Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Core: Ontos
Location: Bionis and Mechonis
Year: 1377

The red glow is what gives it away. The sparkling bit isn’t exactly unique when surrounded by a beach full of tiny, shining rocks that all glimmer in the sun. 

But the red. That draws Shulk’s attention. 

It takes him a moment to recognize it as he pulls it out of the sand and cradles it in his palm. But even after, it doesn’t make much sense. It’s been only two weeks since Zanza fell and the free world was born, and most of those days have been spent desperately trying to recover from the near destruction and rebirth of life as they know it. But in that time, Shulk hasn’t seen hide or hair of Alvis. Not a single whisper.

Shulk had thought he might go back to the remaining High Entia, but Melia hasn’t heard from him, nor has he been found in any of the Hom colonies. It’s still early to give up, of course, but the conclusion seems fairly obvious.

It’s not entirely surprising, but it is a tad disappointing.

Now that disappointment has turned to confusion. Why would Alvis leave his necklace of all things lying in the sand, the black leather band that had wrapped it around his neck nowhere to be seen? Should he expect his coat to wash up on the shore as well? Maybe a pair of boots?

Is that what he’s doing? Leaving behind his physical possessions while he goes… away? Wherever that is, if anywhere at all. If he’s still alive. If he was ever alive. 

Shulk’s attention is pulled back to the charm when it pulses in his palm. The red, almost orange color in its center swirls around like a mini vortex in the hand, and Shulk doesn’t remember the necklace looking quite like this when it sat atop Alvis’s collarbone. There’s an energy dripping off of it- an essence- that feels so familiar. It takes Shulk longer than it should to place why.

Seconds pass by, and Shulk still hasn’t moved. There’s a gentle vibration in the crystal, and he can’t quite bring himself to look away. Why? Why had Alvis left this here? Was it intentional or just a coincidence that Shulk would stumble upon it again? A keepsake, perhaps?

Shulk’s brow furrows as the crystal’s vibrations increase. The swirling in the center becomes more and more violent, and a sudden bright light erupts from it. A harsh wave of energy shoots out from its glass-like shell- strong enough to knock Shulk off his feet and into the sand. Consciousness leaves him shortly after, and his eyes close with his palm still wrapped around the shining crystal.

Core: Pneuma
Location: Alrest
Year: 4058

There’s a noticeable shake in his hands, but he’s not sure if it’s from pain or shock or fear. The answer doesn’t really matter so long as his limbs continue to obey his commands. He pulls on the scraps of metal blocking his path, yanking a sheet of fallen wall- or maybe ceiling- out of his way. He manages to slice his hand open in the process, but again, he ignores it, just like he ignores the tall flames closing in on him from every side. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to be left here. He can see through the flickering fire and cracks in debris that the space on the floor where the white Siren had sat is empty, but that can’t be right. It can’t be. It can’t-

Arms wrap around his torso, pulling him backwards with a sharp tug. He nearly loses his footing, and all his effort goes into escaping the iron grip.  

“Come on!” Mythra’s voice rings in his ears, her hold on him tightening when his struggle persists. “We can’t stay here!” 

“No!” It comes out like a growl, and it tears at his throat almost as much as the smoke that fills it. “I’m not leaving! Malos!” 

He reaches out a hand into the empty space, as if expecting Malos to reach through and grab hold of it- to pull himself to safety or drag Jin along with him. Either is fine. Either is good. Anything is better than-

“He’s gone!” Mythra’s hold on him is awkward with the size difference, but despite that, she manages to drag him towards the door. His boots skid against the smooth metal floor, failing to find any traction that might aid in his resistance. “You can’t-!” 

“I said I’d go with him! I was supposed to go with him!” 

“Jin!” 

Another pair of hands grabs hold of him, taller this time, but attached to a similarly blonde head of hair. The two against one is more than Jin can take, and he’s hauled from the room. His fight doubles, but they don’t seem to notice as he’s dragged down hall after hall. Corridor after corridor.

“Mythra!” 

It’s the kid’s voice, standing right at the edge of the shuttle bay and waiting readily for her return. She heads towards it, sealing the door to the ship closed the moment she’s fully inside. She finally lets go of Jin, allowing him to fall to the ground with only Mikhail left supporting him. He doesn’t stay down for long, jumping back to his feet and lashing out against the closed entrance. 

“Mythra!” Rex yells again, pointing at the digital clock held in his hands. “The timer’s almost up!” 

Mythra rushes to the front of the ship. The engines are already online, waiting for her direction to take off. She gives it exactly that, and the shuttle around them begins to vibrate before peeling down the tracks and launching into the sky. The occupants turn and look out the massive glass windows as the timer in Rex’s hands reaches zero. 

The explosives they had rigged all up the length of the tree go off as planned, starting at the very top and working their way down the beanstalk. Debris scatters in the air around them, and while this in itself could cause some damage, it’s nothing compared to what the fall of the World Tree upon Alrest would have done to the world. 

It worked. Both parts worked. Feedback from the Conduit- diverted away. The World Tree’s collapse- destroyed. Months of planning with no way to test, and it worked. The relief is almost enough to send Mythra to her knees, and she can’t help the choked laugh that leaves her throat. It worked .

Alrest is safe. Her home is safe. Her friends are safe. 

Her gaze goes to Jin. His fight is gone. He kneels on the ground, one hand still pressed up against the closed door. She can’t see his face, and she’s not sure she wants to. He barely moves at all, not even to acknowledge the presence of Mikhail sitting next to him, his palm on Jin’s shoulder and barely holding back tears of his own. 

It worked.

And Malos is gone.

Core: Logos
Location: Unnamed
Year: 0

When he opens his eyes, he wishes he hadn’t. There’s an almost gentle pang reverberating from his Core and throughout the rest of his body- a dull throbbing feeling in the back of his head. Sore might be the best way to describe it. He is sore. His Core is sore. Overextended. Overused. Abused. Stretched to its very limits. 

Siren’s interior is small, and even with the controls transferred over to Malos, giving the wings and Core its familiar purple hue, it still feels foreign. It feels too much like his partner. There was a time such a thing wouldn’t have bothered him, but their spat five hundred years ago had soured their relationship more than a bit.

Even so, Siren is his to wield now. He could pilot her if he wanted to- explore what’s within his line of sight and then some. But is there even a point?

He knows the answer already, but he can’t help but reach out- reach into the endless void.

Is anyone there?

Siren’s eyes become his own, and he gazes out upon the new world, despite the effort making his still inflamed Core burn. But there’s nothing. Nothing but him and Mythra’s Siren, floating through the emptiness of space. Not even space. Nothing. A universe in its first breath of existence. 

There’s nothing but him here, and so there’s nothing at all. 

He releases his control over Siren and rests his head back on the metal wall behind him. It’s not a surprise. He’s known this would almost certainly be the outcome- he’s known that for months. There was no stopping it. That’s what Mythra had said then and what he had confirmed for himself when Jin refused to accept it. 

Jin didn’t want to listen. He didn’t want to believe it. But it was true.

It wasn’t Mythra's fault, or Malos’s for that matter. It’s hard to even blame their father- not entirely, at least. Not for this. For many other things, yes, but not this. 

This was just fate. Cruel fate. 

Or maybe it was for the best. Jin is still alive, and he still has the power of an Aegis. Mythra will make good on her promise. She’ll help him. She’ll make the world he always dreamed of. It was supposed to be Malos, but Mythra can take his place. She’ll have to. She promised. 

As for Malos, he’s done his part. He’s done everything he could do. Now there’s nothing left. He places his hand against his Core, grabbing hold of the wretched consciousness his father had thought appropriate to give him, and pushes it as far down as he can manage.

There’s nothing but him here, and so there’s nothing to do but sleep. 

Maybe it won’t be so alone in his dreams.

Chapter Text

Arc I: Basked in Light

The ice protects us.
The ice protects you. … Of course he does.

“I was ten, at the time. I was in Spessia when Indol attacked.”

A quill scratches against paper. Normally, a sound like that would be far too quiet to be heard in a massive, endless room like the one they stand in, but this time, it echoes across each wall, bouncing back and forth, growing louder and louder until his eardrums feel like they’re going to burst. 

Niall lets the false-silence sit for a moment, until the transcriber has had a chance to catch up. Once the quill slows, he looks back to Mikhail. “What year was this?” 

“3564.” The response is immediate. 

“And was Amalthus Praetor at this time?”

“Yes.” Mikhail’s eyes dart to the other side of the room. Amalthus isn’t present today. He’s not sure why. Maybe it was done out of courtesy for himself, so he wouldn’t have to see that man’s face while retelling the worst days of his life. It isn’t a kindness, though, not really. He had been looking forward to it- to locking eyes with that man and showing him how alive he still is, despite Amalthus’s best attempts to change that fact. “I didn’t know until after, but yes.”

“Tell us what happened that day.” Despite the tense history between them, Niall’s voice is warm and kind. 

“I had traveled there at Addam Origo’s request.” Mikhail begins, recalling the events the best he can. “The Tornan refugees from Aletta, and some of the surrounding areas, had made their way to that Titan after Torna was sunk. Addam sent Lora to collect them and bring them to Leftheria.”

“Lora?” Niall asks.

“She was Jin’s Driver.” Mikhail says after a pause. “A Knight of Torna.”

“Is she the one that Jin… ‘consumed’?” The warmth has already started to fade, replaced with barely hidden revulsion.

The tone makes Mikhail’s hands curl at his sides. Still, he forces his voice to stay level through gritted teeth. “Yes.”

He must not have done a good job of masking his anger, as Niall squints at him from across the room. The raised platform does a good job of making him appear ‘higher’ and stronger than the rest of them. “Carry on.”

Mikhail glances behind him. The seats are mostly empty, scattered with a handful of curious onlookers. Patroka is just a couple rows back, looking bored, but meeting his eyes when he turns around. Pyra is sitting near the back, watching patiently with hands clasped. 

“After we found the camps, we were overrun. There were hundreds of them. Maybe more.”

“‘Them’ being Indoline soldiers?”

“Not just soldiers.” Mikhail shakes his head, the memories flooding back. They had thought Gort was the worst of it, but he was just the beginning. “There were creatures we didn’t recognize. Early Blade Eater prototypes.”

“A Blade Eater being a human infused with a Blade Core?” Niall doesn’t seem as disturbed by the concept, and the word choice isn’t lost on Mikhail. Blade Eaters are humans taking something they own by right and becoming more. Flesh Eaters are creatures warped by an unforgivable act, consuming the flesh of their precious human kin. Even the name ‘Flesh Eater’ is telling. 

“Yes.” Mikhail confirms. “Jin and Lora went to the camps to help the Tornan’s resistance. I was taken in a different direction- away from the soldiers.”

“Taken by who?”

“Haze.” The name catches in his throat, and he’s tempted to leave it at that. Let her be Haze and nothing more. Let the tarnish of that man wash away from her memory. But she also deserves justice. He deserves to pay for the atrocities committed against her. “Her name was Haze. She was Lora’s second Blade. She became Fan la Norne after being captured by Indol.”

“You speak of the late Goddess of the Praetorium?”

“Yes.” And this time, Mikhail can’t hide the anger in his voice. He wishes once again that Amalthus were here, but instead, Mikhail can only hope that his words somehow penetrate through the floor and into the prison below. “She was kidnapped and mutilated by Amalthus.”

While Amalthus himself cannot protest the claim, the Indoline man standing in for him does. Mikhail doesn’t know his name- couldn’t be bothered to remember it when he was introduced at the start of the day. A representative of Indol, Mikhail recalls, who stands in protest of their precious Praetor’s arrest. Niall gives him a sharp look, and when that doesn’t silence him, Morag’s firm hand on his shoulder does. 

Then, Niall looks back to Mikhail. “What happened after you were taken away from the Indoline troops?”

“We ran and hid, for maybe an hour. Probably less. Then she returned to her Core.” Her hand in his had been a comforting grip while dust and screams filled the air around them. At first, he had thought that she simply let go, perhaps by accident, but when Mikhail looked up, instead of her friendly, familiar face, he had seen a shimmering blue light. “I was found by the soldiers when they were searching for survivors, later in the day.”

“What happened next?”

“They crammed maybe a few dozen of us onto ships and sailed us to Indol. I was kept in a cage below the prison.”

“Did you see what happened to the others?”

“They were also in cages.” Cages filled so far to the brim that there was barely room to move. Mikhail had stuck a leg and arm each through the bars, trying to squeeze as far as he could from the rest. “They would bring us out in groups, into the Sanctum. Amalthus would take us, one by one, and try to turn us into the same creatures they had used on the battlefield. I found out later that we were test subjects. He wanted to learn how to become a Blade Eater himself- without becoming a beast.” It became less crammed in that cage every day, and every day Mikhail found himself wishing for that suffocating feeling back. “Most of us died. Some transformed into beasts, some were killed instantly, and some survived the process only to die hours later. I was one of the lucky ones.”

More quill scratching. “To confirm, you were made into a Blade Eater by Amalthus against your will?”

“Yes.” Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. 

“What happened after?”

Was there an after? Or was that when he died? The little boy from Estham- did he survive?

“I was taken back to my cage, to see if I would live. I did, along with only a couple others. Amalthus decided to ship us away. I didn’t know why at the time.”

“How long had you been in Indol’s custody, at this point?”

“Maybe six months?” There was no sun and moon in his cage. There was only thirst and hunger and pain. Sometimes you could tell how long it had been, just based on the pain in your stomach since the last time you’d eaten. “I don’t know for sure.”

“What happened after you arrived?”

“I didn’t.” Mikhail shakes his head. “Our ship was attacked by Jin and Malos.”

Niall’s eyes look out into the audience, roaming for Jin, but when there’s no sight of him, he turns back to Mikhail. “Did they know you were aboard?”

“I don’t think so.” Mikhail decides, after a moment of though. “Jin looked surprised to see me.”

Mikhail had been surprised, too. He didn’t know what Malos looked like, so that hadn’t bothered him. But seeing Jin again, and a Jin that remembered him to top that, was a dream he never imagined coming true. Maybe Haze’s Core had been hit and cracked. Maybe Lora wasn’t actually dead. Maybe Jin had come for him, to rescue him and bring him home. 

And then he saw the blood red behind his hair. 

“What did they do next?”

“They freed us- me and the two others. They recognized Malos and didn’t want to go with him, so Jin gave them Indol’s ship and told them not to tell anyone about the Aegis being alive. I went with Jin.” It wasn’t home, but it was a home of sorts. It became home. “He told me that Amalthus was sending us to Spessia, where a man named Stannif had taken up residence. He was to further the experimentations on us.”

“Do you know what happened to the other two Blade Eaters?”

“I never heard from them again.” Mikhail’s head twitches again to the Indoline man on the right, whose glare matches his instantly. “I can only assume that Amalthus had them hunted down and killed, just like he tried to do to me.”

The words have their intended effect, and the man shoots up again, loud protests filling the room. Morag quickly goes to quiet him, but it doesn’t work as well this time. 

After a moment of this, Niall clears his throat. “I think that’s enough for today.” Then, to Mikhail. “Thank you for your testimony. I will call upon you if I have any more questions.” 

The sparse audience dissipates quickly, whispers filling the room and quieting again as they exit. Pyra leaves only a moment after the rest, disappearing through a door towards the back of the room. 

Morag, finished, apparently, with the Indonline representative, makes her way across the room and comes to stand in front of Mikhail. “You are free to go. As previously stated, you are welcome to roam the city at your leisure. Any illegal activities will result in your immediate arrest and privileges being revoked.”

Before Mikhail can respond or even roll his eyes, Patroka stands up, arms crossed. “Yeah, we know. Give it a rest.”

Morag glances at her, silent, before backing away and leaving them to follow Niall from the room. 

“I think she likes it, getting to pretend like she’s above us. Giving us rules.” Patroka lets out a huff of air. “This whole thing is bullshit.”

Despite it all, Mikhail smiles. “It’s only going to get better. It’s your turn next.”

“Don’t remind me.” She rolls her eyes, and when she, too, steps towards the door, Mikhail follows. “It’s not like I have anything new to add. Akhos already gave his sob story.”

“Maybe you can bring some tears and add another decade onto his sentence.” Mikhail turns to face Patroka, walking backwards through the hall. His hand presses against his heart in a dramatic fashion. “Oh, Emperor Niall! He was so cruel to us! He hunted us, like ANIMALS!”

