Archive of Our Own ^beta

Weather anomalies aren’t something they usually investigate.

For one, studying strange weather patterns doesn’t yield very useful or conclusive results. But mainly, they just do not last long enough for Albedo and his master to get to them after they first get news of their existence.

The storm at Inazuma’s Kannazuka’s island is a different story, however. According to his master’s contacts and even the locals, it’s been raging for months – the wind running frenzied loops around the island with no sign of stopping. Not only that, but it is purely a thunderstorm. Not a single drop of rain has descended on the land. Only decisive, violent, lightning that’s left the earth pockmarked and crops charred.

When they had approached the island, Albedo had clasped his cloak tightly at his neck. He knew it was secure, but the strong, relentless wind had its fabric constantly snapping at his ankles and he felt like it could have been ripped away from him at any moment.

Presently, they’re in a cave for both shelter and investigative purposes. They’re going off the assumption that the storm is the result of a leyline disorder; yet another aftershock of the Cataclysm.

His master had tasked him with holding the lantern and staying at her side –a simple enough task– and although Albedo is doing a good job of it as she crouches down to gather dirt and rock samples, the dark depths of the cave keep tugging at his mind. When he chances a few seconds to close his eyes, he could swear that it’s traces of Khemia curling in the dark and beckoning him closer.

He must have lost touch with his surroundings for too long because the next thing he hears is his master’s stern voice calling his name.

Jolted back into reality, Albedo’s eyes snap open and he hurries to the other side of the cave, where his master’s voice had come from.

The light of the lantern illuminates her slight frown and sets her platinum hair aglow – a white blaze in the dark. 

“Albedo. What has you this distracted.”

His gaze drops to the ground. “My apologies… I keep thinking there are alchemical traces from deeper within the cave.”

Albedo doesn’t expect for her to hum thoughtfully. “Really?” He looks up to see her turn towards the cave’s continuation. “Would you be able to follow that sense to its source?”

Closing his eyes again, he tries to focus on the call, and thinks that yes, he probably could follow it like a breadcrumb trail in a storybook. “Yes. I can.”

“Good. That might yield us actual answers, then.”

It is strange to be the one to lead the way when he’s so used to treading upon his master’s footsteps, but it can’t be helped if it’s only him who can sense the pull of Khemia.

They don’t walk for too long and the path isn’t very difficult to traverse. It’s almost like a corridor, but he can’t think of who would carve out such a thing in the side of the mountain.

As they enter what sounds like an open space and the lantern he’s carrying reveals their surroundings, Albedo quickly realizes that auspiciously shaped pathways are the least perplexing part of this cave.

The front of an elaborate Inazuman building emerges from the stone, and fully grown maple trees frame its face. Traces of Khemia might as well be seeping from its walls.

“The source is in there,” Albedo says quietly.

His master is silent for a few seconds before she reaches her hand towards the lantern he’s holding and states, “it’s best if I lead from here.”

He wordlessly passes her the lantern. When she heads towards the entrance, he follows – falling back into their regular rhythm.

The doors don’t creak when pushed open, and although it was eerily silent and still outside, the storm’s shrieking has somehow nestled into the building and haunts the halls. 

They only take a few steps before Albedo hears his master sharply inhale and stop in her tracks. It immediately puts him on alert – he has never seen her caught by surprise like this.

Leaning around her, his eyes go wide at what the lantern’s light has revealed:

A person lying on their back on a mat laid out on the floor, motionless. 

They’re dressed in layers of pale cloth and some kind of pendant rests on their chest, likely hung on a string around their neck. As Albedo stares at the pendant, trying to distinguish its shape through the limited illumination and across the distance, he realizes with a start that the stranger’s chest doesn’t rise and fall. He’s only seen that with humans who have…

After what feels like an age, his master slowly, ever so slowly, steps towards the stranger on the floor. Albedo, of course, follows.

The form of the person becomes clearer, and his eyes are instantly drawn to the folded hands on the stranger’s abdomen.

Or, puppet’s, he should say.

Doll-jointed are the fingers and wrists, and visible fault lines run across the forearms and face. There is a subtle shine off of the puppet’s skin from the light of the lantern, and it gives Albedo the vague impression of a cool metal surface. 

A mechanical puppet… 

A creation implies a creator.

Was it abandoned? Left here to rust and degrade? 

But if this is the source of the Khemia he’s felt outside, then the puppet is also alive. Or, had once been. 

Again, his thoughts are interrupted by his master’s voice.

“A puppet that sheds tears… how fascinating,” she murmurs. Albedo doesn’t blame her for thinking she might wake the puppet if she spoke too loudly.

Until now, he’s avoided looking at the face directly, but he forces himself to and sees the tracks of tears flowing down its sides. Its frowning lips don’t move, but the howling of the wind through the walls mimics wailing.

His master surprises him by going to kneel by the puppet’s side. She holds the lantern above its face for observation, and when Albedo sees that there is no reaction for several moments, he feels emboldened to mimic his master and kneels next to her.

Now that he’s up close, he can see that the pendant on its chest is a golden feather. The puppet is very well-made, and quite pretty too. If there was a way to somehow conceal those joints, no one would suspect that the puppet wasn’t human. 

Glancing to the side, he sees his master frowning deeply at the feather with narrowed eyes. Albedo hasn’t seen that expression often on her face and he doesn’t know what to make of it in this context. She only looks that way when the worst outcome she predicted for one of her studies has come true.

Looking back at the puppet’s face… it feels wrong to stare at it crying and not do anything, so with a cloak covered hand, Albedo reaches out to wipe the tears away. When he pulls back, however, fresh rivulets follow the path of old ones. 

In a whisper, he voices what he thinks. “Perhaps this puppet misses its creator.”

Maybe it was abandoned, because why was it left here, deep in a cave? Maybe its creator is coming back and he’s just making assumptions? He hopes so. 

“This puppet must have had a critical flaw for it to be discarded like this,” his master says calmly. Like it’s the most predictable finding. It unsettles him for some reason. 

Unbidden, Albedo wonders whether his master will leave him like this one day and he immediately chastises himself on the thought. Why would his master ever do something like that? She had told him that he was the apex of her achievements; the perfect and polished product. He is a reliable traveling companion and research assistant. She always has tasks for him to do, and continues to set higher expectations for his work. She sees value in him. She wants good things for him. She will not abandon him. 

But if mother birds throw their hatchlings from the nest to fly whether they’re ready or not, and this puppet was left behind…

Without warning, his master suddenly rises on her feet and turns to leave, lantern in hand. “Come on Albedo, it’s best to leave the gods to their own affairs.” She doesn’t bother to keep her voice low.

He can’t make sense of what she means by that when his head is a jumble of thoughts and emotions he’s unprepared to untangle. But he looks back at the weeping puppet and feels the strange urge to leave something behind; to let the puppet know that it isn’t alone. 

Still, the pond of his master’s light is quickly retreating and Albedo doesn’t want to be abandoned either, so he settles for wiping another tear away before getting up and catching up to her with swift steps.

On their way out, Albedo wonders if he can convince his master to visit this place again, just to check up on the puppet.