'Brain did try to trust the council, at one point.'
Chapter Eight: Broken Trust
The thing Brain remembered most about the end wasn't the fight with Darkness, or the crumbling world, or even—to his regret—his friends. What he remembered most was the sense of hopelessness—the way it had curled through his chest and around his ribs, cracking them until he couldn't breathe.
And then he remembered what it felt like to be given his hope back.
"A vessel?"
"Only temporarily." Luxu's voice was quiet; Brain couldn't quite pick the emotions out of it, everything as muted and foreign as the lost Master himself. "At least in a sense."
Brain's eyes narrowed, because for as much as hope fluttered behind his ribcage, he was ultimately realistic. "Explain."
"Bodies can't travel through time. Hearts can. If I take your body, I can free your heart in the process—giving you a way to reach the future without sacrificing your friends' safety."
It made a logical sort of sense, if not for one glaring flaw: "How do I know I'll get to the right place?"
Brain couldn't see Luxu's face, but he could feel the Master studying him. "Just like the others—you'll need a waypoint. Yours will need to be stronger—strong enough to make sure your heart doesn't get lost. And someone will likely need to be at the other end to call you back."
"Strong as in…?"
"A connection to a place. A person. A memory. Something that has taken root in your heart so strongly you'd be drawn to it, even over death."
'Death' pricked along his spine, cold and tingling, and he stamped his fear down to focus on the details. "My friends," he said, and that little bit of hope fluttered again, bird-like.
"Maybe. You'll have to figure that out yourself. Once you're free, you're on your own." Luxu's voice turned apologetic. "I'm sorry that it's so rough. It's the only way."
"What do you get out of this?" Brain asked, because he couldn't figure out why Luxu, of all people, would have any investment in saving them. He hadn't been a Foreteller; he hadn't even been around most of the time, until his suspected spotting in the data world. It left Brain feeling wary, no matter how much he wanted to give in and agree.
Luxu hesitated, but only for a moment. "I have a role to fulfill—and I'm trying to do that without too many prying eyes."
Brain tilted his head and hoped he continued.
Electricity flickered across Luxu's fingertips. A Keyblade snapped into his hand—a Foreteller Keyblade, but not like any of the ones Brain had seen, a blue eye staring out from the end of the blade. It made Brain feel uneasy looking at it, so he didn't, snapping his attention towards Luxu expectantly.
The Keyblade disappeared in a flash. "The Master's always watching," he said cryptically. "And I need to hide this. Make sure it's safe." With another flick a large black box materialized, and Brain's attention snapped towards it, questions upon questions on his tongue. "You can't know what's in it," Luxu said, as if reading his thoughts, "and I wouldn't be able to explain. We're running out of time as it is."
The world shook, as if waiting for its cue, and Brain grimaced and tried to brace himself against his chair. Luxu was right, and even if he wasn't entirely sure he could trust him—well, he might end up dead if he stayed here, too. At least this way, there was a chance he'd find his friends again.
"Give me a second." Ephemer, Skuld, and their friend were still stuck in the data world; he didn't want to leave their escape up to a stranger. He turned to the computer, and with a couple taps sent the lifeboats back.
And now they'd have to move quickly—at least, if he didn't want his friends to question what he was doing and why.
"How does it work?" Brain asked, and turned around in time to see that blue eye staring up at him from the Keyblade in his chest.
It was so sudden Brain didn't register what had happened at first; the pain set in slowly, along with a weird, weightless sort of feeling. Something felt like it was snapping in his chest, tethers between his heart and body falling limp, one by one. The panic set in next, one hand scrabbling to remove the Keyblade, the other reaching for a weapon that wouldn't come.
"Find your waypoint," Luxu said, low and insistent, and Brain couldn't quite manage to form words but he thought the look he gave him was betrayed. "Let it guide you home. Good luck, Dandelion."
The Keyblade came free, and with it the last of the tethers keeping him to his body. Something about the world changed; distantly he thought he could sense his body crumpling, sight and sound muted and fading, but it was a distant sort of sensation. He was suddenly, acutely aware of a sense of despair, grief, fear, pain—and a desperate, desperate undercurrent of hope and love, all flickering like too-bright patches of light. Underneath that was a heavier hum, like a heartbeat, countless smaller ones all flickering in the space beside him.
They were…moving. It was hard to tell—hard to keep hold of himself, hard to feel what direction was up or down, hard to figure out where he was—but he could sense those other (hearts?) presences moving, drawn towards that ever-steady heartbeat.
For a moment, there was panic, and anger, and grief, because you promised to help me, you promised, you promised, and he found himself reaching backwards, something feral in him biting and snarling and fighting for a body that was no longer his.
(Distantly, he thought he could see his body move, twisting at odd angles as its new owner adjusted to it.)
Some sort of energy pulsed lightly, and he bobbed in the waves, pushed away without much resistance. A furious, panicked part of him tried to strain backwards, reaching back towards—
Towards a dying world.
He wasn't…this is what the man (Luxu?) had said. He'd be on his own. He had to—he had to move forward.
The reminder filled him with a sense of urgency; his heart was adrift, free in a way it shouldn't be, and the panic hadn't quite gone yet. He needed direction; he needed to figure out where he was supposed to go, but it was hard to find something to latch onto, with the other hearts and the chaos of feelings.
Come.
The word came as if summoned by his panic, more impression than sound; it boomed and rattled, but there was something warm about it, too, like the owner was an old friend he hadn't seen in a long time. Come home.
'Let it guide you home.' That's what he'd said.
…Who'd said that, again?
No. He—Brain, he was Brain—tried to focus, staunchly pulling away from the heavy, ever-present heartbeat. He scrambled for—for something. Something to remind him of who he was. Something to drag him forward.
The memories flickered, present in a way they hadn't been since they'd occurred, flooding him with colored feelings and a familiar sort of warmth. Dandelion-soft hair and laughter, red and warm like his scarf; joyful teasing and a warm, if dry, response; flashes of light, so warm he could almost get lost in it; gentle worry and quiet amusement, a flicker of pink against stained glass windows.
Home. They were—they were home.
(But that home was gone. That home was falling apart, called to the same place he was.
…He was so tired.)
(He wanted to go back.)
Brain!
The voice wasn't one he recognized, but it had a cadence about it that seemed vaguely familiar.
(…How did he know that, again?)
Brain, I can sense you, but you need to reach back.
Brain. That's right. That was him. He was supposed to be fighting. He was supposed to be—
Come, something said, gentle. Come home.
The memory of his friends was…so warm…
Damn it! Brain, I can't help you—don't—back. Don't you—see—friends?
The words were fading. Everything seemed vaguely distant, a warm, quiet sort of sensation wrapping around him slowly. His friends…wouldn't mind if he rested a little while. They were always telling him he should.
(Why did he know that?)
"Brain!"
The voice lanced through the warmth, hitting him like cold water. He knew this one, even if he couldn't entirely place from where.
(Underneath him, the world's heart thrummed, strong and stubborn.)
"Brain! Come on, keep going!"
It felt like some sort of spell had shaken off him; something anchored against his heart, the memory hardening with a splash of clarity. He couldn't turn—didn't have the hands to reach—but he tried, anyways, searching desperately, desperately for the pull of—
(Something familiar—a hazy image, of a world he knew, of something glimmering like a star.)
—his waypoint.
-Something clattered against the floor. Dull pain shot through Brain's hand. He couldn't quite see at first, everything still dark, his heart hammering, and one hand flew to his chest and clutched it. (It was there, it was there and he was breathing and it was okay—)
The room came into slow focus—his apartment, still mostly empty. His work from before still lay scattered in front of the sofa. His back ached, like he'd fallen asleep leaning over—and he probably had, given that he was still on the couch. So was Skuld—she'd slumped against the arm, sprawled awkwardly, looking almost like she was about to fall off. It took most of his willpower not to shake her awake and make sure she was real.
