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Chapter Text

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"Do you remember what to say, Freminet?" 

A small, quivering seven year old shivers where he stands, the wind swept through his thin raincoat. The rural area of Fontaine's mountains was prone to rain and snow, the distant ocean's updraft carrying the harbor's stormy weather up to the highest peaks of the mountains. The sky above him rumbled an unhappy gray color, clouds promising a storm soon enough.

"Yes, I remember," he murmurs, his adolescent voice small. He rubs his thin gawky forearms, irritating the skin there as the gauze wrapped around his hands chaffed the sensitive skin. It’s uncomfortable and itchy and he wants nothing more than to take them off, but he knows he’ll get in trouble if he does. 

Besides him stands his Maman, tall and lanky with her own raincoat hanging off her boney structure. Her frizzy platinum hair blended in with her pale skin, freckles speckled across her face just like Freminet's own. He’s a small thing when he stands next to her, an unfortunate aspect of his delayed growth, but one thing his mother has always delighted in teasing him with.

Aside from the height discrepancy, he and his Maman looked like carbon copies of each other. His Maman once joked that he was a mini-me version of her to her work friends, a proud beaming smile plastered on her face while she declared as such. 

She doesn't do that as much anymore.

Once, she had the curves and plump of a normal mother, but as money grew scarce, so did the food in the cupboard. They had turned to scarcity when spending Mora, and soon three meals a day became two, and stomach grumbles became painful hunger pangs.

He could see the toll it took on her, in spite of his Maman’s best efforts to hide it from him. After Father left, only Maman was there to keep a roof above them. She never tried to let it get her down, gentle smiles and warm hugs still present through most days. She still read to him, still tucked Pers and him in at night, and still hummed him her special lullaby every time he asked for it.

But sometimes-in the dead of night when she thought him asleep-he could hear the way she cried quietly, hear the continuous recounting of their leftover savings for the rest of the week. Freminet had tried his best not to let the guilt of raising him eat him alive, but it was an unwinnable battle when he had to see his mother suffer so much. 

The walk to the old shrine used to only take fifteen minutes uphill. Now it's stretched onto almost thirty, attributed to his Maman’s ailing health as they now have to take several breaks to allow her to catch her breath, lungs straining with the effort. The shift had happened so slowly that Freminet didn’t even notice how long it took them now, too concerned with the state of the older woman to care.

A lot of things change when you're not paying attention to them.

"Say it back to me," she asks softly, gently cupping his cheek as she tucks a strand of blonde hair behind his ear, "Be a good boy and say it to Maman."

Freminet winds his arms tighter against Pers, blondish eyelashes batting as the recited words come back to him easily. "My name is Freminet. I… I am seven years old and I am one- one hundred and fifteen centimeters. I don't eat a lot and… um…"

"...Your machines?" Maman whispers for him, eyes and gentle tone strangely pleading. Like she was begging him to remember. Freminet's eyes light up like a light bulb at his mother's words, finally remembering his final recited line.

"-and I'm good with machines," he declares confidently with a small smile, stretching out his arms and gesturing Pers towards his mother. He had assembled him all on his own after a long month of tinkering, with only a little bit of help from his genius mother. Being one of his first successful clockwork projects, young Freminet had found himself practically attached to his new friend.

"Good boy," she smiles softly, clearly amused at his display. She leaned down to pat both Pers and Freminet's head, making sure not to exclude his friend. "You did really good. Try not to trip over your words next time, okay? Good boys are always well spoken-"

She cuts herself off with a ragged cough, like the air in her throat caught on itself and cramped painfully. It started off as a simple hack before developing into an entire coughing fit. Her whole frame wracked with each convulsion, slowly bringing her down to her knees in the middle of the path. Freminet rushed to her side, latching onto her crumpled figure to keep her from collapsing.

"Maman?" He worried, trying to ease her back up to her feet. His mother let out the last of her coughs as her body tremored, handkerchief stained red as she tucked it back into her pocket.

"-I'm fine." She insisted breathlessly, clearing her throat harshly as she stumbled back to her full height. "I'm just- Maman's still a little sick, alright? Nothing to worry about."

Freminet grimaced, "M-Maybe we should go back home," he stutters shakily, face contorting with concern as he anxiously wrings his hands. They're not that far actually, a few minutes and he could get them both to safety, "I-I can get the fireplace started, heat up some soup-"

"-NO!! " She snapped with a panicked yell, almost immediately schooling her voice and tone into something more gentle, "No- no silly boy. We haven't even reached the shrine yet. I- We still need to pray today, remember?"

She reached out and cupped his cheek again, but this time gave it an unconscious squeeze of her hands. It hurt a bit. "You're so silly, how could you forget? Silly boy..."

Freminet furrowed his brow and pinched his expression with concern, her mutterings not sounding right to his ears, but he ultimately decided to bite his tongue. He wants to try to convince her to leave, for both their sakes, but he's certain Maman is entering one of her 'moods' now. She gets strangely stubborn whenever she's in one, and not doing as she says could earn him another scream.  Was it the blood this time?

Before he can get another word out, she grabs ahold of his hand and all but drags him up the stone steps, his old school shoes barely keeping up with his mother's ushered pace. She's muttering more things to herself, but he can't quite make out what she's saying. Her eyes remain zeroed in on the path, wild eyes unseeing even as she trudged forward.

When they get there, the old shrine is covered in a layer of old moss and is half sunk into the mountainside, unkempt with the overgrowth and partially deteriorated from the humidity of the mountains. It looks ancient, and Freminet's all but certain him and his Maman are the only ones actually still visiting this place.

His mother never used to be a big on religion, back when Father had yet to abandon them. But then as she had gotten weaker and sicker, she had taken to praying almost every single day. What she was praying for or why she was doing this was beyond his understanding, but he trusted his Maman. If she decided that this was important, then it was.

"Quiet, my treasure," she runs thin fingers through his brittle hair, ushering him to kneel beside her. "Don't talk Freminet, alright? Be a good boy and behave. Maman is gonna speak with the Gods today, so don't interrupt."

Sometimes, Maman says things that scare Freminet.

He knows she doesn't mean it, to scare him. She's just sick is all. She's been sick for a while now, and she says praying makes it better. Freminet wants to believe her, but she doesn't look any different to him.

The only time he had seen her get better was back early on, when she had started taking special medicine. Her eyes weren't so wild and she seemed to say a lot less scary things. When the Mora had run out though, so had her options for affordable treatment.

"Oh Freminet," she whispers to herself, likely presuming he had fallen asleep as he cuddled against her in her rocking chair. Her nightly lullaby tapered off and he felt her hold the side of his head like it was something precious. He hears the sound of sniffling suddenly, tears present in his mother's voice. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry dear. I could not give you a good body, a good home." She cups his hands where they laid freshly bandaged and clean, "You and I are both so weak, so frail against this cruel world."

"But don't worry, my treasure," she whispers, voice ghostly, "I'll make sure you're looked after. Even when I leave, I'll do everything I can to care for you. There are better things to come. I swear it on my grave."

.

.

.

Maman is sick. She's been sick for a while.

Her illness soon gets worse, and she often finds it hard to breathe properly. When the coughing fits started to come with more frequency, it became harder for her to stay balanced on her feet. She's often left no option but to hunch over their rusty sink, spitting out globs of dark red phlegm for almost hours at a time, passing out from time to time. It's scary, and Freminet's half worried her lungs are gonna collapse as he watches her, unable to do anything to stop it. It fills him with a sense of helplessness, and it drives him to do anything in his power to help ease the burden she carries.

At just eight years old, Freminet's Maman is made bed bound. Not by her own decision of course, but by the scary realization one morning that comes when her muscles refuse to let her get up. He's put in charge of taking care of the house; doing the cleaning, laundry, and food preparation, bringing his mother whatever she needs like a proper dutiful son would. It's a lot of hard work and it often leaves Freminet bone-tired, but he's glad he gets to help his Maman at least in this way.

On good days, she calls him a good boy and pats his head, eating meals together and even getting a strained lullaby from her. It sounds ragged and her voice cracks a lot, but she always insists on finishing the song. She tells him she loves him, and he reciprocates with a relieved smile.

On bad days, his Maman doesn't even recognize him. She panics when she sees her own eight year old son prance into the room with her next meal, inane and undecipherable words spewing out of her mouth often forcefully delving her into another coughing fit. It's like she's stuck in a mindless haze, muttering unintelligibly under her breath while her eyes glazed over. She barely manages to eat anything, and Freminet is left to worry for her all alone.

Her unstable behavior makes him want to flee, but he always stubbornly chooses to stay by her side, wiping off whatever blood she'd coughed out with a towel when she inevitably tires herself out. She'd do the same for him if he was in her shoes, right?

"Maman, please just eat," he pleads, hand carefully hovering under the lukewarm spoon he has. It's a mixture broth and canned chicken-not even a soup-but he wants her to at least have something in her system, "Just one bite, then we can get you ready for bed. I- I can even get your hair done if we finish fast enough..."

"Lay me back in my cradle...dearest Amrita..." she slurs out numbly, wide bloodshot eyes trained directly onto the ceiling. Her platinum hair lies frizzed and ruined from the humidity, sweat coating her body and nightgown as she makes no move to even acknowledge the food he brings her, "Return me to...the realm...of Lochfolk..."

Freminet lets out a long sigh, tired eyes blinking down at his mother as he resigns himself to his mother's state. Even when he sets the old porcelain bowl down, he makes no move to leave her room yet, instead kneeling on the edge of his Maman's bed and holding her catatonic hand. He holds her hands and wishes for nothing more than to have his Maman back.

They get more bad days than good, unfortunately.

The routine stays the same until one rare good day late into the night, house silent as Freminet prepared for bed. Maman had thankfully finished the half-sandwich he had made her but remained upright, staring at Freminet with an unreadable silent expression as he cleaned her plate. Before he can leave, she beckons Freminet over and clutches his hands, gently placing her well-worn locket in his cupped hands. 

"Keep this on you, okay?" She insisted, voice strained from an earlier coughing fit, "-It's really special, and it'll give you protection when you most need it. I made sure of it." She forces his hands to close over it, pushing it towards his chest, "-So don't lose it, no matter what."

She also gives him a small bag of Mora and a small paper with an address shakily written on it. She instructs him when morning comes to find a nice wagon rider and or merchant and politely ask them to drop him off at the address.

Freminet had been rightfully worried at the sudden proposition, anxious about taking on such a daunting and unexpected trek on his own. He pleaded for his mother to at least guide him halfway through the journey, but she had simply pat his head and kissed him on the cheek.

"Sorry treasure," she had said, trying to give him a smile. It was just as sad and hollow as her cheeks were, "Maman can't come with you this time. Be a good boy and find your own way, okay?"

.

.

.

The following morning, Freminet awakes to the smell of rot.

He treads through the small house, quiet and soundless as not a single thing stirs in the old home. Freminet finds himself anxiously wringing his hands, pattering towards his Maman's room faster as the foreign isolation bears down on him. In spite of it looking like his home-Knick knacks splayed on shelves, old family photos hung with pride-there is no sense of belonging to be found anywhere.

He finds his mother's lifeless body still tucked into her cramped bed, quilt tucked all the way up to her chin. From a distance, she simply looks like she's still asleep, eyes closed with an unusual expression of peacefulness settled over her worn features. He can't make out her wrinkles from here, nor the coughing, nor hear the strange dialect he'd come to dread.

She was always so stressed-dark eyebags and wild eyes-that looking at her now, finally at peace, he can't help but feel like he's looking at a stranger.

Even in death, he does not recognize that this new woman is still his mom. An imposter had taken her place, wearing her skin like an old wrinkled gown.

Freminet does not leave immediately. He walks to her bedside and climbs in beside her unmoving form, just like he had back when he was younger and plagued with nightmares of deep sea monsters and thunder. He feels no heat radiating from her skin when he wraps his arms around her side, only the cold feeling of rigor mortis meeting him.

Freminet closes his eyes and tries not to think, instead just wanting nothing more than to fall asleep by his mother's bedside. He wants her to wake up now, to turn over and wrap her warm arms around his small body and hold him in a gentle embrace until he falls asleep. He wants to hear her lullaby, hear her snort of a laugh again. He wants his real Maman to come back now, to get rid of this lifeless scary imitation of her she had left in her place.

'Is it over now, Maman?' he thinks numbly, feeling utterly lost, 'Is this the part where you come home now?'

.

.

.

"My name is Freminet. I am eight years old and I am one hundred and thirty centimeters." His voice is clear and neutral, looking mostly composed, if you ignore the glaze over his eyes, "I don't eat a lot and I'm good with machines."

This time, no one sang his praises for his well-spokeness. Instead, an old, middle-aged lady bends down from where she stands at a doorway to examine him, adjusting her thin glasses as she observes him. The warm light flooding from behind her contrasted the dark blueish landscape of the snowy forest around them. The large royal looking building had been hidden behind a looming set of pine trees, chimineas and bright windows flaring up the place like a beacon. The architecture looked like something straight from Fontaine's main city, a place he remembers very little of.

It had been ice cold the whole ride here, an inch of snow laid down over the road when Freminet had finally set out to the address. The wagon rider he had found had passed him a weary glance, probably wondering why such a young boy was out and about before the sun had even risen.

Now he stood in front of an open doorway, an old lady with a long cigar regarding him with quiet dead eyes. All Freminet could take with him was Pers and the clothes on his back; anything else too big or too heavy to carry for such a long ride. That means he had to leave behind all his fairytale books, tucked away in his home's small library shelf. At least he knew they were safe.

" Mhm ," the lady eventually hums, taking a drag of her smoke as she batted her heavily-eyelined eyes, "And where are your parents?"

"Gone." He responds simply.

"Hm. Okay," she murmurs with a groan, reaching behind her and whipping out a clipboard and etching her pen on it diligently. "-And how did you find out about this place?"

He blinked owlishly, "...my… Maman told me to come here."

The old lady hums out a muffled 'huh' sounding vaguely similar to a huff of a laugh. Like there was something funny about that. 

Freminet doesn't see the humor in his statement, but to be fair he hasn't felt anything since he walked into his Maman's room. Just a cold, deepslated numbness; like the waves came crashing against him and dragged him to a place with no light. Maybe it's just that.

"Well then, I suppose there's space right now," she flips a paper, before bending down and gesturing it to his hands. She removes the cigar from her mouth and blows smoke onto him. It smells terrible. "-sign here."

Freminet does as he's told without complaint, holding Pers in the crook of his arm as he crookedly writes his name. She takes the clipboard back and moves out of the way of the door, gesturing to him to enter the door.

"Welcome to the House of the Hearth, kid." She welcomes dispassionately. Freminet steps inside.

It's all a haze afterwards.

—

Freminet was known as a delicate child.

His skin was always a permanent ghostly white, gawky and easy to bruise and scab under the slightest injury. 

His hands were almost always covered in old dirty bandages, palms reddened and irritated from the gauze's rubbing. His nose would often bleed with little warning, staining whatever clothes he had on a violent red if he didn't stifle the blood flow fast enough.

It hadn't been a big issue, back when he still lived with his Maman. She had fussed over him and sometimes scolded him over staining his new clothes, but that was as far as she'd go. He knew she was stressed and tired, and her concern for him came second nature with him having such a weak constitution. 

He misses it, dearly so. He misses not having to worry about whether he'll get a meal for the day. He misses the days where all he had to worry about was reading stories past his bedtime and cleaning out Maman's bloodied handkerchiefs.

He quivers against the cold rain that hits the shed walls, the wood groaning in protest. He brings his small hands up to his mouth, shaking out a breath in hopes of warming his freezing hands.

Freminet wants to plead to be let back in. To beg for the Director's forgiveness over his incompetence and swear to be better next time. He'd get on his hands and knees cry if he had to.

But he knows it's a fruitless venture. The Director had explicitly told all the children that there'd be dire consequences if one of them tried to take more food than just their assigned portion. 

He knew the Director never gave threats lightly, and Freminet had the fullest intention on listening to her-good boys do what they're told, afterall-but he was just so hungry . The older boys had gotten bolder at taking his portions, as Freminet was much too small and weak to even contemplate trying to fight for it back.

So when the Director found him out, she naturally followed through with her threat and threw and locked him in the orphanage's shed. She said she'd only think about letting him out after two full days, only deciding as much when she deemed his lesson 'learned'.

She was an evil woman, not at all like Maman. She had to be the human-equivalent of a Gorgon, thin eyes cold enough to turn you to stone. She wore heavy charcoal-like eyeliner and sported a clean, inky bob and undercut, ebony makeup made to match with her black heart. She smelled like smoke and held no patience or love for any of the kids there, reminding him of what his biological father had been like. The comparison sours a small, bitter part of his heart.

In any case, Freminet had reaped what he sowed. He did something bad and now he's being punished; the textbook descriptor of punishing behavior. He should have expected this.

But now he's locked in a pitch-black box, barely large enough to fit a horse inside and packed full of sharp and dangerous tools, and he wishes to be anywhere but here. 

Freminet wonders if he's gonna get sick, by the end of his punishment. Maman had barely scraped together the money for medicine, back when he got colds. He doubts the Director would shill the same sacrifice for him. He shudders, gripping his forearms with cold fingers.

It's so cold. 

During the day, the shed is a furnace of heat and sweat, the rust and iron from the tools filling the space with the smell of metal so overwhelming it makes him gag. During the night, the shed drops to an ice cold temperature that his clothing can barely retain heat against. It's pitch black, not even able to make out his hand right in front of his face.

And it had been bad then, during the day. Now though, it's somehow worse .

Because it's night and it's raining, water rocking the wooden walls around him precariously with the force of the howling winds. Multiple leaks spring from the shed's leaky roof, the sound of water droplets falling filling his ears.

