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Time spent on the Dijiang had become less frequent the next few weeks.
Camille had been called back to Seš'qa temporarily for work he simply described as “Keeper’s duty”, while the Endministrator - and Endfield as a whole - had begun rebuilding Qingbo Stockade properly and aiding with negotiations between the Stockaders and Wulingers. Insisting that he should be present as ‘Dark Mask’, naturally he had spent more time in Wuling than he did on the Dijiang.
Before he had left, however, he had made sure to assure Camille that he was always welcome to use his office, even when he, himself, was not present. He pointed at the key with a soft smile, insisting that it was his place of refuge now just as much as it was his own.
Camille, unable to express his feelings in a way that seemed right at that time, simply thanked him with all the sincerity he had in his voice, a soft smile and the bow of his head.
Judging by the Endministrator’s reaction, he had conveyed his sincerity in a way that was satisfactory.
When the Endministrator returns, Camille picks up on a subtle shift in the man.
It’s nothing grave, nothing big or something he can put his finger on in the span of a short time, no. It’s a gradual change, like a cup of water slowly filling up with droplets.
The Endministrator still goes about his daily work as usual, still leads Endfield with the same confidence he always has, steadfast and a beacon of light for those around him.
He still signs paperwork and works his way through the seemingly endless amounts of reports that land on his desk every day, especially now with Endfield officially lending their aid in the reconstruction process in Wuling.
He still smiles at operators in the corridors that he passes, still waves with the same friendly smile he always wears.
Everything seems… normal.
Except… There are longer pauses. The silence seems… heavier.
He spends more time staring at seemingly nothing, ever since he came back, his pen tapping absentmindedly against his desk or the arm of his chair, as he spaces out, mind occupied by something Camille cannot decipher.
He spends more time on each report, as if he had been reading them without actually taking in the words, then had to re-read them to understand what he was holding.
The tea in his cup grows colder more often, now, left unfinished at his side. The porcelain cup clinks against the desk less often, only noticing its existence when the steam had long since ceased curling into the air.
Camille recognises the behaviour, slowly. It reminds him of himself.
It reminds him of when his thoughts were too loud, clouded, dragging him down.
Camille does not ask immediately.
Similar to when the Endministrator had been sick, he does what he does best - he observes, analyses, gathers information.
On top of that, he knows enough now to understand that the Endministrator values being approached gently about these things, or at other times, being left to bring these things up by himself, depending on the situation.
Camille believes this to be one of those cases. So, he simply remains in his seat.
He reads.
He makes tea without being asked, without pointing out it had gone cold once more.
He answers questions, when asked, and reminds the Endministrator patiently to take a break, every now and then.
The office had grown dim, when the Endministrator finally broke the silence that had seeped into the office over the last few days in a way that felt entirely different than before.
Neither of them had noticed when evening settled over the Dijiang, when the nightshift took over. The usually bright lights were dimmed in a soft yellow hue, easier on the eyes, mimicking the passage of time.
Camille had long since abandoned the pretense of reading.
The Endministrator, in turn, had not touched the report in front of him for nearly twenty minutes.
His eyes rested upon the page, his thoughts, however, did not. Eventually, he exhaled, a sound that sounded way too defeated for Camille’s liking.
“... Camille.”
The Sarkaz looked up immediately, eyes locking onto the man across the office, book closed neatly in his lap. “Yes?”
The Endministrator remained looking at the report for a few moments longer, his fingers tapping absentmindedly against the corner of the datapad, before growing still, as if he had just noticed the motion himself. “May I ask you something?”
Camille’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. He did not like that the man asked for permission, in a manner that he, himself, often did. He came to the conclusion that it did not suit the Endministrator. “You need not ask permission.”
A faint smile tugged at the Endministrator’s lips. “I suppose I walked into that one.”
“You did.”
The smile lingered only briefly. When it faded, Camille noticed something unusual.
The Endministrator wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at his own hands.
“Do I…”, he stopped himself.
