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Grantaire learns he's going to be assigned to Enjolras the day he enlists.
He'd been hoping- hoping- that he'd be assigned to a pilot with a lower spirit pressure. The lower a pilot's pressure, the less likely they are to accidentally kill their Secondary in battle. Each successful battle he goes into, his family gets a large payout. They'll get a bigger one when he inevitably dies. But Enjolras has a pressure of 11,832, the highest in recorded history since Pilot Fantine over two hundred years ago. Fantine succumbed to the plague that was going around back then, and rumor has it, she froze herself with her Water qi, waiting for someone to save her. Nobody's been able to get that far out to check, and it's probably just a legend. The human average for spirit pressure is 84, and the minimum required to activate a Chrysalis- the giant fighting machines used to battle the invaders- is 600.
Grantaire, apparently, has a pressure of 667. If he was rich, he'd be living the dream. He'd be battling aliens in a giant animal-shaped mechanism, and be hailed as a hero back home. But you have to make a certain median income to formally enlist as a Primary Pilot, and Grantaire's family is nowhere close.
He enlisted so his younger sister could have a shot at a better life. Too bad she won't even get a month's salary out of it.
Enjolras is infamous amongst the other pilots. Besides his enormous spirit pressure, he's killed every single Secondary to ever pilot with him. Not on purpose, pilots never kill their Secondaries on purpose, but in the heat of battle, they accidentally consume the minds of their fellow pilots, sapping their primordial qi beyond the point of repair. Secondaries are basically batteries.
Enjolras is popular with the media. Tall and proud, he plays his part to perfection, even dying his hair gold to match the Golden Pig, the Chrysalis he pilots. It's rare for a pilot to be able to control a Chrysalis that doesn't match their dominant qi type, but it happens, like in Enjolras's case. He's younger than Grantaire by a few years. His dominant qi type is Fire, with his dormant type being Metal, and he wears a red-and-white crown with two circlets.
Ah, the circlets. Each Primary wears a two-part crown as part of their Spirit Armor. It's a reminder that each pilot is waiting for a Match- a Secondary who can match mentally with their Primary, enough to control the Chrysalis in sync and take it to a higher form. So far, only two Balanced Matches are currently active- Marius and Cosette, pilots of the Nine-Tailed Fox, and Prouvaire and Montparnasse, pilots of the Vermillion Bird. It's incredibly rare, but it's held in front of anxious Secondaries like a carrot on a stick. Grantaire isn't dumb enough to fall for that. He has no delusions of miraculously matching Enjolras's mind and becoming his Balanced Match.
His best friend as a kid, Eponine, had died as a Secondary. She'd seen Marius (pre-Cosette) on the TV and was enamored, sure that the two of them would fit. Eponine was wrong.
Grantaire is waiting on a concrete bench outside of the testing room when Enjolras shows up. He's even more impressive in person, tall and lithe with his golden hair wild behind him. His eyes are very dark. Grantaire can almost feel himself getting lost in them. He's beautiful, and Grantaire isn't afraid to admit it.
"Are you my new Secondary?" Enjolras asks him, clipped and sharp.
"Uh, yeah," Grantaire says, still looking at Enjolras's eyes.
"Rene Grantaire, right?" Enjolras continues. "I'm Julien Enjolras. Welcome." Grantaire thinks he might be starting to imagine things, but it seems like a flash of discomfort passes across his fine-boned face.
"You don't need to be nice to me," Grantaire says lazily. "I know I'm going to die."
That catches him by surprise. Probably isn't used to Secondaries stating it that bluntly. "I- you may not. You never know." But a look of indescribable sadness glows in Enjolras's eyes, and he slumps slightly. "Heard you have a pretty high spirit pressure. We could be a Balanced Match."
