Hello hello! So I have a thing for small fandoms, and considering the number of works on AO3 and the complete lack of an Arcadia Fallen fandom on FFN, I'd say this counts :3
Anyways, I'm super excited to contribute to this lovely fandom :D so let's get into it!
This first chapter starts on the night of the alchemist's meeting with Kaidan. They've met all the other characters already, so the gang's all here.
Only once the shop has fallen quiet, the night sweeping its curtain over all residents, does Victoria feel as if she can breathe again.
Of course, as soon as she tries, her aching chest reminds her of the fight they just walked away from. The demon possessing Ronan made good use of a miner's strength and the man's tall stature. Each of his blows that landed felt like being hit by a steel beam—no doubt a side effect of the possession. Victoria had fought without holding anything back, and the demon still managed to escape, though not without his tail between his legs, bleeding and battered.
She reckons Kim wouldn't appreciate that, but what the kid doesn't know won't hurt him.
One of Morgan's healing potions that the alchemist had all but forced down Victoria's throat repaired the fractures in her ribs, but in favor of ignoring just about every other ache, bruise, and cut. They didn't have time for anyone to be fussing over her, especially considering the information brought to them by their newest Outlander ally, so she ignored the pain. Now Morgan is fast asleep, and even if Victoria had to crawl on hands and knees back down the hallway, she would never bother the young alchemist for something as simple as being a little sore.
Gingerly, she pulls her long hair around in front of her, taking care to move slowly, and starts to brush it. The mindless, repetitive action leaves plenty of room for thoughts. She tries to organize them into an objective list of facts, a neat and orderly itinerary that the world seems intent on yanking off track as often as possible. Getting the facts in order will make reporting them to Alethea easier, but the persistent ache in her body makes it hard to think concisely. Somehow, finding one small, benign—if annoyingly evasive—spirit in a dead forest has turned into something of a far larger scope than she was prepared for, loath as she is to admit it.
Her thoughts keep winding around and around in circles, coupled with the names and faces of these people she's now responsible for. Just thinking about having to corral them all into a productive effort the next day makes her want to go to sleep for several weeks.
Michael was right. Between keeping an eye on one innocent alchemist who still doesn't seem to understand how many laws they have shattered to pieces, the spirit who enables it all, a brilliant but reclusive Tinker mage who would happily watch the world burn so long as she gets her results, a foreigner whose stories sound as bizarre as the magic glowing in his skin, and the aforementioned chaotic mage who flaunts his rule-breaking in her face with that smile she doesn't believe, her eyes feel like sandpaper and lead.
For some time, she's been staring at the mirror like a blank mannequin, she realizes belatedly. She starts to sigh and immediately regrets it the moment she breathes in. One hand presses to her chest as she utters a soft curse. Her head spins reproachfully, her other hand reaching for the bathroom counter and holding on with white knuckles.
"Maybe this will start making sense in the morning," she mutters, glaring at a spot on the counter as she wills her vision to stop blinking in dark spots and flashes.
Slowly, she makes her way to the alchemy shop's guest bedroom that Elizabeth was kind enough to let Victoria stay in. It makes her wonder just how exactly this alchemist knows, or knew, the Knight Commander of Erodas.
As soon as she closes the door behind her, her communication crystal chimes, demanding her attention. Speak of the devil…
With a soft groan, she lets her head thunk back against the closed door, feeling about ready to collapse.
But duty calls, and with that mental reminder, she takes a deep breath, holds back a wince, and raises her crystal to leave a short message in a composed voice, asking Alethea to please wait a moment while she finds a private place to talk.
Making her way down the stairs is an endeavor in patience and stubbornness; her injuries flare with each step, and part of her is tempted to hurry along to avoid prolonging both the pain and Alethea's waiting. Still, that part is outweighed by the need to avoid waking the wild mage slumbering on the couch, who would no doubt give her trouble for doing her duty. Given Michael's involvement in the whole ordeal and his lack of plans for sleeping arrangements, Elizabeth had given him the couch in what was left of the downstairs area.
