real. The next words made the tundra’s hair stand on end in disgust.

“Good morning, kind sir. You’re alright, yes?”

Ah well, what could you really even expect from Alt Theodore.

The panic fades much quicker than it had begun. Gods, this was getting annoying. It wasn’t the first time either, and Clavier hadn’t kept track because he wished it would not happen again. He only dusted off his paws and neat clothing, rolls his eyes so theatrically he makes sure this odd version of Theodore definitely sees, he himself brimming with pride at the barely noticeable pang of rejection in the insecure obsessed eyes. That’s what he deserves, for trying to take him away from those who saved him, those who love him, those with whom he belongs, in exchange for these cold, loveless halls. The sheer touch of mania that glossed over Alt Theodore’s eyes whenever Clavier was near scared the tundra, now just more expressed in disgust. What a wondrously odd urge, to wish for a partner so dearly, from a specific bloodline and nobody else. Well, Clavier already had a lab partner and was quite happy with him, doing his best to block out the drowsy speech now coming from much too close to him, next to the bars.

“I’d have gotten something more welcoming than a cage, but your predicament towards this is still… relatively, undesirable. Is there anything at all I can get for you as an apology?”

“Is asking to be granted my freedom too much for you?” Clavier snapped back, always quick-witted to retort. He loved the way Alt Theodore’s front seemed to crack, how the real him came forth when he was denied what he wanted most. Neat tricks, but Clavier was also growing sick of them, paws on the metal bars in an instant. Alt Theodore was lucky he was standing just far enough out of his reach, face growing near apologetic.

“I apologize, truly. You know I can’t do that for you, although I do want to, really.”

A moment passed, Clavier’s paws trembling with anger, dark eyes gleaming. The false Theodore’s front cracked and shattered, gone was the grin, making way for the little smile.

“I’m sorry I made you so angry.”

Clavier wasn’t shy to let his lip twitch, doing his best not to spit in the blue skydancer’s half mechanical face. “Make. You make me utterly livid, take me away from my work, lock me up here aimlessly in hopes I’ll join you. I’ve given you my answer time and time again and let me say it one more time in case you haven’t gotten it in your head yet - I don’t want to be here, I don’t belong here! I don’t belong with you.” Alt Theodore’s face degraded down to desperation, so utterly pitiful now as he leaned back from the backlash, blinking as if he had done nothing wrong, just a boy in a man’s shoes making bad decisions.

“But won’t you consider giving me a chance? Please, I simply know you could learn to love it here. I can see it.”

The only thing he saw were his delusional fantasies, mystical dreams that he wanted so badly to be real. With a huff Clavier pushed himself off the bars and sat on the ground, arms crossed. He’d rather not talk with him again, just wait. He always waited and his Theodore came in and saved him, always. That was the way it had been then. That was the way it was now. And Alt Theodore would be left on the ground or running off - not unless other sins came along. Even a weaker sin like Sloth, one not much suited for combat, could still make tremendously quick work of a two-versus-one. Just a few blessed hours of silence and he’d be back home, in his armchair, with his half alive half dead (potentially flying?) mice. He considered himself blessed when the footsteps left the laboratory, then cursed again when a plate was pushed into the meal slot at the bottom of the cage, an abominable green sloppy mixture on top.

The tundra spoke first. “I beg your pardon?”

The hopeful tone in the skydancer’s voice was disgusting considering the contents of the plate. “The flora in this world isn’t quite the same as yours, but I attempted to emulate the environment, make something new of it.”

A paw flipped the plate over with a strong bash, the slop darkened to a deep black as the skydancer sighed heavily then stooped to clean up. Clavier simply despised vegetables, still does, but he didn’t let Alt Theodore go away with the pleasure of knowing such, eyes widening upon seeing the change in colour. When his raised eyebrow finally was seen by the taller dragon, he got an awkward shrug.

“I am still, eh, perfecting the formula. Thank you for refusing.”

