Chapter Text
-Good morning, everybody!- A very well known voice breaking through the murmurs and gossip. Mellow, energetic and kind, the owlin's voice took hold of the scene as their claws clicked over the wooden floor with each step. Other than the rustling of feathers and those small sounds, the room fell quiet, letting the teacher take their stand in the middle of them all, on that round stage where all could see them and the curious artifact sitting at their desk.
Avel is well known for being quite a unique artificer, their experiments, gizmos and gadgets have been revolutionary, thus, giving their workshop the reputation of an excentric boutique and academy for those in their line of work. Classes imparted by the owlin have always been strange, not for the faint of heart, and still, despite the warnings, the number of apprentices under their wing only seem to grow.
"The Owl's Den", the once small shop of a runaway and their collegue, now was a building which holds all those who want to learn from them.
Today's class is no exception, but the theories of the acolytes vary on how the cloth-covered object in front of them could be of educational value. Some say it could be an energy generator, similar to the one Avel uses for their homunculus: a small steel dragon powered by an amber on its forehead, but at a greater scale, maybe for a mount of machine. Others comment it could be an automated system for potion production, thus making easier the dispatch of everyday use concoctions which usually took an hour or two to brew. Maybe the wildest guess among their students, was that the tall stucture sitting on the stage was some kind of magical armour, suited with weapons of various kinds, all incased in a human-like structure for everyone to use.
Gossips ran amock until their professor entered the scene.
-Today, you'll learn a cheat code, a way to prolonge a life- a line which sent shivers down everyone's spine. As crazy as Professor Valliant may be, they never dealt with matters like this, the closest may have been their healing potion, made out of a root which, purified correctly, not only healed the user, but gave them a boost when in battle.
It was a tricky thing most still couldn't do on their own, so a step beyond seemed risky, even for the Headmaster of The Owl's Den.
They must've seen the worry plastered on each of their students, giving path to a giggle as he climbed their way to the round stage.
-Relax, we won't step into necromancy- hearty, honest, sweet. As Avel had always been. Swatting their gloved claws around, dismissing their worry in a joking manner.
-The Fey know I'm not qualified to teach you that.- giving end to the chuckle with which they made the ambience lighten up. Concerns no longer ran amock, but they were not totally calm either. Curiousity still fills the room, making everyone wonder what may lay beneath the sheet.
Coughing, ever so slightly, Avel continued.
-No, but it'll be a more magically charged lesson than others.- All eyes on them, making the minds of all their apprentices race.
-This lesson will require each ability in your arsenal. Mechanics, magic, potion making, everything you've learned from me so far. The catch is, you won't know it worked until the worst occurs- and like so, tension cuts the air, as if an axe had fallen upon everyone's necks but...if it isn't necromancy, then...what is it?
With a claw firmly grasping the fabric, a pause gives a chance for the right moment.
-Ladies and Gentlemen, today, we'll try to defy death. Not by conjuring it away, not by stoping time, but by giving us a second chance!- swiftly, the cloth gives way to what each one of the artificers in the room wants to see most, curiousity at its peak, adrenaline rushing, and the truth, leaves all in awe, as all theories are confirmed.
An armour, or...a mechanical homunculous sits upon the desk. Has no life, but the quartz on its chest lets you know it's supposed to, still, it's dim. It's construction is precise, strong, yet light. Pistons, gears, wires, all visible, all placed like different systems of an organic body.
This is no ordinary automaton, not even its sillouhette is.
It resembles...Avel...
Strong chest, small waist, long neck, those eyebrows which, even frozen in steel, made the owlin recognizable. It was a perfect replica of it's master...but why?
Eyes lay back on the eagle owl, who relishes on each reaction around them. After moments of silence, all untold questions would be answered.
-This, dear acolytes, will be me, if something happens while exploring.- patting the leg of their mechanical self, looking at it lovingly, before their gaze returns to the multitude of baffled expressions.
Their smile, never fading, never faltering and never unkind. -Today, you'll learn how to have your own selves as fail saves. All thanks to the basic principles of Alchemy, the miracles of engineering and a little help from our world's magic network.- floating boards of plans and procedures displayed in a flash across the room. A common sight, but one which drives their point across each and every time, proving this is not improvised, but it hasn't been tested either. Theory is it's basis, and experiments have been done, but non have been completed, at least, not by the owlin.