Slowly making her way through the debris yet to be cleared, Victoria quietly tiptoes past the couch, keeping one eye on the floor and one eye on the mage. He's sleeping soundly, chest rising and falling evenly beneath a spare blanket and his luridly colored outer coat, flaxen hair falling carelessly in his face turned slightly away from her and into the back of the couch.
Despite his casual attitude that he maintained throughout the night, just like how she walked on as every step ached, she could tell that he too was exhausted. While Victoria dealt with Ronan, Michael and Ann held off the other faceless demon in order to give Morgan and Mime time to seal the demon away in the locket. Compared to Ann's magic in the shape of careful bursts and directed strikes, Michael's violet flames and light swirled and flared with no rhyme or reason—not that she'd expected much else from a wild mage.
Still, when Ronan threatened to finish what he'd started, Michael was the first to jump to Morgan and Mime's defense, danger dancing darkly in his eyes. Victoria hadn't missed the look of gratitude overcoming the fear on the young alchemist's face as the wild mage, a law-breaking traveler with no reason to form such protective sentiments for a near stranger, stepped in front of them with hands aglow to shield, not destroy.
It doesn't matter. Once this is all over, he won't escape the fate that awaits all those like him.
Stepping away a little too quickly, she barely manages to avoid a pile of books on the floor. A hiss of pain escapes her as her shoulder knocks into the frame of the back door, and she risks a glance back, breathing out silently when Michael remains sleeping. Grimacing at her own clumsiness, she quietly steps out into the night, shivering but resolute.
o0o0o
Once the door closes, Michael peeks over the couch to confirm his suspicions, watching Victoria's tall figure move away past the remains of the window. He'd thought it was her, with her steps and her breathing both carefully measured, almost enough to hide the stiffness in her gait.
It'd certainly looked impressive, the way she went toe to toe with the demon possessing Ronan, ruby eyes blazing brightly, in a way that none of the others could hope to keep up with. Despite the fact that she stands for so many things that he stands against, he couldn't help but admire the way she fought, not a single movement wasted.
Still, she clearly hadn't walked away with as few injuries as she wanted the others to believe. He can't help but wonder if she hides the pain out of some stubborn sense of pride as a Knight, rumored to be the kingdom's most elite law-keeping force. Is it a desire to project strength, or conceal vulnerability?
Strange as it is, he finds that he can empathize with the latter. Of course, it doesn't change the number of people she must've hurt with those same terrifying skills for simply living their lives. He has no doubt that once this is all over, the first she will turn that sword on is him, for existing in a way that offends her and her precious laws.
The stairs creak softly, and he turns to see the young alchemist pause halfway down, sleepy and disoriented, their short, pale hair ruffled and clothes wrinkled. It looks as if they hadn't gotten much sleep either.
"Oh, Michael. You're awake too, huh?" they ask in a sleep-slurred voice, looking troubled.
"It seems that way," he agrees wryly.
"Do you know where Victoria is? Her door's open, but she's not there…"
"She just left," he answers, nodding at the door. "Not sure why. She didn't stop for a chat."
"Oh. I see. I'll go check on her," Morgan decides, weaving around the leftover wreckage of the shop.
"I'm sure she's fine. Even if the fight took more out of her than she'd ever admit."
"It's alright, I wanted to talk to her anyways," Morgan explains. "Although I hope she's okay."
"Don't you and Mime have to stay close together?" he asks, curious. They'd mentioned last night at the tavern that they couldn't physically be far apart because of their curious bond, lest they suffer bad migraines.
"If Victoria doesn't go far, it'll be fine." Slinging on their overcoat, they pick up a satchel clinking with flasks and vials and sling it over their shoulder as they wriggle their feet into their boots. "Thanks for helping out, by the way," they add shyly. "In the fight, I mean. Me and Mime couldn't have done it without you three holding them off."
