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Chapter Text

Amalthus surveyed his chosen crowd of monks, magisters, and quaestors from his spot behind the gossamer drapes. None were well-known figures, so the group would do little to increase his political standing. However, they would have other uses. The venue for this secret meeting was rather well suited to the crowd; adequate, but mostly useful for the subtlety that came from being unknown. 

“That should be all of them.”

The quaestor turned to face the source of the scratchy whisper. Stannif stood behind him, clad in his usual brown robes.

“Thank you for arranging this endeavor, Stannif. I trust no one will interrupt us?”

“Yes, of course; I made sure of that. Old Rhadallis thinks we are discussing classified scientific projects.”

“Excellent. Is there anything I should know before beginning the speech?”

“No, no,” Stannif replied, “It is just as we discussed.”

Amalthus nodded before stepping out from behind the curtain. He was on a small elevated platform, acting as his stage to convince the Indolines before him of his importance. The effect seemed successful, forcing the others to look at him, regardless of rank.

“Greetings, everyone,” Amalthus started, carefully watching his crowd. Most were young, aspiring politicians or conscripted soldiers searching for a foothold in Indol. Such people were still forming their personal and political views on Alrest, ready to be molded into the roles he needed them to play. “I understand that all of you here have, at some point, disparaged the Praetor’s response to the Aegis situation.”

The crowd shifted uncomfortably at that, for it was true. Each person in the room had criticized the Praetor, an often fatal decision.

“Be at ease,” Amalthus continued, “for I agree with you. Rhadallis’ statements on Torna’s fall have been filled with contradiction and uncertainty. He fails to realize that times change, wishing to declare that which was once sacred forever so. And yet, even he cannot justify the collapse of a Titan under the Architect’s Blades.”

He saw the relieved crowd open up to his words, body language relaxing as he spoke. Even the monks had left the attention stance that had been drilled into them for years, transfixed by his words.

“I have been afforded more information and insight than others in this trying time, as the man who climbed the World Tree. I would share that knowledge with you. My goal here today is to examine what the Praetor fails to see, and establish how we can best follow the Architect’s will going forward.”

Amalthus’ yellow eyes, which had been sweeping over the listeners, slowed as he looked down at a pair of eyes slightly lower than most. A lean boy was staring up at him, eyes wide.

“What is one so young doing here?” Amalthus thought.

His answer came in the form of the boy’s hand, grasping a magister’s. It seemed that the father had to bring his child to the gathering, perhaps because of a scheduling oversight or some similar error. Amalthus noted with some disdain that the magister was trying to pull away from the boy’s hand, clearly uncomfortable with such familiarity in the public eye.

The queastor’s gaze lingered on the two for a moment more, before he returned to his speech. “I was on Torna within a day of its death. On that day, I met with one of the Aegises. He was calm, discussing our policies on Flesh Eaters. However, something changed in him by the end of our conversation. By then, our talk had drifted to less controversial topics, nothing one could take offense to. And yet, as he rushed out of my study, I could discern visceral fear and desperation in his eyes. The look of one forsaken.”

Yellow eyes swept over the entranced audience once more.

“Now, the following information is highly classified, but essential for understanding this tale. The very nature of this essential information is why Rhadallis would keep it hidden. He would have us believe things are the same as always at the Praetorium, that we are the Architect’s chosen, and he is not fully incorrect. But he has fallen victim to pride, one of the very sins depicted in our nation’s paintings, and that pride refuses to acknowledge that he endangers our place by the Architect’s side. For mere days ago, one of the Blades Rhadallis proclaimed as sacred unleashed the Tornan Titan’s true form, and instructed it to strike down our holy Titan.”

A ripple of unease spread through the onlookers.

“There is a clear conflict in the Praetor’s words. He declares the Aegises as the Architect’s holy Blades, and the Praetorium the Architect’s holy institution. But in wake of the recent conflict, one of these assertions can no longer ring true.”

“Now, the Aegises have gone into hiding, and the Tornan Titan is no more. Meanwhile, we escaped the chaos with not a single casualty. We are, in spite of it all, still the Architect’s chosen.”

A scattered bit of applause broke out, letting Amalthus take a moment to breathe.

“But I worry for our future.”

The applause cut off.

“The Architect’s very own Blades must have held a part in his plans for Alrest’s destiny. But why would he design Blades meant to destroy a Titan?”

He waited for a minute, letting the crowd ponder the idea.

“It was a warning. The Aegises were meant to be forsaken, a sign to us all. If we stagnate and move away from the Architect’s path, we shall wander a road unintended. A dangerous step away from destiny that will lead to Titans falling to oblivion, as Torna did.”

“Do you know where the title of Aegis came from? An ancient relic from the Praetorium’s founder, Meldinare. In an accident with the Aegises shortly after their awakenings, it was destroyed, but they carried on its name. To be an Aegis is to exist in splendor, before falling to pieces for our sake. When the original Aegis fell, we were determined and resolute. But now, Rhadallis fails to heed the warning’s second calling.”

His eyes scanned the room again, as he decided on who would be most important to convince. Not the magisters, or monks, for that matter. They were all sufficiently convinced. No, it was the boy that Amalthus settled on. At such an impressionable age, he would grow and live by what he heard, a devoted ally in the making.

Amalthus locked eyes with the child. “If our Praetor refuses to listen, we must do so for him. We must preserve Indol’s sanctity, as agents of the Architect’s will.”

He raised his voice slightly to punctuate his closing words. “I would ask you all to consider this, and recall these words when the time for action arises. If we work together, Indol can be just as Meldinare foretold; a land eternal, blessed by the Architect, where our souls and dreams can shine forth, forever.”

The quaestor stepped back as the crowd below burst into applause. There was but one thing left to do.

Amalthus turned his head so it was just within the crowd’s sight, before giving the boy a small smile. When he was sure the child’s astute eyes had seen him , he turned back and walked behind the curtains. The seeds had been planted; not just in the boy, but in every magister and monk present.

Stannif’s nasally voice spoke to him as he finished his exit. “Impressive. Keep at it and you’ll have your very own group of insurgents.”

The scientist’s wheezing laugh filled the air.

“If that is what the Architect demands of us, it shall be made.” 

“Yes, of course. I must admit, your talking points about the Aegises were sound. Now, if I could have a few more of those refugees to experiment with, the Architect would surely place us back in his good graces.”

“Patience, Stannif. With more influence over the youth across the next few days, we will be able to perform the Spessia operation, likely with favorable results.”

“I suppose you are correct. But try to get them to me quickly. It is always such a joy to improve the waste and refuse with Blade Eater modifications.”

“I will do just that,” Amalthus assured him.

———

After a restless three hours of sleep, Mòrag jolted out of bed. She looked out the window. The sun was nowhere to be found, and the sky was dark. She almost fell back asleep, before a lone thought pushed through the exhaustion.

Niall.

Niall is missing.

The sleep deprived exhaustion was promptly discarded, replaced by a new sense of sickening uncertainty. She glanced down, noting that she had slept in her uniform. Normally, the wrinkled fabric would have irked her, but now she didn’t mind. It would let her get back to searching for her brother as quickly as possible, wrinkled or not. Mòrag headed for the door, slowing as she realized something seemed… missing.

Oh, right. The hat.

An exasperated Mòrag spun back to the bed, spotting a crumpled hat on the floor. She snatched it, pulling it over her head. With that, the Special Inquisitor rushed out the door.

And almost walked directly into a soldier’s outstretched weapon.

Mòrag stopped, an Ardainian major flanked by four soldiers before her. The major cleared his throat with uncertainty.

“Mòrag Ladair, you are under arrest!”

“What?” Mòrag briefly wondered if she was still asleep and dreaming.

The soldiers lifted their firearms menacingly as the leader spoke once more.

“You- actually, you know how this goes. I trust I don’t have to read through all the protocols for an arrest?”

Mòrag stared at him blankly. The other soldiers looked extremely nervous, as if she was arresting them .

Which might just happen if this nonsense persists, Mòrag thought.

“What is the meaning of this?” Mòrag finally asked, with a dangerously icy tone.

“Um… no one told me. Whatever this is about, you need to come with us. We have been authorized to use as much firepower as necessary.”

To illustrate his point, the major swept his arm toward a nearby window. An Ardainian Citadel, a four legged Titan weapon mounted with several cannons, crashed its head through the window, looking around curiously.

Mòrag, still dazed from just waking up, absentmindedly rubbed the creature’s head. It leaned into the touch happily.

Wait. How is a Citadel even here? This is the second floor of the palace!

“Look!” One of the soldiers shouted. “She’s trying to turn the Citadel against us!”

“We can’t fight both of them at once!” Another yelled in panic. “What do we do?”

A third Ardainian voice shouted back at the others from outside, saying, “I’m driving this Citadel! The beast couldn’t move against you if it tried!”

The commander’s exhaustion was visible, even through his mask. The officer, with a dispassionate stare directed at nothing short of Alrest itself, addressed Mòrag flatly.

“I would appreciate it if you could say nothing of this during your interrogation. Our unit hasn’t worked with Titan weapons before.” He glanced at his soldiers. “Now, men, as you should all know, the target is outnumbered and cornered. Which means…”

The soldiers pointed their weapons at Mòrag, acting and speaking as one.

“You’re done.”

Before they could move, Mòrag stepped back into her room and slammed the door shut. With some space between her and the soldiers, she could work out a plan. Her room’s only window had no safe way to get down to ground level, so that was out of the question. Barricading the door was a decent option, but it would only delay the problem, not solve it. If the people behind this were willing to bring in a Citadel, this had to be more than miscommunication. While Mòrag had become quite good at constructing barriers and barricades, mostly to get away from a certain prince, holding back the entire Ardainian military would be beyond her capabilities.

As such, she needed to find Brighid and get out. If things went wrong, they could take an elevator, risky as it was. Though she’d much rather go through a stairwell, where Brighid’s flames could force any opposition out of the cramped space. Though finding Brighid was an issue on its own.

Mòrag began to mentally tackle that issue, but was rudely interrupted as her room’s door exploded . A pair of glowing blue eyes appeared through the smoke and dust.

They’ve brought the Citadel inside? Through the window? Has everyone in this palace gone mad?

She then bitterly considered that Niall, Aegaeon, Brighid, and herself were likely the only sane people here in the first place. Everyone else was consumed by a lust for money or power, save for the soldiers, who were little more than followers.

The Citadel remained at the entrance of the room, peering through the mist in an effort to find its target. Mòrag, crouching and moving through the dust, somehow managed to slip out.

Which left her in front of the Ardainian troops. Again.

The soldiers, growing increasingly anxious, leveled their weapons at the Special Inquisitor. Mòrag burst into a sprint, shoving one Ardainian out of her way. The harsh cracks of gunshots filled the air behind her, bullets crashing into the walls around her.

Well, I’m definitely awake now. Now that I think about it, this sort of thing could really help some of the soldiers’ sleeping habits.

At the end of the hall, five more soldiers leveled their weapons at her.

“Stop! You are-”

They were tossed aside in a blast of blue flames.

Brighid was standing next to an elevator, fending off more soldiers. They were no match for the fiery Blade, though Brighid was making sure not to harm them. Walls of blue fire kept them away, and the Blade’s extended whipswords were cutting apart their weapons.

“Good morning, Lady Mòrag,” Brighid said evenly. She threw up a wall of flames behind her Driver, stopping the soldiers chasing them. “Do you have any idea of what’s happening?”

“Not really. Perhaps we should temporarily retreat. Once we’re not being pursued, we can resume the search for Niall.”

“A reasonable course of action. Let us move through the left stairwell.”

As Mòrag moved to point at the stairs, six more soldiers ran into the room from those very steps.

“…Never mind. The elevator, then.”

The two entered the nearest elevator. It began descending at a frustratingly slow pace.

Suddenly, an Ardainian soldier in a flying vehicle approached.

“Surely they aren’t…” Brighid leapt in front of Mòrag as the vehicle’s weapons began to glow. “Look out!”

Mòrag saw Brighid’s ether barrier form before the elevator rattled wildly, throwing her to the ground. With a deafening screech, the elevator tilted and Mòrag’s stomach dropped; they were falling. She had a single moment to recognize that there was a massive crowd of soldiers below her. Then she slammed into the palace floor and fell unconscious.

————

“Senators and nobles of the great empire of Mor Ardain! Today we gather to address a most heinous matter. I, Senator Navarre, will lead this committee. With us we have the honorable Senators Maghillic, Stulc, Lunatheo, Dughall, Durmagh, Cultock, and Ellenora. It is also my… honor to announce that the venerable Praetor of Indol has seen fit to join us today, albeit from the comfort of the Praetorium. May I present His Eminence Vandham of Uraya and Indol.”

A large projector flickered to life, casting a bright and slightly grainy image of the Praetor. His head and shoulders were centered in the frame, allowing the others to see him along with bits of his outfit, a larger fit of the traditional Praetor robes and hat with earthy green tones added as if to highlight the unique energy he brought to the Praetorium. Doubtlessly Indoline tailors had spent many hours designing and crafting the clothing.

“It’s an honor to be here,” Vandham said curtly, “despite what many of you seem to think. I’d have loved to make it in person, but things just didn’t line up.”

“Do not concern yourself with such things,” Navarre said. “May this discussion reach a profitable conclusion under the Architect’s name. Now, bring out the guilty- ahem, I mean the accused .”

From the entrance of the room, Mòrag was pushed forward by a large escort of guards. Her hands had been firmly cuffed behind her back, though she was at least allowed to stay in uniform. She was, after all, only being presented to the senators who resented her uniform more than even the flags of Brionac. There was no faith nor patriotism to shatter here.

She took her place at a raised circular platform. The guards dispersed around it, save for two that stood directly behind her. Several boxes contained the senators, who looked down on her as if they were preparing to watch a most vicious and entertaining sport. The image of the Praetor was elevated straight in front of her.

Mòrag swallowed her discomfort and slowly looked over the senators. Any that noticed her eyes flashed sharp grins or smug expressions; doubtlessly each one was hoping to be the one to leave a lasting impression or draw a reaction out of her. She vowed to not give them the satisfaction. Vandham merely nodded when her gaze passed him.

“Mòrag Ladair,” Senator Navarre began, his voice ringing out over her, “stands before us accused of aiding the terrorist group Torna in the destruction of at least six cargo ships and the theft of at least two hundred Core Crystals.”

“What? That’s preposterous!” Mòrag snapped. So much for keeping quiet, though in her defense, not a single person had told her what she was being accused of.

“Miss Ladair, we have not asked you for testimony. Please remain quiet.”

…That was perhaps fair. Navarre had always been one of the more tolerable senators, so Mòrag just nodded. There was no need for this to turn into a-

“Yes, refrain from speaking to your betters,” Senator Cultock sneered from a box to Mòrag’s left.

Mòrag glared at her. She wasn’t surprised; something of this nature was bound to happen. Still, she’d hoped they’d make it past the first minute without snark or controversy.

Thankfully, Navarre took over once more. “Senator Cultock, there is no need to aggravate the accused. She has already been held and charged with crimes of treason, conspiracy, and several cases of first-degree murder. All we must do is decide a sentence.”

“Of course. How exciting.”

Mòrag did not like where this was going and frankly felt the need to interrupt again. “With all due respect, what grounds do you have for these charges? I have yet to see any evidence provided, let alone proved.”

“We don’t need to prove anything to you!” Dughall said triumphantly and slightly too loudly. Everyone in the room cringed at the sudden noise. “There’s already been a thorough investigation. I led the effort myself!”

Somehow that did not inspire confidence.

“We found evidence for all of it!” Dughall said, grinning. 

Mòrag would have ordered him to leave if the situation had been any different, though when she thought about it, perhaps his excitement was warranted. He’d apparently been the one to discover her so-called treason and organize her capture. Doubtlessly this was the closest thing to actual relevance Dughall had achieved in his forty-something years of life and it was probably the last time he’d be important, too.

“As honorable Navarre said, you’ve already been charged for everything.” That was Stulc, speaking for the first time. “And how fortunate that your treason was discovered soon after Niall’s abdication, too.”

The mention of Niall made Mòrag’s frustration hit a boiling point. Thankfully Senator Maghillic spoke before she could do anything rash. “Senator Stulc, there is no evidence that Niall left of his own volition, unless I’m mistaken?”

A chorus of murmurs swept across the room. Mòrag was fairly sure she heard Senator Lunatheo assert that Niall had been captured by a nopon-worshipping cult while Senator Durmagh was saying that Torna must have assassinated Niall.

“Hold on a moment.”

The sound of an Urayan accident cut off the chatter instantly, even if said accent was coming from a tiny speaker next to a 240p projection of the Praetor.

“I take it none of you know what’s going on with Emperor Niall?”

Navarre cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, we haven’t found his current location, but given the circumstances we can conclude… ah…”

“That’s what I thought,” Vandham said with a frown. “If you’re so important to this country, you ought to keep track of these things, yeah?”

“I suppose so. Regardless-”

“Will anyone mind if I ask the accused a question?”

“I… I don’t have a problem with it myself. Does anyone else wish to comment on the matter?”

Nobody spoke.

Vandham nodded, satisfied. “Great. As the Special Inquisitor and the Emperor’s brother, I take it you know more than these clowns- senators here, right? Fill us in on the details.”

“Gladly.” Emboldened, Mòrag took a step forward. “All evidence and testimonies from the time of His Majesty’s disappearance suggest that he vanished without warning or explanation shortly after a suspicious and unidentified figure was spotted in the capital. The unknown man possessed black hair, red glasses, and an accent that marked him as a Blade.”

“Sounds like you’ve got all this memorized,” Vandham chuckled, “and I’ll reckon you found most of that info yourself, too. Good work.”

“Thank you, Your Eminence.”

“I see,” Stulc said quietly, “it seems I spoke incorrectly. My apologies.”

“I feel the need,” Senator Cultock started, “to clarify that the accused is the former Special Inquisitor. The position is open at present.”

Vandham and Mòrag both rolled their eyes while the other senators pretended she hadn’t even spoken.

“In that case, let us continue with the sentencing,” Durmagh said. “The evidence found by Senator Dughall is sufficient to pronounce Mòrag Ladair and the Blade Brighid guilty of all charges as previously stated. Such offenses, according to Ardainian law, deserve capital punishment.”

“I vote in favor,” Cultock called out.

“I haven’t even finished… fine, whatever. It doesn’t matter anyway. One vote for capital punishment. As I was going to say, us senators will vote on what to do in this situation. Though given that nobody has proposed an alternative…”

Durmagh let the statement hang heavy in the air.

“I may not be voting but I’d still like to raise a point,” Vandham said. “Members of Torna are real hard to come by. I for one would like to pick her brain a bit and keep her around while the rest of Torna’s still causin’ trouble.“

“Very well.” Durmagh nodded with all the confidence in the world and Mòrag realized this was his attempt at a power grab. He was one of the senior senators and had spent much of his career in Navarre’s shadow. Taking the reins for this meeting was his attempt at getting one over his rival. Infuriating as it was, she wasn’t surprised that her life was less valuable to these self-important idiots than their own agendas.

Senator Lunatheo cleared his throat. “I, for one, cannot in good conscience support breaking our laws for a vassal of evil and a traitor to the country. I must vote in favor of capital punishment.”

“It would be far more useful to gather information from her,” Senator Navarre countered. “I vote in favor of the Praetor’s proposal.”

Senator Durmagh instantly responded. “I vote for capital.”

“And why is that? What purpose does that serve?”

Senator Maghillic’s gravely voice echoed through the room. “Morale. The public has been rife with fear and anger since Niall’s abduction. We need to show them that Ardainian justice is alive and well.”

“You need a scapegoat, you mean,” Mòrag said.

“Do you mean to insist that you are not guilty? Because from my perspective, you have both colluded with Torna and aided Niall’s meek and failing rule.”

“Whatever your stance on His Majesty is, following his command is no crime.”

“Yes, but my point stands, that being the claim that you have weakened this country and aided our enemies.”

“ I have? Do you all truly care for this country? Because not a single one of you attempted to solve the disappearance of our Emperor, and now you have invited a foreign power to take His Majesty’s place in the court. Do you not see how that looks to the Praetorium and possibly Alrest as a whole?”

Her eyes strayed from the senator as she finished speaking to gauge Vandham’s reaction. Surprisingly, he was smiling broadly.

“I vote in favor of the Praetor’s idea as well.” That was Senator Dughall, to Mòrag’s immense surprise. She’d honestly expected him to riot if they didn’t decide to kill her.

“Three for execution, two for imprisonment,” Durmagh announced. “Stulc, Ellenora, Maghillic, were waiting on you.”

“Yes, yes,” Stulc said, “I understand, but I find myself at a crossroads. If we were to condemn Miss Ladair, the public would cry for execution regardless of our actions. Would it be possible to hold her on a different Titan?”

“I could take her off your hands,” Vandham said. “As much as I have bad blood with Torna, I wouldn’t mind ensuring her safety.”

Maghillic chimed in, saying, “In that case, I would have to vote for execution. Mor Ardain is a proud nation, and we do not need Indol’s charity.”

“Our charity gives you a steady stream of Core Crystals even though you keep losin’ em to Torna. Get off your high horse.”

“The supply of Core Crystals is not-”

“Let’s stay on topic,” Navarre said loudly, checking his watch.

Stulc took advantage of the silence to step forward. “What about the nation of Tantal? I understand that travel in and out of Genbu is carefully recorded.”

“Indol and Tantal have worked together before,” Vandham mused, “I reckon we can find a favor to cash in if there’s no objections.”

Silence overtook the room again.

“In that case, I vote in favor of imprisonment,” Senator Stulc said.

Senator Maghillic nodded. “I shall finalize my vote as well for imprisonment on Tantal.”

“Very well,” Durmagh sighed, “and Ellenora?”

Everyone stared at the only senator who hadn’t yet spoken. 

She stepped forward. “Looking at the facts, I would place my vote- what?”

Everyone’s eyes trailed to where Cultock was pulling on Ellenora’s sleeve. She sheepishly pulled away.

“As I was saying,” Senator Ellenora continued, “I will vote in favor of impri-”

“No!” Cultock hissed, “don’t do it!”

“Oh, come on,” Dughall scoffed from across the room, “that’s a ridiculous way of doing things! At least offer a bribe.”

“…I shall vote for imprisonment,” Ellenora said before returning to her seat.

“It’s decided, then,” Navarre declared. “Five for imprisonment versus three for execution. The accused will live on.”

————

Amalthus watched his head researcher until he was out of sight, brown robes disappearing around a bend in the hallway. Taking a small pad of paper and a pen from his pocket, he began to write.

“Quaestor Amalthus.”

A familiar, monotone voice spoke from behind him, interrupting his writing. One of Indol’s officials, an assistant to the Praetor himself, was standing before him. His face and body were covered by dark robes. Once he was sure there was no one else in the room, he bowed his head.

“Your Eminence.”

“There is no need for that, Hector,” Amalthus chided. “The Architect has not yet led me to a position worthy of that title. For now, I remain a humble quaestor.”

“Of course. Regardless, you are the Architect’s chosen one. I am sure he would not descend from Elysium to complain if you were to publicly acknowledge that.”

“Yes, but being a quaestor has its benefits. We must wait until the time is right. I just finished meeting with Stannif. He confirmed that more core data is needed to fuel the ascension. Are relations between Indol and Tantal still regressing smoothly?”

“They are, Your… quaestor. That is to say, our sabotage has worked as intended, so the relations are far from smooth.” Hector shifted nervously as he finished the sentence, like a small child seeking approval from a parent for their clever wordplay.

Amalthus gave him a small smile. The remark may not have been eloquently worded, but Hector had always acted starstruck around Amalthus, to the point where the verbal grace he employed with others vanished as soon as the quaestor was present. Amalthus didn’t quite know why, but he wouldn’t hold it against his protégé. “Good. Do you think the plans involving Tantal are plausible?”

“Likely so. King Eulogimenos of Tantal has refused to hand over the Omega Fetter once more, and the Praetor seeks to take it by force. He told me that Indol itself will raze Tantal in mere days.”

“Already?” Amalthus frowned. He was one for slow planning and clean execution, and Vandham’s crusade… did not fit with his tastes. “That foolish king would have surely dug his own grave even if we sent our best negotiators.”

“Actually, Your Eminence, I believe some of our negotiation saboteurs did say in correspondence that they had done very little.”

“What does Tantal hope to accomplish by resisting?”

“We don’t know, Your Eminence. Do you think they could defeat Praetor Vandham?”

“They shouldn’t have anywhere near the necessary firepower, unless…”

“Unless?”

“It’s unlikely that they can resist the Praetor. Do not worry yourself with such things.”

“I see. My apologies for wasting time, Your Eminence.”

“There is nothing wrong with asking questions, Hector. Your opinion is valuable to me.” At Amalthus’ words, Hector straightened up, positively glowing beneath his flowing apparel.

“Thank you, Your Eminence.”

“Think nothing of it. Is there anything else you wish to discuss?”

“I am only here to see you off on your holy venture.”

“And the Praetor has no objection to my departure?”

“He believes your assignment on this mission will likely be a good diversion for his attack. As he put it, ‘two skeeters with one stone’. Though I hardly approve of calling our sacred Titan a lowly rock.”

“Do not worry, Hector. The Praetor is simply trying to find what role the Architect has for him, I’m sure.” Inwardly, Amalthus cursed Vandham. Doubtlessly, the second bug that Vandham hoped to strike down was him . If Vandham suspected Amalthus planned on undermining his rule, things would only get harder from here.

Hector seemed to miss this implication, which was probably for the best. “If I may be so bold, I fail to see what the Architect wants from him when he has you, Your Eminence.”

“Thank you, Hector.”

They walked to the dock, where Amalthus’ vessel of choice waited. Like all of Indol’s official vessels, the Titan was a draconic figure. It had majestic blue wings, tipped with pink that softly glowed against the evening sky. The man-made cabins hung below the creature. Most Indoline politicians didn’t have their own ships, instead taking government vessels at random. Only the Praetor and his Blades were expected to own personal ships, though there were a few other outliers.

Amalthus took a small bit of pride for being one of those outliers. And the ship itself was excellent too, hosting a cozy study in the heart of the cabins that he had spent many nights at, pouring over old documents in the soft yellow light that swept over the room. Given its position, it had no windows but in Amalthus’ opinion that only served to make it more consistent. No matter what happened in the world, he would have the dim study and its wooden bookcases to go to.

The only other place that had evoked such a feeling was the massive window at the top of the World Tree. 

Hector stopped at the dock. “Good luck, Your Eminence. May the Architect’s light and blessings lead you forward.”

“The same to you, Hector. I shall give you further instructions after this mission is complete.”

The ship’s pilot was already inside. Amalthus entered the ship himself, heading for the study. Several warrior monks were already present, seated around the large wooden table.

Amalthus walked to the head of the table, stopping just behind his chair. “Thank you for agreeing to this, everyone. My apologies for the short notice, but we have recently come across troubling information. The Praetor plans on attacking Tantal, and destroying the capital of Theosir.”

“Are we trying to save Tantal, then?” One of the monks asked.

Amalthus sighed. “Your youthful naivete is as refreshing as ever.”

“So we are trying to stop the Praetor?”

Amalthus’ yellow eyes bored into the monk’s skull. “No. Unless you wish to fight off Indol’s military alone.”

The monk wilted under the pressure of the stare, ducking under the table. Amalthus’ gaze sharpened further. At this point, the monk realized his mistake and squeaked out an apology, still cowering under the table.

With a long sigh, Amalthus lifted his gaze to the others. They were behaving as warrior monks were trained to; each one sat upright, focused on the quaestor.

“Our objective is to take Tantal’s stores of Core Crystals,” Amalthus continued. “The Praetor agreed to let us go to Tantal, and offer them a last chance at surrendering the Omega Fetter.”

The talkative monk rose from his spot under the table. “Does this have something to do with those Ardainians that got moved to Tantal’s dungeons?”

“Why would they have anything to do with us?”

“I, um, was just trying to put the pieces together, eminence.” 

Scowling, Amalthus decided to ignore the pest before him. “As Indol approaches, we can raid the crystal storerooms. Once Indol attacks, Tantal will have far bigger problems than us, allowing us to focus on our next goal. Vandham plans on seizing the Omega Fetter to control the artifice Ophion. To prevent this, we will split into groups. One group will take the ship to Genbu’s Crown and take the Omega Fetter, then meet the rest of us outside Theosir. Then, we leave.”

“Are we going to make Ophion fight Genbu?”

Amalthus resisted the urge to pull a knife on the pest, who was running his mouth yet again.

“ No, ” Amalthus eventually snapped. “Further details are provided in the briefings that lay before you. This meeting is adjourned.”

He stormed out of the study, taking refuge in his room and sipping from a cooling cup of tea that he’d taken with him that afternoon. Some time later, he heard footsteps as the monks headed to bed as well. Amalthus looked at his own bed. It held no appeal. He looked at his desk. The desk lamp was on, casting a warm yellow glow over the cup of cold tea. There was little appeal to sitting back down there either.

He decided to walk out to the ship’s deck to clear his mind. The only problem was that the deck was already occupied. Given the slouched posture and slightly rumpled clothing of the monk leaning on the railing, Amalthus guessed it was the troublemaker from earlier.

He quietly stepped forward, closing the distance between them. The monk was facing the sea and his helmet was drooping slightly. Was he even awake?

Amalthus frowned. Sleeping whilst leaning on a ship’s railing… What a dangerous notion. He stopped behind the monk’s back and peered over the railing. The Cloud Sea was thick below them, its surface roiling against the ship’s hull. His salvaging days were long behind him, but Amalthus could recognize a fierce current when he saw one. Indeed, sleeping here was positively dangerous.

He reached out a hand, his long fingernails coming to rest on the monk’s shoulder. There was no reaction. Amalthus’ fingers wrapped around the shoulder, and for a moment he stilled. With a final look at the sea below, he gently squeezed the monk’s shoulder.

“Hm…?” From the man’s voice, Amalthus could tell he was indeed the talkative nuisance from earlier.

He released his hand and moved slightly away. “You shouldn’t be sleeping out here. I’m afraid that it’s terribly unsafe. Were the rooms not to your liking?”

“Oh, um… Your Eminence! It’s nothing, really. It’s just nice out. I didn’t mean to… well, um, you know.” The monk walked past Amalthus, but slowed at the door. “Um… sorry about earlier.”

“I must apologize as well. I let my emotions get the better of me, I suppose.”

“It happens to all of us, I guess. I mean, we are going into enemy territory, right?”

“Precisely, though you need not stress over this. Each of us will do our part and ensure our mutual success. I am confident that this is a mere stop on the Architect’s road, and it will soon be behind us. May your purpose be fulfilled and your dreams cleared.”

The monk went inside with a new energy and a fresh bounce in his step. Amalthus watched the door swing shut before turning to the sea with a sigh that was drowned by the soft wind that curled around the ship.

He looked up at the World Tree, resting under its radiant glow as the weight of empty promises pushed on his eyelids.

Chapter Text

Amalthus strode into Tantal’s throne room. It was made primarily of stone, and some ancient technology glowing with ether near the walls. The quaestor smiled grimly.

Quite an eyesore… Auresco was far more impressive, despite the amount of time that has passed since its presence in this world. Or perhaps because of it.

At the top of a few stairs, King Eulogimenos sat on his throne. Amalthus simply nodded to him in acknowledgement, fully aware of his breach of etiquette. After a moment’s pause, the quaestor spoke.

“King Eulogimenos. I was sent by Praetor Vandham with the purpose of entering negotiations.”

“There is nothing to negotiate,” Eulogimenos replied, “I will not relinquish the artifact that keeps our Titan on course.”

“On course to what?” Amalthus tilted his head to the side. “Surely you are aware of the myriad of problems in Theosir.”

“Theosir’s biggest problem is thieves and politicians like you. The best thing you could do is leave us alone.”

“Think of your people, King Eulogimenos. Despite the hostility between our nations, they were able to place our differences aside. In fact, they were quite hospitable and even viewed me as an economic asset. While I am glad that we could have such pleasant interactions, a sole emissary should hardly be essential to a healthy economy.”

“Tantal’s people are kind. Whatever flattery they said, not a single soul needs your business.”

“Not the innkeeper that is two months behind on rent? Not the freezing orphans left in the alleyways? Not the line of people I bought lunch for because they had nothing to offer to the vendors, the very same vendors who sell food without permission from you?”

“None,” Eulogimenos said sternly. Amalthus idly wondered what his angle was here. Was he trying to pick a fight with Indol? “It sounds as if you were scammed.”

“I am not easily fooled by such people,” Amalthus told him. He thought back to a certain man - a certain murderer - with dirty clothes and bandages over his head. “In my line of work, trusting the wrong person can lead to… dire consequences.”

He arrived too late, stumbling upon two dead bodies. In the end he could only ‘help’ by creating two more.

“What do you mean to say?” Eulogimenos said as if it wasn’t obvious. Being such an isolationist had surely left him with little experience in foreign affairs.

“I mean to say that, with all due respect, you do not appear to understand the needs of your people. Perhaps if you did, you would understand just what the Praetorium could give you.”

“I understand my people! My very life is dedicated to them!”

“And that is truly admirable… if it is true. But you appear to be fixated on harming the Praetorium for some perceived slight.”

“We can rebuild our nation after pushing back the Praetorium.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

Eulogimenos rose from his throne. His guards raised their weapons as he extended an arm. “I will make a deal with the Praetor. In exchange for your safe return to Indol, he will leave us alone.”

“Is that all?” Amalthus asked as the guards closed in, “No contingencies?”

“I have nothing else to say to you,” Eulogimenos thundered, “pray to the Architect that your Praetor chooses to save you and be out of my sight.”

———

The guards led him into the bowels of the castle. Presumably they were heading to the dungeons or wherever Tantal kept its undesirables. Amalthus wasn’t worried about their destination; this was a possibility he had planned for. It was only a matter of time before his agents found and released him.

He did feel a bit of pity for the king. There would be no further chance for negotiations. Vandham wanted them both out of his way, and Amalthus knew all too well that Indol’s military might far exceeded the rest of Alrest’s expectations. This backwater Titan had nothing to compare.

Still, he felt a tinge uneasy as it crossed his mind that Eulogimenos surely knew he was outmatched as well. Sure, the king didn’t know Indol’s full abilities, but Tantal appeared to have no way to defend against aerial attacks and Indol was very obviously a dragon.

Either Eulogimenos wanted to be a martyr or had something up his sleeve. Given that the Tantalese had descended from old Torna, he was inclined to believe the latter.

They stopped walking as the leading soldier conversed with a prison guard at the end of the dungeon hallway. From what Amalthus could hear, they had no open cells, so he’d be with other prisoners. And the guards wanted longer lunch breaks, as if the place wasn’t understaffed already. Discussing such things now was, in Amalthus’ opinion, grossly unprofessional. Could they not complain about working conditions later?

A guard flipped through a notebook, searching for which room to put the Indoline prisoner in. After a moment, he pushed Amalthus towards the first cell. Another guard opened the door and he was ushered inside.

To his surprise, the two people inside were not Tantalese but instead Ardainian. He had of course heard that the former Special Inquisitor was moved to Tantal. It had honestly surprised him; he’d expected the senators to execute the Inquisitor and pass the Jewel of Mor Ardain onto someone else before its reputation could be sullied.

The Indoline spoke first. “Mòrag and Brighid of Mor Ardain, I assume.”

“Yes,” the Blade - Brighid - nodded. “Who are you?”

“Quaestor Amalthus,” he replied, listening to his own voice bounce around the room. What nice acoustics.

“How did you end up here?”

“Negotiating. Indol and Tantal’s relations have been fraught with tension for decades now. Something like this was bound to happen.”

“Interesting. You have our condolences.”

“Thank you, though you do not need to worry about me. I have long wanted a change of pace from the constants of Indol, anyway. Oh, and you both have my condolences, as well.”

“Thank you,” Mòrag’s eyes shifted over to Brighid for a moment before she continued, “but I must ask one thing. How is Mor Ardain?”

“Are you still loyal to it? Actually, it’s not my place to ask. In any case, the Empire is faring well. There is still no sign of Emperor Niall, and for a few days it appeared that the senate would take over. However, the Praetor swiftly took action. I have it on good word that it was in fact your sentencing that convinced His Eminence to do so. Apparently the senators left a rather unpleasant impression on him.”

“I’m not sure if that provides any comfort,” Mòrag mused. “No offense, but I would rather not be known as a traitor who enabled the Praetorium to infiltrate our government.”

“That is a perfectly fair concern,” Amalthus assured her. “The Praetor has helped to install a new Emperor. While hardly an expected choice, he will do well.”

“Who?” Mòrag demanded.

Oh no. This wouldn’t go over well. He could only hope Mòrag wasn’t one to shoot the messenger, as it were. His eyes trailed to the Blade. Hopefully it would understand the message and reroute the conversation-

“Is it that bad?” Brighid asked.

Ah. Curses. “It’s… well…”

“Quaestor?” They all paused as a knock was heard from the cell's door. The voice belonged to the talkative monk from the ship - Amalthus hadn’t bothered to learn his name - and the lack of a Tantalese accent was perhaps a bit too clear.

“Yes?” Amalthus replied, all too happy to change the topic.

“As you can tell, we are successfully in position. We can proceed whenever you are ready. Indol has just become visible from Theosir.”

“Already? Vandham is moving fast. I will be ready to join you in just a moment.”

“Very well, Your-”

“Quaestor.”

“Of course. Quaestor.”

Amalthus’ fingers curled inward, long fingernails digging into his skin. After taking a deep breath, he turned his head to face Mòrag.

“What were you planning to do after your release?”

“I would keep searching for my brother,” Mòrag responded instantly.

“It would also be prudent to learn more about what happened in Mor Ardain,” Brighid added.

Amalthus nodded, before standing. He moved to the door, knocking on it evenly. After a moment, the outside voice returned.

“Yes, quaestor?”

“We should depart now.”

“Understood.”

“Oh, and one more thing. It seems that the Ardainians may be coming after all.”

The cell door opened smoothly. The three figures who rescued them were disguised in Tantalese armor, as they had planned. Amalthus stood, brushing some dust off his robes. He moved to the exit, before turning back to the other prisoners.

“I would advise you to come along. We will be leaving Genbu after a short detour.”

“What do you want from us?” Mòrag asked.

The quaestor’s mouth curled upwards in amusement. “Nothing. You will be allowed to part ways with us whenever you wish to. What servant of the Architect would leave others to perish?”

“What makes you so sure that we would die here?” Brighid asked.

“Indol, of course.”

“Indol? Does this have something to do with those Torna allegations?”

Amalthus looked at them oddly for a moment, before understanding set in. “How much do you know of the relationship between Indol and Tantal?”

“Very little. As Tantal seems to interact exclusively with Indol, it is often assumed that they are at least amicable.”

“Very logical, but far from the truth. Tantal entrusted Indol with their deepest secrets, and the Praetorium took full advantage of that. Recently, King Eulogimenos decided to take a stand against Indol. Admirable, but as a result, Tantal will most likely be gone by nightfall.”

“That soon? Is Indol’s military that effective?”

“Absolutely,” Amalthus said, a hint of pride slipping past his measured demeanor, “Which is why we need to get out of Theosir quickly.”

Mòrag and Brighid glanced at each other, coming to a silent conclusion. Staying in Tantal was not worth the risk. They stood up, walking over to the door. That was hardly a surprise; they had no other options, really.

While Amalthus didn’t expect them to have information on the one thing that had been bothering him, there was no reason to not ask. “Do you two have any idea of what Eulogimenos plans to do? His actions, for lack of a better term, do not make sense.”

“I’m not sure,” Mòrag said, “we weren’t privy to any of their plans.”

It was Brighid who spoke next, placing a hand on Mòrag’s arm. “Hold on a moment, Lady Mòrag. Could this have something to do with what we heard a few days ago?”

Amalthus watched with some bemusement. Of course the Blade needed permission to elaborate. Some Drivers put such effort into acting as if equality existed between them and their Blades, but the truth was clear as day; Blades were crafted to be servants by the Architect. Was it cruel? Yes, undoubtedly so. But its validity was evident. And perhaps in a sense it was generous that the Architect even bothered to give humanity tools, though in his heart Amalthus knew they were all mistakes.

Mòrag finished a silent conversation with her Blade and Brighid spoke once more. “The guards were recently speaking of a powerful weapon stored below the castle. I’ll admit that I didn’t understand some of the technical details, but the gossip seemed to suggest it was a long-ranged device of some sort.”

One of the disguised monks turned to Amalthus. “My apologies for interrupting… quaestor. It is likely that the next few rooms will contain Tantalese soldiers. How would you like us to deal with them?”

“If it is possible to avoid violence, that would be ideal. Conflict will only slow us down.”

“Perhaps you could pretend that we are still under Tantalese custody,” Mòrag said. “With your disguises, the soldiers may not suspect anything.”

The monk looked to Amalthus for confirmation. 

The quaestor nodded. “It’s worth a try.”

The monks slightly tightened their circle around the group, with a few grabbing Amalthus, Mòrag, and Brighid’s wrists to make things look more authentic.

In hindsight, they really didn’t need to.

The Tantalese soldiers were all distracted, playing a game of cards in the room’s corner. There was a pile of gold sitting between them. Mòrag gave them a judgmental stare. Soldiers shirking their duties in favor of gambling seemed to be a constant in Alrest.

“I win again!” One shouted triumphantly, scooping up the gold.

The soldier sitting next to him shook with rage. “You- you must have cheated! I need that money!”

He dove into the winner, knocking him to the floor. Within seconds, the soldiers were all trying to pummel each other.

The group watching them slowly crept to the door with wide eyes. The moment the distant sounds of bad decisions and murder were gone, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

“Humanity,” Amalthus sighed. “The remains of Torna have truly fallen.”

The monks released their wrists, allowing the supposed captives to spread out once more. In the process Brighid’s arm brushed against Amalthus and he almost jumped in surprise. In all honesty, he couldn’t recall the last time he had human contact, and while Brighid was technically a Blade, she felt almost too human. Luckily nobody else seemed to notice the brief moment of contact.

They went down a final flight of stairs, and came to an empty room. There were long shelves lining the walls, but each and every one was empty.

“During reconnaissance, Tantal’s Core Crystals were here,” a monk told Amalthus, “did any of you hear rumors of the enemy moving them?”

Amalthus, Mòrag, and Brighid shook their heads.

“Could they be moved deeper into the castle?” Amalthus asked.

“Unlikely, quaestor. There is only one room below here, and we were not permitted to enter it, even under disguise. Given what Lady Mòrag and Lady Brighid said, that room is more likely to house this secret weapon.”

“Ah, I see.” Amalthus turned to Mòrag as it occurred to him that she had no knowledge of their mission. It… would probably be best to avoid saying they were ransacking the castle for the crystals Amalthus needed to enact the Architect’s will. Not only was that a mouthful, but it also sounded suspicious. He settled for a more convenient explanation. “I was tasked with returning Tantal’s Core Crystals to their rightful place in the Praetorium. My apologies for not informing you of this detour sooner.”

“Don’t concern yourself over it,” Mòrag replied, “you are helping us. I am hardly worried over a small error.”

“Excellent.”

“On the topic of the Core Crystals, if neither Tantal nor Indol had the means or purpose to move them, could a third party be involved?”

“A third party?”

“If this were Mor Ardain, for example, I would suspect various rebel groups or political factions.”

“I understand what you mean, but Genbu is unkind to its denizens. There is little rebellion here from what I know. Still, we will keep our eyes open and our ears focused.”

“Should we return to the ship now?” The excitable monk asked.

“We may as well head in that direction, yes.”

“Wait,” Mòrag said. “Not to impose, but do you not wish to do something about Tantal’s weapon? If so, I would be willing to help, and the same could surely be said for Brighid.”

The Blade nodded in assent. Amalthus stopped to think. It was a smart offer; if they aided the Praetorium they would be more likely to strike a deal with Vandham, if it came to that. Of course, they were also helping him, and Vandham wouldn’t appreciate that. But it wasn’t as if Mòrag knew the intricacies of Indoline politics. As for whether he should accept the offer…

It would be in his best interest to say no. The Architect wanted Alrest to crumble. Allowing Indol to fall, assuming Eulogimenos could somehow succeed, would be a major step in the right direction. But all the same, many of his followers were on Indol. Hector was on Indol too, and Amalthus could still use allies. Yes, surely the Architect would understand.

(He’d always had trouble pulling the trigger when it counted. Maybe that was why he only killed when it was too late and the blood of innocents had already been spilled.)

“I would be honored to receive your aid. Everyone, lead us to this weapon. If we pass any soldiers on the way, you may use lethal force. The Architect will turn a blind eye as long as your blades fall upon the heretics of this land.”

“Is that how the Praetorium describes the Architect?” Mòrag asked as they began walking down another flight of stairs.

Amalthus looked at her, keen eyes meeting hers. “Do I sense sarcasm? Please, do not take this the wrong way. Indol has long struggled with how violence and war fit in the Architect’s vision. It is with no small amount of sorrow and consideration that I conclude he is not watching.”

Mòrag frowned but did not press the issue. They reached the end of the stairs, coming to a large door. Amalthus stepped inside behind a guard and his eyes widened. There was a large device in the center of the room pointed at the far wall. With the two pronged cannon’s glowing ether lines, it was clearly active, imposing, and familiar.

“An ether accelerator,” Amalthus gasped. “When did they…?”

“What exactly is that?” Mòrag asked.

“A weapon from old Torna. I recall seeing one many years ago.”

He had managed to watch it being tested. It was impressive, though the Tornans’ ambitions to replicate their barbarous Titan were concerning to him. Seeing it again, with the Tantalese king standing near its base, he felt his fears had been validated.

“You should not be here,” Eulogimenos proclaimed, adjusting something on the cannon’s control panel as the guards behind him raised their weapons.

“Our apologies for the disturbance,” Amalthus said politely, stepping forward as his guards raised their spears in turn, “but resistance against the Praetorium cannot be tolerated.”

Eulogimenos’ shoulders raised and fell in what was probably a long sigh. “Very well. Though it brings me no joy, you must be destroyed. How long before the accelerator is charged?”

“Three minutes,” a Tantalese soldier replied.

The room broke into chaos as Amalthus’ monks charged.

“Traitors?” Eulogimenos frowned.

“No,” the soldier said, “look at the way they hold their spears. Whoever they are, they aren’t ours.”

“Spies, then? Has the Praetorium not defiled our land enough?”

“Perhaps- ah!” The soldier collapsed in a wave of blue flames.

“Why do you fight?” Eulogimenos shouted over the clash of spears, ducking behind the control panel. “Has Indol deceived you as well?!”

“I cannot support the destruction of a Titan,” Mòrag replied as she struck down a soldier, rolling away from another’s spear. “No matter your reasons, this ether accelerator must be stopped.”