Brain breathed in, and out, and pressed his hands to his face. It's fine, he thought, and ignored how hard he was shaking. It's fine.
With another long, shaky breath he leaned backwards, hands running down his face and resting, somewhat purposefully, against his legs. The room felt weirdly cold, and he worked his jaw and tried hard to ignore it.
"Are you okay?"
He started to answer before he'd registered that the voice wasn't Skuld's: "I'm fi—"
He broke off. Starlight snapped at his fingertips, but only for a moment. It may not have been Skuld speaking, but he still recognized the high-pitched voice.
A Chirithy hovered on the back of the couch, ears twitching. For a moment he thought it was his Chirithy, finally making a reappearance—but his Chirithy was blunter, dressed different, and far too concerned about his wellbeing to stay away for so long.
(His Chirithy may not ever come back; it wasn't hard for him to figure out why.)
"You're Skuld's," he said, exhaling the words and trying to ignore the complicated knot of emotions they created.
"Yeah, but I can worry about you, too." They crept forward, tilting their head to try and get a better look at his face. "You looked like you were having a nightmare."
He lifted a shoulder in an aborted shrug. "That happens sometimes."
"Where's your Chirithy? Why aren't they helping with that?"
He wasn't sure he wanted to answer that question, so he glanced towards Skuld instead, asking, "She having nightmares, too?"
"Yeah," they said, in a tone that implied, You already know this and you're dodging the question. (He did, and he was. That didn't make the worry less real.) "I've been trying to get as many as I can, after the first night. But it's hard." Quieter, they murmured, "She has a lot of them."
He knew that, too, but it still made something ugly curl in his stomach. "Haven't seen you around much," he said, but there wasn't any real heat in the words.
"I've been waiting for Skuld to call me." They paused, then added, "I think she's just been…overwhelmed with everything."
He ignored the brief flash of bitterness. (You should talk to them, Skuld. Yours is still here.) "Makes sense."
"…What about the Spirits?"
Brain blinked, then glanced at Chirithy. "What?"
"You made them, right? If you're having nightmares…" They trailed off, ears drooping. "I'm sorry I can't help with yours."
His chest ached, and he managed a tiny smile, resting a hand on Chirithy's head. He rubbed their ear absently, murmuring, "Guess I could give it a try at some point."
The terror from the nightmare was fading, now, his shaking limbs steadying. He stared at his messy supplies without really seeing them.
(He—needed to find his friends. He needed to do something. He needed something to ground him.)
Brain stood, but didn't go very far—just far enough to grab a blanket, still crumpled on the floor. He threw it over Skuld, then pulled out his notebook, absently tapping it. Maybe I can—figure out some ideas of when and where they'd land. Based on where the two of us did.
"You aren't going to work, are you?"
"Just for a little while. Promise." He poked Chirithy lightly. "Guess I can trust you to keep an eye on us?"
They gave him a disgruntled look, but sighed and straightened, like they'd tried to put his comment out of their mind. "Yeah, you can count on me!"
It drew a small smile out of him, and even if he didn't really plan on going back to sleep right away—well, it was the thought that counted.
-(Let me tell you a story.
It's not a particularly happy story, but it's important. It's the story of a dying boy, who was drawn back to a reanimated world, and who had to figure out how he was supposed to move forward when he was still only half alive.
His family wasn't here, after all, even if their specters were.)
"What are you doing alone out here, Master Brain?"
He didn't react to Frigga's presence—she hadn't made any particular attempt to keep her approach silent, after all. "Just looking at the differences," he replied honestly. From this high up in the Clock Tower, he could almost imagine Scala ad Caelum was Daybreak Town. It wasn't quite the same; the Clock Tower was different, the city too washed-out to really be his home, but…it was close enough.
Frigga stood beside him—silent, but he could feel her studying him.
"Got something you need me for?" He couldn't quite look at her; there was something uncomfortable about staring at a stranger and seeing bits of his friend. (Of course, she wasn't the only one that happened with.)
"You created your own starmap."
Oh. This was about that, then. "Needed something to keep my hands busy."
"I understand, but that's not your department."
Brain exhaled slowly to try and curb his frustration. It's going to be different here, he reminded himself, and tried to ignore how much it felt like he was being pressed into a cage.
"This all must be very different for you," Frigga said. There was something in her voice he couldn't quite place, and he honed in on it, eyes sliding towards her. "I can't imagine what it must be like to have been thrown so suddenly from your home—let alone forced into a position of power."
Frustration. That's what it was—carefully hidden, but still there. It pricked at his skin, and he rolled his shoulders and tried to brush it off. "Not so different from being a Union Leader."
"In some ways, perhaps. But things don't work the same here. In Daybreak Town, you and your friends were forced into the leadership role at far too young an age. You were left without guidance in a world that was all but new; there wasn't any structure to rely on. Scala ad Caelum has had centuries to thrive. We've expanded upon the foundation created by Master Ephemer, and found a system that works. I understand that there will be an adjustment period—but you will still need to learn that system."
It seemed…reasonable. It wasn't that far from his own thoughts. But that boxed-in feeling got worse, pressing against his shoulders and compressing his sides. It made him want to run, and he had to take a few moments to steady himself with a heavy exhale. "Right."
"…You really are just a child." The words came out quiet; the frustration hadn't entirely disappeared, but there was a strange sort of understanding there, and Brain wasn't sure whether to feel offended or grateful or both. "When you hear the stories, you never think—but I suppose I always knew my ancestor was young. I imagine it would've been…helpful, to have someone to guide you back then."
"We managed."
"You shouldn't have had to."
The words stung, twisting inside his chest and wrapping around his heart so tightly that it hurt.
"Well. You won't have to deal with this alone, this time. You'll have people who can guide you. Teach you how to be a proper leader for Scala."
The way she said it made him twitch. "Still a Union Leader," he reminded her. "It's not like I have no idea what I'm doing." And then he took a breath and squashed down any other protests, because she seemed like she was genuinely trying to help, and maybe he was just getting worked up over nothing. "But alright. Some help wouldn't be so bad."
Frigga smiled. "Come to the council meeting in the morning. That way, we can introduce you to everyone properly—and hopefully get you heading in the right direction."
Brain nodded, and tried to ignore the way it felt like he was willingly letting himself be caged.
-Brain really, truly didn't mean to work all night—he just wanted something for his frazzled mind to focus on—but eventually the light outside the window started turning gray and Skuld started to stir, and Brain cursed himself quietly and tried to put his work away.
Skuld blinked blearily.
Brain rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Morning."
"…You worked all night?"
"Just wanted to get things done."
Skuld sighed, sounding too tired for any actual frustration yet. "M'going to use a Sleep spell on you." She sat up, blanket tugged over her shoulders.
Brain couldn't quite hold back his snort. "You do that."
She poked him with a tired, exasperated smile.
He batted her hand away lightly.
"You're going to be too tired to help today."
"Help—" Ah. Right. They were supposed to be checking the Clock Tower for clues later. "I'll be fine. I've done more on less sleep." He didn't even feel that bad yet, beyond his heavy eyes. He knew it could lead to him crashing later, but he hoped he'd make it long enough to do something useful.
Skuld hummed an acknowledgement, even if she didn't look like she believed him.
He leaned over and poked her forehead. "You don't look very awake yourself."
She groaned and buried her head in her hands. "Bluebloods." She gave him a pained look, like she still couldn't quite figure out what to make of it.
(He'd listened to her rant last night; none of it was new information to him, but it felt vindicating to have someone else who thought it was ridiculous.
"I don't get it," Skuld had finished finally, giving him a helpless look. "Ephemer wouldn't have wanted…this. It was never like this in Daybreak Town."