Silence. Camille waited, patiently and steady. He had learned that interrupting the Endministrator when it came to something that seemed to weigh heavily on his mind rarely ever produced a positive outcome.
“... Do I seem weaker to you?”
The question settled quietly between them - heavy, honest and vulnerable.
For a moment, Camille did not answer. Instead, he waited. He could see there was more the Endministrator wanted to say, wanted to ask, in the way his hands moved almost nervously, unsure of himself, and suddenly the man looked smaller and a lot more fragile than he usually did when he wore that bright smile of his.
The Endministrator gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh. “Ah, it sounded simpler in my head.”
“It is not a simple question.”
“Mhm.”, the Endmin hummed in agreement. He leaned back in his chair, letting his head rest against the back of it as he stared at the ceiling. It was clear he was searching for words that refused to come in a way he liked, in a way that would express his thoughts properly. “Sometimes, I feel as though… everyone aboard this ship is waiting for… someone else.”
Camille remained still. He had an inkling of where this was going.
“The person they remember…”, the Endministrator’s voice remained even, calm. Yet, there was a heaviness beneath it that Camille had never heard before.
“They speak about me,”, he continued, “my achievements, my decisions, my strength…” His eyes glanced at the sword leaning against the side of his desk, the sword of which its hilt had left calluses on his hands, its weight so familiar to him that it might as well be an extension of his own limbs.
“I know they’re true. I’ve read the reports, seen recordings…”, he smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “Apparently, I was rather impressive.”
Camille’s expression softened almost imperceptibly, but he knew the Endmin could see it, if he would look at him. “You still are.”
The Endministrator shook his head gently.” That’s not what I mean.”
“I know.”
Grayish-blue eyes focused back on his own hands with something that reminded Camille of sadness in them. “The man in those reports… he could do things I cannot.”
Shortly after his awakening, the Endmin had worked through old records of Endfield, naturally. He needed to know certain things to lead such a huge organisation, and had to know whose mantle he was taking upon himself. Reflexes and muscle memory came easy to him, Perlica always calling him a natural leader, yet his memories failed him regardless. At times, it felt like living a lie, almost.
“My Arts have not fully returned… my body remembers techniques that my mind struggles to recreate. There are places, on Talos-II, that I know I should recognise.”
Camille simply let him continue on, silent but attentive, body turned towards the other man to show him he was listening.
A soft sigh left the Endmin, as he continued. “I stand before them… and feel nothing.” His fingers tightened slightly on one another. “I know people trust me, follow me. They call me the Endministrator. But….”, this time, his smile carried no amusement at all. It looked almost hollow, hauntingly so. “I don’t remember becoming the sort of person worth following.”
The words were barely spoken louder than the hum of the Dijiang’s engines combined with the soft trickle of water, like he was afraid to voice them in the first place. But he knew Camille heard them, knew he was listening, even without looking. Camille always was when it came to him.
“I keep wondering whether they’re waiting for him to come back… and whether I am merely doing my best impression of someone I’m not, until then.”
The silence that followed wasn’t… uncomfortable, per se. Just… heavy, caused by honest words and someone laying their soul bare in ways that left them vulnerable and exposed.
The Endministrator made no attempt to hide his expression, now, and Camille wasn’t sure anymore if that wasn’t worse altogether.
It wasn’t sadness, nor despair. Simply… fatigue. The exhaustion of someone trying every day to live up to a name that no longer felt entirely like their own, of living up to a title that seemed to shackle him, rather than praise his achievements.
Finally, Camille spoke.
“... May I answer your question now?”
The Endministrator looked up at that, simply nodding.
Camille folded his legs neatly atop each other, replacing his hands back on one leg, as he chose his words carefully. “When I first learned of you, I knew only the stories. They described a savior, a commander, a man capable of changing the course of history.”
The Endministrator gave a wry smile in return, like it left a sour taste in his mouth to hear such things about himself.
Camille simply inclined his head. “When I first met you, however, I expected to meet that legend. Naturally.”