“If I do that, Genbu will be destroyed. It is not a question of destroying a Titan, but a question of which Titan to destroy.”

Amalthus slipped around the edge of the fighting to approach Eulogimenos. He may not have been an expert on combat, but it was clear that Mòrag and Brighid were far and away the best fighters here. Surely Eulogimenos saw it too, and that was why he sought to win them over.

“Incorrect,” Amalthus said as he moved, “Genbu’s fall is already very certain.”

“Do you not understand?” Eulogimenos shouted back, “this weapon will sink Indol and free us from the Praetorium’s grasp! Tantal will flourish like never before!”

“I may not be an engineer, but I have been fortunate enough to spend many years with Alrest’s finest scientists. There are many ways to explain the problems with your plan, but it should suffice to say that Titans are as alive as the rest of us. In order to hit Indol, the beam will need to pierce through Genbu’s head, correct?”

“Genbu is strong. It will not-”

“Mòrag. Have you ever driven those swords of yours through a living creature’s head? If so, you understand the dangers of this plan.”

Amalthus’ monks were overcoming the Tantalese force. With Brighid’s help, a final soldier was thrown to the floor.

”Stop!” Eulogimenos shouted with kingly authority, “the weapon is ready to fire! Step forward and I will vanquish your abhorrent Praetorium!”

Amalthus frowned. This was, to put it lightly, a very large problem. Eulogimenos’ soldiers were all out of commission, but the man himself was too far away to strike down before he could fire on Indol. Amalthus would need to lure him away from the control panel, then. How could…

Ah.

The solution was so simple that he was surprised it hadn’t come to him sooner.

“Prepare yourself,” he whispered to Mòrag. “Be ready for when he strikes.”

She nodded and Amalthus took half a step forward.

“Eulogimenos. Do you truly believe striking down Indol is a necessary evil? Would you press that button, knowing that it condemns every pure child on the Titan to death?”

“I will do what must be done.”

“What if I told you your child was on Indol at this very moment?”

“Zeke?”

“The one and only.”

“What do you know of Zeke?”

“I came across Zeke some time ago, bloodied and unconscious in a forest. Quite honestly, he appeared rather pathetic at that moment and I certainly would not have expected such a figure to be a prince. Regardless, I saved the boy and brought him to Indol. He has worked closely with us ever since. I ask you again; can you truly in good conscience fire this weapon at your child?”

Eulogimenos did not reply. His fingers twitched over the control panel.

“He has grown well under the Praetorium’s influence,” Amalthus continued, “even though he has gotten into trouble at times. Indeed, we have had many discussions over the importance of proper planning. I must confess, I was hoping that such open-minded cheerfulness would be present in you as well. But Zeke did warn me that such an expectation would be foolish.”

Eulogimenos’ eyebrows creased as he scowled. “Be careful with your words. You are still in my nation and your own lies under the crosshairs-”

“I am only passing on the good news of your child’s growth,” Amalthus said innocently, “and perhaps it would also be prudent to inform you that his Blade has been a good companion to young Zeke as well. In fact, I have heard many of the younger Indolines speculating on the nature of their relationship. While I cannot see the wisdom in romance between a Driver and Blade, those two do present a most compelling case.”

“Silence!” Eulogimenos shouted. “You will not defile my home with sick tales of my son and his Blade!”

Amalthus let the corners of his mouth rise into a smile. Architect help him, but he found this to be rather fun. “I think it is only fair to do so. They have certainly defiled my home in a much more tangible way, after all.”

Eyes blazing, Eulogimenos scooped a spear from his fallen guards off the ground and charged at Amalthus.

He crumpled to the grounds seconds later with one of Mòrag’s swords wedged in his throat.

Amalthus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If Indol wasn’t about to attack, he’d probably walk back to their cell and take a nap. Life-threatening situations had never been his thing.

“It’s over,” Mòrag said calmly; surely the sight before them was merely an average one to her. “I’m sure this isn’t the best time, but if I may…”

“Go on.”

“Those things you said about Zeke. Are they really true?”

“All except for the last sentence,” Amalthus replied, “Why do you ask?”

“I was simply curious.”

Amalthus frowned, still displaying minimal emotion. “We should return to our ship. There is nothing here for us anymore.”

The monks replied in a stoic chorus. “Yes, quaestor.”

“Those of you in Tantalese armor, it would be wise to surround us again.”

The disguised monks obliged, and they left the palace. The people in Theosir were all distracted by the Indoline Titan’s sudden appearance in the skies above, not even bothering to look at the group.

“Do they not know of Indol’s abilities?” Mòrag wondered. “The civilians should have evacuated or found cover.”

“They don’t know any better,” Amalthus said with complete indifference. “I highly doubt Eulogimenos told them of his plan.”

“Even so, surely they would understand the threat of an approaching Titan, especially one led by a hostile force.”

“Perhaps some do. But until they are faced with an immediate threat, they’ll likely continue gawking up at Indol.” Amalthus’ voice turned bitter with the words, a slight frown creasing his face. “It was so back in Torna, and Judicium, and Coeia. Everyone always waits, until the last moments.”

“We should warn them.”

“What good will that do? Indol’s forces will eventually descend on this Titan.”

“Nevertheless, we could at least give them a chance,” Brighid said. “You did say that you wanted to help us, as a servant of the Architect. All these people are in a similar position, so we should extend the offer of help to them.”

“A touching perspective. Alrest could use more people and Blades like you. But… there is a difference. You both have things left to accomplish, things that motivated you to follow me when you heard of Indol’s approach. The people here… they have no future. Indol will tear Theosir down, and what nation would take in the survivors? Any that did would risk angering the Praetorium, the very source of their Core Crystals.”

Mòrag responded first. “Would it not be your job, and Indol’s, to forgive them? That is what the Praetorium preaches, with its hymns of guidance and ideals.”

“And besides, there’s no harm in trying to give them a warning,” Brighid added. “Even if nothing came of it, such a thing would reflect nicely on your character.”

“It would risk our chances of escape, and for what? If they survive, they will be rounded up and taken to Indol. If they were to escape this place, their lives would be worse for it.” Amalthus continued walking as he spoke, keeping them surrounded by Indoline monks. It may have been their cover, but it was also a boundary; Mòrag and Brighid were effectively cut off from Tantal’s people.

“Worse?” Mòrag asked. “How so? Indol has historically supported refugees. And surely there are plenty of nations that would be willing to take in refugees if the Praetorium approved it.”

Amalthus sighed. He shook his head, just enough for Mòrag to see a glimpse of his eyes. The movement was admittedly calculated but the sadness in his eyes was sincere.

After a moment, he began to speak quietly. “I worked for Indol’s refugee camps, once. Surviving war and strife did the refugees no favors. The physical wounds we could treat, but the mental ones…” He trailed off, lost in memories. “Those who escaped burning buildings could only speak of lost possessions. Those who survived raids from armies and bandits only felt guilt for the ones they left behind. And it all turned to hatred. The refugees in Indol fight and steal from themselves, calling for the removal of Blades, the Empire, the Praetorium… their broken souls latch onto whatever fantasy promises them a path to power and decadence. And as for the nations that you speak of, the ones who would take in these people… the rulers and aristocrats heading such programs are not interested in recovery . All the survivors are nothing more than numbers, tools to be used for gaining praise and acclaim. It has always been a worthwhile investment, I’m sure. Buy just enough tents and rations to keep refugees alive, and even kings will praise your charity. Others rarely sought to investigate how the conditions were at such places. It was always far easier to believe that everything was well.”

“I see. I shall have to investigate Mor Ardian’s handling of such things when I return to the Empire.”

Amalthus gave her an odd look.

Mòrag returned the stare evenly. “What? As His Majesty’s right hand, that is well within my power. Change could take time, with the Senate involved, but it can happen.”

Amalthus slowed for a moment as he figured out how to respond. “The sentiment is most definitely appreciated. Thank you.”

He turned a little too quickly, focusing on the path ahead without another word. Still, he could hear Mòrag and Brighid whispering behind him.

“What? Did I say anything wrong?”

“Not wrong, but… with His Majesty missing, and with our arrest, we… well, you know.”

“...Ah. Of course.”

“These things happen,” the Fire Blade reassured her, “It isn’t something to worry about.”

“Of course. I am perfectly fine, but thank you for the concern.”

Amalthus pretended to not hear the exchange. Their expulsion from the Empire was fascinating, but their feelings on the matter were ultimately theirs alone. He had no business intruding on their mourning, especially if it kept them following instead of wasting time on the Tantalese people. They walked out of Theosir’s back gate, where the Indoline’s Titan vessel was supposed to be waiting. It was nowhere to be found.

“I assume the ship should be here by now?” Amalthus said quietly to the monk beside him

The monk nodded. Casting a glance up at Indol, Amalthus sighed in resignation.

“It is too dangerous to wait. We should head down to the ship’s last known destination. Even if it isn’t there, we’ll be further from Indol and Theosir.”

Brighid spoke again. “We really should at least try to help Tantal. Even if life would be difficult for them elsewhere, they would eventually be able to find new homes, away from the refugee camps. Giving them a second chance at life would surely be good for everyone.”

“I thought so too, once.” Amalthus didn’t look back. “But the one time I encountered someone I knew from a refugee camp, they proved otherwise. It is like I said. Those who take this ‘second chance’ will only use it to further their ambitions.”

They began to descend a large slope of snow and ice. Amalthus addressed Mòrag and Brighid, who were doubtlessly wondering if the Indoline forces had any sense of direction.

“As you may have gathered, our arranged transport is missing. It was supposed to go down to the lower level of Genbu, and then pick us up.”

“The lower levels?” Brighid asked. “How would you even get a ship down there?”

“One of Indol’s best pilots assured us it was possible. Sadly, I did not press him for details.”

They reached the bottom of the icy incline, only to realize that there was nowhere to go. Looking back, they found a small path they had missed, leading ever so slightly closer to the frozen lake below. With a collective groan of frustration, they started back up the slope.

“Your name is Analthus, correct?” Mòrag asked, mainly to have something other than her missing brother to think about.

The talkative monk made a choking sound. Amalthus gave him a serene smile that was somewhere between all is well and shut up .

“Amalthus, but close enough.”

“I see. Were you after the man who climbed the World Tree?”

“No, not quite.”

“Oh? Then, if you don’t mind me asking, what was the reason?”

Amalthus minded that very much. Still, shutting down the conversation would hardly help his image, and after their rampage through the castle and abandonment of the Tantalese people, Mòrag’s opinion of his was likely below where he needed it to be.

He reluctantly decided to entertain the question. “In truth, I do not know.”

There were a dozen excuses and stories he could spin; something about the history of the name or a false anecdote about his mother’s life would do the trick. And yet, reaching for any of them reminded him of steamed vegetables and fresh fruit that had long since gone extinct and a time when he was called Ammy.

He sighed. “Mother never told me.”

“Oh.” Seemingly Mòrag sensed something in his tone and knew not to pry. 

Amalthus chuckled quietly and redirected the conversation. “Actually, I was the one to climb the tree. As far as I know, my name is still rather uncommon in Indol.”

“Really? Then that would make you…”

“Over five centuries old, yes. I think I’ve aged rather well, though. Most people seem to think I am considerably younger.”

That was the truth, even around other Indoline. Throughout the years, Amalthus had kept his slim, tall figure. Any Indoline person half as old as him would be covered in wrinkles, like the old, stout, Praetor Rhadallis. The piece of a Core Crystal in his back had spared Amalthus from such a fate, however. Even a small piece of the Architect’s work truly held amazing power.

“So… if you climbed the World Tree, what was up there?” Brighid asked Amalthus.

“Many things. In truth, we have no words to describe some of them. Though I suspect you will wish to hear of it anyway.”

It was more a statement than a question. There was likely no one in Alrest who would pass up on such information.

Amalthus was quiet for a moment, debating what to say. “The World Tree… is no mere tree. That much is certain. Though it would take divine instruments to truly explore its depths, I was able to scratch the surface of the Architect’s work. I will not say much more on the topic, regrettably. I mean no offense or frustration, but humanity can only be harmed by the secrets of the divine.”

Suddenly, the world lit up in a blinding flash of light. With a resounding bang, the night sky lit up, harsh blue lights bursting from Indol’s distant wings. For a moment, Genbu appeared to be the earth and Indol the sun.

Then the arcing sunlight crashed down in a screaming wave of ether. The ground trembled as Genbu itself shifted. In a series of violent cracks, the ice under the travelers splintered apart, falling to the frozen lake below.

Chapter Text

High above Tantal, the Indoline Titan was firing a steady beam of energy through the gaps in Genbu’s back. Its wings lit up before blasting six smaller beams at Theosir. Even from the lower level of the Titan, a wave of flames and smoke could be seen drifting across the sky.

Somehow, everyone survived the drop, landing at the edge of the freezing drifts. Mòrag and Brighid were standing a small distance away from the Indolines, though they were all looking up at the smoldering city they had occupied minutes prior. With another beam’s descent, a fresh wave of smoke rose into the air. A chunk of ancient stone and a burning tent were blown off the cliff. They plummeted into the ice almost directly behind Mòrag.

“Perhaps we should get moving,” she said to the Indoline group that was still wholly focused on the distant conflict.

“Right,” Amalthus replied. “Let us go onward, everyone.”

They moved around the sides of the lake, making sure to avoid any stray pieces of Theosir. A thick fog began to set in.

“Are we almost there?” Brighid asked. “From what I’ve heard, stronger creatures appear with the fog here.”

“Yes,” Amalthus responded, eyes trailing off to something in the distance. “It should just be a few minutes-”

He stopped, yellow eyes narrowed. “…Is that a flying cucumber?”

Large, green, and vaguely squid shaped creatures flew through the mist. Massive tentacles wrapped around stone spires as the monsters slowed to a halt. One of the jumbo cucumbers clung to an ancient tower nearby. Amalthus eyed it suspiciously, as if it was a used Titan salesman.

“Why would the Architect even craft such a being?”

“I doubt anyone in Alrest could tell you that,” Mòrag said as they walked past the inexplicable beast. “Personally, I’ve been wondering about something else.”

“And that would be?”

“Your thoughts on what Indol has done to Tantal.”

Amalthus turned back, looking up at Theosir. He could see the distant orange glow of flames, despite the dense fog. Either the fires from Indol’s beams had spread, or the Indoline Stars had started attacking. “Like most conflicts, it is wholly unnecessary. But using such force is typical for humanity.”

“Then could you not stop it? I understand quite well that it is difficult for a single person to change the course of a nation, but I would hope that Indol’s politicians would not be so hungry for war.”

In truth, Indoline politicians were far more concerned with lining their pockets than expanding territory; the story was that Indol was the Architect’s chosen Titan anyway, so there was little need for such expansion. Still, Praetor Vandham had entered the Praetorium like a sledgehammer, dismantling the unspoken trends that had gone unchallenged for centuries. Vandham’s position was indeed tenuous, but Amalthus had chosen not to directly challenge it.

“You’ve seen the politicians in Mor Ardain,” Amalthus said, brushing snow off his sleeve as he walked. “Indol may be a different Titan and the Indoline may look different than Ardainians, but in the end? They are all humans.”

“I suppose that makes sense. Still, I hoped the Praetorium would be better in such matters.”

“I feel much the same.”

They turned at some more ruins, leading down a slope in a man-made valley. At the bottom, an Indoline transport Titan sat patiently.

“There it is,” Amalthus said, sounding quite relieved by the discovery.

“Why did you send it here in the first place?” Mòrag asked. She may have been replaced as Mor Ardain’s Special Inquisitor, but the inquisitive instincts remained.

“Because of the artifact left just beyond this hill. Unfortunately, things seem to have gone wrong. I would assume that Indol has retrieved the core themselves.”

“That’s right.” A voice that was unfamiliar to everyone except for Amalthus shouted from behind the ship. “All your monks did was stall us long enough for one of those Indoline birds to take it.”

Amalthus froze at the words. A gray Titan, grass and moss growing from its back, leapt into the air above the ship. Its two wings were spread wide, and its horned face was watching them.

No. It’s been centuries! Surely it’s not him… but it has to be.

A blast of purple energy soared above the creature. Amalthus cursed his luck in a display that would have doubtlessly been criticized to no end in Indol. Everyone else stared at him.

Why here?! And both of them?

Suddenly, the Titan was above them. Fire rained down, incinerating anyone within their path. When he landed, all of Amalthus’ forces were dead. Amalthus himself was only spared because Brighid created an ether barrier in front of him and her Driver.

…Meanwhile, the Titan was quietly chastising its rider for calling an Indoline Star a bird. 

After a moment, the Titan turned to face Amalthus.

“Amalthus. It has been a while,” Azurda growled.

The Blade on Azurda jumped down to the snow. His matching black armor and hair made for an intimidating sight. Destructive energy coursed through his odd weapon, originating from the open circle on its hilt. His Core Crystal was a brilliant, harsh blue.

Amalthus scowled at the Blade he’d never wanted. “What are you doing here, Malos?”

Malos spread out his arms and spoke, mimicking the quaestor’s forced and formal tone with uncomfortable accuracy. “What are you doing here?”

Amalthus glared at him until Malos laughed bitterly and shrugged. “What, do you want me to go first? Fine. Gramps and I were just on an official Torna business trip. After your crew wasted our time, we decided to make the most of it and deal with you.”

“Dare I ask what your ‘business trip’ was meant to accomplish?”

Malos gestured to a bag on Arzurda’s large back. Amalthus could see a giant pile of blue cores sticking out of it.

Malos answered Amalthus’s question with a fiendish grin. “Taking what we need. The Tantalese were just sitting on all these cores. Maybe if they hadn’t, they'd've survived today. But it seems like they’re just like the rest of you; hungering for oblivion.”

“You don’t know what you’re speaking of, Malos.”

“ I don’t know?,” Malos said, shaking his head. “I thought I was a tool of our dear old dad. Isn’t that what you told me, Amalthus? If I don’t know what this world needs, who does!?”

His sword flared, before he launched himself at Amalthus.

In hindsight, this confrontation was bound to happen at some point. In hindsight, Amalthus should’ve prepared for this. In hindsight, Amalthus should have received the slightest bit of combat training so he could avoid at least a single strike from his rogue Blade. But he hadn’t, and Malos’ sword sliced neatly into him.

For a single surreal moment, Amalthus felt the hot, stinging wound across his chest meet the freezing air. Then Malos spun and kicked him in the stomach, and the world became a blurry mess of whites, greys, and reds. The Core Crystal implanted in his back kicked into overdrive, and Amalthus could feel it running hot as it pumped ether into his body. The world straightened, and he belatedly realized he was sprawled across the snowy ground with Malos standing over him.

“Still here, huh?” Malos looked down at his own hands and Amalthus wondered if the Blade truly believed Amalthus was the defective, suicidal one. Preposterous. His eyes were drawn to Malos’ strange sword as the Blade ran his hand along the flat face of the weapon. Arcane symbols took shape around the sword as the purple light it emanated intensified.

“It’s finally over,” Malos said, staring down his Driver as he raised his blade. “Good riddance, Amalt-”

Malos was launched into the nearby cliff face, armor cracking loudly. The spot where he had stood was engulfed by blue flames. Mòrag and Brighid dashed forward, Mòrag swinging her whiplike swords forward as Brighid established a golden affinity link.

“Another guest at the party!?” Malos snarled as he was pushed further back. 

Mòrag tossed her swords to Brighid, who had snuck to Malos’ side. Brighid spun with the burning weapons, and the Dark Blade found himself thrown into the rocks again. Mòrag took the whips from Brighid, snapping them into sword form and lunging forward-

But the killing blow did not connect with her target as a wave of fire washed over them. 

Azurda kept the blast on them. It was blocked by Brighid’s ether barrier. As the fire subsided, Mòrag tossed her weapons to her Blade.

Brighid dashed forward, flames and metal lashing around her. The Titan was driven back by a flurry of searing attacks.

Suddenly, he leapt into the air, casting a massive shadow that covered both Brighid and Mòrag. There was a moment of calm, letting the Driver and Blade appreciate the full scale of their predicament. Then they both jumped as far as they could.

The Titan crashed down behind them, hurling snow into the air from the sheer force of his attack.

Malos used the opportunity to jump back into action, striking at Mòrag’s side. Their blades met, locking together with a shower of sparks.

“Something about you seems… familiar,” Malos mused.

“We’ve never met,” Mòrag responded bluntly.

“Really?” Malos suddenly jumped back, landing at Azurda’s side.”What do you think, Gramps?”

“Well, I certainly know that Blade,” the ancient Titan said. He twisted his head to give Malos a meaningful look. “But the Driver… well, she appears to be Ardainian.”

“Ah, that’s it. You’re that missing royal kid’s cousin.”

“Niall?” Mòrag raised both whipswords, letting flames run across them. “What do you know about him?”

“Who says I know anything?” Malos spread out his arms with a self-satisfied smirk. “Plenty of people know who the emperor is. Or… was.”

They charged at each other, weapons clashing against each other again.

“You know something,” Mòrag stated, deflecting Malos’ sword before swinging at his head.

“Maybe I do.” Malos stepped to the side, purple ether forming in his free hand. “But I’m not here to discuss the kid. I’m here for Core Crystals…” his gaze slid over to Amalthus, “and murder.”

Amalthus stepped back nervously as Malos raised his hand. A dark sphere blasted directly at the Indoline Driver’s head…

But Brighid stepped between them, blocking the projectile. Mòrag attacked again, managing to break Malos’ ether barrier and scoring a hit on his side. Brighid swung out her arm, launching a swarm of small fireballs into the air. With his defenses broken, Malos was unable to block the attack, instead resorting to swatting at the fire with his sword.

While he was distracted, Mòrag stepped forward, slamming a sword into Malos’ armor and knocking him to the ground.

Before he could move, the Driver held one of her weapons to his neck. “What do you know about my brother?”

Malos chuckled at that. “Brother, huh? Is that a sentimental thing?”

“It isn’t your business to know.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’m not judging you for it or anything. You just reminded me of a colleague with all that sappy stuff.”

“Enough of this drivel,” Mòrag snapped. “This is your last chance. Tell me what-”

“Mòrag, look out!” Brighid leapt in front of her Driver, raising her hexagonal ether barrier. A moment later, fire washed over them.

Azurda, who had sent out a torrent of flames, swept the blaze upwards. The top of the cliff crumbled apart… and the snow at the top melted into slush and water, which cascaded down the rocks. 

Mòrag and Brighid, who were facing the Titan, didn’t see the effects of the fire. The freezing water rushed over them, extinguishing the fire on the whipswords. Brighid quickly collapsed under the water’s sudden impact. Mòrag was knocked to the ground by the force as well, dropping her weapons. When she tried to stand, a soaked Malos unceremoniously kicked her with the finesse of a practiced warrior. She collapsed next to her Blade, both unconscious.

“Did you have to drop all of that on me , Azurda?” Malos complained, trying to fix his disoriented hair.

“Perhaps if you paid more attention to your surroundings, you would not have needed my help,” Azurda scolded.

Malos had no response, as he was busy scanning the area.

Amalthus crept up behind Azurda. During the chaos, he had slipped out of sight behind the Titan. The massive bag of Core Crystals was still tied to the Titan’s back.

I need that bag. Ideally, I could take it and flee, but outrunning Malos while towing around such a large sack of crystals would be impossible. It would also be highly embarrassing.

Malos’ eyes swept around, nearly catching him. Amalthus froze.

At the very least, getting the bag could give me ample grounds for negotiation.

It was a desperate plan. Considering, well, literally everything that had happened between Amalthus and his Blade, Malos would prioritize killing him over anything. Still, it was better than nothing. He leapt for the bag and-

“Pay attention to your surroundings, Gramps !” Malos shouted accusingly, pointing at the quaestor. 

Azurda quickly swung around, and as he turned, something slipped out of the bag and into Amalthus’ hand. Before he could look at it, he was slammed across the snow yet again. Azurda’s menacing face towered above him as the Titan prepared to strike. 

With a low gasp, Azurda paused and looked to the side, noticing the unfamiliar crystal that had fallen into the quaestor’s hand. It was glowing.

Following his eyes, Amalthus and Malos simultaneously cursed.

Belatedly, Amalthus hurled the Core Crystal away with all his strength. It bounced off Azurda’s head and landed a short distance away.

The Titan shook his head in bewilderment as Amalthus coughed into his fist, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

Then the Core Crystal erupted into sparks and a cloud of ether, writhing as if to contain a wild spirit.

Amalthus peered into the ether, recoiling in shock at the face that stared back.

The Blade had two piercing blue eyes to match its Core Crystal. Around it was a gold-plated jaw and angled face that stared at him hungrily with shining teeth. The Blade looked to be a distasteful mixture between a reptile and some sort of bug.

A strange, backwards-looking dagger appeared in its hand as it looked around. Chains hung from plates of armor on the Blade’s crooked frame, and for a moment Amalthus wondered if it was a demon from the depths of Morytha. It looked at him, and to his credit, he didn’t flinch. When cornered by rogue Blades, one had to take the little victories in life.

“Driver,” it said in a raspy hiss, “Who’re we bashing?”

Ugh, it was just like Malos. And speaking of…

Malos’ sword collided with the other Blade’s weapon as he leapt forward.

“Get out of the way!” Malos shouted. “You don’t owe him anything!”

The Blade changed a glance back at Amalthus and decided the Indoline clearly wasn’t about to bash anyone.

“Move!” It hissed, spinning back and firing a line of sickly green ether at Amalthus.

He did not avoid flinching this time. The blast flashed by his head, passing by mere inches from his body. Just as quickly as it gathered, the wind swirled away and left Amalthus gaping in the middle of a snowy haze.

He belatedly realized the Blade had provided him with a smokescreen - or snowscreen, as it was - and ducked behind the building that had once held the Omega Fetter.

Even from his position, Amalthus could easily hear Malos’ raging voice. “Why are you doing this? Who do you think you’re helping!? Because no matter who you’re thinking of, you aren’t helping a thing!”

Amalthus peeked around the side of the building. Malos and the Blade were locked in fierce combat, trading blows and leaping around with such raw brutality that Amalthus felt the urge to hide again. Azurda was nowhere to be seen, probably searching for him or other Indoline forces.

“You’re right,” his new Blade rasped, “I don’t have any big altruistic reason for this. But I need a Driver to live, and I want to live. Got it?”

Malos hurled a ball of ether at the Blade’s elongated head. “You don’t get it. Let me tell you, as one of his Blades just like you… we aren’t ‘living’. As long as he lives, we can’t! Which is why…”

The purplish-black sword lit up as Malos hammered blow after blow into his opponent’s defenses. “He… needs… to… DIE!”

His sword fell a final time, and for a moment it looked like he was going to cleave straight through the Blade’s weapon. But then the Blade tensed and drove a claw into Malos’ stomach.

“What the-” Malos stumbled back, gasping for air. “You… you animal-!”

Suddenly, Malos was tackled as Amalthus’ new Blade tore at his armor with both claws, laughing all the while as they struggled.

…Amalthus wasn’t sure if he wanted this thing.

Suddenly, the Blade was hurled off Malos by a pair of massive claws that scooped up Malos and rose into the air.

“We need to go, Malos!” Azurda rumbled. “Indol’s army is coming.”

“So what!?” Malos howled. “He’s right there, Azurda! He’s right…”

He trailed off, and Amalthus pressed himself against the building. If Malos caught sight of him again, no Titan or Blade would stop his sheer murderous intent.

“We’re leaving, Malos.”

“But-!” Malos’ voice began to grow more distant, a fading nightmare being pulled away by Azurda’s strong grip. “Th-this isn’t over! This will never be over! Not until you’re…”

After a long moment, Amalthus slumped against the structure with a sigh of relief. He was safe. After-

“You alright?”

Amalthus felt a cold hand on his shoulder and in a moment of panic, the crystal in his back surged to life.

The Blade was beside him, its Core Crystal ever so slightly dimming as it shivered. Save for the shivering, it was motionless. Amalthus frowned. Was this a natural reaction to the cold? No, that didn’t seem right…

He released a breath and the Blade returned to normal. It stepped away from him, as if it was wary of him. Strange.

Stepping out of the building, Amalthus noticed the unconscious figures of Mòrag and Brighid. If the Blade was still formed, Mòrag was still alive.

“Pick them up,” he said, waving a hand at the two with a tone that left no room for argument. Showing fear was one of the primary reasons Malos found the will to turn away from him and he could not survive a repeat of that. They boarded the ship moments later.

“There are bedrooms to the right. Put them down in there,” Amalthus told the Blade.

It left to do just that and he was able to convince himself that everything was fine. Then he stumbled upon the corpse of their pilot. Malos had truly left no one alive. More importantly, Amalthus or his newly formed Blade would have to drive the ship. He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling his long nails glide across his skin.

He was curious about what caused the Blade to freeze, if nothing else. It seemed to react to his implanted Core Crystal. Were the crystals able to share information? Unlikely. Amalthus had only heard of large-scale data sharing from cores to Aegis Cores, and Amalthus and his Blade were no Aegises.

The other possibility was that Amalthus had accidentally done something to the Blade. Considering that the source of his crystal was known for limiting Blades’ powers, could he have harnessed the same power? It seemed possible - and it was hardly unheard of in Blade Eaters - but it was a revelation that surprised him motherless. Though, even Haze could only push Blades to the ground and disable their ability to absorb ether. An immediate and near-complete shutdown was unexpected, but perhaps it had something to do with the ‘bond’ between Driver and Blade.

Indeed, several Indoline studies had confirmed that Blades supplied their weapons with ether. And this Blade was a blade - Amalthus’ blade - to wield as he saw fit. It would only be natural, then, for him to impose his will on the Blade.

The sound of footsteps alerted Amalthus to the Blade’s presence. He straightened up and removed all emotion from his face before the Blade turned the corner.

“I tossed ‘em in a room,” the thing reported, and Amalthus was sure that Haze’s core was saving him from passing out from an idiocy-induced spike in blood pressure.

“Blade,” he started, “do clarify. When you said they were in a room - singular - did you mean that?”

“Um… yeah.”

A breach in etiquette, but Mòrag and her Blade seemed rather close, so it wasn’t a problem. “You said they were… tossed. Did you throw them?”

The demon of a Blade shrugged. “Yeah. It was the easiest thing to do.”

“They are our guests ,” Amalthus hissed with a creeping anger that mirrored the Blade’s own voice. “Is it so hard to show a basic level of consideration?”

“Not like I owe ‘em anything.”

The Indoline’s eyes flashed with a mixture of fury and desperation. After all of his planning and work, he would not fail because this unwanted thing couldn’t maintain a diplomatic relationship for its life.

“ Stop. ”

It did. Not on purpose, but because its body wouldn’t move. It seemed that Amalthus’ theory on Haze’s core had some merit.

“I have no need for a Blade ,” he snapped, spitting the last word out like a curse. “What I need is Core Crystals. If you wish to exist in your sentient form, I would advise making yourself as useful as possible. By, for example, not dropping people infinitely more useful to me than you on the floor.”

Amalthus stopped in an attempt to control himself. “I understand that you are lacking vital information, but I will not tolerate a violent, reckless Blade ruining my image, especially not now. Stay in line.”

The Blade managed to give him a shaky nod.

“Excellent,” The Indoline said as he turned to face the cabin’s window. “You can leave, if you wish to do so.”

He heard the sound of claws rapidly clicking against the floor as the Blade hurriedly retreated.

This one wouldn’t get away from him. Malos had been afforded too much rope and Minoth too much compassion, but he knew better.

Look, Father. I’ve grown. Will you speak to me now?

Even as he took his seat in the cockpit, the World Tree was out of sight, hidden by the drifting smoke of Tantal’s remains.

Chapter Text

The Titan ship slowed to a stop at a small harbor. Inside, Amalthus staggered back from the controls, sinking into a plush chair. After several hours of driving, he wanted nothing more than a good night’s sleep.

Unfortunately, the sun had just come up.

He shut his eyes for a long moment, enjoying the luxurious chair. At times like this, Alrest didn’t seem too bad…

He forced his eyelids open and pushed himself upward, pulling away from the soft fabric. There was still work to be done. It was likely that Mòrag and Brighid would wake soon, and the Blade… no, he didn’t want to think about the Blade.

Amalthus opened a door that led to a large, walk-in closet. Turning his head to avoid seeing what lay within, he grabbed the chair. He pushed it inside, where it would join anything else he’d deemed an unnecessary indulgence, and gingerly closed the door.

Now that the distraction had been dealt with, he needed a quiet space to think. His room would certainly be quiet, but it was too isolated; conversely, the kitchen would likely become too busy as the others awoke. Also, there was barely any food left. It seemed likely that Malos had boarded the ship and had a veritable feast while waiting for his arrival.

The quaestor’s feet began to carry him through the ship before his tired mind even cemented his destination. After hundreds of trips on this Titan ship, his body was able to practically live on a stifling autopilot. Before long, he found himself at the entrance to his study. A few books were on the floor, doubtlessly because of Malos’ tampering, but the room was largely untouched.

Amalthus began to pick up the books, placing them in their places on the study’s many bookshelves. A copy of The Alrestogony was placed between two books on flora and fauna, The Heroic Adventures of Lora ’s script was stowed away on the Minoth shelf, and the weathered Tome of Morytha, Vol. 1 was carefully left in the history section. Finally, Amalthus grabbed The Millenarian Titan and sat at the head of the wooden table. The seat allowed him to clearly see the door, allowing him to know whenever someone arrived. Also, he liked the carving of the World Tree on the chair, which was highly important too. The other chairs depicted Indol, which looked nice enough, but the Indoline Titan was just too… horizontal. The World Tree was nice and vertical, standing erect in the perfect shape to adorn a chair.

Amalthus opened the book to a random page, skimming over the text. The Millenarian Titan was a favorite of his; its depiction of a Titan’s inevitable death was an elegant reminder of Alrest’s vicious, short lived nature. Unfortunately, he was too tired to truly enjoy it, and he wound up planning his day while staring blankly at the pages.

A few minutes later, The door swung open. Brighid walked in, stopping abruptly when she noticed the quaestor. Amalthus, for his part, flicked his eyes up for a moment before going back to his attempt at reading.

The Titan, running to the… Wait, no, he had skipped a line.

The Titan, withering away, shifted higher above the Clouds as its ether lines wavered, then the Titan began to die- No, he’d somehow been reading diagonally. Where was he on the page again…?

The reading was most definitely a lost cause. Amalthus resigned himself to pretending to read as he watched the program poke around the study awkwardly. Perhaps sensing his curious eyes, she turned her head from the bookshelves to look back at him.

Amalthus very pointedly turned the page of his book, as if he had been reading diligently the whole time. As far as he could tell, Brighid’s code was capable of forming inquiries, so he had no reason to start a conversation. Sure, they would need to talk at some point, but it would be more efficient to wait until both Mòrag and her Blade were present.

“Good morning,” Brighid eventually said. “Do you have any spare paper around here?”

“Good morning to you as well,” Amalthus replied, pausing awkwardly as he realized he was too tired to recall where the paper was. “Which… type of paper are you looking for?”

“Preferably lined. I’d just like something to write on.”

Amalthus nodded slowly, mental gears slowly processing the request. “I see. Apologies for my curiosity, but what do you need to write?”

“Recent events, I suppose. The journal I would usually write in is still in Mor Ardain.”

“What purpose does such a thing serve?”

“It preserves important memories that I would otherwise lose with my Driver. Is that not enough?”

“I suppose that does make sense,” Amalthus replied. “I believe there is paper in the bedrooms, located within the nightstands. With the amount of bedrooms this ship has, you should be able to find plenty.”

Brighid nodded, and said something that Amalthus completely missed, as he was already lost in thought. The Blade then walked out of the study, so whatever was said was likely an inconsequential parting phrase.

The Blade keeping a journal for later lives was… odd. Most of the common, pure Blades focused only on the present and their Drivers’ wishes. Of course, being tainted by humanity could lead to side effects in a Blade’s personality, but it was interesting to consider what exactly had changed. Was Brighid’s code preserving memories for herself, or to aid her Drivers? Was the journal meant more for herself or those Drivers?

Amalthus shrugged, forcing himself back to reality. There was no way to discern how deep the corruption had gone, not without diving into the core’s code to find what was or was not supplied by the Architect. Such a thing could be done, but it was hardly worth the risk or political repercussions. After all, observing a Blade’s gathered data was not easily done… on a live subject, at least.

No, whatever deviations were within the flaming Blade- or his own, for that matter, were best left alone.

He put down the copy of The Millenarian Titan; in all honesty, he had all but forgotten that he was still holding the thick book. Clearly he needed something else to pass the time. He looked around the study. An astounding lack of things to do sat before him. Tapping his fingers on the table’s smooth wood impatiently, Amalthus stood and put the book back on its shelf.

After that, he left the study, not to head for a destination but simply to stay awake. Perhaps some fresh air would wake him up. Stepping onto the Titan ship’s deck, Amalthus was immediately struck by how humid it was, compared to Tantal at least. Expected, but annoying nonetheless. Amalthus much preferred the temperate, still atmospheres of Indol or the Architect’s home, where less factors could distract him. Carrying out the Architect’s will was easier that way.

Amalthus placed a hand on the ship’s railing, looking out at the archipelago. The bright sunlight illuminated the picturesque Titans sprawled out before him. He eventually focused on the birds that soared overhead. They swooped around gracefully, before settling down and basking in the morning sun.

“Such a shame. Father was so close to perfection,” Amalthus mused. Indeed, Alrest was built on a promising foundation, though that only served to make reality all the more tragic.

This is how it must be , he reminded himself. Do not forget it, lest the Architect’s faith in you wane. The whims of humanity are nothing compared to the will of a god.

“Good morning.”

Amalthus jolted upright at the words, turning to see that Mòrag had joined him on the ship’s deck. He returned the greeting, though his words sounded distant and empty.

“I assume that we have stopped in Leftheria?” Mòrag asked him, as if the answer wasn’t obvious. Then again, pointless questions with obvious answers were a part of polite socializing.

Amalthus nodded, trying to force himself to focus on the present. “Yes. I did not want to approach Indol just yet, so I chose to wait here for some time.”

“A reasonable course of action. You’ll be going back to the Praetorium now, correct?”

“In a few days’ time. The ship’s food supply needs replenishing, but after that is addressed, I will likely return to Indol. What about you?”

“Brighid and I will look for a way back to Mor Ardain.”

“You’d return to the Empire?” Amalthus asked, surprised.

“I’d like to, but I don’t think that can happen yet,” Mòrag replied, eyes drifting down for a moment. “After we find my brother, perhaps. He should be able to help with our situation. For now, our plan is to visit the Titan without entering populated spaces like the capital.”

“That makes sense, I suppose. Is there anything else I can do for you before you depart?”

“Some information could be helpful.”

Amalthus smiled amicably. Finally, the formalities were over. Normally he wouldn’t mind such things, but normally, he wasn’t this tired.

Mòrag wasted no more time getting the questions started, to Amalthus’ immense relief. “About the Blade and Titan on Tantal; how did you know them?”

Amalthus’ fingernails ran over the back of his thumb. “I met them shortly after my journey to the World Tree. However, it has been centuries since our last meeting.”

“Do you think they could have any information regarding my brother?”

Oh, this again. This brother must be truly important to her. “It is possible, but I have no way of knowing such a thing.”

“I see. One last thing for now. You mentioned that there was a new Emperor appointed by the Praetorium?”

“Ah… that.” Amalthus’ sliding fingers sped up ever so slightly. “You… may want to sit down for this.”

“I am fine,” Mòrag responded impatiently. “Just tell me.”

“As expected from the Praetor, his choice was… creative.”

“Who is it?”

Eventually, Amalthus said the only thing he could. “Prince Ozychlyrus Brounev Tantal has become, well, Emperor Ozychlyrus Brounev Tantal.”

For a second, Mòrag didn’t seem to recall who that even was. Amalthus decided to help her out… or perhaps he was making things worse.

“You may better know him as Zeke von Genbu.”

A short laugh slipped out of Mòrag as her fists instantly clenched. The look on her face reminded Amalthus of the Coiean refugees.

“You’re kidding, surely.”

“I am not.”

“But… why?” M òrag asked, a storm of emotion sliding onto her normally stoic face.

“He’s been on good terms with the Praetorium for quite some time. Despite his… eccentricities, I am sure he will try to-”

He paused, realizing that M òrag wasn’t listening. She shook her head slowly before walking back into the ship, seemingly in a trance.

After accidentally breaking the former Inquisitor, Amalthus only had one thing left to do. It was time to think about the Blade.

He took a step toward the cabins- actually, wait, maybe he shouldn’t see the Blade yet. Maybe he had parked the ship incorrectly and was about to be fined for loitering. Maybe a fee for using the harbor was formed since he’d last been to Leftheria. Really, there were any number of things he could do.

Amalthus’ attempts to procrastinate were cut short when his Blade walked into the hallway in front of him. Upon noticing him, The Blade froze like an armu under a spotlight. Amalthus sighed quietly, feeling an ounce of pity for the creature.

It is a program, he reminded himself. A creation of our Father, bound to me and me alone. Any apparent emotion from it is nothing but humanity’s influence showing a reflection of how a living being would act.

Still, he rather wished that the Architect hadn’t let the line be blurred. Of course, it surely wasn’t supposed to be that way; Blades were, after all blades. Still, when he stumbled upon Minoth writing something under a tree in the soft wind of Leftheria - or more recently, when his arm had brushed against Brighid’s in the depths of Tantal’s castle - it was easy to believe Blades were just as alive as humans.

But there was no room for error in Amalthus’ interpretation of the Architect’s will, not anymore. Because if he was wrong… well. It didn’t bear thinking about.

Amalthus bit down the uncomfortable feeling in his chest and spoke. “Good morning, Blade. I wanted to apologize for my harsh actions in Tantal. I was simply alarmed by the circumstances of your awakening. Despite that, you managed to drive off Malos, an impressive feat. You have my gratitude for that, by the way.”

The Blade seemed to relax slightly, though it still didn’t seem to trust him. Understandable, really.

“I cannot promise to act as a traditional Driver,” Amalthus continued. “I assume you can tell that I am far beyond that. I can, however, offer you a deal of sorts. If you are willing to take on the occasional… favor for me, I would be more than willing to give you relative freedom to roam. Is that something you would desire?”

It finally spoke. “Freedom, huh… sounds nice. Sure, I guess.”

Amalthus nodded, satisfied. The Blade’s code held independence from its Driver as a priority, it seemed. That could be tricky, but he would be able to work with it, to turn this Blade into a most lethal and loyal weapon as the Architect surely intended. “In that case, I have your first task prepared.”

The Blade rolled its eyes. Amalthus narrowed his own in return.

“It is nothing strenuous, Blade. There is a village across this archipelago, called Fonsett. I would like you to go there and buy food to resupply our ship. You will need to go through one of the cloudways to reach it. Simply follow the paths between Titans and you should be able to make it.”

It nodded in return. “Got it. How do I pay for the food, exactly?”

“I left some gold in the study. Go get that.”

Satisfied with the interaction, Amalthus walked away, heading to his room. Placing his hat on the nightstand and closing the curtains, he slid into bed and promptly fell asleep.

There was only one problem. He hadn’t remembered to leave gold in the study.

————

The complementary pen flew across the (also complementary) paper in an elegant display. Brighid had found the paper she was looking for, which was good, because she had almost resorted to writing on one of Amalthus’ books.

She stopped as the door swung open. Her Driver walked in.

“Oh, hello, Mòrag- where are you…?”

Mòrag wordlessly walked past Brighid, staring vacantly at a seemingly random wall.

“Mòrag? Is everything alright?”

Mòrag blinked in surprise, looking back at Brighid. She blinked once. Then twice. “Yes, everything’s fine. I just wandered into the wrong room, I suppose. My apologies for interrupting you.”

“Really? That seems quite unlike you. Are you sure you don’t want to talk?”

“Are you offering to listen? Because in that case, I suppose I could.”

“Of course, Mòrag. I’m always willing to-”

“It’s Zeke!” Mòrag snapped, pacing furiously. “Who else? It’s always Zeke.”

Brighid sighed. Mòrag had tolerated the prince at first, but over the years of his random appearances, outbursts like this had become commonplace. Really, it was just best to stay quiet and weather the storm-

“That scoundrel spends half his time in debt or in jail, and the Praetor thinks he’s capable of leading Mor Ardain!” Mòrag continued.

“What? Mor Ardain… You can’t be serious!”

“If only I was. Amalthus said that ZEKE of all people is the emperor!”

“Absolutely preposterous. I can only imagine the chaos back in the Empire. Does the Praetorium really expect anyone to accept Tantal’s crown prince as a leader?”

Mòrag abruptly stopped. “We need a plan.”

————

“Your Grace? We’ve captured a strange man from the outskirts of the capital. Only, ah, he claims to be the crown prince of Tantal.”

“Tantal? Why would Tantal’s prince be here?”

“He said he was looking for a contact lens, Your Grace.”

“A… what?”

“A contact lens. You know, those things that go in your eyes if-”

“I know what a contact lens is, thank you. I assume that you need me to interrogate him?”

The Ardainian soldier nodded.

“Very well.” The Special Inquisitor turned to her Blade. “Brighid?”

With a small nod, Brighid began to follow her Driver as they walked through the capital’s streets.

“You know, Mòrag,” the Blade started, “this was supposed to be our day off.”

“Yes, but if this man is truly Tantal’s Crown Prince, we need to know before any diplomatic issues arise.”

“I suppose so. Hopefully this is worth our time.”

They continued in silence, entering an Ardainian jail. The soldier led them through the halls to a cell. Within it stood a man wearing an eyepatch and an absurd number of belts. Raising his head dramatically, he spoke.

“Ah, you must be the famed Flamebringer.”

The accent seemed Tantalese, at least. The outfit… Mòrag didn’t know what to think about that. “Correct. And you are?”

Inexplicably, small bolts of electricity appeared next to him as he began a series of dramatic poses. “I… am the legendary Zeke! Von! Genbu!”

Mòrag rolled her eyes.

The legendary Zeke von Genbu was not deterred by her lack of enthusiasm.

“Also known as… the Zekenator!” he continued. “Wielder of the Purple Lightning Dreamsmasher!”

Suddenly, a Blade weapon formed in his outstretched hand; a massive sword, crackling with ether. His hand curled around where the hilt would be. Unfortunately for the Zekenator, his sword had no hilt, so he was holding nothing but empty air.

The illustrious Purple Lightning Dreamsmasher clattered to the ground. 

“Um,” Zeke started, “I don’t suppose you could get my Blade? We had kind of planned on doing this together.”

————

That was the man who had been crowned as Mor Ardain’s new emperor. Unbelievable. Just thinking about it made Mòrag’s head hurt. 

“Mòrag?”

Mòrag snapped back to reality at the sound of Brighid’s voice. “Yes?”

