Chapter Text
The landscape was beautiful.
Birdsong, trees, greenery, spread out against the clouds and the sky like a carpet; a horizon no longer dominated by the two great titans, nor by the memory of what they represented.
It was beautiful—and for some reason Melia didn’t understand, every few paces Shulk would cast his gaze backward, in the direction of the Junks.
It wasn’t that she was annoyed (well, maybe a little, given that one did not need Shulk’s visions to assume a tumble was in his future); only that to come up here had been his idea at the first, and she had been under the assumption that he had been excited.
“Shulk,” Melia said finally, after perhaps the two-dozenth time, her feet dragging to a stop upon the dirt path. (Kino’s nigh-imperceptible weight bumped into her calf, the Nopon boy having also been lacking in his attention.) The Crown Princess’s head canted back, brow lightly furrowed. “What are you doing?”
“Oh,” Shulk interpreted the query as a call to stop—which was just as well, considering that the halt in their little group’s procession was going to topple him over Nene in just two steps—and he turned back to Melia, carding a hand through the back of his hair sheepishly. “I just wanted to make sure I remember where the Junks is, you know? I don’t want to… get too turned around.”
“I see.” Melia hadn’t turned fully to him, but she turned away and started again to walk, having attained an answer she felt to be suitable.
In truth, she felt a degree of shame. It had been some time since they had ventured someplace entirely new—since Melia had needed to face the future with caution to equal her anticipation.
She had thought Shulk had been hesitating, had been regretting the choices that had led them here, but he had in fact been taking on the responsibilities that allowed Melia to look forward with eyes unclouded. He’d sensed that the unknown situation in Alcamoth had been occupying her mind, and worked to alleviate her burdens…
Not that she had ever truly doubted, but Melia realised once more that Shulk was one of her truest friends.
… Even if he had not been entirely honest with her.
Because she could sense it—something was distracting him. And distraction in combat in an unknown land could prove fatal, and not just to them. Nene and Kino were relying upon them to protect each other (even if the two Nopon were fairly capable on their own), and even if the Volffs and Eks up here on the Shoulder were not much different from others of their ilk, just one misstep could…
“Shulk,” Melia said again, turning wholly to him this time, “you-”
But Shulk’s eyes were wide, staring at something behind her, and (she would curse herself for this) her first instinct was to whirl around again, clutching her staff in her hands, whilst behind her her Homs companion called in futility “Melia, get down!”
A shadow passed over them.
An Ansel’s horrific screech—Melia braced herself for the onslaught of sharp talons—
The sound of rending flesh, and then a heavy thump, followed by a lighter one.
Shulk’s hand was on her shoulder; he had resorted to trying to push her down, Melia realised, as she had reacted the wrong way (they had all been so used to following Shulk’s sometimes-nonsensical orders in combat, trusting him, trusting the Monado —when had she stopped?).
But they were both still standing, and the Ansel lay dead on the ground, and the figure that had slain it—
You— Melia thought—
flicked the tip of his sword and settled it once more at his hip.
Not a word had left Shulk, though it was likely not from lack of trying, given that Melia could feel a quaver in the grip of his hand that seemed to shake through all of him.
“Hello again,” said Alvis, “Shulk.”
Something had been niggling at the back of his mind since they had disembarked from the Junks, something not entirely unlike… unlike how it was at the end, after Agniratha, when the passage of fate itself was but a reach away.
Not a vision. He hadn’t had those since the end.
And it wasn’t quite like sensing ether, either.
It was… strange. Like some sort of half-remembered dream he felt he should recall. Like a familiar…
Melia was catching onto his distraction, and not purely out of concern; her stilted response was enough indication of that. And she was right; Nene and Kino hopped along behind Melia, engrossed in some quiet conversation. Riki’s children—their charges and allies—might be capable enough on their own, but they were a team now.
And the Nopon had no frame of reference for what Melia knew of his tendency to get, well, stuck in his own thoughts. To ruminate; to withdraw into himself and hurt the people that care for him.
He’d been working on it. He really had. It’d been hard at first, to even try to explain what was on his mind… and even though everyone listened, he could tell none of them really understood.
It was enough just for them to live in this world. Everything that had happened to create it…
He was maybe the only person who could even attempt to understand.