Freminet tries his best not to get wet, stuffing himself into one of the drier corners of the room, but it's no use. The humidity alone leaves his wild hair and clothes an uncomfortable damp, frame shivering from the cold. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and imagines he's at the bottom of the ocean. He imagines all his friends- the Fox, the Donkey, the Crow, and the Dragon -are there with him, coming across the discovery of a locked treasure chest.

The Fox tries to pick the lock open, while the Dragon says it's wiser not to touch someone else's treasure. Freminet agrees, but he also wants to see what's inside. "Maybe it's shiny Mora!" The Crow exclaims, and the Donkey says he hopes it contains a barrel of apples-

A cold drop of water splats on his hair, and Freminet yelps out loud with surprise. He tries to look up-even in the pitch dark-and another drop splats directly onto his face.

He realizes with horror that another leak has sprung, this time right above him. He can't afford to move from where he's curled up now, in fear of knocking over or-even worse- cutting himself on one of the rusty tools clattered around him. That would definitely get him sick.

Another few drops land on his head, trickling over his forehead as a shiver courses through him. Freminet bites his wobbly lip and resigns himself to his fate, dipping his head to rest against Pers' cold metal body . 

He forcefully squeezes his eyes shut-ignoring the water mists around them-as he willed his mind farther away, father from here. Deep in the warm and welcoming waters of his mind, the inviting current sweeps him off his feet and carries him away and right back down, down, down-

-he imagined all his friends together, gathered around a warm fireplace as they sang songs and played games. The Dragon was much too big to fit in the couch with them, so he laid his huge body around the couch, forming a protective shield. His Maman comes in holding a full Rotisserie chicken, steaming alongside baked potatoes and sweet potato casserole as she smiles warmly at him, as she always does. She's wearing her old fish-patterned apron and her eyes shine lively, freckled skin rosey and healthy just as he remembered. 

They all help her set the table, long enough to fit all of them in one place. They eat heartily and sing their praises of his mother's cooking. Freminet grins happily and feasts on his dinner, cleaning his place twice over as he basks in his friend's happiness.

Here, he is warm and fed. Here, he has a solid roof over his head and a fire to keep him toasty, alongside friends that cherish him for who he is.

Here-with his friends and mother-he is safe.

It's all he's ever wanted.

—

The day Freminet meets Lyney and Lynette was one he had originally dreaded. 

If going about your day at the orphanage while the Director was around was comparable to walking on eggshells, then doing so while Father was around was more like walking over shattered glass:

Dangerous and easy to mess up. The consequences for losing your footing would be dire.

Father was scheduled to come back for a visit at the beginning of every month. She would only stay for a week or less, likely just keeping up to date with the orphanage's status, but those few days were always the scariest at the Hearth. 

Every single child-no matter the age or temperament-is wise enough to be silent, not quiet. No fights or even normal conversations could be held when Father visited, tension so thick only the smallest whispers could be passed. 

Freminet almost looks forward to her visits, if it means no one is going to mess around and try to steal his food.

Almost.

The day Father finally comes, however, it's with the surprising presence of two young teens trailing in close behind her. One boy had scruffy low swept hair, while the girl's long hair was pinned back haphazardly, two cat-like ears pointed to attention at the top of her head. 

They both look older than Freminet by a few years and look strikingly similar in spite of being opposite genders. They're probably related… siblings perhaps…

They also look distinctively well-groomed, as if they'd come straight out of a noble's house. Freminet would almost be tempted to say they were noble children, if it wasn't for their haggard and darkened features. Dirt and soot clings to their forms, as if they'd just come straight from a house fire.

There's also this sharp and defensive look in both their eyes, cold steel in their pupils as they glaze over the crowd in front of them. The girl's expression is flat but clearly tense, while the boy's face is pinched with what looked to be restrained intensity. 

They gaze around the mess hall full of children with a certain fierceness, looking most of them up and down. As if they're sizing them up.

"Listen well, as I'll only say it once," Father announces, poised voice carrying over the dead-still mess hall, "These new guests are to be your new siblings, children. Treat them as you would treat each other, or so help you all."

" Yes Father ," a chorus of robotic voices echo through the huge mess hall, perfectly synchronized with enough practice. 

Silently, Freminet despairs, grimacing. He wonders if he'll have to deal with two new tormentors trying to steal his portions. 

Apparently, he doesn't despair quietly enough.

"-Freminet," Father calls, and the boy tries not to jump and pass out from the fright alone, "Why don't you show your new siblings to their rooms? Give them both a proper , warm welcome." 

" Y-yes Father ," Freminet responds out of instinct, digging crescents into his palms with the effort to fight off a tremor. 

The mess hall is filled with pin-drop silence once Father lets out her command, his fearful hesitancy only keeping him in place for a moment. He forces his legs forward, commending himself for not falling over from the overwhelming pressure alone as he shakily approaches. The last place he wants to be is at the center of attention, but defying one of Father's direct orders is a fate worse than death.

He tries to ignore the dozens of eyes on him as he quietly beckons the siblings towards him, trying not to look too pathetic in front of his new 'siblings'. He keeps his eyes trained on the carpeted floor as he leads them through the halls, jaw so tense he probably couldn’t open it even if he tried. 

Thankfully, the siblings trailing behind him didn't seem too eager to break the silence either, instead opting to curiously take in their new environment, sometimes whispering hushed words between each other. They take their time through the winding halls, decorated in royal furniture.

He soon arrives in one of the unoccupied rooms, two neat and tidy twin sized beds pushed against either side. The twins step in without hesitation, doing a passing glance over the room as Freminet murmurs out whispers of information.

"Curfew is at nine," he mumbles, eyes glued to the floor as he wings his wrist, "Breakfast is at eight everyday. Don't be late," he warns.

Neither of the siblings say anything at first, busying themselves by sweeping the new environment. The girl lifts and looks under an old decorated bottled ship on the nightstand, while the boy hoists one of the beds off its  worn frame, neither paying him any mind. 

Are they looking for something? An escape route? It's not the nicest room out there, sure-given the amount of orphans residing in the House, they always housed multiple children in one room-but it wasn't so bad either. Did they not like it here? They haven't even been in the place for an hour…

Freminet wonders if he should take his leave now. He can do that now, right? They're both busy and haven't even replied to him, not that he minds either. Neither of them owe him anything, even their respect.

He could chalk up their cold-shoulder to just that: a disinterest in entertaining the likes of him. Though, even then the reasoning falls flat in his mind, his eyes unable to miss the state of the older kids.

It's obvious now, how both teens just radiate anxiety. 

They routinely glance behind their shoulders, even when Freminet knows all they'll see is concrete walls. The boy maintains the same pensive look he had back at the mess hall on his face, while the girl is more pinched- scared even. Her hands shake as she handles pillows, the leftover tremors

Both of their shoes are stained with specks of blood, dried and splattered across their worn boots. 

'Blood ,' Freminet realizes belatedly, eyes hardening, ‘It’s blood’.

When Freminet had first come to the orphanage, he had mostly just been scared, still getting used to the ever-present food chain of the place. It had taken him weeks to get a grip on himself, and to learn he had to prioritize himself above all else if he wanted to come out of this place alive.

Neither emotions could be found in these two, though. They move with practiced ease and experience, in spite of their shakiness. When either catches their limbs trembling, they shake it off like an annoying pest. For some reason, their behavior makes his skin itch in anticipation.

Freminet won't pretend to have known what these two went through, nor how exactly they ended up in the hands of someone like Father. He doubts he'd like to no either.

But there's no way it could have been anything good. These teens work like a well-oiled machine, in spite of the clear stress hanging over their shoulders. It's like they've lived in it, learned to work alongside that kind of pressure. 

Freminet would have killed to have some sort of assurance of any kind, to know he was on the right track. His younger self often didn't know what he was doing, and a simple word of encouragement in such a dark and scary place would have eased him, even just a bit.

In spite of his nerves, the thought moves him enough to speak.

"Don't worry," Freminet says suddenly, voicing his thoughts before he can stop himself, "You'll both be fine."

He means it too. Neither the girl or boy may have any sort of muscle, but they look plenty well-fed and miles healthier than Freminet's own gaunt frame. They're also older and much taller than himself, guaranteeing them a natural edge here. There's also the simple fact that Father herself had come in to give them a personal introduction, unconsciously giving them both a shield sowed from fear of their Father's wrath.

Yeah. They'll be fine. No one's gonna mess with them.

In spite of his self-assurance, Freminet almost regrets his earlier words with the way both siblings snap to look at him, wide eyed and stunned. They freeze in their movements and both their eyes are wide, seemingly not having expected his words. He feels like he's being picked apart with their gaze, analyzed as if they hadn't noticed him before.

'Did I say something wrong?' he thought  queasily, wringing his hands, 'Was it because I didn't say anything on the way here? Did they not expect me to talk at all? I think I'm gonna be sick…'  

He's just about to spew out an apology and scamper off when the boy steps forward, posture cautious but a little unsure. From up close, Freminet can make out  the boy's wispy gray hair and youthful complexion, eyes worn down by dark eyebags. His rigid frame deflates a bit, as if finally easing from the continued strain it was under.

"Thank you," the boy says, and he sounds strangely genuine. Freminet blinked owlishly before thinning his lips and nodding.

Neither of them say another word as Freminet leaves, silently closing the door behind him.

And that's the end of that.

—

Nothing actually happens until a few days later, when Father finishes up whatever duties she has left at the orphanage. She leaves without fanfare, exiting as silently as she had come in.

He can only assume the two teens are settling in fine enough, now that a few days have passed and they've gotten the chance to set up a routine. The Director should have probably given them a proper schedule by now.

Not that he would know. The siblings would have probably gotten the older kid’s scheduled routine, making running into each other close to impossible without deliberate effort to do so. And on the few occasions he had caught the two teens-mostly only at the mess hall during meals-Freminet had decided to steer clear of their path. 

Their meeting may have been short and concise, but it’s likely one of the most positive interactions Freminet had had with anyone older than his age. He hopes the amiable encounter was enough to dissuade them from bringing about any of their ire.

Then again, maybe Freminet was getting in over his head. He wouldn't be surprised if they already forgot he existed, another sparse moment in time destined to be forgotten.

It's always been easy to forget someone like Freminet.

When Father leaves, things at the orphanage finally start getting back to their standard normal. All the orphans seem to let out  a collective sigh as the high tension dissipates, kids seeming to ease back into their usual skins and routines. Loud conversations and skirmishes pick back up again, and in a way it starts to feel like the Hearth again.

For Freminet and the other younger kids, however, that means having to worry about getting picked on again. More specifically, getting their food portions stolen.

The older kids go right back to terrorizing the younger, smaller kids, daring to swipe their meager portions knowing they can't physically retaliate. As long as a conflict like that doesn't break out into a full fight-one that had bruises and blood, one that would require paperwork and reporting- then the Director couldn't care less.

Her apathy means kids like Freminet can't fight back unless they want a proper punishment along with it. 

It makes the mess hall at lunch a one sided bloodbath, but when everyone's hungry no one really seems to care.

So, when Freminet is shoved down onto the bathroom floor and manhandled by an older boy for his meager sandwich, he really should have expected it to happen.

He had tried to squirrel himself into the restroom to eat his food in secret (and as fast as possible), but clearly someone must have seen him and followed him in. That, or Freminet has the world's most rotten luck.

The older boy hadn't been mean at first, all things considered. He had grabbed him by the collar, hauled him up enough to dangle in the air, and simply demanded the food- a courtesy considering he didn't immediately go to pull his hair or twist his arm instead. Freminet's lucky to have already set Pers on the floor, far from the altercation.

Usually, Freminet would be wise enough to know a fruitless venture when he saw one. He's not stupid; the boy looks almost twice his age and weight and has had a dangerous glint that tells him he's not in a patient mood. He wouldn’t want to take the boy’s charity for granted. Usually, he'd give up whatever meal he had in the exchange of not getting his face caved in.

But Freminet is just so hungry and he's not sure he'll survive another night of twisting and turning full of hunger pans. Hunger makes him stupid- they cloud his sharp mind and wise judgment.

Which is why he unthinkingly jabs a finger directly into the boy's eye and tries to make a run for it, survival instincts searing him like a hot prong. The older boy cries out and drops him as if burned, hissing in pain as he rubbed at the spot. Freminet stumbles to his feet from where he'd been dropped, grasping at his opportunity to flee as he tries to make a break for it.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't work. He gags suddenly when a hand flies to yank at the back of his collar, pulling him back hard enough to cause him to trip. Freminet cuts his losses and throws both his arms around his scarce meal, hugging it against his chest as he's manhandled and pushed onto the cold tiled floor.

The older boy curls his fingers around the back of his head and slams Freminet's face on the ground, spewing insults as they try to get him to let go. A sharp pang of white hot pain flashes through his body as he cries out, head pulsing agonizingly, but he stubbornly refuses to let go.

He should probably just give it up. Freminet can only curl up in a defensive ball for so long before he gets tired, but he was just so hungry and he doesn't want to go back in the shed-

The sound of a creaky door opening rings out in the background, before a new, loud voice of another boy speaks out furiously. It sounds oddly familiar, but he can't tell from where he's heard it before.

He can't make out what they're saying, only that the boy on top of him starts yelling back, frustration and annoyance clear in his tone. The sounds of enraged voices ring out across the room, multiple voices and words escaping Freminet as the ringing in his ears stung painfully. 

One moment he's pinned against the ground by the full weight of a body, the next he's free- the weight and presence above him having disappeared. He doesn't register what's happening around him, breathing laborious as the ringing in his ears muffled everything around him.

Freminet tries to pick himself back up off the floor, stumbling feebly and holding his forehead as he feels a fresh bruise pulse through it. He whimpers in silent pain, gritting his teeth as the distant taste of iron fills his mouth.

'I need to get out,' he thinks, 'I need to get out-'

"-re you alright?" A soft, quiet voice asks, sounding like it was practically on top of him. He jumps out of his skin and his watery eyes snap open, darting up towards the presence of the voice he hadn't even realized was there.

He almost immediately recognizes as the girl from that night, even in a set of new clothing. She's wearing a delicate polka dot dress shirt covered over an overalls skirt. Her cat ears perked fluffily on the top of her head as she kneeled right in front of him, contrasting the deadpan stare boring right into his soul. 

She leaned forward, impassive eyes raving over him, neutral face melting into a small frown that crossed her features. Freminet belatedly realizes that there's a steady trickle of warm liquid dripping from his nose, the bleed going practically unnoticed from the pain his fresh bruises send him.

Freminet doesn't look stellar on a normal day- all frail frames and seeming inability to hold onto any weight-so he can only imagine what he must look like now, bruised and haggard and splayed on the bathroom floor. Did she see him get his face bashed in? How embarrassing…

"M' fine," he forces the words out, voice shaken and strained. Fremient makes himself sit up properly, bruised knees bending painfully as he wiped off whatever grime got on him. He can feel a thin trickle of blood run down his nostrils and lips, but his nose is only sore. At least it's not broken…

He readjusted his grip over his sandwich, guard still up as he hugged it against his chest. It was probably crushed and cold by now, but Freminet honestly couldn't care less. He could have dropped it on the gross bathroom floor and he still would have eaten it. 

"There's blood. Here," she points a delicate finger to the space between her own lips and nose, reminding him of his nosebleed, "right here." 

"Fine-" he gurgles out, barely suppressing the sudden urge to hurl as he gags, "-I'm fine. I get- get nose bleeds a lot. It's normal…"

"That doesn't sound healthy," the girl notes, stating it as if it wasn't obvious. Her tone was almost factual, head tilting as she stared straight at him, "Is getting beat up 'normal' for you too? Is that how your nosebleeds happen?" 

'Shut up' he thinks tiredly, almost voicing his thoughts too. Freminet is still holding his head weakly, closing his aching eyes as he still fights against the urge to get sick. 'Please stop talking to me, please just leave me alone…'

He almost wants to take a tantalizing bite out of it now, but the thought of eating while someone stared at him like that freaked him out a bit. He needs to get out-

Freminet flinches as a new body suddenly pops up from behind him, but finds himself surprised when it completely ignores him and simply slinks past him to move beside the girl, sitting down with a grunt as he mutters under his breath.

Freminet realizes belatedly that it's the same boy that he saw with the girl last time- her brother, he thinks. Only now, he's sporting two new fresh bruises on his face, irritation pinching his face into a grimace. He runs a hand through his wispy hair, expression stormy and filled with ire.

Freminet fears that in a second that it'll be directed at him. 

'Run' his mind screams, 'Whatever they want from you, it can't be good.'

"You got hurt," the girl repeats, her attention now aimed towards the boy. She gestured a hand to her own face, pointing at her cheek and forehead, "Here. And here. And there."

"It's barely a scratch," the boy huffs with a grumble, readjusting the top hat on his head, "I'm just rusty Lyn. You know I don't pick fights I can't win."

"Let's pretend that's true for a moment," she grumbles with an irritated huff, "-Did you really have to just jump in and start hitting someone? Barely a week in and you're already gonna get us in trouble."

"Okay, now that's not fair," the boy bites back, animatedly gesturing to Freminet offhandedly, not catching the way the boy jumps, "-you literally saw him throwing this guy on the floor! Completely defenseless! You're telling me I should have politely asked him why he was trying to give some little kid a brain injury?! What else was I supposed to do?! "

"I'm just saying that you have to be more careful," she hisses, looking a second away from bonking him on the head, "These aren't the streets anymore Lyney. Neither of us can get away with things like this anymore. We can't afford to get in trouble here unless we want to get kicked out."

