Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Murky waves lapped at the basalt-formed shore of Yggdrasil as two cloaked figures made their way down to the coastline, a quiet conversation being passed between the two of them. The harsh winds of the northern island made the journey a rough one, but given the proximity to land and the familiarity of their path, neither figure lost composure.

“It’s been a while since the last letter came in.” 

“Are you worried for him, sir?” 

“...In a sense. Pandora is clearly restless and bored, and we’ve seen where that’s led them.”

“So you think that his mediator role may have landed him in trouble.”

They stopped at the edge of the stony beach, one lingering behind as her leader stepped forward to lower himself into shallow waters. It was only when, several minutes later, as he re-ascended to the shore with a bottle in hand, that she allowed herself to untense.

“Well? What does it say, sir?”

“...Zynn. When we get back to the Covenant, I want you to make preparations for a guest.”

It starts like this: a bottle thrown from the flowering cliffs of Luminara’s northmost shore, drifting up and past the mystical storm barrier that marked the separation of Pandora’s sister island, and a young man, sitting and staring at the beach to wait for a response from whoever it had managed to reach.

It was Ish who had planted the idea in Saps’ head; the god taking time out of his day to accompany Saps while he was busy drafting ideas for his vacation house. Ish had been throwing random questions at him as Saps tried his best to answer them to the god’s liking; until he’d asked about Yggdrasil.

“Tell me Saps, what do you think of Luminara’s plan to unite the islands?”

“Well…” Saps had muttered, tapping the end of his pen against his chin. “I mean, you would know best, right? Is it even possible? With the storm and all, I mean.”

The magical storm that separated the two islands stretched for miles onward in the surrounding sea, encircling both islands in their own separate cages. If someone travelled too far along the Northern coast of Pandora, they usually wouldn’t make it back alive— and yet, Luminara’s leadership was intending to attempt building a bridge across the storm’s trajectory in order to allow Yggdrasilians to cross the border without having to brave the sea’s wrath. It was a good plan on paper, but it didn’t account for the fact that the builders themselves would still have to attempt to cross the storm’s edge to place down foundations. 

Ish was the main god who presided over both Pandora and Yggdrasil, and rumors said that he had been the one to erect the storm all those years ago. If there was any one person who would know whether or not Luminara’s task was possible, it would be him.

“Well…” Ish chuckled, sounding contemplative. “Maybe one of these days. Who knows? It takes a while to build a bridge, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Saps nodded, and he thought that would be the end of it. 

But then Ish spoke again, a look Saps couldn’t truly decipher on his face. “If you’re wondering about the ability of things to pass through the storm barrier, I’ve heard things from Yggdrasil about objects washing up on shore from Pandora. Trinkets, here and there… discarded little objects that the people of this land have deemed unimportant or overlooked and lost. I’ve even heard of people finding penpals through the storm… if you wanted to give it a try, I’d recommend going from that point where Luminara’s building their bridge. It is the northernmost point of Pandora, after all.” 

“I’ll… keep that in mind,” Saps said slowly. It was easy to forget that Ish was a god sometimes, given the way he so casually interacted with his people, flitting in and out here and there with words of encouragement and even summoning gifts for those he found worthy— but the not so subtle push from him was enough of a reminder for Saps. 

Ish nodded, a content sort of look on his face. “Well, then, I’ll leave you to your construction work! I hope to see this place come to flourish soon, Saps. Farewell for now!” With that, the god left, and everything around Saps stilled to its natural quiet. 

Saps had tried to keep working after that— going down to the beach, collecting piles and piles of sand for the walls and ceiling of his home— and yet, Ish’s words lingered on his mind.

You could give it a try.

The idea lingered on his mind through the week he spent slaving away, old composite sketches of the house that he’d tried and thrown away piling up on the sandy shore of the beach as time passed. Saps couldn’t understand why exactly the idea nagged at him so intently. Maybe it was the want for connection? He wasn’t necessarily bothered by a life marked by  loneliness, especially when there were so many people all over Pandora who were willing to take him in as their own, but…

Saps had led a nation, once. A refuge for those in less fortunate circumstances to find safe shelter, even if it came with great risk to himself. Maybe it was the idea of the people of Yggdrasil wasting away, unable to provide for their families and homes. Maybe it was a stupid, hopeless venture based on pure instinct and a nagging feeling that wouldn’t leave him alone. Maybe it was Ish’s doing to begin with, a new form of entertainment the god had come up with.

Whatever it was, Saps found himself gathering just a little extra sand to forge a few bottles, scribbling short notes across the backs of his discarded blueprints and shoving them inside, alongside as many diamonds as he could fit without causing the bottle to sink to the bottom of the ocean. 

To whoever finds this, my name is Saparata. I am Pandoran, and I know how much the people of Yggdrasil must be wary of us— but I’m not part of any nation here, and I mean no harm, I swear. Do you want to be friends? If you do, please write back. It gets a little lonely out here with no one to talk to.

When he next found the chance to go to Luminara to visit Flux and the other Luminarans, Saps brought one of the bottles along with him, taking the first chance he had to hurl it into the sea.

Then came the waiting game.

Saps was aware that Flux, despite his leader and most of his country’s ideals, disliked the idea of communication with the other island. There had been scraps of sea-soaked propaganda papers and broken weapons that had found their way through the storm and to the shores of Luminara and Aperion, and though Flux had never said anything to Saps about it, he had seen with passing days as his friend became more and more tense at the prospect of Yggdrasil somehow making contact with Pandora. 

If he knew that Saps was trying to communicate with the other island, and even sending extra resources he himself didn’t need… yeah, Saps figured that wouldn’t look pretty.

So on a day where Flux had excused himself from a meeting to go and discuss plans for the building of Luminara’s bridge with Thomas, Snowbird and a few others, Saps too excused himself to make his way to the beach, both hopeful and resigned to the probable reality of there being no bottled message waiting for him.

And yet, despite his disbelief, there on the sand lay a bottle, and a piece of what looked like petrified wood.

To Saparata of Pandora—

My people typically don’t entertain the thought of fraternizing with Pandorans, considering our differing conditions. That said, I would hope you’d have different views from the rest of your island regarding us if you went through all the effort to send this letter through the storm. I can’t say we’ll be friends, but I can keep you company.

Also, I would like to thank you for the diamonds. We don’t come across those naturally here, so it was quite a surprise to see such precious gems in a bottle. Yggdrasil isn’t so plentiful in resources, but I tried to find something that a Pandoran wouldn’t have stumbled across before. This wood is taken straight from Yggdrasil, our Warden Tree. Some believe it has magical properties. Whatever you choose to do with it, I hope it serves you well.

—Turntapp of the Covenant

“Huh. I guess it worked after all,” Saps murmured, a small smile on his face as he carefully placed the paper and wood into his pockets, already thinking of what he would write to his new penpal next.

Chapter Text

There were countless laws set in place in the Covenant. Laws to keep outsiders away, to maintain honour and loyalty, and, most importantly, never to betray your own nation. Most of these decrees were penned out by Turntapp’s own hand, his Peacekeepers standing by and keeping watch as the very rules of life under their nation were scrawled out in handwritten script.

To call the Covenant a strict dictatorship would be underselling it, for just how many of these laws were written into each of its citizens’ very being.

Now, as Turntapp unfurled the paper he had received that morning, those laws lingered on his mind.

It had been a few weeks since the first bottle from Pandora had washed up on shore, ten diamonds carefully inserted into the bottle— a sort of introductory gift, Saparata had explained in his next letter, a little smiley face scrawled into the margins of the page. I look forward to getting to know you more, Turntapp. What is it like on Yggdrasil? 

That bottle, the one after, and this most recent one had come with more gifts from the mysterious man on the other island. A few chicken eggs— which had miraculously managed to hatch exactly one chicken, who now strutted the halls of the Covenant’s palace like it owned the entire nation. It partly did, too, seeing as until it laid eggs and they hatched, it was the only source of livestock on the entirety of Yggdrasil (ignoring whatever Elysium was up to with its god-sanctioned mushroom cow); as well as a few handmade packets of seeds for crops that weren't naturally available in Yggdrasil.

Turntapp hadn't yet told anyone of the origins of the gifts he had received, nor had he informed anyone why he had been sending Peacekeepers on fetch quests; though it was clear at least a few of his most trusted soldiers were starting to suspect.

What he was doing, trading these letters back and forth with a Pandoran was merely for information and gain of resources. There was no true need for him to hide his correspondence, not from his Peacekeepers—and yet, it wasn’t until Zynn strode straight into his office, the previous bottle he had received cradled in her hands like a precious thing, that Turntapp had even considered telling them of Saparata's letters and nationless existence.

“What is this, sir?” Zynn frowned as she motioned to the bottle, eyes level with Turntapp’s as he slowly put down Saparata’s latest letter, hoping that with enough of a casual air, she wouldn’t pry. 

“Nothing important, just a message in a bottle. They started washing up on shore recently. I had meant to inform you of it earlier, but I was more focused on distributing the gifts they’d come with.” Blessedly, Turntapp’s voice came out much more even than he had expected it to. “The diamonds, crops and eggs came from these bottles.” 

Zynn held his gaze. “And those resources came from a Pandoran?”

“A man without a nation,” Turntapp clarified, “but still Pandoran, yes. Do you have questions for me?” 

“It is not my place to tell you who you can and cannot convene with,” Zynn said, ever the loyal soldier. “But… sir, is it your plan to lead on this… benefactor… for our own gain?”

Turntapp’s lips pressed into a flat line. “Is it leading him on if he’s offering us resources willingly? I have told him nothing but the truth.”

Zynn looked hesitant, but she inclined her head anyway. “I… understand, sir. Do you intend on keeping these letters a secret, or do I have your permission to share with the rest of the Covenant?”

“...Tell them that he lives on neutral grounds, one of those islands from the Second State. Not Pandoran.” Turntapp said. “You know what the people are like. They won’t take lightly to the idea of communing with the enemy, regardless of his nationless identity.” 

Zynn nodded again. “I understand, sir. I’ll take my leave now.” 

It was only when the door closed behind Zynn’s back that Turntapp let himself sigh, frowning as he unfurled the next letter. It was curious, the way that these letters provided a glimpse into the life of a man who, despite his prosperous position, seemed no different from one of Yggdrasil’s own people. The scraps of life Turntapp and his soldiers had found from Pandora was one of waste, of excess and extravagance from an island of people who’d found themselves at the top, wine-drunk on their own fortune.

Saparata, though…

Yesterday, I almost passed out building my vacation home. I guess I’d just forgotten to eat since I’d been working all day, and my friend Fluixon and my brother came across me basically passed out on the sand. It was pretty embarrassing, to be honest, but I’ve heard that the people of Yggdrasil have had worse, with your breadlines and the lack of variety in your food… which is why I decided to get some crops this time. I asked Ish if he could give me a few different crops and he went off into the rainforest and threw me seeds I didn’t even know existed— even back in my old home, I had barely ever seen any of these, so I hope you don’t mind that it’s not a lot. I’ll find something else next time— or maybe some more diamonds, since I haven’t gone mining in a while and I’m sure I’ll be needing more quartz to make my house. Do you have anything you want to see that isn’t on Yggdrasil? I’ll be sure to try and find something cool from here!

Until next time, 

Saps

Turntapp sighed, refolding the letter into its pristine four-part condition. He still barely knew anything about the man— the only reason why he was being so gentle with these letters, these bottles, the proof of life… was because he needed information, and he needed resources. Above all, the safety, strength, and the wellbeing of his people came first.

Whatever small, insignificant feeling of connection he was feeling from these letters was the same sort of connection forged from picking up a wild animal. A mockery of fleeting attachment.

And, yet, as he picked up his stationery to pen a return message, his head was already spinning with ideas of what sorts of trinkets he could send Saparata next.

The Covenant was a nation built on a foundation of devotion. Devotion from its people to their leader, and from their leader to his people. Their strength laid in their army’s expertise and the people’s loyalty, and that strength rested on the shoulders of their leader.

Lately, Turntapp had been wondering if that strength and devotion was wielded correctly in his hands.

His Peacekeepers had understood long ago where the crops and livestock provisions, as well as the limited supply of precious minerals had come from— but his people were none the wiser to what, or, rather, who the reason was for their newfound prosperity. It had led to less of that overt hatred of Pandora and their people— less overt hatred of Saparata’s home and his people— but it had led to a strange inner turmoil brewing in Turntapp’s own chest.

There was now a new drawer in his desk, piled to the brim with letters from Saparata, who still spoke so excitedly about every new thing he encountered in his life. 

Every letter came accompanied by that little signature smiley face, and it made Turntapp think of an overexcited bird chirping over the letters he received. Where in the beginning, he had simply received every gift of resources from Saparata with open arms, he had started to ask for less valuable items and more keepsake-adjacent trinkets. 

Things that were now displayed on his desk and person— a seashell encased in glass on his table, a fossilized piece of olive branch forever preserved inside a necklace which Turntapp kept tucked under his armor… it was a sign of his ever-growing fondness over the months they had gotten to know each other.

And yet.

There was still a framed poster on his office’s wall displaying the words Down With Pandora. A book of propaganda, written by one of his own citizens, laid on his desk, its cover dusty and untouched in months.

How, then— leading a country such as this, where loyalty is expressed through blood, and betrayal means death— could Turntapp still look at himself, and call himself a true leader? To continue or stop the passing of letters between him and Saparata was either a betrayal of his nation’s values, or a betrayal of Saparata’s trust. And the fact that he couldn’t decide… it said something about him that Turntapp disliked.

It was for this reason that he called Zynn into his office late one evening, Saparata’s letters laid out across his desk like a display of his own perceived guilt. She was his most loyal guard, the one he trusted to be his right hand— if there was any person out there whose word Turntapp would trust, it was hers.

“Zynn,” Turntapp said as Zynn walked in the door, “Do you think I am betraying the Covenant by conversing with Saparata? Give me your honest opinion. There will be no consequences for whatever answer you give.”

Zynn blinked once, then took a moment to process. All the while, Turntapp sat unmoving, waiting for his second-in-command to deliver the words that would be his sentence.

“I don’t believe it’s a betrayal for you to have a friend, sir,” Zynn said carefully, “even if he isn’t from Yggdrasil. Is this about the people’s opinion?”

“Yes, but…” Turntapp sighed. “You know I dislike debating the morality of actions. But— don’t you think it’s dishonest of me to keep talking to Saparata like this, behind both the Covenant’s back and his own?”

“The Covenant is made up of your people. As far as we are concerned, your word should be law. The hate against Pandora is not written into our code of honor, is it? It’s simply fostered by our morals. As for your penpal… you are not technically hiding anything from Saparata. Have you told him that you are a leader of Yggdrasil?” Zynn asked, after a moment of silence. 

Turntapp shook his head. “That doesn’t feel like something he needs to know. He admitted to settling alone because he wanted to stay out of politics. And… I fear what he will think if he learns about…” He trailed off, not willing to speak the words out loud and instead gesturing to the torn propaganda poster.  

“He is kind.” Zynn leveled him with a look, “Isn’t that the reason why you’re still humoring this long-distance communication? It’s been nearly a year, sir. And from what we’ve heard from him, he seems the type to give second chances— granted, as long as they are reasonable.”

Zynn retrieved a piece of paper from one of the drawers in Turntapp’s desk, setting it in front of him. “Either way, sir, your Peacekeepers will stay by your side. That is a promise I can make on our behalf. But— if you want to try for reformation… you are still the only one in charge of the laws of the Covenant. And I’m sure Saparata would want to learn this sooner than later.”

Turntapp sighed. “Yes, you’re right. Thank you, Zynn… this conversation was more than helpful for me.”

