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Chapter Text

The walk had been long and tiring, spent climbing over roots and tripping over rocks. Vertin had always been the type of girl to run around in the dirt and mud, which meant that a majority of her time was spent waiting for Sonetto to catch up, causing the girl’s pale face to flush as red as her hair.

“I am so sorry,” Sonetto apologized, resting her hand on the bark of a thick trunk and looking down. “I only seem to be impeding your progress. If I weren’t here, we would’ve made it to the meeting place already…”

“It’s no matter. I recall that Miss Semmelweis is using a floppy disk with a teleportation ritual saved on it. We’re not keeping her waiting until the afternoon, when she first arrives.”

It was only ten, so they had three more hours until the other Foundation employee was meant to arrive; there was plenty of time to get there in.

“It should only take another hour at this rate,” Vertin continued, glancing at the navigation device and then at her assistant. “Are you alright to continue?”

“Ah- …yes.”

The redhead pushed herself up, muttering indiscriminate words of encouragement under her breath, and began to putter after Vertin again.

It didn’t take long before they came across a small cottage—not the one they were supposed to meet Semmelweis at, but another, smaller, stranger one, with the lights inside glowing through the windows.

“This house is… strangely inviting,” Sonettoo murmured, raising her glasfeder and writing a few quick words into the air. They dissipated and she nodded. “There don’t seem to be any arcane fluctuations.”

Vertin hummed in acknowledgement. “No, I sense something—I’m unsure what, but something in the house is emitting a kind of energy… It’s unlike anything I’ve felt before. How peculiar.”

“I want to go inside, but if there truly is some kind of energy compelling us to do so…”

“…Then it would be unwise to enter.”

“Yes, Timekeeper.”

“But still.” Vertin raised her hand and knocked on the door. “We ought to investigate, as Foundation agents.”

“Yes, Timekeeper.”

Sonetto quietly fell in behind her, keeping a watchful eye for any movements through the curtains. They waited for three minutes, but nobody replied. Adjusting to the circumstances, Vertin tried the handle of the front door. It creaked open.

“I’m coming in,” she announced in a slightly raised voice, pushing the boarder further and taking a tentative step inside. Then she paused. “Sonetto, wait outside.”

Even though she felt her chest pang, the loyal greyhound only spoke her consent. With a content nod, her master disappeared inside.

It was another thirty minutes of anxious hand wringing until Sonetto heard from her again. The door opened, and Vertin walked outside, quietly closing the door.

“Timekeepr! What did you see?”

“There was a dead body, and…” She cast a furtive glance back at the home, then at Sonetto’s anxious form, “some rope… Perhaps she had intended to set off on an adventure before succumbing to a paroxysm of illness. But she’s unfeeling now.”

Instinctively, Sonetto placed her closed palm over her chest. “May the peace be with her.”

Vertin only nodded, strangely repulsed by that phrase, yet in agreement with its intention. “Yes. I intend to tell Semmelweis to inform the Foundation of its location, so perhaps they can identify the body or host a funeral.”

“Would you like me to help you look for hints?”

“No.” Her reply was swift and resolute. “I don’t want you to look at a dead body for too long. It’s not good for one’s mental wellbeing.”

But what about you? Sonetto wanted to ask, yet she stayed silent. Instead, she bit her lip and turned away, obscuring her expression from her friend and stumbling deeper into the woods. “Understood. Let’s continue: we shouldn’t make Miss Semmelweis wait.”

They were nonverbal for most of the way, stumbling over everything that protruded unnaturally from the floor, until Vertin broke the tension by saying, “There are about ten minutes left.”

Sonetto intended to turn around and smile reassuringly at her, speaking words of agreement, but she only managed to do the first thing: turning around. Upon her doing so, Vertin halted in her tracks and made quite the memorable expression—not often did she look so taken aback, so confused.

However, Sonetto had no idea why. She stopped, too, and stared back, perturbed and slightly scared. “Timekeeper…?”

Hearing her official designation brought her back to attention, a little bit. Vertin made a sound and then said in a very gentle tone of voice, like how she spoke to Nala Hari, “Why do you look so upset, Sonetto? Have I done something wrong?”

“N-no, not at all! I’m sorry, I don’t know how I look right now. I don’t know why I’m upset- no, why I look upset.” She suddenly regretted never carrying around a mirror, because it meant she couldn’t search her own expression for signs of agony. “Um, I’m sorry…”

“It’s alright. I’d just like to know why.”

Sonetto paused and then said in a faint, frustrated voice, “I don’t know why.”

Vertin took a deep breath in and out. It didn’t sound exasperated or upset, but it still made the redhead tense, clenching both her fists by her side before pulling her glasfeder out from where she kept it, beginning to twirl it between her fingers in a soothing pattern.

“Alright. Let’s start with the way you reacted when I came out of the house.” She looked at the trees, then the sky, then the grass and dirt, then her assistant. “I upset you. You’ve been quiet ever since.”

It was a statement, not a question. Sonetto only nodded, agreeing with the Timekeeper’s assessment. In retrospect, it seemed like she indeed had been acting weird after the house. No, wait.

“Truthfully, I believe I was already aggravated before. You were moving so fast, and I kept slowing our progress. I was… impeding you.”

On receiving this information, Vertin nodded with her regular stoic expression and declared, “I see.”

“I don’t like feeling like I’m dragging you down.”

“I value your company and cooperation. I couldn’t ask for a better assistant.”

“But I can never help with the things that actually matter!”

Vertin tilted her head ever so slightly, something she did when she was seriously considering a proposition someone brought to her. Sonetto knew, because Sonetto knew all of her quirks and subconscious gestures.

“Like what?” she finally asked, taking Sonetto’s emotional state seriously upon realizing it wasn’t a passing moment of disturbance. “I’m sorry for making you feel that way.”

