Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The day’s heat was beginning to fade, as a cool evening breeze swept through the sandy landscape. The night animals of the desert began to emerge from their daytime hiding spots. The soft padding of their footsteps can be heard as they move stealthily through the sand dunes. In the distance, the haunting calls of coyotes echoed through the night; the rhythmic chirping of crickets filled the air. Amid the eerie atmosphere, a lone puppet was lying motionless.

I survived Tatarasuna , Scaramouche thought, as he rested against an Athel tree, I can survive this . His journey had been longer than he preferred, yet he was still nowhere close to the salvation he was looking for. He didn't want to meet his end here; in a lone oasis, surrounded by the remnants of another God King's civilization. 

He didn't want to die, but he could sense that he had no energy left to continue. He needed to rest and replenish his strength. His body was broken. One of his ears was missing a component, which made him hard on hearing. His eyes were losing their sight. The last time he had these kinds of problems was when he put out the fire of Tatarasuna, but back then his body healed itself pretty quickly. After 500 years of tests and a certain doctor’s tweaks, his body was way slower when it came to healing itself.

Still, compared to what he had already endured centuries ago, the desert was nothing. It was a mere inconvenience in the grand scheme of things. He still remembered the intense heat of the wildfire, the sickly sensation of betrayal, and the sticky, slimy feeling that clung to his skin; indeed, his situation was nowhere near as desperate as it had been back then.

After all, it was him who ended up being the betrayer this time around. It was his own betrayal that shattered the trust he had built up with his fellow comrades. It was him who willingly threw away his promises just to satisfy his own desires. Yet, there was no remorse and no hesitation in his choice to abandon those he once called his "coworkers". The understanding they shared was always tenuous, ready to snap at the first sign of discontent. Now that their lovely union was shattered, he was nothing but a liability to them.

He stopped a moment to think about what would be the Jester’s next move. He put himself in his shoes for a moment; if a Harbinger deserted with a Gnosis on them, what would he do to get them both back? It would’ve been an obvious decision to send someone else to track them down, neutralise them and retrieve the gnosis. But who would he have sent for this mission? To hunt down the 6th Harbinger, it would only make sense to send someone who can handle him. That only left a handful of people.

The harbingers who ranked below him… They would’ve never been sent after him for sure. For one, none of them possessed the power to fight him. Secondly, none of them were fit for a mission like this. La Signora had just returned from two back-to-back missions, so she was out of the question. Pantalone liked playing stupid mind games from where he sat, and he remembered how he threw a fit like a kid whenever he had to go to Liyue missions. Tartaglia… He was the only one who would actually throw himself into a mission like this, even if it meant his sure death. The best decision for that fool would’ve been to send him to some irrelevant place so he wouldn’t hurt himself while trying to kill someone who was way stronger than him.

And the ones who ranked above him… Pulcinella ranked higher than him, though he never understood why ; but anyway, he doubted even Pierro would be able to convince him to play the hound (unless Lady Tsaritsa personally requested which didn’t seem likely). He didn’t like to even consider it but Columbina was another possibility, but Pierro rarely used her for missions. The Captain… He was deeply loyal to the Tsaritsa and his country so if Pierro chose him, even he had to admit he stood very little chance against that guy. Then there was Arlecchino, who managed to kill the previous Knave as a child and replaced her position. She also had the strength to pose some threat to him.

With all that said, the most likely person for this mission, if it involved Scaramouche, would’ve been Il Dottore. The Doctor. Their personal history gave the Doctor an invaluable advantage over Scaramouche; he knew every little screw in his divine body, and most importantly, he knew his thoughts and feelings a little too well. Not to mention, he was Sumerian and if they correctly guessed Scaramouche went into hiding in Sumeru, they would want to choose someone who knew their way around there.

But Scaramouche didn't run away with a gnosis in hand. Therefore, his situation was no different from a normal fugitive. So perhaps Pierro wouldn’t deeply care about the intricacies of Scaramouche’s mind and simply choose someone who can eliminate him.

He grunted and clenched his fist.

The fire of his fury had not yet died down , that wretched fox and that witch ...! He had never been one to linger on past missteps, but this particular blunder had cost him dearly. His initial intention had been to exchange the gnosis for the life of the Traveller, yet he had failed.

He just had to show mercy to La Signora, he just had to warn her about her attitude, like a fool! In his mind, it was his last gift to the Tsaritsa. Lovely, lonely and lethal Goddess who gave him a reason to live for the last few centuries... His gift was warning one of her fragile pawns, making sure that she would not act foolishly and try to antagonise the Shogun. He hoped La Signora would realise the Almighty Raiden Shogun didn’t possess the gnosis in her body. By advising La Signora to behave and control herself, he hoped she wouldn’t do something dangerous.

He gave her a heads up, and Signora didn’t appreciate that. He thought that was the end of it.

However, he simply didn’t expect La Signora to realise he had never done that before. So, she had followed him with the traveller’s allies. That witch offered the rebels their life in exchange for receiving their God’s heart and they took it. Those shameless vermin betrayed their own god for their resistance’s future.

Surrounded, he was caught off guard and was unable to take the gnosis. During the confusion, the traveller woke up from their trance and… Even thinking about it hurt his mechanical brain. Afterwards, realising he couldn’t return to Snezhnaya, he fled Inazuma. He had no gnosis, Fatui was after him and he had no one to blame but himself.

Most distressing of all was the fact that his body was betraying him, slowly succumbing to the physical toll of his desperate situation. The looming threat of unconsciousness whispered tantalisingly in his ear, promising a brief respite that could potentially aid in his body's natural healing process. However, time was not a luxury he could afford, not with the relentless pursuit of the Fatui drawing nearer by the moment. The inevitable confrontation was approaching rapidly, and it was only a matter of time before they discovered his trail and eliminated him.

Or worse, gifted him to the Doctor.

Before he could continue his daily pity party, a small movement got his attention. He turned around to look.

It was just a desert fox that got close to the oasis’s freshwater. With cautious steps, it peered around before bending down to lap up the water. It was skinny, it was blind in one eye and it was keeping its distance from the puppet. Good choice , the former Harbinger thought. You are weak as it is, can you even survive one blitz from my fingertips?

The desert fox raised its head from the water as if it heard his thought and looked at him with his remaining eye. It didn’t look particularly scared but it didn’t get any closer either. During his journey, he had seen many of them; but it was the first one that reminded him of the pink fox lady he knew from his past. There was something disgusting about that shameless and uncaring look.

‘’Go away,’’ he said, suddenly feeling very annoyed, ‘’or else.’’ He hadn’t decided on what ‘’or else’’ was yet.

The desert fox made a small squealing sound and returned to drinking water. It seemed more at ease all of a sudden; it didn’t look as scared. It bothered Scaramouche, but suddenly, he also realised how silly he sounded.

‘’…ugh. What am I even doing…?’’

During his journey across Teyvat, he came across two Fatui deserters from Sumeru; Alexandra and Boris. They were such common names in the House of Hearth, Scaramouche had wondered if it was their actual name. If he had been a Harbinger still, he would’ve punished them for their betrayal. But due to his own circumstances, instead, he disguised himself as a fellow deserter.

After helping them choose a better route for their freedom (even though he knew Fatui would find them no matter what, they were not as talented as he was at evading), they gave him a map to show their thanks. It was something Il Dottore asked from them, they told him, he was collecting articles from King Deshret’s civilization. But during their mission, Alexandra had gotten pregnant and…

They didn’t have to finish their sentences. The puppet already knew the former Knave and the Doctor’s arrangements; moreover, even if their new Knave was different, she still sent some of her children to work for the Doctor. If the baby was allowed to be born, there would’ve been a dispute over who would get the claim over it, the Doctor or the Knave?

As Scaramouche looked at the nervous couple, he could see that neither option was comforting for them. It was no wonder that they decided to take this risk.

Before they parted ways, he couldn’t help himself but ask them: ‘’If you are caught, not only the baby will be sent to the Doctor, but so will you two, since you departed while under his care. Are you not scared? Wouldn’t it make more sense to send your child away?’’

Boris just smiled sadly but Alexandra answered for both of them. ‘’What kind of parents would do that?’’

That was the last time he saw them.

As he watched the fox drink freshwater and then leave hopping, he couldn’t help but think of them again. What kind of parents would do that? He followed their stupid map, trying to figure out what exactly Dottore was looking for; when he followed the map, he hoped he’d find something valuable to make a deal with the Fatui again but that hope was slowly starting to die. What kind of parents would do that?

 He didn’t want to be a test subject again.

What kind of parents would do that? Alexandra’s voice rang in his head. What kind of parents would do that? 

‘’Who are you?”

Scaramouche jumped and turned around in surprise. He mentally berated himself for not detecting the stranger's approach sooner.

The man in front of him brandished a bow, a sight that elicited a small chuckle from Scaramouche as he doubted the weapon could pose a threat to him even in his weakened state.

"I am just a wanderer," Scaramouche replied calmly. "And who might you be?"

To his surprise, the stranger did not appear hostile, a fact that piqued Scaramouche's interest. Despite his impaired senses, he should have been able to sense their presence if they were just another traveller. Or, perhaps, even an Eremite following the well-trodden civilian roads.

Observing the stranger, who stood at a similar height to the typical appearance of a resident of the desert, Scaramouche couldn't help but notice the unusual colour of his eyes. They were unlike any he had seen before.

"Same here, just another traveller," the stranger responded. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Scaramouche cut him off. "Everything is under control."

"Mhm," the stranger replied, though there was a hint of doubt in his voice. "You don't look fine."

Scaramouche shot him a sharp glance. "I said I'm fine. Don’t waste your concern on me. Leave me alone."

The stranger seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if weighing his words, before he slowly nodded. "Alright..."

Scaramouche snorted, brushing the remark aside. He was in control- he had to be. He couldn’t afford any distractions now. But as he turned to walk away, a sudden, sharp pain lanced through his head, and for a split second, the world around him swirled like a whirlwind.

He steadied himself, the grip on his surroundings tightening once more. "It's nothing," he muttered under his breath, pushing past the growing fog in his mind. He refused to acknowledge how his vision wavered, how his body felt heavier with every step. ‘’I really am fine.’’

However, as soon as the words left his lips, he sensed that something was amiss. The stranger spoke once more, but his words seemed to fade into the background as a wave of dizziness overcame Scaramouche. In a sudden, disorienting moment, his legs buckled beneath him and he crumpled to the ground; his last conscious thought before succumbing to a slumber was the realisation that he was about to hit the unforgiving earth below.

But the impact never came.

Chapter Text

‘’It’s a dream,’’ Scaramouche thought. ‘’Then I must be sleeping.’’

Scaramouche had never been particularly fond of sleeping; the avoidance of sleep was deeply ingrained in his psyche. During his confinement in the Shakkei Pavilion, he endured a prolonged state of dormancy that spanned years. He had no memories of the nonsense dreams he experienced from that period; all he knew about them was they made him feel sad.

Even after waking up from this deep slumber, he still didn’t feel like he truly woke up. He was still stuck in the gilded cage his mother put him in. He was forced to stay there without even having the luxury of seeing the sun's movements. He could only observe the inner court of the pavilion as his grasp on reality gradually faded. Back then, he promised himself he’d never sleep again if he was ever rescued from this dreamscape. 

However, post-liberation necessitated an adaptation to regular sleep patterns. Katsuragi told him, in order to maintain his human guise and protect his noble origin, he had to at least appear sleeping.

So, he did.

Every night, when he was Kabukimono, he closed his eyes to appear asleep. First few weeks, he was just faking it; closing his eyes and listening to his companion’s heartbeats. But as time went on, he found himself actually taking a few hours of nap, despite his own promise of never losing consciousness ever again. 

His life was completely different from before. This change unexpectedly revealed certain properties about his physiology: injuries sustained by his body would regenerate after a brief period of rest. After he slightly damaged his hands while smithing during the day, he woke up to completely healed hands the next day.

He still remembered Katsuragi’s panicked face when he saw his flawless slender fingers during breakfast. He kept furrowing his brows to find an excuse to explain it to others but he couldn’t find a good one. In the end, they chose to act like those who noticed Kabukimono’s injury the previous day misremembered it…

Upon joining the Fatui, Scaramouche's once-divine purity was permanently altered through Dottore's experimental enhancements. Now, if he wanted to rebuild himself, he required longer sleep than he ever needed before. With that said, consequently, these modifications enabled The Doctor to repair any damage without requiring Scaramouche to rest at all. Thus, for centuries, Scaramouche had not needed more than minimal resting periods—centuries have passed since he last experienced even a quick nap.

That meant he also never experienced a dream since then. That was why, when Scaramouche found himself in the Shakkei Pavilion again, he knew it was not real. It didn’t make it any less stomach turning, no. But it gave him something to hold onto: He was about to wake up.

And he did.

The puppet, with a deep breath, slowly parted his long lashes. Out of habit, he started analysing his surroundings as soon as he opened his eyes. The room he was in was simple; it only had a mattress, some chairs and small wooden chests (most likely for clothes and such). The interior reminded him of the abandoned house where he spent a night in the Aaru Village. But he could also see that the architectural style seemed older. It was not as old as the Gurabad architecture but it was not as recent as the Caravan Ribat.

Scaramouche looked around his room. It was dimly lit to not disturb him, with stone walls and a small, stone window that overlooked a bustling square below. People were gathered outside, laughing and chatting as they shared books. It took him a few moments to realise he was not looking outside. The natural light and plants confused him, but the square was inside the building.

Before he could inspect his body, a young man with some plates in hand walked into his room. ‘’You finally woke up! I was starting to get nervous.’’ The man, without even asking for permission, sat right next to Scaramouche. ‘’I’m Sethos. What’s your name?’’

It was the same guy he saw right before fainting; there was no mistaking it. Those green eyes were hard to forget. He was no longer wearing a shawl so Scaramouche could see his face more clearly now.

Sethos was young, that was sure; he didn't look older than thirty. He had decent proportions; he had the usual build of desert dwellers. Shapely legs, toned arms, long fingers. And those eyes, Scaramouche thought, he has such bright eyes. The shine in them didn't seem natural.

‘’I’m just a wanderer,’’ Scaramouche said, like he did right before he conked out the previous night, ‘’You can call me just that.’’

‘’Oh, I can call you just that.’’ Sethos was smiling as if he found Scaramouche’s answer funny. ‘’I can see that you have some questions, you can ask me anything you want.’’

He was too bold and lacked respect for any personal space, but Scaramouche was not in the position to act rashly before getting some answers. "Where am I?" he asked, as a starter. ‘’What happened when I was…'' He stopped a moment to find the right word. ''...out?’’

Sethos placed a plate of candied Ajilenakh Nuts on the bedside table before answering. "You're in the temple of Al-Ahmar," he explained. "Last night, when I was taking a stroll, I found you in the Sobek Oasis. I don't know if you remember this part but you fainted into my arms, and I brought you here."

After saying that, Sethos looked at Scaramouche with a smile, as if he was expecting a ‘’Good job!’’ for quickly summarising everything. Whenever he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkled; it reminded him of Rishboland Tigers right before they attacked their prey.

Scaramouche shook his head. "I don't remember fainting into your arms," he said, somewhat annoyed that Sethos made it sound far too dramatic than it actually was. 

Sethos shrugged. "Well, you did faint, and I did catch you. By the way, you were in pretty bad shape; you were lucky to come across me. I doubt you could’ve gone any further on your own."

And there it was, he made the same expression, one that expected praise from him. Scaramouche didn’t even think Sethos was aware he was making such a face. He tried to think of the Knave’s words when it came to assessing children: if he had to guess, Sethos grew up in an environment where every right thing he did was praised. He saw kids like him in the House; they usually disappeared soon after throwing themselves into dangerous missions.

‘’That’s not exactly your problem now, is it?’ Scaramouche said. "I would've been fine on my own. You should’ve minded your own business."

Did no one teach this guy not to interact with strangers at all? Scaramouche, now that he rested, had the strength and stability to simply slaughter his way out if he wished. Was Sethos not scared of such a possibility?

Sethos shrugged as he took a seat on a nearby marble bench. "I couldn't just leave you there, injured and alone. Besides, it's not every day I come across a stranger collapsed in the middle of nowhere." 

His words helped Scaramouche realise something else that had been bothering him for a while.

"You told me that you took me to one of King Deshret's temples,’’ he said, slowly piercing details together, ‘’yet I don't remember any mention of an active temple dedicated to Al-Ahmar in the maps in this part of the region. Especially as big as this one."

Sethos's smile grew wider, but he remained silent; his smile sent chills down Scaramouche's spine. He didn't like his attitude at all. By now, Sethos must have noticed Scaramouche was no mere traveller. He could even assume he must already know his true nature as a puppet. Before he collapsed, the skin was no longer covering his mechanical parts in some places. Since he woke up with some of his outer robes removed, he guessed his body was inspected. Anyone with a brain could see his body was not human.

All this confused him even more; he didn’t know Sethos’s plan and he couldn’t think of one that made any sense. Also, something was still bothering him but he couldn’t figure out what.

"Can I leave?" Scaramouche wanted to try a peaceful way out first, to make up for the fact that they helped him and he was not some ungrateful brat. He felt uneasy about the atmosphere surrounding him. This place felt exactly like Shakkei Pavilion; it was as if it existed outside of time and the laws of nature.

"Certainly," Sethos replied, showing no resistance, to Scaramouche’s surprise. ''You are a guest of mine and it'd make me sad to see you leave so soon. With that said, I am not holding you here against your wishes.''

"In that case, I would like to leave immediately," Scaramouche insisted. 

He was still suspicious of this guy and his quick response to him wanting to leave made him want to leave even more. Worst of all, he could feel Sethos’s whole body was relaxed and his words were genuine; if he had the intention to keep Scaramouche there, it didn’t involve physically restraining him.

Sethos clapped his hands once. "Of course, friend, feel free to go whenever you wish.’’ Before Scaramouche could say anything else, Sethos continued. ‘’With that said, before departing, might I suggest you stay until nightfall so Auntie Hana can attend to your ankles? With such a unique condition, I doubt you can find a healer that can help you like her."

So, there it is, Scaramouche thought, this is his pathetic attempt to stop me. It was so childish that he smiled a little.

"I have serious doubts regarding her ability to help," Scaramouche responded with scepticism, his gentle smile turning into a mocking smirk.

His body was created by a Goddess, using only the best materials. Only another god (or an eccentric like the Doctor who spent centuries stealing the wisdom of dead Gods) could tinker with it.

Well, it’s good that he at least made it clear he knew I was different , Scaramouche thought. One less thing to worry about.

Seeing his smug response, Sethos sighed softly. "She may not provide a permanent solution for everything but she can do some quick fixes until your body figures itself out. Like how she restored your vision and hearing."

Scaramouche blinked. “My what…?” 

He finally figured out what was bothering him since he woke up: his vision was no longer blurry. It was not crystal clear, as he was used to, but it was much better. The rest alone couldn’t have fixed it this much.

 ‘’How?’’ He asked. ‘’There’s no way…’’

 ‘’Are you not interested in candies?’’ Sethos cut his words, winking at him. ‘’We have many people around here who like this stuff. Why don’t you try it out?’’ 

Getting his hint, Scaramouche no longer insisted. Many people around... ‘’I… don’t like sugary stuff,’’ he said, still thinking about his eyes. Sethos threw a suspicious bone at him and he was slowly considering inspecting it. Maybe he could stay until the night to see what kind of person this Hana lady was. If he had to guess, Sethos was most likely trying to keep him around by exchanging their knowledge.

He could’ve worked with it, at least until he saw what they had. Whatever it is, it better be good, he thought.

‘’That won’t do then,’’ Sethos took the candy plate back, ‘’Tell me what you do like and I’ll see what can I do.’’

‘’…I like meat. Something simple. Fish can work too.’’ Scaramouche said. It’s not like he needed to eat but if he had to stick around here for a while, he could try to enjoy what they had to offer.

‘’Oh! I could work with that!’’ Sethos seemed to have an idea for his request. ‘’I’ll be back in a few hours. You can try walking around or you can wait me here.’’ He looked at Scaramouche, nodding in understanding. ‘’Good then. After you have dinner, we can go and meet Auntie, I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you again.’’

Sethos spun around to exit the room, but hesitated.

"What is it?" Scaramouche felt a chill again, he was suddenly nervous.

Sethos turned back, his smile fading for the first time since he had arrived. "Did you plan on informing me that you were being pursued, Wanderer?"

Silence greeted his question.

"You've been unconscious for the past three days, did you know that? Last night, while on duty, I encountered some unfortunate individuals."

Sethos retrieved a Recruit's Insignia from a pouch on his belt and extended it to Scaramouche.

"They are everywhere."

Scaramouche’s heart skipped a beat as he took the Insignia from Sethos, realising the gravity of the situation. He looked at Sethos with wide eyes, feeling a sense of dread creeping up on him. 

"They're everywhere?" Scaramouche repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn't like how helpless he sounded and how Sethos stared at him.

Sethos nodded. "Yes, and they're getting closer. They can’t find us but I suggest you keep a low profile and stay by my side. We don't want any unwanted attention."

Scaramouche held onto the insignia as he watched Sethos leave the room. This explained why Sethos was so calm about Scaramouche’s requests for leaving; he already knew Scaramouche couldn’t leave as long as the Fatui still lingered around.

‘’That bastard!’’

He clenched his teeth and threw the insignia to the wall. The metallic clink was so loud, Sethos probably heard it. But Scaramouche didn’t care, he was too angry to think about anything else.

Once again, he was stuck in a cage.

Chapter Text

Scaramouche got out of bed, still seething with anger. He decided, if he was staying here for the time being, he should at least get familiar with the Temple. Sethos said it’d take him a while to come back with food, it was better to see what he was working with instead of idly waiting.

He wondered if he was going to come back at all. Maybe their conversation was nothing but a game to that man. He had done similar things himself. Sometimes, he'd treat their captives kindly to see what they'd say. After learning the important bits, he'd throw them into the Doctor's clutches. He never saw them again most of the time.

All of a sudden, he felt so stupid. It only dawned on him now that it was a mistake to engage in conversation with Sethos in the first place. He realised the smartest choice would have been to keep his mouth shut. By talking to Sethos, he had potentially lost a valuable bargaining chip.

Whatever, he thought, miserably, what is done is done... It was even more reason to actually see where he was allowed to go. He had some free time, and he could try using it to test the limits.

He sighed with frustration before checking his body's condition.

He stretched his limbs; he was feeling much better. That’s good. His scarf and cape were folded neatly and put away in one of the chests. He didn’t take them out; there was no need to put on extra layers when everything around him already felt suffocating.

His eyes fell upon the insignia he had thrown against the wall in frustration. He hesitated a moment, deciding on what to do with it. He didn’t exactly need to keep it somewhere. If he left it there, someone was going to remove it from there eventually.

In the end, he picked it up from the ground. He decided it was better to keep it around, in case he needed it later. After examining it carefully (it had a dent and it left a small dip on the wall), he tucked it in securely between his belts.

Scaramouche took one last look from the window. This time, he caught a few glances in his direction. By now, the news of him waking up must have reached everyone. Time to show some face.

With a final adjustment of his hat, Scaramouche made his way out of his room and into the hallway of the temple. The air was still and heavy with the scent of incense. Usually, the smell of it reminded him of unpleasant people, even though Sumerian ones smelled nothing like the ones in Inazuma. However, maybe because his body had gotten used to it while sleeping, he didn’t mind this one too much.

Scaramouche wandered through the temple, taking note of everything. Even though he came across people, most of them simply walked by without asking him anything. Some of them stared at him with curiosity, but none of them opened their mouths unless he asked them first, like for directions. It was probably from a combination of minding their own business (a trait Scaramouche found most praiseworthy) and someone making sure they were warned to not interact with him.

Also, he was indeed in a temple for King Deshret, Sethos hadn’t lied about that part at least. As he walked around, he could see the depictions of the now deceased God King and his familiars. Each mural on the walls covered a different scene; he had seen some of the depictions in other ruins but most of them were not familiar to him. 

He almost found it inspiring that the desert dwellers refused to stop worshipping their deity. Was it because they believed he was still alive, he wondered, or was it because they hoped he’d return one day? Like a kid, hoping their parents would come and save them?

Scaramouche quickly focused on something else. Like the sight of books stacked high on every available surface. Or the musty scent of aged parchment filling the air as he got further away from the centre of the Temple.

He couldn't help but notice these not-so-subtle signs of decay that marred the temple's opulent facade. Cracks snaked across the marble floors and pillars, and patches of mould clung to the once-gleaming walls. It was clear that time was slowly taking its toll on the place, despite the best efforts of the worshippers.

Speaking of the worshippers, another thing he noticed was that they were not fighters. Or at least, not good ones. Spending centuries around the Fatui soldiers, he knew what their usual training was like. Compared to them, the people of the Temple were meat sacks. Most of them were researchers. A lot of them were old.

He saw some kids running around, too, but there were only a few of them. The young and the abled were there but he doubted any of them could wield a weapon. It wasn’t an encouraging sight for sure. He tried to imagine a scenario where the Fatui found them; the only thing that could , maybe, get out alive was him. And that was one, big maybe. Scaramouche knew that he was at a major disadvantage without knowing the Jester's plan for him. He had always been able to rely on his sharp wit and quick thinking to outsmart his enemies, but when cut from the outside world with a damaged body, he was no different than a sitting duck. 

The fact that they were surrounding the temple only heightened his sense of unease. Where were they now? How close have they gotten ?

Scaramouche knew that he would have to be on high alert, ready to defend himself at a moment's notice. One wrong move could mean all his existence could end very soon. He didn’t like the sound of that. But despite the looming threat, he couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement. It had been a while since he had real enemies; he hadn’t felt fear since he joined Fatui all those centuries ago. Who knew he could feel this alive when he was this close to his destruction?  

…

After mindlessly walking around, Scaramouche found himself watching a heated debate between two researchers. Quite a few people were watching the two men talk nonstop. They were adding their own thoughts to the discussion whenever one of the men asked the crowd. He could sense there were two distinct camps; no one was willing to come down and meet in the middle.

He was getting bored of everyone avoiding him at this point, so he decided to at least see what was going on. They were making quite a scene anyway, it made sense to ask if it had anything to do with him.

‘’What’s going on here?’’ Scaramouche asked the woman next to him, who was also watching the debate with a keen interest.

‘’Oh!’’ She looked surprised that he had opened his mouth. Truthfully, she looked a little flushed. ‘’Are you asking me?’’ After receiving his glare, she waved her hands. ‘’Sorry! I mean… Sorry. Of course you are asking me. Well, um...’’

He was getting annoyed with her mumblings. He hoped she'd give him a quick answer since she watched the argument so closely. Before Scaramouche could say she could forget it and move on, she finally collected herself and pointed to the younger researcher.

‘’You see the cute guy there? That’s Intef. He says Al-Ahmar created a sophisticated system for collecting rainwater, all across the nation.'' She sounded so happy when she explained what he was defending.

''After taking a trip to Gurabad, he found such systems, all controlled and connected by the Jinni. He even drew some blueprints for how it could work and how people could manage the system.’’ She sighed dreamily for some reason. 

She then pointed at the older one. ‘’This is Uncle Charmian, he thinks that they mostly relied on other basic methods for water procurement.’’

‘’Hm…’’ Scaramouche thought it was such a silly thing to argue about. Looking at her eyes, he didn’t need to ask her to know who she was rallying behind. Thanks to her, he could finally make sense of their argument. 

The argument was getting more convoluted as it went on.

‘’You make no sense! Why would King Deshret let his people collect water in such primitive ways?’’ Intef, the younger guy, sounded annoyed that his elder would even imply such a thing. ‘’Why would he do that, when he could easily deploy the Jinni?’’

While the girl next to him was nodding enthusiastically, Scaramouche found his argument weak. It was never that easy to just ‘’fix’’ things.

‘’Do you think that’s the best usage of the Jinni?’’ Charmian tsked with disapproval. ‘’There are countless things King Deshret had to deal with before he could focus on small issues. On top of that, we don’t see the remnants of these cross-city water collecting machines you’re talking about.’’

‘’We already have the evidence of machines collecting rainwater in Gurabad, don’t we?’’ Intef sounded very proud about his come-back. Scaramouche had to agree with him, he personally did see the waterways in some of the old Ruins.

‘’Even you couldn’t deny something we can check with our own eyes, old man,’’ Intef said and Scaramouche took back the little support he gave to him. What a brat.

The older researcher was looking at him like he was trying to calm down a toddler. ‘’Just because we see such structures in Gurabad , doesn’t mean it was widespread and all connected, like you claimed. It’s foolish to think, just because there is a prototype–‘’

‘’Charmian, do you wish death upon me? What do you mean ‘prototype’? They were fully functioning machines!’’

‘’Don’t interrupt my words, boy!’’ Charmian was also agitated, Scaramouche took a small pleasure in scolding the younger guy. ‘’The desert is vast and wide. Most of it was being controlled by King Deshret’s trusted generals. His generals, but not all of them shared the same ideals when it came to running their cities.’’

‘’If King Deshret sent orders to build a water system in their cities-!‘’ Intef insisted. ''Why is it so hard for you to connect the dots?!''

‘’If! Not every innovation could be implemented nationwide! That is wishful thinking. Not to mention, the Jinni were not an infinite resource! If there is a simple AND effective solution for a need, why would they waste their resources on changing their ways? Why use the Jinni, when they could use them for the greater good?!’’

‘’Water is the greatest good any civilisation ever needs!’’

When both heads turned to Scaramouche, a headache began to form.

‘’You, the guy with the big hat.’’ Intef's eyes were red with anger as he posed the question, "What do you think?"

Great. Scaramouche nonchalantly replied. ‘’Why are you asking me that? I just got here.’’

‘’That’s not important,’’ Intef insisted, ‘’That could be a boon, even. You can view it impartially.’’

"Which one do you believe?’’ Charmian joined the younger researcher. ‘’You should at least have a basic understanding of what we are talking about if Sethos allowed you to enter the Temple. So, what do you think?"

Huh, is this what Sethos told them? Scaramouche laughed, that was truly silly. 

‘’Alright then. I think both of you are talking nonsense.’’

His response managed to bring together the two researchers at odds.

"I don't understand why are you even talking about such a boring topic," he added, as if he wanted to annoy them further.

Intef scoffed, "Prosperous! What kind of logic is that?"

‘’I agree, isn’t it our job to talk about these things?’’ Even Charmian started sounding childish now.

Feeling the tension escalating, Scaramouche excused himself. He had no desire to engage with these individuals any further. He walked away, following the murals on the walls.

…

It was the end of the road he took.

He had been walking and exploring the hallways until he finally found the endpoint.

Scaramouche stood before the grand mural, his eyes tracing the intricate details of the scene depicted before him. The colours were so vibrant, it almost seemed as if the figures would leap off the wall and come to life before his very eyes.

In the centre of the mural, a towering figure stood, bedecked in ornate armour and a spear adorned with shimmering gold. It was clear that this figure was their God king, a ruler of immense power and authority.

The scene around the God king was a chaotic one – cities burning, forests in flames, and people running in terror. But with each swing of his sword, the darkness receded, giving way to light and hope. With one look, anyone could guess what kind of view these people had, regarding their late-God.

"Ah, there you are," a voice called out from behind him. Scaramouche didn't need to turn to know it was Sethos. So he came back.

"Here I am," Scaramouche replied, his gaze still fixed on the mural. "I didn't expect it would take you this long to return."

"Are we in a rush?" Sethos asked, clearly having fun. ''Are we running out of time?''

"Aren't we? You promised to take me to your Aunt and the sun has already set."

He could hear Sethos’s smug chuckle; it soured his mood immediately.

‘’We can visit her after we eat; I went out for fresh meat. Nothing less than the best for our guest.’’

Went out? Fresh meat ?

Scaramouche turned his head to see what Sethos brought to him. To his horror, it was not a simple dish he wished to see. It was some kind of shawarma, but the few elemental particles floating around the dish were suspicious.

‘’…what kind of meat is this anyway?’’

‘’Haha! It is safe to eat, don’t worry. I even double fried the meat with electro to make sure no parasites remained.’’

Scaramouche didn’t know what kind of face he was making, but it was enough to make Sethos take a step back and raise his free hand.

‘’No parasites, just kidding.’’

‘’…Whatever.’’ Scaramouche took the plate from his hand. If anything, he could use the dish to fasten his healing process. After a quick smell test, his face paled. ‘’ You like using spices, huh.’’

‘’Of course, who doesn’t?’’

I don’t.

Scaramouche sat down on one of the overturned columns, picking at his food with a look of disdain on his face.

"Is it not to your liking?" Sethos asked, a hint of concern in his voice. He was still worried about Scaramouche not liking how he acquired the meat.

Scaramouche looked up. "You want my honest thoughts?’’

‘’Go on, I can handle it. Is it overdone?’’ Sethos was rambling. ‘’Or do you not like parsley? I can redo it; we still have plenty of meat left.’’

Scaramouche pursed his lips. ‘’No need. The problem is what you put on the dish, not the meat.’’ Ignoring Sethos’s confused face, he continued. ‘’Spices are just added extras to mask a bland base. I don't care for dressing things up to make them more palatable."

Sethos furrowed his brow. While still trying to sound nice, he replied: "What are you talking about? This is a fundamental misunderstanding of cooking. Have you ever cooked in your life?"

Feeling looked down the second time that day, Scaramouche scoffed. What did this guy take him for? "What does that have to do with anything?"

Sethos pointed at Scaramouche's smooth hands. "So, you have not. I guessed as much, considering your porcelain smooth hands. I doubt you did any manual labour in your life."

Scaramouche laughed. This guy was truly stupid. Why was he basing his assumptions on his mechanical hands? Did he think porcelain could acquire calluses? "Hah! If only you knew how ridiculous you sound right now."

But Sethos wasn't convinced. "Spices bring out the flavours, they don’t mask the taste. Different dishes have different tastes, even when the same spices are used."

Scaramouche shook his head, feeling a second headache begin to form near his forehead. "It is childish to avoid the bitterness.’’

‘’Childish? That’s rich, coming from you, who is acting all fussy over some spices .’’ Sethos still asked, a look of disbelief on his face. Scaramouche was very close to choking him out, did he truly not know when to shut up? "Are you telling me you would rather eat raw meat than my Super-Dee-Duper Delicious Meat Roll?"

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow, unsure of what Sethos was talking about. "Your what?"

"My Super-Dee-Duper De-"

Scaramouche raised his hand. "Stop. Are you talking about the shawarma? Can’t you say it normally?’’

Sethos pushed away his hand.

"Excuse you! I spent a considerable amount of time perfecting the dish. I think I have every right to brag about how good it is.’’ He crossed his arms defiantly. ‘’All I have ever done, since you woke up, and even before that, was treat you nicely! And this is how you repay me ? "

Rolling his eyes, Scaramouche sighed, "Will you shut up if I eat it without complaining?"

Sethos smirked in victory, which made Scaramouche’s mood considerably worse. 

Chapter Text

The rest of the lunch passed uneventfully.

"It wasn't so terrible, was it?" Sethos said once they had finished eating. "You were complaining about nothing."

Scaramouche didn’t bother to say anything. Sethos didn’t hide the fact that he found his reactions funny. The last thing Scaramouche wanted was to give him the satisfaction of seeing more of them.

During their lunch, Scaramouche was thinking too much to enjoy eating anything. Sethos was perplexed; he looked stupid but he was, unfortunately, not. While he had saved him from a sure end, he was also keeping him confined in the temple. Though he seemed to be aware that Scaramouche was escaping from something , he was offended when Scaramouche failed to mention Fatui. Sethos clearly anticipated questions from Scaramouche, yet most of his answers were evasive.

The good news was that, thanks to this overthinking, Scaramouche had managed to survive the spicy atrocity that was Sethos’s cooking. The food wasn't poisoned–that was nice, too. Not that poison would have had any effect on him, but he appreciated not having to worry about what he was eating. As Sethos said, it wasn’t that bad.

Once they had finished their meals, they were ready to pay a visit to 'Auntie Hana'. "You'll like her," Sethos said as they made their way to her workshop. "When I found you... When I first saw you, I had a feeling she would be able to fix whatever was going on with you."

"And what makes you so certain of that?"

Sethos, with a wink, replied, "She's got a knack for fixing things that are broken.''

Scaramouche rolled his eyes. He could work as a great tourist guide in Sumeru city, that’s for sure.

Sethos sounded proud. He mentioned how his grandfather always made sure to consult the mechanic whenever they found a new artefact. Scaramouche had to give it to him, he had a talent for talking about curiosity-inducing details, but kept it vague enough to keep the interest alive. As a result, Scaramouche had no idea what to actually expect.

‘’Oh, by the way,’’ Sethos said, his tone was a little off, but Scaramouche didn’t think too hard about it, ‘’I have a small update on the guys following you. They are a bunch of idiots.’’

Scaramouche listened intently as Sethos filled him in on the situation with the Fatui. According to Sethos, they were no closer to finding the temple. They were not leaving yet, though. For some reason, they were so sure he was somewhere close to them.

Hearing that they were still struggling to find him, Scaramouche sighed. He felt a sense of relief knowing that they were safe inside the temple for now.

"Thank you for letting me know," Scaramouche said, trying not to sound too relieved.

Sethos nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Of course. We're in this together, now. So, make sure to hide nothing next time, okay? You truly have no idea the trouble you're putting us through.’’

…

They arrived at the workshop fairly quickly. It was located close to where they ate their food. It occurred to Scaramouche that he may have passed by the door during his walks. He was half expecting to walk to the opposite of the temple once again; he hoped he'd have a little more time to ask something.

Without hesitation, Scaramouche reached out and grasped Sethos' wrist, stopping him from knocking on the door. He held it briefly, feeling the warmth radiating from Sethos' skin before releasing him.

"Wait," he said, feeling a little dizzy for some reason.

Sethos, after a moment of silence, blinked in confusion. "What is it?"

"Why do people believe I am a scholar?" Scaramouche asked. That was not something he wanted or even needed to ask; he already guessed the reason. But absurdly, he panicked and asked the first thing that came to his mind.

"We needed a cover for your presence," Sethos explained smoothly, as if he was anticipating the question. Scaramouche wouldn't have been surprised if Sethos had spent the entire day crafting responses to all possible questions he had for him.

"So not everyone knows why I'm here. Who else is aware of the truth about me?" Scaramouche persisted, locking eyes with Sethos. He needed to know that at least.

"Just three people," Sethos responded quietly. "Myself, my grandfather, and Auntie Hana. Rest assured, I merely wish to assist a fellow traveller, and my grandfather kindly allowed you to stay here."

Even though he asked about some nonsense, Sethos still, graciously, threw him a bone. He mentioned nothing about Hana.

‘’So, what does she want from me?’’ Scaramouche asked, nervous once again. He wanted an idea of what was waiting for him.

Sethos responded with a laugh. Instead of giving a straightforward answer, he said, "You're not the only one who can keep secrets."

"Quit being petty."

Sethos simply shrugged. "I'll do my best."

Without waiting for him to say anything else, Sethos quickly let himself into the room right after knocking, and Scaramouche followed him. When they walked into the room, the first thing that caught Scaramouche’s eyes was the array of ancient-looking screws, mechanical parts, and gadgets scattered across the floor. The room seemed to be a haven for all things mechanical, with various contraptions and gizmos occupying every available surface.

Despite the apparent chaos, there was a certain order to the room that hinted at a meticulous mind behind its arrangement. Blueprints of many of King Deshret's devices adorned the walls, showcasing the ingenuity and complexity of the creations. A sense of nostalgia washed over him at the sight. Scaramouche could recognize the familiar designs from his time scavenging around the pyramids.

Another thing he noticed was that whoever stayed here did not care for Sumerian machinery alone. Mixed in with the designs were some Khaenri'ahn designs, a stark contrast to the sleek elegance of the King's creations. These devices bore the mark of the abyss, their standing out amongst the more refined pieces in the room.

In the middle of the room, there was an elderly woman, who appeared to be deep in concentration as she tinkered with some machinery on her worktable. The old woman had deeply etched lines on her face. Her hair was now covered with grey and pulled back into a tight bun. Her hands were weathered, with age spots and prominent veins. Her wrinkly face and small stature made her look fragile. But despite her age, her hands were moving fast.

The room was filled with the hum of machinery and the clink of tools as the woman continued her work, seemingly unfazed by the newcomers in her space. Sethos leaned in to whisper something to her, and she nodded in response, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief.

The mechanic approached Scaramouche with a curious look in her eyes. As she walked beside him, she carefully looked him over. "You look better than when I first saw you.’’ She reached out to gently hold his hand. ‘’Are you feeling better?’’

For a moment, Scaramouche simply stared back at her in silence. Her hands were warm, too, but they had the fragility of the people around her age. He removed his hand from hers and cleared his throat.

"So, who are you exactly?" Scaramouche shifted his weight to his other foot, suddenly feeling very awkward.

"Just call me Hana," she replied, disregarding Sethos's gasp. "Everyone around here calls me Auntie, but I'm not that old, believe me."

"But you scolded me for using your name!" Sethos protested, looking scandalised. ‘’Why does he get to call you that?’’

"Well, I practically raised you, didn't I? You wouldn't call Bamoun by his name, would you?" The old woman pushed Sethos aside to get a better look at Scaramouche.

"Ignore this child," she said. "Tell me your name."

"I'm just a Wanderer," Scaramouche said weakly. "Just call me that, I suppose."

‘’Wanderer, then.’’ She nodded and pointed to the long chair next to her work table. ‘’Please make yourself at home.’’

Scaramouche nodded and sat down, ignoring Sethos’s confused gaze. Sethos probably didn’t understand why he was being so civil, which was honestly insulting to think about. He was not some animal; he was not going to break the bones of some rotting old woman. At least, not before she helped him with his troubles.

"Now, time for a quick check-up. I need you to tell me if anything feels off, or if there's any pain or discomfort. Can you do that for me?"

Seeing Scaramouche’s nod, she quickly kneeled to inspect his ankles and legs. She carefully prodded at his joints, testing his mobility and flexibility. She inspected the strings that controlled his movements, making sure they were in good condition.

"You've been through a lot lately, haven’t you?” she asked. “Poor boy.’’

Scaramouche stood before the old lady as she carefully examined each mechanical part of his body. The damage he had incurred was obvious, as his once seamless joint connections were now visible... Despite his worn appearance, however, he was still beautiful and glistened with a certain charm to his delicate features. His limbs moved with a jerky motion, and small cracks and scratches adorned his skin.

"Everything seems to be okay," she announced, her approval evident. ‘’Your self-healing is impressive. Now that I have a better understanding of your capacities, I will prepare some replacement parts for your next visit.’’

‘’What do you mean next visit?” Scaramouche protested, his face scrunched into a scowl.  “You don't have them ready yet?’’

‘’I am not a jinni, Wanderer. I need time to prepare for your unique needs.’’

Next visit and no set-in-stone date meant Scaramouche had to stay here for an undefined amount of time, until these people decided they had the time for him. That is not good, he thought.

Scaramouche was about to say something in protest when he heard a small, familiar squeak. Startled, he turned his head to see a desert fox with one eye jumping onto the couch next to him.

"What in the world?" he exclaimed, alarmed by the unexpected visitor. ‘’You!’’

Hana couldn't help but burst into laughter at Scaramouche's reaction. "You remember him," she said. ‘’Sethos keeps bringing in strays and thinks it’s my job to patch them up!’’

‘’Why is it here?’’ Scaramouche sounded bewildered. To be honest, he had completely forgotten about this fox, it was the last thing he expected to see. He would’ve been less surprised to see Dottore jump out of a cabinet from somewhere.

Sethos, who had been standing near the doorway, laughed again. "You should thank the little guy," he said, a shine in his eye. "If it wasn’t for him, someone else could’ve found you first.’’

Scaramouche, his head slightly tilted to one side, took a brief moment before talking again.  “What do you mean?”

‘’He kept making noises until I followed him,” Sethos explained. “After I found you, your cute little friend still kept following us. But obviously, I couldn’t have left him with you, so…’’

He vaguely pointed to the workshop. ‘’He’s been hanging out with Auntie this whole time.’’

‘’I don’t think keeping wild animals as pets is a good idea,’’ Hana said, but her gaze was very soft as she watched the fox snuggle the flabbergasted Scaramouche. ‘’With that said, this little one looks like it was tamed by someone.’’

Hana stroked the clean fur of the fox. ‘'Considering how skinny he was when Sethos brought him here, I am assuming something happened to his owner and he was left to fend off for himself.’’

‘’…is that so?’’ Scaramouche found himself unable to push away the fox.

He cautiously touched the animal. To his surprise, the fox didn't shy away or growl. It didn’t protest when it felt Scaramouche’s cold, porcelain fingers. Instead, it sniffed at his outstretched hand and nuzzled against it, seemingly unafraid of him still. It was not afraid during their first meeting either.

As Scaramouche stroked the fox's soft fur, he was surprised at its warmth and docile nature. It was as if the animal had been waiting for someone to come along and give it affection.

‘’Will it stay here now?’’ He asked, almost dazed.

‘’He doesn’t know how to defend himself; it would be cruel to force him to survive on his own,” Hana said. “Now, if you excuse me, Wanderer…’’

Hana gently scooped the fox from Scaramouche’s lap and held it out to Sethos. ‘’Sethos, keep him in your arms. I don’t want him to distract me while I help your friend here.’’

‘’Oh, sure!’’ A smile spread across Sethos’ face. Cuddling the fox in his arms, he started playing with the cute little paws of the fox.

Annoyed, Scaramouche didn’t think keeping the fox would disrupt the check-up, but he didn’t voice that. He didn’t care about playing with animals.

‘’What exactly have you done while I was unconscious?’’ He asked, changing the subject. He needed to know why he healed faster than normal.

‘’Your body was modified by someone, correct?’’ Hana turned to him. ‘’Whoever your creator was, they must have created your body with utmost care. The later modifications- ‘’

‘’Were all requested by me,’’ Scaramouche interrupted. ‘’They were not done by her… She had nothing with those improvements.’’

Hana and Sethos shared a look. ‘’Those ‘improvements’ were rapidly ageing your components,’’ the old woman said. ‘’They were blocking your energy channels. They were nothing but unnecessary bloat. For that reason, I removed some of them.’’

‘’You WHAT?!’’

Scaramouche’s shout irked both Sethos and the fox. Sethos flinched for a moment before he regained composure. Similarly, the fox reacted instinctively; its back arched, forming a hump, while its bushy tail stiffened and curled upward. But Hana didn’t wince.

‘’You crazy woman! Do you have any idea how long it took to implement them?’’ Scaramouche retorted.

Hana didn’t answer his question. Instead, she simply stared at him with pity. It was Sethos who answered Scaramouche’s question.

‘’I don’t know about all of them,’’ Sethos said, ‘’But I know this one must have taken you quite a while to implement.’’

Steading the fox with one hand, he pulled out something metallic from his stupid waist bag and threw it to Scaramouche. The puppet caught the thing in the air, but when he saw what he caught, he nearly threw it to the wall like he did with the insignia.

‘’A tracking device?’’ Scaramouche was taken aback and disgusted when he realised that Dottore had secretly implanted this disgusting thing into his body. He stared at the device that Hana had removed with a mix of anger and disbelief.

Why was he surprised? He didn’t know. This was the least surprising thing Dottore could’ve ever done, but that made things worse. He never considered such a possibility before.

‘’Indeed,’’ Sethos’s voice was almost indifferent, but Scaramouche could pick up the pity in those creepy, green eyes. “You led them here. They know you are around. They will not stop until they find you.’’

Scaramouche gritted his teeth. He was getting real sick of Sethos’s endless needling.

‘’I can simply leave if my presence is that much of a trouble.’’ Scaramouche snapped. ‘’I didn’t ask to be here. You brought me here! You took me in! No one said you should go and kidnap someone unconscious!’’  

A small, old woman walked between them.

‘’That’s enough.’’

It was Hana who tried to calm them down. She gently cupped Scaramouche’s face but he freed himself from her touch. She didn’t try touching him again. ‘’No one is blaming you, child. Believe me, not even Sethos is blaming you.’’

‘’Then why is he speaking to me like this?’’ Scaramouche’s frustration was evident in his voice as he avoided looking at Sethos.

Hana sighed and exchanged a knowing glance with Sethos before turning back to Scaramouche. ‘’We know you didn’t ask for any of this, and we want to help you. That’s why we are offering you a deal.’’

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her offer. ‘’What kind of deal?’’

‘’I can help you remove the modifications from your body,’’ Sethos butted in, ‘’but I want Auntie to keep them. In return, you can stay here in the Temple until they leave or we find a way to take you to freedom. What do you say?’’

Scaramouche considered their offer for a moment, weighing his options.

‘’Fine,’’ Scaramouche finally nodded, meeting Sethos’s eyes. ‘’But if you betray me, I will find a way to make you regret it.’’

Sethos met his eyes. ‘’Deal.’’

Chapter Text

Some ground rules were set.

For starters, Hana was now allowed to carry out tests on Scaramouche on a weekly basis. In exchange, Scaramouche would be granted safety within the Temple and the removal of any modifications made by The Doctor.

Although Scaramouche reluctantly agreed to these terms, he couldn't help but feel a deep sense of loss. It had taken him centuries to perfect the modifications, and he was losing them like this. Since their meeting, he met Hana two more times. Each time, she only removed a small part. It didn’t hurt at all. However, each time, he wanted to stop her and tell her he had changed his mind.

Deep down, he knew that quack doctor had helped to enhance his already God-like abilities. He was not a fool; he didn’t just let Il Dottore play around with him for fun. As long as he received a boon, he didn’t mind the experiments. He worked hard for them. He fought for them.

With that said, survival was his primary concern at the moment. He consoled himself by thinking he could always sharpen his claws once he was no longer being pursued by the Fatui.

In addition to these arrangements, Scaramouche was given another privilege: access to Bamoun's private book collection. Despite not having met Sethos's grandfather in person, Sethos provided Scaramouche with the key to the library, with the request that he only visit at night. Bamoun was old and frail, unable to stay awake for long periods of time, so this arrangement allowed Scaramouche to avoid spending time in the presence of Bamoun.

Although the situation seemed somewhat peculiar, with Sethos insisting on keeping their interactions limited, Scaramouche didn't dwell on it too much. He took advantage of the opportunity to explore the library, while also maintaining a distance from Bamoun as requested.

The library was not some free gift.

Sethos asked him to give him the map fragments he got from the couple he met. After some bargaining, Scaramouche gave the map to Sethos. It meant nothing to him and it clearly was something important to the Temple residents; it was a fair exchange, as Regrator would put it.

After taking the map from Scaramouche, Sethos stopped visiting him.

Scaramouche didn’t expect that but he had enough distractions to not care about this change. He had a new room of similar size to his old one but it was far away from the other living spaces. This meant he could avoid seeing other people as much as he wished. For a while, Scaramouche enjoyed that privilege very thoroughly. But after a week passed and Sethos didn’t appear to bother him again, he decided to visit the main hall to waste some time.

The last time he visited the main hall, he gathered some ire from the scholars for not caring about their argument. For that reason, they didn’t invite him to join new arguments. He just spent some time watching them argue and left when he got bored.

He didn’t plan to go and keep talking about some nonsense with them. He had no intention to turn into someone like Regrator, who kept talking about nonsense for hours.

Afterwards, he sometimes went back to his room and ate his food. He never saw anyone else go in or out of his room, but whenever he returned, he always found something waiting for him. He guessed his complaint about the food reached someone’s ears because now the food was more fit to his tastes.

Fatteh, fish with cream sauce, fish roll or minty bean soup that was usually paired with simple salads. All were things that fit his palate quite well. One time, he even received some tofu and rice balls, after he mentioned to Hana about eating some in Liyue.

He didn’t know why it affected him so much, but he found himself thanking her the next time. She laughed and told him he didn’t need to thank her.

Occasionally, he would visit Bamoun's library, just like he was doing now.

Scaramouche stood in the library, surrounded by shelves upon shelves of books. The room had a weird smell, but it was a smell he was starting to find oddly comforting. His eyes scanned the titles of the books before him, trying to find one that seemed interesting enough. He sometimes read articles about the history of the temple - Temple of Silence, he learned by now - but sometimes he just read random story books.

He spotted a well-worn copy of 'The Lay of Al-Ahmar’, a book he remembered reading during his journey through the Red Sands. The one he read was a much thinner, summarised copy he ‘got’ from an Eremite. But what caught his attention even more was the second copy of the book, which appeared much newer than the first.

It was unusual to find two copies of the same book in a library like this. Perhaps, he thought, The Temple of Silence preserved older books by creating new copies to keep the stories alive for future generations.

As he flipped through the pages of the newer copy, he looked at the intricate illustrations and crisp text. The illustrations of the Goat King and the Crocodile King were especially well-done, he wondered if it was because of the scholars he talked to before. He vaguely remembered their conversation about the Gods, comparing their powers.

He closed the book; he didn’t need to read it in one sitting. I could ‘borrow’ this one to read in my room...

After putting the book down, he paused and then reached between his belts. He carefully pulled out the insignia he hid inside his secret pocket. He didn’t like to leave it behind, so he started to keep it around. It was nonsensical, but he felt anxious about losing it.

Staring at the rough design of the Recruit's Insignia, Scaramouche couldn't help but wonder about its previous owner. Was that person still alive, or had they met their end already? There was no blood on it, but that didn't necessarily rule out anything.

As he turned the insignia over in his hand, a sense of unease washed over Scaramouche. It was a lower rank soldier. It meant they were either a new hire or their talents were not extraordinary enough for a promotion. Just a scout, someone who was not important enough.

Before he could keep thinking about the insignia, he noticed he had a visitor.

With his newly repaired ears, Scaramouche was able to hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching. Hastily, he concealed the insignia and turned around, only to be met with the unexpected sight of Sethos standing next to the door.

To Scaramouche's surprise, Sethos looked worn and dishevelled. It was clear that he had not been taking care of himself. His clothes were dusty and his hair unkempt, hinting at days without proper rest or care.

‘’Sorry,’’ Sethos said, not even bothering to hide his exhaustion. ‘’Am I bothering you?

Scaramouche opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. Yet, nothing came out of it. It had been two -almost three- weeks since he had last seen this man, and he was just starting to get used to the absence of his annoying voice.

When Sethos stopped showing up, Scaramouche didn't dwell on it too much. They made a deal, and Scaramouche had nothing else to offer. In the grand scheme of things, it seemed natural to assume that was the end of it. He figured Sethos was avoiding him, much like he had asked his grandfather to avoid him.

Was Sethos no longer at the Temple? Is that why he hadn’t seen him?

"Cat got your tongue?" Sethos asked with a faint smile. "Or have you forgotten how to talk after all that time spent buried in books? Grandfather says you're at the library almost every night."

"You look rough," Scaramouche states the obvious. He really did look rough: there were deep, dark bags under his eyes, his braids were undone, and his eyeshadow was messy. Whenever he moved his head, his hair danced with his every move.

"Well, you look worse ," Sethos said with a shake of his head. "Do you know how pale you look? You almost gave me a scare.’’

''Almost?'' Scaramouche scoffed. ''Alright then, I'll try harder the next time.''

A moment of silence passed between them. Scaramouche had no desire to shatter this stillness, but Sethos seemed determined to have a conversation.

"I'm relieved I made it here before you retired for the night," Sethos said, breaking the silence.

Scaramouche didn’t know where Sethos was going with this. "Do you have something on your mind you wanted to discuss with me?"

"Yes, I do,’’ He said. "Do you have a moment?"

Scaramouche, not wanting to appear too eager for a talk, reached for the book he had momentarily set aside. ‘’Go on,’’ he said carefully.

"I just wanted to thank you," Sethos began. He looked better the more he spoke. "That map proved to be invaluable to us." Sethos chuckled softly, finally a genuine note of happiness in his voice.

"We did establish a mutually beneficial agreement, did we not?" Scaramouche replied with a touch of indifference; he really didn’t see what the big deal was. "I scratch your back, you scratch mine."  

Sethos didn’t say anything for a moment, and Scaramouche thought this was the end of their conversation. So he grabbed the book he was eyeing moments ago, but before he could make his way out, Sethos held up his arm and stopped him.

"I must apologise for my behaviour," Sethos said. "The last time, I was really rude towards you. I knew it was not your fault, my emotions got the best of me and I lashed out."

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow, amused. "You call that lashing out?" He remembered Tartaglia’s constant whining, Il Dottore’s endless bitching, and La Signora’s insufferable jabs. Compared to them, Sethos’s words meant nothing.

"Yes," Sethos said, his gaze lingering on the book in Scaramouche's hands. "I behaved like a child."

After saying that, he stared at the emptiness, as if he was thinking about something. Then, he extended his hand towards Scaramouche. "It appears we have a common enemy. Shall we put our differences aside and be friends?"

Scaramouche was now really having fun. "So, you only now realise we share an enemy?" Despite his mocking tone, he reached out and took Sethos's hand.

His hands were as warm as he remembered.

….

Scaramouche extended his hand, his fingers outstretched. "Three questions," he declared firmly. "No lies, no evasions."

They were in his room, a neutral ground of sorts for him and Sethos. This was Scaramouche's compromise; he allowed Sethos in so they could strengthen their alliance. Or whatever Sethos called it.

It allowed both of them to benefit in some way. Sethos, still covered in a layer of sand and dust from his mission, had not bothered to change his clothes. Despite this, he took the time to brew some tea for the occasion.

As the two men sat facing each other, sipping their tea, Sethos poured an excessive amount of sugar into his cup. Scaramouche fought to maintain a neutral expression. How could anyone bear that atrocity?

"This is the only way I can stomach it," Sethos explained, sensing Scaramouche's distaste for his choice of indulgence.

‘’What are you, a child?’’ Scaramouche mumbled.

Sethos ignored his comment and lifted the cup to his lips.

After drinking half of the cup in one gulp, Sethos asked. ‘’So, who will ask questions first?’’

‘’You start.’’

Despite this question game being his plan, Scaramouche didn’t have any questions ready yet.

"Were you a big deal?" Sethos asked. ‘’They sent five or six different units after you.’’

"You could say that," Scaramouche replied, sounding too smug for someone in his position. 

"My absence is certainly causing them a lot of trouble.’’ Scaramouche admitted. He paused to scratch his nose before continuing. ‘’With that said, even if I wasn't, Fatui doesn't take kindly to traitors."

Sethos furrowed his brow, flipping through the pages of the book in his hands.

 "Okay, second question," he said, glancing up at Scaramouche. "What exactly did you do to get them this mad?"

Scaramouche let out a weary sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I failed my mission.’’

Sethos leaned closer. His curiosity was present in his gleaming pupils.

"What was your mission?" he pressed, his eyes shining more intensely. "If the Fatui punished every soldier who failed a mission, they'd be severely lacking in manpower."

A hint of amusement danced in Scaramouche's eyes as he responded, "Is that your third question? Or are you simply trying to bend the rules of our little game?"

Sethos huffed with annoyance. "Come on. You can't just split your answers in half like that to waste my questions.’’

‘’I am not doing that.’’ Scaramouche was doing exactly that. ‘’Quick, ask your last question so I can ask mine.’’

Sethos huffed and stopped for a moment to think. His wrinkled face while he was trying to think of one last question was funny, but Scaramouche refused to crack a smile.

‘’What was your mission?” Sethos finally asked. “That's my third question."

Scaramouche's face faltered slightly. His gaze turned distant as he thought back to his mission.

"I was tasked with retrieving the electro gnosis from the Raiden Shogun," he answered.

Sethos's eyes widened with excitement, which meant he knew what a gnosis was. Scaramouche couldn't help but add with a mocking smirk:

"I failed ."

"What a shame…’’ Sethos put his hand on his chest, with a weird expression on his face. Scaramouche wondered what was the reason for that. Maybe, because he also had an electro vision, he wanted to see the gnosis.

‘’Alright, it's your turn,” Sethos said, inviting him to continue the game of questions. “Feel free to ask me anything."

Scaramouche was sceptical, doubting Sethos's honesty.

"You won't dodge any of my questions, will you?" he asked, as if he himself was not dodging most of the questions.

"I wouldn't have accepted this game if I didn't plan on being completely truthful,” Sethos assured him with a smile. “Go ahead and ask away."

After a moment of contemplation, Scaramouche asked his first question. "How do you manage to keep the Temple hidden?"

Sethos chuckled lightly at the predictable question. "A strong start, I should have seen that one coming," he admitted before continuing. "It's a rather boring explanation, and one that won't be of much use to you, but if you're still interested, I'll explain.’’

I’ll decide whether or not it will be useful to me or not, Scaramouche thought. "I want to know."

Sethos elaborated his answer, "We have a seal in place that only authorised personnel are aware of how to break. It's been four centuries and yet, the location of our Temple remains undiscovered by outsiders."

"Who are they?"

"Is this your second question?"

After a brief moment, Scaramouche shook his head. He had a more important question, one that was on his mind for a while. He couldn’t waste his questions on something insignificant.

"No, actually,” Scaramouche said. “I have another one.’’

‘’Shoot.’’

Scaramouche ignored Sethos’s comment and proceeded with his question.

‘’Why did you help me?’’ he asked. “If you want my mechanical components, there are certainly easier methods to accomplish that."

Sethos raised an eyebrow at the question. "Are you saying that I should’ve dismantled you?"

With a hint of sarcasm, Scaramouche replied, "You already removed some compartments; you could have finished the job. What stopped you from doing it then?"

Sethos stared at him coldly. "I admit that our initial interactions were less than ideal, but… I find it rather offensive that you would assume we would resort to such measures."

Feeling a sense of distrust, Scaramouche felt a small outrage in his heart. How dare he feel distrust towards him as if he was not holding most of the cards?