Zynn nodded, bowing her head low. “I wish you luck, sir. I will take my leave now.” 

As she left, Turntapp took out the necklace Saps had given him from where it had rested, in a pocket right over his heart, and after a moment, he began to write.

Saps— 

There is something I need to confess; but first, I hope you can find it in you to forgive me.

Chapter Text

“Are you redoing the sketch again? Surely your design process doesn’t require this much scrutiny.”

Saps squinted up at his friend, who raised an eyebrow at him in return. The shade of the tree he was sitting under provided some coverage, but it was still difficult to look at Flux with the bright afternoon sun behind him. “If it was your house, you’d want it to look the best it could, wouldn’t you?” 

Flux shrugged, nonplussed. “I guess, but you’ve been at it for an hour now and you still don’t have a ceiling even sketched out. It’s been, what, almost a year or so since you decided to build a house out here?”

“I’m working on it, alright? And I like sleeping under the stars,” Saps said defensively. Of course, in truth he had never truly been planning out alternative designs for the roof of his house. He had a design in mind, had had one ever since he’d started building the house, actually— but by disguising his letter-writing this way, he could both write in peace to Turntapp while spending time with Flux, who he knew would be… well, upset, at the very least, if Saps ever admitted to talking to a Yggdrasilian. 

“One of these days you’re going to be rained on and I’m going to come over to see you drenched and soaked like a wet rat. Or I guess you’d be a wet bird,” Flux said with a playful scoff, stepping away and brushing off grains of nonexistent sand off his clothing. “I have business to attend to, so I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow…”

“You’re leaving already?” Saps frowned. He sat up straighter, his wings stretching themselves out with his movement. “It’s barely three.” 

Flux scowled. “It’s because of that mo… ugh. It’s ThreeBelow’s plan. That damned bridge. He wants me there to discuss their building plans. Can you believe it? He’s still going on about it. I think they put the supports in yesterday— they’re going to start construction in a few weeks.”

“Well, it is the whole reason he moved you guys up north…” Saps said placatingly, sensing that Flux was about to say something unpleasant about his leader. “I think you should just talk to him about it if you truly believe it’s so dangerous.” 

“I have! Saps, I’ve tried fucking everything to get that… that damned idiot to listen! He’s leading us all into danger, and he won’t stop to even consider the dangers! Posters of propaganda, evidence of prototype weapons… what will it take for him to realize that he’s leading us straight into the tiger’s mouth?”

Privately, Saps thought that Flux was being a little paranoid. Maybe it was his own biases taking over— and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that yeah, he was biased— but… the people of Yggdrasil had never truly seemed so different to Pandorans, in Saps’ eyes. 

The things Turntapp had told him about life on Yggdrasil— the construction of huge, grand buildings because yes, they were poor, but it didn’t mean they had to live in squalor, yearly festivals held in order to give the people chances to relax and commune with friends, and even whole civilizations built around the idea of maintaining peace and unity among their people— didn’t sound like the actions of warmongerers or killers. 

Turntapp had even asked, once, if Saps would like to visit his nation. As I’ve said before, my nation isn’t the most welcoming to outsiders… but there’s recently been a turn of public opinion. At least, that’s what the news is saying. I wouldn’t want to place you in danger, but if you ever wanted to visit… I’d be more than pleased to take you around for a tour.

He didn’t say any of this to Flux, though, only nodding and exclaiming the right amount to quell his friend’s ire. “If you really think it’s necessary, you could build an emergency shelter or something for your people. I don’t think it’ll be needed, but…” 

Flux paused in his speech, his fierce stance relaxing as he took in Saps’ suggestion. “Hm. You think that’d work?”

Saps hummed. “Your people trust you, don't they?” 

At that question, Flux’s face darkened once more. “Certainly not more than they trust their president, and even then, I feel most of them see me as nothing but an afterthought.” Just as quickly as the darkness had come, though, Flux managed to school his face back into that of a distinguished gentleman. “But that’s something for another time. I’m already late, so I won’t waste any more of your time complaining about the idiots I must share a nation with. When I return next time, I hope you’ll at least have decided on a design you want for your roof.”

Saps sighed as Flux left, calling after him, “It’s my house, man. I’ll take however long I want on it!”

He could faintly hear the sound of Flux yelling something back at him, but he paid it no mind as he settled back against the jungle tree he’d been sitting under, a small smile resting on his face as he set his letter aside and pulled out the one Turntapp had sent to him, still neatly folded and not yet read. A secret, kept between them.

There was an object encased in the careful folds of the paper— a dagger, carved from obsidian, and Saps first retrieved it from the paper before unfolding the letter.

“Huh.”

Saps— 

There is something I need to confess; but first, I hope you can find it in you to forgive me.

I haven’t been entirely truthful with you about my identity. To be completely transparent with you, I hadn’t expected this exchange of letters to last for so long, and now that it’s progressed to a point where I find myself… calling you a friend, if you would accept that label. As such, I figured you would want to know— I am actually the leader of the Covenant, one of the nations that preside over Yggdrasil. 

I understand if, upon learning this, you no longer wish to speak with me. I would never want to put you in an uncomfortable position, considering your neutral citizenship, and I feel at fault for keeping this from you for so long. In any case, I appreciated your correspondence, and if you wish to no longer keep contact, feel free to simply stop responding. The knife is yours, if you want to keep it.

—Turntapp

What a strange letter. Did he really feel so strongly about this? Saps felt a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he reread the letter, a sudden feeling of fondness surfacing in his chest. What other sort of leader would have felt guilt over hiding a perceived lie? Saps knew he certainly wouldn’t have, given his past. 

“He’s too kind,” Saps whispered to himself, still smiling even as he picked up his own paper and pen.

He couldn’t have his friend believing that Saps no longer wanted to talk to him, right?

Dear Turntapp,

I thought we were already friends? Haha, just kidding. I know it must have been hard for you to get that off your chest, but there’s no need to fear… I’m not that easy to get rid of.

Don’t you remember promising me a tour of Yggdrasil? I’m still holding you to that.

The thing about secrets is that eventually, they always come out.

Saps had figured since the beginning that he would eventually have to come clean about his friendship with Turntapp. Maybe the day the storm barrier lifted— because Ish had promised it would, and if there was anything the people of Pandora would trust, it was their god’s word— or through one of the long distance meetings Jophiel had asked Saps to mediate for her with Westhelm. It was always a possibility, something lingering on the back of his mind like a blot on blank paper.

He had just hoped that it wouldn’t have to be Flux who found out first.

Saps had been visiting Luminara to relax— he had just recently started the actual construction on his house, which meant that he spent days slaving away on his island at a time trying to plot out the dimensions for his home.

Snowbird accompanied him on a tour of Luminara, his younger brother pointing out each and every new machinery and invention they’d come up with. “Flux is waiting down by the beach, by the way. He wanted to have a break from bridge planning.”

“He always wants a break from bridge planning,” Saps joked, smiling as Snowbird chuckled at the observation. 

“It’s not our fault that it’s such a boring job. And, well, Flux has some points about the dangers…” Snowbird muttered the last part as they made their way down the flowered cliffs of Luminara’s beach. Saps frowned, but didn’t press on the matter, instead focusing his attention on the two figures standing down by the beach already.

“Flux! Thomas!” Saps called out, though what he was greeted by wasn’t the faces of two friends, but rather, Flux, holding a bottle still dripping with seawater, as Thomas frowned nervously at the sight of Saps and Snowbird.

“Saps,” Flux greeted coolly, his expression steely with an emotion Saps couldn’t read. Saps swallowed, noticing the scrap of paper clenched in Flux’s metal hand, as well as what looked to be a scrap of metal placed in the bottle. That’s… that’s from Turntapp. “My dear friend.”

“Flux...?” Snowbird came up from behind Saps, “What’s up? Is there something wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong. As long as Saparata here can explain what exactly this is.” Flux thrust out the letter, throwing it onto the sand, and Saps— never one for being subtle— lunged to grab it before it hit the ground. 

“It’s a letter from my friend,” Saps said, trying to keep his voice as level and calm as possible.

“Your friend who lives on Yggdrasil?” Thomas asked, his voice both incredulous and worried, eyes flicking back and forth from Saps to Flux. It was a reasonable reaction— while Thomas had not known the both of them before Pandora, Saps would be the first to admit that he and Flux were often an explosive combo when left to their own devices. 

“I got bored, and I decided I wanted to have a penpal friend,” Saps said, “and he wrote back. So—”

“So you decided to make friends with a Yggdrasilian,” Flux spat the words out as if they were a curse, something he couldn’t bear to have in his mouth for a moment longer. “And not just a citizen, at that, but a leader of one of their nations! You’re trusting him with— with these details of our island, when you know that he and his whole nation could be plotting against us?! Saps, what are you doing?!”

“Flux, stop it— just calm down—” Saps tried, though this only seemed to rile Flux up more. 

“I thought I could trust you to see that Yggdrasil is dangerous. Instead, you just went and spilled your heart out to a random guy, who just so happened to turn out to be one of the leaders of that island’s nations? He could be a warmongering maniac! And you’re talking to him as if he were an old friend!” At this point, Flux looked positive with rage. It had gotten to the point where Snowbird had positioned himself in front of Saps and Thomas in front of Flux to separate the both of them in case Flux decided to swing first.

“That’s not— look, Flux, will you just let me explain, please?” 

“There’s nothing to explain that I haven’t already seen. Your naivety will be the death of us, Saps, mark my words,” Flux spat, pushing Thomas away as he strode off the beach.  

“Flux!” Thomas called, but the man didn’t stop for any of them, the ends of his coat flying with the wind as he walked away.

“He doesn’t mean that,” Snowbird muttered, eyes fixed on Flux’s silhouette. He turned to Thomas, “Thomas, go— go talk to him or something. Get Flux to see some sense. I… Saps, he doesn’t mean that. You know that, right?” 

As Thomas nodded and left to go after their friend, Saps sighed, kneeling to pick up the bottle and the scrap of metal that resided inside. These letters, these gifts… though Flux couldn’t see it, they were proof that not everyone on Yggdrasil was the way Flux believed they were. If they weren’t, then why would Turntapp be so open with him? Why would he send him these gifts, these precious pieces of metal that he was sure the nation Turntapp ruled over needed more? “It’s fine. I know Flux. I’ll… try and explain to him later. You and Thomas will too, right?” 

Snowbird exhaled, his wings fluttering with the motion. “I will. But… Saps, will you really continue talking with that… Turntapp guy?”

“I haven’t told him any of the things Flux thinks I have,” Saps shrugged. This meeting had really gone wrong so quickly, he could barely keep up with the allegations Flux had thrown at him.  “The most Turntapp knows of us is about my island, and if I get invaded, then… well, I don’t know what happens then, but it doesn’t really harm any of you, does it?”

Snowbird frowned, and Saps knew then that he’d spoken wrong. “You’re my brother, Saps. Of course it’d harm me if you got hurt in the process. Just… stay safe. Please.”

“I will,” Saps promised, his mind drifting to a friend on the other side of the storm. 

A friend, who was kind enough to worry about his reaction to learning that he was the leader of a nation. A friend, who sent him gifts plucked straight from the heart of their nation. A friend, who kept him company through writing on nights that Saps went to bed staring at the night sky, feeling smaller than an ant.

Flux is wrong. I just wish I could make him see that.

I don’t believe that Turntapp would hurt us.

“I swear I will.”

Chapter Text

If there was one thing that Turntapp could whole-heartedly agree with Saps on, it would be that living a politics-free life was far superior to having to lead a country.

Though the fortified walls of Infernus’ royal palace kept out the smog and ash of the volcanic activity underneath, the air was still arid and hard to breathe. It was a miracle that the people of the Volcano hadn’t yet collapsed from lung conditions, Turntapp thought to himself privately as he and his Peacekeepers were led into Infernus’ throne room.

“Sir Turntapp,” Queen Cynnika greeted him as they entered, her fire-red eyes drifting over each of the delegation’s faces. Displeasure weighed down her youthful features as she forced out her words, “To what do I owe this… pleasure?”

“Your Majesty,” Turntapp returned the greeting, doing his best to keep his voice level. He may have had the military advantage here, but Cynnika had been raised as a princess of a distant Empire; and he was merely a general who had risen to power through his people’s loyalty. Turntapp wouldn't— he couldn’t risk a diplomatic misstep. For a woman who had dedicated her life to the worship of the Volcano, she was just as cold as the land she had been born in. “Our people have heard… rumors of the resources of the volcano. You understand how it reflects on you and your nation to be seen keeping these resources a secret, do you not?”

Cynnika’s expression grew darker, if that was even possible. “I’m afraid I do not.”

Turntapp sighed, motioning for Zynn to step in. This conversation wouldn't go anywhere if he was the one who led it. His right hand soldier continued from where he’d left off, “Your Majesty, we only mean to ask for the rights to mine in the volcano. We are aware of the religious devotion you and your people have for the volcano, and we promise not to intrude on any of your sacred space more than necessary— but if we are to form this Yggdrasil-wide treaty, it would only be logical to supply the greatest army of the island with resources, would it not?”

The Queen of Infernus frowned, but it seemed that she was at least considering Zynn’s words. “Is this a threat, Zynn of the Covenant?”

“Merely a reminder that we are the army that backs your words,” Turntapp answered instead. “If you consider this deal, it will be beneficial for both of us. You would get the Covenant’s loyalty, and our army at your beck and call… and in return, we are able to protect your people— and your land— more efficiently.”

“...If I were to accept this deal… you— and your army, the Covenant’s forces— would complete any task I asked of you. Is that correct, Sir Turntapp?”

“Yes. You have my word.”

“Fine, then.” Cynnika stood up then, waving over one of her guards and procuring a book and quill from his hands. “We’ll have a written deal— in return for the Covenant’s loyalty and protection, I shall allow your people to mine in my volcano.”

“That sounds satisfactory,” Turntapp said, hoping that she wouldn’t be able to see past the stone-tight poker face he had forced on and into the nerves that controlled his thoughts.

After all— his people didn’t know this, but he had staked this whole meeting on a gamble.

Dear Turntapp— 

Last week, I went adventuring in the jungle. You know how Pandora is an archipelago already, obviously, but I bet you didn’t know that the third island is actually a jungle! It’s pretty hard getting around there— probably the main reason nobody wanted to live here but me— but I did find a friend. Well, he’s a horse, technically, but he’s nice to me, and I figure that’s good enough to consider us friends. After all, I think horses usually try to attack you if they don’t like you… or, uh. Something like that?

Anyway! Not the main point. Ish let something slip to me the other day, while he was watching me build my house (which, by the way, I’ve attached a sketch of. One day, if the borders drop, I’ll come to you and then I’ll bring you— and your people, if they want— over to see it, because I think it’s looking really good so far). He said something about there being a secret resource the people of the volcano were keeping hidden…? I don’t know if he was being truthful about it, but he looked really guilty when I asked him to clarify and he refused to say anything else to me about it, so… do with that what you will.

Also, I got apple seeds this time! Now it’ll be easier to make golden apples than having to get them straight from the Warden Tree. I hope it’s helpful :)

—Your friend, Saps

It was perhaps concerning, the amount of influence that Turntapp found Saps had begun to unknowingly exert over his life. This was probably something that a counselor would find to be the first signs of red flags, had they been a married couple— or, something of that sort— rather than two friends communicating via bottles thrown in the ocean. 

But in all honesty, Turntapp wasn’t sure he could find it in himself to care. 

Happiness was hard to come by on Yggdrasil, after all. The people of Yggdrasil may have been content with their lives— energized, by the prospect of something to work toward, or perhaps motivated by their leaders ambitions and goals— but there was never a moment of peace on Yggdrasil. All because of the desolate lands that they called home, Yggdrasilians spent every day working to make their situation more tolerable. Toiling the rough soil that always failed to sprout consistently, steering clear of the coast that surrounded the volcano to avoid being boiled alive— there was never a moment of rest for those misfortunate enough to call Yggdrasil their home.