Patroka pushes him, nearly causing Mikhail to lose his balance, but he catches himself against the wall. 

“C’mon. He’s gonna live a long time. We’ve gotta stretch it as much as we can.”

“If it comes to that, I’ll just kill him myself.” Patroka smirks at the thought, but that too fades. “We should be doing that anyway. It’s been eight months of this. All this shitty decorum when could I just as easily run my spear through his throat.”

It’s a nice mental image. Blood pouring from his flesh as he gurgles and chokes, his eyes wide and afraid. Mikhail can imagine the outrage back in Indol, and for some reason, Mor Ardain seems to still care about that. It’s all pretend diplomacy and pleasantries. And they wonder why Jin had chosen to take matters into his own hands for all those years. 

“How did Jin get out of this, anyway?” Patroka complains. “He was the one that made the damn deal.”

Not for lack of effort. Mikhail knows from experience that it’s all but impossible to get that man to do anything he doesn’t want to do. Especially now. Malos had rarely tried to push Jin in any particular direction, but on the rare occasion that he did, he had a higher success rate than the rest of them. Even if he were still here, though, Mikhail doubts he’d be able to convince Jin this time.

Patroka reaches the door first and pulls it open. The rest of the group is already here, including Pyra, who’s standing with a marker in hand by the board. 

“Starting without us?” Mikhail teases, plopping down next to Akhos who seems grateful to not be alone in a room with Pyra and her team of furballs anymore. Patroka joins him, eyeing the rest of the occupants: Nia, Dromarch, Tora, and Poppi.

“Just reviewing the plans from last time.” Nia says, helping Pyra get everything re-written on the board.

“So professional.” Mikhail purrs, which earns a kick to the arm.

Pyra finishes writing, pulling back to look at the notes. “The two options we settled on were the buffer system and the longevity system.” She turns to the rest of the group. “Anyone need a reminder of these two?”

“Tora wasn’t here last time.” The Nopon raises one of his ear-wings above his head. “Too busy helping Rex Rex fix ship’s engine! Very tiring work.”

Mikhail glances around, having not noticed the boy's absence before. He must have finally left for Indol. 

“To start with, the simplest option is the buffer system.” Pyra explains, pointing with her marker to the notes. “This system keeps the cycle Blades are most familiar with now, but allows them to store memories for a longer period. We could set the buffer for a certain number of awakenings, and only after that number, would a Blade lose their previous memories.”

“So, if we for example, had a buffer of three, and a Blade gets awakened- they wouldn’t lose the memories of that awakening until three more from then?” Nia asks.

“Correct.” Pyra nods. “All Blades, except for ones who’ve been awakened less than three times, would have the memories of their current awakening and the two previous ones. This way, they will have time to record any memories they want to keep track of and make choices based on their past lives.”

“The humans would probably like it, too.” Nia shrugs. “Some of them, at least. It’ll be a lot harder to kill Drivers for their Blades if the Blade is going to remember their face.”

“Why do Blades have to return to their Core at all?” Akhos asks, raising an eyebrow.

“That would bring us to our other option.” Pyra says slowly, pointing once again to the board of notes. “For the longevity system, we would need to dismantle the Blade lifecycle as we know it. We could mimic the system of humans and replenish the population that way. Blades already have human data, we would just need to activate it.”

“Gross.” Patroka adds, not even trying to hide her disgust and she sneers. “Blades aren’t human, and we don’t want to be human.”

“The way I see it, we should keep Blades the way they are, but don’t return them to their Cores.” Akhos says. “Humans don’t lose their memories, why should we? Why do we have to become them to have a culture of our own?”

Pyra shakes her head. “The current Blade system is built upon the connection between Blade and Driver. The only way to allow a Blade to keep living on after their Driver’s death is to, in part, make them human, like by taking a part of human flesh into themselves. That, of course, comes with its own dangers and downsides.”

“Okay, fine, Blades need to bond with Drivers, or they’ll end up like us.” The way Patroka says it makes it sound like she doesn’t quite agree, but she lets it pass regardless. “Why can’t Blades choose their Drivers? When a Driver dies, let them pick a new one and link to them.” 

“When a Driver dies, the bond between the Blade and Driver snaps. Sometimes it’s ‘gentle’, other times it’s not.” Pyra looks towards the ground, her hands clasped together. “That’s why Blades can’t be awakened right away. There is a physical trauma that has to heal. If we keep linking Blades and Drivers together, and prevent Blades from returning to their Cores, that repeated trauma could damage their Cores permanently. They would-”

The door opens again, and at first, no one enters. Then Jin comes into view, using his shoulder to keep the door open as he walks backwards into the room. A large metal contraption, almost as tall as he is, enters next. Jin doesn’t acknowledge anyone in the room as they quietly stare and watch him slowly drag it across the room. The sound of metal scraping against the floor is loud enough to make Dromarch wince. It pauses for a moment when Jin reaches a second door. He opens it, kicking it back with his foot, and pulls the machine through the frame and out of sight. Then the door shuts, and only a muffled version of the screeching sound can be heard next. 

Mikhail is the first to react, letting out a sigh and placing his hands on his thighs. “You guys continue without me. I’ll be back in a minute.” 

When Mikhail is halfway to standing, Pyra disappears in a flash of yellow. “No, I’ll do it.”

“Oh yes, that’ll help.” But Mikhail doesn’t bother arguing, settling back on the floor as Mythra disappears through the same door Jin has escaped in. 

It’s not Jin’s room, but it might as well be. Niall had given the Torna crew all chambers within the palace, which is the least he could do considering the Marsanes was confiscated- a fact that seemed to still piss Mikhail off to no end. This, however, is not a bedroom at all. It’s little more than a large storage room, but considering the fact that Jin spends nearly all of his time here, both day and night, most have now considered it to be Jin’s.

It’s not like there’s much else it could be used for now that Jin has claimed it. The room is packed full of different materials, loosely organized into overflowing bins and messy piles. Mythra has to step over some of them before making it to the far end of the room. The large structure Jin had dragged in is now stationed against the wall, and he’s digging inside it, lifting up panels and pulling out wires. 

Mythra leans against the wall, waiting for any acknowledgment of her presence, but none comes. “We missed you at the trial.” More silence. Irritating silence. “You know, it would really help if you testified. You saw stuff a lot of the rest of them didn’t.”

With the wires now stripped, Jin starts digging through another box. 

“For someone whose tragic backstory is almost entirely based on that man, you really don’t seem to care if he’s even punished.” Though, in fairness, there’s plenty of evidence already without Torna, but even so. You’d think Jin would be anxious to tell the world what a monster he is after hundreds of years of being forced into silence. “Indol is pissed about it. They’ve been demanding his return for months now. Fortunately they don’t have much in the way of firepower since Mor Ardain took over the place, but they’re pitching a fit.”

Jin is not a mechanic, and that is made more and more obvious with every second Mythra watches him. It would be funny if it weren’t so pathetic. Even if he had some basic skills, materials from the fallen World Tree would be difficult for even an adept user to make sense of. For Jin, it might as well be hopeless. 

“Why are you even bothering with that stuff? It’s not like you know how to use any of it.”

At first it looks like Jin isn’t going to respond, but then he taps two wires together and drops them when the spark burns the tips of his fingers. “Then help me.” He whips his head up at her. “You know how. You could do it, but you won’t.”

“Because there’s nothing to be done.” And that’s the truth of it. “Malos is gone. He can’t come back. Nothing I do will change that.”

“You haven’t even tried.”

“What do you want me to do?” Mythra stands up straight, hands on hips. “It was the Conduit that took him, and it’s gone. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know how to get to him.”

A whiplash event, Klaus had called it. His initial use of the Conduit had destroyed his own world and created a new one. For some time, that had been that. Alrest was born from the ashes, and new life took hold. But that burst of power had to come back, like a boomerang. It was coming for their home. For the first round, it had focused on Ontos, dragging them into the new world, and this time it came for Logos. 

There was nothing Mythra could have done to stop it. She couldn’t have even traded places. Jin must know that, deep down, even if he doesn’t act like it. 

“You don’t want him to come back.”

“Correct?” Mythra says, befuddled. “Do you want a gold star for that stunning realization?” She ignores the way Jin’s teeth clench together. She won’t pretend to like that man, even with Jin’s obsession. “Malos was a monster and the world is better for him not being in it, but that’s not why I won’t help you.”

Mythra can feel the rage bubbling over, but then suddenly, it simmers, and Jin’s eyes go to the floor. “You should have left me in the World Tree.” 

“You’re not alone here, and I don’t mean that in a ‘we’re all in this together’ kind of way. You have responsibilities. You have people looking to you- people who need you, and you’re not here.” It’s Mythra’s turn to be angry, and it’s been building for far longer. “You think you’re the only person who's ever lost someone? You think you’re that special? Get a grip and move on. You’ve done it before. You can do it again.”

“He’s not dead!” Jin yells, still sitting on the floor next to his pile of junk. “He’s alive, out there, alone. In the dark.” He pauses. “I won’t abandon him.”

“There’s nothing you can do.”

“You don’t know everything.” Jin snaps back. “You can pretend you do, but you don’t. You’re just as blind as the rest of us.”

And with that, Mythra shakes her head. “I don’t know why I even bother.” She steps towards the door, almost making it all the way there before turning back around. “I wonder what Lora would think of you and Malos-”

Mythra isn’t able to finish her sentence before Jin grabs the heaviest, pointiest piece of metal within reach and chucks it at her head. “Get out!”

Mythra sidesteps out of the way and throws her hands up before exiting the room, leaving Jin alone with his useless mess. 

Chapter Text

Green fields. Sloped hills. A waterfall that drips off the edge of a cliff face and splashes into the flowing river below. A town in the distance. Blue skies. A single tree. 

Silence. Then a chirping bird. Then- 

“Why here?” 

Malos peaks an eye open, craning his head towards the companion at his side. Jin curls his knees up against his chest, letting his hands run through the blades of grass below them and waiting for Malos’s response. 

“It’s something I’ve always wondered.” Jin continues when Malos doesn’t reply right away. Instead, Malos is content to merely listen to the sound of Jin’s voice. He wishes he would never stop talking. He could revel in Jin’s words until the day his Core gives out without opening his own mouth a single time. “Why always this place?”

“It’s Elysium.” Malos answers, glancing up at the sky. Even without any memories of his time before Amalthus, this place remains as a part of his very being. His true origin. “It’s my home.”

“Yes, but why?” Jin asks. “Why not Alrest?”

Malos snorts. Alrest? And where exactly would he choose to spend his days? In the memories of Indol, with his dear Driver? In his old room, before he left and never looked back. Or maybe he would go to Torigoth, where his wanted poster is stapled to the notice board. Maybe Uraya, where he lost to Mythra for the second time. “As if I have any fondness for that place.”

“Why not the Marsanes, then?” Jin leans towards him. “Surely you must have felt at home there?”

“You know I did.” Malos says before Jin’s even finished his sentence, his head dipping down. “It’s just…”

And Malos falls silent. 

A moment later, a hand rests on top of his own. Malos’s eyes peek up to meet Jin’s. “I understand.”

Malos smirks, though it’s void of any real joy. “Naturally.” 

It’s not Jin’s fault, but even so, Malos grimaces at the reminder of what he is. He does his best to hide the expression, but Jin sees it regardless. It’s not like he can hide anything from this Jin anyway. 

“I’m sorry I’m not here.” Jin starts again, his voice soft. Gentle. Jin was so rarely gentle. It feels strange. Unnatural. “I wish I could have come with you.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Malos says it, but he’s not sure he means it. If he were a better man, he would. Only a monster would wish for Jin to join him in this nothingness. Only a monster would want for something like that. “What would be the point of both of us floating around in the endless darkness?”

But if this Jin wishes for it, it must mean Malos does, too.

“How much time has passed since you went to sleep?”

To that question, Malos isn’t sure. “No idea. A while, I think.” 

It’s hard to keep track, nor has Malos had any desire to. What was the point? There’s no end in sight, only a beginning and the endless present. What use is dates and milestones? Is he meant to celebrate the anniversary of his existence here in this empty void? Is he supposed to ache at the reminder of how long he has been without them?

“You could be dead by now. You and Mik. Akhos. Patroka.” How long would they all last? Mikhail could probably make it for a long while. Akhos and Patroka, too. But Jin? “Definitely you.” 

Jin is dead. He must be by now. Did he at least achieve all that he hoped for? Did he free the Blades? Did he defeat Amalthus? Did he find that peace he always wanted- reached the dream they fought for?

Maybe. Maybe not.

But he is dead.

And Malos is alone.

“You still have me.” Jin’s voice springs up again, and it pushes away all of the emptiness that tears away at his insides. It’s wrong of him to twist Jin's memory into this vague, clingy mutation. The true Jin was strong- stoic. He rarely allowed himself to show such mewling weakness. It is an insult to the man that he was- a man who valued true memories over anything else. Malos has desecrated him. 

Even so, Malos smiles. “I suppose that’ll have to do.” 

He presses his forehead against Jin’s, and then they stay there. The silence returns, and they bask in the warmth of each other’s light. He doesn’t have to think about the others. He doesn’t have to worry about their hopes and dreams- if they live or die. If they won or lost. 

Right now, Jin is all he needs.

And then there’s pain. Searing pain. And Malos opens his eyes- his real eyes. He’s exactly where he left himself, all those years ago, sitting on the ground of Siren’s interior, but now he’s in agony, and Siren is hurtling through space. 

Malos clutches at his leg. It hurts. It hurts. Why does it hurt? His vision blurs, and he can’t manage enough strength to rise to his feet. All he can do is grab onto the walls of Siren as the Artifice spins and spins. 

And then it stops. It hits… something, and there’s fire. The pain only increases, and Malos screams. It’s like Morytha, when his Artifice crashed into the ground and left him burning in the wreckage. He sucks in lung full after lung full of air and smoke, but he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. There’s no light aside from the flames around him, and he tries to crawl away from them and into the darkness. But it hurts. He can’t move. He can’t breathe. He can’t do anything but writhe and scream and beg for it to end.

And then his prayers are answered, and there is darkness. He slips into the peaceful bliss of nothing for as long as he can manage. But it doesn’t last forever. Nothing ever does.

When he awakens, he still can’t breathe. He gasps for air again, but there’s nothing. His chest heaves. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. A hand presses into his shoulder, and he thinks for a moment that it must be Jin. Not Jin, but Jin. The closest to Jin that he can have. It doesn’t explain the pain, but it explains everything else. It explains the ceiling now above him and the walls on every side. It explains the bed and the pillows. And then his eyes turn to the hand, and to the body connected to it. And it isn’t Jin. 

His skin is paler than Jin’s, but that isn’t where the differences end. Something similar to an ether line, but definitely not an ether line, bulges out of the creature’s skin, all the way up his arm and past his neck. It gives off a soft, purple glow, and a quick glance over the humanoid reveals more of these faux ether lines. Well-kept gray hair sits atop his head, and he meets Malos’s wide eyes straight on. 

“What the hell-” Malos cuts himself off, suddenly remembering his own lack of breath. 

“Lay back.” The man says.

“Where am I?” Malos ignores the order, forcing himself into a sitting position. He doesn’t manage it for long, and soon he’s falling back onto the bed. His head whips all around the white room, taking in every detail while his chest still heaves.

The man keeps his hand on Malos’s shoulder, his voice calm despite Malos’s own panic. “You’re in a medical facility in Qenphis.”

Malos grabs at his throat. “Why can’t I breathe?” 

Normally, a lack of oxygen wouldn’t be so upsetting. He doesn’t need it the way humans do. Sure, it’s uncomfortable, but he can live without it. It isn’t what fuels him. But that’s not what’s missing here. There’s something else, and it’s driving him mad. 

The man turns and calls out for someone else. A moment later, a woman approaches. She is also humanoid, with darker skin and hair, but the same matching purple veins all down her arms and across her neck.

“What all have you given him?” The woman asks, addressing the man.

“Just some Peociden.” He glances between Malos and a monitor just out of Malos’s sight. “I’m surprised he’s awake. Maybe he should be given another go of it.”

“If he’s having a bad reaction, I’d rather not pump more of it into him.” The woman decides. She watches Malos for a moment longer, narrowing her eyes before speaking again. “Let’s swap for Bromiede.”