Though it may have driven those with less knowledge into a panic attack, their students slowly warm up to the concept. The more they read Avel's blueprints, the more they want to know how it all works.
Thus is the magic of an Artificer, seeing a problem as a challenge, finding a solution amongst the chaos. Avel Valliant Kleeck taught them that, and today's lesson is no different.
-Today, you'll learn how to cheat death!- tryumphant, grandious, the only thing missing might be a lightning, just to give it the last touch to what many would describe as mad.
No one can deny the Owlin sometimes uses the line between posibility and imposibility as a jump rope, and moments like this would justify such claims, but the round of applause surrounding them would silence any concern. Even if they are a mad scientist, they're not alone in their endeavours. Soon, a whole class will learn this technique, and only death could tell if it'll work or not.
But such are the questions of those inside The Owl's Den.
Outside, something lighter happens, something more accomodating for those who fear death and wouldn't like to taunt it.
Music reigns the plaza, as a crowd gathers around the fountain in the middle of it. Between merchants and stores, a bard perfoms, of mellow voice, a mechanical piano where a lute should be, and ginger feathers adorn his performance.
Charming, histrionic, suave. Another runaway who resides at the workshop, but not as an acolyte to the artificer, but as a permanent guest of their hospitality.
The people at the Square, those who admire his song and dance, know him as Lucidian. For those inside his home, he is Arcedius. Each merchant around calls him Mr. Upperwood.
But for the crazed alchemist, who's unaware of their nickname's effect on the bard, he is Maple.
Whichever name he is called, is the name which corresponds to the spectacle currently happening, causing a joyful commotion in what would otherwise be a normal day at the town's plaza.
Mechanical cords turn the bricks into a dance floor, in which each and every species can dance the day away. Laughs and music fill the air, as the story of the runaways made song becomes a legend in the wind, as the tree which once was their home. The trials gone through to escape, now are an epic ballad of tryumph, of overcoming the odds. Inspiring, able to be danced to and sung in fraternal bliss.
What is just a story for them, a song to relate to in their darkest times, is the origin of "The Owl's Den" and how the artificer and hunter fled the place reigned by a tyrant of iron claws and snow white feathers.
It was a dark time, but as they all look at it from their present life, no regret is met. Not a choice is questioned nor desired to be changed. Even if they don't believe in destiny, they're just glad their circumstances led them to be together, far away from The Willow's reach.
Avel, Noctis, and Arcedius have made a life of their own, in which the past wouldn't be changed, even if possible, since what happened brought them to where they are.
Noctis has a partner, who cares for them and looks out for his wellbeing, never making them feel less for having their prosthetics or needing special assistance.
Avel got to be who they wanted to, no rules nor laws separating the worlds they saw through those amber tinted lenses. Magic and science circling around in chaotic symbiosis.
And Arcedius, who, to some extent, got his wish as well. Music combined with Music, performing freely with no bounds, touring and meeting more bards like him, learning what the world has to offer beyond the barriers imposed in his youth.
Dreams came true, and a strange family was born.
What more could they ask for?
After an hour or so, the glee of the party outside slowly dies down, applause following the small silence and bow of the bard. Though the show made by him was expected, the energy and wonder of it is always unique. Vibrant, joyful and playful, it's impossible to not enjoy the songs provided by the owlin and his mechanical piano, strung around his torso like lute.
His audience, ever changing, never fails to love his performance, no matter the pieces sung, as the election of each is always on point. Adapted to whatever situation or place, each new song, even if improvised, never falls flat.
Even with such talent, a wish of his remains unaccomplished, though not by his own fault. The owlin teaching inside the workshop is, at least to the bard, the most handsome, skillful and elegant creature to walk this world, or fly for that matter.
It is a crush, born from his rescue at their hands. Found after days of aimless wandering, the artificer found Arcedius lonely, with no water or food, but a will to keep going, to flee the same hell they had run from years before.
Brought to the workshop and being given a home by Avel was the seed to the unrequited romance sowed into the ginger owlin's heart.
