Chapter 3 Content Warnings: Abusive relationships, stalking, violence, sexual themes and mental health. While readers might pick up on themes of love triangles/romantic conflict, that isn't where this story is going.
Author's Note: The fic-within-a-fic segments are written to be intentionally clunky and cringy. I hope readers find them entertaining despite the colourful prose.
Chapter Three: A Question of Identity
Meltryllis couldn't sleep.
It would have been more correct to say that Meltryllis didn't sleep, despite that other servants did . It was a human weakness stained deep in their spirit origins, remaining long after the rest of their mortality had faded.
Similarly, most servants continued to eat despite not needing energy from food. Meltryllis could grasp that flaw a bit better now thanks to the cafe Sanson took her to yesterday. There was an artistry to food she hadn't expected. She would even go so far to say she respected it, although she suspected her own attempts at baking would surpass the human pastries the simulator generated.
Sleep, on the other hand, was a messy, sloppy affair. An escape from the problems of the waking world. It was far beneath her - only fools thought reality could change while they were unconscious for eight hours. The other servants preparing for the Servant Summer Festival snoozed through the overnight hours as she stared down her demons all night long.
The second draft didn't come as fluidly as the first. There wasn't a fancy binding or presentation yet, nor did she expect one by the morning. The draft's current form was a stack of loosely sorted papers with slowly scribbled notes. She protected it under her arm as she wandered Chaldea, hoping inspiration would unveil itself.
Voices murmured in the hallway up ahead. Evidently at least two others were still awake. Their words were too muffled to make out the exact conversation. Her mother or sisters? No. One voice was too deep to be any of them. The other was too loud, even compared to BB. They were definitely servants. The cascade of magical energy pricked down her back. Her mouth watered.
Her first instinct was to dive down the hall and indulge in the overflow of power. The weight of the papers under her arm gave her mind pause; if these two were working on their own project, perhaps there could be something to be gained by scouting. She crept closer to the voices, pressing her back against the wall as she peeked around the corner.
Golden light spilled out onto the white tile hallway floor. The stray mana she detected earlier was accompanied by mild earthy notes with a hint of sweetness. She had heard that Chaldea's servant population converted disused rooms into personal sanctuaries. This must have been one such space filled with books. She was just close enough to hear what the servants were talking about.
"As our modern friends would say, I have done the research!" the loud voice flamboyantly declared, his volume rising with every word. "I have poured over the numbers and gained insight that past versions of you and I could only dream of!"
"Look at me. I'm not interested in... marketing ." The deeper voice remained monotone except for the final word - that one dripped with disdain.
"Consider, if you would, our potential audience growth!" the louder voice countered. "You should review the market value of your past properties! If you play to the whimsies of popula—"
"Never settle for what the audience thinks they want," the deeper voice interrupted. "Do that and we will never collaborate again. Our writing doesn't need to pander for sales."
Meltryllis slipped back behind the wall and traced the edges of her draft idly as she considered what she overheard. Humans missed the deeper meaning of art so easily. Market value? Sales? Those were barriers between an artist and greatness. She was closer to a creative apex than the two men down the hall would ever reach, even with her unfinished piece.
Her eyes flickered back to her draft.
A Question of Identity
I lifted my head to the thump of a body being tossed against the medical clinic floor.
I didn't expect the sound, as the dead didn't leave bodies behind after the nearly-complete digitization of Chaldea. The dead collapsed into a modicum of data and were swallowed up by the encroaching digital sea.
Standing in front of the verdigris-cloaked body was a towering gorilla of a man, his name was Gawain if I remembered correctly. The last member of the Round Table still alive, with a head of blond hair and bright argent armor. Being in his presence made me realize this was the closest I would come to experiencing daylight again. The sun hadn't risen in days.
"I captured the infection's assistant," Gawain said.
"Is this assistant alive?" I asked.
