Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Furina is beginning to realize that those who did not witness the trial came to the conclusion that she is still the Hydro Archon. It’s a silly thought, at first. Why would anyone believe her to still work behind the scenes of a country who betrayed her and attacked her? Why would she do that to herself when all she wants to do is leave the spotlight for good?

You serve them to serve yourself. 

Sure, she’s done much for them in the past, even when media coverage has been… less than kind. But she has never been put on trial before! Surely that gives her some sort of a reason to quit. If she even still has a job. She wouldn’t be surprised if Neuvillette fired her without informing her first. Or after. Or ever. Furina’s never actually been fired before, so she can’t say she knows how it works.

While she and Clorinde walk through the streets, towards the Palais Mermonia, Furina can hear the people whispering around them. This is nothing new, as she has always been followed by whispers of admiration in the past. But this time, Furina is actually able to catch some of what they said; not enough to fully understand, but enough to realize that all of their words are spiteful, and all of them that she can overhear believe she is still the archon.

The thought makes her want to laugh.

It’s a foolish thought, made by foolish people.

She is not an archon.

The voices in her head are quiet. They do not argue the thought, and for some reason, that makes a shiver run up Furina’s spine and a frown form on her face. Surely, something must argue against such a foolish thought with the truth.

As they walk, Clorinde stays two steps behind her, as if she is a bodyguard. Even without turning to look, Furina can tell that the Duelist is glaring at any of those that stare at Furina for too long, even if it is normal for them to stare at their archon as she passes by. Still, the Duelist helps Furina breathe easier, if nothing else; for those caught staring turn their head away.

Others, those unashamed to watch their archon, continue watching her.

Staring.

At her.

Dropping in step with Clorinde, Furina grabs her the Duelist’s arm and grasps it tightly, jutting out her chin and lifting her nose. She puffs out her chest with a deep breath, forcing a smile onto her face. And people watch. Because to them, she is their archon. 

However, they do not wave with smiles and cheers anymore. They only stare and glare. They only watch. It is different. It is strange. It is unnerving. 

Furina does not voice her thoughts.

There is no reason to; not when the people are justified in their feelings and she still has to make it to the Palais Mermonia on time for the conversation that is so very needed with Neuvillette. She has things to do, and Furina will not let some harsh stares dissuade her.

She’s dealt with stares before.

Not ones that want her dead.

She’s fine.

They make it to the Palais Mermonia without incident. As they walk in, the Melusines that work there waves at them. Furina waves back as she always did before, though still surprised at their friendliness. She supposes they would not treat her any differently than before. The Melusines are kind people, and usually are more accepting of things than others in Fontaine, as they always have been in the past.

The thought brings some relief. Relief that disappears almost instantly, for the sight of that door is in front of them at long last. When they make their way to Neuvillette’s office door, Clorinde knocks loudly, and Furina’s heart jumps out of her chest, her breath stuttering. Suddenly, it is real. Suddenly, she is actually here and about to see and talk to Neuvillette again.

“I’ll protect you,” Clorinde murmurs, hand resting on the fingers Furina has gripped around the Duelist’s arm. The words are some form of comfort, but almost nothing in the face of the fluttering feeling and need to run that appears when Neuvillette’s voice rings out from the other side of the door, telling them to enter.

It’s the tone she hasn’t heard in years. The words she hasn’t heard in forever. For why would an archon ever knock on Her Iudex’s door? Why would an archon have need for such a thing when the Iudex should always be expecting her? Archons do not need to go along with such silly mortal rules.

They are above such a thing.

You are above such a thing.

Clorinde’s hand reaches forward. The door opens, and the Duelist steps in. Furina’s hand goes limp, sliding out of the space between Clorinde’s arm and her body as the Duelist takes steps away. The archon stands, stuck, watching the Duelist take measured steps, relaxed steps. 

Furina forces a breath inwards, as deep as she can get it, feeling her chest rise with the breath. And she remembers someone long ago mentioning how breathing through the belly calms faster, and so she tries to force the breath into her belly, placing one hand over the area to feel it rise and fall.

She could turn back now. Neuvillette wouldn’t even know.

Yet… Clorinde did really think this would help.

Don’t trust her! That voice cries out again. A shudder runs through her body. She’s leading you to your doom! Neuvillette hates you! He always has, and that was before he knew you had been betraying him.

The thought is right. Furina knows it’s right. She has always noticed the air of annoyance that surrounded the Iudex each time Furina would enter the room he was in. But she pushed on anyway, each time, for an archon would have no worry about the hate or unloyalty of her Iudex.

How wrong she was.

You have nothing to fear from a man whose entire existence is only to assist the archon. To assist you .

In the past, he only tolerated everything because she was the archon. After the trial, after he learned of Focalors, after he found out about her lies and betrayal and fraudulence , there is no doubt that the man would turn away from her. That he would not let her insolence continue for even one moment longer.

She should not even step foot into his office.

He is your Iudex.

She betrayed him. He would never love her anymore. Even he had turned away from her at the end of it all, when she begged and pleaded, when she had nowhere else to go, and no one looking at her with the joy she used to bring. Even he…. 

She was left behind.

You left him behind.

“...Furina?” Clorinde’s voice is not soft, not gentle, and yet she is looking at Furina while paused only a few steps into the office. And that look that is on her face… Her brows drawn together, her eyes narrowed slightly, her lips pursed. There is obviously concern in her frame and face, even if her voice does not match it.

With that realization, Furina notices that Clorinde has reached out a hand towards her. She holds it there, palm up, just waiting.

Furina hesitates.

Archons do not hesitate. They do what is necessary when necessary.

Furina takes the hand, letting the Duelist pull her into the office.

The door swings shut behind them.

The office is just as Furina remembers it being, so she is a bit surprised at her own surprise to find that the carpet is still blue. For some reason, she thought perhaps it might be red now. She shakes off the strange, lingering feeling. The blue fits Neuvillette better. It’s not red. It doesn’t make her stand out like it should.

“Ah, Furina. You have visited after all. I thought…” --there is only a moment of hesitation between those words and the next, but Furina notices it all the same-- “that you did not want to see me at all,” Neuvillette says. And the way he speaks, the way he is positioned, the way his eyes have widened just barely … he is very much surprised at her arrival. Which is more of a surprise to Furina than it should be.

Did Clorinde not warn him they were coming? Did Furina just interrupt his work again, even when she swore she would not bother him any more after she-- ran-- left, only a few short weeks ago… or perhaps it’s been months? Time is still wobbly to Furina, in the same way it has been for a long time.

Has it really been five hundred years?

Wake up. Smile. Wave. Do your work. Work well. Act another act in those plays. Make the people smile. Make a show out of those trials. Appear as an archon. Sleep. Repeat.

Five hundred years.

There’s a lump in her throat, clawing upwards from the weight in her chest. It tangles itself around her tongue, forcing silence upon her when she cracks open her lips to speak. Quickly scanning the room, noting the papers on his desk, she runs her tongue over her dry lips, clearing her throat and splitting her lips into a grin as soon as she looks back at him.

Though, rather than meeting his eyes, she focuses her attention only on his hairpiece. Trying to keep her eyes from flickering down to his, she forces out those chipped words that stay tangled within her throat. The pit in her stomach only grows as she speaks. “I’m sorry. You’re working. I’ll leave.”

The sudden urge to hit her head against the wall hits her like a brick.

Talk in longer sentences, you idiot! No one talks in just two word sentences! They’ll find out everything if you keep acting off like this!

“No, Furina,” Neuvillette begins, his eyes focused completely on her. There is another moment’s pause before he finishes his words, “Stay.”

Shoulders tense, her eyes finally flick down to meet his. She parts her lips, wetting them with her tongue for a second time, because they are far too dry and cracked. Then she is closing her mouth again. Is that an order? He is her superior now. She would have to listen to anything he has to say.

He is your Iudex.

She is a civilian…

Neuvillette pauses, lips pursing. He glances to the side, to Clorinde, then looks back at Furina, “Ah, but only if you wish to. You may leave if that is what you truly want.”

Furina slowly nods, as if she is thinking hard about this decision, even when she already knows her response, “I’ll stay. Thank you for the offer.”

Clorinde shifts beside her, gaze flickering from Neuvillette to Furina. “Would you like me to remain as well, or would you prefer me to leave, Furina?” She asks, completely directing the question to her, even when her gaze slides back over to the Iudex.

No. Nonono don’t leave her. Don’t leave her alone with him.

Yes. Yes, leave. This is business between an archon and her Iudex, unfit for mortal ears.

Neuvillette is watching her , eyes lingering, waiting for an answer. On the other hand, just a step away from Furina, Clorinde’s eyes remain straight ahead, focusing on the wall behind the Iudex and away from Furina, her posture straight and her hands back behind her, in a position that is nothing but formal. She is as she should be.

“I… Yes. You may be dismissed, Clorinde,” Furina says in the tone she used to use every day. But she winces at the choice in words. Even Clorinde is a higher rank than her now, and Furina has no right to speak in this way to the woman. Yet… the Duelist only nods, turning on heel and exiting the room.

The door clicks closed far too loudly behind her.

An archon and the Iudex are left alone together in the room.

The only thing filling the space is silence. Furina’s chest feels tight, like she can’t get enough air in. She wants to cry. She wants to hug Neuvillette. She wants to run away. She wants to go home. She wants to explain everything to her oldest friend. She wants to go to sleep and never wake up.

A few more moments pass before Neuvillette clears his throat. “How has your rest been, Lady Furina?” he asks, breaking the tense silence in that recognizable tone. The one that is flat. The one that is bored .

“There is no need for the Title, Monsieur Neuvillette, for I am a normal human now. I-I’m normal. Still, I- Clorinde said this might be able to assist me in some ways, you see. That is the reason I’m here, is all.” Furina winces once again, forcing her mouth to snap closed. 

Archons, Furina, you sound like a blubbering idiot.

What is she supposed to say for the man that ruined everything? The man that risked the nation?

You risked the nation.

Neuvillette nods slowly, “Yes, I see. Has Clorinde been helping you rest, then?”

“Ah- yes. She has been a huge help,” Furina replies, shifting her weight to one foot, and then back to the other. You look nervous. Guilty . She forces her body to stop, to hold still, to face Neuvillette. “I wish I could thank her in some way.”

Neuvillette nods, seeming thoughtful. “Perhaps you could get her a gift?”

“It is unfortunate, but I’m afraid there is not much mora to my name,” she tugs a lip between her teeth, letting out a sigh. Most of her mora was tied to her title, now that she is not an archon… She’s been living off of Clorinde’s finances all this time; it truly wouldn’t be much of a gift to Clorinde to buy her something with her own money. Afterall, Furina used the rest of hers to buy a place to live.

Neuvillette’s brows knit together slightly, “Has Clorinde not been passing along the mora I have been sending? I believed she would be a good choice in a messenger, but perhaps I was wrong, though that would be a concern.”

That weight in her chest grows, causing a hitch in her breath that has begun to feel far too normal, “The mora is from you , Neuvillette? You- why?! ”

“You deserve at least that much, Furina, and much more at that. I am only passing along what you should have. After serving our country for so long, it makes perfect sense for you to be given mora.”

Deserves-

She killed people.

She-

Didn’t she?

Or was it the Traveler’s fault?

She was only following her role.

She was only being the archon she is supposed to be.

“Furina…?”

FURINA, THE HYDRO ARCHON: Ah, my apologies. I got lost in thought. (Chuckle) Though you are right. I am this country’s archon. Of course I deserve some financial compensation for all that I do. 

“Ah, my apologies. I got lost in thought.” She lets out a soft chuckle, pressing a smile on her lips. It is sure to look real. It has looked real over the past five centuries. “Though you are right. Of course I deserve some financial compensation for all that I did.”

“Yes. You have done much for Fontaine over the past years. Your burden was great, and yet you managed to do far more than anyone else could have. You have done well, Furina. I wish nothing but the best for you moving forward, and I hope that some mora can help with that.” Neuvillette says.

