1.
Jin awoke in the restoration chamber, peering out at the world through foggy green glass.
How long had he been in here? It had been at least a few days since the battle with Vandham, surely, but he could still feel the exhaustion deep in his bones, and a dull, gnawing pain in his back from where the Urayan mercenary had shot him. He held a hand to his head, wincing. Trying to remember felt like clawing through fog and wool stuffed into his head.
Pyra...Mythra, had killed the man. Jin found himself feeling a bit of remorse. Vandham...it was hard to deny that the man had gotten the upper hand on him, had been clever enough to defy them. Probably the only human driver he had met who had been able to do that. It was hard not to have a sort of grudging respect for him for that. If it hadn't been for Pyra awakening Mythra…
He had dim memories of Mythra, a figure of burning light, carrying him onto the ship, placing him in the restoration chamber...brief flashes of memory, of awakening in pain and seeing her burning bright, through the glass, watching him…
Trembling with exhaustion and a deep ache that still gnawed away at him, Jin pushed the lid of the restoration chamber open, and gingerly, cautiously, stepped out onto unsteady legs. He was well enough to walk, at least.
He had to find...Pyra, Mythra, whoever she was now. When Pyra had first come to him, first found him, he hadn't thought to question why she had changed, so uncaring and grief-stricken he had been. But as they had come to know each other, Pyra had told him the purpose behind the change. Pyra...was Mythra, and was not. She was a portion of Mythra, just a fraction of her, and powerful as Pyra had been, she had access to only a portion of her full Aegis powers. The rest of Mythra had been...locked away, partitioned, too overwhelmed by agonizing guilt and the...pain she could feel, in the world, to properly function. What did it mean that she was awake again?
Jin stumbled out of the restoration chamber's room, into the dark halls of the Marsanes, steadying himself against the walls of ship. The ship felt...it was difficult to describe. Heavy, haunted like some awful pall was hanging over it.
He began making his way down the hallway, glancing into the doors he passed. He paused at one. Akhos was in the room, sitting at a table, head in his hands, staring at a small pile of broken, shattered core crystal fragments on the table before him. He glanced up as Jin drew close, his eyes widening. "Jin. You're up. You...should still be in the restoration chamber."
Jin held up a hand, glancing at the sad, small pile of Obrona's remains on the table. "Akhos. Are you….alright?"
Akhos glanced down at the sad pile on the table, and his expression – for once, sincere, worried – fled beneath a mask of cruelty and arrogance. "Ah...yeah, I'm fine. Unfortunate what happened to Obrona, isn't it? But at least I won't have to put up with that annoying lisp of hers anymore. Seriously, wasn't that the worst?" His laugh was cut suddenly short by Jin placing his hand on his shoulder.
"You know," Jin said quietly, "You can be sincere."
Akhos looked for a moment as if he was going to simply continue denying. But then he looked down, and slowly began shaking, his face hidden in shadow. "I….hate him, so much," he whispered. "It wasn't enough for him to...simply reset her? He had to crush her, take her away from me forever?" He looked back up at Jin, and Jin felt his heart grow heavy, because he knew the hate he saw there in his eyes would never go away. It would be a part of Akhos forever, now. "I want to kill him," whispered the younger flesh eater miserably.
"Don't do anything foolish," Jin replied. "The Dark Aegis is stronger than you, Akhos. He wouldn't hesitate to do the same thing to you. Let that anger fade for a while, before you rush off and try to do anything on your own."
"I'm not that stupid," Akhos snapped, glancing away. He looked over at the table, back at Obrona's remains. "I...I think I might...go give her a burial," he said quietly.
Jin nodded. "Take your time. We'll always be here when you're ready."
"Pyra….Mythra….she's been hanging around close to the engine room, if you're looking for her. I'm not sure why."
Jin nodded, hiding his limp as he strode out of the room, leaving Akhos to his grief.
He descended down the dark, hidden stairways of the Marsanes, closer and closer to the ship's core, a dull, powerful throbbing ringing through the halls as he came closer and closer to the ship's power core. The feeling of dread he had felt, earlier, too, increased. He closed his eyes as he walked through the halls, trying to sense Mythra. The ether was...strange, here, moving in strange eddies and patterns. He couldn't understand what the purpose of it all was, but with a start, as he sensed Mythra, he realized she was the center of it.
Finally, he came to a heavy, steel door, bars across a small port window inlaid into it. This was...one of the Marsanes' prison cells. He could sense Mythra on the other side of the door. Why she had chosen this place to stay, he had no clue. Slowly, cautiously, he opened the door.
On the other side, the prison cell had long, deep score marks carved into its walls, twisted, melted metal. Mythra was frantically pacing back and forth in the middle of the room, hugging herself, looking down at the ground. Her head snapped up when she heard the door opening, and her eyes widened as she saw Jin standing in the doorway.
"Jin, you...stubborn fool," she snapped, approaching him. Jin looked down at her. It was so strange. She...felt like Pyra, and he could see Pyra in her eyes, in some of her mannerisms. But where Pyra had a calmness, a discipline to her, Mythra had a fiery passion. Despite her harsh words, she flung her arms around him, her forehead touching his. "You should be in the restoration chamber, still," she whispered. "You never listen to me."
Jin would have replied, but, with a start, he realized he could feel movements in the ether...originating from Mythra, and with shock he realized it was the beginnings of an ether cord, a thousand little branches extending from Mythra, trying to mesh with him. He closed his eyes and concentrated on fending off the connection. It felt so...right, so good, that it took all his willpower, all his discipline in effort to fight off the connection. He didn't even notice, for a few moments, that Mythra was kissing him, her lips soft and sweet upon his.
He broke off from her, pulling away from her embrace, his head swimming in a sweet fog. "Stop," he gasped, still fending off her attempts to bridge an ether connection between them. "We can't," he forced out.
Mythra looked up at him, pain written on her face, and he realized she couldn't control it either. She was doing all she could to fight back against the ether connection as well. "Jin...everything Pyra felt...everything she...feels...for you...I feel too," she whispered. "But...she...you couldn't understand, the things she feels, they're just...echoes of what I feel, just a portion, it's...so overwhelming..." She grasped his face in her hands, a miserable smile playing across her features. "She can...bear to be alone, I can't, I need someone to share this life with, to help me...bear the awful reality of this world. Oh Jin, of all the...pain and horror I can sense...you're the only beautiful thing I feel, I can't help it..."
"Please," Jin gasped, amazed at her strength, the sheer force of the ether flows extending from her. He grabbed her hands, pulling them away from his face. "We can't, you know we can't."
"I know," Mythra gasped, "but I want to, I want to so badly. Oh, Jin."
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she regained control of herself, pulling herself away from him, turning away from him, wrapping her arms around herself, retreating to a corner of the room, not looking at him. Jin panted, exhausted from the exertion of resisting her. How could it all have felt so...right? "What happened," he managed to get out, between gasps, "to Pyra?"
"She's...still in here," Mythra answered from the corner, shuddering. "She...is me. Just...a portion of me. But now that I'm awake, I wanted to...I've been a coward for so long, sleeping to escape this...nightmare Father created. Oh Jin, I can…feel it, this war, all the blades and their drivers suffering, dying, trying so hard to save each other, trying so hard to preserve beauty in the face of Father's cruelty..." with a cry of anguish, she raised a hand, and light flowed forth from her fingertips, raking deep scores in the metal wall of the prison cell.
Jin eyed the smoking wall, impassive. "We can...stop it all, soon enough."
"We can't just let it continue in the meantime," Mythra replied, whirling around to face him, her eyes hollow with despair. "Every second of it, every little bit of it matters." She raised her face upward, staring past the ceiling, as the strange currents and eddies of ether around her increased, shuddering as they flowed into her. "It...has to stop. We have to stop this war. I can't take it anymore."
Jin was quiet for a long moment. "I...don't know what would stop it, short of Mor Ardain gaining victory," he replied, cautiously, as Mythra clenched her fist, punching a small crater into the wall. "They've...been on this path for a very long time now."
And then he thought back. To Mythra, sliding her sword through Vandham's chest. Something Pyra herself would have never had the strength to do.
"There may be a way to stop it, he said quietly. "May be a way to...bring Mor Ardain to the negotiating table. But it would take some...violence. Some sacrifice." His gaze rose to meet hers.