“We should start planning now. There’s no time to lose,” Brighid said, tapping a finger against a blank sheet of paper.

“Right. We need to do something about Zeke, find Niall, and clear our names.”

Brighid drew two vertical lines on the page, separating it into three columns.

While she wrote, Mòrag continued speaking. “As much as it pains me to say, there isn’t much we can do about Zeke for now. Though if we were to find Niall, the Empire would doubtlessly place him back on the throne.”

“Yes, I imagine most would jump on such an opportunity,” Brighid agreed. “And if Niall is returned to his position, he could declare our innocence.”

“Then finding Niall should be our first priority. It is possible that he was captured by some rebel group like Brionac, but after our encounter with that Blade, I suspect Torna is involved.”

“It did seem like they knew something, but we have no way of finding them. Would it not be wise to visit Mor Ardain? At the very least, it would allow us to rule out Brionac.”

“Perhaps, but both the Empire and Brionac have ample reasons to capture us. Besides, we failed to fully destroy Brionac with the Empire behind us. By ourselves, it is too much of a risk, especially when Niall may not even be there.”

“But what other options do we have?” Brighid asked. “If we truly needed to, we could try to negotiate with Zeke.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Mòrag, I understand that he is… a handful at times. But if nothing else, he owes us for all the times we’ve released him from Ardainian captivity. Having access to Mor Ardain’s resources could be useful.”

“I suppose we could consider it, as a last resort. But even then, being tied to the Empire may make it harder to find Torna.”

“How so? They frequently raid Ardainian battleships. If we were on the ships transferring Core Crystals to Indol, we could encounter them again.”

“Even then, it would be easy enough for them to flee. Wherever Torna is, they are clearly out of Mor Ardain’s reach.”

“So you’re saying that we should search elsewhere?”

“Yes. It is entirely possible that Torna could be located in Uraya, for example. As the ban on travel to Uraya is still in effect, we would be unable to search there if we tried to work with Zeke.”

“I see. Is that where you want to go, then?”

“I would hardly say I want to see what’s happened to it, but we may need to.”

The flaming Blade sighed. “Fine. But we need supplies and transportation first.”

“I believe there are villages in the Leftherian archipelago. We could try to buy food there, though we’d need disguises.”

“A wise plan. We should start looking for new clothes, then.”

“There is no need for that.” Mòrag reached into a large pocket and somehow pulled out another uniform.

“Oh. Is that not too similar to your usual attire?”

“Of course not. This uniform is white instead of blue. Along with the difference of color, I can take off my hat. I don’t believe I’ve gone out without it in years, so people are unlikely to recognize me.”

“I think you may be overestimating the importance of a hat…”

“Nonsense, Brighid. Will you be able to find a disguise of your own?”

“I should think so. In fact…” Brighid concentrated for a moment, and her flames dimmed into a soft crimson. Her dress also darkened into a combination of black and red colors.

“A good start,” Mòrag remarked. “But your look is still… rather distinct.”

“What would you suggest, then?”

“You could just find a different outfit.”

“I’d rather not. If you plan on wearing a uniform, I see no reason to change my style.”

“In that case, I would ask you to try opening your eyes.”

Brighid tilted her head slightly to the side, struggling to process such a staggering request. “...What?”

“It’s the same idea as my hat. Nobody has seen you in public with your eyes open. Enough minor differences and people will fail to identify us.”

“That… makes sense.”

“If that is too much to ask, we can take our chances with our disguises. They could still be sufficient.”

“No, it’s fine. As long as we don’t take too long in the village,” Brighid replied mournfully.

Chapter Text

“The cloudway should be just ahead,” Mòrag said, looking up at the towering wall of clouds that stretched out in front of them. “Are you doing well?”

“I’m fine enough,” Brighid replied. “Getting used to this sunlight takes time, that’s all.”

Mòrag cast a doubtful look at her Blade, who had been squinting for the past twenty minutes. “Are you sure? We appear to be alone, so if you’d rather keep your eyes shut…”

“No, I’d rather be better adjusted by the time we reach a village.”

“That may be for the best. I am sure that your efforts will bear fruit in the long run.”

“Right,” Brighid replied, purple eyes scanning Mòrag’s face. “You know, it’s almost… strange to see you without your hat. It’s as if I’m looking at a different person.”

“I could say the same to you.” Mòrag replied as they walked into the cloudway.

“Fair enough. These crimson flames feel alien to me as well. With any luck, we won’t need them again.”

“We can only hope so. At least this expedition has been pleasant so far.”

“That much is true. I had honestly expected more resistance from the local fauna,” Brighid said, slowing to a stop. “Though perhaps something else is fighting them.”

An aligo’s limp body lay sprawled out in the center of the path. A few smaller creatures had been tossed onto the beast after meeting their own untimely ends.

“Strange,” Mòrag remarked. “Given the state of the bodies, I’d expect these to have been killed for sport. It might be nothing, but we should proceed carefully.”

“That may be wise, but do try to enjoy the sights, at least for a little while.”

Mòrag’s eyes quickly swept around the small passage. “This area seems secure enough. We can move on now.”

“That… isn’t what I meant, Mòrag. I understand that you want to find Niall as soon as possible, but you shouldn’t push yourself too far.”

“I… suppose that line of thought has some merit. Leftheria is quite unique. It would be unfortunate to not take in the sights.”

“Precisely,” Brighid replied, ignoring the complete lack of conviction in her Driver’s tone. Mòrag was making an effort to relax; that was what mattered. “It’s much more peaceful than the Empire.”

“Indeed. While I do miss the busy atmosphere of the capital, this is refreshing. Especially after Tantal.”

“Agreed.”

They continued onward, with one of them occasionally commenting on the cloudway’s strange structure and inhabitants.

Eventually, they came to their destination; Fonsett, a small Leftherian village.

The path leading up to the town was quiet, as one would expect from a small village in Leftheria. The entrance to the village was flanked by two Indoline warrior monks, which was not what one would expect from a small village in Leftheria. Upon noticing them, Brighid glanced at Mòrag meaningfully.

Mòrag slowed for a moment before continuing forward with a small shrug.

The Indolines’ helmets slightly turned to face them as they approached. Mòrag gave them a polite nod, briskly walking past them into the town. Beside her, Brighid mirrored the Driver’s movements.

Fonsett was a peaceful village, surrounded by lush trees. It was filled with crops, homes, stores, and weaponized Titans.

…Wait.

Brighid did a double take upon noticing the distinct forms of three Indoline Stars sitting next to a large building. Clad in silver and gold armor, the Titans’ gray flesh was almost entirely obscured. Their legs were tucked under them as they leisurely looked around Fonsett.

“Mòrag,” Brighid murmured, “Look over there.”

Mòrag followed Brighid’s eyes to the Stars. “Indoline Titan weapons? I didn’t expect Indol to have such a military presence here.”

“It does seem irregular. Shall we take a closer look?”

“If you’d like, but be careful.”

“Of course.”

They walked over to the Stars, stopping a short distance away. Now that they were closer, Brighid could clearly see the armor’s ornate detail. A small cluster of monks stood around the Titans, watching them carefully. A few children were standing in front of a nearby building, staring at the resting Stars. One of the beasts stretched out its wings, angling its head up to face the sun.

“It’s strange to see them so relaxed,” Brighid mused.

Mòrag nodded. As Indol rarely engaged in military conflict, they had rarely seen the Praetorium’s Titan weapons, let alone up close.

After a few more moments, Mòrag turned away.

“We should get going.”

Brighid nodded in return. “Indeed. Though, I wonder… what are the Praetorium’s forces here for?”

————

Sever crossed his arms impatiently, leaning back against a wooden pole. He’d arrived in Fonsett a few hours ago. After scouting around the town and the surrounding area, the Blade had decided to rest for a few minutes. The decision was strategic; he’d already grown tired from attacking random creatures on his way here, after all.

Also, sticking around let him strike fear into small children.

That part hadn’t been on his agenda for the day, but after the first squeak of terror reached his ears, he just had to make some space in his schedule. Not like his Driver would notice the delay anyway, assuming he was still asleep in the ship.

The village seemed nice enough to Sever. It was small, surrounded by trees, and the houses looked easy to break into. What more could a Blade want?

Less of a military presence, he thought, glaring at an Indoline Star. From what he could tell, three of the Titans would rest with Indoline soldiers, while a fourth slowly flew over the town and a few other nearby islands.

Luckily, Sever had already become familiar with their patrol route, as he had tailed one of the Stars two hours ago… though that decision was mostly because he wanted to see if he could keep up with it.

(He could, until it used its wings to take shortcuts like the cheating bird it was.)

Another nervous yelp from a child pulled Sever’s mind back to the present.

He casually looked over at the boy.

“…Hey.”

The child squealed in terror and stumbled back, tripping over a small crate and falling with a shrill cry.

Sever gently used a single claw to push himself off the pole, walking away from the fallen boy. A quick glance around the village told him all he needed to know; most people were outside, enjoying the beautiful weather. In particular, one Driver and Blade were walking out of a large house, presumably leaving it vacant. Or at least partially so. They walked off, heading toward…

Sever choked on a laugh as he saw the Driver and Blade he had helped in Tantal, except they had on differently colored clothing. The fact that their disguises were seemingly working just made things even more comical.

Still, there was work to be done. Sever sized up the hopefully-vacant house. A quick walk behind it revealed a conveniently large window, leading into a hallway.

…Well. It was this or telling his Driver that he had forgotten to give Sever money for food.

Without a second of hesitation, Sever drew his tonfa and swung.

The blade of ether cut through the glass with a rather loud crack. Wind ether gathered around the weapon and pushed the glass shards into the opposing wall. Climbing through the hole, Sever admired his handiwork. Several of the shards were stuck in the wall, while the others were simply piled on the floor.

With that done, it was time to steal some money. The hallway Sever had just entered had a framed picture above a drawer, probably depicting the people living here. That was good; it’d help him figure out if anyone else was likely to be in the house with him.

The first person he saw in the picture was the silver haired man from earlier. With his equally silver armor, golden eyes, and kind smile, he looked like a veritable knight in shining armor.

His Blade stood beside him in the picture, with golden eyes to match her Driver’s and a mostly white outfit that also fit his color scheme.

They were probably the type to help the elderly cross roads, or something. Sever shook his head at the thought. Wasting time to interrupt someone’s day, doing something said person could do themselves… gross.

The only other person in the picture was a pregnant woman, who didn’t seem to be a Driver or… anyone noteworthy, really. Perfect.

The drawer beneath the picture was closed and locked. Sever opened it gracefully, (he in fact dug his claws into the wood until it ripped open) rifling through its contents. It was mostly empty, save for a wanted poster of his Driver. The Blade took a moment to look over it, dismayed at the lack of details.

Perhaps he could just get the story from his Driver later. Unless the Indoline realized Sever had broken into a house, or if the Ardainians were around, or…

Sever reluctantly decided the risk outweighed the possibility of a good story.

Moving on to the next room, Sever kept an eye out for anything that could…

Forget money, there was a monstrosity to his right.

The Blade instinctively lowered into a crouch, muscles tensed. If it moved, he was ready to pounce. The thing was a mixture of gray and purple shapes, dripping with slimy green pus. It was small at least, a miniature menace sitting on… a cutting board?

After a while longer, Sever decided the pitiful attempt at cooking was going to remain motionless. He looked around the room again, though there wasn’t much else to see, outside of condiments and utensils that had been left haphazardly throughout the kitchen.

Good. They deserve to rot out here until they’ve reflected on their part in creating that atrocity.

Oh, and there was another family photo. If Sever had to see another one, he’d probably vomit. And given his luck so far? It was time for a new approach.

The Wind Blade retraced his steps, hopped out the broken window, and calmly strolled away, coming to a stop beside a large tree.

He could clearly see the butcher’s stall - his favorite, Sever would kill for a piece of good meat - which was just up a small hill, empty save for the butcher himself.

Both Drivers, their Blades, and the Indoline Stars were further down the slight incline, near the orphanage.

Perhaps Sever wouldn’t need money after all…

He approached the stall from the back. There was a small supply of bags there, presumably for customers. Sever grabbed one and continued his approach.

The butcher didn’t even notice he was there until a firm claw wrapped around his head. A moment later, Sever shoved his head into the counter. The unconscious body slid off the counter and fell to the ground. He then swept all the meat on the counter into his bag, along with a few choice cuts stored nearby.

The Blade left the money he’d stolen earlier on the bloodied counter. It probably wasn’t enough to make up for what he’d taken, but hey, it wasn’t like anybody was counting.

————

“Come on!” Addam shouted, sprinting past the butcher’s shop. A crowd was forming around it and the vendor that lay inside.

In the close-knit community of Fonsett, a robbery was almost unheard of, especially while Indol had its forces nearby.

“Yeah, I am!” It wasn’t a lie, Mythra was following her Driver. Just… slowly.

“This isn’t the time for a jog, Mythra! The thief is getting away!”

“Won’t Indol deal with this? They’ve got Titan weapons. Why do we need to help?”

“Oh, come on. Weren’t you just saying that you wanted more action around here?”

“Not during lunch!” Mythra protested, accompanied by a low rumble from her stomach.

Addam didn’t answer her. Rude. It wasn’t even like she was prioritizing her lunch over the butcher’s place; she hadn’t done anything like that in years! It just seemed reasonable to trust the experienced soldiers with their Titans. If that trust happened to let her finish her meal, then even better.

But she knew better than to argue the point further with Addam; it’d be a waste of breath. He was too stubborn for that. In a dangerous situation, Addam just had to be the hero.

In some ways, that was fun; Mythra enjoyed some of the adventures that came with him. But sometimes…

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

The distance between them only grew as Addam kept running, even as Mythra came to a stop. It seemed like he hadn’t even heard her. Probably because her jogging really was a fair bit slower than Addam’s sprint, which was admittedly the point. Not like it was fair, though. His legs were far longer than hers.

Mythra nodded to herself; if Addam chastised her later, she’d have an argument ready. She almost turned back (it’d be a shame to let a perfectly good lunch spoil on some random park bench) but ultimately decided against it. With Addam’s sense of navigation, he’d be out looking for this food thief for days… unless someone else dealt with them first.

There was a small piece of raw meat on the ground. In fact, that was what had led her to question Addam’s directional senses in the first place. After all, if the thief was leaving a literal trail, shouldn’t they follow it?

Scattered pieces of dropped wood led into the forest, or at least the closest thing to a forest in this part of Leftheria. It wasn’t like Gormott, of course - or at least that’s what Mythra had been told, she’d never gotten to leave Leftheria - but for an archipelago, the mass of trees and bushes was impressive.

Mythra only sped up as the trees grew denser; the rest of Leftheria was too open for a thief to run. This was the perfect hiding spot for one!

In her haste, she almost ran right off the Titan as the forest abruptly stopped. She peered down into the Cloud Sea. There didn’t seem to be anyone there, which was hardly a surprise.

As she began to turn, a lock of hair blew into her face, wind whistling by her. A nearby leaf, caught in the swift breeze, flew past her and curved up into a tree.

Realization struck just as a flash of green appeared in her peripheral vision.

She threw up a hasty ether barrier as the wind ether blasted forward, whistling elevated to a howl. A Blade leapt down from the trees, weapon glowing.

Mythra grabbed her sword, looking at the other Blade as he chuckled. He looked like some sort of reptile, with scales and claws… except he had mandibles too. That was strange; most Blades didn’t have animalistic characteristics. Or at least, Mythra thought so. It wasn’t like she had a great frame of reference; other Blades rarely showed up in a quiet town like Fonsett.

The thief leapt forward, bringing his blade down toward her barrier. At the last moment, Mythra dropped the shield and sidestepped the blow, swinging at the Blade’s side with all her might-

Only to be stopped by his own barrier. He swung his weapon around in a deadly uppercut, glancing off Mythra’s sword. Their blades crossed once more as he brought the weapon down. Then the Wind Blade leapt backward, swinging his arm to create a small arc of ether.

A moment later, they leapt at each other, blades sparking as they collided and withdrew.

“Not half bad,” the Wind Blade said with a dry chuckle.

“What, giving up already?” Mythra replied with a thin smile, resting her sword on her shoulder.

Suddenly, the other Blade dashed forward, eyes narrowed. “Is that what you’re used to?”

Mythra stepped back, trying to swing her weapon back into position. Taking advantage of the moment, the thief's leg whipped out, sweeping her legs off the ground.

“If that’s all you can do, everybody around here must be real soft.” The Blade snorted, pinning her to the ground with a clawed foot.

“Hey!” Mythra protested. “I- I’m not used to fighting without a Driver!”

“My… he isn’t here either, but you won’t catch me using that excuse. If you can’t handle yourself, don’t wander off from your precious Driver-” the Blade spat out the word like a curse, “-and expect to achieve something.”

Mythra glared at him, trying to wriggle out from the claw on her stomach.

“Mythra!”

Both Blades turned to face the familiar voice. Addam was sprinting toward them, worry etched out on his face.

Taking advantage of Addam’s inability to be quiet, Mythra raised an arm. Warm light gathered around her fingertips, growing and flashing around her hand in an imitation of the sparks that gathered on her Driver’s old sword. Surprised, the thief leapt back, letting Mythra toss her sword to Addam.

As he snatched the weapon, Addam came to a stop in front of Mythra. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just hurry up and- Addam, you dumbass! Pay attention!”

Flinging out her arms, she managed to create a thin barrier between Addam and the bloodthirsty Blade, which had closed in while they spoke. Addam looked suitably chastened, while the Blade cackled with what looked like sincere amusement.

“She’s right, you know.” The Blade slammed his tonfa into the barrier, grinning as it flickered. “Maybe you should be hiding behind her instead-”

He was interrupted as Addam lunged forward with a flurry of attacks. The Driver pushed the Blade back with ease, eventually forcing him to raise his own barrier. Then, instead of finishing off their enemy, Addam stopped.

Behind him, Mythra groaned in absolute disappointment. He did this every time. Whenever they fought someone, he just insisted on hearing them out. Mythra had once thought he was trying to get her sob stories for a book or something, but she’d since realized that he was just compassionate. Still, there was a time and place for understanding others, and this was… not it.

As he started rambling, the other Blade turned his head slightly to look at her, eyes practically screaming confusion. Mythra just shrugged, rolling her eyes to hopefully convey that this was not her fault.

“Look,” Addam was saying, holding out a hand to the Blade, “we don’t want to fight you. If you could return what you stole and apologize, I’m sure we could work something out.”

The Blade looked at him for a long moment, clearly perplexed. “Um… pass?”

“Hm?” Addam leaned in more closely to hear.

The Blade’s claw shot forward, locking around Addam’s wrist. Pulling the Driver forward, the Blade hurled him off the side of the island.

“You know, I take back what I said earlier,” his tonfa reappeared as he turned to Mythra, “I’m sorry for you, really. A Driver who won’t finish the hunt… now I almost pity you. But not nearly enough to stop!”

The last word was accentuated by a swing of the tonfa that sent a crescent of ether rocketing into her barrier.

“He may not be perfect, but he’s trying! At least we’re working together. That’s what a Driver and Blade are supposed to do.”

“Supposed to? And who decided that? The humans who want to use us? If you didn’t limit your fighting style to support a Driver, would you be as weak as you are now?”

“Whether you like it or not, our lives are tied to theirs. Trying to go against that is just stupid.”

“Someone got defensive real quick…” The Blade leapt back as her sword missed his leg by mere inches.

Before she could defend her pride - probably by throwing Addam under the bus again - a wave of blue flames sprung to life between them. Even from a short distance away, Mythra could feel the oppressive heat from the makeshift walls. And striding through the curtains of flame…

“Stand back, civilian. Unlike you, we can handle this with ease.”

“Wh-You!” Mythra was severely tempted to leap through the flames to have a chance at wiping the smirk off Brighid’s face.

The pompous, irritating, nuisance of a Blade didn’t even have her eyes open. Was this her idea of showing off?! Oh, and Brighid’s Driver was there too. Thankfully, the Ardainian was tuning them out, instead focusing on the thief.

As they leapt into battle, Mythra decided she was rooting for the Wind Blade. Sure, he’d insulted her and Addam, but he was still the lesser of two evils by the heavenly virtue of not being Brighid.

Realization set in a moment later, as she watched Brighid’s swords extend into whips radiating blue flame. The fire, the weapon, the name… This was clearly the same Brighid from the wanted posters the Indolines had plastered around town.

…How had Addam not figured that out back in Fonsett? Had he just been content to let her pick a fight with the former Jewel of Mor Ardain, a member of Torna?

The fight wasn’t going well for the Wind Blade. He was once again backed to the Titan’s edge, knocked to his knees by a sweep of the Driver’s weapons. Then - was this a trend Mythra wasn’t aware of? - The Driver stopped a few feet away to talk. She seemed much more careful than Addam, though, keeping a weapon poised to strike. Over the crackle of flames, they were difficult to hear, so Mythra crept closer to catch some of their words.

“From the ice Titan,” the thief was saying, “we were in the same ship.”

The Driver - presumably Mòrag, if the wanted posters were to be trusted, said something in response, but her voice was too quiet to make out without risking a burn.

“‘Course you don’t remember it,” the Blade snapped back, “you two were unconscious the whole time. Looked like you’d been on the wrong end of a flood, if that rings a bell.”

If Mythra ever saw this Blade again, she needed to hear this story. The way Brighid crossed her arms and scowled at the mere mention of it… yes, this information was doubtlessly more sacred than every holy text in Indol.

“Amalthus?” It sounded like the Blade was resting the name for the first time, stilted and unsure. “Could be. He never told me- look, how else would I know this much? Look, lemme make this simple: either I’m his Blade or your personal stalker. Should be easy to figure out, right?”

From the way Mòrag aimed her sword at the Blade’s head, it was clear that she subscribed to the stalker theory.

With a sigh, he looked past her shoulder to where Mythra watched beyond the flames. “That Driver of yours… enjoy him while he lasts.”

Suddenly, the Blade leapt forward, the stolen bag of food in hand, and pushed off Brighid’s ether barrier to leap over the flames and off the Titan.

Chapter Text

“Someone’s here to see you, master Perdido.”

“Already?” Perdido tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Is the meeting not scheduled for five?”

“With salvagers, yes. This is unexpected visit. From Blade, very soft looking, quite scary.”

“Soft in mind or body?”

“Most definitely the body! Zadazan has never seen a Blade with such fur!”

Perdido sighed, leaned back in his chair, and crossed both pairs of arms. “What do you propose we do?”

“He is here for personal business with you. It is professional opinion of Zadazan that we should let him in, as master Perdido has no friends.”

Perdido would not give in to his base urges and tear his nopon assistant apart with the fury of a thousand men. Such a thing would be ignoble. “Incorrect. I-”

Zadazan was giving him a look of profound disbelief.

…he would not smite the nopon. He would not smite the nopon. He would not smite the nopon.

“Zadazan… I shall tell this to you once and once only. I. Have. Friends.” There. His honor had been upheld, and in that moment, all was right in the world.

“Ah, of course! Master Perdido has criminal friends! Apologies, Zadazan forgot-”

“Disparaging my friends’ honor? Very well! I must throw down the gauntlet. Know that this duel shall be your last.”

Zadazan squeaked in abject terror and fled. 

Perdido only then realized his mistake. Zadazan had never been one for snarky comments; it was likely that he’d truly misspoke, and was now fearing for his life. Perdido slumped down in his chair and buried his head in (two of) his hands. The other two were squeezing the life out of a stress ball that Patroka had sarcastically bought for him.

He should have been happy enough. He’d acquired a respectable position in society and supported his Driver through thick and thin. Maybe that would be enough for him if that “respectable position” wasn’t head of a trading guild’s paperwork. Patroka was supposed to be chairwoman, but no, she just had to leave it to him.

“I’m taking you off the security detail,” she’d said one day with nary a warning prior, “if I have to keep doing this stupid job, the next nopon I see is dead. And if Akhos complains about public relations, I’m killing him too.”

“Do not be rash, Lady Patroka. We must persevere. Surely there is some plan that would fix things?” Oh, how naive he’d been.

“I already have a plan, idiot. What, did you think I was going to ask you for help? ‘Cause, uh, nope, the papers are signed already. Starting tomorrow, you’re the chairman of Argentum.”

“What? But surely I am needed on the security-”

“You heard me. You, office, Argentum, tomorrow. Got it? Good.”

Every detail of that abominable, disgraceful day was ingrained in his mind. A promotion had never felt so dreadful, so unearned, so utterly miserable.

With a loud creak, the thick wooden door slid open, reminding Perdido that he had a guest. The four-armed Blade hastily threw his stress ball under the desk. It bounced off the floor and rolled just in front of the desk. May a hundred curses strike that smug ball of plastic…

Perdido tensed as a white paw appeared in the doorway. Two arms pushed him to his feet as the others clasped a mighty lance and axe. The beast entering the office tensed in return. Their eyes met for a moment before they reached a silent agreement, and the weapons vanished. The shorter Blade, whose gaze had been fixed on Perdido, allowed himself to look around the room.

Perdido’s office was once dark and gloomy, something he had quickly revised. The old desk had been swapped out with a new one, still wooden but with a lighter color. Zadazan had pointed out that he was discarding an antique. Perdido did not care.

Similar changes were made across the room, along with adding candles as a secondary light source. Wooden sculptures resembling suits of armor were what seemed to catch the visiting Blade’s attention. They each held one of the finest weapons Perdido had come across. Very few blades were fit for his collection, but those that were received the utmost care and polish.

The Blade’s gaze traveled upward to the case where Perdido’s most prized possession was displayed.

Perdido knew the claw better than the back of his hand; admiring it instead of doing paperwork was his favorite pastime. Patroka had argued that it didn’t count as a weapon, but he knew she was wrong. Anyone who had seen the Blade swinging its claws with bestial speed and precision would understand that it was finer than any mere sword.

…though, if he had known its owner would be here today, he’d have covered the display.

Perdido’s back hands trailed in front of the claw in what was likely a futile cause. Still, it felt right. Except now, he was stuck at a crossroads of etiquette. It would be proper to return to his seat, but doing so would stop him from obscuring the other Blade’s severed claw.

 After a single second and a hundred thoughts, Perdido sat down. “Sir Dromarch. This is a surprise.”

“Lord Perdido, it is my pleasure to stand before you once more.”

Perdido silently marveled at how Dromarch simply took note of his preserved claw and moved on. A less dignified being would surely cause a fuss in a similar position. “Do forgive my abrupt manner, but I must know why you have come.”

“I have come across several companies of men who claim to be in your employ. And…”

Perdido mentally prepared to track down those men - if they still drew breath, Dromarch could be a monster to lowlifes - so he could scold them for not treating a beast as honorable as Dromarch with proper respect. Whatever they did to warrant Dromarch’s visit would surely instill a fury in Perdido only secondary to that which arose at realizing that Dromarch was not visiting for him , but rather to deliver justice to some random, insolent, foolish-

“…I’d like to hire some,” Dromarch sighed.

“Wh… hire?” Perdido’s wide-eyed stare was surely ridiculous, but Dromarch had the consideration to ignore it.

“That’s right. I’ve finally found what I'm looking for, but to reach it, I will need help.”

“Truly? You’ve pinpointed the ship’s location? I must once again applaud your tenacity, but… you do know I am duty-bound to report this to my Driver, yes?”

“Of course. There’s no need to worry, Lord Perdido. I would not ask you to lie to your Driver. But I feel I should warn you; if you accept my proposal, I will reach the ship before Torna can mobilize. Do you understand the risks involved on your end?”

“Yes, I do. For claiming to avoid inconveniences, you have done the opposite. Effectively, you force me to wager on your failure to fulfill my Driver’s wishes.”

A bet that Perdido was not keen on taking for a reason he could not place. Perhaps he’d ask Patroka about it later, along with why his chest tightened at the word proposal.

“But if you do nothing, Torna may well miss the opportunity they have been waiting for. I understand that you have much to consider. I must urge you to think on this quickly, for this chance is fleeting. If you’d like for me to return later…” Dromarch’s eyes drifted up to his severed claw.

“There is no need for that. A group of men under Zadazan’s banner were preparing to return to our Lindwurm outpost in Leftheria anyway. I shall tell them to reroute at your command. Good luck, Sir Dromarch.”

“You are too kind. It would be best for you to wish the opposite, I believe. If I do fail, I wish your allies all the best. I may not agree with their views, but y- ah, they are truly noble in their own way.” Dromarch bowed his head before turning. “Have your Driver tell them… the Aegis’ ship is currently floating near the Leftherian Archipelago.”

————

After a few restful hours of sleep, Amalthus awoke. He looked up, saw the warm sunlight drifting through the curtains, and promptly lowered his head once more with a quiet sigh. Sleep had been a rare luxury in Indol; his duties as a quaestor made him rise early, and his nights were filled with hushed commands and whispers to his followers. Forsaking rest was a small price to pay for the privilege of carrying out the Architect’s will… and, try as he might, he could never find a room in Indol that was anything less than cold and empty.

Letting his head slowly sink into the soft pillow, Amalthus closed his eyes, trying to ignore the list of tasks sidling to the front of his mind.

He would have to get in contact with Hector before reaching Indol, to see what travesties the reckless fool of a Praetor had inadvertently committed over the past days. Then he could formulate a proper plan for moving things forward. Losing Tantal’s Core Crystals to Malos was an unfortunate setback, but he could recover from such things. Pilfering cores from Indol’s supply was too slow, not to mention dangerous now that the Praetor was searching for his agents. No other nations were close to collapsing, and Malos’ group of ruffians was a total mystery.

But perhaps there was another option.

“Every Core Crystal’s data is transmitted to our cores. We contain the information within all Blades.”

He could still remember those words, and the divine revelation that followed.

Centuries later, and the extent of the Architect’s genius was revealed to him. He had not been given the creator’s most powerful tools only to learn from their shortcomings. That was but the beginning; a way to show just how broken his world was, how flawed the Blades’ artificial intelligence was, how worthless they all were.

All this time, and he had finally realized- the Aegis Cores were multi-purpose tools, created centuries before the construction industry. Truly, the Architect was a visionary in many ways.

…And so much for sleeping. Amalthus was well and truly awake. With a frustrated exhale, he pushed a strand of hair away from his forehead and slid out of bed. Turning, the quaestor pulled the sheets into place, opening the curtains shortly after. A cursory glance around the bedroom was enough to see that everything was in order.

Striding into the small bathroom attached to his quarters, Amalthus put a small glob of toothpaste on his toothbrush and started mentally counting. Placing the toothbrush in his mouth, he was somewhat relieved to taste the minty flavor of political obligation. 

(One of the late Stannif’s descendants had become quite the expert on the average Indoline’s tastes; they preferred soothing teas in rare moments of relaxation, while being partial to sharp mints when working.)

Amalthus would admit to enjoying the flavor, but after using it on toothpaste for decades for what minor favor it could grant him, he was beyond used to the taste. He’d once joked to Hector that his ability to taste mints was a good way to measure how tired he was. Hector, the poor child, had proclaimed that it surely was the Architect signaling his chosen one about the nature of mints .

If the comment, adorned with all the younger Indoline’s faith and naïveté, hadn’t made Amalthus feel sick, he’d have found the absurdity of it entertaining.

Precisely one minute and twenty six seconds into his routine, he was greeted by a sound equivalent to the time Zeke had tried piloting a Star. (The unfortunate Titan had crashed directly into the refugee camps Amalthus had spent months organizing. It was tedious to mitigate the situation’s impact, but intriguing enough to be… forgivable.)

Though, assuming that Zeke was still off leading Mor Ardain, such a dreadful crashing noise had no business being here. Begrudgingly relinquishing his toothbrush, Amalthus stalked through the halls, moving toward the ship’s main door at a brisk pace.

Suddenly, a blue-green wave of scales crashed around the corner, slamming into a small table and running at the quaestor.

If it wasn’t for the crystal embedded in his back, Amalthus would have likely been bowled over. As things were, he had just enough time to stumble back and raise an arm.

The other figure froze in place, arms and legs outstretched as if it had been petrified mid-stride.

As it turned out, that was exactly what happened. Amalthus stepped forward, tilting his head up to look at the Blade’s face.

Blue head, golden jaw, small mandibles… no doubt about it, this was his Blade. It was holding a bag full of groceries, as expected. That much was good. Though, given its hasty entrance, something had clearly gone wrong.

Amalthus lowered his hand, letting their stifling ether link fade. The Blade began to fall awkwardly, catching itself by digging a claw into the wall.

The Indoline rolled his eyes at the display. He’d have to charge it for the repair costs later. “What happened, Blade?”

“I got the food you wanted.” it muttered, eyes focusing on the empty space next to its Driver.

Amalthus snatched the bag out of his Blade’s hand, inspecting the food inside. There was an absurd amount of steak and chicken, along with some strips of juicy pork. Each and every piece looked entirely raw, with a few even dripping with blood.

“Blade,” Amalthus started, sending it a glare that would surely instill a negative reaction in its obviously flawed code, “this is exclusively meat. Tell me, what makes a healthy meal?”

It just stared at him. Why the Architect had seen fit to send this defunct, worthless thing to him was a complete mystery. If Aegises were multi-purpose tools and average Blades were inconsistent, faulty tools, this one was clearly a broken screwdriver.

“If you find yourself so lacking in basic knowledge, allow me to educate you, as your Driver.” Amalthus said, before another loud noise broke the tense silence. “What was that, Blade?”

“Probably the Driver and Blade from the icy Titan. They didn’t trust me when I said I was… you know-”

Amalthus was so very tempted to make the Blade say it, to make it acknowledge its subservience until it fell in line with his designs. But no, it was not his place to do so. However removed from the Architect’s vision this… thing was, it had at least a tie to the Architect.

Surely he would be desperately trying to convince himself of that in the days ahead.

“I didn’t know your name so it was awkward and they wanted to confirm that we knew each other especially after I maybe kind of stole the food-”

Architect have mercy on him, it was rambling now. He stopped paying attention for mere seconds and it was already failing in basic speech.

After a long inhale and equally slow exhale, Amalthus calmed down. “Very well. Fine.”

The Blade stopped, thank the heavens, and Amalthus put on his typical serene face. “We can make this work in our favor, as it happens. Perhaps your rash decisions have led to this moment by the will of the Architect.”

Neither one of them remotely believed that.

“But,” Amalthus continued, “you cannot drag problems to my doorstep without helping to remedy them. As you are a Blade that is clearly in need of repair, I am willing to extend guidance to you. First, you should make yourself scarce. I can speak with our… guests, but the obvious disharmony between us will only make them suspicious. Secondly, it is customary in Indol to serve guests a full, well-rounded meal-”

“Good thing we aren’t in Indol.”

“Perhaps, but you seem to require immense help to achieve a modicum of etiquette. Therefore I have deemed it necessary for you to obey civilized customs. Is that a problem?”

“Obviously-”

Amalthus paused, listening to the approaching footsteps of Mòrag and Brighid. “Never mind, we do not have time for this. Go.”

The Blade was already moving, only acknowledging him with a brisk nod. Its muscles were tense as it slipped away silently.

In a mere two days of knowing this Blade, he’d needed to rein it in with Haze’s power twice. Perhaps he should simply leave the Blade in a closet until they were in a dangerous situation, if that was all it was good for.

But such plans were best saved. Forcing the information he’d learned from the Ardainians to the forefront of his mind with a thin smile was the foremost priority. Adjusting his hat, Amalthus pushed away the growing frustration within him - honestly, he just wanted to finish brushing his teeth; was that so much to ask? - and slightly loosened his stiff posture. Moments later, Mòrag and Brighid came into view, looking just as they had upon their previous departure.

Amalthus spoke first. “Well, this is a surprise. How can I help you?”

“Amalthus,” Mòrag said - a shame, an organic being like her would be harder to predict than her Blade -  “are you a Driver?”

“Indeed. I resonated with a Blade during our escape from Tantal. Have you three crossed paths?”

“You could say that. Did you send this Blade to Fonsett village?”

“Yes. Did he cause you any trouble?”

“What exactly did you tell him to do? Be precise.”

Amalthus inwardly rolled his eyes. If this was supposed to be an interrogation, he was not only annoyed but bored. “I told him to buy groceries for the days before my return to Indol. Nothing more.”

“That Blade assaulted a shopkeeper and stole from the same store before fleeing the scene. Were you aware of his tendency to attack others?”

Amalthus’ lips curved upward in an insincere smile. “Are you trying to hold me liable for his actions? Let me assure you, I instructed nothing of the sort. In fact, this may very well be a misunderstanding. I had meant to leave funds for the Blade, but I recall seeing it in my drawer within the last hour. Is it not probable that I simply forgot, and the Blade felt he needed to make do with what he had?”

“It seems probable that in such a situation, your Blade would just tell you he needed money.”

“I was asleep at the time, as I had to sacrifice rest to drive us here. Disturbing one’s rest is frowned upon in Indoline society.”

Brighid stepped forward. “How convenient that we aren’t on Indol, then.”

… how much code did the Architect recycle between Core Crystals?

“Still,” Amalthus argued, “the Blade may have had the manners to respect Indoline culture.”

If only that were true…

Both Mòrag and Brighid looked ready to keep talking, and Amalthus was not keen on listening; for Architect’s sake, he should have had at least thirty four seconds of quality time with his toothbrush left!

Amalthus decided to end the conversation then and there. “If it pleases the parties involved, I would of course be willing to pay reparations when I return to Indol.”

“Well…” Mòrag glanced at Brighid as they reached a silent agreement, “I would like to say that works, but given that all of us have been marked as criminals by the Praetorium, such a plan seems unlikely to work out in practice.”

Amalthus frowned. “ All of us?”

“Well, if we exclude your Blade. In Fonsett, we saw posters for not just Brighid and I, but you as well.”

Amalthus’ eyes narrowed, porcelain smile brittle and still on his face. “Is that so?”

The nap was a mistake on his part, for surely the Architect had seen his negligence and punished him through this holy decree. Or perhaps the Architect still considered him as unworthy as when he climbed the World Tree, and was only letting fate run its course until Amalthus was ready to ascend.

Mòrag was watching - no, scrutinizing him, trying to gauge his reaction. He could feel Brighid’s gaze on him as well; detestable Blades, always parroting their owners… except his, who were nothing like him.

Minoth, who treated others with a veil of sarcasm; Malos, who hated him; his new Blade, who scoffed at the simplest Indoline formalities; and of course, their common habit of hating him. They were nothing like him. Nothing .

Amalthus slowly inhaled, then exhaled. “In that case, I have work to do. But before that, is there anything else you wish to discuss?”

“I don’t believe so.” Despite the unwavering tone, Mòrag glanced at her Blade for a fraction of a second.

“Is that so? It looks as if something is on your mind.”

“You must be mistaken.”

With a small chuckle, Amalthus bowed his head respectfully. “If you say so. Though, if you do happen to need me, I will be on the ship’s deck in about an hour.”

Turning on his heel, Amalthus stalked over to his study. He had a call to make.

————

“Your Eminence? Are you-”

“I’m fine!” The Praetor shouted at the closed door. “Just gettin’ ready. I’ll be there in a minute!”

“Of course, Your Eminence. Would you like me to announce that you are marginally behind schedule?”

“Nah, no reason to. I’ll be on time. Just gotta get down the stairs quicker than usual.”

“Understood. Do you need anything else?”

“No.” Vandham let his head fall down to the cool floor with a sigh. He shut his eyes for a moment before sitting up. He grabbed the stiff hat and sighed ruefully.

The Indolines had prepared a unique outfit to fit his Urayan frame, and… well, it seemed to fit. That was about the only nice thing he could say about it, though. The hat was stiff as a board, the robes far too easy to wrinkle, and the as for the rings? Pomp and symbolism be damned, he was leaving those in his wardrobe until he had a chance to hurl them into the Cloud Sea.

The hat almost fell into place during his next attempt, balancing precariously on his head…

A loud knock echoed through the room, coming from the windows, of all places. With a start, the Praetor spun to face the massive glass panes, letting out a soft curse as the accursed hat slid off his hair and fell to the floor. One of his Blades was flying outside, green and orange feathers flapping slowly. White and gold trails of fabric and ribbons dangled elegantly from his slim figure, made even more magnificent by the blowing wind.

The Praetor took a moment to spread his arms incredulously before bounding over to the window and flinging it open. The Blade flew inside, landing in front of him with a huff.

“Still not ready to go? Everyone’s waiting, you know.”

“Yeah, I’m aware. Should be all set in a minute.”

“All set and looking like a cat in a rainstorm, I’ll bet.” With an exasperated snort, the Blade resigned himself to his fate. “Just let me help you out, mate.”

“Fine, fine. I get it, Roc,” the Praetor muttered, “but try to keep your feathers off the robe.”

Roc just grabbed his Driver’s hand and pulled him into the bathroom. “Now, I want you to look carefully into the mirror and watch all the things you should have already done. First off, your arm goes in the sleeve, not on it. And I see you’ve left the bits of the outfit meant to stop wrinkles scattered left, right, and center. Keep them like that and they’ll be adding creases- actually, how did you even move those?”

“They were blocking off my arm, so I pulled ‘em. This robe’s too small for me.”

“It was made for you!” Roc squawked.

The Praetor just sighed as his constant companion painstakingly adjusted his outfit. He knew that the outfit was made to fit him, but Indol’s tailors were nothing like Uraya’s. In Uraya, you could get clothes and just put them on. Indol, though? They needed to make a manual for all the hairbrained parts of Indoline fashion. If Alrest was in a better place, he would’ve made that happen months ago.

Roc placed the Praetor’s hat atop his head with far more force than necessary. “Next time, I’m making Haze deal with you.”

“I’ll have this figured out by next time,” the Praetor countered. “But thanks, mate. I appreciate it.”

“Not a problem. Let’s go.”

One of his assistants, Hector, was standing outside the door. If the Indoline was troubled by his liege’s tardiness, he didn’t show it, remaining impassive behind his mask of black and gold fabric.

“Your Eminence. Can I do anything for you?”

The Praetor bounded past him, almost tripping over his robes in the process. “Nope, I’m good.”

He began descending the flights of stairs that led to the Praetoruim’s sanctum, taking them three at a time. Roc, failing to keep up with his speed, resorted to flying after his Driver. Hector kept pace with him, though he stayed a few steps behind, doubtlessly for etiquette and presentation that the Praetor couldn’t care less about.

“Your Eminence,” he began, voice monotone as ever, “Lady Haze awaits you at the sanctum’s entrance. She will be beside you for this presentation as rehearsed, along with Master Roc and I.”

“Got it. Thanks for being on top of things, Hector.”

“There is no need to thank me, Your Eminence. As much as the compliment is appreciated, I am doing naught but my job.”

Seconds later, they reached the bottom of the steps. The Praetor took a moment to glance up at the dozens of spiraling steps above him before moving forward. Roc landed beside him, taking a deep breath and wiping his brow as he followed his Driver. Hector was still just beside the Praetor, keeping his respectful distance from the Urayan.

Roc gave the Indoline servant a look of sheer confusion. Hector angled his head towards the Blade inquisitively in return.

“How do you not get worn out from that?” The Blade started, “I’ve been around him for years, and that pace of his is absurd.”

“A great deal of experience. I have gone up the Praetor’s rise with these robes hundreds, if not thousands of times.”

“Were the past few Praetors this fast?”

“Mostly not. The late Praetor Baltrich was faster than most, but you both are far faster. I am sure that you only feel fatigued due to your flight up the building earlier.”

With that, they turned a corner that led to an imposing set of doors. As expected, Haze was waiting for them. She greeted her Driver with a small wave and smile, then turned to face the doors.

The Praetor nodded in return. “Well, no reason to make the crowd wait any longer. Let’s get this over with.”

Roc and Hector moved forward, each grasping one of the doors by their gleaming handles. As the massive doors swung open, the Praetor closed his eyes, running over the multitude of things he needed to address.

Attacking another nation, dying Titans, Zeke’s coronation, Tantalese refugees, maybe touch on Uraya, definitely don’t mention that Amalthus’ insurgent group…

“And now, Indol’s beacon of hope; Praetor Vandham.”

…And that was his cue.

Vandham entered the sanctum, where he was meant to descend a small flight of steps and take his place on a large stage. Sounded simple enough. Or it would have been, if he was anywhere else in Alrest.

“There are a few things that are likely to gain audience approval before you begin speaking. If you wish, I can help advise you on the matter, Your Eminence.”

That was what Hector had said two days prior. Vandham had taken him up on the offer; the Indoline had been serving Indol’s Praetors for years, so his advice would be worthwhile. The only issue? About everything that Indol valued in a Praetor was the complete opposite of Vandham. It wasn’t a surprise but it was a nuisance nonetheless.

Vandham took his first step slowly, sweeping his gaze over the crowd to give Roc, Haze, and Hector a moment to join his side.

Then, he started to make his way down the steps - not slow enough to invite boredom or confusion, but just enough to appear confident, almost ethereal - without looking back.

He trusted his Blades to do their part, especially because it boiled down to stand next to the Praetor and occasionally crack a smile .

Reaching the stage’s edge, Vandham began to speak.

“Good to see you all! Now, I’m not gonna beat around the bush here. We’ve got a few things to go over today: Tantal, the Ardainian-Urayan situation, and our future.”

The crowd remained respectfully quiet, with a few people nodding along to his words. It took a good deal of restraint to not deride them for it - this was a briefing, not a funeral, for Architect’s sake!

“First off, the Tantal incident. I understand there’s some confusion over why we went there. Truth is, Tantal was going back on our trade agreements. ‘Course, that alone doesn’t warrant an attack. I understand that as much as anyone here. But when we called them out on it, they refused to fix things. We sent a delegation over to negotiate, and Tantal tossed ‘em in prison for it. After that, they threatened us.”

At this point, several people in the crowd were whispering in barely audible disbelief and anger. Vandham assumed (correctly) that this was the Indoline equivalent of condoning extreme violence and war crimes. Of course, others were more level headed, not least the Magisters. The Magisters had hardly any true power compared to him, but they could be a political annoyance on occasion.

“Tantal,” Vandham continued, “wanted to use Ophion to destroy our Titan.”

The implications were staggering enough that even the most reluctant Indolines would take offense.

“We couldn’t allow that to happen, could we?”

For the first time in recent history, the crowd’s murmurs bubbled into agreement; Tantal’s actions were unacceptable.

“We organized an operation to take the Omega Fetter back from Tantal. Unfortunately, they resisted. In the end, we had to deal with ‘em. No way around it, unfortunately. I get that Indol tends to be a neutral party in Alrest, keepin’ the peace between other nations and Core Crystals under control.”

Saying that as an Urayan of all things hurts, if only a little. But I guess that’s not fair. Wasn’t much Indol could’ve done back then.

“But in order to do that, don’t we need to be strong when people try to usurp our position?”