"Oh please," the boy scoffed, "You really think they'll just let some boy get away with hitting a little kid like that? If anyone in here should be getting in trouble, it should be sleeping beauty over there."

" What?" Freminet cries, too stunned at the implications of the boy's words. Freminet snaps his head around, back to where the boy had come from behind him.

Lo' and behold, he spots the figure of the older boy who had just been tormenting him, crumpled against the wall while completely out cold. Bruises marred his face, skin around his lip and left eye swollen with patches of red and purple. He looked far worse than the gray-haired boy.

Oh. Oh crap.

"You- you idiot! W-why would you do that?!" Freminet bites out, turning his attention to the siblings. His fear and skittishness lie forgotten, instead replaced with fear-driven anger. What were they thinking?!

"Hey! Why are you getting mad at me? I literally just saved you!" The older boy retorts with a huff, glaring angrily down at the younger child. Freminet would have probably shivered and pulled away from the boy's line of sight had he been any less mad.

"You don't get it! Starting fights is against the rules! Now we're gonna get in trouble!"

"Why would we get in trouble?" The boy inquired, pinching his brow in clear confusion, "Can't we just say it was self-defense? The guy was literally trying to break your face open. I don't see the issue here."

"Of course you don't," Freminet growls back, hands shaking as he scowled ferociously, "You don't know how things work here yet. You don't know what it's like- you don't know anything! Things like this-" he gestures to the unconscious boy behind himself, "-aren't allowed!!"

"What? So you were just gonna let him do that to you? You'd be fine with that?!" 

"NO!" Freminet yells back petulantly, emotions bubbling up against his chest. He grinds his teeth together, eyes misting over as the concoction of frustration, anger, and fear swims in his head. The waters of his mind slosh violently, waves crashing against his skull as his heart beats in his ears.

"Of course I'm not! I hate it! I hate it! I-" he sniffs angrily, tears hanging from his stricken eyes. He brings his sleeve up and wipes it off with irritation, repeating the action as more tears spring from his eyes. "-I don't want to get hurt a-anymore! I'm so so tired of g-getting picked on- tired of going hungry, I-"

He misses Maman. He misses his Maman so so much. Freminet just wishes she would come and save him from this place already, pick him up, and apologize for leaving him here all by himself for so long. 

He'd forgive her in an instant. He'd sink into her warm arms and hug her back, cry and cry and just finally feel safe again. He'd beg her to never make him come back to this evil place again, promise he'd be good and behave for the rest of his life if that's what it took.

"I- I hate this place so much-" he whines out pathetically, shoulders crumbling in on himself. Freminet hides his eyes behind his hands, unwilling to look at either of the teen's faces. "- I wanna go home…I just wanna go home…"

For a while, there's no sound other than Freminet's own tearful sniffling. The gauze wrapped around his hands is stained with his tears, but Freminet can't find it in himself to care. The strength in his limbs waned and the energy he once had leaked out of him like water, leaving him drained and too exhausted to care about anything anymore.

 The sounds of low murmurs catch his ear, too low for him to discern, before he feels a hand placed on his shoulder. Freminet doesn't even have the energy to flinch at the contact, instead only managing to shiver.

"Hey," a low voice, gentle and soft as he talks to him. The hand soothes the spot on his shoulder, trying to placate his overflowing emotions, "-hey, it's okay. Everything’s alright now."

His assurances don't reach Freminet. If anything, his words just make him more emotional, and the tears stream from his eyes with more vigor as he sniffles.

"Crap-! -Um… I'm sorry- please don't cry," the older teen sweats, likely figuring he's at fault for the boy's renewed cries. "Um- here! Here, look at me for a second."

Despite his nervous apprehensiveness, Freminet manages to peel his hands off his face and do as the boy asks him to. The buzzing yellowish light bears down on his sensitive eyes, puffy and sensitive from crying.

Here-up close-the boy's features are clearer to Freminet. Periwinkle eyes shone brightly, a certain mirth present in his eyes. His lips tugged into a bright smile when he caught Freminet's teary eyes, his cheery grin a complete opposite to his earlier enraged scowl.

Twisting his arm out as if intentionally trying to be flashy-he animatedly removed his top hat, dipping his arm in it all the way to his elbow. When he starts to pull his arm back out from the hat, Freminet's jaw practically drops to the floor when the teen pulls out an unscathed Pers.

"- Tada!!" The teen grins toothily, outstretching Pers towards a shocked Freminet. Freminet reaches out and practically snatches Pers from his hands, tucking him into a shaky hug now that he is back in his rightful arms. His friend's presence instantly soothes Freminet from his immediate shock and confusion, rocking left and right as he hugs him tightly.

"Saw you carrying him back when you first brought us to our rooms. Figured he belonged to you." The older boy informs him, not seeming to mind the way Freminet coddles the toy clockwork. He gently smiles down at the boy, fixing his hat back on his head, "Wouldn't want you to lose him; he seems important to you."

Freminet sniffs tearfully, peeling Pers from his chest a small bit. "He is," he confesses, voice small and hushed.

The teen nods, seeming to have guessed his answer already. Silently, the girl kneels beside her brother, seeming a bit unsure with the way she glances between him and her brother. When the teen boy gestures a nod towards Freminet, she seems to make up her mind and reaches towards her pocket. 

Freminet watches her cautiously as she seems to take out a handkerchief, eyeing it with stunned confusion as she stretches it out toward him. He grabs in quietly, inspecting the grey tabby cat pattern imprinted on the soft cloth in his hands. He looks up slowly, brows furrowed as to the exact reason he was given this. Was she... trying to gift it to him? It's cute yeah

"Nose," the girl says simply, voice silent as she clasps her hands. Freminet's eyes widen in realization, suddenly remembering the unsightly nosebleed he must still be sporting. 

Before Freminet can say anything, the door to the bathroom slams open. Standing in the doorway stands the Director in all her glory, cool and dangerous aura coldly analyzing the scene in front of her. Her eyes thin and focus in on the boy behind them, before flicking over to the trio with the eyes of a killer.

"Hello children," the Director speaks, voice clipped and impatient, "-would one of you mind telling me what's happened here? And possibly just why one of your siblings is hunched against the wall, unconscious?"

None of them dare to say anything for a moment, air tense.

"Miss, I can assure you none of us instigated the fight-" the older girl starts cautiously before suddenly being cut off.

"-So you admit to it being a 'fight' as you say, Mrs. Lynette." The lady declares, unkindly glint shrinking the child before her, "I understand you and your brother may be new here, but physical fights of any kind-whether in 'self-defense' or not-are strictly prohibited. Both parties are at fault, and must therefore be-"

"-It was me!" Freminet suddenly yells out, "I did it! I uh- I started the fight."

'Why am I doing this?' He panics to himself, heart beating rapidly, 'Oh Gods, why am I doing this?'

"Oh?" She asks, raising a brow at him, "And what of these two then? Did our newest guests simply… happen to get those bruises?" 

Freminet catches the way the boy's eyes widen, hand ghosting over the injuries on his face. He bites his cheek, trying to keep his focus solely on the Director.

'Don't leave room for doubt,' he sweats, 'Don't make her think twice.' 

"I did it," he explains, voice breathless but steady, "They um… they were in here when- when we fought. I thought they were with him and… um- I got… scared."

The Director stares him down, shadowed eyes trying to crumble him in place. Freminet remains steadfast though, even when his hands tremble.

Eventually, after far too long, the Director lets out a long-suffering sigh, eyes wicked as her expression shifts into a full scowl, "Ah… Freminet. So young and yet you still make such a troublemaker. Perhaps I should have come to expect this."

The sound of a painful slap echoes in the voiceless restroom, Freminet yelps as he crumples to the ground with the force of the Director's hand. He cups his reddened cheek in his own hands, shakily attempting to stand up again as the world spins a bit.

"Get up," she bites out, no kindness present in her tone, "You keep this behavior up and I'll have your 'doll' pay a visit to the boiler. Do I make myself clear?"

Freminet's heart hammers painfully, tightening over his hold on Pers at the scathing words. He tries to keep his eyes trained on the floor, thinning his lips in an attempt to stop them from wobbling.

"...Yes mam," he whispers, shaking like a leaf at the warning. Freminet's taken the brunt of a lot of things his whole life, but the notion of ever losing Pers-his only friend-is one that he fears his heart can't handle. 

"-And my sincerest apology to you, my newest guests," she apologizes, not an ounce of true sympathy found in her formal words, "I hope you won't take Freminet's actions here to heart. Here at the House of the Hearth, nothing is more important than maintaining love within our family. Quarreling with each other is strictly prohibited, and you can rest assured he will be punished accordingly."

The Director says nothing more after that, instead reaching out her manicured hand and seizing his pale wrist in a vice grip. She all but drags him out of the bathroom, unable to even give him a chance to see the teen's reactions.

—

And just like that, Freminet spends another two nights locked in the orphanage's shed.

With summer finally giving way to autumn, an icy chill starts to permeate the air in the cramped room. If the room had any windows, they would have likely frosted over with a thin layer of ice by now. Freminet huddles in his designated corner, holding his knees to his chest tightly as he tries in vain to preserve heat. He's pretty sure if he focused hard enough, he would be able to see his own breath ghost over his face each time he exhaled- kind of like a dragon's steam.

The chill from the freezing temperature actually escapes him, seeming more like a pesky fly in comparison to his vicious hunger pangs that haunt Freminet. His muscles and bones creak from the soreness of staying in such a cramped position for so long, but he doesn't dare attempt to move in fear of triggering his stomach into yowling for food again. Strangely, the misery that always seems to cling to feels slightly absent now, a thoughtful feeling invading his emotions now that he has the chance to think things over.

Freminet doesn't particularly want to think about the siblings, doesn't want to imagine their perception of him after basically going out on a limb for them. It was stupid for him to have done it in the first place, knowing he'd just wind up spending another night out here, but he can't deny the sort of obligation to volunteer in place for the teens. The boy-for whatever rhyme or reason-had fought off Freminet's pursuer at that moment, and even tried to... cheer him up afterwards? It was confounding really, seeing as he didn't even know Freminet and was basically a stranger. 

'You were a stranger to them too,' a voice in his head reminds him, '-and yet here you are'.

Freminet groans out loudly, hoping the headache building up behind his eyes is one formed from the cold. He knocks his head against the cool metal of Pers' metal body and closes his eyes, stress pounding at his frail mind. He finally lets himself revel in the embarrassment of having cried and been so vulnerable in front of those two, confessing his desire to go home. As if he was little again. What was he thinking?

Not that it matters anymore. With the Director's threat fresh in his mind, he can't risk getting into trouble anymore. Not even for the simplest things, like being late for curfew or the breakfast bell. Freminet is a strong boy, but with the danger of losing Pers hanging over his head, he'll have to stay far far away from anything that could drive him to break the rules; which should probably include those two teens.

He doesn't know much about them but based on the girl's words, it seems like getting into fights and scuffles was a common occurrence for them. It would explain why they were so nonchalant about knocking a boy unconscious. If they had that kind of indifferent attitude with their own behavior, then Freminet can't risk associating himself with them. 

Even... even if they were strangely nice to him... and they fought the boy with the intention of...'saving' him, he can't let himself cross that threshold. The best course of action from here is probably ignoring their existence altogether. The small boy can only hope that taking the brunt of the punishment like this will at least put him in a more neutral standing, instead of making Freminet feel like he owes them something in return. He hopes that the siblings appreciate his sacrifice enough to leave him alone. 

He dips his head between his knees and crushes his body into itself, shivering violently as the icy temperature bites him all the way down to his bones. His thin clothing does nothing to cover his bare legs, gauze biting into his delicate skin as he resists the urge to scratch at his skin. He'll have to get used to them cracking again now that winter's coming. Freminet shuts his eyes and tremors quite pathetically, imagining himself and his friends going ice skating across a frozen-over pond.  

The Fox's orange pelt had turned a beautiful white Winter's coat, while the Dragon has a single long wool scarf wrapped around the entirety of his long scaley body. They file into a long conga line, ice skates shredding against the frozen lake as they try not to fall over one another. The line leader finally slips and inevitably causes everyone else to crash into one big pile of laughing bodies. Freminet huffs breathlessly, cheeks reddened from the cold, grinning toothily as his friend's joy rubs off on him.

Here, in the warm soothing waters of his mind, the long hours edge by slowly. Not for a moment does Freminet feel sad. He is surrounded by friends through the entirety of his punishment, laughter and fun following them close after.

—

His hope to be left alone by the siblings is almost immediately thrown out the window, much to Freminet's displeasure.

Freminet returns back to his routine without much fanfare, no one likely even noticing his absence while he spent his the in the shed. He does his best to keep his head down and continue about his days as silently as he can, tinkering with loose parts in his bed and completing the basic chores they assign him without complaint. It works just fine for a while, much to his relief, so of course that's when his luck decides to run out.

He has multiple run-ins with them around the later parts of the afternoon, where both their routines happen to coincide with Freminets. He catches their eyes for only a split second before he breaks it, trying to pretend as if nothing had happened. But it's too late. They attempt to approach him on several occasions after that, all within the span of just a few days, but Freminet remains resolute on not communicating with them.

Both their methods vary in approaching him, but they're both relentless. 

The girl always nears with soft-footed steps, like that of silent paws. She'll softly approach him, having the most tendency of seeking up from beside him in an effort not to make. She seems to understand that Freminet is about as skittish as a cotton mouse, so she's always sure to talk with a soft voice and her hands clasped behind her back. He appreciates the thought, but her sneaky approach just serves to give him a heart attack every time it happens.

The brother, on the other hand, seems to prefer a much more... direct approach. Instead of silently sneaking up on him or anything of the like, he'll spot him across the room and dart right for him. His eyes light up in recognition as he starts waving him over, which just serves to make Freminet's heart jump to his throat. The teen boy will unabashedly yell after him-no matter the audience that they may be present-and give chase if Freminet dares to scamper off (which happens every single time).

"Heeey!!!" The boy hollers close behind him, apparently bearing no shame as he yells in the halls. Freminet sweats as he stumbles through a crowd of kids, weaving past them like a madman trying to get away from his pursuer. "Stop running! I just wanna talk- Archons you're fast-"

It's horrifying, on every single level. The fear of being hunted down is one he’s never experienced before, not until he had to hide under one of the mess hall tables in order to shake off his purser. Now Freminet finds himself constantly glancing over his shoulder, anxiously either expecting a cat girl to sneak up on him or a boy to start chasing him half across the orphanage's ground. He tries not to lose sleep over it, but it's difficult to calm down after days of this game.

He wonders when they'll decide to give up on chasing him down when they realize they won't be reaching him. Freminet really can't put together why they've already spent so much effort trying to talk to him; if he were in their shoes and someone was purposely trying to ignore him, Freminet would have been more than happy to give them their space if they so desired it. It's so strange, honestly.

It all comes to a head when Freminet's headed to the mess hall for dinner one night, lagging a bit behind on his attendance as he had been busily squirreled away in his room repairing Pers. When he turns a corner to head in, his eyes widen when he spots the familiar head of grey hair staking out by the side of the big hulking wooden door. He's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, sporting a bored expression from where he stood.

'What's he doing out here? ' he panics internally, 'Is he waiting for something? His sister maybe?'

Freminet snaps out of contemplation when the boy finally notices his presence, periwinkle eyes widening with recognition. Freminet's breath gets caught in his throat, unconsciously backing up a step as he clutches the locket around his neck. Before he can do anything else, the boy speaks out.

"-I'll give you me and my sisters' food if you stop running!" the boy rushes out, already expecting Freminet to take off running. He was not wrong, seeing as the frail boy had already started turning away.

Freminet freezes in place, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. Did he say two portions? He should probably reject it, take off while he still can, but for food? That's… that's too good to pass up. Way too good from Freminet's perspective, whose barely been getting by as of late. His stomach answers for him then, grumbling loudly as a sheepish look tugs up his face.

And so he risks it.

Here he sits in the mess hall's busy corridor, situated under the warm glow of chandeliers as he gouges his mouth full of food. Their dinner today consists of an appetizer of cabbage and tomato salad, along with roast beef, potatoes, baked tomatoes, and some sort of greens Freminet can't remember the name of. Not that he cares; anything would taste delicious to him after not eating well for almost two days. Both siblings sit opposite to him, idly watching him ravage their food.

"Did you really have to ply him with food?" The girl asks, a deadpan look aimed towards her brother, "Could you not have thought of anything else? You're treating him like an animal."

"Oh, come on, it all worked out! Chasing him down wasn't working so I had to think of something," The older boy concedes, reclining his chin against his hand, "Plus, I wasn't seeing you doing much better either. I just made everything easier for everyone, that's all."

"I was making progress, slow and steadily," the girl hisses, crossing her arms over her chest. She tilted her head at him, eyes glaring as she squinted at him, "-and what do you mean you 'chased him down'? Were you trying to scare him off? No wonder he didn't want to talk to either of us, not when you were out and about chasing seven-year-olds."

"Nine," the boy quietly interjects, voice quiet. "I'm... nine years old."

"Oh," the girl responds simply, responding with "Sorry. You don't look that old."

Her blunt remark earns her an elbow and a stern look from the boy beside her, but Freminet doesn't really find that he minds the confusion that much.

"It's fine," he placates, eyes glued to the plate in front of him, "I uh... I didn't eat properly when I was little, so I didn't grow right either. I get it."

"Still, I should have thought it through before speaking" the girl laments with a sigh, before her gaze becomes inquisitive as she looks at him shoveling another bite into his mouth. He shifted under her gaze and was about to assure her again that he hadn't been upset by her words, but she gestured to her nose before he could speak.

"Here," she gestures to her own nose, brows furrowed, "You have something here."