The smile gave way to something a little more genuine, more curious, and a lot more fitting than that hollow look on his face previously. “And instead?”
A hum, then, “I met someone entirely different.” Camille did not elaborate, not yet. Instead, he simply held the Endministrator’s gaze. “So, no. You do not seem weak to me. But… I believe you have been carrying something unjustly heavy placed atop your shoulders, whether you consented to it, or not. And there in itself, lies a difference.”
The words lingered between them. Camille knew he had said enough for this specific moment, knew the Endministrator was taking them in.
Said man looked at him for a long moment, before lowering his eyes again. “... Is there truly a difference?”
“There is.”, Camille’s answer came without hesitation. “Weakness and burden are often mistaken for one another. A person carrying an excessive weight will inevitably slow, but that does not make the person weak.”
The Endministrator let out a quiet breath though his nose, almost like a huff. “You make it sound obvious.”
“It is.”
“To you, perhaps…”
Camille was silent for a heartbeat, before he shook his head. “No.”
The Endmin glanced up at that. “No?”
“I, myself, learned the distinction slowly.”, he explained, his gaze drifting to the book he had been reading, or trying to before - a book about Sarkaz traditions on Terra. “For many years, I believed endurance alone measured strength. If I could continue walking, I would walk. If I could continue searching, I would search. If I could continue hunting…” his fingers unconsciously brushed against the key now adorning his belt. “... then I believed I had no right to stop.”
The faint metallic sound drew the Endministrator’s attention, gray eyes settling on the key in Camille’s hand.
The Sarkaz noticed it a moment later, his hand immediately stilling. Unlike before, however, he did not withdraw it.
The Endministrator gave the tiniest of smiles at the small movement. “That sounds lonely.”
“It was.”
The answer came easy, it was simple.
“I had convinced myself that solitude was efficient.”, Camille added.
“And was it?”
“... No.”
A soft chuckle left the Endmin. “I suppose I should’ve already known your answer.”
“You should have, I agree.”
The silence that settled between them now felt less heavy, only thoughtful, vulnerable in a way that no longer felt uncomfortable, but honest.
“I sometimes wonder…”, the Endmin leaned back in his chair once more with a quiet sigh. “... what everyone sees when they look at me.”
Camille looked at him. “They see the Endministrator.”
“Exactly.” He smiled faintly. “They see… certainty. Someone who always seems to know what to do. The man who wakes up each day and somehow keeps this entire ship running. And I know the image is important, that people need stability - that they deserve it.”
He paused. His smile faltered. “But… there are days when I look into the mirror and wonder whether I’m simply every good at pretending.”
The confession hung in the room.
Camille had always wondered how the Endministrator did not buckle a single time under the weight on his shoulders. How he managed to achieve such great feats without faltering. And yet, he felt blind for not seeing what had been right in front of him this whole time.
“I don’t mind not remembering my favorite food, or which books I enjoyed,”, the Endministrator gave a small, self-deprecating laugh, “I can rediscover those. But…” His expression grew distant. “There are people who have devoted decades of their lives to walking besides me. They remember every promise I made, every hardship we endured, every victory. And I?”, his voice softened into something fragile. “I only know through stories, if I even know at all.”
Endmin looked toward Camille again, but to Camille, it felt as if he was looking right through him, like his mind was somewhere else entirely.
“I know Perlica trusts me, Fiona does too. I know Chen would follow me anywhere. And somehow…” His smile returned, gentler now, more sincere. “So do you.”
Camille nodded once. “I do.”
“Doesn’t that trouble you?”
“No.”
“You never wonder if you’ve placed your trust in the wrong person?”
“Not once.” The answer came so quickly that it almost startled the Endmin.
“... Why?”
Camille met his gaze, determination and seriousness simmering in his eyes, as he spoke. “Because I did not choose to follow your memories or your past.”
The Endministrator blinked.
“I chose to follow you.”
