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Jaiden screams out at the sun until it sets. Once the sky is indigo blue and every shadow melds together, she’s far away from the mainland. Far enough that she doesn’t recognize the trees, the dirt beneath her feet crumbled and foreign. It’s not like it matters.
She’s already cried her fair share, but every time Jaiden think’s she’s finally done letting it out, more tears come. At this rate, she thinks, she might just cry until morning. Until the sun greets her again. To her left, a Creeper hisses and Jaiden briefly entertains the idea of letting the explosion hit her, before taking out her shield anyways. She waits until it blows, deflects most of the debris and keeps on walking. Resignedly, she puts on full armor for good measure — solely because there are paintings stashed in her backpack. Bobby’s last. Jaiden protects herself to protect his memory.
Another mob makes its way towards her. A zombie, this time. The rot of its flesh weighs it down, feet dragging on the grass slow enough that Jaiden’s moment of indecision doesn’t cost her anything — until she makes up her mind to pick up the diamond axe and slash away. It might very well be the first time she’s killed a monster out of her own volition. She’d usually just avoid them, back when Bobby was still alive. Walk around them and run away, or deploy a couple hits at most and let her son finish them off.
They made a good team. Jaiden’s sheer compassion and Bobby’s unyielding bravery. Walking side by side, hand in hand, until they were too tired to keep going and warped home. Another tear rolls down her cheek. It’s hard to wipe it off while still keeping her grip on the axe, so it runs its course until Jaiden tastes it.
While she isn’t looking, a second Zombie hits her shoulder, shoving her to the side. A choppy breath is punched out of her from the unexpected impact, and Jaiden moves with barely a thought to spare. Her arms fly forward, the weapon striking at the monster’s neck and leaving its head barely hanging on. Another flip of her wrist severs the remaining strip of flesh at once. A splash of the darkened, putrid blood reaches her forearm and the sudden warmth of it makes her wince.
“Argh—!” she yelps, dropping into a crouch. Jaiden frantically dusts herself, viciously pawing over her body until she’s absolutely sure there is nothing else dirtying her clothes. Her light blue overalls, most importantly.
By the time she’s convinced, she’s heaving. Heavy breaths pulling at her chest and straining her lower back, curling from her nose and mouth like smoke. Jaiden puffs loudly, trying to get the trembling of her lips under control, and wipes the back of her arm on the grass until the worst of the slick wears off. Her knees creak, whiny over the prolonged effort of sustaining weight, and she carefully pushes herself to her feet
“Quién está ahí?” a low voice rasps suddenly, its owner out of Jaiden’s sight.
Instinctively, she steps back. “Hello?” Jaiden grabs her communicator, so used to setting up the translation feature she barely has to look at the screen. “Hello?”
There’s silence, for a couple beats and then some. The leaves move, naturally enough that it doesn’t really help much. To Jaiden’s left, something snaps.
“I can hear you,” she urges, nervous pupils jumping around the deep green landscape. “Who’s there?”
Jaiden lights a torch, the first time she’s bothered to since nightfall. In all honesty, she hadn’t quite realized how dark it was. She schools her breath, taking note of the still on-going quietness, and waits. For a long time, the absence of sound is so jarring her ears pop. Then, out of seemingly nowhere — the figure taking shape in between blinks — Jaiden is looking at a checkered handkerchief.
Spreen, is what her mind supplies once the initial scare has worn. Spreen, who she has met only once before, and very briefly at that. It occurs to her no one in the mainland has seen him in weeks.
He stands before Jaiden now, no sign of the dainty sunglasses she’s seen in pictures, which leaves his violet eyes exposed. Spreen’s voluminous hair is tied back in a ponytail and his full-set of netherite armor glints under the effect of Jaiden’s burning torch, Spreen himself doesn’t seem to carry any source of light.
“Hi,” she decides to greet him, despite the awkward delay. It’s automatic, the social response to seeing a human figure she vaguely recognizes. Jaiden hadn’t expected to run into anyone out here; not that she had been thinking all that hard on the way, but least of all him . Roier’s… something. Ramón’s other father — the one he doesn’t talk about.
“Why are you so far out?” he squints in lieu of an answer, arms crossed.
It’s nothing about his words, but something in Spreen’s stance unnerves her. His expression is weirdly intense, stilted like he has somehow forgotten the ways of interacting with another person in the time he’s been gone. Jaiden glares at him, and before she knows it she’s saying: “My son died.”
Her first instinct is to recoil, though it’s her own mouth she’s running from. It’s the only answer to Spreen’s question, at the same time it’s not really an answer at all.
I lost my son. I can be wherever the hell I want.
I lost my son.
