Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It is a cold winter night in Stormhail. 

Of course, one would suspect, with the name the city took, that both storms and hail would be regular. But tonight was far colder than expected, even to regular denizens of the snowy city.

The blizzard that roared outside whipped cruelly around anyone foolish enough to stand anywhere that was not sheltered by walls and roofs.

And yet, fools were precisely what Temenos and Crick were, tonight.

"You cannot be so serious as to indict the Sacred Guard in all of this, Temenos," Crick mutters, barely audible over the wind. 

It is better to not say such heresy at all, he thinks.

Temenos nods, his face ever analytical, the gears in his brain turning, working overtime. Were they made to take physical shape, the heat produced by their energy would certainly halt this blizzard in its tracks. 

"That is precisely what I intend to do, Crick. Transgressions such as murder cannot be overlooked, no matter who commits them. Surely you realize that."

"I have given my life to the Guard, Temenos. To accuse them of the murder of innocents– of the pontiff- "

Temenos raises his hand.

"Crick. Lost little lamb of the faith. I thought you wise enough to not devote your entire life to one sole organization. If you are so devoted to the Guard, why have you gone this far in your investigation with me?"

Crick falls silent, the blizzard roaring in his place.

"...I believe in you as well, Temenos. You are brilliant in your deductions, and have well deserved your title as Inquisitor. You are doing your job- but to question the only other thing I have put my faith in… What do I do?"

Temenos casts his eyes aside, his face twitching for a fraction of a second, enough to play it off as an affliction of the cold. His nose has grown red from the elements.

"...That is up to you, Crick. However, it should wait 'till morning. This blizzard will slow for no one, not even I."

Crick gives a sigh of some mixture of emotion. Relief, misery, regret– a swirling mess that comes out in one, shivering breath.

"Temenos… you can just say that you need time to think the case over."

Temenos glances back, startled- the first facial expression shown peeking from behind his analytical mask. Then, he laughs.

"You know me too well, my friend. You should rest as well. It has been a long day."

Crick de-tenses as well as he can in this cold, yet he does not smile.

"I will. Good night, Temenos."

Temenos gives the faintest of smiles and scurries off to inn up the steps. 

The last visage he catches of Crick is of his back turned, the cape of the organization he so loved whipping back and forth in the torrential winds.

When the morning comes, the blizzard has died down. Icicles hang from every horizontal surface, sharp as daggers. Sharper still are the morning rays that cut through the ice in beams, never fracturing their radiance, only amplifying it.

Temenos should not have slept to the bed closest to the window. He wakes up freezing cold, the heavy inn blankets doing little to stop the chill that permeates through the thin glass and wooden frame that encases it.

That is a better sign than any that he should get back to work. He throws himself out of bed and wraps a thick cloak around his body.

First priority was to meet back up with Crick. There is no better place to meet than the graveyard where Vados was found. There is a grim solitude there that allows any noise to be heard, and any entrance from other persons could be easily tracked.

And so he sets off, walking down the stone steps. The woman that is normally sitting on the bench at this hour is not here, yet the bench itself is cleared off with no snow. Someone had been here.

The two young men in front of the tavern are also not there, yet there are recent footprints leading away, towards the center of town.

The world is silent. Temenos feels a tether in his brain begin to flicker with panic. But surely, it means nothing.

He pulls his staff out and begins to use it to move through the snow. His legs feel weak, suddenly.

To ease his suspicions, he pokes his head into the nearby shop, which should be open now.

It is abandoned. No one is inside, tending the counter.

Something was most certainly wrong. His free hand clutches at the edge of his cloak, the other's grip tightens on his walking staff. Temenos' steps quicken ever so slightly.

And there, in the center of town, is a crowd. His heart eases a bit. Perhaps it was simply a town meeting, or a delivery of news.

A person brushes past him. The man's head ducks ever so slightly and gives way to a glimpse of something red.

Something dark red.

"AS THE FLAME CHURCH'S INQUISITOR, I DEMAND EVERYONE PART, IMMEDIATELY."

Temenos' voice booms through the crowd as he pushes through, a volume louder than even he knew he was capable of. The crowd disperses ( or at the very least, spaces out ) immediately.

Temenos' worst fear is confirmed when he makes it to the sight of the spectacle everyone had crowded around.

Crick. Injured in such a way that himself and his blood stick frozen to the wall outside of the Sacred Guard's headquarters. With shaking hands, Temenos kneels. These wounds were recent, possibly right before daybreak. 

His head swims. He can't make any more deductions beyond that. All he can do is–

"R-Revive."

