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Jude found them wandering the outskirts of London. And at the grocer's, no less. It had been a month since the Watcher’s Crown, the ritual that had damned the world many times over (14 if you were keeping track).
All that glittered was now gone. At first she thought they were human, a pair of wayward souls who had somehow survived everything. She usually let them go these days. But the feeling of being watched hit her eventually, and Jude felt a fury bubbling up in her the likes of which she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
“All hail the Archivist!” The other one looked up, grabbing his partner’s sleeve. He looked tired, and weary. Aged in the way loneliness often did. What was he doing here, anyhow? “Seer of all, king of the Watcher’s Crown! Savior of us all. ” She bowed deeply and fixed a grin on her face. Nikola would have been proud.
The Archivist turned away, as if it would help anything. What did he see now, she wondered. “Don’t,” he muttered. “Please don’t.”
Fine. If he wanted to play the victim card, she’d let him. “What are you doing back here, anyway? You’ve done your job, Archivist. The world’s gone now. It’s yours to run, and we all owe you for it. What more could you possibly want?”
He stooped down, and started scavenging. Muttered something about still needing to eat, find shelter. Needing to keep someone safe.
Jude blinked. She stared. Turned to the one still clutching at his sleeve and finally, finally understood. “You’re not Lonely anymore, are you?”
“What? I- I have Jon with me now, so I guess-”
“You know what I mean. Don’t play dumb with me.” She squinted. “We all felt it when Lukas died. He’d been around for so long, and to be ripped away so violently…”
“Yeah.” He looked away, too.
Jude crossed her arms. “So what happened? An avatar doesn’t just die, you know. We’re stubborn like that.”
This time, the Archivist spoke up. “I killed him,” A shrug. After a moment he added, “he wouldn’t let Martin go.”
“Huh.”
There was quiet for a while, as the Archivist shuffled around the remains of some long destroyed grocery. Annabelle had raided that some time ago. Back when she’d just taken new people and had needed to keep them alive. Not that she’d ever been any good at that.
And then Martin spoke up again. “Are you going to kill us?”
Jude thought about it. A feeling twisted in her she couldn’t quite recognise. Not the most pleasant thing. “No, I don’t think so. Not right now, anyhow. That’d be too quick. Too much suffering waiting for you to end it now.”
He looked doubtful at that answer. Jude wasn’t sure if she believed herself, either. Maybe all this had made her soft. They reminded her of a distant memory, lost a lifetime ago. Something that should have been protected.
“I would’ve thought you of all people would enjoy this.”
A few days ago fire had rained from the sky, a blazing brilliant glory, setting the world alight in a way she never could have imagined. And God, the screams of the people. Jude had laughed back, relishing in the terror and the pain and the suffering. But then it died out. Turned to nothing. That was the thing with destruction, it was always gone too soon. And when it was over it turned to ash, trampled underfoot as the others had their turn. The pain forgotten. She had traded her tools, and she hated it.
Jude came to miss the old days. She missed feeling the pure, unadulterated terror of a single person. The agony they felt in the seconds before they died, knowing she had caused it. Smell of burning flesh. The way it twisted and warped like plastic before truly burning. She missed tormenting people with- with other avatars. Best not to dwell on her now.
She shrugged. Kicked a nearby rock with her foot and kept her gaze downcast. “It got old.” When she looked up they were both staring at her, something between pity and worry on their faces. Jude decided she didn’t like it.
“But then again,” she snapped once and her hand engulfed in flames. It helped that it never melted away these days. “Sometimes it only takes a spark to reignite an old flame.”
Martin flinched and whispered something to his partner, who nodded and stood. They turned to leave. Or at least, tried to. Jude called out before they did, shoving her hands into her pockets. The denim hissed in protest, though she knew the marks would be gone later when she looked.
“You ought to be careful, Archivist. People like us don’t love like they do. And the others might not be so quick to let you go.”
He nodded slowly over his shoulder. And then she blinked, and they were gone.
Maybe that one had a bit of Lonely left in him after all.
The Archivist and his assistant. She wondered if they knew another of their number had taken the Beholding as her patron since the Crown. Not that she would tell them, of course. Just imagining their faces when they found out was satisfying enough. It wouldn’t be long now, anyhow. Jude turned and walked through the ashy remains of London, waiting for the next rain of fire. And, perhaps, the next lull of silence. Whenever it came.