Freminet cocked his head in confusion as he swallowed his food, clumsily bringing up a hand under the area she mentioned. He blinked in surprise as warm liquid met his hand, raising his fingers up to his eyes to catch the violent red of blood.

"Oh," he says simply, "Sorry that- that happens a lot." He grabs the edge of his oversized shirt and hurriedly stifles the flow of red, raising the cloth up to his face as he momentarily exposes the expanse of his front. He had made a tendency of wearing dark shirts specifically for this purpose, now that his nosebleeds were starting to come in more frequently. The movement is trained and practiced, and that's why he's kind of confused when he finally stops wiping and notices the vaguely sick expressions both teens are sporting.

He freezes momentarily, unsure of what they'd exactly seen. Had it been something about his skin? Sure he's never looked that healthy nor has he been able to successfully retain a lot of weight, but he's always looked like this. Even before coming to the orphanage, he can't say he looked any better. What's the big deal?

It looked as if the girl was about to say something, but her voice died in her throat as a hand was placed over hers silently. She sends her brother a questioning glance, but the boy just looks steadily past her, a foreign emotion dancing in his eyes. 

"Hey, I'm sorry to spring this up on you," the boy suddenly apologizes, now attempting to grin nonchalantly. Freminet can't help the weariness that creeps up his nerves, the whiplash between his companion's expression striking him as a bit odd, "-but that boy from the bathroom... does he do that often? Take your food? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I'd like to know."

"Oh… uh… I'm not sure," Freminet admits, scratching his thin hair sheepishly, "I um... I lost track of who's exactly doing it after a while. It could be the same person but... I honestly can't remember," he says truthfully, directing his attention back to his second meal he had yet to eat. Maybe he should wait a few minutes, just to avoid the possibility of getting sick. "That's just the way things are here." He shrugs.

"Does it really happen that often?" the girl mutters disbelievingly, looking a slight bit perturbed, "Neither I nor Lyney have experienced anything like that yet, so it's hard to believe something like that actually happens in a place like this."

"A lot of bad things happen everywhere," Freminet advises, voice grim and dull, "But I wouldn't worry so much if I were either of you. The reason nothing's happened to you two is because you're both strong, not to mention older, and... when you have someone by your side, you're always bound to stand a greater chance." he picks at his food, strangely not feeling at all hungry, "Things like what happened to me happen to the younger kids here all the time. It's... pretty bad, but I'm used to it-"

"Then don't be used to it," The boy- Lyney interrupts with a nonchalant tone, crossing his arms good-naturedly, "Stick with us."

"Huh?" Freminet blinks, blanching at the gray-haired teen at the completely unexpected comment, "Hah??"

The older boy grinned with amusement, gesturing wildly, "I mean it! You just said it yourself! 'When you have someone by your side, you're always bound to stand a 'greater chance.' And if me and Lynette really are such powerhouse by your standards, then there won't be a thing to worry about if you stay by us!"

"You can think of it as a transaction, if you want to," the girl- Lynette cautions wisely, likely having picked up on how strange the offer sounded to Freminet, "-Like you said back in the bathroom: Me and Lyney are still new here and don't know a lot of things. In return for sticking by us for protection, you can help us try to get a better grasp on how exactly this place works. This conversation has made it clear we don't know nearly enough yet."

"Yeah! Well said Lynette!" Lyney whoops loudly, big grin plastered on his face as he swoons dramatically, "Oh my dearest twin sister, the beauty and the brains of the family! What would I ever accomplish without you."

"Nothing, probably," she responds easily, "You'd probably chase someone down an orphanage and wonder why they don't like you yet."

"Ha! That's because everyone already likes me," he rationalizes with a pout, "-It'd be strange if someone didn't."

"Right," the teen girl deliberated, wisely deciding not to comment on the boy's words.

"I-" Freminet choked out, eyes flitting over rapidly as he sweated nervously, "I- uh... um- I'm- that's-"

Freminet forcefully stops his nervous blabbering, swallowing thickly and he properly thinks over the sibling's offer. His instincts begged him to refuse, rationalizing that it wasn't too late to walk back out. Things in the real world never worked out the way they did in the waters of his mind, where nothing bad ever happened and his trust was never misplaced. He doesn't think Lyney and Lynette will hurt physically hurt him this far in, but the thought of it happening would crush whatever meager faith Freminet's bruised heart contained.

'Think of it as a transaction' she had said, tone soft but genuine. Thinking of it in that way settles the more skittish parts of his mind, now that he can put a proper reason behind their suggestion. After all, no one here ever did anything for free or out of the kindness of their heart. At least not in this part of his reality, where none of his friends reside.

"Okay," he agrees breathlessly, heart thumping in his little chest, "Okay- I- yeah, I agree. I can help you, and... you can help me. Just please... no more fights."

"Can't promise anything little man," the boy smiles, seemingly over the moon with his agreement. He reaches over and ruffles Freminet's hair, earning him an uncomfortable grimace. "-but sure. If anything happens, we'll make sure to keep you out of harm's way- safe and sound. We won't get you into any more trouble."

"It would be nice to talk to someone other than Lyney for a change," the girl- Lynette mumbles out with a contemplative drawl, clearly amused by the annoyed huff her brother gives.

—

Things... actually turn out to be more simple than what he had initially feared.

To summarize it all in one breath: Lyney and Lynette had taken one look at Freminet's scrawny figure, oversized clothing hanging off his bones, and into his pathetically innocent big doe eyes before proceeding to pluck him off his feet and tie him to their sides. He's unsure and rightfully weary at first, but as time passes his nerves settle more and more until he's comfortable enough in their presence. They take things slowly too, only initially meeting him during meal times, likely having learned their lesson about hovering over him and instead giving him time to come to them.

A lot of things change once they do that. Mostly for the better, surprisingly enough.

A big one is that he no longer had to worry over his next meal and whether he'd get it stolen or not. Now that he had Lyney and Lynette hang around his side like proverbial bodyguards, his status as an 'easy target' had significantly decreased. His meals are filling and boost his energy, now that he's actually eating three of them a day.

That alone might have saved his life, with the way things had been going before that. Freminet likes to believe he would have been clever enough to find another solution, getting more food that wouldn't result in him getting in trouble, but when he thinks about other possible avenues he always comes back empty.

It's surreal to think about, the thought of dying like that, and the craziest part is that he's quite surprised he made it past that. Maybe he had been living in a state of malnourishment for so long that he had forgotten what it was like to resemble something healthier, where his hands didn't shake so often and his weakness didn't make his hair thin and his skin fragile.

So admittedly, he owes it to the twins. It makes him open up a bit more around them, once he realizes they really didn't want anything else from him. And he, of course, gives them a clear rundown of the facilities in the Orphanage and how they worked, along with how to behave around certain people and the rules they had to follow. They were clever and picked up on his instructions early on, but he just couldn't predict their chaotic natures at all.

Freminet didn't know what to think of the twins early on; they came off as strange kids with odd quirks, but were surprisingly stable for what he could imagine they'd been through. Archons know they aren't nearly as bad as some of the other kids at the orphanage.

Lyney may have been abrasive and a bit on the impulsive side, but he was also extremely earnest and kind-hearted to his core. It may have taken him longer to warm up to the older boy thanks to his earlier encounters they had had, but Freminet found out along the way that an action like that was mostly rooted in his overzealous nature. Extreme just seemed to be his thing.

Lynette was a tall regal girl with a rigid poise and a naturally flat face, but she was incredibly in tune with everything around her. She often registered things around her quite differently than others, and it often led to her saying things in a way that may offend some people- her words were often blunt and too direct. Her quick-witted personality was most harshly directed towards her twin brother, but she made a clear effort to dial it back when she talked with Freminet directly, which was something he at least appreciated.

He finds out they do magic too, which is… honestly not the strangest thing about them. Technically Freminet should have already guessed that, but he honestly thought the hat trick with Pers would have been a one-off thing. The first time Lyney had tucked a dime into his sleeve and reached to pull it out from Freminet's ear, the smaller boy had almost jumped out of his skin. It was admittedly not the best reaction to have, but when he went to apologize Lyney simply waved him off with a smile and said he 'should have expected that, honestly.'

Past their rough and bumpy exteriors, their love for performance and acting allows for a more kiddish side of them to appear. Their mockup performances even manage to enrapture some of the other kids from the orphanage, which basically never happens in such a cold depressing place. It earns them a snug spot in the good graces of everyone- and by relation, so is Freminet.

It's so strange to really think about; his waking life had always been full of consistent misery, from his mother's departure to his struggle in the orphanage. He had gotten so used to the draining exhaustion that came with being awake and conscious that he often found it difficult to live again.

In a way, Lyney and Lynette had brought back to life a part of Freminet he hadn't even known he had. Its revival is slow but surprisingly steady, and he feels the visceral need to escape to his mind doesn't grapple his consciousness as much as it used to. Being awake becomes easier, and it doesn't strain his tired mind as it once had.

Speaking of, his friends change too, deep in the gentle waters of his mind. 

The arrival of two Siamese cats comes a long while after settling in with the twins, cunning and sly natures fitting for a jester. They're tall and have blue eyes and sport a nearly identical pelt design, but they're both attached to the other by one single long tail. They often play jump rope with it, beckoning Freminet to play with it as often as they can. His other friends big compared to him, too big to actually play with them, so they often pester Freminet into indulging them.

The Cats were completely in sync, both in movement and in speech. They were very handsy and eager to get into Freminet's personal space, often picking him up and tossing them between each other as if he were a ball while laughing. He never minded it, of course, but it could get rowdy from time to time.

"They are quite the characters, those two, " the wise Hydro Dragon hummed, speaking directly to him. " They seem like very kind individuals to me. Perhaps one would find it in themselves to call them friends."

Freminet's expression melts into a pout, confused by his friend's wording as he looks to where the Cats and the Fox are squabbling, "What do you mean? The Cats are my friends."

The Hydro dragon simply smiles knowingly, staring down at him with large sea-blue eyes. His blue scales shimmer against the Summer's rays, large luminescent horns glowing as light filters through them. They're large and mesmerizing, like precious gems, but also look a bit scary looking. 

Not that Freminet himself is scared. He could never be scared of his friends, especially one as gentle as the Dragon.

"All I'm saying is to open your heart a bit more, child," he informs him, "It's alright to find comfort and companionship with oneself, but it's also crucial to make such connections in the living world ."

Oh. He's talking about Lyney and Lynette,  isn't he? Freminet's not even surprised he knows about them, seeing as he always seems to always know some strange aspect of Freminet's real-world life. Maybe it was some strange ancient Dragon knowledge powers.

"I don't wanna," he murmurs petulantly instead, pulling at the fresh green grass at his feet. 

He knows he's acting like a brat, but he's just not sure his heart can take it. Maman would scold him if she saw him behaving like this.

"Come now. Are you really willing to give up before you even try?"

"It hurts," he whines, frowning as his lips wobble, "People never stick around. Everyone… always either finds a way to leave or to hurt me."

" I know ," the Dragon acknowledges, and then more softly, " I know." 

His large scaly head moves to rest on his outstretched legs, and Freminet immediately goes to run a hand along his horns. The material is smooth under his hands, like fortified glass. The reptile's  form shifts as he seems to get comfortable under Freminet's touch

" All I'm asking is for you to try ," he advises gently, jaw unmoving as he speaks directly to him, " And if you can't find it in yourself to continue past that… I'll be here for you."

The sentiment is sweet, and he knows it's true too. The Hydro Dragon has been one of his oldest friends, silent and regal as he is. Freminet leans his head against his friends, letting out a long-suffering sigh.

"Thank you," he murmurs sincerely. The Dragon says nothing.

In the end, he decides to take the advice to heart. The Hydro Dragon has never steered him wrong in any of his decisions before this, his suggestions were simple encouragements he could or could not do.

There's also just something inherently easy about getting along with Lyney and Lynette. He initially chalks it up to them simply being good kids-who wouldn't want to be friends with them?-which is true, but Freminet's sure there's more to it. Freminet himself thinks he's a pretty good kid, but he doesn’t have droves of other children exactly climbing over each other to talk to him.

No, he's sure now that what makes Lyney and Lynette so special is their nature to just put themselves out there. Lyney's presence practically demands attention the moment he walks into any room, voice boastful and proud, and Lynette is unapologetically herself, still willing to shine under the spotlight even with a silent disposition.

They're just so big… and Freminet is just so small. The idea of befriending anyone suddenly seems a lot more daunting after Freminet realizes that.

But he doesn't give up, not this time. He scraps together all his specks of courage and bravery he has and manages to tell the twins about himself. He tells them about Pers and how he made him, tells them about his passion for clockworks. He tells them about his love for fairy tales, even all his friends- even when he was really nervous about that one. 

And the twins? They return the favor by sharing things about themselves. Lyney tells him of a time they lived on the streets, and how they'd picked up magic acts for a particularly special man. Lynette tells him of nobles' houses they stayed at, of parties and grad celebrations they were able to perform at.

They tell him of a dark moonlit night, of scarlet puddles and sharp knives. They tell him of the night they came to the Hearth, disorientated and on their guard after a walk back from hell, only to relax when someone else assured them the nightmare was over. Freminet flushed an embarrassed red when the said that, voices amused and eyes looking at him with nothing but fondness.

And Freminet? He returns the favor by telling them about the day he ended up at the orphanage... eventually. He admits it in the dead of night, where he'd been snuck into the twin's room due to an earlier thunderstorm. A sense of peacefulness had snuck up on him, and the usual tightness present in his chest and body wasn't squeezing him to death. 

Almost unconsciously, Freminet had opened his mouth and recounted a tragedy no one but himself even knew of. From the start of his mother's illness to the spiral she suffered to the very moment he first stood in front of the orphanage's doors, with only a heart locket, a clockwork penguin, and the clothes on his back left to his name.

A sense of deep-seated relief eases him down once he's finished spilling out his heart, his whole body feeling lighter afterward. It's only when he spots the looks of absolute horror followed by deep sadness from the pair that he has to wonder if he's said too much.

But instead of bombarding him with any sort of ridicule, the twins simply got up from their bed and… hugged him.

First, it's Lyney who practically grapples him like an octopus, before Lynette gently moves to hold both of them in a careful hug. They held him gently and with lots of love, a sensation he hadn't even remembered since years ago.

"You're real brave, you know that?" Lyney admits, voice strangely gentle. He’s usually so loud and boisterous, tone never fluctuating from a loud cheer. Now-with nothing but moonlight to illuminate his features just seems solemn, his eyes crinkled in a pitiful kind of sympathy. “To soldier through that kind of adversity…it takes a whole other level to make it past that. You're so strong Freminet."

'Strong?' He thinks idly, mind slightly dizzy, 'No, I'm not strong. I'm not brave, I'm not anything. You've got it all wrong. I was terrified.’

And Freminet-who had only felt a despondent, distant kind of sorrow when recounting his Maman's passing- feels his eyes mist over as his small body is encased in warmth between the two. He clutches the fabrics of their clothing in a white-knuckled grip, unrelenting even as he tremors.

“I…didn’t make it past anything,” he weakly admits, voice edging into a plea as he grips Pers tightly, “Sometimes… I like to think that she’s still just back home, trying to get better so she can pick me up again when she’s ready. I imagine that she’ll make us both a big seafood platter the day she brings me home, and that… she’ll let me fall asleep beside her again.”

‘Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps me going,’ he admits to himself, the truth spilling out of him like an open wound as his head pounds. ‘Sometimes, even my friends aren’t enough to keep me afloat. Sometimes, I dread the day I run out of excuses because I'm scared of what I'll do when it comes.’

A powerful current of unsuspecting loneliness hits him like an ocean wave, and it strikes him at the very core of his being, sweeping him right off his feet with a violent clutch. He never even realized just how alone he truly was until the fact looked him dead in the eyes, scathing liquid pain straight into his heart.

‘Maman isn’t coming back,’ a voice inside him taunts, ‘She died on that bed alone. There was no imposter, no fake props of a mother for you to fool yourself with. Everything was real. And you clung to the foolish wish that she'd come to get you the same way you clung to her cold corpse- like a maggot.’

Freminet wants to cover his ears and scream, wants to tear his hair out and cry until his throat is raw from the pain. He begs for release, and his mind’s automatic response is to try to push him under the cold waters in his head, back to where his friends are. It’s his instinct, and Freminet would have been more than willing to sink into it had he not had two of those right in front of him.

Before his body gets a chance to shut down his mind, a hand comes to lay on his shoulder, causing him to jump slightly. Even in the caress of darkness, periwinkle eyes shine comfortingly under the light of the moon. 

"It's okay to want something that isn't possible. Me and Lynette think about our parents a lot too, even when we know we can't reach them." he tilts his head, humming as he considers his words, "-It's important not to get caught up in that line of thinking forever and ever, but just because you have your whole life ahead of you doesn't mean you have to forget about the people behind you. Even when they're not here, they'll always be a part of us."

Freminet swallows roughly, hand unconsciously drifting to clutch at his precious locket, passing a gentle finger over the fine gold patterns engraved into it. Lyney's sad smile brightens a bit as he reaches over and ruffles Freminet's hair, an action he's slowly become accustomed to facing.

“And word of advice: don’t think so loud in there,” he gently taps his index finger against Freminet’s forehead, which the younger boy rubs at the spot with a grumble. “-I know you’re a boy genius and everything, but it’s important to not to stay in your own thoughts. You gotta say them out loud from time to time."

“I do it too,” Lynette suddenly confesses, voice hushed, “Though, it might just be a ‘quiet person’ thing. I think about everything I want to say, so I don’t say a thing.” then, she jabs a thumb towards her twin, “-Lyney just says everything he thinks. He has the opposite problem.”

