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It’s not uncommon for the twins to be separated nowadays. “Father” played to each of their strengths, and while they were an exceptional duo, Lyney wasn’t exactly known for his stealth. So, coming back to an empty apartment wasn’t entirely surprising. Freminet was most likely diving, and Lyney knew that Lynette had been assigned a recon mission. No worries there.
That was, until he saw the note.
It was impaled by a rather large knife, right in the middle of their entryway table. The placement made it impossible to miss. Lyney removed the knife and read the note, every sense on high alert.
“If you desire to reclaim what you hold dear, don’t hesitate.”
There was a messily attached map with a large red “X” attached to the corner of the note. And that was it. Red ink, stabbed through by a knife, all accompanied by a map with vague coordinates.
Lyney almost laughed. This had to be the laziest threat he’d ever come across, and that was saying something. Honestly, how could criminals like these take themselves seriously?
Curiously, he lifted up the map, just to see if there was a scarier threat he was somehow missing. It’s best to be thorough. He wasn’t expecting to actually find what he was looking for.
Taped to the back of the map, was Lynette’s teacup card, and a piece of dark grey metal that looked identical to one of Pers’ side panels.
Lyney’s stomach dropped to his feet. Lynette didn’t go anywhere without that teacup card. The same could be said about Freminet and Pers, they were absolutely inseparable. The world narrowed until it was just Lyney, the note, and the map. He couldn’t see anything else, hear anything else, feel anything at all. Some small part of his rational brain forced him to think about the authenticity of the note, but even after a thorough search, the conclusion was as clear as glass. Lyney transformed the teacup card into a regular teacup, checked the underside… The chip was there. It’s such a small, imperceptible crack, but Lyney knew where to look. After all, he was the one who had almost broken Lynette’s favorite teacup.
Adrenaline rushed through Lyney’s veins as he stocked up on prop arrows, sprinting around the apartment in search of every trick he could carry. Lyney knew numbers would not be on his side. This fight was going to be rough and ugly— but worth it, if it meant rescuing his siblings. The magician snatched up the map and the note before throwing open the door and slamming it behind him.
If he was being completely honest, Lyney didn’t remember what came next. Vaguely, distantly, he remembered tearing through the streets of the Court of Fontaine, making a beeline for the forgotten alley marked on the map. He remembered the warm glow of Pyro in the form of hastily fired arrows as they sunk into the chests of his enemies. He remembered his own silence. His own ruthlessness. Then, nothing.
Lyney figured this might happen. In his rage, he’d been eventually exhausted of all of his various tricks, and then overwhelmed by his adversaries. Figures, the only thing that could stop him were the sheer numbers his abductors possessed.
Consciousness had slowly returned to him, and now he realized that he was tied and bound in a chair, cold, harsh metal pressing against his exposed skin. He was blindfolded, but a dim light reflected on the presumably grey floor, a sliver of silver shining from the gap at the bottom of the blindfold. There was a faint whirring coming from somewhere in the room, presumably from some sort of machinery, but the room was otherwise silent.
That was, until his adversaries shuffled in and tore off his blindfold.
Light flooded Lyney’s senses, momentarily blinding him. When his eyes readjusted, he wasn’t surprised to see he was surrounded by the very people he’d maimed earlier. Hostility rippled through the room on both sides.
“Alright, Fatui scum. What you did to our men was completely unforgivable, and I think we should give you a taste of your own medicine before we hand you over to the boss.” The person who spoke was unidentifiable, as everyone wore the same grey cloak that obstructed their faces.
So, torture. He’d been tortured before. Being a member of the House of the Hearth is a dangerous affiliation, lots of people are out for blood in his line of work. Lyney kept his glare pointed at the machine in front of him. It looked like the window of a shop when all the lights were turned off inside, black and reflective.
Somebody from the crowed chuckled and the black glass shone with light, illuminating a display that Lyney couldn’t even begin to fathom. Not only did the machine display images, it also displayed moving images. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before.
Lyney’s awe was quickly replaced by a fresh wave of anger, because his siblings appeared on the screen. The image was in a greyscale, but it was very clearly Lynette and Freminet. Lyney fought the urge to struggle against his bonds.
Not a word was spoken as the video began to play. Lyney’s eyes were glued to the screen. The one thing he wanted most in that moment was to look away, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t blink, then he’d miss it. It was getting more and more difficult to breathe, like the rope tied around his chest was constructing his airway. Maybe it was.
The video showed Lynette and Freminet engaged in battle, and eventually, their utter defeat. They’d been outnumbered just as he had, but instead of being captured and taken away, Lyney was forced to watch in horror as both of his siblings lifelessly crumpled to the ground.
“Father” always said that crying was a product of emotions and weakness. After all these years, Lyney began to believe it. Even so, he was powerless to stop the hot tears of agony that raced down his cheeks, the sobs that wracked his entire body, the utter hopelessness that tore his entire being into a thousand tiny pieces. The screen blinked out along with Lyney’s humanity.
“Had enough, brat?”
Lyney didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer.
“Good. Time to deliver you to the boss.”
It was like Lyney was watching the scene from above. Everything that happened to his body looked like it was happening on the video screen, to someone else. The magician was carted away, tears washing away any semblance of determination he still harbored.
It should’ve been me.
It should’ve been me.
It should’ve been me…
Technically, it was.