There had been another, once. Someone Shulk dearly wanted to talk to. But…
If Shulk was right, it had been his decision—the decision of every living being on this world—to create a world not only with no need for gods, but with no need for the Monado.
For Alvis.
So he had decided. It wasn’t his right to regret what he’d done. It wasn’t his right to wish for a greater understanding of the world than that of his fellow mortals.
It wasn’t his right to linger on the final fate of someone he had treated as a tool, right up until the very end.
—Such had been this thoughts mere moments before an Ansel’s corpse hit the ground, mere moments before Alvis sheathed his blade and turned to Shulk, the afternoon light on the Shoulder setting his grey eyes near to dancing.
“Hello again, Shulk.”
Melia found no words in response, which Shulk supposed made sense, given that she hadn’t been addressed. The warmth of a relief too potent to hide had swept over him, taking the form of a bright smile, which in turn brightened his teasing reply: “And no hello for Melia? She’s right here, you know.”
Alvis’s gaze swept over Melia, and Shulk looked between them, the blatant absence of a warmth he had expected from two former members of the Imperial Court of Alcamoth readily apparent; he felt his own smile dimming as the two regarded one another, at least until Alvis dipped into a polite bow.
“My apologies, Lady Melia. It was not my intention to demean you.”
“Alvis.” Melia stepped to the side, just enough that Shulk’s hand, still lingering on her shoulder, fell away. She drew herself up to her full height, which, though little, was carried as well by her regal airs. “Former Divine Seer of House Antiqua. I have some few words for you.”
Shulk’s smile had withered away into a small frown; he hadn’t expected the animosity. Yet as he watched Alvis stood firm, unflinching and expressionless, awaiting Melia’s judgment.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I said things to you, at Colony 6, that I understand now to have been hurtful and untrue. If there is any lingering offense, I beg you leave to rectify my mistake.”
Those had not been the words Shulk expected; but his surprise was not reflected on Alvis’s face. Rather the pause he took seemed to be in recollection, as if it wasn’t apparent which interaction Melia referred to.
“Ah,” he said at last. “You refer to my betrayal. Fear not, Lady Melia; there is no offence taken, as I do not have feelings with which to process offence. Furthermore, my actions were interpreted as they were intended to your then-limited understanding of my role.”
Melia’s eyes widened as Alvis’s words pieced together in her mind; for Shulk’s part he had felt his brow furrow, though he had neither the words nor the desire to argue Alvis’s statement as though his understanding was any better.
Melia glanced in Shulk’s direction, taking note of his expression (probably the assumption was that he knew Alvis best by this point) before she looked at Alvis again. “Alvis,” she began. “You seem… different.”
“If you are referring to the absence of the personality I displayed as Divine Seer,” Alvis said, “it is because I have determined there is no further need for deception. You are aware of my true nature, are you not?”
“... Yes.” Melia’s lips pursed in thought.
“Strange man friend of Shulk?” Kino piped up, after a moment of silence had befallen the odd little assembly, and Nene whirled on her brother to shush him almost immediately.
“Kino, no chatterings!” she ordered, glancing up to Shulk to gauge whether he was angry; but in fact he had laughed a little, grateful for the Nopon ability to break seemingly any tension.
“He is,” he said to the children. “But it’s a long story.”
“Sidekicks of Kino have room for one more,” the Nopon said thoughtfully, though—noticing Nene’s arms folded to prop on what would be her hips—he had the grace to look embarrassed. “Kino mean friends. ...Friendkicks?”
“Friendkicks not word, Kino. Not nice either.”
The antics of the Nopon brought a small smile to Shulk’s face, but—though it pained him to consider the possibility of a disagreement—the choice was ultimately Melia’s to make.
To say nothing of Alvis’s own wants and motivations, but Shulk had a distinct feeling that the answer to that question would invite even more confusion.
“Melia, is it alright…?”
“What?” She had been thinking, judging from the position of her hand near her mouth, a familiar pose of hers. “Oh. Yes, of course. That is, if he wants. ...Alvis, what are you doing up here, if I may ask?”
“I have no present objective,” he said blandly (stranger and stranger, Shulk thought, given that he couldn’t recall Alvis ever having been so… flat ). “I… woke up perhaps only a few hours before the Junks’ arrival.”
