Author's Note: So, I just wanted to take a little stab at making Emerald survive Osvald's second chapter, because I really didn't feel like it would be too hard to do. There were some fun things to play around with in here, probably the two biggest being a small handwave as to Emerald's abrupt change of heart in the actual game and the scene with the Cape Cold scholar. Anyway, as this does alter a few minor things later, there will be some follow-up content for this, too.

Chapter One: The Escape

He should've known this wouldn't be as easy as it looked on paper, but Osvald wouldn't be here if he was going to give up so quickly.

Besides, he and Emerald had turned around every other negative situation they'd encountered so far. They'd been caught and had their obvious escape route cut off, but they'd bested the warden and broken out another way instead. So, the inspectors knew they'd escaped? Osvald just needed to think of some way around that.

"So, what now, Professor?" Emerald whispered.

He cautiously peered around the rock wall they were leaning against. There was shouting in the distance; no doubt the inspectors were frantically running around near the ship, hoping to cut them off. Osvald remained silent for a few seconds, pacing around in a small circle as he tried to think. The ship was obviously off-limits now, so—

Wait. They couldn't use the ship anyway, and Osvald had hoped to sink it once he got close enough to the nearest land mass. Why couldn't he just go ahead and sink it now? He could just cut out all of the middle steps.

Osvald took a deep breath. "We sink the inspectors' vessel."

Emerald stared incredulously at him. "We what?"

"If people assume we made it on board, they'll think we died once they hear the ship sank. No one will bother looking for us. And in the meantime, it'll give everyone here a distraction, so we'll have time to think of something else."

"Well, yeah, but…"

"But nothing; it's the best option we have. Come on. We need to be quick."

Emerald sighed. "I sure hope you know what you're doing. Let's go."

Osvald simply nodded; they didn't have time to chatter too much. They stepped out past the rows of bulwarks, and Osvald carefully observed the scene ahead of them. Fortunately, most of the inspectors appeared to be on board. He could only see two men near the ladder leading down to the docks. That hopefully meant they'd have a bigger window of time.

"First of all," he muttered to Emerald, "we get rid of them."

Emerald nodded as they crept towards the inspectors. Osvald took a deep breath, raised his hand, and called, "Strike them down!" The lightning was already crackling through the air by the time the men whipped around, and they made rather strangled cries as they fell into twitching heaps on the dock. Their eyes slid out of focus, and their mouths hung open slightly—it was almost too easy.

Still, just to be safe, Emerald crouched down and nudged each of them with the blunt side of his dagger. Neither inspector moved, and he took that as a sign they were unconscious. He nodded again as he straightened up and glanced back at Osvald.

"So, now what?"

"Well," Osvald said slowly, "I could pierce the hull with some ice. That doesn't seem very reliable, though; at best, it'll take too long…"

"Or we could use this."

Emerald smirked and pulled a lump of phosphoal out of his pocket. Osvald stared at it in disbelief before he grinned—actually grinned, which would've amused him in other circumstances—and raised an eyebrow.

"How did you—?"

Emerald chuckled. "Would've thought you'd realize you can't get out of there without knowing what you're doing. It was easy enough to swipe some of this last time we had to work; I thought it might come in handy."

It probably would've been useful for warming purposes in Osvald's original plan. Now it was saving them in another way. Osvald examined it, and then looked over at the ship.

"Now we need to figure out a way to get it up there…"

Emerald reached down and tore a strip of fabric off the ragged edge of his shirt. He ran his fingers over it, apparently deciding it was sturdy enough a few seconds later. Finally, he wrapped it around the phosphoal and gave it a light, experimental swing.

"I think this'll do," he decided. "Now, I hope your aim's good. Our timing's going to be…limited."

Osvald nodded, and Emerald pulled his arm back. He took a few steps backward, giving himself room to aim properly. Then, Emerald gave his makeshift slingshot a few good swings before letting it go. Osvald narrowed his eyes, watching the phosphoal fly through the air—

"Fire, burn."

The flames burst from his fingertips and hit the phosphoal just in time. It ignited midair, still flying towards the vessel. Now was the most critical moment—hopefully it landed aboard.

