Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Where am I?

It was dark - that was the first thing Cremia noticed. She couldn't see anyone, or make out anything. There were no outlines, no figures before her. The blackness appeared to be endless and she gasped, chest constricting in fear, eyes straining against the darkness.

What was happening? Was she dead, she wondered? Could a dead person even ask that question? And, if she was alive, where was she? Who was she?

Above all, that question rang out the loudest: Who was she?

There were, and still are, very few things one can lose to make them question everything they've ever known, or thought they knew. A loss of identity was among those things. And the answer to the most significant question she’d ever asked herself was a resounding: I don't know.

What scared her the most wasn't the darkness, or her own confusion, but instead the endless ticking she could hear, echoing throughout the blackness, causing her heart to pound in time to its rhythm. Why was something ticking? Was she strapped to a bomb somewhere? When would this bomb go off? What if it wasn't a bomb at all?

She sat up, hoping to catch sight of something, anything, that would give her half a clue as to where she was, but she was immediately pushed back down by someone - a girl - who whispered for her to stay quiet. Through the darkness, she couldn't see who it was, but something about the urgency in the voice forced her to obey, sitting completely still against the cold ground.

Across the room, there was a thud, then what sounded like chains rattling. The thud came again after that, and again once more, shaking the entire room as the chains clanged together numerous times. Something snapped and for a split second, a sliver of light flooded in from between two, large doors across the room.

The good news? This meant she wasn’t dead.

The bad news? She could be in seconds.

One more thud, another crack. Someone gasped.

"Grab the ropes!" a man shouted, and suddenly, there was a stampede of footsteps rushing toward the door, men and women shouting orders at one another. "Keep the doors closed at all costs! I want all hands on deck!"

The young woman tried to stand - maybe to help, maybe to escape - but another blow to the wooden doors sent her falling backwards, crashing into someone who dropped to the ground beneath her weight.

One of the doors across the room came open without warning and then she saw it, the reason they were all trapped here, the reason that door was never meant to be opened: There was a whole army, soldiers and monsters, wielding swords and magic, waiting outside, prepared to attack at any moment. Several of them rushed inside, their weapons raised.

The person she'd fallen on shoved her away from him, leaping to his feet and grabbing the rope in a final attempt to keep the wooden doors closed. There was another snap, probably the rope, but the door slammed shut and the rattling of chains gave her hope that she was safe from the beasts outside.

The ones inside, however, were relentless, swinging their weapons at anything that dared to cross their paths. Knights and monsters spread throughout the room, surrounding them. There would be no escaping - that much was clear.

A couple of lanterns fired to life overhead, illuminating the darkness with their orange glows. Cremia barely had enough time to duck before a blade flew past her head and stabbed a nearby post, where a scrawny man she didn't recognize had been standing only seconds before. He fled as though his life depended on it, crouching behind some crates in the back of the room.

The clang of weapons around the girl turned her attention back to the matter at hand, and she realized that those fighting around her were far outnumbered by the soldiers and monsters who'd infiltrated their hideout. She wanted to help somehow, but even if she did know who was who, she still had no weapon and no way of judging who to fight with. Yes, the monsters - with their menacing glares and skilled combat - were terrifying, but did that mean she was on the right side? They were hideous creatures, but did that alone make them the bad guys?

A low growl ripped through the air behind her, and before she knew what was happening, she was being knocked to the ground, staring up at a tall man, garbed in knight's armor, the tip of his blade pointed at the wolf-looking creature who'd been approaching behind her seconds before. With his armor, she might have assumed he would have been on the side of the monsters and soldiers rather than the rag-tag group with grime caked to their skin and blood staining their clothes. What was he doing protecting her?

Another man came up behind the soldier, this one bald with a ginormous, white mustache. He swung his sword around wildly, taking out two skeletal creatures at once and managing to knock another back a few feet. "Viscen," he spoke to the knight, who cut off the head of a gigantic lizard before nodding in acknowledgment. "Didn't think I'd see you on this side of the fight again."