Goodness knows what would have happened. And so time passed, as it always did, the chronoscope doubling as a watch, ticking muffled by Alt Theodore’s neat waistcoat, always proper and azure blue as ever. He could feel the pair of eyes glaring into him, so deep and dark, angry yet calm, oh, waiting. May as well make use of the time, now that he was here, the skydancer steeling his expression once more before attempting another aimless conversation, getting his sweet time with the one he truly deserved before the necromancer would be snatched away by those from his dimension again.

“Would you perhaps like to come out for a moment?” The skydancer asked, blinking curiously, doing his best not to let the glare affect him. The strength of Clavier’s gaze did not soften in the slightest for a split second before he huffed to himself.

“You think I want to stay in here?”


“No, I suppose not.” Alt Theodore shamefully avoided eye contact as he pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the padlock of the cage, opening the door.

How he wished that Clavier’d run from the cage and embrace him, hold him in his arms without a second thought. Instead, he cautiously walked from the cage, keeping his eyes trained on the skydancer the entire time. He stayed eerily silent, leaning on the front of the cage and staring at him as the false Theodore fidgeted with the key in his claws.

“Why… Why don’t you help me with my science? Maybe we can create something you’d like to eat if we work together.”

Clavier eyed him warily, but got up to follow him to his workbench. His movements felt forced as he began working with the materials he had set out, while he straightened my posture and flipped through the gilded notebook.

This book - it held the key to everything, how to be like his Theodore. Maybe, just perhaps, if he was similar enough, he won’t run away one of these times. Clavier won’t leave Alt Theodore alone, he’ll be what he wants, and they’ll both live together in harmony.

Only, it’s so hard to do everything perfectly. Theodore’s brain was different from his, they don’t operate the same way despite them being seemingly near identical versions of one another. Things that came natural to him were difficult for the blue variant to achieve. Shoulders down, head held high, every bit of clothing tucked perfectly in place. Speech stern but caring, a knack for surgery, but ever so neat about it. He didn’t ever get bloodstains on his clothes or struggle with putting on rubber gloves, he was never clumsy enough to feed his partner almost-wilted concoctions of leaves.

Someday, he’d get it right.

Alt Theodore closed his eyes and wished to be someone else, attempting to speak once more before going out, off to mend his broken heart in the solace of his room, perhaps with Alaric’s help. The alternate had been to the other dimension, had seen his servant’s apparent future, so bright and full of knowledge, power. In this one, he was just a servant. It amused him to think of it - but that was good. At least Alt Theodore’s power was unrivaled. Barely a few halls away, the subject of Alt Theodore’s deepest wishes and imaginations materialized in the alternate dimension.

As he materialized in the alternate timeline, a nagging sense of unease gripped the red skydancer. Something felt off, disturbingly so. Standing within the opulent main room of the mansion, an unsettling stillness hung in the air, a silence that seemed to hold a disconcerting quality. Beyond the tall windows, he observed the shade souls, twisted entities with elongated forms, clawing desperately at the glass. Their primal hunger was palpable, yearning to consume any unsuspecting beings from realms beyond the shade lands. Shaking his head, Theodore acknowledged the temporary respite within the mansion's confines, knowing they were shielded from the sinister reach of the shade.

Embarking on a cautious exploration of the deserted corridors, he couldn't shake the ever-present feeling of foreboding that coursed through his veins, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. The hallways exuded an oppressive darkness, casting a heavy weight upon his surroundings. The air hung thick with dust, threatening to trigger a cough that would betray his presence. Questions flooded his mind. Where were the mansion's occupants? Why was there no one to hinder his progress? Turning a corner, the silence was broken by a faint sound that reached his ears. A partially open door beckoned him, casting a slender beam of light into the gloom. Treading with utmost caution, he padded across the carpeted floor, each step carefully muffled, and peered through the narrow crack in the door, careful not to disturb it any further.

Alt Theodore stood in front of a mirror, clutching a worn leather notebook in one of his claws. With deliberate movements, his other claw sliced through the air, emphasizing each word that escaped, hesitant, somehow unnerved.

