ESCAFLOWNE WEEK 2021: Day 2: MACHINES | THE MOON
The Marionette and the Master
NOTE: Here's the final part, set in Fanelia, as Folken waits for his momentous confrontation with Van. Our boy had quite some time to himself to think about what he had done.
Always tricky to get into his head but I am glad there were prompts that compelled me to do so. He remains one of my favorite characters in the series even when I am not shipping him with anyone, because there is always so much to work with. But it can also get a bit emotionally draining to stay in his headspace. So let's visit one more time and then leave gracefully.
Enjoy and let me know what you think. Thank you!
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Folken Fanel gazed at his metal arm under the light of the two moons of Gaea, as he had done years before, and he realized that he had become what he had feared and hated.
As he sat in the ruins of Fanelia, of the homeland he had chosen to destroy in pursuit of Dornkirk's plans, Folken found no comfort in knowing that he had finally done the right thing. He deserved no consolation, not after he had just lost two of his most precious friends. They had given their lives for him and him alone. He knew this much. And yet the Emperor had only ever seen them as pawns in his deadly, twisted games.
But Folken could not now consider himself such a pawn. He had participated willingly in executing Dornkirk's plans.
For all his fears of being manipulated, Folken had been the one pulling the strings on the lives of those who had put their faith in him. He saw their faces and remembered all their names.
Nariya, Eriya, Zongi…the list grew longer and longer. All gone, sacrificed in the name of Zaibach's glory. But all had gone willingly out of blind loyalty to Folken Fanel.
He had deluded himself into thinking he was helping those in need, that by taking in strays rejected by their own kind, he was giving them a chance at a better life, at a kinder future. And they had believed him and served him with no hesitation. But they deserved better fates.
He had made marionettes of those he had saved. So in the end, had he even saved them at all?
And to think, he realized with horror, he had once planned to subject Van to the same fate? To persuade his own brother to follow the same path that he had forged with the blood of innocents. How fortunate that his brother was a better man than he could ever be.
He held his arm to the light of the moons and remembered how he had once compared its wires to serpents. He remembered a myth he had read in a book of Gaean folk tales about a giant serpent who had swallowed the moons and thus plunged the world into darkness. He did not know why that was the image that had sprung to mind at that moment but it seemed apt.
Most nights in Zaibach, one could not even see the moons anyway. Their radiance had often been obscured by the smoke and fumes from the factories manufacturing guymelefs and other weapons. The clang of metal against metal was the only music to be heard and everyone simply moved to the tune of Emperor Dornkirk's words, promises of some wonderful future that would never materialize.
Remembering the blackness of the smoke only reminded him of the transformation of his wings. He was surprised now that a decade of being exposed to such pollution had not already changed the color of his feathers. How his wings had remained white when he first revealed himself to Van was a mystery. But Zaibach was a poison he had chosen to drink himself, and he had blighted his own inheritance as a result. His Draconian heritage had blessed him with a long life and how he had wasted the little he had lived.
Filled with unspeakable sadness, Folken looked once more at the wreckage of his homeland, at the rubble that remained of the palace, at the broken foundations of the homes of his people. He had turned his back on them all, on the life he had believed would have limited him, and would have prevented him from realizing some grand vision of the world.
He had ruined so many lives, but none as thoroughly as those who had devoted their lives to serving him. He thought once more about the final moments of the twins, how quickly their bodies had turned frail as a result of the luck experiment.
He had once been so repulsed at having had his body modified against his will. And yet he had subjected others to the same, twisted experiments. True, the twins had agreed to the procedure enthusiastically, but he knew that it was only out of their devotion to him. And look at what that had led them both to, two strong and vibrant women, in the prime of their lives, doomed to early graves by his own folly.
They did not even have the honor of dying in battle, of displaying the prowess they had acquired after years of training. He had led them to their disgraceful end and in their final moments, they had the generosity to forgive him.
It was time to take responsibility, to face the consequences of a decade of grave errors and ruined lives.
He did not have the luxury of blaming someone else for his failings. He also staunchly refused to point the finger at Dornkirk when it was he, Strategos Folken, who had implemented the old man's nefarious plans.
It was pathetic, almost laughable, that he had ever considered his metal arm as the culprit. That he had ever believed that he had been a helpless victim in all this. The injustice of even considering such a thing.
He remembered his black wings. There was little time left now to make amends and it was impossible to undo all the damage that had already been done. But he would have to try to avenge the memory of Nariya, Eriya, Zongi and the others. To somehow ensure that their deaths had not been in vain, that they had chosen to serve a worthier master than he had ever believed himself to be. He would make up for having used them so ill.
So as he waited for his brother, Folken Fanel did what he did best. Under the light of the two moons, he thought hard and he made plans. And he could only hope that there would be enough time for him to implement them and that whatever he did now, would somehow bring the peace that Gaea truly deserved.