I bent over and pulled back the cloak. The body had peach skin and titian hair and shuddered as I came close. The assistant was still breathing. He twitched, then rolled over, the flutter of his cloak revealing his arms bound together with dark blue rope. If he really was still working for the infection, Gawain wasn't stupid. I thanked whatever gods still could hear us that I was working with someone so experienced.
For Gawain to present him to me meant there was some injury I should try to heal. I was the only member of Chaldea's medical during this apocalypse and my resources were limited. I wondered what value that Gawain saw in keeping this man alive.
The man on the floor opened his eyes and looked up at me with a gaze that looked like foliage in spring. There was something familiar with the face that I couldn't place.
"Who are you?" he asked back before I could ask the same question.
The draft wasn't as coherent as Meltryllis remembered it. She enjoyed the world-building in the piece, but the dialogue didn't quite flow. The emotional impact missed its mark. The ending was completely absent.
"Meltryllis!"
She raised her head, her eyes locking with the blazing gaze of Kiyohime. The shorter woman froze midstep, then dramatically slipped her fan from the folds of her kimono. With a single flick and a warm gust of wind, Kiyohime shielded her face.
"Pardon me," Kiyohime politely apologized. Her hair and clothing drifted back into place as the conjured breeze dissipated. "I meant to say my mysterious contributing author."
"You're here to ask about the story. Right, the story." Meltryllis slid her draft behind her back, hiding it in her jacket. "I haven't honed it to the point where human eyes can tolerate it. It'll be refined by your deadline."
"I believe you. You wouldn't lie about your creations." Kiyohime revealed a gentle smile as she relaxed and lowered her fan. "Could you share what you've written?"
It figured that Kiyohime was a woman who couldn't read a room. She was the meddling, overbearing type who didn't know when to back off and let beauty bloom naturally. Meltryllis should have realized it sooner. Her mother was exactly the same.
"You told me you would edit my final piece." Meltryllis returned the request with an emotionless stare. "If that's the case, why bother yourself with what I'm writing now? All you'll do is twist my delicious words into something more pleasing for you."
"Ah, you're referring to the Find and Replace comments. You must have missed my intended humour." Kiyohime raised the fan back up. While it hid the lower half of her face, it couldn't hide her eyes; the fire that greeted Meltryllis was fading.
"Is my art a game to you?" Meltryllis seized the moment and stabbed deeper.
"Fine!" Kiyohime's fan snapped closed with an echoing crack. "It's going to be like this again."
Wait, Meltryllis thought to herself. Again? But this was the only time she agreed to work with Kiyohime.
Kiyohime huffed, her sandals clacking against the floor as she glided away. Her parting words answered nothing: "If you're going to act like this, I'll leave you alone with your ghosts."
"Ghosts?" The question stumbled out of Meltryllis's mouth without her realizing. No answer came. Kiyohime didn't find it even worth a parting glance.
The only servants Meltryllis could pinpoint were the two writers around the corner; their mana ebbed and flowed with their conversation. Even when she closed her eyes and focused all of her attention on her supernatural senses, she couldn't detect any servants in spirit form nearby. It was like her stalker had a way to mask their presence.
Stealth abilities were a trait of the Assassin class. Sanson was an Assassin. Her critic must have been watching her right now, wasting away the hours until their scheduled meeting later in the morning.
She smirked, biting her lower lip as she indulged in that realization. An artist like her couldn't have a normal relationship with her critic. It was impossible. Her gravitational pull was far too much for someone so human.
"As you can see, I'm still developing the ending."
Meltryllis announced the statement pridefully, accented with the widest smile she could manage. Sanson blinked silently in response, his mouth slowly turning down as he processed the words.
The two of them sat across from each other, the only people in the cafe's cozy storefront. Empty plates from an earlier lunch were scattered across the table.
Today's trip was less grand than yesterday: this cafe was an intimate nook off of a street that felt more vertical than horizontal, despite humans being subject to the laws of gravity. The interiors were laid out in radiant woods and crisp linens. Sanson had described the simulated city's age to be around the same Nouvelle-Orléans , although Meltryllis noted the design of the buildings was remarkably different. The winters here must have been colder. She didn't ask and just assumed it was equally haunted.
