Author's Note: So I have a few Octopath 2 fics on Ao3, but I waited to put them here until I saw there were filters for each of the characters and whatnot.

Also! This first chapter is actually based on a shenanigan that I went through in the demo. Started with Osvald, ran out of Healing Grapes halfway through the Crestlands and made it to Flamechurch on one HP. I experienced my first Game Over when I entered Flamechurch.

Finding the Answer

Chapter 1: Lux Congerere

The first Osvald had met was Temenos, and this was the result of a crucial error on his part. Their alliance was beneficial on both parts,

You see, he was in such a hurry to leave Cape Cold that he had foregone stocking up on healing supplies. This led to him running out halfway through the Crestlands, which then led to him avoiding every single monster he could. That he managed to make it to Flamechurch alive could either be dumb luck or a miracle (not that he believed in the latter; not since Harvey).

Osvald had been planning on picking up supplies in Flamechurch. It was a quiet town, so nobody would think twice of a stranger coming around to pick up some grapes and leaving. That was not what he stepped into; upon entering the village, Osvald was greeted by an armored fellow shouting about a cleric. He did not pay attention to what exactly was said. It didn't matter to him, anyway.

"Oh dear. This is quite the scene."

Osvald startled and turned towards the new arrival. One look at him told Osvald that he was a cleric, and the staff in his hand...

"I already drove that one away, but it seems like he hasn't learned his lesson," the cleric explained, as if he were talking to an old friend rather than a total stranger. "And I fear he won't unless something is done. Would you mind assisting me?"

Osvald did not answer straightaway. The plan had been to pick up supplies and immediately leave. Despite his body screaming at him to get some proper rest, Osvald did not want to waste any time in getting to Harvey. So, his first instinct was to leave the cleric to his devices. The blood on his arms made it clear that this wasn't a good idea.

"Heal me first." It was more a demand than a request, but the cleric seemed to take it in stride.

"So demanding," the cleric sighed. Gingerly, he placed a hand on Osvald's wrist and scrutinized his arms - red from blood and frostbite. The cleric then closed his eyes and muttered an incantation. Immediately, Osvald could feel the warmth of holy magic seeping into his skin. While this did not completely alleviate the exhaustion his body felt, Osvald felt some measure of strength return to him. Likely enough for just one fight.

A hypothesis that was proven correct when he collapsed after driving the harasser off.

"Temenos, I heard shouting! Are you alright?!" Osvald did not recognize who came in, nor could he look. After that fight, he felt like all of his energy had finally gone.

Osvald could just barely hear the cleric's voice respond; "I'm fine, but I can't say the same for this fellow. Help me get him to the inn, won't you?"

And then, a dreamless slumber.

Osvald knew he was being followed. It was a sense that had been honed over five years of prison. One wrong move and one could find themself bleeding out and robbed of whatever possessions they had. Osvald had left Flamechurch in the dead of night as well, so whoever had chosen to follow him must have planned to do the same.

So Osvald would have assumed, had he not known that it was the same cleric from before. Temenos was either terrible at stealth or simply did not have a reason to be stealthy. Anyone who wanted to sneak up on someone would be making much more of an effort at stealth. With this in mind, Osvald concluded that Temenos must not have aims to attack or kill him.

This conclusion only gave rise to several more questions; Osvald could not think of any other reason Temenos would want to follow him.

Without glancing behind him, Osvald spoke up; "I don't appreciate being followed."

"Who said I was following you?" Temenos questioned, not missing a beat. "That we're walking in the same direction could be nothing more than mere coincidence. At present, there's nothing for me in the north."

"You could have walked past me then," Osvald pointed out. "The road's wide enough."

"What, and give you an opening? Surely that's not customary in the frigid island you escaped from?"

That was enough for Osvald to turn and face the cleric. Shock and anger (and dare he say fear) coursed through him as the cleric's words registered in his mind. It was the dead of night, so no other human was around to hear their conversation. Osvald knew this, and yet the knowledge did nothing to quell his nerves.

"What gave me away?"

"Your arms," the cleric responded, crossing his arms. "The Crestlands doesn't get nearly as much snow as the Winterlands, but we get enough to recognize frostbite when we see it. Add that to the chain around your neck - your entire outfit, really - and there's no other explanation that would make sense."

Osvald supposed he could give the cleric some measure of credit; not many could deduce all of that from such small details. At least, the details were small to Osvald. Prison life left no room to worry about how one looked; everyone looked the same covered in frostbite and prison rags. The coat that he acquired in Cape Cold helped stave off the worst of the Winterland cold, but not by a whole lot.

Fine. Two could play that game.

"That staff you're carrying doesn't leave your identity to the imagination, either," Osvald observed, his gaze falling to the staff in Temenos' hand. "You could have said something in Flamechurch. I'd have been arrested and brought back to that hellhole by now. It'd be well within your power, Inquisitor."

"I could have, yes. But I chose not to," Temenos responded with a shrug. "In fact, I'd like to join you on your journey."

"What." It was more statement than question. Osvald heard him, but had a hard time believing what he heard.

"As it happens, I'm investigating something," the cleric explained. His eyes were narrowed, almost like a cat. "But as the adage goes; two heads are better than one. Given that you are a scholar, perhaps you'll be able to make connections where I cannot."

Now that was an unexpected twist. "You want me to help you?"

"Mind you, I don't ask this of you lightly. I have every intention of returning the favor when the time comes."

"I aim to kill a former colleague," Osvald stated. Perhaps it was a sudden change in subject (and he knew it was a risky move to say all of this to an Inquisitor)...but Osvald did not want to drag someone into his mess unless they absolutely knew what his end goal was. "This is something I decided on long ago, so there's no point trying to persuade me otherwise. Knowing that, you'd still make that offer?"

Temenos paused. Osvald couldn't make sense of his expression - a faraway look in his eyes as he stared at one spot in the ground. A moment passed, then two...before the cleric blinked, seeming to return to reality.

"My offer stands," he finally answered. "Granted, I won't dirty my hands for your cause. Fighting is not what I do...but I'm very good at sniffing out information. You help me with my investigation, I'll help you find who you're looking for."

Another thing Osvald could give Temenos credit for; he was certainly stubborn. He found himself wondering what the nature of Temenos' investigation was, that he was so determined to see it through to the end...to the point where he would request the help of a prison escapee.

A long moment of silence passed before Osvald nodded. He saw no further reason to refuse Temenos' request, especially since his mistake of underestimating his need for healing items could have swiftly turned fatal. He had no access to healing magic on his own, so teaming up with Temenos seemed the most logical choice. "Fine."

"Wonderful," Temenos said with a smile. "The Sacred Flame will light our path...probably."

If Osvald cracked a smile at the cleric's comment - a mere twitch of the corner of his mouth - he would never admit it later.