Chapter Text
The sky is entirely obscured by the rising cloud of sand from their fight, but Zanka knows they're getting low on time. When they first arrived the sun was already low in the sky, and being in a No Man's Land at night is practically a death sentence, even for givers.
From here, he can see that Gris' group is still fending off the smaller trash beasts. Judging by the flashes of green light, Riyo already finished off her own target and has started clearing up the stragglers. Enjin was still meeting the largest trash beast blow for blow, searching for its weak spot as they fought.
Time to pick up the pace then.
He clenches his hands around Lovely Assistaff, and swings it in a wide arc as another beast pounces from behind the cloud of sand. The butt of his staff slams into the beast’s head, sending it skidding off to the side.
A low, rattling hiss rings out from behind him, and he narrowly avoids the jaws of another trash beast. However, this one seems to be quicker on the uptake than the first, and it whips back around. Its jaw unhinges as it lunges at him, but instead of flesh, the monster's iron fangs meet the metal of his Lovely Assistaff with an ear piercing screech.
He jumps back, gaining distance from the two beasts. The first is already fully recovered from the hit he landed before, and the other is barely dissuaded. Too quickly, both of the beasts are back on him.
Zanka dances between their attacks, landing hits when he can. In exchange, he takes a few grazes from each of their claws. A flare of pain sparks from his side, but the sensation quickly fades beneath a rush of adrenaline. Slowly, the beasts begin to become sluggish in their movements as they take more and more damage.
He nimbly dodges a hit from the first beast, utilizing the opening to pierce the end of his staff through its chest. Before he can see if his attack finished it off, he's forced to avoid the grasp of the second beast.
The lithe creature circles him, snake scales shimmering and sharp golden eyes dragging across Zanka's ragged form. He can easily tell that this one is different from the weaker beasts they had been dealing with previously, and it definitely isn't one they've seen before. He'll have to describe it to Tomme when they all reconvene.
In a flash, it charges, its body slithering through the air. He darts forward, meeting the full force of the beast's weight with a hit from the split end of his staff. The shock of the force knocks the wind out of his lungs, and sends the creature flying through a pile of scrap. He's immediately sure his earlier hunch was right. A hit like that had easily finished off the other beasts, but this one just shakes it off.
The fight continues. His breaths come heavier, his muscles singing with pain, and Zanka feels shame roil in his gut at the fact that he's struggling this much.
It should be easy, a small job like this, yet he still hasn't won. It doesn't matter that his body is being unusually slow to follow his commands; each dodge coming a fraction too late, a potential hit becoming a miss because he had waited too long, taking blows that he shouldn't be taking. He should be better than this. Has to be.
He pushes away his thoughts, the fight becoming a blur of well honed instinct. Zanka only comes back to himself when the beast sways off kilter and finally crashes to the ground. His staff stabs through its core, located on the underside of its stomach where its armor is weak.
Zanka watches the body of the beast wither away, adrenaline still racing through his veins. Time to head back. Seems like we'll have everything wrapped up in time, he thinks distantly, eyeing the few remaining battles. After adjusting his mask and wiping the sweat off his brow, he starts the walk back to the car.
As he crests the hill, his breaths seem to come heavier and heavier, pin pricks spreading from his fingertips. The fabric of his shirt clings to the back of his neck, his body drenched in a cold sweat. He shakes it off, knowing he more than likely just overexerted himself again. One too many missions in a row tend to have that effect.
From here, he can see that Riyo, Rudo, Enjin, and the supporters are already gathered around the car. His brow furrows, remembering how just moments ago he recalled seeing them still fighting. He took longer to get back than he thought.
Riyo must catch sight of him because he hears a call of his name across the desert. Her face splits into a grin as she waves him over. Nobody seems obviously injured, and Zanka can't help but be glad that the others seem to have had better results. He clenches his fists, trying and failing to will away the pins and needles that creep up his arm.
The energy that had been keeping him up dissipates, exhaustion setting in and weighing down his body. The faint ache in his side suddenly erupts with pain, sending him stumbling forward, and he only barely manages to catch himself from falling face first onto the ground. He lays a trembling hand over his midsection, and his fingers meet warmth.
Riyo gives him an odd look, her brow furrowing for only a moment before her expression returns back to one of practiced joy. He can see the growing concern behind her eyes, and he tries desperately to straighten up. It was just a graze, so it really can't be that bad. It'd be foolish to worry her over something so little, and he'd probably kill himself before he admits his failings in front of Rudo, or let alone Enjin.
Her lips are moving, but Zanka can't make out a single sound beyond the incomprehensible blur of sound around them and the ringing in his ears. He isn't sure if that's new, or if he'd just been too caught up in his thoughts to notice.
