Chapter Text
When people see explosions , their first thoughts aren't often about how beautiful everything looks. Explosions are quite ugly, and even then, there are more pressing matters usually at hand if you're seeing one up close.
And even with the acrid scent that came with the chemical outbursts, Legs' eyes couldn't help but catch on the blue. And while his first thoughts weren't the usual reaction, his second thoughts were much more concerning.
Fuck, wait—those are mine.
His third thoughts were much more reasonable—he wasn't lacking sense completely.
And those thoughts were to turn tail and run away.
Legs had never been accused of being brave once in his entire nineteen (or twenty) years of life, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start now.
He knew better than that.
His heavy footsteps pounded against the dry grass below his feet, the sandy dirt uneven under his footing. The fact that the small town had (surprisingly) not seen much rainfall in the recent weeks did not help with the catching chemical fires that increased the amounts of cobalt smoke that billowed up into the sky.
Legs' lungs burned in a way that couldn't be attributed to running, the pain reminiscent of a recent pain that still scarred his skin and hair in a way he still couldn't figure out how to remove.
It was something that was bound to happen eventually—the phrase "Never trust an alchemist that looks human" wasn't just something people passed around for fun. Alchemy was something that changed a person, both mentally and physically, and if you weren't, you were either too inexperienced or too cautious.
Even Olsted, who prided himself on not making mistakes, wasn't exempt; his black scleras were off-putting enough, but within recent years, the man had started to exhale smoke that smelled vaguely of burning sugar.
And if Legs was right, and what he had heard in the trees outside Thistle Hill had been true…
This was all him. His mentor.
Olsted had been… a lot of things for Legs, but "mentor" was the only term that really fit. That, or "master", but everyone always looked at him weird when he said that.
One was more true than the other, but most people didn't care for that kind of semantics.
More than anything, he was four walls, a roof, and food, and that was all Legs really needed. More than Legs had gotten, for a while.
Your stomach doesn't really let you forget the times it's forced to start eating itself out of desperation.
Legs didn't know how long he ran for, only that the sky had changed from a cloudy grey to dark purple with the setting sun, parts of it obscured by distant blue smoke that hung like a haze over the sandy dunes he was now surrounded by.
He'd forgotten how close the desert truly was.
He probably wasn't even in the Summer Kingdom anymore.
The almost ominous clouds on the horizon didn't do much to prove him wrong.
He had already picked a direction; it was too late for him to change his mind now. Turning around meant giving up, it meant letting Olsted have the chance to find him.
And since Olsted had been the one to send him into town when the bombs went off, he doubted his resurgence would be met with warm feelings.
Not like the man was even capable of anything close to warm feelings to begin with.
Eventually, Legs' pace came to a slow, the darkening sky making his journey a lot harder. Heat lightning danced in the clouds above, flashing light peeking through occassionally, but he doubted any rain would be coming quite yet. There was usually a certain smell that came with rainfall, and it was… lacking.
Then again, maybe his nasal cavity had been so badly damaged by all the smoke from the chemical fires that there was no sense of smell left to speak of. It's not like he would've noticed.
It took a minute for him to notice, but up ahead, Legs spotted a familiar, faint blue glow reflecting off the sand dunes.
Soul lanterns.
Merchants.
All merchants who used the Soul Trail between Summer and Storm used soul lanterns. The blue flames gave them enough light to see without attracting the monsters of the night to their caravans. Legs was certain that there was another part of that story, but that would've been that last thing he was thinking of.
Familiar faces were what the apprentice was hoping for, and familiar faces he found.
His approach to the caravan's was quiet, unsure as to how long they had been parked there and if they were asleep. While he didn't want to be rude, he also didn't like the idea of waiting outside in the middle of the desert all night until they woke up.
While no campfire was lit, the blue glow of the lanterns got brighter on approach, a small cluster of them gathered in the white sand. At first, he didn't see anyone, but his eye caught on the top handle of a walking stick, resting on top of the sands just behind the closest caravan. Braided cords in yellow and black were tied around it, hanging from the top.
Cleo's staff.
Legs' footsteps quickened, rounding the side of the caravan and seeing exactly who he had thought.
The merchant was sat cross-legged on the sand, book open on their lap, pages illuminated by the blue lanterns. Her curly red hair was pulled back into a bun, strands kept out of their face by the orange kerchief tied around her head.
They looked up upon his approach, squinting in the dim light. "…Legundo?"
He nodded. "Hey, Cleo."
"…You look like absolute shit."
"Thanks."
They set the book down into the sand, trading it out for the walking stick before heaving herself up with a grunt, towering above him. "What in the raven's eye are you doing out here? Thistle Hill is miles away!"
Legs swallowed thickly, his dry throat not making any of this conversation easier. "Cleo… Thistle Hill is gone."
That was enough of the truth, at least. He didn't stick around enough to see the damage in its entirety.
Maybe that was for the best. Maybe this story would end differently if he had.
Their face softened in the pale light, her eyebrows drawing together. "Oh, Bee…"
Cleo pulled him into a tight hug, and he sank into her. He couldn't bring himself to shed any tears over any of it—Thistle Hill hadn't exactly been kind to him.
But something numb and hollow remained inside Legs' chest, regardless of how much he tried to argue that point with himself.
"It's going to be alright, Bee." Cleo murmured.
"We'll figure this out."