Aaron perched on the small patch of grass, his head tilted as though he listened for the squawking of the Flamiis on the nearby beach. No movement escaped his wide eyes. Around him, two girls of ages eight and six respectively pranced in childish games. One moment they chased after a leather ball, and the next the ball lay forgotten near the crooked fence while the pair howled and chased each other instead.

Aaron could have joined their game. The older girl had invited him twice. But he rather sat and watched and sorted thoughts only known to him.

Maybe this behaviour was genetic. Or maybe he had adopted the way his parents acted during the few hours at a shared dinner table, with this undeniable distance between them in the shape of a lost friend. Either way, the result remained the same.

Shulk leaned forward on the bench that neighboured the patch of grass. The house wall behind him still emitted the cool of early morning fog, even though the wafts themselves had long dissipated. The sun might have driven them away, but not the cold they carried. And as the afternoon faded, Shulk fastened his collar. He kneaded his hands. The peaceful scenery of the children playing in this small garden failed to ease the lump in his throat.

Beyond the fence and down a couple hundred meters of a sandy road, there lay Colony 9. From the commercial district drifted a mixture of curry and joss sticks and a dozen other familiar scents towards the garden. The grey tower of the central plaza spiralled high above the rooftops, the same as ever. The ashlar houses dug their heels into the ground with the same defiance that had withstood Mechon attacks and the rebirth of the world. A monument of days past.

Shulk could not bear the sight.

He could not bear the nearness of his old hometown and the one glaring part of the picture that was not there. The incompleteness of this machine made him sick. Because he knew for this one piece, he would never find a replacement. So, the machinery of Colony 9 continued its work, its gears turned and its engine hummed, and to most it appeared as a harmonic system. But Shulk would always know what was missing. This one small piece that had mattered everything to him.

Gone. Forever.

"How come every time you show your face around here, you look worse than before?"

Shulk turned his head farther than normal to follow the voice; the hearing in his right ear hadn't fully recovered. With practice, he would filter out the muffled nothingness, but it would take time. Time which seemed so rare these days. Teelan didn't have enough of it…

Reyn leaned against the doorframe of his house and didn't even try to conceal his annoyance behind his crossed arms. The sea breeze had done him well over the years, and he may have added a few more centimetres to his considerable height. His hair tips brushed the doorframe whenever he stepped through. A hint of laughter lines framed the corners of his eyes.

"Move over, old man, you're not running away from a conversation this time," Reyn said and gestured at the bench.

Shulk dutifully slid over. "We're the same age."

"I won't admit it until you start acting like it. Face it, Shulk, you're an old man, and I'm in my prime." With that and a roll of his shoulder, Reyn plopped onto the bench. "How's Alcamoth doing these days? It's been a while since I got to see the old halls. I'm almost starting to miss all the pomp and glamor."

"Alcamoth hasn't seen pomp or glamor in a while. It's no surprise with all these people seeking refuge there. You know about the Shoulder?"

"Yeah, we've had a couple folks from Gran Dell come down here as well. It's gonna be a nightmare to find places to stay for all of them. Forget gold growing on trees, I'd like some trees that grow us a couple acres of land every year."

Shulk stared at his restless hands.

"But I'm telling you," Reyn continued. "I'm not sharing this house with anyone, especially not with one of the furballs. Try living with three girls out for your blood, and you'll know what I mean."

Reyn waved at the children in the garden. Even though the sarcasm still hardened his jaw, the rest of his face melted at the sight of the younger girl waving back. Her older sister took the gesture as an invitation to play. With unreasonable force, she smacked her ball in Reyn's direction and, in the image of innocence, hopped forward as Reyn saved his face from the projectile at the last second.

"What are we having for dinner, daddy?" she asked.

"Nothing if you shoot me down before I get the chance to go back into the kitchen." Reyn glared at the ball as if it alone had caused all the injustice in his life. "It gives me the creeps how good your aim is, Gaby. Remind me to add a second lock to your mother's rifle cabinet just in case."

Gaby ignored her father's statement and balanced on her heels. "And when will you go back into the kitchen?"