And before Saps had come along, his letters accompanied by the offer of friendship and trust— Turntapp had considered himself one of the many lost souls that lived on Yggdrasil, treating every day as another battle. 

Now, he spent his nights surrounded by handwritten letters, eyes tracing over and memorizing the way Saps wrote his letters— the way his L’s were always lopsided, how he would write his i’s and j’s with little smiley faces. It was a private respite, something only for himself. Saps wasn’t a secret, by any means, but his letters, these little proofs of existence… was a place of comfort for Turntapp.

He only hoped to be the same for Saps.

Saps—

Some days, I feel it’s more trouble than it’s worth to lead my people, but your presence has been making it much more tolerable.

Your intel from Ish the other day was incredibly helpful. Actually, we managed to obtain the mining rights to underneath the volcano, and we discovered some incredibly rare ores underneath. Here’s four of those scraps of debris that we obtained— it’s enough to make one ingot of netherite, as Infernus calls it, and it’s a material that strengthens your armor and weapons. You probably won’t have a use for it, but just in case. I figured you’d like to keep it in your collection, at least. 

—Turntapp

Dear Turntapp—

Sorry this letter took so long to arrive. I… had a bit of a falling out with my friend, Flux. I mean— well, I wouldn’t call it a falling out. It’s just that we haven’t had very big arguments like this in a while. I think it’s an improvement, honestly, because he used to treat me like glass when it came to disagreements, but now he feels more free to speak his mind. Which is nice! Just… I don’t really know how to describe it, I guess. 

I just wish he could understand what it’s like to talk to someone who understands me. I’m glad I have you to talk to, at least.

Anyway— Snowbird showed me a new invention they created over at Luminara the other day. I figured you guys would like to try experimenting with some of the same things they have, especially since I know one of your soldiers (Davarit, I think, but it could have been his brother…) liked redstone… there’s a few pieces of ore attached to this letter. I have more, but they’ll have to come with other bottles, since this stone is heavy. You were right, by the way, the ingot looks really pretty with all the other things you’ve given me! I think it compliments the dagger well. :)

Until next time, Saps

Saps—

Your friend sounds like a very… interesting man. I hope he doesn’t give you too much trouble and that the issue is resolved soon. I’m always here if you need to talk to someone. 

Your redstone gift was very appreciated. Davarit and Zombta said to give you their thanks— and also, Davarit said he’d known you from before Pandora? I hope he was good to you then. You only deserve the best of things. 

This letter is short, and I apologize for that, but there’s recently been some trouble with the volcano people. I’m having Zynn figure it out, but there might be a period of time where I am unable to write back. I’ll compensate for it, though, rest assured. Enclosed is one of the mystical Raven’s feathers from our sister nation, Nevermore. It is one of their symbols of faith to their Pagan god, and I figured you would appreciate having it for your collection.

—Turntapp

Dear Turntapp—

Don’t worry! Me and Flux had a heart-to-heart about it— we kinda had to agree to disagree, but at the very least, I think he’s thawed out a bit. It’s clear that he’s still kinda… iffy… when it comes to seeing my side of the story, but I trust him to make the best decisions. He only wants the best for us, after all.

My brother came over the other day. I’m a little worried for him, honestly— he’s been looking more and more tired every day. I think he’s probably doing too much council work, since he’s working as one of his nation’s diplomats… I don’t think I’d be able to get him to rest, though. He’s always been a very hardworking person. The house is almost done, by the way! The roof’s the hardest part— it’ll probably take me a month or so to get through, but I think I can do it. Snowbird and Flux have offered to help me out, along with the rest of our friends, so soon enough I’ll be able to send you a sketch of the full place! And, who knows— when the storm lifts, I might be able to take you for a tour! 

In other news, I’ve been invited to mediate a meeting. I’m… not very stoked for it, to be honest. I totally get where you’re coming from with your aversion to politics, but— oh well. It’s a necessary evil, I guess. I’ll try and get you something from Tricolour next time, since there’s barely anything left that I can find on this island.

I’ll be thinking of you until the next letter comes :)

Dear Turntapp—

I know you said you’d be busy, but I… needed to get this out somewhere.

I don’t know how much you’ve heard, but Queen Jophiel of Tricolour has died. I’ve been requested to host a meeting as soon as my house is finished, so Snowbird and Flux and the others have been working at max speed to get it prepared for the meeting.

I have a bad feeling about this.

Turntapp—

It’s all gone wrong. I’ve been framed for murders I haven’t committed.

Ish tells me the people of Pandora want me dead. He says he’ll give me a chance to escape to Yggdrasil by lowering the storm barrier on the day of my trial, in three days.

I can’t stay here. Please help me. 

Please, even if you don’t believe me— I don’t want to die.

“Sir, the accommodations have been prepared.” 

“Good,” Turntapp sighed, his eyes roving over the last letter Saps had sent as if it would give him the answer to whatever questions he had been seeking. His writing was shaky, the fear that Saps felt translating to the hastiness of his writing. “I’ll go retrieve him off the side of the southern beach. If the people ask questions…”

“I’ll take care of it,” Zynn promised, bowing her head in a show of loyalty. “Davarit and Zombta too have volunteered to be guards for Saparata, in case he finds himself in danger. Will you take them with you?” 

“To greet him… no, it’ll be fine. I don’t want to scare him,” Turntapp shook his head. “I’ll go alone. I have armour and weapons with me, and no one in their right mind would attack me anyway.” 

“I understand,” Zynn said. “If that is all that’s needed of me…”

“You may take your leave,” Turntapp told her, turning back to the letters as Zynn shut the door behind her quietly. An unsent piece of paper sat underneath the pile of Saps’ writings, the ink on the parchment still wet.

Saps,

I wish I could have seen your home. I’m sure it looked beautiful.

Chapter Text

“So, Saps. What will you do?”

There was a faint source of amusement in the back of Saps’ mind as he sat next to Ish, the god hovering a few inches off the makeshift benches he had carved from planks of wood. This wasn’t the first time that Ish had asked him that question— and it wasn’t even the first time he had been asked that question after an assassination had happened.

The only difference was that then, Saps had been guilty, and yet, he faced no consequences.

This time, he was innocent, but no one believed him— and if what Ish said was true, he would be taken to trial soon.

“I guess I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Saps laughed, defeated and bitter. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling how matted and tangled it was. It reminded him of when he had fled Theria after faking his death, trusting the lives of his people in the hands of the man who had just framed him for the murder of six different leaders. Maybe this was his karma catching up to him. “I’ll go to the trial and try to plead my case, and… whatever they decide will be my fate, I guess.”

“You’re going to let them kill you if they find you guilty?” Ish asked, the god’s emotions unreadable. 

Saps bit his lip, his hands balled up into a fist on his lap. “Where can I go? There’s nowhere to escape to. Right now, as we talk, they’re probably preparing search parties to scour the entirety of the mangrove swamps and jungles here. Ish, there’s no one I can turn to, unless I want to live underground for the rest of my foreseeable future. I’d rather just— try and plead my case, and let them decide for themselves.”

“You know what their answer will be,” Ish said, not unkindly. “You’ve seen it before. The tide of public opinion rules the court. There will be no fairness in this ruling.”

“Well, yeah, but— I kinda have no other choice,” Saps said, even if he didn’t want this ending either. “It’s either this, or I get proclaimed guilty anyway, and no one gets to know my side of the story. At least if I go there— maybe someone will realize, eventually. Years down the line, they’ll understand.”

Despite his bravado, the thought of allowing himself to be ruled guilty— because that was how this trial would end, regardless of what he wished would happen— and having his name defamed weighed heavily on Saps. He wondered how Turntapp would feel, hearing the news from his ambassadors or perhaps even from Ish himself— would he feel betrayed? Would he believe that Saps was guilty, just like the rest of Pandora? 

He hoped not. If there was anything he wanted in the world, it would be for Turntapp to never learn of the occurrence at his house. The thought of his friend seeing him differently planted a pit in his stomach that felt just as sour as the thought of turning himself in.

“But you have another choice,” Ish said, all of a sudden, as if the thought had just occurred to the god. “You escaped once. Why not do it again?”

“Ish, I just told you—”

“You have one person you could go to. Don’t you?” 

“The storm—” 

“It is mine to control,” Ish said, and for the first time since they had met, all that time ago in a distant desert, Saps saw the power of a god. “Do you want to live, Saparata?” 

Saps inhaled at his question. A chance to escape. Ish himself was offering a chance to live. “Of course I do.” 

I can’t let this be the end of things. I still want to meet Turntapp. I want to see Yggdrasil for myself. I want to live, unhunted and unpursued by enemies. I want to clear my name.

I can’t die here, not when I still have things to lose.

Ish smiled, his eyes knowing. “I’ll make sure the letter makes its way to him, then.” 

Dear Saps—

I’ve had my guards prepare a place for you to stay. I will wait by the beach for you.

If you say you are innocent of the crimes you have been accused of, then I believe you.

Please, stay safe. 

—Turntapp

The trial, of course, went horribly. 

Saps had figured as much— especially after Ish’s warnings, a rigged trial was the least of what he was expecting, really. He’d come prepared to flee— a stack or so of leaves hidden in his inventory, half a stack of golden apples and as many diamonds as he could carry on him— a safety precaution, and a gift for Turntapp for believing in him; even with the evidence so stacked against him. 

Planning ahead for the worst scenario was much different from running away in the moment, though. As Saps scaled the wall that separated his intended execution spot and the courthouse where his sentence had been given, he could hear the shouts and jeers of people behind him giving chase. One man’s voice rang over the rest, screaming about the injustices that Saps had committed and how only his death would be able to satisfy Pandora’s people, and the sea of voices followed him in agreement. 

“Kill him! We want him dead!”

“Die, Saps, die!”

“He’s trying to run, we have to catch him!”

“Shit—” Saps narrowly swerved out of the way of an arrow launched at him, briefly turning back to see the archer nock another arrow into their bow. He lunged forward, running straight for the sea as the crowd followed him down to the docks of the Commonwealth, rabid and snarling in their hatred. 

Unluckily for them, though, once in the water, Saps was good as gone. 

It wasn’t that none of the people present had thought to brought boats, but the adrenaline still pumping through Saps’ blood, his body still taut with anxiety and an urge to run, run, run as far as you can and never return to Pandora fueled him like no other, his tiny rowboat miles out in the ocean before most of his pursuers had even touched the water. 

The sea was rough and deep— if Saps fell out of his boat here, so close to the storm that kept Yggdrasil away, he would surely drown before his pursuers even caught up. Still, these thoughts weren’t enough to stop the persistent motion of his hands, paddling the oars in swift strokes against the ocean’s current. Blood pounded in his ears and adrenaline rushed through his veins as he rowed.

He had fled from Theria like this. He would flee from Pandora like this, too.

As he neared the storm barrier that separated Pandora and Yggdrasil, Saps felt apprehension— fear, at first, that Ish had not kept his promise, and that this was the end of the line for him— but then, the closer he got, he realized that the clouds he had seen in the sky were just that— clouds. The rain and thunder that accompanied them was nowhere to be seen, and the waves were rough, but no more so than before.

It felt like freedom, passing through the barrier. 

Saps knew, logically, that he would no longer be safe the moment his pursuers caught up and realized that the barrier had fallen— but the moment of respite was all that he needed as he finally neared the basalt edges of Yggdrasil’s southern beaches, catching the eye of the man who stood above him.

He startled for a second, afraid— was this Turntapp? Had he been spotted by someone else?— but then his eyes focused, roving over the scars that patterned the man’s face, the military jacket and thick coat woven from sheep’s wool, and then back up to meet the kind dark eyes looking back at him, and he knew instinctively— no one else would look at him this kindly. Not after what they had witnessed, what they must have heard.

“Saps,” Turntapp called, a kindness in his voice that Saps had not heard for weeks, “You’ve finally arrived.”

“I guess I have,” Saps murmured, allowing his friend to pull him to the top of the cliff, his hands trembling still with exhaustion. Turntapp pulled him into an embrace, his furs soft against Saps’ bruised arms. “I never thought I’d make it here.”

“I’m glad you did,” Turntapp said, his voice soft and sincere, even as his eyes grew harder when he took Saps’ injuries in, taking Saps’ hands into his own. “What did they do to you there, on Pandora?”

Saps laughed, a coughing, bitter sound. “Nothing that they didn’t think I deserved.”

Turntapp levelled him with a look, one so gentle that it made Saps want to cry. How long had it been since someone else besides Ish and A4 had looked at him without contempt? “What happened to you? You never said.” 

“You’ll hear soon enough,” Saps said, a subtle fear in the back of his mind. He had to be honest, of course, but— what would Turntapp think? “Pandora believes I set a trap in my house to murder their leaders. They think— they think I was working with Queen Jophiel’s murderer, and that I orchestrated their deaths for— I don’t even know. No one gave me a motive, they just declared me guilty.”

“Sounds like that trial was a sham, then,” Turntapp scoffed, and at his show of loyalty, Saps relaxed once more, letting himself relax into Turntapp’s hold. Privately, Saps wanted nothing more than to stay in this moment— Turntapp’s belief in him was a burning ball of warmth in his chest, when the rest of the world was so cold and hateful. “Let’s go back to the Covenant, alright? You’ll be safer there, and if you want, you can explain then.” 

“Okay,” Saps said, his voice quiet, the fight gone from him in the presence of safety. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

In all honesty, Turntapp hadn’t known what he expected Saps to look like.

He’d known that Saps was an avian– the other man had brought it up once or twice offhandedly in his letters, and Turntapp had latched onto that piece of Saps’ life like a lifeline. He’d known that Saps had long white hair that tangled easily, from his off-handed comments he had made about it getting dirty so easily, especially while building a house on a beach— but besides those crumbs of the other man’s life, there was nothing else that had indicated appearance or stature.

So it wasn’t exactly right to say that Saps didn’t look the way he expected him to, but that was the only way Turntapp could put it.

The Saparata he had known through his letters had been energetic, joyful— a piece of netherite forged in the midst of a barren landscape of lava. His letters had been the one point of respite Turntapp had had for the past year, and— at risk of sounding like an obsessive maniac— he had been the light in the darkness of the days Turntapp spent leading his nation.

This Saps— though there were still traces of the Saps Turntapp had gotten to know in his smile, and the way that his eyes lit up with a curious wonder at the sight of unfamiliar things— was someone different from the man whose existence he had come to cherish, and the fact that Pandora had so drastically changed Saps made Turntapp want to deploy the Covenant’s army for a siege that would surely only end in death and destruction.

He still didn’t know what had happened to Saps, not fully— from the mistreatment that showed clearly in his gaunt appearance and numerous littered injuries, there was definitely more that Pandora had done to him that Saps wasn’t letting on, and it was clear even as he took Saps through the streets of the Covenant that there was more to the story than he was willing to share.

Until they got back to the Capital of the Covenant, though… there was nothing Turntapp could do for him besides keep him safe and close. 

“It’s a lot colder here than it is on Pandora,” Saps murmured as they neared the city gates, his hands bunched up in his shoulders to keep warm. The bruises on his arms looked even more stark against his skin this way, dark purple blemishes against his pale skin painting a grisly picture. “No snow, though, huh? Is it just the air quality or something?”

“Well, the volcano does the heavy lifting on weather control here. I’m sure we’d have snow if not for the lava constantly bubbling underneath the earth,” Turntapp said, subtly draping his coat over Saps’ shoulders as they walked. He was pleased to see the way that Saps easily accepted the unspoken offer, his shivers slowly receding as they approached the city gates. 

