Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time Wriothesley saw Monsieur Neuvillette was nothing special. At least, it must not have been to Monsieur Neuvillette.

This was in the hazy few years in which Wriothesley lived on the streets, before he even carried that name. An endless, nameless crowd of similar children flowed beneath the streets of the Court, darting up into the sun during daylight and scurrying back beneath at dusk. His joining their grimy number made no waves to the Court, even if the children below weren’t happy to have another contender to fight for food and clothing and everything else.

And Wriothesley had always been good at fighting.

Eventually, however, his luck had run out.

The older children of Fleuve Cendre were like soldiers in their own right—battle-hardened, far too clever, and deadly if they wanted to be. Being only twelve or so, Wriothesley was a nuisance to them, and for a while, they’d ignored him. But when he took too much of their spoils, food or otherwise, well. They were bound to get him back eventually. It was just how it worked.

For the last few days, all his usual means of getting food turned up empty. The owner of the tavern’s eyes glazed right over him, unseeing. The bins behind the shops were emptied. Even up in the Court, when he dared to go there when it rained and no one else would bother, he found nothing. When he’d slunk back to his little hovel each night, that same group of assholes was snickering and laughing.

Knowing he was being sabotaged, and hungry out of his mind, Wriothesley had not exactly been thinking logically, and so the last time one of them had made some jab or another, he’d walked up and decked the idiot across the face.

The resulting fight was a bloody brawl, ending up with one of the merchants’ tables being toppled over, spilling bottles that stunk of spirits and fruit and everything else across Fleuve Cendre’s little ‘square’—and drawing the ire of every adult in the sewer. They descended like vultures, pulling the children apart and scolding in their own ways. The luckier ones got a tongue lashing. Wriothesley got clipped over the ears and tossed out of the town under threat of the gardes being called.

Probably had something to do with the amount of blood his gauntlets had drawn. He didn’t care. All he cared about was that they’d broken, he’d have to fix them, and he was still starving.

Options for food were already limited. Stranded above ground, at night? Practically nonexistent.

The first day, he ate nothing, and was able to dodge the gardes, rich Court folk, and anyone else by skirting around the alleys and loitering in the aquabus station. Clinging to the broken gears and scraps of metal that remained of his gauntlets, he kept his head down and managed.

The second day, hunger won out, and he got sloppy. A Melusine guard caught him in a moment of despairing dissociation, slumped against the Court’s outer wall behind some building or another. Her questions were pointed, and he was so tired he answered relatively truthfully. She’d left, but not for long, and the steaming mug of soup she brought back was…painful, in its kindness and brevity.

Kindness was rare. But the Melusines were sweet creatures…he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was.

Still, the day passed, and even such kindness couldn’t fill his stomach for longer than the night. The third day dragged on, and his whole body ached with hunger and exhaustion. Knowing luck wouldn’t come to him twice, he left the Court, content to try to find something to eat out in the wilds of Fontaine.

He didn’t leave the bounds of the Court’s walls often. Fleuve Cendre had most things he would need—food, materials for his gauntlets, whatever else—and getting lost outside the Court would only mean more danger. From monsters, gardemeks, or people.

And they were in the Court. Going too far would be pointless. He’d only have to come back.

But, his options were exhausted. He was hungry, and he couldn’t scrounge in the sewers or the city. That left only the wilds and the sea.

As the moon rose over Fontaine, casting the whole of the Court in its cold blue glow, he ducked down the steps of the north aquabus station and into the trees. His steps were slow, sluggish, and thankfully (and most importantly) quiet. No one bothered him—in fact, no one was even on the steps or the surrounding courtyard when he left.

Outside the Court’s high walls, Fontaine was softer, awash with the sound of the sea and the wind in the trees.

This particular patch of forest wasn’t so big or special, and emptied out onto a beach even less special. But the sea glittered in the moonlight, long streams of sea grass and kelp fluttering just beneath the surface. In his tired hunger, he watched them sway to the currents for a few moments.

He had been diving only once before. She had taken them all to the beach on the western banks of the Court, where the waters were clean and the waves gentle. The little ones mostly sat in the tide pools, slapping at the water’s surface and giggling at their own reflections. He and a few of the older children had taken to swimming, never allowed more than twenty or so feet from the shore for fear of drowning.

The sea was a clear, crystal blue, and with the shore this close, he could see straight through the water to his feet, paddling, and the sand and coral beneath. Shells were buried in the sand, discarded by crabs or other creatures, but pretty. He’d ducked his head beneath the water several times to grab them, brushing them off and bringing them back to shore, or giving them to the others.

He’d given her one, he remembered. She smiled and ruffled his hair and called him sweet, then hurried off to grab one of the littler ones who’d gone toddling toward the sea, enticed by the older children still swimming out.

A few weeks after that little swim, that little toddler was gone. He knew now, what that meant. He hoped that they had been one of the lucky ones, and they were off with some rich family eating soup and sleeping in a bed.

Scowling, he looked out over the water. It was dark, reflecting the deep blue of the distant sky, except for the silvery trail blazing across the water where the moon hung high above.

He had no energy for diving. And at the shore here, where the currents flowed north toward Mont Esus, the sea was wilder than that gentle beach where he had searched for shells. Aberrants hid in the kelp, he knew, and there were mek as well…no, he shouldn’t dive, even if it would make catching something to eat far easier.

His trip through the patch of forest had afforded him little more than a few half ripe bulle fruit and scratches from pine needles. Peeling the skin off the first bulle fruit, he knew as he ate through the first that he’d need to find something more. He was too hungry to be satisfied by a few fruit.

Plus, if he wanted to get his place in Fleuve Cendre back, he would need to earn it. And earning it required energy to fight.

And that required food. More than a few bulle fruit anyway.

Turning away from the sea, he wandered down the beach as he peeled the second bulle fruit apart into sections and ate. Being only half ripe, they were more tart and sour than he expected, but still not so bad. He didn’t have much of a sweet tooth anyway.

Waves washed ashore consistently, but without any real strength. He stuck to the higher ground and that kept his shoes dry, at least, even if sand was getting through the broken soles.

The sand strip narrowed as it wrapped south, closer to the looming shadow of the Clementine line and its station. Under its great shadow, a few crabs scuttled about in the sand.

Discarding the remainder of his bulle fruit peels, he brushed off his hands and watched them move for a while. Crab—now that, he could eat for sure.

Assuming he could catch a few anyway.

Several minutes later, he stood panting at the edge of the sea, covered in sand, fingers sore from a few too many close calls with pincers, and clinging to two dead crabs. Turns out not eating right for a few…months…meant he could barely catch anything at all. And what he could catch would exhaust him right back to the brink.

But he had dinner now—two crabs, and that was better than zero. Better than just bulle fruit, too.

His legs felt heavy as he dragged himself back up the beach, under the aquarail’s great shadow, where he could make a little fire. There was enough driftwood and little shrubs around for kindling, and he had that lighter he’d stolen a while back…

Yeah, that could work…

He shrugged off his jacket, setting his spoils on it and out of some paranoia, watching to make sure the crabs were actually dead and wouldn’t run off on him if he turned his back. When they lay still there for several seconds, he sighed and moved away.

Driftwood, dead branches from those stupid little shrubs, dried up leaves and other detritus for kindling. He piled it all up by muscle memory, throwing the occasional wary glance at his crabs (they were definitely dead).

They went camping once too. Somewhere north of here, up by Mont Esus, where Fontaine was wild and quiet. He had taken them, that time, just the older kids. Shown them how to make a fire and cook over it. Fooled them for a few hours that he cared.

But he’d been old enough then, to see through some of it. When one of the younger ones had nightmares and cried at how quiet it was out in the country compared to the Court, he hadn’t done anything to help. In fact, he got mad when they woke him up, and shouted at them to get out and go back to sleep—that was one of those early signs, maybe. Something that was off.

That little boy who cried that night was gone quickly, too. He knew better than to think he’d been a lucky one.

His hands shook when he curled them into fists, and he forced himself up to his feet. He needed something to hold the crabs over the fire.

After stabbing the crabs with far more force than was required, he felt a little better holding them over the fire. They cooked quickly in their shells, and the smell of cooked crab soon overtook the smell of the sea.

He hated thinking about them. It always wound him up, and he couldn’t do anything about it right now. He wasn’t strong enough yet, and his gauntlets were broken anyway.

As much as he wanted to go, right now, and gut them like the worms they were, he knew he couldn’t. He was too big. He needed to be stronger if he wanted to fight him off.

And if he couldn’t kill them both, then there would be no point. He’d end up dead or locked away for nothing, and he would go on selling kids without anyone any wiser.

No, he had to do this right. He had to get them both, and then…then it didn’t matter what happened to him.

As long as they were dead, it didn’t matter.

There was a strange comfort in that. Like watching the first tinting of the sky as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. It would keep setting no matter what, he couldn’t stop it or slow it. And when it did finally disappear, night would come, and everything would be quiet.

Once they were dead, everything would be set to right. Whatever happened to him after that…it could happen. They could throw him away or kill him, it didn’t matter. The rest of the kids in that house would be safe, and no one else would go into it and disappear.

The crabs’ shells were black and cracking. He pulled them off the fire and peered at the meat inside—yeah, good enough.

Something moved behind him and he stiffened, whirling around half expecting someone here to steal his food or worse.

But there was no one here for him. Only a stranger down the beach some twenty or so feet, beyond the shadow of the aquarail where the moon painted the sand bright white.

The fine clothing was the first thing he made out, squinting through exhaustion to try to parse out a threat. Fine clothing typically meant no immediate threat (the rich were far more likely to call the gardes, and therefore give time to flee) so he relaxed a bit on instinct, loosening his grip on his catch.

He was half tempted to snuff his fire and move without further question or glance. He was, after all, clearly not of the same cloth as whoever that was, and if he knew anything about the Court of Fontaine, it was that those who could afford fine clothing liked to maintain the illusion that everyone could. They didn’t like seeing scrappy, scarred up children covered in who-knows-what eating crab hastily carved with a stolen pocket knife.

Stubbornness kept him in place (and, though he would not admit it, exhaustion). He had found this place first, had caught his bit of food for the night, and was, for once, warm. He didn’t want to move. Rich weirdo on the beach be damned.

So, with a scowl, he turned for a few moments back to his crab and fire, shoulders high as if this would somehow deter said rich weirdo from confronting him if they so chose to (this had never worked in the past, and so was perhaps, wishful thinking).

When a minute or two passed without confrontation, his shoulders drooped again, and he picked apart his crab, glancing idly back toward the beach.

On second glance, the rich weirdo was, even to his food and sleep deprived brain, familiar.

Any person living in Fontaine knew what Monsieur Neuvillette looked like, even if they’d never seen him in person before. No one had such distinct features. Now that he wasn’t so caught up on his clothes, he looked a bit longer.

Monsieur Neuvillette was tall. In a crowd, he would surely be a head above most. He was not tall in the way that the bullies in Fleuve Cendre were—burly and broad, built for crushing and punching and making his life difficult. In contrast, Monsieur Neuvillette was willowy—long-limbed and thin, more suited for smooth movements and indefinable grace.

His hair matched his height, and separated him perhaps more from the crowd. Monsieur Neuvillette’s hair was a pure white, and longer than anyone’s he’d ever seen. It trailed down his back in a loosely tied twist, held in place by a bow of a very deep blue color, ending somewhere around his knees. He kept a section of it pinned back over his ear, likely to keep it out of his face.

Even stranger than its color were the sections which were clearly not hair at all—long and loose from the rest, flowing back with his hair, faintly shining in the light.

This was without mentioning his eyes, or the beauty of his face, typically set only in polite interest or neutrality, and even so, utterly captivating.

In short, he was uncommonly beautiful, by any sane description. His was the sort of beauty that demanded notice, a confrontation every time you laid eyes on him. Seeing a photograph was not enough—you would still be stunned by seeing him in motion, even such simple ones as standing there on the beach that night.

His beauty, along with his other features which no human had—his strange eyes, pointed ears, and the blue hidden in his hair which no one dared to ask the nature of (even the boldest reporters never included such questions in their always-denied interview requests)—marked him other amongst Fontaineans, even if his position did not.

What mattered to most people and all gossip columns, though, was that Monsieur Neuvillette was beautiful. It was not and had never been much of a question. It was just an assumed fact, practically listed alongside his title as Iudex.

Having never seen Monsieur Neuvillette before, young Wriothesley had until now had no reason to question such universal truths.

But in that way only Monsieur Neuvillette had, even knowing he was impossibly beautiful, he was still stopped for air.

Being so young (and largely inexperienced in such things as beautiful men, let alone the sort of beautiful men who put to question all previously supposed beautiful men before them), it cannot be so surprising that he stared for a great deal longer than he might have intended.

Monsieur Neuvillette stood very close to the water’s edge. When the tide rolled in, water washed over his boots, but he didn’t seem to mind, or even notice. His eyes were set somewhere in the distance, out toward the sea, and his hands rested loosely on his cane, twisting it occasionally.

The moon shone brightly on him, gleaming off his hair and clothes. He somehow managed to look entirely out of place and right at home on that little patch of beach. Perfect against the moon and the ebbing seas, yet eye catching for his singularity.

It made Wriothesley feel like an intruder in some painting or piece of art. A strange piece of the background not intended to be seen, catching an illegal glimpse at such a pretty subject. Because surely if such a painting was made of that beach that night, it would be of Monsieur Neuvillette. If he made the cut of that painting at all, it would only be in his awed observation.

Again, the impulse to flee rose up suddenly. Gardes, whether mek, human, or (best case scenario) Melusine, he could handle. Other children looking to steal his food were easy enough as well. Even they would have been easy, no matter how hungry and tired he was.

There weren’t many people more dangerous than Monsieur Neuvillette. He did not want to give him a reason to earn his notice.

(And he had no idea what to do with how warm his face felt just seeing Monsieur Neuvillette. No one had the right to be that pretty!)

He turned back to his fire, shoulders hunched as he hurried to clean out the remaining crab meat from the shells. With decent enough food now, his stomach was full and he felt a bit invigorated. Enough at least to find somewhere in the Court to hide out for the night…maybe he could try repairing his gauntlets…

Only a short while later, he had finished his crab and felt a decent amount more alive. Discarding the shells, he kicked sand over the fire (ignoring how it got in his shoes as he did) and dusted himself off.

He threw a wary glance toward that imposing figure, but Monsieur Neuvillette had not moved. In fact, it seemed he hadn’t heard him at all. Whatever brought the Iudex to this lonely beach kept him there, staring out at the sea with an inscrutable expression.

He moved carefully, skirting along the edge of the beach and trying to be quiet. But his luck, it seemed, really had run out, because somehow, his shuffling steps were heard, and Monsieur Neuvillette turned and looked his way.

Like an idiot, he froze.

Monsieur Neuvillette stared, his strange eyes almost glowing in the moonlight. When Wriothesley did not move, he tilted his head, looking him over with sharp intensity.

He was far prettier face to face. Wriothesley stared for too long, his face burning. He was suddenly very conscious of the fact that he was likely very dirty, half-starved, and still bloodied up from the fight a few days back.

A wrinkle had appeared in Monsieur Neuvillette’s brow, the barest hint of a frown. “Are you well, young one?”

That was enough to break whatever spell of wonder had fallen over him. Like a man possessed, Wriothesley ran away, scrambling up the sand and back into the trees as if he thought Monsieur Neuvillette would give chase.

He did not, of course.

When the panic had cleared and some sense (and embarrassment) rose up in his franticly beating chest, and Wriothesley dared to peer around the trunk of the tree he’d hidden behind, Monsieur Neuvillette remained exactly where he had been. He stood at the edge of the sea, a figure from some impossible storybook, glimmering in the moonlight just like the waters behind him.

And staring right at him.

Needless to say, Wriothesley turned and fled completely, then.

Later that night, when the moon had waned down back behind the mountains and the breeze brushing through the streets of the Court, and Wriothesley had found a cold corner behind the Steambird offices to hunker down into for the night, he couldn’t quite erase that pretty image from his mind. Of Monsieur Neuvillette, standing alone on some forgotten patch of beach, looking out at the sea for who knew what purpose.

It would be a few more years before he saw Monsieur Neuvillette again, much closer than before, and under far less pleasant circumstances.

******

He startled awake, flinching away from whatever hands were on him and blinking the sleep from his eyes. The figure blocking the light over his head abruptly stepped away, leaving him to the blinding lamp glow and the chill of the too-thin blanket. His flinch set an ache aflame—well, everywhere really, but concentrated with a vengeance on his chest (where the worst of the wounds were) and his wrists (where the cuffs were).

Rubbing his eyes would get rid of this blurriness, but he couldn’t do that, so he settled for blinking, hard, several times. When the worst of it cleared, he saw the figure who’d shook him awake was the same woman from the gardes as had questioned him the first day, her voice trembling and her eyes wide.

The fear hadn’t quite left her, when he got a good look of her now. Her eyes were a bit too wide still, but her expression twisted not with panic but something more like…pity? Regret? He couldn’t be sure.

“Sorry, kid,” she said weakly, then shook her head as if to refocus. “You’ve got to get up though. Trial starts in a few hours, and your escort’s here.”

He squirmed a bit, kicking at the bedding to try to sit up, or maybe just to untangle his wrists from the blanket someone had pulled over him in the middle of the night. It didn’t really work. The garde grimaced.

“Let me help, okay?”

He sagged.

She came closer again, the keys jangling in her hand. They’d let him off the rail only a few times, mostly to change his bandages, force him to eat, or once a day to use the restroom. Never for a moment longer than necessary, and never without eyes.

He cooperated. There wasn’t any point in fighting, now. He would get nothing by being difficult, and he didn’t want to be difficult. He knew what he had done, and he knew the consequences.

“Don’t try anything,” she muttered as she pulled the blanket away to get to the cuffs.

There wasn’t any heat in her words, and he didn’t move anyway. A few seconds later, the cuffs let loose from the hospital bed’s railing with a clang. She moved quickly to uncuff the other side as well before removing that cuff entirely and closing the first set around both his wrists.

“Alright, up you get.”

His clothes had been confiscated, as had what remained of his gauntlets and the rest of his meager belongings. The hospital clothes were old and thin, the shoes next to the bed of a similar, shambling quality.

He sat up anyway, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up, only wobbling a little. It had been a long time since he ate anything substantial, and all his muscles ached from fighting him off. The gash crawling up his neck pulsed with every beat of his heart. Already, there was a pounding in his head, and he had only just stood up.

The garde motioned for him to follow her, and he fell into step.

More gardes were outside the door, and they formed up around him quickly, boxing him in. He kept his head down and his eyes on the first guard’s boots, matching her steps and trying to keep from blacking out again.

That happened a lot the first day. Apparently it was blood loss. At least that’s what the doctor had muttered about after he kicked the gardes out. They would question him whenever he woke up, for however long he woke up. After a few times, the doctor had apparently had enough and told them they could wait until he could sit up, at least.

He wondered if that doctor would have decided he was well enough to march to his trial, now. He wondered further if it mattered.

Probably not.

The walk was a blur. He was too focused on remaining upright, mechanically putting one foot in front of the other, to take in where exactly they were going. Hospital, street, aquabus…all a blur. He only really woke up when it got dark again, and he realized they had arrived at the Opera Epiclese.

Into the Opera, up the steps, into the defendant’s box. The gardes nudged him toward the chair and he sat, trying not to topple over immediately at the relief. He kept his hands in his lap and looked around blearily, hoping that would keep him awake.

He had never been to the Opera. The room was massive, a big cavernous maw, all eyes pointed toward the stage where the Chief Justice’s chair and the Oratrice stood. Heavy red curtains, dark wood, everything was gloomy except the Oratrice, which glowed faintly even now. At the other end of the hall above the audience was Lady Furina’s chair, large and grand in its private balcony.

He leaned forward a little to look down into the audience, and the gardes shuffled behind him as the cuffs clanged against themselves. Right…probably shouldn’t do that…

There was no one seated yet, anyway. Nothing to see but empty chairs.

The door to the box rattled, and someone else entered, their steps even but a little hurried. With a sigh, the figure appeared next to him and he glanced up.

Ah, his defense. He’d been assigned one, since he was young enough to apparently be unable to stand for himself.

The attorney chosen was old, older than them, at least, and had been remarkably blunt with him the day before when they met.

“There’s no way you’ll be found not guilty,” the man had said after explaining why he was standing there by his bed, frowning at the papers he reviewed. “Unless you plan to duel to clear your name, you’re likely to get at least two decades in Meropide. Maybe more, depending on what the Iudex feels is appropriate.”

He had no plans to request a duel. Even if he could fight in the state he was in, he wouldn’t want to.

Clearing his name wasn’t an option. He would admit to what he had done, as he had always planned to.

“Right,” the man said now, setting down his ever present stack of files and papers and brushing imaginary dust from his coat. “Well, Mr. Wriothesley, are you still of the same mind?”

“Yes sir.”

With a scowl, he nevertheless nodded. “Very well then.”

The remainder of the half hour before his trial began blended together as the walk here did. His attorney grumbled and shuffled through his papers, muttering about motive, abuse, and fraud. Lady Furina entered with one of her guards, sitting with a flounce and looking very bored. After ten minutes or so, chatter began to filter up from the audience below as people entered the Opera.

The chatter grew in volume when the Chief Justice entered. Wriothesley couldn’t help but to look up.

Monsieur Neuvillette looked even more otherworldly up at his place above the Oratrice. The glow of the moonlight, cemented in his memory, was not present, but everything else that made him more still lingered. He was still beautiful in that intense, confronting way, still moved with an ethereal sort of grace, a smoothness to his motions that made even just the short walk to his chair look more like a dance.

Unlike that night a few years prior, however, Monsieur Neuvillette’s expression was grim in its distance, calm like a wave unnaturally stilled. He looked about for a moment before his eyes settled briefly on Wriothesley.

Some change briefly flickered in his eyes then, there and gone. He had no idea what it meant, but Monsieur Neuvillette looked away just as quickly.

“If all parties are ready, we can proceed.”

The unseen audience quieted, and Wriothesley clenched his hands in his lap, watching his knuckles turn white. The scrapes from when his gauntlets had shattered pulled, scabs tight and weeping.

His attorney coughed pointedly and he startled, looking up at the man. The frown on his face was severe, and he nodded toward Monsieur Neuvillette.

“Sorry?”

Monsieur Neuvillette only blinked at him, a sharpness to his gaze that was unfamiliar in practice, but not very surprising to witness. “You have been charged with murder, Mr. Wriothesley. Your plea is required before trial can commence.”

“Oh.” He shifted, trying to sit up a bit more straight. “Guilty.”

Something dark seemed to pass over Monsieur Neuvillette then, inscrutable and quickly gone. “Very well. The prosecution may present their evidence.”

Rain pattered against the roof of the Opera. It would not stop for the next three days.

******

The gardes led him up to the box a final time. There were less of them, now, only three. And they kept glancing at him strangely.

Since the second day of his trial, when the Marechaussee Phantom had returned with the files from that house, the gardes and everyone had been…a lot nicer.

The fear seemed to be gone, at least, which he was happy for. He’d never tried to give the impression he would attack anyone, and yet grown adults had shied away from him like he was flashing a knife at their neck.

Their changed attitudes wouldn’t matter much longer, though. His trial was expected to end, today. Which meant he would undoubtedly end tonight deep in Meropide, where he knew he would go all along.

The last two days had been grueling, even if his trial never went longer than a few hours at a time. Something about his still being injured or a child, he didn’t know, but his attorney kept requesting recess and Monsieur Neuvillette kept granting it. Even when they were in the middle of examining some bit of evidence or questioning him about something or other.

Couldn’t delay the inevitable anymore, though. Even the prosecutor had run out of things to talk about now. Which meant Monsieur Neuvillette and the Oratrice had to give verdicts. And he knew where that would land him.

Rain had accompanied them here, and it still fell, a constant, gentle companion dancing along the roof of the opera house as he waited for the time to come. He listened to it fall, letting it wash away the noise of the crowd below.

Lady Furina was not present. He was not so surprised. She had left after only an hour or so the first day, and had not shown her face since.

Monsieur Neuvillette arrived right on time as always, and Wriothesley watched him from beneath his hair.

There was something almost comforting in seeing that same calm expression on his face each day. Even when all the details had been dragged out, and the prosecutor had demanded extreme detail of everything from what he knew of where unsold children went to his exact steps in killing them, Monsieur Neuvillette remained steady and firm. His questions, when he did ask them, were pointed—he didn’t waste time requiring a full account, he didn’t poke and poke until Wriothesley said what he wanted to hear, he cut to the quick in as few words as possible.

Only one moment came to mind where Monsieur Neuvillette seemed displeased. That was yesterday, when his attorney had spent a good ten minutes harping on the fact that Wriothesley was only fourteen, and there was no precedent for trials against children.

Monsieur Neuvillette had scowled then, a brief but no less jarring diversion from his usual placidity.

“A lack of precedent cannot stall our proceedings indefinitely,” he cut off the attorney’s rambling after a few moments. “There may be cases in the Ordalie’s records which bear some resemblance here.”

His attorney had gone silent then. When he looked up, Monsieur Neuvillette still appeared pensive.

“If there are no further details or evidence to discuss as to the verdict of this case, we may break so that relevant past cases can be examined.”

That had been their excuse for lunch, not that Wriothesley had complained at being fed in the little side rooms of the opera house. The food here was better than at the hospital, and he could be uncuffed to eat, even if he wasn’t allowed anything beside a spoon to eat with.

When they returned that day to the rest of the trial, Monsieur Neuvillette had apparently reviewed all the Maisson Ordalie’s files on cases involving children or those underage. No satisfying precedent existed, but Monsieur Neuvillette was firm that this could not be an excuse to stall the trial.

That hint of a frown lingered in his expression for some time, though, even when the questioning had returned to other details of his crime.

Today, thankfully, Monsieur Neuvillette looked the same as ever, no traces of his dissatisfaction present. He looked over the crowd briefly, his expression smooth, before calling the court to order.

“This trial has gone on long enough, and no crucial evidence has been presented since the first day,” he said after the prosecutor and Wriothesley’s defense had agreed they were ready. “If the defense has no further evidence to discuss, we will move forward with judgement.”

Monsieur Neuvillette had turned his eyes to his attorney, who seemed to waver at such direct attention. “No, your honor,” the man said eventually.

“Very well then. Mr. Wriothesley.”

Startled, he looked up.

Monsieur Neuvillette had a gaze which was difficult to hold. His attention was pointed in a way that felt like a blow, like he could see behind your eyes and into your head itself with just a few seconds to look.

Wriothesley held his gaze as best he could.

“You have pled guilty to the charges before you. If you do not wish to duel to clear your name, we will proceed.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want a duel.”

Monsieur Neuvillette nodded, and that was it.

He didn’t listen over much as the details of the case were reviewed a final time. Monsieur Neuvillette found him guilty, that was hardly a surprise. The crowd tittered below, but he focused his attention more on watching the Oratrice glow as it determined its verdict.

It wasn’t so surprising to see that it found him guilty too.

The crowd seemed almost disappointed. Maybe they were as bored as Lady Furina had surely been, to leave so early that first day.

Monsieur Neuvillette instructed the gardes, and Wriothesley found himself pulled to his feet and walked back down that dark little staircase out of the box. The cuffs rattled on his wrists as he walked, following only a few steps behind as the gardes led him out a side door toward the back of the Opera Epiclese.

The rain was falling harder, now. Big, heavy drops that splattered on the ground like they were trying to wash away the stone with the force of their fall. One of the gardes whined about the rain, but they all led him forward in spite of it. By the time they reached the end of the walkway, he was soaked through, the thin hospital coat he had been given sticking to his bandages and getting his hair in his eyes.

As he stood waiting for whatever exchange needed to take place, he looked up at the sky. Thick clouds had covered up the sun. It was only midday, but it was so dark and gloomy it might as well have been evening.

“Alright kid,” one of the gardes said, and he drew his attention back to the present. “Papers. Hold onto those, give them to the recordkeepers when you get in. Got it?”

He nodded, taking the few pieces of paper and awkwardly shoving them in the pocket of his coat.

They pulled him toward the staircase which led down beneath the opera. An older man waited there, dressed in a dark gray uniform and hat. A guard from the Fortress of Meropide, it seemed.

The gardes unlocked the cuffs, and the guard from the Fortress nodded, looking him over critically. “No funny business,” he said gruffly, and pointed down the stairs. “This way.”

Wriothesley nodded and moved down the stairs. The guard fell into step only a few feet behind him.

Gears and machinery ground into motion, and the entrance sealed above them, casting deep shadows over the stairwell and the cavernous room at the base of it. Only a few weak lamps along the base of the stairs lit the way.

The sound of the rain had cut off abruptly with the door’s closing. Only the churning of machinery and the echoing of his steps accompanied him down.

He rubbed at the irritation on his wrists where the cuffs had dug into his skin.

The guard led him toward an empty aquabus, floating placidly in the grimy, dim corridor. He boarded it quickly, sitting when he was nudged to do so. With practiced precision, the guard directed the aquabus forward, and it glided down the murky passageway with comparably quaint smoothness. The dissonance between such a smooth, regular ride and the dank brick tunnel was almost laughable.

In that faintly foul passageway, accompanied only by a taciturn guard and the muggy light of flickering pneumousia lamps, a realization settled over Wriothesley like a cool breeze.

That was it, then. His life on the surface was over. They were dead, and with their deaths, all the other children were free—and so was he, in a way. No more life on the streets, no more looking over his shoulder. No more anything.

Whatever awaited him at Meropide, it would be a fresh start, unaffected by them or his life on the surface, beyond the simple fact that those things had landed him here.

When they arrived and he was directed to the recordkeeper, and he dug in his pocket for the papers the gardes had told him to hand over, his fingers brushed against something cold and smooth. Frowning, he pulled this out too.

A Vision glowed in his hand, pale blue and full of Cryo. It was lit from somewhere within, rippling and winking at him, a cold little unassuming bauble which he had no idea why he now held.

The recordkeeper stiffened, and reached over to snatch his papers from his hand. “Hide that, now.”

He shoved it back into his pocket on instinct, watching the recordkeeper turn her attention meticulously to the files she was writing up.

“Anyone finds out you have that,” she muttered under her breath, not even lifting her eyes. “And you’ll lose it by the end of the week. Visions get stolen and sold here the minute they are shown. Keep it hidden.”

He nodded.

“Mr. Wriothesley,” she mumbled a bit louder, scribbling quickly on her papers. “No surname, correct?”

“No.”

“Date of birth?”

He hesitated a moment, feeling the weight of the Vision in his pocket. “Today.”

She glanced up at him briefly, calculating. But she wrote it down all the same. After a moment, apparently finished with whatever she was writing up, she turned and passed the guard behind him a new sheet of paper.

“You’ll be taken to your dormitory block now. The guards will explain the rules and your work to you. Your dormmate will be responsible for showing you around.” She shooed him away as she finished. “Welcome to Meropide.”

The guard led him forward once again, and he followed. He kept his hand around the Vision in his pocket. It did not warm under his touch.

What an oddity, to receive such a thing after what had brought him here. A fitting, cold twist to his ‘rebirth.’

As they entered the open maw of the Fortress, he clenched his hand more firmly around the thing, keeping his eyes forward and his expression unphased. There was nothing to do for it now. He’d just have to make the most of it.

Whether he meant the Vision or the Fortress, even he couldn’t say.

******

There were not many days when Neuvillette regretted his decision to humor Focalors and become Iudex of Fontaine’s courts. He had largely benefitted from the previous centuries’ work. It afforded him an opportunity to observe and learn about humans, whose form he was forced to share, and it kept him occupied far more than his previous wanderings had.

Company, he found, was always superior to loneliness. Particularly in keeping one’s thoughts from impossible to change circumstances. He would not have benefitted from any more years alone in the seas, of that he was certain. No, participation in this little society, even in as limited a form as his duties required, benefitted him greatly.

Despite the boons his duties gave him, however, today was, without doubt, one of the days he wished he did not carry this burden of impartial judgement.

“Monsieur!” Sedene said as he entered the Palais, leaning up onto the desk to look at him. “You’re early.”

“Yes.”

She looked him over sharply as he approached, her eyes narrowed and her brow pinched. “Are you alright? Aeife said that it’s been raining every day at the Opera. And you’re soaked.”

“I am well,” he assured her. “You and your sisters ought to know I take no issue with the rain. This trial has been more…difficult than others, but you need not worry.”

“Hm.” She did not seem convinced. “If you’re sure, Monsieur…”

“No need to fret,” he said, patting her head and moving past the desk. “I have some work to see to, now. Unless it is an emergency, please see that I am not disturbed.”

She nodded firmly, even if the distrust of his answer still lingered in her expression. “Of course.”

He thanked her and left for his office.

When he opened the door, he sighed and fought the unreasonable urge to turn back and simply leave for the evening.

“Lady Furina.”

The girl in question jumped nearly a foot into the air with a shout, turning wide, spooked eyes on him. Her cheeks rapidly went red. “M-Monsieur Neuvillette! My, you are back early!”

“Is there a reason you are rifling through my files?” he asked, willing the water off his coat and into the air to dissipate. He did not wish to ruin the rugs or furniture, as much as he did not mind the water near himself.

“Do I need a reason?” she asked loftily in return, but her eyes were darting away, unable to meet his own. “I am allowed entrance to this office, as I was told.”

“You are.”

“And, as the God of Justice, do I not have some right to case files for my people?”

“You do.”

“There you have it then,” she said, far too much relief in her voice to fully assuage his suspicions.

Nevertheless, she stepped away from his files, flouncing toward the seating area and throwing herself on a couch with no real decorum. Facing such a display, he decided it was not likely worth it to question what exactly she was doing. Not now, at least.

“Why are you back so early, anyway?” she asked.

“The trial had been dragged on for a day longer than necessary already. I saw no need to continue it further if there was to be no further discussion of value.”

“Ah. That…boy, then?”

“Guilty.”

“Mm.” She turned her face into the couch, throwing an arm over her eyes.

“Do you plan on remaining in my office?”

“Am I in your way?”

“…No.”

“Then yes.”

He huffed and moved to his desk. “Do as you please, then.”

She was silent, and knowing her habits, unlikely to speak at least for a little while.

This trial had taken a toll on her as well, as careful as she was to disguise it. Her flight the first day and absence the next two was evidence enough, if her behavior at hearing the verdict did not already reveal her distress.

He could not blame her. He took no pleasure in this case nor in the verdict it required him to deliver.

Justice would see crimes punished, if not prevented. There was no doubt that what that man and woman had done to those children for years was a crime.

But young Wriothesley had also committed a crime in killing them.

He could do nothing but deliver the judgement required by the law, and send a child into the Fortress of Meropide, a place no child deserved to be.

And the boy hadn’t even fought. He’d put up no real defense for his actions, had behaved well in custody, and had not once seemed surprised at the consequences. Even when the trial dragged on into the second and third day, when it was clear the boy was tired, and every detail of the crime and what they had done to him and the other children was demanded of him, he answered with honesty and without fear.

Rewarded for his honesty with years beneath the sea, banished from Fontaine simply for saving himself and other children from death. How despicable.

Furina lifted her head suddenly, her eyes bleary as she stared at him. “You’re making quite a storm out there, Hydro Dragon.”

He gave the windows a cursory glance. Rain continued to fall at a steady pace. It was unlikely to stop anytime soon, unless he forced it to, and he found he did not have the desire to do such a thing.

When he gave no reply to her words, she yawned and stood. “I think I will retire for the day. Perhaps…you should do so as well?”

It was an offer, he knew, and quite the gentle one. He hummed, looking over the files at his desk and choosing his words carefully. It was unlike her to attempt such subtlety, and it had been many years since she attempted in any direct way to give him a reprieve after a trial. Not since Sigewinne, at least…

A thought came to him, then.

“I must see to some of this first,” he said, gesturing at the files on his desk and those she had left discarded about the room. “However…I will likely follow suit at some point. At least earlier than is my usual.”

Lady Furina nodded, appearing satisfied enough with this response. “See that you do. Otherwise I will have to go above your head, my Iudex, and have dear Sedene clear your schedule for tomorrow as payment.”

Shaking his head, he turned his attention to the files. “There will be no need. I am perfectly able to attend to my duties as required.”

With a “Hmph,” Lady Furina left, closing the doors quietly behind her. Another little courtesy, it seemed—she was far more prone to bursting in and out of his office as she pleased…she must have been worried.

He would have to thank her for her concern in some way the next day…perhaps some of those desserts she so favored…Yes, that would do.

That matter settled, and his office now quiet as it should be, he sorted through the files at his desk and got to work in storing them where they ought to be. The files which Lady Furina had thrown about were stored away too, although he did make note of what exactly she had chosen to examine. Why she wanted to look into the disappearances cases now, he couldn’t say. There had not been any new evidence, as far as he knew…

It was not worth considering now. Like many other strange behaviors of Furina’s, it would make sense in time, he suspected. For now, he put the files away and returned to his desk.

Now to the matter at hand, and the reason he was pleased to have his office to himself as it ought to be. A letter to Sigewinne…at least to see if the boy’s injuries were properly treated…

Sigewinne was as reliable and steadfast as any other Melusine, and her position at the Fortress provided her both insight and a means to assist an inmate, as was required here. Even if she was most likely to take the opportunity of a letter outside their normal correspondence to worry over his own health, it would be worth it, and she would provide him a genuine answer.

It would give him something to do, some means of curbing this terrible weight on his chest from sending a child below. At best, it might stop the rain as well.

The letter came quickly, if more directly than was his usual.

Sigewinne,

I hope you are well. I apologize that it has been so long since my last letter. I am, as always, busy, but that is hardly an excuse for my forgetfulness. Forgive me.

I write for a dual purpose, however.

A case ended today with a young man sent to Meropide. He gave his name as Wriothesley. He is quite young, only fourteen, and was injured in the events surrounding his case. I understand he was treated in the Court prior to trial, but given the circumstances he was living in prior to verdict as well as his demeanor, I am not confident that all issues he may face were treated. With how young he is as well…perhaps you understand my concerns.

I assume you have some standard in place for new inmates. If the boy is injured, I would appreciate being informed, at least to ensure proper care is given to suspects on trial in the future. Although, I hope to not have to deliver judgement on another child…

In any case, it has been raining long enough that a swarm of your sisters will surely begin to follow me everywhere I go. I do not have so much free time that I can currently go much of anywhere, thankfully, I suppose, so their efforts will be no bother. I am as busy as ever, and they all have their duties.

I expect you are busy as well. No need to make any haste with your reply. If you have need of anything, I am happy as always to oblige.

Sincerely,

Neuvillette

Satisfied enough, he sealed the letter and stood, leaving his office. “Sedene.”

She looked up from her work. “Yes, Monsieur?”

“This must be delivered to Sigewinne,” he said, handing her the letter. “Quickly. If one of your sisters is available, that would be ideal.”

“Hm…Rhemia is here right now. She should be done with her investigation for the day. I can ask her.”

“Thank you. If she is able, please pass on my regards as well.”

“Alright.”

She held the letter in both hands, hopping down from her chair and heading off toward the elevators to find Rhemia. He returned to his office, even as he knew he had little else to do today.

His thoughts returned to young Mr. Wriothesley. The earnestness with which he had confessed every detail requested, the anger he had briefly shown when discussing what his supposed mother and father had done to the missing children, the utter lack of fear or even dissatisfaction on his face when the Oratrice had delivered its verdict.

What a strange young man…he had no idea what to think of him.

Sigewinne’s reply came only a few hours later, delivered by a very pleased Rhemia. After ensuring she had not tired herself unnecessarily by traveling to and from the Fortress on top of her work that day, he sent her off to have a meal and rest. Once she had left, he returned to his desk to read Sigewinne’s response.

Monsieur Neuvillette,

Thank you for your letter. You really ought to write more, you know! It’s a wonderful exercise for clearing your head. Not to mention its other benefits for mental health. And continuing friendships, of course.

And don’t you dare talk about all your writing for cases, that doesn’t count!

I’m fine here as always, don’t worry. As head nurse, there aren’t many here in the Fortress who would be silly enough to go against me. Even the administrator doesn’t have that much bravery. I’d let you know if something happened. It’s been business as usual. Injuries for me to patch up, meals to make for those who won’t eat, all that. Nothing so interesting that I thought you should know, but if you want more detail, just ask!

How’s everyone in Merusea? Have you been, since you last wrote? I’m sure everyone would love to see you.

Sedene’s last letter sounded like you’ve been busy, and so did yours today, but you’re quite often busy. I hope you’ve been taking care of yourself. At least I know I can trust you to drink plenty of water. Most humans don’t seem to like that advice. They take better to being told to rest than you do, however, so I think it’s a tradeoff.

You really ought to rest, too.

On this new inmate, it’s no problem at all. I usually do a check-in with new inmates after their first few days here, but if they come injured, that gets pushed up, no questions asked. I’ve got a few good friends among the guards, I’ve asked for their assistance. They’ll get this Wriothesley to me in no time, don’t you worry. If he’s at all injured still, I’ll take care of him.

I will let you know if anything concerning comes up there.

Visit Merusea! Otherwise I’ll have to request time off to come force you, and really, that wouldn’t be so helpful to keep an eye on this boy for you, now would it?

—Sigewinne

She would likely see Mr. Wriothesley soon, then, and would write him the next day. Even so, he felt the need to reply, given her other concerns.

Sigewinne,

I appreciate your quick response, and your concern. I assure you, I have not changed my habits since our last visit. You may take that as an improvement or as a failure on my part. I have known you and your sisters long enough to recognize I will not be accepted as an impartial judge on that at the least, so I will not give my opinion on my relative health beyond saying I am as well as ever.

I will, as always, take your recommendations to heart. I cannot promise improvement, but I will try.

As to visiting Merusea, you are correct in assuming I have not had the opportunity. Your sisters have instead made the habit of following me, as mentioned, and appearing in my office without notice. Sedene lets them in without question, and I could never turn away such a visit. Although I am sure I have not heard from all of your sisters…at the very least, those quieter or those who dislike the Court have not made an appearance.

However, I can at least rectify that oversight easily. Lady Furina insists on blocking off several hours of my week for our meetings, but rarely shows, and does not mind when I take the time for my own leisure. I can use one of these times to my benefit and visit your sisters easily enough. I will pass on any news they wish to share with you.

If this is not satisfactory, you are welcome to visit my office at any time you choose. You and your sisters have priority over any appointments I may have, except when I am required at the Opera. If you’re able to inform me in advance, that would be appreciated, but by no means required.

I am not at all surprised by your diligence with your patients. My letter was half for the purpose of assuaging my own concerns. Regardless, I appreciate your willingness to humor me.

If this administrator gives you further issue, inform me immediately.

Sincerely,

Neuvillette

******

A guard greeted him outside his dormitory on the morning of his second day, stern faced and narrow eyed. Her face was unfamiliar, but that hardly mattered.

“Wriothesley, right?”

“…Yes.”

The guard nodded, not seeming too displeased. His thoughts of having already done something wrong faded. “You’re wanted in the infirmary.”

He frowned, remembering the harsh warning words of his dorm mate, who was already in the production zone no doubt, toiling away to scrounge enough coupons for dinner. “What about—”

“Nurse Sigewinne’s summons are not to be ignored,” the guard cut him off, shaking her head. “You can begin your work after she dismisses you.”

Grimacing, he nevertheless put up no further fight. He moved past the guard and out into the Fortress’s main area.

Even in the morning, it looked no different than the evening when he had last seen it. Dingy lights hung every ten feet or so, most of them flickering and sputtering. Spotlights from the guards tower sat still now that it was morning, illuminating spare patches of peeling metal tile. The ground was wet, slick with oil and water and who knew what else. And the whole place stunk, like sewage and must.

There weren’t many people out. From what his dorm mate had said, most would be in the production zone, or that fighting ring in their hovel. A few lucky ones were at the cafeteria, eating their food quickly, their eyes darting all around. One woman had her whole body curled over the little tray, scarfing down an indescribable mush as fast as she could, as if someone would run up and rip it away any second now.

Maybe they would…

He hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, before his trial had started. He doubted he would get to eat again any time soon. The prices for food changed daily, seemingly at the will of the man dishing it out, and he had no coupons.

Charity seemed unlikely as well, if he had wanted it. Even the Fortress got the Steambird. His dorm mate—a man who looked roughly in his thirties, wire-thin and missing several fingers on his dominant hand—had cast enough frightened looks his way to last a life time. But the rest of the inmates he had the misfortune of crossing paths with so far had taken just as many opportunities to make it clear he would pay for any “transgressions” he committed against them.

He’d hoped to get to work and earn extra coupons as soon as possible, but this trip to the infirmary would ruin that.

A guard posted at the next dormitory block watched him walk past, a hand resting on his baton. No, best not to complain too much…

At least, not yet.

The infirmary wasn’t far from the dormitory blocks, and so he was there in only a few minutes. He’d briefly spotted the sign for it the day before, which was good, since no one else had bothered mentioning it.

It was a cavernous space, larger on the inside than the little doorway looked from the outside. Two sets of stairs branched off from the round door, down into a room which was undoubtedly the best lit he had seen so far. The lights here were far more maintained, clean and bright, giving the room a yellowy glow.

A handful of beds took up the back wall, with a low desk sat at the other end. The beds were empty, except the last, where an indiscernible lump of a person snored loudly.

At the little desk, writing on very fine paper with a bright pink pen, sat a Melusine.

Or at least he thought she was a Melusine. She had the long ears and coloring to match, but her face and hands were human.

Like all Melusines, she was small, likely only reaching his elbows in height, and young in appearance. Her clothes were bright and colorful, all pink and blue ribbons and bows, jarring against the gloomy backdrop of the infirmary’s metal walls.

Bright red eyes flashed to his as he hesitated at the landing of the stairs, and she smiled, big and cheerful.

“Hello!” she called happily, waving with her empty hand. “You must be Mr. Wriothesley!”

Still a bit stunned at the sight of a Melusine in the fortress, he nodded.

“Come on down!” she said, waving him forward as she set aside her pen and hopped off the chair, practically disappearing behind the desk. “Come on, don’t be shy! I won’t bite.”

He glanced once toward the sleeping figure in the last bed, wondering at how they hadn’t woken up. She was hardly lowering her voice, but they continued to snore.

But he supposed that wasn’t really his problem. Figuring it was better to listen to her than to keep stalling, he hurried down the steps and followed her gesture to sit on the bed closest to her desk.

“You’re…not an inmate are you?”

She giggled at the question, seeming quite amused. “My name is Sigewinne. I’m head nurse at the infirmary here. Which is a pleasant way of saying, I’m the only nurse at the infirmary here.”

She said all this in the same happy tone, not at all put out by the work she must complete.

And she hadn’t answered the question. But he let it go, nodding along.

“I do check-ups on everyone when they arrive, but especially when I’m told someone is injured,” she went on, turning back to sift through the desk for something. A Hydro Vision glowed at her back, like it was watching him while her back was turned. “The guards are very kind in assisting me. Were they nice to you?”

He balked as she approached again, a large clipboard and that pink pen in her hands.

She smiled and seemed to accept his non-answer. “Don’t worry. The infirmary is neutral ground. No fighting or punishment or anything else can happen here. And I don’t charge coupons, so if you’re ever hurt, just come for help!”

With that apparently settled, she turned her attention to her clipboard. “Now! Time for your check-up!”

What followed was an incredibly thorough review of his relative health. Nurse Sigewinne proved to be of methodical, unflinching character, cataloging his various scars, still healing wounds, and other issues with a critical eye. She took notes of it all, and asked questions throughout, which he answered hesitantly.

“You’re underweight, definitely. Did you not get enough food?”

He shook his head. “No.”

She tutted, but moved on, prodding gently at the bandages covering his chest and neck. “This wound here, what caused it?”

“A knife. They stitched it at the hospital.”

“Hm…” She peeled away the bandages and examined the wound closer. “It doesn’t look infected, thankfully. If you feel ill over the next few days, you’ll have to come back right away. Make sure to keep it clean!”

“Okay.”

“Ooh, and your hands are in rough shape too.” Her own were a little cold to the touch, even through her gloves. She held his larger hands carefully, as if they were very delicate. “Any pain or stiffness?”

“No.”

“Good. You haven’t broken any fingers or knuckles…that’s good as well. Still, I wouldn’t get into any fights for a while, at least. If you do, you’ll risk doing more damage here.”

He agreed easily enough.

After about a half hour, she checked the last box on her long list. “All done. You’re in pretty good shape, but you’ll have to remember to eat as much as possible as you start working, especially if you aren’t used to it. Using new muscles burns a lot of energy, and exhaustion will only make the pain worse.”

He nodded, not finding it worth it to bring up the impossibility of getting any food. “Thank you, Nurse Sigewinne.”

She giggled. “Of course!” She patted his head as if he were a much younger child, her touch gentle and light. He didn’t have the heart to stop her. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

It seemed a dismissal, and so he stood, nodding to her again and moving to leave. She returned to her desk and her fancy paper, her hand moving quickly and efficiently across it as she continued whatever work she wrote out. He watched her for a moment at the top of the stairs, wondering a little at why a Melusine would linger here, where only cold, dark, and stink seemed to live.

Maybe he’d never understand. But the infirmary was a beacon of light and warmth in the dingy hovel of a prison. He couldn’t be anything but thankful for the warmth it provided, no matter how temporary.

******

It came as little surprise when a familiar envelope greeted Neuvillette among his mail the next day. Sigewinne was always reliable, like many of her sisters, and their correspondence had been regular since her trial.

Perhaps she had also sensed the urgency of his concerns. Her letter began in hastily assuaging them.

Monsieur Neuvillette,

Don’t be silly! I’m fine, I promise. Like I said, this administrator doesn’t have the nerve to go against me. I’m very needed here, that’s why I stay. He knows that, I know that, so we have an understanding. I may not appreciate his character, but he would never harm me. And I have my means of defending myself, don’t you worry.

I’ll find some time to come up to the Palais to see you. Once I’ve got a few days, I’ll send them your way to confirm you’re not busy.

Any news from Merusea or the others around the Court is always appreciated. Sometimes they don’t write everything in their letters, so I miss out on the best news. Not everyone’s as diligent as Sedene, after all.

I can assuage your concerns now, I think. Mr. Wriothesley is in fine health, if still recovering, and a bit too thin. It’s a pretty common way to start out down here. I expect the work in the production zone and regular meals will help him level out. He seemed in good spirits, so I wouldn’t worry too much, Monsieur. Beyond that, I can’t say much, to ensure patient confidentiality.

If anything of import happens down here, though, I’ll keep you informed.

Don’t be too rainy up there! You’re making the others worried, you know. Let us help if we can!

—Sigewinne

He smiled a bit at her enthusiasm, not terribly surprised when the rain lessened against the windows. It would likely take a while to fully dissipate, given his effect on it was so sensitive, but Sigewinne’s cheerful nature and her willingness to ease his own anxieties certainly helped.

Only a minute or two later, his door creaked open, and Sedene poked her head into the office. “Monsieur Neuvillette? Are you feeling better?”

“You are particularly vigilant today, Sedene. You can come in, if you’d like.”

She did, shutting the door behind her softly. “You’ve been sad, Monsieur.”

“Not so much.”

“Hmph.” She crossed her arms, looking at him with something petulant in her eyes. “It’s been raining. Even the children know that’s you, you know!”

He smiled. “It does not always align with ‘sadness.’ In any case, I have a letter from Sigewinne.”

The distraction worked. She hurried forward, bouncing on her toes. “Is she well? What did she say?”

“She is well. She said as much as she usually does.”

“You mean she told you to rest, don’t you?”

He hummed.

“Well…she is right.”

“I am fine with my work, as you all know. There is much to do.”

“But even the Phantom gets two days off a week, Monsieur. You haven’t had a day off in well over a year.”

“You’ve been counting again, hm?”

She nodded earnestly, but her expression was a bit bashful. “I…may have told Sigewinne as well.”

“I suspected as much, but I am not upset. I hardly hide my work. Your sister would have found me out the next time she came to the surface.” He set aside Sigewinne’s letter and stood. “I suppose I’ve done enough today…I believe I’m overdue a visit to Merusea Village.”

Sedene beamed, obviously pleased. “Really?”

“Of course. You may join me, if you wish.”

Her smile grew wider, her eyes crinkling. “C’mon! Liath is off patrol soon, we can grab her too! Oh! And Ceasth and Menthe and—”

He let her grab his hands and pull him along as she continued listing off the various Melusines posted around the Palais and Court, knowing the sun would be out by the time they made it to the doors.

Chapter Text

Time slipped by with nothing terrible of note. New investigations, new cases, new meetings and new letters. His work—and thus, his life—was mostly cyclical, a repeating flow of investigations, court paperwork, trials, hearings, and meetings with the various departments of the Palais, as well as Lady Furina and other relevant dignitaries as needed.

Fontaine ebbed and flowed with the sea, changing much and yet little.

Several months passed in the blink of an eye, to him, as they often did. On a day similar enough to the one in which he’d sent Sigewinne that first letter, another was delivered from her.

Sigewinne liked to tell him little stories of the Fortress’s happenings. She seemed to choose stories she found amusing or uplifting, rarely one to complain. Occasionally, however, she would make her displeasure known, particularly when an inmate caused issues which landed people in her care.

A particular inmate of this ilk had bothered her for several months now. Many of her letters detailed the man’s horrid behavior, whether in sabotaging others work and causing injuries with the production machines, beating others beyond recognition in that horrid fighting ring, or any other number of unconscionable acts. She expressed her displeasure enough times that he had offered some means of assistance, particularly when she revealed the administrator would not do anything about the man’s actions.

Sigewinne, however, had declined his assistance for now, more focused on healing the rifts and wounds caused, as she always was. And so the incidents had continued, until this particular letter was delivered to his desk.

Monsieur Neuvillette,

I’m sure you remember that resident I’ve written to you about so many times—the one who has given me more patients than the last riot did, and that really is saying something! I know I’ve spent a good amount of paper complaining to you about his horrible behavior, and I’ve been trying to work out a solution of my own with the guards on my side. It’s been slow, though.

Imagine my surprise, then, when for the first morning in many weeks, I had no new patients asking for healing. I’ve gotten so used to patching up wounds, healing bruises, and coaxing out their stories that I really didn’t know what to do with myself this morning!

I thought about starting a new letter to you or one of the others, but before I could get more than a few lines written to Mamere, this awful resident of ours was dragged in by another resident, a scrappy new youngster quite talented at fighting.

They were both in a sorry state, but it was clear the younger had won out. My most problematic patient was quite cowering on the floor of the infirmary. I had to separate them to the two beds furthest apart.

Since he was the more injured, I tended to that bully first, and he seemed quite chastened. He could barely meet my eyes! Still, I must tend to all my patients, so I healed him up as best I could and gave him a good tonic to sleep.

Once he was out, I spoke to that youngster and healed him up. He had a bad cut across his neck that really worried me, and he wouldn’t take any pain medications when I offered them. I’ve treated children before, and usually they cry so terribly, but this one is tougher than most of the adults I treat each week. He said he’d rather keep his mind clear than avoid the pain. What a strange thing to say!

I stitched him up and got the story from him after a bit of wheedling.

As it turns out, I am not the only one in straits about that bully’s behavior. Of course, I didn’t think I was the only one, but most residents are so caught up in guaranteeing their next meal or other such essentials that as long as they aren’t the one being hurt, they don’t care.

This boy, though, he cared a great deal, I could tell. He was very angry at that man. But he assured me he would be a problem no longer. How cute! Humans are so fascinating, aren’t they?

—Sigewinne

He frowned at her letter for several moments, reading it through again to put together the details. A young man, a fight, such a strong sense for injustice…it really could be no one else.

His reply came quickly to him, the words flowing easier than most.

Sigewinne,

This boy you speak of, I believe, is Mr. Wriothesley, is it not?

As you are able, please take close care of him. Though I would never interfere in how you handle your patients, nor ask you to favor one over any other, Mr. Wriothesley is, I expect, your youngest, and from what little I know of such things, a boy of exceptional character.

I cannot express any surprise at his sense of righteousness. What little I know of him suggests he has a deeper understanding of justice than many in Fontaine.

Are your stores suitably stocked? Please inform me if you are in need of any medical supplies, and I will arrange their delivery. If you have no urgent needs, I will send your usuals at the next posting.

Your sisters are well. It pleases me to see you all write to one another so faithfully. Your letters are a delight, and I cherish each greatly. I am sure the sentiment is echoed by your siblings as well.

Sincerely,

Neuvillette

It was a great deal shorter than was ever his habit, but a strange sense of urgency had him immediately handing it to Sedene to be sent out.

His thoughts for the next hour were occupied, and he achieved little in his paperwork or files, wondering at the boy in the Fortress and his charitable deeds.

******

Months turned to years. Fontaine continued to ebb and flow, and he rode the currents of his work with relative ease. Trials, paperwork, meetings, repeating on and on but never in such a way to incite boredom. He was, after all, always busy, and such work required his attention and consideration, something he took seriously.

Sigewinne’s letters continued. In a slow turn, slow enough that for a time he hardly noticed, they began to mention young Wriothesley more and more.

He’s always getting into those fights, as you know, she wrote in one, her words worried, her pen pressed tight to the paper. I know that he does it to earn his coupons, and with how costly food can be, I don’t blame him. But that doesn’t excuse such recklessness with his own health.

I’ve perfected my nutrient shakes, another began. Mr. Wriothesley agreed to test one for me—I expect he hasn’t been eating right, again. He keeps letting the others use up his tab at the cafeteria, and then there is very little left for him.

Anyway, he took only a tiny little sip and asked me if I was punishing him for something. I would have thought he was making fun of me if his face weren’t so deadly serious.

I don’t understand—they are perfectly nutritious!

That one had made him smile. Sigewinne had worked tirelessly on a solution to the Fortress’s…issues…in feeding its residents. Her solution was a drink packed beyond capacity with protein, water, and other such nutrients, which she would give out on a regular basis to anyone who would not decline.

He had faith it was indeed a very healthy beverage. But he was not so surprised it was not to human taste. Melusines saw the world in wonderous difference…she would understand in time, he expected, why the inmates were so wary of her drinks.

He broke up another ring of traders, she wrote in another letter some months later. Sinthe again. His injuries were worse this time. He said those gauntlets of his shattered mid-fight. Why he chooses to use his own fists as a weapon, I will never understand. A bow is a perfectly good substitute!

I told him that, and he laughed at me. The nerve! I stitched him up as ever, even if he still refuses pain medications. I’ve gotten him to drink tea, at least…I wonder if I can slip a little reliever in it next time…

Eventually, such schemes paid off, as she wrote several weeks after that.

He got himself hurt again, of course, I am hardly surprised. One of those bullies had a shiv of some sort, and cut up his arms and side horribly. The pain must have been terrible…he sat so still when I did my examination, and he only does that when it really does hurt.

I snuck some sleeping tonic into his tea, the flavorless kind. He went out like a light after only a few minutes. I had to catch his cup! He must be so tired…don’t worry, Monsieur, I’ve healed him up as ever.

On and on she went, and he could never stop her. Such details felt…personal, in a way her other little stories did not. And yet, he clung to them especially, focused in on them in each letter without any real understanding of why he did so.

Was it guilt, for the sentence he had delivered a child? He did not believe so. Wriothesley had, regardless of the terrible tragedy of his circumstances, broken the law, and thus the law had to be followed for suitable punishment. It was the same logic which had forced him to cast Sigewinne below, all those centuries ago…

Such old wounds, now. He set them aside. Sigewinne was happy where she was, pleased with her work, and she had told him this dozens of times. The ruinous despair which had plagued him in the months after her judgement was eased by years of correspondence and assurance. She was fine, not at all displeased or angry. In fact, she knew when she made her choice that she would be sentenced.

Like Wriothesley…

He frowned at himself as he opened Sigewinne’s most recent letter. Why was he so…caught? He did not know.

But whether he knew why or not, Wriothesley’s mentions in Sigewinne’s letters drew him in. He could not help it.

Deciding to disregard the line of thought for now, he unfolded her letter and began to read.

Monsieur Neuvillette,

Thank you for sending additional supplies. I was so worried I would run out before your next shipment came…there are always injuries here, but with the recent demands on the production of meka, it seems more and more residents are getting hurt. I would have been lost without those supplies you sent.

I have more good news as well. The original supply box I had that went missing, it’s been returned to me. Mr. Wriothesley dropped it off this morning. He carried it in like it was nothing special, but I’m sure you know that box was quite big, not to mention it was completely missing before. Definitely a big deal!

I questioned him extensively. I wondered at where he had found them, and how he had managed to get them back so quickly. After I sent your letter, I mentioned it only passingly as he said hello one morning. He does that often, saying hello before going off to the production zone or the fighting ring. Sometimes we have a little tea, too. He seems quite fond of tea…

Anyway, the point is—I mentioned it only once, and not to get him to do anything for me. Maybe I should have known he would do something—he got that look in his eyes, and left quickly. I didn’t see him at lunch, either. Never a good sign. Whenever he disappears, something big happens down here.

From what he told me today, after he learned they were missing, he did his own investigation of sorts. Wriothesley knows everyone here, and knows their motivations and habits even more so. He can sense a fight better than anyone I’ve ever seen, and he certainly doesn’t shy away from them.

People down here know that, too. And the ones that don’t respect him enough to just answer at least know what they’re getting into when he goes poking around.

He says that he found the group who’d stolen my supplies yesterday evening, after talking to several people and searching the Fortress. I asked if he’d fought anyone for the supplies back, but he would not answer.

I haven’t received any new patients, though, so maybe this time he’s telling the truth…or at least, he wasn’t hurt by it. At least there’s that!

Sigewinne

A small smile crept across his face without his notice. Further evidence to his excellent character then…how wonderful.

Sigewinne had been harried in her first letter, terribly concerned for the state of her supplies and her ability to keep the infirmary open. He was not so surprised to learn she had inadvertently shared that they were missing, nor that she did not imagine this would be something another would concern themselves with. She always seemed so surprised by the support she received for her work.

If he ever saw Mr. Wriothesley again, he would have to thank him for his care for her. It was clear that he and Sigewinne had become something like friends, and she cared for him. It soothed an old worry, to know she had such friends below, where he and her sisters could not easily reach.

And to have a friend of such standards, he was sure, was a gift of its own. Yes, he would have to express his gratitude if they ever met again…

An idea came to him suddenly, then. Perhaps he could give some sort of thanks now.

True, it would hardly be appropriate to send anything to Mr. Wriothesley directly, and he doubted such a gesture would be welcomed, regardless. But if the young man spent this much time with Sigewinne…hm…it had potential…

Nodding to himself, he set aside Sigewinne’s letter and left his desk. A few purchases from the market would surely satisfy…

******

Nurse Sigewinne was, as ever, at her desk writing when he entered. Most times he came to the infirmary, she was carving away at some work at her desk. Occasionally there would be a patient already requiring her help, but not today.

She looked up at his entrance and smiled. “Hello, Mr. Wriothesley!”

“Nurse Sigewinne.”

“You’re on your feet, that’s a good sign.” She turned back to her letter.

“I can’t visit unless I’m hurt?”

“Of course you can! Only you get yourself torn up quite often, hm?”

“I suppose.”

“You’re not hiding some wound, are you?”

“Not today.”

“Hmph.” She looked up again, her eyes narrowed. “No, you’re not. How can I help, then?”

“I can wait, if you’re busy.”

“No, no!” She set down her pen right away, shaking her head as she looked at him happily. “It’s no urgent letter. Monsieur Neuvillette and I write to each other often enough, and I have no real business to share. I can finish up later.”

She set her chin on her hands, kicking her feet below the desk as he watched her, thinking that little tidbit of information over.

He supposed it wasn’t so surprising. Monsieur Neuvillette was known to care for the Melusines, and Sigewinne, despite her appearance, was one, and one quite out of his reach too.

He wondered again why.

“You sure you’re not an inmate, Nurse Sigewinne?”

She giggled, shaking her head. “You really want to know?”

He shrugged, wandering over to sit on the bed closest to her desk. “You know all my business. I like to think we’re…friends.”

“Of course we are, silly!”

“Then yes.”

She giggled at him again, and he fought to not roll his eyes. Nurse Sigewinne always seemed to find something funny in what he said, and she was sweet enough that he couldn’t stand the thought of hurting her feelings, even accidentally.

“Want some tea then?”

“If you’ll allow it.”

“Hmm…” She seemed to think it over, her expression drawn in a way where he couldn’t tell if it was genuine or a complete farce. “Alright. But no fighting ring today.”

“You make terrible bargains.”

“Only one you’ll get! Tea or fighting. Either that, or you drink one of my shakes.”

He sighed, crossing his arms. “I suppose I won’t earn any coupons today, then.”

She cheered and hopped off her chair to get her little kettle.

Tea was a luxury not served in the cafeteria, and one he had accepted from Nurse Sigewinne whenever she offered it. From anyone else, that would be a signing of his own death sentence. Any little weakness or favorite was drawn out and lanced down here. Someone would at least try to use that to their advantage, likely to bargain with him.

Not that he’d ever duck out of a fight for tea—except when Nurse Sigewinne offered it of course.

Besides, Nurse Sigewinne was, even at her most frightening, no threat to him, and she sincerely meant well. He had never met a Melusine who did not.

That was part of the reason why he was here. There weren’t many secrets left in this place that he did not know. Nurse Sigewinne remained the most intriguing of them. He wanted to know why she was here, why Monsieur Neuvillette let her be, why…everything.

She brought out the kettle and her tin of tea, which he snatched away before she got any ideas. “Hey!”

“You handle the water, I’ll pick the flavor.”

“Hm.”

These little bargains characterized most of their interactions. A fair trade when he could manage it, and when he could not, he let things slip to her favor. She seemed to take some fun in the game, though, so he knew she wasn’t too put out by it.

Sure enough, she shrugged. “Okay! You can get the cups too, then.”

“In the storeroom, right?”

“Mhm!”

As she filled the kettle, her Vision glowing happily at being used, he sifted through the tin of tea leaves looking for a kind he knew he liked.

Sigewinne’s tea came from seemingly anywhere, without any order, and so she had nearly a dozen different varieties all stuffed into the same tin.

Only, there seemed to be a great deal more tea in the tin now than last time he had made his excuses to visit her. From the brightness of the packaging and the stronger scent, these were new, too. He frowned. 

“Did you order more tea?” he asked curiously, squinting at the unfamiliar labels on some of them.

She hummed, distracted as she filled the kettle. “Monsieur Neuvillette sent them to me with this month’s medical supplies. It was very thoughtful of him!”

That explained it then, he supposed. After a bit more poking about, he picked one of the newer brands, something local to Fontaine that he had never had before. He set the sachet next to her as she supervised the kettle, moving toward her storeroom connected to the infirmary.

It took him a few minutes to find the cups she wanted. Sigewinne was meticulous with organization, but she had so many medical supplies stocked up that her little room was overrun. Racks filled with bandages, antiseptic, tools for sewing stitches, gauze, gloves, and far more that he was not versed enough in the art of medicine to recognize. What couldn’t fit on the racks sat next to them in boxes and large crates, only a few of them open as she’d sifted through them.

Sigewinne’s cups were as practical as she was. Short, sturdy little things made of metal. But her little touches were there, primarily in the prettily painted flowers and bows all across them. He had no idea if she’d done the work herself, but it certainly fit her taste.

There were only two, and he scooped them up by the handles, weaving his way back through the maze of the storeroom and into the infirmary. The kettle had begun to steam, but not quite whistle.

He gave her the cups and went back to the bed to wait. Only a short while later, the kettle whistled, the tea steeped, and Sigewinne handed him a cup before pulling her desk chair over by the bed.

“Hm, where should I start…” she muttered as she stirred her tea. “I guess my story starts the same as the rest of us…you know the history of Melusines, yes?”

His brow furrowed at the question. “About as much as anyone else, I guess. You all came to Fontaine with Monsieur Neuvillette, right?”

“That’s right. This was about four hundred years ago. Monsieur Neuvillette found us in Elynas and believed we deserved to be incorporated into Fontaine’s society, specifically within the Court. I think he wanted to protect us…” She sighed, taking a pause for a little sip of her tea. “Back then, humans didn’t trust Monsieur so much, and they didn’t trust Melusines either. There had been some attacks, after we were discovered in Elynas…Monsieur Neuvillette had to step in to defend us, and that didn’t really help his reputation…”

He must have frowned more, as she laughed. It didn’t quite reach the usual delight she laughed with, but her amusement was clear. “Sorry. It’s hard to imagine Monsieur Neuvillette not being…as he is, I guess.”

“Monsieur Neuvillette has worked hard for his reputation, and for ours,” she said, nodding seriously. “But from what he’s told us, when he first came to Fontaine and became Chief Justice, the humans were very suspicious of him. And even with nearly a century of his work, they hadn’t quite gotten used to him by the time he took us in…

“Anyway, I came to the Court with some more of the others after Monsieur Neuvillette passed many laws to protect us. This was after a Melusine on the Marechaussee Phantom had been killed…Monsieur Neuvillette was very distressed…as I said, he passed many laws which protected Melusines the same way humans are protected under the law. A lot more Melusines came to the Court then, and I came with them.

“Still, most humans were wary of us. It was hard to make friends. But I wanted to help. I had learned a lot about medicine in Merusea, and I could treat my sisters with ease. Melusines have different sight from humans—we can see far more, or at least we see things differently. It was easy for me to tell when a human was sick or injured. Most wouldn’t let me close, though.

“I found a teacher, and she was wonderful. She taught me everything I know about human medicine. And I even made some friends! I was still young, then, so my friends were mostly human children…most of them didn’t care I was a Melusine, either.

“One of my friends fell very sick. Her parents thought she might die, and I wasn’t allowed to see her. They didn’t trust me, even when I offered to help. They lived very far from the Court, and no other doctor would have made it in time…

“So I hurried back to my teacher, and asked for her help. My teacher was very clever, and had made a tonic that could change one’s appearance. I never understood how it worked, but I was very insistent that I wanted to use it. I could make myself look human, and then my friend’s parents would let me help!

“But there are laws in Fontaine against changing yourself that way. Very old laws, from what I remember. My teacher warned me that I would most likely be caught and face justice. Still, my friend was dying, and I could not let her. So I drank it.”

She smiled then, taking another sip of her tea. “That’s why I look like this! I’m still a Melusine, but I could blend in with humans if I pulled up my hood.

“I went back to my friend’s house as quick as I could, and her parents let me in. They thought I was a child, but they were so desperate…I tended my friend for several days, and her fever broke. I left before she woke up, but I know she grew up healthy and strong. She lived a wonderful life!”

He waited a moment for her to continue, but she only smiled at her tea, likely still reminiscing about her old friend. “You were caught, weren’t you?”

“Oh! No, no. I turned myself in.”

He blinked, surprised for a moment, but then nodded. From everything he knew of Nurse Sigewinne, this made sense. She would not be one to run from this sort of thing, even if she could have. And he doubted she could have.

“I broke the law, and it would be unjust if I wasn’t punished. I knew that when I took the tonic from my teacher. I went to Monsieur Neuvillette after I was sure my friend was well.” She frowned then, a little worried pinch to her brow. “He was very upset…it rained for several weeks, all through my trial and everything.”

She said the last quietly, forlornly, and he tucked the bit of information away for later consideration. What could the weather have to do with anything?

“But! Then I came here. The Fortress of Meropide was very different back then. There was no infirmary. Sometimes a traveling doctor would come down for a few days, but never long enough. A lot of people were sick, or hurt, and it was just so awful…

“The guards and the others didn’t seem to know what to do with me, since I couldn’t reach the buttons on the machines. So I started offering healing. I hid that I was a Melusine for a little while, but when everyone started needing my help more and more, I stopped worrying so much about it. And no one minded! It was wonderful.

“After I wrote Monsieur Neuvillette asking for more medical supplies for what had to be the hundredth time, he set up a meeting with the administrator. She was a very old human, but sharp, and she seemed to like me after I helped her with her headaches. Her and Monsieur Neuvillette talked for a long while, and then she let me open the infirmary! Monsieur Neuvillette makes sure we get the supplies, and I make sure everyone is well. It’s a wonderful deal. When my sentence was up, I decided to stay, and I’ve been here ever since!”

He shook his head a little at how pleased she looked. “So you were an inmate.”

“But I’m not anymore.”

“No wonder you’ve been dodging my questions, then.”

She giggled. “You’ve been getting better though! It’s much harder to talk around you.”

“Good.” He finished his cup and got to his feet. “Well, I’m off, unless you need me.”

“Oh? Off where?”

“Hm. Been a while since I’ve done any production. Since I can’t fight this morning, I might as well earn something somewhere. Gotta kill time until dinner.”

“What’s at dinner, then?”

He smiled, setting his cup down next to her kettle. “You said no fighting today, Nurse Sigewinne. Once the sun’s down up there, it’s night.”

She stared at him, wide eyed, apparently stunned. “Hey!”

He laughed, and she chased him out of the infirmary with a frown petulant enough for him to know she was mostly kidding. Still, he bowed out with his hands raised, and she watched him from the landing of the stairs, her arms crossed.

“No injuries, mister! Or I’ll come up with some way to get you out of that ring for weeks!”

He gave her a mock salute. “Yes, Nurse Sigewinne.”

“Hmph.” She turned and flounced away, stomping down the stairs likely to finish that letter of hers.

Chuckling, he left, headed for the lifts toward the production zone. As it slowly rose to his morning’s work, he thought over what he’d learned.

Nurse Sigewinne trusted him, clearly, to give him so much information. That was…good. Of all the allies he had on the guards and the staff, he knew she was by far the most valuable.

Things were changing in the Fortress. The warden was getting more and more crazed, and people were suffering for it. He didn’t know how much longer it could stretch without the band breaking. When that happened, having Nurse Sigewinne on his side would help.

She knew everyone here, and had held at least some of their lives in her little hands. More than that, she could be downright frightening, especially when some fight or squabble interfered with her work. He did not want to be on her bad side. And he enjoyed her company. It was a win-win.

The information about Monsieur Neuvillette was a little bonus, something interesting to puzzle over as he did his work. He knew little of the man, and hadn’t thought of him in some time.

Most people down here had mixed opinions. There were some who hated him, he knew. There were others who clearly respected him. Most, he suspected, fell somewhere in the middle. Few were stupid enough to think about trying anything against him.

But even those who despised him wouldn’t go against him in the way Sigewinne referred to. It was almost impossible to imagine Monsieur Neuvillette having a bad reputation in Fontaine. Imagining the Melusines having one was even more difficult.

He thought of her comment about her trial again, and the rain…it had rained during his trial too. From what he remembered, that wasn’t so uncommon. It rained often in Fontaine, and around trials especially.

But why had she mentioned it specifically? And after talking about Neuvillette too…strange.

One of the guards shouted from nearby, and he shook the thought away, getting back to work. He couldn’t afford to be introspective in the production zone. That was how you lost an arm.

He’d have to leave his thoughts of Monsieur Neuvillette for later…

******

Wriothesley asked about me again. This time, I decided to tell him.

He seemed very confused by the whole story. Maybe that’s not so surprising. He’s still quite young, and he’s grown up when Melusines and humans have always gotten along. From how he has treated me since he came here, I know he respects us a great deal. Maybe I should ask him about it…

Still, he’s gotten quite a bit taller over the last year or so. Maybe he’d be as tall as you now, Monsieur! That would be fun. Humans are so cute, even when they’re all grown up. And they get grown up so quickly! Isn’t it fascinating?

He also seemed surprised about how things were for you back then. It must be hard to imagine. Even here with my most difficult patients, you are spoken of very well, Monsieur. I know you don’t believe me, but still, it’s true. Wriothesley seems to respect you a great deal. As he should!

I’m sending along some soothing drops and a fever reduction for Liath. She mentioned she’s had a cough in her last letter to me, and those sorts of things usually come with other symptoms of a cold. Can you pass them to her? I don’t know if she’ll be able to take a day off, but rest would be good as well.

You better be taking care of yourself, too! I’m going to take a day off in the next month, so expect me for a check-up at some point. I’d tell you the day, but you’d hide!

Sigewinne

He sighed at her closing, knowing that would be a day where he would be unable to get much work done. Sigewinne’s prescriptions had not changed for him in several centuries. Rest was always on the list. He could only sparingly afford to humor her there.

Glancing briefly at the little package she had attached, he set aside her letter for now to find Liath. That was more urgent than the rest.

Sedene looked his way as he left his office. “Hi Monsieur. Did you need something?”

“I have a delivery from Sigewinne for one of your sisters. Do you know where Liath would be currently?”

“Hm. She usually takes her break around this time…she might be around the back, at the benches by the aquabus stop. She likes to chat with Muirne and Talochard there, sometimes.”

“Thank you, dear. I’ll return shortly.”

She nodded, and he left.

The sun was high in the sky, and the streets had emptied as most humans went for lunch or other things lower in the Court. A few gestionnaires on their breaks loitered around the benches that sat along the railing overlooking the sea, but none paid him any mind. He continued around the building until he caught sight of Liath, sat on a bench alone kicking her feet and looking morose.

She looked his way as he approached, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. “Hi, Monsieur,” she mumbled, her voice sounding heavy.

He frowned, and knelt at her side. “You are not well, little one.”

She shook her head. “I-I’m okay.”

Setting aside Sigewinne’s package for a moment, he put a hand to her forehead. Even through his gloves, he could feel she was warm. “No. Why did you not say something?”

She sniffled, looking very upset. “Everyone’s been working so hard. A-and I know that when we have to stay home sick, someone else has to cover our patrols. I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone, not when I can still work okay.”

“But you are not well, Liath.” He shook his head, resting a hand on hers. “Your sisters and your colleagues in the Phantom are happy to help you. I am happy to help you. That is why we have such a full staff, to ensure that all of you are properly cared for while you do your work. Your wellbeing must come first.”

She was quiet, sniffling at her lap.

“Sigewinne said you wrote to her that you had a cough.”

She nodded.

“She sent some medicine for you. One of them should help with your fever as well.”

“O-oh. That was kind of her.”

He hummed, and opened the package. A little packet of the drops Sigewinne mentioned sat on top, along with a bottle of pinkish liquid he assumed would help with the fever. Sigewinne had written instructions on a little card, her neat script clear and concise.

“Can I trust you to follow her instructions and rest?”

Liath nodded, but there was still a worried wrinkle to her expression. “But…what about…”

“I will handle finding someone to cover your patrol while you are ill. You must only take your medicine and rest. Alright?”

She hung her head again. “Okay, Monsieur.”

“Thank you, little one.” He stood, and when she kept ahold of his hand, pulled her gently to her feet. He passed her the package and settled a hand on her shoulder. “You will be safe getting home?”

“Mhm. I’ll be okay.”

“Very well then. I expect you or one of your sisters to alert me if you need further attention. I can arrange for Sigewinne to attend you if needed.”

“Okay, Monsieur. But…I think I’ll be okay. Sigewinne’s medicine is good stuff. That’s why I wrote her.”

“It was very smart to do so. However.” He lifted her chin so she would look at him. Her eyes were a little wet. “I expect you to inform me when you are not feeling well. You and your sisters are under my care, and I will not have any of you suffering when I can easily assist you. Do you understand?”

She nodded, and leaned forward to hug him, her voice muffled by his coat. “Yes, Monsieur. I’ll tell you. I’m sorry.”

He hummed, and held her for a moment. “You are forgiven, dear. Now. Go home, take your medicine, and rest. One of your sisters will check on you this evening, or I will do so myself if I am able. For now, I must return to my work.”

“Okay…c-can you thank Sigewinne for me?”

“Of course.”

After ensuring that she left the bench and went down into the lower Court where her apartment was, he returned to the Palais.

“Sedene.” She looked up from her work. “Liath will be out for the next two days at minimum. Muirne and the others will need to cover her route.”

“Okay, Monsieur. I’ll talk to them…is Liath alright?”

“She will be well, I am sure. But I may ask you to check on her this evening, if I cannot.”

“That’d be fine. I don’t have any plans.”

“Thank you, then. I will let you know if I need your assistance.”

With her nod of agreement, he returned to his desk, and Sigewinne’s letter.

Now that Liath’s apparent illness was settled his attention was drawn to the rest of her letter’s entertaining contents. As usual, he read them through again now that the worry of poor Liath was free from his mind.

He could understand Mr. Wriothesley’s confusion, at least as far as Sigewinne’s presence in the Fortress. His regard for the Melusines was well known, and it had been many decades since anyone had dared to go against them. Seeing a Melusine—even one as unique as Sigewinne—in Meropide must have come as a shock.

It was heartening to hear of his apparent shock, too, as it spoke to the sentiment of Fontaine as a whole in regards to the Melusines. They cared for them as he did, now, and he was pleased to see it.

As to his surprise about his reputation, hm. That was more surprising. He knew Wriothesley to be an uncommon character, even from only his behavior during his investigation and trial. But to hear it continued so many years later…to hear he apparently thought well of him. It was…intriguing.

He wondered if anything would ever come of it, after his sentence was over…

Such musings kept him idly occupied as he wrote his reply to Sigewinne and handed it off to be sent, and even back into his work over his files and meetings. He had long given up on disabusing himself of such mental wanderings, knowing that the best way to assuage them was to humor them through their course. There was, after all, only so much to examine, as he had met young Mr. Wriothesley only at his trial, and had only Sigewinne’s humorous accounts to go off of.

As his day wound to a slow, waning close, he assumed this would be all there was. Wriothesley would be like many before him, an intriguing character to examine from a distance, until he faded from his notice to live his own life. Few ended up in front of him again after a trial, and fewer had any reason to seek him out outside a trial.

No, it was unlikely he would see Wriothesley again, no matter how…fascinating he was.

******

Night in the Fortress was, in most ways, not so different from day.

No natural light reached this deep, and if it did, it would taint yellowy-green from the thick windows at the top of the Fortress’s main hall. Without natural light, everything down here ran on pneumousia, tinting things either a glaring yellow or a sharp blue. The mix washed any color from the already grim walls and floors, and with the stench, it made for a dreary atmosphere.

At night, too, the guards patrolled constantly, and the spotlights around the central tower were turned on to catch anyone sneaking about. Anyone who was caught spent at least a week deep in solitary, where they didn’t bother to turn on any lights at all. Terrible place. He had no desire to go back to it, thank you very much.

But, needs must and all that. No one else was going to clean up this mess.

These sorts of things often fell to him. There weren’t many in Meropide who had enough…credibility (and literal credit) to do what he did, and those that were on equal footing with him (so they believed) were typically the scummy sort to spend their coupons on liquor, sinthe, and beating others into paste. The first two were entirely unappealing. He could do the latter, but despite his means for amassing his current wealth, he didn’t fight without a reason.

Tonight’s reason was…complicated. Hence the sneaking about at all.

He left his dorm without making much show of hiding it. His roommate was most frequently a newer inmate, nowadays, and the poor sot he had currently was out like a light before the dinner bell even rang. Slept like the dead, too. He wouldn’t be missed.

The guards were posted at the entrance to each row of dormitories. His was no different, of course.

The woman in question glanced his way as he wandered up. “Out a bit late this evening, aren’t you kid?”

“I suppose.”

“Hope you have good reason,” she muttered, looking toward the central tower and its spotlights. “They’re due a break up there in a minute or so. Won’t get another chance for an hour after that. I’d run, if I were you.”

He nodded, watching the nearest spotlight trail over the dirty tiled ground. “Thanks.”

“Kick their asses, then.”

He snorted. “Usually do. Goal’s more to stay out of Nurse Sigewinne’s way at the end of it.”

“Admirable. But knowing you, slightly impossible.” The spotlight stopped, settling lower on the ground as whoever manned it set it down. “Go, now.”

He did as he was told, jumping the short railing blocking the area past the stairs and making a dash across the open space.

Without the beam of the spotlight, the Fortress at night was dark, a veritable death trap of grimy, wet floors, debris, and shipping boxes. Thankfully, he knew his way around, and darted amongst the blurry dark shapes with ease. By the time the spotlight lifted back to its regular position and began to track the path, he had disappeared around the corner and into the darkened hall that led back toward the pipes.

It was an area where no guards patrolled. One of them usually loitered about during the day, shooing people away from the area, but at night, only the spotlight dipped into the shadowy hall.

He ducked into the shadows of it, following the weak reflected glow of the pneuma lamps in the passage up ahead.

Down the shadowy hallway, the passage curved abruptly left, and there was enough moisture and dirt about for algae to crawl over the walls and floor. A ladder led up into the pipes, which he knew emptied into a dim little cavern filled with water and air intake pipes. Beyond that, supposedly, a service exit.

It was alarmed, but unmanned. If you could dodge that alarm, no one would know you’d left. At least not until the next morning, anyway.

Like the idiots they were, they’d left footprints. And they were whispering loud enough to wake the dead, their hissing voices echoing down the pipes.

He climbed the ladder quickly, moving forward slowly. The pneuma lamps were posted along the walls of the pipe every ten feet or so, and the center of the pipe was lined with grimy water. He kept out of it, shuffling along where his boots wouldn’t make any splashes or sounds.

The voices grew louder as he moved, and as he reached the end of the pipe where the passage opened into the cavern, their hissing formed into words, still too distant to hear clearly.

A group of three loitered around the pipes at the base of the cavern. Big, burly, and stupid.

They’d come in on the same day, a few weeks back. Whatever had landed them here, it was clearly a group effort, and they had not done much of anything to hide it. Like every token groupie who showed up here, they assumed that they would keep with whatever they’d had up there, where maybe they were high enough on their food chain to matter.

Naturally, when they hadn’t done any work and made no friends, they didn’t get to eat. The Fortress ran on coupons, and coupons ran on blood and sweat. Those who didn’t work or fight didn’t earn, and therefore, didn’t eat or buy or do anything else but waste away and draw the ire of everyone who did work.

Had they been of a better quality, he might have been tempted to help them out. But they’d burned that bridge.

The warden wasn’t likely to do anything. The guards could only throw them in solitary, and they largely didn’t care if people disappeared into the bowels of the Fortress or out of it, never to be seen again.

That was the thing people seemed to forget. If you left, you weren’t necessarily better off. Fontaine orphaned everyone who came here, and it didn’t want them back. Sure, if you went back the right way, finished your sentence and moved on, your odds were better, but you were still liable to get talk and dirty, suspicious looks.

Escaping would have to mean fleeing Fontaine entirely, and not many had the strength to go so far.

Especially not these idiots, whose grand plans were as dangerous as they were righteously stupid.

And so, here he was.

He watched them argue for a few minutes before losing his patience. Rolling his eyes, he jumped down into the cavern. One of them startled and all three turned quickly to face him.

“Bravo, really,” he drawled as he stood, brushing the dust from his sleeves. “Hardly heard you from the dormitories. It must have taken quite the scheming to have made it this far with mouths as big as yours.”

The one in the middle—a huge, lumbering oaf with an expression like curdled milk—narrowed his eyes and scowled at him. “We’re busy, and you weren’t invited,” he barked in a grating tone. “Get out of here.”

“Or what? You’ll call the guards? Ruin all your work? I wouldn’t call it hard work, only it seems to have sucked up the few poor bits of intelligence you three seem to share.”

“Mind your business if you know what’s good for you.”

“Hm. No.”

One of the other idiots scoffed and turned away. “C’mon. We’re wasting time, he’s not going to do anything but bluster.”

“Oh, trust me, I plan to do worse.”

The middle idiot laughed. “Three against one, kid. I’d cut your losses and go back to sleep.”

“You clearly don’t know what you’re up against. Your argument’s not very compelling. Got anything better up there in that empty head?”

“What are you going to do?” the third one asked dubiously. “You call the guards and you’re in the hole too.”

He smiled. “Is that what you think?” He tutted, shaking his head. “I have no plans to call the guards. Never mind that if I did, they’d be more likely to take my side than yours.”

“You think you’re so special—”

He yawned. “Boring. Really, you’ve got to put some more effort in here.”

The one who’d turned away made a growling noise of frustration. “There’s no point in standing around here! Waste the idiot so we can leave!”

The other two seemed to take this as a good idea, and glared his way.

“Oh good.” He loosened his stance, raising his fists.

The biggest one came barreling forward, probably trying to grab and pin him. He dodged out of the way, letting him go stumbling past. The second swung for his head and he ducked, landing a hit of his own to the idiot’s stomach. He fell back with a grunt of pain.

Turning back toward the first, he dodged again as he ran forward, and, already bored of this poor tactic, cut a swing at the idiot’s jaw. He went wheeling backward, but nothing broken meant it wouldn’t hold for long.

The second one came back again, swinging wildly. He blocked the first and dodged the second before landing a good hit to the cheek which cracked something and laid the idiot out. He stayed down, groaning and covering his face.

When the first idiot came back swinging again he cut his losses and went for the metaphorical kill. Several hits to the stomach and a finisher to the head and idiot number one joined his friend on the floor with at least a broken nose.

Easy. Disappointingly easy. He was almost happy they hadn’t bothered with the ring—he would have been bored out of his mind.

The third idiot was hesitating, staring at him, and he ignored him for now, scowling at the blood on his knuckles.

“That better be yours,” he muttered, and waved out the tension in his hand before looking back at the last idiot to lay out. “C’mon.”

Still he hesitated, frozen still and staring.

Wriothesley scowled. “Alright. Let’s make this quicker then.”

He flicked his wrists down and his gauntlets clicked open, wrapping around his hands in a protective shell.

Idiot number three startled, and like an animal spooked, made a run for it. Again, like an idiot.

Snorting, he gave chase, pulling at his Vision to dart forward, scattering frost at his feet. He caught him by the scruff and pulled, tossing him back toward his other idiot friends still laid out and groaning.

In one mildly intelligent move, he scrambled away, wide eyes moving between the gauntlets and the frost that followed Wriothesley’s feet as he stalked forward.

“Now you’re scared. Tch.” He rolled his eyes, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him up again as he struggled. “Typical, really. I earned that thing after I came here. You know what that means?”

Idiot number two was trying to get up, rolled onto his side and scrabbling. He kicked him back down, keeping his eyes on the last idiot in his hands, who flinched and tried to get away.

“It means I didn’t need it to get me in here. Getting the picture?”

