Work Text:
Illuga mistakes Lohen’s first ever gift to him for a warning.
The young Lightkeeper prods tentatively through the Wild Hunt monsters, or what brutal remains are left of them, a slight frown tugging at his features. He pokes at the mess, the tip of his polearm sludged in not-quite-dry blood as he rummages through the collection of shattered mistshroud plates and splintered helmets left behind in the aftermath.
The massacre is alarmingly close to the Lightkeeper outpost, much, much closer than any reported sightings so far, which only serves to deepen Illuga’s concern. If the Wild Hunt has become that much stronger, it only means Illuga has to push himself that much harder to keep the people he cares about safe.
However, his most troubling observation is simply the sheer number of corpses lining the base of the ravine. In all his years as a Lightkeeper, Illuga has never seen this much of the Wild Hunt gathered in one place. The ghouls have no inclination to wander in large packs, instead preferring solitude groups of smaller numbers. His frown turns into a grimace as he wipes the corrosion from his spear on a nearby rock.
Unless… someone purposely dragged the carcasses here.
Illuga shakes his head the moment the thought forms, almost annoyed with himself for entertaining an idea so ridiculous. Who in the hell would even bother doing something as stupid and time-wasting as that?
He’s still chastising himself for his bizarre imagination as he nudges another corpse with his boot, blood splattering across the white of his shoe. His gaze catches on something dark smeared underneath it, an oddly shaped streak of Abyssal filth pooled beneath the monster remains.
Only, the blackened streak seems to stretch beyond the corpse, tugging his gaze with some invisible force toward the end of the ravine.
His stomach sinks.
A trail of Abyssal energy- no, multiple trails of Abyssal energy, in fact, so many that Illuga struggles to count them all.
They snake away from the pile of carcasses and disappear into the mountains, carving ugly paths through the rocks and dirt. Some are broad and fierce, clearly requiring massive effort to haul, while others are thinner, interrupted by deep gouges where claws and pieces of armor had caught against the earth.
Illuga follows one of the trails several paces before stopping, his expression slowly becoming more strained with every step he takes.
There’s no way, he thinks wildly, please don’t be true, but his eyes confirm his worst fears. These creatures didn’t die here, Illuga knows, with every sane bone in his body.
Someone intentionally dragged them over to Cliffwatch Camp, one by one. Every last one of them.
But why? As some sort of depraved admonition to the Lightkeepers?
Illuga turns and looks back at the mountain of corpses, which suddenly appear to be carefully arranged by size, with the largest ones proudly stacked on top like some sort of vicious trophy display.
Illuga’s knees buckle as he barely resists the urge to vomit, the world spinning dazedly about him.
The universe must be playing some kind of cruel joke on him.
“It could be a peace offering,” is what Nikita replies after Illuga slams the photographs of the carnage onto the Starshyna's desk, demanding answers. Nikita simply shrugs and offers an apologetic look before handing the photos back.
But the explanation is not enough for Illuga. What kind of sick, twisted peace offering this?
Some grandeur showcase of power? A taunt at the Lightkeepers?
“It has to be a threat,” he insists, mind fumbling for any sort of reason that would justify hunting down the mysterious individual. “If they can take out that much of the Wild Hunt alone, who’s not to say that we’re next? We need to do something, we can’t just stand around.”
“Illuga,” Nikita starts sternly, his tone immediately causing the younger Lightkeeper to lower his head. “You forget that they have not done us any harm, in fact, they have aided us. Besides, we don’t have the personnel to launch an investigation on what appears to be a harmless benefactor.”
“Harmless benefactor? Are you serious?”
Illuga nearly laughs. The phrase feels absurd considering he spent the better part of the morning standing ankle deep in Abyssal filth and blood, his boots still bearing evidence of the encounter. His skin itches, every fiber of his being urging him to protest the matter further. If Illuga ends up being the reason that this situation escalates into something far more dangerous because he didn’t urge the Starshyna to take action, he will never forgive himself.
Across from him, Nikita has already returned to the papers spread across his desk, signaling the end of their brief conversation. With visible reluctance, Illuga gathers the photographs and turns to leave.
