Chapters:
1/1
Fandom:
明日方舟 | Arknights (Video Game)
Rating:
Not Rated
Warnings:
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships:
Clement Dubois/Executor, Duq'arael | The Sanguinarch/Lettou (Arknights), Andoain & Virtuosa | Arturia (Arknights)
Characters:
Executor (Arknights), Clement Dubois (Arknights), Duq'arael | The Sanguinarch (Arknights), Lettou (Arknights), Virtuosa | Arturia (Arknights), Andoain (Arknights)
Additional Tags:
Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Future Fic
Summary: Following the direction of her music, Arturia witnesses Duq’arael’s regrets, Federico’s doubts and Andoain’s atonement. But it would be wrong to call her an observer or a spectator. She is just a messenger.
A canon-divergent AU that takes place after The Masses’ Travels.
~ ~ ~
Author’s Note: It’s been a while since I wrote this, but I still like how this fic turned out, so I thought I’ll post it over here as well. You can read it on Ao3 or right here under the readmore:
SOUL REGISTER
– Pale Nimbus –
There was a sea of bIood in front of him and Pestilence had spilled more than half of it. He took a long breathe, feeling how his thoughts got clearer by the familiar scent of iron. It did not matter who had spilled what exactly, he was the master of it all.
“Your sea has grown considerably since the last time,” the musician said, letting the last few notes of her cello fade out. She was calmly looking at the sea, curiosity solidifying in her dark brown eyes. She never was facing the bIood sea with disgust, only with genuine interest. In general, there never had been much that had managed to shake her calm.
Pestilence kept looking at her, feeling his already thin patience grow weaker. His head was still hurting, and something about her unshakable demeanor bothered him. “You didn’t have a cello with you the last time,” he said, pointing out the obvious. Last time it had been a lute.
She looked at her instrument, an absentminded smile showing up on her face. “I’ve gotten used to it.”
[[MORE]]The statement held a lot of unvoiced thoughts. Pestilence did not ask what they might have been. He still had a headache and the capricious nature of the musician never had been something he had been particularly interested to bother with.
If his heavy silence bothered her she did not show it. She looked down the shore of the bIood sea that belonged to Pestilence’s domain, her gaze lingering at the bIoodborn that were lazily gliding along the beach. Her dark halo and wings build a sharp contrast to the red that was surrounding her from every angle. The halo was new but her face had stayed the same. As expected.
When she started talking it came so unexpected, he needed a moment to process the words she had just uttered: “My name is Arturia.”
He was starting to feel at loss. “That is nice, musician.”
She quietly laughed, as if she had heard a joke he had missed. “You can call me by that: Arturia. If you want to.”
“We’ll see a about that.” Why bother? Pestilence waited, thinking: “You’re not allowed to call me Duq'arael.” The last person who had done that, who had called him by his first name when the two of them had been alone together had been Lettou, and… He paused, feeling like his mind was blanking out. His head was still hurting. The sea of bIood was lazily roaring against the shore. The sound was almost enough to mute out the soft traces of the distant music that was reaching them from distant spheres. It was the kind of music that made you shudder.
He looked at the cello she had with her. It was futuristically shaped, a tasteless thing that only Lethanien could produce. He always tended to feel puzzled by the musician when he was spending too much time with her, but he couldn’t deny she had a valid and important duty. Like all of them. “Why are you bothering with your name, Arturia?” Let’s see what happens when he started playing by her rules.
“Because why not?” She shrugged her shoulders. “My mother had been the one who had chosen it, you know? My father had been for Isabelle.”
“Isabelle? Terrible. Wouldn’t have suited you. You don’t look like an Isabelle.” He was not going to ask about her parents. The musician had always been a tad too sentimental, and he did not care to get entangled with that.
She looked at him, looking oddly content: “If that is the opinion of the Sanguinarch, the Prince of BIood, I’m going to believe him.” The statement would have sounded sarcastic coming from anyone else but her. She had just sounded sincere.
Around them the sea kept roaring, a sound with no real start nor end. It was too erratic to be a lull, splashing around his bloodborn that were playing at its shore. Eventually there would set disease and decay into everything and Pestilence was keeping watch over it.
The musician was leaning on her cello, her long dark hair flowing in the breeze, slowly getting drenched in the scent of iron. She now looked cautious. “I’ve seen War the other day. He’s been looking for you.”
He felt his face grimace. There had been a barrage of faded memories in his head that had been getting stronger, but the memories most unpleasant where some that were very recent. “He can have some more patience then.” Especially when taking into account that the last time they had seen each other he had been in a hurry to leave for no sound reason. “Why the hurry?” Their paths eventually always crossed anyway.
The musician shrugged her shoulders. “I’m just passing on what I’ve heard.”
“I wasn’t aware you had become our messenger.”
“Well, I’m not.” For the first time on this day there had been real and actual annoyance in her voice. “I’m just kind enough to pass on a message between old friends.”
“I didn’t ask you to. Mind your own business.” Pestilence could feel the sharpest edge of his anger lessen. “I say this as an old friend. If he asks you for a favor the next time, try to not get involved. Nothing ever comes for free with this conceited man.”
She held his gaze but didn’t disagree. Ridiculous woman that she was, she sometimes at least knew enough to accept advice from her elders.
O O O
Arturia let her gaze set into the distance, looking at the vivid yellow of the trees’ leaves without really seeing it. It was an experience that would just happen on its own when you were playing music and got lost in the flow of it. Fall had turned the leaves around her into the most beautiful colors of yellow and orange, looking bright in the cold autumn sun that was making everything look much warmer than it was. Today it had gotten cold, despite the sunshine, the misleading contrast in appearance and temperature letting her play her piece with a note much icier than she usually would be going for with this. But today this iciness just fit her performance: What better way to celebrate your surroundings than to pay respect to the moment?
She could feel emotion around her. It was a very familiar set of emotions, but in the meanwhile it had acquired facets that had not been there in this way before. New regrets, a bitterness that eventually always started to obsess over the same object of its longing. A determination that had gotten sharper. And a lurking aggression she never would have admitted she sometimes found intimidating.
She felt her gaze getting blurry, looking into a place that was set right behind the trees and not visible to anything but the imagination of her inner mind. Playing this piece was demanding. She took a deep breath, getting fully aware of the smell of old gunpowder around her. The smell was familiar in a misleading way: It was similar but different to how gunpowder smelled in Laterano. The scent she was encountering now was… cold in comparison. Just as everything around her today was feeling cold, up to the brightly shining sun that let the world appear in the most vivid colors of yellow, orange and the green that had made it this far out. From up here on the balcony you could see it clearly.
Yes, they all had their domain back now. Respectively, they remembered how to access their own sphere again.
That was good. The music coming from deep space had a much a harder time to reach them here. She wondered if the music had reached Laterano.
She sometimes was thinking these days about getting her patron gun back, even though she had gotten used of using her arts since years. It was just… she always had though she didn’t care too much that she had been born Sankta, Liberi, whatever. She hadn’t cared about any of that the last time she had been home, when… when well, she guessed when Andoain had led her and Federico into the basement the Law had been located in. But that had been before… It was just, lately Arturia felt the sentimental urge to hold on to things she had encountered through the years with an intensity that puzzled her.
