Author's Note: I do not own any of the characters/locations mentioned; that honor goes to Level 5, Studio Ghibli and Bandai. Just putting that out there in case anybody is hunting the site for copyright infringements...

One of the biggest, most annoying blanks left in Ni No Kuni was between discovering the dying emperor and returning to the present. "Several days later" is all we get to tie those ends together, but so much must have happened during that time. This sketch, for me, is the heart of those few days. Swaine is broken, he's trying to come to terms with everything he has learned, and all he wants is to take his mind off of things with this project. Literally, the pieces come together. Spoilers: Do not read if you have not played through the Hamelin arc.

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Sketch 5: Rogue's Revolver

A lone man sat rummaging through parts in the palace's engineering room. He had locked himself away in there, slipping in when no one was looking. Not that it was hard to do, seeing as everyone in the palace was in an uproar over the death of the Emperor.

His father.

He bit his lip, trying to push that thought to the back of his mind. He had spent all of the day before thinking about it, crying about it, and thinking some more. He was tired of the whole thing. That was why he was there, for a much needed distraction. No one knew, of course, because if they did, they would find him. Then, he'd have to talk. The thought of that made him cringe. It was still too soon.

Finding the appropriate drill screws, he closed the drawer and began the search for some lumps of steel. It was nice to finally have access to these parts. How many years had it been since he was able to tinker like this? In the last fifteen, he was only able to work with what he could swipe. Even then, most people didn't carry around mechanical parts outside of Hamelin. He could only do just enough to keep his current Pickpocket Pistol in top shape. On this day, however, he had unlimited resources, and one very specific plan: The Rogue's Revolver

Thinking of it, he glanced over to where the plans lay spread across the drafting table. He couldn't help but glare at them. Oddly, he was torn between his desire to build the thing and to shred the blueprints while throwing the pieces into the fire. He wouldn't have minded those plans so much if his fifteen-years-younger self hadn't handed them to him two days ago with a patronizing attitude, insinuating the boy knew more than the man did. Of all the bizarre things, having a grudge against your younger self! He had never realized how obnoxious he was when he was a kid. Time travel to one's own past was complete and utter torture. People were lucky they didn't have to go through it the way he was currently. Of course, this was probably divine punishment for the life he had been living...

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he turned back to the task at hand. As painful as it was to listen to the brat, what could he have said? Coming from the future, one had to be careful not to change the past. He never even considered revealing his true identity to Gascon, the boy he used to be. He simply stood back, put on a mask to hide his true feelings, and watched as his past self destroyed everything he had: his life as a prince, the already weakened ties to his father, his relationship with his younger brother, his entire future...and for what? Remembering again, he clenched his fist and slammed the drawer shut. So he could "find his place within the empire"? So he could "be his own man"? What a load of crap! Those were the words his father had instilled in him, so why the hell did he use them like that when he never truly believed a word of it? Maybe he was just trying to put on a show so it didn't seem like he was hurting. And look how well that had turned out! His father was dead. His brother was named Emperor at age 7 with no one to support him. Later, his brother's heart was broken, and the empire nearly came apart under the countless stringent laws set up by the resulting shell of an Emperor. And he himself was barely getting by, becoming a detestable thief with a similarly broken heart who would steal whenever and wherever he got the urge.

The guilt was building inside of him again, causing his hands to tremble. He hadn't realized back then that all of those things had even come to pass. Now, standing there as a 27 year old, he knew exactly the damage that had been done. He had left to make something of the failure he believed himself to be, the failure he believed everyone else saw him as, yet only managed to fail at life even worse than before. One tear escaped, then another. He quickly wiped them with his sleeve. "Damn!" How were there even tears left to cry? Quickly, he had to focus on something else!

Fumbling, he reached for a screwdriver and removed his pistol from his pocket, beginning to remove a few of the parts to make alterations. Perhaps the only thing in his life he had ever been good at was this tinkering... If only it was a skill people valued in young princes! He could only get so far however without looking at the blueprints know-it-all Gascon had drafted. Scowling, he peered over for another look. He had indeed been missing one key part: a Hog's Cog.

There was no need to search for this particular part. For one thing, such an item did not exist at this point in time; Gascon was such a self-described brilliant visionary that he designed the piece himself. Secondly, and most importantly, he already knew where to find one. Reaching into his pocket, he felt the cool, rough-edged metal wheel he needed, though he did not remove it right away. Squeezing it in his hand, he remembered how he had come to acquire it.

There had been a skirmish in the palace of Hamelin not long before they were brought to the past. He and his...friends...were sneaking in in a way only he had been able to do as someone who knew every nook and cranny of the place. They were still caught off guard by a pig-tank of frightening proportions. With the help of Oliver and Esther (and a few Tidy Tears from Drippy), he was able to destroy the magnificent mech. The Hog's Cog in his pocket was a piece he felt compelled to nab before running to escape the guards. It now seemed that it was fate once again guiding him.

He finally lifted the cog out of his pocket, holding it up into the dim light. It was a piece of the puzzle that depended on so many others. If Marcassin had not found and used the blueprints he left behind to design the piece, if Oliver, Esther and Drippy had not helped him dismantle the tank, and if his current self had not had the eye or the resourcefulness, there would be no completing the Rogue's Revolver Gascon had envisioned all those years ago. When it came down to it, that was entirely the reason why he had decided to finish what his younger self could not instead of destroying the remnant of his past. Not to do so would be an insult to them and to the man he was now.

Ten minutes later, the final piece was in place and he was tightening the last screw. Swallowing, he picked up the finished product and studied it. It didn't feel any heavier, but would function with even greater efficiency and accuracy. He turned to see a wrench sitting on top of a cabinet across the room, and found a perfect test. Furrowing his brow, he closed his right eye and took aim. Would the plans he had drawn up and brought to life actually work? In that moment, he found himself afraid to pull the trigger, his index finger crippled by doubt. What are the odds it actually works? he thought. Then, he shook his head. No. Marcassin always trusted my ideas. I can't wimp out. Closing one eye again, he decidedly pulled the trigger.

Exactly as planned, the grappling hook came sailing out with extra wires. It locked on its intended target, and was able to retrieve the heavy object in a way the Pickpocket's Pistol could never have done, returning the wrench to its owner's hand. He simply stared at the gun in awe. He had done this. With help from his friends, he had pulled it off.

As he soaked in his accomplishment, he realized that only one problem remained: how would he use the Rogue's Revolver he had worked so hard to make? The gleaming piece of equipment, due to the very nature of its creation, seemed far too noble for the life of theft he had led. On the other hand, what was the point of making it but not using it? His thoughts turned to his new friends. He had only volunteered himself as far as Hamelin, with Marcassin being his only concern. Once that was sorted out, what did he do with himself? Sit around in Hamelin with a perfectly amazing weapon and watch his friends take on the very man responsible for breaking his and Marcassin's hearts and killing their father?

Father... He had spent all those years feeling his father had not cared about him because he did not have the traditional talents required of a future ruler of Hamelin, yet among the Emperor's final words were an affirmation of belief in his "black sheep" son. In the same breath, he had stated his desire to see him, his son that he trusted, carry out the important task of keeping the empire safe. What else could he do?

With a sad smile, he held out the Rogue's Revolver and whispered "Dad, I wish you could see this. I know it's too late to make you proud like I always wanted, but I still won't give up just yet. That's not the Hamelin way, and it's not the Gascon way either."