I Won't Last A Day Without You

by Bunda_Barracks

Summary:

“Aaaand, I’ve lost you haven’t I. Hellooooo?” Sethos said, amused. He waved a hand in front of the other’s face.

The puppet slapped it away, or at least tried to before the other caught it, entangling their fingers together.

Sethos grinned, eyes bright, “Gotcha.”

Kunikuzushi’s breath caught in his throat.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In which losing the Ba fragment meant losing more than just Hermanubis. 

Chapter 1

Sethos had always been fast. 

As a child, he was smaller than most, and his scrawny figure granted an agility that was difficult to contain. He was light on his feet, and quiet as a mouse, save for the sniggers he failed to keep quiet as he ran down the hallways of the Temple of Silence followed by furious teachers panting like dogs. 

They scolded him with a ruler and scroll to the wrist and Sethos pretended to be remorseful, as if he weren’t eyeing the empty corridor behind them that looked like a tempting escape route.

He ran with the wind, bare feet slapping on cool stone in quick leaps. His legs burned with every step; air heaved in his lungs as he laughed; it was freeing. 

Well, as freeing as it could be in the confines of those stone walls.

His Grandfather reprimanded him for his mischief, and at every occasion where some important looking priest would carry the boy by the scruff of his little white robe and drop him before their leader with pleading eyes, the man would shake his head, and frown - Sethos couldn’t find it within himself to disobey those tired old eyes.  Most of the time.

“Why do you insist on avoiding your lessons, boy? The scholars of Al-Ahmar are the most sacred of educators in all of the desert, you know.” His grandfather would sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose across the table.

Sethos picked at his food, carefully separating the little scraps of green from the tender meat. He shrugged. 

“Don’t like em.”

The old man gave him a pointed look.

“The lessons or the teachers?”

Sethos scooped some rice and meat into his fingers and shoved them into his mouth with a sly grin. 

“Bohf,” he said, lips smacking together as he chewed, “’Uaemre ith aulwaygs tehlin’ ‘e wah ou dou.”

The boy swallowed, satisfied and pointed across to his grandfather.

“Eat already, it’s gonna be cold.”

For a moment the man seemed baffled at the order from the boy who sat with his shoulders barely above the table’s surface.  He stumbled for words a little before slapping a hand to the wooden surface.

“Don’t try to change the subject, boy!” His grandfather guffawed, “Duaenre is a highly respected member of the Temple – my closest adviser whose job is to tell you what. To. Do! And close your mouth - don’t point at people either, it’s disrespectful!”

Sethos snorted and made a show of eating the next bite with his mouth locked shut. 

The man sighed. 

“Sometimes I forget you are my heir, with that aloof attitude of yours. Will you at least try to listen to your teachers, hm?” he said tiredly, “You carry great power within you. And you are very fortunate to have been given a body that possesses the ideal environment to host the Glory of Hermanubis, it pains me to watch you waste your days away playing like child, and running from your duties.”

Sethos looked at his lap, hands drawing away from his food. 

At that moment in time, he didn’t understand the meaning behind those words. The weight of ‘legacy’ and ‘honour’ and ‘glory.’ But then again, who would at such a young age?

“...sorry,” he said quietly, curling into himself slightly. 

His grandfather looked exhausted. 

He offered a half-smile, taking a bite from his food at last, “I accept your apology, boy.”

Sethos’s mouth twitched upwards, the forlorn expression on his face slipping a little.

“But only if you attend all your lessons from this day forth-”

The boy cried out in protest. 

They were very different, the two of them. Bamoun relied on the wit and cunning of his intellect, strategizing, planning, curt and absolute in all his being. He’d stalk the hallways of the Temple, muttering to himself about things unintelligible to Sethos’s boyish mind, and from where the child sat, hidden behind a shelf, the tensed brow and tight-lipped mouth became a familiar sight to spy. On the odd occasion where the boy would come bounding into the old man’s study with a raggedy looking toy in hand begging to play, only a dismissive hand would answer, or a sigh and nod to the other priests in the room, who would lead the boy out by the wrist. The door would shut, and Sethos wandered off to entertain himself.

Bamoun was a strict and unyielding leader - an unmovable object. Sethos was an unstoppable force. 

Over the years, it had become his philosophy, not that he was a particularly philosophical guy, to keep moving. Keep growing. Perhaps it was the confinement of the Temple, or the exhausting weight of ‘secrecy’ and ‘power’ and all words like that that seemed to consume his elder’s whole, that made him so. It was almost frightening to witness.

Whispering murmurs, frantic and behind hands. Shouts of agony, of anger, of betrayal.

Sethos held his toy to his chest and stared into the endlessly thick stone of the walls. Etched into the surface was a crude drawing of the desert, the bounding dunes, the vibrant springs hidden at the topmost cliffs, the warmth of the sun upon skin and the wind whipping at your clothes as you fought against it.

He reached out and traced it all.

Life is a fleeting moment, and so to live as it does, there is more to see, to feel. 

So, he ran. 

The Right of Duels had been the fight of his life. He saw the same balance in Cyno’s feet, the same twist of the shoulder, bend of his arm in his own movements as he dodged. The blank look of unfamiliarity stung a little as they’d met eyes, out in the dunes. It was a sad kind of nostalgia, Sethos felt. 

They had once trained under the same teacher as children after all, friends, in the way that most children tend to gravitate towards one another. Given his age at the time, it was difficult for even himself to recall all the details of their time together, but the soft tickle of the other’s hair that he’d seen grow from the darkest brown to a shock of white, as their heads rested against one another, sat in the warmest corner of the Temple was something that stuck with him. He remembered the smell of him, something indescribably Cyno that was hard to put into words. He remembered lying at the boy’s bedside as he twitched with a fever hotter than the midday desert, hands clutched together, unmoving.

 

The remaining mice.

Two sides of the same coin. 

 

Seeing him alive and well was rejuvenating. 

 

At the end of the day, Sethos lost, but there was honour in that too, he told himself.

The plan succeeded, and the General Mahamatra left the Temple of Silence carrying twice to fragments he entered it with, a worthy vessel for both.

And yet, Sethos felt as if he’d been cast out into a boundless ocean, adrift as the waters pulled him left to right, at their own will. That surety that had always come to him so easily seemed to slip between his fingers into the clashing waves. His whole life, all the years he had lived within the confines of the Temple, those which he remembered clearly, had all been with the fragment of Hermanubis which he had treasured in his chest. The tingle of its might that tickled through his heart to palm, engulfing its warmth through skin, was gone.

On the first night of its removal, he lay awake, curled into his side. It was cold. He reached within himself, searching, longing. There was nothing.

Seawater seeped into his mouth, and the surrounding ocean batted at his body, carrying it along the thundering currents.

It wasn’t as if he was without purpose, he had a duty to the Temple as his grandfather’s successor. It was an honour to serve as Bamoun had. He had an obligation, a responsibility to care for them all, the people that raised him Djer, Intef, Asenath, all the priests and the scholars that he’d run from along the lengths of the stone hallways, tottering along the endless shelves of scrolls and scriptures - he now led them.

Cyno had chosen him, but the title of ‘leader’ sat oddly in his mouth.

Sethos swallowed it down. 

He was no match for Cyno in battle, the man was the General Mahamatra after all, and as he fell to his knees, it was almost relief that shook him.

He had reached into his chest, tugging at the binds of the Ba fragment, it grasped at him as if desperate to stay. It burned like fire. Sethos grit his teeth and pulled harder, and it emerged from his skin, chest ablaze as it seared through. Its glowing aura stung his eyes.

 

He felt hollow.

 

Turning to Cyno, he stumbled slightly on his feet, “I give his glory to you.”

 

Grandfather was dead.

 

After Cyrus had taken Cyno from the Temple all those years ago, Sethos was the only child who remained in the small community of scholars and priests. Many a night had he laid awake, trying to recall the faces of the children that had sat before him in line, grasping each other’s hands as they inched closer, one by one to where the priests would prepare them for their ‘trial.’

Through the thick stone of the chamber’s wall, he could hear their cries. They’d peak and fall in arching whines, then fizzle out into silence. And then, the priests led another child by hand into the next room. 

He played by himself, tottering little dolls around pretending they were warriors or sumpter-beast tamers, talking to himself in mimicking voices and scrawling drawings of great dragons and beasts on the sacred walls of Al-Ahmar. It wasn’t as if he was alone. He had teachers. He had grandfather. He had had friends. 

But years had passed, and their faces had long left his memories.

One half of him felt pride seeing the friends Cyno had gathered along the road of life stand beside him with such unwavering loyalty. The other envied him.

Sometimes he’d wished it had been him that Cyrus had stolen in the night. He’d tried to picture what kind of life he’d be living at that current moment. Would he be surrounded with friends? A family? Would he be happier? 

The bond between Cyno and his companions swept away those fantasies in an instant, and all of a sudden, he was sure that it was fate that his old friend came to be so good. A successful, respected man who was happy and free.

That Tighnari, and the traveller were close to him in a way he had only imagined. There was a special glint in their eyes, as if communication took no words and they fought as valiantly as they defended one another. The extension of that friendship was a great honour. 

Sethos wasn’t sure he was worthy of it.

As he stood, teary eyed at his grandfather’s side, Tighnari pulled their hands together. 

He tried not to startle at how warm they felt.

“Next time, why don’t you stay for dinner at Avidya forest. Don’t be a stranger, you’re practically Cyno’s brother, right?” the fox said, smiling slightly. 

“That makes you family.”

Sethos cried.

He wasn’t sure if it was from gratefulness or grief.

Deep within him, he ached all through the rest of the day.

He found himself consumed by new responsibilities; he rose with the sun and slept as the moon shone high above the desert’s sky. He lay awake some nights, a strange cold within him and his eyelids drooped as if weighed by lead. Exhaustion seeped into his bones. Asenath left little bowls of dried fruits at his bedside. He nibbled on them numbly. 

Some days if felt like his tears had run dry, and his eyes were frustratingly parched. Other days it seemed as if he couldn’t stop crying.

Those nights he would sleep in his grandfather’s old quarters, clutching the old blankets that smelled so painfully familiar with heaving sobs, leaving his eyes puffy and red, hair a tangled mess of curls.

Bamoun came to him in his dreams. Some were more like memories, scenes from his childhood simply talking with the man, propped up on his knee and a hand brushing over his hair. Some were vaguer, feelings, smells that made him wake confused and covered in cold sweat. He started lighting incense that one of the priests had recommended for dreamless sleep. 

 

He sat at his desk, shifting through scrolls and documents, hour after hour. In the chaos that was the obsession that his grandfather had with the plan concerning the Ba fragments, the scriptures and papers which would have usually been attended to were left discarded, scattered across the floor as if struck by a sandstorm. In those final months, Bamoun became slower, and stiller. In many ways, it was a curious process. Morbid and grim, and yet, you couldn’t quite tear your eyes away from the sight, like a scarab crushed under an unsuspecting shoe, squirming until stagnant. And one morning the strength to get out of bed simply...left. The energy that came so simply to youth drained from his limbs, thin and wrinkled, the skin hanging in bleached layers, translucent and veiny.  Bamoun’s biting words came forth on occasion, rarer as time passed. He became bedridden and far beyond working in the traditional sense. Sethos came to bring him soft fruits and soups, and chatter away about his day’s doings, and his grandfather listened, quieter than he’d ever been.

During his final weeks, his desk had long been abandoned. 

Sethos sat in his place, cold.

He employed the help of several scholars, as well as a visiting student to re-categorise the scripts that were misplaced and to rewrite those that were missing. Each day was longer than the last, Sethos grew tired and weary. He drank little and ate even less. 

The edges of his lips became raw and dry, licked over and over and chewed until skin tore and bled. Sethos bathed for hours on end. The water ran cold and he closed his eyes.

When at last order had been restored to the Temple, and the period of transitioning leadership had settled, he made haste to the sands.

He dressed and filled his waterskin, slipping from the hidden entrance with dry breaths.

The sun rose over the bounding dunes of the desert. It glittered like gold: Sethos ran. 

The journey felt longer than the last, and as he bordered the luscious green landscape of the rainforest, he brushed off the shakiness from his knees. He’d grown weaker in the confines of the Temple, surely from the lack of exercise.

It was warm - a different kind of warm to the blasting heat of the desert. The air was thick and clung to skin like an over-eager friend; he wiped the sweat from his brow, walking onwards. As he sank deeper into the density of the trees, where all that surrounded him was green and vibrant pinks and oranges, and the gentle trickle of the nearby river, he stopped beside the water and sank to his knees to dip a hand into the rolling stream.

It was cool, but not cold, like the gentle nipping weather of days bordering winter. Water weaved between his fingers as if it were dancing, coming and passing at a leisurely pace like a friend passing in the street, greeting him with a simple hello and goodbye before swimming past into the crowd over and over again. Sethos retracted his hand, letting it fall to his side without shaking it dry.

The water clung to him for a good distance of the journey, slowly evaporating into the surrounding air.

Finding Tighnari had been simple enough, he’d bumped into a forest watcher girl, Collei, her name was, on the paths stretching outside of Avidya forest and she led him to Gandharva Ville with a cheery smile. 

 

“So, you’re a big shot forest watcher in the makin', huh?” Sethos said, as she expertly collected samples of some stringy looking flower from the side of the path.

 

Collie laughed bashfully, shaking her head, “I’m just a trainee, I don’t think I’ll ever be as good as Master Tighnari. He knows the ins and outs of the entire forest like the back of his hand.”

 

Sethos hummed, “I did get that impression, he must be a good teacher then.”

 

The girl nodded enthusiastically, trailing off on a tangent about their adventures in training together, hands gesturing as wildly as she could with the basket under one of her arms. 

 

Sethos listened closely, offering a few joking quips as they journeyed into the village.

 

She was a sweet kid - happy.

 

Collie pointed up the carefully crafted wooden path, “Master Tighnari should be waiting for you in that hut there! I’m not sure if the General has arrived yet but you’ll know when he does for sure - Master can hear him from a mile away.”

 

After a quick thanks, he made his way to the softly glowing hut. It was a small thing, but lit a warm yellow from within. There were small carvings of plants engraved into the outer structure, and through the open windows at the sides, he spied an array of leaves and petals, vibrant greens and pinks and yellows emerging into the air wildly.

Before he could even knock on the wooden beams at the entrance the great leaves covering it swept open. 

 

Tighnari broke out into a smile.

 

“Sethos! I’m glad you made it; it’s been a while.”

 

He rubbed the back of his neck, flushing, “Sorry, it’s been busy at the Temple ever since…you visited,” Sethos swallowed down the lump in his throat, “But! Thanks for havin' me, haha! You’ve got a bright student on your hands; I’ll tell you that!”

 

Tighnari looked at him sympathetically.

 

He ushered the other in before dishing up their dinner onto little plates, “Yes, it must be hard adjusting to such a change. I didn’t know either of you well at all, but I could see your bond was strong. He must have loved you very much.”

 

Sethos tore his eyes away from the others’ gaze, his chest ached. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

 

Suddenly he felt very conscious of it all and began to chew at his lips.

 

“On another note, I’m glad to hear Collei is progressing well. Cyno and I took her in at a young age, she’s truly a bright girl,” the fox continued softly, steering away from the other topic.

 

With a wave of an ungloved hand, he motioned for Sethos to sit at the table. Sethos sat.

“But stubborn as a mule she is, at times!” Tighnari sighed, “Not sure which one of us she got that from...”

He shook his head, “I don’t suppose you were much better, hm?” Tighnari continued, not unkindly.

Sethos laughed a little, “Well...I wouldn’t say I was an angel, how’d ya guess?”

The fox smiled softly, and took a bite of his food, “Cyno says I have a sixth sense for mischief. It comes with the job, I’ve concluded. There’s certainly no shortage of incompetent scholars trying their hand at forging binds of friendship between humans and tigers, and naughty little children running about the riverside in this forest.”

The image of a poor student coming to the forest watcher with ‘friendly’ injuries upon their body sent a shiver down his spine. In the desert, he’d heard his fair share of horrors, from unfortunate encounters with venomous scorpions to vicious vultures that tore traders apart that strayed from the path, to the corpses of all sorts of visitors who ignored the warnings of the desert guides being flung hundreds of feet in the air by the piercing horn of the Wenut spearing them through.

Across the table, Sethos winced.

“Sounds rough...”

Tighnari shrugged, “It is at times, but it’s what I love to do.”

He smiled, then rolled his eyes a little, “Besides, I’d much rather be here than rotting away at the Akademiya.”

Before Sethos could ask what that meant, the fox shook his head tiredly.

“It’s a long story...anyway,” he paused, frowning slightly, “You haven’t touched your food, are you feeling alright?”

Sethos blinked, he looked down at his plate. It was indeed undisturbed.

“Sorry, I – forgot I guess.”

There was a rock in his stomach, heavy and full.

“Haven’t really had much of an appetite...” he trailed off.

He swallowed.

The fox smiled, looking a little sad, “Don’t apologise, take your time. But try to get some grub in your stomach, you travelled quite the distance to visit and I don’t want you passing out on your way home.”

Sethos caught the other’s eyes and was momentarily stunned by the overwhelming warmth that seemed to radiate from them. He nodded, offering a small smile in return and began to eat.

The forest watcher waited for a moment, before seeming satisfied and resuming his speech. He began telling stories of his travels, with striking similarity to how the girl herself had earlier that evening, albeit in a more composed manner. The fox laughed softly, as he recalled a time when he, his student and the General Mahamatra had gotten lost in the deeper caves of the forests during a particularly unrestrained mushroom-collecting expedition, and found themselves facing an Akademiya student who had somehow drunkenly stumbled from Sumeru city all the way to Gandharva Ville in the span of a few hours. It had turned out said student happened to be a cartographer of sorts, and even in his intoxicated state he had managed to lead all of them safely to the surface without accident or injury. Tighnari noted that he took that as a time to teach Collei about the dangers of alcoholism, a lesson which she took to heart with a serious nod of the head.

Sethos listened contently. It was nice, to hear the joy in his voice. They were, in every sense, a family, those three. He felt pride that Cyno had surrounded himself with good people. 

 

Later in the evening after many tales and laughs, when all on their plates had been cleared and washed, Tighnari’s ear twitched. 

 

“Ah, Cyno’s here.”

 

And not a few minutes later, the very man entered, wrapped in a dark cloak, and pressing a kiss to Tighnari’s hand clutched in his. He nodded to Sethos in greeting.

“It’s good to see you again,” Cyno said, setting his headset on the table gently. 

Sethos smiled - it was softer than he would have liked, but something about the company of friends and to-be-friends made him sappier than he was on the regular night. 

“And you,” he replied. 

Tighnari tutted at their side, “What have I told you about putting that thing on the table, hm? It’s got all the day’s dirt on it and we’re sitting here eating!” he said half amused-half exasperated.

The General lifted his headpiece up and looked it over in his hands with a funny expression.

“It’s clean,” he paused, then stopped to lick his finger and rub a bit of grime from the rim, “Well, cleaner than it usually is anyway.”

The fox sighed, shaking his head and taking another bite of food. 

“What am I going to do with you, silly man…”

It was then that Cyno began to look incredibly smug and he dove forward to snatch something from the plate.

“Don’t worry,” he said seriously, holding the little green legume up, “Pea happy.”

Sethos, who had unfortunately made the decision to take a sip of water at that moment, felt the liquid snort out his nostrils as he laughed involuntarily, choking slightly.

The General looked elated, and he pointed at him with a smile larger than any Sethos had seen before.

“Ha! He laughed!” the man said jovially, looking to Tighnari, “See, my jokes are a thing to behold, Nari. You are simply not on a level of comedic understanding as high as Sethos and I are.”

Sethos, who was still recovering from accidentally waterboarding himself, felt another chuckle creeping up his water-logged throat and his stomach clenched as he tried to contain the laughter, shoulders shaking as he bit his lip.

The fox rolled his eyes, and gave his guest a firm smack on the back, the remnants of his drink spluttering from his convulsing throat. 

“Well, if you ask me, you’re on a level lower than the depths of Irminsul,” he drawled slyly, “If the day ever comes where you make a name for yourself as a ‘comedic genius,’ I’ll either be mute or six feet under, got it Mr. Funny?”

After a short debate about Cyno’s comedy skills, which very nearly resulted in a stand-up routine that, according to Tighnari who had apparently witnessed it in all its horror before, was not something Sethos should be subjected to, he was wrapped in a dastardly long Genius Invocation TCG game (which Cyno won). At one-point Collei popped her head into the hut to say goodnight - she gave Sethos a shy smile and quickly left.

They drank wine, a gift from their friend in the city, and sat on the soft blankets quietly conversing into the night. 

The forest watcher spoke gently, ushering out answers from his guest. He asked about his grandfather, about the life he’d lived, hidden away for so many years, about the Temple, and its inhabitants. 

Sethos found it easy to reply. He recalled tales of his own life, legends of his grandfather’s work - the horrors of it he kept hidden under this tongue. For the first time in weeks, he spoke, rather than talked. Cyno listened intently at his side, offering a comment on occasion, recalling small details he remembered from his boyhood. Sethos spoke of their friendship as children. 

The General sipped his wine, and smiled a little. 

“It’s a shame I can’t recall that time clearly,” he said uncharacteristically soft, “Perhaps in another life, we could have grown up together. Properly, that is.”

Sethos felt his eyes beginning to water a little, and he laughed wetly.

“Perhaps, yes.”

The sun dipped beneath the horizon, amber glow fading into blue and the curtains were swept shut - the dim lights of lamps casting warm hues over the draping fabric. 

At one point, after the second bottle had been drained, Cyno had begun to enact a scene from ‘King of Invocations,’ extravagantly posing as he switched between characters in different voices. Tighnari shook his head fondly, pouring another glass.

 

“This always happens, he’s been obsessed with that novel since his Akademiya days.”

 

It was a funny contrast - this serious General Mahamatra stumbling around, enthusiastically slamming down his cards on the table as if they were all still playing the card game. 

 

“Nari! Come dance - you,” Cyno said loudly, pointing, “You cannot escape this, bro. Get up and join us.”

 

Before he knew it, he was pulled to his feet and spinning in a circle with the two to silent music, aka, Cyno’s drunken ‘singing,’ throwing his head back with laughter as they dizzily fell into the divan, spilling wine over the floor.

 

Tighnari gasped, “Oh, you silly man, you are definitely cleaning that up!”

 

The other only laughed, in that stoic sort of way that only he managed to do, “But you looooove me.”

 

Sethos felt warm.

 

By the time he made his leave, the moon shone high in the night and Cyno’s face was flushed. 

 

He let out an ‘oomph!’ as the white-haired man engulfed him in his arms. Sethos laughed, hugging back.

 

“You are my bro, bro,” the other said seriously, words slurred.

 

Tighnari pulled him away, apologising with a laugh of his own. He bid him goodnight, inviting him to come again.

 

Sethos smiled as he waved goodbye. 

 

He looked up at the crescent moon, it shimmered. He wiped his eyes. 

 

A brother, huh?

 

Though his grandfather had been family, he’d often dreamed as a boy about having more. A real family, like in his storybooks. With him gone, he’d honestly never felt more alone. Cyno’s words, though perhaps swayed by alcohol, struck his heart like a pin. 

 

He inhaled shakily. 

 

Maybe he would be okay. 

 

He’d start anew, reborn. 

 

A chrysalis.

Chapter 2

Once the workload at the Temple of Silence had quieted down, Sethos took to Sumeru City to explore the sights. Though he considered himself well-travelled within the confines of the desert, the most populated areas of Sumeru were foreign to him, though there’s no time like the present, he thought to himself. His studies within the Temple had kept him in the dry heat of the dust bowl, and the city’s warm air, visited by the faintest of breezes on occasion, was a welcome contrast as he first entered the gates.

 

It hadn’t happened on purpose. He’d simply been passing by when an elderly man stumbled, before dropping his bag of groceries on the pavement. Sethos rushed to his aid, helping the man to his feet before offering to carry the bag. Then it was a store owner, who he’d been chatting to about the recent trends in perfumes from Fontaine who suddenly found herself short of a delivery due for that day, who he offered to collect said delivery from Port Ormos for. Before he knew it, he was traversing about half of the rainforest, rewarded by a kind word, freshly baked goods and the occasional small pouch of mora which he’d been persuaded to accept.

 

He saw all manner of creatures, vibrantly coloured birds and tigers settled lying in the sun beside a stream of water. As he rested by the river, short of breath, a cub nuzzled his side, earning a gentle scratch on the chin from the young man. 

 

Sumeru was truly beautiful. 

 

Within just about a few weeks, he found himself wandering aimlessly in his free time outside of the Temple, one eye on the road and the other half-searching for those in need of help. He’d met all manner of people, old, young, kind, cruel. Some encounters seemed to stick in his mind more than others, particularly those that mentioned the same mysterious person.

 

It wasn’t unfathomable for Sumeru City to have a resident celebrity and/or infamous individual, as it was already home to many great names, from the General Mahamatra himself to the most renowned scholars of the Akademiya to the Dendro archon herself, but yet, as he learnt the ins and out of the world outside of the desert, Sethos couldn’t help but be intrigued by this new unknown.

 

The first was a scholar, who’d employed his help to retrieve extra paper for his essay.

 

“Urghfgh!” Yosif groaned, head in his hands, “I’m going to grow old and die before I finish this thing…”

 

Sethos offered a grimace of comfort, he patted the other’s back, “Aww c’mon! You’ve got this, man. I’m sure if ya put your head down and get writin' it’ll be finished before ya know it!”

 

Yosif shook his head, “You don’t understand, even if I get it done on time my rank is still doomed! Ever since Hat Guy joined our darshan people have been scrambling to beat his scores! At this rate I’m gonna be pushed out of the top 100!”

 

Sethos had visited the Vahumana student a few days later to find that he had finished his essay, and yes, had indeed been kicked out the top 100. He winced - what a competitive way of learning. 

 

The second time was in passing from some aunties gossiping over their gardens.

 

“That Hat Guy! He always blows over my tomatoes zooming about the skies like a maniacal dusk bird!” One cried, propping up her crumpled plants with a small stick. 

 

“Serves you right! Don’t you think I know what you’re up to, you bumbling hag?! No elemental interference is allowed in the tomato growing contest!”

 

It was a few days after that that he’d actually caught a glimpse of this ‘Hat Guy.’ At first, he thought it was just a bird, a fast blur of blue and white and black passing overhead. He spit out the stray curls from his mouth and climbed on a wall nearby to see what it was. 

 

It was a person - flying. 

 

A guffaw of disbelief burst from his throat. 

 

Oh, he had to meet this guy. 

 

Boy did he underestimate how hard it would be to track him down. 

 

His first plan was finding this ‘Hat Guy’ himself, which was quickly abandoned when he found the only contact, he could make with him was fifty feet away from overhead, which, time wise, was almost comedically too short for any words.

 

His second was gathering intel.

 

It became a game of sorts; between errands he’d slip the topic of Hat Guy into the conversation and catch little facts about the man. 

1. He was indeed a Vahumana student, a clever one at that. 

 

2. He was infamously curt and seemed to avoid the crowds of the city at any cost.

 

The way he would dart around large groups of people milling about in the city when he wasn’t flying about above it, an irritable look on his face - which by some miracle didn’t sacrifice any of his coolness - clearly showed his distaste.

3. He had appeared out of nowhere almost a year ago and represented his darshan at the Interdarshan Championships.

 

“He fought valiantly, during the final stage,” Cyno said seriously, shuffling the cards of his deck with professional ease. 

 

The General set his Casket of Tomes at his side, the leather sides of the case were inscribed with little illustrations of card designs and a tiny fox bounding over a miniature Genius Invocation TCG board. The golden foil in each etched lined glowed as the campfire gently swayed in the windless night. 

 

Sethos looked down at his own cards uselessly - he had no idea what any of them did. 

 

“Hat Guy showed remarkable speed,” his companion continued, “He uses his vision in a way unlike any others do, I respect him for that.” 

 

Sethos nodded enthusiastically, “He sure does - have you seen him zoomin’ around in the sky - totally cool!”

 

Cyno motioned for him to roll first - Sethos threw his dice lazily and pouted. Seven hydro and one dendro. He sighed, looking down at his all-pyro team and picked up a brie coated slice of bread (a gift from a Fontainian scholar he’d helped with a delivery, which had, by default, been distributed among his quickly growing circle of friends). It was creamy and soft - perhaps some cured meat would elevate it to another level. 

 

With a triumphant grin, Cyno slid forward his first card, equipping artifacts at lightning speed, “I do owe him a thank you. If it weren’t for his contributions during the tournament, Kaveh wouldn’t have won, and I wouldn’t have been able to buy my baby off of him.”

 

Sethos choked on the bread, slamming his fist into his chest and frantically downing some water.

 

He dropped his cards, mouth agape. 

 

“Y-your what?!”

 

Cyno nodded sternly. 

 

He pulled out a shiny card from his Casket of Tomes, holding it by his face, caressing its meticulously unwrinkled edges.

 

“My baby.”

4. Despite his rudeness, he was popular.

 

The fourth one came at a surprise, but then again, Sethos was the one actively seeking the man out. The way people described him made him out to be a devil with the face of an angel. 

 

And when he did catch a glimpse of him, he understood it in an instant. 

 

Hat Guy was beautiful.

 

And so was his hat, but maybe the face underneath was contributing to its beauty. 

 

Some days Sethos was occupied with the Temple’s inner-workings, locked away from his city endeavours.  He sat in meetings with the high priests and scholars with as big of a smile and chipper mood as he could muster, listening to their rambling words. One time he’d caught himself staring holes into Khensa’s hair, convinced it was, from some angles, if you really thought about it, sort of vaguely hat shaped.

 

Sethos wasn’t what you’d call an absent leader. No, he much preferred the term ‘part-time.’ In many ways the priests seemed to organise themselves in their daily activities and the only input given to scholars was when the occasion involved collaboration with the Akademiya which, Sethos managed to convince himself was yet another opportunity to involve himself with Hat Guy.

 

It was one warm afternoon that he’d finally, finally spoke with him.

 

He was sweating slightly, having run errands about the city for a few hours and his heart beat in his ears. Was it warmer than usual that day? Sethos climbed the slopes up to the top of the Akademiya slowly, stopping to blink away the weird spots in his vision a few times before he saw the view of the city. 

 

Sethos was about to collapse against the trunks of the great tree when he spotted a familiar figure already there. 

 

His breath caught in his throat. 

 

Hat Guy whipped his head around, catching that small sound with his ears in an instant.

 

He smirked, “The errand-boy’s come running all the way to the Akademiya. Quite the busy little bee, aren’t you?”

 

Sethos couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face, “You’re Hat Guy?” he said, breathlessly, then he shook his head, “Wait, you know me?”

 

The other scoffed, rolling his beautiful lavender eyes, “Unfortunately. You’re the one who’s been stalking me, haven’t you? What, do you want an autograph or something?” he sneered.

 

With a little hop in his step, Sethos stepped closer, “Hey, I just wanted to learn more about Vahumana’s star student! You’re quite popular, ya know? Also,” he tapped the lunchbox in his hand, “Nah, I’m just here for lunch. Want some?”

 

Hat Guy turned his nose up in dismay, “What makes you think I’d want that?”

 

“Well, how about we make a deal?” Sethos replied cheekily, “I share my lunch, and youuu let me take a look at that hat of yours?” 

 

The expression on the other’s face was something between disgust and bewilderment and before Sethos knew it, he’d slipped off the tree and disappeared within the blink of an eye.

 

Sethos’s face burned.

 

He stood, the warm wind tickling his skin.

 

‘Gods, he was so much cooler looking up close.’

 

His heart would jolt a little, spying those vibrant shades of blue, like all the colours of the sky at day, and at night. He felt a certain giddiness, rocking back and forth between the heels and balls of his feet, giving the man a bright smile and wave each time, calling out his name and trying to usher him over only to be met with a sneer or sometimes a raspberry blown from across the street. 

 

One afternoon he’d caught Hat Guy’s eyes at the Bazaar. The man whipped his head around to face half-away from his conversation partner, a young-looking woman dressed in rather old-fashioned looking patterns and vibrant blue hair.

 

She looked at Sethos and said something to Hat Guy that was intelligible over the murmurs and ambience of the marketplace.

 

“Hat Guy! Hi!” he shouted over the sea of shoppers, almost dropping the delivery in his arms as he instinctively moved to wave, settling on poking his head out from behind the wooden box of incense.

 

The scholar’s shoulders twitched but he didn’t turn around.

 

“Helloooooooo!” Sethos called again, knowing full well that he had been heard, “I like your hair today!”

 

Hat Guy swerved his head over his shoulder and gave him a look, this time between disgust, incredulity and bafflement.

 

The merchant clasped a hand over Sethos’s arm and ushered him along through the winding hallways of the Bazaar and the young man hurried to shout a goodbye.

 

As he offered an apology to his client, he heard distant angry words and a chortling feminine cackle from behind.

 

He walked with a little more skip in his step.

 

Another successful encounter, if he didn’t say so himself.

 

One time he caught the mysterious scholar absorbed in his studies perched at the top of the Akademiya’s roof (don’t ask how he got up there himself). 

 

Sethos panted, hunched over catching his breath. He fell onto the roof as smoothly as he could. 

 

“Heyy, fancy seein’ you here, huh!”

 

Hat Guy rolled his eyes, but made no move to fly off. 

 

“Are you trying to get yourself killed climbing up here?” he said, looking down at his textbooks.

 

“Well, if your face is the last thing I see, I sure wouldn’t mind it.”

 

Sethos set his head in his hand, smiling stupidly. He felt lightheaded.

 

Something like a choking cough caught in the other’s throat. 

 

“Are you - “Hat Guy began, dropping his quill, but shook his head, “Whatever. Are you here to annoy me? Because it’s working.”

 

“Aww c’mon! I’m just here to - to, “he felt a pain in his head, and suddenly, he seemed to forget what he was going to say. 

 

Sethos frowned, squinting slightly in the sun.

 

The other scoffed, “I guess you are stupid.”

 

“W-wait, no I,” Sethos winced, steading himself with a hand, “I’ll let you study, just - let me take a look at you hat?” 

 

Hat Guy gave him a strange look, up and down with an indescribable expression on his perfect face. 

 

He hesitated for a second.

 

“If I let you touch this, you’ll shut up and stop following me?” he said sarcastically. 

 

Sethos chuckled, shifting his weight to find a more comfortable position, “Well, I don’t know about the second one but I’ll be quiet I promise!” 

 

After a few more minutes of probing, Hat Guy finally placed the hat in his hands. Sethos tried not to look at how soft the other’s hands look, pale and delicate as if they hadn’t worked a day in their lives.

 

Hat Guy returned to his studies, ignoring him pointedly. 

 

Sethos sat there, a little giddy at how well the conversation had gone, running his fingers over the carefully inscribed details of the hat; it was truly a work of art, more stunning than all the treasures of the Temple combined. He turned it over, it was soft on the inside, like velvet.

 

Despite their closeness, Sethos couldn’t pick up any scent from the other at all, and as a fierce hunter in the desert, his nose was fine-tuned to smells. It was like Hat Guy didn’t exist at all, like his presence left no mark on the world which was ironic considering how the idea of meeting him had practically left an unremovable stain on his mental to-do list.

 

He sneaked a few flickering glances at the other man. Without the hat to cover his face, his beauty seemed to glow brighter in the evening sun.

 

His pale skin was smooth, eyelashes casting delicate shadows on his cheeks and his lips were small, pursed slightly as he scribbled out something from his paper. Now Sethos didn’t consider himself a scholar of any sort, but the confident strokes of each written word, the focused gaze glued to the paper so sharp and clear told him that this was a strikingly intelligent man; Yosif had mentioned Hat Guy was the top student of the Vahumana darshan. 

 

Sethos felt as if he was in a daze. Never before had he been captivated by another person. His life hidden away at the Temple had granted little to no access to the outside world; time was for studying, training, worship or simply being a vessel. There in the city, he was just a normal person. Yet, the person in front of him surpassed any definition of normal in the most fascinating way. 

 

Sethos’s heart beat in his throat.

 

True to his promise, he said nothing more. And the two parted that evening with a smile and wave from one side and a click of a tongue from the other. Sethos swore he saw the faintest of smiles on Hat Guy’s face.

 

He was stupefied from that day’s encounter.

 

It was like looking into the sun – bright and all-consuming, devouring his thoughts whole.

 

Sethos wasn’t quite sure if he had become more observant or if Hat Guy had entered a period of time that left him with significantly longer amounts of free time, but he swore he began seeing him more often around the city. 

 

 

Over the months, it’d become a game of cat and mouse.

 

On occasion, it was Hat Guy who seemed to find him instead. More than a few times he found his hair suddenly blinding him as it blew into his face from a sharp gust of wind.

 

“Too slow, little errand boy!” The scholar sneered from overhead, speeding off into the air with distant laughs.

 

And all of a sudden, Sethos wasn’t sure if he was the cat or the mouse and that giddy feeling returned to him.

 

Some days he even managed to get a curt ‘Hi’ in return (after which Hat Guy made haste to dismiss himself) when he offered a greeting while passing by.

 

At this point, both Tighnari, Cyno and somehow their two friends from the city Alhaitham who was the Acting Grand Sage, mind you, and a kind-hearted architect named Kaveh all knew about his mission to befriend Hat Guy.

 

Though the latter two had yet to meet Sethos, they managed to communicate somehow through Tighnari’s dinner’s that fed him information from their Tuesday meetings on his Friday meetings in Gandharva Ville. 

 

Kaveh had apparently had a chilling encounter with Hat Guy during the Interdarshan Championship, his description of the experience of being chased by him including ‘blood-chilling,’ and ‘terrifying.’

 

Sethos laughed as Tighnari retold the other’s words.

 

He certainly would feel the same, imagining being hunted down by an untraceable blur of blue that moved at the speed of light. Perhaps he should challenge Hat Guy to a race, or maybe snatch that beautiful hat from that beautiful head and let himself be chased. The idea would probably put him in Hat Guy’s bad books though, he had thought to himself. Sethos made a mental note to meet the architect and his city friend, he had a feeling the two would be good friends.

 

“He’s just so cool, ya know?”

 

Sethos slumped over the table, head in his hands almost tipping over his drink before Cyno’s quick hands caught it.

 

“Like, I see him and I’m thinkin' man, I have to know this guy. Is that weird?” he slurred, a dozy smile on his flushed face.

 

Across the table Cyno hummed, a look of contemplation on his face.

 

“No,” he said firmly, “I don’t think so. You should follow your instincts; it might just save your skin one day. Or give you a loyal companion, after all, that is how Tighnari and I came to be.”

 

Sethos frowned, “Huh?”

 

“I investigated him – he was, at the time, a suspicious individual that I was intent on looking closer to search for any nefarious activities at play,” Cyno nodded and took a sip of his wine, “Of course, there were no such activities, Tighnari is a good man. Loyal. Intelligent. Kind. Gorgeo-”

 

“Okay, okay I get it, you’re a hopeless romantic, alright?” Sethos giggled into his cup.

 

Though it was true. Tighnari was a remarkably good person. It wasn’t hard to see why Cyno was so in love with the man.

 

“But listennn, I just - *hic* - reallyy am trying to get Hat Guy to talk to me. He’s kinda introverted and blunt but I mean, c’mon, you expect me to not feel like this when he calls me stupid? Like, I don’t think I’m stupid? But I feel like he makes me a lil stupid. I see his beautiful, gorgeous face and he says I’m *hic* idiot - “Quiiiiite the busy lil beee, aren’t youuu,” he says.”

 

He stared into the bottom of his wine, sticking out his tongue to lick at it.

 

“’Aybe I ahm ‘upid,” Sethos said dizzily.

 

Cyno nodded gravely.

 

“I understand you completely, bro.”

 

The first time the Hat Guy himself had approached him, an almost unfathomable turn of events, occurred after a long month and a half of trying his efforts in befriending him and at that very moment, Sethos was knee deep in fertiliser. 

 

It was hard to explain.

 

He’d almost jumped out of his skin when a blur of blue fell from the sky, falling backwards into the garden, thankfully not squishing any of the carefully planted flowers.

 

“Oh my-” he gasped, “Hi. Hello. Please give me a warnin' next time or I will literally have a heart attack.”

 

Hat Guy ignored him.

 

“Why have you been following me?”

 

Sethos frowned, “What d'ya mean?”

 

He scooped up trowelful of soil.

 

The other scoffed, tapping his foot, “What do you mean, ‘What d'ya mean?’ It’s exactly what it sounds like, doofus, just answer the question!”

 

Grandma Amani poked her head out of the window, “What’s all this commotion? Oh! Is this a friend of yours, sweetheart?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“Definitely not.”

 

They both answered at once. 

 

Sethos rolled his eyes this time, “He will be!”

 

The old woman laughed heartily, “Youth! So full of energy, perhaps your friend here might be able to offer you some help, hm? It’s just a few hours before my husband gets back, you know.”

 

Before the other could fly off, Sethos clutched his sleeve, “Oh, he would love to,” he said, passing a trowel over with a grin.

 

Hat Guy opened his mouth to utter what the Temple leader assumed would be unforgivable profanities when the old woman’s gentle gaze caught his eyes. Sethos could have cackled – Grandma Amani was a manipulator in her own right. Hat Guy seemed to swallow his insults, then snatched the tool up.

 

“Whatever.”

 

He rolled back his sleeves and surveyed the garden below.

 

Sethos felt slightly guilty, and after Amani left, he offered a hand to take it back. 

 

“Look, you don’t actually need to help, she’s just teasin',” he said.

 

To his surprise, Hat Guy began planting the bulbs with the ferocity of an agitated crocodile.

 

“I’m gonna do it, okay?!” he snapped, face the picture of determination, embarrassment and fury all at once. 

 

It was cute.

 

He jammed a finger at the other’s nose.

 

“But once I’m done, you’re gonna answer me, got it?” he hissed.

 

Sethos laughed easily, “Of course, of course.”

 

They made a surprisingly good team. Though it was mostly Sethos chatting to himself, Hat Guy offered someone surprisingly funny, albeit sarcastic add-ins throughout the afternoon. It took a few long hours in the sun for all the bulbs to be planted. Sethos found himself taking breaks every few one that was planted, sitting back in the shade, winded while Hat Guy seemed like a machine, mechanically digging and burying with relentless precision. When Sethos suggested he take a break, he refused, though he appeared that he really didn’t need one. 

 

Grandma Amina waved them off with a kiss on each cheek (Hat Guy pretended to wipe his face with his sleeve, Sethos snorted) and a little tub of biscuits. 

 

They walked in the street. It was quiet.

 

“Well? Are you going to answer me or not? Why are you doing this?”

 

Hat guy paced beside him, angrily slapping his sandals onto stone with an irritated look on his face. There was a smear of mud on his cheek, which Sethos silently acknowledged.

 

A smile began to creep onto his face.

 

“Hey! I’m talking to you, idiot,” the scholar sneered.

 

Sethos sat down on a bench nearby and gestured for his companion to do the same. Hat Guy followed suit, impression of a toddler throwing a tantrum impressively accurate.

 

Even with such a look of confused irritation, Sethos couldn’t help but see only beauty. Heat crept into his cheeks, and suddenly his palms felt a little clammy.

 

“You really wanna know, huh?”

 

He twiddled his thumbs together, trying not to focus on how the vibrant orange of the sunset cast itself on his companion’s face like fire.

 

Hat Guy nodded sharply.

 

He was immaculate.

 

“I follow you because,” Sethos looked at the other, intense violet stared back, “You…”

 

He swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth, ignoring the way heat crept up to his cheeks.

 

“...mesmerise me.”

Notes:

/\eme/\ <- this is a spider.

Chapter 3

Kunikuzushi liked to keep to himself. 

 

He much preferred the quiet of his own silence than the annoying chit chat of humans. It ground at his ears like nails on an Akademiya chalkboard. Which also meant he spent his ‘class’ time flying about above the roofs of the Sanctuary of Surasthana, well that was until Buer called him down from there once and gave him a lecture on attending lessons to ‘socialise’ him.

 

So, he took to skiving in other areas of Sumeru. 