“Woah,” Saps startled as he caught sight of the two twin statues that towered over the entrance of the Covenant, mismatched black-and-white eyes shining with barely concealed wonder. “This place is so cool. I… the biggest nation back on Pandora was Tricolor, but this is… it’s more than I expected. Are these the statues of the gods your people worship?”

“Mm. The one on the left is Ninurta, and the one on the right is Adad. Both of them are warrior gods, and our soldiers regularly leave offerings to them both at the entrance to the city gates.” Turntapp pointed at one of the offering stations, motioning to the plates of food and material offerings left at the altar. As they pass by the guards, he nods once to them before turning his attention back onto the frail man walking beside him. “I suppose you’re not used to this? From what you’ve told me of Pandora’s beliefs, they don’t worship many pagan religions.”

“You’re right about the Pandora bit,” Saps said, a small smile on his face, “but I’m a little more used to pagan worship than the average Pandoran is. I wasn’t exactly raised with their same values.” 

“Oh, that’s right,” Turntapp realized with a start, remembering some of the past slips Saps had let about his identity before becoming a neutral resident of Pandora’s third island. He had asked Davarit and Zombta, two of his top soldiers about it sometime after one of Saps’ letters had come in mentioning the both of them, and they had both given vague responses of two desert nations and a political plot. “You came to the islands from… Theria, was it?” 

“Mm. If it’s still standing now, yes. That was the country I came from,” Saps murmured, eyes fixed on the distant shape of the citadel. “I…”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” 

“It’s… well. I guess you probably already heard, but I wasn’t the best person then. When I was… in a position of power. I— part of me thinks I might deserve this. This… being framed and hunted down thing. Since— since I got away with what I did… last time.” Saps rubbed at his arms subconsciously, wincing slightly as he did so. 

Turntapp frowned. While it was true that he didn’t know much of what Saps’ life pre-Pandora had been like, the Saps he had come to know was certainly not the same as who he used to be, and regardless, Turntapp was in no way the kind of person who could possibly condemn another for immoral acts or incompetence with leading a country. 

Besides. The damage the people of Pandora had done to Saps… there was nothing in the world that could justify that.

“Whatever you’ve done in the past, I promise you, it doesn’t mean you deserve what they’ve done to you,” Turntapp told Saps, trying to catch the other man’s eyes as he did so. He hoped his words could carry the sincerity he felt, if only to reassure Saps that he would always have Turntapp in his corner, at least. “You can’t possibly think you deserved to be abused and given an execution order disguised as a farce trial.”

Saps shrugged, a defeated smile on his face. “Not everyone is as kind as you, Turntapp.”

…Turntapp, kind? 

That was something that no one had ever said about him— not even Zynn, and Turntapp had been her personal combat trainer, once upon a time. Saps thinking of him as kind only made Turntapp’s blood boil more at the thought of the mistreatment his friend had gone through at the hands of his own people.

How stupid and cruel had they been, to look at a man with wonder in his eyes and kind hands that had fostered gentle intent, and break him down into the shattered pieces of porcelain Turntapp now found him as?

“I don’t think it’s kindness by any means. Common sense and compassion, maybe. Whatever it is— the point still stands. You didn’t deserve to be hurt like this, no matter what you did. And besides, you were framed.” Turntapp said as they neared the city centre, frowning at the sound of distant chatter. “We’re approaching the markets, by the way. Let me know if it’s too loud or if anyone’s bothering you. I’ll try to get us to the citadel quick.”

“It’s fine,” Saps said, a self-deprecating laugh escaping him. “Unless your people are going to beat me up in the streets for simply existing, it’ll already be better than Pandora.”

“That won’t happen,” Turntapp promised, though the horror of Saps’ casual statement stuck with him. “I wouldn’t let that happen. I just mean that… the market gets rowdy, sometimes. Especially late in the evenings.” 

At that, Saps grinned, something bright and unmarred by the taint that Pandora had left on him. It was an unfamiliar sight, but after the whole afternoon he’d spent silently seething at the way that Saps’ bright disposition had been taken away from him by people who he was supposed to trust, Turntapp found that he would have easily sacrificed all of the prosperity and resources the Covenant had gained just to see that smile again. 

“I like rowdy,” Saps said simply. “Will you show me around?”

And though Turntapp had planned to take Saps to the citadel as quickly as possible and find the time to sit him down, redress his injuries, and give him anything he needed, he couldn’t find himself saying no. Not when the light he had so sorely missed was shining again, even if it was for just a moment.

“I do still owe you that tour, don’t I?” The answering grin he got from Saps was the only answer he needed, as Turntapp took his friend by the hand— still cold, despite the warmth of layers, and thinner than it should be— and led them into the market district.

It was late evening by the time they finally found their way to the citadel, the sun having set almost completely as Turntapp led Saps inside the fortress, a few bags of local goods held in his hands. He hadn’t allowed Saps to carry any of the items the other man had bought (half of them he’d barely even allowed Saps to buy, throwing his coins onto the market stalls before Saps could take out his stash of gems) besides the soft wool cloak that now sat squarely on his shoulders and the swaths of bandages which now covered his arms and legs, citing the strain on his already injured limbs. 

Though Saps had protested, the way he’d relaxed further into Turntapp’s side as they’d walked had been enough for Turntapp to know he didn’t regret any of the extra menial little labour done in Saps’ name.

Guards and soldiers stationed inside the fortress milled about as they passed through the halls up to Turntapp’s quarters, and though they looked at the two of them curiously, none of them stopped to ask questions. He was sure some of them might have suspected Saps’ identity, given the briefings he had asked Zynn to make before leaving, but there had been no audible whispers or quiet remarks that might’ve put Saps less at ease in a place that was supposed to be safe for him, and for that, Turntapp was eternally grateful for their discretion.

“If you’re tired, just let me know. I’d like to introduce you to my closest guards, but if that’s too much for you, I understand completely,” Turntapp told Saps as they continued walking, noticing the way the other man had started to slow down in his movement, leaning on Turntapp ever so slightly. 

“I’m fine, I can make it,” Saps said, though it was clear he was struggling to keep himself awake, his wings flapping slowly as a way to keep himself active and less at risk of passing out. “I— I want to meet your guards too. I just…” 

“We can always do it tomorrow,” Turntapp reassured his friend. “You shouldn’t push yourself. We’ll go upstairs to your room and tomorrow, when you feel more rested, we can go introduce you to people.” 

“I…” Saps frowned, clearly conflicted. “Sorry. I don’t want to interfere in your plans…” 

“There was never any plan for having you stay here,” Turntapp corrected him gently. “I just want you to have the best experience you can here— regardless of what happened on Pandora, or what they think you did, you are safe with me.” 

Saps’ upper lip quivered, and for one horrible moment, Turntapp almost thought that he was going to cry. “I was framed, back home. Back on Pandora. That is. You— I didn’t tell you everything, but—”

“You don’t have to,” Turntapp said, trying desperately to pedal back the conversation. He took Saps by the arm gently, taking care not to grip him too hard, and led him to the staircase, intent on at least letting Saps have a private space to talk in before the other man spilt all his feelings. “I believe in you either way. Whatever it is that they think you did— I don’t believe it. You aren’t the type of person who would kill for no reason.”

“I did kill, though. Once.” Saps murmured, and with a start, Turntapp realized that there were tears welling up in his mismatched eyes, glinting in the last rays of the setting sun. “I ordered the assassination of the Sultan of the Desert, and—” 

“Davarit and Zombta have spoken to me about that already,” Turntapp said, hurriedly pulling Saps along with a hand on his back to lead him. He led them into the guest room that Zynn had furnished and prepared a day ago, before motioning for Saps to take a seat. “You had a reason. He was a tyrant. I’m sure his people were glad for the liberation you offered them.” 

“I ran away. Because I was a coward, and I thought the assassination would fail and it would doom everyone.” Saps said. “And this time… I just wanted to start over, when I came to Pandora. I didn’t want any part in politics, so I stayed away. But then— Jophiel was killed, and Flux convinced me to hold a meeting for all the Pandoran leaders, and…”

“And…?”

“The roof of my home. The roof was rigged. He— Flux— my friends— they… they trapped my roof. My brother was in on it, Turntapp. They…” Saps’ fist clenched in his lap, his nails digging into his skin so hard it started to create crescent marks. Turntapp took him by the hand gently, trying to prevent more damage. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if I blame them anymore. It just feels like karmic justice, you know? Like I’m getting what I deserved.”

“What you deserved for saving your people from a tyrant was definitely not being betrayed by your closest friends,” Turntapp said, trying to hide the anger he felt. Saps’ own brother had framed him for the murder of world leaders? For what reason? Had he known what would happen to Saps afterward? Did they think he’d be let off for the murders, or did they fully consider the fact that Saps would probably be executed and just not care? 

“Maybe.” Saps sighed. He raised a hand to wipe his tears away, giving Turntapp a small, defeated smile. “Who am I to decide what I deserve, though, when everyone else has already made up their minds for me?”

“It’s your life,” Turntapp insisted. “We’ll prove you innocent. Sooner or later— and even if we can’t, they’ll have to get past my soldiers first if they want to get to you.”

Saps’ breath hitched, the only warning Turntapp got before he was met with an armful of feathered wings and long white hair. His hands went up reflexively to stabilize Saps, settling firmly around his waist as the other man’s hands clawed at his fabrics. There was nothing to be said between the two of them— nothing but Saps’ quiet, laboured breathing, and the occasional sniffle. 

“Thank you,” Saps muttered into Turntapp’s chest. “For believing in me.” 

“I always will,” Turntapp promised. 

You were the one thing that kept me believing in Pandora’s goodness. You still are what makes me believe in kindness. I won’t let this break you down.

Chapter Text

Back when he was still the president of Theria, Saps’ favourite time of day had been sunrise. 

There was never truly time to rest, when you were ruling a country— this was a fact that Saps had come to know intimately, over the years. He would work late into the hours of the night, sequestered in his secret meeting room, with piles of papers, letters, pleas, and years of propaganda surrounding him, wondering if there was truly a way to free the people of the desert that wouldn’t end in bloodshed.

The only time he had ever had to himself was in the early mornings, when his people had not yet begun to set up their shops, and the sun had just barely peeked over the horizon. 

He hadn’t thought of that time for a while, not since he had escaped to Pandora and built his vacation home, still filled with the letters and gifts that Turntapp had sent him over the months of their friendship. 

Now, though, standing in the room the Covenant had provided for him— a kindness that, even after all of Turntapp’s reassurances, Saps still did not truly believe he deserved— Saps could see that same sun he had loved, just out of reach beyond the Northern mountains of Yggdrasil. 

It felt like it was mocking him.

You escaped persecution from your people for what you did. And now, so far away from home, the people you never belonged to, the ones you called friends despite your distance, want your head on a pike. 

Wrapping the cloak that Turntapp had bought for him yesterday around himself, Saps tried to quell the urge to scratch at his arms, to peel away the layers of bandages that Turntapp had so carefully applied— he had taken Saps by the arms and treated him so gently it made him feel almost sick with guilt, and even now, a day later, he still felt that shadow of culpability lingering on him.

He didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to be framed for a crime he hadn’t committed… and yet, forcing Turntapp to stay around him, when Saps was— regardless of his actual innocence— still a criminal whose identity would surely bring danger to whatever nation harboured him, felt like a worse sin than the ones he had been guilty of.

When a guard came to his door and knocked to ask to take him down for breakfast, Saps almost cried at the relief of being taken away from his own thoughts. 

Turntapp was waiting for him when he came down, just as solid and comforting a presence as he was yesterday. A foreign diplomat (at least, someone who Saps assumed to be a foreign diplomat, given the different colours of their clothes) who was talking to him left as Saps approached down the stairs, shooting Turntapp a meaningful look that the other man ignored in favour of greeting Saps.

“Did you sleep well?” The other man asked, concern shining in his eyes. It wasn’t without cause— Saps figured he probably looked somewhere between a sickbed patient and a corpse, and the fact that he hadn’t bothered to preen his wings since he had left Pandora probably added to his disoriented appearance. “I’ll have Zynn prepare a different room for you if this one isn’t to your liking.”

“No! No, no, it’s—” Saps swallowed, embarrassed at his own outburst. His filter wasn’t working very well this early in the morning, it seemed. “It’s fine. I just… I’m just not used to… it’s been a while since I’ve been able to sleep properly.”

A frown settled on Turntapp’s face. “How long did you go without rest, back when you were hiding on Pandora?”

Saps shrugged, feeling a bit awkward. The concern Turntapp was showing… it felt unwarranted. Undeserved.  It wasn’t as if he had gone that long without taking breaks… back on Pandora, while he’d hid in the jungle with A4 and Ish keeping him company, he had managed to nod off for an hour or two each time. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a hard adjustment, you know?”

Thankfully, Turntapp didn’t push the matter. Instead, he gently offered out his hand for Saps to hold, giving him a small smile when Saps took his hand. “Yeah. Let’s go and get you something to eat, then. There’s a few people I think you should get to know.”

“Alright,” Saps nodded, and they were off.

As the two of them made their ways through the halls of the Covenant’s citadel, stopping sometimes to greet Peacekeepers who wished their ruler a good morning and ignoring the inquisitive gazes of other guards and servants who peered at Saps like they knew who he was, Turntapp began to point things out to Saps.

“The citadel houses a lot of structures. It’s sorta like a mini city inside of the city itself,” Turntapp motioned to the hallways that led to large, open-roofed buildings. “That one leads to the courthouse— we don’t use that building a lot, mostly because there haven’t been any real courtcases recently. Negotiations also happen in there; we’ve hosted Blue Cross delegates from time to time. They never stay long, though.”

“No trial by combat, then?” Saps asked lightly, remembering something that Turntapp had told him about the leadership of Westhelm. 

Turntapp only grinned, and on anyone else, Saps would find it to be unsettling— a sign that perhaps he was trusting the wrong sort of person. But with his friend, he could think of nothing besides that first look Turntapp had given him: kind and trusting. It made Saps want to look away and pry deeper at the same time, and both urges made him flush in shame.

“That would turn very bloody very fast. So no, no trial by combat— if only because it’d be hard to clean up. Also, I’m not a sadist. Not sure about Zynn and the others, though.”

“Are you saying that your Peacekeepers would like to fight to the death?”

Turntapp gave a half shrug, his right arm still trapped in Saps’ embrace. “I trained with them, before. I still do now, but more as their commander than as an equal, so I miss things that they say to their comrades and not their higher-ups… but I remember how bloodthirsty they used to be.”

Privately, from the way that Turntapp had so carefully chosen his words, Saps felt like the man hadn’t only been talking about his Peacekeepers.

“Anyway, you’ll meet some of them today, but I promise they'll be on their best behaviour,” Turntapp said, before turning them down the hall and into an even larger dining hall. To Saps’ surprise, there were a lot more variety in the dishes than he thought there would be, given Yggdrasil’s impoverished nature. He could see pots of thick vegetable broth, a few chicken dishes and fish, along with stacks of freshly baked bread. Soldiers milled around the hall, stacking their plates with food and drink, and servants prepared boxes of food in the corner to presumably either give out or save for later.

…The seeds I gave him… was this what it was used for?

“I’ll assume the food’s to your taste, then?” Turntapp chuckled, and when Saps turned to look at him with confusion, he elaborated: “You’re smiling.”

Saps flushed with embarrassment at the admittance, his wings quickly moving to hide his face as Turntapp chuckled lightly at the sight. “Let’s just eat.” 