"Let's not pretend that the idea is beyond you ,” Scaramouche retorted. “ Don't act like your hands are clean."

Sethos raised his hands. "Okay, alright. I get it.’’

He was clearly getting tired of arguing.

‘’We are disciples of Hermanubis,’’ he said, his voice softer. ‘’His teachings emphasise wisdom and justice. It goes against our principles to exploit defenceless individuals. Our code of Justice prohibits such actions."

When Scaramouche didn’t add anything, Sethos continued. "May I ask you what your third question is?"

Scaramouche had many questions.  Where were you? How did my map help? I spent weeks travelling across different cities with no answers, so how did you reach the place that the Doctor was trying to find ?

But instead of asking anything that could help him, his mouth moved on his own. "What happened to the Fatui soldier whose insignia you confiscated?’’

"So, that is your third question?" Sethos was taken aback by the unexpected question. He also had many answers prepared for potential questions he could’ve asked, but he would’ve never guessed Scaramouche would ask this.

"Are they dead?" Scaramouche asked again. He didn’t know why he cared so much, why he fixated on this one little thing. But he wanted to know.

Sethos was silent. He had thought Scaramouche would inquire about something more relevant, perhaps even about Sethos himself.

"Did you know him?" Sethos asked.

"Is this your fourth question?" Scaramouche retorted dryly.

Sethos pursed his lips. "I have a duty to protect my people." He didn’t want to lie, not when he promised."I will not hesitate to eliminate anyone who poses a threat to them."

Scaramouche couldn't help but notice the glint in Sethos' eyes; a familiar glimmer that mirrored the predatory stare of a Rishboland before they pounced on their prey. When he asked his question, he fully expected Sethos would lie to him. Didn’t he want to be allies? How could he admit something like taking a life so easily when he had to impress him?

Nonchalantly taking another sip of tea, Scaramouche said, "Well, it's a fortunate thing that we're friends now, isn't it?"

The tension seemed to melt away, and a sense of relief washed over Sethos. "Indeed."

Silence fell to the library once again, yet it was more comfortable this time. The silence was broken when Sethos let out a yawn, drawing Scaramouche's eyes to him. Exhaustion was creeping up on him, it was evident in his tired eyes.

"See you tomorrow, then?" Sethos mumbled tiredly.

Scaramouche nodded. That was all the confirmation Sethos needed to take his leave for the night. 

Chapter Text

Scaramouche opened his eyes.

Although the sun was about to rise in a few hours, his room still felt like it was trapped in perpetual darkness; so, he didn’t notice the extra weight next to him right away. Instead, it took him a few seconds before he noticed the warmth of something soft and furry pressed against him. He turned his head to see the one-eyed fox snuggled up to him, its tail wagging gently against his body.

At first, Scaramouche let out a heavy sigh, wondering how the fox had managed to sneak into his room once again. But as the fox nuzzled closer to him, he couldn't help but smile. Despite the trouble it often caused, he had grown quite fond of this thing.

He reached out to stroke the fox's fur, feeling the softness beneath his fingers. The fox responded with a happy yip, its one eye gazing up at him. With another dramatic sigh, Scaramouche wrapped his arms around the fox and pulled it close. He just stayed there, watching the steady rise and fall of the fox's chest against his own.

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt another living being next to him. It had been centuries since he felt the heartbeat of another. That explained why he felt awful when he touched Sethos's body heat, or whenever he got too close to people. He was not used to feeling their warmth, his body was almost allergic to that sensation.

While absentmindedly playing with his fox, he couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu wash over him. This felt eerily similar to his days back in Tatarasuna. Back then, he always had little kids sneaking up to his bed, begging him to let them stay with him. He could never say no to them.

This little desert fox reminded him of those gentle nights, maybe that was why he was generously allowing it to bother him.

His life had taken on a new routine, one that he never thought he would come to accept. Scaramouche felt unsettled by how quickly the pieces were falling into their place. He was getting accustomed to seeing the same faces every day, and he didn't like it. When he first arrived, he spent every moment thinking about how to escape. But now, that idea rarely entered his mind. But here he was, finally settling down in a cosy little room, spending his days mingling with the people of the Temple.

Thinking about Sethos was a dangerous game. Sethos had always been one step ahead, leaving Scaramouche in the dark as to his true intentions. Even when he thanked him, he didn’t reveal what he found or discovered by following his tip.

The map that Sethos had stolen from him still weighed heavily on his mind. He knew it held some sort of value, considering Il Dottore's interest in it. But what exactly was the map leading to? What secrets did it hold that made it so coveted?

The fox licked his face, perhaps sensing his distress. Its tongue was sticky and rough, it gave him chills. Scaramouche pushed the fox half-heartedly with his elbow. 

‘’Stop it,’’ he mumbled, as if it would understand his words. ‘’I need to think.’’

The fox did not stop licking him. Ignoring the wet and coarse licks of the fox, he continued searching for a good explanation.

Since he couldn’t decipher anything from Sethos’s actions or that quack doctor’s possible motives, he decided to go back to where it all started: the couple that gave him the fragment. It had been a while since he thought about them. They were just a distant memory now, their faces fading from his mind. If he didn’t force himself to think about them again, he would’ve forgotten about their existence.

When he met those Fatui deserters, they were starving and alone. He found them stuck in a primitive trap, ones made by Hilichurls. Since Hilichurls had no taste for human meat, the cursed monsters left the couple to their fates. If it hadn’t been for Scaramouche, they would have starved to death.

This was one of the reasons why they gifted their last valuable bartering material to him. Scaramouche remembered their pitiful faces. They were strong enough to be foot-soldiers, but they clearly lacked the wit to throw off Fatui.

He closed his eyes and felt himself slipping into sleep. He was about to fall back into another dream before a sudden jolt of panic shot through him. What if the couple had been caught by the Fatui? Before that moment, he kept thinking they wouldn’t be able to escape the Doctor’s clutches, sure, but deep down he hoped they would. So, he never dwelled on what that actually meant if they were taken by Fatui.

It was a thought that had not crossed his mind before, but now it loomed large in his thoughts. If they had been captured, it was likely that they were interrogated and possibly revealed that they gave their map fragment to him.

Scaramouche sat up, scaring the fox next to him. His heart raced as he considered the implications of this revelation. If Fatui knew that he had been involved with the couple, it would not be long before they came looking for him. Dottore was unfortunately smart. He was not a Harbinger for nothing, and it would not be difficult for him to deduce that Scaramouche was the stranger who had met with the couple.

As fear gripped him, Scaramouche could feel the walls closing in around him. He had always been careful to cover his tracks and remain incognito, but now it seemed that his efforts were for nothing.

Scaramouche sat on his bed, his head buzzing with anxiety and frustration. He couldn't believe he had been so careless, missing such obvious details that could have potentially put him and his comrades in danger. The thought of Dottore discovering their hideout was enough to send shivers down his spine.

He knew that if he suspected that Scaramouche was following the map, he would undoubtedly send his men to focus the search party on those specific areas. It was a risk that Scaramouche couldn't afford to take.

But obviously, Scaramouche had long abandoned the idea of following the map. He had given up on trying to decipher the cryptic clues. It was a fool's errand, he thought, a wild goose chase that only led to dead ends and false hopes.

He gave up, but Sethos did not.

Sethos kept leaving the Temple for unspecified reasons but Scaramouche knew. Sethos was surely getting dangerously close to the location described in the map. He knew that their safety was at stake. Even if he managed to stay hidden in here, it was only a matter of time before Fatui tracked down Sethos and followed him back to the temple.

Sethos had no reason to believe people may be after him. After all, Scaramouche never told him about the place he got the map from.

‘’Damn it,’’ he cursed. ‘’Damn it all.’’

He needed to do something.

…

‘’Wanderer?’’ Sethos looked exhausted but his eyes still lit up when he saw Scaramouche. ‘It’s both too late and too early for a visit.’’

Scaramouche gave him a quick look. He looks like a mess again. His hair was lazily falling down his shoulders, and little rogue curls danced every time he moved. He was only wearing his thin inner garments; all his intricate outer clothes were tidied up neatly on his bed.

All these little things told him that Sethos was not asleep before he knocked on his door. Regardless, Scaramouche didn’t wait to ask his question.

‘’Do you have a moment?’’

Sethos considered for a few seconds and nodded. ‘’I mean, I am not doing anything right now, so…’’

It had been a while since he last saw Sethos. After their conversation in Bamoun’s library, he disappeared a few more times. Every time he returned from another mission, he made sure to talk to Scaramouche. He didn’t tell Jack about what he did when he was away from the Temple, but Scaramouche was getting used to that.

If he didn’t have to warn him, he might have stopped asking about that eventually.

‘’Can I come inside?’’ Scaramouche asked, tearing away his eyes from Sethos and looking inside his room. He didn’t want to waste another moment. ‘’We need to be alone.’’

Sethos blinked in surprise, then smiled. ‘’That’s very scandalous, you know?’’ He said, as he did welcome Scaramouche in. ‘’Ogling me like that… Asking me to be alone with you, at this late hour…’’

Scaramouche rolled his eyes and entered his room. "Can you ever be serious?"

He hoped Sethos got the message about how annoying he was. Scaramouche was not in the mood for making jokes or listening to them.

Sethos smirked. "I take everything seriously."

He hoped he truly meant it; Scaramouche needed something, someone, to depend on. He was exhausted with how much he had to deal with on his own.

"By the way," Sethos said, leaving the door open, "Will your little friend be joining us?"

Scaramouche groaned. He already knew what Sethos was referring to before the outline of the clingy fox caught his eye. He had left it at Hana's workshop before coming to Sethos's room, but it must have followed him. The fact that he hadn't been able to shake off the fox annoyed him.

"It doesn't need to be here," he said dryly. "Close the door."

‘’Oh, come on!” Sethos laughed. “Look how cute he is!’’

Sethos ignored Scaramouche’s request. Instead, he started coaxing the fox into the room. His little pspspsspsps, of course, worked; the little demon sprinted into his room immediately. The moment it caught sight of Scaramouche, it yipped and settled next to him.

"You should show him some kindness," Sethos said with a smug smile. ‘’He clearly likes your company.’’

"You should have kicked it out," Scaramouche snapped back, as if he hadn't allowed the fox to cuddle him just an hour ago. "Now it’s going to distract us."

"He won't," Sethos assured him, gesturing for Scaramouche to sit on the bed. "He’s probably just lonely without you."

‘’It doesn’t have such complex thoughts.’’

Scaramouche sat down on the bed as Sethos pulled a chair; it was too square and too hard to sit on comfortably. Maybe because Sethos didn’t spend too much time in his room, there was not much furniture. His room was nice, though. It was simple, and Scaramouche couldn’t find a flaw other than how empty it was.

The fox placed itself on his lap, but he refused to pet it. He would not pet it, not in front of Sethos at least! There was no need to prove him right.

‘’So, tell me. What brings you here?’’ Sethos asked, not hiding how much he was enjoying the sight in front of him. He kept looking back at the fox, it almost made him want to push that dumb creature away.

Thankfully, he had to say something important now, so he overlooked Sethos’s teasing. ‘’Fatui might be after us.’’

‘’…That is, wow.’’ Sethos laughed. ‘’That is news to me. Thank you for telling me that.’’

Scaramouche gritted his teeth so hard he nearly cracked them. ‘’Don’t you dare mock me like that! Do you have any idea how much danger you might be in?’’

Sethos’s smile disappeared. His tone was gentler this time as he spoke.

‘’I’m sorry,’’ he said. ‘’I’m tired, I can’t sleep, and… I just wanted to make you laugh, since you look tired, too.’’

‘’I am not in the mood to laugh,’’ Scaramouche muttered. ‘’I want you to take me seriously for once.’’

‘’…of course.’’ It seemed like he was about to say something, but he held back. ‘’I really am sorry.’’

Scaramouche couldn’t find it in his heart to scold him again, for some reason. It is because of how tired he looks, he said to himself, that’s why I felt bad for snapping at him.

Then, he started talking and he couldn’t stop talking.

Scaramouche continued, detailing every little and unnecessary step of his journey since he was betrayed. How he escaped, how he met the deserters, how he saved them... When he finally mentioned how he got the map from them, Sethos looked even more curious. He probably assumed Scaramouche got it himself.

Scaramouche couldn't shake the nagging feeling that the couple had been captured by Fatui–they were not exactly known for showing mercy.

As he spoke, the weight of his words hung heavily in the air, each syllable a burden on his shoulders. Sethos listened intently, his previously sleepy demeanour replaced by a sharp focus as he processed the information.

"They are most likely caught by them," Scaramouche concluded, his voice tinged with a mixture of fear and frustration. His own experiences with the Fatui had left him with a deep-rooted understanding of the horrors they were capable of inflicting. After all, he was once one of them.

‘’Humans are weak,” he mumbled. “They always break under torture; I saw it countless times.’’

‘’That doesn’t exactly change our situation now, does it?’’ Sethos commented.

Understanding the gravity of the situation, Sethos reassured him that the temple's location was safe from discovery, at least for now.

‘’Fatui already knew you were around this area, but they couldn’t find you,” Sethos explained. “Even if they are following the map, they wouldn’t be able to track you down. The map wouldn’t lead them to our temple.’’

But as he spoke, a realisation dawned on him, and he stopped mid-sentence.

"Ah. It would lead to..." Sethos trailed off, his eyes widening as the implication hit him.

"...to you," Scaramouche finished, the words hanging in the air like a heavy cloak. The thought of putting Sethos in danger weighed heavily on his heart, and he couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that gnawed at him.

Then there was silence.

Sethos was playing with his free curls as he focused his gaze on Scaramouche. His eyes made him uncomfortable, like always. But he was slowly getting used to them as he learned how to interpret them. The looks he previously thought as angry were just how Sethos looked when he was deep in thought.

Scaramouche tried to avoid his gaze, but he really had nowhere else to look. Now, he suspected the reason Sethos made him sit on the bed was to trap him. He could either look at Sethos’s deep, thoughtful eyes or at his body; neither was a great option for him.

Finally, Sethos opened his mouth.

‘’Were you worried about me?’’ Sethos asked.

Scaramouche looked at him like he was crazy. He couldn’t believe this man.

‘’Is this what you took from all this?’’ Scaramouche asked with a scowl. ‘’I just told you: they could be after you.’’

Sethos shrugged.

‘’Wanderer, please don’t think that I don’t take your words to heart, because I really do.’’ His smile reappeared. ‘’I will tell my grandfather what you told me, and I’ll be careful for my next missions.’’

‘’Why are you smiling then?’’ Scaramouche asked, very jaded. ‘’Nothing I said was close to good news.’’

Sethos laughed at his tone. ‘’But you told us about something that could affect me.’’ He said, as if he was supposed to make sense to Scaramouche.

He was not! He sounded like a crazy person.

‘’Seeing that you worry about me makes me happy,” Sethos finished with a smile still on his face.

Scaramouche was about to take his face to his hands, but only then he realised he was petting the fox out of stress for Archons knew how long. He pulled his hands away, making Sethos laugh again.

‘’See!’’ Sethos pointed at him. ‘’What was that? Why do you do that?’’

‘’Do what?’’

‘’Why are you trying to stop yourself from caring?’’

Scaramouche’s ears burned. He didn’t stop himself from caring, he simply didn’t care. But it was hard to argue that when he barged into Sethos’s room, at this ungodly hour, just to warn him.

He got up, not caring about where the fox fell out of his lap. The fox was smarter, however, since it jumped to Sethos’s arms the moment it felt Scaramouche’s intention to stand up.

‘’That was all,’’ he said, feeling his ears and neck burn harder. ‘’That was all I wanted to say. I’ll be leaving now.’’

‘’You don’t have to leave,’’ Sethos said, playing with the paws of the little furball. ‘’I don’t think I can fall asleep anyway. We can keep talking.’’

‘’No need,’’ Scaramouche replied. Staying in a limited space with Sethos was the last thing he wanted at that moment. ‘’That was all.’’

And he fled Sethos’s room.

Chapter Text

Scaramouche found himself in Hana's workshop for their weekly meeting.

From the corner of his eye, he looked at the one-eyed fox. It kept following him, even after he left Sethos's room. However, once he reached Hana's workshop, only then did it abandon Scaramouche. It jumped to its pet bed and started napping. Traitor, he thought.  

He watched as Hana expertly removed the last of his modifications. The sight of his mechanical parts spread out on her tray made him feel queasy. It was unsettling to see pieces of himself detached and displayed in such a clinical manner. It reminded him of this new vulnerability of his own body. They were just mechanical parts, sure. But was it any different than a human seeing their liver removed and twitching on some cold surface?

As he tried to distract himself from the discomfort, he busied himself with other topics. His mind wandered to memories of Dottore, the doctor who had performed countless surgeries on him to enhance his abilities. Each time he returned from a dangerous mission, Dottore would be waiting with his tools, ready to make him stronger. Each procedure was painful, for obvious reasons, but Scaramouche never hesitated to undergo them. The rush of power that came with each new modification was addictive, and he craved the feeling of invincibility that it brought.

But now, as he watched Hana delicately dismantling his parts, he couldn't help but feel a sense of loss again. Was he ever going to stop mourning them, now when he never had to visit Hana's shop starting today?  These modifications had become a part of him, a source of strength and identity. Seeing them taken apart felt like a betrayal, a stripping away of his very essence.

His original body, though self-sufficient, was merely a simple, foolish puppet compared to the powerful being he had become thanks to Dottore's upgrades. No longer just a beautiful puppet, he had become a creature dwelling in the Abyss. Scaramouche bore the semblance of a God, all thanks to the skilled hands and ''upgrades'' gifted to him by Il Dottore.

Countless nights were spent watching Dottore carefully tinker with his joints, transforming him into something greater than he could have ever imagined. How many times had he watched that man work on his joints, while gossiping about their coworkers together? Despite their differences and the distaste he sometimes felt towards the man, the ''understanding'' that developed over centuries of working together could not be denied. They may not have been friends–Archons knew they barely tolerated each other. But they maintained a civil relationship when necessary.

In contrast to Dottore's precise touch, Hana's ageing fingers brought a different kind of warmth. Though her hands showed the effects of time, they exuded a comforting energy that Dottore's could not replicate. Her hands were not as warm as Sethos’s but… He stopped himself, the mere thought of that man sent shivers down Scaramouche's spine.

He hadn’t slept after meeting him a few hours ago and he was doing his best to not think about him. He didn’t even want to meet or talk to him that day. The more distance they had between them, the better. He hadn't recovered enough brain power to deal with his weird antics.

Scaramouche was caught off guard by the sudden hush that had descended upon the room, his brow furrowing in confusion as he realised that a question had been directed at him. He blinked, his gaze shifting to Hana with a sheepish expression.

"Huh? Sorry, can you repeat that?" he stammered, feeling a bit flustered at being so seemingly out of the loop.

Hana gave him a careful, weird look; as though she were trying to decipher the inner workings of his mind.

"Bamoun wishes to see you after this," she repeated, her words carrying a weight that drew his attention.

It took Scaramouche a few moments to recall just who Bamoun was; his thoughts had been preoccupied with other matters. His focus was lodged firmly in the past, but it lasted less than a few seconds.

Bamoun... Bamoun, grandfather of Sethos. Although he had never personally met the old man, it was common knowledge that Bamoun spent the majority of his days sleeping, only awakening to attend to the Temple's affairs. Despite his advanced age, he remained sharp enough to understand the importance of maintaining a presence and upholding the morale of the community.

It was obvious that Sethos, as the future heir, took on the responsibility of running the Temple, keeping it functioning smoothly behind the scenes. Scaramouche learned from Hana that in recent years, Sethos had essentially taken on the role of leader at the Temple of Silence, stepping in whenever his grandfather faced challenges.

With that said, despite Bamoun's condition, he still made an effort not to overwhelm Sethos with too much work. Hana spoke about this with a mix of sadness for Bamoun's declining health, yet also a sense of pride in Sethos's capabilities. It was almost as though she was boasting to Scaramouche, as if he cared about the affairs of The Temple of Silence!

Given this delicate balance within the Temple, Scaramouche was not a priority for Bamoun. Their lack of interaction, even while Scaramouche frequented Bamoun's library, left him surprised when Hana mentioned that he requested to see him. Perhaps he wanted to finally assess Scaramouche for himself, or maybe he only sought a meeting once he was sure Scaramouche's power was crippled. If it was the latter, Scaramouche couldn't help but find amusement in the situation, as he knew he still held the ability to turn Bamoun into mush with a single move.  

"I see," he said monotonously. "It's not like I have any other plans today."

When he noticed Hana nodding in understanding, his thoughts began to wander once again. But before he could get lost in them, she redirected his focus with a question.

"Did that child upset you in some way?"

What child? Scaramouche was momentarily confused, wondering who she was referring to until he realised she meant Sethos. Shaking his head, he voiced a gentle denial, wondering why she had brought him up at all.

"I was simply lost in thought," he explained. He even showed a rare smile to calm her heart.

Despite that, her expression turned uncertain. Before he could say anything else, she continued.

"Someone saw you leaving his room early this morning," she said, causing Scaramouche to nearly choke on his own breath in surprise. "I know it's not my place to pry into your personal life, but..."

Scaramouche felt cornered somehow. First of all, who the hell would have seen him leaving Sethos’s room? He didn’t see anyone else! But he suddenly remembered what Sethos said, on his first day here.

A lot of people around . B etter be careful.

In a panic, he considered the implications of her misunderstanding. Did she believe he was absent-minded due to a lover's quarrel with Sethos of all people? Paranoid, he thought of something else. He already found it suspicious that Bamoun called him today. But what if, Archons smite him, he was calling him because of something silly like this? To be, oh, he didn’t know, protective over his grandchild?

Sethos’s teasing words filled his ears, and he barely held back his annoyance showing in his face. What would my grandfather think?

He couldn’t have survived such embarrassment. He knew he had to clear the air immediately.  

‘’Nothing weird is going on. I went to his room to warn him about something,’’ he said, maybe a little too quickly.

He couldn’t help it, though. The idea of someone misunderstanding in such a way was embarrassing. Then he mentioned the map he gave to Sethos and gave her a quick summary of his worries. He hoped it would clear her mind, but all it did was make her face even more cloudy.

‘’I believe you, dear,’’ she said, but he didn’t believe her. ‘’What happened, then? Did he act rudely towards you, despite you helping him? This is no good either.’’

‘’No, everything is alright,’’ Scaramouche said, trying to remain calm so that she didn’t get any other weird ideas. ‘’He was… He didn’t say anything rude.’’

‘’You should ignore whatever he said,’’ Hana shook her head, as if she didn’t hear him. ‘’I patched him up last night. He must be tired; you know how he gets with…’’

She put her hand on her chest and pointed at her heart, as if it explained everything. ‘’Forgive his misgivings, if he committed any.’’

Scaramouche was taken aback by Hana's cryptic statement. What was she talking about? The look of confusion on his face seemed to trigger a realisation in her, as her eyes widened slightly with an 'Oh!' of understanding.

"He didn't tell you?" she asked, her tone implying that there was something important he was unaware of.

"What are you talking about now? Is there yet another secret being kept from me?" Scaramouche's frustration was evident in his voice. It was getting rather tiresome to be excluded like this.

"It's not really a secret," Hana replied with a hint of amusement. "In fact, it's common knowledge among everyone here."

Her laughter only served to make Scaramouche feel more left out. How could everyone know something about him that he had been kept in the dark about?

"If he hasn't told you yet, I can't explain it myself. Just point at his chest, alright?" Hana said, still smiling at his vexed expression. "I'm sure he will tell you himself."

"No, I wouldn't want to burden him with unnecessary questions," Scaramouche said sarcastically. ‘’If it was important, he would’ve told me already.’’

He watched Hana give him an understanding look. He didn’t bother to ask her what she was understanding, because he didn’t think he wanted to hear the answer.

…

When he walked into the room, Bamoun was sitting back in his chair, relaxed and calm. But as Scaramouche approached, Bamoun's demeanour changed ever so slightly. He greeted him with a respectful nod and a polite smile, but there was a hint of distance in his tone.

He expected to see this old man, but seeing that Sethos was also in the room was unexpected. What was that man doing here? Without saying a word, he sat in the chair next to Sethos.

Bamoun's room was very similar to his library. It was simple, like Sethos's room. But he had some books on his bookshelf and a lot of weapons on his walls. Different types of spears; all of them were well used. This old man before him clearly was a good fighter when he was younger. Another thing Scaramouche noticed was that he looked nothing like his grandson.

Speaking of whom…

Sethos didn’t look tired. He didn’t look tired at all! He looked nothing like how he was before the sunrise. That tired look had left his eyes, his hair was neatly done, and he was wearing fresh clothes. He probably took a fat nap before he came to his grandfather’s room.

I thought you couldn’t sleep even if I left, he thought mockingly. He didn’t know why seeing him like this bothered him so much.

‘Wanderer,’’ Sethos said. ‘’Hi.’’

Scaramouche nodded in acknowledgment. ‘’Hello.’’

Since we met again, I might as well talk to him later.

"How have you been, child?" Bamoun asked, attempting to engage in conversation when he saw them greeting each other. ‘’You look well.’’

"I'm doing well," Scaramouche replied. The old man nodded in response.

"That's good to hear. I've been meaning to have this conversation with you for quite some time now," Bamoun chuckled weakly. "I hope that my grandson has been looking after you in my absence."

Scaramouche felt a twinge of worry. Did the elderly man imply something by mentioning his grandson? Was he trying to provoke him in some way? He glanced at Sethos, who offered no assistance, only a kind smile like his grandfather.

Assholes.

"Indeed, he has," Scaramouche nodded, forcing himself to behave nicely. He internally swore he was not this unpleasant when Hana was around . H e knew how to present himself when he needed to. He was even tolerable with the other members of the Temple. But for some reason, whenever he got too close to Sethos, and even though they were supposed to be friends now, he felt painfully awkward.

On top of everything, he was still embarrassed about the whole ordeal the previous night.

‘’Did you get used to our temple then?'' Bamoun pressed.

"Yes, I have," Scaramouche replied.

Then, they started having a pointless conversation. Bamoun asked how he spent his days, how he was feeling, what he thought of the people here, did he like his room, did he enjoy spending time with Sethos…

Scaramouche couldn't help but feel annoyed by Bamoun's incessant questioning. Still, he tried to remain polite and engaged in the conversation, answering each question with a generic response.

He described his days as busy but fulfilling, his health as good, the people as friendly, his room as comfortable, and his time with Sethos as enjoyable. However, he couldn't shake the feeling that Bamoun was prying into his personal life, trying to uncover something about him that he wasn't willing to share. Bamoun seemed pleased with his answers, as he appeared content with the conversation.

‘’Sethos must have already told you, but I want you to hear it from me as well. We are more than happy with your cooperation. I would like to personally thank you and ask you something.’’

Of course you are happy, he thought. If our roles were reversed, I’d be happy too.

But before he could say something rude, Bamoun’s words surprised him.

‘What do you think about being a part of our Temple?’’

…

‘’What the hell was that?’’ Scaramouche whisper-yelled at Sethos the moment they left Bamoun’s room. ‘’Why did he ask me that? Since when-‘’

‘’Since we first found you, to be honest,’’ Sethos said, he also looked embarrassed. ‘’I didn’t think he would just outright say it, though.’’

When Bamoun asked him about his thoughts about joining the Temple of Silence, he really thought he was dreaming. It was so out of left field, he couldn’t even fathom what was going on in his mind. But Sethos didn’t look surprised, so it meant he was already aware of his grandfather’s intentions.

‘’He is a warrior first,’’ Sethos complained, ‘’he knows how to talk, sometimes, but when he gets excited, he just blurts out whatever he is thinking.’’

Scaramouche understood what Sethos was trying to say. If Bamoun didn’t have a coughing fit immediately after asking that question, he might have been forced to give an answer right there. Thankfully, Bamoun asked them to leave and said that they could have this conversation later.

That didn’t mean he was going to let Sethos go free.

‘’What’s wrong with you?’’ Scaramouche stopped Sethos. ‘’Don’t just walk away. What are you hiding from me?’’

Sethos blinked in confusion. ‘’I am not hiding anything from you?’’

‘’You are.’’ Then, he presses his hand against Sethos’s chest. ‘’Whatever this is, you are hiding it from me.’’

He was always aware that most desert dwellers wore clothing specifically designed to combat the intense heat. Their garments were typically lightweight and made from cotton, which efficiently absorbs sweat and allows air to pass through its fine threads.  But despite knowing all this information, his brain didn’t exactly turn it into practical knowledge.

He didn’t really think, that by putting his hand on Sethos’s chest, he would feel his heart beating. As if there was no space between his hand and his chest.

For a moment, dumbfounded, he stayed there feeling Sethos’s heartbeat under his fingertips. It was fast, it even got faster due to his confusion. When he finally pulled his hand away, Sethos was looking at him, speechless.

‘’What… Oh!’’ Sethos seemed to understand what he was trying to say, and Scaramouche was grateful for that.

He didn’t have to open his mouth and embarrass himself even further.

’’Do you want to get out of this place?’’ Sethos asked.

Scaramouche was the one who was confused now. ‘’What? Isn’t that dangerous?’’

‘’Just for a few hours,’’ Sethos explained, ‘’The Fatui are long gone, they are tired from exploring this area. Don’t you want some fresh air?’’

Scaramouche could only accept.

…

It was his first time outside for a long while; he had been inside the temple for almost three months.

It was nice to feel the wind again.

They sat on the cold desert ground, the only sound being the soft rustle of the wind against the sand. Scaramouche watched as he gathered twigs and dry brush, his movements quick and efficient. It was clear that Sethos was experienced in making campfires, seeing that his hands moved deftly as he built a small pyramid of wood.

He couldn't help but admire Sethos' skills. He was fairly unaffected by the cold, but he could see that the temperature of the desert night was getting to Sethos. The chill in the air must have been biting, making it necessary for him to have a fire to keep warm.

Sethos struck a match and the flames flickered to life. Scaramouche watched the flames dance and crackle, casting a warm glow on their faces.

"When you face a problem, just tell me,'' Sethos said. "Tell me, where did you hear about this ‘secret’ I couldn’t share?''

Scaramouche remained silent, before he found enough spirit in him to tell Sethos what happened that day. He was glad he didn’t make any comments until he was done; it made things much more bearable.

‘’Hana said she couldn’t say it?’’ Sethos questioned.

‘’Yes.’’

‘’How thoughtful of her. ‘’ Sethos continued with a touch of glee in his voice. "She was right, you know. It's not a secret.''

He looked excited, as if he was happy that he could surprise Scaramouche.

‘’Just tell me,’’ Scaramouche groaned.

Sethos laughed. ‘’I can do better. I can show you.’’

Sethos clutched his chest, his expression contorted in pain. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and he seemed to be struggling physically. He looked in so much pain, that Scaramouche almost dropped pretending to be angry with him, to help him. But when he started seeing purple sparkles appear around Sethos’s hands, he stopped. There was a presence, a power, within him that he had never picked up before.

With a sudden move, Sethos pulled something from his chest. What emerged was a strange, pulsating object that emitted a soft, eerie glow. It resembled a small, bandaged rock and yet, it also bore a resemblance to a beating heart.

Scaramouche couldn’t mistake what it was.

He had always sensed an unease around Sethos, attributing it to his personality or simply the presence of his vision. Now, he understood that Sethos was not just a vision holder; he was a vessel, like him, for the remnants of a God. Except, Sethos was actually successful.

Scaramouche watched in awe as Sethos held the pulsating, shiny god particle in his hand. The purple, beating light reflected onto Sethos’s face, illuminating his features better than the moonlight or the campfire ever could. The intensity of the light seemed to dance in his eyes, giving him an almost mystical appearance.

The god particle seemed to radiate power and energy, pulsing with an otherworldly glow. Scaramouche could feel the energy and slight wind emanating from the particle. As he sat there, he couldn't shake the overwhelming sensation that he was living in a dream. It was as though he was a mere spectator to a miracle unfolding before his eyes.

Yet, beneath the surface of awe and wonder, there was a simmering pot of jealousy bubbling within him. It was a jealousy so intense, so deep, that it left a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know he could feel such intense jealousy for something other than a gnosis before.

This didn’t feel fair.

Sethos looked at him, who was unable to open his mouth as his gaze remained on his God particle.

“Everyone in the temple knows I’m a vessel for our Lord’s power,’’ he said. ‘’This lone Ba fragment is all I have now, but soon…’’

He didn’t finish his thought.

Scaramouche cautiously raised his hand towards the pulsating light, only to have Sethos quickly snatch it away.

"Careful," Sethos warned as he delicately placed the fragment back into his chest. "It's not exactly stable."

As the purple light vanished, Scaramouche couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment.

"Why show me then?" he asked, his tone laced with bitterness. "What if I had stolen it from you? What if I had implanted it within myself?"

Sethos chuckled softly.

"I won't waste time explaining why inserting Ba fragments into your body is a bad idea, or why it wouldn't survive inside you," he said cheerfully, gazing into the crackling campfire. "But you are correct, it was a rash decision. You could have been injured or we could have lost the little power we have left. It was a dangerous move."

"Why take the risk then?" Scaramouche asked, his face filled with uncertainty.

Sethos paused for a moment before responding, "Whatever you’re looking for, I don’t think it was this. I didn’t think this was enough for you.''

‘’…this is a horrible gamble,’’ Scaramouche shook his head. He didn’t bother to deny that this was not enough for him. ‘’You can’t take risks like that.’’

‘’So, you really care?’’ Sethos asked.

He was laughing, but his whole body was still covered in sweat.

Maybe this was what Hana was talking about, Scaramouche thought. I doubt it is easy for a human. The thought pained him so much, he looked away.

He really did care.

Chapter Text

So, he joined the Temple.

It seemed like the most logical conclusion. He really had no other place to go, and the Temple of Silence was an awfully convenient place to stay. Bamoun looked too excited–too hopeful – when Scaramouche told him he accepted his offer.

Despite this new status, not much had changed. He still mostly stayed indoors. He was able to get out of the temple on his own to leave for small walks and scouting missions from Sethos now. Missions, he called them, but they were simply orders for Scaramouche to get familiar with the immediate area. At first, he didn’t like how fast things were progressing. However, he got used to it, like how he got used to everything else.

It didn’t take long until Sethos came to him and asked him if he wanted to go on a mission together.

…

‘’King Deshret didn’t fight alone,’’ Sethos said, ‘’neither do we.’’

Scaramouche agreed to go on a mission with him. It was going to be their first ‘serious’ mission together, and Sethos was awfully meticulous about the details. Scaramouche found this side of Sethos weird and a little too serious for him. While planning for their trip, he didn’t even give him those fake smiles he forced out when he was exhausted or angry. It was uncomfortable seeing a Sethos who didn’t smile for hours. But after he seemed satisfied with their preparations, he returned to how he usually was.

They were going to leave the Temple that very night. That meant this was the last time they could simply sit down and talk without worrying about wasting time.

Sethos chose to spend that time next to Scaramouche, bothering him until he got fed up with him. Scaramouche was horrified to realise that he was slowly building up a resistance; he used to get overwhelmed whenever he had to spend a few minutes with Sethos. But now, he was actually tolerating this guy sitting next to him, who was trying to share his hat as a sun shield.

‘’What made you trust this Babel woman?’’ Scaramouche asked.

He moved his head a little to stop giving Sethos some shade with his hat. However, he was too persistent. He simply got closer and made himself comfortable. A few curls of his hair touched Scaramouche’s cheek.

‘’My grandfather knows her.’’ He didn’t seem to realise or care that he was bothering Scaramouche. ‘’A few years before I was brought to the Temple, he and his friend tried to find her daughter.’’

‘’Did they find her?’’ Scaramouche asked, ignoring the bigger issue in Sethos’s words.

‘’Brought to the Temple’’ was not the same thing as ''Before I was born.’’ 

Scaramouche previously had assumed Sethos was born in the Temple. However, he decided to ask him about it later.

‘’And no,’’ Sethos continued with a shake of his head. ‘’She was lost to the sands. Like many tribes, she is not thrilled to interact with the outsiders. But she does not forget those that helped her.’’

Scaramouche didn’t like the sound of that. Lost to the sands sounded too ominous for his taste. ‘’And you think we can trust this woman?’’

‘’She is a priestess of Nabu Malikata.’’

‘’Uh-huh.’’ Scaramouche rolled his eyes. ‘’Sound trustworthy. Surely, she wouldn’t stab us in the back. After all, she worships the lover of your God. Worshippers-in-laws and all.’’

Sethos laughed. He seemed to laugh whenever Scaramouche mocked him, never taking any offence.

‘’And more importantly, we will be outsiders to them,” Sethos said. “She doesn't like having to dirty her or her own people’s hands for things she deems inferior. Which means we could work towards a shared goal as long as it benefits both of us.’’

‘’The Eternal Oasis is her goal, not yours.’’ It wasn’t the time to discourage Sethos, but he couldn’t stop his words. ‘’Not to mention, I doubt it actually exists.’’

It had taken Sethos a while to let Scaramouche know what the map was leading to. But since they were actually leaving the Temple together, he finally told him. The map fragment he exchanged with him had hints for the location of the Eternal Oasis.

The more he heard about it, the less believable it had gotten.

‘’It does.’’ Sethos never once accepted another possibility. ‘’We already know from the records that it exists.’’

‘’Old records are often wrong.’’ Scaramouche pointed out. ‘’Writers tend to write down rumours.’’

‘’Untruth does not exist within the bounds of the Temple.’’ Sethos’s head movements were annoying, especially since whenever he moved. Scaramouche could feel the soft curls of his against his cheek and neck.

‘’I don’t blame you for not believing, though,” Sethos continued. “You will believe it when you see it.’’

‘’If I see it.’’ Scaramouche scoffed.

He didn’t say anything for a while after that. Sethos always sounded so sure when he was talking about it. But, like he said, Scaramouche was only going to believe it when he saw it.

‘’Are you sure you’re feeling well?’’ Sethos suddenly asked. ‘’You sound more annoyed than usual.’’

‘’I’m fine,’’ Scaramouche mumbled.

He was now tolerating Sethos playing around with his wrist covers. Lately, this guy had become bolder, and he seemed to forget that people had a concept called ‘personal space’. With how buddy-buddy he became with him lately, one would almost forget how accusatory and untrustful he had been towards Scaramouche when they first met.

‘’Maybe we should’ve gone to our rooms earlier last night,’’ Sethos said. ‘’Or spent the day sleeping. Your wrists feel thinner than usual.’’

‘’That’s… Not even possible.’’ Scaramouche commented and shook his head. His body was resistant to erosion, he was not getting smaller. ‘’Maybe you are finally going insane.’’

‘’Despite your age, you act like a child sometimes,” Sethos laughed. “You clearly don’t take care of yourself.’’

Scaramouche rolled his eyes. ‘’Look who's talking.’’

Scaramouche was getting annoyed with his comments. What did he mean by his age? He was already regretfully mentioning to him that he was over a few centuries old. That said, Sethos was right, of course. He was not sleeping well, especially the last few days before their mission. His nights were restless, but he was not the only one who was neglecting himself.

‘’You drag me here every night,” Scaramouche pointed out. “If I’m not resting well, neither are you.’’

After Scaramouche accepted being a part of the Temple of Silence, Sethos insisted their little outings should not be a one-time thing.

‘’You are one of us,’’ he told him. ‘’And things have settled down, right? Let’s get out more.’’

Scaramouche found it difficult to say no to that. Although he spent his time reading books and conversing with the temple's people, he really, desperately needed a change of environment. He was a little too close to getting used to his cage . He didn't want to become a shut-in.

‘’I’m dragging you here so that we could talk in peace.’’ Sethos shrugged. ‘’Grandfather still wants to keep tabs on us after all. On top of that, you agreed to go out more often.’’

Bamoun had been particularly nosy, Scaramouche had to admit. Before he joined them, Bamoun was barely awake and their schedules rarely clashed. But now, whenever he wanted to visit the library, he found Bamoun there, waiting for him. He always wanted to ask more questions, and Scaramouche was very, very quickly running out of patience. He ended up not visiting the library as much as he wished.

It was a pity. He truly wanted to finish reading The Tale of Shiruyeh and Shirin.

‘’Then you don’t even sleep for three hours before you get up and leave.’’ Scaramouche pointed out.

He didn’t dwell on the last parts of what Sethos said. He was not in the mood to give him more things to feel smug about.

‘’I am not the one who needs to worry about himself,’’ he concluded.

‘’Look, I just want to be careful,’’ Sethos said, his fingers tracing the designs on his wrist cuffs. ‘’It wouldn’t be advantageous for us to start our mission if you’re distracted because you’re tired. I’m used to surviving the desert.’’

The unspoken implication was ‘’And I doubt you can handle it’’.

Scaramouche’s mouth gaped in surprise before he could finally talk. It was an insult to his capacities. He was the one who came face to face with the abyss. Some desert heat was not going to kill him.

‘’Just what do you think I am?’’ Scaramouche snapped. ‘’I am not some sheltered princess who has never endured any hardship in her life.’’

Sethos met his eyes. ‘’You do look the part.’’

‘’Enough.’’ He pulled away his hand, flushed. ‘’If you are that worried about our survival, you can focus on our munitions.’’

‘’Wanderer, look–‘’ Sethos seemed to regret what he said, but Scaramouche didn’t have the time to hear his voice any longer.

Scaramouche got up and shook off the dust on his clothes.

‘’I need some time to myself,” he mumbled. “If that’s even allowed here.’’

Sethos looked helpless, but he nodded. ‘’Oh, of course.’’

‘’Good then,’’ Scaramouche said. ‘’I’ll see you later.’’

…

He said that to get away from Sethos for a while, because Archons knew Sethos was making him confused. But once he was by himself in his room, he realised he actually needed some time to think and digest his decisions.

After joining Fatui, Scaramouche had always prided himself in his ability to not make decisions based on his feelings. He believed that emotions were a hindrance, clouding judgement and draining energy.

All of these things were still true; Archons knew he still felt drained whenever he had to deal with the temple’s residents for more than a few hours. But they were getting less and less annoying the more he interacted with them.

Admitting that he was, unfortunately, starting to care for certain people made his decision to join the temple much easier. The offer was sudden, of course–Bamoun brought it up without really preparing Scaramouche mentally. But maybe that was for the better, he thought.

That said, it was still not easy to simply move on from who he was.

Finding somewhere new to belong to was something he was familiar with. Throughout the centuries, Scaramouche had countless identities and lived a variety of lives–so much so that the very essence of his being had become a labyrinth of uncertainties. Each new name came with complications, and each new life brought him new problems.

Who was he? What was he? With each new identity, his true self seemed to slip away from his fingers. Endless metamorphoses were tiring at some point after all.

When Bamoun asked him to join the Temple, the idea sounded both tempting and sickening. He wanted a place to belong. He didn't want to add a new one to the growing list of names he had. He wanted a new start. He didn’t want to stop being Scaramouche.

To him, it was more than just a mere name.

Internally, he still referred to himself as Scaramouche. For the longest time, he was sure it was the last name he'd ever have. He sometimes thought about finding a new name for this new life, or even internalising the moniker ''Wanderer'' he told everyone in the temple. However, he still couldn't think of himself as anything other than Scaramouche.

The closer he became to accepting this new reality, the more he started thinking about the life he was leaving behind. His nights were not restless just because he was not used to his bed. Whenever he closed his eyes at night, memories surged forth. Amongst these fleeting moments, a vibrant image stood out, crystallised in his consciousness: the ethereal gaze of the Cryo Archon, her eyes filled with warmth, as she anointed him with his name. Mother to us, people of Snezhnaya called her, Mother to all.

She was a confusing woman; generous yet deadly. Loving yet cruel. A lonely puppet was able to find his place under her wings. The same puppet was forced to venture into the Abyss. He was able to show his worth even after his own creator betrayed him and his own people cast him away. He gained so much. He lost so much. All thanks to and because of her.

He refused to love this Goddess of Love. And yet he still worried, sometimes, over what she thought about him now. Was she furious that Scaramouche betrayed her? Or had she already forgotten him? Was she busy with things that actually mattered to her?

Did she praise Signora for managing to bring her the hearts of three gods? Signora was also saved from fire, just like Scaramouche, by Fatui. By now, with three decisive victories, Scaramouche wondered if she felt as if she paid back what she owed to Tsaritsa.

The idea of the Red Witch earning praise from the Cryo Archon annoyed him more than it should. If he hadn’t warned her, he would’ve gotten Electro Gnosis himself. Then, perhaps, his betrayal wouldn’t have been for nothing.

Just when he was thinking he no longer felt the hatred for his foolish actions, he imagined the fallen snowflakes in Tsaritsa’s hair and felt a pang of pain in his heart. Mother to us, mother to all. When he last saw her, he had already decided he’d take the gnosis for himself. She smiled and sent him off to his mission. He still remembered her smile from that day. Would she still smile at him if she knew about his upcoming betrayal?

When he first escaped, he thought she and Pierro would be sending the best of the best after him. They sent a lot of soldiers, which soothed his ego a little. But no Harbinger personally came after him. Yet, it didn’t relax him at all.

They still have a vague idea of where I am, he thought to himself sometimes, and if they caught that couple, they knew where I might be heading to .

Sethos reassured him that he was being careful, but he was a human after all. He didn’t live long enough . A nd with his personality, he may never will.

And now, he and Sethos were following the map fragment, to find somewhere that probably didn’t exist. To perhaps fall into the trap that Dottore set up.

He was not satisfied with his life choices.

…

When he calmed down enough, he found his way to their meeting spot. They were going to leave for their mission that night. Sethos seemed to take his words from earlier very seriously, because when he found him, he was busy double checking their backpacks.

His face was crunched into an uncomfortable expression. He saw Scaramouche approach him, but only greeted him with a nod.

When he saw that, Scaramouche scoffed. He noticed this unusual demeanour was not like him.

"You’re unusually quiet," he said, sneaking a curious glance in Sethos' direction. "I thought you'd be thrilled now that we're finally taking on this mission together."

Sethos paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts before he responded. ‘’I'm just trying to ensure that everything goes smoothly. Didn't you ask me to do just exactly that?"

He sounded a little too mocking for Scaramouche’s taste. "Oh, please. Who do you think you're fooling?"

He tried to get a rise out of him. He didn't like this serious atmosphere.

Sethos couldn't help but let out a quiet chuckle. "Clearly not you."

Scaramouche pressed further, sensing there was a little more beneath the surface.

"Come on, spill it. I know you can't keep it in anyway," he encouraged, nudging Sethos's feet with his own. "What's really bothering you?"

‘’Nothing is bothering me.’’

‘’It doesn’t seem like it. What did you do when I was gone?’’

‘’Nothing.’’ He paused. ‘’Except talked to my grandfather one last time to let him know we were leaving in few hours.’’

‘’So, is this about him?’’ Scaramouche asked. ‘’What, did he change his mind? Did he finally realise it’s dangerous, scandalous even, to leave you alone with me?’’

His intention was to make him laugh. But for some reason, Sethos seemed very embarrassed.

Did he finally gain a sense of shame while I was taking a walk? Scaramouche thought. Is he embarrassed about what he said when I went to his room?

Sethos hesitated, still slightly awkward. 

"It's silly, really." He admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty. "I'm relieved that my grandfather approved of you coming with me, it was nice to see his enthusiasm. Hana says she didn’t think she’d see him that excited ever again."

‘’Why would he not approve of it?” Scaramouche pointed out. “He was basically begging me to stay here.’’

Scaramouche watched as Sethos returned his attention to meticulously packing their preparations into their backpacks. His hands mirrored the careful and swift movements of Hana. It was a striking resemblance; he wondered if he picked it from her.

‘’He’s getting older and he’s forgetting the lessons he learned. Or perhaps, he’s getting more desperate.’’ Sethos's voice carried a hint of caution as he recounted the past events. "Allowing an outsider into our Temple proved to be disastrous. You're the first newcomer to join our ranks in over two decades. If it was a few years ago, maybe he wouldn’t have let us go together."

Intrigued, Scaramouche asked. "What happened? Did they betray you by disclosing the Temple's location?"

That was the most obvious possibility. If Scaramouche was still tied to Fatui, he would've done it himself.

"He stole our Ba fragment and disappeared with it," Sethos said. ''Needless to say, this incident reinforced the negative perception my grandfather held towards outsiders."

‘’Oh.’’

Oh, yes. That’d do it. He wondered if this shaped Sethos’s distrust towards him when they first met.

‘’Don’t worry. One day, he will return,’’ Sethos said. ‘’We will make him return.’'

Then, he smiled at Scaramouche. ''But that's for later. We can talk about it when we get back home.''

…

They left the temple exactly at midnight.

It was a dark and moonless night, perfect for their departure. After they walked for a while, Scaramouche turned back. A wave of bittersweet emotions washed over him. He stole one last glance at the temple that had harboured him for so long.

‘’This is it,’’ Sethos said. ‘’Look how small it looks.’’

He was right. As they walked, the oasis that had thrived near the temple seemed to gradually vanish, dissipating into the distant horizon. The flourishing palms that provided respite from the scorching sun slowly merged with the vast desert, blending into the shifting sands.

The rocks that guarded the temple's secret also began to fade away. These rocks had dutifully shielded it from prying eyes, their jagged edges becoming blurred and indistinguishable as they walked farther away.

‘’No turning back now,’’ Sethos mumbled. ‘’We need to keep going.’’

‘’No turning back now,’’ Scaramouche repeated.

It was just two of them now. 

Chapter Text

A day had passed and it was once again nighttime.

All things considered, their journey was going pretty well. By now, his eyes had finally adjusted to the glaring brightness of the day and the sharp darkness of the night. After spending months inside, and even after he started going out for small missions, he had forgotten how to deal with the desert for longer periods. It took him a few hours to finally feel comfortable enough to look around without feeling a sharp pain behind his mechanical eyes.

On the brighter side, his new clothes made this journey easier. With his new shoes, his feet no longer sank helplessly in the hungry desert. The weather was exactly how Sethos said it would be: as perfect as they could possibly hope. Wind even blew kinder on the day they left; one would never guess it was the very same wind that filled every crack and fracture in him with sand and dirt.

The tiniest grains of sand danced in the wind; the sunlight transformed their colours into a small spectacle. He gave Sethos a small praise mentally–when he meant he wanted to prepare for everything, he actually meant it.

Back then, when the puppet first travelled across the Red Sands, he thought he did a pretty good job. After all, he managed to get deep into the desert and survive. However, now he knew better. With how easy it was to travel into the Land of Upper Setekh thanks to Sethos’s help, he felt bitter. For a moment, he wondered: was he just crawling without any destination back then?

He didn’t waste time pitying himself anymore, so those thoughts left as soon as they appeared.

…

Scaramouche was used to going to missions alone.

At the very beginning, it was not his own choice. He was the only one who could wander into the abyss without losing his life, and that meant he couldn’t have anyone with him. He found it lonely at first. Back in his old life, he always had a warm shoulder he could lean into whenever he grew tired. But he got over it pretty quickly–there was no use mourning for something like that.

Later, even when he could bring a companion with him, he often chose not to do that. He didn’t want anyone to drag him down; he really didn’t want to deal with some buffoon who couldn’t understand how to behave when things mattered.  

So, not talking for a long time during missions was normal to him, especially if he was travelling at night, like right now. It was as if he was still in the heart of the abyss, when he walked in the darkness with no moonlight to guide him.

However, apparently, it was not normal for everyone else. Especially his current companion, who kept looking back at him every five seconds. Scaramouche tried to be graceful and ignore this–he really wanted to avoid scolding him like he was some child. But Sethos kept looking at him, waiting for him to say something. One or two times, he even put his head under Scaramouche’s hat for shade, saying maybe he should get one for himself as well. Scaramouche just hummed in response.

Scaramouche wasn’t ignoring him on purpose–he really just liked to mind his own business. He did have questions he wanted to ask, but he planned to do that when they stopped for a break. When he saw Sethos open his mouth, he knew he was going to have a conversation, whether he wanted or not.

‘’Wanderer, you’ve been awfully quiet,’’ Sethos finally said, after opening and closing his mouth a few times, as if searching for a good starter.

After speaking, he paused for a moment–perhaps bracing for some kind of impact. When Scaramouche didn’t react poorly, however, Sethos continued.

‘’What are you thinking about?’’

Sethos was usually very rowdy and didn’t care about crossing his personal boundaries, but he was also always careful when he thought Scaramouche was in a bad mood.

It is almost cute, Scaramouche thought.

‘’Oh, how perceptive of you,’’ he said.

Scaramouche couldn’t help but sound amused. He didn’t want to sound too giddy, so he cleared his throat before speaking again.

‘’Nothing, really. I was just thinking about stuff–our mission, the Temple.’’

He stopped a moment to think before adding: ‘’Your grandfather and Babel.’’

‘’Huh?’’

Clearly, that was not the answer Sethos expected. Scaramouche took a small glee from his confusion.

‘’What is there to think about them?’’ Sethos was now curious. ‘’Is something wrong with Babel?’’

Scaramouche wasn’t actually thinking about them at that moment. But once he did mention them, he remembered something that bothered him when he first heard about Babel.

‘’You said he tried to help her find her child, but he couldn’t.’’ Scaramouche frowned, he tried to put his thoughts in order. He waved his hand while trying to find a good way to put it.

‘’Is that all there is?’’

‘’What do you mean?’’ Sethos slightly tilted his head and laughed. ‘’What, do you think they had an affair or something? Did they have a secret baby?’’

‘’…You are reading too many light novels.’’ Scaramouche groaned, thinking about the new books with bright covers that started appearing in the Temple library. ‘’Who is even buying those things? They are a waste of space.’’

‘’They are a window to the outside world.’’ Sethos grinned. ‘’Those stories are very… multicultural. Extremely detailed. Highly educational.’’

Sethos’s shameless grin was visible, even in the darkness.

‘’They are complete nonsense,’’ Scaramouche retorted. He remembered the book he found Sethos reading and shuddered.

‘’Nonsense!’’ He repeated, as if he didn’t make it clear enough.

Sethos laughed again. 

‘’Whatever.’’

Scaramouche ignored whatever he felt when Sethos laughed and kept talking.

‘’What I mean is, what makes your grandfather different from any other mercenaries?” Scaramouche asked. “She gave him a mission, and he couldn’t complete it. But she still kept in touch with him despite that.’’

‘’She is the matriarch of her tribe now , ’’ Sethos said. ‘’But back then she didn’t have any supporters. It’s only natural to stay close to those who helped you when you had no one else...’’

He gave Scaramouche a meaningful glance–most likely trying to apply this logic to them. Scaramouche felt that Sethos could take this topic to an uncomfortable place, so he didn’t give him a chance to over explain himself.

‘’Did she know Bamoun was a member of Temple of Silence?’’ He asked quickly and shot another question. ‘’Or was she under the impression that he was just some Eremite?’’

Sethos shook his head. ‘’No, she didn’t know anything. We don’t reveal that to anyone haphazardly.’’

‘’So, if her only intention was to get her daughter back,’’ Scaramouche said carefully. ‘’He was just a mercenary that failed her.’’

‘’Wanderer.’’

Sethos stopped smiling, but he didn’t look angry. With his eyebrows raised and that confused look in his eyes, he looked lost.

‘’What are you trying to get at?’’ He asked.

It is not as if Sethos is stupid, Scaramouche thought suddenly . H e’s just in the eye of the storm. He can’t see what an outsider can see.

‘’What you are telling me is that…’’ He started. As he spoke, he could finally find the right words to make his point. ‘’…this young woman, who had high ambitions, had a child.’’

Scaramouche raised his hands and started putting down a finger with each reason.

“First of all, that baby was a weakness to and for her. Whoever was the father–or possible fathers–if she didn’t know who it was, it could’ve been a threat to her power,” Scaramouche said. “Second, no one really wants to take orders from someone who they deem as weak. That’s true, especially for the desert folk who worship strength first. Third, she did keep in touch with your grandfather, even though he failed to locate her baby. Why wasn’t he just another mercenary who failed to do what she said?’’

‘’…’’

Sethos looked at him with an empty face. Whatever he was feeling, he didn’t show it to him. 

‘’So?’’ he finally asked.

His lack of reaction annoyed Scaramouche, so he pressed further. ‘’So, what actually happened to her kid? Was his mission to find her? Or was it to get rid of her?’’

‘’She was lost to the sands, like I said.’’ Sethos still had no expression on his face. ‘’My grandfather wouldn’t do such a thing.‘’

‘’He wouldn’t hurt a child? Even if it means accomplishing his goal?’’ Scaramouche asked cruelly–he didn’t want to lose this argument. ‘’Of course, you would know that.’’

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew it was a mistake. The air grew chill around them. It was nonsensical, yet it felt true. He could see the few sparks from Sethos’s Vision dance, and they shone even brighter under the moonless night.

It could’ve been beautiful, if he didn’t feel the oozing sadness from Sethos.

‘’Look-‘’ Scaramouche began.

He wanted to explain himself. He didn’t want to hurt Sethos–he was actually acting very childish by taking it so personally. But Sethos waved his hand and stopped him.

‘’No, you are right.’’

Scaramouche blinked. ‘’Huh?’’

“My grandfather would do anything for what he thinks is best,’’ Sethos said. ‘’But he wouldn’t just waste a life like that, when he could simply take the baby with him to the temple. That would’ve been a better use for him.’’

He was still not looking at Scaramouche directly. Instead, he was playing with the braid over his shoulder. Scaramouche waited for more, but other than the small electrical cracks from Sethos’s Vision, he could hear nothing.

Then, there was silence again.

They didn’t talk until the sun began to rise.

…

When the first rays of sunlight appeared, Scaramouche automatically felt better. He didn’t really like the sunlight that much–it was bad news, since they had to take a break, and that meant he could no longer avoid looking at his companion. But it was still better than walking silently in the dark with Sethos next to him.

One thing that made the desert stroll less torturous was that it could be beautiful sometimes. The seemingly endless expanse of sand stretched out in front of him with the golden hue shimmering beneath the scorching sun. The desert appeared harsh and unforgiving at first glance, but Sethos was teaching him how to actually read the sands. He taught him how to find life.

The previous night, they watched the sunrise together.

That was Sethos’s idea, obviously. Scaramouche didn’t see any sentimental value in such acts.

They had left the temple in total darkness. When the hours passed and the stars began to disappear, Sethos insisted on taking a break. He was awfully obsessed with the importance of watching the sunrise. Scaramouche didn’t see why he pressed on such a silly – and frankly wasteful – thing, but he didn’t bother arguing.

Now, he actually wished he could go back to twenty-four hours earlier when he didn’t feel so awful. Sethos, like the previous night, stopped and started taking out their provisions so they could have a quick breakfast as they watched the desert wake up. Scaramouche decided he should find them something to sit on–maybe they could ease the tense atmosphere after they ate something.

He strode to the large rocks stacked on top of each other. The previous night, they were able to find some logs that were now useful. When he looked under one of the rocks, however, a small flower stood before him.

It was a tiny, delicate blue flower with fleshy petals. It wasn't originally a desert flower, so its mere presence was a surprise. How did it end up under this rock? Was it dragged far away from its homeland? If so, what kind of unjust being decided it was fair to punish the flower like that?

Maybe its seed grew from animal excrement or a blowing wind, he thought. Or , perhaps , it fell from the shoes of an Eremite after visiting the rainforest ?

Whatever the reason, the lone flower was thriving against all odds.

It was so pretty that Scaramouche wanted to pick it up, but when he reached out, for some reason, he couldn’t do it. But he also couldn’t just leave it there–it was only a matter of time before the flower would dry in the sun.

The original rock was able to shield it from the harsh sun, but since he disturbed their positions, he didn’t think he could put the rock back without crushing the flower. So, he had to make some changes to allow the flower to stay alive.

He watered the plant and made a small but sturdy shade for it with flat stones from nearby. He hoped it was enough for it to survive until they were back.

I could plant it in a pot and put it in my room, he thought.

When he looked up again, Sethos stood watching him.

Scaramouche didn’t have any high hopes for what he expected to see in those eyes. Maybe some anger or annoyance with how long Scaramouche was taking. But when he looked into Sethos’ eyes, he saw nothing but fondness in them.

‘’What are you doing there?’’ Sethos asked. His eyes shone with an emotion that Scaramouche couldn’t understand yet.

‘’Nothing,’’ Scaramouche sheepishly said. ‘’It’s just a flower.’’

‘’It’s pretty.’’

‘’Yeah.’’

Scaramouche didn’t know what to say–he didn’t want to mess up again. But unfortunately, he felt that he had to try.

‘’Sorry,” he said.

Sethos didn’t say anything.

‘’…I really am sorry,’’ Scaramouche tried again, his pride shattering with every word. ‘’I didn’t mean to upset you.’’

‘’Sorry for what?’’ Sethos asked.

Sethos patted the rock next to him, as if inviting Scaramouche to sit down. With a sigh, he obediently sat where Sethos pointed to.

‘’For what I’ve said last night,” Scaramouche continued.

‘’You said many, many things last night,’’ Sethos said, sickly sweetly. ‘’Please be more specific.’’

‘’You…’’

He really wanted to snap again, but held back. If Sethos was willing to forget about his little outburst, he didn’t see any reason not to apologise again.

‘’I’m sorry for insulting your grandfather.’’

Sethos looked finally satisfied.

‘’You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. You don’t really have to apologise, when you think about it.’’

Sethos smirked when he saw Scaramouche’s frustrated face; it was getting red. And he was clearly grinding his teeth with annoyance.

 ‘’But, thank you,’’ he continued, gentler and way softer. ‘’Next time, try to make your point without getting too personal.’’