“Just let us go, man,” the idiot finally managed to say, in a trembling high voice that was entirely different from the way he’d spoken before. “What’s it to you?”

He hummed, uninterested. “Let me remind you of reality. Whatever you did up there landed you here, you and your two little friends. Fontaine’s done with you, and cast you out. That means you have no place up there anymore, not until you finish your sentence at least.”

“They had no right—”

“I don’t really care,” he cut him off, tightening his hold until the idiot went quiet again. “The point is, you’re down here, and down here, things run differently. Your life up there, whatever it meant, whatever you meant? Doesn’t matter. Meropide runs on its own rules, and if you want to survive, you learn them. Quickly.

“Instead of being good little idiots, you’ve caused problem after problem. Skipping work only starves you, most people won’t care if you do that or not, me included. But you cause disturbances at the cafeteria, beating people up for their share of the food—”

“They didn’t work for that either!” the idiot said, anger relit in his eyes. “We watched them, they don’t work or do that fighting either—what’s the difference?”

“The difference is, you beat on the people who have reason not to work, unlike you wastes of air. Old folks and people who’ve already lost limbs to production. That feel good? Beating the shit out of geezers who’ve been here longer than you’ve been alive?”

He got no response beyond the idiot’s reddening face.

“They were on my tab, too, and to me, that means you’ve beat on mine.” He pulled him closer, smiling sharply. “I don’t like that. If you’d ever shown your face in pankration, this lesson would have happened there. But you three can’t work honest to save your lives.

“So you pissed off the guards by starting fights and skipping work, you pissed me off by going after people on my tab, and now you’ve pissed off the Head Nurse. Three strikes, kid.”

One of them on the ground, the biggest, most stupid one, rolled over and groaned as he got up again. “What are you—”

He kicked him back down, not caring if he broke the idiot’s face further. The one in his hands flinched and tried to escape again, so he caught him around the neck and held tighter. That, at last, had the idiot go limp, clawing at his hands wildly.

“See, I’ve only been here a few years. And I’ve dealt with at least ten other fucking brainless fools like you and your little group. You know what happens when you piss off Nurse Sigewinne? Do you think there’s anyone else down here who would want to patch your useless corpse up?”

The idiot choked something nonsensical, tears streaming down his face. His two friends hadn’t tried to get up again.

“Still need an explanation?” He tutted, loosening his grip only enough to let him gasp a few breaths. “Fine. Let me spell it out for you.”

He pulled him up again, over his own shoulders so the idiot was off the ground and entirely on his hand. Predictably, he choked again, kicking and scrambling to little effect.

“Meropide is not Fontaine. Down here, things run differently. You threaten someone up there who the folks down here don’t like you threatening, and the consequences get deadly, quickly. You understand?”

Despite his rapidly purpling face, he nodded, franticly, eyes bulging.

“Good.”

Without further ceremony he dropped the idiot, letting him crumple and gag for air at his feet. He flicked his wrists down again to collapse his gauntlets and turned away.

“Seems your escape had some trouble. I’ll call the guards for you. I’m sure Nurse Sigewinne would be happy to treat your wounds.”

One of them groaned some form of protest, but he didn’t stop to check which. They wouldn’t be going anywhere soon. He returned to the passage and then to the Fortress’s main hall.

The guard from his block stood at the entrance, not one lick surprised at his appearance.

“Productive evening for you, then,” she said idly, looking him over. “How many?”

“Three. They’ll need medical.”

“I figured. You’ve got blood on your hands. Hope it’s not yours.”

“It isn’t. But I’ll grab Nurse Sigewinne for you on my way back.”

“Hmph. Fine.” She looked down the tunnel. “Someone tipped the central tower off about a fight in the eastern dorm block. Should be dark for you, but get back to your dorm after Sigewinne’s finished with you.”

“Will do.”

She took the passage toward the exit and he returned to the central area, which was now almost fully dark. The spotlights had been turned toward the eastern dormitory block and abandoned as the guards moved for it, leaving the half he needed to reach the infirmary barren.

He’d have to arrange some kind of thanks for her…

He reached the infirmary quickly, and was unsurprised to see Nurse Sigewinne’s lamp still lit at her desk. The beds were empty as well, which would be good.

She was already staring at him when he reached the doorway, and did not seem very surprised to see him.

“Nurse Sigewinne.”

“What is it you’ve done now, Mr. Wriothesley?”

He felt a bit of a smirk creep over his face. “You’ll have a few more patients. The guards want you down by the air treatment pipes.”

She narrowed her eyes, staring at him critically. “You have blood on your hands.”

“Not mine.”

“Hmph.” She dropped off her stool and rounded the desk. “Bed, now.”

He did as he was told, and received a quick but characteristically thorough check-up for his efforts. After wiping away the blood and confirming for herself that there were no wounds on his hands or anywhere else, she shook her head and stepped back.

“What happened?”

“Those three who kept beating on the people at the cafeteria for food got it in their heads they would escape.”

“And you stopped them.”

“Of course.”

She watched him a moment, her eyes still narrowed. “There’s something else. Why?”

He huffed. “Fine. A few things then.”

“Go on.”

“They pissed me off, first of all, with wailing on folks on my tab for no reason except their own laziness. And they wouldn’t have been punished for it. But they also threatened you.”

“Hmph. You know I can defend myself just fine.”

“I know that,” he agreed with a firm nod. “But you are my friend, as we’ve decided. And besides, their little escape plan included an apparent meetup with whatever group they worked with before and then some kind of attack on the Palais. I’m sure you can imagine who they were angry with there.”

Sigewinne went perfectly, eerily still. “You’re sure.”

“Without a doubt. They were stupid enough to write letters about it. Lutz kept their originals and brought them to me.”

“He didn’t send them?”

“No.”

“They’ll need to go to Monsieur Neuvillette.” Sigewinne returned to her desk, grabbing her stationary and pen quickly. “I would say the administrator, but he won’t do anything…not that I expect they will be able to do anything really, from here, but still, Monsieur Neuvillette will need to be warned. I’ll write to Monsieur—you get me those letters now.”

“Don’t want to treat the injured first?”

She looked up briefly. Her eyes were sharp, like daggers. “I think they can afford to wait a few minutes more.”

With that, she returned to her writing, and Wriothesley watched her for a moment, a strange satisfaction settling in his stomach. He’d assumed she would react this way, but it was always nice to be proven right.

Sigewinne, like any Melusine, was defensive of Monsieur Neuvillette. A threat against her did not concern her in the slightest, but a threat against him (no matter how small and unlikely for success) was a serious matter, worth letting a few idiots stew in their pain while she arranged the details.

He left her to her writing, off to gather his evidence for her use.

It was always a pleasure, when his influence here could be put to good use.

******

Monsieur Neuvillette,

Wriothesley’s dug up another scheme. Three, this time, they were sent here last month as a group. I’m sure you’ll remember the case.

They’ve caused nothing but trouble down here. Skipping their work, and beating on people to steal their coupons. The ones they were beating up were on Wriothesley’s tab—he pays for their meals, he does it for a lot of people down here, since he has so many coupons.

Besides that, Wriothesley says they also threatened me, but he wasn’t very specific. I did hear some grumbling about my infirmary a few days back, but you know I have my own defenses set. They wouldn’t have made it very far if they’d actually tried.

More concerning to me, though, Wriothesley learned they were going to attempt to escape, and got his hands on what they planned to do after they got out. I’ve sent you the letters they’d written up to the surface—Wriothesley has friends in the mailroom, so none of these were sent, but since it concerns you and the Palais, you need to know. Who knows what the person they were trying to send these to would do…

Humans are such strange creatures. Why they would want to hurt you, I won’t understand.

Wriothesley stopped them from escaping, and I suspect threatened them a good deal. I doubt there will be any more trouble from these three down here, even if the administrator won’t do anything about them. But the person they wrote to up above, that will need to be handled, no?

Write back when you can. I want to know if those bad guys are caught, and if you’ve taken my advice and actually rested for once.

And don’t even think about lying!

Sigewinne

He could feel the rain clouds gathering as he finished the letter, reviewing the others which Sigewinne had included with a cursory glance. They were…rather poorly written, but regardless, the names were familiar and the matter would need to be handled immediately.

With a sigh, he left his desk and returned to the Palais’s lobby.

“Sedene.”

She looked up from her work. “Yes, Monsieur?”

“These will need to be delivered to a team as soon as possible.” He handed her the letters, keeping Sigewinne’s for himself. “They were intercepted at Meropide before they were sent. The intended recipient relates to the trafficking case from several weeks ago, he will need to be questioned.”

She nodded quickly, sifting through the letters with a frown. “Okay, Monsieur. I’ll get them upstairs right away.”

“Thank you. I will trust your judgement as far as whom to assign, but please inform them to come to me immediately with any updates. I wish to keep Sigewinne informed.”

“Got it.”

She hurried off, and he returned to his desk. When the doors of his office had closed, he gave another little sigh and looked over Sigewinne’s abrupt correspondence.

Wriothesley yet again, and stepping in to not only Sigewinne’s but apparently his defense. How strange…

He had no illusions about his reputation within the Fortress—those sentenced by his hand did not typically wish to see him again, and he could not blame them. At best, it led to awkward interaction and discomfort, and at worst, open hostility. The latter was easier to handle, truly…but he took no joy in bringing others discomfort. It was why he only ventured into the Fortress below when absolutely necessary.

Thankfully, he did not suspect he would need to now. It seemed young Wriothesley had once again handled things more soundly than the administrator could have, even if that insufferable man did his job.

Feeding others on his own credit on top of all the assistance he had offered Sigewinne thus far, not to mention his apparent defense of her.

Perhaps he should have sent more tea along. The young man clearly deserved more than what the Fortress could offer him.

“Sigewinne is right, as ever,” he muttered, beginning his reply. “Humans are indeed strange creatures…”

Chapter Text

It had been an hour too long, waiting in the pankration ring. He’d contented himself with some warm-ups and chatting for a while, let a few other matches for the day take his spots and earned some paper for it. But even the guards at the door looked a bit…worried.

When the whispers got to be too much, he hopped out of the ring and walked out. The crowd and the guards followed.

The two guards at the administrator’s office shifted nervously at the crowd’s approach, but their eyes did not leave Wriothesley. “What do you want?” one of them demanded.

“The old man. He in there?”

They shifted in place again, looking sidelong at one another. “You’d need an appointment to speak with the warden.”

“Oh, let him in,” one of the guards from the pankration ring said, sounding both bored and exasperated.

The pair of guards hesitated before the first sighed and nodded. “On your head, then, Estienne.”

“Happily,” he said back sharply.

The guards moved away from the doors, and Wriothesley brushed past them, not surprised to have the first guard, Estienne move to follow him. The crowd at least was held back.

The large metal doors opened with a creaking groan. The office inside was dark.

Wriothesley had only been in here a few times, none of them particularly good. The lower level, where the doors were, was always barren and dim, but the lights were off now. The upper level too, seemed dark.

Estienne hit the lights and they made their way for the stairs.

When they found an empty office, he couldn’t resist the urge to laugh.

“Well then.” He looked around at the barren office, stripped of its belongings and hollow in its emptiness. “Don’t suppose you could sign my release papers, eh Estienne?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Right…well. Get Nurse Sigewinne, would you? I think we’ve got a situation on our hands.”

Estienne sighed, a sound that gave no surprise to the apparent direction of the day, but was fittingly weary. “…Alright then.”

******

It was barely an hour into his day when Sedene hurriedly brought him two letters. By her expression alone, something had happened. Her words, however, were more damning.

“Sigewinne said you had to read this, right away,” she said, handing him the first. “This came with it, too.”

Another envelope of similar stock, and he nodded, accepting it and moving to open Sigewinne’s first. “Thank you, Sedene. I will let you know if I need your or the Phantom’s assistance…”

She nodded, sparing one final worried glance at Sigewinne’s letter before she turned and left his office in a hurry. Seeing no point in further delays, he opened Sigewinne’s letter and began to read.  

Monsieur Neuvillette,

I don’t have much time today to write, but this is too important to leave until tomorrow.

The administrator has fled. No one seems to know where he went.

Several inmates have been agitated over the credit coupons. The administrator uses them as a form of discipline. You know my opinions on the system already, and its relation to how inmates eat, work, and survive. It’s barbaric, and the administrator doesn’t help it by taking coupons away from inmates at random.

Most inmates only earn their coupons through their work in the Production Zone. But the rate of pay changes almost every week, for every job. No one is guaranteed enough coupons to eat, let alone to send a letter, get their clothes tailored, or anything else. I’ve barely managed to keep the infirmary free from charges.

The only stable way to guarantee a large number of coupons is through the pankration ring, which the administrator seems to find amusing. He allows endless betting there, and if you bet enough and win, well. Even if the price of dinner increases by 10 times its original price, you’re probably okay.

You remember Mr. Wriothesley? He frequents the ring, as I’ve told you. He’s been picking it up more and more lately. I know this because I inevitably see him (and his opponent) after a fight. Those gauntlets of his are a nightmare! Thankfully, he does not use them without due cause.

Anyway—Wriothesley had more coupons than any inmate until the administrator revoked the whole sum yesterday afternoon. He had thousands, Monsieur, enough to feed himself for the full year no matter what the administrator did, all from his work and from his fights in the ring. And they were all confiscated.

Wriothesley didn’t seem very surprised. He laughed, actually. And then he said he’d fight for them back in the ring. The whole sum. Against the administrator.

The administrator agreed, and the fight was scheduled for this morning. But after returning to his office yesterday, the man fled.

No one has seen him since. The guards all claim to have seen nothing, but we assume he fled the Fortress in the night. Being the administrator, he wouldn’t have been stopped.

I know that we operate outside your domain, and I doubt that he would cause the surface any real trouble, so that’s not really why I write to you.

Wriothesley has taken over the administrator’s duties. No one has opposed him, nor has he done anything so far (or in his years here, either) to suggest to me he needs to be removed from the position he’s taken up. But either way, it’s a change of hands, and so I wanted to inform you. I imagine he will realize he ought to communicate what has happened to the surface in some way, but knowing him, I doubt he would do it in a way which gave sufficient detail.

I’ve got to go—the infirmary is full, and Wriothesley wants a record of all the inmates and their medical needs. If you need me, I’m here!

—Sigewinne

He read the letter twice through, sighing as he finished the second.

Sigewinne was typically a reliable correspondent, but this letter was wanting in detail. Although, he couldn’t blame her if she was so busy. Many of his letters over the years had been abrupt, particularly when his caseload was heavy. The most she had ever done in the face of such a letter was tease him.

At least, he assumed that was what she was doing…Sigewinne was far more in tune with humans and their communication styles, and he…was not. He suspected there were many nuances to her letters which he missed.

This one, in its haste, lacked those nuances, thankfully. When she had news of import to share, Sigewinne excelled at cutting to the quick—even if she did skimp details in order to do so.

If the Fortress was under new leadership, that absolutely required the Palais’s notice, if only as a courtesy. The two operated almost entirely separately, but ensuring a stable relationship between Fontaine and the Fortress was paramount.

While he did not have much play in the direct interactions between the Palais and the Fortress, his position meant that any conflict was always directed to him for final consideration and approval. Under the previous administrator, that conflict had been near constant, and so he had become accustomed to writing Sigewinne for her opinion or inside information.

Would having a new administrator change that trend? Would that administrator being Wriothesley change that trend?

Setting the letter aside for later consideration, he moved on to the next.

The second letter which had come with Sigewinne’s was on the heavy stock of the Fortress. The script of the address was plain, neat, and entirely unfamiliar.

He had his suspicions on who it must have been sent from.

Curiosity and something like foreboding gathered in his chest. He was equally as quick to begin reading this letter as he had been to start Sigewinne’s.

Monsieur Neuvillette,

I hope you’ll pardon this letter’s existence and tone, if it manages to make it as far as your desk. I can’t recall ever writing a letter to anyone, definitely not in my time here. I would say I’m out of practice, but I’ve never practiced at all. And not in writing to someone so revered.

Is there an etiquette to letter writing?

I’ll keep to facts.

I believe Nurse Sigewinne wrote to you already. In case she was sparing, I’ll do my best to inform you of all details.

Meropide’s now former administrator has run off. His reputation over the last two years (at the least) has been…poor. Really, it’s always been poor, but he’s taken a turn for the tyrannical over the last few years. Riots and protests are common, discipline and morale are low. His careless handling of the internal economy certainly hasn’t helped.

Yesterday, he made the mistake of destabilizing things further by revoking my credit coupons. I don’t say that out of petty anger, or speak to my former ‘wealth’ as misplaced pride. I had several thousand coupons in my ledger, and it was the only real way anyone had a guarantee to eat. I’ve fed a good portion of the Fortress on my tab for years, now.

I guess he didn’t like my dodging his arbitrary system. As mentioned, he revoked my full account.

If it had been only my skin on the line, I would have taken it quietly, but as I’ve said, it isn’t. I’ve lost count of how many people use my tab, honestly, but the ones who do don’t really have much choice. Production is rough down here, and the ones who can’t work don’t have a way to earn their keep. So they get it from me.

He must have finally discovered that scheme and taken a dislike to it. That’s my guess, anyway.

I’ve roughed it before, and as much as my performance in the ring would have suffered with inconsistent food, I would have been fine. Others? Not so much. And Nurse Sigewinne is busy enough without having to explain malnutrition.

So I challenged him for my coupons back. Pankration, same place I earned most of those coupons. Like an idiot, he agreed. None of the guards or anyone else put up a fuss.

Putting it bluntly, the man’s not well liked down here. I suppose most people were keen to see him get thrown around. I was happy to oblige. I have plenty of harsh feelings about that fool to vent out, and I needed the coupons.

But there was no sign of him this morning.

Maybe I scared him off. Maybe he didn’t want to give those coupons back. Maybe he thought there wasn’t much point, seeing as I was supposed to be released today. Or maybe he thought that would make a good joke, to disappear before he could sign my papers.

Seeing as no one else planned to do anything beyond search for the fool and panic, and several hours had passed already, the amusement long worn off, I started cleaning up house.

I’ve got things handled here. Might take some time to clean up his mess, but I’m optimistic. The guards and staff are on my side, and the residents won’t kick a fuss either. Without sounding too egotistical, I’ll be honest and say I’m well liked down here, generally. There won’t be trouble, at least not right away.

I’ve looked over our arrangements with the Gardiennage and Phantom related to gardemeks and other supplies. At the moment, the Production Zone is shut down for inspection, so any outstanding orders placed are delayed until future notice. We’ve had enough injuries this year to last a lifetime. I won’t sacrifice anyone else to a few faulty machines.

That being said, if there’s a certain order that is priority, I can adjust what is completed first once work begins again.

I’ve written the other agencies we’ve contracted with already, so consider this that notice as well. In case that’s relevant to you, Monsieur.

As to the details of the arrangement (delivery dates, quantity, compensation, etc.), I’ve already written those listed in the files here as the contacts. You weren’t listed there, but if you’d like a view of the deal as it’s settled, I’m happy to provide.

I can’t find any relevant information from the files as to your preference for communication related to the Fortress and its…other duties…but I’m sure I can come up with some schedule of sorts as needed. If you’ve a preference, let me know.

As of this morning and based off the old records, no change today, at least compared to his last recording of it, which was well over a month ago. I plan to check a bit more frequently, personally. Keeps my mind at ease.

If there’s other information that the surface ought to know, I’ll keep you informed.

Wriothesley

(I suppose I’m Acting Administrator, aren’t I?)

This letter too, he read twice through. It seemed young Wriothesley had exceeded Sigewinne’s expectations…he had written plenty. Almost too much to consider at once.

There was the matter of the change in leadership, of course, but that was the simplest of those explained in the letter. Sigewinne’s opinion mattered greatly, and there was nothing in this letter either to suggest to him that Wriothesley was so terrible as to require the Palais to step in. Even if doing so would not cause further issues, and it absolutely would.

The Fortress operated autonomously from Fontaine, it had always been so. If he or anyone else from the Palais interceded as to its leadership, it would damage that separation. And there were distinct benefits to this relationship being as it was…

But no, it was an unnecessary consideration. They had no need to intervene.

News of the previous administrator’s negligence and poor character was also, unfortunately, not surprising. Perhaps they should send some of the Phantom out for a preliminary search…it was not so important to capture the man, but he also did not want him causing further issues if he should attempt to return to the Fortress…

Two things about the letter were more pressingly distressing.

First, this former administrator had, intentionally or not, left Wriothesley and potentially others without a means of release from the Fortress. That was…unacceptable in every way.

Second were Wriothesley’s comments related to the Fortress’s other purpose, and the apparent negligence of the administrator again in failing to perform the required checks and maintenance. If the first concern was not worthy of a case, the second would be, if the need for secrecy was not so profound.

Then again, Wriothesley claimed there had been no change…which meant there was no need for immediate concern, at least. He had felt no change in the Fontemer for quite some time. If the readings at the Fortress remained stable, there was no need to inform Lady Furina.

But why would the man not check the systems as he was required to? Did he not understand the stakes? The lives at risk?

Humans were so confusing…and often foolish.

Sighing, he began a reply.

Mr. Wriothesley,

Thank you for your letter. I am uninformed as to the etiquette required in letters, but found no offense in yours.

Sigewinne had informed me of the change in leadership. Between her letter and yours, I believe I have a sufficient understanding of the situation.

The Palais and its subsidiary departments do not typically interfere in the business of the Fortress of Meropide, unless it becomes destabilized enough to require it. From your letters, I see no need for this intervention at this time. The Fortress has operated outside the jurisdiction of the Palais for longer than I have been Iudex, and I have only sparingly been required to intercede on behalf of Fontaine. Nevertheless, if you believe my assistance to be required, I am at your disposal.

As to any orders the Palais has outstanding, I would defer to the knowledge of the Gestion and Gardiennage, contacts which you seem to already have. Once things are settled, they are likely to end up on my desk for approval, but I expect no conflict therein. Should that change, I will address those issues as they arise.

From my understanding, there should be no issue as far as delays in production of meka. The Gardiennage has a healthy supply, and the Phantom has no need for them. The warning, however, is appreciated. I will let the Gestion and Gardiennage inform you as to any prioritized orders they may have placed.

I will instruct the Marechaussee Phantom to conduct an investigation of the surface, in the event that the former administrator has taken shelter somewhere in our purview. At minimum, he has violated the agreement between the Fortress and the Ordalie as to the finalization of sentences and release of inmates. At maximum, he has done far worse, risking lives in his negligence, and will answer to me.

If he reappears within the range of the Fortress, I would ask you to inform me directly. Should you find it necessary, I can send some of the Phantom to assist in searching the Fortress. The Gardiennage has supplied gardes to the Fortress in the past, and the Phantom has conducted searches in and surrounding the Fortress, so this would be no issue.

As to the matters discussed at the end of your letter, by the terms of the original agreement, checks must be made at minimum every two weeks. Depending on the state of the gauges, this window decreases. At times, we have conducted checks every three days or fewer, particularly as repairs are made.

You are welcome to check the systems more frequently, if you would prefer it. Any changes should be directed to my attention with urgency, to avoid injury. We can discuss procedural details and best methods of contact, but I have my means of knowing when something is gravely wrong.

I would say, as much as possible, you may set aside any panic at this time as to the state of the gate. To my knowledge, no concerning change has yet occurred.

Speaking more generally, if you are at all unwilling to continue to act as administrator and would prefer your release be properly carried out, this can be arranged. It would be entirely objectionable for you to remain at the Fortress unwillingly, regardless of the former administrator’s leaving or replacement. Secrecy related to certain elements of the Fortress’s function would require a formal agreement, the terms of which I am willing to discuss as needed. Should you stay administrator, that secrecy would be contingent to your position, as I am sure you are aware, given your knowledge of the gate at all.

In either case, I will handle the closing of your sentence, whether to allow you to leave your “acting” position as administrator or to continue it in an official capacity. Considering the circumstances, I doubt there is another authority in Meropide or otherwise who could be accepted as approving this matter. My position as Iudex likely negates all other authority, so it would, inevitably, end at my desk either way.

These concerns are likely best discussed in person, rather than in writing. If you have a preference for dates or locations for said meeting, please provide those. I will have my office set aside some times that suit, at the very least.

I would recommend a meeting on the surface. My presence in the Fortress has rarely brought any good will, and I doubt it would assist in a time of administrative transition.

Sincerely,

Neuvillette

******

Wriothesley ended his day in a bed far more comfortable than any he had slept on since he was a child. He stared at the ceiling of his new private quarters, listening to the hum and churn of the Fortress’s many pipes and machinery. Even here, deep in the belly of the administrator’s private, guarded rooms, the sound was the same as in the dormitory blocks.

He had no time for such amusing thoughts, however. He’d have to get up early to finish what work he had started today. Rolling over, he tugged the very fine blanket over his head and buried himself in new comfort.

Sleep came quick and heavy, as it usually did for him. Maybe the familiarity of the sounds of Meropide helped. Or maybe the bed really was just vastly superior.

******

Monsieur Neuvillette,

The thought of your signing my release papers is amusing to me. There’s something poetic in that, but I’m no good for poetry, I’m afraid.

I was content to just hang them in the office, unsigned. Good show of how this place used to function, I suppose…I’ll bring them along for you, though, if you’d like to cut the proverbial ribbon.

Don’t worry—I’ve caught up on all the relevant filing for others needing their papers signed. A few folks have already returned to the surface, born anew. I doubt anyone up there will care to wonder at my name on the signature line. Most people like to pretend the Fortress doesn’t exist, after all.

I’ve no issue in remaining at the Fortress, nor in acting or continuing to be its administrator. The work isn’t so taxing to frighten me off and there are many here who already expect me to continue as I’ve been. So we won’t need to discuss my secrecy or lack thereof. I can keep a secret just fine, and right where I am.

I’d ask for a go at the old admin if you find him, but from your tone, I doubt it’s needed. Sounds like he’ll get what’s coming to him without my gauntlets involved. I’m sure everyone down here appreciates the sentiment. If any gardes or members of the Phantom show, I’ll ensure they get the welcome they deserve.

And I agree, a meeting on the surface is probably for the best, all things considered. I’ll admit some hesitance in wandering the Court of Fontaine again after so long below, but that’s only my own wistfulness talking. Pay it no mind.

Your schedule, I suspect, is the more tightly packed, and I have no preferences. Currently, my ‘duties’ are so spread and sporadic that leaving a few things to the guards while I’m gone won’t cause more of an issue than my having a late lunch will. Someone will come looking for me while I’m out, I’m sure, but they can sort themselves out just fine until I return. The guards here are a good lot, and I’ve a friend or twelve among them. All that to say, I’m not especially concerned with leaving them for a while.

Nurse Sigewinne asks that I tell you to ‘have the meeting somewhere besides that stuffy, old office. Fresh air is good for you both!’ I would have excluded that, only she threatened me with a ‘nutrient shake’ which I only made the mistake of trying once, and while I wasn’t hungry for two days, I also couldn’t get out of bed without fear of losing my stomach.

For my own safety, I suppose I’ll have to include her request…

Wriothesley

Frowning a little, Neuvillette puzzled over the wording at some places. Wriothesley, it seemed, had a teasing tone similar to Sigewinne’s, when he wasn’t so concerned with fitting formality. Or perhaps, when he was not concerned with causing offense.

As he drafted his reply, setting aside some dates and times for a meeting, he considered Sigewinne’s request at the letter’s end. It wasn’t a terrible idea, as much as having a formal meeting outdoors immediately seemed strange. He suspected it was for Wriothesley’s benefit more than his, considering he had been in the Fortress and only just ‘released.’

How long had it been since that trial? Sighing, he set aside thoughts of that day, else he’d ruin the weather.

To the point, meeting, at least initially, outdoors was not so terrible a suggestion. Fontaine had plenty of beautiful scenery, and it had been some time since he had been near the Fortress, out at sea…

Humming in thought, he finished his reply and had it sent quickly. Better to settle these details sooner as opposed to later.

Mr. Wriothesley,

Sigewinne can be persistent, particularly as concerns the health of those under her care. This extends to myself as much as to you and all others in the Fortress, and she can be…stubborn as concerns my own habits. I have no quarrel with the pattern, so there is no need to concern yourself with it either.

A meeting in a location other than my office is not unwelcome. While I expect there will be some paperwork to be dealt with, all that requires is a dry area where certain things might be signed.

I can arrange for an office or some such room to be set aside at the Research Institute, which would allow discussion to occur anywhere in the surrounding area.

I believe this would provide enough outdoor exploration to avoid my ‘stuffy’ office and satisfy Sigewinne, and the Institute is suitably located near to the Fortress and the Palais. Of course, if you have some other preference, you need only let me know. I hardly mind any location near Fontaine’s waters.

I’ve set aside the dates and times attached. Please choose your preference and I will have it added to my schedule. If you’d prefer, we can do the same for future meetings, or set a common time. Consistent communication often assists with any minor issues which may arise. We can discuss this as needed, of course.

Sincerely,

Neuvillette

******

The Fortress had grown on him over the years, but there was still nothing quite like open air and a view of the sea. That, and the sun of course.

After warning a few of the guards usually loitering around his office—and what a strange concept that was, having an office—that he had a meeting on the surface and would return by nightfall (not wanting them to think he too was pulling a runner), he’d left early in the morning, knowing it would be a swim or a walk to reach the location Monsieur Neuvillette had chosen.

It was no bother, though, whether the walk was five or thirty minutes. It was his first opportunity to leave Meropide since his trial, and for as much as he groused to Sigewinne that he was fine below and did not much care to leave, it was…nice, to say the least. Freeing.

A strange sense of nostalgia overcame him as he walked along the beach, watching the sun glitter off the calm waters. Up here, it was hard to believe that somewhere below sunk the Fortress, dark and cold and spiraling (not to make it sound so moody, he really didn’t hate the Fortress).

That sense of nostalgia bloomed fuller when he caught sight of the figure at the edge of the sand, staring out across the water toward the Research Institute’s buildings.

Monsieur Neuvillette cut a fine silhouette, utterly unchanged since he had last seen him when he was only a child on trial.

His formal clothing, long white hair, and otherworldly beauty had not altered or diminished. He remained arresting, standing out against any backdrop and immediately drawing the eye, even against as beautiful a background as the sea.

Time had not changed him in the slightest. It had moved, definitely, but it had moved right around him.

The sight of Monsieur Neuvillette was not as startling now as it had been when he was young (what could he say, he’d grown up, being attracted to someone wasn’t so shocking), but the Iudex was without a doubt at least among the most beautiful people he’d ever seen, if not the winner of that category outright.

Funny thoughts to have about Fontaine’s most powerful figure. But no less true for that fact. What could he say? He was right as a kid and he was right now. Monsieur Neuvillette was unconscionably beautiful—it was a simple fact.

Bright eyes found his when he came within ten or so feet. From this close, more than their hue gave them away as inhuman—his pupils were too narrow, and a startling white. There was a sharpness about his gaze stark enough to make a lesser man wince.

But Wriothesley had not been afraid in years, and had no plans to start being so now. Even if Monsieur Neuvillette’s eyes were looking him over with uncanny intensity.

“I hope I’m not late.”

Monsieur Neuvillette blinked, tilting his head a bit. “No.” His voice was soft, polite as he looked toward the horizon. “I’d say you are early, as I am. You are Mr. Wriothesley, yes?”

He nodded. “At your service, Monsieur. Just Wriothesley, is fine.”

With a hum, Monsieur Neuvillette nodded back. “I am happy to humor Sigewinne’s request if you are, but our intended goal would be the records office at the Research Institute.” He pointed across the water to a squat, round building near the aquabus stop. “At least for the duration of discussion requiring paperwork.”

“Sounds fun.”

Monsieur Neuvillette blinked again, but did not seem so upset at the joke. He gestured down the beach, and they fell into step, walking outside the range of the tide. “Where would you like to start?”

“The gate seems the most pressing.”

“Of course.” If his voice had become any less serious, it was quickly back to business. “What would you like to know?”

“The files were sparse, beyond logging any changes. I have the previous administrator’s records, but they’re insufficient. He seemed to check nothing except the main gauge, which seems…”

“Negligent.”

“At minimum.”

“Hm.” He looked out toward the sea again, something displeased in his eyes, and in the slight frown he now wore. “The Marechaussee Phantom are conducting searches still, but have found little. It’s possible he fled from Fontaine entirely…if they do find him, I would require those files as evidence.”

“Not a problem. He left quite the paper trail, for someone so terrible at his job. I’m happy to provide whatever would help.”

“Back to the gate itself, however,” Monsieur Neuvillette continued with a shake of his head as if physically setting aside the issue of the old administrator. “It is as old as the Fortress, at its core, but from my understanding, has been modified continually as need arises. There are four layers to the locks, essentially four gates.

“The first, the sluice gate, is the most important. As the water level beneath it rises, the pressure against the gate will increase. That is what the gauge over the gate monitors. The others in the room measure the contamination in the surrounding sea. As this worsens, the condition of the gate itself degrades.

“The last three gates are external to the first, leading from it to the passage back to the administrator’s office. These are the absolute last line of defense, and they will not be able to hold for long.

“When the central gauge approaches capacity, that will raise the alarm throughout Meropide. The contamination gauges will warn you of the danger before the Fortress itself alarms.”

As he suspected. The old notes were sparse, but it seemed, mostly accurate. “Ideally, then, we fix any issues before it gets to that point.”

“Yes. No one outside the administrator, myself, and Lady Furina is aware of the gate’s existence. It must stay that way unless absolutely necessary, or there will be panic not just in the Fortress, but all of Fontaine. Certain parties have been informed over the years for repairs, all sworn to secrecy. It is imperative we maintain that pattern.”

“Having the alarm go off then would be a last resort…” He thought over the last check the administrator had done, and his own close observations of the gate and its many gauges over the last several weeks. “And if the gate fails?”

Monsieur Neuvillette slowed, turning his full attention to him. He did not answer immediately. When he did, his voice was pensive.

“You know what the sluice gate covers?”

Wriothesley nodded. “The Primordial Sea, isn’t it?”

“It is an opening to it, cut through the crust of the lake bed.” It was a correction, but not an unkind one. Monsieur Neuvillette’s expression was tight, an urgency to his eyes and something like upset lingering in the way his mouth settled. “Like a sea vent, only far more dangerous. Of the few that exist, it is the largest, and the least contained. Occasionally we hear of an opening in the sea, slow leaks where the Primordial taints the water, but does not overtake it.”

He stopped and looked out toward the water once again. His expression remained grim. “The opening beneath the Fortress is unlike such little cracks. It is by far the largest opening in Fontaine. A breach would not cause a leak, it would be more equivalent to a torrential wave.”

“Why is there an opening there at all?”

Monsieur Neuvillette glanced his way only briefly. His expression was unreadable. “The Primordial Sea is not contained by natural means,” he said carefully, as if selecting each word with care. “It has been rising steadily for many years…the last decade in particular has been unprecedented. Those gates are all that hold it back, at least from its easiest point of exit. If the gates were to fail, it would rush out to fill the space it once occupied.”

In other words, the Fortress would flood, and burst, and all of Fontaine’s sea would be contaminated. If it was as drastic as Monsieur Neuvillette implied, the prophesied flood would occur…and all of Fontaine would be lost.

“No pressure, then,” he muttered.

This earned his attention again, and Monsieur Neuvillette stared at him quizzically.

“Just a joke. Old habit, making light of terrible situations.”

“Hm.”

He wasn’t sure if it was a hum of understanding or disapproval. Monsieur Neuvillette was by no means easy to read, at the very least without experience.

“Sigewinne has long lauded your excellent character, and I have no reason to doubt you,” he said suddenly, seemingly without prompt. “I am aware of your defense of her within Meropide, as well as your charitable deeds while you were an inmate.”

Wriothesley huffed, shaking his head. “Don’t let her fill your head with all that. The old warden would have let everyone starve, and there’s been the occasional idiot over the years who needed their…priorities realigned. I only fixed a few problems.”

Monsieur Neuvillette regarded him closely, tilting his head in acknowledgement. “I will not attempt to dissuade you from how you view your work. I only mention it to explain my own opinion of you…I will not claim to know you well, given our limited correspondence, but I have no reason to doubt your ability in the position you have taken, or your secrecy as to its required duties.”

The compliment sat heavy in his stomach, like a weight he had no real idea what to do with. “…Well…thank you, then.”

Monsieur Neuvillette nodded, and they were quiet for a moment, lingering there along the sandy shore. A gull went flying overhead, crying loudly.

“If any of the gauges reach their capacity unexpectedly, it would be best to contact me immediately,” Monsieur Neuvillette continued after a moment, apparently right back to business.

“I don’t take it you’ll be doing repairs.”

A flicker of a smile, then, there and gone. So he did have a sense of humor.

“No. Any mechanical skill I have is sure to be only adequate, if anything at all.” He raised one gloved hand, staring at his palm. “My skills lay elsewhere…”

“Yeah?”

He hummed again, and turned his full attention to Wriothesley. He stared as if trying to see under his skin, into his thoughts or his heart itself. It was almost unnerving to be observed so closely. Any lesser man was sure to look away under such scrutiny.

Wriothesley only stared back.

After a moment, it seemed Monsieur Neuvillette found what he was searching for.

Without a word, he turned his hand palm out toward the sea. His hand and the strange strands in his hair glowed bright blue. The water responded, rippling outward from some unseen point of ‘contact’ before moving smoothly toward them, like a wave, only artificial in its lack of synchrony with the tide pattern.

Water washed over their boots, glimmering in the light before rejoining the sea.

Instinctively, he looked at his clothing again, some part of him searching for a Vision. He knew there was not one.

A myriad of questions came then, but he knew better than to ask. Both out of respect (for Monsieur Neuvillette and for the likely secret he’d been shown a glimpse of) and knowing he would not like questions about his own hidden abilities, he only nodded.

“Right. Well. I’ll keep you posted, then. You said you have some way of knowing too?”

Monsieur Neuvillette seemed slightly surprised by his acceptance, his eyes bright and wide, but all the same, he nodded (even if his eyes did briefly flicker to Wriothesley’s pocket, where his Vision was sewn, hidden into his coat). “I will know if there is any imminent danger. But the early stages, particularly related to the state of the water surrounding the Fortress, that would require me to be much closer. That is why there are gauges, so that we might prepare for any inevitable failure.”

“So, alert you of any changes, and if it gets serious enough…”

His expression remained grave. “If it is serious enough, you must hope you have enough time…if you have any serious belief that the gate will fail, you must contact me immediately.”

He nodded. That wouldn’t conflict with his little idea, then…a backup to the backup. Not that he didn’t trust Monsieur Neuvillette, only that he never liked to have to rely so heavily on one solution. It was best to have contingencies. Plans with plans, contacts who had contacts…and the Fortress had plenty of surplus materials…

“Shall we continue?”

Monsieur Neuvillette had stepped away from the water in his distraction, and now looked back at him with some curiosity. He moved to follow him again, still trending toward the distant records office.

“With past administrators, excepting your direct predecessor, regular meetings regarding at least the contamination was not uncommon. If you believe this would be beneficial, I am willing to set aside time. At minimum, a correspondence is likely required, to discuss any relevant business.”

“Meetings are fine by me, writing in between if needed, I think. I’m still reviewing old records, reworking some processes at the Fortress, but things will ease up as time passes, I imagine. Either way, I expect I have far fewer people to meet with than you do.”

“The times I listed previously are all open. Perhaps once a month?”

He nodded. “Sure. I’ll pick my favorite then. But I doubt you’d want every meeting out in the wilds.”

“Hm. No, most likely not. My office should suffice, unless Sigewinne decides it is too stuffy.”

“Don’t tempt her.”

“It is less a matter of my tempting her, and more a matter of time. Sigewinne’s values are stringent, and her concern comes from a depth of care. To ask her to stop would be pointless, if not cruel.”

They were quiet for a few moments as they went up the stairs to cross the aquarail’s path.

A pink Melusine stood at the platform, rocking back and forth on her feet out of apparent boredom. When she saw them coming, she gasped and raced over.

“Monsieur Neuvillette!”

She bowled into him at speed, apparently not caring at all for decorum. Contrary to expectation, Monsieur Neuvillette only gave the slightest of smiles as he caught her, resting a hand on her head.

“Talochard. You are in good spirits.”

“Of course!” She leaned back, looking him over quickly before her eyes moved to Wriothesley. “Oh! Hello! Sedene didn’t mention you’d bring a friend, Monsieur.”

He hummed, unbothered by the continued hug. “Sedene has been very open regarding my schedule lately, it seems. I’m surprised she did not mention it…” He pulled away, setting her back on her feet with a pat to the shoulder. “Talochard, this is Mr. Wriothesley. He oversees the Fortress of Meropide.”

“Hello, Mr. Wriothesley!” she greeted, waving. “I’m Talochard, of the Marechaussee Phantom. I run the Callas line here. Are you both riding?”

“Only as far as the records office,” Monsieur Neuvillette replied.

“Aw.” She wilted, pouting. Her voice came out small. “You’ll miss the best part of the tour.”

A strange expression briefly crossed Monsieur Neuvillette’s face then, halfway to panic. “Hm. Well…” He looked toward the records office, then glanced just once at Wriothesley. “I will need to stop at the records office to continue my meeting with Wriothesley here. But afterward, I am free until evening. Would that be sufficient time for your tour, dear?”

She perked right back up, and bowled back into him, jumping happily. “Yes! That’s perfect! I practiced all my facts about the Institute! You’ll love it!”

She grabbed Monsieur Neuvillette by one hand, and strangely, Wriothesley by the other, practically dragging them both toward the aquabus. Chuckling a bit, Wriothesley looked toward Monsieur Neuvillette, whose expression had turned fond.

And so, for the duration of their short ride to the records office, Talochard bounced happily on the driving platform of the aquabus, prattling off facts about the line’s construction, the Research Institute, Arkhium, and any number of additional landmarks, factoids, and strange research topics.

Monsieur Neuvillette nodded along, interjecting a question here or there with full sincerity, each answered with clear excitement by Talochard. He was content to watch, half interested as he knew little of the Institute or its surrounding area, and half amused by the whole situation.

When they reached the records office, Talochard waved them off widely, demanding Monsieur Neuvillette promise to return. He did so without pause, and she agreed to hold the bus here for him to do so, seeing as there were no other passengers calling.

What remained of their meeting was little more than amusement and formality. He handed over his release paperwork and Monsieur Neuvillette signed it gravely.

“You are certain you are willing to remain as administrator?”

“Absolutely.”

It seemed that was the last of his doubts cleared. “Very well then. I will ensure your position is properly filed with the Palais, and have our meetings added to my schedule.” He paused for a moment, a bit of a frown forming in his expression. “There is a chance your accepting the position will be met with opposition, particularly from the Ordalie. But they do not have the power to oust you. Not without my permission, at least.”

“Well. Glad to have you on my side then.”

Monsieur Neuvillette nodded firmly. “I will ensure you are not removed. I only warn you in case there are delays to any necessary dealings…or other forms of conflict outside the bounds of the law.”

He couldn’t help the smile that came then. “Don’t worry. There aren’t many below right now who know the Fortress better than I do. I’ve got my eyes on a few potential problems…anything extra that happens to show up within my reach, I’ll handle. Outside the law is one of Meropide’s specialties.”

Surprisingly, Monsieur Neuvillette offered no protest and showed no discomfort with the idea. He simply nodded again, satisfied.

Maybe he only wanted to warn him. Or maybe he really was not worried about what happened in Meropide. Least likely of all it felt, maybe he just trusted Wriothesley’s judgement on the matter.

Only time would tell, there.

They said their goodbyes and Monsieur Neuvillette left, heading for the aquabus still waiting on the line. After taking his time in his own departure, Wriothesley watched idly as he stood with Talochard, who was talking animatedly, bouncing in place and pointing at something in the distance. Monsieur Neuvillette stood gravely next to her, towering over her head and nodding seriously as she spoke, giving her his undivided attention.

Chuckling again, he headed back down the steps toward the beach and the way back to Meropide.

Monsieur Neuvillette was a captivating, contradictory fellow. He had no idea what to make of him. Still, he looked forward to trying to figure him out.

******

After the full tour, Talochard brought the aquabus back to the junction, where passengers could board for either the Institute or the Court. The sun had just begun to slip fully behind the mountains, and the first stars were winking awake in the sky.

“Are you sure you don’t want the ride back, Monsieur?” she asked, tilting her head at him from the bus’s controls. “I don’t have any other passengers right now. It’d be no trouble!”

“Thank you,” he said with a shake of his head. “But I believe I will be fine with the walk. The sea is calm tonight…”

“Okay.” She still sounded a little disappointed, and he was not surprised when she embraced him again, her arms tight around him. “Bye for now, then, Monsieur. Thank you for taking the tour…”

“Of course.” He rested a hand on her shoulder as she pulled away. “You are a wonderful guide, my dear. And I can see you have learned much about this area. I’m sure your tours will increase as the line sees more use.”

Her smile was more shy than before, but still as bright. “Thank you, Monsieur…say hi to the others for me!”

He nodded, and she went back to the controls as he stepped off the aquabus. It rumbled back down the line as he took the stairs down into the little junction building, which spilled out onto the beach with little grandeur.

Talochard’s tour had not taken longer than a half hour, and he had been serious in having the evening free. A rarity, but one he could not help but be thankful for now.

His thoughts were heavy, and there was no better place to think than the water. Near it, if not within it.

He was not quite bereft enough to need a dive; the sight of the open water calmed him plenty, and would allow him the quiet to go over his thoughts without some little creature wanting his attention (it happened more often than he would ever care to admit).

There was much to consider. The Fortress’s new administration and the changes it may bring, the state of the gates withholding the Primordial Sea, the necessity to inform Lady Furina…most pressing on his thoughts at the moment, however, was the Fortress’s new administrator himself, Wriothesley.

As his second letter had suggested, Wriothesley had a lightness to him that he rarely encountered. He could witness it in humans, surely, but not amongst those who regularly interacted with him, and certainly never directed at him.

Even in the face of the Primordial Sea itself, Wriothesley joked and smiled.

It did not seem to come from a place of hubris, nor of idiocy. His questions were direct, and his concerns with the gate and what would happen if it did break were well-founded. Nothing in his behavior suggested he took the matter of the Fortress’s hidden purpose lightly. Already, in just two letters and a brief meeting, he had made clear his efforts at improving the standards of the Fortress’s communication and production.

But there was more to this confusion than simple stating of Wriothesley’s apparent dedication to his task.

The water stirred in front of him, rippling with little agitated waves. He sighed, and with a bit of effort, the waters calmed again, back to their previous placidity.

Wriothesley was…intriguing. Beyond the scope that most humans idly fascinated him, anyway.

He had not known what to make of him as a child on trial. Wriothesley made no apologies for his breach of the law, and yet he had not at all protested when he was convicted for it. The duality had perplexed him for years, and he had not since judged another person who matched.

His time in the Fortress and the years that had passed had clearly changed him, as such things changed all humans. He knew little of his behavior beyond how he had acted during trial, but even so, this Wriothesley he met today was quite different.

In trial, he had been subdued, quiet in a way which spoke of exhaustion and something deeper, something more nebulous and concerning. That darker taint to his apathy had been part of what motivated his letter to Sigewinne all those years ago. There was such age in the boy’s eyes…and he had received enough reports of those convicted barely reaching their cells before they ended their lives.

Now, it seemed, some of that horror had bled off. Wriothesley joked and smiled with ease, but still presented a remarkable maturity. There were gestionnaires several years his senior who could not manage such educated concerns for their work. He asked the correct questions, and seemed dedicated to the improvements he had planned.

The physical side was of course, also vastly different, as was expected with humans. He was taller, tall enough to meet his eye now, and a fair bit broader. Sigewinne’s letters had mentioned he earned his high financial standing within the Fortress primarily by fighting, and it showed, not only in his form but also in the new scars.

Perhaps it was that which gave him an air of such confidence, or the vision he kept hidden away. Strange, to hide such a thing. Most humans seemed to wear them like badges of honor…he wondered idly how he had received it, but such things were often private.

Still, he had shown enough of his own secrets to perhaps one day earn the answer.

It was necessary, he supposed. Wriothesley had no reason to trust him to solve the issue of the gates if he did not have a basic understanding of how he could do so.

Besides, there was no need to go into detail. If Wriothesley believed he could assist with the same common ability any Hydro vision holder could, then let him think so. And he had demanded no additional information. Another point to his credit, there.

He had not made any real conscious effort to hide his control of the waters over the years. The mere thought of hiding a power which was rightfully his was amusing enough to dismiss outright. Even without his true form, these waters were his. To hide such things was nearly insulting.

Yet he did not advertise such things either, knowing it would bring no real benefit. Fontaineans did not need to know he was a sovereign to know he was Iudex. These were largely exclusive titles.

Already, Fontaine knew that the rain aligned most commonly with the trials he judged. If the common people could not put the two pieces together and at least determine that he had some level of control of the water surrounding them, he would not force them. His secret was best kept for reasons other than the knowledge of a few select humans.

And he did not imagine Wriothesley would share it. After all, he kept his own secret sewn close where no one could see, and regardless, he had given no reason not to trust him. For all his joking, it was clear he was serious—to his duties, and in his respect for such secrets.

He was, put bluntly, fascinating. Unconscionably so.

Why? He was not confident he fully knew.

Some of this interest, he was sure, came from Wriothesley’s unique disposition and the necessity to communicate with him due to his position. He was simply a new, unfairly intriguing character.

But he had met any number of intriguing people in his time as Chief Justice.

And none had ever caused this…he did not know what to call it. But it was something, and it was a constant pulse in his thoughts, stirring the waters restlessly in front of him again. Some strange desire, but for what, he did not know, and the feeling fluttered aimlessly in his chest, as if it too did not know exactly what to do.

Beyond think of Wriothesley, anyway. Confusing creature that he was…

The sky was clouding above him, now, as he tried and failed to determine what exactly this sensation was. All roads, it seemed, led to rain—at least when it came to his (typically failing) efforts at understanding his own emotions.

Sighing, he turned away from the sea, contenting himself with bringing a shower wherever he went.

He had no hope of sorting this out tonight. Only time and further thought would allow him to parse out what this strange feeling was. And he did not have the energy to consider it any longer.

Besides, he now had the unruly task of solidifying Wriothesley’s position amongst the Court. It could be done, but it would undoubtedly be a pain…

Rain began to fall, and he sighed, staring at the droplets as they gathered in his palm.

Perhaps he should have stayed in the seas, wandering until judgement came…

******

“Well?” Sigewinne demanded the moment he reappeared, her hands on her hips as she stared at him intently.

“Well what?” He answered back, moving around her to enter his office properly.

She ran after him with a huff, following only a step behind as he pulled off his coat and wandered up the stairs. “How did it go? With Monsieur Neuvillette?”

“If you’re asking if I kept the job, I did just enter the office, no?”

“I don’t care about that!”

“Oh, break my heart, you cruel thing.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “I knew Monsieur wouldn’t do anything to stop you from being administrator. I mean everything else!”

He chuckled as they reached the top of the stairs, shaking his head. “What do you want from me? Boring meeting details? The weather report?”

“Ugh.” She turned away with her nose in the air, stomping to the couches at the side of the room and sitting down, pointing him to a chair. Amused more than anything, he obeyed. “I mean about your papers, and about Monsieur himself.”

“Hm. Well, he signed my papers, if that’s what you’re worried about. But I’m staying here.”

She nodded, unsurprised. “And Monsieur?”

He shrugged. “He seemed fine, but I’m no doctor, Sige. And I’ve only met Monsieur Neuvillette a few times, now. I think you’d be better off going to see him yourself.”

“Hm…you’re probably right.” She seemed to think this over carefully, frowning deeply. “Monsieur is too good at hiding when he’s tired or not feeling well, and he never tells me much of anything…and he always skips his checkups…”

She continued to mutter for a moment or two, until Wriothesley snorted and moved to get them some tea. If she was going to grumble darkly about Monsieur Neuvillette and his apparent negligence as far as checkups went, then he needed some kind of distraction. Sigewinne on a war path was not to be interrupted.

He left the office briefly to go back downstairs for supplies, bringing back up the old kettle and cups he’d found buried amongst the belongings of various old administrators. They were by no means beautiful things, but they’d do for now, until he could get his own.

Sigewinne continued to think deeply about whatever doom she had planned for Monsieur Neuvillette, only leaving her state when he put a cup of tea in her hands. She blinked at it, startled, before beaming at him. “Aw, thanks!”

“Don’t mention it.” He took a bit of sugar for his own before nudging the pot to her. “Now, look—if you want some days out of here, I can get that arranged. One time, regular, I don’t care, you deserve it. It’s about time you had more of a staff to help you out anyway.”

Her eyes glittered at the mere thought. “A staff…that would be nice. We could use a real doctor, you know. I’m fine doing most common things, but for the bigger illnesses or medicines or anything beyond stitches…” She sighed, shaking her head. “My Vision helps, but a doctor would know more than me.”

“I’ll throw out some feelers then. See if anyone knows anyone of use. I don’t know of someone down here right now with the proper experience, but I don’t really enjoy the idea of some surface doctor working with our residents either.”

She nodded, her grimace seeming to imply she agreed. “I wouldn’t want anyone to get any ideas and refuse to treat anyone. The infirmary is for everyone, as it should be.”

“I agree. And besides, it’s your infirmary.” He sipped at his tea for a moment, frowned, and added a bit more sugar. “I’ll get you a doctor, but that place is still yours to manage. I won’t tolerate anything else.”

Sigewinne giggled, apparently amused by his enthusiasm. “You’re sweet.”

“Hmph.”

They enjoyed their tea for a few moments peace. He fiddled with his own milk and sugar a bit more, dissatisfied with what little provisions they had currently. He’d have to see about ordering some other tea from the surface…

After a little more deliberation, Sigewinne spoke again. “How about I take two days next week? That should give me enough time to corner Monsieur.”

“Corner him?” he chucked, trying to picture such a thing. “What are you going to do, lay out the boar traps?”

“If I must,” she said loftily, but laughed a little at her own silliness. “No, no. But Monsieur Neuvillette really does try to escape my checkups. He doesn’t take to the advice to rest very easily. Rather like someone else I know.”

“Hey, hey, leave me out of this.”

“Not until you have a checkup of your own, mister.”

“Cut me some slack. Isn’t it enough you made me try one of your devil drinks?”

She blushed, sputtering. “Hey!”

“C’mon, don’t tell me you’ve tried to poison him with one of those two?”

“Monsieur Neuvillette doesn’t need one of my milkshakes,” she said testily, still blushing a  bit. “And besides, they’re perfectly nutritious!”

“Sure. But they taste like an assassination attempt.”

“You—” she cut herself off, tsking and turning her nose up at him. “Humans are so silly. Always turning down what’s good for you, never taking your medicine. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were still as much a child as you were when you got here.”

He grinned. “That can’t be true. I’m more than double your height now, after all.”

“Ha! Melusines don’t care for that sort of thing. We’re perfectly cute, thank you.”

“As you say.” He finally gave up on the tea, deciding it was a lost cause. Setting the cup aside, he stood and gathered up the little tray. “Well, back to it then. I’ve got more work to do than I know what to do with. You heading back to the infirmary when you’re done?”

“Mhm. The last of the people from the production zone still need their bandages changed.”

“Tch. I don’t know how anyone managed to get through those machines with their limbs intact…That research fellow, Jurieu—he was working on automating more of their functions. Think I’ll try to convince him to stick around for hire, after his sentence is up.”

“It’s not a bad plan,” Sigewinne agreed thoughtfully. After a moment, she frowned a little. “You’ll want to keep him away from that woman from the institute though, Lourvine. She was his assistant, and they’re at each other’s throats every few minutes. Always arguing.”

Arguing. Right. Poor little Sigewinne. “That’s a word for it. But still, thanks for the tip.”

“Of course! What are friends for?”

“Getting me better tea, maybe.”

She laughed, shaking her head at him as she stood and set down her cup. “You’re the boss now, Mr. Wriothesley,” she said, settling her hands on her hips to stare at him cheekily. “Order some yourself.”

With that, she skipped away, and he watched her go with some amusement.

If after she left he went about arranging some orders from Liyue and Inazuma, then that was his business and his business only. No need to give her any more ammunition than she already had…

Chapter Text

It took very little time beyond their first meeting for Neuvillette to determine (if he had not known it already) that he hardly understood Wriothesley at all.

He proved to be a remarkably consistent correspondent. Every two weeks, after checking the gates, Wriothesley would write, not only about the state of the gates themselves but about any happenings within Meropide as well. In tandem with Sigewinne’s letters, he knew far more about the Fortress’s operation now than he had in at least a century.

And yet, Wriothesley’s letters more often than not puzzled him. The basic facts, the reported information which was the reason for the letters at all, that he could understand.

But the tone, and other portions of his letter not strictly related to business were…confusing, to say the least.

There were not a great many people he regularly interacted with. The Melusines knew him—and he knew them—well enough that there was no hesitance in their interactions, and they were such sweet creatures he had no need to wonder at their intentions or the meaning behind their words.

Melusines were typically very up-front, except those who learned a bit too much about the odd ways humans chose to communicate. It was for that reason that he had to take further pause when reading Sigewinne’s letters. She was more direct than a human would be, but her teasing did not always immediately make sense to him.

Lady Furina, for all her theatricality, had never required a great deal from him outside performing his duties as Iudex. She was flighty, boisterous, and secretive. They had played their game of showmanship for over four hundred years now. Even if he did not know all the cards she held to her chest, they had a mutual understanding, and had no real issue in working together, even as different as they were.

And for all that she too would tease him, she had never once not explained her meaning when he asked her to.

He did not have the benefit of time in observing Wriothesley’s behavior to parse out the intention behind his words, nor the place to ask for clarification of his meaning.

It had been far too long, it seemed, since he’d last tried to grasp these sorts of intricacies. He found himself almost entirely out of practice in understanding humans and their idiosyncratic means of communicating.

Giving a bit of a sigh, he picked up the offending letter again for another attempt.

Monsieur Neuvillette,

As much as we’re set to meet in a few days, I figured this could get to you sooner than later.

Checked the gates this morning. All clear. The external three are in need of some repair, but nothing that can’t be handled. I have enough mechanical skill to do the majority of it until I find some people to assist.

I’ve scouted around the Fortress’s residents for anyone with mechanical ability, and found a few candidates in some old researchers from the Institute. I plan to observe them for longer before approaching them. One of them’s been handling some of our repairs on the production zones already, so he’s a candidate.

We’re in the middle of reform here as well, so I’d like to give them and all the others more time to settle into the new way, while they can. With the gates not needing urgent repair, I think I can take my time in choosing people to assist.

Production’s back in motion as well. Nurse Sigewinne has set new limits on the amount of work any resident is allowed to do in a week, and I’ve no interest in stopping her. We had a fellow work every day of the week who was laid out for the next two weeks after—he’d worn himself right out.

If Sigewinne wants to quietly determine who’s fit for action, that’s her business. I find the whole thing entertaining, anyway. Has she forced one of those milkshakes on you before? They’re a medical wonder, I’m sure, but right terrifying to any human. The folks around here are more scared of them than they are of me.

I rather like that, though. Sigewinne deserves a healthy amount of fear about her, I think.

Speaking of Sige, I’ve finally found her a suitable doctor for her infirmary. Took some work, but her load should be lightened, I hope. We made sure the new guy wouldn’t get any ideas as far as treatment and fees for it. Sigewinne has high standards, and I won’t have her lowering them.

These damned coupons need a rework as well. That’s already in progress, but I doubt it’s of much interest to you. Feel free to tell me otherwise when I’m on the surface, though. I’m happy to give an explanation if it’s of any real use.

All this work over ledgers and expenses has me going spare. I’m due a trip above water, I think. A wonder, that. Don’t know how I lasted so long without a way out…or a consistent supply of good tea.

Beyond what you apparently sent to Sige, anyway. Thanks for that. Guess I owe you one.

Although I suppose I had a lot more to do back then. Or at least, more business to deal with in the ring than on paper. Either way, I need out of this damned office.

Maybe I’ll bring something along to liven up the usual “sign here” routine, eh? I’ll have to ask Sigewinne if you’re partial to anything specific. I’ve got quite the collection down here.

Wriothesley

No, he decided. It was a fruitless endeavor, at least until their actual meeting time. Wriothesley was far too lighthearted in his replies for him to entirely understand.

Distant formality was all that most greeted him with. It was a game he knew the rules of, and it allowed him not just to know what to expect, but also to maintain a certain distance.

Wriothesley, it seemed, refused to play that part. It left him on the back foot, unsure where exactly to step.

Or rather, where Wriothesley expected him to.

He knew where he stood, and had spent a good portion of his time as Iudex politely holding Fontaine as a whole at a distance. Reporters, gestionnaires, any number of court officials and humans in general who wished to know more of him. Some, who claimed to want to be his ‘friend,’ or more inappropriately, something more. At each opportunity, he had declined. When necessary, with force.

Humans were fickle, and they frequently made acquaintances with motivation. His position was one of authority. At least some portion of those who had attempted to ‘befriend’ him over the years had been doing so as a means to some end. It was not that he faulted him for that—it was, to some degree, in their nature—but his position both as Iudex and as himself required absolute impartiality. He could not claim to judge fairly if he was swayed to one side or another.

They would all inevitably end up under his judgement. The defendant’s box had claimed a number of those attempting to get close to him. Allowing them near only meant pain when he had to offer judgment.

Vautrin’s face came to him briefly, and he sighed. All the more proof to remain at a distance, or face the pain of condemning a friend…

And Wriothesley’s trial had hurt enough, even when he was only an unfamiliar child.

He had never had much interest in befriending any humans, anyway. Their motivations always won out in the end. When their opportunity which his ‘friendship’ would have assisted in ended, or when they realized he would not bend, they faded off.

Only the Melusines remained, in that sense. Even Lady Furina did not truly know him, no matter how she thought she did…well, perhaps she did not…he couldn’t say.

He shook his head and set the letter aside. As amusing as Wriothesley was, his intriguing behavior could not distract him for the entire day. He had his duties to attend to.

And he’d never understand him anyway. No matter how he wished to.

******

Wriothesley was, again, early.

Sedene poked her head in a good ten or so minutes before their meeting time, peering toward his desk curiously.

“You can come in, dear,” he said without looking up. Several case files were taking up prime real estate on his desk, and had been occupying his attention for at least the last hour. “Did you need something? You still require a break today, if I remember correctly.”

“I’m alright, Monsieur. I’ve arranged my break for after Muirne’s patrol ends in an hour. But…Wriothesley is here a bit early.”

“Oh?” He looked at the time and frowned a little. “He is early…did he ask to start our meeting?”

“No, no. Only, I thought I should let you know just in case.” She eyed the files on his desk in particular.

“Hm.” He gathered up the files and began to put them away. “Very well then, you may send him in.”

She smiled, clearly pleased. “Right away, Monsieur!”

Barely a moment later, Wriothesley appeared in place of Sedene, holding a package and looking a bit sheepish.

“I did say I could wait,” he offered, hesitating near the door.

“Not to worry. I had no prior appointment.”

“Ah.”

With the last of the files stored back in their proper places, he looked back toward Wriothesley again, still lingering near the door.

Although he said nothing, something in this action or his expression made Wriothesley grimace and enter the room properly. Even still, he hovered near the sitting area rather than closer to his desk.

“I suspect Sedene used your early arrival to dissuade me from continuing my previous work,” he offered, pleased when some of the…was it discomfort?...left Wriothesley’s face.

“Well, happy to be of use then.” He shook the box he held in one hand, something shuffling loosely inside. “I brought tea, as promised.”

Blinking, he stared at the box for likely a moment too long.

Wriothesley, it seemed, was undeterred this time. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a kettle around this Palais somewhere?”

“Oh.” He thought for a moment, his eyes drifting to the side.

He had written something about that in his letter, hadn’t he? It had entirely slipped his mind.

As for a kettle, there was without a doubt one somewhere, but in his office? No. He had no need for refreshment, and it only got in the way of more relevant work to be done.

“One moment.”

He left Wriothesley by the seating area, stepped out of the office and behind the Phantom’s desk, where Sedene still sat.

She looked up as he came around the corner, her eyes flicking curiously from him to his office door. “Monsieur?”

“You may remain, Sedene. I’m only going up for a moment.”

“Alright.” She nodded once, then set her eyes on his office door again.

Behind the counter lay the access to the Palais’s higher levels, where the Phantom, Gardiennage, and other offices were settled. The uppermost floors held residences for Lady Furina, guarded by not only the Phantom’s desk, but the gardemek’s at the lifts and entrances. They paid him no mind as he stepped past. He had clearance, given his own residence was also in the floors above.

He had not bothered to use it in…he thought for a moment as he took the lift. When had the last time been?

He so rarely required rest beyond what the seas could afford him, and his office suited his work far better than a residence could. Given that (and his being ill-suited to an apartment built with a human in mind) he never much cared for it.

…Still…he ought to make an effort to at least have the rooms aired more often. They were likely stiflingly dry from so long out of use…

But that was a matter for another time. The lift opened and he stepped out onto Lady Furina’s floor.

Lady Furina permitted few access to her floor, but had never begrudged him the privilege. She had, in their early days of acquaintance, actively encouraged it, her eyes bright and her intentions utterly lost to him. Although, looking back, he suspected it might have been worry. Whether that was worry for or about him, that he could not say.

Her residence was, at its bones, very similar to his own. Unnecessarily large, sprawling across the entire floor of the Palais, with room after room outfitted with fine furnishings. Unlike his, however, Lady Furina took care in her own, and languished in its confines often. Because of that, beyond the shape and size of the rooms, they bore almost no resemblance to one another.

The foyer was the only room largely unchanged, but even so, her personal touches decorated the space. A coat and hat across the chair closest to the door, slippers and boots tucked under the small table next to it, art on nearly every wall, even a few of her theater awards sat about, glittering in the afternoon light.

“Is that you, Neuvillette?” her voice sang from some other room. “It better be, or I’ll call the gardes!”

“I believe I am the only one with clearance or reason to enter your private floor, Lady Furina.”

“Well, how would you know? I do entertain other guests! Plenty of others have accepted the invitations you avoid so mysteriously.”

She appeared from the doorway he knew led to the sitting room. If he remembered correctly, she had added several different instruments to the room. Perhaps she had been practicing a performance.

As always, she was dressed with flourish, though her usual hat and coat lay by the door. Her hair hung around her loosely, and she brushed it aside with some annoyance.

“Come in, come in, don’t hover about the door!”

She waved him ahead once then disappeared, and he sighed, knowing this would likely take longer than the moment promised to Sedene.

“I am short on time,” he said, even as he followed her.

“Sure, sure. You’re always running about doing something.” She had been rummaging through a pile of sheet music stacked at the piano taking center stage in the room. After saying this, she paused, and looked at him for a moment. “Or…well, actually, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you run anywhere.”

“Likely not.”

Shaking her head, she moved on, rummaging through her papers again. “The point is, you are always busy with something, so your telling me that really doesn’t say much at all.”

“I am technically in a meeting.”

“Hum hum, it is always meetings, meetings, meetings, for you, my Iudex. Who with?”

“Mr. Wriothesley, Meropide’s new administrator, if you’ll recall.”

“Meropide…” She set a certain score on the piano’s ledge. “Yes, I remember you saying something about it. The last one, he pulled a runner, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Mm.” She looked up briefly, something nervous and sharp in her eyes. “An important meeting then?”

“Routine.”

The tension left her. “Good…good.” After sitting at the bench with a flourish, she caught his eye again, one eyebrow raised. “Why are you here then?”

“Wriothesley has requested tea. Or rather, a kettle for tea.”

She stared at him blankly for a moment, her gaze searching. Whatever she found, it brought a strange little smile to her face, there and gone. Her eyes were sharp with some unshared insight. “Tea. You, oh great Hydro dragon, are going to drink tea.”

Her giggling overtook her before he could possibly reply, and she rose from the piano bench, flouncing toward the door and back into the hall.

“I hardly need to drink the tea,” he called as he followed after her. “Wriothesley is the one who brought it and requested it.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure,” she said, nodding sagely with such faux seriousness that even he could catch the ruse.

“It is true.”

“Truth to you is simple states of being. A cold fact. To me, to the rest of the world, my Iudex, it is far more. More than you ever seem to notice, anyway.”

Evidently unsatisfied by his following, she grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him toward the kitchen. “Come, come. I have plenty of sets to choose from.”

“Sets?”

“Cups, kettles, saucers—tea sets, you silly man.”

“…I doubt I will need anything of such scale or grandeur.”

She gave no answer, instead pulling him through into her vast kitchen before letting him go, hurrying to the cupboards with unusual zeal. “…don’t have to drink the tea, my shoe!” she muttered at one point, her whole head in one of the deeper cabinets as she rummaged around.

After only a moment or so, she began to pile various bits and bobs onto the fine counter top. A tray first, bright and silver. Then what he knew to be a kettle, auto heating by the looks of the machinery on the side. A little pot of sugar, cream, and other such he did not recognize. Several saucers and cups came next out of the top cabinets, where she batted him away when he offered assistance.

When it had all been piled up and the kettle filled with water, she hefted the tray into her arms and nodded toward the door.

“Go on. I’ve got this.”

“I hardly require you to carry it.”

“Hmph.” She moved around him, all but skipping toward the lift. “Lucky for you, I am a kind, giving Archon, and do not need to be asked. Besides, I’d like to see this Wriothesley you’re so enamored with.”

His steps slowed and he stared at her. “I am not…” He sighed. “Lady Furina.”

“What, you’re going to tell me you’re having tea with everyone you meet? At all those dozens of meetings you seem to have?”

“Not all of them surely—”

“Neuvillette.” She turned to face him, the dishes clattering on the tray. “I have never, not once, in over five hundred years, seen you drink anything except your fancy little waters. Even then, you only branch out so far. And now you’re here, not only visiting my home, which you never do, but asking for my tea set! Because Wriothesley brought tea!”

He thought about it for a moment, puzzling at what she had not understood. “You remember I did only mention the kettle.”

“Neuvillette, that is not the point.”

“Then I do not follow.”

She made a strange noise then, somewhere between a groan and an exasperated shout. “You are hopeless, Hydro dragon, completely hopeless.”

“I do not understand your concerns. He did write that he would bring tea, but it—”

“Oh, this is becoming more of a light novel by the second,” she whined, and the lift doors opened. She entered quickly, holding the door for him with her leg. “Now they’re writing to each other.”

He was only becoming more confused as she continued. He entered the lift smoothly, letting the doors slide shut behind them. “…I keep correspondence with a great number of people, Lady Furina. It is a large requirement of my position.”

“As I said, completely hopeless.”

He frowned, trying and failing again to understand what about his behavior, the situation, or anything really had caught her attention so sharply. Sharply enough to wish to meet Wriothesley and to cause this much of a fuss over his behavior.

Enamored, she’d said…he had no idea where she’d gotten that from…

Perhaps seeing his disturbance, she shook her head as the lift slowed to a stop. “Never mind it all then, silly dragon. You’ll sort it out yourself at some point…I hope. I could never convince you of what you won’t see on your own.”

They stepped off, and she walked quickly past the Phantom’s desk with only a brief, bright greeting to Sedene.

“Now.” She turned to face him briefly at the door to his office, her voice uncharacteristically low. “This Wriothesley is going to make tea, presumably, and you are going to try some without that little frown you get whenever you have anything not pure water.”

Said frown most likely appeared on his face then, as she tutted.

“At least try.”

He knew the look in her eye. There was not much point in fighting it. “…Very well, then.”

She beamed at him. “Good. Now, the door, if you would be so kind.”

He did as she asked, and she wove around him and skipped into the room.

“Bonjour! I bring the answer to all woes.”

It was clear Wriothesley was startled, when Neuvillette turned from closing the door. His eyes were wide, his posture loose, and he stared at Lady Furina as if she was the last creature he had ever expected an encounter with.

But, he recovered with remarkable quickness, even if his surprise still lingered in his expression. “You’re telling me you have the only kettle laying around, my lady?”

Lady Furina laughed, joining him and setting out the tray. “My lady, he says. What manners! Just Furina is fine, darling. And I doubt mine’s the only kettle, but you must admit, my little set here is in good taste, no?”

She gestured over it grandly, beaming. Wriothesley, to his credit, looked it over willingly, shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t know. The Fortress isn’t known for its dinnerware.” His eyes darted briefly to Neuvillette. “Either way, you being here for tea seems…uncommon.”

“And if I wanted to meet said Fortress’s new administrator too, hm?” She looked him up and down as she started up the kettle. Wriothesley watched her back, unphased. “You’ll do, I’d say.”

“Huh.” He glanced at Neuvillette again as he joined them. “Thank you?”

“Well, you passed whatever test he has stored up there where he doesn’t say,” she went on, gesturing at Neuvillette dismissively. “Neuvillette is our most reliable judge of character and intent. He’s not been wrong. If he trusts you, that’s enough for me.”

Wriothesley stared at him, something…calculating, but not quite disturbed, about his gaze. He raised an eyebrow in question.

“You have more than proven yourself reliable,” Neuvillette said, agreeing with at least part of Lady Furina’s words. “Although I have no such ‘test,’ beyond observing your character.”

His eyes softened a bit, and he looked like he might have something to reply, but the kettle whistled, cutting off any attempt he could have made.

Instead, he and Lady Furina got to work in steeping the tea he had brought. They chatted back and forth without issue, mostly over the variety of the tea (something from Inazuma, apparently—he knew little of tea, but knew enough to say that an import from Inazuma was not so surprising) and its brew time.

Furina, he knew, frequently had tea and cakes at any meeting she was required to attend, and her aforementioned gatherings at her house had always featured it as well. She had a sweet tooth as old as their acquaintance, and tea, she claimed, paired well with that.

Wriothesley, it seemed, had differing tastes, turning down Lady Furina’s offer of cakes and sweets to go along with the drink. Even sugar—which she dumped several cubes into her own cup as they waited—he hardly took any of.

“You have a preference for sugar and cream?”

He hesitated. “None, I expect.”

Wriothesley looked intrigued by the response. Lady Furina giggled, looking terribly satisfied. Her satisfaction did not fade when he stared at her—if anything, it grew.

“Monsieur Neuvillette has very refined tastes,” she said loftily, almost singing the words. “And by refined, I mean he hardly drinks more than water.”

“Pure water is without defect,” he replied firmly. “It can need no additives.”

“Have you ever even had tea?” she asked back.

He thought for a moment, looking down at his empty cup. “…No.”

“Then how could you know?”

He frowned at her. She knew very well why he could not answer such a question honestly.

It must have been a serious enough scowl, as she relented, even if she did still look quite amused.

Wriothesley, for his part, also looked amused, his eyes bright and intrigued, but apparently for different reasons. “How have you never had tea?”

He looked away with a hum, largely to avoid said bright eyes. “There are few who would insist I try it, and I have had no reason to do so on my own. My preferences are unlikely to change.”

“Hm. Well, if you really don’t want any, I won’t force you. But there’s always a chance you’ll like it.”

He had no reply.

A few moments later, Wriothesley declared the tea ready, and Lady Furina insisted on pouring. She did so with her usual grace and flourish before drowning her tea in cream. As expected, Wriothesley was far more sparing—he turned down the cream entirely.

Neuvillette knew well enough to leave his without either cream or sugar. The tea leaves were already more than what he would like to drink. Adding sugar and cream and all that nonsense atop it would only increase the likelihood his reaction would be poor.

And he had promised to try…

He stared at the drink with no small amount of trepidation, although he would admit that the smell was quite pleasant.

Deciding there was no point in further dawdling, he took a small sip.

It was not wholly without merit. The tea leaves added a richness and depth of flavor which most water typically lacked—the sort of water that most people used for most things without further thought. Bathing, cleaning, drinking. It hardly mattered to the majority what water tasted like when it was a utility to common life.

However, such waters typically had some form of imbalance, impurities from the pipes or vessels they were stored in, staleness from sitting, tepid, for too long. Even chemicals, trash, or other pollutants in small quantities.

While unnoticeable and harmless to humans, such things immediately met his notice, and his disdain.

For this reason, he favored only pure water. He would indulge in waters from different sources—nations outside Fontaine, or simply different mountains, natural springs, etc. Where the natural minerals differed, so too would the natural taste, even in a most pure state. Anything beyond such natural differences, however, read immediately as wrong.

It was not easy to ignore this impulse to take any addition as impurity. Judging from the very put upon sigh from Lady Furina, he had not quite managed to keep this certain frown from his face.

Wriothesley, though, took no offense. In fact, he laughed, his expression quite delighted. “She wasn’t kidding, hm?”

He watched him sip his own tea, still smiling. “It seems not…but I don’t…hm.” He looked at his cup again. “I do not hate it.”

“High compliments, Monsieur.”

“It really is,” Lady Furina chipped in, watching him with that dangerous look in her eye again, the one she had gotten when they spoke in her apartment earlier. “How wonderful to find a drink you’ll apparently tolerate, Neuvillette. A shame it took you so many centuries to try it.”

“I am glad you at least are amusing yourself.”

She giggled, grinning at Wriothesley. “You should hear his opinions on Fonta.”

He sighed, and resisted the urge to say anything else.

******

This was, without a doubt, the most expressive he had ever seen Monsieur Neuvillette.

Granted, said expressiveness was still by no means obvious. Even when needled by Furina this much, Monsieur Neuvillette only let out a few pointed stares and the slightest of frowns. He remained remarkably composed.

But compared to his usual stoicism, any little frown or hard stare seemed enormously emotive. A shame all those were negative, but still, nice to see he supposed.

He hadn’t expected much, bringing tea. The few meetings they had thus far were stiflingly formal, but never at all negative. Monsieur Neuvillette was perfectly polite, perhaps even friendly, if distant. Bringing tea was, unashamedly, an attempt at bridging the gap just a bit, if only just to allow some of the discomfort of a new acquaintance to fade off.

Besides, tea was hardly a strange thing to have at a meeting. Nothing weird about having tea with a colleague.

But it was clear he’d caught Monsieur Neuvillette off guard. Perhaps he hadn’t expected him to be serious, or perhaps he’d just forgotten. Either way, it was with some uncharacteristic distractedness (and was that nervousness?) that he slipped off in search of a kettle.

Returning with the Archon was also not expected, but Lady Furina was personable and chatty, outside of a trial. He could play that game whenever needed, so they filled the air with mostly meaningless talk as Monsieur Neuvillette brooded over his empty teacup.

He’d never had tea. The nerve. The injustice of it all.

And his reaction to the tea was as amusing as his never having tried it before. He frowned at it like it was a puzzle which personally offended him, not quite a glare like the one he’d shot Furina at her teasing, but still displeased.

He wondered again at why Monsieur Neuvillette disliked anything except pure water. But he expected he wouldn’t find out. Not with how cagey he’d gotten with Furina for bringing up his tastes at all…maybe he’d bother Sigewinne about it…and if it was personal, then he’d just leave it be.

Despite the clear dislike, Monsieur Neuvillette still sat, holding his tea and taking the occasional cautious sip. That little frown always reappeared, but he didn’t seem so put out by it all.

He supposed this counted as a win.

“What’s so bad about Fonta, then?” he asked curiously.

Lady Furina giggled again at just the mention, hiding her smile behind her hand as Neuvillette’s frown deepened.

“Are you partial to the drink?” Neuvillette asked instead of answering, a certain note of hesitance in his voice.

“Can’t say that I am.” He sat back, fiddling with his cup. “There’s a certain salesman who’s always hounding around trying to get residents to buy it. Poor kid doesn’t understand why no one would spend their coupons on a drink, of all things…Personally, it’s too sweet for my liking.”

Neuvillette hummed, and perhaps taking his lack of enthusiasm as permission, finally answered the question outright. “I find little value in its overly saccharine taste and its hydration ability is less than that of water, given its additives. I do not truly understand how such a drink became popular, beyond perhaps its utility and low price...but I do not believe humans select their foods based on utility alone...”

Humans. Well, he hadn’t exactly needed confirmation Neuvillette was something else, but there it was.

Furina seemed to be struggling to contain her amusement, and buried her face in her cup. Wriothesley allowed a bit of a smile to slip through again.

“Spoken like you’re delivering a death sentence, Monsieur. I don’t think you were so serious even at my trial.”

Neuvillette sighed and looked away.

“Guess we’re lucky it’s too sugary for Sigewinne to recommend, if even you think it’s ‘useful.’” He had another sip of his tea. “And no, humans don’t usually pick their favorites based on whether or not it’s useful to them. I think most folks like Fonta for the same reason I don’t—it’s sweet, and they like the taste.”

He did not seem impressed by this logic, frowning again, and Furina finally lost her grip on her laugh, giggling into her hands and leaning back into the couch. Neuvillette watched her with a more petulant little frown, almost glaring.

“I am glad you at least find amusement in this,” he said flatly. “Though I do wish you would not throw me under the wheels of your schemes so often.”

“Oh please!” she said, sitting up and wiping at her eyes with a sharp grin. “Monsieur, you know I’d never go parading about gossiping about your little habits. Company, my good sir, company!”

She gestured at Wriothesley, and Neuvillette looked his way again. It was only a brief flick of his eyes, but he looked almost…worried.

“Hey, I’m already part of one little secrecy agreement,” he pitched in, keeping his voice light. “Your verdict on Fonta won’t get out by my word. My lips are sealed.”

It earned him a little huff, but a bit of the tight tension left Neuvillette’s shoulders, and that was a win too, as far as he was concerned.

Furina grinned at him too, perhaps pleased with his efforts. She stood, dusting herself off. “Well! I’m off. Enjoy my little set however long you need it for.”

Neuvillette watched her, nodding. “I will have Sedene or one of the others return it to you.”

“Hmph! Very well then.” She turned, her hair whirling around her as she waved over her shoulder. “Goodbye, Mr. Wriothesley!”

“Bye, then.”

She flounced off, the doors shutting with a click of finality behind her.

A brief, but not uncomfortable silence fell. Neuvillette seemed in deep thought, staring into his cup. Wriothesley finished up his tea and watched him for a moment.

“Besides this little adventure, I don’t have much to get your approval on today,” he said after a while, setting aside his own empty cup. “No changes at the gauges, and the rest of the Fortress’s business has all been internal. The industrial zone’s back up and running officially, so those orders outstanding should be coming soon.”

“If you have not passed that information along to the rest of your contacts here, I can do so.”

“Nah, don’t bother. They all got letters going their way. Just mentioning it for something to say.”

He hummed, and apparently finished with his attempt at tea, set the cup aside. “A lack of changes in contamination levels is also good news, of course.”

Another brief quiet fell, and Monsieur Neuvillette seemed to busy himself with tidying up the tray Furina had left behind. He moved smoothly, methodically, but with something distracted in his air. That loose strand of hair fell over his face, and he hardly seemed to notice, too focused or lost in thought.  

“Hope you didn’t torture yourself too much on my account.”

Neuvillette glanced up at him blankly, holding Furina’s cup by the rim. “What?”

“With the tea, I mean.”

“Oh.” He shook his head and set the cup and saucer onto the tray. “No, it was hardly ‘torture.’”

“Not to your taste though, huh.”

Monsieur Neuvillette’s eyes darted away as he left the tray cleaned and ordered. He sat back again, brushing his hair aside. “I did warn her. But Lady Furina cannot be easily persuaded. She seemed to believe more offense would come if I abstained, than if I expressed my…distaste.”

“Hey, no offense either way,” he hurried to say, earning his attention once again. “You’re allowed your preferences. Tea’s a favorite of mine but it’s not for everyone. Besides, I think I’d be more offended by lies than anything else.”

“I do not lie.”

He said it so seriously he couldn’t help but smile in response. “Yeah, I figured. Wouldn’t fit your character.”

His eyes were sharp again, focused in a way that felt like a dissection. But he said nothing of what he might have found in such close inspection, only hummed.

“I meant to ask,” Wriothesley said after a moment, unsure who exactly he was pitying with a change of subject. “Is there still some whining about the Fortress up here? Or, rather, me I suppose.”

Monsieur Neuvillette frowned again, the little one that meant he was displeased. “Unfortunately. Certain members of the Ordalie continue to complain and petition other options for administrator.”

“Huh. Didn’t think they had it in them. Anyone good?”

“There have been some meetings to discuss the candidates, but they are of even lower quality than your predecessor…” He shook his head forcefully, dissatisfaction clear on his face. “And besides that, Fontaine has no business in settling who runs the Fortress. It is outside their domain, and they have no right to interfere…”

“Well, the last guy did run off. Can’t blame them for being paranoid.”

“Hm. Regardless, you have my and Lady Furina’s support, and so there is not very much anyone can do, Ordalie or otherwise.”

“I’m flattered.” He meant it, too. “Still, it is a shame.”

He might have given some reply, but a commotion came rising suddenly from outside, and they both looked to the doors. Like a shout, and then the commotion of a scuffle.

Monsieur Neuvillette was already on his feet, and he moved quickly to join him.

They entered the lobby just as some poor gestionnaire was dragged out the front doors by the collar of his suit, by some stranger similarly well-dressed but clearly of no good character.

The remaining gestionnaires seemed to be split between running and screaming and staring in place, except for one other, an older man who was running after them shouting for the figure to stop.

“Sedene,” Monsieur Neuvillette said sharply.

“On their way,” she answered back immediately. “Less than a minute.”

“Too long,” Wriothesley muttered, flicking his wrist down for his gauntlets. They sprung open with only a hint of frost, and he was out the door a second later.

The poor gestionnaire was shouting up a storm—he looked pretty young, and clearly in a panic, getting dragged out into the street by some fool. Who knew what the idiot’s exact plan was, but the Palais sat at the highest level of the Court, and anyone gunning for the ledge couldn’t have good intentions.

Thankfully, they hadn’t gotten far, and the yuppies in the street had scattered to leave the kid to his fate (good, because they weren’t in the way, bad for common decency). A Melusine guard was giving chase, but he knew she wouldn’t be able to do much, given her size.

He was faster, anyway.

The gestionnaire had the good sense to brace when they saw him coming, but the idiot dragging them off for who knows what did not. He landed a solid hit to their stomach. They folded like anyone dressed that well stereotypically would, dropping the gestionnaire in the process (who showed further good sense by getting several feet away with surprising speed).

Grabbing the idiot by the collar without bothering to dismiss his gauntlets, he dragged them back without really caring if it hurt. They struggled after regaining their breath, but not enough to cause any real trouble.

Monsieur Neuvillette had appeared at the doors, watching him intently.

The idiot seemed to have realized his mistake, if the rapid increase in struggling was any indication.

“Not much use in that, I’m afraid,” he quipped, pinning his wrists behind his back with ease. The idiot yelped at the tight grip. “You’ll just end up under my watch sooner if you make more of a fool of yourself, and that really wouldn’t go well for you—Monsieur, I think this is yours.”

Neuvillette did not immediately respond, still staring hard at the idiot, his eyes moving briefly to the gestionnaire he had dragged off, sitting on the ground catching his breath a ways back. “I expect so, yes.”

The Palais doors opened again and several gardes poured out, their eyes moving from Monsieur Neuvillette to him, holding an idiot by the arms and smiling.

After a bit of staring, the woman at the front regained her composure and moved forward with cuffs already in hand.

Good timing too, as Cryo was starting to frost the idiot’s coat.

The garde clicked her cuffs around the idiot’s wrists, and he beamed. “Thanks.”

Once they had the man cuffed he pulled back his hands, letting his gauntlets fold back into place. Something fluttered to the ground as he did, and he crouched to pick it up. “Ah, she got me again…damn.”

Monsieur Neuvillette’s boots appeared next to him. “You are alright?”

“Yeah, of course.” He pushed back to his feet. “Wasn’t even that bad, he didn’t put up any real fight. I kept him clean for you, only got him enough to make him drop the kid.”

He shook his head, gesturing at what he held.

“Oh.” He showed the sticker. “Sigewinne. She puts stickers all over all my things, including my gauntlets. We have a running bet on whether she gets away with it, which I’m losing…at least 10 to 1.”

With one last glance at the little sticker, he looked toward the gardes taking the idiot away. “It seems our meetings are doomed to be interrupted.”

“At least this time it was entertaining.”

“Perhaps.” He looked his way from the corner of his eye. “I believe the Palais writ large owes you thanks for that.”

“Hey, I didn’t do much.”

“Hm. You stopped him before he could do anything more drastic, and before the gardes could arrive. At the very least you saved Iaune from further embarrassment.”

That must have been the young gestionnaire, who had finally gotten to his feet, looking both flushed with embarrassment and pale from the ordeal. “Y’know, I think that one might need a day off.”

He nodded seriously. “I will ensure he has time to recover. Though the gardes will need to interview him first…” He turned his full attention to Wriothesley again. “I meant what I said. You’ve likely earned favor at least among the gardes and Phantom, if not the Palais as a whole.”

“You sure?” He looked around at the rich in their ridiculous clothes, still gaping. “Think I freaked out the upper crust more than anything.”

“They have no baring over the workings of the Palais,” he dismissed with a shake of his head. “The gardes are talkative. Even if the Phantom and Ordalie are not as disposed to gossip, word will spread, and likely in your favor.”

“You know, I wouldn’t expect you to have such positive opinions of gossip. In my experience, if people can think lowly of something, they will.”

“Hm. It is not always the case. And if it leans that way…then I will have to turn the tide.”

He said it with that same certainty he said all things, as if by saying it, it became absolute truth.

“And if I do not, I suspect the gestionnaires will.”

He gestured toward where they had gathered, the elder ones talking to the one dragged out, but their eyes did flick to him every moment or so, wide with something like awe.

“Huh…”

Monsieur Neuvillette had that little hint of a smile on his face again, a little brightening in his eyes. “I believe we will have your position solidified sooner rather than later. Well done.”

With that, he moved back toward the Palais, stopping briefly to speak to the gathered gestionnaires. He seemed to speak directly to Iaune, who judging by the rapid changes in his complexion, stumbled through some mildly coherent response before Neuvillette nodded and gestured toward the Palais. As the rest of them poured back inside and the gossip of the crowd picked up, he glanced back toward Wriothesley again, something quizzical about his expression.

“The gardes will likely want to speak to you as well,” he called, no louder than necessary.