The redhead recognized this as one of the phrases they taught the children of SPDM to avoid conflict when discussing professional matters, beginning to feel more aggravated. She checked to ensure the Foundation hadn’t updated them on any other changes to the plan, and then grabbed Vertin’s arm, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Please take me seriously,” she insisted, finding the tromped-on flora on the ground most interesting.

Vertin’s eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. She looked as if she wanted to shake her hand free, but in the end, decided against it, letting Sonetto cling to that limb as if it were the solution to the problem that currently plagued them.

“Sonetto, I don’t know what you want from me. I am merely doing my job,” she tried to explain in that patient, even voice.

“I know that…”

Taking this response as a good sign, Vertin asked again, “Like what?”

“Like…” The assistant squeezed her lids shut, sighing in utter frustration and letting go of Vertin to cover her face with her hands, so embarrassed was she to face the girl across from her. She took a deep breath and then said, “I don’t like that you keep shouldering all of the hardships. I- I feel so stressed every time you hurt yourself on a mission. And you do it so often, I’m beginning to think—” she had to pause to regain her wits before continuing— “…that you don’t value yourself as much as I value you. That you don’t understand, or- or don’t care how much you mean to me- u-us! …Me. Everyone.”

She kept hiding for a few moments, waiting for something—for an apology, for derision, she wasn’t sure, but her heart was thumping as loudly as it ever had, and she felt dizzy all of a sudden. Being spontaneous and presumptive like this was most out of character for her, and after all of her passion passed, a burning sense of shame took its place.

When, after at least twenty seconds, Vertin hadn’t replied yet, Sonetto hurriedly shouldered past her, unveiling her glasfeder once again and starting faster than before. “I’m sorry! There must’ve been something… I mean, that cottage which influenced my emotions, perhaps it hasn’t completely worn off… I’m sorry, don’t pay attention to me, Timekeeper. I am your assistant; it’s not my job to fret about you like a, a…”

Like a friend, or something more.

Her face became red again, barely having recovered from their short break, only this time, it was from emotion rather than physical stress. “I apologize for my unprofessionalism.”

Before she could make three steps, Vertin grabbed her arm, calling out her name like she was the only person in the world, the way everything Vertin said to everyone felt. “Even if these are the remains of an arcane skill, all it served to do was amplify emotions budding within you. It would be unwise to leave them untouched and neglected. After all, Storm Syndrome quicker influences those who feel less stable…”

“R-right. Of course.”

Sonetto slowed her pace, but still refused to look at her companion.

“Truthfully, there is something I’ve been keeping from you all those years.”

Distracted by the feeling of the Timekeeper’s hand on her wrist, the red-cheeked girl stared miserably at the sky. It wasn’t that outlandish for someone as important as her to keep secrets, even if it made her companion a bit sad.

“Um… yes?”

“I never wanted you to be my assistant. Ms. Constantine assigned it that way against my will. I tried to file for another assistant, or preferably none, but she refused.”

That-

“…Wh… at?”

She didn’t even want me? I can’t help her, and it turns out that what little I’ve done has been against her will?

“I’m not done yet,” she reminded, snapping Sonetto out of her thoughts and dragging her horrible thoughts into the open, instead.

“Yes, of course. I’m sure that… selecting an assistant was a difficult task. A-after all, it must be restrictive having someone with you all the time, especially when that person doesn’t-”

“Sonetto, I’m not done yet.”

“S-sorry.”

“I am not equipped to lead anyone.”

That felt worse to hear than anything Vertin could’ve said about her. Instinctively, her head snapped up, leveling Vertin’s face with an astonished stare. “Timekeeper! That’s simply not true! Among the administrative figures I’ve met, there has been nobody as kind as you!”

“Kindness matters less than survival,” the Timekeeper said, offering a small, sad smile. “We learned that from a friend, didn’t we?”

“Yes, but…”

“And The Ring never got a chance to thank me for my kindness, either.”

“But-”

“Neither did Isabella.”

“Timekee-”

“Because even though I was kind to them, it didn’t matter when they were washed away.”

At a loss for words, Sonetto could only stare at her some more, faced with the insecurities of her vulnerable friend.

“It’s not that I didn’t want you, Sonetto. If I had wanted an assistant based on skill, compatibility, and friendliness, there was nobody I’d rather have than you.”

Conditioned into politeness, an automatic “thank you” slipped past the redhead’s lips.

“However, when my job is so dangerous and I’ve led so many people to their deaths… I’d much rather be assisted by nobody. Or, if I had to have someone—because the Foundation doesn’t trust me alone—then someone I didn’t care for, or grow up with. Because it would be easier to part with them.”

“Oh…”

“It’s better this way. I’m used to handling things on my own, and if you…” She fiddled with the brim of her hat, again dragging it down over her eyes. “If you got hurt… I wouldn’t like that.”

What spoke with Sonetto’s voice felt more like a ghost possessing her body than herself. It helpfully supplied, “Do you care about how I feel? Don’t you know how much it hurts watching you…?”

Vertin waited for a continuation, but Sonetto’s education was failing her, and there was nothing left in her head. The girl donned in blue sighed so softly it felt like her soul was escaping her body. “It’s better you feel upset than be endangered. Keep yourself safe; that’s an order. I don’t have the luxury of feeling. I’m only sorry you had to be stuck with me.”

But that’s so unfair.

Feeling passionate upon seeing Vertin’s sad little face, Sonetto’s zeal returned to her, and her thoughts burst through her chest. “Timekeeper, I- I’ll hold onto the feelings you can’t dwell on. I’ll feel sad for you. I’ll feel scared for you. If you ever feel nonhuman or lonely, please just remember that I…”

“Thank you, Sonetto,” Vertin said, but her expression was again impassive, the way it was when she entertained the fancies of Arcanists she’d just met. Sonetto felt her heart thump harder and louder, completely uncertain as to how to assuage the Timekeeper’s worries.

