Work Text:
The Second Sentinel did not remember these halls, not truly – could not recall all the times they must have walked through them, nor the faces that must have risen at the approach of one of the Citadel’s protectors. The only part of this place that they could recall was a blinding brightness, blurred as the Sentinel was pulled through these halls along the thread of duty.
They were sure it must have been a wonderful sight – a masterwork wrought of gleaming metal and polished tile, each embellished surface dedicated to the protection and elevation of Pharloom’s people. But now, all that was here was rubble and ruin; those delicate filigrees and embossed surfaces bent out of shape where they had not been worn blank. Now, these shining halls lay dim; black threads sliced the open air and shadows huddled in the corners.
But no matter its state, the Second Sentinel had a duty to patrol these halls and protect its people, a duty that they would follow until death. It was a duty needed now more than ever, as those who had died here rose upon black threads. Rose strong under their pull. And so the Sentinel would cut them down again, to free those remaining people.
At first, the Sentinel had merely roamed the halls of the Citadel, meeting resistance wherever they went. But it seemed now that those few unbound from the thread had created a place of soft light and safety; to protect them would be to stick close and prevent intrusion. They could not let them be destroyed during their absence, not again.
So there they stood, among the halls. Facing the darkness, against the corridor which led to the light.
The Sentinel did not turn when it heard movement behind them. The steps were even, but not so much so as to be the puppeted motion of one of those captured by the threads. They were the light, timid taps of a living creature.
“Beyond this room is not-t-t safe,” the Sentinel said. “Please return.”
“Oh!” said a little voice. “Don’t fret, my pilgrimage is over for now. I wished to see you.”
To see them? It seemed unlikely one would seek them out, unless there was some emergency requiring their presence. A breach in the safe area, perhaps. But no, if that had been the case, whoever stood behind them would not have walked so slowly, would not have called out so calmly. Perhaps they counted among those that the Sentinel had saved, and wished to thank them again for merely carrying out their duty. But no – all those who they had rescued from the threaded ones had already given great thanks once saved, each with such a great pouring of gratitude that the Sentinel had been forced to turn away. And this voice, they did not recognise.
“We’d like to help with more than our prayer,” said the little bug. “If we can aid you in any way, please let us know!”
“T-t-to stay inside is best,” said the Sentinel. “F-f-fighting may occur.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not really good at fighting,” said the little bug. “But you’ve been out here a long time. Do you need any food? Or maybe medicine? Our holy Citadel provides for its people and blesses us with good fortune despite the darkness. There’s plenty to go around.”
“Such things, t-t-this Sentinel has no need of.”
“Oh,” said the little bug. “Would you like some company while you keep us safe? I promise I’ll run and hide if anything happens.”
The Sentinel ought to say no. Just as a sentinel has no need of food nor medicine, they had no need of any company but their own (and perhaps, in circumstances such as these, their peers). That fact must have been known, once, in those days long ago, but had been lost somewhere along the way, while they had been sleeping.
But despite how unnecessary it was, despite the obvious fact that this little bug really would be safer within the confines of their camp...something stopped the Sentinel from saying no. Something tangled up in their chest, around that heart so recently replaced.
The little bug perhaps ought to have taken their silence as a refusal. He did not, and there was a shuffling sound that could only be him taking a seat upon some rubble.
Then the silence settled again. In much of the Citadel, it lay thin, dusted upon the faint whirring of the machinery at its core and the ruffled movement of the black threads. Even here, as the Sentinel adjusted their head to scan to intruders, those sounds were present. But so close to safety, they were muffled; the silence lay thicker, enriched by the soft breathing of the one who lay behind them.
The Sentinel let the sound wash over them.
“I also wanted to say thanks,” said the little bug. “For protecting our humble little Songclave. Some of the others said you saved them, and everyone’s been glad to hear we have been blessed with a protector such as you. Especially now that the red maiden has left on her holy quest. So thank you!”
There was a little ting sound, as though the bug had punctuated the last phrase with the strike of some small bell.
“D-defense of the sacred Citadel, and the voices that fill it-t-t, is the eternal duty of this sentinel.”
The words were a grove, a motion. The same movement of their blades in battle.
“Well, you do it really well, and we really appreciate that. Once this is all over, we should thank you properly! Maybe have a big feast, or sing some hymns or – oh! Some games, like Jubilana says the fleas are doing. It’ll be great!”
A finger twitched upon their weapon, their locked grip weakened for but a moment.
“Gratit-it-tude is unnecessary for this Sentinel. Eternal is this Citadel. Eternal is t-t-their duty.”
“But…what about when this is all over and everything gets better?”
There was nothing the Sentinel could say to that. Surely, surely this had to end, one way or another. But the future was just as hazy as the past; the only difference was its shade. They could not focus on those moments of uncertainty, not when there was work to be done in the present. Not when their duty stood eternal.
“Because everything will get better,” the little bug continued, against a rustling of thin fabric. “If we pray and have a little faith, will we not be delivered? The red maiden will save us all, I know it. She told me so, and if there’s anyone who can do it, it’s her. We just need to believe and our faith will guide her to victory!”
Another little ting, stronger.
There was only one that could match the little bug’s description. A maiden in red. He was certainly correct to trust in her strength; of the short time the Sentinel had been reawakened, her words and her fights occupied an impressive portion. Her words, said with the snarl of battle or an undeserved softness, imprinted upon their metallic shell.
She had a duty too, the same as the Sentinel. Perhaps she would have the strength to fulfil it.
“You know, I was just a pilgrim when I arrived here,” said the little bug. “I was so excited to see the Citadel! To prove my faith and pray with my fellows in its gilded halls. But though I expected to face trials along the way, I wasn’t really expecting this. On the road here, I would imagine these halls filled with song and prayer, but they’re all empty now. I’d been told that this was a place where nothing bad could ever happen, but sometimes I now find my faith falters.”
A sigh, quiet, but enough to resonate from the shining surface of the Sentinel’s golden shell.
“I didn’t really have a duty except to go as far as I could and pray as hard as I can, maybe support those struggling during their own pilgrimage. But then the red maiden saved me, and I realised that there is more than that. That in these times, we all have a duty to protect each other, to guide each other towards our salvation and rebuild what has been lost. And now, my duty is to all the people of the Songclave. I have to help them hold onto hope, help them see the light that shines through all the darkness.
“So,” said the little bug. “Once the red maiden has cut us all free of these dark threads, what will you do?”
To be cut free. The very idea seemed antithetical to the world they knew. But the world they had known was gone. Perhaps they had never had it in the first place.
“This Sentinel d-d-does not know.”
“Oh,” said the little bug. “That’s okay! Shall we find out together?”
And, just for a moment, the Sentinel allowed themself to turn back, to loosen their grip upon their weapons. To catch the little bugs smile, to hear the ring of the bell.