"This isn't Daybreak Town," he reminded her, and tried to ignore the way that stung. And then he'd sighed, his whole body slumping with the sound. "But yeah. Pretty sure Ephemer would've gone crazy over it by now.")
It wasn't like he had any answers for her that he hadn't last night; it's just the way it was here, and he could point out it was ridiculous all he liked, but it never seemed to do anything. (It wasn't like it was the first time he'd failed to fix things.) "You think we can make breakfast without it glowing?"
Skuld gave him an exasperated look.
"Café it is."
-"It's nice of you to finally join us, Master Brain."
Brain wasn't entirely sure who was talking—he had vague memories of meeting the council members, but they were clouded, buried underneath the chaos of trying to figure out what he was supposed to do once he'd arrived in Scala in the first place. He fixed a fake smile on his face and hoped his annoyance didn't slip through. "Better late than never, right?"
The council member made a disgruntled noise.
"Osmin," Frigga chided gently, and Brain filed the name away for later. Frigga cast a sideways glance towards Brain, who shrugged and gestured for her to continue. "If we're all here…?"
"Meili isn't," another council member said—a woman who didn't look like she was related to Ephemer much at all, with darker skin and hair and sharper features.
Frigga pursed her lips. "We can't wait for them, any more than we could've waited for Master Brain when he was absent."
There were some disgruntled murmurs, but no one protested loudly. "Should've just sent that kid they're training," one council member whispered to another. "He's got a better upbringing; he'd know not to be late."
Brain kept his expression carefully neutral, but he eyed the speaker warily, tucking the words carefully away.
Most of the council was already sitting, taking places around the table. Brain didn't know exactly where he belonged, but he supposed if someone really wanted his seat, they could just tell him to move, and so he settled into the place closest to him, leaning back with his arms folded.
(He did get a disgruntled look from one of the still-standing council members, but they found their own seat without protesting, so he didn't think it was that big a deal.)
The meeting was familiar, but only in the wrong ways. There were many of the same concerns—supplies and exploration and repairs around town—but little of the same easy comradery, no jokes or side-tracked conversations. It made things more efficient, he supposed, but it felt strangely clinical; he couldn't remember feeling quite so detached from things, before.
(Sometimes it felt a little overwhelming. Sometimes, he wished the council members wouldn't look at him quite so strangely when he asked questions—he was tired of being stared at with that same mix of awe and trepidation, like they weren't quite sure what they were supposed to make of him and were scared of what he'd do.
Sometimes he was just…tired.)
And then—
"We'll need to discuss post-graduation positions for the upperclassmen. I have some intern applications here that look promising."
—there were the things that were different.
"You'd like to claim some for yourself, I'm sure," Frigga said, wryly amused. "Tell us about them, Osmin."
Osmin riffled through some papers, ticking across the edges with a thoughtful expression. "We've got an application from one of the branch families—finally got one of them through training. They're not the most talented of the bunch, but they are the first of their family to reach this point in years. I'm sure giving them a position would help ensure ongoing support."
Brain frowned, feeling like something had crawled across his skin. "Why's that matter?"
The room went quiet. All eyes turned to him, and he forced himself to stay relaxed under the stares.
Osmin studied him with narrowed eyes—curious, but not yet angry. "Why does what matter?"
"Their family. Thought you'd want the most qualified, if they're going to be in charge."
Osmin opened his mouth to respond, but Frigga waved a hand to cut him off. "Master Ephemer's lineage has always had an important role in Scala ad Caelum," Frigga said, and the words sounded practiced. "It's important to make sure each of those families receives the proper respect."
"…It's just a political move," he said, and tasted something sour. "Well. That sounds like bullshit."
Someone choked.
"I understand it's different than it was in Daybreak Town—"
"It is. Didn't matter where you came from; aside from the Foretellers, we were all basically on the same level. Got along just fine." We could all die the same, he thought, but didn't say.
"Except for the Union Leaders," some said, and he wasn't sure who, but it made his head ring.
He laughed to brush it off. "Didn't matter much. We were in charge, but we weren't any more important."
"But you were the ones who survived."
Any response he could've made died, trapped in his throat. His mouth snapped shut so quickly that his jaw clicked.
The council members stared at him. He couldn't quite tell what they were thinking; he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"Master Brain," Frigga said, and his eyes snapped towards her. "I understand that things worked a certain way for your Unions, but the world has changed. Things are…different, now."
"'Different' doesn't necessarily mean 'better,'" he said, but it came from a distance.
(His ears were ringing.)
"Perhaps," Frigga continued gently, "it would be better if you sat out of this discussion."
It made him feel strangely like a child. He hadn't felt like that in…a long time, really. He might've protested, if his head didn't still feel like it was spinning.
(The missing council member appeared later, harried and exhausted, claiming concerns over unusual activity on other worlds. Brain watched them, and then watched how the other council members reacted, some giving them skeptical side-eyes and making snide comments.
'Better upbringing.' He thought he understood a little better what they meant, now.)
-Brain was growing accustomed to people's stares—he may not like them, but he knew there wasn't much he could do beyond try and make himself as inconspicuous as possible. He'd forgotten, however, that Skuld probably wasn't, and she stood stiff-backed as she walked beside him, seemingly making a point of not meeting anyone's eyes.
"Almost there," he murmured, glancing at the Clock Tower in the distance.
Skuld nodded, but it wasn't until they stepped under its shadow and away from prying eyes that she relaxed. "Does that get easier?" she asked, rubbing her arms like she was trying to warm up.
"In a way. You…learn how to ignore it. Or figure out when people are out and when they aren't."
Skuld managed a tired smile. "Is that why you're nocturnal?"
"Hey."
"Good morning, Master Brain, Master Skuld."
Brain titled his head back and tried not to groan.
"Morning, Sigurd," Skuld answered with forced friendliness.
"I hope your first day went well." Sigurd dipped his head towards Skuld, stopping a respectable distance away from them.
"It went fine." She gave a thin-lipped smile. "Just…adjusting to things."
Sigurd twitched a little, and Brain wondered if he'd picked up on the lie. "I'm sure you'll get used to it in no time. It's a lot, I'm sure, if you're not from here." And then he turned to Brain. "Master Brain—"
"Frigga's looking for her experiment, I take it."
"Well—yes, technically, but Anders was looking for you."
"He's decided he likes my ideas again, huh."
Skuld made a surprised noise. "But yesterday he said—aren't you supposed to be helping him?" She looked sheepish the moment she said it, as if realizing she might've answered her own question.
Brain shrugged. He vaguely thought he remembered something about that—but then, the council had never been very thrilled with him, and he'd never been very thrilled with them in turn.
"Since Master Skuld joined us, he's been anxious to have his Union Leader join him."
Something bitter turned his smile. "His Union Leader, huh?"
Sigurd gave a full-body flinch. "I'm sorry. That was—I didn't mean it like that."
"Right." He glanced towards Skuld, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. "Guess I'll see you later."
"Right," Skuld said, looking reluctant. "I'll meet you back here?"
"Yeah."
Skuld still lingered a moment, giving him and Sigurd a long look. Then she seemed to steel herself, sucking in a breath and squaring her shoulders as she headed down the halls.
Brain watched her go and pointedly tried to stuff down his anxiety. Guess I've got enough problems of my own to worry about, he thought, turning back towards Sigurd. But it's fine. It'll be fine. Just need to hold out until we find the others. "So," he asked dryly, "Anders thinks he wants to see me, huh?"
"He said something about maybe helping him with some clerical work—"
"So he's looking for an assistant. Right." He brushed past Sigurd. "Let me guess: he's anxious to be able to say that he worked with a Union Leader for the clout, right?"
"I don't think you're giving him enough credit."
"Sure." He waved Sigurd off. "Well. Frigga has me working on that Heartless detection device—so I guess he'll have to wait."