She wanted to do something. Anything. Yet Vertin’s back was as straight as ever, nary even buckling under the weight of the world. The redhead’s lips pursed, and she felt her eyes begin to ache with prospective tears.

Vertin saw this, but she kept her lips soundless, looking to the side and banishing the image from her mind. If she saw Sonetto cry, she’d be forced to release the weight she had been trying to keep pressed deep into the depths of her mind.

However, if there was one thing her assistant was, it was tenacious and stubborn.

“Um,” she started, stumbling over the sound as if she was preemptively awkward about the words she’d say next, “then, about Sch…neider.”

Vertin’s eyes narrowed as if questioning Sonetto’s motive in mentioning what they’d tacitly forbidden, but Sonetto refused to answer.

“I-it’s just that!… I’ve never asked you what you thought about her… Timekeeper.”

“I’ve been through Somnambulism already. The Saint Pavlov’s Foundation has-”

Uncharacteristically, Sonetto interrupted her, causing her eyes to widen back to their regular size. “But I know you! I know that you’re the only one who can be the Timekeeper, which means you try to stay strong, and… But I saw her kiss you, I… I’ve never seen you look at anyone else that way.”

An unspoken sentence hung in the air: You loved her.

Vertin stayed silent, hanging her head in that way she often did to obscure her expression, so the brim of her hat hid half her face again. Finally, she opened her mouth, the noise coming out of it mechanical and unfeeling. “Sonetto, this isn’t relevant to the mission.”

“But it’s relevant to you…”

“Sonetto.”

They stared at each other for a few moments.

Sonetto did something uncharacteristically brave.

She gritted her teeth and said, “You’re very adept at reading people’s emotions, Timekeeper, so my feelings probably do not come as a surprise, but I-”

Always a kind soul, Vertin held her hand up and interjected, giving her one more chance to shut her mouth before she did something she’d regret. “Sonetto, please don’t. I like you and our current relationship.”

“But I love you.”

Somewhere far away, a bird was chirping. The rushing sound of the breeze almost resembled a bubbling stream. Sounds of all kinds surrounded them, and yet it seemed utterly silent.

“Okay,” the Timekeeper replied. “I won’t tell anyone, so you won’t have to be reassigned.”

Perhaps that response was cruel. If the Foundation knew their loyal greyhound had a new master in her heart, she’d be replaced by someone else in a blink. Her job was to monitor and restrict Vertin, not love her. But was it possible to be with that marvel of a girl, that fine, patient, giving specimen of a human, without falling a little? Sonetto didn’t miss the looks that Vertin received: how Druvis stared at her like she was home; how Lilya would stumble blind into the line of fire if she ordered; how Schneider stole that kiss; how Nala Hari’s eyes seemed full of sunshine when she was around her; how even Nautika wrapped her arms and talons around Vertin possessively and with great deference and care whenever the Foundation operative found the time to speak with her.

The Timekeeper was simply so lovely, so charismatic. Nobody could fully resist her staid allure, soft and hard all at once like a statue of Buddha, least of all Sonetto, who’d been afflicted with a horrible case of affection since the day she laid eyes on that slimy green frog as a little girl.

Only, this feeling had been a poorly-kept secret behind the two, a present swaddled in Saran wrap and translucent for its beholders. Neither of them had whispered its existence towards each other, and Sonetto would’ve gladder died for her duty than force Vertin, already so burdened, to handle the guilt of Sonetto’s one-sided infatuation on top of everything. Even so, right now, it seemed like Vertin had to be loved by someone.

And Schneider, the one single person who’d shattered all of her careful defenses, was gone.

So that leaves the rest of Timekeeper’s squad.

It leaves me.

“Thank you,” Sonetto said out loud, tears welling in her eyes. “I-I’m sorry, I think the arcane energy must still be…”

“That’s alright.”

Vertin was acting more curt than usual, cutting off Sonetto’s sentences before she could finish them and staring at the sun to avoid the warmth of another human next to her.

“Um, Timekeeper, I know you’re adverse to this kind of thing. Not because you hate friends, just…” This time, the assistant trailed off organically, and Vertin picked up the pieces of her sentence.

“Yes, it seems like everyone I care for ends up falling for a tragic fate. If so, I’d rather do my duty and wait for my service to end.” She spoke with a light voice, but her words were heavy. She stared into the distance for a while longer, then sighed again, then shifted on her feet, her suitcase (presently, Argus was inside, for security, and Barbara was accompanying her—the more diplomatic way of saying “surveil”) riding up a few centimeters then down again with the movement of her shoulders. Her overcoat stayed crisp and unwrinkled, no matter how much she fidgeted, which Sonetto knew was quite a bit.

“I think that… Perhaps if I hadn’t been the Timekeeper, or known of the Storm, we would’ve been rather domestic.” 

Sonetto couldn’t contain the product of her emotions as they dribbled down her cheeks, the snail trails of saline glimmering in the patchy sun like the words she wrote with her glasfeder. What detached reciprocity; what cruel hope. She dared not open her mouth, or the only thing escaping her white teeth would be sobs, miserable and understanding.

She was only a dog, after all—it was Vertin’s prerogative to use her, both professionally and emotionally, and she had no right to complain. Tooth Fairy would listen to her childish complaints, worried about how the higher-ups would interpret her breakdowns, and Constantine would threaten her with a reassignment if she were deemed too unstable to bear a fraction of her friend’s burden. She knew nobody who was solely on her side (Matilda would jump at the chance to sabotage this, that naive child, Mesmer Jr. found her repulsive, Madam Z was too busy to possibly handle Sonetto’s emotions…), and the one friend she’d come to trust, affiliations and all, someone from where her heritage lay (even if she knew close to nothing about Italian Italians), had, well…

Vertin sighed for the nth time and steepled her fingers below her waist. “I was lost before going through Artificial Somnambulism, and resigned, after. Then there was Paulina and Mr. Duncan, and I’m uncertain again, swept up by something I’d rather not think about. But… Laplace will enjoy these insinuations. I am meant to record the era.”

