5 – Spark to Flame


[Author's note: So, I'll just preface this with the disclaimer that writing this chapter has been my happy little corner of ridiculous during a rather wretched week. So, there's some fluffy lime content ahead—consider yourself warned. (And yes, I'm doing better now, thanks!) Today's epigraph is brought to you by "Wrecking Ball", best sung along to in a dramatic manner (but how would I know?) It's my second attempt after the first effort combusted on the launchpad yesterday (probably for the best). We shall, uh, get back to our regularly scheduled adventures next week.]


I fell from high up in the sky

And now, Commander I'm earthbound

Sylvari turned, the jungle burned

Airships are ashes on the ground

.

Don't you ever say I just walked away

I'm here fighting with you

I would not dismiss just one single kiss

If only you wanted to…

.

This song just got too personal

Lucky this paper's burnable

When I try to get my feelings out

It's clear I have—no skill with words

Yeah, I'm tearing this up

.

Your captive chained, my hands restrained

I was your bounty years ago

Oh hell, I fell under your spell

But thank the Six that you don't know

.

You run hot and cold, attunements manifold

It's madness, falling for you

And now here I stand, under your command

Dwayna, what do I do?

.

I'm a pawn in this Maguuma war

But I'll smash those mordrem to the floor

Crush this paper to a crumpled ball

Awkward feelings, I'll deny them all

.

This song just got too personal

Lucky this paper's burnable

When I try to get my feelings out

It's clear I have—no skill with words

.

Yeah, and your—your heart is thorns

.

~ anonymous lyrics reassembled from crumpled scraps of charred graph-paper inexplicably tucked between the pages of Commander Atalanta Fiero's personal journal, donated to Special Collections at the Durmand Priory in 1330 AE


Ffeldy made his best effort to socialize in camp. The Commander introduced him to her many allies around the bonfire, but he'd never been good at remembering names even while sober. They all went by in a blur. He tried to strike up a conversation with a big Norn, but quickly discovered they had few mutual interests beyond disagreeing over the quality of the Ascalonian whiskey. Ffeldy extracted himself from that interminable discussion and introduced himself to Kasmeer Meade and Marjory Delaqua. He even stammered a few awkward condolences for Marjory's sister Belinda ("I err…met her at Fort Salma"), before the pair excused themselves to hit the dancefloor. It was for the best. Standing within an arm's length of a necromancer could trigger excruciating headaches followed by uncontrollable fear-chaining. That was the last sort of humiliation he needed tonight.

The evening hit rock-bottom when Canach finally cornered him and forced out the full Thunderbreaker story, focusing on the horrible particulars of Captain Diarmid's corruption. Ffeldy rarely felt at home as the center of attention, and now all eyes were on him—the Commander, her friends, even the nobles and their servants stopped their dancing and left off in their conversations to listen.

"And Diarmid. Did you see her die?"

"I…no. Last I saw her, she was standing on top of Thunderbreaker. A vine came up, I fell, or maybe it was the other way around. The airship went down. I doubt she survived."

"But you did."

When Ffeldy had answered every possible question to the best of his ability, Canach finally permitted him to leave. Ffeldy evaded the crowd with a splash of elixir S—he didn't have much left, just a small vial that had survived in his pocket, but social situations seemed a higher priority than battle at that moment. He stealthily collected his gear and climbed far up the slope behind the busy bonfire area until he found a peaceful ledge that, he realized, would make an excellent defensive position for the camp.

He distracted himself by getting to work. First he jotted up a plan in his notebook, scribbled a few diagrams, and crumpled some botched pages of verse that he tore into tiny bits and tossed into the wind. From the wreckage all around, he salvaged machine parts and constructed a standard defensive thumper turret. The night-vision setting on his panscopic monocle made it possible to work in the dark.

As Ffledy started the final calibration procedure for his turret, a figure left the bonfire down at camp and made its way up the hill toward him, glowing green on his night-vision display. When he realized who it was, his mouth went dry.

"There you are, Von. When you disappeared, I worried we'd put you through too much, too soon. I feel responsible for you, somehow. And yet I see you've been most industrious." Atalanta Fiero spun a flame on her fingers, creating a small, candle-like glow. "I was just suggesting to Minister Merula that she should see about installing defenses here tomorrow, but you're several steps ahead of me. I admire your initiative."

Ffeldy quickly shut down his night-vision setting before the heat and light from Atalanta's fiery dress could damage the display. Her use of his first name—no one ever used his first name—struck him as odd. He stood up straight and saluted.