"The funny thing about betrayal," began the thinner man, his smirk evident even beneath the shadow of his helmet, "is that it goes both ways."

Mustache Guy let out a gruff chuckle, slicing away at another of the skeletal creatures. "Once a traitor, always a traitor. Some things never change."

"Nice to see you, too, Mutoh."

The girl watched the two as they fought side by side, one a rebel with dirt-stained clothes, the other a knight with pristine armor. Watching from afar, she would have never guessed that the men - so different, yet so similar - were friends, but as they swung their weapons at the beasts, blood splattering around them, it was obvious there was an inexplicable connection, a bond between old friends.

The girl wanted to further admire the scene, to hopefully recall a friend from her own past or at the very least piece together what was going on here, but she heard a yelp behind her and turned in time to see a redheaded girl collapse to the floor, a soldier standing over her, blood dripping from the tip of his sword.

Cremia gasped, and she got to her feet, racing across the room as quickly as possible. Looking back, she wasn’t quite sure what she was planning to do, exactly. She had no weapon, no possible way to defend herself or the other girl against the knight, but all she knew at the moment was that something inside of her didn't want to lose this fight.

She was only feet away from the redhead when suddenly, she was yanked to the side by a boy with pale skin and a mohawk that could have attracted the attention of every monster in the room. He pulled her behind several crates stacked on top of one another and crouched down. "What are you-" Cremia began, just before he yanked her down with him.

There was an elderly woman to her right, sitting in a wheelchair with a wild look in her grey eyes. It would have been impossible not to notice the metal contraption laying in her lap. "It's a bomb," she whispered to the girl. And that was the last thing they heard before the explosion sounded and a blinding light lit the entire room.

Everything went silent after that. No one moved, no one said a word. The girl dared to open her eyes, expecting to see the room covered in flames, debris falling all around her, but instead, she was greeted with the sight of only smoke. All was in one piece, not a board out of place.

The old woman chuckled to herself as she wheeled around the crates to assess whatever damage had been done. "Hm. Not my best work, but it took care of things."

The younger woman wasn't sure whether or not she wanted to know what had happened beyond her point of safety, but curiosity got the better of her. Had that woman really set off the bomb herself? Was she always as crazy as she looked?

Peeking over the crates, the girl first caught sight of the monsters and knights, laying motionless across the wooden floor, then she noticed the two men from before, Viscen and Mutoh, on the far side of the room, one sighing in relief, the other letting out a low whistle. The redheaded girl whose leg had been injured was hiding in the corner of the room next to some boxes, only feet away from where the bomb had gone off. How she hadn't been caught in the blast, she had no idea.

"Is everyone okay?" Mutoh called, and it was evident he was counting heads. "No injuries?"

"She's hurt." Cremia’s own voice surprised her. It was quiet, raspy, as though she hadn't used it in a long time. She couldn't recall hearing this voice before, but she knew it belonged to her, for everyone looked her way when she spoke. She stood with shaky legs, heading over to the other girl, who was clutching her leg, her eyes slammed shut. "She was stabbed."

"I'm fine, really," the other girl lied, but she was already joined by a couple other people, who were careful when lifting her up and moving her to a small cot in the back of the room. "It's not as bad as it looks."

Viscen approached, wrapping a cloth around her leg and tying it with something, ignoring her wince of pain. Already, the cloth was soaked with blood, but the girl was trying not to look bothered by it. "Does anyone have any potion to help ease the pain?" the knight asked.

"We ran out three days ago, after the guards attacked," came the voice of a thin, grinning man in a white shirt speckled with crimson stains. "Remember? We stuffed 'em in those empty crates. One of the guards stole them - what a thief! Ha!"

Viscen sighed. "I'll try to retrieve some more potion for you, but until then, I advise Judo to stay off her feet at all costs, at least for a couple weeks. The injury will heal quicker this way."

The girl, apparently Judo, sat up at lightning speed. "I told you I'm fine! There's no way I'm missing that raid we're doing on West Clock Town next week! Marilla could be there!"

