Four Months Before the Golden Rooster

Part Four: Card Games

[January 1, 2300. The ledge of a high tower, overlooking the ancient city of Tomoeda.]

There are just some nights that are unusually special.

…

A cold winter's night in Baroque England.

A flash of lightning across a stormy sky.

A giant teddy bear, rising up over the horizon.

A familiar park, blazing with the flames of hell.

…

There are some nights—some moments in a man's whole history of being—that stand out.

…

In 1682, a child thrashed in bed, sick with fever and Shielded of heart.

In 1683, a squire took to the skies for the first time, terror beating within and storm without.

In 2002, a dying knight gritted his teeth and braced for impact as feminine screaming echoed in his ear.

In 2010, a paladin rose from a land of decay; the final battle is but a short flight eastward…

…

There are some memories that, even after the erosion of many centuries, never flicker, and never fade. Moments across the timeline—key moments, the nights that had decided our fate. Were they all predestined? I never knew. Were they all written out at the dawn of time by some great author of our canon? I still cannot know. This is the destiny that was created when men tried to see the future, and guide their actions thereby.

It was a sad truth I never understood in my waxing years.

I couldn't comprehend my powers in my youth; that knowledge was something that took a great deal of forging to grasp. Not a clairvoyant, not a seer, not a fortuneteller or a medium. I assumed that I alone among these powerful figures was doomed to live only in the present. Fanciful visions of a future life… Pure fantasy. One too many blows to the head. There could be on other explanation…

Telepathy, my father called it. But it never was quite so, this psychic power. The telepath reads the waking thoughts of his victims. The stream of their consciousness. Their musings. Their worries. Oh, but if I could have read your mind, Clow… Well, hikarakuyō. Blossoms fall. Leaves scatter. Empathy, it should be more rightly called. And it is a kind of power too: the ability to connect to another being at their very heart, their very soul. Or, perhaps… to connect to oneself—one's future self, one's past self. Across time and across space. Sure. Fine. Why not? It's magic isn't it?

And, besides…

Those seers can't have all the fun!

…

Interlude, Zettai Daidōbu!

(or Yue's Flight)

[March, 2010. On the plains of a darkened wasteland, outside of what used to be Tomoeda.]

There are just some moments that transcend their meager place in time.

The sound of a distant explosion rocked the skies overhead. Rocks shifted. Dust fell. A magician boy hissed in his throat. Even so far removed, the power of that blast was enough to shake the precarious overhang of rock that hovered above him and his pair of charges. The young woman at his left whimpered, eyeing the ceiling lest it chose to cave in upon her. As if her gaze could change the laws of gravity… But all the same, he wasn't going to scold this girl. Her composure, the most solid and defining feature he remembered of her from their youth, had not yet crumbled. Truly, he hoped he would never see the day it did. However, like the rocks aloft, it was severely shaken.

Syaoran Li sighed and leaned back against the cliff face even as it trembled. "It's all right," he murmured without enthusiasm. He had no enthusiasm left. No strength. No hope—or at least none worth relying on. He wasn't even sure if he was talking for his companion's sake or his own. He wished like hell he could be differently. "It's all right. Everything's absolutely fine. That's what she would say, isn't it?"

When there was no response from his side, Syaoran glanced over his shoulder, at the girl who was struggling—but succeeding—at regaining herself. Her eyes were strong, though she was doubled over her legs, torn arms of her jacket clutching at her knees. The knees were bruised. Of course they were. A long trail of blood was dripping up her thigh and onto her shorts, but the shaken maiden seemed not to have noticed. Her long black hair was tangled with substances that he probably didn't want to identify.

Altogether, it wasn't a pretty picture.

Syaoran's tongue traipsed across the back of his upper teeth, as if toying with the idea of uttering the woman's name. As if his rebellious mind was thinking of calling out to her, calling in a way that was much more personal than was his usual comfort level. 'Tomoyo-chan' whispered the voice in his head, 'Don't worry, Tomoyo-chan'.

It was a name of endearment that the sorcerer hadn't heard in a very long time, though he wasn't sure if Tomoyo Daidōji could say the same. It was what Sakura had called her back in the day, in the dawn of their youth. Perhaps she still did. The magician boy didn't know. He'd not been there to know…

But what Sakura Kinomoto did or did not do was of little consequence, ultimately. Syaoran, for his part, had always avoided such intimacy. Always. Even if it was something so inconsequential as the acknowledgment of their friendship. No. No such intimacy. Or, any at all, actually. With anyone. Ever. There had only ever been one exception to that rule, but then again, Sakura seemed to be the exception to everyone's rule. But, her aside, he never called any of them by name—or even obliquely if it could be helped. Japanese was funny that way. To speak to someone, even by pronoun, it required one to declare their relation to the other. Terribly inconvenient. It also, conveniently, allowed one to avoid such noun usage altogether. That, by contrast, was incredibly convenient. It was a feature he had exploited ever since he first came to this country seeking the cards. It had allowed him for years to avoid ruffling his tough-guy façade any more than it already had been. Of course, it hardly mattered now. He'd grown up, grown past all that nonsense… but old habits were hard to break. And he couldn't afford to be awkward now. Not here.

It was funny that a foreign boy should use these girls' own language against them. But in this group, it wasn't even an exercise he was alone in. Or… at least he hoped he wasn't now alone in his aloofness. There had been one other whose ability to dodge any acknowledgment of familiarity had outshined even Syaoran's own. Another foreign boy, ironically. Had been. There had been one other, the fucking bastard.

Now, he just hoped that self-same bastard would wake the hell up!

"Do you think… that's Sakura-chan? Over there, with—with those explosions?"

At the sound of Tomoyo's voice, Syaoran broke away from his frustrated musings and glanced back in the girl's direction. Her dark eyes glittered in the half-light with their strangely violet hue. Ugh. Violet. Bad train of thought. But color aside, they were sparkling in a way that denoted rapid movement, trembling. Her gaze was shaking, tearing, betraying, even if she was outwardly trying to maintain her emotional continence. It was a sad sight to behold. The knotted hair, the torn clothing, the weakness showing through every line of her face. All these things were very un-Tomoyo-like. Syaoran squirmed uncomfortably. He wasn't good with crying girls. Not at all. That was how Sakura had gotten him initially, back before he'd gotten to know her. But Tomoyo…

Tomoyo never cried.

"I dunno," the sorcerer answered honestly. It was true, after all. He didn't know. He was useless, powerless. He couldn't help Sakura, even now. (He couldn't stop her…) And whatever was going on over there… he could only imagine. Imagine and hang onto this one crazy hope… the one chance he had remaining.

