Author's Note: This piece originally ran in Piercing Strike: A F/GO Lancers Fanzine and was edited by Jess. The zine version includes a wonderful companion art piece by a nemi. Please give it a download!
Content Warnings: References to offscreen violence. Nezha's gender idenity is presented here as Pronouns: she/her; Formal Titles: masculine; Gender: non-binary.
The Wind Through the Reeds
The boardwalk planks shifted softly under Medusiana's feet. She had expected them to creak in an obnoxious way, like the floorboards of an old house. Instead, the boardwalk simply sagged. The sunbaked, twisted wooden path contrasted sharply with the chrome plating and well-oiled leather of her boots.
Human ingenuity was both a curiosity and mystery. The space she existed in now was a projection of sorts, a "simulation" as several of the other young Servants described it, the result of yet another piece of human technology. And yet, there was no reason why Chaldea's simulator should have generated such a decrepit space. Magic could recreate almost anything as perfect and pure as the day it had been born. Modern human technology would never be true magic, but at least it could make an effort.
The next board she stepped on sank deeper than she expected, groaning as it shifted downward. While she still remained above the water's surface, it was only barely. Had she been one of her older forms, she would be swimming for the shore. She grumbled a comment under her breath, barely reflecting on the words. It was an insult towards the craftsmanship of the human engineers, a tired and well-repeated refrain.
The bright clink of metal jewelry followed her companion's gaze: Prince Nezha, the Marshal of the Central Altar, or at least that's how the Servant introduced herself to Medusiana. With an enthusiasm that matched her brilliant red hair and broad shoulders that faced opponents unflinchingly, it had been impossible for Medusiana to escape Nezha's invitation to this afternoon's tea party nonsense.
"You seem. Unhappy." Nezha spoke with a halting cadence, as if each word was considered carefully before uttering.
Medusiana lifted her head, peeking out from under her hood and discovering that the world around her was now unexpectedly different. The wide marsh horizon she remembered from the start of the boardwalk was gone, replaced with a forest of reeds that towered over both of them. She had been so focused on her feet that she had missed the change in scenery. The dense barrier of plants muffled the young voices chattering on the shore. They could have whatever pointless conversation Nezha wanted here without the tea party listening in.
"I would have been happier if you left me alone." Medusiana let her features droop downwards. The resulting expression was the embodiment of the sour taste lingering in her mouth.
A ridiculous scene had played out a half hour before: she had been quietly reading in a forgotten corner of the library. Her peaceful sanctuary was shattered by the trio of Jack, Nursery Rhyme, and the smallest Jeanne. Nezha wasn't simply present for the ambush. She had been supervising .
"This tea party isn't for someone like me," Medusiana added as she stared Nezha down, her pride rallying as she tossed up more verbal barricades. The inside of her thick gloves felt damp. "I may look like a child, but... I'm..."
Her defenses faltered as the words suddenly dried up. How could she describe her foul existence to a Servant who projected the full radiance of heroic glory? One who clearly came back in her prime and not as a doomed child willing to pave her road to Tartarus with bone and blood? She looked down at her hands, so small and delicate for someone who could wield Harpe with confident, lethal ease.
"The others. Are not young." Nezha's voice remained as measured as before, making it difficult to get a read on her intent. "Not in the way. You may think."
Medusiana realized that she was squinting subconsciously as she focused on the Prince's words. She relaxed her face, searching for her previous cold facade as she fiddled with the inside seams of her cloak. "I suppose they're not young. No Servant is young . But they are human. I hate humans."
Short. Sweet. To the point. Words that felt smooth and familiar rolling across her tongue. For as obtuse as Nezha had been acting, even she should understand that.
"They are. Not human." Nezha contorted her face in a curious way. In any other circumstances, Medusiana might have even giggled at it. "I too. Am not human."
Only now did she notice Nezha rarely blinked.
"Not only am I not a child nor human, but I'm all far too dangerous to be around a tea party." Medusiana crossed her arms, puffing out her shoulders under her cloak. The Prince was stubborn. Clearly the military type, living up to her Marshal title. "You should take me ho—"
"What is. Truly troubling you?" Nezha interrupted without raising her voice.
Wind rattled through the marsh reeds, the sound echoing through the hollow plants. The afternoon sunlight scattered into shadows, tracing impossible shapes across the boardwalk. Nezha's eyes were highlighted by the shifting radiance, not so much changing in color but in depth. Looking into them now felt like standing on the edge of an abyss.
Metal grinded against wood as Medusiana shifted her feet back.
"I'm afraid." The words raced out Medusiana's throat, as if fleeing Nezha's new presence. "My life was full of terrible choices and regrets. What if I'm a bad influence? What if they end up like me?"
That line broke through. Nezha finally blinked in surprise. "They won't. Grow up. They are. Servants."
There was no falsehood in that statement. The young Servants that dragged Medusiana from the library would never grow up and become adults. They would stay young forever. It was the same fate that had been hoisted on her sisters. She gasped at that realization, pulling down her hood over her face as she hid herself from an invisible weight crushing down against her chest.
"I feel. The problem. Is not the others." Nezha concluded wisely. "The problem is. Your fear. Fear of connection? Fear of happiness?"
"Does it matter what I'm scared of?" Medusiana mumbled into the cloth. The words were becoming harder to express, stumbling out in a pattern closer to Nezha's own. "Connection. Happiness. Tragedy. That's the only outcome."
She was grateful that the Prince couldn't see her face right now. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, and her lower lip quivered in what could be only described as a childish display of adult guilt and shame. She flinched as a hand gently squeezed her shoulder.
"I too. Experienced. Tragedy." The rhythm of Nezha's speech slowed down even further. It was like she was reciting poetry now, rather than engaging in a battle of wits. "Created tragedy. Reckless. Destructive. A monster. Then I died. But then. I was reborn."
Lured out by the change in tone, Medusiana grasped the sides of her hood tightly and pulled it back. It took a moment for her eyes to readjust. The curious shadows that surrounded them now didn't fade away as her vision snapped back into focus.
The light had shifted again, twisting Nezha's shadow into a grotesque silhouette. Two additional heads flanked the head she could see. Her supernatural senses hinted that all three were technically present, with the extras folded away somewhere hidden in the other's Spirit Origin. Even more unexpected were the rows of countless limbs lining the edge of Nezha's torso, each one wielding an equally extravagant weapon. Without looking back, Medusiana knew that her own shadow mirrored the Prince's display of firepower, her back draped with a nest of venomous snake heads. Every single one of them would be primed to strike.
There was no stepping back in horror at the hidden atrocities. Instead, Medusiana pressed her hands to her chest and took in a deep breath. Nezha let go of her shoulder and offered a hand.
"Hindsight from tragedy. Is a gift. We can decide. When becoming the monster is necessary. At a tea party. It is not. Necessary."
With a shaking uncertainty, Medusiana took Nezha's suggestion of an offer. The Prince had strong hands, calloused from years of practice from martial weapons, and yet they carried that same unwavering warmth that she projected at their introduction.
"What's necessary at a tea party, then?" Medusiana asked, unsure what was supposed to happen next.
Nezha smiled. "I can. Show you."