Past years? He’s not even willing to mention how long she actually suffered. He doesn’t care.

The Iudex is not done speaking and Furina has to focus, pushing away her thoughts to listen, “Especially because you are going to remain the archon, correct?”

…

Oh.

Is this why Neuvillette has not released a statement explaining things to the citizens? Because he hopes she will return and work for him again?

She's not a worthy archon. Not a good one. She is not-

He knew she wasn’t the archon, that’s what he was trying to prove! Yet he still speaks as if she is the archon! He still wishes her to play the role of one!

You will always be the hydro archon, always, forever and ever, and ever, and ever, and ever, and ever, and ever and ever and ever andeverandeverandeverITWILLNEVEREND

FOCALORS IS DEAD.

This is your nation. Your responsibility. Do not force it onto someone unable to handle this burden! All of Fontaine will fall!

And you will be left alone.

The voices speak once again, one louder than the rest; the one she has heard many times throughout the centuries. The one that leads her through it all, even this conversation.

FURINA, THE HYDRO ARCHON: Yes, of course. I will assist the children of Fontaine in any sort of way I can. It is my duty. It is my job. One I will not be free of, until death lets me rest.

“Yes, of course. I will assist the children of Fontaine in any sort of way I can. It is my duty. It is my job. One I will not be free of, until death lets me rest,” The words fall gracefully out of Furina’s mouth. They fall just as they have for centuries past. They fall through her teeth and drip off her tongue easily.

“...I thought you were resting now. Did you not rest enough? Do you wish to rest more before you begin work?” His brows are furrowed in concern, an expression she has been seeing from him much lately, when she has seen him at all, “If you do continue as the archon, I hope we can help you set up a good balance between work and rest. There is no need for you to feel constantly tired. You, Furina, are the priority over the archon title, though it is the greatest in the nation.”

FURINA, THE HYDRO ARCHON: There is no need for more rest. Fontaine needs my guidance, so I will help.

“There is no need for more rest. Fontaine needs my guidance, so I will help.” Furina says, exhaustion seeping into her tone against her better wishes.

Her mind is spiraling, the voices in her head growing louder as they fight against his words, as they fight against the truth, the truth that she is still the archon. The voices scream, they yell, and they wish for blood .

The voices hate Neuvillette.

The realization makes her jolt slightly, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. She glances away from the Iudex, from her Iudex, bottom lip rolling between her teeth. She can’t hate him. She doesn’t hate him. How could she? He’s been the perfect Iudex for centuries. He’s done nothing but support her while she has impersonated things beyond their control.

She is not allowed to hate him.

But the voices do. The voices dare to hate him when she is nothing like him. The voices hate him when he has done so much for Fontaine, while she herself did nothing but wallow away in suffering that anyone could overcome, that any archon could overcome. The voices hate him, the great Iudex, when she is nothing but a failure of an archon, a wimp focused far too much on the tiny, insignificant, inconsequential, simple thing that anyone else could have dealt with.

The voices hate him when he was the one who saved Fontaine.

The Iudex continues to watch her, gaze resting heavily on her, as if preparing for judgement, as if the Iudex could judge an archon , “Are you sure it is not too soon? I do not wish to burden or hurt you any longer. I did not wish to ever hurt you. I truly am sorry if it ever seemed like I did.”

Furina knows how easily it is to slip lies into words; she knows because that is what she has done for centuries. She knows the lies that Neuvillette is speaking seem so genuine, and she knows she should not listen, but she nods along, even when she knows she is being played, even while her soul yearns for it to be the truth, for him to care.

No matter what he chooses to say now, his actions of the past have spoken far louder than any words would. And during that trial, when she was at her lowest, when she, an archon , was begging, when she was being left by all , he turned away too.

FURINA, THE HYDRO ARCHON: There is no need for more apologies, Monsieur Neuvillette! You have already apologized after all, and who am I to judge you harshly when you are a judge yourself.

“There is no need for more apologies, Monsieur Neuvillette! You have already apologized after all, and who am I to judge you harshly when you are a judge yourself?” Furina finds herself saying, still half focused on the other voices that speak nothing but anger, "There really is no need."

“Then I will not apologize again until you so wish it. You have my word on that,” Neuvillette dips his head to her, and of course she believes him because he is her Iudex and the Iudex’s words are worth far more than anything else, “Are you certain you wish to work?”

The voices spiral again, loud and demanding of her attention. But she pushes them away, even as they scream an inconsistent no no YES . 

“Are you sure I should? You heard the judgement of the Oratrice Mecanique D’analyse Cardinale,” Furina says, hands clenching at her side, fingernails biting through her gloves, “The Hydro Archon was deemed guilty, and the one who carried the weight of the judgement was Focalors, not I.”

Yet Neuvillette still sentenced her to death. He did it all with the knowledge that she was the one he was speaking of, and not Focalors.

“The things you have done prove who you are far more than that trial. It was fake at first, yes, but I do believe there was more reality in that role than you thought, and perhaps it would help you to return to parts of it,” Neuvillette shakes his head softly, “You’re still the archon in the eyes of the law, and the citizens as well, I am sure.”

There are stares wherever she goes. There are whispers and threats and anger, things that never followed her while she was actually seen as the archon. Sure, there have been threats against her life before, but not on the streets, not in front of everyone , without any soul stopping the words.

The citizens do not see her as a god any longer, even while they do not know the whole story.

The voices scream in her head. They scream loud, and loud, and louder. They scream even as she shouts back in her mind, as she pushes them away and begs for them to just shut up. They scream. They scream and scream and scream, fighting against each other, fighting against Neuvillette, fighting against his words, fighting against her .

Clenching her fists in a fast pattern, Furina bites into her lip, trying to draw in even breaths like Clorinde taught her when she caught her in a similar situation to this. The air helps some, the voices muffling, as if Furina is sinking under water. 

But they are still there as Furina forces her mouth to open, forces her body to relax, forces herself to agree. “Of course. If you are willing to have me, I would be honored to still hold the title. I am the greatest in the nation for the role, afterall. I have been an archon for hundreds of years. Anything more would be simple.”

All those years she may have held the title of Focalors, a name that did not belong to her, but all those years, she made it into something that was her . She is more Focalors than she is Furina, and even the citizens are aware of such a thing. Focalors and Furina are one and the same. Focalors and Furina are still working to help Fontaine further grow, to keep all the citizens safe.

Focalors is alive through Furina. As long as she continues her tasks as normal.

Neuvillette’s lips curl up into a smile, a kind one, pushing up the edges of his eyes. “It will be a pleasure to continue working at your side for as long as you wish. It has been a pleasure for centuries.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Neuvillette,” Furina responds with her own smile.

The dryness of her mouth and the metallic taste of blood on her lip disagreed.

“Hopefully it will continue to be. If it is ever not, I hope you would tell me,” the Iudex says, his smile fading back into that monotone look, the one that rests on his face during each judgement, “Furina, if you do not mind me suggesting, perhaps you should move back into your old quarters. Things have not been touched since you left, and the staff has remained the same as well. I only wish to say that if you are going to continue things, perhaps you would like to do it the same as ever.”

Move back into that room.

That empty room, with nothing important and everything that reminds her of silence and tears and exhaustion . That room that she would wait the whole day to break down in. That room that was safety for so many years, and held memories of the words she would whisper to herself in the dark. Alone.

“It’s quite alright. I have already gone through the effort of moving, and I would rather not like to it all again!” Furina laughs, high and loud, “And perhaps it would be better for the citizens to interact with me more, to better get a sense of the archon I am.”

Neuvillette nods along, and the next few things they talk about are just paperwork related. Furina only signs a few things before agreeing with the Iudex on when she should return to work.

And then she is leaving the building, not really understanding why she turned Neuvillette down. Not really understanding , but knowing, knowing , that it’s needed.

The only word she can focus on is “alone”. 

The word remains in her mind as she exits the office to find Clorinde nowhere nearby. And of course, of course , she is gone. It was not right of Furina to think she would be waiting outside of the office for her. She shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up when she knows that no one would ever stay for Furina’s sake.

Clorinde is a busy woman after all.

Furina strides out of the Palais Mermonia as quickly as she came. She walks with her shoulders back and her head held by. She walks while meeting the gaze of all those who look at her, even as their eyes linger and make her skin crawl. But she is an archon, and archons do not look away for such reasons.

The conversation with Neuvillette did not last long and the weather is still lovely when Furina leaves the building, most of the people she passed on the way to the meeting are in the same places as before. If they show any surprise at seeing her again so soon, Furina does not acknowledge it, far too focused on the gazes and the whispers.

That crawling feeling is back, lining her stomach, tying itself into knots. Then it is creeping into her chest, resting there, making each breath harder and harder. She pushes the thought of it away, even as she recognizes it growing, clenching around her heart with a pressure that makes it just beat harder and faster in desperation to keep her body moving. 

Furina’s tired. 

She has only a few more days before she has to officially return back to work, as agreed with Neuvillette. For a moment, she ponders on what she could do with those days. Should she celebrate the return of her job and source of income? Throw some sort of party for it? That is something that most humans do often, correct?

Ah, but who would she invite? Clorinde… well, yes, of course. She is the one that gave her the chance to speak to Neuvillette and confirm things with him in the first place. 

Navia? Perhaps, but they have not spoken much outside of a work setting.

The Traveler and Paimon? Well… they betrayed her, they brought her downfall and the death of Focalors… but they were the closest thing she has ever had as friends before that. Perhaps they could explain their actions. Perhaps the three of them could become friends, even if the thought of seeing them again made Furina’s skin crawl and a sour taste grow in her throat.

No, she is an archon. Archons do not have such complicated feelings of mortals, especially not ones considered as heroes. Furina will have to talk to them without any bias, just as if she was presiding over a trial. Yes, of course. She would handle it professionally, as expected for an archon to do with friends.

Furina will have to think on things longer, though not too long, as she does not have any time to waste. But she wants a party to be enjoyable, if she is to actually throw one. What a shame it would be for a party thrown by the archon was something disappointing! Furina will have to live up the standards of the balls she has thrown in the past.

She will have to think of what meal to prepare for it as well… Meals are commonplace at a party, aren’t they? Furina has to admit she does not know much about these things… Perhaps she could ask Neuvillette. He would surely understand and have some sort of advice.

No. No. She can’t talk to him again so soon.

She can talk to him during work hours but outside of that… The Iudex has been taking her place for the past few months. He hates her. If he didn’t before, he must now. Afterall, months of being given the archon’s work must have been suffering to him. It was suffering to her. She wouldn’t want that on anyone and yet she still placed it on him.

Before the trial, she was met with annoyance from him. After everything that has happened…

It is best if she keeps a distance from him outside of work.

Someone crashes into Furina, or well, Furina crashes into someone and the other person stays put. Furina bounces off their tall frame, letting out a sound that is more surprised than pained. She blinks up after steadying herself, meeting their stare. A glare is what meets her back.

Furina swallows the lump in her throat, wetting her lips as she smiles, keeping her posture straight and confident. “You have my sincerest apologies. Please, forgive me,” she says, giving them a dip of her head in respect, the best a mortal could hope from an archon.

They do not reply, nor react, they only stare, glare. Furina’s smile slips slightly, confusion filling her face before she forces it to the side and returns to her relaxed look. Moving to the side to walk past them, she is stopped by another person stepping in her way.

Staring at her.

Scowling.

Fear jumps into Furina’s chest, her heart beginning to beat faster as she struggles to breathe normally. Moving backwards, she turns to go in a different direction, to duck down one of the many surrounding streets, but she is only met by someone else there as well. They’re staring down at her, lips pulled back in a sneer.

They’re all staring.

All angry.

Furina just wanted to go home.

The mutters that have followed her for days are louder now. They’re rippling from mutters, to snark replies, to yelling, to screaming as more and more people join in, as if the forming crowd is feeding on itself.

And for the second time in centuries, Furina is truly, completely , at a loss of what to do.