"Marilla could be dead," snapped a girl with green hair, her arms crossed over her chest as she rolled her eyes. "I mean, it's time to face reality, right? We're likely the only survivors and there's no use putting everyone in danger for an impossible mission."

Judo's hands clenched into fists and she stared down at the cot ruefully. "Look, if they had taken me instead of her, things would be different, but they didn't. She's my sister, and whether you like it or not, I'll stop at nothing to get her back."

The other girl rolled her eyes again, but said nothing.

Viscen made a final adjustment on Judo's leg and everyone else jumped into conversations of their own, some comfortable enough to talk about the fight, others comfortable enough to keep to themselves.

Cremia watched them. They all seemed familiar with one another, like they had been friends for years. She found it odd that she couldn't recall a single one of them. Surely she'd had friends before all of this. Had she known these people as well?

She guessed not, for these were faces she wouldn't forget - Mutoh, with his furrowed brow and booming voice; the old woman with the sneaky smile who got around on that wheelchair better than most did on foot; the green haired girl, whose eyes glinted with mischief as she smiled now, talking with the grinning man who'd pranced over to her. Were these people one could easily forget?

The ticking sound that had been echoing through the room earlier had yet to cease, and the young woman would have been worried it was another bomb if everyone else hadn't seemed so calm. Boxes and crates lined the walls, probably filled with supplies and necessities of all kinds.

She headed to the far side of the room, where that man had fled only moments before the sword had stabbed the post earlier. Smaller boxes sat side-by-side against the wall, names carved into each of them. Judo, Granny, Sakon, Makoto, Cremia, Grog, Mutoh, Misaki, Viscen. There were a few more, but she didn't bother reading them. She didn't know these people - not anymore, at least.

Tracing her fingers over the carefully carved letters on one of the boxes did nothing to bring a memory back. She still felt as alone and confused as she had when she'd woken up. It would be one thing if she had simply forgotten who she was, but all of this - the faces, the fighting, the ticking - none of it made any sense, and she couldn’t recall a reason behind any of it.

She sighed to herself, jumping when suddenly, the man who'd been hiding behind the crates before appeared at her side. Up close, she realized he had short, brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. He offered a kind smile, and she wondered if they were friends. "You wanna know what's in those boxes?"

"I, um . . ." She looked from him to the boxes and back again. "Who are you?"

"I'm Makoto." He opened the crate with his name on it and pulled a red hat out. "We keep these boxes to remind us of our lives before the war." He handed her the hat. "See? I was once the loyal postman of Clock Town."

Cremia stared down at the scarlet fabric in her hands, eyebrows furrowed. It looked rather worn, having been patched up in several places. "Clock Town?"

He nodded. "That's where we are right now." He didn't seem surprised at all that she couldn't remember, which caught her off guard. Did this sort of thing happen often? Who else was unable to remember their past? "Actually, we're taking refuge in the Clock Tower, our town's main attraction."

"The main attraction?" She raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure that’s such a good idea?"

He chuckled. "Maybe not, but there are only so many places to hide when a war begins."

She placed the hat back into the box, which was filled with other belongings as well - a few outfits, some letters, a clock (fitting, with the name of the town). Her gaze moved back up to the postman. "Do you miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"Life before all this." She motioned to the room, crowded with all sorts of people, young and old, weak and strong. "What was it like back then? Do you remember?"

He smiled again, but this one didn’t reach his eyes. Instead, it was empty, sorrowful. "Maybe you should see for yourself." He closed his box and nodded at the one to its right. "Open it."

She read the name engraved onto it. "Who's Cremia?”

He leaned against one of the posts and crossed his arms. "You are."

Chapter Text

It was empty. The box was completely empty, not a single memory locked away inside of it. There were no photographs, no childhood toys, no items of clothing, nothing at all that would give Cremia a single clue as to who she'd been before.

Her name, that was all she knew. But what did it mean? Where had she lived? Who were her friends and family? Was her past something she would have wanted to forget? Why couldn't she remember, no matter how hard she tried?