It startled a laugh from him, little more than a huff. “As long as I don’t end up in cuffs again.”

Thankfully, it seemed this was a joke Monsieur Neuvillette understood. That little smile brightened a bit. “No, I doubt you will. I will endeavor to convince the gardes such measures are unnecessary, if needed.”

He snorted. “Thanks. Knew I could count on you, Monsieur.”

Neuvillette’s little smile lingered. It was funny, how it seemed to brighten everything around them, just the sight of it.

Yeah, he was in trouble…

******

Perhaps an hour or so later, Neuvillette stood at the windows of his office, puzzling once more.

Wriothesley had said his goodbyes and made his proclaimed ‘escape’ from the gardes questioning not too long ago. With the matter closed with no real need for his assistance, Neuvillette had returned to his office with the intention of resuming his usual work. There were, of course, always many things he was required to review, particularly given there were trials scheduled for the following morning.

And yet, here he stood, aimlessly watching a few weak little clouds drift across the otherwise clear sky. His work had been discarded at his desk after only a few paltry attempts. His mind was elsewhere, and when otherwise occupied and with enough time to afford distraction, he would inevitably continue to waste time.

There was little sense in trying to work through it. No, it was best to have this little maudlin thinking time rather than trying to force himself to review files he could review later in the evening. He did not, after all, keep to human hours, and could work into the night if it was required of him.

He sighed a little at his own distraction. He could not point to an exact reason why he was so…inattentive at the moment. All he could say was that it was somehow related to Wriothesley, whom his thoughts continued to circle back to.

This was, by far, their longest meeting to date. Typically, they spoke of their relevant work until such things ran dry, then one or the other of them would end the meeting to handle some other business. Wriothesley often used his time on the surface to attend to other matters and Neuvillette always had some other work to be dealt with. Unless some bit of news or business required deeper conversation, they were largely done within the hour.

It had not been unpleasant, to have it be so.

But he had left many of those meetings oddly…bereft. Wistful, almost. Some irrational feeling always seemed to rise in his chest whenever they parted, as if wanting to grasp onto some reason to continue, to prolong the meeting with something or other.

He had not yet given into such things, but the feeling only grew stronger.

This had never happened before.

He did not know what to do with the sensation…or why, in truth, he wished for Wriothesley to stay at all. After all, if they had no other matters to discuss, then he ought to let him return to his work as he himself should. 

Emotions, however, were hardly logical. And Neuvillette had never been good at understanding them, particularly his own.

All he knew for certain was that he often wished to see Wriothesley. He looked forward to their meetings as he looked forward to little else. Wriothesley was a refreshing character, and his little witticisms were entertaining even if Neuvillette knew he rarely showed it. Not to mention the quality of his work and efficiency. He had a quick wit and a mind to match, and his opinions were always well founded.

Everything about him was fascinating, and he was drawn to watch, the same way the waves and their stirring emotions always drew him in.

Neuvillette was, in some way, captivated.

And he had no idea what to do about it.

Furina had called him enamored earlier…he wondered passingly if she was correct.

An immediate, irrational sense of panic filled him, and he watched more clouds gather in the sky. Huffing at his own foolishness, he turned away from the window for a moment, not wishing to see the fruits of his musings begin to drench the Court.

He had remained distant, disconnected, detached from most in Fontaine for centuries. For even longer than that, there had been few who were close to him. Even his muddy memories of his former life offered little insight into any companionship of the past.

And somehow, in a spare few months of acquaintance, Wriothesley had wormed his way behind his defenses and somehow carved his own little space in his heart.

It was as wonderful as it was utterly terrifying.

He ought to pull away. His position demanded impartiality, and close relationships would, inevitably, compromise such values. If he became too attached, too swayed to one side or another, his ability to equitably judge would be compromised.

But the mere thought of distancing himself from such a remarkable character as Wriothesley was…painful.

He did not wish to imagine performing cold civilities and indifference, let alone act upon such imaginings. He did not want to waste this chance, however fleeting, to know one so wholly wonderful.

In truth, he wanted little other than to know more of Wriothesley. Humans were, already, fascinating, but in all his years he had not met one like him.

His eye was drawn to him regardless of what he wished. Perhaps there was no sense in attempting to make it otherwise.

Perhaps, he thought hesitantly, there would be no harm in allowing himself this little bit of closeness.

Even if it went no further than friendship…he had not had a friend in quite some time…

Loneliness, he found, had a tendency to spread—to grow and grow, unchecked, absorbing all other sensations around it. It blotted out all light, consumptive and destructive, until nothing remained but itself.

Such a cold feeling, to be alone. Like an island with no life surrounding it, the world outside muted and dim.

It left a scar as anything else would, if it were felt for long enough.

And Neuvillette—even before returning to Fontaine and taking up the mantle of Chief Justice—had been alone for a very long time.

Was it so terrible, so selfish, to wish for that emptiness to end?

Chapter Text

Somehow, in the spare year or so he had been administrator, Sigewinne had taken a turn from slightly terrifying nurse to demon in Melusine form.

At least when it came to stickers, teasing, and causing him headaches.

“You look great!” she said happily, stepping back and nodding once.

He rolled his eyes, pulling another sticker off. “There are still about twelve too many stickers on my face to agree with you, Sige.”

“You don’t like my art?” she pouted.

“Don’t start.”

Her voice wobbled with faux tears. “I made them for you, Monsieur.”

“You’ve tried this routine before, it didn’t work then either.”

She gave up the act, smirking smugly. “Yes it did, Mr. Ungrateful. You gave up the minute I started crying.”

“Hmph. Who wouldn’t? You’re evil with that pout and a devil when you cry. Lesser men than me have caved. Besides, I wouldn’t want to upset you or any of your siblings. I’ve had enough judgement for a lifetime, I’d say.”

She frowned, her expression doubtful. “Monsieur Neuvillette likes you.”

He stared. “Enough to side with me over one of you? Doubt it. You all are his favorite part of Fontaine, I think.”

“Hm. I know,” she said happily, hopping off his desk as he continued to carefully remove the stickers. From the ground, she only barely peeked over it. “Neuvillette is the best…But there’s no worry about him judging you for making me cry. He would know I was faking it.”

“Oh yeah? Knows you too well, huh.”

“Something like that.” She grinned and peeled a sticker off his coat and stuck it to the nearest bit of paper on his desk, which happened to be an expense report. “Besides, I know you do like the stickers anyway.”

“Maybe just not on my face, hm?”

“No promises. It’s your fault for not getting enough rest before starting your work.”

He sighed. “There’s a lot to get done before going to the surface for the whole day, you know that.”

“Sure. But you should have slept more last night, then.”

There wasn’t much point in arguing with her. Instead, he grumbled something noncommittal under his breath and continued to remove the stickers she’d stuck all over him, piling them up on the desk.

“Since you’re busy, I’ll start some tea. Maybe that will wake you up.”

“Not that one from Inazuma,” he said quickly as she made to leave. “I’m running low, and who knows when I’ll be able to get more with how locked up they are over there.”

She laughed. “Alright.”

“And don’t add anything this time.”

“Yes, yes, fine,” she called from below.

Sighing, he continued to pull stickers, content to give the tea a thorough examination before daring to try it.

Last time she made tea she added something to the kettle when steeping it, turning it a terrifying shade of green and giving it a scent that could raise the dead. He still didn’t know what she added, but she claimed it was nutritive. Not that he’d taken a single sip, mind you.

With their short time frame today, however, he doubted she could do much damage. He had to leave in a little over an hour to head to the Palais.

For some reason entirely unknown to him, Neuvillette had been correct in his assumption. Whether because of that stunt at the Palais a few months back or because of the improvements at the Fortress (which some reporter at the Steambird had gotten a hold of from one of those released back to the surface), Fontaine’s upper crust had apparently decided he was worth their time. He was being given a title today.

But he had weaseled his way out of any kind of grand ceremony or other pomp. Neuvillette had taken pity on him after a few weeks of begging, and so he had to go up only to sign some paperwork and get whatever else they deemed worthy of a Duke. Far better than the first mentioned ceremony and feast, in his opinion.

He had never been to something as posh as all that, and he didn’t plan on ever attending anything to that effect. No, better to have Neuvillette sign him away and then go back to the Fortress where he belonged. And where his work was currently piling up.

Still, it did require him to go up to the surface outside his usual schedule with Neuvillette. He didn’t often leave the Fortress, so it was always a hassle and a half. The guards and Sigewinne were excellent conspirators, but no one besides him could really do his job.

So he had spent the last two days trying to get ahead of the paperwork and maintenance curve. Which led to less sleep, more gripes from Sigewinne about his health, and eventually, falling asleep at his desk and waking up covered in stickers.

He’d earned it this time, at least.

Sigewinne’s light steps up the stairs took him out of his brooding, and he moved to take the tea tray from her.

“Thanks!” She offered it up with ease, moving to her favorite chair. “I promise it’s just tea.”

“I’ll believe you, for once. Or at least I’ll believe whatever you might’ve added is odorless.”

“I really didn’t add anything,” she said, her cheeks a bit pink. Her sheepishness usually meant she was being honest. “I have some snacks, though, if you want extra protein.”

Eugh. He hid a grimace in favor of pouring them both a cup. “I’ll pass.”

“Hm…” She took the cup he offered her, adding a little sugar from the pot. “Alright. But you’d better be at the cafeteria for dinner once you’re back.”

“Or what, you’ll have my meal sabotaged?”

She nodded, looking him dead in the eye. “Absolutely.”

“Yeah, fair enough. I haven’t had any of Bran’s food in a while…could do some good.”

“You’re worse than some of my patients, eating from that mek.”

“The welfare meals are meant to be for everyone you know. That is the whole point of them. And Bran just serves them, it doesn’t do anything to them.”

“Sure. But even the inmates don’t just slink off to eat their dinner in some dingy little corner.”

He chuckled. “Fine, fine. I’ll have a meal in public, hm?”

“You’d better, or else!”

They finished their tea and Sigewinne said her goodbyes, hurrying off to the infirmary to hand out the next dosages of various inmates’ medications. After checking a final time in a mirror that she hadn’t somehow gotten a sticker on him, he threw on his coat and left his office.

It was early yet, barely past when Wolsey switched the welfare meals from breakfast to lunch. Most residents were in the production zones, toiling away, or tucked into their beds for a lie in. In summary, beyond the clanging and rushing of machinery and air filtration, the Fortress was quiet as he left it.

There were a number of exits he could use, as administrator. Into the sea, through the underground aquarail…but he was not feeling so adventurous today, and so he took his usual out-of-the-way route, up through the maintenance lifts where the Fortress supplied its air.

As he stood waiting for the old lift to rise, he stared at his Vision in his palm, thinking. It glowed softly in his hand, wavering occasionally as he deliberated.

He had never worn it in view. In fact, he took great pains to ensure as few people as possible knew he even had it.

Visions were a forbidden commodity, and the Fortress of old thrived on such things. Stories of stolen and resold Visions were common, when he first arrived, and they were no fabrication. There were a few unfortunate inmates at that time who had lost their Visions to some scheme or another, by other inmates, guards, even the old administrator if some of the rumors were true.

He was a child, then, and had only discovered the thing when he arrived here. There had been no time to prepare, no time to attempt to train with it. If he could not control it, then he could not hope to defend it.

Out of necessity, then, he sewed false pockets into his clothes and kept it hidden, working tirelessly to keep his own energy from seeping into it and alerting others to its presence. All while he searched for some means of learning to use it. When he found a sufficiently hidden place, he trained with the only weapon he’d ever known how to use. His own hands.

Thankfully, it was not difficult to channel Cryo through his gauntlets, and became easier with every iteration of them he created. By his fourth year in the Fortress, he had them strong enough to survive several uses, and he could keep the Cryo from them as he fought.

That was when life truly began again, here. When he had the control to change his own circumstances.

Still, even when he had taken up the mantle as administrator, he had not removed his Vision from its hidden pocket. Of the few friends he had, he suspected that only Sigewinne and Neuvillette knew he had it. And Neuvillette had never even confirmed such a thing.

He had hidden it for years. It felt strange to hold it in his hand now, so obvious, glowing and glittering in the weak light of the lift. The impulse to tuck it away again was strong.

“Hmph.” He shook his head at himself. “Stupid…”

Steeling his courage, he settled for hanging it from one of the sturdy bits of finery on his coat. That would do until he found a better way to fasten it, at least.

Its chill seemed to seep through the coat, as if trying to force him to remember it dangled there in full view. He couldn’t tell if it was his own paranoia or a real feeling from the thing.

The lift slowed, thunking to a stop with a rough jostle he was well accustomed to. Several gardemeks watched over the maintenance area and its exit, but none paid him any mind as he left, the little structure spilling out onto the beach in the wilds of northern Fontaine.

What remained of the journey to the Court was quick, painless. Even avoiding the aquabus and the roads around the Institute as was his custom, it took less than an hour. But the sun was high and pleasantly warm, a cool breeze to accompany it keeping things balanced.

Even as he went into the Court—which he was by no means a fan of, even after all these years away from it—his journey remained pleasant enough. The streets were neither crowded nor empty, and no one spared him more than a quick glance.

Being administrator did have its perks over living on the streets, after all. The budget for clothes was much higher. High enough to blend in with the Court, anyway.

Not to mention the truly insane amount of Mora he earned doing his job. He’d complained quite a bit about that number to Neuvillette, but the man would not budge. Apparently it was the “bare minimum compensation for a task as indisputably dangerous and necessary as yours.”

Once Neuvillette decided something, he had learned, there was little to be done in moving him from that decision. So he gave up, and spent his first payout of his outrageous salary on the prettiest set of cups and a kettle he could find, and had it delivered to Neuvillette’s office.

That way, if they ever had tea again (however low the odds), Neuvillette wouldn’t have to ask Furina for supplies.

He chuckled a little at the thought, and hurried up the steps to the upper Court.

The Palais glittered brightly in the afternoon sun. Even inside, where the windows tinted that light a pale green-blue, it was bright and cheerful. The gestionnaires clattered away at their typewriters, and Sedene sat at her desk writing away, looking up happily at his approach.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wriothesley!” she said, waving happily at him.

“Afternoon, Sedene. Sigewinne says hello.”

She beamed, her eyes squinting with the force of it. “Hello!”

He smiled a little at her exuberance. “I’ll pass that along for you, then.”

“Thanks!”

“You’re chipper today, hm? One of your sisters still dosing you with more coffee?”

“Coffee doesn’t work so well on Melusines, y’know,” she said with a bit of a shrug. “But yes. Menthe likes to go to Café Lutece at the end of her patrol. She brings me some too, but it doesn’t wake Melusines up like it does humans.”

“Hm. Jury’s still out on whether it works on you, I think. You’re bursting with energy.”

“I only had two cups!”

He whistled. “Two already, eh? Careful there, or you’ll start bouncing off the walls.”

She laughed and glanced toward Neuvillette’s office. “Monsieur Neuvillette’s last appointment ended a while ago, so he should be ready, I think. You can go right in.”

“Thanks, Sedene.”

“Of course!”

With her permission, he headed for Neuvillette’s office, knocking and entering when Neuvillette called.

As always, he was practically buried in paperwork, it seemed. “Ah, Wriothesley,” he said, glancing up briefly. “You are early as ever.”

“Eh, there are worst calling cards to have, I suppose.”

Neuvillette hummed, signing the document in front of him and setting it aside. He moved on to the next in his pile, reading it over with narrowed eyes. “I have endeavored to keep Lady Furina away from the Palais for the afternoon. This should keep any…amusements…from occurring around the giving of your title.”

“Ah, so she was the one holding it up then.”

“Lady Furina enjoys celebrations more than most things,” Neuvillette answered diplomatically, frowning at something he read. This document went to a different pile, having not earned his signature. He moved on to the next. “Additionally, she has decided that she enjoys your company, and so she was insistent that your deeds be celebrated.”

“Hm. Well, thanks for holding her off then. I’m not much for that sort of thing, I expect.”

“Nor am I.” He nodded a little, and signed the document he had been examining. “In any case, I was able to persuade her to attend a show at the Opera, and so you are left only with me to handle your investiture.”

“Fine by me. If it was allowed, I’d just sign and run off.”

That odd little smile flitted across his face for a moment, there and gone as always. “Unfortunately for you, perhaps, there are some procedures which must be followed. But nothing beyond certain formalities, paperwork, and such. I doubt you will be inconvenienced for more than a quarter hour.”

“Impressive.”

Setting aside the last bit of paperwork signed, Neuvillette stood, looking his way properly. His eyes honed in almost instantly on the Vision in plain sight, and he paused, staring.

“I see further congratulations are in order,” he said, sounding quite pleased.

He waved a hand dismissively. “You knew I had it, I expect.”

“True. But your wearing it is a sign of something, is it not?”

“Maybe that I’m confident enough it won’t get stolen anymore.”

“Hm.” His eyes were a bit amused now, just a flickering of mirth hiding somewhere there. “You do not lie to me often. It is a strange choice to choose this as one of those times.”

He remained quiet, a bit surprised to be called out on it. Was it so worth it to pick apart his little story?

Why did Neuvillette care whether he wore his Vision or not?

In face of his silence, Neuvillette took the pile of signed papers from his desk and left briefly to hand them off. When he returned, he again went to his desk, sifting through what remained until he had a certain piece of paper.

“From what little I know, most humans see Visions as gifts,” he said, reading over the document he had chosen. “I have never encountered another who would hide such a thing. However, I can understand the necessity to hide such things as an inmate…so I did not question it when we met.

“But you continued to hide yours for quite some time. I expected this to be some deliberate choice of yours, but I could not understand the goal of such a thing. Anyone gifted with elemental sight would have seen you for what you hold, and assuming you have trained to use such a thing, anyone without such gifts would be unlikely to gain it from you.”

“I did hide it to keep it from being stolen, at first,” he admitted, glaring at the little glowing thing on his coat. “If someone had known I had it then, I would have lost it. I didn’t know how to use it, and I’d only just gotten to the Fortress when I found it in my pocket.”

Neuvillette hummed, watching him closely in a way that all but demanded he continue.

“It’s an unfair advantage in the ring,” he went on, shrugging. “Even if I’m fighting the worst of the worst, I like to keep my own honor in check. And I don’t need it to win a fight. Once I was trained up enough to use it, I only practiced with it alone. It just…became normal, I suppose. To hide it. Never thought about it really, until recently.”

“And now?”

“Eh. It was more a half truth, earlier. I can wear it now without any risk, and that does benefit me. I can’t run around Meropide solving issues with my fists, at least not anymore…or maybe just not usually…but there are still folks who will only go down by being afraid. If this makes them listen,” he flicked the thing, which flashed and scattered a bit of frost, “Then that makes my life easier.”

“And the other half of this truth, then?”

He smiled. “Things that are frightening when you’re fourteen have a way of becoming less frightening when you’re twice that age, I’d say. Besides, it’s a nice enough little bauble for a ceremony.”

Neuvillette huffed, shaking his head. “Even the truth from you takes on a slant for amusement.”

“I aim to please, Monsieur.”

That smile returned, a little brighter this time, even for all its brevity. “Mm. You do, quite well.”

Something warm and heavy settled in his chest at such simple words, and he was lucky that Neuvillette remained so distracted with paperwork, or his burning face might raise some questions. Even so, he had to look away, fiddling about with his coat until he eventually settled on shoving his hands in his pockets.

How was he supposed to respond to that anyway? What was one supposed to do when the literal most beautiful man on the continent decided he was pleased with you?

And said it with such unbearable sincerity, like he was reporting the color of the sky or the existence of water and air.

Wriothesley had no goddamn idea. And so he stood there like an idiot, grappling with the consequences of his actions and his apparent ability to please paragons of virtue and beauty, and picking at the inside of his coat pockets to cope. By the grace of some god, Neuvillette did not notice his very obvious dilemma.

“Given your opposition to ceremony,” Neuvillette said a moment later, continuing on as if he hadn’t just shifted the his entire world view and reality casually. “I have elected for only the relevant paperwork to have you invested in the eyes of the Court. There are some documents to be signed and filed, but beyond that, little else.”

“Sounds good to me.”

By some miracle, his voice sounded normal.

Neuvillette laid out the paperwork required, only a few very fancy looking forms which he did not bother too much in reading. He knew pompous documents when he saw them, and these had little to say beyond fluffing themselves up.

Handing him a very ornate looking pen, Neuvillette indicated where he should sign on each, and he did so with only a bit of reluctance. A healthy amount, he considered, even if this was just so he’d get some fancy title.

“Ta-da,” he muttered as he finished, handing the pen back over.

With practiced ease, Neuvillette signed each as well, his penmanship far superior to Wriothesley’s. Not so surprising, given how many more years he had in practicing. His signature was as graceful and flowing as he was. It seemed more dignified even than the fancy text all over the rest of the certification.

“Congratulations, Your Grace.”

“You seem far too pleased about all this.”

Neuvillette made a little noncommittal noise, piling up the paperwork. “Your work has been of exceptional quality, both within the Fortress itself and as pertains to the rest of Fontaine. It has been some time since Meropide has been run with both ease and discretion. I am happy to see such success rewarded properly.”

“Hm.”

He looked up, brow furrowed low in confusion. “Are you displeased?”

“No, no,” he hurried to allow, waiving it off. “It’s only a little funny, that you seem more happy about it than I do.”

“Mm. That is rather a fault in your own estimation of yourself, I expect. I do not fault my own opinion.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I should probably trust you then, Monsieur. You’re known to be impartial.”

Neuvillette nodded distractedly, finally sorting the paperwork to his liking and moving away to file it. “I do not lie. Certainly not when I say you in every way deserve this honor, and more.”

Celestia above, he had to get this man off this track before he blushed his own face off from all these compliments. He was a grown man, not a child! Surely he could handle being complimented…even if by someone like Neuvillette.

Who was he kidding, he absolutely could not handle that.

Neuvillette returned after sending the files off wherever (he’d lost track of exactly where he’d gone, sue him, he was trying to get his face to stop feeling so goddamn red), looking him over critically. “Are you alright?”

Ah, he’d failed then. “Yeah,” he said, his voice only a bit froggy. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, don’t worry, I’m fine.”

He hummed, clearly not believing him judging by the little crease in his brow, but said nothing to refute it. Instead, he held out a stack of paper. “Your copies.”

“Ah. Thanks.”

“Of course.”

There was a knock at the door then, and before Neuvillette could do more than turn toward it, the doors to his office burst open with enough force to knock the walls behind them.

“Hello, hello!” Lady Furina sang, looking quite pleased with herself, her arms up in some kind of victory pose.

Neuvillette sighed as if this day had taken a very exhausting turn. “Lady Furina.”

“My, you sound mournful,” she said, lowering her hands to rest on her hips. But her attention quickly went to Wriothesley, her eyes bright and a touch wild. “Aha! See, Clorinde! I told you it was a ploy!”

“My apologies, Monsieur Neuvillette,” another woman’s voice said, politely placid. “I did try to warn Sedene. It seems I was unsuccessful.”

“I appreciate the attempt regardless, Miss Clorinde,” Neuvillette said wearily.

The woman who entered after Furina was a good deal taller than her, likely only an inch or two spare of Wriothesley. She was pale, with long hair a peculiar shade of deep purple, pulled back and out of her face. An electro Vision glowed on her lapel. Her clothes were fine, but not overly so, lacking the sorts of flourishes which prevented easy movement—no skirts or perilous heels, that is. It was clearly a uniform, and one anyone in Fontaine would recognize on instinct. Probably frightened instinct, but Wriothesley wasn’t of that sort.

Clorinde was a Champion Duelist, marked both by her clothing and by the gun and sword she wore. If that didn’t give her away, the sharp look in her eye and the way she moved—like a predator sniffing out prey—definitely would.

Her sharp eyes landed on Wriothesley, assessing. He watched her back, mostly amused.

“You’re a bit young for a Duke,” she said, something speculative in her tone.

“Oh?” He smiled sharply. “And you a Duelist then, I expect.”

“Maybe.”

Her expression had not wavered. He smiled a little more genuinely, and offered his hand. “Wriothesley.”

She shook it. Unsurprisingly, her grip was firm, as unwavering as the intensity of her stare. “Clorinde.”

“You any good with that sword?”

“Yes.”

“How about the gun?”

“You seem more the type to fight with your hands than anything else. I don’t see why the gun or the sword would matter.”

“True. I’m more for boxing.”

“As expected.”

Furina looked between the two of them, almost wary. “What are you two doing? No fighting!”

“I’d hardly fight in Monsieur Neuvillette’s office, Lady Furina,” Clorinde answered. “Especially not for a fight with fists only, as this one seems to desire.”

“Count me out. If I made a mess in here, I’d never live that down with Sigewinne, and she makes my life enough of a hell as it is.”

“Is she still winning your bet?” Neuvillette asked curiously.

“Unfortunately. She hit me this morning pretty badly, actually.”

“Mm. I feel obligated to point out you missed a sticker, then.”

He turned back to him. “You’re serious?”

Neuvillette regarded him flatly. “You require me to say again that I do not lie?”

With a groan, he cursed. “Where’d she get me now?”

“Your coat.”

“Damn.” He pulled it off, his Vision clinking against the metal. Sure enough, a smiling Melusine sticker greeted him on the back of his coat. “Thought I cleared them all…clever little thing.”

“You are a very strange man, Your Grace,” Furina pitched in as he pulled the sticker off. She’d taken prime real estate on Neuvillette’s couch, leaned back like she owned it and smiling cheekily at him. “Such intimidation in your position and demeanor, yet you are felled by an adorable Melusine nurse.”

“I wouldn’t call it felled, unless surrender counts.” He turned to Clorinde. “Is surrender a loss?”

“That would depend,” she answered easily. “Loss of a duel? For the one who surrenders, yes. Hardly equivalent to the death being felled implies, though.”

He shuddered, tossing his coat back over his shoulders. “Neuvillette, if I ever have to duel Sigewinne, I think you’ll have to kill me.”

Neuvillette startled, staring at him with wide eyes. “And why would I do such a despicable thing?”

“I’d rather you killed me than Sigewinne. Besides, whatever I did to make Sigewinne draw her bow had to be awful.”

Despite his joking tone, Neuvillette still scowled, the fiercest frown he’d seen from him…ever, probably. “I have difficulty imagining any crime you could commit which would cause Sigewinne to make an attempt on your life, let alone one so severe as would require me to step in in such a way. I would do no such thing, regardless.”

He said it with such sincerity it was almost painful to hear. “Don’t worry, Monsieur,” he said, placating and trying for a mostly apologetic smile. “I don’t have any plans. I quite like my job, you know—and my life, for that matter.”

Something in his joking this time got through, and the tension slowly left Neuvillette. He nodded after a moment, definitively, as if the matter was now closed.

“Well!” Furina said, a bit of force behind her smile, and with her eyes lingering a second too long on Neuvillette. “I’d say my point’s been proven, if you’re so scared of Sigewinne.”

“Have you met her?”

“Of course.”

“And you’re not scared of her?”

Furina looked confused. “Why should I be? She’s a wonderful nurse, and her understanding of cosmetics is unparalleled.”

“Hm. You should come to the Fortress sometime, Lady Furina. Watch her take care of her patients. I’ve seen her make murderers three times her size cry. And that’s without mentioning her penchant for manipulation and those terrifying milkshakes she makes.”

“Ah.” Neuvillette nodded then, as if he suddenly understood. “I see you are still not a fan.”

“Monsieur, they taste like death.”

Neuvillette huffed. “I do not believe the taste is as despicable as you say…you wrote it tasted like ‘desolation.’”

He nodded, swallowing the urge to preen at that little quip being remembered. “She hasn’t forced one on you, has she?”

“I have sampled them, yes.”

Wriothesley stared at him. “Neuvillette. You’re telling me you can’t stand tea, but you can handle that blended death sentence?”

Clorinde snorted, and chuckled fully when Neuvillette made a puzzled sort of face. It showed his confusion that her amusement did not distract him.

“I never said I could not stand it,” he muttered, sounding almost sheepish. “And while I have no need for their nutritive properties, Sigewinne’s shakes are by no means the foulest thing I could consume.”

No need for…he set that aside for later consideration. “What is, then?”

Neuvillette thought it over for a moment, with such deep contemplation they might have been discussing the details of some terrible case.

But Furina lurched up before he could give a reply. “Don’t answer that, Neuvillette!” she cried, pointing at him.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve known you for too long, and I know you’ll say something that is on the menu at the Hotel!”

Neuvillette’s frown returned, and Wriothesley peered at Furina curiously. His attention seemed to jog her from her desperation, and her cheeks pinked a little.

“I got us a table at Hotel Debord!” she said happily, but still seemed as if she’d ruined her own surprise.

Neuvillette did not share her excitement. “Why?” he asked.

“To celebrate, of course!”

“His Grace requested no ceremonies or feasts.”

She pouted. “Come now, a little meal is hardly a feast.”

“With you ordering it is likely to be.”

Her pout only grew. “The Hotel has the best desserts in the entire Court. How can I not sample their newest delicacies?” She brushed this off and beamed again. “Besides, everyone deserves a little party when they do something wonderful, do they not? If I cannot have my grand celebration, then a little meal out will do just fine. Do you agree, Your Grace?”

“Respectfully, Lady Furina, I have already given my opinion.”

She pouted again, looking quite pitiful. “Please?”

He stared at her for a few seconds, but her puppy eyes did not relent. After a moment, he sighed. “Oh, fine. I promised Sigewinne I’d eat a meal, anyway.”

Furina cheered, clapping her hands. “I told you this would work!” she said happily, beaming at Clorinde, who, to her credit, looked back with a rather blank expression, giving neither agreement nor disagreement.

It seemed Furina did not mind either way, as she skipped happily back toward the office doors. “Come, come! A fine meal awaits!”

With a feeling very similar to his walk to his trial all those years ago, Wriothesley followed Neuvillette out of the office and back into the Court.

Hotel Debord sat lower in the Court than the Palais, but was high on the list of landmarks of the city, he knew. It was primarily a restaurant, and known well for its excellent food, but the owner also allowed numerous high profile performers to use it as a stage for evening entertainment. These combined made tables hard to come by, as if the exorbitant prices weren’t also enough to discourage the lower Court away from its doors.

But it was not so surprising that Furina had been able to secure a table. As the Archon and as a beloved performer, she could likely do whatever she pleased in the Hotel and the owner would not care. From what little he vaguely remembered about the establishment in the papers, she had done some performances at the Hotel over the years as well.

He hung back behind her and Clorinde, who led the way. Perhaps by default, this left Neuvillette with him, and they kept pace a few steps back from the pair leading. Wriothesley couldn’t help how slow his feet wanted to move.

It really did feel like a walk to the gallows.

Maybe he was being dramatic. Just a bit…

But even when he’d lived with his foster parents, this level of finery was out of reach. Sure, they lived in the Court, but Hotel Debord was for the elite of the elite. Lady Furina dined and performed here, that wasn’t something the average Fontainean could afford.

And it had been literal decades since he’d lived with such luxury, even as middling as his foster parents had achieved with their ill gotten money. Just being in Neuvillette’s office in the Palais (and drinking from Lady Furina’s tea set the one time) was enough excitement for him, thank you very much.

That, along with his desire to remain as anonymous as the Fortress allowed him to be, made this the opposite of how he wanted to spend the afternoon, but there hadn’t really been a way out. He could have wrestled away, but Lady Furina seemed the type not to let something like that go. She’d rope him back in somehow, he knew.

And if she didn’t get him, she definitely would have forced Neuvillette.

…and having a meal with him didn’t sound so bad.

Archons, he was pathetic.

“Are you alright?”

He blinked, glancing over at Neuvillette. “Second time you’ve asked that. I have got to work on my poker face…”

“I would not wish you to do so. You are difficult enough to read as it is,” Neuvillette said as he watched him steadily, unphased by his muttering. “You do not have to humor her if you do not wish to. You are well within your rights to make your excuses and leave.”

He sighed. “We’ll see how this goes. Might take you up on that offer.”

Nodding, Neuvillette looked at least a bit pacified by that. “I will handle her if need be. You need not worry. With time for consideration, I doubt she would be offended, either.”

“Good to know…”

They arrived at the Hotel only a few minutes later, Furina leading the way, still with a noticeable skip in her step. The poor girl at the door took one look at their collected group, went paler than the moon, and hurried to open the door for them with shaking hands.

Getting to their table was a blur—of fawning from the Hotel’s owner, pleased chatter from Furina, a healthy dose of glaring at staring patrons from Clorinde, and stiff silence from Neuvillette. Wriothesley stuck near him, far preferring a familiar stony silence to slimy showmanship. Especially after the owner found out he was now a Duke, and took to fawning over him instead.

Furina had the decency to blush after they’d been seated, leaning over her plate to whisper to them all as if it were a great secret. “Dreadfully sorry, Vaneigem can be a bit…zealous.”

“That’s one word for it,” Clorinde muttered, looking over the menu with narrowed eyes.

“At least he’s seeing to our drinks already,” Wriothesley said, watching the man in question practically sprint down the stairs to get a waitress and drinks.

Furina smiled, glad for a change in topic. “Their tea is quite good here. I’m sure you’ll like it, Your Grace.”

Neuvillette was frowning at his menu as if it had personally offended him. Furina had denied even receiving one, apparently knowing what she wished to order already.

Wriothesley, for his part, read it over passively, knowing he was likely to just pick something on a whim without any further thought. He hardly knew what half of these dishes were anyway.

Tea was served soon enough, along with a very fancy looking glass of water for Neuvillette, who at least looked pleased for this. With good tea and a waitress who was by far the most composed member of staff they’d seen thus far, the mood brightened a little. Furina and Clorinde chatted a little, and Wriothesley managed to chip in a few words here and there.

Neuvillette mostly remained quiet, but by the time the waitress requested their orders, he’d managed to look a bit less carved from stone.

Furina ordered for the table, and sure enough, a veritable feast of food was brought out shortly after.

He recognized very few of the dishes, but there was a good amount of meat and vegetables and such, so he filled his plate without any real concern. Furina clearly had her preferences, all of which had (likely deliberately) ended up in her reach, so she seemed happy enough. Clorinde was more selective, but made no complaints.

Neuvillette, unsurprisingly, stuck to his water, though he did look the various dishes over critically. When the second set of dishes was brought out, he did take a bit of some soup, and seemed pleased with it.

“See?” Furina said happily some time later, as the dinner dishes were cleared away. “This wasn’t so bad, no?”

He hummed noncommittally. “Certainly better than the worst of the welfare meals.”

“Welfare meals?”

“Ah, right. Newer thing at the Fortress, inmates get a free meal each day.”

She paused, a little worried frown settling over her face. “Did they…not before?”

He shook his head. “Everything in the Fortress has a price, even food. You earn Credit Coupons doing work or betting, and you spend them on whatever you need—food, clothing, games, whatever. Except Sigewinne’s infirmary, that’s always been free. Free meals only got added in when I started. Before that, you had to work enough to earn your bread.”

Furina looked quite stricken at that, so he smiled, and aimed to lighten the mood. “Our cook, Wolsey, he made a game of the welfare meals. He’s got a mek, Bran, who dishes them out—he rigged him up like a fortune machine, and that’s apparently how he gives out the meals. If you have good luck, you get a particularly good one.”

“Does this system apply to you as well?” Clorinde asked.

“If I grab from Bran, sure. Wolsey likes me though, so he usually doesn’t let me.”

“All the meals are still…good, right?” Furina still looked a bit hesitant at the idea.

“Sigewinne’d have my head if I fed them poorly. Wolsey knows what he’s doing. He just usually gives Bran the meals that are cold or went a little heavy on the salt. Nothing toxic, don’t worry.”

“A gardemek serving meals,” Furina mumbled, then visibly made an effort to smile. “It sounds like something out of a story. A good one, too, if it’s guaranteeing they get at least one meal a day.”

“From what Sigewinne related to me,” Neuvillette pitched in suddenly, “Prior to assuming his position as administrator, Wriothesley fronted costs for a large number of inmates from his own funds.”

He groaned. “I really have to patch that line before Sigewinne gives away all my secrets…”

“It is a noble deed, and not one to be ashamed of.”

“Hm. There aren’t many things I’ve done I’d call noble.”

Neuvillette watched him with something heavy in his eyes. “Perhaps you are biased against yourself, then,” he said after a moment, nodding definitively. He paused, drinking a bit more of his water. “You are of excellent character, Your Grace. It is a shame to hear you disparage yourself so.”

He stared, and opened his mouth to protest. Furina cut him off.

“Ah ah! You cannot disagree with my Iudex at the table,” she said, crossing her arms with a very put upon glare, staring down her nose at him. “Especially not when he is right!”

“You surface folk sure have changed your standards in the last few years, huh? I seem to remember being thrown into the sea for my crimes. And don’t convince yourself too much that I was so well behaved down there…it’s strange to be told I’m so excellent now. Maybe it’s my vastly improved wealth…”

“Are you saying you bought your title?” Clorinde cut in.

“Hm.” He thought it over, even as Neuvillette seemed to sharpen at the mere suggestion. “What was it on that certificate earlier? Something about my services to Fontaine, or ‘leading tax contributor.’”

Furina laughed, delighted. “With your little salary, I would hope so!”

He shrugged. “I did try to talk him down.”

“You are fairly compensated,” Neuvillette said, firmly and without any apology. “And you earned your title for a great number of reasons, the very least of which would have anything to do with your contributions to Fontaine’s treasury.”

“Ah, Monsieur, so unconcerned with money. If you have a salary at all, I wonder at what you spend it on?”

“Water, primarily,” Furina chipped in, earning a pointed look for her work.

Wriothesley smiled, not willing to poke at a genuine interest (particularly with how few of them Neuvillette seemed to have). “Did you like the little tea set I picked out?”

Neuvillette nodded easily. “The design was very pleasant. And I will admit it is likely to see some utility.”

He eyed Wriothesley’s cup, drawing a laugh from him. “Hey, don’t make it sound like I bought it for my own use. I’ll find some variety you like, I’m sure. Just need time.”

“Hm. I suppose I ought to wish you luck.”

“Don’t sound too pleased at the prospect.” He smiled. “Besides, if you really hate all my tea, you can just as easily have some of your water in those little cups. I won’t be offended.”

“If you do work a miracle and find a tea Monsieur Neuvillette enjoys, you must tell me at once,” Furina said loftily, refilling her own cup. “Maybe then I can get him to finally come to one of my little parties.”

Neuvillette sighed almost instantly. “It is unlikely, Lady Furina.”

“Oh hush, you. I’ll win you over someday.”

When a little quiet fell after this ominous pronouncement, Wriothesley got to his feet. “I’d best be off.”

“What!” Furina exclaimed immediately. “B-but—you’ll miss dessert!”

“Thank you, my lady, but I’m not overly fond of sweets. And I’ve already been gone longer than promised. Got to get back before sun sets, at least.”

“Not fond of sweets,” she repeated flatly, as if this were a crime impossible to comprehend. “How dare you! The very nerve!”

“Lady Furina,” Neuvillette said, a bit scolding.

She pouted, her cheeks red. “Won’t you stay for a bit of cake, Your Grace?”

He laughed. “Sorry, Furina. I really do need to get back.”

“Hmph.” She crossed her arms and turned up her nose. “Dukes are so self-assured, one cannot even depend upon them to enjoy cake! Very well, away with you!”

She waved a hand dismissively, but the little tentative smile she wore as she continued her guise of offense was enough sign she didn’t truly mind.

“I’ll find some way to make it up to you of course,” he said, earning a tight nod. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Clorinde.”

“Likewise.”

“Monsieur Neuvillette.”

He nodded his own goodbye, his eyes lingering, holding steady as he stared.

Wriothesley turned before the moment could stretch longer, knowing if he stuck around staring at Neuvillette too long, he’d be roped in to dessert and everything else. As nice as being near Neuvillette was, he had spoken the truth. He really did need to get back…ideally before he made more of a fool of himself in all his fawning…

Neuvillette’s eyes burned into his back the whole way to the stairs. He fought every urge to turn back and meet his gaze, knowing if he did, the growing warmth in his chest at just the thought of Neuvillette would burn his face red all over again.

He hurried down the steps and out of Hotel Debord. Some things, he decided, were better kept secret.

******

They lingered at the table at the Hotel for some time after, as Furina sampled various cakes and desserts which the proprietor continued to bring out, his smile growing wider and wider as she exclaimed over their deliciousness.

Miss Clorinde stuck to observation after snagging a bit of the first cake brought out, picking at it sparingly with her fork.

Neuvillette knew better than to try anything so covered in sugar and sweets. He had little care for human food generally, but had even less taste for the overly sweet.

When at last the owner scurried away, and Furina had surrounded herself with a moderately frightening number of cakes, pies, and other little delicacies, he broke the subject he had wished to demand of her the moment she had appeared in his office.

“Why did you insist on this?”

She froze, looking up at him from her favored bit of cake. Her eyes were wide, shocked. “On what?”

“This…celebration, as you have called it.”

“Oh, for Wriothesley, you mean?” She turned back to her cake, taking a delicate bite, smiling at the taste. “Don’t you think he deserves it? He’s done a lot of work, as I understand it. Unless you wanted him to be Duke just for fun.”

“No,” he answered firmly, immediately. “He has more than earned his title. I do not understand the persistence of this idea that he has not.”

Furina snorted, but it was Clorinde who answered. “He’s hardly the typical noble. In appearance and behavior.”

He frowned, puzzled. “What could his appearance have to do with his character?”

“Neuvillette,” Furina said, softer than she had spoken before. He returned his attention to her. “You know all those old humans who come to the festivals each year, sitting around all stiff and formal and scolding the youngsters?”

“…I suppose I can picture it.”

“That’s what most people expect when they think of a Duke. Most of Fontaine’s past nobles are rich, rude, and painfully formal. Wriothesley doesn’t exactly suit the picture, no?”

He weighed her words for a moment. “I do not see why this would be an issue. Titles are conferred due to the deeds of the recipient, if they are not earned by blood. His actions speak to his character, and thus he is rewarded.”

“Tut tut.” She took another little bit of cake, her eyes glittering with amusement. “Remember what I said about truth, my Iudex. To you, these things are simple, benign. Wriothesley is deserving, therefore he earns. You clearly hold him in esteem, and I trust your judgement, but you must understand that your opinions do not necessarily translate to those around you.

“Humans operate on a different scale from you, I believe. Proprietary rules aren’t so strict around here as they were in the past, but the rich change slower than anyone else, I suspect. Your Wriothesley’s been drawn up from obscurity into a position of great power—not one he doesn’t deserve!” She added quickly, waving her hand dismissively. “But still, I suppose some people will be surprised anyway.”

He chose to ignore her calling him his Wriothesley. That, he decided, was not worth drawing any further attention to.

“That does not explain why you insisted on a celebration when he did not wish for one,” he settled on instead.

Furina shifted, her eyes moving away. “Well, maybe I just wanted some cake! Is that such a crime?”

He narrowed his eyes, frowning at her continued avoidance of his gaze. “You are lying.”

 “I…I…might’ve wanted to have a little dinner with everyone. It’s a wonderful chance to get acquainted, and you are so difficult to catch, you know. His Grace isn’t often on the surface either, so…”

He shook his head. “Furina.”

She sagged, and at last gave him the truth in a morose, slightly sheepish tone. “The Steambird already knows that someone has been appointed Duke. If he wants to remain anonymous to some degree, they’ll understand, but you don’t gain anonymity by inciting the press into an investigation. A little appearance of some kind, that will do for them, and this will slip right under the rug where you and His Grace seem to wish it to stay.”

He nodded slowly. “It is not a bad plan…but I wish that you had told me, if not Wriothesley himself. Those who play such an important role in your schemes ought to know you’ve placed them on a stage.”

She blushed, but did not disagree. Instead, she returned to her desserts, giving them an overly studious amount of attention.

“Thankfully, this little scheme of yours has not had any negative results. I’m sure His Grace will continue to humor you with his goodwill.”

“Hmph!” With her boastful upturned expression, he knew she’d recovered. “He better. I still want those damned tea recommendations he’s so boastful about…”

Miss Clorinde seemed amused at the idea, but Neuvillette knew better than to allow any further diversions or levity. He nodded firmly. “I am certain he will deliver. In the meantime, I must return to my office.”

Furina groaned. “Running away as always, my Iudex.” She nevertheless shooed him off. “Very well then, away with you!”

He stood, taking a bit of care to ensure he had not left his place at the table quite as disordered as hers. With a nod of goodbye to Miss Clorinde, he followed in Wriothesley’s footsteps and quickly left the Hotel.

The enjoyment of the outing, had, after all, left with the Duke.

Chapter Text

After a night’s work over case files and a brief respite deep within Fontaine’s waters which boosted his energy more than any simple sleep could manage, Neuvillette returned to his office. There were no trials scheduled, meaning that unless some new evidence was uncovered, he would not be required at the Opera.

It should have been an easy day. He had found that such realities often meant the day would go out of its way to become difficult.

This day was no exception.

Sedene greeted him softly as he returned early in the morning, her eyes still a bit sleepy. Based on the steaming cup of coffee she clung to, Menthe had been through sometime recently. Coffee rarely worked in waking any of her sisters up, but she had a habit regardless of delivering it to them when they were tired.

The early hours of the morning slipped past without incident. He met with several of the Phantom, reviewed the files for the next day’s cases, and approved several expense reports submitted by the gestionnaires.

Near midday, something faint tickled at the back of his senses, and he put aside the report he had been examining.

It was not the Primordial Sea—that churned with a raging constancy, pressing against his senses whenever he examined it too closely, and in any case, its relentless howling had not increased.

Nor was it any creature or Vision bearer, some of whom occasionally earned his attention at perilous moments of combat, where they expended the most elemental energy.

Before he could parse anything from it beyond its artificial source, the ground rumbled once violently, rattling the windows and furniture. That tickling at his attention burst, a brief static blast before it faded just as quickly.

He went to the window, peering out. Something had just exploded, and judging by the quake, it was something massive.

Shouts rose up from the adjoining rooms. He could see nothing from the windows, and moved to the doors.

Sedene was already there, and several others of the Phantom, both human and Melusine, had assembled behind the desk. The gestionnaires were scrambling.

“Whatever caused it was not in the Court,” he said, addressing only the Phantom. “North-east, I suspect something with the Institute. Do we have anyone stationed nearby?”

“Talochard,” Ceasth answered immediately. “On the Callas line.”

Sedene nodded. “No one else was on investigation nearby, so she would be the only one.”

“Ceasth.”

“Yes, Monsieur?”

“Take your team to the Institute. Find Talochard and assess the situation. I expect a report in no more than an hour. If the situation is grave enough, alert me immediately.”

“Yessir.” She gathered up the rest of her regular investigative partners and left quickly.

“Sedene, I’ll most likely need my remaining meetings rescheduled.”

“Of course, Monsieur. I’ll start right away.”

He shook his head. “I must ask another favor first. Liath, Muirne, and those of your sisters on the garde will need to be informed. Depending on the state of the Court and the Institute, we will need to send more people out of the Court. A statement will need to be made regarding a formal investigation, as well.”

“Right. I’ll send out the word. Do you need me to contact the Steambird?”

“No, not until we have made some headway.”

Several gardes poured in from outside the Palais, Liath among the crowd. She joined them quickly, and soon enough was off at a sprint to spread the word to the remaining members of the Phantom dispersed through the city.

Barely two minutes later the doors burst open again, only this time, it was Morgane, a bright young human woman amongst those Ceasth had only just left with. She rushed to the desk looking uncharacteristically harried.

“Monsieur Neuvillette,” she all but gasped, struggling to catch her breath.

“What has happened?”

“The Callas line—“ she said frantically, grasping at the front of her coat as she continued to breathe deeply. “It’s collapsed.”

Her words seemed to echo in the now silent hall. After a moment, she continued in an increasingly frantic voice.

“We weren’t on the line—we were traveling on foot, planned to cross at the junction—it was already collapsed when we reached the court wall.”

His thoughts were ahead of her panic, and he demanded, “Where on the line?”

“The whole aquarail, Monsieur, it’s broken just past the Court.”

“The aquabus?”

“No sign of it,” she said, shaking her head. “We don’t know if it was at the stop at the junction, along the line, or at the Institute. Ceasth ordered me back, she’s run ahead to find—to find—”

He had heard enough. “Remain here. Catch your breath, then assist the others with informing those of the Phantom outside the Palais.”

“Y-yessir.”

“Any nonessential gardes and members of the Phantom are to report to the junction. The hospital will need to be alerted for potential injuries. There may be civilians in the water—have them send anyone they can. The diving teams as well. At the very least, there will be debris to be removed from the water.”

“Yessir.”

“Sedene, any remaining meetings must wait. Inform Lady Furina and clear my schedule.”

“Right away.”

With that settled, he left quickly, not bothering to disguise his haste.

The travel from the Palais into the wilds was a blur. People had crowded into the streets, the swell growing as he left the inner court and neared the Callas line’s station.

Talochard was, predictably, nowhere in sight. The aquarail’s track had emptied of water.

Barely a hundred feet ahead, around only the first gentle curve, the line broke and collapsed, nothing remaining of it in the air except the supports. A few sections from there had survived, but they were marooned in the empty sea of broken track.

He reached the junction in barely a blink, uncaring for any gesture of his abilities it might betray.

A crowd had formed near the base of the bus stop’s building, mostly civilians staring up at the broken lines. A few blue coats however, marked the Phantom and gardes.

The crowd parted at the sight of him, and he stepped through.

Dupond and Dupont stood near the shore, arguing over something in hushed tones.

Dupont caught sight of him first, and snapped his spine straight so fast it looked nearly painful. “Monsieur!”

“Report.”

He nodded, relief clear in his eyes. “Ceasth ordered we remain here—she swam across to confirm the aquabus was not safe on the other side. When it was not, she took Muirne and they dove to look for the bus. They found it—no civilians were in the water, but a few had swum to the other side, they might’ve been aboard.”

“They have not been questioned?”

“N-no sir. Ceasth and Muirne returned with Talochard, she—she wasn’t conscious, but they said she was breathing. They took her into the building here, and told us to wait for you. And there’s—well…”

He looked once toward the crowd, then pointed toward the Institute.

Debris covered the water and the land surrounding it, large chunks of stone, glass, and disturbed earth. Pieces—small as gravel and as large as the road around them—of the aquarail line, of the junction building, and of the first buildings of the Institute itself were spread far and wide.

What Dupont was pointing out, most likely, was the large amount of debris, land, and the strange, perfect squares of water hovering in the air above where the Institute once sat.

Whatever experimentation they had done, it clearly backfired, and spectacularly.

As strange as it was, however, it paled in the face of the injured reality.

“Clear the area. More of the Phantom and gardes will be arriving after me, but one of you, cross the water and get some status on the civilians who swam there. I expect people from the Institute will be arriving at that side soon, we will need either gardes or members of the Phantom there in case there are injuries or any culpable parties.”

“Right away, sir.”

“What about Talochard?” Dupond asked.

“Leave the Melusines to my care. The rest will be for the hospital and gardes to assist.”

He left them as quickly as he had arrived, moving through the remaining, staring crowd to enter the junction office.

It had clearly suffered damage from the quake after the blast. The outer walls were missing sections of brick, if they were not entirely collapsed—he could see into the shadowy interior, meaning the building had lost power as well.

But Ceasth had known to remove Talochard from the crowd, an infinitely better choice than to assess her situation on the beach. And if she was well enough to be moved, then she was not likely to be gravely injured.

At least that was what he told himself.

He found them tucked into an ajoining room off the stairwell, one largely undamaged, thankfully. Muirne stood at the door, while Ceasth was knelt next to Talochard, who lay on the ground, unmoving.

Muirne dove for him quickly as he came within reach, her hand shaking as she pulled him forward. “M-Monsieur.”

He squeezed her hand for a moment, but did not let go. “Tell me what you know.”

Ceasth watched as he joined them, her hand on Talochard’s forehead. “We found her drifting near the sea bed. The bus was a ways off, stuck in the sand—w-we think she might’ve hit her head.”

“Has she stirred?”

“A little, when we left the water.”

Muirne pulled away as he joined Ceasth, who moved a little to let him close.

Talochard seemed small there, on the ground. Her clothes were still wet, her hat gone, most likely lost somewhere in the sea. Though her hand was limp where Ceasth held it, her expression was pinched—it was clear she was not simply asleep.

He was not much for healing, but he had enough control to gather the severity of the situation. Laying a hand on her forehead, he reached out and tried to at least determine the most serious issue.

She stirred under his hand with a whine, and after a moment, her eyes opened just a little, blinking at him as if she had to cross a great distance just to see.

“…sieur…?”

“Easy, little one. I am here.”

She whined again, but said nothing else. Her eyes slipped closed again not long after.

He pulled away a moment later, rising to his feet. “She must have struck something on the way down…I’ve sent the others to clear the area and assist any humans across the sea. Stay here, and do not move her again. I’ve eased her pain, but I can do little else. I will return shortly with Sigewinne.”

They both gave assurances he only half heard, already out the door and headed toward the water. The crowd had thankfully cleared, and so there was no one to cause a scene as he entered the sea.

In the safety of the water, his worry telegraphed more clearly, even as he moved quickly toward the nearest entrance to the Fortress. It did not help that the waters themselves were agitated, swallowing up the fear and shock of the explosion and subsequent fall out. Debris littered the seabed, and the emotions of all involved in the blast were sinking into the waves.

Hidden as this entrance was, he was not surprised to find one of the Fortress’s guards already waiting when he left the water. The security in the areas surrounding the Fortress was in a league of its own—they’d likely spotted him the moment he entered the water.

But, his position afforded him access without question, and so, despite clear nervousness at his presence, the guard lingering at the stairs said nothing, only nodded in greeting. It was possible they too had felt the blast, and so his being near was not so surprising.

It had been many years since he last entered the Fortress. If he had more time or patience, he might have noticed the little changes which had come since he was last there. The cleanliness, the decreased number of patrolling guards, any number of small improvements either immediately noticeable or palpable in the atmosphere itself—at the very least, a lack of a tension which had always characterized the place before.

As it was, the urgency of finding Sigewinne before Talochard’s condition could worsen negated any positive (or neutral) feeling the Fortress managed to create.

He cast his senses out again and found her in an instant, her Vision flaring brighter than a normal Melusine’s gentle glow. By some miracle, she was in Wriothesley’s office.

The guards did not stop him, even if they eyed him warily. He opened the door, heading immediately for the stairs up.

Faint voices briefly floated down, stopping when the sound of the door must have reached them. As he rounded the stairs, Wriothesley appeared at the top, his eyes widening at the sight of him.

A strange relief came over him then, brief but sharp.

Wriothesley moved straight to business, his expression pinched with worry. “What’s happened?”

“An explosion at the Research Institute,” he said, continuing up the stairs. “I don’t yet know what caused it, but the damage is extensive. I suspect most of their buildings were destroyed, and the Callas line collapsed mid-route.”

Sigewinne gasped, and was on her feet in an instant. “I’ll get my bag—one moment, Monsieur.”

She dashed past him without another word, pattering down the stairs and out the doors. They clanged loudly as they fell shut, the silence which followed brief but poignant.

“The Melusine who ran the line,” Wriothesley said, almost in question.

“Talochard,” he said, nearly a sigh. “She is injured, but I do not fully know how badly. I will require Sigewinne for at least the remainder of the day.”

He nodded, a twist to his mouth. “As long as she needs. We’ve got a doctor, and Sigewinne has a staff, they can manage the infirmary while she’s on the surface.”

“I cannot determine how long it may take. I have no choice but to rely on Sigewinne to tend to her sisters, but she has a tendency to assist the humans as well—“

“It’s not a problem.”

“Still, I—”

“Neuvillette.”

He paused, turning his attention back to him. That twist to his mouth still lingered, but it was aimed at him now.

Wriothesley was…worried?

“I don’t expect you to have a perfect solution where the Fortress isn’t, let me emphasize, mildly inconvenienced. Someone’s hurt—someone important to you and to Sigewinne. Even if I didn’t agree, she would leave without my permission.”

Well. He was likely correct there. He had no patience for ceremony at the moment, not with one of the little ones injured.

“Is she badly hurt?”

“I am not certain. I have little skill for healing those other than myself…but I believe she will be well, after Sigewinne cares for her.”

Wriothesley was still watching him, something calculating about his gaze. After a moment’s observation, he shook his head. “C’mon, sit down.”

He stared, and immediately disagreed. There was not time. “Sigewinne—”

“Will need at least a few more minutes, no matter how she hurries.”

“I hardly need…”

“Neuvillette,” he said again, somehow making his voice sound both pleading and scolding. “Please. Humor me?”

After staring for another second or two, he sighed and gave in.

Wriothesley’s office was not over large, but it was clearly well used, comfortably worn in, he supposed. The chair he was (somewhat forcibly) gestured toward was comfortable, and he had to admit, there was a moment’s relief in not standing, wound up and ready like a clock meka.

Still, urgency rolled through him enough that he could not fully relax. Talochard and her sisters were waiting. His eyes drifted to the stairs, waiting for Sigewinne to appear at them.

“Water?”

He briefly brought his attention back to Wriothesley, who leaned against the desk watching him. “What?”

“Have to kill time somehow. You thirsty? I know you don’t like tea.”

“Oh.” He looked back to the stairs. “No, thank you, I am well.”

“…Right. As well as expected, I suppose.”

He turned his way again. “I don’t follow.”

Wriothesley shifted, crossing his arms. He had forgone his coat somewhere, he noticed, his arms and the scars all along them in plain view. “Well, one of your Melusines is hurt. Of course you’re upset.”

“Oh.” He nodded distractedly. “Then yes. I did not realize your offer related to my…emotional state?”

The corner of Wriothesley’s mouth lifted just slightly, but it faded fast. “Comfort helps, in these sorts of situations.”

“Comfort…”

“Yeah. You have a good head for a crisis, but even so, this is personal. Someone you care for is injured—that’s bound to hit closer to home than any other situation. I don’t mean to imply you’ll fall apart, you’re far too composed for that. Only that this is someone close to you, and so the effect on you is steeper too. I doubt you’d have come all the way here if it was only the Callas line and not Talochard who was hurt.”

He shook his head. No he certainly would not have. Such things would have been handled by the gardes and gestionnaires. Only the urgency of the matter had required his attention, and he would not have stepped in if there were not injuries.

“But right now, it’s an impasse,” Wriothesley continued. “You have to wait for Sigewinne. Can’t speed that up, even if you tried. So you’re stuck, and all that…panic, I suppose, but that’s not the right word…all of it just builds up.”

He made a gesture, raising his hand up slowly, palm flat like a rising meter, until it reached his chest and then he waved it off.

“Like I said, I don’t think you’d ever get to the point of a complete breakdown, but you shouldn’t have to rough it alone either…I’ve found distraction helps, if only a little. That’s why I offered water, and I suspect how I’ve gotten away with chattering on this long.”

He frowned. “I take no offense to your ‘chattering.’”

Wriothesley smiled, crossing his arms once more as he leaned against the desk again. “Helping, is it?”

“I am not sure…” He hesitated for a moment before sighing. “I am not especially versed in my own…feelings. Let alone articulating them…or what might ease them.”

“Yeah,” Wriothesley agreed, nodding sagely. “Think you would have told me off if you wanted me to shut up, though.”

He stared, startled. “I don’t want you to ‘shut up.’”

Wriothesley went quiet, but there was a softness in his eyes different from his usual teasing. A little hint of a smile lingered somewhere there, warm and oddly constant. Like he’d caught a glimpse of the sun that had always been hiding behind clouds.

The door below them groaned open, and Sigewinne hurried up the stairs, her medical bag packed and wearing her cloak. Neuvillette stood.

Sigewinne wasted no time. “I’m ready. Ottnit was here visiting, she said she would watch the infirmary—”

“Hold on now,” Wriothesley cut in. “That’s your friend from the Phantom?”

“Yes. Don’t worry, she’s capable—”

“Capable isn’t what I’m worried about,” Wriothesley broke in again, shaking his head firmly. “You’re all close, I know you are, you post a letter or two every day, Sige. Let her go up with you.”

“But Wriothesley—”

“No, no. You said she was on vacation too, that’s terrible. It’s bad enough to have family hurt, you can’t ruin the poor girl’s vacation.”

“She volunteered! And the others aren’t ready to handle the infirmary on their own.”

He waved that away too. “Let me sort it out. You two, go. I’ll send her after you.”

Sigewinne frowned, ready to interject again. Neuvillette settled a hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him.

“I am sure Talochard will enjoy the company of as many of her sisters as possible, while she recovers. Ottnit can meet us there. Let Wriothesley see to your infirmary.”

She wilted, and after a moment, nodded, her hands tight over the straps of her bag. “We should hurry, then.”

Wriothesley followed them out of his office, hesitating a moment as they came to where their paths would split. He seemed to deliberate a moment before frowning, moving forward, catching Neuvillette by the wrist.

He froze, staring down at his hand. The touch seemed to burn through his coat. Puzzled, but not quite offput, he looked up and their eyes met again.

Something like worry still lingered in Wriothesley’s eyes, in the lowness of his brow. He held on a moment, his grip a warm weight.

“Take care.”

His voice was soft, when he said it. He had never heard Wriothesley speak in that tone before.

Only a moment later, he let go, turning back toward his office. Neuvillette stared, the ghost of that touch still burning through his sleeve. He felt…strangely bereft, without it.

Sigewinne had paused to watch him. “Monsieur?”

He shook his head, turning away and reaching for her hand. With no need to linger here, he let the waters surround them, pulling them toward the shores where the aquarail had collapsed.

Muirne stood at the door to the building he had left them all in, presumably keeping watch. She looked much relieved to see them, darting forward as they appeared.

“She’s awake, now. Ceasth is trying to keep her calm.”

Sigewinne dropped his hand and they stepped inside.

Talochard lay near exactly where she had only a short while ago, her head now propped in Ceasth’s lap. She was indeed awake, her eyes darting their way as they entered. It was clear she had been crying, and tears welled in her eyes again when she saw them.

“Winne,” she said quietly.

Sigewinne hurried to her side, Ceasth and Muirne falling into step to help her. Neuvillette joined them, but a step away to avoid crowding either of them.

“Did you hit your head?” Sigewinne asked, looking her over. “Can you remember?”

“Yeah,” she said, her lip wobbling a little. “The rail supports broke. We were over the water, and the bus went right over. I hit my head somewhere before we hit the water…somewhere here.”

She gestured at the side of her head, wincing.

“It’s good you’re awake then, as awful as I’m sure the pain is.”

“Concussion, right?”

“That’s right. I knew you listened to my lessons.”

“W-what happened at the Institute?” Talochard asked as Sigewinne began her examination.

“An explosion of some sort,” Neuvillette answered.

“Was anybody else…?”

“Not from your bus line, my dear. I have not heard any news from the Institute itself. I’ve already sent Ceasth’s remaining team to begin the investigation. I expect the gardes are also assisting, by now.”

“O-oh.” Her eyes drifted up toward Ceasth, whose lap she still rested in. “Sorry…”

“What are you sorry for?” Ceasth asked, sounding genuinely confused. “They’ll be fine without me. You’re more important.”

“I am?”

“Of course!” Muirne answered, scooting closer to hold her hand. “Don’t you worry. We’re here perfectly willingly, to take care of you. Monsieur Neuvillette got Sigewinne, and she’ll fix you right up. You’ll be back on your feet in no time, and we’ll take care of you until then.”

Talochard did not seem so certain. Her eyes moved between them all, settling on Neuvillette the longest, something pleading in her expression.

“Rest, little one,” he said, taking her free hand and holding tight. “That is your only duty now.”

A few tears slipped down her cheek, but she gave a little nod, likely the most she could do without aggravating her injury.

“But…what’ll I do? The bus line…a-and barely anybody liked my tours anyway…”

“You are still a member of the Phantom, and for good reason.” He rested his other hand over hers and Muirne’s. “Until the line is repaired, there will be a place for you wherever you choose. I will make sure of it. And when the line is repaired, you can return to your tours, if you wish.”

She still looked a little unsure. “Promise?”

He nodded without hesitation. “I promise.”

******

“If you need more help, you’ll need to ask,” he said, watching with no small amount of amusement as Sigewinne’s remaining staff (a lone human doctor named Arderne, young and apparently flighty without Sigewinne there to support) scrambled around the infirmary as if his shoes were on fire. “As amusing as this is, I do have other work to do.”

He stopped his flight around the infirmary at that, hanging his head. “Ah—sorry, Your Grace. It’s only, well—Sigewinne is the one who does the filing, a-and she’s never—she’s never—”

“I’m sure Sigewinne wouldn’t mind whatever notes you have to leave her. She can do her files when she gets back.”

“Oh. Yes.” He blinked at him owlishly. “That would…make things easier.”

“You don’t have any patients right now,” he added on, nodding toward the empty beds. “Besides giving people their regular medication, you don’t have anything to do. There’s no Pankration tonight. I doubt we’ll get any rioting, and if we do, I’ll try not to draw blood for you.”

The poor kid gulped and he smiled to ease the joke.

“Only kidding. You’ll do fine. Relax.”

“Y-yes sir. I will try.”

“Grab Estienne or one of the others if you need help. They’ll get me if needed.”

He nodded compulsively, eyes still a bit wide. “Yes sir.”

Trying his damndest to hide the smirk that wanted to escape at that comedic display, he left the infirmary, wandering back toward his office.

The Fortress was quiet today, even with Neuvillette’s sudden appearance. He’d been quick in-and-out, which likely helped, but created its own talk in another way.

That, and he’d left with Sigewinne.

He suspected it was that fact which kept the quiet more than anything else. Sigewinne was head nurse of the Fortress, but she was also the only Melusine with such broad medical knowledge. She had left before to care for her siblings.

To have her taken suddenly, and by Neuvillette no less…

Even the most angry at their judgement received at his hands wouldn’t begrudge that Neuvillette cared for the Melusines. Many of them had defended him over the years—in the papers, in crowds around trials—their opinions weren’t hidden. The sweetest of them had called him their father. That comment had been in the papers for weeks.

Well, he was definitely feeding that rumor today, Wriothesley decided. If his behavior in coming here was any indication, he doubted Neuvillette had hidden any of his concern on the surface.

And that was without pointing out how obviously distressed he’d been.

It wasn’t a comfortable observation. He had, over the last few years, become accustomed to Neuvillette’s unflappable nature. No matter the crime at a trial or the details they discussed at their meetings (some of which had, by necessity, included the Fortress’s inner workings, and decisions he had to make to keep it running—his hands were far from clean) Neuvillette remained steady, like a sea serpent gliding over waves. There was little that could surprise him, even less that could disturb him.

But it also wasn’t so surprising that an injured Melusine broke that calm.

Not to give the impression that he thought the man a mess. He doubted Neuvillette would ever be the sort to fall weeping over an injury, or even a death. It just wasn’t in his nature to display his emotions so aggressively.

No, his upset was subtler than that, but no less real for it.

First, in the fact that he’d gone to such lengths to get Sigewinne. He had not sent another of the Phantom, who had their ways of requesting access to the Fortress, and would have easily been admitted once the reason for their visit was clear. He had come himself, straight from the waters, if the guards were to be believed.

Second, he had been remarkably impatient in waiting for Sigewinne. He looked one breath away from pacing, his eyes fixed so firmly on the stairs that he might have been trying to cast himself down them and out the office, as if he could see the exact moment Sigewinne declared herself ready and they could depart instantly.

Finally, he’d said far more than he usually did when they spoke. Not in the number of words, but in the content of them.

He had never heard Neuvillette so direct. Which was funny, considering how little he’d still managed to say.

But it was nice to know he enjoyed their talks. Or at least, he didn’t want Wriothesley to stop talking.

He’d take what he could get. And coming from Neuvillette, that was practically a proposal.

Shaking his head at his own ridiculousness, he let the doors to the office fall shut. There was business to handle. Outside his own meager prospects that is…

Neuvillette had mentioned an explosion, one powerful enough to break the Callas Line. After making sure Ottnit left (and didn’t stay behind just to work, he knew that look in her eye from Sigewinne—she’d had to be convinced to leave her “post” and there was always a chance she would wander back thinking she had to) he sent a few guards upstairs to give it a look.

From what they reported, the destruction was holistic and utterly unexplainable. Apparently, the Institute was floating in pieces, hundreds of feet in the air—what bits of it weren’t ground into dust and scattered all across the island, anyway.

A blast that extensive could have caused any number of issues. He had the guards sweeping the entrances and towers for any leaks, but only he could check the gates.

The path from his office to the actual, final gate, was quite long. This supposed vent to the Primordial Sea was buried deep in the bed of the lake, covered by hundreds of feet of machinery before even getting close to his office. Even so, he knew it wouldn’t mean much if push came to shove. Water moved quickly, after all, especially when under pressure.

The past year or so had been spent on repairs and improvements to the backup gates. Gauges for the final gate remained steady, so he focused his attention on the three which could be triggered if the first began to fail. He passed through these first, entering the code to allow them to rise as one.

This deep within the Fortress, and so near to a very real threat to all of Fontaine, it was quiet. Even the machinery gave only a low hum, grinding beneath the floor as it held back the Sea.

The gauges were close to the gate itself, the largest one right over the center of it. That one, he had never seen move more than a spare inch over several months. The finer tuned ones spread across the room, those fluctuated more often, but still within acceptable range. Although all the gauges were, undoubtedly, slowly climbing.

He came to the first of them, frowning at the result it showed. Just a few days before, it had been just a hair above the second notch, still well below the halfway mark.

It now sat past the halfway mark, wavering constantly as if it could not decide what reading it truly had.

He cursed, checking the next gauge, then the next, until he’d read the full dashboard and its grim picture.

The quake must have caused some damage, or somehow disturbed the sea beneath the lake bed even further. The amount of contamination had climbed startlingly. He would have to inform Neuvillette, and soon. If he didn’t return with Sigewinne at the end of the day, he would write.

Sighing, he checked that all the machinery was still operating at acceptable capacity. Thankfully, they had remained steady long enough that such a jump was not an immediate threat. He might be able to coax the readings back down if he had time to sort out where the leak was coming from, but the Fortress was massive, and the lake bed beneath them, weak. Weak enough to require a Fortress built to contain the Primordial, anyway.

The gauge on the sluice gate, at least, had not moved. So it couldn’t be the vent there which caused this jump in contamination…

“Ugh, this is going to be a long afternoon…”

He spent the next half hour or so recording the changes from the gauges, then retreated to his office to compare them to the previous readings. Depending on which gauges had gone up the most, he could at least narrow down an area.

Several cups of tea and a sprawl of reports across his desk later, he had a vague idea.

The gauges were connected to sensors across the Fortress’s exposed exterior, particularly around the watchtower and maintenance areas. Those closest to the Fortress’s main structure were those closest to the Institute, and primarily the ones affected.

Sensors further out in the water were largely unaffected, save a few odds and ends connected to the filtration pipes. The pipes were large enough that it wasn’t so surprising to learn they’d taken the brunt of the force through the water.

He would have to hire a diving team to explore the damage, at minimum, and technicians to repair the pipes. But he couldn’t do any of that if the surrounding water was too contaminated…he needed to look more closely at the level of contamination…

Someone knocked on the doors to his office below. With his attention still on the last gauge’s reading, he pressed the button to unlock the door blindly. He heard the door open below.

“Up here,” he called, still distracted.

Whoever it was came up the stairs, but didn’t immediately draw his attention, and so it was only when he caught a flash of something blue that he looked up.

“Neuvillette?” He blinked, brow furrowing as he stared at him. “That was quick.”

Something of the day’s events lingered in Neuvillette’s expression, a tiredness about his eyes which was exceedingly rare to witness. At Wriothesley’s comment, he too frowned, appearing more puzzled than anything.

“It has been several hours, by my last measure,” he said almost hesitantly.

“Has it?” he muttered. He looked around his desk for the little clock he kept somewhere, but it was buried.

Neuvillette nodded, his eyes narrowed as he looked Wriothesley over, and then his desk.

“You have been busy, it seems.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Something is wrong?”

“Well, whatever blew up the Institute seems to have stirred up something down here as well. Most of the minor gauges jumped a few notches.”

Neuvillette held out a hand expectantly, and he obliged, handing over the relevant list of readings.

“The sluice gate hasn’t moved, so it must be some smaller leakage somewhere, but it’s contaminating the water and likely done damage to the pipes. I’ve been narrowing down the area from the sensors to send a dive team.”

“That is concerning,” Neuvillette said quietly, having already immersed himself in the report. “If the bed of the sea has been disturbed significantly enough to cause such a rapid shift, it is likely the Primordial Sea is agitated…”

He frowned, looking off to the side. His hands (and strangely, his eyes) glowed faintly for a moment, and his frown grew deeper.

“Do you require assistance in assembling such a team?” he asked suddenly, turning his attention back to the report.

“…I’m not sure,” Wriothesley answered, watching him closely. If Neuvillette didn’t want to acknowledge whatever he had just done (what could cause his eyes to glow?), then he would humor him, for now. “I’ll write you if it gets more serious, or if the contamination spreads beyond the immediate area.”

“Mm…” It was a sound of only partial satisfaction, but he nodded and handed back the report. “Sigewinne is remaining on the surface to monitor Talochard for the evening. She struck something as the bus fell from the line, and has a concussion.”

He grimaced. “Rough…I hope she’s alright.”

“She is conscious, and Sigewinne is attending her.”

“In that case, she’ll be better in a few days, max.”

Neuvillette managed a brief, weak sort of smile that only barely lifted his lips. “I hope so.”

A soft quiet fell. He thought for a moment that Neuvillette would come up with some reason to leave, as he often did when they ran out of business to discuss.

But he did not. He remained where he stood in front of his desk, his eyes distant.

If he didn’t quite want to leave yet, then Wriothesley would be happy to take advantage.

“Want to try another tea?”

Neuvillette seemed startled by the suggestion, blinking at him with wide eyes. “Pardon?”

“I’ve got quite the collection down here. Not just what I brought up last time. Maybe you’ll like something else I’ve got stored up.”

“Oh.” His brow furrowed as he thought, and he was predictably hesitant. “I am…unsure it would be worth the effort. My preference for pure water is more a consequence of my nature than a habit found over time…”

“Hm…well, either way.” He stood, piling up the reports into a (still somewhat messy) stack and pointing toward the couches. “Go on, I’ll get my kettle. And some water as backup in case you really hate this one.”

He left no room for argument, and Neuvillette was too polite to do so anyway. Even if he did look a bit skeptical, he went and sat carefully on the couch, crossing his legs and folding his hands neatly. He looked as poised as ever, even in the inconsistent artificial light of his office.

Shaking his head from such a pretty little sight, he left briefly for his kettle and supplies.

Kettle, cups, a few bottles of regular water so he didn’t have to bother filling the kettle elsewhere…the tea would be the hard part. Last they’d had it, he brought up his usual, a fine black tea from Inazuma. Simple, standard, went well with damn near anything. And that hadn’t bothered Neuvillette enough to garner hate, but he certainly hadn’t liked it either.

What would he like?

If he only favored pure water, then any of the stronger, richer varieties he had were surely out of the question. They took far too long to steep properly anyway…no, he needed something lighter, something that wasn’t so sharp on the tongue.

He thought it over as he poked through the various little tins and packages he had. After a few minutes deliberation, he settled on his choice and gave up overthinking it for now.

Neuvillette hadn’t moved when he came back up, and watched him approach with some interest.

“Sorry for the wait. I’ve got way too many different types of tea.”

“It was no trouble.” He continued to watch as Wriothesley set out the kettle and cups. “Out of curiosity, what exactly have you chosen?”

“Here, give it a look.”

He tossed the package his way, and Neuvillette caught it smoothly, turning it carefully in his hands as if it were made of glass. That little furrow came back to his brow as he opened the container, peering into the tin as if it held life’s secrets.

“It certainly smells different than the last…less…”

“Strong?”

“That is a word for it.”

“Figured we’d try the other end of the spectrum,” he said with a shrug, dropping onto the couch as the kettle began to hum, heating slowly. “Last time I brought up one of my usuals, a little black tea from Inazuma. This is from Liyue, but more importantly, it’s a white tea. There’s less refinement in the way its processed, and so the tea itself is quite a bit lighter once it’s steeped. The flavor will be mellower as well.”

“The refinement determines the flavor?”

“Among other things. Where the tea leaves were grown, how they were treated and dried, whether there are other herbs and such added, loose leaf or bagged, freshness…a lot can affect the flavor, even if you buy good tea.”

Neuvillette hummed, examining the leaves in the tin with a critical eye. “It is rather similar to water then.”

He smiled a little at the focused examination his tea was apparently earning. “Yeah?”

“The natural flavoring of water varies greatly depending upon its source,” Neuvillette explained, somewhat distractedly as he read the label of the tea. “For reasons similar to those you described as relates to tea. Water from a spring in Mondstadt, where Cider Lake provides a plentiful natural water source, will have a more crisp, clearer flavor than water even from neighboring Liyue. Such waters tend to have a richer aftertaste, perhaps due to higher mineral concentration in the land of Geo and the tendency toward mountain springs…that is without considering what environmental impurities may be present in any water, from its storage or usage, or even just sitting tepid for too long.”

“Huh. Never thought about how much went into it.”

As if he had only just realized he was speaking, Neuvillette blinked and looked up from the tea tin. “Ah. My apologies…I seem to have spoken quite a great deal about this…”

“Hey, I don’t mind. I rambled on about tea leaves.” He shrugged, giving an easy smile. “Everyone’s got their thing.”

Neuvillette didn’t look so sure. His eyes darted away, and his cheeks looked…faintly pink. “From my experience, few humans notice the fine differences in taste which different water sources can give…it is hardly a topic most would find…interesting.”

He tutted. “Neither is tea. Even folks who like it hardly want to debate it. They just want a drink to serve at meals and parties. Unless you’re an enthusiast or a merchant or something. Most folks would be snoring if I went on about some variety or another.”

“Beyond it being a favored drink and common across Teyvat throughout human history, I know little of tea. I found your explanation enlightening.”

He smiled again, more broadly than before. “It seems we’re in disagreement, Monsieur. You insist your interest in water is boring, and I insist my fanaticism about tea is boring, and we also both agree the other’s explanations are interesting. We could debate all day and we’d never gain any ground.”

“Hm.” Neuvillette seemed to think this over carefully, a familiar furrow to his brow suggesting deep contemplation. “It may be more expedient to assume we are both simply ‘boring’ in our tastes…”

Snorting, Wriothesley nodded. “Fine by me.”

The kettle whistled, and he was distracted again, taking back the tin of tea leaves when Neuvillette offered it. Neuvillette continued to watch him with interest as he filled the diffuser and dropped it in the kettle, content to take the easy way of it for now. Better that than to debate the individual amounts of tea leaves and steeping times…nah, too complicated, especially given Neuvillette’s particular tastes…

Soon enough, the pleasantly light scent of the tea was strong enough that he poured their cups.

“Oh,” Neuvillette said, looking down at his cup with curiosity. “It is quite different…”

“Told you. Still no sugar?”

“I believe not.”

“It’s there if you want it.”

He stirred a bit of sugar into his own, watching amused as Neuvillette continued to ponder his cup. What exactly he was looking for within, he didn’t know, but after a moment or two, he must have come to some conclusion as he tried a sip.

A familiar frown appeared, pinching his brow, but his eyes remained curious. Wriothesley fought a smile, taking a sip of his own tea as distraction. He didn’t want him to think he was laughing at him.

That little confused frown was unbeatable.

“The flavor is entirely different,” Neuvillette said, still puzzling at his cup as if it contained all of life’s secrets. “How strange…”

“Different in a good way or a bad way?”

“Hm.” He tried another careful sip, weighing his options. “Between this and the last you had me try, I believe this is the winner. The milder flavor is still distinct, but it allows the complexities of the water to also shine through…something local, but I suspect stored, rather than from the Fortress’s filtration.”

He whistled. “Impressive, Monsieur. You really are a connoisseur.”

Ducking his head, he almost looked shy.

“I’m glad that this is more to your taste. Next time we have tea up on the surface, I’ll bring you a tin…” Wriothesley paused then, letting his smile show even if Neuvillette didn’t see it yet. “Do you think a different water would improve the taste?”

“Most definitely,” Neuvillette replied immediately, that familiar surety in his voice as he managed to look his way again. He softened a bit at the easy smile, as if it had confirmed something for him. “Perhaps water sourced from the native nation…The typical spring water from Liyue would not suit, it is too coarse…something from Qingce or Qiaoying may suit better, if it survived the journey…”

He took another sip with a skeptical look, then nodded. “The water from Mount Lingmeng, near Qiaoying will likely suit it best. It is smooth, a clear mineral taste, but unrefined. I believe it would complement the similar profile of the tea. As I understand it, Chenyu Vale exports a great deal of tea as well…perhaps I can source some of their water for our next meeting…”

Wriothesley couldn’t help but keep his smile. “I’d be happy to try it. Even if my poor human taste can’t discern a difference.”

Neuvillette gave a very small smile then, and his eyes were a bit lighter.

Just as he hoped, then. He hated to see him so distressed. If a little tea and conversation helped, then he would be happy to oblige whenever he could. Even if they both realistically had other things they ought to be doing.

The warmth of this little visit, even one that had begun with something so stressful as an injured Melusine and a ruinous explosion, would tide him over until their next meeting. Judging by the lightened weight in Neuvillette’s eyes as they said their goodbyes a short while later, maybe it would make things easier for him too.

And if that warm feeling faded off too early, well. He’d make his excuses and find some reason to bother Neuvillette then. They both deserved the break, he decided.

Neuvillette especially.

“I meant to thank you for your assistance earlier,” Neuvillette said suddenly, the intensity back, giving a pointed edge to his stare.

“Assistance?” he repeated, then shook his head. “I don’t think I did much of anything, really.”

The frown his words received was expected, but no less severe for it. “I do not understand this habit of yours.”

“What’s that?”

“Underselling your own good deeds.”

“Mm.” He feigned weighing the thought, sipping at his tea distractedly. “You’d probably call it a bad habit. I call it realism.”

The noise Neuvillette made at that was distinctly displeased. “We will not agree on the matter, so I will move on,” he said flatly.

His tone left no space for further argument while remaining perfectly diplomatic. Poised, methodical, unyielding. Like a slip into the way he moved in trial.

With a little adjustment of how he held his teacup, however, it seemed to fade, and his eyes were softer when he looked at Wriothesley again.

“In any case, my view will not change. You may discredit your words earlier as superfluous but I will not. And, no matter how you feel it is little, I am nevertheless thankful—both for your cooperation in allowing Sigewinne to tend to her sister and in seeing to the contamination in the water.”

“That second part is my job, you know.”

“The requirement of it does not devalue the excellence of your work.”

“Ugh, we’ll be here all day if you’re going to insist on praising every little bit of my work, you know.”

Neuvillette did not waver; he only continued to watch him steadily. “If that is what is required.”

They were both silent then, staring at each other.

Wriothesley found he had nothing to say in response. Swallowing hard, he let his eyes flit away, somewhere, anywhere else from that impossible stare. “Alright then, fine,” he managed after a moment. “You’re welcome, I suppose.”

Neuvillette nodded decisively, apparently satisfied. “Good.”

“You’re going to keep doing this to me every time I do something for you, eh?”

“Doing what?”

He shrugged. “Pestering me about…being good or…whatever.”

When he managed to glance back, he found Neuvillette still watching him calmly. It was a determined, steadfast attention, pinning him to the floor and looking straight through him. It was as heartening as it was frightening, to be looked at in that way. All-seeing…

He seemed to be thinking about something, a calculated twist lingering in his frown.

“I will admit that there are many things I do not know,” he said, his voice softer but speaking with the same resolution as before. “My position requires a certain distance from the world to the intent of impartial judgment. I do not typically express my own emotions well, and I have…difficulty in understanding them in others.

“However,” he emphasized, eyes sharp once again. “I trust my judgement, in the very least when it comes to you and your character. Regardless of what you think of yourself, you are a good person, frequently concerned with and taking action toward assisting others, and from what I can see, only for their gain and not your own. It is one of the reasons I argued for your title as Duke—there are not many, if any at all in Fontaine, who could be more deserving of the honor. You have never, not once, proven me wrong. I sincerely doubt you ever will.”

Again, they stared at one another for several seconds of near complete silence, and Wriothesley felt his face burning bright. This time, there really wasn’t a way—or a point—to hide it.

Archons, how was he supposed to just continue with his day after a speech like that?

“Monsieur, you are completely impossible.”

He gave no apology. In fact, he hardly blinked, entirely unphased. “It is the truth.”

The brevity nearly had him laughing, but he held it back with a snort. “Alright, alright, you win. S’pose it’s not too bad for me to have the Chief Justice parading about singing my praises.”

Neuvillette surprised him then, replying in a tone grave enough to suit a funeral but with a glimmer of something amused in his eyes. “I will do my duty then.”

He lost his hold on his laugh, chuckling at the absurdity of the turn their conversation had taken.

Neuvillette watched him, looking entirely too pleased with himself. It was both adorable and unconscionably endearing. If he wasn’t so goddamn enamored, he’d almost want to fight him for that smug look.

But he was way too far gone for that sort of nonsense. Nah, he was a lost cause and he knew it.

Especially if Neuvillette was apparently taking up arms over how good of a person he was.

What the hell had his life become?

Chapter Text

It began with a performance at the Opera. 

He did not often attend such things. In fact, he was only attending this one on the begging of Lady Furina, who for some reason believed he had spent “too long hiding away in that office” and must show his face in some way in public. A certain magician was performing, one Lady Furina took great delight in, and thus she believed him doubly required to witness the show. 

He suspected she had an alternative motive, but he would never succeed in getting her to admit it. 

And so, here he was. It helped, of course, that there had only been one trial that day, a little thing of no importance wrapped up quickly. The rest of his schedule was clear, and so he had not put up much protest to her words. 

Thankfully, he had a seat reserved regardless of his intentions to see any particular show. A benefit of his position. 

He arrived quite early, as was his standard. It allowed for him to enter the theater without so many eyes, and gave a few moments of peaceful observation to the evening. 

As he sat in his reserved place at the front row, he looked up at his usual seat above. It always struck him as strange to see such things from this angle. A change in perspective most severe…

People filtered in slowly. Only a handful so far. Thankfully, it seemed his presence was not so shocking. He was largely left alone. 

A high, whispering voice fluttered in as the hour of the performance approached. For all that the voice whispered, he could hear her words from the moment the doors opened to admit her. 

“…Woah! This place is amazing!” She hushed a bit after that. “Traveler! Look, look!”

Her companion laughed softly—a young, male voice. “I’m looking, Paimon. Don’t shout.”

The name piqued his interest, but he contented himself to listening for now. 

Paimon was not a Fontainean name, and he knew of only one such creature, along with her traveling partner. They were renowned throughout Teyvat for a myriad of feats, each more difficult to believe than the last.

How intriguing to have them here…perhaps that explained Furina’s flighty behavior as of late. And her insistence he attend this show. 

Paimon’s voice continued to chatter in what could only barely be called a whisper, admiring every detail of the Opera with surprising discernment. Her voice and that of the Traveler grew closer, until a blond haired figure and a little floating fairy rounded the aisle, sitting in the two seats adjacent to his. 

“Wow…Lyney really meant it. He did get us good seats.” She settled in hers with a little giggle, looking quite small in the chair. 

Her eyes darted to him as her companion sat, wide and curious. It must have drawn the boy’s attention too, for he looked over. But his little glance was much shorter, and far more subtle. 

“Eheh…hm…” It seemed the little fairy could not stand the silence. She whispered to her companion. “Um…Traveler…should we strike up a conversation? I mean…if we’re gonna sit next to each other and all…”

This seemed to earn her a look. 

“It’s still so empty…wouldn’t it be awkward if we didn’t?”

“Isn’t that usually your thing?” he whispered back. 

“Ugh. Always making Paimon…even when Paimon asks for help…”

Hm. Perhaps he ought to have pity on the child. 

He looked their way. “Excuse me.” She made a strange sound, like a little animal startled back into the underbrush, and floated a good foot higher into the air. He continued as if he had not heard the little squeak. “I did not realize the quiet would seem awkward. My apologies. I would be happy to speak with you if that would ease the time.”

Her eyes were wide, large on her little face. “Y-you heard that! You must have good ears…” She looked quite worried, worrying her hands in front of her. “Paimon thought she was being quiet enough…”

“I am not offended.”

She gave a nervous, tittering laugh. “Oh, Paimon’s the one being rude! Paimon’s sorry. Um…we can talk about…uh…”

Her eyes moved to her companion, who looked pained at her stumbling, but did not seem able to come up with any solution for it. 

“O-oh! Paimon has it,” she said excitedly. “You’re here early too! Are you also a friend of Lyney?”

“A…friend?” He paused, thinking it over. “I doubt I would be labeled so. But if Mr. Lyney wishes to make my acquaintance, I would be happy to oblige.”

“O-oh…” Her eyes moved again to her companion. “Ooh, this is getting more awkward by the second…”

The boy gave her a flat look. 

“Ah!” She floated higher again, apparently inspired. “Paimon forgot to introduce us! W-well. Paimon is Paimon, and this is Paimon’s friend, the Traveler!”

The boy stood and offered a hand to shake, seeming not at all discomforted by the strangeness of the conversation so far. 

“We just got to Fontaine a little while ago,” Paimon continued as he stood and shook the young traveler’s hand. She seemed much more at ease with things to say. “Lyney invited us to see his show!”

He nodded. “It is a pleasure to meet you both. I have heard much of your travels.”

Before he could introduce himself in turn, the young magician appeared at speed. “Monsieur Neuvillette! It’s an honor to have you at one of our shows!”

“Ah, Mr. Lyney. I believe the honor is mine to attend one.”

Lyney was a young fellow, pale and fair haired. He was already dressed for his show, some kind of makeup on his cheek glittering in the light as he laughed. “Well, I’m happy to have you then! I hope you enjoy it.”

“Neuvillette…” Paimon muttered, thinking seriously. “Wait—so you’re—”

Lyney looked their way curiously. “Ah, I saw you all chatting, so I assumed you were introduced. Monsieur Neuvillette is Fontaine’s Iudex, the Chief Justice. He always has a seat reserved here. Or well, I suppose two.”

