#its only gotten better as he has refined his skills

[lycorid]

I know exactly what I want to achieve while painting, I know what I want the final piece to look like; I just don’t have the ability to achieve it.

If only a genie could grant that cannibalism wish tbh. Do you think Sui Ishida would let me eat a part of his brain?

[autolenaphilia]

Thief II: The Metal Age is the sequel to Thief: The Dark Project. It’s very similar to the first game, and in substantial ways very much the same game. Garrett in this game does largely the same things in the same engine as the first game. Most of what I wrote about the gameplay mechanics in my review of the first game are still true of this one, so I won’t repeat myself here, and only describe what is different.

This re-use of existing tech is not surprising since this game only came out around a year and half after the first one. This was common at the time: if you had a successful game, you would quickly make a sequel using the same tech and basic gameplay of the first one. And at its best, this enabled developers to refine what was good from the first game and learn from its mistake, and Thief II is a shining example of that.

Premise

What is different about this game is largely rooted in what happened in Garrett’s world after the first game, so I’ll need to describe the story premise first. “Beware the dawn of the Metal Age” warned keeper Artemus in the first game’s final line. And as the subtitle of this game reveals, “The Metal Age” has indeed begun. The second game takes place only one year after the first, but a lot has changed.

The Metal Age is a great leap forward in technology in the City Garrett lives in. Electric lights and various steampunk technology is more prominent including things like robots and security cameras. This is because of the mechanists, a break-away sect from the Hammerites, lead by the brilliant inventor and religious leader Father Karras. The mechanists are analogues of calvinistic protestants to the hammerite catholic church analogue. The mechanists share the hammerite belief in technology, but are more daring and less cautious in applying it, which combined with a genuine skill for technical invention resulted in the rapid technological advancement we see in the second game.

Gameplay changes

Even Garrett, whose job has gotten harder due to mechanist technology, has adapted new technology. In the final cutscene of the first game, he got a mechanical eye (which in this game is revealed to have been created by Karras himself), and in this game you finally get to use it. Besides restoring Garrett to binocular vision, it has a zoom function. Garrett now also has scouting orbs, which are small cameras connected to his mechanical eye he can toss around corners to scout ahead without revealing himself. Later on when Garrett allies with the pagans (we’ll get to that) he get vine arrows, which are essentially rope arrows but better, since they can also stick to metal grates. He also gets frogbeast eggs. Frogbeasts were an enemy in Thief I, and they are essentially kamikaze frogs. When they saw Garrett, they jumped after him and exploded when touching him, dealing damage. The frogbeast eggs allows Garrett to do that to NPCs. And that’s about it for new equipment. The rest is returning equipment from the first game.

There are also some minor technical improvements to the game, the engine is the same but has been improved with stuff like weather effects and better character models and so on. But nothing major, it’s still the Dark Engine.

Technological challenges

So while Garrett hasn’t changed his methods much, the metal age has made Garrett’s job harder. Things have gotten tough for our good thief. We have so much more security tech than in the first game. Security cameras are a major problem in this game, when they only appeared like once or twice in the first. There are mechanical heads that throw bombs on you if you are seen by a camera or step on a trigger plate or if you are in view at all. There is overall even more loud marble floors and clanky metal grating in this game. And then there are the “builder’s children”, steampunk robots who are impossible to take on with normal sword and arrows, although they have a weakpoint due to actually being steampunk.

What I mean by that is that these robots are literally powered by steam. They have boilers in their rear ends, complete with a grate for putting in fuel. And if Garrett aims a water arrow or two into that boiler grate, it can put out the fire and depower the robots. This is absolutely brilliant game design. The water arrows were mainly used to put out torches in the first game (electrification isn’t complete in The Metal Age so you still use it for that), so this new use for a pre-existing tool reflects how the game world has changed.

Level Design

It’s in the game’s level design where we see the most marked improvement from The Dark Project. This time Looking Glass knew what they were doing a stealth game. The Dark Project wasn’t even a stealth game at all early in development. And in the final product you can see the developer’s uncertainty about making a full-on stealth game.

Here in Thief II,the focus is on doing stealth in mainly urban environments, areas where people live and you have to sneak past them. Zombies and ghosts only make occasional cameos. This game knows what it is about. The bulk of this game is exactly what I wanted out of the original Thief.

The locations are varied too. A game just of robbing the mansions of nobles would indeed be boring, but Looking Glass realized that there is a variety of urban locations for you to rob. You have a shipping yard, a police station, a mechanist church, a bank etc. There are also more varied objectives than just stealing stuff, you are at times more of a spy than a thief.

Levels are bigger and even more open-ended than the ones in the first game. And it works so well. You have for example often multiple ways of breaking into a building. There is a genuine sense of freedom, a justified sense that you can make your own path through the levels.

Thief II has some truly great levels. An early peak is the second level, Shipping and Receiving, which is big and open ended, and has so much fun things to do.

And the game peaks overall in the justly well-regarded Life of the Party. This is a massive level where you sneak across the city rooftops to break into a Mechanist HQ. Just getting to the place takes maybe 40 minutes to 1 hour unless you are basically speedrunning. The size of the level gives it a sense of grandeur, but the best thing is that it’s dense with stuff to do. Several alternate paths to take, small detours for goodies you can take, so many conversations you can listen in on, it’s just fun. The level is big in literal map size for sure, but part of why it feels like an epic is that it’s dense with interesting things to do. Many modern open world games have worlds that are much larger than Life of the Party, which after all is just one level in a game from 2000. But these large open worlds are empty, with long sections that you just travel through, and repetitive sidequests when they give the player things to do. This prozd video describes your average open-world game.These massive open worlds seem to only have half the stuff there is to do in Life of the Party. There is very little time where you are just moving around without coming across something interesting to do, something to listen to or steal.

Life of the Party is the best level for sure. But overall when Thief II is good, its levels offer the same experience if on a smaller scale. You are exploring an open-ended map with stuff to do around every corner, in every room.

It’s not always good though. The game at times does seem to suffer from the time pressure and crunch the developers were put through, especially towards the end of the game. Level 13 and 14 are obvious filler. They re-use the same exact map with thin narrative justification. Level 13 is Garrett “casing the joint”, breaking in and not stealing what he is there to steal, just to observe the security and map the place out. And then in level 14 he breaks in again and steal things. This is such a flimsy excuse to re-use the same map, like it’s something Garrett has never done before and will never do again in the entire series. The map is lazy too, the layout is mirrored, so there is some copy-and-paste going on and some of the rooms are fairly bare and empty. The game clearly peaks in Life of the Party and the final third of levels are somewhat of a let-down.

The final level Sabotage at Soulforge is actually decent, though extremely challenging, although it’s the final level so it being the most difficult is justified. If you can beat this final level on expert difficulty, you are a master thief for sure, and can take on any other stealth game in the world.

Overall though, the level design in Thief II is definitely better than The Dark Project. The strong focus on stealth and urban environments, the bigger and more open maps, it is a big improvement.

The story and atmosphere remain strong. What I said about The Dark Project’s excellent subtle storytelling, with its strong cutscenes and storytelling baked into the levels remains very much true for the sequel. And the story it tells might even be better, while building off the first game’s themes.

Story and themes

The fun mechanic with the robots I earlier shows how The Metal Age is probably one of the best steampunk games ever made because it understands the genre. It’s not just a lot of brass and gears, Steam power is actually used for more advanced technology than in the steam age. But it goes deeper into themes.

While there are of course influences all the way back to H.G. Wells and Jules Verne, the modern literary genre of steampunk was invented in the 1980s. It’s named after cyberpunk, and cyber- and steampunk are closely related genres. Writers like K.W Jeter (the coiner of the term steampunk), William Gibson and Bruce Sterling both wrote pioneering steampunk and cyberpunk works. And their steampunk works often shared similar themes to their cyberpunk work. A good example is the novel The Difference Engine by Gibson and Sterling, which in many ways a cyberpunk novel with computer hackers, except set in an alternate victorian era where Babbage’s mechanical computers have brought about an early 19th century digital revolution.

Looking Glass Studios were well-tuned into the cyberpunk genre, having created one of the greatest cyberpunk games, System Shock. So it’s no surprise that when they take on steampunk, it’s rooted in the genre’s literary roots in cyberpunk, their own cyberpunk works and the established themes of the Thief series.

The central theme of the series as established in the first game is nature vs. technology, chaos vs. order. And in the first game the balance was disturbed in favor of nature, with the pagan god threatening to destroy technology and plunge humanity into darkness. In the metal age, the balance is disturbed in the opposite direction, towards technology. It’s like the death of the woodsie lord enabled the rise of Karras and the mechanists.

And Garrett once again his world's equivalent of Moorcock's Eternal Champion, has to step out of his role as selfish thief into heroic saviour of the balance. It's him doing his arc from the first game again, though that game to be fair established any heroic turn didn't stick in the last cutscene. And it's more convincingly done here, with his changes as a character being reflected in cutscenes by his growing friendship with Viktoria. They were enemies in the first game, but here team up to fight a greater foe, the mechanists, but grow genuinely fond of each other. It's basically a enemy-to-lovers (or at least friends) story. And it works because, Stephen Russell as Garrett and Terri Brosius as Viktoria have great chemistry.

The rapid advancement in technology has come with an environmental cost, as plant life is dying, probably from the pollution caused by mechanist machinery. The mechanist leader Karras doesn’t care and indeed plans to get further. His mechanists take the hammerite beliefs to its extreme. Not only are technology and constructed things holy, but organic material, plants and flesh and wood, are actually sinful. And what Karras wants to do is to get rid of what he considers sinful.

Karras is himself a cyborg, with mechanical implants into his body. Yet his achivements in turning flesh into machine go further in a much more sinister direction. He creates what he calls servants out of the most abject members of humanity, the homeless and sex workers. They are cyborg slaves, controlled by a mask surgically attached to their face. And the horror is that it seems to be more body control than mind control, as their consciousness remains, talking, expressing their horror of their situation and begging for death, as the mask controls their body. They will laugh in joy or thank Garrett if he kills them or renders them unsconscious.

Karras plans to use the masked servants to spread his “rust gas” which destroys all organic life. Only his own human parts will be left of human and organic life, and the rest will be his constructions, his robots.

This is less out of religious fanaticism than out of sheer egotism. It’s clear that he sees himself as more important than his supposed God, the builder, and the mechanists are more a cult of him than the builder. The real reason he wants to replace organic life with his own constructions is clear when you see what he makes. All his robots, including the security cameras, have a mask replica of his own face. Their speech are recordings of his voice, spouting not only his own mechanist tenets, but praising him for making them. What he wants is a world filled with mechanical constructions that he made, that look and speak like him, that he controls and who worships him as their creator.

This story of course reflects cyberpunk themes. The destruction of the natural environment, the merging of human and machine, and how that can be used to control humans and to reinforce class society. It’s all very cyberpunk thematically, except the robots are steam-powered. And that’s true to the steampunk genre’s literary roots.

Karras himself is similar to Shodan from Looking Glass’s own System Shock. Like her he wants to use technology to turn humans into his slaves and eventually remake life in his own image, with creations he made and who he controls and who worship him.

Except instead of the seductive tones of Terri Brosius, he has the voice of a nasal lisping nerd. The voice Stephen Russell (who also voices Garrett) gives him actually works. He is still a formidable foe because of his intelligence, but the voice makes him human. Despite his intelligence and apocalyptic plans, it’s all because he is a pathetic nerd man in love with his own ego. He feels real, and there are many techbro CEOs out there that are like Karras. Great villain.

Conclusion

And this is a great game, despite some weaker filler levels here and there. It’s commonly held up as one of the greatest stealth games and even PC games ever made, and I can see why. It builds intelligently on the first game to create an even better game. Again I do recommend buying it on GOG and using the excellent community-made T2fix to patch the game and make it even better

[lucielxbe]

after nextgen: some thoughts. cw: mentions of suicide.

( from: Aniki ) > remember to take care of yourself, ruru. i’m sorry i couldn’t spend more time with you. > you can come back anytime when you’re free, alright? > aniki will be waiting. >ᴗ<

( to: Aniki ) > Thank you, I will keep it in mind. > Safe flight. (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

luciel tosses his phone to the other side of the bed. it’s been a while since he has felt this comfortable in his bed without needing to think about going to practice in the early morning the next day. he’s gotten a contract, so eventually he has to think about it again. for now, he takes it easy. he’s expected better from himself on nextgen, but this was good enough for someone who never once thought of entering the music industry that wasn’t classical.

he built and refined skills, even making friends through the program. most of all, maybe becoming a performer is something he could do? a dream he could chase after with passion? such a feeling feels so… foreign. strange and unbelievable. is this a taste of normalcy?

the boy wraps his blankets around himself. his room isn’t cold, but no matter how much he cocoons himself with the warm blankets, it still feels cold. the fire from earlier has started dimming down; those moments of being on stage blinded by the lights and deafened by the audience’s roars — they dissipated, leaving nothing behind for the frosty void.

he isn’t sure. he’s never sure, and he doesn’t wants to know. since a long time ago, he’s been standing in front of the line he can’t cross.

the other side is dazzlingly bright, it’s a place where flowers could grow magnificently under the light of the sun. without the sun, they’ll wilt in darkness. there’s some plants that could live in the darkness on another hand, where exposure to the light would kill them. regardless of how much they try to feel that warmth though, it’ll only bring them devastation.

in the end all they can do is dream about it, enough to pretend they’re light in itself. just like how the moon doesn’t shines on its own and reflects the sun.

luciel — a name he picked only because he thought it was pretty as a child. somewhere down the road, he came to realise the irony of it all. maybe god laughed when the child dared to pretend to be the light.

leaving the room, luciel drags the blanket wrapped around him to the living room as he settles down on the sofa while he leaves his phone next to him. luciel doesn’t bother turning on the lights as he rests his head against the sofa pillow that’s clearly not meant to be slept on.

he glances at his phone again.

( no older notifications )

another minute.

( no older notifications )

another hour.

( no older notifications )

even a scolding would’ve been nice. faces full of disapproval and disappointment with fingers pointed at him, shouting at him that he was the greatest mistake his parents ever made — at the very least, they would be acknowledging his existence, right? even if ryeo luciel jihyun turned out to be their sin, it would show that they cared for him, right? if they looked at him even once, the adopted child would have dropped his knees for them.

but that could never happen. he doesn’t exists in their eyes. even if he took his life and slit his throat in front of them, all they would think about is how troublesome it would be to clean it up.

luciel stops looking out for the messages. instead, he clicks on someone else’s chat. his eyes linger on the profile picture for a while.

( to: Asakura Touma ) > Are you awake? ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ > Can I see you now? For a drink? We haven’t hang in a while ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎ > I’m very sad, can you come comfort me, psych major-kun? ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ) > If i died, would you be sad? > Would you cry for me? > You would, and that’s not a good thing.

he doesn’t clicks send and deletes everything he types. luciel doesn’t knows what compelled him to reach out for something that would burn him. his dear friend (friend?) doesn’t deserves to deal with whatever that’s going on his mind, so he leaves his phone for the night once and for all. alone with his own thoughts, hugging himself to sleep with his knees close to his chest. it’s a stupid sleeping position he can’t get rid of.

two weeks went by in a flash.

the ryeo’s never sent him the message he once craved.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: Something causes Lan Qiren to just SNAP, go absolutely fucking feral, and run off to become a rogue cultivator.

Beautifully Spent

- Chapter 1 -

aka Five Times Lan Qiren Left The Lan Sect Behind

“It is your duty, Qiren.”

“Is it?” Lan Qiren asked coldly. “I believe you’re thinking of my brother. You might remember him – the sect leader?”

He’d never spoken that coldly to anyone, least of all an honored elder, one of his own teachers, but he had no choice.

Ever since he was young, Lan Qiren wanted to become a traveling musician - to wander the world freely, without the burdens that would fall on his older brother, the prospective sect leader. Even as he got older, he'd never quite let go of that ambition, refining it until it had become not only a dream but a plan.

He would see that plan come to fruition, no matter what it took.

His teacher looked at him helplessly. “What’s gotten into you?” he asked. “You know your brother has chosen seclusion –”

“I know that in the eyes of the sect I have never been a quarter the man he is,” Lan Qiren said quietly. “I know that in each instance that we have argued, you have all taken his side. I know that I was asked, time and time again, to yield – because he is the elder, because he is the heir, because he is the more talented of us two. I have always yielded, because I am a filial son, a good brother, and I love my sect. I have always yielded.”

His teacher cast his eyes down to the ground.

An acknowledgement of guilt.

“I will not yield this time,” Lan Qiren said simply. “This is the rest of my life, honored teacher. This is my entire life. For once, let himbe the one to yield – to do his duty to his sect, as he was always meant to.”

“But –”

“I have always been here for him.” Lan Qiren did not allow him to interrupt. “I have been his scapegoat when things have not gone his way, I have been his pawn in political games, I have even been his punching bag when he needed to vent his irrational anger. Everything he has had the freedom to do, he has done because he has had me here. If I were not here, would he be able to go into seclusion?”

His teacher was silent.

“He would not,” Lan Qiren concluded. “To go into seclusion when you are the only option to lead the sect is to be an unfilial descendant of our ancestors. And so, if I am not here, he would be obligated to live up to his duties.”

“His heart has just been broken. Do you have no empathy for him?”

“As much as I do for the woman who was forced by circumstances to agree to marry him, and no more.”

“Qiren…”

“Think of it as me being dead, honored teacher,” Lan Qiren said, and ignored his teacher’s flinch at such inauspicious words. “Do you need me to remove my forehead ribbon before I go?”

“Qiren! Of course not!”

“Ask my brother,” Lan Qiren said dryly. “He will have the final word, as usual, and he does not like not getting his way.”

He left that day, his head held high.

He did his best not to think of his brother, who had, in his own way, wanted freedom, too.

Lan Qiren travelled, after that. It was just as he’d always planned it: quiet nights along forest paths, visits to small towns in out-of-the-way corners of the world – inquiring and then solving any issues they had that required a cultivator, and playing for them when no such issues remained. He had anticipated hardship, knowing himself to be a rich young master who’d never really faced the world; he hadn’t anticipated kindness: a few married women in one town taking the time to show him how to do laundry, giggling at him all the while, a group of young woodcutters in the next the best way to forage and cook food when one was hungry, a merchant and his wife teaching him how to bargain to avoid getting cheated…in time, through the generosity and enthusiasm of others, he learned all the skills he needed.

He refused payment for night-hunts – amazingly, his sect did not cut him off as he’d almost expected them to, and he was still able to collect his usual allowance – but accepted it for his music, and from his place behind his guqin he watched, quiet and content, as life swirled around him in all its myriad forms.

In between music and night-hunts, he idly taught some skills to the children in the towns he passed through – the vast majority were common people, completely lacking in cultivation skills, but his sect’s rules and the philosophy behind them were applicable in far more situations than that, and basic martial skills in even more. Whenever he stayed somewhere for more than a few days, he added in lessons in basic literacy, mostly because the idea of not having books at hand was abhorrent to him; the parents involved were generally more grateful that he was keeping their children out of trouble than especially interested in what he was teaching them, but it’d never hurt anyone to know a little bit of reading.

When he happened upon a place already governed by another sect, he did not take particular care either to avoid or to approach them; if they happened to meet, and to invite him to stay with them, he would. Lao Nie tracked him down six times for that very purpose, citing increasingly less plausible excuses, before Lan Qiren finally agreed to make the Unclean Realm a regular stop on his travels just to make him stop; in contrast, Cangse Sanren just showed up at the camp he had made for himself one day, her husband as always by her side, and simply refused to leave for the next three months.

He did not visit the Cloud Recesses.

Not when he heard about how his brother had, however reluctantly, come out from seclusion and begun to do the work of sect leader, and do it well, the Lan sect prospering under his leadership as they had always expected to. Not when he got news that his nephew was born; not when he heard that one nephew had become two. Not even when he heard that his brother’s wife had died, though the thought of that miserable woman’s self-inflicted fate had moved him enough to write a letter of condolence to his brother – their first contact in seven years.

Lan Qiren did not expect anything to come of that impulse, though perhaps he should have known better: it wasn’t more than a week later that he received a letter in return, the heavy formal parchment used by the Lan sect as familiar to him as the back of his hand, his brother’s equally formal calligraphy very nearly as familiar.

The words on it weren’t familiar at all.

I have made a terrible mistake, his brother wrote. I need your help.

Lan Qiren was perhaps not especially filial to his sect, having abandoned it as readily as he did – but despite everything, he did love his brother.

He went home.

“Lan Huan, courtesy name Xichen,” his brother said, nodding at the small child, pudgy and fat and adorable, quivering like a pudding even as he tried to force a smile onto his face, clutching onto a baby only a few months old, the little one strangely solemn despite the inexpert manhandling. “Lan Zhan, courtesy name Wangji.”

Lan Qiren was not as shy as he used to be, and he had gotten better at dealing with children. He knelt down until he was level with them, though he did not force himself to adopt any expression that did not come naturally. “Hello,” he said. “I’m your uncle.”

“Hello, uncle,” Lan Xichen said.

Lan Qiren held out a hand and waited, even as his brother took his leave, busier than ever. It took a little while, but Lan Xichen eventually put his own hand in his, and walked with him; after a little while, he even entrusted him with little Lan Wangji, fussing until Lan Qiren had tucked him into the corner of his arm in a manner he found appropriate.

By the time his brother found them again, Lan Xichen was chattering on and on about his xiao lessons, while Lan Qiren nodded along and added his own observations – he was decently skilled at the xiao himself; while it was not his preferred instrument, there were times when it was easier to carry than a guqin, and he had had time, when he was younger, to indulge himself in learning more than one instrument.

When Lan Xichen saw his father, he fell silent at once. He did not hide behind Lan Qiren’s robes, though Lan Qiren half-thought he wanted to – his little hand trembled in Lan Qiren’s palm.

“Would you like to take your brother back?” Lan Qiren asked him. Lan Wangji was a good baby, crying only a few times, each time responding well and easily to the usual things a child his age wanted – milk, a burp, attention. Moreover, Lan Xichen was good with him, thoughtful and careful; Lan Qiren had no concerns entrusting the baby to him, and Lan Xichen brightened a little when he realized that, nodding happily and taking Lan Wangji, pausing only a moment to glance worriedly at his father before scurrying off.

Lan Qiren looked at his brother.

“He’s afraid of me,” his brother said. “You can tell, can’t you?”

A blind man could tell. Lan Qiren said nothing.

“Wangji cries whenever I hold him, too, even though he almost never cries the rest of the time. He’s not even a year old, and he already knows.”

“Knows?”

His brother looked out into the horizon. His hands were behind his back, clasped in a formal pose. “That I’ll ruin them, too.”

Lan Qiren put his own hands behind his back as well. After a few moments, he said, “You care for them both. That’s not nothing.”

Their own father hadn’t managed even that. He had treated Lan Qiren with utter indifference, while treasuring his eldest beyond the point of reason, encouraging him to always think only of himself; the seeds of their estrangement were planted long before either of them knew it, each of them learning different lessons from their father’s mismanagement – Lan Qiren how to be inferior and doubt himself, his brother to be self-absorbed and careless with the feelings of others; Lan Qiren to bend himself to the point of breaking, his brother to refuse to bend at all.

It had served neither of them well.

“I don’t know what love is, except possession,” his brother said. “Xichen torments himself to try to live up to my expectations, and all I’ve managed to teach him, other than fear, is how to say yes to everything just to make people go away. I find myself falling into the habit of thinking of him as an extension of myself, which is still more than I can do with Wangji, who doesn’t even cry like a regular child should…” He paused. “You didn’t cry much as a child either.”

Lan Qiren glanced at his brother, surprised. He hadn’t known his brother had paid enough attention to him back then to even notice.

His brother smiled thinly. “Our family is known for its quiet children, did you know? I hadn’t, but they told me after Wangji was born. Apparently, there’s a few in every generation: a little slow, a little strange, with minds that don’t work quite the same way as the rest of us. The ones that don’t like to look you in the eye – sometimes they learn to speak, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they’re brilliant. As babies, they’re generally a little too quiet. There were three in our father’s generation, but in ours there was only you. And now, there’s Wangji…”

He shook his head.

“I wronged you before, Qiren. I don’t want to do it again – I don’t want to know what sort of father I’d be to a child like you. I’m not willing to risk waiting to find out, either.”

When Lan Qiren left the Cloud Recesses, he took with him a qiankun pouch weighed down with more money than he’d ever had in his life, two children, one smiling happily as the other burbled quietly, and his brother’s trust.

He had no idea what to do with any of it.

[four-loose-screws]

FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 10, Section 2

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

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———————————

I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

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Chapter 10: The Secluded Sage (con’t)

Everyone pulled out torches from within the convoy.

Because they did not want to have too much luggage, they’d prepared as few supplies as possible. Their thought was that it would be best to stock up on what they lacked in towns along the way, but that plan had now backfired.

Still, a little was better than nothing. A few soldiers grabbed the torches they had, and were tasked with maintaining a consistent field of vision.

The dim light shone throughout the fort and revealed the disgusting sight of vines snaking up its crumbling walls.

‘If only we had just a few more torches….’ As if someone had read Eirika’s thoughts, a bright light suddenly shone from behind her.

She whirled around in surprise, and was blinded. When she raised a hand over her eyes, she was able to confirm that the light was shining from the tip of Natasha’s staff.

“I apologize for surprising you…”

“Natasha, what is that staff…?”

“I thought maybe it might be helpful… Um, is it perhaps bothering you?”

“No, on the contrary, it’s very useful!”

It was a much appreciated staff that made up completely for their lack of torches. Because Natasha couldn’t go out on the front, it was decided that she would light up the rear line, and the army ventured inside of the fort.

The inside looked exactly as they’d predicted. While it had been originally built to fight against monsters, ironically, now it was a monster den.

Ewan darted around while shouting, “Whoa… it wasn’t like this in here when I explored it at all! It was totally empty and abandoned… How could this have happened in so little time!?”

“Ewan!” Tethys had heard what he was saying and ran up to him. She looked terrified, and grabbed his arm. “What are you doing!? You know it's dangerous to be out this far on the front, right!? Stay with me on the rear line…"

"I’m going to fight! I want to show everyone the magic my teacher taught me!”

“You can’t! It’s still too dangerous!”

“No it’s not! Just watch me, Big Sister!”

“Can’t you hear what I’m telling you? When did you turn into such a bad child? If anything ever happened to you, I…”

Tethys buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders started shaking. Any observer would know that she was faking it, but Ewan took her very seriously. 

He was horrified, and hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry, Big Sister! I understand. I’ll do as you say. I’ll stay on the rear line with you.”

Ewan guarded Tethys, who was still pretending to cry, as they retreated to the rear line.

Eirika was surprised at this unexpected side of Tethys. When she was with Gerik, she seemed so carefree. She didn’t seem like the type to be so concerned about family, but she completely spoiled her little brother.

Gerik saw her expression, and laughed. “You look surprised. Didn’t think she was so kind… did ya?”

“No, that’s not it…”

“You don’t have to be polite. I was taken aback the first time I saw her like this, too. It felt like the woman I’d seen dancing at the bar was a different person. It seems that they lost both of their parents very suddenly, and were living all on their own. Ewan’s all the family she has left.”

“Really?”

The young sister and brother, surviving by protecting one another, had no doubt struggled through a lot together. She must have worked so hard to develop her exceptional dancing skills so that she could raise him. And perhaps he’d decided to study magic at such a young age because he wanted, from the very bottom of his heart, to help out his sister however he could.

Eirika was silent, so Gerik worriedly whispered to her, “Hey, don’t look so sad! Tethys’ll rip me a new one if she figures out that I blabbed about her tragic past! She hates it most of all when people pity her.”

“I understand. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear anything.”

The battle had already begun on the front line. The nauseating and rotten smell of the monsters was all around them, and the monsters’ shrieking cries of death pierced their ears. Eirika and Gerik both withdrew their swords and started slicing up the monsters coming towards them.

The group nesting here at this fort was far stronger than that in the Za’ha Forest. 

This time, even Gargoyles, a pure black, winged creature, was among them. They wielded iron weapons likely stolen from people they’d previously fought with, and attacked at terrifying speeds. 

As Eirika had expected, both Lute and Artur played a huge role in this battle. They rushed around to back up all the soldiers who were having difficulty fighting. The effects of Artur’s light magic were particularly great. He defeated almost all of the monsters he fought with one spell.

“Lady Eirika, I have troubling news!” Franz, who'd been fighting on the front line, rushed up to her in a panic. 

'No… is someone injured?' Eirika wondered, but that was not it.

“There appear to be people inside of this building!”

“People…?”

"Yes. They are blocked off from us by monsters and we cannot get close, but we can hear their voices. They seem to be travelers who lost their way and were then attacked...”

"Understood. Let's make saving them our top priority."

When Eirika went in the direction Franz had told her, she also heard voices.

"Aaaaargh! There's no end to these monsters! What in the world happened to this fort!?"

“Please rest, Lady L’Arachel! I’ll take care of them from here!”

“No, Dozla. I will not be the only one to save myself from this danger! This is yet another trial sent to me by the gods!”

The voices were ones that Eirika did not expect, but remembered hearing before, causing her to stop in her tracks.

They belonged to a very odd lady and her retainer.

‘That’s right, she said she was going to take the land route to Rausten.’ She must have chosen to take the same route through the mountains as Eirika’s army.

L’Arachel sounded annoyed, but also like she still had strength to spare. Eirika and her army followed their voices as they cut down the monsters.

L’Arachel and Dozla were fighting in a small room, though it was more accurate to say that Dozla was the only one in direct combat with the monsters. L’Arachel rushed around behind him, waving her staff around. She seemed to be the same as Natasha, a healer who only knew how to wield staves.

They were one person short, so Eirika couldn’t help but wonder if Rennac had been killed. This made her even more worried, and she shouted out, “Miss L’Arachel! Are you alright!?”

“Oh my, that voice…? Aren’t you the person from the other day? So we meet again! We seem to be bound by fate!”

“Please retreat to a safe place! We’ll take it from here…!”

“Oh, you have no reason to be that worried! We are still on our journey to cast judgement upon all monsters! This lot is no trouble at all! Now see how magnificently we fight!”

“Miss L’Arachel, there are injured people on the rear line. If possible, I’d like you to please use your staff to heal them. They need you.”

Eirika’s plea immediately got through to L’Arachel. She cheered up and rushed straight to the back line, allowing Eirika to fight without worry.

L’Arachel’s companion Dozla was exactly as strong as one would imagine he was at the sight of his hulking body. He swung around a huge battle axe that any normal person would have trouble lifting with ease, and sliced through each and every monster with all his strength. He could even shrug off minor attacks with his muscles of steel, and took little damage from them. He was truly a warrior to be feared. 

The fog slowly thinned out as they fought, so the battle did not go on for long.

L’Arachel played a huge role in caring for the injured. She was a bit rough compared to Natasha, and even yelled at them a few times, but aside from that, her healing abilities were the real deal.

When the battle was over, Eirika sheathed her sword and called over to L’Arachel. “Thank you, Miss L’Arachel.”

“You can just call me L’Arachel… Um…” She tried to call Eirika by name, but cut her words short and tilted her head to the side. “Oh dear, now that I think about it, I haven’t asked you for your name yet. What is it?”

Eirika laughed. It already seemed like L’Arachel was an acquaintance, so it was strange that she didn’t even know her name yet. 

In a case like this, Eirika always used the alias “Eilis the Mercenary,” but she didn’t want to lie to these two, so she didn’t feel the need to do that. “My name is Eirika.”

Seth looked like he wanted to say something, but Eirika cut him off. “It’s okay, Seth. These two aren’t bad people. I don’t think we have to hide anything from them.”

L’Arachel stared straight at Eirika for a moment, then whispered, “I’ve been told that the princess of Renais’ name is Eirika! And that after the palace fell, she fled to Frelia, has been fighting ever since, and…”

“Yes. That is me.”

“Oh my, you’re the princess of Renais!? That is only logical. I knew all along that you were someone very refined. Didn’t you think so too, Dozla?”

“I did indeed think the exact same thing, Lady L’Arachel!”

“It is an honor to meet you! When I heard of another princess like I, traveling to each country while battling the evil rampaging the world, I wanted to meet her at least once!” L’Arachel took Eirika’s hands in her own, and squeezed them tightly.

“N-Not at all. I didn’t necessarily start traveling for that reason…”

“And we even got lost on the same rugged mountain, bringing us even closer together!"