"I'm sorry." Makoto closed the box. "I didn't know." Cremia opened her mouth to tell him it wasn't his fault, but he spoke once more, interrupting her, "You were in Clock Town when the explosion happened, so it only makes sense that no one was able to retrieve your things."

"Wait. I don't live in Clock Town?"

"No, you're from-" The postman stopped when a hand clamped down on his shoulder and he was jerked back by Mutoh, whose icy glare dared him to say more. The two stepped away from the girl a few feet, but their voices carried and she could still hear every word they uttered.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Makoto whispered, staring up at Mutoh. "She deserves to know who she is."

"We've talked about this," Mutoh responded. "We can't let her end up like Judo, searching for a past that's long gone."

"But-"

"It isn't safe," the older man snapped and suddenly all eyes were on him. He lowered his voice, "She needs to forget. The only things she will know are things we'll tell her. And until we decide to tell her, keep your mouth shut. Got that?"

Makoto mumbled something under his breath, but nodded, anyway, watching with narrowed eyes as Mutoh headed over to Cremia. "Listen," the latter said, crossing his arms over his chest, "forget whatever the postman told you. What we were before the war . . . That’s not who we are anymore. We have to move on.”

Cremia stared up at him, lips pursed as if she wanted to argue, but her eyes betrayed the fear she felt at not knowing, at never knowing. “Then what are the boxes for?”

If Mutoh hadn’t considered her question before, he didn’t act like it. Instead, he sighed, lowering his head for a moment as if he didn’t want to say whatever was coming next. “For some of us, it’s all we have left. Reminds us what we’re fightin’ for.”

“What about me, then?” She heard the indignation in her voice, and she wished it weren’t there, but it was too late. It was one thing to wake up with no memory of anything at all, but it was another thing entirely to know she had a life once, but she couldn’t so much as learn about it. “You’re telling me there’s nothing left for me to fight for?”

“I’m telling you that a whole army stands between you and what was yours, and we can’t afford another loose cannon around here.” He crossed his arms over his chest, turning to walk away, looking back at her only to say, “I’m sorry, kid.”

She was, too.

She made up her mind that night after she’d refused to eat with the others. There was hardly enough food to go around, yet in spite of that, several of them attempted to convince her to have some, claiming she needed to stay strong and ready for the next attack. How could they expect her to stomach it, she wondered? Her entire life was a mystery, everything that she loved was probably waiting outside those doors where no one could go.

Makoto watched her from where he was seated on a crate across the room, listening as the old woman, whom everyone affectionately referred to as “Granny,” told him some long story from a book she’d found in her crate (half of the pages were burnt to a crisp, but she read from memory, Cremia supposed).

She averted her gaze whenever his eyes met hers, knowing all too well that there was an abundance of information she could get from him if only Mutoh wasn’t watching him as closely as he was right now.

It occurred to her that the only way she was ever going to get out of there was to go on the raid Judo mentioned before. If Judo could barely stand, they would need someone to go in her place, and if Cremia could just get out of this tower, then maybe she could start piecing together what her life had been before the war.

If she wasn’t going to get answers here, she would find them somewhere else. It wasn’t fair that everyone else got to keep their their memories and she was left with nothing - nothing more than a name.

She wondered how much easier this would be if she remembered, like Judo. The poor girl could have died today, but she was still more concerned with marching out into the danger than staying put and recovering. If Cremia truly had family and friends outside of those walls, what would that mean for her? What would she be willing to sacrifice to find them, save them? What would it do to her if she couldn’t?

Judo was sitting alone at the opposite end of the room, taking a few bites of her food - only a single slice of bread, as far as Cremia could tell - as she pulled items out of her crate, staring at them for a long moment before putting them back inside. If anyone might have answers, it was her. She seemed to be the only one out of the bunch unwilling to listen to Mutoh and Viscen’s instructions.

“Hey.”

Judo looked up when Cremia approached, her eyes distant, as if her body was here, but her mind was trapped in the past. It took her a moment longer than it should have to realize that it was Cremia standing before her. “What do you want?” The tension in her voice took the farm girl by surprise, and though she wanted to speak, she wasn’t sure what to say. “You should have never told them I was hurt. I was fine. I am fine.”