He gestured toward the seat above the Oratrice. 

“Oh, Paimon’s even more sorry!” Her little hands covered her mouth. “Paimon was so rude, and Paimon didn’t know you were so important—”

“No need to panic, little one.” He shook his head and hoped he did not scare her further. “I am not offended. My position as Iudex is merely my work, and most who regularly attend the theater have a reserved seat. In this sense, I am no more special than any other.”

“Monsieur Neuvillette practically is Fontaine’s sense of truth and justice,” Lyney continued earnestly. “He’s fair; it’s what he’s most known for. I don’t think he would judge you for a bad first impression.”

Paimon seemed much relieved by this, floating a little lower. 

Someone above them cleared her throat only a bit loudly. 

He glanced her way. “Ah. I believe I ought to tell you, even if I would prefer not to…someone in the balcony has been awaiting your notice for some time now, likely in the hopes of making an elegant impression of her own. It would do us all well to have her acknowledged before she becomes too disappointed.”

The Traveler dutifully looked up toward the balcony, which seemed to please Furina, still posing in her seat. At least judging by her giggle. 

“Ooh, it’s the Archon,” Paimon said, much softer than her whispering before. “Boy, she sure does look smug. Guess she doesn’t know you’ve seen through her.”

“That will likely do for now,” he said, earning the Traveler’s attention again. “Thank you. We ought to be able to enjoy the show, with her satisfied.”

He took his seat again, and Lyney left in a flurry, likely off to prep the rest of his show. Time passed more quickly then, as the crowd began to fill the Opera and the excitement grew palpable in the air. 

As the lights dimmed and the excitement grew ever more, he turned his attention to the show itself, rather than the crowd. 

The show was, at its start, entertaining. Lyney and his sister, Lynette, were a talented pair, well known in Fontaine for good reason. Their tricks delighted the crowd. Little Paimon seemed particularly enraptured. 

It fell apart at the climax, as these things tend to do. 

As the countdown of the crowd ended, Lyney appeared in the center aisle with a flourish and a flash of the spotlight. They all turned to watch the box at the other end as fireworks flashed and the spotlight shone bright—

The tank of water fell with a terrible crash, crushing the magic box and breaking the stage floor. Water spilled into the aisle, and the crowd fell into brief, terrified silence. 

“W-what happened?” He heard little Paimon’s voice wobble. “The girl—is she still in the box…?”

Similar murmurs began amongst the crowd. Lyney stood frozen at the center, his face pale with shock. 

“Remain in your seats,” he called, and many eyes snapped to his. “This performance is over. Medical staff to the stage, gardes, secure the scene, detain the performers. All exits must be sealed. At this time, no one is allowed in or out of the Opera Epiclese.”

Two gardes ran onto the stage, another set to the aisle, where Lyney still stood shocked. “M-my sister—someone—”

“I’m here,” she called softly, appearing from behind the stage. She was quickly within reach of the gardes, and did not fight as they moved to detain her. 

In the aisle, Lyney seemed to nearly sag with relief. He too put up no resistance. 

Lady Furina had recovered from her shock. “Y-Yes—if this was an accident, then we must investigate the scene to determine the cause. But if this was all a grand scheme, th-then trust, the perpetrator will not escape the judgement of the God of Justice!”

Her words at least seemed to ease the crowd. As the medical staff reached the stage, he turned to the pair next to him. 

“Do not panic,” he said, looking mainly at the little fairy. “We will have this sorted soon. Remain in your seats while the gardes investigate.”

The Traveler nodded, and he stepped away. 

The curtain was lowered as the body was removed. It came as no surprise that the man in the box was found dead. An assistant of the show named Cowell. 

Few creatures could have survived the tank falling on the box. 

The tank was suspended by ropes and pulleys. The ropes were burnt, possibly from the fireworks used at the climax of the performance. When they broke, the tank fell, crushing the box and Cowell within it. 

They had no explanation for why Cowell was within the box, nor where the girl from the audience had disappeared. 

A search of the area proved fruitless. The girl was simply gone. 

“From the investigation of the gardes,” he spoke from the stage only an hour later. “It seems this was not a mere mistake in the performance. Given the connections to the case of the serial disappearances of young women, further examination of the case is required.”

The crowd fluttered in agitation. For a woman to disappear at a performance like this…it could not have been unintentionally planned. 

Furina laughed from her perch. “To think he could pull this off in front of your Archon. To be underestimated so severely. I know the truth!” She stood, staring down at the pair of performers at the front. “I would say Mr. Lyney is now a prime suspect in this case!”

Lyney turned to her, his eyes wide. “Me? This was an accident!”

“But it occurred during your show. The girl was chosen from the audience, plucked from her seat. The man dead is one of your assistants.” She shook her head, gesturing widely. “Your speech at the beginning, a bold faced challenge! Making things disappear is your specialty in your own words, Mr. Lyney!”

The Traveler shook his head at her words, but the crowd did not match his doubts. They stared at Lyney with at best, a mixed reaction. 

“Lady Furina.”

She turned her eyes to him, still looking quite proud at her deduction. 

“Am I to infer your words act as an accusation against Mr. Lyney and his associates, and that you are pressing charges?”

Unsurprisingly, she blanched, and backpedaled. “W-well, it might be a little early to—”

But her words had roused the crowd, vocally agreeing with her assumption and accusation. 

To his disappointment, she bowed to their whim. “Of course! For the sake of Justice, I must do so.” Her eyes moved over the crowd. “And what better excitement than a worthy opponent.”

Her eyes were on the Traveler. Surely she would not—

“Traveler! You’ll represent Lyney, won’t you? After all, you owe him for his assistance against me already.”

He frowned, watching the Traveler look to Lyney, sitting pale amongst the gardes and clinging to his sister’s hand. It came as little surprise when he agreed, and less of a surprise when Lady Furina used it for further posturing. 

Withholding a sigh, he nodded. “Formal charges have been pressed, and a trial is now in order. Traveler.”

The boy looked his way, his strange eyes bright. 

“Lady Furina has set her sights on you, but I must ask. Are you willing to act as Mr. Lyney’s defense in this trial?”

He nodded firmly, without hesitation. 

“Very well. We will hold the trial in one day’s time here, at the Opera. Both sides may investigate the scene to build their case. Mr. Lyney and his troupe may consult with his attorney, but they may not leave the opera house. They will remain in the gardes custody.” He turned his eyes to the crowd. “Any remaining audience members may leave after they are cleared by the gardes.”

He left the Opera amongst the rain. Lady Furina stood waiting at the Fountain Lucene, watching the sky. 

“Tut, tut, Monsieur Neuvillette!” she called when she noticed his approach. She gestured at the ever darkening clouds. “You’re making quite a storm here!”

“A man has died and another young woman has disappeared, Lady Furina,” he said, moving past her. “Less than two hours past, I would remind you.”

Perhaps surprised by his leaving her at the Fountain, she hurried to join him. “But a fine chance at the serial disappearances case has arisen. And what a suspect he is.”

“We are both aware you did not intend to press charges,” he replied shortly. She winced at his side. “I see no reason to lie about the relevance of the suspect to that case.”

“Come, Neuvillette, you must admit he is a suspect.”

“And one to be questioned.” He stopped and turned to face her. “Not one to immediately charge blindly. There is a reason these processes exist—”

Her eyes were wide. She scrambled for an explanation. “He’ll be questioned—”

“In trial.”

“What better place?”

“Outside of trial, by a member of the Phantom, where the opinion of the people does not yet touch objectivity. Or at least by those already assigned to this case. Your desire for entertainment has made a farce of the law once more.”

She winced again, looking away. “I…”

“You have again stepped outside the bounds of normal procedure and jumped ahead to trial. And by declaring your charges, I cannot stop you.”

She was silent. 

He turned away, breathing deeply and turning his efforts to dispelling this rain. It faded with no small amount of resistance. He waved the water away from their clothes with ease. With that at last, he had gathered his thoughts.

“You have put two children on trial in front of a crowd now rabid for their sentencing, defended by an outlander with no legal training.” His voice was low, and pained. He hardly recognized it. “On the grounds that they were present and part of the performance. Would you have accused the dead, too, if he still breathed? Or the girl now gone?”

She would not meet his eyes. What little he could see of her face was red. The rest was hidden by her hair. 

“I only meant to point out the connections and the suspicion of his actions.”

“But you allowed the crowd to sway you, for what purpose even I cannot determine. And now you must act as prosecutor as well.”

“Neuvillette…”

He shook his head. “You have a case to prepare. I would suggest you spend your evening in that manner, if you wish my verdict to be delivered quickly. I will return in time for the trial.”

“Neuvillette!”

He paused his departure as she caught his arm, staring at her hand. 

“I…”

Her voice was small, shaken. He turned to look at her, and for a moment, she looked distinctly frightened before she ducked her head. 

“I’m sorry.”

He was quiet for a moment, but could not bear the sadness tainting the waters around her. He stepped forward, settling a hand briefly on her shoulder.

“I know…But your apologies are to the wrong person. If they prove innocent, direct these words to the children you’ve accused of serial murder.”

She said nothing more, turning away from him to face the fountain. He left, determined only to return for the trial the next day. 

******

Lyney was, unsurprisingly, innocent. His reaction to the accident was difficult to believe fabricated, even for one as well versed in showmanship and subterfuge as he undoubtedly was. And his concern for his sister was telling. 

Furina had, unsurprisingly as well, holed up in her apartment, evidently unwilling to face him or anyone else. 

A lull occurred then, where for a few spare days, a bit of normalcy crept back in. There were still whispers—of the prophecy, the Fatui, the Primordial Sea water and the missing young women—but regular business still needed to be handled. Petty disputes, paperwork to sign, meetings to be held. He returned to it as needs must. 

Sedene entered his office one afternoon looking a bit worried. “Miss Navia and the Traveler are here,” she said hesitantly. “They claim they have information for a follow up case related to Mr. Lyney’s.”

It was always startling to encounter Miss Navia. He was glad this time he at least had the benefit of Sedene’s warning. When she had appeared in a flourish during the trial, interrupting with admittedly crucial witness testimony, he had been glad to shelter behind court procedure, and the details of the case were enough to draw him back in.

Such comforts were gone, now, with her presenting herself in his office. To do so must have been difficult…she must have needed something badly.

“Hm.” He set aside the letter he had begun to Wriothesley. “…You can send them in, then.”

She did so, and they entered a moment later.

Miss Navia looked much the same as she had a few days prior. That had been the first he had seen of her in a number of years, and it was strange to see her grown. Humans truly moved quickly...when her father had died, she had barely reached his shoulder. Now, he hardly had to look down at all to meet her eye.

It was difficult to do so. She looked a good deal like her mother, he assumed, but her eyes, her expressions, those were the same as her late father.

But she did not deserve his cowardice in the face of such a failure of justice. He endeavored to honor her at least with his attention, when she requested it. Rare though that might be.

Miss Navia’s expression was grave, her brow furrowed and eyes heavy, but this was not so surprising. The Traveler, and particularly Paimon, looked only sheepish as they trailed after her. 

“We lied a little to come see you,” Paimon admitted, as if she couldn’t resist saying it. 

“Paimon,” Miss Navia said in a scolding tone, shaking her head. 

“I have no current engagement, so I have the time,” he assured them all quickly, standing to join them near the seating area. “What is it that you three need?”

They looked to Miss Navia. 

“We’re looking for someone named ‘Vacher,” she provided immediately, her tone brooking no room for argument or questioning. “He might have been an eyewitness in the disappearances case. If we can find him, we may be able to unearth more information on the culprit behind it all.”

“Hm…the name is not familiar…give me a moment to review the files. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

They lingered at the couches as he searched, sifting first through those associated with the disappearances, then expanding into any in recent years for the name. 

“I have no mention of a Vacher in any case file, criminal or civil, in the last several years,” he said after finishing his search. “Given that the name is also unfamiliar to me, I do not believe they appeared in any case—at least not in an official sense.”

Paimon seemed worried. “…could it have just been a dream, then?”

The Traveler shook his head, looking quite perplexed. 

“A dream?”

Paimon startled, and Miss Navia frowned. 

“A hunch,” Miss Navia answered for them all, and the Traveler remained silent, though he did look at her gravely. “Thank you for your help, Monsieur Neuvillette…we should be going.”

They seemed confused by her attitude, having likely only experienced her warmth. The Traveler in particular stared at him, something questioning in his eyes. 

“Miss Navia.”

She paused in her exit, but did not turn to face him. 

He hesitated, half unsure why he had spoken at all. His words rarely failed him, but it was not so surprising to have it happen here.

“I can understand how you must feel. Your father was an extraordinary man. We all regret his passing.”

She was quiet for a moment, still facing the door. “You don’t mean that, Monsieur. You’re only saying so because you feel you must.”

The Traveler stared at her, seemingly surprised. She turned back, her eyes bright with tears. Whatever she found in his expression, she did not like.

“Don’t say that you regret my father’s death when you could have stopped it. I begged you that day, and even knowing something was off about his case, you did nothing. You allowed that duel to occur, Monsieur.”

He said nothing. He knew better than to attempt to explain, particularly in the face of such distress. 

Still, his silence was taken for another meaning. She shook her head again, a flat chuckle leaving her. “I should know better by now, than to expect any regret. The apathy of the Chief Justice is well known. If you feel anything at all, Monsieur, you never say or show it.”

She turned to the doors. “My apologies for taking up your time. Come along, Traveler, Paimon.”

They left his office with only the closing of the door to accompany them. He expected rain would greet them when they left the Palais. Already, he could feel it coming, creeping over the sunlight and set to drench the Court for at least the next hour. 

He returned to his desk, glancing briefly at the half finished letter. 

A sudden urge to see Wriothesley briefly overwhelmed him. There was comfort in his company…in his light manner and his unimpeachable desire to find tea Neuvillette did not dislike (still little success there).

More than that, however, it was a desire for understanding which drew his mind to Wriothesley. Would he agree with Miss Navia, that he had failed his duties by not stopping that duel?

He shook his head. No, Wriothesley would not agree with such things. He had an uncommonly strong understanding of the law, and had not even protested at his own sentencing. While he was certain that Wriothesley would sympathize with Miss Navia and her wishes for how that day might have gone, he had the strong sense that he would not blame Neuvillette either.

There was warmth in that little sentiment…but the grief remained.

As rain began to patter against the office window, he quashed down the urge to flee the Palais and disappear into the depths (into the Fortress), and instead started his letter anew. 

Wriothesley, 

This letter will likely fall quickly out of date, so as possible, please inform me of your answers with haste. 

The serial disappearances case has been reopened. I am sure you are at least partially aware of it. I will not go into gross detail. Suffice to say, Lady Furina falsely accused a young performer who so happened to be a Fatuus of serial murder. The boy and his sister were innocent, but a garde dissolved into water before the eyes of the court. The culprit behind the attack has not been apprehended. 

I expect further developments on this matter will continue to arise. If your plan is not already in motion, I would ensure it is ready as soon as you can. We are likely short on time. 

Please keep me informed as to the status of the contamination. We have not yet identified the source of the Sea water used to dissolve the man in the court. 

I have one other small request, doubtful as I am to its success. Miss Navia of the Spina requested I search my files for anyone by the name of ‘Vacher,’ as a person of interest to this case. My records make no mention of such a man.

If you have time, and particularly if the name sounds at all familiar, a search of the Fortress’s records would be appreciated. I would like to provide any information to her as soon as possible.

Sincerely, 

Neuvillette

With that finished, he sighed, watching the rain fall from his office window. It was unlikely to stop, now that it had started…

He did not enjoy thinking of Miss Navia’s father, or his unfortunate death in the duelist ring. Even now, years later, he understood little of the choice the man had made, throwing aside his life and all that went with it, and for what?

He did not know.

But the laws had to be upheld. No matter how he felt about the details of the case, the moment Callas requested a duel to clear his name, he could do nothing but stand aside.

Miss Navia and her pleading…he did not know what she had expected him to do.

These laws were written with purpose. Checks were put into place to prevent abuse of power. Fontaine was no dictatorship, and he did not have the power to do as he pleased. He was bound by the laws the same as all others in Fontaine, more so by the requirements of his position.

If he abused these laws, broke them to save this man on the mere idea that he was innocent, then any confidence the people had in his ability to impartially judge would be compromised. He would demonstrate only that he was untrustworthy, ruled by emotion, not the law, and emotion was no giver of justice.

If it was, he would not so often be drenched in his own sorrows.

He moved away from the window. That was enough maudlin thoughts for one day. There were things he must do, and he had to wait for Wriothesley’s reply.

******

Neuvillette,

Sounds like the surface is going through quite a lot at the moment. You have my sympathy. 

The gauges have not changed. They’re holding steady where they were two days ago. The sluice gate appears to be functioning in much the same way, no alarming jump.

If anything gets more severe, I’ll alert you as soon as possible. 

I can put you at ease about my little project at least. It is going well. Should be done within the next few weeks—faster if I can push it, which I will. Thank you for the warning. 

A warning of my own for you—there’s been a surprising number of disappearances from the Fortress in recent weeks. It’s strange, that. All the ones who’ve disappeared had the same familiar little insignia in their belongings. I expect their Father will create some issue for me in the future. I hope to keep you excluded from it, but don’t get your hopes up.

I’ve searched our records here, everything from inmates to guards to Sigewinne’s infirmary. No signs of a Vacher, either as a first or last name, or any known pseudonyms. I’m sorry to disappoint you and Miss Navia.

I hope you’re well. I’ve never gotten a letter so short from you. If you need a hand (or my gauntlets) let me know. I’m at your service.

Wriothesley

He did not immediately have the time to answer this letter, but he appreciated it regardless. Wriothesley, at the least, could be relied upon. And his concerns he knew to be genuine. 

That urge to see him again grew stronger, and he fought the rain which so wanted to gather.

Unfortunately, only a mere day or two after receiving Wriothesley’s letter, another trial was quickly set for the newest suspect in the serial disappearances case. 

It seemed Fontaine currently hosted a disproportionate number of Fatui Harbingers. This one accused, Tartaglia, was young, battle-minded, and wholly refused to cooperate. 

“You will have to answer the charge in some fashion, Mr. Tartaglia,” he said after nearly ten minutes of posturing and stalling from the man. “Either you accept the charge or you reject it, and we move forward with trial based on your plea.”

Tartaglia scoffed. “I see no point in acknowledging a charge to a case I’ve never even heard of. I’ve only been in Fontaine a few weeks, and purely on vacation, I’ll have you know.”

“Regardless, a charge has been made against you. A trial is thus required. You are obliged to respond.”

He tutted, but still appeared to think it over. Strangely, his eyes shifted up toward the balcony. 

“Say…those on trial do get to duel to clear their name, don’t they?” His eyes were bright then, a strange grin on his face. “I’ve sparred Champion Duelist Clorinde once, but she was clearly holding back. I’m sure that wouldn’t stand for a duel.”

“Hey!” Furina shouted as Clorinde crossed her arms, scowling down at the man from next to her. “Do you take this for a game? You’re accused of murder!”

“One I know I didn’t commit,” he said with a shrug, apparently unphased. “Whattaya say, Miss Clorinde? Rematch? We can include your Archon too, if she’d like.”

Furina sputtered, reeling back as if physically struck. 

“A duel can occur only if the charges are accepted and a plea is made in contrast to them,” Neuvillette interjected, not wishing for Clorinde or Furina to feel obligated to respond. “Are you accepting the charge?”

The man cursed. “Archons, no! What is with this system you all insist on?”

“Shouting will only see you detained, Mr. Tartaglia.”

He hmphed, crossing his arms like a young child.

“If your only goal is to delay proceedings, then you are succeeding. I will clarify a final time, and then I expect your decision as to the charge against you, or you will return to the custody of the gardes until you make your choice.”

“Stop!” A voice from the crowd shouted, and Miss Navia appeared, rushing into the opera once again, her guards in tow. “This case has nothing to do with him! You’ve got the wrong man!”

A frown pulled at his mouth, and he did little to hide it. “Miss Navia, you have interrupted court proceedings twice now.”

“With good reason, Your Honor.”

He shook his head. “I allowed your interference on the first as you were able to provide a crucial eye witness. But that was an exception, given the circumstances. If you do not have a similarly valid excuse this time, I will have to charge you with contempt of court.”

She laughed. “Please. Did you ever think I would respect these theatrics?”

“You have made your opinion of the court quite clear, but you are speaking out of turn.”

“No, no. I’m here to charge the true culprit behind the disappearances. And, if my charges are proven true, then Mr. Tartaglia here will be innocent by default.”

The man in question seemed amused by her outburst, and leaned on the box to look down at her. “Ah, at the very least I know there are some comrades amongst the crowd. I’ll take you up on that offer, my lady.”

“Very well then.” He answered before any further interruptions could be had. “Mr. Tartaglia, you may be seated in the audience for now, but you are still under watch. Miss Navia, who is the person you are charging?”

She nodded. “Marcel, the head of the Confrerie of Cabriere.”

The audience began to titter again, about the relationship between the Spina and the Confrerie.

“Let me remind you, Miss Navia, that charging someone is a serious matter. By doing so, you assume legal responsibilities associated with the charge. Depending on the way the case is decided, you may be charged yourself for a false accusation.” The crowd had quieted in his explanation, but Miss Navia was unmoved. “Do you still wish to charge this man?”

“Absolutely.”

He nodded. “In that case, you and your attorneys may come to the box. Gardes, please contact Mr. Marcel so that he may stand trial.”

What followed was taxing, more so even than Mr. Lyney’s case. Miss Navia had not been entirely prepared, and the way she watched the doors made it clear she was stalling for time. 

Mr. Marcel, in contrast, first seemed to believe it a misunderstanding, but he refused an attorney and maneuvered himself well enough. 

A great deal of detail dragged the proceedings outward. Miss Navia had researched her father’s case extensively, and did a good job of connecting her theory of the killer’s dissolution to the serial disappearances case. Clorinde’s admission that her father had planned his death in the dueling ring, the connections between Marcel and her father, all of this made sense. 

Proving his identity as Vacher, however, was the more difficult piece. He was not exactly surprised to see the Traveler burst in with crucial evidence, even if so many disruptions to the court’s proceedings were unacceptable. 

Furina pardoned it, and the evidence was accepted. Vacher and his motive were unmasked, and the gardes had him in custody. 

“With Mr. Marcel’s conviction, the charges against Mr. Tartaglia have no further basis.”

“Hey, no harm done,” the man in question called from the audience. “This was actually quite entertaining. I can see the appeal.”

“You will remain until final verdict,” he said firmly, not willing to give the man any ideas. “Traveler, your evidence will need to be submitted to the gardes so that I can review it before I give my final judgement.”

This was done easily enough. As expected, the Traveler and Miss Navia were correct. His verdict did not change. Vacher or Marcel was guilty. The Oratrice agreed. 

“As to the matter of Mr. Tartaglia, given that the true culprit has been convicted, the charges against him are groundless. He is thus, not guilty.”

He cheered, and stood from his seat. “Happy endings all around. Well, I’m off.”

“One moment, Mr. Tartaglia.”

He stopped, but there was a scowl on his face. It was clear he was quite done with the whole affair. 

“Court protocol requires the Oratrice deliver judgement on your charge as well.”

“Ah, come on,” he groaned. “You’ve already dragged off your main villain. It’s far past my time to exit, I assure you.”

“While you are in Fontaine, its laws must be respected,” he said firmly, and this at least seemed to cow him. “The Oratrice must give its verdict.”

“Ugh.”

In spite of his groaning, the man did come to the box. He announced his verdict again, and the Oratrice powered up for its own. 

It came only a moment later. He stared at the result, stunned. The Oratrice had declared Tartaglia guilty. 

A protest went up immediately from the man in question, and the crowd reacted with their own shock. 

“The judgment of the Oratrice is, by law, final. We must accept the guilty verdict,” he said over the din. “Gardes, please take the suspect into custody per court protocol.”

They moved to do so, but it seemed Mr. Tartaglia had no intention of going quietly. 

He scoffed, and hopped the barrier of the box, landing cleanly on the stage. He looked around briefly, but it was no surprise he settled his contempt on Neuvillette. “Some justice you have here in Fontaine, hm? I’m not impressed.”

Neuvillette frowned, similarly unimpressed.

Several gardemeks approached him cautiously. He dusted off his hands and stretched. 

“Well, you have your rules, I have mine.” Electro gathered around his hands, and a mask covered his face as the energy formed into weapons, a sword in each hand. “C’mon!”

The crowd began to scream and run, stumbling through the aisles as he cut through the gardemeks with pure Electro. He leapt across the stage, apparently not putting in much effort, judging by his delight in the fight. 

More meks were sent in and he stepped away, laughing. “Alright then. The hard way.”

Electro began to gather around him again, along with something darker—something abyssal in nature. Lightning struck the stage and held, illuminating the theater in bright purple energy. 

The Traveler cursed in the crowd, Paimon shouting something as he pulled his sword, making a rush for the stage. 

This had gone on long enough. He stood, and leapt from his platform above the Oratrice. 

The resulting clash of Hydro and Electro sent sparks and smoke scattering across the stage. Thankfully, no one in the audience was caught in the backlash. 

He removed his hands from the man’s head and stood as the smoke began to clear. He stirred once, but it was clear he could not stand to continue such a pointless fight. 

“I am sorry,” he said quietly. “If you are innocent, we will do all we can to prove so. But the rules of the court must be upheld.”

The Traveler had approached the stage, staring up at Tartaglia and at him with wide eyes. 

He turned to leave as the human gardes took the stage. “Call the medical staff. I will contact the Fortress myself.”

“Yes, Monsieur,” a harried garde said, already moving. He left them to their work and stepped out of the Opera. 

He had hoped to be able to contact Wriothesley without further delay. But he was not so surprised to find the Traveler following him outside. 

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” Paimon called. “Wait!”

He slowed a little, allowing them to catch up. “Apologies, little one. But I must contact the Fortress of Meropide to collect Tartaglia.”

“B-but—”

“What happened?” the Traveler cut her off, and she fell quiet. 

“If you are referring to the reason behind the Oratrice’s verdict, I could not say with any certainty. This is the first time it has contradicted my judgement. But I know little of any possible reasons why. Your questions would be better directed at its creator.”

“You mean Lady Furina?”

“Mm. But she is not likely to give you an answer. If she does know what happened, that is.” He glanced back toward the Opera. “She has likely already made her escape, in any case.”

“But…” Paimon hesitated, looking toward her companion. “What about…”

“Ah.” He stopped finally, giving them his attention. “I am sorry. Mr. Tartaglia is a friend of yours, is he not?”

The Traveler grimaced. “Something like that. I don’t know if he’s a friend, but he doesn’t have anything to do with the disappearances.”

He nodded. “You will find, I hope, that I do not lie. I will continue to examine this case myself. If Lady Furina proves reticent, then I will handle it. You need not worry. It is very possible your friend will not remain in the Fortress for long. Regardless of the duration of his stay, he will be cared for by the staff here and at the Fortress itself if necessary. But I assure you, he is not gravely injured.”

The Traveler at least appeared satisfied with this. 

But Paimon was not. “How did you do that…whatever you did?”

“What do you mean?”

“That power you used to stop Childe!”

She seemed in awe. The Traveler, too, appeared interested. 

“His Foul Legacy is awful,” Paimon went on, apparently unable to help herself. “Traveler had a lot of trouble stopping him last time—”

“Paimon,” the Traveler said, frowning at her.

“Oh…ehehe…oops.”

“Mm…” He thought for a moment, determining the best approach. “You need not worry about revealing something your friend did not wish known. I am aware of that…power’s nature. As to my ability to counteract it…if an enforcer of the law does not have the strength to uphold it, then justice would surely crumble.”

Paimon puzzled over his words, frowning. “Huh?”

“I am Fontaine’s Chief Justice. If even I am not able to enforce the law, then on what ground does it stand?”

“Oh…”

The Traveler watched him with interest, but thankfully not malice. Or perhaps he knew they would receive no other answer. “Come on, Paimon. We should let Monsieur Neuvillette do his job.”

They left, talking quietly to each other, and he resumed his path to the Opera’s access to the Fortress. A light rain began to fall as he reached it. He was not terribly surprised by its presence. 

A guard met him as the passage opened, appearing quite surprised to see him. “Monsieur!”

“If you could pass a message or retrieve Duke Wriothesley, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Of—of course sir. I-I can fetch His Grace. We have a pneumatic line here, j-just a moment—”

They ran off to make their message. He remained above ground, sighing as he watched the clouds thicken and remain. 

Wriothesley appeared quite quickly, only perhaps ten minutes later. The rain had not let up, and he seemed surprised at the sight of it, pulling on his coat as he took the steps.

“What are you doing out here in the rain?” he asked, staring at him with something like concern pinching his expression. “Are you cold?”

“No, no. I am perfectly well, I assure you.”

“Hm.” 

He looked at the sky critically for a moment before apparently deciding it was not worth questioning. Rather than stepping back inside, however, he joined Neuvillette at the steps, standing in the rain without much concern. 

“You’ve never called me here before. What’s the matter?”

“I have an inmate to be admitted, at least temporarily.”

Wriothesley stared at him in silence for a moment. “You have an inmate.”

“…Yes.”

“Neuvillette,” he said his name like a sigh. “What’s going on?”

He blinked, confused. “As I said—”

“I know. I know. But you hardly bring people here after their verdict. Let alone to me personally. I think I need a bit more detail to understand your thought process.”

“Oh. I see…my apologies.” He hesitated a moment, gathering his thoughts. 

Wriothesley was still staring at him, but something had caught his attention and he narrowed his eyes. “You have blood on you. Are you bleeding?”

“No—”

He cut off as Wriothesley came closer, startling as he reached up and wiped something from his cheek.

The touch was brief, but for some reason seemed to stretch on forever. Wriothesley’s fingers were calloused, but warm, and his expression was so determined or concerned or…who knew what…that he hardly appeared to notice the little jump Neuvillette had made at the contact. 

With the blood presumably gone, he hummed and looked him over. Satisfied there were no injuries, he continued. “Not yours then. Good. What happened?”

But Neuvillette was still caught staring at him in wonder. The rain lessened significantly, until it was hardly a bit of mist. 

Wriothesley’s expression pinched with worry yet again. “Neuvillette?”

He shook his head as if in a daze, resisting the urge to touch his own cheek, but only just. “A Mr. Tartaglia was accused of being the one behind the serial disappearances. He is one of the Fatui’s Harbingers, by his word visiting Fontaine only for leisure. Another suspect was brought forth before trial could begin by Miss Navia—Marcel, or more aptly, Vacher.”

“The one you wanted me to search for.”

“Yes. He changed his name many years ago. He was behind the disappearances, and was found guilty. But it is not his case which is the issue. Per protocol, judgement had to be given on Tartaglia’s charge as well. Despite my ruling and the opinion of the crowd, the Oratrice found him guilty.”

Wriothesley’s eyes widened, but he did not immediately reply. His brow furrowed in thought. “He’s the inmate then.”

“Yes. But not at all willingly.”

His scowl only grew deeper. 

“He resisted, and destroyed several gardemeks. I know little of the Fatui or what power they give their Harbingers, but whatever he used…” He shook his head. “It was unnatural, abyssal. He would have harmed not only himself but the rest of those in the Opera.”

“That was his blood then.”

He hummed, largely unconcerned. “Yes. He’s being tended to. I did no grave harm to him. I suspect this power he used weakens him as a cost…”

“If it’s a Delusion, then yes.”

“He does have one, and a Vision as well, but this is something more…” He shook his head. “In any case, by law he must go to the Fortress, at least until I am able to determine the cause for this verdict from the Oratrice and call for a retrial.”

Wriothesley nodded, taking the business in stride. “Alright.” He turned back to the passage and whistled down it. The guard from before reappeared, still looking quite nervous. “Get another message down the line, have them send more guards. At least three, off my watch. And warn Nurse Sigewinne she’ll have a patient.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Right away.” They disappeared back below. 

Wriothesley joined him again closer to the Opera. “You alright?”

“I am unharmed.”

“Good…I’ll take what I can get.” His eyes drifted briefly toward the Opera. “We have an audience.”

Neuvillette glanced back. Under the eaves of the Opera, the Traveler and his companion stood, watching them. 

“Hm. The Traveler and Paimon.”

“Ah, Teyvat’s little hero troupe. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised they’re around here now, eh?”

“They were Mr. Lyney’s attorneys, and provided quite a bit of evidence for this case as well.”

“Wow. Busy week.”

“Admittedly. I can introduce you, if you’d like.”

But he shook his head. “Knowing their track record and my rotten luck, we’ll meet soon enough. I’ll have to rain check that introduction for now, I’d say.”

“Very well then.” 

The rain was nearly gone now, only a few patters here and there. He glanced at Wriothesley again, who watched him back calmly. 

Wriothesley’s presence had, for a while now, been soothing in some way. His lightness had not dissipated in their years of acquaintance, even as their meetings grew more grim with each rise in those cursed gauges.

It was no different now, standing in a bit of rain when neither of them really had any business being there. 

Neuvillette ought to have been beginning his investigation into what happened, if not retrieving Tartaglia to be sent to the Fortress, or speaking to the members of the Phantom questioning Vacher. He might have even been expected to speak to Lady Furina about the ramifications of this trial, or to the Traveler whose hands were deep within it, or even to Miss Navia, who seemed to finally have some closure in her grief. 

And yet…

He wished to remain here, in this little moment. Standing with Wriothesley in a bit of rain, simply…being. 

But he could not do so forever, he knew. Sighing a little to himself, he looked back toward the Opera. 

“I…thank you, for…”

He lost his words somewhere. He had no idea what he was thankful for, but he knew he was.

But Wriothesley only gave a little smile, just a small, hidden sort of thing, something pleased about his eyes. “Of course.”

Some tension left him then, and the last of the rain faded off into the clouds. 

“You’ve probably got to go,” Wriothesley went on, nodding toward the pair waiting beneath the Opera. “And I suppose I’ve got a Harbinger to prepare for.”

He hummed. “Do tell me if he causes further issues. He is not guilty of this crime, but that may not stop him from committing another. Given that he is not of Fontaine, I expect some response from the Fatui will come, likely quickly.”

“Well, I’ve weeded them out before, I can do it again. I’ll keep you posted, though.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded, and Neuvillette turned to go. 

“Hey, Monsieur.”

He turned back. Wriothesley had not moved, but there was an odd little smile lingering about his mouth. 

“Next time you get in a fight, try to make it when I’m around. I’d love to see it.”

His eyes must have widened a bit, and the temptation to touch his cheek again came. Instead, he nodded. “I will do my best. But I can make no promises…I am not often in such situations, after all.”

Wriothesley waved a hand. “Like I said earlier, I’ll take what I can get.”

He disappeared back below, and Neuvillette reluctantly left, returning to where the Traveler and Paimon waited.

“Who was that?” the little one asked as soon as he was within earshot.

“Hm? Oh. As I said, according to procedure, the Fortress of Meropide must be alerted when they are to receive a new inmate. There is an entrance point here, at the Opera, where court officials can do so.”

“So that was someone from the Fortress?”

“Yes. Meropide is considered separate from Fontaine proper, outside the bounds of the Court or its authority. Those who are found guilty in a criminal case carry out their sentences there, by an agreement as old as the Fortress itself, between the Ordalie and Meropide. It is currently administrated by Duke Wriothesley. That is who I was speaking to.”

“That guy was a Duke?!”

The Traveler seemed amused by her outburst, but it mostly confused him. He frowned. Was she speaking to something wrong with Wriothesley’s appearance?

“Wriothesley is of excellent character, I assure you. He has done much work to earn the title he was granted. I worked very hard in order to ensure he received it.”

“O-oh…” she seemed sheepish now, ducking her head. “Paimon’s sorry. It’s just…aren’t Dukes usually old and stuffy and rich?”

He hummed, amused as he thought it over. Furina’s words from that ill-fated hotel dinner rang in his memory. “I would not know. It is the highest civilian title granted in Fontaine…currently, Wriothesley is the only such Duke in the nation.”

“Woah…”

“In any case, I would not describe him as old or stuffy. But he is undoubtedly wealthy. The Fortress earns much through its exports, and Wriothesley is fairly compensated for his work.”

Paimon giggled. “You sure like Wriothesley, huh?”

He frowned again, wondering at her meaning. “I have complete faith in him, yes.”

She giggled again, only stopping when the Traveler glared and shushed her, eying Neuvillette with an odd mixture of knowing and something like pity.

He found he did not at all like that look in his eyes.

But he would not rescind his words about Wriothesley. He spoke only the truth.

He did like Wriothesley. The thought of anything else being taken as true was objectionable in every sense. He cared deeply for him, and would go to great lengths to see him happy.

Like him…as if anything could be so simple as that little word…

Chapter Text

Mr. Tartaglia was thankfully, very little like those Fatui whom Wriothesley had become accustomed to disposing of.

Each Harbinger, it seemed, had their own methods, goals, and soldiers under their command. All that really connected them was their supposed loyalty to the Tsaritsa.

The Knave’s operatives had been causing him headaches for several months now, sneaking their way in and stirring up trouble. Thankfully, no matter how elite they were on the surface, down here, their tricks only revealed them sooner. He disposed of them with almost laughable ease.

From what little he learned of the Knave from her operatives and “children,” she was cold, exacting, and precise, with her own motivations and concerns. He could count on her at least to be predictable in what she sought.

The Fortress, its secrets, etc. Old hat, really.

This Tartaglia was not at all similar to his supposed coworker.

Despite his actions at the Opera (really, he had no idea what sort of idiot would endanger lives and resist the law in front of Neuvillette of all people), he caused no real trouble as an inmate. Sure, he whined, demanded a fight the moment they met in passing (and was denied, on the grounds that Wriothesley saw no reason to beat the daylights out of an inmate causing no real trouble), and generally did little beyond sparring in the Pankration ring and amassing a little group of puppy followers among the Fortress’s youngest.

But there were plenty of other residents who had done or did the same. There’d be more in the future, too.

As long as he didn’t actually have to kick the idiot’s ass, he didn’t care what he did. Tartaglia was clearly here only because of his trial. He didn’t seem at all interested in causing Wriothesley further trouble.

When his little group of followers started up a panic at his disappearance, he mostly found it amusing. If anyone was going to worm their way out of the Fortress, he supposed it would be a Harbinger. At least he was here on false charges.

Besides, he’d been given a very good card to play…hm. He probably ought to warn Neuvillette…he hurried his way through a letter to do just that.

Neuvillette,

A certain Harbinger has decided to disappear into my pipes. His little fan group is in quite a state.

I’ve examined the area where he was last seen, but could find no trace of him. Either the man actually managed to escape, or something more foul is at play.

Regardless, I plan to use this to my advantage here. I’ve told you of the Knave’s lackeys loitering about, haven’t I? The last I got rid of was only a few days before Tartaglia arrived.

If we want to determine her motivations for sending so many people below, we’ll have to force her hand. At your leave, I plan to leak the news that Tartaglia has gone missing. Let the rumor mill run for a while, and I’m sure she’ll be forced to send someone again to investigate. Then I might have more chips to bargain with…

We both know what she’s likely looking for here. I intend to keep her away from it, but not without learning what she thinks she’s looking for.

I understand this will likely create several problems for you on the surface, so I wanted to warn you in advance. My apologies for any tricks she pulls which inconvenience you. I’ll have to ask you to trust me for the benefits down here.

No reduction at the gates. They hold at three quarters, rising a little each day.

Wriothesley

******

Wriothesley,

Matters have progressed steadily here. The Knave in particular is putting pressure for Mr. Tartaglia to be found, or for the Fatui to be allowed to step in and assume control of the search. I suspect she has ulterior motives in pressing this matter.

Lady Furina is of no assistance. She is terrified of her for reasons I do not fully know. I will allow that the Knave is a figure of clear power, but Furina’s behavior is out of character. I have no explanation for it.

Given that Tartaglia disappeared from within the Fortress, and thus, outside the bounds of Fontaine, I am able for now to hold her off. However, this will not likely last long. At worst, she will simply turn her sights to you.

Although I understand a meeting with you is much more of an inconvenience for most than one with myself and Lady Furina. I commend you for this foresight in avoiding unwanted meetings.

 But I suppose in your case, this time it is a disadvantage, given your desire to parse out her true motivations.

This matter is too delicate for any of mine from the Phantom to handle, and I suspect those of them who are human are not up to the task. I have little choice but to send someone else, seeing that I can also not join such a search, and I would not burden you with any more of the responsibility for this matter.

Your words at the Opera were indeed prophetic, it seems.

I’ve orchestrated a petty crime for the Traveler and his companion to commit so that they might end up in your hands for a number of weeks. He has agreed to these terms, but I have not revealed that I am telling you these details. As opposed as I am to subterfuge, I believe it best to let him believe that he searches without your eyes on him as well, I imagine. At least as a start.

I will arrange their hand off at the Opera. I imagine you will contrive some way to meet them. Do whatever you feel to be best, but the longer we can maintain the ruse of their actually being imprisoned there, the better to avoid attention from those on the surface.

Finally, by means unknown to me, Mr. Lyney and Ms. Lynette have found themselves sentenced as well, for theft of all things. I understand they have already been delivered to you.

I am sure you have already made the connections as to their affiliation, but I would urge caution in confronting them outright. With the Knave close at hand, I believe it would be best to avoid stoking her ire. She appears incredibly protective of the children in her care. Yet, I do not doubt that she is the one who sent them to you.

Please keep me informed as to the state of the gates. The Sea grows more agitated by the day. We must be prepared for the worst.

Sincerely,

Neuvillette

He set the letter aside and thought for a moment. Neuvillette sure did know how to give him a puzzle to work out…

He’d known about the little Fatui running about. They were good, to be fair, but he had eyes in most corners of this place, and more than that, he had decades worth of time to observe its residents. He knew every little trick in their books.

Besides, he’d been expecting them.

But Neuvillette was right. Now was not the time to show his hand, there. Better to let them reveal just what they were doing here, beyond poking their noses about looking for that Harbinger. They must have had some secondary motive…they’d already gone after the Oratrice with knowledge they ought not have. It would not be a stretch to guess they knew some inkling of the Fortress’s dual purpose. Given the particular actions of the previous operatives, this would not surprise him.

Sending her own children now…his hand only got better with time, it seemed.

As to the Traveler, that was a longer thread to untangle.

A search assigned by Neuvillette…things must have been desperate. How much longer could he keep the Knave away? If he had resorted to sending a boy he knew for only a few weeks, things must have been in sorry shape.

Then again, the Traveler came highly recommended. If the papers were true, he’d already assisted Fontaine more than enough to earn renown, and he’d been here less than a month.

What waves would he stir up here, he wondered…and who was Neuvillette appeasing in sending him? The Knave or the Traveler?

Ah, well. He didn’t mind playing host, at least for the kid’s first day. He’d done it before when young ones came through. And with this young one being a celebrity, no one would cry too much about it.

Once they were settled in, it would be up to them to do their duty. He’d continue his own searches and work as if they were not there, unless they got in his way.

******

He did not have to wait long in the morning for his guests to arrive. Paperwork had come down early through the lines, and the guards had passed the arrival time his way without even having to be asked. Standard procedure, for inmates of some note. Petty crime or not, the Traveler was a known figure, and because of that, he needed to know when he arrived.

Sure enough, only an hour or so after the morning work started up in the production zones, the Traveler and his companion wandered into the Fortress’s open area, apparently having been left by whoever was meant to guide them. Something to look into later, but for now, it worked to his advantage.

The pair was an odd sight. He’d never seen a creature like the little fairy, floating at about shoulder height and scattering stardust in her wake as she glided about. The Traveler appeared young, fair and pale, but he moved with an ease that spoke to more years than his face seemed to justify. If the rumors of otherworldliness were true, then the kid wasn’t much of a kid at all.

To the (maybe) kid’s credit, he only stuttered in his steps the slightest bit at the sight of the meks, but the little fairy peeped and hid behind his cape, her voice high and almost panicked.

“Welcome,” he called as they came closer, watching with some amusement as the little fairy’s eyes flicked from mek to mek. In contrast, the Traveler was only staring at him. “No need to panic. The gardemeks aren’t here to attack. Unless of course you’ve already broken a rule?”

Seeing the little fairy puff up with indignation brought a smirk to his face.

“Only joking. Have to call out the honor guard to welcome the important folks. It isn’t often we have friends of Monsieur Neuvillette this deep below sea, after all.”

“You know about that?” she asked, a worried pinch to her brow.

“We’re not so disconnected from the surface,” he answered vaguely, crossing his arms. “However, I’m afraid I only know you’re friends of the Iudex. That, along with whatever else any other common folk can read about your little…escapades elsewhere in Teyvat.”

The Traveler seemed intrigued now, but he wouldn’t play into that just yet.

“You’ll find friends in high places do not exempt you from Fontaine’s law. You’re not the first of Monsieur Neuvillette’s acquaintances to end up below, even if it’s rarer than other types. He’s fair, above all else.”

“Eheh.” The fairy looked sheepish now, avoiding his eyes. “Yeah, well…”

“If I really need to know details, I’ll read your file. Or maybe just the papers…But I suppose some formal introductions would do you good, even if they aren’t much use to me. Paimon and the Traveler, no?”

The boy nodded, and Paimon spoke. “Uh huh. And you must be the Duke, right?”

“Duke Wriothesley, to be specific. At your service—for now.” He made a show of looking behind them. “Seems you’ve lost your tour guide. Come along. There’s much more to living in Meropide than the walk from the receptionist’s desk, and it seems to me that you might need some…guidance.”

He turned away without awaiting an answer, ignored their little whispering match, and made for the main entrance. Sure enough, only a few seconds later, he heard them clattering up to join him.

They were quiet as they entered the Fortress’s main hub, the guard tower spiraling up around them, surrounded by dormitory blocks, the cafeteria and other businesses, and the lifts to the other areas. At this time of day, the number of people loitering about was relatively low, as most would already be at production or earning their funds through other means.

The pair followed sheepishly after him, Paimon’s eyes darting around.

“Nervous?”

She spooked, staring at him with wide eyes. “P-Paimon’s not nervous! Only…” Her eyes continued to move around uneasily.

“Hm. If you’re worried for your safety, violence isn’t tolerated here, except in the Pankration ring.”

She did seem a little relieved at that, but puffed up rather than admitting it. “We’re real criminals, y’know. What if we’re too much to handle?”

He snorted, unable to (and uninterested to) hide the reaction. “Well. Maybe you’ll make a name for yourself in your new world, then.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll find that being called a criminal isn’t so much a concern down here. It’s only one of the many ways you can choose to survive. And in case it wasn’t obvious, anyone forced to begin anew within Meropide earned their sentence for any number of reasons…

“Then again,” he shifted his attention to the Traveler, “It’s in your best interest to not cause trouble. For yourself, for other inmates, for the guards…or for me. You’ll find life can be far more difficult down here if you’ve made an enemy or two.”

The Traveler watched him a moment in silence, then nodded, and Paimon followed his lead with quick, nervous nods.

He paused a moment at the central area leading to his office, letting them catch up behind him. “The Fortress’s center is here. Most structures connect to the central tower, where the guards patrol after curfew. We’re at the lowest floor now, which is largely for administration and entry. My office is here,” he pointed toward it, “along with the other offices for the guards. I would try not to need them too often, if I were you. They keep the peace, meaning if you’re causing the trouble, they won’t side with you. But, if you need help, they’re a good first bet.”

Paimon appeared to have swallowed something sour. He smirked and moved them along.

“At ground level there’s also the cafeteria, where you’ll get your food. You get one welfare meal a day, free. I suggest you eat it, particularly if you can’t afford another. Ending up in the infirmary because you’re too good for the food here won’t earn you the sympathy of the staff.”

“One meal a day?” Paimon repeated, sounding almost faint.

“One free meal a day,” he clarified, and pointed to the pricing menu. “The cafeteria serves up the usual three you’re likely to expect, but you can claim one for free from Bran there. Otherwise, you’ll have to spend your coupons to eat.”

“Coupons…”

“Credit coupons are the only currency accepted within the Fortress. So, if you brought any Mora along, you’ll find it quite useless. You’ll need coupons to buy anything you might need—food and drink, new clothes, information, whatever it may be. You can think of them like a tool for trade. Most will earn them through work in the production zone, but there are of course other ways.”

The Traveler appeared thoughtful, and Paimon again looked a little nervous. He moved them along quickly toward the Pankration ring.

“One of the other ways to earn your coupons comes from Pankration—tournaments or single fights. You earn by competing, or by betting on the winners. Good for people who have too much energy that production won’t bleed out, or if you need to let off some steam. Of course, the guards will step in if anything gets too personal, and sentences get extended if anyone is seriously injured or killed. So take care, if you choose to fight.”

“So it’s run by the guards?” Paimon asked.

“Not truly. The ring is managed by a group of residents. The guards are there to keep order, and to report anything…unsavory. But with fees for entry and participation, there’s not much reason to start anything within the ring. And there are few who’d want to try anything where they know I keep my eyes.”

“O-oh.”

He smirked. “For now, we’ll head to the second floor. There are lifts over here.”

Leading them off, they fell quiet once again, if only for a moment. As they lagged behind him, he heard more frantic whispering from Paimon.

It seemed she couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. Already, she’d spilled the beans of why they were here. Of course, he knew why already, and he wouldn’t let them know either way, but it was still amusing to overhear her worried plotting.

They took the lift up to the second level, and he led them off to the right.

“The dormitories are here,” he said, pointing to the collection of passages leading into the blocks. “The guards will inform you later where your bunks are. Most residents spend their time in the production zone or their dormitories.”

“Where are the production zones anyway?”

“The upper two levels. Your first shift won’t be until tomorrow morning, and it’s best if the machines are explained to you when you actually use them. Since you two won’t be working, we won’t be taking that little tour today. It’s dangerous to have people loitering about the machines.”

Paimon looked queasy, but the Traveler nodded again, looking around them. “What do they make?” he asked quietly.

“Clockwork meka, primarily. Most of the ones you’ll have seen throughout Fontaine come from here.”

“Wow…” Paimon mumbled.

He shook his head, amused. “Come along now. One last introduction to make.”

They continued past the dormitory blocks toward the infirmary. As they passed the bridges to the central tower, the Traveler slowed, staring.

Young Lyney was crossing, and had clearly seen them too, based on the wide eyes and quick minute shake of the head. Subtle, but not subtle enough, unfortunately.

Paimon made a little noise of surprise, and he stopped, looking their way. Even the Traveler appeared surprised. Had Neuvillette not warned them who waited for them below?

Lyney recovered before they did, managing a smile that appeared only half false. “Your Grace! I thought I was seeing things for a minute.”

“A long shift for you, then, I assume,” he said neutrally, holding his gaze steadily.

“Yeah.” He stretched, and if he hadn’t seen the panic at first glance, he almost would have believed that was why he stopped.

“Good you’ve stopped then, if you’re hallucinating the warden.”

Lyney laughed, nodding and moving to leave. “Not to worry, Your Grace. I know when to call it quits.”

He gave no response to that, and watched him walk away. When he had made it out of earshot, Wriothesley turned back to the Traveler and Paimon.

“Something the matter?”

Paimon startled, but answered anyway. “A-ah, no. Paimon’s just—worried about working tomorrow…”

The Traveler nodded his agreement.

He watched them quietly for another moment, just to let them squirm, before he shrugged. “Well, you’ll have time to get accustomed to the idea, and the work itself. Come on.”

Thankfully, they fell into step and found no more interruptions as they crossed the upper deck toward the infirmary. He led them up the steps and through the wide door.

Sigewinne looked up from her desk as they entered, her eyes narrowing on him immediately. “Your Grace! What are you doing here? You didn’t cut yourself up again, did you?”

He laughed. “No, no. Injury free, I promise. I’ve brought a few new faces for you to see.”

She turned and gave the pair a once over. “Oh! I see. I’ve started their files, c’mon down.”

The Traveler was still staring, and so he momentarily left the pair behind, taking the stairs down and toward the empty beds. Thankfully, both he and his companion regained their wits and followed.

“You can sit there for now,” Sigewinne said happily, pointing them to a bed as Wriothesley moved to lean against her desk. She had sat once more as she wrote up their introductory files. “Let’s see…Traveler, and Paimon…”

“You know us already too?” Paimon asked curiously.

Sigewinne glanced up with a smile. “Sure!”

“Nurse Sigewinne has mandatory check-ups with all new residents here,” Wriothesley offered as she nodded, picking up her clipboard and heading their way. “The receptionists alert her when new people are brought in.”

The Traveler tracked her with narrowed eyes. “You’re a Melusine?”

Sigewinne beamed. “Yep! Now hold still.”

Wriothesley watched with some amusement as she gave them each their checkups, noting down any old injuries or oddities she found. Despite the strangeness of her patients, surely, Sigewinne took it in stride, and had them deemed in good health in only about ten minutes.

“All done!” she said only a short while later, patting Paimon’s little hand before moving back to her desk. “You’re both all set. If you need healing, you can always come to the infirmary for help. No one’s allowed to fight here, and I don’t charge coupons for my services.”

“Have some free time, Sigewinne?”

“I don’t have any patients, as you can see. What’s up?”

“I figured we’d end this little welcome party with a meal, if you’re up for it.”

She smiled. “Okay. You two must be important, huh?”

Paimon gave a very nervous laugh. “M-maybe…”

They left and headed back down to the cafeteria, where Wolsey briefly scrambled to make them something apparently worthy of the occasion. Soon enough, though, they were seated and chatting over their trays.

“Wow!” Paimon said happily, dancing a little on her seat as she opened her box. “This smells super good! Neuvillette made it sound like things would be really rough, but if the food is this good, hehe…”

“Monsieur Neuvillette?” Sigewinne demanded the very moment his name was mentioned, leaning forward against the cafeteria table and pinning little Paimon with her intense gaze. “You are friends of his, then?”

The Traveler nodded, even as Paimon appeared uncertain.

“Is he well?”

Paimon laughed nervously, looking at the Traveler, who nodded again. “Well, Monsieur Neuvillette seems as well as ever. He’s always doing something, but he never seems to need the rest.”

“Hmph.” Sigewinne sat back, shaking her head as she crossed her arms. “Just as I expected. He had better be taking care of himself…it’s been too long since he’s answered my letters.”

“He’d write, if there was something wrong,” Wriothesley pointed out, earning her attention. “With him, no news is always good news. He never hides anything of true importance, so you can be confident that he would tell you if he needed you.”

“Not with himself. Monsieur Neuvillette is terrible at resting, you know that.”

He chuckled. “I won’t argue there.”

Paimon watched him curiously, tilting her head. “Are you and Monsieur Neuvillette…close?”

“Hm.” He pretended to think it over for a moment. “We do a good amount of business together. The Fortress supplies the Court of Fontaine and several other parties with various clockwork machinery, and we are always trading for different supplies—food, linens, the like. Most paperwork for the Palais ends at Monsieur Neuvillette’s desk, no matter what. In Fontaine, truly, all roads lead to him. He and I have meetings to discuss any relevant business between the Palais and Meropide.”

“His Grace and Monsieur Neuvillette are really the highest authorities in the nation, besides Lady Furina,” Sigewinne added seriously. “The Fortress operates outside the Court’s domain—it’s essentially its own isolated nation, but ocean-locked.”

“That means we have to get along with our…neighbors,” he finished with a smirk. “And the Fortress has almost always maintained a pleasant relationship with the Palais, and certainly with Monsieur Neuvillette.”

“A-almost always?” Paimon repeated.

He smiled, one that he was sure was sharp. “I’ve not been administrator my whole life, you know. I can only recover so much.”

The Traveler was watching him closely, his brow furrowed and frowning. Clearly, he hadn’t bought some part of it, but that was hardly his concern.

“How long have you been?” he asked suddenly. “Warden here, I mean.”

“Longer than you’ve been awake.”

The answer seemed to unnerve him, and Wriothesley smiled. Check.

“In any case, Monsieur Neuvillette is of indisputable good character,” he said, returning them to the topic at hand. “You can discuss anything with him, and he will approach you with honesty and respect. He won’t shy away from the ugly details, and he also won’t flatter you. In that sense, speaking to him is effortless. I’m happy to oblige him, and he has more than earned my respect.”

Little Paimon nodded, and the Traveler seemed to relax a bit. Ah, so perhaps they’d thought he was not speaking in good faith. No matter.

“To be honest, it is Monsieur Neuvillette’s good grace which has you sitting here with me now,” he said bluntly, earning their attention once more. “You are friends of his, and so I can treat you as guests. But only until the end of this meal. From that point on, you will only be inmates here, and I will not be able to help you outside my duties as the administrator.”

The Traveler nodded seriously. “I understand…thank you, Your Grace.”

“Don’t mention it.” He pushed to his feet. “Enjoy your meals. When you are finished, I would head to the dormitories and rest. You’ll have work to do tomorrow. Sigewinne?”

“Alright.” She stood as well, dusting off her apron. “Take care of yourselves you two. If you need any medical assistance, you know where to find me. And remember, don’t worry about coupons. The infirmary is always free.”

They left them at the table to finish their meal. He led Sigewinne to his office, knowing an interrogation was undoubtedly coming.

She pounced the moment the doors shut. “What’s going on?”

“Neuvillette sent them to find that Harbinger. Apparently the Knave is causing quite the problem upstairs.”

“Just like those other Fatui…”

“At least at the surface level. I expect Mr. Lyney and Ms. Lynette are here for ulterior motives as well.”

“And the younger one?”

He frowned at her. “Younger one?”

“The younger boy who hides behind them. Freminet, if I remember correctly. He’s a famous diver, and a tiny little thing. They call him their brother.”

He cursed. “Three Fatui now, eh? You’ve been holding out on me, Sige.”

“I assumed you knew,” she said with a shrug, apparently unconcerned. “Between the three of them, I doubt he is the trouble, anyway. Mr. Lyney seemed the most deceptive.”

“True. We ran into him not long ago. If I hadn’t caught the Traveler’s surprise, or known from Neuvillette’s letters, I would have believed they’d never met.” He sighed. “Still, three Vision bearers at a time…ugh. What a pain. I’ll have to keep a closer eye on them all.”

“The Traveler too?”

“Without a doubt. They’re friends with Lyney, those two, and from what I know of their exploits, he’s too much of a bleeding heart not to assist a friend. And we know why the Fatui are sneaking around. Undoubtedly, the Traveler will get roped into it somehow, and then they’ll all be my problem to deal with.”

She seemed disturbed at the thought.

“Don’t worry about it too much, Sige. They’ve never even gotten close, and I have the greatest co-conspirator in the Fortress’s history.”

That drew a little giggle. “And Jurieu and Lourvine, of course.”

“Of course. If they can keep from killing each other.” He patted her shoulder. “We’ll sort this out. Now c’mon, I need tea after all this walking around.”

She groaned good naturedly, but still followed regardless.

******

Sigewinne has it in her head you haven’t rested in six months. Maybe try to convince her that’s not true? On your own head, of course.

No improvement in contamination. I’ve had some additional sensors placed in the waters surrounding the Fortress and the watchtower. The contamination is still minimal, there, but deep enough into the caves systems or close to the Fortress itself is a different matter entirely. There must be an additional source that leaks into the open sea. That, and the contamination is getting worse outside the original sensors ranges.

Dives and external work have been halted. We can hold for at least a few months in that way, but certain systems still have to be tended to, primarily the air flow and filtration, pipes, etc.

Progress continues on my little plan. Your friends have chummed up with their Fatui, it seems. I’ve got my eyes on them, not to worry. I’ll keep you posted as ever.

******

“The Traveler faked an illness today.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. Stomach ache. Really, the easiest in the book…” She shook her head. “They were listening in, before.”

“Ah. You’re being spied on. How amusing.”

She rolled her eyes. “From what Lourvine told me, he and Paimon were looking around the infirmary quite a bit…they might have seen the door.”

“Probably, if they knew enough to case your place.” He passed her a cup of tea and the sugar, knowing she would want it. “Keep an eye out for the twins, and let me know if either of them tries it. Their little brother has been lurking around those pipes again…”

“What if he tries to follow the same path that other one took?”

“Hm…I’ve a plan for keeping him from truly escaping, but if the water is contaminated, he’d likely need rescue…”

“I would offer, but if I’m needed in the infirmary…”

He shook his head. “You have your little role already, I’m afraid. I’ll write Clorinde, see if she’s willing. She already knows everything else.”

******

Wriothesley,

If you expect me to play rescuer the least you could do is provide better entertainment when asking.

I understand you’ve few people to ask, however, so I’ll be there. You’ve certainly racked up a number of favors you owe me, now. Your tea better meet my standards, with how much you brag of it. At least your Mora is good for something.

Keep me informed as you can. I’ll make my excuses to the other Duelists if I must.

******

The gates are rising steadily, a notch or two a day.

Jurieu is working as fast as he can, and I’ve given him a group of more trustworthy recent releasees to help. Our backup plan is near complete, but I’m not sure if the gates will hold until then.

If I were you, I would be prepared to have to come here.

My little plan’s in motion. I wonder if I can get the Knave out of your hair, finally? Do you think she likes tea? I have it on good authority her children do, at least.

******

Lourvine appeared in his office, panting for air. “Your Grace—Sigewinne sent me, Miss Lynette is in the infirmary claiming a migraine.”

He nodded, standing. “Catch your breath, we have time. Her brothers?”

“We’re not sure.”

“I doubt they’d get close…undoubtedly the youngest is at those pipes again…” He turned to Clorinde. “Up for that swim?”

She hummed, taking a final sip of her tea. “You’ll owe me.”

“Our usual, then.”

With a nod, she agreed. “Alright. I’ll get your doors closed and find your missing penguin. Have fun herding cats.” She stood, holstering her gun and sword and leaving her hat on his desk as she tied her hair back. “Nice to see you as always, Lourvine.”

“Y-you too, Miss Clorinde.”

Clorinde went to the door, pinning him once more with a hard stare. “At least two spars, Wriothesley, along with my pay, or I’ll double my rate.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.”

After she’d left, he waited a moment, allowing poor Lourvine to breathe for a moment, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed. “I’m going to join Sigewinne. Do you think you and Jurieu could be civil long enough to make some progress today?”

Her cheeks burned red and she would not meet his eyes. “Y-yes, Your Grace. I know it is important.”

He nodded, and clapped her shoulder. “Thanks, Lourvine. You’re always reliable. Try not to ruin his ego too much, eh?”

That earned a little smile, now that she knew he was joking. “Yes sir. Only a little.”

“As he expects, I imagine. Go on.”

She nodded and they parted ways.

He made his way to the infirmary with little flare. This early in the morning, most residents and inmates would be in the production zone, meaning it was a perfect time for Lynette’s planned infiltration. And a perfect time to break it up.

Sigewinne’s voice floated his way as he approached the infirmary, gentle and with what he was sure was genuine concern. When he entered, she had Miss Lynette sat on the furthest bed, one small hand on her forehead.

Miss Lynette was good, but even she could not hide such a stiffening at the sight of him.

“Nurse Sigewinne,” he called down, remaining at the stairs. “How’s your patient?”

“In perfect health, Your Grace,” Sigewinne called back, but did not stop her examination. “But it is difficult to diagnose a migraine.”

“A perfect illness, then,” he said, meeting the girl’s eyes. He could see she knew she was caught, but there was an admirable lack of fear in her gaze. “I have some willow bark in my office, if you’d like to try a homeopathic remedy.”

“That might help,” Sigewinne answered happily, grabbing Miss Lynette’s hand gently. “Come along, miss. I’ll make you some tea.”

Lynette resisted, remaining firmly on the bed. Only then did she show any fear, her eyes too wide as she dared one last glance at Wriothesley.

It was a look he’d seen before, and one he would not dare to challenge.

“I think I’ll stay here,” he said, moving down the steps to Sigewinne’s desk at the opposite end of the infirmary, keeping his hands in sight and loose. “My office has a maximum capacity, you know. Never like to have too many guests there. I’m sure you can keep our guest safe, Sige?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Then I’ve no need to be present.”

The barest hint of tension seeped away, and this time, Miss Lynette allowed Sigewinne to pull her to her feet, guiding her up the stairs farthest from him and out of the room. He kept his eyes on Sigewinne’s desk, idly looking for a bit of paper to write on. After they’d left, he found one soon enough.

He took a bit of time to think over a message, but knew that it really did not matter what he wrote beyond that they would know it was him who wrote it. Time was short, and they needed to get things moving sooner rather than later.

Out of respect for your usual practices, I’ll use a piece of paper or card as the medium to pass on my message. You may consider this as me giving you my best regards.

Would you care to guess where Miss Lynette of the Fatui could be right now?

With that finished, he discarded the note beneath the stairs and left the infirmary. Perhaps he would check on Jurieu and Lourvine as he waited…

******

As lunch neared, he returned to his office, making sure that his steps on the stairs were suitably loud enough to announce his arrival.

Sigewinne and Miss Lynette were sat on the sofas, still holding tea cups. Miss Lynette looked up at his entrance, but without any fear, thankfully.

“Ah, good. Has the tea helped your head?”

She watched him for a moment, silent. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Good.”

He went to his desk and looked over a bit of paperwork. After it became clear he would do nothing else, Sigewinne carried on her quiet conversation with Lynette. They talked of little of value, but it at least seemed to keep the kid calm.

Some ten to fifteen minutes later, his office doors burst open, and a familiar young voice shouted from below. “Wriothesley!”

Miss Lynette went stiff, her cup clattering in her hands. He stood, and left Sigewinne to calm the poor girl down.

“I know you’re there!” Lyney shouted from below. “Come face me!”

He took the stairs slowly, just enough to see the young man at the door, tense as a bowstring with his hands balled in fists.

“My, what yelling. We are in an administrative office. Why don’t you follow at least a few of the regulations for speaking indoors?”

He did not rise to the bait. “What did you do to my sister?”

“Oh?” He crossed his arms, leaning on the railing. “I ran into her in the infirmary. She complained of quite a headache, so I offered her some of my tea collection. I have a number of different teas that can assist with that sort of illness.”

“Stop joking around! Where did you take my siblings?!”

“You know, I’ve heard a lot about your performances. Miss Lynette seems to have a habit of disappearing—box to box, in and out of water.” Lyney tensed, gritting his teeth. “Maybe she’ll appear behind you if you turn your head?”

His joking strangely seemed to make him relax, and he stared at Wriothesley with narrowed eyes. “You knew about our investigations. You baited us so that you could kidnap Lynette.”

He hummed, but gave no confirmation beyond it.

“As for Freminet…” He shook his head. “I doubt Childe factored into your concerns at all. You probably let him escape, to ease the way in purging the last of the Fatui in the Fortress.”

“No need to interfere in his little wandering. The Fortress is a pretty pleasant place, at least in the opinion of most who live in it. The only ones unhappy are those with their own agendas. You stick out like sore thumbs amongst the others. It’s always been easy to pick out your colleagues.”

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? To trick Father into sending another team down. You have Freminet by now too, don’t you? Why do you need hostages?”

“Ah. A correction there.” He took the rest of the stairs. “Your sister is in my hands, true. Young Freminet is not.”

“He—” Panic flashed across his face briefly, his eyes wide. “What do you want?”

“Lyney!”

The Traveler and Paimon burst into the room, hurrying to their friend.

“Ah good, all here now. Thank you all for cooperating with me.”

“Where are Lynette and Freminet?” the Traveler demanded immediately.

“Hm. Straight to the point, I admire that. Unfortunately for you, only Miss Lynette is enjoying my tea at the moment.”

The Traveler frowned, and Lyney’s worries seemed to resurface.

“By your plan, he should have returned to the Fortress by now, no? But he has not passed any gate, nor has he been taken into custody. Where do you suppose he could be?”

“You can’t mean—” Lyney’s eyes went wide, full of anger. “You locked him out in the sea?”

“I closed the Fortress’s gate to the outside world, that’s all.”

“S-so…” little Paimon mumbled, looking between them all. “So he could be okay? Freminet’s a world-class diver! He’d be alright, wouldn’t he?”

But Lyney shook his head, hung low over his chest. “No,” he whispered. “Freminet is loyal to a fault…he would try to find a way back in, to reach us. We can’t assume he would make a break for the surface.”

The Traveler had not taken his eyes from Wriothesley. “Why are you doing this?”

“Good question.” He moved from the stairs toward the room’s center. Lyney at least mirrored him, backing away toward the stairs. “I needed an audience with Mr. Lyney, of course—an honest one, not some farce he’d pull like your first day here. As a famed magician, he’s bound to have his tricks, and as a Fatuus? Well. You know their methods, I’m sure. These are simply my own means of getting cards of my own to negotiate with.”

He continued to circle, and the Traveler followed Lyney. As he went on, they wandered right where he wanted them, at the stairs, where Sigewinne could creep down without their notice.

“Not to mention, Mr. Lyney, you told Miss Lynette you wanted an audience with me, personal or private. Well.” He gestured widely to himself. “You’ve gotten your wish.”

“You’ve kept tabs on us even before we reached here…”

“A few of my people tend to overhear things, that’s all. As it is, I’ll be straight with you.” He crossed his arms again. “I played dumb for a few days, turned a blind eye, and we got along just fine with our little games. But the minute you started poking around the ‘forbidden zone,’ you lost any privileges to my honor. Now, we play on my terms.”

The Traveler grimaced, and Lyney too looked disturbed.

“I won’t mince words. As of now, the cards are stacked heavily in my favor. Your sister is in my hands already, and your brother is being slowly pickled out there in the brine. We both know he won’t last forever.”

“What do you want?” he bit out.

“Contact your superior, this ‘Father’ of yours, and ideally, invite her for a cup of tea.”

“You want to see Father?” He seemed surprised by this, and laughed. “And why would she bother giving you an audience?”

“Hm. Well, if she cares so much for the lives of her dearest children, she should be happy enough to have a little conference with me. After all, you treat one another like family in the Hearth, don’t you? That’s why you refer to little Freminet as your brother?”

He bared his teeth again, seemingly one move from bursting.

Wriothesley only shrugged in response. “Children at risk and my secrets ready for perusal. I see no reason why she would refuse, honestly.”

“She’d never come down here to your no-man’s land. It’s unbefitting for anyone as important as Father.”

“I’ve played host for Harbingers before. Unless you’ve forgotten your supposed purpose in being here?”

“Not for one as high ranking as Father.”

He tutted. “Ah, what a shame. The accommodations still have such a bad reputation on the surface. If only my tea collection could draw the crowd it deserves.”

“This was your plan?” Lyney shouted, evidently stunned. “No matter what you say, I won’t let you use us as blackmail against her.”

“My, you Fatui are hard to get along with. You mean she’s not so interested in the Fortress’s little secret? Did she send you down here for a vacation?”

He said nothing, glaring at him, but the way his eyes had darted away was enough of a tell.

Wriothesley sighed. “Lyney, you’ve one more chance. Invite your ‘Father’ here. If you refuse…”

He remained silent.

“Why do you have to do this?” the Traveler again interjected. “They’ve done nothing to you.”

“Oh? And you would know, would you?” He looked at him with no small amount of incredulity. “The Fatui have had their dirty fingers in the Fortress for long enough. I have no tolerance for their continued efforts. For months, this recent batch has been actively infiltrating my Fortress. The first few operatives to go missing were a warning. Back off, and we’d have had no further issues, no reason to talk.”

He turned his attention to Lyney. “Instead, you doubled down. Suddenly I have three children in my Fortress playing at inmates, prying into secrets they have no right to touch. Miss Lynette tried to steal them right in front of me, and Mr. Freminet left the Fortress of his own volition. No matter how you look at it, these were decisions made by you and yours, against me and mine. It’s your responsibility now, to clean up the mess you made. Or, let me. You’re not likely to enjoy my solution anymore than the others did.”

Lyney looked stricken, struggling for an answer. “I…I can’t ask Father to…”

He tired of the game. “Five. Four.”

“W-wait, I…”

“Three. Two…One.” He shook his head. “Time’s up, I’m afraid. What a shame, Mr. Lyney.”

Paimon startled, her eyes wide and face pale. “But—wait, Wriothesley.”

“Sorry, kid.” He turned away, toward the door. “Negotiations seem to have broken down. I’ll have to ask you to leave. I typically take my tea at this hour.”

“B-but…can’t you talk to us? If you can’t talk to Lyney anymore, then…then maybe we can—”

“I wouldn’t recommend pushing your luck with me.” He looked back to meet the Traveler’s eyes. “Out of respect for Neuvillette, I’ve let you do your work…but you cannot do whatever you want here. You’ve sided with them on this matter, and I can do no more for you. As Fontaine does, Meropide has its laws, and I am obligated to enforce them as Neuvillette is to Fontaine.”

“Please,” the Traveler said. “We just want to save Lynette and Freminet.”

He hummed noncommittally, amused that his game worked so well, and the Traveler assumed they needed saving. “Perhaps if your investigation has borne enough fruit…”

“You know we’re not finished!” Lyney shouted, his hands shaking. “Stop these games. You don’t intend to free my siblings—it never even crossed your mind!”

He ran forward, ignoring the Traveler’s shout.

“Hmph. As expected.”

Sigewinne’s dart flew through the air with only the slightest whistle, hitting its target clean in the neck. Lyney folded almost instantly, grimacing as it took effect.

“Lyney!” Paimon shouted, darting forward.

“Well done, Sigewinne. I owe you one for that shot.”

“No debt to pay, Your Grace,” she said from the stairs, still holding her gun.

The Traveler spun quickly, but made no move as she descended. For her effort, Sigewinne ignored him as well, moving to Lyney.

He flinched away from her as much as he was able, but it hardly mattered. Sigewinne’s tranquilizers were no match for a full grown man—Lyney was not quite that old yet, and had no hope of fighting it off so quickly. She knelt at his side, removing the dart and applying a bandage in the same maneuver.

“Sige…winne? You…”

“Deep breaths, Mr. Lyney. You will likely be tired for quite a while, but I assure you, you will be fine.”

“Are you…his accomplice?”

“No, Mr. Lyney. But this Fortress and its residents are under my care and protection. This includes His Grace as it does any other.” She stared at him scoldingly. “You moved with intent to injure His Grace, and so I was forced to subdue you…besides, Wriothesley is nearly done with his dramatics now, I think.”

He sighed. “Oh, Sige. Always ruining my fun.”

“It’s about time anyway, isn’t it?”

“Time…” Lyney mumbled, struggling to get his feet beneath him. The effort failed, and he fell back. “Please…just let…them go.”

“Touching,” he said flatly. “But I’m afraid I’ll need another moment to do so.”

“A moment for what?” Paimon shouted.

“We’ll have two more guests arriving any second now. Sigewinne, perhaps you should check on Miss Lynette.”

“What…” Lyney struggled again, and managed to get to his knees. “What are you playing at?”

The door burst open before he could answer, and Clorinde appeared, soaking wet and with young Freminet in her arms.

“Clear some space,” she said firmly.

“Back off,” Wriothesley said, forcing the Traveler and Paimon away. “Sigewinne.”

She hurried forward as Clorinde knelt, laying the boy on the ground. He did not move.

“F-Freminet!”

Sigewinne lay her hand on the boy’s head, frowning. Her hand glowed faintly with Hydro.

“Traveler,” he said sharply as Lyney stumbled trying to rise. “I suggest you keep your friend at bay. Sigewinne needs room to work.”

He moved to do so, but despite the tranquilizer, Lyney struggled, his eyes set firmly on his brother. “What’s…what’s happened to him?”

The boy was pale, except his cheeks which were flushed, and he still did not move when Sigewinne ran her hand over his face. “His pulse is fast, Your Grace.”

He cursed, moving closer as she continued to pull at her Vision, which glowed in time with her hand’s movements.

“If he consumed too much, then—”

Lyney shouted before she could finish. “Tell me what’s happening!”

Clorinde moved away from them. “Lyney. You must calm down.”

He waved her hand away from his face, settling his own on the boy’s forehead. It burned to the touch, and he did not stir. “He can’t have been near the contamination for very long.”

Sigewinne had moved her hand to the boy’s chest, still glowing. “But if the contamination was strong enough, Your Grace…”

Lyney struggled again. “N-no—Freminet—”

“Sigewinne is attending him,” Clorinde cut him off, joining the traveler in moving him back toward the stairs and out of the way. “If it is grave enough, she’ll fetch the doctor. You will make things more difficult by getting in her way.”

“The short of it, Sige,” he said quietly, pulling Cryo into his hand to try to cool the kid off. He had no idea if it had any effect.

Sigewinne’s face was drawn, a frown rarely seen making her expression quite grim. “I will do what I can. But the severity of his symptoms is worrying me…if the waters outside the Fortress are this contaminated…”

“How much time?”

“Unclear…he consumed too much water, and the concentration must have been high...” She met his eyes, nodding to him. She knew what he planned to do. “I can keep him stable.”

He pulled away and stood, headed for the doors. “Clorinde. Don’t let them leave.”

“Wait!” the Traveler caught him by the coat, and he stopped. “Where are you going?”

“If you value your friend’s life, you’d let me go. Now.”

“Not until you tell me where you’re going,” he said with some insistence, his eyes glowing strangely in the light.

He pulled out of his grip only to grab him by the arm, pulling him out of the office and into the Fortress’s main hall, away from Lyney’s ears. The Traveler gave no fight, even if it was clear he was not a fan of being manhandled in such a way.

There was no time. He cut to the chase. “Your young friend has consumed water tainted by the Primordial Sea. Too much to safely come down from. If we don’t stop it, he’ll burn himself from the inside out at best, and at worst…”

“He’ll dissolve.”

“Yes. There’s only one person who can remove it safely, and he’s currently halfway across Fontaine and you’re wasting my time.”

“I can use the teleportation waypoints,” the Traveler offered instantly. “I can reach Neuvillette faster.”

He did not have time to ask how they had known nigh instantly who was needed. Instead, he scoffed and moved on. “You assume I can’t make use of them myself. Go back to your friends. Keep Lyney and his sister calm. I won’t be long.”

He disappeared in a flash, pulling for the waypoint closest to the Palais. Knowing Neuvillette, he would not have left yet, if at all.

Using the waypoints expended a large amount of energy, and so was only rarely worth it. But this was an emergency, and he had no time for bargains of worth.

He reappeared in the upper court, scattering frost at his feet. The street was mostly empty, save a few gardes nearer to the aquabus station. After spending so long in the Fortress, the sunlight was near blinding. He moved quickly into the Palais.

A different Melusine from usual sat at the Phantom’s desk, not Sedene who knew him well enough by now not to question him. Still, she stood immediately at the sight of him.

“Duke Wriothesley! Is something the matter?”

“I’m afraid so. Is Monsieur Neuvillette in?”

“Yes—”

He moved past. “I’ll have to disregard if he’s busy, unfortunately. This can’t wait.”

She thankfully put up no resistance, nodding with wide eyes and allowing him to enter Neuvillette’s office with ease.

Neuvillette sat at his desk, which was covered in several files. He looked up at his quick entry. “Wriothesley?”

“I don’t have time to explain. It isn’t the gate, but a child consumed contaminated water.”

Neuvillette was on his feet instantly. “Your office?”

“Yes.”

“Come.”

He offered his hand, the palm already glowing blue. Wriothesley took it without question.

They were gone as quickly as he had appeared, accompanied only by the strange, captivating feeling of Neuvillette’s abilities. If he had more time, he might’ve marveled at the sensation—or at holding Neuvillette’s hand, no matter how briefly—but there was no time.

In a flash, they were back at the doors to his office. He did not bother wondering at how Neuvillette had managed to get them here, when there was no waypoint within the Fortress itself.

If anyone could do the impossible, it would always be Neuvillette.

Neuvillette let him go as the blue haze cleared, pushing open his office door without concern for the noise. Wriothesley caught the door and followed him inside.

The Traveler had rejoined Clorinde and Lyney, who stood pale faced at the stairs, leaning half against the banister and half on his sister’s shoulder. Both sets of eyes were on Freminet, laying still on the ground, Sigewinne’s small hand glowing over his chest. Water had puddled beneath him, but it was clear he had not moved.

Neuvillette was at Sigewinne’s side immediately. “How long?”

“At least fifteen minutes,” Clorinde answered from the other side of the room.

Sigewinne nodded. “I’ve slowed it, Monsieur, but I can’t do anything else. It…it won’t listen to me.”

“You have done plenty. You have likely saved his life.”

He held his hand over the boy, and only then did Sigewinne take hers away.

An eerie blue glow, deeper than the glow of Sigewinne’s vision, emanated from his palm, lighting up his hair and the tails of his coat. Unless he was mistaken, even Neuvillette’s eyes seemed to glow, tracking over the boy as if he could see each droplet of tainted water he’d accidentally consumed.

Maybe he could. Water began to pool where he held his hand over the boy’s stomach, glimmering faintly in the light. Definitely tainted, and at a high concentration, to be visible to the naked eye.

Frowning, Neuvillette flexed his hand, and the water pulled away from Freminet, hovering in a flowing ball above Neuvillette’s open palm. He brought his other hand up and pulled, and the Primordial Sea separated from the regular sea water, which he allowed to dissipate into the air. The Primordial, however, he continued to hold, staring at it grimly.

“Sigewinne.”

“Here, Monsieur.”

She held up a test tube, which Neuvillette fed the water into carefully. When it was all inside, Sigewinne corked it quickly and handed it to him. He pocketed it, likely to be disposed of safely.

On the ground, Freminet stirred with a groan, his eyes fluttering weakly.

“F-Freminet!”

Lyney broke free of the Traveler’s hold, apparently recovered enough from the tranquilizer to move without too much difficulty. Still, he collapsed at the boy’s side, his hands hovering as if he was afraid to touch. His sister appeared next to him only a moment later, but was silent.

“Is he…?”

“I have removed the tainted water,” Neuvillette spoke softly, his gaze steady as Lyney moved to look at him. “He will be fine, now, but he will likely need time to recover from the exertion.”

Lyney did not seem to know what to say. He took Freminet’s hand carefully, as if it were made of glass. “Th…thank you, Monsieur…”

Neuvillette shook his head. “I do not require your thanks. Neither you, nor your brother…nor anyone else…owe me any debt. Please do not imagine that you do.”

Despite the suspicion clearly written across his face, Lyney said nothing. Neuvillette stood, glancing about the room.

“Miss Clorinde, do you have any symptoms?”

“No, Monsieur. I feel fine. I was only in the water long enough to pull Freminet from it, and I didn’t breathe any in.”

“Good…please inform me if you feel unwell later.”

“Of course.”

His eyes settled for a moment on each of them briefly. “While I understand the children will need to inform their Father, I expect the rest of you to maintain your silence. I will examine the waters surrounding the Fortress for potential leaks from the Primordial Sea. But this matter must remain known only to us.”

The Traveler nodded, as did Clorinde. He hardly needed to give his agreement, nor did Sigewinne, who was still at Freminet’s side, examining him carefully.

Neuvillette seemed to take this as enough, and nodded once more. “Please ensure he rests.”

He might have made to leave, but Lynette stood quickly from where she had knelt by her brothers. “Monsieur.”

“Miss Lynette?”

She paused a moment, her eyes flicking away. Her ears were low to her head, her face pale. “Thank you.”

Neuvillette remained quiet, not attempting to refute their thanks again. He looked down at Freminet once more, who now laid half in Lyney’s lap, still unconscious. Lyney’s hands trembled where they rested on his face. He doubted it was entirely due to the tranquilizer.

After a moment, Neuvillette only nodded, and Lynette moved away, back to her place with Lyney on the ground.

“Sigewinne, get these three to the infirmary,” Wriothesley said, stepping around them. “I’ll see Monsieur Neuvillette out.”

Her expression was grave as she understood his meaning, but she nodded all the same. “Traveler, Miss Lynette, please help me. Someone has to carry Mr. Freminet, and Lyney will need assistance.”

Lynette looked between her brothers before turning her attention to the Traveler. “I will help Lyney.”

He nodded, and scooped Freminet up with surprising ease, given their similar size. Lynette lifted her brother’s arm over her shoulder. He put up no resistance, his eyes still on Freminet.

“Miss Clorinde,” Sigewinne said as they prepared to leave. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to check you over as well.”

She nodded easily enough, likely catching that Sigewinne wanted her in the infirmary not just for that purpose, but also to ensure none of the others left it. “Thank you. That’s fine with me.”

They left as one, leaving only Wriothesley and Neuvillette still standing near the doors.

When they closed with a definitive thud, Wriothesley turned to him. “Can you spare a bit longer?”

“Of course,” he said with a nod. “I have no standing engagements for several hours.”

“Mm. Good. I’d rather fill you in here than in writing.”

He reviewed what he’d learned of Lyney and the Traveler’s little investigations, as well as the Knave’s motivations in not only sending the children to the Fortress, but also in pressing Neuvillette and Furina for information. The forbidden zone centered at it all, along with the increasing concern of leaking Primordial Sea water.

Neuvillette’s expression was grave at the end of his explanation, and he frowned at the floor beneath their feet. “Things are not at such a state where the people would need to be informed.”

“Even then, I wouldn’t want the residents here knowing what waits beneath their feet,” Wriothesley agreed.

“No. They do not need to know, not even in the case of an evacuation.”

“The Traveler on the other hand…”

Neuvillette hummed. “He or Paimon will, undoubtedly, ask. They are uncommonly discerning…” He thought for a moment. “I would suggest you not reveal your full knowledge to them, however. Already, they ask too many questions of me, and the little one…”

“Can’t hold her tongue to save her life,” Wriothesley finished, nodding. “What have you told them?”

“Very little. Nothing of the Fortress or what it protects. They know only what the public may know, and so, little of what I know.”

“Clever, Monsieur. Skirting around the truth, hm?”

He grimaced. “As much as I dislike it...”

“But it’s necessary, here, I think. We have to move carefully.” He looked at their feet, where far below, the gates defended the forbidden zone Lyney so wished to find. “I don’t doubt they would share what they learned with Lyney and his siblings, which means that it would all go directly into the Knave’s hands.”

Neuvillette nodded, even as his discomfort with hiding the truth was clear. “The Traveler seems motivated to discover the truth by his own means, anyway. I doubt it will hold him off for long…and they are to remain here for some time yet.”

“True.”

“If the worst were to occur…” He looked toward the gates again, then back at Wriothesley. “He would be an ally, then, I am sure. He does not want this prophecy to come to pass.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Neuvillette sighed, but he did not think it was connected to their discussion. If anything, he simply looked tired.

“I believe I ought to go,” he said after a moment, his voice softer than before.

Wriothesley did not answer immediately either, and the silence settled in mourning.

“Probably,” he eventually settled on, disliking it entirely.

Neuvillette hummed his own disapproval, but made no move to leave. Instead, he’d taken to staring at Wriothesley’s hands, an odd little contemplative frown on his face.

After a moment, he brushed his fingers against Wriothesley’s wrist, so lightly he hardly felt it at all.

From him, though, such a simple touch seemed to burn. He nudged him back, like some sort of silent conversation.

Neuvillette’s frown eased a bit.

“I know you won’t accept it, but…thanks. For saving the kid, I mean.” He frowned. “They’re Fatui, and I don’t approve of any of them interfering with my Fortress, but…they’re all so young.”

“Of all parties involved, you would need to thank me the least,” Neuvillette said, shaking his head. His eyes were soft, though—sincere. “These matters under your control are complex, particularly as relates to the contamination. I would never begrudge you my assistance, least of all to save the life of a child.”

“Mm. Of the three, that one’s caused me the least trouble, too. It would’ve been a shame…”

“But it was not. He will be well.”

“True.” After a moment, he smiled wryly. “Think that’ll get the Knave off your back? Saving her kid.”

Neuvillette huffed, the closest he’d ever come to a laugh, and looked away. “Most likely not…” Any mirth left him only a moment later, as he sighed again. “I ought to head back before Muirne worries. She does not often cover that desk, and will not know what to do if I am not in my office.”

Wriothesley nodded. “Go on then. I’ll write you with any updates.”

He walked him to the door, where Neuvillette gave the smallest, most awkward of waves, and then disappeared in another whirl of water.

He stood there for a moment and sighed.

He was a complete goner, there. No point denying it any further. Not that he’d ever bothered to, really.

Well, no point distracting himself any longer, either…he left his office behind, heading for the infirmary to find Clorinde and ask her to stay a while. He’d need her help if anything else went wrong.

And he had a terrible feeling things were only just getting started.

Chapter Text

Morning came without any immediate interest. He chatted with Clorinde, who had been convinced to spend the evening at the Fortress for double her rate and an additional spar (on the grounds that he was bored, and her help with Lyney and his siblings needed repayment—she had seen through the lie of course, but that was fine). 

A brief excursion to the cafeteria brought him his breakfast, which he ate quickly before checking the infirmary. Sigewinne always woke before he did, and waved silently from her little desk, then went back to scribbling patient notes.

Her beds were taken up by the kids, and through some miracle, she’d allowed them to push them together into one big line. Lyney and Lynette slept quite close, curled around one another, and even Freminet still lingered only a few inches away from them.

But he was awake, and watching Wriothesley with one wide blue eye visible through his hair. 

He left him alone for now. The kid was still too pale, and even just sitting there looked like it had been enough exertion for the day. Any useful information he could gather from his excursion amongst the pipes could be gotten around lunch at the earliest, even if it meant getting through his siblings to ask. 

They were under his watch, currently, and of their own volition. While they remained inmates of the Fortress, he had far more power than they did. If he had to use that to question the kid, he would.

Deciding that he could handle the gates first, and see if the various gauges gave him any additional information, he left the infirmary without fuss. 

“Back already?” Clorinde asked idly when he returned, lounging on the stairs as she cleaned her gun. “Breakfast must have been terrible, then.”

“Any particular reason you’re doing that in my office?”

“Your office is up there,” she said, gesturing with the cloth she was using. “The stairs seemed the better choice.”

“Mm. I’ll give you that at least.” 

He leaned against the banister, watching her work. As with all things, Clorinde moved meticulously, working her way slowly and methodically through whatever routine she had tucked into her head. Having no need for a gun, he had no real clue what that routine was. 

“I need your help with something.”

“Hmph. I think you owe me enough money as it is.”