It seemed that L'Arachel hadn't planned to climb the mountain, rather, she'd simply gotten lost. No ordinary person would climb such a steep mountain simply because they'd gone the wrong way.

"No, we didn't get lost. Actually…"

Eirika told her everything that had happened since they split up in Carcino, including Carcino’s betrayal, Pablo's surprise attack, the battle at the previous fort, and the village Ewan had told them about, Caer Pelyn. 

L'Arachel was deeply interested in the story from start to finish, and when Eirika was done talking, she said with conviction, "We were guided to meet here by fate! Please let us go with you, Eirika."

"Huh…?" Eirika had no idea what to say to the enthusiastic L'Arachel, and simply stared at her.

She'd seen L'Arachel and Dozla's abilities in action firsthand during the last battle, leading Eirika to very much want them to lend her their strength. However, they had no connection to neither Renais nor Frelia, and did not seem to be victims of Grado's violence, either. They were different from Eirika and her army, and had no reason to go on a dangerous journey.

L'Arachel noticed Eirika’s sigh, then pleaded passionately, "Please consider it! We're on completely different journeys, yet have met three times already! It is no coincidence! It is our fate to fight together!"

 “But as I just explained to you, Miss L’Arachel, we are being pursued by both the Grado Army, and now Pablo’s men. If you travel with us, I can’t even imagine just how much danger you’ll be put in…”

“Ha, do you think I fear danger? Since the day I decided to devote myself to the extermination of all monsters, I have been ready for anything! No matter how dangerous it is, everything is a trial sent to me by the gods. Helping you is a duty they have bestowed upon me!”

“I… I see…” 

As someone who was not a very devout religious believer, she couldn’t understand what L’Arachel’s excitement was about at all, but it moved Dozla to tears, which he wiped away with his giant fists.

And that is how it was decided that L’Arachel and Dozla would travel with Eirika’s army.

Eirika then asked about something that had concerned her since she first saw them in the fort.

“There was someone else traveling with you, correct? I believe you called him Rennac…”

“Yes. We lost him.” L’Arachel shook her head in disappointment. “He has no sense of direction, so he must have gone down the wrong path. It’s such a shame…”

She was completely blind to the fact that she herself had gotten lost. But knowing that he hadn’t been killed by a monster gave Eirika a sense of relief. “I hope you’ll be able to meet back up with him soon.”

“I really hope so too! It’s very inconvenient not to have him with us. He may be lazy, but because he’s greedy, if there’s a reward in it for him, then he’s excited to do anything. He’s as adept with his hands and as cunning as a thief, so he’s been very helpful to me…”

L’Arachel clearly had no qualms about speaking her mind. Although Eirika felt bad for Rennac, she didn’t feel that L’Arachel meant any harm, so it made her smile. “How do you three all know each other? Dozla seems to be devoted to serving you, but…”

“Yes, you are right. I am actually…”

“Lady L’Arachel!” Dozla placed one of his short fingers on his lips, signaling to her not to tell.

“But I’ve already become allies with Eirika! She is a kindred spirit, fighting to rid the world of evil, and bring peace! I’m sure everything will be fine if I tell her…”

“Do you forget what the bard Saga said? According to him…” Dozla whispered something in her ear.

L’Arachel nodded deeply in agreement. “You’re right. The truth is a secret that I cannot speak of casually, even to my allies… And that is much sweeter in times such as these! Thank you for reminding me, Dozla!”

“‘Tis nothing, Milady!”

“And that’s the situation, Eirika. I am an envoy of justice sent by the gods to exterminate evil, Dozla is my faithful servant, and.... Rennac is a lazy, greedy employee of mine… please accept that for now.”

“I will… I suppose…” She was probably in a position where she did not want to tell anyone. Eirika decided not to question L’Arachel any further.

-

Eirika’s army quickly left the fort, and headed for the sage Saleh’s house.

The remaining path was as steep as it had been the entire way up, but the fog had cleared. They no longer had to worry about not knowing what might be under their feet, so they were able to climb faster than before.

They arrived at Ewan's teacher's house before sunset. It was a simple house hidden among the trees on the mountainside.

Ewan ran in excitedly and slammed the door open without knocking. “Good afternoon, Teacher!” He seemed to always be this energetic, no matter the situation. However, no one answered.

Eirika peeked in from behind him. The only furniture inside was a small desk and a bed. His teacher seemed to live a simple life.

And, as far as she could tell, he had left without locking the door. It was unlikely that any thieves were ever in the area, and even if a bandit did get in, there wasn't a single thing they could take, so there was really no need to do so.

Ewan turned around with a disappointed look on his face. "I think he's out."

"Perhaps he's close by? We can wait here, in case he might come back soon…"

"Hmmmmm… I dunno. He travels a lot."

"He travels a lot!?" Colm exclaimed so loudly that his voice echoed through the house. He continued on, shouting at Ewan, who drooped his head, “We worked our butts off climbing all the way up here, and he’s out on a trip!? Give me a break! You can lead us the rest of the way on your own, right!?”

“I do know the road, but… I won’t be able to convince the people of the village on my own…”

“So we won’t be able to get through to them? Then what are we gonna do? Come back the way we came?”

“I’m sorry…”

“You sure talked big, but you just made a fool of us all! Seriously, after all this, he’s not here…!?”

“Colm!” Neimi nudged him.

While it got him to stop yelling, he still looked very displeased.

Ewan was so sad and dejected that it was nearly impossible not to feel pity for him.

Tethys said kindly to Colm, “I’m so sorry. He was just trying his hardest to help everyone… He’s always been treated like a child, so he wanted to do something all by himself, but instead, he made things more difficult for everyone. I don’t know what to say…”

“No… it’s okay. I didn’t really mean to attack him… Not even a little! I swear! I-I mean, it’s nice to go mountain climbing every once in a while, right?” When the bewitching Tethys apologized to him, Colm completely lost the last of his composure, even forcing a smile that was entirely unlike him.

Neimi still looked sad, so she didn’t seem to notice at all.

Eirika comforted the disheartened Ewan. “It’s too bad, but there’s nothing we can do about it. It wasn’t your fault, so please don’t look so sad. For now, let’s talk to everyone about what we’re going to do next…”

He looked up at her, tears in his eyes. But when his eyes darted past her, he gasped. “Teacher! Yay, you came back!”

“I told you not to come here, remember? I’m usually out.” A man appeared and scolded him in a harsh tone.

Eirika turned around and was so surprised that she couldn’t respond immediately, because she had seen Ewan’s teacher before.

The man did not notice her, instead trying to go around Ewan and enter his house. “I will leave again soon. If you want to master magic, then please find another teacher.”

“Um…”

When Eirika started to talk to him, he turned around with a stern look still on his face. He seemed to remember her as well, as he looked like he was trying to remember something.

“We met before. In the border town Serafew… You were looking for a lost child, if I remember correctly.”

“Yes.”

He seemed to remember now, as he was nodding his head. She wanted to ask him if he’d found the child, but he didn’t seem to be in the mood for casual conversation. 

He was probably still very young, but had a calm composure that did not fit someone of that age. To Eirika’s eyes, used to seeing unusual mages like Lute, he seemed to have a much more mysterious aura, one that most anyone would expect from a mage.

‘So this is the sage Saleh.’ For Innes to have known his name, he must possess such great power that even Frelia’s spies could not ignore gathering intel on him.

But Ewan clung to his teacher. He completely disobeyed what Saleh had told him to do, and said in his same tone as always, “So, uh, um, Teacher! All of these people want to cross the mountain to reach the country on the other side. So I decided to take them to Caer Pelyn! I can get there okay on my own, but I think it would be even better if you were with us!”

Judging by how disappointed Ewan had been before, it hadn’t seemed that he was confident he would be able to guide them the rest of the way. But now, he sounded completely confident in himself. 

Eirika thought that Saleh’s response would confirm he was a grouchy person, but contrary to her expectations, he nodded immediately. “That should be fine. I was about to return there myself. You can all come with me.”

“Really? It’s okay!?” Ewan asked without thinking.

Saleh replied bluntly, “We do not aim to keep outsiders from getting in. People simply do not try to interact with us. However, the sun is already setting. Let’s rest here for the night, then depart once it is light out.”

“He’s right.” Innes nodded. “Everyone is tired. And if a large horde of monsters like the one we just fought appeared, then there would be nothing we could do. It would be best for us to rest and focus on keeping our morale up.”

Everyone followed his suggestion, and it was decided that the soldiers would camp around Saleh’s house for the night.

While the soldiers were setting up their tents, Ewan said, "Should I go ahead and explain everything to the elder? If we suddenly show up with a group this big, we'll probably surprise everyone in the village."

"But it's already getting dark, Ewan…” Eirika tried to stop him, however, the speedy boy had already run off. He turned around once, said, "I'll be fine!" with a wave, and soon disappeared between the trees.

"Grrr, he's so naughty.. !" Tethys was worried, and tried to run after him.

But Saleh said, "Ewan knows these roads very well. You should let him go."

Tethys still looked concerned, so Innes said, "It’s not that I don't understand how much he wants to help. He cannot fight so well on the battlefield yet, so he wants to make up for it in other ways."

Ewan had teased him the entire way up the mountain, putting him in a bad mood the whole time. For him to say that he understood how Ewan felt was unexpected.

But Eirika put herself in Prince Innes shoes and imagined how he felt. He was proud enough for two people, and hated losing. He probably hated the memories of whenever someone took him lightly as a child.

The soldiers had removed their armor, and quickly set up camp. Now, those on cooking duty were making a hot meal, and those who were hungry hovered around the pot. Their grueling climb up the mountain became a funny story, and the entire area was filled with cheerful laughter.

When it came time to sit in a circle around the campfire, as they always did after dinner, everyone was far too tired. They all decided to quickly retire for the night.

-

Eirika’s army set out early the next morning. At almost the exact moment that the sun began to rise, Saleh came out of his house, ready to start moving.

When he saw Eirika's army was still fast asleep, he frowned. The soldiers on guard duty all shook everyone awake in a panic. The commotion also caused Eirika, sleeping in the same tent as Tana, to awaken.

"Wow, mages sure get up really early. Oh, but Lute usually sleeps in. I guess that means there's mages of all types?" Tana grumbled, still sleepy. 

Because Saleh was the one who would guide them to their next destination, they had no choice but to go with him. Everyone was still rubbing sleep out of their eyes when they started following Saleh further up the mountain.

Before they had even made any progress, Colm suddenly yelled, "Hey, something's coming this way! But it's not a pegasus. Its wings sound much stronger than that."

Eirika looked up. She saw three shadows in the sky. "Are they…?"

The shadows gradually became larger and larger, until everyone could tell what they were.

Seth whispered, "Dragons! I can't believe it… They’re imperial dragon knights…”

The knights atop the dragons were undoubtedly dressed in the empire’s colors. They were both more powerful than pegasus knights, and harder to damage. It was likely that they had been flying around the area to search for Eirika’s army. 

They’d decided to climb the mountain to avoid any enemies, but had been found even in a place like this.

The group only seemed to consist of the three knights. No matter how strong they were, it was far too reckless for just three knights alone to take on Eirika’s entire army. It was too difficult for her to judge what their true intentions were, so all she could do was stare at them as they approached her.

The dragons quickly descended. Seth stood in front of Eirika to guard her.

The knight leading the other two jumped down from his mount, then glared at Seth with a stern look on his face.

He was a young man with bright blond hair and a strong, masculine face. 

The moment she could make out his face clearly, Eirika gasped. “General Glen? It is you, isn’t it!? Everyone, I’ve met him in the Grado capital before…!”

The young man nodded lightly, the stern expression still on his face.

She had met him before, however, it was only once during a trip to Grado’s capital city. He sometimes passed by when Eirika and Ephraim were chatting with Prince Lyon, but one day, Lyon called him over, and introduced him to the twins. 

-

Glen had a very serious personality, and it showed in his greeting to them. Ephraim tried to joke with him, but Glen, standing at attention, did not even smile. That amused Ephraim all the more, etching the event into Eirika's memory.

He wasn’t very sociable, but politely answered a few questions she had about dragons. His manner of speaking was very boorish, but within his voice seemed to be hiding a very kind personality, so Eirika liked him.

When Glen left, Lyon whispered a secret to Eirika and Ephraim. “He’s really strong, and works very hard. If I was as tough as him, I’m sure I would enjoy combat training too, but...”

-

When Eirika remembered how Lyon felt about his frail body, she still didn’t know what to say.

Ephraim’s teacher General Duessel had also considered Glen like a son, and praised him as one of the youths who were Grado’s future. At that time, Ephraim was bitter that General Duessel would tell him his spearmanship couldn’t yet compete with Glen’s, and declared Glen his rival. When Ephraim told them he would kill Glen one day in a fit of rage, both Lyon and Eirika found it amusing, and looked at each other and laughed.

When Ephraim said “kill,” he of course actually meant that he would defeat Glen in a duel with set rules. None of them thought that a day would ever come where they must go to war and divide people into allies and enemies.

The feelings of nostalgia were still warm in Eirika’s heart as she looked up at Glen. “I never thought I would meet you here like this...”

“I didn’t want our second meeting to be like this, either. However, His Majesty has ordered it. Eirika, for the crime of massacring Carcino citizens, I must punish you.”

“What…!?” The next words to come out of Glen’s mouth were the last she ever would have expected from him. “I massacred…? What do you mean, I…”

“If you can explain yourself, then I will listen. However, your actions were unjustifiably cruel. You suddenly attacked the port town of Kiris, and slaughtered a great number of the citizens who were desperately trying to escape. You and your army were supposed to be Frelia’s allies! How could you unleash such cruelty upon the people of Carcino, who trusted you!?”

Eirika stared at him, mouth wide open. She didn’t know how to respond to a story that was so completely different from the truth. And he was not making false accusations against her. He really seemed to believe that Eirika’s army had committed a massacre. His chiseled face was twisted in a look of anger and hatred.

The one who answered for the bewildered Eirika was Innes. He chuckled and said, “Don’t be stupid. I thought you were General Glen, one of Grado’s famed Three Imperial Generals. You cannot be this foolish.”

“...What?” Glen furrowed his eyebrows. 

Innes’ tone became even more and more scathing as he continued, “We were the ones betrayed by Carcino. They hired mercenaries to attack us, so we had no choice but to fight back. None of the ordinary citizens should have been harmed. Try investigating on your own before you open your mouth next time! How dare you say something so foolish as Eirika committing a massacre! This was all orchestrated by the Grado Empire, was it not?”

“What did you just say!?”

“Amazing! So you did really believe those idiotic lies! I'm amazed you managed to become one of the Three Imperial Generals…"

“Stop it, Innes!” Eirika finally regained her ability to speak, and scolded him for provoking Glen. She then looked back at Glen, who seemed to be understandably offended. “Sir Glen, what Prince Innes just said is correct. We did not harm the villagers. But if you believe the emperor’s words over ours, then there is nothing we can do. I don’t want to fight because of a misunderstanding like this, however…”

Confusion appeared in Glen’s eyes. His intent to fight vanished entirely, and he became lost in thought.

Eirika waited. Glen was a smart person. She believed that he would surely reconsider everything.

Finally, he opened his mouth. His voice was much softer now. “I understand. You’re right. I don’t know anything about the damage in Carcino. I will come again after I have confirmed what happened. If what you are saying is correct… then what His Majesty told me is a lie. I must ask him what his true motives are.”

“So you believe us?” Eirika breathed a sigh of relief.

Glen looked at her again. He still had a harsh look on his face, but the anger he’d originally showed was gone. “No, this doesn’t mean I believe you. I will simply withhold judgement until I can confirm the truth. If I find out that what you told me is the lie, then prepare yourselves.”

“We will.”

“Sorry for bothering you.” Glen climbed back atop his dragon. 

The other two dragons following behind him also softly spread their wings and flew upwards. Their powerful wings sliced through the sky, and in the blink of an eye, they became tiny specks.

“I can’t believe the emperor would tell such a lie…”

Eirika heard a voice say from beside her. She looked to see who it was, and saw Amelia staring up at the dragons. On her innocent face was an expression full of regret. “Maybe… Pablo was the one who spread the lie, and tricked His Majesty… Yeah! I’m sure that’s what happened!” Amelia said to convince herself, then nodded.

Seeing Amelia like this hurt Eirika’s heart. She may be a member of their army, but she was originally from Grado. Her respect for the emperor was likely to still be very strong. Eirika understood her desire to think there was some sort of misunderstanding.

But Eirika was sure that this wasn’t some plot of Pablo’s, but a path the emperor had chosen for himself. He was the one who’d ordered the sudden invasion of Renais. No matter how horrible his methods became, nothing would surprise Eirika any more.

“Amelia, this actually gives me a sense of relief.” Eirika said.

Amelia looked at her with her mouth wide open. “What… do you mean?”

“General Glen said that he was going to go confirm the truth. So long as there are people like him, then there’s still a possibility that we can talk this through. There’s also the rumor going around that General Duessel is against this war, correct? They’re both central figures to the empire, so everything can still be okay.”

Because the emperor had planned his strategy poorly, he may have actually dug his own grave. Anyone who investigated into the truth could quickly figure out that Eirika and her army had not committed a massacre. Glen was unlikely to trust an emperor that lied to him. If they were able to convince someone like him, who had such a huge influence over the military, there was even a chance that it would mean the beginning of the end of the war.

Amelia’s expression also brightened.

And so, Eirika’s army continued to follow Saleh, beginning to walk even higher up the mountain.

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #96: The Count of Monte Cristo

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re making the King of the Cavern, Edmond Danganron- sorry, the Count of Monte Cristo. Ol’ Eddy’s fast enough to leave afterimages, strong enough for those afterimages to also hit people and hurt them, and plenty of creepy darkness and fire based abilities.

Check out the Count’s build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

Next up: Helloooo nurse!

Race and Background

This part isn’t that complicated. The Count is a human, and as a Variant Human he gets +1 to Constitution and Wisdom, as well as proficiency in one skill. Grab Acrobatics, because you’re fast and there’s other stuff we’re getting with your class stuff. You also get the Tough feat, giving you an extra 2 HP when you level up. Being the physical embodiment of hatred makes you pretty hard to stamp out.

I don’t think there’s a “wrongfully accused” variation of the Criminal background, so we’re making you a Haunted One instead; your stay in the Chateau d’If left a pretty big impression on you. This gives you Investigation and Survival proficiencies. You could also go Charlatan or Faceless if you want a more book-based Count, but we’re going with the gacha game version.

Ability Scores

Put your highest score into Wisdom. In older versions of D&D, wisdom saves were called will saves, and you’ve got an iron one. After that is Dexterity; you’re a speedy boy, and you’re hard to hit. Third is Constitution- your concentration saves should be instantly passed, and you’re even harder to kill than you are to hit. Intelligence is next, you’re pretty good at revenge schemes, but that’s a niche subject. Your Charisma isn’t that great, but you don’t get directly involved in social situations that often. Finally, dump Strength. You’re actually really strong, but we’re using dexterity for damage, so we don’t need this stat.

Class Levels

1. Monk 1: You’re fast and you punch people, and you’ve also spent a lot of time contemplating your place in life in the Chateau d’If. Most of that matches up with a monk well, and a more chaotic character might call a monastery a prison, if you’re really stretching for this to fit 100%. As a monk you get Unarmored Defense, giving you an AC based on your Dexterity and Wisdom so you can fight in a sick chapeau, or a sick Chateau, if you haven’t escaped yet. Speaking of fighting, you can use your fists thanks to your Martial Arts. This lets you use Dexterity instead of Strength for unarmed attacks and damage, your unarmed attacks deal 1d4 damage instead of 1, and you can make an unarmed attack as a bonus action after you attack as an action.

2. Fighter 1: You’re not just a speedy punch boy, you’re the speediest punchiest boy, going so fast we can skip 10 levels of monk progression in 1 level of fighter. The Unarmed Fighting fighting style means your fists now do 1d6 damage minimum, or 1d8 if you’re not wielding any weapons or shields (which you shouldn’t be). You can also deal 1d4 damage to grappled creatures each turn, but that probably won’t come up. You like to stay mobile. You also gain a Second Wind, letting you spend a bonus action to heal yourself. You can kinda control time, so there’s no bad moment for a smoke bre- and Guda’s gotten themselves trapped in a dream again.

3. Druid 1: Three classes in three levels? It’s more likely than you think. I know the Count doesn’t turn into a dog, you’ll just have to trust me on this one for now. First level druids learn Druidic, it’s a language, and also how to cast and prepare Spells using Wisdom as your casting ability. Your biography snippets mention you have “poisonous fire”, and I’m not sure how that would work in D&D, so grab Produce Flame and Poison Spray to get poison and fire attacks. For first level spells, Longstrider and Jump will improve your mobility despite your dumped strength, and Protection from Evil and Good is a good way to protect your iron will by preventing you (or a target creature) from being charmed, frightened, or possessed by aberrations, celestials, elementals, fey, fiends, and undead. Those creatures also have disadvantage on their attacks against you. The men who betrayed you were probably human in FGO, but who knows what curveballs your DM will throw at you.

4. Druid 2: With the Circle of the Stars, you can still use your Wild Shape as an action to transform into a non-flying, non-swimming beast of CR 1/4 or less, or you can assume a Starry Form as a bonus action; both options still can only be used twice per short rest. Your starry form sheds light 10′ away brightly, and another 10′ of dim light. You also pick one of three constellations that form on your body, granting you additional benefits. The Archer lets you use your bonus action (including when you transform) to make a ranged spell attack, dealing radiant damage. The Chalice causes you to be able to heal yourself or another when you cast a healing spell. The Dragon gives you Refined Talent with Intelligence and Wisdom checks, as well as Concentration saves. While in this form, you can’t roll less than a 10 on them. So yes, you do canonically have the weird glowing lights from your scarf now.

You also make a Star Map, which comes with its own benefits. You know Guidance and Guiding Bolt while you hold the map, and you can cast the latter a number of times per day equal to your proficiency bonus without spending a spell slot. It also acts as your spellcasting focus, and can be replaced with an hour long ceremony, which can be done during a rest.

5. Fighter 2: If you were playing a single class, this would be the level you get an extra attack on. Instead, you get an Action Surge, letting you add an extra action to one of your turns once per short rest. It’s kind of like an extra attack, but less frequent, and much better when you get a regular extra attack.

6. Fighter 3: You’ve finally gone so fast and so hard that your afterimage can punch people! At least, that’s the justification I have for picking up the Echo Knight subclass. As an Echo Knight, you can Manifest Echo to create a copy of yourself near you that has an AC of 14 plus your proficiency bonus and 1 HP. It can move up to 30′ each turn, and has to stay within 30′ of you or be destroyed. As a bonus action, you can teleport, switching places with your echo. Each attack made with your attack action can come from either you or your echo, and you can make opportunity attacks with the echo as well. You can also Unleash Incarnation for an extra attack from your echo when you take the attack action. You can use this feature a number of times per long rest equal to your Constitution modifier. 

So we went from two attacks per turn at level 4 to a maximum of five attack in a turn at level 6. You can’t keep that up for long, but I doubt you’ll have to at this point.

7. Monk 2: Remember that class we started as? I think it’s time we went back to that one. At second level, you get Ki Points equal to your monk level, which you can currently spend to make two attacks, dodge, disengage, or dash as a bonus action. You also get Unarmored Movement, increasing your running speed by 10 feet. I’ve been talking about how fast you are this entire build, it’s about time we made good on that.

8. Monk 3: You literally live in Guda’s shadow, so this subclass is almost a given. Shadow monks can learn Shadow Arts, letting you cast Darkness, Darkvision, Pass without Trace, and Silence without material components for 2 ki points a pop. You also learn Minor Illusion. Third level monks can also Deflect Missiles, reacting to ranged attacks to block and throw them back at enemies. Thanks to Tasha’s you can also make Ki-Fueled Attacks. If you spend a ki point as part of your action, you can still attack with your bonus action. You’re a busy man, so you’ll have to make the most out of every turn.

9. Monk 4: Finally, your first Ability Score Improvement pops up at level 9. Use this to become Resilient in Constitution saves, gaining proficiency in them and increasing your constitution by 1 point. Combined with your Dragon constellation, this means you’ll automatically pass any concentration save caused by less than 34 damage. Having an iron will comes in handy sometimes! You can also Slow Fall, reducing damage taken by falling based on your monk level.

10. Monk 5: Five levels after most players, you finally get your Extra Attack, letting you make two attacks with each attack action. Combined with your Action Surge, Unleash Incarnation, and Martial Arts, you can now attack 8 times in a single round, albeit once per short rest. To put it in context, that’s about as many times as a level 20 fighter, also using their action surge. 

The fun doesn’t stop there! Fifth level monks also can make Stunning Strikes using ki. When you hit a creature, you can spend one ki point to force a Constitution saving throw with a DC of 8 plus your proficiency bonus plus your wisdom modifier or be stunned until the end of your next turn. You get advantage on all attacks against stunned creatures, so... that’s going to hurt. You can also use a Focused Aim to improve your accuracy on attacks by spending even more ki points.

11. Fighter 4: One last level of fighter gives us another ASI, which will increase our Dexterity for a higher AC and stronger punches.

12. Druid 3: Third level druids get second level spells, like Darkvision or Pass Without Trace, so you can save your ki points for stunning strikes. You can also use Enhance Ability to push yourself even further.

13. Druid 4: At this level, your Wild Shape improves, so you can now transform into beasts of CR 1/2 or lower, and you can swim as well, if you really want to. But you also get another ASI, which makes you Shadow Touched. This increases your Wisdom by one point, and you learn Invisibility and Disguise Self, both using Wisdom to cast. One of your Noble Phantasms, the Monte Cristo Mythologie, can hide your Class from others. It would probably be more literally implemented with Nystul’s Magical Aura, but Disguise Self is a much more practical spell for you.

You can cast either one of these spells once per long rest for free, or like any regular spell with the appropriate spell slot.

You also get more fire power with the Create Bonfire cantrip.

14. Druid 5: Fifth level druids get third level spells. There’s a lot of cool stuff you can do now, but we’re mostly here for Revivify. Your third Noble Phantasm, Attendre, Esperer, gives you amazing recovery abilities, even bringing people back from the verge of death. Reviving people within a minute after their death is as close as we’re going to get here.

15. Monk 6: Your movement speed increases by another 5 feet now, and thanks to Ki-Empowered Strikes, your unarmed attacks are magical as far as resistances are concerned. As a shadow monk, you can also Shadow Step with your bonus action, teleporting up to 60′ between shadows. Doing this also grants you advantage on your next attack.

16. Monk 7: Seventh level monks get Evasion, letting you take no damage when you succeed on dexterity saves, and half damage when you fail. You also gain a Stillness of Mind, letting you end charming or frightening effects on yourself as an action. Your wisdom save is pretty solid, but it never hurts to have backup.

17. Monk 8: Use this ASI to round out your Constitution and Wisdom for more health, stronger spells, and a better AC.

18. Monk 9: Ninth level monks get an Unarmored Movement Improvement, letting you run up walls or over water with your normal movement speed. Just make sure you hit dry land before you stop, it’s not fun otherwise.

19. Monk 10: Tenth level monks have a Purity of Body that makes them immune to disease and poison, and you’re kind of the same. You’re already 99% revenge; you don’t have any space for more impurities.

Also you get another 5′ of movement.

20. Monk 11: Your capstone level grants you a Cloak of Shadows, allowing you to turn invisible as an action in dim light or darker. You remain invisible until you make an attack, cast a spell, or enter bright light. It’s not quite melding into shadows, but it certainly isn’t bad.

Also, in case you were wondering, your Martial Arts die bumps up to a d8 at this level, so you’d finally be as strong as you were at level 2 if we didn’t go into fighter now.

Pros:

A regular monk would have focused more on dexterity and had more accurate attacks, but we make up for that with the sheer number of punches we can throw at once. If you want something stunned, it’s basically guaranteed at this point. This also makes you a solid burst attacker: 8d8+24 damage is nothing to sneeze at.

Also unlike a regular monk, you’re really fucking tough to kill. With an AC of 17 and enough HP to give fighters a run for their money, physical attackers will find it hard to cut you down. On top of that, you’re pretty good against the three most common spell saves (Dexterity, Wisdom, and Constitution), and your evasion makes it so spellcasters will also have their work cut out for them.

You’re absurdly good at Concentration when you need to be. With your dragon constellation up, you can instantly shrug off any concentration save that is caused by less than 40 Damage. Basically, anything that isn’t a rogue or a beholder won’t be able to shake your buffs off an ally.

Cons:

Monks eat up their ki points quickly, and you’re no exception. This also applies to your Action Surge, spell slots, Starry Form, and Unleash Incarnation uses. You’re very, very impressive in combat, but only for a choice few rounds. If you use those up, it’s going to be a slog. A slog you’ll probably survive, but a slog.

Being a star druid makes you a literal light in the darkness. While that is a beautiful metaphor, it does make using the rest of your stealthy dark-focused build effectively. You can’t shadow step when you’re a walking lightbulb, sorry.

Despite your overall defensive strength, you have a few key weaknesses, like your charisma and intelligence saves. You won’t be much help in if you’re shot to another dimension by spellcasters, or against mindflayers in general.

[glassworkspiderlilies]

portrait of a lady

Genshin Impact | Lumine/Albedo | AO3 Summary: Three times Albedo draws Lumine, and the two times he doesn't. Notes: mr. albaedo...

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Dragonspine is only the beginning.

Albedo is well-informed about her by now, one would think, after running so many tests and observing her first-hand. But those were all in controlled scenarios of his own making, and so, he discovers, that outside of that, there is far more to Lumine, stranded Traveler of worlds.

Somewhat surprisingly, there are quite a few chances to see her out and about around Mondstadt. Albedo is, besides Chief Alchemist, also Captain of the Knights of Favonius’ Investigation Team—which means he too does his fair share of fieldwork, granting him opportunity to cross paths with her at unexpected moments.

But even so—the Traveler has her goals and he has his, and since Dragonspine, he spots her only in passing.

As such, in order to perform a separate study when he only sees her in such scattered moments, Albedo does the other thing that he does best besides alchemy and childcare—

He draws.

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It is one thing to see her combat in a controlled situation, and another to see her fighting out in the wild. Even from the distance that he spots her, she is quite the sight. Lumine is strong; this he knows. But her movements are different when she’s in a trickier situation and does not have to account for the safety of another person. She is as vicious as she is elegant—relentless in her swordsmanship, flawless in her footwork.

It could be a dance, almost—and so too can he see that it is not one meant to be performed alone. The one who stands beside her can only be just as formidable—and of course it must be her missing brother, whom Albedo feels like he can picture despite never having met him. Still, she does what she must to make up for that lack of partner, and with one final array of slashes nearly too quick for the eye, the Ruin Guard falls. Lumine pockets the core of the monster before flipping her sword into the air, and it disappears to wherever it does.

She’s on her way again before Albedo thinks to call out to her, unwilling as he is to interrupt whatever mission she’s on without a particular reason.

Instead, he flips open his sketchbook. He has a very good memory, but he uses quick, broad strokes anyway to capture the basis of what he saw before a certain amount of detail is inevitably lost to the limits of brain capacity. He is in the middle of a field investigation with the command of other knights, so it won’t do to take too much time for something so completely unrelated.

That night though, he sits at his desk and refines the sketch. The sharp angles of her arm as she cuts through the Ruin Guard’s tough body, the fluidity of movement from one slash into the next, the flow of her hair as she whips her body around to dodge…

It is not perfect, but it is passable. There is only so much he can derive from such a short moment, without additional time with the model.

Still, it will do, until next time.

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Miraculously, for all the dangerous maneuvers she tends to do, the Traveler’s flight license has yet to be revoked. She always falls just short of penalty, in a way that makes the Acting Grand Master’s lips pinch together and the Cavalry Captain grin in delight when they see her. Jean can only sigh and request for Lumine to simply be careful, to which the Traveler dips her head obediently and solemnly swears that she is, and would not let her flying jeopardize herself or the citizens’ safety.

There is something about the way she says that, so serious and matter of fact, that goes beyond simple confidence in one’s flight skills, and has the Knights questioning.

But they do not ask, nor can they really figure just what it is exactly they want to question.  

Albedo, of course, observes. She is so natural in the sky, the glider seeming like an extension of her body. She flew exceedingly well even after she’d been first gifted the glider, according to Amber, even when Stormterror’s winds had whipped her so suddenly into the air. Lumine has Barbatos’ blessing, it is true, even if not quite in the form of a Vision, but her skill does not feel owed to that. Jean, gifted with her Anemo Vision as she is, is not so remarkable in the skies; even Amber, three-time winner of Mondstadt’s Gliding Championship, does not quite have the particular easy grace that Lumine does.  