She exhaled with a heavy breath. The piece had ended. She felt like immediately starting a new one, but it was as if her mind had gone completely blank: She couldn’t think of a piece to pick, slowly starting to feel a growing unease by the silence around her.
It was not her cello that broke the silence, but War’s voice: “I haven’t heard this Amsler piece here since years.”
“I felt like playing it today.” Federico had always liked Christoph Amsler. Back when they had been small and he still had played the piano, he often had played Amsler. He had managed to play his music almost to a perfection, but despite of that the result had always sounded utterly lifeless.
“I have to thank you for that. Last time I’ve heard him was on a party of some Victorian noble.”
“You look happy talking about that. I imagine it must have been a joyous occasion.”
“Partially, it actually was, yes.” War’s eyes got thoughtful, the way the expression in them shifted making their dark blue almost look brown: “Duq’arael and I, we executed that noble at some later point. It had turned out that all this time he had been deeply involved with the resistance.”
“Had that been a joyous occasion too?” she asked, making a point to smile.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Most of all it had been a hassle.” A quick answer. One that stated nothing but the matter of a fact.
She lowered her eyes. Today was a bright and sunny day but the shadows setting over the world looked so much darker than they did during summer. “You’re always so efficient, Lettou.” She made no effort to hide the sarcasm in her voice. Sometimes she felt the morbid urge to poke at the aggression that always laid so dormant in him.
Her comment hadn’t shaken him in the slightest: “You’re starting to sound like Duq’arael.”
She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Oh yes, old friends could be predictable, especially with their obsessions. “I’ve heard funny rumors lately. People talk about a city in the sky that has appeared on the wasteland border between Lethanien and Victoria. People who have seen it say it resembles Lingones, the old capital of the world.” Until she had spoken the sentence out aloud she had no idea herself if she just had wanted to change the topic or if she had attempted to test his mood some more.
He hesitated, but only for a moment. “I know.”
“Are the rumors true? It appeared at a spot that used to belong to Gaul.”
Lettou shook his head. “I don’t know… and well. I guess I don’t really care anymore”
She felt her grip tighten around her cello. How could he say that? “Because we regained our memories?” That didn’t sound right. She had regained her memories. That didn’t mean she had stopped caring about stuff like… She sometimes felt the wish to visit the grave of her mother. No matter in what context she encountered Amsler’s music, it always made her think of Federico.
Hearing her question he truly started to look at loss. He shoved a strand of hair aside that had fallen in front of his eyes. In this light his hair had a slight red gleam. “That’s not it, Arturia. I don’t care about Gaul anymore. Please don’t speak about Gaul.”
Lies! Those had to be lies! She had heard to what lengths he had gone during the war in Londinium to bring back Gaul. She couldn’t imagine that someone went through these extremes to just stop caring like that. Arturia suppressed a sigh. It always was the same. People suppressed their emotions, tried to forget what it really was what they were wishing to do. Being insincere to yourself, it was so sad, so regrettable.
Well, there was no point arguing about these things. She was well aware about that too. She looked at her cello. “Shall I play another piece?”
“Yes. Yes, why not.” He looked glad she had changed the subject.
She picked music by Bachmann, a composer you regularly encountered these days. She always had thought that his music was a good distraction if you had encountered thoughts that had managed to upset you. She played the notes, starting to sense traces of familiar emotions that were not her own until they had become clear again. Sadness, yes, she now could see clearer what she had felt there earlier. But interestingly, no clear regret, instead an exhausted weariness that had lost all patience. And longing, so much longing. It was a beautiful set of emotions, and it was a pity so much of it was getting suppressed, got no real chance to get looked at with a view unclouded by guilt.
Arturia closed her eyes, getting overwhelmed by a wave of isolation she knew belonged only to herself. If she would have been able to, she would have done what she had so many times before in the past few years and drawn those emotions out of the shadows. But she couldn’t do that anymore. She could feel the emotions of those close to her clearly when she was playing her music, but she no longer could help the listeners feel the full depth of their own emotions. She had lost that ability for good on the day her oldest memories had started to resurface. She no longer could establish a connection with the people she played her music for. And she knew she never would be able to ever do it again.
She felt her chest tighten, and for a second that felt very long she had trouble breathing. All she now had left was playing her music. The air felt cold against her cheeks but she didn’t care. She only wanted to play and finish this piece. Bachmann wasn’t very complex, but he always had been a good distraction.
When she had reached the end of the piece her sudden fear had lessened. She still had her cello, no matter what. The echo of the music still resonating through her mind, Arturia felt her gaze wander around the beautiful autumn scenery. “Terra is a beautiful place, don’t you think?” she asked. For the time being all of their personal spheres were shaped out of impressions they had made here after all.
Hearing her question Lettou paused, thinking for a long moment. “Beautiful? I don’t know. Not especially? I always detested the wastelands.”
O O O
You shouldn’t have let him in. You should have searched for some excuse, some explanation why you wouldn’t have been able to see him. Who in their right mind invited War into their own home?
“I’m surprised you’re not back in Kazdel. I’ve heard they’ve made a lot of progress rebuilding it after… well.” Lettou’s voice had sounded like always, as if he never had been away. As if nothing had happened.
You turned your head, looking out of the window. From up here you could see the sea. It was a mere ocean today. In contrast to the musician Lettou didn’t need a reminder he was facing someone who had managed to conquest disease. In this gray afternoon of early winter the water looked dark and murky, liquid iron seeping into a leaden shore. “I came to the conclusion there was no need to rush,” you said. In contrast to the musician Lettou had no appreciation for the weight a carefully arranged symbol carried with its presence either.
For a moment it felt like he wanted to say something to that, but then he stayed silent.
Lettou stayed silent and you were starting to despise him for that. You looked at the glass of wine you were holding, taking another sip. It was the same kind of wine the two of you had often shared in Londinium, a red wine that came from Minos. Hellespont. You had brought this relict of a past you had recently just shared by intention. It was not until now that you realized you had done so because you had hoped he would mention this in some way. But he hadn’t. In the entire time Lettou had been here he had been talking about the musician, about the Gaulish city that had appeared in the sky, about the music that came deep from space – about everything but what had happened in Londinium.
“Have you met with Famine yet?” he asked.
You shrugged your shoulders. “Yes, shortly. Spending time on Terra hasn’t done the man any favor. Whatever happened to him has made him reluctant and stubborn.”
“He always used to be like that.”
You paused, taking another sip of your wine. Yes, Famine had been, but what you hadn’t just mentioned was that you could fully sympathize with the sentiment. You thought the time you had spent on Terra had made you more reluctant and stubborn as well. You looked at Lettou, fully meeting his gaze. “You know, it’s remarkable. You fully succeeded with your revenge against Victoria. That has become very clear with only this much hindsight: Londinium is struggling to establish a stable governance to this day and the Dukes are still hoping for it to crumble to dust and then to feast on its carcass. Victoria won’t recover from the blow it has received for centuries.” You exhaled, not letting him avoid his eyes: “Did getting your revenge make you happy, Lettou?”
