Chapter Text
It was cold, far colder than it had any right to be. Saparata was in the Tundra. Snow stretching for miles, and miles. He could hear it compacting below every step he took. He was careful not to step into powdered snow. Caustiously maneuvering around rough spots. He was trying to get to his camp; he'd got materials he had wanted.
To be frank, it was pretty safe. The snow was consuming, endless, troublesome. People would look in more obvious spots for him. His vacation home, that whole island. Underground, peoples home's. Not the here. Especially not in conditions like this. Most would die. And most had better stuff to do. Meetings, projects, or thievery. Whatever one held better. Albeit the price-tag over his name was nothing to sneeze at.
He bought himself a good amount of time over anything.
It didn't make him feel unsteady. After all, how could it? His life was already a living hell. A rigged trial, his friends, all was wrong. Nothing was calm! It never was, not anymore. Leaving some ache, an ache in his chest. He lost everything in less than a minute. All trust, his home, what he called friends.
Eventually he got to his makeshift camp. Home? By this point he didn't know. However he did slowly make his way down descended a small incline. He put some remaining building materials into a chest. Whoever found this might be able to use them.
He was betrayed, betrayed for what? He couldn't wrap his head around it. There wasn't any need for anyone to die. There wasn't a need for Jophiel to die! And that death was what caused the meeting in the first place.
Fluixon played himself a fool after. Thomas was always loyal — he just didn't know to this extent. Gotoga and Rotation, NK and Sera. Did it mean nothing to them? He didn't, he didn't even know Fluxion's motive. He felt his eyes blurring a bit. Focus coming in and out. He suddenly placed both hands above a chest. Not opening it. But leaning into it. Palms over the wood, with a bit too much weight over it.
He held himself like that for a minute. Like if he didn't his whole world would shatter more. Until he opened one of the chests.
He was just organizing items. Desperate to cling onto anything. Holding the items for far too long. Eyes scanning them over and over. Till he sighed, and turned to his tower. Movement coming to a stop before he hit what you could call a doorframe. Maybe he was too focused on the items. Maybe he was too focused on the chests.
That he didn't notice a glimmer in the distance. It was piercing, it was dark, it was light. The source didn't diminish no, of course not, it got closer. At a concerning speed. Spottable like a beacon. But by that point Saparata's fingers were tracing the walls of the tower. Fingers moving past small grooves he forgot to even out.
The tower was meant to be a sort of farewell. He would've lived out his days hiding. Scared, and eyes scanning his communicator over and over. And when a sword pierced through his heart — this place was what was left.
He wouldn't live that long scared, uncertain, and anxious. He'd make sure of it. That was exactly what Fluixon would've wanted. The longer he would've been alive, the more things he could've hid. The more attention would be drawn elsewhere. Of course, he probably wouldn't like him living too long.
He was painted as this, this murderer, this apathetic guy. How could anyone recover from that? Atleast A4horse heard him out. But that's one player we're talking about. He was shunned out, outcast, and hunted. The bounty on his head brought assasinations. And assasinations meant Fluixon would get the last laugh. The money, probably, could supply someone for a years. Enough to purchase a comfortable home. The resources on Island 2 were grand. More than that.
The bounty wasn't just from Fluixon. No, it was from all around. It was hefty, leaders were dead, and their people seeked revenge. People didn't mind blood money, not in that amount.
To add to that, he'd ran from a trial. Basically screaming 'Hey, im not going to take accountability!" Saparata's winced at that notion. Fingers being taken off the wall's of the tower. Turning back to where the chests were once more.
To be honest, to him, none of it mattered. It was far too troublesome, far too stupid.
He stilled, and took a deep breath. Mouth turning cold, and exhaling. It being visible due to the harsh conditions. He eventually got his bearings again. Slowly, he took his armor off. Plucking his gloves off, alongside any chainmill with the armor.
Whilst taking the gloves he had on off. He stopped. Fluixon, always, for any reason took them off a very specific way. He was raised in a high standard. Which, would explain the gloves. Sure, but he also wore them to hide something.
He told Saparata he lost his hand due to a previous assasination attempt.
Saparata was sat down near a tree. Right besides Fluixon, in a garden of the Aculon estate. Morning birds could be heard chirping, and the garderner hard at work. A water fountain a few feet infront of them. Alongside some benches are marble statues. They were doing small talk, Fluixon messing with Saparata every once in awhile. Until it dawned onto Sap's how he never took his gloves off.
Fluixon noticed the brief silence, and immediately asked 'What is it now?" tone exhausted at the onslaught of topic's Saparata had brought up in the past twenty minutes. Not even lingering on one for a second too long. Following one up 2 minutes later — like it made the most sense in the world. Saparata was also staring earlier. It'd be hard to ignore.