“If our so-called harmless benefactor leaves another pile of corpses outside the outpost, I’m going to file an official report.”
“Go ahead,” Nikita replies without looking up. “I’ll read it.”
The second gift arrives two days later.
Illuga finds it haphazardly placed directly in front of his house, as if whoever left it wanted to ensure he tripped over it.
The object in question turns out to be a high-grade cyclic military kuuvahki core, harvested from a combat mek found exclusively in Paha Isle, which is a considerably long distance from his residence in Piramida.
He picks up the core suspiciously, pale bluish-purple light pulsing slowly underneath the metal casing of the device. An object so rare just lying out in the open is grounds for concern, let alone one originally crafted and operated by the Fatui.
“Aedon,” he calls, summoning the nightingale from his lantern. Illuga points at the core, a small, traitorous part of him hoping that the device might be laced with traces of Abyssal corruption, perhaps even connected to the mysterious Wild Hunt corpses he found near the edge of Kipumaki Cliff just so that he has a reason to storm back into Nikita’s office and say “I told you so”.
Several seconds pass as Illuga watches with bated breath, before Aedon simply quirks his head in confusion, faint wisps of kuuvahki emanating in soft, steady waves around them.
The rest of the city bustles with activity, no one paying any mind to the Lightkeeper or the concerningly expensive Fatui device in his hand. If anything, at least the kuuvahki core appears to be in remarkably good condition, undeniably useful to him and the other Ratniki.
Illuga sighs, tucking the core under his arm in resignation.
His body suddenly freezes as he places his hand atop the doorknob, an apprehensive feeling settling in his stomach. The lock appears to be tampered with ever so slightly, the metal plate subtly misaligned with faint scratches near the keyhole.
Illuga recalls that his house was locked when he left, with every survival instinct that he possesses. His mouth suddenly runs very, very dry.
With painstaking caution, Illuga turns the handle and pushes the door open.
The first thing he notices is the light.
The same bluish-purple illumination from the device under his arm spills across the floorboards in large swaths of light, flooding the room in shades of luminous violet and indigo.
“Holy shit.”
There must be nothing short of at least a hundred kuuvahki cores in his house, littering the table, the floor, practically any unoccupied space. Every available surface has been occupied by messily stacked piles of the glowing devices, their combined light casting long, dancing shadows across the walls. His entire house glows with an eerie, artificial energy, transforming his tiny home into a makeshift experimental Fatui workshop.
Illuga’s brain struggles to find words as he hoarsely summons Aedon again, motioning for his companion to perform another search.
The nightingale drifts past him and makes two brief rounds around his kitchen, living room, and bedroom, scanning for signs of foul play or traces of the intruder. When he returns, he simply shakes his head and awkwardly flaps his wings. There’s no apparent indication that the stranger who broke into his house intended any harm other than providing him with a lifetime’s supply of kuuvahki cores.
Illuga drops his head into his hands and groans.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Illuga has been unable to sleep at night for the past few weeks ever since he first discovered all those kuuvahki cores inside his home. The mysterious sender, which he has deemed to be his stalker, eludes his vigil but returns almost every other night with their next object of choice. It is with alarming accuracy that they happen to deliver just the object Illuga needs, and it is to Illuga’s dismay that he is perpetually unable to catch them.
After the kuuvahki devices, there were the precious artifacts, more valuable monster drops, Lightkeeper lanterns, entire crossbows, and many other things to the point where their camp (and Illuga’s house) is struggling to contain them all.
There are other things too, that only deepen the furrow in Illuga’s brow. Like how the lock on his door is sometimes opened when he returns home in the evening, despite him checking it in the morning. Or how the contents of his drawers have been rummaged through ever so slightly, pens and papers disturbed and not quite the way he left them. And whenever Illuga lies in his bed, suspended in the liminal space between wakefulness and sleep, he feels a sort of intensely watchful gaze in the shadows spying on him.
Illuga isn’t sure whether those sensations are a part of his dreams or reality, and which outcome he should be more concerned of.
This whole thing is disconcerting to say the least, because his stalker has actually been helping him, even if they do it in eccentric, roundabout ways. His workload as a Lightkeeper has significantly lightened due to the fact that whenever Illuga and his squad show up to their assigned investigation patrol for the day, he finds that the Wild Hunt has already been eliminated and neatly stacked into a heap for their perusal.