It is….baffling, this ever so slight yet just discernable difference that cannot quite be explained.

Albedo sees her sometimes out in the field, a large shadow overhead as she glides. On somewhat rare occasions she will accompany him while he experiments in the wild, and he watches with mild trepidation as she steps off the sides of cliffs so casually, unfurling her wings like an afterthought to retrieve an herb or some such thing down below.

Other times, she drops from such great heights that he can only marvel at the lack of fear.

He is painting below Starsnatch Cliff the first time this happens, suddenly hearing a soft call of Albedo! in the distance. It takes a minute to locate where it is coming from, and he squints to see the tiny figure of the Traveler atop Starsnatch’s tip, waving her arm. He waves back, but he cannot hear what else she is saying nor understand what she is gesturing at, and tilts his head in confusion. In another minute, she takes a running leap off of the cliff, gliding towards him. He watches as she soars, then takes out his sketchbook to capture her figure in the air. Albedo’s eyes follow her as she glides past him, and—ah, the band of hilichurls making their way towards him must have been what she was trying to warn him about.

But then—she drops suddenly, hurtling down with such speed that it is genuinely alarming, the wind whistling. Her sword manifests in her hand and she uses it to pinpoint her landing; she slams into the ground, the blade sinking into the sand before her knee does, her other leg bent and braced for support. The hilichurls are blown back from the resulting blast of power, and she’s up again in a flash, ready to fight.

Albedo blinks before adjusting his gloves, and joins her in the clean-up.

“Are you not afraid of falling?” he asks, immediately after the battle is over.

She turns to him with a faint smile, putting away her sword.

“Not when I mean to,” she responds. “Are you not afraid of surprise attacks, if you are so focused on your art?”

“I would not be Chief Alchemist or Captain of the Investigation Team if I could not handle such situations,” he replies politely, “Though I thank you for your concern, and assistance.”

She gives him an amused look.

“Are you hurt?” he queries, glancing at her knees, “That was…quite the landing.”

“It is not so bad with sand,” she shrugs, brushing off the grains that have stuck to her skin, “But I have gotten better at mitigating the damage.”

He raises an eyebrow, and her lip quirks up as she awaits his potential scolding. There are a few beats of silence between them before he sighs.

“I trust you know what you’re doing,” he relents, and her eyes grow more mirthful.

“As do you,” she says pointedly, and he holds out his hands in defeat.

They have a quick lunch—she splits her food with him despite his protests—and she’s off again, always busy.

Albedo stays behind until the sun begins to set, filling pages in his sketchbook, the image of her descent burned into his mind.

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“You want a lesson on alchemy?”

He blinks at her in surprise as he lets her into his laboratory. She steps in carefully, looking around with interest and taking in its disorganization and clutter.

“This is not so different from Dragonspine, is it?” Lumine says, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and he coughs lightly in mild embarrassment. “And yes. Is it so surprising? Timaeus has been a great help, but I do not think it remiss to ask his teacher for guidance as I move on to craft more complicated things.”

“From what I hear, you are shaping up to be quite the alchemist yourself,” Albedo says, crossing his arms and putting a thumb to his chin in thought.

Both Timaeus and Sucrose, who had seen her craft in person before while he has not, had mentioned that she was taking to the process quite well.  

“You are exaggerating, surely. Perhaps it may seem that way when all one crafts is the occasional potion. But as I said, I find myself needing to make use of more complicated alchemy if I want to reinforce my weapons.”

Albedo hums, studying her. It is true that such a thing was one of his topics of particular interests for a time, hence her coming to him instead of Sucrose, who was far easier to find.

“Have you ever thought of becoming an alchemist, with this growing interest of yours?” he asks, motioning for her to come closer to his crafting table.

“Ah, Sir Kreideprinz, is two students not enough?” she teases lightly, “I’m afraid I haven’t the proper time to invest currently, as you must know. But I shall promise not to abuse any knowledge you are willing to impart upon me.”

It startles a laugh out of him—one, because it had not occurred to him that she would, and two, because what was considered misuse of the art was not always the same between alchemists.

“All knowledge is worth having,” he murmurs absently, and she glances at him out of the corner of her eye, but he says nothing further on the topic of potential misuse. “Alright, then. Look here…”

She is a good listener, despite the complexities of the process he outlines. They discuss the theory, and he shows her how to combine the pieces she’s brought to higher-level material. She watches with a nearly hawk-like keenness, and asks him to repeat the process a few more times before she attempts it herself.

It is all about trial and error, in the beginning, and so Albedo steps away and takes the back seat as he watches her work out the formulae and arrangement of materials on the table to achieve what she wants. He pays close attention to prevent any dangerous accidents, but also idly puts a pencil to paper while he observes her.

Her focus, the way she drags her fingers lightly over the symbols as she thinks, the purse of her lips as she works out what she needs to…yes, drawing her is never tiring.  

Eventually, she succeeds in her crafting, straightening out her back and smiling in quiet pride as she turns to show him the results. Under his further guidance, she uses her newly crafted materials to reinforce her sword, and they both look upon the end result with satisfaction.

“Good work,” he says, as she prepares to leave, “May this serve your well on your journey.”

She glances at the papers he had set aside before coming to assist her again, unable to see what is on them from this distance. Still, there is a knowing gleam in her eye.  

“And may that serve you well in your research,” she replies, with a slight raise of her eyebrow.

His lips twitch in amusement, but he does not respond.

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As much as Albedo loves Klee, she is a boundless ball of energy, and he must admit that he is not always able to keep up with her. It is why there is a rotation of knights to look after her when Albedo is particularly busy and cannot be disturbed—and playing with Klee comes to be considered tantamount to a training regimen. Oftentimes the girl will have left a string of exhausted knights—especially recruits—in her wake when he finally comes out of his laboratory.

So it is odd that this time, when he comes out to take down his “Experiment in Progress” sign, that the halls are unusually quiet. The knights seem fairly undisturbed, and he does not even hear any distant telltale explosions to signal her presence.

“The Honorary Knight is watching Klee,” he hears Jean say, and Albedo turns around to see the Acting Grand Master smiling at him as she comes down the hall. “The last I saw them, they were in the courtyard.”

“I see,” Albedo says, inclining his head in thanks, and goes searching.

Jean had spoken truly; the two are still in the courtyard, sitting on the grass, and apparently weaving stalks of dandelions into garlands. Albedo is surprised to see Klee so focused on such an activity, when she usually prefers more active games.

“Hello,” he says, to draw their attention, and Klee perks up immediately, rushing over to hug him around the middle.

“Albedo! Are you all done now? Can we eat dinner early? Can Miss Lumi come? We played all day so I’m really hungry!”

Albedo pats her head and murmurs acknowledgement of her requests, his eyes crinkling as he looks over at Lumine.

“Jean had mentioned you were watching her,” he says, “Thank you. I hope you were able to convince her to leave the fish population at Starfell Lake intact.”

To his incredible surprise, Lumine’s cheeks turn faintly pink, and Klee begins to jump up and down, still holding onto him.

“Albedo, did you know? Miss Lumi is really good at fishing! She can catch them with just her bare hands! We brought lots back, so can you make Woodland Dream tonight, pleeeeeeeease?”

He blinks at Klee, then looks back at the Traveler, who avoids his gaze and steadily continues to weave dandelions together with careful precision.

“With her bare hands, you say?” he asks, and his sister uh-huhs enthusiastically.

“Oh! But I want to finish making these first! Albedo, do you want to make one too? Miss Lumi says that in some other worlds, flower crowns are a sign of appreciation!”

“Alright then,” he says, though Klee is already dragging him towards the spot she had temporarily abandoned.

He is quiet for a while, letting Klee and Lumine show him how to bend the stalks carefully and weave them tightly without breaking. But as he falls into the proper pattern, he is too curious to stay silent.

“…Where did you learn to catch fish with your bare hands?” he asks innocently, without looking up.

“…The fish population is intact enough that, given a little time, Starfell Lake will be full again,” Lumine says first instead, sensing the question he is not asking. “But—nowhere in particular. It is simply a matter of practice. It was a silly thing that Aether and I had challenged each other to do one day, and then contested one another for the most caught.”

Her tone grows a little quieter at the mention of her brother, her eyes more melancholy. Albedo glances at her, but before he can say anything, it is Klee who broaches the subject.

“What’s Mr. Aether like?” she asks cheerfully, and Lumine startles at the question. “You’re twins, right? Do you look exactly the same?”

Lumine blinks, her eyes growing thoughtful.

“No,” she says absently. “But we do look…very similar. His eyes are a little sharper, and his nose is a little more pointed. His hair is sort of like mine, but he could never the front to lie flat. Back when both of our hair was long…I braided his, but he liked it so much that he kept it. He cut mine for me, when I wanted a change.”

Albedo looks at her, noting what she says, trying to imagine her other half.

“Go on,” he encourages, and her eyes widen a little as she pauses, thinking about stories to share.

Haltingly, she tells them a little more about her brother. How he favored the hotter months over the cooler ones, how he liked acrobatics when they flew, how he preferred darker clothing over lighter ones. As she speaks, Albedo forms a clearer picture of Aether in his mind.

In the course of this, Klee ends up dozing against Albedo’s side, though she tries hard to stay awake.

“Ah, I tired her out,” Lumine says, her eyes crinkling.

“Quite the feat,” Albedo murmurs, patting Klee’s arm. “Ah, Klee. What about dinner?”

“Woodland….Dream…” she murmurs, and Lumine chuckles.

“It was all she could talk about, at the lake,” she says, reaching out to stroke the little girl’s hair tenderly. “I have high expectations.”

“It’s my specialty,” Albedo says easily, “So it should not disappoint. Ah—here, this is for you.”

He gives her the garland he had woven, as well as the finished one of the two Klee had been making, as Lumine was undoubtedly meant to be one of the recipients. Lumine blinks, taking the crowns gingerly.

“Appreciation, right?” Albedo says, and Lumine nods.

She puts both on her head, and then places the one she made carefully on Albedo’s.

“My gratitude, for dinner,” she tells him, and he smiles.

“Well, you will have to come home with us first,” he says as he picks Klee up, and she blinks a little in mild surprise before smiling back.

Albedo leads the way, and it is not long before Lumine falls into step beside him.

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He is finishing up some sketches in the library when she climbs through the open window, startling him out of focus.

“Hello,” she greets amicably, sliding into the chair across from him.

“Hello,” he greets back, “That was quite the entrance.”

“It’s faster this way, sometimes,” she says, and he blinks at her, unable to formulate a response to say otherwise. “How many hours have you been here?”

He blinks again, working out the time via the position of the sun, peering out of the window.

“Four hours, perhaps?” he guesses, and Lumine hums, looking at the papers laid out in front of him, which are all various portraits of her.

“Will you finally tell me what this is about?” she asks, propping her elbows up and putting her chin in her hands.

He smiles.

“Nothing so mysterious,” he says, gathering some of the drawings closer to glance at for reference, “I have said before you make a fascinating study, have I not? But I suppose I did want to try something.”

She raises an eyebrow in question, but Albedo signals for her to wait a moment as he makes some minor adjustments to the piece he is working on at present, which is tilted towards him against the edge of the table and thus out of her sight.

“Alright, then,” he says after a while, “Here—all of these are for you.”

He places this last finished piece on top of the small stack resting on the seat of the chair next to him, then hands the whole thing over, and she takes the little pile with open curiosity.

Her expression changes to shock when she looks down at the first drawing.

“…Aether,” she whispers wonderingly, her hand hovering over the portrait as if she is afraid this too will disappear in front of her.

“You paint quite a vibrant picture when you speak of him,” Albedo explains, “So I thought I would try my hand at actually putting him to picture. I am sure there are inaccuracies, but…tell me, how did I do?”

She is silent as she goes through the others—some quick sketches, some more detailed renderings, some smudged with color, and even a couple of full paintings. Her eyes grow wet as she looks through each page, pausing here and there to trace the lines with her fingers, or to relax her grip so she does not crinkle the paper overmuch.

“Near perfect,” she finally says, very quietly, as she looks at him. “Albedo, this is….remarkable. I feared…forgetting small things about him, with the time that had passed. Thank you.”

He is not sure what to say now that she is teary, so he coughs a little and pushes the sketches of herself towards her, as well.

“You are very welcome. I confess I may have given him some of your mannerisms, for lack of other reference. But when you fight, there is a space for him, and I can guess how he might compliment your movements as you must complement his. Of course, as I have never met him, I did take some liberties…”

He trails off when she looks at him again after studying her portraits, her gaze a little more intense.

“You…must have been studying me quite closely, to produce these,” she says, tone deceptively mild.

“Ah—my apologies, I suppose it was presumptuous of me,” he says, worried about losing her regard, “I—sketch people around Mondstadt so often, they have grown used to seeing me do so. But I should have asked your permission.”

“Oh—that is not what I mean,” she reassures him, tilting her head, “I just hadn’t realized you were paying quite so much attention to me. I would have sat for you, if you asked.”

His eyes crinkle at the suggestion; she bore his constant tests with great patience up in Dragonspine where others would not have so readily, and here she is still willing to do additional favors for his whims.

“I appreciate the offer, but it was not such a…staged manner that I was after. I enjoyed seeing you simply going about your activities.”

She hums, gentling putting down the stack of drawings before leaning back in her seat a little.  

“And now?” she asks, and he blinks at her, confused at her meaning. “Is this moment also something you are looking to draw?”

He stares at her, taking in her profile in this moment, a curious feeling creeping over him as he observes her. The quiet intensity of her gaze, the faint smile curving her lips, the weight of some sort of expectation in the air…

“I…suppose I could, but as I mentioned, I was hoping for something other than a controlled environment,” he demurs hesitantly.

“Ah, so you believe this a controlled environment?”

He pauses again, taken aback, and as if to purposely disprove his implication, a strong gust of wind rushes through the open window. The papers on the table rustle loudly, startling the both of them, and the two instinctively surge from their seats, lunging across the table in half-panic and slamming their hands down to prevent the sketches from flying away.

“Oh no—have we creased them?”

“No, they are fine, I believe.”

They look up then, realizing how close they have come to each other.

A few heartbeats of silence pass.

“…Do me a favor, if you please,” Lumine says quietly, as they try and sweep the papers back together. There is a balance hanging between them that has not yet broken while they do so. “Keep these portraits of me. If you…come across my brother, please give them to him.”

“I will keep them safe,” Albedo says, narrowly missing grazing her fingers as he lays another sketch onto the pile, “It is no trouble.”

She smiles faintly.

“I should hope not,” she murmurs. “I shall…entrust myself to you.”

She means the drawings, he knows, and yet there is a slight unguarded lilt to her voice, and he does not miss the double meaning.

There is a question here, an offering, if he chooses to accept it.

At this distance, they can see each other’s eyelashes; one slight movement and they could be touching. The delicacy of the moment is suspended as they stare at each other—Albedo’s blue, blue eyes are wide and searching, Lumine’s pink lips slightly parted. The gauzy white curtains are billowed upwards by the wind again, fluttering over them like a veil, hiding them from direct view.

A soft murmur, a gentle brush of cheeks, a warm puff of breath.

…Do you trust me, Albedo?

…Yes.

Their silhouettes slowly drift closer.  

[seijch]

futakuchi kenji + gender neutral!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

superhero au, action/fluff with a bit of angst

content warning !! (nongraphic) descriptions of violence, mention of alcohol

14.2k

recommended listening

BY DAY, you attend classes and sling drinks at the campus cafe. By night, you’re known as the Harbinger, an individual with the Gift of shadow and darkness. Your two jobs have never had any reason to collide...not until the appearance of a fellow Gifted by the name of Ace, anyway.

"Your next job is an assassination," says the informant. He's tall, with blond hair going a little unruly in the wind. The real attention grabber, though, is the unblinking third eye that rests on his forehead. You feel his fingers probing at your brain, prying it open to tell you everything you need to know about your next target. This was a commonplace interaction between you; there were eyes and ears everywhere. The landscape of your mind was the safest place for secrets and information.

This time, it's some bigshot CEO allied with the Seijoh Conglomerate. He's trying to curry favor with the much smaller Johzenji Incorporated.

Negotiations are on Saturday, Three-Eyes (you'd never learned his name, not even his alias, and he'd never provided one) tells you. I've given you the location. You should know how to get there.

"Got it," you reply as his grip on your brain recedes. "Anything else?" The young man shrugs.

"The usual. Fly high. Don't fuck up. It'll look bad on all of Karasuno if you did." With that, his figure goes blurry and blips out of sight. Left standing alone at the rendezvous point, you sigh and slip into the darkness, riding the shadows all the way home.

 "Let me guess," Futakuchi says, shifting his gaze from his notepad to you, "a carbonara, extra cheese?"

"You know it." Say what you will about the simple dish, but it's been your favorite ever since the restaurant opened down the street before your first semester of university two years ago. Your eyes trace the brick walls of the small establishment, flit over Futakuchi's back as he enters the kitchen.

Due to its proximity to campus (and more recently, your apartment), you've been a regular patron since its opening. Despite this, though, it was your friendship with Futakuchi (and his employee discount) that kept a broke college student like you coming back for more.

(It started with an economics class you'd both taken in your first semester to raise your respective GPAs. You knew vaguely of each other, never having any reason to interact.

It continued the next semester with a group project for your communications class, once again shared with one Futakuchi Kenji. "Do you want to work together?" had spilled from your lips before you could think it through. You weren't friends. You were barely acquaintances. He was just the only one in the class you felt familiar enough with to ask.

"Sure," he responded. "Let's meet at the cafe close to the quad.")

"Here you go," Futakuchi says, taking you back to the present. "Without you, I'm sure this old place would've gone under months ago," he chuckles, throwing a dish towel over his shoulder. He's thanking you, in his own roundabout way.

As always, you play along. "Aw, you'd miss me if I stopped showing up, wouldn't you?" He narrows his eyes at the grin you throw his way. You're sure he's about to hurl some sort of curse your way when an elderly couple walks past.

Schooling his features into something more refined, he gives you (and them) the smile of a saint. "Oh, please," he grits under his breath, "I give you three days tops before you come running back." You're left gaping at him like a fish, scrambling for a response, but nothing comes. His grin widens: he's won this one.

(After weeks' worth of research and countless cups of coffee consumed between you, the project was complete. You'd learned a lot about him — he was an electrical engineering major, played volleyball in high school, thought that Disney's Tangled was nothing short of a cinematic masterpiece — and the easy camaraderie you two had fallen into made your heart skip a beat.

Not that you'd ever admit it to him. He didn't need his ego to grow even bigger, lest his head get too swollen to keep upright. Whenever he walked into the cafe, the very same one you had your first meeting as partners at, to order his stupid chai tea latte, you would be forced to give it to him with a bright smile and held tongue.

You might've swallowed your feelings, but they've always been there, like a flower that had not yet met the right conditions to bloom.)

Saturday comes quickly. The venue is the most opulent hotel in the city, the crown jewel of the entertainment district. The whole place reeks of cigarette smoke, a result of the casino located on the first floor. You wrinkle your nose at the smell, darting between shadows to reach the room you're looking for.

Three-Eyes needs to work on his navigational skills, you think. The penthouse suite could've been better reached by taking to the skies and landing on the roof. (Plus, you've always liked the feeling of twisting the thin, watery darkness into wings with which to take flight.) You chalk it up to needing to exercise the utmost caution, and for good reason: there are two armed guards stationed at the door. No way around it.

From around the corner, you send your shadow to strangle one of the guards, sinking incorporeal fingers into his throat. He gargles as his body falls, and you curse as it thuds on the marble floor. The other guard's on full alert now, his gun locked and loaded. He tries to move, to look for the assailant, but he can't: you've pinned his shadow where it stands.

Inky black tendrils make their way to the guard, his eyes widening. You wonder, dimly, what he must think. The thoughts people have before their lives end at your hands has always been a point of speculation for you.

Not that you ever give them much time to think; it's a small mercy, to kill someone swiftly. You may be a criminal, but you’re far from a sadist.

You crack the door open, catch a glimpse of the scene inside.

The target's running his mouth, his glass of red wine coming close to spilling with each flourish of his hands. They're decorated with gaudy rings, each outfitted with a flashy gem. A small staffing of guards watches the scene, all stone-faced and no doubt better trained than the goons you took out less than two minutes ago.

The room's nice, furnishing sleek and minimalist. It's also well-lit, bringing a frown to your face. You were at your most effective when it was dark as pitch, but the cogs turn in your head as you formulate a plan.

What intrigues you the most, however, is the young man standing behind your target. His mask covers his eyes, as though he were attending a masquerade ball and not overseeing a critical business deal. It's outfitted with...card suits. One side the spade, the other the heart, with the club and diamond in the middle. His stance is relaxed, bored, even. You're not sure who he is; Three-Eyes didn't tell you about this. He must be a new addition, you think. He's not armed. Is he Gifted, like you?

Doesn't matter. The modern chandelier above does well to light the room, but you find purchase in the shadow of a stool on the kitchen island. You leap into it, molding yourself to the darkness as you lie in wait.

"Those are the terms and conditions of our deal," the CEO from Seijoh finishes, lacing his fingers together as he leans back in his chair. "Do you have any questions?" The Johzenji representative opens his mouth, but you're only half aware of his response.

Fact: When you're assuming the form of another shadow, you can't send your own to do your bidding.

Fact: Making this quick and easy isn't possible.

Fact: Confrontation is inevitable.

Fact: You have a bad feeling about the man in the mask.

That being said, you wouldn't have gotten this far in Karasuno if you were afraid to get your hands dirty, whether you liked it or not.

In a single instant, you emerge from hiding and trap the masked man's shadow before he can spring into action. All eyes are on you, but before the CEO can sputter commands, you send an appendage of darkness to pierce his chest. He gurgles, blood spilling from his mouth, before he slumps into the chair. The red wine spills all over the plush carpet, seeping in to stain.

The guards launch into action, forming a protective circle around the Johzenji representative. They're all aiming for you.

Perfect.

Before they open fire, you lock yourself in a barrier. The shots, as you predicted, ricochet and knock out some of the lights from the chandelier. Once the roar of gunfire ceases, you force the barrier outward to skewer your attackers.

They choke, last cries strained as their bodies fall to the ground. You scan the room, all shattered glass and bleeding bodies. Well. I should clean this up a little before I leave. You don’t dwell on the thought for too long, though; there’s still one person left on the floor.

The masked man's stayed perfectly still and silent throughout this whole encounter. (Of course he would; he wouldn't be able to move, even if he tried.) "You're good," he remarks as you close in on him. "It's just a shame," he tuts, sidestepping—sidestepping?—your attack, "that I'm better." He's broken from your hold, somehow, and is out the window (when did it open?) before you can get a hold of him.

"Don't take it personally," he calls after you. "You were just unlucky." You curse under your breath; Three-Eyes is not gonna like this. You shackle the Johzenji representative to the ground, looking down at him as he quivers in fear.

"Well then," you sigh, cutting your losses, "why don't you tell me all about this deal Johzenji is making with Seijoh, hm?"

There was a young man with the Seijoh CEO, you tell Three-Eyes, though you know he's long since sifted through your memories of last night to know. I don't know if he was Gifted or not.

We have no record of him. When we meet tomorrow, I'll give you a supplement that will let you temporarily see who around you is Gifted. Take it before your next mission.

You make the mistake of letting your mind wander, and curse his stupid psychic Gift when he adds, tone bone-dry, No, not a suppository. Supplements are taken orally. He releases his hold on you and you swear you see him shake his head at your train of thought.

(Really, it's not your fault the two words were so closely related; as much as you've given to this second job of yours, you weren't ready to insert anything odd into your most personal crevices.)

"Meet in the usual place tomorrow. I'll also be giving you the details of your next mission." That's all he says before teleporting away. You glance at your phone, color rushing out of your face in record time.

"Fuck!" You fling open the service door of the campus cafe, retying your apron as you rush in. Cramming the cash from Three-Eyes into your bag, you rejoin your boss on the floor. He's chewing you out, and just as well: you've extended your fifteen-minute break to something akin to a twenty-five.

You're only half listening. Instead, you're replaying the events of last night, the man in the mask the only thing on your mind.

No one’s ever broken free before. You’re staring at your hands, clenching and unclenching them in the motion to trap a shadow. How did he do it?

"You in for a long night?" you ask Futakuchi, setting his chai latte on the table. He's come during dinner hours, rendering the cafe mostly empty.

"Yeah. The professors in my department have been working us to the bone." He stops to take a sip, nodding in appreciation. "I mean, I get it. Top five engineering school and all. But shit," he huffs as you wipe down a nearby table, "I feel like I can't catch my breath." You clean the store as he rolls his shoulders, a brief break before his fingers fly over the keys of his laptop. It's companionable, the lo-fi tunes from the speakers the only real sound.

(You were no stranger to all-nighters with Futakuchi by your side. In fact, that was the only way your project could have ever reached completion.

"College is not what I expected it to be," he'd groaned one night, the two of you holed up in a corner of the library. It was getting late: you're sure the staff was going to kick you out any second now. You looked up from your laptop to see him with his head in his hands, tablet pen still between his fingers.

In truth, you'd also been hoping for more of an opportunity to let loose. This was supposed to be the time of your life, the transitory period between what remained of your youth and true adulthood. Instead, you'd spent all your time at work, in lecture, or working with Futakuchi on this damn presentation.

None of those things were inherently bad, but they certainly weren't in line with the more...entertaining college lifestyle you'd envisioned yourself leading. To sympathize, you'd told him as much, garnering a laugh as he agreed with you.

"Well,“ he’d looked at you then, eyes hooded with drowsiness, “at least we're in it together."

Your heart leaped to your throat, and you fumbled over your reply. "Who said I was going to stick around?" It sounded less like a verbal jab and more of a stab in the dark.

"And here I thought you enjoyed the mutually beneficial relationship we had," he lamented, a hand on his chest in mock hurt. "Never again will I let you use my employee discount." You'd kicked his shin under the table and told him to get back to work.

When you'd gotten home that night, those seven words had kept you awake, tossing and turning. You were brought together out of necessity, after all; who's to say that he'd stick around once the shackles of obligation were broken?)

The amount of light pollution in the city has never done your powers good, rendering the sky almost starless, but you'll be damned if it doesn't look amazing from above. You land at the top of the old clock tower, the building standing only because of its history. It's a relic in a city bustling with modernity, and you find solace in the low ticks and tocks as the seconds pass into minutes. 

You watch cars race by, blips of color moving in the cityscape. You'd met with Three-Eyes earlier to receive the supplement (he'd reminded you once more to take it orally) and the location of your next mission. Your head still buzzes when you shake it, his influence not so easily forgotten.

Your wings drip with liquid shadow; when you'd first come into your Gift, you had been surprised at the almost milky texture of the dark. You're stretching them out, practicing your control, when you're interrupted.

"Huh," he says. "I wasn't expecting to see you here." Before he finishes his sentence, you've bound him from the neck down in an uncomfortable sort of straitjacket. You tighten your hold; he's not getting away this time.

"Good evening to you too," he grins. "How rude of myself to not even properly introduce myself," he barrels on before you can get a word in edgewise. "They call me Ace." His voice is casual, like he's meeting with a friend and not tied up in front of someone who wants to kill him.

You've turned the wings at your back into razor-sharp edges that itch to skewer his poor body. One of them grazes his Adam's apple, and he tilts his head up in defiance, looking down on you. "So you're Gifted?" It's barely a question, but one you figure you should ask regardless. As much as you’d love to skip to the part where he lies motionless on the floor, the idea of never scratching that itch, never getting the answers you’ve been wanting since you first met leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

"What do you think?" he asks, placid smile pasted on his lips. In the blink of an eye, he's wriggled out of your binding—how? "Pretty good, if I do say so myself," he preens at his accomplishment. You make to end him once and for all, answers be damned, but he dodges every spike that comes his way. He clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth in disapproval, leaping out of the way of a particularly nasty advance that pierces the floor. "I introduce myself, act nothing but cordial, and this is the thanks I get?" He lets loose a long-suffering sigh that only pisses you off.

"Not like it matters. I already know who you are." You try to close the distance, but he's quick to widen the gap. "The Harbinger...did you come up with that one yourself? It's a nice name, for sure. A bit vague, if anything, but oh so frightening." He's overcome with fake emotion, the end of his sentence condescending. He has the nerve to talk down to you, and you return it by pinning his shadow before he can run away again.

You're almost there. He's within reach, but your foot gets stuck in the hole you'd made trying to get to him. You curse, the sound guttural as it comes from the back of your throat. "Darn," he simpers, throwing in a pitying snap as you yank your foot out. "You almost got me there too. Unfortunately for you," he shrugs, once again free from your grip on his shadow, "I'm getting bored. Do better.” If being such an insufferable asshole was a real Gift, you’re sure Ace would be among the first to manifest it.

"Well,” he says, voice closing the door on the interaction, “'til next time, Harbinger." Before you can even try to get to him again, he's gotten a running start. Your eyes widen as he jumps from what must be a terminal height to the nearest building—and lands it.

Ace? Three-Eyes asks, once again in your head. Do you know what his Gift is? He's rewatching your encounter with him, and you ignore his snide comments about how easily he managed to wipe the floor with you.

No clue. He didn't attack me. The admission causes Three-Eyes' eyebrows to raise as he plays the encounter over again, looking at it through a new lens. Frankly, you're getting tired of seeing your ass get kicked. Definitely a slippery bastard. He's probably working for Seijoh.

We'll send an agent to do recon on their Gifted. This could just be an independent. Seijoh was fond of attracting Gifted to their cause, promising wealth in exchange for power. Three-Eyes seems satisfied with what he's seen, and you shiver as he returns your mind to you. No matter how many times he does it, you don't think you'll ever get used to the feeling.

"At any rate," he throws over his shoulder, "don't fuck up tonight."

Seijoh is awfully fond of glitz and glamor, and it shows: the charity banquet is decorated to the nines. A part of you longs to participate, but you're here to gather information, to play the part of the fly on the wall. The waitstaff glides across the floor in a dance of service, offering champagne and hors d'oeurves alike to the chattering elite.

Take the tablet thirty minutes before you enter, Three-Eyes had told you. Once it kicks in, any Gifted should glow orange at the edges. A memory through the eyes of a stranger had entered your mind then, and in it you saw Three-Eyes outlined in neon orange, the edges softly blurred.

Sneaking in is much easier this time, a shadow creeping far enough past the door that you can slip in without a hitch. You're prepared to assess whatever shady deals Seijoh is setting up this time, but you see a man near the door stiffen. He's glowing orange at the edges, and you swallow. The man is big, with a shock of white hair. Leaning against the wall next to him is Ace, the orange outline bleeding in the space between the two Gifted.

"Harbinger," the unfamiliar face says, voice deep. You blanch, holding your breath as he turns to face you. He's fast for his size, head whipping in the direction you move to, taking the form of a different shadow. The guard detail tonight, armed to the teeth, focuses their aim where you hide.

This is bad. Gunfire claws against your ears, and you leap out of the shadow to put up a barrier before they tear you apart. Glass shatters. A lightbulb goes off in your head, feeling deja vu tug at the corners of your brain. You break into a sprint.

The security detail picks up on your plan, aiming one step ahead of you as you run to the now broken window. From the corner of your eye, you see one such bullet speeding towards you.

It feels like the world around you slows down, like you can see each detail of the dusky yellow metal as it hurtles to the point of impact. 

This is it, isn’t it?

The bullet will lodge itself (or worse, pass through) your midsection. This opulent room will be where you meet your end. They’ll clean up your body, mop up the blood. The cleaning staff is going to have their work cut out for them, you think.

You wonder if time slows for each of your victims before you take them out. You regret not being quicker about it; you thought you were doing them a service, but this? This is nothing but agony.

All you can do is keep moving. Your feet are heavy as one moves in front of the other.

The world returns to its normal pace.

Your momentum carries you forward. The bullet is off by what must be millimetres, grazing your back. You leap out of the window.

The last thing you see as you fly away is Ace's eyes on yours, heart hammering against your ribcage.

Three-Eyes has never been the most expressive nor the most emotional, so to feel the fury rolling off him in waves stuns you silent. "You failed the mission?" he asks. It's a rhetorical question, of course; he's seen your memories. Multiple times. "You had a job to do, and you...what?" His voice stays even, but the eye that rests at the center of his forehead trembles slightly.