It had been a while since Saps had had a full meal, at least— a while since he’d had one in peace. Ish had done his best to keep Saps from starving while he was running through the rainforests of Pandora, and he wasn’t a terrible scavenger himself, when all was said and done, but frankly, golden apples were more a fuel source and medicine than they were an actual food, and if Saps had to eat raw potatoes one more time he would probably eat his own hand. Even yesterday, when he’d first arrived, he had gotten a few street snacks and delicacies local to the Covenant, but it hadn’t been enough to fully stave away that constant gnawing in his stomach.

Now, though, Saps found himself staring at his plate and wondering if he could really eat everything that had been piled onto it. Turntapp had taken a bit of everything for his plate, and upon noticing Saps only taking little morsels of food for his own plate, had split half of his plate’s food with Saps.

“I don’t know if I can eat all this,” Saps admitted, a fork scraping at his plate. “I don’t want it to go to waste, but… I… I’ve kinda been subsisting on golden apples. I don’t… have that big an appetite anymore.”

“That’s alright. Eat as much as you can, and the rest will be reused somehow. Usually we feed scraps to chickens, unless they’re completely untouched, then they’re distributed.” Turntapp said, placing his hand on Saps’ in a soothing gesture. “We’ll go out when you’re done.”

“...Alright.” 

To Saps’ surprise, he’d managed to get down most of the meal before he started to feel sick and Turntapp had taken the plate away from him. That was probably in part due to the fact that the cooking itself was honestly some of the best he had had in years, and he’d said as much to Turntapp as they both left the dining hall. 

“I’m glad,” Turntapp said. “Is it similar to the food you had on Pandora?” 

“Better, I’d say,” Saps said truthfully. “I had to cook my own food on Pandora, on my island… I mean, Ish gave me some stuff sometimes, but I was mostly on my own.” 

“I see. I asked because— well, I figured you’d already had an idea, but most of the crops and livestock we have are from you.” Turntapp said, confirming Saps’ earlier assumption. “You’ve done more for me and my people than we could possibly repay. If things had been different, I would have liked to do something grander for you, but…” 

He trailed off, but Saps could easily complete the thought for him. “But I’m a wanted criminal across the whole of Pandora right now and they’re probably working to put a bounty out on my head to Yggdrasil as we speak,” Saps said, his voice coming out more bitter than he’d hoped. “It’s fine. I’m just glad that I was able to help at all.” 

The two of them fell silent as Turntapp took him through the halls once more, morning light streaming through the large windows of the citadel. It was only when they stepped outside, heading out towards the central courtyard that Turntapp began to speak again, pointing out structures and landmarks that would be of interest to Saps.

“We don’t have a lot of high towers, at least not ones that are accessible to the public,” Turntapp said as he motioned at a belltower in the distance. “Except that one. That is our chapel— don’t laugh!” 

“I don’t mean to, but… a nation of pagan god worshippers, building a chapel?” Saps smiled teasingly, “I wonder who came up with that idea.”

“I couldn’t tell you if I tried,” Turntapp chuckled, his strict facade breaking as well in the face of Saps’ mirth. “I think it was Zynn, actually. She liked the iconography well enough, and between training for battles and building up our nation, I found no reason to deny her.” 

Listening to Turntapp talk felt almost like stepping into one of those letters they had exchanged— the last one had been barely days ago, a final plea penned by the hands of a man who thought himself beyond saving— but it felt like a lifetime since Saps had received that first response, stood by the coastline of Luminara’s northmost beach. That beach which now housed the grave of their beloved president, and was sealed off to the general public because of its proximity to Yggdrasil.

“Are you alright?” Turntapp asked suddenly, turning kind eyes onto Saps, who startled at the question. “Ah— yes. Sorry, I was just… thinking, you know?” 

“Well, we’re at the training grounds now,” Turntapp told him, leading him onto the sandy grounds of the training arena. It was a small dome— nothing as big as the amphitheaters that Theria had hosted were like, but large enough to provide an adequate space for battle training. In the centre of the structure stood a woman with long black hair and diamond accessories glinting in the sunlight, her opponent a man in similarly dressed accessories. Saps wasn’t able to make out either of their features from this far, but there was something familiar about the man that made his stomach twist in apprehension.

“That’s Zynn,” Turntapp said, oblivious to Saps’ inner turmoil as he gestured at the woman. Saps watched as she raised her hand, counting down from three— and the moment she let her fist fall, her sword rose to parry the slash from her opponent. “She’s fighting Davarit right now.” 

Davarit. 

Realistically, Saps had known that he would have to see Davarit again. They had all made it out of the desert alive, after all, even if Saps had lost his dignity in the flee from Theria. But there was that underlying current of shame, the fact that he had planned someone’s death, and ran from it out of fear of retaliation.

He was scared, in part, because he didn’t know how Turntapp would react. Davarit and Zombta clearly hadn’t told him the full story, because if he had known… would he still look at Saps so kindly, like he was the man he had befriended, all that time ago through a letter? Would he still take Saps by the hand and bandage his wounds, as if he believed Saps deserved to be treated gently?

Flux had known. Snowbird had known. They had approved of it, once. But— clearly— after what they’d done to him, it was clear that they despised him for his conduct back in Theria.

What would Turntapp do, if he knew?

“And Zynn’s won, as expected,” Turntapp chuckled, bringing Saps back to reality as he looked into the arena, at Zynn standing above Davarit with her sword held to his neck. 

“Huh,” Saps said, a stirring of fear and respect in him. “Wow, I hadn’t thought Davarit would be defeated so easily.” 

“Well, Zynn’s the commander of the Peacekeepers for a reason,” Turntapp motioned for Saps to follow him down into the arena, and he reluctantly followed behind. “I’m not sure I could beat her ten out of ten times in a fight.” 

“Davarit, Zynn— this is Saparata,” Turntapp motioned to Saps, who pulled his cloak around himself tighter at the attention. His wings fluttered, unsure of whether or not it was the right time to shield himself from their notice. 

Davarit, for the most part, looked healthier than he had back when he was serving under the Sultan’s rule. He nodded at Saps respectfully, extending a hand out for him to shake. “Saparata of Theria. Nice to see you again.”

“…Davarit of the Sultanate,” Saps spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. In his peripheral, he was faintly aware of the way that Zynn and Turntapp were both exchanging glances at his and Davarit’s interaction. “It’s been a while. Have… have you and your brother been well?” 

“Better than we were before, that’s for sure,” Davarit shrugged. “The Covenant… isn’t perfect— apologies, sir— but it’s not the worst place to stay, considering we can’t— and won’t, at this point— leave Yggdrasil. I hear you’ve had your own problems with Pandora.”

Saps chuckled, the action sounding faint even to himself. “Well, if by problems you mean being betrayed by my closest friends and framed for the murder of several world leaders, then yeah, I guess.” 

Davarit made a face. “Not as lucky as we were before, huh?”

“...No, I suppose not.” Saps sighed, glad that nothing definitive had been spoken in front of their companions. Davarit was silent, seemingly contemplating something to say, before Zynn stepped in. 

“Saparata. It’s nice to finally meet you outside of secondhand accounts from our commander,” Zynn greeted him, shooting a look at Turntapp when she did so. “I’m Zynn, as you heard. I hope everything’s been treating you well?” 

Saps looked over at Turntapp, unsure of what to say. “Oh, uh— yeah. It’s… it’s been more than… what I expected. It’s only been a day, but I’ve already seen a lot of the things your nation has to offer…”

“Has Turntapp taken you to the markets yet?” Davarit chimed in, “That cloak looks similar to some of the ones we produce domestically. Most of it is made from wool, but the fur on top is actually spun from spider silk. You should go and take a look at some of the other stalls if you haven’t already.”

“What are you trying to chase them off for? You know you’re not winning another match against me,” Zynn narrowed her eyes at Davarit, who shrugged in response. “You’re not gonna give them privacy? Would you rather they start making kis—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Turntapp stepped in, raising a hand. “Zynn, Davarit— you two can go back to practicing. I’ll go show Saps around the market again.” 

Davarit raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Uh-huh. Have fun with that, sir.” 

As they left the arena, Saps finally let himself breathe properly, his mind searching for a conversation topic so as to not make their walk awkward. “Spider silk, huh?” He remembered what Davarit had told him, touching the trim of his cloak. “I didn’t know that was a thing that you could do.” 

“I hadn’t either, in all honesty,” Turntapp admitted, his voice low so that only Saps could truly hear him. “Do you like it, though?” 

“Yeah,” Saps said truthfully. “I’m really… I’m so thankful for everything you guys have done for me. To help me.” 

“Of course,” Turntapp said, sincerity shining in his voice. “I’ll do anything to make sure you’re safe.” 

Would you really? Even if you learnt what I’ve done? 

“Right,” Saps managed a smile. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough. I don’t think— I could ever repay you, or your nation for taking me in, when… when everyone else wants me dead.” 

“You don’t have to. You’ve already repaid us a thousand times over,” Turntapp told him, taking Sap’s hands into his own again. “You’re my… dear friend, Saps. I wouldn’t trade you for anything.” 

“...I wouldn’t trade you for anything, either.”

Chapter Text

Before he had become the dictator of the Covenant, Yggdrasil’s most feared army nation and the force of the Requiem Alliance, Turntapp had been a simple soldier in a squadron sent over from the remnants of an Empire long gone. Every day had been spent training and fighting— a slow, tortuous routine that had sharpened his senses but dulled his days; simultaneously dragging on the hours while giving him nothing of note to keep in memory. 

It was easy to forget that there had been a time so grey in his life, especially now that Saps was here. 

While the citizens of the Covenant still weren’t sure what to make of the Pandoran man who had come to live among them, even regardless of his fugitive identity, Saps had been well received enough in the markets and by the Peacekeepers that he had taken to taking trips into town by himself while Turntapp and Zynn were busy with politics; and sometimes, he would come back with merchandise and products that Turntapp himself had barely known existed. 

“Okay, before you protest— I know you’re not good with plants, but— don’t you think this tree’s pretty cute?” Saps had asked one day as he’d hoisted a small potted tree into Turntapp’s office with Davarit’s help. “It’s a bonsai tree. I got it from one of the market stalls— I think it was originally imported from Westhelm, who got it from Pandora.”

Turntapp had blinked at first, unsure of how to respond or what to say to his (admittedly sheepish looking) friend and soldier. “You got me a tree?”

“A bonsai tree,” Saps had said with a smile, his eyes gleaming with a sentimental shine as he’d looked at the plant. “It’s from the third island. From… from my home. I thought… it’d be nice to get you a piece of Pandora. Since I’m here now and I can’t really give you a tour… I don’t know. I thought you’d like it. Your office needed some decor, anyway— might as well add some greens, right?”

And, well— how exactly was Turntapp to say no to a gesture like that?

That same plant now sat on his windowsill, outlooking the entirety of the Covenant as it did so. Saps sometimes stopped by in the middle of a busy day to help him trim its leaves and branches, and it had become something of a routine— they would each get up in the morning, have breakfast together (where Turntapp would shovel food onto Saps’ plate in an attempt to get the fugitive to eat some more, and where he’d learn more about the unjust treatment Saps had faced in his early morning haze) and then split off, Saps being accompanied by Zombta and Davarit as he set out into town; before returning sometime mid-afternoon with a new trinket and stories to tell as Turntapp worked away.

It was like this— waiting for a visit from Saps while sitting in the middle of several piles of paperwork— that Zynn found him, news of disaster following in her wake.

“Oh? What’s this, a mini tree? I thought you weren’t good with plants,” Zynn said teasingly as she entered, her eyes immediately flicking to the small tree resting on the windowsill of Turntapp’s office. “Did a certain white-haired guest leave this here?” 

Turntapp sighed, not denying his own brown thumb. The tree was, in spite of him, alive— probably only due to Saps’ gentle gardening skill. “It’s called a bonsai tree. I’m not sure how to take care of it, in all honesty. And yes, Saps got it for me. He’s also the one who takes care of it, most days.” 

“That’s evident, sir,” Zynn chuckled, though she quickly sobered, a grave look on her face. “Have you heard of the news from Pandora?” 

“Not as much as I thought I would be. Why, did I miss something important?” 

“Triogami has news for you. And—” Zynn’s eyes grew hard for a moment, just enough to let the experienced warrior peak out from underneath the lighthearted second-in-command’s facade. “One of the current runners for Luminara’s presidency wants to make a trade deal.”

“One of the… you don’t mean…” Turntapp frowned, worry creasing his brow as he thought back to what he knew of the political situation on Pandora.

The dropping of the storm barrier between the two islands had opened up diplomatic relations between nations of both islands. While the Covenant preferred to stick to those they knew, it was still essential to keep in the loop of both island’s politics, and with the proximity between their worlds broken, it had become even more important to keep in the loop. That said, the biggest problem that Turntapp had instructed his diplomats and council members to keep an eye on in particular was Luminara— the nation who hid the group of terrorists that had framed Saps in their very own government.

The man who had framed Saps had been demoted by the time that he had fled Pandora for Yggdrasil and the Covenants protection. When Saps had left, Luminara’s president was still proudly leading their country. Now that ThreeBelow had been disposed of, though…

The likelihood of that rat being the one to take over made Turntapp madder than he could describe.

Zynn simply gave him an apologetic look, clearly unenthused to be the one who had to break the news. “It seems like the new favourite for president is Fluixon, sir. We don’t have to humor them, of course, but…”

“Why do they want to speak with us specifically?” Turntapp asked, his voice steadier than he felt. “I thought that Luminara was the staunchest… opposition… to the island unification that had been suggested at their first meeting.”

“...Officially, they asked for Silence trims from the Warden that the Peacekeeper squad currently stationed in Westhelm killed some time ago,” Zynn answered, her words chosen carefully. Their eyes met as she sighed, a frown working its way onto her face. “Unofficially, there may be reason that Fluixon and his crew suspect us of harboring Saps.” 

Turntapp’s hand tightened into a fist. 

That was right— Saps had mentioned before, not that long ago, of the letter that Fluixon had intercepted between the two of them. The one that had exposed his true identity and let Flux learn of the budding friendship between them— the letter that Saps believed might have been the catalyst to Flux’s idea to kill the Pandoran leaders. 

The letter that had started it all— their friendship and Saps’ downfall.

It was selfish, but deep down, a small part of Turntapp had been glad for it. He hated seeing Saps so broken down and hurt, but the fact that it meant he could have Saps for himself had made a deep sort of satisfaction pool in his chest.

Now, though, there was only a bitter taste left.

“...Zynn. You know I’m no politician, and I trust your judgment on this matter above anyone else on our council. If I were to decide on my own about this matter…” Turntapp’s eyes drifted to the bonsai tree on his windowsill, an image of the man who had gifted it to him in the back of his mind. “...I’m afraid this situation would turn much more personal than it should. So, what do you think we should do?”

His second in command stood stiffly, contemplating. “...I don’t believe there’s any reason we need to engage. The rest of Yggdrasil is well aware of our citizens and their grudge toward Pandora… Of course, we also don’t have a reason to not turn down the meeting, at least in Pandora’s eyes. It is ultimately up to you, sir. We can always send in a diplomat.”

“That would probably be the best course of action,” Turntapp frowned, uncomfortable with the idea of sending one of his soldiers out to meet Fluixon, even if it was only something as small as a meeting.. “I don’t think I’d be particularly… polite company… in their presence.”

Zynn nodded, “I understand, sir. And as for Triogami’s news…”

“I’ll sort that out myself, so don’t worry about it,” Turntapp said. “Give the order to our diplomats, and see what Luminara has to say.” 

“I’ll have it done, sir.” Zynn left, and Turntapp was left with his thoughts.