“You wish you had my problem,” the boy grumbles petulantly, crossing his arms. “You see what I have to deal with Freminet? You 're both quiet, but at least you say smart things! Lynette just likes to insult people for no reason- ow! Okay okay, I take it back stop pulling my ear-! ”

Freminet manages a small smile as he watches the two siblings roughhouse, heart light with his friend's words. In a life led by so much tragedy, Freminet can't help but feel a bubble of hopefulness stir in his heart. It's foolish, he knows, but it makes him smile all the same.

Maybe Maman was right. Maybe there are better things to come.

«────── « ◈ » ──────»

Chapter Text

«────── « ◈ » ──────»

In the House of the Hearth, there are certain lessons you have to learn.

Most are simple and easy to understand: Don’t stay up past curfew, no fighting, don't take food that isn't yours, and under no circumstances are you to talk back or question Father's word. Breaking any of these rules results in a variety of punishments, ones that fluctuate with the severity of your crime. Should you continue displaying disorderly behavior, you would be dealt with accordingly. It's just how things are here.

But there's one lesson that rises above all else, a personal responsibility that you're required to learn if you wish to stay:

You have to learn to pull your own weight. 

No one in the Hearth would go out of their way to help you; that was just the nature of the place. At the orphanage, you are expected to eventually give back all of the 'generosity' they had given you with some form of compensation, and if you prove that you are unable to do as such… they're bound to find other uses with you.

Freminet finds his niche in mechanics.

A small mechanical study is where he spends his time, loose parts and shiny tools hung along the walls like decorations. He had gone in under the original intentions of simply finding a way to maintain Pers' upkeep, but stayed once his skills got noticed by the other older kids already working there and insisted on studying his work. There are other kids there much like himself, like minded children gifted with a craftsmanship in clockworks. He rarely talks to them, given his nature, but they're respectful enough and seem mostly civil. Working alongside them isn't the worst thing in the world.

Freminet is lucky, all things considered, that he had been given this position. Unlike other assigned jobs, working with mechanics didn't require intensive physical labor; at least not to the same level everyone else was expected to perform at.

It's nothing in comparison to standard training. Once you reached a certain age, kids at the Hearth were expected to undergo rigorous training, varying from physical to mental honing that could last hours at a time. 

Lyney and Lynette were already plenty grown when they came in, which meant that it took less than a year for their training to start. It probably didn't help that Father has always kept a keen interest in the twins, probably ushering them to start serving her will faster. 

So after a full year of being attached by the hip to the siblings, Freminet finds himself at a loss when they're proverbially peeled off him, his sides empty.

They're still close, of course. They still eat together, sleep together-per the insistence of the twins-and spend their free time together; but as time passes, Freminet really starts feeling the distance crevicing between them- like a thin crack on the floor.

He's vaguely heard of the kind of advanced training Father puts kids into, specialized specifically for those she sees the most potential in. He's heard horror stories of kids collapsing at the mess hall, of being sent off to god knows where in the middle of the night, returning perturbed and hardened into something entirely different.

That's why the first time Lyney and Lynette disappear overnight, he secretly stays awake in his bed, too anxious to fall asleep. He at least wants to be there when they return, to assure himself that they were perfectly fine and safe.

Lyney and Lynette come back on the third night of their disappearance, a full moon well into the sky. Freminet is half asleep when the door to their room opens with a creek, distant voices hushing as they wait a moment before carefully padding into the room. He would have snapped out of his daze and gotten up to check on them had he had more energy, but his slow drowsy mind only allowed him to squint open his eyes and process the teens' current state.

They're changing out of bloodied fancy looking clothes, deep scarlet red- almost black spots dotting their white dress shirts from top to bottom. He continues to feign sleep as he hears them whisper something about showers, praying he hides the tremble well. The following morning, he appropriately welcomes them back, the twins cheerfully greeting him as if nothing was wrong.

"Wouldn't have been good for you to loose sleep waiting for us either way," Lyney grins, eyes catlike. He idly muses with the younger's blondish bedhead, earning him an annoyed scowl. "-Me and Lynette were so tired, we barley had the energy to change before going to sleep! Heavy cargo work will do that to ya, hehe."

Freminet chooses to stay silent. He pretends he hadn't seen anything, hoping that ignoring the memory hard enough will simply wipe the image from his head.

It was obvious they were hiding the nature of their long absences, Lyney with grinning dismissals and Lynette with silent words of refusal. They'd pat his head, hug him, attempt to comfort him with false platitudes- but ultimately kept him in the dark.

Freminet tries his best to help, in the small ways he can. He gives them his pillow in the hopes they'll get better sleep, he'll stay by their bedside on free days if they can't find it in themselves to get up. He offers to change their bandages for them, his skill well-refined after so long changing his own bandages.

He ignores the new scars and scratches, doesn't ask about the deep bags under their eyes or mused untidy hair or the cryptic things they'll say to one another when they think he's not listening.

"You think Father will send us off to Poisson again tomorrow?" He hears Lyney ask, properly sounding ragged and tired now that he wasn’t putting up a front in front of Freminet. “M’ starting to get real tired of these side jobs, Lyn. I mean, why send us so far if we’re not even gonna perform-”

Freminet tries his best to keep still from where his head is laid on Lynette's lap, feigning sleep as she idly brushes out his hair.

"Quiet down," Lynette instructs sternly, voice barely above a whisper. A clawed finger brushes against his forehead, catching a stray blonde strand and tucking it gently behind his ear. “-quick jobs just mean we get to come home faster. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

Lyney and Lynette are good people, even if... even if they talk about doing strange things. They care for him, sacrifice the truth they're burdened with in hopes of sparing him from the grotesque details. They're actors by heart; masters at putting on facades and white lies in hopes of getting the result they want. Freminet should be grateful they care for him enough to make that kind of sacrifice. 

It's easier, he decides, to never question things anymore. To fit into the role of 'oblivious little brother' if it means they won't push him away. Freminet may not be a natural-born performer like the twins, but he can pretend if he wants to. 

It's easier this way. 

It isn't until one day that something changes.

Freminet catches word of issues happening with one of the boilers from the other kids in the study, worry and anxiousness hanging off their whispers. It wasn't uncommon to have some sort of issue with the boilers every now and then; with almost three running at a time, it was almost expected.

No, what made the situation different was the simple fact that the issue laid underwater . One of the siphons connected to the coast's edge had sprung a leak of some sort, messing with the salinity of the water lines.

It wouldn't have been an issue, if it didn't end up contaminating the Hearth's own water supply. Most kids don't like showering or brushing their teeth with briny salt water, causing a mass inconvenience among the orphanage's residents.

And so, the responsibility of finding a solution falls onto their hands.

Originally, Freminet had been made to take a backseat, the issue deemed too serious for it to be given to someone as young and 'inexperienced' as Freminet. He had been content with that, seeing as he's never enjoyed handling the burden of responsibility anyhow. He instead busies himself with making small water purifiers with a group of other kids, a temporary solution to their plight.

The attitude around the issue changes once a single discovery is made:

It wasn't just a small leak in there, it was that an entire pipe was torn from the lines. It would explain why the salt water contaminated their supply so fast, seeing as it was just streaming in with no resistance. It was a complicated tear in the metal, one that would likely require welding to fix.

It was dangerous and risky business learning how to weld in the first place, the exposure to magnesium fumes in metals known to cause long-term damage. Despite this, kids at the orphanage are still made to learn it should they desire to and if they don't have any impeding health issues- of which, Freminet's routine nosebleeds do not count. He learns it as a spare skill to have under his belt, hoping it will aid in his projects should he ever require it.

Lots of kids in the mechanics study knew how to weld.

Only one of them knew how to swim. 

His visits to the coastline with his Maman in his early years-once happy and untainted memories-now served to cast a long shadow on him as all eyes lie on him. There's this plea in their eyes as they ask him: insistent, dangerous, and frightful as they insist on his volunteering. After all, no one else can do it other than Freminet- and if none of them succeed, their incompetence will be reported straight back to Father.

The overhanging threat serves as enough motivation.

If welding by itself was a risky practice, then welding underwater should be considered downright dangerous. A whole number of things could go wrong that could either result in Freminet seriously hurting or even killing himself. Electrocution was a grave threat, and with the unpredictable precarious state the ocean currents were always in, it could easily break his equipment and fry him like a fish.

Safe to say, Freminet was a little more than anxious when he was designated for this job. Lyney and Lynette weren't even here when he was assigned the job, off on some other week-long mission, meaning he had no form of comfort or support other than Pers and his own unsettled mind. 

It was a little embarrassing actually, how his heart instinctively yearned for the comforting touch of the older teens so desperately. Maybe their recent distance just exacerbated the hollow feeling in his chest. 

He gritted his teeth and settled his fraying heart, seeing no other option but to accept the task. If he didn't, then Father would get involved, and that's not an option for any of them.

The Hearth's diving team-consisting of older, more physically trained children-give him a run down as they strap cords and wires on him, the tight wetsuit sticking to his body like a second skin. It's a bit of a foreign sensation, but Freminet finds himself settling down after spending a bit of time wearing it. They're kind enough to give him a rundown of the equipment they're strapping to him, calibrating the tanks with excess oxygen should the job take longer than initially predicted. He's lead to the rocky coast's edge, almost slipping on the mossy rocks as he nears the crashing waves.

And so-with shaky hands and a foreboding sensation-he dives down, down, down.

And it turns out… better than expected.

It's the first time he ever realizes how beautiful the sea is.

He stares in awe at the underwater seascape around him, new and foreign. The romaritime flowers sway around him, currents of fish weaving between the green seagrass. The sea stretches beyond the drop off, vague shapes of colorful coral reefs giving way to a whole other world beyond his. 

It feels like a fairytale in real life. His heart beats rhythmically, indescribable emotions flooding it. 

Freminet is able to weld the pipes lining without issue, periodically checking over himself and the equipment almost every other second. He's frightful, of course, but he finds himself strangely at ease with the water's pressure boring down on him. It keeps him in place, and the freezing coolness of the water steadies his heartbeat.

It's relaxing, the unique sensation relieving on his stressed bones. He's weightless here, untethered and body completely calm, almost like the ocean itself hugged him in an embrace.

Freminet finishes his job in forty minutes. He surfaces two hours later, much to the ire of the diving crew. They had been worried over his time consumption and had been speculating on diving and fetching him themselves in fear of a complication with his equipment.

Freminet half-apologizes. He feels bad he worried someone, yes, but he can't find it in himself to regret staying underwater for so long. If he had it his way, he would have stayed there longer.

Something hardens in his chest.

He makes a request to formally be transferred onto scuba diving jobs as soon as he can, the job consisting of collecting materials and the like. Now that he's gotten a taste of this underwater world, he's eager to jump right back into it. It might require a bit of strenuous exercise yes, but maybe this will be a good thing for him. Lyney would always complain about him wasting away not moving, hunched over a desk while he worked on clockworks.

He finds himself eagerly waiting for Lyney and Lynette to return just so he could break the exciting news. Tell them of the kind of brave adventure he'd had while they were gone. Freminet ends up getting so impatient waiting that he ends up telling The Dragon about it first, recounting his venture while they were out on a field, weaving flower crowns. The rest of his friends had opted to chasing each other around further away, playing a particularly rowdy round of tag.

"An interest in diving, you say?" The Hydro Dragon murmurs, pondering with a hum. Chamomiles and daylilies were weaved between his horns, making the giant beast look as gentle as its nature. "An admirable profession, per my knowledge. I've seen many divers in my day, though I must admit I am not too familiar with its inner workings of the act itself. Perhaps you could teach me?"

"Yeah!" Freminet responds excitedly, weaving another clematis between a daisy. He's sporting an uncommon small smile, unbothered by the strain on his face. "I've been trying to find books on diving, but I think it's just one of those things that you learn on the field rather than reading it. It's different from mechanics in that way."

"While this may be true, I can assure you that there surely are diving books out there," the Dragon reasons, fins shifting as he rambles, "Every artist must have a canvas, and with so many talented humans out there, I'm sure it's fallen into someone's radar. Perhaps memoirs would do, if you're feeling less technical."

"I'd be fine with either, really," his excitement feigns a little, eyes turning down sheepishly, "Ah- not like it'd matter anyways. The Hearth wouldn't have books like that," he mumbles. 

"Because they don't have the funding for it?" He asks, voice perking up, "I could bring one to you, if you want. I own quite the sizable library, so I'm certain I would have one in my possession. Do you know the Hearth's address? Close to any coast?"  

Freminet furrows his brow in puzzlement, turning away from his flower crown to stare at the inquisitive eyes of his friend. There's something strangely intense in them, undiscernible to his periwinkle eyes. Maybe even determination. Did they always look like that?

"Uh... I'm sorry... Mister Hydro Dragon...." Freminet mumbles, "-But this is weird. Why are you asking... the Hearth doesn't exist here. Do you want it to?"

At that, the oversized sea serpent seems to finally give pause. The Dragon blinks a few times, the former look in his eyes now gone and instead replaced by what looked to be sheepishness. He lowered his head, body untensing. 

"No no, I was just…" he trails off, clearly mulling over his next words, "thinking. About.. visiting you."

Freminet tilts his head, confused and puzzled at his friend's words. "You… already are? You're right here, aren't you?"

For a peculiar second, the Dragon doesn't respond. There's this strange despondent feeling Freminet feels, a sort of out-of-body one. Like this conversation really shouldn't be happening, given the fact that this place was born as an escape from his reality. Has the lack of mental instability made some real life influence leak in? His friends were supposed to be unchanging, simple and easy to understand... did he make them change? Maybe growing older is making them different too...

The possibility-admittedly-makes him feel a bit sick.

The moment ends soon enough, the emotion he felt leaves just as fast. His dragon friend 

"Yes, I can assure you, I am quite real," he sighs, sounding a slight bit regretful, "My apologies, I simply got carried away. It's too early to make any rash moves anyways. How soon are you planning on returning to the waters?"

"Oh! Um... soon, maybe," he ponders, not at all perturbed by the sudden topic change, "… maybe if I learn fast enough, I could meet with you."

The Hydro Dragon's face emotes a small bit, the luminous scales wrinkling around his eyes with what could be fondness. "Then I'll be sure to be on the look out from the coastline for you." He declares.

'The coastline?' Freminet ponders idly, once again confused at his friend's words, 'Wouldn't he be underwater? I figured he'd live somewhere like the bottom of the ocean. Is that where his library is? I guess that makes sense...'

Back in the real world, Freminet is practically counts down the days he'll be starting his diving lessons, finding himself anxious and unable to sit still in anticipation. It feels like the whole world moves slower, now that he has something to look forward to. He decides to spend this time making Pers hydro-proof in preparation of his underwater escapades, busying himself with the task for as long as possible.

He's so immersed in his work that he doesn't even realize Lyney and Lynette had returned, squirrel away in the corners of the workshop. He runs into them as he heads to their shared room that evening, eyes brightening with recognition, the weight in his chest much lighter than before.

He had been planning on telling them about everything they'd missed, from the water supply fiasco to his brave actions that lead to everything getting fixed. He's planning on telling them the world he he saw underwater, his new intentions of properly taking up diving and continuing this new developing passion. 

But then-just as he steps into their room-he notices Lynette's haggard figure sitting on the edge of her bed, eyes blank and unreadable as her brother helped her remove her shoes. Her hair and dress shirt look waterlogged, skirt torn around the edges. She keeps her hand poised over her lap, trying to portray a collected image- an endeavor mostly ruined by the shaking of said hands. 

In her hand, she grips a small teal stone, glowing against the overhanging darkness of the room. An anemo symbol was scrawled on its front.

In the end, he never ends up telling the twins of his happenings. Doesn't tell them of his new interest in diving, nor the praise or recognition he had personally received from his peers for his accomplishment. All his excitement dies at the state of his siblings, drained and utterly wrecked from whatever nightmare they had come from. After a moment, he quietly pads into the room-foot steps quiet under the cotton of his socks-and silently joins Lyney on putting away Lynette's shoes. 

No words are exchanged for the rest of the night. Maybe he should feel more upset, missing out on this small moment he had been looking forward to so impatiently. But he finds it that he doesn't care at all, not when his siblings are so clearly in pain. Their bruises, their agony- it may as well be his own at this point.

—

Nowadays, there is this strange look Lyney has in his eyes, hidden just under the surface.

Given- the older boy has developed into a bit actor of sorts, meaning most things nowadays are always hiding just under his skin. Where he had once worn his emotions unabashedly, Freminet has noticed the development of masks; fake emotions and expressions he'd never genuinely mean. It'd be hard to tell that they weren't the real thing if you didn't know Lyney personally, but Freminet's been analyzing the boy long enough to figure out his tells: the wringing of his hands, barks of laughter at times that didn't exactly warrant it, the twitch of his lips.

But now, Freminet's doubting his knowledge. Either he's wrong in assuming all these tells, or Lyney's masks have been going haywire. Provided recent happenings, Freminet's been leaning more towards the latter.

After Lynette gained her vision, she had started to be sent on solo missions, supposedly more difficult than the ones the twins had already been taking on. When Lyney's not training, he's clearly at a loss on what he should do. Sometimes he stops by the workshop and bothers Freminet, but most of the time he's... simply waiting for Lynette to come back.

It's quite eerie, he has to say, how out of character his brother starts acting. When he's not putting on a faux smile when he happily chats about nothing with Freminet (his tells are always going off), he's stuck in what seems like a daze. He's soundless and haggard, this sort of deep desperation and anxiousness following him like a cloud wherever he goes. His wispy grey hair is always messy, looking like he'd just gotten out of bed ins spite of the dark eyebags that beg to differ. 