Despite the early hour, Michael finds a smile in him easily enough; it's easier when it's real. "I did say I would help, didn't I? I couldn't very well let him finish what he tried to start."
Morgan's hand flutters idly to their chest, where their overcoat has been hastily stitched up in a strangely clean line—a rather odd place for the fabric to be cut, on second thought.
"Well, thank you for that," they say, brown eyes earnest even as their hand shakes almost imperceptibly. "I didn't like being dead the first time, to be honest."
It takes Michael a sleep-deprived moment to register what exactly they said, and his smile flickers. Before he can think of a response or even a question to ask, they're already halfway out the door.
"You should sleep," they advise. "Don't wait up on us."
The first time? What is that supposed to mean?
Then, Ronan's words suddenly come back in a rush of comprehension. In all honesty, when the demon had said that he thought he'd left Morgan dead in a ditch, Michael didn't think he meant it literally. Yet despite that, the alchemist is, first of all, still alive, and second of all, they'd faced down the culprit with courage that would certainly outmatch most of Victoria's peers in the Knights, even as their eyes flickered gold with terrified adrenaline.
Letting out a soft chuckle even as sadness twinges in his chest, he remarks to no one in particular, "Brave little alchemist."
o0o0o
Having gotten no sleep whatsoever, Victoria has no clue how she found her way back to the shop when her vision insists on pulsing in dark spots with every other step, keeping time with the pain in her chest. After Alethea's call, during which Victoria was told that there would be no external help coming their way, it became evident that the only course of action was for her, a Knight operating under the banner of a Paragon, to participate in this madcap break-in of a major mine owner's mansion.
Was Morgan wrong when they tried to reassure Victoria by saying that Goldner deserved it? Probably not. Did that make this plan any more sensible? Definitely not.
With no other choice, however, they cannot afford to fumble a single part of this operation—hence her late night espionage mission of spying on the mansion from every angle possible while evading detection. She has to admit, as a Knight wearing a Paragon's emblem and carrying a Demon Hunter's sword, she's gotten a little too used to people seeing her, trusting her, and offering her upon a silver platter the information she wants. Tonight, she was suddenly very grateful for all the climbing and stealth exercises she'd gone through as a trainee Demon Hunter.
Unfortunately, the lessons she'd learned from those stealth exercises seemed to have rusted over time. The first thing she notices upon entering the shop is the revitalizing smell of fresh coffee. The second is the wild mage sitting in the kitchen, fingers steepled in his lap patiently, as if he'd been waiting for her.
He smiles when he sees her; he's always smiling that surface smile of his. "Well, well, look what the cat dragged in."
She inhales sharply to retort; the only thing that comes out is a soft hiss as her chest twinges again. His smile widens.
"Care for some coffee?" he asks, waving a genial hand at the mug sitting at the other chair.
"No," she says automatically even as the aroma seems to intensify at her refusal. "I'm not eating or drinking anything you prepare."
He snorts, seeming more amused than offended, as per usual. "I wonder how long that stubbornness of yours will last, considering all of your nightly activities, none of which involved sleeping, I'm sure."
A big part of her is tempted to go upstairs and catch an hour or two of sleep. A bigger part of her needs that coffee. Both agree that she needs to sit down. Her knees and ankles have been screaming at her for hours now, but the only spot available is the chair across from Michael's, before which the mug of fresh coffee sits.
To distract herself, she asks brusquely, "Why are you awake?"
"I couldn't sleep without your comforting presence keeping order over us all, of course." At her glare, he relents and adds, "And there happened to be a bit of a kerfuffle with our newest ally."
"Kaidan? What happened?"
"He woke up rather violently—from a dream, I presume." His expression darkens for a split second. "I imagine his stay at Goldner's mansion did quite a number on him." For once, she can tell they're in agreement over their opinion of the mine owner. "Morgan made him a dreamless sleep potion and enlisted my help in persuading him to take it." Mulberry eyes gleaming in the early morning light, Michael adds, "He's almost as stubborn as you when it comes to hiding away pain."