"I'm so worried about her…" Tomoyo whispered, quieter still. Her voice was growing high and tight, and Syaoran couldn't help but hear her suppress a sniffle. He kept his eyes rooted firmly upon the ground until she regained her composure. "She… She seemed so unlike herself. So unlike our Sakura-chan."

Again, Syaoran squirmed, but said nothing. Absentmindedly, he poked at the blisters running down his burned arm, as if distracted. Silence descended between the two again, punctuated only by the sounds of distant chaos and the flash of faraway light. Into the expanse beyond, the magical warrior stared, watching smoke curl up over the little bubble that was Tomoeda. It was a dimension away from them now—truthfully!—in another world… And it was burning. And there was nothing he could do about it.

After a while, Syaoran became aware of his friend shifting against the hard earth. Through the stillness that surrounded them, he sensed her drawing to her feet and dusting off her ruined skirt. With surprising grace, she limped past, favoring her wounded leg, and settled beside their third companion—for there was indeed a third among them... He heard the faint sound of soft skin against fibrous collagen and knew that she must have been stroking his hair. (Mother, what an undertaking that was!)

"Please wake up, Yue-kun," the young girl whispered.

Syaoran shuffled beneath his robes, finding it ever harder to stay comfortable—to keep his gaze firmly forward and not flitting over his fellow refugees. Well, his fellow refugee and the limp sack of potatoes they had been dragging across the wasteland. Gods, he hoped he wasn't wrong about all this, and that bastard really was still alive! Otherwise, he had put them through all of such toil for nothing… and then Sakura would be…

But no. No way in hell. He refused to believe any of that line of thought, even if it was probably just Li stubbornness burning in his blood. He refused to believe that Sakura Kinomoto could fail. And, moreover, he refused to believe that it could be so easy to take out the ancient, angelic asshole that she called friend and comrade.

Unable to stand it anymore, Syaoran glanced over his shoulder. Tomoyo was knelt at the side of a boy with feathered wings and long flowing hair—a boy whose appearance of youth more than insulted his true age. Yue Tsukishiro, second guardian to the Cards, arguably looked the best off of their trio. He bore no wide gashes or bleeding burns. The only sign he'd seen battle at all was the bruising beneath his eyes, leftover from a surprise blow to the back of the head. Hell, even that seemed to be healing nicely. But, of course he looked all right. It wasn't some battle wound that had taken this soldier out of commission. No, this was something he'd done to himself, and it was all anyone could do to watch the aftermath.

The problem with Yue was that he was limp as a noodle and only as lively as the surrounding bedrock. Tomoyo had laid him out on his back, wings splayed across half the area, and his hands folded over his chest in a great imitation of the other corpses amidst which they had found him. They'd tried looking the kid over, but Syaoran was damned if he could tell whether or not he would ever recover… If there was anything to recover... He was going on a hunch with this—a complete shot in the dark! That was the only reason they had dragged Yue along with them in the first place. He was their last hope…

"I still can't tell if he's breathing," Tomoyo whispered. She was leaning over the mage now, hair pulled back behind her ear, as if hoping to catch a sigh on the wind, or warm breath upon her cheek. She fell back to her knees after a moment, defeated. Syaoran wished he could say he was surprised.

Then as if Tomoyo could read his mind—and Syaoran was never going to tempt fate in case she really could—she suddenly spoke up, uttering the very fears that her friend was trying to hide:

"Syaoran-kun, you're sure he's still alive… aren't you?"

The sorcerer fidgeted in his blackened robes. No, he wasn't sure, but… "If there wasn't a spark of life left in him, then he should have dissolved back into the primal energy from which his soul was sealed.

"Besides," he added as a dark afterthought, "If Yue were that easy to kill, then my family wouldn't have written so many warnings about his resilience."

He was alluding, of course, to the books he'd read before first coming in quest of the cards. Disturbing stuff, that was. Syaoran had known, of course, that Clow and Cerberus and Yue had come to China in the latter part of the 17th century, but he couldn't fathom what he lunar sorcerer could have done in that time to have elicited so many manuscripts of hatred in his name.

Tomoyo hadn't responded to his assertions yet. Indeed, she still seemed to be mulling it over in her mind, preparing an answer, when the both of them were abruptly cut off. Suddenly, out of nowhere, something new exploded in their midst—and this time it wasn't the detonations of a distant battle! The young girl screamed his name as she threw herself to her feet and leapt hurriedly backwards. Syaoran, however, scarcely needed the alert. For, just that moment, a wave of violent magical power washed over the sorcerer, so potent and so primal that he could almost feel it burning him from the inside. He could almost feel it tying his own powers in knots. Feeding them. Overstimulating them. Bombarding his magical senses until he felt his entire being would explode!

A quick flash of violet erupted beneath their overhang, and the magical boy nearly screamed from the impact. All at once, a pair of amethyst eyes snapped open, and their owner leapt swiftly into action before body or mind had even a chance to catch up. Still doubled over from the sudden invading power, Syaoran yelped and threw himself to the ground as a pressure wave of displaced air buffeted over his head.

It took a long moment before he realized just what had happened.

A very long moment.

The only sound that beat the air was that of three individuals gasping, panting. One of the trio sounded as if he'd just run a marathon to get here. Hell, Syaoran thought to himself, perhaps he had in a sense…

"Wake up fighting, Yue?" He called over his shoulder, doing his best to seem cool and in control. Inside, his spiritual energies were still burning, pulsing in time with those still radiating off the godlike being at his side.

Using every bit of self-control he had, the sorcerer didn't turn around immediately. When he did glance to the side, however, he found to no surprise that the blond boy in their midst had not only revived, but was crouched low to the ground, braced in a defensive stance that was rather remarkable for his apparent condition. His right hand was still cast off to the side, firm and unshakable, clear that it had just finished a rather impressive and targeted swipe. Syaoran knew not where the man could have gotten the energy to execute it, but he was glad nonetheless that he'd not been any closer.

Yue didn't respond at first, but then again, as a warrior himself, Syaoran wasn't really expecting one. He could imagine the level of disorientation. However, after another long moment wherein they all continued to breathe heavily, he watched his elder blink a few times and apparently bring the world into focus. "You…" the mage hissed softly, his choice of pronoun so unkind that Syaoran almost winced again. Nevertheless, his stance loosened, wings went limp.