Record the era, not become part of it.

Sonetto’s tears refused to stop; only now, they fell for a girl with hair the color of seafoam and eyes like cloudy tourmaline. She had the urge to apologize again, but forced it back down, knowing that even her “sorry” could make Vertin feel worse.

“Is there really n-nothing I can do?” she managed to choke out.

Vertin’s eyes scanned her for a moment, and an expression of hesitance shadowed her features as she opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.

“If you’d like, Sonetto, I wouldn’t mind a hug. It’s been a while since I’ve hugged anyone.”

Sonetto wondered if Vertin remembered Dr. Dores’ gentle touch in São Paulo, then expelled the thought, not hesitating even a second as she slouched her spine and raised her arms, taking the few steps it took to get closer to the Timekeeper and wrapping her shaking arms around her waist, burying her face in the crook of Vertin’s neck.

It was far too late to be ashamed. Sonetto was willing to throw her caution to the wind if it meant experiencing just one nice hug with the person she’d fallen so wholly in love with. After all, the closest they got was when Sonetto held an umbrella out to shield her from the rain, and Vertin tacitly bumped shoulders with her so Sonetto would be completely within its umbrage. (Sonetto knew Vertin could walk through the rain just fine, but seeing her alone in the deluge was too lonely.)

She used Vertin's shoulder as a pillar of support, soaking in these precious seconds of vulnerability that would likely never happen again. The world was too cruel to she who deserved everything.

They stood holding each other in the middle of the hot jungle until Sonetto's sniffles subsided, and Vertin released her, mumbling an apology and starting towards the meeting location without another word. Sonetto only hoped that Semmelweis wouldn't be able to see the misery in her heart.

Chapter Text

The knock on his door was followed by a loud German curse and the sound of fumbling, then a crash.

“Is this Adler’s office?” a girl asked, standing confidently in the doorway and peering in at the terrible mess within.

“Yes!” Adler Hofmann replied, his hands frozen above where he’d dropped the device he’d been holding. He looked like a deer in headlights.

“I apologize for startling you.”

“Nobody visits my office. I mean, it’s my fault.”

His eccentricities seemed not to bother her, and she asked if she could enter. He shot up, pushed a pile of papers and cups off the couch moved to the side of the room, and awkwardly gestured at it.

“Sit, please. Sorry, I haven’t received someone in…”

“That’s alright, Mr. Adler.” The girl took a seat and nodded in acknowledgement. Adler dragged his desk chair across from her.

“Um, so… You’re here for what…?”

“This was requested by the rehabilitation center,” she started, not beating around the bush (he appreciated that in a person) but immediately sending alarm bells ringing through his head.

His response was defensive enough for him to cringe upon hearing it. “I don’t need rehabilitation. Madam Lucy didn’t request it. Nobody has told me about this!”

“Yes, I’m aware. Madam Lucy wasn’t the one who ordered it—it was Vice President Constantine.”

“Constantine? Of the St. Pavlov’s Foundation?” His voice was utterly incredulous. “But-”

She waited for him to continue his sentence, but he had nothing else to say. His thoughts were summed up with that single, lacking conjunction. Finally, after a stifling amount of silence, he asked, “Why did they send you?”

“I believe she requested it because Marcus is set to work in ‘Team Timekeeper’.”

“Who’s Marcus,” Adler asked in an utter deadpan. A second after he finished speaking, he remembered who Marcus was, and his lips pursed. He didn’t care about Marcus (he was scared of her existence, like the knives that cut into his heart would push deeper once he learned of Greta’s legacy).

She answered, “Marcus is a member of the Foundation, as well as Agent Greta Hofmann’s-”

“Okay, ich verstehe. And you?”

Although she knew nothing of German, he offered no translation, so she continued to answer his second question.

“I am the Timekeeper.”

“Yes, who doesn’t know who you are? I mean, why are you here for my… rehabilitation? Don’t they have an entire center for that?”

Here, Vertin showed the first sign of hesitation. “I believe they think we can foster a sense of solidarity over our familiarity with loss, and aid each other’s full recoveries.”

“So we can be good little soldiers,” he finished.

She stayed silent, but her silence was answer enough. He smiled mockingly.

“And who have you lost, Miss Timekeeper?” Adler asked, the sarcasm in his voice thick and miserable. He knew she’d been assigned to him for a reason, but his rationale was starting to be eaten away by his grief, just like it’d been when he met Ulrich, kickstarting a tumultuous business relationship between the two and giving headaches to all the other employees in their vicinity.

…He was already ruining their budding acquaintanceship, and it hadn’t even been ten minutes.

She was so frustratingly put-together, so frustratingly unyielding in the face of tragedy and despair. Though the Storm engulfed them both, Adler was drowning, and Vertin was standing perfectly untouched on a rock, smooth and flat just for her fancy shoes to find stability on. “We are here to talk about you, but if it would make you more comfortable, then-”

Suddenly, he felt trapped and upset. (Jealous. How did she cope?) “Macht nichts! What does a little girl like you know of misery?” he interrupted, his expression utterly complicated and simply wretched. He glared at the wall like it was the curtain between life and the underworld, separating his sister from him. “How time doesn’t heal wounds, only wears them down like rocks being smoothed in a river. Each day that passes by, her presence fades, and her memory grows stronger. What do you know of misery, of the rage it takes to mourn! My sister, my sister! Ich bin in tiefer Trauer, Timekeeper, and you come to me with die Unkenntnis.”