Haunted. Maybe she could take this opportunity to confirm her suspicions. All she needed to do was string Sanson along just a little bit longer until he confessed. Given how infatuated he clearly was, that should be child's play.
"You're my critic. You have the right to know what happened," she continued, raising her voice to grab his attention. She wouldn't let him ignore her, not now. "It was so noisy last night. I couldn't find a silent corner to focus on my writing. You would think that a courteous servant roaming the hallways that late would use spirit form or even Presence Concealment."
His pale blue eyes shifted up to her and narrowed. Busted.
"It's curious that you mentioned Presence Concealment. Do you have that skill?"
The man placed her draft down on the table. His voice had an edge of caution that hadn't been there before he started reading.
"No. I assumed you did." She stared back. This man was playing his own game of social chess. She pushed more directly. "You're an Assassin, correct?"
That triggered a response, although not the one she had been aiming for. He let out a soft groan of frustration.
"I have Presence Concealment. It's not remarkable. I might be able to sneak into an office for paper without being noticed. Maybe. It would depend on the people watching."
Where some would see a wall, Meltryllis saw an opportunity. She could settle her theory about her critic-and-would-be-stalker right now. She leaned forward, resting her elbows against the table.
"Did you do that last night?"
He furrowed his brow. "No. I retired to bed early."
She let her hands drop to the table. As unexpected as that answer was, it was hard to believe that he would lie about it. Before she could ask a follow up question, her thoughts were interrupted by a fresh set of plates.
At first glance, dessert was a cake slice. Meltryllis noted as she looked closer that the texture was denser than a cake should have been; layers of pastry had been cooked down and compressed into a new form. She grinned wickedly to herself. Passionlip needed to see this.
"Thank you so much, Arend," Sanson said to the NPC server. Their lunch plates were skillfully cleared away by the dark haired man.
"You do know that NPCs aren't real people, right?" Meltryllis didn't wait for the NPC to step out of earshot before she teased Sanson. Hopefully it would lighten the mood and she could dig for more information. "You don't need to be so polite."
"If you wish to be technical about it, nothing we're experiencing here is real." Sanson gestured to the surrounding space. "Not this cafe, this coffee, nor the bread pudding. Perhaps I'm not even real. I owe it to my fellow impossible existences to at least be kind about our mutual predicament."
So much for a breezy conversation, although her critic did stroll through the topic with relative ease. There was one person left off of the list of existential curiosities.
"I'm glad you're not questioning my existence." Meltryllis took a bite of her dessert. It tasted like cooked sugar.
"I would never question such stimulating company." Sanson smiled. "To go back to your much earlier point, it's fine that your story isn't completed. I empathize why you were so defensive about it. From my perspective, I'm impressed by your output. I wasn't expecting you to write a completely new story in less than 24 hours."
So many honest compliments in one breath. Meltryllis shivered, a flame of pride burning hot in her chest.
It didn't feel like the roar of an audience applauding at her performance. Some of those past cheers were for her but others were circumstantial, existing only because of audience expectations. This was different. More personal. Her critic didn't have to praise her and yet he gave it freely. She wanted to continue basking in this intimate spotlight forever.
Placing his fork on the now-empty plate with a clink, Sanson climbed to his feet and pulled on his jacket.
"We should head back. Same time tomorrow morning?" he asked, straightening his sleeves. "I'm excited to see the ending you come up with."
The warm feeling drained from Meltryllis faster than she expected, leaving a hollow feeling behind. She had felt the same way the previous morning. She understood it better this time: this morning in the cafe could keep going forever, at least in theory. She could infect this perfect moment in time, melt it down and never let it escape from her grasp. That daydream of pleasure-filled pain and protection thrilled her more than any memory of violence.
She wasn't okay, not that she would tell her critic that.
"I'm going to linger here a bit longer," Meltryllis firmly stated, gripping her fork tighter. All she needed was a few moments alone for her excitement to wash out again.
