Chapter Text
The thing about Island Two is that it’s never silent. Whether it be the center of a bustling city or the dense jungle, there’s always sound, people moving, structures being built or torn down. The lights of civilization illuminate the shoreline on the horizon and chatter and cheers fade out in the distance. Full of warmth and company. Life.
His vacation home is quiet. Saps takes the steps two at a time, feeling for any leftover traps or differences. While it’s been a month since he officially moved back in, the silence is eerie. He still checks around corners, listens for any footsteps—always two steps ahead of anything that might disturb his peace. Being on the run for a year does irreparable damage to a person’s psyche, apparently. His sword and axe are ready to be drawn at any moment.
When he reaches the bottom of the steps, he spawns his boat and hops in. It rocks against the waves and before he begins rowing, he makes sure to look at the top of the stairs of his home.
Nobody.
(Once upon a time, there was someone there. Several, actually. They watched as he left, blissfully unaware of what would happen.)
“All clear,” Saps says to no one. The wind blows, and he lets it guide his way.
“So to get this straight, NOBODY knows where he is?”
A chorus of groans and sighs and “dude who asked” goes through the room. Saps would call for order but that’s not his job now, so all he can do is keep his mouth shut and complaints in his head.
Given the history of world leader meetings with assassinations, all island-wide meetings are done in rooms without a ceiling. They’re located somewhere on the outskirts of Westhelm, wind howling in the distance. The location of each meeting changes every now and then with each leader specifically having a person responsible for inspecting the area before the meeting begins and patrolling while it takes place, footsteps sounding.
Everyone except Saps, of course, because he’s the only one not a leader of any nation but everyone invites him anyway for god knows what reason. Misplaced guilt, probably. He appreciates the sentiment but now it’s like he’s forced to participate, especially with his reputation across the whole world. Everyone’s eyes are on him, watching, waiting for his next move.
“I haven’t seen him around my area,” he says.
That is a bold faced lie. Knight_Arcturus, ex-architect of Westhelm, wanted for the rebellion to take down Emperor Schpood, has crossed paths with him once or twice. Now, is he sure where he is? No. Therefore, there’s no information for him to share that would be of use.
“No one’s spotted him either,” CallMeCass says. “But if we get any information, we’ll share it as soon as possible.”
“He’s not in Tricolor,” the new King of Tricolor says. Saps feels a slight pang in his heart at that, his ties to the kingdom not as strong since Queen Jophiel died. There hasn’t been time to really reconnect either seeing as the majority of Tricolor citizens still have some lingering resentment from her unjust murder.
Aperion doesn’t have any information and the general Island One consensus is that Knight_Arcturus is most definitely not on their island anymore. Schpood huffs, clearly not satisfied with those answers.
Listen, does Saps owe Schpood for his actions defending him? Yes. Partially. But a month after the war, people’s wounds still fresh and still counting and mourning their dead? Schpood might be antsy for more bloodshed, but the last thing any of the island leaders want to do right now is stage another island-wide manhunt.
Cass catches his eye and gives a near imperceptible nod of her head. Saps reads the signal loud and clear.
“Please keep monitoring the area then. Thank you, Island Two,” one of Schpood’s council members—Saps thinks it’s the head of military— says and gracefully bows out.
They move onto the next topics, some trade agreements, allocation of resources, how some nations are burying their dead and how others are rebuilding. Saps doesn’t have much to add in that regard so he tunes out, tracing patterns on the wooden table. Most council meetings are a bore now that he’s not trying to defend himself. Well, most are, until—
“—starting today then, the use of dripstone is banned. That means no placing or using the material in any fashion, and even possessing it is no longer permitted and individuals found guilty of these actions will be subject to penalty,” Saps catches that last part, Cass finishing her announcement and surveying the room for reactions. “Due to the amount of deaths caused by it before the war and the risk that it still imposes, we all agree that this is the appropriate action to take for the safety of our citizens. Any objections?”
A hand goes up across the room. Saps doesn’t recognize the person but he thinks it’s an official of Luminara, ironically enough.
“Yes?” Cass says.
“No using it even for decor? What if it’s a person’s favorite block?”
“Well—“
“Just pick another favorite block,” Schpood interjects. “If you die, then that’s your fault.”
Immediately, people begin shouting in the room.
“WOAH—“
“WOAH WOAH WOAH—“
“Order, order!”
“What? I’m just saying—“
“AYO—“
“Listen, he ain’t wrong—“
“GUYS—“ Saps tries to yell but gets drowned out quickly. Cass, the one who started the matter, loudly bangs on the table and everyone’s protests start to die down.
Schpood huffs, arms crossed over his chest. The Luminara official is glaring daggers at him and Schpood pays him no mind. Crazy work.
Saps loves Schpood. He really does. Of all the leaders who took him in when he was on the run, Schpood was apprehensive at first but believed him, actually stood up for him, and he has his utmost respect and trust. But he has to admit—the guy is the worst fucking person to have in a council meeting sometimes.
“Sorry. Yes, even if it is your favorite block, it is still banned,” Cass explains. “Because of how easily it’s been used for assassinations and traps, it’s just too big of a risk to ignore.”
“And for lava farming?” Another person asks.
“Also banned starting today. Sorry about that,” Cass winces. The person nods and sits down. “All in favor, say aye.”
The decision is unanimous, despite a grumbling “aye” from Westhelm. The meeting moderator nods and clears his throat, the first thing he’s done for the last hour.
“Today’s meeting is adjourned then. Thank you.”