There’s no place for me anymore.
Spreen approaches after a beat and takes his helmet off, almost politely. He shakes his head to fix the matted parts of his hair, airing out the dark curls, and acknowledges her with a slight nod. Emotion pools in the crease of his furrowed eyebrows, though Jaiden struggles to pinpoint what it is exactly.
“I’m sorry,” he says briefly, and Jaiden doesn’t need to wait for the translator to understand. Lo siento. She’s heard it enough by now to recognize the sound.
Spreen fiddles with his hands, reaching for his belt just to hold on to something. He grabs his sword’s handle, partially covered in shadow, and doesn’t take it out. His chestplate is slightly dented, worn, like he’s been fighting — yet not bothered enough to stop and repair his equipment.
Jaiden brandishes the torch, watching the soot flying out to pass the time. There are only so many condolences she can thank people for. It’s been about a week since Bobby’s death. Just about enough time to put some things into perspective. One, he’s not coming back. Two, Jaiden’s happiest moments are now past. Nothing else after this point will ever come close. Three, despite it all, she’s still here.
“Eh, come,” says Spreen, shuffling his feet. He beckons at her to follow and walks away without pausing to see if she does. “We shouldn’t stay here long,”
His ears stand tall and Jaiden wonders if he hears anything in the distance, but not enough to ask. Mechanically, she does follow. If it’s a response to the imperativeness in his tone or just a general sense of purpose, Jaiden isn’t sure. The back of Spreen’s head stays within her sight, nevertheless.
The axe weighs her down, she realizes after a couple minutes of walking. The uneven weight disrupts her balance and causes her wings to flap open. The muscles stretch and pull painfully at her back and shoulders, dull after a long time of being left unused, and a couple of feathers shed. She’d be sadder about the honey colored plumes falling into a trail on another occasion, she’s sure. As it is, Jaiden barely pays it any mind.
Spreen leads them to a rugged hill. The incline over the rest of the terrain is minimal, but he seems satisfied enough to stop. He looks back then, for the first time, like the thought of Jaiden being somewhere else had never crossed his mind. He leans on an angled rock and crosses his arms again.
“Okay,” he gruffs, “Here,”
Jaiden’s wings twitch. She crouches to put the axe away, finally, and meets Spreen’s eyes over the handle of her backpack. The purple seems livelier, somehow.
“You’re really far out,” he insists, off-handed. His helmet is still off, which makes him appear the slightest bit more human. He doesn’t look like a bear, not really. The animal features are there, sure, in his stance and the way he moves too. But it’s something else that begs for caution. Something in the fold of his collar — in the sharp way he tucks a wild strand of hair away from his eyes. Jaiden holds his stare until he looks away, even though it takes a long time.
“You too,” she reasons. “Do you live out here?”
“No, no,” Spreen tilts his chin, tentatively: “You know where I live,”
The reply confuses her. Jaiden searches her mind for answers and finds only memories of bare columns, a structure left abandoned and empty. “The house— near the castle?” she says, quickly. “That’s— no. No one lives there.”
Spreen checks his communicator, waiting the stipulated seconds until the translation is spit out, then turns back to face her, deliberately slow. He shrugs, and takes a lighter from a hidden pocket Jaiden can’t see. He flicks the cap to release a flame two, three times, and then tucks it away without saying a word.
Jaiden watches him do it and moves to lean against the same rock. Upon brief consideration, she hoists herself up to sit on top of it, cross-legged. Spreen mumbles something the translator doesn’t quite catch, and seconds later he’s sitting next to her. As far as the rock and her wingspan will allow, but still close. From here, they can see the tops of the trees below. It’s mostly darkness, with the contours barely made out. A week ago, Jaiden would’ve wanted to paint it.
Distracted, she says: “Ramón is fine, by the way. I know you didn’t ask. But he’s doing alright,”
“Oh,” Spreen shifts uncomfortably, moving even further away as if to place a physical barrier between her voice and himself. He’s nearly given up on sitting. If he moves any more, Spreen might as well stand again.
Jaiden waits for a reply, anything, but it doesn’t come. Spreen inspects the ground beneath them like it’s the most intriguing part of the exchange. Huffing, she snides: “You haven’t been there to see him in a while. I bet Ramón misses you,”
Spreen turns back to look at his own communicator. He allows himself an extra moment after the translation comes through and Jaiden does notice, though she decides not to call him out on it. “The american—,” he starts, then cuts himself off like he’s trying to find the right words. “The other one… He takes good care of the egg,”
Jaiden blinks. “Fit?” Spreen gestures vaguely, brows pinched as if to say, obviously, and only then does she continue. “Well— he does, it’s true. Ramón might like having both his parents around, though,”
Spreen shakes his head, and Jaiden swears she sees him roll his eyes. “I thought he was doing fine?” He says the last word in English, stretching out the syllables. Fine. “If he has everything he wants, he’ll be spoiled,”
“And what’s the harm in that?” Jaiden perks up. “You should enjoy your time together before—”
Jaiden stops abruptly, clamping her mouth shut once she catches herself. Spreen eyes her carefully, mouth tensed into something she gives up trying to read.