The man nods, stepping away and returning just moments later with a clear bag of fluid. He hooks it onto a metal stand, switching out a nozzle attached to a thin tube. Malos follows the tube with his eyes until he finds the other end of it, stuck into his arm, the armor that would normally cover it missing. Malos grabs it, preparing to rip it out of his skin when the woman’s hand lands on top of his own. She’s stronger than he expects, or maybe he’s just weaker than normal. 

“What is that?” Malos asks between gasps. “Don’t touch me, you-”

“It will help with the pain.” The woman says. She looks up at the small screen, still out of Malos’s line of sight. He tries again to remove the tube, but her grip on his hand remains firm. “You must have been through quite the ordeal. Your vitals are very irregular.” She looks back down, giving him a smile. “But do not worry. You’re in good hands.”

“Where am I?” Malos tries again. “Answer me!” 

“You’re in Qenphis.” She explains. “You’re safe here.”

“Safe.” Malos laughs. He must have gone mad. It’s the only explanation. Did his mind get so bored of the endless Elysium fields that it concocted a new story for him? Was that fantasy so far from reality that he’s lost what little peace he had managed to dig up for himself? “I’d rather the nothingness than this. Let go of me!” 

“You’re disoriented. I can see that. This must be very confusing.” Her voice is gentle, but firm, just like her grip. “Can you tell me your name?”

“I’ll tell you my name when I have my hands on your throat.” Malos snarls, thrashing against her. “Take me back! I don’t want a new mirage!”

The woman half glances aro und, mouthing something to the man before turning her gaze back to Malos. Despite Malos’s anger, her demeanor remains calm. “Go back where? Have you traveled far?”

The man comes on the other side of him, and a needle slides under his skin. And Malos howls in agony. 

“What did you give him?!”

“Just the sedative! Like you said!” 

“Then why is he-?!”

Malos writhes and screams. His back arcs on the bed. Fire runs through his veins. His strength must return as he manages to rip his arm from the woman’s grip, but when he goes to stand, he hits the floor. He’s naked, Malos suddenly realizes, but he doesn’t pay it much thought as he struggles to rise to his feet- an action that again lands him back on the floor. 

Why? Why why why? Why can’t he breathe? Why can’t he stand?

He looks down at the rest of his body, and the answer to his last question is made plainly obvious. He is missing a leg. 

Hands touch him again, holding him down against the cold floor. They’re speaking to him- he can tell that much- but what exactly they’re saying isn’t as clear. There’s panic in their voices, though they try to mask it.

Calm down. Calm down. It takes Malos a moment to realize that those words aren’t his own thoughts. Or maybe they are. Calm down. Relax. Don’t fight us. We’re here to help. Lie back. Close your eyes. That’s it. Good job. Just close your eyes. Go to sleep. Go to sleep.

Go to sleep. 

When Malos awakes for the second time, the pain is gone. No, not gone. Muted. The burn that had started in his arm and made its way through his veins across his entire body has faded, but he still can’t breathe. 

His eyes open, peering up at the ceiling. It’s similar, but not quite identical. Different room. Same building. He tilts his head up, letting his eyes gaze over the rest of the room. It’s empty aside from him. There’s a clear, plastic material pressed against his nose and mouth- not cutting off his air, but doing something, he’s sure. He reaches up to push it away, and it gives easily.

He looks to his leg next, hidden underneath a thin blanket. The cutoff point remains fairly obvious despite this, and there’s nothing between the sheet and the bed after about his mid-thigh. He reaches out for it, and where he’d normally be able to heal any injury without thought, nothing happens. Malos’s suspicion is proven correct.

There is no ether. Not a speck of it. His Artifice had protected him from it before, but now that he's out in the open, there’s nothing to shield him from it.

Jin would have died. It’s different for Malos. The lack of it makes him dizzy and weak and makes him feel like he’s choking, but he’ll survive. But Jin? Jin would’ve keeled over in minutes, suffocating to death in Malos’s arms. 

How could he have even considered bringing that man with him? How selfish could he possibly-

“It’s good to see you awake.” The same woman from before approaches his bed, and Malos looks her over properly for the first time. She’s not a Blade- she can’t be. Even if her Core was hidden out of sight, the lack of ether in the air would have crippled her. But yet, she isn’t human. Not unless she’s some sort of hybrid, like one of Amalthus’s creations. “I am sorry about what happened before. You’ve had some very abnormal reactions to just about everything in our arsenal.”

As harmless as she seems, Malos still glares. His eyes flicker behind her, waiting for her lackey to appear, but she remains alone. “Where have you brought me?”

“You’re in a medical facility in Qen-”

“Qenphis, yes, I know.” Malos interrupts, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. “Enough with the made up words. Where is Qenphis?”

The question throws her off guard, but she recovers quickly enough. “Qenphis is located in the Caput region, on the edge of Humero.” When Malos’s suspicion doesn’t fade, she narrows her eyes. “How broad would you like me to go?”

“Until you start speaking sense.”

She takes in a breath, takes a seat on the edge of his bed, much to Malos’s dismay, and does exactly that. “You are in the city of Qenphis, located in the region of Caput, on the upper half of the Tertius body.”

“I said enough!”

“This world is called Tertius.” She’s clearly starting to grow a bit irritated at Malos’s continued tone, but confusion seems to take precedence. “How can you be ignorant of that?”

“I have the data of all Blades and Titans in my Core. There is nothing about the world that I do not know.” Malos spits back. “Whatever bullshit you’ve concocted isn’t worth my time.”

She stares again, but then a smile quirks across his lips. “You’re a strange man.”

Malos sits up, swinging his leg around the side of the bed. He tosses the sheet aside, suddenly grateful that he is indeed dressed this time. It’s not his armor, but the loose shirt and pants do their job well enough. Before he can try to stand, however, the woman presses her hands into his shoulders. 

Malos glares up at her. “I just want to take a walk.”

“You can’t walk,” She points out, her grip firm, “but I can grab you a chair if you like.”

Malos looks down, suddenly remembering his remaining injury with a grimace. Without ether, will it ever heal? Is he to be without for eternity?

Once certain that Malos isn’t going to try and hop away, the woman steps away, returning with the offer of a chair on wheels. “You’ve popped back rather quickly for someone in your condition, but please don’t push yourself.”

“My condition.” Malos says back in a mocking tone. 

“I’m not talking about your leg.” She explains. “You’re still clearly very ill.”

“I feel fine.” It’s not an entirely true statement, but he can manage. He’s been through worse. Or maybe not. 

“I don’t believe that for a second.” The woman continues. “Your vitals are practically non-existent, and I can’t get even a half-decent scan on you. Not to mention your ducts are flatter than I’ve ever seen on someone that’s still breathing.”

“Ducts?” Malos maneuvers into the chair, pushing away any offered assistance.

“Yes, your ducts.” She pulls up the sleeve of Malos’s shirt, gesturing at one of his ether lines, still faintly glowing despite the lack of ether in the air. “Just look at them. They’re not raised at all. I thought you were a corpse when they first brought you in.”

“I suppose even a dream can’t be that merciful.” Malos mumbles. He grabs the large wheels on either side of him and moves himself across the room, pushing past the door with some difficulty and into the hall. 

The woman follows him, grabbing onto the handles of the chair. “Is there somewhere in particular you want to go?”

“Hands off.” Malos snaps.

“No can do, I’m afraid. You’re under strict observation.”

“Can’t you just leave me be?” Malos tries to wheel further down the hall, coming short when the woman pulls him back. Did his Core think him bored of Jin- so much so that it felt the need to replace him with this withered woman who seems insistent on driving him mad? “I’m tired of you.”

“Considering the fact that you’re headed towards the stairs, I think not.” She turns him around, and Malos gives up with a frustrated huff. “If you want some fresh air, you can head this way.”

The woman wheels Malos further down the empty, sterile hall. They pass by several closed doors and empty corridors before finally reaching a glass entryway. She lets go of the handles, stepping in front of him to pull the door open and allowing Malos to take himself through onto the raised balcony.

And then he stops and stares.

It’s a black sky, completely lacking in stars or a moon, but there is still light. He looks up to see a ring of yellow high above them, shining down on the smooth, glassy land below. In the distance, on either side of him, are what look like floating mountains, burning a bright, pink hue. The ground itself is lacking the greenery of Alrest, instead made up of shades of white rubble and sharp edges as far as he can see. The pink hue from the mountains reflects off the smooth surface of the ‘dirt’, creating a shimmering effect with a rainbow of colors. It is unlike anything he’s ever seen before.

This is not a dream. 

This is the new world. 

Chapter Text

“Did you ever have any direct encounters with Amalthus?”

It’s a stupid question. If Jin had ever allowed Patroka to meet Amalthus face-to-face, the man would have been dead long ago, ‘Fan la Norne’ or not. She could cripple her ether, make it impossible to even stand up straight- it doesn’t matter. If Patroka saw Amalthus, he would be dead, then or now. 

“No.” Patroka says instead. “I guess we weren’t worth his time.”

“But you were affected by his actions?”

It’s another day in another boring courtroom, telling stories to wring out a few more years in a sentence that will never account for the suffering he’s brought to them.

“You could say that.” Patroka leans against the stand, waiting to move on, but Niall just watches her, staring. “He wanted to kill us, if that wasn’t obvious.”

Niall nods, and the transcriber writes. “How do you know this?”

“Because Flesh Eaters sent to Indol are killed.” Her voice is mostly deadpan, but still dripping with an obvious but silent ‘duh’. It’s so obvious, in fact, that it makes her angry. “You should be well aware of that Emperor.”

It’s unwise to glare at a world leader so obviously and with so much discontent, but Patroka has never cared about those rules. She refuses to look away, and neither does Niall for a few seconds longer before he finally glances down at his papers and back up again. “How did you become a Flesh Eater?”

“Does it matter?”

“If it is relevant to this presiding-”

“It isn’t.” Patroka cuts him off. Prisoner or not, she is not theirs to rip apart. Her secrets are hers, and this is perhaps the one part of her life that isn’t Amalthus’s to blame. 

Niall watches, and Patroka wonders if the long beats of silence are recorded on the transcript as well- if the thick tension is as palpable on the paper. 

“Very well.” Niall says, moving on. “Tell me about Tantal. You are from Tantal, correct?”

This, Patroka can answer- is happy to answer. “It’s a Titan full of cowards. Amalthus blackmailed them- agreed to keep their secret if they gave them supplies. Blade chips, etcetera.”

“And this secret was the truth of their lineage?"

“Yep.” She crosses her arms, leaning back against the metal railing separating her from the peering audience. “Not like that kind of thing matters when your people are starving, but the leadership there didn’t really care about that.”

“How did you become aware of this bargain?”

“Didn’t the Aegis already tell you all of this?” Patroka says back, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you asking me?”

Niall does a good job of hiding his annoyance. His face remains still, his voice level, but there’s a slight tightness to his hand laid across the desk, curled now into a half fist. “Multiple perspectives are always appreciated.”

“So, what, you don’t trust her?” Patroka tilts her head. “Or are you just trying to drag this whole thing out?” Her eyes flicker to the right side of the room- to the empty seat where Amalthus had sat for Rex’s testimony, but not hers. “You know what he is. You know what he’s done. Even if you don’t care about us, he would have happily killed you and every human on this Titan. Isn’t that enough for you?”

Niall, again, is quiet, but then he stands, slowly walking around the desk and off the elevated platform until he’s on the same level as her. Anyone who had grown bored in the audience now has their full attention fixed on the matter.

He stops right in front of her, clasping his hands together. “I understand that you prefer a much more direct approach, as you and your friends have attempted to do for centuries.” He says slowly, not breaking eye contact. “But if you look back, how much success would you say you had? You were aware of the truth about Amalthus far longer than any of us were, yet he is still alive today. Had Mor Ardain not stepped in, Amalthus could have succeeded in his wishes.” There’s a barely perceptible smile on his face that makes Patroka’s blood boil- the condescension, the ego. “You may not agree with our approach, but you have to admit that yours was a failure.”

Patroka doesn’t hesitate. “Because of people like you.” 

And again, silence, aside from the quiet whispers behind her. Part of her wants to turn around and record each of their faces in her memory, but instead, she looks Niall in the eyes until he breaks away.

With that, Niall turns to the rest of the court. “We’ll end it here.” 

The port isn’t as busy in the morning right when the shipments come in. It’s mostly just store owners, coming to pick up their stock. The actual buyers don’t show up until a few hours later, in the commercial district. 

With this in mind, it’s easy enough for Jin to stay unbothered, waiting in the shadow of the wall behind them until the familiar, red boat pulls up. Jin makes his way over before the ship has even fully settled against the dock. 

These new ships are different, meant to float on the water instead of wafting through the now evaporated Cloud Sea. The sight of them never fails to irritate Jin, even if he knows it’s unreasonable. Some things are hard to move on from.

The ship's door swings open before getting stuck half-way on Jin’s shoe. 

“Architect’s-sake.” The man inside mutters, and Jin takes a step back to allow the door to swing fully open. He looks annoyed, but the look fades quickly enough into something like exasperated acceptance. “Well, at least you’re keeping me in business.” 

He scoots out of the way, allowing Jin to enter the small vessel. There’s a few different barrels, all filled with a variety of materials and such. Jin narrows in a cart in the back corner. 

“It’s more of the usual, with a few new trinkets this time.” The man says. “Still not sure what any of them do.”

Jin glances at the other piles, but they’re clearly more common ores and such- lacking the types of materials that could only be found near the World Tree’s fallen wreckage. “How much?”

“For that lot? Uh…” The man looks up, squinting his eyes as he does some calculations in his head. “Let’s say a hundred fifty and call it even.”

Jin pulls from a small pouch on his waist and drops the money into the salvager’s hand without another thought. He grabs the handle on the cart and begins pulling it towards the front of the ship. 

 “Question for ya’.” The man says, half paying attention while he double counts the coins. “Where do you get the money? Aren’t you technically a prisoner here?”

Jin doesn’t bother to answer the question, dragging the cart to the door and heaving it up the short step. A handful of pieces fall out, and Jin doubles back to collect them. With that, Jin begins wheeling it back towards the inner city. 

“Oi! Bring the cart back next time! I’m running out!”

The walk back to the palace from the port is a long one, and even with the early hour, there are some Ardainians on the street. A few glance his way, noticing the sound of the cart struggling on the brick street, before going back to their business. Others look to him instead, eyes widening before backing into the alley or into their homes. 

Jin doesn’t mind scaring people. He’s done that all his life, for different reasons. In the beginning, it was because of his demeanor. People were always wary of him, despite Lora and Haze’s friendly words. Maybe because of it, even. If he were to have been awakened by a group of terrorizing bandits, he doubts anyone would have noticed him much at all. But in comparison to Lora, in both size and personality, he stuck out. 

“Oh, he’s harmless! Isn’t that right, Jin?” “That’s just his way of saying thanks.” “Don’t let the whole moody thing fool you.”

Then, it was because the red glow in his Core- back before he had reclaimed his mask. There were plenty of assumptions. He murdered his Driver. He eats human flesh. He is a mutilated, malformed beast. 

Well, maybe that last one is true. 

Now, it’s because of Torna. Because of Malos. Because of his desire to give his kind a culture of their own. It’s no wonder that humans fear that. What would humans be without their Blades? He’s heard all his life how Blades cannot exist without humans, how they depend on humanity far more than the other way around, but yet they’re the ones unwilling to let them go. 

The fear doesn’t bother him, but the stares do. Heading further down the street, Jin wishes again that he still had his mask. It’s recognizable enough to not save him from much attention, but maybe then he wouldn’t feel as seen. But alas, that has disappeared into the darkness along with Malos.

Jin is forced to a stop when a large man steps out in front of him. He’s not a guard, but instead a civilian, shorter than Jin by a few inches, but much rounder. 

“You’re one of Torna, aren’t you?” The man says, and he’s clearly made up his mind before Jin has a chance to answer. Jin steps to the side to walk around him, but the man steps with him. “You people killed my brother. He was an Ardainian soldier- he served with honor!” 

Jin’s face remains still and cold. The only Ardainian soldiers they killed were the ones transporting his brethren to be wiped and enslaved by Amalthus. Mostly- at least. “Death is the only deserving fate for swine like him.”

Rage consumes the man, and Jin’s not sure he’s ever seen a face turn red so fast. Perhaps one time, when Malos had a soldier up against a wall, clawing for breath while Malos squeezed his neck. Maybe it was this man’s brother. 

A fist is swung, but Jin sees it coming. He grabs the fist in his own palm and holds it tight. The anger is quickly replaced with fear when the man tries to retrieve said fist and can’t. He steps back, trying to run away, but Jin holds his hand firm. At this point, a small crowd has begun to gather around them. 