“Clorinde.”

She stopped, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. Her gaze was searching, moving across his face as if reading a dense text. He didn’t know what she found there, but it must have been something grave.

“Fine.” She stood, tucking away the cloth and closing the barrel of her gun, holstering it. “Lead the way, then.”

He opened the passage to the gates. She already knew of their existence—he had felt obligated to warn her of the contamination if she agreed to catch Freminet—but there was an appropriate amount of caution in her steps as she followed him. 

Soon enough they came to the three outer gates. He raised them quickly, Clorinde watching him. They rose with little resistance, and the sound of mechanical grinding grew louder. 

He hesitated there for a moment, frowning. Something was off, with that sound. 

Unsettled, he moved through the gates quickly, barely waiting for the last to finish opening. 

The room which held the final gate was large, given that the sluice gate itself was large. It took up the entire sunken center of the room, surrounded by watch platforms, gauges, readings dashboards, and mechanical equipment. The gauge which covered its middle was the largest, and earned his attention first. 

“Fuck.”

“Not good then?” Clorinde asked, joining him at the landing. 

“Not at all.”

She didn’t question it, staring at the gauge which shook and trembled, the needle pointing to the last notch on the scale. 

He moved to the other gauges, which tracked the water contamination around the Fortress. All had moved, quite sharply, which explained how Freminet had been overwhelmed to the point of near death. He had checked the gate only two days prior, before those Fatui had started their little excursions, and this jump was entirely unprecedented. 

“We don’t have much time.” He left the gauges, moving back to the main gates. Clorinde followed without question. “Everyone will have to evacuate before the alarm trips. I’ll handle the guards, tell Sigewinne to get her people out.”

“I’m on it.”

She ran ahead of him as they reached his office again, slipping through the door as he spoke to the guards outside his office. 

There had been no procedure in place when he became administrator. He spoke to the guards, the rest of the staff, and even Sigewinne, certain there had to be something. But there was nothing. After talking to Neuvillette about the gates and the worst case scenario, he had moved forward with getting the guards trained for an evacuation. 

They met this effort then with some skepticism, but most respected him enough even after only a few weeks as administrator to agree. 

Now, the guards moved quickly to do their duties. They would spread the word to the rest of them throughout the Fortress, and in the next ten minutes or so, each dormitory block would be cleared. The cafeteria, production zone, and other such areas would be swept after the majority of the residents had been moved up stream toward the receptionist’s desk. 

That area was the newest of the Fortress’s structures—and most importantly, it had a massive gate closure meant to keep inmates from escaping during riots. 

If four gates wouldn’t hold back the sea, maybe that last one would give them enough time to get out. It was at least better than being stuck in their dormitories and the other areas. 

As he turned back into his office, the first calls for neat lines went up, loud and echoing. He did not have time to watch their progress. His office doors slammed shut behind him. 

He hoped they would get out in time. He hoped that whatever caused the gates to jump so sharply had alerted Neuvillette to the danger. There wasn’t time to get him by himself (his own middling energy at the moment notwithstanding) and he had no one on hand to send. 

Clorinde, he needed. She was the only one besides Sigewinne who knew of the gate. She was the only one who could help, if anyone could at all. 

She reappeared at his side as he came to the first three gates, her heels having already announced her imminent arrival. “Plan?”

He snorted. “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask, honestly…the sluice is going to fail. When it does, we’ll have the Primordial Sea trying to kill us. We monitor the gates until Neuvillette arrives.” Slowing to a stop, he pointed to the controls. “That will shut these gates. If the sluice gate fails, those must be shut as soon as possible to keep any water contained. At least for a short while.”

She nodded, her eyes moving over each of the gates. “And when they fail?”

He hummed, flicking his wrists down to unfold his gauntlets. A bit of Cryo fluttered off them, little false snowflakes dancing in the air for a fraction of a second. 

Clorinde scowled at him for a moment, but characteristically did not offer any counter argument. She knew the stakes. And she too would not willingly allow any of that damnable water past her, he knew. 

But his Vision was more suited to stopping water than hers. So he was the first line, and when he failed…it would fall to her. 

Only if it got to that point, of course. 

“I’ll be very displeased if you dissolve,” she said finally, drawing her gun from its holster and loading a round. She flicked it up and closed. 

“Oh yeah?” He smiled as they continued into the room with the sluice gate. “Will you mourn for me?”

“Most likely.”

“Use it for a day off, at least.”

“Maybe two.”

“Even better. More time to get it out of your system.”

She scoffed, but her eyes remained grave. When they reached the landing overlooking the gate, she nudged his shoulder with hers. 

“Be careful.”

Her voice was quiet, and he knew she was serious. He nodded.

They remained where they were. Seconds bloated to minutes. Down here, he couldn’t hear the guards or the alarms, if they were going off yet. 

Time had a funny way of distorting when you were staring your own death in the face. He would know. He’d done it quite often. 

This was the most severe, though. It had been years since he had been afraid—of his foster father, of the guards, of other inmates. But he would have to be an idiot not to be afraid now. 

Most Fontaineans didn’t even know about the Sea until that trial. It had been living beneath his feet for decades, ever rising, creeping closer with every day. 

And now it was here. Funny. And a bit terrifying. 

More footsteps thundered down the path behind them. Too fast and harried to be Neuvillette. He huffed. 

“I’m lucky Neuvillette doesn’t take bets,” he muttered.

Clorinde tsked. “You would have lost your salary by now.”

“W-what’s happening?” Paimon shouted, flying forward faster than the Traveler. “Why is everyone evacuating?”

“Welcome to the forbidden zone, Traveler,” he said, not taking his eyes from the gate. “Seems you’re going to finish your little investigation after all.”

“What’s beneath the gate?” he demanded, catching up to Paimon. He didn’t sound at all winded, despite surely running down here from their dormitory. 

“You don’t have a guess? I’m disappointed.”

“Now’s not the time,” Clorinde said sharply. 

The gate made a strange sound then, like a gear turned too far over. A thunk of something wrong. 

“You said you can use the waypoints,” Wriothesley said suddenly, knowing they had only seconds. “Go get Neuvillette.”

“What?”

The gauge hit its end and lurched over it. Each of the four clamps over the gate rattled. The one at the furthest corner flipped up.

He stepped back. “Run, now!”

With a terrible groan of warping metal, the gate burst, and glowing Primordial Sea water burst up and out in a wild purple-blue geyser. It moved slower than normal water, thick like blood, but with that much pressure, it hardly mattered. 

Clorinde disappeared from his side and he drew back as the geyser rose. He hoped the Traveler had teleported already. 

The geyser hit its peak, and water came spilling out over it, quickly filling the lower level.

Cursing, he pulled hard at his Vision and drew all the energy he could from it. Pulling back, he pooled it in his right gauntlet and forced it forward. 

Pure Cryo met the Sea with a burst of frost and ousia. The force of such a widespread reaction sent a burst of cool air howling backward, but he held firm, watching as the ice formed and held. The water was frozen mid-wave, deadly claws reaching for him.

It held for less than two seconds before cracks began to appear, and another wave burst over the first, shattering it all. 

Knowing better than to waste time trying again, he ran, water licking at his boots. 

The Sea roared behind him in an endless rush, not stopping or slowing. In fact, it gained, ripples of it outpacing him and sloshing against the walls in glittering waves. He ran faster, and passed the first gate. 

Clorinde stood ahead, after the final gate. The Traveler ran past her, turning back to watch him. 

“The gates!” he shouted. 

She nodded, aiming her gun. Hesitating only a moment or two, she fired, and he heard the mechanism burst and fail. With a groan, the gates began to fall. 

The Traveler shouted something and made to move forward, but Clorinde held him back. 

He ran faster. The third gate had fallen to the midpoint—he knew he wouldn’t make it at this speed. 

Pulling more Cryo into his gauntlets, he aimed it for the floor in front of the gate. It frosted up immediately with ice in a thin sheet. Forcing himself faster, he dropped into a slide as the gate became too low to run through. 

It came just inches from his face as it closed with a resounding boom. 

He rolled, getting to his feet as more Primordial Sea water began to leak from the seams of the gate. Several quick punches, packed to the brim with Cryo, froze the escaping water, at least for now. Gathering what remained of his energy, he threw one more blast, as big as he could manage, at the center of the gate itself, dropping to one knee as his energy began to wane. 

False snowflakes glittered in the air as the Cryo settled. That same groaning that the sluice gate had made continued to grow in volume.

Panting, he pushed to his feet again. 

“It won’t hold long,” he said, wincing as his right gauntlet locked up. He forced the fingers open, curling them again with gritted teeth. “Find Neuvillette, tell him the defenses are about to collapse.”

Paimon sounded terrified. “Collapse! But—but wait—what about you? That’ll mean—” 

“There’s no time,” he said, shaking his head and coaxing more Cryo into his gauntlets. 

Already, hairline cracks were forming near the bottom edge. He threw more Cryo at them and they sealed over, but cracked again only a few seconds later. The water was too strong. 

“We’re the last line of defense,” Clorinde said firmly, pinning the Traveler in particular with a sharp look. “We hold it back, or we fail. Until Monsieur Neuvillette arrives.”

Another crack formed, and he forced more Cryo at it, then turned briefly their way. “Go, damn it!”

The Traveler nodded, grabbed Paimon by the wrist, and vanished in a whirl of Hydro. 

Clorinde joined him as he stretched, flexing his hands in his gauntlets. “The gate—how long do you think it will hold?”

“That depends on us.”

“Mm. And how long will you hold?”

He did not answer right away, throwing another blast of Cryo at a crack forming along the top seam. “I don’t know. But I hope it’s long enough.”

She said nothing, remaining at his side with her gun in hand.

As it turned out, there wasn’t much to say, when watching your own death slowly break through your defenses.

Another crack formed, and he sealed it quickly with more Cryo. He hoped Neuvillette was on his way.

******

He had only just arrived at the Opera Epiclese with Furina when the feeling came, a disturbance more strong than he had ever felt. And with the most terrible possible source.

He stiffened, and turned toward the north, where deep in the sea, the Fortress covered Fontaine’s worst secret.

Furina noticed his movement, and paled. “No—no, you can’t mean—”

“I must go.”

“W-wait! B-b-but—the Knave—”

“Lady Furina,” he said, as gently as he could manage with the urgency. “I must go. You know this.”

“I-I know, only—”

“This is not a matter I can ignore. To do so would consign hundreds at minimum to their deaths.”

She whimpered, her expression despairing.

“If I can find someone to attend this meeting with you, then I will do so. But it cannot be a priority. I must go, now.”

Although her fear was practically visible in the air around them, she nodded. He moved away, having no other choice.

A gathering of energy ahead of him stopped him as he went back down the steps, and in a swirl of Hydro, the Traveler appeared, holding his companion by the hand. “Monsieur—Wriothesley—”

“I know,” he cut him off. This was truly a stroke of fortune. “I am glad you are here. Lady Furina will soon have a meeting with the Knave. I know you are unprepared, but I have no one else to ask. Please attend the meeting with her, keep her safe, and ensure she does not spend too long alone with any Fatui.”

“Got it.” He nodded. “You can explain later.”

“Thank you. You have my most sincere gratitude.”

Again, the Traveler nodded. “Go, please. It’s bad.”

Without another ominous word, he turned and pulled Paimon along to meet Furina.

Having no time for further consideration, he gathered the waters around himself and pulled toward Wriothesley, who shone even from here with the bright chill of Cryo.

He appeared again deep in the Fortress, where he knew the gates to be kept.

It was not an area he was overly familiar with. He had been here only once before, many centuries ago when repairs to the gates themselves had been necessary.

In that time, meticulous planning had gone into the method to open the sluice gate for repair, and he had been required merely as a means of backup. The waters had not risen to a concerning degree, nor did they react when the gate was open. He could feel them below, churning and churning, but he had not been required to act.

This was nothing like that simple time. He could feel the Sea pushing at the gates even now, crying louder at such a small distance.

And he could hear a commotion, feel the frost of Cryo being spent.

He was in time, then. Something desperate in his chest unwound, if only just. Still, he moved quickly to join them.

Wriothesley and Miss Clorinde stood only ten or so feet from the last gate, which was entirely covered in ice several inches thick. He could see where Wriothesley had built it up, around the seams of the gate where the water met the least resistance.

He could also see that Wriothesley was tired, his Vision glowing faintly as he stood a bit stooped, panting for air. Stray Cryo was clustered around his gauntlets, waiting for the next crack to appear.

Clorinde saw him first, turning sharply at the sound of his boots. There was relief in her eyes. A rarity, he knew. “Wriothesley.”

He turned, and it was even stranger to see such relief in his expression. Some exhaustion finally slipped through. “Ah, good. Was starting to worry.”

“You have done remarkably,” he said honestly. “But you must go, now.”

Clorinde moved without question, but Wriothesley lingered. He came a little closer, eyeing him and then the gate covered in ice. “You have this?”

He nodded. “Most definitely. Go. Please.”

Wriothesley still lingered, stiffening as the gate made a horrible grinding noise. “You know, someday you’re going to have to let me guess at that secret of yours.”

“You can only learn such things if you are alive to ask,” he said, moving between him and the gate. “Go. Now. Or I will force you.”

He relented, finally, and ran to join Clorinde.

Cracks were spidering along the center of the ice now, instead of the edges. The groaning must have been the first or second gates failing. The pressure was built up to the point now that the Sea could shatter the gate itself, rather than just Wriothesley’s Cryo patch job.

He watched the cracks form idly, until the gate gave a final wrench and shattered. The Primordial Sea burst from its center in a mad rush, ready to drown the Fortress and poison all of Fontaine’s waters.

Such things could not come to pass. As the water raced toward him, he raised his hand, already aglow.

******

Clorinde had gone up the stairs and away. No matter Neuvillette’s near begging, he did not.

It wasn’t a lack of trust. If he was honest with himself (and staring your death in the face would do that to you) it was pure concern.

He knew Neuvillette had truly unparalleled control of the water. The Primordial Sea, even. He had saved Freminet’s life only the night previous, pulling the Sea from him as if it were child’s play.

But that geyser of deadly water…it had a way of absolving you of all logic.

So he lingered at the doorway, watching as Neuvillette stood before the gate, an unmoving silhouette as cracks crawled and tore their way up the ice. Even as the sound of warping and bending metal grew unbearable, Neuvillette did not move.

The gate burst open, and still, he did not flinch. Where he stood, Wriothesley did, wincing away as the water poured from the gate.

A rush of elemental energy swept the room, then, the likes of which he had never felt, even when sparring against other Vision bearers at their peak strength. When he looked back to that familiar silhouette, Neuvillette had held up his hand, the deep blue glow visible even through the Primordial’s glow. The Primordial Sea waned away from that light, as if it couldn’t stand to be so close.

It pressed on, ever flowing, but no water passed Neuvillette’s boots. Even as the wave grew larger and larger, Neuvillette stood firm, unmoving, his hair and coat glowing once more with elemental energy.

Then he pulled back, just enough to be noticeable, his hand curling, and pushed.

The ground beneath him glowed with a strange, unfamiliar symbol, and that same pulse of energy flowed through the room. Unphased by it, Neuvillette moved forward, and the Primordial Sea froze around him, as if time itself had stopped.

Remarkably, impossibly, as he continued to walk forward, hand outstretched, it moved with him, curling back along its path forward and tracking back through the broken gate.

Stupefied, he followed after Neuvillette at a distance, watching as he forced the water back through the second and first gates, then down through the control room, where the sluice gate had been completely obliterated.

The water curled unnaturally, winding back beneath the landings of the stairs, then back down into the crevice which the sluice gate had covered. Not a droplet was spared. In fact, the entire forbidden zone, from the final gate through the control room was perfectly, unnaturally dry.

When the last of the water was deep below, sunk several feet under the lip where the sluice gate once sat, Neuvillette let his hand fall, raising his other as more energy gathered around it. With a wave across the space, that symbol which had appeared beneath him at the start came once more, glowing blinding bright over the water. Energy pulled from about the room, drawing the air and more water to the symbol, and Neuvillette again glowed impossibly bright.

The seal flashed, and a rush of wind blew through the room as it settled over the water, where it held, glimmering that deep, otherworldly blue. From beneath it, he could still see glimpses of the Primordial Sea’s glow, faint and flickering as the water churned placidly. Not a drop of it dared to get close.

“One would think you had a death wish,” Neuvillette said suddenly, his eyes on the seal.

Wriothesley joined him at the railing, staring down. “No. But your work is quite captivating. You can’t blame me for being caught watching.”

Neuvillette looked at him then, and his eyes were glowing faintly. There was that sharpness there he saw only sparingly, the kind that suggested he was looking straight through him, at his soul itself.

He was reminded of the many impossibilities that Neuvillette accomplished so casually, and the other about him which no one in Fontaine had ever properly categorized.

How little he really knew about this strange, wonderful man…

“Still haven’t gotten to see you in a fight, y’know. Besides, you had it handled,” he went on, nodding toward the seal. “The minute you got here, I knew we’d be safe.”

“Hmph.” He turned back toward the seal, his jaw clenched. “I do not approve of such reckless endangerment of yourself.”

“You’re saying you wouldn’t have stopped the water if it came at me?”

Neuvillette flinched as if struck, and pinned him again with that impossible stare, his eyes wide and earnest, their glow brighter than before. “Of course I would have.”

“There you go then.” To soften the unintended blow, and still feeling bold from his several brushes with death today, he put a hand on his arm. “I’m fine. Trust me.”

Neuvillette had gone very still at his touch, and stared at his hand on his arm as if it were an alien object, utterly unknown to him. But he did not at all pull away. In fact, he seemed to sag in relief, listing toward him a little. After a moment, he nodded, and some of that strange glow faded away.

“I trust you,” he said softly.

They were quiet for a moment, only the dull rumbling of the machinery around them to soften the silence. Neither pulled away. It was temporary, this little closeness, but maybe neither of them could bear to break the bubble just yet.

“Never seen you glow so much before.”

Neuvillette hummed, looking at his own hand. He still had not moved away, apparently content to let Wriothesley’s hand rest there for however long he’d like. His palm glowed through his glove as he stared at it.

“It primarily occurs when I use a great amount of power. I am not often required to do so, of course, so it does not happen often.”

“Any reason behind it?”

“Mm. Perhaps.”

When he said nothing more, Wriothesley chuckled. “Alright, alright. Be secretive if you’d like.”

Neuvillette watched him, his eyes searching. “You are so curious. I do not know why.”

 “Well, I’ll tell you when I feel like it. Got to keep some secrets of my own, after all.” He looked down toward the water. “What’s this seal you’ve made then, besides beautiful?”

Strangely, Neuvillette shifted at his side, hiding his face as if flustered. “I have put much energy into it. Any less and the Sea would have broken free again, eventually. I do not believe repairs will be possible, at least for now…the force of the rising water is too great. This will hold indefinitely, until my power is exhausted.”

“Hm. And how likely is that?”

“Extremely unlikely.”

“Just what I like to hear. You’ve made my job far easier, it seems, Monsieur.”

A little smile lifted Neuvillette’s expression then. “I am happy to do so. You have done more than enough for your lifetime, I would say. Perhaps I should honor one of your resignation letters.”

“Oho, spoken from the workaholic himself. Pot meet kettle, my friend.”

He tilted his head, looking his way again. He reached over, brushing a finger over Wriothesley’s hand where it still rested on his arm. His touch was light, tentative, and his glove was soft. “I have never heard that phrase.”

“Ah. It means we’re the same about something ironic. Like a pot calling a kettle black, the irony is that they are both black, and so it’s hypocrisy.”

“Hm.” He frowned a little. “I do not think I am fond of being called a hypocrite.”

“All in good fun.” He dropped his hand and turned away. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

Neuvillette moved to follow him, walking slowly. “I ought to return to the Opera. The Traveler is with Furina and the Knave…but first.”

Without any further warning, he wrapped his hand around Wriothesley’s wrist. The water surrounded them and they disappeared from the forbidden zone.

They reappeared in the infirmary, which was empty. The Fortress around them was silent—evacuation was still in effect then.

Neuvillette let him go, pointing at a bed. “Sit. Do not move.”

Bemused, he did so, and watched as Neuvillette again disappeared.

In the quiet (knowing better than to move if Neuvillette told him not to), he thought over what he knew. The complete impossibility of Neuvillette’s power was not at all frightening, but it was a brain bender all the same. He had no worldly explanation for it.

Neuvillette had no Vision. He knew that.

He was definitely not human, and that was also commonly known. No human could live more than five hundred years, after all, and Neuvillette had not changed a single bit in his years as Iudex, at least not in terms of his appearance.

But what he actually was? No one had ever successfully guessed, and Neuvillette did not seem so interested in giving an answer. At least to the public.

But…he remembered when they’d met after Wriothesley had been named administrator, and Neuvillette had revealed only a fraction of his abilities with the sea. They had met only twice at that point, and already he trusted him enough for that.

Granted, he had by no means made it clear he could control damn near any water, but still. They had been speaking of the gate, and Neuvillette’s control of the water was the answer he had given for how he would solve a break.

And he had definitely solved it. Permanently, it seemed.

Not only that, he had teleported them here without any sign of exhaustion only moments after doing so. Only the night before, he’d done the same to bring them back to the Fortress, where no old waypoint made the act easier. In fact, he seemed to teleport around with ease, bending the water to his will with far less energy spent than a Vision user could.

His words before resealing the Sea were a balm as well. Neuvillette didn’t seem so opposed to him knowing this secret of his. Whether that was because he knew he had revealed something of the scale of it already, or because he trusted Wriothesley…well. He hoped it was the latter.

Some five or so minutes passed before he could hear footsteps echoing through the Fortress’s main hall outside, and he set aside such thoughts for now.

He wasn’t terribly surprised to see him return with Sigewinne, who was down the stairs in a flurry of motion, and launching at him at speed. It was more a tackle than a hug, but he let her have it all the same. She clung to him with all her might, and that was quite an amount of might.

Neuvillette came down the stairs far more sedately, but seemed pleased that Sigewinne thought him well enough to deserve a tackle hug.

After a few seconds, she pulled back, pouting at him full force. “Monsieur Neuvillette says you exhausted yourself.”

“Mm. Probably true.”

She stared at him in shock. He smirked a little at her expression. It was rare he could stun her.

“Didn’t have much choice, though. I prefer exhaustion to life as a puddle.”

Neuvillette frowned severely. “I would not allow that to happen.”

His eyes were glowing faintly again, and Wriothesley nodded easily. “Of course.”

He hummed, but continued to watch him as Sigewinne looked him over.

“Let me see your hands,” she demanded after a moment.

Sighing, he held them out for her inspection. He’d known that would be coming.

“Everyone on their way back, then?”

“Miss Clorinde is assisting the guards with calling the return to dormitory blocks,” Sigewinne answered distractedly, still busy scowling at his hands and the damage he’d likely done to them. “They’ll remain there until cleanup is sorted. Wolsey will arrange meals if necessary, as agreed.”

“Good. Won’t be much cleanup, at least.”

Sigewinne hummed, clearly not listening. “Did you break your gauntlets again?”

“Only the right. It gave out by the end, unfortunately. I got it off, at least there’s that.”

“And tore your hands to shreds doing so,” she bit back, her own hands beginning to glow with Hydro.

Some of the ache faded immediately, and that continued as she worked, soothing over the cuts and swelling. She was right of course, he had done a number on his hands, but that frequently occurred when he used too much Cryo through the gauntlets. Today had without a doubt been too much.

Even he could admit that.

When she pulled away, he flexed his fingers and nodded. “Thanks, Sige. Good as new.”

She snorted. “You’re lucky you have functional hands at all, at this point, Your Grace.”

Neuvillette turned his head sharply, and Sigewinne followed not a moment later, staring toward the infirmary’s door.

Clorinde appeared nigh instantly, and that was all the warning they had before the three Fatui children came in slowly, Lyney and Lynette each with an arm around their younger brother, who only occasionally seemed able to get his feet to cooperate. Sigewinne did not appear alarmed, thankfully, so this must have been expected.

Lyney and Lynette hesitated at the stairs, Lynette looking to Clorinde, surprisingly. Whatever unspoken agreement they had must have been something else, as Clorinde nodded, and the twins gave over their brother with only a bit of reluctance. She lifted him with ease. The kid himself went red in the face, but didn’t protest. He was quite lax in Clorinde’s hold.

Sigewinne watched them settle on the further beds. “Are you both well, Mr. Lyney, Freminet?”

Lyney nodded, and Freminet mumbled something unintelligible, too busy hiding in his hair after Clorinde set him down.

“I’ll be with you in just a few moments.” She turned her attention back to Wriothesley, her eyes narrowed critically.

“Really, Sige, I’m fine.”

“Hmph! What would you know?” She turned away to grab her step stool, unfolding it sharply and climbing up to look him in the eye. “Monsieur Neuvillette delivered you to me, you will sit quietly for your check-up.”

The children’s eyes were on them, and even Clorinde looked amused, but he didn’t particularly care. Sigewinne on a war path was impossible to dodge, so it was better to let her get this out of her system and check him over.

Besides, he was tired. He doubted he’d be of much use elsewhere right now anyway.

He sighed, giving up. “Fine, fine. You owe me, Monsieur.”

Neuvillette hummed, but nodded. “Acceptable.”

Sigewinne gave another pouty “Hmph,” and got to work, her hands cool as she checked him over. Her Vision flashed occasionally, but she mostly went by sight, asking him questions and looking him over critically. After a few minutes, she got down from her step stool and set it aside.

“Elemental exhaustion,” she said, nodding surely. “So. No fighting, and absolutely no Vision usage, for at least the next full day, or you’ll risk overexerting yourself further, and that will only prolong the discomfort. The best medicine is good food, water, and rest.”

“Alright.”

With that settled, Sigewinne turned her eyes toward Neuvillette, narrowed like she was trying to catch prey. “What about you, Monsieur?”

He blinked, looking down at her in clear surprise. “Oh. I’m quite well, my dear.”

She narrowed her eyes further, scowling. “Hmm…”

Unsurprisingly, Neuvillette caved immediately.

He sighed, a resigned little frown on his face. “You may check, if it will ease your mind. I assure you, I am fine.”

She tsked, and pointed him to the bed. Snorting, Wriothesley moved over so he’d have space. With a brief nod of thanks, Neuvillette sat, taking some care to move his hair to lay off the side. He looked entirely out of place sat there on the old cot, his coat still glittering a bit in the light, and his hands folded neatly in his lap.

Sigewinne hummed and tutted as she checked him over, her Vision glowing and flashing, perhaps a bit more than it had with Wriothesley. She grumbled under her breath as she went, muttering about ‘overwork’ and ‘escaping’ her.

Wriothesley didn’t dare interject, but he did watch from the corner of his eye, finding the whole thing much funnier from an outsider perspective.

Neuvillette gave him a withering look, but even he remained quiet as Sigewinne worked, following her few instructions without question.

“What happened?” Lynette asked after a few moments of quiet, except Sigewinne’s muttering.

“I am not at liberty to answer such questions,” Neuvillette answered first, and that settled the matter as far as Wriothesley was concerned.

“This is about the forbidden zone, isn’t it?” Lyney said, very quietly.

Neuvillette looked at Wriothesley from the corner of his eye again, but neither of them said anything.

Sigewinne finished her check-up then, and stepped away. “Fine, Monsieur. You seem okay. But you better rest too!”

He nodded. “I will do so as I am able, of course.”

“That means he won’t,” she muttered, but seemed to know better than to protest. “Alright. Mr. Freminet, it’s your turn.”

The kid startled on his bed, managing to sit up enough to stare at her, his one visible eye wide. “M-me?”

“Of course! I haven’t checked you over yet today, and after the evacuation, you’ve had far more movement than you ought to.”

“O-oh…” His eyes darted all around the room, settling briefly on Wriothesley and then Neuvillette, where they lingered for a moment. “Um…okay…”

Neuvillette stood, brushing his hair back behind him with a bit of a frown, and looked to Wriothesley. “I believe we can now leave Sigewinne to her work.”

Nodding, Wriothesley stood to join him, and they moved toward the stairs.

“Wait!”

He turned back in time to see Lyney scrambling from his place next to Freminet. Compared to the composure he’d displayed in their confrontation the day before, this Lyney was an entirely different person. It seemed his brother’s injury turned him back to what he still was, regardless of his work with the Fatui—a kid, and a scared one at that.

Neuvillette had turned too, and it was at him whom Lyney directed his attention to. “You—Lady Furina is meeting with Father, isn’t she?”

To the untrained eye, Neuvillette hardly seemed surprised at the question, but Wriothesley knew better. His hand had tightened a bit around the railing, and his eyes were narrower.

“For your sake, Mr. Lyney, I will endeavor not to ask how you have learned that information,” he said neutrally.

“She needs to know about—about Freminet.”

“Don’t you have some means of contacting her?” Wriothesley asked.

Lyney shook his head. “We do, but…it’s not fast enough.”

“I’m fine, Lyney,” Freminet called weakly from the bed.

“No, you’re not,” he bit back, turning to look at him. “And Father will need to know to…to let you rest, when we return home.”

Lyney turned back, looking at Neuvillette expectantly, but his eyes were on the youngest of the three, whose head was ducked again, hiding beneath his hair. Neuvillette appeared deep in thought.

“I am not able to affect the length of your stay here at the Fortress,” he said after a moment, looking down at Lyney again. “However…” He frowned. Then, he turned to Wriothesley. “Do you have any documentation of his being here?”

“I would have to confirm with Monglane, but I doubt it. Sige saw him before I did.”

“He doesn’t have an inmate number,” she said, her hand still on the boy’s forehead.

Neuvillette made a noise of acknowledgement, his brow furrowed. “I have no memory of any case files related to Mr. Freminet crossing my desk…”

“I-I…might’ve…” the boy mumbled from the bed, unable to meet their eyes. “…snuck in.”

“As expected,” Neuvillette said, nodding. He looked at Wriothesley expectantly.

He huffed, crossing his arms. “Well, Monsieur, it seems one of your citizens has overstayed his welcome, then. And done more than his fair share of work, if the guards in the production zone are to be believed. As curious as I am as to how he got in…he can’t stay.”

“So you can—” Lyney seemed unsure who exactly to look at, his eyes wide. “Freminet can leave?”

“Considering he had no business in being here,” Neuvillette said, earning a wince from all three children, “I am within my rights to remove him, yes. I can return Mr. Freminet to your Father after I am finished speaking with His Grace.”

A complicated series of emotions passed over Lyney’s face before he finally nodded, his eyes lowered as he hid his face. “Thank you, Monsieur.”

“Hm. As I have said, you do not owe me thanks.”

Lyney shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m—we’re still thankful. I’m…I’m sure Father will be, too. You saved Freminet’s life, even if you didn’t have to.”

Neuvillette stared at him incredulously, then sighed and turned away. “The rules which govern the House of the Hearth are not those that the rest of the world lives by, young man. To me, a life is worth far more than my own convenience. I did not save your brother to be owed some debt, nor would a lack of payment in return make me desire a change in my choice, and certainly would not cause me to act upon such things.”

“I know…but…” Again he hesitated, refusing to look up. “Father will see this as a debt. It’s how her mind works. I don’t mean to say you have to think of it that way, but she will. And Father…always repays her debts. Always.”

“Father wants Fontaine to be saved,” Lynette said suddenly. “She would already offer her help. But you’ve helped her too…by helping us.”

Neuvillette seemed to consider this, and remained quiet for a moment. Apparently decided, he eventually nodded. “Very well. I will return for Mr. Freminet shortly, but I must speak to His Grace, now.”

At last, Lyney left, rejoining his sister at Freminet’s bed. Neuvillette gestured him ahead and he led the way back to his office.

******

“Well,” Wriothesley said as they settled into his office a few minutes later. “Now that you’re assured of my relative health, are you going to rush off to help Lady Furina?”

“Mm. That will be my destination shortly, yes. However…” He hesitated, his eyes darting away and hands smoothing at some nonexistent wrinkle in his long coat in a gesture of uncharacteristic nervousness. “I believe you have earned some explanation…”

“I wouldn’t classify it as earned,” he said as Neuvillette trailed off. “Your secrets are your own. I don’t ground our acquaintance on whether or not you choose to share them with me. You’re perfectly entitled to keep those sorts of things close to your chest.”

Hesitantly, seeing that Neuvillette did not look so assured, he added, “It won’t change anything for me…whether I know this secret of yours or not, I like to think we are still…that we could continue as we have been.”

The surface of that tension lingering in Neuvillette’s eyes seemed to break, and he softened if only a little. When he replied, his voice was equally as tentative, quiet as if the words couldn’t be spoken any louder.

“I appreciate the assurance,” he said softly. “But I want to assure you, it is something I am willing to share…with you.”

The unspoken not anyone else was practically written in the air.

Knowing the weight of such things, Wriothesley could only manage a nod. “Okay.”

Neuvillette seemed to steel himself, breathing out slowly. “You know, I suspect, that I am not human.”

He nodded. “Though I’m not partial to the opinion you’re a Melusine,” he joked.

It earned him a little smile. “No. The Melusines were born from the blood of Elynas. I…predate them by quite a wide margin. Additionally, we are not so similar in appearance or abilities.”

He shook his head and seemed to refocus. “I have heard theories that I might be some other sort of immortal creature, everything from a youkai of Inazuma to Liyue’s adepti. Out of amusement and the need for secrecy, I have not dissuaded such rumors, but they are nevertheless, falsehoods. The truth, however, is for most less…believable, and given my position within the Court and other…realities…I have kept it a secret.”

Wriothesley remained quiet, and Neuvillette again seemed to brace for some kind of impact.

“What do you know of dragons?”

His thoughts stuttered to a halt.

“Dragons?” he repeated, his voice strangely flat.

Neuvillette nodded.

“…Can’t say I know much of anything. Liyue’s old Archon was a dragon, wasn’t he?”

His frown at that comment was deep, puzzled and almost offended. “Deus Auri is an adeptus. His form is—in appearance—a dragon, I will allow, but his species is not.”

“Well then I guess I don’t know much at all. Not that I knew anything about Liyue either, to be fair.”

“Hm.” Neuvillette set this aside with a lingering little scowl. “Before humans were created and placed here, Teyvat was ruled by dragons. Divisions of nations in the way of the modern world were not in existence, but a hierarchy stood. Those highest and oldest, the most powerful of the dragons were Sovereign over what has now been divided and labeled as the Elements. Pyro, Hydro, Electro, Anemo, Dendro, Cryo, and Geo. These distinctions came from the Sovereigns who hold dominion over them.

“Few remain,” he continued grimly, his eyes distant. “And none have their full Authority. Each was stolen with the defeat of the Sovereign who held it, and now stands as the basis of the authorities of the Seven. In the case of the Sovereign of Hydro…” He made a sound almost like a scoff, and stared at his hands. “I was reborn as you see me now. I am trapped in this form, with only a fraction of my power available to me.”

“A fraction,” Wriothesley found himself echoing again, a note of amusement creeping into his voice (anything was better than stunned panic, after all). “Holding back the entire Primordial Sea and you call that a fraction.”

“It is the truth. If my Authority were available to me, this crisis would not threaten Fontaine in this manner.”

A choked sort of chuckle left him then. “No, I guess it wouldn’t, huh?”

Neuvillette watched him with sharp attention, a worried twist to his lips. “You are distressed. I am sorry…perhaps I ought to have…”

“No, no. You don’t—” He sighed and started again. “You don’t have to apologize. But it is…surprising. I don’t think any of my guesses were as high-reaching as you being the Hydro Dragon…shit, that’s gonna take some time to get my head around…”

Neuvillette nodded, his eyes slipping away again. “I can…understand if you are upset.”

He blanked, staring. “Upset?”

“I have hidden my true nature, not only from Fontaine, but from you, even when such things might have better explained how I would assist with the Sea—”

“Why would that matter?”

Neuvillette hesitated, his expression somewhat despairing. His eyes remained away, almost hiding. “I…”

He wouldn’t look at him. How awful.

“Hey.”

Their eyes met again. That resigned sort of sadness was more clear now, face to face. Neuvillette’s whole being seemed to have wilted at the mere idea of Wriothesley being upset.

Upset over what he was. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. What did that change?

Neuvillette was still the same, just as wonderful and beautiful and clearly capable of making Wriothesley act like an idiot.

That last part at least, he could try to fix.

“I don’t care that you kept it a secret,” Wriothesley said, as firmly as he could manage. “Really, I don’t. You would know what’s best, on what’s safe and what’s not—for you and for anyone else. Even without telling me everything, you told me enough, and I’ve never doubted your character or morals. Whether or not I knew what you are, that didn’t matter—your actions, the good you do, that speaks for itself. You’ve had my trust for years, Monsieur.”

A faint blush crept up over his cheeks then, and Neuvillette looked down. “Oh…thank you, then.”

“I’m honored you trust me enough to tell me.”

“Of course,” Neuvillette said, his voice emphatic even as he still looked away.

“Who all knows?”

“Lady Furina. The Melusines, but largely due to their nature as creatures of Elynas and the sea. It was remarkably difficult to keep them quiet when I first brought them to the Court. All of those of the Fontemer tend to wish to know me…”

“Fontemer?”

He nodded. “The Primordial Sea, as it is called now.” His gaze was distant. “All life on Teyvat once came from those waters…what remains of its inhabitants now are aberrants, vishaps and their descendants, the Melusines in part…and myself, I suppose. But Fontaine’s connection to the Sea and place as the source of all Teyvat’s now existent waters provides its creatures a closer relationship to the Fontemer than other creatures elsewhere. Those creatures which are closest to that connection, particularly those living in the sea, can often sense in some way what I am.”

“Ah, so every little otter swimming about would recognize you then?”

He went still for a moment too long, looking back at him with surprise. Seeing the bit of triumph in his expression, Neuvillette sighed. “Wriothesley.”

“So it’s true? Do they swim after you for attention?”

“Otters are social creatures,” he said, a bit defensively.

“That’s not a no, Neuvillette.”

His blush returned, and he said nothing more on the subject. “Am I to take your humor as acceptance?”

“What, of reality? Sure. You’re still you, I still trust you. If anything, your work today only puts you higher in my books. You’re not hiding some other terrible secret are you?”

“No.” He shook his head firmly, holding Wriothesley’s gaze. “Beyond my nature there is little I keep intentionally secret. I have found it is better to let idle speculation disperse and fade than to come up with some alternate, palatable explanation. And my power is my own. Hiding it would be foolishness. It is the reason I do not make efforts to hide my control of the waters, beyond rarely using them.”

“Mm…hey, does this mean you really do control the weather?”

His little displeased frown appeared for a moment. “I do not know who started that rhyme…however, the rain does respond to my…emotions.”

He said the last as if it puzzled even him, and Wriothesley fought to hide the smile at such an endearing thing. “Should I be worried if it rains, then?”

“Not necessarily. I have enough control to not aimlessly affect the weather patterns at all times. The rain may come to me for any number of reasons. Sadness is only the most…intense, I suppose. Or perhaps the most lingering.”

So definitely reason to be worried then, he thought, but knew better than to say it.

“I trust you will keep this information to yourself,” Neuvillette continued after a pensive silence, pinning him with that intense look of his.

“Of course,” he agreed, honest enough to sound earnest. “Secret’s safe with me, Monsieur.”

Neuvillette nodded, and stood once more, apparently deeming the matter now closed. “I must return to the surface, and bring young Freminet with me. Am I to assume that because he has no entry papers you will not require any documentation?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” He waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll have Sige keep her records in case they’re relevant, but there’s no need to worry Monglane about it if he was never meant to be here anyway.”

“Very good then…” He hesitated a moment, a weariness in his eyes and something grasping about his expression. But ultimately, he sighed. “It is likely best I go, then…I do not want Lady Furina alone with the Knave for any longer than necessary.”

Wriothesley nodded, and they headed for the office door once more. “Once the Wingalet is finished, it’ll be business as usual down here.”

“Mm.”

“What I mean, Monsieur, is that if…” He hesitated a moment, and decided he did dare. “If you want me up there, you’d just have to ask.”

Neuvillette held his gaze then, slowing as he continued down the stairs. When they reached the bottom, they both hesitated. They stood there at the base of the steps for no reason at all, except to delay the inevitable.

After a little while of quiet, Neuvillette hummed, a sad, wistful little sound, and brushed his fingers over Wriothesley’s wrist. His voice was soft when he finally replied.

“Perhaps I will…” He brushed his fingers against his hand again, and held his gaze steadily. “Thank you.”

Wriothesley could only nod and stare back, words long gone. He wondered if they’d ever come back, or if Neuvillette would carry them off with him when he went back above.

He wondered if that would be a bad thing.

******

Morning came again soon enough. Despite the emergency evacuation, the Fortress ground into gear along the same track and rhythm as it ever did. The cafeteria opened, the first Pankration matches drew their early crowds, and production set clanging and clattering echoing through the central hub in a cacophony of noise.

He wasn’t so surprised to find the Traveler waiting outside his office that morning. What was more surprising was the lack of floating companion.

Crossing his arms, he leaned against the door jam. “Where’s your little friend?”

“Earning enough coupons to buy herself a fancy lunch,” the Traveler answered readily, something amused flickering across his face.

“Hm. Ambition of the hungry. Admirable.”

A brief quiet fell. The guards shifted, watching from the corners of their eyes. Maybe they were all waiting for who would make the first move.

Wriothesley decided he had nothing to lose for it. Pushing off the door, he turned back toward his office. “Come on, then. If you’re not going to work you might as well get in. Wasting my tea time, otherwise.”

The Traveler fell into step with a snort, following him back into his office.

The doors closed with finality, and the Traveler glanced around the space with mild interest, lingering on the panel concealing the stairs to the forbidden zone.

“This way,” he said casually, taking the stairs. “Not a lot of seating down there, as I’m sure you saw.”

Like a shadow, the Traveler followed silently, keeping his quiet even as Wriothesley waved him toward the couches and started up some tea. When the kettle whistled only a few minutes later, he still had not spoken, apparently content to watch with rapt attention.

“You’re going to have to spit out why exactly you’re here at some point, you know,” Wriothesley muttered as he handed over a cup and nudged the sugar and such his way.

The kid(?) hummed, waffling over the sugar and cream before deciding on a bit of both. “I have questions.”

“I figured.”

“You’ll answer?”

“Maybe.” He sipped his tea, holding his gaze. “Depends on what you want to know. And whether you can keep it to yourself.”

“If you’re worried about Paimon—”

“Among others, yes.”

He didn’t look very impressed at being interrupted, but nodded all the same. “She doesn’t even know my real name. We’re friends, good ones. But she’s young, and too sweet for her own good. There’s plenty I haven’t told her, and I can keep it that way. Especially if it isn’t my secret to tell.”

“Hm. Secrets, eh? And what all have you done to inspire my confidence, then?”

“You’re the one doubting whether or not I can keep my mouth shut,” he pointed out, shrugging. “I don’t think my questions are so secretive.”

“Hmph. Go on, then. Rather be asked directly than have another little espionage breakdown.”

The Traveler nodded, hesitating only a moment longer. “You knew about the Sea before the gate burst.”

“Not a question.”

“Does it need to be?”

“No,” he said with some amusement, hiding a smirk in his cup. “If it was a question, then yes, I knew what was beneath the gate. Why else do you think I told you to grab Neuvillette?”

“Why hide it?”

“Mass hysteria isn’t exactly good for evacuation,” he said flatly.

The Traveler nodded, but the intensity didn’t quite leave his stare.

Wriothesley smiled. “You can keep trying to dig it out of me with your eyes, but it won’t work.”

“There’s more.”

“Sure. Doesn’t mean you need to know.”

“I don’t like being lied to.”

“Have you been?”

He paused, brow furrowed.

“From what I understand, most of your information about Fontaine so far, what you haven’t gathered yourself, comes from the Iudex, and he quite infamously does not lie. Your Fatui friends I can’t vouch for, but the Chief Justice’s information can be trusted.”

“When he gives it.”

“Fair point. But omission isn’t an open lie, and Monsieur Neuvillette keeps his cards close. In honesty, he’s trusted you more than most already, to tell you anything at all.”

“He trusts you.”

“Trust is earned,” he said, only growing more amused by the minute. “I’ve worked with Neuvillette for years and we’ve at least known of each other since I was a kid. Like it or not—and your excellent resumé or not—he’s not the type to trust first and ask questions later. He’ll tell you what you need to know, and from what I understand, you’re moving up in his esteem.”

That at least seemed to relieve him, and he nodded, apparently appeased.

“Back to your point, though. If your hope is to get something from me that he hasn’t told you, you’re likely out of luck. I don’t go against his authority any more than anyone else.”

“I thought the Fortress was separate from Fontaine,” the Traveler said.

“It is. But we share water and land. Besides, I have a feeling your little questions are more to Fontaine than here. And if there’s something there that Neuvillette hasn’t told you, I’ll default to his judgement on the matter. He’s known you a few weeks, I’ve only known you for half that time. And either way, Neuvillette is likely to know more than me.”

“Not always.”

His eyes narrowed, and he set aside his cup. “What do you want then?”

He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, his words were as careful as they were cryptic. “On our first day here, you said you’d been administrator since before I woke up.”

“Sure. It’s true, if that’s your question.”

“It isn’t.” He mirrored him, putting down his tea. “If you know I was asleep before Mondstadt, then you know more about me than most.”

Humming, he tilted his head. “Word gets around, and I’ve got ears. You’re not exactly regular Teyvat folk.”

If he took it for bait, he didn’t bite. He only stared back steadily. “I’m looking for my sister.”

“Mm.” It was not news, but he knew better than to bait again. “And you think she’s been here, of all places.”

He looked pained, grimacing worse than he had when the Primordial Sea itself had been gunning for them. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

It was a surprisingly honest answer. Surprising enough at least, to have him sigh and reach over to refill the kid’s cup, nudging it back into his hands as he stood.

“Drink that. Lumine, right?”

A moment’s hesitation. “…Yeah.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. But I’ll give it a look. I’m assuming you already asked Neuvillette?”

He nodded.

“If he couldn’t find anything, then definitely don’t get your hopes up, kid.”

“I have to try,” he said with a shrug and sharper eyes. “And I’m not a kid.”

“Eh.” He waved dismissively. “Semantics. Sit, drink, whatever. I’ll check what I’ve got.”

Some ten or fifteen minutes passed as he went over the inmate and visitor records. A predictable result met his efforts, but the time to think had given him more to examine even if no ‘Lumine’ had ever graced the Fortress with her presence.

Kid or not, the Traveler was something else. And reluctant though Wriothesley may have been about it, he did trust him. At least enough to decide Neuvillette was likely (as always) right.

The Traveler seemed to want to help, and that gave him more credit than most in Fontaine.

“No dice,” he said as he came back to the room, leaning on his desk rather than going for the couch. “If she’s been here, she gave a different name at the entrance or was very sneaky about it. But to be honest with you, I doubt she’s been here at all.”

The Traveler didn’t seem terribly surprised. With a mostly blank expression, he nodded, put his cup down again, and stood. “Thank you for looking.”

“I’ll keep those ears of mine listening, if you want.”

He went still, and stared again, intently. “How many ears do you have up there?”

“I haven’t bothered counting. The Fortress runs a steady stream of people in and out. A good number of them have happened to enjoy doing me the occasional favor. A fair trade every once in a while helps things along, of course. With my little salary, I’ve plenty of Mora to use to ease the way.”

The Traveler smiled. “Wonder if Paimon and I will make this commission list of yours.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Finish your sentence first, then we’ll talk.”

With a grin turned more cheeky than before, the Traveler nodded firmly.

“Neuvillette might need you more than me anyway. Surface problems tend to take precedent over what happens down here.” He shook his head and held his gaze steadily once again. “Your being here was a ploy, remember. With the way things have been going, I wouldn’t be surprised if it only got worse up there. I’d be ready, if I were you.”

“I know.” He hesitated a moment, frowning. “What will happen here? If things go bad.”

Wriothesley smiled sharply. “I have a plan.”

The Traveler stared, something in his expression caught on the back foot. “And that is…?”

He tutted, shaking his head. “Sorry. Trade secret, I’m afraid.”

Pouting comically, the Traveler seemed to sag with despair. “Pretty please?”

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

“C’mon, really?”

“You do know I’ve worked with Sigewinne for years, don’t you? Her pout has yours beaten hands down.”

Cursing, he gave it up before grinning again. “Maybe I’ll have Paimon cry to you, then.”

“Easy on siccing your friend on me. She is the one between the two of you currently working, no?”

“That’s our secret. She’s the workhorse, I just run around and hit things with a sword every once in a while.”

“Right. Somehow, I don’t quite believe you.” He moved around him to clean up their tea and other detritus. “Run along. You may not have work to do this morning, but I do, and I don’t like to leave it to wait.”

With a sharp and unfamiliar salute, the kid ran off, disappearing down the stairs stifling a laugh.

What a menace. He was lucky the pair of them were leaving in a few days. It was Neuvillette’s turn to deal with their chaos. He’d more than done his duty.

Shaking his head at himself, he gave up the leisure and went to his desk. It was more than time to actually get some work done this morning…

Chapter Text

It had become frightfully normal for the days to blur into one puddling mess. Since Mr. Lyney’s trial, matters continued to escalate and escalate, ever rising, never slowing, every fever pitch revealed to be little more than a spike, eclipsed by some greater threat in the next day or two.

Panic stirred in the many corners of Fontaine. What was worse, reports of more Primordial Sea poisoning continued to come in. People were fleeing from the northern coastlines, and many who did so had already come into contact with tainted water.

He thought sealing away the Fortress—the flurry of activity, the rush to get there in time, the necessary cleanup he knew Wriothesley to be primarily dealing with—would be the peak of their troubles.

It was outpaced not even three days later.

When the natural wellspring below Poisson burst, he had been where he often was, in his office at the Palais.

Even after meeting with Furina and having one of her children delivered back to her, the Knave continued to cause him trouble, primarily through the form of extrajudicial investigation and endless questions he could not answer. It required meetings, letters, and increasingly desperate conversations with Furina for some kernel of truth.

He was not successful. Furina grew ever more distant, hardly leaving her rooms even for regular trial. When she did, she refused to meet his eyes, frequently running away from him entirely.

All of this on top of his regular work, which had not slowed.

That morning, he worked through the large stack of expenditure and finance reports the gestionnaires had delivered, along with Wriothesley’s estimates of what the Fortress would need for repairs of the forbidden zone and the last of his Wingalet’s construction. This took priority, and he had spent the better part of an hour recording all the necessary materials into requests to the metalworkers on the surface.

As he set aside the last of them to deliver to Sedene, the ground shook violently, one sharp quake lasting perhaps a few seconds.

It was entirely unlike that which had shaken the Court when the Research Institute exploded. This was deeper, and more destructive, moving furniture and shifting books to land loudly on the floor. Somewhere in the lobby, something glass shattered, and voices rose in cries of surprise.

Above those cries, the Primordial Sea howled, and his eyes turned to the south. He was on his feet in an instant, hurrying to the doors to his office.

Sedene stood at his door, keeping her balance against the wall. “Monsieur!”

He wished to check on her and the others, but there was not time. “I must go. Send whoever you are able to Poisson, immediately.”

“Yessir! Right away.”

As he pulled the waters to himself he saw her turn and run for the elevators. He was glad as ever to have someone so reliable at that desk. Sedene had more than earned her vacation time in just this last month…

He reappeared at the mouth of Poisson only a minute or two after the quake, to screams.

Poisson was densely populated, for a little hovel beneath the ground. The Spina’s main base was here, and a town had sprung up around them, living in the hollows carved out by old tides and ruined ships.

Miss Navia stood at the mouth of the cave, her voice loud over the crowd as she called orders, directing people up the mountain to higher ground. A child clung to her dress, shivering and frightened. People poured from the ladder and the cliff faces, and a small crowd had formed halfway up Mont Automnequi, huddled close and trembling.

“Melus! Silver!” she called into the cave as the flow of people began to thin. There was a note of desperation in her voice. “A-anyone! Please…”

“The water’s too high, Demoiselle,” an unfamiliar member of the Spina said, his voice shaking. He held Miss Navia back with an arm around her shoulders.

“No! W-we have to keep searching—there are still others—”

She pushed out of the man’s grip as if to approach Poisson again, and he moved forward without thought, catching her by the arm.

“Miss Navia.”

She jumped in his hold, staring at him with wide, tear filled eyes. “M-Monsieur Neuvillette!”

“The water is contaminated. You cannot touch it.”

“B-but—”

“Your people need you here,” he said, as gently as he could knowing he had little time. Still she resisted. “I know you do not trust me. But you must move away, now.”

She breathed heavily, tears still falling steadily down her face. But after a few seconds, she nodded, and he let her go.

“I will find the source of this. Do not allow anyone near the water…if anyone remains, I will do all that I can to ensure they are safe. I promise you.”

Something of his sincerity finally reached her, and she nodded again, more firmly than before. She turned to the child still clinging to her dress. “Come on,” she said, pulling them into her arms. “W-we have to move to higher ground.”

They hurried away, and he moved to the mouth of the cave.

The water was indeed too high, already lapping at the lowest ladder, the Primordial diluted within it glittering in the sun.

To the human eye, it had mixed completely with the natural sea. To his, there were clear streams, like a blood trail through the water, curling back below into Poisson, where the quake had broken through the ground and disturbed the Sea. Or perhaps, where the Sea had caused the quake.

There could be no further time for delay or consideration. He dove into the water, ignoring someone’s gasp from above.

To the humans of Fontaine, the Primordial Sea was toxic—euphoric in small doses, deadly in high dilution, and an instant destruction when the concentration reached critical capacity.

To him, it was as all others, simply water. His domain could not harm him, even when he was without his full Authority over it.

He followed the trail of glimmering Primordial water through Poisson’s dark, abandoned streets. Though he knew it would be futile, he reached out through the water for any survivors.

The water echoed with its emptiness. If anyone lived within the cave, they had hidden in the coves above the water’s surface, where Poisson ate into Mont Automnequi instead of deeper into the earth.

How many had remained when the rescue became untenable…how many were now lost…

He moved quickly through the water to the basin, where the various streams of Primordial Sea water collected, bleeding out from the ground in several large gashes. So similar to wounds, as if Fontaine’s bed were one large flesh, the Sea beneath it its blood…

Floating over those gashes in the sea bed, he pulled at his power and drew the Primordial to him. It resisted—always resisted. Like all water, it wanted to flow, and fill the space it once claimed as its own.

But just like all water, it bent to his will. He watched grimly as those deadly ribbons of the Sea curled back toward him, collecting in a glowing, amorphous bubble before him. When all were accounted for he cast his senses out again, sweeping over the water in a rush of blue, searching for any lingering contamination—and for survivors.

The waters rang clear. He had gathered all of the Primordial to himself.

And no survivors still lived in the waters.

He turned away, pulling the water down and back through the cracks and wounds in the sea bed. When it was all contained within, the cracks faded and soothed, as if a deep infection had them weeping and now that it was gone, the wounds could heal on their own.

This was nothing like the vent concealed by the Fortress, and this strange healing was all the more proof of it. He suspected if he had waited, the waters would have receded on their own, drawn back below where they could lay in wait.

Even if the water had behaved and the ground had healed itself, he still cast a seal over it, not content to allow any humans access to such waters if there were even the slightest chance that the Primordial could return. The seal flashed as it completed, sinking into the darkened sand where it would remain hidden.

Without the Primordial pushing its way through, the natural waters began to recede, and soon enough, he stepped out of the water and onto Poisson’s lower street.

The destruction was evident. Signposts and furniture were tossed across the paths, the main bridge had nearly collapsed, and several homes and shops still spewed water from their doors. Seaweed, sand, and other detritus coated everything.

There were clothes—shirts and coats, hats, gloves, shoes of all sizes—in the water, on the roofs of buildings, the ground…all that remained of those who had dissolved.

He stood for a moment in the stifling silence, only the sound of the receding water to accompany him.

“I am sorry,” he said quietly.

There was no response.

With the water now receded, he looked across Poisson’s cavern, particularly at the highest points of the cave’s ceiling and the roofs of the tallest buildings. If there were survivors, they would be there.

A sharp cry came from somewhere above, and his eyes moved quickly toward it. Clinging to the jagged face of an alcove at the top of the cavern was a child—no bigger than a Melusine, and slipping as they tried to keep a grip of the stone.

In a flash he reappeared at the highest point closest to the child, the edge of the Spina’s main ship. Even here, the child was at least ten feet above him, and he could not hope to catch them safely if they fell. They must have swum there before the contamination became too high, or escaped in some other way up the slippery stone wall.

The light of his power must have alerted them he had come close, as the child—a young boy, he now saw, craned his neck to look his way. His eyes were wide, wet, and clearly very afraid.

“Easy,” he said gently, showing his hands even as he pulled water to him. “I will not hurt you.”

The boy slipped, scrambling to pull himself up again. He managed it, but it seemed only just.

“I can catch you, but you must wait until I tell you—do you understand?”

This earned him the child’s attention again, and he watched wide-eyed as water gathered beneath him. Shuddering in fright, he scrambled higher, kicking at the wall as he tried to climb up again.

“Easy, easy,” he soothed, having no choice but to bring the water closer for fear the child would fall. “This water is only the sea, it will not hurt you. I will not allow it.”

The boy cried, clinging to the bit of rock and hiding his face. “B-but—but it—I-I don’t wanna disappear!”

“What’s your name, little one?”

He looked his way again, shivering against the rock. “C-Cava.”

“Cava.” He nodded, and held the little boy’s frightened gaze. “I promise you this water is only the sea. I brought it here, it did not come on its own. It is only here to catch you. That way you don’t fall and become injured. If you slipped and fell from this height you would be very hurt, and I do not want that to happen. The water will only bring you to me, and then it will go away. Is that alright?”

Little Cava deliberated for several seconds, staring down at the water with wide, panicked eyes. But he must have known there was no other way to reach him. After a few moments, he gave a shaky nod. “O-okay…”

With the child’s approval now obtained, he lifted his hand, guiding the water to the child’s dangling feet. On some instinct, Cava still recoiled, drawing his legs up and breathing quickly. He slowed it, if only a little, allowing the boy a moment to deliberate. If he slipped now, the water was near enough to catch him regardless. 

“It won’t hurt you, Cava,” he said calmly. 

“Y-you’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Hesitantly, he looked down, dipping the toe of his boot into the water. When it lapped up to touch his leg, he flinched away, but of course, no terrible dissolution occurred. After a moment, Cava opened his eyes again, staring wide eyed at the water. 

“Let go, little one,” he said, watching the child’s hands shake from the strain of holding on so long. “I will catch you.”

With one final frightened stare, the child nodded, and let go. 

The water rose to meet him, catching him up to his middle as he shouted, thrashing for a moment. When the water remained placid (and he remained himself within it) he calmed, staring at it with wonder. 

He coaxed the water toward him, down and closer, and Cava remained still in the little bubble, his panicked breaths slowing the longer he remained in the water, unharmed. Even still, when Neuvillette had brought the water close enough and reached for the boy, he all but threw himself forward. 

The water fell away as he caught the child, letting him cling to his neck with a tight, cold grip. Yes, about the size of one of the Melusines, he decided, tightening his grip a little to offer some means of comfort. 

“I have you. You are safe.”

Cava was quiet, sniffling. His hands were surely making wrinkles in his coat, but Neuvillette made no effort to discourage him. Such things did not matter now. 

Keeping a grip on the boy, he stepped away from the edge of the Spina’s roof. “I must get us to lower ground…little one, this may feel strange. It will help if you close your eyes. Is that acceptable?”

He nodded into Neuvillette’s shoulder. 

“Very good. Are you ready?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Hold tight.”

When his grip tightened a little, he pulled the waters again, and they reappeared above the last of the ladders leading out of Poisson. 

Silence reigned still. He heard no other survivors. In any case, he needed to get the little one to safety first. 

He moved quickly away from the cave mouth, setting his eyes on the crowd up the slope, and Miss Navia who waited at lower ground, stiff and shaken. 

Her eyes widened at the sight of him, and she came running forward. “How did you—”

“The waters have receded,” he spoke before she could continue. “I have ensured what remains is not contaminated. If you have people to spare, I would recommend sweeping the town for anyone injured, perhaps within the buildings.”

She nodded, turning quickly and calling for several of her men. “Get your squads together, and run a search. The water is safe, but people might still be trapped. Assess first, and come back to me, but help anyone you can who’s in immediate danger. We’re still getting together our medical supplies so be especially careful.”

Her eyes moved briefly to the child he still held as the groups left. “Where’s our last head count?”

“Here, Demoiselle,” one of them said, handing her a long sheet of paper. 

She took it quickly, reading it over at speed. Some relief softened her expression. She handed the list back. “Go find Sandino, now.”

The man ran off with a hasty nod, and the child stirred in his arms. “Grandpa?”

Navia came close, resting a hand on the boy’s back. “Your Grandpa’s safe. Florent has gone to find him. Are you hurt, Cava?”

“Nuh-uh.” He shook his head, but made no other move. “M-Monsieur Neuvillette caught me ‘fore I fell.”

“Fell?”

Cava remained quiet, and so Neuvillette answered. “The cavern Poisson occupies has portions which open higher into Mont Automnequi than the entrance—they did not fill completely. Cava was holding onto an outcrop at the top of the cavern. He must have climbed or swum there before the water became too contaminated.”

“Climbed up,” Cava mumbled. 

He nodded, squeezing the boy briefly. “Just so. You must be a very good climber, little one.”

“Yeah.” He laid his head on Neuvillette’s shoulder again. “I like climbing.”

“It is a useful skill.”

“You climb, Monsieur Neuvillette?”

“Not very much,” he admitted, watching with some interest as Navia looked between them, apparently surprised. “I prefer to swim.”

“Cava!”

An older man came rushing down the hill, followed more sedately by the man Miss Navia had sent away earlier. Cava looked up sharply at the voice, squirming to be let down. Neuvillette set him on his feet carefully and the boy was off like a shot, launching at the old man with great speed. 

Their embrace was tight, and the little one was clearly crying. He looked away, not wishing to intrude. Miss Navia too looked away, but the despair in her eyes spoke to a different reasoning. 

“I must return to the Palais, at least for now,” he said regretfully after a moment. “I’ve sent for the gardes—you may direct them as you please, and forward any requests for materials or medical supplies to me. I will endeavor to ensure they are filled as soon as possible, but I must also see to efforts at stabilizing the coast and the other homes or villages near to it, before I return here.”

“If I may, Monsieur,” a new voice called, one which he (perhaps unfortunately) recognized. “I believe I may be able to offer more immediate assistance.”

The Knave joined them, a small number of her operatives waiting behind her.

He could understand why to many humans she was frightening. There was a beauty to her features—tall, pale, and with eyes no normal human would have. Tempering that first look, however, her whole being seemed to burn with intensity, searing the air around her and anyone who came too close. The beauty of her otherworldly eyes was offset by their intensity, sharp like a new blade. Her hair cut severely down her cheek, and yet trailed behind her in a long tail carefully maintained. She wore beautiful clothing, yet topped with sharpened clawed gloves, heeled shoes that looked equivalently deadly to the polearm she wielded with ease.

In short, the wolf never did hide all its teeth. She revealed little of her thoughts on her face, and even less with her words, but the way she moved and her decisions spoke to a calculating, brutal woman, acting only on her own rules.

When he had brought young Mr. Freminet to her, her eyes had gone sharp and bright, her questions direct and pointed as she demanded details of what had occurred. Only after assuring her that the boy would be fine had she softened, and only enough to regard him with her usual cold calculation.

And yet she had carried the child from the opera with clear gentleness…she truly was a contradictory creature.

Now, at least, her expression was suitably grim, her strange eyes heavy, no malice or calculation in her gaze. Her polearm glittered at her back. Even her operatives carried their weapons at the ready.

Miss Navia looked her over with some confusion, but little fear. “Who are you?”

“My apologies.” She held out a gloved hand, the claw-like fingertips glinting in the light. “As I am offering assistance, I would like us to be acquaintances. You may call me Arlecchino.”

There was only a moment’s hesitation before she took her hand. “Navia.”

“A pleasure, despite the circumstances.” The Knave’s eyes moved to Neuvillette. “I can provide assistance with moving the injured, and clearing the area. We also have medical supplies, and means of having more transported here. Quickly.”

“The Spina has never worked with the Fatui before,” Miss Navia said warily.

The Knave nodded, as if this was expected. “I can assure you, any who work under my name are perfectly amicable.”

Still, Miss Navia hesitated a moment, but gave a grim nod. “We likely need help as soon as possible. We have some injured from the evacuation, and if there were more below…”

Her eyes drifted to Neuvillette, something searching there. 

“You are far more a leader of Poisson than myself,” he said. “This matter is more for your consideration than mine. Additionally, the Palais has no formal agreement with the Fatui, nor any of its Harbingers. I can provide no meaningful insight.”

“I am here of my own free will,” the Knave agreed. “With only the intention to help.”

“Even so,” Miss Navia pointed out, “You must know it is difficult to take you at your word.”

“If it would assure you, you may think of this as repayment of a debt I owe to Monsieur Neuvillette.” The Knave’s eyes turned to him, sharp and knowing. “I may not have gained your trust, Miss Navia, but perhaps you can be comforted that I would not go against the Iudex’s honor.”

“You owe me no debt,” Neuvillette refuted immediately, firmly. “Not for the life of a child.”

“As you say. But to children of the Hearth, kindness must be repaid. Even as its Father, I am still a child of that Hearth. Its rules are mine to uphold.” Her tone left no room for argument, and she held his gaze steadily, unflinching. “You saved Freminet’s life. Like you did that boy here.”

She nodded toward Cava and his grandfather, still clinging to one another. 

“I offer it only as a means of confirming my good intentions,” she finished, redirecting her attention toward Miss Navia. “Even if Monsieur Neuvillette wishes me to remain in his ledger, I offer my assistance out of goodwill. I know the reputation of the Fatui across Teyvat is mixed. In response, I can only guarantee the quality of the men and women who serve under my command. Most of mine are children of Fontaine. They wish to help, even if I do not order it.”

That at last softened Miss Navia’s expression, and after a moment, she nodded. “…Alright. We’ll need to write up a formal agreement after everyone’s safety is assured. But I’ll take what help I can get…you can assist us with medical supplies and relocations, for now.”

The Knave nodded. “We should have enough to handle at least fifty injured persons on hand, but please let me know if there is urgent need for additional supplies—or anything specific. I will gather my operatives to begin their work. You may direct them as you please.”

“I will…thank you.”

With one final nod, the Knave turned away, moving to speak quietly with her operatives.

“I guess we won’t be needing the gardes,” Miss Navia said after a moment.

Neuvillette shook his head. “You will have them regardless. Perhaps they can assist you with the later stages of the cleanup. I will leave such decisions to you. The gardes will be available to you until evening at minimum. Should you need them for longer, you may inform me when I return and I will have a new shift sent.”

She agreed. “Alright, Monsieur…thank you as well.”

He looked away. “Your thanks are not necessary. In some sense, this is my duty…I only wish I could have done more…”

The clouds gathered overhead, rain pattering against his coat within seconds. He sighed, knowing such things would not be helpful to Miss Navia and Poisson, but there was little to be done now that his grief had drawn out the rain.

“Please let me know if you need any further assistance which the Palais could provide,” he said quietly, pulling the nearby rain to himself. At least for this it was useful. “…I am sorry for this loss.”

Miss Navia’s expression crumpled further, and he fled.

******

The Palais was in chaos when he reappeared within it. Gardes and the Phantom had taken over the gestionnaires desks, with the gestionnaires themselves crowded around only one or two desks as they continued to do their work. Sedene and several of her sisters moved quickly between the gardes, gestionnaires, and members of the Phantom.

He moved through the crowd, joined the Phantom at the rear of the building, and demanded a report.

The quake had not broken open any other cracks in the sea bed—if it had, he would have known immediately, the same as he knew of Poisson. But damage still abound along the coast and Mont Automnequi, and notice of damages, injuries, or panic poured in almost every ten minutes.

Already, not even an hour after the quake, things had escalated into a mess which spread far further than Poisson. He had no choice but to begin addressing it, beginning with his staff scrambling about without a clue what to do.

Gardes had to be dispatched to assist those evacuating or requiring transport to the hospital in the Court. Members of the Phantom were sent after to assess damages, repair men to determine materials required and estimate time for repairs, workers to clear debris and construct rudimentary measures against floods in the most at-risk areas.

Many people had been displaced, their homes damaged in the quake or deemed too close to the shore or springs. These people required temporary housing, which had to be negotiated with the hotels and vacant apartments within the Court, if the people in question had no family or acquaintances who could take them in.

The Traveler and Paimon appeared amidst the chaos, evidently having felt the quake as their release papers were being handled. How quickly their time in the Fortress had whittled away…

He sent them on to Poisson somewhat distractedly, having no time to discuss the tragedy and knowing the Traveler would provide any help he reasonably could.

When the sun had begun to droop below the Court buildings, at last the Gestion, Gardiennage, and Phantom had enough clear directives and procedure to continue their work without his oversight. After dismissing Sedene for the evening on orders to rest (she truly had been working too hard lately, and he knew she needed the break) and arranging for Muirne to stand in at the desk, he left the Palais and returned to Poisson.

The interior of the town was lit by temporary ousia lamps, unnaturally blue and sharp in their intensity. Most people seemed to be crowded near the Spina’s ship and the middle levels, where the debris had been cleared. The Fatui moved amongst the crowd without any conflict, moving supplies, handing out materials, and directing people where to go. A few gardes moved about as well, mostly clearing debris from the lower levels.

The Knave stood at the mouth of the cave, only a dozen or so feet from where he had chosen to appear. Her arms were crossed, but her expression was calm.

“You work quickly,” she said, watching the people move below. Her voice was low, unhurried. “I would commend it if I thought the compliment was desired.”

“Where is Miss Navia?”

“At a cavern south of the mountain, along with the Traveler,” she answered promptly. “It was discovered by some of my children earlier this morning, exposed by the quake. From their preliminary examination, it contains ruins which may indicate the nature of the prophecy.”

He frowned, turning to look back into the town. “How…fortunate.”

She looked his way, the intensity of her stare quite unlike any other human’s he had encountered. “She is grieving, and seeks action to avoid it. If I did not mention the ruin, she would only stand here, drowning herself in this work instead. The prophecy continues to progress. If I am unsuccessful in gathering information from the sources which have it, I will do the work on my own terms.”

“I have given you all the information I am at liberty to.”

She smiled then, a strange little thing which looked a bit unnatural on her face. “I believe you, Chief Justice. But even you are beholden to the…whims…of the Archon. And I expect we both know she is hiding something.”

He gave no reply to that statement, instead looking toward the south. “If you plan to remain here, I will see to their progress at this ruin.”

The Knave gave a nod, accepting the change of topic and turning her eyes back to the town below them. “As you say, Monsieur. You need not worry. I will do my most to ensure Poisson…and Fontaine…are safe. Nothing else could be so important now.”

He turned away. “On that, at least, we agree.”

“Monsieur.”

When he turned, her eyes were already on him, glowing faintly red in the waning light.

“You may continue to ignore it, but the House of the Hearth owes you a debt.”

He sighed, looking away.

“I know you do not trade in lives. Not the way I, or my children, do. I would not ask you to compromise your ideals for the sake of absolving me of this debt. But you have saved one of my children from a terrible, painful death…and I know you will save the rest from one equally terrible.”

He looked her way again, but her eyes were set once more on Poisson, where only a few hours before, the Primordial Sea had oozed up from its prison and killed so many.

How much did she already know, to believe this of him?

How did she know?

He was unlikely to receive such answers. And so, he did not bother to ask.

She continued after a pause, her brow low in a frown. “Furina has long lost my faith. The prophecy continues to loom, its signs ever closer. Lives are at stake, and many already have been lost.” Her eyes snapped to his again, sharp and bright. “Of all of Fontaine, I know very few who have done anything to prevent it. You alone have made any progress. Few creatures of this world could do such a thing…

“I do not say these things because I expect you to provide me an answer, nor some comfort in the face of this catastrophe. I only wish to make clear that I am not your enemy. If in nothing else, then only when it comes to the safety of Fontaine.”

“I understand little of why.”

Her strange smile returned fleetingly. “I grew up here…my children are here. At least the most vulnerable of them. The Hearth burns at the heart of Fontaine, and has for generations. If this prophecy proves reality, my children will die with all the others, even if I will not. Does that satisfy you?”

He hummed. “Intentions and words are one matter. Action is what decides the truth of them, and their standing against the law.”

She laughed, a short, blunt sound. “I will endeavor not to end up under your judgement, Monsieur. I mean what I say.”

“We shall see.”

Without giving her an option for further comment, he left once more, headed for the southern shores of Belleau. The Traveler’s inclinations toward Hydro made them an easy target for his attention, and it was simple enough to find them.

The ruins uncovered were old, older than even his time in Fontaine. As he made his way through them, he found he recognized little. Egeria must have seen them sealed, especially if they pertained to the prophecy she had saddled the nation with.

Their age and their concealment in the mountain and sea meant they had decayed to an alarming degree. As he walked through the old structure, half sunken into the mountain itself, he wondered at its original purpose. He had little knowledge of Egeria’s Fontaine, and even less understanding of what of the prophecy could be concealed in so shabby a structure.

The further he moved, the more treacherous the path became. He would not have recommended this site for exploration, let alone so soon after the Primordial Sea had burst up unannounced nearby.

He could feel it in the waters here, churning and writhing. The ruins were not only half flooded, but the water that flooded them was tainted with the Primordial, and a very high concentration of it. Judging by the moisture on the walls and the ruins, the water levels here frequently rose and fell—they had likely been affected by Poisson’s quake as well.

As if in response to that understanding, the waters churned, lapping up at his boots as they began to rise.

The Traveler was not of Teyvat, let alone Fontaine. He and Paimon would not be harmed.

But Miss Navia would be dissolved, and he could not allow that to occur.

A thunderous rumbling echoed from up ahead—something, perhaps the entire set of ruins, was collapsing.

Grabbing onto the distant Traveler’s location, he pulled, and reappeared at the entrance of a large cavern. It might have once been a village, or a settlement of some kind at least, with so many buildings and structures now in disrepair. Two towering buildings of old Fontainean construction stood, one where he was and the other at the far end, separated by an old, half decayed bridge.

A bridge which was crumbling beneath their feet as the Traveler, Paimon, and Miss Navia ran to reach the other side.

Paimon flew ahead, the Traveler not far behind her. Miss Navia took up the rear, only a step or two behind. But still, it was enough—the bridge caved beneath her as she ran, and she fell with a scream.

The Traveler reeled around instantly, shouting her name as he dove over the edge.

Such bravery, and such foolishness…he had to commend the child for the bravery, at least.

Little Paimon shouted, darting to follow them, but he was quicker. Catching the Traveler by the wrist, he pulled for the water and forced him back up. It would not be comfortable to be thrown in such a whirlpool, but he would not be injured.

Miss Navia hit the water with a splash, but was only submerged for a mere second.

It should have been enough to see her dissolve as all the others in Poisson had.

It was not.

As he reached for her, the waters surrounding her abruptly cleared, and for a moment, only a fraction of a second, the Primordial was held at bay. Two Oceanids surrounded her in the water, minimizing the contact as much as they likely could, given their diminutive size.

Knowing their time would be short, he did not hesitate to consider how they were here. Instead, he grabbed Miss Navia around the middle and pulled her from the water.

Time bloated outward as he forced the water away from her. It seemed the Fontemer would not part willingly with Miss Navia.

The Primordial demanded judgement, and only he could overrule it.

In the haze of this strange, liminal space, muddled like they sat deep below the waters themselves, he reappeared at his place in the opera house. The crowd jeered, and in the defendant’s box, Miss Navia leaned away from them, her eyes wide and confused.

His cane hit the ground loudly, and he allowed his power to flare with it, calling for order.

The crowd of Oceanids cowered from the light, returning to their seats. Only a few managed to reform their old human shapes.

“Such blatant disregard for decorum will not be tolerated. If you refuse to follow the procedures of the court, you will be forced to leave it.”

His words were met with senseless tittering, but no real refute. What remained of these individuals and the Primordial itself could not oppose him, regardless of his absent Authority.

“The accusations you have brought forward are baseless. This is no trial of any good standing. At minimum, the court will adjourn for the day to review your supposed evidence. I will hear no objections from unauthorized parties.”

The two standing with Miss Navia looked much relieved, still retaining the remnants of their human appearances. What had once been Melus thanked him profusely.

“Miss Navia.”

She looked his way at last, pale even through the grim faded nature of this place.

“We must leave now, while there is time.”

She shook her head immediately, looking at the two who stood with her. “But…”

They comforted her quickly, the one once called Silver urging her on. “Go, Demoiselle. We’ll be okay.”

“I can’t leave you here!” she said sharply.

“It’s too late for us, Navia,” Melus said, flickering in the shape of an Oceanid like the rest of the crowd. “But not for you. Go with Monsieur Neuvillette, quickly!”

Still she hesitated, looking between them.

He hated to take such things from her, but time was short. Forcing the water back, he focused on the lingering presence of the Traveler, and brought them toward him.

Miss Navia was lax in his hold, and he set her down gently, pulling the last of the water away from her before it could attempt such foolishness again. When he had forced the last of the water back where it belonged, Miss Navia stirred.

“W-wait!” she shouted, lurching up from the ground as if she were still standing in the defense box. Her eyes were wild, but settled quickly on him. “M-Monsieur?”

“You are safe.”

“How—how did you?”

Paimon tackled her before she could respond, clinging to her with surprising force. “Navia! You’re okay! Paimon thought—thought you were—”

A bit recovered, Miss Navia gave the little fairy a brief hug. “I’m okay, Paimon…I’m sorry I scared you.”

The Traveler was watching her too, but he turned his eyes to Neuvillette as Paimon returned to his side. “What happened?”

“It was like a trial,” Miss Navia said quietly, mostly to herself. “When I hit the water—I thought I was home, at first. All the people who dissolved, they were there, they seemed fine, but something…something was wrong. Everyone put me on trial, they said I was guilty, but I didn’t know what for, and only Melus and Silver were defending me…only…”

She paused for a moment, her eyes heavy. “They…everyone, the crowd, Melus and Silver, they all kept turning into Oceanids.”

“Oceanids?” the Traveler repeated, and turned to look at him again. “Like Vacher and the women he dissolved.”

He nodded. “When I removed you from the water, Miss Navia, two Oceanids were defending you from the majority of the Primordial Sea water. It allowed me the time to separate the rest, and for you to retain your consciousness. It is…possible those two Oceanids were those you saw defending you in this trial.”

“But…you were there, too, Monsieur.”

He watched her for a moment, hesitant to reveal any more. She must have seen something satisfactory in his eyes, then, as she only nodded, and looked at her lap.

“Melus and Silver…I told them they didn’t have to protect me, but even now…”

She covered her face, and they remained quiet as she cried. The Traveler eventually moved a little closer, joining her on the ground in silent company.

He remained at a distance, not wanting to interfere. After a few moments, Miss Navia had recovered enough that she felt they could continue through the ruin, and the Traveler helped her to her feet.

“Are you staying with us, Monsieur Neuvillette?”

“Hm?” He looked over. It was Paimon who had asked the question, floating nearby and watching him with a curious expression. “Oh. Yes, little one. I believe that would be best.”

She pouted at his words, crossing her arms with a huff. “Paimon’s not so little! Why do you always call Paimon little one?”

He tilted his head, watching her childish gestures. “You are quite small, my dear, even in comparison to your companion, and a good deal younger than myself. Does that not make you little?”

“Hmph! How would you know? Paimon could be ancient and old and eternal!”

“It is exceptionally unlikely that you predate me, as unfortunate as it may be for you.”

“You! Hmph!” She turned away completely.

“I mean no offense by it,” he offered, amused at her argument. “I will attempt to call you by your name if that pleases you better, but it is not a habit I am likely to break. The Melusines take no issue with my doting on them, and so I have never tried to curtail such things…”

She wavered then, and seemed to wilt. “Ugh. Fine. But only Monsieur Neuvillette can call Paimon little! Hear that, Traveler? Nobody else’s got permission.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, giving her a salute.

Miss Navia managed a weak laugh at their antics. “Aw, Paimon, even I can’t call you little?”

“No way!” Paimon shouted immediately, her voice echoing through the cavern.

“Hehe. Alright then. I’ll stick with ‘Partner.’”

“Good! Hmph!” Paimon turned up her nose and looked away from all of them. “Paimon is not little,” she grumbled to herself after a moment.

“Are you sure you’ll stick with us?” the Traveler asked, eyeing his companion as she continued to grumble.

“This area is highly dangerous,” he said, looking toward the water below them, still glittering in the weak light of the cavern. “The caverns are unstable, the ruins old, and the Primordial Sea has made a home here for long enough that it will not willingly recede as it did in Poisson. I believe for all of your safety, I ought to remain until you have finished your business here.”

The Traveler looked to Miss Navia, and they seemed to have a brief, silent conversation. Ultimately, Miss Navia nodded.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

He nodded, and stepped aside. “Lead the way.”

They continued through the ruins, moving carefully as the pathways crumbled beneath them. A surprising amount of ancient Fontainean technology still functioned inside, opening doors and elevators, despite how the bridges and walkways fell apart at the slightest touch.

The Traveler moved with an ease which indicated perilous travel was common. He wondered idly at what he and Paimon had experienced elsewhere in Teyvat, to show so little fear.

Miss Navia, too, put on a brave face, despite the surely awful day she had endured thus far. Little Paimon had taken to chattering away with her while the Traveler led them forward, testing the ground for further breaks and charting their course around areas too perilous to walk across.

After an indeterminate amount of time, they arrived at what seemed to be the end of the ruins, a lone structure that might have once been a library or other large gathering place. Longer than it was wide, it led naturally up to a sort of stage area, where four stone slates sat in place of honor, depicting a familiar set of images.

The Traveler and Miss Navia rushed forward to examine them, Paimon not far behind. He lingered near the stairs, drawing his eyes over the set.

These were images of the prophecy, perhaps the first recording of it. Egeria and her people praying to Celestia for forgiveness, the floating island cloaked in angry clouds and lightning. Furina surrounded by a crowd of people, falling into the water.

And Furina, alone amongst a flood, crying on her throne.

The first image was, as always, missing. No one knew exactly what it might have depicted.

“This must be the prophecy,” Miss Navia said, and he tuned back in to their conversation. “But…the first is missing, and don’t some of these seem out of order? Why would Lady Furina fall into the water before all the people are gone?”

The Traveler examined each of them carefully, something displeased in his frown. “There’s something else about them…they glow.”

“You have elemental sight?” Miss Navia asked, sounding impressed.

He nodded.

“Traveler uses it to find treasure,” Paimon chipped in. “Ooh! Is there treasure back there?!”

“Sorry, Paimon. No treasure, just…a lot of Hydro.” He turned back, then, his eyes bright. “Monsieur, can you try?”

“If you’d like.”

They all nodded, and he moved forward. Lifting his hand, he reached for the water the Traveler had apparently seen with his elemental sight.

There was certainly something about these slates…something they were attempting to hide from him. He frowned, pulling at the illusion, but it would not budge.

Paimon made a noise of surprise, and he lowered his hand.

“It seems without the final slate, I am not able to make any progress,” he said, frowning more severely at the image of Furina alone on her throne. “Something is being obfuscated, but I could not say what…”

He trailed off, thinking it over. Their collective silence, however, disturbed this line of thought, and he looked their way. Paimon was gaping at him, while the Traveler appeared thoughtful, and Miss Navia seemed not at all surprised.

“What is the matter?”

“Wh—” Paimon faltered, and then pointed at him. “You’re glowing!”

“Ah.” He looked at his hand, which was indeed glowing with his power. His horns and coat were likely doing so to match. “My apologies. This does occur when I use a greater amount of my abilities. I assure you, it is normal.”

“B-but—what?”

“Fret not, little one, it will dissipate in time.”

“But the only people who do that are—”

“Paimon,” the Traveler cut in with a glare. She went quiet.

He watched them for a moment, then looked briefly at Miss Navia. Her lack of surprise was a bit strange, but she had seen him bring back young Cava earlier in the day. It was likely some residual proof of his power lingered then, too.

There was not much point in considering any damage control. The Traveler had seen him do a great deal, and was likely to witness more. His secret to him at least, was likely soon to be lost, if not lost already. He did not mourn it so much.

Miss Navia, if she did sort it out, was of good character. He could trust her with discretion. Therefore, there was no real need to worry.

“In any case,” he moved on as they all remained silent. “With the first slate missing, I believe further answers regarding the matter of the prophecy will have to come from Lady Furina.”

The Traveler frowned, and Miss Navia too looked worried.

“You need not do so yourself. I will speak with her tomorrow morning. If you wish, you may come to my office in the afternoon, and I will share what I have found.”

The Traveler nodded.

Miss Navia sighed. “I should get back to Poisson. I’ll have to trust this part of our little investigation to you, Partner.”

Again, the Traveler nodded, and Paimon puffed up with pride. “You got it, boss!”

Miss Navia managed a little smile. “Thank you, both of you…I think I’ll use the waypoints, if you two are alright on your own.”

They nodded, and with a final goodbye, Miss Navia disappeared in a burst of Geo crystals.

“If you are amenable, I can bring you back to the Court of Fontaine,” he offered.

The Traveler agreed, and he offered his hand, letting the waters pull them toward the Statue of the Seven near the Palais.

The sun had long set now, and night had fallen. Even the streets below offered little noise—no grating voices, no clanging from the workshop, nothing. A few gardes and members of the Phantom would be patrolling nearby, but otherwise, the Court was quiet. It seemed more time had passed than any of them had noticed.

“Oh!” Paimon startled up higher into the air, and turned suddenly back to him. “Monsieur Neuvillette! Paimon forgot to tell you!”

She flew at him with some excitement, and he watched her dance about excitedly with some amusement. “What is it, little one?”

Still, she pouted a bit, but persevered. “We left the Fortress this morning, after that big quake, when Duke Wriothesley said it wasn’t underground but up here somewhere. But Paimon forgot to tell you that His Grace says hi! And Nurse Sigewinne said that you should take a nap, but Wriothesley didn’t seem to think you’d like that part.”

The Traveler was stifling his amusement quite well, and even Neuvillette found himself smiling a little at her wandering explanation.

“I believe Sigewinne and Wriothesley both know my habits quite well, but in this case, His Grace is correct. I have little time for a ‘nap,’ and find myself often without need of such things.”

“Really? Not even when you eat real good? Paimon’s always tired after we have dinner.”

“Hm.” He patted her head, which she tolerated rather well, despite her grumbling. “You, little one, must enjoy food a great deal. I am more…selective than you, I expect.”

“Hmph! Then you haven’t found your favorite then! After all this prophecy stuff is over, we gotta get Traveler to cook you something nice! Traveler’s good at cooking.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I do not often enjoy human food.”

The Traveler seemed intrigued. “None of it?”

“Very little,” he admitted. “His Grace has made it his mission in the last several years to find a strain of tea I will enjoy, and has had limited success. Lady Furina has spent centuries insisting I try various different restaurants and confectionaries, and has had even less reward for her endeavors.”

“Gee,” Paimon said, sounding almost impressed. “You must have fancy tastes, huh!”

“I would not label them so.”

“What do you like, then?”

“I do not particularly enjoy anything other than pure water,” he admitted, not very surprised when the Traveler’s eyes glinted with something knowing. “Certain foods with a high water content—soups or the like—I may enjoy in some sense, but all human foods pale compared to pure water…any additives are unnecessary, and pollute the natural order. That is why Wriothesley’s beloved teas often…displease me.”

“Eugh…” Paimon’s expression pinched with worry, and she examined him as if she thought he might be ill. “All those good foods…Paimon could never go with only water!”

“You need not do so. Your tastes are your own, and you may indulge them however you wish. I would not wish to influence you away from what would sustain you.”

“Phew! Well!” She perked right up, wiggling happily in the air. “That means that Paimon can get your portion if you don’t like it! Hehe, right Traveler?”

He looked at her flatly, unimpressed. But after a moment, he appeared thoughtful, and turned back to Neuvillette. “Monsieur.”

“Yes?”

“You’re the Hydro Dragon, aren’t you?”

Paimon shouted something in shock, but he only huffed, looking away. “Yes.”

“Y-you—” Paimon stared at him with wide eyes, apparently having not reached the same conclusion as her companion. “What!”

“This matter is of utmost secrecy,” he said before she could question him further, pinning her and the Traveler both with a sharp look. “I must ask that you keep it so.”

“Of course,” the Traveler answered immediately, his voice grave with its sincerity. Paimon, still a bit dazed, nodded. “Can I…ask why?”

“Have you encountered any other of the Sovereigns in your travels so far?”

He seemed surprised by the question. “Apep, in Sumeru. She was corrupted by forbidden knowledge, we had to help Nahida to clear it out.”

“No Sovereign remaining in Teyvat has their full Authority. This was stolen to form the basis of the Authority of the Seven. That is likely how Apep became corrupted at all.” He shook his head. “I am thus, not at my full power, and I act in a position which is by some definition beneath that of Lady Furina. Given my position in Fontaine, both as Iudex and in relation to Lady Furina, my nature must not be revealed. It would only create perceived conflict where there exists none.”

“Does Furina know?”

“Of course. She was the one to invite me here, several centuries ago, when the modern court systems were first being formed. I am Chief Justice here at her request.”

“Anyone else?”

“The Melusines and Duke Wriothesley.” Here the Traveler seemed to suppress a grin. He knew not why. “I believe the Knave is aware as well, but she has given no confirmation.”

“I wonder why…”

“She has claimed she is no enemy of mine,” he said thoughtfully. “I would not call this an unwise play. Even without my Authority, there is no human on Teyvat who could overpower me. With that, along with my position as Iudex of Fontaine, I could make her movements within the nation difficult. She knows this, and more so, I believe her to be ‘on our side’ in relation to the prophecy.”

The Traveler nodded slowly, his expression still thoughtful. “She’s said similar to us…anyway. We’ll keep your secret, right Paimon?”

“Of course!” she seemed offended at having been asked, but earnest in her response either way. “Paimon won’t tell.”