Admiration, love, care, all mixed and growing with each passing day. Though charming and carismatic, Arcedius isn't able to bring the alchemist's attention to him. Their mind lives in a flurry of schematics, ideas and inventions to be made, in which no love exists, or at least, not as the bard would like to. Nevertheless, his infatuation to him never fades, it only becomes stronger, turning the agile performer into a stumbling lovebird when found around The Owl's Den Head.
Noctis, the hunter who fled alongside the eagle owl, can only watch, trying not to laugh at their comedic interactions, enjoying the romantic comedy happening before their eyes. Knows the ups and downs of falling in love with an inventor who sees solutions before problems, magic to power mechanical creatures and gizmos never seen in their history, but cannot share the shyness Arcedius holds towards his feelings for Avel.
If only the taller one could see them...
With his final bow given, the applause fading and the contribution to his craft received. Arcedius, as tall, ginger and charismatic as he seems, walks back to the workshop, waving goodbye as Noctis looks from the dark mask which adorns their mix-matched eyes.
They often stay there watching over the plaza and, like today, over the Bard. Since, from time to time, trouble tends to find him. Luckily, today is not one of those days.
Once the farewells are done for good, the ginger owlin turns to look at the taller one of ocre feathers and prosthetic limbs. An expression of satisfaction adornind his face, as the show was a success.
-Not even midday and it's already looking like it'll be a good day!- the euphoria, the vigour of a performance well done still running through his body.
-Doesn't it, Noct?- ending the statement, looking at his fellow owl smugly, though, not threatengly. That's just how Arcedius is. Confident, edging into ignorant arrogance, maybe the curse of every Bard.
-It would seem so...- in contrast to the smaller one in front of them, Noctis' voice is harsh, raspy, perhaps tired of the years alone screaming into the void of the roots. Even with it's hissing tone, kindness can be heard, even a slight tinge of sarcasm.
-No hunters, no mercenaries, and no angry mobs.- listing facts, matching the entretainer's energy ever so subtly.
-Who did you pay for such peace?- and there it is, a silver tongue which may had costed them their life if still living in The Willow. Fortunately for them, they were miles and miles away from the tyrant's clutches.
To the comment, a loud, exagerated and clearly fake offended gasp leaves Arcedius, as his feather's stand up, making him, though barely, look a little bit bigger.
-How dare you insult me?!- a claw resting dramatically on his chest.
-I'm an owl of principles! I would never do such thing!- making his already thick accent even thicker. Sounding posh, elegant and like one of those royals which, sometimes, arrive at the Workshop screaming to the top of their lungs about some small mistake on their gizmos and gadgets.
As the satyric imitation leads to silence, both suddenly errupt in laughter.
Noctis does so quietly, hiding behind a mechanic claw, while Arcedius cackles less elegantly but not calling too much atention to their conversation. It lasts for a minute or so, before they both recover their composure.
-I don't know- the ginger bard sighs in amicable peace.
-I guess I just have good luck!- song singing proudly while bowing in mocking defference, still, not in an atempt to anger his fellow runaway, who giggles once more at his comic behaviour.
-Sure thing, pity it doesn't apply to Avel though...- the silvery knife inside their beak launching to attack with deadly presition.
The comment quickly turns the smug, short owl into a bashful mess. Feathers stand up once more, now as his body's natural reaction towards the alchemist.
Despite not being there, it never failed to make the charismatic singer stumble.
Arcedius huffs and puffs trying to hide his shame.
-Idiot...- cusses under his breath, making the rogue giggle again as the bard pouts. -You won't let it go, will you?- angry, or as angry as he can manage to be towards a fact which has since long plagued his life.
-Not a chance, Upperwood.- the rogue replies, stealing the final piece of smugness from the first.
And, as if timed, the little bell outside Avel's classroom rings, giving start to an hour long break for their students to eat, drink and reorganize their thoughts. For Noctis, this little time off means having a nice lunch with Archimides, their partner. An artificer fairy, energetic and sweet, who makes the owlin remember sweetness exists, even if they were robbed from it when younger.
For dear, poor, lovestriken Arcedius, means a new chance to woo Avel, holding up hope his advances will be noticed one day and reciprocated, unaware the artificer's brain is closer to a machine than a living being, or simply, voluntarily blind to the fact.
