Notes: This story takes place after Tales of Xillia 2, so expect spoilers for both games' endings. On AO3, this is included in a series of short stories called Little Black Feathers, but the idea spiraled beyond a single oneshot story.
Part 1: Stranded
Even without the schism that had encased Rieze Maxia, a broad expanse of water separated the country from Elympios. While cargo ships and luxury cruisers sailed directly from one country to the other, smaller ships could navigate the waters to the small dots of land that lay in between.
The islands were far too small to support more than a few adventurous settlers, so they remained largely untouched in the many years that they were known about. Some had decent flora and fauna populations, while others sat almost completely barren, lacking in significant wildlife and decent protection from the elements.
After the schism fell, Wingul found himself stranded on one of the latter islands.
His first day on the small island was spent slumped behind the only boulder on the beach large enough to use for shelter from the blistering sun. It was a miserable existence, hiding underneath his cape and blearily wondering what he was going to do to escape his current situation. He had most certainly not avoided a bloody end at the hands of Maxwell's group and a near-death experience with his booster to simply die of exposure in the middle of nowhere.
He subsisted for the first two days on land crabs burned alive with his spirit artes. There was little other food, and he was forced to lick rocks for their salt content lest he lose what little water he had in him through perspiration. He groused about his pathetic state as he looked off to the endless ocean surrounding him; if he was going to survive, he had to make his way to another island, his lack of significant swimming experience be damned.
There wasn't much to take stock of when he finally decided to brave the waters; he had nothing on him other than his clothes and sword, and even then he had to discard most of his layers to avoid becoming utterly waterlogged. He strapped his sword to his back, wrapped his hair in his dirty cape, and made the plunge into the water.
…And he quickly pulled himself out of the water again when dark clouds roiled together in the distance with surprising speed—a drastic change in spirit clime.
A tropical storm thundered around him that afternoon, and even as he huddled against his rock in a vain attempt to block off some of the wind and rain, he opened his mouth to accept the first source of fresh water he'd had in over two days. Once again, he faced a miserable evening, left cold and soaked after the storm subsided too late for him to dry off his garments in the sun.
Morning brought with it the return of the sun's heat and a welcome sight: floating debris illuminated by the rising sun. Once again he plunged into the water, this time swimming out to the largest piece of debris. Inspection of the floating tree told him that lightning had felled it recently, knocking it and its hard-cased fruit into the water.
So there was in fact an island out there that he could reach within a night's time, if he could figure out which way to go.
His sword saw its first real use in a few days as he hacked into the hard fruit for whatever nourishment they could give him. The unripe meat was bitter, but the watery juice at its center was more than worth the effort taken to crack open the stubborn fruit. He spent the morning hours sitting on the floating tree, eating its fruit and contemplating which direction it had come from.
The thought crossed his mind that he could remain with the tree and see where it went, but he quashed the idea before it truly settled in his head; he had no idea where the tree would take him, and the tree had not retained many of its fruit along its nighttime journey. As reluctant as he was to leave the fruit behind, he knew he could not realistically traverse the water and hold on to more than one of the fruit along the way.
But Wingul was resourceful, and his will to survive was not going to fail him; the limiting factor had always been his body, currently slow to recover from his last battle with malnourishment plaguing him. He asked much from his sword by using it to shave through the tree's body, and the blade took on a few scratches from the splintering trunk as he reaped one last gift from the tree: a relatively flat piece of wood that would bear his weight as he swam for the next island.
Feeling somewhat hopeful for the first time since he had woken up on that barren island, Wingul slid into the water and swam into the unknown.
x x x
The bizarre sight of what appeared to be a gigantic fetus cradled by the moon was seen all over the world. While in the following weeks both the governments and the press would release details on the phenomenon, the initial sight was enough to scare people out of their normal routines. One such break in routine led to a ship's captain steering his glass-bottomed tour boat horribly off-course.
The tour boat returned to Marksburg seven hours late and with one more passenger than had been aboard when it had left port.
x x x
Gaius was ready to head back to Trigleph after returning from the Land of Canaan. Despite everything that had happened with Origin's Trial, he still had his responsibilities waiting for him. Rowen was at his side as he headed for the train station, musing over their next steps when Rowen's GHS rang.
"My, what an unexpected call."
His eyes slid to watch Rowen as he stopped at the bottom of the steps leading to the train station. "Something amiss?"
Rowen turned on one heel to face the Marksburg Inn, not far from where they stood. "Apparently I was left a message at the inn. Beg pardon, Gaius, but may we make a quick stop to pick it up?" He offered the king an apologetic smile.
It wasn't altogether strange for Rowen to be the recipient of messages, given his role, but written messages were largely replaced by GHS texts and calls, depending on their importance. Rowen also tended to handle booking the inn as to spare Ludger's wallet, so it wasn't surprising for the inn to have his contact information.
Gaius nodded his assent, turning to join him. "Very well."
x x x
The message to Rowen contained a single line of seemingly incomprehensible characters strung together.
Gaius took one look at the message and demanded to know where it had originated from.
x x x
Through the course of Ludger's missions with Spirius, Gaius had seen his Chimeriad as they appeared in some fractured dimensions. The most poignant of the missions (to him) had been his first, when he had seen Wingul seated on his throne. Pale and stretched thin with regret and stress, he had never wanted to see his loyal companion in such a state.
The man seated in the hospital bed resembled that sad character in some respects, haggard and gaunt in ways that left his cheeks sunken and wrists thin enough to snap with ease. But his hair was long and pulled away from his sunburned face and bruised shoulders, telling silent tales of his lengthy absence as he watched his two expected visitors stare at him.
Gaius was the first to break the stillness, striding across the sterile room to kneel next to the bed. His relief was palpable as he found himself thinking about how this was undoubtedly the prime dimension, with all of the fractured dimensions from the past destroyed.
"Uti'su giidu tii sun'n yaio, Arst."
His voice, much like his lips, was cracked with disuse. But it had been a long time that Gaius had felt such elation.
"Where have you been all this time?" Perhaps it was tactless, to not even offer a greeting to a man long thought dead. But he had to know.
Wingul's lips curved upward in a small, dry smile, and he briefly acknowledged Rowen with a glance before returning his attention to his king. Both of them should hear his answer.
"I was on a long and very unnecessary tropical vacation."
He rested one pale hand over Gaius' gloved one. Gaius turned his hand to accept Wingul's, fingers gently curling around his.
"But I'm back now."
Notes
"Uti'su giidu tii sun'n yaio, Arst." = "It's good to see you, Arst."