With his shaking hands, he grips his healing staff and taps it against the ground with the gentlest touch, as if he could harm Crick more. Holy light magic shines through the crystal, but does not do anything.

"Revive."

He tries again. He taps the staff against the ground. His hands feel numb. The crystal shines, and yet no result. Crick lies motionless on the ground.

"Revive."

And he tries again yet still, a little harder. The crowd has re gathered around the two. The crystal's shining begins to dull.

" Revive. Crick- Crick. Come on ."

His voice begins to waver. He can feel sweat begin to bead on his brow. A bead of it drips down his cheek. He wipes his face. Is it sweat or tears? He cares not.

" Revive. "

Temenos feels his chest tighten further. His hands are snow white gripped against the gnarled wood of his trusted healing implement. It wasn't working now. Now, of all times. Why wasn't it working?

" Revive. "

He hears metal footsteps begin to reverberate around the crowd. A woman's voice speaks indistinguishably. It isn't working.

Something in him snaps.

" Revive. Revive. Revive. REVIVE. REVIVE! REVIVE! CRICK- ANSWER ME- CRICK PLEASE– "

With each cast, he slams the wooden staff against the ground, feeling his energy leave him with each hit, seeping into the ground, being absorbed by the earth. It isn't meant for the earth. It's meant for his friend, his confidant.

"Temenos-" He hears the voice of Captain Kaldena. His eyes are blurry as he whips his head towards her. His chest heaves with exhaustion, all of his energy gone. He points the staff at the captain with his remaining energy.

"WHY WAS IT HIM?!" He shouts, his lungs pouring into every word. 

He turns back and tries again.

"REVIVE!"

He nearly collapses past his staff. His mana is spent, and perhaps a bit of his own health. There is no possibility he could cast more than he already has.

And still Crick was not moving. His visage is blurry now, the morning light now blinding and halo-ing around him, the icicles melting on the fence behind.

" Temenos, that's enough. " Comes the voice of Kaldena once more. She tries to soften her tone. "You're making a scene."

"A sc-scene," Temenos coughs, hoisting himself up. His face is wet with tears. "My- My comrade lies murdered on the grounds outside your Order and you call my desperate attempts to save his life A SCENE?!"

The townsfolk begin to murmur. Temenos' breath is ragged.

Kaldena raises a hand.

"Shouting so early in the morning will only draw more attention. This is.. A tragedy to be certain. But desperation will only cause panic."

" You, " his voice seethes with venom.

"Ort, please escort the inquisitor to an apothecary. He needs help."

"At once, Captain Kaldena."

"WHY WAS IT HIM, AND NOT ME, KALDENA?!" Is the last thing Temenos hurls out into the world before the world greets him with darkness in return.

The crowd can only watch in stunned silence as the Flame Church Inquisitor is dragged off in a manic state, kicking and writhing in the grasp of Captain Kaldena's second in command–

And as the dead man on the wall breathes once more with a gasp for air.

Chapter Text

Ort stands guard in the Stormhail apothecaries guild, as they try to treat the Inquisitor, seized with a spell of madness. His back pressed firmly against the door, he looks on as two women and three men hold Temenos down and try to have him drink a balm they'd concocted.

Temenos is having none of it.

"Let GO! I'm not in need of help! I need to make it back to Kaldena– I need to make it back to Crick! Let ME GO–!"

The sigh Ort gives is not one of exasperation, but of sorrow. Crick was his friend as well. The sight of the man he had been knighted with, dead outside the guard walls was not pleasant. Even less pleasant was the desperation in Temenos' eyes as he tried to revive the lost soul.

He felt that desperation too, deep down in his soul, but Crick was lost to them. Kaldena had said so herself.

"Temenos, that's enough," he calls out to the thrashing man.

"Ort– Ever Kaldena's loyal dog, are you?" Temenos bites back, snapping himself out of one of the men's grasps. His eyes are wild and his hair a sweaty mess against his forehead. It's clear his mana has been drained, which is what the apothecaries try to fix even now as he squirms from their hands.

Ort feels his eye twitch.

"I am not her 'loyal dog.' I am her retainer and I would deliver her from harm's way. You pointed your staff at her, and she still put you to an apothecary instead of having you jailed. You should be grateful."

Temenos laughs as he lays back in his bed, willingly, for once, as they slip the soothing balm down his throat.

"You don't… get it, do you…?" He says, drifting away. 

"What…. Do you think she intends to do with… Crick's body, once all witnesses… are gone?"

Temenos Mistrel has been abandoned by the Gods.

This was a long time coming. His faith had always been lacking, ever since Roi's disappearance. But now he is surrounded by nothing but darkness. Nothing but the abyss to sink further and further into. 