“You’re right,” Cremia admitted with a sigh. “I’m sorry.” Now it was Judo who looked surprised. “Mind if I sit?”

The dancer shrugged, and Cremia took a seat next to her on the floor, glancing at all that was left in her crate - a couple of dresses folded up and placed neatly into the box, one of them red and the other blue. “You remember, right?” The fact that she was sitting in front of these crates right now indicated as much. Still, Cremia lowered her voice a notch, “Before all of this. You remember?”

“Of course.” Judo snorted. “Who doesn’t?”

“I don’t.”

“Oh.” The dancer lowered her head, and she might have looked embarrassed if Cremia didn’t know better. “Sorry, I forgot. They brought you in about a week ago, just after the attacks started. Said something about an explosion and a head injury.”

Cremia’s eyes widened, her mind racing with even more unanswered questions now. “What... attacks?”

If Judo looked surprised before, she looked shocked now. “Wow. You really don’t remember anything.” She closed the crate before her eyes moved back up to Cremia’s face, her features darkening as she recalled the incidents. “A little over a week ago, there were explosions here, bombs dropped on Clock Town, smoke and dust everywhere…”

She sighed, gaze distant as she recalled the day, and it was hard for Cremia not to notice the way her jaw tightened, the tears that welled in her eyes. “No one was ready for it. My sister and I… we tried to run, but then there were arrows of fire. She dove into an alley and there was another explosion and that was it. Haven’t seen her since.”

“I’m…” Cremia started, but her mouth was dry. “I’m so sorry.”

Judo shrugged, and the strength that returned to her eyes then was almost palpable. “Don’t be. She’s still out there, I know it, and I’m going to find her, I don’t care what it takes.”

Again, Cremia was struck by Judo’s determination. She was brave, willing to face what was on the outside even with an injured leg, even knowing her sister might not be out there. She glanced around the room - Makoto was still watching her from the corner of his eye.

“As far as we know… Are we the only survivors?”

“No,” Judo responded, perhaps a bit too quickly. “There are others. The guards survived - they are involved in all of this somehow. Mutoh and the others will try to convince you that we’re the only ones left, but don’t buy it for a second. It can’t just be us.”

Cremia was quiet for a moment, ruminating on those words. It made sense. All of them were trapped inside, Mutoh wouldn’t even tell her her own name… There was something wrong with this picture.

Leaning forward, Cremia lowered her voice to a mere whisper, “They won’t tell me anything. Do you know anything about me?”

“Sorry.” Judo didn’t sound sorry, and Cremia felt hope leave her like air rushing out of a balloon. “Didn’t know you before all this. Was just in town for another one of those carnivals. My sister and I were planning to perform.”

“Carnivals?”

“Yeah, the Carnival of Time. Last year, there was all that nonsense about the moon falling.” She rolled her eyes. “You’d think they would have warned us about a war coming, too.”

The moon falling? A war? Cremia’s head was spinning, her mind unable to keep up with all of the new information. How could she have forgotten something like that? How could she have forgotten her entire life? Even worse than that, how was she going to get it back?

“There has to be a way out of here, right?” Cremia could feel the panic rising in her chest, the cold, tight fist of anxiety gripping at her heart with a relentless force. A few people close by turned to glance at them, but Cremia no longer cared. “I have to get on the outside.”

She had to remember somehow, because if there was anything left for her out there, she had to save it, preserve it. And if there wasn’t anything left for her, then at least she would know.

“Will you quiet down?” Judo snapped, her eyes ablaze with something more desperate than fury. “Pull it together, or we’ll both be thrown out of there. If we leave, we put everyone else at risk, and we’ll probably end up dead. So just cool it until the raid, got that? We’ll be out of here in a week, tops. Then you can find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

Somewhere deep down, Cremia knew Judo’s words were meant to ease her mind, to calm the storms of confusion and desperation raging inside of her, but nothing in her words offered solace; there was only more panic and a single question. If she didn’t know who she was, how was she supposed to find what she was looking for?