 

Since his stint with the traveller and the gnosis, he’d felt in a strange impasse. He was neither human nor god. He had power within him but it felt wasteful using it on mere thugs or stray Fatui causing trouble about Sumeru. He didn’t have ‘friends.’ He had Buer, who his relationship with had taken a weirdly familial turn.

 

At first, he had been intent on being her ‘prisoner,’ but after his forced enrolment into the Vahumana darshan, she’d been…helpful in that odd way that she always is.

 

They ate together at sunrise, despite neither possessing a body that needed sustenance. When he had commented this at their first breakfast, Buer had simply smiled, and offered him a candied ajilenakh nut.

 

“Tigers hunt for sport - if you too are a tiger, then why not eat for sport also?”

 

Kunikuzushi snatched the nut from her little hand, swallowing it in one gulp. He hated sweet foods.

 

She spoke in riddles, always floating her words around subjects like an absentminded scholar. Sometimes a phrase she had said would pop into his head and irritate him for the whole day as he tried to decipher what in Teyvat she had meant. 

 

Funnily enough, it was during one of these confusing thinking sessions that he had first caught a glimpse of the only other person who could confuse him more than Buer.

 

He sat atop a roof, high above the streets that overlooked the markets of the city. A small white cat had made its way into this lap, which was the perfect excuse (should Buer ask) as to why he could not attend his classes. 

 

‘A lion hides among the foliage of the forest - it lays like a lizard, tail and tummy tucked to the ground for 3000 eons long. Coward or Champion?’ Buer had said.

 

He stroked between its ears absentmindedly, looking at the ant-like figures skittling about as if they were insects.

 

Then, one of them fell in the street. Kunikuzushi scoffed to himself. What fragile things humans were.

 

As a smaller figure reached to help them up, he leaned a little closer. What first caught his eye was the great mass of hair, it was curly and dark, streaked with white and tumbled down the young-looking man’s back somehow neat in a disorganised way. His skin gleamed in the afternoon sun, like shimmering gold which had already seen its fair share of sunlight by his dark tan. Perhaps a visitor from the desert?

 

Kunikuzushi narrowed his eyes to see better.

 

From the distance, he couldn’t make out the words being exchanged, only the hearty laughs the young man suddenly let out before picking up the bag the other had dropped and stringing an arm over his shoulder, slowly helping the person across the street.

 

He was suddenly taken out of his focused gaze as the cat rolled over in his lap, settling its head into his soft stomach and hanging its paws lazily over his thighs.

 

The puppet clicked his tongue, shuffling the creature more securely into his hold,

 

“Stupid cat, you’d trust just anyone to watch you sleep?”

 

The cat yawned back. 

 

Some days he’d see a glimpse of the stranger talking to someone at the market or on the street, sometimes passing by with just a wave, sometimes carrying a box, a cat of his own or jogging down to the port with a great big net in tow. From the look of things, he was simply carrying out errands for anyone and everyone. Some days he was absent from the city, but when he returned, his skin was a little more sun kissed and his smile a little prominent. 

 

Kunikuzushi didn’t understand how humans could be so happy - it was a little revolting to think about.

 

When he noticed that the stranger was following him around, he made an effort to avoid interacting with him at all costs. Sometimes he would smile and wave, like they were acquaintances or something even worse, like friends. 

 

One morning he asked Buer about the stranger.

 

“Oh, that’s Sethos!” She said simply, taking a sip of her tea with a content expression.

 

Kunikuzushi waited for her to expand on that.

 

Then waited some more.

 

“And? Anything else?” he said impatiently.

 

Buer waved a tiny hand in the air dismissively, “If a bird is ne’er to leave their nest, then it will ne’er learn to fly.” 

 

Kunikuzushi’s eye twitched. 

 

At least he had a name for his stalker. 

 

The worst thing was that this Sethos character kept trying to talk to him, though their first spoken encounter had left him with more questions than answers.

 

It must have been pure coincidence, meeting there at the top-most part of the city. 

 

Their eyes met, lavender and bright, warm green.

 

His first impression of Sethos was that, for someone that seemed to spend all his free time running about the city doing other people’s chores, he was surprisingly frail looking. His skin looked paler up close than it had from afar, and there was a certain skittishness about him. Not the kind that would make one shy, but rather -

 

The puppet brushed off that thought – taking another look at the human. He wouldn’t put it past himself to say that the man was handsome in a rugged sense, with strong brows and a delicately square jaw, eyes large and lined with thick lashes. 

 

Kunikuzushi smirked, making a jabbing comment, expecting the other to burst into tears or perhaps flee from the scene. 

 

Instead, Sethos smiled. It was almost blinding, the way his entire face, his being seemed to light up. The puppet felt strange inside.

 

When the stranger offered him food, he felt his last string of patience cut however, but as he flew away, he couldn’t erase that piercing gaze from his mind. 

 

Foolish human. 

 

If Sethos wouldn’t leave him alone, he’d make sure to stay far away from him. He could feel it - involving himself with mortals, especially someone like him, was a stupid idea. 

 

Naturally, when the same man came climbing up onto the roof like a beached whale where he sat writing an assignment, he let him stay.

 

“Are you trying to get yourself killed climbing up here?” he said as unkindly as he could. 

 

Sethos laughed, eyes boring into his. 

 

“Well, if your face is the last thing I see, I sure wouldn’t mind it.”

 

The puppet’s mind screeched to a halt. 

 

What. 

 

The human gazed at him through thick dark lashes. A strangled sound came from his own throat.

 

Kunikuzushi wasn’t quite sure why he let the stranger stay beside him. 

 

Well, from all their interactions, he was hardly a stranger anymore, but he retained the ‘strange.’ He didn’t know why he handed his hat to those outreaching hands - it was silly, as if he was giving a toy to a child to play with to shut them up. 

 

Sethos had indeed shut up. 

 

The puppet felt his gaze on him several times. He ignored it, the human seemed to look away after a few moments, maybe he was shy, or bored. Or something else. Kunikuzushi couldn’t quite place a finger on the other’s intentions. 

 

The human was becoming an irritatingly familiar face to see.

 

It was always ‘Hat Guy, hey!’ or ‘Mornin’ Mr. Vahumana’ or god forbid, ‘Hello, sweet cheeks!’

 

Kunikuzushi was beyond baffled. Firstly, he couldn’t erase the amazement at the sheer dedication this person was putting into interacting with him. Sure, he’d had his fair share of interactions in that city but usually after a biting insult or two or a roll of his eyes they would give up or gape at his audacity and go running off to smack talk his character (not that he cared). It was amusing, to see humans change their emotions, their goals so easily, but this? This was pure relentlessness.

 

The puppet hated how his mind instantaneously recognised the particular timbre of the human’s voice in a sea of many mutterings, or how when he caught the edges of the man’s curls slipping around the edge of a street corner his footsteps seemed to jolt a little, stopping himself from leaping forward.

 

He began answering back.

 

Wide green eyes stared at him passing by, above a blindingly hopeful smile, and a reply seemed to blurt from his lips.

 

It was after he’d spent a long afternoon gardening of all activities, muddying his clothes like a common labourer that his frustration peaked, and he couldn’t bear having the man in his absent thoughts any longer. And look, it wasn’t as it he meant to pass his day free of classes or meetings in the mud of some hag who was frustratingly friendly – the type to be touching anyone who was of grandchild age (or at least looked to be so in his case) and grabbing them into a hug or smushing their cheeks. How irritating. But still, that wasn’t as irksome as some human following him around and trying to talk to him all the time – there was some nefarious activity as play and he was confident that on that day, he was going to be the one to uncover it.

 

He asked his question for the second time, Sethos hummed, before sitting down on a bench. 

 

Kunikuzushi’s annoyance rose. 

 

He sat down. Angrily. 

 

Sethos looked at him, face strangely flushed.  He looked stupid – the puppet concluded.

 

“...you mesmerise me.”

 

And that was when he fell apart. 

 

He knew it was a bad idea - a terrible idea, even. He’d known it was 500 years ago and he knew it then at that moment and he was sure he would think the same in 500 years to come. 

 

But.

 

Sethos looked down at his own hands, fiddling with them in the silence.

 

“And…I wanna get to know you…ya know?” he said quietly. 

 

His expression was uncharacteristically bashful - red dusted his cheeks, warming them a beautiful rouge. It was the same face he’d seen from across the Bazaar, arms waving above it like an idiot, the same face that was teasingly stern as he picked up an old man he’d just met by his shoulders and guided him down the street, the same face that stared at him with wide, bright eyes as the puppet studied at the topmost seat of the city where none dared climb except himself. And this idiot human.

 

Kunikuzushi exhaled. 

 

‘Stop this. Stop it, stop this all now,’ his mind pleaded, begged.

 

Sethos looked up at him, wide-eyed and hopeful.

 

It was hauntingly familiar and for a slip second, he saw red hair and blood drenching that face. He faltered, and then the vision was gone as soon as it came.

 

Kunikuzushi couldn’t look away.

 

He supposed it hadn’t been...awful, those past months.

 

After Irminsul and Buer, for a long while it was just him. The traveller had run off to Fontaine not long after their ‘victory,’ heralded as a hero throughout the lands as they loved to be. Though they and that annoying floating lump weren’t necessarily considered enemies, at least not anymore, the contact they had was always less than amicable. It was always seething silence or biting replies, and then either of them would find an excuse to not so subtly slip away from the conversation.

 

Buer was...pleasant, but she was far from a ‘friend.’ Sure, there were some mortals that he spoke to on occasion, albeit unwillingly. But as he tried to recall them all he could think of was that mane of dark curls bounding after him in the street and it was in that moment that he came to the realisation that he didn’t mind it.

 

 

He almost...liked it.

 

 

“Okay,” the puppet said, softer than he intended.

 

 

That night he lay in the useless bed Buer had provided for him in his cell (his bedroom), staring at nothing. He should cut him off. He should push him from the rooftops of the Akademiya and banish his stupid handsome face from Teyvat’s plane of existence. He should stop talking to him, stop doing whatever this was. 

 

A mortal. A human - they were beneath him, weak and insignificant things. They were fragile, stupid, and cruel. A part of him respected that cruelty, he knew of their horrors, and he knew of his own. He was a murderer. 

 

He slaughtered hundreds of Sethos’s kind without thought. He was a god. He was a god.

 

Kunikuzushi scrunched his sheets into his face. His hands shook.

 

Were they even hands? They were built - constructed. He was an artificial being without a heart. 

 

“A heart doesn’t really love,” Buer had said once over breakfast, “It simply keeps your blood moving. The brain loves.”

 

She tapped her head gently. 

 

The puppet felt his breaths hitching. 

 

He was repenting, he was atoning in this purgatory. In death there is nothing - in life there is everything. 

 

Feelings like this only ended in dismay, he told himself. 

 

He heard those words again and again and again.

 

As he closed his eyes. 

 

‘You mesmerise me.’

 

When he rose in the morning and slipped his shoes on.

 

‘You mesmerise me’

 

When he saw Sethos waving him down outside the doors of the Akademiya-

 

‘You mesmerise me.’

 

-for the first time, he waved back.

 

In the morning, he ate breakfast with Buer. 

 

At noon he watched Sethos eat his lunch beside him. 

 

He listened as he chatted openly, which was surprisingly not making Kunikuzushi want to rip his ears off. 

 

“Aaaand, I’ve lost you haven’t I. Hellooooo?” Sethos said, amused. He waved a hand in front of the other’s face.

 

Kunikuzushi slapped it away, or at least tried to, before the other caught it, entangling their fingers together. 

 

Sethos grinned, eyes bright, “Gotcha.”

 

Kunikuzushi’s breath caught in his throat. 

 

He swallowed, squeezing the hand hard and tugging his away. Sethos whined, clutching his crumpled fingers to his chest and began to call him all sorts of names, though his definition of ‘cruel’ was limited to words like ‘meanie’ and ‘booger-face.’ 

 

“I was listening, it’s just hard to focus because your face is making those stupid expressions.”

 

Sethos burst into laughter, “What? They’re not stupid, it’s called acting. I’m simply enhancin’ your storytellin’ experience.”

 

“Oh yeah? How about you sign yourself up to perform at the Bazaar if you’re so talented?” Kunikuzushi replied, raising a carefully sculpted brow.

 

The other leaned in closer, “Maybe I will.”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Would you come watch if I made it to the big stage?”

 

The puppet scoffed, rolling his eyes, “As if. You’d have to write all my assignments for the next month as payment.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Two months.”

 

“Done.”

 

Sethos grinned. It was like the sun.

 

They met nearly every day, it wasn’t a formal routine, nor an organised gathering, but it just seemed to happen nonetheless. Neither of them spoke of Sethos’s words from that day, but they hanged in the air like a silent vow. Sometimes, the puppet caught it, in the glint of the human’s eyes as he gazed across a table, or in the creases of his smile, tugging his face into what could only be described as pure elation. 

 

Some days, Sethos was absent, waving away an excuse about a desert expedition at the prior lunch.

 

Kunikuzushi didn’t ask any more – he wasn’t some clingy child who couldn’t handle a day to himself. Though with each silent noon he spent, sitting among the topmost branches of the city, he found himself itching to listen to those chattering words beside him. The birds offered a sullen substitution. 

 

The human was surprisingly easy for him to get along with - he was charming in a clumsy sort of way, but strong-willed and witty all at once. It felt natural to butt into Sethos’s words, snapping an insult or a comment that, after he’d say them, he’d wonder why on Teyvat he’d said that without thought. Kunikuzushi wasn’t a kind conversation partner. Sethos didn’t seem to mind. The human simply threw his head back and laughed, and all was well.

 

Conflict weighed on his mind. 

 

He spied the scars swiping over Sethos’s arms and body that shone in the sun when it hit a certain angle and looked at his own limbs later that night, blank sheets of fake skin looked back.

 

He seemed unable to erase the way the human’s eyes crinkled into little crescent with each smile – and when he snagged a finger on a stray branch, he stuck it in his mouth, blood smearing at his lips.

 

Kunikuzushi knew himself as a bloodless thing.

 

Several times he almost, almost cut it off. Stopped it from getting to where he knew it would; Kunikuzushi was a puppet without a heart, but he knew he felt emotions just as a human with one did. He was weak – that was what made him unsuitable and unneeded. It was a flaw that he couldn’t simply cast aside – he'd tried that before. Once in grief. Then again, in the Fatui. Kunikuzushi pulled himself inwards, snatching up every emotion and curling in into the tightest of balls within his body and held it shut as it whipped at his palms, scraping desperately at his own weight. Anger was all that remained and his words became spitting curses.

 

He held his tongue.

 

“Wha’s o’ your ‘ind?” Sethos mumbled, mouth half full of shawarma.

 

The puppet looked ahead, silent.

 

It was a quiet day, and the usual chattering gossip of Akademiya students was absent from high rooftops of the building as they clambered back to class, leaving just the little chirping of birds to tickle their senses. Wind was absent. Sunlight slipped through the leaves of the tree’s great branches, igniting earthy green into virid gold, dappling onto the surface below.

 

He curled his hand away from the light, coiling into the shadow of his hat.

 

There was a shuffling beside him and a hand tapped his arm.

 

“Hey,” Sethos said quietly, “Wha’s ‘rong.”

 

Kunikuzushi took one look at those cheeks stuffed obnoxiously full of food like a chipmunk and all seemed to fall from his shoulders. He slumped forward, the corners of his mouth twitching.

 

Turning his face away, he grabbed a tissue and shoved it at Sethos’s face.

 

“Nothing - clean your face, stupid. You eat like a toddler.”

 

Sethos accepted the tissue with a chortle.

 

Other times it wasn’t so easy. 

 

For some time Sethos had been insisting that he take him on a fly above the city which had been bluntly refused again and again (it was harder to turn the human away each time.) It took one day in which Kunikuzushi had been in a particularly chipper mood, which wasn’t very chipper considering the seemingly perpetual cloud of annoyance hanging above his head, and a vow to never ask for it again to finally accept the request.

 

The sky was irritatingly blue and infuriatingly cloudless. It was warm, and what most people would call a ‘nice day.’

 

Sethos waved at him enthusiastically as he floated down to their meeting spot. Kunikuzushi offered a stiff twitch of his hand in return. 

 

The human asked how he was doing (why was he always doing that? Did all humans seem to be so incredibly interested in other people’s wellbeing or was Sethos just nosy?) 

 

“I’m fine,” the puppet said shortly.

 

Sethos bounced on his feet, eyelashes fluttering as he blinked expectedly. 

 

Kunikuzushi bit his lip, “...and yourself?”

 

“I am feeling grrrreat!” The human said brightly, “Even better now that you’re here.”

 

The puppet looked down at his feet, suddenly warm. 

 

“Man, thanks for doing this,” Sethos continued as if nothing had happened, “I didn’t realise I’d been buggin’ ya so bad until you said so but I promise I’ll never ever ask ya for a flight after this once again, kay?” he winked. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

 

With a habitual roll of his eyes, the puppet put out his hand. 

 

“Let’s just get this over with, c’mon.”

 

Sethos glowed, and set their palms together. His fingers were coarse, calloused from labour, but thin and nimble. 

 

“Alrighty then! When do we-” the human yelped as Kunikuzushi swept him up into his arms, hands slipping under his back and knees. 

 

Without warning they began rising higher and higher into the air, Sethos clutched the puppets neck tighter with every inch, cold nose tickling his neck. 

 

His short-cut nails brushed against the sensitive back of Kunikuzushi’s neck and he fought back a shiver. Up and up, they went, until the topmost arches of the Sanctuary of Surasthana were beneath their feet with room to spare. The locals of the city milling about in the streets shrank to tiny specs like little insects and the wild curves of the river skirting around the port looked as if they were the depictions of a map.

 

Sethos let out a croaking-whine. 

 

“Oh Gods! Ohhh my Gods this is really high haha!” the human said, voice strained.

 

Kunikuzushi couldn’t help himself from raising them a little higher, earning another yelp and high-pitched string of curses. The puppet laughed – an evil laugh. It was very evil and not amused at all, definitely.

 

“Didn’t know you were such a scaredy-cat,” he smirked, Sethos breathing hotly into his skin.

 

“Yeah, well I-I think I underestimated things a lil’ bit!”

 

Squeezing the human in his grasp, the puppet shook his head, “You’re fine. I won’t drop you, stupid. See?”

 

Sethos nodded dumbly, “Okay. Okay okay. We are just dandy; we are so good- oh I should not have looked down that was a bad idea -”

 

“Don’t do that, idiot! Oh My - just - look at me instead.”

 

Kunikuzushi didn’t know why he had said that. But the moment those gleaming green eyes met his, just inches away his own, he wasn’t sure if he regretted it or was inwardly applauding at his quick mouth. Sethos’s lips were thin, but plump, slick with spit and slightly reddened from where they’d been chewed in the ascent, parted. There were a few more freckles than Kunikuzushi had guessed there’d be; he spied a mole just under the human’s left eyebrow. And those eyes. The puppet’s mouth felt dry - there were little flecks of orange, embers of yellow that flitted around in the sea of green that he hadn’t bothered to notice before. 

 

Technically, the puppet didn’t need to breathe - the fall and rise of his chest more a force of habit he had developed from his younger years but right then, he was sure that Sethos would have stolen the air from his body.

 

But it was in that moment of distraction that Sethos jostled himself a little and Kunikuzushi’s hold loosened. They swung forward, wobbling in the air and the human slipped from hands so fast that he became a blur. The satin sleeves offered no resistance at all and he reached down with all his weight, just barely missing the edges of Sethos’s scarf and his breath leapt in his throat. Time seemed to slow and Sethos was falling fast. 

 

He swooped down as fast as a falcon, wind rushing in his ears like a whistle and snatched up the human’s wrist with an iron grip, clutching the man’s body to his own and falling on a nearby roof in a matter of seconds. They slammed into the verdant tiles with a THUD, and a flock of birds startled, flapping away with piercing squarks.

 

Kunikuzushi’s back fell into the hard surface and he hissed, hand still wrapped around the human’s skin. 

 

Sethos gasped heavily beside him, chest heaving unsteadily with a face as white as a sheet. 

 

The puppet snarled, stumbling to his feet, “What the hell was that?! What, did you think it was a good idea to try and get comfy while you’re 500 feet in the air or something?!”

 

The human blinked, “S-sorry,” he said breathlessly, shaking a little. 

 

Kunikuzushi looked the man up and down quickly, swallowing down the lump in his throat, “What’s wrong with you?”

 

He raised the human’s arm, turning it in his loosening grip, “Are you hurt?” 

 

Sethos shook his head. 

 

Then, he grinned. 

 

And the puppet had a feeling he was about to hear something very stupid.

 

“You - caught me.”

 

Kunikuzushi’s face twisted into something like disbelief, “Yeah, I did.”

 

“You saved me.”

 

The puppet shook his companion a little, guffawing, “Did you hit your stupid head or something?”

 

Sethos clutched the hands upon his shoulders, smiling with heaving breaths, “Nope. Born this way. That was kinda amazing, you are so amazin'. Let’s do that again.”

 

“No! What?!”

 

“You drop me intentionally this time, okay?”

 

“What? We are not doing that again, it’s too dangerous,” Kunikuzushi said sharply.

 

“Aww c’mon, it was kinda fun! And it’s not dangerous, you’ll catch me, won’t you, hero?”

 

Something in the puppet froze at those words. The guilt came creeping onto his shoulders again and suddenly he was ripping himself from the human’s grasp. 

 

“You,” he said with a low voice, an awful feeling caught in his throat, “Shouldn’t be so naive - I could’ve killed you, Sethos.”

 

“I know.” 

 

Sethos stared at him, smile smaller but nonetheless warm. The setting sun cast an orange glow around his wind-swept curls, like a halo of fire. 

 

“But I trust you,” he said simply. 

 

The puppet stared back.

 

Kunikuzushi had never heard a more stupid sentence in his 500 years of life. One question screamed at him.

 

“Why?” 

 

The human laughed.

 

“What do ya mean ‘why’?” Sethos drawled, he titled his head to the side, “Because you’re good. You care. And I care back, ya know? Kinda how human relationships work.” 

 

Kunikuzushi blinked, suddenly feeling uneasy. He stepped back a little, curling into himself.  At his sides, his hands trembled where they gripped his shorts.

 

“You’re wrong,” he breathed, shaking his head.

 

Sethos stepped closer, face painfully confused.

 

“I’m not good,” the puppet said firmly.

 

“I don’t think that.”

 

“Then you’re either a liar or a fool!”

 

Kunikuzushi startled himself by the volume of his scream. His throat felt raw.

 

Now he’d done it, he had thought. He’d finally snapped and this was the time - the time to cut him off, right here, right now. There, in that moment he felt the anger of the Balladeer within himself. The fear. He’d held a life in his arms, and the stupid thing had trusted him; this had gone too far - it was out of his hands. Just say it, say it all - keep going, make him hurt. 

 

‘Stay away from me.’

 

It was on the tip of his tongue.

 

‘Get out - get out of my life, go away, you filthy human.’

 

‘You disgust me!’

 

‘Leave me alone before I kill you myself-’

 

“I-” 

 

“I know I’m a little stupid sometimes but that doesn’t mean I can’t see what’s right in front of me. I don’t care what you think about yourself - I know you’re a good person; you’re good to me, you’re kind,” Sethos said quietly. 

 

‘I’m not even a real person.’

 

“Kind?” The puppet echoed, “I have done the unforgivable to fools like you without a care in the world - I have slaughtered countless of your people, and you’d call that ‘kind?!’”

 

“People change.”

 

Kunikuzushi could have torn the hair from his head. He scrunched his face as tears stung at his eyes.

 

“How can you say that so easily?” he whispered. 

 

Sethos’s gaze was firm. 

 

“Because you’re here.”

 

And all over again, Kunikuzushi found himself back at square one. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t do it, not in that moment. Not when those warm eyes blazed with such surety as he said those words. Not when he’d come that far. 

 

He didn’t sleep.

 

All through the night those words weighed so heavily on his mind (why did this human have such an effect on him? It was impossible to navigate in so many ways and he wasn’t quite sure if that was a bad or a good thing).

The next day when Sethos came crawling up to the branches above the Akademiya, he hid. Like a coward. From behind the leaves, he watched the human search the rooftops, bag in hand and frown. After a short while Sethos seemed to give up – but sat where they had before, alone. Kunikuzushi listened to the human’s idle hums, sometimes they peaked into the semi-coherent words of an old folk tune. Sethos finished his food, and left.

 

When the human asked where he’d been, Kunikuzushi just shrugged, head dipping under the rim of his hat. He muttered some excuse about being busy.

 

Sethos gave him a little jab with his elbow.

 

“Well, at least tell me next time, man,” he drawled, “I gotta know when I need to be missin’ ya.”

 

Kunikuzushi met Sethos for lunch the next day, and the day after. And then the day after that.  It was almost entrancing – the human seemed to slip into his routine with such ease, and the puppet couldn’t find it within himself to hate it.

 

It seemed like they spoke of nothing and yet everything at the same time. Nonsensical things like picking out who was best dressed or worst dressed in the streets below. It felt a little childish – him, an immortal being over five hundred years old making up fictitious destinations for strangers and poking fun at their hats. Some of those hats really were an eye-sore though.

 

Sometimes Sethos would ask the other to accompany him on an errand during the afternoon. 

 

Kunikuzushi accepted half the offers (more like three-quarters of them).

 

They delivered a forgotten lunch one day, and guarded a hefty pile of boxes for a merchant the next.

 

Sethos put on some shoes that made him look a little taller than he actually was, insisting on assuming an ‘intimidating’ pose the entire duration of the job. The puppet sent tiny pins of anemo at suspicious individuals lurking a little longer than they should, and Sethos pouted the whole way back to the city at the lack of excitement.

 

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into a month, then two, three, four. And soon enough the blasting heat of the summer had cooled, the evenings and nights of the city became chilly as the days maintained that sticky humidity that came and went. The puppet was unbothered by the weather, having little to no sensation of temperature, but Sethos trembled slightly on colder days, lips an odd tint of blue.

 

Humans.

 

Kunikuzushi pushed aside the frighteningly fragile mortality of the species.

 

Sethos had some strange quirks.

 

Once in a while, the witty charm of his drawling jokes seemed to disappear, and what replaced it was an odd sense of humour.

 

They had been jesting about an errand from a particularly vexed old man down by Port Ormos when Kunikuzushi had made a jab at another time, just a few weeks ago, where Sethos had slipped on the ice glazing the wooden floor and fallen unfortunately unto a tub of freshly caught salmon.

 

“Only you would find yourself in such a humiliating situation,” the puppet scoffed, expecting a laugh or a jab at his own unfortunate moments.

 

He was met by silence.

 

Sethos frowned, tilting his head.

 

“When was that?” he said.

 

Kunikuzushi brushed it off, tutting at the foolish attempt of a joke.

 

Other times it was the items on a shopping list that slipped the human’s mind. 

 

Other times it was forgetting what day it was.

 

Another quirk was that Sethos didn’t know what gloves were, apparently. 

 

When their hands brushed one day, Kunikuzushi found himself jolting slightly at the icy feeling on his knuckles.

 

He snatched up the other’s wrist. 

 

Sethos’s hands were white, nails tinted-blue. They shook ever so slightly. 

 

The young man smiled sheepishly, breath a little odd, “S-sorry. Cold hands!”

 

Kunikuzushi wrapped his hands around them, frowning. 

 

Perhaps it was cooler that day than it had been recently. He’d have to make sure the human kept warm.

 

“Wear more layers, idiot. Winter is coming.”

 

Sethos laughed.

 

“Yes, mother.”

 

Kunikuzushi kept their hands entwined for the rest of the day. 

 

They walked the lengths of the Ardravi River one week; Sethos moved slowly - he closed his eyes, and absorbed the forest in all his breaths. As the rain began to pour, he looked to the sky and the puppet looked to him. 

 

They bathed in the secret springs of Setekh the next during the last weeks of autumn. It was a long journey, to the endless stretches of sand and stone, rouge under the sun’s watchful gaze.  Before then, the puppet hadn’t seen much of the desert, but the change in environment was a welcome breath of fresh air – and it seemed to have the same effect on Sethos. The human walked with surety that came without thought, his shoulders were slackened and expression calm; this was his turf. His home.

 

The oasis was a thing of beauty. 

 

Up there, on the tallest mountains on Lower Setekh it pooled like molten gold with luscious plants surrounding the waterside, little bushes and greenery vibrant and bright. 

 

Sethos wasted no time stripping himself to his underclothes. He ripped off his scarf and top, pulling them over his head and carelessly throwing them to the side. 

 

The puppet eyed the water carefully. 

 

“You gettin’ in?” The human said, slipping down his pants.

 

Kunikuzushi knelt beside the spring and dipped his fingers into the water - it was hot. A pleasant temperature for bathing. 

 

He set his hat upon a nearby rock and nodded. Sethos whooped loudly and slid into the oasis quickly, ducking his head under the water then breaking through its surface, it splashed loudly. 

 

The puppet turned around as he undressed, suddenly conscious of the human that was so close. 

 

His skin was bare, an almost sickly pale. It was fake after all; the sun left no mark upon him. 

 

“Close your eyes,” Kunikuzushi said quietly. 

 

Sethos stopped moving around in the water, slashing silencing into only the little bubbles of the oasis. 

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Just do it, idiot.”

 

There was movement, then-

 

“M’kay, they’re closed alright.”

 

The puppet peaked over his shoulder - Sethos had his hands over his face, looking down, and he slinked into the water, setting himself near the human who was perched on a ledge. Warmth surrounded him whole, and from collar-down he was submerged.

 

It was pleasant. 

 

Sethos wriggled in his seat.

 

“...Can I look now?” 

 

Kunikuzushi swallowed.

 

“Yes.”

 

The human smiled, bright and wide and uncovered his eyes. His cheeks were flushed a deep rouge, and the dripping curls surrounding his face stuck to his forehead in little ‘c’ shapes. Then all of a sudden, Sethos’s eyes were wide, his lips parted slightly, then closed, then opened. 

 

“Hello,” the human said dumbly. 

 

Kunikuzushi snorted, flicking water at him.

 

“Hi.”

 

Sethos spluttered as it went in his mouth and sank into the water, red faced.

 

They soaked in the spring for what must have been hours. It was a hot day, and the warmth of the water made it easy to close your eyes and forget about the world around. A flock of birds had settled by the waterside as the sun began to dip, huddled together and pecking at the water with little chirps.

 

There were moments of silence. Not so much a silence where one feels desperate to fill it with needless words or sound, but the kind that was simply – quiet. Where you could listen, and think and feel all that was around you in that content way that only the presence of close companions allowed. Kunikuzushi swore Sethos fell asleep as some points, head in his arms at the edge of the spring with a softly rising and falling back.

 

He looked at the sky – it was blue and cloudless. A nice day.

 

“What made you come to the city?” The puppet asked, “Surely you didn’t travel all that way just to be an errand boy.”

 

It was something that he’d thought about a few times by then. In some ways, Sethos had simply appeared out of the blue. And it wasn’t as if he knew the depths of the man’s past – he himself had never been one to share unnecessary details, let alone with strangers. Though, the few companions he did consider to be on amicable terms with seemed to know all about his life without him saying a word about it. Sethos was a different case – someone who, ironically, both seemed to be intently focused on spending time with the puppet but never pried.

 

The human traced the surface of the water idly, eyes downcast.

 

“My Grandfather died,” he said suddenly.

 

Kunikuzushi froze.

 

He eyed Sethos carefully, unblinking. 

 

Oh.

 

“Sorry, haha,” the human laughed half-heartedly, “Didn’t mean to drop that one on ya.”

 

Kunikuzushi shook his head slowly, a little hesitant.

 

“It’s...fine.”

 

He cleared his throat, swallowing down the lump forming, “Go on.”

 

Sethos gave him a look that was so unsure that it looked out of place, then, after the puppet offered a nod, whatever weight had been on his shoulders seemed to slacken, and he looked at the water below.

 

“It wasn’t long before I met you. Just from old age, ya know. Got old, and got sick, and then he got older some more,” the human continued, a little shakily.

 

Kunikuzushi listened, silent.

 

“He wasn’t actually my grandfather, but...he raised me like he was so it just stuck, callin’ him that. After -”

 

Sethos’s nose scrunched up, and suddenly the puppet felt out of his depths. It was such a foreign emotion on the human - grief. So wrong, on this particular face. He wanted to get rid of it. 

 

“- Uh, after he died, I took over his duties. But it was Cyno’s idea for me to go to the city, actually. Said I should make some friends.”

 

The human swallowed, and in his lap, his hands looked as if they were shaking under the water.

 

“It was…really hard at first, ya know? I was such a mess. I mean, it wasn’t like I wasn’t expecting it, we all knew it was gonna happen sooner or later but - yeah, I think,” Sethos took a shaky breath, “It’s hard regardless.”

 

The human ducked a little further into the water and looked at his companion, eyes shiny. 

 

“Is it weird that I…can barely remember what he even looked like now?”

 

Kunikuzushi was at a loss. He wasn’t sure what was the right thing to say in that moment – what might have been a snarky comment in response vanished from his throat as he looked at Sethos.

 

It was at that moment that he realised that he didn’t...want to hurt him.

 

Grief was no monster. It wasn’t a beast to be slain and rid of in a moment of victory, where the knight saves the damsel and suddenly all that was wrong in the world turned right. No. Grief was like a cloud above your head. Sometimes it rained, sometimes it stormed violently, thunder and lightning battering your mind from inside out, tearing at every emotion and every action and suddenly you’d find yourself in bed with not a thought on your mind apart from that horrid, empty sensation of loss.

 

Sometimes it faded a little. And sometimes, the sun seemed to shine through.

 

Sethos laughed a little – a pathetic thing.

 

“Well, I told myself I wasn’t gonna cry about him anymore and look at me now!”

 

The puppet felt those words – he felt them so much more than Sethos could comprehend.

 

“Just cry, idiot,” he said, eyes stinging, “Not like anyone’s here to see.”

 

Across the water, the birds snoozed quietly and that murmur of the city, all the sounds of the people bustling away through the streets, merchants hollering for customers, students chatting away between classes as they walked arm in arm – it had never felt more absent.

 

Sethos met his gaze.

 

“You’re here.”

 

Kunikuzushi supposed...that was true.

 

The human wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and inhaled deeply, suddenly looking a little smaller.

 

“Look, I -”

 

Sethos paused, as if considering how exactly to articulate his thoughts. He looked at the puppet through wet lashes.

 

“I’ve been thinkin’,” he said, “And I…wanted to thank you.”

 

Kunikuzushi frowned. 

 

 

It wasn’t common for someone to give thanks to him. Usually, it was curses or ill wishes that came his way but somehow, in some strange way he found himself desperate to never hear scorning words from the human’s mouth.

 

“For what?”

 

“For being here” Sethos said quietly, “Just - lettin’ me ramble about stupid things and for talkin’ to me and letting me drag you places, even when I know you’re not in the mood and keepin’ me busy with all of-”

 

He gestured to the puppet a little lost looking.

 

“-you.”

 

Kunikuzushi couldn’t find the words to say.

 

“I think it was exactly what I needed, ya know?” Sethos paused, then rushed to wave his hands in the water with a frantic expression, “Not sayin’ I’ve been using you or anythin’ like that I – how do I say this?”

 

The human swallowed audibly, “You were just there so - beautifully and it felt like...like I needed to know you.”

 

And all at once time stood still.

 

Sethos looked at him with such reverence.

 

Suddenly the water seemed warmer than it had been before. And finally, finally, the whispers of protest that clung to his mind seemed to simply...disappear, like cloth from a table. The world cleared in an instant – the fog of terror, of fear vanished and all he saw was the person before him. All he heard was the gentle trickle of the spring, and the coos of the sleeping birds, and all he felt was rapture.

 

“I really like spendin’ time with you,” Sethos whispered.

 

Kunikuzushi’s breath caught in his throat.

 

And then suddenly it came out.

 

“Me too,” the puppet blurted.

 

It was true.

 

He scrambled for something more.

 

“You’re not…insufferable to be around, I mean.” 

 

And Sethos smiled, eyes shining.

 

He chuckled wetly.

 

“High praise from Mr. Vahumana himself.”

 

Kunikuzushi scowled, lips twitching upwards. 

 

“Idiot.”

Notes:

yippee!

Chapter 4

They say Autumn carries more gold in its pockets than all the other seasons, and that reigns true. As the climate quietened from the blasting heat of summer to that cooler humidity that still sticks to your skin, not quite warm and not quite cold, the leaves of overhead trees dimmed to fiery reds and oranges, clinging to the thinnest branches of their creators until at last, their grip slipped and they fell into heaping piles of auburn, leaving the spindly limbs above bare and clean for the winter to come in the next weeks.

 

Kunikuzushi wasn’t a particular fan of any of the seasons, but there was something about the way they changed that had always struck a chord in his mind. Perhaps it was the fleeting nature of their existence which always persisted year after year that intrigued him – returning and resolute. The seasons hold memories too, in a way.

 

When he was born, the ground was white, covered in a blanket of snowfall barely an inch thick. And when he was reborn, the same weather came over the land. The puppet didn’t believe in fate, but perhaps the seasons did in his steed.

 

As the end of October drew closer, flowers, blooming and bright of all colours appeared throughout the city, gently surrounding pathways and gardens with pinks, greens and blues. Beside him, Sethos bent down to smell the petals and hummed, noting their sweetness and the puppet looked at his smiling face. He nodded, agreeing.

 

“The Sabzeruz Festival, you say?”

 

Kunikuzushi shrugged, “There’ll be a parade and all, probably a party too.”

 

The human brightened up, and curled a hand into the crook of his elbow.

 

“Parade, ya say? We should totally go – that sounds like so much fun!”

 

In the light of the afternoon, sunlight dappled onto Sethos’s skin, warming it a glowing gold and the little flecks of amber in green twinkled like embers. He looked at the puppet with big, hopeful eyes and just like that, Kunikuzushi found himself saying yes.

 

When the day of the festival came, the weather was, once again, pleasant and warm with only the gentlest of breezes swaying the greenery from side to side. The air of the city was bright and welcoming and throughout the streets where merchants and craftsmen laid out their stalls, the people swarmed into a trailing snake, making their way up the swirling pathways to line the route of the carriage with excited chatter and laughter hanging in the air. Kunikuzushi kept his head down as he weaved through the crowd, trying to spy through the heads and shoulders upon the tips of his toes. From a distance, he heard a voice calling after him and Sethos waved enthusiastically from where he stood.

 

They huddled together, swaying to the music of the street until the crowd burst into cries of joy and from the swooping path, the carriage emerged. It was a thing of beauty, carved in gold and silver, polished wood and marble, rounded, tall, decorated with flowers circling it all around in delicate pinks and baby blues. Sethos craned his neck above the particularly tall woman in front of him and the puppet whispered a word into his ear, catching a stray curl upon his lips and lifted the human up above the crowd.

 

Sethos clutched held Kunikuzushi’s head to steady himself, whooping as a great explosion of candy came upon the streets like fireworks, and clumsily sang along to the songs of the city which he almost definitely didn’t know the words to.

 

Buer giggled, open armed, and spoke to the people, grateful and kind, before waving her hands about the path and all at once the little hats emerged from each corner and groove. Green and yellow and brown and blue with delighted faces, waving at the people shyly with waddling steps. Sethos gasped and pointed at them, hand catching the puppet’s cheek as he looked to an aranara dancing among the bushes nearby. Kunikuzushi revelled in the warmth of his skin and followed his finger.

 

As he met eyes with the creature, the world around him fell into a swirling mass of clouds and his feet rested lightly upon nothingness below. Around him, the air smelled like honey and a hand offered him a candied ajilenakh nut which fell through his fingertips and a voice called for him, drawling and bright.

 

“Aww man, they disappeared!”

 

Kunikuzushi shook away the clouds, and set the human down on the ground as the carriage rolled out of their view.

 

“They’re just forest spirits.”

 

The human grinned, “Adorable forest spirits, don’t cha mean? I’ve never seen them before – I thought they were just in stories?”

 

“They’re plenty real alright – just don’t get too friendly or the whole forest will come running to follow you around,” Kunikuzushi said, shaking his head, “How annoying.”

 

Sethos gaped.

 

“You can see aranara?” He placed his hands on the puppet’s shoulders, smiling, “I think I like ya even more now.”

 

Warmth flooded Kunikuzushi’s mind as he shrugged, trying very hard not to look the human in the eye. It wasn’t anything special – not like it was some kind of impressive feat of strength or skill. But Sethos looked at him with all the awe in the world and suddenly, whatever reply he was thinking about clogged in his throat.

 

Luckily, there was a commotion in the thinning crowd not far from them which saved him from the embarrassment of whatever stupid thing he was about to blurt out and they looked over to the streets where the forest watcher and a few others that puppet recognised were waving.

 

“We’re having an early dinner at Pardis Dhyai, if you’re feeling hungry?” the architect called cheerfully.

 

“Absolutely, I am!” Sethos shouted back.

 

He looked to the puppet, nodding towards the group.

 

“You comin’?”

 

Kunikuzushi shook his head.

 

“I have something to do. Go have fun without me.”

 

The humans seemed to droop a little, but nodded, “Mkay, well…do you want to meet later? I wanted to give ya somethin’.”

 

Kunikuzushi bit his lip to conceal the smile tugging at his mouth.

 

“Okay.”

 

Behind them, the forest watcher called Sethos’s name once more.

 

“Are you coming or not, slowpoke?”

 

“In a second!” the human shouted over his shoulder, before turning back the Kunikuzushi, suddenly a little red.

 

He seemed to stand awkwardly for a moment before wrapping the puppet into a quick hug and retreating with a grin and a wave.

 

It happened so fast that Kunikuzushi couldn’t comprehend what had happened until the group had left the street entirely. The phantom warmth of arms around his neck tickled at his collar, and he tugged on it, clearing his throat.

 

He huffed and shook his head, low beneath the brim of his hat.

 

“What a nuisance.”

 

Kunikuzushi did not smile.

 

As he wandered down to the marketplace where the merchants had returned to their stalls, an extra greeting came out of his mouth that was normally absent from those types of exchanges and he surveyed the tables draped with patterned cloths and all sorts of goods. The Sabzeruz Festival had invited many a business from beyond the city’s regular sellers, a few from a Mondstat brought heaping crates of windchimes and pinwheels handing them to passing children and from Inazuma, the traditional fox-faces upon masks were replaced with different coloured aranara all hanging up on a wall along the edges of the bazaar. He looked over them slowly, peering at the little trinkets, books and clothes laid out to be seen and walked past with a shake of his head.

 

He wasn’t quite sure why he was doing it.

 

Buer wasn’t his friend exactly, but a nagging feeling tugged at him to find something to give her. It was her birthday after all – and considering what had happened on that birthday it did feel a little strange to not at least try and do something nice for the god. Perhaps it was the lightness of the air or the hanging lights and flowers surrounding the city’s every wall and window that softened his thoughts.

 

A vendor waved him over with a kind smile.

 

“Looking for a gift, young man?”

 

He looked at the delicately carved animals sat on the old merchant’s table and nodded.

 

“Yes, a birthday present. It’s a last-minute thing, really,” he said reluctantly.

 

The old man laughed, “What a lucky companion they must be! Blessed to be born on the same day as our Lord Kusanali – have you an idea in mind?”

 

Kunikuzushi chuckled at his words. Blessed indeed.

 

He shook his head.

 

“Not really, I went around all the bazaar but – “

 

“- Nothing felt quite right, did it?”

 

Taking a sip of his tea, the merchant ushered him closer, leaning in with kind eyes.

 

“Listen here, lad. The best present may not always be the most beautiful or valuable in terms of mora. In my old age, I’ve had to take a step back and think about what to give to friends and family many times. It’s never an easy choice, but,” he lowered his voice, “What never fails me, is a gift from the heart. Something that is meaningful and uniquely yours, and theirs.”

 

Kunikuzushi left the lower levels of the city as the sun began to set, empty handed. He walked slowly, carefully dragging his feet forward up to the Akademiya.

 

‘Uniquely yours and theirs.’