The phosphoal cleared the railing. Osvald let out a slow breath as more shouting erupted from the ship. They stayed just long enough to see that the flames began spreading over the deck. Emerald caught his eye, and they immediately turned around and fled.

They passed the unconscious forms of the two guards—made it back past the bulwarks—swerved down a path leading away from the prison yard—

"There," Emerald wheezed, pausing to catch his breath. "There's a shack down there. Let's…"

He trailed off as Osvald caught sight of the roof of the building, just off to their right. The path wound down towards it, and Osvald nodded. They approached it in silence, and Osvald carefully checked the door. Unlocked, fortunately; and, more importantly, he could see it was unoccupied once they entered.

There wasn't much inside, and it was only barely warmer—if one could say that—than the frigid air outside. The shack was clearly just meant for the inspectors to have a place to sit down while they recorded all their new transfers. Still, Osvald glanced around, hoping there was something they could use. Maybe some of the old documents would be useful for tinder, but they needed a way off the island first.

"Hope you've got some more brilliant ideas in there, Professor." Emerald sighed, rubbing his arms, and his voice brought Osvald out of his thoughts. "Gods, I'm freezing my rocks off over here."

"You'd think you'd be used to it by now," Osvald replied flatly.

Emerald rolled his eyes, likely formulating some kind of sarcastic reply in his mind. Before he could speak up, though, Osvald's gaze fell on the pile of straw in the corner. It was probably meant for lighting fires when the inspectors needed to stay in here too long, but the implications of Emerald's statement fell in as Osvald stared at it. They didn't need to burn it—they could freeze it.

"Wait, that's perfect."

Emerald's mouth hung open for a few seconds. "What, it's perfect I'm freezing my rocks off?"

"No, that is."

Osvald gestured to the pile of straw. Emerald obligingly glanced over at it, but he had an eyebrow raised in confusion. Still, he remained silent as Osvald scooped up a large pile of it in his arms. Then, Osvald headed back towards the door, and Emerald held it for him before following him outside.

The trail near shack led to a sharp dip into the ocean nearby. Osvald knelt down and curiously laid the straw down on the water. It floated—thankfully. He muttered a spell under his breath, guided the ice with his hand, and leaned back to observe his work.

The makeshift raft was barely big enough for one person, never mind two. But there was enough straw back in the shack that Osvald could make a second one, or make this one bigger. First, however, he needed to test its buoyancy. He straightened up and cautiously stepped down into the raft.

Emerald watched him apprehensively for several long seconds. It felt significantly longer than it was, dramatic as that felt to think. But the raft was still floating, with no signs of being worse for the wear. Finally, Emerald broke into a grin, and Osvald sighed in relief as he stepped back onto land.

"All right, bring me some more of that straw, and…"

Emerald was already scrambling back towards the shack. Well, Osvald figured that was a good thing… He'd been half-prepared to sit there and argue his case, wasting valuable time. If Emerald was eager to give this a try, it sped things up considerably.

He was back soon enough, carrying more straw than was probably necessary. (Then again, it couldn't hurt to be over-prepared.) Osvald nodded as he took some of it, spreading the straw out next to the makeshift boat. Again, he muttered a few spells to himself, making adjustments as necessary.

Finally, he had a raft wide enough for both of them. Osvald climbed back into it, deciding it was satisfactory after a few seconds. Then, he lined the seat in the middle with some leftover straw, set the supplies Bale gave him on the floor, and gestured for Emerald to join him.

"An ice boat," Emerald said as he climbed in. His tone was a mix of disbelief and amusement. "You scholars sure do think of everything, don't you?"

"Well, it's like you said." Osvald shrugged. "You don't make a prison break without thinking ahead."

Emerald just grinned and shook his head as he pushed against the outcropping of land. This gave the raft the momentum it needed to start drifting away from the shore. Finally, Osvald grabbed the large stick he'd been using as a makeshift staff. They might need something better for steering eventually, but this would do for now.

"I can't believe we're finally out of there," Emerald said after a few seconds. "Seems too good to be true, doesn't it? You sure they won't catch up to us?"