Freminet watches him now, where he's making his bed as the morning bell just rung off, making his bed as neatly as he can. Lyney's still splayed over his bed, his back facing towards him, form unmoving even though he's certain he's awake. The older teen has always been a bit jumpy in his sleep, roused by the most soundless of noises. Even with that, Freminet's had to grown used to him sleeping in, even if it garners him a possible scolding. 

It's like he can't make the effort to even get out of bed on time now.  

'This is no way to live,' Freminet ponders solemnly, 'No one should have to live like this.'

But Freminet knows he is out of his depth with this one, realizes and acknowledges the fact that this issue is one he cannot solve for Lyney. Lynette has always been there for Lyney, and the same goes for the other. There's no doubt in his mind that they're both taking this kind of separation very hard, both physically and emotionally as Lynette's distance persists, even when she is here. Lyney's probably never experienced the feeling of loneliness to this extent before, so unclothed and unnatural. It's like it physically strains him.

It reminds him of that one folktale where humans had originally been born as beings with four arms and legs, but were separated into two beings, destined to always chase after their other half in the desperate act to feel whole again. 

Freminet feels helpless, involuntarily watching their small family unit slowly fall apart. Even though he's on the cusp of becoming a teenager himself, Freminet can't help but feel like he's eight years old again.

He watches on as Lyney sleeps on, pondering if he should attempt to rouse him to his feet, when-in place of Lyney-the picture of his Maman in the same position flicks through his mind, her back towards him and form deteriorated on an old creaky bed. Instead of the creamy brown sheets of the Hearth, he imagines yellowish bedsheets and the horrible dried red that stains them-

The sudden image chills him to the bone, heart hammering against his chest and ears. He shakily grabs Pers from his nightstand and walks out the room, mind and body cold as ice, begging his mind to forget it ever imagined anything in the first place.

It doesn't.

Subconsciously-possibly with the image of his Maman still embedded into his mind-Freminet returns to old habits. He sweeps and cleans the floors, silently sinking into the mechanical motions of menial chores. He keeps falling into a mindless daze, even when he tries his best to snap out of it. It's not that dissimilar to Lyney's own, aside from the fact that he's not skipping meals for it. His brain begs for food, too scared to go hungry again.

He's also been cutting his food into small bits, unconsciously preparing it in the same manner he had with his Maman's meals- her poor throat torn from coughing. Freminet always frowns when he realizes what he's done, biting his lip as a scowl overtakes his face. I'm not making this food for anyone. Why do I keep doing this? 

By the third time he's done it, the knife he had been using clatters to the bedside table as he digs his palms into his eye sockets, hands shaking with frustration. He was only here with Lynette, her brief return unfortunately converging with one of Lyney's jobs. He tries to hide his upset as best he can from the other room's resident, but like with most things, he does a crap job at it.

"How about you go to bed, Freminet?" Lynette's voice gently insists, almost cautious. "It's okay if you don't feel very well. I can finish up here."

"I'm not sick," he wants to rebut petulantly, grimacing with watery exasperation. He digs his hands further into his eyes, ignoring the dull pain that thrums from the action. "I'm fine... I'm- just give me a minute..." he gasps out, forcing himself to take a steading breath. It doesn't help as much as he'd wish.

"I don't know what's wrong with me. Nothing's wrong with me, so why am I acting like this?"

But the words catch in his constricted throat, frame shaking with an onslaught of emotion. Eyes still covered as he cowered, he hears Lynette slowly pad towards him and pass a gentle hand through his hair, before moving to carefully wrap a hand around his wrists. She tugs his hands away from digging at his face, the action tender but firm.

He blinks blearily as light reaches his sensitive eyes again, spotting Lynette's thin cat-like eyes peering into his own red-rimmed ones. She's crouched down on one knee to properly be at his eye level, actually making Freminet a bit taller now.

She looks tired, hair mused and undone from her braid. Even when she's not off on a mission of hers, the bags under her eyes still cling to her like a parasite.

Lynette thins her lips, expression turning pensive as she glanced down at their hands. He could see her nervously mulling over her words, the gears turning in her head as she tried to organize her thoughts as best she could. 

"I'm not…" She starts, words silent and unsure, "-good. With words. Not the same way Lyney is, at least. Every time I open my mouth, I'm always a little scared that I'll say something that will upset someone. It's just the way I am, so tell me if I say something wrong."

Her clawed fingers still clutch Freminet's own, holding his gauze-covered hands between them as if he were a delicate flower. She rubs her thumb over the flat of his palm, soft and gentle.

"I know things aren't… good right now. Between all of us." She acknowledges softly, sighing, "Lyney's been… struggling, to say the least. I know he's going through a lot, and he's having a lot of trouble fixing it himself, but I have to trust that he can take care of it. Lyney's a tough guy. The most we can do is be there for him until that happens."

"He's really..." Freminet murmurs, voice thick, "I think... he's upset. Not only that you're always leaving but... I think he feels like you're distancing yourself from him."

"Really?" Lynette asks, sounding genuinely puzzled, "That... are you sure? I haven't purposefully been trying to ignore anyone... I've just been a little tired is all. Would Lyney really think...I'd do that?"

"I could be wrong," Freminet clarifies quickly, sheepishly adding on, "I don't know what he's thinking anymore, to be honest. I- I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. Things have been hard on everyone, including you. Maybe not in the same way, but I see it," Lynette shifts her legs and lets out a long sigh, "I'll talk to him, alright? Make things right, at least until he can figure out whatever he's going through."

She moves to momentarily pinch the bridge of her nose, stress exuding from her form. Freminet feels a stab of guilt coarse through him, unsure if he should feel regretful for bringing this conversation about. He supposes that he shouldn't-seeing as it's really one they should have had-but he can't help but feel remorseful for the disheartened state the twin was in.

"I don't know how things will play out. I don't... like imagining things getting worse, but I honestly can't be sure of anything anymore," Lynette admits, the statement making Freminet visibly wane. The older teen leans forward, grasping at his shoulder tenderly, "-but no matter what happens, I want you to know that we'll always want you by our side. You're our little brother, blood related or not."

"-so don't loose hope," she highlights, a shine in her eyes, "we're all strong people, you especially. Just have some patience, alright?"

Freminet sniffs, the action useless as the wad of paper stuck in his nose impedes it. He hopes all this sniffling won't trigger another nosebleed; he'd hate to stain Lynette's lovely white dress shirt as he hugged it.

—

Things... get better. Slowly, at least.

Lynette makes due on her promise and finds time to talk to Lyney. Freminet wasn't there, so obviously he doesn't know exactly what they talked about. He doesn't feel particularly brave enough to ask either, but he finds he doesn't need to. It's clear a weight Lyney had once carried eases a bit, no longer looking so strained and high-strung whenever he talks to Freminet. Lynette herself still has to go on more runs than either of them, but she's been making the clear effort to still spend time with them when she's around.

The best part? When they're all together, things finally feel... normal again. No longer are there these false charades or masks, or any purposeful hiding of things from each other. They still don't tell Freminet what exactly they do when they're off on assignments, but that's alright. Freminet's long made peace with that. Plus, it's not like they're purposefully lying to him anymore; they're just don't talk about it. Maybe they finally clued in on the fact that the former made him more upset than the latter. 

And as if the universe itself is looking out for them, the mending of their relationship peaks with the arrival of Lyney's pyro vision. He had taken to helping Lynette plan out her missions, seeming to ease a weight of anxiety that came with the unknown of his sister's status. And when they leave on a rare dual mission, they both return a little worse for wear, clothing torn and dirty, and two visions instead of one. Lyney grins and walks with pride alongside his sister, finally having found his place: back alongside her.

Freminet is happy for them; to get to see the people he loves most overjoyed and delighted once again is a treat with no price on it. He feels no ill will when Lyney actively starts joining Lynette again back in almost all of her missions, often leaving Freminet alone again with a quick hug and a hasty goodbye. Maybe once it would have hurt his feelings, but the younger boy has long come to understand the twins relationship; it's not that they prioritized each other over himself, it's that they're simply each other's halves.

The twins will always want Freminet with them. The twins will always need each other besides themselves. Freminet learns not to take it to heart.

And when they're off on another adventure, Freminet can always dive to escape. 

In a way diving, is a little like sinking into the warm waters of his own head (save for the lack of his friends of course). Here, in this new underwater world, he can escape the cold icy touch of reality and experience a magical world different form his own. Collecting materials and moving cargo quickly becomes his favorite pastime, and his rapidly growing skills make him practical child prodigy. When they start appointing him as a group leader in diving excursions after just a month or so of diving, he finds the weight of the responsibility lighter than most. 

It had been early in the morning, the dawn breaking over the horizon as it painted the endless sky a light pink. In theory, it should have been nothing but a standard dive, the currents calm and predicted to remain that way. Maybe that's why none of them had noticed noticed anything amiss, silently sinking into the water's edge without much fanfare. 

It hadn't been twenty minutes when he first felt the first sense of foreboding. He had initially simply shaken it off, chalking it up to entering a colder region of the water. It wasn't until it striked a second time, dread coiling around his stomach, that he finally gave in to his paranoia. 

He made an emergency gesture back behind himself, urging the children behind him upwards. He was sure they were confused, things having been going smoothly just a second ago, but they did as he ordered anyways.

The feeling of unease continued to persist deep in his chest, eyes faltering as his vision grew hazy. A deep rooted panic started overtaking him, suddenly being unable to breathe. He passed a hand over the tank's valve, chest growing cold as he found it loose instead of tightened. 

"The tanks," he realized, eyes bloodshot, "They're leaking air. We're suffocating."

Even as he willed himself to move faster, his mind turned slow and sluggish, darkness creeping around the edges of his murky vision. He belatedly realized the other kids swimming under him were also slowing in their movements. He wants to dive back down to catch them, drag them to the surface to catch more air, but his lungs struggle and spasm in pain as air fails to reach his lungs.

Was this what Maman had felt, all those times she couldn't breathe? To have her lungs shrivel and flare with pain, asphyxiation slow but inevitable? 

It's with a last burst of energy that me moves, refusing to let anyone else die here. Before he could register what he's done, Freminet had individually hauled his team up above the surface where rocks were, some going off to the side and coughing up water while others simply breathed heavily as they laid on their sides. 

In the midst of the tempest-the middle of the storm-Freminet had accomplished the equivalent of a miracle for himself, rescuing his team without a single injury to be accounted for.

In a battle against the seas' pull, Freminet had come out on top, unscathed.

And he doesn't come back empty-handed either; in his shivering hand lies a small glowing stone, a light blue hue emanating from it. It's cold to the touch, the surface frosted over lightly with the symbol of cryo splayed on it. It thrums with hidden power, mesmerizing him with it's gleaming. 

When he returns to the orphanage with it in hand, he half expected the twins to congratulate him in the same way they had with Lyney. Now they were closer to being on equal standing, right? He won't get left behind now. They were all children acknowledged by gods, so that must have meant they were destined for greatness, just like the hero's in fairytales.

Instead, he finds both twins wearing expressions of muted horror when he shows them the stone, feet rooted in place against their rooms' carpeted floor.

Lynette's the first one to move, rushing forward and throwing herself on her knees, scooping him up and grappling into a crushing hug. She shivers against him, and Freminet has to realize it comes from the effort not to cry.

"Maybe- maybe we could hide it," Lyney suggests, attempting to steady his voice, "Freminet, did anyone see you with this?"

"I- uh- some of the diving team members, I think..." he murmurs, unmoving from where Lynette is still rubbing her hand soothingly. He's not hurt or anything, so he has to wonder if the action is more for herself than anything. 

Lyney curses under his breath, "Listen to me Freminet: If anyone asks you about your vision, do. not. show them. Don't even act like it exists, alright?"

"What?" Freminet asks softly, voice sounding far too young.

"It's okay," he hears Lynette whisper, voice shaken and watery with unshed tears, "It's okay. We'll fix this, I promise. You're still so young,, so they won't- They can't possibly-" she dips her head into his shoulder, hands shaking as her voice becomes more sorrowful, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry-"

"Freminet," Lyney cuts in, eyes intense as his expression remained grim, "Give me your vision. I'll put it somewhere safe for you."

Freminet's brows furrows, grip growing firmer against the cold stone. He hasn't had his vision for long at all, but even the thought of being separated from it makes him immediately protest. "What? No-"

"-Freminet." He cut in, voice terse and unkindly. His pupils were slitted into thin pin-pricks, expression twitching with brewing frustration, "This isn't a joke or a game, and I'm certainly not acting when I tell you I'm being extremely serious right now. Give me your vision now."

Something sinks into his chest, fear coiling around his throat. Freminet's never seen this side of Lyney, didn't even think it existed to be honest.  But now that he was staring down at the older boy, he felt as if he was about to be at the receiving end of a lethal strike. He barely manages to peel himself from Lynette's tight embrace, all but throwing himself to his feet and backing away from the two like a cornered animal.

"You can't take it from me," Freminet breathlessly defies, trying not tremble, "it's- you can't do that. It's mine!"

"Freminet-" Lynette starts, but he cuts her off.

"-NO! Why didn't you take Lyney's vision when he got it?! Why did he get to keep it?!" he turns to Lynette, voice waning in its anger, "-you -you said you always wanted us to be together, right? Having a vision just means we have more of a chance for that! It- it means that I won't get left behind!"

"Freminet-"

He cuts her off, "-Or was that a lie too?" Freminet looks away, scowling at the floor as his eyes burned, "Are you gonna just keep me at arms length forever? You guys are always talking about how much you care about me but... is that even true? It feels like I don't know you guys at all anymore..."

He was expecting the twins to look dejected at that, to realize their little brother felt unloved enough to doubt their real connection. He doesn't completely mean it, of course, but he figures it's a good way to get his emotions across properly. 

What he doesn't expect is for Lyney's carefully blank face twitch violently, letting out a hiss through his gritted teeth before an absolutely furious scowl took over his face. Freminet almost gawked at the sheer unexpectedness of it, shriveling under the boy's livid gaze.

"Stop. Stop talking. You don't get to say that-" Lyney steps back and pinches the bridge of his nose, recomposing his angered expression into a scowl, "You wanna know the truth, huh Freminet? Fine. Lets lay it all out then."

"Lyney please-" Lynette pleads, seeming to have some foresight on her brother's words. He ignores her.

"-The reality of the situation is that you are just a kid." he gestures angrily, "When we found you here, you were so malnourished you looked like you had one foot in death's door. You wanna know what we did? We took you under our wing. We kept you safe and healthy and all we wanted in return was for you to be happy. We kept up a charade so you would stop worrying about us and live your own damn childhood while you still had it. You wanna know why? Because we loved you."

"Lyney..." Freminet warbles. 

"-So shut up. Stop talking because you don't know anything. You have no idea what we've been through," he addresses coldly, "-And you wanna know why that is? It's because you're young. You still think all- all those fairytales are real. You still carry around a toy wherever you go for god's sake!"

"You still act like a kid, and that's because you are one. So I'm sorry, for still thinking you're not ready to go through what we went through, for being-god forbid-scared for you-"

"-Scared of what?"

Silence permeates the room, a frosty chill blanketing the small room like a cold slumber. Freminet turns away from the twins and back towards the doorway, where Father stands unblinkingly. Her intense eyes glaze over his form, before zeroing in on the stone still clutched in his hand. She leans down a small bit, cocking her head.

"A gift from the Majesty herself. Hm, how unexpected," Father murmurs, thoughtful. Her usual cold and sharp voice was nowhere to be found, instead now a curious mutter. It's the first time he's ever heard her sound like this.

"When I received a full report from your fellow divers of your actions, I have to say I was pleasantly surprised. You have earned my veneration, boy." He posture fixes back up, intense eyes gazing into his own, "Past pleasantries, I must say: ascension is not something to be taken lightly. You have been acknowledged by the powers that be, and therefore the responsibilities you must uphold are expected to be expanded."

She then leans down, unnatural intercepting pink pupils boring into his own with an unreadable emotion. Father gripped his shoulder, and Freminet had to assume the action was meant to be reassuring. He can't break eye contact, mind too scared that she will strike him as soon as he lets his guard down.

"I expect great things from you, child." She whispers, loud enough for him to hear. "Why don't you come to my office for a moment? We'll discuss things properly there."

Freminet tries not to shiver. He glances back at the twins one last time, expression unreadable, before following closely at Father's command.

—

Freminet is just thirteen years old when he kills someone for the first time.

It had been his first official mission, given to him specifically by Father. It hadn't taken long for Freminet to start his share of training after he received his vision, provided a personal small room in the far south side of the orphanage. It meant that he hadn't been given a chance to even go back to his and the twin's room, his schedule rotated towards a nightly routine. The turnaround left him groggy and tired at first, but he forced himself to adapt as best he could. After a long while of undergoing physical training that left him boneless and drained, Father had decided to utilize his gifted mind and put him under mental training. Practical skills and wherewithal he were required to be memorized, the crunch time of the learning making him feel dizzy and drained

Freminet has to admit... he does really miss his old room. The cold grey walls and single white bed pushed to the corner made the room look dull and barren, lacking the same life the twin's fancy-looking room had. Had they slept in this same room when they started training? It seemed unlikely, seeing as it felt as cramped as it did.

He hasn't seen the twins since he'd been dragged away by Father, and... he's not sure he wants to after that fight they had. Lynette might be nice to him but... Lyney got really worked up. Deep guilt still eats at him from the inside out, making him feel horribly ill when he thinks back on it. He knew he shouldn't have raised his voice. He knew better than that. Even if some of the things Lyney said regarding his friends did really hurt, it doesn't change the fact that Freminet lashed out first. Training may not be as horrible as Lyney and Lynette made it out to be, but he's sure they had good intentions.

Do they hate me now? Does Lyney hate me? Ah, I really messed things up huh...