Grantaire wants to believe him so badly. The man drips charisma and hope and a million other things, but Grantaire isn't that easily fooled. "You don't really believe that, do you?" Grantaire replies instead, feeling compelled to argue. He really shouldn't, he's heard stories of how some pilots treat their Secondaries, and nothing so far has proven that Enjolras is any different. "Your spirt pressure is over ten thousand, for fuck's sake! I have no chance." He's not sure whether he's just trying to hurt Enjolras or what.
"Pretty cynical, aren't you," Enjolras says, spirit armor bristling like he's an angered cat. "You seem in an awful hurry to die."
"Yeah, because I'm totally going to do the impossible and end up as your perfect partner. Stop kidding yourself."
"I'm only trying to be nice."
Grantaire snorts. "Quit trying, then. I really don't care either way."
"I won't just sit here and-" An alarm blares, shrieking through the corridor. "Oh, fuck," Enjolras says, shoulders squaring. "Hunduns."
Grantaire trails behind Enjolras numbly as they trek from the testing centre to the Golden Pig. It's just his luck that a Hundun-Chrysalis battle would happen on the first day of his enlistment. He keeps track of all the lasts as he walks. Last time seeing the sky. Last time walking somewhere. Last time breathing the fresh air. Grantaire's never thought himself a sentimental person, but something about impending death makes him really, really not want to die.
Seeing how poorly he's gotten along with Enjolras so far, he's not expecting anything else.
The Golden Pig is even bigger up close. Round and shining yellow-gold, it has tusks that jut up between its mouth, terrifying and perfect for crushing Hunduns. The point of the tail is sharp like a spear. Enjolras and Grantaire climb the staircase to the beast's head, Enjolras looking back every few seconds, presumably to make sure Grantaire's still following him. Have Secondaries tried to escape before? What happens if they do? Probably they'd just be shot on sight. Secondaries are expendable, everyone knows that.
Surprisingly gentle, Enjolras offers a hand to help him into the lower yin seat. Frustrated, Grantaire bats it away and climbs in himself. He'll jump before he'll fall. Enjolras climbs into his seat behind him.
"Grantaire, I'm sorry-"
Grantaire leans back and jams the needles into his spine of his own accord. He doesn't want to admit how much he wants to believe him.
Grantaire finds himself staring at a twenty-foot-high pile of furniture. The pavement swims beneath his feet, not entirely solid. It's night outside, with the faint glow of the moon and lanterns preventing him from being in total darkness.
He realizes that this must be Enjolras's mind realm. The place where Secondaries find themselves in during the battle. The place that, when it comes to Enjolras, no Secondary has ever left alive. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. He's not dead yet. He looks at the barricade, pondering. Looking up, up, until he finally sees the top.
A man- no, a boy, really, he can't be older than fifteen- stands atop the barricade, wearing a battered red coat. He's facing away from Grantaire. Silent. Completely still. Slowly, Grantaire begins to climb the pile. It's fragile, and every step he takes shifts the wood. Still, the figure doesn't move. It's not until Grantaire reaches the top and lays a cautious hand on his shoulder that he slowly turns to face him.
The boy looks like a younger version of Enjolras. His hair is dark instead of dyed blonde, and it's markedly shorter. He looks as if he hasn't quite grown into his long limbs, but his face still has the sharp jaw and delicate almond eyes.
"It's broken," says young-Enjolras, plaintively. "It's all broken and I can't fix it."
Soothe the mind realm, they told him before he went into battle. Calm the pilot so they can focus on the task at hand.
"How is it broken?" Grantaire asks.
"It." He gestures to something Grantaire can't see. "All of it. It's broken because I failed, and now I'm broken too."
"You aren't broken," Grantaire says helplessly. "It'll be okay."
"No, it won't be. I keep killing them." The boy's eyes fill with tears.
"Killing who?"
"The Secondaries," says the boy. "Every time. I don't know how, but I kill them. And I'm going to kill you too."
This is the first Grantaire's heard of Primary Pilots feeling remorse from killing their Secondaries. Of course, so few leave their first mind realm alive that they could all be remorseful, buried deep in their subconscious mind. "How do you know you're going to kill me?"