“–anka?!”
He blinks, and he finds himself sprawled on the ground. His arms feel like lead when he tries to push himself back up. The noise is louder now, and small hands grab his shoulders. Through the darkness surrounding his vision, he can faintly see a blur of red and green light.
Darkness seeps into his vision, inviting him deeper into the shadows. Some part of him is screaming at him to resist, to fight back against the pull, but the rest of him is all too ready to let go.
The lure of unconsciousness pulls him in, and the world goes black.
Riyo knew death like the back of her hand.
Even as a child, she was intimate with the feeling of warm blood pouring over her small hands, her scissors dripping scarlet red, and watching the light fade from a man's eyes. Death was not new to her.
But here? Here, with the cleaners, with Enjin, death was never supposed to find her. She was never supposed to have to witness it again. Especially not like this.
She always imagined that if it happened, it'd be her. Her death, her killing others, her. Never this. Never him.
His hand is cold and pale beneath her own. She can still hear his quiet, rasping breaths, but she doesn’t dare look up. If she did, she doesn’t know whether she'd be able to hold back the tears that were already threatening to spill.
Her finger spells meaningless messages across his palm, slowly soothing her own frayed nerves. Her gaze slowly drifts up his arm against her will. His wrist is littered with a variety of small pale scars, each too clean and deliberate to be anything but self inflicted. She knows those scars are reflected on her own skin, too.
Riyo remembers the day she had first seen the marks that wrapped around his wrists. It must have been just a few months after they had found him in that well, she thinks.
The two of them had sat side by side on the porch of a shabby house, watching the dim sky slowly give in to the light of the sun. It was still awkward and stilted between them at that point, both of them unsure on how to traverse socializing with one another. But she had found herself looking over at him, seeking companionship, conversation in a way she rarely did.
He was, for once, dressed in something other than his typical modest long sleeve. The black tank top had revealed his lithe build that was usually hidden beneath loose clothing. She could see the expanse of his arms, all pale skin and lean muscle.
His scars were what caught her eye. They wrapped around the entirety of his wrist, looking more like claw marks than they did cuts. The scars were raw and pink, maybe a few months old. Surrounding them were a variety of smaller, cleaner scars, clearly at least a few years into healing.
She had thought of her own scars, hidden beneath the jacket she wore, and wondered if they were more alike than she had thought.
Without her input, her hand had reached out to his, lifting his scarred arm into the light. He flinched, gaze snapping to her.
“What d’ya think you're doin?!” Zanka yelped, ripping his arm out of her grasp. He pressed it against his chest, hiding the worst of the marks from her view.
At the time, she hadn't really understood his reaction. To her, her scars were a part of her. An ugly part, maybe, but they were what reminded her of what she had been. What she was. The scars ensured that she wouldn't ever forget the worst parts of herself, even if she was coddled and loved like it had never happened. Even if everyone else forgot.
In response, she had simply pulled up the edge of her sleeve, putting her own scars on display. They ran across the entirety of the inside of her forearm, born from deep, angry cuts that she had made in fear, in guilt.
His eyes had gone wide, his jaw slack as he stared. Eventually, he blinked, shaking away whatever thoughts had come to him.
“...Oh.”
“Oh.” She repeated back, a slight smile on her face. For once, it felt natural. Easy.
A memory welled up to the surface, flashes of a blade and the red of her blood, and she vividly recalled the day she had gained those scars. The ghost of the anger and fear she had felt that day rose again, but there was no real substance to it. It was simply that, an echo of what it was. She had wondered about what he had felt that had driven him to do the same.
Riyo placed her scarred arm beside Zanka's own, “Why'd you do it?”
Beside her, he tensed. His expression shifted into something conflicted, brow furrowed and eyes clouded. He leaned forward, forearms on top of his thighs, and turned to face the sky. He carefully averted his eyes away from her before he replied, “I was… Angry. Frustrated with myself. For not bein’…” His hands motioned uselessly before he sighed and his eyes darted back to her.
“And these?” She reached over, trailing her finger over the harsh claw mark like scars.
Zanka stared at her for a moment, and then his gaze dropped to the marks in question. His expression twisted, something like shame burning in his eyes. “From the uh,” He paused, voice barely a whisper, “in the well.”
She nodded and turned her gaze upwards. The sun sat low in the sky, barely visible from where they sat, but its light still illuminated the courtyard in a warm glow. Faintly, she could hear the birds singing in the distance.
“I thought that it was the only way out,” she said softly, her expression deceptively blank despite the bitter emotions swirling in her chest.