Sigurd sighed. "Master Brain, please."
But he sounded defeated, so Brain thought that, at least for the moment, he was getting out of the conversation.
-"You need to give them time," Frigga said, and it felt like the thousandth time they'd had this conversation, even if it'd only been a few days since Brain had first started joining council meetings. "It happens with any new council member."
"Get the feeling it's been happening a bit more with me." He wasn't sure, but that's certainly what seemed to be implied, between the odd looks and quiet comments he didn't think he was meant to hear. (He wondered if they were justified, sometimes; this wasn't Daybreak Town, and that had become such a common refrain that it felt beaten into his skull, but—well. He'd never been that good at staying quiet when he thought something was wrong.)
"Oh, I've seen the same thing many times. It isn't so strange." Quieter, she asked, "And how are you getting along?"
(He hadn't gone back to his apartment. He slept in a corner of the Clock Tower and pretended it was home. He'd found stories about himself in the library and closed the book so fast his hands hurt.)
"Fine."
Frigga hummed, but he didn't think she believed him.
Brain sucked in a breath and pushed his hat up. They'd gone out to Scala's streets—not because Brain particularly wanted to be out here, but because he hadn't had anything to do and a walk seemed better than nothing.
He'd meant to go alone; he'd told Sigurd, then managed to slip away from his escort when he'd tried to follow. He didn't think anyone else knew where he was; Frigga appearing was a surprise, but not one that he minded much.
Sometimes, talking with her reminded him of talking with Ephemer.
He sucked in a breath and tried to force the thought aside. "Think they'd let me tinker with something down near the docks?"
Frigga sighed. "Master Brain—"
"Just trying to keep my hands busy."
"Why don't you pick an area of study? The Research Department is all about advancement, you know. If you find a subject and get it approved, you'd have something to focus your energies on."
He hummed, turning the idea over. He wanted to…find his friends. He wanted a do-over. He wanted to figure out what he could've done to fix things; where he could've gone wrong and why.
(Thinking too hard on that made his chest feel like it was caving in.)
(That had happened before.)
"…Time magic."
"Time magic?"
"Worldlines. Prophecy. The like." Brain shrugged. "The Master had to see the future somehow. I'd like to know how." He saw Frigga's expression—something caught between uncertain and wary—and he amended, "Unless you have something else you want to throw at me?"
Frigga looked like she might've answered, if someone else hadn't interrupted: "That's him, right?"
Brain tried not to stiffen. He turned, glancing towards the source of the voice.
A couple of kids—older than Ven had been, but younger than him—scrambled into hiding upon seeing him turn. "Do you think he saw?"
"Shh, don't blow our cover."
"You know," Brain called dryly, "I can hear you."
A whisper-argument broke out, too quiet for Brain to make out any real words. After a moment, one voice lifted, rising above a frantic protest: "You're Cheryl's favorite Union Leader—"
"Shut up, shut up—"
"—and she has something to give you!"
One of the kids was pushed unceremoniously out into the street. She wobbled a little, hands stuck out straight, then turned an accusing glance towards her still-hiding friend. "You're a jerk!"
Brain cleared his throat.
The kid—Cheryl, he guessed—snapped towards him, crumpling something in her grip.
In a weird way, she reminded him of Ven. He blinked, and for a moment he saw the specter of a spiky-haired kid, all knobby elbows and hunched shoulders. "You know," he said past the knot of grief, "my friends were like that too, sometimes. They liked to…push some of us out of our comfort zones." Well. All of them did at different points, really. He shrugged, looking away and trying to drag himself out of the specter of the past. (He could still see bright cobblestones and colorful houses when he blinked.) "Don't have to show me if you don't want to. Up to you."
"I-I—uh—you—" The kid made a noise that sounded halfway between a squeak and a wheeze, then shoved the paper at him. "Here!"
He startled a little, but accepted the paper.
Cheryl turned and ran almost as soon as the paper left her hands. "I can't believe I talked to him!"
"See, I did you a favor."
Brain stared after them, eyebrows furrowed. One thumb smoothed the creases out of the paper, and he sighed as he turned to look at it, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in his chest.
It tightened further when he looked at the page. It was…a picture. Of him, and his friends. The details weren't all right—but then again, he didn't expect they would be, after so many years. The drawing was crude and childish and messy, but it was still unmistakably them, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to fold the paper and tuck it away or keep staring at it. It was…a kinder gesture than he'd expected, even if he didn't think the kid had meant it to be.
(It didn't feel deserved. He hadn't done anything. Not really.)
(He'd failed to save a falling world—but he didn't think that was deserving of admiration.)
"They love you." Frigga—he'd almost forgotten she was there, with how little attention the kids had paid to her. There was something in her voice Brain couldn't quite identify—something that sounded almost envious. "Not that I ever doubted, of course, but you make it seem so easy."
He wasn't entirely sure he liked the way she said that, so he tried his best to shrug it off. "Give it time. I'll rub them wrong like I did the council."
"Oh, I doubt it. Many people in Scala ad Caelum adore the Union Leaders." She had a bittersweet sort of smile on her face. "It's the reason Master Ephemer's lineage is so highly respected—or at least, we were."
"Were?"
"There has been…some discontent, as of late." Frigga waved him off. "But you don't need to hear the worries of an old woman. We will manage just fine."
It sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as him. He eyed her curiously, but decided not to press the matter. "Right."
Frigga sighed. "I apologize, Master Brain, but I have work to get back to—and I'm sure you do, as well. I'll send Sigurd to escort you back."
"Don't need a babysitter," Brain shouted after her.
"I know," Frigga said with a laugh, "but he's certainly good at making sure you don't get yourself into trouble—health-wise, at the very least."
She…wasn't entirely wrong, he could reluctantly admit.
"Master Brain." When he looked at her, she flashed him a gentle smile. "I would like to help, in whatever way I can. Perhaps we could meet in the gardens near the Clock Tower to continue our talks?"
It was…a kind offer, he thought. Maybe he couldn't quite call her a friend, but…it'd be nice to have an ally. "Alright."
-A part of Brain could admit that he didn't really want to work on the Heartless detection system; he wanted to be able to poke around and search for information about his friends. But the rest of him understood the urgency; Scala may not be his home, but there were still people here, and Heartless—well, he was well aware of what sort of damage they could do.
(Not that he entirely understood why they needed a new device, considering they already had the wards—but it couldn't hurt, he supposed.)
Unfortunately, he could also admit that it would be more useful to have someone to bounce ideas off of. He wasn't particularly interested in working with Anders—so he supposed Sigurd was his next best bet. "Hey. The Founder's Fountain's connected pretty closely to the world's heart, right? Any other places like that?"
Sigurd started; he was carrying an armful of papers, which he set beside Brain. "I…well, the ports, probably. And the Clock Tower."
"Need one in each quarter, I think." Brain tapped his pen against the table. "Guess I could use the Clock Tower as the center…"
"I—Master Brain, I'm not really sure I'm—why, exactly, do they need to have a, uh, 'connection to the world's heart'?"
"Need anchor points."
"Anchor poi—" He couldn't see Sigurd's face, but he could almost sense the man blinking. "Heart magic?" he asked, sounding befuddled.
"Didn't think you'd catch on so quickly. But yeah."
"I didn't—I'm a Keyblade wielder, too, it's not like that's—I didn't know you knew about it."
"What? I thought that'd be in-line with what legendary heroes knew." Brain flashed a sharp grin, but it faded after a moment. "Well. Almost kind of nice someone forgot."
Anchor points. Right. He needed to—to figure that out. He scribbled out some notes, trying hard not to think about the other notes, just a couple pages over. "Anyway," he said. "Figure Heartless are just hearts without bodies. If you use magic to detect hearts, pair that with something that detects darkness—well, shouldn't be too hard to figure out what's Heartless and what's not."