There was a lagged confusion in his eyes and for some reason that was the thing to finally make you feel all the disappointment you had tried to keep at a distance until now. He had no good reason to look this hurt, he was the one who had betrayed your trust. You thought you could halfway understand that the Commander of the Defense Forces had betrayed the Sanguinarch of Vampires, but he had even led his own soldiers into ruin. Those who hadn’t died believing their Commander was looking out for their best interest under Sarkaz conquest had been handed over to Theresis by Lettou himself.
You should have kept quiet, but part of you no longer cared, acted on its own volition and kept talking: “Was burning every bridge, betraying everyone who thought they could trust you and leading the few people you had left into their death worth it?”
He was looking at you, the blue of his eyes looking deep and cold. He was still looking hurt but not surprised. “It was worth it, actually.”
You waited, feeling like the old unrest in you was getting sharper. Truth was you never had trusted Lettou, not fully. You would have wanted to, but you had known that you needed to be cautious. It had been common sense. Someone who was ready to harm those close around him for their goals might at some point hurt you.
“It was worth it. The more despicable I made myself, the easier it would become to pollute your blood,” Lettou finally said. It had sounded like a confession.
You were well aware that the man in front of you had devoted himself fully to destruction, but you also had to admit that knowing something to be the case and to entirely grasp it were not always the same thing. “You polluted nothing, René.” Your voice had sounded tired in your own ears. He could be so conceited at times, you didn’t even have the energy left to stay angry about it.
He didn’t disagree, he just kept looking at you with eyes that were heavy with unvoiced thoughts.
You could see the sea from up here. It was too far away to hear it though, even if you would have opened the window. The waves were in such an uproar today, their silence did not feel right. You hadn’t turned your back on him but you were looking at nothing but the sea.
He was stepping closer to you, in that not entirely silent manner of his that was so familiar. The distance between you felt too close and too far at the same time. “Duq’arael, I’m sorry.” He had sounded sincere. His voice sounded so familiar too, clear and stable. And it sounded entirely too stable for someone who had thought slashing his throat in front of you had been a good idea. Sometimes when you closed your eyes you would still see how the blood had been gushing out of that wound.
You weren’t going to ask him what he was sorry for. You weren’t even sure you wanted to find out. “It’s fine.” You took Lettou’s hand, because you wanted to emphasize your point and because you could. His hand felt cold but he held on, returning the gesture. You felt a restlessness that was set in your chest lose the worst of its weight. He overstepped your patience and you forgave him for it. It was the way things went with the two of you. It was the way things between you always had been. It would be fine.
– Chalk –
Arturia lowered her gaze, taking in the sight of the flowerbeds in front of her. There were pale petals that carried with them a hint of blue, the purple and green of the flower building a soft contrast to the walls of the old grey stone building they were growing among. The sight was an echo of something she had seen only a while ago. The flowers standing amidst the light of early spring: It looked very beautiful.
She turned her head, letting her sight roam around the entire area of the garden: Fragile unassuming flowers that were growing in a weak soil that barely had enough nutrients for them, and yet they flourished. Grain or other food would not grow in this earth. The only thing that would grow in this garden were very specific flowers. It was a beauty developing in emptiness and because of that it was a performance deserving an audience that appreciated it. She had always liked to spend time in Famine’s garden. Sometimes she would get so lost in thoughts when looking at the flowers that she forget about the echoes of the voices in her mind, the dreams and desires the audience of her music were attempting to avoid and that instead were now haunting her.
There was a little lizard sunbathing on one of the stones. Apparently spring had gotten strong enough to wake it up. It lazily blinked, its greyish brown merging almost completely into the color of the stone it was sitting on.
For a moment Arturia had lost her sense of direction. Her hand closed into a fist. She had expected to be met with the comforting weight of her cello, but there had been nothing: She had left it at home today. She would not have called the gesture a step of caution. She preferred to call it a peace offering. Not that there was something she needed to feel guilty about. But sometimes it was the gesture that mattered. She turned around, looking at Clément: “The flowers look beautiful. What a pretty place this is.”
“Thank you,” he said, giving her an unreadable smile.
There were other flowers growing in this empty soil than the sacrarium’s flower, but it was the one Arturia just couldn’t ignore. She gestured at a patch of it: “It’s nice to see this one here. This place here aside, it has gone completely extinct in the meanwhile, you know?”
“Yes, I know.” Clément was no longer smiling. Out here in the sunlight his brown eyes seemed to have gotten a slight red gleam to them. “I can’t say that I feel sorry for that. I think it is maybe for the best.”
“Oh?”
“Some things don’t endure it when you test their strength but crumble under the pressure. It’s not a good idea to question the strength of something unless you have no other choice.”
“Are we still talking about the sacrarium’s flower?”
“Of course we are. They are with Gerald now. As I said, I think it has all been for the best.”
Arturia forced herself to open the fist her hand had cramped into. She missed the weight of her cello. “Monsieur Famine, sometimes I honestly do get the feeling that you loathe me a bit.”
“I wasn’t aware that Señora Arturia cares that much about what other people think of her. You never did strike me as the kind of person who is desperate to be liked.” He had sounded more curious than unfriendly.
She smiled feeling a weird pressure leave she had felt all day. It was funny, the spring sun was quite weak but standing among the stone, earth and fauna of this place these surroundings were feeling pleasantly warm. Maybe it was because after a long winter every bit of sunlight weighted the heavier. “I’m going to tell you a secret. Even the people who say that they don’t care if other people like them or not don’t feel indifferent about the matter. What they are actually saying is that they have enough conviction in them to follow their path even if that means other people will dislike them for it.”
“Some really don’t care though. Experience often enough that no matter what you do the outcome won’t change and eventually you’ll give up trying.” Arturia hadn’t noticed it before, but even though it was day you could see the moon up in the sky. It wasn’t the twin moons of terra though, but the sole and single moon of an old and familiar place.
She brought her bangs into order, not knowing what she was supposed to do with her hands. When she had been living in Lethanien she had met many Elafia. She was used to see antlers of all shapes and sizes on them. She couldn’t articulate why the sight of Clément’s antlers always looked a bit intimidating to her. “Why do I feel lectured right now?”
“Because sometimes I do loathe you a bit.”
“Because you blame me for what happened.” That was ok. The moment something went wrong everyone was quick to cast her as their scapegoat. Easier than admitting she had only brought to light what already had been lurking in the shadows.
“No. Because you force people to listen but rarely return the gesture when others ask you to do the same. You never listen when people have something to tell you, Arturia. Not when it matters.”
She paused, having trouble to properly process what she had just heard. That was… that was not fair! That was… that was not something someone had ever said to her. “Maybe people could sometimes be a little bit clearer with what it is they want to say to me.” There was nothing she needed to feel guilty for! “I can sense other people’s deepest emotions. I can’t read their thoughts.”