"As you can see, I'm in the middle of a very important conversation for grown-ups." Reyn tossed Gaby the ball, and she caught it with ease. "How about you go and play with your sister. Or, better yet, play with Aaron."

"He said he doesn't want to."

"That excuse never stops you when I use it. Consider it your challenge for today. If you get Aaron to play with you, you get a second serving of dessert. How does that sound?"

Gaby grinned. "Mummy will be against it…"

"Sweetheart, let that be my worry. On workdays, mummy has no saying in the kitchen." Reyn shooed Gaby away from the bench. "Now off you go. And tell Liza not to rob on her knees so much or this'll be the third pair of trousers she ruins this month."

"Okay." Gaby turned to re-join her sister but spun back to face her father one last time with a sly grin. "And what dessert are you making?"

Reyn threw up his hands. "In the name of Bionis…"

Now that she had succeeded in annoying her father past the breaking point, Gaby sprang away, and her mess of dark hair fluttered behind her. Her liveliness never failed to astonish Shulk. Even as a toddler she had stalked about the room and had demanded every person and every piece of furniture as her plaything. A far cry from Aaron, who made himself invisible in every but the most literal sense.

"Sorry, Shulk," Reyn said and rose from the bench. "Work's calling. They're even more monstrous when they're hungry; you really don't want to see that. How about we talk more inside? Wait, scratch that question, you're coming along."

All of Shulk's attempts to protest went under as Reyn grabbed him by the collar and shoved him inside.

The kitchen oozed the sort of cosy atmosphere you could never find in Alcamoth. Pots with herbs and flowers stood on the window sill, the stove top always housed this or that sauce pan, and the smell of olive oil and fresh bread never left the wooden cupboards. Every piece of the assembly shoved its age with pride, from the frayed carpet to the chairs around the table where none matched the other. The likeness to Dunban's old house was uncanny.

Reyn dropped Shulk unto one of the chairs like a pile of rags and soon afterwards rattled with pots and plates. In between chopping onions and filleting a Sardi, he glanced at the garden beyond the window. Each time, his jaw clenched.

"Can't believe not even Gaby can convince Aaron to play fetch," he mumbled. "He's a worse spoilsport than you ever were."

Shulk had a hunch where this conversation was heading. A change of topic was in order. "Anything on Dunban?"

Reyn beheaded the Sardi. "I wanna see him dare show his face around here. I'll punch his teeth out."

Okay, terrible choice for a topic. In truth, Shulk didn't like talking about Dunban either.

"Can I help you with that?" he asked and pointed at the bowl of cool potatoes next to Reyn.

He brandished his kitchen knife. "You can be a good guest and stay put. I got this. I've had time to practice my cooking skills, you know?"

Shulk sank back into the chair. "I suppose I wouldn't be of much help anyway."

"Exactly. I looked over Fiora's shoulder often enough while you were busy dismantling the Monado down to the last bolt."

"I thought you did that because of the free tastings."

Reyn massacred an innocent potato with extra force. "And I still learned more about cooking than you did. Now stop changing the subject, I hate these mental gymnastics. Aaron; he's always like this?"

"Like what?"

"Arg, you know… quiet."

"I don't know. He doesn't seek the company of other children in Alcamoth. Usually he stays in his room. Or listens to Melia's meetings. I'm starting to think that is my fault too because I never gave him what you give your daughters. This… attention."

Reyn watched as Gaby and Liza balanced on the garden fence, entirely absorbed in their game. "Hey man, he's only five," he said. "I'm sure it's just a phase."

"But he shouldn't behave like a five-year-old. At least not a five-year-old Homs." Shulk plucked at the edges of the spotty tablecloth. His puzzle box rested in his bag upstairs, out of reach. "High Entia his age shouldn't even be able to walk."

"Sure, but that just shows that he's not a full High Entia, right? That's nothing to worry about, is it?"

"It's difficult to say what effects his mixed blood will have on him. What about his life-expectancy? We never had a case of Homs blood integration that went beyond the threshold of eighty percent until him. If Aaron behaves like a five-year-old Homs now, will he be fully grown at twenty? What about his children? And their children in turn? The High Entia gene is diluting. In a thousand years, we might no longer be able to tell them apart from Homs."