Once, after visiting three different Wild Hunt sightings and finding the same scene at each one, an already massacred group of Wilderness Exiles and Hunters, a very frustrated Illuga commanded the rest of his squadron to investigate the surrounding area for lingering ghouls, anything to do, only to find that whatever monsters were remaining were already brutally slaughtered.
While the rest of the Nightmare Orioles are content to have this mysterious individual complete their tasks for them, Illuga is antsy and restless.
The constant urge to do something, to be of use and to not let his able body waste away eats at his corners of his mind, occupying his thoughts to the point where his mind wanders during the day and he tosses and turns in his bed at night.
During every new investigation, without fail, his skin squirms slightly as he runs a gloved hand across the toxic green liquid seeping from the remains of the Wild Hunt, a chill enveloping his skin that Illuga isn’t sure whether it comes from the unease in his bones or the residual Cryo aura clinging onto the corpses.
He knows that it’s the same person each time, the wounds in the carcasses running deep from frenzied, erratic dagger stabs, and the surrounding Abyssal filth leaving his clothes slick with tainted sludge. Many of the stab marks overlap too, driven repeatedly into the same spot after a single blow would have sufficed. The surrounding tissues are shredded beyond recognition, punctured again and again with an obsessive brutality. It is excessive, unnecessary, in a way that makes Illuga’s insides churn.
At the next joint meeting with the Knights of Favonius, Illuga can barely pay attention to what Nikita, Varka, and the others are discussing, with his traitorous head threatening to hit the table at any moment.
He blinks dazedly at the report he drew up last night, which is pitifully blank. The Captain of the Nightmare Orioles has nothing to report- nothing of value, at least. Usually his paper would be crammed with field investigation observations and important new developments, with the margins of every page scribbled in too.
Today, he doesn't have anything to share besides the handful of Wild Hunt locations his squadron visited that were already cleaned up for him.
Fragments of the conservation float in and out his ears as Illuga resists the urge to crumple his report up out of vexation. “...The Knights of Favonius have been doing us huge favors…” “...make sure to thank them…” “...they will continue to work with us as we eradicate the rest of the Wild Hunt…”
What Wild Hunt, Illuga thinks, barely suppressing a snort. Someone’s been killing them all.
At certain times, he swears he feels a pair of cold eyes boring holes into his figure, the sensation so intense that he occasionally darts his eyes around the room, trying to find the perpetrator, but after a sweeping glance, he finds that no one is looking at him.
The illusory feeling gives him an odd sense of déjà vu, as well the creeps.
It’s gotta be the lack of sleep, he muses, carding a hand through his tousled hair. I’m so tired I’m starting to imagine things.
By the time the meeting is over, Illuga swears that someone has been staring at him the entire time, but he has no evidence to prove it besides his sporadic and less-than-reliable thoughts. No one comes up to him afterwards either, so Illuga is left alone to stew in his discomfort.
Fine, Illuga thinks frustratedly. Tonight, I’m ending this once and for all.
Lohen watches from the corner as Illuga leaves the meeting room, his gaze resting just a moment too long on the empty doorway.
“You know,” Nikita says casually, standing up as he gathers the remaining reports from the table. “Most people just talk to the person they like instead of stalking them.”
Lohen looks away at once. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies stiffly.
The Starshyna gives him an odd, sidelong glance. “Really. And what about the Wild Hunt corpses you leave piled outside of Cliffwatch Camp everyday?”
Lohen tilts his head ever so slightly, feigning ignorance. “What are you talking about?”
“It is you, isn’t it?” Nikita repeats. “I am not aware of anyone else with such an… unconventional fighting style. And someone who is capable of amassing the sheer extremities of all the other supplies that Illuga has delivered to us, which he claims are all from the same person.”
Deny, deny, deny.
Lohen shrugs offhandly. “Doesn’t ring a bell. You’ve got the wrong guy.”
Nikita acquiesces then, a smile flickering momentarily across his face. “Alright then. I suppose I will have to keep searching for the mysterious individual so that we can thank them properly.”
