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The Dijiang had a way of teaching people each other’s habits, even subconsciously, at times.
Some of them became a common knowledge.
Everyone knew that Perlica organized her reports into immaculate stacks, before she ever began reading them herself, much less hand them over to the Endministrator. Fiona had a tendency to hum under her breath whenever she was typing away on the bridge. Chen always peeked into the training room if she happened to pass it, even if only for “five minutes”.
Others went almost unnoticed.
The Endministrator rarely drank his tea while it was still hot, preferring it luke-warm, much to Fiona’s dismay.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose whenever a report was longer than twenty pages, a habit he had developed after he had begun to regularly take off his mask, after his vitals had begun to stabilize by themselves and let him afford a few hours a day without it.
When deep in thought, he tapped the end of his pen against the edge of his desk exactly three times, before continuing to write.
Camille knew each of those habits. Not because he had intended to memorize them…. Rather because, after weeks spent sharing the same quiet office, they had become as familiar to him as the electrical hum hidden beneath the Dijiang’s walls.
Of course, his hearing also played a part in it. He was acutely aware of such things, if he wanted to be or not.
Likewise, the Endministrator had begun to recognize Camille’s.
The slight twitch of his ears, whenever engineering recalibrated the ship’s power grid.
The subtle shift of his weight onto his right leg, whenever someone tried to prolong a conversation he wished to leave.
The unconscious brush of his fingers against his shoulder blade, especially after returning from a rather demanding mission on official Keeper’s business.
And then, there was the key.
It hung from Camille’s belt every day. Small. Unassuming.
Its metal had long ago dulled with age, polished smoothly only where years of careful fingers had repeatedly traced its surface, especially the bow of the key, and the key wards.
The Endministrator had noticed the habit way before anyone else had done so, even now, after weeks, he couldn’t help but pay attention to it subconsciously.
Whenever Camille found himself thinking, whenever he hesitated, whenever a conversation drifted somewhere unexpectedly personal.
His hands would find the key.
Not consciously, rather… subconsciously, because they always had before.
The first time the Endministrator noticed, he thought nothing of it.
The third time, he raised a single eyebrow.
The fifth time, he wondered.
The twelfth time, curiosity started to slowly build up.
The twentieth time, he realized the movement wasn’t random.
And yet, still… he never asked. He had learned long ago, that everyone aboard the Dijiang carried pieces of their past and present differently.
Some displayed them proudly, like Rossi with her dagger, or Da Pan with his ferrium wok. Others hid them beneath layers of silence, like Laevatain, who rarely spoke to operators she didn’t know very well to begin with. Camille was more like the latter.
If he wished to speak, he would. If he did not… then the Endmin would not pry.
It was nearly another week, before the subject surfaced on its own.
The evening had settled into its familiar rhythm.
Outside the Dijiang and visible from the bridge, Talos-II stretched and turned endlessly in its own rhythm, the stars of the universe flickering across the darkness of space.
Inside the office, it was quiet, aside from the steady hum of the DIjiang’s power unit beneath the steel flooring, and the faint trickle of water from the panoramic piece of nature behind the Endmin’s desk. The Endministrator had long since abandoned the reports on his desk in favor of joining Camille on the lounge.
It was another habit the Sarkaz had noticed about the man. Ever since they had… shown interest in each others’ ears, the Endmin had sat with him more often. Or rather, began to sit with him, instead of staying at his desk.
Between them rested a wooden box. Inside lay hundreds of tiny, irregular pieces.
“Another witchcraft puzzle?”
Camille nodded. “Our witch-crafters produced this one when I went back to Seš'qa the other day.
The Endministrator looked curiously at it, his eyes soft in the light of the office, curiosity swimming in those grayish-blue eyes. “They’re quite fascinating.”
“They are frustrating. But that brings enjoyment.” Camille retorted with fondness in his voice.
It made the Endministrator laugh. “I was wondering why you’ve spent three evenings on the same one before.”
“It changes.” Camille hummed, examining a piece.
“Changes?”
“Witchcraft.”, he simply said, then lifted a different one of the oddly shaped pieces between two fingers.
“The image rearranges itself every few hours.”
Endmin’s head tilted to the side, curiosity only bigger from the explanation. “That sounds horribly unfair.”
“It is.”
A raised eyebrow followed, eyes now fixed on Camille. “... You enjoy that?”