The assignment comes not even a full week since he started his training, taking his mind off his current dilemma. He looks down at the thin folder he's passed curiously, reading over locations and dates scrawled on them. It had something to do with an old supplier of Fathers, one that had stop bringing in stock and turned against them. He's not exactly sure what to do with this, so instead he focuses on Father's words.

"I have thought of many candidates for this mission," she had declared openly, voice bold and smooth like a snake's skin. "-But I have decided that your character would best serve in it. You have an undeniably characteristic that I believe could be essential for this mission. It shouldn't take you more than a day, but I am willing to be tolerant of delays given that this is your first mission."

"Go now," Father had said, dismissing him from her office. "Serve the House well, do your own part and don't disappoint. Give back to our generosity, and perhaps then you will be deserving of our kindness."

And he does just that. 

He sets off on a wagon at dawn, farm horse drawn by a finely dressed intimidating man wearing a mask. He does not try to make conversation with Freminet, so he doesn't bother trying to talk either. The silence gives him more time to mull over the plan he had formulated in his head, anxiously rubbing his forearms. It was times like this that he really missed Pers, the comforting weight he took up on his lap grounding and ever present. 

Whet he gets to the sizable designated venue, he flattens the noble school uniform he has on and blends in with the fellow guests loitering outside. Balloons and decorations are strapped along the the edges of the vineyard, rows of bushes full of grapes lining the entire main party square outside. Freminet would have stopped to admire the place, openly gawk at it's beauty, but he had a job to do and a parcel to deliver. 

He quickly manages to sneak his way into the main part of the winery, locating the kitchen by following some dashers around. No one bats an eye at the school boy walking around, his presence ignored in favor of enjoying the festivities. The place is lively with multiple chefs, all too busy cooking and preparing servings to even spare him a glance. Good.

He locates the specialized chef with minimal issue, spotting the shiny sigil pinned against his breast pocket as he prepared what looked to be a plate of Pear Tarte Tatin. He sets the inconspicuous black school bag he had been wearing on the counter beside him, unzipping it to carefully reveal a carefully wrapped vial. On the surface, it looked like a simple unsusceptible spice jar. 

"Special order from Father," he speaks out, low enough for the man to hear but inaudible to anyone else. The old man gazes at him heavily, thick black brows and mustache menacing under the light. He reached a scarred hand forwards and grabbed the vial, tucking it into the pocket of his apron. He continues cooking without another word, which Freminet takes as his cue to leave.

'Mission accomplished' he congratulates himself, limbs shaking with relief now that his part was done. He breathes out a low sigh of relief and walked down the winery's main stairs, ready to head back home now that the weight on his shoulders finally disappeared. Past the obvious anxieties, it was a considerably easy job, and Freminet thought himself rather good at it if this is what missions mostly consisted of. 

He stops short when he reaches the bottom, too clouded from relief to see the person right in front of him. The mass of the burley man's side was sizable enough to knock him clean off his feet, groaning a bit as his behind ached. Freminet looks up, eyes widening when he spots a bulky old man, white suit clean and pristine as he looked down at him.

"Who let the street rat in?" a noble asks neutrally, old wrinkled features brushing over his silver beard and hair. Freminet all but quivers under the man's stare, unsuspecting of the second set of steps behind him until a young voice speaks out.

"-Show some manners Monsieur Divestashi! That's just a boy from the boarding downtown! See his sigil?" The new lady turns to him, leaning down to help him back on his feet. She smiles kindly at him, a slight bit apologetic, "Don't take it to heart dear, that mean man didn't mean it. Even at a birthday party, He never seems to lighten up."

The man gruffed out a huff, taking another drag of his thick cigar. "The boy bumped into me, Young Lady Navia. Someone ought to see him out."

"Oh cut it out now! You're just trying to scare him now." The young lady huffs, the action quite brazen for what Freminet guesses is a noble girl. "Y'know, you ought to be nicer to new people! Maybe then you'd learn to make a new friend or two."

The older man groans and rolls his eyes, seemingly irritated with the girls behavior. "I always knew your father let you have too much freedom; now you have the mouth of a common vagrant." he turns around, seemingly done with this encounter, "Tell your Father to come find me once you're done here; I have briskness dealings to discuss with him."

Once he walks away, a heavy weight seems to settle over her shoulder as she scowls.

"That jerk," she huffs under her breath once the man has walked away, sheepish ocean eyes turning to stare into his own, "Sorry for that. I hope he didn't give you too much trouble. Noble men always seem to think they can treat people however they want."

He finally regards the lady properly, long golden blonde hair curling around her shoulders. She wore a long black dress with a white petticoat over it, her aura pristine and royal looking, displaying the true exuberance of a noble title. If he were to guess, she looked just about a year or two older than Lyney and Lynette.

"It's okay..." he swallows bashfully, trying not to let panic or embarrassment set it, "I'm- I'm sorry Madame."

"My my, and so polite too!" she grins, youthful smile blinding him, the whiplash of it almost making him wince, "Relax, no need for formal titles! I barley use them when I talk to friends. My friend Clorinde already does that enough for both of us combined." she laughed.

Um. Okay. "I- I think I should go- thank you again"

"Hey! Let me help you find your way around! Wouldn't want you bumping into anyone else," she laughs good naturedly, "Where's your Maman? Is she around here?"

His heart stutters at the question, not having expected it. His expression must physically wane, because the lady is quick to apologize.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories." she seems to debate with herself over on what to do before reaching into her coat's pocket, pulling out a colorful treat and gesturing it towards him, "-macaron? I made them myself."

Freminet unabashedly balks, staring at the lady like she was crazy. "Your... you just had that in your pocket?" he drawls, wordlessly taking the sweet dessert from the older girl's hand. They looked unbroken, their appearance surprisingly unbroken for being supposedly homemade.

"Oh, no! Well, yes-" she then brought out a zip lock bag from her coat's pocket, a rainbow of small macarons laid inside it, "I actually have a few on me. Usually these kinds of things have really long boring speeches and we're not allowed to eat food during them so..."

Freminet hums, actually slightly appreciative at the girl's forethought. "Smart..." he mumbles.

She brightens, "I know right! Everyone always thinks it's weird, but I'm glad I could find someone else likeminded," she grabs his hand, tugging him forwards, "Hey! Let me show you around! I could help you make your own personal bag too if you want!"

Before Freminet even realizes, the evening draws by as the minutes tick. Young Lady Navia and her fullhearted antics make the time practically fly by, and Freminet can't help but be enraptured by her presence. Perhaps it was the dull monotony by which he had grown used to most kids having at the Hearth-all glassy eyed and silent-but Navia moves and acts with this sort of whole heartedness that he's never seen in a teen her age. Was this what kids were like outside the Hearth? Were they always this lively? 

He meets a plethora of people, per Navia's insistence. Most are older ladies, kind and polite and having known Navia for quite some time. They're quick to coo over him, his small boyish face and innocent freckles having enchanted the older ladies. Some even pull at his cheeks, much to his chagrin and Navia's delight. 

He gets so caught up in the motions-all but forgetting his initial reason as to be here-until he's all but smashed back into reality when a familiar face makes it's way through the crowd. To his horror, Navia excitedly waves at the man once she spots him and all but drags Freminet towards him.

"Little guy, I'd like you to meet Monsieur Shavilich!" she grins triumphantly, displaying the adult as if he were a trophy, "-he's the birthday boy of this party you crashed." she clarifies, much to his embarrassment. 

"Hello there!" the man greets, a small curvy mustache splayed over his wide grin. He looks as clean shaven and well groomed as the files in his bag. "It's nice to see Young Lady Navia making some friends. Her attitudes always been a bit much for most kids. Even my own son thinks as much!"

"Shaviiiiilich," the young lady whines openly, unamused by the man's teasing as she blushes, "Come on, don't say that in front of people! Don't you have an ounce of respect for me?"

The man laughs, "Sorry, sorry. I suppose the festivities simply have me in a more chatty mood." he grins, swirling the red wine in his chalice, "-or perhaps it's just the wine getting to me! It tastes a bit different than what I remembered too..."

"Don't tell me you've had too much to drink," Navia scolds, clearly unhappy with the prospect, "The cake cutting ceremony hasn't even begun Monsieur Shavilich! What would the Misses think?"

"The Misses would scold me all the way until tomorrow," he agrees, humming, "-which is precisely why this is only my second glass! The taste is just off is all."

Freminet laughs awkwardly along with the others, trying to ignore the sweat pooling in his palms. 'This man is the one Father wanted to hurt,' he mulls over in a panic, confused and nervous, 'This man will be dead by tonight and I'm laughing besides him.' This man is happy and smiling and clearly loved by most of the attendants here, talking about his wife and cutting his own birthday cake.

Dread coils around his throat, visceral pain flooding his veins.

Freminet hopes Father's plan fails. He hopes something goes wrong with the mixture, he hopes that chef failed to do his part and that this peaceful happy celebration can end in peace.

It's just his luck that things go bad almost immediately.

"-Monsieur Shavilich? Are you alright?" An older women cuts into their conversation. "You're looking a little pale there. Do you need a place to sit down?"

"I'm quite fine Lady Victoria," he responds good naturedly, even when a thin layer of sweat started to bead down his forehead. "Not my first time drinking wine after all. Though I must admit... I am feeling a bit... warm-"

A chorus of gasps and clamor rings out as Shavilich crumbles from where he stands, almost falling directly onto Freminet. Murmurs ring out as Navia and the older lady struggle to keep him upright and on his feet, Freminet at a loss as to what to do as he backs away.

"Monsieur Shavilich!" Navia cries, eyes widened with panic, "Are you alright?! What's happened to you?"

"Oh, nothing dear," he tries to placate breathlessly, his words slurring together, "I just need... to sit down... I think..."

"-Someone get him to a private room!" An older gentleman yells, ushering together a small group of people to guide the half-unconscious man into the Winery's main building. He half expects Navia to follow them in, but instead she plants herself besides Freminet and unconsciously grips his hand. Her eyes are steady but clearly shaken, watching as they carry the noble man into the building.

"It's alright,"  she says soothingly, voice thin in an attempt to sound confident, "Mister Shavilich is a strong man, okay? I'm sure he just drank too much is all."

'He's dead.' he almost says, the thought running on repeat in his head like a broken record. 'He's dead. He's dead. He's dead. He's dead and I killed him.'

He had initially intended to leave shortly after the target had been taken care of, but he finds himself caught up in a whirlwind of worried and shaken women, all guided by one Young Lady Navia. One gives him a towel and hot cocoa, another ushering him into a spare room so that the Gardes don't run them over in the midst of the assassination. Even when the police force start take testimonies from the guests (a thing that makes Freminet panic because he did not intend to be caught up in), the older ladies come to his rescue and insist on sparing him from any sort of interrogation. 

"The poor boy doesn't look a day over ten sir," a lady in a red dress pleads, situated in front of Freminet in an attempt to shield him, "-He's been shaking like a leaf for the past hour. Don't you think he's already been through enough?"

They continue to stand up for him, even when grief clearly brims in their hearts. The friends and relatives of the very man he killed tonight- protecting and caring for the killer that just changed their life forever. 

Freminet doesn't think he's ever felt so horrible in his life. 

That same day, when he's on the same horse-drawn wagon back towards the orphanage, something inside him dies.

It's like his innards had been scooped out of him, leaving him hollow and empty on the inside. When his mind returns to him, in short minutes of realization with what exactly he'd done, he begs his mind to return to an unthinking stasis. 

Was this what Lyney and Lynette had been talking about? Was this what they were trying to protect me from? 

His mind glazes over more often, body not his own anymore. Fine metal wires pull at his limbs and joints, connected to somewhere far above the clouds. His skin becomes cold steel, heart falling under his feet like a loose cog.

Freminet's heart and mind cannot bear the strain, the pressure inside him, and he releases the steam in a loud robotic whistle. 

Maybe I should have just given my vision to Lyney. Maybe then, none of this would have happened.

It's a slow but agonizing process, going by unnoticed until it's too late. He doesn't even remember what he's lost, looking back on it. Had he been missing anything in the first place? He doesn't know.

'I don't know anything anymore,' he thinks numbly.

"Please Freminet," a deep voice speaks, concern clear in his voice, "This behavior is disconcerting and worrying. You are not acting as yourself, and you have been looking quite famished the times you've been here. Has something happened to you? Are you alright?"

They were out on a pier, the pair alone. For some reason, none of his other friends were around, leaving them alone with nothing but a gloomy foggy ocean. He thins his lips at the Dragon's words.

'What is this?' he wonders to himself. Was there some small fraction of his mind that wanted an end to his latest behavior? Did it manifest into the Hydro Dragon, using him as a mouthpiece? It does sound like something he'd say, that old reptile. 

"I don't want to talk about it," he admits with a mumble, eyes staring down at the water of the dock, "Please... don't make me think about it. Please."

He supposes he should feel at ease: some part of him still wanted out. It still recognized the horrifying reality of his splintered mind, half sunk in the muck of numbness. But getting out meant realizing what he's doing, the spiral he's going down. Freminet comes here to escape these issues, not confront them.

Freminet hasn't felt anything in awhile. It's nice to know that he can still feel emotions, even in a distant, broken sense. The only thing he's really been feeling as of late is this bone-numbing tiredness. 

He stops visiting his friends after that, too tired to handle all of the Dragon's continued worries. Not even his mind is safe anymore.

It feels like he's at the edge of a cliffside, the area underneath him plummeting to an unseeable bottom. It's a point past return. Freminet walks along the edge, wondering just how deep the plunge down there really is-

"-Freminet!" a familiar voice calls worriedly one day, snapping him from his self-induced daze. He stops and turns to face the approaching presence, Lyney practically sprinting in from the other side of the hallway. "Freminet- Freminet, there you are," he breathes out in relief, seeming to hold back the urge to smother him by instead grasping at his shoulder, "-Where in the world have you been?!"

A part of him kind of wants to just leave and not have this conversation. He hasn't been avoiding the twins per say, but he doesn't exactly feel comfortable meeting them like this. His mind has been too busy to even consider how he'd go about this talk, their argument seeming so long ago now.

"Around," he replies soundlessly. "I'm busy... I have to go."

Surprisingly, Lyney doesn't move to follow him once he starts walking away. Freminet doesn't know why he feels a slight bit disappointed in that, when he so desperately wanted to get away just a moment ago.

"Pers misses you," Lyney suddenly says behind him, making him stop short. "He's... he's been sitting on our nightstand, not doing a whole lot. I um... I can imagine that must be pretty boring for him."

His hollow heart pangs, and Freminet grimaces sourly. He doesn't know why he suddenly feels so bitter, the misery in him minutely forgotten. "That's fine," he lies through his teeth, "About time I stopped carrying a toy wherever I went, right?"

"Freminet," the older boy pleads, sighing with a mixture of frustration and desperation, "You know I didn't mean it like that. I was just trying to- I was just-" he makes a choked gargle, anxiously musing his hair as he attempted to reapproach him, "Come on, can- can we talk? Please? If you don't wanna talk to me that's fine, I can get Lynette here instead if that's what you want." He adds on. 

It's only now, staring at his brother's pleading eyes, that he wonders if anyone's ever said no to Lyney's whims. His charm and smooth words have always seemed to make it hard to resist. Has anyone in the world said no to him before? Who is he to ask this from Freminet when he was the one that was so upset in the first place? Freminet is growing up and loosing those childish habits Lyney had told him was holding his back; what more does he want from him?

"You were right," a small voice cries in his head, prying and scratching at his heart, "You were right, I wasn't ready for any of this. There's something broken in me and I don't think I can ever fix it. I don't want you to have to see me like this. I don't want you to realize just how right you were."

"I'm busy," he says instead, tongue dull and numb in his mouth as he turns back and keeps walking back to his quarters, "Maybe later." 

When he gets to his small cramped room, he throws himself on his bed and imagines himself with his Maman, eating a homecooked Bouillabaisse his mom had prepared. His daydreams have been consisting a lot of these domestic scenarios, almost no words being shared in this small warm environment. Maybe he just needs a break from all his friends and adventures too. Maybe he's just tired of everything at this point.

He doesn't think about it for a while, about his encounter with Lyney or his fraying nerves- instead opting to work on the monotonous robotic movements of busywork. It's so easy to slip away, should he let it happen; he could imagine keeping the metal attached to his joints, mind clear and empty with no room for emotions. He feels absolutely empty, the numbness in his hands the same as the one in his heart.

Had this been how they had felt, when they trained under Father? Had their minds been stripped like this too? Maybe he should have accepted Lyney's invitation. Maybe he should have asked sooner, even if he would have probably lied to him. Freminet would have listened to his woes, to the strain this all took on him. Maybe then-if he had been more open-none of this would have happened.

Can Freminet fix this? He all but dismissed Lyney and his intentions to work things over. Was that cruel of him? Selfish of him? Can nothing be fixed now? Did he break things beyond repair?

"I don't know how things will play out. I don't like imagining things getting worse, but I honestly can't be sure of anything anymore," Lynette admits, the statement making Freminet visibly wane. The older teen leans forward, grasping at his shoulder tenderly, "-but no matter what happens, I want you to know that we'll always want you by our side. You're our little brother, blood related or not."

Freminet stares at himself in the mirror, a broken half-human half-puppet looking back at him. He wonders if it's mendable, if this imposter staring back at him is really anything but that. 

At the edge of the world, what are you supposed to cling on to? 

“And word of advice: don’t think so loud in there,” he gently taps his index finger against Freminet’s forehead, which the younger boy rubs at the spot with a grumble. “-I know you’re a boy genius and everything, but it’s important to not get so caught up in your own thoughts. You gotta say them out loud from time to time."

...

Freminet breathes in, holds it, then breathes out.