Vertin stayed silent, and thinking with his averted eyes, Adler was ready to order her retreat. However, as he turned his head to hers, mouth opened to dismiss her, he found himself at a loss for words.

She was indeed quiet. However, her expression wasn’t one of contemplation or confusion, nor was it maddeningly neutral the way it’d been when she walked in. She was looking at him with a strange mixture of sympathy and hate—a combination he was painfully familiar with.

“What…” he stuttered, his fury evaporating like C3H8O on an open surface, voice growing soft, “what do you know of death?” Perhaps motivated by the camaraderie of loneliness, he couldn’t control his mouth from furthering, “What has this place taken from you, too?”

Mourning had a way of making one look both young and old. Vertin’s lips were set in an uninvolved frown, but the shadow over her soul seemed darker. She stayed mum, deciding what to say to him. Finally, she took off her hat and placed it on the cushion to her left. Inconceivably, Adler felt as if she’d marked the place by her side for someone, announced the presence of a ghost watching over her. Flustered and guilty, he fumbled around his person for something to remove, finally unclasping the cipher machine from his right shoulder and laying it gently next to him, cramped on his spinning chair but stable.

“You mustn’t disseminate this information, or I’ll have to go through another session of Artificial Somnambulism,” she began.

He didn’t plan on breaking her trust, anyway. Despite his earlier outburst, he quite admired her and her work. “You have my word. There is nobody who would listen to this crazy human anyway.”

“Have you been inside my suitcase before?”

“Um.” He glanced at it, small and still on the floor. “No.”

She nodded and bent down to click it open, unfolding it completely. The boundary between the two halves disappeared, leaving the appearance of a stairwell descending far beneath the floor, a little over a meter long and a little under a meter wide.

“Please come with me,” she said, standing up and starting into the darkness. He followed her out of duty and curiosity, overcome with confusion at the relevance of visiting her fancy HQ.

It wasn’t long as they descended until the darkness disappeared, replaced by a soft, warm hallway, glowing in the afternoon light. Adler made an exclamation. How could there be sun within her suitcase? Was this… not a storage area, but a doorway to another universe? To a place where the Storm didn’t exist? His heart started beating furiously at the implications, fueled by his love for science and buttressed by his education, but before he could harass Vertin with a barrage of questions, a little girl’s voice drifted from down the hallway.

“Hmm? Is that a man who’s just come down? Hold on, let me guess—stay right there! Erm, you sound a bit heavy, so it’s not Mister Zee-ma or Mister Pavi-er… Mister Duncan would’ve already said something and spoiled the surprise… Hrmmmm…”

“It’s no use, Miss Sotheby,” Vertin interrupted. “You haven’t met him before.”

“Oh!”

She quietly gestured for them to continue down the hallway, emerging into a cozy living room, decorated anachronistically with every manner of design and color. It was disorganized and busy, and somehow, there was a distinct feeling of homeliness. It gave Adler pause, who started considering the deeper meaning of the Timekeeper showing him her most valuable (vulnerable?) equipment. (What did this have to do with loss?)

The young girl who had spoken was dressed in a baby blue gown, a white bow decorating her hair. She shot up like a bullet from the reclining chair to stand at Adler’s front. “Well, hello!” she said eagerly. “I am Lady Sotheby, pleased to meet you, Mister…?” She dangled her hand out.

Clasping it in a firm handshake and feeling like he’d done something wrong when a frown overcame Sotheby’s expression for a moment, he stumbled over a few nonsensical syllables before replying, “Uh, Adler.”

“Adler what?” Sotheby asked, recovering from her surprise at receiving a handshake instead of a kiss, smiling once again.

Before he could answer—and he wouldn’t have, because now everyone was familiar with his last name and the price it took to be known—another figure stood suddenly. He hadn’t noticed this person earlier, but she marched over, grabbing the back of Sotheby’s neck as if she were a kitten and looking intently at Vertin.

“Adler, that Adler, from Laplace?” she asked.

Her voice was thick with a Russian accent. Between her golden blonde hair and pilot garb, he identified her as Lieutenant Lilya of Xeno. What was she doing hanging out with a child and the Timekeeper? Vertin kept up with such a strange blend of people.

Regardless, his haunches rose at her tone.

“Oh dear, was I impolite not to recognize him?” Sotheby asked, slight shame clouding her voice. “I am so very sorry!”

“It’s nothing,” Lilya answered before Adler could, shoving her towards another adjacent hallway. “Go to your room, let the grown ups talk.”

Even though Sotheby puffed her cheeks out, her eyes glimmered with understanding as she skipped to her bedroom, leaving only three people in the living room. Instantly, Lilya rounded on Adler.

“Listen, I don’t know why Vertin let you in…”

He bristled in annoyance. “I don’t appreciate your tone. I thought that at least the Timekeeper’s people wouldn’t be as bigoted as the-”

“Shut up, this isn’t about that.”

He obediently clamped his mouth closed.

Lilya glanced at Vertin again, who was staring back at her with a resolved expression. The Lieutenant clicked her tongue. “Fine, whatever. This is a big honor, мужик. If you destroy anything, if you open your mouth about this to anyone…” She dragged her thumb across her neck, then turned around without any further fanfare and marched somewhere invisible from their current position.

Simultaneously ruffled and relieved to be alone again, Adler couldn’t help but ask Vertin, “What are you showing me? Why did Lieutenant Lilya immediately know, and respond so aggressively?”

“To be candid, the person I lost was the last human I let into my suitcase.”

“…Oh. Um. Why?”

She beckoned him forward into the hallway opposite the one the other two had entered, running her hand along the wall as they approached the door at the end.