Reyn leaned against the counter and searched for a less wordy explanation in Shulk's face. "All that genetic talk makes no sense to me," he said. "So, what if the High Entia will live more like Homs? At least they get to live without that Telethia transformation thing. I for one don't need to hang in there for three hundred years. What's so wrong with that?"

Shulk said nothing. The tablecloth didn't present him with an answer either. Whenever he looked at this problem, the slow loss of the High Entia gene, all paths pointed to one solution.

"It may just be a temporary fix," he said, "but the High Entia gene may be preserved for a few generations longer if Alcamoth promoted relationships between High Entia more. I suggested reviving the tradition of a first consort to Melia. That would allow her to pick a mostly pure-blooded High Entia as her partner. But she didn't seem too fond of the idea."

Reyn rolled his eyes, abandoned the counter, and smacked the back of Shulk's head with the pot he was holding. "You can be so dense, Shulk."

The point of impact throbbed, but the surprise aspect of the attack left Shulk in confusion rather than pain. "Did I say something wrong?"

"I can't believe I have to spell it out for you." Reyn stabbed him with his forefinger and made full use of his impressive frame. "Melia loves you and not some vague concept of High Entia blood preservation. You, Shulk, with all your Homs blood and your obsession with machinery and your dense head. And if you haven't noticed that in the past years, I know an excellent doctor who'd love to have you as her patient."

"A compliment so early in the evening? Reyn, are you sure you're alright?"

With these words and a knock against the doorframe, Sharla entered. The sterile white doctor uniform draped on her arm paired with the strict bun added a seriousness to her appearance that contrasted her relaxed movements. Even in heels her sure-footedness never failed her. Sharla gave Shulk a squeeze of the shoulders for a greeting before she tiptoed to kiss her husband.

Shulk locked his gaze onto the mundane wall plaster. These displays of affection still produced an uneasiness that made him squirm in his chair, no matter how often he bared witness to them.

"How about you tell me more about that excellent doctor you mentioned?" Sharla asked and exchanged another audible kiss with Reyn.

"Oh, she's great. She's worked night and day to upgrade from a simple medic to a full doctor, and now Colony 9 wouldn't know what to do without her. I'd marry her on the spot."

Sharla laughed. "You airhead."

They loosened their embrace, and Shulk deemed it safe to look at the pair instead of the wall.

"I had to fight tooth and nail to leave the surgery earlier today," Sharla said and freed her hair out of the bun. "You would be surprised by how quickly the people run to us over the smallest scratch. Everyone's so nervous because of what is happening with the Shoulder. And all these minor cases make it almost impossible to tend to those who really do need help. I had a Machina come in because of a damaged memory unit or something. All this training, and I still couldn't treat him. This would have been more of a case for you, Shulk."

"I don't think I have the knowledge for that," Shulk said.

"Still, you could at least take a look at him. I would hate to turn him down. And you could use a reason to go outside before you start dismantling our stove out of boredom."

Shulk nodded, but he couldn't hide his lack of enthusiasm. The prospect of stepping into Colony 9 proper, walking down the old streets to Sharla's surgery, maybe even running into familiar faces – all this curbed his appetite.

"Then that's settled." Sharla bent over the assortment of pots from where a bubbling and the scent of roasted onions escaped. "What are we having for dinner?"

Reyn groaned. "Not you too…"

Although Sharla's teasing and the return of two overly energetic children delayed dinner, the result was worth the wait. The six people gathered around the table and awed at the bowl with radish stew followed by Sardi filet on a mountain of potatoes. From the platters and basins steamed an alluring aroma of cooking fat that filled the kitchen. Reyn, however, only found a short opening to appreciate his work before Gaby and Liza shovelled the food onto their plates. Not a minute went by without a joke or a heated argument between the two sisters, and if Sharla hadn't warned them with a stern look, they might have used the potato slices on their forks in their battle too. All this culminated in Gaby reminding Reyn of the second dessert he had promised her – much to Liza's vocal indignance.

In the end, Reyn gave up his own dessert bowl to avoid an all-out war. The peace offering softened the fronts, and the various clay dishes on the table survived another day. Aaron observed all this without a word. Sharla failed to coax more than a nod from him when she asked whether he liked the stew.