There is no light in this place he has found himself in. Perhaps he is dead, his heart given out from expending so much mana in an attempt to save Crick. He's almost certain the apothecaries have put him in restraints, too. Any sane person would.

Lost child, what brings you here?

Temenos hears a voice echo throughout the space around him. It goes through him, as if he wasn't there- as if nothing was ever meant to exist here.

He tries to speak, but whatever he is surrounded by chokes and gags him of any air. So he closes his mouth and thinks.

Crick is dead. I could not protect him. Kaldena has won. She's taken the last ounce of my faith.

You are faithless? It asks.

My two closest friends, killed by the Church, by the guard, in an effort to protect their own secrets. How do benevolent gods allow such wanton murder in their names? How does any god allow such murder in their name?

The silence after his thoughts resound out into infinity. There is no hope here, either. He isn't even sure if his eyes are open or shut. Does he have a body? Is this simply his soul? His soul lost forever in the darkness?

The voice sounds again. It is smooth and full of mirth.

This is the second time I have accepted a member of the Church into my arms. I find you interesting, Faithless Child Temenos. How do you feel, right now? Knowing such injustices have been committed against your kin?

Rage. Temenos responds unquestioningly. There is no light here to judge him for being 'pious' or 'just'. He is embittered and angry. Roi and Crick had to die, and for what? For what purpose?

The voice laughs.

Then rage, Temenos Mistrel. Rage.

Temenos opens his eyes to the ceiling of the apothecaries guild. Ort stands over him. His body feels heavy, as if someone has placed a great weight upon his chest.

"Inquisitor, you're awake… Crick– Crick is…"

"Dead. I know." His voice rings hollow as he stares through Ort and up to the ceiling.

"No, Temenos. His body is missing."

Temenos rolls onto his side. There are no restraints on his wrists or ankles, but he can feel the burn from the tied rope- maybe it had been removed recently.

"Kaldena's doing no doubt. Go on. Slay me for speaking such heresy."

"Temenos, no. Listen to me." Ort grabs his shoulders and sits him up. They look into the other's eyes, and Temenos sees a determination that hadn't been there before in Ort.

"They can't find him either. Your revives may have worked. He– Crick might be alive."

Temenos blinks, slowly. His mind is filled with fog, and a strange weighted feeling, like a headache but with no pain. Ort's words barely impart any sort of feeling upon him.

"Temenos. Are you listening to me?"

"Yes– yes, I am. Make no mistake, Ort. I've heard you." His voice is thick with spit, no doubt his body trying to kick itself back into living once more. What had he just dreamed about? He can't quite recall.

"Then– what are you waiting for, Temenos? We need to find him."

" We? " Temenos scoffs, turning his legs to the edge of the bed. They're nearly dead weight- he can barely walk. "I do not need another hound to trail me when I am already one myself."

"I am no hound, Temenos," Ort says, frustrated. "You're going to injure yourself, moving so quickly, be careful!"

"Or what, Ort? You'll go and fetch Kaldena and let her know that the Inquisitor has left on a search for his only friend? So she can order you to tail me, for 'safety,' she'll call it, to bring Crick and I back to her, just so we can fall by her blade? I think not."

Temenos feels his chest heave with anger, the first concrete emotion he's felt since waking up. Good. He supposes that means he's alive.

Ort looks to the side.

"I… you were right, Temenos. Right before you went to sleep, you told me Kaldena had… plans, for Crick's body. When I went back to the headquarters, and we found Crick missing- Kaldena was in a frenzy. She ordered me to find him by any means necessary, that he needed to come back to her for 'safety's sake.' I– I have been following the wrong Order. Never again, Temenos. Kaldena is not where I want to place my faith."

Faith. Temenos' heart rings hollow, and his chest goes alight with more anger. It fuels him, it brings the blood pumping to the rest of his body, as he stands and walks to the door of the apothecaries guild, never once looking back upon Ort.

"Then start looking. But do not follow me."

Rage, Temenos Mistral. Rage.

Chapter Text

Temenos begins his path down from Stormhail, his head feeling as if it had been frozen in place from the cold. 

All he knows is that the anger in his chest keeps the rest of his body warm, but it feels as if he's missing something that wasn't lost before he'd revived Crick.

Mayhaps it would come to him as he walked. 

He walks out of Stormhail, perpetually aware of Ort trailing behind him at a distance. No matter. If he got in his way, the guard could easily be struck down. No one could stop the path Temenos Mistral has begun to follow, now. 

Not with this burning fire in his chest.