(And, he could admit to himself, it might be able to detect other stray hearts, too.)
Fabric rustled. It took Brain a moment to realize Sigurd had hopped up on the desk, and he raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"
"I was just…curious. That's all."
Brain shrugged with a crooked grin and turned back to his work.
"…The stories really don't encompass everything, do they?" Sigurd laughed, but it was an almost bitter sound. "It's easy to forget how young you are."
"Not that much younger than you," Brain pointed out, ignoring the spike of annoyance.
"I know. I know, but—never mind. I was just…thinking."
Brain eyed him, but decided not to press it. Instead he glanced towards the stack of papers Sigurd had brought, asking, "So what are those?"
"Oh! Right, I almost forgot—when you're done with that, Master Frigga wanted you to help with some clerical work."
"Some?" he repeated, staring at stack dubiously.
"She said that it needed to be done," he said with a shrug, but his head was tilted away, just a little.
Brain studied him carefully. He turned his attention back to the papers. "…Probably going to take a while."
Sigurd sounded sheepish when he answered, "I know."
-"Are you certain you want to study time magic?"
The question shouldn't have felt like it came out of nowhere, but it did. "Why do you ask?"
Frigga looked out at the garden instead of looking at him. "It's a complicated thing. Most people don't study it because of how unstable it is. Even the Unchained state is…difficult to master."
He knew that; he'd complained about it to Sigurd, when he'd started drafting his proposal. He'd talked about maybe utilizing the Unchained state, too, and it's potential—but he hadn't talked to Frigga about that yet. I'm being paranoid, he thought, but he couldn't quite brush off his unease. "Feels like that's all the more reason to study it. A variation's what sent me forward; learning more about it might be helpful, if something ever happened here."
Frigga stiffened; she'd relaxed a second later, but he found himself looking towards her sharply, curious at the response.
His wariness dropped away completely when she said, "Studying it won't bring your friends back."
No matter how gentle the words, it still felt like the breath had been driven out of him. "I'm aware."
"You can't hold onto the past forever," Frigga continued, still gentle. "It will only hurt you."
"I'm aware."
"And much of the council would be happier if you didn't, I'm sure."
"And keeping peace with the council is more important, huh?"
"Master Brain. Please. I'm trying to help you." She turned to look at him finally. "You live here, now—for the rest of your life, I'd assume. You need to be able to work with the rest of the council."
(And she was right, even if he hated it, because whether he liked it or not, this was all he had left of his home.)
"But perhaps," she said, "if you are so anxious to find your friends, you could consider a project off-world? It would give both you and the council room to breathe—and perhaps allow the citizens of Scala ad Caelum time to adjust to the idea of you being here."
It was a horribly tempting idea, and he found himself considering it. "I've…thought about studying how other worlds work," he said, and it felt like he was pulling the words from his throat, but it didn't matter; it was still something that might bring him closer to his friends, and he latched onto it with everything he had. "How they form. Why they rebuild themselves at certain times. Stuff like that."
Frigga gave him an approving look. "That would be helpful. If you could draft a suitable proposal…"
He nodded, and it rankled, but he stuffed it down and tried not to think about it.
-"More paperwork, huh?"
Sigurd, for his part, looked apologetic. "I'm sorry. Master Frigga said—"
"Of course it's Frigga." Brain sorted through the papers with a frown. "This'll take me a while," he muttered, ignoring the flash of annoyance.
"I know. I—well, it's important."
"Frigga told you that, huh."
"Master Brain." Sigurd sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly in a practiced sort of sigh. "I'll admit I don't always understand—"
"Because you're ignoring what she's doing." Brain hit the stack of papers lightly with the back of his hand. "This is busywork. She just wants to keep me out of the way."
Sigurd hesitated. "She has…good intentions."
"Not denying it, huh."
"I have…suggested perhaps you are already overworked. But she said that you needed a distraction—so you didn't worry about your friend."
Brain frowned. That sounded a lot like she expected something already—or, at the very least, that she suspected he might have an influence on Skuld. Alright. Maybe we can do something with that. Somehow. "And you can't read between the lines there?"
Sigurd flexed his hands. "You do need something to keep your mind off your worry. I don't…know if I agree with the method, but—she's a Master."
"They don't always have good intentions." The words came out more bitter than he wanted them to. (They came with the echo of a falling world and the ache of a Keyblade in his chest.)
He could feel Sigurd staring at him. "You're a Master."
"I know." And then he paused, realizing what that implied. "You aren't?"
"I—well, technically. Mastery's awarded to any wielder who graduates. But it's not the same. True Masters are like the people in the stories, or the council members—people important. People who can actually do something."
There was a surprisingly bitter turn to Sigurd's words, and Brain found himself giving the man a curious look. "You going to keep being cryptic about this, or are you going to tell me what happened?"
Sigurd started, making a sound a little like a squeak.
Brain snorted, despite himself. "That's twice you've hinted at something. Going to take a guess and say it's something you'd like to talk about, but are scared to. So. Here's your invitation." Brain gestured at his workstation. "I'm going to be trapped here for a while."
Sigurd fidgeted. "It's…I don't know. It's hard."
"Yeah, well. I saw the end of the world, so I get 'hard.'" He shrugged, rubbing his chest absently. Maybe it was remnants from his dream, but he thought he could still feel the ghost of a Keyblade there. "You don't have to if you don't want to. But the offer's there."
Sigurd didn't speak for a moment, and Brain thought that might've been the end of it, turning back to his work. And then: "I…don't have much of a family anymore."
Brain paused for a moment, then inclined his head to show he was listening.
"We were still training. It was—we weren't supposed to go off-world yet. My brother and I, we just—we wanted to see what else was out there. But—we didn't know what we were doing, and—" Sigurd broke off, shoulders hunched near his ears. "It gets a little hazy after that. I know there was a huge Heartless. I know that someone saved me—but they couldn't save my brother." Sigurd's hands tightened around the edge of the table. "When Master Frigga offered me a position as an assistant, I was…grateful. It felt like I'd been given direction, instead of being left aimless."
Brain's throat tightened. "I'm sorry."
"…It might be good for you, you know. If you let her help you."
Brain snorted. "Tried that."
"I just think—"
Someone cleared their throat. "Master Brain? Master Sigurd?"
Both of them snapped towards the door.
A wielder stood in the entryway, looking apologetic. "Emergency council meeting. Master Frigga's orders."
-"Look," Brain said, trying to stuff down his frustration, "I'm saying that that's too young to be learning that sort of magic—'nobles' or otherwise."
Osmin pinched the bridge of his nose. "Master Brain. As I've already stated, wielders aren't bequeathed until they're twelve. They won't be using any sort of magic at six—they'll just be getting a head-start learning."
It felt like they'd been going around and around in circles for the past hour; the rest of the council looked listless, but Brain hadn't quite been able to let things go when he'd heard Osmin's proposal. "Light magic is risky. It's powerful—it can drain a wielder if they aren't careful."
"I agree with Master Brain," Anders interjected, and Brain tried not to grimace because he really needed the support right now.
Osmin shot him a glare. "They aren't using it," he repeated. "They're just learning about it. And it'll only be a limited portion of perspective students, anyways."
"Yeah, and that's another thing—why just the bluebloods?"
Osmin's expression soured. "I see that you've picked up that term."
"You going to answer?" Brain flashed a sharp grin. "Never mind. Think I know."
Someone sighed. "Master Brain—"
"No, no, if he wants an answer, I'll give it to him." Osmin met his eyes. "Because of politics. Is that what you wanted to hear? Not because the oldest family in this city deserves respect, certainly. Your friend's family, might I add."
"Well, if family's so important to you, I'd think you'd want to keep them safe."