Scaramouche wanted to get really angry at Sethos. If he was going to forgive him this easily, why did he pout all night long? But he didn’t say what he thought. Instead, he simply picked a few dry biscuits and nibbled on them. He chose his battles, and this was not worth it.

Also, it was nice watching the warmth touch the cold desert sand.

After a peaceful moment of silence, Sethos turned towards him.

"Isn't it breathtaking?" He asked, gesturing forward.

The sun hovered in the distance, painting the vast sky with a blend of vibrant oranges and ethereal purples.

"It’s really nothing special," Scaramouche mumbled.

He wasn’t that impressed. With a shrug, he added:

‘’It’s nice, but nothing extraordinary. We saw it last morning, and the sun will rise again tomorrow, just as it has done countless times before."

Undeterred, Sethos fixed his gaze upon Scaramouche. The corners of his lips curled into a smile.

"It's still beautiful,” he said.

Scaramouche rolled his eyes. ''You are easily impressed, aren't you? If you think this is beautiful, I can't imagine how you'd react if you saw the Snezhnayan Lights.''

‘’Are they beautiful?’’ Sethos asked.

‘’More beautiful than you can imagine.’’

That was one of the only things he liked about visiting the Capital. Whenever he had to meet with other harbingers, he took it as an opportunity to prepare some tea and watch the auroras. He liked being alone, but every now and then, some of his coworkers would come and bother him.

The Doctor would insist on joining his tea time to yap about their next mission. He would talk and talk without even caring if Scaramouche answered his questions. Other times, it’d be the Knave who would simply watch them with a complicated look on her face. Then, there was the Jester, who once noticed Scaramouche’s habit and started gifting him tea from his missions. Columbina joined him only once, and that was enough. She simply sat there with an icy smile and didn’t utter a word. Even thinking about her sent shivers through his spine.

''Maybe we could watch it together, one day,'' Sethos said.

That was such a ridiculous thing to hear that, his first reaction was almost saying no immediately. After all, he knew he would never visit Snezhnaya ever again. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. The Cryo Archon would’ve noticed him the moment he stepped on the frozen lakes of hers. But he bit down that response and instead huffed.

‘’Maybe one day,’’ he muttered.

Lying a little was worth hearing Sethos laugh.

…

‘’Fungi are important,’’ Sethos said. ‘’They are the key to surviving the Red Sands.’’

He was holding one struggling Anemo fungus. It was just a small, mushroom-like creature. However, when they first saw this thing, Sethos just brightened up and quickly caught the now-very-unhappy animal.

‘’Look at how heavy it is, even though it’s just a whelp.’’

He grabbed the fungus from its two stubby legs and turned it upside down. The fungus made squeaky sounds whenever Sethos manhandled it, but he didn’t seem the care about its discomfort.

‘’Look at these gills,” Sethos commented. “They are already maturing. You can even see the rings forming!’’

Scaramouche got closer to the fungus. He reached out to touch its gelatine-like gills. It was a bizarre feeling, the soft flesh fungus kept slipping out of his hands as if it were covered in oil. But his hands were dry, so was the fungus. He was not sure how Sethos was able to hold it so steadily.

A lot of practice, probably, he thought, and the mental image of Sethos chasing fungi was so ridiculous that he had to crack a smile.

‘’Okay. So what?’’ Scaramouche asked.

‘’Fungi are just mushrooms that learned how to move, after all.’’

Sethos flipped the fungus to its original position. The fungus stopped squeaking once it was no longer upside down.

''The fact that this little guy is growing so fast in the middle of the desert means there is a lot of elemental energy around,” Sethos explained.

Sethos caressed the fungus’s smooth head before gently putting it down. ‘’And more importantly, there should be vegetation and water nearby.”

As if to show the way, the little fungus jumped and bolted away from them. Like many wild animals, it was probably going to where it felt the safest after being harassed by them.

A spring, then.

‘’You’re just messing with me,’’ Scaramouche said with a smirk he barely contained. He felt like smiling whenever Sethos got too into stuff he found interesting.

‘’You are making this up. You already knew an oasis was nearby, so you just made it up to make fun of me.’’

‘’Why would I make fun of you?’’ Sethos asked, trying to sound innocent.

‘’As revenge or something.’’

Sethos did laugh at that. ‘’I mean, I do know everything that goes on in the sands. But I am also serious about the fungi method I just talked about. If you see a fungus, it means you are close to flora. If you see fungi, you are already there.’’

Scaramouche rolled his eyes, but he could see the logic in what Sethos said. Every living creature needed some sustenance to continue their existence, and if something that developed from plants was alive… Remembering something, he frowned.

‘‘Is something wrong?’’

Those green eyes were always on him, so of course Sethos noticed his sudden discomfort.

‘’It’s nothing, it’s just…’’ He shook his head. ‘’It’s honestly nonsensical. I just remembered seeing fungi while I was following the map I gave you–a lot of them, in fact. They are easy to deal with, but they gave me quite a headache.’’

Sethos stopped walking to listen to him. ‘’You really couldn’t find anything?’’

‘’No, nothing. I couldn’t figure out what the map led to, either, so it was overall a mess.’’

‘’That must have been very frustrating.’’

Sethos looked a little amused, but he still sounded understanding.

"Oh, it was beyond frustrating," Scaramouche replied, feeling the anger resurface just at the thought of it. "But if what you're telling me is true, why didn't I come across any signs of life? No flowers, no water whatsoever."

"Do you truly want to know the answer to that question?"

"Yes, tell me!" Scaramouche snapped eagerly, forgetting himself for a moment.

‘’That’s because what you were looking for was underground,’’ Sethos explained. ‘’Fungi can, and will, squeeze in and out from small cracks. So, even though you didn’t know back then, you were walking on the top of the remains of King Deshret’s cities.’’

That revelation hit Scaramouche harder than he expected.

‘’…so, I was close?’’ He asked, thinking of the hordes of fungi he had to fight off.

‘’Very.’’ Sethos nodded. ‘’One of the many reasons why I couldn’t trust that you didn’t find the gates. In my mind, once you have the map, the rest was easy.’’

While talking, they finally reached the small oasis their little fungus ran off to. Sethos smiled proudly.

‘‘There it is,’’ he said to Scaramouche, who was still half frozen. ‘’We can refill our water bottles.’’

Scaramouche silently followed him.

…

After resting for a few hours, Scaramouche was finally ready to stop mopping around. He let go of the poor fungus he caught and used it as a resting pillow. It was the same fungus Sethos previously bullied, and he asked Sethos to catch it again for him. It was slippery and squeaky, but it was soft, and he needed something he could take his frustration out on.

For a short while, he allowed himself to bitterly think about what-ifs. He wondered how different his life could have been if he had something to bring to the table when he first escaped. Maybe he could have gone back to how everything was like…

Then again, he betrayed everyone because what they offered wasn’t enough. They still didn’t have anything they could offer to make his stay worth it. He peeked at Sethos, who rang out his hair after swimming in the spring. He would have been disappointed if he knew Scaramouche entertained the idea of betraying him for a few minutes.

That was when they heard the sound of wings–it was sudden, and it was loud.

Scaramouche raised his head in confusion as a milky white hawk flew over him, heading straight towards Sethos–who was equally surprised about the sudden disturbance.

‘’Sekh?’’ Sethos questioned.

He extended his hand, allowing the bird to perch on his arm. ‘’How did you..?’’

‘’Is it yours?’’ Scaramouche asked. He looked at the hawk, happily cooing and screeching as it sat on Sethos’s arm, immediately cleaning and fixing its messy feathers.

‘’How did it find us?’’

‘’She’s a special one, isn’t she?’’ Sethos’s voice was tense and uncertain, yet he still couldn’t stop himself from praising his hawk. ‘’Her name is Sekh. I raised her when she was just a hatchling. She knows my smell; she can track me down no matter how hard I hide from her.’’

The hawk, as if it was satisfied with the praise, made a proud sound and stroked its beak against Sethos’s cheek.

‘’She was not supposed to be here, though.’’ Sethos sounded uncertain once again. ‘’Unless there was an emergency, that is. I left her with a trusted friend, and she wouldn’t send Sekh here unless there was something I need to know.’’

‘’There’s a message on her leg,’’ Scaramouche pointed out. ‘’Also, isn’t she hurting your arm? Look at her claws.’’

‘’No, she’s not,’’ Sethos said as he quickly took the note from the bird’s leg. Once the note was removed, Sekh took off from Sethos’s arm and flew to a tree nearby.

‘’She knows how to handle her strength,” Sethos explained. “As expected of my student, of course.’’

Scaramouche shook his head in disbelief. Sometimes this guy said really interesting things.

After reading the note connected to the hawk's leg, Sethos frowned.

‘’Okay, change of plans,” he said. “Our next stop will be Aaru Village. It’s good that it’s only a few hours away.''

Scaramouche blinked. He didn’t like this new development. Deviating from their plan, especially this early, wasn’t good.

“Won't we make Babel wait?’’ he asked.

‘’She can wait. I’ll send Sekh to her when we reach Aaru village.’’

Sethos stepped closer to him. Water still dripped from his slightly wet hair, the tips getting curlier as they dried.

‘’It seems that exciting things are happening in Sumeru City,” he explained. “It's more important to get updates from there first. We can take a few days of detour.’’

‘’…Are you planning to go to Sumeru City after this?’’ He asked slowly. ‘’Do I have to remind you that I’m still a wanted man? Who knows? Maybe even in Aaru village, there could be secret Fatui agents waiting for me to appear.’’

‘’We won’t go to the city,’’ Sethos clarified. 

He reached out to Scaramouche and gently held his hands. Even though he just took a dip in the spring, his hands still radiated warmth.

‘’And we will be safe in the village, I promise,” Sethos added. “I’d never do anything that would put you in danger.’’

‘’We’ll have to be careful.’’

Scaramouche pulled his hands away, but not as fast as he wished he could. ‘’And if I see you do anything stupid, I’m ditching you and returning to the temple immediately.’’

Sethos grinned. ‘’I promise I’lll behave.’’

Scaramouche could only hope he actually would. Still, he didn’t feel too bad about this sudden change. For some reason, he felt it was going to be fine.

He hoped this feeling was not unfounded.

Chapter Text

The Aaru Village stood before them.

Scaramouche was not unfamiliar with the Aaru Village. For starters, when he was enjoying his library privileges–and how he missed having a book in his hands already–he picked up a few scrolls that talked about this small site. On top of that, Sethos was in a good mood, so Scaramouche was able to get a comprehensive picture on Aaru’s history.

Aaru Village was made up of the survivors of King Deshret's civilization. Looking at its location, Scaramouche thought it was in a very inconvenient place to build a community. Hard to reach but also hard to penetrate, it almost made sense why the survivors would choose this former fortress as their new settlement.

‘’There it is.’’ Sethos pointed at a house with one hand and took Scaramouche’s arm casually with his other hand. ‘’Let’s go. She must be waiting for us.’’

Scaramouche allowed Sethos to drag him through the stone-paved roads without any protest.  He was lost in his thoughts; getting close to human settlements was a weird feeling. He remembered hearing about Aaru briefly when he was on the run, but he never had the courage to visit. Back then, he was worried someone would remember him–after all, small and isolated villages like this one tend to remember new faces–and blabber about him to Fatui.

Speaking of which, that was something he was still worried about. Sethos insisted they would be safe in the village, and he chose to believe that. But that didn’t mean he was not fearful of the possibility.

Before they reached Aaru, he let out his concerns to Sethos. He was seeking some sort of concrete reassurance, something Scaramouche could hold on to and feel better about. However, that guy only chuckled and repeated what he said before.

"We will be safe,’’ Sethos said with so much confidence that he almost outshined the sun. ‘’Candace doesn’t allow anyone in unless she knows they’re not Fatui-affiliated. And if she doesn’t trust someone, the villagers also wouldn’t trust them.’’

When he said that, he gave him such a genuine smile that Scaramouche could feel his face flush in annoyance.

It was such a silly reasoning, all things considered, yet he felt compelled to place his trust in those words and promises. The burden of uncertainty slowly lifted from his shoulders, despite the more reasonable part of his brain that kept protesting against this decision. He didn’t know the last time he felt like he didn’t have to watch his own back before he met Sethos.

Now that they were walking in the streets of Aaru, the prospect of finally exploring this village intrigued him. To shut up the last remaining part of his rational side, he attempted to argue one last time.

‘’What if they talk about me to others?'' Scaramouche asked.

Sethos smirked as if he just said something very funny.

"I mean, sure, it's not like you can go unnoticed with this face."

Sethos lifted his hand and pushed a few strands of black hair behind Scaramouche’s ear. Scaramouche expected him to cup his face, but he showed no intention of doing so.

‘’They’ll just think you are a foreign merchant or some tourist,” Sethos reassured him. “People tend to make up their own convictions, after all. Since you’re with me, someone they know, they would fill in the blanks with the knowledge they have.’’

Seeing that Scaramouche’s face was still clouded, he continued. ‘’Oh, come on. You say you trust me but then act like you don’t.’’

"I trust you!" Scaramouche protested, looking away from him as he felt the familiar flush spreading from the nape to his face. ''I don't trust others.''

‘You didn’t trust me at first, either,’’ Sethos said and took his hand. Scaramouche let him. ‘’Let’s not waste more time, though. I don’t want to get scolded by her.’’

Scaramouche didn’t pull away his hand until they reached Candace’s home.

…

The “friend” Sethos kept talking about during their journey was the guardian of the Aaru Village, Candace. Sethos told him that Candace was his friend, but she didn’t know his connection to the Temple fully yet. Even though he said that, Scaramouche could feel that Sethos didn’t like hiding this from her. It was not Sethos’s choice to keep it hidden, he guessed, probably because Bamoun requested it from him.

When they reached the top of the village, she was there, waiting for them. She was dressed in flowing robes of vibrant blues; just her presence alone radiated an aura of power. Seeing them next to each other, Scaramouche thought that Sethos and Candace shared very similar auras for some reason.

‘’It’s great to see you again.’’ She greeted Sethos first, and gave him a gentle hug. ‘’Sekh is waiting with Dehya, she arrived a few hours before you.’’

‘’She has wings,’’ Sethos said with a laugh. ‘’If anything, she was way lazier than me. I sent her back to you the moment I saw your message. She probably took a detour if she’s that late.’’

Candace smiled back. ‘’Now that you mention it, she didn’t seem that hungry when I tried to feed her.’’

After their quick back-and-forth, the guardian turned towards him. Candace didn’t hug him like she did Sethos, but she gave him a welcoming smile. Her eyes, one golden and one sapphire, seemed to pierce through Scaramouche's disguise, yet they held no harshness in them.

‘’Welcome to Aaru Village,’’ she said, her words feeling rehearsed but still kind. ‘’I am Candace.’’

‘’So, I’ve heard.’’ Scaramouche nodded in response. ‘’I’m Wanderer, thank you for having us.’’

‘’Of course,’’ Candace said. ‘’You are our guests here, so please make yourselves at home. A friend of Sethos is a friend of mine.’’

After that, she invited them to her house. Inside, someone else was waiting for them with Sekh perched on her arm. When she saw the trio walk in, she cheered and stood up.

‘’Dehya?’’ Sethos said, his eyes slightly wide. ‘’I thought you were in the city.’’

‘’I was, but I took a few days off.’’ The woman–who Sethos called Dehya–grinned wide. Then, she looked at Scaramouche in confusion, as if she just noticed his presence. ‘’Who is this guy, though? I don’t remember seeing him before.’’

Sethos usually introduced him to others first, even though he was more than capable of doing that himself. So, before Sethos could open his mouth, Scaramouche cleared his throat with a small cough and properly introduced himself.

‘’I’m with him,” he answered. “You can just call me Wanderer.’’

Dehya gave him a look from head to toe, he wondered how she saw him. He was wearing a cloak over his clothes and he replaced his hat with a less eye-catching one. Once she decided he fit whatever criteria she had in her head, she approached him.

‘’Alright then,’’ she said and gave his shoulder a friendly–but heavy–pat. ‘’Nice to meet you, Wanderer. I’m Dehya.’’

‘’They also call her Flame-Mane, for obvious reasons,’’ Sethos chirped behind him; his head was over Scaramouche’s shoulder. Ignoring the waves of rich brown curls touching his face, Scaramouche looked at her again.

She is strong, was Scaramouche’s first thought. Even a friendly touch vibrated with the strength behind it. She had beautifully toned arms, shapely and muscular legs, and sharp eyes. She was also taller than most people he met in the Red Sands of Sumeru. She had dusky, blonde-accented dark brown hair with little catlike bangs. It could’ve looked silly on others, but on Dehya, it only made her look more intimidating.

Wait, is that foundation? Was his second thought. Scaramouche was no stranger to the world of make-up. When he went to Inazuma missions, he sometimes applied make-up for missions to blend in. His attention was drawn to the impeccable quality of her makeup. The precision of her perfectly winged eyeliner, and the flawless blending of her eyeshadow showed a real talent behind those hands.

She looked really impressive; he had to admit. If he was still a Harbinger, he would’ve tried to recruit her. After spending years evaluating people’s talents, he knew when he came across something special.

Scaramouche sat on a small chair, watching Candace and Dehya prepare a snacks table together when he felt a presence right next to him. Even though it was out of the blue, he didn’t react. He knew, instinctively, it was Sethos even before he felt Sethos’s hand on his shoulder.

‘’You’re staring,’’ Sethos whispered; his warm breath burned Scaramouche’s ear. ‘’Do you like what you see?’’

‘’What? No, I’m not.’’ Scaramouche shuddered and whispered back. ‘’And I don’t. What the hell are you talking about?’’

‘’You do. You kept staring at her,’’ Sethos insisted with confidence. ‘’I just wanted to know why. She’s my friend, after all.’’

‘’Again, I was not staring,’’ Scaramouche said and in response, he felt Sethos sigh, irritated. He was trying to sound teasing, but he could pick up that Sethos was uncomfortable with something.

‘’I was just thinking.’’ He tried to reassure Sethos–why? He didn’t know–again. ‘’I was just looking at whatever was in front of me.’’

He technically was thinking about Dehya, but he didn’t feel like admitting that was a good idea.

‘’Alright. Whatever.’’ Sethos, clearly not convinced, said a little coldly and crossed his arms like a child. ‘’She’s taken, just so you know.’’

Scaramouche couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His eyes widened and his mouth gaped in shock. He looked at Sethos like what he said was insane.

‘’What’s up with you?” Scaramouche retorted. “What are you even talking about?’’

‘’Nothing,’’ Sethos said–hopefully because he finally realised he was talking nonsense–and changed the subject. ‘’Let’s join them, the table’s ready.’’

Scaramouche followed him in silence.

…

The sweets Candace prepared for them were beautiful. But since Sethos didn’t mention that Scaramouche preferred bitter stuff, none of them were particularly appealing to him. Seeing that he was struggling to choose something to eat, a familiar voice called out to him.

‘’You really should try Padisarah Pudding.’’

It was Dehya. She herself had Rose Mustard. From the way she was already halfway done, she clearly liked these types of desserts.

‘’It’s quite popular in the city right now,’’ she added.

‘’He doesn’t like sweets,’’ Sethos said, before Scaramouche could even answer.

Ignoring how Scaramouche looked at his rude interruption, he took another bite from the candied Ajilenakh nuts. His tone was neutral–too neutral, even. It was nothing like the cheerful tone he had when he first saw his friends. He stopped munching on his dessert to talk again.

‘’He hates sweets,’’ Sethos clarified.

‘’Oh,’’ Dehya said and took some candied nuts from Sethos’s plate. ‘’I see. What a shame.’’

Sethos was right–Scaramouche didn’t like sweets. He was going to reject her offer. But for some reason, he really, really wanted to prove Sethos wrong. He found himself reaching out for one of the Padisarah Puddings on the table.

‘’I don’t hate sweets,’’ Scaramouche said, slightly enjoying the confusion in Sethos’s face. ‘’I don’t know where he got that from.’’

‘’What?’’ Sethos said.

‘’Neat!’’ Dehya laughed at the same time, not noticing the continuous confusion on Sethos, who was sitting right next to her. ‘’There’s this dancer in the Sumeru city, Nilou, and she adores that type of thing. She shared her personalised recipe with me.’’

‘’You should thank her for me,’’ Scaramouche said, he sounded kinder than he normally was. ‘’She sounds very kind.’’

‘’I’ll keep it in my mind the next time my lady and I visit the Zubayr Theater,’’ Dehya said, nodding. ‘’If you ever visit Sumeru city, make sure to watch her dance while you still can.’’

‘’I-‘’ Scaramouche started but Sethos cut him off, again.

‘’Speaking of Sumeru City,’’ Sethos said hurriedly, thankfully his face was no longer as sour as it was before. ‘’You know why I’m here. How’s the city like?’’

‘’The mood has never been more tense,’’ Dehya started. ‘’They lowered the clearances of anyone from the desert. Now I can’t even check on the books I was able to just a month ago.’’

‘’…I see.’’ Sethos looked troubled. ‘’That’ll directly affect any jobs Eremites might have in the city centre.’’

“No kidding,’’ she said. ‘’I can’t count how many eremites were turned behind from the gates. They also started harassing anyone and anything they considered public performances. Now, if you want to make some extra bucks while waiting, you can’t even dance in the streets.’’

‘’Worst of all, now Fatui are everywhere. They have swarmed the whole city," Dehya said to her friend. "Not a day goes by that I don't see Fatui soldiers when I go down to the Grand Bazaar."

"How do people react to their presence?" Scaramouche had to ask that, even though he previously thought he should leave everything to Sethos. ‘’Do they find it weird?’’

“This is the worst part,” She complained to Scaramouche. For a moment, she raised her hand as if she was going to slam it on the table, but then she took a deep breath and continued speaking. "They don't even care. They’re completely clueless."

‘’Why should they be worried?’’ Sethos tapped the table. Now that he was talking about something that actually mattered, he completely dropped the childish act he had minutes ago. ‘’In their minds, if they were in any danger, the Akasha would have warned them.’’

Scaramouche heard about the Akasha system, but his knowledge was lacking. He made a mental note to ask Sethos about it later. The tone Sethos used was interesting, to say the least. He clearly didn’t like the terminal.

"It's disturbing that their numbers have increased so much," Dehya continued. “If they were only in the centre, maybe I wouldn't worry so much, but their numbers are increasing in other villages and ports along the way. People in the city centre accept the presence of Fatui members as normal. Thankfully, in more rural areas, people are a little more alert. But I can feel that it’s changing too.”

'’Indeed. They, too, will get used to it soon,” Candace said. “After all, Sumeru and Snezhnaya are long-time friends.”

She was mostly silent during the conversation, watching Dehya as Scaramouche did with Sethos. But she also had things to share.

''Snezhnayan goods stop by Caravan Ribat regularly,” she added. “Not only are their goods high quality, they are also easy to do business with. As economic ties increase, people will become accustomed to seeing Fatui.’’

No one talked for a while after Candace talked. Scaramouche could see all three of them making the same face: frowning eyebrows and pursed lips.

‘’Are Eremites even cooperating with Fatui anymore, Dehya?’’ Sethos broke the silence. ‘’I’ve seen more and more of them allowing Fatui into their camps.’’

"Not all of them," said Flame-Mane. "Some of us know there's something behind this."

Sethos then turned to Scaramouche. "Wanderer, what do you think about that?"

Scaramouche understood what he meant. Do you think this whole mess is because of you?

To tell the truth, Scaramouche could've thought like that if he was more naive. After all, Fatui knew that he was in Sumeru. They couldn't catch him in the deserts. Therefore, it was a possibility that they wanted to attract him to more crowded places to catch him. But it was just a possibility.

Scaramouche knew better. Wasting manpower like this was not how Fatui accomplished missions.

''This has nothing to do with my situation,'' he said. ''So, it doesn't directly affect our current mission.''

"Okay then," Sethos said. Scaramouche was a little surprised by how easily she accepted him. ‘’Then it’s something we can deal with later.’’

"Aren't you going to the city?" Dehya was impatient. "I won't stay too long in Aaru Village; I'm thinking of going back to the city tomorrow."

‘’Yes, she’s leaving,’’ Candace said. She was building a small wall with the remaining candied nuts, but her face almost looked sad. ‘’I insisted she should stay longer, but…’’

‘’Dunyarzad is waiting for me,’’ Dehya said immediately. ‘’She must be lonely without me accompanying her.’’

When Candace let out a sigh at the mention of that name, no one but Scaramouche noticed the disappointment on her face.

‘’You’re not coming with me to the city, then?’’ Dehya asked again.

Sethos turned towards Scaramouche. Even though Sethos hadn't said anything yet, Scaramouche could see that he wanted to go to the city. For a horrible moment, he had a terrible feeling that their plans would change again. That Sethos would insist they visit Sumeru City.

"No, I can't go now," Sethos said, and Scaramouche breathed a sigh of relief. As if he was waiting for her approval before he spoke, Sethos smiled wide and continued.

"Even if I go, it seems like there's nothing I can do for now."

Seeing Dehya's dissatisfied attitude, Sethos burst out laughing. "I'll have to rely on you again for news."

Dehya shook her head desperately.

‘’Fine, fine.’’ She complained as she waved her hand. ‘’Honestly, I should take a second job as your messenger.’’

‘’So, now that that’s settled…’’ Sethos ignored Dehya’s complaint and clapped his hands. 

‘’How’s your lady doing?’’ Sethos asked with his hands under his chin. ‘’Aren’t you worried someone will steal her away while you’re busy here?’’

‘’My lady still has other people who can protect her,’’ Dehya scoffed, but her cheeks darkened still. 

She tried to sound reassured. Unfortunately, that nervous look in her eyes made it clear that even she was not comfortable with this situation.

‘’She’s fine,” she repeated. “I told you, I only took a few days of leave. She’s probably missing me, but she’s safe.’’

Sethos’s grin widened; whenever he smiled, his eyes turned into little crescents, Scaramouche noticed. It made the green of his eyes shine even brighter under his long lashes. He really had astonishing eyes. Whoever this unfamiliar woman was, she was someone dear to Dehya, Scaramouche thought, and Sethos loved teasing Dehya about it.

The soft sigh of the woman next to him caught his attention. It was Candace; she was watching Dehya with careful and intense eyes. When she noticed Scaramouche looking at her, she forced out a smile.

‘They’re talking about Dehya’s employer,’’ Candace explained to Scaramouche. ‘’She’s the bodyguard of Miss Dunyarzad of the Homayani family.’’

‘’Ah.’’

The names truly meant nothing to him, yet he nodded like heard of them already. From the way their name was mentioned, they were clearly some big shots in Sumeru. Still, the way Dehya referred to this Miss Dunyarzad was a little interesting to him. He had never heard desert people refer to their employers as their lady or lord before. He saw it in some Inazuman and Fontainian novels, though. Maybe the Flame-Mane was inspired by them.

He spent the rest of their meeting watching Sethos.

…

Once they finished talking, Sethos grabbed Scaramouche’s hand. He said taking a walk after eating would be great for their bodies. Scaramouche had mechanical parts, so Sethos’s words didn’t apply to him. But towards the end of their meeting, he could feel the awkwardness rise between Dehya and Candace. So, it was probably just an excuse from Sethos to leave them alone.

He had no problem with that.

Now that they got the updates on the city, they had the rest of the day for themselves. Scaramouche and Sethos strolled through the streets of Aaru Village aimlessly for a while until Sethos asked if they could visit the village chief. Scaramouche had nothing better to do, so he accepted it.

The air of the chief’s house was filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee beans. Scaramouche preferred tea, but when he was offered a cup of coffee by the village chief, he accepted it. The bitter aroma was a nice palette cleanser after he forced himself to finish his pudding.

Scaramouche leaned back in the chair, sipping his steaming cup of coffee. Sethos looked around, as if to see if anything had changed since his last visit.

Uncle Anpu, the village chief, with his greying hair and kind eyes, approached their table with a gentle smile. He wiped his hands on his apron.

"It’s good to have the youngsters visit our village," he said warmly. "You both are enjoying our little village, I hope?"

Sethos nodded, returning the smile. "Of course, Uncle Anpu. I should visit Candace more often.’’

‘’It’s… nice,’’ Scaramouche said. He didn’t try to look as enthusiastic as Sethos. ‘’It’s very peaceful here. How have things been in the village lately?’’

Anpu chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Same as always. Occasionally some merchants pass through the village, but not many. You never know what tomorrow may bring, but for now, everything is just as it should be."

After talking to the chief for a few more minutes, they left with their pockets filled with candies.

…

Once they saw enough of the village, they returned to Candace’s house around nighttime. Both Candace and Dehya were missing, but they both had enough sense to not look for them. So, they simply made their way to their room.

The room Candace prepared for them was nice. It had two separate beds for each of them. It was simple, but it was better than using their backpacks as pillows.

The night was serene, the stars twinkling in the dark sky as the gentle breeze rustled through the trees. Sethos and Scaramouche stood on the balcony of their room.

"Quite nostalgic, isn't it?" Sethos mused, breaking the uncomfortable silence between them.

Scaramouche tilted his head, his golden eyes shimmering with curious intrigue. "Nostalgic?"

‘’You, me, alone in a room.’’ A small grin appeared on Sethos' lips. ‘’This reminds me of the night you came to my room after my mission."

‘’You keep making it sound more scandalous than it was.’’ Scaramouche rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that time. It feels like ages ago, I almost forgot about it."

''I didn't.'' Sethos chuckled softly, leaning against the stone fence. "You were so worried about me that it caught me off guard. I didn’t think you’d care enough to almost break my door and wake me up.''

‘’I didn’t knock on your door that hard.’’

‘’You did,’’ Sethos said with a smirk.

‘’You remember it wrong, then,’’ Scaramouche said.

‘’I remember everything,’’ Sethos said, emphasizing every word. ‘’I even remember the little fox that followed you around everywhere.’’

That thing, Scaramouche thought. He was getting used to waking up to that furball sitting on his chest; it was such a skinny little thing when he first saw it. But like Scaramouche, it also changed a lot while living in the temple.

''I miss that little fox,'' Sethos said after Scaramouche didn’t respond. ''Did you ever name him?''

''No, why would I?''

Naming something meant that thing belonged to you. Scaramouche didn't care that much about that animal.

''That animal comes to me whenever I call for it, so there's no need for a name anyway.''

''Should I name him then?'' Sethos said teasingly. ''I'd be sad if I was him, nameless and all. Everyone deserves a name.''

The corners of Scaramouche's mouth twitched. "If you feel that strongly about it, then go ahead. Give it a name. Let’s see what you come up with."

Sethos pondered for a moment, his gaze fixed on Scaramouche. "How about... Cinnamon? It suits him, don't you think? Because of his fur."

''No.''

It was a silly name, Scaramouche thought. He still remembered how the sun hit the fur of the fox while they walked in the desert together.

‘’Find something else.’’

''Parsley, then? Because of his eyess?'' Sethos suggested. ‘’Wouldn’t it be cute?’’

''No.''

Parsley was an even sillier name. Yes, it kind of worked; but that still didn’t feel like a good choice of a name to him.

''Ember? The tips of his little toes?''

‘’Those ‘little’ toes have razor blades in them,’’ Scaramouche snorted.

One time, that thing tried to stick its claws into him when he was helping Hana bathe it. The face it made when it couldn’t do anything to Scaramouche was almost human-like. A face of pure shock.

''You know what?'' Scaramouche said. He couldn’t allow Sethos to name the fox, even though he just said he would let him. ''I've changed my mind. I'll name it–him. Alright?''

"Alright," Sethos said, his voice brimming with glee.

Scaramouche had an awful feeling that this was his intention to begin with. To not hurt his ego even further, he decided to move on and not think too hard about it.

They stood side by side; the night sky was beautiful in the desert. They would’ve watched it until sunrise, but they decided it was better to not stay up too late–they had to retire to their beds and prepare themselves for their departure the next day.

When Scaramouche closed his eyes, his mind gently drifted to his fox–his soft fur and shiny eyes. With a smile on his lips, he stopped fighting the memory and embraced the warmth of it.

Chapter Text

He woke up to the sound of a bird’s claws tapping .

Sekh, he assumed. That bird, despite seemingly not caring for Sethos’s manhandling whenever he spotted her, was also too independent; she rarely flew close to them. When they strolled through the village the previous day, she ditched the duo to do her own thing.

‘’She wouldn’t approach us, unless she wants to feel spoiled,’’ Sethos told Scaramouche, as they spoke arm to arm. ‘’Only then would she find me and beg for crackers and nuts.’’

Since Scaramouche could also hear the small cracking sounds (presumably from the nuts, when the bird crashed them against the rock windowsill), it meant she succeeded in getting snacks from her owner.

He wanted to open his eyes; he really enjoyed watching birds and she was quite cute. But something stopped him; he could feel the warmth coming from right next to him.

For a moment, however nonsensical it could be, he thought – and hoped –it was that fox again. Sometimes the rescued fox would lick Scaramouche’s cheeks before cuddling next to him and wake him up. Still, Scaramouche was somewhat used to that thing curling up next to him in the odd hours of the night.

…Scaramouche awfully missed his little fluffy body.

A moment passed before he remembered the fox couldn’t be anywhere near him; he was miles away, probably sleeping on Hana’s desk ( as he often did ) . So, whoever took space on his bed was someone else.

That someone was watching him, yet he didn't feel any malice from that person. And that someone was touching his cheeks! It was an annoying feeling that made him frown even before he opened his eyes; he didn’t like this breach of privacy. That said, since he was not in any danger, he didn't rush to open his eyes. After all, he could, easily, guess who was watching him.

Slowly, as the haze of sleep lifted, he opened his eyes and saw the shiny green eyes he grew so accustomed to. His guess was right, only one person dared to stare at and touch him while he slept.

Sethos, he thought, of course, who else it even could be?

Blinking away the remnants of his drowsiness, Scaramouche took another look at their positions. Their beds were not side by side, but rather attached to opposite walls. There was no way Sethos could’ve gotten this close to him by accident; and also, there was no logical and natural reason for Sethos to be nestled next to him like that.

Sethos slowly pulled his hand away from Scaramouche’s cheek when he saw him wake up. That made Scaramouche’s mood worse.

As he got up, leaning on his elbows for support, Scaramouche's confusion only deepened. Sethos remained fixed in his position, a small smile dancing on his lips.

‘’Wanderer.’’ Sethos always sounded so energetic in the mornings. ‘’You’re finally awake.’’

"What are you doing there?" Scaramouche mumbled, the grumpiness seeping into his voice .

After getting along with the temple residents and developing a sleep schedule again, he was horrified to realise he was not a morning person at all. It was embarrassing to develop such a habit in his old age.

‘’We share the same room.’’

‘’Yes, the same room,’’ Scaramouche huffed. ‘’Not the same bed.’’

‘’I’m just sitting here,’’ Sethos replied cheekily, ‘’ I t’s not like I was in your arms.’’

Scaramouche wanted to argue back, but his eyelids still weighed heavily, and his bed was still warm. Seeing that he struggled to wake up, Sethos' smile widened slightly.

‘’Couldn’t you go and bother someone other than me?’’ Scaramouche asked.

"Oh, my bad.’’ Sethos didn’t look regretful at all.

‘’Ugh. What a way to wake up.’’

‘’Let me try again, then. Good morning, sunshine," Sethos said, this time sounding effortlessly sweet. ‘’Rise and shine.’’

Scaramouche only rolled his eyes in response, which made Sethos grin wider. He wanted to ask Sethos what this was about, but Sethos spoke before him.

‘’You scratched your hand yesterday,’’ Sethos said, hurriedly.

‘’And what of it?’’

‘’They’re gone now. They’re already healed.’’

Scaramouche looked at his hands; they were perfect as they always were.

‘’How do you even know that?’’ He questioned.

Suddenly, a funny thought appeared; is that why he was awake and watching him? The idea of Sethos spending a few hours to watch his hands heal themselves slowly was such a silly idea, it made him smile . But that smile died when Sethos nodded at his suggestion.

‘’Pretty much, yeah,’’ Sethos said, brazenly .

He said it without hesitation , but he quickly stroked his nape awkwardly after those words left his mouth; he – hopefully – noticed how Scaramouche looked at him in disbelief.

‘’Look, I… couldn’t sleep last night for, uh, reasons. When I woke up, it was half healed already.’’ Sethos shrugged. ‘’I said, I might as well watch your body self-heal. Auntie kept kicking me out of her workshop whenever you visited her , and I’ve never had the chance to see it with my own eyes.’’

‘’Well, for a good reason apparently!’’ Scaramouche stretched and pushed Sethos from his bed with his knee.  ‘’Didn’t your granddad teach you this? It ’ s rude to watch someone while they’re sleeping!’’

‘’No, I was raised by wolves,’’ Sethos said with a grin. He was starting to get the wrong idea that Scaramouche would forgive him whenever he acted like a stupid kid .

‘’You should teach me what I lack,” Sethos continued. “Think of it as a charity.’’

‘’Hah!’’

He was lucky that Scaramouche was too annoyed with him to keep scolding him. Sethos didn’t talk while Scaramouche made his bed. He always liked keeping things clean and tidy.

"Are we leaving now?" Scaramouche asked .

H e really didn’t want to entertain this subject any further.

Sethos hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on Scaramouche's face, weirdly long. But he didn’t say anything else.

"Yes, we are.’’

…

That morning, after a quick breakfast, they left right as the sun began to rise.

A statue of the Dendro Archon stood right outside the village gate. When they reached the statue , Candace was the only one who stood waiting to give them a farewell. When he saw her standing alone, Sethos looked around, his eyes searching for someone else.

"Where's Dehya?" Sethos asked, his face puzzled. "I thought she agreed to leave the village with us."

‘’Right… She couldn’t even wait until morning.’’ Candace's smile seemed forced, Scaramouche thought. It lacked the sincerity it had the previous day.

"She left a few hours ago," she continued. "She couldn't make Miss Dunyarzad wait any longer, or so she told me."

She tried to look strong and calm , but Scaramouche could see the dark bags under her eyes. When she finished talking, her grip tightened around her spear, and Scaramouche noticed her thumb stroking the intricate golden carvings on her obsidian staff.

He only had to slightly glance at Sethos to see that he was also looking back at him. They both silently agreed to not press on further . W hatever happened between them, it was not their right to interfere . Scaramouche assumed that Sethos would fill him in on the details once they were on the road , anyway .

…

After bidding her goodbye, however, Sethos didn’t open his mouth again . T his weird, uncomfortable , and dead silent journey began .

Sethos was not acting like himself at all , and it drove Scaramouche mad.

Neither of them had said anything after the awkward goodbye with the guardian of the Aaru. They walked in silence since they left the village , and they almost reached the Tanit camps by now.

He caught Sethos staring at him from time to time , but he never said anything following those weird looks. But Scaramouche also didn’t feel like he could start the conversation –h e had to admit, he felt awkward starting a conversation.

The reason for that was so childish, he almost wanted to deactivate himself.

Now, as most people would already notice, and he couldn’t repeat this enough, Scaramouche was a genius. He was not flawed in any sense.

As a former Harbinger, he prided himself on his ability to detect the subtlest of changes in people. Yet, and he was trying to admit that with a heavy heart, it seemed that he grew lazier as he had gotten more comfortable. Suddenly, he grew more aware of this one particular detail – one that he shouldn't have missed in the first place: Sethos and his eyes.

Sethos 's eyes were always on him, even when they were not talking.

Scaramouche didn't notice how much Sethos was looking at him at first.

After all, at the very beginning, Sethos acted like he couldn't even bear to look at Scaramouche directly. When they were in a room, he avoided Scaramouche’s eyes. That said, while he was still in this semi-hostage state, Sethos still had the decency to talk to him. But whenever they talked, Sethos’s gaze never stayed on him. They always shifted away, as if he were searching for something else in the distance.

That obviously changed at some point, he thought. I just can't pinpoint when.

Like a boiling frog, it had happened so slowly that he was unable to detect the change. At one point, Sethos started looking at him and it became the norm for Scaramouche.

And he only noticed this fact, now that Sethos was not filling the air with his voice. If Sethos was not in this awkward, silent mode, Scaramouche didn’t know if he would ever notice how often Sethos stared at him.

It was all so normal to him now.

Whenever he looked at Sethos, he could confidently assume, Sethos would be looking back at him. This was humiliating; when did he start thinking Sethos would always look back? How did that assumption start coming to him so naturally?

And why was Sethos looking at him like that anyway?

Ever since he was aware of this oddity–in other words, since this morning–he couldn’t help but overthink what it meant. Trying to understand Sethos’s motives was hard; he could feel his mechanical brain slowly fry the more he thought about it.

Sethos, as if he wanted to annoy him more, looked at him again, but didn’t say anything.

Scaramouche gritted his teeth.

At first, he wanted to brush it off, thinking it as merely Sethos checking on him, ensuring their safety in the dangerous wilderness they journeyed. But as the glances continued, Scaramouche couldn't help but wonder if there was something more behind them.

Was Sethos angry with him? He didn’t remember anything he could’ve done to upset him. Not to mention, Sethos didn’t look unhappy. He didn’t pull those conniving fake smiles around Scaramouche anymore… and he also didn’t give him the cold shoulder like the time Scaramouche insulted his grandfather.

Was Sethos starting to get suspicious of him again? That couldn’t be, Scaramouche proved himself enough times. Sure, Scaramouche still thought about what he would do if Tsaritsa opened her arms to him and forgave him, sometimes. But that was just childish nonsense he entertained himself with from time to time. He was still committed to the Temple, at least for now. He even took this mission and never left work unfinished. Also, if Sethos was suspicious of him, he was doing a piss poor job of being guarded–if anything, he acted more and more trusting towards Scaramouche.

He felt that his brain was busted from overthinking. When their eyes met again, he pushed himself to finally open his mouth.

‘’What’s going on?’’ He asked, sounding more impatient than he intended.

‘’What?’’ Sethos finally spoke, and Scaramouche felt an immeasurable and nonsensical relief from hearing his voice again .

‘’I don’t know what you ’re talking about.’’

‘’You are never this silent, usually,’’ Scaramouche said, more than happy to finally discuss what was bothering him. ‘’And you’ve been acting weird since this morning.’’

Sethos didn’t say anything, he simply stayed still. This defiant attitude angered Scaramouche, so he continued.

‘’Also, you keep star ing at me,’’ he pointed out.

T he more he talked, the more confidence returned to him. Why was he even scared of talking before ?

‘’Don’t think I didn’t notice ,” Scaramouche continued. “ You keep looking at me – ‘’

Now he knew, he said something that embarrassed Sethos. He could see Sethos snap his head back to him, with an alarmed look in his eyes.

It was almost beautiful to see those cheeks darken with shame.

Unfortunately, right as he was starting to enjoy this sight, Sethos said something so absurd, it stopped him right in his tracks.

"You were crying in your sleep," Sethos said out of nowhere.

‘’What?’’ Scaramouche could feel his brain freeze.

‘’You were crying in your sleep,’’ Sethos repeated. ‘’I woke up to your cries. Your cheeks were wet, that’s why I … L ook, I just didn’t know how to talk to you about it.’’

"I was not crying," Scaramouche cut him off, his voice laced with a touch of defensiveness. ‘’Even if I was, it has nothing to do with you.’’

‘’So, do you want to talk about it or … ?’’ Sethos asked with uncertainty. ‘’You seemed like you did.’’

‘’No,’’ Scaramouche said, dejected. ‘’Just… Don’t say anything about this, alright?’’

Sethos nodded like a well-behaved puppy.

…

Sethos kept his promise to not talk about why Scaramouche definitely “didn’t cry”. But he, thankfully, returned to his normal self when he let out what he was holding all day long. Hence, when they reached Tanit, he simply began giving him information like a good tour guide.

Scaramouche and Sethos strolled through the Tanit Camps. There were a lot of people, but as if they were warned beforehand, none of them tried to stop them as they walked around to find Babel.

Seeing this atmosphere, Scaramouche couldn't help but compare it to the Temple of Silence, where he was used to seeing mostly older folks. In the temple, some elders once excelled in the martial arts left by King Deshret’s civilisation. But time had taken its toll on them; they were more scholar s than warriors now.

However, here in the Tanit Camps, it was a completely different story. The place teemed with young, agile fighters in their prime. Each one wielded a unique weapon infused with elemental energy. Scaramouche could see their incredible physical prowess just by looking at them.

He could also see the similarities between their and the Temple residents’ fighting styles; it was interesting to see the same source evolving into two different types of distinct techniques.

‘’They ’ re a big deal, aren’t they?’’ Scaramouche said. ‘’This looks nothing like the eremite camps we saw on our way.’’

Sethos nodded, his gaze scanning the bustling campgrounds. "Yeah, you've got it right. The Tanit tribe has gained quite a reputation recently.’’

As if he remembered something, he paused and sighed.

‘’It's quite different from where they started,’’ Sethos continued. ‘’Babel originally chose this outpost because most people didn’t think it was a strategic position. It’s interesting to see how fast her group developed here.’’

Sethos stopped when he spotted someone.

‘’Ah, finally.’’

Even before Sethos gestured towards the figure waiting for them, Scaramouche knew exactly which one of the women was Babel.

She stood tall amidst the sea of faces; her presence so distinct that she seemed to defy the crowd itself. Like all those hailing from the desert, Babel shielded her eyes from the sun. She wrapped red silky fabric around her head, not even leaving a narrow slit for her vision. Yet, as they approached her, Babel subtly turned her head in their direction.

Scaramouche wondered the same question every time he met an Eremite: how did Babel manage to see the world with her eyes covered? Were the layers of fabric just too thin, allowing her to see through them? Or maybe it was the elemental fragments that helped her to see.

‘’Sethos,’’ she said, her voice deep and her tone cold. ‘’Took you long enough.’’

Sethos seemed to take no offense at her obvious rudeness . H e simply greeted her with a nod.

‘’Had to take a necessary detour.’’

‘’I am aware.’ ’

She looked at Scaramouche, and perhaps it was his imagination, but her gaze towards him was way warmer than the one she gave to Sethos .

‘’And who is he?’’ She questioned.

‘’You can call him Wanderer,’’ Sethos introduced him; he had met so many new people in the last days, Scaramouche was starting to get used to Sethos doing the talking for him. ‘’He’s the one I mentioned in my previous letter, if you still remember.’’

‘’Pleasure to meet you, Wanderer,’’ Babel said, almost ignoring Sethos.

‘’Thanks,’’ Scaramouche said, deciding to not create another conflict right as they met this woman .

Yet, he slightly took a few steps back and stood behind Sethos. He was going to leave the conversation to Sethos.

Babel smirked when she saw his move.

‘’Still interesting to me that you brought a friend this time,’’ Babel said. ‘’I didn’t know the Temple of Silence accepted new people.’’

‘’My grandfather decided it was time to let some fresh blood in.’’

Babel shook her head approvingly. ‘’The bloodier the meat, the merrier the feast, they say.’’

When he heard that, Scaramouche was surprised; he had heard that phrase before.

‘’I didn’t know Snezhnayan sayings were common here,’’ Scaramouche commented.

That was quite odd, he knew. He hadn’t heard Sumerians use these types of expressions before.

‘’They are not,’’ Babel said flatly. ‘’But recently, there has been a lot of Fatui activity . U nfortunately, while keeping a close eye on them, our Falcons have picked up few phrases .

‘’Speaking of which...’’ Babel continued , changing the subject. ‘’While we were waiting for you, another outsider appeared. She was a friend of Je h t before she joined us – ‘’

‘’An outsider?’’ Sethos interrupted.

Scaramouche could see his tense back from where he stood. Sethos didn’t seem to like this new development.

To calm him down, Scaramouche put one hand on Sethos’s shoulder. Sethos looked back at him in confusion for a moment before turning back to Babel . Scaramouche could feel the muscles on his shoulders relaxing under his palm.

‘’And who ’s Jeht?’’ Sethos continued. While there was still something deeply unsettling in his tone, he sounded calmer now.

Babel watched their interaction; Scaramouche could sense the glee in her eyes under the eye-covers.

‘’Did you not receive the letter?’’ Babel asked . ‘’I’ve talked about her before.’’

‘’What letter?’’ Sethos was confused.

‘’I’ve sent you one, about our newcomer.’’

‘’We took a break on our way here . I sent Sekh to you, if you recall,’’ Sethos said. ‘’It's possible that I didn't receive that letter.’’

‘’Aaru village, I do recall,’’ Babel said, clearly not thrilled to be talked down to. ‘’And after I learned you visited the village , I sent another one to Aaru Village. I thought you must have received my message, since our hawks returned with no letter on them.’’

Scaramouche felt a few sparks fly from Sethos’s vision.

‘’…Possible that they arrived after we left,’’ Scaramouche suggested.

H e didn’t want to see Sethos do or say something he couldn’t come back from .

‘’Unfortunate, isn’t it?’’ Scaramouche continued.

‘’Oh, I see.’’ Babel smiled at Scaramouche–it was unclear if she believed him. ‘’In that case, Jeht is the daughter of a past acquaintance. She had grown quite useful, she even brought us her friend.’’

‘’Still, this was not how we agreed we'd do this," Sethos said, his voice laced with disappointment.

Babel, on the other hand, wore a smug smile, seemingly unaffected by Sethos's discontent .

"I know Jeht may be a newbie to our tribe, but in this short year, she learned more than anyone I've ever seen in my life,” Babel explained. “Anyone she trusts, I do trust, too."

When Babel boasted, her pride was evident in her tone.

Sethos forced a fake smile, the corners of his mouth twitching uncomfortably .

"You sound very fond of her," he remarked.

"Indeed. She reminds me of myself in a way. If I had a daughter, I'd hope to have one like her," she confessed, her voice holding a touch of wistfulness.

Trying to divert the conversation, Scaramouche inserted himself into the conversation again. "And this other outsider you speak of , what about her?"

‘’Does she know anything about us at all?’’ Sethos asked, as if wanting to go against Scaramouche’s attempts at calming the conversation.

Knowing him, he might have been doing exactly that.

Babel's expression tightened slightly, realizing Sethos was not happy at all. She sighed, her eyes briefly averted before meeting Sethos's gaze again.

"She knows nothing of your connections, if you are asking about that," Babel assured him, though her words seemed to offer little solace to Sethos. "Look, I didn't want the outsider to be involved at all. But Jeht seems very fond of her, and they've done a good job so far. You must see what they’ve found, I’m sure you’ll see this outsider is a boon to us."

Sethos's face contorted, and his brows furrowed with concern .

"Too trusting," he murmured, his voice filled with unease.

Babel chuckled dryly , her laughter devoid of any warmth. "Look who's talking.’’

‘’And where are they now?’’ Scaramouche desperately asked .

He didn’t like to play the peacemaker . I t did not fit his character, and he hated that Sethos was , in a way , forcing him to play the role.

‘’Maybe if we talk to this outsider, we could judge them ourselves , ’’ Scaramouche continued.

‘’Oh, speak of the devil.’’ Babel looked behind them and smiled. ''There they are.''

Sethos and Scaramouche turned towards the duo that was approaching them.

One of them was clearly an Eremite–her brightly coloured blue hair and covered eyes were proof of that. But it was the girl next to her that Scaramouche was most surprised to see. It was a face he hadn’t seen since he left Inazuma.

The golden-haired T raveller also saw him the moment he spotted her.

She was holding a Jinn fragment in her hands.

Chapter Text

Their last meeting was still a sore spot for him.

He still remembered the last time he saw her. She was in the arms of her comrade, a man with white hair. He remembered the pink witch that sold him out; Guuji Yae was no longer smiling deceptively after she saw the unconscious body of their golden-haired heroine. He remembered La Signora, holding the gnosis in her sharp claws; she was smirking as she knew Scaramouche was too wounded to make a move to steal it from her.

He should’ve killed them all, he thought back then, he would kill each and every one of them when they met again. With time, he was able to move on from obsessively thinking these two thoughts over and over. He had moved on, or so he thought.

That once-forgotten desire resurfaced when he saw Lumine again.

Scaramouche watched as she materialized her sword, firmly grasping it in her hand. With a swift motion, Lumine made a move to launch an attack against him. To his utter dismay, he realized that he was unarmed and cursed himself for his lack of preparation. That said, if he had to protect himself using only his hands, he was going to do it.

Someone screamed; was it the blue-haired girl? His brain didn’t have the time to process it. He felt someone pulling him back… And felt a tingle of lightning on his wrist, from where Sethos brought him to the safety of his arms.

However, just as Lumine was about to close in on him, Babel stepped in and blocked her attack with her spear.

It was successful, even if only barely; Babel managed to deflect one attack from Lumine, but if she tried to attack again, it would be harder to parry it, Scaramouche thought. Thankfully, the Traveller didn’t try to attack again, and Babel positioned herself between them.

Her voice carried authority as she spoke.

"Enough," Babel declared firmly. "What is the meaning of this? I'll not have my guests attack each other in my territory.''

The golden-haired Traveller stopped.

‘’I don’t know why he’s here,’’ Lumine said, her sword still pointed at him. ‘’But he’s dangerous. Do you even know who he is?’’

A white, floaty thing appeared right as the golden-haired girl said that.

‘’Yeah! He’s working with the Fatui!’’ Paimon exclaimed; her voice was as annoying as Scaramouche remembered. ‘’Paimon almost had a heart attack!’’

Scaramouche felt another flicker on his wrist; Sethos was still holding it tightly. They were so close that Scaramouche could see every little micro-expression on his face. His face was stretched tight with barely contained anger.

Scaramouche wanted to tell him he should relax; after all, that girl wouldn’t have been able to hurt him in a way that mattered.

He also wanted to tell Sethos they should leave the Tanit camps before the Traveller could tell Sethos who Wanderer once was.

‘’No, there’s a misunderstanding,’’ Sethos said sternly, shaking his head stiffly. ‘’Wanderer is with me.’’

Scaramouche could feel Sethos’s heartbeat from his touch; the heir of the Temple of Silence had never looked this angry before. Not even when he received the unwanted news from Babel. Not when Scaramouche intentionally provoked him.

Not even when Sethos told him Scaramouche brought Fatui to the Temple.

Babel, still unmoving, stared at the blue-haired girl. ‘’Jeht, tell your friend to calm herself.’’

The girl who was called Jeht held the Jinn fragment the Traveller threw at her when she tried to attack him.

‘’Lumine, please…’’ Her voice was nervous. ‘’Babel wouldn’t bring him to us if he was with Fatui.’’

Lumine, after a dramatic sigh, put down her sword. ‘’Okay, I won’t do anything stupid, I promise.

Only Scaramouche heard Sethos contemptuously whisper, "You already did it."

Sethos gently let go of Scaramouche’s wrist when she put her sword away, but Scaramouche could still feel the buzzing of electro particles around them like a protective spell.

The Jinn fragment also finally spoke.

‘’Unhand me, girl,’’ it said to Jeht.  ‘’And, mistress, please calm down. I sense no danger from them.’’

‘’Oh, sorry Liloupar,’’ Jeht said, but she didn’t look too remorseful. ‘’I didn’t want to see you shattered.’’

The thing that was called Liloupar went silent in response, but it watched Scaramouche.

‘’Mistress,’’ it said. ‘’Something about this princeling almost makes me remember someone, but I can’t seem to recall who.’’

Scaramouche didn’t remember ever meeting this lamp; it was more likely that it was confusing him with someone.

‘’Did you also meet him before?’’ Lumine said, almost exasperated.

‘‘Princeling?’’ Babel looked at Scaramouche questioningly but he ignored her.

‘’It could just be my imagination, however,’’ Liloupar said after seeing Babel’s frown, quickly backtracking.

Even though Scaramouche only met this creature now, he could feel this was a very non-characteristic reply from it.

‘’This is very helpful,’’ Lumine said dryly. ‘’Great, even.’’

Liloupar, as if it didn’t hear Lumine’s words or Paimon’s annoyed sighs, moved closer to Scaramouche. It flew over Babel’s shoulder to reach him, not even giving a moment of recognition to the leader of Tanit.

Babel turned back to silently look at Scaramouche and Sethos. The golden-haired Traveller and the blue-haired eremite also soon followed Liloupar.

The Jinn fragment was floating in a glass lamp; it emitted a soft, golden light every so often when it talked.

‘’This one must be your slave, then,’’ it said calmly once it appeared directly in front of Scaramouche.

It took him a few seconds to recognise that this thing was talking about Sethos. Lumine, too, looked embarrassed but not surprised–which meant this foolish lamp probably spouted similar nonsense to her before.

‘’He’s not a slave,’’ Scaramouche said immediately.

‘’A freedman, then,’’ the creature called Liloupar said. ‘’A willing worshipper.’’

Lumine, with a flushed face, covered Liloupar with one hand, as if trying to shut her mouth up.

‘’Don’t listen to her,’’ she said, pathetically. ‘’She’s talking nonsense.’’

‘’Uh, yeah!’’ Paimon said, still flying behind Lumine. ‘’She says weird stuff all the time.’’

Sethos had an unreadable expression, he had been silent for a while; surprisingly still, he didn’t look too offended.   

Scaramouche just wanted to snatch him away from here, he didn’t like this place one bit.

‘’Indeed, honoured Liloupar,’’ Sethos said. If he was hurt, he was good at hiding it. ‘’You are right.’’

Scaramouche looked at Sethos with confused eyes. Sethos ignored him, instead he looked at Babel.

‘’So, this was the surprise you prepared for my master, Babel.’’ Sethos gave her a knowing smile. ‘’It was worth the trouble, my apologies for ever doubting you.’’

Babel finally smiled and played along.

‘’Was this to your liking, my lord?’’ She looked at Scaramouche, she was almost having fun with this. ‘’Thanks to Jeht’s new friend, we managed to find our esteemed lady, Liloupar.’’

‘’Wonderful news,’’ Scaramouche said unenthusiastically. ‘’It’s more than I could ever ask for.’’

Liloupar cut in on their conversation impatiently.

‘’It’s unfortunate news that my mistress and you have previous disagreements,’’ it said and looked at Lumine again. ‘’Mistress, I truly believe we should ally ourselves with this princeling.’’

‘’No way!’’ The white floating headache screamed.

‘’I agree with Paimon,’’ Lumine said. ‘’Since we are simply guests here, I will not make a scene. But I want him gone, nothing good comes from Fatui.’’

Scaramouche rolled his eyes.

‘’I am no longer with them, in case you forgot.’’

‘’Sure. This is probably another ploy from you. I don’t trust you, in case you couldn’t tell!’’ Lumine yelled at him.

‘’Yeah!’’ Paimon added, unnecessarily.

‘’Mistress, I really recommend you should trust him,’’ the flying lamp said again. ‘’One thing I know for sure is to judge people. I know he’s more trustworthy than this Babel.’’

Babel glanced at Liloupar; she looked disappointed. The smile that bloomed on her face disappeared after hearing Jinn's words.

‘’We talked about this,’’ Lumine scolded the lamp. ‘’We will help Jeht and Babel.’’

‘’Hmph. If you say so, Mistress. Then I shall help her. But I shall not waste my time talking to her.’’

Liloupar flew even closer to Sethos.

‘’I wish to talk to your lord, desert dweller. I want my Mistress with me as well.’’

Sethos looked at Babel as if asking for her permission. She nodded, even though she looked dissatisfied with Liloupar’s actions.

He then looked back at Scaramouche expectedly.

Scaramouche didn’t want to talk at all. Archons knew, he wanted nothing less… It was cowardly of him, but Sethos clearly wanted him to say “yes”.

‘’Well, as long as your Mistress doesn’t try to attack me...’’ Scaramouche said, as the empty spot in his chest started aching. ‘’I accept it.’’

….

Sethos poured some tea for them–Candace had gifted a tea box for their journey. Scaramouche hoped he and Sethos would be able to enjoy it alone. But Sethos really wanted to have a normal conversation with these people, so Scaramouche watched bitterly as Sethos brewed some of their black tea for their enemies.

Lumine took one of the cups, but she was still awkward and untrusting with Sethos. She stared at the dark, blood-red liquid as if suspicious that Sethos was planning to poison her.

‘’Oh, thank you, uh…’’

It must have hit her that she still didn’t know the name of the guy, who was pouring tea for her.

‘’No need to thank me, Your Highness,’’ Sethos said, overly formal like a servant. ‘’The name is Sethos, I’m a worshipper of-‘’

Paimon, who was busy filling her cup with sugar cubes, yelled with her hands clenched.

‘’Stop!’’ She said with all her might, throwing her hands in the air. ‘’Stop, Paimon can’t take it! Stop acting like this! It’s so embarrassing!’’

Sethos grinned.

‘’Is your ladyship not satisfied with my service?’’

‘’Agh!’’ Paimon furiously put a few more cubes into her already-filled cup. ‘’Just you wait, Paimon will find a good name for you when she finishes her tea!’’

‘’Yeah, maybe Paimon is right,’’ Lumine said, sipping her tea. It seemed that she finally deemed it safe. ‘’You don’t have to talk like this just because of Liloupar. She… talks in a similar manner with Jeht, even though we warned her not to.’’

Scaramouche watched Sethos glance at the deranged lamp. It had a lot of grievances when it came to people of the Red Sands, it kept talking degradingly whenever it was around other eremites. 

Liloupar made a sound very similar to sighing.

‘’Mistress, you are hopeless.’’

‘’And you are very rude,’’ Lumine scolded the lamp once more. ‘’If I’m actually your master, you will not talk until I say you can.’’

‘’…very well, mistress,’’ Liloupar said and soon, its light dimmed. Now, it looked like an ordinary lamp again.

‘’Alright then,’’ Sethos said after Liloupar went silent, grabbing his own cup of tea.

He, like Paimon, typically added an obscene amount of sugar into his cup. Perhaps Scaramouche was imagining it, but he added less than he usually did this time.

Now that he thought about it, Sethos was actually adding less and less sugar each time they had tea together. It was not like they were rationing sugar, so Scaramouche wondered what was the reason for this change.

