Chapter Text
Though logic dictated Verso and Maelle had only disappeared from their view for minutes at most, the absence felt as long as millennia to Lune; the fear of the unknown, which she’d spent her entire life trying to conquer, ate her up from the inside, as if the chroma in her cells was a breath’s away from dissipating. Were they dead already, just waiting for a breeze to carry them away into nothingness, to wherever all their loved ones had gone? She held her breath as if that would delay the inevitable, but refused to close her eyes – she would greet death with her head held high.
But death did not greet her.
Maelle stumbled back through the portal, bloodied and spent, and the sight had an avalanche of emotions rush through her. We continue.
The following realization sank in at the same time a pit opened where her stomach had once been.
Verso had not followed back through the portal.
Sciel had already rushed to the girl’s side to patch her up; meanwhile, Lune still stared mouth agape like a fish out of water. She allowed herself to feel that all-encompassing dread for just one minute longer before forcing herself back into reality.
She couldn't have anticipated developing such problematic attachments to the latter additions to their party, or even the original ones - but seeing ninety-nine percent of your acquaintances die right in front of your eyes was enough to make you hold onto the ones left that much tighter, even if you don’t notice until it’s too late. The original expeditioners had grown up right by her side; she had known them all her life, and their loss was painful but not insurmountable. Growing attached to Verso, on the other hand, that had been a wholly unaccounted-for variable.
Her trust was hard to earn, and doubly so once it was broken. She had trusted Verso despite herself, despite her own disinclination to entertain his defeatist stances, because he had been their best shot to get to the Paintress — and he had broken that trust readily to achieve his own selfish goals, not once but twice. That level of duplicity was not something easily forgiven or forgotten, and Lune was damn good at holding grudges; quite the uncommon trait in Lumière. People back home were inclined to let things go much more readily. The Gommage loomed large over every single moment of their lives, and most did not want to go while holding onto petty regrets. Unfortunately, she had been headstrong her entire life and had not planned on changing that at the last minute.
Verso had slipped under the best of her defenses without detection, undermining every wall and barrier she had set up over the years to keep herself safe, even as she tried to keep him at arm’s length. Late-night conversations by the fire that left them with too little sleep whenever he indulged her incessant questions, or simply sitting silently on the ledge of the cliff when her mind was too rattled even for scientific inquiries. Those nights had steadily eroded her restraint, and she'd never thought to question why he had seemed both guarded yet so incredibly eager to get in everyone's good graces.
When Sciel had teased her for laughing a little too long at one of his snarky remarks, she knew she had failed to keep him out at all. And her friend had encouraged it, of course, because Sciel lived life to the fullest as if every day was the last. After all, it may very well be. If they were to die on the continent anyway, what was the harm in letting her hair down, just once?
This, her racing mind supplied, bile rising with every second that no secondary figure stumbled its way towards them from the tear in the fabric of their very reality.
Verso had betrayed her— them, again. He had wanted to end their world, their sheer existence, all with the wave of a hand as if they were not real, as if they didn’t matter at all, because he was tired. Because he wanted to save his sister. Because because because. It didn't matter to her what he wanted. To him, the future of Lumière was not more important than any individual life; to him, the future of the people in the canvas was a mere complication.
Lune hated him for it, with every fibre of her being. After all they had gone through to save their world, he would do away with it without a second thought, all for Alicia, and even if it was opposed to what his sister wanted.
While all this was true, not seeing him walk out after Maelle hurt just as much.
This was the harm.
Life in Lumière was simultaneously the same as it had ever been and completely alien, or it felt like that to Lune once the initial dust had settled. The damage to infrastructure had been extensive, but the city and its inhabitants were beyond resilient; people had quickly taken to the reconstruction with a gusto that she had never witnessed before, fueled by the knowledge that their days were not irremediably numbered.
Maelle had brought back the expeditioners and the recently Gommaged, but deciding how many generations back to restore required much more careful consideration, invariably leading to endless nights of discussion between the expeditioners and the council. Of course, bringing back every single person was out of the question, but how could a number be reached when they knew it would always be arbitrary in one way or another? It was a daunting challenge, and one a sixteen-year-old should never have had to face. In the end, they settled on ten years of Gommaged generations and attempted to prepare for what that would mean. Lodgings and sustenance turned to be the least of their concerns—ten years of loved ones being gone meant people were coming back to children that had grown in their absence, of new relationships started amid absences, new marriages, new families. The adjustment period would take months, if not years, but nothing could take away from the unspeakable joy of being reunited in any semblance.
Lune never brought up the fact that if they’d gone just a few more years back, her own parents would be returned to her. She would still have Sol and Stella, and that was far more than she deserved or had ever dreamed of.