Mythra was quiet for a long, long time. "If it takes a little suffering to end much more suffering," she replied, finally, "It will be worth it."
2.
Vandham's funeral took place quickly, almost too quickly to cope with. It was tradition for Urayan mercenaries to be buried where they fell, and buried quickly. Funerals were low key, and people could come to visit his grave as they found the time.
Famous as he had been, Vandham had no shortage of volunteers to dig his grave, from among the guards, among the citizens of Fonsa Myma. And Rex, as exhausted as he was from the battle, as burnt out as he was from Malos' power, forced himself to participate in the burial, though his limbs ached and his body buckled beneath him. The others, Nia in particular, had begged him to come back to the inn with them, once the guards had released them.
Rex had...lied to them. He didn't feel good about it, but it was what it was. He had agreed to come back to the inn to rest, and then snuck out to participate in the burial. He sweated and labored next to the citizens of Fonsa Myma. It was the least he could do for them, having taken their hero away. And a mere few hours after his death, the only indication that Vandham had ever existed at all was a small, humble grave marker, a small circular tombstone surrounded by white rocks.
A few of Fonsa Myma's citizens lingered around after the burial, some bowing their heads in prayer, others weeping. But most left. The time for visiting his grave would come later, throughout the coming weeks, when those who had known him, those who had loved him would make their way, their final pilgrimage to pay tribute to the man.
Rex made his way back to the inn, wincing with every step. It was early morning now. The power he had drawn on from Malos...had nearly killed him. He could feel it, like an open wound on his soul, his strength ebbing out of it. Nia had healed him a bit, but...he had pushed her away. And how could he face her, now? He knew...she wanted to heal him, more, but how could he possibly allow her to? It was his fault Vandham was dead. His fault that Vandham's killers had gotten away. If he had...fought harder, if he had trained harder, if he hadn't been such a damn lazy coward, Vandham might still be alive. Nia's care...it was more than he could ever possibly deserve. He couldn't bear to face her now, to benefit from her misguided compassion.
Nia awoke the next morning, early, her arms wrapped around Dromarch, the sun just barely peaking over the horizon. Even for this time of day, it was quiet, as if the whole city was in mourning, as if news of Vandham's death had already spread to every corner of the city.
Dromarch himself awoke as she extricated herself from him, and, purring softly, followed at her side as she descended the stairs slowly. He glanced up at his lady with concern. Through his bond, he could feel her emotions, and she felt...similar to how she had felt after her encounter with Akhos. Only worse, shot through with a deep grief that he hadn't felt in her in a long, long time. She tried so hard, so hard to be strong. She had had to be, during the years when they were running. And he knew, to protect herself, sometimes she had tried to force herself to be cold, uncaring. But she was never very successful at it. It was always a mask she put on. Nia, despite her prickly exterior, had a natural tendency to compassion, and Dromarch wondered sometimes how much loss could be piled on her before she could break.
Nia walked into the inn's kitchen, and was shocked to see Rex sitting at the table. Normally she woke up well before he did. She could still sense the wound festering deep inside of him, the wound from Malos that she hadn't been able to fully heal yesterday.
Seeing him set a storm of emotions raging in her. She was afraid, so afraid, that Rex would...perceive, somehow, that she could have healed Vandham and had failed to do so. That he'd put two and two together, and know that Vandham's death was all her fault. At the same time, she was utterly furious with him, for endangering his life like he had, all for nothing, so angry it almost made her feel sick. And beneath it all, she wanted...nothing more than to hold him, to heal him, to fix the wound deep inside him as best she could, to take away his pain, even a little, she ached to see him smile, even for a moment.
As she eyed him up and down, she noticed that he was covered in dirt, noticed the exhaustion in his eyes, and put two and two together. In the storm inside her, rage won out, for the moment. "Oh, you damn stubborn idiot," she hissed, narrowing her eyes. "You went out to the burial last night, didn't you? You're just getting in, aren't you?"
Rex said nothing, not looking at her, just staring at the apple and slice of bread in front of him, unable to bring himself to eat, as exhausted physically and emotionally as he was.
"Do you think you're bloody invincible?" Nia snapped, and she hated the way her voice cracked with sadness as she approached him. "You nearly killed yourself during the battle, and now you're going to kill yourself with exhaustion. Fool. Stubborn, stupid fool." Nia felt the rage inside her building. She...cared for this idiot, and damn him, when he didn't take care of himself it made her positively furious.
Rex, for his part, merely sat and accepted Nia's berating in silence. She was mad at him, and he knew why. His stupidity had gotten Vandham killed. He deserved her insults and derision. He wished he had been stronger, for her, for Vandham, for everyone.
Nia reached out to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Let me finish up that healing, at least," she muttered, but Rex merely grabbed her hand, removing it from his shoulder. He looked over at her, dark bags beneath his eyes, with such sadness, that Nia froze. Did...did he know? Did he know that Vandham's death was her fault? Had he figured it out? Damn the fool, why would he not let her touch him? Why would he not let her heal him?
"Rex," she called out, as Rex got up, slowly, and staggered his way out of the kitchen. Rex ignored her calls. He couldn't take it, looking at the concern and compassion she still had in her eyes. "REX!" she shouted, stamping her feet, as he slowly climbed the stairs, disappearing from view.
He knows what you are. He finally figured out what an awful person you are.
She collapsed at the kitchen table, head in her hands. Her gut roiled with fear. Maybe...maybe he knew. Maybe he knew it was all her fault, and couldn't bear to have her touch him anymore. And suddenly, it was all too much for Nia. Vandham, gone forever. Pyra, gentle Pyra, Pyra who, damn it, she had loved, transformed into the awful, burning harbinger of death. Rex...Rex, who had always made her feel so happy, unable to even let her heal him now. Grief, fear, anger, roiled within her, and she found it difficult to breathe. Her mind went foggy, the world around her seemed to grow dim. It all hurt so much. She had to get away, get away from everyone, from everything. It was all too much to process. Even gentle Dromarch, by her side, didn't bring her any comfort.
Who says you deserve any comfort, at all? How many people will die because of your failures before you realize that's all you exist for, to inflict misery?
"My lady?" Dromarch said, questioningly, as she rose, shaking from the table. She looked down at him with...well, with a look he had never seen on her face before. He could feel the turmoil within her through their ether bond, unlike anything he had ever felt within his driver before. "Nia," he said, his voice suddenly full of regal command, "Come. You need to rest. We-"
And suddenly Nia pushed her way past him, darting out the door of the inn. "NIA!" Dromarch roared, out the door.
"What the hell…? What's going on?"
Dromarch glanced back into the inn. Malos stood at the foot of the stairs, eyes narrowed, staring at Dromarch.
"My lady...there's no time. We need to find her." And Dromarch bounded out the door, Malos following him quickly, like a shadow.
Nia dashed through the streets of Fonsa Myma quickly, nimbly vaulting over ledges, leaping down stairways, dashing into alleyways. Just the simple physical act of running, the sensation of her burning lungs, her aching muscles, almost made her feel better, distracting her from the overwhelming storm of emotions within her. But she also knew Dromarch would be following her, and she had to get away as quickly as possible. She...didn't know where she was going. She didn't, in fact, notice much about the world around her. Her head was still in a fog. She only knew that she wanted to get away, as far as possible, from everyone, from everything.
There's only one way to get far enough away. You know how. But you're too much of a damn coward to give the world that courtesy, either.
She didn't even notice when she crossed outside of city limits, stumbling into the wilderness outside of Fonsa Myma, the alien forests of beautiful, pink leaves and bioluminescent fungi. She stumbled through ponds of crystal-clear water, cutting her hands on gorgeous but sharp coral growing beneath it.
She stumbled, bloody and dirty, through the wilderness, and she wasn't even really conscious of where she was until a low, dangerous growl finally cut through the fog of her mind, an injection of adrenaline through the funk suddenly restoring clarity to her perception.
She looked up. She was in a small clearing, a break away from the dense alien forest she had been running through, grass that came up past her waist. She could see Fonsa Myma off in the distance, at the top of a long ascent of cliffs and mountainous terrain, the city lights still twinkling in the early morning, and she marveled at how far off it seemed, wondering just how long she had been running in her funk.
