Work Text:
The collision shakes Laku so violently that he worries Zenos will be ejected from his mind. No space remains, for the stars that sparked from the tremor burst to fill it all. Once the fireworks cease, they leave only an ear-shattering ringing behind as he relocates his bearings. Finally he can witness what exactly he knocked his head on: an Ancient of white robes—Venat’s name almost leaves his lips before he catches his mistake—rubbing his own forehead in a bleached mirror of him.
‘This isn’t the Source,’ is his first realization. The second he only gains after the stranger speaks:
“Urgh… could it be…?”
That is fucking Elidibus.
“… but for the briefest moment I thought you to be a friend of mine…”
Half his words fly past Laku’s pounding head. He’s too preoccupied browsing his compartment of memories for exactly how he ended up here; one moment he was exiting the First through the Exarch’s gate, the next he found himself on his arse in the distant past.
‘Perhaps the crystal you carried is the key,’ Zenos surmises the most logical explanation first. ‘It reacted to the gate when we passed through.’
‘You know how little that rules out,’ Laku groans internally. His collection of various minerals picked up without a second thought was only getting vaster; not a day passed where his pockets didn’t host at least a dozen rocks. In his defense, they were less cumbersome than the imperial helms that he once lugged around as trophies of his hunt.
Thinking harder through the throbbing pain, he does vaguely remember a semi-recent visit to Labyrinthos. Instead of sitting around and waiting while Minerva took Zenos’s aether levels and blood and whatever else weird, he wandered around in search of something better to pass his time—Zenos was a big boy, and a volunteer to her tests, he could handle the separation. Different scientists in another laboratory asked for his help with figuring out a crystal they’d found. He didn’t listen to their exposition—too long and uninteresting—but he could easily tell: what he held in his palm was a memory stone, much like the one he had fashioned himself. And pretty sick looking, so he stashed it away and didn’t think too much more of it.
And now the blasted thing has sent him somewhere completely wrong, with someone he doesn’t particularly like, when Golbez still threatens the Source. Great. Amazing. He stands, picks up his scythe and brushes grass off his clothing, then gives the still babbling Ancient a glare. He already has a headache. Elidibus, of all people, better not make it worse.
The boy does not take the hint. He introduces himself as Themis and explains the reason for his visit—Laku does not care. “You certainly know how to make an entrance,” he comments, frowning as he assesses his appearance. Laku should already be used to this patronizing curiosity from the people of eld, but coming from this particular guy, it boils his piss. “I wonder what brought you here, for it is plain that you do not belong here—or any place I know for that matter.”
“I should be somewhere completely different, yeah,” he grumbles, “but since I’m here, whatever it is you’re up to—let’s just get it over with.”
“An interesting attitude,” Themis muses, his hand on his chin like he was not done appraising him. “It appears my initial impression was not so preposterous after all. I did not know my friend had such a unique familiar at his disposal.”
More Azem problems were the last thing Laku wished for, but he snuffs his scathing retort. He turns back inward as Themis continues his exposition—at least for all this trouble, Pandaemonium sounds like a promising place.
‘Creatures condemned to the shadows, for the light should not witness their rancor…’ Zenos echoes his thoughts with his own flair. ‘Running rampant should their bonds shatter, promising destruction in their wake. I would very much like to witness what this old world considers too wild to let loose.’
‘Right?’ Laku agrees. ‘The others should be able to handle themselves for a bit. Better not leave this stone unturned.’
“Excuse my curiosity,” Themis breaks through their conversation, looking at Laku like he’s grown a second head, “but you keep staring off in a rather peculiar manner.”
Laku snaps out of his thoughts at once. “Just thinking,” he replies gruffly, unwilling to explain his internal conversation with Zenos to this half-stranger, half-enemy. People back at home struggle to comprehend their experiments with sharing a body; he has no reason to assume the Ancients would be any different. If things went too awry, the two could wind up as bound beasts of Pandaemonium themselves.
Themis observes him in careful analysis and a subtle sense of disquiet. “It seemed as if you were… speaking with someone. A conversation that I could not hear.”
Laku bristles, his nose flicking. How the hells did he figure that out? “Nothing you need to get all fretty over, I promise,” he insists, his grip on his scythe tightening.
The persisting gaze pierces straight through his mask of nonchalance. “This may seem a strange question,” Themis says, his tone measured, “but do you suffer from any mental afflictions?”
Laku cannot help his incredulous laugh. ‘Who just asks that?’ he gripes to his partner. ‘What do you think? You’re right there in the thick of it. How fucked is it in my twisted mind, babe?’
‘He thinks you’re crazy, my love,’ Zenos responds, and the smirk on his metaphysical lips is palpable. ‘And you are, for even bothering to let this insignificant pest have the time of day in the first place.’
‘I’m crazy for a lot more than just that,’ Laku jabs back, chuckling to himself like just the madman he’s coming across as, before his eyes meet Themis’s again and he ceases. “Look, I don’t need some boyscout to tell me I’m off my rocker,” he shrugs off the scrutiny with a flick of his wrist. “Not topical to the situation.”
Themis takes note of the gesture, and he crosses his arms, his frown a tad pinched. Laku can tell just what he thinks of him: so blatantly rude, so abrasive, and yet something about him brings to mind his precious Azem. An opinion previously expressed by Hades in these very gardens, a baffling irony Laku didn’t care to comment on. He doesn’t know the guy everyone here connects him to; he only knows he’s caused him more trouble than it’s worth.
The Ancient steps forward, his composure as calm as if he was handling a child mid-tantrum. The condescension raises Laku’s hairs as it crawls on his skin. “May I be frank with you?” Themis asks. “Because I am beginning to believe we are at a standstill.”
Laku scoffs. Here it comes… “Knock yourself out.”
“While I appreciate the levity,” Themis begins, his tone measured, “I am genuinely concerned for the state of your mental acuity. Your behavior appears erratic, and you seem to speak to yourself without realizing it.”
“Anything else you wanna point out about me, doc?” Laku rolls his eyes, his patience already running thin.
Themis purses his lips, clearly unamused by his sarcasm. “Your reaction to my alarm only highlights it further. Most people would attempt to reassure me of their sanity.”
Laku just smiles wide, an unsettling sight on its own. “Maybe Azem made me with a few screws loose,” he says, all too agreeable just to get out of this line of conversation. “Point is, I’m all you’re gonna get if you need help fighting those demons, so I wouldn’t look the gift lunatic in the mouth. I might bite.”
Themis lets out an exasperated breath at the deflection, rubbing his temple with his palm. “Regardless of my hesitations,” he finally says, choosing to ignore their discussion of insanity in favor of more pressing matters, “you are right… We have a greater task at hand.”
Laku’s tension eases from his shoulders as the uncomfortable subject falls off his back. He knew this was the sort of loser more interested in his mission than picking apart his brain—thankfully, his attention was thus easy enough to divert. He gives his scythe a spin before gearing to follow him into a new adventure. “Good, so we’re in agreement. Lead the way.”