Chapter Text
Their survival was a miracle, the townsfolk told him once he was lucid enough to listen.
“Most seafarers that land on our shores do so in pieces,” the old woman mumbled as she wrapped the bandages around Seven’s arm, fixing the wound with a curious stare, “and yet you come out with nothing but a few scratches and a puncture replicable by a dulled dagger.”
It was true; somehow, despite the blinding lightning, the belligerent waves, he and C00lkidd survived, deposited on the shore of this decrepit town among the moon jellies and seaweed. If his own wounds were minor, C00lkidd’s were practically non-existent. The worst was a scrape on his knees, but Seven chalked it up to their rough landing on the sandy shore while they were unconscious. On top of it, they were left on an island not only with people, but with people willing to help them. Seven wasn’t religious by any means, but he couldn’t help but heed the old woman’s advice to thank whatever god bothered to listen for his circumstances.
His main problem (just another problem to his ever-growing collection) became clear quickly: he has no ship, however dingy the last one was, and no way to sustain himself. The old woman who took them in, granting Seven permission to sleep on the worn couch and C00lkidd in the guest bedroom, made no indication of how long they were welcome for, and the conversation never came up when she offered to redo Seven’s bandages. Despite how unhurried his stay appeared to be, a part of him couldn’t help but loathe leeching off of some old woman for the foreseeable future. When he first stepped outside he saw a collection of trees in the distance, but he had neither the resources or the strength to make a boat entirely on his own. On top of that, closer inspection showed just how flimsy the trees were; good for firewood and not much else. And so, they were stranded.
The community itself didn’t seem to notice his or C00lkidd’s presence at all. They weren’t unwelcoming, if their continued stay in the sparse village was any indication, but they didn’t attempt to console them or offer much else outside of shelter and food. Regardless, Seven stood to the sides, the shadowed corners of the worn houses, as the people went about their day. His habit of people-watching — though it was more akin to lingering like a ghost while contemplating his future — granted him the chance to observe the people of the stormy island. There couldn’t be more than a fifty people total, and most of them appeared to be later in their years. An uninteresting village on an isolated, muted island, but what shocked Seven the most was how ritualistic their lives appeared. His own sleep schedule was a tattered mess, one he’d long since given up on remedying, and his daily plans prior to crashing here were usually decided at a moment’s notice, but the villagers seemed to follow a nearly ritualistic rhythm each day:
In the morning, all the villagers would exit their houses around the same time, regardless of whether or not the sun was obscured by the near omnipresent storm clouds. Some would follow the muddied path further into the island (farmland, he’d been told by his host, which answered his question about where exactly she got the vegetables C00lkidd enjoyed helping to cut up for dinner) while others made their way to the shore with nets and fishing poles in hand. When the sun was positioned right over the village, a muted spotlight behind the clouds, everyone trudged their way back to the center of the village, conversing amicably despite the lack of substance in any of their words. Fish would be collected and taken by some of the villagers to their houses, herbs and vegetables distributed evenly, and soon after the smell of cooked food would fill the air. And then the villagers, just as they had only hours prior, would leave their homes once more and follow the same paths to return to work. Once the sun began to set everyone made their way back like clockwork, and once again they shared the bounties of their work. However, a detail Seven had missed out on during his initial observations, and only discovered by chance after stepping out for fresh air, was that their schedule did not simply end there, despite the fact that the darkness of night was soon to approach; if the weather permitted, they remained with each other under the stars.
That was when the masks came out. When they left their houses, the storms subsided long enough to make walking outside not a death wish, each inhabitant wore a mask. It reminded Seven of the theater masks he would see actors wear during public performances — not that he had the money to pay to get closer, nor that he had the desire to, but the kind that he passed from a sizable distance while slinking away in the shadows of some moderately wealthy city. From Seven’s viewpoint in the shadow of his host’s house, as he debated whether or not this was a cult or just some weird cultural practice, he managed to see that none of the masks were the same. There were similarities in the expressions, sure, but in the dim light of the lanterns and small bonfires the villagers procured he could make out minute differences between each mask: the texture, likely made of different materials, the color, patterns that resembled scales or the stars or the waves. But, interestingly enough, nothing special actually occurred while they wore them. They simply conversed as they returned at noon, laughing and reminiscing and simply existing, until the thunder rolled once more in the distance and they returned to their homes for the night.