The crowd nodded as one. Vandham let himself break into a satisfied smile. Indol was behind him.

“Of course, not everyone on Genbu deserved to have their life uprooted like this. Even if their Titan is dying, even if they were struggling financially, they came from the great nation of Torna. Just like the rest of us, they deserve to find salvation under the Architect. So, we’ve done our best to pick up any innocent survivors. Any empire, province, or kingdom kind enough to give ‘em a new home can expect to be rewarded with a few dozen extra Core Crystals in the near future.”

The Praetorium wouldn’t normally trade away cores so flippantly, but as Vandham saw it, they were a powerful resource. Might as well use them to do some good.

“Now, I’d be remiss to not mention the recent coronation of Emperor Ozychlyrus Brounev Tantal. Again, while the Praetorium has often employed its policy of neutrality to great effect, sometimes action is necessary. This action did not occur because I happen to be Urayan. If this was some kind of underhanded war tactic on the old kingdom’s behalf, I would’ve done it a h… sooner. It would’ve been sooner. Instead, action was only taken when Mor Ardain was reaching dangerous levels of instability.”

The crowd followed along with his words as expected, though this topic was clearly less personal to them than the first.

“If the former emperor, Niall Ardanach, is found, I would be happy to advocate for reinstating his old position. Until then, I trust Emperor Ozychlyrus to keep things under control. But moving on, I think there’s something important to talk about. Alrest is struggling. Titans are dying. Mor Ardain and Uraya are on their last legs, that’s no secret. And Genbu isn’t doing too well, either. By my count, that leaves Indol, Gormott, Leftheria, and the nopon trade guilds in stable condition.”

While Vandham kept a confident face on the outside, he inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Forgetting any major players in Alrest would have been a complete political disaster.

“Despite the loss of living space, the Architect hasn’t sent down any new Titans for us to live on. As things stand right now, we’ll need somewhere else to live. I have the honor of being here, in the Architect’s holy Praetorium, to lead us to that new home. Or rather, an old home. ‘Cause I think this lack of Titans is a message from the Architect. It’s time to join him in the skies once again.”

Vandham took a deep breath in preparation for his final decree.

“We, the Architect’s most devoted servants, have finally been deemed worthy. To return to Elysium!”

————

“Good job, everyone! I’d say that went pretty well! Anybody want a drink?”

“I suppose a bit of something wouldn’t hurt,” Roc replied, “Not too much, though. I’d like to be sober enough to get a little flying in later.”

“Got it. Anyone else?”

“I’ll pass,” Haze said, with a shake of her head.

“I too must decline, Your Eminence,” Hector politely added. “There is still work to be done, and I will see it through as best I can.”

Vandham nodded, unsurprised. The group made it to a small bar, which had been constructed specifically for the Urayan Praetor. The room had previously been a formal diner, but nobody had really used it. No commoner would be allowed to venture this far into the Praetorium’s halls for food, and the elite had ballrooms and banquets to dine in.

It epitomized what Indol was; a land governed by humans that placed themselves on top of the world, only to shirk their responsibilities for lavish parties.

For all his faults, Praetor Vandham was the exception to that. Though Hector still didn’t enjoy the dimly lit bar. It was just… unscrupulous, a patch of Indol that was wrong .

Regardless, his job left no room for such opinions.

“Allow me to get the drinks for you, Your Eminence.”

Hector began walking without waiting for a response; a small folly on his part, but the Praetor would not care. From how things seemed, life was very different in Uraya. Not that Hector would truly know, as he’d never been beyond Indol’s sacred Titan. He had never needed to, not when the Architect’s Will could tell him of life elsewhere.

Hector chanced a glance back at the tables. Nobody had taken any notice of his distracted state, but that was no excuse for his lapse in focus; such things were unacceptable. He’d made it a personal mission to treat each Praetor under his care as if they were the great Amalthus himself, after all. Perhaps then, his devotion could forgive the sin tucked deep within his heart.

“Here you go, Your Eminence, Master Roc.”

Hector placed their drinks on the table and politely excused himself. Slipping through the streets, he reached his home; a small apartment on the outskirts of the Sanctum, tucked between the buildings of more important people. Sliding his key out of his large robes, Hector moved to the door, climbing the stairs and letting himself into his rooms.

There was nothing to speak of between the four white walls of his home. Everything was perfectly orderly, which was perhaps an easy task when furniture itself was scarce. There wasn’t even a bed- the only thing in sight was a simple desk with some neatly stacked papers.

Amalthus had insisted on getting him a bed, once. Hector had appreciated the gesture, but Amalthus’ money was best off used for other purposes more befitting of his status. Hector had secretly slipped payment for the bed into Amalthus’ things and pushed the bed itself into his closet, where it wouldn’t distract him from his work.

A soft blue light was on, casting treacherous shadows over the floor. Hector turned on the lights to banish the unholy darkness and hurried to his desk. The light signified a call, and the only person who had the means to call him here was his father, beloved, perfect-

His savior. That was all.

The glass screen clicked to life slowly- too slowly, Hector should have been there sooner, he was wasting his mentor’s time. Pixels of a face appeared and vanished as Hector fumbled with the controls. Finally, the image steadied, colors coalescing into the most magnetic Indoline Hector had ever seen.

“Ah, there you are. It is a pleasure, as always.” Amalthus’ voice was calm. Hector was surprised by just how tolerant and kind he was, for the servant deserved naught but scorn for his tardiness.

“I am not worthy of your praise… Your Eminence.”

————

Amalthus’ serene smile faded with the screen before him. All but shoving his chair away as he stood, he meticulously hid all evidence of his call. Long range communications were in an odd place. They were technically not government property, but too expensive, large, and delicate for most to actually afford. As one of the outliers, he’d found much use in having a line to Indol while away and even more use in pretending he didn’t.

There was a ball of dust on the floor next to his foot. Disgusted, he stepped back… but no, it was too slovenly to leave lying around. He had appearances - no, a holy mission - to uphold.

Hooking the edge of his fingernail onto the dust, he left it in the tangle of wires, before stowing said wires into a hatch beneath the floorboards. If only he had brought gloves…

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, tuning out the sound of his Blade loudly arguing with Mòrag a few rooms away. Too many things were intruding on his personal space. He envied the Architect, working in a quiet land above the clouds. He was no Architect, but he could still visualize it; cold metal walls and a large window that showed only clouds below and darkness above.

This envisioned glimpse of the Architect’s home was what Amalthus used to focus in times of crisis, while Indoline magisters squabbled and pestered each other over trivial matters. It was quiet. He liked that.

So, he thought, stepping forward to stand before the imaginary glass, I have clearly let things get out of hand. Regardless, this is as all else is. The Architect’s will is becoming reality. That is all it is.

First order of business; my course of action. Tantal’s Core Crystals, along with Indol’s, are out of reach. As such, I will need a new way to acquire large amounts of data. Luckily, an Aegis told me the way forward long ago, inadvertently. With their whereabouts unknown and my resources dwindling, I must place my trust in the Architect.

Secondly, the Blade. I have been too inconsistent with it. If I tolerated Malos for years back in my youth, I can feign a good relationship with this one too. Controlling its core should be saved for emergencies. Finding out its name should be a priority.

He opened his eyes, releasing a deep breath. He wasn’t quite happy to return to reality, but he had said he’d be on the deck in… two minutes.

One and a half minutes later, he was there. He could not remember the walk there; spending enough time walking through the same halls had made navigation a task for muscle memory alone.

Mòrag and Brighid were already there. Amalthus had expected as much.

“Good evening, Lady Mòrag, Lady Brighid.” His eyes flicked up to the orange and pink sunset, before settling on Mòrag’s. “Please, let us drop the usual formalities. As you are still here, I assume you want something from me?”

“Correct. If you cannot pay for your Blade’s earlier mishap, we’d like to have you do so with a favor instead. A ride away from Leftheria, to be precise.”

“I notice that this favor of yours strays from the wronged party. What would a butcher in Leftheria gain from me lending you my ship?” With a small yet triumphant smile, Amalthus softly chuckled, the sound rolling off his lips and lazily floating through the air. “I mean no offense, but… was this truly the best excuse you came up with?”

Mòrag sighed, a stray beam of the fading sun illuminating the dark bags under her eyes. “It… was, yes. Brighid and I have found ourselves rather out of our usual element. And an hour is not much time to work.”

I could tell, Amalthus thought.

“It was a good attempt,” Amalthus lied, “if you had been talking to a younger Indoline, you may have succeeded. Especially if you invoked the Architect. That often persuades Indol’s youth.”

“Thank you,” Mòrag ground out, sounding anything but thankful. “I suppose we’ll be going, then.”

Amalthus watched as they walked past him, coincidentally lining up rather well with the distant light of the World Tree. The superstitious part of him was excitedly pointing at the sight, though it made no difference. His decision had been made.

“I am willing to accept your offer, Lady Mòrag.”

Mòrag stopped so abruptly that Brighid crashed into her back. “What?”

“I - and my Blade - would be honored to assist you.”

She turned around at that, though she still had a hand on the doorknob. “I am not in the mood for jokes, quaestor.”

“How fortunate that the words I spoke were sincere, then.”

“Forgive me for my skepticism, but you know our situation. Why would you possibly choose to assist us?”

“I do know of your situation. I know that you have been wrongly convicted of treason. I know that Alrest’s governments are as dangerous to you as your alleged allies. But I also know of your determination to find your brother, and of your many triumphs during your time as Special Inquisitor.”

“You do not seem like the type to risk your life for admiration,” Brighid remarked, “what do you expect to get out of a partnership?”

“The Architect’s good graces, perhaps. Or maybe I have little else to do. Perhaps, as an old Indoline with only so many years left, I simply wish to help the world’s promising youth. Regardless of the reason, I get the feeling that you both will go on to do extraordinary things. If fate thrusts us together so persistently, I may as well bear witness to your unfolding stories.”

“Whatever your reason may be… thank you.” Mòrag slumped onto the door for a moment before catching herself and straightening up. It rather reminded Amalthus of his early days in the Praetorium. “I must admit, Brighid and I have yet to settle on a destination. We can figure that out now, and give you our decision in the morning, if that is acceptable.”

“Mòrag.” Brighid cut in sternly, pausing after her Driver’s name to give her an intense stare. “You are in no state to make important decisions right now. We have just run across a large portion of the archipelago, not to mention the mental strain of the past few days. Please, get some rest and think this over in the morning.”

“But-” Mòrag froze, blinking in surprise as Brighid placed a hand on her shoulder. “We need to-”

“Rest? That’s quite right, Mòrag. Don’t worry, I will wake you in the morning if you oversleep.”

Apparently, Amalthus had misjudged Brighid. The Jewel of Mor Ardain was not meant to be a fearsome soldier, but an alarm clock. How curious.

“I must agree with Lady Brighid,” Amalthus said, “hastily made decisions rarely bear fruit. I too plan on retiring for the night.”

That was enough to sway the exhausted Ardainian, who let Brighid all but drag her to the nearest bedroom. Amalthus followed, walking past them to his own room. Glancing back, he saw Brighid shoot him a grateful look, which he returned as a subtle nod before closing his door.

Approximately two minutes after he heard Mòrag and Brighid close their doors - the Blade had taken the room adjacent to her Driver’s - Amalthus quietly opened his and walked out into the hall.

He’d rather date Malos than go to sleep as early as sunset .

Chapter Text

Mòrag woke to the soft touch of a warm arm wreathed in blue. Cracking an eye open, she looked over at Brighid. Brighid quickly retracted her arm when she noticed Mòrag stirring.

“Good morning, Brighid,” Mòrag said, sitting up.

“Good afternoon to you as well. I see you’ve been sleeping in uniform again. Perhaps you should-”

“Afternoon?” Mòrag’s head shot to the window. It was definitely bright out, but that didn’t really tell her what time it was. She looked back at Brighid, who had a small frown on her face as she realized her mistake. “Brighid. Don’t tell me you let me sleep all morning.”

“What shall I tell you, then?”

Mòrag scowled, completely unamused. “Must you always do this? All I ask is that you keep us on schedule when you force me to sleep early.”

“This was always part of the schedule. My schedule, at least. Someone needs to make sure you take care of yourself, Mòrag.”

“Fine. Have you at least decided on our next destination?”

“Well, I’ve looked over the possibilities. We still don’t have any leads, though. Amalthus has set up a table in the study with some relevant information. I’d advise you to look it over before making your choice.”

“Does he-”

“Amalthus has not miraculously acquired any information regarding your brother.”

“Ah.” Mòrag winced, suddenly feeling rather self conscious. “Am I that easy to read?”

“Only recently.” Brighid put a comforting hand on her shoulder, gently guiding her out of the room. “I’d hoped the extra rest would help, but here we are.”

“I’ll work on it,” Mòrag assured her, heading toward the study only to be stopped by the hand that remained on her shoulder. “…Yes, Brighid?”

“Mòrag,” Brighid sighed, “you are not skipping lunch for this.”

————

Sons of Torna:

Be careful. Spessia has fallen. Indol is believed to be responsible.

Sons of Torna:

At my behest, Zettar has spoken to the Praetor. Rhadallis says a fringe group of terrorists were responsible, and that they have since been apprehended. Zettar says conclusive evidence was shared, but refuses to disclose this evidence.

To those who grieve for Spessia:

Praetor Rhadallis is dead. Zettar too is dead. As Father wished, I shall investigate the Spessian massacre.

To those who grieve for Spessia:

Praetor Baltrich has taken power. I highly doubt he was responsible for our plight; he is weak, fearful, and ill-suited for leadership.

To those who grieve for Spessia:

I have secured a job under Praetor Baltrich! Leaving Fonsett was a difficult decision to make, but I trust my family to keep it safe. I shall try to ascertain what I can. Justice for our people is within sight!

To those who grieve for Spessia:

I was caught trying to go through classified documents today. Luckily, the man who found me is supporting our cause, thank the Architect. I must confess that my hands have not stopped shaking since, but this is a grand opportunity. I will be meeting with this generous Indoline this weekend to discuss things. Justice for our people and security for our future is within sight!

To my descendants:

Father’s body was returned to us today. He was poisoned. The Indoline scum were not content to erase our past. They are trying to destroy our future. And to think they claimed the radicals were dealt with. I say the radicals have become the commoners in that gilded Titan.

Peace to Torna! Security for Fonsett!

To my descendants:

The Indolines hide their tracks well. But as they say- “if you can’t beat them, join them.” I have utilized makeup and other cosmetics to imitate the Indolines; Architect forgive me for tarnishing myself with the image of his zealots.

Justice for Torna! Prosperity for Fonsett!

To my descendants:

Contact has been made with a sympathetic Indoline. The roach knows Indol’s place - far below Torna - and is willing to help me. I will meet with him this weekend, and dispose of him the next.

Vengeance for Torna! Glory to Fonsett!

Addam rolled his eyes at that one. These entries had been made well before his time, but he felt that he probably wouldn’t like whoever wrote the last few. He flipped through the next pages; dozens of stories of discovery and promise that cut off right before a revelation as their authors died. He came to a stop on what his grandfather had written many years ago.

Everyone:

I’ve noticed a trend in our notes. I asked Father about it, and he said that my examples took place over a long time span, too long for an Indoline life. But I’ve looked into it further; there is an Indoline who has lived for far longer than the average; furthermore, he was an influential figure in the time of Spessia. However, I have no plans to search for him; at this point, Torna and Spessia are long dead, and the man I speak of feels untouchable to me. As such, I will not disclose anything else here. It is my hope that as the leading family of Fonsett, we can move away from this pointless obsession and strive for a greater future. Please, listen to me and let this grudge die. We are in no danger now and the only thing that harms us is our own inability to let this go.

Addam knew the whole notebook by heart; the next few pages especially. He didn’t need to read them again.

“Come on, slowpoke! Do you want to get breakfast or not?”

Addam would have glanced at the clock, but the fact that Mythra had woken up told him all he needed to know. He was dreadfully late.

He could hear her footsteps approaching. Hastily, he closed the yellowing notebook shut, or at least tried to. One of the brittle pages was practically falling out; Addam ignored it in favor of stuffing it into a wooden drawer, slapping a poster on top to hide it as Mythra rounded the corner.

“There you are,” she said, looking entirely too proud of herself, “I knew I’d find you here.”

“Yes, well, I’m sorry for the wait. Let’s go.”

“Why are you always like this around-” Mythra waved an arm at the drawer, “-that?”

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know… just like… weird. All ‘alright Mythra, let’s go’ as if you weren’t holding me up in the first place.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Addam replied. Subconsciously, he stepped in between her and the drawer.

Suddenly, she reached past him, yanking it open and pulling out the first thing she saw- his diversion, thank the Architect. As she read it, Addam slammed the drawer shut and locked it, hiding the key in his pocket.

“Hey, this guy sounds familiar. Have we met him somewhere?”

Mythra turned the poster so Addam could see, and his heart sank. It featured an intricate drawing of the enigmatic quaestor Amalthus. Under it was a small, vague statement marking him as a traitor to the Praetorium. Mythra should not know who that was, he’d tried to make sure of it.

“Really?” He said slowly, all too aware of how he had to keep his eyes from widening suspiciously. “Where’d you hear of this… Amalthus fellow?”

“Um… yesterday! That was it!” Mythra nodded to herself, sounding more confident as she continued. “He was the thief’s Driver. I heard him say it to that stuck-up Blade and her Driver.”

“Really?” Addam repeated. “That… is interesting. I should let the Indoline patrol know.”

“Oh right, them. Yeah, you can go do that. I’ll pick up breakfast for both of us, then.”

“Great! I’ll take the usual dish.”

Children of Fonsett:

I worry for Fonsett at times. We are but a small village with no ties to major Titans. We often find ourselves in Indol’s shadow, but we have no formal alliance. If Mor Ardain grows dissatisfied with Gormott and comes to Leftheria, Indol has no obligation to stand by our side. Of course, we all know why things are this way, as the few who recall the Spessian Massacre. But the other day, a villager walked up to me and asked, “Why don’t we get protection from Indol?” I admit that I struggled to answer. At first, I brushed the incident aside; I could have answered, but these notes and the tragedy of Spessia are not to be shared. But now I wonder; is it really worth putting ourselves at risk when Indol offers safety? They’ve left us alone for years. Our ancestors’ rage and distrust seems to have been one-sided. Today, I saw an announcement from Indol. The man who grandfather believed to be responsible for the massacre is going to be captured and held accountable by the Praetorium. Is this grudge truly worth it?

The Origo notebook weighed heavy on his mind as if it had burrowed inside him as he stood before the Indoline monks.

“Thank you for the intel, civilian. The Architect appreciates your service.”

Addam wondered why every Indoline soldier seemed so intent on addressing him as “civilian”. Their tone had been so curt and the term so consistent that he almost assumed they were trying to taunt him for his family’s fall from grace… but no, a bit of observation revealed they did that to everyone. Regardless, the information about Amalthus had been passed on, and his Blade was approaching him with a smile on her face and a bag of food in her hand. All was right in the world.

They took the food back home and enjoyed the meal.

“You know,” Mythra started, taking a bite out of some seafood, “it’s nice that we get to take off like this.”

“What do you mean? The crops still need to be tended to,” Addam reminded her. Perhaps she just considered it a day off because she had no intention of working on their farm, and he was too kind to make her.

“Not what I meant. I was talking about the fact that there are criminals around and we aren’t the ones stuck dealing with them.”

“I suppose. Though I don’t like not knowing what they’re up to.”

“As long as they don’t get in my way, whatever,” Mythra shrugged.

“Oh, come on, Mythra. I know you’d care if something happened to the other villagers.”

Mythra made an annoyed face at him before standing up with her empty plate, leaving Addam with his thoughts.

He and Mythra had always been the strongest people in Fonsett, and so the occasional bandit would inevitably fall into their to-do list. But Addam had never really enjoyed it; the time and energy spent chasing someone down to lock them away, the fear of losing friends, how hopeless it all felt.

If Indol could take that off their hands…

“Civilian!” The Indoline soldier was at his door later that day. “The Praetorium wishes to know how long ago the Ardainians docked in Leftheria.”

Addam’s entire world flipped on its head. “Wh- Ardainians? Here?”

“Indeed. Our patrols on the holy Titans allowed us to catch a glimpse of their lesser beasts.”

“Holy Titans? Lesser beasts?”

“The Stars and Ardainian Titan weapons respectively, civilian.”

“I never heard of any Ardainians- there shouldn’t be Ardainians here,” Addam repeated stubbornly, as if that would make them leave.

“There are, we assure you. This is the first the Praetorium has heard of it as well.”

“That- I am surprised as you are. Could you point me in the right direction? I’d like to see this for myself.”

Hours later, he was trekking through Leftheria’s cloudy islands. A long, hefty sword was strapped to his back; a relic passed down from his ancestors. It had taken a few hours of polishing to get it back in shape, but it was worth it to feel the comforting thrum of electricity that pulsed from the sword to his body.

Besides, it would be useful if things came to a fight. He had decided against bringing Mythra, after all, instead slipping away after saying he was working at the farm. She could definitely handle herself well enough, but she was too young to get caught up in politics and grudges from centuries ago. Addam would do all he could to spare her from that fate.

Sure enough, in a remote corner of the archipelago, he saw the Ardainian soldiers, black dots swarming across the lush grass like an invasive species. It was hardly a surprise - the Praetorium’s monks rarely lied - but it made his heart drop anyway.

Children of Fonsett:

I’ve made a decision. I hope that it will prove to be the right one. May you live peacefully evermore.

A blot of ink marred the page as Addam’s shaking hand set the notebook down.

He wrote the request in front of their fireplace. His hands remained cold and unsteady in spite of it. As he listed terms and statistics in neat little columns, outlining the potential monetary values of their home, Mythra walked in.

He slid an arm over the paper and a smile onto his face.

“Ah, good afternoon. I’m just writing a letter to a friend.”

“Alright.” She barely even spared him a glance, dropping onto a chair while flipping through a book.

Suddenly, the room was too hot. They both worked in silence for a bit, before-

“Mythra,” Addam blurted out, driven by impulse more than anything, “how do you feel about the Praetorium?”

“Huh?” She put the book down, opened and facedown to save her page (its spine was visibly creased) and looked at him. “Indol? Kind of pretentious, but, like, they aren’t terrible. I don’t know, I don’t think about it much. Why?”

“Um, I… just wanted to make sure you were comfortable, what with the soldiers and Titans they’ve brought in.”

“I’m used to them. It’s not like they do much. Besides, better them than the people they’re chasing, right?”

“Ah. Right.” Addam looked back down at his paper before realizing that was probably suspicious, at which point he hurriedly looked back up. Mythra, of course, saw none of this, as she was busy staring daggers at her book. It seemed that she had lost her page after all.

Minutes later, he walked outside, letter sealed and addressed to the Praetorium. He handed it to one of the monks with well wishes for their future partnership.

As the sun set that night, he watched an Indoline Star rise, draconic wings flapping smoothly as it returned to the Praetorium with a proposal from one Addam Origo.

————

The two warrior monks left in Fonsett convened for their daily prayers and meeting to discuss the days ahead. One noticed, with some distaste, that his companion seemed to be rushing through prayers.

“What has happened?” He asked as the final prayer concluded.

“The citizen who delivered the letter to Arentz this afternoon returned with news of the criminals. They have been spotted colluding in the archipelago.”

The other’s excitement made sense now; this was indeed a fortuitous gift of the Architect.

“I propose that we strike at sunset,” the first monk proclaimed.

“An excellent plan.”

————

“Your Eminence.”

Hector stopped before Vandham at the top of the Praetor’s spire, bowing deeply. He was still as always, showing no exhaustion despite the fact that Vandham had seen his distinctive dark robes in the port less than three minutes earlier.

“Hey.” Vandham spared a moment to give Hector a lopsided wave before returning to his bottle of beer. “How’re the secret passages?”

“I beg your pardon, but I’m… not sure what you mean, Your Eminence.”

“Ha, nothin’. Just messing with you. I take it that you’ve got something to tell me?”

“Correct, though I can return later if I am interrupting anything.” Hector tilted his head to point at Vandham’s drink - a curt movement that served to show where his eyes were looking under the cloth veil.

“Go on, I’ve got nothing else to do at the moment.”

“Very well. The Scientific Department has finished analyzing the Omega Fetter with aid from the independent Stannif Institute. The Omega Fetter is ready to be used, though preliminary research suggests that its control is not absolute, and there are several protocols present that appear to be tied to Ophion itself. As such, calling upon Ophion may be a risk.”

Vandham was quiet for a long while before responding. “We expect to need Ophion to explore the World Tree’s boundary layer, right?”

“That is probable. However, we would need to send something or someone to the boundary layer to ascertain if Ophion would be useful-”

“And to do that, we need Ophion out of the way.” Vandham sighed; this was a problem, and if he wanted to reach Elysium quickly, if he wanted to give whatever was left of Garfont a second chance at life while there was time, there was only one option.

He pushed the emptied drink down, pushing himself to his full height. He was the Praetor, Alrest’s final hope at salvation, and he’d be damned if a metal worm stopped him.

“Tell Roc to go meet me in Leftheria tomorrow morning. Find an isolated rendezvous spot and get one of your scientists to drop the Fetter off. We’ll deal with things from there.”

Hector bowed again. “As you wish, Your Eminence.”

Chapter Text

Try as he might, Addam could not sleep. He was, of course, worried that he had made the wrong decision in trusting Indol; doubly so if Amalthus, the man who organized the Spessian Massacre, would use his influence to gain control of the Praetorium. Of course, that was unlikely, but given how divisive the current Praetor was, sending Indoline forces after Amalthus seemed dreadfully unwise. And yet, he had done just that.

In the dark of the night, he found himself looking at the Indoline’s poster again. A line that he had glossed over in the past suddenly stood out to him.

Wanted: dead or alive.

It was at that moment when, as if struck by divine revelation, the path forward became clear to him. If he aided in Amalthus’ downfall, Fonsett and Indol’s ties would grow, and the Indoline acquisition he had asked for would go smoothly. Without the meddling of Amalthus and his allies, they would never again have to worry about corruption in the Praetorium.

With that in mind, Addam prepared to set out, accompanied only by his ancestors’ sword and a pounding headache.

————

The first time Mythra heard her Driver pacing that night, she turned over and went back to sleep.

The second time, she vowed to do something about their creaky floors (knowing full well that nothing would be done) and went back to ignoring Addam’s footsteps.

Then the sound of him passing by her door woke her up. She pulled the blankets over her head.

Then it happened again .

Mythra was under no illusions; she knew that she was a heavy sleeper. (And a nightmare to wake up. After a lamp was thrown at Addam’s head, he insisted on keeping heavy objects out of her room for everyone’s safety. Mythra had wanted to disagree, but when she had looked at the growing red welts on Addam’s forehead, she’d felt just bad enough to go along with his plan.)

So if Addam had woken her up four-

Thump.

Five times, then something was wrong. She groggily wondered how Addam’s wife was sleeping through this impromptu stomping concert, before hearing…

Was that the door?

Begrudgingly, she rolled out of bed, pushing the thick blankets away from her. Whatever Addam was doing, she didn’t want him to do it alone.

…Sadly, the blanket was tangled around her legs. Addam would have to wait a minute.

————

It had been too long since Amalthus had left Indol - the sight of grass was almost alien to him (the Praetorium’s perfectly even grass squares hardly counted) and the sound of birds was an unfamiliar choir. Indol was too small for true walks of enjoyment; besides, Indol’s quick orbit created an almost imperceptible wind, one that kept the Titan feeling like the last days before winter in all but the warmest of days.

That was why Amalthus was entranced by the quiet of Leftheria, and why he had decided to go for a short morning walk. Not without precautions, of course; his ship was tucked away under a low island, which was the best hiding spot he had found for it; the draconic ship was impressive, but the Architect had certainly not crafted it with subtlety in mind. He’d also told his Blade to stay somewhere nearby and keep an eye out for trouble as an extra security measure.

(A few islands away, Sever was hunting down a group of Tirkin. He didn’t know where Amalthus was and couldn’t care less.)

They were prepared to depart from Leftheria, and would likely do so later that day. They had only stuck around for this long because Mòrag had heard tell of some Ardainians in Leftheria and set off to investigate. It had turned out to be a nearly empty encampment of unfamiliar soldiers with stolen Ardainian supplies. As intrigued as they all were, the missing Niall wasn’t there, so they had decided to sail to Mor Ardain next as Mòrag had requested.

Amalthus stopped near the end of the Titan in the shadow of a thin tree. Staring up, he was treated to a magnificent view of the World Tree as its branches cradled the rising sun. A beam of light cracked through the branches, pushing away the shadows and leaving him transfixed in its light. With a contented sigh, he turned, looking at the tree. Small, glistening fruits grew from its branches, surrounded by the lush leaves of late summer. All it was missing was some wildlife, perhaps a raven perched in the branches and a snake curling around the trunk. Hesitantly, he reached out and touched the worn bark, rubbing his fingers across it as he admired its texture.

When Amalthus turned back, the World Tree was obscured by a thick cloud. The sun vanished with it, sending a chill over Amalthus that had little to do with the shade and everything to do with the blade at his neck.

————

He sucked in a deep breath, muscles bulging as he launched himself into the air. With a thud, his gauntlets dug into a thick branch. He found new footholds on two bits of metal sticking out from the tree’s trunk.

He stayed there for a long moment, chest heaving from the deep breaths fighting to keep him awake.

“Slow… down…” said a breathless voice beside him.

“Not-” Vandham turned his head just enough to see the tips of Roc’s wings, “not yet. We can go further.”

The sounds of their breathing and the gentle flapping of wings were accompanied by the gentle whispers of the wind.

“Vandham!”

Suddenly, Roc was by his side, pushing him into the tree and wrapping him in an iron embrace of feathers.

A second later, the wind let out a choppy scream, staccato blasts of air beating against them. Vandham caught a glimpse of something purple rockering past.

At once, the sound was replaced by something even more terrifying. Sharp peaks of artificial thunder echoed to the same robotic cadence as the wind. Roc’s deathly strong grip tightened further on Vandham’s shoulder, though he lowered a wing so they could look back.

The metal serpent that Vandham would come to know as Ophion slithered through the air, hordes of missiles tearing through the sky to claw at the Urayan Titan below.

It slowed, a shining halo stretching over its head as ether gathered in its long mouth.

“Roc!” Vandham shouted. “We’ve gotta do something!”

“On your signal!”

“Jumping in three… two… one…”

The air around him was tinted by Roc’s power as he leapt, sweeping them both into a celadon current.

They rose above the artifice, giving Vandham but a moment to glance past its body for a spectacular glance of Uraya below.

Then Roc’s blades formed in his hands, and he plummeted down. Roc had sent him straight at the machine’s head, where he could see a robotic body fused to the snake.

Readying himself, he swung.

In a moment of clarity, he took note of the soothing hum of Ophion’s body and the hiss of fans powering on as it prepared to fire.

Then the curved tip of his weapon dug into the humanoid neck, scratching a razor-thin white line into the paint as it recoiled.

The weapon caught and stilled, letting Vandham swing around and slam into the machine. Roc fired a stream of ether from the serpent’s back.

A purple beam of ether appeared suddenly, tracing a line from the serpent’s mouth to a hole in the Cloud Sea dangerously close to Uraya. The ether kept eating at the clouds, boring a growing void in the sea that bore an uncomfortable resemblance to the abyss it had appeared from.

Ophion’s head turned to where Vandham was still hanging from it, gasping for breath. The petrifying red lights on its head and the mesmerizing halo brightened until Vandham felt a little tremor race down his spine. Adrenaline and terror ran through his veins like electricity, only enhanced by the thrum of Ophion’s body. He dug his blade further into the machine…

And suddenly the world spun, a kaleidoscope of blues and greens that whipped in and out of sight. Ophion’s thrashing cut off as he was thrown from its body.

He crashed through the World Tree’s leaves - no, glyphs - with too little resistance, plummeting faster and faster towards the Cloud Sea.

————

He had woken up on an Indoline boat after their failed attempt to climb the World Tree. Roc had saved him and dragged him to the nearest vessel.

As the boat returned to Indol, Vandham had pondered the glyph he had fallen through. It had been shaped like a certain Titan with wings outstretched over Alrest. The Indolines on the boat had taken it as a sign and eventually he’d started to think of it that way too.

The voice of an Indoline monk brought him back to the present. “The Fetter is prepared, Your Eminence.”

Vandham nodded slowly, eyes opening and traveling over the landscape. The reports were right; this truly was the emptiest place around.

“It’s time. All of you, get back to Indol. Roc and I have this covered.”

“As you wish, Your Eminence.” There was an ounce of hesitation in the Indoline’s voice, but he didn’t object, only bowing to the Urayan Praetor before leaving.

Roc flew up to him. “Ready?”

“I’ve never been more ready! How ‘bout you?”

“I am ready as well. Though in the future, I’d appreciate it if you could abstain from working out on my roof.”

Vandham laughed heartily. “I wouldn’t if anyone else had a terrace with a birds-eye view of Indol.”

“Make your own,” Roc snapped, “I can’t sleep with you jumping around and hollering ten feet above my head.”

“Nah, you’re not getting away from me that easy. Besides, we’ve got more important things to do.”

In the distance behind them, the Indolines who had brought the Fetter were sailing over the horizon. It was time.

Roc handed him a burlap bag. Reaching in, Vandham pulled out the Omega Fetter. The soft blue crystal pulsed in his hand like a beating heart. Slowly lifting it into the air, he let out a bellowing cry.

“Ophion, come forth!”

“…Mate. Was that really necessary?”

Vandham turned a bit sheepishly to where Roc stood, feathers slightly ruffled. “Sorry. Just didn’t seem right to do this quietly.”

“The only thing that isn’t right here is your head, Vandham.”

”Oh, don’t grumble at me like that. It got your blood pumping too, didn’t it?”

“That it did… I suppose.”

They stood there in silence, savoring the fleeting colors of the morning sky.

“Wind’s rather still today,” Roc remarked, his voice sounding loud and empty in the tense silence, “it’s waiting.”

Vandham hummed in agreement, tossing the Fetter over his shoulder and drawing his blades.

A rapidly intensifying breeze swept over them as the clouds split, purple fins breaking through like a giant shark. A giant, artificial, strangely religious shark. Ophion burst into the air, impassive red lights staring down at them. The halo above its head began to glow as the thunderous peals of discharging weapons sounded.

Vandham grinned, raising his voice to be heard over the howl of the wind.

“Ophion, deliverer of my fate! It’s time for me to deliver yours!”

————

Mòrag stood at the head of the ship’s deck, hands behind her back as she looked out at the sea. She’d been up late the last few nights, staring at old maps of Alrest until her eyes felt dry and unfocused. Amalthus had been there too, though he’d offered little other than polite greetings. She took one side of the table to speculate on Niall’s location, and he leaned back in a chair on the other to read. He would not point out that she had exhausted every possible avenue of search, and she would not ask about the thick, frayed tomes that he studied before locking them shut at midnight. It was their silent routine and agreement.

Or so she’d thought.

Apparently, Brighid had gotten wind of this arrangement, and had taken to appearing shortly after the sun went down to drag Mòrag to her room. Mòrag had refrained from stashing away a map only because she didn’t trust Amalthus to not immediately notice and start asking questions. Questions that would doubtlessly make Brighid pull all the furniture out of her room.

The behavior was most strange. Brighid had been concerned about Mòrag’s work-life balance before, but she’d never locked her Driver in a bedroom at sunset before. Even worse, when Mòrag awoke the next morning, the door was still locked. This was unacceptable. She had then looked at the window and decided it was not absurd, not immature, and definitely not at all akin to a rebellious teenager to climb out of it.

She wasn’t even trying to sneak off; she was just going to wait on the deck, look at the clouds, and wait for Brighid to find her. Then they’d talk about whatever this was, come to an agreement, and things would go back to relative normalcy.

Then she noticed the Titans flying toward them.

“Brighid!” She called, hurrying inside, “There are-”

At once, Brighid’s hand gently clasped around Mòrag’s arm. “There you are. You know, you’re supposed to be-”

“Incoming hostiles heading for the deck. Two Indoline monks and Titans, possibly a third pair if all of the forces in Fonsett have deployed.”

Brighid’s demeanor changed immediately as she released her Driver’s arm, falling into position next to her as they ran back outside.

“We are stationed under a Titan specifically to avoid detection,” Brighid said, “how did they spot us?”

“Someone may have followed us after we left Fonsett. Or perhaps they’ve caught Amalthus and his Blade. Where are they?”

“Out for a walk, apparently. Look out!”

The first Titan glided overhead, shooting a fireball that hit their own Titan. Oddly, the transport vessel remained perfectly calm, even when the second Titan clawed through its hide, leaving a series of dark gashes in its side. The Indoline clearly trained their Titans to be still unless ordered otherwise, which would have been impressive if it wasn’t leading to the ship’s destruction.  Before Mòrag or Brighid could stop them, they had flown back out of range.

“They plan on sinking our ship,” Mòrag said, “and after that, we’ll be stranded in the Cloud Sea.”

“A smart move. They won’t risk a battle at close quarters. What’s our plan?”

“Next time they approach, we’ll aim for the first one. Then- hold on. Something’s happened out there.”

The Indoline Stars, which had been gliding leisurely well outside of the overhead island’s shadow. Abruptly, they’d sped up, wings flapping rapidly as they hurried for cover. The leading Star closed in on their position, rocketing forward with no signs of stopping. The second was crushed under a massive purple thing as it flew into the Cloud Sea. The Star did not fly back up.

Brighid instinctively raised a barrier around them as the serpentine device continued flying down with no end to its massive body in sight. “What is that thing?”

“Brighid! With me!”

“Right!”

Brighid stepped next to Mòrag as they both raised a flaming whip. The blades scraped together, flames growing for each link of metal that collided.

“Now!”

A cross of blue flames burst from their weapons, surging through the air and colliding with the last Star. It twisted away, throwing its pilot into the Cloud Sea. After a moment’s pause, the Titan scooped said pilot into its claws before flying away.

Mòrag and Brighid kept their weapons drawn; from the sound of explosions, it seemed like there was still a threat from-

The metal serpent shot out of the clouds, majestically arcing over their ship as it passed. They turned to face it even as something crashed onto the deck behind them-

“How’s this for a revelation!?”

An Urayan man (was that the Praetor?) charged across the deck, leaping into the air as his Blade propelled him forward in a burst of wind and feathers.

He slammed into the serpent, and all three of them flew to a different part of the archipelago, accompanied by faint explosions and beams of ether.

————

The first thing Amalthus did in a moment of relative clarity was reach out with his core to his Blade. If he could stay calm, everything would be fine and-

The thing’s signal was far too faint. What in Alrest was it doing?!

It was clearly time for Plan B.

…Amalthus did not have a Plan B.

In spite of himself, he felt his pulse quickening. His eyes slid down to the sword pressed against his neck. It was a finely polished broadsword. As he watched it, a spark traveled down its length and jumped onto his skin. He flinched, though it was only a minor sting. It was perhaps too easy to imagine his assailant’s blade following that same path.

He cleared his throat. “Greetings.”

He might as well start praying for imminent divine intervention, because if that was the best he could do, he would desperately need it.

The stranger behind him let out a noise somewhere between a cough and a gasp. “Um, hello.”

He couldn’t see the man, but the accent was recognizable, and not in a good way.

“You… are from Tantal, I presume?”

“No. Why’d you think that?”

Clearly presuming was a mistake. At the very least his reasons for it were innocuous enough. “Your accent sounds similar.”

“Makes sense, seeing that we’re both descended from Torna.”

Amalthus was finding that having a heart and Core Crystal led to an unfortunate increase in his body’s responses to stress; something he was not aware of until recently. In simpler terms, he was saved from responding to the person - the Origo, he knew that now - as the core heated up and he began shaking. The sword was mercifully moved away, though not by much. Amalthus stepped forward, and it was back again, cold steel pushing against his skin. Through a haze of panic, he heard himself breathing rapidly. The man behind him seemed to shift awkwardly, only making things worse as the sword clawed against his neck in a sickeningly smooth motion. Amalthus began to look, to see if there was a line etched into his skin, before feeling his heart race and averting his gaze.

He hated himself for this- this show of weakness, the fear and trembling-

“Amalthus?”

Oh, and he’d looked so helpless that the Origo was doubting his identity. Pathetic.

He caught a glimpse of the World Tree’s glyphs shining out through the clouds, and he reminded himself that he was, like all things, an agent of the Architect’s will. He would not die in such a… pointless manner. Taking a deep breath, he channeled the power of Haze’s core and grasped his Blade’s signal, clinging onto it and pulling. Instantly he felt some relief; With an outlet for his stress and adrenaline, his body returned to a stable temperature and Haze’s core pulsed, sending a soothing wave of ether to his neck.

“Apologies. I was merely startled… Mr. Origo.”

“Addam,” the Origo said so quickly that it must have been reflexive, “I’m- well. That doesn’t- this needs to happen.”

The Origos had always been a proud, self-assured bunch. But this one… something was eating at his heart.

Amalthus spoke in a slow, calm tone, as if he was addressing a lost animal. “You don’t sound very sure of yourself. What ails you?”

“You- you can’t be serious. I’m here to… you know, and you’re offering to be a confessional?”

No, he was not offering to be a stall; Addam was thinking of a priest working in a confessional, and every bit of him ached to point that out and educate this man, to make him understand his ignorance and set him on the right path-

Instead, he smiled thinly. “In my long life, I have heard many confess their sins to me and I have provided both personal and political advice. If you need reassurance, then I would be honored to give you that before you take my life. It is the least I can do, truly.”

“But… really? You’re willing to-”

“I have come to realize the cruelties I have committed, yes.” Amalthus silently prayed that the sinner whose words he was stealing would not be offended, may his soul rest in Morytha. “That is why I left the Praetorium. I’ve come to believe… that this is the end I deserve.”

He leaned into Addam’s raised sword and his instincts were screaming as his trembling head came to rest on its flat side, the edge of the blade sliding neatly into position where it had last been rubbing against his skin. He pulled harder on the link to his Blade and his senses returned to normal.

The sword shook too, less so from his meager weight and more so from Addam’s surprise. “Well… alright.” He took a deep breath. “I… no, never mind. It isn’t-”

“There is no need to worry,” Amalthus said, trying not to be distracted by how speaking caused the broadsword to ever so slightly slide inward. “Regardless of your choice, my offer stands for as long as I do. I will not judge you for whatever plagues your mind.”

“Right. Well, I’ve… made a deal. With Indol. In exchange for protecting Fonsett, it’ll be an Indoline territory. Kind of like Mor Ardain and Gormott, just on more agreeable terms.”

“I see. And is this protection necessary?”

“I think so. I don’t regret that, but… it’s Indol. I don’t trust the Praetorium. That’s why…”

“You’re here,” Amalthus finished, “to ensure that I cannot return to Indol and assume control of your village. That is more than fair.”

“Yes, just…”

Addam trailed off. Amalthus waited for him to pick up the sentence, but it never happened.

“Are you alright?” Amalthus asked, because the silence was killing him far more efficiently than the sword, “Is something wrong?”

Amalthus could feel Addam’s grip on the sword grow firm. “No. I’ve just come to a decision.”

Ah. This was the end, then.

Amalthus felt a strange warmth in the chunk of his Core Crystal. It seemed to be entering from a foreign source, much like how he was forcing his will onto the Blade. Had it almost arrived? “Before you proceed, if I may. I expect Fonsett would fare best if negotiations and policies were handled under the more practical people in Indol. The Praetor comes to mind. He comes from a small village as well, and seems compassionate to the common man. Furthermore, you are more likely to face deception from others, especially some of the magistrates.”

“I see. Thank you.” Addam said quietly. “The decision I’ve come to… it isn’t right to kill someone trying to get better. Just stay away from Indol and Fonsett, and I won’t cause you any more trouble.”

Amalthus’ eyes widened in shock as Addam began to lower his sword.

A solitary spark jumped down its length, leaping from the cold blade to the space between Amalthus’ eyes. He jerked back, tripping over his feet and falling to the ground. Distantly, he registered pain in his back where he landed, though it was overshadowed by his chest, tied up in knots that constricted around his pounding heart.

“Easy,” Addam said as Amalthus rolled over, catching a glimpse of his would-be killer. “Relax. I won’t hurt you.”

Addam crouched, and Amalthus saw a figure cloaked in green ether leap over the ridge behind him. His Core Crystal was burning, an iron searing his commands into those unlucky enough to be under his will. And yet it felt as if it was burning him as much as anyone else. He felt beads of sweat - disgusting - forming on his back around Haze’s core as it burned against his flesh.

“Amalthus? Focus on me.”

He tried, his pale yellow eyes washing over Addam’s gold ones. Then he looked back over Addam’s shoulder. The dark shadow streaking across the landscape was closer, too close.

“Focus,” Addam said again, reaching down for him-

Wind wrapped around the figure as it tore through the space between them. Amalthus gasped as the muscles in his back spasmed and tightened, locking into stiff and painful positions as he burned.

“Deep breaths,” Addam said, “just take-”

The tonfa’s edge ripped through his stomach. Fresh blood splattered into Amalthus’ eyes, blurring his vision as the weapon twisted. The first thing he saw was the gold contraption on the Blade’s tonfa - gold, like Addam’s eyes - as it slowly pushed out of the man’s stomach. A wheel with spokes protruding like thorns. Its claws wrapped around Addam.

It is a monster, a twisted deviation of the Architect’s will that holds fate in its grasp. This is not my fault.

The Blade shoved Addam to the ground roughly, and yet with no emotion. Its eyes were blank. For the first time, Amalthus felt a cold pull from his back, and with a gasp he saw it. A line of ether stemming from his core. It rose into the air, bending over to the front of his body. Amalthus tried to grab it, but his hand merely went through the ether. It rose steadily, flowing into his Blade’s Core Crystal.

I didn’t. I didn’t do it. It was the Blade, it was the Architect’s will, it was destiny- not me. I didn’t-

The Blade’s left claw shot up to his core as he hunched over, silently choking. For once, they both felt the same, and the link fizzled out. Both were quiet for a moment, steadying themselves as they watched each other and the body slumped between them.

Then the killer stepped toward Addam. “He’s alive.”

“Wait,” Amalthus rasped, “we should take him back- back to…”

Right as the Blade shook its head, he realized it was an impossibility. Settling his mouth into a solemn frown, he sighed.

“I should’ve stayed closer,” it said, unprompted. “Sorry.”

There was something about this Blade that made even sincere apologies sound sarcastic. Amalthus did not like it but accepted its sincerity regardless. “At peace, Blade. It is not your fault.”

He looked down at Addam, then up at the World Tree. The glyphs around the distant bark swirled slowly, and for a moment, he could have sworn they flashed blue. Then sunlight broke out around the clouds, pulling itself through the tangled canopy of branches to descend onto Amalthus.