"Now, Clavier, you are my one and only," he spoke, his voice tinged with wistfulness. Frowning, the blue skydancer squinted at his reflection, a hint of dissatisfaction shadowing his features. He whispered to himself, "No, no. That's not right."

Straightening his posture, he lowered his shoulders and puffed out his chest. Adjusting his attire with precision, he cleared his throat and made another attempt.

"Clavier, you are the light of my life," he stated, his tone devoid of emotion. Holding the pose for a moment, he eventually deflated, tossing the notebook aside. "I have to get it right."

Restlessness overcame him, compelling him to pace back and forth. His nails clawed at his feathers, his body trembling with frustration. After a brief moment, he returned to the mirror, leaning in closely, voice laced with malice as he whispered.

"I will get it right."

Having witnessed enough, Theodore , unseen, swiftly passed by the door, navigating the twisting hallways with determination. As he ventured onward, his thoughts gravitated towards what he had observed. Alt Theodore... he was striving to emulate him. Be him. The motive behind his actions seemed different from what Theodore had always assumed. It appeared to be infused with a sense of melancholy, a yearning to possess Clavier as his own, rather than the treachery he had previously suspected. An understandable want, however improbable.

Theodore bit the inside of his maw, rigidly cleaning underneath his nails. He didn’t have much time, attempting to sniff out the love of his life amidst the empty hanging scent of dread. Alt Theodore… Did he love Clavier as much as he did? If given the choice, would Theodore also go mad, stealing someone who wasn’t his, from a lifetime that wasn’t his to live? Surely, if prompted with enough heartbreak. It hurt Theodore to even think about a life without Clavier, for nothing he knew would ever be the same. No experiments, no collaboration, no elevation of knowledge higher and the intermingling of their skills to reach new heights. He, no, they, wouldn’t spend time together reading into the wee hours of the morning. They wouldn’t know the love that makes up their very beings.

The weight of wrongness settled upon Theodore, casting a shadow over his being. He blinked, attempting to dismiss the intrusive thoughts that plagued his mind. How could he allow himself to be so vulnerable, even within the confines of his own thoughts? The notion of revealing his weaknesses, even to himself, felt unacceptable. Such vulnerability led to becoming entangled in the clutches of overpowering emotions, a state Theodore observed in his alternate counterpart. Yet, despite his efforts, he couldn't deny the immutable truth—he harbored deep feelings for Clavier. It was a love that had woven itself into the very fabric of his existence, an emotion he couldn't and wouldn’t dare to wish away.

These connections formed throughout the course of their lives, they were the chinks in their armor, the vulnerabilities worth embracing. Theodore acknowledged his ties to the sins, to Clavier, recognizing that this connection rendered him stronger and more resolute. It was these very bonds that compelled him to navigate the mansion within the shade lands, a realm cloaked in darkness, ready to fight relentlessly for the object of his affection.

In a hushed voice, he murmured to himself. “I must be strict, for it shows that I care.”

His efforts paid off, soon coming upon a careful study, much too pristine.




Curled up in a cushioned chair on the far side of the laboratory, Clavier had found solace amidst the remnants of their failed experiments. The unfamiliarity of the chemicals and magical properties in this world proved to be a hindrance, while Alt Theodore's scientific prowess paled in comparison to that of his true counterpart, Theodore. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, a protest against the meager melting vegetable provisions, prompting a weary sigh as he turned a page in the book he had chosen to immerse himself in.

Unperturbed by the slight creak of the door, he assumed it was Alt Theodore's arrival, keeping his gaze fixed upon the book's pages in a desperate effort to ignore the unwanted advances, yet another prompt to do another experiment. In this altered timeline, at least the scent and feel of an aged book remained as comforting as ever. His perk is nostrils detected another scent, a familiar fragrance of vague machine oil and light perfume that held an irreplaceable significance in his life. Startled, he turned his head and beheld Theodore entering through the narrow opening, inadvertently releasing the book from his grasp. A surge of emotions coursed through him, compelling them to run towards each other, their embrace a testament to the depths of their longing. He clung to Theodore, unwilling to let go, his grip tightening with an intensity that demanded reciprocation.