With Liloupar gone, only three of them were left now.

Originally, Jeht also wanted to stay with Lumine, but Babel requested that she stay with her, since they had things to discuss and do. Jeht, like a good girl listening to her mother, obliged.

Yet still, Scaramouche remembered how Babel kissed Jeht’s forehead. He wondered if everyone else could see how Babel’s golden claws were almost penetrating Jeht’s delicate skin or how the kiss looked possessive, not motherly.

It was not his problem, so he shut his mouth.

‘’So, uh… Sethos. Can I ask you something?’’ Lumine, still not fully comfortable, asked carefully.

‘’Shoot,’’ Sethos nodded. ‘’I know you must have a lot of questions.’’

‘’I do, I really do,’’ the golden-haired Traveller said. ‘’But, honestly, I’m mainly curious about why and how you are with Scaramouche. He was not just Fatui, he was a Harbinger. You know this, right?’’

Scaramouche knew this was coming, but it still left him unable to breathe for a moment, as if he'd been punched in the chest. Sethos didn’t see how Scaramouche froze on his spot, with despair on his face, when his name was spoken by someone for the first time in almost a year.

‘’Who?’’ Sethos asked, he simply looked confused for a moment. ‘’Who is Scaramouche?’’

Scaramouche wanted to stop him. Scaramouche wanted to stop her. He wanted to tell them both to shut up. There were moments he imagined Sethos saying his name, but he never wanted it to happen like this.

Lumine, after seeing the obvious distress Scaramouche showed on his face, did shut her mouth. But, painfully, Paimon didn’t.

‘’What do you mean who? ’’

The white fairy, who busied herself by sipping her overly sugary tea until this point, was unaware of how Scaramouche stared at her.

‘’It’s him!’’

Her white finger pointed at him accusingly.

Sethos, as if in slow motion, followed the direction of her finger and turned his head to Scaramouche. However, instead of saying anything, he pressed his lips together in a tense, thin line and kept silent.

What was that look on his face? Scaramouche wasn’t so sure yet. It wasn’t anger, at the very least. Yet it only worried him more.

‘’…it’s not the name I’m using,’’ Scaramouche mumbled, hating how pathetic he sounded. His voice was not as confident as it was just a moment before.

‘’You actually aren’t with the Fatui anymore?’’ Lumine questioned.

She suddenly sounded as if she pitied him. He didn’t know it was possible to hate her more than he already did. 

‘’You make me keep repeating this, but yes,’’ Scaramouche barked back at her. ‘’I no longer associate myself with their ilk.’’

Lumine and Paimon looked at each other. The floating white thing finally looked like she realised she messed up.

‘’…that’s a good thing,’’ Paimon said apologetically, her small face filled with anxiety. ‘’But Paimon can’t help but feel disappointed. She hoped you’d be able to give us some answers.’’

‘’Mhm. I take this as you don’t have any news on what the Fatui are doing in the city, then?’’ The golden-haired Traveller asked with a disheartened tone. ‘’I… met someone, who needs my help. Anything you know might help us.’’

‘’I can’t really help you with this,’’ Scaramouche said, while still glancing at Sethos every so often to see if he stopped looking so deeply in thought. But Sethos was still silent, he was just listening to them talk.

‘’I still have a hard time believing it.’’ The golden-haired Traveller shook her head.

‘’Paimon can’t believe it either…’’

‘’You two suckers were there when I betrayed them,’’ Scaramouche reminded them impatiently. ‘’I don’t get what’s so hard to believe. Do you think we were all some happy family? I was only with them because I had things I wanted from them!’’

‘’I assumed you made up with them at some point,’’ Lumine said, carefully.  His outburst apparently scared Paimon, since she hid behind the traveller.

‘’I’ve met Childe in Inazuma,” Lumine continued. “He didn’t seem that angry with you.’’

‘’Hah!’’ That was the most hilarious thing he’d heard since the beginning of this conversation. ‘’Yeah, right!’’

‘’I’m serious,’’ Lumine insisted. ‘’He said it was such a shame that you deserted them. I thought they had recruited you back already.’’

‘’I am serious as well,’’ Scaramouche said with a hint of contempt. ‘’That brat is just upset that I never entertained him with a fight. You should never take him seriously. As for going back–’’

Scaramouche nearly jumped in surprise as Sethos stood up swiftly. He wanted to ask him what was wrong, but he didn’t have the time before Sethos did something so absurd that it caught him off-guard.

‘’Give us a moment, please,’’ he said, grabbing Scaramouche and pulling him closer. ‘’We will be back in a moment.’’

And so, he dragged the former Harbinger while the golden-haired Traveller stared at them with confusion.

…

‘’What the hell was that!?’’ Scaramouche shouted. “What’s your problem?”

He pushed Sethos off him once his brain started working normally again. He didn’t even know why he allowed Sethos to drag him here–it was not like he lacked the strength to push him away.

‘’So, your name is Scaramouche?’’ Sethos didn’t seem to care that Scaramouche scolded him. 

Sethos’s question reminded him why he was nervous to be alone with him.

‘’…No, not anymore. It was more of a rank, anyway,’’ Scaramouche said.

It was a pathetic response. In the past, he promised to be more honest with Sethos–repeatedly. Yet, he failed to follow through with his promise every time. Not to mention, he still referred to himself as Scaramouche internally.

Scaramouche decided he really should stop doing that soon.

‘’What should I call you, then? Should I keep calling you Wanderer?’’ Sethos asked–he still didn’t look angry, so that was nice. ‘’Or should I call you Scaramouche now?’’

‘’Until… I find a better name, Wanderer is fine.’’ Scaramouche replied.

Hearing his old name from Sethos’s lips left a buzzing feeling in his chest. It was an indescribable, foreign feeling to him.

An uncertainty-filled moment passed.

‘’Scaramouche, huh…’’ Sethos scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘’I heard that name before when I was in the city. You have quite the reputation amongst Fatui soldiers.’’

Hearing that Sethos had heard of his name before made him do things he couldn’t make sense of. On one hand, the idea of what was told to Sethos made him nervous. On the other hand, Sethos knew of him, before they even met… Had he been a lesser being–like humans–he would’ve thought it was fate.

He desperately wanted to ask ‘’Are you disappointed, then?’’ He held his tongue back, however. He didn’t want to show this man how nervous he was.

‘’You have heard of me,’’ Scaramouche instead said. ‘’…yet you didn’t connect it to me.’’

What he was saying was nonsense, he knew that. There was no way anyone could assume a broken, wounded humanoid puppet was the feared Harbinger Scaramouche. But he still held onto this argument like a child.

Sethos apparently found this response funny. His eyes turned into lovely little crescents with how wide he smiled.

‘’No offense but…’’ Sethos started. ‘’When I heard about how Fatui soldiers talked about their Lord Scaramouche, how they avoided working for him… I imagined some rough-faced, brutish man. Not someone like you.’’

‘’Those vermins dared to talk about me like that?’’ Scaramouche retorted. However, he was secretly happy that Sethos seemingly took the news better than he expected.

‘’And what do you mean by ‘someone like me’?’’

‘’Oh, you know…’’ Sethos vaguely said, waving one hand in the air.

‘’I don’t believe I do,’’ Scaramouche said, amused. He really wanted to hear what kind of logic was behind Sethos’s words. ‘’Was it that unbelievable?’’

‘’It is, absolutely, unbelievable,’’ Sethos started. ‘’If we met in the streets of Sumeru City, I would’ve assumed you were a pampered young master from a foreign family.’’

Scaramouche laughed.

Sethos didn’t. Instead of giving him more personal space, Sethos took Scaramouche’s hand.

‘’You laugh, but look at these,’’ he said gently. ‘’Do they look like they’ve worked a day in your life?’’

‘’You…’’

Scaramouche felt he was losing the train of his thoughts. Sethos’s hands were rougher and warmer against his own. He felt as if he was experiencing some kind of brain fog.

‘’You are awfully obsessed with my hands,’’ Scaramouche muttered.

‘’I’m making a point here,’’ Sethos said shamelessly and locked their fingers together.

‘’You should make that point using another example,’’ Scaramouche tried again.

He had every opportunity to pull back his hands and push Sethos away. It would’ve been so easy and simple for him; it was almost laughable.

He was a failed god, but still stronger than any human he’d ever met. In a one-to-one fight, Sethos would’ve been humiliated deeply. He thought he should free himself from Sethos' touch, right now.

Scaramouche didn’t pull his hands away.

‘’Am I allowed to?’’ Sethos asked, watching his silence. ‘’Can I use something else as an example then?’’

Scaramouche didn’t get what he was trying to get at; but he nodded, to see what he was trying to say. Seeing that, Sethos silently dropped Scaramouche’s hand. It was almost upsetting.

But then, he cupped Scaramouche’s face.

His fingers brushed Scaramouche’s porcelain cheeks, pushing streaks of black hair away from his face.

‘’Do you honestly not know what people think when they see you?’’ Sethos asked; he had never been this close to him before. ‘’Are you even aware of the effect you have on them?’’

‘’Enlighten me,’’ Scaramouche said, his throat dry; he didn’t think Sethos was actually talking about how other people felt. ‘’What do they think?’’

‘’They think you don’t deserve to slave away in a forgotten land,’’ Sethos explained, as if it was a matter of fact. ‘’They think that you deserve better, that you should be pampered, spoiled rotten, worshipped , even.’’

Scaramouche stared at him.

Think, Scaramouche told himself. Think of anything else other than how bright his eyes are. Don’t think about how close he is, how warm he is, how beautiful…

‘’I doubt it,’’ Scaramouche said, trying to break whatever spell Sethos was casting on him. ‘’It may just be you.’’

‘’Perhaps.’’ Sethos laughed and Scaramouche could feel a soft, warm wind on his face. ‘’Would that make you uncomfortable if it’s only me? Would you stay with me?’’

Scaramouche could feel a little buzzing from where Sethos touched; at first, he assumed it was Sethos’s Vision again. Maybe it was responding to how Sethos felt. But he couldn’t see any electro particles flying around his face this time.

It’s me, he suddenly thought. My cheeks are burning.

Seeing Sethos’s smug chuckle, this guess was most likely right.

Before Scaramouche could say anything though, he felt the warm touch on his face disappear. Sethos was no longer cradling his face; one last gentle stroke and he gently pulled his hands away from Scaramouche.

‘’So, Wanderer, should we go back to our friends?’’ he asked.

Sethos avoided his eyes as if he didn’t just do something so mind-bogglingly nonsensical. ‘’They’re probably waiting for us.’’

Scaramouche helplessly followed him.

…

‘’Move away,’’ Scaramouche said, grumpily. ‘’Don’t sit that close.’’

‘’It’s comfortable here,’’ Sethos said, stirring his tea. ‘’You can move.’’

‘’If I do that,’’ Scaramouche replied impatiently. ‘’You’ll just get closer to me again like always.’’

Sethos chuckled.

When they returned, Lumine and Paimon were whispering to each other. Surprisingly, the Jinn Liloupar was awake now, possibly because the golden-haired Traveller called it back to herself. They stopped talking once Scaramouche and Sethos appeared.

Liloupar was the only one who greeted them happily.

Now, Sethos sat right next to Scaramouche, much to his annoyance. He was starting to fear that he gave Sethos wrong ideas about what kind of relationship they had.

‘’Oh, by the way, don’t tell Babel about this,’’ Sethos said, smiling happily. ‘’Don’t tell anything about his past.’’

Scaramouche sighed in relief. 

Whatever happened when they left, he didn’t know, but he could see that Lumine was willing to accept this condition, very grudgingly.

‘’I mean… Sure, why not? But… I thought she was an ally of yours. Don’t you trust her?’’

Lumine spoke with suspicion. She kept glaring at them ever since they returned from their ‘talk’.

‘’What’s the reason for this change?’’ she questioned.

‘’I did trust her. But… she acts different.’’ Sethos said after taking a sip from his tea. ‘’Something has changed since I last saw her, and until I learn what it is, I would love to keep things to myself.’’

‘’Paimon doesn’t think it’s a good idea.’’ Paimon’s little face crunched with worry. ‘’What about Jeht?’’

Lumine pulled her companion closer for a quick hug. ‘’Why should I trust you over Babel? Jeht trusts her, and I have more reasons to trust her than you.’’

Scaramouche found this defence laughable.

‘’Babel is hardly trustworthy,’’ Scaramouche said mockingly. ‘’I doubt that foolish girl sees how Babel controls her.’’

‘’Mistress.’’ Liloupar ended its silence with support for Scaramouche. ‘’If you truly care for that girl, you should listen to him.’’

Lumine bit her lip in worry.

Jeht clearly meant something to her, Scaramouche thought. They were terribly chummy when he spotted them together. So, it was no surprise for him when Lumine finally decided to help them after hearing Jeht’s name again.

‘’Fine,’’ she said. ‘’I’ll keep it to myself. But don’t get comfortable.’’

Scaramouche laughed.

‘’Oh, I wasn’t planning to.’’

It was going to be very interesting.

Chapter Text

He was just minding his business, walking around the Tanit Camps, when he heard Babel call out to him. 

"Wanderer." Babel’s voice cut through the quiet. "Do you have a moment?"

Scaramouche barely suppressed an irritated sigh. He didn’t want to engage with her at all, especially not now. He was waiting for Sethos to return; honestly, it was quite boring without him.

Not to mention, Babel had a way of making him feel unsettled, of making every conversation feel like it was leading to some game he didn’t want to play. He didn’t trust her one bit, and he was thrilled when Sethos started to share his feelings about her.

But he knew, deep down, that after the way he’d already been dismissive of their host, it was a miracle that she wasn’t already airing her grievances about how Liloupar had ignored her again. That alone made him feel strangely guilty.

"Sure."

His response was short, the kind of politeness he reserved for situations where he had to endure something distasteful. Now that he thought about it, it was a trait he picked up after suffering so many useless meetings with his fellow Harbingers.

Anyway, he had no interest in Babel’s presence, but he could at least pretend to be civil for a few minutes.

Babel’s lips lit up in a smile, but there was something behind it: satisfaction, perhaps. Or something a little more calculating.

"Wonderful," she said. "We didn’t have the chance to speak alone before."

"What a shame," Scaramouche muttered. 

"Indeed," Babel continued, ignoring his tone. "With Sethos and Jeht gone, I thought it was the perfect opportunity to talk to you."

Scaramouche’s stomach tightened at the mention of Sethos.

Sethos and Jeht had left early that morning, off to plan ahead, and Scaramouche was less than thrilled to be left alone with these suckers. 

While being alone with these people was horrible, what bothered him more, though, was how Sethos had been acting around him lately. It was as if the distance that had once separated them had shrunk overnight. It didn’t sit right with him, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. Maybe it was the sudden feeling of being part of something too real, too unpredictable for his liking.

He had enough unexpected surprises in his life.

"A shame indeed," Scaramouche muttered again, louder this time.

Babel, however, was undeterred.

"A few weeks ago, I didn’t even know you’d join Sethos in this mission," she said, her voice cool and smooth, like a blade.

The unspoken implication hung clear in the air: and I hadn’t planned for you to be here. Scaramouche caught it instantly, but his expression remained unchanged. He didn’t care what Babel had or hadn’t planned for. In fact, he rather enjoyed the idea that his mere presence was throwing a wrench in her plans.

He couldn’t help the flicker of satisfaction that ran through him, but of course, he wouldn’t say that to her face.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" Scaramouche asked, his voice deceptively polite. "Anything you want to ask?"

Babel’s gaze hardened just a fraction, and for the first time, Scaramouche could sense that she was finally shifting her approach.

"Yes," she said, her smile threatening. "What exactly is your relationship with Sethos?"

His smile vanished so quickly that it was almost as if it had never been there.

What was his relationship with Sethos? Scaramouche’s mind raced, but the truth was, he didn’t know. That was the problem. The line was blurring between an ally and something... more? Something different, complicated, and strange? He didn’t want to explore that thought too deeply. He didn’t want to feel anything about it. Sethos was Sethos… The rest of it was a mystery.

Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about these feelings.

"Why does it matter to you?" Scaramouche’s voice was defensive. "Why does it matter to you at all?"

He hated how vulnerable her question made him feel, like she was peering too closely into something he wasn’t ready to confront.

Babel didn’t flinch, her expression unreadable.

"I wouldn’t want our goals to be affected in case of unexpected sandstorms between you two," she said, her tone deceptively calm. "After all, there’s more at stake here than your personal... Entanglements."

The air seemed to thicken around him.

He hated how she was trying to read him, how she was trying to pull out something personal from a situation that he didn’t even understand himself. He wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of knowing more than she should.

"You shouldn’t worry about that," Scaramouche said, his voice cold and uncaring, even though his mind was racing. "And if you have nothing else to ask, I’m leaving."

Without waiting for a response, he turned sharply on his heel. His footsteps tapped heavily against the marble as he walked away. He could feel Babel’s eyes on his back, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that she wouldn’t get any more answers from him. 

Not today.

…

The Traveller was waiting for him in their agreed meeting spot.

Liloupar was on her lap, she was petting that thing–no, petting her like she was some sort of animal. Meanwhile, Paimon was miserably punching the pillows placed on the wooden chairs.

"Paimon is hungry!" the floating thing complained, her little squeaky voice filled with over-exaggerated distress. "If only Kazuha was here. Paimon misses how he prepared Unagi Chazuke. It was so comforting and warm, with that soft fish and savoury broth... Mhm, Paimon could really use a bowl right now!"

While he didn’t know who this ‘Kazuha’ Paimon was speaking of, Scaramouche had to agree with her. He really wouldn’t have minded some Unagi Chazuke, for himself, right now.

One disadvantage of no longer having access to the cooks of the Zapolyarny Palace was missing out on most of the more complicated foods of his homeland. It was somewhat achievable to make simple dishes in the Temple, thanks to the merchants of Natlan, but it was still not as good as the real ones.

Lumine sighed softly.

"It'd be sweet if we could visit Watatsumi again," she said wistfully, her gaze distant as she remembered the peaceful island. "If only."

Paimon nodded enthusiastically, her eyes bright as she bounced in the air. "Yeah! The people there are so kind! If we could just go back for a visit…’’

"Too bad we can't go back there," Lumine said, her voice suddenly cracking with a trace of sadness. Her eyes drifted to the horizon.

Hearing this, Scaramouche, who had been lazily leaning against a nearby column, perked up slightly.

"Why?" He tilted his head. ‘’Why not?’’

Paimon, who had been playfully twirling a lock of Lumine's hair between her tiny hands, made a surprised sound, her big eyes going wide as she looked up at him.

"Huh?" She blinked twice in quick succession. "What do you mean? You don't know?"

‘’I thought we already established that I was quite busy with surviving.’’ Scaramouche, his posture straightening slightly, let out a tired yawn.

"Why can't you go back?" he repeated, this time with a sharper edge to his voice; just remembering the rebels soured his mood. "I thought you were the hero of the resistance, weren't you?"

Paimon shifted uncomfortably, her earlier enthusiasm fading as she glanced nervously at Lumine, unsure how much they should share. When nothing came out of Lumine, she opened her mouth instead.

"Well, um, we kinda... Aren't really allowed there anymore." Paimon faltered, eyes shifting around awkwardly. "We’re banned from entering–"

"Paimon," Lumine interrupted in a low but firm tone, shooting a warning glance at the tiny floaty.

Paimon winced at the correction.

"Sorry, Traveller!" she said, looking genuinely guilty now. "I thought we could tell him... But I guess it's not something we should say so openly."

Lumine let out a tired sigh, her shoulders sagging a little.

"I mean, it's not something I want to talk about," she muttered, but then she looked Scaramouche in the eye, her expression turning serious. "But since the cat's out of the bag..."

She looked down.

"The resistance lost. And because of that, we're banned from Inazuma. No one associated with the resistance can leave or enter freely anymore… Watatsumi included."

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, though he didn't show much surprise. His posture shifted slightly. The usual air of smugness was replaced with a touch of devilish curiosity. The idea of learning more about what happened when he escaped was too exciting.

"Oh, really?" he said with a cheerful tone, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You mean to say that the mighty Traveller, who single-handedly turned the tide of countless conflicts, was actually on the losing side of this one?"

He let out a short, amused snort. "How odd for you to leave your allies behind."

Paimon fidgeted, floating nervously beside Lumine. "It's not like that! We tried, okay? We did everything we could!" She glanced at Lumine for reassurance, but her words sounded weaker now, sorrow creeping in.

"We thought... We thought we'd win... But after the Fatui backed out and the Shogunate... Well, you know."

That’s expected, Scaramouche suddenly thought. That red witch must have pulled out the Fatui support the moment she left for Snezhnaya.

He and La Signora were supporting both sides, but Watatsumi Island and the rebels were more reliant on their delusions and supplies. Overdependence on foreign help was never a good idea, even the so-called genius priestess of Watatsumi should've known that. Her people didn’t have the means for a prolonged fight yet she believed she could win against such a powerful Archon.

Scaramouche could imagine what would come next for the rebels.

Without external backing, the opposition would struggle to maintain any meaningful resistance, and with the gnosis taken, the Fatui’s activity in Inazuma would fade and return to pre-war levels…

Lumine bit her lip again, her gaze distant.

"The civil war was brutal. Everything crumbled so fast. The Shogunate's forces, they..." Her voice was so regretful, she couldn’t finish her sentence. "When it was all over... The Vision Hunt Decree was enforced more strictly. And the rest of the rebels, they were either missing or gone.’’

‘’Teppei…’’ Paimon sounded like she was about to cry. ‘’He… Hey! Why are you still smiling?’’

Scaramouche's lips were curled into a grin, though there was an edge to it now.

"How... Fascinating. So, you lost not only the war, but your place in the very land you fought for."

He paused, savouring the irony of it. He didn’t care about the death stares the golden-haired Traveller gave; to him, it almost sounded like divine justice.

"I suppose it serves them right, though,’’ he continued.

‘’That’s very cruel,’’ Lumine said. ‘’How could you say something like that so easily?’’

‘’It’s just the truth.’’ Scaramouche shrugged. ‘’It wasn’t your war to begin with. You should’ve stuck to whatever business you had with the ‘Almighty Raiden Shogun’. Look where it got you, are you proud of yourself?’’

Lumine's face tightened, but she didn't respond to his taunting for a few seconds.

"I couldn’t betray those who needed me. I didn't have much of a choice," she said finally. "Sometimes, no matter how hard you fight, things just don't go your way."

Hearing this, Paimon puffed up. Maybe because of his mood, he felt that she was almost cute when she looked upset. She was cute, like a small animal.

"Traveller is right!’’ Paimon looked like a Lumitoile when she raised her hands. ‘’We didn't lose for lack of trying!"

Scaramouche glanced at her with a mixture of amusement and something that might have been pity. "So, what now? Are you just going to wander around, moping about your failures?"

Lumine shook her head. "No. We don’t give up. Not after everything we’ve been through. We may be banned from entering Inazuma... But that doesn’t mean we can't still help its people, even from the outside.’’

She looked at her hands, as if she was trying to remember something.

‘’One day, I’ll go back and fix everything."

Scaramouche felt as if he were looking directly into a mirror. He could recognize the desperation in Lumine’s eyes. He remembered seeing that exact look on his own face, reflected in the waste-filled waters of Tatarasuna.

He thought the same thing, back then.

Looking at the dejected Traveller, he felt that she needed comforting. But he was never good with that sort of thing.

Still, he tried.

‘’Maybe you will,’’ he mumbled lamely.

He didn’t think it’d be enough. But for some reason, Lumine smiled at him.

…

While waiting for Jeht and Sethos’s return, another Eremite approached them.

"Tadhla!" Lumine said; she looked surprised but happy. ‘’You are back.

The dark-skinned Eremite with the golden hair looked almost caught off-guard by the greeting. Her stoic expression flickered for a moment, and a subtle spark of something–softness and warmth–appeared in her eyes as she spotted the Traveller. But just as quickly, she killed the smile before it could fully blossom.

"Mistress of the Jinni," Tadhla said, with respect, but beneath the formal tone, there was an unmistakable fondness. 

‘’Don’t be so formal with me,’’ Lumine said with a laugh. ‘’I thought you said we were friends.’’

Tadhla hesitated but still nodded. ‘’Lumine, then…’’

Scaramouche rolled his eyes. 

Lumine had this way of drawing people in and making them feel like they mattered . Scaramouche found it utterly sickening. He had seen it too many times: back in Inazuma, he had even gone so far as to send a few of his soldiers to track Lumine’s movements. Wherever she went, people followed her. People loved her.

And it bothered him. Deeply.

Still, he couldn’t help but notice one thing.  Lumine didn’t treat Tadhla like she treated Jeht; there was no spark of flirtation, no light teasing that would lead someone on.

At least she was not playing with hearts.

Before Scaramouche could fully indulge in his thoughts, a voice broke through the silence.

"You, girl," Liloupar said.

The jinni’s voice was not kind, but she didn’t include some insult when she called out for the Eremite. He knew that Liloupar was rarely this approving of anyone but the Traveller, and even then, her approval was often earned after much effort. But for some reason, Scaramouche felt that she seemed to have taken a liking to Tadhla.

"Your wounds have healed well." Liloupar's golden eyes gleamed as they looked at the Eremite girl, her gaze softening. She floated just above the ground

Tadhla gave a small nod, her posture straightening even further. "Thanks to you, Lady Liloupar." 

"It was undeserving of me to accept your help," Tadhla added as if she was nervous about someone hearing her and getting the wrong idea.

Liloupar’s reaction was unexpectedly soft, her golden light flickering in what almost seemed like amusement.

"It was mostly to please my Mistress, girl." She was clearly flattered by the sentiment, despite her attempts to downplay it.

Scaramouche, who had been quietly observing, did something he normally never would. He leaned toward Paimon with a skeptical expression.

"What help?" he whispered under his breath, too curious to directly ask Liloupar herself. This flying chatterbox was the next best thing.

Paimon whispered back with an excited energy only she could muster.

"Liloupar told us a remedy for snake bite," she said, her voice barely above a murmur. "Tadhla got hurt a while ago. She was in bad shape until Liloupar helped her out."

Scaramouche’s brows furrowed in surprise. A remedy for a snake bite? He hadn’t expected Liloupar–of all beings–to offer something as mundane as medical help, especially not to an outsider like Tadhla.

"Huh." Scaramouche’s voice dropped to a whisper, almost to himself. "I guess even she has her soft spots."

Liloupar continued, it was unclear if she heard their whispers.

‘’Of course, normally I wouldn’t bother with the likes of you. It’s good that you know your place, right?’’

‘’I don’t dare to assume such… Things.’’ Tadhla shifted uncomfortably. "I don’t think a jinni could care for something so… Trivial."

Her voice softened slightly. "But I’m grateful nevertheless. And I’m grateful to Mis–to Lumine.’’

Lumine smiled bashfully.

Scaramouche felt like laughing. The whole scene was starting to feel like some sentimental theater, and he was, of course, the unwilling audience.

"Hmm, so the mighty Traveller makes friends with everyone she meets. It's almost... predictable," he whispered again.

Paimon, floating up to Scaramouche’s left side, shot him an angry look. "What’s your problem, huh? You’re just jealous because Lumine’s got so many people who care about her!"

Scaramouche scoffed, crossing his arms and turning his head away dismissively. "Jealous? Please! I have no time for such... Emotional attachments."

‘’Oh, sure,’’ Paimon said smugly. ‘’Paimon totally believes you.’’

Scaramouche rolled his eyes and pushed Paimon away with the back of his hand.

…

Tadhla prepared some food for them. 

"I was surprised when Babel asked me to bring this," Tadhla said. "It’s not something I’m used to. I’m a falcon of my tribe, not–"

She stopped herself before she could finish the thought.

"It's because Babel knows my Mistress is fond of you," Liloupar interrupted her freely. ‘’That fox.’’

Tadhla looked down, all embarrassed, for a moment. 

"I should go," Tadhla said quickly. She took a half-step back, her voice soft and rushed. "Thank you, but I should leave now."

"You should eat with us," Lumine said. ‘’You can stay.’’

But Tadhla immediately shook her head.

"No, no... I should leave," she repeated hurriedly, her gaze now firmly fixed on the ground.  "But thank you," she added.

Her voice grew smaller now, almost a whisper. "I... hope to see you soon."

Scaramouche almost rolled his eyes.

Humans. They couldn’t seem to keep their feelings to themselves. Every word, every action, was so open and easy to read. Their emotions bled into every sentence, every movement. It was a weakness, and it was something he had no interest in indulging in.

He saw Lumine wave to Tadhla.

They were all the same, weren't they? He thought to himself. Driven by impulse. By feelings. It was sickening, really.

Then, a flash of green eyes appeared in his mind, and he instinctively felt his face feel warmer.

…

It was almost midnight when Sethos returned.

Jeht had already come back, though. Way sooner than him.

As soon as Jeht spotted Lumine, her face lit up with excitement.

"Lumine!" she exclaimed, her voice warm and full of joy.

Without hesitation, she crossed the distance between them and jumped into her arms. Lumine chuckled and buried her face into Jeht’s neck.

Scaramouche didn’t care for their foolish actions. He only wanted to know one thing.

"Where’s Sethos?" he asked, clearly confused that Jeht was alone.

"Oh, him…" Jeht laughed and waved her hand, dismissively. "He stopped by a merchant’s home to pick up a few things for the mission. Nothing major, just some extra supplies."

Scaramouche blinked. "Extra supplies?"

It was good that Sethos was safe, but Scaramouche couldn't help but wonder why they would need more stuff. They had already over-prepared for the mission, and the Tanit Camps were brimming with enough supplies to last them for weeks.

He wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t press further for now. He decided he could just wait.

Then, Sethos simply took his sweet time coming back to him.

Jeht and Lumine had already retreated to their tent; it was only Scaramouche now.

He didn’t have to do this, honestly. It was completely unnecessary, he told himself again and again. He should’ve gone to his own tent, gotten some rest. There was no reason to stand awake like this.

But still, his feet remained in place.

A weird, almost physical pain lurked behind his eyes, a headache that gnawed at his thoughts. He couldn’t explain it, but it was there, a dull ache that wouldn't go away.

Not until he saw Sethos on the horizon.

The ache disappeared the moment Sethos finally appeared on the road. 

"You’re late," he said when Sethos approached him, his tone was grumpy. "What took you so long?"

Sethos grinned.

"Oh, um, I was just looking at old ruins," he said casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. But Scaramouche wasn’t buying it.

"Jeht said you were visiting a merchant," Scaramouche replied, and added. "And your hands are empty."

Sethos blinked slowly, his expression flickering for a moment, then he sighed dramatically.

"She... I should’ve thought of a better excuse before I sent her off," he muttered, clearly realizing he hadn’t covered his tracks as well as he’d hoped. It was stupid to keep lying to Scaramouche.

"So, you sent her to lie to me," Scaramouche said, disappointed. "Do you think I’m stupid?"

The accusation hung in the air, but Sethos only laughed it off, though there was a trace of nervousness in his eyes.

"No, no, no, of course not," he said quickly, but Scaramouche could see the slight panic in his eyes. 

"I just…" Sethos paused, collecting himself. "Look, how about we take a walk?"

"At this hour?" Scaramouche asked, his brow raised, clearly not convinced.

There was no real need for a late-night stroll–the camp was safe enough. So why now?

Sethos hesitated for just a moment, his eyes flicking toward the camp behind them before returning to Scaramouche.

"Yes, preferably away from the Tanit camps," he said, almost with a sense of urgency.

Before Scaramouche could respond, Sethos reached out, taking his hand gently but firmly, guiding him forward.

"Fine," Scaramouche finally said, his voice a little quieter than before.

He was still unsure of the reasoning behind Sethos’s sudden request, but he was not willing to push back further.

"Let’s go."

And so, despite his annoyance, Scaramouche followed him.

…

‘’We finished our preparation quickly,’’ Sethos started. ‘’So, to pass time, we talked a little. Jeht is a nice girl, she seems to like it here.’’

Scaramouche watched as Sethos casually shifted closer. The fact that they were sitting so near didn’t sit right with Scaramouche. He just sat there, arms folded, and watched Sethos close the space between them, as he always did.

‘’And?’’ he asked, his voice buzzing with impatience.

‘’And then I thought of you.’’ Sethos's voice dropped just slightly.

His hand reached out, and without hesitation, he locked their fingers together again. The warmth of Sethos's touch sent an odd shiver down Scaramouche’s spine.

Too warm, he thought to himself. Why is he always so warm?

‘‘I thought about how you never liked Babel. And honestly, I’m starting to get tired of her as well, despite my grandfather’s words.’’

Sethos' words were almost a relief, though Scaramouche kept his face neutral, trying to mask the slight surge of satisfaction he felt.

‘’Finally,’’ Scaramouche murmured.

‘’Yeah, finally. So, I told her how I felt. She was furious, of course, but she calmed down when I told her the Traveller would be in danger if I’m right.’’

Sethos looked at him then, eyes shining under the moonlight.

‘’Then you made a plan together?’’ Scaramouche asked.

‘’Pretty much,’’ Sethos replied. A small, almost mischievous smile tugged at the corner of his lips. ‘’She would return and look around the camps. She is one of them now, it was less suspicious than me looking around… And I would follow Babel all day long. To see if she did something suspicious.’’

Scaramouche’s expression grew more serious as he thought about what Sethos had said. "Did you...?"

‘’Yes,’’ Sethos snickered, cutting him off before he could finish the question. "I did hear you two. You’re awfully cute, sometimes."

‘’Did you find anything then?’’ Scaramouche quickly changed the subject. ‘’Did she do anything suspicious?’’

Sethos shook his head, his expression turning more thoughtful. "No, she didn’t. I’ll still keep an eye on her, though. I wanted to tell you this, but... In the camps, someone might have overheard us."

‘’...Alright. No need to explain yourself to me,’’ Scaramouche said.

He pulled his hand away from Sethos’ grasp, his fingers lingering for a moment before they separated completely. The space between them felt strange, almost too wide, but it was necessary.

"I’m not angry," Scaramouche added.

Sethos seemed to take a breath, visibly relaxing. "That’s good to hear."

Then, Sethos looked at Scaramouche, his gaze lingering for a moment.

"Well?" Sethos smiled, his lips curling up.

"Hm?" Scaramouche responded.

"Will you praise me?" Sethos moved in just a little closer, erasing the space Scaramouche just put between them. "Will you reward me for my good behaviour?"

Scaramouche stared at him, his gaze focused on the curve of Sethos’ lips. The silver light of the moon glimmered across his features, casting a soft glow on his face, highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones, the gentleness in his eyes. He was undeniably beautiful. Almost too beautiful, too perfect, too tempting that it made Scaramouche's chest tighten, despite his better judgment.

"Not yet," Scaramouche said, the words slipping out without thinking, his voice quieter than before.

He blinked, feeling a strange mix of frustration and anticipation swirling inside him. "Not now."

Sethos didn’t seem put off by the refusal–if anything, it made his smile deepen. He gently took Scaramouche's hand again, his fingers curling around his wrist with a practiced, fluid move.

Then, as if he couldn’t resist, Sethos leaned in and placed a soft, lingering kiss on the inside of Scaramouche’s wrist.

"I’ll be waiting then," Sethos whispered.

Scaramouche’s breath caught in his throat, and for a brief moment, he forgot to say anything at all. All he could hear was the rush of warmth in his ears and an over-consciousness where Sethos’ lips had just been.

‘’We should go back to the camps,’’ Scaramouche said.

And this time, Sethos followed him back.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Babel sent them breakfast again, but this time it wasn't Tadhla who delivered it. Instead, an eremite they hadn’t seen before brought it to them. Without a word, he set the meal down and left just as quickly as he had arrived.

Neither of them wanted to have breakfast somewhere they could be listened to. So, they took their food and prepared their little table away from the camps and settled on the broken carts ‘left’ by merchants in the past. 

The air was filled with the smell of warm flatbread , roasted nuts, fresh z aytun peaches , and tea. The wind wasn’t too bad, thankfully, which meant their teacups weren’t filled with sand this time. 

Sethos was feeling particularly talkative that morning, Scaramouche noted. He kept making jokes; the decent ones even won a few smiles from Scaramouche. 

He also talked about what his life was like in the temple when he was a kid – Scaramouche found those anecdotes awfully lonely, no matter how much Sethos tried to make it sound fun. The Temple of Silence wasn’t exactly a great place to raise a child. 

Then, Sethos started sharing little details about his previous missions. Scaramouche wasn’t sure why Sethos kept these details to himself, since most of them were mostly about inconsequential nonsense.

Only one of them caught his attention : on the night they spoke in Bamoun’s library, Sethos had freshly returned from the Tanit Camps. 

"As you know, I gave her a copy of the map fragment," Sethos mumbled, absently stirring his tea, which was still missing its sugar. "We agreed I'd return later to follow the map. That's how this mission came about."

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow. "Why wait? If you'd gone right away, instead of stalling, maybe you could’ve found Liloupar first."

Sethos shot him a look. "You wanted me to go without you?"

"Yes," Scaramouche replied. "Without me. It's not like I’m of much use here , anyway. I imagine you only brought me along to keep you entertained. You could’ve discovered the jinn."

Sethos smirked knowingly.

"Perhaps, perhaps… That said, I doubt Lady Liloupar would’ve been as thrilled with me as she is with the Traveller."

Scaramouche had no response to that. It was hard to imagine Liloupar bonding with Sethos the way she had with Lumine.

"The real reason was, I was hurt," Sethos continued, his gaze falling to the makeshift table as his fingers lightly traced the rim of his cup. "I put myself in danger, doing something stupid and rash."

Scaramouche wasn’t surprised. He could easily picture Sethos doing something reckless.

"Back then, Babel scolded me endlessly," Sethos whined, his voice filled with frustration. "I get why she was so mad, of course. I was the only one who had what it took to wander into the ruins."

"Broken clock and all…" Scaramouche murmured, his voice flat. "I’m on her side in this particular case. Look how it ended for you."

"I was just trying to get home faster, alright?" Sethos snapped, but his tone softened as he paused. It was as if he was revisiting the weight of decisions made long ago .

"Well... That was before she replaced me with the Traveler and Jeht,” he muttered. “Apparently, I was not the only one."

The bitterness in Sethos’s voice was unmistakable, but Scaramouche didn’t respond. Sethos wasn’t asking for his opinion – he was talking more to himself, as if trying to untangle thoughts he’d buried a long time ago.

"When we first completed the map, Babel and I were so sure it was leading us directly to the Eternal Oasis…" Sethos trailed off, his voice distant.

"Which, by the way, I still don’t think exists," Scaramouche interjected. "It honestly sounds like a children’s fairy tale."

Sethos rolled his eyes. "Even Liloupar says it exists."

"Liloupar doesn’t have all her wits with her," Scaramouche reminded him. "You can’t trust her completely until we’ve got all the fragments together."

"Oh, whatever," Sethos muttered, waving a hand dismissively. "Anyway, back then, we thought we could afford to wait. The Eternal Oasis wasn’t going anywhere, right? After all, the map said it led to the key to the Oasis."

He paused, then added with a grimace : "We couldn’t have known that by ‘the key, ’ the author of the map meant Liloupar."

A tense silence settled between them.

"Whatever," Sethos repeated after a moment, his voice softer now, though the frustration still clung to his words. "I’ll still try to get whatever we can out of her – and the Traveler."

“…What exactly do you want to find there?” Scaramouche asked, his voice measured. “You keep saying you want to reach the Oasis, but why? Is it just to recover a piece of your god’s history?”

Sethos stared down at his plate, his fingers idly pushing a few zaytun peaches around. Their soft flesh was bruised and punctured by his absent-minded touch. Scaramouche couldn't help but remember the poor fungi they’d destroyed on their way to Aaru – back then, Sethos had looked just as distant and lost in thought.

“It’s nothing noble like that , ” Sethos mumbled.

“Just tell me anyway.”

Sethos hesitated, his gaze drifting. “You know how Liloupar said it was the resting place of her mistress? ”

He met Scaramouche's eyes with an almost embarrassed expression .

“I was hoping we could find a god’s corpse.”

“...Come again?” Scaramouche blinked, surprised. The image of Orobashi’s massive, decaying form on Yashiori Island flashed in his mind .

“Why would you want that?” Scaramouche questioned.

“The Red Sands are covered in the remnants of god corpses,” Sethos explained, his voice steady but edged with quiet obsession. “Most of them are from the gods Al-Ahmar slayed, but they’re in no state to be processed. For one, they’re almost always infused with other living beings, which means I can’t extract concentrated god residue from them.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, his fingers clenching around his cup before he continued. “And secondly, out in the wild, they are almost always corrupted. It’s not ideal, not something I can work with.”

Scaramouche could see the quiet obsession in Sethos’s eyes, the way they darkened with an almost predatory focus.

“I was hoping that, underground, where no human could corrupt or disturb the ruins, I could find something – anything – left from a divine body.”

The words hung heavy in the air. There was a strange, almost haunting desperation in Sethos’s tone – a yearning for something dangerous, something forbidden.

"Residue from a god’s body…" Scaramouche echoed, his voice low, as the weight of the words sank in. "What will you do with it?"

Sethos turned his head slightly, his eyes flashing with a darker intensity. “I’ll use it, of course.”

Scaramouche frowned. “I don’t follow.”

Sethos’s expression remained unreadable, his gaze steady as he leaned forward slightly.

“The residue from gods could be... P owerful,” Sethos explained, his voice low and measured. “If I could find a concentrated, undisturbed piece of it… ”

He trailed off, his eyes gleaming with something dark. “Imagine. The essence of a god, untouched by mortal hands. Power to create. To replicate.”

For a moment, Scaramouche felt an eerie chill, as though the Doctor himself were sitting across from him, speaking in the same manner. The thought lingered, unsettling him.

Sethos casually plucked a zaytun peach from the plate, his fingers sticky with juice from the ripe fruit. He took a large bite, his attention momentarily consumed by the salty, tangy flavor. His gaze went soft again, as if the momentary pleasure of the fruit was enough to pull him away from his darker thoughts.

Scaramouche’s eyes followed the movement, unable to tear them away. His focus zeroed in on the corner of Sethos's mouth, where a small drop of juice gathered and slowly dripped down his chin.

A strange sensation stirred in Scaramouche's chest, a mix of discomfort and something else he quickly shoved aside. For a brief, embarrassing moment, he felt an impulse to reach out and wipe it away. He suppressed it immediately, forcing his attention back to the words he needed to speak.

“And if you did find some?” Scaramouche asked, his voice flat, though a thread of unease curled in his gut. “What exactly were you planning to do with it?”

He couldn’t help but remember how Sethos had watched the eremites in the camp use their elemental powers with envy. Had he been hoping to create something similar for his people? Something very similar to the mass-produced delusions Scaramouche himself had created? His mind raced, but he forced the thought aside, unwilling to acknowledge the possibility.

There was no way Bamoun had approved of this. Scaramouche wanted to believe that, at least.

Sethos, utterly unbothered by the mess he was making with the peach, took another large bite, the fruit’s juice dripping down his fingers. He didn’t answer right away, savouring the fruit as if the question hadn’t quite registered. Finally, he spoke, his tone slow and deliberate, as if weighing his words carefully.

“I want to replicate or preserve the god particle inside me.”

Scaramouche blinked, stunned. The words hung in the air for a moment, and then the realization hit him like a cold wave.

This moron is putting on a show, Scaramouche thought, seething with frustration. He loves to watch me squirm. He loves seeing me care about his safety.

The thought only fuelled his irritation. Sethos, as always, enjoyed the subtle power of keeping him off balance. 

“That doesn’t sound safe at all,” Scaramouche said dryly, his heart picking up pace .

He wanted to push away the creeping panic, but it clawed at him . H e could feel the void inside him hurt as if he had a heart .

“It sounds foolish , ” he continued.

Sethos met his gaze.

“I won’t live forever,” he said matter-of-factly, the words coming out as if he were discussing the weather. “Ever since I woke up with the blessing of Lord Hermanubis inside me, I knew that fact better than I knew my own name.”

There was no anger in Sethos’s voice, no self-pity, just a chilling acceptance – he had come to terms with his mortality long ago. 

But hearing it… And hearing it from Sethos – who always seemed so certain of everything, so happy, so joyful – struck Scaramouche harder than he expected. A dull ache spread through his chest cavity, and his thoughts wandered to that long-forgotten day when he had held the cold, lifeless hands of a little boy. 

When Scaramouche looked at Sethos again, it was no longer The Doctor he saw, but himself in the ruins of Tatarasuna. 

He felt the same when he watched the Traveller weep in front of him; he didn’t know why he felt that his past was catching up to him now.

Unaware or uncaring of Scaramouche’s inner turmoil, Sethos took another bite from the peach, the juice running down his chin, but he didn’t seem to care. 

Scaramouche’s fingers tightened around the wooden spoon he had been holding, the smooth handle now digging into his porcelain palm. He stared at Sethos, still struggling to understand, to make sense of what he was hearing.

“So, you were planning to somehow replicate the highly unstable god particle…” Scaramouche said, his voice a little more strained .

A nd Tsaritsa knew how much he hated sounding like that !

“… A nd you didn’t think about what would happen to you?”

Sethos finally wiped the juice from his mouth with a cloth, his expression completely calm.

“We only have two known fragments left,” Sethos said, his tone almost dismissive. “This wasn’t a plan I intended to carry out immediately. I want to get the second particle first.”

Scaramouche tried to steady himself, but the unease gnawed at him, difficult to ignore.

Sethos went on. “Lord Hermanubis wants to be whole, I can feel it. When I get the second particle, and if I can preserve his legacy, I’ll be able to fulfill his request.”

Scaramouche’s throat tightened. He wanted to scream, to demand how Sethos could be so blind, but the words caught in his mouth. Instead, he asked something else.

“But what do you want?” he asked, the question laced with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. “What will happen to you if something goes wrong?”

What will happen to me, Scaramouche wanted to ask . D o you ever think of that?

Sethos’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. At worst, I’ll die trying.”

The words struck Scaramouche like a slap, cold and sharp, leaving him stunned. He didn’t laugh, didn’t smile. He only felt a surge of frustration and fear, an overwhelming tide that made it hard to breathe.

Before he could stop himself, his grip on the wooden spoon tightened, snapping it in half. He hadn’t meant to. It was the first time in a long while he hadn’t intended to break something on purpose. His mind wasn’t focused on destruction – it was focused on Sethos, on the insanity of his words, the blind certainty that made everything feel like it was spiralling out of control.

Sethos glanced at him, surprised .

“It’s just a joke,” he said with a half-hearted, guilty laugh. “Don’t get so upset.”

But Scaramouche wasn’t laughing.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice sharp, though he wasn’t sure who he was speaking to anymore : Sethos or himself.

Sethos looked embarrassed. “I was really just joking around, you know.’’

Scaramouche locked eyes with him, fury and fear rising to the surface. “Don’t lie. You meant it.”

For a brief moment, Sethos looked vulnerable. The playful smirk faltered for a small moment, before it was replaced with his usual detached grin. But that quick moment, so small and fleeting, made Scaramouche’s chest tighten. 

Scaramouche wasn’t sure which thought terrified him more : the idea of Sethos succeeding or the possibility of him failing. Either way, it felt like a countdown had begun.

He realized he was more than ready to sabotage Sethos if it came to it, for his own sake.

“Why are you telling me this now?” Scaramouche asked, his voice still carrying the weight of their tense conversation .

He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms, as though bracing himself for whatever nonsense Sethos would throw his way next.

Sethos let out a soft huff .

“Like I said, that Traveler seems very sharp. I doubt she’d let me rob a grave in peace,” he said, his tone carrying an odd kind of resignation. “And if I tried it with so many eyes on me, there’s no way I’d escape my grandpa’s scolding.”

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow. That’s what you are worried about, you buffoon?

"So, if you're telling me this..." Scaramouche’s voice faltered slightly, a flicker of hope stirring in his chest. "Does that mean you no longer think it’s a viable strategy?"

Sethos nodded .

“Yes. There’s no other place where I can find a god’s untainted body,” he said simply, his voice devoid of hesitation, his gaze firm and unshaken. “After this mission, I just want to rest. Let’s go home. Liloupar being with an ally is still something we can work with.”

Scaramouche felt a strange mix of relief and confusion at Sethos’s admission.

“Alright,” Scaramouche said after a long pause. He finished his cold tea in a few swift sips, the bitter taste lingering on his tongue.

…

After breakfast, they returned to their tents.

Sethos seemed less weighed down by not getting what he wanted. 

Sure, his grandfather wouldn't be pleased that Liloupar was now in the hands of a stranger, or that Sethos was somehow making his relationship with Babel worse. And the plan he had staked everything on was falling apart. But moping wouldn’t fix anything, Scaramouche had told him. And, finally, Sethos seemed to be starting to believe that.

That’s good, Scaramouche thought. I didn’t want to be stuck with a weirdo like Dottore again.

“If only we could steal Liloupar away from her,” Scaramouche said out of nowhere, his tone lighter now that the worst of the morning had passed. “We could take her from that moron and make a run for it.”

Sethos couldn’t help but laugh at the suggestion, shaking his head.

“Liloupar called you ‘princeling,’” he teased with a grin. “She seemed pretty fond of you. Maybe you should just sweet-talk her into betraying her mistress and taking you as her master instead.”

“Oh, right, she did call me that,” Scaramouche replied thoughtfully .

A small, almost invisible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Considering he was the son of the Electro Archon, he technically was a “ prince. ”

“I wonder how she knows, though,” Scaramouche continued. “I don’t recall ever meeting her before.”

“What?” Sethos turned to him hurriedly. “What do you mean by that?”

“Hm?” Scaramouche feigned confusion.

“Are you actually a prince?” Sethos pressed, his voice full of surprise. He blinked, trying to process the revelation .

“All this time, and you’ve never mentioned it?”

Scaramouche smirked .

“Sort of,” he said with a casual shrug. “The title doesn’t mean much, but yes, technically, I am.”

Sethos stared at him, wide-eyed. “How come you’ve never told me that?” 

“It’s not that big of a deal, really,” Scaramouche grinned .

He realized he had been forgetting something . D ue to Sethos’s blundering and overly dramatic tendencies, he did make Scaramouche feel a sense of despair sometimes. But that didn’t mean Scaramouche was helpless. He had a few tricks up his sleeve as well .

“What did you even think when she called me ‘princeling’?” Scaramouche asked.

“I don’t know,” Sethos admitted, still trying to grasp the implications. “I mostly assumed she was just complimenting your looks.”

“Hah! Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” Scaramouche said, his smug grin returning .

He felt more in control of the conversation now. Sethos’s puppy-dog eyes were no match for Scaramouche’s mood when he had the upper hand .

“Now, come on. We’ve wasted enough time already” Scaramouche pointed out. “We need to leave with those two little idiots, remember?”

Sethos pouted, crossing his arms and giving Scaramouche an exaggerated look of exasperation .

“ T ell me more first!” he whined .

Scaramouche just chuckled, enjoying the playful frustration in Sethos’s voice. He had to admit, the younger man was fun to tease.

“I won’t tell you… N ot until you’ve earned it,” Scaramouche said with a smug smirk, standing up and brushing himself off. “Now stop wasting time.”

Sethos tsked, but his smile was back.

….

Lumine and Jeht were kind enough to fill them in on what had happened before they arrived at the camps.

“Babel originally planned to have us wait for Sethos to arrive,” Jeht said, her tone steady .

Scaramouche could see the strength in her, both physical and mental. He could easily imagine her as a better leader than Babel.

“But since you two took your sweet time,” Lumine added with a smug chuckle . “Babel finally gave us the go-ahead to move forward without you. She wasn’t thrilled about it, but she didn’t have much choice. We couldn’t keep waiting forever.”

“She had no other choice,” Jeht immediately defended Babel. “And we found Liloupar. Isn’t that a good thing?”

“We need to find more of her fragments,” Jeht continued. 

“Yeah,” Lumine agreed . “Liloupar says her memory and power depend on those fragments. With them, we can maybe fix whatever is wrong with her.”

“We need my memory to find my late mistress’s resting place. It’s where she waits for me, as promised,” Liloupar sounded more energetic the more she talked about the old mistress she worshipped. ‘’To where she sleeps.’’

‘’To the Orchard of Pairidaeza,’’ Jeht said, with a mournful look. ‘’To think it’s so close to me now…’’

“To the Great Mirage of the Gods,’’ Sethos said simply, as if he was not feverishly reading books about the Oasis before they left the Temple. “I’ve heard of it.”

Scaramouche smiled at his acting; at least, he was doing a good job at acting clueless.

But when Sethos talked, Liloupar gave him a strange look, as if he had said something disrespectful. 

“Only a few chosen will be welcome to my mistress’s final resting place,” she said with scorn. “You may not be allowed in.”

Sethos sighed, there was no denying the slight sting in Liloupar’s words this time. He glanced at Scaramouche, the unspoken communication between them clear – Sethos was willing to let his partner take over.

Scaramouche nodded in silent understanding .

“Am I allowed, then?” he asked Liloupar, his voice deceptively calm; whenever he felt like this lamp was tolerable, she said something else that annoyed him. 

Liloupar let out a strange, almost mocking laugh. 

“Of course,” she said, though the words felt anything but reassuring. “But I advise you to leave your worshipper behind. Or you will not get to see the Orchard of Pairidaeza either.”

Lumine gasped at the harshness of the response, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Liloupar! That’s too much.”

‘’Mistress, I beg of you, let me speak,’’ Liloupar snapped back. ‘’Then, you may order me to stay silent as you wish!’’

Lumine groaned in response. 

Scaramouche’s expression remained cold, his gaze never leaving Liloupar as he spoke, his voice tinged with a chilling calmness .

“Is this a threat?” he asked, his tone flat, betraying no emotion. 

“No,” Liloupar said, her voice sweet but firm. “Just a warning. I can see that your freedman will only bring misfortune to you.”

The words sent a strange, unsettling chill down Scaramouche’s body, but he held his composure, refusing to show any sign of weakness.

“You were created to bear a curse; I can sense that in your presence. But somehow, you managed to get away from that unfortunate life.’’ Liloupar’s gaze seemed to sharpen.  ‘’Yet, why do you bring along a man who couldn’t escape that very fate?”

No one dared to talk for a moment, not even the usual flying chatter-box. The question seemed to hang in the air like a heavy fog. Scaramouche’s heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, it felt as though the world had paused. 

“What do you know about me?” Scaramouche’s voice was tinged with suspicion. ‘’What do you know about my past? How could you know anything about me?’’

Liloupar met his gaze steadily, unfazed by his reaction .

“I know nothing at all,” she said dismissively. “Just vague recollections from a past long gone. If I had my full memory, I could give you a better answer. But as it is…”

‘’Don’t talk nonsense any further then,’’ Scaramouche said with a scorn. ‘’Let’s move on.’’

Scaramouche didn’t like this creature at all.

…

Their plan wasn’t a complex one, and it was not foolproof . B ut given the circumstances, it was the only option they had. 

“We stick together as long as we can,” Scaramouche said, checking their maps one last time. "All four of us. No splitting up unless absolutely necessary. "

He glanced around at each of them. “We’ll stay focused and make sure no one gets left behind.”

But before the conversation could continue, a familiar voice piped up, sounding both hurt and offended.

“Four? Paimon is here , too!” the floating, balloon-like figure squeaked .

Scaramouche was never going to get used to Paimon popping off and disappearing whenever she wished. Seeing her puffed cheeks, Scaramouche wanted to annoy that little brat even more.

“Fine,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “We’ll go in as a party of four and a half.”

Lumine cracked a smile at that, though Paimon clearly didn’t find it amusing. She just hid behind Lumine again – she seemed to find the most comfort there.

Scaramouche was going to annoy her more, but Sethos gave him a look, so he stopped.

“Anyway, I prepared these,” Sethos said, interrupting their childish bickering. “I’ve made sure we won’t be completely lost.”

He reached into his bag and pulled out several small scrolls, handing one to each of them .

“These are shorthand notes on common mechanisms I’ve seen in ruins like this,” Sethos explained. “Traps, puzzles, locking mechanisms... Nothing we can’t handle if we stay alert.”

Lumine took the scroll, reading it with care as Sethos continued.

“If we get separated, don’t panic. If you get stuck, just remember: the way out usually follows a set pattern. Stick to the steps, and you’ll be able to find your way outside.”

“And if we come across something more complicated?” Lumine asked cautiously. 

Sethos shrugged.

“You will have to use your brain,” he said confidently. “It may get more complicated deeper in, but nothing’s unsolvable. The key is to stay calm and follow the patterns. They don’t change. Trust me, I’ve been through worse.”

Scaramouche couldn’t help but smile at Sethos. His certainty, almost to the point of arrogance, was... E ndearing, in its own way.

…

The group stood together . T hey had one final stop to make before setting off on their journey. 

Babel wanted to send them off.

She waited for them at the gate of the camps. When she saw Jeht, she opened her arms for a hug. When Jeht placed herself in her grasp, Babel leaned in slightly, pressing a lingering kiss on her forehead.

"Be good, Jeht," Babel murmured. "I expect a lot from you."

Jeht nodded.

"Always," she replied dutifully.

Babel's gaze shifted then to Lumine, who stood beside Jeht. 

"Traveller," Babel said, her gaze meeting Lumine’s eyes. "I am waiting for your return.’’

She then turned her attention to Sethos, who had been standing a little apart from the others. 

"And Sethos," Babel said . H er tone was gentle and respectful , but Scaramouche didn’t find it comforting. "I hope you are no longer angry with me."

Sethos' s frown deepened for just a moment, but it passed as quickly as it came. He exhaled slowly, uncrossing his arms, the tension in his posture dissipating.

"I’m not," he said, his gaze lingering on Babel for a beat longer than necessary .  

Scaramouche guessed he was still bitter about not getting what he wanted from this mission .  

"We will see you soon , " Sethos finished.

"Good," Babel said. "Then go safely."

Without another word, she stepped back, allowing the group to move on. 

…

Once they were inside the ruins, Paimon started to act childish.

‘’Paimon is scared.’’ Paimon snuggled closer to Lumine. ‘’This feels weird. This feels different than before. Do we really have to?’’

‘’I know.’’ Lumine gave her a reassuring smile. "But don’t worry, it’s not the first time I’ve explored ruins like these . And you’ve done this before, too ! We can do it again, Paimon.’’

‘’Paimon is still scared,’’ she said. ‘’What if we can’t get out?’’

"Trust me. I know how to get around most of the mechanisms,’’ Sethos replied confidently, brushing a lock of his dark hair back. ‘’They may be scary, but they’re predictable. All of them are."

‘’These traps are nothing like the ones you know,’’ Liloupar suddenly said, dazed. ‘’You shouldn’t get comfortable.’’

‘’Why, Lady Liloupar?’’ Sethos smiled respectfully. ‘’Would you be so kind to tell me?’’

‘’It seems that my sisters created the ones here,’’ Liloupar said. ‘’And they’re still perfectly functional, after all these centuries…’’ 

‘’I probably know most of these mechanisms, L ady Liloupar,’’ Sethos insisted.

‘’I doubt it,’’ the lamp said uncaringly.  

"Let’s get this over with, shall we?" Scaramouche said in a dry tone, ignoring their argument. "We’ve got fragments to collect, and I don’t want to be stuck in here longer than necessary. I’d rather avoid the traps and get out before something nasty shows up."

Lumine nodded, her face serious. "I agree. The sooner we get what we need, the better."

‘’Oh, mistress…’’ Liloupar was a lamp, yet Scaramouche felt as if she was shaking her head. ‘’When will you listen to me and not those sand-dwellers…’’

‘’You’ll learn to trust my judgement,’’ Lumine said, laughing. ‘’One day.’’

‘’I fear such a day,’’ Liloupar grumbled.

…

It didn’t take them long to see the fragment.

‘’My mistress, I already see it!’’ Liloupar’s loud, despairing voice broke the silence. ‘’It's another fragment of mine, of my divinity and wisdom! Please, please bring me closer!’’

The party stopped , their eyes immediately drawn to the object in question . Ahead of them, a faint glow shone through the thick vines that crawled up the walls like living creatures. 

Liloupar’s fragment – its soft light pulsing gently in the dimness of the ancient ruin – lay just beyond a wall of glass, sealed away as if waiting for them to claim it. But the path to it was not clear. The vines twisted and curled around the glass like sentinels, guarding the prize.

Lumine’s gaze shifted to Jeht, who had already begun to assess the situation. Jeht’s face was set in a frown as she surveyed their surroundings. The ruins stretched before them, labyrinthine and eerie, with every step feeling like it could lead them into a trap.

“The road splits here,” Jeht said, her voice low but steady. “So, what do we do?”

Her question stayed unanswered as everyone took in the situation. 

The path ahead split into two directions. It was clear that they couldn’t take both paths at once. One group would need to go one way, the other group another.

“We stay together,” Scaramouche said, his tone final .

He had his arms crossed, looking at the scene ahead with narrowed eyes. “We can check out both corridors one after another . I t is not absolutely necessary to split up here.”

Lumine turned to him, she bit her lip as she weighed the options .

“Is it?” she asked, her voice tinged with doubt. “What happens if we go one way and get trapped?’’

‘’My mistress,’’ Liloupar joined the conversation. ‘’The sooner I reunite with my fragments, the better I could serve her.’’

“We work together to get out,” Scaramouche insisted. “No matter which path we take, we’ll make sure we all get out.’’

Jeht seemed unconvinced, her eyes flickering toward the glowing fragment, then back to Scaramouche. 

‘’If one group is trapped, it’d be easier to get out if the other group is outside, waiting,” she suggested .

Scaramouche regretted praising her internally before. Sure, she wasn’t challenging their plan directly, but she seemed to be leaning toward a more cautious approach .