“Hm…I will have to trust you not to do so.” He looked toward the Palais, particularly at Furina’s windows high above them, already dark for the night. “I must return to my office. You may meet me here tomorrow. I will speak with Lady Furina in the morning. Hopefully she will reveal something of what she knows.”

“She does know something then?”

“Undoubtedly. Lady Furina has long kept secrets, and I have not questioned her on why, out of respect for her position and my own.” He turned away from the windows, looking down at the Traveler and Paimon. “But there are lives at stake, and many already lost. I cannot allow her to hide from me any longer. No matter how she may feel about it.”

The sky darkened, and the Traveler looked up curiously, watching as the clouds gathered. Rain came only a moment later, pattering against the buildings and the empty streets.

Neuvillette watched it fall with a sigh, but made no move to stop it. Perhaps it would help, for once, to let this upset overwhelm him for a moment. No matter what he wished, he had to confront Furina, had to question her as he did not wish to.

They agreed on little, but he did not often disagree with her vocally, and never in the ways that he had been forced to in the last several weeks. And each time that they disagreed, she cowered from him and curled away, stuttering and unable to come up with a response.

He had already made her cry. He did not wish to again.

But she knew something, he knew this to be true. Her avoidance was sign enough, and she had been skirting around him since that meeting with the Knave.

If Fontaine was to be saved, they needed all the information available. He could not spare time now to consider her feelings.

The rain fell harder in response to such realities, and he shook his head.

“Apologies. But I must return to my office. Good night.”

Such a goodbye was surely impolite, but the Traveler nodded, watching him with concern as he turned and entered the Palais.

It was quiet inside, only the rain against the roof disturbing the silence. The gestionnaires had all gone home, as had Muirne, he was pleased to see. Some members of the Phantom and gardes would linger in the upper floors, he knew, as certain patrols continued into the night or their investigations demanded.

He entered his office, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“Hey, good timing.”

He turned quickly, startled. “Wriothesley?”

The man in question sat lounging on one of the couches, his coat discarded over the side. In spite of the late hour, he looked as he always did, his discarded coat the only sign of waning decorum.

Not that Neuvillette would have begrudged him it. They had long passed the point of standing on ceremony, and there was nothing unsuitable about Wriothesley’s attire anyway. He looked as well as he always did.

He gave a little smile, something pleased in his eyes. “Who else?”

“You—why are you…” Neuvillette shook his head and sighed, giving up on such questions. “Have you waited long for me?”

“Nah. Only just got here, don’t worry.” Wriothesley’s eyes were bright, in spite of the late hour, looking him over. “You alright? It’s raining.”

He hummed, knowing better than to try to say he was well. It was very unlikely Wriothesley would believe him. “Are you here for business?”

Wriothesley snorted. “No. More worried about you than anything else.”

It was unlike him to be so…direct. Neuvillette frowned at his words, trying to understand what might have concerned him beyond the rain.

“You hungry?” Wriothesley asked suddenly, sitting forward a bit. “Got that soup you like.”

He stared. “Soup?”

“Yeah, yeah, c’mon.” He waved him forward. “From what Muirne told me before she left, you’ve been running around all day. Bit of food before you slip back into whatever paperwork nightmare you usually do up here at night—it’ll do you good.”

Neuvillette shook his head, but did join him at the couches. Several boxes and containers of food were spread across the low table, a few of the tea cups Wriothesley had sent him (one smelling distinctly of tea, the other very clearly plain water), and a few forms or other such which must have been Wriothesley’s justification for coming up here at all. They clearly were not the main focus, given how discarded they were under the food and tea.

 “What is all this you have brought, then?”

“Tea’s for me, water for you there. I asked the Melusines as far as your preferences for that, they recommended some spring water from Mondstadt. Figured I’d trust them there. The rest I grabbed from the Hotel Debord. Had to throw my name around a bit, but they were happy enough to give me some of today’s specials provided I paid them well enough. The consommé here is for you, since you seemed to enjoy it well enough last time.”

“You did not need to go to such trouble,” he muttered as he joined him on the couch, moving his hair aside with some annoyance as it caught on his coat.

Wriothesley watched him closely. “…Maybe I didn’t need to, but I’m happy to. Besides, it seems you’ve had a rough day.”

He gave no answer to that yet, choosing instead to have some of the water the Melusines had apparently chosen for him. “Mm. There has been much to do, and a great deal more tomorrow, I expect.”

Wriothesley nodded. “All the more reason to get some rest now while you can, eh?”

“I will humor you, at least for now.”

“All I can ask for.”

Wriothesley made his own selections from the various food containers, and with only a slight reluctance, he took the offered consommé. Of all the Hotel’s fare, it was the most satisfactory, in his opinion. He was surprised that Wriothesley had remembered such a thing…they had only eaten there the once, and that had been several years ago, now.

They ate in a peaceful quiet, and Neuvillette found himself grateful for this little moment. He had been bereft of such easy interactions for some time. Even when they did manage to meet, business had always taken precedent. With the issue of the sluice gate, and the complications of the Sea ever growing on the surface, there had been little time for them to see one another in the last few weeks.

He had…missed Wriothesley, he realized.

What a strange, warm pain it was, to miss someone.

At least it was healing now, even if only briefly, sitting here with no real business to discuss, only company to share. The wound up tension of the day eased just a bit as they sat in the quiet, only a few feet separating them.

“The Wingalet’s ready,” Wriothesley said after a short while, picking at what remained of his chosen food. “We’ve prepped it for use, and the guards are trained on where to send inmates for the new evacuation procedure.”

“That is good news…I do not wish to ruin our luck, but I expect it may be needed sooner rather than later.”

“Hm. Muirne said the quake came from Poisson…”

He nodded. “I am unsure which came first, the quake or the Primordial Sea, but Poisson flooded. I am unsure of the exact number of people who were lost, but it was significant. The damage to the town is also severe.”

Wriothesley appeared pained by even just this short description. “I’d hoped the Fortress would get the worst of it, but if it’s just bursting up, even as far as Poisson…”

“If the prophecy does come to pass, it seems it will be soon.”

The silence was grave, then, with the weight of what was to come. For Fontaine, surely, but Neuvillette found in that moment, that his thoughts were only of Wriothesley.

He did not want him to die. He knew this, of course, but the realization struck him suddenly then, as if he were confronting the idea for the first time.

He did not at all want Wriothesley to perish to this cursed prophecy.

The rain seemed louder now than it had been before, and Wriothesley glanced toward the windows at the back of his office.

Suddenly, he could not sit there any longer. Setting aside the little container of consommé, he stood, moving quickly toward the window even though he knew he would see little beyond the darkness and the rain.

It was as he expected. The Court beyond his window was dark, and the rain heavy enough to blur the distant, yellow glow of the pneuma streetlights. Such a storm he was causing, and he could not bring himself to stop it.

He heard Wriothesley get up too, and was not surprised to have company at the window only a moment later.

For a moment, that terrible grieving silence continued, weighed down by the rain and the terrible reality they were facing. As if it was not enough to have this prophecy threatening all he had cared for in the past five hundred years, it had to threaten Wriothesley too, whom he had known for such a diminutive amount of time…and yet he could not imagine being bereft of. Not now, not so soon.

Wriothesley’s hand brushed his at his side. Brief, undemanding. The same as he had done in his office weeks ago. Bold, in such a gesture happening at all, given their stations, and yet hesitant in its carefulness, its brevity.

On some impulse which he hardly recognized, he did what he had not dared before, and grabbed on tight.

Something like a sigh left Wriothesley then, relief or surprise or any number of other things, he did not know and did not dare to look and try to sort it out.

All that truly mattered was that Wriothesley did not let go, and in fact, squeezed his hand back, matching that half desperate leap of faith at least to equal point.

Wriothesley leaned into his shoulder, a warm weight, and he hummed, not letting go. The rain against the window lightened, if only a little.

For now, at least, this was enough. He could not say it would be enough for long, but…he would take what he could get.

******

It was (especially nowadays) exceedingly rare for Neuvillette to have any moment of free time. What little he did have, Wriothesley had never demanded to impose upon. So, for most of their acquaintance, sharing company was relegated to meetings, paperwork, and those spare few minutes in between either where nothing yet demanded either of their notice.

But with the dreariness of the last few weeks and his own worries at the strength of that quake, he had made his meager excuses to the guards, Jurieu and Lourvine, and Sigewinne, and fled the Fortress as soon as possible.

And so, there he had sat (after another little diversion for some food, of course) until Neuvillette returned. He had looked wearier than he’d ever seen him, a heaviness set upon his shoulders even the flood at the Fortress hadn’t managed. He knew then, that something terrible had happened.

Neuvillette had been vague, but many people had died, it seemed. And judging by the rainfall, Neuvillette grieved for them…and what was to come.

Wriothesley joined him at the window, where Neuvillette stared out at the rain, unseeing, his usual mask of neutrality long weighed down by the unbearable sadness that had lingered in his eyes all throughout their little meal. He claimed to dislike that children’s rhyme, and yet, looking at him now as he watched the rain, it had never seemed more accurate. The skies themselves cried for him, even if he did not. And they had wept for him all day already.

He wanted to ease that pain in his eyes, if it was possible to do so. Cautiously, he reached out, brushing his hand against Neuvillette’s as they had done a few times before.

The little flick of his eyes downward showed he felt it, and he thought for a moment that would be it. Only, instead of nudging him back as he had done in the past, Neuvillette reached over and grabbed his hand.

It was not a soft grip. There was something frantic in how tightly he held on, perhaps afraid that he would only have a moment to steady himself with that little gesture, or perhaps just desperate enough for some comfort that the feeling expressed in a bruising hold on his hand.

Either way, Wriothesley did not mind. Quite the opposite, really.

Sighing, he squeezed back. A tangle of emotions stirred in his stomach—empathy for that horrible grief, unease at the fogginess of their collective future, and a childish giddiness at such a simple gesture of compassion as holding hands.

Neuvillette’s eyes remained on the window and the rain. Wriothesley leaned in only a little, enough that their shoulders pressed against each other, and some small amount more of that tension bled from his frame.

They stood that way for some time as the rain continued to fall, heavy and constant.

“So many have already been lost,” Neuvillette said suddenly, his voice soft. “One town flooded, no more, and even so, dozens are gone…and I cannot stop it.”

Wriothesley was quiet. There was nothing he could say to such a thing, nor to the pain in Neuvillette’s voice.

“I cannot contain all of the Fontemer, not as I am now,” he went on, an unfamiliar sourness in his voice as he looked down at his free hand. “And yet no other plan can be made. We know so little of the prophecy that I am required to ask Furina, and she will not answer me.”

He squeezed his hand, and Neuvillette sighed, turning his gaze there instead. 

“You are putting quite the burden on yourself,” Wriothesley interjected carefully, earning a sharp look for his efforts. He didn’t—couldn’t—back down. “If there’s no means of restoring your power, then you can’t be expected to be everywhere at once. I know you’re not human, but you have limits, Neuvillette, and that isn’t a weakness. Definitely not when those limits are out of your control.”

“We must have something.”

“I know. I wouldn’t tell you not to try. You’ve done more than anyone else to save Fontaine so far, and I’ve profited from that, surely.”

Neuvillette’s grip went bruising once more, and he knew he’d stepped on a land mine there. “You cannot be dissolved. I will not allow it.”

He did not immediately reply, wholly unsure what to say to such a declaration. To what it implied.

They had never been this…blunt about it all. For at least a year they’d danced around this…thing between them, drawing closer to some invisible line in the sand, knowing that one of them would have to back away from it at some point.

Wriothesley knew that line well. He’d done his level best not to cross it. But the temptation was only getting worse these days, and they drew closer and closer no matter what. All these brushes with fate had only made them both bolder, but even so, that line remained.

He certainly hadn’t expected it to be Neuvillette who would be so direct, if someone was going to be. He was, after all, known for his impartiality and imposed distance from the world around him.

But the pain in his voice was clear. He knew why, of all times, it would be now, facing this crisis, that Neuvillette’s composure and professional mask would start to crack. If he had such a thing himself, he was sure that he would have forgone it by now as well.

“You can’t guarantee that,” he settled on after a moment, trying to be gentle.

A minute change came over his eyes then, but Wriothesley had known him long enough to notice it immediately. Others might have broken down completely, sobbed and wailed and demanded some means of saving it all, but not Neuvillette. He only watched the rain, his eyes heavy, and dim.

He looked old, suddenly, like some long buried pain had risen up from the deep and now lurked just beneath the surface, waiting for a moment of weakness. An unbearable void of loss and pain and loneliness.

“I know,” he said, soft enough that he could hardly hear the words over the rain. “But I…I wish to.”

His eyes left the window at last, looking down at their hands. He lifted them, turning Wriothesley’s hand as if examining something delicate and beautiful, like a finely made artifact or something equally precious. His other hand came up and he held Wriothesley’s hand in both of his.

The despair had not left his eyes.

“I cannot bear to be parted with you so soon.”

He went quiet after that, brushing his fingers over Wriothesley’s wrist, down over the top of his hand, across his knuckles. He couldn’t tell who the gesture was meant to soothe, but he watched his fingers move, enraptured.

Well…in for a penny. If Neuvillette was going to be so straightforward, then he would happily oblige.

“You have me now,” Wriothesley said, hardly recognizing his own voice for how strange and quiet it sounded. “And for as long as I can manage, I swear it. I’m not keen to go looking for my own death.”

That at least earned a nod, a slight thing. “I know. You have my complete faith. I know you do not take such unnecessary risks. But if the Fontemer does flood Fontaine, you will be lost to me the same as all the rest. I cannot guarantee I will be able to save you, and that is…unacceptable.”

He smiled a little. “You’re saying I am from Fontaine, then?”

Neuvillette frowned, looking up to meet his eyes. “Yes. You…did not know this?”

He shrugged and turned his attention to their hands. “I could guess. I can use ousia, so that’s enough of a sign I suppose. But I don’t know my birth parents, so I couldn’t say for sure…” He thought for a moment. “How exactly do you know that?”

Neuvillette made to reply, and then frowned again. He stared at their hands, appearing deeply troubled. “I…do not know.”

“I’ve read my files, it wasn’t in there. Not from my trial, at least.”

“No, no it was not…how did I…”

He appeared deeply troubled, staring at their hands as if the answers awaited him there. It was such a pained look that Wriothesley couldn’t stand it.

“Hey.”

Neuvillette looked up at him again.

“Don’t worry about it now. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not going to dissolve, if I can very well help it, so my being from Fontaine is only a not-so-interesting fact about me.”

He sighed, a short, harsh sound. “I know so little about myself, or the full extent of my abilities, beyond my limits. My memories are fickle while I am contained this way. It displeases me…but you are right, as you often are.”

Wriothesley squeezed his hand, lacing their fingers again. “I know you’ll do everything you can. That’s enough for me, it’s enough for all of Fontaine…and you’re not alone. I know you’re the only one who can hold back the Sea, but no one here wants this prophecy to happen. People band together in crises. If the impossible can be survived, Fontaine will make it happen. It isn’t all on you.”

This earned him only a noncommittal hum and another brush of fingers over his wrist.

“And I stand by what I said, after you told me your little secret…if you want me up here, you just have to ask.”

“Mm.”

“…Otherwise, I’ll just keep showing up anyway.”

And then, finally, a little flickering of that smile. “I would not begrudge you your freedom. You may do as you please.”

“Well.” He smiled, lacing their fingers again and leaning into his shoulder. “Suppose you’ll be seeing more of me, then.”

“I would be…quite pleased with that, I believe.”

“Good. ‘Cause you ought to know by now I feel the same about seeing you. You’re stuck with me now, Monsieur.”

Neuvillette leaned into him just a touch, more than he’d ever dared to do before then. “I am happy to be so…as long as I am allowed.”

He held tighter to his hand, giving as much as he could with what he was allowed. “As long as I can give you, Neuvillette. I promise.”

Chapter Text

The rain had not let up, in the hours since Wriothesley’s departure.

They had said their goodbyes with hesitance, but neither could play in this distraction for more than a few hours, at best. The tea had gone cold, and Wriothesley’s duties to the Fortress inevitably demanded his return to it.

With a promise to see one another again in no less than three days (else Wriothesley would make some excuse and show up regardless), Wriothesley left, squeezing his hand one final time in some gesture of farewell.

He clung to that warmth for the next hour or so of the night, sat alone at his desk wholly unable to focus. Some part of his heart must have left with Wriothesley, following after him faithfully as he descended back into the sea. He could not coax it to return, not yet.

When morning came, and the warmth of Wriothesley’s presence had long faded, Neuvillette stood again at the windows of his office, waiting for Furina to answer his summons. He had made it clear it was no request, and he knew her enough to say she would appear now that he had demanded it.

He had considered every avenue available to him carefully. The prophecy, what pieces of it were still remiss, Furina’s reticence and fear, and what his position as Iudex demanded of him, now that all of Fontaine was surely under threat.

There could be no way to do this without drawing any wounds.

And yet…

The door to his office opened, creaking as it moved slowly. “Neuvillette?”

Furina’s hesitance was clear in her tone, even more so in the careful way she shut the door.

“You’ve never called for me like this,” she pointed out nervously, perhaps worried that he had not left the window. “What’s going on?”

“You may wish to sit,” he said after a moment.

“N-no. Just…just tell me, whatever it is.”

“You have not heard what happened in Poisson?”

She was quiet for a moment. “That quake yesterday, was that there? Have some buildings collapsed? I’m sure we can send some supplies—”

“The quake was not natural,” he cut her off, his voice quiet. “It was not caused by any shifting of Teyvat’s continent, nor by an explosion like what occurred at the Institute. The Primordial Sea burst from beneath the lake bed and flooded the town.”

She gasped, and only then did he look back at her as she rushed forward, her eyes wide with panic. “But—do you mean—?”

“I did not arrive in time to avert this disaster. Many were dissolved by the time I was able to remove the Primordial from the water. Miss Navia of the Spina di Rosula reports at least forty people as lost. This number will likely rise as they finish the last of their sweeps of the town and surrounding caverns.”

Furina had gone pale, and all but collapsed into one of the couches, her whole form trembling.

“I will not—no, I cannot, allow this to happen again,” he said, turning to face her fully. “I will say this once more, and I expect your honesty. You must tell me everything you know.”

She was silent. She would not even look at him.

“Yesterday, three stone slates were found in a ruin from Egeria’s time, near Poisson. They depict the latter stages of the prophecy. The first is missing.”

“I don’t know anything about stone slates,” she said wearily.

“The second shows Egeria kneeling before Celestia, as if confessing something. Do you know nothing of this, either?”

“No! I don’t know anything about—about anything like that!”

“So you claim you have no information at all about the previous Archon, or about this prophecy?”

Trembling, she was silent.

“If these slates depict the nature of the prophecy, then the second implies that Egeria confessed some sin she had committed. As her successor, and a figure in the remaining slates, you should be privy to this information.”

Furina laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “All gods do not share secrets, Monsieur Neuvillette. I am me, and she was her. Why should I know anything of what she has done?”

She pushed to her feet suddenly, and turned away. Her voice was lofty when she next spoke. “Truly, I understand your concerns. But I have nothing else to share with you. I’ve told you everything I know, what little of it there is.”

She moved as if to leave, and he sighed, knowing he now had no choice.

“Lady Furina.”

His sharpness stopped her, and she froze, looking back at him from over her shoulder.

“You may choose to act as you wish in the eyes of the public. I have never criticized you for your insistence on these flights of fancy and your flamboyant façade, but I will not allow you to pretend that I do not know it to be an act. You are not a fool, and neither am I. If you are unable to speak plainly with me, then you will leave me with no options but to reveal what I know.”

She spun to face him, her hair whirling. “Oh? And what is that, Monsieur?”

“Your investigations, particularly over the last several years, into the circumstances of the prophecy, the Fontemer, and a great deal more.”

For a moment, she wavered, but she smiled, sharp and false. It did not reach her eyes. “Of course! Did you believe your Archon would allow Fontaine to slip beneath the Sea willingly? No, no—”

“Such investigations are not beyond the pale, but your silence in their conclusion is suspect.” She fell quiet again, watching him. “You have given no indication of action, after your various work. And while I commend such investigations and this motivation you claim, if you are aiming to argue that your work has been toward some greater plan, I cannot avoid expressing my doubt.”

She laughed again, a deprecating, terrible sound he had not heard from her once before. “There’s no point in your questioning or suspecting me. You should be following my lead. You are Iudex of Fontaine, but you’re still my subordinate, Monsieur—”

“Furina.”

He could not obfuscate his own frustration at that point, and he knew by the way she winced that he had little success in hiding his shock at such a statement either.

She had never been so blunt, so cruel in defining the terms of their disparity. Such callousness was abrasive, offensive not only to himself and this cursed state he lived in, but to the apparently false care she had shown in their centuries of knowing one another, working together in some sense of the phrase.

Forcing himself to pause, to breathe before he continued, he turned away, watching the rain drops glide down the windows. But he could not convince the tension to fully leave him.

“I am here at your request,” he said eventually, his words carefully chosen. “I hold this position at that same request. But if you believe that you contain me here by such designations as my superior, by the structure of Fontaine’s law, by any means, you are sorely mistaken. I am not something to be ordered about at your desire, and I will remind you that a great many of the laws which are written into the Court were done so by my hand.”

She remained silent, no sharp words or justifications to meet him now.

“We have known one another for five hundred years,” he continued, more gently than before. “I had hoped that such time as acquaintances would have given you a better understanding of me, even if you would not allow such things to be shared equally. Perhaps this was a foolish wish, if you believe me to value your Justice so little as to follow you without question.”

He turned toward her again, and found her head bowed, as if she were trying to hide her face. It was only partially successful—he could see she was distressed, whether at her own words or his reaction, he could not say.

“I do not question you as an attempt at usurping my position, nor as a means of disrespecting or offending you. I have allowed you to complete your work by your own means for this long because I hoped that you would confide in me the results of your findings…You may choose to believe that I question you in this way out of cruelty, but I care for Fontaine as much as I know you to. I cannot allow for this prophecy and the destruction it will bring to pass.”

Still, she would not lift her head. “I know…” she said after a moment, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

“This prophecy does not relate to me. It relates to the Hydro Archon. If you refuse to reveal what information you hold, then we will not find some means of preventing it.”

A noise of frustration left her then, and she scrubbed at her eyes with force. “I’ve told you everything I know! Can’t you see that? Now leave me alone—as your Archon, I demand it be so!”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and fled, running from him and out of his office, the doors banging loudly as she slammed through them.

The Traveler and Paimon stood just outside the doors, watching with wide eyes as she ran past them without care.

A pounding had started in his head, and he turned away, content to let them enter or not at their own leisure. He needed a moment regardless.

The doors to his office clicked shut once more as he sat, and after briefly looking to see that the Traveler had not immediately entered, he sighed, resting his forehead in his hand for a moment.

He wished Wriothesley had not returned to the Fortress. He wished he was still stood at the window, holding his hand. How childish, how desperate a wish.

A knock came on the door, then, and he sighed, righting his posture as he called for them to enter.

The Traveler and Paimon came in quietly, both still a little surprised by the sudden turn of events, and thus, subdued.

“I assume you overheard at least some of that conversation.”

They both nodded. Little Paimon fidgeted, a worried wrinkle to her brow.

“I would apologize for Lady Furina’s behavior…but I do not expect it to improve.” He shook his head. “As expected, she will give no answer regarding the prophecy or its impetus.”

“What can we do?” the Traveler asked.

“If she will not answer me, then she will not likely answer anyone. Little though she appears to care for our…acquaintance…she is close to no one else that I know of. We must approach her in some other way than conversation, and ensure she has no choice but to respond.”

The Traveler appeared pensive, until his eyes widened slightly. “You mean a trial.”

He nodded gravely. “It is our only choice.”

“But what could she be charged for?” Paimon asked hesitantly. “She…hasn’t done anything wrong, has she?”

“She knows something, but her investigations have borne no fruit. And her behavior in recent weeks has been erratic, uncharacteristic…I do not believe Lady Furina has any control over this prophecy, nor how it will play out.”

The Traveler clearly took his meaning, nodding quickly. “The Knave said that she doesn’t have the Gnosis.”

He stared. “She has attempted to take it?”

“Apparently she attacked Furina on the street, a long time ago. She didn’t have the Gnosis…she said that she didn’t sense any power in her at all.”

He leaned back in his chair, resisting the urge to hold his head again. Furina had not told him this…it certainly explained why she was so afraid of the Knave. And why the Knave in turn had sent her children to look for the Gnosis in the Oratrice and the Fortress.

“The lack of the Gnosis does not necessarily indicate what you imagine it does. It is no simple thing to lose the title of Archon. As I understand it, Baal has held the title of Electro Archon for five hundred years without consistent possession of the Gnosis.”

The Traveler grimaced, but did not disagree. “The lack of power is more a sign, isn’t it? Even if she didn’t have the Gnosis, she should have been able to put up more of a fight.”

“Gods often hide their power, particularly amongst humans. And, Focalors is the God of Justice. She is not a god of martial prowess, and did not earn her title by the means of the original Seven. When Egeria was killed in the Cataclysm, her title of Archon passed to one of her familiars. And, Egeria was not known for her combative abilities either.”

“But you don’t think Furina is Focalors.”

 “I am unsure if I could say such a thing. After all, she has never claimed not to be the Archon of this nation, and has given me no impression she has lied. But Furina is hiding something, and it pertains to the prophecy. Her lack of demonstrated power…it is something I have never questioned her on, believing that she obfuscated her nature to more easily integrate with the people. She regularly hosts tea parties and performs on stage…surely she would not do such things while showing the full force of her divinity…”

“But is it enough to have a trial?” the Traveler asked, frowning at the implication.

Sighing, he nodded. “A trial proceeds from a charge, even a faulty one. But there is enough suspicion, yes. And…I suspect it is the only way we will receive some answer from her.”

Paimon wrung her hands nervously. “This sounds like a bad idea…w-what if she is the Archon and gets real mad at us for doubting her?” She turned her attention to the Traveler. “What if she attacks you? Paimon doesn’t think we should fight another Archon.”

“Rest assured, I will not allow things to devolve in such a manner,” he cut in, frowning a bit at the implication they had fought at least one of the Seven directly. “And, as I have said, Furina is not a combative person. If we are to meet her in conflict, we must do so on her terms. As God of Justice, the Court is the only platform we have remaining.”

“She’s seen too many trials, too,” the Traveler added. “She won’t answer questions easily, even if we do charge her.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I would wish to recuse myself from this trial, but I doubt that I could do so. The rest of the Ordalie will not be able to stand against her, and if she will listen to anyone on a trial, I would hope it would be myself. The information she is hiding is too precious. She cannot avoid sharing it any longer, if Fontaine is to survive…in any case, you are correct. We will need help from outside those I am able to direct. For that, I believe I will need to rely on you, at least in part.”

The Traveler smiled, even as his companion seemed quite confused. “Hey, don’t leave Paimon out!” She demanded, crossing her arms with a pout. “Who are we getting?”

Still grinning, it was her companion who replied. “Everyone, of course.”

“Everyone!”

“Perhaps you can request space from Miss Navia,” he offered, and the Traveler nodded. “I will see to those under my purview. If Miss Navia is amenable, I expect Poisson to be the ideal place for such a meeting. Few would venture there as it is now.”

“Right.” The Traveler nodded, with a final stern look to little Paimon who seemed keen to interject once more. “I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“Very good, then. We will meet tonight.”

“Tonight?!” Paimon shouted, apparently unable to resist.

“There is little point in delaying the inevitable,” he said, loathe as he was to admit it. “The more time we afford Furina, the more subterfuge she will defend herself with, and the further Fontaine will slip into the Primordial. No…we must act as swiftly as possible.”

He stood from his desk. “I must go, now. Send word to me if you have any trouble or need to find other arrangements for this meeting. Otherwise, I will see you both this evening.”

The Traveler nodded, and with a quiet goodbye, disappeared from his office in a whirl of stardust. What a strange, otherworldly creature he was…

But other matters took precedent now. After informing Sedene that he would be out for the full day, he followed the Traveler’s lead, pulling toward the waters of the Fortress deep below.

He reappeared in Wriothesley’s office, where the man in question sat at his desk, and startled at his sudden appearance.

“Well, afternoon,” he managed after a moment, smiling away his shock. “I would have made tea if I knew I’d have such a welcome visitor.”

“I’m afraid that will have to wait,” Neuvillette said, shaking his head. “I must ask a favor.”

Wriothesley nodded seriously. “Yes, whatever it is.”

“…I appreciate your faith in me, but I would wish to give you the details before you blindly agree.”

He smiled again and leaned forward to rest his chin on his hands. “Must be quite the fun plan you have cooked up. Go on, Monsieur. I’m all ears.”

******

A group had already assembled by the time they arrived at the designated boat in Poisson. Clorinde leaned against a planter box, her eyes on Navia as she paced. The Traveler and Paimon sat a bit listlessly at the table, having a quiet conversation of their own.

Navia’s eyes flashed their way the instant they came close, and she beamed. It eased some of the nervousness out of her expression.

He had not met her in any true sense—he knew her father, briefly, and could see some resemblance there. But the Spina had a good reputation, from what he understood, and Navia was surely to blame as much as her father had been. At the very least for their recent endeavors.

“Well, well!” She said in a musical tone. “I guess Clorinde was right. You are an early one, Your Grace.”

“Oh? Are you saying he’s known for tardiness?” he asked, giving an amused glance toward Neuvillette.

“Ha! Of course not. Even I know better than to insult Monsieur.” She winked. “But, of the two of you only you have a reputation for earliness.”

“Ah, well.” He tutted with faux disappointment, choosing a chair across from the Traveler. “Better to be known for punctuality than my other less…savory deeds.”

“I believe I have made clear your reputation is excellent,” Neuvillette said with a characteristic finality. He rounded the table to stand off near the edge, his expression unclear in profile. “Your sense of self-worth may be dubious, but all of Fontaine who know of you have only good things to say.”

With a very put upon sigh, he conceded. “Alright, alright. You win as always, Monsieur. I won’t fight such happy opinions of me.”

Paimon muttered something to the Traveler, and he looked their way. She yelped at seemingly being caught, looking away sheepishly.

“Nice to see you again. Staying out of trouble, I hope?”

The Traveler smiled as Paimon blustered. “We haven’t done anything!”

“Good. Don’t—but, if you do, your dorm’s still open, of course.”

“Hey!”

“Wriothesley’s very good at riling people up,” Clorinde pitched in suddenly, sounding bored. “If you want him to stop, you’ll have to bore him.”

Navia laughed, her eyes crinkling with her delight. “Are you speaking from experience?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Miss Clorinde is far too easy to annoy,” he cut in with a shrug. “And very amusing when she is annoyed. Sometimes I even get a free fight out of her.”

“Hmph.” She crossed her arms. “You’ve never won a free fight, so I don’t see the appeal.”

“You’re a far better opponent than a mech or an idiot.”

She nodded. “I’ll accept that.”

“Alright,” Navia said dismissively, waving their conversation away. “All this grumbling will only wear us down. I say we have enough here already to get some refreshments going.”

Disappearing for a moment into the little interior of the boat, she came back with some kind of quick-oven, which she set on the table with a clang. A chaotic smattering of ingredients soon followed. Despite the chaos, Navia moved with practiced ease, preparing ingredients and tossing them into the machine methodically.

“Macarons, I can dish out,” she said cheerily as she put in the first batch. “Tea, I’m told is your specialty, Your Grace.”

“Hm. I could be persuaded. What do you have?”

“Go on, choose your fancy.” She waved him toward the interior. “I can’t say we have much currently, but something ought to suit. There’s a kettle and such as well, of course.”

He nodded, pushing to his feet. “Hey, Neuvillette.”

This earned him only the slightest of glances.

“Want to give your input?”

But he shook his head, maintaining his distance from the rest of their odd group. “I shall trust your recommendations as usual…water will suffice, if nothing else.”

“Can do.”

He ducked through the little doorway to the boat’s interior.

It was only the one room—a kitchenette, a bunk, and some of the boat’s controls all crammed into one unceremonious space. The promised kettle sat on the little stove’s single burner, a tray and a stack of cups piled onto the counter. Sachets of tea were practically bursting out of an old tin, old enough that the label was worn clean off the metal. Who knew what it originally held.

Thankfully, the kettle was already full of water, so he lit the burner and set it to boil as he sifted through the tea.

It was a random smattering of local leaves, clearly of miscellaneous brands and ages. Given what had happened to Poisson only yesterday, he was surprised Navia had any tea at all. A testament to her thoughtfulness, he supposed.

He picked a few little packets of the same variety and waited for the kettle to boil. A few moments later it was all ready. Tossing it all a bit haphazardly on the tray, he ducked back through the doorway and to the table.

Clorinde and Navia were chatting quietly while Navia’s little machine rumbled and cooked, and with Neuvillette still lurking about the edges, that left only the Traveler and Paimon to watch him work.

He mostly ignored their staring, pouring out some of the water to cool for Neuvillette before steeping the remainder with the tea. Better to give him just the water than to have him try something new, especially considering the conversation they were all going to have.

After a few moments, Navia rejoined the table, plating up an impressive number of macarons. Despite their small number, she set another batch to cook up and sat with a little sigh.

“If it weren’t for the circumstances, this would be quite a pleasant little party,” she said with a wry humor. “An odd company we have here, no? Half brooding and half cheerful.”

“Which are you favoring, then?” Clorinde asked.

Navia giggled. “You have to ask? My, we really haven’t spoken in a while, then.”

“Our reason for meeting tends to spoil any cheer I might be able to drum up,” Clorinde replied flatly, glancing toward Neuvillette.

“Hm.” Navia’s smile was tempered a bit, then. “Fair enough. I suppose I’ll have to rely on Paimon to keep us in good spirits until the rest of our guests arrive.”

Paimon, who had until then been creeping her way toward the plate of macarons, froze with her hand outstretched. When everyone looked her way, she jolted backward, hiding her hands behind her back.

“Paimon’s not doing anything wrong!” she shouted defensively.

Navia laughed. “Of course not! Here, take as many as you’d like.”

She pushed the plate toward her, and Paimon snatched up two macarons immediately, floating back toward the Traveler and offering him one. He took it, but only held it, his eyes moving around the group in a searching sort of way.

They remained collectively quiet, even as Wriothesley deemed the tea ready and poured enough for the current group. Clorinde joined them at the table long enough to take her tea and a macaron which Navia all but forced upon her.

Neuvillette remained at the edges, stiff and cold, his back turned to them. He had hardly moved at all since they arrived.

Wriothesley watched him for a moment before giving it up. Grabbing his own cup by the top, he took Neuvillette’s in the other hand and left the table.

Neuvillette spared him another side glance as he approached, but did not move.

“Here,” he said, offering the cup. “Just water.”

“Oh.” That seemed to startle him out of his stupor, and he took the cup delicately, staring into it with something like surprise. “…Thank you.”

“Didn’t think you’d like what there was,” Wriothesley said with a shrug, taking a sip of his tea. A little bland for his taste, but he wouldn’t comment. “Water seemed a better choice.”

Neuvillette hummed. “You need not remain with me here,” he said after a moment of quiet, his voice low.

“Hm. I know I don’t need to.”

He earned another brief glance, softer than the last. “Go on. I am sure you would rather use your good humor to lighten their dismal mood. My own, I’m afraid, is a lost cause.”

“You drink your water and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Hmph.” He seemed amused by this, but did take a drink. “Satisfied?”

“For now,” Wriothesley smiled, and clinked their cups.

He went back to the table, retaking his seat across from the Traveler and watching with amusement as Paimon ate macaron after macaron, happily chatting to her companion. For his part, the Traveler ate a macaron or two, humoring her. Otherwise, the table remained quiet. He remained quiet, and Navia and Clorinde followed suit, Clorinde focused on her tea while Navia poured all her energy into making plate after plate of macarons.

“Ah!” Navia perked up suddenly a few minutes later. “There’s the last of our partners.”

Wriothesley turned to look, and sure enough, the three Fatui children had arrived, along with an unfamiliar figure who could only be the Knave.

She appeared fittingly severe, with strange eyes and the movements of someone well versed in…enforcement of certain ideals, was likely the kindest way to put it. In short, she moved like a predator, and loomed over the children like a shadowed, defending mother.

Or Father he supposed.

Her uncanny (and arguably, inhuman) eyes swept their group smoothly, lingering on each of them as her group approached. The Traveler, Navia, Clorinde, then him and Neuvillette.

Did he imagine they lingered there for longer than the others? He wasn’t sure. But she moved on, regardless.

“My apologies for the delay,” she said, surveying the group once more. Her voice was low and smooth, unaffected. “The children wished to ensure no one lingered about the perimeter before we began.”

“Most of Poisson is in temporary shelter in the Court or the mountains,” Navia offered, dishing up the last of her macarons before taking a seat. “But I appreciate the effort. Come, sit. Duke Wriothesley made the tea, the snacks are my own of course. Eat up, if you’re hungry.”

Lyney and Lynette took the seats closest to the Traveler, and young Freminet seemed to require additional coaxing from the Knave before he took another chair, avoiding everyone’s eyes. The Traveler quickly passed out tea, and a little quiet settled as they all looked around at one another.

It was a strange group to behold. A Traveler from who knew where, a fairy, a Harbinger, three Fatui children, the president of the Spina, a Champion Duelist, and of course himself and Neuvillette. All united under an equally strange and dangerous cause.

“Well!” Navia said happily after a moment, looking around at them all. “Now that we’re all settled…would anyone like to start?”

The group remained quiet, all throwing glances at each other. Wriothesley smirked, sticking to his tea.

“How about you, young one?” Navia asked, ducking her head to try to catch Freminet’s eye.

She earned his attention for only a moment as he looked up, shocked. “M-me?” He ducked his head again, shaking it almost violently. “N-no thanks…”

“No? Alright.” She turned toward Neuvillette, then. “How about you, Monsieur?”

He gave her a similarly brief look. “I believe whatever happiness you have brought to the party would be lost, Miss Navia. I am told I have a tendency to treat all matters as those I handle in court.”

“Hmph. Well then. Clorinde, dear, you must do something.”

Clorinde sighed, taking a sip of her tea as if it would be her last. She looked over the group critically. “We all know why we’re here. There’s no point re-hashing it. So, I say we get straight to planning.”

The Traveler and Navia nodded. The Knave looked mildly intrigued, but remained quiet.

“We have to plan not only how we will conduct the trial, but how we will get Lady Furina to it, keep her there, and defend against her most likely attempts to avoid it. A trap to get her in place, a case without any holes—”

“And a backup plan in case we’re wrong,” Navia interjected, earning a nod from Clorinde. “If we accuse Lady Furina of not being the Hydro Archon, and she is, we need a way to keep her in the trial…and a way to escape whatever upset she has over being accused.”

Paimon shuddered, then, clinging to the Traveler.

“Despite her behavior in the last few weeks, I do not believe Lady Furina would retaliate with violence,” the Knave said calmly, watching Paimon. “Even when under direct threat, she does not do so. It is not in her nature.”

“People will do strange things when they have no choice,” Wriothesley said, holding her gaze steadily when she looked his way. “If she feels she’s cornered, we can’t guarantee what she’ll do. Archon or not.”

She inclined her head. “Even so. It seems more in her nature to flee than to face things head on. Do you not agree, Monsieur?”

Neuvillette glanced their way, once more for only a moment. “Lady Furina will do no harm to anyone in the Court of Fontaine. If it appeases your worries, allow me to assure you all that I will not allow such a thing to happen, in or out of trial.”

No one dared object. Wriothesley smiled, leaning back in his chair. “That’s that settled then. If things go south, Monsieur Neuvillette is perfectly capable of stepping in. Next.”

Navia snorted. “Let’s try how we get her there, then. That seems the hardest part to me. Archon or not, it’s a pain to get anyone to agree to a trial. That other Harbinger proved that, no?”

The children stiffened, and the Knave reached across the table for the kettle, pouring herself and young Freminet more tea. She nudged the cup closer to him, her gloves clinking against the porcelain. She only spoke when he had taken the cup and clung to it.

“Childe is young, foolish, and foreign. More than any of these, he wishes for nothing more than a good fight. He would have done anything to end up exactly where he did, beaten soundly and thrown off to sea. As I understand it, such things are common for him.”

Her eyes moved to the Traveler then, who stared back at her calmly even as Paimon gave a little ‘eep!’ and ducked out of sight.

“Regardless,” she continued after a moment, in the same even, unphased voice she had used thus far, “Childe is no exemplar. Lady Furina surely knows her place within Fontaine, and if accused of usurping it, will take the chance to defend it. She will not flee from a trial, I believe. We must only ensure the charge is without simple loopholes, and our evidence sufficient.”

“The details of the trial can come second, for now,” Clorinde said. “We still have to set the trap.”

“Trap?” Lyney repeated with a bit of a frown.

She nodded, but it was Navia who spoke first, with a little smile and a teasing air. “Clorinde thinks most often in metaphors of two kinds—the hunt and the duel.”

“In this case, the hunt,” Clorinde said, and Navia allowed her to speak. “Traps are a common way to snare prey, as ancient as any hunting, whether monsters or animals. Bait to lure, a trip to trigger, and something to catch or to kill.”

“I will not allow any harm to come to Furina,” Neuvillette said suddenly. His tone brooked no argument.

“Of course not,” Clorinde agreed, and any lingering tension around the table faded off a bit. “There is kindness as much as brutality, in a good trap. If you hunt a rabbit, you don’t arrange your snare to let it suffer in its hold. Its end is swift. In this case, if we are to spring a trap, we are not aiming to kill but to capture. It is even kinder, for that motive.”

“Such a trap must remain effective, even if its aim is kind,” the Knave interjected, watching Neuvillette. “If we do not ensure Lady Furina will stand trial, the strain of having ever dared attempt it would stand for nothing.”

Neuvillette was silent, and Clorinde continued after a pause.

“Lady Furina is not one for a fight, as we’ve said, but she is flighty. We need to plan for an attempted escape, most likely via words, but also physically.”

“She’ll need to be cornered in conversation and in practice, then,” Navia said thoughtfully. “I hardly think she’d agree to a little chat on the stage of the Opera Epiclese.”

The Traveler appeared pensive, turning his attention to Lyney. “One of your magic boxes.”

The twins lit up, even Freminet startling his head up to stare. Lyney spoke first. “That’s brilliant! It could definitely work!”

“Share with the class, why don’t you,” Wriothesley drawled, amused. “I’ve never had the pleasure of one of your little magic shows. Unless you count your games in Meropide, of course.”

Lyney scowled at him, a wholly unsurprising expression, but nevertheless did answer. “They’re one of Lynette and my personal favorites. We used them at our performance at the Opera Epiclese. Essentially, someone enters one box and is switched to the other, the trick being that a cart on a track is moving them to the other box without their notice.”

“A track to the Opera would not be possible,” Lynette added.

“Such things can be arranged,” the Knave said, unconcerned. 

“And the trick itself would work either way,” the Traveler said, Lyney nodding emphatically. “We don’t need to replicate it perfectly. We just need to get Furina into something—a cart, maybe—and distract her while it’s brought to the Opera. Then, when she steps out, she’ll already be on trial. No running away.”

“That still leaves the other details,” Navia said. “If we need Lady Furina to remain in distraction long enough to move a cart or some such to the Opera, we’ll need to sort out where to set our starting marker, how to get her there, and how to keep her focused so that she doesn’t realize what is happening.”

“Poisson has been emptied,” the Knave offered, her sharp eyes on Navia. “If it is suitable for this meeting, it should suit to speak to Lady Furina. As to the conversation…”

She turned her eyes to the Traveler again.

“We must also find a reason for Lady Furina to come here,” she went on, surveying the group. “I doubt she would come to Poisson herself unless she was confronted once more with what happened here.”

Navia leaned forward, her eyes bright even as her expression remained grim. “We need people to show some doubt, maybe anger. At the opera house. There are plenty within the Spina who aren’t pleased about what happened, of course. They will help, even if only to vent their frustration.”

“What are you proposing?” Clorinde demanded, her eyes narrowed.

“Nothing to actually harm her,” Navia assured them all quickly. “But the people are upset. Not just those of the Spina, but everywhere. The prophecy continues to approach and Lady Furina has only offered words. We manufacture a crowd to turn against her, to incite some little show of rebellion, and Lady Furina will flee. The faux crowd gives chase, and she ends here, in Poisson.”

“Where the Traveler can lay in wait,” Lyney muttered.

“Exactly.”

“I would like to offer Furina a final chance.”

Wriothesley looked over his shoulder at Neuvillette’s voice, surprised to find him so close. He had approached quietly in the interlude, and now stood behind his chair, looking across the table at the Knave. She watched him back, her expression placid, revealing little.

“We require a conversation with her to stall while she is transported to the Opera,” Neuvillette continued, nodding to the twins. “I suggest we take the opportunity to question her. If she reveals no pressing information, the trial can commence. If she does reveal the truth, we may move on without the need for damaging her trust any further.”

The Traveler appeared hesitant. “She didn’t tell you anything, though.”

Neuvillette’s hands went tight, balled at his sides. He tucked them behind his back out of view. “I am aware. I will not guess at her reasons, nor attempt to determine if a lack of trust in myself is part of those reasons.”

At that, the Traveler winced. Not his intention, then. Good.

“But it is clear Lady Furina knows something,” Neuvillette went on, unphased. Maybe he hadn’t noticed the little flinch, or maybe he wasn’t as upset at the implication of Furina’s lack of trust. “If we are forced to distract her in this trap, she ought to be afforded the chance to explain herself. Perhaps an outside party would have a better chance than I have…And it will harm nothing if the effort fails. The trial may commence the same as it would if you spoke only of tea and cakes.”

Although still clearly reluctant, the Traveler nodded.

“The trap can be set, then,” Clorinde said. “That only leaves the trial.”

“I imagine Monsieur Neuvillette has some ideas already,” Navia agreed.

Neuvillette gave no real confirmation, but he did answer after a moment. “A charge must come first. If we wish to question Furina on her nature and that of the prophecy, we must make clear that both are in doubt. From there, those who stand to prosecute may present their evidence. I assume the second portion is what must be determined here.”

There were nods across the table.

“The problem then becomes ensuring Furina does not escape the charge.”

“If she’s accused, only two routes are offered,” Clorinde said. “A trial, or a duel. We want to discourage her from the latter.”

Navia frowned in sudden understanding. “She won’t want to fight. But if you’re already there and ready…”

“She definitely won’t want to, then,” Clorinde agreed, crossing her arms. “I’ve defended Lady Furina for a few years now, and she’s seen plenty of my duels, never mind my record. She won’t want to fight me.”

“She won’t wish to fight at all,” the Knave added, nodding in approval of the plan. “Your being there already will serve as a good deterrent.”

“And so we’re left with only the trial itself,” Navia said. “We accuse Lady Furina of not being the Archon, and of hiding information about the prophecy. So, we must prove that she is not the Archon and bring more information on the prophecy to light.”

“Very little definitive information exists on the prophecy,” Neuvillette said, a bit of a frown wrinkling his brow. “The slates that were discovered would be a crucial piece, if the first was not missing.”

“Then we search for it,” the Knave said firmly.

But Neuvillette shook his head. “The ruins they rest in are contaminated by the Primordial Sea. I cannot safely send anyone of Fontaine within them, not while the Sea remains a threat.”

“That assumes that the first slate is still within those ruins,” she countered. “I understand the Traveler and Miss Navia searched them quite thoroughly, and with your assistance, no less. If the first slate was within, it would have been discovered. If instead the slate was washed away out to the deeper sea, then it will be safer to discover.”

Her eyes had now turned to young Freminet, who had clearly begun to pay more attention as the deep sea was mentioned.

“I-I can…” he cleared his throat, hands tight around his teacup. “I can search for it.”

“The sooner the better,” the Knave said in agreement.

“If the sea’s contaminated…” Clorinde muttered.

“In the open waters, I understand the concentration of the Primordial Sea is not yet to a dangerous level,” the Knave said in reply, sipping her tea delicately. “In addition, Freminet has never once failed a search. He will find the slate, I am sure.”

The boy nodded, his cheeks a bit pink at the praise.

“This search can begin immediately, and if necessary, continue into the trial. I am confident Freminet will find what we need. While he searches, however, you will have to rely on other evidence to support your charge.”

“So,” Wriothesley cut in, a bit tired of the skirting about. “What are our claims, then?”

A brief silence fell. The Knave remained quiet, observing. Navia and Clorinde appeared deep in thought, as did the twins. Freminet kept his head low, but that was to be expected.

The Traveler frowned in puzzlement, but glanced toward Neuvillette.

“Ah-ah.” He waved a hand dismissively, earning a glare from Paimon and a look of some amusement from the Traveler. “Can’t let him answer everything for you. Besides, Monsieur Neuvillette won’t be able to assist you in the trial beyond playing his part as Chief Justice.”

“In truth, I believe I ought to not be present for discussion of your case or evidence,” Neuvillette added, a worried frown lingering about his expression.

This at last stirred Paimon to action. She shot up, gaping. “But! You’ve known Furina the longest!”

“If I am to remain an impartial judge on this case, which…already is in question…then I ought not to form any further opinion on your evidence until the trial commences. At that point, I can review any details which are necessary.”

Neuvillette spoke with a characteristic finality, and one that those at the table seemed uninterested in challenging. They remained quiet, watching him with expressions varying from a resigned sort of acceptance to a lingering sense of shock.

Seeing no opposition, Neuvillette gave a definitive nod. “In that case, I will abstain from the rest of your planning. Miss Navia, I would ask that you inform me of any pressing details regarding your…demonstration at the Opera tomorrow. At least so that I may inform the gardes to prevent any unnecessary arrests.”

“Of course, Monsieur. I’ll get you a little list by evening, I’d say.”

“Thank you.” His eyes flicked over the table briefly, before settling on Wriothesley. “I trust you will inform me of any other pressing details.”

His mouth twisted up in a bit of a smile. “Sure. I’ll be around.”

Neuvillette nodded once more, and with a flash of that strange, deep blue light, disappeared.

“Well!” Navia said after a moment, looking at them all. “Shall we continue?”

Hours of conversation followed Neuvillette’s departure. Navia and the Knave proved of particular use, given they both had people to toss at any given problem. Soon enough, a shamble of a plan arose. 

Navia and the Spina would arrange a disturbance at the morning’s trials. She would rig the crowd full of her people in plain clothes, let them vent their frustrations at Lady Furina in a show of rebellion, then chase her to Poisson. 

There, the “magic box” would wait, disguised as one of the broken down buildings of the town. The Knave’s people would dig its track overnight. The twins would arrange the cover.

Once Furina was hidden away, the Traveler would give her Neuvillette’s requested final chance. 

If she gave answers, then when the box opened at the Opera it would all be over. If she didn’t, then they would charge her with fraud. 

The Traveler would be the accuser, given they were an outside party and couldn’t face the same consequences if they were proved wrong. Clorinde would be ready in wait to offer a duel, which they all believed Furina would decline. 

From there, the trial itself would commence. 

Thankfully, it turned out they needed Wriothesley for precious little. Sigewinne, though, the Traveler wanted. He had a bit of fun bemoaning his apparent uselessness before agreeing to ensure she was available, if she was willing to assist. 

When they had apparently thought of all possibilities (although even still, a fair few gaps remained in their evidence—ones he knew Neuvillette would expose, if Furina didn’t first) Navia deemed their work done for the day. As the Traveler and the children left, the rest of them remained about the table. 

“You’ll inform Monsieur Neuvillette, then?” She asked, one eyebrow high on her forehead and a suspicious glittering to her eyes. 

“Mm.” He sat up proper from where he’d leaned over the course of the conversation, dropping his boots back to the ground. “Up here I’m the same as anyone else—beholden to the Iudex’s authority. He asked, I’ll deliver.”

“Right. And it’s nothing at all to do with your mooning at him.”

He smiled sharply. “No more than your staring at Clorinde’s—”

“Don’t you dare,” the woman in question cut in.

He held up his hands. “I wasn’t the one looking.”

Navia, though her face had pinked a bit at being caught, smiled and looked at Clorinde. “You can hardly blame me. You’re quite a sight.”

Clorinde looked away sharply. She muttered something under her breath which Navia chuckled at, but he didn’t catch. 

“As amusing as this is,” the Knave said, in what seemed to be her usual, bored tone—never mind the slight twist of her mouth upward. “We are meant to be the adults here, are we not? Or did I send the wrong children off to dinner?”

Navia laughed outright and even he chuckled a bit. Clorinde scoffed and finally took a seat, scowling at them all. 

“You have something else for us to discuss then?” she asked, likely trying to get them back to business. 

“Not so much.” She moved her teacup toward the center, apparently done with it and its likely tepid contents. “However, such meetings are rare. A cherishing of certain connections can bring only goodwill, as far as I am concerned. If we are…collaborating, I believe a clearing of the air to be welcome, if it’s needed. Given my own position, that is.”

As she looked their group over carefully, Navia answered without concern. “Well, you’ve helped Poisson. I don’t have any lingering issue with your helping in this too.”

“I have no stake in this,” Clorinde said, still sounding a bit miffed. “Play your part and I won’t care. That will only change if you somehow go against Fontaine’s future, or end up at the other end of my sword for a duel. Which I doubt will happen.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.” 

She turned her eyes to Wriothesley then, who gave a much more wry smile than before.

“Unless Mr. Lyney has decided to play coy, I’m almost certain you’re aware of my opinion. I haven’t gone through so much effort to arrange a meeting in the past for nothing.”

“I assumed this was part of your waiting game with Lyney, rather than an honest request.”

He tutted. “Shame. Although I suppose, with the cat out of the bag, I don’t have so much to bargain with any longer. If you don’t know what sits beneath the Fortress, you will soon enough.” 

Navia looked surprised at that revelation, but he paid it no mind. He pushed his cup toward the center as well and stood, throwing his coat back over his shoulders. 

“Keep your children out of my prison. Unless, of course, they get sent there through the usual channels.” He hesitated then, making a show of thinking it over. “Or at the very least, send some sort of heads up, no? Even Neuvillette can manage that.”

She appeared amused at the censure, and nodded stoically. “Though I doubt my operatives will require any additional time in Meropide, I am perfectly willing to parley if necessary.”

“Good. Had enough of you Harbingers in there already, but what’s one more?”

“Childe made such an impression, then?”

“The other one was more of an issue with his ridiculous coupons,” he said with a snort. “That kid’s just an idiot.”

She gave a very brief smile then, little more than a flicker of her lips upward. “As you say.”

“I’ll take my leave, then. Sigewinne will be shore-side tomorrow morning when you need her.”

With a few other little goodbyes he left, content to go on foot back to the Court to speak with Neuvillette.

The moon had risen high in the intervening hours, near the midpoint of its arc high above, casting a glimmering silver trail across the sea. Out here where no artificial lights lit the roads, only the moon and the fireflies lit the way, and the stars winked down from their places high above. A whispering breeze rustled the grass and the trees, and the waves were audible even from the mountain path.

There was some comfort in that simple quiet, so different from the ever-present churning of the Fortress. He always did enjoy a little evening above sea.

They’d taken a little boat here earlier, and it still drifted where he’d left it. Not surprising considering Neuvillette’s hasty departure. It was easy enough to climb back aboard and steer toward the looming walls of the Court.

The little boat landed on the shore only ten or so minutes later, shuffing into the sand with a fitting quietude. The beach and the lower streets of the Court were empty, save the attendant at the aquarail elevator, who did not look up from her magazine as he entered. Even the high street where the Palais sat was silent, ghostly in its quiet.

He took his time, wandering down the path from the aquabus network and into the Palais. It came as little surprise to see Sedene sat at the desk when he entered.

She looked up when he came in, her eyes bright even for the late hour. “Duke Wriothesley!”

“Late night for you, eh, Sedene?”

“No later than usual.” She said it cheekily, setting aside her pen and leaning up onto the desk to look at him. “Monsieur Neuvillette told me to wait for you to come. Then I can go home.”

“Ah. Well, by all means, then. Don’t let me keep you waiting.”

He turned to head toward the office, but she spoke again before he got far.

“Monsieur Neuvillette’s upstairs,” she said, a little louder than necessary, as if she thought he would run off before she got the words out.

He looked back at her. “Upstairs?”

She nodded. “Monsieur’s apartment’s is up there. He said to tell you when you arrived.”

He stared. “…Why, exactly?”

In a gesture of uncharacteristic bluntness, Sedene rolled her eyes, dropping off the stool and out of sight behind the desk. Her feet pattered against the tile before she reappeared, pulling open the doorway to the area behind the desk.

“Sigewinne says you’re smart, but you ask why,” she muttered, holding the door open. “He wants you up there, silly.”

Not one to be scolded by a Melusine more than once, he moved quickly through the little doorway so she could shut it, which she did, still grumbling about ‘silly humans’ and ‘staring him right in the face.’

“Right,” he said, mostly to himself, glancing toward the elevators guarded by meka bigger than he was. “Thanks, Sedene.”

“Ugh.” She turned away, climbing back into her chair to keep scribbling at her report. “You owe me at least two more coffees.”

“I’ll make it three if you actually leave like Neuvillette asked.”

“Deal. Now go.”

With a half-mocking salute, he did as she demanded, moving past the desk and to the elevators to the Palais’s upper floors.

The meka at the doors twitched and focused as he approached, but made no move to stop him. He snorted as he passed, calling the lift and watching them jitter back to their positions. Had the Fortress made these, he wondered idly.

It wasn’t an interesting enough distraction to occupy his thoughts beyond the closing of the elevator doors, and in the middling darkness of the lift’s interior, a fluttering foreboding settled over his shoulders. 

He’d never seen Neuvillette in such…private quarters. Their offices, a restaurant, the wilds of Fontaine, the Opera house, sure, but never his apartment. And to be fair, Neuvillette had never seen his rooms in the Fortress either—not that they would compare, surely. 

Why now? Why in general?

Sure, their little conversation the previous night meant something, but…

Anticipation mixed cold with worry, a nauseating concoction that sat like a rock in his stomach. 

He’d do next to anything to remain close to Neuvillette. But what would prompt this sudden invitation? He was too pessimistic to find a happy example. 

Neuvillette, he knew, lived below Lady Furina. That was surprisingly common knowledge—maybe because there were few who would dare try anything against him. But beyond the location, common knowledge offered nothing else. Neuvillette had no known acquaintances, let alone friends. Beyond the Melusines and his care for them, no one knew much of anything about him beyond assumption.

He knew he was closer than…well anyone, surely. But this still felt…like a lot. An unexpected step into territory unknown.

The elevator ride was short—short enough that a lingering nervousness still settled in his hands when he stepped off. He tucked his hands in his pockets, worrying at the seam inside as he looked around the little foyer. 

It was tidy to the point of scarcity. The furniture was clean and perfectly placed, the rugs smooth and centered. The walls were bare with only a few exceptions—a thin, long mirror near the door, a few hooks and shelves similarly sparse, and a strikingly bright painting which would look entirely out of place, if it didn’t clearly depict several Melusines and Neuvillette in what must have been Merusea. 

One of their creations, then. It was almost painfully sweet to see such a thing in the otherwise sterile front room, pride of place where it was nigh immediately visible. 

Still…it was a little…empty, here. For someone who had lived at least five hundred years, Neuvillette didn’t seem to own much, if his front hall was anything to go by.

Footsteps came from one of the rooms off the hall, and the man in question appeared from one of the open archways. “Ah. I thought I heard the elevator.”

Whatever thoughts Wriothesley had about the apartment and its apparent emptiness were swept away by the sight of Neuvillette without the outer layer of his usual clothes. Without the ornamentation, the suit underneath was relatively simple, dark and slim fitting and entirely distracting, thank you very much—

“Wriothesley?”

He shook his head, focusing again. Neuvillette was watching him with that little worried wrinkle in his brow. His head was tilted a bit, curious, and a piece of his hair had fallen loose over his cheek. 

He was beautiful. It was terrible for Wriothesley’s health, surely. 

He cleared his throat harshly and tried for a smile. “Sorry. Caught me by surprise.”

“Hm.” Neuvillette looked him over as he approached, and apparently finding nothing wrong with him, met his gaze again. “Come, no need to linger in the hall.”

He waved him forward with one still gloved hand, then turned back toward the arch he had come through. Even his hair was loose from its bow, whirling around with him as he turned and walked away.

Fuck, he was done for, wasn’t he? He got more pathetic by the day. By the minute, more like…

Still a bit dazed, he followed along willingly, down the little hall and around the corner through the arch. 

It opened onto a sitting room as finely furnished as Neuvillette’s office, though clearly more for living than for meeting. The couches were larger, plush and with a pillow or two, along with the low table sat between them. Bookcases were set into the walls, predictably near full to bursting. 

A large set of windows took up most of the furthest wall, likely facing out toward the Court, the smaller panes tinted a frosty blue and the larger clear to see out of. Heavy curtains were pulled to either side, allowing the moonlight to stream in. That, along with the light from the hall and the warm glow of the fireplace against the side wall made up the lighting of the room, a mix of warm and cold light that was far gentler than the glare of just the pneumousia lamps. 

Something of that sterility still lingered in the lack of any lived-in mess, but Neuvillette moved about the space with ease. He rounded the couches, moving his hair aside to sit before waving Wriothesley forward again. 

He did as directed, taking off his coat and glancing over the table as he came round to join him on the couch. “You got food?”

Neuvillette hummed, nodding slightly. “Considering you did so previously, it seemed fair to repay the favor. Although I cannot promise it will be as palatable as the Hotel Debord, I did make a fair variety of things.”

A note of uncertainty trickled into his tone by the end, but Wriothesley only stared. “You made food?”

“Yes.”

It was very nearly a question. He tried a smile again, a bit more confident this one came across correctly. “Even better than the Hotel, then.”

“Hm. I doubt it. I rarely cook…”

“Nah, trust me. The gesture of it would make it better even if you couldn’t cook—which I don’t believe. It’s sweet of you.”

Neuvillette’s eyes darted away, his hair hiding his face as he leaned forward. 

He spent the next few moments explaining the various little dishes he had made, a variety of traditional Fontainean fare that seemed oddly apt for someone like Neuvillette. Consommé was, predictably, included, but clearly of a different sort than what the Hotel offered. There was a good amount of meat and vegetables as well to balance out the spread, though, along with water which was also not at all surprising.

Wriothesley picked a little of this and that and sat back, content to tuck in for a bit rather than continue to spiral in his thoughts about whether or not Neuvillette looked better without half his usual regalia on (he, of course, looked beautiful either way, so no need to debate—but there was a softness about him here that was not present in their other meetings, and that, he found, was concerningly captivating).

After a few minutes of eating his little sampler of Neuvillette’s very delicious food (and he’d had the nerve to say it might not have been good…ridiculous), they got back to their original intention for meeting.

“Your conversations were fruitful, I assume,” Neuvillette said after a short while, watching him with a very direct sort of attention. “You seem in good spirits.”

“Eh. I’m always happy to be of little use. Turns out being a prison warden doesn’t make you much help in incriminating an Archon. Or…assumed Archon, in this case.”

“Mm. Your talents are not to their pleasure, then?”

“Not this time, thankfully. If anything goes sideways, I expect I’ll be needed below rather than above.”

Neuvillette nodded. “Anything I ought to know?”

“Navia gave me her shortlist, but she’ll have her people in plain clothes, so best to warn the gardes in advance. Once Furina’s in Poisson, the Traveler will try to talk her down for you. If that fails, then Lyney’s magic box will deliver her back to the Opera Epiclese for her trial.”

“You do not seem to believe it will work.”

He shrugged, unashamed. “If she didn’t listen to you already, I don’t see why she would listen to him, no matter how friendly he is. Furina’s known you for hundreds of years.”

Neuvillette inclined his head in a hesitant gesture. “It seems it has meant little, at least in terms of understanding her. Perhaps the Traveler and his…friendliness…will get through to her more than I have.”

“Hmph. Believe it when I see it, I guess.” He picked at his plate a bit more before another thought occurred to him. “Ah, one more thing. They want Sige up here for a certain line of questioning.”

That brought back the frown, but only slightly. “I see. If she is willing, then. I assume they wish her to examine Furina in some sense.”

“Yeah. Figured you’d sort it out.”

“It is not a bad plan, but I wonder what Sigewinne will discover…She does have a finer sense for these sorts of things than I do.”

“Not a healer, if I remember.”

“Mm.” He sipped his water idly. “My power does not tend in that direction, no. I can heal myself easily enough, but healing others requires a more delicate touch, and is largely outside my forte. The waters themselves are capable of such things, so I have some ability, but I would leave any sort of deep or technical examination to Sigewinne by preference alone.”

“I don’t think she’ll mind. She’s always happy to help.” He thought for a moment before deciding it was better to ask than assume. “You want to know anything else they talked about?”

“Not unless you believe I should,” Neuvillette settled on, a familiar diplomatic approach. “I will of course review any evidence as it is presented at the trial, so I am not overly concerned.”

“Nothing too frightening, in my opinion. I think they’ll manage.”

Neuvillette nodded again, his eyes downcast. “I hope so…”

He fell quiet, and Wriothesley watched his fingers fiddle with the sleeve of his shirt, a fluttering, nervous sort of movement. The fire crackled and burned, and somewhere outside, a cloud or two blotted out the moon for a moment. But it didn’t last, and the cool blue of the moonlight came back only a second or two later.

The silence continued as Neuvillette seemed to struggle with something, his eyes moving aimlessly. Such uncharacteristic hesitance would have been worrying if it wasn’t so endearing.

“I…” He started, trailed off, and tried again. “I wish to…” He sighed harshly. “I am not accustomed to not knowing what to say.”

Wriothesley gave him another moment or two, half hoping he would figure it out. When he remained quiet, he had mercy. “What do you want to say?”

This earned him a very unimpressed stare, too petulant to be considered a true glare.

He laughed and set aside his plate. “Alright, alright. I’m serious, though. You don’t have to come up with some pretty way to say it—although trust me, I do enjoy when you do that.” He shook his head. “My point is, you can just be blunt about it. I don’t care.”

“Mm.” Neuvillette’s eyes still flickered away, but he appeared pensive.

Another little quiet fell. Neuvillette continued to stare into the fire, the light of it flickering in his eyes. It didn’t seem he would find the words he wanted.

“I was surprised you let me up here, you know,” Wriothesley said eventually.

Neuvillette looked back at him, puzzled. “Why?”

“It’s your place,” he said with a shrug, holding his gaze steadily even if he wanted to look away a bit sheepishly. “You’re a private person.”

“Hm.” He nodded a little, but the frown lingered about his mouth. “I suppose I am…but I do not see your point.”

A chuckle escaped him then, and he shook his head. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. Right—” He sat forward a bit. “You’re a private person, we agreed to that.”

“…For the sake of what remains of your argument, I will agree.”

He huffed. “Private sorts of people don’t let anyone walk around their private places—in this case, your apartment. Most people don’t go to others’ houses unless they’re friends or more.”

At this, Neuvillette’s frown deepened, his brow wrinkled with the force of it. “Are we…not, then?”

He stared, short circuited.

A sharp, tense silence briefly settled, every crackle of the fire like a gunshot.

“Of course we are,” he eventually managed, hardly recognizing his voice for the urgency in it. “No, no—” He waved a hand, like he could physically bat away the misunderstanding. “I mean—shit, I more meant emphasis on the surprise of the gesture, not that we’re not…” He wilted. “Well, whatever it is.”

Neuvillette nodded more emphatically than before. “Good. And, if such things are truly a sign of a certain…closeness…” He frowned again there, unsatisfied with the word. “Then I will not begrudge you them. I…I do not…dislike such an implication.”

His voice had gone so quiet by the end that he was practically whispering, and he was worrying at the cuff of his shirt again as if there was some wrinkle or dust that needed clearing away. But there was none—and the nervousness of the gesture was unbearable.

Wriothesley moved closer, so that only a few spare inches separated them, and caught his hand where it was worrying, pulling his fingers away from his sleeve and holding both his hands in his.

Neuvillette allowed it, but with a stillness which revealed a familiar, sharp attention. He stared at their hands in weighted silence. But he did not pull away.

“I don’t mind it either,” Wriothesley said quietly, his eyes drawn to their hands too. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

Neuvillette remained still, almost stiff. “I appreciate the clarification.”

Despite the lingering tension in his posture, his voice was steadier than before, and he still had not moved to pull away.

“Look.” He squeezed his hands, and Neuvillette finally glanced up again, holding his gaze. “We don’t have to…figure this all out right now. I want to be here…I want to be close to you, and it sounds like you want that too.”

Neuvillette’s hands briefly tightened around his, but uncharacteristically, he remained silent, watching him quietly. His agreement was unspoken, but no less clear.

He couldn’t help the small smile that came over him. “This is enough for me. Everything’s a mess—we—you don’t have to have answers now. There’s time. It’s okay.”

Hesitant, and still clearly disliking something about the unresolved nature of their conversation, Neuvillette nevertheless nodded. “Very well, then.”

His grip loosened a little, and he brushed his fingers over the top of Wriothesley’s hand, running across the knuckles as he’d done in his office before.

There was something almost enraptured about his gaze as he stared at their hands, something soft and quiet and attentive, as Neuvillette often was. His notice required attention of its own, and always felt like a physical force. This was no different. If anything, the physical contact only made the sensation more obvious.

Maybe because it required such attention, or maybe because they were so close there on the couch—whatever the reason, that slightest hint of worry still lingering about Neuvillette’s expression was starkly present. Some unhappiness at the unspoken between them, perhaps.

Whatever it was that went unsaid, it was—even if they didn’t speak about it, even if he was reading into something not there at all—unacceptable.

Acting on an impulse he hardly recognized, he untangled their hands and muttered, “C’mere.”

Neuvillette’s eyes went wide, but he did not stop him as he closed what little remained of the gap between them, wrapping his arms around him and resting his chin on his shoulder.

The silence then was expected, really. Neuvillette had gone still as stone, and remained that way for several seconds.

“What are you doing?”

His tone was curious, tentative. Not upset, thankfully, and that was all that kept Wriothesley from pulling away. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had a hug, because I know that’s a lie, Monsieur. You hug your Melusines all the time.”

“…They are most often the instigators of such things, and they seem to…enjoy them. I find no reason to dissuade them…But I do not understand why you are doing so for me.”

Wriothesley sighed, not bothering to hide his smile by virtue of it not being visible at the moment. “You were sad. And I wanted to hold you.”

Again, Neuvillette went inhumanly still. For several seconds, he hardly seemed to even breathe.

“Oh.”

His voice was small, then, and surprisingly fragile. Was it embarrassment? Or something warmer? He didn’t know.

But after only another single moment of suspense, the tension bled out of Neuvillette in one quick ease, and he leaned into the embrace like he couldn’t possibly hold himself up without it. His hands clenched tight into Wriothesley’s shirt, and he dropped his head onto his shoulder with a little sigh, apparently content to remain where he was without further questioning.

Wriothesley’s smile grew a little more, and he held tighter. “See? It’s nice.”

Neuvillette made a vague sound of acknowledgement, but offered nothing else.

Deciding it was not worth pressing him any further, Wriothesley hummed and adjusted enough to hold him closer. Neuvillette followed his little movements with a lazing ease, but his hands remained tightly clasped around Wriothesley’s shirt. It was fairly clear he wouldn’t be leaving, at least for a little while longer.

Not that he minded, of course. He’d stay as long as Neuvillette let him. There were few things more worth it than this.

******

The night had completely escaped him. For the first time in his long memory, he found no dissatisfaction with that fact.

Nights with Wriothesley, he found, had a habit of running away, the moon chasing off the stars and welcoming the early morning sun before he’d even realized they had ‘wasted’ hours. This night, as surreal and gentle and…and wonderous as it was, was the best example of this phenomenon.

They had continued to speak quietly about anything and nothing for several hours, dancing about topics that were surface level, uncomplicated, but there was a comfort in the simple act of talking. All through it, Wriothesley had remained close, leaning into him and holding his hands and holding him.

Neuvillette had never been…held. He thought he might have now understood why the children seemed to find comfort in it.

Wriothesley was truly a remarkable person. He stirred something warm and constant within him. He could not look away.

Perhaps it was this which kept him from doing as he ought to, and waking Wriothesley from where he’d fallen asleep. Some time several hours ago, when the moon was still dancing about the night sky even if it had steeped low in its orbit, their conversation had waned into a comfortable silence, and Wriothesley had nodded off still leaned into Neuvillette’s arms. When his sleep was deep and the quiet had settled truly, he shifted again, and settled all but laid in Neuvillette’s lap, his face turned toward Neuvillette’s shirt and one hand still holding on loosely to his.

Like a warm weight he could not bear to nudge away, he remained there, shifting only a little and apparently quite comfortable, given the steadiness of his sleep.

Neuvillette could do little more than stare.

In the years of their acquaintance, he had become accustomed to the variances in Wriothesley’s expressions. That wry twist his mouth took when he spoke at a slant or told a joke, the narrowed eyes as he thought deeply about some problem they must handle, the frown he wore when he caught Neuvillette in a dodge of the truth. Even that wide-eyed, red faced look he took when caught off guard, darting his eyes away as if this would mean his bashfulness would not be seen.

Rest brought a new kind of expression to him, one that captivated Neuvillette as everything about Wriothesley did. There was a laxness to him then that was uncommon—Wriothesley was often moving, and was very expressive. In sleep, such things could not be true, and Wriothesley was evidently quite the heavy sleeper. He hardly moved, and his face was slack, calm and still and peaceful.

Even when Neuvillette grew bold (or perhaps simply curious) and brushed the hair from his forehead, Wriothesley remained asleep, breathing quietly and apparently undisturbed. And now that he had crossed that threshold, he could not quite pull away. His fingers brushed over Wriothesley’s face in gentle, cautious touches, wondering and wary all at once.

He did not truly track how long he watched him, marveling at this quiet, untouchable moment. How rare to have such an opportunity…to spoil it with reality before its time would be unnecessary.

Wriothesley deserved to rest, and Neuvillette had nothing better to do with his time beyond wait for trials to begin for the day. No, he could remain here…he could do as Wriothesley had for him, and simply hold him for a while.

Now, as the sunlight began to creep across the floorboards and the bustling noise of the Court below broke through the long quieted crackling of the fire, Wriothesley shifted in his hold, turning with the slightest of frowns. After a moment or two, he shifted again, opening his eyes blearily with a tired expression of confusion. His eyes moved slowly across the room, uncomprehending, before flicking up to meet Neuvillette’s. He froze, then.

“Good morning,” Neuvillette said quietly.

Wriothesley sighed, but strangely, did not move to get up. He reached over and grabbed Neuvillette’s hand again where it had settled in his hair, pulling it down to hold in his own. “Morning,” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep. “Time is it?”

“Barely five.”

“Mm.” He groaned, sitting up and rubbing at his face. “Should get back…Sige’ll be worried, and I’ve got to tell her about that trial.”

“You have time. The first trials of the day are not for another two hours, and Furina’s diversion will take more time than that. I would have woken you within the hour, if nothing else.”

Wriothesley muttered something nonsensical, vaguely sounding like agreement. With a slight smile of amusement, Neuvillette stood smoothly, and waved him up.

“Come. You can freshen up while I find you something to eat.”

Still dragging himself from dreamland, Wriothesley stared at his offered hand for a few seconds before taking it, letting Neuvillette pull him to his feet without any further protest.

After a bit more coaxing mostly held up by Wriothesley’s tired, directionless resistance, Neuvillette left him in the guest room to wake on his own while he cleaned up the evenings food and found some acceptable form of breakfast in his sparse kitchen.

He had made more effort to use the apartment, true, but he did not often partake in human food. Thankfully, his purchases from the previous day had been a bit…zealous…and so he had enough to put together something passable for Wriothesley to eat. He had no idea what humans typically ate, but he would trust that a simple spread of eggs and such would do.

Some ten or so minutes later, Wriothesley wandered into the kitchen looking significantly more awake, if somehow more disheveled—and quite surprised at the offer of breakfast.

“You’re not some sort of chef in your off hours are you?” he quipped, looking over the food with an amused smile.

“No. But you are a guest, so I am happy to oblige.”

“Hm.” Wriothesley joined him at the small table, and after a moment’s hesitation, did take some food. “Most folks wouldn’t go to such lengths, I don’t think.”

“It is no trouble.”

Wriothesley watched him a moment, his eyes narrowed. But he seemed to give it up with a shrug, and focused on his food.

“I don’t know how you can cook so well and act like it’s nothing.”

Huffing in some amusement, Neuvillette shook his head. “I am no chef. I hardly even eat human food, I cannot claim to know what tastes best or worse.”

“Well, whatever your standards, it’s all been good that I’ve tried. This included. Then again—don’t s’pose you have tea?”

He nodded, pleased to have thought of it. “Only a few local varieties, I’m afraid.”

Wriothesley waved that off, tutting. “I want it to wake up, mostly. Where’s that kettle I got you?”

He stood, and Wriothesley followed, watching quietly as he got out the set and what few boxes of tea he had chosen. After perusing them a few moments, Wriothesley chose a certain brand over the others.

“Alright, Hydro dragon, I know you’ve got fancy water around here somewhere.” He leaned against the counter with a half-smile. “Wanna pick something?”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

A small smile crept over him then. “You are surprisingly insistent in the morning. I will keep that in mind.”

Wriothesley’s eyes widened and he watched in silence as Neuvillette moved past him to select something fitting for the tea he had chosen.

“Here you are. Mont Esus’s spring waters have a gentle, smooth taste. It ought to complement a tea grown here in Fontaine.”

Still seeming slightly off center, Wriothesley nevertheless nodded his thanks and saw to brewing the tea. But not before he’d poured a cup of the water and forced it into Neuvillette’s hands.

Soon enough, the kitchen was filled with the gentle scent of tea leaves, and they had returned to the table. With his tea in hand and a few sips into it, Wriothesley seemed to again wake a little more. He continued to pick at his food, eyeing Neuvillette with a mix of curiosity and something fond.

“You’re not going to eat?”

He shook his head. “I have no need to, at the moment.”

Snorting, Wriothesley took another sip of his tea. “What, Hydro dragons don’t get hungry?”

“I am not human. I do not keep to human conventions, generally. And, I believe you are aware human food tends to…displease me.”

“Ah, right. Pure water and such.”

“Mm. I have my preferences, particularly when it comes to those dishes featuring ingredients from the sea, but I do not often indulge in them.”

“So I’m assuming, then, that means you didn’t sleep either.”

“No.”

“Would you have, if I wasn’t here?”

“Likely not. I do not often keep to human hours,” he said, with a careful tone.

“So you would have gone back to your office, then,” Wriothesley said, cutting through the façade. “Worked through the night, I assume.”

“…If there was work to be done, then yes.”

He shook his head. “I know you’re not human but surely you need to rest occasionally, no?”

“Of course. But it is not so often as a human would require. And, if I were tired in any real sense, leisure here would not refresh me the same as the waters would.”

He stared. “So…what, you go for a little swim when you’re tired?”

Neuvillette nodded, unbothered by the incredulity in his tone.

“That’s adorable.”

He stared at him blankly. He had…no idea how to reply to such a statement.

Wriothesley, however, was still far too amused. “Do the otters follow you around then, too?”

Perhaps he should have seen that coming. He was never going to escape this image. He sighed.

“So yes?”

“Wriothesley.”

“Still not a no, Monsieur.”

He huffed, turning away. “I am certain they would beg for your attention as well. As I have said, they are very social creatures.”

“Ha. Well, I suppose we’ll have to try sometime. After all this prophecy nonsense, anyway.”

Neuvillette brightened at the idea, a smile tilting up his lips. Now that, that was a plan.

“I will hold you to your word,” he said gravely.

Smirking, Wriothesley gave an equally grave nod. “At your service whenever required, even if it’s only to embarrass myself in front of sea creatures.”

“Not to worry,” he said, unable to contain the happiness which came over him at the image they were painting. “Sea creatures are not so temperamental regarding decorum. I am sure the otters and all the rest will enjoy your company as I do.”

His hands stilled around his cup, and he stared, his face reddening again. Neuvillette smiled, and could not convince said smile to leave even as Wriothesley muttered and stabbed at his food with apparent vengeance.

Wriothesley was quite a sight when he was flustered. He would have to try to make him so more often…

Chapter Text

“Well! Since you insist you are a god and not a human, can’t we cut this little dance short with the simplest method to prove it?”

Furina stared into the audience, stunned to silence. At his place, Neuvillette barely withheld a sigh.

So this was their ploy.

“Miss Navia, perhaps you ought to have applied to be a consultant to the prosecution, given your insistence on interruption.”

She held his gaze steadily, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Monsieur. I promise this is the last time.”

“Regardless of your intentions, you are again delaying procedures.”

“If we’re allowed, I want to hear her idea,” the Traveler interjected.

Furina laughed, but it was hollow. She had put her head in her hand as she leaned on the railing. “Oh, whatever. Go on.”

“Very well then…Miss Navia, you may proceed, but if you interject out of turn once more, I will have you removed.”

“Thank you, Monsieur Chief Justice.” She came up onto the stage, turned to the crowd, but her eyes remained fixed on Lady Furina. “We know from the last few cases here, and from the disaster in Poisson, that humans of Fontaine dissolve in the Primordial Sea. I had some associates bring along some of the tainted water from Poisson’s cleanup efforts. Our equipment has confirmed it’s contaminated enough to be dangerous, but if Monsieur wishes to check it, that will suit fine.”

He had an inkling where she was headed, and Furina did too, judging by the trembling in her hand. “To what end, Miss Navia?”

“If she is not human, and is indeed our Archon, the water will not harm her. It’s a simple test. Will you dare to touch the water, Lady Furina?”

Furina was silent, avoiding her eyes.

“After all,” Navia continued, crossing her arms. “If things are as you say, it wouldn’t hurt you at all to touch it. It would only strengthen your case. And, if you don’t dare to touch it, you’ll have implicitly proven the reverse.”

“Such a ‘test’ is outside the protocol of regular court procedures,” Neuvillette answered firmly. “Given this, you possess the right to decline participation.”

“Of course,” Miss Navia easily agreed, and though her eyes were sharp, there was a sympathetic twist to her lips. “After the disaster in Poisson, no one wants to see anyone else dissolved, regardless of our desire for the truth. I only hope, Lady Furina, that you will act prudently, and take the easier path of admitting guilt.”

Several seconds passed in silence.

Then, Furina sighed, and stood. She turned and left the defendant’s box to descend the stairs. It seemed she had made her decision.

“As Lady Furina appears to have agreed, Miss Navia, please bring the water so that I may examine it.”

She gestured to her group in the crowd, and a few moments passed as they retrieved the evidence. In that time, Furina emerged from the box, hovering at the edge of the stage and staring at her shoes. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides.

When the Spina had brought out the basin and jar of contaminated water, he left his place above the Oratrice.

“You need not handle the water yourselves,” he said as he came to the stage level.

The few members of the Spina who had brought out the water seemed to sag in relief at that, and stepped back from the jar that held it as if it would injure them just by proximity.

“Step back.”

They did as he ordered, even Miss Navia falling back a good few feet as he pulled the water from the jar and into the basin they had brought. It glimmered purple and blue in the light, and the crowd gave varying reactions of shock. Whether at the contaminated water or his control of it, he couldn’t say, but it did not matter.

“The water is indeed contaminated,” he said as he lowered his hand. It sat placidly in the basin, smooth and unmoving. “I must insist you leave the stage, now, for your own safety.”

“Yes, Monsieur,” Miss Navia said, a faint tremor in her voice. She left along with her small group.

Furina continued to linger at the edge of the stage, and the crowd’s whispering had only risen higher. For the moment, he ignored them both, and gestured for the nearest garde to approach.

“Contact Meropide and request Nurse Sigewinne’s presence, immediately.”

The garde nodded and ran off.

“Furina.”

At last she looked up, but only briefly. Her eyes left his after only a moment’s glance.

“Given the risk such a test presents, you are within your rights to decline participation. If you believe yourself to be in danger, I would recommend this course of action.”

The crowd tittered again, and Furina’s eyes darted their way. She clenched her jaw and approached the basin. When she stood before it, she stared into its surface in silence.

Without any further warning, she put her hand into the basin.

The crowd shrieked, even Miss Navia shouting something in panic. A second, then two, passed.

Practically gasping for air, Furina pulled her hand from the water, scattering glimmering droplets across the surface of the stage. “S-see? See! I haven’t dissolved!”

Her voice wavered as much as her hand, still dripping glittering drops of water onto the stage. She swayed where she stood, and he moved on instinct, catching her by the elbow and pulling the water away from her with his other hand.

The crowd’s shouting was thunderous, but Sigewinne appeared only a moment later, her Vision glowing as she drew from its power.

It had been only a few moments’ exposure, and the water was not as tainted as the crowd expected. Not tainted enough to immediately dissolve anyone, but tainted enough to cause very direct side effects. Furina’s cheeks were bright red, her heart pounding near audibly. She settled on the ground in a little heap, her eyes flitting about without settling.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, even as she listed into his side, her hand dangling limp where he still held her arm. “See? I told you I was the Archon.”

“Hush,” he said quietly. She gave no indication she had heard him.

“You got most of it, Monsieur,” Sigewinne said, equally as quiet. “I can give her a little tonic to help with the other side effects.”

“I believe that would be preferred over my removing it.”

“Removing…” Furina mumbled, then frowned confusedly at the little bottle Sigewinne gave her. “No, thank you.”

“Sorry, Lady Furina,” Sigewinne said, pushing the bottle back into her hand and guiding it to her lips. “I wasn’t asking.”

The second effort was more successful, and after a few moments, Furina’s breathing had settled back to normal, and she seemed to come back to herself. She pulled her arm out of his grip and turned away.

The crowd had fallen to near total silence.

Sigewinne continued her work, examining Furina for any lingering contamination or effects. Though she did not answer Sigewinne’s few quiet questions, she did comply with her requests.

“You’ll be fine, now,” Sigewinne eventually said, patting her hand gently.

She said nothing. Her head was low, and she had again balled her hands into fists.

“You may return to the defendants box, Lady Furina,” he said, and though she gave no reply, she did stand and move to do so. “The court will need to hear the results of your examination, Nurse Sigewinne.”

“Of course.”

As Furina returned to her box, he returned the contaminated water to its jar for removal. With this done, Sigewinne delivered her report.

“The water Miss Navia brought was not contaminated enough to cause immediate dissolution. However, Lady Furina showed a reaction to the contamination, including a fever, increased heart rate, and rapid breathing. These are the typical human reactions to water contaminated by the Primordial Sea. The extent to which she was affected is also similar to other humans exposed to water of a similar contamination.”

The crowd rippled with whispered dissent.

“Thank you, Sigewinne,” he spoke over them, “You may return to Meropide unless you have further comment.”

“No, thank you, Monsieur.” She nodded once, and left quietly to return to the Fortress.

“With Nurse Sigewinne’s testimony, I believe your point has been made, Miss Navia.”

“I wasn’t dissolved,” Furina repeated suddenly, a note of desperation pitching her voice high. “Humans who touch the Primordial Sea dissolve. I didn’t! Isn’t that enough to prove I told you the truth?”

“A person only dissolves if they touch undiluted Primordial Seawater,” Miss Navia said, earning Furina’s wide-eyed attention. “We originally planned to bring water from Poisson, like I said. But we didn’t want you to be permanently hurt…we’ve lost enough people already. On the chance that you actually went through with it, we chose some water that was less contaminated. Enough to show you reacted the same as a human, but not enough to actually dissolve you.”

“You—” She turned away, her eyes moving across the crowd which now watched her with suspicion. “How can you prove that an Archon cannot also be affected by Primordial Seawater? A-and—if I was truly human, why would I dare to test such a thing against my own life?”

The Oratrice ticked and turned, and the scales moved further out of her favor. The crowd offered her no further comment.

“Please!” she shouted suddenly, leaning over the railing and staring at them all. Her tears were falling now, plain to see. “Please believe me! I really am your Archon!”

Her eyes moved wildly, searching the faces in the audience. Whatever she searched for, she did not find it. Many watched her back with only a wary confusion. Something pitying, but distrustful.

She stepped back from the railing in a daze, dropping into her chair and hanging her head once again.

A heavy silence fell, disrupted only by the rippling whispers of the crowd.

“Does the prosecution have any further evidence?”

The Traveler shook his head.

“Lady Furina, do you wish to provide any further defense?”

She was silent. He gave her a few moments anyway, but she did not lift her head. Her shoulders shook with silenced cries.

“If there is no further evidence to be presented, we will move forward with final judgement.” The crowd whispered again, but no objections were given. “Lady Furina has been accused of misrepresenting herself as the Archon of Fontaine. Given the evidence presented and Nurse Sigewinne’s expert testimony, Lady Furina appears to be a human, and as such, is not the Archon she claims to be. As a human who knowingly deceived her fellow citizens, Furina is guilty.”

She flinched, but said nothing. She would not meet his eyes.

The crowd and the Traveler remained quiet.

“We will now turn to the Oratrice for the final verdict on the charges.”

It glowed, scales settling into their final position. As its light filled the opera house, and the strange power which ran it filled the air, Furina still did not look up.

Only a few seconds later, the verdict was delivered to him.

He stared at it in silence.

“What’s wrong?” Paimon suddenly shouted from the prosecutor’s box. “It didn’t switch it up again?”

“No, the verdict is guilty,” he answered quickly, shaking his head. “The exact wording is, ‘The Hydro Archon, guilty, to be sentenced to death.’”

The crowd’s silence burst, and chaos reigned immediately.

“But Furina isn’t the Hydro Archon!” the Traveler cut in over the crowd, some of whom quieted at his voice. “That was the point of the trial, to prove she wasn’t.”

He nodded. “Despite this, the Oratrice has invoked the Archon title specifically.”

“W-wait!”

The doors of the opera burst open, and young Freminet came scrambling in, followed by several Fatui operatives carrying the stone slate he had been sent to find.

“Sorry! I-I know I’m late, b-but—”

His siblings had jumped up at his entrance, and hurried to hold the doors as the slate was brought in.

After some debating, they carried the slate up onto the stage, and Neuvillette returned to the lower level along with the Traveler to examine it.