A slightly cynical expression showed up in his eyes. “Isn’t your argument that once everyone would be able to read each other’s feelings that would factually be the same than reading each other’s thoughts?”
“Yes… No, that’s just… it’s different. Everyone feeling each other’s emotions would make it much easier to understand each other. It still wouldn’t be the same as reading someone else’s thoughts. But understanding each other would make so many things easier.” If her father only understood that Arturia had only wanted to help her mother, that she had never meant to harm her, then this entire misunderstanding between them would cease to be. If he understood her intentions then he would no longer blame her for causing her mother’s death. Then he would no longer hate Arturia.
Clément was no longer looking at her with that familiar cynicism in his eyes. Instead he was looking at her with an odd sort of pity.
“What?” What was the problem now?
“Nothing. It’s just… I think many people are perfectly able to understand others but still don’t care. Just because someone understands does not mean that they care.”
She was thinking of an argument to counter that but couldn’t think of any. She avoided her gaze, looking at the purple flowers in front of her. “You sound so certain.”
“Because I am.”
“Why?”
“Have you ever travelled through the wastelands? Spent some time out there?”
“Not much more than was necessary to get from one point to another.”
“Right. Spend enough time in the wastelands and you’ll eventually run into some crazies. Then you’ll get it.”
She was still staring at the flowers. “I’m listening right now. Feel free to elaborate.”
Clément paused for a moment, then he continued: “Do you know what the one thing is you can be sure to assume when you meet some stranger in the wastelands? That they don’t care about anything. Except one thing: They want to know if your corpse is worth getting looted for if you should drop dead for some mysterious reason. A lot of people you’re going to run into out there…well. Let’s say they’re perfectly able to understand what you think and feel. They just don’t care.”
She looked up at him. Arturia wasn’t short, but Clément was so much taller than her. About as tall as Federico, no, probably even taller. “That sounds so bleak.”
“Bleak? I don’t know. It’s just what it is.” He turned around, looking towards the entrance of the garden.
She sighed, following his line of sight. “Hello, little brother. Nice to see you.”
Federico stayed silent, looking at her with eyes that were very alert. “Where is your cello?”
Arturia made a point to sound unbothered: “Is that how you greet your big sister after not having seen her in such a long time?” She straightened out her skirt, picking invisible lint away from it. “I’ve left it at home. I don’t have it with me right now.”
“Did you start playing the lute again instead?”
“I’m going to read this as your attempt at a joke. No, I don’t have any musical instrument with me right now. And as we both know my singing voice was never much to write home about. It’s even worse than your attempts at playing the piano.”
Federico gave her another silent stare and then looked at Clément. “Did Arturia bother you? What did she want?”
“You could have asked me that. I’m right here.”
“But I’m not asking you right now. Clément, what did she want?”
“She wanted to have a look at the garden. She meant she needed to see something green after this long winter.”
“Has that really been all?”
“Yes.”
“Who even told her about your new garden?”
“War did. The last time I went to see him.”
“Arturia, quiet, I’m going to talk to you in a second. Of course it’s been War, he always thinks getting told “no” is just an option.”
Arturia took a deep breath, holding her tongue. She still hadn’t said anything when it was just her and Federico alone, standing in the shadow of the old stone building that hadn’t existed in this form until maybe three years ago. You couldn’t see the garden from this spot.
Federico looked at her with sharp eyes that looked very dark in these shadows. “Is your cello really at home?”
“You weren’t that distrustful of me back in the days you still called me your sister.” She straightened out her hair, forcing her hands to stay still once she had done so. “Yes, it’s at home. I just told you.”
“What are you really doing here?”
“I wanted to see the garden. I missed looking at flowers after this harsh winter, is that really so hard to believe?”
“Is that all?” His voice sounded harsh, unforgiving. She found it easy to believe that he ended up alienating a lot of people when carrying out his work as an executor.
“Do you know what Duq’arael – that’s what Pestilence calls himself these days –“
“I’m aware of that.”
“ – so, anyway, do you know what he calls me? Your messenger. Maybe I also was a bit of a messenger today. Isn’t that what I’ve always been for you all? Your messenger?”
“I can’t deny that this is a dynamic that has established itself over time. Unintentional as it might have been.”
“Unintentional maybe, but barely an accident. I like to have an audience when playing my music. So, I like to visit people that like listening to it.”
A harshness that had been lurking this entire time set over his face. “Admittedly. But you’re well aware that recently some circumstances have changed. Arturia, I will say the same thing to you that I’ve said the last time we’ve seen each other: If you play your music to Clément one more time I will shoot you in the head.”
“Is that a threat that makes sense? You know exactly that these kind of injuries can’t hurt us anymore. Look at War. Cut his own throat and yet he is among us again.”
“That’s not the point and you know it. Damn it, why do you never listen? I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have no choice.” Screw not being able to sense Federico’s emotions. One would have to be dense or impaired to not realize he was shaking with anger.
“If you manage to. Last time you tried I shielded myself with my arts,” Arturia pointed out.
“Last time I tried to shoot you I still was asleep.” There was a sadness in his voice. It was hard to say where it was coming from.
“Ah, you’re right, circumstances have changed quite a bit.” She straightened her back. “You don’t need to worry either way. I haven’t told you until now but… The thing is this. I can’t cast my arts anymore when playing. Since I’ve woken up I can’t let the audience of my music listen to their deepest emotions anymore. My ability to cause this is completely gone.” There, happy now?!
Federico stayed silent, looking at her with cold and distant eyes.
“You don’t believe me. I didn’t expect you to. I do understand your caution, you know?” She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s a pity. The state you are in now… I think if I played my music for you right now I might have been able to play your feelings, little brother. I mean, given I still could use my arts this way.”
“This changes nothing. Try playing your music for Clément and I will shoot you. I’ve given you my warning.”
“Alright, I’ve got it. I’m not going to play any music for him then.” It really was cold standing in these shadows. Spring was still so early. “It still makes me sad you have this little faith in your big sister.”
“You are not my sister. You are my distant relative.”
“And yet you still call father ‘uncle’. How does that make any sense? Isn’t that irrational? Where is the logic in that?”
“If that is a genuine question then answering it would not solve your confusion.”
Confused. Her. “There was a time you used to call me ‘sister’. Do you want to deny that?”
“Correct, I used to call you that. But I’m not calling you that anymore, Arturia.” The anger in Federico’s eyes had faded. Now he just looked tired. “Feelings can change over time. If you need me of all people to explain that to you then you really are more confused than I have thought.”
Arturia. Was not. Confused. She just wasn’t. “You really blame me for everything that has happened.”
“I’m not discussing this. Don’t play your music for Clément. What you call me, what you think about my motivations… I don’t care about any of that.”
“I’ve told you before, I don’t force any ideas on people. I just make them see what has been there all along.”
Federico took a deep breath, continuing in a way that felt a bit too calm: “Sometimes people don’t want to listen to destructive urges they have. They show willpower by not giving in to these difficult thoughts they have. And you go and ignore these efforts for your personal amusement.”