“So you saw us land… and then followed from a distance?” Shulk conjectured aloud.
“Precisely.”
But why here? Shulk wondered. Why wake up here, a year after…?
He wasn’t an idiot; he had figured out eventually that every lie Alvis had told him had been in the presence of a third party, whether Shulk had known of the eavesdropper or no. He had mentioned once that Zanza saw everything, and Shulk supposed that things might be different now, given… what had happened, but he still—for a reason he couldn’t put words to—hesitated to press Alvis on the particulars whilst in the earshot of the others.
Maybe he could justify his reluctance considering he definitely did not have the words to explain Alvis to the Nopon… but there was essentially no reason to avoid clueing Melia into the discussion.
And yet… he couldn’t help but hesitate.
Alvis was looking at Shulk, as if waiting for him to continue. To ask. And that weird itch still lingered in the corner of Shulk’s mind.
But none of these details were immediately relevant. What was—
“The Junks needs parts from Alcamoth,” Shulk explained, having realised that their own intentions were not immediately clear. “Whatever shot us down came from Alcamoth; if there’s anyone living out here who knows what’s going on, I think they’d be at the cape over there. So that’s where we’re heading.”
“A reasonable series of conclusions,” Alvis remarked. “I am also unfamiliar with the situation inside Alcamoth—as well as the black beam that downed the Junks. If I may be of any assistance, I will accompany you.”
“Then it’s decided,” Shulk said; he’d intended for the remark to come out upbeat, but the delivery was wrong, dampened by the odd sort of tension that hung over the group. Melia still thought, and Alvis refrained from unnecessary commentary. Thankfully Heropon Kino piped up once more to promise “friendkicks” his protection, and Melia, who so hated to disappoint children, politely accepted his offer.
They’d meant only to visit Alcamoth for an afternoon… and Shulk had a foreboding feeling that their little adventure would grow even more complicated.
Alvis didn’t fight. Despite his obvious ability, he seemed rather reluctant to take the field when there were others ready and willing to. Once upon a time Shulk would’ve thought it distaste for combat, but he knew enough about Alvis by now to know that whatever the reason, it was undoubtedly complicated.
At least, he had known that much. Before… before the recreation.
Alvis?
Alvis gave no indication of having heard Shulk call out to him.
Then again, was that so strange? Whatever connection had existed between Shulk and the Monado—Alvis—such a power was not meant for mortals.
There were no gods in this world.
Shulk had made sure of that.
At the point at which they had drawn close enough to make out the headwings of High Entia among the buildings and fixtures of a little settlement, Alvis came suddenly to a stop, just before the trees thinned and vanished from alongside the road.
Melia, at the front, took another few steps before she noticed the pause, turning around with a question writ plain on her face.
“Should I continue further ahead, my presence will impede your objective,” he said.
Why? Shulk wanted to ask; what was it that Alvis knew? There was no way that he’d seen something—
“I understand,” Melia replied, casting Shulk a quick glance. He couldn’t interpret much from her expression, but he did at least trust that Alvis’s remark made more sense to her than it did to him. Something regarding the particular dynamics of the imperial court, possibly? Shulk did recall that Melia generally wasn’t recognised by High Entia as the Crown Princess…
“Kino understand too,” the Nopon declared, and Shulk looked down in surprise. “Mister Alvy scared! Kino stay with him.”
“Thank you very much, Kino,” Alvis said, and that particular response—one spoken not in direct answer to a query posed to Alvis, one articulated without a precursory glance toward Shulk as if to ask permission— pushed gears to turning in Shulk’s head.
Well.
At least Alvis wouldn’t be lonesome.
“I’m coming, Melia,” Shulk said; her glance had more likely than not been her assurance that she was fine on her own, but he had particular questions for the people of the settlement that would be pointless to delegate. Nene declared the same intent, and together the trio sallied forth.
Both of the men to which they spoke—Maxis and Gael’gar—lifted their gazes out to the treeline at least once in their conversation, and what they saw there elicited a very different response from each.
From Maxis: “I don’t know what your business is with him, but be careful of that one.”