A breath passed, before Camille continued. “When I first arrived aboard the Dijiang, I knew of your reputation. Of the stories and titles others had given you.” His expression remained composed. “They held little meaning.”
The Endministrator tilted his head. “Is that so?”
In response, the vampire nodded, before continuing. “I have encountered many accomplished people of different kinds, some were worthy of admiration to most. Others…”, he left the sentence unfinished. The Endmin understood, anyway. “Your title alone tells me very little.”
The office briefly grew quiet once more, Camille purposefully letting the words settle on a mind he knew was overworked and too loud already.
“What convinced me was watching you.”
Unsure on how to respond, the Endministrator simply listened. Camille continued.
“You remembered the names of mechanics whose work rarely receives recognition. You apologised when meetings exceeded their allotted time. You thanked operators for completing routine patrols. You asked Engineering whether they had eaten, on more than one occasion.” A pause. His next words were spoken… softer.
“You noticed when I preferred reading in silence.”
“... That one wasn’t difficult.”
“It still showed your thoughtfulness and attentiveness.” Camille’s voice remained soft. “I was accustomed to being overlooked, avoided. You looked at me, regardless.”
Something warm settled in the Endmin’s chest.
“My first impression of you… it was not all too pleasant. I had been convinced that you were eyes sent to regard my every move.”
The words were familiar. The Endministrator remembered the distrust and doubt that had first been evident in Camille’s entire body language when he had approached the man in Valley-IV.
“But that impression no longer matters.” In the dim light of the office, Camille’s eyes seemed a little more crimson than usual. “The person before me now… is someone who chooses kindness even without remembering why. You speak of your lost memories as though they were the source of your character.” A small shake of his head. “I disagree.”
The Endministrator found himself unable to look away, the sincerity in those words heavy, but warm in his chest.
“You have forgotten, and yet, no memory of yours could have compelled you to forge a new key for me. No forgotten promise, recollection or obligation validated such a gesture. You simply wished me to know that I had a door aboard the Dijiang that I could always open, somewhere to return to.”
Then, something so rare happened, that the Endministrator briefly thought he must’ve been dreaming.
Camille smiled, small, genuine, but a smile nonetheless, directed only at him. “Every day I spend aboard this ship tells me the same thing. The man everyone remembers…”
The Endministrator waited, holding his breath.
Camille’s answer came with the same unwavering sincerity as every important truth he had ever spoken.
“... and the man sitting before me, are not two different people. They are simply separated by memories. And memories do not create compassion, they merely preserve it.”
The Endministrator felt something tighten unexpectedly in his throat, as he exhaled - shakily, almost wetly. For once, words failed him completely.
He lowered his gaze again, his vision lingering just briefly on the reports scattered across his desk. Then, they landed on the hands nervously fidgeting in his lap.
“... You’re making it rather difficult to argue with you.”
Camille tilted his head, a soft breath leaving him. “I was not attempting to.”
“I know.” The Endministrator smiled faintly. “That’s precisely the problem.”
With a sigh that didn’t sound quite as heavy anymore, he rested his elbows on the desk, one hand holding his chin. “I keep waiting for someone to tell me that I’m being irrational, that I simply need more confidence.” His shoulders rose and sunk with another quiet sigh. “But you never seem interested in saying what you think I should hear.”
Camille shook his head. “I see little purpose in that.”
“Mhm. You simply tell me what you believe.”
“I do.”
The Endministrator met his gaze once more. “Somehow, it helps more.”
“I am glad.”
The answer was so simple that it almost made the Endministrator smile again.
“Can I confess something a little embarrassing?”
“You may confess anything.”
“... I still don’t know whether that’s reassuring or terrifying.”
Camille blinked once. “I had intended it to be the former.”
Endmin simply shook his free hand once. “I know.”, then, he rubbed the bridge of his nose, before he spoke.
“When I first woke up…”, he exhaled slowly, “... there were moments I wondered whether everyone had mistaken me for someone else.”
Camille, as he always did, listened without interruption.