‘People’, sure. They were arguing about ‘people’ here. “Those had been thoughts he already had carried with himself. I didn’t give Clément the idea to kill himself.”
“No. You just drove him into despair.” Now there had been loathing in Federico’s voice. For a moment he had sounded just like her father.
Arturia lowered her gaze, feeling a joyless smile settle over her face. What was she even supposed to say to this?
O O O
The carcass of the deceased was still laying in the basement. Veins where once electricity and information had passed through were hanging there in shreds, half of them torn by the elements. Because the thing was, the structure of the basement had collapsed, exposing the machine to the clear and open sky. Today’s spring sun was hidden behind thick grey clouds, but the daylight reaching down was still strong, letting the silvery surface reflect the light that was falling on it, reflecting the light in a manner that blended the eyes. The core that had done the calculations had went utterly silent.
Death was looking at the broken remains of what once had been the Law, feeling a doubt grow stronger that would show up every time he returned to this basement. Had it been worth it? During the last few months he had seen so many deaths. Suicides by people who hadn’t been able to cope with the identity of their God as a machine, who hadn’t known how to go on with the fact their God had died, what to do with the knowledge about the Sanktas’ true origins. Violent crime had significantly risen. People who had gotten their entire worldview shattered had been driven into desperation, into indifference, hopelessness.
The clouds up in the sky had lifted. The clear sun was now shining on the machine that once had been the Law, the strong reflection bathing the ruins of the basement in a sudden light.
Death was feeling the weight of his patron gun in his hand, feeling the wish to pray for the first time since ages. It was his duty to enforce order. If the outcome of a decision had caused so much ruin and destruction, could it still be justified? What was the point where you could say with a clear certainty that the even worse outcome you had tried to prevent had been worth the causalities?
Behind him Death could hear familiar steps, approaching him with caution. “Federico? We found a letter. The mother had it upon her, in the pocket of her cardigan. We’re still waiting for the toxicology report, but it’s now pretty clear what has happened. I think.”
The light around him was so bright, it felt as if it was coming from all directions. Federico turned around, looking at Richele. “You mean the motive is clear.” Looking at the scene they had been called to investigate it had been pretty obvious from a first glance what had happened.
“You need to read it for yourself but… In it she stated she no longer saw a way to go on and…,” Richele trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
“And did as we suspected? Gave her children an overdose of sleeping pills before taking an overdose herself?”
“We need to wait what the toxicology report says, but according to her letter, yes.”
Federico held Richele’s gaze. “We need to wait for it. An involvement by a third party can at this point not yet be ruled out.”
Richele nodded, looking like he understood. It wouldn’t have been the first murder the perpetrator had tried to stage as a suicide or accident they would have encountered in the last few months. Richele took a step closer. “One has to investigate these things. Wouldn’t be the first time things are not what they appeared at first look,” he said.
“I was just thinking the same things.” Yes, matters needed to be thoroughly investigated. But a hunch was telling Federico that in this case here things were just as they looked. Something about how the children had been carefully tucked into bed before…
He turned his head, looking at the carcass of the Law. He felt no hostility against it. Why should he? In an odd way it had been a victim of the circumstances as well. The Law had been forced to arrange matters so that as many people as possible would be assimilated into originium and thus eternal stasis. Nothing of this had been its own idea, it had been forced to follow a hostile command. No, it hadn’t been able to resist the command, all it had been able to do had been to give those to be sacrificed the most beautiful dream it had been able to come up with to let them depart in peace.
Richele had followed Federico’s line of sight, looking like he had become lost in thought while looking at the cables of the apparatus in front of them. “The letter said she was afraid to leave her children alone in a world that had become devoid of all meaning. She meant she wanted to end things as long as the echo of God was still something you could hear,” Richele mumbled, sounding like he was talking to himself.
The truth was, if the Law would have been able to convince Federico that its end goal would have been a logical and reasonable one, Federico would have assisted it with its plan. But the idea the Law had been following had been completely nonsensical, so there had been no choice but to eliminate the threat it now had been posing. You could feel sorry for a dog that had been given rabies. You still had no other choice than to shoot it, even if once upon a time he had been a loyal companion.
Federico touched his patron gun, searching comfort in the familiar weight and shape it held but finding none.
The guilt came from the realization that even in all its irrationality the Law had shown something akin to reason, it had wanted to follow a purpose. Once it had been confronted with the illogical nature of its direction, it had rather sacrificed itself than to lead the individuals it had been forced to treat as targets into originium assimilation. What did it mean that an entity that by all means had been nothing but a machine had tried to save lives?
“The Law didn’t abandon us. I’m not even really sure it left us,” Federico finally said.
“You mean because we still have our halos? Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that as well.” Richele shrugged his shoulder. “God is not a machine. It is God that build the machine, right?” People were grappling with the fact, applying logic to it, some already seeing a new pattern that fit in with what always had been familiar.
“Something like that, yes. And additionally, You cannot touch God’s love, but you can touch the machine he built for us.”
Richele showed a joyless smile. “You sound so certain.”
Yes, Federico was. Because the Law had wanted to save everyone from forcefully getting assimilated into originium. But he couldn’t even tell Richele the details of that. The Law had sacrificed itself to give the Sankta a chance for a future. And Federico couldn’t tell this to the people who felt traumatized and abandoned, who were grappling with the fact that they had lost their God. He could do nothing to ease the burden. Given the circumstances it was hard to not feel doubt at times that he had chosen the right direction.
He could feel Richele’s gaze on him, absentminded and lingering. “Laterano sure is changing lately. Since when are you leaving the house carrying flowers?”
Oh. Oh that one. Federico brought his hand up to his collar, touching the purple flower attached to it. “I got it as a present.” Richele didn’t need to know more. Maybe it had been a bad idea to go out while carrying this flower. It had gone extinct and Richele might recognize where it was from.
“Oh? Who is unlucky enough to think she can charm you with flowers?” Richele asked, a carefree smile showing up on his lips. “No, don’t say anything, let me guess. She must be new, otherwise she’d know all the gals of the curia have you blacklisted.”
Why would Federico care if some woman had him blacklisted? It was not like he was interested in going out with them. Something about the situation was starting to feel very confusing. If Richele tried to stir the subject away from the matter at hand things quickly could start to feel confusing for some reason. “I didn’t get this flower from a woman. Or from anyone from the curia.”
Richele’s smile went weaker, then it entirely went away. He looked like he was intently thinking about something. He was about to recognize where it was from, wasn’t he? “You mean a man gifted you a flower?” Richele asked, sounding puzzled.
“I believe that’s what I just said.” Federico felt an inner reluctance rise. Screw it if Richele had recognized where it was from. If he was about to ask about that Federico would play oblivious and pretend it was some different sort that just looked a lot like the sacrarium’s flower.
“A relative of yours?”
Uh, what? “No, not a relative. My… an old friend.” Technically correct and Richele didn’t need to know everything.
“What was the occasion?”
A gesture of love and affection. Their oldest one. “Occasion? Well, it has become spring and flowers start to bloom in the gardens again.” Richele really did not need to know more than that.