But she did not have much time to wonder. In front of her, encircling her, was an entire pack of Vvolf's, all vicious, snarling teeth, mangy gray fur shot through with bright streaks of red, staring at her with flat, hungry eyes. Fear shot through her as she glanced around. There were well over two dozen of them surrounding her. Her hands went to grip her twin rings, but without Dromarch nearby, they'd be next to useless.
Why fight? Let these creatures do for you what you're too afraid to do yourself.
Her heart raced as the Vvolf's approached her, snaking through the grass, yipping and snarling. She did have other powers she could draw upon, of course. Her Flesh Eater powers. But as she tried to reach out through the ether to her suppressed Flesh Eater powers, an overwhelming sense of guilt shot through her. She...didn't deserve to use them. She didn't deserve to use those powers to save her own skin, when she had let others die because she had been too afraid to use them. Even as she thought it, she knew it was a stupid way to think, a stupid way to feel. But regardless, she couldn't bring herself to use her Flesh Eater powers, couldn't power her way through the overwhelming sense of guilt.
You'll thank me for that, in the end.
She stepped back in panic as the Vvolf's drew closer to her, cursing her foolishness, cursing herself for losing control. She prepared herself to fight tooth and claw as the hungry beasts grew closer, and closer, braver and braver, until with a roar, one of them leapt at her-
And with an awful, hissing howl, erupted with black flame in midair. And suddenly, where the Vvolf had been, it wasn't, not even a trace of it left behind.
Nia looked up, out across the field, as the Vvolf's milled about in confusion. There, striding across the field, looking purposeful, looking furious, was Malos, sword held out at his side. He shot her a dark glare of irritation, then extended one clawed gauntlet, clenching it. There was a small, high-pitched whine that built up for a few moments, and then in the middle of the Vvolf pack, a globe of dark flame expanded out with a roar, consuming a few of the beasts, leaving a perfect half-sphere crater carved into the ground.
The remaining vvolf's scattered in confusion and panic, whining, yipping and snapping at each other. Malos casually skewered one who rushed at him in panic, yanking its body off his sword and tossing it away, never breaking stride as he stomped toward her. She turned around to run again, but Malos dashed forward, grabbing her by her arm, nearly yanking her off the ground. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he snarled. "What do you think you're doing, running off on your own? Without Dromarch, without anyone? Do you want to get yourself killed?"
And then Nia glanced back at him with eyes large and full of tears, and Malos paused. "Oh, it had to be you, of course, damn it," Nia said miserably, as tears began flowing down her face. She scrubbed at them furiously, unable to make them stop. "Don't you look at me, don't you dare look at me," she gasped yanking her arm free of his grip, hiding her face in her hands.
Malos softened, sighing, as the girl wept into her hands, trying and failing to stop the tears. He sat down on a nearby rock, quiet for a few moments, sticking his sword into the ground. "I hadn't thought losing Vandham would hit you this hard," he mused.
"It's not just that," Nia snapped at him irritably, sitting down beside him.
"Then what is it?"
Nia glared up at him, baring her fangs. "Wouldn't you know? Wouldn't you, of all people, know? I….I could have saved him. And I didn't. Because I'm a damn useless coward." She leaned forward, holding her head in her hands. "What if...Rex finds out? What if he's already figured it out?"
And Malos mused, not for the first or last time, what an odd thing human and blade's self-image was. How the way you thought of yourself could be so vastly different from the way other people thought of you. So much so that you began to feel like an impostor, convinced that the hate you had for yourself was something everyone should feel.
"It's my fault," Nia was muttering to herself. "It's my fault he's dead. I-"
"Oh, would you give it a rest," Malos snapped. Nia glanced up at him, surprised. The Dark Aegis softened his tone again. "Look, Nia. Think of it this way. I know that you could have saved him, right? And yet...it didn't even occur to me to blame you for it. Nobody else even thinks you could have saved him, after Mythra stuck her sword in him. But even if they did think it, they wouldn't have blamed you for failing."
"But if they ever find out...if they ever find out I'm a..."
Malos rolled his eyes. "Look. I've read up on my history a bit. I...don't blame you for being reluctant to reveal what you are. With the way Indol has hunted down Flesh Eaters...but if you think anyone would blame you, look, I don't know what to tell you. You're a moron. There's one person who is guilty for Vandham's death, and that's Mythra."
Nia was silent for a long moment. She looked up at the Dark Aegis, who stared out across the field with hard, emotionless eyes. "Rex...won't let me heal him," she said, quietly. She wanted to be angry at Malos for Rex's current condition, but she couldn't bring herself to be. She knew that, for once, he was blameless. Rex, damn fool that he was, had been the one to draw too much of Malos' power. "What if...he knows now? What if he hates me for it…?"
Malos sighed. "Man. Humans sure can be dumb sometimes." He glanced down at Nia, raising an eyebrow. "Well, I take that back. Humans and blades. Look, I don't have the sort of...emotional connection to Rex, that other blades have with their drivers. I can't tell you how he's feeling, or what's on his mind. But it's obvious to everyone that he cares about you, a lot. I am pretty damn skeptical that he blames you for it."
Nia was quiet again, for another long moment, watching the wind blow the grass in gentle waves around them. "Malos," she said suddenly. "Are...you okay?"
Malos looked down at her in surprise, saying nothing.
"It's just that...it seemed like you knew Jin..I dunno how you guys got along, all those years ago..." Nia paused, her ears flat against her head. "It's just that..."
"Jin..." Malos said quietly, his voice full of regret. "I...don't know what happened to him. But if he's with Mythra now, he's a traitor of the worst kind. It is what it is." He shrugged, pushing thoughts of Jin out of his mind. None of them...none of them mattered. "Guess five hundred years can really change someone. Ah well."
Nia looked up at Malos with something approaching admiration. She hated to admit it...but that sort of cavalier detachment was something she wished she could have in herself. She wished it didn't break her heart that Pyra...Mythra...turned out to be the way she was. That the gentle woman who had cooked for her, given her warm smiles, treated her like a kid sister, had turned out to be a bloody murderer.
"Ach," she said suddenly. "This is so embarrassing. I feel like a damn fool having run out here."
"You are a damn fool."
"Oh, you really know how to comfort someone, don't you. Did ah...did Dromarch follow you out here?"
Malos got up, brushing dust off his legs. "Yeah. He went looking in another direction, though. Why don't we get going back?"
"Yeah," Nia said quietly, getting up, wincing. She had run for so long, and now a deep, burning ache had settled into her legs after her pause. "Let's just...take it slow, okay? I'm a little tired-"
"Oh, I don't think so," Malos snapped at her. "I missed breakfast to go out running after your silly ass. I'm not spending all day walking back. Come here."
"What are you-hey, back off-"
"Shut up."
"Put me down! Titan's arse, this is humiliating," Nia said miserably, as Malos hoisted her up, piggyback style, and set off at a brisk sprint, bounding across the terrain, racing back towards Fonsa Myma.
They were nearly all the way back, perhaps a mile off from the gates, when Dromarch appeared, bounding after them, appearing as if magic from the forest lining the road. Malos, barely even out of breath, set Nia down to talk to him as he drew close.
"Ah," Nia said, bashfully, as her blade drew close. "Dromarch, sorry-"
Dromarch roared at her in response, and Nia gasped in shock. She had never seen her blade so angry with her, so savage in his reaction to her. Dromarch paced around her, in frustration, tail flicking irritably, an occasional growl rumbling from deep within him. Finally, he seemed to calm down a bit, sitting down regally, licking one of his paws, before, with a huff, addressing her. "My lady," he said, fighting to keep his voice under control, "That was...an incredibly inconsiderate stunt you pulled. I am your blade. It is….everything to me, to protect you. Do you have any idea how this made me feel…?"
Nia felt her heart sink. She really did take Dromarch for granted, sometimes. And she knew...exactly how awful it would feel for a blade to lose their driver like that. "Oh...Dromarch, I'm sorry," she murmured, reaching out to pet him, but with a huff, he drew back before her hands could reach him.
Dromarch returned to his irritated pacing around her. "I have...always tried to respect your desire for independence," he mused. "But I swear to you, my lady. If you try something like that ever again...I will chase you down, and drag you back by the scruff of your neck like a wayward kitten."
