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Once his memories had returned, the world felt… different.
Two versions of one individual were packed into one body—Scaramouche, the original, who had suffered and done wrong and destroyed anything in his reach; and the Wanderer, a slate wiped clean, a husk of a person. Their bodies were the same, but their minds were different, and isolated.
Some days, Scaramouche would shine through, barking insults and chasing down fights for a rush of emotion in his empty chest. Other times, the Wanderer would take charge, spending hours observing the wildlife and smiling kindly at strangers.
Sometimes, it felt like they were both in control. At one moment, Scaramouche would be snapping at a stranger, and then the Wanderer would suddenly be apologizing. When something elicited responses from both of them, their body would stand entirely still and blank, unsure which to listen to. Some days were harder than others.
It took some time for Nahida to approach him about it.
They’d met and spoken several times in the forests, seated among flowers and strange, plantlike creatures that watched with knowing eyes. Scaramouche disliked them; the Wanderer found them adorable.
One fateful day, Scaramouche was waiting in their usual spot, leaned back on his hands and tapping his feet impatiently. He felt those eyes on him, and he was close to yelling so they’d become frightened—but Nahida appeared in a flash of green light, and his anger was quelled.
They remained in silence for a short while. Both Scaramouche and the Wanderer enjoyed the scenery. They, and Nahida, liked to collect their thoughts before speaking.
Nahida broke the silence. “You feel like two separate people,” she said. Her voice was quiet, but not uncertain. She never read their mind, respecting their privacy, but she knew anyway.
“I don’t feel that way,” Scaramouche said, “I am that way. There’s no way you haven’t noticed at this point.”
Nahida studied him for a long moment. “Can you explain it to me?”
“I’ll try,” Scaramouche said grimly. He took a second to think, two thought processes working through an explanation at once. “When my memories were returned, it was like… I came back. But the new me stayed. Sometimes I’m the one in charge, talking and walking and all that shit. But sometimes I’m not. Sometimes I’m just… a passenger in my body. Like I’m dreaming. And even when I’m the one in control, there’s a whole second thought process going on.” He sat up, studying his hands. “Some days, we’re both in control, switching off depending on the moment. We have different wants, different interests. He’s me, but… not.”
Nahida placed a small hand on his shoulder. “I understand. I think that, with time, you’ll start feeling like one person. Until then, what would you like me to call you?”
“Well, I’m still Scaramouche, I guess. But he’s…” He paused, clenching his fists. “He goes by the Wanderer.”
“It’s nice to meet you both,” Nahida said, and she smiled kindly.
Scaramouche had thought he was in charge, but he found himself smiling back.
X
The Wanderer loved mornings in Sumeru city.
Humans were so different, so fascinating. Some would stumble around, rubbing their eyes, chased by sleepiness. Others would shake it off, rolling their shoulders and cracking down on their duties with enthusiasm. Some were annoyed about going to work; others looked forward to it. There were young and old, all moving at their own paces, calling good mornings and discussing plans.
The Wanderer liked to perch on a branch in the Divine Tree, watching what happened below with a keen eye. Daily habit.
It was another one of these lovely mornings when the Traveler suddenly dropped down beside him, making himself comfortable.
“Good morning,” the Wanderer greeted.
“Morning,” Aether said. “I see you’re in a good mood today.”
“I like seeing the city wake up.”
Aether hummed. “Mind if I join you?”
“Of course not.”
They sat in a calm silence for a while longer. Scaramouche was prattling away about doing anything else with anyone else, how it would be a better use of time in better company. The Wanderer ignored him. Aether was wonderful company—why in the world would Scaramouche dislike him?
“Do you get bored of this?” Aether asked.
“No,” the Wanderer replied, smiling. “I like to think of why some people act the way they do. I could spend centuries just watching people.”
“Hit me,” Aether said. “Your theories. I want to hear some.”
“Okay.” The Wanderer was beaming as he leaned forward slightly, pointing at a small figure in the distance. “Do you see that woman wearing the straw hat, with the basket of zaytun peaches under her arm?”