Saparata laughed at that, while Fluixon scoffed. They'd been friends since they could remember. Saparata once wandering too far into their property while lost. And Fluixon, well he was more than curious why a kid looked so disheveled. Flowers hugging his white hair, so deeply intertwined.
Saparata, at the time, was curious. Curious at the practical castle, and curious about the people living in it. And so they talked, and that became hours. To which a goodbye felt like a bitter sting. So they met again. And again became three times. And that became almost daily.
He later learned the boy was from Theria. A prince, it was surprising to him, and it made sense.
Despite Fluixon's attempts to get him to leave, he kept coming back. And he felt that, Fluixon also liked his company. If anything he looked rather lonely. None of those days was there someone else. Not for awhile. And by that point, they were teens.
So now he felt he could ask more. Even if the questions got stupider and more blatant each time.
Saparata opened his mouth, eyes meeting Fluixon's.
"Flux, you know i, never noticed this but," He then got closer, and held Fluixon's hands. Fingers tugging a bit at the fabric. "You never once took these off during all these years."
Fluixon by this point was just letting Saparata continue.
He simply sighed, and laughed. "You always we're the type to ask such stupid questions." He gently took Saparata's hand off his own — and tugged at the latters face.
'Hey dude jus…t answer me. Ouch! Dude chill, that stings…" Saparata whined, slightly punching the other in the stomach while the raven haired boy mused.
"I've already entertained you for god knows how long." Fluixon scoffed, still taunting the other.
“Plus, i’ve not hid it from you. You just look away.” The boy continued on, while Saparata kept staring at him.
'I lost my hand to someone who had it out for my father. " Fluixon kept his hands on Saparata's face. Feeling him stifle as he finished the sentence.
"Oh." Saparata locked eyes with the other once more. Eyes softening just a bit. He continued, tracing over his past wording. " That must've been horribl—" He was cut off quite quickly.
"Yeah, yeah, no need to pity me Saps.' Fluixon grinned, trying to ease the tension a bit more. He continued “Not like it was this, outlandish idea. I mean, Aculon, a prince? I was lucky i didn't lose my life."
"After all, Aculon was well, productive, but many disliked Elanuelo. And that eventually branched down to any family. "Fluixon put his hands off the boy's face. Turning and resting them atop his knees. Sitting inwardly by this point.
"I don't know who would be able to stand him." His tone was more derivant, more harsh, more blunt. A scowl able to be seen — despite Saps not seeing his face.
He was told that Flux wore gloves to hide that. A metal prosthetic built by his friends. It wasn't that he was well, ashamed of it, but many asked.
"And that lead to questions, and questions lead to meaningless chatter."
It wasn't the nice kind.
That's what Fluixon would say whenever he brought it up.
And the thing was, he found himself copying the mannerism his friend did. Pulling at each gloved finger, before dragging on the ends with his other hand.
The diamond armor looked up at him. He had taken it off before his gloves. It was pretty, and it was gleaming. Such a rare thing really. Bright, a symbol of power, and luck. Set right above the chest he ever so desperately was leaning on earlier.
Everything that Saparata wished could be his current situation. Dreading over his childhood, and friendship, wasn't gonna do him any good. After he took the first glove off, he just grabbed the fabric near his wrist and pulled it off. The piece of clothing looking scruffy after. Being dropped atop the gear.
Much like Saparata, he'd stopped bothering to take care of his looks the second he stepped out the trial. His unkempt appearance, was a testimony to that. Beforehand he didn't want anyone to see him in a pitiful state.
He stared at the gloves, then the armor, and then shifted.
And then he left. Walked up those stairs. A choice that was set in stone. Yet felt so, so, brittle. Something he could back out of. Yet he didn't. A spiral staircase. Floorboards creaking beneath him. Sock's stepping over wood. And then he made it. Made it to the top.
The cold air he was used to hit his face once more. The tower insulated a bit of the heat; up above it was cold. He dragged himself over to the ledge. And held his palms onto the railing.
His hands quickly became cold, numb, and stiffer than he wanted.
He was stalling.
Was he gonna die like this?
He slowly climbed over the railing, and set his foot atop it.
Was he going to let Fluixon live. Live knowing he did all this. Scott—free?
Not a way in fucking hell.
If he was gonna die, he would take Fluxion down with him. They could rot in hell together.
He was shaky, in a cold sweat, and out of breath. He didn't really notice it over — well all of it. But his breathing was far too uneven. Everything was hazy, more than not. And then,
He mistepped. His footing was faulty.