Victoria crosses her arms, a gesture emblematic of the very stubbornness he's describing, and he sighs. She tenses when he reaches out, but he simply pushes the coffee a little closer to her.
"Morgan realized they forgot to give you a healing potion when they got back. If you must know, the only thing I put in here was that," he explains lightly. "Drink up."
Victoria wavers for a moment more before finally relenting. Her joints sigh in relief as she lowers herself into the chair across from his and wraps her hands around the mug, taking a sip of the brew and resisting a grimace. Typically, she adds milk or sugar, usually both, but standing up again just to search for those seems like a colossal effort. While she's not a fan of the bitter taste, it wakes her up like nothing else, and for that reason, she can't deny that coffee is truly the drink of the gods. A soft sigh escapes her without her meaning for it to, and her gaze flicks up reflexively to see Michael smiling again.
"What?" she growls, hackles raising at the smugness of his expression, but he just shakes his head, his smile fading.
"Tell me," he says conversationally, looking frustratingly put together—at least compared to how she herself feels like a wreck—for it being the crack of dawn, "how would you have explained to Kim if you'd killed his brother in the mines?"
She stiffens, holding herself like a statue as her throat tightens. "What does it matter? I didn't kill him."
"You were trying to," he points out, "judging by the way you fought."
He's not wrong in the slightest. "He isn't Kim's brother anymore. He's a demon and a danger to us all."
Victoria half expects Michael to argue, but he just leans his chin against his hand and says, "I suppose you wouldn't be a stranger to death, as a Knight of your caliber."
She shouldn't care what he thinks of her, but she can't help tensing at his insinuation that she kills people unnecessarily.
"A Knight of my caliber knows how to settle fights without bloodshed," she says. "We don't take lives carelessly."
His eyebrows shoot up in an exaggerated expression of shock. "Really? I would've never guessed, given how you like to wave that sword around at anything that puts a single toe out of the lines that you and your precious rules have drawn."
Knowing that he wants a rise out of her, she bristles anyways, her emotions already wrung tight. "I take the safety of innocent civilians and of my comrades very seriously. It doesn't mean I have a complete disregard for the lives of criminals, no matter the severity of their crimes. Everyone deserves a fair trial, at the very least, where their sentence is decided in court—not on a battlefield, and not by us as Knights."
Her answer seems to have surprised him, as he doesn't respond for several long minutes. Victoria is sorely tempted to get up and go to sleep like she should, but while Morgan's healing draft works its magic slowly, her body does not look forward to eventually getting up from this chair.
When he finally speaks again, it's with none of the sarcasm from before. "But you've had to make that decision before."
It isn't a question. In brighter daylight, she thinks she would hear an accusation in his statement. In the uncertain light of dawn, however, his word choice gives her pause—had to. As always, he seems to pick his words with great care, every last one.
"I remember them all," she agrees quietly, holding her shoulders straight.
Michael nods slowly, long, thin fingers drumming on the table. His hands bear callouses, like hers do from years of wielding a sword. She wonders what his are from.
"Me too," he says, his surface smile back in place, but with a hint of remorse peeking out from within. It's fascinating how little he gives each time in measured hints. She's determined to know more.
"Knights?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
Michael's smile doesn't slip at the accusation. "Considering that not all Knights have your stellar hospitality, yes. Wild mages?"
It takes her a moment to realize what he's asking, as a parody of her own inquiry. "A few," she admits reluctantly. "The ones who were too strong for me to safely capture."
Their gazes meet across the table as they assess each other, both wondering if the other has killed a former ally of theirs, neither bothering to open that can of worms. It isn't an argument worth having, especially not at this hour.
"We did what we had to do," Michael finally says. "I can't say I've never run into one of your so-called chaotic mages." Leaning back in his seat to push his chair onto its back legs, he adds, "Contrary to your opinion, not all of us 'unauthorized mages' want to burn the Empire down."