“My suitcase can only shield Arcanists from the Storm.” She turned the doorknob, gesturing for Adler to enter first. “Even if a human enters, they’re still reversed, and they still fall away with the rest of the rain. That’s why I don’t let humans inside—it’s not safe.”

“Oh,” he said, replying dumbly to let her know he was still listening.

He entered the room.

It was brighter than the other parts of the suitcase, and a large window spanned the entire length of the wall across from him. To the right, there were posters and empty frames. A strange, futuristic clock with filament bulbs glowing in the shape of numbers blinked at him. Objects were on every surface, draped over every edge, sat on every floor, hung on every wall. Images, paintings, clothes, trinkets, and miscellaneous objects covered everything in view.

His lips parted. “What is this? It looks like a history museum.”

“You could look at it that way,” Vertin agreed. “In here, there’s something from everyone I’ve met through the eras and have failed to save.”

“…What?”

Vertin swept through the room like she knew every inch of it. “This is Marian’s bow… Junis’ watch. Hamza’s cup, and his brother Taha’s toy bird—he carved it himself. This plant is Delfina’s: I water it twice a week. Maitê wove this bracelet out of string from her father’s old clothes. Isidora spent her entire fortune to buy this gem and gave it to me right before the Storm.”

“What is that photograph?”

She looked in the direction Adler was pointing, and smiled ever so slightly. “That was a poster from Thomas. I’d never listened to that kind of music before.”

“Music? But it’s a drowning baby and some paper money…”

“Yes, it’s a band poster.”

The Timekeeper had experienced too many periods of history that he couldn’t comprehend. He decided to drop his line of questioning and ask someone else from a later era, once he got back to Laplace. She listed more names from regions he’d never even heard of, much less visited. Each object, she knew as well as a friend. They finally made their way to the back right of the room.

She slowed to a stop in front of something that was the shape of a piano. On the edge, there was a red pile of feathers, gathered together and unblemished.

Vertin picked it up, and it unfolded.

…Unblemished? No. It was hard to tell, because the stain was the same color as the dress, but there were dried bits of red…

“Is that blood? Was she—the owner of the dress—killed?”

“She wasn’t killed. She was merely injured before she was reversed.”

Adler pursed his lips and turned his gaze back towards where the dress had come from. There was a large duster that would fit a tall man perfectly, some girl-sized leather boots, and a heap of jewelry and decorations. The dress itself gleamed in the sunlight, the silver reflecting tiny spots of gold onto Vertin’s face, the feathers shimmering each time it shook like the bird the feathers had been plucked from was rearing to take off. 

Adler wanted to say something, but the look on her face stopped him short.

He recognized it. 

He saw it every day in the mirror and on the faces of his colleagues and veterans.

Loss.

Grief.

Love.

The Timekeeper tenderly folded the dress again, petting it, then her slender fingers brushed against the knuckles of a crimson gun. Just like the dress, it still felt living, like smoke would rush out of the muzzle at any second, rising to the ceiling, a violent offering of incense to a girl who departed the world violently.

He couldn’t tolerate her expression any longer. “I-I’m sorry.” He spoke just to speak and sped to the door, but found himself unable to walk through it. The alternate sun, setting towards what he could only guess was the West, caused his shadow to grow taller every passing second.

He turned around again and found the Timekeeper alone in her shrine.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice breaking. “Would it be alright if I… brought something my sister had?”

Vertin muttered an “ah” noise, then shuffled to a cupboard behind the door. Adler couldn’t help but poke his head over to observe her motions, and she procured a typical Foundation badge as well as a sleek but well-used black belt.

“Madam Hofmann was a treasured member of the Foundation. When she passed, Marcus asked the same thing.” Vertin paused, then: “You should talk to her. I know someone whose caregiver died similarly. Being able to speak with her ‘uncle’ about it helped her recover. Would you like her items back?”

The notion of stealing the proof of Greta’s virtue away to let them rot in his depressing room repulsed him. It was better for them to see the sun every day, honored by this noble girl. “No, please keep them,” he mumbled. “Timekeeper, I need to go.”

She nodded like she completely understood.

“Thank you; truly, thank you. You do not understand what you’ve done for me.”

He started speeding away, but her voice rang out from behind him once more.

“Hold on, Mister Adler. Mister Charon has taught me a German saying, if you don’t mind,” she said as she put Greta’s legacy back from whence it came.

“Yes, go ahead.” He was antsy to leave, but patient enough to wait for her to finish her piece.

“Please don’t mind my pronunciation… ‘Alles neu macht der Mai’.”

Adler looked at Vertin.

Vertin looked at Adler.

Alles neu macht der Mai.

“There is a tissue box on the table next to the counter,” she gently informed him.

She waited for him to exit the suitcase before following, quietly picking it up and closing the door behind her.

The white paper looked like a flag of truce, and it staunched the war flooding his cheeks.

Chapter Text

The outline for an administrative role in the Foundation had been planned, debated, and refined for the past few years. Headed by Constantine with minor support from rising forces such as Irinei, as part of a long-reaching plan for Storm research, the “Timekeeper” premise was defined by mature men and women.

After a while, the most debated point was no longer its authority, but who should take on such a momentous role.

Constantine, who always had the air of superiority, spent months assuring the other bodies that she knew the perfect person for it, attempting to lobby for absolute authority over its assignment.

“Let her be the sole decider? Don’t make me laugh.”

“It’s important to keep the balance of power in the Foundation equal! On that note, we must let the weaker powers be-”

“Vice President Constantine has always led us properly. It is her priv- no, her right to decide this.”

Public opinion was split. Before long, Zeno caught wind of the conflict, and under the guise of friendly worry, they sent a few of their own over.

“Let’s send our little red arrow,” one of the stuffy grown-ups said. “Constantine intends on [redacted]. They are a similar age—let them get along.”

