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Darkness.
The immediate response that G’raha—no, the Exarch, for that was who he remained even if the last word he had heard was his name of eld—felt was confusion. His eyes were squinted out of habit, expecting harsh light to fall upon them, but there was none. Even after the Warrior had returned night to the Crystarium, the Exarch was still used to waking up with the sun across his eyes. Now, there was nothing but himself, the ever-present buzzing hint of pain within of his crystalline flesh, and a deep ache in his back. The space felt empty.
No. Not empty. There was movement, quiet footsteps which brought the Exarch to alertness, his ears twitching as his eyes snapped fully open. Emet-Selch was stood at the other side of the room, a large silver platter held in hand as he looked upon the Exarch, who tried and failed to get up.
“You're awake.” Emet-Selch observed lowly, and the Exarch twisted the arm which remained flesh, feeling rope, then considered several responses before settling on the most cautious one.
“I am.” Even in two words, his voice was rough and shaky.
“I'm sure you have questions.”
He certainly did. Where he was, why he was tied up and laid flat on a bed. What had happened—the more he thought, the more things unmuddled themselves, but there remained a single point where his memories stopped, much like a candle blown out. He knew that the Ascian likely knew exactly where that point was, but he also didn't trust him enough to ask. Ultimately, he said nothing, and Emet-Selch set his platter aside. The Exarch didn't know what he'd expected to lie upon it, but it wasn't medical supplies, and he certainly didn't expect for Emet-Selch to reach down, carefully pulling open the Exarch’s robes and revealing bandages beneath. He hadn't even realised that his upper robes were unfastened, only hastily pulled back up over the bandages as if to ensure that the Exarch wouldn't immediately panic about his exposure upon awakening. Well, at least he had been covered at all, and his lower garments seemed undisturbed.
“What are you doing?” He tried to be calm as he spoke, and the fact that he managed sparked some small measure of pride. He would cede nothing.
“Keeping you alive.” Emet-Selch replied flatly, pulling the robes fully off of the Exarch’s shoulders, adjusting his ropes, and carefully rolling him over. The Exarch grit his teeth, a pained sound leaving him as his bandages were pulled away. For a moment, there was silence, save for the Exarch’s laboured breathing and Emet-Selch's methodical work cleaning some wound in his back.
“Did you know,” Emet-Selch began lowly, breaking the silence, “That there is crystal in places that you cannot even see it?”
The Exarch hadn't known, but he had suspected. He had felt the ache in places where he'd seen nothing, and wondered for decades if there was crystal there, or if he was simply imagining. Age brought ache, regardless. Emet-Selch continued, uncaring for any answer, or perhaps he simply knew that he would receive none.
“When I shot you, I did not shoot to kill. I shot to shake you. My eyes see aether itself, regardless of the body I inhabit, and your body holds profound borders. I shot your flesh, but I aimed for the crystal inside. It was terribly convenient. The aetheric resonation from the crystal struck brought you to unconsciousness in an instant, where bleeding out takes time.”
So that was what had happened. The Exarch breathed slowly, working through the information slowly, before responding with calm equal to that which he'd been shown.
“What is it you've kept me alive for?”
In the silence that followed, the Exarch knew that Emet-Selch was considering his words just as carefully as he had. He wondered why. For his own sake, perhaps—Emet-Selch's pride was all he had that could be damaged in this moment. Or perhaps he wished to keep the Exarch unaware of something.
“A fascination. With this crystalline flesh of yours, with the things which you have done. With you.”
The Exarch believed this, to some degree, but he also felt that there was likely something more. Something which Emet-Selch would not admit. He could only hope that it was something that he could find and use. He would ask, but he doubted he would get anything but anger for it, and Emet-Selch's anger was something he would not like to provoke when the man was cleaning a wound he himself had inflicted. For now, the Exarch would focus on what he knew.
“I see.”
“Do you?” Emet-Selch replied, setting aside the now blood stained cloth he'd used and picking up a pair of forceps.
“As well as I can— ah .”
Pain shuddered through the Exarch’s body, radiating from his wound and overriding whatever it was that had kept the ache dull. He flinched, but that only made it worse.
“Perhaps something else is better spoken of than your comprehension of what I want from you. For instance. Have you ever tried to pick the crystal away from your body? Rip it away and see if it is rock or blood that will replace it?”
The Exarch clenched his fists at his sides, his crystalline hand’s protest serving as a distraction from the far worse, far newer pain in his back.