He exhales. His third eye stills once again.

"Look," he reasons. "I know you're pretty new around here, but the higher-ups demand results. You cannot fail. Keep that in mind next time we meet."

Your informant leaves after that, phasing out of your sight. Your failure probably reflects poorly on him, too; you've never met the higher-ups, the head honchos of Karasuno, but you figure they must be forces of nature. Shame washes over you as you return home.

For the first time since you joined Karasuno, you don't return home with an envelope of cash.

“I feel like I’m seeing more of you these days.” Futakuchi sighs when you call him out, raising his hands in surrender.

“There’s a paper due at the end of the month. My GPA can’t take it if I fall behind, so I asked them to cut my hours at the restaurant.” He’s had impeccable grades since the day you met, but you figure they weren’t entirely borne of natural aptitude. You, on the other hand, have been taking on more shifts in an attempt to offset the cost of failing your last mission.

One paycheck from Karasuno was almost twice as much as you made at your day job. You close your eyes, see rent’s due date glaring at you. Three-Eyes was right. There can’t be any more fuck ups; you literally cannot afford it.

“Well,” you hand him his latte (he’d only admitted it once, but you were the one who made his order the best), “you’ve come to the right place.”

It's been getting colder recently. The chilly night air nips at your skin, sends goosebumps up your arms.

"I get it, this is a nice lookout spot," Ace says, jolting you out of your reverie. "But really? Once was bad enough. Imagine if I found you here while I was on the clock." You don't immediately move to kill him, so he stands a respectable distance away.

"On the clock? For Seijoh?"

"Who's to say?" he deflects.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It can mean whatever you want it to. Just because I'm seen with Seijoh doesn't have to mean I'm working with them." He says that, but his presence alongside some of Seijoh's bigwigs begs to differ. "At the end of the day, I'm just some guy with a mask on, right?"

"No."

He laughs, incredulous. "No? Are you denying it?" He taps his mask, the ornamentation of the spade shifting beneath his touch. "The evidence is right there, isn't it?"

"I meant that you're not just some guy." When you swallow, it's heavy. You've started having nightmares about that day, ones where you don't make it out alive. You were so sure the bullet would connect...until it didn't hit at all.

More than anything, you remember the look he gave you as you ran away. It's that gaze that makes an appearance behind your eyelids every night. You've given up on trying to piece it together by now.

"Aww." Ace tilts his head, pursing his lips in sarcastic affection. "You sure know how to make a guy feel special, don't you?" You (once again) start to wish you'd killed him where he stood.

Instead, you say, "What did you do?" He gives you yet another look you can't decipher, another thing to mull over alone in your room under cover of darkness.

"Who knows?" he shrugs, avoiding a straight answer once again. "Maybe you just got lucky. Why do you assume I had something to do with it?"

(He has a point; all you have to go off of is a look and a feeling. You hate that he's right.)

The only noise at this point is the steady tick-tock of the clock tower and the breeze passing by, a gentle tap on your shoulder, a kiss on your cheek. You don't respond, soaking in his words. He could be lying. He could also be telling the truth.

You're not sure which you'd like to hear more.

"You said you were off the clock," you say after the silence has set in long enough to change the topic. He nods, gaze focused on the few cars on the road below. "I take it whatever...arrangement you have with Seijoh isn't permanent."

"Is work all you talk about? Man, I hope you're not this much of a stick in the mud behind the mask."

That hits a nerve. "I'll have you know I am very pleasant beneath the mask," you defend. He smirks, casting a sideways glance in your direction.

"I'll believe it when I see it, Harbinger."

“Okay, be honest,” you begin, shutting the menu with a snap (as if you even read it). “Am I...uptight?”

Kenji inhales sharply, taking your menu with careful fingers. You’re well aware you’ve just dropped him in a minefield, but you watch him squirm with serious eyes. Ace’s words from the night before ring in your ears, and you’re itching to prove him wrong.

Poorly equipped to answer the question at hand, Kenji instead asks, “...You sure you want me to be honest?” He yelps when you aim to whack him with a roll of complimentary bread. “You were the one who asked!”

“You’re supposed to be a good friend!” you hiss between bites of another dinner roll.

“You asked me to be honest! What was I supposed to do?” he sputters. “Lie?” Kenji confiscates the roll of bread, uttering a mocking hum when you whine.

“Yes!” He doesn’t bother replying, muttering under his breath as he takes your order—and your makeshift weapon—to the kitchen.

You'd think that a business conglomerate with its fingers deep in the city's underbelly would do a better job at hiding confidential files. You guess Seijoh's got bigger fish to fry. Not that you're complaining, of course; this only makes your job easier.

(We've done extensive recon on this location, Three-Eyes had informed you. He was still tense with the knowledge of your last fuck-up, but you were given a mission regardless. It's where they keep their records of the Gifted in their system, hired or not.)

The job, for once, is simple. Get in. Collect the files Three-Eyes had drilled into your brain. Get the fuck out.

(Just watch out. They have this guy running point on their security. In your memory was the image of a man, hair dyed blond save for the twin black stripes running parallel lines around his head.

He...kinda looks like a bumblebee, you'd thought, hoping to draw a laugh from your informant. It didn't work. His jaw had hardened, and his eyes—unfortunately, not the third one—had rolled.

They call him the Mad Dog. If you see him, do not engage. His Gift—if you can call it that—is the ability to break bones and pop blood vessels with a single touch. Okay, yikes. You'd breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of examples Three-Eyes had given; he was often very thorough, but you were grateful he'd refrained from providing a visual this time.)

To his credit, Three-Eyes' navigation skills are getting better. Getting to the archives poses no problem, the office completely dark. If you got into a fight, you were almost certain you’d come out on top.

The only catch is the dozens of the drawers you'll have to open to find the files you're looking for. With a sigh, you fish out the small flashlight given to you by Three-Eyes the last time you were tasked with recon.

(I should also warn you, Three-Eyes said, that you might be terminated if you fail this mission. We won't kill you or anything like that, he'd assured you when you'd flinched. At least, I don't think so. But your memories of this time will be erased entirely from your mind.

His gaze was devoid of any levity, any mercy. I can put things in your head no problem, but I make no promises to be gentle if I have to take them away.)

You're thumbing through the files of the independents Seijoh has hired when you see not one, but two faces you recognize.

The first is the large man with the white hair that had managed to sniff you out from the shadows. His real name is redacted, the same as every other report, but you catch a glimpse of his designation. Bloodhound Unit 1-A. Fitting. You'd already collected the files of other members of Seijoh's bloodhounds; this was the last one on your list.

They all possessed similar enough Gifts, in the end: the ability to locate Gifted whenever they used their powers.

The second file you recognize is Ace, pictured in all his masked glory with a shit-eating grin. You stop to read this one; it’s not every day you learn the ins and outs of the biggest pain in your ass to date.

Gifted #1110 has the ability to manipulate the probability of events (moderate effect), the classification reads. This makes him uniquely suited to an escort position for negotiations with other companies.

That explains why you've only seen him around officials. You trace your encounters back to the beginning, to all his comments about luck. He'd escaped you because he'd willed it, forced the hands of fate in his favor.

This casts the events of your last mission under a different light: he let you live.

Why?

You take both reports, the last two files needed, and make your escape.

It’s midnight. The clock tower rings out behind you to welcome the new hour, but you’re not paying much attention. Bouncing around in your mind like an old computer’s screensaver is the project due at the end of the month and the need to confront Ace about what exactly happened the night of your last mission.

You're about to call it a night and leave the clock tower when he appears. "Why is it that every time I come here to think, you show up?"

"I wasn't aware you were capable of cognizant thought," you fire back.

"Wow. Okay. Low blow." You manage an indignant laugh from him. "And especially rich, might I add, considering I'm the one who's come out on top every time we've crossed paths."

You don’t bother beating around the bush; you’ve waited too long to engage in his verbal sparring matches. "You really are a lucky bastard, aren't you?" It's not a question. He grins in response, as if you’ve passed a test.

"Took you long enough to notice. I was beginning to worry I'd have to spell it out for you."

Your meetings at the clock tower become routine. Ace shows up at midnight, you notice, fond of startling you as the tower rings.

("Are you stalking me or something?" you'd asked at the start. "Is your friend with the white hair sniffing me out so you can work up the courage to ask me out on a proper date?"

He laughed at that longer than was really appropriate, long enough for you to wonder what could possibly be so bad about posing yourself as a dating prospect. Second occupation aside, you were a catch and a half, and you were about to let him know when he caught his breath enough to reply. "Don't flatter yourself, Harbinger," he wheezed. "If anything," he'd sniffed, now nonchalant, "I should be asking you that question."

"What was it you just said?" You tapped your chin, coming to a realization, "Oh. Don't flatter yourself," you replied flatly. At this point, he was standing next to you. You'd turned to look at him, then. Not to look in the way you'd done several times before, but to really look at your...enemy?

You didn't know what to call him. Live saver might have been accurate, but you would rather have taken the bullet than call him that to his face. You weren't friends, nor were you enemies—not right now, anyway.

You didn't know what to make of this in-between you've found yourselves in, this space between hate and friendship.)

To throw a wrench into things even further, you find that he looks...handsome in the low light. You add the thought to the growing list of things you'd be quicker to take to your grave than admit to him.

(There was truth to the statement, though. You couldn't make out all of his face, of course, but the slicked back hair paired with a strong jaw looked promising enough. It's not like he was spindly either, body all lean muscle. You'd been staring for much longer than was considered socially acceptable, and he'd noticed. "Like what you see?"

"Not at all," you'd lied.

The worst part had been the fact that checking Ace out—sizing him up—wasn't on your list of regrets. What it was on was your laundry list of things regarding Ace that you couldn't wrap your head around.)

You learn things about him, things you'd sooner learn about a normal person instead of someone you seek to kill half the time.

He likes dogs.

(“I had one back in junior high. When I move out of the city and into a real house, I think I’ll adopt one of the same breed.” He’d shuddered before continuing. “I could never get one of those small dogs, though. All bark and no bite.”

“I think they’re a perfect fit for you,” you told him.

“Oh, ha ha. Last time I checked, I wasn’t the one on a losing streak.”)

He spends an inordinate amount of money on candy.

("You should see my pantry," he laughed. "I used to really like those like…” he was talking with his hands, gesturing in the air, “sour gummy worms back in high school. I guess the habit of buying them never wore off."

"I’m surprised you don’t have cavities."

"Please. My dentist loves me.")

He refuses to admit to crying when Mufasa died in The Lion King.

("So what if I was five?" he'd huffed, crossing his arms. "That's no excuse.")

It's humanizing.

It's concerning.

Now, when you look at Ace, you no longer see an unexpected roadblock, the joker being put into play. You begin to agree with what he told you weeks ago: he really was just some guy in a mask.

You begin to wonder when you became so quick to agree with him.

Your fork twirls around the pasta, you and Kenji sitting cross-legged on your carpet as a Marvel movie plays.

You'd been the one to suggest a celebration, having made it out of midterms alive. He'd agreed, bringing over some of your favorites from the restaurant after his shift.

The movie is good (though Kenji's uncanny ability to chime in during emotional scenes makes your eye twitch, just a little), the food even better. Before you know it, both of you are blinking bleary eyes awake in the morning light.

"What time is it?" you mutter, hand slapping the surface of the coffee table you'd fallen asleep on in an attempt to find your phone. Kenji rolls his head around in a circle, trying to ease the crick in his neck.

"Too early. Maybe around eight," he yawns, trying to once again make himself comfortable on the couch and go back to sleep.

You, on the other hand, have never been more awake in your life. When you find your phone, you find that he's right—it's almost eight. Your shift starts at nine. At this time of day, it takes half an hour to get to work.

"Shit," you curse, forcing your half-asleep body to move and do as much damage control as you can manage. "I have work in an hour. You can leave now if you want, but you gotta be out when I am."

"Nah, I'll give you a ride. My place is in that direction anyway." There's something about the way he says it, his voice a touch deeper with the morning and the way it rolls off his tongue like he's said it a million times, that makes your heart clench. There's not enough time to dwell on it, so you let him stay while you get ready for the day.

(Somewhere, deep in the pit of your stomach, that same seed of infatuation you'd swallowed months ago threatens to sprout.)

The name Ace, as it turns out, is one he came up with himself.

"You really couldn't have come up with anything better?" you ask. "It's a nice name. A bit vague, sure," you parrot the words from your first meeting as Ace narrows his eyes at you, unimpressed, "but oh so frightening." Emboldened by his confession and greedy in the light of your victory, you tilt his chin to meet your gaze head on.

The touch is electrifying, like a spark igniting for the first time in a brilliant flame. You force it to fizzle out as quick as it came, hand drawing back in shock.

These midnight meetings have changed your dynamic with Ace. It's delicate, like a house of cards that stacks higher and higher with each encounter. You worry that the slightest deviation from what's been established might send the whole thing crashing down.

"The people at Karasuno were the ones who named me," you fumble, trying to defuse the tension. "They saw me flying when I was still learning what I was and offered to take me in."

Almost a year ago, you'd been discovered by two boys. It was embarrassing, in hindsight: you crashed into the taller one, leading to the other doubled over in laughter.

You learned that their names were Kageyama and Hinata, and they were pretty new to this whole Gifted thing, too. You haven’t seen much of them recently; once you three “graduated,” for lack of a better term, into full-time operatives, you often found yourself flying solo.

"So what?" Ace asks. "You just joined a criminal organization?"

"I didn't know it was Karasuno at first," you snap. "Not until it was too late. But I'm here now. Money is money."

"You could've just..." he lets the words hang in the air, trying to find the best response. "I don't know." Instead, he asks a different question: "Would you have joined Seijoh or done something else if not for Karasuno?"

"What difference does it make?" you ask. "When you break it down, we're the same. Our Gift manifested, so we joined the first organization willing to pay us enough in exchange for being the ones to do their dirty work. Besides," you huff, head tilted to try and find any hint of starlight in the night sky, "I'd be doing exactly what I do now if I was with Seijoh."

"...You don't sound very pleased about that."

"Yeah?" Your laugh is humorless as you chew on your bottom lip. "I wouldn't be doing this at all if I could afford it. This all started because I wanted to get in touch with my Gift and learn more about it." You bring up a web of darkness, warping it into different shapes in a show of control. "Just so happens they help me with my rent enough that I don't have to live paycheck to paycheck."

He's pensive, nodding along with your words. "You know, we should bring drinks up here sometime. I think we both need a break. You from your rent, me from my tuition deadlines. How 'bout it?"

Despite yourself, you reply, "Yeah. I'd like that." 

(Even worse is the fact that you don't think you want this to be an empty promise.)

You're at the clock tower again. The routine's stabilized into a weekly affair; it's unspoken between you two to meet on Friday nights, right as the day rolls over into Saturday morning. "Do you remember our last conversation?" Ace asks.

"About how you still owe me drinks?" Your legs are dangling over the edge of the tower, knocking against Ace's feet as the world whizzes below you.

"I thought it would be a potluck-style affair. We did establish that we're both broke, right? Why are you making me buy everything?"

"Wasn't my idea to get drunk with someone I've tried to kill," you offer. "Multiple times. I figured Seijoh's dirty money would be more than enough to afford a pack of shitty beer."

"If I'm going to drink with someone that's tried to kill me," for your benefit, he tacks on, "multiple times, I'm going to make it good. But that wasn't the part of the conversation I was talking about."

"Then what was?"

His shoulders tense, almost imperceptibly. You wouldn't catch it if you weren't sitting next to him. "Do you ever wonder..." He's reticent with his next words, as though they're better unspoken, "what would've happened if we worked together?"

"If this is some ploy to get me to join your so-called good side," you drawl, throwing up some jazz hands, "I'm afraid it won't work. We've been over this: it wouldn't make any difference."

"No," he says. He's not looking at you, but rather at the full moon that smiles at you from above. "I mean like...a world where it's always like this." He bumps his shoulder against yours, and you become hyperaware of the lack of space between you.

(When did it lessen? You could layer your hand over his, if you so pleased. Are his fingers calloused, are they warm?)

You force the thoughts back into the dark corner of your mind from which they came. "Don't go falling for me," you warn. (You're not sure who you're warning, exactly, but it's a warning nonetheless.) "You should know by now I won't be around to catch you."

His gaze is somewhere far away when he says, "I know."

There's a warm mug in your hands and a show you're barely watching on TV. You're alone, bundled in your comfiest blankets. You and Kenji had scheduled a movie night, but you had cancelled on him, citing your neverending pile of assignments as an excuse.

Somehow, seeing him hours after being with Ace feels wrong.

You take the day to unpack everything about Ace you normally save for the wee hours of the night, when your heart still races as you return home from the clock tower. Your eyes are glazed over as you analyze his every word, every action, try your best to read between the lines.

Then it hits you.

Why bother reading so much into it? Why expend so much energy into trying to figure him out?

It's not like—

Oh.

The realization of your feelings for your sort-of enemy isn't a loud affair, not at all like glass shattering or the freefall felt after leaping out of broken windows. It's quiet, almost unnervingly so.

Taking a sip of your drink, you step into this newfound truth as though it were your favorite pair of pants.

Here's the problem with this new truth: you're pretty sure that being in love with a member of Seijoh is off-limits.

"You'd think that in a city this big, we wouldn't be seeing so much of each other," he quips. Why is he always where you want to be? It had been annoying (until it wasn't), but on this fine Wednesday night, you’d wanted anything but to see him. 

"And here I was, trying to find someplace new." Instead of the clock tower you'd both made your unspoken rendezvous point, you've come across Ace atop a skyscraper.

"Aww, I thought we were friends." Is that what he thinks? You're not sure if that's a testament to the change in your relationship or a confession just shy of what you really want.

(But is this what you want? A life of secrecy and hidden eyes?)

Ace pats the space next to him, motioning for you to come sit. You don't move. You worry that if you do, all the things you’re keeping hidden will come tumbling out unbidden.

(Would it be so bad if it did?)

"I'm fine here," you squeak. Your voice is meek, only serving to raise suspicion.

"...Are you okay?"

(What are you supposed to say to that? That you think you're in love with him when you barely know him, don't even know what he looks like? Are you supposed to tell him that even though you're on opposing sides, his eyes are the ones that haunt your dreams? How do you convey that all you could ever want is for things to stay like this, the city cloaked in perpetual night with Ace at your side and in your heart?)

There aren't any words in the English language that could get the point across.

He draws closer, as if magnetized to you. If words can't do it, maybe actions can.

You don’t think. You don’t speak.

All you do is yank the collar of his shirt towards you, crashing your lips against his. The house of cards you two had so delicately put together is lit aflame, but in this single selfish moment, you have no regrets.

You pour gasoline all over everything you know, tilting your head to take as much of Ace as he's willing to give.

(He pulls you flush against him, and later on you'll try to puzzle out how much of his reaction was instinct and how much of him was wanting for this, for you. For now, you're more than content to burn against him, with him. You take his bottom lip between your teeth and pull.)

“I think I did something stupid,” you groan, head in your hands as Kenji scrawls your order onto his notepad. You’re his last customer, but he doesn’t bother pulling out his finest Food Service Voice for you, not when you’re like this.

“What happened this time?” His question only elicits another drawn-out groan as you drag your hands down the sides of your face. “Yikes. That bad?” Returning to his notepad, he mumbles, “Extra cheese,” adding it to your order.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Kenji, to his credit, doesn’t push the issue.

The food is good, as always. It distracts you a bit from the crippling weight of what you’d done not even twenty-four hours ago. You even find it in yourself to give a heftier tip than usual.

And somehow, that’s enough.

For now.

Your next meeting with Ace is awkward, to say the least. 

The haze of desire that plagued your mind that night has cleared, and you're left to face the consequences of your actions. The stars above twinkle and titter in equal parts at your embarrassment.

He's waiting for you at the clock tower. A change of pace, considering midnight is a ways off.

"Fancy seeing you here." You're trying for normalcy, but it comes out forced.

"What can I say?" There's no wind tonight, and that only serves to charge the energy between you further. "I guess we're just drawn to each other." The accuracy of that statement sinks in, and you gnaw at the inside of your cheek as you roll it around in your head.

"About last night—" comes out of your mouth at the same time as "Listen, what happened—" comes out of his.

Nobody speaks. You're reminded of one of the first nights you spent with him here, the silence almost companionable. Tonight, it's oppressive, suffocating you with its iron grip.

"So...are you okay?"

"Am I?"

"I mean, I guess not. You didn't answer the question last time."

"I did answer it," you defend hotly, stiffening as the words spill from your mouth. Way to go, you grimace. You've done a bang-up job bringing up the one thing you were trying to avoid. Ace shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

"Do we...wanna talk about it?" he asks, giving a tentative poke at the elephant in the room.

"Good question." You're looking at the ground, eyes catching against the hole from your very first meeting here. "You seem to be full of those lately."

"Thank you," he replies, on autopilot. For a moment, it's like nothing's changed, the house of cards still standing. "I try my best." There’s another lull in the conversation. You’re not even looking at him anymore, instead finding much to observe about the hole you’d made a month ago.

Fuck it. You've already dug yourself six feet under—you might as well force yourself all the way to rock bottom. "You know that this," you gesture between you, "can't happen, right? You don't even know who I am."

"You seem to neglect the fact that I might want to." Not for the first time, you curse his ability to parry even your worst remarks. Right. Your heart flutters, a betrayal of the highest order.

"You seem to neglect the fact that when you're on the clock, we're at each other's throats."

He grins. "Maybe."

"Are you always this irritating underneath the mask?"

At some point in the conversation, he's come to stand one breath away. "Why don't you find out?" he whispers against your lips as he closes the distance once more.

You're seething, knuckles gone white as you clench your fists at your sides. You're not the only one pissed: Three-Eyes is about to pop a blood vessel, a vein bulging on his forehead. Whatever you think you're doing needs to stop. He plays your exchanges with Ace over, sneers when he sees you kiss like it were gum caught beneath his shoe. There are more important things than...this. 

You might have the worst informant in all of Karasuno, forced to watch as he skims through the month of private memories you'd tried to keep under lock and key. This was supposed to be a quick meeting to receive the details of your next job, but it seems he had caught wind of what you had been so eager to hide.

What you're doing endangers not only Karasuno, but you especially. There are fates worse than termination and much worse than death, he reminds you. There’s an undercurrent to his words, both a warning and a threat. See to it that you change your behavior before your next job.

"For the record," he says, quick to leave your mind, disgusted by what he's seen, "I kinda liked you. Shame you won't remember that if I have to wipe your memory clean."

He's gone before you can respond.

"You look like you just got broken up with," Kenji remarks as you shovel pasta in your mouth. When your only response is a withering glare, his voice softens. "Alright, what's going on? 

"It's nothing," you lie. You're at the restaurant to eat your sorrows away, but the reason why is a can of worms you can't exactly afford to be forthcoming about. Explaining exactly what mess landed you halfway to sobbing with each bite you take to Kenji of all people would only end with you behind bars for all you've done. "I'll be okay, I just...really needed some pasta."

He doesn't look like he buys it, but he backs off. It's a half victory you're more than willing to take. "If you do need help, you know who to call." You nod, unable to respond with your mouth full.

When it's time for you to pay, Kenji emerges from the kitchen to tell you that just this once, your meal is on him.

Kenji's taking his break, sitting right across from you as if he hadn't been waiting your table less than five minutes ago. (His manager had shouted for him to take his break in the back, but Kenji, it seems, has long since mastered the art of selective hearing.) He doesn't say much, scrolling through his Instagram feed while you eat. You continue in relative silence, the only real noise being the sound of your fork against your plate. 

You're more than halfway done with your meal when he pipes up. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

He rolls his eyes at you, locking his phone and putting it down. "Ha ha. Very funny. I'll be in the front row of all your stand-up comedy shows," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Thank you," you reply with a smile. "Anything for my number one fan." He pulls a face. "What did you want to talk about?"

Despite being the one to start the conversation, he's clamming up. "Forget it," he says, eyes focused on the people passing by outside rather than on you. "It's not important, anyway. Just some relationship troubles," he lets slip.

"Oh?" you ask. You're in much of the same boat, though you suspect that Kenji, at least, has met someone that he can reasonably be with. "What's wrong?"

"I'm with someone right now," he blurts before he can think it through. "Or I mean...sorta with someone."

"What does 'sorta with someone' mean?"

"I mean...we see each other every now and again, but our relationship's never been clearly defined. I know the feeling is mutual, but there are some," he gestures with his hands, "obstacles stopping us from being together."

"Like?" Kenji's never come to you with anything like this before, but he's being rather secretive about this whole affair.

"We're not...meant to be together?" He doesn't sound sure of that answer himself, considering his wince. "That's not right. There are just...a lot of factors stopping us from being together, that's all."

You twist your straw between your fingers before you take a sip. "Sometimes, timing is a big factor," you tell him. "Maybe you're not meant to be together right now? In that case, it might be better to end things before they go too far." Kenji nods, soaking your words in. 

"At the end of the day, Romeo,” you remind, "the only person you have to please is yourself. What do you want?"

"The only person you have to please is yourself," he repeats. Louder, he says, "I know what I want. Don’t really know what I’m gonna do about it, but..." he rises, his break over, "you know. Thanks, I guess.”

You do, in fact, know. "Anytime."

Pocketing his phone, Kenji whisks away your empty dishes and returns to the kitchen.

Solving his relationship problems had been so easy. You only wish untangling the mess that was your own was that simple.

>> (11:08 AM) kenji: are you free after your shift today

>> (11:13 AM) you: yeah

>> (11:13 AM) you: why?

>> (11:14 AM) kenji: no reason 

Sure enough, when the bell fixed to the door signals a customer's entrance towards the end of your shift, it's Kenji you come face to face with. "The usual."

"No please?" you ask, typing in his final total.

"Sorry, we haven't reached that level of friendship yet.” He pays with his phone, the screen displaying a blue check before he pockets it. "Ask me again in a few months."

"My bad. I seem to have mistaken our months of companionship and movie nights for something other than close friendship," you say, scribbling the name Coochie-kins on the side of his cup. "How will I ever make it up to you?" Your voice is monotone as you pass his order to your coworker. A quick glance to your watch tells you that Kenji is your last customer. Untying your apron with practiced ease, you clock out.

When you emerge from the back, now dressed in casual clothes, you approach Kenji. "Well? Not studying today?"

"Nah. I needed a break. Mind joining me?"

Before you know it, you're at an arcade. It's one of those modern ones, revamped for all ages and teeming with all sorts of bells and whistles. You stop at the entrance, peering into the glass where a large stuffed turtle calls to you. "You want it?" Kenji asks.

Right now, you're not sure if you've ever wanted anything more. After a quick stop to load up a card with enough credits to make your wallet ache, you return to the crane game. "Hit me," you tell him, and he swipes the card for you, looking amused.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

You're a fucking supervilain working for one of the most prolific criminal organizations in the city. This stupid crane game doesn't stand a chance.

...is what you told yourself three attempts ago. The turtle slides out of the crane's grip once more, taunting you. You resist the primal urge to bash your head against the glass, instead opting for a drawn-out groan. "Is it even worth it?" you mumble.

"Let me try," Kenji says, hip bumping against yours as he nudges you to the side. "Watch and learn." He cracks his knuckles as he grips the joystick, fingers feather-light as they rest on the buttons to engage the crane. The setup looks exactly the same as your previous tries, and you scoff as he presses the button.

The turtle goes up. Big deal, you think. It'll come down before it goes through the chute. The game is rigged, anyway.

Or not.

The turtle lands neatly in the pickup zone.

"What'd I tell you?" he asks, like it was nothing. "Sometimes it just needs that magic touch." He wiggles his fingers for good measure.

"Wh-" you sputter. "How?"

"It's like that episode of Spongebob," he explains, handing you the turtle. "Be the crane."

You resolve to beat him at something, the competitive side of you flaring up.

(It's the start of a losing battle. Kenji hands your ass to you in every game, be it skeeball or basketball or even those awful ones that demand a button pressed at just the right time. The arcade staff double, triple check the amount of points your card's accumulated.

It's kind of ridiculous, really, but you leave with a Nintendo Switch you claim joint custody over, so it's not like you're complaining.)

"Why did you call me out, anyway?" you ask, the turtle you've named Chichi (after the Dragon Ball character and not Kenji, thank you very much) in your lap. He glances at you before returning his eyes to the road, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

"I said it earlier, didn’t I? We needed a break. I also wanted to thank you for last time." It’s been a couple of weeks since that day; you don’t think you would’ve remembered if not for how out of the blue it’d been. You’re kind of surprised he’d been thinking about it, really.

"What did you do about it?"

"Turns out, I didn't have to do anything," he exhales. His voice is bitter when he says, "I got ghosted."

You wince, sucking in a sharp breath through your mouth. "Ouch. Sorry to hear that.”

"Don't worry," he says. "Not like you had anything to do with it."

Your next job goes off without issue 

You don't see Ace at all.

It's been almost a month since that night. Does he still shows up at the old clock tower at midnight in search of your silhouette? You would’ve done more, would’ve said a proper goodbye, but you’ve got bills to pay. Drawing Three-Eyes’ ire is the last thing on your to-do list.

You count the cash given to you by Three-Eyes, toss it onto your nightstand. Unfortunately, this isn’t some fairy tale where you can have your cake and eat it too.

(But was it so bad to long for that bit of fantasy?)

You trade your view of the city at the dead of night for pasta and movie nights on Mondays.

Weeks bleed into months, and you draw closer and closer to Kenji. When he asks if he can kiss you, fumbles with the words a bit before you leave his car, you let him.

He leans over the center console, one breath away, giving you one last out if you need it. You let him close the gap.

You like Kenji, you do. 

But when your lips meet his for the first time, it's not the same. Ace might not be dead, but you're chasing after his ghost all the same, seeking him out in everything and everyone. What was once explosive, electrifying, even, barely manages to simmer in the pit of your stomach. It's not enough to boil over.

You'll take it.

(With your eyes closed and fingers tangled in his hair, you can almost taste the night winds on your tongue, hear the clock tower tick with each passing second. You tell yourself that maybe this is good for you, that the day will come where you see Kenji instead of longing for Ace.)

In the end, being with Kenji isn't at all what you expected. It's not at all what you wanted, either.

It's like coming home and finding out the hard way that all the furniture's moved three inches to the left: not immediately apparent...until you stop to wonder why you keep stubbing your toe on the coffee table.

"Kenji," you pant, pulling away. This is how your movie nights tend to end as of late, your hands in his hair and you situated on his lap. "What-" He's not in the mood to talk tonight, it seems, instead peppering kisses along the junction between your shoulder and collarbone. "What are we doing?”

For a minute, you think he hasn't heard you. "What do you want it to be?" He's leaning back on your shitty couch, eyes hooded and hazy. His face is framed by the low light of the action movie behind you, his chest rising and falling. You know that if you pull him back in now, you can safely bury the topic, cover it completely with your lips on his. 

They say ignorance is bliss, after all.

But your toe's been stubbed to the point of bleeding; there's no ignoring that.

You've spent countless nights examining your feelings. You've held them up to the light, ghosted your fingers along the hairline cracks that run down the sides. And despite all your introspection, the best you can come up with is "I don't know." Even as the words come out of your mouth, they feel like the wrong answer.

The three words hang in the air between you, cruel fingers of guilt and indecision digging into your skin, kissing invisible bruises that bloom purple. For once, Kenji is at a loss for words. The clarity's returning to him, you think, bloodflow returning to his brain. He goes through several emotions you can't place nor process in a matter of seconds.

It's then that you ask yourself the question: What is this to him? Some part, selfish as selfish can be, hopes that you're just as much of a distraction to him as he is to you. It's much better than the alternative; better to set each other alight instead of stoking a fire for someone else.

"Right." The word comes out in a single, stunned breath. "Well," he says, moving enough to force you onto the couch, "call me when you think you've figured it out."

You don't get a chance to reply before he's out the door. The movie you hadn't been watching seems louder now, brought to the foreground of your misery.

You tune it out.

If Three-Eyes is put off by the look in your eyes, the anger that's taken root, he doesn't show it. A tactful move on his part, really; you're just about ready to tear someone's head off if they so much as breathe the wrong way 

He has no reason to stick around. "You know what to do. Good luck." he says, waving a hand around in noncommittance before vanishing.

He's here. Of course he'd be; Three-Eyes had told you as much. Under the darkness of the new moon, you set out to strike a decisive blow to Seijoh's throat.