As there was much to do before she could take up Maelle’s offer to tell her everything she could of the outside world once all was said and done, her life fell into a strange kind of limbo; she had her research notes and countless ideas to develop and information to categorize for future generations, but there was no longer the oppressive deadline of the Gommage. Lune struggled to come to terms with the possibilities that had now opened up for her to pursue. The idea she struggled the most with was simple in comparison to what she’d done in preparation for their expedition: she would have the chance to grow old. She could do anything she wanted with her life, and her childhood’s wildest dream of becoming a proper scholar was within her grasp like it had never been before for her or anyone in living memory.
The prospect frightened her like nothing else, left a chill in the very marrow of her bones when her sleepless nights were devoted to those obsessive thoughts, but this was a private fear; no one in Lumière could know such a silly concept terrified her so intensely. Those thoughts were for her guitar, and only ever on some nights.
There was another matter that ate away at her sanity, one which she never voiced herself but was certainly not alone with.
Maelle had brought it up far too constantly for her liking, but in the end, she was but a child, and he was but her brother. So she’d brought him back sooner rather than later, because of course she had. Because there had never been any universe in which she did not.
An apartment had been provided for him in the city, where he had been painted back to life; Lune, Sciel, and Gustave were all present so that she would not have to face the situation alone. Not accepting Sciel’s barely veiled exit strategy when she had suggested that she and Gustave would be enough was a decision she would regret for weeks afterward.
Of course, Verso was the reigning champ of guarding his true colors, but she’d at the very least expected an outburst of some emotion. She could have handled hurtful words said in anger — even a manly mournful cry would have been preferable. The sight of him had brought her own hurt and rage to the surface, only for it to fizzle and sputter out in an instant.
His eyes opened, impossibly blue amidst the shadows on his face — and nothing happened. No reaction came. No anger, nor sadness, nor pleading for it to be undone like Maelle had described amidst a sea of tears when she relayed the details of the duel to the rest of them. Verso merely stared blankly up at the freshly painted ceiling, so perfectly unmoving that Maelle had questioned out loud if she had done something wrong. Not until she’d taken half a step forward in her own desperation had he reacted at all. His entire body jerked back where he lay, eyes fixed on an invisible point in the far distance, and then he turned away from their expectant gazes.
Lune had been the first one out of the room, barrelling down hallways and stairs gracelessly until her feet were on the cobbled street outside and her body was tucked into the alley, all her weight supported by the building itself as she did her best not to dry heave. Sciel’s familiar footsteps announced her imminent arrival just minutes later.
“Putain.” She let out the world in an exhale, just as her friend placed a comforting hand on her back.
“I know it’s hard to see him again, but try to remember this is for Maelle.”
“Hard? Fighting Axons is hard, seeing him—”
“You cannot stay angry at him forever.” Sciel’s words stopped her own, stuck in the back of her throat, bitter like a poison. Was she angry at him? Yes, over and over, the answer would be yes; she was furious with him like she had never been with anyone before and would remain so for a long time, but the sight of him in that bed, despondent as if all the life in him had already been spent, tore her apart at the seams. And she would have to keep this to herself, another secret to add to the ever-growing trove of horribly troubling thoughts.
“I can do whatever I damn well please.”
Days grew increasingly monotonous after that, too much data to sort and analyze and discuss with her fellow researchers; too many sleepless nights poring over notes, tossing in bed while worrying about Maelle, about Lumière and its future, and her own place in it. But one topic she fought to keep out of her nightly flagellations was him.
She had not gone to see him once since he’d awoken, and no one pushed her to, for which she was thankful, but it was not as if her desire to pretend he didn’t exist actually made it so, nor was he some taboo topic no one dared to bring up. Maelle's constant worrying was quite deserved.
When she brought him back, she’d promised to allow him to age; she was prepared to make him as mortal as everyone in Lumière. Lune had been inclined to believe she meant every word—if only he would have cooperated in the slightest. Had it not been for his unique set of circumstances, he surely would have starved himself to death twice over from what Gustave was constantly complaining about. It was almost a fortnight since Verso had so much as spoken a word during one of Maelle’s visits, let alone eaten anything.
And as Gustave’s frustration grew on par with the girl’s sorrows, a different kind of unrest spread through the city streets.
The Paintress, as far as civilians were aware, had been defeated; the Gommage would be no more, but something else had come out of the ordeal: Maelle as a Paintress in her own right. What had started as confusion had morphed to uncertainty and then split down the middle into fear and wonder. It was a tenuous state of calm that they were keeping their eye on for further developments. A select group of individuals knew the truth, but how much of it could be safely spread amongst the average populace without inducing mass panic or even psychosis?
The details of what had transpired in the decisive battles were kept hidden in heavily encrypted journals by her and Gustave. Perhaps someday in the future their secrecy would be revised, but there were larger issues at hand. A lifetime of research would not have been enough to sort this out neatly, which only vexed them further.