“It’s unusual, isn’t it? For a Blade to fight back.” Jin’s calm voice is paired with the man’s panicked scraps of boots against the brick road. “Why don’t you try again?”

“Let me go.” At first, it seems like he’s trying to project some level of confidence, but when that doesn’t work, his facade crumbles- his voice cracking. “Please.”

“No, I insist.” Jin says instead, leaning towards him. “Try again.”

Then a new voice joins the mix. “Disperse.” 

The crowd that had circled them starts to fade, people stepping back towards their homes- but not without glancing around every few seconds to see what unfolds next. Jin himself doesn’t move, and as such, the man doesn’t either, though he certainly wishes he could. 

“Release him.” Aegaeon commands. 

Jin hasn’t turned around to see his face, but he doesn’t need to. He considers, for a moment, refusing. He could kill this man and shatter Aegaeon. He could kill all of them. How many could he take? It would really just be a matter of how long until his Core gives out- or perhaps how long until Mythra can appear. Even then, with Rex in Indol, he might be able to take her, too.

Instead, Jin opens his hand. The man falls onto his back, scooting away before finally climbing to his feet and running. He trips, once, but he gets back up quickly enough. 

A hand touches his shoulder, and he immediately hates it. “As you are aware, the Emperor’s leniency has conditions.”

Yes. Yes, he knows. He’s heard it every day since he came to this place. His continued existence is a gift from the Emperor. He and his friends are prisoners who by any metric should have been put to death. He should be grateful for the Emperor’s mercy. He kindly allows Jin to roam freely, but do not be mistaken, Jin has no rights. He has not been pardoned. If Jin, or any of the others, were to break their rules, they would lose their privileges and face consequences for actions taken today and in the past. 

And damn the rest. 

Jin jerks his shoulder forward to remove the man’s touch. He grabs the handle of his cart and continues back down the street. He makes it back to the palace without any other interruptions. Getting the cart up the stairs and to his workroom is another difficulty, but Jin manages without too many pieces falling and needing to be collected afterwards.

After pulling the cart into the room and shutting the door behind him, he places his hand on his chest and presses down on his heart as hard as he can. A searing pain burns through his veins, quickly making its way through every inch of his body. He drops to his knees, eyes and teeth clenched, waiting for the pain to pass, willing it to stop.

A few minutes pass, and slowly it fades. It doesn’t go away completely, but it goes back to the background ache it had been for some time. He leans his head back against the wall and lets out a breath.

Then, he opens his eyes. He stares at the heap of scraps still sitting in the cart, waiting to be searched and organized into his existing, overflowing piles scattered across the room. Maybe this time he’ll finally have the pieces he needs. Maybe he’ll wake up tomorrow, suddenly able to understand what wire connects to what. 

Maybe he’ll finally do something right and make good on his promise. 

He hadn’t meant to break it. He never does. He didn’t mean to let Lora die. He didn’t mean to let Malos go alone. He isn’t quite sure how the latter even happened. He had been in Mythra’s Siren, Malos at his side, ready for the Conduit to take them. Then, right as the backlash hit and the World Tree shook, he was on the ground, fire all around him. And Malos was gone. 

He was supposed to go with him. 

It wasn’t fair. 

They were supposed to leave behind a world that Mikhail, Akhos, and Patroka could fix- to finish the fight that they started. Mythra had agreed to release their species from an endless prison and give them the chance to grow a culture of their own. Malos, in turn, helped create a focus point in Siren, allowing the power from the whiplash to go through him and into the new universe, sparing Alrest. That was the deal.

But now Malos is alone, and Jin was left behind. 

He promised. 

There’s a knock on the door, and Jin isn’t sure he would be able to handle being berated by Morag right now. For the sake of her own life and the freedom of his friends, he prays to a dead god that she will just walk away and leave him in peace. 

Another knock. 

“What do you want?”

“Geez, if you’re gonna be like that, I’ll come back later.” Jin’s fight leaves him the moment he hears the voice, and he offers no protest when Mikhail pokes his head through the door and shrivels his nose. “You should really clean up in here.”

“I’m not in the mood, Mik.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard.” He enters the room, closing the door behind him. “You’re spending all our gold on junk and throwing hands with strangers in the street.” He pauses. “All because you’re stuck with us.”

“It’s not-” Jin tries to protest, but there’s no point. 

Mikhail drops down to the floor next to Jin, legs crossed beneath him. “I know. I miss him, too.” A smile quirks on his face, despite his eyes staying the same. “Crazy. I used to hate him. Like really hate him. I tried to poison him twice. I wasn’t the brightest kid. Everything just felt so different. I was different. You were different. Lora was really different. I thought, if I made him go away, maybe it could feel normal again.” His head dips down. “Now that he’s gone, it feels even worse.”

Jin doubts Mikhail came here for comfort. He’s never been any good at that. Even when Mikhail was just a kid, mourning Lora and dealing with the changes to his body- his species - Jin was at a loss to help him. Learning about what he had been before becoming Lora’s Driver had made sense, in a lot of ways. He always felt so unequipped to care for a child, and no matter how much he hated fighting, it was what he was good at. 

Is that what humans had morphed him into? Had he once been awakened with power and nothing more, and rather than let him choose his own path, they had nurtured only skills that helped end the lives of their enemies. He had to be a soldier. He was never allowed to be Jin. 

“What’s your point?”

“I don’t really have one.” Mikhail shrugs. “I guess, I just want you to know that, when you’re ready, we’re still here.”

The guilt soaks through him. It’s not the first time the thoughts have crossed his mind, but it’s the first time he’s been confronted for it. “I’m sorry.”

“Save that for Patroka. She’s still a bit pissed.” It’s clear he’s trying to inject some humor into the conversation. He’s always been good at that, but it doesn’t last. “You didn’t even tell us.”

“I didn’t know how.”

“Something like ‘hey, I’m going to disappear into a portal to another universe with Malos, so get all your goodbyes out now’ would’ve worked.”

He makes it sound so simple. “It didn’t end up happening.”

“That helps your case, but it doesn’t clear you.” Mikhail pulls one leg out, wrapping an arm around it and resting his chin on his knee. “Did you just not think about us at all?”

“I did.” How could he not? He didn’t have to worry about Malos. He was going to be there with him. Whatever darkness they faced, they’d face together, just like they had done from the beginning. But those three? Left behind to be Ardainian prisoners, trusting Mythra’s word that they would be okay? “It was all I thought about it.” 

He should have told them. He should have looked them in the eyes as they called him a traitor for abandoning them. He should have sat and listened to them beg him and scream at him to change his mind. It wouldn’t have made a difference, but he should have listened. 

“We’re going to meet again tomorrow, to talk about the Blade system.” Mikhail continues. “It would be great if you were there.”

Jin breathes in, then his eyes close. “Okay.”

It’s a poor response, but Mikhail seems content with it. He climbs to his feet, reaching down to squeeze Jin’s shoulder. “Get some sleep. You look like shit.” He looks up at the room, and then back down again. “In your actual chambers. This place is creepy.”

And with that, Jin watches as Mikhail backs out of the door, stepping over some loose bits of metal scoured across the room, and closes it behind him.

When did Mik become the father and Jin the child? And why does he fill that role far better than Jin ever did?

Slowly, Jin’s eyes go back to the cart of materials. Useless junk. Has he gone too far? Has this search to not abandon his family caused him to do exactly that? Eight months of collecting bolts and screws, chasing a man who can never be reached, leaving the rest of his loved ones to drown?

Anger comes quickly nowadays, and today is no different. Jin kicks out at the cart, causing the wooden side panel to break and spill the contents out on the floor. Jin doesn’t cry- doesn’t have the energy to cry anymore- but the frustration gets him close. Malos is gone. He had his chance to go with him, and he failed. Malos is gone. 

He doesn’t know how to live without him. For centuries, he was his crutch. He kept him sane. Kept him whole when he felt like his entire life was burning around him. He was the only one who could stop the pain. And now, it floods out of him. There is no one to avenge. The Architect is already dead and gone. There is no peace like Lora found. Malos is doomed to an endless nothing, and there is nothing Jin can do to stop it.

He falls onto his side, curling his arms around himself. He just wants it to stop. He begs and pleads for the pain to stop. No more. No more. He can’t take any more. 

Then, behind closed eyes, he sees a flash of something. It’s enough for Jin to slowly open his eyes back up. It flashes again, and this time, he sees the color. Purple. His arms uncurl, and he watches the flickering light. 

After a moment, he crawls over to the pile spilling from the cart, moving metal pieces aside until he finds a sharp piece of purple glass lying flat against the wooden floor. It’s far too big to have belonged to Malos’s Core, and the shape is completely different- more round-ish than t-shaped, but the material looks identical to it. Jin picks it up and holds it flashing in his grip, shining amethyst across his face.

“Malos?” He uses his thumb to rub away some dirt coating the edges. There’s no response from his question- how could there be- but it has to mean something. It has to. 

He brings it close to his chest, holding the glass against his heart. “I won’t give up on you. I swear I’ll find you, whatever it takes.”

It continues to flash. On. Off. On. Off. Purple. Darkness. Purple. Darkness.

“We’ll go together. I promise.”

Chapter Text

The scenery changes slightly every time. Malos could control it fully, if he wanted, but instead, he is content to simply let the waves pull him in whatever direction offers the least resistance. This time, he is in a small, wooden house on the edge of a wide field. Just a few peds away from the structure is a sharp cliff, leading to a raging river below. 

“So what is it, do you think?” Jin’s words have him opening his eyes. His gaze lingers on Jin’s face, lying in the bed across from him. One of Jin’s nails scraps gently against the skin of his arm until it makes its way past his elbow and onto his hand. “This world?”

“It’s nothing like Alrest.” And nothing like the world before, if Morytha is reflective of it. Is every universe so different from one another? But yet, it is not completely dissimilar. There are bipedal creatures who, while squinting, could perhaps pass as Blades, and somehow, even the language is understandable. “I didn’t think there’d be anything here.”

The questions pile up, and it grates on Malos’s nerves. He doesn’t like not knowing things. It’s foreign and uncomfortable. He’s always sure, but now, he’s never been less so. 

“Maybe there wasn’t.” Jin’s gentle voice calms his nerves- it always does. “Then time passed, and life grew.”

“Grew from what?”

“From you, perhaps?”

Malos snorts. “That’s not really my forte.” Destruction is his being, and there is nothing more to him. Even tense conversations with Klaus while trying to figure out how the hell to connect Siren to the Conduit’s output had all but confirmed any doubts he had. Mythra was life, and he was not. “I must have been asleep for a long time.”

“How long?”

“Billions of years.” Malos guesses, looking up at the bare ceiling. It’s possible it could have formed quicker, given the lack of seemingly any organic matter, but at the very least, millions of years would have been necessary. “It would have to have been.”

Asleep, for years and years. And now he’s awake. “What will you do now?”

“I could just stay here.” Malos turns his head back to Jin. “I could stay here, forever, with you.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes.” The answers come without even having to think about it. “More than anything.”

“Not more than anything.”

“The closest I’ll ever get, at least.”

“But I’m not him.”

“No.” Malos says after a beat. “You’re not.”

Malos opens his eyes. The room is small and dark, and he can’t bring himself to move. When his vitals refused to improve, yet Malos showed himself to be more than able, the physician had reluctantly agreed to allow Malos to leave the infirmary, so long as he stayed nearby. The ‘nearby’ in question ended up being a long-term resident facility just next door. The ‘long-term’ part rubs Malos the wrong way, but it’d be hard to escape in his current state. The weakness frustrates him to no end, but there’s nothing to gain from dwelling on it. 

Malos hauls himself out of the bed, pushing the chair on wheels aside to grab a pair of crutches propped up against the frame. He’s still not entirely used to it yet, but he’s certainly improving. Is this what it’s like for humans, to heal so slowly, or in some cases, not at all? Just a handful of ether thrown in his direction, and he could patch himself up good as new, but no. Instead, he’s stuck like this.

He pushes past the door and into the hall, making his way to the windows at the end and looks out. There is no sun rise, but instead the ring of light far above them slowly begins to brighten, shining onto the crystalized land. It’s hard to determine what the ring even is. It’s not a ball of flames like the sun in Alrest had been. Instead it seems more… artificial. 

“Oh, there you are. You’re up bright and early.” It’s Vertresa, the physician. Malos is familiar enough with her voice at this point to recognize it without needing to turn and look at her down the hall. “Let’s head on over.”

Not without great reluctance, Malos follows her into the next room. Following the same procedure that he had every day this week, he plops down on the chair, looping his arm around the opening in his crutches to avoid them sliding out of reach. It’s stupid to become attached to something so ‘human’ so quickly, but he can’t stop the helplessness he feels without them. 

It’s not dissimilar to how he felt after Mythra had shattered his Core. What was his crutch then? That answer comes quickly, and he just as quickly stops thinking about it.

“Your doxice levels are still way too low.” Vertresa says, tapping at one of her monitors. “You know, we got a whole new machine in thinking something must be wrong with it, but it’s just you. Ducts still flat, too. Any luck with your memory?”

Malos leans back, rolling his eyes. “I told you, there’s nothing wrong with my memory.”

“So are your parents to blame for your lack of basic geography then?”

Malos lets out a huff of air that could pass as a laugh. “My father was the ‘hands-off’ type.”

Vertresa tuts, shaking her head. “That explains a lot. A more present father would have taught you not to go mining in restricted areas.”

Malos raises an eyebrow. “Mining?”

“Oh, you know.” She flaps a hand in the air. “They usually turn a blind eye to digging in the mountains, but the Core?” She opens a drawer, grabbing a needle out, and within moments, it’s in his arm. “I wouldn’t be in such a rush to get out of here. They’ve been waiting for an all clear from me to take you to Neris.”

Malos grimaces, watching his blood fill the syringe until it’s full. “And ‘they’ would be?”

“Monks of the Interpreter, of course.” Vertresa says as if it should be obvious, but she says most things like that. Maybe they should be. “You shouldn’t have been down there.”

“I wasn’t exactly aiming for it.”

She pulls the needle free, staring at the contents. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I should write a paper on it, if I ever figure you out.” Then, she sighs, looking back towards Malos. “To be frank with you, I don’t think there’s anything more that can be done. You’re conscious. Your pain levels are minimal. You’re stable- stable at poor levels, but stable. I’m going to need to tell them.”

It’s a relief to leave this claustrophobic place, but it also means more unfamiliarity, and his chest tightens. It’s pathetic. He’s faced war- he’s faced death- but this is what frightens him. All of the information in his Core, and none of it can help him here. 

“Interpretor of what?” Malos finally asks. 

“Don’t joke about such things.” Vertresa frowns. Unlike other times, she doesn’t seem willing to believe his genuine ignorance. “You can’t pretend you don’t know of him- not with that on your chest.” 

Malos looks down, but there’s nothing she could be referring to besides the obvious. A hand touches his wrist, pulling his attention back up. 

“Don’t be too worried.” She smiles, patting the back of his hand. “They’ll probably make a big show of it, to scare others off from trying the same thing, but personally I think most of the stories are exaggerated.”

With those final words, she steps away and through the door they had come through. Malos slides out of the chair, grabbing a crutch in each hand. Not sure what else to do but wait, he turns in the direction of the wide window behind him. 

No stars. No moon. Just black, a yellow circle of light above them, and glimmers of purple from either side. What a strange world he’s found himself in.

Quickly enough, the door opens again, and this time there’s two men in matching uniforms making their way towards him. They look like the same species as Vertresa- no different from her than any human is from each other. 

One of them stops just a few feet in front of Malos, speaking as if from a manual. “In the name of Loriatha, you are to be taken into custody.”

“Eat shit.”

He knows it’s not the smartest move with his lack of power, but the words leave his mouth before he can consider otherwise. The second man grabs hold of the crutches, ripping them from his hands and sending Malos to the ground. He tries to push himself back up, but before he can manage, they’ve grabbed his wrists, pulling them behind his back and binding them there. 

He hears the sound of wheels before he sees it. Unceremoniously, Malos is then lifted off the ground and into the chair. His grunts of protest are ignored as he’s wheeled through now familiar halls until they reach a door he’s never gone through before. Beyond it, is the outside, and the air smells different. 

