Those of you who follow me on Tumblr or Twitter will know that I... struggled with this chapter. I got almost 600 words in and had to scrap the entire thing and restart, which is not something that I'd ever had to do before. The problem is that this fic has a bit of lore behind it, but the story was turning into a ferocious killer! Of the mood. It wasn't spooky at all. It's still not perfect, but it's less of a dry documentary on the history of Archanea and it's relation to the Outrealms and Idolasphere at the very least.
It was a bloodbath.
Medeus was a ferocious threat, all on his own- but none could have predicted Gharnef using the last of his power to rip open the barrier between dimensions as his final bid for victory. The then prince Marth had reacted far better than any man could be expected to, filling in his commanders (what Gharnef had destroyed was known as a Outrealm Gate, the same kind that once allowed access to Zenith,) and redirecting his troops without pause, but there was nothing anyone could have done to stop the thousands, perhaps millions of beasts flooding into Archanea without sacrifices.
The prince was not someone capable of making such a call- anyone who knew the prince for a day could tell that much. However, there were those among his most trusted who were unafraid to lay down their lives for their prince's cause.
Tiki's ancient ceremony to temporarily gather the power of the Outrealms in a physical form- it was enough, in the end, to quell the fighting. To save the world.
And the prince was just naive enough not to ask if it would cost the lives of his companions to complete.
Ogma was a simple man. He was not unintelligent in any way- his life had taught him tactics, mathematics, everything necessary for survival and then after the war, living comfortably. It would not be inaccurate to say he was more knowledgeable than most, despite his illiteracy. But he detested complexities- things such as politics, adventure, romance and religion had brought him nothing but stress. If the world outside his workshop was unpleasant, then he had no desire to bring it into his peaceful life.
And that was why, even if Navarre had no ill intentions and was truly in need of help, Ogma found the most complex, stressful, unpleasant and utterly irritating person he'd ever had the misfortune to meet walking back into his life again after disappearing for five whole years… grating.
"Tell me now, who am I?" Navarre demanded.
As if he had the right to demand anything! Ogma stood, unashamed of his unclothed state. Ogma would not be talked down to by anyone, especially this man, even literally. Navarre had always been the more modest of the two- if it flustered him, even better.
Ogma crossed his arms. "Did you loose your memory?"
"I asked you a question."
"Same here."
"Who am I, to you?"
"The man I'm about to throw out of my house."
Navarre let out a low, frustrated growl. Ogma forced back a smirk- everything between the two was a contest, always. Ogma wouldn't give any more than he was given- they'd lost the delicate balance, the last year before everything went to hell, but it was there once and Ogma had always had confidence they could find it again.
Navarre had told him he'd given up on doing so some time ago, but he didn't remember that at the moment, did he?
"You're a guest in my house- either get your attitude in order and step out of the shadows so I can see you or get out," Ogma challenged. In the few seconds of charged silence, he could feel the hairs on his arms stand on end.
The crimson blur shifted. "You will tell me who I am."
"Wrong answer." In a move swifter that his bulky form appeared to be able to move, Ogma vaulted over the corner of the bed and thrust his hand into the shadow. His fist connected with the wooden wall loudly and painfully, and Ogma swore colorfully. Navarre was far faster than him, he knew that much, yet the element of surprise was on his side. By all logical reason, he should have been able to grab Navarre's coat and throw him into the street.
Ogma's brain felt the equivalent of a clock with a broken gear, pressure building as he strained to understand what he saw. Navarre had simply… gone through the wall, as if he had no substance at all. Ogma looked, slack-jawed, out the nearby window, and sure enough, Navarre lay sprawled on the dirt outside. Navarre stood and walked up to the window-
And through the window.
Ogma scrambled backwards and fell heavily onto the bed as the corner connected with the back of his knee. "Gods! Gods above! What manner of beast are you?"
In the sunlight, Ogma could see the figure for what he truly was- completely translucent, the dust motes in the air phasing through Navarre without disturbance. He left not even a shadow on the room. Navarre raised his hand and looked down at it with an irritated scowl.
"I can remember neither who nor what I am- but from what I can gather, I was assumed dead?" Navarre raised his glowing silver gaze to meet Ogma's own startled one. "I come to find that assumption… increasingly likely."