Shulk likewise contributed little to the conversation. Every time his eyes drifted towards the window, he tensed in his chair. The lights of Colony 9 fought against the beginning darkness. An image that appeared peaceful and perfect to most.

But one that would forever remain incomplete.

When Gaby and Liza left the dinner table to continue their games upstairs, a little quietness returned to the room. Aaron grabbed a cookbook from the shelf and flipped through the pages. He was only beginning to read, but at his pace, he would analyse even the most complicated of Melia's political papers before the end of the year.

The busy patter of girls' feet tailed off.

Reyn leaned against the counter and breathed a deep sigh. "Sorry, Shulk, they're extra lively today. Can't get a moment to rest in this house."

"I don't mind," Shulk said. "It's nothing to apologise for."

Reyn raised a brow. "You're saying that now. Try living with these lovable pests for a week, then we'll see how much you mind. If you wanna trade lives for a bit…"

Sharla, on her way to the kitchen sink, made sure to step on Reyn's toes.

He flinched and almost knocked over the pile of plates behind him. "Oi, what did I say?"

"Nothing you can't recover from," Sharla said with a smile. "Yet."

Reyn turned to Shulk for help, but Sharla dropped another set of plates in his arms before he opened his mouth for a remark.

"Shulk, do you think you could take a look at the porch lamp?" She pointed at the dimly lit garden beyond the window. "The thing won't turn on anymore."

Reyn set the plates aside. "I said I was gonna do it!"

"You've been saying that for a week. Not to forget that you would just curse at the wires before you buy a new one."

"That was one time! In any case, Shulk has better things to do than to fiddle around with that old rust box."

Both Reyn and Sharla turned to Shulk, who at present had very little to do; his hands fidgeted aimlessly.

"I'm glad to help with the lamp," he said and rose from his chair.

Sharla smiled. "Perfect, thank you. Here, let me show you the wrongdoer."

In the utmost casual fashion, she locked arms with Shulk and half guided half dragged him out of the kitchen. The air outside had cooled and, in its attempts to enter the house, had misted the windows. Shulk rubbed his arms. From beyond the hillside, the soft soundscape of Colony 9 travelled towards the garden, a murmur of a city about to go to bed. Awfully familiar.

"Cursed mist," Sharla said and stalked to the edge of the porch and the broken lamp hanging there. "I feel like it is getting worse every year."

White wafts of mist snaked up the hill from the beach. Like a sea of clouds, they blanketed the garden's small patch of grass. Shulk spared the weather phenomenon a longer look before he dismissed it as a natural result of the nearby ocean and its colder currents.

Instead, he examined the broken ether lamp Sharla pointed at. He knew the model; this shouldn't take long. The kitchen window offered enough light, so he unscrewed the covering and went to work without delay.

But he hadn't dived deep into the problem before Sharla broke the silence. "How are you?" she asked.

An odd time for this question. Shulk hesitated for maybe a second. "I'm fine."

Sharla marched forward. Her body was too close, Shulk smelled the sanitiser on her hands. With a decisive motion, she grabbed hold of his wrist and pressed down two fingers to measure his pulse. Shulk didn't dare to twitch, still befuddled by this surprise attack. After a moment, Sharla tugged at his eyelid and inspected his retinas with the same angry meticulousness.

Finally she stepped back and allowed him to breathe. "You're not sleeping enough," she said. "And you've grown thinner since your last visit. I'm not kidding, Shulk. You have to take care of yourself, no matter what's going on at the Shoulder. You're not helping anyone if you suffer a breakdown."

Shulk fidgeted with the lamp covering. "I know."

"Then please, do something about it. Whatever is on your mind, it can't be so important that you destroy yourself over it. We just want to help you, all of us. That's why Melia sent you here, you know? She told me she's worried that every passing day in Alcamoth you vanish further in this pile of worries."

"Did she also tell you about Teelan?"

Sharla gnawed at her lip. But only for a moment. "And did I ever tell you how many blankets I've drawn over the faces of my patients? You starving yourself won't bring him back. We are all worried."