 

Sliding into the corner of the balcony, he sat, legs swinging below and he thought a little harder. He supposed all that he and Buer had in common was their place of residence and their absolute inability to die. Apart from that, he wasn’t quite sure what to think of when considering their relationship. The humiliation of having the god witness the greatest failure in all his long lifetime, perhaps?

 

“What’s got you thinkin’ so hard, huh?”

 

Kunikuzushi didn’t need to turn his head to know who it was.

 

He shook his head.

 

“It’s nothing. Just some stupid present.”

 

“Present you say? By any chance, is it for your very own Lord Kusanali?” Sethos said, smile audible.

 

The puppet rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, so what? You have any clever ideas for me?”

 

Sethos placed a finger on his chin, tapping it gently as he leant against the building’s wall.

 

“Let me think on it…well, she is a god, so there’s not a lot that she can’t already have so it’s gonna have to be somethin’ different,” he said, then threw his hands up in the air, “I still can’t believe you’re tight with the Dendro Archon – you guys literally eat breakfast together! Like, How?”

 

Kunikuzushi peered over his shoulder, “It’s a long story.”

 

Chuckling, Sethos shook his head lightly.

 

“Well, you’re gonna have to let me in on that at some point but right nowww,” the human said, offering a hand, “We have an Akademiya party to get to.”

 

“We?”

 

With another roll of his eyes, Kunikuzushi looked up his companion, “Look, I don’t know what kind of mingling you’ve been up to; you probably befriended the head of every Darshan or whatever, but I don’t remember doing anything worth getting invited. It’s just another noisy room of people…Not my scene.”

 

“Hey, don’t be humble now, Mr. First Place! I’m no scholar, but even I’ve heard about your work – you’re papers were an inspiration for their big project, so you’re basically their hero. You don’t want to let your juniors down, do ya?”

 

Sethos gave him a big frown, mouth pulling itself down in a ridiculous shape.

 

“C’mon – they’ll be sad if I come back without ya.”

 

“’Come back’ – hold on, did they send you to guilt trip me?” Kunikuzushi said dryly.

 

The human shook his head, giving his hand a wiggle, “No, no, no, they asked me to come find you. Ya know, cause I know you pretty well and all. Big difference! No guilt tripping here whatsoever.”

 

Kunikuzushi waited a moment. Then sighed.

 

“Fine,” he grasped the other’s fingers, they were cold, “Show me the way then, Mr. Desert Guide.”

 

As they walked through the halls of the Akademiya, their hands swung and Sethos rambled on about how his brother had tried to entangle the entire group at Pardis Dhyai into a Genius Invocation TCG tournament. Kunikuzushi chuckled – recalling how the General had approached him the day before asking about the same topic and retold the curious encounter with the merchant from earlier that day – his companion seemed to agree with the advice given. When they rounded the corner to the party room, the muffled sound of music and voices echoed through the halls and Sethos looked to him, smiling.

 

It was, for Akademiya standards, not a terrible party. The walls were decorated with wreaths of flowers and draping fabric hanging between the lights above, casting thin shadows on the floor before. Students who were mingling together in groups at tables looked to the door as they opened it and several waved to Sethos. Throughout the night, many approached the puppet, and he tried him best to be as cordial as he could muster. A few snarky comments were thrown in but in the noise of the music and voices, not the mention the buzz of alcohol, the students didn’t seem to mind. Sethos stuck close, nursing some sunsettia juice in one hand and his companion’s shoulder in the other. As the party went on, the shy looking attendees had all been to reduced to drunken stand-up-comedians or passionate debaters, standing on chairs with wobbly legs and arguing about some scholar’s work or prestige. When a particularly popular tune began to play, they all seemed to gather with a roaring cheer, and stumbled to the centre of the room where the tables had been cleared, standing into a circle and dancing with the rhythm of the music.

 

The two laughed as one student started vogueing rather extravagantly in the middle and slipped into the splits with a howl.

 

“That move, I’m not sure I could pull off!” Sethos giggled.

 

Kunikuzushi shook his head, “I don’t dance either way, so don’t ask me to try whatever dumpster fire of a move that was.”

 

Sethos put his hand on his chest, outraged.

 

“You don’t dance?”

 

He pulled at his companion’s sleeve, ushering them to the dance floor with fluttering steps bouncing to the beat.

 

“C’mon, everyone dances! Let’s go join them, I’ll teach ya – “

 

“- No – I – don’t want to!” the puppet said, feeling a little hot.

 

“Why not?” Sethos said.

 

Kunikuzushi bit his lip, “Just…not here.”

 

It wasn’t like he was embarrassed – he wasn’t. He definitely was not.

 

The human glanced back at the party, downing the rest of his juice and setting it down on the nearest table. He looked at his companion slyly.

 

“Alrighty then - you wanna ditch?”

 

They burst from the Akademiya’s door and Sethos swooped the other’s hands into his, spinning them in circles and tapping at the ground with his feet as they danced up the pathway to the roof. He spun the puppet a few times, and they laughed, hearty and full with every rhythmic motion to his surprisingly in-tune singing of that same song from the party. They stumbled rather ungracefully over the edge of the rooftop and danced around on its surface for a little longer until Sethos swooped his partner into a lower hold with jazz hands and all.

 

“Tadaaaa!” he laughed, panting hard, “See? Easy stuff.”

 

Kunikuzushi couldn’t stop his chest from shaking with laughter and he wiped a tear from his eye as they collapsed on the roof, the moon bright and full above.

 

“Pfft, you’re such an idiot.”

 

“You like it though, hmm? I can tell!” Sethos grinned, then rested his hand on his chin.

 

He looked at the puppet with crescent eyes and a tilted head.

 

Kunikuzushi looked back, giggling still.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothin’!” the human said, “Just – I don’t think I’ve ever seen ya smile so much before.”

 

Almost immediately, Kunikuzushi tried to pull his face into a frown but one look at the other had them both bursting out into laughter once again. Sethos slapped his knee, throwing his head back.

 

“Oh man – oh! I had a think about that present thing, and I think I’ve got a pretty solid idea. Want to hear?”

 

The puppet nodded, curious.

 

“Well, hear me out,” Sethos began, “You guys eat together a lot so – how about some kind of cup or bowl-plate thing that you can make yourself, hm? That way, it’s actually a useful gift and - it’s from the heart, ya know? Shaped by love.”

 

Kunikuzushi mulled over it for a moment, before nodding slowly.

 

“That’s…not a completely stupid idea.”

 

The human leaned over to grab a spindly looking nearby branch that had fallen off the tree’s overhead limbs and gave it a swing like it was a bat. He pulled and bent it one way and then the other, seeming satisfied with its flexibility.

 

“I am just full of clever ideas, don’t you know it. How about using this? You can weave it into whatever shape ya want – this auntie from Gandharva Ville showed me how.”

 

Kunikuzushi rolled his eyes at how sociable the other was – but he guessed it had its perks. Like right then, for example and he took the wood from him, turning it over in his hands. Perhaps a small bowl would work – something for side dishes. As he began to pick apart the fibres, Sethos chimed in with little tips and tricks and pretty soon, the shape began to come together.

 

“She’s gonna love it when it’s done, don’t you worry.”

 

The human sighed contently and gazed up at the sea of stars above.

 

“Happy Birthday, huh? Hey,” Sethos turned to the puppet, “What’s been the best birthday you’ve had?”

 

Kunikuzushi’s hands stilled as he thought about the question.

 

The best one? In all honestly, he hadn’t celebrated many of them, despite having so many. The only real celebrations he’d had were when he was much younger, had more time to himself, and wasn’t yet preoccupied by whatever mission he was assigned. Perhaps that was also an excuse. In reality there really weren’t people to celebrate it with him so he simply…stopped. It became just another work day. Sethos looked at him, eager.

 

“Hmm,” the puppet said, “I guess there was one nice birthday.”

 

He twirled a strand of wood in his fingers, picturing the scene.

 

“It was a small party. Nothing like today – but…I was surrounded by friends. We played this stupid game with a ball, trying to find where it’d been hidden but it ended up getting lost because the person who hid it forgot where they left it,” Kunikuzushi said fondly.

 

Sethos gave him a soft smile.

 

“Sounds like some nice friends you’ve got.”

 

The puppet grimaced, and looked into his lap.

 

“Yeah, they were.”

 

Sethos’s face pulled into an awful, pained expression and his words became gentler than Kunikuzushi had ever heard.

 

“Oh, I – “the human whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

 

But his companion brushed it off, weaving the fibres together with a heavy chest. He rolled the surface of the bowl’s base in his thumbs, feeling the wavy, smoothness of each strand.

 

“It was a long time ago.”

 

Kunikuzushi took a deep breath and shook his head, “What about you? What was yours?”

 

Sethos took a moment to think, squinting a little at the sky.

 

“I think I’d say my seventh – that was a crazy day,” he said, chuckling, “I refused to eat anything other than meat, includin’ cake, so one of my caretakers Charmian – he’s a character, I’ll say - made this huge tower of meat in the shape of one, and he made another in the shape of a hat and I wore it the whole day.”

 

The puppet snorted.

 

“And then! I managed to convince him to give me a boost to climb the big statue of Hermanubis in the Temple and I went all the way to the top of that thing. But then my grandpa showed up and he was real mad so I had to come down and apologise and yady yada, but still – I’ll never forget the view from up on that head.”

 

Sethos frowned, a look of genuine confusion on his face.

 

“Did ya tell me how old you are, or did I forget?”

 

And the puppet paused.

 

He definitely hadn’t told him. Beside him, Sethos tilted his head to the side and in that moment, when it was just them up there on the rooftops, he somehow didn’t feel a need to avoid the question. The coil in his stomach had unravelled so long ago that he hadn’t even noticed.

 

“You’re going think I’m crazy,” Kunikuzushi said.

 

The human just rolled his eyes, “Crazy? Nah, go on, spill.”

 

“Five hundred.”

 

Sethos whipped his head to face him, eyes practically bulging out of their sockets.

 

“And two.”

 

The man’s mouth hanged open.

 

“Are you being serious?” he said quickly.

 

Kunikuzushi nodded, feeling a little nervous now. On second thoughts, perhaps it would have been better to lie – but the look on the human’s face was so incredulous it was hard to tell if it was a good sign or bad. The puppet held his breath, scrunching his hands into his shorts.

 

“Oh. My. Gods.”

 

Sethos laughed, “That is so freakin’ cool!”

 

Then it was Kunikuzushi’s turn to gape.

 

The human shook his head, leaning in, “No, I changed my mind – that is hot. I don’t care what anyone says, that is flamin’ hot.”

 

Right then and there the creeping dread vanished and in its place was sheer bafflement, and a shyness that was unfamiliar. Beside him, Sethos surveyed him carefully, taking in the details of his appearance and he ducked his head a little.

 

“So, what, you’re like, immortal?”

 

Kunikuzushi nodded, “Basically, yeah.”

 

“Hat Guy.”

 

Sethos looked at him, face serious.

 

“You are the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

 

The puppet scoffed, and set the bowl down on the roof. That smile began to creep onto his face once more.

 

“Sethos, that’s – you can stop calling me that stupid nickname now, okay? It’s so dumb, I can’t believe Buer managed to get everyone to think that was actually my name.”

 

“What am I supposed to call ya then?” The human asked.

 

Kunikuzushi considered the right reply for a long moment.

 

Technically he had been given a new name by the Traveller but, it wasn’t quite right. It felt more like a title that was somehow separated from who he really was. Plus, it was a stupid name anyway – he wasn’t sure how they’d landed on that choice after the disastrous suggestions that had come before it. C’mon, did they actually think that ‘Paimon’ was a great fit for him? Really? Or god forbid Signora – he looked nothing like that hag anyway, let alone had a personality as shitty as hers was. So, he didn’t want Sethos to call him any of those.

 

He looked at the man beside him and felt himself raw and open.

 

He…wanted Sethos to know him. The real him.

 

“You can call me…Kunikuzushi.”

 

The human hummed, mouthing the name back.

 

“Kunikuzushi, huh? I like it.”

 

When at last the distant noise of parties across the city had come to an end, they climbed down from the roof and stopped outside the Sanctuary of Surasthana’s door under swooping flowers and the dim warm lights of the lamps.

 

Sethos rocked back and forth on his feet, smiling a little dozily and the puppet couldn’t help but laugh.

 

“What’s that stupid look on your face for?”

 

“Just happy,” The human replied softly.

 

Kunikuzushi rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, letting silence hang in the air.

 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

 

Sethos pulled a face, then patted his body up and down.

 

“…Don’t think so?”

 

“You said you had something to give me, idiot.”

 

For a very long moment, the human frowned. He looked down, as if trying to wrack his brain for what he could have slipped his mind and then checked his pockets carefully.

 

He paused, then pulled a small box out, eyeing it with suspicion. Suddenly, Sethos gasped and shook his head.

 

“Oh gods, I am so dumb. I was waitin’ all week for this moment and I completely forgot. How did even I manage to do that? Wow.”

 

The human laughed at himself and Kunikuzushi motioned for him to hand it to him.

 

How in Teyvat had this idiot managed to get this far in life without forgetting his shoes every day or something silly like that? He was pretty sure the man would forget his own hair if it weren’t glued to his scalp.

 

Sethos rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks pink, “Well I remember now - this is just somethin’ I picked up at Port Ormos. Nothin’ special, but it made me think of ya so…”

 

The box was a deep ocean blue and a soft velvet, rounded into a circular shape. The puppet opened it.

 

It was…a flower. No, a lotus. In the light of the lamps, the delicate metal shape glistened and small gemstones, jade and opal lining the petals glowed like the moon.

 

Sethos smiled.

 

“It’s a brooch. You don’t have to wear it if ya don’t want to but – “

 

Kunikuzushi took it out the box and unclipped the needle on its back, securing it to his sash. Then he realised he’d perhaps done that a little too eagerly and he looked at the floor, a little hot.

 

“I’ll do what I want,” he said pathetically, eyes flickering up to meet the other’s gaze “…Thanks.”

 

At that, Sethos beamed and breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“Of course. I’m glad ya like it.”

 

He jabbed a thumb backwards and nodded his head towards the city, “Well, I’m gonna head to bed now cause I’m pretty exhausted but – uh – it was nice to see you today. Real nice.”

 

Sethos smiled softly and the puppet couldn’t help but mirror it.

 

“It was nice to see you too.”

 

Kunikuzushi rubbed the soft box in his hands, “Lunch tomorrow?”

 

And Sethos saluted.

 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Kuni.”

 

After the human had left, he slid into the Sanctuary, a fluttery feeling in his stomach – like butterflies. The gift had been received well by Buer, and upon holding it she began to list all manner of food items that might fit well into its shape. Olives and nuts seemed to be her preferred choices, however.

 

He slept soundly through the night and rose bright and early the next morning.

 

After eating lunch, he stayed out until the sun began to set, wandering about the market with his companion and by the evening when he would normally return to sleep at the Sanctuary, Sethos followed. Buer was overjoyed at the prospect of a guest and delivered all manner of snacks and drinks to the sitting room. Tea was served, a ‘calming’ blend, the god had called it, recommending it for those who might struggle with sleep. Unsurprisingly, Sethos seemed to get along well with her and they chatted away for hours and hours about just about anything and everything until the plates had been cleared, teacups emptied and the puppet dismissed them.

 

Upon entering, the human marvelled at the aranara-shaped items in his bedroom, cooing seeing their big shining eyes after which Kunikuzushi had to tell him that they were most certainly not chosen by him and that the place had been decorated against his will and he was just too busy to change it.

 

As the night grew darker, Sethos became dizzy and tired, words slurring into a mess of syllables that even Kunikuzushi couldn’t understand so he laid him down on the bed, upon which he immediately fell asleep.

 

The puppet turned off the lights, leaving a small lamp to cast a dim yellow upon the room. It was cozy and warm – the domesticity of it came so easily.

 

They lay facing each other in the softness of the sheets. Sethos slept quietly, Kunikuzushi watched the slow rise and fall of his chest fondly, he reached out and twisted a stray curl that had fallen in his face. 

 

At that moment, he was sure that if he had a heart, it would be beating out of his chest. 

 

All he could do was feel what his brain was telling him. He slowly stretched his hand out and felt the calloused pads of Sethos’s skin, then, slid their fingers together, intertwining them and squeezed softly.

 

That part of him that screamed at the wrongness of such closeness was the same that made his skin ignite with light, where their hands touched, golden.

 

Kunikuzushi made a silent vow to himself. 

 

He lay there for some time, counting the freckles dotting the others’ skin twice over. Violet eyes traced over the delicate curve of his jaw down to the chin, above which thin, plump lips sat slightly parted as if to memorise exactly how the bones and skin set together to create this thing. Not thing, he corrected himself. This person. Living, breathing, person. 

 

Entranced by his endeavour, the puppet barely noticed when Sethos’s eyelashes fluttered and he looked over with sleepy eyes, humming.

 

“Keepin’ yourself entertained?” he said tiredly, swiping his tongue over dry lips.

 

Kunikuzushi couldn’t find it within himself to reply - the snarky comments he so easily said on the regular fell from his mind silently. 

 

He stared.

 

Wordlessly, he reached out, delicately placing his fingers on sun-kissed cheeks. He brushed away another curl with the pad of his thumb, unable to tear his gaze away from the human’s verdant eyes. 

 

His breaths came out shakier than he would’ve liked.

 

“You,” he said, “Can’t take this back.” 

 

Sethos smiled easily, “I know.”

 

Kunikuzushi felt something swell within his chest, “You can’t walk away.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Do you swear it?” The puppet said, barely a whisper. 

 

Don’t leave me.

 

Beside him the human covered his pale fingers with his own. He pressed his lips to the back of Kunikuzushi’s hand, gaze unwavering. 

 

“I swear on my life.”

Notes:

ploughed through this bad boy in a day weeeeooo! hope it's okay...o(〒﹏〒)o

Chapter 5

 

As winter came into its prime, Sethos found himself left with more idle hours than ever. Time moved as if it were crawling forward, clinging to every minute that passed, cradling it in its hands, savouring and gentle. It was a good feeling – something like tranquillity. The days rolled by, each different from the last and Sethos basked in the slowness of their rhythm.

 

The bustling urge to fill his empty hours with errand and task faded as the city’s milling residents retreated into their homes for the chilly dawns and dusks, and what he was left with was the occasional favour for companions made along the road of life or tea with Granny Amina and his flying companion. It was a welcome break from the summer’s bustling streets that seemed to offer endless tasks that he simply couldn’t refuse.

 

It wasn’t until New Years that the Akademiya granted holidays for its students and as exams drew closer, Sethos found himself reluctantly ushering Kunikuzushi to attend his classes – not without some mischief of his own, however. More than a few times he had managed to sneak by the windows of the lecture halls (during the few ones that he did manage to get Kuni to sit through) where he’d offer a wave (ignoring the finger he received) and proceed to mime an eccentric play from the latest stories he’d read at the Temple or heard from the streets, pulling funny faces in attempts to get a laugh - an endeavour to which he had found varying levels of success. The scolding that he’d receive from Kunikuzushi after would always somehow turn into a guessing game of which stories Sethos had been re-enacting. His companion would scoff and offer his own interpretation of the characters which, Sethos had to admit, were miles better than his own attempts. It was endearing to see Kuni pace the lengths of his room, doing a rather impressive imitation of the Mistress of Pushpavatika from ‘The Scroll of Streaming Song,’ though his rendition of the character still held that biting sarcasm that Kunikuzushi seemed to have in all his words.

 

Sethos cackled upon the bed and offered a standing ovation, passing his companion the cactus at his windowsill as a bouquet and kneeling to kiss the back of his hand. To that, Kuni snorted and pretended to gag.

 

The room was a newer development, he’d rented it above Puspa Café for a handful of mora each month - it was a small thing, with a sink, bath and bed but it’d quickly become a cove of safety away from the cold winds and rain. Sethos found himself collapsing into the cool sheets most afternoons, body worn and winded from the day’s happenings. In the colder weather, the long and dreary journey back and forth between the city and the Temple was harder on the body. Idle walking became dragging footsteps and any faster movements were off the table entirely, so he took to resting in his room between trips which is body accepted gratefully - he fell asleep at the drop of a hat those days.

 

Despite this exhaustion, Sethos made sure to keep in regular contact with the friends he’d made outside of the Temple. A part of him nagged at his brain if he hadn’t seen them in a week or so, itching to catch up on the happenings of their lives, or rant about his own days to an eager audience. Gandharva Ville became a home away from home, and from the weekly (sometimes) drunken gatherings which he had yet to be successful at dragging Kunikuzushi along to, with his fox friend, his brother from another time and the two city eccentrics in rouge and green, he found himself so indescribably grateful to have an array of friends; it was almost like a dream he had as a boy. There was nothing that quite compared to the comfort of kind company.

 

Kaveh had proved to be just as entertaining of a companion as he’d hoped. You couldn’t go through a single conversation with that man without a long and winding complaint about his roommate. Sethos had seen the two of them wandering about the Bazaar many times or sat in the coziest corners of Puspa cafe with a book between them, pages turned after a whisper into an ear. There was something about the two of them together that made him feel he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

 

Kuni, on the other hand, seemed to be intent on keeping his interactions with others to the absolute minimum. Outside of his breakfasts with the Dendro Archon herself (Sethos still wasn’t exactly sure how he had managed to organise that), and the lazy afternoons lounging away with Sethos, as well as the once in a blue moon Akademiya class, he kept to himself. 

 

Sethos didn’t mind. Everyone was different, and he saw no shame in being introverted. After all, it seemed to be uncommon for anyone to be able to keep up with his own extroversion.

 

“Don’t you get bored with nothing to talk about? What could have possibly happened in a mere week that grants a five-hour catch-up session with that General,” Kuni drawled, tossing a small piece of bread at the ducks swimming idly at the riverside. 

 

Sethos shrugged, “Sometimes, not much. Honestly, it’s less about what ya say, and more about who ya spend the time with.”

 

The ducks quacked happily, nibbling at their lunch.

 

“I don’t get it.” The scholar replied bluntly. 

 

His companion laughed, “That’s okay.”

 

He snagged a piece of bread from the other’s hand, shuffling closer so their shoulders rested against one another, “Let’s put it this way, hm? I like Cyno, so I spend time with him.”

 

Kuni rolled his eyes. 

 

“You seem to spend an awful lot of time annoying me.”

 

Sethos slipped his arm through the crook of the other’s elbow, resting his head on his shoulder.

 

“Yeah, well I like you more than Cyno. Me entertaining you is simply a side effect of my own affection,” he said cheekily. 

 

Soft brown-white curls tickled Kunikuzushi’s face. His mouth twitched into a half-smile. 

 

“So, I’m your favourite victim then. What an honour.”

 

The other chuckled, tucking his face into his companion’s collar. 

 

“You are my favourite.”

 

Their relationship had yet to be named. Though, Sethos felt as if it didn’t particularly need one. Kunikuzushi became a constant in his life - he fluttered in and out of his mind at odd moments, stood before a jeweller at the Saturday markets and eyeing an azure gem or leather-bound book: “He’d like that,” Sethos thought. At first, it had felt a little silly, obsessing over another person who seemingly had little to no interest in his own existence, but with time came change. As it always did. 

 

The scorning stares became softer. When he’d once fled at the sight of the Temple leader, he stood still. Sethos bounded towards him across the street. When it was just the two of them, alone, their hands inched towards one another and in those moments the hot flush of his cheeks and heartbeat in his ear always, always seemed to return. 

 

They were unconventional, but somehow, it didn’t matter. 

 

On one particular day in December, Sethos had been invited to a gathering at Gandharva Ville with what had quickly become his close-knit group of friends. It was a Friday, and Kuni had dismissed himself for a day of long-winded exams, leaving an open gap in Sethos’s schedule.

 

He rose early - before the winter sun could drag itself to light the colourless sky.

 

There was a strange feeling in his chest; Sethos thought it might have been the flu that had been bothering him for the past week or two, clinging to his body in lingering symptoms.

 

In the dim light of a candle, he slid on his winter clothes with heaving effort. The darkness outside cast no shadows within the room – it was near pitch black, save for the silhouettes of slanting rooftops and trees and there was an odd silence to the morning, as if some ambient noises had forgotten to wake in the early hours of the day. Sethos squeezed his fingers together, rubbing at their surface. Each movement felt sluggish and heavy. It was cold. He warmed his hands by the fire for a short while before leaving the city - they felt icy and the skin of his body seemed to be very reluctant to retain any of its heat, brushing against the fluffy lining of his jacket raised with goosebumps.  

 

The air outside was chilly and sharp, the type that nipped at your nose, painting it pink and snowflakes flittered to the ground, lazily resting on the road in half-hearted efforts to settle.

 

He trudged down to Gandharva Ville, fur-lined boots crunching in the snow. They dragged through the thin whiteness as if it were water and his teeth chattered, clattering loudly in the quietness of the forest. Sethos walked slowly, carefully, he told himself. 

 

“Walking slower isn’t going to trick me into doing that again,” Kuni said, several lunges ahead on the path towards Port Ormos, “Flying you was a once in a lifetime opportunity, you should feel special.”

 

Sethos felt his knees tremble, “Haha, very funny.”

 

His companion looked ahead. The road before them stretched further than he’d imagined. 

 

“C’mon,” he said breathlessly, “I am the one luggin’ this delivery around, sure you can’t give me a free ride?”

 

Kuni sighed, walking back to the other man. He swung Sethos’s arm over his shoulder and leaned his weight on him.

 

“Just say you need a break, stupid,” he muttered. 

 

Sethos let himself be placed against a nearby tree, he chuckled, “Break? Nah, I’m just lettin’ ya catch your breath.”

 

His throat felt dry, head slumped against the bark dizzily. 

 

Kuni carried the delivery the rest of the journey. 

 

By the time he arrived, the sun had long awoken and the water in his waterskin was half frozen, untouched. Sethos felt rotten. The warm lights of the village offered a little comfort for his weary body, and one look from Tighnari was all it took for him to be ushered into the hut and offered a change of warm, dry clothes which he accepted gracefully. 

 

Tighnari pushed a warm mug of tea into his white hands.

 

“Goodness, you look awful, Sethos,” he said quietly, “If you were ill, you should have let me know and we’d have rescheduled.”

 

The other shook his head, “Nah, not ill. Just…not feeling 100%, ya know? P-probably just the weather getting to me.”

 

Those words felt like acid in his throat. 

 

The fox tutted, unfolding another blanket and wrapping it around the man’s shoulders. 

 

“I can certainly tell, why don’t you have a lie down in my room for the time being? It’s nice and cosy in there, I’ve had a fire going all morning. Besides, the others won’t arrive till this afternoon - I’ll have someone come wake you then.”

 

Before Sethos could refuse he was ushered off to the bedroom and tucked into the sheets with the curtains drawn and only the flickering of the flames lighting the walls a soft orange. Tighnari shut the door gently, and left him be. His head pounded - on the table nearby, a pot of flowers swayed gently, slow and lazy, they scented the room with a light floral fragrance, painted a shade of purple that he couldn't quite get his eyes to focus on; a petal fell. With a shiver, he rolled onto his side and tucked himself into a ball. The heavy duvet weighed down his aching limbs and he ducked his nose into its soft surface, rubbing his socked feet together. 

A clock ticked upon the wall, rhythmic and steady. 

Sethos's eyelids fluttered closed.

He didn’t dream. Not really. It was a strange sensation - like drifting through an open sky, only it wasn’t quite sky, not like the empty airs that Hat Guy had taken him flying through, it was thicker. Heavier. 

 

He dragged himself forward through nothingness, the air around him felt like mud. His chest heaved dryly, slowly. It was getting harder to breathe. 

 

It was cold in the dream too, he crawled desperately through whatever the space was, blindly clutching at nothing - and nothing slipped through his fingers slowly, like sludge. 

 

He breathed it in; it clung to the roof of his mouth, pushing at his throat, choking him. 

 

He felt his body shaking. The air around him grabbed his shoulder. He tried to tear himself away, but couldn’t bring himself to move, as if paralysed. He rolled to the side, someone was saying his name. It was muffled.

 

“-ethos?” 

 

“Oh Gods, plea…ake up…”

 

His eyelids felt like lead, he dragged them open slightly.

 

“...nna get Tighnari, okay?”

 

Sethos mumbled some nonsensical words, syllables jumbled in his throat. He opened his eyes more, fog clinging to his mind. 

 

He saw green. And purple.

 

“‘Ollei,” he croaked.

 

The girl looked like she was close to tears, she clutched a hand over her mouth.

 

“Sethos! Are you alright?” she cried, her face was pale, “You weren’t w-waking up. I was shaking you for ages and ages.”

 

A horrible feeling came to his chest. He felt nauseous. 

 

He shook his head dizzily, “Jus’ cold, is all,” he said.

 

Were his words always so slurred?

 

He blinked. And the next thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Tighnari, who was prying them open with a concerned look on his face.

 

“Don’t speak, I’m just giving you a look over,” he pulled out a thermometer and placed it under the other’s armpit. 

 

Sethos shivered a little as the cool glass hit his skin.

 

Tighnari grimaced, “You’re awfully cold,” he said quietly. 

 

In the doorway, Kaveh knocked gently, nursing a glass of wine. 

 

“My, my, is there a party going on in here or - oh!” he gasped, then lowered his voice, “Sorry, is he…”

 

Tighnari gave the other a half-smile, “Sethos is just feeling a little under the weather. You’ll have to let Cyno know that he’s going to be playing by himself unless Alhaitham gets his hands on that bottle of Fontainian stuff Amir sent over.”

 

The blonde offered a sympathetic look, approaching the bedside, “That’s rotten luck, we haven’t seen much of you lately, I was looking forward to catching up,” he shook his head, patting the duvet, “Never mind that though, you rest up. Be sure to listen to Doctor Tighnari. Or else!”

 

Kaveh stage-whispered the last bit, earning a quick slap to the head from the fox as he left to get back to the gathering in the living room.

 

Tighnari piled another blanket on top of the bed.

 

“Sethos, are there any health conditions in your family that you’re aware of?”

 

The man shook his head slowly, everything felt slow.

 

“Don’t know ‘em,” he mumbled, eyelids feeling heavy again.

 

The fox frowned again; he was doing that a lot.

 

After a short pause, he told him to ‘stay there’ which was a bit funny considering Sethos wasn’t feeling very capable of going anywhere at the moment, before returning with Cyno in tow. 

 

Sethos blinked slowly. 

 

“Cyno here’s just going to help you warm up a bit,” Tighnari spoke gently, as if conversing with a child, “I’m a bit worried about your body temperature so some skin-to-skin contact will give you a boost of heat, is that alright?”

 

He must have nodded; he wasn’t quite sure. 

 

The two pulled his borrowed shirt over his head, it caught on his ears a little and he winced, pulling away as the fabric was dragged over his hair. Beside him, Tighnari seemed to pause and look at his body for a short moment.

 

Sethos shivered violently outside the covers and the fox made haste to take off his pants from his body leaving him in just small sleeping shorts. Heat enveloped him whole - a warm body slipped into the covers beside him. He made out Cyno swearing some unforgivable profanities beside his ear. 

 

“You really are cold,” the general said, pulling them closer together. 

 

Sethos leaned into his brother’s skin, icy nose pressing into his collarbone. There was a brief conversation in the room - he could hardly make it out, it was so muffled - he listened to his own breaths, slowly in and slowly out. 

 

“-not any war…ing him…imarstan at nigh…all.”

 

“-it…erious?”

 

“-on’t know. He sai…ny health prob…n his…ly.”

 

He clung to Cyno. He felt so indescribably tired, yet some primal fear within his chest made it difficult to close his eyes. Sethos felt scared; his body trembled against Cyno’s.

 

The night was long. 

 

He drifted in and out of consciousness, skin pressed to the other’s burning body. Several times, someone opened the room’s door and stayed for a few minutes. He woke and they would be gone. When at last the sun rose through the edges of the curtains, he was beyond exhausted, but indeed felt a little better. 

 

Beside him Cyno groaned, rubbing his eyes.

 

“You’re a real clinger in your sleep, you know,” he said in that funny voice that meant he was teasing. 

 

Sethos croaked out a laugh, “Sorry, bro.” 

 

When Tighnari came to wake them, the two were half sat up, wrapped in the warmth of the duvet and blankets still. 

 

The fox looked tired himself, he carried a tray with a steaming bowl on it, “Morning sleepyheads. How are you feeling?”

 

Sethos nodded, “Better.”

 

Beside him Cyno pulled a face, “Where’s my breakfast?”

 

Tighnari rolled his eyes, “Akademiya folk,” he said, “Always expecting everything to be done for them, how pretentious of you.”

 

Cyno threw his pillow at the fox - Tighnari dodged it.

 

“Do you have any plans today, Sethos?” he continued, ushering Cyno from the room to bathe, “I’d prefer to keep you here for a bit longer, just to monitor you but if you’d rather be in the comfort of your own home, it’d be no trouble to have someone accompany you to the Temple.”

 

The brunette shook his head, “I’m meetin’ Ku-Hat Guy at noon, so I’ll need to get to the city.”

 

There was a strange ringing in his ears.

 

“I’m feelin’ fine, now,” he said, voice cracking rather unfortunately, “You don’t need to send someone with me.”

 

Tighnari took a long moment to look his guest up and down. He pressed the back of his hand against his forehead and then against his cheek before waving the suggestion off in a no-nonsense manner.

 

“No. If you’re not staying, the least I am doing is giving you a babysitter for the journey. Kaveh and Alhaitham should be awake soon, I’ll let them know about the situation and they’ll make sure you get to the city safely. You stay at the rooms above Puspa, yes?”

 

Sethos nodded numbly, unable to summon the energy to argue.

 

“I’d recommend you spend the day resting, and keep yourself warm. I’ll write a letter to a friend of mine at the Bimarstan about you - don’t give me that look - just drop it by there as soon as you can, and she’ll be in contact with you shortly, it’s a good idea to have more than one set of eyes on you, you troublemaker.”

 

The fox gave him a pointed look. Sethos grinned sheepishly, eyelids heavy. 

 

“Oh!” Tighnari said suddenly, as if remembering something he’d forgotten.

 

His ear twitched a little and he frowned, “That mark – is it a scar of sorts?”

 

Sethos looked down to where he was pointing, taking a second to see what he was talking about. He shook his head, it was heavy.

 

“S’just a birthmark.”

 

Tighnari was quiet for a moment. Then, he dipped his head slowly.

 

“I see.”

 

From the direction of the bathing room there was a squark that was remarkably similar to the cry of an agitated duck and then a chorus of voices in some sort of argument. The fox sighed, waving at Sethos to sit and eat before pushing up his sleeves and stalking off, tail swishing.

 

It took a few minutes for Sethos to summon any ounce of an appetite, and the time in which he was leaning against the unmade duvet and array of scattered pillows was mostly spent trying to wrap himself in as many blankets as he could with his sluggish arms. Even without a mirror, he was sure his hair was in an absolute state. He couldn’t find the energy to care.

 

“- not the place to be doing those types of activities!” Tighnari shouted from the other side of the hut.

 

There was another voice that he couldn’t quite make out and then -

 

“- No, no, and NO! Not here! Not in MY house, you sex-craved, bumbling, monkey-brained baboons -”

 

Sethos tuned out the rest of whatever was happening with the ringing of his ears, tilting his head to one side and then the other side, trying to lessen its volume.

 

He tried putting his finger on what the high-pitched whine reminded him of and rubbed his temples slowly.

 

Nothing came to mind.

 

Perhaps an hour or so later, having taken in a sip or two of (by then) lukewarm soup, he was dressed in his own clothes and another layer, courtesy of Tighnari because Cyno was an unsuitable donor as he had apparently made it his life’s mission to wear as little clothes as possible no matter the season. 

 

The forest watcher hugged him tightly before observing his eyes for a moment longer.

 

“Alright, I’ll let you go. Stay warm. But the moment you start to feel that way again, I want you going straight to a doctor, understand?” 

 

He promised, and set off with the two taller men.

 

Alhaitham was a stoic figure normally, so it was entertaining to catch the overly sarcastic comments he threw at Kaveh, who had been dramatically recounting all that Sethos had missed out on the night prior. The man in question was half-listening. In all honesty, he was dragging his feet along the road with all the energy he had. It was another cold day.

 

About halfway, Alhaitham surprised him once more when he bent down in front of him. Sethos crawled on his back tiredly, and the blonde seemed to lower his voice. The words around him were muffled and distant, as if ten meters away. Sethos’s arms were limp around the Acting Grand Sage’s neck, he tried to tighten his grip, but they didn’t comply.

 

The gentle, repeated fall and rise of each step as they walked was like the rocking arms of a mother.

 

Sethos counted them.

 

One, two, one two.

 

He wondered where his mother was.

 

Was she there? Was she walking beside them?

 

Sethos’s eyelids fell closed and he pictured a figure in his mind – a woman. It was a crude thing – blurred and smeared like a fuzzy memory. He wasn’t sure it was a memory – there was no colour, and the lines of her face were hazy and un-finished. The figure turned away – backless and leg-less and faded into the nothingness of his head.

 

He must have slept along the way as when he opened his eyes, his shoulder was being shaken gently and someone asked for his keys, which he didn’t remember handing over, but he must have as he was placed down on the bed the next moment. 

 

It was cold. He missed the warmth of Cyno.

 

Was Kuni there yet? Surely lunchtime was soon – he wasn’t feeling very hungry though…

 

Kaveh and Alhaitham hovered awkwardly in the room, muttering to one another.

 

“Do you really think we should leave him in this state? He doesn’t look well at all,” one said quietly.

 

The second voice was too quiet for Sethos’ dizzy mind to make out. His head felt like it was floating.

 

“.... okay.”

 

A warm hand held his shoulder, he peeled open his eyes.

 

“Hi, darling,” Kaveh said gently, “You get some rest, we’re heading home for now but we’ll drop by tomorrow to see how you’re doing, alright?” 

 

Sethos nodded.

 

He heard the muffled click of his door closing and he was alone. 

 

It was cold in the room. His sight was blurry as he dizzily crawled under the sheets. There was an odd ache in his chest. 

 

The air in his lungs seemed to rattle.

 

He laid his head on the pillow and inhaled.

 

And then, he was falling into the thick air once again. 

 

Sethos drifted. 

Notes:

∠( ᐛ 」∠)_ waddya think?

Chapter 6

 

Kunikuzushi felt a little silly, brushing his hair before the mirror with more care than he had ever in his long existence. A stray strand of blue fell onto his cheek and the puppet swiped it backwards. It sprung back. With a huff, Kunikuzushi held it behind his ear with one hand, wiping off some red eyeliner that had smeared onto his lash line with the other. 

 

The small pot of paint, decorated with falling maple leaves of rouge and amber, sat beside him on the desk.

 

“Does that mean somethin’ to you?” Sethos had asked once, lazing on the puppet’s bed as he watched him methodically dip a brush into the red soaked dye, “Or is it just for makin’ ya more pretty?”

 

Kunikuzushi rolled his eyes.

 

“It’s to ward off nosy little boys.”

 

He moved onto the other side, a smile creeping at his lips.

 

Sethos rolled over on the duvet, looking at his companion through the mirror. 

 

“Looks like it’s not workin’ very well then,” he drawled. 

 

The brush dipped to its side, little hairs sharpening into a carefully angled point. It tickled the delicate material of the puppet’s waterline. 

 

He scoffed, “Evidently so.”

 

Warm, tanned arms snaked around his shoulders, and he leaned his head in the crook of an elbow to steady himself. Honey surrounded his senses, enveloping them whole.

 

Kunikuzushi lifted the brush from the edge of his lashes.

 

Finished. 

 

Sethos made a point of looking at him with squinted eyes, examining him in an exaggerated manner. 

 

“Well, ya definitely have eyes,” he said seriously. 

 

Kunikuzushi couldn’t hold back a small laugh.

 

The rest of the morning was spent painting red around his companion’s own eyes, holding the fidgeting man still against the chair which proved to be very difficult when Sethos seemed to burst into laughter every second or so. 

 

Green eyes stared at him, blinking softly. 

 

Warm breaths ghosted his lips.

 

He glanced at the little clock perched on his desk and the blue aranara smiled dumbly at him, ticking away.

 

It’d been a few days since he’d seen Sethos; exams had been hellish as of late, and even for him, the endless pages to fill in that silent hall were not a task that could be completed mindlessly. Kunikuzushi pushed down the giddy feeling in his chest - he was most certainly not excited. No, no. In fact, he was very much not looking forward to their scheduled lunch meeting. Yes. And the puppet had never told a lie in his life and was a very honest person.

 

Slipping on his sandals, he pulled up his socks a little, adjusting them until they sat right on his legs and leaned into the vanity. Kunikuzushi looked over his appearance one last time before heading out of the Sanctuary.

 

It was a cold day, one of those on which that you thought might snow, if the clouds had the right motivation, yet they sat white and ungiving in the sky without fake or fall. 

 

The streets were abuzz with shoppers, couples skipping through the markets with disgustingly lovey-dovey looks as they walked, arms hooked together through the icy paths. Swooping above the streetlamps, fabrics of all colours decorated the road, lit with little candles inciting an air of festivity among the city.

 

The puppet scowled instinctively. 

 

He put his head down and walked a little harder and faster down the street, shoes slapping against stone.

 

In the crowd he could make out a voice, lilting and smooth.

 

“-Oh! He’s there - Haitham, would you wait just one, urgh!”

 

Kunikuzushi swerved around, suddenly not in the mood to talk to any strangers.

 

“Hat Guy!” The tall man called chipperly.

 

He held his tongue, recognising him as one of Sethos’s friends. It was the architect fellow -the one that was always hanging out with the Scribe.  

 

Kaveh weaved between the shoppers and tried to get closer to him, half looking over his shoulder, no doubt looking for that ‘Haitham.’

 

“What is it?” The puppet said bluntly, not wanting to stay in the crowd any longer than necessary.

 

Kaveh smiled apologetically, “Sorry to bother you, but are you on your way to see Sethos by any chance?” 

 

Kunikuzushi nodded slowly, “Yeah. And?”

 

“Well,” the architect seemed to stumble for words for a moment, “We brought him to his room above the café this morning, he seemed to be quite unwell last night and he fell dead asleep hitting the pillow! Uh, anyway, I was planning on checking on him tomorrow but I just got a bit worried and started having second thoughts so - “ 

 

“Listen, can you just get to the point?” The puppet cut in, concern edging at his mind.

 

Unwell? Well, Sethos had been a little off lately, but he was human after all. The simple changing of the seasons or a stray cough from a stranger on the street seemed to leave them confined to a bed.

 

Kaveh waved his arms around frantically, clearly embarrassed, “Yes! Of course, well, he’s probably still sleeping now, it’s only been about half an hour or so, so would you mind just making sure he’s alright and dropping by our house later? Or-or even just leave a note really. I would go myself but I’ve lost my- “he craned his head above the crowd then shook his head with a sigh.

 

Kunikuzushi tried to shake the awful feeling from his head, it was probably nothing serious. 

 

“Sure. Yeah, whatever.”

 

Kaveh gave him a quick thank you before disappearing back into the crowd.

 

The walk to the room felt longer than usual and with each step where he noticed his pace slow, he subconsciously walked a little faster. At the door to the café, the puppet had to jump to the side as a small group of students burst out, chatting loudly with one another. The last held the door open, and he muttered a low word of thanks, pulling himself inside.

 

It was relatively busy that day. Puspa Café was a popular establishment, but the winter invited more guests that it repelled, it seemed, and the cozy glow of the yellow and green lights cast a homely light upon the inside walls and seats like a sitting room would. Most of the tables were occupied, a few having pulled extra chairs from others that he guessed had been empty at the time but were filled in the lunch rush, leaving some perched on the edges of the table’s corners or stood nursing a warm drink.

 

Kunikuzushi stalked up to the counter, weaving past a few customers and standing in line to the queue, tapping his feet impatiently. One by one, they ordered drink and cake and drink and then a different drink and the puppet inched forwards to where Enteka stood behind the bar, a little annoyed at the need to wait despite not wanting to buy anything.

 

When at last he reached the front, he gave the woman as nice of a smile as his irritated mood would allow.

 

“Ah, Hat Guy,” Enteka said warmly, already reaching behind her, “You need the key?”