Aether nodded.
“I like to think she’s a fruit carver. She uses that dagger on her waistband—do you see it? She cuts the fruit into fun shapes and sells them for children to make them smile. She grows the fruit herself, of course, and when she runs out, she promises priority to the customers who missed out that day.”
“Huh,” Aether said. “What about… him?” He pointed at a different person. “The old man in the purple shirt. There’s a kid pulling his arm.”
“Well, he’s an entertainer, of course,” the Wanderer said smoothly. “He performs magic tricks for some extra mora on the side. He used to be an Eremite, that’s how he got the scar on his left arm. He’s retired now, and he’s got enough mora to take care of himself. He uses the extra mora he gets to buy food for the stray cats near his home. And he loves seeing how happy the kids get when he shows off his tricks.”
Aether was looking at him with an odd look in his eye, curious and inquisitive. “You’ve changed a lot.”
“I guess so,” the Wanderer said. Out of his own control, his mouth opened once more, and Scaramouche said, “I’m still here.”
“And you’re a lot calmer, I think,” Aether added, nodding to himself. “Less angry.”
The Wanderer smiled pleasantly. Scaramouche clenched their fists in their lap.
Aether remained at their side until it was time for lunch, saying he had to find Paimon before she destroyed a restaurant. He vanished with a wave, a small white light flashing alongside him.
The Wanderer remained seated for the rest of the day, watching the little humans below, thinking about Aether’s words.
X
“Um, excuse me? Can you help me with this?”
Scaramouche glanced up from his paper. Nahida had enrolled them in classes at the Akademiya, stating that she believed it may help them gather insight on themselves. Vahumana interested them both; Scaramouche liked to discount the curriculum for what he’d observed as he lived for centuries, meanwhile the Wanderer took intrigue in the development of humans over time.
Their current lesson involved a discussion about Inazuma, something Scaramouche knew much about, unfortunately. Thinking about certain bits brought up memories he’d rather have left behind. He focused on what angered him instead. Anger was much easier than misery.
“What is it?” Scaramouche said. His voice didn’t come out as aggressive as he liked.
“I’m confused about the archons,” the student said, itching the back of her neck. “There’s two of them, but… they’re like the same person.”
“They aren’t,” Scaramouche said. “They’re like opposites, really.”
“How so?” the student asked, frowning.
“Well, Baal was initially in charge,” Scaramouche said. “She valued every moment in eternity and how it changed. And she was better for humans, since Beelzebul was too much of a prick. She was ruthless. When Baal died, Beelzebul took over—and I don’t know if you heard, but Inazuma was in a pretty shit place recently under her rule. She had a different idea of eternity that didn’t match Baal’s; something about permanence and never changing. Their ideas were completely different.”
The student stared, surprised. “Wow. You’re really knowledgeable on this.”
Scaramouche shrugged. “I’ve been around.”
“You sure have,” the student said, laughing. “I’m Halima. It’s nice to meet you.”
Scaramouche nodded politely, recalling Nahida and Aether’s orders for him to be nice. “You too.”
“What about your name?” Halima said. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course!”
“It’s…”
Scaramouche blanked.
He couldn’t say Scaramouche—he didn’t want that name to exist anymore, not outside of the people who already knew, and he wanted to find a new name, but nothing felt right. He wasn’t the Wanderer—it felt wrong to say that was him even though they shared a body, two sides of the same coin. What was a normal Inazuman name he could use? He’d lived centuries, he knew plenty of names. Yui, Hinata, Minato—
“It’s okay,” Halima said, smiling kindly after he’d floundered for a handful of seconds. “You don’t need to tell me. How about I call you… Hat Guy?”
Scaramouche stared at her. “What? That’s stupid.”
“Well, it leaves no room for confusion,” Halima said, grinning with mischief. “Thanks for your help, Hat Guy.”