“How long are we keeping him out of the loop for?” Saps asks Cass after the meeting. They’ve met up in one of the safehouses at the Cass Coalition, a couple of her officials surrounding her as well. “Another month? Two?”
“Two should be enough. As far as we know, Knight_Arcturus isn’t plotting anything against Westhelm. He’s just in hiding.”
“‘As far as we know’,” the new president of Aperion, says. Apparently, Freshman, the old one, had retired. Damn. Saps should’ve done that. “Who’s to say he isn’t? What if he’s planning something?”
“He has nobody with him in the jungle,” Saps argues. “I don’t think he’s stupid enough to think he can take down Westhelm with how he currently is.”
And, he should add, as someone who’s been on the run, the majority of the time he was just trying to stay alive and out of sight. Attempting assassination of world leaders was the last thing on his mind, believe it or not. So may he be sparing the guy a little sympathy? Yes. But it’s to keep the peace, since now almost everyone’s afraid to rock the boat.
The “second” council meeting of the day is filled with nearly all Island Two world leaders and a handful of Island One leaders. Most notably, Westhelm is not present.
“Fine. Two months then. We’ll still send out patrols to see what he’s up to though?”
“Yes, if Tricolor is up for it,” Cass says. “Saps, you’re still keeping tabs on him?”
“Yes, and he’s not doing anything.”
“Great. Keep us updated. Have a great day everyone.”
As people begin to filter out of the room, conferring with their officials and making note, Saps gathers his things and begins to head out. He makes it to the door before he’s stopped in his tracks, someone standing in front of him.
“Yes?” Saps asks.
Legacy, now leader of Luminara, looks at him. It’s not like Saps hates the guy or anything—far from it—it’s just…odd, talking to almost anyone from Luminara nowadays since nearly all of them know about his relationship with their now deceased leader and other members of their nation.
(Well, the whole world knows, but Saps tries not to think about that too much.)
“Do you need something?” Saps asks, mostly at a loss as to why he’s talking to him.
“Oh, sorry! I was just going to say we’re going to send some people from Luminara with the Tricolor patrol. Just so you’re aware.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks for letting me know.”
“And well,” Legacy continues. He has a parrot on his shoulder. Maybe Saps should get one now that he’s free. A friend, a roommate or something. “Another thing, are you doing alright man?”
The question throws him so off guard Saps nearly takes a step back. “Huh?”
Immediately, Legacy starts backtracking.
“Sorry. Just checking in. Like—you know you can come to any of us if you need anything, right? They wanted me to pass you the message. No more hunting you down. We’re all allies now, okay?”
Allies.
Saps swallows down the bile in his throat.
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Okay, so here’s the thing. The monthly recap, if you will.
Saps is fine. Saps is totally, completely fine.
He has a big vacation house all to himself. He has his own island, Saps’ Island. Also all to himself. Technically speaking, his island is open to the public and anyone can find it if they try hard enough. He opened it when the war was over and it was bustling with activity for a good week before people returned to their homes to take care of their business. Soon, less and less people were coming, and Saps decided he wouldn’t try too hard on outreach anyway. The past few weeks were empty.
He didn’t intend it to be busy anyway. His island was always going to have a population of one.
He just thought he would have more regular visitors.
(“Saps, take all the materials to the location and start work.”
“I don’t have a location yet.”
“Well then go scout!”)
The silence greets him when he returns. Saps docks his boat and makes his way to the now banned dripstone, running his hand across the grooves. Cold to the touch.
“I’m sorry,” Saps says. The conversation with Legacy about all being allies replays in his head. He traces the grooves back and forth and glances at the sign, one he inscribed a month ago.
Goodbye, old friend.
Saps heads up the stairs and into his bedroom, collapsing onto bed.
Sleep can’t come fast enough.
There’s a storm for the first time in months. Weather on the islands is usually the same, clear blue skies and perfect sunshine. Yet, Saps wakes up to rain pouring against his rooftop and howling winds shaking the walls.
Blearily, he blinks away the black spots in his vision and sits up. Downstairs, in the main meeting room, there’s thudding and clatter, most likely his stuff being thrown by the wind.
Tomorrow Saps’ problem. Saps turns to go back to bed until he hears knocking on his bedroom door.
“Ugh, what?” The knocks stop. Hurried footsteps sound as someone—or something—descend down the stairs. “Hello? Hey, wait!”
He has his weapons and armor at the ready. Flinging the door open and chasing them, the main meeting room is empty. Sure, enough, most of his stuff is in disarray and Saps makes a mental note to clean in the morning. But whoever knocked on his door is nowhere to be seen.
“Hello?” Saps looks down and wet footprints lead from where he came down to the main entrance. Perfect.
The rain soaks his clothes through his armor immediately. He makes it to the bottom of the hill and equips his sword, scanning the area.
His boat’s missing. Either whoever it was who came in took it or the storm blew it away. The lanterns dimly light the area, fighting against the rain, and when Saps turns he nearly drops his sword, all the air leaving his lungs.
The word escapes his mouth faster than all the times he’s managed to.
“Flux?”
It can’t be. It can’t be Flux. Not even if he’s standing right in front of him, soaking wet, the same striking purple gaze meeting his, dark hair and bangs nearly covering his eyes from the water. It can’t be, even if he jerks his head to look around the same way Flux does, or gives him that same crooked smile Flux has perfected.
Flux laughs, and it feels like someone’s thrust a sword into Saps’ chest.
“Hey there, old friend.”