Tonight, you're aiming for Seijoh's headquarters, where their current leader—a man known only as the Grand King—happens to be holding a very important meeting.

Security here is no joke, and you find yourself creeping around above the shadows rather than within them. The Grand King's spared no expense, his bloodhounds roaming the halls. If you slip up, even a little, you're sure to meet your untimely demise.

The Grand King himself is younger than you expected. He's maybe a year or two older than you; much too young to be running a business conglomerate rife with seedy dealings and the law enforcement on its payroll. (He's also kind of cute, but this is neither the time nor place to dwell on that thought. You shiver when you remember Three-Eyes will no doubt catch this remark when he reviews your performance.)

Standing to his right is another man you've only heard about: the Grand King's most faithful Knight, at his side at all times. Nobody that's ever learned his power has come out alive. Not even Three-Eyes had any clue. His file wasn't with the others when you'd been sent to their archives, leaving you completely in the dark.

To the Grand King's left is Ace; you guess even the mightiest king needs a trick or two up his sleeve. You’re slinking at the doorway, body pressed against the wall, when a voice calls out.

"Welcome, Harbinger," the Grand King greets, a cheerful smile on his face. "We've been expecting you."

Shit. How did he know? You're about to make a break for it, to cut your losses, when strong arms hold yours in place. When you wriggle around enough to see who's got you pinned, you see the same bloodhound from last time, white hair and all.

"You're here to kill me, aren't you?" the Grand King asks, though there's no question about it. You grit your teeth, reach out for his shadow with your own. Your shadow wraps its fingers around his throat without remorse.

Then the Grand King snaps his fingers, and you're forced to squeeze your eyes shut.

It's bright, like he's turned the intensity of the sun itself on you and then some. You barely have anything to work with, light at all angles doing well to chase away the darkness. The Grand King walks toward you, and your mouth curls in a snarl.

He takes two fingers and tips your chin up to meet his gaze. "You're all they sent?" His brow furrows. "I was expecting more of a fight." Whatever he sees in your eyes causes him to lose interest rather quickly, his fingers dropping. He wipes them on the fabric of his pants as though you were a speck of dirt. "You're just a rookie. I was hoping Karasuno would send their biggest and baddest after me," he sighs, palm pressed to his forehead in woe. 

The Grand King has mastered the art of dramatic timing, whether he knows it or not.

There's a deafening boom that rattles your being at an atomic level. It's from the ground floor, but you can feel it shake the furniture at the penthouse all the same. You exhale, shaky and suppressing a grin.

The plan is going off without a hitch.

You've never worked with the other Gifted in Karasuno, so when Three-Eyes told you you'd be joined by two familiar faces, you knew you couldn't pass up the opportunity.

Hinata bounds in, a smile on his face. Between the taller, more intimidating men in the room, he doesn't look like much—until he bends the white-haired bloodhound to his will. The larger man's grip loosens until he lets you go, eyes unable to leave Hinata's.

The temperature drops, goosebumps snaking up your skin. Not far behind Hinata is Kageyama, eyes dark with purpose as he walks towards the Grand King. A swirling storm of snow and hail orbits him, and you feel your fingers go numb when he passes you by.

"Oikawa," he says. The Grand King's Knight moves to stop the Karasuno operative, but Oikawa holds up a hand, orders him to stand down. Despite the fact that the Grand King isn't much taller than Kageyama, he manages to look down on him nonetheless.

"Tobio." Wait, what? 

You don't get to see what happens next, your attention stolen away by Ace right as Kageyama attacks. His hailstorm takes out much of the lights with it, giving you the opening you need.

"Remember me?" he asks, smile mirthless. "I was wondering where you went. So much for getting drinks together, huh?" His jaw is clenched as he dodges the spears of shadow you fling his way. You try to catch him, to lock him in place, but he evades you every time.

"Bastard," you spit, growing more frenzied with each second that passes.

“Oh, I just got lucky," he says with a thin smile, taking off. You know he's trying to distract you, to stop you from joining the fray. You know that he knows you're drawn to him, even now.

He's running out onto the roof of the building, but you finally get a hold of his shadow. Yanking it harshly in your direction, you force him to the ground.

Your feet hit the concrete, each step inching closer and closer to the decisive ending. Ace has done nothing but hopelessly entangle you in an impossible knot; the only way out, you think, elongating your fingers into sharp points, is to cut through.

Fact: When Ace makes contact with the ground, his mask clatters, having fallen from his face.

Fact: Your eyes are wide, so wide they feel like they might fall out of their sockets.

"Well?" Ace asks, only it's not Ace.

Fact: Ace is Kenji.

It's Kenji, and he's spitting blood, rubbing the spot where his jaw connected with the floor.

It's Kenji, with nothing but malice in his glare.

"What are you waiting for, Harbinger?"

It would be so easy. One move, performed with surgical precision. You've done it countless times before. You know how to make it quick. You know how to make it painless.

But Kenji is the one behind the mask. And slowly, all the pieces begin to fall into place.

("Read it and weep," he teased, showing off his grades. "How does it feel, knowing that you're talking to the future Albert Einstein?" You knew he was baiting you into either a battle you wouldn’t win or compliments he’d refuse to let you live down. You played into it all the same.

"What the fuck," you exhaled. "Have you ever gotten a borderline grade?"

"Nope." He pops the p sound, grin on his face growing wider. "Guess I'm just that lucky.")

("Tell me about yourself," you told him, yawning with the late hour. Classes had been taking their toll on you, so you’d flown up to the clock tower to take a break. What you hadn’t expected was to see Ace there, wind displacing his hair ever so slightly. 

"What, so you can rat me out to your murder of crows? No, thank you."

"What's your favorite color?" you asked, as though he hadn't spoken at all.

He’d given you a look, but responded anyway, seeing no harm in such an innocent question. At the time, you hadn’t, either. "...Believe it or not, it's actually pine green.”

"Really?" You turned your head to look at him. You were expecting maybe black or navy blue, but green? "Why?"

"I don't know. They were my high school's colors. I guess I saw enough of it around and on me all the time that I ended up liking it.")

(Sometimes, in the right light, you always thought Kenji looked like Ace. You dismissed it whenever it came up. You thought you just had a type. In a way, you suppose you do.)

You swallow in a poor attempt to rid yourself of the lump in your throat. Your mouth opens to respond, but no words come out. What is there to say? There's no way you can unmask yourself right now, reveal to him that his enemy and almost-lover (two different times, to boot) are one and the same.

So you don't.

Your mouth closes, sets itself into a hard line.

And you run.

Your hold on his shadow fades before vanishing entirely once you get far enough, but you don't care. You take a leap of faith off the roof, relying on your wings to come together before you hit the ground.

You're at the clock tower for the first time in what feels like forever. It hasn't changed. You’d flown here on instinct after fleeing Seijoh’s HQ. That’s not surprising, of course; you’ve been longing to feel the wind from up here for almost two months now.

"Why did you let me go?" Ace—Kenji—asks. You don't turn around, and you don't run away. In retrospect, you're not surprised to see him here, either. He must have known that this would be the first place you'd go. "You've never been the type to hold back. Why now?" You turn your head just enough to see his folded arms, his sharp glare.

"I'm just returning the favor from last time. We're even now."

"Last time, I wasn't the one trying to kill you."

"Does it matter?" You can't do this right now. Knowing who's behind the mask is too much for you to take, and you haven't even thought about the implications yet. "Leave me alone."

"Leave you alone?" Kenji's raising his voice, but you can't look at him. You watch the hands of the clock above move instead, counting the seconds in your head. "Like you left me alone the second things got too real for you? Was this all just some twisted game you tried to play to get in my head?" He's accusatory, poison dripping from each word. Beneath it, the question he's too scared to ask: You threw me away so easily. Did I mean nothing to you?

"I did what I had to do." He's about to lash out with some scathing retort, but you cut him off. "It wasn't my choice.

"Oh, like Karasuno wasn't your choice? It's always about what you have to do," he growls, coming so close that you berate yourself for never knowing that Kenji and Ace were one and the same. "Maybe you should start living based on what you want instead." It’s a cruel echo of the advice you’d given to Kenji, your own words twisted and thrown back into your face.

But that's the thing, isn't it? "I don't know what I want." You’re lying.

You’re lying, and he knows it.

He's reaching out for you, meaning to come closer as you aim to pull away, his hand colliding with the edge of your mask. The momentum of two opposing forces end with your mask caught between his fingers as it lifts off your face.

(You know what they say: an eye for an eye makes the world go blind.)

Kenji—Ace—goes still. His shoulders slump, anger leaving him instantly. Behind you, the clock ticks and tocks, steady despite the metaphorical rug being pulled from underneath you both. He's incredulous, whispering your name as he struggles to process the same realization you'd only come to hours before.

The fire in his eyes has gone ice cold. You barely catch your mask when he tosses it to you.

And then he's gone.

>> (12:08 AM) you: kenji i'm sorry

>> (12:08 AM) you: ididn't know i swear

>> (12:11 AM) you: can we please talk about this

>> (12:12 AM) you: please say something

>> (1:29 AM) you: i'll be here

>> (2:17 AM) you: good night

The next few nights are sleepless. You've (once again) done a bang-up job cutting both (can you call it that?) Ace and Kenji from your life. The first thing you do when you wake up in the morning is roll over, unlock your phone in the hopes that the ache that's settled in your chest can find relief.

It never does. What greets you each morning, after each good night sent, is a one-sided conversation with two little words tucked at the bottom: Read yesterday.

After almost a full week of this, of mornings on your phone and midnights hanging around the tower, your phone vibrates.

>> (2:32 PM) kenji: meet me at the clock tower tonight

He's already there when you touch down, wings disappearing as soon as your feet kiss solid ground. He's staring up at the clock: ten minutes til midnight. "How long did you know? 

"I didn't. Not until your mask came off."

"I see." Then: "Did you like Ace more?"

"No." He scoffs, but you barrel on. You might as well show your hand, lay the cards on the table. "You remember back in our second semester, when we had that project? Believe it or not, I..." It’s hard to admit, even if it had been years ago. “I liked you, back then. Kenji you, not-” you’re fumbling with your words, but he gets the hint. The truth of it is enough to bring him to face you.

This isn’t a conversation between Ace and the Harbinger, this is a conversation between you and Kenji, masks nowhere in sight. The sight of Kenji set against the clock tower makes your stomach flip, his eyes boring into your own.

"Did you?"

"Yeah. Took me a while to get over it. But then Ace came, and I liked him too. I guess I have a type." You're trying for humor, a shot in the dark. To your surprise, it works, drawing a chuckle from him. "And uh," you add, "sorry for...ghosting you." Kenji quirks an eyebrow. "They threatened to wipe my memories if I didn't stop. Maybe worse. I didn't wanna find out. Sorry," you tack on.

"Yeah. I get it. You did what you have to do," he says, and this time, there is no malice to be found.

There's one thing left to apologize for, but your attempts at it layer over each other.

"What are you apologizing for?" you ask.

"What are you apologizing for?" he fires back.

"I, uh." You're at your most eloquent tonight, it seems. "About the past couple of months..."

"Yeah. I have to ask...were you using me to get over," he pauses, realizes how absurd the question sounds, "me?"

"Will you be mad if I say yes?"

"No. I was," he gestures with both palms, "doing the same thing. Trying to get over getting ghosted...with the person who dropped me in the first place. Just my luck, huh?" You snort. 

"Sounds like the plot of a bad romcom."

It all connects then, ridiculousness and all. When two sets of unhidden eyes meet, they crinkle into crescents, you and Kenji breaking into laughter. When your stomach hurts and you wipe tears from your eyes, you ask, "Do you...want to start over?" It's hesitant. You two aren't perfect. There's a good chance you're going to fuck up somehow.

But you know what you want, and it's Kenji—with the mask and without.

Kenji holds out his hand. "Hi. I'm Kenji. When I need to pay for tuition, I'm Ace. What's your name?"

The clock chimes then, twelve times with the coming of midnight. You take his hand.

The nights are better with Kenji at your side, leaned against his shoulder. The clock tower's pleasant as always, city alight below. It's been a long time since you've felt the need to wear a mask up here. You find that you see more of the view nowadays, anyway. "Whatever happened to getting drinks and coming up here?"

"We're both still broke," Kenji replies. "We could go and get some, but..." he wraps an arm around your shoulder, bringing you closer, "I'm not in the mood to move."

"You and me both."

"Next time?"

"Next time."

("I hate to say it," you mused, "but I guess you can be kinda charming when you want to be." Before his ego got too swollen, you added, "Sometimes."

"You're not so bad yourself," he murmured. There was a smile playing at your lips as you drew closer and closer to him, now a breath away. "Tell me, Harbinger," and this time, when your name came from his lips, there was no trace of anger or pain underneath, "am I going to get lucky tonight?"

"Why don't we find out?")

Three-Eyes stops your memory of that night rather early, and you're not sure if you're imagining it, but the tips of his ears are distinctly red. "All's well that ends well, right?" you ask with a cheerful clap of your hands. The corners of your mouth are curved in a smirk that your informant only responds to with a stern glare.

"I'll let it slide, but in the future, I'd recommend not...fraternizing with the enemy." His tone is clipped, which only serves to widen your grin.

"Oh, but he's not the enemy anymore, is he?"

Your informant—you've since learned that his name is Tsukishima, but you’ve grown fond of the moniker—can only sigh. "I guess not."

(After you'd left to pursue Ace, you'd only narrowly managed to avoid the wrath of Tsukishima and Karasuno's admins. Kageyama and Hinata had done such a good job without you that it didn't even matter, and for that you were grateful, even if it had meant acting as a decoy. With Oikawa under Karasuno's thumb, Kenji had come to work under Karasuno, drawn to the money—and you.

And so, you'd gained a partner—in both senses of the word—in Kenji. The once treacherous seed of infatuation had been nurtured with the soil of communication, watered with care until it blossomed into what you might even be ready to call love.)

Kenji’s waiting for you, hands in his pockets and a look that mirrors your own in his eyes. “Did he get mad again?”

“No,” you reply, holding your hand out until he interlaces his fingers with yours, “just embarrassed. It’s kinda cute.”

“First, you try to kill me, and now you’re calling other guys cute?” he asks, shaking his head. “I think it’s high time I get back on Tinder.” Your shadow, lingering behind you both, yanks at the collar of Kenji’s button-up. He chokes, a strangled noise as you grip his hand a bit tighter in response. “And you’re trying to kill me again.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” Your question is answered as you trip over your own feet, almost landing face first on the pavement. When you right your balance, Kenji is laughing openly. It’s contagious, pure joy blooming in your chest.

(Out of a million outcomes, you've found yourself in one of the best ones; maybe, you think, this is what they call the luck of the draw.)

dedicated, ultimately, to @wackatoshi​: winter, i know at the time this goes up, you’re currently ia but it was your kenji fics that really kickstarted the love i have for him........

[justheretobreakthings]

Okay, we’re starting off Bad Things Happen Bingo with a bit of a throwback to the Voltron Bingo event from back in 2018. Way back then, I got a request from @familyofpaladins for my ‘Taking the Fall for Someone’ square, for Keith taking the fall for Hunk, and then the bingo ended and the prompt has just been sitting there for an eternity. But now, my BTHB card has just the square for me to finally get this prompt filled. Hope it was worth the very, very long wait!

Got Your Back

Written for @badthingshappenbingo Prompt: Taking the Blame Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Word Count: 13,198 Characters: Hunk & Keith Read on AO3

Summary:

While defending the planet of Crelxatain from attacking drones, Hunk causes what he believes to be some minor collateral damage, but what turns out to be much, much worse. And when the Crelxats needed something to blame, Keith steps in to take the fall.

I don’t even drink coffee.

It was fortunate that Hunk had gotten better with flying during the battles and flight practices he’d been through with Yellow. It might have been the Lions’ magic helping to keep their pilots stable, or the more mundane gyroscopic design of the cockpit helping with his equilibrium. Or, of course, it might just be a matter of him getting used to it. Whatever the case, he had come a long way since his Garrison days, when even a fifteen-minute run in a simulator would be more enough to empty the contents of his stomach.

It was fortunate, because if he hadn’t gotten better about keeping the nausea at bay, his cockpit would be a revolting mess right about now.

He and Keith had only been tasked with coming here to Crelxatain to negotiate for supplies, its geography home to mineral ore that Coran assured them could be top-grade fuel when Altean alchemy was in use, but just as they had approached the planet’s atmosphere, Yellow and Red both picked up a distress signal from the same city they were nearing. It seemed they had coincidentally arrived just in time for an air strike on the city from a nearby Empire ally, and the Crelxat had little in terms of defensive weaponry. So of course, that duty landed on the paladins.

If Yellow’s failed attempts to detect life in any of the little attacking cruisers was correct, they were only dealing with drones, not manned vehicles, but the maneuverability of the drones was downright amazing. They were constantly dodging strikes and blasts from Yellow, skimming near the tops of buildings and sometimes slipping between them, making sharp turns and speedy dives that left Hunk reeling.

The drones’ weapon of choice appeared to be some sort of energy pulse, and well-aimed blasts had elements of the infrastructure and sections of buildings toppling inward. These pulses were also being aimed at the Lions, and although they were made of strong enough material to resist being damaged by the force, the pulses would still send them jerking off course and blown aside.

Hunk groaned into his comm as Yellow tumbled in the air from one such blast, rolling rapidly enough that the gyroscopic cockpit couldn’t stop the blood from rushing to his head and then down again. “I swear,” he grunted, “When we’re finished with these things and back on the ground, I’m just going to spend like three days just lying on the floor, perfectly still, not moving. I’ve had enough movement.”

“You know we’re going to have to head back to the Castle eventually,” Keith replied through the comm. “That counts as movement.”

“So? Allura and Coran said we could take a few quintants.”

“Because it could take time for them to gather and refine the stuff we need, not because they expect us to conk out for days at a time.”

“I don’t care, I’m going for it. Day one, we place our order. Day whatever, we head back. Everything in between, we go comatose.” He squinted into the viewscreen and tried to get his vision to stop swirling before directing a blast toward an oncoming drone. The shot went wide, and the drone responded with a pulse that shoved Yellow backward and threatened to give Hunk whiplash.

“You hanging in there?” Keith asked.

“Yeah,” Hunk replied. At the corner of his viewscreen he spotted a beam of flame, the Red Lion’s fireblast, reducing a drone to ash. “Not as well as you are, though. Aren’t you getting dizzy too?”

“I was on the pilot track at the Garrison, I’ve been flying longer.”

“Still.” He righted Yellow as best he could and caught a drone in his sights. He sent off a cannon fire, and although he didn’t hit it head on, he managed to wing it just enough to send it spiraling. “Seems you’re taking down three of these things for every one I get.”

“We’re not keeping score, Hunk.”

“Just wish I was being a little more useful right now, is all.”

“You’ll be plenty more useful than me when we actually get around to talking to the Crelxats and making deals. You know that’s not exactly my strong suit.”

“Hmm, fair point,” Hunk said. “Your people skills are pretty abysmal, aren’t they.”

“Don’t hold back, Hunk, tell me how you really feel.”

“I’m just agreeing with you.” Yellow lurched upward, and Hunk narrowed his eyes at a drone zipping by from the bottom of his viewscreen while his stomach tried to right itself. He took aim with Yellow’s laser cannon, but just before he fired, another pulse threw the Lion to the side. The laser shot off, and he winced as it blasted through what appeared to be an enormous sculpture in a plaza below. “Crap,” he grunted.

“What is it?” asked Keith.

“I think I just took out some public art,” Hunk replied. “You don’t think that’ll come across as some weird anti-art statement, do you?”

“Let’s hope not. If the pulse things are giving you trouble, why don’t you focus on the drones that are flying higher up for now? I’ll work on the ones nearer to the buildings. Red’s got quicker reflexes, it’s easier to avoid collateral damage with her.”

“Yeah, sure,” Hunk sighed, managing to hold back a self-deprecating remark about how it was probably more to do with the pilot than the lion. For now, he set his sights on a drone careening toward the city's outskirts, and directed Yellow to go barrelling after it.

The pulses continued to give him no end of frustration, but he eventually managed to take down another three drones, and a scan informed him that the sky seemed to be clear around this elevation. He sighed with relief at the scan’s results, and reminded himself that he was this close to finally getting to touch down on flat ground and relax. His stomach was still churning, and his face was soaked in salty sweat, but it was over.

Well, almost over. The skies were clear at this elevation, but there had been more drones closer to the ground, and he wasn’t sure whether Keith had finished them all off yet. Odds were, of course, that he had, and might even be waiting impatiently on the ground wondering why it was taking Hunk such a long time to finish off his own batch. And now he was wasting more time catching his breath instead of actually finding out.

Heaving a deep breath, he grabbed the controls again and started downward, eyes peeled for signs of Keith. It didn’t take long to find him, as Red and her fire were making quite a scene above the city square, currently whipping around in a complicated air ballet while facing off against five drones at once, all focused on sending their pulses into Red from every direction.

Red was able to wing one of the drones before pulses from two of the others sent her flying back, and the Lion let out a growl that was echoed in Hunk’s comm as Keith let out one of his own. She dove back into the fray, expertly wheeling around between the drones and the building tops to send an arc of fire their way.

Hunk hovered on the outer edge of the ongoing fight, feeling the urge to help but not wanting to risk hitting Red by accident. “Uh, Keith?” he said. “There anything I can do right now?”

“Um, keep an eye out if any of these try to make a break for it,” Keith answered. “Other than that, think I got this under control.” As if to emphasize the point, a blast of Red’s fire hit one of the drone’s dead on, blasting it to ash.

“Okay…” Hunk said. He chewed at his bottom lip as he watched the drones, eyes straining as they flitted amongst their flight paths, trying to catch any sign that one of them was liable to break from the pack so he could go after it, but they all seemed to have their sights completely honed in on Red. It felt a little wrong to simply be waiting around while Keith managed the whole firefight on his own, even if Keith had sounded pretty certain of what he could handle and what he needed. He tentatively spoke up as Keith shot down another drone, “You know, um, maybe I could get a shield up and you can sort of feint toward it, see if we can draw them into - ”

He was cut off by a loud blast and a flash engulfing his viewscreen, and Yellow reeled back, sending him slamming his head into his dashboard. It seemed Red had sent out a powerful arcing blast from all to send the remaining drones careening out of the air, at the same time that the remaining drones surrounding her had all pulsed at once. Resulting in a shockwave that pushed Yellow back and, as was apparent when Hunk managed to blink his vision back into focus, leave many of the surrounding buildings with caved-in roofs. Hopefully any Crelxats inside them had had the sense to hunker down in the lower floors.

As he made sure Yellow was steady again, he glanced around for Red, and grimaced when he spotted her. She was still airborne, but the lights on her face and the tip of her tail were stuttering, while bolts of light crackled beneath her flank. “Um, Keith?” Hunk said. “Red’s not looking too hot.”

“I know, I’ve got it under - shit, hang on,” Keith grunted. Red turned around in the air, her movements jerkier than Hunk ever would have expected from Red, and starting soaring away from surrounding buildings. He followed in Yellow, and together the Lions made it to an open stretch of land. Red glided toward the ground, and as she was lowering, her lights went completely dark. She hit the ground with audible force, collapsing in a heap where she landed.

Hunk winced at the sight of the downed Lion before scanning his eyes over ground, making sure the terrain was clear for his own landing. He managed to maneuver Yellow close to the other Lion before lowering her to the ground and disembarking from her mouth. Keith was already outside of Red, standing with his arms folded and staring up at her face.

“You okay?” Hunk asked as he approached. “Looked like kind of a rough landing.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Keith said. “Managed to get nearly to the ground before she went offline. So, little abrupt, but nothing I couldn’t handle. We’re gonna have to see about getting her powered up again before we can head back to the Castle. Think it was one of those pulses throwing off the propellant tank that downed her.”

“Hmm. If that’s the case, I can probably do the repairs myself in a day or two, but we’ll need to replenish the fuel.”

“Hopefully the Crelxats will be willing to help us out for that.” Keith looked around. “Speaking of whom, see any of them coming this way yet? Battle’s over.”

Hunk frowned and joined Keith in peering about at the surrounding buildings. He had only seen a few sparse Crelxats on the ground while they had been in battle, the pale shocks of hair against skin shades of red and orange making them easy to spot, but most of them had likely fled indoors when the drones had arrived.

He felt a tap against his shoulder, and when he turned, Keith pointed; it seemed he’d been first to spot movement, and without a word between them they started off to follow the pair of Crelxats heading away from the Lions’ landing site and deeper into the city.

It didn’t take long for them to see where the many Crelxats had ended up, since after only a couple of turns they could see a crowd gathering in a wide plaza ahead, a murmur from the assembled onlooker reaching the paladins even at this distance. Hunk glanced to Keith, eyebrows raised, and Keith only shrugged, just as unsure as to what had the crowd so enthralled.

As they moved closer, heads began to turn in their direction, some of the onlookers nudging others beside them and pointing, the chatter gradually dying down as they stepped aside to let the paladins through. No face wore the joy or relief that Hunk was used to seeing from aliens after Voltron fought off invading forces for them. Instead, they were eyeing him and Keith with apprehension and suspicion.

This, Hunk decided, was not a good sign.

The Crelxats were quick to step aside for them, so they were able to reach the front of the crowd fairly easily. And Hunk’s stomach knotted itself tightly as he realized what they were all staring at.

The sculpture. The sculpture that he had blasted with Yellow’s cannon. Or, at least, what remained of it.

From above, it had been hard to see what the sculpture had actually depicted, and here from the ground, seeing only the bottom half, it wasn’t any easier to discern. The shape seemed to be fairly complex, a tangle of angles and loops, but nothing that resembled anything Hunk had ever seen before. His best guess was that it was an abstract piece; a lot of the public sculptures that could be found in plazas like this back on Earth were abstract. There was rubble, he noticed, bits of the same material as the sculpture scattered along the ground behind it, some of it smoldered black like the top of what remained of the standing sculpture, burnt up by the cannon’s heat.

The Crelxats standing nearest to the statue turned as Keith and Hunk approached, and one stepped toward them. She was half a head shorter than most of the others gathered nearby, although she made up for it with a piece of headwear that to Hunk just looked to be a tangled pile of wires. She appeared to be unarmed, although the other Crelxats just behind her all wielded either halberds in their hands or daggers at their hips; the weapons combined with the helmets on their head and matching sashes indicated that they were security of some sort, although Hunk wasn’t sure if they were guards for the city as a whole or just the Crelxat with the wires on her head.

Allura had briefed him and Keith a bit on who they would be interacting with on Crelxatain, and she had mentioned one of the Crelxats was both the governmental and religious leader for the city. Malvet, he was pretty sure her name was.

And right now, despite her being smaller than the other Crelxats and unarmed, he was feeling much more frightened of her than of the surrounding guards. Because he had never seen that much icy fury on a person’s face before. Her narrow silver eyes fixed him and Keith with a wrathful glare that he could almost physically feel, her hands clasped together in front of her were shaking from how tightly the fingers were intertwined, and dark veins pulsed visibly beneath the skin on her forehead.

“What,” she bit out, her voice low and dark and heavy, “happened?”

Hunk gulped, though it did little to alleviate the feeling of daggers in his throat or the clawing in his stomach. He had anticipated that people may be upset about the damaged sculpture - people always had a fondness for public art, especially pieces that had been around for quite a while and been accepted as an inherent part of the landscape - but the irate looks on the faces of Malvet and her guards and the horrified silence of the surrounding crowds was far worse than he expected.

Beside him, Keith cleared his throat, making Hunk jump. “Look,” Keith said, “I understand if you’re upset. But collateral damage is basically unavoidable against a weaponized enemy like the one that was attacking just now. We’re both here representing Voltron, and we were expected today, and we’d be willing to assist with repairs to your art while we’re here if you - ”

“Our art?!” Malvet spat, her face going an even deeper shade of maroon. “You believe this monument to be simply art?!”

“Um… isn’t it?” said Keith.

Her hand shook as she pointed a clawed finger toward the sculpture’s remains. “This monument is the vessel for the Twenty Gods of Crelxatain, the channel through which they grant life and fortune. It was built as a cenotaph to the spiritual leaders who have dedicated their lives to guiding Crelxatain to the will of the Gods, and as such is the one site wherein their connection to the citizenry is most powerful. It has stood for centuries, and now… it has been destroyed.”

“...Oh,” said Keith, as a murmur began rumbling through the crowd. He had paled somewhat, and seemed to be at something of a loss for words.

Hunk was faring no better; he didn’t think he’d be able to string two coherent words together right now with his nerves the way they were. This was much worse than he could have predicted. Why the hell would something this important to them be out here in the middle of the town with no additional protection? Why wasn’t it in some sort of ultra-enforced temple and under constant watch? He could only hazard wild guesses - maybe they wanted it to be more exposed to the people, maybe they had assumed that faith in those twenty gods of theirs would keep it safe or something. Now didn’t really seem like the correct time to ask about it.

Keith was the first to speak again, keeping his voice surprisingly level. “I - I appreciate the seriousness of the damage, then. Know that we did what we could to prevent it. The drones were - ”

“No,” Malvet cut him off. “We witnessed these drones. They used force, yes, their weapons have done damage enough. But they burned nothing. The monument - it has been burned.” She swept her arm out to gesture again toward the remains, the singeing and ashes seeming somehow darker now. “We witnessed your ships too. You had cannons and flame. So tell me,  representative of Voltron. What. Did. You. Do?”

“I - ”

“Which of you did it?!” Her voice rose abruptly in volume, crackling with despair. “It had to have been one of you! This callous destruction - which of you is to blame?!” She rounded on Hunk, who stepped back, swallowing down a whimper. “You’ve not spoken, have you, yellow one? And why is that? Have you nothing to say?! No words in your defense?!”

Hunk could feel an icy sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. “I - I - I, uh - ”

“Is it guilt that stays your tongue?!” Malvet continued, jabbing a gnarled finger toward him. “Is the sight of the damage you’ve done before you too much to - ”

“I’m sorry,” Keith suddenly spoke up beside him. Hunk and Malvet both turned to him, incredulous, as Keith stepped forward, arms crossed over his chest and eyes on the ground.

“You’re sorry,” Malvet repeated tonelessly.

“Yeah,” Keith said. “It was my doing. Red - you know, you saw her out there, she’s awfully fast, and, um, gets real heated in battle and stuff, so it can be easy to kinda - to lose control, see, and I wasn’t really paying attention to the, um - ” He waved his hand in the direction of the destroyed sculpture. “The scenery, and stuff, so, yeah. It’s my fault, and I’m sorry.”

Hunk bit his lip as he turned his attention back to the Malvet, who was examining Keith with narrowed, probing eyes. If she knew Keith at all, it would be obvious that he was lying. He had rambled and stumbled and refused to look even remotely in her direction and his voice had kept getting lower as he spoke. All tells of his. Not to mention that Keith was the least likely of any of the paladins to ever focus during a battle or be unable to handle his Lion’s agility and fire.

But the Crelxats didn’t know Keith, so after several ticks of silent examination, Malvet hissed out, “I see.”

She stepped back, and Keith’s eyes darted upward, looking apprehensive. Malvet let silence ring throughout the square for a couple seconds more, but just as Keith opened his mouth to speak again, she nodded.

Instantly there was an eruption of activity, and Hunk was nearly knocked to the ground by the guards rushing past him toward Keith. Half a dozen fully armored guards descended on Keith, and though Hunk saw Keith’s hand fly instinctively to his hip where his bayard was holstered, he either was too caught off guard to grab it in time or thought better of whipping it out right now, since it was still holstered when his arms were wrenched behind his back and he was brought forcefully to his knees.

“Hey!” Hunk yelped. “What are you - ?” His attempt to rush forward to help Keith was stymied by halberds crossed in front of him, and a guard took his arm to hold him back, although he was handling Hunk more gently than his fellow guards were handling Keith, whose ankles were being pinned to the ground by heavy boots on top of them and whose hair was in the tight grip of gauntlet-covered hands. “Stop it!” Hunk cried. “You’re gonna hurt him!”

“After what he has done to us, hurt only seems fair as recompense,” Malvet said, stalking over to glower down at Keith. Around him, Hunk could hear others in the crowd murmuring their agreement. “He must be made to pay penance.”

“He didn’t do anything to you!” Hunk shouted.

“He just confessed to being responsible for the destruction of our monument.”

“But it wasn’t his fault! He only - ”

“Not his fault?” Malvet finally turned to Hunk. “Are you saying that his confession was inaccurate?”

