Chapter Text
To the Me before
A mirror, A spectre, A husk (Pt. 1)
The walls of the white palace were quiet, too quiet. There’d usually be a retainer or two scurrying around, or a custodian cleaning the endless carpet that adorned the floors. They should know, they’ve lived here before. Dressed in dirty rags, the pale white long faded away, Purity felt out of place, like a beggar pleading for alms from a merciful king, or a vagrant, in over his head. This wasn't memory, nor dream. The discrepancies were proof enough for both. Hornet had played a quiet song on her needle (A parting gift from another of her lineage, as she had described it) and the world darkened around them after a while.
Quiet song, another one, one that made Purity’s heart wrench, steady beats of the void within lashing out, turning into a roiling mass barely contained within and stilling into silence all at once. “Master…” Practised steps played in their mind, step, forward, sideways, withdraw. It was a long day for Dryya, as it was for many of the other great knights. The Infection had surged, and was barely beaten back. She was quick to temper then, nearly striking Purity in frustration. She called for a break, withdrawing her palm, inches away from contacting their mask. She had played this piece once the break was over, and taught it to dance under the guise of practicing footwork. That did not soften her instruction however, their legs still stung from the swift and merciless strikes of her wooden stick.
The song was louder now, slowly drowning out the incessant click clack of barefoot on tile. Clack, Clack, Clack…Clack…Clack… A small room, a small room that they recognised. A private alcove in a forgotten corner of the palace that they claimed as their own. The smell of paper and cloth scraps mingling with crudely-made ink. Shelves stacked with words it didn’t know the meanings of, only that they existed. In the middle, the most daring act of treason it had performed, sat a small gramophone. Its amplifier cracked and pitted, the sound reedy and often off-key, but it was all they dared to steal. How selfish they were, to deny its siblings a chance at their role, and squander their sacrifice. Maybe it wasn’t selfish at all. Was the want to live inherently selfish? Was the desire to experience, to feel pain, to feel at all so self-serving?
Their thoughts were interrupted by another set of footsteps. An icicle of instinctual fear tore into their chest, sharper than any nail or spell. All at once, their mind forced itself to run through all the possible people that could have wandered here. Mother and Father would usually keep to themselves in the upper levels, Father more so, often confined to his study or his duties. Too quiet to be Hegemol or Ogrim. Too loud to be Isma or Ze’mer. Too hesitant to be Dryya.
“Of course. Who else could it be?” They had kept it secret from everyone, not even the custodians knew of this room. Schedules kept in meticulous detail of every single soul that even entered the palace grounds. Their names and precise movements still fresh in their mind as the day they had committed them to memory. “Only one knows of this place. I’m sure that This one is confused to see another here.” Silence met them, but the footsteps halted. It was them, Younger, still standing tall, still dressed in that Pale white armour and cloak.
They had heard others talk about divine beauty, and had always shrugged it off as empty praise. Now they weren’t as sure in that assumption as they were before. The first thing that they noticed was its presence. One exuding strength, power and danger; yet still oddly comforting. A mask, whiter than bone, whiter than light itself, a symbol and a sign of its lineage. Their body, strengthened and toned, angular plates contrasted by elegant twisting roots. Each step dignified and proud, in steep contrast to the pathetic wretch that stood before it.
All at once, they were painfully aware of all their deficiencies. Lesions pockmarked their body, once slim and lean frame exaggerated, as parody, into emaciation. Their mask ground down to the bare material underneath, sullied and marred by a crack that rendered them blind on one side. Regal stillness reduced to a shaking, stuttering mess of a thing. To be honest, it was a miracle that it recognised them and didn’t strike them down.
“What do you see before you? Failure? Inevitability? A husk? What am I to you, dear Vessel?” The Pure Vessel did not respond, at least not at first. Turning away, they rested their blade on a wall, an arm reaching out in offering. “A peer, a fellow then.” Purity let go of their blade, letting it fall to the floor with an empty clatter. Accepting with their one remaining arm, they watched as the Pure Vessel shifted, feet spread out a little narrower than shoulder length, right in front to left, around 45 degrees in bearing. “I only have use of this arm, you’ll have to lead this dance, I’m afraid.”
