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The morning air settled into a chilled sheen on Bennett’s skin. His thoughts, quite unlike his footsteps, were going a mile a minute, trying to comprehend and then re-comprehend why the Chief Alchemist would want to talk to him out so of the blue. He really hoped it wasn’t anything bad. His nose twitched. That sneeze escaped again—how did that keep happening?
“Apologies for this being on such short notice.” Albedo interrupted his thoughts, finally slowing to a stop at the vacant park. Dew still clung to the grass. “My schedule is quite full.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Bennett inched back a step; the notepad Albedo was carrying looked important. “But…why did you want to see me?”
The sound of pages interrupted muted birdsong. “Investigating Visions is a side project of mine. You caused quite a stir when you were brought back with yours, I only wish I could’ve come sooner.”
“Oh,” Bennett mused with a small sigh of relief, “that makes sense”.
He took it off of the engraving in his pouch, just in case, and had started fidgeting with it by the time Albedo said something. “It gave you that scar?” He nodded to Bennett’s shoulder.
“Hm? Oh yeah, and this too.” Bennett barely pulled his shirt up to show the edges of the other across his chest. Those were the ones people knew about.
Albedo took another moment. “It healed you.”
“Yeah, heh, a healer with a pyro Vision. Pretty weird right?”
He got a nod in response. “It’s fascinating. I’m unable to say if it’s actually that uncommon, my work on Visions doesn’t take precedent for the time being,” Albedo trailed off.
And kept talking. About Visions and ley lines and all sorts of stuff Bennett didn’t really get. And Bennett didn’t really want to have to get all of it just to use his Vision. “But, I mean, other than that it’s not anything fancy.”
“Would you mind showing me?”
There it was. “Ah—w-well I would, but I don’t really have anything to use it on, so…” Bennett tried, looking away, but that wasn’t the real issue. He sighed. “And, I-I guess I just,” he stuttered before a much softer, “I don’t really know how.”
A slight head tilt, but Albedo didn’t seem annoyed. So. “It’s just that—everyone I’ve asked said something different. And every time I try to change what I’m doing it…” his hands floundered at nothing
“Doesn’t work right?”
Hurt, actually. Bennett only nodded.
Albedo hummed, looked away, then crossed his arms. “What have you been told?”
“Well. Diona said she tries to get people to relax. I think.” It had been hard to tell. “And Barbara said stuff about how people’s souls sing at her or something, and Noelle said she didn’t have to focus on it at all. Her Vision just does that.” Bennett recalled, scratching his head. It was all so different, and unlike words of wisdom or morals from stories, these had not slotted together in anything remotely cohesive.
He was getting a look: something that said he was leaving out something obvious.
“But this is all the experience of others,” Albedo prompted. “What about yours?”
A blink. “…what about it.”
“From what I have gathered in my scattered research,” he said, skimming the pages, “Visions are specific to the bearer. I doubt anyone else’s connection will mirror your own.” All spoken gently and without malice, Bennett found himself hanging on every word. “For one,” Albedo smiled, “I assume we can safely rule out the singing.”
Bennett’s ears went hot. “Y-yeah.”
“As for respite…” the man trailed off and held a hand to his chin. “You recall how your Vision came to you?”
Vividly. “S’kinda hard to forget.”
Albedo nodded. “I concur. However, when it healed you then, I doubt it was respite that kept you going. Yours is pyro for a reason. It was likely drive and passion that anchored you, rather than what the others have experienced.”
Bennett nodded slowly. Sure. It made sense, really, and theoretically it sounded like it would work, but there was a reason he didn’t…do that. His own experience was messy and unpredictable—how could he rely on himself when he wasn’t reliable in the slightest? He frowned, brow furrowing. The solution itself was the problem.
There was a rustle, and suddenly a pocketknife was poised over Albedo’s finger.
“WAIT,” Bennett lunged and pried the man’s arms apart. He seemed shocked. “Archons, why would y—don’t just do that!”
Albedo steeled himself. “You trust me, yes?”
“Of course I. How is that related!?”
He brought Bennett’s arms down, and Bennett let them cross over his chest in the most scolding pose he could muster for the actual Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius. Albedo paid this no mind. “Well, I trust you. So will you let me?”
How was he supposed to answer that?
A breath. “Bennett,” it almost sounded mothering, as if he were the crazy one here and not the guy about to stab his finger for a maybe. He almost (almost) glared. “This is a hypothesis that must be tested, and I’m certainly not going to let you hurt yourself for my own selfish query. It is mutually beneficial, and I do not wish to take more time from you than necessary.”
“But what if I—“
“You will not hurt me. I have spent barely a few minutes with you, but I know this and I trust it.” Albedo finished with a hard look. “Do you trust me?”
Bennett stood wordless, fumbling with what he wanted to say. Finally, he gave up with a small, tense nod.
It was returned, though Bennett shut his eyes shortly after. He opened them a moment later to see a small nick on the underside of Albedo’s forefinger, held up so it wouldn’t drip. He let a shaky breath through his nose. Slipping his gloves off, Bennett blinked hard before taking Albedo’s hand, with both of his, because it just felt like that would help him focus. Or something. He closed his eyes for the same reason.
He steadied his breaths with and called the warmth to his hands, careful to concentrate it in the right place. Still no singing—obviously. And he shouldn’t’ve even been looking for that. He was supposed to use his own experience. What grounded him when he got the thing in the first place. How he felt then.
I don’t want to die.
(Steady breaths.) Yeah, that, and he didn’t want anyone else to either. He didn’t want them to hurt, least of all because of him. His luck would always be there, but he could still try and make things better, even if it clung to him like his own shadow. To help people; to live on and move forward; to not give up on himself or on anyone else: that was what he wanted.
And when the fire came, it didn’t feel angry or impatient, itching to burst out of wrung hands. It felt warm, but the warm of nice words and good meals, stories before bed and beating hearts.
He opened his eyes to a smile.
Albedo noticed, and huffed a small laugh. “Apologies—your connection with your Vision seems very personal. It’s different from others I’ve encountered.” His face didn’t falter when he took a closer look at the cut, which was still scarred over, but less visibly; cleaner.
And promptly started mumbling about more things Bennett didn’t get, whether out of not knowing or only half-paying-attention. Mostly the latter. He was still reeling from the fact that it did something right. “It seems some of the healing is compromised for an adrenaline rush—I wonder if Sucrose would know more,” Albedo hummed, brushing off his coat in an odd, fidgety way before addressing Bennett again. “Visions are quite fascinating, thank you for indulging me.”
“Ah—n-no problem, sir. I’m just happy it worked out.” Bennett let out a nervous laugh. “If you’re always this good at talking about stuff, we should do it more often.”
And he really had meant it as a joke. Half-joke. Maybe. But then, “perhaps we shall.” Albedo was smiling at him, and it kind of looked like he found this funny.
By the time his thoughts had stopped going in circles and he’d worked out something to say, the man was gone. What wasn’t though, was his Vision. Bennett summoned the fire to his hands again as it warmed at his side. They didn’t burn. Something bright swelled in his chest, and he laughed.