Luminara having a hunch that they were harbouring Saps, especially given the letter made it… not impossible to keep Saps safe in the Covenant, but if Fluixon managed to win his people over and become the actual president of that border state, it could mean ill tidings. After all, unlike Yggdrasil, who had become somewhat unstabilized after their last Blue Cross meeting— Turntapp could admit that was partly his fault too, for authorizing a genocide, but the Lingulini Mafia had been the start of the fracture between the nations of Yggdrasil— Pandora was at least begrudgingly united. 

Turntapp had no illusions about what a war against Pandora would mean. 

He didn’t find himself caring much of the lives of those who lived in Elysium or the other border nations, but the other nations and citizens under the Requiem Alliance would be caught in the crossfire if a war were to break out, and— most importantly of all— Saps’ safety and security in his place in the Covenant would be at risk. 

Saps was already seen as an outsider in the Covenant: regardless of how well the Peacekeepers had taken to him, it was the people’s intent that mattered the most, in the end. The very foundation of the Covenant was its loyalty— a value shared between both citizens and government. If the Covenant found out that Turntapp was risking war to keep Saps here…

…Turntapp considered the idea. His Peacekeepers, his elite soldiers, had taken to Saps like moths to a flame. If anything happened, he was sure that he could convince them to protect Saps above him.

But was that what Saps would want?

Turntapp tried to picture that bright eyed, kind-hearted, beautiful man who had written to him with the utmost love and care for the world he lived in. Would that Saparata, the one who had forgiven him for hiding his identity, who had gone against his ‘friend’s’ advice and kept speaking to him because he felt they were already friends— 

Would he hate Turntapp if he found out? Would that Saparata look at him with disdain instead of care, disappointment where there was once compassion?

…He couldn’t let that happen. 

The idea came to him a week later, while on an outing to the outer cities of the Covenant with Zynn, Saps and the twin guards. This time of year was the beginning of preparations for Brepfest, and though the festival itself was a month or so away, the citizens of the Requiem Alliance had already begun preparations.

“So what is Brepfest, exactly?” Saps asked, excitement dancing in his eyes as he surveyed the streets lined with colourful banners and stands, children running around their parents as they tried to set up tents and flagpoles. “Is it some sort of cultural festival?”

“Similar,” Turntapp shrugged. “It’s been a tradition on Yggdrasil for a while now. Started with Nevermore, and then it eventually spread out to everyone in the Requiem Alliance. Zombta would know more about it, he’s spent time stationed in Nevermore before.” 

“Eh? So we’re ratting me out now, sir?” Zombta groaned theatrically, which made everyone in their little group burst into laughter. “Alright, yeah, I have spent a lot of time stationed in other nations. Nevermore was one of the first nations settled on Yggdrasil, before refugees and soldiers from other places like us started to roll in and make our own homes here; so they had their own traditions from back before everyone else arrived. One of those traditions was Brepfest. Apparently, it was started by this one guy who always wore revealing clothes and made some of his fellow citizens uncomfortable, and they voted to exile him— but on the day of his trial, he performed a really nice song that made them reconsider it.”

“...So did they exile him?” Zynn asked after a moment of silence.

“Oh, yeah. But they made a festival after him, so I guess it wasn’t all bad after all? I did hear that he died in one of the caves off of the coast because he couldn’t drink the boiling water, which sucks.” 

“Sounds kinda gruesome,” Saps commented. “I remember we used to hold lots of festivals back in Theria, too. And the… the Sultanate, as well.” 

“Oh, I remember that,” Davarit chimed in. “One of the biggest festivals we used to have in the desert was the Solstice festival, twice a year in summer and winter. Zom almost drowned during one of them.”

“How the hell did you manage to drown in the desert?” 

“We lived on a desert island, Zynn, half of the festival was spent down by the fucking coast!”

As the three guards started to argue, Saps drew in closer to Turntapp, looping their arms together as Turntapp subtly swept the side of his cloak over the two of them. “Too loud?” 

“Just a bit,” Saps shrugged. “It’s more what they’re talking about, really. I don’t… I don’t like to think about Theria too much.” 

“That’s fair. I don’t talk much about where we came from, either,” Turntapp said, chuckling when Saps looked over at him with curiosity. “The Covenant was built from the ground up with my squadron and some citizens of Nevermore and the other established colonies that decided to join us. We were abandoned by our Emperor back home, so we decided to just create our own nation here.” 

“I see…” Saps murmured, “Do you ever… do you ever think of your previous nation?”

“Sometimes.” Turntapp hummed. “I found out a few years into settling down here that the Emperor of my former nation actually passed away, which was part of the reason why we got no aid or followups once we made our way here. I feel bad for the guy, but… it doesn’t linger on my mind much anymore. And I think having to lead a nation as big as the Covenant is also a part of it— I think I feel a bit of sympathy for the guy.” 

Saps nodded, then hesitated for a moment. His wings folded on the sides of his face, a clear sign that he was feeling nervous. “That makes sense. You’re not… it isn’t stressful for you to have me around, is it?”

“What? No,” Turntapp frowned, “What gave you that idea?” 

“Just…” Saps shrugged, his eyes fixed on a faraway wall. “Well, I’m Pandoran. And a wanted criminal. Even if everyone’s… alright with my presence here because I have the funds to pay, it’s still pretty clear that they’re not… well, you know.” 

Turntapp followed Saps’ line of sight to a frayed and torn wanted poster of Saps’ face, dressed in his Pandoran clothing— flowing white and red robes, the ones that he had worn as he’d run to Yggdrasil with enemy forces at his back. His eyes narrowed and he started to walk to the poster, only for Saps to stop him with a tug on his arm. 

“It’s fine. I just— I figured I’d let you know, right? Since— I might be a danger if I stay here, I thought…” 

“You aren’t a danger. We’re all perfectly equipped to deal with the kind of mutinies that will arise from your presence here.” Turntapp said, even though it was true that the Covenant wasn’t the safest place for Saps to stay, given his citizens and their animosity toward the people of Pandora. 

“I couldn’t place you and your people in danger. Not— not again,” Saps said the last part of his sentence in a hushed whisper. Turntapp was only able to pick up on it because they were standing so close together, Saps was practically covered in Turntapp’s cloak. 

Turntapp opened his mouth to speak, to give Saps some other sort of assurance that nothing would happen, even if he knew that was a low possibility— and then it occurred to him.

“Well, in that case… what about that tour I promised you, then?”

Chapter Text

For someone who had grown up under the unforgiving gaze of the desert sun, Saps considered himself more tolerant to heat than the typical layperson. Upon entering Westhelmian territory, though, he found himself reeling from just how hot the atmosphere was. He figured it had to be the proximity to the Volcano— after all, not even on its hottest days had Theria been this unbearable to breathe in, and he was wearing the same robes he had worn when he was still living in Pandora.

“I don’t remember the weather being this bad the last time we came,” Turntapp was sweating too, despite having swapped out the warm cloaks and furs he wore in the Covenant for more breathable fabric— imported from the very nation they were visiting. “I wonder how Infernus is holding up, if it’s this hot in Westhelm.”

“I’m guessing the heat is a volcano thing, then?” Saps muttered, holding a hand above his head to shield himself from the sun. A quick glance of the other Covenant members who’d come along with them (Zynn, Triplelion and Davarit, as Zombta had decided to stay back to help manage the other troops) showed that they were also doing the same.

“It’s definitely a volcano thing,” Zynn frowned. “But even last time we went to Infernus, it wasn’t that bad, and that was only a month or two before you arrived.” 

“Maybe it’s going to erupt soon,” Triplelion shrugged, ignoring the look that Zynn shot him. “What was it that the Emperor of Westhelm said at that one Blue Cross meeting? If you’re not prepared for the eruption, you might as well just roll over and die! Totally stable guy, you know.”

“Well, that bodes well for our meeting,” Saps sighed, rubbing his temple. 

“Even if he doesn’t deign to hear you out, he’ll at least humor us for a bit,” Turntapp said, patting Saps on the shoulder reassuringly. In the hellish heat, the light tap felt like hot coals against his shoulder, but knowing it was from Turntapp made it more bearable. “Schpood is unreasonable, for sure, but he’s not the leader of Yggdrasil’s biggest nation for nothing. He knows not to anger people he can have for allies.”

“Which is us, by the way, in case you were confused,” Triplelion said, causing both Zynn and Davarit to elbow him at the same time. Saps laughed quietly at the display— it was sweet, the way that they were trying to ease his worries. He hadn’t experienced this sort of easy trust and camaraderie since… well. He didn’t like to think about it.

Friends he trusted, planting a death trap in his ceiling. His little brother, who might have loved him once, but not anymore—

“Also, Saps, the guards might ask to see if we’re carrying anything on us,” Zynn said, snapping Saps out of his thoughts. “They wouldn’t rummage through your inventory or anything, but we’re usually not allowed to bring weapons.”

“But you guys…” Saps looked at Turntapp, who had at least three visible knives strapped to his person, then back at Zynn and the others, who had even more visible weapons on them. Triplelion was trying not to laugh while Davarit’s arm was on his, very clearly trying to cut off circulation to his hand. “Uh…?”

“They’ll make an exception for us,” Turntapp said definitively as his Peacekeepers burst into quiet laughter behind them. “We may not be the largest nation in Yggdrasil, but not even Westhelm would risk angering us. Your weapons will be fine, probably, as long as they verify that you don’t have any materials for traps on you, like dynamite or…” He trailed off, his eyes watching Saps intently. 

“Or dripstone,” Saps said with an only slightly bitter smile. “Yeah, okay, I get it.”

When they finally managed to make it to the gates of the inner city, though, the guards didn’t even end up stopping them before their eyes widened at the sight of Turntapp and the Peacekeepers. 

“We’re just here for a day visit,” Turntapp told them, and Saps saw one of the guards breathe a visible sigh of relief. They didn’t bother going through any of the items Turntapp or the Peacekeepers had brought, but they did take a look through Saps’ bags. To no avail, considering Saps had only brought a few pieces of food with him.

“You’re free to go,” one of the guards said, and like that, they were passing into Westhelm. 

Before Westhelm, the greatest Empire that Saps had ever seen was Aculon— on the edge of a snowy beach, he could see rising towers and buildings that teetered over the horizon. He had never gone past the outer perimeter of Aculon, though— there had been one too many warnings of the fates that awaited those who entered the land of Eternal Snow for little him to risk going in. Westhelm was, in a way, similar to Aculon— if Saps looked upward, he would first catch a glimpse of towering structures and buildings before he could see the sky. 

Where it differed from Aculon, though, was the people. Even from the outskirts, Saps had been able to hear the cheerful chatter of citizens going about their everyday life— now that they were in the streets of Westhelm, he could hear people bartering and exchanging greetings, the sweet songs of street musicians and vendors advertising their stands. It was similar to the market districts of the Covenant, and even similar to the way people used to talk so freely in Pandora— well, before Jophiel died.

“If it’s too much, just let me know,” Turntapp whispered. Saps hadn’t even realized they’d gotten so close all of a sudden— the other man was now leaning down toward him, a hand resting gently on his waist so as to not aggravate the heat further as they walked. “Westhelm is a very… loud nation.”

“I can tell,” Saps laughed quietly. “It’s… kind of nice. I can’t say I would live here, though.”

“No?” Turntapp raised an eyebrow, a silent question on his lips. 

“It’s too much like home,” Saps said, hoping that would explain everything without having to actually explain. From the way Turntapp’s eyes had softened, he figured he’d understood. “I prefer the Covenant.”

“Really?” Turntapp cleared his throat, drawing away slightly. Saps noted with an inkling of satisfaction that there was a blush of red on his face— though, of course, that could just be due to the hot sun above Westhelm. Saps hoped it wasn’t.

“Really,” Saps said, and he delighted in the way Turntapp turned to cover his face with one hand. Even if Emperor Schpood turned him out now, with nothing to show for it, and he couldn’t go back to the Covenant, he was at least happy to have witnessed this side of Turntapp.

“We’re here, sir,” Davarit called from behind them, as they neared the entryway of the Westhelm Citadel. It was a towering building, composed of marble columns and intricately carved arches; and as they passed into it, Saps sighed with relief from the cool air inside. Turntapp led him forward and toward a window where a woman sat scribbling over forms, a wooden sign above her head reading Quartermaster. She looked up as they approached, her face first friendly, then alarmed. 

“Ah— Lord Turntapp,” the quartermaster blinked, “and… and the… criminal from Pandora…?”

“His name is Saparata,” Turntapp told her, his voice firm enough that it made her almost yelp. 

“Ah— of course! Right. I didn’t, I didn’t mean to be rude…” She stammered. “I— uh. What did… what did you guys need today, um, if I may ask?”

“I’m looking for an audience with Emperor Schpood, if that’s alright?” Saps said. The quartermaster nodded, scribbling something down in her notepad furiously. 

“I’ll alert him as soon as possible, just— stay here. There’s, uh, a seating area over there if you want to sit down and wait. It might take a while.”

Saps looked at Turntapp and the Peacekeepers as the woman left. “So, that doesn’t bode well.”

Davarit shrugged. “Well, you never know…?” 

“If worse comes to worse, I do have several weapons on me,” Triplelion said, which earned him an elbow from both Davarit and Zynn, again. 

“No one is going to be committing any acts of treason today,” Turntapp said definitively, levelling a strict look at both Davarit and Triplelion. Saps almost wanted to laugh at Davarit’s offended expression, but just then, the quartermaster rushed back to the window, a very grumpy looking Emperor Schpood with her. 

“He was in the storage room, so I found him really quickly,” the quartermaster explained as the Emperor exited her booth, his guards trailing behind him. “I’ll, uh, leave the conversation to you, uh, your Imperial Majesty…”

“Yes, yes, shoo now,” Schpood said with a flick of his hand as he approached their group, stopping right before Turntapp. “Turntapp! So nice to see you again, I see you’ve brought a guest with you…?”

“He’s the reason we’re here, actually,” Turntapp said, before turning to Saps and giving him an expectant look. 

“Ah— right,” Saps startled, looking up to meet Schpood’s gaze. 

Turntapp had told him, once or twice, about the Emperor before. He’d described him as a man who was, perhaps, not exactly in his right mind— but you certainly wouldn’t know it, just from looking at him. He was more intimidating than Saps had expected, though considering he’d spent the past month of his life among soldiers who had tested the limits of his fighting prowess, whatever fear he would have inspired in a regular citizen was considerably dulled in Saps.

He’d spent time around other terrifying, dictatorial emperors before. The last one had gone down just as easily as any citizen. Not to say that he planned on plotting an assassination on Westhelm’s emperor, especially not when he and Turntapp seemed friendly, but if things went poorly, Saps had only gotten better with a sword since he’d come to the Covenant.

“I wanted to ask, your Imperial Majesty, if I could find refuge here in Westhelm—”

“You’re Saparata, aren’t you?” Schpood cut him off, something dark in his expression that Saps recognizes. It’s the same sort of expression that Turntapp wore when he first confessed to him, what Flux had done. “Aren’t you the guy that killed all those leaders over Pandora?” 

“He didn’t do it,” Turntapp steps in beside him, a firm hand on Saps’ waist keeping him steady. “You of all people should know better than to listen to the propaganda that Pandora makes.”

Schpood’s face twists, then flattens. “Well,” he said in a carefully controlled voice, “you’ll have to forgive me, for not jumping to believe that someone who saw ten people die in front of him and ran away instead of facing justice could possibly be innocent of the murders that everyone says he committed. But I get it, Turntapp, I do. I just don’t want this man anywhere near my nation. You get it, right?”

Turntapp’s eyes narrowed, like he was about to say something to Schpood, but Saps stopped him before he could. “That’s alright, your Imperial Majesty. I understand. Turntapp, let’s just go.”