“If I died, I wouldn't be able to hurt anyone else.” Memories of scarlet blood encroach on her vision, warmth dripping over her hands, his empty eyes. She clenched her eyes shut until it ached, shoving the past as far back as she possibly could.
“But, Enjin showed me that I could be something more, that I didn't have to be a killer anymore, that there was another way out. So, I guess… he saved my life, y'know?” A weak smile pulled at her face, and she hesitantly turned just slightly so she could look Zanka in the eyes. Her gaze trailed over his unreadable expression, searching.
After a long pause, his eyes met hers, and something in his eyes told her that he understood.
Sunlight drifted over them, illuminating the edges of his face and warming her skin. He looked away, his eyes trailing across the courtyard. He took a deep breath, gathering himself, and when he turned towards her, his face was set with a newfound conviction.
“Then… From now on, let's keep livin’ and movin’ forward. If not for ourselves, then for each other.” The words fell naturally from his lips, and the easy way he said it made it feel possible, like it was the simplest thing in the world.
Zanka watches her, waiting, and she’s surprised to find that his usual strong front is nowhere to be found, his expression open and vulnerable. Riyo found herself reaching out for him, her pinky outstretched.
His unflinching determination seemed to bleed into her, fanning the flames of her hunger for life, "Promise?"
He reached out for her, his pinky twining around her own.
“Promise.” His face broke out in a blinding grin, the kind of which she'd never seen grace his face, and she found herself grinning back without restraint.
When the two started making easy conversation at dinner the next day, Enjin had been more than just surprised. He had laughed, a wide smile on his face as he pulled them in for a loose hug, but he had never pushed or asked them about what had caused the sudden change.
After that, it was easy to grow close with Zanka, easy to believe in their promise and to believe that their lives truly could be better. Their pact bonded them together, pushing them both forward into embracing their new path. Riyo wouldn't ever forget the smile on his face that day, no matter how long ago it was. After all, it was the day she had gained a brother.
And today might be the day she loses one.
The door quietly clicks open from behind her, and the familiar gentle scent of vanilla and antiseptic surrounds her. Soft footsteps approach from behind, and Riyo already knows who it is. For a fleeting moment, she allows herself to imagine that everything will be okay.
Eishia stands beside her, wringing out her gloved hands in an obvious display of anxiety. She's visibly disheveled, with deep shadows resting under her eyes, and her pale blonde hair unkempt. Her soft pink eyes are unusually unfocused, her gaze darting around the room, and most notably avoiding Riyo. Riyo waits for her to gather herself, familiar with Eishia's habits.
The girl’s small voice breaks the silence, “I'm… I'm sorry, Riyo.”
The temperature in the room freezes over, her meager hopes instantly dashed. She tightens her grip on his hand, his pulse her lifeline, and worries her lip between her teeth. “What'd you find?”
“They didn't find anything, but- but Corvus called in Grandma Alice, so… so she'll be able to help him…” Her weak reassurance did nothing to soothe the rising well of emotions in her chest.
The room lapses into silence. She turns back, finally allowing her gaze to meet Zanka's face. Her eyes catch on the deep bruises that lay beneath his eyes, brought forth by his poor condition and restless sleep. He's deathly pale beneath the harsh lights of the infirmary, a feverish flush the only hue to his skin, light tremors wracking his body. His ashy blonde hair lays scattered and strewn across his forehead, and Riyo finds herself reaching out and combing through the soft strands. She doesn't let herself think that it might be her last time doing so.
She can faintly hear a pair of footsteps coming down the hall. Riyo reluctantly pulls away, letting his hair fall into something close to its usual style. Her other hand doesn't move from where it's pressed into the side of his wrist. Just as Eishia opens her mouth, possibly to try and comfort her, the door creaks open.
Enjin strolls in, dressed casually in a loose black shirt and baggy beige pants with his hair up, a white plastic bag in his hand. He inclines his head to her, a light but strained smile on his face as he acknowledges her. “Hey.” His free hand raises in a loose wave. “Brought gifts.”
He looks almost as bad as she does. It’s in the small things, details that nobody but her and maybe Semiu or Gris would notice; the troubled look in his eyes, his hair mussed like he's been running his hands through it frequently, his wrinkled clothing and chipped nail polish. It's only her years of practice that allow her to pick up on his tells. She can't be sure that he knows about the results of Eishia's samples, but Riyo would assume he was one of the first to be told.
She spots Rudo's familiar shock of white and black hair peeking out from behind Enjin, his wide blood red eyes peering at her. She tries her best to encourage him forward, a light smile on her face that betrays none of what she really feels. He hesitantly steps out, and Riyo's eyes trail to the small item he holds clenched between his gloved fingers. It's a clear vase, stuffed full with blue and white flowers.