Scaramouche grit his teeth and turned back to his own paper. Though he tried to make himself angry, keep himself distant, a voice in his head was chirping Friend, friend, friend.
Maybe he could have friends this time around.
X
Aether asked for his help hunting a bounty.
The Wanderer smiled and said yes, of course. He admitted he wasn’t a great fighter, but he’d do his best. Aether shot him a sidelong glance, confused, but asked no questions.
It was winged dendroshroom. Aether had asked some others to come along, but they were busy with important matters, so it was just him and the Wanderer.
They walked into the forest, the dark greenery flushing out the sunlight. Raindrops slipped between the gaps of leaves, tapping on the Wanderer’s hat. Quickly, he’d offered some shelter under its wide brim to Aether, worried he may become sick. Aether gave him that same inquisitive look before accepting the offer. They trudged along the muddy grass together, steps matched.
“There,” Aether said, pointing at a shape in the distance. “I can see its elemental signature.”
The Wanderer squinted his eyes, barely making out the shape of the winged dendroshroom. It was larger than usual, more vicious. He’d handled a handful of stray wildlife before, but nothing like this.
“Come on,” Aether said, urging the Wanderer forward.
They approached the beast, stepping slowly as they entered a range where it may detect them. Aether fully crouched in a patch of shrubs, pulling the Wanderer down by the shoulder.
“Attack it from the air,” Aether instructed quietly. “I’ll get you some openings from the ground.”
The Wanderer nodded. He wasn’t the best at using his Vision—Scaramouche was much better at combat in general. Strangely, he felt a sense of ease as he summoned his catalyst, an almost-confidence.
He nodded at Aether. Aether nodded in return, sword materializing in hand, and he sprinted at the dendroshroom.
The Wanderer could hear its shriek as he kicked off into the air, yelping when Aether slashed at it.
They exchanged strikes. Aether’s blade-work was quick, precise, and the Wanderer channeled sharp slices of air that covered his blind-spots. Any time the dendroshroom tried to take off into the air, the Wanderer would strike a weak spot to stun it, sending it back to the forest floor, and Aether would continue his flurry of strikes.
They wore it down slowly, whittling down its health with raw power rather than the elements. It was going smoothly until—
The Wanderer froze.
A blow was coming. The dendroshroom was about to hit Aether over the head, and he wasn’t going to block it. He couldn’t. He didn’t have time.
(The Wanderer wanted to save anybody he could, anyone close enough for him to reach. Scaramouche wanted to redeem himself in the eyes of the few to show him kindness. In this moment, their reactions were the same. Their body moved with both minds urging it.)
They surged forward.
(Move. Move. Move—)
They summoned a blade of wind and aimed it at the shroom. It shrieked in pain.
(Grab him, I have to save him—)
With the opposite hand, they grabbed Aether’s arm and pulled him to a safe distance.
The shroom stumbled, stunned from the hit. Aether seemed equally stunned, adjusting his grip on his sword and taking a breath. He remained on the ground, processing.
“Are you okay?” the Wanderer asked.
Aether nodded, dumbfounded. “You saved me.”
Scaramouche felt his face reddening. “Well, somebody had to.”
With too much emotion swelling in his chest, something he wasn’t used to after so many centuries, he charged at the shroom, easily ending it with only a few more hits. By the time its body was disintegrating, that swell had faded into a slight ebb.
Scaramouche landed in the grass, rotating his shoulder as he approached Aether. “All done. You’re welcome for doing all the work.”
Aether stared for a long moment, then grinned. “Sure.”
They returned to the city to report the bounty. Aether took the reward and began dividing it in two, offering half to Scaramouche.
For two different reasons, Scaramouche and the Wanderer refused. With both minds agreeing, they said, “I don’t need money.”
Aether eyed them suspiciously. “Fine. I’ll make it up to you somehow.”
They grinned. “I’m looking forward to it.”
X
”Mom?”
Her back was turned. She was walking away. Another failure, this time with too much of a heart. That wouldn’t do for her vision of eternity.
The puppet she left behind curled up into a ball and sobbed.