"Because it happens all the time. I didn't want it to be this way," he says, desperate. "I'm not like them."
"Who's them?" The longer Grantaire talks, the longer he stays alive.
"The strategists," young-Enjolras says. "They don't care if the Secondaries die. But I care. I can't help it." Grantaire wonders if the strategists know what's going on deep in the recesses of Enjolras's mind. If this counts as rebellion. If Enjolras is in danger.
"It's okay, Enjolras," Grantaire says. He almost believes himself. "It isn't your fault."
"Don't you want to live?"
"I'm not afraid to die."
"Then come with me," young-Enjolras says. Grantaire starts. This isn't what he expected. What is going on in Enjolras's head? "They won't be able to control us anymore."
With a faint smile, he clasps Grantaire's hand and drags him off the top of the barricade.
Instead of hitting the pavement below, Grantaire finds himself in a world of black and white. He's crouching on the black yin side, and Enjolras is standing, arms crossed, on the yang one.
"You actually did it," Enjolras says, a note of wonder in his voice.
"Did what?"
"Jumped. I've never had a Secondary do that before. Usually they run when I ask."
"You know what's in your mind realm?"
"I don't know what it looks like. Or how you see me. I only know what I ask, every time. It's the only way to get them out."
"The Secondaries? You try to rescue the Secondaries?"
"I do," Enjolras says. "But it gets confused in the mind realm. They think I'm leading them to their deaths. But you trusted me." Enjolras is only half-focused on him, Grantaire thinks. The other part of him has been consumed by the battle, fighting the Hunduns. He blinks. Long eyelashes quiver. "You trusted me."
Grantaire shrugs. Enjolras is dressed in an all-white bodysuit, save for the red-streaked double crown on his head. He's his true age, now. Grantaire looks down at himself and finds he's the inverse, in all black.
Then, Enjolras points to something high up in the mist that surrounds the strange place. It's a trapdoor, made of gold. "Can you reach that?"
"I can't," Grantaire says. Spirit armor, red and white, materializes on Enjolras. Rung by rung, he builds a ladder, twisting with energy.
"Come here."
Grantaire steps forward, but something stops him. It's like an invisible barrier has blocked him from the yang side. "I can't! There's a wall!"
Enjolras furrows his brows in concentration. He reaches into his chestplate and pulls out a hammer. He grips it in both hands and rams it against the barrier. Pieces of what looks like glass shatter and dissolve into mist. Grantaire climbs over.
"Climb the ladder," Enjolras says. Grantaire obeys, getting about half of the way up before he looks back at Enjolras.
"Aren't you coming?"
"I'm already there," Enjolras says. Grantaire understands, then. To grasp any control of the Pig, he has to reach the trapdoor. Enjolras is already controlling the pig with his subconsciousness. It's only part of him that is in the realm with Grantaire. On the last rung, he falters. He reaches for the door, but his hand is inches away. Barely keeping his balance, he strains on the tips of his toes, but it's no use.
He chances a glance at Enjolras. He starts to climb the ladder, pulling himself up with ease as the metal bends to fit his hands. "Hold on, Grantaire! I'm coming!" Enjolras shouts. And Enjolras's arms come around Grantaire, boosting him up, letting him grasp the handle of the golden door.
He wrenches it open. All of a sudden, foreign sensations flood into Grantaire's mind, like he's grown a new limb. He feels fifty feet tall, he sees the ground below him and scurrying shapes that must be Hunduns, he sees the sky again, he sees-
Then everything collapses into black, and he's falling... falling...
He wakes. He blinks open his eyes, still in the yin seat of the Golden Pig. All around him, he can hear distant cheering of the pilots. A victory, then.
"Surprise," Grantaire says, feeling a wry grin form on his face.
Enjolras stands above him, golden light catching on his hair and casting a halo around him. In that moment, Grantaire's never seen anything so beautiful. Enjolras holds out a hand, wonder written all over his face. This time, Grantaire takes it without hesitation.