 

He nodded firmly and waited as she shuffled around in a drawer, muttering to herself a little, then brightening with an ‘aha,’ turning back to the puppet.

 

She dropped it in his open palm and smiled, “There you go – just remember to drop it off with me later, kay?”

 

He climbed the stairs to the second floor of the café, wood creaking with every step as he fiddled with the rounded key, rubbing his fingers over its smoothened edges. After squeezing past another group of loud students he unlocked the door to the attic and slipped inside.

 

The second set of stairs stared at him, dark. Behind the thick wood, the muffled clinks and chatter of the cafe became duller and dimmer as he climbed, they fizzled out into silence and the only sound he heard became his sandals upon wood. Against the unpolished surface, they scraped loudly, splintering its skin.

 

Clack, clack, clack, clack.

 

On the upper level it was unlit and cold and the grey-ish hue of the cloud-covered sun shone through a small circular window, allowing only enough light to be able to read the numbers on the doors. Like in most of the city’s buildings, the attic was compact and its roof curved in diagonally, leaving space for only five rooms of decent size to be rented out.

 

It was quiet.

 

Perhaps Sethos was the only tenant for the time being – most holidayers having taken to the warmer areas of the forest or the edges of the desert instead.

 

He counted down the doors to the tiny space he’d come to know like his own, two, three, four -

 

Kunikuzushi stopped before it, straightening his sleeves a little and raised his hand.

 

He knocked twice.

 

“It’s me.”

 

Silence.

 

The puppet frowned - Sethos must be sleeping still, like the architect said.

 

He reached under the welcome mat before the door and fished out the key taped to its underside. 

 

The door clicked open. He closed it behind him.

 

It was quiet.

 

He looked at the bed squished in the corner of the room and relief flooded his body, suddenly feeling a bit silly for worrying. Sethos was tucked into the sheets, curls sticking out from the top in that endearingly messy way that he’d grown familiar with. On the floor, a satchel was laid carelessly, strap strewn over wood and Kunikuzushi shook his head, folding it neatly, placing it upon the desk.

 

The puppet sat at the side of the bed, it dipped under his weight. He placed a hand on the duvet.

 

“Hey, it’s me,” he said quietly, rubbing over a covered shoulder.

 

Sethos didn’t seem to hear him – he must have been sicker than Kunikuzushi thought.

 

Perhaps he should have picked up some herbal tea from Buer before leaving the Sanctuary.

 

He pulled the sheets down to uncover the man’s head and brushed away the stray hairs that had fallen to obscure it.

 

Sethos’s eyes were shut, he lay curled into himself like a child with a peaceful expression on his face. Against the curve of his cheek, thick, dark lashes brushed sun-kissed cheeks.

 

He was so beautifully human.

 

Fondness warmed the puppet’s chest, and he leaned in closer.

 

“Sethos,” Kunikuzushi called again, whispering this time, “Wake up.”

 

But there was no movement. Not even a twitch.

 

Silence.

 

It was then in that awful moment that the puppet realised it was completely silent. He whipped his gaze to Sethos’s mouth, then ripped the duvet down to expose his chest, pressing an ear to it.

 

Nothing.

 

He jammed two fingers to the man’s neck.

 

Ice drenched his every sense. Nausea climbed in his throat. 

 

Sethos wasn’t breathing.

 

He rolled the man over onto his back frantically.

 

“Sethos?” He said, voice high and shrill.

 

The puppet slapped at his face; it was barely lukewarm.

 

“Oh gods,” Kunikuzushi felt his chest begin to heave, “Oh gods please, no.”

 

He scrambled through solutions in his mind at lightning speed, pulling them both onto the floor in a tangled mess of bedding. The duvet caught on their legs and Sethos’s head banged on the wood with a sickening thump, it rolled to the side, his eyes jolting open for a split second – lifeless and grey.

 

A cry burst from the puppet's throat.

 

This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening - it was just a bad dream, just a nightmare. 

 

His arm brushed the man’s limp hand - it was ice cold. 

 

Kunikuzushi laced his fingers together with gasping breaths - furiously searching his mind for the right piece of medical advice that he might have picked up over his 500 years of existence. As a soldier, he stayed as far away from the human body as he could but in that moment he’d never felt more thankful for Buer enrolling him into the Akademiya.

 

“One, two, three, four,” he panted to himself, pushing his weight into his hands, “One, two - “

 

Kunikuzushi pumped in short rhythmic motions, he couldn’t breathe. He wouldn’t blink.

 

Sethos was deathly pale. He looked cold - didn’t he always look cold nowadays?

 

He stopped pumping after a short while and knelt beside the young man’s head, heaving sobs ripping through the silence of the room. He tilted the head back with trembling hands, pinched the nose tightly, inhaling as deeply as he could manage and pressed their lips together.

 

He breathed.

 

And then he breathed again.

 

Sethos lay motionless.

 

The puppet’s whole body shook violently - he wiped his eyes with his sleeve and forced his arms to continue pumping at the man’s chest.

 

One, two, three, four.

 

One, two, three, four.

 

“Buer!” Kunikuzushi cried, agony tearing at his chest.

 

Bone cracked under his palms with an awful snapping sound and he flinched back. It wasn’t working – it wasn’t working – why wasn’t it helping? A sob burst from his lips, wet and gasping.

 

“Help - help him! Buer, please!”

 

At his knees Sethos slumped, lifeless, body jolting morbidly with every press to his chest.

 

His lips were blue.

 

A spark of dendro pierced the puppet’s head and he gasped.

 

“Buer – h-he’s not – he’s – “

 

Kunikuzushi’s word jammed in his throat, trembling from head to toe helplessly.

 

“What’s wrong?” the god said quickly, “Is it Sethos, Wanderer?”

 

He nodded frantically, then realised she couldn’t see that, and spluttered out a ‘yes.’ Immediately, the link sharpened into something clearer, sharper than before and Buer’s next words came through louder and firmer.

 

“Get him to the Sanctuary – quickly!”

 

In fumbling haste, Kunikuzushi jammed his hands under the human’s knees and back, an ignored blanket caught somewhere in his hold. Sethos’s head fell backwards, slack and boneless, neck bared to the skies and he caught it in the crook of his elbow as they burst through the door, scrambling down the darkness of the staircase in quick, stumbling steps. With every jolt of movement, soft brown curls brushed against the puppet’s chin, soaking with tears to blackness.

 

Kunikuzushi ripped through the crowds of the café, gasps and cries of annoyance went unheard as he knocked past shoulder and arm absent of care, tucking Sethos’s head into his chest with gasping breaths. Tearing open the main doors, wind spiralled at his back like a hurricane, wild and unfettered which whipped at the bushes, leaves flying about in a great burst of green as he rose, soaring through the coldness of the air up above the streets. From the corners of his eyes, saltless tears flew, discarded in little droplets and against the battling wind, the surface of their corneas was dry and brittle.

 

He jammed open the Sanctuary’s doors with his shoulder and Buer rushed forward at the sight of him, eyes ablaze with green.

 

The little god moved with a flurry of precision and speed, levitating Sethos from the puppet’s hold using stitching slides of dendro and placing him upon a bed that had appeared out of nowhere. 

 

She stood on a little stool of the same power, and began pumping at the man’s chest just as he had but at the tips of her little fingers dendro pulsed with every beating motion. Buer looked to the Kunikuzushi sharply.

 

“I need you to breathe for him.” She said, and the puppet leapt to place his mouth on Sethos’s once more.

 

He breathed with all he had, taking in air for a short moment, then pushing it into the other’s lungs with trembling hands cupping the man’s face. 

 

He tasted his own tears as they dripped onto those cold, cold lips. 

 

“Wake up,” he whispered hoarsely between breaths, “Wake up! Please. Please, just — open your eyes. Breathe, c’mon you stupid human.”

 

Besides him Buer stopped pumping for a second – a second too long and Kunikuzushi frowned, gaze flying to her figure. Her face was drawn tightly, wound like a coil of springs and etched with conflict. Before the puppet could ask what was wrong, a strange scent began to fill the air. It was dense and stung like the overwhelming stench of pollen and with it came a wave of energy that pulsed fiercely, bright as a blazing flame. Kunikuzushi swore; he knew that power.

 

It was the power of an archon.

 

The puppet cried out, reaching to the god, “Buer - No! No, don’t- “

 

It exploded.

 

In an eruption of green, he was blown back into the wall, feet skidding on the polished floor as his back slammed into a marble, head recoiling off its hard surface. A ringing came to his ears – sharp and high and the Sanctuary spun, tilting left then right as he stumbled. Kunikuzushi blinked slowly, shaking away the pain and grabbing the wall to steady himself. After a moment or two, his vision cleared.

 

Besides the bed, Buer stood still.

 

The archon had stopped pumping.

 

Sethos’s body was motionless. 

 

The green embers from Buer’s hands evaporated into cinders, floating in the air and dusting the floor in dead energy and Kunikuzushi could only stare.

 

Everything had happened so fast – it was a blur of panic and chaos, shouts and cries, but then, the world became so horribly, horribly still.

 

He felt nothing. He felt everything.

 

…Was that it, then?

 

Was that how this ended?

 

No.

 

The stone in Kunikuzushi’s stomach dropped.

 

He’d spoken to him only a few days ago – they’d walked the gardens of Pardis Dhyai.

 

He was breathing, moving - alive.

 

That bright smile haunted his mind. Their hands entangled as they lay on the roof of the Akademiya, curling fingers in each other's hair. Sethos pressed his nose shyly into his elbow, grinning bashfully with a bright blush painted across his cheeks.

 

Dark curls tumbled down over the sides of the bed, limp. 

 

A corpse.

 

Why?

 

Kunikuzushi’s knees began to tremble.

 

Again, and again this – this.

 

Why did it haunt him in every life, in every name. Was he a curse? An omen of death?

 

Perhaps the past him might have deserved it but he’d grown from that, hadn’t he? He was trying to - he was doing well - learning and feeling and seeing the world with the gaze of a human, instead of a god.

 

He was better and yet -

 

“Do you swear it?”

 

“I swear on my life.”

 

Mouth agape in a silent scream, the puppet sobbed into his hand, collapsing onto the floor. Wetness poured into his palm, cold and relentless.

 

Buer had her head down. She said nothing. 

 

Her little fists trembled at her sides.

 

Silence echoed in the Sanctuary, mockingly.

 

Kunikuzushi shook from head to toe.

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears dripping onto marble.

 

Then.

 

A gasp.

 

Kunikuzushi froze.

 

He didn’t dare look up.

 

A long second passed before he did.

 

The god’s eyes were wide, pale green surveying the scene in front of her with an indescribable gaze.

 

There was a horrible moment where nothing happened, then -

 

Sethos breathed, an awful rattling sound and the puppet scrambled to his feet, stumbling as he flew across the floor to his side, hands hovering over pale skin, afraid to touch it. The airy scratching sound stopped.

 

With wild eyes, Kunikuzushi clutched at the man’s clothes, pulling his body towards him.

 

“Please.”

 

Sethos didn’t reply.

 

He pressed their foreheads together, praying to any and all higher powers – to Buer, to Celestia, to Mother.

 

‘I beg – I’m begging you. Don’t let him go – don’t do this.’

 

Kunikuzushi summoned every essence of will in his body – he gripped Sethos’s scarf tightly, lips trembling with fear.

 

‘I’ll be good,’ he plead, ‘I promise I’ll keep him safe – I just need him alive. I need it; I can’t do this again - I can’t.’

 

“Please.”

 

He waited.

 

And waited.

 

The Sanctuary was silent.

 

Air brushed against his lips.

 

Those haunting eyes opened ever so slightly.

 

A thousand emotions flooded the puppet and he sobbed. Kunikuzushi surged forward into the man’s neck, clinging to his clothes with fisted hands.

 

He cupped those pale, pale cheeks and kissed him just for a fleeting second, leaving plenty of room for the man to breathe.

 

Sethos’s chest rose with little quaking movements. 

 

He looked up with glassy eyes.

 

Kunikuzushi made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

 

“Idiot,” he whispered, sniffling, “Stupid human.”

 

Buer looked upon the scene with disbelief – then, hurried off for a short moment, returning with some kind of machine on wheels in tow; it stood perhaps a foot taller than her head. She rolled it beside the bed, feet pattering on the floor in quick steps.

 

With noticeable caution, she reached over the bed on her tippy toes and gently strapped a mask over Sethos’s face. Kunikuzushi moved the man’s hair out of the way of the strap and the human’s eyes fluttered open and closed, silent.

 

A beep.

 

Then, behind the mask he breathed, stuttering and wheezy; it fogged up the inside of the clear material, condensing into little droplets.

 

Buer eyed Sethos carefully.

 

“The residue will fade,” she said quietly, “It will do no more harm, I am sure of that now.” 

 

The puppet frowned, shaking his head.

 

“What do you mean? H-he's human, Buer - it’s poison.” 

 

She seemed to hesitate, then, wordlessly motioned for him to remove the man’s clothing. They carefully pulled the fabric from him, met with only the resistance of limps limbs - the only clue that Sethos was alive was the shallow dip and rise of his chest and hoarse breaths.

 

Kunikuzushi felt sick.

 

The clothes in his hands dropped to the floor.

 

He hadn’t even noticed how thin Sethos had become over the months. On the bed, his ribs jutted out grotesquely, and the collarbone was a necklace of white straight across from shoulder to shoulder. His arms, taught with lean muscle before were frail and gaunt – the kind of shape that would be unnoticeable under thick layers of winter clothes and shawls. The puppet traced the sharp curve of the human’s jawline; the skin beneath it sank into his neck, hollow.                                    

 

Buer rested a hand on Sethos’s chest and traced her finger over it, eyes closed. After a moment, she drew it away with a deep frown, then began to stick little pads with wires attached to several places over the man’s body, rubbing each carefully to make sure it was firmly stuck to the skin, and covering him carefully with a robe of sorts that might be easily removed. A blanket was laid over his body, then another on top of that, tucked under his armpits.

 

“This is just to monitor his heart – it’s beating now, but it’s unsteady. He’s just suffered a cardiac arrest so he’ll need to be observed carefully.”

 

The little god turned to the puppet.

 

“Wanderer, I have good reason to suspect that the fragment is the cause of this. Have you noticed any strange behaviour in Sethos since you’ve met? Perhaps a change to his breathing, any aches or pains?” Buer looked sombre,” In his case, the effects upon his body might have been just about anything.”

 

Kunikuzushi looked to the limp body in dismay. He blinked, shaking his dizzy head. The floor beneath him seemed to tilt.

 

What?

 

“I-I don’t understand,” he said, “What’s wrong with him?”

 

He gestured to the bed with a trembling hand, breathless.

 

“His case? What – fragment, Buer? W-what do you mean - why is he- “

 

Kunikuzushi swallowed.

 

“Not - working?”

 

The little god gave him a confused look, following his finger. Then, a sickly pallor came over her face.

 

“Oh,” she said quietly, “You don’t know.”

 

“Know what?!” The puppet snapped.

 

Buer looked sad.

 

“I want you to listen very, very carefully to what I am about to tell you.”

Notes:

hurrah! it's here! ヾ(´〇`)ﾉ♪♪
i am so sorry

Chapter 7

It was an awful feeling, finding out that the person you thought you knew kept so much hidden behind a closed mouth. It wasn’t betrayal, exactly. No. Neither was it a lie in any particular sense – he just wished he’d been given some sort of clue as to what could be happening before…this.

 

But then again, he wasn’t in any place himself to ask for honesty.

 

Kunikuzushi lived the majority of his time in that realm as a liar. 

 

A cheat.

 

He thought of the rain - sun poured from his lips.

 

He held blossom in one hand and a blade in the other.

 

A son, a friend, a puppet, a soldier, a god, a wanderer. All identities he had assumed like skin, slipping into their form as the matter surrounding his hollow chest seeped into his mechanical being as time passed, becoming one. 

 

He was a sheet to be torn. A canvas to be decorated in the sins of the powerful or the greed of the overindulging. And every sin, he experienced in all its glory and all of its horrors; it would be easier to say what he hadn’t done to explain the extent of everything his false eyes had bore witness to. To a human, it might be impossible to comprehend such an existence, and that was what drew him away from them. Humans. They were fickle things, really. Their lifespans were short, thin, flimsy and delicate as silk. But sometimes, they were just as beautiful.

 

Kunikuzushi was a monster.

 

He bore the marks of a thousand faces, yet his skin remained untainted and untouched. He tore bone from flesh from raging surges of power within, slaughtering child, woman and man without thought or feeling and searing bodies at the flick of his wrist. Within him, rage tumbled like a whirlwind, ablaze with fury and so it came whipping from his own ‘flesh’ in violence and bloodshed. Kunikuzushi drank from that anger like a man starved of water, wandering helplessly in the sands of time.  

 

He wasn’t starved, but he was empty.

 

A hollow shell of falsehoods.

 

The erasure of his existence from Irminsul was, when all things had come to pass, an ironic occurrence. 

 

By the gods, he was a fool. And a fool of himself he had made.

 

From birth he knew himself as a flawed being – and yet, his very attempts to deny his own sentence of failure, the fury, the searing heat of anger and resentment towards his creator, towards humans, had been the thing that had torn it all to shreds, burnt to shapeless ashes.

 

Kunikuzushi hated Buer.

 

The little god looked through him like glass with wide, green eyes.

 

The traveller shunned him with a scornful gaze.

 

And the world forgot him.

 

500 years he existed. Endured. 

 

For what?

 

For spite, perhaps.

 

Kunikuzushi hadn’t been entirely sure, after his loss. What more could there be ahead for him to suffer through? What hell awaited him next? How might he find another way to either deny his own incompetence or die trying? Well, the latter would never occur, leaving only the former; that was the reality of eternal life.

 

Buer did not speak of the gnosis. A part of him was thankful for that, and another angry. He was always angry. But how could he not be?

 

He was a failure - a creature that underwhelmed, underperformed and disappointed. 

 

Kunikuzushi was weak.

 

He cursed his pathetic body for the tears that stung at his eyes as he screamed in fury at the little god, wishing for nothing more than to erase the burning emptiness, the pain that welled within him at every moment of every day knowing that he was simply not enough for the only being that he wished loved him unconditionally. And the funniest part of it was, that being didn’t even remember him anymore.

 

But that was his own doing too, he knew.

 

Some nights he slept - tossing and turning with a sweatless brow. The phantom pain of the gnosis within him burned like hot coals upon skin, only instead it was inside the very depths of the mechanisms whirring within him where it could not possibly be reached by his own hands. He woke gasping, clutching at his skin with desperate scratches to scrape the little chess piece from his body, prying uselessly at his impenetrable skin with heaving sobs. They brushed uselessly over the surface. It ached.

 

Buer left him to sleep later into the morning those days. 

 

He cursed her all-knowing eyes.

 

Kunikuzushi chased and chased for power, for satisfaction, for acknowledgement. He ran through the rolling fields of death, the wild, un-pruned gardens of torture wild with weeds of grief and woe, and then through his own self, over and over and over again. Perhaps that last one was the worst part; he was an ugly thing. But still, somehow -

 

-it was never enough. 

 

His body had been set a course to combustion the moment Dottore pressed the gnosis into his skin, repelling against his empty self in an almost humorous juxtaposition of forces. It filled his chest in the most awful, unnatural manner and consumed his mind like a disease. The glowing concentration of power haunted his gaze as he blinked, it shook his core as if it were an enchantress, whispering sweet temptations, sinful intentions into his mind at each quiet moment. Some days, he swore he heard its calls – perhaps it was real, perhaps it was a hallucination. Kunikuzushi didn’t trust himself to know the difference.

 

The gnosis.

 

Godhood. 

 

It devoured him whole. 

 

And then, there upon the sweeping pathways of Sumeru city, something else devoured him. It was not violent or demanding, neither angry nor cruel, but instead, seeped into his being, slowly, softly and kindly. Kunikuzushi pushed it away, and it persisted, not careless for his conflict, but carefully gentle until he found himself wrapped in its warmth, in the hazy fields of something more than endearment, broad and endless in its tenderness.

 

The days fell through him, patient and purposeful with every sun rising at noon. Kunikuzushi basked in its warmth – it caressed his skin, tranquil.

 

As he listened to Buer’s words, he found he could offer no reply. 

 

‘-he must have taken in the fragment as a very young child, perhaps no older than four summers-’

 

‘-it bound to his very biology like root to tree, and the power of Hermanubis became him-’

 

The puppet sat quietly.

 

A fool he still was.

 

How he wished he’d known sooner how similar the two of them were. Sure, Sethos was still human but Kunikuzushi had yearned for tens of years, no, hundreds to find someone that might have an inkling of an understanding about what he was, and what he could never be. But even despite not knowing this about the human, and Sethos in turn being oblivious to the puppet’s own griefs he had somehow managed to come closer to him than any other had before.

 

Kunikuzushi would have said it was fate, if he believed in such a thing.

 

“-this mark here, do you see it?”

 

It was glaringly visible, just above where Sethos’s heart sat.

 

Kunikuzushi stared at the delicate curves of its shape, shining in the light of the Sanctuary. He’d seen it tens of times before, among the swiping collection of others across his skin.

 

“It’s a seal,” Buer said.

 

The puppet nodded his head slowly. That seemed obvious to him now – it made sense, didn’t it?

 

“That’s from the fragment, is it not? That's how they -”

 

“Wanderer.”

 

Buer looked at him dead in the eye and in hers, Kunikuzushi saw certainty beyond surety. It terrified him.

 

“Ba fragments are not things to simply jump from their host. They don’t need a seal, let alone a cursed one.”

 

She turned to where Sethos lay, frowning deeper than he’d ever seen.

 

“At this moment, I can’t tell exactly what sorcery was used, or how it changed his body. I only recognise the shape of it – it’s the Ka, these prongs here resemble its hands. It is not a symbol associated with a particular evil but it has ties with the spirit and the soul.”

 

With a pursed brow, the puppet traced over the mark once more. Upon closer inspection he noticed how it tugged at the skin around it, aggravating the surface and pulling it inwards, inflamed with a tiny edge of redness. How had he not noticed that detail before?

 

Buer spoke quietly, “Those are not things to be changed carelessly. What I'm afraid of is that...this mark was no act of mercy or goodwill.”

 

Kunikuzushi’s legs began to tremble a little and he grabbed the rail of the bed to steady himself.

 

It was too much. It was all too much to take in.

 

“Whatever was altered left him vulnerable after he removed the fragment, perhaps his body became dependant on it, even, and-”

 

Kunikuzushi could have vomited; it was dizzyingly ironic.

 

‘-ot sure that even he knew about it, or just how grave his health had become-’

 

The puppet who’s destined power destroyed him with its presence and the vessel that couldn’t breathe without his.

 

Gods, why didn’t Sethos say something. Surely if this was the case, then he must have noticed some difference of significance to his body’s function. But then again, he had been ill as of late – was that a result of this? Was every stumble in his step, every slip of the tongue that dragged clumsily against his mouth trying to form words a sign that his body was giving out?

 

Was Kunikuzushi the one who had overlooked it all?

 

‘-his heart is very weak-’

 

In that way, they had both failed. 

 

“I’m sorry to tell you this, Wanderer,” Buer said quietly, “But without the Ba fragment, Sethos is not long for this world once the archon residue I fed his heart fades.”

 

The puppet froze.

 

He slowly dragged his gaze to look at her face, searching for any ounce of humour in it. Kunikuzushi found none.

 

“...What?”

 

That was wrong.

 

The little god looked down, “My theory is that the residual power had been sustaining his body after it was removed. All concentrated receptacles like the Ba fragments, or even a gnosis, leave what you might describe as an echo. But just as a normal echo does, it too fades with time.”

 

She paused and clutched her hands together.

 

“I will contact our best doctors to examine him but – there is little time. With every passing moment, he grows weaker and as far as I’m aware, there aren’t any Ba fragments that still exist outside of those two, but even if there were, he has already suffered a cardiac arrest and the heart is not something to be meddled with carelessly...”

 

Buer went silent for a long moment.

 

...

 

“...I believe...it would be best to notify his family.”

 

That was wrong - he was going to be fine.

 

He was breathing now, Buer saved him already, had she not?

 

Kunikuzushi shook his head, pulling away from the bedside, “No -” he whispered, “What are you saying, Buer? Can’t you just give him more of the archon residue?”

 

The god of wisdom frowned.

 

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t be of much help - the adverse effects of the residue would kill him faster in the state he is in. The small sample I gave him was a gamble in of itself, the reason it has been able to prolong his life is only due to whatever that seal has done to his body, but he’s still human,” she sighed, “Compared to a Ba fragment, excessive amounts of archon residue would be like torture.”

 

The puppet stepped backwards, heat rising in his throat.

 

“Then - Then put it back in!”

 

Kunikuzushi scrunched his hair in his hands, breaths quickening. He flung a hand towards the doors of the Sanctuary with a snarl.

 

“Fetch that lowly General - I will pry it from his body myself-”

 

“Once two fragments of Hermanubis are combined, there is no separating them-”

 

He screamed. 

 

Anemo surged from his body slapping against the polished walls uselessly. 

 

The puppet slammed his fists into the table, hands trembling upon its surface as he held himself back from strangling the figure before him. 

 

“Then think of something else, if you’re so wise!” he spat, tears stinging at his eyes – the burning anger seared hotter, “He’s already died once - can’t you do anything?!”

 

Buer looked at him silently, helplessly. Her eyes were so much older than her being.

 

“I’m sorry, Wanderer.”

 

Kunikuzushi couldn’t believe what was happening. He couldn’t think – he couldn’t breathe. An apology, of all things. He could have scoffed. He could have screamed. Apologies were useless. What good were two words when a life was at stake?

 

He shook his own head in disbelief, spluttering as he tried to find words.

 

“So - so what,” the puppet breathed, “You’re just going to give up, is that it?! You useless excuse of a god, you’re supposed to fix him!” 

 

Buer said nothing.

 

“Say something!”

 

Kunikuzushi jabbed a finger into her chest. 

 

“You coward.”

 

He was a coward. 

 

“You call yourself all-knowing and you can’t even save one human.”

 

He couldn’t save any of them.

 

“You disgust me,” Kunikuzushi sobbed.

 

He was disgusting. 

 

With a choking gasp he clutched his chest, crying without restraint.

 

Why?

 

Why had he been created with the ability to suffer like this? Why did his face scrunch in agony like child, why did tears emerge from nothingness inside? Why did it hurt so badly within his body - if he had no heart, then why did it ache like so?

 

The anger sparked within him again and it caught quickly, flame hot and bitter. His chest heaved, and he clenched his hair in his fingers, tugging at it with a cry. The world was spinning. It was spinning and spinning around looking for something to blame, someone to hate and to hurt and all he could find was empty air.

 

The little god laid a hand on his arm and he ripped himself away.

 

Buer was frowning, lips pursed. The look on her face was agonising to see – it was pity.

 

“…I will contact the Bimarstan.”

 

She left without another word.

 

As her back turned, he watched her leave. The puppet felt a twang of something bitter and wrong.

 

The Sanctuary became quiet.

 

At his side, the machine beeped, slow, and irregularly. Kunikuzushi stumbled forward, curling over Sethos’s form and burying his face into the crook of his neck. 

 

He cried into the other’s skin. Cold, saltless tears wet its surface like rain upon leaves. It rolled off the side of each curve, soaking the thin pillow underneath. Sethos breathed quietly, eyes gently shut.

 

Kunikuzushi mimicked each rise and fall of the chest with his own - together, in unison. 

 

He squeezed his eyes shut; brow tight. 

 

“I’m gonna save you,” he whispered hoarsely, “I’ll find…I’ll find something. You can’t get away from me this easily.”

 

He curled his fists into the blanket, breathing in the man’s honeyed scent.

 

“You swore it.” 

 

Sethos didn’t reply. 

 

“You promised.”

 

‘How dare you die like this, and break your promise to me.’

 

His mind swan with memories. Niwa. The raging fires of the violet furnace glowing against skin, flames devouring flesh in seconds like the jaws of a hound. The boy, lifeless, bloodied lips pressed to wood, soaking each crack and crevice rouge. Sethos’s head rolling off the bed like a doll, deathly pale. 

 

He couldn’t do it.

 

It would destroy him.

 

It would devour him, Kunikuzushi was sure, and he did not trust himself to know what his body might be capable of if he were to experience loss so great. Not then. Not after how far he’d come.

 

He couldn’t bear to do it all over again. Once was pain, twice was agony. A third time – that would be beyond torture.

 

As he surveyed the paleness of the human’s face, Kunikuzushi could almost hear his voice in his head.

 

“What’s on your mind?”

 

He said nothing.

 

“Aww c’mon, don’t be like that. You can tell me, I won’t judge.”

 

Sethos smiled at him, and he became the sun.

 

“I...” Kunikuzushi whispered, tears welling once more, “I can’t lose you.”

 

They poured down his face.

 

“I don’t want you to go. I need you. I need you here, you stupid human,” he cried.

 

Kunikuzushi's chin wobbled.

 

“Please,” he croaked, “Please.”

 

Sethos was silent, he just smiled some more and began to hum a familiar song from the desert that the puppet had caught him singing idly on occasion.

 

He clutched the human tightly.

 

And then it came to him so violently he felt a horrible, desperate shiver run down his spine.

 

That song…

 

It was a silly thing. Nothing grandiose or epic in terms of meaning – Sethos had called it a nursery rhyme to soothe children from bad dreams that might haunt them. Soft and playfully he sang, brushing the edges of the puppet’s ear with warm puffs of air.  

 

He wanted that.

 

Power, status, his sins. What worth did they have in that moment? None. He felt silly fighting for it all, for tearing himself apart for a purpose that he couldn’t even recall as he lay, inhaling Sethos’s scent, when this was what he yearned for.

 

He wanted to listen those idle hums. To snap back at those obnoxiously kind words and fight back laughs watching some stupid impression of a sumpter beast. He wanted to sit at the top of the Akademiya with him, where no one would find them and bathe in the warmth of the sun with only the chirping of birds as company.

 

He wanted to eat lunch together each day and talk about nothing and everything. Then Sethos would smile, and curl an arm into his elbow.

 

He wanted it so badly it hurt.

 

Kunikuzushi closed his eyes tightly and desperately stilled the trembling of his fingers. Soft curls brushed his knuckles and he inhaled sharply.

 

No more. 

 

The phantom warmth of a hand in his ached.

 

No. More.

 

He would search all the stretches of Sumeru, all of Teyvat. He would dive into the depths of Irminsul and absorb anything and everything in his reach, and more. 

 

Failure wasn’t an option. 

 

He was going to save Sethos, even if it destroyed him.

 

All his 500 years of life – his grief, his sins, godhood and all those senseless words and ideals – they were nothing. They were less than nothing in that moment; he buried them beneath his will, closing his mind, and banished all thought of regret or remorse from his head.

 

There was no time - no time at all for that.

 

Giving up meant death and the only way was forward.

 

The path ahead lay clear.

 

Kunikuzushi wiped his eyes, squeezed their fingers together, and set to work. 

Notes:

( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉearly chapter! yippee!
things are happening, oh gosh-

Chapter 8

The first course of action was to see that General and find out just exactly what he knew of the Temple of Silence and their involvement with the fragments of Hermanubis. If there was any place that had information hidden from even the god of wisdom, it would be there. Though Kunikuzushi’s knowledge of the Temple was limited to the stories Sethos had told him, he knew it to be a sacred land, that which had been hidden from even gods for hundreds and hundreds of years. Surely among those created, disregarding the ones that had been destroyed, there was one, just one fragment that the Temple had kept within its walls or that they knew the location of at least. Buer must have missed something.

 

If he couldn’t give Sethos the same fragment that had been removed then he’d find another.

 

As he stalked down the corridors of the Akademiya anger began to sear at his mind again, tickling the edges of his thoughts like a hot poker.

 

That General was the reason for this. If the second fragment hadn’t been conjoined to the other, if only he hadn’t taken it then this would never have happened. 

 

If whatever curse that had been set upon Sethos’s heart hadn’t been placed - which he was almost certain was responsible for this in some manner – it would have never happened.

 

If he’d noticed something was so wrong sooner -

 

He unfurled the tension curling at his fists..

 

Never mind that. 

 

Anger had consumed him before, it consumed him whole like a sickness - a disease.

 

The phantom splatter of hot blood upon his false skin haunted the surface of his body, and as he walked, its warmth seemed to drip from his forehead to his chin, down his arms and drop to the floor in tiny circles of nothingness from his fingertips. He shook it off, shivering.

 

Kunikuzushi knocked twice on the door, tapping his foot on the ornate mosaic floor. 

 

A voice called him inside. 

 

He entered. 

 

The General sat at his desk, piles of papers lay neatly stacked to one side and another thinner clump was pressed to the table beneath ink and quill. 

 

Cyno blinked, dipping his head slightly. 

 

“Hat Guy, what can I do for you?”

 

The puppet slackened his shoulders, and breathed. 

 

“I need your help.”

 

The conversation that ensued felt longer than any he thought he’d had in his entire life. Cyno looked pale, lips slightly agape as the puppet relayed the information regarding Sethos’s health. The General was silent, brow pursed into as horrified of an expression that his stoic face would allow but alas, when it came to an end, he wasn’t much help. The man knew next to nothing about the inner doings of the Temple of Silence, having lost his memories from his childhood as a result of the first Ba fragment’s insertion. What he offered instead was to guide the puppet to the Temple where it was hidden from view in the Land of Lower Setekh. 

 

It was only then that Kunikuzushi fully realised that he had in fact never seen it. Or more importantly, Sethos had never shown it to him; the puppet pushed down the hurt with a gulp. He was sure the human had his reasons. It wasn’t as if he himself had shared everything about his life.

 

Before they left, Kunikuzushi sketched out the mark upon Sethos’s chest and asked if the General recognised it – he answered only as Buer had, that he knew the symbol but was unable to determine the sorcery behind its presence, comparing it to being shown a single word and being asked to describe the novel of its origins. Hesitantly, Cyno had suggested that perhaps the seal could be removed if the exact mechanisms of it could be determined – Kunikuzushi slipped that information into the back of his head.

 

With this idea in mind, the General made haste to fetch that Scribe, noting of the man’s expertise in that particular area of studies. Alhaitham seemed to be a reasonable man, straightforward and keen to do things efficiently. Kunikuzushi respected that; he didn’t trust himself to be able to deal with anyone particularly emotive at that moment in time and a steady head at each side kept him grounded.

 

They set off with just a few full waterskins which Kunikuzushi waved away. He had no need for that. Time spent dilly-dallying around, not working to find a solution was time Sethos didn’t have to spare.

 

As they trudged through the rainforest towards Caravan Ribat, he contacted Buer using her psychic link. It sprung to life with a flash of green - Sethos was breathing still.

 

They moved quickly. 

 

The desert was unforgiving. Heat beat down on them relentlessly despite the winter season in the city, as if it were a completely different world. It seared even the puppet’s toughened skin and it was then that he understood why so many humans lost their lives to the sands. He tugged at his under-layer, uncomfortable. As they stopped to rest in the shade for a short moment, Cyno wiped the sweat from his brow with the fabric of his top, lifting it up and Kunikuzushi couldn’t tear his eyes away from the blank, untouched skin above his heart.

 

He forced himself to look ahead.

 

They stood upon the dunes, entering a new climate within the desert where it was warmer and drier – the humid stickiness of the rainforest fading at last, leaving it empty and arid. The sands too had changed into something slicker, fluid and wave-like in motion and sometimes, in the corner of his eyes he saw it shift unnaturally. Kunikuzushi whipped his head around at the movement – the sand was still.

 

Cyno walked ahead, turning to speak over his shoulder.

 

“Don’t stray from my footsteps.”

 

The puppet frowned, eyeing where the General pointed to.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because the last thing we want is to summon the Wenut,” Cyno replied,” Just follow me, we’ll use the dead-zones - that’s where the stone is thickest.”

 

At the back of the party, the Scribe trailed behind with silent, careful steps.

 

Across the horizon, red streaks, dark and opaque painted the skies like smearing blood and against the sands, shadows stretched longer into dragging lines of blackness behind every shape and form. After a long stretch of cautious manoeuvring, Cyno came to a halt just beside a desert spring. Joining his hands before his chest, he muttered a prayer of sorts in an ancient language. Kunikuzushi was no linguist, but he knew the age to those words, and their power. In a split second, what was once an empty archway of sandstone erupted into blue, fading into stone before revealing a looming carved entranceway.

 

The Temple itself was quiet within.

 

Scholars muttered under their breaths in stray corners, eyes scanning through scrolls, torn and worn. It was when they caught a glimpse of the General that they began to gather themselves and the priests who kneeled silently before great carvings and statues of Al-Ahmar raised themselves to their bare feet. 

 

Kunikuzushi looked up at the towering shelves of endless scripts. These records were hundreds, thousands of years old. Older than even him.

 

At the centre of the hall, Cyno spoke to the people of the Temple with a stern voice, it echoed throughout the stone walls but the puppet’s gaze was upon their audience, dulling their words to snippets of sentences, muffled and distant.

 

“Your leader, Sethos is gravely ill – “

 

A cry of gasps – and what followed was a fleeting chorus of mutters, low and hushed.

 

The General pulled out the scroll with the sketch of the Ka and questioned the group about their knowledge. Kunikuzushi watched them like a hawk, eyes sweeping over every expression and every micro-expression that might tell a story that contradicted words. For the most part, they seemed to know nothing, or were scared at the prospect of interrogation – the type of fear from innocents which the puppet knew well. After a small commotion of sorts, a foreign voice said something, then another and then the group of maybe thirty divided themselves among the shelves with surprising speed.

 

He watched them for a moment longer.

 

Their faces were grim and stony.

 

Cyno walked over to his side, looking equally as stiff.

 

“The priests say they know nothing of another Ba fragment’s existence. Bamoun appeared to keep their locations a closely guarded secret,” the General said tightly, “A secret he took to his grave - the same can be said about the Ka too,”

 

Kunikuzushi cursed, spitting Inazuman, “Useless humans.”

 

He picked up a scroll, scanning over it briefly before tossing it back onto the shelf.

 

Cyno looked down, tight lipped, “We’ll find one.” 

 

The Scribe conversed with a Temple member to the side, jabbing his head in the direction the person was pointing to and the General nodded, watching Alhaitham disappear into the tunnels of sandstone.

 

And then it began.

 

The two of them sat, holed up in the records room for what must have been hours and around them, the Temple’s residents fluttered through the shelves. Though the sun wasn’t visible in the insides of the Temple, he suspected the moon had long usurped its light.

 

Kunikuzushi wasn’t sure if he had ever read so much in his life, and even if he had, he had never felt so compelled to pay attention to every written word lest they contain a fleeting ounce of information. Twice, they were interrupted by scholar and priest who looked at them with begging eyes.

 

“Our Sethos is a strong boy – we will do every ounce of our part to help him,” one said, teary eyed.

 

Another asked, “He will recover, yes?”

 

And the puppet couldn’t bring himself to make any promises.

 

They searched, silent and still as the people left, the stone beneath was not the most comfortable of seats, and the hardness of its surface made Kunikuzushi’s knees ache. He rolled his weight to the side and reached for another piece of paper, this one a mere scrap decorated with unintelligible scribbles.

 

Across the floor, the general sat beside a pile of scrolls. His fingers, coarse and calloused, were ridden with paper cuts and the shadows beneath his eyes had darkened to a sullen purple. He looked exhausted.

 

Kunikuzushi eyed him over the script in his hands.

 

He pursed his lips.

 

“If you need to rest, go sleep already,” the puppet said.

 

Cyno shook his head, “I’m fine – let's keep looking.”

 

Kunikuzushi could see a pale tint to his skin and it was all too reminiscent of – him. He rubbed at the script’s roughened edge and swallowed.

 

“Look, you-”

 

The puppet was interrupted by a low, hoarse voice.

 

“Lord Cyno.”

 

They turned.

 

It was a priest, and an old one at that, perhaps the eldest in all the Temple. He wore a faded sash of purple and draping robes of cream dappled in once golden embroidery, the dull threads glinted pathetically in the flapping light of the candles around.

 

The General nodded and at once, the priest’s hesitancy seemed to increase tenfold. He looked to Cyno with a wavering gaze, hands tightly bound together before his stomach.

 

“I – “the old man began, “- I am Duaenre, my Lord. And I…”

 

Duaenre’s voice trembled.

 

“I wish for your ear for my confession.”

 

At this, the puppet narrowed his eyes. He recognised this man from the crowd – not his face, but rather the manner in which he stood, crouched over himself as if afraid to be seen, to be heard. There was an air of uncertainty about him that left Kunikuzushi feeling uneasy.

 

“Very well,” Cyno said, “What is it that you want to confess?”

 

Beneath the careful sternness of his voice, the puppet noted the faintest tint of something more. Perhaps it was hope, or maybe dread.

 

Duaenre’s eyes darted around the Temple’s bookshelves, peering around the corners surrounding them.

 

“Might we speak elsewhere, m-my Lord?”

 

The General nodded once more, slower, and the corners of his mouth hitched down in a frown.

 

Setting down the papers in their hands, the two visitors followed the priest through the hallways. Duaenre peaked over his shoulder at short intervals; Kunikuzushi caught his eyes, gaze hard. The priest gave him a look that said the puppet wasn’t invited to said conversation, but that also he was too hesitant to shoo him off.

 

Kunikuzushi held himself firm.

 

If the man wanted to ‘confess’ to the General, he certainly wouldn’t leave himself absent from their heart-to-heart. 

 

They came to a smaller room, it was filled with little trinkets and items, pots and blades discarded for storage in the endless mazes of the Temple’s structure. The priest silently slid the stone door closed, taking one last peak around the corridor and motioned for them to sit upon the rug.

 

Kunikuzushi scrunched his nose at its dusty surface, setting himself down with a face full of discontent as Cyno sat beside him, motioning for the old man to speak.

 

Clearing his throat, the priest held his hands together and muttered a few words to himself before looking to the General, eyes old and weary.

 

For a long second, he said nothing.

 

But then, Duaenre spoke.

 

“Lord Cyno…I fear I know the cause of our Lord Sethos’s poor health,” he said lowly, “And I fear…that I have been a coward in the face of conflict.”

 

The general’s gaze sharpened.

 

“Elaborate.”

 

“Yes, of course,” the old priest said quickly, “P-perhaps the beginning might be an appropriate starting point?”

 

Something about his tone was heavy and left much unsaid.

 

“I, Duaenre, was Bamoun’s advisor, during his time of rule. And as such, I was witness to the trials of our efforts to preserve the Glory of Hermanubis,” he eyed the skin of Cyno’s chest, “...You were told, when we met before, that your body was not as suited to possess the Ba fragment as well as Lord Sethos’s was, correct?”

 

Cyno nodded and in reply, Duaenre sighed.

 

“Not every detail of that endeavour was shared. In fact, it would be more truthful to say that the opposite was the reality of the matter.”

 

At this, the General’s frown deepened and he glanced at the puppet, catching the caution in Kunikuzushi’s own eyes.

 

“Science, sorcery, all experiments take time - it took many a trial to obtain a method that proved successful at preserving both the fragment’s power and the host’s lifeforce. All manner of person was tried, both from within the Temple and from the desert villages, but it was after perhaps fifty that – “

 

“Fifty what?” Kunikuzushi cut in.

 

The old man swallowed audibly.

 

His next words came out dry and hoarse, “Fifty test hosts.”

 

Horror crawled in the puppet’s throat.

 

“…We wasted so much time trying to analyse their bodies that we didn’t consider the crucial first step and that was activating the fragments prior to insertion. B-by then, years had passed and what results we have to show for it was the conclusion that the smaller the body, the more receptive the subject was likely to be when confronted with such power. There were some other factors of course, blood type, for example seemed to play a part, though a lesser one at that. Once the profile for an ideal host was finally created, the second phase began.”

 

Duaenre nodded to the General, smiling a little, “You came into our possession, m-my Lord. A thin, impish thing you were, but it was then that Bamoun’s obsession with the experiments began to grow out of control. He worked tirelessly each day trying to invent a way to activate the fragments.”