They woke up crying. They always woke up crying.
There was a noise across the room. They sat up to see Nahida seated at the table, papers spread in front of her. She was humming and slowly kicking her feet. She could always find their little home, hidden away with the Aranara.
She knew they were awake without looking up. “What do you think of a new name?”
They blinked, considering. Leaving their past behind was great, something they wished to do above all. But were they ready to let go of it completely?
“I can give you some ideas,” Nahida offered.
“Okay,” they said. “But don’t expect me to make a decision right now.”
“Of course.” Nahida stood, shuffling her papers with a smile. “I compiled some names I think you might like! Half are Inazuman and half are Sumerian. I’ll start with the Sumerian ones.”
Nahida went down the list of names along with meanings. They tuned out for a portion of it, thinking.
Move on and forget who he once was, like the Wanderer?
Or remember and anguish over his mistakes, like Scaramouche?
They realized—no, no. ‘They’ wasn’t right, not anymore. He. He was the same person, just at different points in time: his lonely birth, and his fall from divinity.
He realized that he could do both. He could move on from his past, from his mistakes; but he would remember what he had been through, what he had done. He would move on with an eye over his shoulder, recalling where he came from but not letting it stop his progress. He would make up for past cruelties with his newfound kindness.
“Can you repeat that last one?” he interjected Nahida’s list. “It… it sounded… I don’t know.”
Nahida smiled gently. “Fuujin. It means ‘divine wind.’”
He stared at his hands, fingers curling around the sheets until he consciously relaxed them. “It’s… not bad.”
“Great!” Nahida said cheerfully. She marked something down on the paper as she added, “That’s our first contender.”
The list’s end came shortly after. Only one name had been noted.
“Let’s review,” Nahida said. “You said the name Fuujin ‘wasn’t bad’. Do you think you’d like to use it as a name?”
Silence.
“You don’t have to say yes,” Nahida said gently. “Only if you really want to. We can always look for other options. I could ask Alhaitham to gather some, or even Akaedmiya students.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “I think…” He paused, gathering his thoughts.
Nahida waited patiently.
“It’s good.” He looked up at her, a wobbly smile overtaking his face. “I think I’ll use it.”
“Wonderful!” Nahida cheered, jumping from her seat. She took his hands as she smiled, bright as the stars. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Fuujin!”
Fuujin smiled back.
X
“Do you eat?”
Fuujin snorted. He turned to shoot Aether a dubious look, crossing his arms. “Do I look like a rock?”
“So that’s a yes,” Aether concluded, grinning. “Perfect. I got Tighnari and Collei to watch Paimon for the day. How about Lambad’s Tavern for lunch? My treat—as thanks for your help with the commission.”
Fuujin tried to wrangle his expression in, pretending to think. “I don’t know… I’ve heard some bad reviews for that place.”
“Really?” Aether said, raising his eyebrows, but Fuujin could tell he didn’t believe him in the slightest. “And what would you suggest, oh wise one?”
“There’s this one place—“
“You’re going with the most expensive place in the city, aren’t you?”
“Well, you offered.”
Aether pretended to sulk as they surveyed the menu. Suddenly, he sat up in his seat, eyes narrow as he looked up at Fuujin. Fuujin recognized this as his Thinking Expression. He lowered his menu as well, waiting for Aether to gather his words.
“Nahida said you changed your name,” Aether said bluntly. (Everybody who had heard of the Traveler also heard of his inability to mince words. Some hated it. Fuujin found it relieving.)
“I did,” Fuujin said. “I felt my old name didn’t fit anymore. It seems to be common for immortals.”
“What’s your name now?”
“Fuujin.”
Aether hummed. “I like it. Kinda punchy.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“I mean that it suits you,” Aether clarified.
Fuujin didn’t know how to respond. Part of him wanted to tell Aether off, yell that he didn’t know what he was talking about. Another part wanted to thank him a thousand times over.
Instead, he just smiled.
Fuujin did suit him.