Keith shook his head, or at least gave a little twitch in the guards’ grasp that may have been meant as a head shake, but Hunk nodded at the Crelxat, relieved. “Yes, yes, that’s what I’m saying! It was my - ”

But Malvet was already turning away before Hunk could finish, making a gesture to one of the guards. “You heard him; remove it.”

“Oh thank God,” Hunk sighed. “I’m sure we can all - um - ” He faltered as he watched the guards. When Malvet had told them to ‘remove it’, he had assumed she meant removing their feet from on top of Keith’s legs or removing the weapons from where they were pointed at him, sharp tips far too close to Keith for Hunk’s liking. But they weren’t. Instead, they still held him in place despite his struggling, and one of them had moved in front of Keith and was grabbing his jaw. “Wait, what are you doing?”

“If his tongue is to be used to spew false witness before the eyes of the twenty gods,” Malvet said, “Then it is of no good to us nor to him. It shall be removed.”

Hunk’s eyes blew wide, every drop of blood in his veins turning to ice as the guard managed to force Keith’s mouth open and a dagger’s blade approached. “No! No, no, no, you can’t do that! He - he wasn’t lying, you misunderstood!”

“And pray tell, what did I misunderstand?” Malvet said.

“Just - I meant - he - it was an accident,” Hunk fumbled weakly. “He did but - but he didn’t mean to, you know? It was, like, unavoidable. So - so - so it’s not his fault.” He glanced toward Keith, trying to figure out whether that had been the right thing to say, but with the way the guards were still holding his jaw and gripping his hair, Keith couldn’t exactly make an expression to indicate one way or the other.

Malvet let out a derisive sniff. “Unavoidable? The people of Crelxatain have avoided damaging it for centuries. This one could easily have done the same.” She turned away from Hunk again, back to the guard. “How soon can we have him perform his penance.”

The guard let out a pensive hum before replying, “We’d need until overmorrow’s nightfall to prepare and deliver an oblation to the twenty gods. The penance can take place the morning after.”

“Begin preparations, then,” Malvet said with a nod.

Keith was hauled to his feet, meeting Hunk’s gaze as one of the guards behind him drew a set of shackles from somewhere within their armor to cuff his hands behind him. “Hunk,” he said, a slight rasp to his voice, no doubt from the way his mouth had been manhandled a moment ago, “It’s gonna be fine, okay?”

Hunk almost let out a laugh of sheer disbelief. Keith should be the one being reassured right now, not Hunk. “Are you insane?” Hunk said.

“Look, just get the supply stuff taken care of, I’ll figure this out, and we can - ”

“Get moving,” one of the guards said, shoving him away from Hunk as two others began wheeling him around by the arms.

“Just a sec,” said Keith. “See if you can get Red up and - ”

He grunted, his words cut off by the hilt of one of the guards’ daggers being slammed into his face. When he scowled back up at the offending guard, his nose was bleeding. “I said get moving,” the guard growled.

“Hey!” Hunk cried. He tried moving toward the retreating guards, but the ones who had held him back before intercepted him again. “Hey, you can’t treat him like that!”

It was useless. The guards ignored him, and as the crowd began surging and milling around him, they disappeared, along with Keith.

This was so, so, so bad.

For a long moment he simply stood there on shaking knees, uncertain what to do, until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He whipped around, coming face to face with a tall, narrow-faced Crelxat. “What?” he snapped.

“Your companion said you were here as a representative of Voltron,” the Crelxat said. His expression was stoic, unfazed by Hunk’s tone and by the scene that had just gone down before him.

“Yeah,” Hunk said. “And?”

“I am Kalgex? Of the Crelxatain Geological Survey Bureau and Mine Repository. I was contacted about overseeing a trade deal between your organization and our department?”

Hunk stared. “Um,” he said, “Look, I’ve kind of got other things on my mind at the moment. Keith - I - I don’t know where they’re - I have to figure this out, I have to see - ”

“I am certain a member of the security force will be in contact with you once your friend has been duly processed,” Kalgex said. “They are quite efficient in matters of communication.” He pulled something out of his pocket, a small cylinder with a screen across it that lit up like a cell phone. “Those attackers put us behind schedule. We really oughtn’t postpone negotiations any longer than necessary.”

A part of Hunk, a small but strong part, wanted to punch Kalgex in the face right then and there. He was talking about Keith being arrested and hurt and forced to pay ‘penance’ - Hunk wasn’t sure what that entailed exactly, but it didn’t sound like fun - as if it were a minor inconvenience in a normal workday. As if Hunk were being somehow unreasonable for wanting to go after him rather than worry about the stupid ore.

“No,” he said. “No, I have to go.” He turned away, scanning the crowd and spotting the array of wires that had decorated Malvet’s head. Immediately he began shoving his way through the crowd, ignoring Kalgex calling after him, and didn’t stop until he had reached her, right on the edge of the plaza with a guard at each side. “Hey!” he shouted. “Where did you people take Keith?!”

She turned, eyeing him up and down with pursed lips, like he was a stain on her floor that she was deciding how to get rid of. “To the holding cells to await penance, of course,” she answered.

“And where’s that, huh?”

Malvet’s eyes narrowed. “He will not be allowed visitors until his case has been fully processed according to our laws. Respect our criminal proceedings should be the least we could ask of Voltron, considering the disrespect your friend has shown toward our - ”

“Yeah, I know,” Hunk said, frustration turning his voice to a growl. “Fine. When will that be done so I can visit him?”

“I will see to it you are contacted when proceedings are completed,” Malvet said. It wasn’t exactly an answer, but at least it was an assurance that he would get to visit Keith before the penance took place. “And of course,” Malvet continued, “Your companion will be duly returned to you once penance has been completed.”

“Right,” Hunk sighed. “So, what is this ‘penance’ anyw- ”

But Malvet had already turned away, leaving Hunk standing uselessly, grinding his teeth and dreading what the answer would have been.

--------------------------------------------------------

He tried and failed to come up with a plan.

His first thought once he finally accepted that the whole situation with Keith was out of his hands was, naturally, to contact the other paladins for help. But the reason it had only been himself and Keith coming to Crelxatain in the first place was that the others were on missions of their own. They had docked the Castle, shields in place, on a moon in a neutral zone the next star system over, and Shiro and Allura were off on Heliuruta to negotiate allowance through their blockade into the quadrant, while Coran had recruited Lance and Pidge to help him on a medical supply-gathering expedition. So Hunk couldn’t reach any of them at the Castle, didn’t know where on the planets the groups had gone and wouldn’t have time to track them down, and couldn’t contact them through just the Lions’ communications system at such a range.

Which meant that whatever happened to Keith, he was going to be the only one around to deal with it.

It also meant that he was stuck doing the negotiations for the Crelxat ores alone. Between himself and Keith, Hunk was better with numbers, but Keith was more stubborn and better at steamrolling attempts to mislead. By the time he wrapped up his meeting with Kalgex and his board, they had wound up settling on a price nearly twice as high as what Coran had told them to aim for.

Hunk couldn’t bring himself to be that put out about it, though. The main reason he’d done such a lackluster job of negotiating, after all, was that his mind was more occupied with the much more pressing matter of what the hell was happening with Keith.

He managed a grand total of less than a varga of sleep the first night on Crelxatain, despite the comfortable accommodations that had been prepared for him at a lodging house not far from the plaza where the monument had stood. He had made sure every single member of the staff there knew that they were to come get him immediately the instant anyone contacted him about getting to visit Keith, but no message came.

The Crelxats had predicted it would take them about two days to refine the ore he’d requested and prepare it for transport, so he tried to occupy his time by working on repairs for Red. He dried up nearly all the GAC they’d been given for this trip gathering tools and supplies for it - apparently the ability to fix vehicles must have been considered something of a luxury in Crelxatain, and was priced as such - and as he set to work on her dark and still form, wondered what she would be doing right now if she were up and running. If she was calm, then he’d know Keith was okay. If she was angry and trying to reach Keith by force… well, then he’d be even more worried than he was now, but at least Red would be helping to take care of the problem.

He worked on her throughout the day, still with no word about Keith, and the longer he went without answers the more nauseous he felt. He managed to eat some lunch between getting supplies and starting on Red’s repairs, and it sat like rocks in his stomach for the rest of the day. He didn’t bother with dinner.

He managed to fall asleep at some point that night, and woke tangled in his bedding after tossing and turning in his sleep, not feeling refreshed at all.

It wasn’t until later that day, when he returned from Red’s landing site back to the lodging house, promising himself that he would at least try to eat something because starving himself wasn’t going to help Keith, that he discovered a member of the security force was there waiting for him, had told the staff that he was there to escort Hunk to visit ‘the prisoner’ as requested.

Finally.

The walk to where Keith was being held wasn’t far from the plaza that had housed the monument, and the building he was led into looked from the outside a bit like a country church, long and narrow and with a vaulted roof. Hunk was led into a dim anteroom as the guard who escorted him had a muttered conversation with another who was standing watch inside, then, another door was opened, and he was ushered through and into a hall lined on each side with cells. The guard didn’t accompany him any further past the door, just told him, “You have fifteen doboshes,” before taking his leave, slamming the door shut behind him.

The hall was just as dim as the anteroom, the walls and floors a shale-like shade and narrow windows in the walls of the cells lining only one side of the hall casting sharp shadows, so it took a moment for Hunk to spot the cells’ only occupant, seated on the floor against the wall at the end of the hall. When he did, he let out an enormous breath of relief and rushed toward him, yelling out, “Keith!”

Keith looked up at the sound of his name, and Hunk grimaced at the sight of him as he got to his feet. He’d been stripped of his armor and left only in his dark undersuit, and was shackled hand and foot, maybe a foot and a half of chain between each metal cuff on his wrist, and the same around his ankles. A red and purple bruise spread from his cheek to his nose, swelling enough to make one eye squint; this was likely the result of that guard who had struck him with the dagger hilt the other day. Besides that, Keith appeared to be uninjured, just tired, a fact that the dark rings beneath his eyes could attest.

“Hunk,” he said. “So, um. So, how are you do- ?”

“Are you out of your mind?!” Hunk cried. Honestly, he had been intending to ease into that a bit more, give Keith a friendly greeting and see how he’d been being treated before moving onto the topic of what the actual quiznak Keith had been thinking, but it seemed his brain had forgotten to relay that plan to his mouth.

“Hunk,” Keith repeated, lifting his shackled hands placatingly. “You have to be calm, all right?”

“How can I - you can’t expect - what were you thinking?!” Hunk demanded. “You know as well as I do that Red didn’t - ”

“Hunk, I’m serious. They’ll hear you.”

Hunk shut his mouth, teeth coming together with a click, and looked back toward the door. Right. Apparently the Crelxats really didn’t like being lied to. As much as he hated it, their story was that Keith had been the one to ruin the monument, and that’s the story they were going to have to stick with if they wanted to get out with their tongues still intact. “Sorry,” Hunk said. His eyes roved over the rest of the hall, stopping at the sight of a lens near the ceiling in the center. “Crap, will they be able to hear - ?”

“That one’s just video, no audio,” Keith said. “They can’t hear us.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“The guards told me.”

Hunk raised a brow. “And you’re just taking their word for it?”

“Course not,” Keith replied, shaking his head. “I tested it. They didn’t care one lick about me slinging insults at them through that camera for about an hour straight. Moment I said the same while they were actually here, they got pretty thin-skinned.” He tapped lightly at the dark bruise on his face. “This, uh, this was smaller yesterday.”

Hunk winced. “Dang it, Keith,” he said. “Why did you have to go and do that, huh?”

“... You mean, why’d I have to insult them?”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

There was a long moment’s pause between them, and then Keith sighed. “I was trying to help, Hunk,” he said. “That’s all. That Malvet, she was so mad, and the guards were at the ready, and you - well, you were - ” He took a deep breath. “I dunno. Maybe if you were able to see how you looked in that plaza, you’d get why I needed to step in.”

Well, Hunk could certainly recall feeling terrified to his core, but he didn’t know how much of it had actually shown on his face. If it was enough to get Keith to take the fall for him like that, though, it was too much. “I mean, you did a heck of a lot more than ‘step in’,” he said. “Look, Keith, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful, but I - God, man, I really wish you hadn’t done that.”

The shadow of a sad smile played on Keith’s lips before vanishing again. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Wasn’t really expecting you to be overjoyed about it. But it’s not like they were giving us a whole lot of time to come up with a better plan to get you out of that mess than just… getting in myself.”

“Why did you decide you needed to get me out of it in the first place?”

Keith frowned at him, appearing genuinely surprised. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because - because I’m the one who caused the mess? Yeah, it was an accident, but it still was mine to own.”

Keith shrugged. “We’re teammates, right? Your mess is my mess.”

“I - ” Hunk took a long breath and blew it out slowly. “You really picked a horrible time to embrace team spirit.”

“I guess. Can’t exactly go back now, though.”

“Right, suppose not.” He let the silence linger a little longer, half-hoping that Keith would suddenly pipe up with an, ‘Unless…’ and a brilliant idea to make everything right, but of course he didn’t. “So we’re just supposed to see this out to the end, huh? Endure whatever they throw at you?”

“Don’t exactly have much choice,” Keith answered. “But, I mean - it’s just a waiting game until tomorrow morning. They’ll dole out their punishment and then it’s over. Just have to get it over with. Did you get the ore stuff taken care of?”

“Yeah,” Hunk said. “And don’t say ‘just get it over with’ like it’s just a hard test at school or something, man. They’re gonna - I don’t even know what, but they were awful mad. What are they planning to do tomorrow anyhow?” Keith didn’t answer, and Hunk’s gaze grew more intense, newly ignited worry crackling in his gut. “Keith? Do you know what’s gonna happen?”

Keith hesitated, dropping his gaze. “Okay, um, they, uh, they haven’t really given me much to go on, so I don’t know for sure.”

“But you have some idea?” Hunk prodded.

“Well, so, you know they said that I’ve got to face ‘penance’ for the monument.”

“Yeah.” Hunk fought down the anxiety that bubbled up at the mere mention of the word. “Still don’t quite know what that means, though.”

“Right.” Keith took a deep breath. “Well, uh, no one’s said anything to me directly, but I’ve overheard some chatter. From the guards here, see. They don’t seem to have any specifics either, but they’ve got a better idea of what ‘penance’ usually refers to, so they were talking, and, um…” He trailed off and began to chew at his lip.

“And what?”

Keith lifted his eyes back up to Hunk, and they were wide, brow pinched, almost appearing apologetic. “You have to promise not to freak out.”

Immediately Hunk was fully prepared to freak out. “What do you mean? What’s there to freak out about?! Keith, what’s gonna happen?!”

“Okay, look, it’s probably not as bad as - ”

“Keith, if you have to warn me not to freak out, it’s probably pretty bad!”

“That’s not what - it’s not the penance part, I just didn’t want you to feel guilty about what happens, all right? I promise, Hunk, I’m gonna be able to handle it. Okay? Whatever happens, you’ve got to keep a cool head. The last thing we need is for them to decide to detain you too. And, well - ” He let out a little cough and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m probably, um, gonna need you to help me out afterward…”

Hunk gulped. As much as he dreaded the answer, he had to know. “Keith,” he said, “What’s the penance?”

There was another second’s hesitation before Keith quietly answered, “If what those guards were saying was true, Crelxatain seems to be fond of, um… corporal punishment. A public display of it. Apparently it’s, um, they seem to think it’s an effective way to, uh, deter repeat crimes, and, like - ”

Hunk’s voice, which had frozen in his throat at some point while Keith had been talking, managed to find just enough strength for him to repeat in a squeak, “Corporal punishment?!”

Keith winced. “Yeah. Um, best as I could tell from what they were saying, flogging’s pretty common, so that’s probably the most likely, but, um, yeah… Hunk? Please don’t freak out.”

“How can I not freak out?! Keith, they’re going to - !”

“I know,” Keith snapped. “I - yeah, I know.” He huffed out a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, it’s not like I’m looking forward to it, but it’s not exactly like we can opt out. The place is under heavy guard, Red is still down… Only thing for us is to ride this out, let them take their anger out on me if they have to, then get back to the Castle as soon as we’re able so we can, um, you know.” He tightened his arms where they were crossed. “Fix anything that needs fixing.”

With a frustrated sigh, Hunk leaned against the wall, letting his shoulder rest up where the hard wall met the narrow bars of Keith’s cell. His legs were feeling leaden, like they would give out on him if he spent much longer standing on his own two feet, so he let himself slide down toward the floor. Once he was seated, Keith joined him, sitting down cross-legged on the other side of the bars, although it took some maneuvering to get settled with those chains on his ankles. “You okay?” Keith asked.

“Don’t ask me that,” said Hunk. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be in that cell right now, not you.”

“Hunk,” said Keith, “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t do anything wrong either! You know as well as I do that Yellow was the one who took down that monument. You’re too good a pilot, you’d never let something like that happen with Red.”

“It has nothing to do with who’s a better pilot. Yellow’s bigger than Red, it’s harder to avoid collateral damage with her.”

“Doesn’t matter. The damage was still mine. And you - ” His lip began to tremble, and Keith seemed to tense at the catch in Hunk’s voice. “You shouldn’t have lied to the Crelxats like that. You should’ve just let me take responsibility. What good does it do for you to have to do this stupid ‘penance’ thing instead of me?”

“Hunk, I - ”

“Either way, we’re ending up with one paladin who’s gonna wind up really, really hurt, so why did you get to decide it should be you instead of me, huh? Why would you go and complicate things like that? What the hell were you thinking?!”

Keith sighed, bringing his hands up and combing his fingers into his hair as he grabbed his head. “I was thinking, you were scared. And I just… I dunno. I wanted to fix that.”

Hunk set his jaw, hoping that that would help keep the tremor out of his voice. “And you just decided the best way to do it would be to take on all the consequences for yourself? That’s not fair to you, Keith.”

Slowly lowered his hands from his hair to cross his arms over his chest instead, and he muttered something under his breath that Hunk couldn’t quite make out. “What was that?” Hunk asked.

“I said, nothing’s ever ‘fair’,” Keith replied. “This isn’t about fairness. If things were gonna be ‘fair’, the Crelxats wouldn’t be upset with us over that monument in the first place, they’d be too busy being grateful to us for saving their asses and they’d realize that that should be much higher priority than a stupid statue. But as is, we can’t leave, we can’t get help from the others, and the Crelxats want blood. It’s not fair, but it’s happening, so all we can do now is get it over with.”

“I know, but - but - ” Hunk sighed and rested his chin on his hand. “I still say you shouldn’t have done it.”

“I know.”

“And I wasn’t that scared.”

“Okay.”

“Are you scared?”

There was a pause before Keith answered, “No.”

Hunk sighed. “You’re a really awful liar, Keith.”

“I know.”

They sat in silence for a long while before Hunk slowly reached through the bars of the cell and took hold of Keith’s hands, twining his fingers into Keith’s and trying not to think about how cold they were. “I’m sorry, man,” he said softly.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Keith mumbled.

“Sure. I’m just gonna go ahead and be sorry anyway, kay?” He gave his hand a squeeze. “Besides the face, have they hurt you?”

“Nah. Bit of shoving around, but that’s all.”

“They been giving you water? Food?”

“Enough, yeah.”

Hunk frowned, making a mental note to set aside some food from the lodging house to fill Keith up the moment he was released. He was just opening his mouth to ask if Keith had any requests - none of the Crelxat food was an exact match to any from Earth or any they’d encountered in space so far, but he could at least do some taste testing and see if he could find something similar to whatever Keith wanted - but he was interrupted by the door at the end of the hall slamming open.

“Time is up,” the guard grunted. “Make your leave.”

Hunk scowled at the guard, but after giving Keith’s hand one final squeeze, he rose to his feet. “I’ll be right there waiting once the penance is done,” he said. “The ore delivery should be finished early tomorrow morning, so once Red’s back up and running we can go straight back to the Castle. Get off this planet for good.”

“That’ll be nice,” Keith said, and he grimaced when the guard knocked his halberd into the doorframe, ordering Hunk to get moving. “I’ll - I’ll see you then. Better get going.”

Reluctantly Hunk complied, shuffling back down the hall of empty cells and giving Keith one last wave goodbye before the door was slammed shut again with a sickening finality.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Time moved at a crawl as Hunk waited. He kept himself occupied as best he could, working on Red’s repairs throughout the day, and he managed to convince a guard to let him take Keith’s confiscated armor and bayard off their hands (with the understanding that if he tried any funny business with the weaponry he would be tossed into his own cell before he could so much as blink) to have them ready for Keith when the penance was finished, and he polished the helmet three times over just for something mindless to do.

He stared at the ceiling in his room that night, trying to convince his exhausted body to sleep, but it wasn’t easy. Every time he closed his eyes all he could see was Keith, standing before that same crowd that had been in the plaza, and he was facing his penance, Malvet raising a whip with sadistic glee in her smile.

He always opened his eyes again before it actually made contact.

It took vargas of pacing around the room that night - ignoring the irritated knocking from whoever was staying in the room below his - to finally wear him out enough to get any amount of sleep, and then he was up again, getting the ore loaded onto Yellow in the earliest hours of morning and anxiously watching the planet’s sun creep upward into the sky, the whorling dread in his stomach growing stronger with every inch it rose.

No one came to fetch him or let him know when the penance was starting, but they didn’t have to. He could see for himself when Crelxats started to eagerly emerge from their homes and head off all in the same direction, and he overheard bits and pieces of discussion about whether they thought the twenty gods would be appeased and what they thought of the offering that had been made by the city the night before; Hunk didn’t know what that offering had been, and honestly he could not have cared less, but apparently it had been act one of this show, and Keith’s penance was the finale.

For visibility’s sake Hunk donned his full paladin armor before leaving the lodging house, hopefully for good, and he followed the flow of Crelxats past the building that housed Keith’s cell and even past the plaza featuring the statue, which, judging by the scaffolding that had been set up around the plaza, was currently under repairs. The Crelxats moved down a road veering off to the side and sloping down toward a long, solid wall, where they congregated toward a large arched entryway flanked by two guards.

He started toward the entry, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. He jumped and whipped around to find a stony-faced Crelxat guard, dressed in the same garb as the guards had been in the jail where Keith had been kept. Two other guards were hovering nearby, watching with the same stoic expression.

“If you are intending to view the penance,” the guard said, “You must remain under our watch.”

“What?” said Hunk. “Why?”

“You have made known that you hold close personal connection to the transgressor.” Ire scratched at Hunk’s throat at Keith being referred to as ‘the transgressor’, but he held his tongue and let the guard continue: “It is standard, then, to ensure that you are kept under supervision to prevent attempts at interfering with the penance.”

“Oh. Um, right,” Hunk relented. It made sense, he supposed. Any decent person witnessing their friend being publicly tortured would want to try to put a stop to it. It seemed that even if he hadn’t already promised Keith that he would let the Crelxats go through with their punishment, there wasn’t much he would be able to do under the eye of their guards.

The one who had stopped him nudged him forward as one of the others began leading the way toward the entrance, while the other approached and held out his hand. “No weapons are allowed at the viewing. Hand it over.”

Reluctantly Hunk removed his bayard from where it was holstered at his hip and dropped it into the guard’s hand. The guard nodded curtly and turned to follow the other, turning the bayard in his hand to inspect it as he went, and Hunk was nudged again, a cue to follow.

He trailed behind them, and as they passed through the entryway, he got his first view of where this penance was being held. The space seemed to be some sort of amphitheater, with rows of seats curving in a semicircle, getting lower and lower as they reached the center, where there stood a completely bare platform, high enough that the spectators sitting in the front row would probably have to crane their necks to see what happened on top of it.

Hunk wanted to go toward the front, to be as visible as possible when Keith was brought out, so he would be able to see him in the crowd, know he was there to support him and rush to his side the moment this whole mess was finally over, but the guards instead led him into a row toward the back. As they filed in, Hunk scowled at the Crelxats who were milling around the amphitheater, filling up the rows of seats in front of them. All these people, taking the time out of their lives to come and watch Keith suffer. As though this was some sort of entertainment to them. They wanted blood, they wanted it from Keith, and there was nothing about this whole situation that wasn’t disgusting.

He had to take care to clench his jaw so he wouldn’t wind up just shouting at everyone in the crowd, since that would probably only end with him being forcibly escorted out by the guards, and took his seat obediently. The other Crelxats in the crowd were gradually sitting down as well, taking their time far too casually, and every dobash of waiting felt agonizingly long.

After that wait, though, the crowd finally hushed at the sight of the guards coming through the entrance at the front of the amphitheater behind the stage, and as they did, Hunk wished they could go back to the waiting. Harrowing though it was, it was still better than watching Keith being escorted onto the stage.

His wrists and ankles were still shackled, so his gait was only a shuffle, and the guards at either side of him pushing him forward didn’t seem to be making walking any easier; he tripped on the steps leading onto the stage and, rather than pause to let him regain his balance, the guards grabbed him under the arms and began dragging him before Keith managed to find his footing again. He still wore the leg portion of his underarmor, but he’d been stripped of the top, and his bare torso looked deathly pale in the too-bright sunlight.

He also, as Hunk realized with a surge of fury as Keith shook his hair out of his face, been gagged, a strap of what looked like leather cinched tightly over his mouth and digging into the skin at the corners. Hunk wondered vaguely what he had said to the guards to warrant that addition. Or who he had bitten.

The Crelxats in the amphitheater around him had begun to jeer as Keith was escorted onto the stage, and only stopped when another figure stepped out: Malvet, the wiring of her head blindingly reflecting glints of the sunlight as she raised her hands for quiet.

“We are gathered here,” she began, her voice booming despite Hunk not seeing any sort of microphone or other audio equipment anywhere, “To offer the Twenty Gods of Crelxatain a display of our respect, our reverence, and our compunction. The offender who stands before you now has, in an act of brash disregard for our planet and its citizens - ”

She continued, but Hunk tuned her out, and not just out of anger toward the way she was talking about Keith. His focus had instead been drawn to the guards who had come forward along the stage. Where he had thought there had just been flat floorboards, they opened a hatch, and from beneath the stage they unfolded a bundle of beams that clicked into place as a solitary and stationary pole, with a hooped hook sticking out of it a good six feet up. Keith was pulled forward, and the chain between his wrists was lifted and latched onto the hook, leaving Keith standing with his arms stretched above him, back stretched out and exposed.

So Keith had been right about the flogging, and Hunk pressed his lips together, feeling nausea bubble up in his throat and wondering if he were going to start blowing chunks onto the row of Crelxats in front of him.

He kept his eyes on Keith, trying to meet his gaze, and Keith was looking out to the crowd too. It was hard to be absolutely sure from this distance, but Hunk was pretty sure that Keith spotted him, because his gaze was definitely aimed Hunk’s way, his pale face and wide eyes directed right toward him.

And no matter what Keith said, he was definitely scared.

Unlike in Hunk’s nightmarish visions from the night before, Malvet wasn’t the one to bring out a whip. Instead it was one of the guards, unfurling a length of cord from behind him as Malvet stepped toward the pole, fixing Keith with a withering glower before turning back to address the crowd once more. “To each of the twenty gods he has chosen to desecrate, he shall pay blood in penitence. Firstly, to Taelxot.”

That was all the fanfare given before the crack of the whip rang through the amphitheater, making Hunk jump at its suddenness. It seemed too soon to be starting, he needed more time, more time to emotionally ready himself and for Keith to say his own piece, but here they were. It was happening. Now.

The first lash seemed to have taken Keith off guard too, since he let out a yelp at the contact that was muffled by his gag. The crowd of Crelxats let out applause as the whip struck, and the sound seemed distant to Hunk as he watched Keith, trying to see if he was okay.

“Secondly,” Malvet continued, “To Vokrin.”

Another crack of the whip, another cheer. These names Malvet was saying, Hunk surmised, must have been the names of some of those twenty gods she kept talking about, and they must have been giving Keith one lash for each god that had been disrespected.

Which meant there were going to be twenty lashes in total. Hunk’s eyes widened as the whip dragged on the floor as the guard reeled it back, leaving a red streak on the wooden planks that Hunk could just barely see from where he was sitting.

There was no way he was going to be able to stomach eighteen more of these.

At the third lash, Keith squeezed his eyes shut against the pain, and at the fourth, the whip struck deep enough that Hunk could see blood droplets flying directly from Keith’s back. The crowd was eating it up, getting to their feet as they applauded, and at the fifth lash, Hunk stood too, because that was the only way he could still see over the heads of the cheering Crelxats in front of him.

The lashes kept coming.

Hunk’s hands hovered over the lower half of his face, threatening to move up and cover his eyes, but he resisted the admittedly powerful temptation. He owed Keith this much, at the very, very least. He owed it to Keith to be there and watch, to meet his eyes whenever Keith opened them so that the red paladin would have a face to look toward for support, for a silent message to hang on, just hang on, it will all be over soon.

Besides, closing his eyes now wouldn’t get rid of the image of those blood droplets Hunk had already seen spraying from Keith’s back, so there really was no point. That image would probably stay burned in his mind forever.

Another lash - Malvet was still counting them, but Hunk couldn’t hear her. All the sounds in the amphitheater were starting to blur together in his ears, muddling into loud and angry static as he focused only on Keith. The pain of the flogging must have been getting to be too much even for him, because an agonized shout escaped into his gag this time, much to the delight of the assembled Crelxats. At the next lash, he screamed again, and his eyes flew open, meeting Hunk’s almost immediately.

Hunk’s heart stopped at the sight of the tears gathering there, the sun sparkling off of them, and it started up again, pounding like a drum, when the whip came down again and the tears broke free and began to fall.

The specks of blood staining the platform were growing thicker with every lash. They couldn’t possibly keep this up. They were going to kill him.

On the next lash, the whip’s aim was off, and it landed over Keith’s shoulder. The barb on the tip must have caught on his skin, because it ripped a line of flesh off with it as the guard pulled it back, sending a splash of blood across his chest.

Hunk finally threw up, then, and the cries of delight coming from the Crelxat in front of him turned to ones of disgust as the sick splattered onto his back. Which did nothing to relieve Keith’s pain, but it did give Hunk just the tiniest glimmer of satisfaction before he straightened up again to watch the last of the lashes.

“And to the twentieth God of Crelxat, Skovok!”

The whipped cracked for the final time, the crowd cheered, and Keith was motionless on the stage, all his weight dangling from his wrists, his head bowed and hair covering his eyes so Hunk couldn’t tell whether they were open or closed. The floor at his feet far, far too red.

Hunk could only spot the tiniest bit of movement, just catch the way Keith’s chest shook as he breathed, and he tried to focus only on that as he waited for Malvet to give her stupid closing speech and Hunk could finally take Keith back to the Lions and try to find some way to patch up his back, which had to be a grotesque mess at this points.

“To each of the gods, a due has been paid,” Malvet was saying grandly. “So all that remains is our assurance that the transgressor can never again bring harm to the gods, or to Crelxatain itself. To that end, we offer the last of his life, that they may find solace in its removal and a better purpose for it in the world beyond our own.”

… What?

With great difficulty Hunk pulled his eyes away from Keith to see what was happening on the rest of the stage. All but one guard had moved to the other side, and another hatch, like the one from which they’d pulled the pole, had been opened, something else being unfolded from this one. They locked the pole into place, but this one kept unfolding, into a bracket that projected over the hole the open hatch left in the floor. The hatch was pulled back into place, and one of the guards hooked a loop of wire over the projection.

It took a long moment for Hunk’s brain to catch up to his eyes, for him to realize what he was looking at.

Gallows.

His heart racing, blood pounding he whipped around to face the guard next to him. “What - what is that?!” He jabbed a shaking finger toward the stage, and oh god, the guard who had stayed by Keith was taking him down and starting to drag him across the stage.

“It is a device that will allow penance to be completed,” the guard said, explaining it like he was a teacher giving a classroom lecture. “The wire is placed around the neck of the criminal, and the hatch - ”

“I know what it is!” Hunk yelled. “Why is it here?! Keith paid his penance! He got his punishment already!”

“He paid a blood penance, yes,” the guard said. “Now, they are ensuring that he can never again cause harm to the sacred - ”

“We were never gonna even come to this stupid planet again!” Hunk shouted. He ignored the surrounding Crelxats who were turning to glare at him, a couple snapping at him to be quiet. “They don’t need to ensure it! They - they - they said he’d be returned to me once the penance was done! What happened to that?!”

“He will. To be preserved or memorialized as you and your culture see fit.”

