Chapter Text
Caspar was both more and less in person. That is, when speaking to him through a screen, as Linhardt had the last six months while his family visited their outer territories, it was easy to forget just how small he actually was. He was short for a seven year old, shorter than Linhardt by almost half a head, with spindly limbs and tiny hands. But he also was just so much more overwhelming in person, with his hyperactive mannerisms and rapid babbling. Right now he was showing Linhardt his toy Thunderbrand, which he had assured him about four times was not a doll, but an action figure. The tiny model of the relic seemed accurate, Linhardt supposed, although he wasn’t all too interested in relics to begin with. The little hooks rising from the golden armor on the chest and shoulders matched the photos and video he’d seen, at least.
“And here it’s like pchooo--” Caspar lifted one of the toy’s arms, and a tiny dull blade sprung out of its hand with surprising force. “Secret sword! Haha, those aliens are never gonna know what hit ‘em.” He swung the toy in mid air, simulating it striking out at an invisible foe. Linhardt cushioned his cheek with one hand, wondering idly when their fathers would be done with their meeting; they were somewhere in the building, probably on another floor or something. It was odd, that they couldn’t speak over a video or audio communication, but Linhardt supposed they might know their business a little better than his seven year old self.
As he considered this possibility, Caspar booped him on the nose with the tip of Thunderbrand’s blade. “Bam! You’re dead,” he proclaimed, and Linhardt sighed.
“I’m dead,” he repeated, feigning so by letting his eyes fall closed and his head tip forward. This seemed to please Caspar greatly, and he erupted into giggles. When he opened his eyes, Caspar’s tongue was sticking out in concentration as he tried to fold the plastic sword back into the relic’s hand.
“I’m gonna fly Thunderbrand for real, when I’m a grownup,” he told Linhardt as he worked, his whole face lighting up as the blade finally clicked back into place. “What relic are you gonna fly?”
“None, I think. Piloting is incredibly dangerous,” Linhardt said, as if Caspar might have forgotten. Hadn’t Caspar read about the Blutgang massacre? It had happened before they were born, but that wasn’t an excuse not to know. Explaining this and dampening the spark in Caspar’s eyes seemed far too exhausting, however.
“Nuh uh! You’ll be fine,” Caspar told him, “‘Cause I’ll be right next to you in Thunderbrand and I’ll protect you! Pew pew!” He shook the toy, presumably imagining it firing lasers at some invisible foe. “Besides, if it turns out you’ve got a crest, you’re gonna have to, y’know!”
Linhardt opened his mouth to argue, and then froze as the whole room shook.
Caspar’s eyes went wide, and they both swung around to stare at the window. Neither had noticed the room getting dark, the once blue sky dotted with dark shapes. He’d seen the formations in news reports, but never before in person.
“Agarthans,” he breathed, as if Caspar didn’t know. As if this wasn’t what Caspar’s beloved Thunderbrand spent its days fighting.
Caspar didn’t respond. When Linhardt glanced over he was frozen, eyes wide as he stared at the window, toy relic clutched to his chest. “Caspar,” he said, and then reached over to shake him. “Caspar, we have to get to a shelter.”
They were thirty-two stories up in a government building. Suddenly the full window along one wall made the room feel terribly vulnerable. Linhardt went to the door and with shaking hands tried to pull it open-- but, of course, it was locked, and the handprint scanner on the wall wouldn’t accept his own prints, only one of their fathers or some other employee. He felt something on his arm, and when he turned to look Caspar was clinging onto his sleeve, a mixed expression of determination and terror on his face.
“Let’s break down the door,” Caspar said, and Linhardt didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Surely the doors in a government building would be built so even a grown man couldn’t break them down, let alone two frightened seven year olds!
“I--” he said, and something dark gusted past the window. Too close.