Hearing this some tension that had lingered around Richele’s eyes lifted. “I guess they do by now, yes.” He lowered his gaze, starting to look thoughtful. “It has been a long winter, hasn’t it been?”
It had sounded more like a statement than a question. Federico couldn’t do little but agree.
It was what was easiest to do right now. Otherwise he would be swept away by doubt and regret.
The iron scent of blood always stayed the same. Sometimes it was caused by the sharp edge of a blade. Sometimes it was caused by a bullet lodging itself into flesh. Sometimes it was caused by nothing but bare fists.
Sometimes when the smell of blood got overwhelming, Federico forgot where he was. And sometimes, for the fraction of a second, he sometimes would forget his name. He let his gaze roam over the garden. Returning to a place where the loudest sound you’d encounter was the wind crawling through the leaves and twigs of the few trees that would grow in this place helped him to keep his memory clear.
He found Clément in the shadow of the bell tower that since ever had lacked a bell. He looked absentminded in a way that was hard to place. “I’ve brought us some desserts,” Federico said, pointing out the most urgent matter at hand.
Hearing this Clément smiled. “Dessert? Is it Sunday already.”
“No, today is Thursday.”
“I know I was just… thank you.”
Federico handed him over one of the containers. “It’s ice cream. We shouldn’t wait, or it melts.”
The ice cream had gone a little soft, but it hadn’t melted. It was just the beginning of spring after all. “There was this new stall selling it. I wanted to try it out. Be, uh, careful with it though.”
“Careful? Why careful?”
“It’s sugar free ice cream. I never had anything like this before, so I can’t guarantee it’s going to taste good,” Federico explained, suddenly feeling oddly guilty. He couldn’t figure out where the emotion was coming from.
The girl running the stall had been so enthusiastic about her ice cream. It had felt hard to find an argument against that. Not that Federico had tried much to find one. It had been good to meet a reminder that out there people were still doing something as simple as coming up with new dessert ideas. Amidst all the death and destruction the Notarial Hall had encountered in the last few months it could be easy to forget that with all the changes that had occurred there were also places where normality had prevailed.
Federico took a spoonful of the ice cream. He felt how his gaze was setting itself into the distance, coming to a halt at a spot where frail roses where growing. They were a dark red that almost looked purple, the vividness of the color building a contrast to how brittle they looked. “It has an interesting taste,” Federico finally said, choosing his words carefully.
“Interesting is accurate, yes,” Clément agreed, sounding hesitant.
“It tastes terrible.”
“It does. Absolutely awful.” Clément was looking at the ice cream with some sort of morbid fascination. “It tastes as if someone made ice cream out of toothpaste. It just doesn’t taste like something you’re supposed to be eating.”
That description felt about right. “The girl running the stall looked so cheerful when she was talking about her idea of making sugar free ice cream. She said she wanted to create a dessert that would not ruin people’s teeth. I thought it would be worth a try,” Federico said, feeling an old doubt he had tried to suppress getting stronger.
“At least she has the spirit. Maybe in time her idea will improve,” Clément said, sounding completely unbothered. He had developed a big tolerance towards Lateran dessert ideas, maybe an even a bigger one than Federico had.
Federico was looking at his ice cream that was slowly melting in its cardboard container. It was still spring, but the frozen substance was reacting to the warmer temperature. The ice cream was a bright orange. It had been supposed to taste like mango. “This is pointless,” Federico heard himself say. He hadn’t planned to say something out aloud. That was something that would be happening lately, him saying or doing things before he had even consciously decided he wanted to bring them up.
Next to him he could sense how Clément was hesitating. “What is?” he finally asked, his voice holding a patience that felt very familiar.
Federico managed to tear his eyes away from his ice cream, but he still couldn’t lift his gaze. Instead he was looking at Clément’s hands, how they were holding the container. He had such beautiful hands. “Everything. I don’t know. Just, everything.” Trying to keep up a sense of normalcy even though getting abandoned by the Law had shaken everyone to their core. Interacting with Richele as if nothing was the matter, even though he was just another individual he was having a chance encounter with. Doing his best to be a good son to his uncle, even though he could not tell him the entire truth now. Destroying the Law even though all of Terra was doomed, no matter what they would be doing next. Trying to explain his thoughts to people who were refusing to listen to him because they were convinced Federico lacked emotion. Buying ice cream from a cheerful girl because you didn’t want to disappoint her, even though you knew it was going to taste awful. Federico took a deep breath. “I’m just tired. I don’t know.”
Clément had been silent, listening. “You look tired. Don’t let yourself get run into exhaustion.” That hadn’t been an advice. It had been something firmer.
Federico nodded in agreement. If he was honest, that kind of sentiment was exactly what he had wanted to hear.
“And don’t force yourself to eat something you don’t even like just because you don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings.”
“Sure. That sounds reasonable.” Federico looked up, meeting Clément’s eyes and finding that he couldn’t look away. They had such a lovely deep brown. The sight set something at ease in him that had been in an uproar the entire day. A color this dark, it made him forget about the memory of sunlight getting reflected from a shining surface just so it could blend his eyes.
From one moment to another Federico had lost his sense of time, instead the tiredness he had been carrying around with himself all day was crashing down. He couldn’t look away from Clément’s face. It looked so familiar. The antlers were new, but the thoughtful look in his eyes, the way his hair was framing his face… this always stayed the same.
The broken shell of the Law, Richele’s relentless curiosity, the smell of gunpowder… suddenly all of these things felt very distant, like things he had encountered in a dream that weren’t really concerning him. Like those were things he had just witnessed from far away.
It was the artificial and intense scent of mango that ripped Federico out of his haze. The ice cream had in the meanwhile completely melted. He turned his head, focusing his attention on something he had noticed out of the corner of his eyes since he had arrived. “These here are new,” he pointed out, looking at the freshly planted irises standing in the garden. They hadn’t been here when he had left.
Clément followed his line of sight. “Right, I had no chance to tell you. War brought them as a present. He had been over for a visit.”
“What did he want?” It was not like the man was unfriendly but… you could assume that he always was following more intentions than he was telling you about. War was not a liar exactly, but he was very good in concealing the full truth.
Clément shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing much. Lettou just meant he wanted to make a ‘meaningful addition’ to my garden.”
“Was that all?”
“Probably not, but I let him. It’s just a bunch of irises. They’re harmless enough. I think he just wanted to say hello.”
Federico reluctantly agreed. Sometimes it was better to just go and accept a gesture. And it was just a bunch of flowers. They hadn’t any more meaning than you would allow them to have.
– Bone –
Arturia let the last few notes of the piece she had chosen for today fade out, listening more to the sound of her audience’s heart than to the music. She still could feel an unease she hadn’t yet figured out had been caused by her arrival or by something that already had been there. “That one here is a brand new piece, actually. It’s been written by a composer named Czerny.”
Hearing her voice Andoain turned his head towards her, the look in his empty eyes becoming more focused. “Czerny… rings a bell. Is he from Kazimierz?”
“No, from Lethanien, one of ours.”