Sanson tilted his head. "Do you want me to stay with you?"
"You should leave." She glared down at the table, allowing her hair to cover her face. Anything to force herself to look away from him.
"I'll look for you tomorrow," he quietly said before stepping away.
She clenched her teeth, waiting for the cruel punchline to everything wonderful this morning. She must have let too much of her inhuman nature slip through. Sanson wouldn't be waiting for her tomorrow morning. Except, he wouldn't lie to her. She already decided that and he said he would look for her. But that was before everything else.
There was a rustle of cloth from the empty chair beside Meltryllis. She let her gaze slowly wander to the sound, peeking at the person beside her through her purple bangs. Presence Concealment wasn't the only way to create a ghost.
"What the hell are you planning, missy?" Robin Hood's troublesome voice spoke in barely more than a whisper.
"How long were you spying on us, Matcha?" Meltryllis buried her insecurities in spite. "It must have been for some time."
It should have been obvious who her ghost was. If it wasn't Sanson, she should have gone to the next name on the list, the man actually known for his covert skills. Not that he was using them now; the man was horribly out of place perched on the cafe chair. His Lincoln green cloak and tunic looked ripped from a children's book illustration.
"Kiyohime told me that I was being followed last night." Meltryllis lifted her head, supporting it against her arm. "I thought at the time it was my critic, but he's too honest to do something so nefarious.
"I wasn't following you yesterday," Robin snapped back with a scowl. "I'll only repeat myself one more time: what are you planning?"
If he wasn't going to be honest with her, he didn't deserve a proper answer: "If I'm hearing you correctly, you're suggesting that Kiyohime would lie."
The unexpected sound of footsteps rushing to the dining room caught Robin's attention first. He looked up at the door, his eyes growing wide as an indescribable, but clearly uncomfortable expression crossed his face.
"I tried to leave the simulator and..." Sanson gripped the edge of the door frame with both hands, losing his words and breath as he took in the current scene. "Robin?"
"Your boyfriend's been stalking us," Meltryllis cut in before Robin could speak. She gestured towards him with a flick of her long sleeves.
Despite Sanson's arrival, she expected Robin to take the poisoned bait and restart their conflict anew. She could handle him and the fallout. There was no doubt in her mind.
"I wouldn't have shown myself if I was actually stalking you." Robin's voice softened, losing the edge it had seconds before. It sounded almost shameful, Meltryllis decided. She was astonished he still could feel that emotion.
"Did either of you do something to the simulator?" Sanson's priorities were focused elsewhere. He tapped the door molding as he waited for an answer.
A phone rang at the front desk before Meltryllis could reply. It rang again. Endlessly. Over and over. As if it expected someone to answer. No one did.
Sanson grimaced after the fifth ring, then bolted towards the sound.
Robin leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the table, casually tossing off the embarrassment from earlier. Robin's presence seemed to make Sanson more stressed while the reverse wasn't true. Meltryllis made a mental note of that.
"If you aren't going to come clean about what you're plotting, you can at least tell me how long you've been making these trips." Robin's voice was mellow, lacking the jealousy Meltryllis expected.
That should have been why he was so on edge when he appeared, right? Seeing your boyfriend fraternizing with your ex's daughter should have shaken even the most solid relationships.
"This is my second time," she explained without a hint of guilt.
"Huh." Again, he sounded underwhelmed.
"I need both of you to join me. Someone wants to speak to us," Sanson called back to the dining room, his tone somber.
"On the phone?" Robin raised a single eyebrow and pulled his legs back down. "Who the hell would call us?"
Meltryllis folded her arms close to her chest. She could think of one person. One terrible person who would probably be very delighted to find the three of them in one place at the same time. She regretted not infecting the beautiful moment when she had the chance. It was too sullied now.
Deciding there was nothing to be done but face the impending doom, Meltryllis slowly followed the two men, finding them standing by the phone on the cafe's front desk. As she arrived, Sanson tapped a button and confirmed all of her worst fears.
"Is this thing on? It must be on!"