Act like the archon you are.

But archons would never be in this situation. Archons would never be surrounded and threatened by their own people. Archons would-

Archons would have an actual ability to fight back.

She’s alone and surrounded and has no way to make them leave, no way to calm them but smiles and words that do nothing but make their screams louder as they fight to shout over her.

Furina is useless.

Sword. Sword flashing at her throat. Pressing closer and closer, bringing promises of death. Angry glares. Surrounded. The traveler turns away. Neuvillette turns away.

Someone shoves her.

She is alone in a crowd of those that hate her.

Furina’s breath comes out in short gasps, and she spins around, looking for a way out. Angry faces are all that stare back at her, no gaps within the tightly packed bodies. She can’t just shove her way through, that would be a disrespect to her citizens, to the citizens of Fontaine. 

She promised to protect these people.

She can’t get away from these people.

Furina spins, taking quick steps to turn around, keeping as many people in sight of her at one time as possible. She knows that at least in the front she can fight back if they decide, finally decide , to do something against her, to- to-

The fear fills everything within Furina. It spikes whenever someone else opens their mouth. Whenever someone merely shifts forward. The fear pounds as fast as her heart. The fear pushes her to move faster. To glance faster than her brain can keep up. To- to- to prepare to die.

Because this is where she would die.

At the hands of her own people.

How ironic.

She spins in the circle. Spins as if she is a dancer. Spins as if she is performing choreographed plans. Spins as if she has rehearsed it with all the people before. Spins as if she is forever on stage. Spins as they watch. 

They watch.  

The heaving of her breath makes it hard to hear anything. But she listens enough. Listens enough as one voice screams louder than the rest, yelling something about her acting like everything is completely normal after murdering. So. Many.

Another in the crowd, behind her, repeats it. She spins to face them, though she can’t pick them out of the mass of people, as they add that she is far too selfish. That she is trying to trick them all and reap the rewards of the problems she caused.

As if centuries of this plan, centuries of pain, was only to hurt them.

She- she saved them!

She killed so many.

She wants to shove them all. To push and yell and flee and hurt .

Furina jolts back as if she is pained from the thought. She trips, legs unable to catch her before she stumbles into the crowd behind her. Someone’s hands roughly push her back into the middle of the circle and she stumbles again. They press forward, closer. 

Another voice joins the mix, and another, and another. She can’t focus on just one anymore. They are all far too loud, all mixing together, all so much . What voices are in her head? What are real? What- what- what will kill her here?

Furina can’t breathe.

She can’t breathe.

Even as she spins and heaves and prays, she can’t breathe.

All those people dead. All those people dead because of her. Because she couldn’t even follow the script and keep all your pitiful feelings a secret. These citizens only have the best of Fontaine in mind. They- they have a right to be angry. Without you here, all their loved ones would be alive because you- She failed.

A hand tightens around her upper arm and Furina takes in a startled gasp. She’s dragged roughly to one side of the circle. A woman stares at her. Nails are digging into the thick cloth of her jacket. “Stop pretending to be something you’re not! You were never worthy of being our archon! You’re just a fraud!”

The rest of the crowd echoes the sentiment, the word rippling through the people. 

A fraud.

A fraud.

A fraud.

Furina isn’t allowed to breathe.

Everyone is too close. Everything is too loud. Furina should be able to handle this, but she can’t.

Why won’t anyone help her? Not one person.

There is not one person who looks friendly in this crowd.

Furina is alone.

Furina is an archon.

How DARE they treat an ARCHON LIKE THIS?

There’s a sharp pain in her arm.

HOW DARE THEY THREATEN HER?

Is she going to die?

SHE SHOULD KILL THEM ALL!

Focalors is the one the people want, but Focalors is dead. 

Focalors is alive in Furina. Focalors would KILL them for this DISRESPECT.

Furina should follow.
She is not selfish enough to die.

She is not selfish enough to wish to stay alive.

The voices grow louder and Furina lets herself sink into them, lets them muffle out the ones within her head, lets them surround her and drown her . She leans into the hands that reach for her, scratch at her. She leans into it and she lets herself go.

And then there is one so loud it cuts through all the others and causes Furina to flinch. In what seems to be an instant, everything goes quiet.

Furina is frozen to the spot where she stands, heaving for air, but that feeling inside of her, the one crawling up and suffocating her… It’s gone.

Furina is calm.

She is aware of the voices around her, of the crowd leaving, being pushed away. She is aware when they are replaced by only two bodies. She is aware as things are quiet once again. Yet she doesn’t focus on them.

Her arm burns.

Furina is calm.

Finally, she lifts her head, meeting Clorinde’s concerned eyes. 

“Are you okay, Furina?” the woman asks. 

Furina nods, tilting her head as she smiles, “I’m alright, Clorinde. There is no need for concern. It is understandable that the citizens would be upset with me.”

The woman frowns at that, and Furina’s body jolts at the thought of disappointing the woman because archons can not make their people frown in such a way.

“While you may be alright, attacking someone on the streets is still against the law,” Chevreuse says, bringing Furina and Clorinde’s attention to her, “They will have to be arrested and charged for such a thing.”

Furina chuckles, waving a hand as if today has been nothing to her, “No need. Go ahead and drop the charges.”

“Are… are you sure, Lady Furina?” Chevreuse asks, slightly hesitant. 

“Are you doubting the words of your archon, Mademoiselle Chevreuse?” Furina asks, raising a brow with a hint of mirth in her voice. It’s amusing, after everything that has happened, that Chevreuse is still so respectful to her. It’s a surprising joy.

The captain shakes her head, “Of course not. I shall begin the paperwork immediately.” And with those words, she is jogging away.

Furina’s tired.

She finds her shoulders slouching slightly and pushes her posture back in place, smiling as she turns to look at Clorinde. Her arms cross, hands clenching unnoticeably in the thick fabric of her jacket and- oh- her sleeve is wet, a growing blood strain forming on the cloth.

Hm. The woman must have had something more than nails. Ha. It will be a pain to wash the jacket out. Furina doesn’t envy the poor soul that will have to do so.

Furina is slowly blinking in and out of her thoughts as she and Clorinde begin to walk, the Duelist walking two steps behind just as the journey to the Palais Mermonia. Furina lets her, focused more on her thoughts and the hands wrapped around her own arms, keeping the blood splotch from the stares of those that they pass.

Furina’s eyes catch on a flash of red down one of the nearby streets and her steps trail to a stop, a frown falling on her face. Her eyes narrow. 

“Is everything alright?” Clorinde asks.

“...Yes, I only just thought I saw something.” Furina replies, looking up at the woman. She nods, “Carry on.”

It is the same words she would say to any of her guards. The same commanding tone. Furina continues to walk as an archon would, though exhausted, though begging for a rest. 

In what seems to be an instant, Furina is back at her house, leaning tiredly against Clorinde as soon as they enter the halls of the building and get out of the sightlines of the city. The Duelist, who has been walking with her in silence the whole time, shifts to curl around Furina, pulling her closer into her side.

Furina lets out a sigh, breathing in deeply that scent that belongs to Clorinde. 

Furina is calm.

She’s safe.

Letting Clorinde unlock and open the door to the apartment and lead her to the bathroom to deal with the blood, Furina allows her thoughts to wander. There is no need to focus on her surroundings anymore, she realizes, as she lets Clorinde strip off her jacket and shirt.

She’s too tired to focus on more than her thoughts. Than the voices.

The voices that are finally quiet.

She thinks.

With the way everyone is acting, how they have always acted around her, it seems that no one knows what she has done. Everyone just thinks she is nothing more than a person who wishes to trick them all for her own gain, instead of knowing of the sacrifices she has made over so many centuries.

If Neuvillette cares so much, like he says he does, Furina has to wonder why she is still the nameless Hero. Why it is only a select few that know what she really did. Why only one of those commend her. Why they commend her while others spit at her. Shove her. Attack her. Wish her dead.

She went through so much for five hundred years, things she would never wish upon even the worst of people. Does she deserve to be recognized at least a little by others because of what she’s done? Does she deserve to be seen as something more than a fraud?

Then she realizes.

Is she a fraud?

She’s only being selfish.

A fraud wouldn’t do so much…

She’s already known by the people for what she’s done.

Being a fraud wouldn’t hurt so much.

Furina is an archon.

Asking for more than the title of an archon, a god, is selfish of her to do. She doesn’t deserve anything more than what she’s receiving. The title and power it holds is just as Neuvillette said it was; the greatest in the nation. A fraud wouldn’t hold such a thing.

Maybe she’s overthinking things.

Maybe she didn’t suffer at all over those five hundred years.

Maybe she’s just making it all up.

The sound of rain beginning to pound on the roof of the apartment breeches Furina’s thoughts, pulling her to open her eyes. She watches as Clorinde sits next to her on a stool, carefully cleaning and wrapping her arm. She watches as the Duelist tends to her with such care.

And she knows that is only loyalty to the title that keeps the woman here. That keeps the woman caring.

Furina doesn’t deserve any of the kindness Clorinde has given her. 

But Focalors does.

Focalors is a name, a title, a person , and Furina is not that person. Furina does not deserve to be labeled as that person. Because Focalors died for Fontaine while Furina could do nothing but cry.

Furina is an archon.

And Fontaine deserves a better archon.

Furina and Focalors will be known as one and the same, possibly only her knowing of the other woman and her fate. In the coming years, the ones filled with the paperwork and trials and citizens, Furina knows, Furina decides , that she will do all she can to be Focalors.

Fontaine deserves Focalors.

Furina is a fraud.

Chapter Text

Work has never been a thing to bother Furina before. Sure, there have been times where she wished, beyond anything else , that she had some reason to exist other than the work she could complete for Fontaine. But, she knew it was futile to wish such a thing, and so she continued her work without a complaint.

There is no point to her life other than helping Fontaine grow, after all. It was why she was born, why she was chosen, why she has dedicated each moment to inventions and growth and life . Furina knows it has always been this way, even if it wasn’t exactly confirmed until recently, with everything that happened during the trial.

Furina never remembers what happened before Focalors appeared to her in that mirror. She has never remembered if there was a home life, a family, a place for her to be wanted . All Furina has ever known has been her role to play a god. And she has played it well, by Focalors’ design.

Focalors is the one that deserves all credit, and Furina is the one that will do all the work. 

That is how it shall remain.

When Furina returns to work a mere few days after speaking with Neuvillette about it, the others in the building do not seem surprised to see her. Perhaps Neuvillette told them about her return to the work that comes with her position, or perhaps they are simply still used to seeing her in the building, even after—how long has it been?—months of absence. Whatever the case may be, they act as normal as they have for so long. The melusines simply wave and other workers only nod. It’s the same thing that they’ve done for hundreds of years.

And Furina has worked for just as long.

But she does not speak any word of complaint. In fact, she finds herself smiling, somewhat, as she continues the normal routine of work she fell into centuries ago. It’s peaceful to fall into the moves that she memorized so many years ago; read through the papers, sign or discard them, and sort them into their correct piles. 

It’s simple work. It doesn’t take enough mental energy, not when most of the documents are so straightforward. It leaves Furina to her thoughts, even as she tries desperately to cling to the words on the papers. But nothing that they say is truly important. No words catch her eye, her attention.

No words bring suggestions worthy of an archon’s signature.

Yet Furina still works, signing that flowy signature time and time again. The show-y and extravagant one that reeks of being written by the hand of a god. She swoops her F and As, ends with a flourish of an s that is worthy of a god, and passes the paper to the side. 

At least the work is enough to keep the voices quiet. Her own thoughts may return, but the voices are silenced enough that those thoughts do not feel so harsh any more. They are not as loud. Not as angry. And for that, Furina is grateful. Perhaps, in the past few months, she has missed the quiet ease of work…

So she signs papers over and over again, as the day passes away, until she finally has to place her feathered pen down due to the cramp in her hand.