A moment later, Yue was collapsed on the ground again with the rest of them, looking far more like a broken angel than an unstoppable killer. As the tension eased, Syaoran released the breath he had been holding. But exhausted though the protector of the cards looked, he was apparently no less alert. Pale eyes quickly and methodically ticked over their surroundings (rocks, cliff, wasteland), then over himself as if searching for some sign of dismemberment. Of course, there was none to be found. The younger magician watched a fair brow furrow in obvious confusion, but likewise watched as the tension quickly eased. There was no time for confusion. All three of them knew that. They'd seen enough already to know…

Yue sighed, and, turning back towards his two other companions, glanced over each of them in turn. His eyes darkened only slightly when they slid over Syaoran. Then, with another sigh, he muttered in a tone that was familiarly sarcastic: "Well, Daidouji is with us, so I'm assuming we aren't both in hell."

Syaoran felt himself smile, if only slightly. Yue never changed, even after all these years, and he never would disappoint. Stronger than before, he replied with equal guile: "Since when did you start calling people by name?"

"After you left again!" came the biting reply, and Syaoran couldn't help but wince. He almost missed the Yue who had, like himself, refused to acknowledge anyone—even a teammate—by name or relation. Now his pronouns stung almost as surely as his sentiments. At least he was kinder than had been Sakura's brother… But at any rate, this wasn't a time to be dwelling on crimes of the past. Not when their whole future was at stake.

"You know I had no choice," he replied quietly.

Yue made a sound in his throat somewhere between disbelief and exasperation, but didn't push the issue further. He turned momentarily away from the pair and whispered in a voice quiet enough to nearly go unheard: "She missed you…"

Syaoran felt his chest tighten at those words, but stubbornly refused to dwell upon them now. His guilt could wait until later. As could his internal conflict.

"Apparently not enough," he answered in reply, grabbing something off the ground as he pushed haphazardly to his feet. Striding across the small expanse between them, he drew up in front of Yue and offered the object—or, rather, the stack of objects—for his elder's inspection. "Because I couldn't stop her," he murmured as he watched the mage's eyes flash with surprise and comprehension.

"Sakura…" the mage whispered, taking the pile from his fellow's hands and spreading out its constituents until they formed a wide fan. The Cards. Sakura's Cards. The ones that had brought all of them together. The ones Clow had sealed some 300 years ago. The ones she should never be without. "All nineteen…" Yue whispered darkly as he glossed over them, "She went to fight Ian without them?"

"S-Sakura-chan thought he would take them from her." This time it was Tomoyo's sharp tones that broke the heavy lull. "She—she said she didn't want to give him what he wanted. Not after…" But her voice fell away, fading into nothingness as if it had not the strength to continue.

Therefore, it was up to Syaoran to pick up the slack.

"She thinks you're dead," he said pointedly. And it would have been a lie to say he didn't get a twisted joy from watching Yue squirm at the reminder of his mortality. "To be fair, she thinks a lot of us are dead. And so she and Cerberus have both run in already, guns blazing."

"Then why aren't you there helping her—?"

"I TRIED!"

A silence fell between them so thick that it was palpable. The sound of explosions once again rushed over the scene. The flash of far-off magic illumined three tense faces in a bright assortment of colors. It was a sickening mockery of nature, of a thunderstorm. In its midst, Syaoran sighed and turned in the faint light. Blisters and bloodied scabs glistened on the burned half of his body. There was no way the mage could miss it.

"I wasn't strong enough to stand up to Ian," was all he said in explanation, but it was enough to make Yue hang his head in defeat. "I never have been. I've never been strong enough to help her when she's needed it most.

"But you are."

At once, Yue snapped his gaze back up, fair eyes burning as he regarded the young magician in his midst. Then, with a groan, he slackened again, looking away with something like twisted amusement. "Flying off to the rescue amidst a magical storm, over our ruined home. Reminds me of something from a very very long time ago…" But he sighed again, this time more darkly, and shook his in apparent sadness. "But alas, I haven't even the strength to stand. It can't happen here like it did in Lightwater…"

"Lightwater…?" Tomoyo's voice echoed from what sounded like miles away. No one answered. No one was really expected to.

Syaoran regarded the pitiful creature on the dirt beneath him. He looked defeated, solemn. It was a weird look on Yue and he wasn't sure he liked the sudden upsurging of humanity from the kid. This really wasn't the time for angst. Not when they had so much at stake. Only they could save Sakura, here and now—and only by getting this jackass—!

But instead of raging himself, Syaoran lowered himself down. He sat upon cold stone and leaned over until he and the drooping mage could see eye to eye. (Dear gods, had Yue always been so short? He hadn't seemed it when Syaoran had met him as a child…) He felt a faint flush rush over his face at the thought of his next move, the next step in his crazed plan. But he fought through it. He had to. Besides, he wasn't a hormonal little boy anymore. Surely he could manage to…

"My power is lunar in origin…" the wizard managed, only somewhat awkwardly. He sensed Yue glancing up to look at him, but couldn't bring himself to meet the man's gaze. "And it's…. always been… reactive… to you."

"What are you getting at?" Yue asked, peering through snow-colored fringe. Syaoran felt his face get hotter, but with it, he only rekindled his resolve.

"Dammit!" he yelled, surprising even himself. "I'm asking you if you can borrow some of mine! Some of my strength! T-to make up the difference. So… so you can recover enough to go save her. Just tell me if it'll work already!"

He still couldn't meet the mage's eye as quiet washed over them again. His ears were burning, and he was sure by now the ruddy color had spread to the back of his neck. Dammit, why could he do nothing without getting flustered? After all these years! And… it was really something so simple…

Across the way, Yue was looking contemplative and annoyingly unbothered by this whole affair. Unshakably pretty, that one. Damn bloody bastard. If only he could be half as fucking graceful…

"…like running a vehicle on crude oil…" the elder sorcerer was musing. Syaoran had had just about enough of it, however. He was stressed, he was tired, and the passing years had done little to curb his occasional urge to punch Yue in the face.

"Will you just tell me if it will work or not!?" he shouted, ignoring the sounds of Tomoyo's muffled giggles at his expense.

"It should."

Feeling the touch of cool hand upon his shoulder, Syaoran dared to look up and met the determined stare of a pair of lavender eyes.

"All right," Syaoran nodded in reply, feigning more confidence than he felt all the while. "Then I'm counting on you. Keep. Her. Safe."