"Ooh, I'd like to see that," Malos said.
"That's...fair," Nia replied.
Dromarch harrumphed, then growled, paced around her a bit more, flicking his tail, and finally settled down in front of her. "My lady may pet me, if she likes," he said airily.
Nia sank her hands into his thick fur, giving a rueful smile when Dromarch finally purred for her again, then climbed onto his back for the rest of the journey back to Fonsa Myma.
3.
Over the next few days, everyone visited Vandham's grave on their own schedule, on their own terms. It was hard to schedule a time for everyone to visit his grave at once. Rex seemed to be avoiding everyone, and Nia was still avoiding Rex, so for the most part everyone was left to cope with their grief in their own way.
Tora had been...observing Poppi. His artificial blade had seemed particularly impacted by Vandham's death. It made sense, in a way. It was the first time Poppi was ever dealing with death in a personal way, close to her. Maybe before now, she had not even truly understood what death was. It was hard for Tora to say. It was his grandfather, SooSoo, who had done a majority of the groundwork on her AI systems. Tora had followed her around, discretely taking notes on her grieving process, but soon found he did not have the heart for it.
This was...not how real blades and drivers interacted, after all. Real drivers didn't follow their blades around just taking notes when they were sad. Real drivers and blades shared a deep connection. A real driver would talk to his blade, comfort his blade, when she was feeling such deep loss.
But...what could Tora say to Poppi? Tora had his own guilt. He had made Vandham the device that he had used to trap Jin. If he hadn't...if Tora hadn't helped Vandham...maybe Pyra would have never gotten so mad at him. Maybe she wouldn't have struck him down. Surely Poppi had thought of this too. And she seemed so upset, so sad about Vandham's death. Perhaps she blamed Tora for it, as well?
It was during another visit to Vandham's grave that Tora mustered up the courage to speak to her. She was kneeling before Vandham's tombstone, when the nopon put down his notebook, and bounced over to her. He sighed heavily, and Poppi glanced over at him in surprise, orange eyes glowing.
"Poppi," Tora began, with some trepidation, pausing, and then steeling himself. "Tora is...sorry."
"What is masterpon sorry for…?"
"Tora knows….Vandham was very special to Poppi." He twiddled his wings together anxiously. "Tora is very best artificial blade maker in the world. Nobody have knowledge Tora has. Nobody has design skill Tora has. Tora is unmitigated genius."
Poppi sighed, wearily. "Masterpon is truly the greatest, yes," she said unenthusiastically.
"But...Tora is probably not very good driver." Tora shook his head ruefully, his small black eyes filling with tears as he stared at Vandham's grave. "And Poppi...can have ether bond with anyone. Tora knows what Poppi is thinking. If Poppi had been blade of someone else….even if Poppi had been alone! If Poppi had not had to bother worrying about masterpon during battle, maybe Vandham...would still be alive." Tora wiped tears away from his eyes, then pulled his goggles down over his face to disguise his grief. "Tora understands if Poppi not like him very much anymore. Poppi probably better off as blade of someone else, yes? Tora...will just follow, and make repairs, and Poppi can fight beside someone more competent. Is better this way, yes yes. Battle not a game. People...die. Tora so sorry-"
And then he stopped as Poppi flung her arms around him, squeezing him tight. "P-poppi?" he said, questioningly.
"How could Poppi's masterpon say such terrible things," Poppi said, her voice thick with sadness, muffled by his fur, as she buried her face into him. "Is true. Masterpon have many flaws. Masterpon is arrogant. He have no common sense. Masterpon like tiny dresses probably more than is healthy. Masterpon is lazy and does not maintain hygiene. Masterpon could stand to lose some weight."
"Wait, what Poppi say about hygiene…?" Tora said, sniffing himself.
"But masterpon care for Poppi like no one else," the small robot girl continued. "He always making sure Poppi is upgraded, and repaired, and maintained. Nobody else knows Poppi like masterpon. And protecting masterpon is the most important thing in the world to Poppi. Masterpon is the most important person in the world to Poppi. Poppi does not blame masterpon for...beautiful sweet Vandham dying," she said, choking on the words. "How could masterpon think this? Masterpon foolish, foolish, foolish."
Tora felt his heart swelling up with joy and grief at the same time. "But," Tora said quietly, "Your masterpon...he was not good enough in important battle. If Poppi..."
Poppi leaned back, and placed one cold metallic finger on Tora's mouth. "Hush," she said, harshly. "There is no one in the world Poppi would rather fight beside than masterpon. Has Poppi not made this clear? Masterpon can be so stubborn."
Tora was quiet for a moment, as Poppi sighed and leaned back on her hands, staring up at the sky. "Poppi has become...more mature, Tora thinks."
"Is true," Poppi said wistfully, staring off into the setting sun over the cloud sea, and the long, lazily waving tail of the Urayan Titan. "Poppi has lost some of her innocence. Poppi is wiser about harsh reality of world."
"Still," Tora replied, "Tora never wants to feel...like he could not do enough in battle ever again."
Poppi glanced down at him. "Poppi never wants to feel like that again either."
Tora pounded one tiny fist into the other. "Then it is settled. Tora and Poppi must train together more and more. Must become more and more in-sync."
Poppi nodded, determined. "Yes. Poppi agree. Must widen ether connection. Two hearts, must fight as one!"
"Must show these humans that just because Tora is nopon, does not mean he cannot be fierce warrior," Tora growled, bearing his tiny fangs. "There have been many legendary warrior nopon! Heropon Riki! Legendary Pirate-Merchant Bana! Tales of their ferocity in battle, far exceed any silly human legend about Aegis or whatever!"
Poppi leapt to her feet in excitement. "Yes! And Poppi already have strength of twenty men. Masterpon's upgrades could only make her stronger and stronger! Poppi and masterpon could become most legendary, fearsome warriors in history, if they put their minds to it!"
"Yes! Yes yes! YES!" Tora shouted, dashing over to where he had laid down his notebook, tripping over himself in his excitement to reach it. "Tora's mind is inspired. Tora knows of a thousand design improvements that could be made on Poppi! Why Tora wait? Why Tora put it off! Tora will begin on upgrade process now! Tora and Poppi become unstoppable duo whose names echo through the ages! And then…." Tora glanced at Vandham's grave, and laughed through the tears. "And then no friends ever have to die in battle ever again."
Poppi gave a bitter smile. "Masterpon...Poppi think this is best idea we ever have."
She walked over to him, approaching the small Nopon as he scribbled furiously in his notebook, and held out one metallic hand. Tora took it, still engrossed in his designs, holding his notebook in one hand and writing in it with his wings, as he and Poppi walked hand in hand back towards the inn in the dimming light of day.
"Masterpon," Poppi said quietly, as they walked. "Can Poppi make one small request about future designs?"
"Yes? What is it?"
The small robot pointed to her face, where an 'X' in the shape of Vandham's scar still decorated her face in dried paint. "Any future design of Poppi, can...masterpon make Poppi's battle paint permanent? Poppi...does not think it was ever very effective at scaring enemies. But Poppi would like to remember Vandham." She looked up at the emerging stars in the night sky, winking at her, closing her eyes for a moment. "Like to remember him...forever. Someone should."
Tora closed his notebook, finally. "Yes," he said quietly. "Yes Poppi. Your masterpon can do that."
4.
With Rex still avoiding everyone, and the other, younger members of the group, Tora and Nia, dealing with their grief int heir own foolish ways, Morag, Brighid and Malos found themselves spending more time together again, as the remaining 'adult' members of the group. They had gathered at Vandham's grave, standing around gravely, stoic, grim. Cole was there, as well as Iona, who was weeping openly, unrestrained, in the way that only a child ever felt comfortable doing. Morag and Brighid were still in their uniforms that Vandham had given them as disguises, trussed up as soldiers and mercenaries.
"It's...strange, isn't it," Brighid mused. Morag glanced over at her blade, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "Vandham gets a grave," Brighid continued. "But Roc...the Roc I knew, the Roc I talked with, the Roc I discussed exotic weapons with...we even tried coming up with some new designs, you know...that Roc...he's as gone as Vandham is. He's never coming back. And yet, he gets no grave." Brighid shook his head. "I wonder. If we wake him again...will we have the same conversations? Will they just seem old to me, now? Will he even have the same opinions? Or will some small experience he had with Vandham have changed his opinions completely from the ones he'll have if we were to wake him with us? If that's the case...is he really the same person? Or is that Roc...just dead, like Vandham is?" Brighid shook her head ruefully. "Ah. Listen to me, getting philosophical."