Osvald glanced towards the prison building, perched high on the frozen cliff tops of Frigit Isle. Now that they were outside, it seemed considerably less intimidating. Once they'd cleared a few more feet of water, he could see the inspector's ship near the docks. It was still on fire, and the blaze had spread to cover the entire deck.

"No, I think we'll be fine."

Emerald chuckled at the trace of sarcasm in Osvald's voice.

"We're free, Professor."

That they were—and if luck was on their side, they'd stay that way.

The ocean was vast and silent around them. Time didn't seem to matter out there. It was hard to know exactly how long they'd been adrift, but they found ways to occupy themselves.

Osvald updated his notebook with the record of their escape, adding details about the ice boat while he was at it. Emerald absently sharpened his knife on the side of the raft or cut small, meaningless patterns along the edge. This allowed Osvald to spend a few minutes repairing the damage with ice magic. Occasionally, one of them would nap for an hour or two while the other kept a lookout for other ships or ocean-dwelling monsters.

Still, even with their means of "entertainment," it was easy to get distracted and let their minds wander.

"An ice boat," Emerald grumbled during what had to be their second day at sea. "We're gonna sink before we see land again."

"It's carried us this far," Osvald replied irritably. "And you were eager enough to get on it before."

"Like we had much of a choice! 'Sink the inspectors' vessel,' really! If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to kill us."

Osvald groaned and rubbed his forehead. "Well, you do know better, so I don't see what your problem is."

Emerald sighed, sank down, and gripped his arms tightly. "I was desperate to get out of that hellhole. Who wouldn't be? And now we're stuck in another one. Look around us! What do you see out there?"

There was nothing, just like there had been for the past two days. Nothing but the slight rocking of the waves, and the dull gray sky that never seemed to change. Osvald had never minded silence before, and he knew they had to reach shore eventually. But realistically, their limited supplies could only last so long. If they didn't hit land soon, they'd have to start…improvising.

Emerald let out a hollow laugh. "You still in there, Osvald? Are both of us gonna lose it out here?"

Finally, Osvald exhaled slowly and replied, "You must've had some reason you wanted to get out of there. Think about that instead for a while."

That apparently did the trick. Emerald stared at him for several long seconds, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly open. Eventually, he shook his head, closed his mouth, and hunched over, pointedly looking away from Osvald.

Obviously, nobody enjoyed being at Frigit Isle. But in order for escaping to be worth it, the escapees in question had to have something they very desperately wanted. For Osvald, it was revenge. He didn't know what Emerald's motivation was, and he wouldn't ask.

But there was clearly something eating at him, and Emerald spent a long time mulling it over.

"Hey, Professor…I've been meaning to ask you something."

Osvald grunted in acknowledgement. It had probably been three days, maybe three and a half. They hadn't seen land yet, but they had to be getting close. Or at least, Osvald hoped they were.

At any rate, they'd been quiet for several hours. They were currently huddled together for warmth, as they had been off and on for the past few days. The gear Bale had provided him was enough for one person, but not two. They both had enough layers to avoid instantly freezing to death, but Osvald couldn't say he was quite as warm as he'd like, either.

Emerald shifted against him and took a deep breath. "Did you do it?"

Osvald swallowed. He had a good idea of what Emerald meant, but he didn't want to say it aloud. Fortunately—or unfortunately—Emerald kept speaking.

"You got in there for killing your wife and kid. Is it true?"

Osvald closed his eyes and bit his lip. There was no point in getting angry about the question. They were already out here, and they'd probably reach land soon. He wasn't sure if he'd ever see Emerald again, but Osvald would rather avoid a needless argument if possible.

But that question—he couldn't answer it. Gods…what had Rita and Elena ever done wrong? Harvey had taken them from him for no reason. Osvald could understand wanting his research, but his wife and daughter? They were dead just because they were related to him, and everyone had the gall to believe he'd done it.

Finally, Osvald found his voice. "That's none of your business."

His body tensed subconsciously as he replied. His jaw clenched, and his fingers dug into Emerald's side. They were quiet for a while; Osvald felt Emerald's head shift against his shoulder. He was probably studying Osvald carefully and gauging his reaction.