 

The priest took a deep breath and Kunikuzushi fought back a biting comment about how exactly this was all that relevant to the situation at hand. Cyno looked ahead, listening carefully at his side; the puppet pressed his lips together, firm.

 

“One day, during our trials, Bamoun’s activation of the fragments went wrong. Or perhaps it went right, I-I don’t know – they glowed brighter than during any other trial, it was blinding and…beautiful. Like a burning bush. But we feared its own might would destroy it, should that state persist, so we made haste to preserve them and tried inserting one into the most suitable child host – that was you.”

 

The General nodded slowly.

 

“And the other in Sethos,” Cyno said.

 

But Duaenre shook his head.

 

“…Unfortunately, it wasn’t as simple as that. Upon touching the fragment, your body took well to it - the pain appeared minimal compared to failed trials. But when it came to Lord Sethos, we knew something was very wrong from the moment he was laid upon the table.”

 

A very bad feeling came to the puppet hearing those words - Kunikuzushi tried to stop himself from guessing what he might hear next, but it was too late. He feared the worst and Duaenre spoke it aloud.

 

“At once, he rejected it – not to the degree of instant death but enough that the fragment was at risk of being destroyed along with the boy in time, he s-struggled against us as we tried to insert it and the fragment began to surge with power like nothing we’d seen before. Bamoun began to push us all away and in that moment, I thought perhaps he was saving us, but that was not the case.”

 

Duaenre pursed his lips and shook his head.

 

He let out a sad laugh, more of a choking sob than anything else, one that told words of regret and guilt without a single spoken syllable.

 

“In hindsight it was obvious. I see it clearly now. Bamoun always favoured the boy – he had taken him in as his own grandson after all and from the very beginning it was clear that he intended to make Lord Sethos his heir, not some nameless orphan from the sands. But to be that heir, that boy would need to harness the Glory of Hermanubis. And that was his dilemma because when the fragment was rejected, it was clear that he had been deceitful about the boy’s receptibility and that he had a plan, in the very event that this occurred.”

 

At the puppet’s side, Cyno’s face was stony.

 

“You asked for information regarding the Ka, yes?” Duaenre said.

 

In his lap, the priest’s worn, wrinkled hands trembled slightly.

 

“That’s right.”

 

Kunikuzushi watched him carefully.

 

“Bamoun, he – “Duaenre said quietly, “- he created the seal. It is dark sorcery, boy, constructed by knowledge beyond anything I know of. It could only have derived from the reign of Al-Ahmar, but we believed that knowledge had all been destroyed.”

 

The old man shook, not from fear but from fury and he stared at the rug, face drawn tightly.

 

“It…forced the fragment to be accepted somehow – but not without fault. Lord Sethos was tortured for days on end until the seal worked its sorcery upon him. He was kept – under his grandfather’s eye, there in the sealing chamber – Bamoun did not allow us to see within it. What we could do, was hear,” the priest said hoarsely, “…I remember it clear as day, the sound of Lord Sethos’s cries, his screams, that poor boy. It must have felt like agony - he begged for it to end but he…he barely four summers old and didn’t even understand what was being done to him. Then one day, it stopped.”

 

Duaenre looked pale when he spoke next, “At first…we thought perhaps he had died. That we’d finally gone too far – that Bamoun had gone too far.”

 

Kunikuzushi clutched his fists.

 

“Then a miracle occurred – Lord Sethos woke. The pain seemed to have vanished. The only remnants of what had been done was the mark upon his chest and it wasn’t difficult to persuade him that it had always been there – he was just a child. The day Lord Sethos rose, Bamoun forced those that witnessed it to take a vow of silence, myself and three others – this too, was something that he had pulled from the depths of those dark studies and we - we had no choice but to obey. It was not until after he died that the vow lifted.”

 

The puppet wasn’t sure he could articulate the emotions storming through his mind. He shook his head, breathing through his teeth sharply.

 

“Then why risk losing Sethos’s fragment in the Right of Duels?” Cyno said carefully, “Surely, if he intended to make him his successor and a host in tandem, Bamoun would have chosen a plan that eliminated that possibility.”

 

Duaenre shook his head.

 

“I cannot say for certain, my Lord. But what I gathered was that, as Lord Sethos grew older, Bamoun became more and more…dissatisfied with his ‘performance.’ He was strict as could be, a disciplinary force that not even us priests could disobey, but that boy is not a spirit that can be contained so easily. I fear that the plan to unite the two powers was his last chance to...change sides – you grew to be the General Mahamatra after all, a noble and valiant warrior. Our Lord Sethos is kind and a gentle soul, but he lacks the strength of a leader.”

 

Kunikuzushi watched the scene before him with a hollow anger.

 

By the gods, these people were mad. What did they know of ‘strength?’ That Bamoun – he was deranged. The puppet knew by Buer’s suspicions that there was some nefarious work at play but this was beyond inhumane. Heat rose within his throat – a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue.

 

“Why didn’t you think to tell Sethos about what had been done to him? You said the vow was lifted – and yet here you are, having waited until now to do anything,” Kunikuzushi spat, incredulous.

 

“Because he was grieving,” Duaenre fired back, “That boy loved and respected Bamoun above anyone at the Temple, don’t you understand? It would have destroyed him.”

 

“Better to be destroyed than dead!”

 

“You cannot criticise our good intentions, boy – we didn’t know the removal might harm him! You – you do not understand the intricacies at stake here- “

 

Kunikuzushi scoffed, “I have every right to criticise the child killer in the room- “

 

“That’s enough!”

 

Cyno pressed his polearm between the two with a stern face. Against its surface, the puppet noticed how his own chest heaved with emotion and he backed away, shooting a glare at Duaenre. The old man only looked down – Kunikuzushi knew that face, it was shame.

 

“Do you know any more about the seal?” Cyno said, lowering his weapon.

 

Duaenre shook his head.

 

“…I’m afraid I cannot be of much aid – my knowledge of such ancient magic is nil. What I can know for certain is that one of such strength cannot possibly be removed without great harm.”

 

The General probed at the priest for a few moments longer, gathering the extent of the information available from him before rising from the rug, at last sealing his polearm away at his hip. Kunikuzushi stood, brushing himself of any dust with a scorning gaze.

 

With a dip of his head, Cyno spoke, “Thank you for your confession, we will make every effort to ensure your leader’s safety.”

 

Then, his face hardened, “But trust that there will be a full investigation into the crimes committed on this ground. Human experimentation, child abuse of the highest degree, unlawful practices of ritual – these are no petty charges. The matra will find those responsible guilty, and no mercy will be shown. Do you understand?”

 

They returned to the records room where the Scribe stood, shuffling through several sheets of paper besides the bookshelves. Kunikuzushi trailed behind the General silent, jaw clenched.

 

“Did you find something?” Cyno asked.

 

The Scribe turned the paper to face the two.

“Hidden blueprints, from the former leader’s bedroom.”

 

Upon it was a scrawling mess of writing that Kunikuzushi could not decipher at all, not only because of the language foreign to his eyes but the sheer state of the chaos – words overlapping each other, sketches of that symbol slanted, smudged and traced over tens of times to tear through the sheet.

 

“See here?” the man said, pointing to a particularly illegible phrase, “The seal is a drain, you might say. It absorbs energy and in turn, removes the strain from the body.”

 

“So, it bore the weight of the fragment,” Cyno said carefully, “And after the energy source was removed- “

 

“-It absorbed his body instead.”

 

Kunikuzushi’s throat was as dry as the desert.

 

They left the temple at sunrise.

 

Somehow the walk back to the city was even more silent than the way there – they dragged through the sands, wordless and mute. That guttural nausea refused to leave Kunikuzushi’s stomach.

 

Buer sounded tense as she spoke into Kunikuzushi’s mind, “There is time – according to the doctors who examined him, he has a week at most; I will search Irminsul for anything relating to the fragments.”

 

He nodded, waiting for the connection to shut off.

 

It tickled his thoughts, low and humming until at last the god spoke again, quieter this time.

 

“Wanderer, I’m sorry,” Buer said carefully, “You were right, I drew conclusions too quickly – it was unreasonable and I upset you. For that I apologise.”

 

Kunikuzushi said nothing.

 

“Wanderer?”

 

He fiddled with the edges of his sleeve, sandals shifting through the sand.

 

“Just let me into Irminsul when we get there.”

 

The puppet severed the connection.

 

At the city’s gates, they were joined by the Amurta forest ranger. He jogged up to the trio with quick, leaping steps and a pouch at his side. Kunikuzushi eyed the thin, root-like scars climbing the fox’s neck and pressed his lips together.

 

“I shouldn’t have let him go home,” the forest ranger said wetly.

 

His ears drooped and gloved hands clutched over his mouth.

 

The General rubbed the fox’s arm, tugging them closer together as they walked.

 

“It’s not your fault, no one could have known-”

 

“What if it was?” the fox cut in hoarsely, “What if I had kept him another night and he wouldn’t have been left alone and none of this would be happening?”

 

Kunikuzushi swallowed. A fuzzy ringing sound muffled the ambience of the words around him, like cotton in his ears. His footsteps fell heavily onto stone.

 

The fox was not to blame.

 

The puppet himself had looked over every sign, every clue – he'd had been so caught up in other things, so focused on himself, his fears and his own feelings that he’d managed to miss what might have been crucial signs that something was so terribly wrong.

 

But still – those monsters at the so called ‘Temple,’ were also at fault. Kunikuzushi had seen his fair share of horrors in Dottore’s labs, but he was a puppet – a fabricated being who could withstand being pulled apart and then put together tens, hundreds of times over. Sethos, and that general. The countless who that priest called ‘test hosts’ were human, and some barely children. They were babies.

 

Kunikuzushi hated many things, but the innocence of infants was not one of them.

 

And then there was Bamoun, the man who Sethos had spoken so highly of, who he had clearly loved dearly, that had been revealed as nothing more than scum. To force your own grandson – the boy who you had been raising as such, at least – through such torture simply for your own greed and selfish sense of control only to abandon him. Discard him right before your own death so that you need not face the consequences of your own actions. It was madness.

 

The puppet squeezed his nails into his palms. How was he supposed to tell Sethos? How could he, when the human cried for him so? Mourned him?

 

Perhaps that old priest had some sense to him; it would destroy him either way. But then again, there was no telling Sethos anything until he wasn’t dying.

 

They climbed the great swerving paths of the tree up to the Sanctuary of Surasthana, and there, within the echoing chamber lay Sethos, hooked up to all manner of machines, still. At his bedside was a passageway or sorts, a portal, one might call it that ripped through reality like an ugly scar, and within that the puppet spied the little god kneeled at the spindling branches of Irminsul, fingers outstretched as she swiped through translucent memories of the world. 

 

The puppet spared a long look at Sethos as he passed – air halted in his own throat. It was clearer now, the effects of the seal, that is. Not even two days had passed and he could already see more sharpness to each curve and edge to the human’s body; it was eating him from the inside out. What terrified him the most was the muscle that lay directly beneath that awful symbol upon Sethos’s chest.

 

Would that be eaten too?

 

Kunikuzushi ripped his eyes away, ice racing through his body.

 

No time.

 

He pushed through the rift with quick strides and knelt beside the little god – gaze unblinking upon the weaving branches of the tree.

 

There was no time.

 

Kunikuzushi plucked up a file, and began to read. 

 

They searched and searched.

 

In the depths of the tree, they crawled to see memory upon memory, fragment of information, book, story, fable, tale.  All were investigated from start to finish and top to bottom. They swiped through each page and viewed scene after scene until the pile of discarded items swiped to the side seemed to tower higher than both of their heights combined and the puppet began to feel a frightening sense of déjà vu.

 

Most of the items relating to the Ba fragments were simply mentions of it in texts or conversations that were of no real use to them. A few were stories, folktales of ancient origin that had been twisted and altered by the passing of time through word of mouth, also of little use. In terms of how many fragments existed when Hermanubis first split his being those hundreds of years ago and how many were known to exist at that present moment in time, that question was left unanswered. From what Kunikuzushi could gather, at least eight were created that had been recorded within Irminsul. Two of which were currently within the General Mahamatra, and the remaining six? Well, there wasn’t much to be said.

 

On occasion, one of them would gasp, or a breath hitch and the other would look over quickly, only for both to be disappointed.

 

Destroyed in battle.

 

Imploded within an unfit vessel.

 

Offered as a gift to a stupid ancient king who had discarded it without a thought, it shattered.

 

Destroyed in the siege of Tulaytullah.

 

Destroyed in the siege of Tulaytullah.

 

Destroyed in the -

 

Kunikuzushi snapped the file shut and threw it to the side.

 

The sun rose and set, and then rose again.

 

Time flew.

 

The silence between the beeping of the machines grew longer and in the quiet, murmurs of the general and the forest watcher ground at his ears like nails upon chalk and each motion to grab the next piece of information felt slower, arms aching and weighed like lead.

 

Buer worked without respite, wide green eyes glowing against the vibrant blues of the tree. 

 

The puppet’s fingertips felt numb.

 

He closed the file in his hands, reaching for the next when nothing came to his fingers.

 

Kunikuzushi raised his heavy head and saw blankness.

 

A trembling sense of dread shook his core – fingers frozen in the empty air.

 

That was the last one. The last memory.

 

There was no next file.

 

He jerked back from the tree to see the empty branches, plain and fruitless before him. Kunikuzushi searched and searched for another – he saw nothing. The puppet stumbled, pressing his palm to his mouth. 

 

“There’s nothing.”

 

He looked to the god, “There’s nothing here, Buer.”

 

She shook her head – but even a god cannot hide the glint of fear in her eyes.

 

“They all say the same nonsense as each other,” Kunikuzushi whispered, breaths hitching, “You were right. There are no fragments left - they’ve all been destroyed.”

 

A hand touched his own, warm, “I…we...can’t be sure of that yet. Perhaps there was something we overlooked – let’s go through them again, but until then there’s no logical conclusion that nothing remains.”

 

“Logical-” The puppet choked, he slapped away Buer’s touch, “Don’t feed me that nonsense - it’s over, there’s nothing-”

 

He threw down the last file and it sliced at the floor with a blast of wind. The little god, stepped forward with a cautious look on her face.

 

“Wanderer, calm down. Irminsul is delicate - I can see you’re upset, and that you’re angry but now is not the time for this.”

 

The puppet paused, trying to comprehend what she had just said with sharp, quick breaths. His head felt a little fuzzy. Not the time. Time. Time.

 

A flicker of green passed by his vision and he jolted back, tearing it away from his mind. He inhaled sharply – looking to the god in betrayal. Something about her blatantly reading his emotions made them storm within him, whirling into a thunderous calamity of fury. Wind began to gather at his feet, whipping around them to catch the files they had carefully piled together and sending them flying about the air.

 

“Shut up,” he hissed, “Shut. Up!”

 

Buer looked pained, and reached out a hand glowing with dendro but he knew that trick - he wouldn’t let himself be subdued like an animal, not then, not now. He clamped his hands over his head tightly, stumbling backwards.

 

“Stop it! Buer – get out of my head, you freak - stop being so – so -”

 

“You dare address Lord Kusanali as such?”

 

Cyno stepped through the rift steely-eyed, his hand at his waist where his polearm might be drawn with ease.

 

The dendro withdrew and Kunikuzushi scoffed, gaze flickering between the two. He stepped closer to them.

 

“Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do, mortal,” he seethed, anemo gathering at his palms without thought, it caught upon a branch, ripping it from the tree and Buer took a step back with wet eyes, dress fluttering wildly.

 

Pulling the god behind him, the General brandished his weapon and held it out before the puppet to block the winds.

 

“Don’t you see there’s nothing left?! Nothing!” Kunikuzushi cried, “You fucking took the only thing that can save him, don’t you feel anything?! Don’t you feel guilty?! Sethos is going to die, and it will be on your conscience, General.”

 

Cyno held himself firm against the puppet’s power. His face grim.

 

The wind batted at his hair, it thrashed against his cheeks like the wings of a bird – white and wild as it battled with the skies with relentless flaps and in his eyes, the puppet saw the red. It was bright, ablaze with warmth.

 

Kunikuzushi saw the sun.

“...I do feel,” the General said lowly.

 

Anemo surged around them – a storm of memories.

 

“I feel guilty. And responsible.”

 

Kunikuzushi’s chin wobbled, shaking his head.

 

“Which is all the more reason to keep searching for a solution.”

 

Cyno looked him dead in the face, eyes bloodshot.

 

“You’re not the only one who’d be losing someone close to you. Sethos is my brother – he's Tighnari’s close friend and a subject of our Lord Kusanali and we need you to gather your emotions so we can work together.”

 

The storm quelled.

 

Kunikuzushi’s vision blurred and he could only make out a shapeless form of white and purple as the general slowly lowered his weapon. His own powers reduced to a gentle whirling of wind at his feet and the files fluttered to the ground, pattering against the surface. Kunikuzushi looked down, saltless water dripped onto his shoes.

 

Gods, he was a mess.

 

Not once, but twice he’d lost control of himself so easily, like a child.

He wasn’t changed, nor ‘better.’ He was foolish and he was cruel. Still.

 

Shame welled in his chest and Kunikuzushi parted his wet lips to offer some sort of pathetic apology, trembling slightly.

 

But he wanted, and wanted so desperately that it pained him. He wanted to be able to help because he knew kindness and he knew goodness and he knew that Sethos was both. He knew Sethos was more than he could ever be. He knew he owed that human a life beyond what he could offer and that he wanted to save him with all of his being and more.

 

If only he wasn’t so pathetic himself.

 

The puppet traced the patterns of the floor, chest heaving.

 

“I’m- “

 

It was at that exact moment that everything felt as if it were slowing down. The world around them became white. A great tugging force surged forward, as if the tree itself were taking a deep breath and heaving in the air around it in one desperate gasp.

 

Kunikuzushi hissed, shielding his arms from the burning blue glow that consumed his vision, his hat flew off, and he squeezed his eyes shut, wind whipping at his skin as he was pushed backwards, falling to his side on the floor. It remained for a few moments, then faded. 

 

Behind his eyelids, the world was dark once more and for a moment, all was silent. 

 

The puppet lowered his arms, blinking away the light from his eyes as Cyno knelt beside him at surprising speed, recovered in an instant. 

 

“Are you alright?” he said quickly.

 

But before Kunikuzushi could reply he caught Buer’s gaze from where she stood nearby, appearing to be focused on something behind him.

 

“What is this?”

 

Kunikuzushi looked to where she was pointing, and froze.

 

What was that?

 

It was – a change.

 

An altering of the tree’s code in real time. An anomaly, right before his eyes. There, hidden behind several contorted roots, each glowing an intense purply-white and curling away from what appeared to be a luminescent light, it lay.

 

A memory bubble. 

 

A memory bubble that had been hidden.

 

That was impossible.

 

Firstly, because memories that were archived in Irminsul were all projections of sorts, files that could be viewed in a split second in all its entirety and absorbed into your brain just like that, and this? This was unheard of. It was a preservation of real time. A fragment of history, conserved in a delicate casing of what might as well be glass. And secondly – nothing was hidden from Irminsul. Ever.

 

The puppet eyed it carefully, it hummed with a strange power, something old, something ancient. Beside him, Cyno did the same as the little god surveyed its presence with a gaze glowing with dendro.

 

Looking to her for silent permission he slowly, very slowly reached out. But just as Cyno moved closer, he flinched away at lightning speed as the energy reached back in spindling ribbons. As his hand retracted, so too did the memory, and the finger-like shapes of energy seemed to wilt.

 

Cyno flexed his hand a little, hissing as little sparks of energy stung the skin.

 

Kunikuzushi stared at the light. It hummed, singing so gently, so beautifully as if calling for touch.

 

In one smooth motion, he moved to grab it himself and it responded eagerly, wrapping around his skin. With a small grunt, he pulled it from the tree and as it was disconnected from the tree, its glow faded a little and it settled in the puppet’s palm, pulsating and painless.

 

Buer peered at it beside him and the three gazes met.

 

Their hands locked over the memory, pulling it open.

 

At once they were sucked into it with relentless force, it felt as if Kunikuzushi were being pulled through a five-inch whole, like his whole body was contracting and expanding as it emerged from the other side and they fell into the memory. Beside him, Cyno stumbled as he landed and the puppet snatched the man’s arm to steady him.

 

It was dim, but as his eyes adjusted to the light level, he saw the General move to summon his weapon and the god shook her head.

 

“Don’t,” Buer said softly, “This is a memory bubble – if you touch anything it could shatter.”

 

Cyno lowered his hand, nodding.

 

Stone surrounded them, wobbling and wavering in the simulated scene. They were underground, deep beneath the surface of Teyvat, that particular smell of cool earth piercing the air. 

 

Kunikuzushi looked to his right, a statue looked back. 

 

“We need to leave, Bastet. Now! The king of Gurabad and his men are already here - if they find us, they’ll kill us both!” a voice whispered sharply.

 

They turned around to see a small figure, dressed in familiar looking white robes, not unlike that of the Temple of Silence’s priests. The person clenched a small totem to their chest, trembling all over as they looked ahead into the dim hallway. 

 

“Go,” said another voice. 

 

In the darkness, there was another. She was tall, dressed in similar robes as the other in the memory, and had her back turned to them all, kneeling before a statue of Hermanubis with her head down, hair draping down her back like a river.

 

“Not without you!” The first person cried, gasping as shouts came from above them through the ceiling - a war chant, “Just leave it in the sealing chamber - no one will find it there, let’s just leave!”

 

“They will find it,” ‘Bastet’ said quietly. 

 

She turned around. 

 

Kunikuzushi’s breath caught in his throat. She had the head of a lion, sharp green eyes lined with thick fur piercing through the watchers unknowingly. 

 

The puppet jumped a little as rubble fell from above, sinking through his false-body. Footsteps came from above, thumping, loud - hundreds of them.

 

“Leave this place, Baahir. I will cast the concealment curse, the Glory of Hermanubis will remain hidden until destiny sees fit, you have no need to fear. Now go.”

 

‘Baahir’ cried, clenching a hand around their mouth, “The concealment- you - you can’t! You’ll-”

 

“I know,” Bastet said, she opened her palm and a bright light ignited from between her fingertips, “It is a sacrifice I must make – that king and his men are no fools, this is the only way to ensure our lord’s safety, I will guard it for the rest of eternity. Rest assured that only true intent may wake us from our slumber.”

 

“Bastet-!”

 

There was great clamouring of voices, closer this time and along the length of the hallways just metres away a single soldier spotted them through the darkness. He shouted.

 

Bastet ripped her spear from hip and swiped it over a crack in the ceiling above, and stone came crumbling down to block the passageway off. She cursed, throwing her broken weapon aside.

 

“Go, quickly!” she growled and pushed the other behind the statue where a small gap had opened up from seemingly nowhere, “There’s a hidden tunnel beneath the speaking chamber, follow it and you will emerge behind the Mausoleum!”

 

The figure scrambled through, quick as a rabbit and the jeers of soldiers, maybe two maybe ten, echoed closer. 

 

Bastet fell to her knees once more, eyes closed. She muttered a long prayer to herself, holding the Ba fragment close to her heart. Booming explosions sounded overhead. 

 

Her chanting grew louder, the soldiers began to break through the rubble. Bastet’s chest heaved, sweat dripped down her shoulders as the fragment’s power began to tremble unsteadily in her hands. It reached out, just like the memory had, ribbons of purple-white swirling about its core and it whipped at the air like a sandstorm over the great dunes of Setekh. Bastet curled further into it, agony scrunching her face tight as the fragment began to engulf her body. It tugged, relentless in its task, clawing at her skin, raking her flesh from bone and tearing her to shreds, and as she screamed, she continued shouting the charm. It took her arms, her legs, body and finally, all that remained was nothingness. 

 

The air of power from the fragment disappeared.

 

Soldiers burst through the piled-up stones, and there was an odd scuttling sound before-

 

It faded. 

 

The three were pulled from the memory’s core, a tugging force snatching them from the snippet of time and they re-possessed their bodies of the present.

 

Buer looked at him, conviction in her gaze. Kunikuzushi looked back.

 

They’d found it. 

Notes:

raaa! ヽ(°〇°)ﾉ

Chapter 9

There’s a saying at the Temple of Silence. ‘A man of his own honour is a man of no honour.’ When first hearing the phrase from Sethos, the puppet had scoffed. He swung his sandaled feet back and forth over the roof of a tavern in Port Ormos, overlooking the Ardravi River. A gentle breeze brushed over his skin and the carefully embroidered ribbons of his hat fluttered about his back like butterflies. 

 

“That’s stupid. Isn’t honour something humans value?” he said idly. 

 

Beside him, Sethos hummed, “It is. It’s an old sayin’, back from the time of King Deshret when Hermanubis served under him.”

 

He eyed a bird passing overhead, “I think what it means is, those who place honour upon themselves, are not worthy of carryin’ it like another person had given it to them. Back in those days, humility was valued like gold - they were at war. What’s the good in an army who thinks they’re ‘great’ alone, as individuals, ya know? A war is won in consolidation, and it was the might of their King that united them under one ‘honour.’

 

The human chuckled, looking to him over his shoulder.

 

“At least, that’s what grandpa used to say anyway.”

 

Kunikuzushi recalled those words with pinpoint accuracy. 

 

He’d once thought of himself as a King. That scholar, a woman, had been his first follower. He’d treasured her loyalty, fleeting as it had been. He’d felt the power within himself - the world within his grasp and all its glory between his fingertips. There, up on the roof, he was King. 

 

Buer handed the memory to him, she radiated with power.

 

“I’ve not seen anything like it before – the charm kept this bubble hidden within Irminsul for hundreds of years, it is a sorcery from before my time.”

 

Kunikuzushi cradled it within his palms and the delicate structure of its surface wobbled in his grasp. He saw snippets of that lion, swimming about its waters and it hummed contently.

 

“’True intent,” he said quietly.

 

The little god nodded.

 

“Your true intent awakened it.”

 

He stared into the bubble; perhaps there was a sliver of goodness inside him after all.

 

“How much time do we have?” 

 

The General looked tense, he held his spear tight in one hand and a small satchel in another. Beside him, the forest watcher sat at Sethos’s bedside, swiping a hand over the human’s forehead to brush back the wild mane of curls with care. He lay still.  

 

Buer grimaced, “Not long,” she gazed over at her patient - the beeping of the machine was unrelenting but slow, ever so slow now, “With no assistance, his body might hold on for another three days at most but -”

 

She hesitated for a second.

 

“I may be able to prolong that time using small doses of archonic residue. However, in that scenario the best case would be a great deal of pain on Sethos’s part and the worst, death. As soon as you locate where Bastet and the Ba fragment are hidden, you must return immediately.”

 

Kunikuzushi inhaled shakily.

 

There was a chorus of nods. 

 

The little god turned to her puppet, hands clutching her dress. 

 

“I am sorry we couldn’t find this sooner,” she said quietly.

 

Kunikuzushi felt a lump gather in his throat.

 

He should be the one saying sorry.

 

“The bubble might be able to lead you to its origins – but be warned, the ruins of Tulaytullah are laden with traps. Tread carefully, all of you.”

 

They left for the desert, sans the forest watcher at Cyno’s insistence.

 

‘Honour’ 

 

The word didn’t leave his mind the whole journey - the Flame-Mane joined their party as they passed through Aaru Village. She offered a few words of comfort - Kunikuzushi muttered something back, hoping it wasn’t egregiously cruel. By the grin on her face, he wasn’t sure what exactly he had said, only that it seemed to entertain her.

 

He kicked the sand beneath his feet with every step - it flew up into a fleeting arch. 

 

‘What good is honour?’

 

‘The followers of Deshret, of Hermanubis, they gave their honour to their kings. They died for that honour, died to preserve it.’

 

All wars come to an end. All Kings die. But legacies, persevere. Perhaps that is why the king of the sands remains in every legend of the desert, in every muttered prayer, every story told to children tucked into their beds each night, generation after generation.

 

Grandfather to father, father to daughter, mother to son through the stretches of time.

 

People disappear, yet his honour persists. 

 

Maybe that’s why Kunikuzushi was never destined to be a King. He had won - he was a God as he had intended to make himself, but at what cost? 

 

He was a creation of monstrosity; he saw that now. He took and took and never gave. A part of him was thankful that he ultimately failed - after all, what kind of Godhood would have been waiting for him after that?

 

No loyalty. 

 

No honour. 

 

Those he would command, would move only in command, nothing in love.

 

Would he really have been the victor? Can one ever truly ‘win,’ if everything meaningful is lost along the road to victory? 

 

Sand trickled into his sandals, shifting uncomfortably against his skin with every step. It sank into gaping pools as they walked through the blazing heat of the desert. 

 

Sethos had walked this path countless times. 

 

Kunikuzushi looked over the bounding dunes, searching for a mark, a footprint, anything. It had all been erased - the wind swept away all traces of life eventually. 

 

He clutched the memory in his palm. 

 

It was almost funny how easy it had been to take a life - when here he was, trying so hard to save one. 

 

Over the horizon, the great towering peak of the Mausoleum emerged at last and they split up into three, circling its four sides to work backwards from what the memory had described. The first step would be to find the tunnel from which the other priest had escaped and trace along its weaving path to the chamber in which the fragment was hidden. If the memory of it truly had been concealed, then there was no chance that another had possibly stumbled upon it and taken the thing already. Not one.

 

Yet still, that creeping hesitation itched at the puppet’s thoughts.

 

Kunikuzushi examined the wall of the Mausoleum with care, looking over every crack and crevice for some sign of an entrance, bubble caressing the skin of his fingers. Wind-weathered stone looked back, and he reached out to run a hand over the surface, taking a deep breath in to steady himself.

It was close – it had to be, he said to himself as he trailed alongside the structure under the blazing heat of the sun.

 

Not a moment later, a tugging warmth pulled at his arm, urgent and firm and he looked to the stone beneath his palm. The bubble was still – but within it, Kunikuzushi felt its intent.

 

He turned over his shoulder to shout.

 

“It’s here!”

 

There was a brief shuffling of sand before the other two came running towards his direction around the sides of the pyramid, stopping at his side to see the blank wall with not even a crack in its surface.

 

“Are you sure?” The Flame-Mane asked, looking sceptical. 

 

The memory tugged at him once more, he squeezed it a little back.

 

Kunikuzushi nodded, “This is the right place.”

 

They broke into the wall with sturdy hits, a claymore pounding into the largest crack, polearm cracking its edges wider and the spark of pyro meeting electro causing a small explosion, overloading the stone backwards into the sand. The air was clouded by rubble and dust - Kunikuzushi swiped it clear with a wave of his hand, coughing into his arm.

 

And there it was - an opening. 

 

It was a tight fit, but it was enough and there was no time to widen it for the sake of mere comfort. The General and the Mercenary climbed through it, squeezing their shoulders inwards and disappeared into the pitch-blackness of its interior and Kunikuzushi discarded his hat, placing it against the Mausoleum’s wall. He climbed in.

 

It was startlingly cold, just as the memory had been. The pathway was square, small and along the walls he could make out a faint texture to their surface. Kunikuzushi brushed his hand over it and felt around the carvings, without a doubt these had been meticulously sculpted centuries ago – likely stories of great gods and beasts, legends, Sethos called them. At the front of the trio, the Flame-Mane created a small fire in her palm lighting the walls a soft orange.

 

She walked forward slowly, feet carefully crunching upon stone and Kunikuzushi’s palm throbbed with more force – the bubble was overflowing with want. Suddenly, he was met with a face-full of hair and he jolted backwards.

 

“Gods -” 

 

The Flame-Mane had stopped. She turned to her side to step past something.

 

“Careful here, don’t trip.”

 

The General and the puppet looked down. 

 

Empty sockets of a skull looked back. 

 

They stepped over the skeleton warily. It was a small thing. The corner of its white robes caught on the puppet’s shoes. 

 

He shook it off, swallowing. 

 

Down and down they went and the tunnel began to point downwards in a gradual decline, the kind of subtlety to an angle that you wouldn’t notice until you looked backwards to see the sunlight breaking through the hole they had made far above their heads. The darkness within meant there was no end in sight, and it was only when they were a few metres away from the blockage that they even noticed it. 

 

The Flame-Mane cursed, she pressed her hand to the wall, feeling around every corner carefully, “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she murmured.

 

Cyno inspected the floor, “There has to be some kind of mechanism to open it. I can feel the fragment now too, it’s definitely through this wall.”

 

The General surveyed the shape of the tunnel, squinting a little. He looked down the seemingly endless pathway, straight with a narrowed gaze. 

 

“Hat Guy, can you make a whistle with your vision?”

 

The puppet frowned, “Yes. Why?”

 

“Just do it.”

 

He eyed the General for a second, before crafting a carefully hollowed out sphere of anemo in his palm, it swirled violently above his skin as it compressed to the desired shape and he sucked in a big breath of air before spitting it forward, sending the sphere flying. It screeched, echoing down the hallway. The sound grew quieter as it flew further and further away, dust gathering in the air. 

 

Cyno shook his head, “A little higher.”

 

He bit his lip and shot a second sphere, a little differently this time, puffing harder and beside him the familiar crackle of electro came as the spirit of Hermanubis manifested over the General’s head. The mask over his face darted around in the darkness, it looked left, right, ears twitching, then, it dived into the topmost corner, just below where the stones met and Cyno slipped his finger onto that small area. 

 

He fidgeted with it for a moment, before pulling it towards his body and all at once the wall before them came sliding upwards.

 

Cyno jumped back, cursing as his finger caught in the grinding stone.

 

Realisation struck.

 

“Echolocation,” the puppet said.

 

The General nodded.

 

“Handy, isn’t it?” he said, wiggling his bloody fingers in the air, “Bastet should be up ahead, let’s keep moving.”

 

Crouching through the entranceway, they came into a square room that was, without a doubt, the same room they’d seen just a few hours before in the memory.

 

On the left, the pile of rubble sat under a sweeping crack in the ceiling. Slumped over it were countless bodies - skeletons now, just like the one in the tunnel. By the armour, they must have been the soldiers of the King of Gurabad. On the right was the statue of Hermanubis, obscured by a thick layer of dust and cobwebs - a modest thing in comparison to the might of the larger ones in the Temple of Silence’s speaking chamber. 

 

The spirit of Hermanubis tugged at Cyno’s head, jerking the General back where the puppet stood and it hummed, low, nodding its head towards the memory in his hands.

 

Cyno offered a look of stoic apology.

 

“May he?”

 

Kunikuzushi eyed the spirit cautiously – its glowing eyes radiated power beyond mere strength, speaking no words, only gazing upon his hands with patience. He raised his palm, offering the bubble and Hermanubis dipped its head, carefully picking it up with its teeth to hold the delicate sphere in his jaw.

 

The puppet’s hand fell to his side, empty.

 

Cyno walked forwards, Hermanubis overhead and it guided the General to the floor, nuzzling the stone slightly. It fizzled with energy and the air surrounding it trembled as the spirit leaned down to release the bubble from its mouth.

 

It disappeared, and the energy with it.

 

There was a brief moment of silence before what could only be described as a ripple echoed throughout the room, sending an odd warmth down the puppet’s body and a spherical hole ripped through time, through reality. A burst of light came into the space like a fire ablaze with white and Kunikuzushi flinched, but only for a second until it faded into a gentler brightness.

 

Hermanubis slipped off the General’s body, looking smaller by itself. It held the light to its mouth, closing its jaws over it in a temporary moment of blackness before lurching forward. 

 

A second light poured from its mouth and a claw reached out from its mouth, then another, and a nose and then the thing came tumbling onto the floor before Hermanubis all at once, hovering slightly. 

 

Kunikuzushi observed the scene before him, unblinking. 

 

The creature glowed a different kind of purple, almost reddish. 

 

It opened its eyes - a lion.

 

The puppet swore those iris’s bore the same green as Sethos’s and a chill rippled down his spine. 

 

“My Lord,” Bastet purred, bowing her head. 

 

Hermanubis bowed his own head, even lower than his priest’s. The lion looked horrified, nudging him upwards.

 

“My Lord, you mustn’t. This one is your humble servant-”

 

The spirit shook his head, growling slightly, “No. It is you who I must show gratitude to.”

 

His gaze was like iron, unwavering. 

 

“You have pledged a loyalty to my honour that no other has. You gave your life to keep this fragment of my being concealed - your soul has engraved itself into it for all of eternity, and that is a sacrifice worth far more than a bow.”

 

Bastet nodded firmly. 

 

“My lord is the only power I behold. I shall gladly serve your honour for as long as this world remains.”

 

The lioness looked down, as if flustered, “I am…pleased that my lord lives on.”

 

Hermanubis laughed, a racketing, crackle of a sound. 

 

“As am I, my most noble of servants. But it is not my servitude that I ask of you,” he said. 

 

Cyno stepped forward, bowing as low as Bastet had. He recounted the happenings of his childhood in the Temple – the seal, how the two fragments had been contained within two vessels, how the Right of Duels had come to place both in him, how his friend, his brother was now in grave danger without its force and when all had been said, he knelt to one knee with a solemn expression.

 

“I ask that you, Lady Bastet, lend your power, that which had become the Ba fragment you sealed yourself with, to this man,” the General said, hand over his heart.

 

Bastet said nothing, listening carefully. 

 

She looked to Hermanubis, then back to Cyno.

 

The puppet stood to the side; throat tight. 

 

“Please,” he said hoarsely, “There are no other options - without you he will die.”

 

He fell to his knees beside the General, and the Flame-Mane followed suit, dipping her head. She placed a hand on the puppet’s shoulder.

 

“Sethos is a good man, you don’t need to worry about questioning his worthiness,” Dehya said, “I have every confidence Hermanubis can vouch for that.”

 

Bastet stared down, lips pursed.

 

“It is not his worthiness I question, Mane of the Sands - I…will follow any command My Lord grants me,” she began slowly, “However -”

 

Kunikuzushi held his breath.

 

“The charm I cast is the most potent of binds. It would be unlike the bond between your General and My Lord. I have vowed to serve him for all of time; if your friend accepts my soul into his heart, he too would be subject to this fate,” Bastet said.

 

She looked to Hermanubis, “That is to say, an eternal attendant, never dying.”

 

The puppet heard those words, and suddenly it all seemed to make sense.

 

“…he would become immortal?” Cyno asked, though the tone of his voice told them all that he knew the answer already.

 

Bastet nodded.

 

“Yes. Though he’d be able to harness my spirit and my Lord’s power in tandem, no mortal harm would touch the skin, nor age batter the body. Sickness may fall upon him, but no such death from its symptoms.”

 

Kunikuzushi curled his fists into his shorts, they trembled.

 

Sethos would live.

 

He would breathe with this new power. He could walk the roads of Port Ormos, through the arches of the Grand Bazaar chatting with passersby; he could just be.

 

Be without being dead.

 

This was the only way. The only solution left. 

 

A horrible selfish part of the puppet thought of himself. That fragile mortality would be no more…and that fear. The fear of holding a mortal life in his hands would vanish. 

 

He stared at the sandstone, unblinking.

 

But at what cost?

 

That would mean subjecting Sethos to an eternal life - he himself had been granted this by default but this would be bestowing it upon a mortal without their knowledge or consent. This would mean that Sethos would live to see everyone around him die and every kingdom fall and rise and all the world perish until the endless stretches of time too gave up in the maddening cycle of observing, the torture of immortal helplessness.

 

That had driven the puppet insane, he was sure.

The consequences were both known and unknown – they raced through his mind at a mile a minute, fleeting and loud.

 

Would Sethos wake and hate him?

 

Would he hate himself?

 

Would Kunikuzushi hate himself?

 

The puppet already did in so many ways. He knew only destruction and loss and grief.

 

Would this count him as a sinner or a saviour?

 

The General hesitated. He looked to his hands, as if weighing the choices in his own palms, judgement ran through his blood. 

 

“I-”

 

“I will do it.”

 

Kunikuzushi met eyes with the lioness, there in the darkness of the chamber. 

 

“...With your aid, I will seal you within him,” he said quietly. 

 

There.

 

The choice was made.

 

Beside him, Cyno’s face was unreadable; his mouth slowly closing.

 

“As a long-life being, I will bear the responsibility of this decision. It would only be right for me to face them for the -” the puppet couldn’t tear his gaze from Bastet’s viridescent eyes, “-the eternity that Sethos will.” 

 

Kunikuzushi was no god.

 

He was no holy power. 

 

If he was to grant a curse such as this, he would suffer for as long as time remained. Toying with the fabric of lifelines was a sin that was unforgivable - and yet still, he couldn’t find it within himself to see any other option. 

 

Sethos would detest him. 

 

Maybe that would be a worthy sacrifice to make, in return for the human’s life, unending. 

 

Before him, Bastet nodded her head slowly. Gravely. 

 

“...Very well.”

 

The lioness slinked to the ground, paws silently crunching at dust as the aura of power about her being, red and purple, reflected like a sunset upon the puppet’s kneeling figure.

 

For a moment, she paused to lean closer into his body.

 

“Ah,” she said quietly, “It was you who woke me.”

 

Kunikuzushi nodded – wordless and silent. He didn’t trust himself to speak, lest he change his mind.

 

The lion purred.

 

“What a noble companion you are – your friend is a fortunate soul.”

 

She instructed him to hold out a hand - he did as told. A half-existent paw rested against Kunikuzushi’s palm, something between reality and fabrication, and all at once her body sank into itself, from tail to claw until the glow of her presence faded and she was reduced to a small, dim fragment of energy in his hand, leaving only the purple hue of Hermanubis to light the chamber.

 

Bastet was warm. He squeezed her a little, muttering a silent prayer.

 

The General rose slowly and dismissed his own spirit.

 

He turned to Kunikuzushi with an unreadable expression and the puppet dipped his head.

 

A hand rested upon his shoulder.

 

“Thank you.”

 

The puppet swallowed down the lump in his throat and out came a dry laugh.

 

His voice shook, “Don’t thank me yet.”

 

Kunikuzushi brushed the dust from his shorts with shaky hands and stood. It was done. Now all they needed to do was get back to the city.

 

“Let’s get movi-”

 

The puppet cut off his own words, listening.

 

They whipped their heads up quick as lightning. What was that sound?

 

And then came the mechanical whirring of gears, or the shifting of stone against stone deep behind more stone. Then, it was quiet for just a split second before more of that horrible clanking buzz came from the walls, from the left, from the right, from below. 

 

Kunikuzushi held Bastet close to his heart with halted breaths. As he noticed the faintest sound of whirring to his side, he dove for the tunnel’s door, sliding across the floor before hitting stone with a THUD. 

 

It had slid closed. 

 

He pressed a hand to it, pushing it up with little success and reached around for a switch or mechanism above it like the other side had. He felt none.

 

The two scrambled to his side and batted at the stone – it remained shut.

 

Cyno swore violently, “It’s the internal defences of the Mausoleum - Bastet’s presence must have been holding them off!” he summoned his spear in a flash of gold, “We have to get that open!”

 

They moved with quick familiarity, employing the same tactics as they had to enter the other side as rumbles sounded from all around them. The Flame-Mane tried to jam her claymore between where the floor and the door met. She grunted, hissing as the blade slipped over nothingness, repositioning it with arms trembling with force. 

 

As Cyno gathered a surge of electro in his spear, Kunikuzushi whipped his head around - the whirring clanks had stopped. 

 

It was quiet.

 

He watched the dim space with halted breaths.

 

Then, tiny openings appeared at the topmost edges of the walls, at first merely a slit in the dim light before widening to squares no bigger than his wrist. He swerved around to look to every wall, more dragging of stone and they were on all sides now and then - he saw them.

 

At first glance it was hard to tell what they were. 

 

But then, the sound gave it away. 

 

Scurrying clicks, little legs scrambling through hidden pathways all over the walls around them, thousands.

 

They poured out of the holes with ferocious speed - hungry. One, two, twenty, then fifty. Black shells shone in the glow of Bastet’s aura like a river of snakes, endless and unyielding and that awful skittering sound grew louder and louder as they amassed into a great army of onyx.

 

Kunikuzushi’s mouth went dry.

 

Flesh-eating scarabs.

 

It must have been what killed the soldiers. And the priest in the tunnel - they never even made it out of the Mausoleum. 

 

The Flame-Mane cursed violently as the overload made only the tiniest of cracks with each small explosion. 