Another soft hum from the Vampire. “I do.”
The Endmin wasn’t sure what that said about Camille’s characteristics. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
Another piece found its place with a soft click, Camille’s slender fingers gracefully placing it in its slot. The edges of the piece vanished, becoming one with the other pieces that were already in place.
“There is satisfaction in breaking something apart…”, he begun, his fingers moving to a different piece, “... and greater satisfaction in restoring it.” His gaze ended up on the Endmin as he spoke the last words with something the unmasked man was not quite ready to decipher yet. He just knew the gaze felt… heavy. Almost as if they weren’t talking about the puzzle anymore.
The moment passed in a fleeting manner, going as soon as it came. The Endmin leaned closer, studying the nearly completed landscape of what he assumed was a place in Seš'qa. “You’ve almost finished it.”
“There are forty-two pieces remaining.”
“...You counted.”, because of course the Keeper did.
“I always count.”, the response came with amusement, clearly audible.
“Of course you did.”, the Endmin sighed with similar amusement.
Camille’s lips curved ever so slightly. “It is easier to restore something when one understands precisely what is missing.”
The words lingered again.
For reasons the Endministrator couldn’t quite explain, he felt like they carried more meaning than just the puzzle alone, and it became increasingly hard to ignore. His gaze drifted.
Not to the puzzle. To Camille’s hands.
The Keeper had paused again. Almost absentmindedly, his thumb rested against the old key hanging from his belt. Fingers running over the worn head of it.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
The movement continued for several seconds, before Camille seemed to realize what he was doing. His hand stilled. He withdrew it immediately.
The Endministrator lowered his eyes without comment, feeling as if he had made Camille painfully aware of his own habit, somehow.
“... Apologies if that made you uncomfortable.” He couldn’t help but say.
Camille simply shook his head. “It is an old habit. Do not apologise.”
The puzzle remained untouched between them for a while, neither of them speaking.
Eventually… Camille reached for the key again. This time, although, deliberately.
He unclipped it from his belt. The small piece of metal rested quietly in his palm. He turned it once, twice, like he had just realised just how worn it had become, and how polished it was where his fingers always found the metal.
“... This key opens nothing.”, he said after a while. The Endmin remained silent.
“It has not for many years.”
Another slow turn of the key in his hands. “It belonged to my family’s home, I assume.”
Then, he smiled. A very small smile. Though it looked pained. “Char made it for me, I think I mentioned it before. From the music box I broke.”
Another brief moment passed, the Endmin remaining quiet, softly nodding as though beckoning for him to continue, to show he was listening attentively.
“When I was a child… I constantly misplaced my house keys. It led to a fight, then, between him and me. In the fight was when I broke his music box.” Camille’s gaze lowered. His fingers closed over the key. “He told me before, it would lead me home. Always. Now, there is no home to return to and it is but a piece of scrap from a person I do not consider a brother anymore. Kin, at most, bound by blood.” The smile faded.
Silence settled over the room. Besides Camille, the Endmin sat still. He knew Camille wasn’t the type to say these things for comfort or something akin to that, but out of trust.
“My parents died.”
The words were spoken with the same quiet composure as every sentence before them. No hesitation, no visible grief, only facts.
“I sold the home eventually, after an accident.”
The key remained in his hands, hidden beneath his fingers, settled in his palm.
“I believe my habit of reaching for it… stems from longing. And perhaps a dash of inexplicable ennui.”
The Endministrator said nothing. There was nothing to say. Nothing that was appropriate for this moment between them, at least, for the trust Camille had showed by speaking about these things without being asked to.
After another moment, Camille slipped the key not back onto his belt, but into one of his coat pocket. Almost, as though for tonight at least, he preferred not to see it.
The conversation moved elsewhere after that. Neither of them mentioned the key again. It never found its’ way back onto Camille’s belt.
Three days later, Camille received a message through Baker.
Endministrator: If you have a spare moment this afternoon, would you come visit my office?
Camille arrived precisely seven minutes later. Something about the message struck him as odd - he’d always come to the office, daily, without failure. The Endmin would know if he wasn’t coming by, after all.
He stepped in.
The office looked the same as it always did. Reports, tea, books.
The Endministrator stood besides his desk, rathern than sitting behind it.
“... Any orders?” Camille asked, as he approached.