Emerald laughed mirthlessly. "You know, you really are different from the rest of us. I have to live with what I did. You've got to live with a lot more."

Osvald didn't reply. He wouldn't give Emerald the details—none of the intensely personal, still-raw memories. But Emerald had clearly realized, just from the change in posture and his snappy answer, that Osvald had something weighing on him.

He should appreciate the fact that Emerald apparently accepted his innocence, but instead he found himself relishing the ensuing silence.

"…Osvald?"

"Osvald… Have you found the answer?"

"Hey, Osvald!"

"Osvald, my dear…how I've missed you…"

"Rita? Are you—I'm sorry—I've kept you waiting—"

"Oh, I wish I didn't have to wait any longer. That I could invite you in…have dinner with you and Elena…"

Something was…off. But he couldn't quite place it. "What do you—?"

"But you can't stay here, darling. You have to go. Do what you need to do."

"Hey, you can't stay like that, Professor! Come on, get up. We're so close! You gotta make it."

No, no, no—she was leaving, turning around, walking away from him—but hadn't she just touched him? Whose hand was on his shoulder? Osvald tried to protest, but he couldn't find his voice.

"When I see you again…we'll have goulash together, just the three of us. You'll look as presentable as you always used to… Elena will love what you brought home for her, I'm sure…"

She'd called over her shoulder, smiled gently at him—and now she was gone—gone again, taken from him one more time—

Osvald couldn't breathe. Where was he? The memory (or the dream; he wasn't sure which one it was) had felt so real. It had been right there in his grasp, and now—

Now he was cold. He had no sense of where he was or what he might've been doing beforehand. He was lying on his side on something hard and prickly, and he shifted, pulling himself into a tighter ball. A strangled noise erupted from the back of his throat, and—

"Hey, you can't die on me now!"

"It's not your time, my dear… Not now…"

There was a hand on his shoulder again. It was small and gentle, then large and rough. The two voices mingled together, alternating between the high, smooth lilt and the lower gruffness.

Then there was the vague sensation of something hard rubbing up against something softer, the faint sound of water, and nothing but blackness.

"…not sure. I guess the cold got to him more than I thought it did."

Osvald shifted, squeezing his eyes more tightly shut. He was…somewhere warm, lying on something soft. There were voices in the background, but they took a few seconds to fully register on him. He could make out a few other faint noises: something crackling, boots against wood, a plate being set on a table.

"Not surprised, given the time of year. The ocean around Cape Cold is even worse than usual this season."

Osvald was…in a house. He was lying on a bed. The crackling sound was probably a fire. One of the voices belonged to Emerald, but he didn't recognize the other. The details came slowly, but they were still murky.

He sat up, gripping his throbbing forehead with one hand. The blanket fell away from him, and Osvald instinctively fumbled for his glasses with his other hand. When he didn't find them, he opened his eyes, blinking several times. They were on a nightstand nearby, and Osvald grunted—his head was swimming—as he put them on.

The room's other two occupants looked up at the noise, finally noticing he was awake. Osvald remained silent as he took in his surroundings. He was in a small, one-room house; the bed was in one corner, and the merrily-flickering fireplace was in the center of the back wall. Emerald was hunched over a table towards the middle of the room, with a pitcher of water and a plate of food in front of him.

Finally, there was an old man puttering around near an old-fashioned oven in another corner. He studied Osvald carefully for a few seconds. Then, his expression softened, and he chuckled before speaking up.

"Glad to see you're back with us. Your friend here was worried about you."

'We're not really friends. We're just helping each other.' Osvald wanted to say that—and he could tell Emerald was thinking something similar, thanks to the slightly-amused look on his face—but he couldn't find his voice yet.

Finally, he coughed, cleared his throat, and managed a hoarse, "Do you have any more food?"

The old man laughed again. "Certainly, if you can make it over to the table."

Osvald almost spat out a sarcastic reply to that, but his stupid-sounding remark probably deserved some teasing. Instead, he just nodded and stood up. His footsteps were unsteady, but he made it over to the only other unoccupied chair at the table.