Glancing at the clock in her office, Furina stretches out her hand. She clenches her fingers closed before stretching them as far as they can go a second time. The cramp fades in time as she repeats the motion. But the dull ache in her wrist does not disappear completely. It has been hours. Tiredly, Furina sits up straight, stretching her arms above her head. She holds the pose for a second, letting her eyes flutter shut as she allows herself to let out a sigh. 

Her door opens. 

Furina snaps back to attention, letting her arms fall and her back straighten, only to meet the judgement in Neuvillette’s eyes. His brows are furrowed, gaze flicking up and down her form, then to the work on her desk, meager in comparison to his own that she saw just earlier.

How dare he judge her. She has just returned to work and he has that look in his eyes. How dare he. It is so cruel of him. So- so- upsetting to Furina.

“Do you require a break, Furina?” Neuvillette asks, “That can always be arranged, if you would like to go on an outing during your work hours.”

He thinks so little of her that he speaks with disdain. He treats her as a child. A useless child.

FOCALORS, THE HYDRO ARCHON: No need to worry, my dear Iudex. No such archon as I would need any break during such a simple task. This paperwork is nothing compared to the work that I have had to undertake in the past, due to my archon title. No break will be required, my dear. I swear that to both you and the people, on my honor.

Furina laughs, lifting one hand to hide her smile, as is polite, “No need to worry, dear Iudex, an archon such as I needs no break during such an easy work task. Afterall, this paperwork is simple compared to tasks I have had to undertake in the past, due to my archon title. No break will be required, today or later. I swear that to you and the people!”

The words tumble from her mouth in a way they always have in the past, unprompted but not unwanted. They are not something she needs to search for; they are something that simply appears. And she accepted them, letting them lead the way her body moves and what it says.

The words have never led her astray. They have kept her company on lonely nights and during difficult trials. In dark nights and bright days, they have always been there. Always. They are the sole thing that have stayed with her for centuries, without any judgement of who she is. Without the words… Fontaine surely would have fallen into the prophecy by now.

The prophecy is gone.

Furina trusts the words.

Neuvillette watches her for a moment, one brow twitching in a way that Furina rarely sees. It reminds her somewhat of the expression he held months ago that she could not quite understand. She has been seeing such odd looks on his face recently… 

Disappointment. Concern. Anger. Hate.

Now, his expression smooths back into that emotionless look, (an expressionless disdain that brings Furina some sort of relief— no joy to see), “If that is truly what you want, then I will accept such a thing. However, if the need ever arises in the future… do not hesitate to take a breather for a moment or two. The Melusines do the same.”

FOCALORS, THE HYDRO ARCHON: How adorable of you to say such a thing! The Melusines are naught compared to I, the great hydro archon. Of all people, I expected you to understand that the most. (Laugh.) 

FURINA, THE HYDRO ARCHON: (Deadpan stare.) I see I was wrong.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Neuvillette,” Furina begins, sliding a few papers across her desk to the Iudex with one hand. Her wrist twinges. “I would actually prefer to discuss the contents of these forms.”

The Iudex lifts one brow, taking a step forward to pick up the documents. He scans over them, flipping through the pages slowly. Furina watches. There is nothing in his expression to betray his thoughts, but in the way that he handles the papers… Furina knows he is at least, in some way, surprised. Though his expressions have been odd as of late, she can still read him.

“A mission report. For a mission I did not know about,” Furina narrows her eyes slightly as she sits, clasping her hands together and resting her chin on the platform they make. Her eyes remained on the dragon. “I would like to inquire as to why I do not know about something that seems so important to the welfare of Fontaine. I am the archon, afterall.”

The Iudex frowns, his eyes meeting Furina’s, “There is nothing about these documents that you need to bother yourself with, Furina. I will handle them, so do not concern yourself further with this issue. I apologize, for they seem to have made their way to your desk in some odd accident.” And with those words, he turns on heel and leaves the room, taking the documents with him.

Every word that fell out of his mouth, dripping off of his tongue, is a lie.

Furina’s brows twitch, falling into a furrowed expression before she smooths them out. She will not allow herself such an expression at work. Not when her job is so simple. It is simple enough that as she continues her motions of getting through the paperwork, her thoughts begin to wander. This time, she does not fight it.

The report had somehow found its way onto her desk when it should not have, something that has hardly happened to Furina in the past. People at the Palais Mermonia are very careful with where their documents end up. It’s an important part of their job. For someone to have messed that up, or— archons forbid —misplaced them on purpose … the thought concerns Furina. 

But there is something that concerns her more. The contents of the papers. The mission report, from what she can remember, spoke of some sort of… disagreement within Fontaine’s factions, and a resulting argument and fight. The person writing the report—-of which Furina does not remember the name off—-was sent to help settle the fight.

With force.

It is something Furina should have, in all worlds, known about long before the papers ever touched her desk. Has she begun to lose her skills? Her perception? … No, it is simply because she was kept away from work for so long. Yes, that’s it. Furina’s just as useful as she has been for the past five centuries. Others are getting in her way again.

Furina’s eyes narrow at the words on the paper in front of her. She swoops her F.

Still, the report, and the mission, should have been sent to her immediately. As the archon, it definitely is within her jurisdiction to know of such a thing. Actually, she is the one that should have been asked for permission before the mission had ever even been spoken out loud.  But the papers were signed by someone else instead.

Neuvillette.

A slow breath leaves Furina’s lips as she lowers her pen, setting it down with a slight sound, just to the right of her papers. She stares down at the blurring words on the page, frowning slightly to herself. Blinking a few times, Furina leans back in her chair, rolling her shoulders back as a half hearted attempt to get rid of the tightness in her upper back. It does not give as much relief as she wishes, but it gets her body moving again.

From there it is easier for her to turn her head and take a look at her clock before going back to the papers on her desk. Then it registers. The time- she is late to get home. Sure, in the past she used to do hours past her shift ending but— but now there are rules for her.

Rules set by Neuvillette.

Written rules. Unspoken rules. Rules that Furina needs to keep .

Her heart jolts up in her throat as she stands abruptly, chair pushing back with a screech. Furina winces at the noise but she has no time to mourn the new scratches that have likely found themselves a place in her wood floors. Instead, she quickly organizes the papers on her desk, pushes her chair in, grabs her hat and leaves.

If she does not hurry, she will miss the dim light of evening that is left, and then she will be left to return to her home alone in the dark of the night. The last time she had done so…

As soon as she opens the door, she jolts back, breath hitching as her body jumps away from a threat. But nothing happens, and Furina soon lets herself realize that it is simply Clorinde standing to the side of the door. The woman seems to have been waiting outside for some time, her posture straight and her gaze focused entirely on what is in front of her. She makes no movement or sign that she has noticed Furina or her little stupid freak out. Instead, her arms simply come from where they were behind her back to rest on the hilt of her sword instead.

Furina steps forward, closing the door behind her. “...Clorinde?” 

“Lady Furina,” Clorinde responds, finally looking at her and acknowledging her presence at last, “I assume you are prepared to return home for the night? I shall escort you if you are truly ready. If not, I will wait until you are.”

The duelist’s words are formal. Her positioning is perfect. Her words are polite. She is treating Furina like her archon, like someone who is above her. The thought of that makes Furina frown, but that’s quickly hidden as she turns around to lock her door. “Right… I presumed that Neuvillette would assign someone to assist me in my work, or act as a guard I suppose, but I must be honest in saying I did not expect it to be you, Clorinde.” 

“Who else would be better than one of the Duelists? When I am not protecting you, I will be filling out my other duties. Though our schedules will line up fairly well in the future,” the woman says. “And with the skills I possess and the experience I’ve had with the role in the past, it is no wonder that I have been chosen to fill the role once more.”

Of course. Why would Furina ever let that flutter rise into her chest? She shouldn’t have. Just as the Duelist says, it is just another role for her to play. One without genuine acts or emotions. One led solely by rules and formalities and the ranks of the roles they both hold. It is the same act that the Duelist preformed when approaching her before anyone else. When kneeling. And apologizing. And making Furina think she cared.

It is the same in the way that Furina has acted as an archon with so many others in the past. Reporters, duelists, employees, tailors, diplomats, the Knave, citizens, lawyers, even Neuvillette. It is no oddity that things are the same now with the Duelist placed in front of her.

“I suppose that does make certain logical sense. However, I should apologize for such a thing. I’m sure it’s a bit of a bore to return to my side!” Furina exclaims, chuckling after she says the words. Even though it is not a joke at all. Even though even saying the words makes Furina want to die all over again.

The Duelist is gracious enough to shake her head, “You are mistaken, Lady Furina. It is quite the opposite to serve you once more. Being by your side is something enjoyable for me. Your company has been… pleasant.”

Furina wants to laugh and die all over again.

Instead she only begins to walk. The Duelist finds nothing odd with this, or at least doesn’t show that she does, and simply waits a step or two and then strides with her. It is a protective move, one that she has done for Furina so many times in the past. But now… it feels different, in some way, as they walk silently through the Palais Mermonia as Archon and Duelist.

What Furina wouldn’t give for Clorinde to walk one step faster. But they continue at their own paces. Silent. She used to do this so often in the past, with the Duelist following her for official events and such. In that past, it only proved her title as archon more. It only showed off her elegance and power. But now… now…

Well, Furina supposes that she has all the more reasons to work towards proving that she is, in fact, an archon. The trial took all of that proof that she placed in the past and destroyed it, ripping it to pieces and drowning the remains in front of everyone. Honestly though, that is Furina’s fault as well. She chose to go along with it. She chose to stick her hand in the water.

What Furina wouldn’t give for that water to not have been diluted.

Furina jolts, her eyes widening as her steps stutter to a stop. The Duelist stops behind her, waiting. Waiting. Waiting. For one minute, and then two, as Furina forces her breathing to steady itself. Then she resumes walking, pushing the doors of the Palais Mermonia open and striding outside like nothing has happened at all.

They don’t speak about what happened.

Nothing has happened at all.

They continue through the streets as Furina focuses on the sound her heels make against the cobblestone. There is no reason to listen to the voices in her head, even as they chant once again, talking over themselves to steal her attention away. Tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, Furina bites sharply on it, the pain making her voices stumble over their words. Her jaw trembles, but she blinks that feeling away.

Furina takes in a deep breath. And she lifts her head high.

It is an archon’s duty to make her presence known, even if all they’ve done is walk in silence with them staring. Perhaps the Duelist does not find the looks and rumors to be unnerving. Perhaps she does not find them to weigh heavily on her soul. Perhaps, to her, they are simply…. whispers; while to Furina they are rumbling thunder.

Why could Furina not be more like the duelist? Why does she have to be so emotional? Why can she not- not- just lead with logic , like Neuvillette. Like he wants from her. Like she wants from herself.

She’s nothing but a disappointment to Neuvillette.

They reach the building she lives in before long. It is not too far from the Palais Mermonia, afterall, and with the Duelist by her side, no people are brave enough to stand in their way. It’s a relief. Still, the Duelist does not leave immediately. As they enter the door to the building, the other woman follows her, seemingly intent on seeing Furina back to her own room safely. The Duelist stands by her side as she unlocks the door to her apartment, fumbling just slightly with the key. The Duelist doesn’t say anything, even as Furina fumbles a second time and nearly drops it. How stupid of her. She should be able to open a simple lock by now.

But she’s never been good at anything, has she.

“Would you like to come in?” Furina asks, turning halfway to look over her shoulder at the other woman as she opens the door, “I am certain I have enough food to fix us both something for dinner.”

The Duelist shakes her head, “No, thank you, Lady Furina. I mustn't. In fact, I need to return to the Palais Mermonia now. There is still work for me to do before the night has passed by.”

“Oh.”

The two bade each other goodbye, one respectful and one— upset, tired, done —understanding. Then, before she walks away, the Duelist hesitates. She turns back to Furina, something in her eyes… and Clorinde speaks, “Please rest well, Nari. Stay safe.”