Yue scoffed, releasing him. "Why the bloody hell do you people keep thinking that's even a promise left unmade?…First Tōya, now you…"

Syaoran smiled despite himself and twisted upon the ground. It was about to get slightly more awkward beneath this overhang, but hopefully it would also be the stepping stone towards a greater victory. One final explosion erupted somewhere behind them and cast the night into an eerie pink glow. OK, that one was definitely Sakura. And, when he looked back, it was to see Yue staring blankly off into the distance as well. He, however, seemed not to be looking just at the sparkles and the smoke and the flames that flickered on the horizon. Instead, he seemed to be gazing upon something even more distant—something far more intangible.

"Flying to the rescue…" the mage muttered, apparently to himself. Then he sighed and shook his head, momentary trance broken. "Alas, my younger self," he whispered, so quietly that Syaoran could scarcely hear, "the best of luck to you, but tonight, I have a flight of my own."

Then, he abruptly turned back, eyes focused once more. And that was the last thing Syaoran remembered before the touch of a blazing, primordial power hit him like a ton of bricks.

…

Some nights. Some moments. Points in time... the defining of our fate… Like smoke signalers upon distant hills… Can they see each other?

…

Overhead, explosions of battle were rumbling, as if the atmosphere itself were fearful for the turn of events taking place beneath it.

…

[August, 1683. On the lawn of Reed Manor, outside of the ghost town that used to be Lightwater]

Overhead, the storm was rumbling, as if the clouds themselves simply overjoyed at the turn of events taking place beneath them.

Yue Reed ignored its cocky tones. Pride was a flaw: a vicious flaw. And so too was the inattention that often was its bride. For a fraction of a second more, the boy paused. He allowed one last, shaky breath to wrack his frame before all became steeled and poised at the ready. Taught like a bowstring, ready to strike. Ready to fly. It was now or never. The storm would not hesitate again.

He'd already made his choice.

It was 1683. Yue Reed was some 15 or 16 years old, having only lived through two of that number rightfully. He knew nothing of Japan or explosions or vehicles that shouldn't be running on crude oil. He'd never met anyone named Syaoran Li, let alone watch the boy walk out on his Lady not once but twice. And he was about to take flight unto a daring rescue—but it wasn't of some girl whom he had yet to meet.

It was to save his brother.

And if somewhere else along his timeline Yue's soul was stirring, then his present-day self was utterly unaware of it. But, though he knew not of any of these things, if there was one fact that Yue's future selves had entirely correct, it was this:

Tonight was indeed a crossroads of destiny.

The sound of Clow's screams still echoed across the night, across his mind, but Yue gave them a cold shoulder. He ignored the words, the wailed warning, and breathed in as much cold night air as could be had. He couldn't give in to doubt. There could be no second guessing if he was to succeed tonight—and he would not allow himself to fail! He was young. He was a novice. He was untried, untested, and uncertain. But despite the risks and the recklessness, the fledgling warrior striped himself of his fears more surely than he had his cumbersome layers of clothing.

Today he was a mere squire, but all great knights had once played the knave's role.

He was poised…and he was ready.

In the space of a single heartbeat,

he launched,

wings snapping down like a slingshot.

In one seamless motion, a single blur of palest hues was hurled off the ground, into the oncoming airstream.

With every ounce of strength he had in his slender body, Yue forced his wings out and downward, scooping up droves of air and driving them back to the Earth below. He released the breath he had been holding, feeling his entire chest contract with the effort of his first downstroke.

This part, at least, was familiar. This part, he had done before…

…Before.

Another point along the fate-line…

…

Desperately, he tried to flap his wings—to gain altitude! But to no avail!

…

The space of a heartbeat, the warlock paused. Wind buffeted and nervousness tingled in his extremities. The force of ascent pressed down upon his slender body and made his head swim. Visions of sunny skies threatened to overtake the darkened world around him.

…

Flight musculature constricted completely of its own will, and it became almost impossible to draw breath.

…

The air here was thick with a strange magic. The aura of primal spirits. The taint of battle. Past and present blurred together. It was as though an invisible barrier had hung above his head, at the threshold of earth and heaven. It was as though he had somehow just crossed such a line into a dimension of sights and sounds he could scarcely comprehend. Had the magical battle above contaminated all the sky?

…

The sorcerer's head began to spin—as his body must assuredly have been. Sparkles erupted into his disoriented visual field.

…

The tangled sorcery tempted him. Toyed with him. Pulled at him. Tried to lure him into a false sense of security. Into a daydream…A nightmare… The present. The future. The past.

…

He was moving somewhere very fast. Someone was screaming. The last thing he knew was a sudden sharp pain in his temple before everything suddenly got very—

…

No!

Yue shook his head, dispelling the memories of the ill-fated afternoon. That afternoon so recently passed. Summer's beginning… which had heralded its end.

No. No, no.

He was not there anymore.

Bright green grass gave way to distant piles of muck. Solid, dry terrain became roaring winds beneath him. He was here, in summer's storm, stories above the ground and halfway through his first upstroke. Feeble memories would have no bearing here. Forgotten failures would not mock him, would not stall him. This time would be different; this time he was careful.

Gritting his teeth, the young mage thought fervently of his elder brother lying on the Earth below. Yes. He had to succeed! There were no other options left available to him! The mantra lit a new burning in his sodden soul—a poker to a dying fire. It filled him with a heat and passion that defied even the chill of the wind on his rain-washed flesh. It empowered his tensed muscles and tendons, urging them onward.

Yes: this time.

The air was still rushing around him at firing speed. Only a few seconds had gone by in real time. He was still only part way into his ascent…

This time would be different. This time, he remembered all the mistakes he had made before. This time, he would not crash. This time, he was wiser.

…But…

(A crossroads of fate….)

Time. Time was a thing still spinning, spinning like the little sorcerer's head. Spinning like the long gashes that smeared the aura of this night.

It would not be ignored, hard though Yue tried. This flight was important, and this sky was a battlefield of power and sorcery.

A battlefield. There had been many—would be many battlefields. It was the perfect place for a crossroads of destiny. Of time. Of place. Of the many echoes of the same soul across the prominent moments of his long life. Both the good and, well…

With a lurch, Yue felt the faint scar on his right temple throb violently.

…

Pain—pain like nothing he had felt before shot all throughout his body. His soul was on fire. Flesh screamed out for air—for rescue!

Pain erupted out of his chest as if someone had just stabbed him—it flooded through the sorcerer's body like boiling liquid. He gasped for breath. The girl in his arms was now a leaden weight!

…

For a second more, the world around him pulsed and shifted, and Yue almost twitched in his ascent. Vision of the crash flashed across his mind—and visions of a night he didn't even remember! Out of the chaos, a voice exploded from deep within him—one whose words fell in time with the throbbing of his head. Remember the Earth is real, it whispered. Remember that She is your Mistress and that you will return to her when day is out. Yue's wings stuttered, the echo of the mysterious mantra bouncing about inside him. For some reason, it felt like he had been impaled by an icy spire:

She.