BB's voice had more static than Meltryllis was accustomed to. It was definitely still her mother. There was no doubt in her mind.
"Why is it you? Why is it always you?" Robin's reaction was swift and immediate. His shoulders were tense, shaking in time with BB's voice.
"I know, right?" BB chimed, utterly delighted. Meltryllis could imagine the conceited look on her face. "I would have preferred contacting you via video but someone decided on a location without TV sets. How pathetic! Anyway, I have a favour to ask "
"It's not a favour if you force us to do it!" Robin bunching his hands into fists.
Meltryllis sneaked a sly glance at Sanson, who returned the expression right back. That moment of unity in the face of absurd uncertainty came as a small relief. She relaxed her body and gently shook out her arms, only realizing now how much stress her mother's arrival had brought.
"You're never any fun, Matcha. I'm genuinely impressed you tolerate other people. Look, there's a stray bit of data I discovered yesterday in the simulator and I need it gone before Chaldea needs it gone. I'm sure you can follow along."
"Remove this data before it can impact Chaldea," Sanson surmised. Unlike his partner, he sounded confident talking to BB.
"Exactly I always pegged you for the smart one, Charlie."
"Please don't use that name again." Sanson sighed.
"And why can't you do this yourself, mother?" Meltryllis leaned in towards the phone. If the men weren't going to discuss the fallacy of the situation, she'd do it herself.
"It would be unseemly for this devilish kohai to get her hands dirty." BB was playing it up for her audience. Meltryllis was unmoved. "Imagine an afterparty where I describe how I ripped this faulty data out by force! I'm better cast as the mastermind in a plot like this."
"That means it's dangerous and she's scared." Meltryllis leaned back on a single leg.
Translating BB-speak while taking swipes felt surprisingly good. There was no question where this pleasure came from - her mother earned every moment of humiliation. Meltryllis couldn't hide the bright grin on her face.
"My choices were to send myself or the trio of a sentinel, an executioner, and a terrorist," BB protested, frantically justifying her actions. "Being the brains behind this outfit, I of course went with the more sensible plan."
The sentinel was clearly her. The terrorist must have been Robin. The executioner label didn't fit what she knew of his past. That left her critic as the executioner. She looked over at him. He didn't look back this time.
A haunted man summoned as a class renowned for killing people. Sanson hadn't lied to her. He hadn't been forthcoming, either.
"Are you going to share the rest of this sensible plan?" Sanson asked, pulling the conversation back on topic.
"I will when it's critical! This is supposed to be the moment where I reveal why I summoned you! The fine details will come later!"
"You could start by explaining why we're locked in," Robin grumbled, glaring at the closed cafe door.
Meltryllis reached out and grabbed the door handle, just to confirm the claims for herself. Touching it didn't hurt. It refused to budge when she pulled on it. It had swung freely earlier that morning.
"Eh?" As mocked and insulted as BB had been, Meltryllis knew that as the sound of genuine, if not subdued shock. That was concerning.
Her mother's plans always fell apart, without fail. She had a fatal flaw of flying too close to the sun and burning so many bridges that witnesses refused to catch her. The timing here, though, didn't match a BB's usual trajectory of failure.
The hairs on the back of Meltryllis's neck stood up on end. Something else was here with them.
"Locking you in wasn't part of the plan." There was the sound of typing in the background. BB must have been accessing the simulator manually. "I didn't shut down access in case I needed to make a daring resc-."
BB's voice blipped out, replaced with the buzz of white noise.
Meltryllis's grip on the floor shifted, her metal legs gliding across the polished wood floor like it was ice. She flailed towards the front desk, her weak fingers unable to hold her weight as the ground was ripped out from underneath.
She didn't hear the others scream. She didn't hear anything as she fell through an unseen barrier that separated the simulator's unreality from an impossible abyss.
The landing was fierce and sudden, her back crashing against damp, cold ground. Her vision faded back into focus, revealing a dark, starless horizon. Waves crashed against a distant shore, unseen from where she lay.
She was alone.