“I would walk through the corridors that I should know. People smiled, greeted me. They trusted me immediately. And all I remember was thinking that, surely, they confused me with another Endministrator.”
The image amused him, now. At the time, it had not.
“Then I’d read another report, another log, another account of…”, he vaguely gestured up and down, “... myself. And every single one would describe someone who seemed…”, he searched for the word for several seconds. “... larger.”
Another brief pause as he collected his words carefully. Thinking such things for as long he had, since he awoke that fateful day, was one thing. Voicing them, however, was another.
“Someone who seemed larger than life. Larger than I could ever hope to become.” He looked down at his hands once more. “I’ve been trying very hard to grow into someone else’s shadow.”
Camille frowned almost imperceptibly. “... No.”
The Endministrator looked up, confused and a little shocked. “No?”
Camille continued quietly. “A shadow cast years ago by someone standing exactly where you now sit. It only appears unfamiliar because you no longer remember being in that position, before.”
The Endministrator simply stared.
“I have investigated countless scenes left behind by strangers, reconstructed lives from scattered fragments. I learned to distinguish past from hope or what others merely believe had happened.” His eyes met the Endministrator’s dead-on as he spoke. “You possess the opposite dilemma. You remember too little, while others remember too much. The truth… lies somewhere between.”
The Endministrator let those words settle. He nodded, softly.
“Camille… Do you know what frightens me the most?”
Camille waited.”
“It’s not that I forgot, but rather… one day I might remember.”
Camille’s brow lifted ever so slightly, questioning the statement.
“That when that day comes, that I prefer the person I used to be.”
The confession lingered between them and Camille finally understood.
“So many people speak about him,”, the Endmin continued. “They admired him, depended on him. What if I remember everything…” His voice nearly disappeared as he willed the next words to come out regardless. “... and I wish I had remained asleep?”
Camille was quiet for a long time. Long enough that the Endministrator wondered whether he had finally asked a question without an answer.
The Sarkaz seemed to finally settle on his words after a while. “I do not believe you would become another person or prefer one more than the other. You would simply understand yourself more… completely.”
The Endministrator could only smile weakly. “You sound awfully certain.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
Camille answered without hesitation. “Because I have observed you. You apologise when you inconvenience others, you thank those who receive little recognition. You make time for conversations despite your responsibilities and notice when operators isolate themselves.”
Then, his expression softened visibly. “You noticed me.”, the words were spoken so quietly, the Endmin found himself holding his breath once more, just briefly. “I made every reasonable effort to remain unnoticed.”
A soft laugh bubbled up in the Endministrator’s throat. “I know, though you failed.”
“I did.” Camille inclined his head. “You continued speaking to me regardless.”
A faint smile touched the Endministrator’s lips as he thought back to their first conversations. “I rather liked speaking to you.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“I… eventually realised."
The Endministrator laughed at that. “You became much more observant.”
“I have always been observant. It is my work.”
“Not as much when it comes to me, though.”
“... I suppose that is fair. It merely took me longer to understand why you sought my company.”
The Endministrator looked at him with a soft smile. “And now?”
Camille held his gaze without wavering. “Now I know.”
Neither of them hurried to fill the silence that followed. The quiet between them had become more familiar once more, words and their meaning settling.
In his chair, the Endministrator leaned back with exhaustion still lingering on his expression, though its weight seemed… different now. Less crushing and more bearable. He looked across the office at the Sarkaz seated comfortably on the lounge.
“Camille…”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
Camille seemed genuinely puzzled.
“For listening.”
Then, understanding slowly settled across his features. “I have done very little.”
It validated a shake from the Endministrator’s head. “You always say that.”
“It is true.”
“No,”, he smiled gently. “It isn’t.”
Camille fell quiet. He wasn’t accustomed to being thanked for simply remaining, for staying. And yet… he found he did not dislike it. Not at all. For the first time in a very, very long time, he did not mind being seen. And in turn, he did not mind aiding someone who carried the universe on his shoulders. Not if it meant he could preserve that soft smile a little longer.