The words, the title— the name —is unfamiliar. And Furina stumbles over her own words, stuttering for a reply. Before she can get anything intelligent out, the Duelist dips her head once more, respectfully, before she walks away, leaving Furina to stand by her door in silence. 

A nickname.

She doesn’t let herself linger on the thought, on the bubbling and mixing feelings within her chest.

Furina enters her house. The door clicks behind her and she simply stands for a moment, looking around the place she should call home. The shadows in the evening light are shapes of figures, but none move. The sounds of laughter and chatter come from outside, but none from within the walls.

The lock clicking shut, with the twist of a simple key, keeps any chance of the sound entering these walls away. And it destroys any chance of the Duelist, or Clorinde, returning. Furina stares at the key in her hand, at the lock on the door, at the closed blinds and empty room.

She drops the key to the floor.

Furina crosses the small apartment in a few strides and flops onto her bed, not even bothering to set her shoes upright as she kicks them off. She curls up on her side, watching where her hand lay on the cold sheets, alone.

“Nari.”

She does not eat dinner that night.

“Nari.”

Neither does she manage to sleep.

Nari….

Furina gets out of her bed—with some effort—when the birds have just begun chirping as the sun rises. It would be far easier to stay in bed, of course. To pass the hours away with nothing but her breathing and the muffled noise of the world around her. But she has never let herself do so in the past, so she would not let herself do so now.

…But even that is a lie. In the past months, most of her time has been spent wallowing in bed. Ignoring everything and feeling nothing but pity for herself. It was almost like she had truly lost someone important to her.

Focalors is dead.

But she hadn’t lost anyone.

Focalors is alive in her.

And so Furina was just spending time in bed for no reason. Like a fraud and a loser. Like someone who does not deserve the care that Clorinde gave to her. 

But that is something that Furina did. Today, she is Focalors once again in the eyes of the law. Today, she is the archon all over again. Today, she has work to do. Wake up. Smile. Wave. Do your work. Work well. 

So, today, she swings her legs over the side of the bed and leans over to pull her shoes on from where they are scattered on the floor. How disheartening. How perturbing. An archon should remain neat. Should remain perfect. Then she stands. And stands. And stands.

She does not move.

Wake up. Smile. Wave. Do your work. Work well.

Furina smiles and takes a step. Her next few steps are easier. And eventually she finds herself completely ready for the day; clean clothes, brushed hair, natural look. For a moment, as she steps through the kitchen, she ponders on eating something. But at the thought of food, her stomach clenches painfully. It twists and turns, leading to pressure forming in her throat. Nausea. 

It wouldn’t be right for an archon to get sick in such a way.

Better not to eat and risk such a thing, she thinks, forcing herself to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in her body. Furina moves on with her day, leaving the house. It’s still early in the morning. Far too early. But it’s alright. It’s not a shame for an archon to begin her work early! It’s better, really, because then she can get more done for the people.

They always need more done for them.

They would appreciate her.

She steps out into the street to meet nothing. No people. No stares. Just the clouds and the chirping of birds. There’s something about the fresh air and open sky that calms her racing heart. Or perhaps it is the fact that she is alone on the streets. It does not cause her discomfort, in fact, she revels in the idea of not being stared at. The day is new. The sun is rising. It is bright. And she is alone .

Furina is not afraid. Furina is tired. Nari is happy.

Wake up. Smile. Wave. Do your work. Work well. Act another act in those plays. Make the people smile. Make a show out of those trials. Appear as an archon. Sleep. Repeat.

Furina works. And works. And works. 

When she goes home, the Duelist follows her.

She sleeps.
Wake up.

She wakes.

Smile. Wave.

She walks in silence with only the birds and her voices.

Do your work. Work well.

She works.

Sleep.

She sleeps.

Repeat.

No other reports come across her desk. Nothing else of note makes its way to her. And Neuvillette does not visit again. He is avoiding her. Avoiding her. Because he hates her. The Iudex visits at times, only to discuss work. Unimportant work that means nothing to Focalors. Nothing. But it is for Fontaine, so it means everything to Furina.

The hours tick by as she works. As she smiles. As she repeats.

Day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day—

Wake up. Smile. Wave. Do your work. Work well. Act another act in those plays. Make the people smile. Make a show out of those trials. Appear as an archon. Sleep. Repeat.

One day, she wakes. She walks. She smiles. Furina smiles until she finds herself at her desk. Alone. Then she lets the expression drop as she focuses on the work in front of her instead. It is the same meaningless work that she was given yesterday. Then she immediately cuts that thought off because how dare you speak as if any work done for the good of Fontaine is meaningless. Each hour you sit in this chair means something. Each hour you are under that light means something. Each hour you are researching, each hour you are in court or an interview, each hour you are alone, means something.

Today, she starts her work with a smile, because that is what Focalors does.

Work has never been a thing to bother Furina before. Sure, there have been times where she’s wished that she was able to take a break, if even for only a few minutes. Sure, there have been other times where she has cried as she realized that this work is just the way she lives. Sure, those things have happened. But work is something that Furina lives for. Work is something that Furina can only live by doing. Work is what Furina was created for.

With a sigh, Furina pulls off her gloves, setting them to the side. She rubs some feeling back into her hands, staring blankly at the pages before her. Her thoughts are circling. Circling. Circling. They always end up in the same dark corner and she never can find an edge to fall from, to escape. 

Furina picks her pen back up.

Work has never bothered her in the past. And it will never bother her now, because it is what gives her a purpose. Without her work… there is no Furina.

But here, at her desk, Furina can’t help but feel that her image of Furina has been shaken. Perhaps it is the work on her desk that is failing her. Perhaps it is not enough to distract her from her thoughts. Perhaps it is not as taxing as it usually is. And perhaps that is because Neuvillette has been taking the harder reports away from her. He has been shielding her from things that he believes she should not know of, even if she is his senior. 

Still, she let him. She did not argue much when she saw the papers were of a lower level than Furina is used to dealing with, other than for that report that ended up on her desk. That report is hers . That one is personal . Because if it goes on her desk and she reads through it… she needs to do whatever she can to fix their problems. She has to . But the Iudex took it away from her.

He is keeping her from her work.

How. Dare. He.

The pages came across her desk and she read them. She must figure out the importance of the report and what it means for Fontaine. She must help the Fontainian people by saving them from any threats. She must save everyone because that is Focalors’ duty. That is Furina’s. 

Who else if not for you?

Who else if not Neuvillette?

What.

The Iudex deserves to burn. He deserves to die and go up to Celestia only to find out he was never accepted due to his own arrogance and stupidity and the betrayals he’s caused. There is no reason that Furina would let him stay. Not after what he did.

The Iudex deserves to live . Far more than she ever did.

Without Focalors, the Iudex will be lost and flounder. Without Focalors, he will drown.

FOCALORS, THE HYDRO ARCHON: Fear not, dear Iudex. I am here, as I shall always be, to help with these harsh times! I know that work can be a heavy burden on your soul, and your wrist (chuckle). Now is the time that I have shown up once more to lighten that load. I will carry all that y

FURINA, THE (?)GOD(?): I don’t….w…nt…o… ne… est…now…’m… ir…ed… 

NARI, THE HUMAN:

Furina’s hand slips. It knocks against her ink well, sending it clattering across her desk and onto the floor. Dark colored ink splats against the wood and carpet, spreading as it soaks in. Frantically, Furina jumps from her seat and rushes to grab something to mop the ink up with. She hasn’t- she hasn’t made a mistake like this in-....

She can’t even remember.

Furina scrubs harder.

The carpet is lightly stained once she is done, but it’s not very noticeable. In fact, Furina is proud to say that no one would notice if they didn’t know what just occurred. It is that thought that allows her to put her stained rag down and stand. She’ll have to clean up the supplies in a moment. For now, it is best that she rights the things she knocked over in her panic. 

There is not much remaining ink in the jar, but what is left ripples slightly when Furina picks up the glass. A frown spreads its way across Furina’s face and she wills her hand to still as she places the inkwell in its rightful spot. Her eyes flicker to the papers on her desk. Her heart stops.

Furina pulls the paper towards her, palm flat against it. She stares down at the words written upon it. Stares and stares and stares as she fumbles for her pen. She dips it into the ink. Dips and dips and scribbles out the signature. Swoopy Fs and As, dotted Is, they all drown under the ink. Dip. Scribble. Dip. Scribble. Dip- it’s gone. She’s heaving for air when she finally stops, pulling her hands away sharply when she realizes how drowned the words on the paper are. How wet it is. How ruined .

No. No. Nonono. Furina needs this paper. She needs this form!

She’ll- she’ll talk to the melusines about it. She will. She’ll get another copy of the forms, the melusines always make copies! And then she’ll sign that one correctly and perfectly and she won’t spill anything or ruin everything and all of it will be okay and—

And that is when she notices the dark splotches across her hands.

How unprofessional. How wrong of a God.

FOCALORS, THE HYDRO ARCHON: (Wake up. Smile. Wave. Do your work. Work well. Act another act in those plays. Make the people smile. Make a show out of those trials. Appear as an archon. Sleep. Repeat.)

An archon would never appear as she does.

Furina swipes her arm across her desk, sending the ruined papers flying onto the floor. She heaves, bracing herself against the edge of the wood. The missed inkwell sits in front of her. Taunting. Her fingers twitch towards it. The sound of it shattering against the wall would be so satisfying. The look of the ink exploding against the white and blue of the room. The thought that everything would be different and nothing would have to be perfect anymore. Furina’s hand circles around it.

She stares at it for a moment. Then she is setting it to the side and pulling her gaze away, moving to crouch next to the papers and pick them all up. She stares at them. Stares. As if they will answer her questions. Her needs. The papers are dropped into the wastebasket at the side of her desk. They are ruined beyond recognition. Beyond repair. Ruined just like— because of Furina.

The spots. The spots on her hands.

Furina stands.

Furina makes sure her office is perfectly rightened before she leaves it. Then she is walking down the hallway, though really at a speed that is just slightly faster than a walk. It’s not a run. It’s not a jog. An archon would never— never— act so unprofessional. But she can not help herself from lengthening her strides and walking faster because the thought of anyone seeing her with this disgrace is enough to make her heart stop.

 As she walks, she keeps her hands at her sides, fisted into her skirts, anything to keep them from being noticeable. She does not wave back to the people she passes, but she does give them a smile. A smile from an archon is more than a wave. She does not ignore them. She acknowledges them. She’ll always acknowledge them. She’ll never leave them like they left h-

The bathroom is not far from her office. It’s a short walk. It’s empty. Thank Celestia, it’s empty. If she had to wait- if there was a higher chance someone would see her-! Furina is quick to enter and lock the door behind her. It will only take a few moments. Of course it will. 

Furina has work she needs to get done.

An archon would never let themselves appear the way you do.

The sink sits in front of her, in the same place it has been for centuries, looking just as it has for years, stuck, unmoving, unwilling to move. Furina stands next to it, staring at it. At it . Not at the mirror. Not at herself. At the sink. The sink. Slowly, her hand reaches out. It trembles. She holds it still. She turns on the water. It spills out of the faucet, swirling around the drain. 

For a moment, Furina is back on the stage, surrounded by hundreds of her own citizens. They’re silent. They’re watching her. Judging her. The Iudex stands above her. Staring down. The Duelist stands to the side, sword at the ready. The Traveler and their Companion watches her as well. Waiting.

The sink is filling with water at the same time that it drains. Furina watches the water as it stands still in that basin sitting in front of her. The water that is supposed to be the end of all in Fontaine. But Furina is not like her citizens; she is human enough to need to wash her hands right now. The ink has already stained her skin and she needs it off. She needs the lights off. But they beat down on her as the Iudex speaks. But she takes a deep breath and she lifts her hand and plunges it into the water.

The water flows over her hands as she scrubs and stands still, waiting for it to kill her, but it doesn’t because she is a god, she is a god, and now they will know and Focalors has truly saved her and they’ll have to believe her now because she was willing to risk even death to clean her hands of these stains.