"We could...give him a grave of his own, if you'd like," Morag offered.
"Oh, it's not really necessary," Brighid replied, after a moment. "After all...how many times have I died, in Mor Ardain's long history? Was I a completely new person, every time I was re-awoken? Aegaeon, too? And yet did any of those...previous versions of me, ever get a grave?" Brighid shrugged, then glanced at Malos. "As the Aegis is so fond of saying, it is what it is."
Malos was busy chatting with Cole, catching up as much as he could on filling in some blanks from his past. Cole's cough was gone, and he was looking healthier by the day. Before the battle with Mythra, Obrona had paid him a visit – knocking him out, and yet manipulating his ether flows to restore his health. Pyra had, through it all, kept her promise to Iona.
Iona herself was inconsolable. She was glad that her grandfather's health was restored, but she was yet another person blaming herself for Vandham's death. If she hadn't put herself in harm's way, he'd still be alive. She wept bitterly at his grave, harsh, wracking sobs. Nothing Morag, or Brighid, or Cole had been able to say to her had been able to console her. But she was a child. There was nothing to do but to let her grieve, and once she had dealt with the grief, try to comfort her. Children...could recover from these things rather well. It was adults who carried the scars with them for life, if they let the wounds fester.
Cole broke off from conversation with Malos, approaching Morag. "Malos tells me you're...someone of some import, in Mor Ardain," he said.
"Well, so much for discretion," Morag said quietly, glancing at the Aegis.
He shrugged at her. "Hey. Cole's trustworthy enough. He's not going to turn you in to the Queen, at least."
Morag sighed, turning to Cole. "Yes. I am."
Cole raised an eyebrow at her. "And how long has it been...since you've been there?"
"I've been on deployment, and then following the Aegis, for quite a while. I suppose it's been close to six months now. I've been hoping to talk to you, since you've been to Mor Ardain recently...what you think..." Morag paused, considering, then continued. "...what you think of the chances of stopping the war."
Cole was quiet for a long moment. He crossed his arms, gazing at Vandham's grave, scratching his chin. Just when Morag thought he wasn't going to give an answer, he spoke up. "Perhaps...you don't know, having grown up there," he said quietly. "But Mor Ardain...is really not like anywhere else in the world. I've often wondered if it's cultural...or even biological, or some mysterious ether flow effect. But there's an energy in Mor Ardain, that beats through the whole empire. Almost like a song, a symphony." He laughed, ruefully. "Of course, as an artist I'd describe it in terms like that. But do you understand? There's energy there. Something there that's not anywhere else. Something you can feel just by being in the streets of the city."
"Yes," Morag replied, utterly serious. "I understand completely."
"I went there," Cole continued, "To try to convince people that the war would not be worth it. But...something's changed there recently. Notes….in the symphony of the empire...dark hues that have always been there...have...gah, I wish I had a better way to describe it." He sighed, then began again. "For a long, long time now...there have been...two sides to Mor Ardain. The strong, honorable, beautiful Mor Ardain, the Empire whose pride and strength have been an example to follow. And...the Clockwork Demon. And they've...never been separable. They are intrinsically part of each other. And they've...fought each other, in waves, for the soul of Mor Ardain. When the Empire is winning, Mor Ardain is a place of beauty. When the Clockwork Demon wins, Mor Ardain is a conqueror, an exterminator, an annihilator, a warmonger. And they've been fighting forever."
"Is there a point to all this?" Brighid asked.
Cole stared at her. "What I saw there, over the past few months," he said quietly, "Makes me think...the Clockwork Demon finally won." He looked over to Morag. "I hope...you can do what you can to make the beauty in Mor Ardain win again. But I...I got the feeling I was watching a tragedy in its final act, when I was there."
Morag was quiet, staring at Vandham's grave. Could she ever bring herself, to fight against Urayans, now, knowing that their most powerful driver had sacrificed himself, to help save her? Could she possibly help her homeland in its conquest with that guilt hanging over her? Could she even….begin to allow it? Vandham had been...so beautiful, in his last moments. Such amazing skill, such incredible technique….a warrior of the kind this world would probably not see again for centuries. Dead for honor, for valor's sake, for the love of friends. Which had included her. She felt tears rising to her eyes, and fought them down. Damn the man, why had he had to die? It would have been...such an honor, to fight at his side.
And she knew the answer, then. She could never, never fight against Vandham's homeland. Not when he had given himself so sincerely, so selflessly. Not when he had fought with such honor. She could not, with any pride or honor, help in the conquest of a homeland whom she had helped rob of its greatest warrior. If she couldn't stop the war, she couldn't participate in it and live with the stain of dishonor it would place upon her.
"Malos?" she heard a familiar voice call, suddenly.
Cole, Malos, Brighid and Morag turned around, to see Yew, Vandham's Ardainian second-in-command, at the top of the stairs, his blade at his side. As he approached, Morag noted the limp he walked with, the bruises and cuts upon his face. "Cole, nice seeing you," he said, nodding at him. "Morag. Brighid." Then he looked at Vandham's grave, and his smile took on a note of sadness. "Hey, boss," he murmured. He slurred a bit, seeming at least mildly drunk – or perhaps suffering from some sort of concussion.
"Architect, Yew, what happened to you?" Cole gasped, rushing to his side. "Look at you, you look beat to hell."
Yew shrugged cavalierly. "Well. Word reached the Garfont mercenaries a few days ago of Vandham's death. Zuo, he, well..." Yew glanced in Morag's direction - "he blamed...certain friends of ours. He proposed ending the neutral stance Vandham worked so hard to keep. It….blew up into a big row. It..." and here, his cavalier facade fell, and he addressed the gravestone directly. "I'm sorry, boss. I tried my damndest to keep the group together. But it ended up with Zuo kicking out all Ardainian members, and pledging allegiance to Queen Raqura in the war effort."
"So...what does that mean? The Garfont mercenaries work for the government now?" Cole asked, after a moment of silence.
Yew spat, tinged with blood. "Nah. It means the Garfont mercs don't even exist anymore, not really. Oh, Zuo might keep the name, but the spirit of the group...too many members left, too many got kicked out, too much bad blood left in the remains. Garfont mercs are done." He shook his head mournfully. "What a damn failure, I am. Couldn't even keep Vandham's legacy going two days after his death. What damn mess. Zuo's goons gave me a good beating, and I hoofed it here to Fonsa Myma as fast as I could. Zuo's planning on mustering up camp and marching his boys here, have them live in the Queen's barracks. Not even mercenaries at that point, if you ask me. Might as well call yourself soldiers."
Morag felt her heart sink into her stomach. "When do you think they'll be here?"
Yew glanced over at her. "Ah, yeah. You probably don't want to be around when Zuo gets here, huh. He's liable to point you out to the Queen's boys." He shrugged. "Well, me and the other...ah, dissenters, really gave him hell. He's got a lot of cleaning up to do, probably won't be here for another few weeks."
Morag tried not to think of the idyllic village they had spent so much of their time in, the scene of a small civil war, strewn with bodies, friends killing friends. Everything beautiful really was so transient in nature.
Yew strode forward, uncorking a bottle of wine, pouring it over Vandham's grave. "One last toast to you, boss," he said wistfully. He pulled out a small cigarette, lighting it, blowing smoke into the evening air. "I probably don't want to be here myself, when Zuo gets here," he said quietly.
To Morag's surprise, it was Malos who spoke up. "Why don't you come with us?" the Dark Aegis said. "We're headed to Indol eventually, but..." and here he looked at Morag. "We're probably going to make a stop in Mor Ardain, first."
"Well, well, look who does have some sympathy in him after all," Brighid said quietly, so that only Morag could hear.