Theodore, his claws gently gliding through the soft fur on his head, chuckled. "You must've really missed me."
A smile illuminated Clavier’s face, his lips parting as a contented purr reverberated from within, a manifestation of unadulterated joy.

"Let's go home, shall we?" Theodore suggested, prompting him to finally end their embrace.

From his jacket pocket, the skydancer produced his own chronoscope prototype, more battered than the last time, its pocket watch face shimmering in the light, its ornate, slightly cracked silver hands ticking at a leisurely pace. Resting a hand upon his shoulder, Theodore pressed the button, initiating their return to their own timeline.


—


Resting quietly together in his room, Clavier and Theodore found solace amidst the myriad books that surrounded them. The shelves, far grander than those in the necromancer's own room, stretched from floor to ceiling, brimming with volumes on science, the intricate workings of the universe, and all the knowledge required for his extensive laboratory experiments. Among the shelves, one section was dedicated to books on surgery, his area of expertise. Each tome had been perused multiple times, yet their allure never waned to them. Clavier, on the other hand, harbored a fascination for the surgery books adorned with vivid illustrations, captivated by the visual exploration of a dragon's inner workings, the mechanisms that sustained life. It seemed to complement his penchant for the macabre and his connection to necromancy. However, a small portion of his shelves was reserved for fantasy—a collection of fairy tales chronicling the origin of Sornieth and the genesis of the eleven deities, the stories of old of how their world had apparently been told. They didn't truly believe these tales, both dragons of science, yet the theories surrounding their existence never failed to captivate their imagination. Together, they chose a book from this shelf, and as they pursued its pages, Clavier nestled against his partner’s chest. It served as a source of comfort for them both, a literary sanctuary where they could lose themselves in another realm while remaining firmly grounded in their own timeline, hopefully never to return to the alternate one.

Clavier raised his head as the cook pushed open the door to his room, a spark of anticipation gleaming in his eyes.

"I'm hungry," Clavier remarked, getting up from the bed.

The cook wheeled in a large cart adorned with trays, each covered by gleaming silver lids, as was customary for every meal served to them. He rose from the bed, nodding his gratitude to the cook before he made his exit. Turning his attention to Clavier, who appeared ready to pounce upon the food without restraint, Theodore intervened, extending a claw to halt his impulsive action, capturing his gaze.

"It only gets better," he goaded, placing a claw atop the largest, domed lid and slowly unveiling the delicacies beneath.

Clavier's eyes widened in astonishment as the plates revealed a succulent rack of perfectly cooked lamb. He watched in awe as the remaining lids were lifted one by one, revealing capriccio, shrimp cocktail, sushi, and cooked ham. By the time all the lids had been removed, the tundra appeared on the verge of fainting.

"All of this...for me?" Clavier stammered.

"Yes," the surgeon replied, a smile gracing his features, gesturing for the necromancer to indulge.

"Not a single vegetable in sight!" Clavier exclaimed, seizing one of the lamb chops and devouring the tender meat in a single bite.

"For all the troubles we've endured today, it's worth it—just this once," he declared, plucking a shrimp from the plate for himself.


—

Back in the alternate timeline, Alt Thedore made the swift return to the reading room.

“Clavier, I think I’ve finally got it, I-” He stopped mid-sentence as he pushed open the door to my laboratory. Clavier is nowhere in sight. He’d gone, gone from this place once again. Always leaving him. Without so much as a chance.

He sighed and sat down in the padded chair where he’d left him reading, and noticed the book carelessly tossed onto the floor, left behind without a care. Theodore must’ve come for him, he just knew it. Alt Theodore inhaled Clavier’s scent that had been left in the chair and released the breath he’d been holding. A true sadness washes over his crackled heart, one he knew all too well. It’s a sadness he lived with, every single day.

“At least you’re safe with him,” the fallen skydancer said softly.

“One day, I’ll do everything right. I’ll try my very best for you.”