One way or another, hope dies last, and one more try wouldn't hurt him, would it?
The door opens, and from it, each acolyte comes out, rambling and gossiping away, amazed on their teacher's creative skills. From the midst of them, the fairy flies in a straight line towards the dark owlin, who awaits them with open arms which, even cold and metalic, embrace the smaller frame of the other with as much warmth they can muster.
-Feathers!- Archimides chimes in, jolly, kindly, as if they hadn't been together in the morning, cuddling as they usually do. The smaller flier enjoys snuggling, hugging the taller with their head in the fluff of the other's chest.
Between them, only comfort and the pleasure of their company fuels their love.
A complicity which some may find awkward, but for them, makes perfect sense.
-Archie!- Noctis replies lovingly, showing softness despite their rough exterior. -How has your class come along?- digging their metalic claws into the fairy's hair, stroking it softly, caressing it as both look into each other's eyes, full of love.
Their following conversation is muffled, not to them, nor the other artificer's who exit the Workshop, but to the Bard, who lets his mind wander off. Happy, yet, slightly jealous of what they have, of the love, the care. For a moment, he can see himself in the fairy's place, carried tenderly by another tall owlin, this one, blue eyed, long feathered and dressed in purple dragon leather.
The mirage makes his gaze soften in yearning, as his heart wishes he could be there, cared and praised by the oblivious artificer still inside their classroom, which, given the usual routine, was quite odd.
Normally, the brown owlin would come out last, ready to eat and drink in a jiffy before running back inside, despite having more than enough time to relax, but now, seems as if they can't even give themself the minute to eat a treat.
The door to the classroom remains open and empty, but full with the Bard's expectation, of a desire turned into doubt.
Not a feather can be seen, and the whispers aren't erratic or worrisome. Did they remained downstairs hyperfocused on whatever the lesson may be or go towards? It's very likely, after all, the owlin of the purple leather suit is quite determined and stubborn when speaking about their tech.
It means he most probably won't go out, it also means someone has to go in and offer the workaholic bird a meal, otherwise, they won't eat until nightfall.
A perfect chance to try and woo them with kindness! Or, at least that's what dear Arcedius believes as his face lights up. The gloom of desire being replaced with hope.
Quickly, his claws click over the stone path towards the various food stands around the plaza, eyes hunting for a nutritious and delicious meal for the artificer still locked in their classroom.
A thousand scents filling the air, so many options to choose from, but one would have to be enough. After a minute or two, a salty and woody aroma rose above the rest, fish being cooked over a pyre, roasted salmon. Perfect!
Cleaned, plated, hot. An excelent lunch for a brilliant mind, as well as a nice excuse to enter the mad scientist's lair.
As quickly as he left the Workshop, he returns triumphantly carrying to servings of salmon and vegetables, both smelling wonderfully, giving more hope to the bard.
After all, what better way to show you care than delivering them a warm and healthy meal? The smile drawn on his face is but a vestige of the scenarios running inside his mind, moments of imaginary glee, mirages of the grateful welcome his gesture will may provoque.
In one, a heavenly glow illuminates them both, making the scene softer, sweeter. The scent of the food calling out to Avel, making them turn gracefuly; feathers fluttering in the wind as their big blue eyes set upon the food, and then, on the bard, who smiles gently, confident, like a knight rescuing the prince from absolute famine.
Just the sight, the expectation-made portrait of the inventor can make the ginger one's stomach flip in cheeky joy. In Arcedius' mind, the eagle owl is, indeed, royalty.
Their elegant steps, their shiny and well kept feathers, the ponytail keeping the longer ones controlled while keeping others free, swiftly dancing with the breeze, even those long eyebrows, as thin as they may be, make their face so appealing, and those eyes, so clear and bright, make his heart skip a beat.
With careful steps into the classroom, his mind still wanders, even with his crush on sight, perhaps, the image only making his desire grow bigger with each passing second. Avel's strong back, followed by a small waist, snatched by two belts carrying their most vital equipment, and even without them, it was quite a sight. To such a torso, two legs are attatched, as strong as their back, flexing slightly with each small shift of weight. The muscles moving softly beneath the fabrics in top.