There’s a dark vehicle of some kind parked just beyond it. It’s not like the ones he’d seen Ardainian soldiers driving through the desert, but it’s similar. That, too, opens up, and he is once again lifted inside. 

As they drive, there’s nothing for Malos to do but look out the tinted windows on either side of him. The road isn’t much wider than the vehicle itself, and based on the deep plunge beyond the road, Malos can only guess they’re on the edge of the Titan. Titan? Could it be? No- likely not. Then what? Is it more like the lands of Morytha? Soulless dirt?

Whatever this place is, Tertius is much taller than it is wide. When the vehicle gets particularly close to the edge, Malos can see what looks like small towns along the edge below him. It’d be pretty comedic if someone fell from the very top. They’d get a whole tour of the place before hitting… hitting what? Is there anything down there in the darkness? Does the darkness ever end?

They reach an area that could pass as a forest if you squint, but the trees are just sharp, jagged pieces of metal reaching towards the sky. There is one that looks different, however. It takes Malos a moment to realize that it’s not part of the structure but rather a creature of some kind. It has a sharp, black feather looking shell, with purple feathers along the very end of its ‘wings’. They pass by it too quickly for Malos to see anything else. 

After an unknown number of hours, the vehicle finally leaves the narrow road and drives further inland. They reach a tall gate of some kind that opens when they approach. Beyond the gate, Malos leans forward, looking through the windshield. It’s a city of some kind- and a big one at that. There’s buildings and alleyways- people littering the streets, identical to the others of their kind he’s met- bulging purple ether lines, but an otherwise humanoid appearance. 

The car stops, Malos’s door is opened, and he’s dragged out of it and onto the ground. Malos rolls onto his knee, gritting his teeth. They don’t bother with the chair this time. Instead, another joins them, grabbing his leg while the other two grab his arms. Malos tries to kick the man, but he doesn’t have the leverage for a successful attempt. He is lifted off the ground and carried up a short flight of stairs. They enter another building, and soon, Malos is tossed behind a wall of bars that locks shut. 

It’s ironic. He’s broken so many ‘rules’ by human standards and never faced any ‘corporal punishment’, not to lack of effort on their part. But now, when he’s not even done anything wrong, he finally faces consequences. 

Malos hates sitting on the ground, he realizes. He’s never really thought about it before- never had to. He doesn’t like having to look up. He looks down, to the people beneath him. There’s a reason he was made the way the size he is. Even Amalthus, an Indoline man, had to look up to meet his eyes- just barely. He had wondered before if the Architect had done that on purpose, so that a human never thought he was above the son of his creator.

For Jin, he’d stand behind him. He’d sit for him. Kneel for him. And Jin would stand, placing himself opposite to Malos. He’d place his hands on Malos’s cheeks, cup his face and hold him in a way no one had ever held an Aegis before. He had done that for Jin, but only Jin. 

Malos presses his back against the wall, using his arms to push himself up. He makes it maybe halfway before the stupid hospital shoes slip and send him back to the ground. He slams his hand down, letting out an angry, short yell. What kind of stupid universe doesn’t have ether?

Footsteps sound from down the hall, coming closer with each step. They’re different from the guards- sharper. Before long, there’s a middle-aged woman standing before the bars. She’s tall and slim, with brown hair tied up above her head. Like the others, she has the same bulging purple ether lines. Ether lines with no ether. Not ether lines. Ducts, the doctor had called them. 

She looks at him beyond the bars before saying something to the guard, quiet enough that Malos can’t quite pick up on the words. The guard opens the cell door for her, letting her step inside before locking it shut again. “You are a sight.”

“What do you want?” Malos spits out, sorely tired of these people already. “Look, I didn’t do any ‘mining’, or whatever bullshit is being said.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You were found near the Core, along with materials that are forbidden to extract.”

To that, Malos shrugs. “Wasn’t mine.” 

She doesn’t respond right away, staring at him in silence. Her eyes fall to his leg- or lack there of one. A moment later, she’s lowering herself to the ground, meeting his eyes the entire way. There’s something strange about her- the way she looks at him. He’s seen it before. People in Indol used to look at him like that, like he was a spectacle. 

“Tell me then.” She finally says. “What were you doing?”

But Malos isn’t interested. “Why waste my breath? You wouldn’t believe me.”

“I might not.” She agrees, following it up quickly. “But I think I will.”

Taking on the challenge, Malos leans back, crossing his arms. “I was spit out from another universe as the result of a cosmic whiplash event and ended up here. I slept for a while, then woke up after my Siren crashed into whatever this place is.” 

“Another universe?” She picks out the words that interest her the most. “There are others like you?”

Even Mythra isn’t like him- not really. He wonders if Ontos is closer. “Depends on your definition of ‘like me’.” Malos pauses, and this time it’s his turn to stare at the woman. “You believe me?”

“How could I not, with that in your chest?” She nods at him, and then reaches out a hand. “May I?”

She walks on her knees towards him, and when Malos doesn’t immediately shoo her away- too perplexed to even consider it- she pulls down the collar of his shirt and peers at the Core underneath. 

“How did you know?”

“I read your medical report.”

“What else did it tell you?”

She looks back up, finally letting go of his clothes. “It told me you are not a Vos, for one.” She smiles, though it doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “It wasn’t worded quite like that, but it would take a fool to think you were one.”

“Vos?” Malos repeats.

“Yes, a Vos.” Now she looks confused, or maybe confused isn’t the right word. Surprised, perhaps. “You’re not familiar?”

It’s all too similar to the questioning he had gotten from Vertresa, and Malos is sick of it. “You lot made up a lot of new words.”

The woman accepts this answer with a nod. “Vos is the name of our species.” A pause. “You are not one of us.”

“Is that a problem?”

“It doesn’t have to be.” She leans back on her haunches, finally giving him the space he desires. “Why have you come here now? You said you were sleeping?”

“Yes, my Siren crashed.” Now he knows what confusion looks like on her face. “My… ship.”

“So it was unintentional?”

“Yep.” Malos pops the ‘p’ at the end of the word. “Believe me, if I could just disappear, I would.”

“Why can’t you?”

It’s a good question. He could, theoretically, go back into stasis at any time, but Siren helps keep him that way. And besides, if he tried to do it here, he’d probably get woken up every few years- and that’s if he’s lucky. “I need my Siren. Then I could go into orbit, avoid this place, and go back to sleep.”

She narrows her eyes, searching in his face for something. Malos isn’t sure what. “And you’ll stay there? Asleep.”

“Yes.”

Another pause. And then she stands. “I will help you.”

“You will?” Malos tries to stand with her, but is once again reminded of why he can’t. Instead, he is forced to break his rules and look up. He can’t help but wonder if that was done on purpose.

“The materials found near your crash site were collected as evidence.” She says, standing up straighter now. “I’ll give them to you to repair it, along with the help of our engineers. Is that sufficient?”

“I… suppose.”

“Good.” Clearly satisfied with the outcome, she turns back towards the bars, speaking again to the guard who opens the cell door. 

“Who the hell are you, anyway?” Malos calls out before she can get too far away.

She turns back around, pausing in the cell frame. “My apologies. I am the Interpreter, Loriatha.” She nods towards him. “And do you have a name?”

More than a name. “I’m the Aegis.” And then after a beat. “Malos.”

“Welcome to Tertius, Aegis.” Her eyes narrows once more to his chest, and the warm smile that had started to cover her face falls. “And one more thing. Keep that covered.”

Chapter Text

Unlike their previous conversations, this time they’re in an office of sorts. Pyra didn’t know Niall had an office. It’s hard to imagine the Emperor of Mor Ardain needing to do paperwork all that often. That’s what councilors are for, or maybe that's just what Addam had believed, and those thoughts still rub off on her after all this time. 

“Thank you for coming.” Niall says, quickly clearing a few stacks of papers before sitting down behind his desk. “I know we’ve already spoken, but there are a few additional details I’d like to iron out.” He gestures towards the chair across from him, and waits for Pyra to sit before continuing. “Jin has been uncooperative, so I’d like to find out as much as I can from others regarding his actions. You knew Jin before the modern age?”

Pyra nods. “I met him in Torna.”

“He was titled the ‘Paragon of Torna’ then, correct?”

“Yes.”

How much of the legacy of that country remains? To Pyra, it’s just as clear as the day she went to sleep. Green hills. Vast deserts. A capital towering over the rest of the Titan. She only lived there a year, but in her short life, a year is extraordinarily long. 

Rex had never even heard the name Torna before, and he was hardly the only one. It’s easy to forget history when it sinks out of sight.

“Mikhail also mentioned a second Blade, who became the late Goddess of the Praetorium.”

“Correct.” Pyra says, and those fond memories suddenly turn sour and sad. Haze had been kind to her, even when the others weren’t. Her teasing always stung so much less than theirs- it didn’t have the same genuine distrust behind it. Maybe she was just better at hiding it. “Her name was Haze.”

Niall pulls a plain paper from the stack and scratches at it with a wet quill. “Do you know what came of her?”

It would be kinder if she didn’t. It’s yet another item to add to the list of things she could have prevented had she not gone to sleep. “Amalthus took half of her Core Crystal and embedded it within his own flesh. He stole her power.”

“Do you know for certain whether or not she had willingly allowed this?”

At first, she wants to deny it outright, but it could be possible. Amalthus was her Driver, and she his loyal Blade. Would she have willingly given up a part of herself to please him? Mutilate herself for him, like Jin did for Lora? Though, in Jin’s case, Pyra doubts it was an entirely selfless act. A Blade that journals does so for a reason.

Despite the possibility, she can’t bring herself to speak it aloud. “When I spoke with her in Indol, she had no recollection of the event. She said she felt like a part of her was missing. She also said things that implied that she had been lied to about her past.”

Niall looks up. “She did not know she was once Jin’s partner Blade?”

Would that have made a difference? Probably not. “I don’t think she knew anything about her life outside of Indol.” Had she been happy there? Even if it was all from ignorance and lies, did she find any joy in the life she lived? “She was a good person. She didn’t deserve what happened to her.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Niall says, with genuine sympathy in his voice. “As far as Jin goes, his Driver was killed by Amalthus- indirectly, yes?”

“That's what he told us.” And with everything she knows now, and even before, she doesn't doubt it. “When Amalthus massacred Spessia, Lora was killed. She wanted to be remembered, and Jin didn’t want to forget. He took her heart.”

“And you believe he had consent to do this?”

“He said he did, and I believe him.” Pyra nods. “He cared deeply for Lora. I don’t think he would have caused her more pain simply for his own benefit.”

Niall doesn’t say anything directly, but the look on his face makes Pyra think he doesn’t quite believe that. It’s fair enough, from his perspective. The Jin he’s met is hard to sympathise with.

“Jin attacked several Ardainian ships, killing in total hundreds of service men.” Niall continues, leaning back in his chair. “Has he offered you any explanation for this?”

“We haven’t talked about it directly.” Pyra admits. In her piles of questions, that one had been fairly low on her list. “I do know that he made a habit of attacking ships carrying Core Crystals. Those Cores would have been taken to Indol, where Amalthus was ending the lives of many of those Blades.”

“Ending their lives?” He asks, looking genuinely puzzled. “We sent those Cores to be cleansed and sent back to us, to increase the awakening rates.”

“That’s true for most of them, but some were absorbed completely by Amalthus.” She explains. “Even for those that were spared, the cleansing process involved wiping a Blade of all of their experiences and leaving them a clean slate. The Blade they were, for all purposes, was killed.”

“And this is different from a normal awakening?”

“Throughout a Blade’s life, they will learn things and grow as individuals. When they return to their Core, they lose their memories, yes, but they don’t start from scratch. They continue to evolve over time, until eventually, they become Titans.” Unless, you’re an Aegis, that is. Then, you’re blessed with a never ending memory. Or cursed, depending on who you ask. “This process was interrupted by the cleansing. It’s also the reason why there’s been a shortage of Titans in recent years.”

“I see.” And is that guilt in his eyes- to know that he played a part in the slow demise of his people? Even if he was ignorant of it, Mor Ardain played a massive role in Indol’s rise to power. The same was true five hundred years ago, back when the kind Hugo sat on the throne. 

“I do believe Jin when he says he fights for his species.” There were other reasons, yes. Perhaps many. But malice was not what drove him. 

“You were friends with him once.”

“Friends is probably a strong word.” He and Mythra never really got along, though it did shift in time from outward hostility to mild annoyance, and perhaps even a sprinkle of genuine admiration, though maybe that was only from Mythra. If there was any from Jin, it disappeared the day she sank his homeland. “He wasn't like this.”

Niall hums. “I imagine Malos was quite an influence on him.”

In one way or another. “Maybe.”

The door behind Pyra slides open, and she turns around in her chair to look. Morag has stepped into the room, Brighid right behind her.

“Apologies for the interruption, Your Majesty.” The words come out quickly, and there’s a look of apprehension on her face. “This cannot wait.”

Niall sits up, giving her his full focus. “Of course. What is the issue?”

“Two guards were found near the docks this morning, each with fatal sword wounds.” Morag explains. “We’ve been searching for the culprit.”

“Yes, I got a report just recently.” Niall says, unsurprised. “Have there been any updates?”

Then, she looks to Pyra. “We can’t locate Jin.”

Pyra blinks. “Did you check his storage room?”

She thinks for a moment that she might have to explain what she means. The room isn’t really his, and it’s not the best way to describe it. Morag, however, knows exactly what she’s referring to. How could she not? She, or someone, is always following Jin from afar. He never stays unfound for long. 

“Yes.” She nods. “His supplies are still there, but there’s no sign of him. We checked his chambers. We’ve had guards searching all along the city’s path. There is nothing to be found, except for a missing ship that was docked in the port last night.”

“What about the others?”

“We already located the Flesh Eaters. They’re in our custody.” Brighid steps forward, hand over heart. “Aegaeon is leading the search for Mikhail now.”

“He left without them?” Pyra questions, mostly to herself. “Why?”

“Aegaeon claims he was in a fight with a civilian yesterday. Perhaps that is related.” Morag continues. “Has he said anything to you that would hint to where he's headed?”

“Nothing new.” The two of them don’t talk more than they have to. Their last conversation was the argument Mythra had had with Jin just a few days prior. “The only thing I can think of is him going to Morytha to gather more supplies, but he has a salvager doing that for him.”

Niall takes in all of the information. “We will send patrols that way to search for him.” 

Morag nods her thanks, and then again, looks at Pyra. “As I’m sure you understand, this is a violation of his plea bargain. When he is found, he will face consequences for this, and his prior immunity will be revoked.”

“I know. Is Rex back yet?”

“No, not that we’re aware.”

Pyra sighs. “I’ll go after him. Your soldiers won’t stand a chance.”

“Very well.” Niall agrees to this. “Once we’ve finished questioning Torna, we’ll update you on anything we find.”

Nia doesn’t understand a lick of the diagrams drawn out on the white board, but that’s not much of an insult towards her own intelligence. She’d be surprised if anyone but the author herself understood it. Even Mik, who she has to admit is pretty good with blueprints and such, wouldn’t understand the logic Mythra scribbled down. 

“We don’t feel like the right ones to make this choice. What difference is it to us?” Nia wonders aloud, before looking down at Dromarch. “Well, I suppose it will matter for you, one day. Who knows how long I’ll live for?”

The idea of discussing Nia’s death, even indirectly, causes a grimace to cross Dromarch’s face. “You are still a Blade, My Lady.”

“Yeah, but I can’t return to my Core, can I?”

“And that is what is being offered to others.” Dromarch says, and the thought makes Nia pause. “Do you wish you could go back to how you once were?”

“I don’t know.” Nia finally says. She wraps her arms around herself, and it’s clear she’s thought about this before. “It would be easier, wouldn’t it? Because one day, the rest of them are going to die. Not Pyra, probably, but Rex will. Tora, Zeke. Pandoria and Brighid will survive, but they’ll forget me. And I’m going to have to live with that instead of starting fresh like them. But also…”

Nia sounds like she’s going to continue, but the words catch in her throat- and catch Dromarch’s attention. “My Lady?”

“Everything that’s happened, good and bad, it’s made me me. I don’t know if I want to forget it. It feels like I’ll be erased.” 

It’s possible she would awaken into a happier life, one without the hardships that made the current one so troubling. Maybe she’d get lucky, and live many long, happy lives, but then, what if one day she doesn’t? What if one day, she’s awakened, and she ends up alone again, without the courage she had been taught in this life? What if she needs reminding again to love herself and this world, and there’s no one there to offer her a hand?