“Such a cruel world we live in. Father… when will it end?”

————

They returned to the ship without incident, save for when Sever decided his Driver was too slow and slung the Indoline over his shoulder. Somehow this turned into a bridal carry (Amalthus would swear that Sever did it on purpose. Sever would swear to any other explanation.)

As long as Mòrag and Brighid didn’t bring up that travesty, Amalthus said he wouldn’t hold them accountable for the charred portions of the ship. Not that it was really their fault anyway. After telling Mòrag and Brighid to get the ship moving, Sever had carried Amalthus to his room. Amalthus seemed surprised that Sever even knew which room was his. In truth, Sever was a bit surprised too.

“We’re moving,” Mòrag told Sever, “Brighid is staying in the pilot’s cabin. Though something seems to be wrong with the steering, likely due to damage sustained earlier today.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sever said with all the authority of an expert mechanic, “we can deal with that when we land somewhere safer.”

“Understood. Are you both alright?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. What happened here?”

“Two of the monks from Fonsett attacked. They were unsuccessful, though we did spot something worth discussing later.”

“Makes sense. The third went after us. We dealt with it easily enough, though Amalthus isn’t used to fighting. If his technique was better, we could’ve gotten back in time to help you guys.”

“As long as everyone’s well, I have no complaints.”

Mòrag left shortly after, leaving Sever’s small social battery depleted. He opened the door to Amalthus’ room. Amalthus himself had changed clothes and cleaned the shallow cut on his neck. He laid in his bed, eyes closed.

Sever stayed by the threshold. “You got all that? One monk, probably a bird too.”

He felt a pang in his Core Crystal and looked down. Unlike earlier, there was no loss of control, nor the weight that accompanied his Driver’s strange power. All that he felt was a little wave of disapproval. Odds were, Amalthus was thinking something along the lines of ‘the Indoline Stars are majestic creatures of war and should not be dismissed as birds’ or something equally petty.

When Sever looked back up, Amalthus had a small smile on his face.

————

Ophion fell with an earsplitting crash on an empty island of the archipelago. Vandham stood atop it, a weapon raised like a trophy. A ring of heavy smoke surrounded them, flowing from Ophion’s circuits into the air.

Roc flew down next to him and gently pushed his shoulder. “We’ve actually gone and done it, huh?”

“That’s right!” Vandham grinned, satisfaction clear on his face. “Now we just hand this thing off to the scientists and we’ll be just about ready to go!”

Roc hummed, looking up to where a healthy wind blew around the World Tree. “We’ve come a long way, boss.”

Vandham nodded, opening his mouth to respond… and paused. There was a fading silhouette stumbling through the smoke around them.

“Hey, Roc! I need your eyes over here!”

“On it,” Roc said, “I see it. It’s… a Blade, maybe? I think I see ether lines. Doesn’t look like they’re doing well, though.”

Vandham frowned, casting a glance back at Ophion’s still form under his feet. “Hey, Roc. You stay here and take good care of the pet snake, yeah?”

“Sure thing. What should I tell the monks when they arrive?”

“We’ll make it real simple. Tell ‘em their Praetor’s fine, but busy following his intuition.” He grinned. “I have a feeling we’ll need to keep this a secret.”

Chapter Text

“It is not for power that the Praetorium asks for complete devotion. We only seek to help you reach your full potential. Give yourself to the Architect and rejoice, for there is no longer room for regret in your heart.”

-Quaestor Amalthus, speaking at a refugee camp in 3745.

“The strength of devotion lies not in power, but the absence of regret. When regret is cast out of your heart, you will have the strength to make decisions that would instill fear in any other. Indeed, when one commits drastic actions in the depths of rapture, they can only insist upon its holiness or be consumed by regret. Is there truly a choice for-

…ah, it seems this draft is too negative. Perhaps more time spent saying “Architect” would be better?”

-Quaestor Amalthus’ old notes, made as a prototype for a speech in 3745. The quaestor burnt the notes beyond recognition minutes after their creation.

“The ship doesn’t seem to be turning left,” Brighid told Amalthus as he walked into the room.

“I see.” He gave the Titan’s controls a quick once-over. Nothing appeared to be wrong, but the concept of left was definitely present within a Blade’s code, so it seemed likely that Brighid was correct.

“Notice anything?”

“Unfortunately, no. I’m afraid that I have little experience as a pilot and less as a mechanic. It seems our destination is in the hands of the Architect.”

Brighid, reasonably, did not look reassured by this. Still, there was nothing else for Amalthus to do. He left, finding himself on the ship’s back deck.

The parallel lines sown into the clouds by their ship‘s wake were steady as ever. Despite everything, there was only one unyielding road; the Architect’s chosen path was absolute. He had faith in it, faith enough to know that they would wind up wherever they needed to be. Ignoring the distant sounds of his companions trying to find a manual for the broken machinery, he looked up at the World Tree and smiled.

“We’re approaching a ship!”

Amalthus barely repressed a smug smile. It had been mere minutes since they’d diagnosed their ship as broken, and they’d already reached their fated destination.

He breezily entered the pilot’s cabin, looking out at the ship as they approached. Was that…

“Strange,” Mòrag remarked, “It seems to incorporate metal reinforcements into the Titan’s natural design. Mor Ardain works on a similar philosophy, but the technique… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s from old Torna,” Amalthus marveled. “Long ago, these were a feared sight across Alrest.”

It was an impressive vessel, though well past its prime. Despite its age, the curve of the Titan’s head and long fins made it an imposing sight. They slowed to a stop at its side, where a faded symbol adorned the hull; a family crest from Torna’s glory days.

Amalthus no longer felt smug. “It can’t be…”

“What is it?”

Ah. He’d piqued Mòrag’s interest. He contemplated telling her to get them as far away as possible, but the Architect had sent them here. He could do nothing but follow his god’s will.

He closed his eyes, picturing the peaceful view of the Cloud Sea from the Architect’s home. He was, to his own mind, letting the Architect take over, narrating over something so small that it could not be seen from his place in the skies. “This ship was meant to be sealed away forever. If someone has raised it, we must investigate quickly.”

“Elaborate,” Mòrag said simply. It stood to reason that she would not want to enter a decaying ship on only his word, though he would have appreciated a bit more trust by now.

“I assure you, it is more dangerous left alone than entered. At worst, I would expect it to be occupied by small animals. I’ve heard the youth of Mor Ardain invented something that sounded similar- a haunted house, I believe?”

Mòrag stared at him blankly. His Blade, who had been quietly leaning on the wall, shook his head and walked away.

“I’ve heard of them,” Brighid said, “though Mòrag and I have never been to one.”

“A bad analogy, then. I apologize.”

“Wait,” Mòrag said, “what is a haunted house?”

When Amalthus and Brighid stared at her as if she’d grown a second head, she clarified, “If it is similar to the situation here, it will be valuable to understand how they work.”

Amalthus hesitantly replied, “If I recall correctly, they are houses meant to look abandoned or haunted by the supernatural. People go to them for amusement.”

He looked at Brighid for help.

“Indeed,” she said, “I’ve heard that they employ actors to dress up as all manner of ghouls to scare visitors.”

“How strange,” Mòrag mused. “What do these visitors seek to gain?”

“Perhaps they do not go of their own will.” Brighid stepped toward her Driver, voice low. “Maybe they are lured inside by the ghosts, never to return…”

“…Is that so?”

“No, Mòrag, I’m only kidding. I’ve never been one to believe in ghosts.”

“Maybe people treat these haunted houses as a challenge,” Amalthus said, “a test of bravery, possibly?”

Mòrag nodded. “Yes, that must be it. Perhaps we should enter one of these competitions, Brighid.”

“My thoughts exactly, Lady Mòrag. If those actors believe they can strip us of our honor, they will find themselves sorely mistaken.”

Amalthus was surprised by how the conversation was still going. Apparently some Ardainian roadside attractions were more interesting than an ancient Tornan ship. “Not that I would expect you to need it, but good luck. For the time being, perhaps you should use this ship as practice.”

He hadn’t ever expected to be advertising an Aegis’ resting place as a haunted ship, but the absurdity of it made him smile on the inside. Imagining the frustrated twitch of the Aegis’ mouth made it all the better.

They quickly found a tangled mess of seaweed, vines, and other plant growth that they could climb to board the vessel. His Blade was already waiting at the top, arms crossed. It said nothing as Mòrag and Brighid passed, only bothering to shoot them an unimpressed stare. When Amalthus moved to follow, though, its clawed hand clamped down on his arm.

“Yes?” Amalthus murmured.

“There’s fighting on the other half of the deck. Both sides in black armor with pointy helmets.”

“Ardainian? Or rebels, perhaps? How would they… well. It does not matter. Take us to the heart of the ship in a way that avoids this fighting. We cannot afford any distractions.”

His Blade nodded briskly and straightened up, jogging over to Mòrag. Amalthus noticed that, with its newfound confidence and posture, it was at least a head taller than him.

He wasn’t sure if he liked that.

Still, the Blade performed well. Despite surely not knowing the ship’s layout, it moved at a steady pace and kept them away from the conflict. In fact, if he had not been told of it moments prior, Amalthus would have never guessed that an Ardainian skirmish was happening on this very vessel. Thank goodness for the absurd scale of Tornan warships. They had always been intelligent engineers.

When they came to a large, empty room marked by the Origo family crest, Amalthus slowed to a halt. His Blade seemed to notice, slowly trailing off to the side until it could slip behind their companions.

“I think it’s best if I stay here,” Amalthus said quietly. “Mòrag will be fine.”

It nodded, stepping between Amalthus and the door protectively. As if the thing would hesitate to attack him if their lives were not bound, contrary to his expectations. Amalthus found himself… not minding the gesture.

They watched as the warm glow of Brighid’s hair vanished into the dark corridor before them.

————

“Lady Mòrag? Perhaps you shouldn’t touch that-”

Brighid’s warning was cut off as Mòrag’s glove grazed the scimitar. A silver sheen overtook her vision, and for a moment it was just her and the strange weapon of intertwined vines and flowers, adorned with a regal silver core.

When the silver light receded, she was on a lush hill. A soft breeze blew over her, making the grass sway and ripple.

Standing next to a tree was a fox-eared figure; the same one that had been sleeping in a capsule behind the scimitar. Seeing little else to do, Mòrag started walking toward her, a hand hovering near her whipswords.

Almost immediately, the Blade’s ears perked up, and she turned to look at Mòrag, revealing amber eyes and that strange silver Core Crystal. She still waited for Mòrag to approach, but with a tense energy that very clearly undermined her attempt at patience.

“You’re awake,” Mòrag said.

The Blade shrugged. “Eh, not really. My body’s still in the tube if that’s what you’re talking about. But whatever. I’m Nia, you’re Mòrag, let’s talk business.”

“Business? While you’re asleep?”

“I’m pretty used to it. I’ve been asleep for…”

Nia tilted her head to the side, calculating something.

“Coming up on five hundred and one years. Still haven’t found anything to celebrate the anniversaries, though.”

Mòrag recoiled at the news. What type of Blade was this…?

“How are you here, or on the ship?”

Nia laughed with a hint of bitterness. “Well, I am an Aegis. We don’t tend to follow the rules. Though sometimes I wish I could forget, instead of being stuck in this bloody field.”

“An Aegis?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a favor to ask, actually.”

“What is it?” Mòrag asked, guarded. She had heard of the two Aegises; powerful Blades that destroyed a prosperous country and vanished.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m not gonna take your head off.” The Blade said before continuing. “I need you to take me to Elysium. The real one, not this memory of it.”

So it was between becoming the Driver of a potentially violent Blade and risking the anger of said Blade within her consciousness. Mòrag was hardly a fan of either idea.

“This is Elysium?”

“I guess so. I assume you haven’t got all day, yeah? Make your choice already.”

“One last question. Who put you to sleep?”

“Nobody put me to sleep. What, d’you think- oi, shut it, would you?”

The last bit was directed at a distant church as the sound of bells ringing nearly drowned out her voice.

“Anyway,” Nia said, “I put myself to sleep. There, happy?”

Mòrag reluctantly came to a decision. “Very well. I shall be your Driver.”

Explaining this to Brighid would surely be a wondrous experience.

————

His Driver was gone. Shards of glass were peppered across the floor. Dromarch growled up at the empty thing that had once acted as her casket all the same.

Somehow, Nia had eluded him again. Moments later, a hungry pang came through his Core Crystal, a sign that his Driver was growing further away.

“Sir Dromarch!”

Dromarch spun around, snarling as he closed the distance between him and the soldier in two leaping strides-

“Ah, my apologies.” He stopped mere inches away from the man, slinking back to a respectable distance.

“Nothing to apologize for, sir. With your help, we’ve successfully taken on the Ardainian scum!”

Ah, that . Dromarch had not been particularly happy when the Ardainian vessel picked a fight with them, but, well, he was working with a group of rebels. He had fought the Ardainian troops with feigned enthusiasm to match the Lindwurm soldiers beside him. They did not need to know of his hesitance.

“Good work,” he replied simply. “Lord Perdido will be pleased. I must thank you for the assistance as well.”

“It is our honor to help the boss’ partner. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Partner? I am not… entirely sure if I understand. But, in any case, no. What I seek has already been taken.”

“But surely there is a clue or something to follow? It would be our honor to continue the search with you.”

“Well…” Dromarch could feel the pull on his core; it seemed that Nia was moving in the direction of Gormott. “I would hate to inconvenience you, great captain, but if it is no trouble…”

So long as his Driver remained on Alrest, he would follow.

Chapter Text

It took all of two minutes for the Indoline to drag Nia aside after they’d boarded the ship. He’d told Mòrag that it was just to go over supplies and work out a living space for her. Nia didn’t believe it for a second, and from the short glance Mòrag shared with her, it was clear that this was only being allowed so she could have some time alone with Brighid.

“All of the bedrooms have the same layout and furniture,” Amalthus said airily, “the ones currently occupied should have their doors closed. Pick any of the remaining rooms as your own.”

Nia briefly considered asking which room was her Driver’s - it seemed smart to stick together - before deciding against it. If Amalthus was anything like her, she’d never hear the end of it. “You didn’t pull me all the way across the ship just to say that, did you? Get on with it.”

“Very perceptive.” He punctuated his compliment with a cordial nod. “Please, step inside for a moment.”

“We are inside,” Nia grumbled, following him into an unclaimed bedroom, “but fine.”

Amalthus wisely ignored her as he closed the door. “Who are you?”

“The same person who you met in the old ship, obviously. Nia, Aegis, Mòrag’s new Blade. Any of that ring a bell?”

“I heard as much earlier. But I must doubt its legitimacy. You have his Core Crystal.”

“Wh- how do-”

“As I am asking you to reveal your true identity, it is only fair that I do the same. Allow me to reintroduce myself. I am Amalthus, the mortal who climbed to Elysium and returned with the Aegis cores. The very one who decided which individuals were worthy to give the Aegises life.”

“For real? You… you’re that old?”

Nia could swear a voice in her core sighed at the same moment as Amalthus did.

“That would be correct.”

Nia slowly moved for the door. “Well, thanks and all that, but I need to get back to Elysium, so-”

“I did not bring you here to waste time, nor do I expect praise. I simply wish to know what you are.”

“I’ve already told you what I know. He made me, but I’m not him.”

“How curious. Especially given that you bear his Core Crystal.”

“Look, I don’t know what happened with you both, and I don’t know exactly how I exist. If you’ve got a problem with that, take it up with the Architect.”

”Perhaps we can try a narrower approach. What do you know?”

“I know plenty, you-”

“At peace, Nia. I meant no offense by it. But given your limited time in this world, I must wonder how much you have seen or learned of.”

Nia didn’t believe that drivel for a second. “What’s this for, anyway? We’ve only just met and there’s no grounds for an interrogation. Is this even legal?”

“It is legal,” Amalthus started, face remaining impassive as she glared at him, “and I need to know something about you if you plan on keeping his existence secret. Mòrag knows I have met the Aegises, and with her limited understanding of things, that means that I should know you.”

“Oh, so she’ll ask about what kind of person I am or if I’m a danger to Alrest and you’ll go ‘well, she likes seafood’. Real helpful plan that is.”

“This exercise is meant to avoid that scenario, not cause it. I would likely say that you are… a youthful yet intelligent Blade that cares deeply for those around you. But of course, this is only based on my first impression. If I knew more, I could refine that statement to more accurately reflect your personality. Truly, I only meant to assist you with this discussion.”

“I… guess that’s fair, but it’s not like you need to know me that well. It’s not like you talked much with him back in the day either.”

“Of course. We should not take too long here anyway. Would I be correct in assuming that you are not one for formalities?” At this, Nia nodded, and at once the polite smile dropped off his face. “Allow me to skip the trivial questions for now. Do you approve of the actions your other self took on Torna?”

That was the last thing she’d be willing to talk about. “Well, I wasn’t there, but I heard that he helped lead some Armus back to the capital. Pretty nice of him, though I still don’t believe a kid really had the nerves to ask him for help. Not that-”

“A brave child indeed,” Amalthus said smoothly, and from the strained smile on his face it was clear that by brave he meant stupid . “I would not bother a servant of the Architect in such a way. How fortunate that it is not him that sits before me.”

“Excuse you? I’m basically the same Aegis!”

“That is not what you said earlier. It cannot go both ways.” Amalthus smiled again, and Nia had the distinct feeling that he was enjoying this.

“Well, I’m-”

“Answer the question properly and I will treat you with respect, Nia.”

“Fine, fine, I get it! Sheesh. Look, I can’t say I approve of the whole- you know, the whole thing .”

“Recognizing one’s faults is an important part in forgiving yourself and moving on, Nia. You can speak of it.”

“For the last time, I’m not him and anything I said to the contrary is wrong and irrelevant, you spiky-haired fashion disaster!”

Thankfully, Amalthus let the lackluster insult slide. “As a quaestor, I needed to travel often. The Praetorium’s uniform for the position reflects that need.”

“Just shut it and let me finish! I don’t approve of what he did, but I don’t blame him either. Good?”

“Satisfactory. I feel much the same.”

“You do? From the way he talks about you- um, nothing.”

Amalthus tilted his head with the air of a satisfied cat. “Oh? He speaks of me?”

“Barely, and it’s nothing good, I’ll tell you that much.”

Strangely, Amalthus smiled at that, looking oddly peaceful. “Of course, it would not be any other way. He did threaten my home shortly after we last spoke.”

“Yeah, I’m plenty aware. Doesn’t mean it’s my fault, though.”

“Of course not. I apologize if I implied that. I merely sought to explain my feelings about him by bringing up that incident, nothing more.”

Nia wasn’t sure if that explained the odd looks flitting across his face, but they faded too quickly for her to figure them out. She was really only used to her counterpart’s mannerisms anyway.

“I will not keep you from your Driver any longer. And, Nia… you’ve proven yourself to be as enlightening as he was. Congratulations.”

She left the room, forgetting to close the door behind her when a cold voice spoke in her mind.

Be careful around him.

————

 “Rise and shine, everyone! It’s time for rehearsal… ah.”

Peering into the dark room, Akhos frowned at his actors. They were not rising and the only thing shining was their Core Crystals.

It was just him and two others on the Monoceros ; Obrona was essential to their next scene, and Malos was… mostly just there for the ride. Azurda had insisted on giving Malos something to do, and Akhos just couldn’t say no. The old Titan was quite persuasive, and he felt rather bad for Malos; the Blade had been saddled with the one curse Akhos couldn’t treat, also known as resonation via Amalthus.

He felt less bad as he watched Malos’ sleeping form sprawled out over the couch. His arm stretched out and bumped into Akhos’ cup of coffee. It fell and dark liquid seeped across the floorboards.

“Take him back, Azurda. Please.”

Obrona, meanwhile, was curled up on a padded chair. Mercifully, she was far from anything delicate or caffeinated. She seemed content, though Akhos was worried about her all the same. She was far too young to be focused on the end of the world. A sweet, innocent soul like her deserved the world.

“…Say it again.”

Akhos recoiled, a hand keeping his glasses in place. “You’re awake?”

“Mm.” Obrona’s long nails landed on his arm. “Say it again, Akhos.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I heard something about deserving the world?”

“Yes, in your dreams, I’m sure. Go back to sleep.”

“Will you say it then?”

“Goodnight, Obrona.”

Before long, she was asleep again, muttering some nonsense about a thousand-year voyage. A mildly amused Akhos gently draped a blanket over her.

He’d have to be more careful about stoking her ego in the future.

“And scene,” he murmured to himself (unless Malos was awake and had actually knocked his coffee over on purpose; Akhos wouldn’t put it past him), “perhaps now the story will cut to our destination, where our target is sure of her cover being secure as ever-”

He frowned. He could hear the distinct sound of a noponic comic’s unofficial theme song, which had unfortunately been set as the Monoceros’ ringtone. Hurrying back over to the cockpit, he clicked the accept call button, shooting a deadpan stare at the projection that appeared shortly after.

“Speak quietly,” Akhos said as a way of greeting, “you’re going to wake Obrona.”

“Very sorry, but I have urgent news from Akhos’ sister’s-”

“Patroka?”

“Blade,” the voice finished, leaving Akhos significantly embarrassed.

“Oh. Him. Well, out with it.”

“Ship of the second Aegis has been found near Leftheria. Will likely not stay there for long.”

“How interesting. Still, we’re almost to Gormott. Better the Aegis we know, I’d say.”

“Does Malos not know both?”

“He does, but this one’s closer and we already have a plan. After we make our move, I’ll inform him of this development. What about you? Is everyone on the Marsanes well?“

“Just about… same as when you left.”

“I see.” If nobody was throwing a fit, his scheme was continuing to pay off. Excellent. “Oh, last thing. Do you want anything from Gormott? I can send Obrona into Torigoth if so.“

“Hm, Torigoth… could you please look for old house of masterpon? He left very important family heirlooms behind.”

“Of course,” Akhos replied, though he had already decided to look at whatever Obrona found very, very carefully. If that nopon had left a collection of body pillows in Gormott, there was no way in Morytha Akhos would let it slip into their home.

“Many thanks. Could Akhos also pick up latest episodes of Noponic Ninjas? Masterpon had to stop reading right at the end of big story arc.”

“I asked about you, not him.”

“Poppi want to make masterpon happy.”

“I… I’ll-” die of shame if I even “-consider it. Good night.”

He slammed a fist on the end call button just before the smile dropped off his face.

————

The air in Gormott was rather nice, Sever decided. It was cooler than Leftheria’s, but doubtlessly good for moving through the dense forests on the Titan. Really, he was only sticking around to be polite and he blamed his Driver for that. Clearly the Indoline was a bad influence on him.

“You look as if your mind is elsewhere,” Amalthus commented. “Do you wish to leave?”

“I’m fine, just looking around.”

“Well, if you wish to explore the Titan, you may. I’d expect us to have some time before anything of note happens here.”

Sever didn’t have to be told twice. As soon as Amalthus looked away, he turned and headed away from the small shipyard they’d landed in. And sure enough, Gormott was wonderful; if he could choose a home, it would definitely be here. Before long, he had fallen into a natural rhythm of finding foliage to slip behind and stopping to listen for footsteps. He quickly found himself tailing something that was far too loud to be an animal; even a sauros would try a little harder to avoid fallen leaves. Normally, he’d avoid other people, but after Leftheria he wasn’t taking risks. His target came into sight as she moved to a grassy hilltop that dropped off into a cliffside that overlooked the Cloud Sea.

It was Nia. How unexpected. He glanced behind him to make sure that her Driver wasn’t in tow and nope, no Mòrag. Solidly intrigued, he moved forward until he was an arm’s length away from where Nia sat. The only problem was that she didn’t seem to notice him. He awkwardly backed up a few steps and pointedly brought his foot down on a twig. It broke with a loud crunch…

…And she didn’t move, save for a momentary twitch of one ear.

With a frustrated hiss, Sever threw one half of the twig at her. It bounced off her exposed shoulder, causing her to spin around and shoot a thin beam of water in his direction. It sailed over him and hit a tree, causing purple hyacinths to burst out of its branches.

“What the hell was that for?” Nia snapped while somewhere between crouching and sitting. “I-I’ll have you know I heard you coming just fine!”

Sever couldn’t stop a smile from breaking out onto his face. He wondered how Amalthus would react to being surprised in such a way, and while his mind balked at the idea, a stubborn part of him was itching to try. Could his Driver’s ears go as far back as Nia’s were right now?

“Don’t just stare at me like a dork. Do you want something or not?”

Sever shrugged. He wasn’t opposed to company, but she didn’t seem to feel the same and he wasn’t delusional enough to think he had anything worth her time.

“Or what, did Mòrag send you to find me? ‘Cause if so, you can tell her to go jump into the Cloud Sea before I come back and throw her in myself.”

“Yep,” Sever lied, “I’ll… tell her that.”

As he turned to leave, he suddenly felt Nia lunge forward and grab his arm. “Wait, don’t- I didn’t actually mean it. I’m not going to do anything to Mòrag, really!”

Sever nodded slowly. “Yeah? I mean, like, of course, why would you?”

“Oh, for… don’t be sarcastic, for f-” she flinched, hands raising ever so slightly to her ears as if someone was yelling at her. “ Goodness’ sake. There, happy?”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic, little miss hairball. But if you want to trade insults, that’s fine by me. Just not in front of the Drivers, yeah?”

“Little miss what?! You-!” Nia scowled at him, showing her pointed canines in a display that was probably supposed to be more intimidating than it was. After meeting his deadpan stare for a few seconds, she sighed. “Could we really, though?”

“Insult each other? Yeah, we can. Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”

“Well, yeah, but I meant… talking, I guess. It’s not- you wouldn’t mind?”

“Should I?”

“Mòrag sure seems to think so. Worst part is, as annoying as she is, I think she’s right. I’m… just not cut out for being an Aegis. I can barely stop myself from being sarcastic for a second and when I am, everyone thinks I’m going to kill ‘em. I just want… ah, nothing.”

“Normalcy?” Sever guessed. “So you can be yourself without starting problems?”

“Right. Except I’m an Aegis, which means more often than not, I am the problem.” Nia’s hand tightened around a patch of grass as she settled into a sitting position, drawing her knees up to her chest. With her ears drooping, she looked downcast enough that Sever was a bit worried for the Aegis.

“If the others can’t get used to you, that’s their problem. Don’t waste your time on them until they’re worth it.”

“I’m not so sure about that. Thing is, they won’t get used to me, and I’m already asking ‘em to take me to Elysium. I really shouldn’t try to be a burden.”

Sever understood where she was coming from. Still, if he’d learned one thing from his Driver, it was that caring too much about someone who didn’t feel the same was miserable. Not that he’d cared about Amalthus for more than a few scattered minutes, but a few minutes was a lot when you’d only been alive for just under a week.

“Look,” he started, dropping to his knees beside her, “I’m not saying to try and get on your Driver’s nerves. Just… don’t put in too much more effort than she does. If you let everything be your fault, all you’ll achieve is hating yourself… or something.”

“Guess so,” Nia murmured, “We’re pretty good at that, huh.”

Sever didn’t quite know how to take that. “Um… right. Though if it’s any consolation, I’d expect your Driver to try her best. She’s probably just stressed right now. Isn’t her brother missing or something?”

”Well don’t ask me! I didn’t even know she had a brother! Still… I guess she thinks I can help find him or something. That’s why you came to the ship, right?”

“You give her too much credit. Amalthus said there was something inside that could fall into the wrong hands and she went off to check it out. No sense of self-preservation in her and Brighid, I swear. You could tell her to go into a den of monsters and she’d see it for what it was… and charge in anyway.”

“Like that’s any better!” Nia threw her hands into the air, ripping a chunk of grass out of the ground in the process. “She just wanted to find her brother and now I’ve made her into a target for anyone who wants an Aegis’ power. That’s just great.”

“Oh, calm down,” Sever said calmly, “she’s not stupid… I think. Not that I know her well, but I’d be surprised if she didn’t consider what you could do for her when she became your Driver. Plus, she’s a target for most of Alrest already. Either you were a worthwhile investment or she wanted to help you. Maybe even both.”

“Right. I guess.”

Perhaps that wasn’t the most confident response, but Sever was happy to hear it all the same. If he’d known things like this would happen to him, he would've paid more attention when Amalthus talked. Reassurance wasn’t really his thing.

“Seems like I was overreacting,” Nia said. Composure regained, she waved a hand over the bare patch of dirt, watching as blue irises rose from the ground. “Thanks for helping me sort things out. Mòrag and I had gotten into a little fight earlier.”

“Um… anytime.”

“Really? I might have to take you up on that. We’ve found ourselves in a right mess, after all. See you around.”

Sever was rather surprised to realize that he was looking forward to doing this again.

————

Sure enough, they wound up on the same hill the next day, looking out at the clouds.

“How’re things going? With Mòrag, I mean.”

“Better. Can’t say I’m used to her style yet, but we’re trying to make it work.”

“She’d probably fit better with my other self”, Nia wanted to say. She couldn’t, so instead she directed it inside her core. Her other self looked over the words but said nothing.

“What about you?” She asked instead. “Can’t see you wanting to be around Amalthus of all people.”

“It’s fine. We have more in common than you’d think,” Sever said, despite not believing that for a second.

They both heard the lies in each statement and laughed as one.

“So, how is it really, working with that stuffy quaestor?”

“It… could be worse.”

“True. At least he’s not making you wake up before the sunrise to train every day.”

Scattered leaves of lemon balm crept up around the irises that day.

“You’re here early,” Nia said the next morning.

“Yeah. It’s too hot out for much action. Even the animals are barely able to move.”

Nia decided to solve that problem by launching water at Sever’s face. It dripped down and grew into spearmint.

The next day they convened in the evening.

“The nopon guy - Umon, I think - says repairs to the ship are almost done,” Sever said, walking up the small slope.

“And he still doesn’t know that over half of us are fugitives?”

“Yep. He doesn’t go to town much, apparently. Makes sense in my eyes. It’s a solid walk away, and on his legs it’d be a real pain.”

Nia hummed in acknowledgment, sitting down with her legs dangling over the Cloud Sea. “You know, I’ll miss this place. Mor Ardain’s never really appealed to me. Far too dusty, and the Ardainians are complete rubbish when it comes to taking care of their Titan.”

Sever sat down beside her. “Same here. I do enjoy traveling, but if I had to settle somewhere, it’d probably be here.”

“You wouldn’t get bored?”

“Unlikely. What about you?”

“Huh? What about me?”

“Where do you want to be when all this is over?”

Nia (accidentally) did her best impression of a deer in the headlights of a Titan weapon. “Oh, um… around. Somewhere.“

“I should’ve guessed. Truly an answer that encapsulates your very being.”

“Are you calling me slow? I-”

“I was going to go with mysterious.”

“Like hell you were! You and your Driver, I swear, you’re such slippery little things…”

Sever frowned at that. “What?”

“You both do that- that thing and I don’t appreciate it.”

“Oh please, we’re nothing alike. Maybe you’re just easy to insult.”

“Sure,” Nia snorted, “if that helps you sleep at night. You know… I’d probably stay here too if I could.”

Sever broke into a toothy grin.

Nia glared at him as severely as she could. It didn’t seem to do much, but it felt good. “Look, it’s not about you, alright? Don’t let it get to that inflated oval you call a head. It’s just about the climate.”

“Right,” Sever chortled, “so would you stay out here, then? Instead of staying in Torigoth, I mean.”

“I… I don’t know. It’s not something I want to think about, honestly. I already know where I’ll end up.”

“And I’ll end up in Indol if Amalthus has his way, as far as I can tell. Still doesn’t hurt to dream.”

“Maybe not for you. I… don’t have a future. Never did. Doesn’t it suck? Being born to fulfill someone else’s desire?”

Sever shrugged. “It’s just our lot in life. Still, I get it. If I could change it, I would.”

“Maybe… I’ll ask the Architect. When we make it to Elysium. Seeing as I’m, like, his kid, he should be willing to pull some strings, yeah?”

“I won’t hold my breath. But for what it’s worth… I hope he does.”

Nia smiled sadly. “I wouldn’t mind living in Leftheria. I’ve never actually been there, but it sounds pretty.”

“The islands, right? You’d like it,” Sever said, “we went there right before meeting you, actually. I could see you fitting in at the village there. It’s way smaller than Torigoth and could probably use a healer. The kids there are scared of me but jump off cliffs for sport.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I mean, maybe it’s fun. The Cloud Sea’s safe enough around there, except for some weak monsters.”

“Maybe it’s fun? No shot at all. Those kids are a bunch of lunatics.” Nia looked down as she spoke. One of the Titan’s long legs was visible near them, slowly bending as the Titan walked.

Suddenly, she was a little too aware of how high they were. She started to back up, only for her hair to collide with an outstretched claw.

“Don’t even think about it,” she hissed, swatting him away. “Try that again and I’ll bash you up for it, I swear-”

He chuckled, looking off the side of the Titan himself. Was he even listening to her!?

Filled with righteous fury, she shoved him off the Titan. That would serve him right-

-something cold and firm clasped around her arm.

She looked down, aghast to see Sever’s claw firmly attached to her as he dangled off the Titan. He laughed and pulled , the absolute madman.

“W-Wait for just a moment!” Nia dug her nails into the ground, straining as the other Blade’s weight almost pulled her over the ledge. “I can help you up! Just stop wriggling!”

As promised, she pulled upward, breathing a sigh of relief as Sever found purchase for his feet on the Titan’s side.

“Thanks,” Sever said, still holding on to the Titan’s side… and her arm.

“Yeah, yeah. You can let go now.”

Sever grinned and tightened his hold. “Nope. Hold your breath, Nia-!”

Pushing off the Titan, he leapt into the air and performed a flip that would have been impressive if she had not been attached to his arm .

As her rapidly rising scream faded below the Titan, a cluster of rhododendrons grew where she had scratched at the ground moments prior.

Long claws slowly walked over to the bushes, taking care to avoid the fragile flowers on the ground. A large blade covered in white fur sniffed the flowers.

Dromarch had spent many years on Gormott, but he’d never seen this kind of plant grow under natural conditions. There was no doubt about it- Nia was close. With a quiet, frustrated growl, he slipped back into the undergrowth, flanked by two men in Ardainian armor.

Chapter Text

“Blade. Do you have a moment?”

Amalthus guided him into the study without waiting for an answer. He pulled a chair out from the table for Sever, noticed how the Blade ignored it, and pushed it back in. With a small shrug that said ‘have it your way’ he chose to stand himself, silently wondering who gave it the right to be so tall . O Architect, this cruelty was not fair.

“I apologize for taking your time without warning,” Amalthus started, “but we need your help. Umon, the nopon repairing our ship, has an urgent need for more parts. Unfortunately, he cannot be allowed to go to the town of Torigoth. Torigoth has a high concentration of Ardainians, and as such-”

“He’ll learn that you’re a fugitive,” his Blade finished, “and the same applies to Mòrag and Brighid, right?”

“Precisely. I acted as a humble servant of the Architect should, and volunteered to collect these parts for him. But you are the only one of us who can safely enter and exit Torigoth.”

“Fine, I’ll be your errand boy,” it grumbled. “But I expect you to give me money this time.”

“Naturally. I must apologize again for that misstep in Leftheria. Please understand that this, too, brings me little joy. It is simply a necessity.”

“Sure.” Feeling emboldened, the Blade decided to chance a question. “What about Nia? She isn’t a fugitive either, right?”

“Oh? I wasn’t aware that you wanted company.”

“I don’t- look, she hasn’t gone shopping in five hundred years. It’s a good opportunity, right?”

“Allow me to correct you on one point. To my knowledge, Nia has never gone shopping, nor has she experienced what is to most the mere trivialities of daily life. But perhaps that only strengthens your point. Have you talked to her often?”

“Eh, not really. She just seemed like a better fit for a shopping trip.”

“…Don’t let her hear you say that, please. Also, it is worth considering her Core Crystal. People will grow suspicious when they see a silver Core Crystal.”

“She could hide it.”

“And her ether lines? They are prominent enough that she would need to cover most skin as well.”

“So? There’s probably something around that works.”

“If so, then you may invite her. But be careful.”

His Blade smiled victoriously and turned to leave-

“Oh, and… Blade? I am glad that you have made a friend.”

It slammed the door shut and stormed off.

————

“Oh, for the Architect’s sake, are you done yet?”

Sever sidestepped a tirkin’s body, the blade of his tonfa disappearing into flecks of ether. “Just about. Opportunities like this don't come every day.”

“It was one bird! You didn't need to chase it all the way back to... ah, whatever.” Nia rolled her eyes and walked back onto the rocky path. “Let’s just go. I can only put up with this itchy thing for so long.”

The only outfit that she found to change into was some rough, bright yellow, and generally oversized jumpsuit. At that point, she felt it would be less conspicuous to just use her usual clothes, but Sever had insisted. Amalthus thought she needed a disguise, Sever had said gleefully, and he wanted to listen to his Driver. As if he hadn’t spent the past three days complaining about that very same Driver.

“Aw, come on,” Sever replied with his usual grin, “you look great.”

“Oh, really?”

“Never better. You should wear that more often.”

“Not a chance. What do we need to get in Torigoth again?”

Sever began scanning over the list Amalthus had given him, almost tripping over another victim of his tonfa in the process. “Some books and perfume, along with… is that a drug? That really sounds like a drug.”

“What?” Nia asked, “who put drugs on the shopping list?”

“We don’t know it’s a drug,” Sever backpedaled hastily, “unless you’re a drug expert?”

“Uh… I’m familiar with Red Pollen Orbs.”

“Well, it seems like drug names have gotten way fancier in the last five centuries, grandma.”

Before she had time to be mad at him, he shoved the list in her face and ran.

———

Brighid and Mòrag had decided to look for some bandits that Umon told them about; apparently, they'd stolen one of his fancy wrenches. If they were going to park their ship in his house and track mud through it constantly, helping him out with this would be the least they could do. There was, of course, their less altruistic motive, which was that both of them desperately needed something productive to do. Amalthus had spent as much time as he could locked in his study, which was the most interesting room on the ship. With Sever and Nia out shopping, things had quickly grown boring.

Umon said the bandits had attacked him near a small lake and stolen his favorite wrench. Mòrag and Brighid hadn’t been to Gormott in a while, but they recalled that many of the province’s lakes were near the end of the valley that they were in. The walk across the valley went smoothly; most creatures in the area were luckily passive. Some rapchors had appeared at the sides of the valley, but after spotting the duo, they would back off. 

“Ah. There it is,” Mòrag said, pointing at a metal wrench with hot pink stickers ahead.

There was only one issue. The wrench was sitting in the dead center of the lake.

“Oh, wonderful. The bandits left it in the lake,” Brighid said, giving the body an extremely annoyed look. Suddenly, she realized what this really was: an opportunity. “I suppose that means you’ll have to get it, Mòrag.”

“Must I, Brighid? The water isn’t deep.”

“Well, better safe than sorry,” Brighid replied smugly.

“Perhaps… on second thought, it has probably already rusted. Would it be so wrong to leave it there?”

“A fair point, but now that we have noticed Umon’s precious wrench, it would absolutely feel wrong to just leave it for scavenging beasts.”

Mòrag refused to give in. “You just want to see my uniform get soaked, Brighid.”

“Soaked? I believe you already pointed out that the water here is shallow.”

“Honestly, Brighid,” Mòrag responded because even if she was out of arguments, she would not concede to this, “is this not rather childish of you? What do you gain from watching my best remaining outfit get drenched in a lake?”

“Well, I thought some time spent wearing something else could be good for you.”

“How so?”

“While I understand that the inquisitor uniform is important to you, it is a liability at best.” As soon as Brighid had finished the words, Mòrag was protectively gripping her hat, as if the Blade was going to snatch it and toss it into the lake.

Brighid chuckled at the action before continuing. “The uniform makes us far easier to identify, for one thing.”

“No offense, but my outfit is far less conspicuous than yours.”

“Perhaps, but also… watching you exclusively wear the uniform of a position you no longer possess is concerning to me. I’m sure you have your reasons, but I have to wonder if the outfit is anything but a painful reminder of what’s happening.”

Mòrag looked like she was split between arguing further and walking into the lake.

“It’s fine if you still want to use the uniform,” Brighid persisted. “But I think it would be good for you to try something else on occasion. And perhaps spend less time staring at maps. Niall won’t just appear on one, after all. You’ll be able to help him best while well rested.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Mòrag concurred, though she was clearly unenthusiastic about the idea.

At this point, the wrench in the lake had been nearly forgotten. Mòrag took a step away from the water.

“Driver of the Aegis. I must demand an audience.”

“Who are you?” Mòrag asked the animal - no, the Blade - that had crept up on them.

Intelligent blue eyes met hers as the Blade stepped forward. “I am Dromarch. Rest assured that I mean you no harm.”

“Where is your Driver?”

“I was hoping you could answer that. You see, my Driver is Lady Nia.”

“Nia? When did she awaken you?”

“Just over five hundred years ago, mere hours after Torna was struck down. She told me that she too was new to this world, and needed aid treating the wounded. But after, she sealed herself away. I was left alone. Ever since, I have hoped to find her once more.”

“Is that so?”

“Indeed it is.”

Given that this Dromarch even knew of Nia, Mòrag assumed his story was at least partly true. “Nia isn’t here right now. You are welcome to wait with us for her return.”

The fur on Dromarch’s back bristled. “I have waited for hundreds of years. I mean you no offense, but if you cannot find her, I will go search for her myself.”

“Surely you can wait a little longer, then,” Brighid said.

Mòrag nodded; this Blade could not be allowed to search for Nia unsupervised. Both of them were dangerous and mysterious to her, and she’d not be responsible for Gormott sinking. Even if Dromarch seemed polite and harmless enough, she wasn’t quite ready to trust him.

“…Very well,” Dromarch sat down a little distance away from them, “I shall await my lady’s arrival with you.”

———

“So, are you getting these for a special someone~?”

Sever growled as the shopkeeper pestered him with constant variations of the same question. Trying to find the precise types of makeup the blue-haired Blade asked for was frustrating enough without this .

“For the last time, I hardly even know the person!” Sever snapped.

“That’s what they all say,” the nuisance replied.

Sever grabbed a few completely random bottles and slammed his claw on the counter. He picked up a handful of coins and hurled them at the fool before him, storming out of the shop right after.

… Still better than Amalthus.

“You took your time,” Nia remarked from where she was standing mere feet away from the shop’s entrance. Doubtlessly she’d been happy to enjoy the weather while he struggled. “Did you get what you needed?”

“I hate you,” Sever grumbled, “and yes. Did you get a pen?”

“Yep,” Nia replied, pulling out a pen and notepad. She scribbled on the pad until the pen decided to start working. “So you want me to do the bottom half of the list?”

“Sure, why not? If you’re fine with it, I mean.”

“Of course you leave me the bit with the unknown substances,” Nia scoffed, though she did start copying the list in spite of her frustration. “I went around town while waiting for you. Turns out there’s a ship like ours parked by the Ardainian base.”

“The Praetorium?”

“Word on the street is that it’s for some special envoy or something like that. Nobody seems to know who that’d be, though. Just watch out for it.”

“Yeah, will do. But realistically, they won’t know or care about me. You ought to worry about yourself.”

“I’m an Aegis. You’re the ordinary Blade without a Driver here. If anyone should be scared, it’s you!”

Sever rolled his eyes and walked away, ducking into Torigoth’s bookstore. He took a cursory glance around the place and groaned. Finding anything in here looked as if it would be far more difficult than the makeup shop. At least the people looked professional.

He quickly discovered that he was not an expert at sorting through bookshelves. 

What are these infernal things sorted by? Title? Usefulness? Taste?

He eventually found himself surrounded by books, mildly disoriented and very confused.

“Oh, hello,” a voice beside him said. “Looking for anything?”

Looking to his side, Sever saw someone with bright red hair wearing a thick Ardainian outfit, one that seemed far too warm for the weather. She seemed far too enthusiastic to be in this literacy-based hell, but Sever could definitely use the offered help.

“I suppose so. I’m looking for everything on this list, because my traveling companions are too lazy to go outside themselves.”

Maybe that’s not the exact reason as to why I’m here, but some things don’t need to be shared. Besides, I’m a rather good liar. Or maybe no one’s able to read my face. Either way, it works out.

Somehow, all of the books managed to be in radically different places. The help was definitely appreciated.

Sever’s guide spoke again as they moved through the store. “What kind of books do you like?”

Sever glanced back at his list. It included a few books about politics and laws.

“Not those,” he said, pointing at the titles.

“That makes sense. I had to read some of these for my job recently, and they’re rather boring,” she said, looking at the nearby books. “These should be the last ones on your list.”

“Thanks.”

 As Sever paid and walked to the store’s exit, though, an Ardanian soldier rushed past him.

“Consul Pyra! We have an emergency!”

“What happened?”

“We’re not entirely sure, but it seems a threat has been detected in the forest!”

Sever, still standing in the doorway of the bookstore, muttered a curse and quietly made his way back in. He slipped behind a bookshelf and watched the scene unfold.

“Do we have any details on this threat?” Pyra asked, somehow managing to sound completely polite and sincere despite the actual contents of the sentence practically begging for an ounce of sarcasm.

“They seem to be a group of Ardainian rebels, but they’re hiding out in the…”

The soldier paused for so long that Sever began to suspect he’d fallen over dead. Peering out from the bookcase, he realized the soldier was just intently trying to orient a map.

Eventually, the soldier simply gave up. “Well, it’s a dangerous place. Lots of big monsters around there, ma’am. The Special Inquisitor has already gone out with the garrison to deal with them.”

“Oh,” Pyra said, “so what do you need me to do?”

“Um… nothing, really. Reporting things to you is kind of my job right now. I broke my arm last month, so I can’t do much in the field.”

“Oh,” Pyra repeated, sounding much happier this time, “that’s great! Um, not the thing with your arm. I meant that it’s great if the Special Inquisitor is dealing with things.”

Sever slipped out of the bookstore shortly after. If there was going to be a fight, he wanted to be part of it.

———

“You said that Nia was awakened after Torna’s fall, but I fail to see how that is possible, as she was the one to sink it.”

“That is only what she told me. Perhaps she thought it would be easier to lie and ensure my cooperation.”

“But doing so would make it far harder to grow as Driver and Blade,” Brighid countered. “I would expect such a thing to cause a rift between you two.”

“Would such a thing matter when she planned on leaving me from the start?”

“It would matter years later, when that rift had only grown and she was released into the world.”

“You would accuse me of wishing lady Nia harm? I understand, but rest assured that I only wish to protect her. There are many people who would seek to control an Aegis.”

“But surely you feel some bitterness. I can only imagine how I’d feel if Lady Mòrag left me for years.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Mòrag quickly said.

Brighid nodded at her. “I… know? I wasn’t aware that trying to sympathize would place you under distress.”