And then in the morning, the masks, the eerie whispers, were gone. They returned to their fields, their waters, and continued just as they had when Seven arrived.
It was cohesive, absurdly so. Seven wondered if these people — older, isolated by the raging sea — ever knew anything outside of this schedule. He highly doubted any of them had ever left this tiny, insignificant island in their lives.
The second problem that quickly arose during their unplanned stay was far more tame: restlessness. Neither he or C00lkidd sustained their injuries for long, so they weren’t bedridden by any means; but unlike C00lkidd, who had the wonderful gift of making his own fun wherever he went, Seven felt listless. Permanence was never something he knew; he was a being of motion, moving island to island, dodging the occasional enforcement officers, seeking out job after job to hold himself — more specifically, C00lkidd — afloat. But now he was effectively stuck in the middle of nowhere, his only company a handful of villagers on an island isolated by the surrounded turbulent waters. C00lkidd elected to explore the surrounding muddy fields and shore, often returning hours later with a marbled rock or a particularly pretty shell cupped in his tiny palms.
He offered to clean around his host’s house. The old woman (Mallorina, he believed she said her name was, though it was difficult to hear her above winds only a thin wall away) seemed to appreciate the help, but it wasn’t a large space and tidying it up took less than a day. Then he started to keep a closer eye on C00lkidd, trailing behind the child as he wandered the rocky shore. Seven couldn’t help but ponder whether C00lkidd knew how lucky he was that he survived, if he even realized just how close to death the two of them were before the waves ferried them to the island.
That particular issue of his came up late in the evening about a week into his stay with Mallorina. C00lkidd had long since wandered off to sleep, having excitedly explained to Seven his adventures for the day during dinner. Seven remained at the table, sipping the tea Mallorina had brewed carefully. He appreciated the warmth.
“If you wish to help, you may seek out the lighthouse, if you are so eager.” Seven blinked at that, looking up at her. His tail, originally limp at his side, curled upwards as curiosity clawed at his mind.
“I didn’t see a lighthouse on the way here?”
Mallorina gave him a thin smile. “That’s because the poor thing is barely alive. Its ancient machinery can only survive for so long before it, too, falls.” Seven picked up the hint of sadness in her voice, his jaw tightening.
“I…”
“It’s simply an offer,” she told him gently, lowering her mug to rest on the battered table. “Though I’m sure everyone here would appreciate it if it functioned with even a fraction more consistency.” Seven nodded at that, staring at his reflection in his half-empty tea, considering her words.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
And that was how Seven ended up at the base of the weathered lighthouse, tattered and ancient like everything else on the island. Far below him the waves crashed relentlessly against the cliff, the sounds carried upwards by the deafening, salty winds. Seven had been standing here for the past five minutes debating how to approach the occupant of the lighthouse. There was a door, sure, but chances are the resident keeper was situated on the higher floors. A part of his mind told him to just enter without knocking, but he’d really rather not push his luck.
Then the door creaked open on its rusting hinges, and Seven resisted the urge to sigh with relief. The man who came out appeared similar in age to the rest of the inhabitants. The thick grey coat he wore fluttered in the wind along with his short silver hair. When he turned, Seven couldn’t help but note the worn wrinkles and age spots along his face.
“You’re a new face.” Was all the man said. Seven rubbed the back of his neck, nodding and averting his eyes.
“I didn’t intend to end up here, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Most do not, but the Tempest does not account for what we want.”
“The Tempest?” Seven straightened at that.
The old man raised an eyebrow at him before turning his head to look out at the horizon, sighing in exasperation. “The Tempest, the sea,the lightning, the very storm that brought you here.” He looked back at Seven with a narrowed, dubious gaze. “And it is rare that She allows an outsider such as yourself to breach its borders.” Seven shifted his weight between his feet, planting his boots further into the muddy soil as he swallowed awkwardly.
“Listen, I don’t know why I ended up here, I just know my son and I are alive.” At his words, the man paused, eyes softening a fraction. Seven didn’t wait for a response from the man before continuing. “I just want to make do with what I have.”
“So you elected to journey here?” The man gestured to the surrounding area; the high, windswept grass, the cluster of trees further inland from the cliff, the lighthouse. “It’d be much easier to stay by the village, no?”