“If we get into trouble, one group can quickly help the other , ” Jeht continued.

Lumine nodded in agreement .

“Exactly. If we can secure the fragment quickly, we won’t waste more time than we have to.” Her voice wavered. “I just don’t know . T his place really feels... S trange. Maybe it’s necessary to split up.”

The glass wall that separated them from the fragment loomed in front of them like an unspoken challenge. 

Sethos glanced at Scaramouche. There was a brief, silent exchange between them. They both knew that splitting up wasn’t ideal, but trying to keep the whole group together wasn’t going to work like this.

“Fine,” Scaramouche muttered after a beat .

H e made no attempt to hide his annoyance. His shoulders were tense as his lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m not happy with this, but fine.”

Lumine shot him an apologetic look .

“We’ll be okay,” she said softly, trying to reassure both him and herself. “We’ll stick to the plan. The group that finds the fragment first goes back to find the other group. We won’t leave anyone behind.’’

With a final glance at each other, they set off; Sethos and Scaramouche heading left, Lumine and Jeht to the right.

…

“I’ve spent my fair share of time in places like this,” Sethos said. “Practically since I was a toddler. There are only so many ways these mechanisms work.”

Scaramouche rolled his eyes. “I’d call you 'show off,’ but you might get offended.”

Sethos grinned, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh , please . D on’t hold yourself back. Praise me however you want. ”

He playfully nudged Scaramouche with his shoulder .

Scaramouche chuckled. “Maybe later.”

“You keep saying ‘later . ’” Sethos laughed and walked past him.

It wasn’t long before something else caught their attention : a faint, unnatural smell. 

A rancid, sickening odour, one that made the hairs on the back of Scaramouche’s neck stand on end.

They rounded a corner and stopped dead. At the far end of the hall, lying in a twisted heap on the floor, was a grotesque, pulsating, purple mass.

It looked as though it had been marinated in death for centuries.

Sethos’s eyes locked onto the decaying thing, his face showed a look of recognition. Without a word, he stepped forward, his hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at his belt. He knelt beside the corpse.

“Don’t touch it,” Scaramouche warned, his voice sharp.

“I’m not stupid,” Sethos muttered, his eyes fixed on the body. “Look at this thing.”

Scaramouche took a step closer, his lip curling in distaste as he glanced down at the disgusting sight. “Well, that’s just lovely.”

“It’s interesting,” Sethos said, his tone heavy with regret. “I’m guessing it was preserved up until a few months ago, probably fossilized before it got corrupted.”

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow. “Not much you can do with it, then. Too rotten to salvage.”

“No,” Sethos agreed, standing and wiping his hands on his pants as if to rid himself of the sight. “The residue is completely useless. It’d be pointless to try and extract anything from it. ”

His voice turned distant, as if his mind were already somewhere else, lost in thought .

“Still, it’s strange , ” Sethos muttered.

“What’s strange?” Scaramouche asked, frowning.

“This feels like human intervention,” Sethos replied, his voice lower now, almost to himself. “But we broke the seal of the ruins together. No one was here before us. ”

He shook his head. “Let’s go back. We can’t follow this corridor any longer.”

They turned back immediately; they knew they could simply retract their steps back to Lumine and Jeht.

They walked in silence , the corridor stretched out in front of them.

But then, a strange feeling settled over Scaramouche. He glanced at Sethos, expecting to see the same cautious look on his face, but the other man was oddly quiet. It felt as though they’d been walking for longer than they should have, yet the hallway seemed to stretch infinitely ahead of them.

Scaramouche had to agree with Paimon, this place definitely was weird.

“I don’t remember this,” Sethos said, sounding confused. “This doesn’t look like the same corridor.”

Scaramouche blinked, momentarily thrown off. He stopped, his shoes scraping softly against the stone. They had been walking straight back, hadn’t they? No turns, no splits, just the same damn path they’d taken earlier.

He took a few steps back, his eyes scanning the walls, then squinted at the faint carvings along the stone that had looked so familiar moments ago. They were now unfamiliar, twisted and distorted, as though the walls themselves had shifted while they weren’t looking.

“You’re right,” Scaramouche said, his stomach dropping. “This isn’t the same path.’’

They both turned, their eyes darting around, but the corridor ahead and behind them were identical but at the same time, different. The stone felt colder now, the shadows deeper. There was no mistaking it: something had changed.

The sound of shifting stones was unmistakable.

Before either of them could react, a grinding noise echoed from the walls. The doors in front of them slammed shut with a force that rattled the stones. The same noise came from behind them, sealing them in.

They were trapped.

Scaramouche’s heart quickened . H is mind was racing, trying to piece together what was happening.

“I hope Jeht is safe,’’ Sethos said, his voice rough with irritation. “Can you imagine all four of us in this small corridor… Or are they also trapped?’’

‘’Let’s worry about ourselves first,’’ Scaramouche shot back. 

Scaramouche was already scanning their surroundings, but before he could think anything, small holes appeared along the stone walls with a soft hiss. A moment later, sharp, triangular crystals shot out of the walls with terrifying speed.

Scaramouche moved instinctively, throwing himself to the side as the first shards moved past him. He barely avoided another sharp crystal that sliced through the air. 

He heard the sound of something solid striking the stone next to him, another triangle rock he noticed. He spun around, narrowly dodging the one that stabbed where he just was.

There was a pattern, he opened his mouth to say. We can avoid all of them.

He turned his head to Sethos – then he froze.

Sethos stood still, his eyes wide, focused directly on him. Blood trickled from his left eye, staining his skin. 

He was human, he was not as fast as Scaramouche.    

“Sethos?” Scaramouche’s voice was strained, a flicker of panic rising in his chest. 

Sethos didn’t respond, his gaze locked on Scaramouche as though he was frozen in place. Blood pooled on his cheek, the trickle from his eye thickening with each passing second.

Scaramouche moved toward him; he grabbed Sethos by the shoulder, trying to yank him away, but the other man barely seemed to notice. His expression was vacant, his eye empty.

Are they poisoned? Scaramouche thought in despair.

“Come on, move!” Scaramouche hissed, but it was as if Sethos were trapped in place by some invisible force, his body rigid, unresponsive.

He hugged Sethos, trying to cover his body with his own, so that maybe he wouldn’t get hit with more crystals. Before Scaramouche could do anything else, however, the ground beneath them groaned with a low, ominous rumble. 

Without warning, the floor crumbled beneath their feet, the stone giving way in an instant. 

Scaramouche’s stomach dropped as they plunged downward, the air rushing past them. He tried to hold Sethos, to at least save him from hitting the ground.

The world became a blur, his body slamming hard against something before everything went black.

This time, there was no one to spare them from the impact.

Chapter Text

When Scaramouche woke up, he had no idea where he was.

He opened his eyes and blinked slowly. As his brain registered the sensation of the cold marble underneath him, fragments of memory began to trickle back.

The trap. The fall.   

Where the hell was Sethos? He frantically looked around; and soon, he felt his whole body relax when he spotted Sethos lying right next to him, motionless but still breathing.

Scrambling to his feet, he rushed to his side, his hands trembling as he checked for injuries.

Sethos’s eye was still smeared with blood, now dried; it didn’t look promising. Thankfully, Sethos didn’t seem hurt from the fall itself. Somehow, Scaramouche had managed to slow Sethos’s fall by holding him close.

Turning his attention to Sethos’s eye once more, he inspected the wound more closely. Before the fall, those strange golden crystals had been launched at them. Scaramouche had been so sure that shards of those crystals would still be embedded in the injury. Yet, as he carefully examined the area, he felt no trace of hardness, no fragments to remove.

Instead, Scaramouche realized something far more unsettling; the crystals had dissolved into the blood itself, leaving only a golden shimmer mixed in the dried blood.

Scaramouche stared at the faint, glittering remnants of the blood-crystal dust on Sethos’s left cheek. A strange feeling almost forced him to touch it; hell, maybe even give it a taste test. He had always been confident in his ability to detect poisons, and he was mostly immune to most of them anyway.

Still, as tempting as it was to indulge his curiosity, he knew better. Putting unknown substances into his body, in hindsight, was never a great idea. If it was something that managed to knock him out, then it meant he’d have to leave Sethos without any supervision.

With a sigh of resignation, he turned his focus back to the present problem.

He began by rummaging through their belongings, emptying their bags to take stock of their situation. Maps, water, some food… Once the contents were sorted, he carefully adjusted Sethos into a more comfortable position, propping his head up with the now-empty bags.

Sethos’s chest still rose and fell with slow, steady breaths.

That was reassuring, he’s alive, at least, Scaramouche thought as he cleaned Sethos’s face with a slightly wet cloth.

Even after Scaramouche moved Sethos around, gently shaking him in hopes of waking him, Sethos didn’t wake up. His eyelids remained shut, his face unnervingly peaceful. Scaramouche wanted to take this as a good sign, but doubt was growing inside him.

Once Sethos was settled, Scaramouche took a moment to inspect himself. Surprisingly, he felt… f ine. Too fine. There was no pain, no stiffness, no nothing to suggest he had just fallen from a great height. He ran his hands over his arms and chest, double-checking for any injuries he might have overlooked. His skin felt smooth, unbroken.

It didn’t add up.

Scaramouche frowned and then glanced upward toward the trapdoor far above them. The distance they had fallen was no small drop; it should have left him with at least a bruise or a fracture, if not worse.

Sure, I’m strong, he thought. Stronger than most. But even my resilience has its limits.

As his fingers brushed over his chest again, a darker possibility crept into his mind, one that made his stomach churn.

What if… I was injured?

The fall had been hard enough to knock him unconscious. What if he had received some kind of wound that had already healed?

The idea sounded ridiculous at first. His body’s self-healing capabilities were impressive, but they weren’t instantaneous. Scratches and minor wounds could close up after a few hours of rest, sure. But anything serious would take much longer, even for him.

Which led him to a far more unsettling question: How long were we out?

Scaramouche’s gaze shifted as he began to truly take in his surroundings. The room was made of stone, just like the rest of the ruins. If he hadn’t fallen into it, he wouldn’t have thought there was anything wrong with it. But since he was here, he actually spotted something that made him anxious. The ruins they had been exploring were old. The floors had been cracked, worn with time, their once-vivid colours faded due to centuries of neglect.

This place, however, was different. Starkly so. The walls and floor looked perfect, as if untouched by time. As if the room had been constructed just today.

Scaramouche couldn’t shake the strange feeling the room gave him. It was like stepping into a world that he didn’t belong to, one where time itself had bent and shifted.

Even the light was wrong. The room was illuminated, but there was no visible light source. No torches on the walls, no cracks in the ceiling for sunlight to filter through. Nothing, nada. The light seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

The unnatural quality of it all unsettled him, but he pushed the discomfort aside, focusing on the details. He looked at the walls more carefully and immediately something caught his attention. Scaramouche paused, leaning closer; he touched one of the bricks and it slightly moved.

These aren’t just stones; he realized with some hope. They’re part of something more.

The faint outlines of the hidden puzzle became clearer to him now. He had seen similar designs before, meticulously sketched out in Sethos’s notes. The ruins of Sumeru often hid traps, secret doors, and mechanisms.

Scaramouche made his way back to their belongings. He rummaged through the scattered items until he found one of Sethos’s booklets. And as he flipped it open, he read the pages filled with little silly drawings and notes.

Holding the booklet in one hand, he glanced at the suspicious stones in the walls. The hidden mechanisms had a certain resemblance to those detailed in Sethos’s notes, but they weren’t an exact match. He had to rely on a mix of deduction and guesswork, at least until Sethos woke up.

Scaramouche really, really hoped Sethos would wake up soon.

…

Focusing on planning their escape plan kept Scaramouche’s mind occupied, but not completely.

He spent every moment studying the mechanisms around him. Scaramouche knew if he stopped, even for a second, the fear of abandonment would creep back into his mind. He kept telling himself he managed to escape from every cage people put him in, he’d get out of this one too; and refused to think otherwise.

But his progress with the puzzle was far from ideal. The mechanism was maddeningly complex, the design was both familiar and foreign to him. He hated to admit it, because it was something a child would do, but in his anger, he kicked and punched the stubborn stones.

It didn’t help anything; all he got from his anger was cracked fingertips and a broken toe.

He wanted to take a break, but every time he tried, his thoughts started to drift wildly. Whenever he tried to rest, he would start worrying about Sethos again, replaying the image of his injured eye. And when the worry became too much to bear, he would start thinking about people that didn’t even matter.

Lumine and Jeht.   

Scaramouche thought of their decision to split up and how, at times like this, he both hated and appreciated it. Part of him wished they were all together, even Paimon, no matter how dire the situation might have become. Maybe together, they could’ve figured something out, or even could’ve avoided falling into this trap.

But another part of him was relieved they weren’t here. The thought of all four -or five, counting Paimon- being trapped in this place together was unbearable. Also, he didn’t want to believe he fell this low but, he really believed that Traveller wouldn’t leave him to his fate here. 

He hoped he was not being foolish by thinking that. 

Liloupar, of course, didn’t count in his mental tally. That flying lamp was practically indestructible. She couldn’t die in a way that mattered, so Scaramouche didn’t even bother worrying about her.

He truly felt like they had been stuck here for an eternity. Scaramouche spent countless hours trying to figure it out, only to grow exhausted and collapse into dreamless naps.

When he woke, the cycle began again.

Time to time, he would pause to tend to Sethos. At first, he’d tried feeding him some of the food they had packed, but Sethos’s lips remained stubbornly closed. Water, at least, he managed to force it down his throat.

Though, he didn’t know if all this effort was necessary. Sethos didn’t look bad, not really. His skin was still warm to the touch, his breathing steady and calm, as though he were simply in a deep sleep. He just looked… frozen in time.

Still, Scaramouche was nervous. Every so often, he would press his ear to Sethos’s chest, listening silently for the sound of his heartbeat. And every time, the heartbeat was there; strong, steady, alive. But sometimes, when he did this, he heard something else. A faint, unsettling crackling sound, similar to the way wood splinters and pops in a stove after being consumed by fire.

Then small bursts of electro energy would spark around Sethos’s chest, right where his heart was. The first time it happened, Scaramouche panicked. But over time, he had grown used to it.

It had to be Hermanubis. The ancient protector was safeguarding Sethos, though Scaramouche had no idea how or to what end.

Even so, that faint crackling, those sparks of electro, they were proof that Sethos was still fighting, still alive. And as long as Sethos held on, Scaramouche would too.

…

“Wanderer.” 

Scaramouche snapped his head around so quickly it was a wonder he didn’t hurt himself. For a brief moment, he thought his mind might be playing tricks on him, teasing him with false hope.

But it wasn’t a dream.

Sethos was looking at him, his gaze weak and unfocused, but he was undeniably alive. He was awake, finally, after what had felt like an eternity.

Scaramouche’s heart twisted; the taste of relief was so overwhelming it nearly knocked the air from his lungs. For a second, he wanted to cry, to let the tension that had stuck around his chest for hours - Days? Months? - pour out of him. But he didn’t. Instead, he rushed to Sethos’s side, dropping to his knees beside him.

“Wanderer,” Sethos said again, his voice hoarse and disoriented. “What… happened?”

“A trap,” Scaramouche replied, trying to sound casual, though his voice trembled just slightly. “You slept for a really long time.”

Sethos raised a hand to his face, his fingers brushing over his left eye, or what remained of it. His expression shifted instantly, crumpling into something so sad that Scaramouche had to look away. He couldn’t bear the sight of it, couldn’t bear the weight of that despair.

“I remember this,” Sethos murmured, his voice thick with anguish. “How am I going to use my bow?”

Scaramouche wanted to respond, to tell Sethos he would adapt, that he could still master any weapon, with or without his left eye. He wanted to promise that this wasn’t the end, that they’d figure it out together. But the words wouldn’t come.

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat refusing to budge.

“How long have we been here?” Sethos asked after a pause, his tone quieter now, almost detached. “My eye… it’s almost healed.”

Scaramouche blinked, startled. Almost healed? His gaze focused on Sethos’s face, noticing for the first time that the injury, while still raw, looked remarkably better than when they’d first fallen. He hadn’t noticed it; he was busy trying to figure their way out.

How much time had really passed since they’d been trapped here?

“I don’t know,” Scaramouche admitted softly. “Are you… okay?”

Sethos didn’t answer right away. He blinked slowly, a heaviness settling over his features. Finally, he gave a small nod, though the motion was sluggish. “Yeah, I think so.’’

Scaramouche didn’t let silence grow between them.

‘’I am close, I know it,’’ he said. ‘’There’s a way out; it actually looks very similar to your sketches.’’

‘’Let me take a look, most of them are combinations of different mechanisms,’’ Sethos said; he tried to get up but his head fell back to the bags again. ‘’Can you bring them to me?’’

Scaramouche nodded and grabbed the pages he left right next to the walls. But when he came back to Sethos’s side, he was already asleep.  

For a moment, Scaramouche just sat there, staring at him, not knowing how to feel. He reached out, hesitating, before gently brushing a stray strand of hair from Sethos’s face.

“I hope you wake up again soon,” he whispered. ‘’Don’t leave me alone.’’

And he returned to his puzzle.

…

Scaramouche was so convinced he was on the verge of unlocking the first part of the puzzle. But all that thinking came to an abrupt stop when he noticed the movement behind him. He looked around to see Sethos’s body moving ever so slightly.

Sethos’s eye -his one good, remaining eye- fluttered open, and Scaramouche immediately abandoned his thoughts, rushing to his side again. He gently put Sethos’s head on his lap this time.

‘’Do you need anything?’’ Scaramouche asked, caressing his face.

Sethos smiled when he saw him

“I feel like I’ve slept for ages,” Sethos murmured, his voice hoarse. “But I’m not hungry. I just feel tired actually.”

Scaramouche had noticed that, too. Whatever controlled this room seemed to warp the rules of the world inside. Hunger and time were little more than distant concepts here. Once he had realised Sethos didn’t really need water to stay alive, he decided he would keep their food for later, when they finally got out of this cursed place.

“Did you dream?” Scaramouche asked, eager to turn the conversation to something else, anything else. He felt like he was going to puke if Sethos asked him anything related to the mechanisms.

“I think I did,” Sethos replied, uncertainty flickering across his face. ‘’Or was it just a memory? I’m not really sure.’’

“What did you see?” Scaramouche pressed gently. He needed someone to talk. ‘’Anything good?’’

“I dreamt of the night grandfather implanted the god particle in me,” Sethos said. He moved slightly, resting his head on Scaramouche’s lap as though it was the most natural thing in the world. He paused, staring up at the ceiling with a wistful expression. “…I need the second Ba Fragment back.”

“We’ll get it back,” Scaramouche promised, his voice firm and unyielding, as if sheer determination alone could make it true.

“I wish we could see the Eternal Oasis,” Sethos said wistfully, his gaze growing distant as if he were already imagining the tranquil beauty of the place.

“We will,” Scaramouche assured him, his fingers threading gently through Sethos’s hair in a soothing motion.

‘’I want to help you,’’ Sethos closed his eye for a moment and Scaramouche was scared he would fall asleep again. ‘’But everything feels weird. Whenever I wake up, something pulls me back to… to…’’

For a moment, silence settled between them, then broken by Sethos himself.

“Do you think this is my fault?” Sethos asked suddenly, his voice heavy with doubt. “That we’re trapped here because of me?”

“What?” Scaramouche blinked, startled by the question. ‘’Why would you think that?’’

“Is it because I wanted to do something that might… disrespect our Lord?” Sethos’s expression darkened, his features clouded with guilt and self-reproach.

“No, that’s nonsense,” Scaramouche said, letting out a soft laugh as he shook his head. ‘’Don’t waste your energy on stuff like this. Don’t worry about anything. I will get you out of here, I promise.’’

‘’You are too good to me,’’ Sethos muttered, then fell asleep once again.

…

“His name was Cyrus,” Sethos said, his voice quiet but clear.

“Hmm?” Scaramouche asked. He was not working when Sethos woke up, instead he sat on the ground, trying to calm his mind. He had been silently observing Sethos for a while, taking a much-needed break from overworking his brain. But at the mention of Cyrus, his attention sharpened, sensing something important. “Who?”

“The traitor who stole our god fragment,” Sethos replied, his tone devoid of emotion.

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “A traitor?”

Sethos’s eye, clouded with exhaustion, remained focused as he continued. “My grandfather trusted him, but he betrayed us. The only reason he wasn’t hunted down was because of the fondness my grandfather once held for him… That’s the only thing that kept him alive.”

As Sethos spoke, Scaramouche noticed the sheen of sweat that had gathered on Sethos’s brow. His face looked paler.

“Are you alright?” Scaramouche asked, his voice laced with concern, his hand instinctively reaching out toward Sethos, but he hesitated.

Sethos barely seemed to register the question. His voice was distant, as though he were lost in his own thoughts. “I always shared the same hatred my grandfather held for him, you know?” he continued, his words slow, almost dreamlike. “But... I suppose he had his reasons too. I see it now. It’d be such a waste of Lord Hermanubis’ power if I die here.”

‘’Don’t say that.’’

‘’Sorry, sorry…’’ Sethos looked sheepish.

Scaramouche watched him, a scowl tugging at his lips.

“Everyone has their reasons for doing things,” Scaramouche said after a pause, trying to offer some comfort, though he knew words alone weren’t enough. “It doesn’t mean he was justified to steal from you.”

Sethos blinked, as if waking from a trance, and looked at Scaramouche for a moment before his expression softened.

“I don’t want to fall asleep again,” he said suddenly, his voice tinged with desperation. “I want to talk, please. Just a little longer.” His hand gripped the edge of Scaramouche’s sleeve as though afraid that if he let go, the sleep would take him once more.

Scaramouche opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, Sethos’s breathing became shallow, and his body relaxed. His grip on Scaramouche’s sleeve loosened, and his head fell back.

Scaramouche stared at him for a long time.

….

Sethos was conscious again, and Scaramouche was sitting right next to him.

Despite not losing any weight, Sethos’s body was unnervingly light, like he had been drained of vitality. Scaramouche’s fingers wove absentmindedly through Sethos’s hair.

“I don’t want to die,” Sethos murmured.

“Well, the good thing is, you won’t,” Scaramouche replied, his tone deliberately light, he didn’t want to make the air between them more uncomfortable.

Sethos laughed, the sound of his laugh was brittle and out of place.

“It’s not really a laughing matter, now, is it?” Scaramouche scolded, pinching Sethos’s cheek gently. “We’re both alive, and it seems we have quite a bit of time on our hands. I don’t see any reason to get all melancholic.”

But Sethos’s laughter faded quickly, his expression growing serious. “Don’t you feel it too?” he asked, his gaze locking with Scaramouche. “I know you do; I can see it in your eyes. Every time I fall asleep, it takes me longer to wake up.”

“I… I don’t know that. And you don’t know that either,” Scaramouche countered, his voice faltering slightly.

But the truth was, Sethos wasn’t wrong. Even though he had managed to wake up a handful of times, he had never been able to even stand on his own. His strength was at the point where even speaking seemed like a struggle. And each time, it took longer and longer for him to wake up.

Sethos reached for Scaramouche’s hand, gripping it with surprising firmness. “Your right hand was cracked when I woke up last time,” he said confidently. “But now, it’s completely healed. If I had to guess, you’ve been hurting yourself to track the time between my lucid moments.”

Scaramouche stiffened, his face betraying no emotion, but inside, he felt a pang of embarrassment. It was true. Once he realized their bodies healed normally inside this strange room, he’d resorted to injuring himself to guess the passage of time. It was crude, but it was the only method he could think of.

“So?” Scaramouche said, trying to sound nonchalant, but instead he sounded very defensive.

“So,” Sethos continued, “what happens when I never wake up again? Have you thought about that?”

“I don’t plan to,” Scaramouche replied stubbornly.  “I’ll get us both out before that happens.”

‘’Maybe you didn’t.’’ Sethos released his hand, his grip loosening as exhaustion visibly weighed him down. “But I’ve thought about it,” he said quietly.

“Thought about what?” Scaramouche asked.

“Don’t get mad at me, I’ve known things about you,” Sethos said, his gaze distant. “Since the first time we met.”

“What are you talking about?” Scaramouche frowned.

“Hana told me,” Sethos explained. “When she inspected you, she saw something… unique. She said you were created to hold something divine. She told me you were like me.” A faint grin tugged at the corners of Sethos’s mouth, amused by Scaramouche’s visible surprise. “And when you mentioned Electro Gnosis, it all made sense.”

“She figured that out?” Scaramouche could barely get the words out, his voice tight with shock. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Oh, I wanted to ask you all about it but I couldn’t. Hana scolded me, can you believe that?” Sethos sighed dramatically, though his eyes shined with fondness at the memory. “She said I should let you tell me yourself. She thought I was too rude to you when we first met. She insisted I keep quiet until you were ready.”

“How could I admit something like that?” Scaramouche muttered; his voice low, almost ashamed. “I failed my mission. I didn’t… I… There’s so much you don’t even know.”

“I would say you could tell me when we get out,” Sethos said, his voice growing fainter, “But…”

He yawned, the act almost childlike despite the gravity of their conversation. “I’m about to go out again. And… the Archons know I might not wake up this time.”

“You’re talking nonsense,” Scaramouche said sharply, though his voice wavered.

“Let me finish, please,” Sethos joked lightly, though the tremble in his voice betrayed his fear. “If you get out, and I don’t… Can you take my Ba fragment? If you were made to carry something like a Gnosis, you can carry my fragment too.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Scaramouche snapped, his tone desperate now. “I could never-”

“I know I said this power couldn’t satisfy you,” Sethos interrupted, pleading with him, “but can’t you try? I know it’s not a Gnosis. It’s not enough. But…” His voice broke, and he looked at Scaramouche with an intensity that made his words impossible to ignore. ‘’This is the only thing that matters. If you don’t want to carry it forever, our Temple can find another kid to carry the fragment. You can be free to leave as you wish.’’

For a fleeting moment, Scaramouche allowed himself to imagine it.

Sethos lying cold and unmoving, his body almost lifeless on the ground… Reaching out to him, tearing the fragment from his chest and taking it into his own...

 The thought twisted his stomach, a cold, nauseating pit of despair forming in his chest.

“No,” Scaramouche whispered, holding Sethos’s face with his hands. “That’s not going to happen.’’

Then, Scaramouche did something very, very stupid.

Sethos was about to speak again, his lips parting ever so slightly, his expression sad with whatever words lingered on the tip of his tongue. But Scaramouche didn’t want to hear them. Not right now.

In that moment, looking at Sethos, tired yet radiant in a way that made his chest ache, Scaramouche acted on impulse.

He leaned in and kissed him.

It was a simple press of lips at first, as if Scaramouche wasn’t sure he was allowed at this moment. Sethos made a small, surprised sound, one that vibrated against Scaramouche’s mouth. It was warm and fragile, like the first bloom of spring after a harsh winter.

Scaramouche felt the faintest tremor in Sethos’s breath, and then Sethos’s hands hovered uncertainly, lingering near Scaramouche’s own. His fingers twitched, as though caught between hesitation and acceptance.

The kiss wasn’t deep, nor was it hurried. It was sweet -unbelievably sweet- like a quiet promise that neither of them could put into words.

Scaramouche pulled back ever so slightly, just enough to catch the expression on Sethos’s face. His one good eye was wide with surprise, his cheeks darkened with the faintest blush. Yet there was no anger, no rejection. Just Sethos, blinking slowly as though processing what had just happened.

“Why did you do that?” Sethos finally murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I… I don’t know,” Scaramouche admitted, his voice weaker than he expected it to be. “I just wanted to shut you up.”

Sethos stared at him for another moment. Then, he smiled.

‘’Even if I never wake up again, it was a life worth living.’’

He pulled Scaramouche for another kiss, shorter than even their first one. But it was Scaramouche who felt his whole body redden with embarrassment this time.

‘’Don’t leave me all alone here,’’ Scaramouche pleaded with Sethos, after their kiss. ‘’Promise me you’ll wake up soon.’’

Sethos gave him a pained smile. ‘’I promise.’’

When he fell asleep, neither of them was sure they’d see each other again.

…

Sethos didn’t wake up.

The rise and fall of Sethos’s chest was a small, fragile reassurance that he was still alive. But the time between his awakenings had stretched so long now that Scaramouche had stopped counting.

He had also stopped breaking his fingers; it had become a ritual too painful, too futile. Each healed fracture reminded him of how much time had slipped by, and how little had changed.

But the despair didn’t consume him entirely. If Sethos couldn’t wake, then Scaramouche would wake the room.

He threw himself into studying the mechanisms. It wasn’t just desperation that drove him; it was purpose. The room was insistent in its silence, save for the soft hiss of the mechanisms and the occasional clicks as Scaramouche tested something new.

“Sethos,” he whispered under his breath, tightening a loose screw on one of the panels. “You’re not getting out of this by sleeping forever, you hear me?”

He didn’t expect an answer, but speaking made him feel less lonely.

Hours, or maybe days, passed like this; Scaramouche couldn’t tell anymore. But thankfully, the mechanisms began to make sense, their cryptic designs yielding to his relentless determination. But no matter how close he felt to a breakthrough, there was always another layer, another barrier keeping him trapped.

He solved them, one by one. He reread the booklet Sethos gave him, again, and again and…

But, at one point, he realised something; this mechanism was actually a combination of two puzzles merged together. He didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed it before; it was the same logic used in Sethos’s pages.

With despair, he threw the pages to the ground.

This was a two-way mechanism; even if he had solved his part, someone else still needed to solve the second part-- from outside.

Dejected, sat on the cold ground, and finally started crying.

Chapter Text

For those who wants to know whats going on in Inazuma, check this out!: Promise by BobaBunnies!

---

After hours of crying, Scaramouche finally felt a little better. Even though he was nowhere closer to freedom, the oppressive weight he'd carried for months on his shoulders somehow melted, if only slightly.

The reality of being trapped in this cursed room still made him want to vomit, and the thought of enduring this nightmare even longer was unbearable. Yet, for now, he was once again calm enough to think rationally.

He took a deep breath and allowed himself a moment to self-reflect. He had done everything he could–there was nothing left but to wait for someone to solve their part of the puzzle. His only hope was for their mission partners to find them and free him and Sethos from this torment.

He hoped Sethos would be okay once they were saved.

Scaramouche glanced at Sethos, who slept peacefully beside him. Gently, he pulled Sethos closer, savouring the warmth radiating from him. Compared to Sethos, his own body felt cold and lifeless. Without this little source of warmth, Scaramouche doubted he could retain his sanity much longer.

He buried his face in Sethos's neck.

Despite his exhaustion, sleep didn’t come easily to Scaramouche. His mind filled with thoughts, each one more unsettling than the last. Whoever had designed this infernal mechanism was undeniably a lunatic. The confusing, dual-part puzzle required two parties to solve it separately from opposite sides. How many others had been locked up by similar traps?

How many skeletons lay hidden behind these walls?

His thoughts then drifted to Lumine and Jeht. Initially, he found some peace in the idea that they were safe, far from this horror.

I'm glad they're not here, he thought. It would be unbearable to suffer together.

But as time dragged on, that comfort twisted into bitterness. If they won't save us soon, I wish they were here so we could all rot together.

He knew a considerable amount of time had passed outside, yet they were still here.

The uncertainty of time made him uncomfortable. How long had they been trapped? What were Lumine and Jeht doing? Why hadn't they come to their rescue? Doubts began to creep in, eroding his faith in the Golden-Haired Traveler. He wanted to believe she wouldn't abandon them. She wouldn't give up on her comrades… Or would she?

Hadn't she left her Inazuman allies in their time of need? They had sacrificed themselves for her, only for her to flee from Inazuma like a beaten dog. If she could leave them to their fate, because she ‘’couldn’t do anything’’, wouldn’t she do the same to Scaramouche?

The image of the perfect, heroic Traveller weeping dramatically as she swore she would one day “save” Scaramouche and Sethos upset him more than he expected.

Scaramouche's thoughts kept spiralling, each one darker than the last, as he clung to the fragile warmth of Sethos, hoping against hope for a rescue that seemed increasingly distant.

He laughed miserably and closed his eyes.

…

At first, the sound went unnoticed by him.

A quiet click blended with the hums of the mechanism. Scaramouche barely noticed it, thinking it was just a trick of his already fractured mind.

But then, something changed. The sound grew louder, more distinct, cutting through the hum in a rhythmic pattern that seemed deliberate.

Click. Click. Click.

Scaramouche's eyes fluttered open. His body tensed; his senses sharpened. It was no longer just the random buzz of the trap–this was something different. Someone–or something –was interacting with the mechanism from the other side. The realization hit him and his breath caught in his throat.

Was this it? Could it be?

He got up to his feet, he pressed his ear to the nearest wall, listening intently. The sound was coming from somewhere just beyond his reach. The room was small with the walls close, so it didn’t take long for Scaramouche to check every angle.

There.

Someone was working on it.

His eyes widened in disbelief. There was no mistaking it now; the sounds were clear, intentional. Someone was solving the puzzle. Someone was trying to free them.

Without thinking, he slammed his fists against the wall, his voice desperate.

“I’m here!” he shouted, his words echoing into the stone. “We are here!”

For a moment, the clicking sounds stopped. Scaramouche’s face crunched in desperation, but then he yelled again, pushing the words out frantically.

“We are trapped! Please! Help!”

This time, the response was immediate. The clicking continued, but now it was faster, more frantic, as though the person on the other side had heard him and was hurrying to finish whatever they had started. Scaramouche could almost feel the effort on the other side. Someone really was coming for them.

Tears stung the corners of his eyes. The heaviness in his chest, the crushing isolation of being trapped in this hellish room, began to disappear.

Lumine and Jeht actually came for them.

Hope, a feeling he hadn’t dared entertain in what felt like an eternity, bloomed in his heart.

He turned to Sethos, still sleeping soundly, oblivious to everything around him. His chest rose and fell gently with each breath. Scaramouche approached him, and kissed Sethos' forehead.

When they got out of this hellhole, he would take Sethos to safety. The thought of the Sethos being safe alone filled him with a renewed sense of purpose. He would take him to the camps where they could rest, and then, once Sethos could make the trip, they’d go to Aaru Village. Candace would know what to do; she could find someone who could help Sethos recover.

The hope he felt was sweet, fragile, but so very real. The thought that someone was out there trying to save them gave him strength, a reason to believe that maybe–just maybe–this nightmare would finally come to an end.

Scaramouche reached for the small flask of water they had left. He carefully dampened a cloth and gently began wiping the dirt and dust from Sethos’s face, trying to smooth away the weariness that had settled there.

His fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary.

Now that they were about to be saved, he finally felt relieved enough to enjoy touching Sethos without fearing embarrassment. He gently stroked his lips, his cheek; he had such beautiful features.

Then Scaramouche brushed Sethos's dishevelled hair, trying to tame the mess as best as he could. Sethos had such thick, rich hair that it was hard to braid it as Sethos himself did. He made a small mental note: when they got back to Aaru Village, he would ask Dehya for some hair tips. She had the same type of hair as Sethos did: thick, dark and rich. She probably knew how to deal with it.

All this effort felt absurd, almost laughable, but Scaramouche couldn’t shake the desire to make things look right, even if only on the surface.

He didn’t want the Lumine to see the two of them in their pathetic, pitiful state. He didn’t want to show them how small, how defeated he felt while waiting for them. At least, not until they were free. Until then, he would hold on to some semblance of dignity.

Once he was satisfied with Sethos’s appearance, he turned his attention to himself. His clothes were fine but covered in dust from the long, uncomfortable hours spent in this room. He wiped his face, trying to look less like someone who had been at the mercy of this trap for far too long.

It was pointless, of course–there was no escaping the evidence of their suffering–but it gave him a sense of control, a fragile illusion of normalcy.

After finishing with himself, he waited. His thoughts wandered, caught between hope and doubt. Between the relief of knowing they might be freed and the nagging fear that maybe they wouldn’t be.

And still, the minutes passed in agonizing silence…

…

The wall groaned and split open.

The sudden flood of light revealed figures in familiar uniforms stepping into the room. He recognised them; how could he not?

The unmistakable garb of the Fatui soldiers stood out starkly against the surroundings.

Two low-tier Fatui soldiers stood before him, their presence casting a shadow over the fragile hope that had blossomed just moments before.

Scaramouche’s entire body froze. He knew there had to be more of them lurking just outside the corridor. The thought flashed through his mind; if he moved quickly enough, maybe he could take them down and escape with Sethos.

But before he could act, the soldiers moved first.

“Lord Scaramouche!” One of them exclaimed, dropping to one knee with the other following suit, their heads bowed in reverence.

The sight was surreal. These soldiers, who should have been a threat, now knelt before him, their eyes firmly averted, focusing on the ground.

“We are happy to see you in good health!”

“...What the hell?” Scaramouche murmured.

This wasn’t how he’d expected this encounter to go. Why were they treating him with such respect? And more importantly, how had Fatui even known he was here?

“Get up,” he ordered, naturally as he never stopped being their superior, his voice sharp and demanding. “Tell me what… Are you doing here?”

The taller of the two soldiers stood, offering another respectful bow before speaking. “Lord Dottore is waiting for you, my lord.”

The very mention of Dottore’s name sent a chill down Scaramouche’s spine.

Whatever this was, it couldn’t be good, he thought.

Scaramouche clenched his fists. He doubted the Harbinger would leave any potential exit unguarded. He then glanced at Sethos, still unconscious, and knew he needed to act carefully.

Two more Fatui soldiers came from the corridor. One of them spoke, her tone cautious. “Lord Scaramouche, should we take your companion to the infirmary?”

“No!” Scaramouche snapped. “If you touch him, I’ll kill all of you.”

The soldiers stepped back with a mix of fear and respect. Scaramouche’s eyes hardened as he knelt protectively beside Sethos, his hand brushing lightly against his shoulder.

They’d better not hurt him, he thought grimly. Whatever happened next, Sethos’s safety was non-negotiable.

Silence stretched between them for a few tense minutes. Scaramouche was trying to figure out his next move. The presence of the Fatui and the cryptic situation with Dottore left him feeling cornered.

Then, someone broke the silence.

“If you keep him to yourself, you’ll actually kill him.”

Il Dottore.

Scaramouche looked up to see Dottore’s familiar figure approaching them. The Harbinger was as unnerving as ever, his mask hiding his face but not the sick smile he didn’t bother to hide. He looked exactly as Scaramouche remembered: unchanged, smug, and entirely too pleased with himself.

“Fuck off,” Scaramouche hissed. “Why are you even here? Drop dead!”

Dottore’s smile widened.

“To find you, of course. Spending time away from us has made you bitter, I see. But you should reconsider snapping at the soldiers. Your little toy there needs urgent medical attention.’’

Scaramouche’s jaw clenched. “What are you talking about?”

“The only thing keeping him alive was the room,” Dottore explained with a casual shrug. “But now that we’ve disturbed the balance... Well, let’s just say time isn’t on his side anymore. I’m trying to help you, Scaramouche. If you want him to die slowly, by all means, keep clinging to him.”

Dread rose in Scaramouche’s stomach. He reached out and touched Sethos’s forehead; it was noticeably cooler than before. Fear mixed with anger as he realized Dottore might be telling the truth.

If anyone knew what was going on with Sethos, it would be Dottore.

“Can you save him?” Scaramouche asked through gritted teeth, loathing every word and himself. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Of course, I can save him,” Dottore replied, his tone too playful for a situation like this. “And you can visit him later, that I promise. But first, let’s make sure he gets the care he needs.” 

Dottore gestured to the soldiers. “Let them take him to a place where we can save his life, and then you and I can have a little chat.”

Scaramouche’s hands trembled with suppressed rage.

He despised Dottore, despised everything about this situation. But he couldn’t risk Sethos’s life out of pride or hatred. With a deep, shuddering breath, he gave a slight nod.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice low and full of venom. “But if anything happens to him, I’ll kill you.”

Dottore’s smile never wavered as the soldiers carefully lifted Sethos and carried him away.

…

“You won’t drink it?” Dottore asked, pouring himself a cup of tea while Scaramouche sat across from him, his own glass untouched.

“Honestly, what a waste of expensive tea,” Dottore remarked, swirling the liquid in his cup. “I even brought the blend you like best.”

Scaramouche’s patience was wearing thin.

“Why are you here?” he asked. “None of this makes any sense.”

Dottore took a sip of his tea, savouring it with a mock grimace.

“I’ve already answered that,” he said, setting the cup down. “Aah, as expected, it’s as bitter as I remember.”

Scaramouche found a small satisfaction in the slight crunch of Dottore’s lips.

“You made me leave my laboratory, so you owe me,” Dottore continued, leaning back in his chair. “I wasted almost a year chasing after you. You’re quite skilled at disappearing, you know?”

“I’m sure you were very upset that I managed to get rid of your tracking devices,” Scaramouche barked back with a mocking laugh. ‘’I bet it was annoying that I outsmarted you.’’

Dottore nodded, his tone almost admiring. “It did upset me. Look how long it took us to find you. We’re stretched thin as it is, and yet here we are, after all this mindless chasing. If my guesses are right, you were stuck in that damned trap for almost a month!”

A month! It was both longer and shorter than Scaramouche expected.

Scaramouche remained silent, his face cold. Even through the mask, he could feel Dottore roll his eyes at him.

“Did you get it out of your system?” Dottore asked. “Did you relive your rebellious years? Are you satisfied now?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Scaramouche shot back, genuinely baffled. He felt like he was missing some crucial context. “What are you even trying to say?”

“Are you ready to come back to Snezhnaya?” Dottore questioned. “Of course, we first need to complete our mission in Sumeru City. But after that, we must go back.”

Scaramouche stared at him dumbly. 

Had he heard that right?

“Come back? Our mission?” he repeated, his voice filled with disbelief. Then, he let out a loud, bitter laugh. “Are you forgetting that I betrayed you useless fools?”

Dottore’s expression didn’t change. 

“You tried to betray us,” he corrected, sounding patronizing. “And then you ran away, like a child caught in a mess. At your age, that should embarrass you more.”

Scaramouche scoffed. “You want me to believe that the Tsaritsa wants me back, just like that? Do you think I’m an idiot?”

Dottore leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into a more persuasive tone. “It’s not about belief, Balladeer. It’s about reality. You’re valuable. We never truly let go of what’s ours.”

‘’Who said I was ‘yours’ ?’’ Scaramouche sneered.

Despite his outward defiance, a part of Scaramouche couldn’t deny the strange, almost warm thought: the idea of being welcomed back, of reclaiming some semblance of purpose, however twisted it might be.

“Our Archon is furious, don’t get me wrong,” Dottore snickered, his tone laced with amusement. “But Rosalyne vouched for you. She’s quite flattered that you tried to warn her.”

Scaramouche felt confused at the mention of La Signora vouching for him. The shock of hearing her real name from Dottore’s lips only added to his confusion. What the hell had happened during his absence? His mouth hung open slightly, unable to fully understand what was going on.

Dottore’s smirk deepened, clearly savouring Scaramouche’s surprise.  

“Tartaglia was rather annoyed with her. That foolish kid never truly got over your betrayal of the Tsaritsa, but he’s only the last Harbinger. When Rosalyne and I asked for forgiveness on your behalf, the Tsaritsa mercifully granted you another chance.”  

Scaramouche felt like he was drowning. Was it really that simple? Just like that, he was offered a way back? It didn’t feel real. 

“Why would you… What’s in it for you?” Scaramouche asked, his voice faltering. “Why would you do that?” 

Dottore’s eyes shined with a knowing look. “I promised I’d make you a God one day, didn’t I?”

Of course, Scaramouche remembered their first meeting. Dottore’s promise to make him a god had seemed like nothing more than the ramblings of a madman at the time.

“I have the Electro Gnosis,” Dottore continued. “Our lovely Archon entrusted it to me for my next experiment.”

Dottore’s gaze swept over Scaramouche, assessing him with a critical eye.

“I see that most of my modifications are gone. I had prepared something for you, based on how I remembered you. Seems I’ll need to make some adjustments…”

“What if I don’t come back with you?” Scaramouche asked. “What if I resist?”

“Resist what, exactly?” Dottore mocked him. “I know you, Scaramouche. You wouldn’t be content to rot in a place like this. Not when your heart still longs for more.”

Scaramouche found himself at a loss for words. The truth in Dottore’s words stung; he wasn’t sure if he had the strength to resist, nor if he even wanted to. The promise of a heart– the heart that was promised to him –loomed tantalizingly close, and despite everything, a part of him yearned for it.

Taking advantage of Scaramouche’s silence, Dottore began to recall what he missed in his absence. He spoke of recent developments in Inazuma–though not much had changed–and outlined their upcoming mission in Fontaine after wrapping up the one in Sumeru. This mission, Dottore revealed, had been delayed for months due to one missing component: Scaramouche.

As Dottore rambled on, Scaramouche tried to find a way out. He could tell that Dottore was unaware of the Temple of Silence. Sure, the Harbinger mentioned searching for him in the lower Red Sands, but there was no hint in his tone that he understood the significance of the treasure hidden right beneath his feet.

If Dottore knew the truth about what Sethos carried, Scaramouche was certain he’d have already dissected Sethos with his own hands. A small, dangerous plan began to form in Scaramouche’s mind.

“I will come back,” Scaramouche said.

“Obviously,” Dottore replied, finishing his tea with a smirk.

“But first, I need to take my partner back home,” Scaramouche continued, deliberately ignoring Dottore’s cockiness. “I can’t just leave him here. I can’t go back with you without making sure he’s safe.”

“And you expect me to simply let you go and delay my plans even further?” Dottore let out a chilling laugh. “You’ve developed a sense of humour, I’ll give you that.”

The laughter faded, replaced by a calculating gaze. “Although, there might be a way.”

“Enlighten me,” Scaramouche said dryly, masking his excitement. Dottore always loved challenges.

Dottore scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I could disrupt your internal energy flow,” he explained. “If you don’t return to Sumeru City soon enough, you’ll shut down.”

Scaramouche considered the plan. If he didn’t come back, he’d essentially fall into another coma-like state, like the one he was in while resting in the Shakkei Pavilion. Still, he knew that if he and Sethos managed to return to the Temple, Hana could’ve restarted him, somehow.

It was a gamble, a dangerous one. But Scaramouche decided he was willing to take it.

“If I don’t return, won’t that ruin everything for you?” Scaramouche couldn’t help but taunt Dottore. “All your plans , all this nonsense, for nothing.”

 “Oh, but you will return,” Dottore said confidently. “I know you’ll come back to me.”

Reaching out, Dottore grabbed Scaramouche’s hand. For a wild moment, Scaramouche thought Dottore was going to kiss his fingertips. But instead, Dottore simply let his hand go.

Scaramouche didn’t flinch. He didn’t want to give Dottore the satisfaction. Instead, he kept his face emotionless, the plan in his mind solidifying with every passing second.

‘’Very well, then. I accept.’’

…

Scaramouche felt the effects of the internal blockage immediately.

Each breath hurt, and every movement was a struggle. He felt as if life was slowly draining from him with every passing second. When he mentioned his symptoms to Dottore, the Harbinger’s eyes lit up with excitement. Then, he happily took some notes, insisting that Scaramouche should also document all his symptoms while they were apart. He wanted a detailed report when they met again.

Scaramouche nearly laughed. They were never going to meet again, at least not on Dottore’s terms.

Once he finally managed to get away from Dottore’s insufferable ramblings, Scaramouche went to check on Sethos. Even though he was still asleep, Sethos appeared much better. His breathing was steady, his colour returning.

Dottore had smugly mentioned that, if he was given more time, he could have reconstructed Sethos’s damaged eye or even provided him with a new one. But the thought of Dottore’s hands on Sethos made Scaramouche’s skin crawl.

Now, as the two of them travelled toward the camps in a cart pulled by a Sumpter Beast, Scaramouche hated to admit how convenient it was, especially with Sethos still resting peacefully beside him.

They had to stay away from the Fatui as much as they could.

…

When Sethos finally woke, Scaramouche felt a wave of happiness so strong that he almost kissed him right then and there. Sethos blinked slowly, looking confused. Then, he smiled.

"Am I finally dead?" Sethos asked with a grin. Scaramouche gently slapped his hand as a response.

"Ouch. Okay, sorry. So, you managed to get us out?" Sethos continued, his voice still a bit weak. ‘’That’s… Archons. That’s amazing. We’re free.’’

Sethos looked overwhelmed, and Scaramouche felt the same way.

"Yes, we’re free. Just like I promised," Scaramouche replied, a soft smile spreading across his face.

He stroked Sethos’s hair, feeling the softness of it. He chose not to mention Dottore just yet. There would be time for that once they were safely back at the camps.

"We’re headed to the Tanit Camps now. You can rest a little more if you need to."

"Rest is the last thing on my mind right now," Sethos said as he slowly sat up, though his movements were still a bit sluggish.

"Do you need anything?" Scaramouche asked, he was still a little concerned. "We still have some food left. It’s not spoiled."

‘’Let me think…’’ Sethos hummed. "I’m not really hungry, but I wouldn’t mind a kiss from my saviour."

Scaramouche felt the flush creeping up his neck, caught off guard even though he should have seen it coming. Shaking his head, he let out an awkward laugh.

"You’ve got some nerve..."

"Do I have to be on the verge of death to earn another kiss?" Sethos teased, leaning in closer, his breath warm against Scaramouche’s neck. "Come on, let’s celebrate a little."

Scaramouche knew better than to indulge in such foolishness right here. But the sight of Sethos, happy and alive, made it hard to say no. He melted under Sethos’s touch, and he allowed himself a rare moment of tenderness.

Sethos cradled his face gently, pulling him in.

"You really are beautiful," Sethos murmured against his lips.

"Shut up..." Scaramouche muttered, closing his eyes as their lips met in a sweet, lingering kiss.

Scaramouche could feel the slight tremble in Sethos’s touch. But beneath the initial hesitance, there was a raw hunger; a desperate need for connection. For reassurance.

Sethos’s fingers combed through Scaramouche’s hair, pulling him closer and closer, as if afraid to let go. For a brief instant, it was just them, lost in each other, the rest of the world fading into the background.

But reality quickly pulled Scaramouche back. He could see the Tanit Camps in the distance.  Reluctantly, he broke the kiss, pulling back slightly, their faces still close enough to feel each other's breath.

"We’re too close to the camps," Scaramouche said, his face flushed. "They could see us."

Sethos sighed dramatically.

"Fine," he said, backing off after stealing one small peck. ‘’We wouldn’t want Babel to scold us now.’’

Scaramouche laughed, and pushed him away.

…

As they approached the gates of the Tanit Camps, Sethos called out a few familiar names.

"Mendas! Yuften! It’s us! We’re back!"

But no one came.

The silence stretched uncomfortably, and the two exchanged uneasy glances.

‘’Something feels off, doesn’t it?’’ Scaramouche said. ‘’I don’t even hear their training sounds.’’

‘’…Let’s see what’s going on, then.’’ Sethos grabbed Scaramouche’s hand and marched on.

Slowly, they continued forward, passing by the Statue of the Seven. The camp, usually bustling with life, was now hauntingly still.

The first thing that hit them as they moved further in was the stench of rot. It was thick and overpowering, clinging to the back of their throats.

Scaramouche knew this smell too well.

Then they saw it; the butchered remains of the Tanit tribesmen and women scattered across the camp. Bodies lay in twisted, unnatural positions, the dirt ground stained dark with dried blood.

Scaramouche knew this was coming the moment he smelled the rot.

The Tanit Camps were devoid of any living soul.

Chapter Text

It didn’t take them long to find Babel’s body. 

After walking through the camps littered with the corpses of men and women, there she was. Exactly where Scaramouche had first seen her. Her lifeless corpse was laying on the ground. Sethos noticed her body just moments after Scaramouche. 

When Sethos saw her on the ground, he made an awful sound -something between a gasp and a cry of anguish-. Without saying a word, Sethos dropped to his knees next to her, his slightly shaking hands carefully inspecting her wounds. 

Scaramouche stood over them, his arms crossed tightly, his face unreadable. “Well?” he finally asked. ‘’What do you think?’'

Sethos’s fingers hovered over a deep gash that ran across her chest, the edges ragged and darkened. “This wasn’t done by a single blade,” he murmured, almost to himself. “The cuts… they’re uneven. And these marks here…” He pointed to uneven punctures near her shoulder. “Spears, maybe? Or arrows? But…” He trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief.

“But what?” Scaramouche pressed. 

“I really don’t know what to think,” Sethos admitted. “These wounds… they’re too chaotic. Like she was attacked by several people all at once, with different weapons. Maybe… maybe another tribe ambushed her and her men.” He glanced up at Scaramouche. ‘’What do you think?’’

Scaramouche looked down to Babel’s face, his lips pressing into a thin line. The cover that hid her eyes somehow slipped away, so in her death, Scaramouche was finally able to completely see her face. She had sky blue eyes and strong eyebrows; her bland expression, frozen in death, carried none of the defiance she had in life.

He suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if he just saw something he shouldn’t have. Sethos probably felt the same discomfort about seeing Babel’s face, since he was carefully tying her eye cover back.

When they first stumbled upon the massacre, the sight of so many slain bodies scattered across the sand had sent Scaramouche into panic. His first thought was that this could have been a Fatui ambush. The Fatui had methods, brutal and efficient, and it wouldn’t have been the first time they annihilated people to assert dominance or extract information. Torture, slaughter, and eradication; it was their modus operandi. It was nothing they hadn’t done before.

Nothing he hadn’t done before.

But the more he inspected the scene, he had to discard that theory. Scaramouche had seen the marks Fatui weapons left behind too many times to mistake them. There was no gunpowder residue clinging to the bodies, no lingering traces of elemental energy crackling in the air. These wounds -or at least most of them- were inflicted at close range with blades, spears, or something similar. This was a different kind of brutality, one that didn’t fit the Fatui’s methodical efficiency.

A part of him felt a flicker of disappointment, though he wouldn’t admit it out loud. If it had been Fatui, it could’ve given him a clean, natural way to break the news to Sethos. A way to talk about who actually saved them from the ruins! He could have told him about his little arrangement with Dottore and tied all this mess together neatly.

He glanced at Sethos, who knelt beside Babel’s body, his face etched with grief and frustration. Scaramouche thought of telling him about the deal with Dottore, but now wasn’t the time. Sethos had enough to shoulder without adding dubious bargains to the weight of the dead. 

“Do you know which tribes were the Tanit’s enemies?” Scaramouche asked. His voice was calm, almost too calm , like he was trying to detach himself from the carnage around them.

Sethos let out a short, bitter laugh. “All of them,” he said. “And none of them. Eremites are territorial by nature; they don’t get along even on the best days. But Babel…” He trailed off. “Babel made sure to keep the other tribes in check. Anyone who could’ve posed a real threat to her, she crushed before they could rise. Still…”  He scratched his cheek. “Maybe whoever ambushed them had the numbers to overwhelm her people.”

As if remembering something, Sethos started checking Babel’s belts. It didn’t take him long until he pulled out a bunch of keys in different shapes.

‘’We will need these,’’ Sethos said. ‘’Thankfully no one stole them.’’

Scaramouche tilted his head.

“It’s been a while since they were killed,” Scaramouche observed. The stench of decay and the bloated appearance of the corpses were enough to tell him that much. Even with his mechanical body shielding him from the full brunt of the odour, it was unpleasant. He threw a brief glance at Sethos, wondering how a human managed to endure it without so much as a grimace.

“But if other tribes combined forces to do this,” Scaramouche continued, “where are they? The Tanit’s position is strategic, it controls key routes through the desert. Why would their enemies leave it empty after a victory?”

Sethos groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know!’’ He threw his hands into the air. ‘’That’s driving me crazy too,” he admitted. “Even if it was about revenge, they wouldn’t just walk away. They’d loot the camp, take the supplies, and claim the territory. But…” He gestured around them, his voice filled to the brim with frustration. “Nothing’s been touched. Not the weapons, not the food. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Perhaps this is a good thing for us,” Scaramouche said. “If no looting happened, we might find something they left behind. Clues, tracks, anything that tells us what we’re dealing with.”

Sethos, still kneeling beside Babel’s body, glanced up at him.

“You’re right,” Sethos said quietly, shaking off the dust and dirt from his hands. Suddenly, Scaramouche became aware of how frail Sethos looked. His one remaining eye was dull and dark with grief when Sethos spoke again. “Let’s go, then.” 

The two of them began combing through the camp, moving carefully through the remnants of the Tanit Tribe’s once-thriving base. The tents still stood, though many were torn and stained with blood. Surprisingly, Scaramouche found the search easier than he expected. He moved with cold, detached efficiency, picking through crates, overturned tables, and discarded weapons.

Sethos, however, wasn’t as methodical. His movements were slower. Scaramouche thought bitterly that perhaps Sethos had never had to clean up after a mission like this before, something Scaramouche had long since grown numb to.

Inside one of the larger tents, they found some chests. When they unlocked them, they found the records: neatly written ledgers documenting the tribe’s purchases of food, weapons, and supplies. Scaramouche flipped through the pages quickly, his eyes darting over the rows of numbers. Thanks to Pantalone’s endless ramblings -he had a habit of visiting and pestering Dottore during Scaramouche’s so-called “repairs”- he had picked up just enough to understand what he was looking at.

“Impressive,” he muttered, though there was no real praise in his tone. “For a tribe like this, anyway. They ran this place like a real business.”

Sethos snorted softly, though there was no humour in the sound. 

“Babel was nothing if not meticulous,” Sethos said. “She always kept track of what came in and out of the camp. Food rations, weapons, deals… she didn’t miss a thing.”

“And yet,” Scaramouche said, closing the ledger with a soft thud, ‘’nothing here helps us understand what the hell happened here. No recent conflicts, no mention of an impending attack. It’s as if this came out of nowhere.”

Sethos sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t make sense. If it was an external attack, we should’ve found some indication. Scouting reports, intercepted messages, something.”

Scaramouche leaned against the edge of the table; his arms crossed. “What if it wasn’t an external attack?” He asked carefully, his voice quiet but firm. “What if this wasn’t an ambush from another tribe at all?”

Sethos turned to face him. “What are you suggesting?”

“Civil war,” Scaramouche said bluntly. “What if the Tanit people turned on each other? It would explain the chaos, the lack of looting. Internal conflict can be just as deadly as an external enemy.”

Sethos grumbled, his face tightening as he considered the possibility. “Perhaps,” he admitted reluctantly. “Babel kept a tight leash on her people, but… not everyone agreed with her methods. Some thought she was too ruthless, too willing to make enemies. But for them to go this far…”

Scaramouche studied Sethos carefully, his sharp gaze lingering on the man’s face. “Anger has a way of festering until it explodes,” he said; he had seen this himself many times. “Maybe someone saw an opportunity and took it. Or maybe it wasn’t as simple as rebellion. Could she have made a deal that backfired?”

Sethos frowned, the lines on his face deepening. “If she did, she didn’t tell me about it.”

“Why would she?” Scaramouche asked. “You weren’t that close to her.”

Sethos didn’t respond to that.

“Anyway, let’s keep looking,” Scaramouche said, pushing himself away from the table. “If this really was a civil war, there’ll be evidence. Bodies in the wrong places, signs of infighting, something.”

“And if there’s none?” Sethos asked, flipping another page in the ledger Scaramouche had discarded. His fingers lingered on the parchment before he closed the book with a loud thud. “If I were them, I’d try to erase my involvement as much as possible. In the desert, betraying your tribe is a death sentence. No one would take you in. Betrayal out here means exile, and exile means certain death.”

Scaramouche groaned. “Then we’re back to square one,” he muttered, his voice filled with irritation. The idea of starting over, combing through the camp with no clear leads, weighed on him.

The two stepped out of the tent, and the scorching sunlight bore down on them mercilessly.

The silence was unnerving.

Scaramouche scanned the camp once more, his eyes taking in every detail: the placement of the corpses, the untouched supplies… None of it made sense. Every piece of the puzzle was wrong, out of place, yet maddeningly incomplete.

“Let’s check Babel’s room,” Sethos said suddenly, breaking the silence. There was a faint urgency in his voice, as if he’d just remembered something crucial. “I need to check something.”

Scaramouche shot him a glance. “We already checked her tent,” he reminded him. “We found nothing. You were there.”

Sethos didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small ring of keys, the metal glinting in the harsh sunlight. Selecting one, he held it up, a knowing look crossing his face. “She has a secret room,” he said simply. “Under the columns.”

“And how do you know that?” Scaramouche couldn’t think of a reason Babel would reveal such a thing willingly. “Why would she tell you about something like that?”

“Oh, she didn’t,” Sethos said with a tired grin. For a moment, he almost looked like the Sethos Scaramouche had come to know: Charming, lively, beautiful. It was a glimpse of the man he was before everything had fallen apart. “Last time I was following her, I saw her disappear under the columns.”

Scaramouche smirked, his tone turning playful. “So, you knew something like that but didn’t bother to tell me? Why am I not surprised?”

“Sorry,” Sethos said, the grin slipping from his face. “I should’ve told you.”

Scaramouche blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in Sethos’s voice. “Oh, it’s fine,” he said, a little too quickly. “I was just teasing. Knowing about it back then wouldn’t have changed anything. Honestly, we don’t even know if it’ll help us now.”

But Sethos didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, he reached out and grabbed Scaramouche’s hand, his grip firm but trembling slightly.

“There are so many things I should tell you,” Sethos muttered, his gaze fixed on their joined hands. His voice was low, as if speaking to himself as much as to Scaramouche. “I promise I will. Just… not yet. It’s not the right time.”

The words sent an uneasy shiver through Scaramouche’s spine, like an echo of something half-remembered. It brought him back to that suffocating room where Sethos had said something worryingly similar. At the time, Scaramouche hadn’t paid it much attention; it was just another paranoid, sluggish remark from Sethos in the middle of chaos. But now, hearing it again, it left him feeling oddly restless.