And from Gael’gar: only a widening simper, his smiling eyes narrow little slits as he caught sight of Alvis’s silver hair and rather memorable attire. (For he looked the same as he always had, and Gael’gar would know him as a full-blooded Homs attendant of the imperial family.)
Shulk paused at the outer wall of Companions’ Cape, and leaned in a little, closer to Melia’s ear.
“What do you suppose it is?”
It being the impetus for the markedly different reactions.
“I don’t know,” said Melia (prompting a curious little frown on Shulk’s part). “But it would be remiss of us to forget Lorithia’s—and his—part in the fate of my people.”
“But that’s—”
“I make no accusations, Shulk,” the princess said, turning sharply to him. “You have seen how the grudges persist in the hearts of the High Entia. I think… I think it is a fair consideration.”
Several dozen paces away, Alvis waited impassively for their report; one would reasonably assume he could not hear them, as Melia obviously did. But Shulk knew better than to make such assumptions.
And for all Alvis said of being bereft of feelings, Shulk also could not bring himself to really believe that.
In Shulk’s experience, Alvis had only proven to be more capable than anyone assumed. Never less.
And considering what Shulk knew of Alvis… at least before the Recreation—
How Alvis resisted Zanza’s will in every capacity available to him, though they were few and far between—
He supposed there wasn’t really a point in speculating. Because (and this particular detail had yet to embed itself fully in his mind) Alvis was here.
For the first time since the end, Alvis was here, and Shulk could talk to him. Could be led step by step to an understanding that would elude him otherwise. Could follow his thoughts beyond the same spiral of ruminating and explaining himself he so often fell into with his friends.
His friends.
Shulk loved them—he did—but the only one who truly understood was Melia, who carried (he could see it in every glance) that same horrible emptiness.
And wasn’t that why he’d brought her up here in the first place? Hoping that the sight of Alcamoth, the shining city welcoming her home, might fill that void?
And instead she faced the burden of her loss, multiplied by the presence of someone complicit in it. In the theft of her loved ones, and her home.
Shulk wondered if there was an Alcamoth-shaped hole in Alvis’s heart, as well.
They made camp near the pond in which the Junks floated, and the Nopon and Melia went straight to sleep; they hadn’t properly discussed watches, but Shulk and Alvis sat awake on either sides of the small fire Shulk had built, Alvis performing the finishing touches on the cleaning of his claymore.
“Alvis.” Shulk’s voice was quiet in the night. “Why are you here?”
“It is Providence,” Alvis answered simply. His whetstone rasped once more, and then he set it and his blade aside, sitting cross-legged on one of the makeshift bedrolls they had rustled up from inside the Junks. “You wanted me to be, and so I am.”
“I thought you said I wasn’t a god.”
“You are not. But you are the Creator.”
“Isn’t that kind of… the same thing?”
“You create weapons,” Alvis said, and Shulk recognised by now the beginning of a metaphor, rather than a change in topic. “Once such a weapon rests in the hands of your friends, you can no longer unmake it with merely a thought. You are not their god, but you are their creator. Every creation must have one; you have forfeited godliness, but you cannot forfeit creation. You are the impetus for this world, Shulk. Every living being in your creation is filled with limitless potential, but none resonate with such an attunement to possibility. That is Providence. That is why I am here.”
“Do you want to be?”
Alvis looked at him from across the fire, and Shulk was struck suddenly with memories of Ose Tower. Of what was perhaps their last conversation as simple friends, and their first as…
As…
“The question is immaterial,” Alvis answered. “You wanted me to be, and so I am.”
“It’s not, ” Shulk said. He sat up straighter, some pang in his chest he didn’t recognise making him tense with unknown emotion. “It matters to me, Alvis. What you want—”
“I do not have wants, Shulk.” Alvis’s response was direct, matter-of-fact… and in Shulk’s opinion, too sharp, too quick to have been a simple statement of immutable truth.
But he didn’t have the words to argue. Nor the strength. He was suddenly very, very tired, as though he had fought off a horde of Mechon, run a great distance—as though he had recreated a world.
“Sleep, Shulk,” Alvis said, “I will keep watch.”
And sleep came to him, but not before one final thought bubbled its way up to the surface, as if from the bottom of a deep, dark lake.
I wanted you to live, too. Just like the rest of us.