So the fourteen-year-old Lilya accompanied a gaggle of middle-aged men speaking to each other gravely in Russian, her eyes wandering over the mind-bogglingly plain Foundation architecture.

“Обрати внимание, наша ‘Богиня Победы’,” one of them scolded.

She scoffed. What a joke, acting like they didn’t drag her along under the guise of democracy, when really, they hoped to send her off on a playdate with yet another tragic child soldier. She could tell the Timekeeper-to-be to run away. She could even fund the brat’s escape. But so what? Someone always had to take on the disgusting roles—whether it was the kid or the teenager they sent to war, both of them came back in body bags. It made no difference. Entertaining thoughts of insubordination in her head, her fingers twitched for the hip flask they’d confiscated from her the second they stepped onto checkered tiles, and kindly replied, “Заткнитесь, капитан, сэр.”

He shoved her to the side. “Чертов ублюдок.”

She could’ve caught her footing, really, but she still let herself bounce off a pillar and onto the floor, her head throbbing where it hit the linoleum, staring at the white pillars leading into the white concrete ceiling. Or maybe it was plaster, or something. Who knew what this cursed place was made out of?

She could faintly hear the sounds of her coworkers loudly arguing with each other, the assistant sent to guide them sweating nervously at the sudden eruption of aggression in a language she wasn’t fluent in.

Well, she was probably fluent… But why would the pristine, shining St. Pavlov Foundation teach their wards the dirty curse words soldiers slung at each other?

Maybe she should’ve put a bullet in her head when she was still authorized to hold those cheap guns—it was kind of hard to bomb yourself with a broom and pass it off as an accident.

She found herself dangling by one arm, making eye contact with the man who’d pushed her. He ordered, “навы́тяжку!”

Ugh, shit. Her brain ached, like it’d bounced off the inside of her skull. It probably had. She still stumbled to her feet, clicking her heels together and raising her right hand. This miserable life.

So they’d left her alone, and the Zeno soldiers joined the fiery debate inside the Vice President’s office. They made her sit outside, because even though they told the Foundation that she was a well-decorated member of their elite force, that was an excuse to take the pathos angle using children.

She knew when that fucking captain walked out with a smirk that he’d gotten what he wanted. Anger and injustice boiled in her skin. She’d be able to blanket it with a moist rag of alcohol, if only they hadn’t taken her fucking vodka!

Unbeknownst to the adults, Lilya was simmering more and more, already feeling antagonistically sympathetic to the poor kid they wanted to throw into the Storm.

“She won’t be washed away,” they promised. “All we need is to carefully cultivate her development—and you’ve brought a perfect candidate!” Madam Z sat next to Constantine, the frustration in her calm black eyes only palpable through the tilt of her eyebrows— “It will only take a few months; we promise”—who looked exactly like the white queen she was fidgeting with.

They led her into a decently sized room, decorated with virtually nothing. On top of the bed, a girl with weird hair sat, bent over a novel and reading its contents aloud. She made no indication she saw Lilya come in, but the soldier could tell her voice grew louder and more enunciated. The kid had a good sense of what was going on around her, fine. The door slammed shut.

“-that's the mistake I made, one of the mistakes, to have wanted a story for myself, whereas life alone is enough… What do you think that means?”

Lilya failed to suppress her knee-jerk reaction: “How should I know!”

She shrugged. “They sent you in because they think you can keep secrets from me like the adults. However…” She finally looked up, and her strikingly light eyes seemed to pierce into Lilya like two icicles. “…They seem to have forgotten how good I am at enticing my classmates.”

She didn’t mind the soldier staying silent. At least, if she minded, she didn’t express it. Instead, she closed the book and hopped off her bed, only coming up to Lilya’s chest, so tiny and cute… Like a mouse.

For some reason, Lilya found herself at a loss for words. These days, most of what she said was provocative or snarky, biting back at the people who put weapons into her arms, and looking at this dear, smart thing, she lost all desire to fight. All that was left was the shell of what was once a cheerful child, staring at a girl as cold as a mirror.

“Would you like to take a seat?” the mirror asked.

Clumsily, the hawk followed those orders, a familiar lifeline in the face of something new. She could always fall back on her training—it was safe, even if it made her feel disgusted. This situation was dangerous. The Timekeeper-to-be was dangerous… sharp and testing, even though she was so tiny.

She reminds me of Constantine, Lilya thought, then was struck with a pang of guilt at comparing such a miniature creature to such a big monster. But she wasn’t, really—there were no monsters, only strategists and footsoldiers (executives and fodder). This girl was fated to become someone worshipped by even the higher-ups.

“My name is Vertin,” she introduced, making painfully acute eye contact. “They said your name was Lilya, but is there anything you’d rather I call you?”

“No.”

“Okay. I’ve heard you’re a soldier,” she continued, unbothered by Lilya’s stoicism. “Could you tell me about that?”

The buzzing of that angry, sick emotion she couldn’t place was back. “I fought in a war,” she answered mechanically, both unwilling and unable to recount what she’d seen. She’d stopped feeling alive somewhere during her duty, and the time she spent operating like an oiled machine was all fuzzy. The things she could remember, well… Her fist clenched automatically at her side. They’d tried to get her to talk about it in the Laplace Rehab Center, too, and they’d regretted it soon after. That brat from the Mesmer family walked out with a bloody nose. Hell if she’d prostrate herself in front of this new stranger, even if she was charming and weird.

“Yes, they told me.” Her voice was patient. “But I’d like to know what you have to say, not them. They always lie to us—most of the children don’t realize, but I know, because I’ve snuck outside. So I’d like to ask you about your own life. Why did someone so young fight in a war?”

Lilya hesitated, then attempted to shift the topic. “They’re sending you to war too, Vertin. Just not on the battlefield.”