“I’ve been there for the past week. And Mallorina, she told me you needed help with the lighthouse. I just want something to pass the time.” The man paused, before chuckling and shaking his head.
“Of course she did,” he said, a hint of affection in his voice. He crossed his arms and turned to look up at the towering lighthouse. “Are you familiar with this form of machinery?”
“No?” Seven answered hesitantly, preparing himself to be shooed off back to the village.
“Then you will learn, just as I.” And with that the old man wandered back to the door of the lighthouse, opening it with a creak and gesturing for Seven to follow. He wasted no time doing so.
“You may call me Lezus,” the lighthouse keeper told him as he closed the door behind Seven.
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Seven wasn’t sure what to expect when he entered the lighthouse. Before landing here, the structures were just another fixture during his travels to ignore while lying low and, eventually, caring for C00lkidd. It hardly processed in his mind that there was someone operating them behind the scenes, making sure the light stayed on while he slunk around and out of sight of any enforcement forces that could recognize him.
Seeing the absolute mess that was the interior mechanism of the lighthouse gave Seven a newfound appreciation for those workers.
Upon entering he was immediately introduced to the problem at hand: the sprawling, chaotic mess of pipes that made up the vital organs of the lighthouse. Looking up, they seemed to continue infinitely, stretching into the dark that was only slightly alleviated by the lamps posted along the staircase that followed the circular walls of the structure. There seemed to be no coherency to their pathing as the pipes looped and wrapped around each other like vines.
“I am assuming you now understand the source of my hardship?” Lezus asked, snapping Seven from his thoughts.
“How do you even work this?!” Seven blurted out, trying and failing to trace even one of the pipe’s paths with his eyes. Lezus chuckled at that, coat shuffling as he stepped towards the middle of the room, his footsteps echoing and kicking up dust motes as he did so. He turned to Seven and gestured to the large vial next to him.
“It is not the actual procedure that causes difficulty, but I will explain nonetheless. Perhaps it will help you to come up with a solution:
“This is where the oil is inserted once the sun begins to fall.” Lezus traced his hand along the pipe that exited the vial, a line of dust scattering from the pipe in its wake. “When they were first crafted, the pipes were lined with a material that allowed the oil to travel upwards.” The old man then sighed, shaking his head. “Unfortuantely, such a technique has been lost to time. A common fate in the Tempest.” Seven simply nodded, frowning at Lezus’s melancholic tone. Despite himself, the old man continued his explanation.
“While traveling, the oil is separated to prevent clotting along the path.” Lezus nodded approvingly. True to his word, the larger, original pipe broke into six separate, smaller ones. “An ingenious decision on behalf of the original architect.”
“I’m assuming that’s where the whole mess comes from?” Seven asked, squinting at where the pipes branched off from the original vial.
“Precisely.” Lezus began to walk towards the staircase, gesturing for Seven to follow. Thankfully there was a railing, albeit thin and seemingly willing to snap at the slightest pressure. Regardless, Seven placed his hand gently on the support, eyes trailing the center of the structure while he followed Lezus.
“As you will find, the pipes were constructed to limit the chance of clotting.” Lezus then paused, about halfway up the stairs. Seven stopped abruptly behind him, following the old man’s hand as he pointed towards the center. “The individual pipes separate once more halfway on the oil’s journey.” And Seven saw the issue immediately: the pipes intertwined with each other at random, the original coherency of the pipes lost as they practically multiplied. “While the lighthouse remains functional, it is rare that the entirety of the oil completes its journey.” Lezus began walking once again, and Seven followed, squinting at the pipes as though they would give a solution if he stared hard enough. Strangely enough, after continuing for a majority of the lighthouse’s length, the pipes reconvened into their original six.
“Do you know why the pipes reconnect here?” Lezus shrugged, shaking his head.
“Their current formation has been such for as long as I have been posted here,” was all he said on the matter.
By the time they reached the end of the stairs Seven’s leg muscles were burning. There was a small ladder at the end, which Lezus wordlessly climbed, opening the latched trap door in the ceiling. Lezus lifted himself with a grunt, walking out of sight as Seven climbed, squinting slightly as the change in lighting.
The ladder led to… a room. A large, open room, the pipes penetrating the center where they had bunched together during their ascent. Outside of that, the room was sparse in decoration: a small kitchenette, a table, an antique bookshelf, and a bed and couch, both similarly worn, that reminded Seven of Mallorina’s home.