"We just went over—"
"Alright." Frigga's voice rose sharply over their argument. She pinned them both with a stern look. "Master Brain, I appreciate your concern, but Osmin is right; they won't be practicing any actual magic. It's safe."
It didn't feel safe—but then, Brain didn't feel like he really had much say in the matter.
"And Osmin? Don't antagonize him, please. You should know better."
Brain, despite himself, couldn't help but feel a flash of frustration at the 'you.'
Osmin, at least, looked reasonably chastised; he settled back, clearing his throat. "Well. It'd help if he wasn't quite so abrasive about it."
Frigga sighed. "How about we move onto the budget, Fafnir?"
Budget. Infrastructure plans. Trade. Things Brain knew of, but didn't know. He was realizing that a lot, lately; that there was very little about Scala that he really knew, and no matter how much he tried to learn, it felt like he was always left behind.
They don't need me. The thought struck him as he watched the council. He didn't always agree with them, but…they had managed Scala just fine for years. There wasn't really a place for him here, no matter what Frigga said about Ephemer. It left him feeling…strangely listless.
"For what it's worth," Anders said, leaning over, "I agree with you, Master Brain. Light magic is complicated stuff…"
Brain sighed. It would've been more flattering, if he hadn't heard Anders parrot something similar to Osmin, not all that long ago. He cast a look at the rest of the council—still talking, heedless of him—and stood to leave.
(Nobody called him back. He wondered if anyone had seen him leave.
…He wanted to get off Scala. Being here made him feel trapped, surrounded by places that should be familiar by weren't, hemmed uncomfortable on all sides by ghosts. At least if he went to a different world, he felt like he was doing something worthwhile.)
(And maybe he could find his friends.)
"Master Brain!"
Brain let out a long, slow breath. "Sigurd. You don't have to follow me everywhere."
"Master Frigga said that I was responsible for you."
"Pretty sure she didn't mean you had to follow me everywhere."
"Well." Sigurd shifted, and Brain got the distinct sense that he felt awkward. "You have a habit of…not taking care of yourself, exactly. And Master Frigga likes to know how you're doing."
That caught his attention. It might've read as strange, even under normal circumstances, but after their conversation about time magic… "You want to explain that?"
"Oh, it's just—she asks for reports. That's all."
Brain pursed his lips.
"Master Brain?"
"What sort of reports?"
-Brain was almost grateful for the council meeting—at least in theory, it would mean that he could check in with Skuld, even if it was only briefly.
Of course, Exploration, apparently, wasn't going to show up—some sort of drama with a 'new intern,' which Brain supposed was just his luck. Hope Skuld's doing alright with that…
"Master Brain. Are you participating in this meeting or not?"
Brain drew himself out of his thoughts and fixed Osmin with a sharp smile. "Thought you didn't like my ideas."
Sigurd sighed from somewhere behind him.
(Anders was trying to catch his eye. He ignored him.)
"This is important." Osmin sucked in a slow breath and seemed to try and reel in his temper. "Heartless have been appearing within the city limits. Not many yet, but we'll need to keep an eye out for them—the more there are, the greater the risk that a normal citizen could encounter one."
"The wards will be refreshed soon," Frigga added, sounding thoughtful. "The yearly festival is coming up quickly."
Brain wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but he could at least agree with Osmin that more Heartless was concerning. "I'm working on a detection device. Frigga's orders."
Anders made a noise of surprise. "Perhaps you could bring it to the lab to show me?"
He really, really didn't want to, but he couldn't figure out a way to get around it, with the other council members here. "Maybe."
"Could we speed up training?" Frigga asked, glancing towards Osmin. "More capable wielders would bolster the city's defenses, should anything happen."
Osmin looked thoughtful. "We could," he agreed. "Some of the underclassmen—"
"No."
The word came out sharper than Brain intended, and the council fell quiet. He withheld a grimace and wished suddenly, desperately that Skuld hadn't been held up.
"Don't be difficult," Osmin said, sounding irritated. "More wielders—"
"Aren't necessary for a problem that isn't even that big yet. And if you rush their training you'll have inexperienced wielders who could get themselves hurt."
"It wouldn't be that many wielders—and moreover, they'd have their superiors to keep an eye on them. They'd certainly be trained well enough to handle some Heartless."
"Quantity over quality, huh?" Brain's smile turned a little bitter. "Guess that is a little like Daybreak Town."
"Oh for—this isn't Daybreak Town. Our students receive thorough training from the moment they're bequeathed. They'll have older wielders to help them."
"And they can't be with them every moment. What if one of your bluebloods was on the front lines?"
Osmin paused—not for long, but for just long enough that Brain realized he already had an answer. "Like I said—"
"They won't be." Brain laughed, and there was something bitter in it. "Of course they won't be."
"Ah." Sigurd spoke up from behind them, drawing all eyes his way. He hesitated for a moment, as if not certain he should be speaking, then said, "Perhaps we could come to a compromise? Promote just a few capable wielders, and keep some of our more experienced members home for the time being."
Brian wasn't sure he liked any unprepared wielders putting themselves in danger, but he stayed quiet, meeting Osmin's eyes across the table.
Osmin stared back, then closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. "Fine."
Brain's fists curled against the table. The conversation washed over him—sweeping on to other conversations, he guessed—but he wasn't really listening anymore. After a moment he pushed away from the table, turning to leave.
"Master Brain—"
"Need to get to work on that device, right? If it's such a big deal." He thought, maybe, he could hear a sigh, but he brushed it off, slipping out of the room.
He wasn't surprised when he had a shadow, Sigurd's footsteps hurrying after him. "You know," he called, "you could try to come to compromises."
Brain paused. "Yeah, well. Some of their compromises still don't feel all that great." He glanced back towards Sigurd. "And why are you okay with this, after what you told me earlier?"
Sigurd hesitated. "It's…different."
"'Different.' Right. You sure you just aren't sentimental because Frigga took you in?"
The words felt barbed, and a part of Brain thought he should take them back. But he was still feeling over-stressed, the shadow of Daybreak Town hanging over him, and so he didn't, letting them settle uncomfortably between them.
Sigurd didn't say anything for a moment; when he did, it sounded like he was choosing his words carefully. "Leaders…sometimes have to make sacrifices to protect the world as a whole."
Brain stiffened.
"And ideally, these wouldn't be sacrifices. It's just a precaution; if the Heartless problem persists, then the citizens of Scala ad Caelum will need people to protect them."
He could see the logic in it, if he pulled himself away from his emotions. But—
(But he'd watched the world die. A lot of kids hadn't made it, back in Daybreak Town. He didn't think he could watch that again.)
"You are incredibly bright. If you worked with the others, then combined, you might not even have a problem at all."
I can't. It came with a vague sort of panic, a worry of what if this is some sort of mind game, too?, a constant question of what was politics and what was reasonable and whether he was just letting his emotions get the better of him, a furious part of him that snapped, If they wanted me to trust them, they shouldn't have tried to manipulate me in the first place.
(It came with a flash of a familiar Keyblade and the sharp sting of failure.)
"Master Brain," Sigurd said, and he was starting to sound annoyed, "I understand you and the rest of the council have your disagreements, but it really would be more beneficial if you worked together."
"Well. You can let me know when they're ready to listen."
"They have more experience with leadership than you do—no matter your circumstances." And then, after a pause, "Master Skuld is trying."
Skuld was trying because it was the best way to find the others—but Sigurd didn't know that, and it still made something angry burn in his chest. "I'm not Skuld."
"I didn't say you were. I'm just saying it might be beneficial if you were more cooperative. If both of you worked with the council members—"
Brain breathed out slowly, counted to ten, and started walking away.
Footsteps hurried after him. "I understand some of their politics are less than ideal, but they're still working for the good of Scala as a whole."