There was a low gray couch that half bisected the room, facing the large window, and they both dove behind it. Caspar clutched Thunderbrand in one hand and Linhardt’s hand in the other, trembling. Linhardt squeezed his eyes shut and they both stayed frozen for a moment, hearts hammering. They could hear it now; the creak and crash of metal and stone being torn to shreds. Sirens in the distance. Surely their fathers would come to get them any moment-- although the Agarthans were already so close, and climbing down all those flights of stairs, or worse, getting stuck in the elevator…
Linhardt heard Caspar squeak in fear and forced his eyes open. His friend was up on his knees, peaking over the back of the couch, and shaking like a leaf. The room had gone dark-- the power must have cut out, which made sense, if they’d damaged nearby power stations. Against his better judgement, Linhardt shifted up too to look. And then instantly regretted it.
Something was outside the building.
It was one thing to know, abstractly, that the vessels the Agarthans rode in were hundreds of feet tall. It was another one to see the bulk of one through a window while so high up. Linhardt found himself desperately doing calculations to figure out how large it was, even though he know it didn’t make a difference. A hundred feet tall or two hundred feet tall, it could still kill them and not even notice.
Caspar’s grip on his hand was far too tight. They were going to die, and Caspar was going to break his fingers, and it was just a question of which was going to happen first.
The thing outside the window shifted. And then it turned to look at them.
Linhardt didn’t know they had faces. The thing had a mask, with eyes and a mouth, although it was horrifyingly inhuman. One of the dark eyes pressed up against the window, filling the whole view, and Linhardt couldn’t breathe.
The glass began to crack as its bulk pressed in towards them. Dimly, he could hear Caspar scream.
And then there was a horrible shriek of metal on metal, and something gold shot past the window. The sun, filtered through the fleets in the sky though it was, filled the room again with light. There was another crash, but the thing didn’t reappear. Caspar stood, slowly, and when Linhardt glanced at him, his face was covered with snot and tears, although there was a glimmer of hope there too.
“I think…” Caspar said, and then he clambered over the sofa, releasing Linhardt’s hand. Linhardt stared at him, watched him go to the window. He had to fight the urge to call him back, although it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t really any safer back here.
“It is!” Caspar yelped, and punched the air. “It’s Thunderbrand, the real one! Come see!”
He’d left his toy on the ground by Linhardt’s knee, and Linhardt stared at it for a moment before joining him at the window. It was hard to see at this angle, but it seemed to be true; a golden relic stood in the streets like a guardian angel, forcing the Agarthan craft another step back with a heavy punch just below its mask.
“Secret sword,” Caspar whispered breathlessly, and as if on cue the relic swung its hand outward, a branched blade unfolding from within the arm. “Yessss,” he whispered, clenching his fists. All his fear seemed to be forgotten as Thunderbrand slashed at the Agarthan vessel, and then did it again. The face on the mask didn’t change, but the hulking form did seem to be backing away, cowering against another huge building. Across the city, Linhardt could see other flashes of light, where presumably more relics had joined the battle.
The lights came back on with a buzz. Must be a backup generator, Linhardt thought absently, watching Caspar press himself against the cracked window, tear stained face filled with delight. One of the cracks in the glass started to spread with a groan.
“Careful,” he said warningly, just as the door behind them slide open with a whoosh.
After that it was almost impossible to concentrate on the battle outside as people rushed into the room, their fathers included in the bunch. His own father immediately wrapped his arms around him, an uncharacteristic display of affection, but not entirely unwelcome, even if it did cause Linhardt to realize he was still shaking like a leaf. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Caspar getting scolded by his own father, although he didn’t understand why-- it’s not like any of this was their fault. For his part, Caspar still seemed mesmerized by the view out the window, and kept trying to go back to it, only giving up when the relics drove the Agarthans back to the skies and began to disappear over the horizon.
The only thing Linhardt was able to say to Caspar before his father pulled him away was to dully remind him that his toy was still behind the couch. He didn’t know if he’d still need it, after seeing the real thing today, but it seemed important. Then he was bundled down the stairs and into the cracked streets.
Away from the aura of Caspar’s glee, it was easier to think and formulate his own thoughts, and as Linhardt peered down at the huge indents in the pavement Thunderbrand had left behind, he thought he’d be more than happy to never see relic or beast up close ever again. With any luck, he wouldn’t have to, he thought as he his father herded him towards home.