“Huh? What's with the flowers?” She tilts her head, intrigued. Flowers are a rarity in the ground, so they must be artificial, but even those are hard to find. She wouldn't be surprised to find out that Desmond had a hand in this.
His gaze darts to the side, his hands tensing and untensing where they rest on the glass. “It's a.. a sphere thing. We give flowers to people who are injured. Um, they have meanings and stuff too, but…”
She thinks this might be one of the first times that Rudo has ever really talked about Sphere culture with them. It might not make sense to her, but she can certainly see what it means to him and the intent behind it. Rudo comes closer, carefully leaving the vase on the nightstand, and Riyo darts forward to ruffle a hand through his hair. He yelps, face burning as he pushes her away.
A soft smile lingers on her face, “So, what do these ones mean?”
His face lights up, and where he was previously shy about it, he seems to come out of his shell at her easy acceptance of the tradition.
“These ones are called chamomile,” he points a gloved finger to one of the tall flowers with splayed out white petals, “they can mean unity and friendship. Regto said people give them to injured people a lot ‘cuz they have healing properties.”
His hand drifts over to the shorter, wider flowers, “And, um, we didn’t really have these on the sphere, but Desmond called them lotuses. He said they meant personal growth, and that because they grow from the mud, they can also mean resilience.”
She thinks of Zanka's hopelessness as he let himself die in that well, how he had clawed and fought his way to where he is, and how even after each failure he got up and worked to become something better, and something warm curls in her chest. Her eyes sting, sudden tears welling in her eyes at the rush of emotion that follow the connection.
Riyo hurriedly wipes a hand over her eyes, hiding away the worst of her tears before she gives him a shaky grin. “I'm sure he'll love them.”
Rudo's face twinges with concern, but he gives her an uncertain smile back that twists into an awkward grimace. Enjin places a hand over the boy's shoulder, and he seems to melt into the touch. His hand falls away and he moves forward to stand beside her.
“How long have you been here, exactly?” He eyes the crumpled outfit that she hadn't bothered to change out of and the way her uniform jacket is half-hazardly slung over the back of her chair.
Before she can answer with a distorted half truth, Eishia pipes up, “She's been here since he stabilized. Though she did sleep for a bit while I was treating him.”
Enjin sighs, though he seems to have expected that answer. “You need to get out and rest, Riyo. I know you're worried, but sitting here unfortunately won't change anything.” He raises a brow, and she thinks he's being largely hypocritical because she knows that Enjin would've been at his side all night if he could.
The words set off her already frayed nerves, and she snaps. “Unlike you, I can't just ignore all my problems and pretend they aren't there! I can't just go out and play around as if Zanka isn't-” Her tongue lays heavy in her mouth, unwilling to form the word that reverberates in her head.
Regret washes over her, and she stumbles over an apology, “I- I didn't mean that, I'm sorry.”
The room lapses into an unbearable silence, Eishia fidgeting nervously across from her, and Enjin and Rudo somewhere behind her. Her fingernails dig into the skin of her knees, bordering on breaking blood.
Finally, Enjin huffs out a weary breath, running his fingers through his hair. “I know. We're all scared, Riyo. What's important is that we keep moving forward, so we can help Zanka get better in any way we can.” His words ring in her head, echoing an old memory, and she grabs onto it with all she has. He's right, I still need to… I need to uphold our promise.
An idea seems to strike him then, his eyes lighting up in thought, “Think you'd be up for a spar, Riyo?”
Riyo looks up at him, confused, until she realizes what he's doing.
“...Yeah, but Zanka-” She glances back at Zanka, who is still lying prone on the bed. Right now, with all this energy and anxiety burrowed under her skin, she wants nothing more than to fight and let it all out, but if anything happens to Zanka- If she leaves him and he-
“Riyo, it's okay. If anything happens, Eishia will call us immediately, yeah?” Enjin lays a gentle hand on her shoulder, her tense shoulders relaxing a moment later.
Across the bed, Eishia nods her agreement, an empathetic look on her face.
She gnaws her lip, conflicted, before she relents, “Okay. But- promise you'll call me first?”
Eishia gives her a soft smile, one twinged with something bitter, and leans over the bed to offer her pinky. Riyo carefully wraps her own pinky around it, her own calloused and scarred skin a sharp contrast to the smooth texture of her gloves, and curls their fingers together in a promise before she pulls away. She gives herself one last glance at Zanka before she turns to leave.
When she does, she finds Rudo and Enjin beside the door, patiently waiting for her.