Yew took a long drag from his cigarette. "Travel with the Aegis, the Jewel of Mor Ardain, on their journey to Elysium," he mused. "Hah! Nah. Thanks for the offer, but...I'm not the kind of guy who shows up in storybooks." He gazed out at the horizon, behind Uraya's tail, a small smile playing on his face. "I'm a wanderer. Spent too much time here, anyway. I'll find someplace new. Maybe even start my own merc group one day, try to keep Vandham's vision alive. But some grand quest for Elysium?" He flicked his cigarette away, smiling ruefully. "Sorry. Vandham might have believed in it, and I'll always respect the hell out of the boss. But as far as I'm concerned, that's for suckers."
5.
Morag lingered at the door to the inn's kitchen. Nia was in there, alone, sullenly munching on an apple that she was slicing with one of her daggers.
It was Brighid that had told her that she ought to talk to Nia. Morag was more than happy to talk to the girl, who she thought was probably far more troubled than she let on, as long as Nia wanted to talk. But Brighid had told her that she ought to take the initiative, and be the one to talk to her first. She had said. Rex, she said, had Malos as an older man to talk to. Nia needed an older woman, to give her advice. Morag could see how having someone older and wiser to talk to could be beneficial. She didn't really see how the gender of that person mattered. But Brighid had insisted that a young girl could benefit from having an older woman to talk to, specifically, just as a young man might benefit from having an older man to look up to.
Morag wasn't quite sure. Nia didn't seem like the type who...looked up to anyone. She might be young, but she seemed fiercely independent. Probably more than was actually good for her. But the girl had seemed morose, almost as much as Rex, who still refused, steadfastly, to talk to anyone, and who was still gone from the inn much of the time. Malos really ought to be the one to talk to Rex, but the Dark Aegis had insisted that he had no patience for this sort of thing. "Rex can talk to me," he said, airily, "when he stops being such a child." Morag thought this unnecessarily harsh. But then again, sometimes men...did seem a bit odd to her. Sometimes they seemed to cherish what seemed to her like cruelty from their role models. She had led enough men in battle to admit to herself that they definitely did seem like an alien gender, sometimes. Perhaps Brighid had a bit of a point about Nia needing an older woman in particular to talk to. Of course, it could have been Brighid herself, but her blade had insisted that Nia and Morag probably had more in common.
Well, now was as good a time as any. Morag walked calmly into the kitchen, taking a seat across from Nia. The girl glanced up at her, before slicing another larger hunk from her apple and popping it into her mouth. Morag struggled to come up with a way to broach the subject. "So," she said casually, "I hear you, ah, ran off alone into the forest the other day."
Nia's eyes widened, and she slammed her dagger into the table. "Right! Who told you? I told Malos and Dromarch not to tell anyone, the bastards. The absolute bastards. Oh, I am gonna skin them alive, I swear. Out with it! Who was it?!"
Morag held up her hands in shock. "Actually, it was Brighid who told me. I don't know who she heard it from."
Nia's face reddened. "Cor, how many people know about this? Titan's foot. One person knows one little secret, and it spreads like wildfire."
"Would you like to tell me why you ran off?"
Nia looked Morag up and down, considering, then pried her dagger from the table, slicing off another chunk of apple to toss into her mouth. "No," she said airily.
Morag was quiet for a moment, then decided to soldier on. "This would be," she said quietly, "the second time you've wandered off on your own, in a funk."
Nia paused in the middle of chewing her apple, and Morag had to admire how much the young girl could make a simple silence seem deadly.
"I've seen this sort of thing before," Morag continued. "In soldiers. Soldiers that have been on the field for too long. Seen too much death. Seen too many friends die. Soldiers who have been through too much pain for one mind to take. Who are feeling survivor's guilt. Who have no one to talk to. In Mor Ardain, we worry about those sorts of soldiers."
"Oh don't worry about me," Nia replied, her voice low. "I'm not gonna...endanger the mission, or whatever. I promise I won't be a burden."
"We don't worry about them because of that. We worry about them because those soldiers end up killing themselves a lot."
Nia froze, as if struck. Morag reached out across the table to squeeze her hand. The Gormotti girl looked up at her with wild, wide eyes, an edge of panic to them.
"I've seen a lot of death," Morag said, her voice calm. "If you need someone to talk to about it, I'm the person to come to."
Nia slowly swallowed the hunk of apple she had been chewing on, and then paused. "What if I told you," she said, slowly, "That I could have saved Vandham? That I could have, and I didn't, because I was too damn slow. Because I….I was scared. And don't give me this any of the usual, 'Oh you couldn't have saved him, it's not your fault', bull. I know, for certain, I could have, and I failed. He's dead because I was a coward."
Morag paused for a moment, considering this. She didn't see how Nia could have possibly, realistically have saved Vandham. But the important thing was, the girl clearly believed that she could have. And that was what mattered.
"Let's say," Morag said, slowly, "You're exactly right. You could have saved him. No...no bull. You could have saved him, and you bear responsibility for that." Morag drew back, and spread her hands. "Well...we all do. I feel the same thing. If only I had fought harder, I could have saved him."
"It's not the same," Nia began, but Morag held up her hand, stopping her.
"And why would it not be the same? It's exactly as true. If I had been smarter, if I had been faster, if I had been stronger, if I had taken the battle more seriously, if I had considered every possibility, I could have saved him. I can tell you, Brighid feels the same way. And if I had to guess, Tora and Poppi do, as well. Rex...if I had to guess why he's been so isolated, this is what's bothering him. It was because of him that Vandham was there at all. Malos...well...Malos is Malos. Who knows how he feels about it. And we are all, one hundred percent correct. We all failed. We all failed Vandham. You aren't alone in this. In war, the living always fail the dead. The living are always guilty. You aren't unique, or alone, in this. We all could have done better, we all could have done more, and because we didn't, someone lost their life."
"So..." Nia replied, hiding the tremble in her voice, "That's why I should feel better? I'm not uniquely bad? We're all terrible garbage, so it doesn't matter if I am too?"
"No. None of us are garbage. Do you think so? Do you think that I'm garbage? Or Rex, or Tora?"
"No. Of course not."
"And yet we all failed, as you did. You aren't garbage, or terrible, any more than anyone else is. You're human. And the reality of war is that it takes human mistakes, human weaknesses, and magnifies the consequences of them. A rice farmer making a small error in judgment loses some rice. A soldier making a small error in judgment has to see his friends die. And a general who makes a small error in judgment loses thousands of lives." As she said it, Morag realized she was seeing the truth of this for the first time, herself. "War makes the cost of being human unbearable."
Nia sat, considering this for a moment. "Even if I tell myself this," she replied finally, "It...doesn't change the way I feel. I still feel so much guilt. I still feel...like I deserve to..." she trailed off, saying nothing.
"Of course. There's no magic words anyone can say to change the way you feel. The heart and the head don't always agree. But what you know to be true in your head...well, it eventually makes its way down to your heart."
Nia toyed with the dagger in her hands. "Rex won't let me heal him," she said suddenly. "I don't suppose you know why that is?"
Morag shook her head. "You'd have to ask him yourself. I haven't spoken to him."
Nia's ears perked up suddenly. "Has...has anyone at all, spoken to Rex? Since Vandham died?"
"I...don't suppose anyone has. He's been avoiding everyone. I assumed he wanted to be alone."
"So?" Nia snapped, rising to her feet. "I wanted to be alone...but...it was...still a good thing that you came and talked to me." She shrugged, playing it off. "You know. So...thanks."
"Where are you going now?" Morag asked, as Nia walked away.
"I'm gonna go talk to Rex, and get that damn fool to let me heal him."
"Nia?"
"Yeah?"
"Maybe put the dagger away, first."
Nia looked down at the blade clenched in her fist. "Oh. Right."
6.
Nia had a bit of a difficult time finding Rex. He had gotten pretty good at avoiding everyone, rising early in the morning before anyone woke, and not returning until very late at night. She thought that he might be at Vandham's grave, but he hadn't been. She wandered the streets of the city for a while, but she didn't think Rex seemed like the type to want to socialize with strangers in the middle of his grief. So she wandered closer to the edges of the city, to the extensive gromrice fields. It was there she found him, in the middle of one field, isolated, not a soul in sight, sitting beneath a tree growing from the middle of the field, a large weeping willow covered with thick, purple petals.