Purity assumed the same stance, at least they tried to. Their footwork was sloppy, unrefined, out-of-practice from an eternity being chained by their shoulders. The Pure vessel shifted again, feet closer together, outstretched arm withdrawing and the other supporting Purity’s back. Its touch firm, as solid as the very foundations that the white palace was built upon. The barest suggestion of heat, yet still burning and branding Purity’s shell with the slightest contact. A presence that felt dependable and reassuring, yet still with that aloofness and distance that came with royalty.
The cylinder faded into silence again, rolling back towards the start. The first few notes rang out as the piece began. Purity began their part, withdrawing as the music ebbed, stepping forward between notes as they flowed. The accompaniment began their part, as did Amor. A pull barely below rough, on beat and on time. Purity felt themselves lurch forward, their legs suffering an ill-timed twitching fit as they could do nothing but brace for impact, as much good as that would do with one hand currently occupied in the Pure vessel’s.
Purity expected to meet the cold floor with a crash and jolt of pain. They cursed their body again, betraying them at every moment. Unable to contain, unable to fight, unable to protect. They felt tears of shame and anger forming, pinpricks of pain that threatened to spill out in a deluge of black tears. Unable to laugh, unable to cry, unable to live. What was another thing that they were unable to do added to the list? Maybe it had made a mistake. Maybe it should have struck them down, save the both of them from having to lay eyes on this half-dead shame any longer than needed and finish the job that Old Light had failed to complete so long ago.
They didn’t. The same bare-warm contact that seared as hot as the Light. The same strength that they could remember memories of once possessing. The Pure Vessel had caught them, momentum halted gently. Raising them back to a standing position, they raised an arm, wiping away at the beads that threatened to carve their way through Purity’s mask. “What do you see, Vessel?” A quiet, strangled whimper. “I am surely worth less than the energy you expended to catch this husk.” The Pure Vessel remained silent, merely standing Purity back up and waiting for the next measure to begin.
Step, step, The Pure vessel pulled Purity close, more gentle this time.Their bodies touched and for a brief moment, the tremors that wreaked havoc on Purity’s body and balance abated. For that beat of closeness, Purity could feel the restrained strength, the faint warmth of suppressed breath, the…(oh how it shamed them to admit it) attention that they were given. Compensating for moves that Purity would stumble in, catching them whenever they threatened to fall. Drawing out those brief beats where they were both close enough to feel the rolling waves of the void within them. With the eternity of solitude, it was intoxicating.
“Vessel? May we stop? My legs ache. It has been… too long since I’ve had to dance like this.” The Pure Vessel stopped mid-movement, catching Purity as they fell onto it. “Vessel… Vessel… Did I ever like that name? I remember it being a thorn and a foundation both. Denying my self while affirming my purpose.” Purity wrapped their arm around the back of the Pure Vessel’s neck, pulling themselves up and resting their mask on its shoulder. “What shall I call you then?” Purity felt their past self tense, a whisper, the loudest it had dared to speak, even alone and within this most private of spaces. “...Amor…” A word breathed out into the world, easily drowned out by the music if not for Purity’s proximity. “Amor, then. Love. A man’s love for his country, a king’s love for his kingdom, a father’s love for his child. The very thing that taints us, yet still the very thing that we are born from. Fitting, no?”
“...Failure…Have you…Found an answer?” Another whisper, pleading, if that word existed in their lexicon in that stage of their life. “Sadly no…To cope with such guilt and grief…Even after the Radiance is long dead, I still search for such answers…” Purity let out a soft sigh. “Though I don’t regret this…” They leaned forward, rubbing their mask on Amor’s neck. “There is a finite limit to how much I could have withstood the constant denial of my own consciousness before I broke.” Amor remained silent, a hand moving up, a finger stroking the side of Purity’s mask. “...What…of Sister?”
What of Sister indeed. The last time they remembered hearing of Strong Herrah’s little spiderling, they were but a grub. A small innocent thing, barely able to stand, let alone walk without scuttling around on all fours. Another burden placed on their shoulders, another soul that would be lost to Old Light if they were to fail. They had delayed the infection, long enough for her to grow, to train, and to be tempered. Maybe it was because of them that she was able to survive Pharloom at all, though that was a bit of a stretch.
“Sister is old. Lurien, Monomon, Herrah, us, we bought enough time for Sister. I suppose that’s the only comfort that exists, however cold that may be. ”
The cylinder was nearing its end again, and this time, Amor paused the playback and removed the recording, drowning the room in silence again.