The food was simple—just some bread and a thin vegetable soup. But Osvald hadn't quite realized how hungry he was until he sat down. Anything would've tasted good, and Emerald snorted as Osvald devoured his share of it.

"So," the old man said casually, "you must be a scholar of some sort, yes?"

Osvald paused, blinking over at him. "…What?"

"We went through your stuff while you were out." Emerald shrugged. "I thought you might've written something down about how long we were out at sea, and…"

"Your notes are quite detailed, and half of them are in cipher. Clearly a scholar's work," the old man explained. "And I can see it in your face. You pick up on these things when you've been studying as long as I have."

Osvald just hummed in acknowledgement as he reached for a glass of water. The old man must've had a point, but Osvald hoped he'd get to it sooner rather than later.

"Though clearly, it's been a while since you've done any personal work. Frigit Isle escapees, yes?"

Osvald almost choked on his water, and Emerald tensed up as well. He wasn't sure how long they'd been talking, but the topic obviously hadn't come up until now. The old researcher gave them a knowing smile before he went on.

"I've found two or three others washed up on the beach in my time," he explained. "You were the first ones to get here alive, though."

"We didn't think you were gonna make it, though," Emerald commented with a strained smile, probably hoping to ease the tension in some weird way.

"Regardless," the old man continued, "I don't know what you might have done, and I won't lecture you on it. But…I can hope you two can turn yourselves into honest men from here on out, yes?"

Osvald sighed, and the tension slowly eased itself from his shoulders. The researcher clearly had no intentions of turning them in or reporting them to any local guardsmen. He'd worried for half a terrible minute that their escape was all for nothing after all.

"Honest," Emerald replied with a laugh. "Well, I'll see what I can do."

Osvald simply nodded. He couldn't give a truthful answer to that—not with what he intended to do. But he found himself appreciating the sentiment anyway, and he didn't want to let the old man down too badly. If that meant hiding his intentions, then so be it.

"That's all I can ask. Now then…"

The man dug around in his cabinet for a few things and then turned to a chest against the opposite wall. After collecting everything, he handed Emerald and Osvald a coat and small bag each. Osvald curiously slipped on the clothing—it wasn't so different from the long coats he'd used to wear, but it was slightly snug around the shoulders. Still, it was long enough (clearly the researcher had been taller in his younger days) and warm enough.

"Something a little nicer than your prison rags," the man said wryly. "And that's enough food to last you a day or two, if you're careful."

"…Thank you," Osvald said, finding that he genuinely meant it.

Still, that was his only immediate reply. After several seconds of silence, Emerald and their benefactor gave each other amused looks.

"A quiet one, isn't he?"

Emerald snorted again. "Oh, no, he's real warm and fuzzy…somewhere in there, probably."

Osvald huffed as he stood up. Emerald followed his lead, and the old man followed them towards the door. Once they were outside, he gave both of them meaningful looks.

"…Good luck," he finally said.

With that, he closed the door. Osvald and Emerald stared at it for a few seconds, and then looked at each other. After a bit more silence, they turned around and began walking. Cape Cold, the old man said—it really was a tiny place, Osvald thought as he looked around. It wasn't long before they reached the edge of the small town.

Emerald paused and took a deep breath. "Yeah…good luck out there, Professor. Not everyone's gonna be as nice as we were, you know?"

"…I'll keep that in mind."

"No, really, I…" Emerald took another long pause, choosing his next words carefully. "I wouldn't have gotten out of there without you. So…I hope you find what you're looking for out there."

Well, that was true. Their arrangement had been one of mutual convenience, but Osvald knew he wouldn't be here without Emerald, either. That was certainly something, and he nodded.

"…You, too. Be careful."

With that, Emerald smiled awkwardly, adjusted the pack on his shoulder, and waved at him. Osvald watched him walk away as he attempted to mull over the situation. They were both free. He had his chance to find Harvey—after five long years.

Osvald couldn't promise the old man he'd be decent from here on out, and he had no idea what would happen to him if or when he accomplished his goal. But he had his opportunity, and that was what mattered.

With a deep breath, Osvald started walking, too—more determined than ever to accomplish what he'd set out to do.