Mòrag awkwardly coughed into her glove. “Right, of course. It’s no problem at all. It seems we will need to speak with Nia about being a Driver if all this is true.”

Dromarch huffed at that. “I would not lie to you. I merely hope to understand what Nia is going through.”

“I see. In-”

“Wait.” Dromarch leapt to his feet, eyes focused on something in the forest’s depths. “Someone approaches.”

“Aw,” an unfamiliar voice whined, “looks like you caught me.”

A blond man in maroon armor stepped out of the trees. On his chestplate was a large blue medal in the shape of a lightning bolt with golden trim.

Dromarch stepped forward, a pair of razor-sharp rings appearing in his mouth. “Who are you?”

The man spread his arms and puffed out his chest. “I’m the one and only Special Inquisitor.”

Chapter Text

“Hey. Hey you. What’re you doing?”

Nia looked up from the desk she was rifling through with a scowl. “Looking around while I wait for you to do your job. Aren’t you supposed to be working here?”

“When I’m not on lunch break, yeah. Why’re you going through the cash register, huh?”

Nia glanced down at the apparently-not-a-miniature-desk. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. Put the money back.”

“I didn’t take any money, you arse!”

She heard a sigh from deep in her core.

“…Just dispose of him.”

She left the store with a bag of goods and a trail of water on the floor coalescing around an unconscious body.

…In her defense, she’d only meant to trip him, and he was still perfectly… alive.

“That very impressive work.”

The voice appeared from seemingly nowhere. Moments later, a nopon wearing a brown pinstripe suit and a long orange tie crawled out of a manhole.

“What the hell?”

“No need to be rude. I am Mafimafi, distinguished nopon merchant. Would like to congratulate you on freedom.”

Nia’s mind ground to a halt. “You know about that?”

“Of course! Mafimafi knows whenever potential cust- friends are free from the soldier-house.”

“Huh?”

“Usually, customers are skeptical. They not trust Mafimafi, say they want to change… it terrible. But you? Freshly free and already stealing! Mafimafi provides discounts for such wonderful citizens!”

“And how do you know I’m fresh out of this… soldier house?”

“You still have the outfit. It clear as day.”

The pieces clicked into place. Was that why people had been giving her odd looks all day?

She really, really wanted to go home and scream at something. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a home.

The voice in her core returned. “Don’t give anything away. We can use this nopon.”

At that point, Nia remembered the drug on the shopping list she held in her hand. She looked down at Mafimafi.

“No,” she thought, “I’m not putting up with this crap. You do it!”

Was the other being in her core snoring?!

Reluctantly, she accepted her fate. “Deals, huh? I like the sound of that.”

“Excellent! Then come with Mafimafi!”

The nopon jumped back down the manhole. Nia walked over and sighed. She furtively looked behind her. Nobody was in sight. Well, no sense in prolonging it…

Nia dropped into the manhole. A long hallway lit by a bright white string of lights stretched out before her. Mafimafi, unbothered by the harsh light, walked forward. Her long tie trailed on the ground, dragging under her legs like a grimy tail. Nia followed her, crouching to fit into the depths of the tunnel.

“We will arrive at place of business shortly!” Mafimafi proclaimed.

Sure enough, the tunnel opened up into a little alcove. Red curtains - had those been stolen from someone’s house? - were draped over four rotting wooden stakes to make a little stall. Two nopons in black armor and large glasses that obscured their eyes flanked the stall. Each one had little brass studs on the tips of their wings.

Mafimafi walked behind the stall. “So, friend. What you want to buy?”

“Um…” Nia looked down at the list. The drug in question stretched out before her, a literary behemoth of consonants and vowels. She handed it to Mafimafi. “I’ll take some of this if you have it.”

“Ooh, that very pricy. Will take something other than money to buy, yes… does friend live around here?”

“What, you’ve never noticed me?”

“Do not take it as insult. Mafimafi very busy, rarely spend time on randoms. So, friend does live here…”

Well, you said it, not me, Nia thought.

“Gift is on the house!” Mafimafi proclaimed. “Just remember; when times were rough, Mafimafi was there for you. If favor needs to be repaid…”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Nia replied dismissively. Odds were, she wouldn’t ever see this nopon again.

“Excellent. Drugidrugi! You heard the customer! Get product!”

One of the armored nopons slowly shuffled into the depths of the stall, crawling into what appeared to be a pet door. Mafimafi followed to supervise.

“Ah, dear customer,” the solitary remaining nopon whispered, “I just want to say that I have nothing to do with this. Only here for money. Ardainians come into town last week, raise all the taxes… rent went way up!”

“Alright,” Nia shrugged. “I won’t judge if you don’t judge me for being here.”

“Deal.”

Mafimafi and Drugidrugi returned. Drugidrugi held a black shoebox.

“The product in there,” Mafimafi said, “handle carefully! No refunds or returns here.”

“Relax, I’m not gonna drop it.” Nia took the box and left as quickly as she could.

———

For a long while, there was silence. Then-

“No, you’re not.” Mòrag stepped forward accusingly.

“Yes I am.”

“You are not the Special Inquisitor. I’ve never even heard of you.”

“Ouch. That hurts.” He slumped over a bit, frowning momentarily before unleashing an unholy attempt at a smile that made Mòrag’s skin crawl. “For what it’s worth, I wish we’d met sooner too, beautiful. The name’s Mikhail. Mor Ardain’s latest and greatest Special Inquisitor.”

Mòrag hated every word of this. “Of course Zeke would appoint someone like you to the position. I shouldn’t have bothered hoping for anything more.”

Honestly, this was absurd. This Mikhail person didn’t even have a hat.

“Emperor Zeke has good taste. It’s an honor to be part of his cabinet.”

“…You aren’t. That’s not how the cabinet works.”

“Maybe not back in your day, but now? I’m in the cabinet. I’m in the Senate. I’m in the book club. Mor Ardain’s entering a new age, and Zeke needs a competent second-in-command.”

“Wouldn’t that be his Blade?” Brighid asked.

“Pandoria and I take turns. Ushering in an age of prosperity is tiring work. Anyway, you know why I’m here. Shall we get started?”

Dromarch growled. “You shall not keep me from my lady, whoever you may be.”

“Uh, what? I don’t even know who you are. But if you insist on protecting criminals, then sure, suit yourself.” Mikhail lazily clasped his hands behind his back and bent upward. Was he stretching…? “Anyway, I swear on the badge of the Special Inquisitor and all that-”

“There is no special inquisitor badge,” Mòrag snapped.

“Um, yes there is. I’m wearing it.” Mikhail tapped the garish lightning bolt and Mòrag decided that she hated him. “Anyway, let’s dance, ladies… and uh, the cat too, I guess.”

Mòrag wasted no time in attacking, launching a blast of flame directly at Mikhail.

“Hey, wait,” he cried, leaping back, “wait! I haven’t even pulled out a weapon!”

“Being prepared for combat is an essential part of your job, Special Inquisitor . If you can’t do that, you have no place in the military!”

“Didn’t you hear? The Red Lightning Crimesmasher Act of 4060, passed under Emperor Ozychlyrus - that’s Zeke - declares that the Special Inquisitor isn’t part of the military. I’m a civil servant now, baby.”

“What does that even achieve?”

“Less strict rules for entering civilian property. We were rooting out Brionac spies.”

Mòrag leapt forward as bladed fans appeared in Mikhail’s hand. “You think you can just rewrite Ardainian law? Do you even comprehend the ramifications?”

“Woah, someone’s aggressive. Not that I mind- ow!” One of Mòrag’s swords connected, leaving a thin slice on his nose. “But yes, His Majesty takes the safety of those under him very seriously. A lot of lives could’ve been saved if an emperor put his foot down sooner.”

“You have no idea what you’re doing! If you had the faintest bit of knowledge, you’d understand that His M- Niall did all he could to-”

“Who said anything about Niall?” Mikhail dodged a wave of fire with a stylish handspring and took a lazy swing at Dromarch. “I had a lot of respect for the kid. But every last emperor between him and Hugo… not so much. The Senate got rich off running the country, and what did the emperors do? Smile because hey, it wasn’t their reputations hitting the bottom of the barrel.”

“You’re quite the historian,” Dromarch remarked. “And a Blade, too. How unfortunate that we’ve come to blows.”

“Eh, whatever. It happens. You’re not so bad yourself. But anyway, I think you’d all be interested to know that Zeke has the highest approval ratings of any non-native leader of the empire.”

“How impressive,” Brighid deadpanned. “Would he also happen to be the lowest rated in that category?”

“Smart and pretty,” Mikhail whistled, and at once Mòrag vowed to rip that disgraceful badge off his armor. “But he has actually polled pretty well. Maybe I’ll send you some of the stats while you’re waiting for your trial.“

“You still believe we’re rebels?”

“All the evidence points to it. All we’re missing is a motive.”

“And you won’t find one,” Mòrag snapped, locking blades with Mikhail, “because we aren’t traitors.”

Mikhail managed a cocky smile and shrug even as the sparks from Mòrag’s swords leapt past his forehead. “Hmm… I don’t know. That sounds like something a traitor would say.”

“Could you stop and think for a moment? Brighid and I have dedicated our life to Mor Ardain. What could possibly make us join Torna?”

“Probably something related to Niall. Maybe you blame the empire for his disappearance, or maybe you made him disappear yourself.”

“I would never-”

“Truth is, it doesn’t matter. We have all the evidence we need. Take the Ardainian rebels camped out minutes from here, for example.”

“What?”

“Yeah, they’re being dealt with as we speak.” Mikhail’s eyes snapped to the side and he rolled away as Dromarch’s rings tore through the air, embedding themselves in a nearby tree.

From a crouch, Mikhail glanced around. Dromarch’s weapons were still in the tree, but the Blade himself was charging at him, seemingly intent on killing him with fangs and claws. Mòrag and Brighid were advancing on him too, though at a less feral pace. He ran a hand through his hair, a leisurely motion meant to disguise his other hand sliding behind his back to grab a smoke bomb. With a cheery smile, he slammed it onto the ground. Mòrag skidded to a stop, while Dromarch charged into the smoke.

“Where did he go?” Mòrag asked as the smoke faded, revealing Dromarch stuck in a glowing yellow net.

Suddenly, Brighid gasped and fell onto her side within a similar net. Yet another one wrapped around Mòrag seconds later, causing her to fall facedown on the grass.

Mikhail's cocky voice sounded out from behind them. “This is an ether net. A useful little thing made by-”

“I know what an ether net is,” Mòrag snapped at him from the ground.

“Aw, let me have some fun,” Mikhail whined, walking into her line of sight and sitting down on Brighid’s shoulder. “It’s not every day that I get to hang out in the woods with two lovely ladies. And besides, maybe the cat isn’t familiar with ether nets.”

“I regret to inform you that I am,” Dromarch rumbled from across the clearing.

“Oh.” Frowning, Mikhail leaned forward to brush a bead of sweat off Mòrag's face. “Damn.”

——

Cressidus leapt forward, smashing apart the earth with his metal gauntlets. A trio of Ardainian rebels collapsed under their weight, and he tried very hard to not be too disappointed. When he’d heard that real, actual rebels were in Gormott, he’d expected real danger. But these people were barely more notable than simple bandits.

A group of soldiers from Torigoth were probably somewhere behind him, though he’d left them far behind. The rebels had quickly left their encampment to run for their lives, and Cressidus’ soldiers couldn’t keep up with his speed.

He spotted two more rebels running through the trees and gave chase. He’d rather deal with everyone himself anyway, both for fun and to avoid unnecessary casualties. The soldiers in Torigoth were good people, and unlike him, they couldn’t always survive a bullet.

Leaping over a fallen log, he smashed his gauntlets down on one rebel’s helmet. It crunched loudly as the metal folded into a miniature crater. Perhaps he’d gone a bit overboard, but he didn’t see a reason to go easy on violent criminals. Straightening up, Cressidus looked around for the other rebel. They were standing a small distance away, a large firearm aimed directly at him. That… kind of sucked. Still, he’d regenerate, and with his shield he could keep the rebel occupied until reinforcements came. He raised a barrier of ether and braced for impact.

Unexpectedly, the impact came not in the form of a bullet but in the rebel’s body bouncing off Cressidus’ barrier with a muted thud. A tall Blade stood before him, somewhere between a lizard and insect… probably. Cressidus wasn’t an expert on animals and the other Blade’s dark blue and gold coloration wasn’t doing him any favors.

“Woah, thanks!” Cressidus said, bounding over to the Blade for a closer look. “You’re pretty good with that, uh…”

He trailed off as he looked at the strange weapon in the Blade’s grip. It was like a dagger, but with a glowing blue edge that appeared to be sticking out of the wrong end of the handle.

“It’s a tonfa,” the Blade said in a dry, raspy voice. “Far more useful than those massive gloves of yours.”

“They’re gauntlets!” Cressidus shouted indignantly, “and they’re way better at smashing things than your backward toothpick!”

“It’s. A. Tonfa!” The other Blade practically spat the last word at him.

Cressidus saw the rebel on the ground twitch and in a moment of genius decided to defuse the situation. “Hey, you didn’t hit him hard enough.”

“Excuse me?”

Oops. That… wasn’t defusing anything.

“I didn’t know if you wanted him alive,” the Blade snapped. “If you want to kill him, it should be easy enough to do it now, yeah?”

“I never said I did, um… actually, I don’t recognize you. What’s your name?”

“Sever. I’m just visiting and heard there was a fight out here. You cleaned them up too fast, though. I was hoping for more action.”

How did he manage to make that sound like such an insult?!

Cressidus took a long, deep breath. “…Thanks. I’m Cressidus! Nice to meet you and all that. Say, you wanted more action, right? How about we spar?”

In all honesty, Cressidus kind of wanted to hit Sever in the face. But hey, he wasn’t just offering to spar for that reason. There were plenty of others! Like… hm.

“Sure. You’re up to it without a Driver?”

“Of course! I don’t need to hide behind Mik to fight. If you want your Driver I can wait, though.”

Something sharp and angry flashed in Sever’s eyes. “No.”

He laughed nervously. “Um, alright! There’s a nice clearing around here that we can use. Come on!”

A few minutes later, they reached their destination, a circular clearing surrounded by large trees. There were some large patches of dirt where the grass had been ripped away, and some of the trees had dents in them. 

Cressidus trained here often, ever since he‘d discovered it, in fact. When he and Mikhail had been sent to Gormott, he was rather disappointed, because it seemed like some backwater Titan with nothing to fight. But luckily, the local wildlife put up a good fight. After a long battle with a giant ape, Cressidus had stumbled into this little clearing and made it his own.

“Good luck!” Cressidus said earnestly as he walked to one side of the ring.

Hastily, he raised an ether shield, blocking a blast of wind ether. Sever, on the other side of the clearing, hissed, “Worry about yourself.”

Cressidus laughed. “Pretty good! But I’m the strongest and I’m in the mood to prove it!”

The ground quaked as Cressidus charged. He threw a punch, but Sever slid to the side, cleanly redirecting Cressidus’ blow with his tonfa. Sever slashed forward, landing a solid strike on his opponent. Within the blink of an eye, Cressidus spun, lashing out at Sever. However, the wind Blade was too close for Cressidus to properly land his punches, and he had to jump back.

As Sever dashed after him, Cressidus stepped forward, finally landing a solid hit. Sever was launched backwards, crashing down hard enough to create a cloud of dust. He looked up and saw Cressidus squinting, trying to make out his position. As he raised a claw, wind stirred up the dust further. When it cleared, he was gone.

Cressidus had a second to look around before a series of wind blasts smashed into his back, knocking him to the ground. Sever rushed at him and leapt into the air. The tonfa met with an unwavering defense as the Earth Blade formed a barrier of ether.

“You’ve gotta be faster than that!” Cressidus shouted, slamming a gauntlet into the tonfa. Using the metallic glove to grip the other Blade’s weapon, he raised his free fist to strike.

“Like you’re one to talk about speed,” Sever cackled, deflecting the punch with an unyielding barrier of his own.

“Pretty impressive block,” Cressidus remarked. “That shield of yours is like a tank!”

With a satisfied chuckle, Sever sidestepped an uppercut, countering with his own flurry of blows. “You’re not complete trash either.”

“Wow, thanks!” Cressidus caught the tonfa, pulling Sever closer.

“Huh? That was hardly a compliment…”

“From someone like you? I think it was.”

Sever hissed, muscles straining as he tried to pull the weapon out of Cressidus’ grasp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Before Cressidus could respond, he heard his Driver’s voice, sounding slightly more tired than usual. “Cressidus! Stop for a moment, would you?”

Cressidus looked sheepishly over at Sever. “Um, sorry. Mik needs me.”

“Backing out already?” Sever huffed. “Fine.”

“I’m not backing out! I’m just helping my Driver!”

“By backing out.”

“You- whatever. We can have a rematch later.”

“...I’ll hold you to that.”

Cressidus nodded quickly and bounded off to the edge of the clearing where Mikhail stood. “Hey, Mik! Need anything?”

Mikhail brushed a strand of hair back and waved a hand behind him. Following the gesture, Cressidus saw two people and a tiger wrapped in ether nets. He recognized the two; they were criminals, he knew that much. The tiger was completely unfamiliar to him. He wondered if it was soft.

“I need some help getting these three to Gormott,” Mikhail said, “And maybe don’t get into fights unplanned in the future? I was kinda planning on using our gauntlets to carry them.”

Cressidus looked at Mikhail’s tired face. Cressidus looked at the angry faces of the captives. Cressidus looked at the three lines of dirt and grass that had been torn up behind them. Ah, that was a problem. Still, the gauntlets were technically his. Mikhail knew that they might be unavailable. And Cressidus wasn’t one to feel bad for criminals, so there wasn’t much of a problem in his eyes.

Mikhail seemed to recognize this and sighed despondently. “Look, just help and we can go over this whole sharing thing later.”

(In Mikhail’s opinion, Cressidus wasn’t sharing. In Cressidus’ opinion, Mikhail wasn’t sharing. They would indeed go over it later and nothing would be accomplished.)

“Need some help? I can get one.” Cressidus jumped as a familiar raspy voice spoke from just beside him. How did Sever move so quietly?

“That’s fine with me!” Cressidus said, accidentally talking over Mikhail. “Did you wanna say something, Mik?”

“…It’s nothing,” Mikhail said. He looked… frustrated? Or maybe suspicious? Cressidus wasn’t sure why, though. The bad guys had been captured after all.

Sever walked forward and snatched one of the people away from Mikhail - the uniformed Driver - and started walking in what was presumably the direction of Torigoth. Cressidus didn’t know that for sure, though. Navigating the forest was hard work. He looked at the remaining captives. Both seemed like Blades, though one was a tiger and the other was a woman with fiery blue hair. There was really only one choice here. Cressidus locked eyes with Mikhail and very, very pointedly took the fire Blade. He loved Mik like a brother but this was necessary.

Cressidus didn’t feel bad for criminals, but that didn’t mean he could in good conscience leave this one with Mikhail.

Chapter Text

Mikhail adjusted the tiger in his hands as Torigoth came into view. He’d made it all this way without saying anything; mostly so he could prove a point to Cressidus, but surely it still counted for something. And perhaps after he was done bragging, they could have a nice chat about trusting strangers. It wasn’t that he had much of a reason to distrust the Blade that had walked off with one of their captives, but instead that he had no reason to trust it. Cressidus was just the opposite; unless he knew someone was a bad person, he’d assume they were a saint; a habit that had led to more than one close call back in Mikhail’s young and reckless days.

He sighed and hoped that Cressidus kept a good eye on his new ‘friend’, because that was really all he could do. Both Blades had left his sight several minutes ago, mostly because they'd left him with a large animal to carry. And even worse than that, it was a familiar large animal.

He’d thought it was a scavenger at first and fully expected to be eaten. Turning away, he shielded the body in his arms from the approaching tiger, clinging onto its cold flesh and the vain hope that the beast would leave them alone.

A low voice spoke from behind him. “I am going to heal you. Please do not move.”

After a wave of warmth coursed through him, he dared to throw a glance over his shoulder and belatedly realized the tiger was a Blade.

“Come,” it said, “we should get you back to the group. Lady Nia wishes to take inventory of the wounded before it gets late.”

Mikhail just tightened his grip around the body. There wasn’t a Blade alive that would make him leave Milton.

“You can take him with you,” the Blade rumbled. “Climb onto my back. I will get you to safety.”

Mikhail doubted that there was anywhere safe anymore; not after Milton was dead. But he did slowly climb onto the tiger’s back. It patiently waited for him.

For a moment, he wondered if he was in a strange fairy tale, and the tiger was going to take him into a cave and eat him. But the fear was washed away in its thick white fur. It was just bristly enough to keep him steady and just soft enough to lull him to sleep.

Mikhail felt as if the silence would never end as they entered Torigoth. The Blade surely didn’t remember him - he’d only been one of many wounded and lost people on that day - and probably wouldn’t recognize him anyway, not after all these years. And heck, it had been long enough that Mikhail could almost believe that he was misremembering things and this was a completely different Blade. He desperately wanted to feel its fur again to settle the turmoil in his mind, but his armor covered his hands, and arms, and… well, just about everything except for his head. And if his only option was sticking his head into the Blade’s fur in the middle of Torigoth… yeah, no thanks. He’d pass on that one. Now, if Cressidus hadn’t forced him to carry this captive specifically, he might be willing to do something of the sort, but his self-preservation wouldn’t quite turn off for Dromarch.

“Special Inquisitor!” two  Ardainian soldiers ran up to him as he reached their base. “Your Blade ordered us to assist you. We can take the captive from here.”

Mikhail froze, accidentally tightening his grip on Dromarch’s fur. Well, this was it. His last chance.

“Sir?”

With a heavy sigh, he handed the Blade over before briskly walking off. It was fine anyway; he didn’t need to know if it was the same Blade from Torna. It wasn’t relevant and frankly, he ought to have moved past it by now. If only he’d actually done so. On his way to the Titan warship he caught a glimpse of red hair, and his frown deepened. Speaking of things best left in the past… well, it was a problem for later.

“Hey, Mik!” Cressidus’ voice came from his side as the large Blade jogged up to him. “Do you need me for anything else?”

“...Not at the moment,” Mikhail replied. “You’re dismissed. But we’ll talk later.”

He tuned out the honorifics and salutes of the occasional soldier as he walked to his office. Both Mòrag and Brighid were to be held separately, and so he’d chosen to interrogate the Driver first because apparently that was what some old handbook advised. Of course, he was perfectly happy to ignore tradition when it suited him, but here it wasn’t worth the trouble.

As he’d ordered, the soldiers had brought Mòrag, in handcuffs, to his office, where a steaming cup of coffee waited. Perfect.

“Hey, beautiful,” Mikhail started, flashing her a smile as he listlessly plopped into his chair. “How’s it going?”

He didn’t actually care, nor did he listen to her response. He just needed an excuse to start drinking his coffee.

“So,” he started, leisurely taking another sip of coffee, “I have a feeling that if I try to do this by the book, you’ll lambast me for messing up some obscure rules or whatever. Am I right?”

“It would depend on the specific rules you broke,” Mòrag said, seeming to take the question a bit more seriously than he’d meant it. “Believe it or not, I am not always one to adhere to the Empire’s laws.”

“Because some of them are stupid?”

“Precisely.”

Mikhail had a feeling they drew the line in completely different places but surely this counted as some sort of common ground. “Point is, I’m busy and we can do a proper interrogation later. I’m thinking I’ll just name a topic and you’ll tell me what you know about it for now.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll lie?”

“Eh, not really. I mean, I’ll be listening to your sweet voice very carefully-”

“Pig,” Mòrag muttered, glaring at a finely polished screw on his desk as if it was directly responsible for this turn of events. Still, Mikhail fully expected her eyes to snap back to him the moment he moved in her direction.

“-and there’s no rush, yeah? I can get the real info later.”

“Fine. Let us get this over with.”

“Great. In that case, let’s start with the rebels.”

“You’ll have to be more specific. Mor Ardain has many enemies, regrettably.”

Mikhail sighed and inhaled another six ounces of coffee. “The ones in Gormott, a few minutes away from where we caught you.”

“Ah, the ones you mentioned during our battle? I assumed they were fictional. I have seen no such rebels on Gormott.”

“Would I really lie to you?”

There was a long pause, in which it became increasingly clear that Mòrag was not going to grace him with an answer.

“Seriously, is that your story? You don’t know about them?”

“Yes.”

“Got it.” Mikhail picked up a notebook, angling it toward him so Mòrag could not see its contents. He flipped it open to a random page and haphazardly scribbled on it until he noticed Mòrag’s dry stare. “What?”

“You must have terrible handwriting.”

“Wh- are you trying to tell what I’m writing by looking at the pen? Really? It’s angled this way because I don’t want you to see it, you know.”

Mòrag rolled her eyes, which Mikhail took to be an accomplishment on his part. He very pointedly took his pen to the paper and slowly wrote ‘former Sp. Inq. is nosy’ .

“Could we perhaps get back on topic?” Mòrag asked him.

“Sure. Uh, Gormott. Why were you even here? Hiding out?”

There was a short pause before she responded. “The ship I was on was forced off course. That’s all.”

“You make everything sound so boring.”

“I’m not in the habit of telling bedtime stories to people who waste my time.”

“So if I'm productive, you will tell me a bedtime story?”

“No.”

“Aw, you’re such a tease,” Mikhail groaned, though of course he hadn’t expected any other response. “Hey, you haven’t seen. Niall, have you?”

Mikhail knew fully well that Mòrag was likely more competent at this sort of thing than him, but he could act confident well enough to make it into any of Minoth’s plays.

…Probably. He’d never actually tried to audition for one.

“Niall?” Mòrag asked, suddenly looking less bored and far more focused, “what do you know about him?”

Making her more alert was probably the exact opposite of what he needed to do, but he’d already committed and he still had some coffee left so there was no reason to leave early. “There’s more guesswork than theories, I’m afraid. But I’ve come up with some things.”

“Elaborate.”

“Easy there, darling. I’m still in charge here. Who was that cat you were with?”

Mòrag tensed and Mikhail half expected her to attack him on the spot. “Never mind him. What do you-”

“If you want to know what I know, tell me about the cat first.”

 “…Fine. His name is Dromarch and he is a Blade searching for his Driver.”

“ Searching for his Driver?” Mikhail didn’t like the sound of that, not one bit.

“Indeed. Now-”

“Who is this Dromarch’s Driver?” Mikhail leaned forward, hands pressing down on his desk, as his voice dropped to a serious tone. “Tell me.”

“Does this truly matter? I-”

His heartbeat quickened. “Tell me now for the sake of your ‘brother’ if nothing else.”

“…According to Dromarch, his Driver is named Nia.”

“And how long has he been… searching?”

“A… very long time.”

“Emperor Ozychlyrus is just one call away. Tell me before I need to pull Dromarch himself up here.”

“He claims to have been around for several centuries,” Mòrag said evasively. “Perhaps his Driver is Indoline.”

Mikhail didn’t believe that for a second; there were too few Titans in Alrest for a random Indoline Driver to avoid their Blade for centuries.

“That’s all I know,” Mòrag told him, “We didn’t have long to become acquainted.”

“Fine. That’s enough for now,” Mikhail said, getting up. Belatedly he realized he was still holding his coffee mug and placed it on the windowsill to hide the mistake.

“So, about Niall-”

“I don’t know any more than you do. The kid’s good at vanishing, or whatever took him is. We don’t have a location, a culprit, or a motive. We haven’t found any leads on the guy in blue armor either; I assume you know the one? Popped up a few days before Niall vanished, talked like a Blade, and disappeared at around the same time as the kid.”

“I’m well aware,” Mòrag snapped back as he walked out of the room.

A group of soldiers outside moved to return Mòrag to her cell, though Mikhail paid them little mind; his thoughts were elsewhere as he stormed through the ship. Several centuries - he’d bet money on the specific number being five , and still he wished it was anything else. He’d hoped the Aegis had died in his banishment after Torna; rumors suggested the Aegis was sent away on a ship at the time, and when he never returned Mikhail had convinced himself that the Aegis was dead. Ships were touchy things; it was easy to assume something broke and the pressure of the Cloud Sea destroyed it. But if a Blade with a missing Driver had been alive for five centuries… Well, he didn’t see who else could be its Driver.

But nothing was concrete until the tiger told him how many years it had been since his awakening; he’d hold onto the last bit of hope until there was no other choice.

He didn’t bother bringing Dromarch to his office, instead opting to slam the Blade’s cell door open.

Dromarch, who was lying on the floor, looked up and shifted into a tense crouch. “Special Inquisitor.”

Mikhail smiled thinly at him. “I’ve heard that your Driver is missing. Mor Ardain has a lot of resources. We could help track them down if you gave us a simple description.”

“Pardon my bluntness, but I find it hard to believe that you rushed over in obvious distress only to offer help. If you must know, my Driver is close, but I feel I must ask you something. What do you seek to gain, Special Inquisitor?”

“Gathering information is part of my job. Surely you could at least tell me, say… the number of centuries you’ve been searching.”

Dromarch’s keen eyes narrowed and swept over Mikhail. “Five.”

Mikhail stepped back, an empty smile still frozen on his face. With a deep breath he turned to leave-

“You still look the same, Special Inquisitor.”

He stepped back again, and with a burst of ether traveling through his Core Crystal, Mikhail single-handedly slammed the cell door shut.

Well, that sealed it. If Dromarch recognized him from Torna, it meant the Blade wasn’t lying. And that meant the Blade that destroyed Torna was likely nearby.

“You,” he started, walking to the first Ardainian soldier he saw, “bring Consul Pyra here as soon as possible. I’ll find someone to take over your post.”

A lie; his plan was to just hope the soldier wasn’t doing anything important at the moment. While the man was fetching Pyra, he’d be better off telling Cressidus to stay close before he chanced upon the Aegis and challenged him to a friendly spar or something. Knowing his Blade, that was entirely possible.

“Yes, sir!” The soldier walked off and Mikhail resisted the urge to tell him to run. He shouldn’t go stirring up panic yet, not when there was so little he knew about the situation.

He ran his hands through his hair and, in a rare moment of sentimentality, turned back to the cell door.

His murmur was low enough that only the Blade inside could hear it. “For back then, when… you know. …Thanks.”

The words felt almost too short, but Mikhail hoped it was enough regardless.

————

“Go give the parts to Umon, will you?” Sever tossed the parts in questions at Nia, who barely managed to catch them. “I’m gonna check in with Amalthus.”

“Sure,” Nia replied, at which point Sever changed directions to jog onto their ship.

He found Amalthus in the study because of course he did; his Driver seemed to have spent every waking moment since their arrival on Gormott inside the dimly lit room.

“You’re back,” Amalthus said, closing a thick book to look at Sever. “How was the trip?”

Sever got straight to the point, placing the bag down on the table. “Why do you need drugs?”

Amalthus raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, long fingers wrapping around the bag. “It is merely a precaution, I assure you. I am not an addict.”

“Yeah, I figured. You really think I pegged you of all people for an addict?”

“I considered the possibility.”

“Right. Anyway, I’m more concerned about what you plan on doing with ‘em.”

“Nothing. Again, this is merely a precaution. This drug is, in larger doses, a quite lethal poison. It is unlikely that I will need it, but I enjoy having options… and I will admit that I was curious to see if you’d actually get it for me.”

“It wasn’t for you, it…” Sever trailed off as he realized there was no other way to spin it. “Look, Nia got it, not me!”

“Is that so? I must confess that the image is amusing to imagine, but be careful with who you share such dangerous information with. Nia may be your friend, but-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

Amalthus’ eyes narrowed and Sever, taking the hint, shut up.

Despite his sudden glare, Amalthus’ voice remained peaceful. “Is there anything else you wish to report?”

“Yeah. I was sparring with another Blade; his name is Cressidus and he’s the new Special Inquisitor's Blade. He’s pretty strong, I’ll admit. His Driver interrupted us but he says he owes me another match-”

“You sound quite smitten with him,” Amalthus remarked, and Sever would swear that his eyes were sparkling with amusement.

“What? No! He’s a noisy oaf. All I’m saying is that he’s a bit more entertaining than your average gogol. I don’t need your lecture on being more distant, alright? We’re just sparring partners.”

“I hardly think it matters under the Architect’s cold eyes. Do as you will.”

“Um, right. Anyway, I found out that the new inquisitor guy captured Nia’s Driver and, uh, the blue-haired one.”

“Brighid,” Amalthus corrected him gently.

“Whatever. Anyway, Cressidus let me help take them to an Ardainian battleship.”

“Truly?”

“Yep, told you he was stupid. I took out one of their engines on the way out… or, uh, I think it was an engine. It looked important so I broke it when no one was looking.”

“Good job, Blade,” Amalthus chuckled. “Actually, if I may ask, what is your name? It’s taken far too long for me to ask, I know, but I would like it if we could move forward.”

“That’s what made you care enough to ask? Really?”

“Not quite. It is due to a combination of factors; you’ve proven yourself rather competent and I would be remiss to let your name go unknown for any longer. You’ve grown quite quickly; from what I understand most Blades do not form their first… crush so early in life.”

“What are you talking about? I told you, we’re not-!”

“There is no need to deny it. I have never felt such attraction myself, but I have been taught how to support others in such a position. I-”

“Shut up- wait, you’ve never had a crush?”

“Correct. I suppose I’ve never quite found the time or will to do so. Is that so difficult to imagine?”

“Not really, I guess. Can we talk about something else now?”

“As you wish, though I do notice you never provided me with your name. Is there an issue?”

“No, it’s Sever. Are you done teasing me yet?”

“Teasing? I’m sorry you feel that way. I was only attempting to congratulate you. Have you told Nia of the situation?”

“Nope.”

“I see. While I do approve of your decision, I believe we should speak to her about this. Could you go find her? I will finish my work here and join you shortly.”

Amalthus picked his book up again, not even bothering to hide that his ‘work’ consisted of finishing his chapter and finding a bookmark. Sever rolled his eyes and left.

————

The Special Inquisitor’s office - or at least the one that was on the battleship, Pyra was sure that he had more in Mor Ardain - had two escape routes. The door, of course, and also a window that overlooked Torigoth.

…Not that Pyra was planning on needing an escape route, but checking felt warranted to her.

Mikhail had unnerved her since they’d first met a few weeks ago. He’d popped up from seemingly nowhere and there was of course the fact that he was… Well, Pyra wasn’t sure exactly. He was a Driver and his bond with Cressidus was unmistakably strong, but he’d reportedly used his own Blade weapons in combat frequently as if it was second nature. Most people found him fascinating, and given how he acted Pyra was sure he enjoyed the awed eyes that tracked his every action and speculated on his true identity.

Indeed, Mikhail was different. That much was an open secret. But what made him so eerie to Pyra was that he was familiar.

He looked exactly like what she would have imagined the young boy from Torna to grow into, with a messy mop of blond hair and lonely blue eyes that betrayed his loose smile. Only, that boy had been born five hundred years ago and was human. Whatever this was…

“Take a seat, consul. We’re on a tight schedule.”

Pyra jumped at the sound of Mikhail’s voice directly behind her. She’d been standing awkwardly in the doorway and though she knew he was coming, the sheer coldness in his voice caught her off guard. There had always been some ice in his tone when they spoke, and certainly she’d never been subjected to the absurd flirting that he was rumored to indulge in. Today, though, he was making no effort to dress up the blunt command nor its sound.

She hurriedly took a step behind the desk before realizing that it wasn’t her desk. “Right, um, sorry. How… can I help you?”

The last bit was supposed to be said with a smile, though from the blank expression on his face it was clear that she hadn’t quite pulled it off. She moved to the other side of the desk and sat down while Mikhail moved to his own chair.

“I don’t need you to do anything but answer a few questions,” he said, and while the words appeared ominous it was surely Pyra’s mind reading too much into things, “ yet .”

“Yet?”

“Do you know a Blade named Dromarch or his Driver?”

She frowned thoughtfully. The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Whoever this Dromarch was, they surely hadn’t met for long, not nearly long enough to leave an impression in her five hundred years of life.

“He’s a tiger, I think,” Mikhail continued, “and he claims to be five centuries old.”

Pyra’s eyes widened and her body froze, save for a hand that strayed to where her Core Crystal was hidden below several layers of Ardainian clothing. Mikhail’s eyes instantly narrowed and tracked the movement. If the rumors of him being a Blade had any merit, he was surely familiar with hiding a Core Crystal and he surely knew .

Of course, Ardainian emperors of old and a few trusted confidants had learned of Pyra’s past, but with the bored waves and empty smiles Mikhail had offered her upon their meeting, she’d hoped and almost believed the old records about her had been lost.

“I don’t think I’ve met a Dromach, sorry. Is there anything else?”

Mikhail nodded, looking profoundly displeased. “It seems probable that there is an… unidentified Aegis on Gormott.”

Was he referring to her? It was hard to tell if his tone was accusatory or just tired.

“So,” Mikhail continued, “while I can’t say anything for sure and the Aegis’ intent is unknown, I’d like to take some precautionary measures. We can’t have another Torna.”

“Right. Um, sorry…”

Mikhail stared at her for a long moment, long enough for her to wonder if he actually didn’t know that she was an Aegis. With a grimace, he shook his head. “Stop it. I wasn’t trying to- actually, let’s just focus on the present. Until this matter is resolved, we should advise the locals to stay in their homes. It’s not much but we don’t have the time or resources for an evacuation.”

“I can handle that. Do you know when… this Aegis will appear?”

“I have no clue. All I can guess is that he’s here. If the… Torigothans?”

“I… don’t think that’s a word,” Pyra corrected him, coming close to a smile.

“Haha, right. My bad.” Mikhail fidgeted with a piece of scrap metal that, for some reason, he simply had sitting on his desk. Perhaps he was a fan of mechanics and engineering? After a moment, his eyes turned back to Pyra with the enthusiasm of a corpse. “We should recall the soldiers as well. A few random guys shooting at an Aegis won’t go over well.”

“If we tell the Gormotti to hide and then pull out our soldiers, won’t it seem like we’re abandoning them? Relations between Mor Ardain and Gormott are strained enough as it is.”

“Fine, that’s perfectly fair. I should’ve spent more time considering the strain of your job before proposing the idea.”

“No, I wasn’t thinking of it like that. It’s just that-”

“I’ll leave a few garrison members out with orders to not engage with anything. They’ll be flashy enough to avoid that issue.”

Pyra wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what “flashy” meant to the chief officer in Zeke’s administration. “As long as nothing explodes, that’s acceptable.”

“Do you trust me that little?”

“Um, no offense, but… no, I don’t.”

“Noted. Last thing. Should we come to blows with the Aegis… can Mor Ardain count on having an Aegis of its own?”

She froze at that. Maybe she should’ve seen it coming, but she was still trying to figure out if Mikhail was a ghost. “I… I’m not…”

“Think about it. I have a meeting scheduled with the envoy Indol sent over a few days ago. When I return, I need an answer.”

Rising from his chair with enough stiff exhaustion that it could be imagined that he was clawing his way out of a grave, Mikhail walked past Pyra and moved out the door. She waited for about a minute before leaving herself. Architect forgive her, but she couldn’t do this again. Mikhail would have to work things out on his own; hopefully, without an Aegis on his side, he’d be more inclined to seek a peaceful outcome. Walking at a brisk pace, Pyra moved out of the battleship with no more than passing glances from the soldiers stationed on it.

————

Atop a rocky incline on Gormott’s back, Akhos peered down at the Aegis’ distinctive red hair. Beside him, Obrona lifted into the air.

“There’s our mark,” Akhos muttered. “Ready, Obrona?”

The Blade giggled, electricity dancing across her wings. “Hehe, of course! Wouldn’t want to miss an opportunity like this!”

“That’s right. Say…” his mouth curled into a smile as he looked down at their target. “Do you think she’s running away? Heh, Malos would have a field day with this.”

“Who knows? Either way, she’s alone. Let’s go!”

“You’re forgetting the equipment check.”

Obrona sighed, lifting up a bag of old inventions she’d found in Tora’s house. “Distractions, ready to go.”

Akhos lifted a more recent invention; a specialized ether net. “The net is primed and ready to go.”

“Obrona, ready to go!”

“...What? You aren’t… fine, whatever.”

With another peal of laughter, Obrona dove off the ledge, arcing toward their target below.

————

“This is the place,” Sever announced, waving a claw up at an Ardainian battleship. They were gathered on a hilltop with a view of both the ship and the nearby town of Torigoth. “Unless they’ve been moved, they’ll be in there.”

“Doesn’t look like an easy place to break into,” Nia said. “It’s a shame Mòrag isn’t here. She’d know how to do it.”

“Perhaps her absence isn’t all bad,” Amalthus mused in reply. “Doubtlessly she would object to causing extensive damage to the ship. There is a certain level of freedom afforded by our situation.”

“Are we causing extensive damage to the ship, though?” Sever’s claw twitched as though he was already preparing to draw his tonfa. “Not that I’m against it, but that seems kinda hard to do with just the three of us.”

“I’m sure Nia could destroy it if necessary.”

“Uh, could we not go there?” Nia interjected, giving Amalthus a pointed look. “I’m not as strong as… I once was. And I’d like to keep my Driver and her other Blade in one piece.”

“If your Driver was split into multiple pieces, could you heal her?”

“I mean, maybe? Depends on the circumstances. I’d rather not go that far, though.”

Sever nodded. “I’m with Nia on this one. Splitting the ship in half isn’t a good plan.”

“Of course. I am merely taking stock of the options. Naturally, I invite you to propose your own ideas as well as considering mine.”

“I don’t have any ideas,” Nia grumbled.

Sever froze for a moment, looking at Amalthus. “Um, what you said… does that go for both of us?”

Amalthus’ yellow eyes focused on him and for a moment Sever thought he looked almost sad. “Yes, you are both welcome to present your opinions. Did you have an idea?”

“No, just… just checking. Thanks.”

Nia leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree, absentmindedly twirling a flower in her hands. “Would you look at that? Maybe he’s not so hopeless after all.”

The comment was so quiet that Sever figured she was talking to herself, but unfortunately she was in the presence of both him and Amalthus. And as it turned out, the ears of a five-hundred-and-something year old politician were quite keen.

“I wasn’t aware that you were so fond of etiquette between Drivers and Blades,” Amalthus said mildly, turning to Nia in a sudden motion that undermined his even tone.

“Well, yeah? I mean, it’s, like, common sense, right?”

“All I am saying is that perhaps you ought to be… more understanding of the difficulties that arise when a Blade is awakened under unfortunate conditions. Surely you have reflected on such things over the past five centuries?”

“Huh? Why is this about me all of a sudden?”

“Because you too are a Driver, and certainly not one with the right to lecture me. Have you considered what to do with this Blade of yours?”

Sever wanted to step between them before things escalated, but he didn’t have a way to stop them. Nia’s tiger Blade had been a sore spot for Amalthus; the Indoline hadn’t said much about it, but Sever figured it had something to do with how Nia had only mentioned its existence hours ago. From Sever’s limited experiences with Amalthus, he’d noticed the Driver’s aversion to surprises and being told that a Blade had been following them since Leftheria was surely bothering him. Perhaps, then, some tension was inevitable when Amalthus’ secrecy and control were disturbed. Sever just hoped his Driver and Nia would work it out before they started their prison break.

“I’ve thought about what to do with him,” Nia said evasively.

“So,” Amalthus replied, “what are we to do with him when boarding the ship?”

“I think… we should just leave him for now. For all we know he wants to kill me. Hell, I probably would if I was in his position.”

Amalthus blinked in surprise. “I see. Do you not want to repair your relationship? Regardless of his intentions, he still seeks you.”

“I… just don’t think this is the time. It’s too risky to deal with him when I can only guess what he wants.”

Strangely, Amalthus looked troubled. Sever took a precautionary step between him and Nia as the Indoline spoke again. “I understand, but much as I wish to respect your decision… when will it be the time?”

Nia didn’t reply, though the tips of her ears lowered a bit.

“Or,” Amalthus continued, “will there never be a time?”

She frowned. “I guess not. I mean, we never got to know each other. After Torna, I was asked to awaken a Blade to help with the healing effort. I felt pressured to, and… well. I wouldn’t do it again, now that I’ve thought about the consequences.”

“Do you… regret him, then?”

“Yeah, I guess. He didn’t seem like a bad person or anything, but… that’s why I regret it, I think. Putting him on a path of obsessing over my exile… I should’ve at least warned him.”

“You didn’t?” Sever cut in, mostly out of surprise.

It was Amalthus who responded. “It was a difficult time, and guilt can affect one’s actions. Perhaps it is us who should not be judging Nia harshly for her actions.”

Sever looked at him as if he had grown a tail; Amalthus defending Nia wasn’t remotely what he’d expected. After a moment he nodded. “Yeah, I wasn’t blaming her. Just got surprised.”

“That’s it,” Nia said excitedly, “Dromarch! I can make a distraction pretty easily, given that I’m an Aegis. And Dromarch gives me a reason to be here without revealing Mòrag’s my Driver.”

“Excellent,” Amalthus said. “Sever and I will search for a subtle entry point to retrieve your Driver and Brighid. We will leave Dromarch up to you. Curious as I am to see your decision, I believe pressuring you will only harm things. Is that correct?”

“Yeah, I can handle him. Or not handle him. I’m, um, still working it out.”

“Good luck,” Amalthus said, with enough sincerity that Sever felt a bit jealous of Nia.

“Don’t need it… but thanks. Same for you two.”

With that, Nia started off toward Torigoth. Slowly.

“Want me to tell her to speed up?” Sever asked Amalthus, looking down the hill at Nia.

“There’s no need for that. It is nearly nightfall, so I would expect her slow pace to work in our favor. Though you would know that better than I, correct?”

“Yeah, it could help a bit. I already scoped out the ship when I went there with Cressidus, so we can take our time too.”

“You have an entry point in mind, then?”

“Yep.”

“Excellent. In that case, we may as well stay here a while. It’s quite nice out, isn’t it?”

They were quiet for a minute. Amalthus was right; the weather was nice. It was relatively warm save for the occasional cool breeze that swept over them. A few crickets provided the scene with some ambient noise.

“It’s rare to enjoy such a nice evening, isn’t it?”

Sever glanced over at his Driver in surprise. Either he was not-so-subtly trying to start a conversation or he was really enjoying the weather. “Yeah. Nicest one I’ve had so far.”

“Mm. I expect it will be the nicest one you see for a while, then. Mor Ardain is hardly known for a temperate climate.”

“Heh. You’re lucky us Blades come with a built-in dictionary.”

“Built-in…? Is that how you think of it?”

“Is that wrong?”

“Not at all, but most Blades put emphasis on being similar to organic beings. Given your affinity for nature, I’d expected the same from you.”

“...It’s more of an affinity for hunting nature. But who knows? Maybe I’ve been around you too much.”