“I don’t have to tell you that. You don’t know me,” Jaiden says after a long breath, then adds forcefully: “Sorry,”
“I—” Spreen starts, then seems to clear his throat. “But I know Roier,”
Jaiden raises her eyebrows, hearing the implication loud and clear. I know Roier, and so do you. I know you through him, somehow. She’ll be lying if she says she doesn’t understand what he means.
“Yeah,” she breathes. It’s hard to piece the words together and she’s getting tired now.
Spreen grumbles, then hisses. Like he’s making up his mind or reaching some kind of compromise. Sighing like it takes effort to work out the words, he asks: “What was Bobby like?”
Jaiden freezes. A sentence builds up in her mouth, so acidic her eyes water. You don’t deserve to ask me that . A fickle part of her fights against his very words, indignant. Spreen, who has all but abandoned his — miraculously still alive — kid. Spreen, who doesn’t seem to regret it. She swallows, though it hurts her throat to do so, and Roier’s voice is evoked inside her head to wash away the taste. When she looks up at the sky she wonders, for a second, where he might be now.
“The best,” Jaiden manages, “The greatest kid I could ever ask for,”
She hasn’t stopped seeing him behind closed eyelids for a second since. Bobby, riding a bike in the mountains. Bobby, cheeks covered in paint splatter as he worked away on a painting. Bobby, requesting one lullaby after the other, fighting against sleep until it took him down. If she tries hard enough, Jaiden can remember exactly how it felt to hold his hand in hers.
She clasps the front pocket of her overalls, suddenly breathless. Her face burns like she’ll start crying again, and Spreen’s quiet observation grounds her almost cruelly.
“You didn’t ask, though.” he says, softly like he’s just pondering out loud. He’s holding one of her loose feathers in his hand, and she has no idea when he must have picked it up. “You didn’t have a choice,”
Jaiden shivers, the wind ruffling her hair and wings at once. She needs to read the translation over a couple times to comprehend, blinking the haze away from her sight. She can tell he’s not trying to upset her. She remembers this from Roier, too. Still, it’s jarring to be faced with such cold logic. The way she sees it, it really wasn’t a choice at all. It wasn’t her conscious decision to care. To love. Briefly, she wonders if the opposite might also be true.
“You never wanted a kid,” Jaiden means it as an accusation, but it comes out flat. She’d been told some of it in bits, and had simply inferred the rest.
Spreen lets out a resigned snort, the admission coming as easy as breathing: “Well, no, I didn’t come here to look after a stupid egg,”
“Why did you come here?” Jaiden insists, nonsensically, and finds it in her to be somewhat offended that her presence, her grief , isn’t enough to make him a little self-conscious of saying it out loud.
“I don’t know. To have fun— be with my friends,” Spreen shrugs, shoulders sinking. “To earn a little peace,”
His tone turns somber, deeply-rooted. Suddenly, his isolation doesn’t feel so outlandish. Even with wildly different stakes, Jaiden understands then that Spreen has lost something to the island, too.
The polarized feelings in quick succession make the back of her head ache. Jaiden cradles her knees close to her chest and tucks her chin over them.
“At least he lived a happy life,” Spreen hums, glancing at her from the side. All Jaiden catches is the purple glint of his eyes. Her lips twitch, at the cold nocturnal air or something else entirely.
“I hope so,”
“Of course,” is what he says back, though it’s not really a fitting reply. Jaiden suspects there might be a bit of a barrier, there. His intention overshadowed by unnatural word equivalence. It’s okay. She doesn’t mind. Spreen draws a pattern on the surface of the rock, fingers dragging over dust, and she thinks she gets it, despite herself.
Jaiden’s torch goes out, with one last breath of warmth and a spark of orange. For a moment, she does nothing to reclaim the light. She barely moves. It’s almost time, anyway. Spreen reaches over to take the stub from her hand, and in doing so brushes against the edge of one of her wings. She allows it, in silence, and nods in delicate approval as he simply sets it aside.
In the dark, Spreen almost looks like someone she could trust. Jaiden wipes away the moisture from her eyes and wonders, not for the first time, just what kind of revelations the break of dawn will bring forth.