“This room was a belated addition to the lighthouse,” Lezus said, not pausing as he stepped through the room towards a small door next to the bookshelf. “According to my predecessor, there was originally attached a house for the lighthouse keeper.”
“Did a storm take it out?”
“Multiple storms, actually,” Lezus said with a small laugh. “Eventually, one keeper decided to make their home in the lighthouse to avoid the hassle of repairing the house.” Lezus opened the door, which creaked sharply as it swung open. Seven winced at the sound but followed wordlessly.
Seven gasped at the sight: the waves, greyed from the cloudy weather, rolled incessantly meters below, the sound and salty smell reaching him despite the distance. The wind whipped viciously at his body, and he pulled his own jacket — far less suited than Lezus’s — tighter around himself.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Lezus asked, placing a hand on the guard rail. “The Tempest may be vicious, yes, but Her beauty is undeniable.” Seven nodded mutely, swallowing at the view. Lezus walked the perimeter, Seven following without taking his eyes from the horizon. Truthfully, he couldn’t even tell why he was so entranced; he’d seen plenty of sights during his travels, the sea was a constant in his life, and yet this one view managed to take his breath away with ease.
“Should the oil successfully make its way up, you can light the match to set off the light here.” Lezus gestured up to the glass-encased head of the lighthouse, another short ladder posted against the wall opposite of where they had exited from. Lezus hoisted himself up, Seven right behind him, and stepped through the small space in the glass to where the light was actually located. Lezus tapped at a small spherical indent at the base of the light. “The fire ignites the oil, and the light is magnified.” Seven nodded at his explanation, but…
“I don’t see where the problem actually is ,” he said, glancing behind Lezus at the light. The procedure itself seemed simply enough: fill the oil at the base, allow it to separate and make its way up, then light a match.
“The problem is twofold,” Lezus started, holding up his hand.
“First,” Lezus lifted his pointer finger, “the oil does not always finish its ascent. Should this occur, no fire may be started.
“Second,” Lezus’s middle finger joined his pointer, “there is not always enough oil to combust.” He lowered his hand with a sigh. “I have been posted at this lighthouse for decades, and yet I have failed to find a solution to this plight.”
Then, Lezus stepped forward. Seven resisted the urge to step back, especially when Lezus placed a gloved hand on his shoulder.
“You, young one ( Seven wouldn’t consider himself young by any means, he had a kid for the Gods’ sake ), maybe you will be the key to allowing this lighthouse to shine once more.” Seven chuckled nervously, looking away and adjusting his glasses.
“I wouldn’t say that ,” Seven said, swallowing nervously. “I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises. I’ll just try not to make it worse.” Lezus nodded sagely.
“And that is all that we need.”
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Seven’s first step was actually finding the problem. He had a strong suspicion that the pipes were to blame, and so he returned to the stairwell and the mess of internals that filled the lighthouse. Lezus left him to his work, stating that he needed to retrieve more oil from the village. And so, with no one to watch, to judge, he summoned the C00lgui.
He hadn’t brought it out since he’d landed on the island. It wasn’t that he was worried about anyone ratting him out, he just hadn’t needed it. Unprofessional people watching didn’t require hacking, nor did helping some old woman make dinner for him and his son. But now, he could use it for something , even if it wasn’t for one of its more… common purposes.
The panel hummed in the dim stairwell as he pulled up his command menu. The second division of pipes was his main focus. They looked and felt out of place, though Seven couldn’t exactly explain why he felt that they were the problem. It felt like a poorly replaced valve: functional, barely, but foreign, invasive.
He wasn’t sure why such imagery came to his head, but he shook it from his thoughts as he found the command he was searching for. Inspect. He lifted the panel with a swipe of his hand, bringing it to eye level, and activated the command. A wave of red light washed over the pipes as it scanned, allowing Seven to actually get a close look at them. Nothing was particularly special about them — save for the snake-like figures etched into each pipes’ surface. He frowned at the sight in confusion, but perked up when the C00lgui indicated that its scan was complete with a ding .
It was made of the materials he had expected: steel, nickel, and a hint of copper. He nodded and stored the information in a separate window before pulling up another panel and stepping down the stairs. He needed to scan the original pipe if he wanted to confirm his theory.