“Okay,” Scaramouche said, his voice quieter than he intended. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

It wasn’t as if he didn’t have his own secrets and he painfully knew whatever Sethos was holding back, it was not bigger than hiding Fatui’s involvement.

If only he didn’t have to tell him…

That thought alone sent a small surge of hope through him. He realized, with surprising clarity, that he didn’t have to tell Sethos anything about the Fatui. For starters, there was no reason to burden him with that particular truth. If they managed to make it back to the Temple of Silence in one piece, Scaramouche could speak to Hana alone instead. She could fix him without letting others know, and he could avoid admitting to Sethos that he, too, was hiding a bombshell.

The more he thought about it, the more the plan appealed to him.

Still, there was one loose end he couldn’t ignore: Fatui tracking them back to the Temple. Dottore wasn’t foolish enough to place a standard tracking device on somewhere visible; Scaramouche had already checked his clothes. But the possibility that the madman had done something more invasive, more insidious, gnawed at the back of his mind. He needed to find a way to check Sethos’s body, look for new scars, to make sure that maniac hadn’t planted anything inside.

Scaramouche squeezed Sethos’s hand back.

…

Babel’s “secret” room, in the end, turned out to be just a treasure hoard. Piles of mora were overflowing from chests that couldn’t contain their weight. Gold jewellery and trinkets were scattered among the coins. There were even books detailing deals and transactions, but they offered little of real value.

The records revealed that the Fatui and the Tanit Tribe had worked together far more frequently than Babel had let on. However, the transactions were mostly mundane, payments made in exchange for escort missions to the desert. Nothing sinister, nothing incriminating.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but what a waste,” Sethos muttered, picking up a single golden coin and tossing it aside like it was worthless. “It’s just mora. And we can’t even take it back to the Temple with just the two of us. Though… I might send some people later to retrieve it.”

“You’re planning to bring it back to the Temple?” Scaramouche raised an eyebrow. “Why bother?”

“It’s better than letting someone else loot it,” Sethos said with a shrug. “Besides, we’ve gained absolutely nothing from this mission. At least this way, we can salvage something. The Temple isn’t exactly swimming in resources right now, either.”

Scaramouche nodded. “Fair enough.”

He moved to another chest, flipping the lid open. He looked over its contents; more mora, more gold. “She really squirreled away quite the stash here,” he said, rifling through the chest. “This must’ve taken years to accumulate.”

He reached for a smaller box nestled among the larger chests. The carvings on its surface made it stand out, but when he lifted it, he was startled by how light it was.

“What the…?” He had picked it up assuming it would be heavy, and the unexpected lightness nearly caused him to drop it. “Is it empty?”

Sethos glanced over. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Scaramouche replied, shaking the box gently. There was a faint sound of something rolling inside. He frowned and opened the lid.

Only a few items were inside: light fabric patches, a couple of pens, some old letters, and, most surprising of all, two small hair mementos in glass bottles.

“Let me see,” Sethos said, taking one of the letters from the box.

Scaramouche picked up one of the hair mementos, holding it up to the light from the candles. “I’ve seen these before,” he said. “Hair mementos. People usually save locks of their lovers’ hair and braid them as keepsakes.”

He inspected the contents of the bottle more closely. There were two mementos in total. Both were dark brown, but one also had faint streaks of blond among the dark hair.

“It’s weird,” Scaramouche thought out loud. “The locks are so short and thin. They don’t look like they came from an adult.”

“My grandfather wrote these,” Sethos suddenly said. “I recognize his handwriting.”

“What?” Scaramouche leaned closer to see. “What does it say?”

Sethos frowned, his single eye squinting at the page. “I… I can’t read it. The letters are too blurry.”

Scaramouche froze. “You can’t see it?”

Sethos, seeing that Scaramouche was going into panic mode, quickly added, “It’s fine. When I first woke up, it was worse. I can see much better now; it’s just small details like this that are still hard.”

“That’s not fine,” Scaramouche snapped, stepping closer and cupping Sethos’s face in his hands. His skin was warm and smooth, and if he was not angry at Sethos for hiding his situation, he would’ve kissed him right there. “Do you feel pain? Tell me.”

“No, I’m fine,” Sethos said, though his cheeks darkened with embarrassment. “Really. Just… read the letter for me, will you?”

Reluctantly, Scaramouche let go and took the letter from him. His fingers brushed against Sethos’s as he did, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

“It’s addressed to Babel,” Scaramouche said unnecessarily, as if he needed to announce the obvious. His voice wavered slightly, betraying his nervousness. He wasn’t sure why he felt so unsettled reading these letters, but something about them made the air feel heavier. He cleared his throat, trying to compose himself.

“Babel,” he began. “‘I’m dreading to say this, but unfortunately, we couldn’t find your daughter. Cyrus and I all but combed through the sands, and there was no trace of your daughter. I will be sending your mora back, as I don’t believe in taking any payment for failed missions. If you ever need my help, send your messengers to Aaru Village. Take care.’”

Scaramouche lowered the letter, glancing at Sethos.

“...That’s it?” Sethos asked, his tone filled with disbelief. “That’s all it says?”

“Mhm,” Scaramouche confirmed, unsure why Sethos sounded so upset. Personally, Scaramouche felt relieved that Bamoun hadn’t done something horrific like burying Babel’s child in the sands, which was the conclusion he’d initially jumped to. He reached for the second letter, its edges worn and yellowed with time.

“Let me read the other one,’’ Scaramouche said. He unfolded the letter carefully. He noticed the tone shift in the letter immediately. This one seemed more personal.

“To Matriarch Babel,” Scaramouche started. “I’ve heard of the recent events in your tribe, the punishment and purging of traitors, and I must admit, I respect the strength it must have taken to make such difficult decisions. I, too, have faced betrayal, but I lacked the resolve to act as decisively. My weak heart has left me fearing the consequences of those choices every day.”

Sethos interrupted his reading. “He’s talking about Cyrus, again,” he said with bitterness. “That guy who stole our Ba fragment. This must’ve been written around the time I received the blessing of Lord Hermanubis.”

“Let me finish first,” Scaramouche scolded him. Sethos fell silent, biting back any further comments as Scaramouche continued.

“It has been years since we last spoke. I remember you made it clear that you wanted no connection to him, that you wanted to sever all ties. Until now, I have honoured your wishes. I kept my promise and did not reach out. But, as I write this letter, I find myself compelled to break that silence. The day I held his tiny, crying body in my arms, he became one of us; part of my people, my responsibility, and my family. You told me back then that you no longer wished to have any meaningful relationship with him, and I respected that. But, as his mother, I believe you deserve to know this much about him.”

Scaramouche paused mid-sentence.

“What...?” Scaramouche was confused. ‘’What is he talking about?’’

This time, it was Sethos who urged him to continue. “Don’t stop,” Sethos said, his voice strangely emotionless. “Please.”

Scaramouche looked at him briefly, before turning back to the letter.

“He is thriving, Babel,” Scaramouche read. “‘He is a wonderful child; kind, resilient, and full of life. I truly believe that if you had not been so afraid to keep him close to you after your loss, he might have been able to melt the ice around your heart. Please don’t misunderstand my intentions in writing to you. I am not asking you to take him back, nor am I implying that you have a claim to him now. He belongs with us. He is one of us. I am writing simply because I want you to feel proud of him. He has accomplished and endured things that neither you or I could ever have imagined for ourselves. When the time comes, when he is older and ready, I will send him to you, not to stay, but so you can see for yourself the person he has become.”

Scaramouche’s voice faltered slightly as he reached the final lines, his chest tightening as the weight of the words settled over him.

“‘I named him Sethos. Remember his name and wait for him.”

The silence that followed was too heavy. Scaramouche lowered the letter slowly, staring at the paper. His mind was working overtime, but he couldn’t find the right words within himself.

Sethos sat perfectly still next to him, his gaze fixed on the letter in Scaramouche’s hands. For a moment, he looked lost, as if the ground beneath him had shifted and he wasn’t sure how to stand.

“...So?” Sethos asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Scaramouche didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he handed the letter to Sethos. “You’re... him,” Scaramouche finally said. ‘’I suppose you were right. Your grandfather would have taken the baby with him.’’

Sethos didn’t take the letter back from Scaramouche.

…

There wasn’t enough time to bury everyone. There wasn’t enough space to bury everyone.

The sheer scale of death was overwhelming, and they had to keep moving. Dead bodies meant disease, and Scaramouche wasn’t about to let Sethos be exposed to even greater danger.

Yet, when Sethos insisted they bury Babel, Scaramouche couldn’t bring it in himself to refuse. He could see the pain in Sethos’s eye, and though he didn’t fully understand it, he knew this mattered to him.

So, reluctantly, he agreed.

Ever since they’d left the vault, Sethos had been disturbingly quiet.

Scaramouche tried to put himself in Sethos’s shoes. How would he feel if he were told his own mother had died? Like Babel, the Raiden Shogun had cast him aside without a second thought. But somehow, the comparison didn’t land. He couldn’t picture it, not because of indifference, but because imagining the Great Raiden Shogun vulnerable, let alone dead, felt unimaginable.

He wanted to understand more about Sethos’s relationship with Babel, but Sethos wasn’t offering any answers. He was withdrawn, speaking only when absolutely necessary, and even then, his words were mostly meaningless. Scaramouche knew Sethos had met Babel before, but beyond that, the details were frustratingly little. Were they close? Did they share any real bond? Or was Sethos mourning something he had never truly had, a connection that existed only in his imagination?

If he did, that was an awfully foolish choice.

Before they laid Babel to rest, Sethos disappeared for a moment. When he returned, he was clutching a piece of plain fabric in his hand. Silently, he knelt by Babel’s body, removed her headband, and replaced it with the fabric. Scaramouche watched in silence, realizing what Sethos was doing.

He was keeping the headband as a memento.

Scaramouche didn’t stop him, though he made it clear Sethos couldn’t wear it yet. Not until they found clean water to wash it properly. He was not going to let this emotional mess infect his own eye with a dirty cloth which was soaked in dirt and a dead woman’s blood.

“When we meet Candace-” Scaramouche began, as they walked.

“We won’t be meeting Candace,” Sethos interrupted, again.

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow. “We need to return to Aaru Village before going back home, you need treatment.’’

Sethos shook his head. “We don’t have time for that. We need to go home now .”

“And what about our clothes?” Scaramouche didn’t want to keep walking like this. He was unable to sweat but that didn’t mean he felt comfortable with dust. “We’re filthy. We need to clean ourselves up.”

“We’ll find an oasis,” Sethos said dismissively, as though the matter was already settled. Then he smiled. ‘’Oh, do you remember the small oasis we saw on our way here? We saw a flower on our way there, we could take it back home as well.’’

‘’…Am I hearing it right?’’ Scaramouche let out a mocking laugh. ‘’You want me to walk for a day or a day and half until I can clean myself?’’

‘’But we have a sumpter beast now,’’ Sethos reminded him. ‘’They’re pretty fast, I don’t think it will take us even a day to reach there, since we won’t need to take long breaks.’’

That was true.

Scaramouche opened his mouth to argue further but stopped himself. He realized that Sethos’s plan had some… redeeming qualities. An oasis would provide not only water to clean themselves but also an opportunity for Scaramouche to inspect Sethos’s body for any hidden trackers.

Still, he couldn’t help feeling irritated. He hated being rushed, especially when he wasn’t the one in control. But for now, he had no choice but to agree.

Scaramouche looked around to take whatever they could from the camps. Thankfully, they had quite the stock in the camps. On top of the non-perishable food and water skins, he found some clothes, soap, and a small cauldron.

He hoped gods would be kinder to them during their journey.

…

Scaramouche felt, for the first time, that he was finally breaking through to Sethos.

The silence between them was filled only by the creaking of the cart. Sethos sat quietly, his eye fixed on the piece of cloth in his hands. He sometimes gently stroked it and sometimes clutched it close to his chest.

Scaramouche watched him, unsure how to console him. His own mother was a subject he’d buried so deep within himself that he didn’t know how to talk about it. What Scaramouche did know, however, was how to console a sick and wounded child.

It was a long shot, but he had to try.

Without saying a word, Scaramouche reached out to Sethos. He didn’t force Sethos to release the cloth; he simply touched his shoulder, then gently guided his head to rest on his lap. Sethos resisted for a moment, mumbling something incoherent, but Scaramouche didn’t let him pull away from his embrace.

“Rest now,” he said softly.

“I’m not sleepy,” Sethos mumbled.

“I’m not saying you are,” Scaramouche replied. “I’m just asking you to rest. We have a long way to go, even with the help of this beast.”

As he spoke, he stroked Sethos’s hair. He began combing his fingers through the soft curls, he always loved their texture. It was one thing he’d always admired about Sethos; his hair, rich and unruly, full of life.

“And I’ll be here,” Scaramouche continued. “Watching over you. I’ll always be here for you.”

For a moment, Sethos said nothing. Then, in a small voice, he whispered, “I have so much to tell you... but I’m scared you’ll hate me. There are so many things…”

This startled Scaramouche. But also, the sight of Sethos like this awakened something inside him. A gentleness he forgot to show since his third betrayal. Scaramouche leaned down and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to Sethos’s forehead.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You don’t have to tell me anything right now. I can wait. Take your time.”

Sethos managed a small, trembling smile before his face crumpled entirely, and warm tears began streaming down his cheeks. Scaramouche gently stroked his cheeks and kissed every and each tear away.

‘’I’m sorry,’’ Sethos sobbed into Scaramouche’s embrace, apologising feverishly. ‘’I’m so sorry, for everything. Please forgive me.’’

Scaramouche simply held him close and didn’t let him go.

…

Even with the beast’s help, it still took nearly a full day to reach the oasis. The sun had already begun to rise by the time they arrived. Sethos was still sleeping, curled up on the cart with the cloth clutched tightly to his chest.

Scaramouche moved quietly; he was careful not to wake Sethos. Before he fell asleep, he apologised to Scaramouche endlessly but Scaramouche didn’t know if Sethos was actually apologising to him. It was as if Sethos was apologising to everyone and everything in his life.

As if, he was apologising for his very existence.

Scaramouche had similar moments in his life, so he tried to give Sethos what he could; warm kisses, tight embraces and a lot of promises.

He collected water from the spring and built a small fire off to the side. Boiling water in one of their battered pots, he washed the cloth Sethos had been holding so closely. The last thing he wanted was Sethos’s eye to get infected.

Then, he waited for Sethos to wake up.

When Sethos finally did wake up, he noticed the cloth neatly folded and sitting beside him.

“You did this?” he asked, his voice hoarse from sleep.

Scaramouche gave a small nod.

“It needed to be cleaned,” he said simply, brushing off the effort as if it were nothing.

Sethos picked up the cloth, his fingers tracing its edges, and offered Scaramouche a faint smile.

“Thank you.’’

Scaramouche felt like he was useful once again, so much so, for a moment he forgot his own pain.

“I need to wash off,” Sethos said, looking at the water as if it were the only thing in the world that could cleanse him of everything that happened to him. Without hesitation, he began pulling his clothes over his head, revealing his lean frame.

‘’Wait,’’ Scaramouche said, his mouth slightly open. ‘’Won’t you eat anything first? I buried some bird eggs in ash-‘’

‘’You shouldn’t eat anything before swimming, that’s common sense.’’ Sethos laughed at Scaramouche’s panicked face. ‘’And you were right, I really, really need to wash all this dirt off me.’’

Then, shamelessly, he started undressing in front of Scaramouche.

Scaramouche felt his face heat up for a moment but quickly bullied himself into focusing on what mattered. This wasn’t time for embarrassment. He needed to be certain Sethos didn’t have any hidden tracking devices or marks.

He had already checked Sethos’s clothes before but he still double checked them before putting them in warm water.

Nothing, as he suspected.

Then he turned his head back to Sethos, studying every inch of Sethos’s exposed skin. That guy… really had no shame. But it was good, he tried to tell himself. It was good that Sethos was not hiding anything. This way, Scaramouche was able to detect anything out of the ordinary.

Sethos, noticing Scaramouche’s fixed stare, hesitated. “What? You’re staring,” he said awkwardly. ‘’What’s going on?’’

“I’m just making sure,” Scaramouche replied curtly, keeping his tone neutral to mask the awkwardness he felt. “I need to know you’re not… hurt.”

This was the best excuse he could find at the moment.

“Hurt?” Sethos didn’t sound that convinced; if anything, it seemed like he believed Scaramouche had ulterior motives. “Fine. Look all you want.”

Despite his words, Sethos’s cheeks darkened as he removed the rest of his clothing. When he was fully naked, Scaramouche let out a sigh.

Everything seemed normal. That was good.

‘’You can go,’’ Scaramouche said.

‘’Just like that?’’ Sethos looked confused, maybe even slightly bitter. ‘’Fine, as you wish.’’

Sethos stepped into the water, the coolness making him shiver briefly before he fully submerged himself. Scaramouche continued watching him, still staring at Sethos’s skin for anything unusual -marks, scars, devices- anything that could indicate they were being followed.

But, again, there was nothing. Sethos was clean.

“Are you satisfied now?” Sethos called out to him. ‘’Do you want to keep looking at me?’’

Scaramouche allowed himself to relax slightly, crossing his arms. “You’re clear,” he said simply. Sethos didn’t need to know anything. If Sethos knew Scaramouche was basically half dead, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t freak out and stress out Scaramouche even more.

Sethos dunked his head under the water, scrubbing at his hair and face before resurfacing. He wiped his eyes and glanced over at Scaramouche. “You should join me,” he said after a moment. ‘’I’m freezing here, all by myself!’’

Scaramouche blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You said you wanted to clean your clothes,” Sethos said.  “It’s not like I’m the only one who’s filthy.” His words were casual, but his awkward smile gave away his embarrassment.

For some reason, Scaramouche found his invitation very, very tempting.

Scaramouche stood at the water’s edge, rolling his sleeves up slowly. He glanced at Sethos, who was floating lazily on his back, his wet curls glistening under the sunlight.

Sethos turned his head slightly, his one eye open. “What’s taking you so long? Afraid of a little water?”

Scaramouche scoffed. “Hardly.”

After slipping off his clothes, he stood there for a moment. Sethos was staring at him, taking in everything with no shame. It was especially embarrassing when Sethos stared at his waist area and then grinned to himself. Scaramouche had no idea what was so funny about it.

He stepped into the water, hissing quietly as the cold bit at his legs. He was not as strong as before, after Dottore messed up with him.

Seeing that, Sethos grinned, already having too much fun. “Not so easy, is it?”

“Quiet,” Scaramouche shot back. He was not going to get angry at Sethos for not knowing how much pain he was in.

He walked further in, the water rising past his knees, then his waist, until finally, he dipped beneath the surface in one smooth motion. When he resurfaced, his hair plastered to his face, Sethos burst out laughing.

“You look adorable,” Sethos said, his laughter echoing across the oasis.

Scaramouche slicked his hair back with both hands, glaring half-heartedly. “You look awful.’’ 

“Oh, really?” Sethos challenged. ‘Do I look really that awful?’’ 

Without warning, Scaramouche surged forward, sending a wave of water crashing into Sethos. Sethos sputtered, wiping his face with his hands before retaliating with a powerful splash of his own.

“You little-” Scaramouche started, but his words were cut off as another wave hit him square in the face. 

The two of them swam in circles, dodging and splashing water at each other like children. Sethos, despite everything, moved through the water with surprising speed, but Scaramouche wasn’t far behind.

Finally, Scaramouche managed to grab Sethos by the wrist, tugging him closer. They both paused, breathless and laughing. For a moment, the only sounds were their breaths.

“You’re not bad at this,” Sethos admitted.

“And you’re too smug for your own good,” Scaramouche retorted, though there was no bite in his words.

Sethos splashed him one last time, softer now, before swimming a little closer. “Thanks... for this,” he said, his voice quieter. “I needed it.”

Scaramouche studying Sethos’s expression. “You’re welcome.’’

They were so close that, for a moment, Scaramouche was so sure Sethos was going to kiss him again. But, for some reason, Sethos decided it was enough swimming.

Scaramouche tried to not feel too upset about it.

… 

While Sethos was drying out his clothes, Scaramouche had one tiny thing left to do. He wanted to take the blue flower they found before, put it in the teacup he found in the Tanit camps, so he could take it back home.

It wasn’t difficult to find the spot where they had last seen the flower. The rocks were hard to miss and as soon as Scaramouche laid eyes on them, he knew he was in the right place. It felt as if a lifetime had passed since they last rested here.

Kneeling down, he carefully lifted one of the stones, hopeful to see the little bloom again. Perhaps it grew more flower buds while they were gone? But the moment he raised the rock; he felt dread in his stomach.

Something was wrong.

The flower was still there, but it wasn’t the same. It seemed that the rocks had shifted while they were away, somehow pressing against the flower and crushing the flower under their weight. Worse yet, the roots had been exposed to the harsh sunlight, leaving them dry and brittle.

Scaramouche stared at the flower for a long moment.

Why did this bother him so much? It was just a flower, a small, insignificant thing in the grand scheme of everything they had been through. Yet seeing it like this, wilted, broken, and barely hanging on , made him feel sick to his stomach.

He sighed and reached out, carefully plucking the flower from the dirt. It was completely dry; he wanted to cry. Still, even in its damaged state, he couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind. Gently, he slipped it into his pocket.

Perhaps I could use it as a bookmark, he thought miserably.

Before going back to Sethos’s side, he stared down to the rocks one last time. He hoped, whatever it was, it wasn’t a bad omen for them. 

Chapter Text

Sethos had begun wearing the eye cover he took from Babel’s body as an eye patch, the golden symbol now resting where his lost eye once was. Scaramouche wasn’t sure if this was his way of honouring her memory or simply an attempt to make himself feel better about her death.

Maybe it was neither.

Either way, he didn’t bother to ask anything. Sethos was improving, slowly, but surely, so Scaramouche decided not to risk shattering the already fragile peace between them by talking about unnecessary things.

When they finally arrived at the Temple’s location, Scaramouche allowed himself to relax a little.

They reached the hidden entrance, and Sethos placed his hand against the concealed mechanism. Since Sethos held the highest clearance in the Temple, he opened the door without any trouble. The door groaned open, revealing the brightly lit interior beyond.

The door to the Temple felt both welcoming and distant after everything they had been through.

However, their unannounced arrival apparently startled the Temple’s residents.

The moment they stepped inside, they were met by a dozen guards, their weapons drawn, expressions a mix of confusion and alarm. But the moment their eyes fell on Sethos, recognition swept through them. For a moment, they looked like they had just seen ghosts.

Then, one by one, they dropped to their knees.

Scaramouche felt a strange sense of déjà vu before realizing why: the scene before him was almost identical to when he first met the Fatui soldiers. They, too, had shown him instant obedience, bowing their pathetic heads down without question. Scaramouche had to admit, even now, he still enjoyed the feeling of receiving the respect he rightfully deserved.

Sethos gave them only a moment before speaking, his voice steady but firm. “Rise.”

The guards obeyed immediately. Then, Sethos turned to one of them. “Go and inform my grandfather that I’ve returned.”

As they moved deeper into the Temple, Scaramouche noticed how little had changed. The grand hall, crackling walls, the old pillars; it was all exactly as he remembered.

The temple residents, who had initially been wary of the unexpected intrusion, relaxed when they were told it was two of their people returning home. Scaramouche could see the shining curiosity in their eyes.

And somewhat, fear and surprise.

The residents of the Temple had the same look as the temple guards when they saw them; they gasped, whispered, and looked as if they just saw two corpses walking towards them. Then, the residents rushed to surround them.

Scaramouche half-expected Sethos to stop, to greet the residents, maybe exchange pleasantries or at least offer them a few sweet words. After all, they were missing for so long that they probably had a lot of questions for them. Even if Sethos couldn’t reveal what happened to them, chatting with them would have been the normal thing to do.

Instead, Sethos did none of these things. Without hesitation, he grabbed Scaramouche’s arm and pulled him forward, ignoring the people around them entirely.

The residents, though surprised, didn’t protest. They stole glances at Sethos’s new eyepatch, the golden threads gleaming under the temple’s dim lighting. But any curiosity they had was quickly stifled the moment Sethos shot them a cold, angry look. No one dared to ask.

The whispers faded behind them as they put distance between themselves and the crowd. Once they reached an empty corridor, Sethos finally broke the silence.

“I want to speak to my grandfather first,” he said, his voice low, almost as if he was speaking more to himself than to Scaramouche.

Scaramouche wanted to go and see Hana first; he had a feeling he didn’t have much time left before his body finally gave out. A week at most, he estimated grimly; he needed Hana to figure out how to fix him without Sethos knowing.

That said, the situation was, honestly, quite odd; he had expected to last longer. Funnily enough, a few centuries ago, he had suffered a similar injury during an Abyss mission. Back then, the very same components that Dottore damaged had also begun to malfunction. Yet despite that, he had managed to endure for another month and a half or two before nearly slipping into a coma.

This time, though, he could feel it; he didn’t have nearly that long.

Had Dottore done more damage than he realized? He entertained the thought, but he quickly dismissed it. He had watched Dottore work, and if anything, the damage inflicted this time seemed far less severe than the abyssal wound he received all those years ago. So why did it feel so much worse?

“Alright,’’ Scaramouche said after a minute of silence. ‘’We can go there first.”

I could talk to Hana later, Scaramouche told himself. Now, my priority should be Sethos.  

Sethos pressed his lips into a thin line before turning to Scaramouche with an awkward look.

 “No, I mean…’’ Sethos sighed, as if just talking to Scaramouche was depleting his energy. ‘’I want to speak to him alone. You don’t have to wait for me.”

“Oh.”

Scaramouche blinked; he was caught off guard. For a moment, he simply stared at Sethos, trying to process what he just told Scaramouche. He hadn’t expected that. At all. His first reaction was irritation, offense, even. Why? Why wouldn’t Sethos want him there? What possible reason could he have for wanting to speak to his grandfather alone?

And what was that look? That fleeting, uneasy glance before he spoke? Scaramouche felt a sharp twist in his chest. Why do you look like you want to run away from me?

Sethos must have sensed his thoughts because he quickly added: “It’s about Babel.”

As if that explained everything! As if that justified shutting him out, after what they’ve gone through together.

Scaramouche swallowed his words, but it didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, it only soured him further. So that was it, then? Sethos had to talk to his grandfather alone – about Babel – something that Scaramouche apparently had no place hearing.

Did Sethos forget it was Scaramouche who dug her grave?

Still, he forced a smile. A small, brittle thing. The bitterness sat heavy in his chest, but he pushed it down, swallowing it like a poison he had long since grown accustomed to.

“It’s alright,” he lied smoothly. “I know it’s a family matter.”

Sethos visibly relaxed at that, the tension in his shoulders easing. He even smiled, and for some reason, that only made Scaramouche feel worse.

“Thank you,” Sethos said softly, reaching out and taking Scaramouche’s hand. His grip was warm, reassuring. Almost apologetic.

“I’ll see you later, alright?”

Scaramouche hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. The part of him that still wanted to push, to demand an answer, to be included, fought with the part of him that knew better. Sethos didn’t talk until his heart wished.

“…Yeah,” Scaramouche murmured at last, giving a small nod. “Later.”

But even as Sethos let go and turned away, something about it still didn’t sit right.

Scaramouche started walking towards Hana’s workshop. He took one step, then another… But the moment Sethos’s footsteps faded into the distance, he halted. Then, without a second thought, he turned around and silently began trailing after Sethos.

He needed to hear their conversation.

…

Following Sethos was almost too easy. With the loss of his eye, his field of vision was severely damaged, leaving a noticeable blind spot. That alone made trailing him simple enough. But Scaramouche was no amateur; stealth was second nature to him. Slipping behind pillars, keeping to the shadows, and climbing smooth walls without a sound was effortless for someone of his caliber.

The real challenge wasn’t following Sethos, it was finding a way to listen in once he reached his destination.

When Sethos entered Bamoun’s private chambers, Scaramouche stopped at a distance, frowning. Eavesdropping through the door wouldn’t work; the thick walls muffled sound too well. He needed another way.

He looked around the hallway. There had to be something. A vent, a gap, a weakness in the stonework, anything that would let him hear inside. He moved swiftly, slipping into the rooms next to Bamoun’s and scanning the walls. Finally, after a few tense minutes, he found what he was looking for: a thin crack in the wall, just big enough for him to see and hear through.

He put a chain under his feet, positioning himself carefully, then peered inside.

What he saw didn’t surprise him.

Bamoun had pulled Sethos into a tight embrace, clutching him desperately, his frail body trembling as he wept openly. He looked older, way older, than the last time Scaramouche saw him. With his trembling lips, he kissed Sethos’s hair over and over, whispering words between sobs.

“My boy,” Bamoun choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “My son. You returned to us.”

Scaramouche shifted uncomfortably. He had never enjoyed watching old people cry; it was unsettling in a way he couldn’t quite put into words. And while he had no particular fondness for Bamoun, seeing him sob like this wasn’t exactly enjoyable.

Sethos, however, remained rigid in the old man’s arms. He didn’t return the hug –instead, he forced his grandfather to sit on his bed while he stepped back. When Sethos finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, as if he were barely holding himself together.

“That’s enough, Grandfather,” Sethos said quietly. “We need to talk.”

Bamoun was sitting on his bed, though his wrinkled hands still clung to Sethos’s hands. His teary gaze roamed over him, and then his expression darkened with concern.

“What happened to your eye?” he asked. “Start from there.”

Scaramouche couldn’t see Sethos’s face from this angle, but he could imagine it; the way his face would break just slightly, the sadness appearing across his features before he forced it back down.

And then, Sethos began.

He told Bamoun everything; how they had taken a detour to Aaru Village, how they had arrived at Tanit only to find that another outsider had already taken up the task of helping them. The jinni, Liloupar… At that point in the story, Sethos hesitated. He let out a pained breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick with grief.

“Babel is dead,” he said quietly. “She was already gone when we returned to the camps.”

For a long moment, Bamoun said nothing. Then, finally, he sighed.

“We stopped receiving messages from them a week ago,” Bamoun admitted. “Our hawks never returned to us. I was preparing to send someone to investigate.”

He paused, frowning deeply.

“And this Traveller they hired? ” Bamoun asked. “ What became of her?”

“I don’t know,” Sethos said, rubbing his temple as if the very thought exhausted him. “There was too much happening. I… I forgot about her. Perhaps she is dead too; there were so many bodies, I couldn’t check each and every one of them.”

Scaramouche didn’t agree with Sethos’s conclusion; Lumine’s features and clothes were too distinct to not notice. He was completely sure, wherever the Traveller was, she was not in the Tanit camps.

“My child,” Bamoun murmured, reaching to embrace him again. But this time, Sethos rejected his touch. He stepped back, out of his grandfather’s reach, his expression hardening.

“Why didn’t you send someone to help us if you were in contact with Babel?” Sethos snapped. His voice, once quiet and restrained, rose with anger. “Do you have any idea how long we were trapped in those ruins?”

Scaramouche, still watching from the crack in the wall, felt something stir in his own mind at that question. That’s true… Why hadn’t Bamoun sent anyone? Even if Babel hadn’t known their exact location, she must have known they were somewhere in the ruins. So why had Fatui been the one to save them?

Something about this didn’t sit right.

“Trapped?” Bamoun repeated, his voice laced with genuine surprise. “Babel sent us letters, but none of them mentioned anything like that.”

Sethos’s expression darkened. “What did she tell you?”

For some reason, Bamoun hesitated. His hands fidgeted slightly, and an odd discomfort settled over his face.

“Perhaps this isn’t the right time,” Bamoun said carefully.

“No,” Sethos snapped. “It is, Grandfather.”

Scaramouche watched as Bamoun’s lips pressed into a thin line, as if he were weighing his options. Finally, after what felt like minutes, he sighed sharply, forcing himself to speak.

“She told us you were attacked by other tribes… and killed.”

Scaramouche nearly laughed. What?

That was the lie Babel had chosen? She knew they had been trapped in the ruins. Even if that foolish Traveler and her pet Eremite hadn’t told her directly, Babel would have figured it out. So why say something so obviously false?

Suddenly, another thought struck him; one that sent an unsettling chill through his spine. What if the Traveller was still trapped down there? He then quickly consoled himself; there was no way Dottore would’ve let Lumine go if she was also trapped.

Still, he wondered where she was now, really.

Sethos, however, seemed far less concerned with the implications. Instead of trying to rationalize Babel’s actions, instead of giving her even the slightest benefit of a doubt, he exploded.

‘’I sent some of our warriors to them,’’ Bamoun said, ‘’We may not be as powerful as we used to be, but… we erased them from the maps. I thought we avenged you. Babel told us – ‘’

“Well, she lied then!” Sethos shouted, his voice raw with fury.

He was too angry to realise that his grandfather just confessed to the cold murder of another tribe, Scaramouche noticed. Sethos was too angry to understand how it could lead to Babel’s own doom.

“Because I wasn’t dead, but I wished I was! Do you have any idea what happened to me?” Sethos protested.

Before Bamoun could answer, Sethos reached up and grabbed the red fabric – the one he had worn ever since their return. With a violent motion, he threw it to the ground.

Scaramouche could see Bamoun’s stunned expression even from his hiding spot.

“Look at me,” Sethos demanded, his tone mocking. “Do you like what kind of person I have become, Grandfather?”

His hand hovered near the now-healed scar, as if daring Bamoun to acknowledge it.

From his hidden vantage point, Scaramouche could feel the tension suffocating the room. Sethos stood rigid, his voice tight with pain.

“All my life, I’ve listened to you, Grandfather,” he said, his words almost shaking. “But look at me now. I don’t even know who I am.”

There was a weight behind those words that made Scaramouche’s chest tighten. Sethos sounded so lost. It was a sharp contrast to the fiery determination he usually carried; the kind of confidence that had once made him seem untouchable. But now? Now, he was crumbling right in front of his eyes.

A small object left Sethos’s hand and landed in Bamoun’s lap. Scaramouche squinted, trying to make it out. When Bamoun held it up to the dim light, he recognized it immediately: one of the hair mementos they had found in Babel’s chest.

“The least you can do,” Sethos said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “Tell me—if she really was my mother—why would she send me away ?”

Bamoun exhaled, the sound weary and heavy. He rubbed his forehead, as if trying to soothe an old headache, before finally speaking again.

‘’You were a weakness for her,’’ Bamoun said. ‘’And she sent you away because she knew we’d at least keep you alive.’’

‘’That’s it?’’ Sethos sounded like he was in pain. ‘’She simply threw me away, just like that?’’

“Sethos, I’m sorry that you learned it in such a terrible way,” Bamoun began, his voice riddled with something close to regret. “But there is a reason I never told you. You are under the guidance of Lord Hermanubis now. Knowing about your past wouldn’t have changed anything.”

Scaramouche’s fingers curled into a fist. Wouldn’t have changed anything? What an infuriating way to dismiss something so significant.

“You still sent me to her,” Sethos shot back, a mix of betrayal and confusion in his tone.  “What was the meaning of that, then?”

Scaramouche couldn’t blame him for such a natural reaction.

Bamoun was silent for a second.

“I admit,” Bamoun said, his tone calmer now, “I acted… emotionally.”

Scaramouche narrowed his eyes. There it was. The hesitation was gone, the grief controlled. The old man was regaining his composure, and in doing so, he was slipping back into his role: the wise, unwavering leader of the Temple of Silence.

“I wanted to fulfill my promise to the young woman I tried to help all those years ago,” Bamoun continued. “But even if you were not her son, I would have sent you to complete that mission.”

There was something so cold in those words, something that sent a sour taste into Scaramouche’s mouth.

Bamoun reached for the walking stick beside his bed and slowly pushed himself to his feet. Even as an old and frail man, he still stood taller than Sethos.

“You are the heir of the Temple, are you not?” Bamoun asked, his voice carrying the weight of authority. “You carry the legacy of our Lord in your heart.”

Sethos flinched, his fingers twitching at his sides. “My sister – ”

“She’s dead,” Bamoun cut in, tossing the mementos back at him with a finality that made Scaramouche’s stomach turn.

The room was silent.

“Lost in the sands,” Bamoun continued, his tone devoid of sentiment. “The carriage carrying her was attacked, and her guardian was killed. We… I found a piece of her clothing in a red vulture’s nest.”

Scaramouche couldn’t see Sethos’s face from his hiding spot, but he could see the moment the words struck him. His shoulders, which had been squared in anger just moments before, dropped ever so slightly.

“We did find some patches of old fabric,” Sethos mumbled, his voice distant. ‘’I didn’t understand their significance.’’

“I do not know if Babel truly betrayed us,” Bamoun admitted, placing a hand on Sethos’s shoulder in what was meant to be a gesture of comfort. “Or if she was betrayed by others. But all I know is this: we must move on. It is a miracle, a gift, that you are still alive.”

Scaramouche’s nails bit into his palms. Move on? Just like that?

His blood was boiling.

He shouldn’t have let Sethos speak to Bamoun alone, he realised. He should have been in that room with him, by his side. The way Bamoun spoke, the way he neatly tied up every loose end with a cold, measured bow, it infuriated him. He could feel his patience running out, could barely resist the urge to barge in and say something.

But he forced himself to stay secret.

“And,” Bamoun said, embracing Sethos once more. This time, Sethos didn’t pull away. “I have a surprise for you.”

Scaramouche barely refrained from rolling his eyes. There was nothing that could’ve justified what Bamoun had just pulled on them now.

“Our project is going extremely well,” Bamoun continued. “Hana was too distraught to continue after we stopped hearing from you, she was a mess… But now that you have returned, we can – ”

“Do we have to?” Sethos interrupted, his voice strained. “Perhaps it’s… not the right time?”

Bamoun pulled back slightly, studying him.

“What do you mean? Wasn’t it your idea?” he asked, confused. “We have come so far; it would be foolish to stop now.”

Sethos squirmed, looking almost cornered.

“It was my idea,” he admitted, glancing away. “But I…”

He took a deep breath.

“I need some fresh air,” Sethos said out of nowhere. “I’ll come back in a few hours, alright?”

‘’Sethos –‘’

‘’Don’t send someone after me,’’ Sethos interrupted. ‘’Don’t. I won’t go too far from the Temple.’’

‘’Are you angry with me, Sethos?’’ Bamoun asked, his voice somber as he spoke .

‘’…No, grandfather,’’ Sethos said. ‘’I wish I was, but I’m not.’’

As soon as Scaramouche saw Sethos heading for the door, he quickly turned and hurried toward the grand hall, making sure to get there before Sethos could spot him.

…

While waiting for Sethos in the grand hall, Scaramouche felt an unfamiliar sensation, like his heart was pounding wildly, even though he didn’t have one. His ears buzzed with a dull, empty noise, and his eyes remained locked on the corridor leading to Bamoun’s room. He had no regrets about eavesdropping. If anything, he was grateful that he didn’t miss the nonsense Bamoun spouted. It meant he could change Sethos’s mind later.

The hall was not empty. Other residents sat nearby, engaged in quiet conversation, though Scaramouche paid them no mind. He vaguely recognized one girl – a foolish one, always trailing after a particular scholar – but he had no interest in entertaining their curiosity. His focus remained on the doorway.

And then, at last, Sethos appeared.

The first thing Scaramouche noticed was that he had put the eyepatch back on. Was it to make his grandfather angry? He wasn’t sure. And he knew better than to ask, at least not yet. Sethos looked like a storm-come-alive, and Scaramouche wasn’t in the mood to become his lightning rod.

“Wanderer,” Sethos said. “You’re here.”

Scaramouche parted his lips to respond, but before he could, Sethos closed the distance between them.

Warm hands cupped his face. Then, in the next breath, Sethos’s lips were on his own.

Scaramouche inhaled sharply, his body tensing with surprise. Gasps rang out from the bystanders, but he barely registered them. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t push Sethos off. Instead, he let himself melt into the kiss, his own lips moving instinctively against Sethos’s. It wasn’t a long kiss, but it felt endless.

When Sethos finally pulled back, his expression was still weighed down with sorrow; but now, there was a faint, genuine smile.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” Sethos said. “I need some fresh air. Don’t worry, okay?”

Scaramouche blinked, still processing what had just happened. “Okay.”

Sethos let out a laugh. “That’s it? Just ‘okay’?”

“You… said you’d come back,” Scaramouche replied, his voice calm, not betraying what he was feeling inside. “I have no reason to worry.”

For the first time that day, Sethos grinned. “Alright.”

Just as he turned to leave, Scaramouche reached out, stopping him. “Wait. Did you want to tell me something?”

Something flickered in Sethos’s eye, but then he shook his head. “No.”

Scaramouche frowned slightly. “Are you sure? I thought – ”

“There’s no need now,” Sethos interrupted, his smile fading. Then, he leaned into Scaramouche’s ear. ‘’Wait for me in my room, alright?’’

Before Scaramouche could ask what the hell he meant, Sethos pulled back, this time placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. Then, without another word, he turned and hurried out, leaving Scaramouche standing there, surrounded by curious onlookers, and drowning in unanswered questions.

…

That bastard, Scaramouche thought to himself, his face burning with a familiar heat.

When Sethos kissed him, he’d been too stiff, too caught off guard to properly register what was happening. Now that Sethos was gone, and the stares of the temple residents pointed at him like daggers, the reality of what just happened finally sank in.

They had kissed. In front of everyone.

The moment he realized just how shamelessly they acted, a wave of embarrassment crashed over him. And, as expected, the residents wasted no time surrounding him with questions.

“When did this happen?”

“Are you two actually dating?”

“Oh, come on! Tell us something!”

Scaramouche’s patience ran off pretty quickly.

“None of your damn business,” he muttered before brushing past them and storming out of the great hall.

He needed an escape. More importantly, he needed to focus; he had a much bigger problem on his hands than Sethos’s reckless affection.

Sethos kept giving him heart attacks, distracting him at every turn, and it was making him forget something crucial: he was the one who needed immediate medical attention now, not Sethos. He wasn’t in the best shape, and yet, somehow, he kept pushing that to the back of his mind. He couldn’t afford to do that any longer.

With that thought, he made his way toward Hana’s workshop, hoping she could help.

But when he arrived, she wasn’t there.

Scaramouche frowned. He could still sense her lingering presence, but she must have stepped out. He waited outside, listening carefully. The sounds of mechanical parts filled the room. If her machines were still running, that meant she’d be back soon to turn them off.

He let himself in freely.

The sight of the mess made him chuckle. The more excited Hana got about her work, the more chaotic her workshop became. He knew she’d clean up eventually, but the process was always a disaster zone.

Then, something small and furry caught his eye.

A little furball was curled up on her work table, fast asleep. Scaramouche felt a smile tug at his lips. As if sensing his presence, the tiny creature stirred. A moment later, it blinked its bright green eye open, saw him, and immediately leaped excitedly into his arms.

Scaramouche caught him with ease, chuckling.

“You haven’t forgotten me, huh?” He ran his fingers through the fox’s soft fur, enjoying the warmth. “I guess I owe you a name. I just haven’t thought of a good one yet.”

The fox let out a strange little noise; something oddly happy, as if he understood Scaramouche.

Scaramouche turned his attention back to the worktable. The fox had been sleeping on a pile of blueprints – but, to his surprise, it hadn’t shredded them to pieces.

Now that is favouritism, he thought with amusement. If it had been one of his books, the little menace would’ve already chewed up the corners. But his amusement faded the moment he got a closer look at the blueprints.

Gently setting the fox down, he leaned in, carefully examining the papers.

Scaramouche’s fingers traced the edges of the blueprints, his eyes scanning every line, every detail. The more he read, the deeper the pit in his stomach grew. He recognized these designs.

Not because he had seen them before, but because they were him. Or rather, more accurately, something built in his image.

The shape of the torso, the intricate joints in the arms, the reinforced plating along the legs; it all mirrored his own construction. The longer he examined the blueprints, the harder it became to deny what he was looking at.

Hana was trying to build something that mimicked him.

But why?

Before he could fully process what he was seeing, a soft noise interrupted the quiet hum of the workshop.

Scaramouche glanced down.

The little fox had hopped onto the floor, its fluffy tail twitching as it let out a bark-like sound. Then, without hesitation, it trotted off toward the far end of the workshop.

Scaramouche frowned. He hadn’t noticed it before, but…

His eyes followed the fox’s path, stopping at a strange, narrow outline in the wall.

A door?

Has that always been there? He’d been in this workshop before, yet he couldn’t recall ever seeing it. The fox pawed at the base of the wall, then looked back at him expectantly, as if urging him forward. Scaramouche stepped closer, inspecting the outline more carefully. It was too clean, too precise to be part of the wall’s natural design. Then, he noticed: there were faint marks on the wall, which had been hidden under a rug.

His brows furrowed. How had he not noticed before?

Reaching out, he pressed against the surface. It gave in slightly under his touch. Without thinking, he applied more pressure…

Click.

The door shifted.

Scaramouche hesitated for only a second before pushing it open further. A narrow hallway stretched ahead, dimly lit and lined with mechanical components. The air was thick with the scent of candle oil, metal, and… something unfinished.

The fox darted inside without waiting for Scaramouche.

Scaramouche followed him.

The passage was short, leading into a hidden chamber, one he had never seen before. It was even more cluttered than the main workshop, filled with half-finished mechanisms, discarded prototypes, and a single large work table positioned at the very center.

And on that table…

Scaramouche stopped.

A humanoid puppet lay motionless, its form still incomplete.

Its arms were barely attached, its joints exposed, its face emotionless; but there was no mistaking it.

It was built using his components.

Now that he looked closer, it didn’t resemble him entirely. Its face didn’t look too much like Scaramouche, instead it resembled Sethos more. The body structure was similar, but the proportions were slightly different, smaller, almost childlike. Whoever had constructed this – Hana, most likely – had done so with limited materials. He could see a mishmash of components scavenged from various sources: fragments of his own modifications, repurposed parts from King Deshret’s machines, and –

His stomach twisted.

In the middle of the puppet’s chest was something that shouldn’t be there.

A power core.

More specifically, one of his own energy blocks.

Scaramouche felt sick. That… wasn’t part of Dottore’s modifications. That meant Hana had taken a piece of him, without telling him.

"Oh, dear… so you really are back."

Scaramouche turned around at the voice behind him.

Hana stood in the doorway. There was something different about her – she looked older, wearier. The lines on her face seemed deeper, her shoulders a little more hunched. But Scaramouche wasn’t about to let that soften his heart.

Not now.

Not when he had just discovered this.

"How long were you planning to hide this from me?" he lashed out, angry and seething. "This was not our deal. I never gave you permission to take my core components!"

Hana flinched, just barely, but it was enough for him to see. For all her arrogance, she still had enough shame to look embarrassed. She averted her gaze, fingers fixing the fabric of her skirt in a nervous, almost childish gesture that looked so unfitting for someone her age.

"Wanderer, I really am sorry."

"Not sorry enough to stop yourself from stabbing me in the back." Scaramouche’s lip curled in a sneer. "Just wait until I tell Sethos. Do you think he’ll let this go?"

And then, Hana did something truly cruel.

She stopped avoiding his eyes, lifted her head, and smiled.

"My poor child," she murmured. "Do you really think he doesn’t already know?"

Scaramouche froze.

The words didn’t make sense.

They couldn’t make sense.

"You’re lying," he said, though even he wasn’t convinced by his own words. "He would never betray me like this."

"Would he?"

Hana stepped forward. He should have stopped her, should have stepped back. But for some reason, he felt like his body wasn’t obeying him anymore.

He had never felt weaker.

She passed him with quiet, confident steps, stopping beside the unfinished puppet on the table. Her fingers ran along its hair, soft, almost tender, like a mother tending to a sleeping child.

"There isn’t a single thing that happens under the Temple that he doesn’t know about," she said. "The moment I told him what you were made for, he came up with the plan."

The plan.

Scaramouche swallowed, his throat dry.

"I don’t get it," he rasped. "Why? Why would you do this? How could you be so cruel?"

Hana turned her head slightly, her gaze heavy but not unkind.

"Please don’t think of us as cruel, Wanderer," she said. "This was for the greater good."

"Greater good!" Scaramouche’s voice filled with fury. ‘’You call this greater good?’’

"Greater good," Hana repeated without hesitation. "You weren’t there when we lost countless lives trying to find a home for our Ba fragment. You weren’t there when I had to keep Sethos’s little body alive, praying to the Gods that he wouldn’t die. Do you have any idea what it was like? When he woke up, he couldn’t even speak for months."

Her voice wavered, not with regret, but something far more unsettling.

Laughter.

A bitter, exhausted laughter.

And that was when it hit him.

She was drunk.

The slight sway in her stance, the glossiness in her eyes, the faint scent of something clinging to her breath… it all made sense now.

Scaramouche clenched his fists.

"Aren’t you afraid of me?" he asked. His voice was lower now, dangerous. "I could kill you right here."

Hana laughed carelessly, like she had been expecting that.

"If we can find a home for the Ba fragments, our children won’t have to carry such a heavy burden ever again," she whispered. "Can you really call that cruel?"

Her voice trembled now – not with drunkenness, but something raw. Something real.

"You don’t have a child, Wanderer. You can’t understand." She lifted her hand and placed it on the puppet’s head, stroking it once more. "But Sethos is like a son to me. And what kind of parent would let their child suffer in silence?"

What kind of parent would do that?

The words echoed in his mind, dragging up something old, something painful, something he had buried a long, long time ago. He suddenly felt dizzy.

Hana turned to look at him again, her expression softening just slightly.

"And to answer your question," she murmured. "Of course, I’m scared of you."

Scaramouche blinked.

"But there’s no point in lying anymore, is there?" She took a slow step forward, eyes searching his face.

"And besides," she whispered. "You love him, don’t you?"

He stared at her, stunned.

Hana smiled sadly; her eyes glassy.

"You love him." Her voice cracked – just slightly – as she spoke again. "And if you love him, then you should understand why I want to protect him. If you love him, if you could give your heart to him, a small energy core shouldn’t mean anything."

She swallowed thickly, as if forcing the next words out. "He wants to be free from this pain. He wants to be normal. He knew this was the only solution to his suffering."

Her eyes shined with unshed tears.

"Why can’t you understand?"

So, this really was the plan Bamoun was talking about, Scaramouche thought.

His mind was a mess, and his body numb.  His chest ached; it was an unfamiliar, suffocating kind of pain that settled deep in his core. It was foolish, childish even, but he almost wanted to cry.

He truly felt like an idiot.

All this time, he had put his life in danger for someone he thought he understood. For someone he chose to trust, only to realize he had been played from the very beginning.

Sethos had known, from the start, he had known.

Scaramouche's next move even surprised himself.

Before Hana could react, he moved swiftly, his hand striking with calculated precision. A sharp gasp escaped her lips before she crumpled to the floor, unconscious. He didn’t even bother to put her body in a more comfortable position.

It was the last mercy he would offer to her.

He could have killed her. Should have, perhaps. But leaving her alive was not out of kindness; it was simply because, for once, she had given him something useful: the truth. If it had been left to Sethos, he might never have known what was happening right in front of him.

He turned towards the puppet.

It lay motionless on the table, a hollow shell and nothing more.

His gaze locked onto its chest, where his energy core – one of his own vital components – was placed as an energy source. He reached out, fingers hovering over it, prepared to take back what was his.

But… his hand wouldn’t move. Something about it stopped him.

His fingers traced the puppet’s features.

Long lashes, golden skin, dark hair. Hana had clearly tried to model it after Sethos, but she failed miserably. It was both too similar and too different. The resemblance was uncanny, yet artificial; like a reflection in rippling water, close enough to recognize, but distorted beyond truth.

This thing, Scaramouche thought. Was supposed to be Sethos’s salvation? Not me?

The very idea of it made his stomach turn.

With a quiet breath, he withdrew his hand and took a step back. Then another.

And without a second glance, he turned and walked away, leaving the puppet, the workshop, and the shattered remains of his trust behind.

…

“What’s your business?”

The guard’s voice was firm but lacked real suspicion.

“I have to leave,” Scaramouche said, keeping his tone calm. “Bamoun told me to bring back Sethos.”

Perhaps, on any other day, the guard would have questioned him more thoroughly. But even he had apparently heard about the kiss earlier. Scaramouche could see it in the way the man’s lips twitched under his moustache, the barely concealed amusement dancing in his eyes.

The temple residents loved gossip far too much.

Scaramouche almost rolled his eyes but held back, unwilling to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him flustered. Instead, he stepped past the guard without another word, ignoring the knowing smirk aimed his way.

It was almost laughable how easily they were letting him go.

A few steps later, he was outside.

The heavy doors behind him groaned shut, and in an instant, they vanished, swallowed by the endless golden sands.

Scaramouche lingered for a moment, staring at the empty space where the entrance had been. A strange feeling curled in his chest – something bitter, something hollow – but he forced himself to look away.

He refused to feel regret for escaping the cage they had trapped him in.

They had used him. Lied to him. Betrayed him.

And once he got his power back… he would make all of them pay. Just as he had done to others before.

Without one last glance back, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Chapter Text

Caravan Ribat was full of life.

Merchants were trying to sell their goods, their voices mixing in the air alongside the scent of spices and perfumes. Travellers in expensive clothing mingled with mercenaries in leather and rough fabric–those travellers believed their guards could keep them safe from Eremites. While, from their looks, it was clear that most of the merchants were locals, Scaramouche noted the presence of goods from Liyue, Fontaine, and even Mondstadt. He could easily guess that many of these traders had been hired by foreign companies; few outsiders dared to travel in the desert alone.

He wanted to watch them a little longer, but he had to keep going. Despite his exhaustion, Scaramouche refused to waste time. He had bypassed Aaru Village entirely, heading straight for Caravan Ribat as planned–Dottore had told him that his men would be waiting there for him.

Surprisingly, Sethos hadn’t lied about one thing: the Fatui had yet to establish a presence in Aaru Village. In hindsight, Scaramouche really had been safe there. The village was too small to justify deploying manpower, and its residents were fiercely protective of their own, making it difficult for outsiders to gain a foothold.

He looked at the crowds, scanning for the tell-tale insignia of the Fatui. Though he felt heavier with each step, he refused to stop and feel pity for himself. Then, he spotted them: a group of Fatui soldiers stationed near a quieter part of the marketplace, their uniforms unmistakable.

Without hesitation, he approached them.

‘’Hey, you there,’’ Scaramouche called out to them.

One of them, a man with long silver hair and a lean build, noticed him first. After Scaramouche got his attention, the soldier–clearly irritated by the disruption–turned around.  His expression was cold, his stance rigid, as if prepared to dismiss a stranger.

But then his eyes widened.

Scaramouche didn’t need to introduce himself. The soldier’s indifference shattered in an instant, replaced by recognition. Then, he took a careful step forward, lowering his voice.

"Lord Scaramouche," the Fatui soldier said. "We've been waiting for you."

Satisfied with the response, Scaramouche folded his arms, regarding the soldier with a calculating gaze. He was young, so he had to be a low-level soldier.

"I assume that the Doctor sent you?" Scaramouche questioned.

"Yes, my lord," the soldier confirmed. "Lord Dottore ordered us to wait here for your arrival. We’ve been waiting for you; he said you would know where to find us."

Scaramouche nodded slightly, accepting the explanation. Still, something nagged at him. He studied the man again.

“And how, exactly, did you recognize me so quickly?” he asked, his tone edged with undeserved suspicion–he had become more paranoid ever since he left the Temple. “I don’t remember seeing you among Dottore’s men.”

The soldier’s lips curved into a faint smile, as though he had anticipated the question.

"I briefly served under your command before I was transferred to Lord Pantalone," he explained. "My name is Vsevolod, my lord."

‘’I don’t remember you,’’ Scaramouche rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "Therefore, I don’t need your name.’’

And yet, the moment he heard the soldier’s name, he remembered.

Vsevolod. Yes, Scaramouche remembered now. Vsevolod had once served under his command years ago. A mission with Tartaglia had gone awry, and Vsevolod had nearly died as a result. Scaramouche recalled the sight of him after the incident: his face ashen-grey, his once-dark hair turned silver from the trauma of his near-death experience and exposure to the Abyss. He had been barely clinging to life.

At the time, Scaramouche had been ready to leave him behind. He was already exhausted from the burden of babysitting their newest Harbinger. But another soldier had pleaded for permission to carry Vsevolod on his back. In the end, that soldier had abandoned his own sleeping bag and rations just to ensure Vsevolod made it to safety.

Yet despite his injuries, Scaramouche still deemed him useful–after all, as long as he was breathing, he could be sent on another mission. He had been prepared to do just that as soon as Vsevolod recovered. But Tartaglia, no doubt swayed by Pulcinella, had intervened. He had personally requested that Vsevolod would be reassigned to Pantalone’s care instead, arguing that he was no longer fit for fieldwork.

At the time, Scaramouche had dismissed the entire affair as insignificant. He hadn't understood why Tartaglia had even bothered. Didn’t they need meat shields before they sent their big guns?

But now, standing before him, Vsevolod was no longer the frail, half-dead soldier he remembered. His cheeks were full, his posture straight, and there was no sign of the limp he once carried.

For the first time, Scaramouche wondered if Tartaglia had made the right call after all.

He then stared at the four Fatui soldiers standing before him, his eyes taking in every detail and missing nothing. Though their uniforms bore the insignia of the Fatui, their individual appearances set them apart.

Vsevolod stood at the front, his silver hair shining under the desert sun. He clearly was the captain of this group, no doubt due to his past experiences under Scaramouche.

Behind him, the second soldier, a fat man with broad shoulders and a scar running down his cheek, kept his hands clasped behind his back. The third guy was younger, shifting slightly on his feet as if suppressing his nervousness. His face was partially obscured by his helmet, but his posture was less disciplined than the others. The last soldier, a woman with short-cropped hair and a gun strapped to her belt, seemed the most relaxed, her arms crossed as she waited for orders.

Scaramouche narrowed his eyes slightly. These men were supposed to escort him, yet only two looked capable enough. It wasn’t entirely his problem, though—if any of them failed to meet expectations, they wouldn’t last long in their own ranks anyway. And, after all, if Dottore didn’t believe they were enough for an escort mission, he wouldn’t have sent them.

Then again, he realised–maybe the Doctor only sent low-tier soldiers to show that Scaramouche could leave as easily as he wished. Scaramouche could see himself getting annoyed if he had to deal with commanders who thought they had any real value to Fatui.

While he was calculating Dottore’s motives, Vsevolod remained silent, waiting for his command.

"Tell me," Scaramouche started. "Is everything ready for our departure? I want to leave now."

"Of course, Lord Scaramouche," Vsevolod replied immediately. "If you wish, we can depart for Sumeru City at once."

Scaramouche gave a quick nod. "Then let’s not waste time."

With that, the soldiers sprang into motion. One of them broke away to retrieve the carriage, while the others moved around, gathering their belongings and checking supplies. The low, rushed murmur of their voices mixed with the distant hum of Caravan Ribat as preparations were finalized.

When the carriage arrived, its wheels creaked slightly under the weight of the reinforced frame. It was sturdy, built to endure the harsh desert terrain. The interior, though simple, was designed for long-distance travel. Scaramouche barely spared it a glance before stepping toward it.

The soldiers moved into formation around him. With everything in place, they were ready to depart.

….

He held himself together for quite a long time, but once he saw the gates of Sumeru City, the exhaustion finally got him. He felt despair as he closed his eyes, not knowing when he’d return…

…When he finally woke up, he was lying on a cold, stone surface: a worktable, cold and unfamiliar. His mind was sluggish, still clawing its way out of the abyss of unconsciousness.

“Welcome back, Balladeer.”

Scaramouche opened his eyes, and he immediately recognized who the voice belonged to.

Dottore, he thought. What a horrible way to wake up.

Dottore’s words were filled with that usual mocking tone, as though Scaramouche's suffering was nothing more than an entertaining experiment.

“…Which clone are you?” Scaramouche asked. ‘’You look old.’’

Dottore merely smirked in response, unfazed.

“Bitter as ever. Will I even receive a ‘ thanks , Doctor’ from you?” he mused. “You were missing a few pieces when you arrived, by the way. I assume you know where they are.”

His tone was light, almost casual, but there was an underlying expectation beneath his words.

“I did what I could; I replaced the missing parts with something passable,” Dottore explained. “But the original piece… well, that’s truly a shame. We can work with what we have, but it would’ve been great if–”

Scaramouche exhaled slowly, his mind still fogged with exhaustion.

“I’ll tell you later,” he muttered.

Dottore chuckled, clearly entertained by the response. “Alright.”

Scaramouche looked around; it seemed that they were inside Sumeru Akademiya. Dottore was right, then–the sages became their tools already. The faint glow of the Divine Tree’s roots peeked through the corners of Dottore’s workshop. He sat up, his mind starting to work better as he took in the details of the room.

It was much easier to think when he wasn’t in constant pain. And now, it hit him: the bag he brought with him was nowhere to be seen.

“I brought a few things with me,” Scaramouche said. “Where are they?”

Dottore, who had been leaning casually against a nearby table, let out a dry chuckle. “That trash? Oh, yes, I saw it. I had someone drop it off in your room. I didn’t think you’d be so attached to such… insignificant trinkets.”

Scaramouche’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. Before he left the temple, he had taken a handful of items—small, meaningless things he had collected during his time there. A few books, the insignia Sethos had given him, a dried flower pressed between the pages of a journal and… and…

The rest wasn’t important. They weren’t valuable, but they carried a weight he couldn’t quite explain. The idea of leaving them behind felt wrong.

“Don’t touch my things next time,” Scaramouche warned Dottore.

Dottore raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Touchy, aren’t we?’’