Amalthus turned, looking up at the World Tree. Gormott was close to the tree; still far enough to avoid Ophion, or at least the place Ophion was supposed to be. Sever didn’t know much about the thing, but from what Mòrag had said it seemed like it was being taken to Indol, which he also didn’t know much about. Still, he could appreciate the view and turned to the tree as well, standing a short distance from Amalthus. Sever wondered how the tree was casting a soft teal light onto Gormott and resolved to ask Amalthus later. His Driver’s voice, softer than usual, pulled his eyes down to the Indoline’s back.

“Perhaps… I’ve been around myself too much as well. This trip has been… nice, despite the circumstances that brought us together.”

“You don’t miss Indol?”

“No, I don’t think so. I should check in again with my informants there, though. The political climate has changed rapidly under Praetor Vandham’s rule.”

Sever really hoped this wouldn’t turn into a lecture on Indoline politics. “But that’s work, yeah? It seems like you aren’t actually fond of the place.”

“Are you trying to convince me to stay here? How conniving.” Amalthus’ soft chuckle drifted by on the wind. “But no, I hardly find Indol relaxing. How could I? It is perhaps reassuring; it is easy enough to not grow bedazzled by the few joys this world has to offer when surrounded by politicians and refugees. But, if I was not needed to enact the Architect’s plans, I would leave Indol in a heartbeat. Perhaps I’d go back to reminisce and listen to the choir.”

“Why not do that? The Architect’s a god, right? He can find someone else to do his job, or better yet, do it himself.”

“I’m afraid I cannot accept that conclusion. I am far different than any other being in Alrest, and if the Architect wishes for a mortal servant, that is his decision and decree.”

“No offense, but that seems a little presumptuous.”

“...Blade. Stop.”

Sever did so; he didn’t know exactly what his relationship with Amalthus was, but he wasn’t brave enough to risk losing it. Not when the memories of their first few days together were still so fresh.

Instead, he tried a different question, one that seemed more harmless. “You have any good friends in Indol?”

“Well, there is Hector. He is… perhaps the closest thing I have to a child.”

“Wait, you’re a-”

“No, and be patient.” Amalthus took his gaze away from the World Tree for a moment to roll his eyes at Sever, before turning them back to the tree. “His parents were magistrates a long time ago, though they’ve since passed from old age. I fear they were rather neglectful. They took him to one of my speeches at a young age, and I seemed to leave an impression on the boy.”

“So how’d you take him in? No offense, but I can’t see you adopting a kid.”

“I did not officially adopt him, Sever.” Amalthus sounded somewhere between amused and annoyed. Sever rolled his eyes at the Indoline’s back; how was he supposed to know all this?

Amalthus did at least continue speaking. “I still wonder what possessed me to take him in, though. Pragmatism, perhaps? Or… well, it is of no consequence. The important thing to the story is that I did. He has since worked under various praetors, though like many others in Indol, he retains a special loyalty to me. Still, the Praetorium is hardly the place for a child, even Indol’s own. I… do hope that I did well with him.”

Sever frowned. Amalthus didn’t seem like parent material, though… “Were you ever… like this with him?”

“I can’t say I recall such a time. I suppose that makes you special. Congratulations.”

Sever felt as if Amalthus had turned and slapped him with a red flag, but he kept that to himself. He’d never met this Hector, so maybe he had turned out fine. If he’d stayed in service to praetors and in close proximity to Amalthus for so long, he had to be stable enough. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments, but thanks. So, uh, got any more friends?”

“Hm. I suppose you could count the Stannif line as friends, though they care more about their science projects than anything else. The original Stannif passed on several centuries ago, though he gained enough prestige for his descendants to carry his name to a frankly ridiculous extent. The only one left today, Stan Stannif, has aided me with a variety of things.”

“Wait, Stanley Stannif? That’s really his name?”

“Not quite. Stan actually stands for Stannif.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Sadly not. Even the man himself, eccentric as he is, finds it absurd.”

“Huh. You think I’d like him?”

“I think you’d likely punch him.”

“Oh.”

Once again, Amalthus chuckled, turning his gaze to Torigoth. Nia was long out of sight, but they could see a few Gormotti and Ardainian people closing up shops and ducking into buildings.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t be happier?” Sever asked gently. “To be normal, working paycheck to paycheck like them?”

“I was in their position once, and it led me here. To be in such a position again, subjected to the whims of this world… no, I would not be satisfied. If I were to try, I doubt that… I would be able to live with myself. Though you and Nia have surprised me. Mòrag and Brighid too, to a lesser extent.”

For a moment it was silent, save for the chirping of crickets. Amalthus’ weary yellow eyes fell on his Blade.

“If people were different- no, if the world was different, then perhaps…”

A sharp crack cut through the air. Sever’s keen eyes found the source at once. “Someone’s broken the water tower.”

“Ah, that must be Nia’s distraction. I seem to have lost track of our goal. Forgive me.”

“As long as you’re focused on that battleship, it’s no problem. Can’t have you dying on me after just one good evening, yeah?”

“Do not worry about me. I may have been unprepared for the… altercation in Leftheria, but I can handle myself well enough.”

Sever nodded, though secretly he wished they could have stayed here a while longer.

“...I feel much the same.”

“Huh?” Sever spun to face his Driver.

One of Amalthus’ rare smiles adorned his face. “Your face may not be human, and perhaps you are not one either. But you do act like one.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment, but thanks.”

“I assure you, it was. Humanity has many twisted faces and few good ones, but… I see only the good in you. Perhaps that is why the Architect sent Blades to this world. But now isn’t the time to speculate on such matters. We must ensure that Nia’s efforts are not in vain.”

“Yeah, I got it. There’s a vent we can get in from on the ship’s side. I’ll lead you there.”

Amalthus may have had his fair share of flaws, but he sure knew how to give a compliment.

Chapter Text

“Sir, the envoy from Indol has arrived.”

“Great, get over here,” Mikhail called back, less so for the soldier and more for the envoy. He was in a random hallway of the battleship and had no time for formalities. Considering how people from Indol often were, the more casual manner of address was a risk but one that Mikhail was more than willing to take.

His attention slid back to a broken pipe he was repairing. It wasn’t actually all that important, but he needed something to do with his hands to calm his nerves. Cressidus was out getting the soldiers and civilians to where they needed to be, while he was staying on the ship to plan. Very quickly, he’d realized that he much preferred making plans when it was just him and Cressidus wandering around Alrest; now that other people’s lives could end under their judgement, it was a lot less fun and a lot more stressful.

“So you’re the inquisitor guy?”

Mikhail was immediately intrigued by both the newcomer’s voice and her choice of words; there was perhaps not a less Indol-ish way of starting a conversation. Still, his soldiers had confirmed that Praetor Vandham did indeed send the envoy over a few days prior. Strange as this was, it was probably fine and Mikhail had no desire to be caught in the cesspool of Indoline politics.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he simply said, leaving the broken pipe and turning to face the visitor.

There wasn’t all that much to see; a thick white cloak covered her head and body, save for a pale face with golden eyes. Given her accent and the way her cloak clasped over her chest, Mikhail was willing to bet she was a Blade in disguise. He’d spent far too much time hiding his own to not suspect the rather pathetic disguise. Still, he wouldn’t pry. Probably.

“Huh. Why are you fixing the pipes if you’re so important?”

“It’s a hobby. Interested?”

“Not at all.”

“Ouch. That hurts,” he whined, though in truth he was used to the cold response. Dealing with completely uninterested women was second nature to him. “While you’re here, why not make yourself at home? Take off that cloak and show off your pretty face?”

The envoy shuddered and pulled the cloak tighter. “No way.”

“Yeah, that’s about what I expected. What do you need?”

“Um, you can’t just act like… that didn’t happen and move on-”

“No need to be so frosty, miss envoy. I happen to have a soft spot for Blades in disguise.”

…And there went the whole thing about not prying. Oops.

The Blade gasped, clutching the fabric of her long cloak so closely to her chest that Mikhail could see the lower fabric pressing against the curves of her waist. It was kind of hot but if he commented on it, Zeke would probably fire him. Thankfully, Cressidus was standing behind him and the Blade was used to running damage control. 

“Dont worry about it!” Cressidus said cheerily. “Mik’s actually more likely to listen to a Blade than an Indoline politician anyway.”

The envoy sighed. “Thanks, I guess. Can we just talk without him?”

Cressidus beamed at her. “Nope! Mik needs to do his job so we get paid.”

Mikhail decided to cut in before Cressidus pointed out why they needed money. (Some high-end Ardainian shop was rerunning their old line of Tornan warship action figures.) “It’s not just about the money. But in any case, it’s true that we need to get to business. What do you need?”

“Uh, I’m looking for someone. Praetor Vandham said two of the people you captured earlier were traveling with the guy.”

“So this is a personal errand? Not to be rude, because this does sound interesting, but we have a major threat loose on the Titan right now. I can try to prevent any ships from leaving Gormott until this is resolved, but that’s all that I can do for you.”

“But-! Actually, wait, it’s not all personal!” The envoy appeared to belatedly remember that she was in fact working on behalf of an entire country. Strange. Also unprofessional, which was intriguing. Whoever this person was, she was probably less emblematic of the Praetorium than even Indol’s youngest children. “Vandham wants the guy dead too.”

“Funny,” Mikhail remarked, “this sounds more like an alliance of convenience than anything… not that I mind it. Is Indol really loosening up?”

“I guess so. I, uh, haven’t actually spent much time there, though.”

“Hm. Good for the praetor. In my opinion this is long overdue. But anyway, who am I supposed to let you kill?”

“Some Indoline guy. His name’s Amalthus or something.”

Mikhail’s smile froze on his face. “Amalthus? Here?”

“Yeah, or at least we think so.”

He knew the name Amalthus too well; despite hardly knowing the name’s bearer, it spent plenty of time haunting his dreams. If Amalthus was here-

Suddenly, a door slammed open as an Ardainian soldier dashed in. “Sir! I have urgent news to report!”

Mikhail ran his hands through his hair. Were there not enough urgent matters at hand here?

“Alright!” Cressidus chimed with his usual upbeat tone. “Fill us in!”

“As requested, we kept an eye on the consul. She left the ship five minutes ago and her current whereabouts are unknown.”

Mikhail’s forced smile twisted into a grimace. Maybe he should’ve locked her in his office instead of trusting her to address the Aegis issue like an adult . “She left? Really? So we have Amalthus and two Aegises running around Gormott?”

“Two?” The soldier and envoy said at the same time.

“Don't worry!” Cressidus said to them, “Mik can’t count!”

…Mikhail was never letting Cressidus run damage control for him again.

“I- never mind that,” he snapped. “If anyone sees Pyra, let me know. The same goes for the Blade with a silver Core Crystal or Amalthus.”

His eyes turned to the envoy. “You sure you wanna keep going after Amalthus?”

She nodded. “Uh, yeah. It’s the only thing- uh, it’s my job.”

“Well- ” the trademark Mikhail grin slid back onto his face as naturally as breathing, “ -if you say so. But be careful; I’d hate to see your pretty face get all banged up.”

Her hands went up to make sure her hood was still in place. “Wh- you haven’t even seen my face!”

“But I’m sure it’s gorgeous.”

Mikhail himself seemed to be the only person present who wasn’t calmed in the slightest by his antics. In fact, he was starting to consider just sailing back to Mor Ardain with the captives before things had a chance to go wrong.

Suddenly, a second door slammed open. “Sir! I have urgent news to report!”

Mikhail gave up on hiding his annoyance. “Fine. What is it?”

“The ship’s primary steam pumps appear to have been slashed open, sir. The engineers say that until it’s fixed, sailing anywhere would be really risky-”

“Wait.” Mikhail took a deep breath. “Don’t fix it just yet. I think-”

“Sir!” The first door flew open again and in Mikhail’s eyes it was as if the third horseman of the Ardainian apocalypse ran in. “I have urgent news to report!”

“Of course. Go on.”

“A Blade with a silver Core Crystal is outside! She says that we’ve stolen her Blade.”

“Already…? Fine. We can make this work. You!” His eyes bored into the most recent arrival. “You're someone important; a captain or something, right?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Evacuate every soldier on this ship. Send them wherever, just make sure they’re all gone.”

“Um… alright, sir.”

“And do it quickly . You, uh… second guy. The one who came from the engine room.”

The soldier in question stood at attention. “Yes?”

“Go to the engineers and tell them to leave the ship as is. Have them evacuate with the others and do not fix anything. The ship needs to stay in critical condition.”

“But sir-”

“Go. Now. And you,” Mikhail turned to the first soldier, “you’re familiar with the flying devices here, yeah?”

“The Falz units?”

“Yep, them. Get three ready for travel and remove the rest. I don’t care if you fly them away, wreck the machinery, or kill the Titans but we need exactly three.”

“Yes, sir!”

Mikhail turned to the remaining two in the room; Cressidus and the envoy. “Those three Titan ships will be our escape vehicles. They aren’t meant for long distance flights so don’t go on a joyride. Though if miss envoy wants a joyride, I can-”

Cressidus tapped on his shoulder. “You sure you wanna finish that sentence, Mik?”

“Oh, come on, that was smooth! Don’t be so harsh, Cressidus. But fine, I’ll stay on topic. Miss envoy, you have free reign over the ship. Try to keep anyone far from the bridge. And look for Amalthus. You know what to do with him.”

She tilted her head to the side, causing a lock of golden hair to fall from her hood. “Huh? Why would Amalthus be here?”

“I don’t know, but he always shows up when things go to hell. Just trust me, yeah?”

“Fine, fine.”

“Cressidus, go talk with the Aegis. Make sure he gets on the ship; You can even lead him to Dromarch if that’s what he wants. Just… don’t stand too close.”

His Blade nodded. “Okay, Mik. But what about you?”

“I’ll be managing things at the bridge. Good luck.”

He walked off, raising a hand in an attempt to brush back the envoy’s hair on the way. She swatted his hand away, sadly. Ignoring the slight sting, he ran the gloved hand over the railing of a nearby staircase. This ship was truly a marvel in both technology and design.

It would be a shame to send it down to Morytha, but it was a small sacrifice to pay. Mikhail could not allow the Aegis to roam Alrest freely again.

————

When the Ardainian battleships’ cannons swung towards Nia, she fully expected to be fighting for her life. That was kind of the plan; she’d broken the town’s water tower using her talent with water as a signal before picking a fight with the Ardainians under the guise of wanting to save Dromarch. That way Sever and Amalthus would get their distraction and nobody would realize that they were really trying to free Mòrag. Everything seemed to be working as intended… only the battleship wasn’t actually firing at her and it hadn’t been for a good five minutes.

Suddenly a large shape flew into the air and Nia readied her scimitar while raising an ether barrier. The cannonball slammed into the ground in front of her with a massive boom and enough force to make dust and shards of metal fly into the air and ricochet off her barrier.

Then the dust cleared and the cannonball stood up.

“Hey there! Are you an Aegis?”

Nia took a step back as the massive Blade she’d mistaken for a cannonball rose to his feet. He was tall, with a wide, muscular frame to match his booming voice. Bright blue ether lines ran across his bare chest and arms, running up to a red mane and golden mask. In the fading twilight, the glowing lines and eyes stood out from the bulky shape of his body, leading to an image that was a little frightening and a little impressive.

“Stay calm,” the voice in her head supplied unhelpfully.

“Go back to sleep,” she muttered in reply before turning to the Blade. “Yeah, I’m the Aegis. Are you gonna give my Blade back or what?”

“Cool!” the Blade said with an unusual amount of cheer while ignoring her question entirely. “I’m Cressidus!”

Nia frowned. That name sounded familiar. Wasn’t that…

“Wait,” she blurted out, ether barrier flickering as her ears shot up, “Sever’s boyfriend? That Cressidus?”

Cressidus’ slow advance stopped entirely as he blinked. “What? Who told you that?”

Amalthus had; they’d been teasing Sever over the unlikely friendship earlier that day. So, with all the smug confidence in the world, Nia straightened up, looked Cressidus in the eyes, and said “Sever.”

“Huh? He did?” Cressidus seemed completely lost for a moment, seemingly filing away the information for later. “Well, uh, wow! Okay. But anyway, you want your Blade back, right?”

“Yeah,” Nia said simply. She’d been planning on taking the role of the mythical and malevolent Aegis to get a fight started faster, but it felt really awkward to even imagine using the persona in front of Sever’s maybe-boyfriend.

“Alright! Come with me and I’ll take you to him!”

“Oh, thanks- Wait, what? Really?”

“Yep! I ran it by Mik and he said it was fine. Though he did say you were a guy. I don’t think it matters, though. An Aegis is an Aegis, right?”

Nia’s eyes widened. Though the voice in her mind was silent, she could tell he had definitely not gone back to sleep and was perhaps more awake than ever. “Who exactly is this Mik guy?”

“Oh, my Driver! He’s great. I don’t know if you’d like him though. He’s an… acquired taste.”

And with that, Cressidus was walking back into the ship, clearly expecting her to follow. Was this really enough of a distraction for Sever and Amalthus? She debated attacking Cressidus to really get things started, but with his back turned to her and his friendly attitude she felt she’d die from guilt and her life wasn’t worth this whole distraction thing. With a sigh, she resigned herself to following after Cressidus and hoping Sever could make things work without the big distraction she’d promised.

“Hey, Aegis. You’ve got a name, right?”

“Yeah, it’s Nia. Don’t get it mixed up, big guy.”

“Okay! So Nia, did you break the water tower just now? Mik said an Aegis did it.”

“Yep. So what?” Her grip tightened on the scimitar despite her nonchalant tone. Maybe she’d be providing a distraction after all.

Cressidus looked back at her without stopping, twin blue orbs gleaming below his helmet. “Awesome! Knocking that over would be tricky even for me! You must be really strong.”

…Oh. How Sever managed to befriend this guy was a mystery to Nia. Maybe opposites really did attract? “Uh, thanks. I mean, I can do a lot of fancy tricks with water, so it wasn’t actually that hard.”

“Woah, is that why you’re an Aegis?”

“I… um, maybe? What kind of question is that?”

“Questions have different categories?” Confused, Cressidus slowed to a stop beside an equally confused Nia. “Well, anyway, your Blade’s in the room ahead. It was nice meeting you, Nia!”

She sighed, taking a long look at the hall before her. It was long and rather nondescript with a large metal door at the end. She hadn’t really expected to come face-to-face with Dromarch so soon, but now that she was here it felt like she needed to keep moving forward. Besides, she was an Aegis; Dromarch wouldn’t really pose a threat to her anyway.

Still, the dimly lit corridor felt ominous and uninviting enough for her to consider turning back.

“You all good, Nia?” Cressidus asked innocently.

“Yeah. It’s just… been a while.”

“Alright! Well, I’ll leave you to it. It’s not my place to interrupt a reunion, right?”

The words would have sounded taunting if they had come from anyone else’s mouth, but Nia couldn’t find an ounce of sarcasm in Cressidus’ words, nor could she find it in herself to offer up a farewell to the Blade’s receding footsteps. She waited for a moment, hoping that Sever would show up with Mòrag, Amalthus, and Brighid to tell her that they’d gotten the job done and it was time to leave. Unfortunately, nothing of the sort happened. The only trace of her companions was the lingering echoes of Amalthus’ voice in her mind, asking when it would be time for her to face Dromarch- her Blade, left alone and forced to live for centuries for no good reason.

She took a step forward, then another. Suddenly, her ears picked up the creaking of machinery, and then she jumped as a thick gate crashed down behind her. There was no sign of anyone else nearby; had it been remotely activated? Another sharp hiss sounded from behind her, causing her to spin and face the source of the noise.

Dromarch’s cell door was rising. Had this been Cressidus’ plan from the start? Trapping her in the battleship with her Blade? Maybe he was a better actor and a better fit for Sever than she’d given him credit for.

As Nia caught sight of large white paws pacing behind the door, she clenched her weapon tighter. One way or another, her Blade’s isolation would end here.

————

“Why is it so empty?” Amalthus murmured as they passed by another empty cell. 

He and Sever had planned on being more subtle, but when they found the ship to be empty, they’d wound up breaking every cell door they found open. The tactic had led to a few violent criminals being released, but none were a problem Sever’s tonfa couldn’t solve. As they had in Leftheria, they silently agreed to not mention the bodies in their wake to the others and continued on. Luckily, the vast majority of cells were simply empty.

“No clue,” Sever said, gathering wind around his tonfa and slashing another empty cell open. “But it works out fine.”

“And yet you sound displeased.”

“I mean, yeah. I was expecting a fight.”

Amalthus rolled his eyes in amusement, though he chose to say nothing. Sever’s tonfa came down on yet another door and-

“Hey Amalthus, over here. We got one.”

Amalthus walked over curiously, only to deflate slightly upon seeing Brighid. It wasn’t that he minded being in the Blade’s presence, but with Nia as Mòrag’s Blade, Brighid seemed to be more of a liability than anything; an extra body that could throw his plans off course. Though given how close Mòrag and Brighid were, he’d likely have needed to find both to convince either to leave anyway.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Brighid mused, gracefully getting to her feet and stepping around the shattered door. “I must confess that I expected you both to proceed without us.”

“We could hardly do such a thing,”Amalthus responded. “Our fates have long been intertwined. Now, do you know where your Driver is being kept?”

“No, but I am familiar with this ship,” Brighid replied. “Perhaps I can hazard a guess or two as soon as I become oriented with my surroundings. For now, you should proceed as you were.”

“Sounds good,” Sever said, “just let me know when I should break a door down.”

With that, the Blade walked ahead; doubtlessly he was bored of the formalities and was hoping to find someone worth fighting.

“Did I miss anything important?” Brighid asked Amalthus.

He took a moment to think; there was Nia’s reluctance to deal with Dromarch and his recent talk with Sever, but those weren’t things he needed to share. Furthermore, Brighid was a Blade that had consistently seemed dependent on her Driver; her actions in combat were done in tandem with Mòrag, and her conversations seemed to be chosen to support her Driver as well. As such, it stood to reason that Amalthus was truly being asked to share if anything worth relaying to Mòrag had occurred.

"What little has happened since your capture can be explained when we return to the ship.”

“I see. Perhaps that’s a good thing; it will allow Lady Mòrag to return to searching for her brother more quickly, as well as her goal of returning Nia to the World Tree. Though I understand you too have been to the top of the World Tree. Why do you think Nia wants to return there?”

“Her reasons are her own, or perhaps even the Architect’s. I cannot speak on her behalf just yet. But given the past actions of the Aegis, she may seek a continued exile or some sort of redemption.”

“That may be true. I suppose I find myself worried for her, that’s all.”

“For Nia?”

“Yes. While the journal I keep is doubtlessly incomparable to truly living for centuries, I believe that it allows me to understand if not experience the burden of such long lives. While it hasn’t been long enough to tell for sure, I do think Mòrag may not realize the strain on Nia. Perhaps I should address the matter with her later.”

An interesting spark of agency. Amalthus found himself intrigued with the Blade for the first time in a while. “Has Mòrag had issues in the past with compassion?”

“No, far from it. She may not always show her emotions, but this is a recent development. I’d assume she is simply distracted.”

“By her worry for young Niall.”

“Precisely.”

“That is understandable, I suppose. It stands to reason that such a loss would be troubling to Mòrag. But I have faith in her ability to learn from this experience and wish you both luck going forward.”

“Architect knows we all need it,” Brighid muttered, drawing a small chuckle from Amalthus.

“Indeed.”

“Try that door,” Brighid suddenly said to Sever, motioning at a nondescript cell door. There wasn’t much to say about it in Amalthus’ eyes, and certainly not anything to separate it from the others, but it seemed his only option was to trust the Blade’s intuition.

With a single blow from Sever’s tonfa, the door crumpled to reveal Mòrag, surprised but unharmed.

She immediately headed to Brighid’s side, though not without a quick look of gratitude to Sever. “Thank you all. I’ll admit that I wasn’t sure if you’d come, and I certainly didn’t expect a rescue this soon.”

Amalthus noted the similarity between Mòrag’s words and what Brighid had said. The influence Drivers had on Blades was already a familiar concept to him, but he was nevertheless willing to observe the Architect’s creations at work. He said nothing on the topic, though. Now wasn’t the time to raise such topics, and perhaps in his current company there would indeed be no such time.

“There was no reason to wait,” he said simply. “I trust that you are satisfied with this outcome?”

“Yes, absolutely. If I had to spend another minute with that Mikhail…” Mòrag trailed off as Brighid placed a hand on her arm. Clearly this was the Blade’s attempt at derailing what would doubtlessly be some less-than-kind opinions. 

“We ought to meet up with Nia and get out,” Sver said.

Amalthus nodded. “Indeed, though we should be careful. Threats may still be present on the battleship.”

“Yes, we should be wary on our way out,” Brighid added. “The ship has been unusually empty. Surely Mikhail has some sort of plan.”

“Unlikely,” Mòrag scoffed, “it’s far more likely that the coward heard of an Aegis and ran.”

Amalthus wondered what this Mikhail person was like. He’d heard the man’s name and knew he was the Special Inquisitor, but the vitriol in Mòrag’s every word - especially the word Mikhail - was interesting. It was also a bit concerning; he couldn’t imagine what kind of person would elicit such a reaction from Mòrag of all people. Surely some of the anger stemmed from seeing someone in her old position, but there was surely more to it.

“Hold on a sec,” Sever said hesitantly, “Is it just me or did the ship just move?”

“It does seem to be moving,” Mòrag replied. “Does that man plan to ship us back to Mor Ardain?”

“If so,” Brighid said, “he won’t make it in time. We’d reach the bridge with more than enough time to stop him if that is truly his plan.”

Sever tapped his foot impatiently. His claws made a soft ringing sound as they hit the metal floor, drawing Amalthus’ attention. “Just forget I said anything. Where this ship is going doesn’t matter if we get back to ours quick enough.”

“A fair point,” Mòrag conceded. “I am familiar with this ship’s layout. Follow me.”

They had only moved a few rooms before being stopped. The exits were blocked, only…

“Is that… ether?” Brighid took a curious step toward the harsh yellow light covering the doorway.

“It seems to be,” Amalthus mused, walking over to take a closer look. “Given the color and the movement of the particles, it seems to be akin to the ether used by Blades of the light element. But Indol’s registry has no record of any such Blades in Mor Ardain. Has the Empire been keeping one without authorization?”

“No, we have not hidden any Blades from the Praetorium.”

“Of course. Forgive me for the tasteless question. Estranged from the Praetorium as I may be, my habits as a quaestor have persisted.”

“There’s no need to apologize. Mòrag and I feel the same, I think.”

“Perhaps Zeke brought in an unregistered Blade?” Mòrag asked. “That seems like something he would do.”

“Where would the wayward prince of Tantal even find a Blade like that? It’s counterproductive to blame everything on him, Lady Mòrag.”

“…So, how do we dispel this ether field?”

Amalthus frowned. “I’m not sure. This is most unusual. If it is being upheld by the Blade, we could try to find it.”

“I do wonder if they’re working independently of Mikhail,” Brighid said, casting a nervous glance at Mòrag when she said Mikhail’s name. “After all, the doors can be closed remotely. There’s really no need for this makeshift barrier. In any case, Sever and I should perhaps try to dispel it before we hunt for an unknown Blade.”

Amalthus nodded, turning around just in time to see a bright flash. When it subsided, Sever was holding an ether barrier of his own over them. Brighid had done the same for Mòrag. A cloaked Blade stood on the other end of the room, wielding a large white-and-gold sword. In other circumstances, Amalthus would’ve admired the Architect’s craftsmanship. Unfortunately, the imminent threat made it hard to admire the weapon.

“That sword,” Brighid gasped, “is that…”

“The Blade from Leftheria,” Mòrag finished grimly. Raising her voice, she addressed the newcomer. “I don’t know what Mikhail told you, but we mean you no harm.”

Brighid too spoke to the Blade. “Yes, leave now and we’ll be happy to leave you alone.”

Amalthus watched curiously. From Brighid’s words and the way the other Blade’s hand tightened around the hilt of their sword, there was clearly something he was missing. He didn’t like that; a lack of information was a greater danger than any weapon. Perhaps they had fought during the others’ trip to Fonsett? Or maybe when he was confronted by the Origo man?

“This matter does not concern you,” Mòrag continued, “and we have done you no harm.”

Finally, the Blade spoke. “You think you’re really clever, huh? Because it wasn’t me that you hurt?”

Amalthus didn’t know what she was talking about, and from the looks on his companions’ faces, they didn’t either.

“Has she lost her mind?” Brighid muttered, thankfully too quietly for the Blade to hear.

“Well, fine. Be clever all you want. But you won’t be all high and mighty soon…”

Sparks danced up the Blade’s cloak. Mòrag took half a step back. “How is she doing that? Isn’t she a light Blade?”

Amalthus’ face set in a grim frown. “Just as the light from the sun scalds those under its gaze, light ether can be hot as any flame and arid as any desert. But to concentrate that light to such a degree… this Blade must possess immense power.”

“She wasn’t anything special back in Leftheria,” Brighid remarked. “What could have possibly changed in such a short time?”

At once, the Blade’s cloak burnt away, revealing blond locks of hair, blazing golden eyes, and a Core Crystal. She raised her sword. The crystal in the weapon’s hilt was a harsh red.

Brighid moved in front of her Driver. “Lady Mòrag. Look at that Core Crystal.”

“That color,” Mòrag gasped, “it’s like blood.”

“Incredible,” Amalthus murmured, “A pure red crystal. How Judicium would have rejoiced at the sight of this…”

“You,” the Flesh Eater hissed, “Amalthus. The Praetor told me what you did.”

Amalthus blinked in legitimate surprise. “Vandham? What did he…?”

“You killed him. You killed my Driver.”

Oh. Oh no. Suddenly Amalthus could guess exactly who this was, and with Mòrag’s curious eyes turning to him he had no time to think. There was but a second to come up with something, anything, to convince her of his innocence before they all turned on him.

“I’m afraid Praetor Vandham has lied to you,” Amalthus said coldly. “I have never met you or your Driver before.”

“No,” it snarled back at him with the cold fury of the Architect’s machines. “He saw you do it.”

“Blade-”

“I believe her name is Mythra,” Mòrag supplied.

“Mythra. Do you truly believe the Praetorium would treat a Flesh Eater such as yourself with respect? Vandham has lied to you and twisted your final wish for his own purposes. How long do you have before, at his behest, your Ardainian allies deliver you to Indol in chains? Surely you do not trust them.”

“They wouldn’t- Vandham wouldn't do that. He’s the Praetor; it’s his job to help people.”

Amalthus lowered his voice so only his allies could hear him. “It appears her naivete outweighs her common sense. What a pity, that Vadham would so cruelly use such a lost soul for his own gains.”

Mòrag nodded. “Indeed. But we have no time to spare. For our survival and the sake of our allies, we must push through this Blade and escape.”

“Well said,” Amalthus replied, “If it so pleases him, I would ask Sever to aid you.”

Sever chuckled slowly. “Sure. I’m ready to put this behind us.”

Mòrag spoke again. “Amalthus. It’s you that she’s after. I mean no offense, but I think you should flee. Try to find Nia and send her here.”

“I trust your judgement,” Amalthus replied, turning away from them all. “Good luck.”

Chapter Text

When Brighid saw Mythra’s eyes tracking Amalthus’ departing form, she knew a distraction was needed. Luckily, that sounded simple enough to do.

“What a shame this is,” she said, drawing her blades and walking forward, “After all, red just isn’t your color. I can see why you kept that cloak on until now.”

Mythra sputtered for a moment before glaring at her. “Y-you-! You can’t even see!”

“Yes, I can.”

A sudden blast of light rocketed out of Mythra’s sword, soaring into the walls with a discordant screech that caught even the Flesh Eater herself off guard.

Brighid recovered first, smirking as fire coated her weapons. “Look at that. You can’t even control this power, can you?”

The deep red of Mythra’s Core Crystal flashed and a moment later, her sword crashed into Brighid’s waiting ether barrier.

Dispelling the barrier, Brighid sidestepped a wild swing before moving in to strike. “I’ve heard that a Flesh Eater can feel their Driver’s remains inside, wriggling away. Tell me, is he in there?”

A wide beam of light narrowly missed her head, traveling downward and slicing through the metal floor. “Shut up!”

“Shall I take that as affirmation?” Brighid leapt back as Mòrag stepped in, trading blows with Mythra. The Flesh Eater had the upper hand in strength, but her technique was lacking as ever, allowing Mòrag to keep pace.

“Perhaps you should go easy on her,” Brighid called out mockingly, “it feels as if we’re kicking a small animal.”

Mythra immediately made a beeline for Brighid, only to be knocked aside by Sever’s tonfa.

“Perhaps,” Mòrag returned, moving back to her Blade’s side, “you should stop provoking her. You have her attention already.”

“But Mòrag,” Brighid said innocently, “the longer we keep her here, the longer Fonsett gets to enjoy some peace and quiet.”

She ignored her Driver’s disapproving stare, instead choosing to listen to Sever’s amused cackle.

“I never knew you could be this fun!” Sever said between his laughs, leaping over Mythra’s head to launch waves of ether at her back.

Suddenly, the ship twisted and all of them were knocked to the ground.

“What’s going on?” Mòrag asked.

Sever recovered first, tonfa still in his claws. “I broke some stuff a while ago. Think nobody noticed until now?”

“No, it’s common protocol to inspect the ship’s inner workings before setting off. Given the mechanical decor in Mikhail’s office, I’m inclined to think that’s one rule he wouldn’t neglect. Unless… does he plan to…?”

“Go on,” Brighid said gently; Mòrag had always thought things through to a degree before sharing, which was commendable unless they were on what seemed to be a sinking ship. 

“I believe that Mikhail himself is sending the ship into a nosedive. He plans to kill all of us before the Aegis can escape.”

“That seems plausible,” Brighid murmured, concerned. “In a sense, he would be minimizing potential casualties.”

“Yes. But even so, his plan is set to waste Ardainian military resources and the life of the Titan this vessel is built upon. Though I suppose he is only concerned with the paycheck he will earn upon escaping.”

They all turned as Mythra stood, clutching her Core Crystal.

“Ah,” Brighid said mildly, “I knew we’d forgotten something.”

Red light poured out of Mythra, coating the floor in a bloody haze. She didn’t speak, but the look in her eyes seemed to convey a rather clear message, and not a friendly one. Harsh white light burst out of her with such force that Sever covered his eyes, while Mòrag was left blinking rapidly.

Brighid stepped between them and the Flesh Eater, weapons raised. “We may not have much time. Lady Mòrag, Sever, let us finish this with haste.”

————

They’d spent what felt like an eternity together, staring at a false paradise. And yet they’d never spent long talking, not about their past or their future. Their first meeting was when Nia hung in the capsule of the ship that would become a hearse to mournfully parade their shared body below all the nations of Alrest. She’d fidgeted nervously as a thick gas filled the capsule, ears twitching with each hiss from the pistons throughout their cage.

Then she was in the dream- his dream.

He’d looked at the church in the distance for hours and she hadn’t trusted the armored figure on the hill enough to approach him. Eventually he’d looked back and beckoned for her to join him. They’d be spending so much time together that they’d need to talk at some point, after all.

She’d looked at him with such tired hurt then; hers were the eyes of a soul that had only known weeping, blood, and the dark clouds of dust and smoke that lingered in the air around Torna. She’d asked him what to do then, told him of so many injured Tornans and the Blade she’d just left behind and expected him to make something good come of it.

Unfortunately for her, he had no such answers. He looked at her, thinking of the friends he’d killed and the poor boy - Mikhail - that had survived. In that moment, he felt as if the rust on his Siren’s shattered blades was seeping through his nails and the stench of blood that had coated his fallen artifice as he fought seemed to rise up in his throat.

“No, there is nothing to do. This feeling inside you, the guilt clawing at your stomach and the exhaustion in your limbs… it can only be cured by death.”

He too sought that death, sought the silence that only the Architect could grant him. But he’d seen the horrors inflicted by his divine power and the abominations humanity could create with a mere fraction of a Blade’s Core Crystal. He would rest peacefully under the Architect’s watch, in Elysium, or he would not rest at all.

Perhaps that was why he’d slept so little; Nia was supposed to grant him that long rest through her very existence, but even in their capsule he’d been constantly pulled awake. Indeed, he knew her better than anyone, and knew that she was not ready to meet her Blade again.

Dromarch strode out from his cell as the door fully opened, eyes on Nia. Unblinking, as if she’d vanish if he looked away.

“Lady Nia,” Dromarch rumbled, “is it truly you?”

Nia stammers for a moment and from inside their core, he is there, watching them all acutely.

“Yes,” Nia eventually forces out, “it’s me.”

The words fall flat and cold between them.

“Why have you come back?”

“I…” Nia’s words were cut off as the ship tilted downward. Neither one of them even noticed, but deep within her Core Crystal, he did.

“There is no need to worry, my lady. I do not begrudge your actions.”

“Wh- really? I mean, if I were you I probably would.”

“How could I when, upon years of travel, I have come to see you were right all along?”

Nia’s hand only tightened further on her scimitar. “What do you mean? Right about what?”

“This world. Its denizens never were suitable to coexist with your power. Sealing yourself away must have been a hard choice, but it was admirable.”

“…Oh.” Nia dispelled her weapon even as her other self hissed in frustration; he clearly didn’t trust Dromarch in spite of the Blade’s words.

“Was it peaceful?” Dromarch asked, and the tension in Nia’s core grew.

Her other self had indeed sealed himself away so his power would not be controlled, and he found himself doubting his decision to give Nia that power.

“I guess so,” Nia replied, “but it got boring. Five hundred years is a long time, yeah?”

Dromarch’s head lowered in a solemn nod. “I am sorry you were forced to awaken, my lady.”

“Huh? I didn’t mind it really. It’s been nice getting to know people. Pretty fun to see the world when it’s not… you know.”

Dromarch chuckled even as his claws slid into view, dragging against the floor as he paced around Nia. “There is no need to lie on my behalf, Lady Nia.”

“I’m not lying, though?”

“I have grown much since we last spoke. This world places a heavy burden on us all. I too feel the allure of eternal rest.”

“Woah, slow down a moment there. What are you talking about?”

“Ever since you vanished, I have searched for you to no avail. And on those journeys, I have seen Alrest much as you must have during your youth, and I have come to the same conclusions. Humanity is selfish and destructive. The only people I have met who are selfless feel the same. Those of us with morals are doomed to be downtrodden and twisted by this world, and that is why you chose to leave it behind. Because bearing the strain of becoming a weapon -a monster- seemed impossible.”

“Hold on, I never said that! I’ve never even had a chance to see most of Alrest!”

“So you deciphered the truth more quickly than I. Impressive.”

The ship lurched again, almost knocking Nia to the floor. She glanced around nervously. “Uh, Dromarch? Do you think we’re sinking?”

“Does it matter, my lady? Either way, we will finally be granted rest.”

Nia’s ears twitched; doubtlessly she wanted to draw her weapon again but didn’t want to give Dromarch the wrong impression. Her other self resisted the urge to hit her with the classic “I told you so”. Barely.

“Dromarch. Let me see your Core Crystal for a sec. Sometimes there’s negative effects when a Blade is separated from their Driver. I can check-”

“I am more than capable of monitoring my own health,” Dromarch growled as the alarms blared around them.

“Well, with what you’re saying-”

“Do not discount my experiences! I know what I have witnessed-”

“Fine, but don’t pass your opinion off as mine!”

“Again you lie? I know what you think and I agree, but you still refuse to stand with your own Blade?”

Nia’s response died in her throat as her other self whispered from inside her head.

“ Nia. Get off this ship before the pressure crushes you. ”

“I have time!” She hissed back before raising her voice. “Dromarch, I know what I think better than anyone else, and I don’t want to give up on this world! I don’t want to give up on you! Stop being stubborn and let me check your Core Crystal-”

“Must you continue to delude yourself? Your actions, your absence has shown your true thoughts more clearly than any words! All I seek to do is follow them and grant our aching souls relief-”

“You- you can’t seriously be trying to guess my worldview based on the years I slept through!”

“Then what was I to do? Waste away without a Driver?”

The stern voice in her ears came back, muttering, “Nia. You’re wasting time .”

She ignored him. “I- I don’t know! Be your own person! You seem to have done fine without me!”

“A Blade exists to serve their Driver, doubly so when that Driver is an Aegis; a child of divinity. But if you insist on following those I have grown to admire…”

Deep in her core, he knew what would come next even if she remained oblivious. From what little Dromarch had said of the people he ‘admired’, he anticipated the pounce and the flash of claws before they came. Nia didn’t, though, eyes growing wide as Dromarch’s claws barreled towards her face.

Then her Core Crystal flashed and a nodachi slid through Dromarch’s Core Crystal like a knife through butter. Glowing crystal shards fell alongside bits of white fur before it all faded into flecks of ether and the jagged remains of an artificial heart.

Nia let out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a scream, except it didn’t go anywhere; she was inside his head now. He wiped his hand down the flat edge of his sword, pulling away stray lines of ether that stubbornly clung to the metal until he heard his name whispered in an all-too familiar tone in the hallway.

“Jin.”

Jin scowled, sword at the ready as he faced the last person he wanted to see. “Amalthus.”

Amalthus had always seemed scared of Jin, something that the Aegis had admittedly never tried to remedy. But from the look on Amalthus’ face now, it was obvious that he’d seen Jin overtake Nia’s form and slice Dromarch apart. How much else had he seen? Nia hadn’t been aware of her surroundings enough for him to tell and that frustrated him; he’d hoped to dispose of Dromarch quickly and brush the whole matter aside with the others. But perhaps the sinking ship would still work as an excuse. It wasn’t like it was unheard of for more than one person to die in such a catastrophe-

“ Jin! ” Nia screamed in his head with enough force that his ears rang. “ Stop it! Whatever you’re doing, just stop! ”

He put a hand to his head, taking a deep breath as the world came back into focus. “Fine.”

Amalthus seemed to hear his words but made no comment; good. The less Amalthus knew about the things he claimed to, the better. Jin very slightly lowered his sword, but his glare stayed trained on Amalthus. “Where are they?”

Amalthus pointed to the hall behind him and opened his mouth to say something, except Jin had no desire to hear it and sped off before a single word was uttered. He came to a stop just outside of what looked like a cargo hold, only the cargo was tumbling across the ground as the ship rocked, and beams of light flew around wildly. He saw Mòrag - his Driver, and wasn’t that strange to think about - in the midst of the chaos, parrying a glowing sword from what appeared to be the Blade that Brighid had described when recounting their trip to Leftheria with Nia. Brighid and Sever were there too, leaping around and taking swings at their opponent.

“Don’t lecture me!” the Flesh Eater was yelling, “Not when you’re protecting a murderer!”

“Amalthus did not murder your Driver!” Mòrag replied curtly, staying remarkably calm as a case of rifles flew past her head and Mythra’s sword slammed down centimeters from her leg.

Brighid moved forward, striking at Mythra’s flank. “Don’t waste your breath on her, Lady Mòrag. She doesn’t seem to have the capacity to see reason.”

Mythra whipped around, lashing out at Brighid. She overextended and a kick from Sever knocked her into a pile of suitcases. The light coming from her Core Crystal only brightened, though, and even from a distance Jin could tell she was losing control. A sudden shriek of metal sounded as light burst out of Mythra’s sword, and Jin couldn’t tell if the cause was that sword or the sinking ship. Either way, this Blade needed to be dealt with.

“Look out!” Brighid said, stepping in front of the others.

Mythra brought her sword down, a wave of ether rocketing across the room and tearing through Brighid’s defensive barrier like paper. Mythra launched a second wave of light, and that was all Jin needed to see. Dashing in front of the others, he pointed his nodachi forward and focused, catching a string of ether particles on the blade’s edge. He twisted the nodachi, wrapping the ether - and with it, the wave of light - around his weapon. The light was almost blinding and he could feel the nodachi’s hilt heating up. Truly, this was a powerful adversary. 

There was a low rumble from all around them and he paused. The sound was all too familiar; a Titan in its death throes. There wasn’t much time left. The others seemed to hear it too, Mòrag and Brighid stepping closer to each other while Sever raised his tonfa, face set in a concentrated snarl. The Titan’s cries paused for a moment then, and they all wound up looking at the other oddity in the room. Him.

“Who… are you?” Mòrag asked.

He looked over his shoulder to meet her eyes. “My name is Jin.”

Brighid gasped. “But… that Core Crystal. It’s…”

“Nia is another self that I created. I am an Aegis and…” he paused, hesitating to finish his thought, “Mòrag’s Blade, just as Nia is.”

Mòrag just blinked at him. “Oh.”

“Ordinarily, I would give you my sword, but…” Jin said, as he turned back to Mythra. “That won’t be necessary. Not for this.”

He swept his nodachi in Mythra’s direction, the light of her attack surging back into motion in a sharp flash. She stumbled back, clutching at her eyes, and in an instant Jin was an arm’s length from her, nodachi raising to run her through. A sinking Titan and rows of bodies flashed before his eyes and at the last moment he flipped the nodachi around and rammed its hilt into Mythra’s stomach. She collapsed with a choked gasp. By the time she hit the floor, she was unconscious and in for a rough few hours whenever she awoke, but alive.

Jin slung her over his shoulder and turned around, flipping his nodachi back to its normal position. “We don’t have long before this ship gets far enough below the clouds for the pressure to be lethal. What’s the plan?”

Mòrag gaped at him and the unconscious Flesh Eater for a moment before returning to her usual stoic demeanor. “There are supposed to be Falz units -flying devices used by the Ardainian military- aboard this ship. Ideally, we can use those to escape.”

“Lead the way, then.”

They hurried off, with Sever sprinting in a different direction and calling out that he was going to find Amalthus. Jin rather selfishly hoped he didn’t find Amalthus, because Alrest would be far better off if that man sunk to the bottom of the Cloud Sea.

…Though perhaps Amalthus thought the same about him.

“Here we are,” Mòrag announced a minute later. “It looks as if… There’s only one unit left. Where did all the others go?”

“Mikhail must have evacuated them with the soldiers,” Brighid said. “Perhaps this one was supposed to be Mythra’s escape vehicle?”

“Yes, that makes sense. And surely this means Mikhail and his Blade have already fled. Cowards.”

“Mikhail…” Jin murmured. It was supposed to stay in his head, but he was so used to being the dormant Aegis that the slipup was no surprise.

“One of the thugs employed by the current Ardainian emperor,” Mòrag explained.