“What about you, then?” Nia asks, happy to scoot the light away from herself. “You gonna be first in line for the new setup?”

Unlike Nia, Dromarch does not hesitate in his response. “I think not.”

“Really?” Nia asks, quirking an eyebrow in surprise. “You don’t want to remember? Not even for a few lifetimes?”

“I find a certain peace in ending with you, My Lady.” Dromarch says simply. “It was you who awoke me into this world, and I can see no better exit than to leave it with you as well. The ‘me’ that is awoken next will be a new Blade with a new Driver, but I will be laid to rest.”

Before Nia can respond, a new voice enters the space, and it makes Nia jump in surprise- followed by anger. “How sweet.”

“Oh, piss off, Mik.” Nia spits as the man leaves the doorway and steps fully into the room. Despite her limited greeting, he’s still smiling. “Stop eavesdropping."

“But I can’t help it. You have such intriguing conversations.” He holds his hands out to either side of him, sliding in between Nia and Dromarch to peer at the board. Much to Nia’s pleasure, he seems equally confused by it. “If you think you’re a bad choice to decide this, I’m even worse. I’ve got the cool parts of being a Blade, but returning to my Core was never in the cards.”

“Well, then, your turn.” Nia finds herself repeating Dromarch’s question. “Would you return to your Core? If you could?”

There’s a pause, but it doesn’t look like Mikhail is actually thinking about the question, but rather simply amused by it. “No. No, I wouldn’t.”

“You don’t want to start over?”

“Oh, hell, I’d love a fresh start.” Mikhail places his hands on his hips, and his smile only grows. “But not with that cost.”

Fair enough. Nia can’t blame him for that. Memories are precious, more so to some than others, but still. Losing them is hard to accept, even for Blades that have experienced it dozens of times. 

Nia wonders if that’s why some Blades refer to their previous and future awakenings as different ‘people’. Is human-like death easier to accept than to know that you will continue on without any of the memories that made you who you are? Perhaps, like Dromarch said, it’s better to consider it the end, and not concern yourself with what your body and soul will do in the future. 

“Would you become human again, if you could?”

“No.” Mikhail answers quickly, and this time she is surprised. “I meant what I said before. I hate humans. Maybe more than Jin.”

“But you were one.”

“I was.” He doesn’t deny it. “And humans were cruel to me. A lot of them were, at least. Becoming this, while not a fond memory, changed me for the better. Blades are my family, and I’d rather be like them than like a human.” He tilts his head towards Nia. “Would you?”

The back and forth ‘woulds’ have piled up, and Nia has already managed to lose which one Mikhail could be referring to this time. “Would I what?”

“Become human.” The bewildered look on Nia’s face makes Mikhail bark out a laugh. “Oh, come on. It’s not that silly. You could be a regular ol’ Gormotti. Get married. Have some kids. Grow old. The simple life.”

Despite the absurdity of the question, Nia tries to consider it. It’s never been something she thought about before, which is odd considering the way she grew up. Becoming a Flesh Eater was becoming human in so many ways. “Maybe. I’ve missed having a family.”

Mikhail places a hand against his heart. “I’m touched.”

Nia already knows she’s going to regret getting so personal with Mik of all people. “I meant- my sister.”

The hand falls. “I’m now less touched.” 

There’s a clear attempt here to make Nia feel guilty for her comment, but she refuses to fall for the bait. “You lot tried to kill me.”

“You were colluding with the enemy.”

“You were trying to destroy the world!” 

“‘The world’. It was just humans.” Mikhail waves a hand in the air. “But whatever.” The smile slowly falls from his face, but he doesn’t look sad. Instead, he just looks ‘normal’- like the grin from before wasn’t really him and now she’s seeing something closer to the truth. “It wasn’t all bad though, right?”

They were her family in a way, but that didn’t make them easy. “On my first day there, Patroka tried to stab me and you flirted with me.”

“Come on, sparring is how Patroka bonds, you know this.” The smile returns, and Nia can’t tell if it’s real or not. “Remember that time you and Malos got into a huge spat over whose turn it was to clean the kitchen?”

“He also tried to kill me.”

“It was my turn, for the record.”

There’s a long silence. “You guys were shitty friends.”

“Yeah, but we would’ve done anything for you, had you not left. Torna sticks together, and all that.” He shrugs. “Maybe you found a better family, but nothing will beat them for me.”

Their conversation is interrupted by a door swinging open behind them, and Aegaeon of all people steps through. “Mikhail of Torna, in the name of Emperor Niall, you are under arrest.”

Even Mikhail, with all his masks, could not fake the befuddlement on his face. "The fuck did I do?”

The two guards behind Aegaeon enter the room as well, quickly grabbing Mikhail by his arms and binding his hands behind his back. Mikhail doesn't resist, though it’s possible he’s too surprised to even try.

“Wait- just, hold on!” Nia looks from Mikhail to Aegaeon. “What’s he even in trouble for?”

“A warrant has been placed on Jin, and by proxy, his associates.”

“Jin?” Nia repeats back, eyebrows furrowed. “What for?”

“He is suspected of the murder of two Ardainians and fleeing the country.”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Mikhail interjects, and his body goes stiff. “He would have taken us with him.”

“You can discuss this with the Emperor.”

“Aegaeon! Just-”

Before Nia can say another word, Mikhail is pulled out of the room and disappears down the hall. 

Chapter Text

The sky is blue. It’s always been blue. Every single day he spent in this dream, the sky had been a perfect pastel with white clouds scattered across it. The clouds themselves are identical, with only four total varieties. Clearly, when Elysium was being created by the humans that pre-dated Alrest, a realistic, dynamic sky was not their priority. That flawed data is now all he can access is his Core.

“How long do you think it’s going to take to fix?”

“Shouldn’t be too long.” Malos answers, dropping to the ground next to the riverbend, where Jin is already sitting. “I couldn’t, back in Morytha. I didn’t have the parts. The Core was shattered, but the pieces couldn’t have gone far. They’re strong enough to have survived impact, but the shell wasn’t. It disintegrated.”

“And it didn’t disintegrate this time?” 

“It did, but there’s plenty to go around.” Malos tilts his head towards Jin. His eyes match the sky. “The ground is made from the same material- or close enough at least.”

Jin’s brows furrow in confusion. “The ground is metal? There’s no dirt?” 

“None.” Malos confirms. It’s gotten to a point where, each time he enters his dreams, he’s taken off guard by the colors and brightness of it all. There’s not much going on in Tertius outside of the hard, white ground and shimmers of purple. “Nothing organic. I don’t think the Vos are even organic- not truly. Not any more than I am.”

The Vos themselves have more variety than most of the land, but not as much as Blades. Blades truly came in any size or shape, no color off limits. Humans, and Vos for that matter, are just different shades of brown- hair and skin. Even Jin, who could pass as human, is far more unique than them. “They look human enough.”

“But they’re not.” Similarities aside, they’re not the same species. Even with the obvious physical differences, their insides can’t be the same. Humans wouldn’t be able to survive in a place like this- without a proper sun and vegetation. “They’re something else. Something I’ve never seen before.”

“New world. New people.”

“Exactly.” But there’s no point wasting time thinking about it. “As soon as it’s done, I’ll be back here, forever.”

“You won’t crash again?”

“I shouldn’t.” Though, he shouldn’t have last time either. Siren was on auto-pilot. There’s no reason for her to simply fall from the sky and crash. “I don’t know what caused it. Maybe Siren went into orbit and collided with Tertius.”

Jin thinks on this, but that doesn’t make sense either. “Wouldn’t it have done that years ago? Tertius has been here for a while. Why now?”

“Maybe the orbit was extraordinarily large.”

“And this was your first time making a full loop?”

“Could be.”

Yes, it could be, but Malos’s face doesn’t align with his answer, and Jin narrows his eyes. “What is it?”

“I remember falling.” Malos finally says after a beat. “It wasn’t immediate. There was pain, then I was falling, and then we crashed.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.”

Slumber had been a blessing to end the nothingness around him, and for years, that had been that. Then, in a moment, it was snatched away. There had been pain, before his eyes even opened. A burning, agonizing pain- then a feeling of weightlessness. He lost control. Before he knew what was happening, there was fire. That only ended when the darkness came. 

Even when he awoke, though, the pain did not fade. He remembers it vividly. 

Pain.

Pain.

A never ending pain.

Malos opens his eyes, but the pain doesn't stop. 

He gasps, sucking in air and quickly shooting up in his bed. He holds his hand against his chest- not even sure why at the moment. And then he looks down at his open palm. The burning sensation is hard to pinpoint, but his eyes do a better job of finding the wound.

The top third of his middle finger is gone entirely. There’s no blood or sign of where the missing part had fallen to. It’s just erased. 

“The hell?” It’s all Malos can say, inspecting the injury closer. He can see the bone and red flesh underneath. His head whips all around the room, looking for anyone or anything that could be the culprit, but he’s alone. 

Is it the lack of ether? Is it affecting him more than he thought it would? Or is he simply not compatible with this world and fading from existence? That doesn’t seem right. He was the first one here. He should be the most compatible. Unless the universe moved on from him while he slept. 

Finding no solutions here, Malos swings his leg over the edge of the bed and grabs his new crutches, left leaning against the bed frame. Pushing himself to his feet, Malos makes his way to the small closet and grabs a Vos sweater he had been given- or as close to a sweater as they have. He misses his armor. The thick fabric feels wrong on his skin- itchy and weak. A sword would have no trouble penetrating it. 

Like the other clothes he had been given, there’s additional material over the chest portion- impossible to see unless you were to wear it inside-out. Malos pulls the shirt tight, glancing in a mirror to confirm his suspicion. The light from his Core is impossible to see through the layers, hidden away. Malos doubts it’s a coincidence that the clothes he was given all contain this extra protection. 

It’s a familiar path now from the main hall where he’s boarded, down a frustratingly long staircase, and to a gated yard just a block away. There’s two guards posted on either side of the entrance- there always is- and Malos has yet to recognize any of them as the ones that had dragged him here just a few weeks prior. He hopes it stays that way. If he had his powers, he’d wish for the opposite. 

The guards let him pass without issue, and once inside, Malos stops to look at what was once his Siren, lying flat on its back. Well, Mythra’s Siren, but close enough. It’s his now. The general skeleton is complete, but the Core in the center- the most important part- is shattered, with huge chunks missing from it. 

There’s several piles of materials, brought here from his crash site, but the Core chunks, aside from one, are missing. Malos snatches the one piece he did manage to find off the ground and holds it in his hand. It’s an almost perfect triangle and otherwise undamaged, but useless without the other pieces.

“Sir?”

Malos jumps up, whipping around. He raises up his hands, as if to prepare for an attack, but instead he sees an equally alarmed young man standing across from him with wide, apologetic eyes. “What the-?”

“Sorry, sir!” His hands go up as well, in a surrendering motion. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I wasn’t startled.” Malos responds, and quickly lowers his hands. The man does the same. Malos glances in the direction of the guards stationed on the other side of the fence. Useless. “No one else is supposed to come back here.”

“Loriatha sent me.” The man says quickly, tripping over his words. “To assist you.”

Suddenly, it makes more sense, but it doesn’t ease Malos’s annoyance. He turns back towards his Siren, already bored of the coming conversation. “I already told her, her engineers are useless and don’t know shit about Artifices.”

“Oh, I’m not an engineer, sir.”

This unexpected change in the dialogue tree peaks Malos’s interest just enough to garner a head tilt in the man’s direction. “Then what are you?”

He smiles, though it’s a practiced smile, and the nervousness in his eyes remains. “My name’s Gared.”

“And?”

“And I’m here to assist you in whatever way I can.”

Malos turns all the way around. “So what, you’re like a servant?”

“If you like!”

“I don’t like.”

“Then no.”

“Architect.” Malos rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t need your help.”

Out of the corner of Malos’s eye, he spots a long, thin piece of white metal- perfect to replace the shielding missing from Siren’s upper chest. He walks over to it without delay, and balancing all of his weight onto one of his crutches, uses his free hand to grab hold of it. The angle is awkward, but he manages to pull it off the ground. 

Gared rushes over, quickly lifting it the rest of the way and out of Malos’s hand. “Where should I put it, sir?”

Malos grits his teeth and considers his words carefully. Despite his desire to tell him exactly where to shove it, he nods towards his Siren instead. “Up against the left sternum.”

Gared lugs the piece over to Siren, climbing on top of its shoulder and placing it flat against the chest. There’s no clear connection point, and Gared watches it carefully, hoping desperately it won’t slide off. “Like… this, sir?”

No, not like that, but Malos can’t be bothered with it any longer. “Forget the shell.” Even if the outer shielding was rebuilt perfectly, it would make no difference. A shiny trinket is all it would be. “I need more materials. This stuff isn’t gonna cut it.”

A light awakens behind Gared’s eyes, and he climbs back down from the Artifice. “I could take you to the recycling center, sir!”

Recycling center? “Whatever.”

Gared leads him out of the gate and down the street, pausing every minute or so when he realizes he’s walked far too quickly and left Malos in need of catching up. After the third pause, Malos deeply considers removing one of Gared’s legs to solve the problem permanently. Finally, they approach a second fenced in area, this one much larger than his own designated yard. Here, there is also a gate, but there’s no guards.

Gared walks up to a small panel by the door and types in a handful of numbers that cause the door to slide open. As they step through, movement from the side grabs Malos’s attention. It’s a short, humanoid-shaped machine with visible gears around its joints, carrying a small crate of white materials. 

“What is that?” Malos asks, and Garen pauses and swivels around to look. 

“The Mechanoid? You’ve never seen one before?” Gared asks, truly curious. Then, he shrugs. “They’re probably not as common outside of Neris. They’re machines created to assist us.”

“Created by who?”

“Vos engineers, of course.” Gared looks like he might laugh, but then stops when he glances back at Malos’s stern face. “It’s not like the Raels would've been able to make them.”

Malos watches as the Mechanoid reaches the gate. Detecting that it’s already open, it tries to walk through, but its aim isn’t quite right, and the side of its body gets stuck on the edge of the fence. It doesn’t seem to notice this, continuing to walk forward as if that would bring it closer to its destination. Gared walks towards it, gently pushing the machine to the side and out of the fence’s path. Without any acknowledgment of this, the Mechanoid continues waddling forward and out of the recycling center. 

“There’s plenty in here.” Gared says, pointing to another one in the distance, carrying more materials. “It might be able to help you if you need to find something specific.”

Stepping further into the fenced area, Malos is met with more of the same he had already seen. White metal, in giant, overflowing piles. Then, he spots pink, and he rushes towards it as quickly as he can manage. Grabbing a piece from the full cart and pulling it into his hand, he’s quickly met with disappointment. While similar enough looking, the composition is completely different to that of his Siren’s Core. It’s just thick, colored glass.

Malos lets it drop back into the cart. “Why do you collect all of this?”

“It’s part of the renewability program, sir.” Gared explains, his arms animated as he gestures around. “In order to expand our cities, we have to take from the land. But if we keep taking from the land, we’ll eventually run out of places to live. Residents are required to bring materials no longer in use here to be recycled.”

“And what happens to them?”

“They’re used to patch the ground, sir.” Gared tangles his fingers together. “Over time, the materials bind together and it’s as if no one had mined there to begin with. Then they can start again. It’s very efficient.”

“I’m missing pieces like this.” Malos holds up the triangle-shaped Core he had found in the wreckage collected for him. “It was supposed to be with the materials given to me. Where else would it have been taken?”

“A Core piece?” Gared looks concerned, but Malos is mostly surprised he’s able to recognize it. “Sir, you’re not supposed to have that.”

“It’s my Siren. I’m the only one who’s supposed to have it.” Malos pulls it back towards him, suddenly feeling very possessive of it. “Where can I get more?”

“It’s highly illegal.” Gared is already shaking his head. “You would need special permissions from the Interpreter.”

Malos is, once again, filled with annoyance, but he relents. “Fine.” And with that, he takes off back towards the gate.

“Where are you going, sir?”

“To talk to the Interpreter.”

Gared is at his side in but a moment. “She’s, uh, very busy.”

“She can make time.” He looks ahead, but the Main Hall where she resides is now several blocks away. He lets out a frustrated huff. “Go ahead of me and tell her I want to talk.”

“I, uh.” Gared looks like he wants to refuse, but with another glare from Malos, he nods his head rapidly. “Okay. Sir.”