“No.” He'd picked at the first flecks of crystal to appear upon his flesh, much like a scab, but pulling too hard hurt, and even over a century, he'd never been able to go through with it.
“Truly? How lucky for me. I get to be your first.”
No . The Exarch froze, torn between the impulse to flee that filled his body and the fear that if he moved, he would only cause the crystal to be ripped out faster.
“Don't.” The word left him with more urgency than he'd like, betrayed his fear, and he could practically feel Emet-Selch’s grim smile behind him.
“Or what? You can do nothing to me. Can do nothing for me but take this. Besides, it needs to be done. The gunshot shattered the crystal. If I leave it there, there's no guarantee what might happen. And I want to see what will happen if I remove it.”
He had a point. The Exarch had no idea what the crystal would do in either case. If it would grow or move inside him, puncture something or remain still. Perhaps if it was removed, it would be replaced with flesh, and he would regain one small piece of himself. Perhaps he needed that crystal to heal. There was only one way to find out, and Emet-Selch didn't plan to give him a choice anyhow.
“... Be quick.” He finally responded, quiet, trying to hide the pained shake in his voice.
“Gladly.”
There was a pause in which the Exarch drew his breath, and in the next moment it left him in a pained cry as the crystal was pulled free. Emet-Selch held the forceps in view, showing the Exarch the chunk still covered in blood, and the Exarch turned his head away and closed his eyes, feeling ill.
“There are a few more. I could put you to sleep for it.”
The offer was tempting. At a glance, there was no reason to stay awake. He would suffer and be unable to move or do anything to get out of this predicament anyhow. But if Emet-Selch put him to sleep, there was no guarantee how long it would be for, or what else he would do with the Exarch’s sleeping body. Considering he was only now picking out the crystal shards, it had to have not been long enough for him to do it beforehand, and so he could only assume that the ropes and bandages had been a hasty job and that he had had no such opportunity to do anything before now.
“... No. I will stay awake.”
“Very well.”
The Exarch wasn't sure how he felt about how unbothered Emet-Selch was with this. Perhaps it did not matter whether he was awake. He could still do anything he wanted. The thought was interrupted with another searing wave of pain as Emet-Selch began to remove the next shard. It felt bigger, deeper, but not so much so that Emet-Selch couldn't pull it free without doing too much more damage, agonising but not any worse than the first. The rest were easier, one by one, small shards left behind, the Exarch breathing through them and keeping his reactions limited to gritted teeth and the occasional flinch or hiss of pain.
“What a bloody mess you are. But you take well to it. The sort to suffer quietly, aren't you?”
The comment draws only irritation, a bubbling temptation to rise to the bait and snap. Instead, he doesn't respond at all, instead staring idly at the wall with a frown waiting for the next pull. It came, and Emet-Selch carried on.
“Not unlike that warrior of yours. You are so determined to help them, and they are so determined to help everyone else. A compelling pair, truly.”
“Your point?” The Exarch asked, stifling the shaking in his lungs as Emet-Selch set down the forceps and picked up a needle and suture thread.
“My point is that you are purposeless, now. Such unfortunate truths tend to happen when you fail. You will have borne this crystal for nothing. Sacrificed your flesh and bone for a past that doesn't exist.”
Somehow, the Exarch felt no guilt in the reminder of his failure. Perhaps he was dulled by whatever drug had made the pain somewhat manageable, at least in comparison to what he knew it ought to be. He only had questions, and at this point he was beginning to realise that he could afford to ask at least one.
“Are they alive?”
Emet-Selch did not respond immediately, occupied with stitching together the flesh of the Exarch’s back.
“Yes.”
The Exarch could not hide the slow breath of relief that left him, even through the pain. He nodded slowly, considering his next words through the haze of pain and exhaustion. He could not feel his power, here. He would have to struggle to find it. Only an instant to reach the warrior and aid them. His purpose was not yet done. He wondered if, in another world where everything he had tried to do had succeeded the first time, Emet-Selch would be telling himself the same.
He wondered if Emet-Selch had known the warrior in the world unsundered. If they had been as vital in his perfect world as they had in the Exarch’s. He had not missed the way he looked at them. Far too much sadness and exhaustion for someone who saw the other as only their enemy.
"What is your name, Exarch?" Emet-Selch asked suddenly, breaking the silence. "Is it what the warrior cried to you? You have no need for this title now that your task is done."