Vertin ruminated on these words before coming up with a response. “I’ve only ever done what I wanted to. If they try to make me fight, I’ll rebel in my own way. They can’t force me to do anything.”

“Hah, right. They can only do worse.”

The girl was rendered silent again, soaking up every inch of detail LIlya was willing to share. Even though they were discussing her own morose path, she didn’t flinch or seem disappointed. Instead, there was a voracious glint in her eyes, as if she were looking forward to the future wherein she could kick and punch at the Foundation for trying to harm her.

There was life in her yet.

They couldn’t ruin such an innocent child. They couldn’t dig their claws into youth time and time again, tearing them up and making them cynical teenage alcoholics for their own convenience. They couldn’t keep spewing propaganda from every pore and orifice in their bodies, lying and lying and LYING about how honorable sacrifice was.

They hurt Lilya already. They couldn’t hurt Vertin, too.

Suddenly powered by a strong rush of protective instinct, the soldier surged forward and fisted the lapels of Vertin’s shirt, baring her teeth. She wasn’t really upset—not at her, at least, because she was pissed at the Foundation—but perhaps she could scare Vertin into acting like a normal child and eliminate the possibility of her being the Timekeeper from the get-go. Though she wouldn’t be special anymore, nor would she be a cog in the Foundation’s machine. 

Please. Please, spare her.

Lilya recalled how she acted when she was really upset, and growled, “What have you seen of blood and war? You’re just a тупой kid. They thought we’d like each other? Hah, what a joke! I could kill you before you could say my name.”

And like a child, it was Vertin’s turn to flinch and call her a witch, a filthy Arcanist, a defect of their squadron. It was her turn to laugh like all those boys did at Zeno, or look at her with terrified eyes like the ones in SPDM.

Vertin reached up and enclosed her fingers around Lilya’s hands.

“If it makes it easier to talk while you’re grabbing me, then we can continue like this,” she said without an ounce of hesitation. “Would you like that?” Her fingers were so light against the back of the older girl’s hands.

Lilya clarified, “I’m going to hit you!”

“Oh,” Vertin said. “Then I’m going to fight back.”

What a… a bizarre interaction, so utterly straightforward and kindly violent. It was so mollifying that Lilya forgot how to even act upset, and her constant visions of entrails dropping to the floor in a dark cave were replaced by the memory of how Vertin looked, grabbed by the neck of her clothes like a kitten.

She tried to let the little cat go, but Vertin’s paws clamped down on Lilya’s wrists like steel vices, and she pulled, hard. Both of them tumbled backwards onto the floor.

“Ouch!”

“Блядь, what was that for!”

“You said you were going to hit me, and suddenly pulled back. I thought you were… winding your fist up.”

“I was letting you go!”

“I didn’t know,” she said in way of apology. She was right; there was no indication Lilya had given up her threat of violence. She was trained to be aggressive in every manner of the word, and then, through the field, she was taught that docile lambs got slaughtered. She had also intended to make Vertin scared. Still, it was annoying.

“You’re the weirdest girl I’ve ever met,” Lilya muttered, a hint of admiration in a voice otherwise tainted with wariness. “What does the Foundation want with such a disobedient little… пацанка?”

“Because I’m useful,” Vertin proclaimed very confidently, and Lilya would’ve cringed at her show of company loyalty had the girl’s face not been tinged with something soft and startled, like how house pets jumped at the sound of storms.

She’d been alarmed, after all. She just knew how to mask it.

Lilya laid onto the floor, paused, then rolled on top of Vertin, pinning her down against the ground, and leaned towards her ear. Very quietly, she whispered, “Are there any cameras or microphones in here?”

Even though her question could be considered a declaration of malintent, the Timekeeper-to-be only seemed to become excited. She, too, sat up slightly so her lips would be pressed against the side of Lilya’s head, and replied, “None powered with arcane energy… Erm, no cameras, but I don’t know about secret microphones. They could be very small.”

“Stay close and listen to me. I want to be your friend if you don’t hate me in the next few months.”

“Why should I-”

“Abababa!”

Vertin’s mouth shut obediently at Lilya’s noise, which was almost deafeningly loud when vocalized right next to her ear canal.

“Listen, they want to make you their Timekeeper.”

“Okay.”

“You’d have the power to order those suits around, but they’d criticize you for every wrong move, blame you for every gone era.”

“Erm. Okay.”

“And I’m going to try and stop you.”

Vertin pushed Lilya away so she could stare into her eyes. “...Why?” Her gaze was searching; testing; analytical. She was young, but could already read people’s moods through their faces. It was impressive—every longer moment they spent together was one in which Lilya understood why Constantine wanted this girl to be the Timekeeper, and she was certain there were still some hidden requirements Vertin had met that she didn’t even have the clearance to know about.

Vertin suited the role too well.

“Because you don’t deserve it.”

The praise, the power, the tools: she didn’t deserve any of it. She deserved to run around and laugh with her friends, splashing in puddles of real rain, not dress herself in a suit every morning and pick up a cross to heave on her back, until at last she could release it in death.

Vertin stilled, like she was considering every possible meaning of this sentence, until she relaxed. She wrapped her little arms around Lilya’s waist and said into the crook of her neck, “Then I’m glad to be your friend, Lilya.”

The soldier saw two futures: one wherein Vertin cringed every time they saw each other, and blamed Lilya for following orders to make her into a perfect Timekeeper; the other wherein Vertin’s face was soft in the sunlight and vulnerable in unconsciousness, silver hair gold in the sunrise as Lilya watched the world bend to her will.

But before anything had happened, Vertin declared her intention to follow the second path.

“You’re going to lose yourself and your name,” she warned again, frustrated that the intensity of this loss wasn’t coming across.

But the girl smiled again, and Lilya felt her cheeks tense. “It’s a good thing I have a friend who will remind me who I am.”