Is.

Your.

Mistress.

Suddenly, the air felt much colder, as though a ripple of—of something—had just cut through the night. There was a power in those words… though why, the sorcerer could not fathom. His scar throbbed feebly again. But its hold was becoming weaker. It was an old hurt now, disempowered by age. It was not the fresh wound it had seemed moments ago. And it was trying to remind him… A memory? He almost felt that he had forgotten something—something essential about his own being that he should have understood. But…that was impossible.

The whole of the world flickered again…

…

Fire coated everything in sight.

…

and then,

…

The town. The houses. The old playground where they had once fought in whimsy.

…

all at once,

…

A hand ghosted over his blood caked scalp and he remembered Daidōji and that brat.

…

seemed to stop.

…

Pain was a thing forgotten. She was in trouble. That was unacceptable.

…

For a moment. Just a moment. Or maybe it was for all eternity.

Yue felt himself pause. Wings froze upon the air. Feathers ceased to ruffle. But it didn't matter. He should have been toppling through the sky. But he wasn't. The sky too had stopped moving, as if time itself had forgotten to flow. Forgotten… There was something here: in this night, in this flight. Something more than the storm. Something prophetic. Something that hinted at a distant future…

Crossroads.

Of.

Fate.

Uncaring about the altitude or the physical implications, Yue released his focus on his wings, on the air. He was not truly among them anyway. Not anymore. He clasped at his forehead, where the old cut against his skull continued to throb with nauseating force…

And he let the night overtake him.

…

He was on the ground, outside his own unwanted homestead. Above them, a giant stuffed bear of all things was raging down its fury…

"Yue-san!"

She was screaming. Of course she was. Bloody hell.

"Yue-san!"

Her voice was piercing. Scarcely what he needed at the moment.

"Yue-san! Are you all right!?"

Damn it all! He was far too old to be dealing with children!

But her touch… her concern… It was laced with something he vaguely remembered from his youth… with the ring of power he so desperately needed!

…

Power! Desperation! Loss! Yue's breath hitched and caught in his throat; suddenly he felt twice as alive as he should have. He felt hot, skin was as warm as a sunny summer day. His every nerve ending was electrified as if with the lightning itself. His heart was racing, though not with excretion.

…

He was flying in to her rescue, borrowed power giving him more than the strength to fly. Shield burned deep within him, and Sword was hot and ready in his hand. And Sakura… Sakura was…

"Yue!"

Screaming. Why was she always screaming?

"Yue! You're… You're alive!"

Yeah. No shit. Flying to her side was a thoughtless maneuver. It had been for years now. Nothing to it. Cerberus had already fallen. Syaoran and Tomoyo were useless, but this was far from over. Rage boiled in his blood—rage at the one who would dare to touch her! To touch any of them! To be the cause at all this suffering! The pain only served as fuel for the fire.

"She's not alone," he hissed, "This battle ends now. Ends like it should have done back in Lightwater!"

…

In Lightwater…

…

The scar against the boy's scalp gave one more mighty pulse, and then faded away, forgotten. It might have been a thing from centuries ago.

And still the words—the words that Yue had thought were his own internal dialogue—continued. But were they still speaking of the Earth? Of the ground beneath him? For what other lady would he ever consider himself bound to? Who else would ever call him home…? It must have been…the earth below,…however…

Remember that She is your Mistress,

the voice inside the mage's head whispered yet again. His own voice, encouraging him, egging him on. There could be no doubt that the words were his own, and yet…

When all is done, you will return to her. Always. You cannot live forever, mortal one, in the domain of the Gods.

And yet there was something it its tone that was utterly unfamiliar. Deeper. Darker. Older. A note of seasoned sadness and unshakable reverence whispered beneath each word, as though their speaker had come to his place of peace only after a lifetime of hardship. It was a quality Yue Reed could scarcely claim in himself. He, so youthful yet, had hardly known suffering—not to this degree! His older self was a warrior. A true knight, with armor stained. But even so…

Remember it is by Her kindness alone that you do not perish, and that you dare to touch the heavens. Remember your home on Earth. Remember by whom you fly…

The wind was picking up again, a soft whisper in the young sorcerer's ear. But…Yue did not quite feel so young at the moment. He was not one, but many. The same person across an entire timeline. Though a part of him was nervous and green, teeming with energy at his first, suicidal flight…there was also another part that was hurt and disgruntled, disillusioned and desperate. And there was another part… the one who fought amongst the flames. Aged. Experienced. Scarred. Refined. Like a fine sword, he had been beaten and honed by centuries of incessant struggle—cast over and over into the fires until he was red hot and half melted. But, like a sword, he had been cooled down again, repeatedly, by the touch of a merciful master, until only the strongest steel remained. Hard and deadly, yet swift and merciful. A perfect blade, folded countless times upon himself until his deepest core was all but unbreachable. And flying was a thing so natural that he never thought of it anymore. Failure? Failure was laughable. He had nothing to fear.

It was his voice that echoed above the others, reaching out to his youngest self—back in time, to his first foray into adventure…

The first light. The first guard stand. The first signal that carried the message onward.

The touch of magic yet lingered on the air. A spell…was it a spell? But who could have cast it? Whatever it was, Yue knew it wouldn't last long. There were things he had to get back to. Sense was returning to him. Individuality. He had a mission in the here and now: The storm. His flight. Cerberus' salvation. But still the voice in his head—the seasoned sword—whispered, though his voice was growing ever fainter as roaring wind filled the boy's ears.

You are the Moon, locked in orbit. Remember your Earth, for you must return to her. It is the eternal destiny of all three of you. To you, she will give her skies, but remember always where you belong. You are of the Earth, and She is your Mistress.

The wind streamed at his rear, and Yue knew soon he would be thrown back to the wolves. He was already several meters in the air, but he knew from experience that if he wanted to climb higher, he couldn't let his guard down now. There was much more to be done, and he had a quest to which he must return.

But to his racing mind, there was one more thing that the elder, wiser voice had to say. And to the night, the words flowed out of the fair sorcerer with a voice that was both his own and completely foreign:

"To protect my mistress, I would give even my life…"

And as soon as they touched the air, the pulse of power around the boy began to fade. As he passed through the veil, back into reality, he scarcely caught the kindly, feminine voice chuckling in his wake:

"Dying would be bad, Yue."