“Are you sure?” Turntapp turned to him, frowning. Saps just nodded. “Alright. Fine, then. Schpood… Maybe next time, you should try talking to people with sense.” 

Schpood just snorted, waving them away as his entourage watched. “Whatever you say, mate. I’m not about to get my head split open by dripstone anytime soon.”

It was lucky that Saps and Zynn managed to pull Turntapp away before he could say anything, because he was sure that an argument between two of Yggdrasil’s greatest leaders would lead to nothing good.

“Where else is there to go?” Saps worried his bottom lip in between his teeth, frowning as he pulled at his cloak. It had gotten colder after they’d left Westhelm territory, and as Davarit and Triplelion had asked to go back to the Covenant, it left only him, Turntapp and Zynn to wander the landscape of Yggdrasil. 

“There is the Reqiuem alliance…” Zynn trailed off. “You might have better luck with them, since we’re allied with them.” 

“That’s true, though it’s ultimately up to you,” Turntapp turned to Saps, who blinked at him. “We’re closest to the Al Qarasina Pirates as of right now. They’re the naval nation of Requiem, which… granted, doesn’t see much use, considering most of the water besides the Southern shore is boiling, but now that the borders have dropped, maybe they’ll find a way to branch out to Pandora.”

Saps chuckled, though he was a little nervous. While he trusted Turntapp unequivocally, clearly stating that their nation was one of pirates was… well, at the very least, a little sketchy. “I don’t know if I’ll stay.”

“It’s fine. There’s still plenty more nations we can ask,” Turntapp said, as if it were really that simple. “I don’t like Elysium myself, but they’re a nation of peace. I don’t think they’d turn away someone seeking asylum… or at least, I hope they wouldn’t turn away someone seeking asylum.”

“Mm…” Saps thought back to Theria. “I’d hope so, too. But I’d understand if they didn’t.” 

They continued the rest of the way through a dry, dusty valley of sand and dirt. It took a while before they actually reached what resembled a coastal town, not unlike the ones he had seen on the edge of the Sultanate’s territory. “Ah, Lord Turntapp!” A man in a keffiyah and traditional clothes that resembled the clothing of the desert greeted the three of them, his eyebrow raising at the sight of Saps. Saps felt a chill of recognition go down his spine, but he stayed quiet as the man appraised them. “Ser Zynn, and… this is…?”

“Saparata,” he introduced himself, noting the way the eye’s eyebrows drew together before he nodded. So, he does know who I am. But is that from Pandora, or is it from Theria? “I see. I’m Zaanga, one of Al Qarasina’s Seashanties.” 

“Seashanties?”

“Diplomats,” Zaanga said blithely, “as you people would put it. I’m guessing this isn’t a leisure trip for you three?” 

“Saparata here is looking for a place to stay,” Turntapp answered, making Zaanga raise an eyebrow. “I suggested we come here as we were already nearing Al Qarasina territory. Could we speak to your new leader?”

“I see…” Zaanga nodded. “Yeah, I’ll take you to him. We actually only elected him a little while ago, after poor ol’ Bucket bit the dust.” 

“Their leader Noblebucket accidentally mined down into the lava layer of the mines a few months before the borders dropped,” Zynn leaned in to whisper to Saps. “We were surprised it’d taken this long for them to elect a new leader, but at least they’ve got him now.” 

“I see,” Saps said as Zaanga led them through the streets of Al Qarasina. 

Al Qarasina was a much smaller nation than either the Covenant or Westhelm, though perhaps it was unfair to compare an Empire to a small faction of pirates whose leader was so unawares of his surroundings that he’d mined into the deadly lava layer of Yggdrasil’s terrain. People were milling about, chatting and working as the sound of seagulls echoed overhead. If he closed his eyes and let himself lean further into Turntapp’s steady body, he could almost pretend that he wasn’t a wanted criminal searching for a place to stay that wouldn’t endanger the only safety he’d known for months.

“I’ll go get our leader so he can meet with you guys,” Zaanga said as they stopped outside a courtyard-like building. “Just… stay there, if you could. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know it’s inconvenient, but it’s sort of a culture thing— you’re not allowed to move until Lord Gojo grants you the right to. Oh, and if you could, maybe take off your armor. I’m not expecting Lord Turntapp and Ser Zynn to, obviously, but it’s a show of disrespect for you to keep wearing it.” He eyed Saps’ armor, shrugging as he did so. “I’ll get you proper Al Qarasina dress instead too, so it’s really a net gain, if anything.”

“Ah… right, sure,” Saps said haltingly. This situation was giving all the wrong signs, but what was there for him to do? Disobey and be punished? He reached to unbuckle the chestplace, but Turntapp’s hand on his arm stopped him. The other man stepped in front of him, as if to hide him from view of the diplomat. 

“Surely you don’t need to watch him do it. Go ahead and fetch your leader, Zaanga. We have no time to waste.” 

Saps couldn’t see the expression Zaanga was making from where he was hidden behind Turntapp’s back, but from the next words he spoke, he could tell Zaanga was somewhere between disbelieving and terrified. “R-right… of course, sir, I didn’t mean to…”

“Go, now.” Turntapp’s voice was steady, compared to the patter of footsteps as Zaanga ran away, presumably to go inside to retrieve their leader. Once he left, though, Turntapp whirled around, a hand on Saps’ shoulder. “Hide, now,” he whispered. “Get away from the courtyard. You have to go— back to the Covenant or not, you have to get out of here.” 

Saps frowned. “What? Why, is something happening?”

“I’ll explain after,” Turntapp said hastily. “Just— Zynn, go along with him.” 

“What?” Zynn and Saps spoke at the same time. “It’s— it’s fine, Zynn can stay here. I’ll go. I don’t mind going alone.” 

Turntapp frowned, but he had nothing more to say. “Just go quickly. Now, before Zaanga comes back.” 

Saps wasted no time in leaving the courtyard at Turntapp’s request, his cloak drawn so tightly around him he was sure no one could even see his face anymore. It was clear that Turntapp had sensed some sort of threat from Zaanga— perhaps because of his proximity to the Al Qarasina pirates, or maybe even because he’d noticed the subtle animosity between Zaanga and Saps. Whatever the case, he didn’t doubt Turntapp’s judgment, but… it made him uneasy to leave them there alone.

Saps hunkered down near a pile of barrels just outside the courtyard, his breath coming out short and fast from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Zynn and Turntapp both stood still for a couple of minutes until the door finally swung open again, and out came Zaanga, and another man, whose appearance made Saps’ blood run cold.

Isn’t that—? 

“Turntapp,” Sultan Storminghell’s lookalike hissed as he stepped out onto the terrace. “What the fuck are you doing, huh? Stopping us from killing that man? Are you serious? Do you even know who he is, what he’s done?”

“I know that he’s innocent of any and all crimes Pandora has accused him of,” Turntapp answered calmly, but the answer only seemed to aggravate the doppelganger more. 

“I do not care what the people of the rich island think! They are below us! Their opinion does not matter to me. You know what I care about? That man, Saparata of Theria— the very terrorist you just let escape— killed our Sultan! He killed my father! And you’re going to just— you’re just going to let him run? Just like that?”

“You had no problems when I took in Davarit and Zombta.” 

Storminghell’s son— oh, Ish, he had a son— scoffed. “Davarit and Zombta are two loose cannons. I advised father to lay them off and he didn’t listen. That, at least, I will grant you clemency for. But Saparata? That man is a criminal. He ordered an assassanation on my father in an attempt to consolidate power across the desert, and when it failed at first, he ran like a coward. That, at least, should tell you of his track record. Even if you think that the killings on Pandora are of more importance than what he did to my nation, there’s no way he isn’t guilty of those either! Grow some sense, Turntapp. Will you really continue to harbor a criminal like that?”

“I’ve told you already, I believe that he is innocent. I don’t care for what he did in the past, especially since Davarit and Zombta have already listed their reasons for conspiring to kill Storminghell, and none of them involved ‘consolidation of power’. You’re being unreasonable—”

“Unreasonable is what you’re doing, Turntapp. You have received hundreds of complaints at this point, I’m sure, and your citizens are loyal to you only because they’re terrified of what you will do if they even suggest casting out your bout of bad luck—” The man’s voice cut off, wheezing. Saps couldn’t see what was happening, but from the sounds of choking, he could imagine.

“I will always do what’s best for my people,” Turntapp said. “They are loyal to me because I have earned their loyalty. Do not ever attempt to imply that I don’t care for them again. Why else do you think I would be searching for a place to drop Saparata off?” 

“Prove it, then. Call him back here— I know you told him to run. Call him back, and let me kill him.”

Saps’ blood ran cold. There was no way—

“Fine. Zynn, go. If you want an innocent man’s blood on your hands, all for the sake of proving your ego right, then you can kill him yourself. But I’ll tell you right now, Saparata does not deserve to die.”

“And yet here you are, sending him to me, anyway.”

There was no reply, except the sound of a sword drawing, and at that, Saps got to his feet, his cloak wrapped so tightly around him the beating of his heart felt amplified a dozen times over in his head.

Of course. He believes me, he thinks I’m innocent, he trusts me— but it’s not enough. Of course it isn’t. In Turntapp’s shoes, he— he probably would have done the same too. 

Of course he would have. He would have.

(But he wouldn’t have, would he? Saps had always been like that— a friend over a thousand people. He had chosen himself and his loved ones over his nation back then. He would have done it here, too. That Turntapp wasn’t… it was fine. He was just acting in the Covenant’s best interests.)

And yet, it felt like a betrayal anyway. Even though Turntapp had done nothing wrong, even though any other person would have done the same in his shoes— it felt like that damn trap in his home, a betrayal of his trust, all over again. 

It’s fine. I’ll save him the trouble.

Saps ran as fast as he could through the backstreets of Al Qarasina, until he reached the expanse of flat desert land that bracketed the naval nation to the Eastern shore of Yggdrasil, and then, he ran a little further. It was too familiar, here. He couldn’t let himself die here— not in the desolate sands of the desert.

No, Saps figured as he saw the image of snowy peaks in the distant horizon. No, I’ll die here. In the snow. 

The first step to falling is to make sure you can do it properly. Saps’ wings were damaged and torn, sure, but they could still fly. The month he’d spent in the Covenant— a memory that now felt bittersweet, another home taken from him— had seen his feathers growing back in, more clean and neat than they were in the time he had been hiding out in the forests of southern Pandora. Granted, he hadn’t ever gone flying with the new flight feathers that had grown in— it was too cold to fly most days, back there— but there had been the option to, at any rate.

He didn’t want to give himself an option to opt out this time.

Saps hadn’t brought anything with him to Al Qarasina besides the satchel of food from earlier in the day, so there was nothing for him to properly clip his wings with. Improperly, there were a good number of sharp rocks in the tundra, and Saps had learned to make do a long time ago. 

It had hurt, but at least it meant he would fall without a chance to fly back up.

The second step— well, he needed a tower.

Saps wasn’t sure if it was just because he hadn’t touched snow for a while, or just because Yggdrasil’s snowy mountain peaks had some sort of special quality to them— but it felt colder than normal snow as he packed together mounds of snow, his frostbitten fingers turning black and purple with every moment he spent packing together mounds of snow. 

Faintly, a memory resurfaced from the back of his mind as he gathered more, towering up higher and higher into the sky. Theria had been dry and hot, a place where the winters were long and cold but never produced any snow, the sun still shining even as its people bundled themselves up in thick clothes imported from the Plains districts. Fluixon, who hailed from the Aculon Empire— the nation of snow— had escaped to Theria so young he almost didn’t remember it anymore by the time they became of age, but he would always tease Saps and Snowbird about their inexperience.

“Your name is Snowbird and you’ve never seen snow before?” Flux had laughed, much to Snowbird’s chagrin. He would hide himself behind Saps, trusting his older brother to defend him— but at the end of the day, when they both went home, Snowbird would always beg their father for a chance to visit the Empire.

“Just the outskirts, I promise. I won’t go anywhere near the citadel. I just want to see what it looks like. I just— I want to know.”

“It’s only safe if your brother goes with you,” His parents had replied, so sure of the trust and love they had for their sons that they knew Saps would always protect his brother above himself.

And yet Snowbird hadn’t felt the same, had he? 

Everyone starts out liking you until they learn the kind of person you are. Snowbird, Flux, Turntapp…

Back then, when the three of them had travelled to Aculon, Flux stubbornly hauling himself over alongside them with a thin veneer of worry he didn’t think either of them would see through; Saps had let himself relax, present in the company of people he thought he could trust. And he could, back then, when they were still young and Flux’s father hadn’t yet gone mad with power, and Saps hadn’t had to lead a country while he was still freshly eighteen. When things were still peaceful in the desert and the beginnings of a civil war hadn’t yet ripped the islands of the Pangaea Archipelago apart.

He could still trust them back then, back when they still loved each other. Back when Snowbird would’ve taken a look at the letters he’d written to Turntapp and teased him for his newfound friendship instead of seeing it as a threat, something that needed to be taken care of by force. Back when Flux was less paranoid, less like the man who he had so hated and had run away from to start a new life. 

Back when things were easier, and the snow at his feet had been on the ground, used to make angel figures with his best friend and his brother, instead of towering in the sky with two broken wings as he wondered where he’d gone wrong.

Well. No, he knew where he’d gone wrong. That first day, when Flux had found the bottle he’d sent to Turntapp…

“I guess you were right after all, Flux,” Saps murmured as he clenched his hands together, his thin cloak barely able to keep him from shivering in the elements. “He left me, in the end. But then again, this was all your fault to begin with. So— I guess you won, after all.”

He sucked in a breath, looking down as he tried to decide whether or not to make the tower higher or if it was at an appropriate height to die on impact— until a bright light materialized in front of him, a man appearing from thin air right in front of him.

“Ish?” Saps startled backwards, narrowly avoiding almost falling off his tower as he did so. He saw a brief glance of what looked like concern flit across the god’s face before Ish situated himself on the edge of the tower, effectively blocking one of the exits Saps had made for himself. “Why are you—”

“Were you going to jump?” Ish asked. Saps just stared at the god— his face was impassive, but his mouth was drawn into a deep frown. 

“I…” Saps gripped one of the columns of the tower for support. “I don’t know. Maybe.” 

Ish was silent, his eyes watching Saps carefully. Under his careful pressure, Saps felt almost like he had to justify his behaviour.

“It’s just—” He sighed, clenching his hands together to try and preserve any modicum of warmth he could get. “I— where is there for me to go, if Turntapp can’t take me? I…” 

It was his trust in me that kept me going. Without him, I might as well just lie down and let Flux and Snowbird and their Conspiracy come and put me out of my misery. Saps wants to say, but he stops himself before he reveals too much in front of the god.

“If you proved yourself innocent, you two wouldn’t have to be doing this little goose chase all around Yggdrasil,” Ish told him, the god’s impassive expression spelling out how unimpressed he was with Saps for this whole ordeal. “Could you step away from the edge?”

“I…” Saps looked back behind him, then back at the god, who raised an eyebrow. He stepped back into the centre of the tower, now face to face with the god. 

“Are you really going to let Fluixon ruin that little friendship of yours? You’re going to let it ruin your relationship with Turntapp?” Ish asked, a bottle appearing in his hands. “Isn’t he the one you went against the storm barrier for? The one that let you survive this long, the one that protected you from the hatred of Pandora and Yggdrasil when no one else would?” 

Ish’s voice lowered to a gentle whisper. “Are you really willing to let him find your body?”

“What—” Saps blinked, as Ish placed a hand on his shoulder, turning him to look at the figure in the distance, barely visible in the harsh winds. “Why is he—?”

Ish just smiled.

“It seems someone has chosen their person over their nation.”