With thoughts of lust, his step stumbles. The subtle clatter of the incident breaking the artificer's attention enough to notice their friend recovering his stance. A warm smile adorning sapphire eyes, now revealed from behind golden lenses.
-Maple!- their mellow voice echoes in the classroom, and unlike before, in which their speech bounces of the walls with bravado, now reverberate with excitement and kindness. The gentle and oblivious heart of the inventor shining through.
-Hi, big guy!- a wobbly reply from the beak of the bard, who isn't very dextrous in regards to hiding his embarrassment. As if stumbling with his own claws wasn't enough, he was a step away from being stained with the food meant to be a gift of good, yet lustful will towards the brown owl below. Curses ring inside his mind, as his exterior plays it as cool as he's able to manage. -Sorry for interrupting...- apologizing, with a nervous giggle following suit.
-OH no no!- swatting the apology away, still smiling with his everlasting carefree charm. -I'm glad you came!- quickly running to the stairs, in hopes of helping their friend get to solid ground safely. As soon as his gloved claws carry some of the weight off of Arcedius, the smaller one's heart skips a beat, lost in the other's eyes for a second too long. -Lost track of time...- soft, sweet and, if you didn't know the crazy scientist enough, you could say flirty. All because of the soft growl their voice always carries when it's volume's low, a slight gorggle which accompanies a normal owl's hoot, but now is given words, same that never fail to make the ginger's mind spiral into indescency.
Just as it happened again, a headshake brings him back to reality before his desire makes him wonder how that birdly growl would sound in his ear. The choking cough which followed it, was that same lust trying and failing to be expulsed from his body.
-Guessed as much!- nervous giggles trying to cover up his dwindling will, and not succeding as always. -That's why I brought you a snack...-
"But it could be me if you wanted to..." his heart spoke inside his drumming chest, causing a wild blush to taint his feathers.
Avel's kind smile only makes his symptoms worse, as heat rushes to his head just by looking at it.
-Oh, Maple- here it comes again, that bass growl under their velvetty voice. How could they be so unaware of their own appeal? So smart, yet so dumb towards the effect they caused?! It is absolutely unbareable! -You shouldn't have, but thanks...- those eyes, those dilated pupils, covered slightly by their eyelids and bold black lashes.
"Oh for the Fae, this is TORTURE!" the bard's inner thoughts moaned in painful pleasure. Surrendering once more to the taller's charm, not being able to show it to them knowing it won't be corresponded.
Even when finally stepping into solid ground, the shorter one's knees have a hard time holding his weight, but he must endure, he must behave accordingly despite his heart's desires.
-Oh nonsense!- at last, a reply blurted alongside a dismissive raspberry. -How are you supposed to teach those other geniuses with no fuel in you?!- jokingly, trying to disguise the storm inside. Charm hiding bashfulness, the eternal act of a bard, particularly this one. -Seriously, what would you do without me?- nodging Avel's beak with a flirty claw.
The laugh left loose as a response, melted Upperwood's brain over a slow fire. Intermitent and soft hoots strung together into creating that lovely sound, round A's which are almost O's. So elegant, yet, so genuine.
-Indeed- playing along with the bard's charm, happy to have someone who takes care of them as a token of gratitude for being saved more than once.
Their softness, their politeness, comes from an eternal bliss, from knowing they're doing good to someone else by giving them the means to run away from a place which didn't let them be themselves. Just that alone fuels their determination, their purpose, and their will to remain a safe place for those who need it.
That fire was more than enough to make Arcedius' heart flutter wildly.
-Anyway...- Avel's laughter fading until only their charming smile remains. -I'm glad you're here, after all, if this works, you should know how, what and why.- their giddiness towards their craft returning to the sweet voice of the horned owlin, blue eyes gleaming with enthusiasm, making the pair of venturine ones lose their cool moment before those words, spoken so softly and innocently, fall into place.
-Me?!- incrudility, pure, simple. The ginger owlin finally listening to what is said, because, after all, it included him.
-What should I have to do with it?- the genuine surprise making his blush even more noticeable.
Avel's pace became jumpy, as they walked backwards into the stage, rounding the platform to make the armor more obvious to the bard.