“Yup. Let me know once you’ve found them.” Lohen waves dismissively, turning to leave.
“Though, Vice Captain, I find it interesting that the only Wild Hunt sightings that are taken care of before we can get to them just happen to be the ones that the Nightmare Orioles are assigned to.”
Nikita doesn’t miss the way Lohen’s step falters, just for a fraction of a second, before the knight regains his composure and walks out the door.
“Hello.”
The Vice Captain of the Fifth Company stands in front of him, a curious expression shamelessly written across his face. He stares at Illuga almost expectantly, crimson slits in his eyes burning with a fervor that borders on obsession.
Illuga immediately jolts upright, uncomfortable pricks shooting through his legs after standing in the same position for too long. He must’ve fallen asleep while camping outside his house, waiting for his stalker to make their next move.
It’s not his brightest or most foolproof idea, but Illuga is at his wit’s end. Exhaustion doesn’t even begin to cover how tired he is from many sleepless nights.
“Hi,” Illuga manages, taking a moment to recollect his scattered thoughts. “Lohen, was it?”
At the mention of his name, the knight practically beams at him, delight so obvious and overwhelming that it seems to radiate off him in huge, metaphorical waves that Illuga almost staggers. His entire face seems to brighten, joy flashing openly across his features with little attempt to hide it.
“Yes!” Lohen exclaims enthusiastically, his gaze raking over Illuga’s entire figure in a way that makes Illuga want to shrink away. “Aren’t you usually asleep by this hour? What are you doing outside of your house?”
Illuga’s brain is so muddled from fatigue that he doesn’t even register that Lohen knows where he lives despite them rarely speaking outside of occasional run-ins at joint meetings and outside camp where they exchange cordial “hellos”. Nor does he have the energy to question how Lohen somehow knows his sleep schedule.
“I’m waiting for someone,” Illuga finally admits after a pause, shifting uneasily. He’s not really sure why he’s sharing his plans with Lohen, but he supposes it can’t hurt. Despite the less-than-reassuring rumors surrounding the vice captain, Illuga finds a small part of himself unreservedly trusting the man, though he blames his lapse in stranger danger judgment on his sleep deprivation.
“Lohen,” Illuga whispers as he leans in closer, irises shining like moonfall silvers. “I think I have a stalker.”
“Oh?”
At this, the corners of Lohen's mouth curl upwards into a half-twisted smile, leaving Illuga feeling weirdly unsettled. He must be awfully curious, I guess.
“Yes, someone has been leaving strange, uh… things near my home. And Cliffwatch Camp, too.” Illuga explains ineloquently. “They usually come at the same time each night, so I’m waiting for them.”
“Things?” Lohen echoes, a hint of displeasure in his voice. “What kind of things?”
“Like,” Illuga hesitates, unsure how to explain his bizarre predicament. “Well, first there were the Wild Hunt corpses right next to our outpost, loads of them, then the absolutely ridiculous amount of kuuvahki cores in my own home, then the strange monster drops, and the lanterns, and oh, I can’t forget to mention the insane amount of crossbows I got.”
“Are they not useful?” Lohen suddenly inquires, his tone darkening as he closes the distance between them. There’s a dangerous lilt to his question, and Illuga fails to notice how the purposeful flutter of the knight’s cape conceals the dagger that has suddenly materialized in his hand.
“Well, they are, but-”
“But what?” Lohen drawls sweetly, his voice disarmingly pleasant in a way that makes Illuga skin crawl. He stares down at Illuga, unflinching. “Tell me, Illuga.”
Illuga barely has time to react before Lohen reaches over and seizes his collar, yanking him forward.
Lohen’s face is inches from his own, and Illuga hates how his brain short-circuits at the sight, unable to formulate a response because the only thought surfacing in his mind is the fact that-
“Your smile is absolutely terrifying,” Illuga blurts out.
I did not just say that out loud, Illuga thinks belatedly, eyes widening as he clamps his hands over his traitorous mouth.
Illuga’s stomach flips as the manic brightness in Lohen’s pupils grow impossibly brighter and his smile impossibly more twisted. In fact, the knight visibly preens at Illuga’s comment.
“Thank you,” Lohen says, sounding genuinely pleased.