Chapter Text

“Grog.”

He woke with a start, snatching the hand that moved toward his arm, bony fingers curling around flesh until it was jerked free from his grasp.

“Relax, kid, it’s just me.” The annoyance in Mutoh’s voice was more than evident, especially in the silence of the night. All around them, their ragtag group slept, curled up on the wooden floor of the Clock Tower. Somewhere in the corner of the room, Sakon was snoring. “I have an assignment for you.”

“What, like last time?” There was an edge to his voice, a biting anger that might have sent guilt coursing through Mutoh’s veins if it weren’t for the fact that these days, they all had to make sacrifices. Still, his eyes fell to the deep scar running along Grog’s side. “I almost died thanks to you.”

Mutoh rolled his eyes. “Cut the crap, kid. You went out there knowing what would happen.” The ranch crew hadn’t been right in the head even before the war, and now, things were only getting worse. “Besides, you saved Misaki.”

“Viscen saved Misaki,” the man corrected, averting his gaze to the slumbering, green-haired woman across the room. “Not like it mattered. She wasn’t a doctor or a soldier. She was just a receptionist from the mayor’s office.”

This set something off inside of Mutoh and the older man forced a deep breath, leaning a hair closer to Grog to avoid speaking any louder. “Listen to me, we will take what we can get. Every life matters now. Chances are there’s no one left out there, and I don’t care if we end up saving a kid, that’s one more on our side. You understand me?”

Mutoh’s temper didn’t faze the former cucco keeper. It never had. His expression was blank, as far away as it had ever been. “What’s the point if we’re all gonna be dead soon?”

“The point is that we’re not dead yet,” Mutoh snapped, unable to keep his voice from rising this time. The postman stirred in his sleep from nearby, and Mutoh lowered his voice an octave. “And until I take my last breath, I’m not givin’ up on this town and neither are you.”

“Gramps said the same thing before he died,” Grog snapped in response, hands curling into fists. “Don’t feed me bullshit about everyone making it out of this when I know that isn’t true.”

Grog’s gaze was still and certain, and Mutoh stared back, lips pursed. He argued with just about every survivor left, struggling to keep their minds in a good place until they could make it out of this, but it was an uphill battle, every day a new struggle. He sighed. “Look, kid. I get it. I don’t have a clue where my wife is, where my sons are, if they’re alive or dead, but whether I like it or not, I have to keep fighting. I don’t start somethin’ I don’t plan to finish.”

Grog scoffed, but no words escaped his mouth, so Mutoh continued, “I need you to keep an eye on Cremia.” The other man’s eyes met his then, wide and uncertain. “Make sure she doesn’t remember anything. That postman’s got a big mouth, and if we’re not careful, soon she’ll know too much and even the gates of hell won’t stop her from making a fuss, risking all of our lives.”

“You can’t ask me to do that.” Grog’s body was tense, muscles rigid as he stared up at the larger man. “She deserves to know. I was there, on the ranch. I can’t just-”

“I’ll throw you out of here if you don’t.” Mutoh’s tone left no room for arguments. “Don’t think I won’t. We’re short on rations, anyway. I’ll do what I have to.”

Grog shot him a look. “Don’t do me any favors, Mutoh.” Ever since Gramps died, he hadn’t seen much point in living.

“Fine. I’ll throw her out there then.” Grog stiffened after that, following Mutoh’s gaze to Cremia’s sleeping form, and Mutoh knew he’d finally got him. “I don’t wanna make these decisions anymore than you do, but we both know she’s a loose cannon. If she doesn’t know, then we’ll all survive.”

He got to his feet, giving a hard clap on Grog’s shoulder. “Your assignment is to keep an eye on her. Good luck.”

Then he headed off into the darkness of the room, leaving Grog sitting there, wide eyed and too tense to go back to sleep.

The next morning, everyone woke to an explosion, someone cursing, and the shrill, cackling laughter of an old woman in a wheelchair. Heart pounding in his chest, Grog shot straight up, eyes immediately scanning the area by the door for any sign the monsters had infiltrated their hideout again, but there was nothing.