Brain clenched his fists and lengthened his stride.
"You care about this place as much as them, don't you? It's the place your friend built. For you."
The words stung, even if he didn't want them too, and he had to bite down the half-angry response of, It's not home.
"They're just trying to—they want to protect it. Master Brain—"
No. This wasn't—this wasn't helpful, and all it did was prove his point.
"They're trying to change fate! Like you."
The words rang through the hallway and made Brain freeze. They echoed in his head, and beyond his eyes he thought he could catch impressions of the lifeboat chamber, and a crumbling world, and the remnants of people he couldn't save.
He didn't look at Sigurd, but he did hear when the man started to approach him again, voice carefully level. "I've heard the stories. I understand that they've been exaggerated a little, but surely there's a basis in fact. You were the one that orchestrated the escape—"
"That failed." The words came out clipped, but it felt like they seeped into his bones and through his feet, into the ground and down to the corpse of Daybreak Town. (Because every time he went out into Scala, he saw ghosts; ghosts of Daybreak Town, ghosts of the Dandelions, ghosts of his friends. Ghosts of things that should have been but weren't, because he couldn't do the one thing that he'd been tasked to do. All he could do was try to find the pieces that were left.) "Think that they're a little naïve if they want to change fate."
"You, of all people—"
"And I think," he said, finally turning back towards Sigurd, "that there's something you aren't telling me."
Sigurd froze.
The silence between them felt tangible. Brain let it stretch for a moment, then flashed a sharp, angry smile. "Well?" he prompted. "Why do they want to try to change fate so badly?"
Sigurd held himself very, very still. "There's—this didn't used to be the only town, you know, and—but that wasn't my point. My point was—"
"Noted. Thanks for the tip." Starlight flashed into his hand.
"Master Brain, please." Sigurd extended a hand imploringly. "Please. I really would like to help you. I want to figure out how we can solve this. Just—work with me."
Brain stared at his hand and hesitated for half a moment. Something scratched at the back of his mind, whispering, He has information you could use. He'd be willing to offer it, if you just cooperated. Isn't it worth it, to find your friends?
He forced the thought down, and it felt like swallowing something thick and bitter. "Sorry." Starlight flicked; magic thrummed through his palms and tingled through his fingertips.
Sigurd apparently realized what he was doing a second too late and lunged. He wasn't quite quick enough; Brain may not be able to teleport far, but he'd still picked up enough from Lauriam to transport himself out of sight.
He could hear Sigurd's frustrated scream as he left, and placed his guilt into that ugly, curling thing in his chest.
-"It isn't often you seek me out, Master Brain."
"Just needed to someone to talk to." Brain stared at her, trying to squash down his unease.
(He wanted to think that Frigga had his best interests at heart. He really did. She seemed kind enough; it was easy to…brush away his concerns, when he didn't have anyone else. But after what Sigurd had said…)
"About what?" Frigga asked; she was watching some sort of performance—a legend that didn't look to be about the Union Leaders, much to Brain's relief.
He stepped up beside her, mouth open to voice his concerns—and then switched tact almost before he could think about it. "The council." Damn it.
Frigga sighed. "I wondered as much. You do seem to be…struggling to get along."
That felt a bit like an understatement, but Brain let it pass. "Would've thought they'd take me seriously, considering the whole 'Union Leader' thing."
Something Brain didn't recognize flashed across Frigga's face, but it was gone in an instant. "You are still very young, Master Brain—no, let me finish." She held up a hand, stalling his protests. "You are. They have more experience than you do. All they're asking for is respect."
"Would like some of that in return."
Frigga smiled. "Just give them time."
It felt like he'd heard that same phrase, over and over and over again. He sighed, turning his attention back to the performance. "So. What is this about?"
"Oh, it's a bit of a later tale—a story about a wielder who made a deal with a world to save her friend."
"A deal with a…world."
Frigga gave him a knowing look. "Worlds have hearts, too. Is it so strange that someone could barter with one?"
Maybe. Maybe not. It was one more thing he'd have to look into, he supposed. "Well—"
"Hey, is that…?"
"Holy shit, I didn't even notice he was here."
Brain cut himself off with a grimace. People had, apparently, realized who was hiding in the back of the crowd. He tugged his hat lower, shoulders hunched.
It didn't stop the whispers. "Shit, I still can't believe…there's really a Union Leader here?"
"I still think it's just something the council made up…"
"But if it's really him…"
"Hey, you think he'll take over the council?"
"Well," Frigga said loudly, her voice tight, "you certainly seem to draw attention everywhere you go, don't you?"
He cast her a sideways glance. She sounded…annoyed. Then again, perhaps he couldn't blame her, considering—
"Oh, he's with the Head of the Council!"
"Maybe he really is going to take over."
Brain grimaced. He wasn't exactly a huge fan of that; even back in Daybreak Town, he'd preferred to let Ephemer take the lead and provide support. He'd like to do that here, too. …If the council would let him, anyways.
Frigga laughed, but it sounded a little forced. "No, no—I still have plenty of years ahead of me, I hope. And he'd like a little peace, I'm sure." She leaned a little closer, eyes sparkling, but there was something strangely calculated in her expression. "Are all of you enjoying the performance?"
The performance, Brain noted, looked like it had broken down a bit, the performers distracted by him and Frigga. The crowd had turned, watching them with curious expressions, and gave a half-hearted sort of murmur.
"You know, I used to be a storykeeper myself—for a time, anyway." She caught Brain's eye briefly, and he wondered if maybe she was trying to take some of the pressure off him. His throat tightened, and he took a step back, letting her have the spotlight. She smiled, then asked the crowd, "Would you like to see?"
A couple more enthusiastic murmurs, then, and Brain leaned back to watch.
Frigga extended a hand, sparks flickering around her fingertips. It dawned on Brain that he hadn't actually seen her Keyblade before; he couldn't imagine it was like the standard training Keyblades he'd seen, or even much like his current Starlight. He wondered if it would look like the Foretellers' weapons—or something created to better match Scala, maybe, if she was the head of the council. He watched eagerly as light flashed into her palm, forming into—
She has Master's Defender.
For a moment, it felt like he'd forgotten how to breathe. His ribs felt like they were caving in, because that was his Keyblade, once, but it looked so foreign now, and it was in her hands why did she have it—
(He'd given it to Ephemer. Of course he'd pass it on.)
His ears were ringing. He knew Frigga was saying something—doing something—but he couldn't hear it over the noise. He watched as the Keyblade moved, magic shooting from the tip in a spectacular display. The crowd cheered, probably, but it got buried under the noise.
(Something in his heart was screaming—something that said, that's mine that's mine that's a part of me why are you using it—)
Frigga lowered the weapon; he tracked it, eyes glued to the familiar blade. Some distant part of him registered that the performance was over; that the crowd had turned away, dispersing slowly, leaving the two of them standing alone in the street. "You're familiar with this Keyblade, aren't you?"
(Why hadn't she given it back?)
"I thought you might be. It's been passed down for generations." He could feel her staring at him, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Master's Defender to see her expression. "It belongs to the leader of Scala ad Caelum."
"To…you." He couldn't quite recognize his own voice; it sounded distant, strained and scratchy, like it'd caught in his throat.
"Yes."
"Why…?" A thousand answers came to his tongue, filling in for his unasked question, and he finally tore his eyes away to give Frigga a helpless look.
Her expression was…hard, at first. Calculating. But it softened when he looked at her, and that ticked at a warning in the back of his head. She sucked in a breath and released Master's Defender; he wasn't sure if he wanted her to call it back or not. "Because I was the most qualified for the job."
And you aren't, went unsaid. (He wanted to laugh or cry or scream, or maybe all three. Because she was right, wasn't she? He hadn't been able to save the world; he'd barely been able to get his friends out, and he didn't even know where most of them were. How was he supposed to be worthy of it?)