And her preoccupied mind must have been more than evident in her expression as she sat in Gustave’s workshop, because he snapped a book closed with far more force than necessary, nearly making her jump out of her skin.
“Lune, are you even listening?” he asked, voice tinged with exasperation.
“No- Yes, I’m listening. He’s an asshole, and Maelle shouldn’t have to put up with his bullshit on top of everything else he’s already put her through,” she answered flatly, an effortless summary of how all of their conversations went most mornings. It was only by the perplexed look in Gustve’s expression that she was clued into the realization that no, that had not been where their discussion had gone once she’d become lost in her own roiling thoughts.
“I… I asked if you were going to give a speech like Emma asked you to. For the Gommage.” The day was scarcely a week away.
“Oh. Right... Yes, of course I will. It’s coming along great, I’m almost done with the last of the edits.” In her mind's eye, the blank page titled “speech draft” flashed for a moment, but she quickly brushed it aside. By the amused smile her friend didn’t bother to conceal, her lie did not pass unnoticed but was, for the moment, not called out.
“Good. You were always the best writer in our expedition.”
He leaned back in his chair, that curious look on his face which came over his features whenever he encountered an unexpected snag in a problem he was trying to solve in his head; she’d always found it utterly charming, unless she was part of the equation.
The silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but heavy nonetheless. “How are you doing, really?”
It had been that added ‘really’ that stopped her from using the boilerplate answer of “I’m fine” that she used whenever anyone showed the slightest hint of concern over her well-being. He had been her oldest friend, and knew how to use it against her; meanwhile, she knew she would not be able to hold his gaze if she told him anything but the absolute truth.
Lune tilted her head to the side, letting her gaze drift away from his, instead passing over the stacks of books and research notes that were crammed into every square inch of available space.
“There are still so many questions left. I think— Once we’ve passed the day, maybe it will all feel a little bit more real.”
“You have doubts?” It was not an accusation, and she was glad he knew; she was not questioning Maelle nor her convictions.
“I prefer concrete evidence over pure theory, that's all.” She met his eyes briefly, and their matching smiles were small but sincere.
“Yeah, me too. Actually, that reminds me. Sophie wants to throw a pseudo-birthday party the night after, once the exploratory expedition has been sent off. You know, to celebrate that we’re here and… Yeah.”
The idea was adorable and had Sophie written all over it; always the sentimental one. “I’ll be there.”
That the speech came together in time was nothing short of a miracle, though she was making last-minute adjustments up until she was walking onto the stage, much to Emma’s chagrin.
It was filled with feel-good platitudes and acknowledgements of her fellow researchers and expeditioners, past and present, that had made this monumental achievement possible for all of Lumière by paving the way for those that came after. People clapped and cheered, and some even cried, and the whole thing felt strangely hollow in a way she couldn’t put her finger on, nor did she try to for very long.
Her mind was preoccupied, just as many others were, she would presume, by the sun crawling ever closer toward the horizon, and tearing her eyes away from The Monolith was a herculean task that she gave up on without resistance. Every cell in her body felt as though it was about to combust from the agitation she felt within. Any minute now, and they would know for certain. Surreal was not a good enough word to describe standing in the very same harbor a year after they’d departed, now with nothing but hope and expectations for the future, rather than an empty acceptance of the inevitable. Her entire life, since she’d had the capacity to reason and form coherent thought, had been in preparation for this.
For the day she would fade out of existence, having hopefully done enough and yet knowing it would never, ever feel like enough. Despite what possibly every single expedition told itself, she never would have imagined succeeding so irrefutably. Yet here they were, with both excitement and apprehension ravaging her sanity in waves as the tiny hands on her wristwatch ticked ever forward.
Then, finally, the sun dipped behind the wine colored waves. And nothing else happened. Not a sound could be heard that was not crashing waves or seagulls soaring above them for what she would consider to be the longest minute in her life as the entirety of a city collectively held its breath—before erupting into thunderous applause.
The crowd hollered and cheered, jumping into the air, into each other’s arms, releasing the last ever Gommage necklaces into the ocean as a farewell, the overwhelming joy so palpable in the air it made her hair stand on end. Even she could feel the line of her shoulders soften, a weight lifted from her frame.
But still, as she disappeared into the darkening shadows before her friends could notice, the gaping black hole remained at the pit of her stomach, and she refused to sour anybody’s evening of celebration by confessing to the fact that her loneliness was so tangible she was choking on it every waking moment.
It seemed shameful even to acknowledge it, to accept the fact that in devoting her entire existence to the expedition, she had cut herself off from the human side of their world and didn't know how to get back in it. She was looking in through a window she could not see the edges of, but knew was there by the simple fact she could not go through it.