 

“C’mon!” she shouted.

 

The beetles began scurrying closer in sheet of blackness. 

 

Kunikuzushi gathered a ball of anemo in his hand, moving her aside and catching the pyro in his arms. It tumbled over his chest, singeing his clothes black and he poured more elemental energy into it, now as large as a desert tumbleweed - blazing and hot.

 

“Get back!” he shouted to the humans, and they jumped into the centre of the room, surrounded by the swarm of scarabs scrambling to scuttle up their legs. The Flame-Mane covered her fists in fire, swiping at the air of the floor to ward them off. One caught the skin of her thigh and she hissed - yanking it from her flesh.

 

Kunikuzushi nodded to the General, positioning himself at the largest crack of the door and Cyno threw a spear of electro his way. It pierced the air like an arrow, slicing half an inch off of the puppet’s hair as it flew over his shoulder.

 

It hit pyro and the chamber exploded into red. 

 

The puppet squeezed his eyes shut, flying backwards as the door burst into a thousand pieces of stone - two arms caught his back and dragged his limp body forward. There was a chorus of shouts, his ears rang like the whistle of the anemo, echoing through the empty tunnel, heavy headed and loose.

 

The Flame-Mane said something loudly, and his arms were pulled over shoulders, body pressed to her back. They ran - fast as the wind through the damp coolness of the tunnel. He squeezed Bastet in his palm, unopened. 

 

There was a brief flashing of light - scurrying clicks chased them down the hallway like a waterfall of skuttling sand. 

 

He was jostled to his feet, and the Flame-Mane’s claw-covered hands tugged his body through the opening of the Mausoleum, stone scraping at his shoulders. 

 

Behind him there was a grunt of agony - Kunikuzushi slumped on the sand, the Flame-Mane rushed to the tunnel’s entrance and reached inside. 

 

With shaking limbs, the puppet struggled to his knees, crawling on his elbows and reaching for her arm. He tugged with her, the force of two pulling the General out and sending them surging backwards as he flew out, scrambling to pull the beetles who’d buried their pincers into his skin, they struggled within him, frantically trying to burrow beneath its surface, shoving their bulbous head into the tiny slits with gruesome persistence. The Flame-Mane summonsed another wave of pyro and burned them away, Cyno grunting loud as it seared the layers of his skin, raw flesh exposed to the sandy air. The scarabs wriggled on their backs as they fell, then, once on their feet, scurried back into the tunnel at once. 

 

In the quiet of the desert, only their heaving pants filled the air.

 

They were out.

 

Blood poured into amber sand as they bound their wounds with supplies from the General’s pouch, rubbing a clear liquid over them with a hiss. The puppet lay back onto the Mausoleum’s side, shaking off the dizziness to his head and rubbing his chest where the blast had hit him first. It was merely a scratch.

 

They heaved the rubble of the pyramid to fill the open hole, sealing it shut, noting that the temperature had begun to cool from the scalding heat of the afternoon. Over the bounding dunes - the sun glowed a brilliant gold.

 

“We need to move,” Kunikuzushi said.

 

He glanced at the other two who were sitting exhausted behind him.

 

Cyno shook his head loosely, “You go ahead – you're faster.”

 

The Flame Mane winced as she brushed her wounded leg, stumbling slightly as she stood, “Ain’t that true.”

 

The puppet surveyed them quickly, then nodded. Their injuries weren’t grievous, but it’d probably slow them down by a few hours – hours that they did not have to spare.

 

He put on his hat, surging upwards. Then, hesitated for a moment.

 

An odd silence hung in the air and Kunikuzushi took a second to finally say it.

 

“…Thank you.”

 

Cyno waved a hand about, the corners of his lips twitching up, “Don’t thank us yet. Go – before the sun sets.”

 

Kunikuzushi nodded once more and tried to shake the buzzing adrenaline from his body. It trembled with energy – perhaps the lioness’s gentle humming had rubbed off on his palms.

 

The way back to the city shouldn’t take too long by air – now, having traversed it several times he was confident he wouldn’t get lost or take a death-inducing turn.

 

The puppet straightened the sleeve of his top, Bastet in hand, and took off across the dunes.

Notes:

pls i beg has anyone seen that movie The Mummy or even The Mummy Returns i like that one too, i had to throw the scarabs in there
⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝ 𓆣 𓆣 𓆣 𓆣 𓆣 𓆣 𓆣 aren't they just the cutest

Chapter 10

It was becoming eerily familiar, the desert.

Unrelenting and unending it stretched across the horizon - and the puppet flew fast over its surface, perhaps faster than he’d ever flown before. Since receiving his vision, outside of that silly tournament, most of his usage of it was lazy and half-arsed letting himself soar absentmindedly through the air without care of speed or control. Here, he raced against the sun.

The abandoned camps and carts below were miniscule and each spring was but a small puddle of bluey-green underneath his feet. For the most part it was barren, as you’d expect of a desert as vast and board as that one, but the small benchmarks of the path Cyno had so carefully shown him were visible even from that distance. An arched tree, dry and dead. The swerving dune curving around a small handful of dendro monuments, half-buried in the sand and left to gather dirt and dust.

Kunikuzushi soared past them far above and pushed forward using that buzz of energy until it ran dry and depleted from his body. When the aching of his limbs finally became too much for even a puppet to bear, he pulled himself to a stop midair, exhaustion shaking his core.

Against his back, the whirring fans of anemo spun to a slower speed and the absence of air blasting his back let it breathe in the open atmosphere. Kunikuzushi pulled back his shoulders to stretch them out and for a split second, he felt Bastet slip a little from his palm.

He flinched, a jolt of panic shooting down his spine before clutching the fragment tight taking a second to ensure his grip was firm before sliding her into his right pocket, warm against his hip. The puppet took a long and deep breath to steady himself.

Carefully now, it wasn’t the time to get reckless.

Kunikuzushi look ahead and tried to gather how much further the journey was. As he rose a little higher, he could spy the very tips of Caravan Ribat’s rooftops. Perhaps an hour and a half more, if he kept pace, he thought to himself.

Against the protest of his aching joints, the puppet gathered anemo at his back and moved to thrust onwards when he heard a tiny sound.

It was strange, a little metallic, like a single distant ring of a bell. He swerved around, frowning before he heard it again, this time below him, a little duller in tone.

Kunikuzushi looked down at the sand, spotting something that was impossible to see clearly from his current altitude. He lowered himself to perhaps ten feet, and felt only relief. Honestly, he hadn’t known what he was expecting.

It was the brooch that Sethos had given him, it must have been loosened from the winds and fallen off.

Then the horrible realisation hit.

It fell into the sand.

And then he was blasted out of the air by a great swirling horn.

It happened so fast that the puppet could barely gather his thoughts as it pierced his side – he knew that pain, it was pain that screamed at him that his body had been broken, shattered at its surface and soon within – and he was thrown perhaps a hundred feet into the air, dizzily jostled before he could even imagine flying and then he was falling fast, wind ripping at his hair like a waterfall.

Agony tore at his torso as the sand grew closer and closer and he was falling headfirst into the dull yellow of the dunes before the Wenut’s tail smacked him from that trajectory and the air was sucked from his chest. The sharp spikes lining its spine speared into his body as he flew in a direction that was impossible to decipher, only knowing that he was going down; he fell and fell and all of a sudden the rush of wind blasting his body was no longer warm but cold as ice and the world became darker, then – nothing.

Kunikuzushi wasn’t sure how long had passed before he came too, he couldn’t recall.

The first thing he heard was his own body falling apart. The feeling was indescribable – it was even worse than in the split second he could remember from falling and as he tried to move, he gasped as pain shook his torso to the core like white hot fire.

He looked down and could have vomited.

From his ribs to his hip, his clothes were torn clear off, revealing a large area, perhaps two spread-hands wide that was completely exposed. Exposed meaning, the entire layer of his skin and ‘flesh’ had been ripped from his body and what was visible was the whirring wires and wet ‘organs’ of his insides that he’d sworn to never see after the horrors of Dottore’s labs. The surrounding skin was cracked and little fragments had fallen into the sand around him where he lay as he moved.

Tears welled in his eyes, and he grit his teeth loosely. A high-pitched whine pierced his ears and every limb trembled violently, cold. Kunikuzushi felt lightheaded. He took his lower lip into his mouth and bit down harshly, crying out as his vision sharpened; he could not fall sleep again, must not.

The puppet tried to sit up, but the aching weakness of his arms fell limp into the sand with a thump. Wetness rolled down his cheeks as he squeezed his eyes shut, taking a second to rest before attempting once more. He screamed through his clenched jaw, crawling across the gritty sand with his forearms which scraped at his insides like hot ashes, tiny stones and grains of glass dragging at his organs ablaze. Kunikuzushi propped himself against a nearby rock with a hoarse cry and collapsed onto it, resting his head against the stone; he glanced upward and swore violently.

Far above him was a tiny circle of blue light. It was hundreds of feet away.

The Wenut must have sent him flying into one of its tunnels, and in the state he was in, he was in no place to fly out. Panic quickly welled within him and Kunikuzushi desperately tried to settle it with the slowest breaths he could manage, which came out more like hissing puffs of air as he accidentally brushed against the hole in his side, toes curling as he writhed against the rock.

There wasn’t time, he had to get to the city as fast as he could, he had to get Bastet to-

He froze.

And that when he noticed the lack of warmth in his pocket.

With a choking gasp, he patted at the fabric, searching into the little fold of fabric, fingers desperately wriggling about its corners but it was no use. The fragment was gone.

Kunikuzushi’s mouth fell open in horror.

It probably fell out during his descent. It could be anywhere, up there on the surface of the desert or buried beneath heaping lumps of sand where no one would ever find it. He craned his neck and tried his best to survey the cave around him, but there was nothing, no glowing light, no quiet hum of energy. Then the panic set back in.

He needed that fragment.

Sethos needed it and fast. And by the dimmer sky, it looked like more than a few hours had already passed and that meant that soon, another sun would rise and set and even by then he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to find Bastet, let alone get out of that tunnel and reach the city. His legs shook as he raced between thoughts, trying to figure out a plan, anything that didn’t involve sitting there rotting away with a hole in his side.

Kunikuzushi knew he couldn’t fly, that he was sure of.

He looked down into the darkness of the tunnel before him. Blackness stared back.

The tunnels of the Wenut were not somewhere that you wanted to find yourself, not by any means at all, whatever the consequence. The winding maze of endless paths dug deep into the desert, sometimes collapsing into themselves and were ridden with sinkholes waiting to be stepped upon and monsters slithering about the path eager for their supper to stumble upon them. Perhaps the only good thing about that place was that, despite their name, it was the only location where you could be sure would be safe from the Wenut. She was a creature of curiosity, sightless and silent, searching and listening only to the surface of the desert. There in the maze of tunnels, through the thickness of stone, sand and more stone, it was said that her hearing was dulled. Besides, the noise of the monsters within would mask any sound he might make to alert her if she could – it was all just a blur of commotion. The only space within the underground that you could be certain to find her, was where she slept in a great hollow cavern.

And that cavern just happened to be guarding the only exit to the tunnels that Kunikuzushi was certain existed, aside from the hole above him.

But even if he did escape through that route, he still wouldn’t have found Bastet.

He tried the neural link between his mind and Buer’s and was met by fuzzing silence. The energy of the Wenut must have been interfering with it – another idea stricken from his very short list.

Kunikuzushi grit his teeth, trying to dig deeper. There must be something in his head that would help him – some stray knowledge, anything about the fragments, of the desert or heck, even the Wenut that might lend him any ounce of aid.

He whipped his head up suddenly.

There was a sound from the darkness of the tunnel. A strange shuffling, too small to be human – perhaps a wandering hilichurl? Or a scorpion?

With a sharp inhale, he shifted himself a little higher onto the rock, trying to gather anemo in his palms as quietly as he could. Sand whipped at his skin as it caught in the small whirlwind. Whatever was coming was moving closer and closer, and he readied himself to launch the ball of wind at it as soon as it showed its face. He waited. And waited and then, he saw its shadow, drawing his arm back as far as his torso would allow.

The creature stepped into the light of the hole above.

Kunikuzushi dropped his hand, gaping a little.

It was...an aranara.

Small, and impish it stood, almost comically little in the vastness of the cave – it waddled closer, as fast as its little legs might allow it and Kunikuzushi let himself slump back onto the rock. What a joke. At the very least, it wasn’t a hungry mitachurl running at him with axe – there were much worse things to be approached by there in the tunnels. The yellow creature waved at him, smiling in that odd way every aranara seemed to do at all times, it wore a little orange scarf and, on its head sat a hat of brownish leaves, topped with the seed of a maple tree, two prongs sticking upwards like a deer.

“Blue Nara! Blue Nara!” it said sweetly.

The puppet was confused, how in Teyvat had this thing managed to land itself in the desert of all places?

“What are you doing here? What do you want?” he said tiredly, frowning.

The aranara looked at him, for once eye level to his face where he lay.

“Blue Nara is hurt. Aranimba is on an adventure and heard Blue Nara’s crying. Aranimba came to help.”

The puppet brushed over the ‘crying’ part, and shook his head.

“Well, unless you can fly, or happen to be a mechanic there’s not much you can do.”

Aranimba managed to look sad somehow.

“Aranimba can’t fly,” it said.

Kunikuzushi rolled his eyes, hissing as he adjusted his body, “Yeah, well that’s obvious-”

“-But Aranimba can fix!”

The creature pulled little wooden tools from the air and waved them around with a little dance. Before the puppet could protest, it began to walk away, which was a bit rude considering it had just offered to help him but as it began to pluck a sand grease pupa from the sand nearby, it began to make more sense.

It was almost as big as the aranara itself, but the little creature didn’t seem to struggle carrying it. With a happy waddle it placed the egg-like thing near Kunikuzushi’s side and began hammering at it with a something that resembled a spatula with crudely drawn eyes on it. Before long, the pupa started to crack, and it split open a little gruesomely, the larval body of a quicksand eel slipping out into the sand with a plop.

Aranimba began to quickly scoop up the jelly like substance that had been contained within the pupa and moved closer to Kunikuzushi’s side.

He tried to shuffle away – grunting in pain.

“Hey - no! What is that?!” he shouted.

The aranara waddled closer without care for his protest slapped the jelly onto his exposed torso with both hands and the world went white. Air caught in the puppet’s throat and he choked, back arching as the raw mechanisms of his body were touched. It was agony – fire hot and burning and then suddenly, it was over. The sensation was overcome by a soothing coolness and he slumped over the rock once more, gasping.  

“Baby kiram!” Aranimba said happily, scooping up another handful and smearing it onto his side with a little pat.

Kunikuzushi didn’t have the energy to move away again and laid motionless as the creature worked away at his wound.

The more it was added, the more it seemed to soothe his pain and soon enough, it was gone almost entirely. Like magic.

“Baby-” Kunikuzushi shook his head, “You know what, never mind.”

He waited until the aranara appeared to be finished - it stepped back, looking up at his as if waiting for praise for its work, hands in the air.

Kunikuzushi looked down once more, a blobby mass of yellowy-brown jelly looked back. He poked it – it had begun to hard a little, almost like the sap of a tree.

He grinned, then, channelled anemo into his back as quick as he could, feeling the familiar whirl of the little blades of wind behind him but faltered almost immediately, jolting all over before he could even hover. The jelly on his side shifted and agony took over him once more, searing and hot. With a cry, he collapsed into the sand heavily, moving the covering again which slid painfully against his insides. He swore in Snezhnayan and curled into himself with a hiss.

Aranimba batted at his leg with its little arms, “Blue Nara no! Baby kiram will break if Blue Nara is not careful!”

He choked out a reply as the pain began to fade, “Will it now?”

Well, that solved one problem, he thought.

At least he would be able to walk, not crawl in the sand like a slug with his body falling apart. Whatever journey was ahead would surely be a long one, and a trek that preferably involved making it out with most of himself intact.

He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to think.

“Dammit!” the puppet sighed sharply.

But he still needed to find Bastet – that was the whole point of going back to the godforsaken desert anyway, he can’t have simply lost it. It had to be somewhere – a fall like that wouldn’t break it, he was certain. Almost certain.

It was then that Aranimba twitched a little, tilting its head to the side slowly.

And then it stuck its hand into his right pocket, rather rudely.

The puppet pulled away, pushing at the creature’s head like it was an over-friendly stray cat.

“Hey! Stop that, you-”

“Blue Nara lost Simhanara?” it said innocently.

Kunikuzushi frowned.

Simhanara? That must be some aranara nonsense that he didn’t need to hear about.

“No,” he sighed sharply, too tried to shout anymore, “It’s this fragment – a soul of sorts. I dropped it somewhere near here and I need it back.”

The puppet wasn’t exactly sure why he was explaining this all to a literal leaf but then Aranimba began to nod its head enthusiastically, jumping up and down.

“Simhanara!”

It was at that moment that the puppet very nearly considered bashing the creature’s skull in with that spatula thing before he frowned and had a thought that made him pause. He felt his side. Why had it done that - how could it have possibly known Bastet was in his pocket? And the right one, to be exact.

The puppet looked down at the creature sharply.

“You’ve seen the fragment.”

Aranimba stopped spinning in a circle, stumbling a little to the side and shook its head. Then nodded. Then shook its head again.

“Aranimba sees echoes. It’s Aranimba’s Ararakalari.”

It turned and pointed its stubby arm to the tunnel.

“Simhanara walked that way.”

Kunikuzushi tried to wrap his head around what exactly the creature had just said. He looked ahead at the pitch-blackness of the tunnel and that trembling sense of dread came to his body. He couldn’t exactly fight to the best of his ability and there was sure to be many dangers lurking ahead but maybe, this thing could be useful some more. 

“Can you lead me to it?” the puppet asked quickly.

Aranimba nodded, doing a little dance again, “Aranimba can show Blue Nara, if Blue Nara is happy to adventure with Aranimba?”

The puppet began to stand and checked his side one more time – it was indeed still painless.

“Yeah. Whatever, which way is it?” he said, peering into the darkness before them.

Beside him the creature was silent.

He looked down impatiently.

The aranara had its hand outstretched, waiting with those big dark eyes looking back.

“Aranimba will guide Blue Nara. Only if Blue Nara holds on - easy to get lost in Big Kiram’s home.”

Kunikuzushi waited for a short moment, then discarded all his dignity with a tut. Whatever. He guessed the thing had been...helpful, in a strange much-too-happy way. It wasn’t as if anyone was down there with them anyway.

He took Aranimba’s hand.

Down and down the tunnels they walked, creeping around seemingly abandoned camps where samachurls lay snoozing beside little campfires and narrowly avoided paths filled to the brim with quicksand eels and the occasional consecrated beast.

Aranimba walked slowly, which was pretty fast for his little legs and a part of Kunikuzushi was thankful. Over time, the pain reducing effects of the jelly seemed to fade ever so slowly and his legs felt heavier as they walked on.

He dragged his feet in the sand, stumbling as they caught on little stones but the aranara held him steady. It led them to a small hooded cove and set the puppet down upon a rock where he slumped back into the jagged edges of the wall – not caring if it tore up his clothes. At that point, he had little to no idea of whereabouts they were, only that he hoped it was nearer the destination than further. Cold air brushed over his forehead, leaving a headache as it passed by and he fought back the black spots in his vision – his side pulsated with pain. Aranimba worked quickly, gently peeling off the semi-hardened gloop and slathering on a fresh layer which offered instant relief.

They stood, and kept going.

At least four times, they were ambushed by a surge of eels which Kunikuzushi managed to swipe away with a handful of shooting anemo. It seemed he was still able to use his vision, but only in a manner that didn’t strain his physical body, which meant still, no flying. Where he would usually jump slightly as he drew back his arm to attack, his shoulders slumped forward, grounding him to the sand in a low stance.

It was almost hypnotic, how similar each pathway looked – dark and cold with the same ambience of sounds – distant cracks and drips of the stone, shuffling crawls of scorpions hidden in the sand with their tails held peaking above the surface and their quiet footsteps, slow and steady.

“Why are you helping me?” Kunikuzushi had asked.

Aranimba swung their hands together as they walked, “Blue Nara is friend of Lord of Verdure - Blue Nara is Aranimba’s friend also.”

The puppet yanked the creature out of the way of another eel bursting from the sand and smashed the thing into the tunnel wall. It slumped to the ground with a low hiss.

Aranimba looked up and smiled.

For a moment, it looked just like the smile of someone he’d come to know very well. Spontaneous and bright. Pure, unadulterated joy and trust. Perhaps it was just the little orange scarf swaying his mind, that or the agonising pain he was dipping in and out of, he thought with a small smile of his own. He squeezed the creature’s hand a little as they carried on forwards, a small surge of energy coming to his body.

For hours they walked, up and down the winding maze of pathways, seemingly not straying from the right way once, by the confident waddles of the aranara. Kunikuzushi was too exhausted to question its sense of direction in the blindness of the tunnels. The dimness certainly didn’t help his heavy head from drooping downwards, weighed with exhaustion. When at last there was light a flood of relief came to him, something like a breath of fresh air after the endless claustrophobia of the caves. It was distant, just a glow, bluish-white in colour reflecting off the wall of a turning corner.

Aranimba tugged at the puppets arm and made a shushing motion, pointing ahead.

They tread carefully, footsteps light as could be and peaked out from the stone wall.

Kunikuzushi choked a little, pulling them back.

Was this thing actually stupid?

“That’s the Wenut, you dolt.”

Aranimba shook its head and pointed once again, a little more enthusiastically this time. The puppet looked at it sceptically before taking a second glace around the corner.

It was then he understood.

“Simhanara is hiding,” the aranara whispered.

And indeed, Simhanara was, or at least, the Wenut was hiding it beneath the great weight of its body. From their short distance it was easy to spot the glow of white-purple emerging from her scales, half exposed to the open air and glowing behind the translucent surface of her skin. The serpent was still, sans the heavy rise and fall of its body as it slumbered in a large circle of sand. As she breathed, the buzzing hum of anemo that swirled over her length expanded and contracted softly.

Kunikuzushi grit his teeth. Well, at least they had an exit nearby but that thing would be impossible to not wake, sneaking in and grabbing the fragment was out of the question immediately.

He wracked his brain for another plan.

All he needed to do was get Bastet, and get the hell out of there. Without almost ninety percent of his fighting strength. As the Balladeer, strength was what he valued above all. He was feared because he was strong and unyielding in power. He was great because he was a fighter, merciless but in that moment he needed more than just strength.

Kunikuzushi paced in place for a second, inhaling sharply with nervousness surging all through his limbs, leaving them constantly fidgeting.

He slinked his hand out of Aranimba’s and knelt beside the creature.

“When I tell you, you run as fast as you can in that direction,” he said quietly, pointing to the path that he knew lead to the surface, “Got it?”

From the swirling anemo that was radiating from the Wenut, Kunikuzushi knew simply hitting it with his feeble attacks would do little to stun it. His vision was humorously ill-matched against the serpent’s powers. The most he could do was distract it and then…he scrunched his hands in his shorts mindlessly – well, he’d figure that bit out later.

Aranimba nodded, patting the puppet’s head gently.

“Aranimba will run fast.”

And so, the Kunikuzushi stood, the hardening gel on his torso had been changed minutes ago so the relief of its coolness was in full stead. The time to strike was at that exact moment.

He stepped forward, very carefully, avoiding any stray stones that might make a louder noise and snatching one up, silent. In the corner of his eye, he spied the aranara waiting at the tunnel’s mouth.

Kunikuzushi held up the stone – and threw it.

The Wenut shifted, and as the stone hit, it almost instantly began snaking around itself, rising from the sand and huffing through its nose irritated from being awoken from its slumber. She stretched taller and taller until she towered over the puppet like a giant, horn pointing sharply at him.

He threw himself forward at once, batting at the serpent with smaller blades of anemo, they bounced feebly off the creatures’ turquoise scales but with each hit, he felt it jolt – it could have been a flinch of pain or maybe just a sign of annoyance at being tickled. The snake dove after him, plunging into the sand then slicing through the surface with blinding speed – the puppet threw himself to the side and scrambled to his feet, sliding over the slippering surface and kicking grains all over.

“NOW!” he shouted.

And Aranimba ran.

With a whip of its head, the Wenut turned to the creature’s waddles and made to dive when Kunikuzushi sent another blow of wind to the thing’s ears. It writhed and speared towards him once more, nipping at the surface of the jelly covering his side and he fell with a strangled cry, sliding over towards the fragment. Before he could reach out to grab it the snake moved, fast as lightning towards him again, sending bullets of anemo his way from the tip of its tail and he was blinded by bluey-green.

Huge bombs of wind shot at his body, one of which tore through his sleeve and caught the edge of his shoulder, exploding the ground around him in a burst of sand and stone and shards of rock.

Kunikuzushi covered his eyes with his arm and rolled from side to side to avoid the arrow-like tips of the next wave of attacks. A tiny rock caught in his eye which he ignored, it scraped at its soft surface like a knife. The only thing he could do was try to dodge. There was no time to feel cowardly – if the Wenut hit his most exposed area he would be left defenceless at best and sentenced to suffer eternally in the depths of the tunnels, buried beneath the sands alone, paralysed from head to toe at worst. Kunikuzushi had become unsure of many things in recent days but what he knew he was certain of was that he did not want to be left to rot here. The bullets speared into the sand three feet deep with relentless thuds.

He sent out his own hits in all directions, hoping that at least one would hit the thing. By the great cracking of stone, he could hear he was far from accurate in his aim.

Kunikuzushi shook his head, shouting in frustration.

It was useless – there was no way he could get to the fragment the way things were going. Perhaps it had been a bad idea, no - an awful idea to go running in without a plan, he thought, dodging another blow from the Wenut’s spiky tail as it came sweeping across the sand. And then there was a new sound – like skuttling legs on loose rocks and Kunikuzushi swore under his breath.

It was very much not the right time for an ambush from the tunnel’s residents – his randomly aimed blades must have disturbed something nearby.

A consecrated scorpion scampered forward with a ‘shush’ing sound from its body rubbing against itself and scrambled towards the puppet as he dove to the side. It swiped its tail over its head and plunged it forward, right where Kunikuzushi’s head would have been and tugged it out of the empty sand, electro surging through its grotesquely insect-like limbs. At the same time the Wenut soared into the air with all its might and summoned those great spheres of anemo, the size of houses overhead and Kunikuzushi clutched his torso – the jelly had begun to peel off. With a strangled cry, he shot wind at the scorpion as it struck down with lighting and the violet of its crackle caught in his palm painfully, he hissed and shook it off into the sand.

The puppet’s eyes darted from the scorpion to the serpent, frantically trying to stay aware of their positions.

The Wenut swirled above.

Kunikuzushi grit his teeth, scrunching his hands then flinching back as the seared skin burned.

And then he had a great idea.

A wicked grin spread across his face.

He held himself lower, moving quickly on the balls of his feet and snatched up the electro of the consecrated beast’s next piercing attack with a cackle and whipped it up with a surge of anemo in his hands, then, in a movement reminiscent of that of the Mausoleum escape, threw it upwards with as much force as he could.

It whistled as it flew.

It hit one ball, then shot through the next, enveloping them in purple and then – the Wenut went limp mid-air, for a moment looking as if it were floating before it finally fell.

Kunikuzushi rushed to the side, anticipating its plummet as it hit the ground with an explosion of sand. The air became a great cloud of yellow, murky and dim as he slid, clutching his ribs, chest heaving.

He gagged a little, coughing out the particles of sand and leaning forward as a slab of the jelly fell from his body.

The puppet waited for a moment for the air to clear and steadied himself against the cavern’s wall, looking up at the serpent’s motionless body.

Once he was sure it was stunned, he stumbled forwards, falling to his knees and searching through the sand with desperate blind hands grabbing onto its warmth with a great sigh of relief.

He almost laughed, but it caught in his mouth, half-formed when there was a croaking clicking sound behind him and he swerved around, clutching Bastet close.

The scorpion hadn’t been so clever. It had been squashed into two pieces, pincers and tail beneath the serpent’s weight like a bug. With a little clicking ‘shush’ it slumped forward, twitching and the raised pincers fell with a thump, eyes lifeless and black.

Kunikuzushi scoffed.

A bit of sand entered his mouth and he coughed, spitting into the ground. He felt completely drained.

His torso burned like fire and he’d lost a shoe somewhere in that fight but – it was done. What was left was to get out of there before the Wenut woke again.

 

The easy part was getting out of the tunnel – that was something that had taken a great deal of walking to be able to say. As he emerged from the caves, the night was as dark as the underground and scattered with stars, over the curving dunes orange streaks had begun to form in the east. Sunrise. There was no time – no time at all to stop and recover his side, and Aranimba was long gone by the time Kunikuzushi had managed to grab the fragment anyway.  

 

Almost immediately upon surfacing, the neural link with Buer sprang to life and it fizzled into coherent words.

 

‘-anderer! Wan – er ca – you hear me?’

 

The puppet jumped at the god’s voice and spluttered out a reply.

 

“Yes - yes, I can. I’m on my way, Buer,” he said, words dry in his throat.

 

He dragged his body into the air with a hissing gasp, clutching a hand over his mouth to muffle the hitching breaths. Against the winds, his sleeves whipped against his body with great swirling motions.

 

‘You need to return now – Sethos is fading quickly!’ Buer said urgently.

 

Kunikuzushi pushed himself forwards, racing above the sands instantly, pressing the jelly to his body as firmly as he could and tying a section of his sleeve around his abdomen mid-air.

 

“I need thirty minutes, Buer,” he panted, weaving past a dead tree – the edges of its branches scratching at his cheek.

 

Caravan Ribat approached him fast over the horizon.

 

‘He doesn’t have thirty minutes,’ the god cried, ‘I can feed him some residue but-’

 

“Do it!” Kunikuzushi shouted without a thought.

 

It would hurt. It would hurt Sethos a lot but it was better to give him a chance at maybe surviving longer, even if it was agony than give up and make no effort to preserve his lifeforce. He hadn’t come that far just to not try any and all solutions. The puppet clenched his jaw, eyes wet and the wind plucked them from his face, streaking tears over his skin.

 

He could hear Buer inhale sharply.

 

‘...okay - just, hurry!’

 

And the connection fizzled out.

 

He raced to the city, wild eyed as his body screamed against the strain of flying.

 

Pain seared through his structure – he pushed further, faster and the journey became a blur of yellow and green and green and black as he staggered through the air with heaving grunts dragging himself forward. Somewhere in the rainforest, the gel slipped from his torso.

 

As he bordered the edges of the city the lights of the streets were stars shaking in his eyes. He sped towards the spiralling pathways of the Great Tree, racing past the early morning figures that he could barely make out milling from side to side, all murky and dim in the streets. 

 

With a cry, Kunikuzushi plunged to the ground, skidding slightly as he stumbled and pushed open the doors of the Sanctuary with a flick of his arm, anemo surging from his fist in a weak slice of air. 

 

Buer stood from her seat immediately, and the puppet dropped to the floor, knees slamming into the cold marble hard.

 

Cyno flew to his side and knelt beside him, his words were muffled as Kunikuzushi dry heaved onto the floor, scrambling to pull Bastet from his pocket with trembling hands. He pushed it into the god’s hands and tried to tell her to put it in – put it in right now but he himself could barely comprehend his slurred cries as his body finally began to give out, there in the Sanctuary.

 

There were several other figures around him and he tried to look up – making out a fuzzy image of Sethos on the bed surrounded by ear-piercing beeping machines and snaking wires like the tails of the quicksand eels. He heard screams – not his and the figure lying down began to shake all over, head slumping to the side and jolting grotesquely.

 

Buer left his side. Her tiny figure split in two, hurrying towards the bed and the puppet’s world tilted – the forest ranger (when had he got there?) curled an arm around his shoulder, lifting Kunikuzushi’s arms to reveal the half-bound gaping hole in his torso and there was another chorus of shouts and footsteps and suddenly the Sanctuary was a blur of loud noise.

 

He felt himself being lifted.

 

A hand brushed against his exposed wound – all was black.

Notes:

me when i lie about updating on Wednesday:🧍‍♂️

Chapter 11

Cold surrounded him.

 

There were goosebumps on his skin – little pinpricks rising to the temperature all over his body like a textured blanket of sensation, overwhelming and consuming his brain, fuzzy yet clear as the Ardravi River in spring. The water rushed above, a thin layer of lukewarm barely a millimetre thick that flooded every crack and crevice of his skin to wet it all over and his body became the water, cool and shapeless without air or breath or words. Only the trickling hush of liquid.

 

It was almost peaceful.

 

Almost.

 

At the tips of his fingers little sparks of something ignited the waters. He shuddered.

 

Something was different – something was changing.

 

Around him was chaos, he knew it, he felt it so strongly that he was beyond sure of its presence, and yet the dichotomy of senses forced him to reconsider. All he felt was bliss, all he heard was silence.

 

It was cold.

 

In the space, he was still – unmoving.

 

An air of wrongness sank into his being in the way that those raw instincts surge at you in your head at times of peril, screeching at you to do something, anything because the world was not right and, in that moment, you were in danger unchallenged by any mortal cause. He tried pulling his face into a frown, tugging at his muscles to move even a millimetre and they lay dormant like flies dead on a summer windowsill, burning into nothingness beyond the realm of life.

 

He jolted – all of him trembling in a quick motion of involuntary shakes and air puffed past his lips.

 

A shiver, perhaps? Or no, not quite.

 

Something touched his chest, small and wiggling and the sensation of being covered in little things sucking at his skin like leeches clinging to the surface with sick persistence came to him all at once.

 

The sensation floated away as if he had become acclimatised to it unnaturally fast and a brief silence came to him.

 

One moment, or was it ten? A hundred moments of nothingness. Here, he was neither still nor moving for he was nothing – beyond a body and beyond existing.

 

Then, the hushing waves of the river returned but only for a short second before once more those sparks that had tempted his body came back as crackles of something dense and thick. The trembling thickness of its presence warbled over his body like oil alight, like a bonfire surrounding him hot, searing and stripping skin from flesh.

 

He gasped, deep and desperate and smoke poured into his lungs, soot burning the insides of his organs. His spine contracted, back arching and legs squirming over that soft surface as pain shook his body all over like molten lava in his veins. His mouth gaped open – screaming surely and his eyes were blown wide – cool air brushing over their surface unblinking yet no view met his gaze, only darkness.

 

It hurt – it hurt like what he imaged it might feel like to have bones popped from their sockets, to have skin torn apart as it’s stretched from the inside out and all his being, his blood, his organs, wet and desperate burst from their widening seams, crawling from the crevice of agony like snakes of cerise. And they cried, screeching in agony as they fell, and fell and fell into endless air, perpetual absence because there was no floor. There was no soil below to catch their fall and far above he was left an empty sack of skin lacking self or substance and his heart clung to his ribs pulsing and pounding in his ears like a roaring river through the slinking thinness of his surface, he was paper, a hollow bag who’s inner walls pressed slick to each other in desperate need to feel and to touch for there was nothing within. Nothing to breathe, nothing to pump – there was no blood left, it had fallen away so quickly and then, he too fell at last.

 

Water crashed at his shape from all angles, batting at its limpness carelessly, so icy it felt like it was boiling. Like it was caught in that split second before you realise something was hurting you – before you registered the pain at all, a thoughtless form.

 

It was excruciatingly loud – the roaring crashing and crying of the ocean in eternal descent, a storm thundering deaf and perpetual. The water became an ocean – he was beneath the surface without ever penetrating its skin and the air became thick, airless and cruel.

 

The fall ended.

 

There, he sank.

 

Submerged, unbreathing and unblinking, unable to move his limbs – they floated limp and fleshless in the crystalline blue of the water and what surrounded him was only more blue, not a bubble in sight, not a tinkle of a pop against his skin, not one. Liquid drained into his ears and through the crawling water – he caught the faintest hints of something calling. It disappeared into silence.

 

Salt poured into his mouth – it held it open, the skin at his lips tearing apart and blood and fluid forced past that dangling jaw down his throat. It caught under his tongue and a rush of panic swelled through his being like a jolt of electricity and he contorted the muscle upwards to block it – it was ripped from its hinge and he bit down.

 

CRUNCH.

 

The roof of his mouth dried in an instant – the water pouring through his empty body solidifying into a rolling balls of glass, packed into his oesophagus in a solid tube of rocks and his ears became stone. He lurched forward and the tumbling waves batting at his body were a swirling tundra of quicksand, grabbing to the limp skin of his legs and pulling him to the bottom, if there was one, with relentless force spinning him, spinning and spinning and falling into the void of sand as his chin desperately jerked to the surface to breathe. He rolled his head upwards and saw the sky was -

 

Gone.

 

“Sethos.”

 

He whirled around, stone beneath his feet.

 

The sand vanished. The ocean too and what he faced was…black.

 

It was empty – dark and dim, lit by the tiniest of flames whipping in the wind. Its form fluttered violently, so much that he suddenly became every afraid that it might blow out and leave him to the blackness alone. Sethos stepped forward to grab it, he looked down to see bare skin but no breeze brushed his body’s surface.

 

“Sethos.”

 

He turned to the sound.

 

Nothing.

 

The ground was cold, hard, and Sethos looked back to the flame only to see that it was gone.

 

The blackness of the space was a hallway of violet. It pulsated gently, like a heartbeat. Leaves sprouted from the cracks between every stone and ivy crawled up to the ceiling as if it had always been there, wherever ‘there’ was – it stretched endlessly higher than his height into the heavens where white peaked through its leaves, igniting them into brightness like a forest or a woodland scene that he’d seen before. That he’d walked through before.

 

Around him the air too had become different somehow; it was sharp, tickling the surface of his skin like thousands of pins. Fresh. New.

 

Sethos stepped forward carefully, shivering as his bare feet met ice. He looked down and the stone became water. It was barely an inch deep – he took another step, the ripples of the motion echoed down the path towards the hallway and where it met the leaves they burst into light for a fleeting moment before dimming. The scent was so familiar but he couldn’t place it, not as precisely as its intimate sensation suggested. Somewhere between floral and earthy. It was like the wind and the wetness of rain upon leaves. Like a storm soaking his skin to the bone shaking him to iciness that clung to him so kindly. Like the blooming buds of a flower in the heat of summer. Like he’d known it before.

 

A hand rested on his shoulder, old and wrinkled.

 

“Running from your lessons again, boy?”

 

Sethos gasped.

 

The air rushed from his lungs and the weight of the hand seemed infinitely warm and heavy.

 

That voice.

 

He dared to look up, and those eyes looked back. Those eyes - a particular shade of hazel whittled and worn by age. He traced over every feature of that face, each freckle and mole, every liver spot and tears sprung to his eyes, hot.

 

Sethos’s chin trembled.

 

He reached out.

 

“Grandfather -” he tried to say, but the words came to a halt in his throat, silent.

 

A jolt of confusion hit him. Then, it became panic.

 

He grabbed at his neck and felt its circumference. There was a gap – an awful distance between his hands and his skin and as he tried to touch it, failing so miserably, he looked at his grandfather with desperate, wide eyes.

 

“Surely I don’t need to tell you to stop this, hm?” Bamoun said teasingly.

 

The old man squeezed at Sethos’s shoulder – skin meeting skin and turned him around gently.

 

“Let’s get back before it’s late, dinner is best enjoyed by a worked brain.”

 

Instinctively, he tried to speak again.

 

“Grandfather, I-”

 

Sethos’s mouth gaped open helplessly and his body was pushed away from the hallway. Behind him, the light of the forest called to him so sweetly, so gently and guilt crawled up his throat. He tried to peak over his shoulder but Bamoun grabbed his head in a motion so sudden that there was no time to even think. The hand squeezed his skull tight. It was hurting him.

 

“What are you so curious about?” the man said, “It’s this way, boy.”

 

Sethos tried to shake his head and no motion came. His body became paralysed – a carving of stone as his grandfather dragged him backwards, body stuck between resistance and obedience. The hand on his head had a grip like iron – it held it at an angle that strained his neck to face upwards and he couldn’t breathe. Air scraped through the narrowed pathway of his throat and his eyes burned like acid.

 

This was wrong – something was wrong. He screamed at his body to move, to jerk out of the hold and run but no movement came.

 

His chest began to heave as it tried to scrape up more oxygen but its attempts were useless and nothing came but more panic and more urgency to his every thought and feeling as his body burned, feet dragging through the shallow waters. The fingers on his skull sharpened to something harder than flesh and they dug into the bone and a silent cry burst from his lips.

 

Before he could think to try to remove them, in one motion the hand on his head loosened its grip and all his body melted to the floor, limp. His knees fell, cushioned by the liquid and the hot weight of his grandfather was ripped away in less than half a second and the old man was scrambling to the side shouting incomprehensible words.

 

He wriggled on his back, spitting and cursing trying to grab something that was tangled in his robes. Sethos’s limbs fizzled into his possession, solid and weighty and he backed away, hands pushing through the shallow waters.

 

His grandfather cursed and kicked at his attacker and the creature clung tight, yanking him forward with all its weight.

 

It was a lion. But not an ordinary beast of yellow and gold, no. This creature glowed white and violet streaks of papers hovered over its fur with gentle a hum.  Its jaws clenched around the old man’s ankle as Bamoum batted away at the creature’s head uselessly.

 

“It’s alright,” said another voice.

 

It was young and frightfully small but he knew it by ear, he was sure. A child stood at the end of the hallway, hair white as snow and dressed in green and gold. She pointed to the lion.

 

It bit harder into his grandfather’s skin and at the crunch of bone – well, what Sethos had expected to be a crunch was a slinking hush. And what poured from the wound was not blood, but a river of sand. The skin became limp and shapeless, face pooling into a flat mask of hide that soon dissolved into dust and glass pooled in the water, wet and dark as high as a body might lay and his grandfather was no more.

 

Sethos gripped his mouth with his hand, tears prickling at his eyes. He tried to scream but no sound was produced.

 

The lion stalked over from the sands and he scrambled backwards, water sloshing around and spraying all over the empty space. It moved slow, and low, tail raised until there was no more air for Sethos to crawl into and its nose was an inch from his own, eyes neon green.

 

Sethos didn’t dare to move.

 

And then, the lion dipped its head, like a bow.

 

It rose again, and pressed its head into his side, pushing him slightly towards the girl.

 

She smiled and reached out.

 

“It’s alright,” she said once more.

 

Sethos met her gaze and couldn’t comprehend the trust he felt for this...stranger. In those eyes for saw only truth. Only knowledge, pure and white.

 

He turned to the lion and it rubbed its cheek against his, licking at the tears.

 

He stood clumsily, stumbling a little – the animal pressed itself close to his hip with every step towards to girl for Sethos knew he must reach her and never look back. The water tickled his knees and he moved forward slowly, legs growing heavy quickly at its resistance. The lion huffed and pushed him a little more and beneath him the floor dissolved into nothingness. He fell into the sea, kicking at it like a newborn. A small hand waved in front of his face, inches away and the water slipped into his mouth – he choked. The lion frantically shoved him forward, it tugged at the skin of his chest, stretching, pulling.

 

The girl said something more – inaudible over the rush of liquid in his ears and he tried to force a hand over the bulging waves but it could not reach far enough.

 

Sethos gasped over the waters.

 

He reached upwards through the heaviness of the sea and a head pushed his elbow to the surface, fingers breaching into the coldness of the air.

 

Their fingers touched.

 

All at once the lion dove in and he breathed, full and deep.

Notes:

shorter one for now (･θ･) i got held up editing the next chapter because i was feeling ANGER so added an interlude here to feed you until tomorrow
🔥🔥＼＼٩(๑`^´๑)۶／／🔥🔥
THE SKY IS FAKE! THE SKY - 🐔 IS - FALLINGGGGG

Chapter 12

The sensation of entering consciousness is not something so easily described. It’s a grey area of sorts, coming into the state of being ‘alive’ where all is hazy and blurred. The ground beneath your feet and the pillow beneath your head feel as if they are not all there in their entirety, like a phantom object touching skin, just a little too smooth and untextured for your fuzzy mind to comprehend its existence. Your body is as light as a feather one moment, and the next like a block of lead, whole and sinking.

 

Sethos had never felt heavier.