"Thanks, Commander. And sorry for leaving the party so early. It was…overwhelming. And you do have a lot of friends."

"Like you, I tend to get exhausted by it all." She spread out her skirts and sat on the ground, demurely tucking the flaming fabric around her knees. "Everyone calling me 'Commander' like I'm just some figurehead without an identity of my own. I outrank almost everyone. It's awkward when you're just trying to make friends, getting treated with outsized respect. Yet I'm always at everyone's beck and call for everything. Literally…everything." Her voice broke. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'm in a very fortunate position and have no cause to complain."

Ffeldy had turned back to his scrap turret to fiddle with the calibration settings. "Complain away, Commander. That that does sound annoying, to say the least."

Atalanta laughed. "Did you even hear what I just said? You can call me Atty, really. I won't bite your head off. The odds are in your favor, anyway. What's this?" She picked up his notebook, which he'd left in grass nearby.

"Oh, um, equations?" It took all Ffeldy's willpower not to pull the book out of her hand. "That's a map of the camp with the highpoints and visibility lines sketched in, and that page shows the parts I needed for the turret." Hearing the anxious tinge to his own voice, he grimaced.

"Color me disappointed, Von. I was certain I'd find a love ode to Canach in here somewhere. Unless you tore it out already. Look at these mysterious missing pages—"

"I—need to reference that for a second. Sorry Com—Atty." Ffeldy extracted the book from her reluctant hands and pretended to search his notes for some necessary, elusive equation. Then he crouched down and pretended to tighten a few bolts on the turret.

Atalanta placed a hand on his arm. "Will you ever finish with that…contraption? I think perhaps you're pretending to ignore me. This is exactly what I mean. The 'Commander' makes everyone nervous. Please, I'm just a regular person. Like you."

Ffeldy could feel the chill of loneliness in her words. He knew the feeling well.

He pocketed his tools and knelt on the ground beside her. "I'm listening, I swear. Can I, uh, help you with anything?"

Her hand, radiating warmth, moved to his knee. "Yes, actually. You see, I'm in dire need of an engineer to…help me set up my tent." The flames on her dress subsided, then her entire body crackled with a burst of purple electricity. "Reap the whirlwind." Her whispered words rushed around him on a sudden breeze that ruffled his hair.

A prickling sensation crept up Ffeldy's arms when she pulled him closer. "Uhoh—"

She kissed him, and the delicious buzz of static electricity filled his mouth. For a few seconds, he couldn't move—perhaps Atty's electrical attunement hijacked his muscle synapses. She traced his jawline with her fingers and raked a hand through his hair while a pleasant current pulsed across his skin.

Ffeldy clasped her soft neck and kissed her back, his chest heaving as if she'd stolen the air from his lungs. Maybe she had.

"Is that the best you can do, engineer?" she murmured in his ear when he came up for air. "I watched you from the ridge when you dispatched that mordrem earlier. Dazzle me with your…creativity."

"Aye aye, Commander." Ffeldy pushed off his knees and stood, lifting Atalanta to her feet while she clung to his neck. She'd switched attunements again. Her skin felt cool and slick against him. Warm steam geysered around her, fogging his single lens.

She pushed the brass eyepiece up onto his forehead, out of the way. "I'm liking that wicked grin of yours," she said, and kissed him again, hard.

Ffeldy pivoted on his heel, sending the curtain of steam swirling. Atalanta's skirt swished like the curl of a wave. He guided her backwards against the defense turret, crushing his body against hers. Her chest pressed against his with each hungry breath. She tilted her head back to rest on the turret's domed top, exposing her bare neck and the ridge of her clavicle.

As he traced the contours of Atty's throat with his mouth, Ffeldy reached around her to activate the turret. It came to life with a low rumble against her back.

"I can move mountains."

The ground quaked under Ffeldy's boots. He lost his balance and dropped to one knee. Fine sand dusted his shoulders now, but he barely noticed and pressed his face into the smooth marble bodice of her dress. The turret thundered louder and Ffeldy smacked it with the flat of his hand, sending it into overcharge mode.

"Feeling HOT!" Atalanta erupted in literal flames that singed Ffeldy's eyebrows, though he didn't much care in the moment.

The overcharged turret detonated a shockwave, sending them both flying. Ffeldy landed flat on his back, and Atalanta fell gasping on top of him. They lay there for a moment, noses touching, chests heaving as they fought to catch their breath.