He turned around and picked up something from another table. ‘’By the way, you’ve got a few letters. Might want to take a look.”

“Letters?” Scaramouche was taken aback. “From who?”

For a moment, his mind wandered to Sethos.

Sethos, something illogical in his brain yelled at him. It must be Sethos...!

It was a foolish thought, he knew, but it lingered nonetheless. Did Sethos know he was here? The possibility was enough to make his hands tremble with expectation.

Dottore’s smirk widened, as if he could read Scaramouche’s thoughts.

“Whoever you’re thinking of,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “You’re probably wrong.”

“I’m not thinking of anyone,” Scaramouche snapped, his denial quick and defensive. ‘’Give them to me.’’

“Not even that little pup who was with you?” Dottore’s voice was laced with cruel amusement, and he clearly loved the moment of distress that crossed Scaramouche’s face. “But never mind that. The letters are yours to read. Go ahead.”

Scaramouche snatched the letters from Dottore’s outstretched hand. The first letter bore the unmistakable seal of The Captain. Scaramouche raised an eyebrow, surprised that Capitano had taken the time and interest to write to him amidst his knightly duties. The letter was concise, its neat handwriting conveying a tone that was more warning than welcoming.

“We have learned of your decision to return after your betrayal ,” the letter said. “Dedicate your heart to the Tsaritsa, and perhaps your past misdeeds will be forgiven.”

Scaramouche couldn’t help but laugh–a dry, humourless sound. After Pierro, Capitano was perhaps the most devout—and fanatically obedient—follower of the Cryo Archon. The letter was exactly what he had expected from such a man: stern, formal, bland.

He set it aside and reached for the second letter. This one was from Tartaglia– of all people! – and as soon as Scaramouche unfolded it, he could almost hear the Harbinger's voice in his angrily scrawled words. Tartaglia’s tone was far less diplomatic than Capitano’s, his frustration evident in every line. He made it clear that he was less than pleased about the Tsaritsa’s decision to give Scaramouche another chance.

“Another betrayal,” Tartaglia’s letter concluded. “And I’ll hunt you down myself.”

God, he’s such a child, Scaramouche thought. He thinks too highly of himself.

He shook his head, a faint smirk appearing at the corner of his lips.

“He really knows how to make a guy feel welcome,” he muttered under his breath.

Dottore, who had been watching him with intense interest, chimed in. “I know, right? The nerve of that kid.”

Something in Dottore’s tone was very annoying; Scaramouche shot him a sharp look. “Did you read my letters, Doctor?”

Dottore’s grin was all the answer he needed.

Scaramouche sighed, exasperated. “Of course you did.”

The third letter was from La Signora, and Scaramouche had to double-take to make sure he was reading the name on the letter correctly. Her elegant cursive looked less like words and more like an artwork, each word oozing with fiery disdain.

“If you are reading this, then Dottore was telling the truth, and you have indeed returned,” the letter began. “I remain sceptical, but in the event that you are truly back: know that I no longer owe you anything. Do not expect my support in the future.”

Dottore leaned in, his tone mockingly instructive, like a teacher scolding a silly student. “Rosalyne’s words carry a certain weight with the Tsaritsa. So, I’d think twice before pulling another stunt like the one you did in Inazuma. Next time, no one will come to your aid.”

Scaramouche rolled his eyes, his patience wearing thin. “Can you please stop calling her by her first name? It’s embarrassing. And don’t act like the Tsaritsa took me back out of the goodness of her heart. That witch doesn’t care about anyone but herself.”

Dottore just hummed as a response. Scaramouche smiled; it was nice to shut him up a bit.

The final letter was from the Cryo Archon herself. It was brief, containing only a single sentence.

“Do not dare to waste your second chance, Scaramouche.”

Scaramouche stared at the words for a long moment, his unreadable expression hiding the hurt he felt. He didn’t know why he even felt that way; it was a reasonable response, considering everything. Yet, he was disappointed anyway. Then, with a quiet exhale, he folded the letter and set it aside. The message was clear, and so were the stakes. He had been given a reprieve, but it was conditional.

Dottore watched him, his croaked grin never fading. “Well? Feeling the pressure yet?”

Scaramouche didn’t respond back.

…

Dottore told him to get some rest, so he was doing exactly that.

Scaramouche laid on the simple bed, staring at the ceiling, the candlelight flickering against the walls of his quarters. The room was bare, almost sterile, save for the few things he had brought back from the temple. He was tired, his body felt heavy, but his mind refused to settle. Dottore had yet to summon him, which left him with nothing but his own thoughts–something he did not particularly enjoy. It was harder to not think about Sethos when he was left to his own thoughts.

A knock at the door pulled him from his haze.

He frowned. “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Vsevolod stepped inside, carrying a finely wrapped package. “Lord Scaramouche, a delivery from Lord Pantalone.”

‘’What is it?’’ Scaramouche asked.

‘’Just sweets.’’

Oh, that asshole.

Scaramouche dropped his head down, barely sparing him a glance. “Whatever. Put it next to the things I brought from the temple.”

Vsevolod nodded and moved toward the small table by the wall, setting the package down carefully. But as he straightened up, his gaze stayed. His fingers twitched slightly before he quickly withdrew them, his posture suddenly tense.

Scaramouche narrowed his eyes. “What now?”

Vsevolod hesitated before shaking his head. “Nothing, my lord. I’m just… surprised to see something like this here”

Scaramouche followed his gaze to the insignia resting on the table, nestled among the other objects he had brought back. He frowned.

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” he said coldly.

Vsevolod immediately straightened. “Of course, Lord Scaramouche.”

“Then leave.”

The soldier bowed his head slightly before stepping back and exiting the room, shutting the door behind him.

Scaramouche exhaled sharply, his eyes lingering on the insignia for a moment longer before he turned away. Whatever Vsevolod had been thinking, it wasn’t worth his concern. He had more important things to focus on.

…

Apparently, everyone had issues with his little bundle that day, because it was the first thing Dottore also took an issue with.

"Throw that nonsense away," Dottore said, gesturing dismissively toward the small bundle. "I can’t believe you are still keeping them with you. You won’t need it anymore. Burn it, throw it away. I don’t care!"

Scaramouche said nothing. Dottore must have seen what he brought with him. He had known Dottore would sneer at his foolish attempt to leave the Fatui, the scraps of a life he had tried to build elsewhere. Still, hearing the words aloud irritated him.

"I have something far better for you," Dottore continued. "A true gift, one worthy of you."

Dottore opened the little box he brought with him. Scaramouche could feel whatever it was even before he saw the object.

The Electro Gnosis.

Scaramouche instinctively reached out as Dottore extended his hand. The moment his fingers curled around the Electro Gnosis, a pulse of raw power surged through his body. The pointed surface was, surprisingly, cold against his skin. Yet, it thrummed with a quiet, steady rhythm, like a heartbeat.

A heartbeat meant for him.

It was heavy.

He, for some reason, had expected it to feel weightless, like an extension of himself. But instead, it dragged at his palm as though it were judging him, testing him, waiting to see if he was worthy.

Scaramouche’s grip tightened. This was what he had been chasing for so long. Divinity. Power beyond mortal comprehension. Proof that he was not some discarded failure but something greater. Something undeniable. Something worth worshipping.

And yet…

A part of him recoiled.

He had spent so much time convincing himself that he did not need his heart back. That he was stronger alone, that his heart was nothing but a weakness. But as the Gnosis pulsed in his hand, a thousand memories came rushing back.

What a joke, he thought, pushing the memories down. This is all I ever needed.

He forced his fingers to unclench, staring down at the Gnosis in his palm. This was all that mattered now. This power. This proof. This was the only thing that would never betray him.

"Well?" Dottore’s voice cut through his thoughts. "Is it everything you dreamed of?"

Scaramouche exhaled sharply, pushing everything else away.

"It will be."

…

Before they started testing, Dottore wanted to show him something; Sumeru's Goddess, imprisoned by her very own people.

Her chamber was eerily quiet.

Lesser Lord Kusanali was lying motionless in her spherical prison, her arms curled around herself in a peaceful yet unnatural way. Her small body was bathed in the soft green glow of the barrier surrounding her, making her seem like a wooden doll, locked away in a glass case.

Standing side by side, they observed her in silence. Dottore was the first to speak.

"This will all be worth it in the end, you know," Dottore said. "Soon, you will ascend beyond her. Beyond anyone."

Scaramouche didn’t respond, his gaze locked onto Lesser Lord’s still face. The so-called God of Wisdom, imprisoned like a fragile bird in a gilded cage. A gentle god, too weak, too stupid to command the loyalty of her people. It was pathetic. And yet, there was something unsettling about it.

She almost reminded him of himself; he wondered if he looked like her in Shakkei Pavilion.

"You know," Dottore continued, his tone almost normal for him. "This isn’t the first time I’ve seen her."

Scaramouche turned his head slightly. "What do you mean?"

‘’Obviously, I’ve been in this room before, but I’m talking about her, from centuries ago.’’ Dottore chuckled. "She’s been reborn several times over the centuries. I met her once, long ago, back when I was still a student at the Akademiya."

His crimson gaze flickered with something unreadable–nostalgia, or perhaps even sadness? It was such a foreign emotion to see on Dottore’s face that Scaramouche didn’t know how to react.

“She was taller back then,” Dottore said, almost absently. “Like a green branch stretching toward the sky. I remember I could barely reach her chest. I had to stand tall on my toes to meet her eyes. She had a habit of checking in on the newest students, observing them as if she expected something great from them."

Dottore’s voice was uncharacteristically even, almost nostalgic, though the glint in his crimson eyes remained sharp, calculating. He paced slowly, hands clasped behind his back, as if recalling something long buried yet not quite forgotten.

"She had this way of looking at people," Dottore continued. "As if she could see through them; past their words, past their actions, down to the very core of their being. Some found it comforting. I found it… irritating."

His lips twisted.

"Perhaps because she thought she understood me."

Scaramouche leaned back, arms crossed, watching him with mild curiosity. "Did she?"

Dottore shook his head. "No. Not in the slightest. She was always drawn to the ones with potential, the ones who could shape the future of the Akademiya. But she had a fatal flaw; she believed in nurturing. In kindness. As if mere encouragement could turn a mind into something exceptional. As if it could deny one’s nature."

His voice carried some hatred, but beneath it, there was something else. Something more difficult to place.

"She used to stop by the workshops," Dottore continued. "Even mine, despite how much the others whispered about me. I remember one time–"

Dottore paused, and the smirk on his lips grew more perverse.

"One time, she caught me in the middle of an experiment. I had taken apart a living specimen– nothing important, just a desert fox – trying to understand the limits of its biological functions. She was horrified, of course. Asked me what I thought I was doing."

Scaramouche felt a shudder when he remembered his own nameless fox he left behind. "And?"

"And I told her the truth," Dottore said simply, his eyes shining. He looked crazy. "That knowledge requires sacrifice. That discovery is worth more than sentiment. She didn't like that answer. She told me she hoped I would grow into something more... compassionate."

He let out a short laugh.

"Compassion! What a useless thing."

‘’You were a horrible child, even back then,’’ Scaramouche said. ‘’No wonder they eventually kicked you out.’’

"And yet, look who came out on top in the end," Dottore said, his smirk tense. "Her Akademiya scorned me. My ideas were too radical, too unpalatable for their delicate sensibilities. Even she, our so-called god, looked at me with unease. But tell me, Balladeer, who is the one standing here now, with all of Sumeru in his grasp?"

He spread his arms slightly, as if presenting himself as the proof of his own genius.

Scaramouche huffed, looking away. He had no love for the Akademiya, nor for the god they had turned their backs on. But he knew that Dottore was not just recalling history for the sake of sharing; it was a reminder, a warning to him.

"She may have underestimated you back then," Scaramouche muttered. "But I doubt she does now."

Dottore chuckled darkly.

"Oh, she never had the luxury of underestimating me," he said. "She simply refused to see the inevitable."

Dottore’s crimson eyes gleamed in the light. "Now, she has no choice but to accept me. But unfortunately, she doesn’t even remember me."

Scaramouche looked at Dottore. After spending centuries with this guy, he felt like he still didn’t understand him.

"Were you close to her?" Scaramouche asked. ‘’Or, at least, did you feel close to her, at any point?’’

He tried to imagine a younger Dottore. If he was anything like his younger segments, Scaramouche couldn’t imagine anyone thinking Dottore was cute as a child.

Dottore let out a short laugh, shaking his head.

"No. Not at all." His lips curled with a mixture of amusement and disdain. "I was a prodigy, like I said, that much was certain. I had my looks too. But my ideas… well, they were not exactly well-received by those fossils in the Akademiya. Nor by my god."

He smirked cruelly. "I think I worried her."

Scaramouche didn’t say anything. He simply turned his gaze back to the Lesser Lord.

Dottore looked at her for a moment longer before speaking again, this time with an air of mockery mixed with something almost approaching fondness.

"She is such a gentle god, isn’t she?" he said, but it didn’t sound like a question. "Even now, in this situation, she still cares for her people. The same people who abandoned her without a second thought."

"Can she actually do anything?" Scaramouche asked, his tone flat. ‘’I don’t want her to ruin my ascension.’’

"No," Dottore replied without hesitation. "She can’t. But the fact that she doesn’t even try to fight back? Now, that’s truly pathetic."

Scaramouche scoffed, crossing his arms.

"She simply doesn’t know how to," he countered. "You said it yourself. She’s been caged like this for the last five hundred years. If she knew how to fight back, she might."

‘’She shall stay there,’’ Dottore said, matter-of-factly. ‘’That’s the only use she has for us.’’

Scaramouche didn’t argue against that.

...

With a theatrical wave of his hand, Dottore stepped aside, revealing the giant vessel he had been constructing with the Sages.

Scaramouche, still holding onto his gnosis, stared at his future body with mixed emotions. The body stood before him; it was huge and flawless. The body was elegant yet powerful, its design meant to contain divinity.

It was going to be his body.

Dottore clearly meant to build this thing for him, it was undeniable. Scaramouche almost laughed at Dottore’s mindless belief that Scaramouche would come back one day. It would’ve been a disaster for Fatui if Scaramouche had never discovered the puppet and stayed with Sethos.

Dottore chuckled, clearly satisfied with his reaction. "Magnificent, isn’t it?"

He stepped closer, brushing a gloved hand over the metallic frame.

"A vessel befitting a god. Your power will no longer be limited by the limits of your current body. No more weaknesses. No more flaws."

Scaramouche wanted nothing more than that.

"You’re not ready to merge fully just yet," Dottore said, turning back to him. "But soon. In a few weeks, you’ll never have to be apart from it again."

"How does it work?" Scaramouche asked, his voice quieter than he intended. He didn’t know why he wasn’t feeling more excited about the news.

"Simple," Dottore replied. "You’ll be connected in phases, growing accustomed to the body before the final merging. Right now, you’ll only experience fragments of its power."

He gestured for Scaramouche to step forward.

"Come. Let’s begin."

Scaramouche hesitated only for a second before approaching. Dottore reached for a device, pulled some tubes, and with a sharp click, they were connected to his back.

A surge of elemental energy coursed through him, threading into his limbs like liquid fire. He gasped, his body started trembling like a doll for a brief moment before adjusting to the flow. It was intoxicating; it was a power beyond anything he had felt before. It was like his body was expanding, his consciousness stretching outward, as if he were on the verge of something greater.

Dottore watched, pleased. "Good. You’re adapting well."

The doctor turned away, walking toward his desk, where various monitors displayed reports from Sumeru.

"Speaking of progress, I thought you’d be interested in the state of affairs outside. The Fatui have taken complete control. The Akademiya bends to our will. Sumeru City is all but ours. Our dear Grand Sage is little more than a puppet himself now, though not as finely crafted as you." He chuckled. "It’s amusing, really."

Dottore talked, talked, talked…

Scaramouche barely listened.

His mind was elsewhere; on the power moving through him, on the body that would soon be his. But sometimes, in the quiet moments when Dottore’s voice faded into background noise, his thoughts strayed.

To his past. To the betrayals. To Sethos.

How foolish he had been to open his heart to him. How naive to think he could ever truly belong anywhere outside the Fatui…

Days passed, and with each one, he grew closer to godhood. Closer to what he was meant to be.

And yet, a part of him still wondered. Did Sethos regret betraying him? Did he lie awake at night, haunted by the weight of his choices? Scaramouche hoped he did. Then there was the puppet. The one Sethos and Hana had been constructing.

Would it awaken? Would it be like him? The thought sent a chill through him; he prayed it wouldn’t. Because he knew, better than anyone, how cruel it was to live without a heart.

…

It happened suddenly.

The air in the room was filled with the scent of metal and oil. Dottore worked tirelessly, muttering to himself in that infuriatingly self-assured way. Scaramouche barely listened. He was used to Dottore getting so excited that he forgot to sleep. He was eventually going to tire himself out and then Scaramouche would be free to wander around as he wished.

The experiments had become routine, the pain almost expected. He had long since learned how to let his mind slip away when the agony became too much.

So, he allowed himself to drift. He let go, sinking into the embrace of the machine that was meant to become him. Scaramouche had done this countless times before; feeling his consciousness stretch thin, melting into the nothingness…

But this time… something changed.

Something answered.

It was a sensation so unfamiliar that, for a moment, Scaramouche thought he was hallucinating. Like a whisper in the void, a ripple across the abyss he had been screaming into for what felt like lifetimes. A presence. A small consciousness brushing against his own.

A name surfaced in his mind as though it had always been there. Haypasia.

Haypasia, are you hearing me?

The response was immediate. She was warm, untainted by cruelty, her thoughts gentle yet confident. She didn’t recoil from him, and didn't feel afraid of him. Instead, she opened herself to him, embracing his pain as if it were her own.

"Gentle god," her thoughts rang inside his head. "Venerable god! Thank you for sharing your memories! You were betrayed by your family, your friends, your lover. They might not have seen your worth, but I do. Let me worship you!"

Scaramouche stiffened, something sharp twisting in his chest.

Sethos had once said something similar.

Her words reached into the hollow space in his chest where something warm had once existed, before it had been crushed beneath betrayal and disappointment. But he forced the feeling away. He would not make the same mistake twice.

He did not need love. He did not need friendship, kindness, or warmth. He only needed this.

A worshipper. Devotion without question, admiration without expectations. A soul that would never betray him because it existed for him.

"That is enough," he thought, his consciousness tasting peace. "That is all I need. You are my first worshipper, Haypasia. How does it feel?’’

He could no longer feel coherent thoughts from her side, but Scaramouche felt a wave of happiness from her. He smiled, he hoped he’d be able to talk to her again.

…

Scaramouche was startled awake by the sound of Dottore’s voice.

"You were smiling in your sleep," Dottore remarked, he sounded surprised, standing in front of him, arms folded behind his back. "That’s rather unusual for you, isn’t it?"

Scaramouche blinked, still caught in the euphoria of meeting his follower. He had not meant to fall asleep. In truth, rest had been difficult to come by these days, but exhaustion had crept in, forcing him into unconsciousness.

And yet, Dottore was right. He had been smiling.

He and Haypasia had talked for a long while but he couldn’t remember most of the stuff she told him. He could recall sensations rather than images; the warmth of their conversation, the echoes of her voice... It was all fleeting, like sand slipping through his grasp.

But the feeling it left behind? That lingered.

Scaramouche then chuckled, his lips curling into something akin to amusement. He tilted his head slightly, meeting Dottore’s expectant gaze with a look of his own.

"Tell me, Doctor," Scaramouche asked, finally hardening his heart enough for his revenge. "What do you know about the Temple of Silence?"

Chapter Text

Ever since he returned from the Red Sands, most of his conscious time was spent in the Great Dome, where he was connected to Shouki no Kami. 

The connection was intoxicating and strangely comforting; his new body felt like a great shield that protected him from the disgusting, lesser world around him. Sometimes, he wanted to stay there forever, as he always felt too vulnerable whenever Dottore pulled the large tubes from his back and he realised he was not a God, yet.

Another great thing about his new body was the fact that he was no longer alone.

Whenever he was connected to his divine body, he spent almost all his time speaking to his worshipper. Checking on her was oddly entertaining. He found her silly, almost childish, but she was the first mortal who truly recognized his greatness, so he tolerated her endless questions with patience.

Unfortunately, he had not been able to connect with more worshippers after Haypasia. Dottore speculated that this was because he was not yet a god. Once he truly became one, Dottore had assured him that he would be able to reach out to many at once.

Though Dottore seemed satisfied that Scaramouche had connected with his first worshipper, there had been an odd tension between them. Scaramouche wasn’t sure if he had done something to displease Dottore or if Dottore was simply preoccupied with something else.

However, even though he never wanted to sever this connection, he was free to roam around tonight, away from Shouki no Kami.

It was clear that this body had been designed for who Scaramouche was before he had been taken by the Temple. Because of a certain jackass, Scaramouche was missing crucial components, leading to error after error. The replacement parts were functioning to some extent, but since they were "foreign materials" in Shouki no Kami’s eyes, they constantly produced compatibility issues. It infuriated Scaramouche that Sethos had once again meddled with him. That man was slowing down his process and he wasn’t even here.

Dottore hid his disappointment well, but Scaramouche could see it getting to him. Eventually, after resolving yet another compatibility issue, Dottore abruptly announced he had to leave. It was shortly after Scaramouche provided him with the whereabouts of the Temple of Silence. At first, Scaramouche assumed Dottore was leaving to pursue the Temple’s secrets. He had warned him that they would not be able to get inside, but Dottore had only laughed and claimed his departure was for something else. Scaramouche pressed for more details, but Dottore refused to elaborate.

With Dottore gone, off pursuing his own secret agenda, the responsibility of overseeing Scaramouche’s progress fell to the sages of the Akademiya.

Scaramouche didn’t trust Dottore, but he trusted the Sages even less. In Dottore’s absence, he had managed to evade them. But he knew that, inevitably, he would have to return.

Until then, he enjoyed these little moments he had to himself.

…

He wandered through Sumeru City first.

To his surprise, it almost felt like home, considering how many Fatui soldiers now patrolled the streets. They were everywhere. He saw some Fatui soldiers haggling with vendors and some attempting to court the dancers at the Grand Bazaar. Foolish humans, he thought. He did not envy their insignificant lives.

Still, it was strange to walk these streets this freely. The last time he had been in Sumeru, he had been a fugitive; hunted, forced into the shadows like a rat scrambling for survival. Now, he could stroll through the city, unseen and unnoticed. He was wearing civilian clothes and a shawl that hid his face; no one gave him a second glance. He blended in, he was just another wanderer in the city that had already seen too much change.

He made his way through the marketplace, pausing only to observe. Merchants shouted with all their chest for their wares, scholars debated under shades of trees, and travelers from all over Teyvat mingled with the locals. It felt very similar to Caravan Ribat, but it was thousands of times grander.

He looked at a group of children playing by the river, their laughter ringing through the air as they chased one another in circles. They were oblivious to the turmoil their nation was in. How fortunate, he thought bitterly, to be so blissfully ignorant.

As he continued walking, he couldn’t help but look up and stare at the Akademiya. The grand structure loomed in the distance, calling for him. The scholars here had spent decades locked in their own arrogance, drowning in knowledge yet failing to see the truths before them.

Scaramouche sighed, his fingers twitching at his sides. It was almost irritating how easily life continued, how quickly the world moved on without their Gods. Once he ascended, he wanted to make sure his worshippers could never act this careless while their god was suffering.

He was not going to be like the Lesser Lord Kusanali; he was not going to repeat her mistakes.

He turned away from the Akademiya and wandered toward the outskirts of the city, past the quieter parts and into the lush greenery that bordered the gates. The soft rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds offered a contrast to the lively marketplace. Here, away from prying eyes, he could breathe.

…

While he was walking around, he saw a familiar face: Dehya. Spotting the Flame-Mane was unexpected; he might not have recognized her if he hadn’t noticed the gold streaks in her dark brown hair. He knew she was in the city, but the chances of running into her were slim.

Dehya was hiding under the shadows of a house, holding a woman close to her. Scaramouche recognized her, but only from reports. When he returned to Sumeru City, he had gone through every report he could find on the people he met in his travels. Sethos didn’t have a file so Scaramouche ordered people to produce one, even produced a quick sketch for his file; but Dehya and Candace did. Dehya’s file was longer since she was the bodyguard for the daughter of the rich Homayani family.

He didn’t want Dehya to see him; she might tell Sethos they had met. But curiosity got the better of him; he needed to hear what they were talking about. Quickly, he climbed a tree and listened. He was not close to them, but Scaramouche’s hearing was impeccable so he didn’t miss much.

The wealthy noblewoman and the famed warrior.

An odd pair, Scaramouche thought. Dunyarzad clung to Dehya with an almost desperate tenderness, her bandaged hands gripping the mercenary’s strong frame as if afraid Dehya might disappear at any moment. Dehya seemed to enjoy how close Dunyarzad was holding her.

“How have your missions in the desert been?” Dunyarzad’s voice was gentle, but there was a crack in it and she coughed a few times after asking her question.

Scaramouche recalled reading about her illness; she had been sick since childhood. He vaguely remembered Dottore once claiming he was close to finding a cure for Eleazar, but that was nearly a decade ago. Scaramouche didn’t know if Dottore was still experimenting on his toys to find a cure.

Probably not, he decided.

“Fine,” Dehya replied shortly.

Dunyarzad sighed, pulling back slightly to study Dehya’s face. “Is that all?”

Dehya smirked. “Not much to say, my lady.”

Scaramouche scoffed under his breath. That was a liar’s answer, he’d recognize one anywhere. There was always something to say, especially for someone like Dehya, who had seen and done more than most could stomach. Whether she withheld the details out of duty or care, though, he couldn’t say.

While listening to the lady and her bodyguard chat about some nonsense he didn’t care about, he started to feel annoyed with what he was doing.

Foolishly, he almost hoped Dehya would mention Sethos. A ridiculous wish, he scolded himself. Why would she talk about a friend while holding her lover? But Dehya was the only connection he had to Sethos, so he automatically hoped for some news on him.

Unaware they were being watched, Dunyarzad lowered her gaze, her fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve. “I’m scared, Dehya.”

Scaramouche perked up.

Scared? Of what? The question kept his mind busy for a few seconds. Probably death, he concluded eventually. Humans already lived such short lives, and considering Dunyarzad kept looking at her hands, she was likely afraid of dying.

Then, Dehya leaned in, whispering something against Dunyarzad’s ear.

A moment passed. Then another.

Dunyarzad laughed, her face red.

It was quiet, almost breathless, but genuine. The kind of laughter that reached her eyes. Dehya pulled back, a smirk on her lips, clearly pleased with whatever she had said.

Scaramouche was bored. He wanted to listen, but they weren’t even talking about anything useful.

How had this frail, unremarkable woman managed to win someone’s heart, he wondered. He knew the taste of caring for someone who was sick, and it had left nothing but bitterness. Loving someone while watching them waste away; he knew only a fool would do that. It was absurd.

Scaramouche watched as Dunyarzad reached up, ruffling Dehya’s hair in a gentle, affectionate gesture. “May Lesser Lord Kusanali bless you,” she murmured, her voice carrying the warmth of a prayer.

Dehya huffed, shaking her head, but didn’t pull away. Instead, she grabbed Dunyarzad’s hand and kissed her bandages.

“And you, my lady.”

Scaramouche exhaled sharply. Lesser Lord Kusanali, huh? Perhaps it was time for a visit. He took one last look at them and carefully left them alone.

…

Scaramouche walked into the Sanctuary of Surasthana.

It had been a while since he last set foot here and he was always with Dottore when he visited the sleeping Goddess. The grand structure was quiet, save for the occasional flicker of a torch. He walked fast. After all, his true destination lay deeper inside; the chamber where they kept her. The caged goddess. The Lesser Lord Kusanali.

Scaramouche had always been intrigued by her ever since he first saw her, though he had never interacted with her directly. He had only ever observed her while she slept, while she was trapped within her dreams. Dottore had been cryptic about his end goal for her, but Scaramouche understood enough; once he reached true divinity, her purpose would be fulfilled, and she would never wake up again.

Tonight, however, he had questions.

Crossing into her chamber, he approached the fragile figure. For a moment, he just watched her, taking in the quiet rise and fall of her breath, the way her silver hair framed her little face. Then, with a hand move, he pressed into the sphere that was holding her and woke her up.

The reaction was almost immediate. Her eyes fluttered open, her flowery irises shining with the sudden lucidity. A moment passed before recognition dawned in her gaze, and when it did, her lips parted slightly.

"Oh...? The Harbinger, Scaramouche?" Her voice was almost inaudible, but the way she spoke his name sent an odd chill through his mechanical spine. He shifted slightly, discomfort finding its way to his heart. It was unsettling that she knew him.

He smirked, masking his unease. "It’s an honour that you know me," he said mockingly, studying her reaction.

The goddess blinked, confusion flickering across her delicate face. "I suppose this is not a dream?"

"Correct."

She sighed, her eyes losing focus for a moment as though testing the air around her. "Interesting… I can no longer feel the mental shackles that kept me in my dream. Which means you woke me on purpose." Her eyes met his again, more calculating this time. "Why? Aren’t you afraid I might do something?"

Scaramouche let out a laugh. "Afraid of you?" He scoffed, folding his arms as he leaned slightly closer. His forehead almost hit the semi-transparent sphere.  "Why would I be afraid? With one move, I could send you straight back into your dream."

A moment of sadness, of quiet despair, visited her face.

That silence made Scaramouche smile. Because in the end, no matter how powerful she might be, she was still the one in chains. And for now, he was the one holding the key.

Lesser Lord Kusanali turned her head slightly. Then, she spoke.

“Tell me, why are you here?”

Scaramouche exhaled through his nose, his smirk widening.

"Do I have a reason to be?" he countered, arms crossing as he leaned against the cold stone wall.

Lesser Lord Kusanali shook head slightly. "You might not need one. But I know you have one."

A chuckle nearly escaped his lips, but he quickly bit his lip to hold back the bubbling laugh in his chest.

"Hah." He looked away for a moment, as if considering her words before turning his head. "I don't know if we can really call it a ‘reason.’ But yes, you’re right." His gaze flickered back to her, something unreadable behind those violet eyes. "I wanted to ask something."

Lesser Lord Kusanali said nothing, she just waited for him to talk.

Scaramouche let the silence hang between them before continuing. "Lately, I've been reading reports about you. It really seems like you’ve managed to help your people in some ways."

He knew how he sounded to her; his voice carried a note of surprise, like he himself couldn't quite believe it. That was because he actually couldn’t believe what she was doing.

Lesser Lord Kusanali pressed her lips together. ‘’So?’’

Scaramouche took a step closer, his grin returning. "I've read the reports of those so-called ‘Village Keepers.’ I don't know how you managed it, but you helped them calm down. You, a god in chains, still finding a way to meddle in the affairs of those who would rather forget you exist."

‘’Ah, I must’ve known they took notice on them.’’ The Lesser Lord said carelessly.

‘’Of course they did, but they didn’t find it something worth trying to stop.’’ He scoffed, his voice dripping with mockery. "I've read reports about silly things, too. About children dreaming of you, whispering your name as if you’re some kind of benevolent spirit." He turned his head and looked directly into her eyes. "What I don’t understand is... why?"

Lesser Lord Kusanali met his gaze; she was not afraid. "What do you mean, Balladeer?"

His smirk twisted into something more bitter. "Why would you help them? Why would you waste your time on people who imprisoned you? For people who, even after all you've done, still kneel before the memory of the god who came before you?"

Lesser Lord seemed very sad, but she kept listening.

"Even those you saved still pray to Greater Lord Rukkhadevata," he continued, stepping closer. "They long for a past where you did not exist. And yet, here you are, still trying to win their favour." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Why?"

Lesser Lord Kusanali was quiet for a moment. Then, she smiled. ‘’I’m not trying to win their favour.’’

‘’What are you doing then?’’ Scaramouche asked impatiently.

"Isn’t it obvious?" she asked. A small, gentle smile. One that did not belong on the face of someone in chains. Her voice carried no bitterness, no resentment, only quiet surrender. ‘’They are my people,"

Scaramouche rolled his eyes.

"It is unfortunate that I can never replace the sun..." Her gaze softened, distant, as if she had long accepted this truth. And perhaps, she really did. "But even as the moon, I can still shine in the darkness. I will always love humanity."

Scaramouche’s voice lacked its usual cruel tone. "Love?" he echoed, voice almost mocking. "They don’t deserve it. They will only betray you, over and over again."

She sighed. "Perhaps. But love does not have conditions, Balladeer. That is why it is real."

His fingers twitched. He hated the way she said his name. Like she knew him. Like she pitied him.

"You’re a fool." The words came out harsher than he intended. ‘’You are a useless, stupid fool, if you actually believe that. I’m starting to understand why they locked you up.’’

Lesser Lord Kusanali tilted her head. "If being a fool means choosing kindness over bitterness, then so be it."

"You defend them so earnestly," Scaramouche scoffed, standing there with his arms crossed. "But tell me, oh Lesser Lord Kusanali, how many times has humanity betrayed you? Even your own people turned their backs on you. And yet, here you are, still clinging to this illusion of love and faith."

Lesser Lord Kusanali refused to look away. "Betrayal is painful," she admitted. "But it does not erase the good in people. It does not make them unworthy of love."

Scaramouche scoffed, stepping closer. Now, his forehead was touching the sphere; he felt the little elemental energy reacting to his touch. It was almost like electricity was running through his body.

"You’re too naive. A true god does not let their followers stray. A true god commands, controls, bends them to their will. That is the only way to ensure loyalty." His voice grew colder, sharper. "It’s time a real god replaced you, one who will not be cast aside like a forgotten child."

Lesser Lord Kusanali laughed. "And would that god be you?"

Scaramouche’s face dropped; he didn’t like her tone at all. "Why not?" His voice carried the arrogance of someone who had already decided the answer. "What good is a god who cannot protect themselves, let alone their people? What good is a god who lets their worshippers turn on them? If you were stronger, they would have never abandoned you."

Lesser Lord Kusanali sighed, shaking her head. "You misunderstand, Scaramouche. A true god is not measured by power or control. A true god is one who loves humanity despite its flaws." Her voice softened, carrying a weight of sorrow and understanding. "And that is why, in the end, even in my pathetic state, I am still a god... and you are not."

Scaramouche felt his body boil; he gritted his teeth and took a step back. "You call yourself a god, but you were abandoned. You are a failure," he spat.

Lesser Lord Kusanali nodded, unfazed. "You're right. I am a failure compared to my predecessor." Her admission was gentle, not a wound but a truth she had long accepted. "But that doesn't make what I said any less true." 

For a moment, there was silence. 

Scaramouche’s fingers clenched into fists. He hated the way her words sat on his chest, hated the calm in her voice as if she had already won this argument. And he hated the fact that Dottore and Jester told him about the truth about her origin. If he hadn’t known, perhaps it would’ve been easier to ignore her words.

Lesser Lord Kusanali started talking again. "You think controlling worshippers will make you a true god, but tell me, Scaramouche... Do you even have worshippers? I may have been betrayed, but I still have those who believe in me. Those who love me despite my failures. And you?" She tilted her head. "You have no one. Not even yourself."

Scaramouche gritted his teeth. "Shut up," he muttered. ‘’I have a worshipper.’’

That seemed like news to the Lesser Lord. She blinked in surprise. ‘’Oh? Who are they?’’

“This is stupid,” Scaramouche scoffed, crossing his arms again. He was acting like a child but he couldn’t help it, he felt too upset. “This was a waste of time.”

Without another word, he reached for the mechanism, ready to send her back into her dreamless slumber.

But before he could activate it, the Lesser Lord talked.

“Wait a moment.”

She raised her pale arm slightly, as if reaching for something unseen. For a brief second, silence stretched between them, until Scaramouche felt something shift against his pocket.

His fingers instinctively moved to his pocket. He pulled out the object within, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. The flower he had long dismissed as dead was no longer withered. Its petals had regained their vibrant blue hue and its roots were fleshy and lively.

He looked at the flower, dumbfounded.

‘’Place it in a pot before it dries out,’’ Lesser Lord smiled.

“What…? How? Thank y-…” The words slipped out before Scaramouche could stop them, but the moment he realized what he had said, he quickly shook his head. “Never mind.”

He didn’t want an explanation. He didn’t want to hear whatever poetic nonsense she would spout about hope, or resilience, or fate. None of it mattered. Carefully, he shoved the flower back into his pocket and pressed his right hand into the sphere.  

Quickly, the Lesser Lord’s body stopped moving. And yet…

Even as her eyes fluttered shut, there was something infuriatingly unchanged. The faintest, knowing smile still stayed on her lips. It mocked him. Taunted him. And for reasons he refused to acknowledge, it scared him more than he cared to admit.

….

He wanted to see his only worshipper so bad that he decided to allow the Sages to connect him to his divine body. He didn’t want to wait for Dottore’s return, he needed the reassuring words from Haypasia right now.

Scaramouche watched as a young researcher reconnected him to the Shouki no Kami, feeling the familiar pulse of the network surging through him. The moment he linked in, his consciousness expanded, reaching out like invisible hands searching for something, someone.

Haypasia.

It was easy to find her; like a small candle in the darkness, she was shining. She was right there, but something was wrong.

He focused, observing her through their connection. Her presence felt fragile, her lifeforce dimmed like a candle flickering in the wind. It had only been a week since he last talked to her, and yet she seemed significantly weaker. His brows furrowed. What could have happened in such a short time?

Then, after a few minutes, he noticed something else.

Someone else.

A presence so familiar it nearly made him falter.

Lumine. And, of course, her floating pet, Paimon.

They stood near Haypasia, unaware of his presence. But something was off. Jeht wasn’t with them. Nor was Liloupar. A curiosity sparked in his mind; what had happened to them? Had things gone wrong after he and Sethos were left behind?

He focused on sending out a pulse of energy, reaching for the Traveler’s mind and making himself known to her.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

Lumine visibly tensed, her head snapping up as she scanned the space around her. She frowned. “What was that?”

“Huh?” Paimon blinked, floating closer to Lumine’s shoulder. “Traveler, what’s wrong?”

Lumine looked around uncertainly before she shook her head. “I… I thought I heard something. Am I losing my mind?”

“You’re not losing your mind,” Scaramouche’s voice filled her ears again. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if you did, considering how you act sometimes.”

His figure materialized in the dome where Haypasia was sleeping. He could now see her more clearly; her breathing was shallow, her body was thin, almost fragile. His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before shifting toward Lumine.

The Traveler’s reaction was immediate and surprising.

“Wanderer!” Lumine’s voice broke through the silence, raw with emotion. Her expression, a strange mixture of shock, disbelief, and relief, was something he hadn’t expected from her.

Relief!

Paimon mimicked her reaction almost perfectly, eyes wide and mouth slightly open as if struggling to process what Lumine said. “Wait, is it really him?! But how? Where?”

Scaramouche was momentarily taken aback. The way Lumine looked at him was weird. It wasn’t fear, nor was it anger. It was genuine happiness.

Happiness. Over him.

He had expected suspicion, or at the very least, wariness. But this? This was unexpected. It unsettled him.

He huffed, crossing his arms. “You look surprised.” His voice sounded mocking. “Come now, wipe those tears. I don’t have time for your emotional immaturity.”

Lumine swallowed, blinking rapidly. “I… I thought you were dead.” She inhaled sharply, shaking her head as if trying to clear her thoughts. “Wait, how am I even able to see you? Are you… a ghost?”

“Traveler, what are you talking about?” Paimon’s voice was filled with confusion. “Where is he?”

“Paimon, for once, can you stop talking?” Lumine muttered, rubbing her temple before fixing her eyes back on Scaramouche. “Wait, are you… in Haypasia’s consciousness? Since when? And how? What happened to you? Are you still trapped in the ruins?”

Scaramouche chuckled, shaking his head. “Easy, easy. You’re not the only one with questions, you know.”

He took a moment, observing her reaction closely. She had been in touch with Haypasia when he connected, which meant he had access to fragments of her thoughts; but he could sense the turmoil within her, her doubts and fears tangled together. Because of that, it was difficult to decipher them.

 “I’m no longer in the ruins,” he finally said. He didn’t expect the Traveller to be here and it annoyed him; he should’ve known or felt her presence the moment he felt Haypasia. “And neither are you. Which means…” His gaze darkened slightly. “You left me there to die.”

Lumine’s eyes widened in horror. “No!” She took a step forward, as if wanting to reach for him but her hand passed through his body. “No, no, I would never! I would never- I didn’t… We thought...!” She laughed but it sounded like a sob. “We thought Babel killed you.”

Scaramouche’s expression remained empty. “We?”

“Jeht and I,” she clarified quickly, desperation evident in her tone. “When we realized you and Sethos were missing, we tried to get help. But Babel sent us on some Fool’s Errand and-” She shook her head. “So much has happened since then. Where’s Sethos?”

Scaramouche hesitated. He didn’t want to think about him.

Then, he forced a casual shrug. “He’s not in any danger.’’

If he revealed too much too soon, she’d become defensive. He needed to know more first. “We managed to get out,” he added, watching for any shift in her expression.

And then came the inevitable question from her.

“How?” Lumine’s eyes narrowed. Suspicion flickered behind them, calculating. “How did you two escape?”

There it was. The moment he had been waiting for. He let out a breath, this time allowing himself to appear vulnerable, just enough to make it believable. “The Fatui, of course.” His voice was quiet. “They saved us.”

‘’The Fatui?’’ Lumine said and Paimon stiffened beside her. ‘’Are you with them now? Are you working with the Sages?’’

“Yes, not that I had much of a choice,” he added, forcing a bitter tone. He hoped he could play into her bleeding heart. “It’s almost a hostage situation at this point. They aren’t exactly happy with my escape, and they’re keeping Sethos as collateral.”

Lumine’s expression was something between concern and hesitation. She knew more than she was letting on. And so did he. But unfortunately for her, she didn’t know he could read some of her thoughts.

She met with the Lesser Lord before.

Unaware of Scaramouche reading her thoughts, Lumine's golden eyes shimmered with empathy as she met Scaramouche’s eyes.

“When you two went missing, Babel did everything she could to send us away,” she began, voice quiet yet steady. “When we returned, it was too late. She had already made her move. She sent her warriors and some men I’d never seen before to a rival tribe, Sekhemkhet. They slaughtered most of their people. It was horrific.”

Scaramouche closed his eyes. He could already guess who those strange men were; the warriors from the Temple of Silence. Babel was not one to let an opportunity for dominance slip through her fingers. Bamoun must’ve been so distraught that he sent his best fighters' help to slaughter some people, without even double checking if Babel was telling the truth.

Scaramouche was sure Babel had sent their ‘’death’’ news to Bamoun the moment they left for the ruins.

Lumine continued, her hands clenched into fists. “She then tried to turn Jeht against me, to manipulate her into blaming me for what had happened. But it didn’t work.”

“And then what?” Scaramouche asked.

“Eventually, when we pieced together what she was doing, Jeht and I decided to help the Sekhemkhet tribe.” Lumine’s voice was cold. ‘’Then, well…’’

Scaramouche’s lips curled slightly. “And so, you slaughtered the Tanit in return?”

Lumine flinched, but her expression hardened. “Only for justice,” she said darkly. “For all the innocents they killed. And… and…” She hesitated before finishing in a weaker voice, “For you. I thought I had let down another person.”

Something about those words almost moved Scaramouche. Almost. But perhaps he was growing harsher, colder. If anything, he felt no guilt about manipulating Lumine’s emotions, about fooling her. A part of him told him it was necessary.

Then she said something that made all other thoughts vanish.

“Dottore is after Haypasia.”

Scaramouche’s entire demeanour changed instantly; his jaw tightened. “What?” His voice came out venomous. That bastard. That insufferable bastard. How dare he try to harm his first worshipper?

“He wants to take her away,” Lumine said, and for a moment, Scaramouche saw red. The rage was blinding, burning through his veins with an intensity that nearly made him tremble.

And then, he laughed.

The sheer absurdity of it all, the arrogance of those who thought they could touch what he was owed, filled him with a poisonous kind of amusement. Dottore tried to hide this from him and for what? His laughter spiralled into something more, something unstable, before he abruptly silenced himself with a breath.

With a simple snap of his fingers, the air around them shifted. Outside the building, the sky roared in response. Bolts of lightning cracked through the heavens, illuminating the night with violent flashes.

Scaramouche turned, his gaze dropping to the sleeping Haypasia. She was blissfully unaware of the chaos unravelling around her. His lips curled into a smile.

Then, he met Lumine’s eyes.

For a brief moment, the storm outside was raging as if mirroring the tension in the room. His smirk deepened, a shadow of his former arrogance flashing across his face.

“Consider this my parting gift,” he murmured. His voice was gentle, but the undertone of warning was impossible to miss. “A little reminder that not all bonds are worth trusting. Just because someone makes a sad face,” he tilted his head, watching her with glee, “doesn’t mean they won’t stab you in the back the moment you look away.”

‘’What do you mean?’’ Lumine looked surprised, then angry. ‘’Are you working with them willingly?’’

‘’Oh, you caught up, huh.’’ Scaramouche laughed. ‘’So long, suckers.’’

Scaramouche had already decided; his visit here was over.

…

When he opened his eyes, he immediately began to struggle, yanking at the restraints that bound him. The young researcher who had connected him to his divine body stood nearby, frozen in place. Her wide eyes flickered with fear as he violently tore the tubes from his back, one by one. He didn’t care about messing himself or the robot up.

He didn’t spare her a second glance. She was irrelevant. There was only one thing on his mind.

With a sharp movement, he leapt down from the platform, landing heavily on his feet. The researcher gasped, but he ignored her startled cry. He dusted himself off and turned on his heel. He knew where he needed to go. 

The great sages had arranged a small workshop for Dottore somewhere near the Akademiya’s Confinement Room. Scaramouche doubted that the Doctor was careless enough to leave anything of real importance behind, but that wasn’t the point. He wanted to annoy him. To disrupt whatever twisted little side projects Dottore had left running, a petty revenge for what he had tried with Haypasia. 

His feet carried him mindlessly through the halls, his thoughts fixated on his goal. When he finally arrived, the Fatui soldiers stationed at the entrance barely hesitated before stepping aside, offering no resistance. No one dared to stop him; that was good. 

Inside, Dottore’s workshop was exactly what he expected: cluttered, chaotic, reeking of something metallic. That fraud of a doctor not only had atrocious handwriting, but also an equally terrible sense of order. The only thing preventing the space from descending into complete disorder were the unfortunate soldiers Dottore treated as disposable assistants.

Scaramouche scoffed.  

He looked over the tables, quickly landing on a stack of notebooks haphazardly left behind. He grabbed one, flipping through the pages quickly. Surprisingly most of it was about him, his artificial body, its failures, its missing components. Even in his notes, Dottore’s irritation was palpable, scrawled between endless complaints about repeated malfunctions and incomplete parts.

There were other topics as well. Some passing mentions of Eleazar, though they didn’t seem particularly detailed. And then there was an entire section he could barely decipher; Dottore’s handwriting truly was abysmal.

Setting the notebook down, he turned to explore the rest of the workshop. That was when he noticed them.

Rows of cages.

Inside, creatures trembled, eyes moving wildly in fear as he approached. Most of them were bound and gagged, which explained why he hadn’t heard their cries earlier. Strange fungi pulsed in jars, their severed halves writhing unnaturally. Even at a glance, he could tell what Dottore was doing; he was testing their regenerative capabilities.

And it wasn’t just fungi.

There were animals, too. All of them were drugged for convenience, so thankfully, or hopefully, they were not even aware of the hell and pain they were living. Cats, dogs, birds, species he didn’t recognize, some missing limbs, others regenerating grotesquely malformed ones. A three-legged cat was in the middle of growing a fourth, but the new limb was warped, jagged. A dog’s ear was regrowing in entirely the wrong place.

Then, his gaze landed on a cluster of desert foxes.

His body tensed.

Pale, dust-coloured fur. Small, trembling bodies. For a fleeting second, his mind came up with a different image; a smaller fox, warm and lively, curling up beside him beneath the sun’s heat. A memory he had buried long ago. A pet he had once cared for. A pet he had abandoned.

A pet he didn’t even name.

His fingers curled into fists.

Forcing the thought away, he stepped closer, examining the creatures in their cages. Some whimpered, others were too exhausted to make a sound. Most of the foxes were missing an eye.

A stack of neatly arranged test notes sat on a nearby table. He picked one up, skimming the contents. The deeper he read, the darker his frown became.

These experiments had originally been conducted elsewhere, but once Scaramouche returned, they were all relocated to Sumeru City. It seemed that Dottore’s cruelty remained unchanged; limbs severed, eyes plucked, tails amputated, all in the name of regeneration trials. But none of them had been restored properly.

A mockery of healing.

Surrounded by the broken remnants of Dottore’s work, Scaramouche felt something unfamiliar stir in his chest.

Frustration? Disgust? Regret?

His eyes turned back to the cages, to the silent suffering within. Would it be a mercy to end it? His fingers twitched. One swift strike. A painless release. They wouldn’t survive in the outside world anyway. At least this way, they wouldn’t have to suffer any longer.

But he hesitated. After a moment, his hand fell back to his side. He didn’t like this. Perhaps he could use Dottore’s own work against him, keep their little "God" project hostage in exchange for ending this nightmare. But even if he forced Dottore’s hand, there would be no one left to care for these creatures once they were freed.

He sighed.

It wasn’t a problem he could solve today, for now, he would have to tell the guards to not let Dottore back into his workshop until he figured something out. After all, Dottore was going to be too busy with him to care about any other distraction for a while.

He looked at the animals one last time before focusing on the notebooks once again.

…

"Watch where you're going!" Scaramouche snapped.

Scaramouche barely kept himself from kicking the soldier aside out of sheer irritation. The Fatui soldier who had walked straight into him dropped what he was holding, the soldier nearly fell to the ground.

He was already furious. He had stormed out of Dottore’s workshop after finding little of real value to him; those books were just pointless notes, half-baked experiments, and cruel reminders of the doctor's depravity. His patience was running thin. And now, some idiot had the audacity to crash into him without even looking where he was going?

The soldier hurriedly started picking up the files, Scaramouche could see his hands were shaking slightly. He probably didn’t expect to walk directly into a Harbinger.

“M-my deepest apologies, Lord Scaramouche,” the soldier stammered, bowing his head. “I was in a hurry.”

Scaramouche narrowed his eyes, barely paying attention; until something about the soldier’s voice, the colour of his hair, reminded him of someone. He blinked in surprise.

“Vsevolod?”

“Yes?” Silver haired soldier looked up to him. ‘’My lord?’’

“What are you doing here?’’ Scaramouche asked him; he thought this guy was already working for the Northland Bank’s newest branch. ‘’I thought you went back to working under Pantalone.”

“I am,” Vsevolod replied quickly. “But… due to a lack of manpower, it was decided that I would assist Lord Dottore.”

Scaramouche frowned. “That’s nonsense.”

Lack of manpower? In Sumeru City?

“How could Dottore possibly lack men to work with?” Scaramouche pressed. ‘’The whole city is filled with our men.’’

Vsevolod hesitated. “It’s… because of the nature of the work, my lord.” His voice was weak, almost pitiful. He probably thought he was going to offend Scaramouche by being honest.

Scaramouche grimaced.

He didn’t need Vsevolod to elaborate. He had just seen Dottore’s ‘work’ firsthand; the mutilated animals, the grotesque failures. It was no surprise that even among the Fatui, there were few willing to stomach such things.

"I see," Scaramouche muttered, his gaze shifting to the files in Vsevolod’s hands. "What are those?"

Vsevolod clutched them closer to his chest. “These are the reports on the prisoners held in the Confinement Room, past and present,” Vsevolod answered. “I was ordered to deliver them to the Sages.” 

Scaramouche’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t press further; he already had enough for one day. “Then go,” He ordered coldly. “Don’t waste more time.” 

Vsevolod gave a quick nod before turning on his heel and hurrying away, heading in the opposite direction of the Confinement Room. 

Scaramouche barely spared him another glance, until his eyes landed on a lone file still lying on the floor. 

"You missed one," He started to say, reaching down. Then he froze; his fingers trembled as he lifted the file, his eyes locking onto the picture clipped to the front page.

No. His mind raced. This isn’t possible.  

His vision blurred slightly as he processed what he was seeing. The face in the photograph was unmistakable; someone he knew, someone he had never expected to find here. Someone who had no reason to be here. 

The file slipped from his grip as his body moved on instinct. 

He ran.  

His feet pounded against the floor, his heartbeat roaring in his ears. He nearly crashed into the Fatui guards stationed outside the Confinement Room, shoving past them before they could react. They shouted after him, but he didn’t care. He burst into the prison, frantically looking at the dimly lit rows of cells. They probably transferred the prisoners to somewhere else, because there was only one person waiting for Scaramouche.

Sitting in a chair, calmly reading a book, completely unbothered by his surroundings. As if he weren’t locked inside a prison cell in the heart of Sumeru City. 

Sethos.  

The moment their eyes met, Sethos lowered his book, a slow smile spreading across his face. 

“Wanderer,” he brightened up, acting like nothing was wrong. “It’s been a while. How have you been?”  

Scaramouche had never wanted to strangle someone more in his life.  

Chapter Text

Scaramouche stared at the lone prisoner in the Akademiya’s jail cell. A thousand thoughts quickly swirled in Scaramouche’s mind, each one more frustrating than the last. How had Sethos been captured so quickly?

It made no sense.

The Fatui were likely besieging the temple by now. As long as Sethos had remained inside, capturing him should have been almost impossible until the food inside ran out. He only needed to stay hidden, wait it out. 

But then again, if Sethos had been outside when the attack began. Even then, with his skill, he should have been able to fight off the Fatui soldiers long enough to escape.

Unless, of course, Sethos wasn’t as capable as before his accident.

Scaramouche’s expression hardened as he remembered Sethos’s pained voice, when Sethos had asked how he was supposed to wield his bow with only one eye. That moment was still fresh in the back of Scaramouche’s mind, it was a memory he refused to acknowledge for too long.

But now, standing here, staring at Sethos behind those iron bars, the anger he had buried for so long clawed its way back to the surface. He had done such a good job of ignoring, forgetting, convincing himself it didn’t matter. He had wondered, barely, occasionally, what Sethos might be doing. But he had been fine.

He had moved on, he told himself.

Seeing him again like this brought all of that in an instant. His frustration, his bitterness, his pain… It all condensed into an unsolvable, suffocating knot in his chest. 

“So, it was true. You really were here, Wanderer,” Sethos said, his voice somehow giddy as he closed the book in his hands and set it aside. He didn’t seem to care how angry Scaramouche looked. ‘’I found you.’’ 

Scaramouche barely registered the words before irritation he refused to hide appeared on his face. 

“That’s not my name,” Scaramouche snapped as he tried to see the name of the book Sethos was reading. 

It was only then that his eyes caught the title of the book. The Tale of Shiruyeh and Shirin. He frowned. Where had Sethos even found that? Then he realised, this wasn’t just any copy. It was the very one Scaramouche had left behind before their last mission.

That felt like a lifetime ago. Perhaps it had been.

Did Sethos bring it to me because I told him I wanted to finish reading it? Did he do it for his sick little games?

Scaramouche quickly got rid of such childish thoughts from his head and stared directly at Sethos.

Sethos studied him for a moment before tilting his head. “What should I call you?”

“I would rather you didn’t speak to me at all,” Scaramouche muttered. ‘’I don’t even want to see you.’’

Sethos sighed, he sounded too disappointed. Not that it was Scaramouche’s problem.

“Will you leave me, then?”

“Not until I know why you’re here.” The anger boiled within Scaramouche. His fists clenched as he spat, “Just tell me one thing. How could they have caught you? I just don’t understand.”

Sethos leaned against the prison bars, his single eye watching him carefully. “Why do you care?” he asked, voice quieter now. “It was you who exposed our location, wasn’t it?”

Scaramouche stiffened. “I was, yes, but-”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t want them to catch me?” There was something almost hopeful in Sethos’s tone. ‘’Maybe you didn’t want to see me chained?’’

Scaramouche scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he bit out, his voice rough with frustration. “I simply didn’t think it would be this easy.”

“Are you disappointed in me, then?” Sethos asked, his voice quieter than before. His gaze dropped to the floor for a brief moment before he looked back up, searching Scaramouche's expression for any hint of an answer.

Scaramouche refused to show him anything that could encourage his delusions.

No, I simply didn’t know you were here, Scaramouche thought. But he didn’t voice the truth. He wasn’t sure why. Instead, he forced his face to look as emotionless as possible; his voice was cold when he finally spoke.

“I’m just disappointed in myself,” Scaramouche said, crossing his arms. “That I let myself be fooled by someone as useless as you.”

“Woah. Harsh words.’’ Sethos let out a low whistle, shaking his head. ‘’If it’s any consolation, though, I didn’t get caught.” His lips curled into something resembling a smirk, though Scaramouche couldn’t tell whether it was genuine or forced. “Instead, they caught some of our men, who were returning from their mission.”

Scaramouche narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me you offered yourself on a silver plate for them,” he said, the thought alone filling him with irritation. If that was the case, he really was going to be disappointed. “Aren’t you supposed to be very important to your people? How could you put yourself in such danger?”

“Indeed, I was,” Sethos replied, offering a nonchalant shrug. “They’re loyal to me. No matter how much they were questioned or tortured, and we both know your people wouldn’t shy away from torture, they would never reveal anything about me. And precisely because of that, I had to show them their trust in me wasn’t misplaced. I had to get them out, no matter what.”

Sethos paused then, his fingers lightly tapping against the metal bars. “And I needed to talk to you, anyway,” he added, his smirk returning. This time, it was unmistakably self-assured.

Scaramouche stared at him, tightening his jaw.

This fool had willingly walked into the enemy’s grasp while carrying something as valuable as the treasure inside his chest; all for a handful of foot soldiers? What was he thinking? No, was he even thinking? Did he really believe he could free himself eventually?

Looking at the unwavering confidence in Sethos’s face, Scaramouche had no doubt that he did. That fool probably thought he was going to walk away free, save himself, or whatever nonsense he had in his mind.

Suddenly, inexplicably, he really, really wanted to hurt Sethos.

“Why are you still wearing that headband?” Scaramouche sneered; his voice laced with scorn. He shamelessly chose the easiest topic to hurt him. “Do you still care for someone who sent you to your certain death?”

Sethos stared at him, unblinking. He really had such a bright, unnatural eye colour, Scaramouche thought.

Scaramouche took a step closer, leaning his head slightly, his voice dripping with mockery. “Are you a child, desperately clutching onto the last thing you have left from your mother?” The words felt venomous on his tongue, but he didn’t stop. His mind briefly flashed to the golden feather he had once held close to his heart. He scoffed at the memory. “Or do you still wear it just to spite your grandfather? Like some rebellious brat defying his parents? Either way, it’s pathetic.”

“You have a point,” Sethos admitted, maybe a little too quickly. He lifted a hand to brush his fingers over the red fabric, thoughtful. “What good is this scrap of cloth when I know that woman abandoned me? Left me to die? Honestly, sometimes even feeling it against my skin makes me want to puke.” He paused, his voice dropping slightly. “And my grandfather has suffered enough, I suppose.”

Scaramouche hadn’t expected him to concede so easily. “Then give it to me,” he demanded. “I might as well burn it on my way out. Consider it one last mercy from me.”

Sethos shook his head. “I have my own reasons for keeping it.”

Scaramouche was unimpressed. “Oh? Let’s hear them.”

“For starters, even though my eye healed, it left a huge, nasty scar,” Sethos said, tapping the headband lightly. “I don’t like scaring the little kids at the Temple.”

Scaramouche scoffed. “They’ll get over it. Kids can get used to almost anything.”

“Woah, cruel! Anyway, it’s a useful disguise,” Sethos continued. “Dressed like this, with some adjustments, I can pass as an Eremite and move through crowds unnoticed.”

“I doubt it.” Scaramouche’s voice was flat, he sounded utterly unconvinced. “That’s a weak excuse. Is that really all you’ve got?”

Sethos laughed.

“And most importantly… When you left, you took everything with you,” he said. He lowered his gaze, his fingers tightening slightly around the cloth. “You destroyed your room. Took all your old clothes away.” His voice softened. “This was the last thing you touched.”

Scaramouche wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Gross.”

That earned him a laugh from Sethos. He was probably the first person who laughed in this prison cell, Scaramouche thought.

Still, there was a strange tension between them, it was thick and suffocating.

The longer Scaramouche looked at Sethos, the angrier he became. Every look at him brought back memories of his lies, his betrayal. And yet, there Sethos was, looking at him with that same gentle smile; one that made Scaramouche feel safe once, the one that made Scaramouche’s blood boil now. He wanted to wipe it off his face.

“What did you even want to say, anyway?” Scaramouche asked, his voice tight with irritation. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to remain calm.

“I’m sorry,” Sethos said, as if he had been waiting for Scaramouche to ask. “I truly am sorry. I know you must be furious with me.”

“Furious is one way to put it,” Scaramouche sneered. “Honestly, you should have started with an apology. You should’ve been on your knees, begging for your life. I showed you mercy. I let you live. But it seems you have a death wish after all.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “You shouldn’t even be here.”

“I had to apologize to you,” Sethos insisted. “Face to face. I know you can’t forgive me.”

“No, I can’t.” Scaramouche nodded; it was the most sensible thing Sethos said so far.

“But at least let me fix my mistake,” Sethos pleaded, desperation creeping into his voice, his face. ‘’I must make it right.’’

Scaramouche scoffed. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

Sethos hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I tried to dismantle the… the puppet, I tried to bring your energy block back.” He almost choked on the word puppet, as if saying it out loud disgusted him. His hands clenched into fists around the iron bars. “But Auntie warned me that if the energy blocks remain disconnected from a body for too long, they could become unstable. She said she could place them back into you… if you come back.”