He sat beneath it, in the shade cast by its umbrella-like canopy, the sword Vandham had given him across his knees, staring into the sky. Nia approached him with some trepidation. She had Malos and Morag's words to bolster her, but still...he had been avoiding her. She couldn't help but worry, in her secret heart, if he blamed her, and hated her for it now. And the thought of Rex hating her...the possibility worried her so much, she realized with a start, because it was more than she could bear.
He didn't hear her as she approached, or didn't care, only lowering his gaze to look at her with a start once she got within ten feet. His eyes had dark circles beneath him, and as she reached through the ether, Nia could feel the wound in him, and she marveled at his strength. How the hell could he stand to live with the pain he was feeling?
The sight of him in so much self-inflicted pain was making her fury rise, again, and she struggled to keep her voice somewhat gentle. "Don't you go running from me, this time," she murmured. She came and sat next to him, back against the tree. Rex was silent, looking upward at the sky. Nia looked up at the same direction he was. She summoned her courage. "So, why won't you let me heal you?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Rex said, without looking at her. Nia felt her heart hammer in her chest. "I don't deserve it. Not after my stupid decisions got Vandham killed."
For a moment, what Rex said shook Nia to her core. It was a knife going straight through her heart. Rex was blaming himself for something that was her fault. It was her fault that Vandham had died, and yet this poor boy was taking the responsibility on himself. But in the next moment, she couldn't help but laugh.
"What...what is it? What's so funny?" Rex asked, glancing over at her.
Nia sighed, mirthfully. "Come here. Come here, you sweet idiot," she said, pulling Rex closer to her, until they were both leaning against each other. She wrapped her arms around one of his, pouring healing into him as they talked. "Although I guess we're both idiots. I thought you didn't want me to heal you...because you blamed me."
"Wha? Why would I do that?"
"Because..." Nia paused. "Because I...could have healed him. If I was quicker. If I hadn't been so scared. I could have saved him. Trust me, I could have. I bought you back from the edge. I could have done it for him. But I was too damn slow. Too...afraid."
"What?" Rex shook his head. "Nia, what are you, mad? You think I'm gonna blame you for not being perfect? Architect. You really are an idiot. What a silly thing to think."
"Oh! Look who's talking! You think I blame you for the same damn thing! Because you didn't somehow peer into the future and know exactly what was gonna happen!" Nia shook her head. "And then you went off on your own to stew in your own guilt. Boys, I swear. Nobody blames you for it, you moron."
"But...you were so angry at me. If not for that, then for what…?"
Nia squeezed is hand, hard, with her own. "Because...you damn oaf, because you went and hurt yourself again. I know it wasn't even Malos this time. It was you, drawing on his power. Getting yourself half-killed and then refusing to let me heal you. I'm still mad at you for that, by the way. Absolutely furious, actually."
Rex sighed, looking down at the ground. "I'm sorry," he said, quietly. "It's just...after I saw Vandham dead, I...completely lost it. I was so angry, angrier than I've ever been in my life. I couldn't control myself. I just wanted to see her suffer for it. I know I probably bit off more than I could chew."
Nia laid her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes. "I...I suppose...I understand. But damn it, Rex, please take better care of yourself. You don't know how it feels to see you hurt yourself. I care about you, probably against my better judgment. Don't...toy with my heart like that."
Rex was quiet for a moment, then chuckled to himself. "So. You thought I blamed you, and I thought you blamed me, so we both spent the past week completely avoiding each other."
"You see why it's so funny?"
And they put their heads together and laughed, laughed in their grief, laughed in their sadness, their loss echoing through the laughter, falling into each other more and more, until they were laughing while embracing each other, some of the laughter hiding tears.
Nia could feel Rex's heart pounding in his chest, pressed up against hers, and it felt...nice, having his warms wrapped around her, comforting. Just as it felt nice, almost like a relief, to finally be able to heal him, to finally be able to mend that wound deep within him that he had let fester all week. She felt like she understood this damn fool more than she ever had before, and...what a sweet soul he had, deep down.
"I'm gonna miss him," Rex whispered, his face buried in her hair, and it was like she could feel his grief echo through her, too. "He….he should have been able to come with us. To Elysium." She squeezed him tighter, in response, and felt a bolt of comfort echo through her.
And they stayed like that for hours, wrapped in each other's arms, sharing their grief, sharing their comfort, until the sun began to go down, until Nia had finally healed Rex, until she could no longer feel the hole he had torn inside himself with Malos' power, listening to each other breathe, feeling the pounding of each other's hearts, taking simple comfort in there being someone else to touch, to lean upon, to share warmth with.
Finally, when it was nearly dark, Rex finally lifted his head. "I suppose we should be getting back," he said, quietly.
"Mmm," Nia murmured, still pressed against his chest. "You're nice and warm. And so comfortable. Let's just sleep here." She was exhausted from the exertion of healing him, but also from the simple mental and emotional exertion of the past week.
"No, no, we can't. They open up the canals early in the morning, and these fields get flooded. We'd get all wet before the sun even rose."
She groaned in irritation. She really didn't want to get up. "Oh, couldn't you have chosen a better place for your alone time," she snapped. "It feels...so comfortable..." she yawned, stretching out against him. Rex extricated himself from her, delicately. She really was like a cat, in some ways. He got up and stretched, his back cracking.
Nia curled on the ground next to him, glancing up at him. And gasped in shock. There was a dim golden cord extending from her to Rex. With a yelp, she concentrated, reaching out through the ether and severing the connection, vanishing the cord before Rex could notice.
He glanced down at her, raising an eyebrow. "What was that?"
Nia got to her feet, the adrenaline pumping through her system clearing her of fatigue. "It was...nothing. Let's get back to the inn."
Nia stared at Rex in the light of dusk, as they made their way, slowly, back to the inn. She had...reached out to bond with him without even noticing. A dim ether bond, a weak ether bond, true. But an ether bond nonetheless, as she had laughed in his arms. And...it had felt so comfortable. More comfortable than anything she had felt in a long, long time. Part of her had severed the bond in shock. But part of her...had wanted that bond to remain. Rex made her...happy, comfortable. Rex made the voice in her go quiet. And...if she was being honest, part of her cried out for a driver. She was a blade, and blades...were meant to share their lives with someone. Meant to protect someone.
Her thoughts drifted back to what Vandham had said to her, the night before the fateful battle. That between the two of them, they could take care of Rex, make sure he didn't do anything too stupid. Well, Vandham was gone now. But Nia supposed that she could honor his memory by being the one to stay by Rex's side and watch after him.
Finally, in the dark of night, they approached the inn. It had just recently fallen dark, and looking through the window, Rex could see roaring fire in the fireplace, and a few figures milling about the common space of the inn, people he had been avoiding for the past week. He sighed, drawing in a breath, turning to Nia. It was going to be….a bit embarrassing, to face them. Especially-
"Well, well," said Malos, melting into being from the shadows beside the door. Rex glanced up in shock. Malos was a mere foot from him. He had been certain nobody was there a moment before. "Look who's decided to come back. You got it all out of your system?" The Dark Aegis nodded in thanks, to Nia. "I knew you'd be the one to snap him out of this stupid funk. Thanks, Nia."
Rex crossed his arms, looking away. "Yeah. You know, you could have come talk to me too, Malos. Might have helped."
"Rex, you can talk to me about lots of things. Cool technology, battle tactics, the Void. Hell, I don't even mind discussing how you're feeling when your feelings at least make some sense. But when I think you're being a complete idiot about them?" Malos rolled his eyes. "No. I've got no patience for it. Nia here can be the Mopey Rex cleanup crew. Go team Rex, right?"
Nia snorted. "It isn't cleanup. Although...you were kind of being an idiot, Rex."
Rex held up his hands. "Hey. I don't think I like this team's dynamics. You can't both be calling me an idiot." Laughing, he headed into the inn, Nia trailing right behind him. She glanced behind her as the door began to close. "You coming in?" She asked Malos, holding the door open.
Malos waved her off, holding up a cigarette. "I'm trying out one of these things. Can't say I see the appeal. Tastes like shit. Blowing smoke is cool, though."
He blew smoke into the evening air as Nia closed the door behind her, closing his eyes. His mind raced to what Cole had told him. About Addam.