…

Yue blinked, dazedly. For a moment there, he had almost felt like he was…somewhere else… Perhaps he'd underestimated the effects his sudden change in altitude would have on such a slight human body. His head was throbbing again, as if from the compression of too quick an ascension. He would have to work on it in the future. Clearly, he'd not gotten enough blood to his brain there for second…

The blond shook his head, clearing away what remained of his high-pressure stupor. He didn't have time now for thinking or hesitation. There was work to be done! He was already terribly high in the sky! The light scar upon his temple had stopped its stinging, but Yue barely remembered now why he had noticed it in the first place. The past, the future would have no bearing tonight. Real or fantasy, he would not be letting punitive scars of the past keep him from soaring boldly into the future! It was time to do what he had failed at so many times before, he thought, renewed vigor sparkling around him like a blanked against the cold.

It was time to fly!

Though the winds were still swirling about his ankles with the force of his first, powerful downstroke, Yue did not let himself linger. He did not let himself hesitate and feel the pull of his full extension. He would not unfurl his long arms until they went limp and heavy at his sides. No. That was a mistake. That was the fatal mistake last time! Wings such as his were not designed for heavy flapping, and he would lose too much time and lift if he tried to let them rise and fall fully with each beat. He knew that now. From the disaster of his last crash…he knew that now. There would be plenty of opportunity to stretch his limbs up higher, where he could glide. At the moment, he still needed to get out of these ground-level gales: they were too unstable. They would not think twice about making him a smear upon the side of his own household.

Somewhere deep inside him, a familiar presence smiled in approval.

And Yue made a choice bidden to him by hard experience.

Before his wings had completed their circular, downward swoop, he started pulling them back. Like a system of pulleys, he relaxed the muscles across his chest and, with gritted teeth, bid the ones running down his spine to contract. The effect couldn't have been better. Wind still whistling under the boy from his initial launch, his wings lifted back up high above his head.

Upstroke.

Gratefully, Yue drew in a furious breath as the pressure on his chest released. But alas, he did not have time to relish it. He held it in his throat for as long as he could, all the while twisting his raised limbs so as to better catch the wind. The storm above him gave a terrible rumble, and somewhere in the distance, he could still hear Clow screaming—shrieking now even louder than before. His name. He was screaming his name.

Hadn't… someone else… just been…?

Not now, child.

But Yue couldn't focus on that now—not the storm, not his father, not anything else. Before more than a single second could pass him by, the boy released the tension in his back. In a motion just as fluid as the first, he hurled his wings down against the air and shot skyward like a loosed arrow.

Downstroke.

He released the breath he had been holding, feeling his chest contract with the shortening of his pectorals. He did nothing to fight it. If he did, he knew he would only make himself lightheaded—and then he would probably lose control. He could not afford to lose control. The human body was not a thing designed for flight; it was capable only when all parts moved together as one, or else there would be no power to propel him skyward, no strength to hold his wings steady. He had to breathe with his thrusts, and not fight them, or else he would never endure.

That, the young mage thought with an uncomfortable squirm, was probably the thing that frightened him most about flying. Not the height. Not the speed. Not knowing that a series of thin flight feathers and ill-positioned musculature was all that was keeping him from plunging back to the Earth. All of that he could handle. What was one dangerous situation versus another anyway? What was falling to one's death versus freezing in an icy cave? No, this was the part that was so unnerving: being surrounded all sides by fast-moving air. Surrounded by it. Flying on it. Feeling it run through his feathers. And at the same time, never knowing when he would be able to safely recoil his wings. Never knowing when he could again taste the sky—let it fill his small body, rejuvenate his aching musculature.

Water, water everywhere. And all the while, the air was getting thinner…

Yue was so far off the ground now that Cerberus below looked like a single spot of orange. But he scarcely had time to contemplate the dizzying height. Halfway into his next upstroke, the warlock felt what little breath he had remaining suddenly knocked out of him by a vicious northern gust.

The current struck him hard in the side and the boy staggered, wings freezing for half a heartbeat upon the air. Were he not so high up, had he not so much lift—so much momentum gathered beneath him!—the young mage might have fallen out of the fragile system of thermals and streams. But as it was, he quickly regained himself. He was already starting to spiral! Tensing every muscle he could find, Yue dragged his wings back up to the horizontal, forcing them to catch onto the ravenous sideways stream. Gliding, he thought viciously to himself as the gale tugged greedily at his plumage and ripped him immediately off in on a new, violent flight path. His eyes were streaming and tightly closed against the onslaught of wind all around him. Gliding. Soaring. It's just soaring. It's just like all those nights leaping off the roof of the manor…

But it really wasn't.

Ah, to be young again…

There was a voice in Yue's head—a voice that was laughing at him in a tone all too familiar. His own voice, but…not. The boy dismissed it readily, writing it off as yet more oxygen deprivation.

As the gales fought fiercely at his feathers, as they bludgeoned his bare body and stung his sodden skin…Yue could not convince himself that this was like those peaceful eves—those hours he had shared with Mirror and the stars alone, gliding on placid air. No. The storm was howling all around him, and though his open wings caught the attacking current, it was not a peaceful ride as it hurtled him southward. It was wild. It was out of control. He couldn't anticipate it…couldn't trust it to carry him on a straight path. The currents swerved and spun around the boy, forcing him through a series of violent corkscrews across the sky.

Chaotic. Twisted. Compressing. And yet he didn't dare relax his body to catch a quick breath.

Every inch of his flesh was beginning to ache, screaming for air—screaming for release. He needed an upstroke. He was dying for an upstroke! ("What did I just say about dying?" the voice of a playful young girl laughed in his mind.) Tiny explosions of sparkles were beginning to erupt on the edges of his vision as the white-washed mage pitched and rolled amidst the stream. Though he longed for relief, Yue could scarcely lessen the downward pull on his wings. He couldn't let them recoil for one moment lest it send him tumbling to an untimely demise. The winds were simply too rough. Even as he debated with himself, brow furrowed in concentration, he could feel tiny muscles across his chest and back twitching, contracting, relaxing seemingly of their own accord—and all just to keep stable in these unstable currents! He couldn't afford even a moment of repose. The world all around him was passing by so fast, he couldn't even discern color, let alone shape or form. If he released…if he let go for one second. Inwardly, Yue shuddered at the thought…

They didn't need another bloodstain in the mud tonight.

But just as darkness was beginning to make a tunnel of his world, just as the explosions in his head were starting to ring with sound, just when Yue feared he could hold his breath not a moment more, the long airstream began to release. As it neared the end of its line, the fierce, unruly tendrils at last began to turn and attack each other instead of the boy in their midst. That much entropy simply could not be contained any longer. Seeing his chance, Yue let his chest contract and beat down with his wings as hard as he could muster from their half-raised position.

