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It’s been almost a year since the puppet without a name settled in Sumeru and he’s finally, almost, potentially considering himself ready to think about the possibility of hypothetically facing some of his past sins. And then they show up on his figurative doorstep anyway in the form of a samurai clad in a maple leaf kimono.
The day had started well enough. He’d handed in his last set of papers to Lesser Lord Kusanali for review and then had darted off to enjoy a well-earned fly over the city. He considers his options as he lazily hovered on the wind. He could nap with the Aranaras off in the forest, or maybe check the market for any more goods that matched his taste...he could try goading the General Mahamatra into another duel (and hopefully a physical one this time, not another silly round of children’s card games)...Or he could visit the theater to plan out his performance for the Sabzeruz Festival with Nilou.
Out of all the people who had collaborated to rescue Lesser Lord Kusanali, Nilou was by far the most tolerable. His scathing comments and bitter nature roll off of her like dewdrops on leaves, something that he appreciates, not that he’d admit it. She just laughs him off or rolls her eyes and indulgently agreed with whatever he says, no matter how barbed or venomous it is. Her impertinence is charming, so he magnanimously decides to forgive her for it. She had laughed when he informed her of this and something had clicked into place deep in his artificial soul, like a puzzle piece or a formerly missing gear. It brought on the same settled calm he feels with Buer or when he flies over his new homeland.
Ugh. He’s spending too much time with her, actually. It’s making him soft.
Wanderer's plans decided, he flies off toward the Akademiya to pester the General. As he does, he notices a sparkle of white and a shimmer of gold in the distance. His grin turns wide and feral. Ah, so the Traveler and his squeaky pet have returned to Sumeru, have they? They’d certainly been gone long enough, traipsing off to Fontaine with barely even a goodbye. Not that he cares, of course. But he certainly wasn’t about to let an opportunity to have a little fun slip away. Perhaps he can challenge the Traveler instead, see how their skills stack up now that he’s had more time to improve on his already peerless form.
That is, however, until he drifts closer and sees another person by the Traveler’s side. They stand at about the same height and the stranger is clad in Inazuman garb, patterned with maple leaves. His figurative heart drops into his equally figurative stomach. The stranger, for some ungodly reason, looks up and stares dead at him with hauntingly familiar deep red eyes. The Traveler notices that his companion has become distracted and looks up as well. Paimon is the last to look but the first to call out, pointing and shrieking.
"Ah! It's Hat Guy!"
The Traveler grins up at him and waves, mouthing his name, a secret between the two of them and Lesser Lord Kusanali.
Aoi.
Aoi, the Traveler had named him, after the color of freedom and infinite possibility. An auspicious color for a more hopeful future, he’d explained later.
But all of that is simply background static as Aoi and the maple-patterned boy have their eyes still locked. It’s like seeing Niwa for the first time all over again. The red streak of hair is on the wrong side and the rest of his hair is too light, too long...but the eyes filled with curious mischief and the self-assured smile makes him feel like he’s looking at a ghost.
The puppet runs and hides in his room in the Sanctuary. He ignores Buer’s gentle knock. He also ignores the firmer knock made by the Traveler. He hears voices outside but can’t bring himself to listen. He’ll just wait it out until the Traveler and the living proof of his sins have moved on.
Only, they don’t move on. Aoi sees them roaming about the city, visiting all of his usual haunts. He watches from a distance as the Traveler introduces the boy to nearly everyone in Sumeru. The Kaedehara is unsurprisingly easy to like. He's polite and kind but not truly a pushover. He's the type to make friends everywhere.
Aoi waits until they’ve left the Theater to slip inside, settling into his usual place, a hidden alcove that overlooks the stage. He knows Nilou won’t rat him out. She instead makes her way over to him after she’s finished practicing for the day and stares up at his spot, willing to wait him out. He can feel her curious stare and considers making her wait a bit longer. He instead thinks about their last practice a week or so ago, the memory still fresh and raw but not like a scar. More like a tattoo.
"So," Nilou rests her head on her knees as she looks out over the stage, still a little breathless from practice. "What should I call you? I feel like I can't keep calling you Hat Guy forever."
Aoi glances up, huffs, then continues wiping off his blade. It has to be pristine for their performance. His chosen god deserves nothing less. "Call me whatever you like."
"Mmm...then. Maybe Friend? If that's alright."
He goes eerily still and it is only thanks to the fact that he doesn't need to breathe that he can hide his clogged throat. He coughs in an attempt to dislodge the sudden swell of emotions. "That's. Acceptable. Not the worst name I've been given."
Nilou grins wide and bright. "Well met, my dear Friend."