The base of the lighthouse was unchanged, but without Lezus’s voice echoing the silence swarmed him. Every movement felt too loud, and yet… it wasn’ t uncomfortable . The panel floated with a faint buzz by his side, casting a soft, familiar red glow in the space. As he lifted the panel to scan the pipe, though, the door behind him creaked open with a sharp whine. He yelped, attempting to dismiss the panel, but missed, instead selecting Inspect once more. His original intention, sure, but he didn’t want to do it in front of someone!
Lezus, unsurprisingly, stood in the doorway, a hint of confusion on his face at Seven’s outburst.
“What is the matter?” Seven’s face contorted in disbelief.
“You… don’t care about the hacking panel?” He looked between the C00lgui, still scanning the pipe, and Lezus, who simply stared at him impassively. With a chuckle, Lezus shook his head.
“Why should I care for your methods?” Lezus asked. He appeared honest, but Seven couldn’t help but tense as he stepped forward. “You forget that this place is disconnected from the world. The Tempest does not follow the same laws as you are accustomed to. I am sure She nor anyone else here will be affronted by your tools.” Seven appreciated the comfort, but one thing in particular stood out to him.
“She?” Seven repeated, but before Lezus could explain the C00lgui dinged once more. Seven turned back to the panel, moving the window with the first scan’s results to compare the two, and…
“They’re made of different materials.” Lezus picked his head up to stare at Seven, though he only saw this change from the corner of his eye. “The pipes, I mean. The second separation must’ve been added at a later date.” Lezus was silent for a moment, before giving a small round of applause, causing Seven to dip his head into his jacket slightly.
“You work well for someone who first told me they were unfamiliar with this realm of experience,” Lezus said, a hint of teasing in his voice.
“I mean, that doesn’t mean that I know how to fix it,” Seven responded, narrowing his eyes at the results. “I just know where the problem lies, now.”
“It is further than we would have been without your input,” Lezus said. “Do you have any suggestions for how to approach this?” Seven chewed the inside of his cheek in thought, looking up at the expanse of pipes.
“We could recycle the pipes from the second separation. Make new ones that fit the original plan.” Seven let out a defeated huff. “That would put the lighthouse out of commission for who knows how long, though.”
“You underestimate the skillset of our inhabitants,” Lezus told him with a smile.
“I thought everyone had a schedule? Don’t they have other things to do?” Seven asked.
“It is simply a means of occupying our time. I am sure we could fashion the pipes in a few days with ample assistance to fit our needs.”
“Thank you… oh.” Lezus paused with a small bark of laughter. “I apologize, I never asked for your name.”
“Oh, uh, you can just call me Seven,” he said, not caring to explain his… unique full name.
“Well then, Seven, we will begin working tomorrow.” Then Lezus gave a small bow, his silvery hair framing his face. “I truly cannot extend the lengths of my gratitude to you.”
“It’s, um, no problem,” Seven said awkwardly, shifting on his heels.
“The sky is growing darker,” Lezus then said, turning to the door, “I would suggest you return to the village now, lest you be caught in a precarious state.”
“Right, thanks, Lezus.” Seven said quickly, before hustling out the door. Hopefully C00lkidd didn’t cause too much trouble while he was gone.
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True to his word, Lezus arrived in the village right as the villagers were leaving their homes for the day. Seven trusted his selection process — he’d certainly know the people here far better, after all — and so he simply stood to the side while Lezus moved with practiced ease through the village.
Soon after, Lezus led a procured group, six total, to the edge of the village where Seven waited. C00lkidd had run off for the day to play on the shore a little while prior, leaving Seven with the sole task of helping with the project where he could.
Before they left, though, a voice called out to the group.
“Lezus!”
Seven jumped at the sudden voice, but Lezus next to him smiled and turned, stepping forward as Mallorina rushed up to him, embracing him gently.
“Greetings, dear,” Lezus said, bringing his arms up to wrap around her. “I apologize for not returning sooner.”
“You have no need to apologize, Lezus,” Mallorina responded, stepping back with a grin. At Seven’s flabbergasted expression, she laughed.
“Oh, my apologies! Yes, we are married, though Lezus’s duties often keep him away.” The two connected their hands, and there Seven saw their previously unnoticed matching rings.
Oh. Well, that explained how Mallorina knew about the issues with the lighthouse. Seven nodded with a hum, though didn’t have much else to add. He was more surprised he hadn’t picked up on it earlier.