Disbelief had Hunk lost for words for a few seconds, while on the stage, he could see Keith, even in the state he was in, starting to struggle in the guards’ hold. “I don’t want his corpse!” he finally squeaked out. “I - I - oh god, I’ve got to - ” His eyes roved toward the guard holding his bayard.

A hand thumped onto his arm, holding him in place. “Consider this your only warning,” the guard said. “Any attempt to derail the proceedings will result in you joining him.”

Hunk swallowed, his legs feeling close to giving out under him as the loop of wire was wrestled over Keith’s head and around his neck. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening. “Please,” he begged, tears pricking at his eyes. “There - there has to be something I can…”

Keith was shouting into his gag, and Malvet was saying something again, raising her voice to drown Keith out. The guard’s grip on Hunk tightened, and he felt dizzy. Keith was going to be hanged right in front of him. Keith shouldn’t even be the one going through this, it should have been Hunk.

Keith was going to die, and it was going to be Hunk’s fault.

There had to be something he could do. He owed it to Keith. Keith had saved him from the Crelxats’ wrath, hadn’t even thought twice about him, and Hunk needed to repay him. He couldn’t let things end this way.

If he were up on the stage right now, in that noose, and Keith were the one having to watch, what would Keith do?

Lance would probably say Keith would ‘punch his problems until they go away’.

It wasn’t much of a plan -

A thunk sounded as the hatch below Keith’s feet was dropped and the wire went taut.

- but it was all he had.

All the fury that had built in him since the moment he had been ushered into the amphitheater flooded into his fist as he whirled on the guard holding him, and it connected with the chin of his helmet. His knuckles immediately throbbed with pain, but there was a satisfying crunch of bone as the guard’s head reeled back, his grip going slack.

Hunk dove for the guard holding his bayard. The guard let out a shout and tried to jump back, but Hunk was not to be deterred, and he bodily tackled him into the next row, the Crelxats there shrieking and scampering out of the way. He clawed his way up the guard’s arm, fighting to pry his fingers off of the bayard, and when he wouldn’t give, he decided he didn’t have the time to fight clean. He hauled himself forward and bit down as hard as he could on the guard’s hand.

The bayard was dropped immediately, and Hunk snatched it up and clambered to his feet. It expanded into its miniturret launcher form as he hefted it up and aimed it toward the stage. Several Crelxats screamed, and his vision swam as he saw Keith through the optic. He was still moving, still jerking in his bonds even as the wire tightened around his neck and his face began turning blue. That meant his neck hadn’t broken when he dropped. He was still alive. There was still a chance.

Although, that chance was getting exponentially smaller with every tick that passed, and Hunk didn’t have time to reach the stage. With his vision hazy and his body shaking and his stomach doing somersaults, it would be insane to try to shoot from here. There was too much chance of hitting Keith. He was going to survive being hanged only to be killed by cannon fire instead.

But it was the only thing he could do.

He fired, praying to anything that was out there and that might be listening that the shot would hit its mark.

It didn’t. It went too high. Hunk’s heart sank, despair flooding him -

Until another shot came from behind him, the projectile this time much larger. This one took out the projection of the gallows that Hunk had been aiming for, dropping Keith’s struggling form to the ground, and burned through half the stage along with it.

He turned around.

Never in his life had he ever been so happy to see the Yellow Lion, hovering just over the amphitheater’s entrance. The buildings behind her were darkened by her enormous shadow, and her eyes blazed down on the crowd that was practically trampling itself to get out of her way.

Yellow had come. She had sensed Keith in danger and -

No, that wasn’t quite it, Hunk realized as he finally noticed Yellow’s presence in his mind, the weight trying to ground Hunk like a heavy blanket, the low rumble of her growl asking if he was okay.

She had sensed Hunk’s distress. That’s why she had come. That’s why she had flown here on her own.

Huh. It seemed Keith wasn’t the only one with an overprotective Lion.

And speaking of…

Hunk’s bayard shrank back down into its dormant form as he raced down the amphitheater steps, shoving panicking Crelxats out of the way and sliding onto his knees as he reached Keith’s crumpled form. The smell of iron from his bloodied back was so strong Hunk could taste it, and he gagged as he rolled him over. Keith’s eyes were closed, his lips gray from lack of air, and Hunk immediately set to fumbling at the wire noose, mumbling reassurances to Keith’s unconscious form as he loosened it.

Right as he pulled it up over Keith’s head, grimacing at the dark bruises it had left on the skin of his neck, the body was yanked aside by the arm, and Hunk looked up to see Malvet, both her hands locked around Keith’s forearm as she tugged at him.

“Get away!” Hunk snarled. “Haven’t you hurt him enough?!”

“He has not completed his penance!” Malvet cried. She swiveled her gaze onto Hunk, and the angry gleam in her eyes was almost manic. “The destruction he caused must be paid in kind! The twenty gods require his life, and we must - ”

Hunk let out a frustrated growl, just about at his wit’s end with Malvet’s gods. In a show of rashness that would make Keith proud, he brought his bayard back up, and it morphed into its energy minigun form as he pointed it right between Malvet’s eyes. “If you even think about hurting Keith one more time, then my gods are gonna need your life in exchange.”

Malvet narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Sure I would. I already took out your monument. I’m on a rampage. I can’t be stopped.”

Her jaw dropped, and her hands shook as her grip on Keith’s arm loosened. “You - it was you who - ”

Hunk was already hauling Keith onto his back and taking off before she could finish the thought, and he raced up the amphitheater steps in leaps to meet Yellow at the top, where she scooped the paladins into her mouth and took flight.

The sound of screams below them was cut off as her jaw shut and Hunk collapsed onto the cockpit floor, rolling Keith off of him as gently as he could before rushing to the controls, taking Yellow around in a wide arc and scanning the city below before he spotted where Red lay, still not quite fixed up to working condition. He dove toward her, and Yellow grabbed the smaller Lion up from the ground around the middle like a mother carrying her cub before rocketing upward, gaining speed until she broke the atmosphere. Then he set her autopilot to the coordinates of the Castle’s landing site and…

It was over. After all that, it was finally over. They were off Crelxatain. They were safe.

They were alive.

Well, Hunk reminded himself as he left the pilot’s seat and made his way back toward Keith’s prone form on the cockpit floor, the worst part was over, at least, but they weren’t in the clear yet. He reached to the overhead storage unit to pull out the emergency medical kit and got onto his knees next to Keith to get a closer look.

It wasn’t a pretty sight. Keith’s back had been slashed to ribbons, the gashes in varying depths with a couple cutting so deep Hunk could swear he could see vertebrae. Some of them had stopped bleeding, most had not, and the sounds of the slowly seeping blood dripping onto the floor of the cockpit rang in Hunk’s head. He’d be able to clean the wounds and get some gauze onto them for now, but the cryopods in the Castle would have to do the bulk of the work.

And his back wasn’t the only spot injured. His ankle was bent in the middle in a way it shouldn’t have been able to bend and was starting to swell; he’d probably landed on it at a bad angle when Yellow had shot down the scaffolding. A trickle of blood dripped from the edge of his mouth where the tight gag was cutting into the skin, and Hunk reached up to start working it free, relieved to hear Keith breathing when he pulled it away, even if the breaths were raspy and strained. Small wonder, considering the purpling bruises covering his neck where the noose had strangled him.

He opened the medical kit, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the extent of Keith’s injuries, and decided to pull out the bottle of disinfectant first. His back was definitely going to need it. He unscrewed the lid and held his breath against the sharp smell before lowering it toward the gashes and pouring the disinfectant in.

It let out a sizzling sound as it spread over the wounds, and Keith’s back arched as he let out a strangled yell, his swollen neck leaving his voice as nothing but a dry rasp. Hunk immediately set the disinfectant down and hurried up toward Keith’s head. “I’m sorry, man,” he said. “I know, I know, it’s gotta hurt like hell, but I have to clean it up, I’m sorry. Hang in there, bud.”

Keith let out another rasping groan, and slowly his eyelids began to peel apart. “Keith?” Hunk whispered. “You awake?”

His back rose and fell in a couple of slow, deep breaths before he finally grunted out, “Sh’ro?”

Wow. Keith may as well have just rammed his fist through Hunk’s chest, grabbed his heart, and wrung it dry. “Uh, no. No, it’s not Shiro. It’s me, it’s Hunk.”

Keith blinked slowly, his eyes working to focus on Hunk’s face, and then: “Hunk? We’re alive?”

Hunk let out a breath. “Yeah, man,” he said, giving Keith a wobbly grin. “We’re alive. We made it out of there. You did great, buddy. Just need to hang in there a little longer before we get back to the Castle.”

“I thought they - ” Keith took a rattling breath, but his voice didn’t sound any less gravelly when he continued, “They decided t’ kill me, di’n’t they.”

Hunk grimaced. “Yeah. They did. But that was a pretty stupid decision, wasn’t it?”

“You stopped th’m,” Keith said. “I saw you. In th’ crowd. You had - y’ had your bay’rd. Before I couldn’t see ‘nymore…”

“Well, I - I tried,” Hunk said. “But it was really Yellow who saved the day, you know. She’s the one who started blasting. All I did was get a little chaos going in the stands and grab you. It was nothing.”

“Nah,” Keith sighed. “It wasn’t noth’ng.”

He let his eyes drift closed, and Hunk pushed his bangs out of his face before scooting back toward the medical kit. “Once we’re in close enough range of the Castle, I’ll radio in and see if anyone’s there to get a pod ready for you. If we’re the first there, well, I’ll do it myself. Coran showed me the basics of how those things work, I can at least get you stabilized before he or Allura comes back and can get it started for the deep healing stuff. But, um, for now I’ve got to get this stuff disinfected and wrapped up. It’s definitely gonna sting.”

“‘S’okay,” Keith grunted. “Go ahead.”

“And Keith?”

“Mm.”

Hunk leaned in close. “Don’t you ever, ever scare me like that again, you got it? You’re no longer allowed to come that close to dying, I forbid it. And if you ever try to jump in and take the blame for my screw-up again, I swear to the Twenty Gods of Crelxatain I’ll bring all the wrath of the Yellow Lion raining down upon you. You hear me? Never again.”

Eyes still closed, Keith gave him a weak attempt at a smile. “We’ll see,” he rasped out.

Hunk sighed. Shiro really should have warned them right from the start how stressful it was to have Keith around. “Good enough,” he said, moving back to focus on the gashes. Keith tensed and let out a couple of whimpers as Hunk dabbed disinfectant into the wounds, but they got through it.

It wasn’t until Hunk was halfway through wrapping Keith’s torso in bandages that he opened his eyes and spoke again. “Hunk?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Remember, when I said t’ just let them get th’ penance over with? ‘nd not to interfere?”

“Yeah…”

“Thanks for not list’ning to me.”

Hunk let out a loud laugh, more out of the hysteria still left in his system than any humor in Keith’s weak joke, but he still broke out a wide smile as he said, “Any time, buddy.”

“And for… ev’rything else.”

“Hey. You had my back from the start, right? Of course I’m gonna have yours too. That’s what teammates are for, you said it yourself.”

“So now… we’re even?”

“Not even close,” Hunk said, shaking his head. “Not until you get out of that cryopod and eat every bite of the feast I’m going to make for you the moment we get back to the Castle. I’m talking twenty dessert courses and live entertainment by the mice. Then we’ll be even.”

Keith let out a breath of laughter and let his eyes slide closed again. “Deal.”

[thebibliomancer]

Tides of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 18

Tides of the Dark Crystal by J.M. Lee because HEY PERISS WHATS THE BIG DEAL?

Last times on book: Amri and co are on a quest to unite all the Gelfling clans against the Skeksis. They’ve crossed Maudra Ethri and the Sifa off the list and have headed into the desert to meet the Dousan clan at the Wellspring gathering place. After spending some time at a lake and eating some melon and stressing about a storm that’s not supposed to be hitting the Wellspring at all, the gang is further alarmed when their guide Periss takes Kylan hostage and forces them to come with him.

Chapter 18

Quest Log updated: Save a tree

Periss directs the team to a cave in the cliff wall. There’s a bunch of astrological carvings on the cliff face but Amri doesn’t have time to look at it. What with the storm. And the hostage crisis.

The cave is large enough to hold several dozen Gelfling and yet its just Periss and his captive audience. Which raises some questions from Amri.

“What were they doing back there?” he cried. “I saw them -- the Dousan, all just... just sitting around the lake! While the storm destroyed the Wellspring! Why?”

“Because that’s how they are.”

I’m still seeing why Periss was at odds with Dousan culture.

Periss lights a torch letting all the people without darkvision (everyone who isn’t Amri) to see how nice this cave is.

On the walls, reaching up about as high as a Gelfling stood, were carved and etched illustrations. They showed Gelfling with shaved heads and tattoos, bearing incense, all standing in a line in sets of three. The row of Gelfling ended facing a beautifully articulated tree, with long gnarled roots surrounding by a pool of water. The tree branches and leaves spread wide and tall over the heads of the Gelfling. Above the canopy were the jagged depictions of lightning and storms, and at the tree’s base sat a long-backed creature with a heavy tail. Four big arms and a mane tied in knots and braids.

“A Mystic,” Naia gasped. “The ancient sage?”

Ooookay. The puzzle pieces are starting to come together now.

If an urRu was the sage who taught the Dousan their rituals and traditions, no wonder the clan is passive and stagnant!

Kylan asks about the tree in the picture since there was no such tree at the Wellspring, although there were a lot of roots.

Periss tells him that the songs say that the tree was once so tall that it could be seen from any part of the desert. But the tree - and the lake which once filled the entire valley - started to shrink. And the tree was just a dried up old trunk eventually felled by a summer wind by the time Periss was a child.

Amri assumes that the tree died but Periss firmly denies it. But that’s what the rest of the Dousan think too.

They gathered the dried up branches and burned them.

But Periss knows that the tree is still alive because if it weren’t the lake would have dried up. He’s sure that the tree is the source of the water.

“Maudra Seethi was the first person I went to. She told me I had to let go. That clinging to things that have passed on will only chain me to an effigy of the past. She even gave me a part of it to burn. Can you believe it? A pyre for a tree that lives! That is the ritual taught by the sage, from hundreds of trine ago. But she wouldn’t understand that rituals must change with time, and circumstance.”

This still does sound like the kind of sidequest you’d get when rolling into town in an rpg.

Heck, I think fixing a tree IS a quest you get when rolling into Whiterun in Skyrim.

Can you imagine though going ‘you just need to let things go’ ABOUT THE DEATH OF ONE OF THE GREAT TREES? Because that’s what I’m assuming this is. A tree big enough to be seen through an entire desert? That’s pretty great. And the Dousan just shrugged and went ‘i guess it’ll die.’

(At this point since the group is listening to him and engaging and not having to be threatened, Periss puts away the knife. Good call, Periss.)

So Periss left the Dousan in anger, traveled the world for a solution, found some of those exposition petals, recognized the group in Cera-Na and thought ‘these protagonists will definitely be able to fix the tree.’

I mean, good call there, honestly.

But specifically its because of how Kylan dream-stitched the petals and how Naia healed the Cradle Tree in the first book. An event that was included in the exposition petals.

I love how Kylan’s quest concluding at the end of the second book has driven so much of this book. He shotgunned a bunch of petals out into the world and it keeps paying narrative dividends.

Periss also gives Kylan back the firca. Yay, best boy has his magic instrument again!

Naia agrees that the tree is probably alive based on what she sensed about the lake waters but she’s not sure that this is within their power to solve. The Wellspring tree is in a whole lot worse shape than the Cradle Tree.

“Well, we might as well try.” Onica stood near where the cave opened back into the valley. The storm outside was so dense, it was like the fabric of a Skeksis robe. “If we don’t, this storm will destroy everything. The Dousan, the Crystal Skimmers, the Wellspring. Even if we survive the storm itself, we may be trapped in this cave.”

“Caves aren’t really that bad, but I get what you mean,” Amri said under his breath.

HAH!

With the fate of the entire clan and maybe them on the line, Amri steps into the silence.

“Onica is right. We have no choice but to try. But let’s make one thing clear” -- Amri faced Periss and held out his hand -- “we’re doing this as friends. Not as hostages. Got it?”

The Dousan boy hesitated, but one glance out at the storm sealed his resolution. From the strength of his grip, Amri wondered if he would have preferred it this way from the beginning.

I KNEW IT! WELCOME TO THE TEAM PERISS.

There’s coffee in the waiting room when you’re not in the active party and you can order a team jacket through HR.

Amri is a cave boy so he’s the one who finds a direction in Naia and Kylan’s doubts.

I guess that Amri has rock sense? I mean, there’s been bits where he’s talked about hearing the voice of sand but I didn’t remember whether that was something he had been doing before. But if so, cool, another clan specific ability for anyone wanting to make an trpg or something. Grottan have rock sense.

Amri feels that there’s water under the cave floor and deduces that the water streams to the cave from the Wellspring.

He tells Kylan and Onica to stay in the cave while he, Naia, and Periss head back out to the lake where the tree was.

“The firca definitely won’t be heard by the tree all the way from this cave!” Kylan protested. Amri put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Mountain water is full of minerals. You tasted them in the Wellspring. The minerals will have formed crystals around the underground rivers. Minerals like that will carry sound just fine. The clearer the better. That’s how the Grottan speak when we’re spread out among the caves.”

“But I don’t know if I can -- I’m not a Grottan --”

“That doesn’t matter. I believe in you!”

Aw frens.

And another Grottan power maybe?

But Amri tells Kylan to find a spot with good acoustics and play the song of life. Find the life still in the tree and awaken it so maybe Naia can heal it.

When Amri (with special guest Tavra), Naia, and Periss go back out into the storm, its gotten even worse. And it was already pretty bad!

They reach the lake with all the Dousan sitting around it not reacting to the storm or to them really.

Except for Erimon who asks them what the heck they’re doing.

“Could ask you the same thing!” Amri cried. “I thought you said the storm wouldn’t come here!”

Erimon grimaced. “Where are you going?”

“Into the lake. We’re going to revive the tree,” Periss said, pulling Erimon away in defiance. “And you’re not going to stop them.”

“No!” Erimon shouted. He faced his brother. “Periss, listen to me! For once, just listen! The tree is dead. You have to let it go. This is out of our hands. There’s nothing more we can do except surrender to Thra’s will. Why can’t you understand this?”

“You may not be able to hear its song, but I do. I hear it in my dreams and in my nightmares. My own clan won’t believe me, so I brought someone who would!”

Oof. No wonder Periss is so prickly.

Erimon tries to convince Naia and Amri that diving into a lake could kill them.

“You could die down there, and for nothing.”

“If we stay up here, we’ll die anyway,” Amri said.

OH DANG!

Heh.

Anyway, Naia and Amri dive into the lake.

Its a very important two-person operation. Naia can breath underwater. Amri can see. They need both things.

And there’s a third thing that needs doing too.

Amri remembers from the last book that Kylan’s firca had driven off the spiders even before being refined into a firca. And Tavra is a spider. Amri can’t hear the song underwater because there’s water in his ears but Tavra can.

Glad you are with us, he thought to the Silverling.

Perhaps this spider body can be put to use, after all.

Frens.

But also, its pretty cool how Amri thought of a plan that used all of the skills the group has. Except Onica but she’s done her part.

Also, Amri, Naia, and Tavra are dreamfasting to communicate underwater without blubbing bubbles at each other.

Its been a minute so woo another cool application for dreamfasting.

Also also, Naia can swim FAST with her wings which are not nonadjacent to a fish’s fins.

Amri held his breath as Naia pumped her wings and plunged, powerfully driving them into the murky deep. When his lungs screamed for air, Naia breathed life into him, gills open like lace around her neck. Tavra caught a bubble, holding it under her legs like a smooth, clear opal.

The lake seemed endless. It had been dark above, but as they dived, the lightning of the storm dimmed to a dull flicker. The sounds of the storm, the drumming, earthshaking thunder, died away, and as it did, Amri heard the sound of a flute. Through the underground streams and water it sounded like the eerie song of a ghost -- transcendent and unending, calling out to something that might no longer be strong enough to hear. Surrounded by the song, it was as if they were floating through a dream.

This sequence would have been very hard to do for the show but how I would have liked to see it.

They reach the lake bottom where Amri starts digging through the mud with his feet trying to find any sign of life. And he does.

Something “ringing, softly moaning in answer to Kylan’s song” under think layers of mud, there’s a spot of green among the decomposing roots of the once-Great Tree.

A stubborn tree. Still alive even in just one part of the roots. Amazing.

No wonder the Dousan thought it dead. They can’t breath underwater so they couldn’t check this deep. And they don’t have healers like Naia so what could they do even if they had found the sign of life?

Good thing a diverse group of trouble-solving protagonists rolled into town.

Naia gets on that spot of green and tries healing the tree but runs into a complication.

It’s calling for someone else. I can’t do this alone.

You mean me? Can I help?

No, it’s...

Naia closed her eyes, focusing. She had a gift; he’d seen it before. To hear the songs of Thra, to dreamfast with creatures other than Gelfling. He put his hand on her shoulder, lungs aching for his next breath.

It’s asking for the Dousan, she said finally. She looked up at him. Its people. Periss, Erimon. We need them here, now, or this tree will die, and the storm will kill us all.

Aw, dang.

Anyone know where we can rustle up more Drenchen on short notice? Or does someone want to invent scuba gear like yesterday?

[sasorikigai]

Going through Warrior S1 and S2 (I just finished all 20 episodes, as last night I watched the last two episodes of season 2), I was reminded of how Ah Sahm’s need to prove himself and become the absolute best as he could be has gotten him inevitably into further tribulations and chaos, as his cocky confidence and recklessness gets himself into trouble, despite him trying his best to his abilities as Hop Wei and Long Zii tong feud continues, and the tension between the Chinese and the Irish (and the politicians) continue to exacerbate. 

In the Mortal Kombat lore, it is only known that Hanzo Hasashi’s father, a former member of the Shirai Ryu, forbade his son from joining the clan, as he did not wish for his son to live the life of an assassin. However, Hanzo joined in spite of his father's wishes in order to provide his wife and son with a comfortable life. I headcanon myself that Hanzo Hasashi’s father used to be a Grandmaster, which Hanzo himself inherited without nepotism and favoritism, despite his initial attempt to never be the warrior he is now. He was more of a poet and wished to pursue in the arts of writing and philosophy in his youth, for he lacked the physique and resolve to pursue such rigorous trainings. It was Grandmaster’s passing (his father’s death) that propelled him to wield a bokken, to carry forth the legacy of the Shirai Ryu, and gave him the reason to wield a kunai. 

Why do I mention Warrior with Hanzo Hasashi’s lore as a parallel? I see their character development clearly; Hanzo Hasashi in his youth lacked purpose and drive. It made him reckless, careless, often downright self-destructive as he would sink into the nadir and think he could never make the climbing ranks and become Shirai Ryu Grandmaster. In the process of his rigorous training that still continues to this day, Hanzo would carefully choose what he would eat (protein-heavy with lots of vegetables and grains), become the weapon master as he developed swordsmanship and kunai skills, and bulked up significantly, growing steadily in height and muscle mass, while following a regimen of cardiovascular training in order to slim down without packing heavy muscles. As per in my body composition HC, he is compacted with refined musculature, rather than being bulky with more shredded definition. 

And through his growth as the Shirai Ryu ninja, to its General, to become one of the Masters, and then Grandmaster, he has also grown in his spirit and heart, relinquishing his anger, impatience, vengeance, guilt, and regret. He will never forget the fact that two accounts of Shirai Ryu massacre (not once, but twice if one counts the MKX comics as canon, which I do) have forever altered his being, reconstructed him as a pyromancer. And his literal and metaphorical death and resurrection, along with the ability to wield fire and control it as if it is an intrinsic part of his being - how apt, for it screams passion, warmth, and kindness, while it also ravages destruction, tearing anything asunder in its wake - have given him a reason to continue on, move forward to become a better person, a warrior, a lover, and in the end, a better father to his son/daughter. 

As Ah Sahm became the unlikely hero for his own people in the time of tumult and chaos (the man on the wall), Hanzo Hasashi too, aspires to become that to his people. After all, he is a survivor, and survivors do whatever it takes, as long as it serves him and his people, even if means he will die and perish eternally in the process. 

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 24: House - Sinner Are We Chap.3:  The Home Of Broken Parts

Orrin sent a lot of time thinking and that could be both good and bad for those around him. One thing was for sure, even he knows the Gray-Phantom home was strange.

Orrin watches his father’s back as he walks away, out the hall doors. They had gotten into another minor brawl, not that that was uncommon in this family. Arguably it was a favourite past time for all of them. Not that his lummox of a brother was all that refined or skilled at it.

Speaking of that fool, Orrin steps back slightly to easily avoid a blast from him; spotting him glaring bloody murder at him. Orrin rolls his eyes, “are you really going to try that”.

Russet scowls at him and stalks over, “you’re supposed to stay out of the way”.

“I don’t listen to you”. Orrin sidesteps to avoid his brother’s claws, turning to follow Russet landing in a crouch, “I'm the alpha here. You’re just a little boy that prefers to hide in your room”.

Orrin rolls his eyes, easily bending out of the way of a lunge, “you tell yourself that”, sighing and stepping next to him, putting his hand to Russet’s chest, and promptly blasting him into the back wall, “and I’m more of the wanderlust type”. Turning and watching Russet pull himself out of the wall rubble, with the wall immediately repairing itself, and sighs.

Russet scowls and aggressively tosses off the little bits, snarling and clearly baring as much fang as he possibly can, “fuck you, Ori”, and stalks off with a huff. Orrin does catch the slight glance back with a hint of worry on his face though.

Orrin smirking, “fuck you too, Rusty”, quiet enough that one of the living absolutely wouldn’t have heard him. He gets it, Russet was a blowhard that felt he deserved to be the king of the roost; who just got upstaged by someone he thought didn’t give a damn. Shaking his head and turning to look up at Dove, who’s floating upside down and fiddling with the white lace frill of her baby blue dress. Crossing his arms loosely, he has a feeling she didn’t notice the animosity between her brothers. Sure they didn’t hate each other but neither would lose sleep over the other's demise; and neither have damn if the other was at home at the time or not.

But Dove... she was something strange and unfamiliar to him. Yes, he had understood from a young age and his many travels, that their family dynamic was all kinds of unusual. That most of the living and dead were far kinder and gentler than the rest of his family. Or him for that matter. That was perfectly fine with him. And other people and families were protective and supportive in a way his wasn’t, from what he had observed anyway. That’s not to say his wasn’t, his father was probably the most protective being on the planet in all honesty. His brother would have gotten himself destroyed by now otherwise. Not that Russet ever seemed to appreciate it, and not that father gave a shit if his actions were appreciated or not.

Father was quite content to protect them, destructive methods or not. While mother was much more of the ‘protect your damn self’ type. She was very big on them being as capable as possible from day one, and he knew more methods of torture than he really knew what to do with. Mother was a fighter, father was more of a scarer. Encouraging him and his brother to be more creative and dramatic about pretty well everything. Mother always gave him that weird fond look that used to make Russet gag when father was being over-dramatic.

The only dramatic bone Russet had in his body was overblowing his own power and throwing fits like an entitled brat. He also couldn’t build a weapon to save his half-life. But he had tank throwing down to an art and a knack for blowing shit up. While Orrin himself was more dramatic in the confident sense and always being the ‘beau of the ball’ in any room. He knew he could come off as quite snobbish, but he was better than the vast majority of people. And if someone had a problem with that then he’s got no problem force-feeding them an ecto-light or tripping them down a well. See he had creativity, panache; Russet was just a brute. A brute that was more mediocre strength-wise. Which was just a bit sad in his opinion. Sad in a pathetic way, not in a ‘he feels bad for him’ way. Russet has been a real bastard growing up after all. Russet never blooming into power was just him getting his comupins.

Moving his hands to motion Dove to float down to him, her sitting on his forearm. The problem he can already see with her is that she just felt gentle. And kind. Not powerful, or sneaky, or dramatic, or aggressive. She felt like the opposite in fact; which was odd in this household. Yes, she was young, newly born/formed, but even him and Russet had a feeling of danger to them from day one. Russet’s first word had been to scream ‘DIE!’ while incinerating his food according to mother. And he had always been a teeth-barer who liked fire and anything that went boom way too much. Orrin had been blown up more than a few times in his youth because of that bastard. Didn’t help that mother encouraged them both to play with weapons, bombs included. And their father had literal fire for hair and a tendency to set anything around his feet on fire. If he was somewhere recently you would know it, because there’d be foot-shaped scorch marks.

As for himself? Father said his first word, or phrase really, had been to tell Russet to ‘fuck off’ before shoving Russet over via a foot to the face. Father had apparently laughed so hard he tipped the chair over. And while the larger world viewed Russet as the ‘demon child’ all the servants of the Keep gave that title to Orrin. Mother had a collection of photos of all the times he’s scared the crap out of someone simply by being somewhere they didn’t expect. He hardly thinks it’s his fault that curling up in cupboards, cabinets, and other assorted small areas, was comfortable. It was certainly a plus that seeing that look of abject terror and shock flash over someone’s face was rather enjoyable. So what if he may have given one of the mortal servants a heart attack or two. Their fault for being weak.

Shaking his head slightly and floating off to Dove’s room, her staying tucked in his arm and grabbing his frock coat; his parents might be all over that skintight bodysuit style, but he could do without it. At least that one ghost had been nice enough to explain the best use of glamour to him. And by ‘nice’ he means suddenly very agreeable under threat of some very creative knife play. So now he could accentuate the vertically half black, half white t-shirt/shorts bodysuit he was born with. The frock coat, top hat, and cane were his general go to. Never underestimate the usefulness of a cane for knocking out people's feet or snagging some ghosts tail. The white gloves and thigh-high black heels he was also born with worked quite well he thinks. Having a leaner body than mother certainly helped. And it was very amusing that the borderline-stiletto heels confused father. As was the absolute chaos his ocean blue eyes caused. Since apparently father had neglected to tell mother that she knew him as a human. She had blown half the Keep to smithereens over that; which brother had giddily helped with.

Walking into Dove’s room and eyeing the pink-tinted white walls and plushies all around. The Keep had formed her a very different room than the rest of the family. It was incredibly foreign to him... and incredibly interesting. It said a lot though, watching her float off and scrunch up the down-feather comforter over her mouth. A teddy-bear -which is apparently something children normally had- falling off the bed, only being stopped from hitting the ground via Dove’s telekinesis; her floating it over to her and patting its head.

Him walking over, “why did you do that. It’s not like it can get hurt or even care”, and Gray-Phantom’s didn’t care if something outside of their family got hurt in the slightest. She predictably just hums at him, changing to her ghost-form seemingly purely to coil her ghostly tail around the plushie. Orrin’s not sure she’s ever actually spoken.

Shaking his head and sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her. Dove was the sweetest little thing he had ever seen. Wavy soft gray hair nearly twice her small body’s length and eyes the colour of pure amber. Pale skin so easily burned by the sun, while he and his brother were of a darker tone. She touched everything like it was the most breakable thing in the world, she was a gentle soul, and looked at everything like it was made of sparkles.

Their parents would destroy her. A Gray-Phantom wasn’t soft, gentle, or breakable; and that’s all Orrin could see in Dove.

Even her ghost forms outfit felt that way, it was reminiscent of a spandex ballerina, all white with little sparkling black stars dangling off the rim of the skirt and long flowing arm-sleeves; little black shoes and black spandex over her fingers topping it off. Father liked the stars, not that he said that, but if it weren’t for her being black and white like the rest of the family then their parents would likely have questioned if she really was theirs.

With him it wasn’t even a question if they were his parents. And Russet had their father’s bulk plus the more angular appearance to his military-esque jumpsuit. At this point people probably though the white machine guns he carries strapped around his hips were actually attached to him. Same with the military cap he wore over his shaggy black hair. Orrin gets a bit of a kick out of himself being the only one to get father’s fire hair. Even if his flames were a dark red. Which yes, was absolutely blamed on mother. Father had teased her for weeks about probably having red hair when she finally keeled over.

Sighing at the sound of an explosion. Russet was probably picking fights. Or just aimlessly blowing shit up like a rabid mutt. Russet absolutely had mother's tendency to hold grudges and overreact to the slightest slight. Dove looking up to the ceiling and tilting her head, like she didn’t understand the sound. At least she had their parents’ seeming fearlessness. Nothing seemed to startle or scare her. Even him and Russet had the sense to be somewhat cautious of new things that clearly had the potential of danger. Not that Russet would admit to that, or possibly even knew he actually did that. Dove was gentle and soft, never cautious.