"I know. And I'm sorry." Shulk stared at the lights of Colony 9 without seeing the people behind them. "It's just that in this world I feel smaller than I ever did before."

Sharla followed his gaze. Shoulder to shoulder, they looked into the vast darkness.

"It's only human to feel this way sometimes," she said. "We don't know what waits for us on the other side of the hill. We don't even know if we will make it that far. But we keep going anyway."

"And still I feel myself doubting. All the clarity I had when fighting Zanza is gone. All the clarity my visions gave me has slipped through my fingers. When I look ahead now, I see nothing. Only fog."

He couldn't bear the view anymore. With a heavy breath, Shulk turned to the ether lamp, this tiny world he did understand and could control. The main circuit was loose. A simple inconsistency he could fix without trouble.

"Do you regret it?" Sharla asked.

"What?"

"This world. This life. Everything." Sharla spread her arms to encompass their surroundings, the myriad of stars and the shadows in between. "You wished for this new world, but you talk like this is the worst hell you can imagine. So, I have to ask you, do you regret it?"

Shulk choked on his answer. Yes. Sometimes. Every waking moment. Never if Zanza's world would have been the alternative.

"Because you shouldn't," Sharla said. "I'm not going to pretend like this life is perfect. It's hard. I had to bury people along the way, people I loved. But I also got the chance to meet new people I love just as much. It's only thanks to this new beginning that I can see Gaby and Liza grow up. And I for one am glad you made all that possible, Shulk."

Shulk squeezed the lamp's ether circuit back into place. When he switched the internal fuse, the lamp came to life with a low buzzing, a start-up sound that soon dispersed as the ether particles resumed their duty and shared their energy with the world. The circle of light was small, smaller than it ought to be against the vast darkness beyond the garden fence, but it would endure.

And for a moment, the world became a little brighter.

"I knew you could do it!" Sharla said and slapped Shulk on the back.

"I should probably replace the ether crystal to expand the light cone. It's weird how worn out the crystal is already."

"Don't trouble yourself, this will do more than great. Your understanding of these things never fails to amaze me."

Shulk tugged at the lamp to make sure it would stay put. He didn't know what to make out of the compliment. "I've had a lot of time to deepen my understanding of ether."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. For you, fixing a machine is just a small matter. But, you know, small matters can pile up and make a lasting change too."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Think about it. I'm sure you will figure it out."

Sharla probably intended to say more with her smile than with words. But Shulk couldn't read her expression, and before long she ambled back inside, still with that smile on her face.

Later that night, Shulk sat on the floor of the guestroom. Reyn's soft snoring sounded from the room next door and mingled with the creaking of the wood floor whenever Shulk moved. The repaired ether lamp spread its soft light through the window where it created bizarre and fantastical landscapes out of the groves and scars on the floorboards. Before Shulk lay the puzzle box. But he made no move to pick it up and lose himself in the familiar, worn-out task of shifting the pieces around.

His mind drifted. And without fail, he circled back to what Sharla had said about small actions and the large impact they can leave.

Melia had once said something similar. Maybe seven years ago, they had sat side by side on the beach of the Sleeping Dragon Isle while the endless ocean splashed against the sand in its quest to swallow the isle.

Shulk's shoulder rubbed the cool window frame when he reached out to brush imaginary sand from his knees. When he squinted, he could mistake the illumination landscape on the floorboards for the waves of Eryth Sea. It was easy to remember.

Remember the one moment where he had been free of regret.

06/06/22: As it turns out, Shulk is an incredibly difficult protagonist for me to write. And I don't mean the fact that he's a mechanic, and I haven't seen the insides of a physics book in five years. Although that has given me some headaches as well. My problem stems more from his inner contradictions, part of which are by my own design. Take visions, for example. I've made it so that he hates and longs for them at the same time, which probably requires a more skilled author than me to pull off well. In general, my interpretation of Shulk might be off-putting for some of you. I could defend my view by referring to a certain thing that happened in the first chapter... But still, I think I overemphasised Shulk's social struggles while underemphasising his determination and character strength. You hopefully aren't too bothered by this? Or am I just overthinking things again?