The Exarch kept his breath steady through the pain, considering his response carefully. He knew who he was. Who he would be until such a time came when he truly was no longer needed. His task would not be done until either he was dead or the First was free of light. But the question had brought one in response in his head, and after mulling it over, he let it free from his mind.
"What is yours?"
Emet-Selch’s hands stilled. A sensitive question, then, as he had thought it might be. They had much in common. Extended lives with crystal. Worlds to save. Purpose. They each knew the warrior, or at least the Exarch suspected that Emet-Selch did, and the warrior did not know them in turn. Knowing as he did that the name Emet-Selch was a title, he had suspected that it would carry much meaning. Perhaps it had become tied with his task, as the Exarch’s had.
Emet-Selch never responded. Instead, he finished his work of putting the Exarch back together and set his supplies aside in favor of a damp rag to smooth over the last of the blood, then carefully bandaged him one more in clean, white cloth, snug over his chest and back.
Finally, he was rolled back over and dressed, and the Exarch met Emet-Selch's eyes. He seemed lost in thought, and the more the Exarch looked upon him, the more he considered the idea that perhaps, despite everything, Emet-Selch felt worse than he did. He did not wish to say this aloud, knowing it would only provoke anger, but the thought prompted him to speak regardless.
“What do you want from me?”
A repetition of what he'd already asked, perhaps, but phrased just slightly different. Purpose was different from want. Perhaps asking now and like this would yield a different answer.
Emet-Selch leaned forward, resting his arms against his knees. An odd sort of tension hung in the air, as it had the entire time, thicker now. Silence extended, and then the faltering of Emet-Selch's mask came to an end as a smile graced his lips and the Exarch knew that his chance to pry any deeper had passed.
“I want your knowledge. Your success with the Crystal Tower—have you ever wondered how far back it could go?”
The Exarch did not like this line of thought, but he knew stopping Emet-Selch from continuing would not stop whatever plan he was brewing.
“Long did I wonder who you were beneath that hood of yours. How you, an individual of the First, were able to pull the Crystal Tower into this world, how you knew of your hero, how you pulled them and theirs through the rift. I waited for answers, and finally, you gave them, on the brink of your success. And they do explain much. But they also open lines of possibility I never considered. Truly, I was wise to let your plan continue, to see where you could take me.”
An extensive buildup to an incoming point. The Exarch would love to claim that he disliked it, but he knew well that he was very much guilty of doing the same. Besides, he felt he knew where this was headed.
“Perhaps now I could undo the Sundering before it began.”
There it was. The Exarch released his breath, staring vaguely into the ceiling rather than looking at Emet-Selch directly. There was only so long he could manage to meet those eyes.
“Perhaps you could. But I do not know, and I will not help you.”
“I suppose you won't. Willingly, anyhow. But I imagine having you around will have its perks. I was always fond of our little… encounters behind closed doors.”
Despite himself, the Exarch huffed a low, ragged laugh.
“Must you always make it sound as if we were intimate?”
He didn't look, but he could hear the smile in Emet-Selch's voice as he responded.
“Weren't we? In our own little way. You and I both know that those meetings never truly had anything to do with our tasks. Even if you hardly ever turned to look at me, I know that you enjoyed it, too.”
He did. They spoke of very little, those times, and never touched, the Exarch always minding the mirror through which he watched the world, and Emet-Selch always circling around or behind, sweeping close to unnerve or far to observe. Looming over his shoulder, hovering a hand a few inches from his waist, but never crossing that invisible, unspoken border. Much like now, the conversations were largely either very much unimportant, or spent carefully, cryptically touching around the edges of truly important matters with neither side actually revealing much of anything. But they were company. They both were masked in their own ways, but they took comfort in the knowledge that someone else understood in some small, hard to define way. The Exarch, in his typical fashion, did not respond, but he knew that Emet-Selch would take that in the way that he meant it—a lack of denial.
“So stingy with your words. Might touch serve you better?”
The Exarch didn't quite have time to process the words before Emet-Selch’s hand came to rest upon his cheek, drawing a sharp inhale from him. His eyes flicked up to Emet-Selch’s, trying to read this change. He had touched him mere moments before to treat his wounds, but that was different. It held no communicative intent, solely practical. Ever had Emet-Selch tested the boundary between them, trying to find where it laid, and until now, he had seemed to settle upon the idea that touch was unwanted. Not anymore. His expression was unreadable, but his hand was warm, his thumb stroking idly over the border between flesh and crystal on the Exarch’s cheek, his long fingertips resting in his hair.