Chapter Text

Snow crunched underneath Turntapp’s boots as he trudged further into the tundra, one hand raised to at least attempt to shield his eyes from the unrelenting sleet of snow and hail. The howling winds of Yggdrasil’s eternal winter impeded him only slightly, intent as he was on making his way to the distant tower that rose above the peaks of the mountains. The footsteps he was following were barely faded, but it had been only an hour since Saps had run away, and already the snow had begun to cover his faint tracks. Had he been any later, Turntapp wasn’t sure if he would have been able to track the man down.

And that brought a sinking feeling to his stomach like no other. It wasn’t the fact that he would be admitting incompetence in his military expertise, but rather that— if he hadn’t seen the footprints before they’d been buried in snow, if Saps had flown ahead instead of running on unsteady, already injured feet, if he hadn’t found that stone and followed the traces of bloodied feathers stomped into unnatural mounds of snow— 

If he didn’t manage to find Saps, and he— if he… if something happened to him, it would be all Turntapp’s fault.

“Is that him?” Turntapp muttered to himself as he squinted ahead, barely able to see more than a bright light shining from the top of the tower. “Is he—?” Alive? Safe? Has he jumped?

Am I too late? 

The sinking feeling in his chest that came with unfounded fear moved Turntapp’s legs quicker, his muscles burning, and yet, he could feel no pain except the iron grip of fear in his chest. He didn’t dare look down or around, cold unease pumping through his veins at the possibility of spotting more splotches of red in the vast snowy landscape. If he had thrown everything away for this, all to be too late in the end anyway—

(There in his office sat a bundle of unsent letters, each one more sincere than the last. I hope you’re safe. I hope when you see me, you won’t feel fearful. I hope you can call me a friend, better and more trusted than the ones who turned their backs on you. He’d never looked at them after he’d written them, too afraid to bring those words to life. It had only gotten worse when Saps had arrived, broken down and dirt-stained, but still himself.

Still the same man Turntapp had found himself captivated by with every letter he received, holding onto his every word like they were holy verses.) 

If he drove Saps to death now, if he had broken that last bit of him down, just for the sake of posturing to a man whose blood now stained his hands, Turntapp would never forgive himself.

So he ran through the snow, his steps growing more and more frantic as the winds picked up their pace and hid the last traces of blood-stained footsteps— until he found himself at the foot of the tower, staring up at the ragged looking man standing above him, illuminated by the glow of an invisible god keeping him company. It was unbecoming of him— completely unfounded and against his own Covenant’s law, to abandon his nation’s ideals for only one person.

But it was Saps. 

Saparata, who had sent him little gifts of life that had allowed the Covenant to bloom into the world power it had become over time. Saparata, who had shown him humanity when he had believed in a nonexistent enemy. Saparata, who was sweet and kind and trusting to a fault, who looked like the sun when he smiled and held Turntapp’s hand like he was something soft and not the reassembled pieces of a man who had more blood on his hands than in his veins.

Saps, who was still standing above him, who was looking at him with disbelieving eyes.

Turntapp could only feel relief at the fact that he was still alive. Still safe. That what he’d said in posturing to a now-dead man hadn’t driven him further than his arms’ reach.

(But then again, that wasn’t true, was it? There was blood staining the left side of the tower, up in the highest point where Saps was still standing. Deep red blood, like the trail that had led him along the path of footsteps, blood that he’d found staining a single, large rock.

Blood that had been accompanied by feathers.)

If he didn’t hurry up— if he didn’t get Saps down onto solid ground— if he slipped and fell, from all the way up there, with no way to slow his own fall; then…

“Saps,” Turntapp called, his voice faint at first, barely audible above the howling winds. “Saps!” 

“Turntapp–?” He could hear the disbelief and anxiety in Saps’ words, and his chest ached at the knowledge that it was his fault that it was there. His voice sounded fainter with the distance between the two of them, quiet and small like he was trying to hide himself away. “Why are you here?”

Saps sounded like he was— scared of Turntapp.

(If this was the reward he got for choosing the Covenant over Saps, then maybe he wasn’t fit to be their leader after all.)

“I’ll tell you if you come down,” Turntapp tried, but Saps shook his head. He looked tired and worn out, more than Turntapp had ever seen him— even more so than the first day he’d arrived from Yggdrasil, fear and unease clinging to him like an ill omen— and another pang of guilt squeezed at Turntapp’s chest. That was your fault. 

Saps said something, though it was carried away by the arctic winds the moment it left his lips. Turntapp made a face, hoping his meaning would be carried up to the man who stood just out of his reach, framed in the holy glow of the god that accompanied him. “I said— it’s— there’s no way down,” Saps repeated, his words growing fainter the more he elaborated. “I didn’t— I didn’t… make… one.”

Ah. Right. 

Well. He had been the cause of all this. Turntapp figured he should at least attempt to make it right.

“I’ll build a staircase,” he called up to Saps, “and we can talk once you’re down. Is that—?” Is that okay? Can you do that? I’ll do anything for you if you say the word.

Saps nodded, jerkily, and— hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure it was alright, he offered Turntapp a small smile. “It’s okay. I’ll— I won’t go anywhere, if, if that was a concern.”

“As long as you stay safe.”

I hope Saps is safe, was a phrase that had echoed in Turntapp’s mind ever since he had sensed the trap underneath their feet and told the avian to run and never look back. Now, standing in front of a man who held a years-long grudge against the very person he wanted to protect, his thoughts were louder than ever.

“Prove it, then. Call him back here— I know you told him to run. Call him back, and let me kill him.” The pirate said to him, a dark sort of satisfaction on his face. As if knowing that for Turntapp, choosing between Saparata and his nation was an impossible choice that would only end in his own ruin.

“...Fine,” Turntapp said after a moment. 

His eyes flicked to Zynn, who returned his gaze steadily. Back when the Covenant had been nothing but a squadron of soldiers with no clue how to fend for themselves, he and Zynn had grown so accustomed to each other’s minute mannerisms that even years later, with him at the helm of a nation and her as his right hand, they could still understand those subtle glances. With her watching, he subtly glanced right, then left— don’t obey my next command. 

“Zynn, go. If you want an innocent man’s blood on your hands, all for the sake of proving your ego right, then you can kill him yourself. But I’ll tell you right now, Saparata does not deserve to die.” 

“And yet here you are, sending him to me, anyway.” The Sehzade of Al Qarasina jeered.

“Not exactly.” Turntapp said slowly, his words quiet but pointed. His eyes flicked to Zynn, who nodded before turning away and leaving the courtyard, his message received plain and clear. A door opened and closed as she left, and he stared at it for a moment before turning his eyes back onto the Sehzade. “I just needed to get rid of the audience.”

The man’s eyes widened minutely before he managed to whip out a shield at the very last second, metal clanging against reinforced wood as he raised the shield above his head like a lifeline, indignance in his furious expression. “What the fuck? Turntapp, you recognize what you are doing right now, do you not?”

“Sure I do,” Turntapp agreed easily. “I’m on enemy territory, and I’m fighting someone who’s trying to endanger one of my people.”

Enemy territory. 

It felt weird to consider Al Qarasina an enemy land, but Turntapp supposed that was what it was, now. Now that he had gone against the plot they had clearly been planning for some time, maybe even since Saps had first arrived and they’d caught wind of the border storm dropping… there was little hope for the Requiem Alliance to go back to the way it once was.

Not that he was particularly keen on staying allied with someone who planned on killing Saparata. 

It was, Turntapp reasoned to himself, a technical security problem. If Al Qarasina was willing to kill Saps, who had more or less been accepted as one of the Covenant’s own (at least, among the Peacekeepers— in the eyes of his people, it was different, but with his soldiers, they were willing to look at Saps with the same fondness they did any of their comrades), there was no telling what they would do if one of the Covenant’s numbers did something to anger them. 

“You’ve overstepped, Sehzade,” Turntapp said the man’s title with derision as he struck again, watching with a dark satisfaction as he cursed and stumbled backward at the force of the strike. 

It was all he’d known of the man who called himself the Prince of a fallen country— just that, a title and no name. A man who thought only his word would be sufficient to make Turntapp raise a sword against the person he valued above all else. 

“I don’t intend on handing Saparata over to you. Not now, not ever.” 

One more strike, and the shield was broken, its flimsy craft splintering at the hard blow. The Sehzade grunted as he fell to the ground. Turntapp took his chance to point his sword to the man’s throat, keeping him pinned down like a fish prepared for gutting. “He is under my protection. That will not change.”

The man had the audacity to scoff, even with Turntapp’s blade pressed to his throat, its point hovering just above his carotid artery. “So you are giving a murderous criminal refuge. What was the point, then, of pretending that you cared for your people and their opinions? Why give them a false hope that will only backfire on you as soon as they figure it out?”

Turntapp almost wanted to laugh. Did he think that Turntapp hadn’t realized that already? Did he think Saps didn’t know it either? He had weighed the options, he’d decided. If it was to pick between his own safety and Saps’, he would choose Saps over himself every time.

It was only what Saps was owed, after everything he had gone through on Pandora. Let me be someone he can trust. 

“If that’s all you have to say, then I guess I have no more use for you,” Turntapp shrugged, lazily adding pressure to the sword’s hilt as he wrapped his hand around the sword’s handle properly. It wasn’t as if he’d had any use for a man who wasn’t even actually the leader of Al Qarasina to begin with, but he had at least wanted to make the Sehzade apologize for what he had said about Saps. Then again, politics had never been Turntapp’s strong suit. He was sure it would only have caused him more frustration if he’d continued arguing the point. As he readied to strike, the man underneath him widened his eyes, realizing a second too late. 

“Wait—” was all he got out before Turntapp raised the blade high, bringing it down in a swing that cleanly severed his head from his body. 

It took him a much shorter time than he’d expected to clean the courtyard of blood. Sand and sawdust, as it turned out, hid blood much more efficiently than the snow of his homeland, and as for the body, it hadn’t taken too long to locate the redstone triggers of the trap they had meant to set for Saparata. The Sehzade’s body had fallen down into that pit filled with dripstone, then closed up for Zaanga or one of his other subordinates to find.

Al Qarasina was not his problem any longer, after all. At least, in terms of explaining. It would be a more difficult time, attempting to have his people understand just why he had done this— why he’d broken apart the strongest alliance on Yggdrasil just for one man— but Turntapp would worry about that once Saps was back with the Covenant, safe and unharmed. 

And there was the problem. Finding Saps. 

The man had spent weeks hiding out in the forests of Pandora after he had been framed for unlawful murders. If Saps didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t— and it seemed that right now, he didn’t want to be found by Turntapp or Zynn. 

“No sign of him?” Turntapp asked when he’d finally managed to find his second in command again, Zynn’s eyes narrowed into practical slits as she stared off into the distant desert where Saps had presumably headed.

“None that I can tell,” Zynn muttered, her eyebrows furrowed with concentration. “After I left, there were footprints around the perimeter, but there’s none in the surrounding desert. He must have flown away or something. Hovered, maybe, since I don’t think his wings have recovered as much as they should have for proper flying.” 

Turntapp frowned. “Could he have gone back home— to the Covenant, I mean? That wouldn’t have necessarily gone through the desert, he could’ve taken a boat around to the southern shore.”

“The problem is that we don’t know which direction he went. There’s no trusting that he went back to the Covenant,” Zynn muttered, her eyebrows furrowed in thought. “He might’ve heard our conversation—”

“And felt that he couldn’t trust us.” Couldn’t trust me, Turntapp didn’t say, but from the way Zynn looked at him with a mixture of pity and understanding, he knew she understood his meaning. He looked off into the distance, at towering peaks that raised above the horizon, and a thought occurred to him suddenly. It was a bit of a stretch, but anything that got him closer to finding Saps was worth pursuing. “...Could he have gone to the East?” 

“To the Tundra?” Zynn paused, then considered. “It could make sense. He’d have to run through a small stretch of desert to get to the mountains, but… it’s doable.” 

“We can split up,” Turntapp offered. “Search the desert, and if he’s here… do your best to convince him to come back with us. If he isn’t, then go back to the Covenant and assemble a search squad if I don’t return in a few hours.” 

Zynn nodded. “Alright. And you’ll go to the tundra, I presume?” 

Turntapp nodded. “I’ll go to the tundra.” 

And I found you there. 

“Was that how it happened?” Saps murmured as Turntapp gently led him down the shoddy, handcrafted staircase. It would have gone quicker if he’d used a ladder, probably, but that depended on Saps being able to climb down himself— and from the state of his hands, which looked black and purple at the fingertips, bruised over from frostbite, he wasn’t going anywhere without aide for a while. “Haha… and I’d thought you were handing me in on behalf of the Covenant. I should have known— I shouldn’t have thought so lowly of you.”

“You had every right to assume what you did,” Turntapp responded gruffly, frowning when Saps just shrugged lightly. It seemed even that motion was difficult for him, which made sense, given how long he’d been out in the cold for. 

“I shouldn’t have treated you the way they treated me.” Saps murmured. “You were the only one who’d stuck by me when… well. You know. I’ve caused so much trouble, all because I didn’t think… you’d stay.”

“If I had been in your position, I think I would have run too,” Turntapp said simply. “To run when you think yourself in danger is merely self preservation. Don’t apologize for trying to save yourself the pain.”

He didn’t mention that Saps had run out here specifically to do the opposite. They both knew, anyway, and Saps didn’t correct him. It was easier to push it aside for now— there would be time, once Saps was safe and back home, in the Covenant, to work on it.

“...Why the arctic, anyway?” Saps asked. “I mean— I know, you guys split up— but why come to the tundra, of all places?”

“Lucky guess. You always look out the window at the mountains in the mornings,” Turntapp shrugged. “And you’ve mentioned missing the feeling of snow before, so… I figured that there was at least a little sense in coming to search for you here.”

“Ah. Was I really so predictable?” Saps gave a small smile, as if this was normal. He shivered as the arctic winds grew larger, stronger, ducking in close to Turntapp’s chest as if to hide himself from the weather.

“Not predictable. I just know your habits better than most.” Turntapp pulled the man closer to him, untucking one of his outer layers to drape over the cloak the avian was wearing. Dried and crusted frozen blood stained the edges of the blue wool, the edges of his broken and limp wings dragging against the snow as they made their way out of the tundra.

It had been easy— too easy— to get Saps down, the avian leaning into Turntapp’s warmth as if it was second nature to him. There was a flame of rage inside Turntapp’s chest that burned brighter as Saps clung onto his arm, so easily trusting even after he had run from him for a perceived betrayal.

It shouldn’t have been this easy to get Saps back. 

There was, of course, a part of Turntapp that was glad the other man had slipped back into his orbit so comfortably, as if he was always meant to be there— but he had wronged Saps. He had been the reason the wings that framed Saps’ face and back were now dripping with still dried blood, the reason a tower had been built in the middle of the tundra with no way down except through falling.

And yet, here he stood, shivering and bloody but alive. And, against all odds, he was still leaning on Turntapp, one bitterly cold hand in his. Still trusting him, even after he’d heard Turntapp It didn’t feel fair that he could hurt Saps so severely and still be treated like– like he was someone that Saps couldn’t bear to leave. Like to Saps, there was nothing more precious than Turntapp’s presence in his life.

“Next time,” Turntapp found himself telling Saps as they left the tundra, the other man still securely tucked in his cape. “Next time, I’ll make sure you never have a reason to doubt me.”

And Saps— wonderful, kind, trusting Saparata— just looked at him with unwavering trust in his eyes. “You’ve already done that.”

Despite the bruises that marred his arms still, the broken splints in his feathers, his blackened fingers, bitten and bruised from his time in the arctic, Saps still trusted him. 

And Turntapp would do anything to make sure he earned that trust.