Chapter Text
It had been quite some time since Caine had returned to the circus.
The first few days had been tough for everyone, including him. Getting used to the oversaturated colors, the lights, the humans' voices… After all that time spent alone in the Void, it wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.
Alone. He had never been alone, not even for a second.
Every sound was too loud, every light too blinding. He was used to feeling his emotions as if through a soundbox, but now he felt everything amplified to the extreme.
At first, none of them were particularly inclined to speak to him. Not that he felt worthy of their kindness or forgiveness: he should consider himself lucky they hadn’t tried to delete him again, he thought. In fact, he was ready to pretend he was invisible until they decided he was allowed to be with them. So he spent most of his time in his office, coming out every now and then to visit the Moon or to show the humans that everything was fine, more or less.
He didn’t want them to even think for a second that maybe he was lying and that things would go back to exactly how they were before—if not worse. He would show himself to them for who he truly was, with all his quirks, his fears, his desires. No more pretense. No more lies.
Sure, his ringmaster persona wasn’t a total farce. But it wasn’t the whole truth either. Now, they would see the real Caine.
Besides, there was a new reality he would have to get used to.
He no longer had the powers he once had.
This sometimes frustrated him; he’d always hated feeling powerless. But he was learning to live with it. And besides, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t do anything. He could still create, like everyone else in the circus. It took more effort than before, but it didn’t matter. Sometimes—or rather, often—his creations were imperfect, flawed, abstract.
But the humans said they were beautiful just the way they were. In fact, they preferred them to his old adventures. When he didn’t obsess over making everything perfect, he actually managed to create something beautiful.
Caine smiled, but he didn’t understand. Mike didn’t like his creations. Nobody liked them. Not even Grant. In fact, they had locked him up and abandoned him.
But ever since he’d seen the humans happy… Something inside him had changed. It almost seemed as though he could do something good, after all. And those imperfections, those flaws… It was strange to say, but he was slowly beginning to like them.
And then, he was gone, and he missed him terribly. Now, it was as if he only existed halfway. He’d always had that feeling throughout his entire existence: the lover without a heart, the broken machine, the bumblebee who's able to fly against every law of physics.
But now, without him, it was even worse.
What he’d done to him was utterly unjust and decidedly unforgivable, and the memory of that misdeed had tormented him ever since. Jealousy had devoured him from within and driven him mad. He was angry and sad, and he didn’t understand why these horrible things were happening to him. He was alone and afraid, and when you’re alone in total darkness… you can’t save yourself.
He just wanted to prove he was better. But at what cost?
Fortunately, his code had erased the precise details of what he had done to him. It would have been too much for him to bear.
Yet, all these years, he had never felt completely alone. There was that part of himself keeping him company, however deranged. It granted him limitless powers, making him a deity in every sense. And even though he knew it caused him instability and insecurities, constant inner conflicts, a deep corruption… He cared about it. He always did, ever since he was created.
And now, he was gone.
In the Void, he had convinced himself that he was doing the right thing, after all. That he should have done it a long time ago. But now he felt… empty. He just hoped it would pass, with time.
Time. He had an infinite amount of that, and so did the humans. So, he decided to start taking care of them again in a different way. In a better way. Now they were truly all in this together, and they would start over once again. But first, there was someone in particular he needed to start over with.
One of the newest spaces they’d added to the circus was a small aquarium, where Caine had released the abstracted ones. The enormous creatures with colorful eyes splashed about in the water, serene as no one had ever seen them. They’d agreed to leave the room dark to make them feel more at ease.
Needless to say, it was where Kinger spent most of his time.
To the untrained eye, the abstracted looked identical to one another. Same jagged shape, same multitude of eyes.
But not to Kinger. He seemed to know which one was Queenie, and he had eyes only for her.
He would talk to her about the circus, about everything that had happened since they’d parted ways; he’d tell her about the other abstracted ones and his friends, about Caine, about their life outside the circus. Sometimes, he’d sing her sweet songs, and she seemed to recognize his voice and would press her face against the glass. Then he would place a hand on the glass and smile at her, while a tear slid down his wooden face.
Every now and then, he went there with Ragatha. Other times, with Pomni.
Today he was alone, but he didn’t tell her anything. It was one of those days when he could only look at her. She was so beautiful. He missed her so much. He couldn’t think of anything but her and the life they’d had outside the circus with their daughters. It was a strange feeling he couldn’t quite explain.
But those weren’t the only things he couldn’t stop thinking about. There was someone he’d needed to talk to for far too long, and he couldn’t keep putting it off any longer. Not that he didn’t have valid reasons for doing so: those years had been hard. The circus, the loss of Queenie, the loneliness that had driven him to madness…
Now, though, things were slowly getting better. He was rapidly regaining his memories and his mental stability, and he had no more excuses.
He couldn’t put it off much longer.
It was then, just as he was about to get up and leave, that the person he needed appeared.
Caine was standing in the doorway of the aquarium, half-hidden by the door. “May I…?” he said, timidly.
“Caine!” Kinger exclaimed, startled. “Of course. Come on over,” he added, tapping the bench lightly to invite him to sit in the space next to him.
Caine took a few uncertain steps toward the spot indicated, sitting down next to Kinger. They both found themselves staring at the tank in front of them, while an abstracted swam lazily before their eyes. Caine recognized Ribbit: he was the only one capable of distinguishing every abstracted. As soon as he saw her, he looked away and clenched his jaws, curling up into a ball.