Instead of a battle, all eyes turned to Granny and the prancing man, Sakon, whose eyes were wide, all color drained from his face. “That’s what you get for stealing from an old woman!” Granny was saying to him, the sparkle in her eyes evident even from across the room. “Granny never sleeps - and don’t you forget it!”

“What were you thinking?” Mutoh shouted, his voice booming despite his obvious concern about the noise. “They will hear us.”

“Oh, Tortus. Your mother knows exactly what she’s doing.” She flipped through the frayed pages of the book in her lap, eyes distant all of a sudden. “I used to be a teacher, you know. I can handle these troublemakers.”

“I’m not Tortus-” Mutoh started, but only sighed in the end.

Viscen finished for him, “No more explosives unless necessary - that goes for everyone. You need to preserve resources while you can, and the more sound they hear, the closer they’ll be to getting inside.” He grabbed his helmet off of the floor, starting toward the exit. “I have to go. I’ll tell them that some of your men were killed, but the explosives finished off the rest of our crew, and I got out just in time. I’ll return for the raid on West Clock Town next week. If there’s an attack planned before then, we’ll be in touch.”

Mutoh offered him a firm pat on the back. “Thanks, Viscen.”

Slipping out the makeshift exit they had created in the side of the tower, Viscen disappeared, leaving them in momentary silence before Mutoh’s voice boomed through the room again, “Everyone, get ready for the raid next week. We’ll take what we can find and get out of there. Granny, get busy with those bombs. Sakon, come with me. You’re the only one who knows your way around Clock Town faster than the mayor. Makoto, your-”

“What makes you think this place is gonna hold until the raid?” It was Misaki who spoke up, arms crossed over her chest. Grog remembered the not-so-distant past when she had smiled everyday in the mayor’s office. That seemed like decades ago now. “Look at the door. It’s cracking. All they need is a bomb - not even a good one - and we’re all as good as dead.”

“We’ll repair it.” Perhaps the one good quality Mutoh had, besides the fact that he liked to take charge, was his knowledge in construction. He’d worked on the Clock Tower dozens of times before the war; now wasn’t any different. “Make it better, stronger.”

“And you really think it will last?”

Grog’s gaze shifted from the arguing group over to Cremia, who sidled up to Makoto, staring at the exit through which Viscen escaped the Clock Tower. “How did he…?”

“There’s a key, only he and Mutoh have one.” He picked up on the glint of hope in her eyes, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t try it. They guard those things with their lives.”

When she responded, her voice was a harsh whisper, and Grog still overheard her. “I don’t care, I have to get answers, and I won’t get them until I get out of here.”

In a rare turn of events, Sakon got lost beneath the chaos of the argument, slipping away from Granny to prance over to the postman and Cremia. “I can be of assistance,” he offered, eyebrows wiggling as he stared up at Cremia. “For a price.”

Makoto scowled at the thief. “Don’t trust a word he says.”

Cremia was no longer looking at the postman, and the determination Grog recognized in her eyes was the same one she wore on the ranch before the war. She tilted her chin up as she stared down at Sakon. “What price?”

“I need you to borrow something for me, from the bank in West Clock Town.” His impish grin sent a wave of fury down Grog’s spine. “A few hundred rupees will do.”

“Why do you need rupees?” the postman asked, arms folded over his chest. “We’re in the middle of a war, there’s nowhere to spend them. And who’s to say the guard hasn’t stolen all of them?”

“The banker has a secret stash, you see. Underneath the bricks on the street.” His eyes never moved from Cremia’s face, the grin never fell away. “He told me, I swear! I wasn’t doing anything suspicious…”

“Of course not,” the postman muttered, but his sarcasm did nothing to deter the young woman.

Her jaw was set. “Okay. If I get you the rupees, you’ll get the key from Mutoh?”

He extended a hand to the woman, but Grog caught the mischievous glint in his eyes. “You have my word.”

Grog’s gaze traveled from the trio to Mutoh, barking orders at the rest of them. He knew nothing would ever be that easy.