"Well. That was," said Ffeldy, blinking sand out of his eyes, "another fine example of engineering."

Atalanta gave his cheek a playful smack. "I thought you were going to help set up my tent." She collapsed against his chest in a fit of laughter.

Ffeldy lay staring up at the dark Maguuma canopy, one arm draped tentatively across Atty's back, and smiled. For the first time since arriving in the jungle, he didn't feel quite so…hopeless.

"Commander? Are you there? Come in Commander…" A high-pitched radio voice cut the silence, crackling with static.

Atalanta propped herself up on her elbows and put a hand to her ear. "Sorry, I should probably take this call." She fumbled with an invisible earpiece. "Yes? What is it?"

"Commander, my ears! There you are! Is there a battle? I'm getting an odd reading from the communicator. Your temperature appears to be fluctuating wildly. And I was getting weird audio feedback, with battle cries and an explosion—"

Ffeldy started to laugh, but Atalanta clapped a hand over his mouth.

"I'm fine, Taimi. I just went to, uhh…survey our defenses. And had a little run in with one of those…" she spun her finger, trying to summon the words. "…scary frog things. But it's fine. We're fine. I'm fine."

"Oh? Hylek? Which tribe? I'm collecting their different poison variants for study and I'm still missing Xocotl, Zintl and Coztic, so if you could bring me whatever you can get your hands on—um, please wear gloves—then I would reeeeeaaally—"

Ffeldy laughed so hard into Atalanta's hand that tears slid down the sides of his face.

"Oh, is someone there with you, Commander? Excelsior, Commander's friend! Don't let her leave without collecting the hylek poison, okay? She always forgets."

"I'll do my best," answered Ffeldy, his voice muffled behind Atalanta's palm. She released him, grudgingly. "But she's very headstrong. And honestly, her enthusiasm for science isn't what it could be."

"Oh-ho, don't I know it!" shrilled Taimi. "I mean, she does a decent job faking interest, but after a long row of 'uhuh' responses when one is trying to helpfully explain the synergistic compatinization of malophenides—which, you'll agree, EVERYone should want to know—well, one begins to wonder—"

"That's quite enough," Atalanta shot back in her most Commander-esque voice. "If you're going to talk about me like I'm not even here, then I'm just going to hand my communicator device over to Ffeldy, and he can be responsible for your toads, mushrooms and spores collecting nonsense." She dug her elbows into Ffeldy's chest and glared down at him. "Though you'd probably like that, wouldn't you?"

"Most likely, Commander."

Atalanta shot him an I'm going to kill you look. "I'll be back to camp in a few minutes, Taimi. This tent won't set up itself. But then we can hash out a plan for tomorrow. Sound good?"

"Alrighty, Commander! See you in a few."

Atalanta clicked off her communicator, gave a frustrated groan, and lifted herself off Ffeldy. "Commander, fetch this. Commander, do this, and that, and the other thing. It's like I have to be everything for everyone, all the time! And I must smile, and be gracious, even when I feel like punching the wall. I wish I could just go rescue Destiny's Edge and deal with this egg ridiculousness without being roped into a thousand other inconsequential tasks."

"That does sound frustrating." Ffeldy stood and brushed dirt and leaves from his coat, wishing he could just rotate through attunements like Atty, whose dress looked immaculate after a single cycle through water and fire.

Hard reality started to weigh on him again. His back ached from the rough landing, for one. And getting…this close to the Pact Commander—his boss, essentially—was not the smartest move. He already knew how things would be tomorrow. He and Atalanta would awkwardly avoid eye contact in camp, then go their separate ways on separate missions in the morning without admitting anything had happened between them. Ever.

She put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed. He shuddered, still sensitive to her thirty-volt touch.

"Have you thought about just saying no?" he asked her. "The next person who demands that you clear out a giant spider nest in their root-cellar, tell them to go pound sand. They'll find another solution. I think you worry too much about people not liking you. Don't."

"You heard Jasmina. She wants me to help her hunt for Faren tomorrow. They're both my childhood friends. I feel terrible saying no, and yet…I think it's a problem solved best without me. I have other more time-sensitive problems to attend to, you know?"

"Sure. I think you have a pretty good idea of where your priorities lie. Hopefully talking it out like this helps."

"Yes. It has." Atalanta planted one last scorching kiss on Ffeldy's cheek. "I'm thinking maybe you should go instead."

Ffeldy knew he should take his own advice and just say no. But this was Commander Atalanta Fiero. And he would do exactly as she wished, bitter regrets be damned.