“I wish you luck, dear,” Mallorina said, brushing Lezus’s hair from his face and departing with a wave.
“Let us go, then,” Lezus directed, and their small group started the trek to the lighthouse.
The air hung heavy with humidity as they hiked across the surrounding fields. Like before, Seven could barely stand to tear his eyes away from the horizon, the sea that mellowed in the morning light. The villagers made small conversation with one another, but Seven didn’t find intruding necessary; he was content to simply watch the waves below.
Their journey ended in front of the lighthouse, and they set to their first task: removing the small pipes. The C00lgui came out once more, despite his own discomfort, yet the villagers showed no sign of a reaction at the panel. Seven wondered if they even knew what it was; it wasn’t like hacking was particularly popular within older circles, and the isolation of the island certainly didn’t help. He was able to place the panels so that they could step across the space between the stairwell and the pipes, though Seven couldn’t help the way he tensed every time someone so much as moved on the precarious platform. Somehow no one fell, and they managed to finish by the time the sun was nearing but not yet quite at the horizon. And so they left the pipes for the next morning at the base of the lighthouse and returned to the village, where Lezus, without the lighthouse to maintain, stayed with Mallorina in their home. C00lkidd returned for the day with a purplish rock that Lezus eyed with curiosity.
Next came reshaping the pipes. Upon closer inspection in the sun, which had managed to breach the cloud cover that had gathered during the night, it became clear that entirely remodeling the pipes was unnecessary: the connecting portions of the pipes, which were made loose as to allow the lighthouse keeper to clean any oil clots, could simply be joined together with the other dismantled pipes to create a larger area, one that — thank whatever god actually listened to Seven — fit into the original pipe plan. Actually putting the pipes together and reinstalling them, however, took two whole days, despite the weather actually cooperating for once during his stay on the island.
And yet they finished. The pipes were replaced, no longer the tangled mess that originally obstructed the lighthouse. And Seven looked up and was… proud . He never found himself to be one for helping. Most of the time when he tried the situation only grew worse, and that was what he expected from this, too. And yet Lezus looked at him with pride, and he couldn’t help but feel warmth in his chest only comparable to seeing C00lkidd’s smile.
He had been planning to return to the village with the rest of the group, reasonably exhausted from their work, but Lezus’s voice from the entrance stopped him.
“Seven, I have a proposition for you,” he said, and Seven held back the urge to grimace as nervousness built up once more.
“The lighthouse is fixed, right?”
“Yes, do not fear. It should operate as normal tonight without obstruction.”
“I’m assuming there’s something else that needs to be done, then?” Lezus shook his head.
“No, no, you fulfilled your purpose of rejuvenating the lighthouse.” Lezus stepped out of the entrance and walked forwards and turned to look at the lighthouse. “My proposition is not a short term endeavor.
“I wish to extend the offer of taking over my duty as lighthouse keeper.”
What.
“What?” Seven blurted out, turning sharply to the man beside him.
“I grow older with each day. For decades I have kept my watch, but my skills have grown dull with time. I cannot complete my duties with the same efficiency as I once had.” Seven struggled for words, opening and closing his mouth as he searched desperately for what to respond with.
“You’re going to offer this job to someone you just met?”
“Remember what I told you, Seven: the Tempest does not simply accept anyone into his waters.” Lezus placed his hand on Seven’s shoulder, staring deep into his aged eyes. “I, too, would never extend this offer without ample consideration. I see potential in you, in the way this island accepts you as one of its own.” Seven fell quiet at that. It was true, the way he and C00lkidd adjusted without struggle. How the skies seemed to grow calm when Seven would follow C00lkidd to the shore. It didn’t feel special, Seven didn’t feel special, and yet Lezus was right: he felt… not at home, per say, home was not a familiar sensation to Seven, but comfortable.
And so Seven, perhaps driven more by impulse than rational thought, came to his verdict.
“Fine. I’ll do it.” And Lezus smiled.
“I wish you well, keeper. May the Tempest watch over you, and you Them.” And with that, Lezus turned and walked away, beginning the trek back to the village, leaving Seven to his thoughts.
And Seven realized belatedly, as he trailed behind Lezus to the village, that this was the first time in years that something had truly become his . Just a title, maybe, but it was something. More than he could ask for from this place.