Despite the sentence already being delivered, the crime was now revealed. 

“The previous Hydro Archon, Egeria, marks the beginning of this prophecy’s writing. Her familiars were the Oceanids, and longed for human life. Despite her place as one of the Seven, Egeria did not have the Authority to give them what they wished for. So she stole the power of the Primordial Sea, placed it into the blood vessels of the Oceanids, and created permanent humanoid mimics for them.

“If the mimics were to touch the Primordial Sea again, the false form would fall apart, reverting the creature back to its original form. This is why Miss Navia saw Oceanids in the trial she speaks of.

“However, more to the point of this prophecy, Egeria’s actions earned the wrath of Celestia for usurping its authority, and thus her actions were marked a sin, which would only be cleansed when Fontaine itself was flooded, and all its ‘human’ life dissolved back to its original forms.”

“So the Primordial Sea is rising to fulfill the prophecy,” the Traveler said gravely, “Like at the Fortress.”

“It is not doing so of its own volition. You have forgotten the creature you saw in the Harbinger’s memories.”

“The whale?”

He nodded. “No such creature exists within Teyvat, and little now lives in the Fontemer itself. If something is within it, it was placed there, and likely to stir up this exact prophesied destruction.”

Once more the crowd stirred in panic, over the truth of Fontaine’s humans, the guilty verdict, and the truth of the prophecy’s coming.

Before he could take the chance to again call the court to order, the ground quaked violently, and the screaming grew worse.

Violet energy, similar in shade to Electro but clearly abyssal, began to crack the floor in front of the stage.

The crowd shrieked and scattered, trampling each other in their desperation to flee. With a dissonant warp, a portal ripped open where the ground had cracked, exposing a rift into the dark Abyss.

From it, the creature the Traveler had spoken of rose, as if called by the mention of it.

It was massive, far larger than any sea creature within Fontaine’s waters. In shape it was similar to a whale, but its size, coloring, and power revealed it for what it truly was—something from outside Teyvat’s borders, something dark and foul knowing only to consume.

The creature arched into the air and around the opera house, shrieking and wailing, rattling the windows with its cries.

In a flash he had left his place and reappeared in range. The creature turned to face him. He tracked its movement and called for the waters, drawing its attention further away from the fleeing crowd and forcing a seal to form in front of him.

The creature roared and charged it, pressing against the seal with enough force to cause spidering cracks to form along it.

He grimaced, pulling at his power to hold it for long enough. It would not hold, not forever. He did not have the power in this limited form to make it do so.

The seal shattered only a moment later, and he was forced back.

But the creature curled away too, arching back through the air toward the entrance.

Toward the crowd, still fleeing.

He pulled for the waters again as it opened its maw, an eerie power gathering within it as it dove for the crowd.

Something else came from the portal, a flash of Electro and the power of the abyss, cutting quick through the air and striking the creature with a violent slash.

The Harbinger who had gone missing within the Sea, and somehow still lived—he attacked the creature with a reckless abandon which Neuvillette expected was characteristic. Regardless, his attacks had skill, and turned the creature back from the crowd still running.

With a roar of pain, the whale ‘swam’ back toward the stage.

Tartaglia moved more quickly than most humans would be capable, perhaps boosted by whatever power the Abyss had left him with. As he continued to corral the creature back toward the portal, Neuvillette gathered the waters around him to form a more suitable seal. With a flash it was ready, and he directed the torrent at the creature as Tartaglia landed a blow of his own to the creature’s head.

The resulting explosion was not dissimilar from that which had occurred on the stage of the Opera weeks ago, when he had stopped him from using this power in the first place. Sparks of Electro, the taint of the abyss, and their clash with the waters scattered smoke and raw elemental energy across the entire opera house.

The creature wailed, and apparently turned away, dove back for the portal it had created. It disappeared into the Abyss once more.

Tartaglia remained above the portal, clearly exhausted. He looked around wildly for a moment before his masked face settled on Neuvillette, and he stared.

Neuvillette watched him back, unmoving. 

When he went limp and began to fall—and someone shouted something behind him—he moved on instinct alone. 

It was a simple matter to catch him and use the waters to return back to the stage of the opera. 

He was rewarded for his efforts with a weak struggle, even as it was clear Tartaglia was wounded. 

“It would be unwise for you to attempt to fight me again at this juncture,” he muttered, stepping away after he had set him down. 

The strange mask and taint of the abyss faded away, leaving a much smaller Tartaglia on the stage of the opera, still wounded and clearly drained from the use of the ability. 

“Can’t blame me,” he managed after a moment, his voice cracking as he forced himself up. “Last time you pummeled me into the ground…gotta see if it was luck…”

“I assure you it was not. And you are injured.”

“Psh…fought in worse shape before.”

“Don’t fight Monsieur Neuvillette!” Paimon shouted, flying into view to scold Tartaglia, even as she looked worried enough she might try to hug him. “You—you battle crazy maniac!”

He turned his attention to her, trying for a smile which didn’t quite land. “Ah, Paimon, I did miss you. Where’s your friend?”

“Here,” the Traveler said, frowning at him. “You’ve been busy.”

His only immediate response was a groan. “Don’t suppose you have my Vision, do you?”

The Traveler did, and Neuvillette watched curiously as he handed it over. 

Tartaglia croaked a weak thanks before returning the Vision to his belt. He looked only marginally better with its return. 

“That thing won’t stay down long,” he managed after another moment of simply breathing there on the stage. “Been fighting it for ages…think I weakened it a bit…but it’ll come back…”

“It will have to be stopped,” Neuvillette agreed. “If it is attracted to the Primordial Sea, then it will continue to attack Fontaine until no traces of it remain.”

“What do we do?” the Traveler asked. 

“There’s no beating that thing,” Tartaglia said bitterly. “We’re lucky we turned it away.”

“It has been feeding on the Primordial Sea, it will have gained strength from it. My power alone will not be enough…”

“Ugh.” Tartaglia tried once and succeeded on the second attempt at getting to his feet. It was clearly an unsteady thing, and he wavered there a moment, swaying on the spot. “I’ll hold it off. Plan, whatever, then get in there.”

Electro and abyssal energy gathered around him again, and he dove for the portal, even as the Traveler and Paimon shouted for him to stop. 

He disappeared back into it after the creature. 

The Traveler cursed and turned back. “He won’t manage for much longer. We need to come up with a plan quickly.”

Before he could reply, a blinding glow flashed behind them.

The Oratrice had activated, drawing power from the walls around it. Its power glowed through the false windows of the opera house’s stage, white-blue. The scales still hung in the Traveler’s favor.

“What’s it doing?”

He ignored the question, looking toward the defendant’s box, where Furina still sat. She had not moved, and did not even seem to notice the glow of the machine. He could not make out her expression.

“Neuvillette, what’s it doing?” the Traveler demanded again, his voice tense, his sword still in hand.

He did not take his eyes from Furina. “The Oratrice has made its judgement. It seems to be preparing to deliver its sentence.”

Little Paimon shrieked, and the Traveler for once did not seem to know what to do.

“You have to stop it—”

“It has overstepped my authority in the court already,” he said, hating the answer. “The Oratrice reserves final judgement in Fontaine. I do not have the power to stop it.”

The Traveler moved away with another curse, running for the stairs to the defendant’s box. The light grew more intense, flashing across the entirety of the Opera, and a wash of power swept the room.

He was, somehow, not terribly surprised to feel it latch onto him and pull him in.

******

When the light of the Oratrice cleared, he stood in a facsimile of the Opera’s hall. 

The rift from that otherworldly whale was nowhere in sight. Rows of seats were in shambles, many of them floating in the air. The stage was littered with debris, and no Oratrice sat on the stage. In fact, the entirety of the back wall had been replaced by the glow of the machine’s power, rippling and waving as it had only moments before in the true Opera house. 

But something stood behind him, and he turned quickly to face it. 

It was no creature or other enemy. Instead, it was a girl.

She wore the face of Furina, but it could not be her. Immediately he knew this, like some fine sense had been tipped off that this was something other. 

She was Furina’s size, short and slight. Her eyes were brighter, her hair long and free flowing. Her clothes too were simpler, yet somehow more ostentatious; she wore only a flowing gown, no shoes, no hat, no other finery. 

And her smile, for she was smiling at him, was entirely wrong. Too wide, too…he did not know. But it was not right, it was not Furina, no matter the face it hid behind.

Above her head spun a massive blue blade, shimmering as if it were made from water. It shadow crept across the stage, reaching fingers toward him.

“You are not Furina,” he said.

The girl laughed. This too was wrong. 

“No,” she said after a moment, in a lilting voice only barely recognizable. She watched him curiously, her eyes alight. “Haven’t you a guess?”

“Focalors.”

This seemed to please her. “My, you are wise. I had assumed when I asked you to become Iudex, but still, it is lovely to have it confirmed.”

“You brought me here,” he cut off her musing, eyeing the glow of the Oratrice through the faux windows. “To what end?”

“One assumes you do not mean to Fontaine,” she mused idly, wandering up stage and turning to look at him again. She crossed her arms, head tilted. “You mean this place, do you not?”

“Yes.”

She hummed, smiling. “I wanted to explain, you see. After five hundred years’ waiting, my plan is coming to a close. I believe I owe you at least some explanation…

“You know the prophecy’s full meaning. It was laid at my feet when Egeria named me her successor. With her death, I, once but one of her many familiars, now had to clean up her mess. Fontaine and its original sin, this prophecy…all of it now became my responsibility. It required a great deal of introspection to find a way out of it.

“I am sorry for my deceptions. But it was required…one cannot hope to deceive the Heavenly Principles if one cannot deceive one’s own people.”

She was quiet for a moment, and he stared at her. The blade continued to spin above her head, ever a reminder of their limited time. 

“You wished to deceive Celestia?”

Her head tilted again, her expression intrigued. “Wished to? Yes. Was required to? Even more so. If Fontaine was to be saved from this fate, then fate had to give the appearance of being fulfilled. This flood, the Hydro Archon’s weeping on her throne…it must be so.”

“But you are here.”

“There is the game, Hydro Dragon,” she said, seeming much pleased. “When I began this plan, I separated my divinity from all else. What you see now is that divinity—me, Focalors. What sits in the Opera House, what you have known these past five hundred years, is what remains—my ideal self, perhaps, if I still retain any claim over her. In truth, she is her own being, her own human…like a child to me, more than a twin…she is all that I wished I could be, when I asked Egeria to give me human form.”

“Furina.”

“Yes.” Her expression was wistful, and sad. “She is human. Only that. But to ensure she could fulfill her role, I cursed her.” Her eyes dimmed then. “We spoke only briefly. I told her she must live the life of an Archon, act in my place…fool all. Until the prophecy came to pass. Until then, she would not die…but nor would she be able to pursue her happiness. She must play her role, and have all of Fontaine believe her. Even you.”

His hands clenched at his sides. Furina had been given no choice, it would seem…how she must have suffered…

“Your curse gave her the physical life required,” he said softly. “But you gave her no fortitude against such an unnaturality, against the mental strain you put upon her by forcing her to live for so long, and to play your part.”

“Oh?” She seemed amused. “Are you angry on her behalf?”

“I cannot condone such torture. It is a slight against what you claim to value. This is no justice.”

“At least one person often suffers for the sake of justice,” she said, weighing her hands before her. “The scales demand to be settled. To do so, they must move, either to correct a wrong or to prevent it. I cannot guarantee no suffering should befall anyone…Besides, do the needs of all of Fontaine not outweigh my own?”

“Weighing the suffering of one against another leads only to folly. The need of a supposed many cannot be used to justify suffering, even if only of an individual,” he said, shaking his head. “And, you are not Furina. You have said this yourself. This suffering we speak of is not your own, and regardless of the title you received, you have no more right than any other to decide who is to suffer.”

Strangely, she seemed to agree. Her eyes were heavy again as she looked away. “No. I am not Furina…and so in a way, you are correct. I…I did not wish for her to suffer. But this was the only way.”

“You cannot know that.”

She shook her head, turning away further. The blade spun and spun above her head, never slowing.

“You assume as well, Monsieur, that I will allow her to take the fall for the prophecy,” she said after a moment, turning her head enough to hold his gaze. “I would not do so. It is a part she plays…she is my star actress…but stunts and tricks are better left to those suited to them. No, Furina’s duty was always to hold the stage for me, to stand in as my double so that I might play my pieces from behind the curtain. She was without, acting her part. All the while, I remained within the Oratrice with Fontaine’s gnosis, waiting for my moment.”

“It was your voice Mr. Lyney heard when he investigated.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I could not risk the gnosis being discovered and removed from me. Not before I could enact my plan.”

“I do not understand what this plan is.”

She hummed, a little smile lifting her lips. “The Oratrice is an invention most divine…but it is one not at all understood, I see. It is no simple deliverer of a just verdict. In fact, I largely based my judgements upon your own, with a few…exceptions. 

“As to powering Fontaine…most of the Indemnitium was stored for its true purpose; a mere fraction was enough to power Fontaine, truly. No, I created the Oratrice only to enact one purpose—to kill the God of Justice.”

The blade spun over her head. He stared at it, then back at her, believing he must have misheard. “I beg your pardon?”

“You may have it.” She settled her hands on her hips. It was a gesture uncannily similar to Furina, yet still unnervingly off. “In fact, I will explain further. This machine will not only kill the God of Justice, but it will destroy the Divine Throne on which she was placed.”

She must have seen something of his shock in his eyes, for she laughed. “Did you believe I would lay here in repose while my darling Furina suffered such tortures? No…”

Her eyes went to the blade, spinning and spinning. “I could not save her from the pain I left her. But this fate, this prophecy of the Heavenly Principles…this I could. I have spent the last five hundred years accumulating Indemnitium from every trial. To kill me is simple enough…to destroy the Hydro Archon, and more importantly, her Divine Throne, that requires more power.”

“You wish to…” 

His voice could not have been much louder than a whisper, an afterthought as he realized her plan. 

“I am returning what is rightfully yours, of course,” she said, smiling at him again. This one seemed truer than the last. “The authority of the Hydro Archon belonged first to the Hydro Sovereign of this planet. It was never mine, nor Egeria’s. It has only ever been yours.”

“But…”

She watched him a moment, then came a little closer. “What? Are you sad once more, Hydro Dragon?”

He remained quiet, watching her. He did not know what to say, nor what label to ascribe this stirring in him. 

“Hm. Five hundred years amongst humans, and yet you still struggle through the mist…perhaps that is not so odd. As I understand it, humans too struggle to decipher and act upon their emotions…”

“What use could you have in…” He paused, frowning. “In returning this to me?”

“Oh? I may be a poor one, and with many flaws, but I am the God of Justice. I take this title seriously, even if Egeria did not. It is not my place to deliver Judgement to the Heavenly Principles—but their actions in Teyvat are the true original sin, are they not?”

She seemed to await an answer, but he had none. In a way, she was correct, but…

“Egeria sentenced Fontaine to this flood by stealing the power of the Primordial Sea and bending it to a new shape. The Heavenly Principles stole the power of the you Dragon Sovereigns, bending them into the Gnoses. Such injustices cannot go unanswered, even if this poor God of Justice is far too late…Is that not true? Is it not just to have your rightful powers restored to you?”

“But the cost…”

She smiled, her eyes nearly closed with her happiness. “Yes, yes. That, O Hydro Dragon, is the benefit of your time amongst humans, I suspect. I have always felt that true justice comes in pursuit of human existence…my work has been to ensure that Fontaineans shall not be destroyed for their ancestral pursuit of that existence. But I cannot guarantee it. Only you can, by pardoning them of that sin.

“Your Authority is natural, and thus supersedes that of the Heavenly Principles. They cannot hope to curse against it…my hope is that when your Authority is returned to you, your verdict will be just…”

He stared at her, something still dazed within him. “Surely you must know I could never declare them guilty. This ‘sin’ is not their own.”

“Hm. I hoped so…you may not like this decision of mine, but it is the only way to save Fontaine, to save Furina…to save your Wriothesley.”

He stiffened, despair rising then. 

Even more so than the rest, he could not lose Wriothesley. Not to this. Not when he could prevent it. 

She raised a hand as if to soothe him, but did not come so close. Perhaps she did not dare.

He was glad she did not. He did not believe he would react well to such a thing, now if ever.

“All this and more, returned to you as they should be,” she said quietly, stepping back. “I am sorry it took me so long to do so. I hope you will forgive me.”

He stared, having no idea what to say in response. 

It felt like a part of him had slipped out of order, like some piece of his mind was still stuck in the despair and dissatisfaction and wrongness of the centuries it had been since he had awoken in this form. Years and years, lifetimes of lack…and now his power, his true form, all of it, was being offered up to him at the price of a life. 

How despicable.

Focalors smiled again, something like amusement or fondness in her eyes. “Do not mourn for me. I have wronged you in some way, I know it…and I have made my choice. You may despise it, you may judge it. These are your rights. But I hope that you will spare Fontaine your anger. These sins are not humanity’s to bear…you know this, I believe…”

Her smile softened, and she looked up at the blade, spinning on and on. It had begun to slow. 

“My time is almost up.” Her eyes met his again. She stepped away, back beneath the blade. “Farewell, Neuvillette. I hope you have enjoyed the part you played, these last five hundred years.”

Smiling, she gave a deep bow, as if exiting after a grand performance. 

The blade spun a final time, flashed, and before he could say another word, fell. 

The silence which followed was heavy, cavernous.

There was no great surge of power, nor sign within this strange space to show the destruction of her or the Divine Throne. 

But he felt it, all the same, like a call of his name from deep below the sea, from some creature on the sea bed. Like the first day after a long illness, the first breath in without a cough. A weight had dropped from him, or a limb woken from sleep. A thousand metaphors could suit, but none would match just right. 

The false stage was quiet, the light of the Oratrice rapidly fading. It had used its power, and fulfilled its purpose. The source of its power too, had faded. It would do no more, he assumed. 

Water began to rise in strange little bubbles, twinkling in the light. They were beautiful, in a way that the Fontemer until then had never seemed to him. With the threat of death attached to it, it had lost that glimmer of life inside it. 

He reached for one on some instinct, watching it wisp away as it touched his hand. 

He could bear to be here no longer. It grew dark, and too silent to stand. Gathering the strange waters around himself, he fled. 

Reality outside the Oratrice burned with sensation, and he fled the Opera too, knowing he did not have the control to hide himself there just yet. 

The thought of explaining what had happened was too much. And he could not allow this farce to continue any longer, not now that he had the power, finally the ability, to change it.

Rain met him there, above Fontaine. Heavy and cold, constant as it had been only a few days before, when he had watched it fall with Wriothesley in his office. 

This was no surprise. The storm clouds had brewed constantly since the start of Furina’s trial, ever darkening. And he could feel it more clearly now, how it waned and waxed to his emotions. The waters responded, even if he did not necessarily wish for them to.

This storm would not leave for some time, he knew too. 

Fontaine sprawled out beneath him. He could feel the thousands of lives there, the Primordial laced within them. 

If he stretched his senses far enough, looked close enough, he could even feel Wriothesley, deep below the sea, shining with Cryo as he always was. How wonderful…how terrible…

Louder than them all, he could hear the Fontemer deep below, ever flowing and calling. Churning just beneath Fontaine’s lake bed, waiting for its moment. 

It stirred in agitation, a mere suggestion away from bursting from its artificial hold. 

When it rose, and it would, all of Fontaine’s people would perish, dissolved for a sin they themselves did not commit. They did not even know of it. 

Focalors had sacrificed herself, sacrificed Furina’s happiness, for their futures. The suffering had already been dealt. To forgo judgment now would be a greater crime.

And he could find no sin amongst them, not any of them worthy of such holistic destruction. Not even the worst of those he had sentenced below could have earned the wrath of the heavens simply for existing, for wishing. 

Calling the rain to himself, he raised his hand. That rising well of power within himself answered easily, and he reached across it, the glow of the seal above him bright even to his own eyes. 

It flashed as it formed, and the waters surged upward, overtaking the clouds and forcing through the ‘natural’ rain. This new rain glimmered faintly as it fell, a color he recognized to suit his own power. 

“Your sins are forgiven,” he said quietly. 

The change was immediate, but gradual, like dirt slipping into a slurry down a muddy hillside. As the drops fell, that sense of the Fontemer within them all faded, washed away by the rain. 

They were no different now from the humans of other nations, and the Primordial Sea would not harm them, as they were made with it no longer. 

The rain continued to fall. Without the guiding light of the Fontemer, he could not sense Wriothesley as easily from so far away. How terrible. And yet, how wonderful. To know by the fact that he could not see him so easily any longer that this forgiveness had worked.

Wriothesley was safe, from this flood at least—Fontaine would not fall.

He returned to the theater, knowing such things were required. But perhaps some part of him remained up there, mourning even he knew not what.

And watching Fontaine, waiting for the rain to slow.

******

This deep below sea, there were few natural indications of any change in sea level. The pressure on the walls of the Fortress would only increase or decrease after a drastic change, and those sorts of changes didn’t happen very often.

Fontaine’s sea was, after all, a lake, fed from deep wellsprings and run off from its many high mountains. Unless there was some sort of record dry spell or a cataclysmic event deep below where the natural spring originated, there wouldn’t be any drastic change.

And yet, Fontaine had a prophesied flood, and that prophesy had hung over them all for centuries. Like any stubborn humans, there had been a number of efforts at tracking the water levels over the years.

The most recent efforts came from the Fontaine Research Institute, which, being so close to Meropide, gave them some sensors and equipment to keep an eye on. After their laboratory exploded in epic fashion, Wriothesley had commandeered even more control over the operation, and so had, for a few years now, had readings on a variety of sensors to indicate any change in the sea level.

All that to say that the moment something snapped in Fontaine’s lake bed and the waters began to rise, every alarm he’d wired in the Fortress went blaring.

With such recent practice, evacuation was smooth sailing. The guards led everyone into the Wingalet at a record pace, and before the waters had risen more than twenty or so feet in total, the ship had broken the surface and began to skim for people to pick up.

The water rose rapidly. Within the first ten minutes, the Wingalet was able to clear the houses and short structures along Liffey’s shores. They skimmed past the ruins of the aquarail, through the submarine canyon and out into Salacia Plain.

Still, the water continued to rise, until everything but the Opera Epiclese, the Palais, and the mountains had sunk deep beneath the waves.

People were surfacing left and right. Thankfully, most in Fontaine were taught to swim. And they were not the only boat on the water, or the only people to help.

The first to show up in the water, there even before the Wingalet had surfaced, were the Melusines. Dozens of them. They bobbed up and down, over and over, pulling people to the surface and disappearing below for more. Some of them wore the Phantom’s uniform, but a good number of them were in plain clothes, likely from Merusea deep below.

They found Sigewinne out at sea like that, pulling people above the surface. She was easy to scoop up with the first batch.

Miss Navia’s voice was loud over the sea’s churning, and her many boats had fanned out around them in an impressive display. They pulled people from the sea with ease, and those that they missed or the larger groups, the Wingalet could handle. Even the Fatui were on the water, and he suspected beneath it, pulling people to the surface.

All told, by the time the rising had slowed and stopped, at least a hundred extra people crowded the upper deck, and many more had ducked into the safety of the hold.

Sigewinne, Arderne, and the rest of the Fortress’s trustworthy staff had taken to checking their rescues for injury. Blankets and towels were handed out, those who’d come from deep beneath the new surface of the water were ushered below where there was more warmth.

Thankfully, no one was badly hurt. Scared out of their minds, sure, but no one was injured.

And no one, as far as they could tell, had been dissolved. Even as the surface of the lake shimmered with the Primordial Sea’s taint, the worst they saw was symptoms of breathing too much of it in, and even then, it was rare.

As the water began to level out and the rising slowed, he ordered the Wingalet lower back into the sea enough to lean over the rail, looking across the boats. He found Navia quickly, and whistled.

She whipped around, and her eyes searched the Wingalet’s deck for a moment before she found him. Smiling, she raised a hand in a wave.

“Thanks for the help, Your Grace!” she called. “Who knew Meropide had such a talent for shipbuilding!”

“Any idea what’s going on?”

“Why, our prophesied doom, of course!”

Rolling his eyes, he waited until she’d steered her boat closer so he didn’t have to shout. “What’s the real answer then, Miss Navia?”

She had drawn her boat as close as could reasonably be allowed, given the rippling waves. “Too much to explain now. We were right, Lady Furina wasn’t the Archon. She’s human, but we hadn’t sorted out how yet. An abyss monster of some kind attacked the Opera, and Monsieur Neuvillette…” She shook her head, frowning. “I don’t know what exactly happened, but something did, and then he went into this abyssal rift with the Traveler to fight the creature. After that, the water started rising, and well, I became a bit more preoccupied as I’m sure you could tell.”

“Right…” He looked out across the sea, and what little of Fontaine was now visible. “Well, best keep going then. Until Neuvillette gets back from wherever it is he ran off to.”

They separated again, and their work continued. The Spina’s boats passed off rescues to the Wingalet as their boats filled to capacity, and more and more people began to bob along the surface of the sea, waiting to be picked up.

Maybe twenty or thirty minutes after the rising had started, the earth quaked again somewhere deep below, sending bubbling ripples out across the water’s surface.

And then, miraculously, the water began to recede.

It was slower than it had risen, but still quite fast. Unnaturally so.

Fast enough too, to mean he had to spend the next few minutes hurriedly redirecting the Wingalet back toward the center of Fontaine’s lake, around where Salacia Plain would be on the lake bed. There, at least, he knew the water was deep enough for the ship to sit without tearing itself a few new entrances in the hull.

Mountains and hills reappeared, then the aquarails and much of the Court, and then the houses, roads, and a surprising number of meka still marching about, unphased by the changes.

Along with the countryside came the damage. A stray aquabus had ended up halfway up Mont Automnequi. There were aberrants scurrying about in a panic where they’d only just been swimming, and everything was covered in kelp and sea plants. Some structures had also clearly been damaged in the quaking or by the water, and what little wasn’t covered in sea plants was covered in dirt and other flood detritus.

In short, Erinnyes at minimum looked a mess. He couldn’t imagine what the pristine streets of the Court of Fontaine would look like after all this drainage. Granted, most things in Fontaine were waterproof, but surely not to this extent…

It was over, but there would clearly still be work to do. For a long, long while.

A light rain had started, seemingly from nowhere. There were only a few little sparse clouds dotted around the sky—it had been mostly clear, as the sea rose…but now, it rained.

Wriothesley had a sneaking suspicion he knew what that meant.

Leaving the helm, he wove his way across the deck in search of Sigewinne.

He found her amidst a swarm of civilians in thick wooly blankets, all loitering around a bit aimlessly toward the middle of the ship’s deck. She caught sight of him quickly and headed over.

“Something wrong? Is someone hurt?”

“No, no. Nothing like that.”

She nodded, looking relieved. “What’s up?”

“Navia says something happened at the Opera, and with the rain…”

She followed his vague gesture, staring up at the sky and its inexplicable rain, then nodded once. “What do you need me to do?”

“If you and Arderne are well enough for now, then just hold the fort until I get back. All the surface folks will need to be dropped off somewhere before we go back below. If the gardes and Phantom are out, you can decide with them how to arrange that, if I’m not back by then.”

Reliable as ever, Sigewinne only nodded again. “Got it. I’m sure some of my sisters are already arranging things on land, I’ll keep my ears open.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

She shooed him away. “If I know Monsieur Neuvillette, he’ll still be at the Opera Epiclese.”

He chuckled. “Thanks, Sige.”

“Go on, Your Grace. I think he’d be glad to see you.”

Humming, he patted her head and pulled at his Vision. 

He reappeared near the Fountain of Lucine, which had predictably overflowed, the mechanisms which made the water flow turned off or broken. The Opera’s fountains were also off, making the building seem somehow smaller. Without their towering jets, the Opera seemed cold and silent, like a hollowed out shell.

As he hurried up the steps to the main doors, a small figure came stumbling out of the opera house, missing her usual hat and certainly her cheerful demeanor.

Furina looked at the sky with nothing short of shock, her eyes wide and unbelieving. He approached her quickly. 

“Lady Furina?”

She turned toward him, and he hardly recognized her, her expression was so altered. It was clear she had been crying. Her eyes were red, and she was quite pale. She looked his way, but she didn’t really seem to see him.

“Are you hurt?”

She gave no answer. Her eyes were distant, dazed, and she turned them down to look at her hands.

“It…it was wrong?” She mumbled, her voice small, watching as water dripped onto her palms from the overhang above. “Everyone…you’re all still here!”

She ran off before he could say a word, and he was unsure whether she was laughing or crying.

He stared after her retreating figure, utterly confused. At least she didn’t seem hurt.

But where was Neuvillette?

If Furina was still at the Opera, then Neuvillette must have been too. And yet only she had come out of the house, behaving so strangely he felt entirely out of the loop. 

A heavy foreboding was creeping over him, and he ducked into the shadows of the opera house quickly. 

The interior of the building had clearly flooded. Vases and flower boxes were tipped over or shattered, dirt and leaves and petals covering the furniture, windows, and floor. Chairs and benches sat toppled, one was even collapsed over the ticket counter. Everything dripped with water, and none of the lights were working. 

The doors to the theater itself were hanging open, and it was in no better shape. It was difficult to see with only the windows for light. 

It hit him a moment later that the Oratrice was dark, looming on the stage like a big, broken lamppost. 

As if summoned by that dark reality, a bright flash of blue lit the entire room. He winced, shielding his eyes from it until it had cleared. 

When he lowered his hand, Neuvillette stood on the soaked stage, alone, his eyes glowing in the darkness, already watching him. 

In a flash only a bit less bright than the last, Neuvillette was in front of him, barely two feet away. There was something frantic and unfamiliar in his eyes, moving quickly over Wriothesley’s face as if he expected him to suddenly disappear. 

Fair, considering the circumstances of not even a half hour before. 

It didn’t seem to be enough for him, though, as Neuvillette came closer still, until a scarce foot separated them. He reached out in the same motion, the strange symbols on his gloves glowing with the same blue light as had appeared when he moved so quickly. 

In fact, Neuvillette seemed to be glowing entirely, like some ethereal light within him was overflowing, bleeding out over his appearance. 

He might have thought more about what that meant if Neuvillette’s hands weren’t holding his face like some delicate, wonderful thing. 

His gloves were cold, and wet, but that wasn’t so surprising. But they were steady on his face, and his eyes continued to flick over his features, wide and open in a way that Neuvillette was only sparingly. It was as sharp a stare as he had ever received, piercing and unflinching, belied by the very gentle touch of his hands holding him still.

Never in his entire life had he been held like this, before Neuvillette—and he had no idea what had prompted it—or what to do. Without exhaustion and sleepiness to hide behind, and without instigating such things himself, he felt off-foot, stuck to the ground without any idea what to do as Neuvillette held him as if he were something precious.

So, more than a bit stunned and certainly warm in the face, he stood there like an idiot for several seconds, unmoving and completely unable to make himself do so. 

“Neuvillette?” he managed after a little while, his voice sounding strange and soft. “What’s going on?”

He gave no answer. He only continued to stare, his eyes bright in a way Wriothesley had only witnessed in the rain, or after he had sealed away the Primordial Sea. Glowing and staring so intensely, like he could see right through him. That intense attention, at least, was familiar.

The silence was too, even if it was unsettling.

“You’re gonna have to work with me here,” he said quietly, looking between his eyes and watching him follow. “I’m not nearly as good at mind reading as you, y’know.”

He reached up, holding Neuvillette’s hands without really trying to get him to pull away. 

That at least got a reaction, if only a slight one. Neuvillette hummed, turning one hand to hold his, staring at it now. He kept his other hand where it was, cold against Wriothesley’s cheek.

“You’re freaking me out, sweetheart,” he tried, squeezing his hands. “You okay?”

Neuvillette sighed, meeting his eyes again and brushing a finger over one of the scars that crept up his face. “You are wonderful.”

Somehow, he managed a smile, largely by moving on (and pretending he knew how to react to such a declaration—he in fact did not). “There you are. You had me worried.”

“My apologies…”

“You okay?”

“Mm.” It was a distracted noise, as apparently Neuvillette still took great interest in cataloging his features. “Yes.”

Now that he was at least a bit more responsive (if strangely wistful), Wriothesley pulled his hands down, staring at them. Like the rest of him, they were lit from somewhere within, a deep, bright blue which shone through his gloves.

“You’re glowing again, you know.”

Neuvillette hummed again, squeezing back as Wriothesley had moments before. The light at his palms flashed as he did. “It will take time to become accustomed to, I expect…”

“What will? Don’t tell me you’re going to glow forever now, are you? Are Hydro Dragons bioluminescent?”

Huffing his little laugh, Neuvillette smiled. “No. Or…well, I am not sure. I am the only of my kind, to my knowledge. And I do not believe I am bioluminescent in the way you mean.” He shook his head. “In any case, this will fade as it always does, when I am more…hm…used to the power.”

He thought for a moment he would leave it there, but instead, Neuvillette turned, letting go of one of his hands to point to the Oratrice. 

“The Divine Throne was destroyed,” he said, sounding awed and bereaved at the same time.

“Destroyed…” Wriothesley repeated blankly. “What does that…mean?”

“Just as it sounds. The Divine Thrones are a part of what grants an Archon power. The one assigned to Hydro has been destroyed. In short, there can no longer be a Hydro Archon, and my Authority has been returned to me.”

Still not quite grasping what all that meant, Wriothesley nevertheless nodded. “Sounds…important.”

“Yes.” He turned back, staring at him intently. “I will explain, but it is not so simple a tale, and I…wished to see you, more than all else.”

He brushed a finger over his cheek, that damnable wonder still in his eyes. 

“How lucky that you have found me first. I was content to go searching.”

Wriothesley sighed, grabbing his hand once more. “Yeah. Me too…”

“The flood,” Neuvillette said suddenly, urgent and to the point.

“Yeah, it flooded. Got high enough to cover most of Fontaine. But no one dissolved. I don’t know for sure if there were any injuries, but the ones we scooped up on the Wingalet were mostly fine. Furina too—ran off like a shot, but she seemed okay.”

“That is a relief…”

They were quiet a moment. Wriothesley considered pushing for more information, knowing that Neuvillette would have the answers.

But there would be time for figuring out what exactly he’d done to save them—and he knew as much as anyone else that it had to have come down to Neuvillette, at least in part. Right now, there were more pressing things to consider.

“You’re sure you’re alright?”

Neuvillette nodded, looking at their joined hands. “I am unharmed. I am in some respects better than I have ever been.”

“Mm. Well, you look beautiful as ever, glowing and all.”

He ducked his head, refusing to meet his eyes. 

“Hey.” He tipped his chin back up, and surprisingly, Neuvillette allowed it, watching him with wide eyes. “If you get to make me all flustered holding me and talking about how wonderful I am, I get to call you beautiful.”

He made a face remarkably similar to a pout. “You are incorrigible.”

“Monsieur, I’m pretty sure your beauty has been discussed for longer than I have been alive.”

“I do not care.” 

“Still a fact. You are beautiful.”

He pouted again. “You are a flatterer.”

Laughing, he shook his head. “Is it flattery if it’s true? Neuvillette, sweetheart, you are literally glowing. Never mind that you are already the most beautiful man in all of Teyvat.”

“Wriothesley,” he sighed, evidently exasperated. 

“No, no. I’m right. Trust me. I’ve thought you were pretty since I was no older than ten.” Mirroring his actions from before, he held Neuvillette’s face in his hands. “This is it. Doesn’t get any more beautiful.”

He sighed, and seemed to give up, closing his eyes for a moment and settling his face into Wriothesley’s hands. Wriothesley held still, his own face still a bit too warm to be justified.

“You say these things so easily,” Neuvillette said softly, a note of dissatisfaction still lingering in his tone. 

“Yeah?”

“You have an uncanny ability to deprive me of words,” he added, his eyes still closed. “Every time we meet it occurs…particularly recently…”

The urge to joke arose again, but Neuvillette’s voice was so quiet, and the admission felt heavy in the quiet of the opera hall. 

“What do you want to say?”

He opened his eyes then, giving a familiar flat stare. “Again you ask this…If I knew that, I would not have this dilemma.”

“I don’t know,” he said, moving his hands down and brushing over the hair he kept loose on one side. “I think you know what you want to say. Maybe you just don’t know how to say it, and that’s what stalls you.”

His brow furrowed as he thought it over. “I have never…” He paused again, catching one of Wriothesley’s hands. “You are without doubt the person to whom I am closest. Regardless of time. And…I have little experience in anything beyond polite acquaintance…and I…”

A warmth settled in his chest again, and he could practically feel his heart against his ribs. “And you…want more than that…”

Neuvillette blushed all the way to his ears, turning his face away. His eyes were somewhere far off. “Very much so. You are…fascinating to me. I cannot make myself turn away…”

His thoughts ground to a bit of a halt at that. 

He wasn’t oblivious. He knew Neuvillette enjoyed his company. They’d known one another for years now, and it had been several since they had written only for business. In the last few months, each of them had shown up at the other’s office at least once without any reasonable excuse at all. 

The last few weeks in particular, hell the night before, he knew they were closer than just their work. Closer than friends, honestly. And Neuvillette had, in his own way, been more direct than ever before.

But instinctively, this still felt like something from a dream. Like he was still sleeping in some alleyway, half starved, when he had been completely unable to stop thinking about Monsieur Neuvillette and his pretty face, making up stories to get himself to sleep. Or maybe he was in his dorm down in the Fortress, worn out from some fight or another, and that damn look at his trial would come swimming back to him, and he’d lose an entire evening to wistful sadness. 

Or worse, it wasn’t a dream at all, and he’d stalled so long in thinking that Neuvillette had pulled further away, something unbearably sorrowful in his eyes. 

Ah, that had to be reality then. Always the grimmest option. 

“Hey, hey.” He caught Neuvillette by the hands again, and though he made some minuscule effort at pulling away, it was clear his heart wasn’t in it. “Please believe me that’s not a rejection—I’m a little slow, alright? Give the human a second here, he’s an idiot.”

“You are not an idiot,” Neuvillette answered immediately. 

“No, I definitely am. At least in this case.”

Neuvillette scowled, his displeasure for once very clear. “I do not understand…”

“Right. I’ll try to be blunt, okay?”

“Please.”

He nodded. “Okay…look, I’ve liked you since I was a kid and didn’t even know what it meant. That’s only gotten worse in the last few years. Getting to know you, the real you…” He smiled, squeezing his hand. “Your prettiness is just the surface. You’re intelligent, you’re kind. You care for all of Fontaine even if you don’t have to, and it’s not from some duty or bargain, it’s just you. And somehow you care about me in there too? I’ve never been so lucky.”

Neuvillette’s eyes were anywhere but his face, something begging in his voice. “Wriothesley…”

“I’m serious,” he emphasized, and Neuvillette looked at him again, finally. “Most of Fontaine loves you just for your duties to them as Iudex, and maybe your favoring of the Melusines. Monsieur, if they knew how amazing you were on top of all of that, you’d have far more people at your feet.”

“I do not want—” he sputtered, shook his head. “I still do not understand…What could this have to do with anything?”

“Neuvillette.” He kept his voice gentle, nudging him to meet his eyes again. “You said you want something more than ‘polite acquaintance,’ right?”

He seemed to struggle to keep his eyes from drifting down. “Yes.”

“And yesterday you said you didn’t mind people thinking we were…let’s say more than friends.”

“No.”

“I want that too,” he said, insistent, as direct as he had ever been. “I meant what I said before. Being close to you, whatever way we can be, whatever you want to call it, I don’t care, that’s what I want. In all honesty, I’ve wanted that for years.”

“You…have?”

He nodded.

“Oh…”

“You’ve no idea how remarkable you are. Any sane person would want to be close to you. I’m just…lucky, I guess.”

“I would not call it luck. That implies you have done nothing to sustain such things yourself.” He played with their hands again, twining their fingers. “Our acquaintance is laden with your work, at least as much as it is with mine, if not more…you have humored me and my flaws more than anyone I have ever known. I have never met a human like you, nor do I expect to find another.”

“Hm.” His face felt hot, but he pressed on. “You’re pretty remarkable yourself you know.”

His efforts earned him an unamused huff. “As I said, you are a flatterer.”

“For you, always.” He looked at their hands, marveling at such a simple gesture and the warmth it brought. After a moment, he continued. “You said you don’t get close to anyone, well, me either, but I think you knew that. You and Sige are all I’ve had since I was a kid. And you’re leagues better company than the trash that raised me.”

That scowl of his, which had softened with Wriothesley’s words, came back with a vengeance. “I should hope so. They did not deserve you…I cannot be unhappy that they can longer harm you, even considering the circumstances of their deaths.”

He smiled. “You’re sweet.”

“Sweet?” 

“Mhm.”

“…I do not see how my…displeasure with your former guardians can be viewed as sweet. Is that not a positive label for such things?”

“It is. And it’s sweet because it shows you care. About me.”

“Oh.” He nodded, accepting. “Yes. I thought that was obvious.”

He barely fought the urge to laugh, thinking that probably wouldn’t be taken well. “Still good to know.”

They were quiet a moment, standing in the empty opera house and holding hands. It was surreal, with all that had happened in the last few hours, to stand here aimlessly and hold hands as if there wasn’t a myriad of things they both should be doing right now—but Wriothesley couldn’t find it in himself to care at the moment.

For now, things were quiet. And he’d wanted little more than to be close to Neuvillette for…a very long time. He wanted to savor this little moment as long as he could.

Neuvillette must have felt similar, as he’d taken to staring at their hands again, all wide eyed and awed. Maybe he couldn’t quite believe this either.

“So,” Wriothesley said hesitantly a minute or so later, careful with his words. “This whole…Authority thing. What does that mean for you?”

Neuvillette did not answer right away. His brow furrowed in thought, maybe weighing what all he could say. “It is…essentially my right as Sovereign. Governance of my element, I suppose. When my Authority was taken and I was…removed…” He grimaced, but moved on quickly. “I was reborn in this form without most of my power. It is not just raw power, but the dominion over my element as well. Celestia’s Archons are given control of their element, with certain costs of their own. My power is the…purer form of such control.

“Hydro, as it is known now, represents only a fraction. It is a shard of that true force which is my domain. Like comparing Pyro to fire, or Geo to the true earth itself. Some element of the primordial remains in that refined form, but control of the refinement does not indicate control of the essence beneath it. The seven elements are as their Archons, only a weakened representation of what once lay beyond it.

“Without my Authority, my power and my form were limited. I remained an elemental dragon, nothing could change that wholly, but my full abilities were…greatly reduced. The waters would respond to me, but not in their fullest extent, and I could do little for the Fontemer beyond encouraging it back below…once Focalors destroyed the Divine Throne and my Authority was returned to me.” He shook his head, his eyes glowing as he looked at Wriothesley again. “The Fontemer is the lifeblood of this world, and that is where I come from, truly. There is…not much I could not reasonably do. Correcting Egeria’s sin was simple.”

Holding that otherworldly gaze for a moment, Wriothesley eventually nodded slowly. “Okay. Going to pass over the fact it sounds like you were killed way back then.”

Neuvillette winced, but made no denial.

“Great. I’ll decide how I feel about that later, then. Never fought a cosmic being…”

He sighed. “Wriothesley.”

“Hey, I’m moving on, I said I’d move on.” He smiled a little, mostly teasing. “Putting aside your already impressive amount of power, too, anything else I ought to know?”

“Mm.” Again he hesitated, distracting himself by playing with Wriothesley’s fingers as he thought. “I do not know how this will change my position within Fontaine, but I have no plans of leaving. If that was a concern.”

“Didn’t expect you to, honestly. You’re pretty important around here, y’know. All powerful dragon-hood aside.”

Neuvillette seemed amused by this, a little smile lifting his lips as he hummed. “You are here. I would stay for you if nothing else.”

“You keep complimenting me like that and I’m gonna get an awfully big head.”

“I do not believe so. You disparage yourself too much already. If you insist on continuing to do so, let it count for the both of us. I will endeavor to balance the scales.”

He snorted, even as his face burned. “Always impartial, Monsieur.”

“Not very much, in this sense.” His eyes drifted back to their hands, fingers running over the scars that crawled over his wrists and hands. “I hope you will not find yourself on trial again. I do not think I could claim to be impartial then.”

“Mhm. Lucky I’ve already been judged then. And luckier still that I’ve got no evil plans brewing up at the moment.”

Neuvillette huffed. “At the moment, he says.”

“Hey, I can’t promise I won’t do something crazy at some point. I’ve apparently got enemies in very high places.”

Shaking his head, Neuvillette pinned him again with his impossible stare. “You need not take to my defense in this way. I assure you, I do not intend to leave such crimes unaddressed. My duty to Fontaine closely mirrors that which I owe to Teyvat as a whole.”

“How did you somehow turn this into you getting more work to do?”

He gave a little smile, amused. “The consequences of receiving my Authority back, I suppose.” His smile slipped away suddenly, and he frowned a little. “Ah.”

“What?”

“I’ve just thought of something.”

“Well, don’t leave me in suspense.”

Neuvillette hummed. “I may have gotten myself in another altercation, which I did say that I would allow you to witness, the last time…”

Snorting, Wriothesley grabbed his hand again. “You’ve become quite the fighter in the last month or so, huh?”

He allowed the contact, staring at their hands. “Entirely against my wishes, I assure you.”

“You keep that up and I’m sure I’ll manage to be around for one of your little set downs. From the way Paimon talked about Tartaglia’s trial, you laid him out in barely a second.”

“He is human,” Neuvillette said, as if that explained everything. It probably did.

“Either way, I’m not going to fuss about it. Mostly a joke anyway, as much as I would like to see what you can do. But that’s my own interests talking more than anything else.”

Something in his rambling had caught Neuvillette’s attention again, and he played with Wriothesley’s fingers as he answered. “There is…something I could show you. Without having to harm anything.”

“Oh yeah?”

“With my Authority returned to me, I am no longer trapped in my current form.”

He blanked, staring for several seconds. “So…hold on, like…full dragon and all that?”

That flicker of amusement returned, and Neuvillette nodded. “And all that,” he repeated.

He whistled, impressed (and more than a bit excited at the prospect—both in general as something fascinating and because this was clearly another show of trust). “Well, count me in for that, if you’re willing. Sounds cool. You doing this now?”

Neuvillette huffed, reaching up and holding his face again. “You are far too endearing.”

“Yeah?” his voice sounded strange in his own ears.

It seemed Neuvillette had caught it too, smiling a little. “Yes.” His fingers brushed over his cheek, wistful and gentle.

“Ugh. You’re making me soft, y’know.”

“No.”

That same damned simple, unflappable tone, utterly uninterested in the thought of being wrong.

Damnit, he loved it.

“Alright, Monsieur, all this making me flustered has to have earned me some pity points by now.” He pulled his hands down, holding tight. “C’mon, dragon time. Pretty please, Hydro Dragon?”

He shook his head at him, bemused. “You are severely underestimating the scale of my true form. I would very much destroy the Opera Epiclese if I tried such a stunt here.”

“Boo. You owe me.”

“Mm. Acceptable.” His tone was entirely unbothered, unconcerned with the supposed debt. “You, I believe, owe me an excursion to the sea. That would suit far better, both for the scale of such things and avoiding discovery, which I would like to do.”

Again, as was seeming to become very common today, his brain just about short circuited.

“Neuvillette, are you asking me on a date?”

Chapter Text

Two days after the flood waters receded, Lady Furina packed a single bag and left the Palais. 

Judging by her expression at his appearance, she had not meant to be seen. When she rounded the corner of the path around the building and came to face him, she went completely still. 

Her eyes were swollen, and she had neglected her hat and coat. In the rain, this was of some concern. Humans took a chill easily…

“You are leaving,” he said. 

She was silent. Her eyes moved across his face but could not seem to settle, nor meet his eyes directly. “I’m no Archon,” she answered after a moment, her voice flat. “I don’t belong up there. And I’m tired.”

He nodded, if only to the last statement. “Where will you go?”

Her shoulders went tight as she bristled, hands clenching over the handle of her bag. It seemed too small in her hands, to encompass five centuries of life. 

“I saved a little money,” she mumbled, in a tone he hardly recognized. “Thought I might rent a room…didn’t know what else to do...”

There was a note of shame in her voice, and her cheeks had gone red as she trailed off. 

He waited a moment, but it was clear she would say no more. Waving away the rain and the water that had drenched her, he decided it was time. 

“Come,” he said, and moved around her toward the lift. 

After a moment’s hesitation, he heard her fall into step. 

Their journey was short and silent. Furina clung to her bag with white knuckled hands, her head bowed low. Neuvillette, in turn, resisted the urge to twist his cane, if only for something to do. 

The lift settled and they stepped out between Quartier Narbonnais and Lyonnais. Tucked into the shade beneath the Palais and the region’s waterway were a number of residential structures, little businesses, and flower boxes filled with large, leafy plants. 

Furina’s steps had slowed as they went up a few sets of stairs. As they came in front of one of the homes, she stopped altogether, frozen some ten feet back from the door. 

The keys had been delivered to him only this morning, when the last of the cleaning and other such had been completed to his standards. He turned back toward her. 

She stared, her expression stricken. 

“Here,” he said gently, taking her hand and dropping the set of keys into her palm. 

She stared at them there, her hand trembling. “Why…”

“You have said you are no Archon. While this is true, you served Fontaine for five hundred years.”

“Served them,” she repeated, her voice lacking any inflection. “What use was that? I lied to them, don’t you remember? Deceived my ‘fellow citizens.’”

He did not shy from his words thrown back at him, as she likely wished he would. “Perhaps you do not see value in the work you did, but I assure you, there was value. If you wished to continue living in your apartment above the Palais, you would receive no ill will. Not from the people or anyone else. Certainly not from me.”

Her mouth twisted, and she finally lifted her head again, nearly glaring. “Why are you doing this? I don’t want to—” She shook her head, looking away. “I don’t want to be in your debt any more than I already am.”

“You are not.”

“Ha. You saved Fontaine, Monsieur. Don’t think everyone doesn’t know that…and…” She hesitated, one hand clenching around her bag. “I’ve been awful. I know that.”

He watched her quietly, trying to understand where she could have assumed such a thing. 

“You are not, and will not be, in my debt,” he settled on eventually. “I will not tell you how you should feel about your life thus far. But you have, no matter what you claim, cared for Fontaine in the place of its Archon for five hundred years. In some sense, a place to live, food, and protection…these are the least I can offer you in return for such work.”

Again, she was silent. 

He reached over and closed her fingers around the keys. “Go on.” 

“…You won’t let this go, will you?”

“No.”

She huffed and whirled around. Dumping her bag on the step, she wrestled with the keys for several seconds before the lock clicked and she pushed the door open. 

The interior was dark, but only for a moment before Furina flicked the switch on the wall and washed the little foyer in yellow light. A set of stairs led up to the second floor, where he knew there to be a bedroom, a guest room, and a full bathroom at minimum, while a short hall led to a kitchen, a sitting room, and a small third room which could be used for an office or any other sort of space she desired. 

It was small—a good deal smaller than her former accommodations, he knew. The wallpaper and flooring were more serviceable than beautiful. The lighting was insufficient, and the air was dry with age.

Despite this, Furina still appeared surprised, as if she had expected something much worse. She looked around the little space in silence, holding her bag close to her chest. 

With no small amount of hesitance, she stepped further, and he followed her down the hall and into each of the rooms. She did not step much further than the entry of each, and she remained silent, no observations or comments or anything to say. 

When they reached the kitchen at the back of the hall, she hovered a little longer in the doorway, her eyes moving across the space aimlessly. The little table and chairs, the cabinets and stove. She lingered a moment on the kettle tucked in the corner.

“Wriothesley insisted on selecting tea and other amenities for you,” he said, mostly for something at all to fill the air. “I apparently cannot be trusted to select fine enough varieties to suit your and his refined taste, but I did ensure you had some suitable water.”

A laugh startled out of her then, wet and weary. “You and your blasted water…”

She dropped her bag on the ground and, without any further prompt or warning, turned and threw her arms around him. 

He stiffened, staring down at her as she clung to him. Of all the reactions, he had not expected…this. 

She sniffled into his coat where she had buried her face. By how tightly she was clinging, he did not expect she would let go. 

Tentatively, half afraid she would startle and run off, he relaxed and held her back. She was a fair bit taller than the Melusines, and an equal amount shorter and slighter than Wriothesley, but that did not matter. Whether she sought comfort or whether this was penance, he would not begrudge her of it.

After a moment or two, she pulled away, wiping at her face with fumbling fingers. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “You owe me no apology.”

“I was terrible.”

“Not so much.”

“I said all those awful things to you.”

“Bluster, I imagine.”

“…Maybe.”

“Then they do not matter. I am not so easily offended.”

She laughed, a little lighter than before. “You were offended, though. I know you were…”

He hummed and tilted his head. “Perhaps. But I knew you did not mean what you said, and so it passed easily enough. More than anything, I was worried. And rightfully so, it would seem.”

She frowned at him, but she seemed more embarrassed than anything else. “You don’t have to—I’ll be fine. I just need to…figure everything out…”

He nodded. “You will. I know you will.”

She did not appear convinced. “You barely know me. Not really, anyway.”

“Could the same not be said for your opinion of me?”

She stared at him, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Darling. You’re not terribly covert. Between the two of us, I think we both can say that I spent far more of our…‘acquaintance’ lying. You’re painfully genuine, even when you’re being obtuse.”

“Mm. I would argue that I do not need to know your heart so deeply to know you will excel at whatever you choose to do.” He looked around at the little kitchen. “Regardless of your choices, you will have this place to use whenever or however you require it. I will endeavor to provide you with whatever assistance I am able. You need only ask. And…” He hesitated again, before deciding it was worth the attempt. “If you should wish to become true acquaintances…then I would be happy to be so.”

She shook her head dazedly, turning away. “You’re…” she sighed, crossing her arms. “I’m not a Melusine, Neuvillette. I’m human. And now…I won’t…I won’t be here for you to care for forever.”

He withheld a grimace at such a terrible reminder. “What could that possibly change?”

She had no reply. She watched him quietly for a moment before she turned away once more, picking up her bag and setting it on the table. 

“Help me unpack, then.”

******

As it always did, time bled off and the world resumed its normal pace. Despite the brush with total annihilation, Fontaine as a nation was not known for idleness. People generally got back up, brushed the dirt from their hands, and kept going with a stubborn focus.

Damage to the Fortress had been minimal, but Fontaine was a mess in the literal sense. The gardes, Spina, and the Knave’s Fatui had been cleaning up house across all of Fontaine for the last two weeks, moving steadily along the coasts before cutting into the mainland.

After a bit of debate (and a few too much paperwork, but Fontaine thrived on bureaucracy and that was unlikely to change any time soon) Wriothesley and Neuvillette had written up a formal agreement between the Gardiennage and Meropide to allow some of the Fortress’s residents to assist with cleanup. Hiring ‘exiles’ had the Palais tied in knots, but Neuvillette on a warpath was not to be dissuaded, and barely a week after Wriothesley had offered up the idea, he was picking people from his shortlist to send up.

The Traveler, too, had been a one-man-machine as far as he’d heard. He and Paimon tended to follow where the Spina went, but they cleared whole areas at a pace no other team could quite match. Paimon in particular had been smug about the whole thing, but no one could seem to begrudge her of her happiness.

Their various groups met regularly around Fontaine as the weeks passed, coordinating cleanup and movement of materials. Trials had slowed with the general goodwill and the work needing done, and so even Neuvillette had his hands in the work.

Occasionally, such work aligned in a lucky enough pattern to mean they didn’t even need an excuse to stand about in each other’s company.

Such was their luck today, loitering about on Erinnyes while teams of gardes and Fortress residents raked seagrass, rubble, and other debris out of the island’s forests.

They were a fair ways down the path from the Opera Epiclese, where the crisp landscaping bled back into the wilds of eastern Fontaine. The Court, Opera, and Poisson had already been preliminarily cleaned out—what remained now were the mountains and forests that made up the majority of Fontaine’s above-water land.

Their teams were making slow, methodical progress, piling up stone and sea life into carts to be taken out. An occasional stray aberrant would skitter across their paths in flight back to the sea, but by this time, most of the people helping out had enough experience shooing aberrants off that they hardly flinched.

Neuvillette tended to hover somewhere along the fringes, waiting in the wings unless his control of the waters was needed. Unless he was particularly antsy, Wriothesley often chose to stick near him and help out when needed.

Such was the case today, loitering at the edges while their teams did their work. They typically chatted about nothing and anything, keeping one another company through the monotony.

But Neuvillette seemed…especially distracted. Every few minutes, he would glance back east, a worried pinch to his brow.

Wriothesley watched him curiously for a moment after the third or so time he’d done it. “What’s going on?”

Neuvillette turned back quickly, and seemed to make an effort to clear his expression of any worry. “Pardon?”

“Something’s bothering you, something that way, if I’m not mistaken,” he said, nodding in the direction he’d been looking.

Neuvillette hummed, apparently unbothered with being caught, and looked back toward the east. “There is something festering beneath the willow…”

“That’s…ominous.”

“It is a problem, but not a mortal one,” he said distractedly, his eyes moving over the horizon as if seeing through it. “Regardless, I believe it will need my attention.”

“Right. Hang on a sec, then.”

He turned away, sweeping his eyes over their distant groups sloughing through debris. A familiar pair of heads were in deep debate over a large piece of brickwork currently wedged in the mud. He whistled sharply, and they both turned his way. Unsurprisingly, it was Lourvine who approached, shoving Jurieu off when he tried to follow.

She hurried over, weaving through the crowd quickly. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“Monsieur needs to handle a situation east of here, we’ll need to step away. Can you two keep your heads level for an hour?”

She frowned, her cheeks reddening, but it wasn’t quite clear if it was in frustration or embarrassment. “Y-yes, Your Grace. We—I’ll keep my head. Should we keep moving toward Poisson?”

“That’ll be fine. You can group up with the Spina if you catch their groups, let them tell you where to continue. If you get that far, I’ll sort it out when we get back.”

She nodded quickly, compulsively, and ran off again. He watched with some amusement as she marched right up to Jurieu and started ordering him around.

“An hour is a generous estimate,” Neuvillette commented suddenly, his eyes on the pair of them.

“That willow’s not too far away. What, five or so minutes’ walk?”

“Thereabouts. But those two are rather…tempestuous.”

“They can work together when they try. And it tends to work better if she’s in charge, anyway.”

“Mm. Still, perhaps we ought to hurry. If only a little.”

Snorting, he nodded, and they turned away. “Alright, so. More information, if you wouldn’t mind. What’s under the willow?”

Neuvillette answered with ease as they started down the path. “Erinnyes is something of an information center. The willow is less a tree and more a function of the island’s connection to Fontaine as a whole…it and its roots are made of water, and they act as a sort of record of the island—its creatures, its waters, and more. Something…not of this world is attempting to interfere with the roots.”

He shook his head a little at the fantastical explanation, but didn’t question it. Neuvillette’s sense with the water had been proven a dozen times over, and he wouldn’t have lied anyway. Why this ‘information center’ was so important, he didn’t quite grasp, but that didn’t matter so much.

“You expect a fight, then?”

He nodded. “I suspect they are riftwolves.”

“Hm. Don’t think I’ve ever fought one of those.”

“They are abominations of nature, and not of this world. To my knowledge, they are far less common now than they were five hundred years ago. I would hope you had not encountered them…As foolish as it may sound, try to avoid being struck. Wounds caused by them tend to be caustic, draining more as time passes.”

“Sounds pleasant,” he muttered with a grimace, then brightened. “Hey, but this does mean I get to see you in a fight.”

Neuvillette gave him an amused glance from the corner of his eye, a little quirk to his lips. “Perhaps. That will depend upon what we find.”

“You’ll have first dibs if they’re these riftwolves. I’d like to keep my life, and away from life-draining mythical creatures, thank you.”

Unsurprisingly, Neuvillette nodded once, firmly. “I would not wish you to be injured. Whatever we find below, I am more than able to handle.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, moving quickly down the winding path toward Erinnyes’s large, apparently water-made willow. One more round of the bend, and it came into sight.

Wriothesley had never been this deep into Erinnyes, but even he could tell there was something wrong with that tree. It drooped and sagged into the water around it, its branches and leaves a sickly yellow. The roots, which were indeed made of water, were very thin, clinging to the rock and the water with a weak grip.

Neuvillette paused a moment in his steps, his expression suddenly pensive. But his eyes were not on the willow in particular. “Ah. I should warn you of something else, however.”

“Go on.”

“The area around the willow has several natural springs which are mostly untouched. It tends to have more aberrants and…other creatures in the area.”

The vague descriptor was somewhat amusing. “Something else to watch out for then?”

“They are not hostile unless provoked,” he said, shaking his head. “And, I do not believe they will attempt to attack when I am present.”

“Ah, I see. Otter rules, then.”

It earned him a flat, almost scathing look. “If you insist on calling it that, then I will not attempt to stop you, but they are rather sharper than an otter.”

“You’re being particularly cryptic today.”

“It would be difficult to explain outright until we meet—”

“Visitor!”

A blur of blue and purple shot forward from the trees, launching at Neuvillette’s legs. A Melusine, small and soaking wet, and currently clinging to Neuvillette’s coat like her life depended on it.

Neuvillette, who had stiffened at the shout and the impact, relaxed, sighing and resting a hand on her head. “Calm, little one.”

She whined, tilting her head up to stare at him. Her eyes were bright purple, slitted and strange. “Purple thing! Root!”

He nodded, his voice soothing. “I know.”

“Purple thing too strong. Lost. Visitor protect!”

“That is the plan, yes.”

This seemed to give her pause. She stared a moment in silence. “Visitor…help?”

“Yes.”

Apparently satisfied for the moment, she nodded a little and stepped back. Only then did she seem to notice Wriothesley, and startled back a few more feet in surprise.

Neuvillette stepped smoothly in front of Wriothesley so that he stood between them, his hands up and in plain view. “It’s alright. This is Wriothesley, he will help.”

The strange Melusine had not taken her eyes off him, but they flicked briefly back to Neuvillette. “…H-help? Pahsiv?”

Neuvillette nodded. “Yes.”

She squinted at him for a moment more before apparently deciding to trust the statement.

At least enough to turn her back and dart into the trees, calling over her shoulder, “Visitor! Root, protect! Hurry!”

The tension left Neuvillette’s shoulders once more, and he turned back toward him.

“The roots are deep below. We will need to return to the courtyard near the Opera to enter safely.”

“Sure.” They turned back, and moved quickly down the path in the opposite direction. Wriothesley let the silence sit a moment before pressing on. “You going to explain…that?”

“Oh. My apologies.” He glanced back toward where the strange Melusine had run off. “I do not believe the little one has a name…though she takes the form of a Melusine most often, she is not one, in truth. The creatures I mentioned previously are bathysmal vishaps.”

He frowned. “I don’t think I’ve heard of those either. They aren’t common, are they?”

“Not in Fontaine, no. I believe there are many in Inazuma…” He shook his head as if setting the thought aside. “Moving on, vishaps are, depending on how one looks at it, either descendants of or primogenitors to what remains of most elemental dragons. Their evolutionary path is quite fascinating. Bathysmal vishaps are those who live in and control water.”

“Ah. This is a dragon thing, then.”

His eyes brightened in some amusement. “Of a sort. They will not harm you, especially if I vouch for you. The little one in particular is not a threat. She is fiercely protective of the island, but seems to dislike violence.”

“Right. That’s for you to handle, apparently.”

“Mm. Today, at least.”

“You have a weapon?”

“Not one I often use.”

He paused a moment and raised a hand, summoning a catalyst. It hovered over his palm placidly, its pages flipping in some unseen breeze. Glittering in the sunlight, it was as otherworldly and strange as Neuvillette himself, a familiar glow emanating from it as it hummed with power. He couldn’t make heads or tails of any of the ‘words’ written on its pages.

“In this form, it can be of assistance in directing my abilities,” Neuvillette said, as if it was of mild interest. With a wave of his hand, the catalyst disappeared in a whirl of water. “But the waters will respond to me regardless. I will not likely require it.”

“Huh. Alright then.”

Neuvillette seemed amused by his acceptance, watching him with interest as they continued down the road.

“Hey, I can’t be one to talk. Sigewinne’s been shouting at me to stop using my hands to fight since I was a new fish. If it works for me and my sad little human Vision, who am I to question Monsieur Hydro Dragon?”

The joke earned him a huff, and a fond shake of the head. “It is less ‘using my hands’ than not needing a conduit to direct my control. Your style of fighting, I believe, is more…hands on, than my own. I tend to keep my distance, and rely more on directing the waters than any form of…direct contact.”

“Direct contact,” he parroted, chuckling. “Well, I guess that’s one way of putting it. Although it does make you sound like you’re afraid of being contaminated just by touching someone.”

Neuvillette gave him a rather nonplussed look. A lesser man might have rolled his eyes, but Neuvillette had a sharp stare to suit every occasion. This one said he knew he was being made fun of, and was not terribly pleased about it.

“I would point out that I have lived longer than your species has existed, and that as such, even if I rarely practice it, combat is something of a second nature to me. Even if it is not to the human style. You know I do not care to hide behind such things.”

“Alright, alright. You and your Sovereign wisdom win,” he said with another laugh, brushing their shoulders and gladly noting that Neuvillette did not seem truly offended. He softened again quickly, as he usually did. “And, for the record, I think it would be strange to see you in some kind of fist fight. Not really your style.”

“No,” Neuvillette agreed. “I would say such things are better suited to you.”

He reached down then, and tangled their hands for a moment. Just long enough to feel the warmth and the pressure, before he slipped away again and moved on down the road.

By then, they had returned to the paved walkways of the area immediately surrounding the Opera Epiclese, which, after their cleanup efforts over the last several days, now appeared as they ought to—carefully groomed and gleaming. Despite the returned cleanliness, the courtyards were still and quiet, the fountains still being repaired and the usual crowds scurried off with no trials or performances being held.

Neuvillette walked quickly, the sound of his boots echoing without the sound of the fountains and people. They passed the Fountain Lucine and moved back toward Marcotte Station, where a smaller decorative fountain briefly broke apart the path.

Here, at last, he paused, and Wriothesley hung back as the tails of his coat began to glimmer.

The fountain here was also without running water, something which did not seem to concern Neuvillette. He raised a hand and the glow around him briefly intensified. With an abrupt gesture, something beneath the fountain clunked, and a portion of the base sank out of sight.

As if he were walking into the Palais or Opera, Neuvillette stepped over the lip of the fountain and ducked beneath the center, moving down into the space where the base had sunken away. When Wriothesley made no move to follow, he paused, and peered out at him. It made a strange sight.

Apparently amused by his hesitance to get into a fountain, Neuvillette smiled and held out a hand. “I am sure this seems odd, but it is safe.”

“Odd is a word for it,” Wriothesley muttered, then shook his head and gave it up. “Y’know, this has to be the weirdest thing you’ve had me do so far.”

“I would hope there is not a long list of such things.”

“Thankfully not. Most of your requests have been paperwork and strange tea parties.”

“Strange tea parties…” Neuvillette repeated as Wriothesley joined him on the small platform beneath the fountain. It was a tight fit, but one that neither of them cared to point out. Neuvillette, as ever, was entirely unaffected. “Ah. I assume you mean when we discussed Furina’s trial.”

“Got it in one.”

The platform they stood on began to lower. Wriothesley jolted at the sudden movement, and Neuvillette reached over to steady him, holding him close for a moment. His hands lingered around Wriothesley’s waist even when it was clear they did not need to, but Wriothesley was far from complaining.

“This area is typically filled with water,” Neuvillette said as the platform steadied out. “I may need to take us away from the area quickly, if it refills after the filth is cleared.”

“Alright.”

A long cavern led down from the fountain, carved smooth by the water that still clung to the edges, dripping down below. Algae and kelp still clung to the walls. The passage must have been emptied recently, for all the plant life to still cling to the damp walls.

The platform slowed as it reached the base of the cavern, until it settled into the sandy turf with a chuff. Neuvillette stepped off smoothly the moment it stilled, moving down the passage toward the weak, bluish light which seemed to be coming from the next bend of the cavern.

Wriothesley hung back a step or two, but kept close, picking his way more carefully across the uneven sand than Neuvillette and his leisurely little stroll. There was something painfully endearing about it, and he let the thought distract him from what might lay ahead.

They walked for some time, as the sandy bottom of the cavern smoothed into stone, and the passage grew narrower at the sides. A few drooping aberrants clustered among the fallen sea life, watching them with a weary sort of resignation. Neuvillette slowed at some of them, but they must not have been in any real danger, for him to move on. A little uncomfortable out of the water, sure, but not yet harmed.

Another round of the bend and the cavern opened up. A huge space met them, at least as big as the opera house, and nearly as empty. Like the passage before, it was damp, as if only recently cleared of water, glowing sea grass and aberrants still clustered around the edges of the space. A faint glow filled the space from the roof of the cavern, where strange fingers of water seemed to droop down.

Neuvillette’s eyes went briefly to the water at the ceiling before being sharply drawn to the center of the cavern. His frown was as deep as Wriothesley had ever seen it, his eyes glinting a sharp blue.

“As expected,” he said, in a rather unimpressed tone.

The center of the cavern’s sandy floor was covered in a set of eerie, concentric rings, glowing an ominous shade of purple that seemed to seep up from the ground, tainting the earth and the air around it. A pair of hulking creatures ‘stood’ over them.

These must have been riftwolves.

By some degree, they did look wolf-like. They took a vaguely canine shape, particularly the head. But their bodies looked more stone and metal than flesh, and said ‘bodies’ were incomplete, barely a skeleton and claws. Their whole shape was dark, each shift or false breath dripping smoke into the air. Their eyes glowed either that foul purple or a sickly yellow, some of that same light leaking out of the gaps in their skeletons. An elemental affinity, maybe?

More problematically, they were massive, and the air around them seemed dead and smoky, like they’d sucked the life from it. Just looking at them felt wrong, in a way no monster had ever really seemed before.

“Stay back,” Neuvillette said firmly, leaving no room to interpret it as a request.  

“All yours, Monsieur. I want nothing to do with that, thank you.”

Nodding distractedly, Neuvillette moved forward as Wriothesley stepped away, keeping to the edges of the central cavern.

There was immediately something different in the way Neuvillette moved. Wriothesley had seen him tense, had seen him when he became entirely focused on something threatening. The day in his office when a gestionnaire was dragged off came to mind, or when he had pushed back the Primordial Sea deep in the Fortress.

This was different.

Neuvillette walked forward slowly, sedately, but with a tension lingering about him that reminded Wriothesley almost instantly of Clorinde. There was something predatory about it, focused and tracking—Clorinde rarely turned that off, but Neuvillette it seemed hid it well, using it only when necessary.

And, though he wouldn’t tell Clorinde, Neuvillette was far more threatening.

The tails of his coat began to glow, and the creature closest to him finally took notice, whipping its head around and yelping. It drew the attention of the other, and they moved closer.

Their movement was as unnatural as their appearance. It almost seemed like they ran in the air, clawing and tearing.

When they came within reach, the first of them raised its claws, slashing down.

Neuvillette disappeared, reappearing with a flash some ten feet away. The riftwolf’s claws met only air, and the creature snarled, whipping its head to try to find him.

Undeterred, Neuvillette raised his hand, water seeping up from the ground beneath him. It formed a familiar shape along the ground—the same as the seal he’d put at the base of the Fortress—and the water and light continued to gather in his hand.

With a flash, the symbol formed fully, and Neuvillette opened his hand, holding it out toward the riftwolves.

A torrent of water came as if from the air itself, flowing over Neuvillette’s hand and spiraling as it was thrown at the wolves. The sheer force of it buffeted them backward—one of them slipping out under the current of it with a yelp, tumbling in a clatter of stone-like limbs, while the other was blasted backward entirely.

The first creature scrabbled to its feet and back into the air, and the second was quick to follow. But Neuvillette was faster, and disappeared from their reach yet again.

He reappeared only a moment later, this time with his back to Wriothesley. The water he had used before bubbled up from the ground once more, tracing along the sand back to him as the riftwolves circled.

His coat began to glow once more, faint glimmering collecting in the air around him. Was he pulling water from the air? Wriothesley had no idea. Whatever it was, it was amazing.

The yellow riftwolf yelped and charged, and Neuvillette sent the water at it with only a bare flick of his hand. Again it was thrown backward, clawing at the ground as it tried to fight the current.

Neuvillette did not relent. He walked forward steadily, and the waters continued to blast the thing back until, scrabbling at the sand and yowling, it crumbled to pieces and disappeared, leaving only wispy black smoke in its wake.

A flash of something purple cut between them, and Wriothesley fell back a step, bringing his gauntlets down on instinct. Before anything could hit him, something else tackled it away in a tangle of limbs. 

Neuvillette’s eyes snapped to him, glowing brighter than he had ever seen, and in the next instant a barrier had formed around him, that strange symbol glowing beneath his feet. 

The second riftwolf howled and tried to pounce. Neuvillette turned back toward it and with a backhanded wave of his hand, the water rose and surrounded the creature before crushing downward. When the waters washed back over the sand, no trace of the riftwolf remained. 

An animal like cry caught his attention then, and Wriothesley turned in time to see what he assumed was a vishap tumble backward, regaining its footing as it rolled. It growled, bearing all its—definitely sharp—teeth at what had thrown it. 

Whatever the thing was, Wriothesley had also never seen anything like it. He did not at all enjoy the number of new monsters he’d seen today. 

It was humanoid, but it stunk like the abyss, and based off its presence here, he assumed he was correct. Electro clung to it like it had the riftwolf, and its ‘face’ was turned toward the vishap, prowling closer with clawed hands. 

Water wrapped around the vishap and pulled it away, and Neuvillette stepped smoothly between them, his hands loose and ready at his sides. 

“Your work has become no less unoriginal and no more successful,” he said, in the sharp tone reserved for giving orders. Wriothesley had only heard it sparingly before. “I tire of your attempts, Mr. Ingold.”

The creature—person?—growled. “Monsieur Neuvillette, how fortunate. As if those abominations of Elynas weren’t enough, now there’s you.”

Neuvillette’s expression hardened in an instant, and Wriothesley winced at the insult to the Melusines. 

Oh, this was going to get ugly. 

“Perhaps I have allowed you to escape for long enough. You are tainted beyond relief, to say such things to me and not expect retaliation.”

The thing laughed. “Will you put me on trial, Chief Justice?”

“For the insult to the children and for tainting the willow, I might have. But for the attempt you have made on mine, I am not feeling at all generous.”

The creature went very still, then, and Wriothesley saw its face glance briefly toward him. 

Neuvillette was glowing again, bright and near blinding. Trails of rippling light seemed to flow off his coat, and even his hair, like two long tails, ephemeral and flowing. The water bubbled at his feet, churning into something rather like a wave. It circled him lazily, lashing outward as it grew.

All the while, he did not move his eyes from the thing, which stared back at him, clenching and unclenching its strange hands. 

Neuvillette raised his hand, and the water began to collect again. “Make your choice, Jakob. Or I will end your foolish game early.”

Cursing, the creature turned, swiped a clawed hand through the air, and disappeared into an abyssal rift. 

Neuvillette directed the water at it, blasting it apart only a spare second after the thing’s back had gone through. When the waters fell again, nothing remained of the portal except a few flickering sparks. 

For a moment, Neuvillette stared at the remains with a deep frown, still and silent in a distinctly inhuman way. But it faded quickly when he turned to look back at Wriothesley, and the strange glowing barrier rippled away.

His eyes were still glowing, and the air around them was heavy with condensation. He looked Wriothesley over quickly, critically, in the searching way he had in the opera house after the flood. Finding no injury, the glow faded a little.

It was only then that Wriothesley realized Neuvillette had been floating, hovering at least a foot off the ground, as he lowered back down to the sand and the light faded away from him.

“You weren’t harmed?”

Wriothesley shook his head. “I’m alright. The kid tackled it before it even got close.”

He turned away, peering down to address the vishap which had crawled over to them. “I appreciate your defense of Wriothesley, little one, but I will not have you interfering again. Am I understood?”

The vishap rumbled a low, unintelligible answer. Neuvillette nodded. 

“Good.”

Apparently through being scolded, the vishap nuzzled at his leg, hissing in a way that sounded more like a cat purring than anything else. Neuvillette sighed, but patted her head obligingly.

“Yes, yes, you did very well, little one.”

The little vishap preened, and pranced away on light feet, barreled into Wriothesley’s leg, and looked up at him with pitiful eyes.

Wheeling back a step to keep his balance, he glanced at Neuvillette briefly in panic, but he seemed far too amused to be of any help. “Uh, Monsieur?”

“It seems she is quite attached to you as well,” he answered unhelpfully, a small smile taking over his expression.

In a blur of water the vishap changed back into the almost-Melusine, hugging Wriothesley’s leg and bouncing happily. “Visitor and friend! Protect root, pahsiv! Visitor friend is pahsiv, pahsiv.”

She patted his leg as if praising him, and he stared at her incredulously, but gave it up after another second.

“Alright, alright,” he sighed, and put his arms around her carefully. She beamed and mirrored his movement, clinging tighter than should have been possible, given her size. “Yeah, you did good, kid.”

“Protect root, protect friend. Pahsiv. Visitor protect root, boom bam! Purple thing run away! Purple thing, Melusine, root pahsiv! Erinnyes, pahsiv!”

She launched out of the brief hug, jumping around the space happily. Where all this energy had come from, he had no idea.

Neuvillette seemed endeared by it, though, watching her with bright eyes. “Little one.”

She paused, looking up at him with a smile that showed too-sharp teeth. “Visitor!”

“I need to clear this away here.” He gestured at the strange purple rings still glowing in the sand. “You ought to return above and check the willow.”

She nodded rapidly. “Willow, pahsiv, friends, pahsiv…Visitor back?”

“I will visit, of course.”

“Visitor and friend!”

Neuvillette gave him an amused glance. “If Wriothesley wishes to, yes.”

“Pahsiv!” She threw herself at him again for a brief, tight hug, then let go. Turning back to Wriothesley, she waved with what seemed to be her whole body’s effort. “Bye!”

She glowed bright blue for a moment, and then disappeared.

Wriothesley chuckled, and moved to join Neuvillette near the rings. “She’s definitely spirited…what’s this, then?”

Neuvillette hummed, his eyes tracing the shapes on the sand. “An array, intending to use Erinnyes for its information on Fontaine.”

“To what end?”

“Stopping an ‘apocalypse’ which that creature does not seem to realize has already occurred and been thwarted,” Neuvillette said disparagingly, shaking his head. “A remnant of a long distant past, and far too complicated and vile to discuss in detail. That creature was once human, if you would believe it.”

“Mm. Is he going to be a problem then?”

“A minor one. I am more concerned with his comments toward the children.” Neuvillette’s frown returned, deep and unforgiving. “I will need to visit Merusea, and determine if he has been there. I do not want the little ones interacting with him. He means them only ill will.”

“I’m sure they would have told you if they were in danger. Besides, from that little display, I think you have it more than handled.”

He gave no reply beyond an amused glance, only raised his hand and pulled the water around them to the ground beneath their feet. A familiar symbol ate away at the rings, dissolving them until nothing remained. With a flash of bright blue light, the symbol formed completely, then faded into the sand.

The ground rumbled, and Wriothesley looked up as the watery roots above their heads began to grow back toward the ground. A rushing sound came from somewhere beyond the cavern, and water began to trickle in from the sides.

Neuvillette grabbed his wrist and they disappeared in a flash.

They reappeared not at the fountain by Marcotte Station, but at the willow, which before their eyes seemed to come back to life. It had been yellowed and drooping before, its watery roots thin as they clung to the river and the rock. But now, it bloomed up and out, a bright, cheery blue. Even the air around it seemed to glitter with its revitalization.

“Wow…that definitely looks better.”

Neuvillette’s smile was fond and an unfair amount of amused. “Yes. We ought to return before your engineers frighten off the other teams.”

“Ugh.” Wriothesley turned away and grabbed for Neuvillette’s hand. “C’mon then, let’s at least walk very slowly.”

Neuvillette laced their fingers and fell into step, leaning his shoulder into Wriothesley’s briefly. “Very well. Perhaps they will have figured out how to get along after all.”

“Doubt it.”

“Mm. We will at least have enjoyed a brief respite.”

“And you got to fight something, that’s always fun.”

Neuvillette huffed. “Fun for you, it would seem.”

“What can I say, you’re very impressive when you go all deadly dragon.”

A faint blush had crept up Neuvillette’s cheek, and he looked away, his hand tightening around Wriothesley’s. “Hush.”

Wriothesley smiled, sharp and sincere. “Not a chance. I’ve been waiting to see you in a fight for ages. This is going to last me at least a few days of compliments.”

With a sigh, Neuvillette turned his way again, holding his gaze steadily. “I suppose there is little I can do to stop such a deluge.”

“Nope.”

“…Wonderful.”

******

Outside of Fontaine, and even within it, life continued flowing. Focalors’s death and the destruction of the divine throne were not known to many, and there was no immediate reaction to the events, whether from the people, Celestia, or anything else.

Even his normal duties resumed, as trials slowly picked back up with the return of normal function within Fontaine. Goodwill and plenty of work to be done had kept things placid for a few weeks, but a backlog still existed of rescheduled trials, and there were of course new cases to be handled.

Atop his new, largely self-imposed duties from Furina’s departure, he had his usual slew of meetings, paperwork, and trials to oversee. His mornings and afternoons soon returned to the normal flow, and trapped him in his office for hours on end.

One of these such busy mornings found him in his office, interrupted a bit hesitantly by Sedene’s sudden appearance in front of his desk.

He might have startled, if he were a bit more tired. As it was, he stilled a moment, staring at her. “My apologies,” he said after a moment, setting aside the files he had been forcing himself to look through. “Did you need something, Sedene?”

“Nothing urgent, that’s why I didn’t stop you,” she said with a bit of a shrug.

“Mm. Thank you, then. What did you need?”

“The Traveler wanted to see you. He said he could wait, but you’ve been locked in here all day already, so…”

She trailed off in a leading tone, eying the files on his desk with a familiar frown.

Sighing, he set aside the documents he had been intending to review next. “Very well then, if you insist. Although I do question how you and your sisters expect my work to be completed when I am pulled away from it so frequently.”

“You were here ‘til morning last night, Monsieur,” she answered flatly.

“As were you, two nights before, if I remember correctly.”

Her eyes darted away, and she huffed. “That doesn’t count. They needed my help upstairs.”

“Just as my work must be completed for the Ordalie and Phantom to do its own.”

“Ugh. Fine.” She pouted, but the determined glint remained bright in her eyes. “But you’re leaving that desk for now, Monsieur, or I’ll tell Sigewinne.”

He gave her a small smile and stood. “I did not know you intended to use your sister as a threat.”

“She gave her permission.”

“I see. Then I suppose I have no means to stop you.”

“‘Cept taking a break,” she said with a shrug, entirely unapologetic.

“I would argue we have differing definitions of such things. I spent several hours with Wriothesley only yesterday.”

“To go over repair materials and cost reports! That doesn’t count!”

“Hm.”

He decided there was little point to telling her they had gotten very little work done in the hours they had whiled away in conversation. Whether she would take this as a victory to her cause or further proof he needed a ‘break,’ he suspected either way, he would not win.

It was often better to let the little ones vent their frustration at him and then allow him to resume his work.

“Where is the Traveler, then, my dear?”

She beamed, only looking a bit smug. “Outside, most likely ‘round the corner where the benches are. I said you’d be out soon.”

He hummed, patting her head. “You are too sweet for your own good, to worry for me, along with the rest of your sisters. I’m inclined to enforce you take a day off.”

“Only if you do, Monsieur.”

“Mm. We will continue that negotiation after I have completed this meeting you have set upon me.”

Sedene huffed, crossing her arms. “You’re still taking a break.”

“If you insist on calling it such, little one, I will not stop you. But I ought to go see to what he asks.”

“Hmph.”

Patting her head once more with a slight smile, he left her to her devices.

The Palais and its surroundings were quiet, for now. The morning was young, and the gestionnaires still deep in their first coffees. By midday, the regular bustle would return, even if there were still remnants of those placid weeks just after the flood. Work would pick up, as it tended to.

But for now, it was quiet. He quite enjoyed the peacefulness of it.

He found the Traveler stood near the benches, looking out over the railings toward northern Fontaine. His companion floated at his side, chattering as she usually did.

Equally as unsurprising, she caught sight of him first. Smiling, she waved widely. “Hi Neuvillette!”

“Hello,” he offered, nodding. The Traveler turned and waved as well, more sedately. “I’m told you requested me.”

“Sorry if you were busy,” Paimon mumbled.

He shook his head. “Fontaine has regained its rhythm, but slowly. I have time. And, Sedene has taken to enforcing breaks on my schedule. Evidently, you two count as one.”

Paimon giggled.

“However, you need not feel obligated to treat this as a break for my sake. I am happy to oblige if you need my assistance with something, provided I have the time and resources.”

“Just some questions,” the Traveler answered.

“Very well then.” He glanced down the street. “We can walk, if you wish.”

The Traveler nodded, and they started down the street, little Paimon trailing after them.

It did not take long for him to summon his courage and ask his first question. “What happened to the Gnosis?”

“Focalors had kept it within the Oratrice. With her death and the destruction of the Divine Throne, it was functionally useless to Fontaine. The Knave approached me to negotiate for its trade, and we came to an agreement.”

“The Tsaritsa is collecting them.”

“I am aware.”

“We don’t know what for.”

“Hm.” He nodded, seeing his worry. “The Gnoses are more than a gift of power, more than control of an element. They are an abomination, one that ought not have been created, nor touched by anyone. It is no loss to see one out of my hands and away from those it could harm.”

The Traveler frowned, but did not seem surprised by the information. Perhaps they had seen in other ways how those terrible things could taint the person who held them.

“I see far more value in ensuring Fontaine’s safety from certain types of interference than in holding onto a bauble I have no need or wish to hold,” he said definitively, looking out over the mountains and sea. “I will do my duty to Fontaine. That means ensuring its safety, from inside and out.”

Hesitant, the Traveler nonetheless nodded.

“Where will you go, now that you are finished here?”

He seemed surprised at the question, and looked to Paimon briefly. “We’ve already been to Mondstadt, Liyue, Inazuma, and Sumeru.”

“Ah. I suspect you intend for Natlan next, then.”

Paimon nodded. “Sneznaya is…last. It’s the scariest, for sure.”

“Mm. Natlan, I’m afraid, may not be more hospitable for you. What do you know of it?”

“Natlan’s the nation of Pyro, and of war,” Paimon answered, sounding a fair amount nervous about the second part. “Have you been there before?”

“No.” He shook his head, puzzling over how to explain. “What is now Natlan was the site of many battles, including those which ended the reign of the original Sovereigns. At that time, I remained within the Primordial Sea, but such a place remains…inhospitable to me. Additionally, they have faced endless siege from the Abyss since the death of their Sovereign, millennia ago. Their land is quite…delicate, from such continuous destruction. I would tread carefully, and expect the Abyss to follow you.”

Paimon seemed frightened, and clung to the Traveler’s cape. “Volcanoes are bad enough. Paimon doesn’t want to fight the Abyss over and over. What if you get hurt?”

“Natlan has adapted, as any nation would. There is an equal chance the interlopers will be more a threat to you than the Abyss.”

“Interlopers?”

He nodded. “There was quite an equal trade of information, in my providing the Gnosis to the Knave. One such piece of intelligence did concern Natlan, which I imagine she intended for you to know. The Fatui have not often made headway within Natlan, but according to her, the Captain has set his sights on that land, and its Gnosis.”

The Traveler frowned. “He’s the first harbinger, isn’t he?”

Paimon nodded, looking worried.

“His intentions are unclear,” Neuvillette added. “I cannot say for certain whether he will help or harm you. Both the Knave and Childe spoke highly of him, however…”

“Paimon’s not sure they’re really so trustworthy.”

“We could ask him,” the Traveler said with some strange significance.

“Wanderer? He hates everybody!”

The Traveler smirked. “Not everybody. And he’d have an opinion, that would help at least.”

“Whether the Fatui are a threat to you, or whether it is the abyss, you will, I expect, find allies as seems your wont,” Neuvillette cut in, earning a pout from Paimon for his efforts. “Natlan’s people rarely leave the nation’s borders, but they are not unkind to visitors. And, if anything should happen, they are not the kind to leave all matters to you. Even if they did, judging from your fight within the Fontemer, I believe you will be fine.”

The Traveler gave a smile which was only half concerned. “Thanks, Monsieur.”

He nodded. “And, should you require safe haven, Fontaine will of course welcome you back. Furina, I believe, has already demanded you return for the film festival.”

At last the smile returned in full, and even Paimon brightened. “We love festivals!” she said excitedly. “It’s nice to see all our friends again. Traveler, we’re still going back to Liyue for Lantern Rite, aren’t we?”

He nodded. “We always do.”

Paimon cheered, wiggling happily. “Have you seen Lantern Rite, Neuvillette?”

Amused by her exuberance, he nevertheless shook his head. “Before becoming Iudex, I rarely ventured within Liyue’s bounds. I did not anticipate any welcome there, given its history. And I have not left Fontaine since becoming Iudex, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t seem like the type to enjoy a crowd,” she added, but the Traveler seemed to have read something else from his words, based on his frown.

“There are merits to such gatherings. I am not wholly opposed, of course. But I believe I am here to answer your questions, rather than talk about myself.”

Paimon seemed a bit sheepish, and the Traveler took his opportunity once again.

“So you’re staying in Fontaine then?”

“Was it expected of me to leave?”

The Traveler hesitated, then shrugged.

“I have held this position for over four hundred years, now.” He looked out over the wilds again, along the roads and out over the sea. “There are few in Fontaine who remember or care for what came before. While the people do not know my true nature, they know at least that I am immortal. And, to the public, Furina has abdicated her position and its duties to me. It is expected I remain, and I have no true issue with the matter.”

“And Wriothesley is here.”

He allowed a small smile. “Yes.”

Paimon giggled. “Paimon knew you liked him.”

