Chapter Text
It was a beautiful day to be on Angel Island. The sun shone behind two fluffy white clouds, framed by a vast blue sky. The emerald green trees formed a luxurious tropical skyline, reserved for the few inhabitants of the island. The warm wind passed through calmly and kindly. There was no constant hum of activity like in Mobius City, no mechanical creaks or distant machines like that of Robotnik, nor any tourists ruining the scene by snapping pictures or chattering. At the this time, the only thing in the world was the serenity of the island.
In a clearing of Angel Island’s dense forest, surrounded by the old ruins of ancient tribes, sat the tall altar of the Master Emerald. Deep and mystical, elusive and mysterious, plus utterly and truly green, the proud gem shone brilliantly against its white marble altar.
On the other side of the color wheel, just inches away, was Knuckles’ red quills. He laid out flat with his hands cushioning the back of his head. His eyes were closed and his face was relaxed. Just a couple feet from where his crossed legs lay on the ground stood another islander, looking down at him.
“Hiya, Knux.”
Knuckles nodded at his friend without changing his expression. A soft breeze blew between them, bringing the scent of sap and palm.
“Haven’t seen ya’ in a while.”
The echidna hummed in response, cracking open his eyes. The roof on top of the altar shielded them from the full force of the Sun, but Mighty the Armadillo still appeared as a dark silhouette to him, foreign and unrecognizable by sight alone. Something about this made Knuckles uncomfortable.
“You can sit, if you want,” Knuckles offered, sitting up himself.
The armadillo obliged, sitting down and crossing his legs in front of Knuckles. Although not a completely black silhouette, Mighty struggled to see his friend clearly against the radiance of the emerald behind him. The large diamond-like shape seemed to dwarf his friend, making him look smaller than he remembered, and muting the fiery hue of his fur.
“What brings you out to the altar?” Knuckles asked in a blank tone.
Mighty chuckled softly. “Exercise. All those stairs to get up here.”
Knuckles grinned slightly. “Good. You need it.”
Mighty smiled wider, but didn’t say anything else. They sat across from each other silently grinning. More sap and palm blew between them. The seconds marched on and stretched the silence a little too long. Both of their minds reached for the next thing to say, but the rhythm wasn’t there.
“So the—”
“I think—”
They both began and stopped at the same time.
“You first,” Mighty said, bashfully placing a hand behind his head.
“Uhm,” Knuckles began. “I’m not really sure what I was going to say.”
The dreadful silence threatened them once more. Mighty tried again.
“Haven’t really seen you in a while, Knux.”
Knuckles looked down and sighed. His eyes fell on the spikes of his mittens.
“It’s not really a good time.”
Mighty raised his eyebrows then looked side to side. The beautiful day remained beautiful. Even the humidity was relatively low that day.
“Whatcha’ got going on?” Mighty asked, disbelief creeping into his voice.
The questioning tone caught on Knuckles’ ear. He felt his heart rate quicken slightly.
“C’mon man, you know.” He subconsciously glanced behind him, at the glass surface of the Master Emerald. Beneath it, spirals of shimmery green danced and flowed around, creating a sense of life under its cold exterior. The magical swirls reflected back in his eyes, replacing the sunlight that shone on them just moments ago. Knuckles gingerly placed a hand on its side.
Mighty furrowed his brows, unimpressed by the grand rock.
“We’re still talking, dude.”
Knuckles turned back to his friend, putting his hand on the ground and breaking his connection with the emerald. He set his jaw with a hint of annoyance, as if the moment had been interrupted.
“My bad, dude.” He replied.
Mighty raised an eyebrow.
“Am I bothering you?” he asked.
The echidna untensed his jaw, looking down once more. “I didn’t-” he paused, the sound of trees rustling around them as the wind was beginning to pick up. “I just don’t really like being distracted from my emerald. It is my honor-bound duty. You understand?”
Mighty sighed, any note of bitterness flushing from his body.
“When’s the last time you came down from here?”
Knuckles didn’t lift his head. He closed his eyes and offered nothing in response.
“None of the Chaotix have seen you in a while.”
“I said it’s not a good time,” Knuckles replied curtly.
Mighty’s eyes widened. “Then when’s a good time?”
The tone of his voice once again hitched in Knuckle’s ear and sent a feeling of anxiety into his shoulders and chest.
“It’s not a good time.”
Mighty stared at his friend, his sympathy fading into confusion and concern. But having been turned down twice, he didn’t want to press his friend any further. He came without invitation, and he knew Knuckles was a private person. He stood up, once again becoming eclipsed by the bright Sun.
Knuckles looked up at him, once again seeing an unrecognizable silhouette. Although mere feet from his best friend, his heart ached, and a cool feeling of loneliness crept up his back. The powerful presence of the stone behind him felt like two hands on his shoulders, holding him in place. He briefly saw himself stand up and hug Mighty, and follow him down the altar steps to visit the Chaotix and hit the town. But simultaneously, the image of the emerald being shattered was constant, casting a dark shadow over his view of spending time with friends, away from his sacred duty.
He wanted to explain all of this to the armadillo; he wanted him to understand that he wanted to see his friends but that his hands were tied. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Something deep inside blocked off his throat every time the words threatened to come out. Knuckles knew he could not explain this in a way that made Mighty understand that he truly could not leave. He just couldn’t.
While Knuckles struggled to articulate, his well-trained and stoic face revealed nothing of his inner turmoil. Therefore, Mighty saw his friend respond with blank silence. He had his own arguments and protests just below the surface, but with nothing to argue with, he had no use in staying. Knuckles had already told him he didn’t want company. The wind had stopped, so when Mighty turned on his heel, it could’ve been the only sound for miles around.
While Knuckles was still fighting for the words to say, Mighty’s shoes scuffed one step after the next, retreating from the altar he had climbed to try to reach his friend.
And Knuckles was alone with the emerald.
And the emerald was alone with Knuckles.
And all Knuckles could hear was the silent emerald. And all Knuckles could feel was the needs of the emerald. And all Knuckles could see was the shattered emerald. And all Knuckles could be was for the emerald. And everything Knuckles had seen, all he’d been, all he’d done, was nothing, was all the emerald, as he was now the sole protector of the emerald.
A whisper under his heart. The faintest cry against a concrete web concocted of duty, of love, of obsession. The memory of what he used to be. Of what he still could be.
His entire body folded around this memory.
“Mighty!” Knuckles cried, standing at the edge of the altar.
Mighty, on the bottom steps, stopped and looked up to Knuckles.
Knuckles’ voice cracked as he called down to his friend.
“Let’s go!”