After the final battle with Mythra, nobody was quite sure what happened to Addam. But one thing Cole had been completely certain of...was that he hadn't lived long. Malos' power had burnt him out, almost completely, during that final battle. Afterwards, Addam had been a shell of the man he had been before. No healing, nothing could cure him, of what seemed more like a malady of the soul than the body. It would have been...shocking, Cole had said, if he had lasted more than a year.
It was funny. Out of everyone he had known before, Cole...Minoth...seemed the most accepting of Malos' actions. Maybe it was because he was a Flesh Eater, and had never been as attached to other humans as Jin had been to Lora.
Or maybe it was because, as a playwright, he understood tragedy.
7.
After that night, when Rex had rejoined the group, things began moving quickly. It seemed...a little odd, to Nia, how quickly people had decided the mourning period was over. Although it made sense when Morag explained that Zuo would be arriving in Fonsa Myma soon, with the remains of Vandham's mercenaries, and it probably wouldn't be safe for her to be there when that happened. It broke Nia's heart to hear of what happened to Garfont. She had hoped that, perhaps, even though Vandham was gone, part of him might live on through his organization. But...it seemed like it all fell apart. Nothing stayed.
Although the quest for the World Tree demanded that they go to Indol, it was broadly agreed to honor Morag's request and make a stop in Mor Ardain on the way, to leave in a couple of days. Not even Malos disagreed. Nia herself was a bit relieved. She did not have...fond memories of Indol. And she'd worry that if she were to go there, if someone might recognize her...shout her secret...she looked down at herself. It might be worth it, trying to find a new outfit before they made their way to Indol.
But either way, Nia didn't feel like she was ready to say goodbye to Vandham, not yet. And there had been something she had been working on, as a goodbye. Something she wanted to deliver alone.
And so, the next day, while the others were busy packing up for the trip to Mor Ardain, Nia snuck out quietly, holding a small, wrapped object in her hands, and trudged the many steps up to Vandham's grave, arriving at dusk. Many people had walked these steps in the past week or so, coming to say goodbye to Uraya's most legendary driver. Nia was pretty sure she had even seen the Queen herself come by, at one point. Vandham's grave had been fairly busy. But now...a week on from his death, already the number of visitors was dwindling. People didn't like to dwell on what they had lost, Nia supposed. It was probably a good thing. Even if it seemed like it could be so harsh, so cruel to the dead. Wouldn't it be nicer if you could remember the beautiful times you had with those you lost, and not be reminded of the awful pain of losing them every time you thought of them?
As Nia mounted the last step, she looked around. This close to evening, there weren't many visitors to his grave. In fact, there was only one. A small Gormotti woman, sitting before his grave, knees pulled up beneath her, staring sullenly at it with intense green eyes, her hair a wild mane of shocking red, skin bronzed by the sun. She was particularly small, even for a Gormotti, barely standing taller than Nia although she was full-grown. He clothes were ragged, battle-worn, and she had blades strapped all about her, on her thigh, her waist, hidden at her side. She whipped her head around to stare at Nia as she approached. Nia froze as the woman evaluated her. "Oh, don't stop on my account, pretty girl," the woman said softly, after a while. "You want to visit this big oaf, you go right ahead. How did you know him?"
"He was...my friend," Nia said, sitting down next to her. "How about you?"
The small Gormotti woman was quiet for a long time. "He was my husband," she said finally. "My name's Caes. And you?"
"Nia." She glanced over at Caes, who was still staring angrily at his grave. She had...known that Vandham had a wife. Once. And a son. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting. But she supposed it made sense that, as estranged as they might be, she'd come visit his grave.
"We grew up together," Caes began, quietly. "From the time we were tots, we were playing with each other. And as he got older, and bigger, oh, he set my heart on fire. I knew...from a very young age, he was the one I wanted. We were both so adventurous, we loved the rough and tumble life. The day I learned that...he felt the same way about me that I felt about him..." here, tears began rolling down Caes' face. "Oh, I was so happy. So young. So in love, we were wild about each other." She wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm ramblin'. I suppose I was waiting here, waiting for someone to come by I could just babble at. I'll shut up."
"No, it's...it's okay, really," Nia replied. "I knew he had a wife, but...he never talked much about you. Or his..."
Caes sighed, staring again at the grave. "We journeyed together," she continued. "I was...so madly happy. We adventured together, across the world, lone wolf mercenaries. Happiest years of my life. And when we...finally admitted to each other, how we felt, how we'd felt for so long...we got married. And he put a baby in me. A beautiful baby boy. My little man. My little Rhoric. Vandham went out on missions to support us while I took care of the child. And Vandham was such a good father. Rhoric loved his great big da'." Caes buried her head in her hands, sobbing. "He was so good to me. Architect, what a damn fool. What a damn fool I am."
Nia remained quiet, as the woman wiped away her tears. She didn't know what she could say. She knew nothing she ever said could possibly console her.
"Rhoric...got sick," Caes continued, after a moment. "No one knew what it was. No doctor, no blade could heal him. Vandham worked so hard to pay all the medical bills, to send him to the best doctors in the world. But when the doctors said that he couldn't be cured, Vandham went...chasing after legends. He said he'd heard tale of a blade with powers to heal damn near anything. I begged him to stay, begged him to stay with his son in his...last moments. But damn bull-headed Vandham was sure he could be saved. And...that was how my little Rhoric died. Asking where his daddy was."
Nia's eyes widened, her heart racing. This had happened...just a few years ago, Vandham had said. A blade that could heal anything. Had he...heard about her? She supposed she would never really know, would she.
"I was so, so angry at him, when he got back," Caes went on. "You...know how we Gormotti can get. We got a reputation for temper for a reason. But...I was so sick with grief...I...hurt him in a way I know he'd never hurt me back. Attacked him, slashed at him. Cut up his face. What a damn lowlife, coward I was. I only was able to do it because I knew he was too gentle, too sweet to ever do anything like that back. Oh, the hurt in his eyes. Losing his son, and having his wife turn on him. That hurt, I won't forget till the day I die." She sighed, raising her eyes to stare furiously at the grave again. "I...always told myself...one day, we'd reconcile. He was my true love. Only man I ever have loved. That one day...I'd have the guts to apologize, and he'd take me back, and we could start over, stronger than before, because we had been through such darkness. And then...he had to go and die on me."
And here, she broke into full tears again, shoulders hitching, leaning forward to place a hand on his grave, her eyes filled with frantic sadness.
"How am I supposed to ever love again, Vandham? You gave me everything I wanted, everything I had dreamed of ever since I was a young girl, and then the world took it all away. How am I supposed to live like this?" She punched the grave between racking sobs. "Damn you. Damn you, you made me love you like this. You made me love you like this and then you left forever, you bastard, bastard, bastard. Why couldn't it have stayed like it was when we were young, forever?"
She sighed, after a long moment, and got to her feet, her hand lingering upon Vandham's grave. "Goodbye, my love, to all of that."
And as she walked away, she paused, without turning around. "Nia. Take my advice, girl. Never love anyone as much as I loved Vandham. It's not worth the pain of losing them."
Nia watched, silently, as Caes walked away, disappearing into the darkness, descending down the steps, walking away from Vandham for the final time.
She approached his grave herself, smiling bitterly at it. "Well, Vandham. If...I was the one you were looking for, here I am. Life's funny like that, isn't it? Maybe in some other world...you did find me, yeah? And I never would have joined Torna, and I could have saved your boy..." she shook her head, wiping tears away. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you never found me, if I was the one you were looking for. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help your boy. I'm sorry I couldn't help you. It's all I can say, really. You deserved better than this."
Her hands unwrapped the small package, placing it at his grave. It was a carving she had worked hard on over the past week, trying her best to get it as realistic as possible, and she had done a good job, if she said so herself.
It was a carving of a large bear, bearing a striking resemblance to Vandham, dressed up in his bandoliers and boots, sitting cross-legged on the ground, a small cat curled up on one of his knees, sleeping peacefully.
"Goodbye, Vandham," she whispered.
Note
Damn these chapters keep getting longer than I had planned for them to be
A major inspiration while writing this chapter was Crippled Black Phoenix-Hold On (Goodbye to all of that)
As usual please comment if you read! I'm usually very busy, and writing this fic takes up quite a bit of the little free time I have, I don't really have the time to go and promote it other places or anything. So the comments I do get are very inspiring