Oh my gosh, Illuga thinks in horror. He took that as a compliment.
Illuga suddenly finds himself unable to breathe as the knight does the very unknightly thing of pulling even tighter on his clothing, the fabric constricting painfully against his throat. Illuga is not sure why he has incurred the other’s wrath, the knight's sanguine smile not quite matching the murderous intent blazing across his face.
“L-Lohen,” he chokes, the name breaking apart into a strangled gasp. Illuga claws at the hand fisted in his collar, lungs burning. “I c-can’t… breathe…”
After a pause that feels like a millenia, Lohen lets out a sigh and loosens his grip on Illuga, allowing the Lightkeeper to double over as the air violently rushes back into his lungs. Illuga takes a moment to silently thank his lucky stars that he didn’t suffer an untimely, crude death at the hands of the vice captain.
“Sorry,” Lohen says curtly, the feverish gleam not quite disappearing from his eyes. “I got excited. Are you alright?”
The question is sincere enough, but Illuga fails to detect any genuine remorse in his apology.
“So,” Lohen begins again without waiting for Illuga’s response. “Would you care to tell me exactly what’s wrong with the gifts?”
“Gifts?” Illuga mutters weakly, still unable to shake off the phantom grip of Lohen’s gloved hand wrapped around his throat.
The vice captain nods, and Illuga finds his mind frustratingly blank as he is unable to come up with any viable complaints.
In fact, the so-called gifts, as peculiar as they are, have been nothing but helpful to him and the rest of the Lightkeepers. Illuga is just too stubborn to admit it.
The already-slaughtered Wild Hunt allows him and the others to suffer less injuries and return home earlier each night, while the other odds and ends have proved to be invaluable supplies that would’ve taken a considerable effort to obtain himself.
But how can Illuga even begin to describe to Lohen how useless he feels with all his work done for him and how inconsiderate he is for being ungrateful for it? Nikita’s scolding at his grievances already rings in his head along with his squad member’s cajoles of appreciation for their mysterious savior that Illuga fails to empathize with.
Lohen stares eagerly at him, bright, unblinking eyes fixed on his face as he waits for an answer.
“It’s not that there’s anything wrong with them,” Illuga says carefully. “They’re actually pretty useful, I guess.”
Lohen noticeably perks up at this, looking absurdly pleased with himself. “Thank you,” the knight says cheerfully. “I’m glad you liked my gifts, then.”
Illuga pauses, his mind reeling.
“What?”
“My gifts,” Lohen repeats. “I was worried they weren't enough.”
“Enough for what?” Illuga croaks out, the events of the past few weeks piecing themselves together in his mind despite how much he fights against it.
Lohen blinks. “To show that I like you, obviously.”
A horrible realization dawns on Illuga. He thinks of the lingering Cryo aura on the Wild Hunt carcasses, his eyes instinctively flickering to the Cryo vision hanging from Lohen’s coat. Now, he sees the gleaming dagger carried loosely in Lohen’s hand, the vial of green poison tucked in his pocket.
Archons above, if you’re listening…
“The Wild Hunt killings-” Illuga asks faintly, his voice coming out hollow. “That was you?”
Lohen grins. “Yup! I even have the battle scars to prove it.”
“And the monster drops? The heaps of crossbows?”
The color drains from Illuga’s face as Lohen continues to nod, more excitedly each time as the Lightkeeper recounts the fruits of his hard labor.
Illuga feels rather lightheaded, placing an unsteady hand on the wall to keep himself upright. What did he do in his past life, in this life, hell, in his next life to deserve becoming the target of Lohen’s antics? And to think this is the vice captain’s way of showing that he likes someone?
“And the hundreds of kuuvahki cores,” he says meekly, his chest heaving as he braces himself for Lohen’s answer, though deep down he already knows what it’ll be. “Were those from you too?”
“Yes!” Lohen replies brightly. “The boss was rather difficult to kill. I was told that gifts should be thoughtful, so I felt you’d appreciate that.”
The world spins violently as Illuga suddenly feels that he understands absolutely nothing about gift-giving or liking someone.
Perhaps, by the merciful hands of the universe, Illuga conveniently faints on the spot.