He ascended some, but not enough. The gales were still tearing at his ankles.

Biting down on his lower lip, Yue gritted his teeth, and forced himself to draw his long limbs up as rapidly as he could, flapping them hurriedly against the sky. Muscles all up and down his back protested, but the mage paid them no mind. As long as they held out on him… as long as they could hold out just a minute more…

He was not designed for this type of flying—not on a grand scale! His wings, each some ten feet in length were simply too large and heavy. He couldn't flap hard and fast like a sparrow or a humming bird. And he hadn't the musculature. He, a frail, tiny human: his build thin, his height scarcely over five feet. His own brother outweighed him almost three-to-one. He was strong…but he was not by any means bulky. He was small, light, agile—designed to be aerodynamic. There was no doubt in the mage's mind that his ability to fly was a delicate balance. There was no room for excess baggage. No room for excess weight unless he wanted to rely on magic to stay airborne as, he suspected, did his brother.

How fortunate of the sun to always have an endless supply to burn…

But this was hardly the time to be envying Cerberus.

Yue's strokes were thinner, weaker as they flapped fervently at the air, but his body held out. And, even more to the sorcerer's surprise, with only a few more vicious cycles, he was free of the spiraling stormy currents. Not wasting a beat, he pulled up at the back of his limbs, forcing his primaries above the rest of his lily-white plumage. He caught the lift he desired. At once, the mage cupped his wings and swooped triumphantly upward, breaking at last into calmer, high-altitude breezes.

His very soul sighed in relief.

The clouds were still above him, rumbling ominously with thunder, but here the winds were blowing in a steady, constant stream back in the direction of the manor. Gratefully, exhaustion setting in, Yue released his pectorals' strangulating grip on his ribcage. He dropped a few feet in altitude, wings feebly flapping at the elbow just enough to keep him stable on his updraft. But right this moment, the wearied warlock didn't care. He gasped greedily at the air, unable to hold back for even a moment longer. The cold, wet night stung at his throat, but he paid it no mind. This was nothing compared to the winter. The winter in which he had trained for this. The sorcerer dared a glance down below him, where he could still see the winds swirling, shooting debris hither and thither across the lawn. That was the worst of it, he thought to himself, panting as he let his plumage fan at the breeze. There, below, was the most difficult part—and he had survived it. At last…After so many months of hard work and repeated failure! The boy allowed himself a small smirk as his breathing normalized again, as his strength and resolve rekindled itself passionately within his breast. Now all he had to do was reorient himself and fly straight for—

Vigilance, child!

Before Yue could even so much as finish the musing half-formed in his mind, an explosion of searing white brilliance slashed across the sky in front of him. He understood only a split second before just what it was. A split second before it flashed across his vision, beating out the scene of the rain-washed lawn. A split second before the roaring of a thousand damned souls started wailing all at once in his ears—wailing! Wailing and flashing and burning until the boy feared he might be blind and deaf and dead forever!

…

Lightning.

Cold. Merciless. Lightning.

…

The young blond tensed at once, recoiling as an explosion of hot light and cacophonous sound ate at the world all around him. Still only part recovered from his time in the gales, he found himself sputtering and twisting yet again as a blast of warm air struck him squarely in the chest. Wings swirled in a semi-circular motion about his shoulders, fighting to keep him upright—to keep him from plummeting back into the bedlam below!

…

For a moment in time, everything seemed to stop…

…

The wind all around him silenced and stilled. Even the roaring gales beneath him—even the vicious ride from which he had just escaped—scarcely seemed to move an inch. Leaves ceased their rustling in the trees. Raindrops hung, suspended in air.

…

And Yue thought of Cerberus…

…

Of Cerberus, his brother, lying cold upon the ground below.

Of Cerberus, still clinging to life and silently depending on one alone to save him.

…

Yue squeezed his eyes tightly shut, feeling them stream across his face as the hot light burned him even through his eyelids.

Would he be joining him soon? Cerberus, his poor, fallen brother? Even his mind seemed to take an eternity to think. Would he soon be there beside him? Would he too soon be lying cold and lifeless upon the Earth, struck down by a bolt of cruel lightning?

Who would save them? The question echoed sluggishly in the mage's mind as the explosion around him still shimmered. Who would save them then?

…

But the light seemed to be growing dimmer. He was no longer aware of the world around him. Of the wind. Of the light. Of his own body, which may or may not have even been there anymore. Was this what dying was like?

…

If he was still alive, he didn't know it. If he was falling through the heavens, he didn't know it.

…

Who would save Cerberus then? For Cerberus was still alive down there. Alive and depending on him. Surely, Yue himself would not be as fortunate… He would not be able to survive like his brother. He knew that. He had known that when he shot into the sky in the first place. He was falling, he had to be falling. And soon he would hit ground, as he had before. And there would be a moment's pain, and then…nothing. Forever. Falling. How far left until the ground surely caught him?

('Falling through the heavens'…why did that see vaguely familiar…?)

He knew not how Cerberus had lived through the attack, but he knew…he knew… he knew full well that miracles, like the lightning

would not strike twice.

…

…

But his wings were still circling, still flapping at the wind.

…

…

Opening his eyes, Yue blinked rapidly, the searing light of the recent strike still blurring his vision. He paused…and blinked again. The world around him was still there, though it was currently plastered with an array of red and green in the wake of the lightning flash. The mage staggered, bobbing suspended in his swath of sky. Treading air, perhaps. The bolt was gone, but the atmosphere all around him was still thick and heavy with its presence. It shook with a kind of electric energy that lingered even long after its source had left. It nipped at his skin and bid his hair and his quills stand on end.

For a moment longer, everything remained stilled and hushed, bowing in awe at the heavens' fresh wound . Bowing to the lightning. Trembling with the shockwave it had left behind. The boy in the sky stared, transfixed at the place where it had been—at the place where the likeness of the bolt was still burned into his eyes.

…

…

It had missed.

…

It had missed!

…

How nearly…had it missed him? Surely…it could not have been by much.

…

…

Then, just as quickly as it had come, the spell was broken.

A heavy pounding filled Yue's ears as he struggled to reorient himself again in the wake of the blast. Suddenly, he had the strange urge to flap his wings much harder—to pant at the air and breathe in as much of it as he could! His every limb was shaking—trembling. Had it been so all this time? If so, he hadn't noticed… Raising a single, trembling hand to his chest, he felt his heart hammering so hard within that it distended muscle and skin alike.