"What of the ones that do?" she challenges.
"Depends on what they're burning," he declares flippantly, but with a glint in his eyes that belies a more grim perspective, "and if the people burning deserve it. Most of the time, they do."
She narrows her eyes. "And who are you to decide who-"
"And some don't," he continues as if she hadn't spoken. "In which case…"
He holds up a finger to his lips curved in a smirk, and a tiny purple flame bursts to life at his fingertip. The dragon bone in her sword thrums in response, and she tenses in her seat, still leery of how easily he calls his magical fire. Combative magic, such as elemental manipulation, is not taught at the academy. To see someone so proficient at it outside the government's jurisdiction…
Still, if what he's suggesting is true—that he has fought other wild mages before—she isn't keen to think of what that looks like. Facing chaotic mages is always a gamble, since their magic runs outside the bounds of what is known and accepted. She suppresses a shudder, imagining Michael's wild violet fire clashing head to head with some of the fearsome, aberrant magics she's seen and faced herself. The collateral damage alone would be on a whole other level.
If it comes down to it, could she take on Michael in a fight? Judging by the amused look in his expression, he knows exactly what she's thinking, and his purple flame dances tauntingly before her eyes. It isn't the first time she has posed this question to herself, and she's still no closer to a definitive answer.
Victoria is perpetually Tired XD poor thing. And Michael's just vibing.
So this is going to be a multi chapter fic focusing mostly on Michael and Victoria because I actually ship them so hard XD they have a lot of issues to work through, both intrapersonal and interpersonal, but I headcanon them as the oldest and also the big siblings who look out for the others in their own way, and I think they have the potential to really be a #powercouple :D (Whoever said in discord that one time about wanting a matchmaker option in these kinds of games, my thoughts exactly.)
(Also, she even has a voice acted filler dialogue just for him! There are several times where she just says, "Michael, I swear...")
This story is going to follow canon start to finish and beyond that too. I'm going to be stretching out the timeline a little and adding moments in between (like this first chapter) that won't really affect canon events, maybe just in small details but not the overall plot. Some of the dialogue events that the player character can go through with Michael or Victoria will still be used, but it'll be Michael and Victoria talking through the topics in one of their POVs alongside or instead of the player character. I'll try not to directly copy much of the canon script either, though a few lines here and there will be too significant to leave out, and some of the canon conversations will be incorporated and rewritten. Maybe I'll even write a companion piece for Morgan and Kaidan, because Kaidan was my first romance pick and he's a cute jellyfish :D
(The one small problem with writing a ship fic is that my unromantic ass has no heckin clue how romance works, but oh well, let's give it a shot!)
I added some little things that made sense to me, like how Morgan and Mime can't physically be too far apart due to the bond, plus some backstory stuff for Victoria and Michael that we'll get to later :D For this fic, Morgan uses they/them pronouns and has a more timid and diplomatic personality. And I don't know if Michael actually uses purple fire in any of his scenes, but there's a bit about him on the kickstarter that says he shoots purple fire from his hands, so we're going with that. It'll be very relevant :)
I have a very long backlog of chapters to edit and post (I've been working on this for nearly two years, my god), and the fic is almost fully written. I usually never post stories unless I have a full draft already done because I don't want to just leave a story hanging, but it's so close and I have so much of the last chapter written, I just need one good day of writing to flesh it out. And it's a long ways off (39 more chapters and roughly 150k+ more words, to give an estimate), so by the time we get there, it'll most likely be done. It may take me a while to stop nitpicking at each chapter, but this fic will definitely be finished!
I would love it if you left a review/comment :) or hit me up on discord! If you didn't come from the Arcadia Fallen discord and aren't in it...well, did you know there's an Arcadia Fallen discord? XD (I think technically it's called Galdra Studios.) It's a fun time! And if you did come from the discord, thanks so much! :D