-This right here, will be alive when I'm gone.- a somber eulogy in a chipper tone, excitement over their heart stopping while far away.
An explanation begins, a rant of science and magic meant to inform the listener how the armor is supposed to harbour their soul in case they perish. How the sygil inside it is linked to the living person or, rather, owlin. How it is suppossed to activate by touch, cimmenting the bond between the vessel and the user's soul. How the ritual is quite delicate and it requires no external intervention and, how when bonded, the armor should become alive as soon as the original body exhales a last breath.
It goes on and on, but the bard isn't listening.
Astonished and in love, his mind wanders looking at the taller artificer, unable to imagine a life without them. He can't fathom loosing his friend, saviour and secret love. The thought of not seeing them each morning fiddling with a new gizmo with just a coffee or tea nearby after a night of no sleep, or of their rants over the impossible, emphisized by their vibrant eyes, maybe even of the fights against the hunters, in which their face hardens without losing it's smirk as a costum musket bullet fires from above, making them an agile warrior with an strategic mind.
Each feather, each muscle, each glance lost to a perfectly crafted automaton like Qayin, the little dragon always close, now asleep in Avel's chair. Lucidian, Arcedius, Maple can't even conceive it. Losing Avel without a chance to feel them, to kiss...
"Oh my stars, you can't be this selfish!" His own conscience reprimands him, as the image of the taller one on top of him, leaning in for a kiss crossed what could be the last memories of a dying man.
"Their just telling you you wouldn't lose him if the hunters or the Willow got them, and here you are, already yearning their loss." Until then did he looks at them, prancing around the stage, explaining the mechanism, the binding spell, the source power and conductor, all to their Maple, all so he knows what to do when the worst happens.
A sheepish smile is drawn, hurt but happy, not due to the idea of losing them, but trying to be glad for this venture, for this machine which, hopefully, never comes to life.
"Go on! Act like you mean it!" One last scold, hoping it'll hold into him for as long as possible.
-That's wonderful!- trembling, not fully believing what he's saying. The fear, the hurt, the mourning all due to a possibility which may never be.
-Guess we'll have to cover your bucket list then, eh?-
-Nah!- Avel dissmissed, swatting a gloved claw, unaware of the turmoil inside their friend. -There's not much to it, and, if I do things correctly, it will never turn on. After all...- the same swatting claw coming to rest on the shorter one's shoulder, making him look up to those bright blue eyes. -As long as we're together, no hunter will get us, right?-
And, just like that, the flutter renews inside the bard's chest, this time, hope and love, faith in each word the mad scientist speaks.
-Right!- exhaling in relief and enamourment. Arcedius couldn't have asked for a better reply.
A longing gaze made time stop for him, as those blue eyes called to him, digging into his soul, making him imagine the naughtiest of fantasies. How fast is his heart lifted from it's talons? As quick as Avel takes to look his way, or so it seems.
Only the feelting warmth of the food in his hands made him return to reality, after all, what use could cold food have? It was the excuse with which he entered this place. Letting it freeze would only force him to go back and do this all over again with a lower rate of success.
-But enough of this!- breaking eye contact, forcing himself to abandon those scenes of love and lust summoned by that unknowing gaze. -You must eat!- serving a plater to his beloved, forcing it into the desk beside the giant automaton.
-Oh, right!- the taller one giggled, also forgetting what was the original reason for their rendez-vous. -Please, feel free to take a seat.- with a hand guiding the other owlin into the opposite side of the desk, right in front of the first.
-Thank you, my dear!- an exagerated vow and exclamation, made to sound sarcastic but funny, breaking the last of the tension within the ginger one, who still had the thorn on his side about the whole being dead thing. The brown one just giggles, rolling his eyes in the same tone as the other.
Little did they know, that playful banter is about to cause an uncalculated casualty.
A careless nudge, perhaps made by an unchecked elbow hanging a bit too loosely or a hip trying to be flirty without awareness of the space; a chain reaction, shock and fear upon the mechanical behemoth slowly tipping foward, it's shadow covering the bard almost fully; two taloned hands over an enchanted automaton ready for a bonding spell to be concluded, one in defense, the other in protection of the piece.
A warning, a hug, and, for a second, darkness...