 

Around him was a world of white and green. Soft and fresh like the gardens of Pardis Dhyai and his body lay an unmoving stone in a bed of flowers.

 

His finger twitched at his side, tickling his thigh and the sensation of warmth beneath the covers came to him like a sigh of relief. The draping fabric across his body from neck to feet brushed against his skin light as a breeze; Sethos revelled in its touch, and as he tilted his head a little, the softness of a pillow met his cheek like bliss.

 

His eyes fluttered open and he saw light.

 

“Hello.”

 

That voice…

 

Sethos turned his head to the sound, it fell limp upon the pillow.

 

Before him, was none other than Lord Kusanali herself and a wave of awe came over him at the gentleness of her presence. He blinked, eyelids heavy as led.

 

She smiled softly and patted the duvet, “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

 

Sethos tried to answer but his words caught in the dryness of his throat and he only managed to shake his head with a hoarse choke. A jolt of fear came over him for a split second that he couldn’t decipher the origins of. Down his arms, pins and needles shot through the bone as he tried to prop himself up slowly. It was then that he noticed the wires sticking to his body all over his left breast and at his wrist, then another on the top of his hand. Strange.

 

Kusanali shifted the pillow beneath his head and lifted a small glass of water to his dry lips – it was sweet.

 

He cleared his throat, a shakiness running through his limbs.

 

“T-hank you.”

 

The god nodded, “You’re welcome. How are you feeling?”

 

Sethos blinked away the sleep in his eyes and shrugged tiredly.

 

“Like I’ve been hit by a Sumpter Beast.”

 

He frowned.

 

“...how -” Sethos glanced around the room, and the large arching ceiling with golden trimmed decor told him he was in the Sanctuary of Surasthana. The bright lights danced in his hazy gaze like fireflies.

 

The confusion tripled.

 

“- did I get here…?” he said slowly, slurring a little, “I thought I was…what happened?”

 

Why in Teyvat was he hooked up to those machines? He wracked his brain for an answer but all he could recall was blurry nothingness and a headache. Sethos tried to quell the not-so-great feeling of dread and looked to the god for a reply.

 

Kusanali pursed her lips.

 

“It’s quite the story,” she said, “Perhaps you ought to rest some more before hearing it.”

 

Sethos’s brows drew together, frowning and he hissed as a jab of pain came to his head once more. At his side, the god made quick work to fill his glass again and sat patiently until it had all been slowly sipped. The coolness of the liquid drenched his parched throat and as it drained down his body it seemed to rejuvenate some of the strength to his limbs a little, the pulsating ache in his head reduced to a subtle echo of its prime but the heaviness remained.

 

“M-aybe after an’ther nap, then…” he croaked, letting his head fall back into the softness of the pillow.

 

It seemed that he managed to drift off in a matter of seconds, listening absent-mindedly to the shuffling of the god’s steps on the marble floor as she fiddled with whatever those machines were, slipping a brace around his arm, it was soft and warm, squeezing a little and before it could loosen, he had completely fallen asleep.

 

In the cloud of pillows, he dozed away without disturbance.

 

Perhaps a few hours had passed before he woke, and as he peeled his eyes open once more, he saw that the lights of the Sanctuary had been dimmed, setting a dozy mood to the space which was much easier on his head.

 

Kusanali was nowhere to be seen.

 

He stretched his shoulders a little from where he lay and tried to wrack his brain for an idea of what was going on. Thankfully the comfort of his surroundings eased his mind, but the ache of his body, the strange weakness to his limbs whispered at him with sour suspicions and fears. Sethos craned his neck to find the stairwell of the Sanctuary.

 

From what sounded like the lower level, there were distant voices that he couldn’t recognise or decipher. He frowned and moved to roll off the bed instinctively but the tubes and wires all over his body halted him, one of them pulling from his skin and altering a machine, beeping loud and sharp and he retracted into the sheets to press the pillow to his ears as the headache returned in full swing.

 

It rang out for a few moments before a pattering of feet came running and Kusanali appeared to turn it off, looking a little startled. As she raised her hands, he noticed faint traces of purple smeared over them.

 

Sethos smiled sheepishly.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” he said.

 

She shook her head and began re-attaching whatever had been pulled off.

 

“Don’t worry, it happens easily.”

 

Kusanali looked him over carefully with large, green eyes.

 

“I wasn’t expecting you to be up again so quickly, are you feeling alright? Any pain?”

 

He shook his head, its ache had faded.

 

“Not really, just real tired. I was just up thinkin’. Confused an’ all still.”

 

At this the god nodded slowly.

 

“That’s good, your recovery was a little stunted at first but it seems to have taken a turn for the better now,” she said, smiling, “Are you feeling well enough to listen? The whole story might take a while to tell you.”

 

Sethos’s eyes no longer felt as if they might shut closed by themselves, so he agreed and the god stood on her tippy toes to adjust his pillow a little higher so that he might sit up. As the sheet slipped down his chest, he saw his arms peeking out from under the garment he was wearing and was momentarily startled by their frailty.

 

He looked to the god and received only another smile, albeit a tense one. He leaned back into the bed and held a fresh glass of water, though he was beginning to suspect there was more than just that within it, waiting.

 

Kusanali pulled a small cloth to wipe her hands clean before she finally spoke.

 

The god began in the depths of Tulaytullah, in an era which he had become familiar with as a boy from the endless folktales of Deshret and Hermanubis told from priest and scholar. She spoke of a loyal servant – a lioness, a sorceress and her dying wish deep down in the mazes of the city’s underground and Sethos was puzzled as to why she was telling him this – but there was perhaps no one better to trust the judgment of than the god of wisdom herself so he kept quiet.

 

She spoke of his life – his childhood as he remembered, with Cyno and the other children, Bamoun, the Temple’s small coven and he smiled, fondness rising in his chest.

 

“Yeah, grandpa was always like that, that old grouch,” he chuckled.

 

Kusanali offered a grimace, and then she paused.

 

When she spoke again she began to look very, very sad.

 

Sethos dipped into ice.

 

From head to toe he was frozen, and with every coming word the heat from his body seemed to evaporate and the horror condensed into his being.

 

At first, he felt shock – then denial. He tried to shake his head but his body was motionless in the bed as the god unfurled word after word from her little mouth that seemed to be…impossible. So untrue that it made him tremble from the inside out. At that name, his body turned to stone. And then the story following it made his skin crawl with doubts, both of the tale told and of himself. Doubts of his own memories. Doubts of his own feelings that he couldn’t even think of clearly, only knowing that this had uplifted so much of him and turned it upside down leaving the rest of his mind in collateral mess, dazed and confused.  

 

And Kusanali gestured to his chest and he palmed the skin above his heart with ice cold fingers.

 

Sethos looked at himself and felt only dismay, empty and hollow.

 

She carried on speaking and the hole dug deeper and further than he thought that it ever might and with every turn of events the emotions whirling in his head mixed into a mess of confusion, anger, shock and disbelief. It almost sounded as if it were made up and he would have believed that if it weren’t for the fact that a god was speaking to him or the fact that the details of it all gave him a creeping feeling that it somehow, in all its extravagance, made exact sense.

 

Sethos searched within himself.

 

He couldn’t recall it at all. Not the trial, not its effects on his body.

 

Bamoun. His grandfather.

 

That wasn’t how it was.

 

He had always been favoured by his grandfather, but that was how family was, wasn’t it? Because that’s what they were; they were family. They still were family even now. He loved him.

 

He had always thought nothing of it – after all he was the sole child of the Temple, what standard or custom could he have possibly compared his days to? The priests had no children and the scholars didn’t dare let their families see the inner workings of that sacred place. But that was…how it was supposed to be. What was a boy to know of normalcy? Of rules and regulations? He only knew what he was told and taught.

 

And he had been taught, been raised to be an heir, had he not?

 

The more he thought about it, the more the horrifying realisation that it might be true seemed to sink in. It clung its claws in his head, deeper with every fleeting doubt and memory.

 

Sethos looked into his lap, unblinking.

 

Perhaps…

 

Perhaps the reason why his grandfather had been so adamant that he didn’t avoid his duties as the heir was because of how much the man had worked to make Sethos that heir.

 

That vessel.

 

Every conversation, snippets of phrases, words thrown about carelessly milling in his mind raced through his thoughts and he found himself scrambling for clues from his past.

 

‘sit up, boy. The Glory of Hermanubis awaits within you-’

 

No...

 

‘-pains me to watch you waste your days playing-’

 

Surely not.

 

‘-very fortunate to have been given a body that possesses-’

 

Sethos felt his grip on the glass of water loosen and he stared at the wall.

 

Had his grandfather even loved him?

 

No.

 

He was jumping to conclusions beyond reason now. Bamoun had. He loved him.

 

Didn’t he?

 

Sethos’s lips tugged into a frown. The more he thought about it, the more he became unsure. His chin trembled.

 

Did he?

 

His head hurt again.

 

Was it all fake – a fabrication to maintain the mask of his plan to throw his grandson away in disgust? Was he even a grandson? Was that all Sethos was to him – a pawn to be raised and sculpted into the perfect puppet that he might control? A pawn who disappointed and never took things as seriously as the man wanted him to because he was a boy who didn’t know any better and who was…lonely.

 

Bamoun was always a cunning man – Sethos’s had seen it clear as day in his last weeks. It had never rubbed him the wrong way before, but maybe that was just because he was so preoccupied with caring for him and luring Cyno to the Temple, too busy with the plan. The very plan that Bamoun himself had concocted to direct Sethos away from the power of Hermanubis to notice.

 

And then, he was in mourning.

 

What righteous grandson would doubt the intentions of his family after they had passed?

 

Certainly not him.

 

He supposed he had never really thought about it, in the way that its unnatural to suspect people close to you of anything other than pure intention. But Bamoun had cared for him too – as boy, and as a young man, he was sure. Or was that a lie too? Was everything one big lie that he had been too foolish to see? Was he blindsided by his own stupidity?

 

Sethos felt his breaths quicken and he hurried to put the glass on the table with trembling hands. He was afraid. He was scared.

 

Kusanali sat at the edge of the bed and gently held his hands in hers, pressing them to his chest with clear, loud deep breaths. On his palms, the quick thumping of his heart beat on skin; the river of blood rushing through his ears calmed a little, flowing into a little brook and he breathed, copying her movements with a light head.

 

“That’s it,” she said, “In and out, and in and out. Nice and slow.”

 

He inhaled shakily, held it, then exhaled.

 

The god looked a little guilty, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. There is a lot that you must know, but perhaps we can continue when you are feeling better.”

 

Sethos tried to shake his head because he had to know. If he was to know then he must find out everything that had been discovered because that was his life – he whole life. The welling panic in his body seemed to paralyse him in all his being.

 

Squeezing his hands in the duvet the blood rushed to his head, his chest started heaving once more and he searched for something, anything that might give calm himself.

 

“Cyno-” he stuttered, suddenly feeling very small, like a child calling for their mother, “I-I want Cyno. Sorry - please, I-”

 

With a little nod the god tottled off and in what felt like only a few seconds she returned with the very general in tow and the bed dipped under a new weight, arms tugged him close into a warm chest, tight and firm. The smell of his brother engulfed his senses and he tucked his head into Cyno’s stomach, clinging to him with all his might.

 

Cyno was safe. He was sure. He was certain.

 

Someone muttered words of comfort into his hair, unintelligible to his racing mind and Sethos inhaled the presence of the person around him with all of his might, the softness of skin against his forehead, the tickling of soft, white hair at his ears and the hot surface of his body that he remembered before – in the hut, with Tighnari and -

 

He’d passed out, that day. He came home...somehow, Sethos couldn’t quite recall that journey and the rest was a blur of perhaps false memories or flashes of useless scenes but there was something else, something inside that felt new and whole.

 

His head slumped against his brother’s body, dizzy and limp and the conversation around him fizzled in and out of his ears, half completed as he tried to focus on the contact of skin upon his own.

 

“-ow is his heart?”

 

“Adjusting well.”

 

And his brother hummed, vibrations warm against Sethos’s ears.

 

“That’s good. And how is...?”

 

A pause.

 

“Kaveh is working with several Kshahrewar specialists to fix him. But with time, he will recover. Just as a human grows flesh and bone, a puppet shall mend its pieces together.”

 

Cyno nodded above Sethos’s head, and gave him a squeeze. A few more words were exchanged that he couldn’t recall exactly, but after a few minutes, he squeezed at his brother’s hand back. Cyno bent down to whisper into his ear (“Better?”) and Sethos nodded into his chest. The racing thump of a heart in his ears had calmed to something like normalcy and his fingers clutching desperately at the general’s top had loosened to a gentle hold, more searching for the heat of another body that their physical contact.

 

His brother pulled away slightly to see him, eyeing the man closely. Sethos looked at him, dazed and hot, but that trembling fear had mostly settled.

 

“Do you feel any different?” the general said, nodding to his chest.

 

Sethos nodded slowly.

 

Different was one way to describe it.

 

“Some - somethin’s changed. Like, it’s…full.”

 

His brother gave him a small smile. A very Cyno smile.

 

“That’s good.”

 

Beside them, Kusanali glanced at Cyno before receiving a nod. She opened her palms and out came looping strings of dendro from each finger which weaved into a picture that she held out before Sethos’s eyes.

 

It was the lion. The one from his dream.

 

Or perhaps it had not been at dream at all.

 

“Sethos, within you now is a different Ba fragment,” the god said, “This one cannot be removed. Take a look.”

 

Sethos lifted the fabric of the gown and blinked. The birthmark – or what he had been told was one had changed. A seal, because only a seal can change shape like so. In the place of the square ‘u’ was a bird, and from the shape he knew it to be a hawk – this was Ba. He traced it with a finger and it hummed back.

 

“Different...this is Bastet, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The god nodded slowly, “In essence, she is now blocking the drain of the seal, keeping it from harming you.”

 

Sethos faltered a little at the mention of the seal once more.

 

“But I suggest refraining from summoning her spirit for the time being – your body is still acknowledging her power, and it’s muscles have grown weak from your ill health, including your heart,” Kusanali said seriously.

 

He lifted his arms with what felt like ten times the effort he might usually and was once again greeted by such unnatural thinness to his biceps that looked it looked nauseatingly out of place. What would have been lean, taught muscles trained by his bow and spear was simply gone, leaving little to no strength in his arms. As he tried to move his legs, the same odd heaviness weighed them down and dread crept onto his shoulders.

 

That seal…it had consumed him, almost to the bone.

 

He looked from Kusanali to Cyno, a thought springing to his mind. His voice came out shaky.

 

“W-what about the Temple? Will it be...?”

 

His brother grimaced.

 

“For the time being, I have taken over your duties as it’s temporary leader. But several of the members, particularly high-ranking priests from your grandfather’s reign have been arrested and are due for trial in the coming weeks.”

 

Sethos clutched the duvet in his hands weakly.

 

Of course it would be investigated – it was the law. It was Cyno’s job as the General Mahamatra to not let any misdoings slip past his eye of judgement.

 

It was the right thing.

 

And yet…

 

A part of him seemed to wish that nothing would change. That he’d get better and go back to the same coven of priests and scholars that he grew up with for the rest of his life like all those – horrible things – didn’t happen.

 

Perhaps that life had died with his grandfather. Or maybe it that was an illusion too.

 

Deep down, he had an awful knowing feeling that all that had been revealed was true.

 

Sethos just wasn’t sure he was ready to accept it. It was still so much. Too much for one sitting.

 

He swallowed.

 

“That’s...good. Thank you, Cyno.”

 

And he meant it.

 

With a squeeze of his shoulder, the general nodded.

 

“Of course. It’s good to see you looking better, brother. You gave everyone quite the scare, I didn’t think you’d go to such lengths to avoid playing Genius Invocation TCG with me,” Cyno said seriously.

 

Sethos laughed a little, a lightness coming to his chest.

 

“Sorry, sorry – let’s play soon, I’ll make it up to you.”

 

“I’ll hold you to that,” his brother replied, tone already laced with that fighting competitiveness that’s he’d come to be familiar with.

 

Without a doubt, Sethos was more than glad to spend time with the other, even if it was over a packet of cards that he didn’t understand. Though he couldn’t quite recall the entire timeline of events of the mess he’s managed to land himself in, there was a feeling within that told him he had been absent for a long, long time. Perhaps not in the literal sense, but in the way that some people tend to lose their grasp on reality in times of trouble. You look and talk and breathe. But don’t see, or speak or live.

 

Cyno furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to speak.

 

“Sethos, there’s...something else that you need to know.”

 

At that point he was sure that anything else he was told that day couldn’t possibly surpass the incredulity of the other stories he had heard so what harm was there in learning one more? Sethos sensed a strange hesitation in his brother’s voice, foreign in the man’s straightforward and blunt personality.

 

“What is it?”

 

Cyno looked down, “I think it’d be best that you heard it from Hat Guy. He was very adamant on taking – responsibility. When you’re feeling well enough, that is.”

 

That made Sethos even more confused.

 

“...Okay.”

 

The rest of the afternoon (or was it morning?) passed with lighter topics in the air. Tighnari came to visit with a bouquet of verdant and fuchsia flower in one hand and a card in the other, signed by his student and the rest of the dinner party gang as well as the Dehya, the mercenary from the desert, Candace of Aaru village and a certain Madame Faruzan from the Akademiya who left increasingly entertaining messages on the card for him to chuckle at. The fox made sure to hug him gently as he could and Sethos had to deny any and all apologies sent his way with a vow to take care of his health from then on with adamant consistency. Tighnari seemed pleased with that promise.

 

What came as a surprise was a visit from some members of the Temple. The three appeared to be feeling quite out of place in the Sanctuary in their desert shawls and sandshoes but nonetheless had made the journey to the city – an enormous effort for those who had not had the chance to do so before.

 

Khensa rushed towards him, bowing low to the archon and Cyno before hovering about Sethos as if she were afraid to break something.

 

“Oh, Sethos,” she said, cupping his cheek in her hand with a pained expression.

 

He smiled wearily and waved at the other two who were surveying the technology surrounding the bed with interested eyes. He felt a little guilty; of course there was good in the Temple still.

 

Khensa wiped her tears with her sleeve, a neglected handkerchief probably folded in her pocket.

 

“I’m so sorry, my boy. Look at you,” she cried.

 

Sethos felt heat come to his face and he fiddled with his hands. With a heavy sigh, Charmian pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

 

“What a mess – those priests. Just how could they have committed such cruelty. Duaenre had always been a shady one, but Betresa -” he scoffed, “That hag. They will pay for their wrongdoings or I will strike them from this realm myself.”

 

“Not with those old bones you won’t,” Intef chimed in, rolling his eyes.

 

He offered a smile and wave to Sethos, mouthing a ‘hi.’ Charmian pulled a face and swirled around to face his younger friend.

 

“Yes, I certainly would! I may be your senior but I too was a hunter of the sands once! A marvel with a harpoon – they said!”

 

Beside them Cyno cleared his throat, hiding a smile of his own.

 

“Rest assured there will be no need for any ‘harpooning.’ The matra will decide a guilty verdict, that, I am sure.”

 

Khensa continued to fuss over Sethos for the remainder of their stay, not that he minded, she had bathed and dressed him as a child after all, but when the topic shifted to his grandfather, he felt a lump gather in his throat, solid and painful. She looked to Intef with a strained face and clutched his hand.

 

“We should have been more – aware of you after Bamoun passed. You were just a boy – still, you are, and we let you go galivanting off into the city alone.”

 

Sethos shook his head, “...It’s fine, Auntie. It was my fault too – I just wanted out of there, ya know? Not like I was avoidin’ you guys, but...everythin’ just reminded me of him and now...”

 

“Don’t say that! You are the furthest from being at fault in this situation and from now on, we’ll stick with you, alright?”

 

The two men nodded gruffly.

 

“When you’re on your feet again,” Charmian said, “Let’s throw a feast at the Temple, hm? How about that? To celebrate our very own Lord Sethos’s leadership; we never did get around to having one of those yet.”

 

The afternoon came and went and the three priests departed for the sands. Cyno left to head to patrol and Kusanali played an odd riddle game with him involving guessing letters and deciphering codes that Sethos had never seen before, it was quite clever. When he asked of its origins, she said she had made it up on the spot! He had laughed at that. She brought a steaming bowl of broth and helped him to spoonfulls, assistance which he embarrassingly needed much of with his shaky limbs and together, they drew out a plan of recovery over the next two weeks involving several elemental healing sessions and physical therapy for walking, lifting, and holding.

 

Another suggestion that wasn’t so concrete on the schedule was a therapist, one that the archon personally thought would be suited to Sethos’s mind which he had almost refused outright. But after a thought, he decided against it. Who was he kidding? He needed to work some things through. Properly. In a way that didn’t involve obsessing over boys and avoiding specific people.

 

After removing some of the wires attached to his body, Kusanali left to let him sleep. It was a surprisingly dreamless night, perhaps the god had played some part in that, or maybe it was just the exhaustion weighing his bones, he couldn’t know, and the following morning, Sethos rose with a well-rested body and mind.

 

Over breakfast with the archon, which was something that seemed almost unfathomable of an idea, he noticed the little wooden bowl at the table and asked her about Kunikuzushi.

 

“Is he alright? He busy or somethin’?” he laughed a little pained, “Doesn’t he wanna see my rugged face in all its beauty?”

 

Look, it wasn’t like he was mad that he hadn’t visited, no, he trusted the man more than to do that. What struck his mind was a deep, intense worry and that cryptic message from Cyno didn’t help things at all.

 

The god smiled softly and poured some more tea for them both.

 

“I’m sure he does,” she said knowingly.

 

Kusanali set the teapot down.

 

“Wanderer was very involved in the efforts to save your life, Sethos. He fought for you with an abundance of love – a force unreckoned. He has a will unlike any other.”

 

Sethos felt pride. Warmth flooded his cheeks and he pretended it was the heat of the tea.

 

“But he was injured heavily while retrieving Bastet from the desert. At this point we’re not sure what happened to him.” The god said gently, “As you know, his biology is not so similar to yours or even mine which, when it comes to mending, requires the expertise of fields outside of medicine.”

 

And the stone in Sethos’s stomach sank to the bottom with a hollow thump.

 

Kusanali offered a look of reassurance.

 

“Rest assured he will recover, perhaps faster than you will.”

 

“Can I see him?” Sethos asked quickly, shakily setting his teacup down on his lap.

 

The god eyed his legs swung about the side of the bed limply.

 

“At the moment he is in a difficult stage of the healing process. I’m not sure if it would be best for you to see him in this state,” she said.

 

He wasn’t exactly sure what ‘difficult stage’ meant for someone like Kunikuzushi.

 

“Besides, you are also in recovery. Don’t forget that your body is coming back from a severely traumatic medical experience, not to mention your mind is too, so we need to make sure you are cared for which means, focusing on getting better for now.”

 

Sethos slumped a little in the bed.

 

“Maybe we can set goals on our recovery chart! When your heart is shown to be steady as normal, then we’ll see about visiting Wanderer. What do you think?”

 

The following week was like a dream. Not the sort that was euphoric or nightmarish but the type that is eccentric and offered wild twists and turns in their narrative which suddenly meant you were touching your toes with a near ninety-year-old woman with two hours of relaxing sitar music as your motivation and then put into some kind of weird new blue device that drew a picture of his insides from Fontaine after that.

 

Cyno dropped by to visit often (but refused any offers to play Genius Invocation TCG, claiming that he would wait until Sethos was better, so that they were ‘fairly matched’ as if Sethos knew what any of the cards even did.) Another thing that offered his heart relief was the frequent letters from Khensa and the other Temple members that sent good wishes and little details of their days that made him feel closer to home. It was home still, that place; he wasn’t sure if he could ever erase that even with all that was going on with the investigation but it was comforting to be connected with those that he knew cared for him, and had cared for him all his life.

 

The physical therapy, the tests, the tubes - it was tiring work, despite the simplicity of the tasks, but he slept deep and undisturbed, only met with dreams of that lion some nights. In the dreamscape, the creature would circle him slowly and press its nose into his leg, soft and warm. On particularly rough days, during which he’d typically had a difficult time processing his emotions, it would rest its head in his lap and beneath the sunlight dappling through the leaves above, they would sleep. Sometimes he would cry into its fur, clutching its soft neck and it would lap at his tears, warm and gentle.

 

Sethos made sure to use all his efforts to gather his strength – at the walking bar he pushed himself to sweat and tears and contorted his hand to stretch and pull in odd ways he’d never thought of before in spare moments between naps, meals and other activities. He asked of Kunikuzushi’s health each day, carefully noting the replies he received in the back of his head.

 

It felt odd, not just being in the Sanctuary all the time, but being apart from him. There was definitely a hole left in his days that felt awkward not being occupied by him and as the sun rose to its peak at noon, the god of wisdom would wheel him out onto the pathway to eat soup and from that seat, he would spy the empty rooftops of the Akademiya. It wasn’t as if he was gone entirely, after all, he’d see him again when he was feeling better, right?

 

The thought of it left pink dusting his cheeks and he rubbed at them trying to erase it with little success. Cyno gave him a knowing look from across the table each time it happened and Sethos would try to change the subject before some awful joke could be made.

 

In the evenings, Kusanali would sit beside him before bed and they’d run through his charts and graphs, choosing little stickers to put in boxes at milestones with giggles. Sethos liked the little cat one the most – the god agreed and they shared a knowing look at the particular colour around its eyes, sticking it besides his strength chart for that day’s tasks.

 

One week passed, then another.

 

And finally, after another few days, he found himself laying still, trying to breathe as normally as he could as a doctor looked at some machine and scribbled on his notebook for several long minutes. The man removed his glasses and gave them a wipe before taking a second to look at results. He put his thumb up and said Sethos’s heart was in the clear.

 

Relief flooded his chest and a bubble of excitement grew larger within.

 

To celebrate, Kusanali invited several of his friends to the Sanctuary and they shared a small orange-blossom flavoured cake with wine for Kaveh, and water for Sethos and Collei. Of course, it wouldn’t be a proper gathering without Alhaitham dropping by at the last minute, inciting a flurry of exasperated words from his roommate – the small package he carried, which he said he had picked up from the Temple made up for his tardiness anyhow, inside of which was a small carving of a dusk bird, courtesy of Intef who had taken to the creative arts after his trip to the rainforest apparently. At the shy suggestion of Collei, it was named Shuri.

As they chatted away playing card games, Sethos made sure to thank them all for their efforts; though the story wasn’t quite complete, he knew enough that they had more than earned some heartfelt gratitude, and as he spoke, he invited each of them to the Temple’s feast, whenever it might happen in the near future.

 

Sethos felt warm, a tingle of energy swelling within as he looked around the room. These people were friends. Good friends and good people. He tried to shake off the emotion rising in his throat, halting his next words.

 

“You guys are great,” he said, a little choked up, “I don’t know how to thank ya properly, haha!”

 

At his side, Kaveh tugged him into a side hug and the floodgates seemed to swing open. The architect searched for a napkin from the table frantically, looking a little emotional too.

 

“Don’t you start crying – I’ll cry too, you hear me?” he said shakily, before promptly bursting into tears.

 

Around the table came a chorus of chuckles, and they gathered around to embrace, narrowly avoiding knocking the rest of the cake to the floor. Collei seemed to hover a little uncertainly beside them for a moment, before Sethos waved her over, pulling her into the pile of people.

 

She yelped a little, “B-but I didn’t really do anything!”

 

Sethos scrunched up his nose and shook his head.

 

“You’re here, aren’t ya? Couldn’t ask for more,” he replied, and the group hug seemed to wobble a little to the right.

 

Tighnari grabbed at people’s arms quickly as Kaveh stumbled over, face flushed with wine and tutted, tail swishing from side to side.

 

“This man, I swear – “

 

Kaveh collapsed into the fox the next second.

 

As the night drew to a close, after a few hours of good fun and good blessings, the group departed from the Sanctuary (a certain architect in the arms of a certain scribe) and the god held up the chart and pointed to the little hat doodled on it, circled in red.

 

Sethos smiled, wide and bright.

 

Before bed, he hobbled down to the room near the lower levels of the sanctuary with Kusanali practically under his arm as a crutch. It was a slow process, walking, and his knees still trembled beneath his own weight with each step, but there was progress nonetheless.

 

When they came to the door, windowless and ornate like he’d seen so many times before, the god turned to him.

 

“He’s nearly finished with repairs now, but it’d be best for both of you not to strain yourselves.”

 

Sethos nodded, stepping forward but a hand caught his sleeve.

 

He looked down.

 

Kusanali looked back with a fierce gaze.

Then, after a long second she shook her head to herself.

 

“In you, there is kindness enough.”

 

Sethos’s mind lingered on those words for a moment.

 

He placed a hand on the door, and pushed it open.

Notes:

🚪i wonder what's going to happen next...?
♡( ◡‿◡ )
edit: i added party scene becos kaveh
(´꒳`)♡

Chapter 13

Kunikuzushi woke to his own screaming.

 

He did not take pride in the fact that it no longer frightened him, hearing himself being torn apart from within.

 

At first it was simple.

 

At first, it wasn’t so bad; back when he was only one hundred or so years old. He was naïve and young and that biting fury that seemed to seer at his thoughts had yet to set in; Kabukimono was pliable, soft.

 

Dottore would summon him to his labs and instruct him to lay on the table, bare and cold and the puppet would climb onto the metal bench, waiting, not a question on his pitiful mind.

 

It began with small things.

 

Hairs, nails, a needle to the arm and fingers in his mouth stretching it wide to see the teeth lined perfectly within it. Then, hours contorted with limbs unaching and unmoving as The Doctor sat before him, scratching out sketches of his anatomy.

 

But then, he got curious -interested - and he started looking inside, rather than out.

 

The puppet remembered that evening as if it were yesterday. As he closed the door of the lab, the harbinger slid behind him and locked it, wordlessly. Then it was ‘lay down’ and he lay down, clasps closed around his wrists and a strap held him to the table, this time a white sheet atop the cold metal which, upon entering offered some comfort. He didn’t know it was there to catch the mess.

 

Kunikuzushi still felt the phantom sting of a scalpel plunging into his chest and dragging down the centre of it to his lower stomach slow and steady, with the grace of a gentle lover and the ruthless precision of a sociopath. He still felt the vomit-inducing pull of his false skin hardening as it was punctured and clinging to his insides as the harbinger forced it from his body to set it on a tray, sinking his hands into the wires of his body, wordless and unfeeling.

 

When he woke, he felt lost.

 

Who was that? Talking?

 

A muffled voice, urgent and raised over a scream – his scream which tore at his throat red and raw.

 

He struggled against the hands clutching his chest steady (not clasps, not straps) and liquid screamed down the sides of his head tickling his ears, cold and wet flying into splattering droplets onto his cheeks as he ripped himself away from the fingers too gentle and too hesitant to hold his body still.

 

Kunikuzushi choked on a sob and began to retch as someone brushed his body – the softest wires and tubes deep within his viscera burning with agony and gut-wrenching torture. They were gentle – too gentle but resilient and cold through their gloves; he could feel the folds of latex surrounding each finger drag and prod at his ‘organs,’ shifting them into place.

 

He ripped his eyes open, vision white.

 

One, no, two to his left, and one to his right. Shapes. People.

 

Green and green and white (not blue) and red and the person talking kept going on and on into his ear, low and grounded, stroking his head and sweatless brow.

 

“It’s alright – it’s okay, we’re nearly done – nearly finished now. Just a bit longer – “

 

Pain consumed his torso, back arching over the softness of the plush table and he cried, loud and hoarse.

 

He begged for it to stop – for it to be over for what felt like an eternity as they continued fiddling away at his body. When at last the coolness of air on his organs was blocked and what resembled a curved tile, a sculpted piece of porcelain smoothed over his side he trembled with relief – cold all over.

 

“-that’s it, nice and steady now. Easy does it.”

 

Kunikuzushi’s blinked away the wetness blurring his vision and tried locating the voice. Blonde hair, tied back with red.

 

The architect.

 

He scrambled to speak, throat dry as the desert.

 

Desert.

 

The fragment -

 

“S’thos – Seth – is- “

 

Kaveh smoothed a hand over the puppet’s hair, shushing him like a child.

 

“Sethos is alright – he’s going to be okay. He’s on the mend right this moment,” the architect said.

 

The puppet could have cried; he was already crying.

 

And so, he closed his eyes.

 

When he next came to – the room was empty, sans himself. It was blue, this and the softness of the mattress below was familiar. His bedroom in the Sanctuary.

 

For the longest time he lay still, staring at the ceiling of painted stars glowing in the darkness of the night. As the blueish hue of the moon morphed into vibrant violets and yellows that lit the cobalt walls a glowing cyan the door creaked open, and from the corner of his eye he spied a head, below the height of the handle, white and green. He couldn’t find the strength within himself to speak, the tightly wrapped bandages encasing his torso clutched his body tight like a log and exhaustion consumed him.

 

‘Buer,’ he thought.

 

The little god set a plate of sliced fruits on his desk and climbed onto a nearby stool, swinging her feet.

 

Kunikuzushi swallowed down his pride – what was there left of it at that point?

 

He gave into his guilt.

 

‘Buer…I’m sorry.’

 

She paused, looking at him curiously. Silent. Listening.

 

‘I was cruel to you,’ he whispered in his head, ‘I was angry – and scared and I- ‘

 

The puppet stared up at the ceiling, still. Coldness seeped down the face, soaking the pillow.

 

‘-was wrong. You aren’t useless…or disgusting – you’re good. You care.’

 

He thought nothing more through the link.

 

And then, Buer slipped off the stool and wrapped her small arms around his head. Warmth engulfed him whole and he closed his eyes, tears falling over his cheeks as he tucked his face into her shoulder as deeply as he could. Kunikuzushi couldn’t move, but he could cry – and so he did, shoulders trembling with every stunted gasp. Buer said nothing, only held him closer because she knew she could say nothing to console him.

 

What was he to do from there on out?

 

What was he to be?

 

The fragment – Bastet, it had worked, just as he had wanted and dreaded. And soon enough Sethos would wake and he’d find out what had been done to him and then leave.

 

His breath hitched into a choking sob.

 

Kunikuzushi wouldn’t blame him. It was the lesser of two evils, that choice down there in the tombs of Tulaytullah, but it was selfish. He was a selfish creature. He was heartless and unloving. He was a fool – a fool who had sentenced the person who had crawled his way into his life so bright and kind and full of goodness to an endless existence of grief and loss.

 

Sethos would live through the end of the universe. And Kunikuzushi would watch.

 

He begged them not to tell him.

 

Kunikuzushi lay still through check-up and visit. They would lift his upper body from the bed and change the wrapping around his torso, checking the edges of the plate where it met his ‘skin,’ and observe how they melded into two as his body absorbed the material into itself, pulling apart the molecules of it and devouring them into ‘flesh,’ anew.

 

A few times, the architect came to speak with him, marvelling at the intricacies of his structure and the puppet didn’t have the energy to turn him away. Perhaps a year ago he would have scorned the human for seeing him at such a low, there on the table of the operating theatre. But at that moment, he didn’t seem to care.  

 

The days dragged through each other painfully – all muddled into a hazy confusion of dawns and dusks, some slept through entirely. Some spent awake in their entirety.

 

He grew to dread the clicking of his door as it opened, praying it was and wasn’t the person he knew he would have to confront.

 

As it creaked open, he would freeze, hold his breath.

 

Then melt.

 

Just another doctor or Buer.

 

The puppet slept feverishly and woke like death.

 

He tossed in the sheets clutching his side, sweatless and cold through the nights where it was just a little too dark and the shadows crawling up the walls became claws, pincers and swooping blades reaching towards his body.

 

They all started off like a dream.

 

A smile and a touch to his arm. Then, it pulled away, sharp and stinging.

 

“…What?” Sethos said, confused.

 

He would shake his head and exhale in disbelief, stepping backward out of reach.

 

“No, that’s – not – you wouldn’t – “

 

And then he cried, angry and hurt and held his head in his hands, turning his back and falling to the ground, knees clashing onto marble. Kunikuzushi reached out but Sethos moved further and further out of reach until he was a mere spec, but nothing less. There, on the horizon in nothingness where he could be seen and never spoken to. Never touched. Never loved. As he ran into the distance where that figure sat impossibly far, he’d slip and the ground would fall out from under his feet and wake with gasping breaths, throwing his body out of bed.

 

Buer saw his disarray and offered a hand glowing with dendro to his mind but he pushed her away gently. She left with a sad smile, letting him lie with his own thoughts.

 

He hadn’t fallen asleep since and spent the days doing nothing but trying to forget the nightmares that plagued him. It felt useless – not only his efforts to erase them from his mind, but also simply lying there. He couldn’t offer anything of himself to anyone, the fragility of his body prevented any and all activities that might relieve his anxiousness. How could anyone love this? This hollow shell of a body?

 

He curled into himself and closed his eyes.

 

It was when Buer knocked again in the evening that he felt at his limits of it all.

 

He was not in the mood to talk or listen to whatever she had to say – what he wanted was to be alone, away from people before he could cause any more harm.

 

The door opened and he turned into the duvet, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

“Go away, Buer.”

 

“Well, since I’m not her, do I get a pass?”

 

Kunikuzushi froze.

 

And twisted his body, looking over his shoulder to the voice.

 

There he stood, leaning against the doorframe with a hefty portion of his weight in jumper, a thin white robe and slippers. At the corners of his eyes, the skin crinkled and his lips tugged into a rugged grin. Sethos gave him a little wave.

 

Kunikuzushi noticed his chin wobble slightly.

 

He wasn’t sure if he was ready.

 

The puppet lifted himself from the bed and hissed, clutching his side as it shifted painfully and Sethos stumbled forwards from the door, letting it shut behind him. He fell towards the bed, tumbling into the duvet and Kunikuzushi rushed to grab his spindly arms and they collided into a mess of limbs onto the bed, half sat and half laid on top of one another.

 

Sethos let out an ‘oomph,’ and out with it came a kind of retching-groan when the puppet accidentally jabbed him in the ribs (Kunikuzushi couldn’t produce the words to apologise) – the human laughed, loud and bright.

 

“-Oh gods,” he giggled, voice muffled as he tried to untangle himself from the sheets, “I have never heard myself make that sound before.”

 

It felt like it had been a hundred years since he’d heard that voice.

 

With shaky hands, Kunikuzushi pulled the duvet from the other’s head and out came a great mass of curls, brown and white and Sethos burst from the fabric, suddenly inches away.

 

Their eyes met, violet and verdant.

 

In a flurry of movement, Sethos leapt forward, wrapping his arms around the puppet’s neck and clutching his tight. Kunikuzushi’s hands hanged uselessly in the air for a split second before he clung to him back, burrowing his nose into the man’s hair. It was silky and honeyed, tickling slightly. Their bodies pressed together and the puppet noted the softness of the stomach against his – the image of bone jutting out from beneath skin flew from his mind in an instant and he held him tighter, it was warm. The vibrations of Sethos’s laughs turned into what might have been cries of relief.

 

For a long minute, they clutched each other, legs awkwardly arranged in disarray that wasn’t in the least comfortable for either of the two. When the human finally pulled away, he held himself close still, noses practically pressed together so that all the puppet might smell and hear and see was him, there. Their foreheads met and Sethos looked at him with shining eyes.

 

“Hi,” he whispered.

 

Kunikuzushi couldn’t hold back his tears and a choking sob came out in the place of any words.

 

The human’s eyebrows furrowed into a frown and he cupped the other’s face in his hands, stroking over the streaks of wetness.

 

“Hey…what’s goin’ on? Are ya in pain?”

 

Sethos suddenly looked very panicked, face pale.

 

“Oh gods, did I hurt you just now falling into you like an idiot?” He said, voice high,” I did, didn’t I. Oh my – I am so sorry, I am just such a clutz – “

 

The puppet burst out in wet laughter and shook his head.

 

“No – “he whispered, “No, you didn’t – idiot. I just- “

 

Sethos’s shoulders dropped in relief, smile returning, crooked and wry, “Missed me sooo much, then?”

 

In that moment, Kunikuzushi couldn’t find it in himself to deny it and he nodded eagerly, clutching the man’s hands over where they held him, squeezing his fingers firmly. The familiar roughness of callouses and softness of the skin between so hot and alive was like the sun pouring over your face on a summer’s morning.

 

He gazed into the other’s eyes, vision swimming.

 

“Don’t you do that ever again, you got that?”

 

Sethos nodded, looking guilty, “I won’t. Sorry, I must have scared ya pretty bad; Lord Kusanali said ya found me all limp an’ loose in my room. Gods, if I was in your place I woulda freaked so much.”

 

Kunikuzushi felt the shakiness begin to return. ‘Limp and loose’ was a bit of an understatement.

 

“But I’m gettin’ better now, kay?” Sethos said quietly.

 

He wiggled his fingers around, turning his hand around to show a cannula, the edges of the tape securing it a little worn and fuzzy.

 

“I should be gettin’ this thing taken off permanently soon, but this one’s not so bad; that tube down my throat?”

 

Sethos pulled a face of disgust.

 

“That thing was nasty.”

 

Kunikuzushi tried not to picture a hollow tube weaving its way through a nose and down the channel of a throat but his mind jumped to the mental image regardless as the human said something about cake. He nodded a little dizzily, half the words missing from his head.

 

“Wait, what about you? Oh gods – “

 

Sethos looked down at the trunk of bandages wrapped around Kunikuzushi and winced.

 

“- That doesn’t look good – were you speared by a scorpion or somethin’?!”

 

The puppet offered a half-grimace.

 

“More like The Wenut…”

 

Sethos gaped.

 

His mouth hanged open for a moment before he shook his head, laughing incredulously.

 

“Okay, you have got to tell me everything.”

 

Kunikuzushi swallowed.

 

The human adjusted himself on the bed to get into a more comfortable position, heaving his legs properly onto the mattress with a grunt and that crawling sensation of dread came running up Kunikuzushi’s back again at the sight of him in full view.

 

Sethos wore a soft green cardigan, thick and woollen which brought out a certain glow to his skin, looking a lot more radiant than he had laid out there in the open Sanctuary. His cheeks were flushed a gentle pink and the corners of his mouth seemed to be etched into a smile without repose – he looked so…happy. And well.

 

Two warm hands slipped into his own, holding them together unreasonably carefully and Kunikuzushi took a sharp breath.

 

Before him, Sethos waited eager and patient.

 

“Well?” he said, voice teasing, “Go on then, spill.”

 

The puppet stilled.

 

His body seemed to cease function as he met eyes with the human. They glinted bright in the lights of his lamp.

 

Sethos tilted his head, then, his face fell into something gentler. He squeezed the hands in his and shuffled a little closer.

 

“Okay, somethin’s definitely up,” he said softly, “…Is it that thing Cyno said you wanted to tell me?”

 

Kunikuzushi’s expression must have given it away by the look in the other’s eyes.

 

He hesitated, then nodded ever so slightly. No words seemed to be able to reach past his tightened throat but – he had to tell him. He had to do it.

 

Sethos stared at him through thick, dark lashes.

 

“Look, you don’t need to tell me right now, alright? If it’s upsettin’ ya then we can just chill today, and you can come to me in your own time when you’re ready.”

 

A burst of panic shot through the puppet.

 

“No!” he blurted.

 

It came out sharp and urgent and before the human could say anything more, Kunikuzushi spoke once more because he knew himself better than to stop there; if he didn’t say it right there and right at that moment then he’d never summon the courage to do it and that would be cruel. That would be inhumane to do to the person who held him so gently, who spoke to him with such care and consideration, even now.

 

He had indulged himself enough – it was time to rip away that illusion. The falsehood that was his own humanity.

 

“I – “the puppet began shakily.

 

In front of him, the human let the air sit in silence, waiting patiently for Kunikuzushi to go on and that somehow made it all worse, so much worse.

 

“I did something to you,” the puppet said, not daring to meet the other’s eyes, “I – I chose something for you that I can’t ever take back – that you can never change for the rest of your life.”

 

Sethos frowned a little from the corner of his eye, then nodded slowly.

 

“Okay…is this about Bastet? Because I can only thank you for that, Lord Kusanali told me all about it. Look, it’s fine, I was basically in a coma, there was no chance I could make any decisions myself and I trust ya to be the one to make them for me. Besides – “

 

Kunikuzushi’s lips trembled as he pressed them together, shaking his head.