Gared runs off, and Malos begins his much slower journey down the street. By the time he makes it to the tall building, he is exhausted, and those forsaken stairs almost make him want to give up and try again tomorrow. Instead, he pulls himself up each step, one by one, until he finally makes it to the top. 

Inside, Malos quickly finds Gared, talking in rushed words to Loriatha. He glances between them as Malos approaches. “I said you were busy, uh, but he, um.”

“It’s quite alright.” She raises a hand to silence him before turning her attention to Malos. “Aegis. How can I help you?”

“I’m missing materials from the wreckage.” He lifts up the same triangle shaped Core. “I need more of this.” 

She looks at it in silence for a moment before turning back to the young man. “Gared, you may go.”

“Ma’am. Sir.” Grateful for the departure, Gared dips out of the room, leaving the two of them alone. 

“Come with me.” Loriatha says, gesturing for Malos to follow as she steps into what looks like an office. There’s a desk and a few cabinets, but it’s otherwise small and ordinary. “We collected all we could find from your crash site, but it’s possible some pieces were missed.”

“Get me a ride then, and I’ll search for myself.”

“I cannot allow that.” Loriatha says, continuing before Malos can argue. “That part of Tertius is forbidden to enter, even for you, but I may have an alternative.”

A key around her neck opens a locked drawer, and she pulls it out completely from the desk and sets it atop. Inside is what looks like miniature versions of his own Core- hundreds of them. 

Malos is too surprised to ask anything but the obvious. “Where did you get these?”

“They were harvested.”

He looks up. “Harvested from where?”

“From that which is birthed from the world.” She says simply, as if that is an adequate answer. When Malos narrows his eyes, she lets out a breath and continues. “There is a power within Tertius. We have learned to use it to an extent, but it is limited. These pieces help keep hold over the ground beneath our feet.”

There’s no organic matter here. What does that mean? Is Tertius a machine, like the Mechadriod he has seen? Without organic matter, there’s no way this world could function the way it is without some kind of intervention. Everything is artificial. Everything must be controlled. 

“The day and night cycle.” Malos finally says. “The light above us. That’s you?”

“Not me personally, but yes.”

“What else?”

“You tell me.”

The question throws Malos off. There must be a control center somewhere, making all of the decisions. Slowly, Malos reaches his hands towards the Cores, and they glow in response as he nears them. She’s right. There’s a connection between these crystals and Tertius, but every one is thin and hard to track. 

Loriatha touches his hand, pulling it closer, and it takes Malos a moment to realize she’s looking at the missing chunk in his finger. Red and bones.

“Even inside, you are not like a Vos.”

Malos jerks his hand back. “I’m not a Vos.”

She knows this, but it doesn’t answer all her questions. “What are you?”

Even with the truth of it being disputed in the end by Klaus, there’s only one word Malos wants to describe him. “A Blade.”

Confusion always feels like a victory when it crosses Loriatha’s face, like he’s finally managed to get an upperhand against her. “Like a sword?”

“I used to have one of those. Not anymore.” It’s hard to long for it, truthfully. Even if he did get it back in the end, he was without it for so many years. He’s been weak for most of his life. The only time he truly felt weak, though, was when Jin’s frail body would fail, and he didn’t have the power to stop it. “Why did you believe me?”

“Because of the symbol on your chest.” Loriatha nods towards him. “I’ve seen it before.”

“You mean from these?” He gestures towards the drawer. 

“And such.” It’s a half answer, but it’s enough to satiate him for the time being. There are more pressing things on his mind. 

Malos turns away, shaking his head and crossing his arms. “Where do you come from? All of you? You sprung up from nothing.”

It was meant as a more rhetorical question, but Loriatha answers it the best she can manage. “There are a range of beliefs.”

He tilts his head towards her. “What’s yours?”

“I would say it’s fairly obvious at this point.” There’s a small smile on her lips that fades. “But irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant?” Malos turns all the way back around.

“I simply do not care.” Loriatha picks the drawer back up and closes the distance created between them. “We are as we are. Whoever you may be in relation to that doesn’t matter.”

The words make him grimace, and a deep pit in his gut forms. ‘Who he may be’? The implication upsets him more than he would have expected it to. He’s not their creator. He’s not their Architect. He never asked for that. He didn’t make them. He is not their father. They are a cosmic accident created by chance and coincidence, and he’ll have no part in it. 

“What are you hoping for from me?” The words come out stern and angry, but Loriatha doesn’t seem bothered by that.

“I want you to do as you promised." She says. “I want you to leave.”

Relief flows through him, and he lets out a breath. “Good.”

“You may take as many of these as you require to repair your vehicle.” She offers up the drawer to him, placing it in his open hands. “If there is anything else you need, I am at your behest.”

With that, Loriatha steps around him to leave the room. He watches her go before wedging the drawer under his arm and stepping with his crutches back towards the stairs.

Chapter Text

Indol. They still call it that, despite the once grand city now laying in rubble atop the new land. It didn’t have to be that way. While Mythra and Malos had worked on connecting Siren to the Conduit’s output, Morag had been focused on bringing Amalathus into custody. He didn’t make it easy. He wasn’t willing to give himself up, even if it meant taking the Titan itself down with him. 

A lot of people died that day. No one needed to die, but that’s how it came to pass. 

Now the survivors work to rebuild their city. 

Rex steps off the boat, catching his foot on the edge of the unexpectedly tall dock step and stumbling before regaining his balance. For someone who spent so much of their life on the sea, clouds feel so much different than water. Gramps was steady against the flow, but these new boats rock with each wave, turning his stomach. 

“Don’t go falling now, Rex.” Azura pipes up from his helmet.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Rex replies, straightening himself and finishing the path into the city. 

He’s recognizable, even without the Aegis at his side, and that’s an unfortunate thing in Indol. In the rest of Alrest, he’s considered a young hero, but here, he’s the conqueror that led to their city falling and their Praetor being stolen. Even with everything Amalthus has done being revealed, they still all but worship him. 

Rex continues forward until he sees a familiar mop of sea green hair, and from there, his eyes quickly find the tall Driver at her side. He quickens his pace towards them, smile covering his face. “Zeke. Pandoria.”

Zeke looks away from the market’s goods, and he matches the grin with his own. “Rex! How are things holding up? No Pyra.”

“No, not this time.” Rex shakes his head, mood dimming at the reminder of her absence. With Torna loose in the city, Mor Ardain had requested that Pyra stay, at least until the trial is finalized and everything’s cooled down. Torna hasn’t caused any trouble so far, but with their history, it’s best to be cautious. 

“Well, welcome back, anyway.” Pandoria chirps. “It’s been crazy busy over here, too.”

“Speaking of which, there’s something you’ll want to see.” Zeke adds on, turning towards the steps that lead to the once tall Sanctum. 

Rex does his best to ignore the glares as they pass through the town. Half of the buildings are still piles of dust and ashes, but the rest are nearly pieced back together. A city built from its ashes. Of course, there’s plenty of resources in Elysium for them to pick from, and Mor Ardain sends imports regularly, so no one’s starving. 

It was decided that Zeke should step in as the temporary regent until Indol is in a stable enough place to govern themselves- that is, if Mor Ardain ever lets them. Zeke is a familiar face to most of them, and enough in Mor Ardain’s pocket for Niall to trust his loyalties. It’s unclear if Indol will be allowed to elect their own leader, or if it’ll become a second territory, along with Gormott. 

Once they reach the stairs, Rex pauses for a moment, glancing around. There’s not many Blades. They’re rare, in general, but missing entirely from Indol. Pandoria might be the only one. All of the Cores were confiscated, and most of the Drivers in Indol were soldiers that perished during Amalthus’s last stand. 

From the Sanctum, Zeke takes Rex down a narrow passage and into a space inside the Titan. A prison, from the looks of it. 

“Are you keeping prisoners here?” Rex asks, though his question is mostly answered by the empty, barred-off rooms. 

“Nope, Mor Ardain has been claiming all of those.” Zeke places his hand against the wall, feeling around for something. It isn’t until Pandoria jerks her head in the right direction that Zeke finally presses against the correct stone, and it gives under the pressure. 

Zeke steps away, and the wall slowly slides to the side, revealing a new passage. He looks back towards Rex, letting out a laugh at the wide-eyed surprise. “Hah! That’s what I thought, too. It took us ages to find this!” 

“It wasn’t even on purpose.” Pandoria adds. “My Prince was leaning against the wall and nearly fell and cracked his head!”

Rex steps past them and down the passage. From there, it doesn’t take long to reach another room. From the entryway, Rex can see an open barrel of Core Crystals- dozens of them. They knew Amalthus had been hoarding them- they’ve found plenty of these stashes, but it seems even that wasn’t all of them. 

Is the rarity of Blades his doing? Were Blades meant to be just as common as humans? Instead, this man had gathered them up, locking them away until he could find use for them, letting them gather dust instead of living. 

To the side, Rex sees a bookshelf, filled to the brim. It seems strange, at first, to have novels locked away down here, but then he looks closer. They’re not stories, but hand-written journals. He loosens one from the shelf and pops it open. 

Entry #74

Previous attempts to merge Blade data with human flesh resulted in a 54% success-rate for short-term survival. Increased strength and healing is noted, but other Blade abilities, such as summoning a weapon, are not found. The flesh also becomes malformed. I believe this is due to the existing data within the Blade’s Core being incompatible with the human’s mind.

In the newest attempt, Cores were cleansed prior to their use, ensuring that there is no existing data that would interfere with the mutation process. This change has decreased the short-term survival rate to 23%, but of those that survived the initial process, the long-term survival rate has increased by 81%. 

We have also found that humans between 8 and 12 years old show the highest chance of survival, at an overall 34%. Groups both older and younger have an average of 18%. I believe this is due to two factors. 1) Older humans with fully developed bodies are less likely to handle a change in their bodily functions, compared to a younger specimen that is still growing. 2) Younger humans are simply frailer and unable to handle the strain, thus causing death. 

Once this group is finished and disposed of, we will focus on humans closer in age to the Praetor, in order to more closely determine how to increase the survival rate from this group. 

Rex closes the notebook before he can read any more. 

Jin was wrong for what he did. Destroying humanity wasn’t the answer, but in moments like this, he can sympathise with him- and not just for the injustice of it all. If you knew a terrible truth like this, and no one believed you, you’d probably go a little mad, too. 

“He had seemed like such a kind man.”

“That’s your problem. You’re too nice.” Zeke steps up next to him. He rests a hand on his shoulder as Rex replaces the book back onto the shelf. “I always knew there was something off with him. I was never able to figure out what.”

Rex glances at Zeke’s chest- towards the blue shard hidden behind his coat. “He did that to you.”

“It was that or die.” Zeke shrugs. “Maybe the only kind thing he ever did.”

“What will happen when you die?” Rex asks. He glances towards Pandoria, who is now on the other side of the room, opening up a closed barrel and peering inside. “Will Pandoria return to her Core? Or…”

To that, Zeke doesn’t have an answer. “I haven’t the slightest clue, chump.”

Did Amalthus know? Did he even care? Rex can’t help but feel a bit guilty for even thinking about it, but he can’t block it out. “I’m glad you’re alive, I wouldn’t want it otherwise, but-”

“But you think it’s wrong.” Zeke interrupts, but he doesn’t look offended. 

“He didn’t even ask her if she wanted it.” Rex pauses, letting out a breath. “I’m sure she would’ve said yes.”

“Don’t get yourself too worked up about it.” Zeke slaps his hand against Rex’s back, jerking him forward. “Leave those moral conundrums to us.”

Rex fixes his eyes back onto Zeke. “So you have thought about it?”

“Plenty of times.” He admits. “But I don’t know the answer, and neither does she. So there’s no real point in wasting time worrying. Better to just live and let live.” Zeke walks past Rex, lifting a loose lid off the ground and placing it on top of one of the open barrels. “We can get those Cores loaded up. I’m sure the lovely Morag is dying to receive another shipment.”

These Blades are lucky, in a way. They’re wiped clean, like Amalthus did to so many other Blades- their memories and data stolen away to power the Praetor’s madness, but at least they’re alive. At least, they get a chance to live again. “Do you think there’s a way to save the Blades that Amalthus already absorbed?”

“I think the only person that could do that is the man in question, if it is possible at all.” Zeke shifts the barrel onto its side to roll it forward, and Pandoria is suddenly right behind him, carrying one in her own arms. “Come on, chap. Enough with the depressing questions. Go enjoy the city! They’ve got great tea!” 

Rex doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t leave with them either, instead watching them make their way through the passage until they're out of sight. 

He should be happy- Rex knows that. He got everything he wanted. They found Elysium, after all this time. The Architect- Klaus- gave Pyra control over the Blade system, so she’s going to fix everything wrong with that. Amalthus can’t hurt anyone else. Torna isn’t trying to destroy humanity anymore. They won. They saved the world. He should be happy. 

But it’s hard to feel that way. He’s the Driver of the Aegis. That’s supposed to mean something. Amalthus was the Driver of an Aegis, too, and he was so strong, but he used that power for evil. He hurt so many people, and Rex couldn’t prevent any of it. 

So many Blades erased and shattered. So many humans that suffered. So many people. Jin’s story is one of many. Mikhail’s story. Malos is gone, trapped in eternal darkness. And Fan la Norne…

It isn’t a conscious thought that moves Rex’s feet forwards, wandering through the passageways until he reaches the crypt. There are perhaps a hundred bodies laid to rest down here, but the most recent is the one he came for. It’s the same casket that had been used on the day of her funeral. White, with gold embellishments- just like the rest of Indol. 

“Would you like a moment alone?” Gramps’s voice pipes up from his helmet, and Rex nearly jumps. It’s easy to forget about him there, despite the extra weight.

“If that’s okay.” Rex says back, and without another word, he’s alone. 

Rex places his hand against the lid, the tips of his fingers tracing the outline of the design. “I’m sorry. I wish you’d have been able to see all this. Elysium.” His hand curls into a gentle fist. “Jin was your friend. He shouldn’t have hurt you. Maybe, if he hadn’t, there would be a way to save you. Maybe they could have taken your Core back from Amalthus and fixed it.”

There’s no response. Rex wasn’t expecting one. 

“They might execute him.” He continues, voice steady. “I guess you wouldn’t like that, even after everything he’s done. He was your Driver.” A pause. “Did you know what he was doing? Would you have done anything if you did?”

Rex sighs and shakes his head. “Zeke is right. There’s no point in all these questions. I guess, I want to live in a world where anyone, no matter what they’ve done, can be good. Even people who I thought had no good in them ending up being alright. Jin was trying to free the Blades, and even Malos- he helped us. Everyone said he was just evil, always had been, that all he knew was destruction. Even Pyra said that. But, he helped save this world. If he can change then…”

Rex has been there, at the initial trial. It was several weeks of daily questioning, chains on his wrists to block his stolen ether flow. He had looked so frail compared to the proud Praetor he had met before. He refused to answer most questions, watching the entire event in contempt. His whole demeanor was different from before. He had lost, and he knew it. Now it was just formalities, and he wanted no part in it. He wasn’t so different from Torna in that regard. If he had it his way, he’d probably just have Jin slice his head off, too. 

If Amalthus was given a chance to change, Torna would slide back down the other direction. It wasn’t an official part of their ‘deal’, but it might as well have been. Going through the trial process had frustrated them enough. If Rex, or anyone else, tried to suggest mercy for Amalthus, they would finish what they started, Malos or not. 

So who deserves it more? Jin, Mikhail, Akhos, and Patroka, or Amalthus, the man that sent them on that path. The answer is obvious, but it still feels wrong to him. He can’t help it. It won’t be him that does it, at any rate, but watching is just as bad. 

There’s a subtle sound from down the hall that grabs Rex’s attention. It’s quiet enough that he probably wouldn’t have heard it if it wasn’t so eerily quite in the Titan’s interior. “Zeke?”

He dips his head down the hall, but there’s nothing- no one. He steps into the passageway, looking down the long cave-like openings, but he finds nothing. Then, he hears another sound- a popping noise that’s hard to put into words. 

Rex whips back around, trying to find the source of the noise. And then he does, hidden away in the darkness. At first, it looks like a crack, floating in the shadows, leaking a dim, purple light. Rex side-steps around it, trying to find the cause, but there’s nothing to find. It just is. The crack seems to follow him. As he circles around it, it’s always facing him. There’s no other side to discover, or even an edge. 