“I seem to recall telling you as much. I have never gone to great lengths to hide my admiration for his character.”

Again she giggled, and the Traveler elbowed her to quiet her. She did so, but it did not seem quite willing. Her smile was still obvious behind her hands.

They came to a stop not far from the old aquabus station, still emptied from the damage to the Callas line. For a moment, the scenery seemed to take all their attention, and Neuvillette did not bridge the quiet for a moment.

“If you have additional concerns, I will hear them,” he offered eventually.

The Traveler’s eyes remained on the horizon, lit by the sun. He was quiet a moment, and Paimon made no interjection. Judging by the way she carefully watched his expression, she seemed to anticipate what was to come.

“I know I’ve already asked, and you’ve told me she hasn’t been here,” he said quietly, in a tone as fragile as cracked glass. “But if…if you hear anything…?”

Neuvillette nodded, easily, and swiftly. “Of course.”

“I should tell you…she’s…she leads the Abyss Order. If she comes here at all, I don’t think it would be on good terms.”

“Hm. Fontaine has never had conflict with the Abyss Order. I suppose we have nothing they want.”

“Or you’re here,” he pointed out with a frown.

“That is also a possible motive for staying away, yes. But Fontaine’s history is not without the mark of the Abyss—nowhere in Teyvat can claim such a thing.” He shook his head and watched him carefully for a moment. “I will protect Fontaine as I have said, but such a thing does not require I do any harm to your sister. Should she become a threat, I will do what I often do, and safely remove her. There would be no need for me to do anything more.”

The tension ebbed away from his expression, and though his eyes remained heavy, he seemed a bit lighter. “Thanks, Neuvillette.”

He hummed. “Gratitude is not required for such a simple ask. I hope you find your answers soon, young one.”

Grimacing, he gave an expression of faux upset. “I’m hardly young.”

“Younger than me, I’m afraid.” He patted his head. “I will resist calling you little one, if I must, but I will not lie to soothe your ego. You are young, at least compared to me.”

Paimon laughed in victorious delight, her expression smug and full of mirth. “Ha! Traveler’s the little one now!”

Scowling at her, he grabbed her from the air by the collar. “I’m older than you, for sure, Paimon.”

She squirmed violently, scattering constellations in the air around them. “Hey! Let Paimon go!”

“Nope.”

“Not fair! Not fair!”

She whacked at his head to little affect, as the Traveler continued to beam and hold her still, eventually pulling her out of reach and holding her out like a scolded child. After another moment’s struggle, she huffed, pouted, and crossed her arms, dangling in his hold.

“Paimon’s never ever ever sharing her emergency Mora with you for more snacks. Not ever!”

“Woe is me, poor lonely Traveler starving to death in a cruel, cruel world,” he said gravely. “Guess I’ll have to use my own commission money.”

“Paimon’s going to come up with a real stinky nickname for you, and—and Paimon will tell all our friends. You’ve earned it!”

“Do your worst.”

“Hmph!”

Apparently having had enough, she escaped his hold, kicked into the air again, and disappeared in a whirl of stardust. Neuvillette watched it fall with some mild concern.

“She’s just gone to pout, don’t worry,” the Traveler said with a smile. “She has a little pocket dimension of some kind. She mostly uses it to hide extra snacks, but she sulks there when I annoy her enough.”

“I see. Is this a common experience for you?”

He shrugged. But his expression became serious again after a moment, and he held Neuvillette’s gaze with a steadiness which belied his seeming young age. “I know you won’t accept it, but I do mean it. Thank you.”

“Hm. Very well then. You are welcome.”

******

Sorry for the shortness of this letter, and likely the way it’s going to reach you (I hope). I’m at something of a loss.

There’s a group down here that I’ve been tracking for several weeks now. They’ve been around a while, gaining a little following, and earning my suspicion for the quiet of it. Group-ups of inmates aren’t uncommon. That society your old friend started is a good example.

This one’s bad news. Quiet, suspicious bad news.

Their activity has picked up since the flood. I don’t know why, just yet, but I have my suspicions. More members, more quiet. And a sharp uptick in smuggled goods. One of which is particularly incriminating.

A few of their ‘members’ have come running to me for help, now they know I’m investigating.  I’ve secured one of them in my office, despite the leader’s wishes.

If you have time to spare, the sooner you can come, the better. Sigewinne’s not sure what to do. I think I need your eyes on this.

Wriothesley

The letter came late into the night, when few remained in the Palais beyond himself and the rotations of the Phantom as they completed their shifts. Apparently, the letter had changed hands twice to reach him, first from one of Meropide’s guards, then to a passing Melusine on the near beg that it be taken to Monsieur Neuvillette immediately.

He would need to find a better means for Wriothesley to reach him in an emergency, beyond such measures and his own abilities with the waypoints. Clearly, Wriothesley could not leave Meropide now, nor he suspected, could Sigewinne.

“Is it important?” the Melusine, young Blathine who must have traveled quite far to reach him as quickly as she did, given her patrol route, asked with a nervous pinch to her brow.

“I’m afraid so, my dear.” He stood, setting aside the letter. “But I will see to it. I will leave you the choice of whether to continue your patrol for the evening, considering how far you came to reach me.”

She nodded, looking a little pacified. “I think I’ll go check with Aeife and then go home. Thanks, Monsieur.”

She left quickly, and he found he had no reason not to match her pace.

The waters carried him swiftly to Wriothesley’s office, where the soothing glow of his Cryo energy was located. Sigewinne too, he could feel, along with another unknown. Most likely the member of that society Wriothesley was investigating. 

He took the stairs quickly, not knowing how long it had been since Wriothesley’s hastily written note had been handed off, nor the reason his presence was required. With the Primordial Sea no longer a threat, he could not imagine what would require ‘his eyes’ as Wriothesley had put it. 

But he did not doubt his judgement. If Wriothesley needed him, he would have him. Regardless of the circumstances. 

He came to the top of the stairs, and his eyes found Wriothesley first, crouched next to the couch he kept at the far side of the room. A slight figure laid there, shivering. He had a hand on their forehead, frost flaking from his fingers. Sigewinne stood next to him, her Vision flashing even as she did not move. 

Wriothesley turned as he heard him, the worry softening slightly with relief. “Good. You got my letter?”

“Just a few moments ago.” He came closer slowly. “What has happened?”

Wriothesley turned back toward the couch. “Her name’s Avice. One year stint for petty theft. She’s part of that society I wrote about. A few hours ago, she came to my office for help—she’s close with one of the others who’s set to be ‘punished’ for revealing their secret.”

“And what secret is that?”

He pointed with his free hand to his desk. “In the gem. They call it ‘censure.’ We don’t know what it’s doing to her, but she’s been dosed with it, and she’s been catatonic since.”

“It’s some kind of drug, Monsieur,” Sigewinne added without removing her eyes from her patient. 

“Do you know any of its effects?”

Wriothesley’s scowl was distinct, even in profile. “I have a hunch. I want your opinion first, but I’m sorry to ask for it, if I’m right.”

There was a note of concern in his voice, and Neuvillette turned away, puzzling over why. 

A small set of items cluttered Wriothesley’s desk, perhaps from those confiscated, or from the woman on the couch. A rather unfortunate looking beret, a dull, lumpy gemstone, and what looked to be a hairpin deconstructed, revealing a thin, hollow pin.

The pin, he assumed, was the method of dosing an unwilling party, but the gem was what drew his attention more sharply. 

It was not truly a gem, but a containment vessel for the liquid within it—someone, likely Wriothesley, had pierced the side of it, and a foul black liquid had seeped out. He stiffened at the sight of it, and made no move closer to it. 

Turning back sharply, he looked Wriothesley over with sharp eyes. “You have touched it?”

“Only for a few seconds at most. But she’s had it injected.” He met his eyes for a moment, urgent and demanding. “She needs you first.”

Reluctantly, Neuvillette nodded, and joined them at the couch in a few long strides. Sigewinne shifted down to give him space. 

The young woman lay still on the couch, but her expression was despairing, her eyes moving frantically beneath closed lids. He could well understand why, if she had been dosed with such tainted waters. 

Wriothesley only pulled away as he raised a hand carefully over her, the glow from his palm casting rippling beams over her pale face. 

It took several minutes to locate every drop of the foul water. When he had, he paused, tilting his head as he thought of the best means to proceed. The mind was delicate, and to tamper with its functions was not something he wished to do. 

Water carried emotion easily. But it was a sin most foul to use it in this manner. It had to be removed. 

Cautiously, he coaxed the waters away from the conscious mind, back down into the body where he could more safely remove them. He moved carefully, barely a droplet a time, ensuring only what was tainted was removed. Several more minutes passed, until he held the tainted water above his palm, pulled from the poor woman’s chest. 

It was a minuscule amount of water, barely more than a spoonful. And it had caused such destruction. 

He stared at it grimly. In some sense, it was fouler than the Primordial had ever been—even when it was a death to those of Fontaine, the Fontemer gave them no pain. This despicable creation sought to inflict pain in the most horrific way. 

Pain clouded the air around it, seeping into the water there as if to corrupt it too. This concentrated, it drew up the fears of those it came into contact with, forcing them to relive their worst nightmares. 

Wretched images faced him even at this distance. Some were memories, some worse imaginings that could not come to pass. 

His sensitivity to the waters likely exacerbated the effects, but he could not imagine the pain of having such a substance forced into the mind. 

He could not allow this substance to continue to exist. Not when it could continue to taint the waters and peoples around it. Certainly not if it had already caused harm. 

Removing the emotion from the waters would not be possible. But water, more than anything else, flowed and collected. It did not like to be stuck in one form, one place, one emotion. 

There was more than this despairing fear. 

Pulling at his power, he allowed it to seep over and into the tainted water, flowing through it. Within moments, the fear gave way, and the water cleared of its taint. When he was satisfied no sickness lingered within it, he let it dissipate into the air, lowering his hand. 

Sometime in the interim, the young woman had woken up, and was now gaping at him in shock. 

Pushing to his feet, he gave Wriothesley and Sigewinne both a sweeping glance. Finding no trace of the substance on either of them, he nodded, satisfied. 

“There are others?”

“Definitely,” Wriothesley answered, standing as well. “I’ll know how many soon enough.”

“Mm. I will remain, then, until this is resolved. That…substance is inhumane. I will not allow it to continue to exist.”

Wriothesley stared at him for a moment, his expression unclear. Perhaps it was concern, darkening his eyes. 

Sigewinne had stepped up as they moved away, her hands glowing with Hydro as she examined her patient. “Are you feeling better, Miss Avice?”

“Y-yes,” the woman said quietly, her eyes moving quickly between the three of them. “I—thank you, but—Faissolle—”

“Tell me where to go,” Wriothesley said suddenly, watching her steadily. 

“The abandoned production zone, beneath the processing area,” she replied, practically gasping with how quickly she spoke. “There’s a tunnel there, but it’s guarded, and there are locks—the cells—”

He nodded, turning away, and she stuttered to a stop. “Sigewinne, prep the infirmary, and expect the guards. We’ll need the second room for the undesirables.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” 

He had already moved on, flicking his wrists in a way Neuvillette recognized meant he was checking his gauntlets were functional. “You’ll stick around?”

“Yes.”

Wriothesley grimaced, and jerked his head toward the stairs. Neuvillette nodded, and followed after him. 

Only when they were more than halfway down the stairs did he speak again, in a hushed tone. “You treated it like water.”

He nodded. “That is what it is, in truth. But they have concentrated the emotion within it to an unnatural degree. I could not speak to its effects on the human mind, but it is…disturbing, even from a distance.”

Wriothesley’s jaw was tight, and he would not quite meet Neuvillette’s eyes. “Fear. It’s fear.”

“Or something like it.”

“Right.” He moved away, jerking his hands down and letting his gauntlets form around his fists. “Wait with Sige. I won’t be long.”

Neuvillette could only watch as Wriothesley pushed the doors of his office open with a clattering bang, Cryo footprints and a trail of frost following in his wake. The doors slammed shut with a definitive bang. A near deafening silence followed. 

He had never seen Wriothesley so…upset. Certainly not to this degree.

Lingering at the foot of the stairs, he had the abrupt realization that he did not quite know what to do. It was a disrupting thought. A part of him wished for nothing more than to follow Wriothesley, remove that which made him so distressed. 

But he did not know if such an action would be welcomed. He doubted it would help. 

This was not Fontaine, nor a threat Wriothesley was unequipped to face. If it were, he would step in. But it was not. And no matter what his heart wished, he knew he had to leave Wriothesley to attend to his own matters. He was perfectly capable of doing so.

And yet, the desire to whisk him away remained. 

Bereft, he returned up the stairs to assist Sigewinne with her duties. Until Wriothesley returned, he could do nothing else. Regardless of this listless worry in his chest.

The following twenty minutes passed in a blur. He helped Sigewinne attend to Miss Avice, returning them all to the infirmary with only the briefest of pulls at his power. Perhaps sensing his distraction, Sigewinne asked very little of him after that, merely pointing him to her desk before she ran off.

Sigewinne and her young doctor were a flurry of activity, a veritable machinated wonder, flying about the infirmary clearing beds, dismissing loiterers, and opening a second room which was kept under lock and key. This too was cleaned, swept, and shut again. 

Miss Avice sat alone on the bed nearest the stairs, watching the entrance with a wide, panicked gaze. He found he could not blame her. He often joined her in her staring, if only briefly. 

More often, he found his eyes drifting below, where he could faintly sense the flash of Cryo he knew to be Wriothesley. When his thoughts circled round themselves uselessly, he decided for himself that he would intervene only if he had reason to believe Wriothesley was in danger.

He trusted him. But all the same, he could not allow him to come to harm. Not when he could prevent it. And being so near, he could, for now. 

Some five minutes after Wriothesley had left, a swarm of guards stormed in through the entrance, carrying several inmates on cloth stretchers. Sigewinne ordered them sharply, and the doctor soon joined. 

He waited in the wings, watching Miss Avice scan each face, and the despair that grew in her eyes as she did not find the one she sought. 

More and more poured into the infirmary, until the beds were filled. Some were separated into the second room by Sigewinne as their fractured mental state became apparent. None of those most distraught even had the foul water within them, but it was clear they had been exposed to it multiple times. 

Soon enough, Sigewinne found some of them amongst the groups who were still influenced by the terrible substance, and his services were required. With the experience of having removed and purified the waters once, he found the additional times to be easier, but only by the slightest increments. The human mind was too delicate, too varied for the treatment to be perfectly replicated. 

Time blurred, and all the same, he kept his senses tuned to that distant, bright Cryo. He felt, then, when the elemental energy shifted, fluctuating as Wriothesley pulled at it. He was fighting something, it seemed. 

Sigewinne called for him again, and he saw to another inmate, removing the tainted water and washing away the fear. 

Wriothesley’s elemental energy resettled. He could sense no true change within it. Something unwound in his chest. The fight, it seemed, was over. 

Sigewinne called. He lost more time to the flow of her patients. Miss Avice gave a delighted cry, and ran to embrace one of the newcomers who came walking on his own.

Wriothesley moved, closer and closer. 

More guards came, and a whispered conversation passed between them and Sigewinne. He did not attempt to listen in, distracted as he was by carefully coaxing the foulness out from those Sigewinne had assigned him. 

Wriothesley seemed to pause a moment somewhere near. He noticed it as if from the corner of his eye, at the edge of his senses. 

Then he turned, and beat a hasty retreat back toward his office. 

Startled, Neuvillette looked up, following the movement through the walls. The last of the water he held evaporated quickly, and he stood, looking for Sigewinne. 

He found her speaking to the guards near the stairs. She looked up as she heard him, a bit of worry creeping into her previously focused expression. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I believe Wriothesley is finished.”

She paused for a moment as if she expected more. But then, she seemed to accept the half answer for the words behind it. “Alright, Monsieur. Arderne and I will take care of the infirmary, don’t worry.”

He nodded and wove his way through the guards and back into the Fortress’s central structure, moving quickly toward Wriothesley’s office. 

The silence seemed to bear physical weight, the cavernous emptiness of the main hall near threatening in its totality. Had the guards cleared the area, or did Meropide’s residents simply know when it was best for them to disappear? He did not know.

Wriothesley’s elemental energy left the faintest of traces, having been used so recently. Wisps of Cryo trailed back toward his office, invisible to most. But not to him. 

He followed them, watching Wriothesley’s energy move about his office. He did not seem injured, but the quickness of his steps and the retreat at all begged to differ. 

And he had been…distressed, earlier. 

Entering the office quietly, he looked around its quiet emptiness. Wriothesley was nowhere in sight, but the trails of Cryo continued up the stairs. He followed them slowly. 

The office, too, was empty, and dark. But the Cryo was brighter, melting footprints trailing toward the door at the far end. 

Wriothesley’s rooms lay beyond that door. He knew that, objectively. He had never entered them. Before the flood, there had been no reason to—such a thing would have been inappropriate. Now, as they were, there might have been reason to. 

Yet Wriothesley had not offered, and he had not asked. When they met here, they often spent their time in the office, or otherwise left for some other place to be. 

He did not begrudge Wriothesley his privacy, as he seemed to take such things more carefully than other humans. At least if his concerns for Neuvillette’s privacy were any indication. 

Now, Wriothesley moved somewhere beyond that door, elemental energy oozing off him like a warning flare, and Neuvillette hesitated. 

He could wait. He had no reason to believe Wriothesley was injured or under physical threat. 

But…

Worry bloomed like an ache, dull and throbbing in his chest. It would linger, he knew. 

He had ignored it when needs must, when Wriothesley left to do his duty and Neuvillette was needed elsewhere. They had been separated plenty of times, and he knew Wriothesley had done many dangerous things. 

Today could not have been the most dangerous. He had held back the Fontemer until Neuvillette could reach him, at a time when a single droplet would have washed him away. 

And yet…he had never seen Wriothesley so upset. In the face of unspeakable dangers and pains, Wriothesley almost always managed a smile, even if only for him. 

He was reminded suddenly of a child, too small in the defendant’s chair, staring at him with a horrible hollow in his eyes, as if nothing was left inside. 

Crossing the room in a few long strides, he opened the door.

The hallway was short, and dark. Like the office beyond it, the lights had not been turned on. Wriothesley’s footprints glowed faintly with Cryo, melting into the rug which ran down the center of the hall. 

Light shone from a room at the end, casting a beam of pneuma-yellow light across the floor. He could hear water running.

He moved carefully down the hall, but did not attempt to quiet his footsteps. He did not want to appear unannounced. 

The open room was a small restroom, sparse and unassuming. Wriothesley stood tensely at the sink, fumbling to remove his gauntlet from his right hand. 

His hands were shaking. 

“Wriothesley?”

He gave no response. Something cracked, and the gauntlet finally gave way, folding into pieces as Wriothesley pulled it off. He nearly dropped it, cursing and catching it against the sink. It clanged loudly.

Blood dripped from the gauntlet. Some of it streaked his hands, still trembling. 

“Are you hurt?”

Wriothesley would not look at him. His eyes watched the blood drip down into the water at the base of the sink. “It’s not mine.”

His voice was flat.

“...That does not quite answer my question.”

He picked up the gauntlet properly and threw it aside. It landed on the floor near the other in a clattering pile of parts. He stared at his hands, and the blood in the sink. 

With sudden urgency, he put his hands under the water and began to scrub at them furiously. The blood trailed away, tainting the water a deep pink. He moved methodically, in a way that was well practiced. Water, then soap, then scrubbing at every finger and nail. A rinse washed the soap and the blood away, and again he stared. 

His hands were still shaking. 

“Wriothesley,” he said again, softer than before. 

He put his hands under the water again, and the trembling grew worse. 

Neuvillette moved closer, reaching over to turn off the tap. “You will hurt yourself.”

Though he made no move to stop him, he remained stiff and silent. His eyes were far away, downcast, distant. There was blood on his arms, but he doubted it was his, even without Wriothesley’s confirmation. 

Glancing about the small space, he decided here was not the place. “Come.”

He took him gently by the wrists, coaxing away from the sink. Wriothesley went willingly for a step, then clenched his hands, resisting. 

Neuvillette paused, and gentled his grip even further. “My love…Let me help you. Please.”

Wriothesley was silent, his mouth twisted. 

But then he sagged, leaning into the touch with his head bowed. 

Neuvillette held only a little tighter, and was able to convince him out of the little restroom and into the hall. Glancing briefly into the next room, he found a small kitchen and dining area, then what seemed to be a sitting room, and finally, a bedroom which happened to be the largest of the rooms in this little suite. 

It was clearly the most used room, the bed only half made and enough little odds and ends strewn about to show Wriothesley spent some time here, haphazard in his solitude as he rarely was anywhere else. There was something endearing about it. 

But now was not the time for such wistfulness. Even if he was not physically injured, Wriothesley was hurting. His pain ached louder even than the foul waters from before. 

Wriothesley went along willingly, sitting stiffly on the bed and eyeing his hands as Neuvillette knelt in front of him, still holding them gently. 

There was only the blood on his arms, and some on his coat, remaining. Perhaps if it were gone, then Wriothesley would feel better…

He allowed his power to well slowly, a seeping, soft glow from his palms. The waters gathered there, between their laced hands, cool but not quite cold.

Wriothesley’s eyes followed the water closely as it gathered, the light reflecting and making his eyes seem more blue than they truly were. 

When enough had gathered, Neuvillette guided it over his hands and up his wrists, where it picked up the lingering traces of blood and washed them away. It took only moments, and no true test of his control to pull the blood from his coat, erasing it as if it had never been there. 

With the opportunity provided, he reached out briefly to check if Wriothesley was injured. He found little beyond a few scrapes and bruises, more likely from his gauntlets than anything else. All the same, he directed the water back to his hands and coaxed it to heal him. He was no healer, but Wriothesley did not deserve this pain. Regardless of his talents, the water obeyed, and he watched in satisfaction as the faint bruises faded. 

The water retreated, then, and Neuvillette allowed it to fade back into the air as it had been. But he kept ahold of Wriothesley’s hands, running his thumb over his knuckles in what he hoped was a soothing way. 

Wriothesley was quiet, his eyes heavy as he watched their tangled hands. 

“I killed him.”

Neuvillette remained silent for a moment, not quite knowing what Wriothesley wanted to hear. 

After a brief pause, Wriotheslet continued quietly. “Dougier. He’s been here a few years. Smuggling. Few people on his pay died, that’s what tipped your Phantom off.”

Neuvillette nodded. “I remember the case.”

“He headed this group. Had them all under his thumb. He’d watch them through the cameras and listen to their conversations, ‘censure’ them when he didn’t like what he heard.“ A shudder ran through him, and he paused a moment. “He had some of them locked up in cages. The guards started getting them out while I went deeper. By the time I got to where he was, he’d already dosed a few of my guards and was going to do it to the kid, Faissolle.

“I confronted him. Apparently, he disagreed with my management, and thought he’d start his own little regime based on his censure. He had a few dozen stolen mecha he sicced on me. Destroyed those while the guards got the rest of the people out.”

He chuckled then, but there was no happiness in the sound. “Bastard was cornered, but he had a gun. Thought he was smart about it. It didn’t end up mattering, of course. This is my Fortress, whether he likes it or not. With how many he’d hurt, maybe even permanently, and the fact that he tried to kill me, well. Didn’t think he deserved another chance at rebirth.”

Neuvillette made a small noise of acknowledgement, not slowing his little soothing motion over Wriothesley’s hands. 

“He had no right.”

Here, he nodded again. “No, he did not.”

Wriothesley stared at their hands in silence for another long, painful silence. 

“The people here have done wrong,” he said after a moment, his voice soft but sure. “Some of them have done terrible things, and for no good reason. But they’re still people. He had no right to decide what punishment fit their crimes. And not that—that vile thing he did to them.”

Neuvillette nodded again, and shifted to hold Wriothesley’s hands gently in his. “It is a despicable thing, to taint the mind intentionally. Such a deed is beyond the pale…if you are looking for judgement on your decision to kill him, you will not find it from me.”

He closed his eyes then, as if that was all he had truly waited for. 

A thought came to him then, and Neuvillette stood, keeping ahold of his hands. Wriothesley opened his eyes again, watching him as he sat next to him on the bed.

With slow, tentative movements, Neuvillette untangled their hands and pulled Wriothesley into his arms. He gave no resistance, but there was a hesitance to his acceptance of the embrace for a few seconds, his hands cautious too as they came to wrap around Neuvillette in return.

But after a moment, perhaps when it became clear that Neuvillette had no intention of letting go, Wriothesley caved with a sigh.

He slumped, still and boneless, a warm, heavy weight against his side. But his arms tightened around him, more than clearly stating he would not be pulled away any time soon. 

Not that Neuvillette would do so. If Wriothesley wished to be held, he would hold him until he no longer desired it. 

“Found the gem…thing…earlier this week,” he mumbled. “Even with that shit contained, it still…”

He trailed off, and Neuvillette waited, but it seemed no more words would come. He gave in, if only a little, and held him closer, resting his head on Wriothesley’s. 

“I am sorry, for whatever it was that terrible substance reminded you of.”

Wriothesley hummed, and turned his head enough so that his voice wasn’t as muffled by Neuvillette’s coat. “Nothing surprising to you, I’d think. And I really did only touch it for a few seconds. I’m more angry than I am afraid.”

“I care very little how briefly it affected you. It did so, that is the end of it for me.”

Wriothesley’s arms tightened around him again. “They’re dead. They have been for years, and I won’t be afraid of them anymore. They aren’t worth it.”

Neuvillette hummed, and reached up to pet his hair gently. “They are gone, as is that despicable substance. You need not hold this any longer. The fear, the anger, whatever you wish to call it…”

Wriothesley sighed, and turned his face back into Neuvillette’s coat. “I know…you’ll stay awhile?”

“As long as I am able, if you wish.”

“Mm. You called me ‘love.’”

“Yes.”

Wriothesley’s arms tightened again. “Stay as long as you want, I’ll take what I can get.”

A small smile came to Neuvillette then, and he hummed, holding him a little closer because he could. “Dear one, you will have whatever I can give you, always.”

“Big promises, sweetheart.”

“I intend to keep them.”

“Good.” Wriothesley pulled away only briefly, and pressed a brief kiss to his cheek. “I intend to collect, then.”

Chapter Text

Night had fallen quickly, with no clouds to cover the sky. The sun seemed done with them, running for the horizon line at a speed which was surely quicker than the day before. 

He had, in his many years, had many, many overlong days. There had been whole weeks in his early days as Iudex that he had not left his office, except for a trial. Long days and ever longer evenings, trial after trial, meeting upon meeting, endless paperwork, all only to keep his head above the rising current of work. 

Thankfully, becoming accustomed to that flow had eased the pressure over the years. Long days still occurred, but they were rarer—or perhaps he was simply used to them. The past several weeks had certainly felt long…

And yet, somehow, the days had flown by at a speed he hardly captured. Perhaps he was finally experiencing what so many young gestionnaires complained of in their busiest days—perhaps time did speed up when there was simply too much to do. 

A kinder alternative existed too, and it was the one he wished to be true. 

Perhaps Teyvat knew he wished the day would pass quickly, so that he could see Wriothesley once more. Had they not earned a reprieve?

He believed they had. 

A Sovereign of more ego might demand the heavens move, insist time move itself along, but the skies were not his domain and he would not tempt their falsity to reveal itself over something so petty.

And besides, there was work to be done, no matter what he wished.

Regardless, time had passed and it was now evening. The moon shone high above the Court, bathing the quiet streets a pale blue. Bits of debris still lingered from the flood—sea grass and other plants clinging to roof tops, misplaced planter boxes, lampposts, shop signs, broken windows or the occasional roof missing shingles—and a layer of grime covered everything, something which the rain had assisted in coaxing away. 

But for now, for tonight, the rain was withheld. He would not allow it to tamper the evening with unnecessary considerations. He would hold to Wriothesley’s request to the letter, and not ruin it with his own temperamental effect on the weather. 

Although…he doubted Wriothesley would care. He had weathered the rain for their shared company many, many times by now. 

Thankfully, there was no real need to debate the should or should-not of it—he was not so melancholy or stressed now as in weeks past. The sea was calm, luminous in its joy, and the skies were clear. 

The prospect of seeing Wriothesley again did, of course, also help. 

After ensuring his work was completed, and the Palais had settled for the evening, he left the Court. His intended destination was of no obvious import, but he had an inkling of why Wriothesley had selected this particular patch of beach. 

Human memory could be fickle, he knew…it was a pleasant but not very surprising turn of events to see Wriothesley’s meticulousness extended to that realm as well. It was another little trait of his which had so fascinated him over the years. There were not many humans who took as much care (in anything really) as Wriothesley did. 

There truly was no one else like him. How fortunate he was, to know such a person, let alone to know him more deeply. 

Such wistfulness occupied his thoughts pleasantly as he left the smooth pavement of the Court for the wilds of Fontaine. The ground here was wet, likely treacherously so for some, but he had no issue. He moved through the little patch of woods and out onto the beach in a matter of minutes. 

It came as no surprise at all that Wriothesley had, as was his habit, arrived early. Neuvillette lingered at the tree line, momentarily caught by the sight which greeted him. 

Wriothesley stood a few feet back from the reach of the waves. His coat waved in the breeze, worn properly for once, likely to stave off the chill of the night. With his arms crossed and his eyes somewhere out over the sea, he struck a fine silhouette there, lit by the moonlight. In profile, his expression was unclear, but there was an ease to his posture which was as rare as this time they had together. 

He hoped to make such things less rare, now that Fontaine’s future was, at least for now, secure.

Stepping out onto the beach, he could not help his eyes lingering even when Wriothesley heard him and looked his way. He brightened as their eyes met, smiling in that slight way he had when he was truly pleased, no irony present.

“Well, long time no see.”

“Your definition of a long time seems to shift often,” he commented, joining him by the water’s edge. Wriothesley’s eyes followed him, a lingering weight. “If my memory serves, we saw each other yesterday.”

“Ah, well, time drags when you’re not having any fun, y’know.”

“And reviewing reports was…fun?”

“You were there.”

“Ah, I see. I will not begrudge you your whimsy, then.”

He softened a touch, smile drifting back toward simple contentment, and glanced back out over the water. “What’s your plan here, Monsieur?”

Humming, he brushed past him, stepping into the surf. Wriothesley remained out of the water’s reach, watching him as he turned back.

He held out a hand. “Come along.”

Staring for a moment at the offering, Wriothesley eventually shook his head minutely, staying where he was. “I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t a dive.”

“This can hardly be stranger than stepping into a fountain.”

Wriothesley laughed, a short, startled sound. “No, not really.”

“Worried, are you?”

He tsked. “I wouldn’t call it that.”

“I am a creature of water, its suitability for hiding this little adventure notwithstanding,” he said, without apology. “And, I was reasonably assured you could swim, considering your place of residence. Your Vision will help as well, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Look who’s funny now.” Wriothesley grumbled, pulling off his coat and setting it aside on the sand after pocketing his Vision. His sleeves were pulled up, leaving his arms and scars in plain view. “Suppose this’ll have to be good enough. Unless you Hydro dragons have a dry cleaning service, that is.”

He hummed distractedly, still admiring. “Not the cleaning. But I can of course dry you off, when we return.”

Wriothesley rolled his eyes, an amused tilt to his mouth as he finally stepped into the water. When he’d joined him enough that the water brushed the tops of his boots, he reached over, twining their hands.

“Alright, lead the way, sea creature.”

He felt his lips lift a little in amusement, and he reached over as well, grabbing his other hand and mirroring his action. “As you wish.”

Gently, he pulled them further into the water, until the sandy bank slipped away from beneath their feet and the lakebed dropped off into the deep.

The transition was easy to him, easier even than breathing ashore. To his credit (and not so surprisingly), Wriothesley was not terribly phased, his Vision and likely experience in the waters making it easy to dive without issue. The only sign of some uncertainty came in his aimless willingness to let Neuvillette lead—he followed along, holding tightly back to his hands and looking around at the their surroundings with a listless sort of intrigue.

“Have you been diving before?” he found himself asking as they continued down.

Wriothesley hesitated, his fingers fidgeting in their shared hold. “Except for leaving the Fortress when I’m feeling adventurous, not since I was a kid. And I never went very deep back then.”

“Mm.” At the downward tilt of his expression, he set that aside for now.

But Wriothesley recovered quickly. “You do this often?”

“Once a month or so. Occasionally more.”

“For you, I guess that is often.”

Neuvillette gave him a small smile. “You seem surprised. I assumed you would be pleased.”

“Once a month for a rest is still going to seem like not enough to me,” he said, shrugging and watching a few aberrants go skittering past them in a current. “But yeah. I suppose it is good to know you rest at all.”

“The waters are more a home to me than anywhere else. And it is refreshing to be where I belong.”

Wriothesley hummed, looking him over. “It suits you, for sure.”

He brushed his fingers over his wrist, a fond little motion. “Even in this form, the sea is a comfort…as are you, of course.”

“Aren’t you sentimental,” he commented, color rising in his cheeks.

“Perhaps. But it is true.”

Grumbling, Wriothesley turned his attention back to the sea around them, and he followed. The moonlight through the waves cast white beams over the kelp and coral, the occasional glitter of an aberrant swimming through the brush offering a bit more weak light. The currents were gentle, here in the open, and the waters were quiet and peaceful.

“What exactly is our destination?” Wriothesley asked.

“I do not have any true place in mind,” he answered honestly, leading them toward the lake bed where they could settle more easily. “Only a location sufficiently deep and open enough. Anywhere in Salacia Plain will do; here is as good as anywhere else, truly.”

He seemed surprised by the suddenness, his fingers momentarily tightening around Neuvillette’s. “You’re sure about this?”

Curious, he tilted his head. “About what?”

“Showing me.”

“Of course,” he answered easily, brow furrowed. “Unless you do not wish to—”

“No, no,” Wriothesley shook his head quickly, frowning to match. “Of course I want to see you, whatever way you’ll let me. It’s only that it’s such a secret…”

“Is this related to what you spoke of in my apartment?”

He hesitated. “Maybe?”

Nodding, he moved to hold his hands more gently, like the gift they were. “In truth I did not quite understand what you meant, then. My apartment in the Palais has never truly been a home to me, even as I have attempted to make more use of it in recent weeks…your belief then that I was showing you some favor by allowing you inside felt…dishonest, to me. I do wish for you to be close, but the gesture you believed had been made did not seem to align with what I intended.

“This, however,” he looked around them, feeling Wriothesley’s eyes follow. “Being here amongst my element with you feels more akin to what you spoke of then. Showing you my true form feels only natural, now that I am able to do so.”

Still hesitant, Wriothesley nevertheless nodded, a worried pinch to his expression. “I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to do.”

“I do not intend to.” He dropped his hands but only to reach up and hold him as he had in the Opera. Just as he had there, Wriothesley went perfectly still and wide eyed. “I care for you more deeply than any other. I wish you to see me as I am.”

He continued to stare, searching. But after a moment, he seemed to give up the fight, reaching up to hold his hands. “Alright, alright.”

Neuvillette smiled at the grouchy expression he wore. “You are quite endearing.”

Unsurprisingly, this earned him a frown. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?”

“Nope. Not falling for it. You’ll spend the rest of our little outing talking about how ‘wonderful’ I am—”

“You are.”

“—and then nothing will get done,” Wriothesley continued right over him, still red faced and near pouting. “I was promised Hydro dragon, Monsieur. You won’t weasel your way out of it by…complimenting me.”

“Mm. Perhaps I will do both, then.”

Before he could come up with another (surely amusing) argument, he dropped his hands and allowed the currents to pull him a bit away. Wriothesley watched him, unmoving and silent.

The waters this deep below were clear and open, responding to his attention with an ease which only grew in familiarity as he used these abilities more. He did not pull them in any certain direction, only checked that there were no creatures (of the sea or otherwise) nearby which could take his sudden appearance as a threat. Finding none, he spared Wriothesley a final glance before turning to that deep well of power within and unraveling this human disguise.

There was an immediate relief, as if he hadn’t taken a full breath in centuries. A coil of unnamable tension finally let loose, bringing with it a sense of rightness he hadn’t experienced even when he first received his Authority back in full.

He had become accustomed to the feeling of containment. To settle back into his true form felt much like ‘coming home’ must.

Such transformations were instant, and painless. To the human eye, it must have seemed he had disappeared, only to be replaced by a creature of far greater scale and far different shape.

His form, he knew, was suited to the waters—long, sleek, and more serpentine than dragons of other elemental affinities. His horns were flexible, meant for sensing changes in the waters, and his tails and fins were for swimming, not flight (although such things were hardly beyond him). He was formed for the waters, not the earth or the skies or human convenience.

Regardless of the utility of his features, this form was of a size which few natural creatures in Teyvat could reach, suited to his domain of course, but also to protecting himself as necessary. His head alone was many times taller than Wriothesley, who was already quite tall for a human.

In short, he was no placid aberrant, and his form reflected that, in his size but in other ways as well.

But in color, he was much the same as he was in a more ‘human’-like form. And his eyes, he believed, had stayed the same. A childish hope had bloomed somewhere in him, that such things would be enough to keep Wriothesley from any natural fear.

Wriothesley, to his credit, did not flinch. His eyes went wide, wandering aimlessly over his new shape as if he couldn’t quite grasp what he was seeing. He could hear his heart beating a loud, quickening beat.

But he did not move away.

Pleased at the sight, Neuvillette settled along the sea bed in a contently loose set of coils, draped along the many hills and trenches. The waters moved happily around them, delighted little currents and eddies. There could not possibly be a cloud in the sky above them. Not now.

His happiness must have come across in some way, as Wriothesley smiled, wide and true. “Aren’t you pretty, hm? And definitely too big for the opera house. I guess I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

He hummed, though it sounded far more like a rumbling purr in this form, and might have smiled too if he still appeared human. The waters stirred once more around them, pushing Wriothesley closer.

Wriothesley went along with a willing laugh, looking him over again with bright eyes. “Can you talk like this?”

“Of course.”

Snorting, he shook his head. “Well, pardon me then. As if I’ve ever seen another dragon.”

“Why would I not be able to speak?”

“I don’t know how you Hydro dragons work. Who’s to say human speech isn’t too boring and primitive for you, hm?”

With a huff, he nudged him carefully in the chest with his snout, earning another delightful laugh. “I would not use such an excuse. If I wish to speak to you, I will do so, regardless of what shape I may take.”

“Oho, there are others?”

“Are you truly this insatiable?”

“When it comes to knowing about you, sure.”

“Then yes. I believe I could make myself look however I pleased. I have done so in the past, and I have of course spent several millennia now in a mostly human shape. But this is how I appear, truly.”

Wriothesley’s smile turned soft. “Like I said, very pretty.”

“Your flattery knows no bounds.”

“Mm. Not taking comments at this time, thank you. I know I’m right.” He looked him over again. “Can I…”

Neuvillette hummed happily, and swam to pull him closer, nuzzling against him.

Wriothesley laughed, and held onto his mane with gentle hands. “Well, I guess that answers that. Cuddly Hydro Dragon, got it.”

“Hush.”

“No thank you,” he said with a smirk, but his hands remained gentle, petting distractedly. “Wow. If you wanted me speechless, Monsieur, you’ve got it.”

“It seems to me you still have many words,” he pointed out, amused. “But if you claim to be speechless, I will not argue. It is only fair, after you have taken my words so many times, for me to return the favor.”

“Well, I’m sure if we stick around here long enough I’ll come up with some way of describing you. As it is now, you’ve stunned me a bit too much for anything beyond ‘pretty,’ which you are, of course.”

“Hmph.” Rising up from the lake bed, he shook out his coils. “Hold tightly.”

Wriothesley hesitated. “It won’t hurt you if I do?”

“No.”

“Okay then.” He held a bit tighter to his mane, chuckling. “What exactly am I holding on for?”

“I do not plan to remain here along the sea floor all evening. We, dear one, are going for a swim.”

“A swim—whoa!”

He rose up with no further warning, stirring sand and currents in his haste. Wriothesley’s hands held fast, finally, and Neuvillette delighted in the feeling.

Now off the lake bed, his body unwound and stirred the seas. “Yes,” he said simply, and pulled the waters to his whim.

A whirling current woke before them, and he swam into its reach, coaxing it along as he swam with it. It dipped into the trench beneath the sandy cliffs, cutting east before bending toward the south.

The sea around them bloomed with life. Coral reefs and tall kelp filled with aberrants, flitting out or scurrying back into their hiding places. Blubberseals swimming past in their pods, their voices echoing through the water in warbling calls. Armored crabs scuttling over the sea floor or burrowing into the sand. Rays, seahorses, and jellyfish joining the schools of fish in their following trail, joining the current with visible excitement.

Their glee was infectious, lighting the water with its happiness. He felt his own power rise in response, and allowed it to flow as it wished. Fontaine’s freshwater sea had no need for such blessings, being so close to the Fontemer already, but he was happy to bestow these things on the place he had largely made home.

Wriothesley clung on, but he could feel him shifting as they continued onward, looking left and right. “What are you doing? You’re glowing again.”

“I am…happy.”

Wriothesley’s reply was quiet. “Oh.”

“The waters respond much more readily, in this form. I believe they are happy as well.”

“If you say so, sweetheart.”

They continued on as the trench rose and leveled with the plain again, and Neuvillette drew them further out, toward the wilder seas surrounding the Opera Epiclese. Here, the waters opened once more, glittering in the gentle moonlight.

He settled again along the sea floor, letting the current dissipate. Wriothesley let go and swam up a bit, looking around them with curious eyes before settling on him again.

“You’re a hell of a swimmer.”

“Thank you. I should hope so, given my nature.”

“Why’d you pick here, though? That’s the Opera, isn’t it?”

“It is. We are here to test something.”

“Test something,” Wriothesley repeated flatly. “What—”

Something went whizzing past him, bowling into Neuvillette at full force, humming and chirping in what sounded like delight. Neuvillette moved enough to untangle the creature from his mane, peering at it as it swam circles in the air in front of him, still chittering and churring its delight.

Wriothesley stared for several seconds, apparently too stunned to speak. It was only when the poor little otter had slowed its circling and begun to nuzzle again that he recovered, and began to laugh.

Neuvillette sighed, ignoring him for now as the little one demanded his attention. “You have impeccable timing, little pup,” he grumbled, but nudged the child back as it chirped at him.

“Y’know, I wasn’t sure if you were serious,” Wriothesley quipped.

“What reason would I have to lie to you?”

Chuckling, Wriothesley swam closer again, patting his head as if in consolation. “What a terrible shame, to be beloved by all sea creatures, Monsieur. You are truly suffering for it, clearly.”

He gestured to the little otter, which had taken to showing its shell to Neuvillette, practically trembling with pride.

“Very pretty, little one,” he said, as seriously as he could, nudging the child again with a rumble.

It circled again in delight, then floated on its back, gnawing its shell in apparent contentment.

“That was adorable.”

“They are delightful creatures,” he agreed. “They tend to populate this area, as there is less fishing and other such traffic nearer to the Opera Epiclese. Many aberrants and other creatures live here for that reason.”

Wriothesley hummed in acknowledgement. “What’s this test, then?”

Neuvillette did not immediately reply, only nudged the little otter to get the pup’s attention. It cooed at him, swimming around his snout briefly while still clinging to its shell.

Gently, Neuvillette swam behind it and nudged it forward, toward Wriothesley. Only then did the little one notice him, giving a startled yip and briefly pressing against Neuvillette’s body as if to hide. But the fright did not last long, as inquisitiveness won out, and the pup swam along willingly.

It seemed to give Wriothesley a critical look, gnawing on its shell as it floated. Then, with a  coo, it swam over, nuzzling at his hands for attention.

Wriothesley chuckled, but pet the little one’s head willingly enough.

“That, my love, was the test.”

A look of comprehension briefly passed over his expression before being replaced by amusement. “Huh. Well, who knew, eh kid?”

He pet the little otter’s head and it chittered at him, pressing up into the touch for a moment before pulling away, offering up its shell as it had to Neuvillette.

Wriothesley, good sport that he was, nodded seriously. “Definitely a good one.”

The pup was pleased, swimming a quick circuit around him before darting off into the kelp.

Wriothesley seemed confused, glancing back at Neuvillette.

Before either of them could question or answer, the pup returned with a squeaking call, burrowing into Neuvillette’s side for a moment before darting over to Wriothesley and doing the same. Barely a second later, a cacophony of other otters came pouring out of the kelp, their squeaky little voices bright as they crowded around Neuvillette in a whirl of chaotic delight.

Wriothesley laughed, and Neuvillette could not find it in himself to begrudge him of it. No matter if it was slightly at his own expense.

Even so, he moved carefully through the little crowd of creatures, ducking down and around Wriothesley until he’d coiled around him once, just enough to hold him in place. The little pup darted out of reach, cooing happily.

Wriothesley huffed, but did not fight the hold. He took to petting his scales instead, his touch still feather light. “Very cuddly like this, hm?”

He made no apology. “I will hold you if I wish to. And I do.”

“Anytime you’d like, Monsieur.”

“Mm. You will make it very tempting for me to simply steal you away.”

Wriothesley chuckled. “If you really want to. Something tells me you wouldn’t run off permanently though.”

“No. But perhaps a few hours a week…”

“Are you scheduling my kidnapping?”

He stared at him, then nuzzled his cheek. “I was under the impression you were willing, of course. It is hardly kidnapping if you give permission.”

“Damn. Guess you’re right. Well, give me a heads up, then, before you drag me off into the sea.”

“If I must.”

 “Do I get to kidnap you back?”

“Hm…” He gave a moment of faux consideration. “I suppose.”

Wriothesley beamed, the sharp smile he gave when he believed he’d won something. “Think I’ll have to kidnap you when you’re a bit smaller though. Don’t think I could carry you off like this.”

The image startled a laugh from him, and Wriothesley’s smile went soft. “You are quite strong, beloved, but I imagine not.”

“Thankfully, you wouldn’t fit in your office like this, so I don’t have to worry.”

“Mm.”

“That’s when you’d need the kidnapping anyway.”

“Ah, I see…as long as your attempts do not interfere with a trial, I suppose I must endure them.”

“Sige’ll be happy.”

“As will the rest of the children, I imagine,” he said, somewhat wistfully.

Wriothesley caught it, giving him a look. “You need a break, then, if they’re harping on you that bad.”

Their audience had slowly dispersed, leaving only the pup still lingering, floating on its back and watching them while it gnawed its shell. Neuvillette turned toward it, and pulled away long enough to nudge it toward the others swimming back into the brush.

The little one resisted, patting at his face with one hand, the other still holding tightly to its shell.

Neuvillette continued to coax it toward the others. “Go on, little one.”

It gave a sad coo, clinging. Wriothesley seemed to be watching with increasing amusement as he wavered.

Humming, he gave the pup a brief nuzzle, then nudged it again. “We will see one another again. Go on.”

He suspected if an otter could pout, this little pup would do so. It snuggled into him one last time then darted off, joining the rest of its group in the tall sea grass.

With that settled, he turned back toward Wriothesley, loosening his grip on him and moving so that they were face to face once again. “Are we not taking a break now?” he asked, returning to their original point.

Wriothesley seemed to weigh this for a moment, reaching up to feel the scales along his cheek. Neuvillette could not help but close his eyes, content with such closeness.

“You purr like a cat,” he said fondly, but did not pull his hands away. “But yeah, this counts as a break. But I think you know I meant something a bit more substantial than this.”

He made only a slight noise of acknowledgement.

“Neuvillette.”

“I can hardly stop Fontaine’s court system for such a petty reason. Certainly not when things are still…adjusting.”

Wriothesley’s tone left no space for rebuttal. “Sweetheart, you can take a day off. Everyone does that. Even Furina did that, I know she did. She didn’t sit for every trial. She ran out of mine like something was chasing her.”

He opened an eye then, staring for a moment. “She grieved for you. She was quite distraught, both at the details of your case and its verdict. As I was...”

Something like surprise briefly flickered in his eyes, but he shook his head. “Whatever the reason, she took breaks. Hell, I’ve had a day off or two over the years. With how long you’ve been at it, you’ve earned some time off.”

“Hm.” He closed his eyes again. “You pick some date or another, then, and I will see what can be done.”

Wriothesley was quiet and still for a moment, but Neuvillette did not open his eyes to guess at why.

After a few seconds pause, his hands resumed their little petting, and he chuckled. “Maybe I’ll pick two days, then.”

“…If you insist.”

“Three?”

“Wriothesley.”

“Alright, alright. Two days, got it.” He was smiling, he could tell by his voice. “Maybe I’ll get you up to three days eventually, eh?”

“I have not taken a full day of no work in five hundred years, but you may certainly try.”

“Hey, my success rate’s pretty high currently. I like my odds.”

“Mm.” Opening his eyes, he pinned him again. “I expect you to be out of Meropide whenever you insist I take time off.”

Wriothesley was still smirking, and seemed pleased at such a request. “Sure. You can kidnap me if need be.”

“Acceptable.” He pulled away, rising up again. “Come along.”

Chuckling, Wriothesley swam away enough to hold him. “Swimming again, are we?”

“I am swimming, you, love, are holding on tightly.”

Wriothesley did as asked with a snort. Neuvillette pulled the currents back into motion, and they were swept off again, back into the depths of the sea where no one could disturb them, and for a short while, such concerns as their work (and the apparent need to negotiate days off) could not interfere.

There were not many things he could imagine more delightful than this. Here, in the waters in his true form, as he could not be for so long, and with Wriothesley.

Yes, he decided. This was certainly the best he could have hoped for. How fortunate, to be given such blessings as this.

******

“Actually, just the two boxes will work fine,” he said, falling into step next to Neuvillette.

Their shoulders brushed as he looked his way, something curious in his eyes. The man behind the stall sputtered, but Neuvillette only looked at him, unphased by the theatrics.

Wriothesley winked. “You’re being conned, sweetheart,” he muttered.

Neuvillette’s brow furrowed. “I would not call it such. The price does adequately lower…”

“No one in their right mind would need ten boxes of this tea. Not even me.”

“Hm. I will trust your judgement, then.” Only then did he turn back to the shop owner. “Just the two boxes, please.”

The shop keep seemed a bit disgruntled at that, but after giving the pair of them a wary glance, nodded and settled the order with slightly laughable haste. All told, he even gave a discount.

Wriothesley chuckled as they wandered off, plucking the boxes from Neuvillette’s hands. “Liyue folk are flightier than I expected. Either that or we’re a frightening pair, eh?”

“I believe only one of us has earned such a description,” Neuvillette answered lightly.

“Hm. That’s worth a debate, then. I assume you mean me.”

“It seems more likely a stranger would be ‘frightened’ of you. At least from previous experience.”

“Right. And not Monsieur Neuvillette, Iudex of Fontaine and a host of other titles I can’t say in public.”

“That would require their knowing such titles.”

“You’re saying you don’t think you’re intimidating just by looks alone?”

“I should hope not…You do tend to be more…upfront…” he hesitated on the word, then seemed to decide it was good enough, “At least more so than I am, particularly with strangers. I believe I tend to fall back onto a kind of detached formality which most take as cold, but not overtly rude.”

“I’m rude,” Wriothesley repeated.

Neuvillette winced. “That is not what I meant.”

“Hey, I’m not offended,” he said, smiling. “We have different approaches, that’s not a problem to me. Your way gets people to talk, my way gets them to shut up. You need both, most times.”

“Hmph.”

“Besides, if there were any real danger or problem, I know you’d handle that.”

This at last had Neuvillette nodding, worry faded off. “Of course.”

They had been wandering about the market in Yilong Wharf for a few hours, since about midday when their little group had split up. This excursion out of Fontaine had been almost entirely planned by Furina, who had gone running off the moment their boat was tied down, dragging Clorinde and Navia along with her.

Neuvillette, thankfully, took a more sedate pace. They had made their way through the wharf much more calmly than the ladies, whom they’d lost track of quickly. Neuvillette didn’t seem terribly concerned, more interested in the atmosphere of the festival and the wares at the shops.

Wriothesley followed along willingly, and they made their happy way along the streets. They had separated only a handful of times as their interests pulled them one way or another. But largely, they treated it as an opportunity to enjoy each other’s company more than to enjoy time out of Fontaine.

At least that’s how Wriothesley was enjoying it. Neuvillette, he expected, was the same.

They continued down the street, and Wriothesley peered over the crowd with passing interest. “Where do you think they’ve run off to now?”

“Likely one of the villages further downstream,” Neuvillette answered, his eyes briefly moving in the most likely direction. “Furina wished to see the sights throughout Chenyu Vale. I doubt we will find her before nightfall, unless she wishes it.”

“At least we know where she’ll be then. They set some lanterns off here, she seemed excited.”

“True. If her anticipation over the lanterns was not obvious enough, I believe Miss Navia will give her no choice either.”

“Their energy is sort of contagious. I’m surprised Sige weaseled her way out of being dragged along.”

“From what I understand, she was only successful by the merit of ‘owing’ Furina for the next year. I believe Sigewinne would enjoy such a trip, in the future. The Melusines as a whole do not often leave Fontaine.”

“None of us do, clearly.”

“Mm.” Neuvillette smiled a little. “We have quite the list of chores among our peers. There is little time for vacation.”

“And yet, here we are.”

“Here we are,” he repeated with a huff. “By Furina’s insistence alone. She still has the gestionnaires and the Ordalie wrapped around her fingers. They bowed to her wishes after only a single frown. Though I doubt such a trick will work in the long-term.”

“Fair enough. S’pose that makes this sort of thing all the more worth it, eh?”

Neuvillette gave another little hum, a pleased sort of sound. “I would not begrudge myself of more time with you, as you know. Hence why I asked you to join our party.”

“Happy to oblige, Monsieur.”

“Thank you.”

Their wandering took them away from the tea sellers and toy makers, down the street toward the carts and stands selling food. Here, the crowd thickened up considerably, and their pace naturally slowed with it.

Neuvillette, unsurprisingly, did not seem terribly interested in the food on offer, and appeared to pass his time instead by looking about the street.

As they came to about the quarter way down the long walk, an abrupt change seemed to come over him between one breath and the next.

Wriothesley slowed, and cast a brief glance from the corner of his eye. Neuvillette had gone uncommonly rigid—still moving, hadn’t even flinched, but a strange feeling had briefly tickled his senses, as if every nerve was suddenly, briefly, woken from idle. It wasn’t a sensation he could explain, but it had definitely been caused by Neuvillette.

Tense as a bowstring, Neuvillette’s eyes were at the other end of the street, sharp and focused.

Wriothesley followed briefly, scanning the crowd with a rapid sweep. Townsfolk, merchants, tourists, no one of any real import.

And, the likely culprit, a finely dressed man at the far end of the street, staring straight back at them.

There was nothing immediately strange about him. Pale, long dark hair, expensive looking clothing. A fine appearance wasn’t exactly a standout at a festival like this—and he looked local, so even less so.

No, it was two other facts which made that man the likely culprit for Neuvillette’s sudden freeze—the fact that Neuvillette had gone fully alert like a new meka, and that the man was staring back, just as tense.

Whatever the deal was, Wriothesley was unlikely to get it from Neuvillette in the middle of a crowded street, and certainly not if they were under threat. Shifting his grip on the boxes, he brushed at the front of his coat and took the opportunity to briefly nudge Neuvillette’s hand.

He did not move his eyes, and that said more than the staring, honestly.

He did, however, move closer as they continued to walk, until he had Wriothesley a firm step behind him.

Right. Okay then.

Rolling his shoulders, he gave the stranger at the other end another glance, and found his eyes had briefly moved to Wriothesley. They were a strange, golden color, and there was something off with the shape of them—what exactly, he couldn’t say. Not from this far off, and not when the man just as quickly looked away, focused back on Neuvillette.

But it was enough to have him suspicious, for sure. Especially if Neuvillette felt it necessary to step between them in the middle of a crowded street.

Neuvillette was, above all, polite and fitting to decorum. He moved within the bounds of his own propriety and impartiality. There wasn’t a single record of him so much as speaking rudely to someone, and Wriothesley had never known him to act without exacting precision.

He didn’t posture. He didn’t act rashly. Even when under direct threat, Neuvillette settled such matters with the disinterested poise of someone batting away a gnat.

And he had, quite blatantly, just put himself between Wriothesley and some strange Liyuean man who was at the opposite end of the street, not even armed.

Whoever he was, Neuvillette saw him as a threat.

Something in the gesture of stepping between them must have cracked the tension, or made something clear, at least. The stranger broke eye contact once more, turned, and walked calmly in the opposite direction.

Neuvillette remained tense, reaching backward to grasp Wriothesley’s arm in a tight grip. But he said nothing, and they continued their slow, weaving way through the crowd.

When nearly a full minute had passed and the stranger was long out of sight, Wriothesley twined their hands and fought the flow of the crowd to walk side by side with him again. Neuvillette allowed it without a fight.

“Alright?”

With the slightest of nods, he replied in an equally soft tone. “I will explain.”

“I know.” He squeezed his hand and dropped it, settling the boxes back as he’d held them before. “C’mon, you wanted to try that clay thing. Back on the street along the water, right?”

Neuvillette looked his way, surprised. But his eyes darted ahead to the alley, and he seemed to understand. “Oh. Yes, thank you.”

Giving what he hoped was an encouraging nod, he turned down the side street they’d come to, and they wandered back in the direction of the handicrafts section they had passed earlier in the day.

The little alleyway was empty, the dull chatter of the crowds on either side sufficient cover.

“You can give me the short of it, if you want,” he said quietly.

“I do not believe we are in any immediate danger,” Neuvillette answered, a careful choice of words selected by hand. “Not here, and certainly not if I can help it.”

“Okay, that’s good. What’s the deal with him, then? He was staring at you as much as you were staring at him.”

“He undoubtedly knows who I am, beyond my duties to Fontaine. For one in his position, my appearance here could be taken as an act of aggression.”

“His position?”

Neuvillette nodded, something like a grimace briefly flitting over his features. “I do not know what name he goes by for this current…persona, but the name I know is Deus Auri.”

“Ah. Liyue’s Archon, yeah? Isn’t he supposed to be dead?”

“That was the official report, yes.”

“Huh. Figures.”

“It seems he faked his death, but to what end, I couldn’t say.”

“And he knows who you are. Which is…bad for him?”

“Not by default. I mean no harm to anyone of Teyvat, god or otherwise. But the Seven received their power from Celestia—what was stolen from the Sovereigns—willingly, and he is of the original Seven. I am bound to make judgement on that crime at some point in our collective futures…and his history is by no means kind.”

They came to the end of the alley, coming back into the light on the quieter street full of stalls where people were making crafts—kites, lanterns, rattan dolls, you name it.

Wriothesley brushed their shoulders to have Neuvillette turn down the street toward where they’d seen the pottery stands before. “So he’s afraid of you, at least this ‘judgement’ you owe him, then.”

“It is a possibility.”

“He didn’t seem keen for a fight.”

“I do not believe he would cause such a scene, let alone within Liyue during a festival. And regardless, it need not come to violence, no matter his reputation.” Neuvillette shook his head, a dissatisfied frown pulling at his expression. “I mean no harm to anyone here, even if I must do my duty at some point. I would, if such a confrontation did occur, do all that I could to ensure the safety of the innocent. You are included, in particular, within that number.”

“He seemed to get the message.”

“I hope so.”

The stall which had caught Neuvillette’s eye earlier finally came within view, a small little thing letting those who paid a bit of mora make something out of ceramic. Only a few people browsed near it, and the street as a whole was quieter than the last. Being closer to the water, that must have helped too.

“Tell you what,” Wriothesley said suddenly, slowing to a stop. Neuvillette turned to face him. “You go on ahead, I’ll see if I can’t find Furina.”

Worry pinched his expression instantly. “Wriothesley…”

“He walked away,” he pointed out, to which Neuvillette nodded. “Besides, he’d gain nothing by hurting me, especially not here. I haven’t done anything except what, hold your hand in his presence?”

Neuvillette smiled then, only a little, but it was there.

“Besides, I think you’d feel better knowing where the others are, now.”

“That is true…Very well then.” He gestured for the boxes, which Wriothesley handed over. They disappeared in a brief flash of blue. “Perhaps you can use our sending purchases back to Fontaine as some excuse.”

“Smart. I can do that.”

Humming, Neuvillette brushed a finger briefly against his cheek. “If you are harmed, I will know it.”

“I won’t be.”

“I hope you are correct.”

He grabbed the hand still worrying over his cheek and pulled it away, pressing his lips briefly to the palm before holding it in both his hands. “I’ll be fine. And if I’m not, you’ll know, and get to play your best knight in shining armor.”

Neuvillette had gone pink all the way to his ears, and now stared at their hands with wonder. “I will defend you if necessary,” he said quietly, and twisted his hand enough to hold tightly to his for just a moment more. “I will see you shortly, then.”

They let go, and Wriothesley turned away to head down the wharf toward the villages, where he expected Furina and her merry group had run off. Neuvillette’s eyes followed him all the way to the bend in the road, burning into his back.

He kept a good pace, not really wanting to keep Neuvillette waiting. And, he was a bit curious where the ladies had gotten to by now anyway.

Chenyu Vale’s roads were dirt, much like the wilds of Fontaine, but they curved and darted wildly about the river’s bends. He followed the path without any real upset, enjoying the mountains and the strange jade structures in the river. The roads were busy with tourists and festival goers, and most were in a cheery mood. Either that, or Neuvillette was wrong and he looked far friendlier than he thought he did. The number of greetings he got was a bit astounding, but he laughed it off and humored those who did say hello.

All the same, he made good time. Some fifteen or so minutes passed before he came to a little bridge over the river and a set of old stone tables, near to the big village at the edge of the Vale. He vaguely knew this was where the tea was grown, and the scent of fresh leaves was ripe in the air.

More importantly, though, his targets were finally in sight.

He caught sight of Clorinde first, the shape of her cap distinct enough to catch his eye. Navia stood beside her, equally as standout, of course. Together, they adequately shielded Furina, but her bouncing about meant her whirling hair and bright blue hat were in sight long enough to be clear. 

They were standing near the little bridge, chattering with a few unfamiliar folk. 

A pale, spirited girl with her hair done in two long tails, burning red at the ends, her eyes gleaming as she spoke, gesturing emphatically. Whatever she said, it landed, and Furina clapped with delight, her laugh echoing toward him. 

A more familiar figure stood near the girl. Liyue’s old Archon, stony and stiff as a rock. 

Wriothesley had become accustomed to reading Neuvillette, who while always a careful neutral—particularly in public or at trial—wore his heart largely on his sleeve. His emotions projected onto Fontaine’s weather, and ebbed and flowed like the tide. He was placid, generally, but he did not truly hide, not his grief, nor his happiness. 

Or his love. Now that they were open with it, now that they’d decided they didn’t care who knew, it bloomed from every gesture and look. 

He was doting and gentle and soft, even when he held the world at a distance for its own sake. 

The stoicism of Liyue’s archon’s face was much more settled and stony than Neuvillette’s typical mask. It wasn’t quite cold, but more a true neutral. 

Only his eyes gave anything away, sharply expressive like most eyes were. Currently, they were fixed on the Liyuean girl, glinting with something like amusement as she spoke with grand gestures. 

What mattered at the end of it, he supposed, was that Liyue’s supposed-to-be-dead Archon apparently was in a good mood. That was fortunate, even if his proximity to Furina was something he imagined Neuvillette would not appreciate. 

From this close, he seemed a bit more out of place. Like Neuvillette, his eyes were a giveaway—not quite human, with strangely shaped pupils and a rich gold color which was, at minimum, uncommon. His clothes were, as expected, finely made, the outer layer intricately stitched with a pattern suspiciously similar to scales. That, along with the fact he was almost completely covered from head to toe gave an impression of either a very formal person or someone hiding something. 

Probably both, he guessed. 

There was something more difficult to define about him as well, something that gave the indication he was older than he looked. It was a feeling Wriothesley again recognized from Neuvillette, but one he’d felt with Furina before too. Even the Traveler got that look about him every once in a while.

Maybe all ‘immortals’ just looked a bit tired around the eyes. 

As he made his way closer, the last two, far more familiar faces edged out from among the little crowd. The Traveler and Paimon. He shouldn’t have been surprised, really. They tended to be anywhere and everywhere. 

The kid caught him first, blinking at him with a bit of surprise. Paimon noticed then, and her shout and point was more than enough to announce his presence. 

Clorinde and Navia turned as one, Furina peering around them a moment later. “Oh! Hello, Wriothesley,” she called, waving. 

“Afternoon.”

Clorinde scoffed, but Navia giggled, waving her fingers. 

Paimon, it seemed, had enough of staring. “What are you doing here?!”

“Such a warm welcome, Paimon,” he called as he came over. “I’m flattered.”

“Hmph!” She turned her nose up at him, crossing her arms. “You surprised Paimon. What else was Paimon supposed to do?”

“Most would go for ‘Hello, nice to see you, even if it is a surprise.’”

“That doesn’t sound much like Paimon,” the Traveler said, smiling. 

“Ah, well, manners are hard to learn,” he answered with his best sympathy. “So. Among friends, I see.”

The Traveler took the hint with a nod. “Hu Tao,” he said, pointing to the girl who seemed very amused by their conversation thus far, “and Zhongli,” he said, pointing to the former Archon, who was watching Wriothesley quite intently. “Hu Tao and Zhongli, meet Wriothesley. He’s Duke of Meropide in Fontaine.”

“Oho, the infamous prison,” Hu Tao exclaimed, her eyes alight. “Is it as haunted as the novels say? How many do you lose a year? What do you do with the dead?”

“I wouldn’t call the Fortress haunted,” he said with a shrug. “Being at the bottom of the sea would make any structure creaky, old, and damp. We don’t have a higher death rate than anywhere else. And their bodies are returned to their families or buried above the sea.”

“Fascinating!” She smiled manically, her whole face glowing with intrigue. “Wait—you’re a Duke?”

He nodded.

“Well, well! Such fancy company we’ve stumbled upon!” Her eyes were bright and mischievous. “I know very little of Fontainean death rites. Zhongli, we’ve never done a Fontaine-style, have we?”

“Not that I am aware of,” he answered easily, his voice smooth and unbothered. Only the continued staring gave anything away. 

“And never for someone who was a Duke, either. Ooh, I love a challenge. Duke Wriothesley, you must sign for one of our packages. Only the best coffin and services, I assure you! The Wangsheng parlor provides the most dignified and stately funerals this side of the water.”

He snorted. “I’ll pass for now, thank you. I don’t think it would be well received if I started planning my funeral currently.”

He glanced briefly toward Zhongli, and smirked at the little wince his words drew. Gotcha. 

“Why are you here, anyway?” Paimon asked curiously. 

“He came along with us and Neuvillette,” Furina answered, nodding his way. “They were wandering around the crafts stalls when I…well, I wanted to see the sights, and they were going so slowly.”

“The way you ran off it seemed more like you were going to try to reach Mondstadt on foot within the hour,” he joked, and she blushed. “But, if you enjoyed it, then it doesn’t matter. Neuvillette and I were entertained enough, I assure you.”

Clorinde appeared to have swallowed a lemon. “Someone ask him why he’s here before he gives me any more detail I don’t want.”

“What, afraid I’ll tell you about the crafts?”

“I don’t want to know anything that you and the Iudex do in your spare time.”

“Mm. Payback is so sweet.”

“Payback,” Navia repeated, then startled like a shocked wire. “Clorinde! You didn’t tell him we’d—”

“Ah ah!” He shook his head, reaching over to cover Furina’s ears. “There are children present.”

“Children—you!” She squirmed out of his hold, swatting his hands. “I am older than you!”

“Lady Furina, I mean this with the utmost respect, but you are, at least in this, not.”

Blushing bright red, she nonetheless scoffed. “What would you know anyway, Your Grace? You’re latched at the hip with the very picture of propriety.”

“Ah, but propriety is for the public. Besides, I haven’t always been, no?” He said, and let her stew in that thought for a moment in silence. “And Monsieur—”

“Well!” Navia cut in, sounding a bit choked. “In consideration of the actual children present—why are you here then, Your Grace? Assuming you came and found us for a reason beyond torture.”

“Mm. Tempting, that.” His smile remained sharp enough to cut. “But you’re right. Neuvillette wanted me to fetch your purchases. He’s sending ours along so we don’t have to lug them around. That, and he worried Furina might’ve run herself right into a river. Or something worse.”

The Traveler frowned at his words, throwing a calculating look toward Zhongli. 

Furina’s mock outrage was plenty of cover to mask the observation. “When have I ever run myself into a river! What actions of mine have made that—that—that worry-wart—”

“Oh, c'mon now. Let the poor Iudex worry about you, hm? It’s his quiet little way of caring.”

“Ugh. He’s been worse than a mother hen.” This she muttered darkly under her breath, without any real malice. “I can’t even count how many of those fancy waters of his he’s sent since I got my apartment. Every week he has another for me to try, and I have no way to tell him I can’t taste any difference between them!”

“I don’t think he would mind the truth. But to my point, I’m assuming you did buy some things, no?”

Huffing, she nodded. “Fine, fine. Let me get our bags.”

“Oh, I’ll help,” Hu Tao offered, running along after her. 

Clorinde and Navia soon joined, and they wandered off in the direction of some covered tables a little way down the path, where they must have temporarily left their things. 

The Traveler and Paimon remained, along with Zhongli, who had turned his attention toward the group as they left. 

“One other thing.”

Wriothesley crossed his arms as he earned his attention back, keeping his face neutral. “Neuvillette seemed to think his presence would be taken as a threat. He wanted it known that is not his intention, and he only came to Liyue because Furina requested he join her.”

Staring steadily, Zhongli gave a measured nod. “I see.”

“Monsieur’s not for a confrontation. Not now. Can you say the same?”

“I have no desire to disturb the Lantern Rite, nor to reveal myself, which such an altercation would necessitate.” It was said with a firmness which, thankfully, read as genuine. “Liyue is not at war, and has no quarrel with Fontaine or the Sovereigns of any element. I will not make it face such destruction for my own transgressions.”

“Good.” He nodded, and relaxed his posture. “No harm, no foul then, in my opinion.”

Paimon, who had been looking rapidly between the pair of them, now stared with clear nervousness. “Uh…what’s happening?”

“Your friend’s an Archon, in case you forgot,” Wriothesley said blandly, nodding toward the man in question. “And an original, too, which I take makes it worse. In the opinions of some, anyway.”

“You—” Paimon broke off, stunned, and even the Traveler’s eyes were a bit wide. “How do you know that?”

“Neuvillette, of course. They had something of a staring contest in the street earlier. When your friend here left, Neuvillette worried for the others, assuming his intentions were misread. So I offered to find them. Didn’t expect to find him, of course.” He nodded toward Zhongli. “But needs must and all that, even if Neuvillette likely won’t be too happy about it.”

“I doubt you left Fontaine without learning some of the truth, my friend,” Zhongli added, eyeing the Traveler steadily. 

He nodded. “We know Neuvillette.”

“Then you will know something of the Sovereigns’ place. Before Celestia, they ruled not only the elements but this world as a whole. Your friend is of the lifeblood, and oversees most things, especially if he is the only among them with true Authority. Alongside his role within Fontaine since the Cataclysm, it does not surprise me to learn he intends to hold court on behalf of Teyvat, at least against those who had a hand in what occurred to set Celestia in control.”

The Traveler seemed pensive. “You’re talking about the Archon War?”

“Technically before it, for the true crime of the theft of Authority, but they are connected. I won my place among the Seven in that conflict and became Archon of Geo. Such things perpetuate Celestia’s control. Even if I no longer have the Gnosis in my possession, there is still no other Archon of Geo…” His eyes drifted toward the group gathering their belongings, a weight to his gaze which wasn’t easily defined. “My point being that the dissolution achieved in Fontaine recently has not happened here, and even if it had, I remain in some way culpable. A…confrontation is inevitable.”

“You make it sound like he’s going to…” Paimon muttered, then turned wide eyes between the Traveler, Zhongli, and Wriothesley. “Neuvillette wouldn’t hurt anybody!”

Zhongli gave her a look which suggested he sincerely doubted her words, but in the gentle way one might look at a young child. “I mean no insult to your friend. But there are few ways such a conflict can be resolved.”

“You don’t know him,” Wriothesley said, unimpressed. 

He did not seem to take this as a valid argument. “No. We have not met, in my memory.”

“Then you don’t know a thing about him, even if you do know what happened in Fontaine.”

“An unknown force is more threatening than one that is known.”

Wriothesley’s smile then was slow, and sharp. He crossed his arms again. “You’re afraid of him.”

He made no denial, and his expression remained smooth. “Only a foolish creature would not be.”

“I suppose that’s fair. Like you said, there aren’t any others with their Authority. If he wanted to, Neuvillette could take over Teyvat and no one could stop him.”

He paused then, and glanced toward the group still chatting over their bags. “But he wouldn’t. That sort of brutal control isn’t in his nature. I doubt it ever has been. He cares for his Melusines, for Fontaine, like they’re his children…and he cares for Teyvat in the same way. You’re part of that, even if you’ve done wrong. Monsieur Neuvillette has no interest in conflict, let alone the type someone’s famous for.”

The frown returned at last to Zhongli’s face, but it was more a grimace than confusion. “The world of today is kinder than it was in the past. I have no intention of harming anyone, Sovereign or not.”

Wriothesley smirked. “I’ll pass that along. But I can’t guarantee it will change his expectation of you, when that time does come. He has quite the list of things you’ve done.”

“If my opinion of him is unfounded, then it is safe to assume his own of me can be as well.”

“Ah, but Monsieur has evidence. You only have the papers. And whatever you’ve guessed over the last…however long you’ve been around.”

He seemed entertained by the vagueness, a glint lighting his eyes. “Long enough to be quite stuck in my ways, it seems. And for the world I’ve known to change many, many times…” He looked over the river at the mountains, and seemed as old as he said for a moment. “Forgive me. It seems I’ve made a poor impression.”

Wriothesley watched him curiously. “Hm. I’ve met worse.”

That brief humor returned, and Wriothesley decided he’d let him have it for now. 

“Y’know, I get the sense you two might actually get along. After he’s made his judgment anyway.”

The stoicism cracked again for skepticism in the form of a brief flicker of a frown. 

Paimon giggled, and the Traveler appeared to be actually considering it. 

Zhongli gave them a glance. “You agree.”

The Traveler shrugged, unapologetic. “You are similar, at least in some ways.”

“I would imagine the requirement to pass judgement would rather tarnish any goodwill.”

Wriothesley chuckled. “You’re underestimating him. Judgement to him doesn’t mean a personal vitriol for the person. He’s impartial to his core, and will do what he sees as his duty, but he won’t hate for it, even if he’s the one who’s been harmed most.”

Still frowning slightly, it seemed he did not agree. 

“There’s plenty of people in Fontaine whom he’s sent to Meropide and still gets along with. Myself included.”

The frown shifted then, toward something uncomprehending, or maybe just surprised. 

Wriothesley smiled, this time more genuine than those before it. “Long as you don’t hurt someone he cares for, I think you’ll have a chance at his kindness.” He glanced toward the group, now returning their way. “If I were you, I’d try to earn that. Otherwise, it could get ugly. I may not be much of a threat, but I’ll make what I do have known if need be. And I don’t play fair…plus, when I’m inevitably injured, Monsieur will likely have quite the complex about that.”

Something dangerously close to amusement briefly flickered in his eyes before he smoothed it away. “Noted.”

“Aiya, what are you boring old people grumbling about?”

Hu Tao had returned, hands on her hips and staring at Zhongli with glittering mirth.

“Ah. Our friend from Fontaine was asking about Chenyu Vale’s history,” he provided smoothly, nodding as if this were a topic of great interest. “I know some few facts on the subject.”

“Eugh. Run now while you can,” she groaned, feigning a swoon. “My consultant’s going to go on a world-class ramble. Save yourselves!”

“What are we saving ourselves from now?” Navia asked, setting down a frankly concerning number of bags and boxes which she had toted over with ease.

“The ‘grumblings’ of old men,” Wriothesley said flatly.

“Old men?” she repeated, incredulous. “My, how self-deprecating you are today, Your Grace.”

He snorted. “Good one. But the kid’s not talking about me, I’m afraid.”

Furina and Clorinde rejoined them, and Furina rather unceremoniously dumped her bags at Wriothesley’s feet with a wide bow. “Ta-da! Done, and done. And I don’t even have the most bags.”

“That award goes to me, I’m afraid,” Navia said happily, gesturing at her spoils. “I would pity you for having to carry it all if you hadn’t offered.”

He shrugged, giving her a smirk. “Pile ‘em up, I’ll be fine.”

“Hm.” She eyed him up and down. “Well, I guess you would be.”

“Don’t inflate his head,” Clorinde quipped, adding her few bags to Navia’s pile.

“Tut tut, Clorinde, don’t be a spoilsport. Shall I carry you back too, my lady?”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I’d like to see you try.”

“You’re just sore you haven’t beat me to a pulp in a few weeks.”

“You’ve earned another loss, with all the trouble you cause me.”

“Eh. Fight me on my terms, we’ll see who wins then.”

She scoffed, even as she did seem mildly intrigued at the prospect. “It’s the accused who sets the terms of the duel. It’s not my fault you haven’t wanted to fight hand to hand yet.”

“Sue me for wanting to have a sparring partner I can actually use my Vision on,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Fine, fine. Usual wager, hands only, hm?”

She nodded. “That might be a fight you win.”

“Might be,” he said with a smile.

Navia shook her head at the pair of them. “You two are so strange…”

Deciding it was more than time to return to Neuvillette, he scooped up Furina’s bags and gestured for the rest. “Come on. Iudex’s orders and all that.”

They piled up their bags, Navia’s smile increasingly wry as they did so. Despite the sheer number of her purchases, Clorinde’s ended up being the heaviest, something she seemed satisfied about. Either way, it wasn’t any real strain to carry them.

With more than a dozen bags of who knew what, he nodded his goodbye. “Don’t get into any more trouble, then.”

Varying shouts of indignation followed him as he turned to leave, all of which were ignored.

“Bye, Duke Wriothesley!” Hu Tao called over the din, standing on her toes to wave as he glanced back. “If you ever need a coffin, you know where to go!”

He laughed, taking the path back toward the wharf with their purchases in hand

It wasn’t terribly surprising to feel eyes on him until he left their view, again. Though he far preferred Neuvillette’s.

The journey back to Yilong Wharf was much the same as the trip down. Cheery greetings from passerby, the prettiness of the river and mountains, and a bit of urgency to speed his steps along. In no time at all, he had returned to the long walk along the river where the crafts stalls had lined up, and he could just make out Neuvillette’s distinct figure at the other end.

Picking up the pace a bit, he made his way through the crowd with a bit more trouble than before, given all the bags he now had to lug about. Thankfully, most people chuckled and moved out of the way.

Neuvillette hadn’t moved from the ceramics stall, and seemed wholly focused on whatever it was he was doing. The stall owner stood nearby, chattering away with a smile on her face.

Leave it to Neuvillette to make a friend, he supposed.

He whistled as he came closer, and Neuvillette’s eyes snapped to him in an instant, bright and faintly glowing.

“Wriothesley,” he said, with some relief, looking over the bags. “Goodness, did they buy from every stall?”

The woman who owned this one laughed, and Wriothesley managed a smile. “Don’t give them any ideas, or they might. Most of these are Navia’s.”

“Set those down, lad,” the stall owner said, waving a hand at him still laughing. “Here, let me get you a chair.”

“Thanks.” He took a moment to untangle the many bags as he set them down. The woman grabbed another chair from behind the stall and passed it over, and he joined Neuvillette at the front, scooting close. “What are you up to, then?”

Neuvillette hummed, brushing their shoulders as he came closer. “I am nearly finished, I believe.”

Wriothesley settled his chin on Neuvillette’s shoulder, leaning over to peer at his work.

He seemed to have made something like a ladle with legs and fins, with the paint making the little thing into a creature of familiar coloring. Smirking, Wriothesley admired the details as Neuvillette painted a little face onto the creature’s ‘head.’

“Cheeky thing, you,” he mumbled softly, then admired the fact that Neuvillette was not currently wearing his gloves. He was not often without them, even if his power tended to make the symbols on his palms bleed through the fabric of his gloves anyway. “Very pretty.”

Neuvillette hummed, leaning into him with a little smile. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Were you successful then?”

“Mm. No death or destruction. Though some kid did try to sell me a coffin.”

Neuvillette blinked, staring at him for a moment’s silence. “Well. I suppose I am glad you said they ‘tried’ to. Furina?”

“Fine as ever. She made some friends.”

“One of them being this child who tried to sell you a coffin?”

“The very same.”

“Liyue seems a very strange place…”

“Eh, kid was a bit overzealous, but I think she meant it as a joke more than anything. She runs a funeral parlor, far as she told me.”

A frown lingered somewhere about his lips as he gave the little ladle a once over, turning it this way and that. “I suppose I am done.” Glancing up to the stall’s owner, he set aside the paintbrush. “I believe I still need to know the price for making this.”

The woman tsked, shaking her head. “No, no. I don’t charge during the Lantern Rite, and definitely not when they turn out well.” She waved her hand at the pair of them, dismissing the thought entirely. “If you’d come back later, make more, then you’d pay.”

Neuvillette’s brow pinched, in the way it did when he was confused. “But—”

She tutted again, looking him over. Her eyes lingered especially on his hair and his hands. “No. I don’t charge.” Sliding her gaze over to Wriothesley, she grinned sharply. “You, you I’d charge.”

It was enough to startle a laugh from him. “Well thankfully, I’m no good at crafts.”

“Shame.”

Neuvillette was still frowning. But after a moment and another glance at the woman, he sighed. “Very well then…”

“Only you could sound so disappointed about a free gift, sweetheart.”

“Mm. I didn’t make it for myself.”

He turned, grabbed Wriothesley’s hands, and placed the little thing there. Nodding as if this settled things, he turned back and began to pull on his gloves.

Wriothesley stared at the little ladle creature, silent.

The woman who owned the stall seemed to be trying to contain her pleasure at such a sight. It was only half working. Her smile seeped out from behind her hands.  

Sighing, Wriothesley admired the creature for another moment. “Guess I should have expected that.”

The woman beamed. “I’ll get you a box.”

“Thanks.”

Neuvillette had taken to looking over the many bags, curious. “What could they have possibly purchased to require so many bags…”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Hm.” He waved a hand over them, and they disappeared as their purchases from earlier had. “Sedene will likely find such a sight amusing, if she enters my office before we return.”

“She deserves the laugh. I still owe her coffee.”

Neuvillette glanced his way, frowning. “What have you done that you owe her coffee?”

“Annoyed her.”

“Ah.”

The stall owner returned, handing over an unfolded box. Wriothesley set the little creature into it carefully before closing it up. “Well Monsieur, will you send him off to safety?”

A faint smile lifted his lips. “You are quite cheeky yourself today.”

Despite the comment, he waved his hand again, and the box disappeared off to his office. He took Wriothesley’s hands the moment it was done, squeezing them both for a moment before twining their fingers.

“Shall we continue then, my love?”

“Sure, lead the way.”

With a pleased sound, he did as asked, pulling Wriothesley close to his side as they left the ceramics stall behind, wandering back down the street along the water.

******

Yilong Wharf was loud, busy, and glowing with light. Despite his preferences, and certainly in spite of the way their outing had turned earlier in the day, he did not dislike the atmosphere of it.

He and Wriothesley had wandered most corners of the wharf by the time the sun slipped away, eventually ending their circuit back near the town’s center. From there, their time was pleasantly occupied by an opera performance and the promised lanterns. They made a pretty sight, floating out over the river. Like stars brought down from the false heavens…

Furina’s excitement had been beyond any expectation. She had darted about the square with bright eyes, craning her head for the best view before climbing her way onto a table to peer over the crowd as the lanterns went up. Thankfully, beyond a few chuckles at her boisterousness, no one seemed to mind.

The glittering mirth in Wriothesley’s eyes also helped, of course. He seemed particularly amused at Furina’s overflowing enthusiasm. From his place leaned into Neuvillette’s side, every chuckle seemed to reverberate through the both of them.

He did not mind the closeness. In truth, he had hardly let go of Wriothesley since he had returned earlier, none too pleased at the idea of any further separation while they were outside Fontaine. Or perhaps simply while they were within Liyue.

Wriothesley, thankfully, made no complaints, and seemed quite content where he was. When they eventually settled at the tea shop’s tables to wait for the rest of their party to return, he’d stuck close, stealing Neuvillette’s tea and finding great amusement in people watching. By the time Furina and the others returned, he was all but draped over Neuvillette, utterly unbothered by the staring they received from their party.

Their evening ended in a far more sedate manner than it had begun, with a very tired group headed back toward the boats out of the wharf. Furina in particular could not hold back her yawning, even as she exclaimed over the beautiful sights she had been able to see.

Clorinde guided the boat once it had been lifted back into the seas surrounding Fontaine’s lake, and Navia sat near her. The pair spoke quietly, leaned close. Furina had taken to dozing with her head on her arms, looking out over the water.

Wriothesley, unsurprisingly, had dropped into the seat by Neuvillette and wormed his way into his arms. Judging by the heavy weight to his settling, he too was tired from the day.

Neuvillette held him happily. He would never begrudge such simple pleasures. And it seemed the others were either too tired or too used to the sight to continue their staring.

As their boat made placid progress along the water toward Romaritime, Wriothesley shifted a little to speak quietly. “Is this a rare night you’ll actually go home?”

Humming, Neuvillette pulled his eyes away from the moon’s reflection off the water. “I had not intended it. Do you wish me to?”

“Sure. Might as well. Long day and all that.”

“Will you be joining me, then? Or are you required back at the Fortress?”

Wriothesley tsked, shifting slightly again as he got more comfortable. “Some of us take days off, remember? They’ll be fine ‘til morning at least.”

“Hm. I assume today does not count as one of the two days you require of me…”

“Nope. Furina asked for this one, not me. Doesn’t count.”

“I see…” He smoothed a hand over Wriothesley’s hair. “Very well. We can return to my apartment if you wish to. I have no mandatory engagements until tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest.”

Leaning into his touch, he turned to look up at him briefly. “Good. I’ll have to steal your schedule from Sedene, pick some days…”

“Do as you wish. Though if you have annoyed her as much as you say, you may wish to bring an offering before making demands.”

“Right. She likes those little mochas, doesn’t she?”

“I believe so.”

With a noise of only passing acceptance, Wriothesley leaned back into his hold, yawning. “You going to sleep tonight?”

“Mm. I am not tired myself…but I could be convinced.”

“Maybe I’ll just barnacle on you until you fall asleep then. I’m quite comfortable, at the moment.”

With a huff, he held tighter, brushing over his hair again. “If you wish to, my love, you may do whatever you’d like.”

Wriothesley twisted to look at him once more. “Careful. I might get ideas.”

“I was under the impression you already had several.”

“Hm.” His eyes had drifted to his lips. “Maybe.”

A tentative smile came to him then, and he was sure his expression was fond, given how quickly Wriothesley went red. Regardless of it, he moved his hand to thumb over his cheek, over his lips, smiling wider when Wriothesley went completely still.

“Perhaps I have ideas of my own,” he said quietly, watching closely as Wriothesley stared at him with something heavy, something surprised in his eyes. It was as amusing as it was endearing. “Is that so shocking?”

Sputtering, Wriothesley shook his head slightly, staring at Neuvillette as if he’d never seen him before. “When’d you get so—ugh.”

“Mm. I ought to say something in reply, but I find myself uninterested in doing so.”

“Oh yeah?”

He kept his hand where it was, holding loosely to Wriothesley’s chin. “Yes.”

His eyes were on his lips. “And…what do you want to do, then?”

Smiling a little, he tilted his chin up. Wriothesley’s eyes were wide, watching him as if he didn’t dare to move.

He leaned in, and pressed his lips to Wriothesley’s. It was a brief, chaste touch, barely a few seconds—this was hardly the place for anything more, anything less.

And yet it seemed to burn into him the same as Wriothesley’s hands so often did, a demand for attention, a proof of some deeper care. Wriothesley pressed back after a second’s hesitation, his hand tangling in Neuvillette’s shirt.

Pulling away before such temptation could become more, he hummed, soothing over Wriothesley’s cheek again, watching him as he stared, stunned to bright-eyed stillness.

“Plenty,” he said quietly, and looked out over the water, at the moonlight glittering over the surface of the waves. “I hope you will humor me, dear one.”

Wriothesley gave a little sigh after a moment, sinking back into his side with his face turned toward the water. “You really are something, sweetheart. I’ll ‘humor you’ if that’s what you want to call it.”

“Mm. What would you call it, then, if you disagree?”

“Love.”

The surety and quickness of the reply brought the smile back to his face, and he did not bother to hide it. He tightened his arms around him, and Wriothesley turned to do the same, his hands warm where they held to Neuvillette’s coat. A gentler grip than before, but no less enduring.

“I was promised as long as you could give me, once,” he said after a moment, wistful for the future as they looked out over the water. “I would have whatever love you may choose to offer. I will love you, regardless.”

Wriothesley twisted in his arms, enough for him to catch the briefest glimpse of his expression, filled with something warm and heavy and all together indescribable. Then he turned again, leaning up to press a kiss to Neuvillette’s cheek before he settled, falling heavy into his shoulder as if he couldn’t possibly move ever again.

“I love you too,” he said quietly, his voice half muffled by Neuvillette’s collar. “You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.”

He huffed, leaning their heads together. “I am quite content where I am. No fear involved.”

Their boat continued to putter along through the waves and back toward Fontaine’s falls. What future awaited was unclear. Stolen moments or those handed to them, it did not matter. Whether in spite of the future’s circumstances or alongside them, they would remain as they were, together.

Neuvillette held a little tighter, letting his eyes drift up toward the sky and its false stars. They had faced one near destruction already. What would come would surely be worse.

And yet, he could not fear it now. Not when this moment was so peaceful, here, along the water with Wriothesley in his arms.

No, he decided then. They would face whatever may come as they had faced what had already defied them. He would defend Fontaine, and Wriothesley, to whatever extent may be required of him.

And until then, he would bask in this wonderous respite, floating along the sea here with Wriothesley.

For however long they had. It would be worth it. It would always be worth it.