A small smile showed up on his face. “Hm, ‘one of yours’ then?” The rooms in this old nomadic monastery had very high ceilings and a bad acoustic. If you didn’t speak clearly the words were threatening to get lost in here. “Sort of, yes? I’ve spend over a decade in Lethanien. It’s hard to not feel something akin to pride and belonging when we have someone whose music gets wider recognition.”
He didn’t debate her statement. He just kept looking into the general direction her voice was coming from, the expression on his face getting thoughtful. “I can’t remember the last time I had the opportunity to listen to a piece of music. I mean, really listen to it and not just hear it in passing.”
Arturia withheld a sigh, sitting down on the bench next to him. “And? Did you like the piece?” She had a pretty good idea what Regret’s taste in music was. She had no idea what sort of music Andoain liked. Ultimately these things were of course the same thing, but at the same time… sometimes you would run into nuances. Maybe no one but her fully realized because in contrast to her they were not as interested in the audience’s reaction to her music. Nuances mattered if you wanted to deliver an optimal performance. And she wanted to play the best she was capable of. She might have lost her ability to let her audience feel the full scope of their deepest feelings but she still could hear the music of their hearts. And that, that was something that could resonate with a genuine form of art it encountered, be it music, paintings, literature, whatever.
“Your music is nice, Arturia. As ever,” Regret said, looking like he wanted to add something more but then stayed silent. His eyes were a blueish grey, almost the same color as his hair.
Arturia laid the bow she was holding into her lap. “Can I ask you something?”
“Since when do you ask for permission for that? Sure, go on.”
Since she made an effort to prove that it was not true that she didn’t care to listen when it would have mattered: “Why haven’t you regenerated your eyesight? Doing that should be easy now, no?” He had sacrificed his eyes for the sake of letting Laterano wake up from a dream it had been forced into. It was a bit… hard to stay indifferent about that.
Andoain gave her a smile that looked distant and very difficult to read. It was an old and familiar expression. “You used the opportunity of me having gone blind to escape. Starting to feel guilty about that?” His words hadn’t sounded unfriendly.
“I have nothing to feel guilty about. I helped you clear out the way into the basement from threats that were getting in our way.” She tightened her hold around her cello. “It’s easy, you know? Resetting I mean. Federico was about to shoot me into the face the other day because… Well, doesn’t matter why. That’s what I am trying to say here. War survived cutting his own throat. Nothing of this matters that is all that I mean.”
A serious look had set over his face. “You shouldn’t be so flippant about these things. Just because you can fully heal a wound does not mean it hasn’t been there.”
She withheld a sigh. Why did everyone always have to be so damn serious all the time? “Is it because it would be difficult to explain to Patia and the others how you recovered from this injury? Say a friend introduced you to someone skilled in experimental healing arts. Handwave it away like that.” There, she was trying to be helpful and constructive. Wasn’t that nice?
“I could do that.” There had been a hesitation in Regret’s voice that was very typical for him.
“I mean, it’s your decision. It just feels unfair you helped us out like that and have nothing to show for it but an injury.”
He huffed, voice starting to sound cynical: “Hm. Unfair. I don’t know.” He no longer was leaning towards the direction Arturia’s voice was coming from. “Do you know who is not going to recover from her injuries just like that? Lemuen. There is no solution to reverse Mostima from having become fallen either. That’s what is not fair.”
Up until now Arturia had listened, not feeling surprised by anything she was hearing. Andoain had talked about his regrets concerning his old teammates before, the previous times she had come for a visit. It was the one topic his thoughts eventually circled back to. “Is this your way to repent? You feel responsible for harming your friends, so you’re not allowing yourself to get better either, now that you would have the choice?” How dull. How utterly useless.
He stayed silent for a long moment, keeping his hollow gaze away from her. There was a soft drizzle falling against the windows, a spring rain that let the entire building feel cold and damp. When he continued talking his voice sounded sharp: “Do you know that it is Fiammetta I feel pity for the most? She came out of the entire mess without any injury. Because of that people always think she has reasons to keep hating me the least. I’m not so sure about that. It is her who understands it clearest that I did not only hurt people who I was close to – I betrayed the trust everyone had given me.”
Arturia stayed silent, taking a deep breath. If he started talking like that… it came a bit too close to certain personal things she tried to not think about too often.
He kept talking: “Do you know that it was Lemuen who taught me how to love Laterano? I thought there never would be a place I could call home again. But she showed me that there was to find kindness and beauty in the place I was. All I had to do was to come to a halt for a moment so I had the time to see it.”
There was so much longing that was resonating through him when he was bringing up these old memories. Sometimes sharing halo empathy did feel a bit like a burden. Once you encountered these kind of strong emotions there was no way to escape them. “You can’t go and decide to call yourself a martyr, Andoain, you know? That’s a description other people have to give you when witnessing your actions.”
He turned towards her, finally facing her again with his eyes that were looking into an eternal darkness: “I confess my sins and what I get for it is being confronted with my hubris. It’s what I deserve, I don’t complain.” His voice had sounded almost lighthearted. The heaviness of his mood had slightly lifted, giving way to an old exhaustion.
She slouched down on the bench they were sitting on. It was surprisingly comfortable. “Do you know what? I think this new kind of empathy we’ve gotten kind of sucks. I still haven’t gotten used to it.” She hadn’t. It no longer prioritized the individuals you were together with in a space. Instead it focused on people you felt close with, no matter the distance. It was all over the place and felt confusing.
“I haven’t gotten used to it either. I thought…” he trailed off, getting lost in a thought he did not finish.
Outside the drizzle had gotten much stronger, letting the world outside of the window appear in a misty grey. When Arturia had realized in what ways the new sort of empathy was adjusting itself into, she had expected to eventually start picking up the emotions of her father. But that hadn’t happened. Not that it had come as a surprise to see that the rift between them had gotten this big, but with everything adjusting itself in a new way Arturia had thought that maybe… Well, apparently not.
There was no use in waiting if this new sort of empathy would affect Federico in some way. He was as opaque as ever.
Arturia picked up her bow. “Shall I play more of Czerny’s music? He writes his pieces mainly for the piano, but some of his arrangements fit really well for the cello.”
“Do that. I’m lucky I’m getting to hear more of your music.” Andoain paused. “I always liked your music, Arturia. Did I ever tell you that?”
“I think you did, in one way or another.”
“Good. I will tell you the next time as well.”
Arturia started playing, feeling oddly encouraged that he explicitly had stated he wanted there to be a next time. It was just nicer to play music when there was an audience who wanted to listen to it. The thing was, she and Regret had never quite fit in with the others. The two of them had appeared much later, when the other four had already established a set dynamic with each other.
Outside the rain had gotten stronger, falling down in a dull grey monotone. It was whatever. The plants outside needed water so they could grow, they needed it as much as the solidness of the soil and the warmth of the sun. She kept playing, arranging the different notes of the music into a whole.
O O O
You’d think it would have been the increasing heat that signaled that spring was flowing into summer. But it was not the temperature, not exactly. It was the way the smell around the monasteries meadows was changing. The smell of earth had become heavy, and the scent of grass and flowers had started to merge into a sweet and overpowering mess.