Orrin seriously wonders how breakable she is, how strong she is. Mother and the FrightKnight already didn’t know what to do with her. She wouldn’t swing a sword hard enough to even give a piece of paper a paper cut. Her dainty fingers had a lot of promise for putting things together, for intricacy. But the little pistol she had put together at mothers prompting had fired flower petals somehow. Which yes, he had gotten her to use to fill Russet’s bed with flower petals. He was pissed. And in typical fashion tried to blow the both of them up. Which Dove had just stood there and took, giggled slightly even. Before pouting over there being ash on her dress. Mother teased father over her having his dodging skills. Which was fair, father’s dodging was practically non-existent even to this day. Though he could see that mother was actually just slightly concerned. The only ghosts -or halfas for that matter- that could get away without ever dodging were ones like father. And their parents' way of teaching dodging or fighting was just to get hit and shit kicked till you learned better.

Little Dove couldn’t handle that, he’s sure of that. She was good and kind and sweet. Which was strange and he was curious to see what would become of that. He also just didn’t want to see that sullied and stripped away. He didn’t want to see her become their mother. He was aware of what his parents used to be. Heroes. Which was also strange. But enough ghosts and even mortals had told of it or pointed out footage that it was undeniable. So he can’t help but wonder if Dove was a return to that. That the good that was destroyed in them rebuilt itself in her. It would explain a lot. And honestly? Orrin was well aware that their parents were not remotely good people. Evil and villainous really. Russet was just as bad, and Orrin himself was hardly better. He was more immoral and vaguely bad, rather than downright evil. Which was perfectly fine with him and the family. Dove seemed to be trotting right into the innocent sweetheart do-gooder territory though, and a family like this was bound to crush that into dust. The fact that their parents were once the good guys wouldn’t help. They knew the tricks and ways, and they knew how to break a ‘good guy’ and teach them anarchy at the very least, downright world-destroying merciless villainy at worst.

So what was he to do? He could stand back and watch things play out; he’s not too fond of that option. And a Gray-Phantom, a prince, doesn’t do things they don’t want to. And he wasn’t lying when he referred to himself as one of wanderlust, he could arguably take her away from here. Sure father could sense where any ghost, or half-ghost, was, but Orrin had made himself exceptionally skilled at glamours. If he didn’t want to be found, then he wasn’t going to be. It wouldn’t take much to get a small space amongst the living, sixteen or not he could seem older if he wanted; he could look as old as father if he wanted, older even. Age-morphing was an incredibly enjoyable power to have. Of course if he went that route then they would really be on their own, not that that was an issue to him or even out of the ordinary. And living arrangements wise it would be quite the downgrade. The living didn’t have partially nice living arrangements. Houses getting blown up or suffering some other form of destruction didn’t particularly encourage the living to build them well or fancy. Dove might mind that, or she might not care at all.

And living with mortals posed its own inherent issues, they weren’t ‘one of them’ and the living could be quite perceptive to that. If you acted like them then you could generally be fine, but he could only fake it so much and couldn’t really relate. Dove wouldn’t even know to fake it or hide her halfa status. Which if they did get found out that could be a problem, not to mention a blow to his ego. Both the living and dead weren’t entirely fond of the Gray-Phantom’s. Which he finds logical, they were dangerous threats who ruled through fear and destruction. If the mortals and ghosts could destroy or dethrone them, then they probably would; and likely without hesitation. And even if they could only destroy or harm Dove, they’d see that as a blow to the high royal family; which it would be. Sure, no ghost would with him around. Making an example of those troll giants served its purpose fabulously. Mortals, however, where much more willing to sacrifice their life for the supposed good of others. Martyrdom and self-sacrifice was quite romanticised by the living after all. Ghosts valued power, mortals valued community. Ah the differences between the strong and the weak.

But what really interests him with this idea was what will become of Dove and society should she make it to adulthood with her pure heart intact. What kind of change could that bring about. Would the living flock to her as some sort of symbol of hope. As the good princess that could reform the king and queen. Or perhaps usurp them. Would the dead see her as a chance for the Ghost Realm to flourish without all the constant destruction or ‘living’ in fear. Or would the two realms tear her to shreds in repentance for her lineage.

Regardless of his ponderings, if he wants to see this through he’ll need some sort of name. After all, him and his brother had their own titles. The Shadow Prince and The Poisoned Thorn Prince. Looking her over, watching her play with the legs of the plush animal, shimmer glittering in her wide amber eyes and smiling faintly. He finds himself breaking out into a grin.

The Golden Princess.

That would work splendidly.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 20 - ao3 -

“Your brother has been acting strange,” Lan Yueheng said, his voice drifting in through the open door. 

He was crouched down in the dirt, happily gathering a small harvest from the plants he’d grown outside Lan Qiren’s window. Most of the materials he used for his alchemy experiments he obtained from the specialized fields in the Cloud Recesses, but there were some variants that the sect members in charge of those fields disfavored on account of certain pharmacological side effects associated with them. Lan Yueheng had prevailed on his friendship with Lan Qiren to beg, at some considerable length, that he be allowed to grow those variants in the area near Lan Qiren’s rooms – he’d argued that no one would ever think to check there on account of Lan Qiren’s rule-abiding reputation.

Lan Qiren had pointed out that there were no actual rules against growing those plants - they were only disfavored, not disallowed - thereby rendering the entire issue with people checking for it moot, but Lan Yueheng had insisted and eventually he’d yielded.

Let Lan Yueheng grow his nightmare plants wherever he liked. What did he care? He wasn’t using that patch of land for anything in particular, and it was nice to have a reason to see Lan Yueheng on a regular basis.

“Strange how?” Lan Qiren asked, finishing off the final stroke of a painting. He didn’t like it, but then again, he never liked any of the paintings he did for himself – they were too stiff and unfeeling, in his view, lacking spirit and movement no matter what he tried. His favorite painting was still the antique Wen Ruohan had left on his wall all that time ago, a lively little landscape with burnt edges suggesting that it had been hastily recovered from a fire at some point; he’d never replaced any of the things his sworn brother had gotten for him.

“I’m not sure how to describe it. Just strange,” Lan Yueheng said. “I don’t know how many people have noticed yet, him being pretty standoffish and above-it-all at the best of times, but it’s not the usual sort of thing for him.”

Lan Yueheng was like Lan Qiren; they were good at noticing patterns, however bad they were at figuring out the meanings behind it. If Lan Yueheng said it wasn’t normal, it probably wasn’t.

Lan Qiren rubbed at his forehead, suppressing the desire to go figure out the problem right away. “I don’t think I can help,” he said instead. “He doesn’t like to see me, remember?”

“He’s important to the sect,” Lan Yueheng said peaceably, and Lan Qiren loved him all over again for not saying he’s still your brother. “You might not like him, but you like the sect. So you have to help figure it out.”

Lan Qiren did not like it when Lan Yueheng was right about things. It gave him a strange itchy feeling of dissatisfaction.  

“Someone else could figure it out,” he argued. “He’s sect leader now, remember? His well-being is everyone’s responsibility.”

“But you’re the one who’s good at figuring out weird stuff.”

“Do not tell lies,” Lan Qiren grumbled, but he still put away his things and went to see his brother – who wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Any of the places he was supposed to be.

That was strange.

Lan Qiren’s brother was talented and powerful, skilled and meticulous; he was too proud of his status and accomplishments to shirk work. Whatever had drawn him away must have been very compelling indeed – or so Lan Qiren thought.

He wasn’t expecting, when he finally tracked down his brother through a tracker spell utilized on an old comb, to find him walking through the forest alongside a young woman, sword at his side as if he were night-hunting.

“I am night-hunting,” he said when Lan Qiren asked him. “I’m escorting Mistress He.”

Lan Qiren turned to look at the girl.

She smiled at him in a perfunctory sort of fashion. She was beautiful in a way that reminded Lan Qiren a little of Cangse Sanren, though her looks were very different – more refined and elegant, more delicate and less down-to-earth, thoroughly lacking the vaguely unsettling undertones so characteristic of Baoshan Sanren’s disciple, but no less lovely in her own way. 

“Qingheng-jun was just showing me the lay of the land,” she said coolly. “If you need him to return, of course, I won’t keep him.”

“There’s nothing else I need to do,” he said at once, which was such a blatant lie that Lan Qiren’s jaw dropped.

The girl glanced over at him and looked amused, saluting briefly: “He Kexin, a rogue cultivator,” she introduced herself. She shouldn’t have needed to; per etiquette, Lan Qiren’s brother should have introduced them, but he was clearly too far into his own world to care for such niceties. “And you are…?”

“Gusu Lan sect’s Lan Qiren,” Lan Qiren said on automatic, returning the salute. “I’m – his brother.”

“Oh?” she said. “In that case, you must have plenty to talk about. Anyway, there doesn’t seem to be much night-hunting here, so I’ll be leaving.”

Lan Qiren’s brother saluted deeply. “I hope to see you again soon, Mistress He.” His voice was gentler than Lan Qiren had ever heard it.

She waved a careless hand in half-hearted agreement as she went, but Lan Qiren’s brother stared after her departing figure until she was out of sight. Only when she was fully gone did he turn away, and when he did, he turned only in order to glare at Lan Qiren.

“Why did you interrupt us?” he asked, and his voice had gone back to its usual cold remove. “We were finally spending some time together alone, without those friends of hers crowding in and bothering us.”

Lan Qiren glanced in the direction that He Kexin had gone. “I don’t think it’ll make much of a difference,” he said hesitantly. “If you’re alone or with her friends, I mean. I don’t think – I don’t think that she likes you all that much.”

Lan Qiren had no natural social skills, not like his brother, who was charming enough to draw most people in despite or perhaps because of his cool and distant demeanor, but in sheer self-defense he had worked very hard to categorize and identify a variety of unspoken signals utilized by people in order to try to figure out logically what he couldn’t do intuitively. While he was still terrible at identifying indications of positive interest of any sort, as Cangse Sanren was always teasing him, he had gotten much better at detecting negative signs that indicated disinterest, indifference, or boredom.

“She likes me well enough,” his brother said, his tone oddly defensive. “She’s reserved, that’s all – you really can’t tell who she secretly likes or doesn’t. She’s a brilliant cultivator, sharp as a blade and clever as anything; it’s no wonder that she’s kind to others in equal measure as well…”

“But -”

“She makes me feel free,” his brother said, cutting him off. “She’s just - she’s smart and she’s talented and she’s fearless, unrestrained and untamed. There’s nothing weighing her down or holding her back. She bears no expectations and no pressure, and nothing has ever forced her, molded her development in this way or that; she lives her life just drifting on the breeze, complete untethered, and when I’m with her I feel the same, and I’ve never felt that way…”

He trailed off, eyes oddly dreamy, and then suddenly he seemed to come back to himself and remember to whom he was speaking. “Anyway, what do you know about women, Qiren? You’re as frigid as an icicle hanging in the window or a mountain lake in midwinter.”

Lan Qiren acknowledged the point, but he didn’t see its relevance. “If she doesn’t like you, she doesn’t like you,” he pointed out. “There’s nothing you can do about it –”

“Are you saying there’s nothing you actually wanted from me?” his brother interrupted, voice sharp now, almost angry. “Your presence is neither wanted nor needed here. Leave at once.”

“No, it’s just – you weren’t at the hanshi, and there’s work to be done.”

“So what? I’ll do it later.”

“You’re sect leader now. You have duties,” Lan Qiren said. “You can’t just go out night-hunting whenever you wish –”

“You said it yourself, I’m sect leader - me, and me alone!” his brother snapped. “From what I recall, that makes me the one who gives the orders, not you. Now get lost!”

Lan Qiren blinked, shocked at the fierceness of the rebuke, and watched as his brother strode away – in the direction He Kexin had gone, rather than back towards the Cloud Recesses.

This, he thought to himself, is a problem.

It was, too. His brother abandoned his duties more and more often, avid in his pursuit of He Kexin, who he had invited to stay for a while at the Cloud Recesses with the friends she was travelling with. She did, as he’d said, seem to like him well enough, but it seemed clear that her regard was far more cursory than his own - and not just to Lan Qiren, either.

Lan Qiren was roped in by the elders to help do some of the work his brother was neglecting, at first a little and then more. It got in the way of his own preparations, and started getting on his nerves, too.

“You don’t understand,” one of his teachers told him when he tried to resist the notion of spending a large chunk of his time on sect paperwork instead of practicing music. “Love, for our sect, is a powerful thing. When it comes unexpectedly, it is wild and irresistible, like a river bursting through a dam and overflowing its banks. It’s no surprise that your brother is so focused on winning his bride – and all for the best, too. He has to have heirs to inherit one day.”

Lan Qiren didn’t disagree with that, naturally. He certainly didn’t want to be stuck being his brother’s heir any longer than he had to. It was only…

“Just because he’s in love with her doesn’t mean she’s going to be his bride,” he said, and wondered a little spitefully why it was just assumed that he didn’t understand what it meant to love someone. Just because he didn’t feel it the same way as they did didn’t make his heart any less a Lan. “I don’t know why you’re all being so stubborn about this. A woman knows her own mind - just because he offers himself doesn’t mean she has to accept.”

“Stop saying such inauspicious things,” his teacher scolded. “You should be wishing your brother luck, instead.”

“He doesn’t need luck,” another teacher, the one for swordsmanship, put in. “He needs more of a backbone. Doesn’t she have a father he can talk to?”

That started up another debate on the relevance of the opinion of the young in setting their own marriages, an old classic, and Lan Qiren sighed and took his leave. He winced when he realized that his brother was not far away, standing with He Kexin in one of the nearby gardens – at his brother’s cultivation level, there was little chance he hadn’t heard the subject of their conversation, and indeed his glare indicated that he had. He Kexin wasn’t looking his way, but Lan Qiren suspected she might’ve heard some as well.

His suspicions were borne out the next day, much to his misfortune.

“Mistress He!” he exclaimed, groping around wildly for his clothing. He’d been humming his way through a new stanza while taking a bath, having taken a day off to wash his hair, only to turn around and see her standing there in the middle of his quarters. “What are you – I’m not dressed – these are my rooms!”

“I know,” she said, not moving.

Lan Qiren decided his dignity was more important than his health and reached out to yank his clothing into the bath with him, ignoring how they got heavy and soaked with water; he pulled on his inner robes and, once attired, he clambered out, rather annoyed. Just because He Kexin was a rogue cultivator didn’t excuse her from knowing manners, and just because she was his brother’s favorite, granted the freedom to wander wherever she would within the Cloud Recesses, didn’t give her the right to violate his privacy. “Mistress He –”

“You’re cute,” she said, and he stared at her, aghast. “Not quite as handsome as your brother, nowhere near as charming, and the way you drone on is rather annoying, but at least you have some respect for a woman’s wishes, and that face of yours isn’t bad. You’re not courting anyone at present, is that right?”

“I’m not,” he said, taken aback. “But what –”

“Good,” she said, and the next thing he knew she was in his arms, trying to kiss him. It was only through his quick reaction that he was able to turn his face away and avoid it.

“Mistress – Mistress He!”

“Keep your voice down,” she said, sounding amused even as she groped him in an intimate place. “It’s part of the plan, eventually, but it’d still be a pity for us to get caught before we get to the fun part.”

“I don’t – I’m not – I don’t want – let go of me!”

“Are you a virgin?” she laughed. “For shame, a man of your age. Just relax, you’ll like it soon enough –”

Lan Qiren’s brother had described He Kexin as a brilliant cultivator, and he’d been right; for all that she was a rogue cultivator, lacking the resources of a Great Sect, she was talented and promising, a powerful sword cultivator in her own right, and her grip on Lan Qiren’s body was relentless.

Lan Qiren tried first to get away from her without harming her, but she wouldn’t let go of him, pulling open his robes and even burying her teeth into his throat – that was the straw too far for him; he whistled a series of notes, short and sharp, the burst of qi shocking her grip loose, and then he threw her as far away from him as he could, knocking her into the opposite wall.

“Kexin!”

Lan Qiren turned: it was his brother rushing in through his door, falling down to his knees in front of her to examine her to make sure she wasn’t injured, and then turning to look at Lan Qiren, his eyes aflame with rage.

Lan Qiren glanced down at himself: robes askew and sopping wet, scratches on his chest and a bite on his neck.

“No,” he said, abruptly realizing how he must look, how they must look. Part of the plan, He Kexin had said; she must have known that her brother wouldn’t leave her alone for very long, and she’d clearly intended on using Lan Qiren as a means to get his brother to give up on his pursuit. Very few men would continue to chase a woman that spurned them for their own younger brother, especially one they didn’t much like. “It’s not – I didn’t –” Denial wasn’t going to help. “Do not succumb to rage!”

“Do not engage in debauchery,” his brother snapped back, rising to his feet. “Do not break faith!”

Lan Qiren took a step back, and then another. “Do not make assumptions about others.”

His brother wasn’t listening, though, and Lan Qiren found himself slammed against his own wall, held up and strangled by his own collar, his favorite painting falling to the ground from the force of it.

“How dare you,” his brother hissed, his eyes red. “How dare you touch her –”

“I didn’t! She was the one who –”

The next slam of Lan Qiren’s body against the wall jarred his teeth so hard that he bit his tongue to bleeding, and knocked his brain all around his skull. His brother was still talking, he thought, but he couldn’t hear him over the ringing in his ears. It belatedly occurred to him that using the same excuse as every rapist in history – she was asking for it, she was the one who initiated, it was all her – was probably not a good idea, even if in his case it was actually true.

He opened his mouth to try to defend himself, but his brother’s fist hit his stomach before he could speak, all the air knocking out of him.

“And then you – you hurt her –”

“Qingheng-jun, leave him be! It wasn’t him at all, you’re misunderstanding. I only wanted – ”

His brother threw him away, all his attention drawn away by his love, and Lan Qiren stumbled inelegantly on his way down, his feet slipping on the wet floor and tripping him up, and his head slammed hard against the corner of his bathtub as he fell down. As he sank to the floor, his vision going black, he thought blearily that the concussion he was undoubtedly going to have might even be worth it if only it meant that his brother would finally give up on his mad and hopeless pursuit of He Kexin already.

He did not.

[woodwind-sensei]

Russian Test Skates and Dreams on Ice

This was an abnormally busy week in the COVID-19 figure skating season, as both the Russian and Japanese national teams held showcases in the form of the Test Skates and Dreams on Ice, respectively. Several top skaters were in appearance, and we got a sneak preview at new programs as well as what kind of technical content they are capable of as of now.

All eyes were on the Test Skates this weekend, as the rising coaching war between Eteri Tutberidze and Evgeni Plushenko would be reaching its first major peak. And the winner? I have to say, I think Plushenko came away in a pretty good position. Alexandra Trusova, who I have been critical of in the past for her lack of skating ability, showed a remarkable improvement. Much better glide, really nice presentation, and some of the jumps had the impact that could give her a major championship. Alena Kostornaia, the undeniable star of last season, struggled, however. She withdrew before the free skate. And the short program, after further review, is probably the worst of her career thus far. It is said that her FS will be choreographed by Shae-Lynn Bourne, so I will be waiting to see what that yields.

Tutberidze only had two students here this year, a far cry from her previous seasons of absolute dominance. Anna Shcherbakova had amazing programs. Not without flaws, as she is still overusing that damn spiral as if it’s the only move she knows, but she is such an elegant and musical skater. The jumps are hard to watch, as all of her limbs seem to travel in opposite directions while she takes off. Both Anna and Kamila Valieva have gotten really tall. Valieva in particular looks like she’s a good foot and a half taller. She had an okay outing this week, but the programs she has this year are absolute garbage. Bolero is an iconic piece. And her choreography does negative justice to it.

And then came Evgenia Medvedeva. Technically, she seems a little in over her head. She missed a double axel in the Free, and her skating seems to have gotten slower and more labored. However, her programs were the standout of the Test Skates for me. Cirque du Soleil programs are either tacky or artistic masterpieces (see Akiko Suzuki’s 2012-13 FS for the latter), and I think she does some really interesting things here. It has a lot of room for growth. However, with the lack of technical precision, I can’t really see her take back the helm of Russian skating any time soon.

The men were my other highlight in Moscow, especially with the return of Mikhail Kolyada, who is now training with Alexei Mishin. He looked spectacular this week, and looks to be in the best form of his life, as far as I can tell. I’m in love with his Free Skate, as his pure skating skills are on full display for the entirety of the program.

Dreams on Ice was a more socially-distanced, and overall better prepared event. All the skaters looked fit and ready to compete in whatever season happens in the next few months. We saw Kaori Sakamoto debut her new short program, which I’m really excited about. It’s much like her Piano FS from a few seasons ago, which starts delicately and builds to some real powerful moments. The construction of both of Kaori’s programs make me think a triple axel or a quad might be in the works. Wakaba Higuchi also looked in good form this weekend, and even though she will be recycling her programs, they look as refined and polished as ever. Other notable skaters include Tomoe Kawabata, who won a surprise bronze at Nationals last year. She’s one of the most beautiful skaters of this generation, so I’m glad she’s finally on the senior ranks. Keep in mind, we didn’t see Satoko Miyahara, Marin Honda, Mai Mihara, or Rika Kihira. So there is potentially a lot of depth on the Japanese team.

Speaking of triple axels, we saw a few from Wakaba and Mana Kawabe here. Though some were more successful than others, they look well on their way to becoming a consistent part of their jump arsenal. I didn’t really watch the men skate in Japan, but I did catch the junior dance team Utana Yoshida/Shingo Nishiyama. I fell in love with them on the JGP circuit last year, and they still have that joyous charm with their Don Quixote FD. Shingo is a particularly gifted skater, but he never outshines Utana, and their energies are almost completely in sync most of the time.

However this season unfolds, this will be a crucial time to develop before the 2022 Olympics, if they are even happening. At this juncture, it’s hard to tell. But the sport must continue, and a lot the skaters that we saw this weekend will definitely factor into the Olympic picture come Beijing. Russia, a country who has been on the top of the rankings for a while, looks to be at a crossroads, while Japan, whose dominance in the sport seemed to be in decline last season, is surging forward once again.

[anemxvisions]

I don't know your ships for your characters! Sorry! But if you like this ship, I would ask Jean/Lisa for the kid meme? Alternatively maybe Sucrose/Albedo?

If they had a kid meme

Albedo/Sucrose

Name: Belinda  Gender: she/her General Appearance: Blonde hair like her father with feline ears from her mom. Belinda is very pretty, many commenting on her beauty. Her eyes are teal and exactly like her father’s. She has two perfectly alined freckle under each eye. She tends to wear her hair down but ties it back into braids. Personality: Belinda is somewhat dry like her father, not as enthusiastic unless its things she likes. When she is excited about a project or something she won’t stop talking about it. She is a refine lady like her father and has generally an easy going personality. Special Talents: Alchemy is everything, she was raised by the best alchemist in all of Teyvat so of course she has a skill for it. Belinda enjoys converting gems into other elemental ones, its what she specializes in and has been able to get some material back. With her mother being a fae Belinda can sense creatures from the abyss more and find seelies better. Has a geo vision like her father. Who they like better: She adores her mother and usually goes to her when she has a problem or question. Belinda loves her father as well and looks up to him, he’s her idol and wants to be just like him. Who they take after more: Its a perfect mix of both. Personal Head canon: She has an even bigger sweet tooth than her parents. Sweets are her favorite things and she tends to only eat savory items. Her favorite dish is sticky honey roast ham.

Jean/Lisa [adopted]

Name: Sebastian  Gender: male General Appearance: Has dark black hair which is a bit messy, though from a kid hanging with treasure hoarder he didn’t keep up his appearance. His eyes though are a very rare purple color. Personality: A bit of a brat and wise guy, he wasn’t exactly a model kid to be taken in by Jean and Lisa but over time he’s gotten better. If anything he’s like a carbon copy of Lisa. Special Talents: Pick pocket, treasure hunter, manipulation, can con or steal anything from you. Who they like better: Loves Lisa cause she’s the fun mom. Who they take after more: Lisa, the librarian loves her little cutie son is just like her. Personal Head canon: Sebastian was an orphan who was brought in by treasure hoarders, his group was stopped by the knights and he was taken in. Jean gave him a chance to clean up his act and not be stuck in jail as a kid. He was reluctant around Jean and Lisa but eventually warmed up to them. He was pretty embarrassed when mom slipped out the first time.

[sokkathebluewolf]

I'm very curious about the Fire Nation Military Academy. Could you maybe explain that a little bit further? Is there just one? Can everyone just go there? How got our guards there? How's the training? With which age do you go to the FNMA? Do you really need to cut all ties to your past? How are you getting to the job of a Imperial Guard? I have many more questions but these are the only ones that came to my mind rn. Maybe you can explain a little bit more? That would be cool.

Well, for starters, the current branches of the Fire Nation Army, in Gladiator, are as follows:

Army: land troops deployed outside the Fire Nation’s mainland.

Navy: obviously, water-based troops, warships and the like.

Domestic Forces: troops stationed within the Fire Nation’s mainland.

Guards: special division of the Domestic Forces, tasked with the protection of the Fire Nation’s Palace directly, and the Fire Nation’s Royal Family.

Air Force: the second-newest branch, operating with airships and hot-air balloons.

Enforcers: the newest branch, tasked specifically to deal with all that pertains the enforcement of the new Slavery Laws.

The first five branches are all trained in Military Academies throughout the Fire Nation (they have more than one academy, the others are located in the bigger cities), the last branch is trained specifically at the Enforcers’ Headquarters (currently, only in the mainland).

There’s more than one Academy, like I said, and most anyone is encouraged to join it. While the Fire Nation is quite classist in many regards, and they tend to look down on anyone whose heritage isn’t perfectly Fire Nation, Fire Lord Ozai has been struggling for years with how thinly spread his army is. Hence, while enrolling in the Fire Nation Academy when you’re an Honorary Citizen is prooobably not the wisest thing since it means 1. you’ll be fighting against your people 2. you’ll have to endure a lot of Fire Nation snobbishness... they’re encouraged to join in anyhow. Therefore, social classes are overlooked in the Fire Nation military, but not out of any noble intentions: it’s merely for the Fire Lord’s convenience.

The training in the Academy starts the same for everyone, basic classes all across for all recruits. Within a matter of 2 months, all soldiers should have the grasp of basic combat training techniques (firebending training for firebenders, weapons training for non-benders, and the occasional earthbenders have their own bending training too). 

After a period of refining their skills for about a year, the students at the Academy are either selected by their instructors to serve as Guards (only the students with top marks are eligible for this specialization, whether benders or firebenders), or they can choose their own future career path (Domestic Forces, Army, Navy and, nowadays, the Air Force too). Naturally, the duty of the Guards isn’t exactly easy but it’s a lot less taxing than that of a soldier in the frontlines... so being selected for the Guards is not only considered an honor, but a highly coveted one too: EVERYONE wants to be a Guard :’D still, not a lot of people can pull off top-marks, so you have to break your back in your first year if you really want to be a Guard.

Now, once the first year is done and all new recruits have “joined” a military branch, the students spend their next three years perfecting the skills required to perform their future duties. Back in the war’s heyday, often these three years of finalizing their studies were spent out in the field, outright assisting the troops since, like I said, the army was spread so thin that they needed quick soldier deployment ASAP. Nowadays, as the Earth Kingdom continent has been conquered successfully, the Academies are back to a slightly less hectic rhythm and can work with their students without sending them out to fight when they’re not finished with their education yet.

The Enforcers, new as they are, have a slightly different training regime that’s actually a tad bit more imposing than the one in the Military Academies, since they’re being trained and recruited ASAP. As shown in the story, they’re trained in non-bending combat even if they’re benders, so all of them are equipped with swords of their own. They still attend classes after their first raids begin, and they’re still recruiting, so their growth is ongoing... but as the laws needed to be enforced right away, the Enforcers have had to be prepared for their duties even more rashly than the recruits of the army I described up there. It’s going to get a little easier for Enforcers that get recruited later in the future, they might even get a few years of proper preparation for their roles... but they really can’t afford that for the time being.

Anyways! The training is divided, like I said, depending on the kind of duties each branch handles. Domestic Forces recruits, for instance, have to fully learn city layouts, prison guard protocols, learn about Fire Nation laws and infractions, since that’s the stuff they usually have to deal with. Navy officers are taught water-based strategic fighting, how to man catapults, everything to do with how to navigate... and the army learns strategies for land-based combat, how to mount the animals the army uses in battle, as well as geography of the general world, since they’ll likely need a better understanding of how to traverse diverse lands than any of the other branches will. All branches have further combat training (whether bending or weapons-based) throughout the next three years of specialized training, to hone their fighting skills further.

Now then, the Guards! These guys are the trickiest ones and probably the ones I should have explained further in-story, since their role is by far the most important one out of the six branches, but I never really had a chance.

There’s regular Guards in the Palace: these guys can be benders (exclusively fire, though) or non-benders, and they’re tasked with guarding the Palace walls and its infrastructure, above all else. On their final year of the Academy, the best firebenders within this group are marked as potential future Imperial or Royal Guards: they can undergo some slightly more challenging tests than the rest of the Guards and, if their results impress the Fire Lord enough, they may become Imperial Guards right away. If there’s a member of the Royal Family who is assembling their personal Royal Guards at the moment, they can choose their preferred Guards amongst that year’s graduating class + the top-level firebending regular Guards who haven’t been promoted into the Imperial Guards yet.

The General of the Guards is the absolute leader of the Guards and thus, he’s in charge of this entire branch of the armed forces. The person to occupy this role is typically chosen by a recently-crowned Fire Lord: Shaofeng wasn’t the General of the Guards until Ozai took the throne. Therefore, upon permanently ascending the throne, our potential Fire Lord Azula can easily dismiss Shaofeng and promote someone else in his place :’) this, as well, is one important reason why a royal who’s vying for a throne tries to see at least a few of their Royal Guards promoted to Imperial Guards before their time to serve as Fire Lord arrives. Makes the power switch much smoother :’D

And now I more or less gave you a large number of clues as to why General Shaofeng has been such a pissbaby since the festivals arc, woops... :’D

I think the Academy doesn’t have a set age of entrance, you can find people of different ages learning in it (because of the reasons above, the army is spread too thin to reject anyone just because they didn’t start at the right age). Still, people are expected to only join it only after their regular, basic school education is finished. So the youngest age to start would be 12, but older recruits can join too (I’d say the upper limit is probably around 30, despite a 30yo recruit isn’t very likely to spend a long time serving in the field, but the armed forces are in no position to reject anyone who enrolls, tbh).

The subject of cutting ties with everything else in your life is honestly very specific to Royal and Imperial Guards. Like it’s been portrayed in the story, it’s discouraged, rather than forbidden, to have family or romantic ties when you’re a Royal Guard. Rui Shi hasn’t really gotten in trouble for having a relationship with Song, but if any situation arose where he failed to protect the Royal Family because he was protecting Song instead...? Weeeell, he’d likely get executed, outright, for failing to uphold his vows as Royal and Imperial Guard, as he has to be ready to sacrifice anything and everything for the royals he serves.

It’s more implicit in the rest of the armed forces that they serve the Fire Lord above all else, it’s mainly the Royal and Imperial Guards who are told they shouldn’t have any important ties outside their charges. Everyone else can have families, get married, raise kids, without too much trouble. Rui Shi’s father was a military man just like Rui Shi, but he was in another branch (I think in the Domestic Forces, seeing as he lived with Rui Shi and his mother), Rui Shi was an overachiever and became eligible for Royal Guard status... and then Azula selected him as her captain! :D

So, as far as guards are concerned, the path to becoming an Imperial Guard is...:

Firebending Recruit (get top grades) ===>  Guard Prospect (get top grades again) ===> Take an extra test before graduation to become eligible for Imperial Guard ===> Imperial Guard (if successful at impressing the Fire Lord)

OOOOOR...

Firebending Recruit (get top grades) ===>  Guard Prospect (get top grades again) ===> Graduate with top marks and become a regular Guard ===> Be promoted into Royal Guard status by a member of the royal family ===> Be recommended for a promotion into Imperial Guard status by said member of the royal family ===> Imperial Guard (if successful at impressing the Fire Lord)

I hope things are a little bit clearer now xD most of this is stuff I had in my head but, like I’ve said, I really didn’t have much room to explore it. A full-blown spinoff of the school days of Rui Shi and his fellow Royal/Imperial Guards would be ripe territory in which I could explore all these details x’D it’d be a rather strange slice-of-life story, but it’d probably be the only way to address all these questions narratively.

Anyways, if you have any further questions about this, let me know! :D