She has to scrub her hands as she lets the water stand still over her fingers. Then she yanks her hand out, not wanting to risk anything further. She laughs. In her head. She laughs and laughs and laughs and pleads with them because she is a god. God enough to withstand the water. Why did she withstand it? She should be dead tired of this. She’s tired of scrubbing her hands. Ink stains will never leave and there’s no point to wanting them to believe her. Because they don’t. The Doctor enters the stage and examines her and Furina forces her breathing to calm as she lets the water scald her hands. It’s hot. 

Furina scrubs further as the Doctor stares at her and then backs away. She speaks her judgement and Furina is forced to accept that no one will believe her words even if she ke eps scrubbing at the ink stains. She scrubs and scrubs and scrubs but nothing changes. In fact, their stares get colder as the President explains. Explains that they were willing to kill her, but decided at the last second to change things. Explains that she is a fraud. And Furina needs to beg and plead harder because if she doesn’t then the stains will not leave! 

It’s getting annoying at this point that even as Furina scrubs with all her might, the ink stains on her hands arms will not come out. At least she didn’t get any on her clothes. That would be a pain. It’s a pan to listen to their words. 

“...Chief Justice…. judgement….Furina’s misrepresentation of herself….knowingly deceived her fellow citizens…. Guilty.”

“It can’t be.”

“....a guilty verdict…”

“The Hydro archon, guilty, to be punished via the death sentence.”

Furina yanks her hands from the sink. The water continues to swirl down the drain, steam rises from it. And oh. Oh. Her hands hurt. To the touch, they burn. She has scrubbed her skin raw. This- this isn’t right for an archon. She needs to be right in her appearance. She needs to-

She needs to hide this.

Furina can’t let anyone know.

That night, she returns home as usual, the Duelist walking just two steps behind. Her hands are back in their gloves, hiding pink tinged skin. They do not speak, as usual. The Duelist leaves her once Furina has stepped through the door. 

When she returns in the morning, alone, there is a paper on her desk that wasn’t there before.

…She locked her office when she left, as she does every day. She wouldn’t forget part of her routine. The routine is engraved in her, it will never leave. It will never let go . It-

Ah, Furina thinks, there is no reason to panic. It is likely only from Neuvilitte. He, of all people, as the Iudex, would have a key to her office. Though Furina doesn’t quite recall giving him such a thing. Still, he must have needed to tell her something right away, only to find her gone already. And he thought writing a note was the best idea. Perhaps she should stay later tonight? Just in case he comes by once again.

Crossing around her desk, Furina slides her hand over the paper. It’s folded in half neatly, unmarked. She picks it up and unfolds it to read. The handwriting is beautiful, looping across the page in a neat and elegant way. It’s not a writing that she can put a name to and yet it feels familiar in a way she can dismiss simply.

I believe there is something you are not aware of within Fontaine. Your Iudex is not giving you all the information you require, which should be fixed. It is not the Iudex’s right to judge what an archon does or does not know about her country.

If you do wish to know more, come to this address at 19:00 tomorrow.

As a side note, perhaps you should get someone to clean your carpets. Spilling ink is such a bother.

And at the bottom, just after a written address, signed with a swooped cross and a flourish that only Furina herself can rival:

- A

…Who???????

Chapter Text

There is not much that bothers Furina. Not really bothers her, truly, as nothing would bother a God. There may be a few things that annoy her a tiny bit, but everyone has something like that. “Pet peeves” they’re called, at least that is what Furina recalls them being called… maybe a century ago. It’s hard to say what a term might be called now, as the vocabulary in Fontaine changes so quickly over the years. Furina would be proud, if she didn’t find herself caught up and busy in learning all the new and different terms. 

Not that she had much time to do such a thing, between her studying of the prophecy, and the work she did within Fontaine. Catching up on the new terms that popped up was put to the side, all to be studied when she quickly noticed that her younger audience began to relate less to her. She could not have that. No, she needed to be a God that all of Fontaine respected.

Perhaps that is one pet peeve of hers, though she probably wouldn’t really call it that. Well… learning grammar really was just a minor annoyance, wasn’t it? Perhaps that is a pet peeve after all.

No, there is something that bothers her far more than any small annoyance could. Secrets.

Furina keeps her own secrets, yes. But those are different. Those are for the good of others. But this… back and forth she finds in her mind over the note on her desk, that is different. That is because of a secret that someone is keeping from her for no good. How dare they keep a secret from an archon who is supposed to know all within her region.

Furina would never let something slip to make others think that she has a secret. Furina is perfect in all that she does. For centuries, she will keep up her act. Giving up is not an option. Slipping is not an option. It is the only way to save Furina Fontaine.

The archon is left alone on the stage to carry on the act for thousands.

And what a beautiful stage it is.

Perhaps if Furina were actually an archon, she would know verything for certain. She has heard rumors that Barbatos could hear anything that the wind brushes by… and if that is the same with the waters… 

Focalors must know everything about the country with ease. And Furina must do the same.

It is no wonder that Focalors could make such an incredible plan, if she knew all that was going on in all of Teyvat. Furina and Focalors are one and the same in that way, making plans and keeping to them even as all crashes down around and the threat of death hangs above them. They danced together, at that last moment. And in that time, Focalors told Furina of things that she had wondered. Of things over the five hundred years that she always wished to know.

Furina used to know, in the past, of the things of Fontaine. She used to know everything that she could. She would have known about the report, about the note, about who sent it, about the political parties that could have had a hand in someone reaching out to her, about what her Iudex could be keeping from her, about everything.

She would understand what A wants her to.

What her Iudex expects.

For now, Furina sets the note to the side. She has work to do, afterall, and she would never risk falling behind in her work. Paperwork may not have seemed glorious in the eyes of her people, but it kept the city running, and Focalors was tasked with oiling the cogs of the machine of Fontaine. Paperwork was only one way to do such a thing. It is an important thing. 

Still, as she reads through documents and signs, she can not help that her thoughts focus on other things. Her thoughts drift from (unimportant papers, ones that Neuvillette allows her) words on the pages to the ones on the note. The words written in that elegant handwriting.

Who could those letters possibly belong to?

The papers in front of her seem to fade away as she sits up, staring across her office at her door. There’s something she’s missing. Something that she needs to know. Something she needs to find. 

She is Focalors, the God of Justice. The embodiment of JUSTICE itself.

Furina knows how to find things that she needs to know. She knows how to speak to reporters and sources to get them to tell her what she wants, even if they don’t realize it.

Doesn’t that strike you even the least bit absurd to bring the very concept of justice to trial?

She has had the experience of five centuries to practice the gaining of information. This would be a simple enough thing to solve for her.

Whether you acknowledge me or not, whether you trust me or nay, I say to you, keep faith in your-

Why are these thoughts haunting her? These memories of a script torn apart and drowned by the other characters in her play. They should be gone. Things are different now. Focalors needs to continue onwards and continue with these papers.

I say that justice is most fragrant when it blooms amid a SIN.

Furina picks up her pen once more, dipping it in the ink and tapping against the side of the inkwell to get rid of excess liquid. She poses the pen above her page, swooping her letters as she signs simply. 

Please. You’ve got to believe me.

Her S is signed with a stuttering jolt at the end of the curve. Now that’s just cruel. Furina finds a laugh spilling out of her lips as her eyes scan over the page before her. Even her own thoughts can’t read the script correctly, jumping around from order to order.

I- I can’t believe…

The words in front of her swim suddenly and Furina drops her pen to the desk, ink splattering where it lands, pressing the palms of her hands to her eyes. 

FURINA, THE HYDRO ARCHON: My, my! It seems I can not control my hydro once again. Such is the will of the water!

Another chuckle leaves her, hollow to her own ears. But she keeps it light and haughty and vain. She keeps it above all those around. “Just another sign of my influence on Hydro! It can be such a pain at times.”

There is no one around to hear her words. But she laughs again anyways, as if someone responded and she found it such a funny thing what they said. 

The only other sign of a person in the room is the note, laying on her desk. And once her eyes are drawn to it once more, it does not leave. She does not have to unfold the note to know what is written on it. Those words, in that handwriting that speaks of nothing but grace and a ploy. It’s similar to the same handwriting that Furina has perfected. Not a line out of place, not a dot unmarked. It is practiced and careful.

She repeats the words of the note in her head, over and over. 

It seems for the sinner, the curtain call has come.

Furina’s body jolts, and she clenches her hands together, staring down at the note before her. Those words- She starts over once again. 

I believe there is something you are not aware of within Fontaine. Your Iudex is not giving you all the information you require, which should be fixed.

I know I may not sound it, but faced with death, I find myself a little afraid.

That is not her voice.

That is-

It is not the Iudex’s right to judge what an archon does or does not know about her country.

Her country. Hers.

If you do wish to know more, come to this address at 19:00 tomorrow.

Perhaps this is one thing that both Gods and Humans have in common.

The desk in front of her swims in her gaze and she clenches her eyes closed tightly, hunching inwards upon herself. 

As a side note, perhaps you should get someone to clean your carpets. Spilling ink is such a bother.

Spilling ink is such a bother. She thought she cleaned it enough. She didn’t.

• A

Ink. A. Death. Sinner. Ink. A. Gods. Humans. Ink. A.

Something hits her. If they discussed the ink stain before they finished and signed the note… They wrote it in her office! All she has to do is ask the melusines who visited her office! It’s a simple answer, of course! That makes things easier for her. She’ll do that as she leaves her office for the day and she’ll work until then. That’s the best and most efficient way to spend her time.

I believe this is, indeed, the FINALE!
Furina stands up, chair scraping back once more. She winces, resolving to not do that anymore. Then, with one last glance at her abandoned papers, she hurries—no, walks out of her office. Archons do not hurry. Time moves around them and they move with it, when they wish.

As she leaves the room, she does not acknowledge the Duelist standing outside the door. It is not an archon’s job to acknowledge those that work under them. The Duelist does not show her surprise, if she is surprised at all, (she would never show such a thing, she is well taught to hide such feelings behind a mask of indifference), instead just falling in step behind Furina. Two steps behind, hands behind her back, posture straight. Like Furina’s own shadow, she is quiet as she follows.

But then again, with the backlighting like such of a dramatic story, shadows can always end up in front of what casts them.

“Hello,” Furina greets Sedene as she walks up, just to notify her of her approach, though the clicking of her heels likely did such a thing already. Everyone should know of her approach. Of her. They should be prepared to greet her. Furina stands on the other side of the desk, where it is natural for her to stand. Even a god does not take someone’s place behind a desk. Unless they can… If it would help that person then surely it would be best for Furina to take that spot. To do that work.

“Lady Furina!” —the melusine is smiling— “It is lovely to see you once more. What can I help you with today?”

“Sedene. I have a simple question. Is it alright if I ask it?”

The Melusine nods, “Of course, Lady Furina. I would be glad to answer any questions for you, as always.”

Furina smiles softly, “Thank you.” It’s nice that someone still understands her role in the Palais. Her place as an archon. And they respect her for that. “I only wish to know if anyone has visited my office recently. Could you perhaps tell me of who has?”

There's an itching between her shoulder blades and Furina knows it is because the Duelist stands behind her, watching her. It is not like the stares given to her during the trial. It is nothing like those given by doubtful people. But it makes a shiver run down her spine either way.

 Furina wonders what would have happened if she agreed to the duel during the trial. If she fought against the Duelist instead of trying to win with words. Maybe things would have gone better. Maybe less people would have died. Maybe Focalors would still be alive.

Of course, Furina is not good with a sword much at all. Acting with a sword and actually fighting with one are two very different things. But Furina is fast. She is smart. And she is cursed—no—was cursed. Her body could have handled the Duelist’s blows. Could have taken them and continued onwards. Would that have proven her as a god? Would the people be looking at her differently if she laughed and begged with a sword through her chest instead of the tears in her eyes?