"And perhaps," Frigga continued, with what sounded like forced casualness, "one day, when I've passed on and you have a better understanding of Scala, you'll receive it, too."
He snapped towards her. It clicked into place, slowly, the realization settling into his bones.
(The people of Scala ad Caelum admired him, when they were losing faith in bluebloods—like Frigga.)
(She'd orchestrated a way for him to be off-world—and wouldn't that be convenient, to say you had a Union Leader working with you, but not have them around to argue with?)
(She'd been kind—but she'd been frustrated, he knew she'd been, he'd just brushed it off. How much of that was calculated?)
His spiral shifted into a cold, understanding sort of anger: She doesn't want to lose her position. And if I'm here—I'm a threat.
It steadied something in him, shock turning into cold steel, and he couldn't help the sharp sting of betrayal, no matter how much he wanted to ignore it.
"Ah—right on time, as always." Frigga glanced behind her, and Brain caught sight of a familiar figure. That anger crystalized into something a little sharper—because of course he'd been right. Of course.
"Why is Sigurd here, Frigga?" The words came out surprisingly calm, but there was a hard edge to them that wasn't there before.
Frigga gave him a sidelong look, that calculating expression back on her face. "He's your guide."
"But I don't really need a guide anymore, do I?"
Frigga didn't look guilty; she just looked sad. It stoked something angry in him that he couldn't quite quash. "You need a guide to better understand how Scala's culture works."
"What, you mean the infighting with the bluebloods? Think I got that just fine." He flashed Frigga a sharp smile. "Besides, I don't think that's really what's going on."
"And what do you think's going on, Master Brain?"
"You tell me."
Frigga studied him a moment, then sighed, loud and long. "Master Brain, be reasonable."
"Think I have been. But reasonable isn't really what you're looking for, is it?"
Frigga pursed her lips. "I think perhaps you're too emotional compromised for this conversation. We can continue it another time."
Sigurd was nearly to them. Brain looked at him instead of the other Keyblade Master. "Nah. Think I got what I needed." He brushed past her, heading towards Sigurd.
"Master Brain! It's good to—ah, wait up!"
"Going to have to move a little faster," Brain said, and tried very, very hard to ignore the way his throat tightened and it felt like something icy had filled his chest. "I have places to be."
(He didn't, really, but—well, anywhere was better than here right now.)
(He thought of the other Union Leaders and wanted to scream, Where are the rest of you when I need you?)
-Technically, Brain was allowed to go anywhere in the Clock Tower; it was as much his place as it was anyone else's, after all. Given his history, it wouldn't even be that out of place for him to be wandering the halls when he was supposed to be helping another council member; some people might question him, but it wouldn't be hard to brush them off.
But Sigurd had been keeping a close eye on him for a reason, and even if he hadn't, eavesdropping on the council's leader would likely be suspicious. So he cast a cautious invisibility spell over him, silencing his steps and creeping through the hallways.
It wasn't hard to figure out where Frigga might be: like clockwork, she'd slip out to the gardens around midday. Sometimes she'd talk to people; other times she'd simply sit and think. Brain hoped that this time would be the former.
More specifically, he hoped Sigurd would be frustrated enough to find Frigga and report to her.
It was incredibly vindicating when he turned out to have guessed right.
"…what else to do," Sigurd was finishing when he arrived, hands falling to his sides like he'd just finished some sort of animated gesture.
Frigga, for her part, seemed calm, but there was a slight twitch to her lips that Brain guessed meant she was frustrated. "He's still young," she said. "Teenagers act out from time to time."
"Master Frigga," Sigurd said, sounding like he was struggling to keep his voice level, "with all due respect—he's also a Union Leader. And—and I think maybe that attitude towards him is part of the problem. Not that his refusal to work with you is helpful," he hurried to add. "It's just…perhaps you could meet him on his level."
The sentiment surprised Brain, and he was suddenly glad for his invisibility. Maybe it shouldn't seem that weird, he mused silently, thinking of the man checking in on him, and tried to ignore the flicker of guilt.
"…Maybe," Sigurd started hesitantly, and Brain shook his head and honed in on him, "you should tell him. About what's going to happen."
There. That was what he'd been hoping to hear—some bit of information that would point him in the right direction.
Frigga exhaled slowly. "Sigurd. We've discussed this."
"He deserves to know. They both deserve to know."
"It's under control. Neither of them need to worry about the possibility of losing another home."
And didn't that set off warning bells. (He couldn't quite ignore the part of him that was angry. This place is supposed to be safe. You're supposed to have this under control, so that I can focus on finding my friends.)
(I already failed to save the world once.)
"It might make him more willing to work with us. Even if he still had personal disagreements with the rest of the council, surely he'd put Scala's wellbeing first?"
Frigga was silent for several long, long moments. "Your concern has been noted," she said finally. "You may go, Sigurd."
"Master Frigga—"
"You can have the rest of the day off, seeing as your charge has disappeared."
Sigurd stood there for several silent moments, stiff-backed. After a beat he bowed, the movements stilted, and turned to leave.
Brain stared after him, mind turning. Alright. Not as much out of that as I'd hoped. But…
Frigga didn't leave right away; she stayed in the garden for a bit, and Brain tried to ignore his growing impatience. His legs had started to ache and he'd had to refresh his invisibility spell by the time Frigga finally left, heading back into the Clock Tower. He crept behind her, keeping a careful distance between them.
And then she stopped.
Brain stalled, frowning. There wasn't anything special about this particular spot, as far as he could tell, and no one was here to talk to her—at least, not yet. So he waited, studying her with narrowed eyes.
Frigga tilted her head just slightly. "If you have something to talk to me about, Master Brain, you should do so. Sneaking around in the shadows is hardly becoming of a Keyblade Master."
Brain started to attention. How did she—? She's bluffing.
Frigga turned around, something almost disappointed in her expression. She sighed, then waved her hand.
The spell tugged at his skin, jerked away like a cloth. Brain tried to school his features, but he didn't think he'd covered his shock in time.
"I would've expected better of you—but I suppose you never have been very trusting."
"Force of habit," he said, and tried not to let his unease show. "Didn't think you'd give me a straight answer."
"To a question you haven't asked?"
She wasn't wrong, but it still made him grind his teeth. "You haven't been very forthcoming traditionally."
"I have always tried to answer what I can, Master Brain. You are the one who's refused to communicate." Frigga's expression shifted towards something a little more like pity, and it made something in Brain's chest twist. "I understand that you've been through a difficult time. Given your circumstances, it's hard to blame you. But I cannot do anything if you don't work with me."
He worked his jaw. "Alright. Fine. What's this festival about refreshing the wards?"
"That's all?" Frigga looked surprised; he wouldn't be surprised if she didn't believe him, but he wasn't going to risk giving her any actual information. "It's a yearly thing—it's meant to celebrate Scala ad Caelum's founding. At the end, the Head of the Council will use Master's Defender to refresh the wards." She summoned the Keyblade and waved it lightly for emphasis.
He shouldn't stare at Master's Defender. He did.
The blade tapped against Frigga's side lightly. There was an ache in his chest as he stared at it, the phantom of familiar metal against his palms.
"Master Brain."
He tore his eyes away from the Keyblade. Frigga was giving him a critical look, and several thoughts hit him at once:
She's been trying to talk to me for a while.
She knows that Master's Defender used to be mine, now.
She did this on purpose.
Frigga raised an eyebrow. "I suppose our conversation is finished, then?"
A bitter anger filled his throat. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't, unsure how she'd use that against him. She'd already seen how he reacted to Master's Defender; she didn't need to have any more ammunition. He pulled his hat lower and turned, leaving without another word.
(He needed to meet up with Skuld, anyways.)
:)