“You could turn away.” Emet-Selch told him carefully, and the Exarch knew that if he did, then Emet-Selch would know that to be a rejection, the boundary finally firmly placed. He would accept that refusal, and they would move on as if it had not happened. The moment stretched on, neither moving, until finally, the Exarch turned his head, not away from the hand, but into it, closing his eyes. Perhaps it was foolish, but he trusted Emet-Selch to not use anything that came of this against him. They remained enemies, for he would never stand down, and he knew that Emet-Selch fully intended to use him for his goals at any cost, but perhaps during the quiet moments, they could try to find peace.
Emet-Selch leaned in, pressing a kiss to the Exarch’s lips, and the Exarch tilted his head, leaning into it as much as he could. A moment later, his bonds went slack, and he lifted his arms to shakily wrap them around Emet-Selch's shoulders, uncaring of the knife Emet-Selch had used to cut the bonds free and still held at his side. If he wanted to stab him, he could already have done so. Sure enough, the knife was set down a moment later as Emet-Selch released a faint sigh into the kiss, tension melting from his shoulders under the Exarch’s touch.
He'd needed this. Emet-Selch had needed him. Or perhaps simply someone. The realisation blossoming in his mind felt odd alongside the rest of what he knew of the man, so cruel and theatrical. The man who had doomed countless innocents in his crusade for the world unsundered. That man was lonely and uncertain and in need, and though he'd felt sympathy for his loss before, it had not registered quite so strongly as his sympathy now for the man who wrapped his arms around him, careful to avoid his wound, and kissed him like he needed it. He refused to acknowledge the fact that perhaps he had needed it as well, the fact that the pain in his back felt right when paired with the comfort of being held.
Emet-Selch pulled away after a long moment, only to kiss at the Exarch’s throat instead, lapping at the edge of the crystal there and drawing uncontrollable shivers. Every touch sent a buzzing ripple of energy through the crystal, a sensitivity that he had long grown used to on his hand but had not yet quite conquered in his throat, what with the lack of anything to touch it. It hurt, but the pain of his crystals had always been a point of mild fascination, too minor to truly drive him off, and it seemed that in this context, that pain blended with anticipation. He found himself only holding on tighter.
“Do you feel this?” Emet-Selch murmured over that cold crystal, and the Exarch shakily nodded.
“I do.”
Next came Emet-Selch's finger, stroking carefully over the stone.
“I thought you might. I see the aether pulse through it from my touch. I see you shiver in response. So… Vulnerable. I could shatter you.”
Gentle touch was replaced with a firm hand around his throat, and the Exarch tilted his head back, releasing a slow breath even as he felt the pressure. He did not need to fight. He knew as well as Emet-Selch did that there was no intent. Only fascination.
As sure as the receding of the tide, that hand slipped back to cradle the back of the Exarch’s neck rather than the front, supporting rather than constricting as they kissed once again. Emet-Selch's other hand entwined with the Exarch’s hand of flesh, fingers laced together, and the Exarch became aware of something cold between their palms.
Crystal. When the hand in his pulled away, his fingers closed around the gem left behind, thumb pressed into the curve of its side. Only when their kiss ended did he turn to look upon it, examining its deep violet hue, its engraving upon its face. This was not his. Emet-Selch looked upon him in silence, watching him, and the Exarch carefully closed his hand around the crystal once more.
“This is your crystal, isn't it.”
Not a question. A fact, assertion. He knew that Ascians kept their memories in crystal. Not unlike how he found endless stores of memories within the form of texts in the crystal tower that extended his life and twisted his flesh.
“Yes.”
There were a lot of questions he could ask. Why he had given it to him. How it worked. If he was in danger of possession. But he knew that any real question would go unanswered, if Emet-Selch did not outright lie to him. So instead, he hummed, then lifted his hand, holding the crystal behind Emet-Selch and tracing his thumbnail over the glowing constellation on its front.
“Do you feel this?”
Emet-Selch chuckled faintly, a wry smile gracing his features as he reached over his own shoulder to take the crystal back.
“Do you ask any questions of your own?”
The Exarch smiled faintly in response.
“Only when I believe they will be answered.”
“Then I suppose we will have to get used to looping conversations, my gemstone.”
Emet-Selch leaned down, kissing the Exarch once more, then stood, turning to leave. The Exarch sighed lowly, and after the door was closed, he caught the faint sound of Emet-Selch doing the same.