She wonders if the Duelist would treat her differently if she knew how much pain Furina could take. If she knew how much she could endure. Because Furina knew. Assassination attempts in the past always left her bleeding but standing. Attacks were nothing but an after thought to brush away. Except that one in the dark, where for some reason there was a pressure on her chest like never before. A thought that she was actually going to die even with the curse. That she was going to be found out. That Fontaine would. Fall.

Furina would never die.

She's a god.

“No one has entered your office…” Sedene replies, slowly. Her brows are furrowed, her little nose twitching. Cute. “The only people to go near your office at all have been you, Miss Clorinde, and Monsieur Neuvillette.”

I never thought… you'd use that kind of rhetoric against ME.

Suddenly, the note seems less important than before. “...Neuvillette?”

“Yes,” she leans forward slightly, mirth twinkling in her eyes, “He often makes his way to your door, but he never ends up knocking. What an odd thing, isn’t it?”

There's a soft sound behind her, Clorinde shifting a few steps out of her usual formation. The itch between her shoulder blades returns but Furina does not turn to look. Instead, Furina stares at Sedene for a second before shaking herself out of her stupor. She nods, slow. “Yes. Very odd, indeed. Perhaps I shall talk to him, if he can not work up the courage to talk to me first.”

Sedene smiles and chuckles lightly, “Perhaps.”

The rest of their conversation bears no importance. Furina would have left sooner if she could, but ending a conversation is difficult, and the Melusine continues to talk. It would be rude—ungodly—to leave while she is still talking and expecting a response. And so Furina stayed, until she could make an excuse that didn’t sound halfhearted. Until she could make an excuse worthy of a god.

Then she is marching back to her office, the Duelist trailing behind her. The door is clicked closed behind her, the other woman staying on the other side. And Furina stands for a moment. Then she is searching every nook and cranny for clues about who could have left the note. There’s nothing out of place, no hairs left behind, nothing taken. There’s… no trace of anything. But the note sits clenched in her hand, proof that she didn’t make anything up.

Why would she?

She’s a god.

She doesn’t have to fake a thing.

“Liar.”

“Fraud.”

“Murderer.”

So, within the evening or night, (even though security was stricter during the night, Furina notes), the culprit entered her office, noticed the carpet stain, wrote the note, and left. All without Sedene seeing such a thing. Or any other guards… though Furina will have to look into that further, just to cover all bases. Interesting. Horrifying.

Perhaps the note itself could tell her more.

She has been in practice with finding things out before. When working in the court, she would entertain herself, yes, as all confident Gods would, but she would also do her best to research diligently and represent everyone fairly. (Lyney’s trial was a miscalculation, a mistake, one that she would never repeat. She let her prejudice get the better of her, just as others do against her, she messed up. She messed up and would never do so again). 

Carefully, Furina lifts the note and begins to inspect the small card of paper. There’s nothing else written on the back. There’s no imprints of other writings, nor any symbols or anything like such. Nothing that could be a key to a code… 

The parchment the note is written on isn’t hers.

It’s too heavy, too thick, and has a slight texture to it, nothing like Furina’s carefully crafted, thin, smooth, and light paper. But this note isn’t written on cheap paper either. It’s quite high quality, in fact. So it’s likely expensive, just as Furina's own. That narrows things down somewhat, but not much. An aristocrat within Fontaine perhaps? But who would have the access nor ability to enter the Palais Mermonia, and her office, without notice? If they were planning on writing the note within her office, why would they bring the paper with them when it was likely that they could find paper within her office to write upon?

With only a few steps, Furina walks around her desk and plops into the chair. She leans forward, resting her chin in her hands as she stares down at the paper before her. Her head tilts to the side, brows knitting together. Even at a—slightly—different angle, the paper remains the same and does not explain any of the secrets it holds.

Furina pokes at it. Still, nothing changes.

With a huff, Furina lifts the paper and stares at it through the light of the window. Nothing jumps out at her from that either. No hidden forms revealed in the light. No other indentations or marks that would come from writing on another on top of this one. Lips sticking outwards in a pout, Furina lets out a huff of air from her nose, dropping the paper to the desk. It doesn’t make a satisfying sound, instead just floating gently down before laying to rest upon the empty space of Furina’s desk. It is nothing like a shattering inkwell. 

There is not much else she can do with a simple piece of paper at the current moment. She has no other tools to be able to take a closer look at it, and she is not very well versed in the distribution of paper or where this particular batch would be from, giving her no hints there. She will have to research that later, but for now… She has already done something suspicious enough today by demanding answers from Sedene. She has already slipped up by forgetting the Duelist would follow and question. If she does anything else deemed odd, the Duelist would report back to the Iudex and they would have something click; they would figure out that she’s-

No, she is the archon. In the eyes of the law. Still. 

They would learn nothing. No secrets that could endanger Fontaine. 

 Instead of continuing to stare at such a thing as the useless note before her, she slides it into her drawer, locking it closed. That would be something for later.

Tomorrow at seven… 

Furina should be done with her work shift then, if she leaves at the time she’s supposed to. But there are still so many documents that she has to get done… so much work that she should be doing…. Still, Clorinde would likely be glad to see her leaving on time. Oftentimes, the Duelist would have to wait for hours until she could escort Furina home. It is actually quite inconsiderate to make her wait… but it's also inconsiderate to brush off paperwork that should already be done.

…Perhaps Furina should just tell Clorinde to go home without waiting for her. Ah, but the Duelist would never go for that. She takes her job very seriously. Furina looks at the clock. Her work hours are over already. How did it go by so quickly? Did she spend too long thinking? Maybe she should go home. Yes, she finished the work she was supposed to today but- but that's not nearly enough! If she doesn't get ahead again- if she doesn't prove herself, Neuvillette will never allow her to work any more. He'll- he'll think of her as—

Furina is useful.

With a deep breath, Furina stands, straightening the papers on her desk. She puts them in the places they belong, taking note of what is left to work on, for tomorrow. Then she is crossing the room and pulling open the door. The Duelist stands outside as always, gazing straight ahead. 

“Hello, Clorinde.” Furina acknowledges her, pulling the door closed behind her. It does not feel right for a title to not be before the name. Even if Clorinde is under her. She is under her.

The Duelist nods to her, gaze finally landing on Furina. “Lady Furina.”

The title makes her skin crawl. She smiles. “Are you ready to go?” She locks the door. This time, she twists the handle and tries pushing the door open to check that it’s thoroughly locked. It stays unbudged. It's locked.

“Yes, Lady Furina.”

Ah, perhaps she should not have so obviously checked the door in front of the Duelist. Did she mess up once again? Did she slip up too far? 

The Duelist said she was ready to go.

And so Furina turns mechanically and leaves the building. Step step step. Walking, walking, walking. And then the door is opening and the sun is in her eyes and Furina breathes, and the evening air greets her. The sun brushes against her face. And peace fills her once again.

Furina turns towards her apartment.

She's the archon. Why doesn't she stay in the apartment upstairs? Why doesn't she stay in the bed she's spent five hundred years in? Why does she move as if it makes a difference?

Furina thinks of other things. As they’re walking, the question pops into her mind randomly. “Have you had something to eat, Clorinde?” she blurts out. How unbecoming of an archon. She clears her throat, smoothing out her skirt. “I only mean to ask, as I have not seen you take the time to have a meal.” Not that she would from within her office.

The woman blinks at her, steps faltering. Clorinde responds, voice less sharp and sudden, “Oh- ah, no. Not yet. I do not eat on the clock.”

“How long has your shift been?”

Clorinde wavers slightly, eyes narrowing as she thinks. Furina glances away from the expression, it reminding her far too much of that look she gave her up on that stage. Cold blade pointed at her throat, freezing against the skin. Furina wants to step forward and let it impale her. Even if she won't die, maybe the pain will make her finally feel. Furina draws in a breath, looking back at the woman next to her. “Well?”

“...I suppose it has been some time now. I don’t think I have had a break since this morning…?” There is a question in her voice. As if the Duelist expects an answer from her archon. An answer that Clorinde needs.

Ignoring the darkness crawling up her throat, Furina raises a brow, hands finding a place on her hips. “You don’t remember if you’ve had breaks or not? That is not a good sign, dear Clorinde.”

“Hahhh,” she lets out a breath, shoulders slumping, “I know. I should really keep track of things like such better. We shall simply assume that I have not had anything to eat since I began work in the morning.”

“Clorinde! That is not good for your health. You can not be chastising me for missing meals when you have done the same thing!” Furina shakes a finger at Clorinde, frowning deeply. Then she presses a hand to her chest, “I would never be one to miss such meals so willy nilly, not when—” “Liar.” she stutters, “—when Fontaine relies on my incredible brain to keep them going! Brains need to be fed, Clorinde. Just as your body does.”

Clorinde smiles, eyes pushed upwards in a soft way. Like Clorinde is looking at a child. “My apologies, Furina. Perhaps I can amend this in some way?”

“Yes, of course you can,” Furina nods. Then she strikes a pose, one hand on her hip and the other hand pointing at Clorinde, “I demand that you come to have dinner with me immediately. It is only afterwards that you will be forgiven for your sins.”

Has Furina ever been forgiven for her own?

A god never sins. They are all good. Constantly the higher power within all lives. Humans are the one with sins, the ones with the threats of not being enough.

Justice is only more fragrant in the face of sins.

She is only bringing a stronger justice to the world.

“Then I will eat a grand meal with you,” Clorinde says, mirth twinkling in her eyes.

A smile stretches across Furina’s face, more similar to a smirk than anything else. “Perfect.” It is a God’s right to touch their citizens how they wish, so Furina thinks nothing of it when she grabs Clorinde’s wrist and begins pulling her from down the stairs outside the Palais Mermonia. “Come, come. I have the perfect place!”

She hopes it’s the perfect place.

Once they’ve breached the landing to the stairs, Furina breaks out into a run, dragging Clorinde along with her. Clorinde lets out a startled laugh, lengthening her strides and picking up speed so that Furina is not pulling off her arm.

“Must we run there?” she calls out. But there are no true complaints in her voice.

Furina almost stops right there, but there is an itch in her legs and a burning in her lungs and it gives her feeling, something more than the tingling in her hands and the voices in her head and the pain behind her eyes. So she clings to it and speeds up. “Come on, Clorinde! I didn’t know you were so slow!”

Something glints in Clorinde’s eyes and she finally breaks out into a full run, passing Furina and starting to drag her instead. “Slow? I think not.”

A laugh leaves Furina’s lips.

Finally genuine.

With how many times she read through the note, trying to find something within it, Furina has the address memorized down to the size the mystery person wrote it. She and Clorinde stop running after they’d already made their way far into Fontaine, passing by blurs of different people, all watching discreetly, ducking away when they're noticed.

Now, the two are walking together, step in step. Furina is leading the way. She has lived in Fontaine all her life, centuries, and so it takes no time at all for her to know where to go after they stop running. Clorinde seems content to let her lead… though Furina is not sure if that’s the right term. How could you lead someone if they were walking step in step with you? How could you lead someone when they’re going in the same direction already, leading you just as much as you lead them?

How could Furina lead anyone?

FOCALORS, THE HYDRO ARCHON: It is the archons duty to lead. To show the people where to go in a world filled with tribulations and sins.

“To be perfectly honest, Clorinde,” Furina begins, “I’ve never actually been here. It was simply… suggested to me by someone. So, if this place is not as good as we expected, blame them and not me, alright?” Too soft. A clenching in Furina's chest and she smiles wide, “We will hunt them down and put them on trial as the law demands for lying to someone as important as I!”
She hopes it’s not a trap. A threat to Furina. She would hate for Clorinde to be caught in that.

Clorinde chuckles, a soft and throaty sound, “I would never blame you for anything like such. Perhaps not even anything at all! Who am I to place blame on such a great being?”

The words are lighthearted. Something in Furina curls up and cries at them anyway.