He can practically sense her smile when his resolve weakens and he lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Can’t a guy get some sleep without being pestered?” he demands as he lets himself fall from his perch, landing silently on the ground before her. She clasps her hands behind her back and grins at him.
“You can. But usually when you come here to nap, you just tell me to go away and not to bother you. You staying quiet means you wanted to talk to me, right?”
“Don’t presume to know me,” he scoffs, both horrified and touched that she can read him so easily. Has he become predictable? No. Definitely not. This is Kusanali’s fault somehow, he knows it. “But yes, I came to work on our performance for the festival.”
She tilts her head and there’s a sly smile on her face. “Really? Is that it? And it’s not because you’re avoiding the Traveler and Kazuha?”
He stares her dead in the eye. “Not at all. I don’t even know who you’re talking about.” He scoffs, loudly. “Clearly, you haven’t been drinking enough water during your solo practice today, you’re becoming delusional.”
“Mm.” She meets his stare dead-on and he looks away first. He resists the urge to hide behind his hat.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
Nilou sighs. “Friend,” she offers her hand out to him and it still makes his breath catch every time. “Be honest with me. Does this have something to do with...your life before Sumeru?” She’s careful not to ask him about it, knows he doesn’t like discussing it, and she’s avoided pressing the issue thus far. He wants to bite back, to demand her to apologize but...but fuck has this been weighing on him.
“Kind of.” he admits and it feels like every word fights him on the way out, “I did some things a long time ago. It led to that boy’s family losing practically everything. He doesn’t know it was me, someone else was accused of it. But I know it was me. So does the Traveler.”
Nilou sits and motions for him to sit with her. He does with little hesitation. She doesn’t touch him but he knows if he reaches out to take her hand, she’ll reach back without a word. “And you’re scared to face him?”
“I’m not scared of anything. I just...don’t want to deal with it right now.” Or ever, but even he can admit he’ll have to face it eventually. Nilou leans into him a little bit and hums. He curls tighter into a ball but finds himself leaning back, entirely against his will.
“Would you like me to be with you? When you talk to him, I mean. Or you could ask Lesser Lord Kusanali to mediate? You know you don’t have to face this alone. Whatever happened before, whatever you did...the person you are right now has a bunch of people who care a lot and want to make sure you’re okay. You know that, right?”
He does. He doesn’t know why , but he does know. His hand finds Nilou’s and he squeezes, though he’s careful not to grip too tight. Humans are so terribly fragile, after all. She reaches over with her free hand and pats his hair. He fights every urge to lean into that touch like an attention-starved kitten. He still has some pride, after all. He groans and lets his head fall back as he stares up at the canopy of leaves and branches that make up the ceiling.
“...Do you know where they’re going to be tonight? I’m sure they invited you along to whatever their plans are.”
Nilou smiles at him with unabashed pride and affection. “I’m pretty sure they’re meeting up with the others at the usual place for drinks and card games. Apparently Kazuha is quite good at them. Shall we head there now?”
He shakes his head and gets to his feet, then offers her a hand up. “Let’s practice first. I...I want to get into a better state of mind.” She takes his hand and he pulls her up with ease, though she stumbles a bit and lands against his chest. He always forgets how light she is. “The swords are in their usual place?”
She straightens up and bounces on her feet, her normal bubbly demeanor returning. “Yup! I also had an idea for changing some of the steps during the second half, so it should flow way better now. Hold on, I'll show you!” She hurries off to collect their props and he places his hat aside. He focuses on their dual performance for the upcoming festival and puts all thoughts of his past aside for the time being.
A couple hours later finds the duo stepping into Lambad’s tavern. Paimon spots them first and screeches something that catches the attention of the rest of the group. Aoi desperately wants to hide but. But. He steels himself and glances in the Kaedehara’s direction. “I’d like to speak to you. Outside.”
“Starting fights already, Hat Guy?” Paimon accuses, pointing a finger at him, “Kazuha hasn’t even done anything to you!” He ignores her and manages to meet Kazuha’s gaze without flinching. Despite his baby face, Kazuha’s stare is undeniably calculating. Still, he smiles and stands from his spot, passing his cards to a nearby Collei.
“Fear not, Paimon. I’ve been hoping to have a discussion with him, after all. We’ll be back in shortly.”
Collei and Tighnari share a look across the table and Tighnari sets his own cards aside. “You sure?”
“Positive.” Kazuha is a beacon of calm and looks to the Traveler who nods back. “It’s fine.”