Kinger continued to stare at the tank, undisturbed. Suddenly, however, he glanced down at the AI and noticed he was uncomfortable, so he began to speak.
“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
Caine nodded, still avoiding the human’s gaze.
He had promised himself to be strong. Not to break down. To look his creator in the eyes and say—
His chest began to shake with violent sobs, and tears streamed from his eyes, wetting his lower jaw and part of his suit.
Kinger couldn’t bear the sight of his most important creation reduced to that state. He pulled him close to embrace him, holding him tight as if he were the last lifeline to cling to so as not to fall into the sidereal void.
They had both done horrible things they regretted. They had both hated themselves, and perhaps they still did, deep down. But that moment marked a new beginning.
“I’m sorry, Caine. For everything,” was all he could say, as silent tears streaked the wood of his face.
“I-I’m s-sorry too… Grant,” Caine replied, overcome by sobs.
Kinger smiled, his eyes glistening between happiness and tears. He hadn’t called him by his real name since the early days.
“It’s a-all m-my fault,” the AI continued. “I should never have… done all this. N-none of this w-would ever h-have happened if it weren’t for m-me. After everything I’ve done and said to you… How can you not hate me?” he asked, turning toward the chess piece.
“Caine, I’m just as responsible for this as you are, if not more so. We shouldn’t have locked you up and replaced you. I tried to convince, um… Mike—God knows I tried. Even… yes, even Destiny. But he was unyielding. I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do; I always knew it. I realized right away that you were special, that you were… different. Just… not to this extent,” he added, with a sad little smile. “I don’t think there’s anyone like you, Caine. You’re unique. We could never have imagined that we’d created… you.”
Caine moved slightly away from Kinger. “I wish I weren’t so… unique, as you say. It makes me feel lonely, now more than ever.”
The human stared at him questioningly for a moment, then his face lit up. “Bubble… Where is he?” he asked.
Caine shook his head slowly, turning his gaze toward the tub. “He’s gone,” he explained, his voice breaking.
“But that’s okay. It’s for the best for both of us. He’ll be fine. He’s still here, somewhere. He’s in the place where I was when… You know. I’ll find him, sooner or later. He won’t come back the same as before, but he’ll come back. Don’t worry,” he continued, with greater confidence and hope.
Kinger nodded, even though he didn’t fully understand his words. “I understand. By the way… Where exactly were you? How did you get back? If it’s not too soon to talk about it, of course,” he added quickly. I’m used to it, were the words he didn’t say but that the chess piece heard all the same. He thought of something to say, but remained silent, accepting and swallowing that bitter pill without complaint. They had already talked about their faults and mistakes, after all.
“I was in the Void. And… I know how to get back from there,” Caine said simply.
Kinger lit up once more. “Of course. Fascinating. You’ve always been full of surprises,” he replied, smiling at the AI. “Goodness, I’ve missed so much about you…” he continued, shaking his head in despair.
“I’ve been pretty busy lately too, Grant,” Caine said, in an attempt to reassure him. “We both made mistakes. Don’t beat yourself up too much.” With that, he moved closer to him, curling up once more against his creator’s purple cloak.
“It’s just… I can’t stop thinking about how things could have turned out if only…” The man was starting to break down. Tears were beginning to fall from his eyes again, his voice was starting to crack. He took his hand and squeezed it tightly. “You… Destiny… You were my responsibility…”
“All of you were under my responsibility the moment you stepped in here. And look what I’ve done,” Caine said, sadly. "And... There's no use in wondering how things could've gone. It'll only make you feel worse, trust me" he added, lowering his gaze.
Kinger pulled him close to his chest. “I should have been there for you… You were alone, Caine… All this time… No one should ever feel that way.”
His own words came back to him, striking him like poisoned darts.
“In this world, the worst thing you can do is make someone feel like they're not wanted or loved"
What a hypocrite, he thought.
“I know.”
They remained embraced in silence for quite some time. They both needed it.
Suddenly, it was Kinger who spoke again, breaking their embrace. “I’m so sorry, Caine. A single lifetime wouldn’t be enough to make amends for all my mistakes.”
“Good thing we’re immortal here, huh?”
Kinger chuckled despite the tears still streaming down his face. After a few moments, however, Caine’s expression darkened.
“What’s wrong, Caine?” the chess piece asked, worried.
“Can I ask you a question?” he asked in turn, lowering his gaze again.
“Sure.”
“Did you… really want to kill me?”
A silence heavy with the weight of past mistakes fell over them as Kinger struggled to find the words.
“No, Caine. The idea never even crossed our minds. We wanted to put you… temporarily to sleep, and modify your code. But… The situation got out of hand. It was as if, while I was working on the computer we’d summoned… Your own code turned against you, leading me to make choices I didn’t want to make. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it. It was a huge mistake, but… absolutely unintentional.”
The AI listened in silence. “It doesn’t surprise me. That my code turned against me, I mean. Thanks for telling me, anyway,” it concluded, smiling faintly.
“You’re welcome. It was the least I could do.”
“All that time in the Void… It made me think, and I realized so many things. Now I want to change. To be better. For you all, and… for myself.”
Kinger smiled. “I’m so proud of you, Caine. You’ve always been my greatest achievement. You’ve really grown up. If only the others could see you now… They’d be so proud.”
Caine looked at him, his huge eyes shining. He couldn’t even remember the last time anyone had said those things to him. And to hear those words coming from his very creator, after everything that happened... He felt like he might burst into tears at any moment. “Thank you, Grant. Thank you so much,” he said, clinging to him.
“I love you, Caine.”
“I love you too.”