The shop that the address leads to is small and inconspicuous; the kind of shop that Furina would have passed by without a thought. An archon would never go to such a place, after all. It would be below them, run by the lowest of lows. A small hand-painted sign hangs over the door, decorated with simply drawn cats and pawprints in bright, pastel colors. When they step inside, a gentle bell rings out and Furina is greeted with a tightly spaced but homey feeling area. Her eyes flick to the left, where a staircase sits, empty, before looking back at the counter in front of them. Tables and chairs lay around the store, paintings hanging along the wall.

It isn't busy at all, only a few people sitting around and chatting without a care in the world. In fact, none of them looked up at all when the two entered.

Furina marches in like she has been there before. But she keeps her eyes open. It’s almost a stroll, the way she walks, as if there is no tension in her body. As if there is no reason to fear, even when she’s likely going to come face to face with a citizen of Fontaine who will stare at her. Stare and judge and anger and attack.

The Duelist guards her.

Furina does not find that to comfort her as much as she would wish. But a God always relies on their Duelist. A God finds safety in their sword. So Furina does as well.

“Good evening,” Furina greets.

The person behind the counter immediately straightens up, a smile gracing their face. “Good evening and welcome to my shop! My name is Pax and I’m here to help! What can I get for you two? Do you need any suggestions?”

It takes a few moments for them to figure out what to order, Pax being just as helpful as they said they would be. Once they’ve ordered, Pax told them to find a seat somewhere, and they would find them in a moment with the food. They thanked them and Furina turns to Clorinde while the shop owner scurries into the back.

“Perhaps we should go up to the second floor,” Furina suggests. While there may not be many people down here, there were still some… She would rather find a place with none. Or at least less. She could survive with less.

She could survive far more than that. Stab wounds, natural disasters, poison. They tore her apart but she never died. She never fell. She never gave up.

“Let’s.”

And with that, the two climb the small staircase near the entrance. Doing so leads them to a small, but cozy, room. Bookcases line one wall with comfortable seating all around. The wall opposite to the bookcases are filled with windows, some open to let in the gentle evening air. One particular thing catches Furina’s eye. A seat within a window, filled with plush pillows and a folded blanket, with a small table beside it.

Furina can see herself visiting this cafe and that seat. It’s near her home, quiet, with a server who made no move to judge her, nor treat her with the awe a God like her deserves. She can see herself coming here, sitting in that seat and reading books while enjoying a slice of cake. Going over scripts and looking through documents.

Tempting.

Thankfully, the upstairs portion of the shop is empty save the two of them. Taking their pick of seats, they find their way to an average square shaped table with two chairs at it, sitting in front of a window. The tablecloth resting on it is neat, with little cats on the edges of it.

Furina’s lips twitch upwards when she sees the designs. Cute. 

“It is odd to be sitting at a table like this with you,” Clorinde muses.

“Is it, now?” Furina asks, running a finger along the embroidered cats on the cloth.

“Yes…” she’s quiet for a moment, gathering her thoughts, “It is different in your home. You are less like the God you were before the Trial and more like… Furina. Now that we’re out again you’ve gone back to that God. And I am left to wonder which one is the real Furina.”

FOCALORS, THE HYDRO ARCHON: Two things can be true at once. Yet one side will always lie. That is the basis of this trial. We must look at the evidence, dear Duelist, and the evidence clearly states that you went along with what the Iudex asked of you, even though it went against your precious archon. Perhaps you should rethink who you are before you question what I am.

FURINA, THE HYDRO ARCHON: My dear, silly Duelist. You are but a mortal. You can not understand the depth at which lies take to become truth. You can not understand the point that makes my life a truth.

Furina hums, “Don’t concern yourself with such a thing. You have lived a far shorter time than me, my dear Duelist, and that means you will likely never understand me. Not fully, not in the way you mortals always wish to understand each other.” She sighs, letting the breath drag out. “Some things just go beyond your comprehension.”

“...You’re a human too, Furina.” Clorinde says. “A mortal.”

NARI, THE HUMAN: I too, will one day die.

Shoulders tense, chest burning, Furina shakes her head. She shakes her head slowly, pitifully, as if she is so disappointed that Clorinde could not understand what she is saying. As if she is saying “oh you poor sweet baby” with just the motion of her head. “I lived five centuries without losing my mind, could a mortal, a human, really do such a thing?”

For a moment, Clorinde is quiet. 

FOCALORS, THE HYDRO ARCHON: It seems that the truth has silenced you. Have you realized that the evidence brought before you is enough to charge you of a crime?

FURINA, THE HYDRO ARCHON: The crime of doubting your God, the greatest of all beings. There is no one as great as I! And yet you doubt who I am? What a grievous thing that is. What a horrid thing you have done. (Laughs.) How dare you.

“Have you realized the fault in your thoughts?” Furina asks, leaning forward and steepling her hands under her for her chin to rest on. She stares at Clorinde, tilting her head just slightly. 

The other woman meets her gaze without a waver in her eyes. “No. I only wonder why you think a human could not do such a thing? Humans are built to change, to be resilient.” The lighting of the window casts one side of her face in light, the other in shadow. “When desperate enough, we can change for any situation. And so I say, a human could do such a thing. A human did.”

NARI, THE HUMAN: Do you see me at long last?

FURINA, THE HYDRO ARCHON: Ha! A bold claim for someone who seems so unsure. (Lies.) It’s quite incredible that you can scrounge up the confidence to doubt your god right to her face once more! Even as she continues on living… I have done things that would have killed anyone less than I! And yet here I remain. I, and only I, stay while Fontaine drowns. 

“Ha! A bold claim for someone who seems so unsure,” Furina bares her teeth at Clorinde, sharp in a smile, “It’s quite incredible that you can scrounge up the confidence to doubt your own god right in front of her face once more! Even as I continue living, doing things that would have killed anyone less than I, those in Fontaine who claim to be my most loyal continue to doubt me!”

Clorinde flinches.

Furina grins, “So you do not deny that you claim things with no truth behind them. Have you really let rumors sway your perception of your own god that far? Perhaps you shall think further on your actions in the future.”

The woman in front of her is silent, lips pursing together. Her head is bowed slightly, brows furrowing. Shame. Guilt. Confusion. Warring emotions across her face. Feelings that a Duelist is not supposed to carry, and yet Clorinde holds them all in her tense frame. Furina smirks, leaning forward more and shifting her hands to prop her head up further, staring down her nose at Clorinde.

“Or perhaps it would be better if you simply—” 

She cuts off the rest of her sentence as a small bell sounds out and her attention snaps to the stairwell to their side. Just coming to the top of the stairs is a cat, keen, bright blue eyes immediately focusing on Furina. The cat is a ragamuffin, orange and white in color, with a few black markings along their face and ears.

The cat stretches out their back legs as they reach the top of the stairs. Then they let out a chirpy meow as they pad over to them slowly, rubbing against chair and table legs as they go. Cuteeee. To Furina’s own surprise, the cat immediately hops onto her lap as soon as she straightens up, beginning to purr as they rub their cheek against her suit jacket.

“Hello, darling cutie~!” Furina coos, letting the cat sniff her hand before she runs it down their back. “Aren’t you just the prettiest kitty in Fontaine? Hm? Yes, you are.”

The woman across from her relaxes, a breath she was holding leaving her lips. “Ah, I see. You came here for the cat.” Her tone is tilted. The words are meant to sound teasing, Furina assumes, but there’s something off with them. Something wrong. As if Furina had upset her.

It’s Clorinde’s own fault for doubting her God.

A giggle leaves Furina’s lips, far too ungodly for her. But she can’t seem to care as she reaches to straighten the crooked blue bandana around the cat’s neck. A gold lining catches her eye, spelling Alaine out on the cloth. Ah, a lovely name. “I did not know our dear Alaine here is a resident of this place, but now that I do, I may just return more often!”

Alaine chirps again, butting her head against Furina’s shoulder.

“Oh yes, you’re the cutest cutie,” Furina babbles to the kitty, throwing in praises as she scratches under her chin. “The prettiest and cutest kitty in all of Fontaine. Yes, you are.”

Furina pretends it’s her imagination when a smile lifts the lips of the woman across from her. Just a moment ago, she had her on the ropes, on the edge of confessing. And now she’s smiling again. 

NARI, THE HUMAN: Why did Clorinde need to confess? It’s not like this is a trial?

FOCALORS, THE HYDRO ARCHON: All is a trial within the eyes of justice.

Infuriating.

“It seems Alaine likes you!” Pax says as they approach, setting two plates in front of the women. “She doesn’t usually get this affectionate with strangers, but she loves being doted on all the same!”

“She’s very cute,” Furina tells them, smiling as Alaine’s whiskers tickle her cheek, “I didn’t know this place was a cat cafe.”

Pax laughs lightly, “It’s not, quite. I need to get more cats before it can truly earn that name. For now, we just have Alaine here as our resident princess.”

“I hope you get more cats. They can be calming for many people.” Clorinde says.

“Yep! Cats truly are the best creatures for those with a torn soul. Alaine here has helped me through thick and thin. She’s done more for me than anyone else I’ve met.” 

Furina murmurs something else to Alaine, smiling into her fur as she inhales the soft scent of sun and warmth. The two continue a conversation over her and Furina lets her exhaustion drag her away into the world of soft fur and tickling whiskers.

Eventually, though, Clorinde is drawing her attention back to her. After Pax has already left and Alaine has settled in to lounge across Furina’s lap.

“So, what do you think about the food?” Clorinde asks.

Furina hums, staring down at the plate in front of her. For the first time in awhile, her stomach gurgles. Ah, she’s hungry. Odd, what a human body needs. Even when she didn’t eat for weeks in the past, nothing ever happened to her. The curse kept her going as simple as ever, and eventually the pangs in her stomach became familiar. 

A small bite is what she starts with. But after tasting the food, she begins to actually dig in. Of course, she was formal with it. She kept her posture straight, her elbows off the table, and she did everything correctly to eat as politely as she could. But the food is really good.

“It’s great,” Furina says after she swallows and dabs at her face with a napkin, though nothing is on it at all, “I suppose I will need to return here more often.”

“I as well.” Clorinde replies. She takes a bite of her food, chewing and swallowing before speaking again. She speaks her words slow, careful, unsure. “Perhaps we could go together? After work? We could eat dinner every evening, and in that way, you would know I am not skipping an important meal once more and putting shame to your name.”
Furina hums as she eats, mulling over the words. “I suppose that would be acceptable.” She agrees, finally. “It seems that you have come to accept that I am the archon you have always believed me to be.”

A moment of silence, other than the purrs coming from the warmth on Furina’s lap, and the soft clink as Clorinde sets down her fork. “To be honest…” she begins, and Furina feels her throat beginning to close, “I do not quite believe what you say. Not anymore. Not after what the Traveler said during the trial. What we saw.”

The trial. Sword. Water. Death. Death. Death. She would die if it kept them safe. She would DIE if Fontaine lived. The scales will always tip in their favor. She is nothing more than the balancing force on their side, the one committed to falling for them. To drowning for them.

FURINA, THE HYDRO ARCHON: No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can know. No one can

Furina clears her throat, trying to get rid of the lump that found its way there.

“I-” her voice wavers and she cuts herself off, clearing her throat again. Her fingers clench into her pant fabric, tightening. The cat between her arms looks up, meowing, but Furina does not pet her. “I do not wish to discuss such a thing.”

Clorinde wavers. But the Duelist listens. “As you wish, Lady Furina.” But then there is something in her eyes and Clorinde murmurs, softly, “But when you’re ready to talk, I’m here. I apologized for a reason, Nari. I’m here to stay.”

NARI, THE HUMAN: Oh

Furina does not reply to that. She simply picks up another forkfull of food and eats. 

“The weather is nice.” Clorinde says after a moment.

It is nice. A breeze is blowing in through the open window and Furina can hear birds chirping and people talking, taking advantage of the warm evening rays of sun. There’s that smell on the wind, the one that reminds Furina of summer. And though clouds drift through the bright blue sky, none stop the evening light from gracing the streets below.

“Yeah.” Furina agrees, “It is nice.”

They said not a word more.