He glanced up at the skies above, as if expecting a second strike. Come on, he dared the storm. Surely you can't miss twice? Have at me! Isn't that the whole point? But the heavens gave him no reply. Not even an echo of thunder resounded in answer.

After a moment more of staring… Yue let himself relax. Unwittingly, he felt a shiver run all the way up his spine. He didn't want to think about how close he had come to—the mage shook his head. No, he did not want to think about it. And nor did he have the time! Beating his wings more heavily, the shuddering youth launched himself back upwards into one of the lazy updrafts that were slowly skimming beneath the clouds. As he passed through the wake of the thunderbolt, he felt his right hand twitch, as if ready to clench for the attack…but none came. Nothing happened. The sky didn't so much as whisper.

Yue bit his lip, mind whirring. He staggered for just a moment in his glide.

There was something strange about this… there was something strange about all of it! Cerberus' survival, the night's apparent fear, the lightning that threatened but did not strike… But it had struck Cerberus! It hadn't hesitated before... And his hands! They were injured! They were blistered! Had the bolts not burned and... Slowly, a rather radical conclusion began to form in the warlock's mind.

Still hovering drunkenly upon the breeze, he glanced to the side, off to where his gales were heading: to the west. Towards Lightwater. He had to reach the village. He had to if he hoped to save his brother. But…if his theory was correct…

But if he was correct, there was one more thing he had to do first.

At the protest of his aching flight muscles, Yue made his choice. In one graceful swoop, he scooped his wings against the tides and dipped down towards a distant rooftop below.

He had one last stop to make.

…

These points, these unforgettable nights… like guardhouses upon distant cliff sides, can they see each other? Can they see the light that shines from their neighbor? Does somehow time itself bend for these signals amidst the storm?

Or, perhaps, can they not? Perhaps it is fantasy after all. I don't know. I never knew. The child. The squire. The warrior. The knight. And I, the paladin. Perhaps we're all just insane. Perhaps I am still a bit insane. Perhaps, in this very long lifetime, I've just taken one too many blows to the head.

Then again, perhaps not.

AN:

OK, first of all I would just like to notify everyone that from here on out, I will be dropping back down to 10k word chapters instead of 20k. I'm so busy with school work now that I don't have time to write the 20k in one or two sittings anymore, and as a result, I just keep rereading and revising a section just to have barely enough time to add one new paragraph to the bottom when I'm done. It results in a lot of crazy new and disjunct ideas butting in and incredible problems with writers block. If I'm having trouble writing the last scene, I don't want that to keep you guys from the other 17k words of the chapter! So, yes, shortening chapter length until further notice. I hope it will lead to more frequent updates again.

This chapter was an interesting one to write. It was originally supposed to be a part of the next chapter (now 22), and this beginning section was supposed to be tiny. But 2 problems occurred with that: 1) is that Yue's flight kind of seemed less special when it wasn't isolated. You lot have been waiting 20+ chapters to see him fly—how could I cop out? 2) is that, after re-editing the beginning so many times… this just sort of happened. And the inclusion of the long future scene intro was really the only thing that got it off the ground. I hope it wasn't too crazy for you all. It sure was an interesting ride for me!

Notes for this chapter:

Yue's flash-forwards—aka what the hell is up with this chapter!

If it's not apparent, yes, I'm implying that his flashes of the future are the evenings two other important battles wherein he got knocked out for some period of time—one of which he saw already when he crashed back in chapter 16 or so. In terms of Yue's characterization, I usually divide it up into 4 sections: the Knave (the child), the Squire, the Knight, and the Paladin. The Squire, he starts becoming in this chapter. The Knight, he becomes in the CCS canon at the Final Judgment. The Paladin is the one at peace with himself, and is a characterization I only work on post-canon. So, the flashback with the fire is post-canon, and actually a reference to another CCS work that I will soon be doing simultaneous with this one and am itching to get started. I think the inspiration might have bled over while I was constantly revising and rewriting this chapter, but it worked in a strange way, so I went with it. But yes, he's the one who's talking to his youngest self here, in the moment of transition. He's also the opening/closing narrator, though that's from a content Yue even farther in the future. Yue just owns this chapter! Trying to incorporate anyone else simply wasn't working.

There were, however, some pretty big bits of foreshadowing dropped amidst all that chaos, so we'll see who remembers them in arcs 2, 3, and 4, because I dropped one for each. :P

"To protect my mistress, I would give even my life…"

If this sounds familiar: it should. ;) It's from the end of CCS volume 9, in which Yue is grudgingly bargaining with Tōya on the conditions for his own salvation. The original line is "Kono mi ni kaetemo aruji wa mamoru", and the inclusion here in Rooster is my translation (well, it's one of several possible translations for this line, but the differences are purely semantic, so I went with the pretty-sounding one in this case). It was Yue's sarcastic response to Tōya's demand that Yue promise protect Sakura in his stead (since Tōya would soon be powerless) and was immediately preceded by the cocky declaration "I scarcely need to promise you that!" :P Quite possibly my favorite scene(s) of the whole series.

"Dying would be bad, Yue."

Definitely not translated the same way as it would be in the CCS manga, but this is a play on another line from the end of volume 9. Said by Sakura in this case, it's a play on Tōya's response to Yue's sarcasm described above: "Kaerarecha komaru n-da yo!" Meaning loosely "Your death would be a bad thing!", Tōya meant it more like "I'm not telling you to die either! That would have its own issues!", but this translation is likewise accurate, and much more fitting in this case (and more befitting of the speaker :3).

Yue's flight pattern in general

If anyone is curious, yes, I can give the specifics of how I calculated the parameters of Yue's wings and how I further decided to explain his method of flight. This is a brief overview of my thinking, but I can provide more upon request. The extinct Argentavis Magnifacens provided my initial model, as its general height and weight parameters are similar to those one would expect from a small, slender, athletic adult male. However, it is clear from depictions in the manga canon that Yue (and Cerberus) do not fly in a manner at all similar to that hypothesized for the Argentavis, so I altered the model, making it more eagle-like and adding extra rotational ability to the elbow and hand joints to allow for lower-energy flapping motions. That is to say, like an eagle, I fancy Yue and Cerberus as being capable of sustained powered flapping flight, but spending the vast majority of their time using soaring type flight instead. I have accounted for at least some muscular morphology to account for flight, as you see implied here and, though I won't be mentioning it in Rooster, I have also accounted for some avian respiratory adaptations to account for the increased oxygen demands of flight. ;)