For a moment, Rex thinks the purple glow is increasing, but them he realizes- no. The world around him is just growing darker. Darker than black. Rex steps away from it, but there’s nothing around him anymore but the shadows. He looks back at the crack, and a figure begins to form. 

Malos is the first thought that comes to mind. Somehow, the man did it. He found a way back. The figure is tall and covered in what looks like purple ether lines. It has arms and legs and a purple center. Then, wings form behind it, as does its face. It’s not Malos’s face. 

Out of instinct, Rex reaches for his sword, but it’s not here. Pyra isn’t here. 

“Hi.” He can’t hide the tremble in his voice. He’s not sure why he’s so suddenly afraid, but he can’t shake it. “My name is Rex. I-”

Suddenly, there’s a blast of purple, right where Rex had been standing. Rex jumps out of the way, stumbling to the ground in the process. He gets up barely in time before it hits again. He scrambles down the cavernous halls, cloaked in darkness, trying desperately to find the way out from memory alone.

Another blast. This time, it hits the wall, and a chunk of it falls out and lands on Rex’s leg. He tries to pull it free, but it’s too heavy to lift by himself, no matter how much he claws and pushes at it. His attention is torn between the rock pinning him to the ground, and the creature that comes closer and closer. 

The center of its chest glows bright purple once again, and Rex can do nothing but close his eyes. 

Then, there is light- a sharp, yellow light that frazzles the air. The relief when Rex sees Pandoria is so overwhelming, it would have sent him to his knees if he could stand. Zeke isn’t far behind. Rex can barely focus on the fight, but the shadows begin to fold back, and Pandoria’s sword is lodged into the creature’s chest. 

The creature stops moving, and its skin bubbles and pops, before finally, it explodes into black pustules of dark. 

Chapter Text

There’s no bell tolling in his version of Elysium. Physically, yes, the bell exists, but it doesn’t ring out across the green hills and blue rivers. The only time he’s ever heard it was when he ventured into his partner’s dreams. It had sounded familiar, but in his own vague memories, there’s only silence. 

Malos isn’t sure what brings him to the old temple, but once he steps inside, the back of a familiar head answers that question. He’s not sure if he came here for Jin or the other way around, but it doesn’t matter.

Jin speaks without turning. “What do you think they are?”

“They’re not Core Crystals. Not like mine.” Malos answers, making his way to the pew Jin is sitting in, and places himself next to him. “If anything, they’re like the Cores found in Gargoyles, or in my sword.”

Jin keeps his eyes fixed on the stained glass and the colorful light that shines in from it. “What’s the difference?”

“For one, they’re not capable of awakening into a Blade. The fact that they look like mine is a creepy aesthetic choice.” Malos lets out a sigh. He glances towards Jin, hoping that the other man will return the look, but he doesn’t. “They’re connected to me. That’s how I gave them commands. But these aren’t quite like that either.”

When Jin doesn’t respond, Malos looks up, too. There’s something hung near the ceiling, similar in shape to his own Core, if not an exaggerated, stretched out version of it. What does it mean? Is this what the Architect based his and Mythra’s Cores on? Of all the things Malos had thought of himself, he hadn’t spent much time on the shape of the crystal that stored his being. Is there some hidden, greater meaning there that even now is hidden from him?

It’s not like it matters. The Architect is gone, and his father, if he had one, is probably dead, too. 

“There is a link between them and my Core, but it’s shallow. I can’t control it- not fully, at least. There’s unique data in each of them. It’s not just a processing unit. There’s something else.” Malos shakes his head. “I don’t know what it is.”

“How’d she get so many of them?”

“She said she harvested them.” But from what? They don’t exactly grow on trees, even if this place had trees to begin with. 

Everything about Tertius is different. It’s cold. Unfamiliar. Malos isn’t used to living in a place where the very ground beneath his feet doesn’t have a soul. Even in the Marsanes, Mik had rebuilt that ship from the ground up enough to feel like him with every step. 

“Do you miss trees?”

For a brief- very brief- moment, Malos is annoyed at Jin for responding to thoughts he didn’t say aloud, but then, instead, he laughs. “Of all the things in Alrest.”

Finally, Jin does look at him, and when their eyes meet, his laughter fades, and only coldness remains. 

Now it’s Malos’s turn to avoid his line of sight. He looks to the ground, and pushes away the urge to curl up on himself. 

Did they do what they wanted? Did they win? Did Jin achieve his dream?

They’re not alive. It’s been, at the very least, millions of years. Even Mikhail, probably the best suited for long-term survival, has long since faded. Does Alrest itself exist anymore? It feels strange to think about. He made this sacrifice to protect them- to protect Torna- and after one long nap, the payout is over. 

“You shouldn’t underestimate them.” Jin places a hand on Malos’s shoulder, and he melts into it. “Even if Jin died quickly, the rest of them-”

Malos stiffens, his throat constricting. “It’s weird when you talk like that.”

“I’m sorry.” And the way he says it is almost robotic, like he’s following programmed instructions instead of a living, breathing being. “Even if I died-”

“Just forget about it.” Malos leans forward to brush off Jin’s hand, and when Jin reaches out again, Malos moves out of the way. 

For a moment, they sit in silence. Then, slowly, a hand touches his cheek. Malos reluctantly turns to look- to look in those dead, blue eyes. When Jin cups Malos’s face with both of his hands, Malos doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t move, even when Jin leans forward and presses their lips together. Jin closes his eyes, but Malos doesn’t. He doesn’t do anything.

There’s nothing. Nothing but emptiness. 

Malos’s fingers twitch over the loose drawer before eventually scooping his hand through the contents. They’re strange to touch, and a feeling similar to static electricity runs through his skin at every contact point. Finally, he plucks one free and holds it up to his Siren’s Core. 

Nothing happens. 

If the pieces were compatible, they’d fuse together quickly enough. Siren is smart. Even with the limited processing powers, survival instinct still runs strong. If she won’t take these, then Malos can’t force her. 

With a frustrated sigh, Malos lets the crystal fall back into the box.

He’ll need something else, if he has any hope of leaving this forsaken place. 

“Woah.” Malos doesn’t jump this time- Gared’s voice is familiar enough at this point- but it still fills him with the kind of annoyance he hasn’t felt since Mythra got her second Driver. “She must really like you. Sir.”

“What’s not to like?” Malos is only half paying attention, using his crutch to rise to his feet. He raises out both arms, as if to show himself off, but it falls flat. 

“Can I…?” Gared isn’t even looking at him, eyes fixed on the drawer of crystals. When Malos doesn’t react, he reaches towards them, stopping just short. “There’s so many. And she had them made into the right shape, too.”

This, of all things, grabs Malos’s attention, and he narrows his eyes. “What shape?”

“You know.” Gared says casually. He becomes more so with each day, adding on forgotten ‘Sir’s whenever he can remember. The meaningless honorifics do nothing but draw out already unnecessary conversations, but even so, Malos doesn’t like the implication that this boy has become ‘comfortable’ with him. “The shape of the Core.”

Malos has to look down, wondering for a moment if the crystal in his chest has been uncovered, but it remains hidden away. Then, another possibility hits him. “You mean the ‘Core’ of Ter…”

“Tertius?” Gared finishes for him when Malos hesitates, much to the man’s frustration. It’s not his fault his Core lacks any useful information about this world. 

He ignores the feeling for the time being, instead grabbing one of the crystals and holding it out in front of him. “The Core of Tertius looks like this?”

“Yes.” He answers surely, and then his confidence wilts. “Well, I’ve never seen it, but that’s what we’re told.”

“And the color- it looks like this?” Malos asks, curling the crystal in his hand when Gared nods. He makes up his mind quickly. “I need to go there.”

Gared’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head. “Y-You can’t.” 

“These trinkets aren’t going to cut it.” Malos drops the crystal back into the box, quickly heading towards his other pile of scraps in the corner- pulling out the triangle-shaped piece of Core he had managed to find before. “If the Core of this place is anything like my Siren’s, I can grab some from there.”

If Jin’s theory is correct, and the world was in some way built from himself, then it makes sense that it would be powered by a Core similar to his own. Does that mean that Tertius is a Titan? It can’t be- at least, not in the traditional sense of the word. Malos would be able to detect that- not to mention that the lack of ether would have killed it. Unless, like Malos’s Core, it was able to survive. 

“No, I mean it. Like, you really can’t.” Gared’s voice is fast, words slipping over themselves. He stands in front of Malos, as if to block his way, but when Malos continues forward, he can’t bring himself to stand his ground, dipping aside instead. That doesn’t stop him from following quickly behind. “It’s strictly forbidden. You got off easy before. No one really cares if you mine up the common stuff, but the Core ?” 

“I was brought here in some kind of vehicle.” Malos finally pauses, swiveling back around towards him. “Can you get one of those?”

“ No !” Gared cries, as if every word that comes out of Malos’s mouth is one step closer to driving him mad. “If you go to the Core, they’ll strip you for parts! It doesn’t matter how much she likes you, you won’t be forgiven for this. Elohim himself will strike you down!” 

Malos squints his eyes. “Parts?”

“Like- processors!” He points at his head when he says the words. Then, his fingers curl together nervously. “I heard about a man who went there three years ago. They say the soldiers stripped his skin and emptied the rest of him into a crate. They threw his carcass into the Abyss!”

Malos stares for a moment, in silence. “You really aren’t human, are you?”

It’s not a surprise- he’s known this for ages, but every new detail given to him seems to prove it more and more. 

The question throws Gared off enough to pause his panic. “What’s human?”

“You don’t eat. Nothing could grow here- plants, animals.” Malos trails off, looking away for a moment before snapping his eyes back onto the young man. “Do you have animals?”

“An… imals?” Gared repeats slowly.

“Like-” Malos lets out a breath through his teeth. Despite it all, it is nice for once to confuse a Vos with unknown information than the other way around. “A creature. Not like you or me- more primitive."

“Like the Raels?”

“Raels?”

“You’ve gotta know what a Rael is.” And Malos’s short victory is lost as Gared begins to speak, acting as if these facts are simple, common knowledge. “Though I suppose they’re not seen very often up here. One time, a Rael broke into my grandmother’s-”

“Grandmother.” Malos interrupts him. “So you can… do that part?” At Gared’s stare, Malos shakes his head. “Never mind, I don’t want the details. Get me a vehicle.” 

“Please stop talking about the Core.” Gared all but begs, walking alongside Malos as he makes his way to the very edge of the city. His Siren’s wreckage was kept in the outskirts, so it’s fortunately not a long walk. “Even if you made it there, you’d be caught! There are soldiers all over that place.”

A vehicle passes by them, driven by one of the uniformed men. He pays no attention to Malos or Gared, continuing along the road until it turns out of sight. It wouldn’t be impossible to steal one, surely, if it came to it. 

“What’s that about?” Malos asks, instead.

Again, Gared pauses, confused. “What?”

“The soldiers.” Malos nods towards the car that has since disappeared. “Guards would make sense, but you said soldiers. Who's in charge here?”

“Uh, Loriatha, of course! She’s the Interpreter.”

“Are there others that don’t follow her? Or other species?”

“No.” Gared shakes his head. “It’s just us.”

“Why the soldiers then?  Who is she fighting?”

“I… don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.” This, of all questions, seems to truly befuddle Gared. He says nothing for a moment, searching for an answer that must exist. “I suppose, anyone going to the Core is an enemy. That’s who they’re fighting.”

Malos scoffs. “Is it really that important?”

Every country protects their Titan’s Core, but to what extent? Torna did so more than any other, sealing it away and out of sight, but Mor Ardain? Uraya? Even Indol didn’t post more than a few guards. After all, the only real threat was another Titan, and what were guards going to do against that?

Gared, however, disagrees. “Yes! Very!” 

Malos can’t help but keep pushing. “Why?”

He hesitates, and then speaks with a confidence that had been lacking in the conversation thus far. “It is what brings us life.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” Gared looks like he wants to shout, but manages to keep his voice still. “I don’t need to know. It just is. Isn’t that enough?”

Someone must know, though. Malos thinks of a name easily enough, and Gared must, too. “You just trust her.”

“Yes.” Gared crosses his arms. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Malos can’t argue against that very easily. After all, he trusted his father’s word regarding himself for centuries. He didn’t need proof. He didn’t need a second opinion, or to see his own creation with his own eyes. He simply knew, and he trusted that.

And he caused Jin so much misery for it.

“How do you know her?”

“I’m- well.” Gared pauses, thinking of the right words. “I’m in training. To be the next Interpreter.”

That is a surprise, and Malos can’t hide it on his face. “ You ?”

“I know.” Gared’s shoulders fall, and it doesn’t do much to help him. Loriatha, despite the distaste Malos holds towards anything human-adjacent, is admittedly competent- or at least appears so. She puts on a good show. “I’m nothing like her, but I’m learning so much. One day, maybe, I’ll…”

“Why you?”

“It’s a vote by the council.” Gared explains. “They decide now, so she has time to train me before she’s gone. I only just found out a few weeks ago.” Gared shrugs, giving an awkward smile as he does so. “She’s my aunt, so that probably helped.”

As far as age goes, it’s hard to tell how long Vos live for. If they’re anything like humans in that regard, Loriatha is probably halfway through her lifespan, if not a bit more. It’s hard to imagine any amount of time being enough to fix everything wrong with this kid.

“Interpreter of what?” Malos finally asks, repeating a question that had been ignored weeks prior. 

Gared, fortunately, is more forthcoming. “The will of Elohim. What else could it be?”

“Elohim?” Malos says the unfamiliar name back. “You said that before.”

“He’s the spirit of this world.” Gared raises his hands out to his sides, as if attempting to show all that this ‘spirit’ encompasses. “All that we are is thanks to him.”

It’s bullshit. That much, Malos knows for certain. There was nothing at the beginning besides him and his floating ship. There is no spirit of this world. No god. No Elohim. 

With that lackluster answer, Malos pivots back to his original question. “Can you get me a car or not?”

“I can’t!” Gared’s panic comes back just as quickly as it left. “I’m… I’m not getting involved in this. And if you go, I’ll tell Loriatha.”

“You’re the future Interpreter, aren’t you?” Malos leans towards him, a mocking tone in his voice. “This is your land. You can do what you want.”

“Not yet! And either way, it’s wrong.” Gared shakes his head, his face twisted in disgust. “It’s a sacred place. You can’t just go there and take what you want.”

Finally at the edge of the city, Malos looks down into the darkness below. From here, he can truly see the pure size of this place. It’s far larger than any Titan, but smaller than the extent of Morytha. There’s nothing above him, making Neris the highest point on the land- the top of a massive mountain. 

It’s rough terrain from the looks of it. There are roads alongside the edge, but walking on those would lead to his quick capture and return to Neris- possibly without the freedom to repair his Siren, this time. Healed, it wouldn’t be a problem to travel a less smooth path, but doing so with his crutch seems… difficult. 

“Look, it’s not a big… deal…” Malos turns back around, his eyes narrowing on a metal creature sitting atop one of the buildings across the street. It looks shiny and metallic- with the light from above bouncing off of it and blinding him for just a moment.

Gared follows his line of sight, squinting as well a the brightness aimed right at them. He raises a hand to cover his eyes. “That’s a Raels! Like I was talking about before.”

Now, Malos remembers. He had seen one of these creatures before on his way to Neris, bound in the back of one of their vehicles. 

“That’s a pretty common variety though.” Gared sounds a tad disappointed. “I’ve heard soldiers talking about larger ones down in the Umbilicus region that don’t even have wings. I saw one with four legs once, but it was pretty small.”

The creature cocks his head, eyes fixed on Malos- almost uncomfortable so. It launches off the house and lands just a few feet in front of them. 

“Hey! Hey!” Gared says, waving a hand out to shoo it away, to little effect. “Get back.” Looking around, Gared finds a pipe-shaped piece of metal, and throws it at the Raels. It bounces off, and the creature looks unbothered by it. “We should go. These things can be really mean.”

Gared was right, it is animal-like. But unlike fur or feathers, it’s made entirely of stiff, black metal. Malos peers closer, towards its chest. There, he can see what looks like a faint, purple glow, leaking out from behind its dark casing. 

The Rael looks away from Malos’s eyes, down towards his hand instead, still clutching the piece of his Siren’s Core. 

“Mine.” Malos says in response, holding it closer to his chest. 

The creature doesn’t look angry, but it does hop forward, just an inch. Then, without warning, it shoots out, digging its claws into Malos’s chest, and pushes him straight off the edge of the city.