Saparata gasped, hand's deperately trying to balance himself up to no avail.
'Oh, fuck, fuck!" Saparata was about to fall. Fall face first into his demise. He didn't even, he didn't get to do anything! He just wanted a normal life. He didn't want to be used as a scapegoat for some, some bullshit cause! Ish above, if he'd made it out, he might've outlive Fluixon's facade.
But before that, two arms wrapped around his torso. One far too stiff, the other soft. Saparata's breath hitched. He had a bounty over his head, was he wanted alive? He didn't know anything more than what he saw around the Common Wealth a few days back.
He'd rather die on his own terms! Now, with former hesitation gone — he was far more inclined to take the better way out. What he tried to tell himself.
Was he that out of it he didn't realize they found him?!
The two arms slowly were dragged down to his armpits. Still holding on. If not the other would meet the tundra one final time. He was clung up above the tower. Snow would've been able to greet him in seconds.
And Ish above, that outcome was better than his bounty being claimed.
Scores of assasins were sent out after him; and he wasn't gonna be taken out by one. Worst case scenario, they would heal his wounds, and people would argue over who gets to do his execution.
The current situation at hand however continued. Neither side letting go, or trying to shove the others hold off.
"Dude, no fuck, fuck off! I'm not gonna, not gonna, be used to fill your pockets!" He began to swing around more, still dangling over the ledge. The person holding him was panicking by this point.
Yelling at others to help — not like Saparata would make this any easier for them. He was far too dazed, but knew himself well enough he'd not die to some hand bringing false justice.
"Saps! Saps, what the fuck are you doing?" Someone was yelling at him, and maybe despite all the chaos he couldn't make out the faces. Nor could he fully make out the carriage, and the banner. He tried to focus his eyes more.
His limbs throbbed, and the blood circulation by this point wasn't nice.
Yet, he already made it this far.
He really should be getting up.
But he was far too focused on the banner.
'Oh' Was all Saparata could think before he was dragged up. Back onto the tower. Back onto the thing that signaled his goodbye.
Saparata remembered there was multiple people out for his head. And a banner meant he could maybe small talk his way out of this. Being a mediator for some time gave him an idea on how the leaders operated. And some favored him more than not. Enough to stall his execution a bit longer.
He just needed to find out what nation it belonged to. Maybe tricolor? No, he didn't get a good enough look at it. And he doubted they'd entertain him. Despite him being good friends with Jophiel during the time they knew one another.
"Hopefully they would???" Saparata could only pray to the admins they would help him run. Politics were always a heacache.
The important thing right now was getting to himself before they could. He'd either die, which he was planning, or make some grandeur escape!
And he'd heard more footsteps coming up the tower — it was this or nothing. The adrenaline by this point was the only thing keeping him afloat.
His saturation should've been low, and beforehand he was badly injured. A bad fall, one he didn't bother to heal from. During when he got materials, he'd hurt his leg badly.
He'd met a hard thunk as the people behind him did too. Them getting him off dangling the edge took two people. Which, wasn't optimal at all. More hands, more people, a harder escape.
In both ways.
"Jeez, all this for what?" Saparata was heaving, worn out from trying to squirm his way out of the prior persons iron grip. He then got up, and headed to the ledge again. Almost making it over, before someone grabbed his shoulder — and then kicked behind his knee. Bringing him into a hug from behind before making him fall.
He wasn't exactly at his strongest, and starving by this point. An empty stomach was a dead man's path. And before he didn't care. Because it wouldn't of mattered!
A strangeled sound was what Saparata could let out. The person behind him locked him into an iron hold. He tried, he really did, but he was weak now. Not a warrior, not someone trained. Not someone skilled, but reduced to a shell. The burning sensation against his leg hurt like hell. The prior wound screaming at him.
Not once during the ordeal, did Saparata try to find out who held that voice. Why it sounded so familiar. What banner that was.
He wasn't able to move, so he grounded himself. The chatter around him was deafening.
Right.
"Saps! Do you hear me?! Are you a madman, you actual fool!" A man was yelling, voice desperately trying to get to him.
It wasn't arrogant, it wasn't soft, it was clear. A voice from a man who knew his ideals, and stuck by them. Someone who knew what he wanted.
A raven haired prince from Aculon, former vice president to Luminara.
Accompanied by his Conspiracy.
The prince had signaled to the others to get food, blankets, and water.
He couldn't directly meet his purple eyes. But if he could, they would be dull. Mixes of voices was all he could hear before he eventually gave out from exhaustion. Them communicating amongst eachother being almost like a lullaby orchestrated for him.