“Hah!” Scaramouche let out a harsh, humourless laugh; he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You are truly shameless, aren’t you? Do you honestly think I’d go back willingly back into that cage? What makes you believe I’d ever trust you again?”

Sethos’s face fell, but there was no surprise in his expression. It was as if he had already predicted Scaramouche’s reaction and resigned himself to it. Then again, Sethos probably did predict it, since it was the most obvious reaction to his naked betrayal.

“I know you can’t ever forgive me,” Sethos said quietly, “but I meant it when I said I want to give it all back.”

“Then, without an energy source, your precious puppet will never wake up,” Scaramouche reminded him, his voice like ice. “And I don’t believe for a second that you’d be willing to throw away such an expensive project.”

“But I was going to!” Sethos insisted, his voice raw. “I was going to tell you, don’t you remember? I wanted to tell you! I knew you’d hate me. I knew you’d leave me. But I still wanted to tell you the truth, to fix what I did.”

Scaramouche’s expression darkened; he had no time for his excuses. He didn’t want to let himself be swayed by Sethos’ words.

His voice came out calmer, but no less venomous than before. “What I wonder the most is,” he said, “did you enjoy it? Fooling me? Did you enjoy the chance to humiliate me; someone who thought himself so clever?”

Even speaking the words hurt more than Scaramouche cared to admit.

“No, never,” Sethos said, looking utterly miserable. “Wanderer-”

“Don’t call me that!” Scaramouche yelled at him, his patience finally snapping. “You don’t get to call me anything. Not after lying to me. Not after betraying me. It’s my fault for ever believing in a pathetic, weak human like you.”

Scaramouche, by now, roughly had figured how a Ba fragment could be implanted into someone. When Sethos first revealed the god particle, he acted as if Scaramouche was incapable of carrying it. But later, when they were trapped inside the ruins, he had urged Scaramouche to take it if he died.

If he had to guess, the fragment couldn’t be forcibly placed into someone. The will of the owner or perhaps even the fragment itself had to consent. He had come across similar concepts in the ancient texts Dottore had once provided him; cursed artifacts tended to follow a very similar logic.

His eyes dropped to Sethos’s chest, to the place where the fragment rested within him.

If Scaramouche tore it from him now, he wouldn’t be able to claim it for himself. But maybe that was a good thing, he thought suddenly. Was there anything nothing more satisfying than watching Sethos writhe as the Ba fragment withered and died without a host?

Sethos had taken something precious from him. Why shouldn’t he take something just as precious in return?

A dark thought took hold, one so vivid it almost felt like reality. Scaramouche imagined forcing Sethos down onto the cold stone floor, straddling him, his knees pressing into Sethos’s sides. He would seize his wrists with one hand, pinning them effortlessly above his head. He would reach down, fingers curling over the fragment deep within his chest, and rip it free… and hold it aloft just long enough for Sethos to see, for him to understand that it was gone forever, before he crushed it in the palm of his hand.

He imagined the way Sethos would struggle beneath him, the way his body would tense, his breath would hitch. He imagined his single eye burning red with hatred, his face contorted in rage and agony, sweat slicking his skin as he struggled. He wanted to see Sethos break. To hear him cry, just like the time in the ruins… But this time, Scaramouche wanted to hear those cries to be filled with loathing.

“I hate you,” Scaramouche whispered, his voice dripping with barely contained fury. His hands clenched around the cold iron bars of the cell. “I never thought I could hate someone this much, not even after all the betrayals I’ve suffered. Just the sight of you makes me sick.”

Sethos was already standing close to him, but as soon as Scaramouche gripped the bars, Sethos reached out, pressing his hands against his.

“I love you,” Sethos said, gently holding Scaramouche’s hands. “I never thought I could love and want someone like this before, but I do. I love you more than life itself, more than my duty. I have no right to feel that way, after everything I’ve done, but I love you. Only you.”

Scaramouche’s entire body felt warm. A violent shiver ran through him at Sethos’s touch, a revulsion so deep it felt like fire moving through his cables.

“Enough!” Scaramouche snapped, he could feel his rage spilling over like a dam breaking and destroying everything on its way. He shoved Sethos back with such force that Sethos lost his balance and crashed onto the floor.

This is it, Scaramouche thought, his face flushed, his hands trembling at his sides. He had to hurt him. He had to make Sethos suffer for daring -for daring!- to humiliate him like this.

Scaramouche glanced at the door; it was locked. He could have gone back to retrieve the key from the guards, but the thought of wasting even a second more on something so trivial irritated him. Instead, he lifted his leg and kicked the door with enough force to shatter the lock into jagged pieces. The loud crack of shattering metal echoed in the chamber.

Scaramouche knew what he had to do. He would rip the Ba fragment from Sethos’s chest and destroy it before his very eyes. He wanted to see Sethos’s face twist in pain, wanted to hear him gasp, his broken cries.

Sethos was still lying on the ground as Scaramouche stepped forward, unmoving even when their eyes met. Sethos made no attempt to rise, no effort to shield himself. It was as if he had already accepted his fate.

Scaramouche hated how careless Sethos looked, so much so that he gave him a kick to his chest. When Sethos made no sound, he kicked him once again, this time harder.

Sethos was biting his lip to not make a sound; it only bothered Scaramouche further. 

Afterwards, Scaramouche wasted no time pinning him down, his fingers digging into Sethos’s arms as he straddled his waist, forcing him against the cold stone. They were so close that he could feel the warmth radiating from Sethos, feel his heartbeat. Sethos looked up to him silently. He has such a creepy eye colour, Scaramouche thought to himself. It was too bright, too deeply green.

‘’I will make sure this hurts,’’ Scaramouche said. 

Scaramouche slammed Sethos down once, then again, just for good measure. The force rattled through Sethos’s body, and he let out a low groan of pain; but still, he didn’t resist. He didn’t struggle. He merely laid there, staring up at Scaramouche with a weird expression. His mouth slightly opened, trying to catch his breath. 

Even then, he kept staring at Scaramouche, as if he couldn’t get enough of him. 

The lack of fight made Scaramouche hesitate. He stared down at Sethos’ face, searching for some defiance, some trace of fear, but found none. Why did it feel like he was in the wrong?

“Why aren’t you fighting?” he demanded an answer, almost with some regret. He didn’t like fighting against people who didn’t fight back. ‘’Why?’’ 

Sethos let out a weak laugh, airy and distant. “Why should I fight back?” 

Scaramouche could see the slight sweat glistening across Sethos’ face, on his exposed arms… Sethos was still a human, but considering his upper body strength, he should have fought back way better. 

Scaramouche’s right hand tightened around Sethos’ wrists. “Don’t you feel pain? Aren’t you scared?” His voice wavered for just a second before hardening again. “Tell me, how does it feel?” 

Sethos exhaled slowly, the faintest trace of a smile visiting his lips. “It feels justified,” he murmured. “It feels… right.” 

“Right?” Scaramouche repeated, his left-hand hovering dangerously over Sethos’s throat, fingers twitching. 

Sethos nodded, barely moving. Scaramouche could feel the warmth of his skin beneath him, the subtle rise and fall of his chest. 

“It feels like this is what I deserve.” Slowly, Sethos turned his head and locked eyes with him. There was no defiance there. No anger. Just… acceptance. “If killing me can quench your hatred, if it can make you forgive my people, do I even have the right to fight it?”

Scaramouche’s stomach twisted violently. 

He wanted to yell at Sethos, wanted to shake him, to scream that this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This didn’t feel good. This didn’t feel satisfying. Sethos wasn’t supposed to just lay there, offering himself up like some sacrificial lamb. He was supposed to resist, to curse him, to fight back, to make this worth something. 

Whatever Scaramouche was going to do to him, Sethos was going to allow it. And that made Scaramouche feel sick. 

Looking at his face this close was unsettling after everything that had happened between them. His mouth was slightly open, his breaths quick and shallow, and his eye was wet. And he was so, so, so warm that…

Scaramouche blinked. 

Why was Sethos this warm? Unnaturally warm. He could feel the fever burning beneath his skin. Then he noticed another thing; Sethos had turned his head away, but his uncovered eye remained fixed on Scaramouche. He was deliberately keeping his wounded side hidden. 

Instinctively, Scaramouche reached for the headband that covered Sethos’s scarred eye. Only then did Sethos finally react, attempting to shift his body away. Scaramouche watched as Sethos’s arm muscles tensed, trying to free himself from his grip. 

“Stop squirming,” Scaramouche snapped, irritated. He pressed his legs down harder, pinning Sethos in place so he couldn't escape. “What’s wrong with you? Now you want to fight back?” 

Sethos’s cheeks darkened. 

“Don’t…” Sethos said quickly. “Don’t remove it.” 

But it was too late; Scaramouche had already pulled the headband away. At first, he didn’t see anything unusual. The scarred tissue looked no different than before. But as his fingers brushed against the wound, he realized something; Sethos’s skin there was scorching hot, even more so than the rest of him. And then he noticed another oddity; the muscles around the scarred eye socket twitched faintly, spasming from time to time. 

“What is this?” Scaramouche demanded an answer from him. His eyes narrowed as he studied Sethos’s face. “Are you sick? Are they not treating you?” 

It didn’t make sense. Even Dottore, for all his cruelty, ensured his test subjects remained in functional health. He always claimed that unreliable data from a deteriorating body was worthless. 

Sethos remained silent, clearly hesitant to answer. Scaramouche could feel his resistance from the way he avoided looking directly at him. 

Scaramouche wasn’t going to let this slide. 

“And don’t lie to me.” Scaramouche said.

That seemed to break whatever feeble resolve Sethos had left. “They gave me something, but it didn’t lower my fever.” Sethos sounded embarrassed. “They said it was in my head.”

“Are you injured somewhere else?” Scaramouche frowned. He didn’t know why he was pressing the issue so much. His anger toward Sethos still boiled inside him, yet he couldn’t ignore the gnawing concern clawing at his chest. It felt as if they were still stuck in the ruins together. “Tell me.” 

Sethos hesitated, but finally, he confessed, “It’s just my eye.”

Scaramouche frowned. “Your eye?” 

“I can feel pain in it,” Sethos admitted. “Even though it’s no longer there.” 

Scaramouche had heard of this phenomenon before. Soldiers who had lost limbs often spoke of still feeling them, as if their missing arms or legs remained attached to their bodies. He even remembered this one particular soldier who shifted nervously all the time because he had an itch on the hand he lost. But what unsettled him was the fact that during the entire month they had been trapped in the ruins, and even on their journey to the Temple, Sethos had never once shown signs of experiencing something like this. Why now?

The realization struck Scaramouche suddenly. Back in the ruins, the Ba fragment had been keeping Sethos healthy, healing his eye, and likely suppressing most of the pain he should have felt. It had acted as a buffer, numbing the damage. But now…

Scaramouche’s fingers twitched as they hovered above Sethos’s chest before finally pressing down against the thin fabric covering his skin. To get a better idea, he placed his hand on Sethos’ chest, and ripped his tunic to see what was underneath. Beneath his palm, under Sethos’ muscles, he could feel the rapid rhythm of Sethos’s heart, but something else, something crucial, was missing.

The lack of pulsing, almost electric sensation of godly energy. The Ba fragment wasn’t there.

Scaramouche wasn’t sure how he could miss such an obvious thing.

‘’I couldn’t have brought it with me,’’ Sethos said. ‘’Even I’m not that reckless.’’

Scaramouche’s stomach twisted, a strange combination of revelation and disgust settling on his chest. Scaramouche exhaled through his nose. He could already guess where the Ba fragment had gone.

It all made sense now. Of course, Sethos wasn’t afraid to die; why would he be when the most valuable part of him was already gone and stored safely, somewhere else? Without the fragment, Sethos was nothing more than a fragile, failing body, a mere shell of whatever importance he once held.

The moment Dottore had realized that Sethos had no value to him, he had abandoned him. Left him behind like a broken tool, no longer of use.

“That’s the reason, isn’t it?” Scaramouche asked. “You no longer have your god particle in you. That’s why you can’t block out the pain, both physical and mental.”

 “I couldn’t put Lord Hermanubis’ legacy in danger,” Sethos admitted, his voice quiet. His lips curled into something barely resembling a smile, but it was weak, fragile.  “But the moment I removed it… the pain… it just took over. It was like… everything was waiting for this moment to fall apart.”

‘’Where is it now?’’ Scaramouche could’ve guessed where it was, but he asked it anyway.

“I placed it in the puppet,” Sethos said.

‘’Will it stay there?’’ Scaramouche didn’t like that they were using the puppet as a storage box.

‘’No, I eventually have to go back,’’ Sethos said. ‘’I almost hoped it would wake up but, well… Even with a ‘heart’, it didn’t wake up. Auntie says it’s just a puppet.’’

Scaramouche scoffed internally. Good luck with that. The Temple had likely been surrounded by now. Sethos would never make it past the front steps. Still, something about the puppet not waking up unsettled him. It wasn’t surprising; humans, no matter how arrogant, could never truly replicate him. They were mortal, bound by limitations they could not surpass. Even the Almighty Raiden Shogun had failed multiple times before she had perfected a body for herself. What chance did mere humans have? 

“What are you going to do with the puppet?” Scaramouche asked, almost absentmindedly.

Sethos hesitated. “After… if… you and I go back,” he said slowly, carefully, “I’ll give you your energy core back. And I’ll place the Ba fragment back in me-”

“What will happen to the puppet?” Scaramouche interrupted, his voice demanding. ‘’I only asked what will you do?’’

Sethos looked away. “…I will destroy it. Like I said, I was about to dismantle it before auntie stopped me.”

Scaramouche felt something strange twist in his chest. He wondered how much damage Sethos did to the puppet before he was stopped.

“I only stopped because I needed somewhere to store the Ba fragment and your energy core.” Sethos swallowed hard, his hands curling into fists against the cold ground. “I have to destroy it; it brought nothing but harm.”

‘’Just for that?’’ Scaramouche could see Sethos had another reason. ‘’

 “And… I suppose… it was because it looks too much like me.” Sethos admitted. ‘’I don’t want to see it ever again.’’

‘’You want to destroy it because it looks like you?’’ Scaramouche stared at him.

 “When I returned home, and you were gone… when I saw a child version of myself, lying there, lifeless, on Auntie’s worktable…” Sethos’s jaw clenched; his voice was thick with shame. “I never thought I’d hate myself that much.” 

Scaramouche suddenly felt suffocated. Abruptly, he stood up; he dusted off his clothes, though there was no real need to.

Sethos remained on the ground, unmoving. He didn’t even attempt to get up.

“There’s nothing left to say,” Scaramouche said coldly. He turned back, walking toward the door without sparing Sethos another glance. “I won’t go back.” He paused briefly, before adding, “So if you wish, you can stay here and rot.”

Scaramouche, not sparing Sethos another glance, stepped out of the cell. With a sharp clang, he slammed the outside door shut behind him. There were still two Fatui officers stationed just beyond the next door; more than enough to keep a single, pathetic prisoner in check.

As he exited the room, the two guards straightened at his approach. One of them, a fat man with a jagged scar running down his cheek, was still rubbing his shoulder where Scaramouche had unceremoniously shoved him aside earlier. His comrade stood beside him, offering a firm pat on the back.

Scaramouche barely spared them a glance before issuing his command.

“Replace the lock,” he ordered coldly. “And ensure that he doesn’t leave this cell.”

The two men said at the same time: “Yes, Lord Scaramouche!”

He didn’t wait for their response, nor did he care to. He never wanted to see Sethos again, ever.

And yet, as he walked away, the warmth of Sethos’s skin still lingered on his fingertips. 

…

Scaramouche didn’t want to think about Sethos.

After spending weeks trying to get news for him, now he had learned about Sethos more than he ever wanted. He had no desire to hear his name spoken aloud, nor did he want to acknowledge the gnawing feeling in his chest that had refused to fade. And yet, despite his efforts to cast Sethos away from his thoughts, he spent the entire day thinking about him.

It frustrated him. 

He had lost count of how many times he caught himself glancing toward the direction of the holding cells, how many times he nearly turned on his heel, ready to go back and check on him. Every time he tried to focus on something else, his thoughts betrayed him, dragging him back to the memory of Sethos’s face; too close, too vulnerable. 

He kept thinking about his parted lips, ragged breaths. 

But more than anything, he kept thinking about the warmth. 

Sethos had been burning under his touch, feverish, his skin unnaturally hot. It was dangerous, and it wasn’t something Scaramouche could simply ignore, no matter how much he told himself he didn’t care.

Scaramouche groaned and held his head between his hands; he needed answers. 

Dottore would have them. 

There were so many things he wanted to demand from him; why was Sethos there, what exactly his intentions were with Haypasia, why he had deliberately kept things from Scaramouche... But according to the messengers, Dottore wasn’t due to return until the next day. They gave him a letter from Dottore but…

That left Scaramouche with nothing but time, and he was not about to waste it by sitting idly. 

The rest of the day was spent buried in research. He sent word to the Akademiya, demanding any reports related to the loss of body parts and the phenomenon of phantom pain. The scholars scrambled to fulfil his request, bringing him anything they could find. He read through them hoping he could find something, anything, useful. 

The findings were disappointing. 

As expected, the researchers had little to offer in terms of solutions. The pain, they claimed, was purely psychological; an unfortunate quirk of the mind struggling to reconcile with the body’s loss. There was no real cure. No medicine, no procedure, and certainly no relief. 

Eventually, he picked up the last report. The text was new, its pages slightly wrinkled, but its conclusion was clear and definitive: 

“Unfortunately, phantom pain is simply something incurable, much like the case of mad scholars. They are simply beyond saving.” 

Scaramouche’s fingers tightened around the paper. His gaze lingered on those final words, and something deep within him twisted. 

Mad Scholars. 

Village Keepers. 

He let out a deep, pained sigh. He knew who he had to talk to. 

…

Lesser Lord Kusanali watched him with an almost amused expression; she pressed her lips into a thin line as though she were barely holding back a smile. It unsettled Scaramouche.

Why was she so calm?

What gave her the confidence to sit there, unbothered, unafraid, even as he loomed before her? He was a harbinger, a force to be reckoned with, yet she regarded him with the same care one might have for a gentle breeze passing through a forest. It was infuriating.

“Oh?” she said, moving her head slightly. “Didn’t we just talk?”

Scaramouche narrowed his eyes.

“…It’s been a day,” he reminded her flatly. 

She simply smiled. “That’s just a blink in time for you and me.”

He wasn’t here to entertain her word games. He had wasted enough time already, slipping past guards, sneaking in just to wake her again. The thought alone stoked his irritation; he, a soon to be a God, reduced to moving in the shadows like some desperate beggar.

“I need to ask you something,” he said, he hoped he didn’t sound as pathetic as he felt.

The Lesser Lord leaned in slightly, propping her chin on her hands as she listened, eyes bright with interest.

“There’s a person,” Scaramouche continued, forcing the words out left a bitter taste in his mouth. “He’s in pain. He lost an eye, but he still feels the pain as if it’s still there.”

Kusanali hummed.

“And why do you need my help?” she asked. “Surely, the Akademiya has excellent healers.”

Scaramouche clenched his jaw. He wanted to tell her the truth; that, if Sethos was to be believed, Dottore had already tried and failed to treat him. That none of Sumeru’s so-called brilliant minds had found a cure for a wound that wasn’t physical. That no amount of medicine or healing arts could mend something that only existed in the mind.

But saying all that would make him sound like he cared too much.

His fingers curled into his palms. “Can you or can you not help me?” he asked bitterly.

Kusanali gave a light, playful hum, swaying slightly where she sat. “I don’t know,” she mused, her voice giddy. “Who is this person? Someone dear to you?”

Scaramouche reacted instinctively. “What? No.”

Too quick. Too defensive.

“I hate him,” he insisted, as if to emphasize it. “He betrayed me.”

“Oh, okay then.” Kusanali blinked, then shrugged as though it was of little consequence. She placed her hands beneath her chin again. “In that case, I can’t help him.”

“What?” Scaramouche hissed, gritting his teeth. “Why not? Isn’t he one of your people?” His voice dropped, simmering with barely contained frustration. “I thought you loved humanity.”

“I do,” Kusanali answered, not missing a beat. “But I also believe in justice.”

There was something almost childishly innocent in the way she said it.

“And,” she continued, “judging from how you reacted, he must be a very bad person. Maybe he deserves this.”

Scaramouche paused. He understood it now; she was playing with him.

This wasn’t about justice, not really. She was testing him, trying to get him to admit, to acknowledge, that he cared. That his concern for Sethos wasn’t just some passing inconvenience, but something deeper.

He refused.

Yes, he wanted to help Sethos. Yes, the thought of his fever-ridden body, his barely-there voice, had nagged at him all day. But it wasn’t because he cared. It wasn’t because Sethos mattered to him.

It was for peace of mind. His mind.

And yet…

He looked at Kusanali’s easy, careless smile, at the way she spoke so sweetly while twisting the knife into his side, and he found himself biting back a sharp laugh.

I love humanity, huh? You two-faced, shameless brat!

"You don’t trust me," Scaramouche pressed. "So how can you be so sure he did something you wouldn’t approve of?"

Lesser Lord Kusanali regarded him with quiet amusement, her expression unreadable.

"Maybe," she sang thoughtfully. "Maybe I would be on his side, if I knew what he did."

Scaramouche sighed; it was full of frustration. "That’s what I’m saying."

She tilted her head slightly. "Tell me then, did this person believe in me?"

He hesitated. "Not exactly, but-"

Kusanali cut him off smoothly, as if his answer was of little consequence.

"It’s harder for me to help those who don’t believe in me," she said, resting her chin on her palm. "I can’t just do it in a second. I am not a very powerful Archon to begin with, I can’t simply reach into his soul and relieve his pain like that."

Scaramouche’s patience was running thin.

"If you’re asking to be let out," he said quickly, "you’re dreaming."

At that, Kusanali laughed, as though he had just said something utterly ridiculous.

"How silly," she said, her eyes bright. "Of course not. I don’t need to be let out to help him. I just need time." She paused, watching him closely, measuring his reaction. "I’m only telling you this because it might take me all night to truly help him. And you," she gave him a knowing look, "wouldn’t let me stay awake that long, would you? Because you’re afraid I might escape."

Scaramouche’s eyes darkened.

"Are you even aware of the circles upon circles of security clearances surrounding you?" he hissed. "I am not scared of you escaping."

Kusanali’s smile didn’t waver. "I think you are." Her voice was soft, almost teasing.

He exhaled sharply through his nose. She was toying with him again.

Scaramouche thought of Dottore’s letter, the one he received that day. The experiment would conclude once Dottore returned. By then, Scaramouche would no longer be the same. He was already half-divine; what could she possibly do to stop him now?

There was no reason to fear her.

"If I leave you awake," he asked again, tone clipped, "can you actually help him?"

Kusanali tapped a finger against her cheek in thought.

"I might," she said coyly. "But like I said… I don’t see why you would want to help him, if he hurt you."

Scaramouche looked away.

"He hurt me, yes," he said. "And I wanted to hurt him back. Or at least, I thought I did."

He hesitated.

For a moment, he allowed himself a sliver of vulnerability.

But I will be a god soon. These human affections, these meaningless attachments, will be beneath me. I won’t even remember it, perhaps.

"Until then," he murmured, "I can forget him faster if I know he’s not in pain."

The room was silent.

Scaramouche suddenly remembered an odd memory.

‘’What was that? Why do you do that?’’ Someone asked him once, with a bright smile.  ‘’Why are you trying to stop yourself from caring?’’

Back then, Scaramouche was too embarrassed to actually be honest about how he felt. If he returned in time, he would’ve told Sethos the truth. ‘’I’m scared of another betrayal,’’ he should’ve told Sethos back then. ‘’I’m scared that I will love you, and you will hurt me. I’m scared that I’ll love you so much that I’ll try to find an excuse to forgive you.’’

As if reading his thoughts, for the first time in their conversation, something shifted in Kusanali’s expression. The mischief in her eyes faded. She looked at him with something softer, something gentle; a quiet compassion that unsettled him far more than her laughter ever had.

"Fine then," she said, her voice gentler now. "I can try whatever I can to help him. I just need you to tell me where he is."

The weight pressing against his chest, the one he had been carrying all day, seemed to lift just a little.

"Thank you," he said automatically.

Kusanali smiled sweetly.

"Like you said," she said, "he’s a child of my people."

When she finally had the information she needed, Scaramouche turned to leave. Before he stepped away, he glanced back one last time.

"When I ascend," he told her, "I promise, you won’t have to suffer for long."

For some reason, she seemed to find that very funny.

…

A few hours later, Scaramouche returned to Sethos’ side.

Sethos slept on the narrow, uncomfortable bed, but despite his miserable surroundings, he looked... better. A soft blanket, one that Scaramouche hadn’t provided, was draped over him, shielding him from the cold. His chest rose and fell in the slow, steady rhythm of deep sleep, his face peaceful in a way that seemed almost unnatural.

Scaramouche’s eyes immediately caught the faint green glow shimmering around Sethos’ features.

So, Lesser Lord Kusanali is working in his dreams.

His eyes lingered on the gentle light for a moment before shifting toward the bedside. There, resting within reach of Sethos’ hand, was a book; the same book he had brought with him. The sight of it made something inside Scaramouche tighten.

He reached down and picked it up, running his fingers over the worn edges of the cover. He could still feel the faint warmth where Sethos had last touched it.

Why did he bring this here?

The answer was obvious. Sethos had brought it for him.

Scaramouche swallowed; it should have meant nothing to him.

Just like the fragile blue flower Kusanali had revived before, this book, these little gestures, these remnants of human sentiment, would soon mean nothing to him. He was on the border of something greater, something divine. He had no need for these trivial attachments.

And yet, for reasons he refused to name, his fingers refused to let go of the book.

Slowly, he lowered himself to one knee beside the bed, his face now level with Sethos’.

He had always acknowledged that Sethos had a lovely face; perhaps too lovely for someone who had played a part in betraying him. His features were beautiful even in sleep, heightened further by the glow of Kusanali’s elemental power.

He could’ve been easier to hate if he looked a little worse , Scaramouche smiled as he thought to himself.

Scaramouche reached out, almost hesitantly, and cupped Sethos’ cheek in his hand. His thumb traced a slow, thoughtful path along his skin, taking in the warmth, the softness , the quiet fragility that came with mortality.

“Why?” he whispered.

There were so many questions swirling in his mind, questions he had no right to ask. Why did you have to love me, even after betraying me? When did you start feeling guilt for what you did? Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you keep everything buried inside?

It was useless. All of it.

A pointless, fleeting moment of weakness.

But if only things had been different. If only they had met under different circumstances, in a world where betrayal didn’t stand between them.

A voice from behind disrupted the moment.

“Lord Scaramouche.” It was a Fatui soldier.

Scaramouche didn’t turn immediately. His fingers remained where they were, still cradling Sethos’ face.

“Lord Dottore has returned,” the soldier reported. “He’s waiting for you.”

Scaramouche sighed slowly, his hand finally withdrawing from Sethos’ cheeks.

“Alright,” he said, his voice was shaky for some reason.

This was it.

He no longer had the patience to waste any more time. He wasn’t going to bother pestering Dottore with pointless questions; not about Sethos, not about Haypasia, not about anything.

He would give only one order to him: Conclude the experiment, now.

His heart was steady, his mind resolved. But before he left, he leaned in, closing the small distance between himself and Sethos. And, without hesitation, he pressed a kiss to Sethos’ lips. He heard the sharp inhale of the Fatui soldier behind him; but Scaramouche didn’t care. Soon, none of this , none of it, would matter.

He was ready.

Chapter Text

Scaramouche sent the Fatui soldier to his way, telling him he’d meet his fellow Harbinger soon. 

Instead of doing that, however, he made his way to the Joururi Workshop, knowing full well that his absence wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. Dottore would realize soon enough that Scaramouche was not going to come to his side as he ordered. And when he did, it wouldn’t take him long to deduce where Scaramouche had gone.

It was only a matter of time before Dottore followed. 

Scaramouche was already connected to his new body when Dottore arrived.  

He loved seeing how startled Dottore looked for a moment; it was very, very brief, but unmistakable. Of course, the Doctor likely assumed that Scaramouche had merely been waiting, like an obedient subject awaiting his orders. 

After all, Scaramouche very rarely allowed the Sages to even lay a hand on him in Dottore’s absence. 

Scaramouche knew Dottore would never have guessed the nonsense he had to deal in his absence. After his talks with the most insufferable three people he’d met in his life, and honestly it was an achievement considering how long he lived, Scaramouche no longer had any patience left.

He took matters into his own hands by finally allowing the Sages to touch him without Dottore’s supervision. He needed them to speed up their preparations so the divinification process could begin without further delay. They were supposed to run a few more tests, or so Dottore had claimed, but Scaramouche had decided they were unnecessary. It was enough. He had waited long enough. There was no need for more precautions, no reason to waste another moment. His time had come, and he would not be denied.

His new form, a towering mechanical god, loomed over everything. Though his limbs were bound by design, the sheer strength within them was immeasurable whenever he became one with this massive form. He was powerful, strong, flawless. This was what he was always meant to be. 

The sensation of being connected to the body was strange, alien yet enjoyable. It was something he had always dreamed of, and now that it was real, it thrilled him. To be part of something so massive, so divine, was intoxicating. He felt flawless. Invincible.

And yet, for the briefest of moments, doubt surrounded his body like a cold wind, curling tight on his chest like a small animal before he shoved it down and ignored the feeling. When the researchers made their final checks, ensuring the synthetic blood pulsed correctly through the intricate web of tubes, he shivered under their touch.

Until now, he had the freedom to leave for rest once the tests were complete. But that freedom was gone. There was no turning back, no going back to what he used to be. From this point forward, he and this new form were inseparable, bound as one forever.

It was only the steady warmth of the Electro Gnosis embedded within him that calmed his racing thoughts. Even though a gnosis had been his purpose from the day he opened his eyes, he had spent very little time once he actually acquired it. Yet, even though he was negligent in appreciating his new heart, the gnosis was still reacting to his stress. He could feel the gentle warmth radiating from it. It felt like a mother’s touch, sweet and calming. 

He took a breath. Everything was going to be alright. 

He looked down at Dottore, who stood at the edge of the platform. Of course, he had to know Scaramouche had caught on to his attempt to take Haypasia, yet there wasn’t a trace of guilt on his face. If anything, after that quick moment of surprise, Dottore seemed more amused than anything else.

Scaramouche’s eyes twitched. He wished he had fried him where he stood. 

Dottore was looking at him, his hawkish mask casting shadows across his face. “Seeing that you stayed up waiting, I assumed you had questions for me.” His voice was low and edged with mockery. “Instead, you don’t meet me and come here? Honestly, I don’t have the energy to entertain your hysterics right now.” 

Scaramouche didn’t move. “No,” he said flatly. “I don’t have anything to ask you.” 

Dottore paused for a fraction of a second before letting out a short laugh. “No?” he repeated. “Not even about that girl? I thought you’d ask for an explanation.”

“I have no time to waste on questions.” Scaramouche cut him off. He flexed his fingers; whenever he moved, the giant robot also moved slightly. Feeling the raw, unrestrained power now surging beneath the synthetic muscle felt too good. “Are you blind? Don’t you see that everything is ready? I’m ready. It’s time to finish the experiment.”

Dottore smiled but it was strained now. “There are still so many things missing,” he said, tone half-dismissive, half-irritated. “Are you forgetting that our results have been... less than ideal?”

“Minor errors,” Scaramouche countered without hesitation. “I can’t wait anymore.” 

Dottore sighed, it was drawn out and theatrical. “Do you think I enjoy waiting?” Dottore’s tone blended into something between annoyance and condescension. “Unlike you, I don’t believe in half-baked results. What value does any of this have if we fail simply because we rushed?” 

Scaramouche’s eyes burned with anger. “I’ve already connected to a worshipper. I’ve already touched divinity before.” His voice dropped to something quieter, something deadly. “That means I’m already half a god. It’s time to finish what we started.” 

He remembered Lesser Lord Kusanali’s words. To the way she had dismissed him, refused to acknowledge what he was becoming. She hadn’t taken him seriously. 

But she would. 

Soon, they all would. 

‘’The experiment will start here, tonight,’’ Scaramouche said. ‘’Whether you are here or not.’’ 

Dottore's lips twisted into a scowl, his fingers drumming impatiently against his forearm. 

“Fine,” Dottore muttered. “I suppose we’ve harvested enough power to brute- force you into godhood.” 

Though the words left his mouth, there was no triumph in them. No satisfaction. His expression remained cold, unreadable, save for the slight narrowing of his eyes.

“But don’t forget,” Dottore continued. “If you fail to reach divinity, you will have no purpose to us.”

Scaramouche met his gaze without hesitation. “I know. I won’t fail.”

What he didn’t need to say was that when he succeeded, he would grind Dottore under his heel like the insignificant insect he was. He had no doubt the Doctor already knew; Scaramouche could already sense the loathing simmering beneath the Doctor’s defiant stare. 

“Very well then,” Dottore exhaled tiredly. “You will be my greatest and most expensive experiment.” 

With that, he turned around, the tails of his coat moving behind him as he strode toward the exit. His steps were measured, deliberate, but Scaramouche could see the tension in his shoulders, the controlled rigidity in his movements. 

For some reason, watching Dottore retreating back sent a chill down his spine. The moment reminded him too much of that night he took the Gnosis and tried to flee. He clenched his fists, jaw tightening as the phantom memory of failure gnawed at the edges of his mind. But this time, he would not run. He would not fail. This night would be different.

It had to be.  

…

His fingers twitched slightly as he moved his new hands, feeling the unnatural rigidity of the robot’s arms. His mind moved clumsily within its circuits, commanding the movements, feeling the pulse of the artificial body. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was power. And it was his. 

“So,” Dottore’s voice rang out, holding a notebook in his hands, “how does it feel? Becoming one with this body?” Dottore paused, barely holding back whatever venomous words he thought; he didn’t seem happy at all. “I would have thought you’d be more excited, given how eagerly you’ve sought this.” 

Scaramouche forced out a smile, though his eyes remained cold. 

“I’m fine,” Scaramouche said, his voice steady despite how shaken he felt. “It’s exactly what I expected. Everything is perfect.” 

Everything was not perfect. 

Sure, he didn’t expect it to be smooth sailing, given how slow their progress had been, but he hadn’t anticipated this level of discomfort. He could understand why Dottore wanted to test it longer; this thing still needed some refinement. It wasn’t bad enough to stop him from ascending, but it felt like wearing the bloody skin of an animal much bigger than him. 

He hoped this feeling would disappear soon enough. 

The only thing giving him comfort was the warmth in his chest from the gnosis. He could feel it was trying to comfort him somehow. The gnosis was almost reaching out to him, surrounding him with a comfort only a mother’s touch could give him. It was such a powerful feeling that he almost felt worried he was imagining it. 

Mother, he thought miserably, will I stop missing you when I become a God? 

‘’Is that so? Like I said, you don’t seem as thrilled as I imagined.’’ Dottore said. ‘’After all, this isn’t just about a new body, is it? This is your chance to truly take control. To transcend what you once were. You’ve been craving power for so long, yet here you are, standing so calmly.”   

Dottore paused for a second, his smirk widening. “No nervousness?” 

I’ll crush you under my feet, you worm, Scaramouche thought. 

Scaramouche’s smile turned darker, but still, his voice was smooth, almost bored as he answered. “Excited? Please. I’m past excitement. I’ve become one. It’s simply the beginning of what I will do with it.” His eyes flickered to the mechanical arms of the puppet, flexing them effortlessly. “I’ve already won, Doctor. The rest is just details.” 

Dottore took a few steps closer, scrutinizing him as if testing the limits of his composure. “No hesitation, you say? You’ve been merged with this mechanical monstrosity, your very essence tied to it. And yet, there’s no part of you that doubts it? No part of you that wonders if you might lose yourself in the process? You’re already thinking with it, moving with it, but is it you anymore, Scaramouche? Or are you simply a puppet now, as you always feared?” 

Scaramouche’s eyes darkened, and for the first time since he’d become connected to the body, he felt genuine disgust towards Dottore. Scaramouche didn’t know if Dottore suddenly wanted to sabotage the experiment, or if he wanted something out of him. He turned his head slowly, his gaze locking onto Dottore with an intensity that made the other man pause. 

“You are talking too much,” Scaramo uche said, each word dripping with venom. “The body may be mechanical, but it’s nothing more than a vessel. A puppet? I am the one pulling the strings now. And I will never lose myself to it.”

Dottore studied him for a long moment. "How fascinating.’’ 

Scaramouche didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he flexed his new fingers again, moving his new hands. Maybe because he needed to prove himself, it was a little easier to move his body this time. 

…

He was ascending. 

The first taste of divinity was nothing short of beautiful. It moved through him, familiar yet infinitely more powerful than he had ever imagined. It reminded him of the first time he connected with Haypasia’s consciousness; he remembered the overwhelming flood of knowledge, control, and purpose felt like. But this? This was thousands of times stronger than what he felt. 

The world felt different, somehow. The air, the light, even the ground beneath him, all felt... insignificant in comparison to the power now coursing through him. He looked at himself, enjoying the form he had become. 

The metallic limbs looked powerful, his gears and wires pulsing with unnatural life force. His own reflection danced across the polished insides of the Great Dome. He looked at the reflection and the lines between who he had been and what he had become had blurred. 

A deep laugh bubbled up from within him, echoing through the building around him. The sound was so full of power, it seemed to shake the very air. He liked how his own voice felt like a lightning crackling in the air. 

"I am a God," Scaramouche thought, a grin spreading across his face as the realization washed over him. He was more than just a puppet now. He was the one who controlled everything. There was nothing beyond his reach, nothing beyond his will. 

For a moment, he thought back to all those times he had felt small, insignificant, lost in his needs, wants, his fears. Why had he ever felt sad about anything? Nothing mattered anymore. All the pain, the struggles, the doubts; they were nothing. He had transcended them all. He was above it all.

The laugh escaped him once more, louder this time. He was eternal. All-powerful.

A God. 

…

He was about to take the final step, to fully become what he was always meant to be. But then, something disrupted the perfection of the moment. 

A presence. No, two presences. 

He frowned. Lesser Lord Kusanali and the Traveler; he could sense them approaching. He exhaled sharply, irritated by the sudden disturbance. He had left Lesser Lord Kusanali awake, yes, but how had she escaped? She should have been helpless, trapped in her little prison.

His gaze darkened. Of course. Lumine must have played a role in this. But how? He had taken every precaution, ensuring that nothing could interfere with his ascension. He moved his hands, sparks of electricity crackling at his fingertips as his thoughts turned to Dottore. What is he doing? How had he allowed them to come this close? He should have kept them away. He should have ensured they were nothing more than specks beneath Scaramouche’s notice. 

Now he had to kill them. 

A pity. 

They had wasted his mercy. He had allowed them to exist peacefully for a while; yet, instead of accepting their fates with quiet dignity, they had chosen to throw themselves into his path, to challenge him in his moment of triumph.

How foolish. 

They had thrown away their last moments, and now, he would have to destroy them. 

Lesser Lord Kusanali and Lumine stepped onto the platform before him.  Scaramouche let out a slow, mocking laugh. His voice, deep and dripping with amusement, echoed through the space like thunder before a storm. 

"You're too late." He said cruelly. "It’s already over." 

“No,” Lesser Lord Kusanali said firmly. “It is never too late to end this madness.” 

Scaramouche let out a sharp, mocking laugh, his voice distorted through the immense mechanical body he now controlled. “Are you afraid?” he sneered. “Or has the sight of me, standing before you as a true god, driven you mad?”

Kusanali shook her head; she was too calm for someone in her position.. “I will not hurt you if you accept defeat now.”

“Same here,” Lumine said, stepping forward, sword at the ready. Her golden eyes burned with determination. “But if you keep going down this path, we won’t have a choice. This is your last chance.”

Scaramouche scoffed. “No.” His massive form whirred to life, energy crackling around him. “That was your last chance.” 

Then, the battle began. 

Scaramouche lunged forward, his massive hand sweeping across the platform, aiming to crush them both in one motion. Lumine grabbed Kusanali and rolled out of the way just in time; the force of the attack shook the ground beneath them. 

Dust and debris exploded into the air. 

“You can’t run forever!” he taunted them. ‘’Eventually, you will run out of time!’’ 

Lumine dashed through the dome, using broken pillars and fallen debris to push herself forward. Scaramouche’s attacks were overwhelming; each movement of his arms sent arcs of lightning crackling through the air, scorching everything in their path. 

He raised his hand, and in an instant, the air inside the workshop darkened before thousands of lightning rained down. Lumine barely managed to zigzag between them, the air around her charged with searing energy.

“You’re fast,” Scaramouche mused, watching her from above. “But not fast enough.” 

His massive hand slammed down again, this time sending shockwaves through the battlefield. Lumine leaped just in time, then sprinting toward his towering body. With precise footwork, she jumped to his arm, using the gaps in the metal plating as footholds. 

“Tch, persistent pest!” Scaramouche growled. He tried to shake her off, but she was already on his shoulder, her sword flashing as she slashed at his mechanical joints. When metals met, sparks flew. His systems registered the damage, but no pain came. Instead, he only felt power. 

So, this is what it means to be a god, he thought, grinning. Unstoppable. Untouchable. Invincible. 

Lumine wasn’t done. She climbed higher, striking at his chest, trying to damage the core. Scaramouche finally felt himself losing patience. His fingers curled into a fist, and in one brutal motion, he struck his own chest. 

Lumine had no time to dodge. The impact sent her flying, her body thrown to the air before she crashed into the ground. A cry of pain escaped her lips. She struggled to push herself up, her arms shaking, but her body refused to move. 

Scaramouche stared at her "You put up a good fight," he mocked her mercilessly. "But even the strongest mortals break eventually." 

Then, he turned his attention to the Lesser Lord. 

She had fallen, trying to crawl toward Lumine, but before she could reach her, Scaramouche’s massive fingers closed around her, lifting her effortlessly into the air. 

He held her up to his face, his glowing eyes burning with triumph. 

"Now," he said, reaching toward her chest, "let’s see what you have.’’ 

Scaramouche reached for her Gnosis. But the moment they made contact, his fingers passed right through her. 

His eyes widened as he realised; this wasn’t real. 

Lesser Lord Kusanali watched him with an almost amused expression, as a soft green light shone around her. The energy surrounding her pulsed and expanded through the air.

“The data collection is nearly complete,” she said, her voice calm yet carrying an undeniable finality. ‘’It’s the end for you.’’

The world around them began to tremble. A high pitched sound filled Scaramouche’s ears as cracks splintered through the space they stood in. His breath hitched. Then, with a sound like breaking glass, the illusion shattered.

The fragments of the false reality dissolved into nothingness, and in the blink of an eye, he was back to standing before the platform where he had first laid eyes on the Traveler and the Dendro Archon.

His vision blurred for a moment as he tried to process what had happened. The shift had been so sudden, so quick.

“What is this?” he demanded, his voice shaken. He was frozen in place, his body tense with unease. The protective barrier around the Dendro Archon and Lumine shimmered before him, like a wall between them.

Lesser Lord tilted her head, her green eyes piercing into him. “Did you know,” she began, her tone deceptively gentle, “that in the pursuit of creating you, my people were trapped in an endless loop?”

Scaramouche rolled his eyes, of course he was upset about her dear people. Did she want to talk about her love for humanity again?

“The people of Sumeru were forced to relive the same Sabzeruz Festival,” she continued, “over and over. The same moments. The same pain. All for the sake of a failed god.”

“The power of dreams,” His lips curled into a scowl upon hearing her words, his mind working quickly. And then it clicked. “Oh, I see. You planted a seed in my mind when we last met, didn’t you?” 

Kusanali’s expression darkened. 

“I could stay here and explain every detail to you,” she said; her voice sounded too loud, coming from such a small thing. “But what would be the point?”

Scaramouche felt everything was going very wrong, very quickly. 

“All the suffering my people endured,” she pressed, stepping forward. “All their stolen dreams... It was all because of and for you. And it was all for nothing.” 

Scaramouche felt something snapping inside his brain. 

“What did you just say?” His voice dropped, low and dangerous. His teeth clenched, his hands curling into fists. “For nothing?” 

“Yes,” she confirmed coldly. “For nothing. I thought, at the very least, you’d be a worthy opponent.” She exhaled, disappointment flickering in her eyes. “I didn’t expect you to be this weak. In the end, you are just a mockery of a real god, aren’t you?” 

Scaramouche’s grip on his anger faltered just slightly; only because he noticed Lumine moving into position, ready to fight. The Archon was transferring something to her, strengthening her. 

Dendro Archon looked at him with disgust. 

“Do you even realize how many times you’ve tried to take my Gnosis?” she asked, and for the first time, she radiated something truly threatening.

Scaramouche paused.

“This is only our tenth loop, Harbinger Scaramouche,” she revealed. “Ten attempts. That’s all it took for us to learn everything about you.”

He didn’t want to hear or understand what that meant for him.

The moment the barrier shattered, Scaramouche surged forward, lightning crackling around him like a storm barely restrained. He lunged at Lumine, expecting resistance, expecting a struggle.

But she was already moving.

She sidestepped effortlessly, twisting just out of his reach, as if she knew exactly where he was aiming before he even struck.

His eyes narrowed. Coincidence.

He struck again. Faster. Harder. His mechanical body moved him forward with unnatural speed, his arm sweeping toward her in an arc of electrified force. But again, nothing.

Lumine evaded him like a wisp of wind, her sword flashing in retaliation.

Scaramouche barely had time to block before her blade met his forearm. The impact sent a strange, jarring sensation through his limbs. Something was wrong. His movements felt... off. His balance faltered for just a fraction of a second, but that was all it took.

Lumine didn’t hesitate. She pressed forward, her attacks no longer those of someone testing an enemy’s strength. No, she was cutting him down piece by piece, tearing through his defences as she had done this before.

Scaramouche gritted his teeth, frustration boiling beneath his skin.

How?

Every time he moved, she was already prepared. Every move, every calculated strike; she countered them all with an almost eerie precision. This wasn’t normal, this wasn’t possible.

His mind raced even as he fought to keep up, his breath ragged, his form shifting erratically. His body, his vessel, felt unnatural and sluggish in ways he could not understand. He was stronger than this. He should be stronger than this. He should’ve been…

And yet Lumine ducked beneath a wild swing of his arm, striking behind him in one fluid motion. Her sword traced a bright arc through the air before she slashed across his side.

Pain.

Scaramouche staggered. Not because the injury was severe, as his mechanical body dulled the sensation, but because the wound felt wrong Like he wasn’t supposed to be hurt like this. As if something inside him was breaking apart.

A cold wave of dread settled over him.

This body, this so-called divine vessel, was failing him.

The realization nearly made him sick. He threw a desperate strike, and Lumine dodged as if she had known the attack was coming before he even made the decision to move.

No.

No, no, no.

He wasn’t supposed to be the one at a disadvantage. He was the God here. He was meant to be untouchable. Then why did he feel so powerless? He barely had a moment to process his thoughts before Lumine’s sword found its mark.

A sharp, precise strike, straight to his core.

Scaramouche choked, his body convulsing as raw pain surged through him. His vision blurred, electric energy crackling wildly around him. He tried to step back, to retaliate, to do anything; but then he felt it.

Something being torn away. 

His entire being trembled violently as Lumine’s fingers wrapped around the source of his power, the pulsing, violet core embedded deep within him.

The Electro Gnosis.

“No-”

Lumine pulled the gnosis out of his chest, and the warmth he felt from it disappeared. A sickening, wrenching sensation flooded his body as the Gnosis was ripped from him. For the first time, true silence filled the battlefield.

The one that had once moved through him was gone.

The divine energy he had fought so desperately to wield, gone.

All that was left was emptiness.

Scaramouche staggered backward, his entire body collapsing under its own weight. His hands clawed weakly at the space with his remaining energy where the Gnosis had once been, as if trying to grasp something that was no longer there. The protective cage around him hissed as it unlocked, releasing a cloud of shimmering, violet energy into the air. Scaramouche lurched forward, his hands reaching desperately toward the ground below.

The Gnosis.

It was there, just beyond his grasp, glimmering with the power he had fought so desperately to claim. 

“I can’t lose it!” he screamed, he was sobbing shamelessly.

His body was failing him. The tubes that had merged with his body, his new veins, ruptured one by one, spilling dark, thick liquid down his arms and torso. It dripped like blood, staining the ground beneath him. Each rupture sent a searing pain through his core, like he was being torn apart from the inside. 

“Not the Gnosis!”

And then the world twisted. 

His vision blurred as he realized, far too late, that he was falling. 

His breath hitched in his throat as the cold air rushed past him, the weight of his own body pulling him down like a puppet with its strings cut. 

I’m going to hit the ground. 

The thought came to him with full clarity. He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t have the heart to watch the earth rushing closer, ready to shatter him like glass. 

But the impact never came. 

Instead, someone caught him. 

It wasn’t a gentle landing. The force of his fall was too strong, sending both him and his unexpected saviour crashing onto the ground in a rough, skidding stop. Pain jolted through his body as they tumbled, but still, he did not fall alone.

Whoever stopped his fall groaned in pain too. 

The scent of rain-soaked fabric and warm skin filled his senses. A familiar presence. Scaramouche’s breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. His body trembled violently as he forced his eyes open. 

His lifeblood continued to seep from where the tubes had been torn away. It was as if he were bleeding out, as if the very thing that had kept him alive was now leaving him. Because of this blood loss, for a moment he couldn’t see who he was looking at. 

And then he saw him. 

Sethos. 

Scaramouche blinked.  For a moment, he thought that he was hallucinating, that it was another cruel trick of his failing mind. But no, the hands holding him, cradling his face, were real. The warmth against his body was real. 

“I’m here.” Sethos said, wiping away the tears on Scaramouche’s face. “It’s okay now. You are safe.” 

Scaramouche let out a short, bitter laugh, a few stray tears slipping down his face. 

“You’re so cruel,” he whispered, his voice cracking. ‘’How could you…’’ 

His body was losing its fight. The world was growing darker, slipping away at the edges. The last thing he saw before unconsciousness swallowed him whole was the panic in Sethos’s eye. 

….

When Scaramouche opened his eyes, Sethos was not with him. 

For a long, disorienting moment, he simply lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling above him. He struggled to wake up from a long dream he had. The room, the walls, the furniture, even the faint scent of burning incense all looked familiar.

It was the same room he stayed in before.  

The one Dottore had assigned to him. 

He turned his head slightly; everything was exactly as it had been. His desk was untouched, papers still scattered across it from the last time he had been here. The book he left on his table was still half open. The chair by the window remained slightly out of place, as if someone had sat there and left in a hurry. 

He felt hopeful for a moment. 

Maybe it was just a dream. A cruel, vivid nightmare. Maybe none of it had really happened. Maybe he hadn’t lost… 

The phantom sensation of his mechanical body lingered in his limbs. The pain, the tubes that had once been fused to his form, the moment the Gnosis was torn from him, it had all been real. His fingers curled into the sheets beneath him. He was back in his original body, returned to the way he was before he had been connected to his vessel. But something was different. 

He could feel it. 

His limbs felt lighter. There was no stiffness, no underlying weakness. It was as though he had been… improved. Repaired. He wasn’t sure how or why, but his body felt stronger, more whole than it had before. 

But none of it mattered. 

Because the Gnosis was gone. 

His chest tightened, a hollow ache settling deep inside him. He had held divinity in his hands; he had felt it, embraced it, known it all for one fleeting moment. And then, in an instant, it had been ripped away. 

Something inside him broke. 

The first tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it. Then another. And another. 

His body trembled as he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. A strangled sob forced its way out of his throat, raw and bitter. He had come so close. So close to everything he had ever wanted. 

So close to proving himself; to becoming something more than a failed experiment, a discarded puppet, a forgotten mistake. And yet, in the end, he had nothing. 

His sobs echoed through the empty room, unheard by anyone but himself. He wept for what he had lost, for the power that had slipped through his fingers like desert sand. For the god he had almost become and the void he had been left with instead. 

…

Vsevolod stood before him. 

He had let himself in without so much as a knock. There was no sign of the respect he had once shown to Scaramouche in his voice. 

"I’ll go back to serving Lord Pantalone," Vsevolod declared, his voice dripping with a false civility that only made the contempt on his face more obvious. He didn’t even bother to hide the disgust in his tone. "But I was given the duty to bring this letter as my last job under Lord Dottore." 

Scaramouche felt a strange, cold sensation settle in his stomach. Vsevolod had always been reliable to him up until that point, the one who followed orders without hesitation. The man had shown nothing but deference to him in the past, so this sudden shift caught him off guard. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond immediately. 

Vsevolod handed him a letter. There was no need to open it; Scaramouche already knew what was written in it. 

"The experiment had been quite interesting, but a failure is a failure." 

Scaramouche had already known. He had suspected it long before this letter confirmed it. He had been discarded, just as he always feared. He was no longer a part of the Fatui.  His hands tightened around the paper. 

Vsevolod watched him for a moment, but as Scaramouche’s laugh died, he turned to leave. It was then that something shifted in Scaramouche’s mind. 

A realization. 

"You betrayed me as well, didn’t you?" Scaramouche asked suddenly. 

Vsevolod paused mid-step, his hand on the door, as though the words had physically stopped him. He didn’t turn around immediately, but Scaramouche could feel the tension rise. 

"You worked with the Dendro Archon to betray me," Scaramouche continued, his voice hardening. The pieces began to click together; the strange behaviour, the oddities in his interactions with Vsevolod, and how Sethos’s file had been left behind in such an obvious way. It all made sense now. He hadn’t noticed it at first, he was busy with so many other things. But now, the truth was undeniable. 

Vsevolod’s shoulders stiffened, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. When he finally turned, the surprised look in his eyes was barely noticeable before it was replaced with a cruel, mocking grin. 

"Now, that’s surprising," Vsevolod said, his tone almost teasing, as though Scaramouche had amused him. "I never thought you’d actually guess it right. I can’t believe you can actually see me."

Scaramouche didn’t react to the amusement in Vsevolod’s voice. 

"I was in a hurry, so I didn’t realize it at first. But you were baiting me into meeting the prisoner, weren’t you?" He thought back to the guards; the man with the scar on his face. That face. He had seen him with Vsevolod before. 

Such an obvious trap. 

Vsevolod’s smile didn’t waver. "Congrats, Lord Scaramouche," he clapped, his voice dripping with sickly sweetness. "You are as smart and cunning as ever." 

Scaramouche didn’t want to hear more of this mocking tone. "Cut this nonsense," he demanded. "Why? Why would you do that?" 

Vsevolod stopped smiling. 

"That was the question I asked when I heard you deserted," Vsevolod said. "Why would you do it? Why would you betray us?’’ 

Scaramouche stood frozen, staring at Vsevolod. The words that had just come out of his mouth felt like a punch to the gut, and his mind struggled to process them. Betrayed. For this? 

"You betrayed me just because of that?" Scaramouche’s voice was thick with disbelief. The absurdity of it all was overwhelming. ‘’I came back!’’ 

"No," Vsevolod answered. "In the end, I'm selfish. Your return meant things could go back to normal. I could’ve accepted everything, everything that happened before. But this..." His voice trailed off for a moment as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object, something Scaramouche couldn’t quite make out at first. 

Vsevolod held it up in front of Scaramouche. "I betrayed you because of this," he said, his voice full of venom. Scaramouche’s gaze flicked to the object in Vsevolod’s hand. 

It was the insignia. The same one Scaramouche had brought with himself. The one Sethos gave to him. 

Scaramouche felt a wave of nausea wash over him, but he didn’t look away. 

"We are ants beneath your feet, I understand that now," Vsevolod continued. "I don’t expect you to remember who we are. But this insignia belonged to someone I cared about. And you took him from me." 

Scaramouche stared at the insignia dumbly. 

"And to think you would wear his insignia, so shamelessly..." Vsevolod’s tone was disrespectful, like he was spitting the words out. It was then that Scaramouche finally understood. This was not just about a mission, or a failure, or even about betrayal. This was personal for Vsevolod. 

"I didn’t kill him," Scaramouche said tiredly. The weight of the words felt heavier than any burden he had ever carried. He had nothing left to defend himself with, not when Vsevolod’s words felt so much like a judgment. ‘’So, you betrayed me for no reason.’’ 

"Even if you didn’t kill him, it doesn’t matter" Vsevolod shot back. "You led to his demise. When he was sent to the Red Sands, he was supposed to come back to me. But only his body returned." He paused for a moment. "A monster attacked them, we all thought, considering the sharpness of their wounds. A monster. He probably got a little too close to you, and that was the reason for his demise." 

Scaramouche didn’t know how to feel about this. The accusations stung, but deep down, he understood. The death of this person, whoever they were, was a consequence of his actions or his inaction. Maybe both. 

"I could let your boss know what you’ve done," Scaramouche warned, his voice rough with whatever was left from his pride. "They could kill you." 

Vsevolod merely shrugged; the casualness made Scaramouche’s blood boil. "You won’t be able to," he said, almost lazily. "Lesser Lord Kusanali and I had a little arrangement. I know I will be safe." 

Her again? Scaramouche was getting tired of her blocking his plans. If he didn’t fear any hidden traps, he would’ve sent Vsevolod straight to his dead friend’s side. 

"Do you remember his name?" Vsevolod asked, his voice low and almost expectant. 

Scaramouche stared at the insignia, as he tried to recall a face, a name, anything. But the truth was, he couldn’t. His mind was a blur of past missions, faces, names that had come and gone like shadows. 

Vsevolod smiled. 

"Good," he said. "I didn’t want to feel any guilt over this." He let out a short, bitter laugh before continuing. "Thankfully, we are still nameless toys to you." 

With that, Vsevolod turned and left.  As Vsevolod disappeared through the door, he left Scaramouche alone with his thoughts, a deep, throbbing pain suddenly began to pulse in his head. 

He wanted to see Sethos.  

Chapter Text

The guards stationed outside his door brought food at regular intervals, but they never spoke a word to him. When he tried to ask about Sethos, they didn’t even glance at him, his voice slipping past them as though it had never existed. They simply turned and left, treating him as if he were nothing more than an inconvenience, or worse, as if he were nothing at all. Later, they returned to collect the untouched plates, making no effort to meet his gaze. 

Scaramouche remained where he was, seated on the edge of his bed, hands resting loosely in his lap. His mind was still clouded from his encounter with Vsevolod, the violent storm of emotions having long since turned into a suffocating void. He despised himself for feeling this way, for letting someone so insignificant unnerve him. But no matter how much he tried to rationalize it; the damage had already been done. 

He wanted to see Sethos. Desperately. He didn’t know what to do with him; his mind was still swinging violently between the urge to kill him and the need to hold him.

Instead, his next visitor was none other than the ‘brave and fearless’ Traveler herself. A knock disturbed the silence. Unlike Vsevolod, however, Lumine at least had the decency to announce her presence before stepping inside. 

Scaramouche glanced up as she entered. "Are you here to gloat?" He wasn’t sure how he kept his voice steady, but he did. "Do you want to see what’s left of me?"

Lumine leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You seem fine."

She was alone. Paimon wasn’t fluttering at her side, which meant this wasn’t a casual visit. Whatever she wanted to talk about, it was important enough for her to come on her own.

Scaramouche huffed a quiet, humourless laugh. "How cruel." 

"You’ll survive." Lumine’s reply was blunt, but there was something off about her nonchalance, something forced. She rubbed the bridge of her nose as if trying to brush away the tension that had settled between them. "It’s too late for formalities, don’t you think?" 

Scaramouche’s fingers curled slightly against the fabric of his clothes. "What’s going to happen to me?" There was no point in dancing around the obvious. He cut straight to it. "I assume that’s why you’re here." 

Lumine exhaled softly, shifting her weight. "You won’t be harmed. That much, I can promise. And you already know Fatui wants nothing to do with you anymore." 

Scaramouche scoffed, his lips twisting into a bitter smirk. "Oh yes. Your little accomplice was kind enough to enlighten me before you arrived." 

Lumine’s gaze flickered away for the briefest moment. A faint flush crept up her cheeks, not from anger, Scaramouche could see that. It was guilt, perhaps. She fidgeted, fingers toying with the hem of her sleeve before she straightened. 

"Anyway," she cleared her throat, "you’re under the protection of the Dendro Archon now. So, you don’t have to worry about your safety."

Scaramouche leaned back slightly, bracing one arm against the bed. "But I’m still a prisoner, aren’t I?" His voice was quieter now, stripped of its earlier bite. "She must want something from me. I doubt she’s doing this out of kindness." 

Lumine hesitated, just for a second, then nodded. "Yes," she admitted. "Everyone still remembers what you did, after all." 

Scaramouche let out a laugh; it was harsh, dry and devoid of any real joy. How familiar this was. How painfully predictable. 

This wasn’t the first time an Archon had asked for his cooperation. 

His mind drifted back to his first meeting with the Tsaritsa, when Dottore had led him before her. He remembered the way snowflakes had drifted down, catching in her pale hair like frozen stars. She had been beautiful, ethereal, as all Archons were. But those silver eyes had held nothing for him. No warmth. No kindness. No love.

She had taken him in, yes, but not because she cared. He had been useful. Nothing more. 

And now, here he was again, another Archon wanting something from him. He wondered, briefly, what the Dendro Archon could possibly want. He had nothing else left to give.

"When will I meet her?" he asked, though he already suspected the answer would frustrate him.

"In a few days," Lumine replied. More waiting. "She still has work to do. The mess you left behind couldn’t be completely cleaned in a week, after all."