He understands now what Osvald meant when he talked of avenging his family. Osvald, who was still waiting patiently at a tavern in Timberain with the rest of his compatriots, for Temenos to return from his mission.

He would return. After this fire had been quelled. This… innate drive he had awoken with. This rage, this anger.

So he continues down the snowy path, a set of footprints descending down behind him, like a whimpering animal trailing its prey, only to run away if Temenos were to ever turn around.

It does not concern him. Not even when the snow fades and the grass becomes alive again. Not even when the grass, so full of life, begins to crunch beneath his feet.

The cleric, making the grass die from the rage that smolders in his chest. What a hilarious concept. So he presses onwards, grass wilting below the heel of his boot.

When he makes it to Borderfall, he finds a hut at the start of a crossroads. A small residence, with a small carrot farm off the side, near the edge of the road. A man is tending to his garden, there.

"Good morning," Temenos says cordially as he approaches the man. Angry as he is, there is something in him that tells him to be polite to people he does not know. Something tugs at his heart, when he hears this feeling speak.

"Ah, an Inquisitor from the Church. What brings you down this way?" The farmer responds, setting his till against the fence.

"I'm…"

…What was he doing? He was… looking for Crick, no? Crick was alive, Ort had said as much. No– No, he was getting revenge for Crick. Crick had died. He saw as much with his own two eyes.

The farmer must have seen Temenos' expression falter, for he sets a hand on the fence separating the two.

"Inquisitor, why don't you come in for a spell and get your bearings? My wife still has some leftovers from lunch we could offer you."

Temenos feels something click in his head, like a clockwork gear turning back into place. It's still dislodged, but that weight he's been feeling in his brain lifts, only a sliver. Kindness shown is a favor owed.

He owes Crick a favor, still. Crick…

Temenos' heart begins to weigh heavy as he enters the couples' home- for the first time since waking, the rage quells for just a moment.

"Ruth, there's another one!" The farmer calls as he enters with Temenos in tow.

"Any more and we'll have to extend our farm plots!" Temenos hears an older woman call from behind the cover of a wall.

The gear in his brain turns just a pinch more.

"Another one?' He asks, feeling a stirring inside his chest "My apologies, I don't mean to overburden."

"Not at all. Our other guest is currently unconscious- Injured lad, came burstin' in through our front door and passed out in the entrance! Nearly put me through death from the fright!" The man gives a hearty chuckle.

"Really? May… May I look at him?"

Another click.

"I happen to be a cleric. Perhaps I could help."

Ruth, the farmer's wife, pokes her head around from the kitchen, and nods.

"Why, please, go right ahead. We're a while from Flamechurch, and we haven't found time to find another cleric or an apothecary."

Temenos nods and is directed to the bedroom in the back. He slowly opens the door, making sure that its hinges do not give its presence away. Castti had always told him to make less noise. 

The room is shaded- dimly lit. Translucent curtains cover the window, made from potato sacks layered over each other several times over. A large bed lays in the corner, one person taking up the whole of the space.

Temenos nearly trips over his own feet when he sees Crick.

As if an innate response, he feels his chest heave in exhaustion. His head suddenly becomes a weighted brick- any gears that were in place becoming dislodged again.

Crick is laying on the bed, his side heavily bandaged, clearly bleeding through them.

He is still dead.

Temenos takes a tentative step forward, and is punished by his head aching in ways he could not think possible. Like a knife being inserted into the back of his brain. The pain is unbearable.

Crick is still dead. Seek vengeance.

Temenos feels his heart begin to burn once more. This couple was sheltering a dead man, with no knowledge of it. He would never recover.

He couldn't recover. How do you recover from being dead?

Temenos feels bile creep up into the back of his throat. The staff in his hand burns to touch. That– That isn't right, but it happens all the same.

"Gh–gh…" He chokes back vomit.

"Inquisitor, are you alright?" He hears the farmer call from behind him.

The rage in his heart begins to seep through to every vein in his body. Every ounce of his nervous system, every fiber of his being. Temenos bites the bile down and throws his staff down on the floor.

That's right, child of faith. That's a corpse in there. Come now. We're not visiting a morgue today.

The thought that crops into his mind is the only thing that brings him comfort. When he turns to look at the farmer and his wife, their eyes are full of confusion.

"Now, what's wrong? Not used to seein' such bad injuries?"

Temenos opens his mouth to respond, but his tongue rests thick in his mouth, as if it threatens to choke him.

"C-Cr…" He says, before his instincts kick in. He needs to run.

And he does. Out of the hut, away from Borderfall.

This rage, this anger.

He supposes he'll carry it with him to wherever his legs take him.