That wasn’t what had caught his attention, and he’d known as much from eavesdropping on Nia’s conversations, but he nodded regardless. There was no sense in holding them up to explain a coincidence. The Falz had two seats, except it was really one seat and a tiny storage platform meant for storing ammo or a first aid kit. Mòrag took the main seat, with Brighid taking the other… quarter or so of a seat. She wound up with one leg curled over one of Mòrag’s, their shoulders pressed together. Jin inwardly questioned Mòrag’s ability to fly the thing under these circumstances, but there was little to do but trust her. He stood atop the Falz's metal armor, nodachi plunged into the surface. It wasn’t deep enough to damage anything, but it was planted firmly enough to anchor Jin and his unconscious cargo on the vehicle.

A raspy laugh drew their attention to the doorway, where Sever was grinning at their seating arrangement. Amalthus stood behind him, looking considerably less amused.

“Sever,” Mòrag called out, “You can likely anchor yourself to the ship with your weapon as Jin has.”

He looked at them dubiously. “Yeah, pass. I think I’ll just swim.”

They all watched as Sever walked to a cracked window, punched it open, and dove out into the roiling clouds.

“Very well,” Mòrag muttered. There was no time to object; the clouds were already seeping inside and covering the floor in a thick mist. “Then Amalthus can go up with Jin.”

Amalthus and Jin looked at each other for a long moment.

“I think,” Amalthus said calmly, “I’d rather swim as well.”

“Oh? Well, good luck. We’ll see you both back at your ship.” Mòrag glanced at him tracing Sever’s path to the window before adjusting a few things on the control panel. “In that case, we’re ready to fly. Hold on, everyone.”

The Falz began hovering, shakily moving through the hangar and out into the Cloud Sea. It was there that from her place pushed against Mòrag that Brighid finally thought to voice an important thought.

“You know, I don’t believe I’ve seen you pilot one of these before, Lady Mòrag. When did you learn to-”

“Don’t distract me,” Mòrag hissed in a tone that very clearly indicated that she had not in fact ever learned to fly anything larger than a paper airplane.

Jin’s eyes at that moment likely looked more grey than the clouds around him. Perhaps Sever had been onto something with the whole swimming idea.

————

The sunken Titan was displayed in front of the Marsanes’ bridge windows, where pale spotlights cut through the clouds and illuminated it like a somber museum exhibit. The bridge itself was dimly lit, carefully designed by Tora and adjusted by Akhos to craft a suitably ambient space for the crew.

He stood with the dead eyes of a statue, arms tucked behind his back in a display of the habits he hadn’t been able to shake. He was still in the uniform he’d donned for weeks now, save for when it was being washed of course. If even his wardrobe was static, what chance did he have of changing his habits? None, surely.

Poppi’s bright voice rang out behind him. “Masterpon is opening dock for Marsanes. Obrona, Akhos, and Malos are coming back.”

He didn’t turn around. “I see. If you aren’t keen on spending time with Akhos, you’re welcome to go elsewhere. I would suggest you join me here, but he’s bound to come this way soon enough.”

“You have to make a choice soon,” Akhos had said before leaving for Gormott, “the pieces are starting to move and the Aegises stir. If you don’t pick a role for yourself soon, we’ll be left behind. ”  

It stood to reason that Akhos would come to him expecting an answer to his unspoken question. He was dreading that moment and hoping it would never come regardless. They had a family here; was that not enough? Was the very thought too selfish to entertain?

He could see Poppi’s head tilt in the reflection, her gently glowing eyes overshadowing his own. “Why would Poppi want to avoid Akhos?”

“I seem to recall hearing you and Obrona complaining about him rather viciously last week.”

“That not mean anything. We were just talking for fun. Poppi is happy to stay here and greet friends.”

“Ah, that’s good. I was worried for a while.”

Poppi walked next to him, curiously watching the sinking Ardainian battleship before the Marsanes .

He watched it too; it is slowly sinking, and if it did not crumple under the pressure of the Cloud Sea, it would likely fall all the way to Morytha. He wondered if other warships were down there, brandishing Ardainian crests atop rotting Titan flesh and holding bloodied cannons in pointless defiance of whatever lurked below. The ship in front of him, one of the Empire’s largest, had already lost power. The artificial lights had shattered and gone dark while the Titan’s ether veins were encased in rusted steel. He’d never seen Morytha in person, but surely this would be a natural addition to the ruin.

“When I was young, my father took me aboard that Titan,” he said, voice softened by a hint of nostalgia. “It took me a few years to realize the ships were built on Titans. When I found out, I must confess I lost a bit of sleep over the matter. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose.”

“Would you go back?”

“No, I cannot in good conscience turn a blind eye to the injustice that Mor Ardain subjects its Titans to. But I can also offer no remedy. It is a cruel world that the Architect created, isn’t it?”

Poppi patted him on the shoulder sympathetically. “World is how world is. That is why we seek Architect.”

He could hardly feel her hand beneath the layers of fur and finery that adorned his body, but the gesture was appreciated. “Indeed.”

Tora’s voice crackled over the intercom, asking Poppi to bring him some sausage.

“Poppi needs to go now,” she said simply, “Masterpon have big stomach. See you later!”

As she walked out of the door, another set of footsteps moved in, measured and deliberately loud.

He looked over his shoulder to the newcomer with a wan smile. “Welcome home, Akhos.”

Akhos smiled back, adjusting his glasses as he walked. “Thank you, dear brother. How goes it?”

“Everything is under control.”

“And what are you thinking?”

He turned back to the window, voice low. “I… am not sure yet. You are asking a lot of me, you know.”

“If only I didn’t have to,” Akhos said with an insincere sigh, “but if we are to unite under the others under our banner…”

“We need to be committed to our goal. I’m well aware. Where is Obrona?”

“Oh, she told me to send you her regards. She couldn't make it herself, not with such a dangerous captive on board.”

“So you actually did it? You actually captured an Aegis?”

“How many times must I tell you? My scripts don’t fail. In any case, yes. The Aegis has been contained. Now let me guess.” Akhos stood directly behind him, the smirk on his face reflected in the glass. “You want Obrona to find that woman for you again.”

A pair of blue eyes dropped to the ground guiltily. “Yes.”

“Well,” Akhos slung an arm around his brother’s shoulders, a finger playfully tapping on the base of his neck, “there’s no need for that. I took the liberty of checking with Obrona for you. She’s still traveling with Amalthus. Still searching for you, I’d expect.”

The boy sighed and opened his mouth to speak-

“Brother ,” Akhos continued, his voice lacking its usual smug tone as genuine ice crept into it, “the script is clear. You can’t have more than one family. And you can’t sit on the fence forever. So who will you choose? Us, or her?”

Akhos’ arm was firmly planted around the boy, and the message was clear. He wouldn’t let go.

“Akhos,” the boy said, “threatening me will not change my decision.”

“Tch. I’m not- I’m only showing that I care. Don’t you know that?"

“Yes, which is why… I too will not be swayed. For as long as the sun rises, I vow to lead us to that place above the clouds. To Elysium, where we will slay the Architect. May fate grace us with a safe journey and great success… brother.”

Akhos chuckled gently, drawing the boy to his side protectively. “Well said. Remember this when the time comes. If that woman keeps searching for you…”

“Do not worry about it, Akhos. We left no clues in the palace. Mòrag will not find us.”

“But if she insists on barging into the script…”

“We‘ll write her in.”

“No,” Akhos said gently, as if he was teaching a small child, “we’ll write her out. Isn’t that right, Niall?”

“I…” Niall closed his eyes. He could still remember the time he’d spent with Mòrag; a warm summer spent by the lakes of Torigoth and warmer ones spent in Mor Ardain. He could remember all the times he’d slipped her a smile during official debriefings and how her eyes had brightened even if her face remained stoic. But when he visualized those days now, the light in her eyes was hazy and the rows of soldiers behind them were far more distinct. “Yes, that is correct. You don’t need to worry.”

“Excellent. Now then. Since you’re now truly part of the cast, can I trust you to handle the Aegis?”

"Yes. After that, I want to see your script. I believe I could enhance it in some areas.”

Akhos smiled thinly, shaking his head. “Mere moments after swearing allegiance you go right back to the details. Can we not let the moment sit in peace?”

“A habit from my ruling days, I’m afraid. Besides, I’ve been here for plenty of time anyway. My oath may be fresh, but you’ve long felt like family.”

“Aren’t you lucky?” Akhos murmured jokingly.

Niall laughed with a hint of bitterness. “If only I was, Akhos. If only.”

Chapter Text

The muffled clamor of their footsteps was the only sound in the hall. Indol’s scientists had chosen to reside in the depths of the Titan, conducting their research far from the public eye. Any information they released came through the Praetor, and Amalthus knew all too well that such a process was untrustworthy at best.

Perhaps that was why he was the slightest bit stressed; he’d been given an opportunity to visit the tunnels himself, even if it was only under the watchful eyes of a top scientist.

…If Stannif had eyes. Amalthus wasn’t quite sure and wasn’t about to admit as much.

A warm orange light illuminated the end of the hall. The room at the end - their destination - looked almost homely, with minimalist furniture and a brown and orange color scheme that was remarkably fresh on the eyes after weeks spent on Indol’s surface. Indeed, it was almost homely- or at least it would be if it wasn’t for the stained and rusting metal laid out against the walls.

“Your situation doesn’t look good,” Stannif said in that peculiar stilted cadence of his, “Baltrich is not going to let it go.”

Amalthus made a small and noncommittal noise. Was the drama in his life truly spreading so quickly that even an old mole like Stannif knew it all? How vexing.

Stannif seemed to take his relative silence as a cue to go on. “You can’t hide behind the Praetor forever.”

Amalthus frowned at him. “That has nothing to do with you.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be here,” Stannif replied with a long, wheezing laugh.

They continued in relative silence until Stannif reached a large control panel.

“Look,” he said as a helical hologram flickered to life, “this display is a diagram of what human cells are made of.”

With another push on the panel, a second helix appeared.

“And this one here,” Stannif continued, “is a Blade’s.”

“Astonishingly alike.”

“Of course. After all, they are descended from humans too. That by itself isn’t too shocking. But this…”

Amalthus frowned as the Blade’s code shifted, revealing itself to be part of a much greater whole. “That’s… a Core Crystal.”

“Precisely. Take a look at this bit.” The console whirred as Stannif zoomed in again, highlighting various lines and points. “This is a replica of a Tirkin’s cells, and this bit is identical to an aspar’s. And all these? Human.”

“So… Blades collect information on all living things?”

“Indeed. But that’s not all. See this portion in the center? This is an undeveloped piece of a Blade’s programming. It suggests that this Core Crystal could one day produce a Titan instead of a Blade.”

“Blades… become Titans?”

“Not quite. But continue.”

“I would think, based on what you have shown me, that the Architect intended for Alrest to be self-sustaining. Once he started the cycle, Blades could acquire data from the environments that flourish on Titans. This would lead to the creation of new Titans, which would birth new Core Crystals, thus ensuring a steady supply of land for Alrest’s people.”

“Yes, that is what one would expect. I came to the same conclusion myself. Everything makes sense in that theory… but it is not reality. Do you see the problem? It’s something we feel every day.”

“The lack of new Titans. The falls of many Titans have been recorded, but… not a single new one has been observed since the Architect sent them down from Elysium.”

“Exactly. Yes, that is the issue. And I have found the root cause, and perhaps the solution.”

Stannif paused, clearly wanting to draw things out a bit longer. Amalthus reluctantly humored him. “Humans have laid waste to many species across the Titans. Is there perhaps insufficient data for the Core Crystals?”

“It’s actually much more simple. This section of code - the one meant to develop Blades into Titans - is disabled. There is no natural condition in which the code can be activated within a Core Crystal; therefore, the Core Crystals cannot yield any Titans.”

“Disabled? How so?”

“I’ve explained all that I know for sure. But if we were to dive into the realm of speculation, it would be possible to… create a trigger for these Blades to grow. The Architect was rather sloppy with this bit of programming, it seems.”

“Meddling with the Architect’s work? That would be blasphemous.”

Stannif laughed, turning his wrinkled face up to Amalthus. “Calm down, boy.”

Amalthus belatedly realized his hand had curled into a fist.

“Wear your heart on your sleeve, and you won’t last long. But back to the matter at hand. Now that this secret has been uncovered, there is no turning back. The Architect’s work will be meddled with. Instead of resisting the inevitable, you’d be best suited considering how this could help you. This world is on the verge of change and only you, I, and Rhadallis know it. Rhadallis has ordered me to implement the code. We can save Alrest from the Architect’s mistake.”

Amalthus’ eyes narrowed. Was Stannif truly considering defecting over an order to save Alrest? What ambitions lurked beneath those metallic goggles?

“What do you think, Amalthus?”

“The Architect does not act without purpose. It seems that he has chosen to leave Alrest without a god or a future. If the people realize there is no divine justice in this world, they will seek the role of ‘god’ themselves. Humanity cannot be trusted with such power.”

“And yet here we stand, on the brink of the Architect’s miracles. Is that your answer, then? That you would rather step back, letting human nature run its course?”

“No. The Architect’s will dictates our lives. If we must act in his place, we too should further his plan.” Amalthus closed his eyes. “Let the Titans die.”

He took a long, shaking breath that betrayed his calm tone. Stannif said something that he did not hear before leaving.

Leaving to condemn Alrest and set them both on a path from which there was no return.

Leaving without a glance over his shoulder and not a care in the world over what Amalthus felt, but only over what he could provide. 

Leaving Amalthus alone, surrounded by decrepit weapons from a bygone age and a terminal that could decide the fate of the world.

It was there, surrounded by marvels of science and below the shining splendor of Indol, where the pretense and grandeur seeped from Amalthus. For just a moment, it belonged to the world around him, and he felt insignificant next to the machines Stannif used to decode the world and the weapons Morytha had waged unimaginable war with.

It was there that a feeble whisper escaped him.

“Are you proud of me, Father?”

———

Amalthus’ ship was sailing once more, freshly repaired and ready to carry him to the ascension that he grew closer to achieving each day. How unfortunate it was that he felt so little satisfaction in it all. It was his fault for observing the differences between Nia and Jin and momentarily thinking Jin had changed. It had almost seemed plausible when they’d walked to the battleship together, but the moment he saw Jin cleave Nia’s Blade apart the truth was, sadly, clear. The Aegis would never change. Even another self in it was merely a different mold, a different static personality, for the Aegis to use for their own gain. And as Blades’ characteristics were rooted in humanity…

It was clearer than ever now that he had always been correct, and the moments of weakness he felt on Gormott were nothing more than that. And in Jin’s own moment of weakness, the sentimental fool had brought a perfect Flesh Eater aboard their ship. There was no doubt that Jin could deal with her, of course, but Amalthus had no desire to rely on Jin.

The only good thing Jin had done for him was tell him that fateful thing, that the data of all Core Crystals was sent to the Aegis Cores. And he was more inclined to attribute that to the Architect’s blessings than Jin himself.

Either way, the most powerful relic of the Architect’s days of creation was within reach, and he planned to make full use of it. That night at dinner, he’d already begun planting the seeds; time would tell if they paid off. But either way, he had more pressing matters to deal with, which was why he stood awake, taking in the World Tree’s splendor well after the others had gone to bed.

“Amalthus,” Sever hissed from somewhere behind him, “Come on. She’s starting to wake up.”

“Go attend to her restraints. Make sure there is no chance of escape by the time I arrive.”

“You, uh, you sure you want me to leave you unattended with the Cloud Sea?” Sever no doubt thought he was being clever by bringing up how he’d wound up pulling Amalthus back to their ship through the clouds after escaping the collapsing Ardainian vessel. But now was not the time. Not when Jin was near enough to kill them both in seconds.

“ Go, Blade. And when that is done, ensure neither Nia or Jin are awake.” He didn’t need them to be asleep, but it’d help him breathe a little easier. He needed that to work efficiently, and that was essential because of Jin’s mistake.

He came across that mistake a minute later, eying the Flesh Eater disdainfully as she began to stir. She’d been unconscious since their arrival on the ship and was left within a spare bedroom, tied up in ether nets. Amalthus wasn’t sure if they would hold against a Flesh Eater of her caliber - nobody was sure, in fact - and he was highly unsatisfied with the others’ plans for her. Which was to say, none. And the very idea of going to Mor Ardain with Jin in tow, while Zeke still believed they were working with Torna? Preposterous.

If the others were not willing to plan, he would. He’d spent long enough, perhaps too long, going along with Mòrag’s shortsighted quest for a family reunion. Odds were, her cousin was dead, stabbed in some back alley by a bitter Urayan or agent of the Ardainian Senate. And Amalthus had no time to waste on locating the corpse of a boy killed by his own idealism. Architect, there was no shortage of them and Amalthus knew that all too well. That was not what mattered, not to him.

“What…” the Flesh Eater blinked groggily, already beginning to strain against her bonds. “You!”

“Indeed,” Amalthus murmured, “It is I. Could you perhaps… restrain yourself for a moment?”

“Wh- you-”

“All I ask,” Amalthus repeated, Haze’s Core Crystal spiking in temperature, “is for a moment of your time. If I meant you harm, you would be dead.”

“Fine,” Mythra spat back at him.

He tolerated the rudeness with a practiced sigh. “I did not kill your Driver, but I did indeed know him, a few years ago. He was a wonderful man. If more people were like him, the world would doubtlessly be a better place.”

“He never talked about you,” Mythra countered.

Amalthus smiled in another weary, practiced motion. He could tell from how she’d looked at him that it wasn’t entirely true, that she was lying in at least some capacity. “I expect he would have rarely mentioned me, except before… the end.”

Mythra nodded thoughtfully, a shamefully honest motion. “Yeah… because he was about to meet you, and then you killed him!”

“No,” Amalthus explained with the patience of a saint, “he may have known I was close due to the machinations of Vandham, and that may have prompted the slip in his demeanor along with the end of his silence. But it was not I that killed him.”

“Again with Vandham? What’s your problem with him, anyway?”

“Well,” Amalthus said with a deeper sigh that was just as fake as the first, “I suppose I do hold a grudge of sorts against him. Because it was him that split Addam and I apart.”

This was the second reason he’d sent Sever to check on the Aegis; he didn’t trust the Blade to keep quiet, could only trust himself to keep quiet and say whatever lunacy this mess of a situation called for.

“What?” Mythra asked with a frankly adorable level of genuine confusion.

“When Vandham began to move for the office of Praetor, I supported him. But Addam always had his doubts; doubts that he hesitated to voice in front of even his closest friends out of fear. Fear for what would happen if Vandham succeeded in his efforts to become Praetor,” Amalthus lied, “And I confess that I struggled to be there for him when he most needed it. We drifted apart then, and it has always been easy to hold Vandham responsible for both his own treachery and my own faults. If you would do me the honor of answering… did he have a family before the end?”

Amalthus inwardly hated this; it relied far too much on knowledge of a man he’d hardly known. But Addam had worn his heart on his sleeve during their short meeting, and Mythra was in a very impressionable state at the moment.

“Yeah,” Mythra murmured, “He had a wife. And- oh Architect, she’s pregnant and I never told her-”

“She would not blame you,” Amalthus murmured in reply, “not for this. You’ve found yourself in a cruel place. But I am glad to know that Addam was able to move on before his time.”

“Move on? Architect, were you…” Mythra’s mouth was agape now; she was as easy to read as her Driver was, so easy to read that it was boring unless they held him at the end of a sword. “Were you both…”

“At peace, child. I did not come to upset you with what once was. But to return to Vandham… Addam was right.”

Amalthus wordlessly pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and held it out to Mythra.

She squinted at it for a moment in the dark room before managing to read it by the light of her Core Crystal. “Is this… an arrest warrant? For me?”

He nodded solemnly. “Correct. I discovered this on the Ardainian battleship. It seems that Vandham sought to have you returned - forcibly - to Indol upon your success. When exactly did he seek you out?”

“Right… right after I… I-”

How convenient. Of course, he would have twisted whatever she said to fit his narrative, but this was easy to work with. “So the Praetor of Indol was in the midst of Leftheria? Right where your Driver died? I would hate to be incorrect and raise further unfounded pain for you, but does that not sound suspicious?”

“No, it… I- I can’t believe it-”

“I hope,” Amalthus said calmly, “I can at least provide you with a safe space here, until you are ready to return to your family. But I need your assurance that you will not attempt to kill me again before I can grant that to you.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Mythra said hastily. “I don’t even want to. Not anymore.”

“That relieves me beyond words.” Amalthus stepped forward and undid her restraints, stepping back again when the act was done. 

For a moment it was as if he was in the forest again, powerless with Addam’s sword at his throat, except here he was the one in control. The nervous feeling vanished in mere moments and something that felt far more right set in.

He smiled.

Minutes later he was in the study, alone. Sever was outside, out of earshot but able to keep an eye out for anyone who could interfere with his work. Amalthus stood before the bulky phone, growing increasingly irritated at the thing. It was large, unwieldy, and he wasn’t too keen on the idea of starting a video call alone in a dark room to insist upon his innocence. But this was the only option; Jin could not see this. Neither could M òrag or Brighid, for that matter. The others he could work with, but those three were too uncompromising, too distrustful, too dangerous.

The round screen came to life as Amalthus entered a number that he shouldn’t have had. It was a thing he’d only gained access to through the assistance of one of his few foreign agents; the number to the Ardainian emperor’s private phone line.

The fringes of Pandoria’s green hair were visible immediately, to Amalthus’ surprise; it was past midnight. What were they even doing?

“Woah!” Pandoria toppled sideways into the frame, glasses askew. “Um, my prince? You miiiight wanna look at this.”

“Wh- now?” That was Zeke’s distinctive voice, though Amalthus couldn’t yet see him.

“Yeah, it’s a call that I think you should take. Probably.”

“At this hour?” Zeke sighed and there was some brief commotion on the other end, in which something was thrown over the half of the camera, seemingly by accident.

Amalthus squinted at it. Was that a blanket? A blanket with lightning bolts on it?

The tacky thing was lifted away and Zeke peered into the lens. “What the- is that Amalthus?”

Amalthus forced a smile onto his face. The two were entertaining, but this was not the time for their antics. “Good evening, Zeke.”

“Evening? It’s one in the bloody morning!”

Pandoria stuck her head under Zeke’s arm to get directly in front of the lens. “Morning, ‘Malthy!”

“...Good morning to you as well, Pandoria.”

Pandoria yelped as Zeke dragged her off to the side, taking center stage again as he spoke. “Nice to hear from you, but what’s the call for? We were both going to bed.”

“In the same room?”

“Well, I- I hardly think it’s that much of a problem. This palace gets awfully drafty, you know?”

“It’s been ages since I’ve had the privilege of visiting, I’m afraid.”

“Oh. We should have you over at some point, then!”

“In any case-”

“Anyway, as I was saying, we were about to go to bed-”

“With the lights on?”

“Yeah,” Pandoria said from where Amalthus could only see a loose strand of hair because Zeke was holding her at an arm’s length, “So funny story, right? Zeke wanted to show off our moves to Cressidus, and he kinda broke the light switch. So now they’re stuck on. Electrician isn’t in until tomorrow.”

“I should have expected as much,” Amalthus muttered.

Zeke pushed Pandoria’s loose strand of hair out of the frame as well. “Hey! I’ll have you know we’re doing a right good job here. The palace lights just… aren’t a priority.”

“You would do well to consider the value of a well-organized symbol of power, Zeke. This…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard this one before,” Zeke yawned, “but any chance we can call you back later? I’m, like, really tired.”

“I’m afraid that would be most inconvenient for me,” Amalthus replied before Zeke could hang up. “Though I am sorry to disturb you at this hour.”

“Hey,” Pandoria’s disembodied voice chimed in slowly, “Isn’t Amalthus like, uh, a criminal now?”

Zeke stared blankly at her for a moment. He did seem truly exhausted, which served Amalthus well, because Zeke did actually possess a sharp mind.

…Even if he rarely bothered to show it.

“Right,” Zeke replied, his voice impressively even, considering that he was… Zeke. “He was.”

Zeke turned back to look at Amalthus over the screen and Pandoria used the distraction to jump back into the frame, clinging onto Zeke’s shoulders from behind. “I think it is best if we talk now. What do you want?”

“All I seek is some assistance… in ensuring the safe future of Alrest. I understand your suspicions, but given our history, I truly hope you will be amicable to listen to what I have to say.”

“We’re all ears.”

“Suspicious ears!” Pandoria chimed in from her spot on Zeke’s back.

Amalthus nodded, satisfied. “Thank you. Before I continue, I would like to address the issue of secrecy. If this call reaches the ears of those traveling with me, I would be in… immense and instant danger. If you could limit who knows of this within either of our circles, it would be much appreciated. But as for my request… It concerns a being that has resonated with the former Special Inquisitor. An Aegis.”

———

“Explain to me,” Jin said, arms crossed, “how exactly you convinced her to ‘join us’.”

Sever, from his spot on the countertop, lowered the piece of raw meat in his claw and slid over a bit, just in case he needed to get between the Aegis and his Driver. They were all having breakfast, but he had the sneaking suspicion that it was about to turn into him, Mòrag, and Brighid watching an argument of epic proportions. In fact, he would’ve bet on it, except the only person he knew well enough for that was Nia and he hadn’t seen her since Jin showed up.

“It was rather simple,” Amalthus replied, his tone already as icy as Sever had ever heard it, “all I had to do was explain that the Praetor had deceived her. Do you take issue with that? You, the one who brought her on board my vessel?”

“I take issue with you,” Jin hissed back, “and your ideas of convincing.”

“Negotiation? Would you rather we solve all our problems with a sharpened blade in hand?”

“Not all problems can be solved with mere words.”

“So you would solve the ‘problem’ of our latest guest just as you solved Torna? Just as you sought to solve Indol?”

Jin’s hands tightened into fists, and Sever readied himself to jump off the countertop, just in case.

“Silence, Amalthus. I did not bring up violence as a proposal! All I was saying is that when someone strikes a deal that seems too good to be true, there’s something wrong with it. When you make those deals, people wind up dead. Did you not agree to ‘generously’ give away the Aegises?”

“You, the Blade who sank Titans, wishes to reprimand me for enabling you to do it? Me, the one who found you and gave you this life?”

“I would rather have remained in Elysium than furthered your deluded efforts.”

“Bold words. But you have been absent for centuries. Can you even claim to know my goals? Have you ever? This world is beyond your time, Aegis.”

“Maybe not, but a mere glance at this world tells me all I need to know. Humanity is the same as ever, ambitious and destructive. And you, Amalthus… you are the most human of them all.”

“Do not speak to me of my humanity! You, a construct crafted by the data of humanity! With each slash of that sword, humankind claims more lives. And yet you dare claim I am suffering from an excess of human sins?”

“I am no saint. But you are far more dangerous than I am at this moment. You brag of your activities throughout the last five centuries, but when I look at this world I see nothing but strife! Is this the result of the accomplishments you act so proud of?”

“I may have grown, but I am only one man. No amount of blessings from the Architect will allow me to change the nature of humanity. And yet I still stand in the current, resisting the call of indulgence and sin, immersing myself in the lost and suffering! Can you claim the same?”

“I couldn’t! Not with my power-”

“Lies! With your power, you are impossible to control! As you live, no being shall overtake the force of your will. You couldn’t because your selfishness overrode everything around you, just like the humans that shaped you, five hundred years ago!”

Mòrag moved as if to stand, doubtlessly to inform them that they had gone far off topic. Brighid quickly pulled her back into her seat.

“What of Nia? What of her Blade? If even they could not overcome what you truly are, what do you have to fear from humanity?

“That Blade was deluded. There was no time to save it!”

“And yet you destroyed it, destroyed its very Core Crystal! But when presented with that Flesh Eater…”

“I could not have saved everyone!”

“But you could have saved that Blade!”

Jin shot to his full, intimidating height, only to clutch his head and drop back down.

Amalthus grinned, an uncanny thing of vicious intent and sharpened canines that Sever had never seen before. “See? Even Nia agrees. Even your own self-!”

“SILENCE!” Jin howled, slamming a fist onto the table and plunging down the temperature around them. Mòrag found herself leaning into Brighid's fiery hair for warmth.

“Do not speak as if you care for their lives!” Jin snarled. “The only reason you bothered to bat an eye at the death of that Blade is because you saw yourself in him- a worthless, insane maniac who should have died long ago! He had ample time to reconsider, but he chose not to take a different path!”

Amalthus stood as well, meeting Jin’s icy glare with his own. “Chose?! That Blade had no choice! He had no other path because you left him without one!”

“All we did was leave! His conclusions were all his own!”

“They were all derived from you! You, as an Aegis, as a Driver, were always going to shape the life of that Blade, from its start to its gruesome end! It was doomed to find meaning in your actions and all you provided it with was a choice to abandon this world! If you had not refuted the science that displeased you, you would have known as much!”

“Science has nothing to do with it! That Blade was fixated on Nia-”

“That is the science! With a sole figure to look up to, one tied to their very being, a Blade cannot abandon its Driver, even if the Driver abandons it!”

“You again confuse that Blade with yourself. It is you who cannot tolerate the absence of the Architect, you who insists on finding meaning in his rejection of this world, and it is you who ties the false opinion of a god to your very being!”

Amalthus was silent for a long moment, eyes dilating and then narrowing into catlike slits. “You presume yourself a god with such comparisons. But you are mistaken. When the Architect’s will comes to pass, you will die a lonely, spiteful abomination of history. Pray that He has a greater purpose for that code in your Core Crystal, because the rest of you is irreparable. An error, from the start. A message long delivered, yet lingering in this world. If you would kill a Blade but not a Flesh Eater because it reminds you of your false perceptions and the blame you wrongfully place on me for that day, there is nothing else to say. But do not be surprised when the world remains against you. Humanity may be a collection of hypocrites and savages, but they can recognize one of their own.”

Amalthus spun, long fingers grasping at the air and squeezing Sever’s Core Crystal with invisible wires. With a little hiss of pain, Sever slid off the countertop and followed his Driver, watching Jin carefully as the Aegis stormed out to the balcony.

Amalthus was fast when we wanted to be, almost unnaturally so; Sever only caught up to him when he entered the pilot’s cabin and stood dead still, arms behind his back as he looked out at the clouds.

“Close the door.”

Sever did so. “So, uh, are you gonna turn around…”

“I allowed myself too much hope. That the Aegis had changed. That with it, humanity could change. But in the end, the Architect has proven himself correct. Humanity will never change. Humanity will never deserve the life it was granted.”

“Uh… are you sure you wanna go there after one argument-”

“Blades are, according to the common opinion, a supporting force to confide in. And yet you provide only doubt and snark.”

Amalthus’ hand twisted and the invisible wires gripped Sever’s Core Crystal once more as Amalthus finally turned.

“They say Blades are steadfast protectors that can be trusted with the lives of their Drivers. And yet you have almost gotten me killed with your carelessness.”

Amalthus’ grip on Sever’s core tightened, drawing a choked gasp out of the Blade.

“But perhaps… you can be useful to me in a single way. Though I must wonder… is that even what you truly desire?”

“Yes,” Sever rasped, because as stupid as it was to care about the man who was somehow cutting off his ability to breathe, they’d almost had… something back in Gormott and Sever wanted whatever that something was.

Amalthus paused for a moment, hand twitching idly. Sever toppled to the ground with a cough, lying facedown before his Driver.

“You’re a good liar,” Amalthus mused, “Intriguing.”

“I- I wasn’t-”

“Hush. I will not waste time on your excuses.” Amalthus slowed down mere feet from Sever, and for a moment Sever was convinced his Driver was about to kick him. But instead Amalthus merely stopped and looked down at him with complete and utter disdain, watching as the Blade choked on nothing but his Driver’s command. With another flick of his wrist, Amalthus cut off Sever’s Core Crystal from the surrounding ether entirely. The Blade’s claws clenched involuntarily, digging into the wooden floorboards as it writhed.

“You- you said-” it choked out, “in Gormott, that night- if things… were different-”

Black spots and a growing knot of pain in his chest took away Sever’s vision, and when it returned he realized three things; he was looking at the ceiling instead of the floor, he was on his back, and he was on his back because Amalthus had actually kicked him.

Amalthus himself seemed surprised for a fraction of a second - a glimmer in his eye and a slight opening his mouth passed that so quickly Sever wondered if he was hallucinating - before whipping around, staring back at the window, stock-still in that odd mixture of quaestor and praetor robes he wore. At once the weight on Sever’s chest vanished, and the Blade began gasping for air - with results this time - once more.

“Things will never be different. Things never could have been different. Do not waste my time with childish fantasies. You are free to go now. Continue ingratiating yourself with the others, but remember… when the time comes, you will be on my side.”

Sever scrambled out on his hands and knees, slamming the door behind him and then running. There was something warm trickling down his face - Oh Architect, were those tears? - and he pivoted toward the balcony because this was stupid and he was stupid and if he was seen crying now by anyone, he’d break into a million pieces.

Thankfully he was on a different, smaller balcony than the one where where Jin was probably still fuming. Though, if they were on the same balcony, would Jin let Nia come out and comfort him like he’d tried to do in Gormott? Would she even want to?

…Probably not. With everything that had happened, it didn’t seem like he had done a good job with… anything, really. So it was for the best that he was alone.

His chest still stung each time the muscles inside moved and whenever he pumped out a breath. He put a claw to it, noticing a purplish mark just beside his Core Crystal where Amalthus’ shoe had hit him. It wasn’t a huge problem; nobody would notice when his skin was already dark blue and the pain would subside in hours at most. So why did he care so much?

He furiously rubbed at the tears that stubbornly rolled from his eyes. He shouldn’t care, not about this, not about Amalthus, not about anything. Hadn’t Amalthus said that Blades were supposed to take after their Drivers when he was yelling at Jin? Didn’t that mean Sever should be as apathetic to the world as Amalthus? Didn’t that mean he should be numb enough to not care about all this? Or was this just another ‘normal’ thing for Blades that he’d utterly failed at? He knew there was something softer, something good in Amalthus, he’d seen it that day on the hill, where they’d talked under the stars and promised to do so again and left wanting more. So what was he doing wrong? Why couldn’t he bring out the good in Amalthus like how Brighid could always bring out her Driver’s smile? Was it because he’d befriended Nia, and Amalthus hated the Aegises?

His Core Crystal was beating, far too steadily for his thoughts and shaking body and he could just feel that Amalthus was somehow watching through it, keeping tabs on his location to make sure he didn’t cause any more trouble. Planting his forehead on the balcony’s railing, he screamed, a long, guttural, raw sound that pierced through the clouds above and below.

There was no sudden flash of Jin’s appearance or the soft breeze that accompanied Nia in her neverending shower of flower petals; either they’d gone inside where the scream would’ve been muffled, or they didn’t care. Considering Nia’s excellent hearing, it had to be the latter unless Jin was still in control and inside the ship, and with the mood he was in earlier, what were the odds of that ?

But the abnormal beating in his Core Crystal sped up, beating angrily like a strained heart and it almost felt like his own but it still wasn’t quite right. In that moment, he knew. Amalthus was listening. Amalthus had heard him scream. And as long as they were on this Architect-forsaken ship, as long as Amalthus could somehow communicate with his core, he wouldn’t have a moment of freedom save for Amalthus’ sparingly few sleeping hours.

He swiped at a fresh round of frustrated tears, trying in vain to stop a heavy, choked round of sobs climbing up his throat. Amalthus was listening, after all. Raising his head, Sever looked over at the Cloud Sea. He’d put together, both from whispers in the towns and preliminary information in his Core Crystal, that there was some place called Morytha down there. He wondered for a moment if he could sink all the way down there now, and if Amalthus would find it interesting enough to forgive him as the pressure choked him just like his Driver had.

HONK–

Sever’s head snapped up at the sound of a deep horn, followed by-

honk–

A high-pitched horn, followed by what sounded like an electric guitar being shredded in more ways than one.

Could the world not give him even a moment of rest? Sever glared at the…

What. Was. That.

A massive battleship adorned with the Ardainian coat of arms was approaching, only this one was an abomination. Two giant blue and purple lightning bolt shaped decorations had been added to the upper deck like attractions at a theme park, only no theme park in Alrest had the budget for this. They lit up as jets of flame launched out from the ship, seemingly with the sole intent of building hype. Spotlights danced across it and the surrounding clouds for no discernible reason.

Sever stared at it in complete shock for several moments before shaking his head and sitting down.

Whatever this was, someone else could deal with it.

Chapter Text

“Why did you do it?”

He asked the question to Stannif, who stood in front of an operating table, cleaning a bloodied scalpel.

“What is ‘it’? You’ll have to elaborate, boy.”

“When you stood before the truth of this world and chose to place the decision in my hands. We barely know each other, even today.”

“We stand as the gatekeepers to salvation, and your priority is to ask for my motivations?”

Amalthus frowned. He didn’t like the word -salvation- coming out of Stannif’s mouth. If the Architect was as perfect as the Praetorium preached, turning against him was no salvation. And surely their creator was just about perfect, because if he couldn’t believe in that, what could he believe in?

With a deep breath, he replied, “If I am to recognize the weight of my decision and come to peace with it, I must be aware of such things.”

In truth he’d spent the last few weeks walking as if in a trance, almost expecting Indol to disappear out from under him.

“It’s really quite simple,” Stannif said, turning the scalpel over to clean the flat backside of the blade. “I predicted your conclusion before we first spoke. And now, your situation is dependent on Rhadallis not forcing the creation of new Titans. You want him gone, don’t you?”

Amalthus’ frown deepened. This was blasphemy, but he had indeed considered the possibility after a series of long, restless nights. Stannif had agreed to do as he advised, but if the Praetor demanded it, either one of them could be arrested or forced to renege on their vow. If the Praetor was removed…

“I find myself open to the idea,” he murmured, eyes darting to the door to make sure there were no onlookers.

Stannif laughed quietly. “Just as I thought. And that places us in alignment. You see, I have been anxious for a new Praetor as of late. And as an aging scientist with only so many years left, I am interested in your potential to… accelerate that process.”

“You want me… to dispose of the Praetor?”

“Yes, that’s an idea. You could, you know. Rhadallis is an old, weak man. His hold on the public slips with each day. I suspect… you could even replace him.”

“Replace him? But why would you want that?”

“Because you have agreed to shift focus away from the Titan phenomena that Rhadallis is so obsessed with. Interesting as it may be, my true passion lies in the Blade Eater project.”

“The… Blade Eater project?”

“A proposed line of research, one of my own design. It seeks to create an inverse process to that pioneered by our Judicium forebears.”

“You want humans… to eat Blades?”

“Oh, heavens, no. If I wanted that, I would have just gone to the black market instead!” Stannif laughed, the wheezing sound grating on Amalthus’ ears just as much as the crass joke. “No, it’s the data in their Core Crystals that intrigues me. No doubt their forms were intentional by the Architect; the allure of their surface assets would keep those with dirty souls from finding the real treasure stored by Blades.”

“An interesting thought,” Amalthus mused, “do you refute the common theory, then? That Blades develop in response to human sin?”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. We know better than anyone that Core Crystals collect immense amounts of data, and humans are truly lustful creatures. No, what I believe is that the Architect knew that too. The ideas are not mutually exclusive.”

“Interesting indeed. But Judicium never created their perfect ‘Flesh Eater’. What makes you think we would not be repeating their blasphemous folly?”

“Boy, I was alive during Judicium’s experiments. I even interned there for a time. The scientists had one great complaint. The marketing was all wrong.”

“The… marketing? What-”

“Shush, boy. Let me explain. Judicium’s program primarily operated on a voluntary system. Blades could agree to undergo the process of a Flesh Eater, as I’m sure you know quite… intimately.”

Amalthus scowled. “There’s no need to bring that up. How do you even…”

“As an intern, I was one of many assisting in Minoth’s transformation. But only in minor capacity. Don’t begrudge me now, not when we’re so close to something… amazing.”

“I have no reason to condemn you. Minoth’s choice was his own.”

Stannif chuckled. “Keep working on your poker face, boy. You’re getting good. But you should know that all mail sent to Blade patients within Judicium was inspected upon its arrival. That too was the duty of an intern.”

Amalthus distantly recognized that, behind his back, his nails were pressing into a spot on his thumb just below the knuckle. Doubtlessly he’d have to find a cosmetic to cover the bruise later; such was the consequence of his habit. “Stannif. You’ve gotten sidetracked. What was the problem Judicium identified?”

“I was getting there, boy. Have some patience. Blades could volunteer to take on the cells of Judicium prisoners. But the early Flesh Eater trials were all failures. As the number of prisoners dwindled, Judicium was forced to implement a donor program where citizens could supply their bodies upon death to the program. But the population feared that Blades with little time left would seek to kill them early, thus sending their remains into reserves.”

“Desperation. Of course. Many Blades must been… counting on the demise of their would-be donors.”

“Yes, and in all it was a process that led to ruin. What magnificent anarchy it all led to. And Blades, hearing of the risks involved with Flesh Eater experimentation, stopped coming to Judicium. In the end, the well dried up. Judicium fell to riots, political infighting, and eventually the Aegises. You know how that went.”

“Yes, it was taken upon the Aegises to put the country out of its misery before more people were dragged into the cesspool of Flesh Eater experimentation. An absolute catastrophe, with unprecedented amounts of the Architect’s work lost forever.”

“Correct, but the flaws in its program were so, so clear.” Stannif spread his arms grandiosely, the scalpel in his hand forgotten in favor of scientific rapture. “It relied on choice and goodwill where the Blade Eater program will have no need for such things. For once again, the code that acts as the catalyst for this hypothetical transformation -the equivalent to human cells in a Flesh Eater- is found in the Core Crystal.”

“You believe there would be no need for a public, voluntary system. Because all the test subjects you could ever ask for…”

“Are sitting, inanimate, in the halls of Praetorium as we speak. Dead Blades cannot object to their code being provided. They lack the mouth or the mind. And Indol is the leading storekeeper of Core Crystals. Such a shame it is, then, that Rhadallis refuses to provide me with these… subjects.”

“I see,” Amalthus mused, “but what about the humans? Surely Indol’s small number of prisoners would not be enough for such an undertaking.”

“Ah, you’re perceptive, aren’t you. Then surely you can understand it, the last reason why I chose you.”

Amalthus blinked. “Me?”

“Yes, boy. You. Think on it. We’ll speak again.”

Stannif laughed again before ushering Amalthus into the hall and shutting the door on his face.

———

“Attention, everyone!” Zeke shouted into a megaphone from aboard the head of his imperial fleet. Ordinarily it would be flanked by a legion of smaller ships that would launch fireworks, but the situation here didn’t call for it. But maybe that was for the best, because the fireworks were a massive waste of resources. “The Emperor is boarding your ship! Do not resist and we will make no attempt to harm you!”

“I’ve never heard you sound so… boring,” Pandoria mused beside him.

Zeke wheeled around, waving his arms with an imperial fury he did not remotely feel. “I’m trying to be regal and polite!”

“Uh-huh.”

He lowered his voice to an urgent hiss. “There’s an Aegis on there, Pandy. I can’t go declaring war against something like that.”

“Eh, we could take an Aegis,” Pandoria replied dryly. “Which is why we’re chasing one, right?”

“No- it’s not- Think of the collateral!” Zeke exclaimed, valiantly defending the lie that his Blade had come up with from his Blade… wait. That was stupid. “Look, we’re arguing in circles again.”

“Yep. Are you done broadcasting our conversation to the enemy now?”

Zeke blinked before realizing that the megaphone in his hand had been on the whole time. His voice had sounded louder than usual… “Wh- that’s really been… sh-“

Pandoria leapt into motion, flinging herself over Zeke’s arm to turn off the megaphone. “No profanities on the megaphone, my prince! Think of your reputation!”

Zeke smiled ruefully. After the most tense call with Amalthus he’d ever had, he’d needed this banter. And luckily, their target did seem to be slowing down; Amalthus must have convinced Mòrag to give him a chance, just as he’d promised to. Truly, the quaestor was a miracle worker.

They came up beside the Indoline vessel, almost brushing their starboard cannons on its wings. An unfamiliar figure was standing on the smaller Titan’s head, a long sword in one hand as it looked out at them.

“Do you see that guy, my prince?” Pandoria whispered, even though they weren’t close enough for anyone to eavesdrop, “Creepy.”

“That must be the Aegis. At least he seems calm enough. With my silver tongue- What are you doing?”

Pandoria, who had just jumped onto Amalthus’ ship, was dangling a long rope off the side. She looked up at him with a hint of guilt. “It’s for when you… um, you know.”

“No, I don’t.” Zeke leapt onto the ship after her, crossing his arms indignantly. “Enlighten me. What exactly am I going to do?”

“Fall.”

Zeke was about to reply when a door on Amalthus’ ship opened, with the Aegis striding out as if he wasn’t just on top of the boat. Pandoria turned to face him and at the same time, the rope dangling in the Cloud Sea was caught in a fierce current. With a yelp, Pandoria was launched backward, her soaring body taking Zeke’s legs out from under him and sending them both over the railing.

The last thing Zeke saw before hitting the clouds was the Aegis’ stern face looking down at them.

———

They all gathered in the kitchen of Amalthus’ ship, showing up in twos and threes. Mòrag and Brighid were there by the time Zeke and Pandoria made it back out of the sea, with the Aegis moving a pace behind them as if it was their ship being seized. And from the way Mòrag glanced at the door, Zeke reckoned there were a few more people yet to arrive.

“Well, look who it is,” Zeke said with his usual dramatic air. He and Pandoria had rushed here without an actual plan, and at this point it seemed as if he would be best off just winging it. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Mòrag. Care to introduce us to your new friend?”

There was a long, heavy pause, and for a moment Zeke expected Mòrag to attack him then and there. Eventually, though, she sighed and spoke.

“This is Jin.”

…Clearly she wasn’t giving him much to work with. Which was… fair. But not remotely appreciated.

“Well,” Zeke continued, “I don’t plan on turning you over to the senators, first off. But we do need to talk. You know that old dock an hour’s walk from the palace?”

“Mm. Niall would go there when he was stressed.” For a moment Mòrag seemed to soften, probably at the thought of Niall. Then her eyes hardened again. “What have you been doing there?”

“Nothing! I was just going to propose that we tuck your ship in there to stop things from getting too… public. Again, we have things to discuss, and I’d rather chat over lunch than on a pair of sinking ships with swords held to each other’s necks. That’s fair enough, yeah?”

Silence fell over the room again as Mòrag frowned. Brighid whispered something in her ear and then the silence dragged on. Pandoria, who had been against Zeke’s back to keep an eye on Jin, whispered to the Aegis.

“Uh, nice to meet you-!”

“Likewise.”

The door opened with a soft creak, admitting a familiar face. Amalthus’ eyes scanned over the room as he entered, and Zeke noticed them flicker to the lights a moment later; doubtlessly he was looking for signs of a fight. Zeke had agreed to stay calm when he planned this with Amalthus the night before, but neither one of them had expected things to actually resolve peacefully. Zeke was about to greet the man when a startled noise from Pandoria caught his attention. Where the Aegis had been standing, there was now a shorter Blade with fox ears and the same silver Core Crystal.

…Alright then.