 

“No – no, you don’t understand – “

 

“I think I do,” Sethos said, leaning in more, “You saved my life, didn’t you? I don’t care how it was done, if it was this way or that, it’s alright.”

 

“It’s not alright, Sethos!” Kunikuzushi gasped, trying to tug himself away but the human held him close.

 

“Then what? Tell me what’s goin’ on, cause it’s making you unhappy and I hate seein’ that – “

 

“Sethos, you can’t die!”

 

The puppet’s chest heaved.

 

His eyes glued to the floor, vision blurry.

 

“You can’t…die,” he said quietly, “Ever.”

 

Sethos was silent, his grip on the other’s hands loosened a little.

 

In the air, a terrible emptiness hung. 

 

“That was the deal – with Bastet – with the charm and the seal and – “

 

Kunikuzushi’s core shook with an unnamed emotion. Was it relief? Or perhaps regret? Whatever it was, it didn’t matter now.

 

He’d done it.

 

“- It was my choice…to do that.”

 

Silence.

 

He waited for those words. For Sethos to look at him and that fury to swell up in his eyes, the pinch of his brows, mouth curling into an expression of disgust and dismay. For the anger that he felt at himself to finally be inflicted upon him like he deserved but –

 

It never came.

 

He glanced up.

 

Before him, Sethos’s head had fallen down a little. His shoulders had slackened and face was obscured by thick curls.

 

He said nothing.

 

An awful, hollow feeling tore at Kunikuzushi’s throat.

 

“…I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, because there was nothing else he could think to say. Nothing but those two useless words to console the person who he’d subjected to that.

 

Sethos was still for another long moment, and then, a drop of wetness fell onto the back of the puppet’s hand.

 

Horrible, gut-wrenching guilt welled up, swelling into something larger than any words he could say, any language spoken or not that he might ever learn.

 

A second tear fell, then a third.

 

Kunikuzushi pulled his hands out for the other’s hold and the coolness of air upon empty skin had never felt so icy.

 

He pulled them into his chest, clutching them close and his gaze dropped into his lap. Perhaps he had just retracted his right to even look at the human.

 

Sniffles and hitched breaths filled the empty room like smoke, accumulating with every moment into a great cloud of horrible emotions that clogged the puppet’s every thought with its burning smog.

 

His eyes stung – but he tried his best to blink the tears away, squeezing them shut so that they might not fall. He wasn’t the one who could cry.

 

With a trembling breath, quiet as he could make it, he turned away from the human, swiping at his face, soaking his sleeve.

 

Kunikuzushi grieved; so that was the end.

 

That was it.

 

He let himself sit for another moment, moving to leave but then – he froze.

 

Something pressed to his back.

 

His eyes fluttered open, staring forwards in the silence of the room.

 

It was warm.

 

Like the sun.

 

A hand slipped its way through the inner side of his elbow, then another on the other side, and they clung to the bandages around his stomach, gentle yet firm.

 

Behind his ear, he heard soft breaths, they tickled at his skin, hot and the puppet’s body began to melt, but he held himself as firm as he might manage until a head fell onto the blade of his shoulder, nuzzling into his back.

 

“Thank you,” a voice whispered.

 

And Kunikuzushi fell.

 

He fell all over again.

 

He searched for the right words, confusion, shock and fear, fear that he was dreaming once more shook through his body.

 

“…W-what?”

 

Sethos spoke into his skin, it sank through his body, soaking it to its core like molten light.

 

“Thank you…for doin’ that for me,” he said wetly, “I’m sure it was real hard to make that choice.”

 

The puppet couldn’t move an inch.

 

What?

 

 He managed to shake his head, the motion was jolting and robotic.

 

“Sethos, you – e-everyone that you care about – everyone you love will die. They’ll die right in front of your eyes and you won’t be able to do anything to stop it, don’t you understand what I’ve done to you?”

 

At this, the human raised his head to let it sit on Kunikuzushi’s shoulder and looked him in the face with teary eyes.

 

Sethos’s smile came weakly, it wobbled but beneath that it spoke only of love.

 

“I understand,” he whispered.

 

‘Then why won’t you hate me?’ Kunikuzushi begged internally.

 

“But…you won’t. Die, that is.”

 

He supposed that was true.

 

“Now I’m sure you know what you’re talkin’ about and you’ve had your share of grief, and I have too but I know myself,” the human said, sniffling quietly, “And I’ve come to know you and I’m certain – I am certain that, whatever happens it’ll be different. Because you’re here, and now…I guess I will be too so we can stick together, right?”

 

No words came forward.

 

The puppet listened, watching those watery green eyes shine like gold and his lips fell open.

 

“I’m not sayin’ it’s gonna be easy but…I think we can do it.”

 

Sethos’s brows drew into an expression so kind it stole the breath from Kunikuzushi’s throat.

 

“We’ll work through it all together, whatever happens,” he said, then looked down a little bashfully, “That is, if you’ll have me?”

 

And the puppet searched.

 

He searched within himself and he wasn’t even sure why he was doing it because he knew what the answer was. He knew himself.

 

Kunikuzushi nodded, that tremble returning but it was not fear that shook him this time, no, in that moment it was happiness beyond elation.

 

“Of course,” he whispered.

 

Sethos smiled.

 

They clung together, there in his bedroom in the Sanctuary of Surasthana, lounging and talking for what might have been hours. The flurrying storm of emotions within Kunikuzushi settled into a gentle breeze and for not even one moment did Sethos release the puppet’s hands from his grip, fiddling with each finger, skin warming his own into a blazing horizon of light that spread across his body like wildfire.

 

As the sun sank beneath the hills, they conversed softly and in those words, many an apology was offered and rejected and tears shed as they shared the details of their time apart, from the strange dreams, to nightmares to the investigation at the Temple (at which Sethos faltered a little, taking long, deep breaths to pause as emotion choked at his words).

 

Kunikuzushi had been wrong.

 

He and the priest had been wrong because they forgot one crucial variable of the matter and that was the fact that Sethos wasn’t alone. Buer, Cyno, the forest watcher, all those from the desert, the city and the rainforest, Sethos had made into his own family. One that he had chosen for himself this time.

 

As the human clutched his hands in his own, the puppet wondered if he too might be considered part of that family.

 

The subject came to the puppet’s fears.

 

Sethos listened patiently and it all seemed to come tumbling from his mouth in a manner that was simply impossible to stop; it was at that moment that Kunikuzushi marvelled once more at the human – at his compassion, at his care, and at the deep seated, undeniable empathy in his eyes. The guilt he felt for misjudging the man was overwhelmed by the awe of the warmth of his character. On and on they spoke, until as last, the human fell quiet to listen to the story of Kunikuzushi’s journey through the bounding dunes of the desert.

 

He laughed, throwing his head of curls back into the pillow.

 

It was bliss.

 

“Are you serious – an aranara? Those little guys just can’t get enough of you.”

 

Kunikuzushi offered a small smile, to be talking so simply like this, it felt almost like a dream. The best of dreams.

 

“I guess…I don’t know why they keep doing that; I didn’t even see where he waddled off to after the fight so I couldn’t thank him.”

 

Sethos’s eyes glinted with excitement.

 

“’The fight?’”

 

The puppet rolled his eyes.

 

Of course this idiot would be most thrilled at the fighting-the-giant-desert-worm bit, luckily he had no intentions of trying it for himself and it seemed that the details of his own endeavours down in the cavern was enough to suffice his thirst for knowledge, listening with eager ears and chiming in with gasps and cries at each twist and turn.

 

“Then I just flew to the city and that was it really.”

 

Sethos raised an eyebrow, mouth agape.

 

“’That was it?’” he said incredulously, “Dude – you fought a giant billion foot tall, super-mega strong, gravity defyin’ snake worm serpent thing, AND with like, under half your strength, that is beyond awesome.”

 

Kunikuzushi ducked his head into the pillow, heat crawling up his neck.

 

“…not like I had a choice, idiot. It had the fragment anyway so I had to get it or you’d – you know.”

 

“Well, technically ya didn’t have to – did ya?” Sethos said cheekily.

 

He paused to strike a pose of deep thought, searching the air of the room with a pursed brow.

 

“What was it that Lord Kusanali said? ‘Fought for me with…’ ah yes! ‘An abundance of love!’ That was it!”

 

Kunikuzushi was going to have words with the little god when he saw her next.

 

“I – that’s not,” he stuttered, “She’s always making up stupid metaphors like that, don’t think about it too hard.”

 

“Really?” Sethos drawled.

 

He sighed, turning away from the puppet dramatically.

 

“Well, I guess I shouldn’ta got my hopes up then,” he said, sniffling loud, “And here I was, thinkin’ ya really loved me. Guess that’s not the case then – I think I’m gonna have to leave you for forever.”

 

“No!” Kunikuzushi said quickly.

 

Then, he took one look at the human who had peaked over his shoulder with the driest of eyes and tugged out the pillow from under his head to smack him with it. Sethos laughed, blocking it with his arms and kicking at the duvet childishly.

 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, darlin’ I was just teasin’!” he cried as he was assaulted with linen.

 

Kunikuzushi pouted.

 

He, a 502-year-old mega-evil creation of destruction, pouted.

 

With a roll of his eyes, he slowly put the pillow down and Sethos looked up at him through the flurry of feathers covering the bed. They fell through the air, slower than slow, one landing on the highest point of his cheek.

 

The human smiled dumbly.

 

“Well, I love you.”

 

Kunikuzushi blinked.

 

Heat shot through his body and Sethos just continued to peer up at him through half-lidded eyes, hair a mess of curls, static and tangled.

 

The human tilted his head into the sheets and rubbed the back of his neck, arm looking a little strained in its movement.

 

His face flushed pink.

 

“I don’t need to hear anythin’ ya don’t want to say,” he said, the smile audible in his voice, “I just wanted you to know. That. I do.”

 

The puppet’s legs trembled a little where he knelt and simply stared, mind a haze of blankness. It was warm, quite warm – was the room suddenly hotter? He stopped breathing and a hand rubbing at his knuckles jolted him out of his stupor.

 

“Aww, did I break you?” Sethos said teasingly.

 

Kunikuzushi looked down; he saw the most beautiful person he had ever known.

 

“…you mean that?”

 

“Well, ya think I’d say it if I didn’t?” the human laughed, “Course I mean it, silly.”

 

Sethos then paused and sat, pushing himself up with shaky arms.

 

“Oh gods, your bandages – they’re comin’ off.”

 

The puppet looked down to see that they had indeed slipped loose from his torso, sliding down his body to reveal the irritated edges of his skin against the semi-absorbed porcelain. A part of him thought to scramble to hide it, to cover its ugliness with his hands but another held his arms firm at his sides.

 

All the while, Sethos had slipped off the bed, stumbling as he hit the floor and rumbling through the drawers loudly, muttering to himself.

 

Kunikuzushi looked at him, mind still foggy with that haze of heat and the human wobbled forward, fresh bandage in hand.

 

“May I?” he asked.

 

The puppet watched as his hair shined in the dim glow of the room’s lights, each curl glimmering at every rounded twist and as Sethos looked up with wide, green eyes, brow’s drawn together, he could only muster a nod in reply.

 

A hand gently lifted his arms to unravel the old wrapping from his body, slow and steady and as the human reached around to grab the end behind Kunikuzushi’s waist their bodies came together closer, one gaze focused on the wound at his side and the other on the soft curve of that face, golden. As the fabric finally came free from his body, Sethos took a second to survey the skin beneath but made haste to unravel the fresh roll and re-wrap it with practised ease, checking in to make sure that it wasn’t too tight every few loops.

 

He tucked the edge of it in, seemingly pleased with him work.

 

“There. All done.”

 

Sethos peered up at him with a soft grin.

 

Kunikuzushi surged forward and kissed him.

 

For a split second, there was no movement against his lips and the puppet thought that he had perhaps moved too fast but then a hand came to cup his cheek, shaking a little against his skin and soft lips suckled at his mouth back with a whine of surprise. Hot, wet breaths licked at his tongue and Sethos caressed Kunikuzushi’s face as they kissed, careful yet desperate all the same, drinking from each other as if starved for it.

 

The puppet’s eyes fluttered open ever so slightly as it slowed a little and at last, their lips pulled away from one another, wet and puffy.

 

Sethos’s faze was ablaze and the tips of his ear burned a shade of red he had never seen before.

 

It was a funny sight. A smile tugged at the puppet’s mouth.

 

“What, never had someone kiss you properly?”

 

The human shook his head, words breathless, “…Never kissed anyone before – woah.”

 

Sethos reach up slowly to feel the wetness upon his lips and his eyes glistened with stars. His tongue darted out to swipe over it.

 

Kunikuzushi watched him carefully.

 

“How was it?”

 

“Very – uh, very nice,” the other said dumbly.

 

He cleared his throat, “Very nice – d’ya mind if we do that again?”

 

A chuckle burst from the puppet’s lips and he shook his head, pressing a fleeting peck to the other’s mouth.

 

He hesitated a little before he spoke his next words.

 

“…There’s no need to rush - we’ve got a long while to do what whatever you want, stupid.”

 

A tiny hint of doubt still scratched at his mind at the implication but it was all swept away in one quick motion at the human’s expression.

 

Sethos yawned, smiling as he swung his arms around the other’s neck.

 

“Forever is a long while, huh?” he said idly, “I’m gonna expect a lotta kisses comin’ my way then. Don’t you forget that, eh?”

 

Kunikuzushi’s eyes became wet.

 

He nodded.

 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Notes:

(ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ comfort!
had a bit of a cry writing this bit to be completely honest, hope you all enjoy this softness🥺
(I warned you guys not to trust a single thing i say in replies RAKAKAAKAKAKA)
that being said...
...back to the angst in 3...2...1!

nahhhh im jokin ya, i've got plans for a lovely final chapter for thursday/friday and then a bonus one prob on da weekend!! thank you all for reading, it means the world
edit: why nobody trust me T-T...
⸜( ´ ꒳ ` )⸝

Chapter 14

It took several more weeks before both the two of them managed to recover completely. Well, the definition of ‘completely’ seemed to vary; for Sethos, it was whenever the doctors gave him the all clear and for Kunikuzushi, his interpretation of it seemed to be whether or not he could fly without his body imploding. Luckily, the Temple leader managed to keep a diligent eye on him to prevent any accidents from premature attempts which involved many puppy-eyes and impromptu tactical cuddle sessions, dragging him from the edge of the balcony onto the bed with a whine.

 

Slowly, Sethos’s strength returned to him too and on the day of his discharge, on which he received a very adorable sticker from Buer and yet another card of well wishes (like the puppet had on his), he stepped out from the great marble doors, pushing them open with eager arms.

 

The weight of them sat comfortably in his hands and the light of the sun seeped through the crack between to shine upon his face, warming his skin like a blazing fire, for by then, spring had finally set foot upon the land once more.

 

He inhaled deeply, slow and steady.

 

Hints of floral and nectar met his senses and along the path little daffodil shoots, primroses and vibrant camellias had begun to bloom, not yet in their prime but in that glorious stage of growing to their full potential. The wonderful bliss of change, ahead of which a future of bright blossoms waited, full and alive.

 

“Enjoying your freedom?”

 

Sethos peered over his shoulder and grinned.

 

“Sure am,” he said, offering a hand, “C’mon, walk with me.”

 

Kunikuzushi gave him a shy smile and intertwined their fingers, rubbing a thumb over the back of his hand.

 

“We’ve got quite a few hours to kill, you know. The feast isn’t until sunset.”

 

The human lead them forward, a little skip in his step as they walked up the path slowly beneath the sunlight breaching through the leaves to dapple upon the ground like embers.

 

“More alone time with you, darlin’, don’t ya mean?” he said, leaning in to press a kiss to his companion’s cheek.

 

Kunikuzushi’s senses homed in on the softness of lips against skin which he was sure lingered for just a moment longer than usual and surveyed the human carefully.

 

He took a second to think, giving the other a long look up and down. Sethos smiled simply, pointing out a particularly beautiful flower along the path and the puppet dismissed the idea, a little embarrassed and resumed their walk.

 

As they reached the topmost ledge of the rooftops, Sethos reached up to put his hands upon it and tried to heave himself up with little success as his elbows seemed to buckle under his own weight. He cursed under his breath, giving his hands a little stretch.

 

Kunikuzushi bit his lip, moving to lift the human but Sethos pushed him away gently.

 

“It’s alright, I got it,” he said, grinning.

 

After another half-successful attempt, he managed to pull himself over the ledge with a grunt and a little ‘whoop’ of victory. Sethos kicked a knee up on the tiles and then, finally stood with the puppet following quickly, practically glued to his back until the man seemed to be stable on his feet.

 

Sethos stretched his arms up into the air, spinning slowly and breathed, long and deep.

 

“It’s been a long while since we’ve been here, huh,” he said, stopping to take a look at the view with a whistle.

 

Over the horizon, the bounding hills curved into each other, brightened by the edges kissed by sunlight, glowing with all the colours of life and the swooping bends of the river flowed freely, released from the icy edges of winter at last. High above, a dusk bird floated along in the gentle breeze and they both tilted their heads upwards to watch as another raced to catch up with a small chirp.

 

Kunikuzushi hummed.

 

“It’s nice.”

 

It was indeed nice. A very nice day.

 

Perhaps it had also been a long while since one of those either. When he came to think of it, that edge of tension that had yet to leave his shoulders there in the depths of the Sanctuary where he might be inspected or Sethos whisked off for a scan or appointment at any moment had lifted without him even noticing it. The plate upon his torso had been fully absorbed by his body, however that worked, and the human – well, he was a marvel like he always had been.

 

Kunikuzushi stole a glance at him, eyes running over the curve of his cheek, the freckles had mostly faded from the winter season and his skin still looked a little paler than the norm, but the puppet suspected that too could be explained by the lack of sun, rather than an abnormality to the body.

 

In his observations of Sethos, his knowledge of the humans had improved.

 

Sethos was kind. He was gentle and he had more love to give than anyone ought to have. He was sad sometimes, like all humans, like he himself was too, but it passed, having been left to wash over him in full before drifting off downstream where the remnants of it might remain but never taint the waters.

 

Sethos was bright; he was brighter than the sun itself.

 

This new skill was not an accomplishment that he would be able to prove via a test or exam. It wasn’t a list of straight, black and white facts, but more abstract than that. It was the kind of familiarity that could not be put into words, a silently shared line of emotion, something uniquely Kunikuzushi’s and Sethos’s.

 

He raised an eyebrow and gave the human a little nudge, “Did you drag me here just for the view or…?”

 

The human smiled, little lines crinkling at their edges and shook his head

 

“Actually, Lord Kusanali said it would be alright for me to try an’ summon Bastet so I wanted ya here with me; you spoke to her before, didn’t ya? It’ll be like a fun reunion!”

 

Kunikuzushi nodded, but then hesitated.

 

“Are you sure you want to now?” he said, fighting back the frown from his face, “You just got out - I don’t want you collapsing like an idiot because you overdid things.”

 

“Pah, I’ll be fine,” Sethos laughed, “I think it’s you who we gotta be worried about later. Don’t want cha turned into a Wenut Kebab again, hm?”

 

The puppet scowled, mumbling, “That was one time okay…”

 

Sethos chuckled and shook his head with a doubtful look.

 

“Alright, if ya say so. Now – how do I…”

 

He placed his hand over his heart, frowning a little as he tried to feel the source of energy within and at his side, the puppet watched his every move with the eyes of an eagle never straying from its target. Sethos’s lower lip twitched and it poked out a little, glistening in the sun.

 

Kunikuzushi ignored it. Definitely.

 

After a long moment, the human let out a little ‘ahah!’ and as he brought his other hand up to cage his chest, the tips of his fingers began to glow a vibrant reddish-purple, crackling gently and he drew them away from his skin slowly, the form of the light growing with it.

 

In the palms of his hands a ball of energy sat which began to wriggle. The thing turned onto its side and began to grow, quickly becoming larger than the human could hold and he rushed to set it upon the rooftop gently.

 

Against the green of the tiles, its light reflected, setting it ablaze with purple.

 

Two rounded ears popped out of the shape and it shuddered, shaking them quickly before at last, opening its eyes, green.

 

Sethos smiled, kneeling before Bastet to bow his head.

 

“Lady Bastet, it is an honour to meet ya,” he said, profound thanks seeping into his every word.

 

She bowed back, nodding her head into his knee.

 

“And an honour to see you outside the realm of dreams, young Lord,” she purred, “You look well.”

 

“I am, thanks to you.”

 

Sethos gave Kunikuzushi a grin.

 

He took in the perfection that was his face, cheeks warm. In his humble opinion, he had never met a more beautiful person. Not so much in the physical sense, though he certainly wasn’t lacking in that category, but within.

 

There was a certain edge to Kunikuzushi, a biting lining to his every movement, word and action that was just brimming with emotion hidden within. Sethos knew him better than to simply look over it – it was the hidden gem of all his aspects, that he cared so much more than you’d think, that he loved more than you’d ever believe because he himself knew that love.

 

Perhaps he didn’t need to hear it aloud just yet, but still, that was what made him so beautiful.

 

He took up Kunikuzushi’s hand once more and gave it a squeeze.

 

“And a few others.”

 

At this, the lioness looked pleased.

 

“It is wise to acknowledge the kindness of companions, perhaps it might be easily overlooked in times of peril, but once the dust settles, the air clears and it is then that you must speak. Which is why I too, must thank you.”

 

Sethos frowned, “Me? Why?”

 

The lion purred, low and gentle.

 

“Your soul, young Lord.”

 

She nudged her nose into his chest a little.

 

“Within it, I see such purity. I am glad to be acquainted with such a noble host, it was rather dark down there in the old city, but here, I feel brightness beyond light. I feel that our servitude to our Lord shall proceed without conflict; for that I am relieved.”

 

Sethos lips fell apart, looking a little embarrassed.

 

He nodded.

 

“I mean…I think I’m pretty normal but, thank you?”

 

Bastet’s laugh came like a stunted roar and she shook her head to herself, amused.

 

“I fear this circle of gratitude may never end if this discussion proceeds as it has. Never mind that, young Lord. Tonight is a night of celebration, is it not?”

 

She looked to the puppet with keen eyes.

 

“And you,” she said, “You shall accompany him?”

 

Kunikuzushi nodded.

 

“Yes – “

 

“You are courting him also?”

 

The puppet spluttered for words, heat creeping up his neck as she cut him off and at his side, Sethos laughed loud and hearty.

 

Kunikuzushi clenched his jaw at the glint of mischief in her eyes.

 

“I don’t remember you being this sly.”

 

Bastet chuckled.

 

“I don’t remember you being so gentle,” she purred back, “Good company tends to offer a new side to us all, don’t you agree?”

 

The puppet paused.

 

A new side.

 

Kunikuzushi looked down to the hand over his – the skin enveloping it was warm and held him carefully, chest full.

 

He supposed that rang true.

 

Upon the rooftop, the three conversed for a few hours more, eventually moving to lounge over the tiles with Bastet bathing in the heat of the sunlight with the puppet and human at her side, shoulders pressed together and a hand through the crook of an elbow. The lioness was perhaps more curious than both of them had assumed and she asked many a question regarding the city life and the events of the world since her time.

 

Sethos was also curious about her life as a priest and inquired about the city of Tulaytullah before it had fallen and the two seemed happy to discuss Hermanubis’s form when she had served him all those years ago. The broadness of his shoulders was a topic of particular interest and Kunikuzushi looked down, not so subtly, to his own shoulders.

 

They were broad too.

 

In his opinion.

 

Once the sun began to fall onto the horizon and the hue it cast over the last faded to a warmer orange, the lioness yawned and began to bid them a good night. It seemed that her physical manifestation strained her own body as well as Sethos’s, luckily not to an extreme degree.

 

But she did offer once last comment to the duo before she slinked back into her host.

 

“Do be wary of cacti on your journey,” she said, nodding to them gravely.

 

Sethos frowned.

 

Kunikuzushi did too, a sinking feeling setting into his chest.

 

Was this a warning? A vision of sorts?

 

“What d’ya mean?” the human said, confused.

 

And the lion stretched back onto her hind legs with another yawn.

 

“They are sharp, young Lord.”

 

Bastet looked him dead in the eye.

 

“You should be sure to avoid them, lest you find yourself in a... prickly situation.”

 

Sethos’s jaw dropped, cringing.

 

“W-where did you learn that from?”

 

That ominous feeling drained from the puppet in an instant and what replaced it was grating disbelief. Kunikuzushi winced.

 

“From my Lord – we are able to communicate as you and young Lord Cyno slumber, he said that your brother had mentioned ‘puns’ are a popular form of humour in this era,” Bastet replied, looking rather pleased with herself.

 

Before the two could dispute that claim she disappeared into the human’s chest without another word and they were left with only the silence of the light breeze and distant ambience of the city.

 

Sethos turned to his companion.

 

They burst into a fit of laughter.

 

It was another hour before they were scheduled to meet with those from the city and the rainforest at the gates, it had been the god of wisdom’s suggestion for them all to make the journey together but Kunikuzushi had a feeling that she just wanted to see them off in one group because she could not attend herself with her archon duties and all.

 

They returned to the puppet’s room for a change of clothes, where on the bed laid out was a rather well-made tunic of gold and violet for Sethos and for Kunikuzushi, a similar garment to what he usually wore only in gentler colours, soft whites and light blues (both curtesy of Auntie Amani). As they turned their backs to each other to change, the human’s face ignited into pink, fumbling a little with the buttons up his chest with hot hands. When at last he was dressed, he turned to see his companion sat upon the bed tucking his top into his shorts and he sat himself besides him, brushing away a stray strand of violet.

 

Kunikuzushi looked up at him.

 

Once he had finished, he gazed at the human’s body and began to lean in closer. A strangled half-cry caught in Sethos’s throat as fingers reached out to brush the skin of his chest, soft and cold. His eyes glued to the wall, trying very hard not to look down and there was a tug at the fabric of his tunic, a small, dull ‘click,’ then, the other pulled away.

 

Sethos’s eyes darted downwards.

 

Oh.

 

“Buttoned the wrong hole, stupid.”

 

A hand smoothed over fabric and the human exhaled slowly, cheeks burning.

 

“T-thanks.”

 

Kunikuzushi smiled, it was a half smirk that told Sethos that there was less than pure intentions behind his every move and the human pushed him away with a grin.

 

“Let’s get goin’, we’re gonna be late,” he giggled.

 

At the city’s entrance, the rest of the group had already gathered chattering away trying to their best to not block the gates and force any poor merchant with wagons to try and scale the 3ft wall as an alternative.

 

Kaveh spotted them first from afar, waving enthusiastically in the distance as they jogged down the path to greet them all.

 

“Heyy, how ya’ll doin?” Sethos said, accepting a fist bump from Cyno and a tight hug from Tighnari who quickly moved on to greet the puppet too, sans the hug, for he knew better than to try that.

 

“Ah well, you know how it is,” the architect sighed, “Lots more commissions when the weather heats up and that’s always a hassle…but, anyway, not about me today, it’s about you!”

 

Sethos shook his head and waved the comment off.

 

“Nah, I invited you all to catch up properly an’ have a good time; you an’ me are gonna have a long talk about what’s happenin’, I need all the scoop.”

 

Kaveh laughed, “Well, if there’s wine about then…”

 

Out from the small crowd came forward a tiny figure of white and green who offered a smile and a wave to which Sethos returned eagerly, making that particular face to the puppet that told him that he was resisting cooing audibly.

 

“Did you enjoy your talk with Bastet?” Buer said softly.

 

“We did, thank you,” the human replied, then frowned, “It’s a shame ya can’t come along with us, I know ya got god duties an’ all but…”

 

She shook her head, “It’s alright, we already had a wonderful party; it was an honour to be invited away.”

 

Buer took a second to think before turning to the puppet with a special glint in her eyes.

 

“To make up for it, I have a guest that I hope you might be able to take along with you in my stead.”

 

With a wave of her hand there was a shuffling in the bushes nearby and out popped…a leaf? Then, a little round creature came waddling out and Kunikuzushi’s mouth fell open.

 

“Blue Nara!” it said, running to him on its tiny legs and circling him excitedly.

 

The puppet fumbled for words.

 

“You – “

 

“Oh my gods,” Sethos cut in, kneeling down, “Absolutely you can come - aren’t you just the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!”

 

He patted the forest spirits head which the Aranimba leaned into eagerly.

 

“Simhanara found a home!” it said cheerfully, giving the human a pat on the chest back.

 

“Yes! Dunno what that means but you are so right!”

 

Kunikuzushi watched as the two played with each other, Sethos letting the little thing feel his soft hair and the aranara in turn offering a little dried nut from some kind of invisible pocket of air which the human gracefully accepted with a gentle of hug, carefully avoiding the delicate leaf atop Aranimba’s head.

 

At his side, Alhaitham gave them both a nod and the faintest of smiles (somehow this man managed to be more deadpan than the General Mahamatra).

 

“You look well, both of you.”

 

“Did somebody say bofa? Bof-” Cyno chimed in, immediately cut off by a gloved hand slapping over his mouth.

 

Tighnari’s ear twitched as he whispered something to the General, inaudible but undeniably some kind of exasperated warning of ‘I know where your Casket of Tomes is and I won’t hesitate to do the unspeakable.’

 

A collective breath of relief seemed to be released from across the group at the forest watcher’s quick actions but not from everyone.

 

“Now just one moment, young man – what were you about to say?” Faruzan said curiously as she finished applying a rather dated looking lipstick almost swiped to its end with pinpoint precision.

 

She stared at them, half on hip.

 

Sethos’s brain froze. Aranimba copied him, the two of them looking almost identical in expression.

 

“Uhhh…”

 

His eyes darted to the puppet in a way that spelled out ‘H.E.L.P’ because if he knew that woman as well as he thought he did, she was one moment away from trying to unravel whatever horrible joke they were about to be subjected to and that wasn’t what any of them needed as entertainment during a hike across the desert.

 

The puppet crossed his arms and tilted his chin up just a little.

 

“If everyone’s here, then let’s go already. No use waiting around.”

 

At the sound of his voice, the group seemed to gather themselves and as they moved to pick up their bags Sethos dipped down to grab Collei’s for her, who looked a little overwhelmed at the commotion and rubbed her shoulder with a few inaudible words of comfort.

 

He turned over his shoulder and mouthed a ‘thank you.’

 

Kunikuzushi took their shared satchel and looped it over his head. He offered a roll of his eyes and a fond smile back as the party finally took off to the sands, waving goodbye to the little god at the gates.

 

For the most part, the puppet was happy to let Sethos mingle with his invited guests for it was evident that he had been deprived of any kind of group interaction for a while which Kunikuzushi himself neither understood nor envied but that extra shine to his eyes made hanging back and watching him worth it. And it wasn’t as if he himself was alone – Aranimba made sure to stick to his side, kicking little tufts of sand up in the air as he did.

 

They passed through Aaru Village to a roaring cheer from the Flame Mane as she clamped a hand onto Sethos’s shoulder with a wicked grin.

 

“Looking good, little guy,” she said, then turned to the puppet.

 

Dehya offered a grimace.

 

“I heard you got caught up pretty badly on the way back, sorry about that.”

 

He tried not to be too embarrassed at the fact that he had almost been taken down by that thing. Sure, it was a 300ft tall serpent but he was no amateur fighter himself. But then again, it wasn’t too good to dwell on a past he couldn’t change.

 

“No use apologising – not like you’re the Wenut,” Kunikuzushi spat with a pout, “Stupid worm.”

 

The woman threw her head back with a chortle. She pointed at the puppet with a gold, clawed hand.

 

“You’re a funny, kid. I like you.”

 

After they’d navigated the remaining desert with extra care, putting Cyno on pupa-spotting duty in case said ‘worm’ had migrated eastwards sooner than the seasons expected, they arrived at the Temple with miraculously no injuries and no mysterious disappearances from the party.

 

Sethos practically ran into the Temple, shouting at the top of his lungs to its residents with a wide smile and crashed into a hug with an older looking woman, soon surrounded by others joining in with the embrace, teary-eyed and red-nosed.

 

He spent a good ten minutes introducing everyone in detail looking like a ball of energy on his feet despite the late hour of the day (the priests seemed to take particular interest in the aranara mingling about the party with happy little jumps) before they were all led to the banquet hall where upon a large table a variety of foods of all manner of colour, texture, size and shape graced a thousand plates. But without a doubt, the star of the show was a tower of meat which one old priest seemed to look particularly proud of.

 

Sethos embraced the man tightly.

 

“Charmian, I love ya so much,” he said, words a little sniffly.

 

The old man gave his back a gentle pat and laughed, low and gruff.

 

“Anything for you, my boy.”

 

At the table, everyone settled into their seats and for a moment Kunikuzushi felt a bit lost, standing still before a hand slipped into his, warm and calloused and Sethos led him to the stool beside his with a watery smile.

 

Without words, the human shuffled his own seat closer so that their hands might rest upon his leg, accepting a glass of wine each for them both with a grateful smile.

 

Sethos squeezed the puppet’s fingers as the table dimmed into chatter between all the guests.

 

“You okay?” he whispered, breath tickling at his ear, “Sorry, I know you’re not the biggest fan of parties.”

 

Kunikuzushi squeezed back and shook his head.

 

“It’s fine. This is your family, isn’t it? My stupid feelings don’t matter.”

 

The human frowned, knocking their shoulders together, “Hey, your feelings aren’t stupid. I care about ya so I want ya to be comfortable, m’kay?”

 

Kunikuzushi was momentarily stunned by the concern in those large, green eyes and that hazy hotness returned to his head, slowing the world to a blurry halt.

 

Sethos smiled.

 

“Anytime ya wanna ditch the party, we can. Besides, I’ve got some super cool relics I wanna show ya anyway – maybe they could come in handy with your research.”

 

The puppet nodded dumbly and let the warmth rush over him. A smile of his own tugged at his lips.

 

He had a feeling that wouldn’t be necessary this time.

 

From across the table, Tighnari peered at them slyly over his wine and Sethos rolled his eyes, mouthing something to the fox before tucking into the feast with one hand. Half of what he shovelled onto his own plate seemed to somehow end up on Kunikuzushi’s plate and as Sethos turned to look at his companion, bright-eyed and happy, the puppet leaned in to press a kiss to the other’s lips there, at the table of the feast, and ate too.

 

The night passed slowly with many a laugh and jest from around the party, climaxing in a rather intense game of Mehen between Sethos and his brother who took a team under each of their sleeves to gather a group effort to calculate their next moves. Alas, despite a valiant effort from the General, the practised expertise of the Temple leader triumphed and what followed came a speech of victory, arm over Cyno’s shoulder, toasting a thanks to all the guests.

 

Sethos raised his cup to the skies and looked down from where he stood upon the table to where Kunikuzushi sat, the most elated of smiles upon his face. The puppet smiled back, genuine joy of his own warming his body whole.

 

Once the food had been cleared, a few priests began to play a variety of lyres, lutes and flutes, collaborating to create a rather jolly melody that invited even the most stoic of characters to tap their feet to the beat. At their knees, Aranimba looked over their instruments with a look of awe, plump little body boogeying to the rhythm.

 

At the side, the Scribe sat with a book in his hands which was swiftly plucked from his grasp by an only slightly intoxicated Kaveh who pulled his to his feet, their two towering heights causing them to stumble a little as they swayed into a little jive of their own, something that Sethos has seen some of the students of the Akademiya do at the Sabzeruz Festival’s party.

 

Sethos snorted over his drink as Cyno began a rather eccentric jumping dance sequence, jolting his partner across the floor at lightning speed with a yelp. Khensa took Intef’s hand in hers and if there might be a prize for the most elegant of dances, they would surely be the victors. It was nice – very nice to see the two groups finally merge into one. They were both his family, after all and what was the harm in making it a little bit bigger?

 

From across the hall, Kunikuzushi approached, taking a look at the others for himself.

 

“Quite the mix of talent, don’t cha think?” Sethos drawled.

 

“That’s one way to put it.”

 

The puppet watched, taking in the ambience of chatter and plucked notes as they simmered into a gentler tune, something more sensual and slow.

 

He cleared his throat.

 

“I think we can do better though.”

 

The human raised an eyebrow, giving him a sly look.

 

“Really?” he said, “Are you offerin’ me a dance?”

 

Kunikuzushi ignored the intensity of those eyes boring into his, staring back with a mischievous glint in his own.

 

“So what if I am?”

 

“Wellll, it’s tradition to ask first,” the human said, leaning closer.

 

Kunikuzushi rolled his eyes, offering an open palm before his chest.

 

“Will you, Sethos, dance with me?”

 

…

 

Sethos had always been fast.

 

As a child, he was smaller than most, but his quick tongue and clever wit granted an agility to his words that was difficult to restrain regardless of figure.

 

As a teenager, he took opportunities with an eager arm and reached further into each venture or task than any might have before, that is, with the ones that appealed to him.

 

As a young man, he took a turn for towards something different. Something new.  

 

He walked with the sands, between the flourishing bushes of green and blooming pinks and along the banks of the great meanders of the rivers, sandals falling onto its surface gentle and slow.

 

At his side, another walked, pale-faced and blue as the oceans deep and across the earth, their shadows stretched gradually as the sun settled beneath the horizon like their drawling words, quiet and drawn.

 

Their legs neither burned nor ached for every step was as patient as their conversation; the air settled warmly in their noses, inhaled slow and deep as they laughed.

 

It was freedom.

 

Sethos took his hand and danced.

Notes:

(*´︶`*) Thank you all so much for following this story! And whoever might come across it and reach the end! It's been such a journey writing it all, I didn't even realise it had been over a month since starting because it was just too much fun really.

A few things of note:
1. Thank you for all your lovely comments! They are so kind and sweet, because of them i've decided to start commenting on fics i read also! Usually i'm a silent lurker but reading them all makes me want to appreciate works i enjoy myself more audibly!
2. A few of you asked about the MCD warning, i did reply to a comment about this but i think i will be keeping it because of the graphicness of sethos's death and all that. i'd hate for anyone to come across this and be upset by something they weren't warned about and would rather be safe than sorry so yes, i've decided to keep it as it is.
3. (ᵔ⩊ᵔ) WATCH OUT FOR BONUS CHAPTER I AM SO PUMPED TO POST IT

p.s., hope you are all doing well! stay warm - it is getting very cold around this time of year so wrap up and take care

much lurv,

BUNDA
ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚

forgot to add the title is from I Won't Last A Day Without You by The Carpenters if you want to listen! Also listened to a lot of The Only Exception by Paramore while writing because Haley Williams the woman you are
_(:3 」∠)_

Chapter 15: Bonus!

Sethos stood before the open fridge, rubbing his eyes.

The shininess of its surface blurred as he blinked the sleep out of his vision. He batted the messy curls from his face with a yawn.

Red circles. Spheres, even, danced before him.

Tomatoes, four of them? Oh, never mind, just the two.

A Cucumber.

Milk.

Yoghurt? Was that yoghurt he saw?

And lettuce.

He craned his neck to see what kind of condiments were hiding upon the top shelf and found…pickled radishes and a nearly emptied little container of pickled cucumber.

With another yawn he shut the fridge before the alarm thingy started beeping at him and took a look in the cupboards, shuffling through their contents tiredly.

Sethos groaned.

“Shoulda asked him to get meat on the way home.”

He slumped in his dressing gown, tucking his chin into it in the coldness of the kitchen and made his way back to the bed which was a calamitous mess of duvet, blankets and throw cushions yet to be made. Stretching over the mattress, he searched blindly for his phone and at last met the rounded edges of its case.

Smiling tiredly, he clicked it on and it sprang to life.

These things were a work of genius – after just over 500 years, Sethos knew that this was his favourite modern invention that came into the world. Second to Wii Sports of course. Although, toasters did come close in third place – the ease of use and satisfying crunch of every slice was truly a thing of beauty.

With fumbling fingers, he tapped out a message to Kuni.

can u bring meat 🥺 (Sent: 10:21)

for gyros (Sent: 10:22)

He waited a moment before setting the phone down upon the bedside table and stretching his arms over his head, letting his shoulders pop with an ‘ahhh.’

Sethos gave them another stretch and swing with a grin.

It was surprising how flexible his body still was after all these years.

‘All the better to tidy the house with,’ Kunikuzushi would say and Sethos would roll back into bed, hiding behind the covers to escape the dreadful chore that was cleaning, rolling away like a caterpillar as his partner leapt on top to rip the warmth from him. Look, it wasn’t like he was messy – it was just so much effort, alright?

Effort that could be put into paying excellent homage to the beautiful Greek cuisine.

He picked up the end of the duvet anyway and shook out the creases, laying it out neatly. That being his definition of neat and gave the pillows a whack, setting them at the head of the bed, ripping open the curtains to see the cloudy greyness of the sky, just on the verge of rain. Sethos prayed that it might, he often enjoyed sitting out on the balcony and feeling it on his skin. Although, he was often interrupted by a nagging voice ushering him in with a towel because despite his body’s state of immortality, he could still become very much ill, but a sniffly nose and a little fever was still worth that 20 minutes of bliss in his opinion.

He snagged up a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders.

The soft cotton warmed his skin and he snuggled into its cozy texture, revelling in its silky fluffiness. This was what days off were for.

Ding!

Sethos picked up his phone.

K, will be late tho (Sent: 10:33)

He smiled fondly, skipping back to the kitchen and slipping on his tiger slippers.

Don’t work too hard!! 😉ily (Sent: 10:33)

Ding!

i love you too. don’t burn the house down (Sent: 10:34)

Sethos snorted.

That man, the biting sarcasm hadn’t faded one bit.

And Sethos still liked it just as much as he had when they’d first met.

He turned back to the fridge and began pulling out some vegetables, holding back tears at the cucumber (he hated those things with a passion), giving them a wash in the sink before setting them on a chopping board. It would be a few hours until Kuni got home from work, but Sethos had time so he might as well prep early and get the hard part out of the way.

His partner had been a little stressed as of late, apparently there was some trouble at the University going on, something about a student misbehaving or something similar. And the radio silence from Kusanali (who had insisted he drop the ‘Lord’ for the sake of inconspicuousness) was sure to be affecting him too. Whatever was going on had been leaving Kuni exhausted and snappy most days he came home from teaching, with only an appetite for cuddles and binge-watching tv-shows.

Well, there wasn’t much Sethos could do about that apart from give a hell of a good back massage and try to block up the god’s voicemail box but he thought he might as well do his part in the kitchen and make a cracking dinner (as much of it that he could manage without the meat for the time being) for the man when he came home.

Sethos grinned to himself and rolled up his sleeves.

But just as he went to grab the knife he heard the doorbell ring.

He frowned.

Had they ordered something? Maybe Kuni had and forgot to mention it.

Maybe Bastet had figured out how to type with her claws? She had been rather into those little face-roller-massage-things recently.

Well, that one seemed less likely.

Wiping his hands on his sweatpants, he wrapped the blanket closer around himself before opening the door.

The hallway was just a tad bit brighter than he expected and he hissed, blocking it with his hand, vision momentarily overcome with white.

“Gods, Soraya left the lights on again,” he muttered to himself.

Sethos shook off the dots from his vision and straightened to see who had rung the doorbell.

They were tall and broad shouldered yet youthful, as if having just gone through a growth spurt, stretching the lithe muscles of their arms into stringy limbs leaving their figure to tower over Sethos’s own, even brushing the top edge of the doorframe.

A smile spread across their face, wide and unnatural with teeth sharp as a shark, eyes dull and blue.

“Hey comrade, have you seen a puppet around these parts?”

 

To Be Continued…

Notes:

yayy! part two! 🤗
just wrote out a plan for an eleven chapter story today so not sure whenabouts i would start posting but it's gonna happen before the end of the year!
_(:3 」∠)_
but in the meantime i've got some oneshots planned in between the two stories!!!
STAY TUNED ✺◟( • ω • )◞✺
edit: oh god the oneshots are evolving into something a little more than oneshots i'll be honest-
another edit fml: part two when i am 84 years old 😗✌️

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of 🦁🪷I Won't Last A Day Without You | World