He had sensed her emotions long before she had reached him, long before she was saying her greeting: “Hello Andoain.”
“Hello Arturia. Nice you could make it here.” He turned around, facing the direction her voice was coming from. He could feel a worry slowly falling away from her. He neither was surprised that it had been there nor to observe that it left like that.
He liked to be in the open field because it felt less stifling than being constantly surrounded by walls. But now that it was getting warmer you couldn’t spend too much time in the sun, you eventually needed to cool off in the shadows. There was a roofed pathway leading from the main building towards the garden he preferred for that. It was deserted enough that not many people went through and cluttered enough that you could hear it when someone approached you. Patia had helped him to move one of the benches there. Patia always helped him when something came up he could not manage on his own anymore. Lately he was asking himself if he was starting to take that for granted.
He got out the candy he had saved up for the occasion, offering Arturia some.
He could hear the sound of her hand picking out one. “That’s a funny looking one. They’re all shaped like different farm animals. Herbs and berries? I’ve never seen this one.”
“Duq’arael brought it over the other day. It’s a specialty from Kazdel. He meant I need to broaden my horizon.”
“What, when it comes to sweets?”
“Exactly. He meant my taste in sweets is too narrow.”
Arturia laughed, spontaneous and wholeheartedly. A rare sound. “Why does he always make things like these sound so dramatic? It’s just sweets!”
“I know. But he meant well. It’s from a manufactory that’s been taken off lately.”
“I can see why. They’re really good,” she sighed, her spontaneous laughing fit developing into something more stable. It was nice to now feel her emotions from this close.
He had noticed that she had her cello with her, but this entire time she hadn’t offered to play a piece. That was unusual.
The heat of this afternoon dragged. Here in the shadows it was refreshingly cool, but the heavy air that already carried the slightest trace of ozone made it apparent the heat in the sun had built itself up. It was the kind of air that made you feel tired and lazy.
Andoain could hear a tense rustling of fabric next to him before Arturia started to speak, her voice sounding a pitch higher than usual: “I’m glad I’m getting a break today. Lately the music deep from space has gotten clearer. I’ve been playing my cello day and night to counter that. I hope it helped but… I don’t know.”
He had noticed the music getting clearer lately too. It was to be expected, sure, but there had been so many other things he had needed to pay attention to. “That bad?” he asked, leaning slightly towards her direction.
He could feel a worry in her slightly lessen. “Bad enough, I guess. It’s just, I’ve been playing so much lately, and it is starting to feel like my sense for music is getting dulled by it. It’s kind of annoying, I guess.” Her voice had sounded exhausted.
“You’re not alone. We’re all here because we’re dealing with the same problem.” Sometimes it was important to voice out the obvious.
“Thank you.” Her voice had sounded silent and sincere. Like some burden had fallen away from her.
It was very warm today, but not all activity had come to a halt. Somewhere around them some birds were singing. The sounds came from up high, and judging by the clarity of it they could not be too far away.
Arturia’s emotions had calmed down, slowly and steadily. Their worst edges had for now been muted out. Andoain felt himself tense up. There was a warm and soft weight starting to lean against him, and he could hear Arturia take the long and deep breaths of those asleep. He kept sitting where he was, letting her lean against him. He suddenly didn’t know what to do with the information that she trusted him enough to fall asleep in his presence. He didn’t know why he felt so surprised by that.
Here in the shadows it felt comfortable and cool. Andoain felt like his thought were returning to a familiar pattern he was having lately. He had made certain choices because he had wanted to repent. But maybe his stubbornness was once again causing more problems than it helped solving. He never had asked to be special. He just wanted to be normal. But sometimes what you wanted did not change the reality of what you were facing in the slightest.
Andoain sighed and blinked, opening his eyes. He was sitting in the roofed passageway of the nomadic monastery and for the first time since he had come here he was seeing the place. He took in the sight, longer than he would have needed to. Then he turned his head, looking at Arturia. He had seen her when they all had been searching their way into the Law’s basement, of course, but so much had happened on that day, his memory of certain parts of that day were so hazy.
She was still asleep, her long dark hair slightly hanging into her face. He got the sudden urge to brush it out of the way but then didn’t do it, sitting still. He paused, feeling unable to tear his gaze away from the features so familiar to him. Despair’s face looked the same as ever. Sometimes little details would change, but overall they just highlighted the features that had stayed the same. He didn’t know why the realization felt so comforting.
Around him the birds were still singing. He raised his head, looking towards the source of their voices. He couldn’t see them. They probably were sitting in the branches of some trees or high up on the roof of the building.
The afternoon dragged on and some lonely birds were still singing when Despair began to stir in her sleep, slowly waking up. She blinked, looking up at Andoain. “I didn’t just fall asleep, did I?” she asked, voice heavy with sleep.
“Maybe for a bit.”
She showed a slightly embarrassed smile. “Oh my, how rude of me.” She started ordering her hair, brushing it out of her face.
“It’s not. People need to sleep when they’re tired.”
Hearing this she looked like she wanted to say something, but then she stayed silent, the smile slowly fading away from her face. She kept looking at him, a realization slowly setting over her. “You can see again.”
“I can.” He felt a tension setting into his chest, an unrest that made it hard to concentrate and keep his thoughts in order. “I was just thinking that…” That it was pointless to play the martyr. That he was sick of always making things harder for himself than they needed to be. That it was getting exhausting to pretend he was normal when it was apparent to him that he actually was not quite right in the head. That getting angry over things he felt were unjust had never amounted to much of anything. All of these had been things he had been mulling over in his head since weeks. He looked at Arturia: “I wanted to see your face.” That was the truth. It is what he had been thinking about this entire afternoon.
Hearing this she didn’t say anything. She just kept looking at him, her pale cheeks slowly turning red. Then she lowered her head, picking up the bow that was lying next to her, just holding it. “So?” Her voice was still heavy with sleep.
“Yes. And now I regret I didn’t do it earlier.”
She was till staring at the bowstring she was holding. But now she was slightly smiling.
There was a small shape moving out of one of the bushes that were growing in the outside garden. It was a little bird, alarmed by some unnamed disturbance. So, some of them were singing their song from just nearby.
There was the hollow sound of wood clanking against wood, Arturia putting down the bowstring. “It’s funny how that new sort of empathy keeps behaving. Lately I’ve been able to feel your emotions even from quite some distance away.”
So he wasn’t the only one that had been happening to. That was good to know. “I was experiencing just the same thing. I was starting to get worried about you. You’ve been so tired recently.”
She looked up at him. There was something unguarded in her eyes that usually was not there like that. Usually she looked a lot more cautious, even when she was feeling at ease. “I just have been worrying too much about… things, I guess. They already feel less intimidating to deal with now I’ve been talking with you. Is that a weird thing to say?”
No, it wasn’t a weird thing to say at all. The contrary, Andoain thought he could relate to the sentiment. He wanted to voice an agreement, but then stayed silent. There was no need to say anything. He could sense that Arturia felt just the same as he did.
The End