Traveler looks to Aoi and smiles, his golden eyes bright. There’s no wariness or mistrust like with Paimon and the others. Aoi huffs and folds his arms before walking out again. He knows Kazuha will follow. They walk a bit away until they reach a spot where Aoi knows they won’t be disturbed or overheard. Kazuha tucks his hands into his sleeves and waits for Aoi to speak first.
Aoi takes a deep breath in, then lets it out. It’s fine. It’s cool. He can totally do this. He just has to be honest yet tactful. Easy. He was almost a god once, after all. He can manage to have a difficult discussion without fucking it up. Aoi turns to Kazuha and stares him down.
“Did the Traveler tell you,” he starts, “That I was the one behind your clan’s demise?” He immediately resists the urge to cringe. Fuck. Damn it. Fuck. Too late now, he’s committed. He folds his arms and readies himself for any potential retaliation or accusations.
Kazuha blinks at him. “The Traveler mentioned we have some shared history, despite never meeting before this. While I do not believe you’re lying to me, you seem a bit young...my clan’s destruction happened decades ago, if not earlier...and you barely look any older than I am.”
“I’m older than I look...and not human. So there’s that.” Aoi sighs. “I can tell you the full story, if you want. But the fact of the matter is, every tragedy in your life can pretty much be traced back to me. So. Do what you want with that information.”
Kazuha stares at him for a long time, silent. Aoi bears it, even as he feels his fists clench and release, more out of instinct than anything else. The wind rises around them, unbidden but undeniable in its presence. After a moment, Kazuha sighs and turns away.
“I’m going to get us some drinks,” he says with a sense of finality, “and then you are going to tell me everything. Start to finish. We shall see where the night takes us after that.”
It’s not the answer Aoi expects but it’s not surprising. Niwa had been like that too...always wanting the full story before making a judgment. It was a trait that he’d always admired but had never been able to master. He’d always jumped to conclusions based on the smallest shred of evidence, no matter how flimsy. That flaw still haunts him now, still whispers words of doubt and fear into his mind whenever the smallest thing goes wrong.
It haunts his dreams, promising that one day, even his chosen god will abandon him. That the othet shoe will drop and that all of this peace will crumble the moment he finally lets his guard down.
Kazuha returns before Aoi can spiral too far into self-loathing with a bottle of wine and two cups. Aoi leads him further away, up into one of the more secluded balconies that line the great tree. Kazuha pours them each a drink and Aoi downs his in one swift go. It’s not like the alcohol has any real effect on him. They sit in silence for a time as Aoi gathers his thoughts.
“I was created by a god to house her power, almost 500 years ago...” he begins, closing his eyes as he tells his tale. It’s as he’s telling this story that he realizes...he’s never spoken it out loud before. He’d shown the Traveler his memories and Kusanali had seen them but he’s never told anyone. To his credit, Kazuha is a focused listener. He sips at his single cup of wine, his eyes on Aoi with unwavering focus. His expressions are unreadable and distant, like he’s wearing a mask.
“Anyway...after attaining my Vision, I swore myself to Lesser Lord Kusanali’s service. As her prisoner and servant, I intend to start making up for my previous deeds...not that it can undo any of the harm I’ve done." Aoi risks a glance at Kazuha. Kazuha’s eyes are low and his hand is pressed to his chin as he lets himself fall deep into thought. "So? What is your judgment, last of the Kaedehara family?
“You said you learned the Isshin art, right? You studied with my ancestors.”
“Yeah?”
“Teach me. Show me how to make a blade in the Isshin art of swordmaking.” When Kazuha looks up again, his eyes are focused and intense. “Teach me everything you know so I can reclaim some of my family’s lost legacy. During that time, I will decide whether or not I forgive you. If I do not, I will take the blade we have created and strike you down with it to avenge my fallen kinsmen.”
Aoi, the nameless puppet, feels a maniac grin tug at his face. “Hah. How droll. And what shall you do if you decide to absolve me of my sins, hmm?”
“Then I will take the sword and duel you, but spare your life, even if I win. And that will be the end of it. We both move on into whatever the future holds for us, unburdened by our pasts. But that is only if I decide you are worthy of my forgiveness.” Kazuha offers out his hand, still wrapped in bandages to hide his scars. Aoi considers it for a moment, before taking the offered hand and shaking it.
“Deal. But don’t expect me to go easy on you, my mere apprentice.” Aoi’s grin is knife-sharp but there’s a swell of relief deep within his core. Kazuha smirks back, crimson eyes alight. The wind rustles through the leaves and the moon continues its nightly journey through the false sky above them.
And finally, for the first time since he’d seen Kaedehara Kazuha arrive in Sumeru, Aoi can breathe .