“Not today.”, the other man said, smiling with something akin to mischief.
Camille’s head tilted. “No?”
“I asked you here for another reason.”, the Endmin said, opening one of the desk drawers.
For a brief moment, Camille assumed another relic had been recovered that was involved with witchcraft. Usually, maintenance would call him in for help when it came to that.
Instead… the Endministrator’s hand closed around something small, the drawer closing as he retracted his hand. Metal caught the light as he stepped forward.
“Your hand.”
Without questioning it, Camille extended his hand.
Something cool landed in his palm. A gentle weight on his gloved skin.
A key.
Entirely new. Freshly carved out of steel, still carrying the faint shiny sheen of careful polishing.
What drew his attention, however, was not the blade, but the bow.
Its head had been shaped into an intricate knot of interwoven loops. No beginning - no end.
Camille’s eyes widened just slightly.
“... A Celtic knot.”
The Endmin hummed. “I had some help choosing the design. It’s not perfect, the edges especially, but…”
“It is a love knot.” Camille pointed out, voice gone hoarse.
The Endministrator smiled sheepishly. “So I’ve been told.”
Camille looked at him, then. “Do you know what it represents?”
The other man nodded once, his eyes softening, not hidden by his mask, as had become habit in the office. “It seemed… fitting.”
Camille turned the key over carefully between his fingers, his eyes glancing over every single edge and hoop of the knot. “This was custom made.”
“It was. I spent longer on it than I thought I would.”
Something warm fluttered in the Sarkaz’s chest. His gaze landed back on the Endministrator, taking in the way he stood a little guarded - shyness, sheepishness, Camille realized - and how he held his hands together, one thumb soothing over the back of his palm.
“... What does it open?” Camille asked instead.
The Endministrator glanced towards the office door, which was open at the moment. “This room.”
Camille’s gaze followed, before returning to the man. “The office?”
“Mhm.”
“The keypad…?”
“Still works.”
“You told me only you know the code for it, that you’re the only person who can open your office. So the key…”
“Overrides it.”, the Endmin finished for him.
Silence settled, longer this time.
“I wanted there to be one place aboard the Dijiang, or rather, in your life…”, the Endmin’s voice remained as gentle as ever, as it had become a habit with Camille lately, “... where you would never have to wonder whether you were welcome.”
Camille did not move, did not speak.
“If I’m away on an expedition, if I’m asleep… Even if I’m buried beneath paperwork and require silence…”, the raven-haired man smiled at him, “... you may still come in. There is always tea and a place for you.”
Something inside Camille seemed to falter, then flutter in his chest, a warmth he hadn’t felt in a very long time. His fingers tightened around the key. He turned away almost instinctively, not enough to hide, only enough to collect himself. He tried to answer, nothing came. His throat worked once - twice - only air escaped.
The Endmin waited patiently. There was no urgency, no expectation, no desire to rush the Vampire.
Eventually… “... thank you.”
It emerged barely above a whisper, raw and fragile, as the two words fell from Camille’s lips. Camille closed his eyes for a heartbeat, reopened them. Slowly, he reached down to his belt, clasping open the empty hook where the old key once hung.
Carefully… very carefully… he fastened the new key on it. A soft, light chime rang through the quiet office, as the clasp clipped into place.
Camille looked down. His thumb instinctively found the pattern of the knot, the imperfect edges beneath his thumb. For decades, one key had reminded him of a door that no longer existed. Now… a new promise hung from his belt, reminding him of what he had found, instead of reminding him of what he had lost.
“... Endmin.”
“Hm?”
Camille did not look away from the key.
“My brother once told me that a key was never merely for opening a lock. He believed that… a key existed so one would always know there was somewhere worth returning to.”
Camille’s shoulders relaxed by the smallest measure, just as a faint smile crept onto the Endmin’s face.
For a brief moment, he considered using the newly forged key. A glance at the door, however, showed it just as it had been before - open.
“You rarely lock it.”, the Sarkaz pointed out.
“You’re right.”
“Then the key does not serve much purpose.”
The Endministrator smiled. “Logically, no.”
Camille understood. “Only logically.”
The key had never really been about the lock.
“I shall treasure it.”
His hand rested lightly against the key once more. This time, as his fingers ran over the metal, it reminded him less of a place he had lost and more of somewhere he had already begun to belong.