In and out. In and out.

Perhaps... he's making things too complicated. Maybe he should stop strewing his thoughts up along a pinup board, and instead walk the root of the answer he knows he can find. To let his problems consume him now would mean he'll be lost at sea forever, another home forgotten in the depths of his misery.

And Freminet... Freminet's quite tired of loosing homes.

He pads to their rooms in the dead of night, knowing he could get in trouble if he's caught but finding himself unable to care. Lynette opens the door to his shy knock with a neutral face, only blinking in surprise a few times before ushering him inside. Lyney tentatively offers him Pers, his gears looking tightened and well-maintained. Freminet's neutral face falters at the sight of his oldest friend, reaching to gently grasp him from the older teen and press him into his chest for a warm embrace. 

They don't say anything. They don't ask him any questions or probe him for explanations, instead letting his walls naturally crumble as the minutes tick by. The silence is only broken once Freminet starts apologizing, the words pouring out of his mouth and unable to stop. The careful poised façade he attempted to keep up falls apart as his emotions start pouring in, only tempered by the their enveloping embraces and quiet murmurs of forgiveness.

There is a misery to his existence in the Hearth; as long as he stays here, he will keep hurting people under Father's commands. His nails will stain with red and his guilt will cling to him for the rest of his life. But maybe that's just a sacrifice he's willing to make. Maybe it's all worth it in the end, if it means he gets an embrace to come home to.

When there's so much out in the world, underwater and beyond, is he really comfortable exploring it all on his own, in his head? 

Here, resting against in a two warm conjoined twin beds, caught between the warm embrace of his two most favorite people, the world seems a lot less scary than it really is. Freminet wants to stay awake-even when his eyelids feel like lead and exhaustion clings to him-just to revel in the moment for one second longer.

Maybe if he prays hard enough, the Gods will bless him just one more time and let him keep his second family.

«────── « ◈ » ──────»

Chapter Text

«────── « ◈ » ──────»

February 2nd comes around as it always does every year, the worst of the winter months finally starting to recede in their frosty chill. Soon enough the layer of ice over the lakes will start to break, and Freminet will finally be able to dive again without having to worry about his tanks freezing over. It's the mark of a blooming spring, the dawn of a new year for new beginnings.

Most important of all, however, is that it marks the twins' birthdays.

For the past few years, Freminet has spent the day willingly indulging in whatever activity the teens want to do for the day, no matter the usual protests he might have. They don't earn money at the Hearth, so it's not like he could get them much else anyways. 

In spite of that, the twins seem to enjoy his willing participation nonetheless. One year they begged him to participate in a small mock performance they had hosted, somehow failing to inform him that he would literally be sawed in half for one of their tricks. Another year they snuck out to the coastline for the night, splashing freezing water onto each other even as they still wore their pajamas. Freminet had ended up being the only one out of the three to get sick after that, just his luck.

It's usually a good time for them all, a day spent to be remembered in celebration. He always makes sure to put on a better attitude for the special occasion, even if it can be draining at times. The twins see this, and they show their appreciation for it in silence. Saying it out loud would probably just make him feel embarrassed; an undesirable reaction for this occasion. 

This year, however, there are no such festivities.

There's no surprises, no cake slices, no balloons nor streamers that the twins were so fond of.

There's no special cake slices the Hearth staff give them, the special treat such a rarity in the orphanage that it was bound to bring a smile to your face. 

This year, the twins turn eighteen years old. 

That means that they'll be legal adults now. They may still be orphans, but now that they're above the legal age, the House of the Hearth isn't abided to house them under their roof any longer.

As the same with all the now-adult orphans that had lived within the Hearth's walls, Father will see to it for their well-prepared reassignment, often being ordered to leave not even a day after their birthday celebration. 

Freminet's heard rumors that the graduating Hearth children are taken far far away, to the cold tundras and icy winters of Snezhnaya where they'll train under someone else's command. He's heard of their silent departures, kids losing contact with older friends and never hearing from them again. It's as if they had been plucked off the face of Teyvat all together, stuck under its dark underbelly for the rest of eternity.

Freminet has always feared the implications of Lyney and Lynette's older age, even when he was younger. It was simply easy to ignore when he was then while he was living in the moment, when all he had to worry about was Pers' upkeep and what they were going to serve in the mess hall that day. But-as all things go-reality has a habit of catching up with you in the worst of ways. 

Time passed, and so did their youth. What remained of their innocence melted off their bones, left exposed and vulnerable to new dangers they had no experience with. 

The twins are gonna be adults. They'll be expected to leave the Hearth, both at the same time.

Both without Freminet.

In comparison to them, Freminet was still just a meager fourteen years old. The effects of malnourishment in his critical developmental years made him look even younger. Freminet's never felt particularly eager to grow up-not when he's still so attached to things people would deem 'childish'-but he still wishes his age didn't have to have this kind of dilemma on his hands. If he had been their age, would he get the chance to leave with them? If they were still his age when they met, would they have been able to squeeze out a few more years of innocent carefree play?

Without the twins, he'll be alone again, once more taking the brunt of the Hearth's abuse with no support.

He knows it's irrational, to think that things will go back to the way they were without the twins; a lot of that kind of behavior at the House changed once the Director was replaced. He doesn't exactly know why or how it happened, but Freminet likes to think her former behavior stopped being tolerated once it was brought to Father's attention.

No more sheds. No more stealing, no more fights. It's all hard to believe really. Would things have been different if things had been like this before he got here? Would he have been spared from the abuse at the hands of bigger kids, saved from the hunger pans and all those sleepless nights?

He supposes it doesn't matter now. Besides, Freminet may not be the tallest of the bunch, but he's healthy and strong enough now to stand up for himself, even if someone did ever have a problem with him. His cryo vision makes up for his small stature a thousand times over.

Still, the thought doesn't leave him, past wounds and memories too haunting to fully disappear and fade with time. Freminet still doesn't like enclosed spaces, the fear made evident when he had accidentally locked himself in a storage closet and pushed himself into a mental shutdown. He still has to resist gauging himself full of food if it isn't rationed properly, food insecurity too ingrained in his psyche to eat normally. It's gotten better over the years, but it tends to get worse during times of stress.

Those old experiences still torment him, even if it's been so long since then. As long as he remained here, within the familiar walls of the Hearth to keep him in, there would always be a rampant part of his brain afraid and terrified of the unsaid possibilities.

Apparently, the anxiety of it all doesn't spare the twins either. 

When Freminet would once occupy one twin bed while the actual twins huddled in one, they now had wordlessly pushed the beds together one night to conjoin them, forming a big sleeping pile of limbs and warm embraces while they slept. They insist on doing menial activities together, like chores and-on occasion-training. It's gotten to the point where most of their time is spent together nowadays, one not straying too far from the other two.

They all talk and act like there's nothing out of the ordinary, just going about their daily routines. Lyney still all but throws himself over Lynette and tries to annoy her as much as possible, and Lynette still grumbles and bats him away like a pest. Lyney still takes great joy in embarrassing him, and Lynette still bluntly remarks to anyone who gets on her nerves. But Freminet is nothing but observant, and he can feel the way the atmosphere shifts every so often.

There are times where Lyney will go unnaturally silent, allowing silence to permeate a space he would have instinctively filled himself. It's like his mind goes elsewhere, brows furrowing, the evidence of overthinking all too familiar to someone like Freminet. He'll snap out of it and apologize with a sheepish grin once Freminet asks him if he's okay, cheerfully dismissing his worries.

Lynette will ask to do things for him unprompted, like sewing the cuts in his uniform or giving him a proper haircut (her hand slips a few times, granted, but Freminet assures her he's fine with it. He's never cared much for his hair anyways, so if it's done by Lynette then it's more than worth it). She even gifts him a packet of handkerchiefs, seeing as he's already sacrificed so many to his bleeding nose. He thanks her politely, not having the heart to tell her they probably won't last as long as she thinks they will.

The clock ticks, and the foreboding date draws near. As it does, it becomes harder and harder to ignore the growing elephant in the room.

Four years.

That's a lot of time for him to be on his own.

Well, not technically alone. He'll always have Pers with him, along with his friends. But as much as he may love Pers, he's not much of a conversationalist- and his friends… well…

It can get a bit tiring, having the same conversations and adventures over and over again. Sure it's entertaining and it gets the job done, but he really does wonder how much longer he can go with the same formula. Freminet only has so much creativity to go off of.

Aside from that, Freminet thinks he could take it; it doesn't take a lot of effort to switch his brain off and go on a sort of autopilot. Weeks could probably go by without him noticing, but it often came at the cost of more domestic demands- such as remembering he has to eat from time to time. It's not that enjoyable of a prospect, but he'll live, he thinks.

On the contrary, he's actually much more worried for Lyney and Lynette.

There are bigger dangers out there, the unknowns of what hides outside the Hearth far more dangerous than the ones inside. Teyvat is a big big world, full of creatures of the night, and Father's expectations are of no small demand.

'Would they really not come back? Would they get sent off to the land of Snezhnaya? Would they get hurt out there? Would they not come back for him?'

'Would their relationship survive the strain of time and distance?' Is one thought that particularly frightens him. 

Freminet could wait for the day he became an adult, anxious and impatient, and meet the twins again just to realize the distance between them had grown too wide. It's a problem that has no easy solution, if any at all.

It scares him, the thought of losing what they have. Their relationship may have looked unconventional and negligible from the outside looking in, but Freminet knows how special it is. He doubts he'll be able to connect with anyone else the way he has with the twins, if ever.

Because of this, Freminet doesn't so much mind the continuous physical contact the teens have indulged in these past few weeks: side-hugs, head pats, even the occasional hand holding. He ponders if he should even indulge in it, mournfully wondering if it would just make the pain in his heart worse. Ultimately, he decides to forgoe his worries and dignity, indulging in the warm embraces of his siblings arms without shame. His tearful heart offsets any physical discomfort he might feel.

'Before Lyney and Lynette, the last time anyone ever hugged me or held my hand was Maman. Will no one hold me now, once they're gone?'

'I'm not ready yet,' he thinks, 'I'm not ready. Please, gods, don't take away my family again.'

Days pass slowly, a growing sense of tension nearing as the fateful day finally draws near. 

Throughout the whole evening, Freminet sees right through the twins' faux-leisurely attitudes towards the House's other residents. Lyney smiles and laughs, thanking them for their well-wishes. Lynette does the same, more reserved but just as good naturedly. Lots of kids come to congratulate him, many well acquainted with the twins. It's not a surprise that they know so many people, given their prowess as social butterflies (at least Lyney was).

They don't see the way the older boy wrings his hands, clenching them over and over again in repeated motions. They don't see the older girl's stiff posture and incessant tail-flicking, derived from a place of anxiety.

Even when he tries to give the older twins space-not wishing to laden and burden his siblings with his own sorrows-Lyney reaches over and snatches the back of his shirt collar. He cheerfully drags him back against the group, scruffing him like a cat as he finally places him back on his feet, draping an arm around his shoulder. 

"Aw c'mon, don't run off now!" He laughs good-naturedly, ruffling his hair, "Let's celebrate while we can! We only turn eighteen once, right?"

Freminet huffs and resigns himself to his fate, a small part of him over the moon he at least gets this much. If Lyney and Lynette really are leaving, then he's glad he gets to spend the last few hours of their stay with them. His heart and head might hurt thinking about it, but there's a part of him whose relieved they aren't ready to let him go just yet.

The fanfare of kids lasts for a long awhile, going on strong until a masked man pads in from the hallway. He was clad in menacing gear, finely tailored suit pristine from any cuts or wrinkles. Freminet instantly recognizes him as one of Father's personal Operatives, the large feathered opera mask situated on his face a dead giveaway. The hall goes quiet when the man strides in, the air tense and quiet as he cocks his head, gesturing towards Lyney and Lynette.

"Father requests your presence," he said tersely, words equally simple and foreboding.

Lyney and Lynette share a knowing glance, their expressions barley hiding their anxiety. Lyney squeezes his shoulder tightly before unwinding it from behind Freminet's back, the two obediently approaching the man's side. Just as the twins had started to walk away, the Operative spoke again.

"Yours too," he adds in, now looking directly at Freminet. He freezes, shock coursing through him as the man addresses him. A few kids share murmurs between them, confused as to why he was getting called along with Lyney and Lynette. "Isn't that one a few years younger?" "Wait, are they actually related?" "They kind of do look similar, I guess..."

Freminet willed himself to move, even as he felt eyes burning into his back. With no time to think over the implications, he pads up a small few steps, moving to trail behind the twins quietly. With what seems like unconscious instinct, Lynette reaches back and grasps his hand once he's close enough, holding it gently as they're ushered out the room.

The journey there was silent and heavy, not one of them daring to speak. The Hearth's hallways are sparsely populated, their journey going uninterrupted until Father's office came into view. The door stood tall and daunting, casting a heavy invisible shadow over their heads. Lyney glanced uneasily between them, before finally reaching over and turning the golden handle.

The office is large and well-furnished, dark-green jade furnished along the dark oak furniture. A taxidermized Rifthound head was placed on the opposite wall against the door, it's eyes as cold and lifeless as the refined person's below it. She had a quill and ink in hand, a few scattered piles of paperwork and office supplies dotting the well-furnished desk.

She stops writing and looks up, practically locking them all in place with her crosshair eyes. With legitimate effort on their parts, they resist the survival instinct to remain as still as possible, instead carefully filing into the room. The silent Operative silently excuses himself and closes the door behind them, leaving the three children alone with the harbinger. They filed into a straight line then dared not move further, not until Father properly regarded them.

Her posture was stiff and unyielding, dual toned hair groomed into sharp cuts and edges. Her gaze remained as sharp as stone as it stared right through them, intransigent and emotionless. He feels like he's being analyzed by an apex predator.

"Good evening," Father spoke eventually, finally breaking the silence that hung in the air.

"Good evening Father," They all parroted back, the recited greeting falling easily from their lips. Father nodded, inclined her head towards them.

"You two, sit down." She gestured to the twins towards the two cushioned seats in front of her polished desk. "Freminet, remain idle. I'll address you in due time."

He does as he's told without a second thought, ignoring the anxious confusion that continues to cling onto him as stood to attention, hands poised behind his back. Did she have another mission for him? Had he messed up one of his recent ones?  But… if that's so… then why is he here now? Couldn't she have summoned him after she had finished talking with Lyney and Lynette?

"I'm sure you both know why you're here," Father addresses the twins, voice sharp and clear, "With the coming of both of your eighteenth birthdays, I am obliged to inform you that it is common standard for the Fatui to employ registration of all Hearth residents who reach legal age. Your inscription to the Fatui has already been pre-filed and approved, meaning that you will now officially be serving under the cause of her Majesty as of this very day. You understand this, correct? No objections?"

"No Father," the twins talk in unison, their posture straightened and rigid even while they sit.

"Good," She nods in acknowledgement, before turning to open a drawer, picking out a fairly thick looking folder and placing it on top of her desk. 

"Typically, Hearth members aren't given options as to what sectors they'll be sent off to. Some are sent to Snezhnaya Fatui boot camps for further training, while others are sent elsewhere under the request of another harbinger for more manpower. Generally, it is up to me to approve any applications other higher ups request, a decision that I always take great care in considering. I focus on where a child's strengths and weaknesses may lie, and I send them on their way appropriately."

"You should know-" she starts, inclining forward, "That a few higher ups were interested in taking you for themselves. Natural born vision holders are a rarity in the Fatui, and seeing as delusions always carry life-shortening risks to them, they are always highly sought after. Your visions are guaranteed to give you a natural edge in battle, subsequently guaranteeing a comfortable living wage should you desire it. The work would be grueling and dirty, and neither of your safeties' could be guaranteed. That is the very nature of the Fatui."

Silence strikes through the room, oppressive and weighing heavy in the air. From where he stood, Freminet could see the rigid lines of the twin's tense jaws.

"However, I rejected each and every single one of their offers." she informs them curtly, voice betraying nothing as she extends a file towards the siblings. Lyney takes it, hands shaking a small bit. 

"I stated," she said simply, "-that you two were to be kept a package deal, and that your work ethic always works best when you remain united together. Many could not reconcile with those requirements, seeing as they were only seeking out singular spots due to varying reasons. Eventually, I grew bored of their attempts at haggling, and I decided that another course of action was required to be taken. I'm sure you'll find it amendable." She gestures towards the large thick folder, clearly gesturing for the boy to open it. Lyney does, scanning the beginning pages of countless packets. 

"In here you'll find all your legal identification and required files for transportation and control over a dwelling," she continues, light glinting off her pitch-black nails, "-You'll be serving as my newest personal Operatives, focused on reconnaissance missions and dwelling amongst the heart of Fontaine as one of their own. You'll play your parts in broad daylight, live the lives of ignorant civilians while working in the shadows. Your main mission will be long-term and will require the upmost secrecy regarding your true identities... though, I doubt hiding such a thing won't be all too difficult for actors such as yourselves."

At Father's words, Freminet barely holds back letting out a sigh of relief. They'll be staying domestic. That's good. More than good. He obviously can't know all the details of their mission, but it sounds like it's generally low-risk and low-combat fueled. And reconnaissance? The twins obviously excel at it. Guess Father really wasn't lying when she said she considers all of a resident's strengths when making decisions.

But that still doesn't answer why he's still here to hear all this. Shouldn't this be coveted information? It's not like he's gonna tell this to anyone even if they asked, but wouldn't saying it all in front of him be a huge privacy risk?

"Can you accept the terms of this assignment? We won't have any issues with the information I've laid out, will we?" she asks, sounding less amendable and more like the scolding backhand of a mother. Like she was daring them to bite back at her. 

"No Father," both Lyney and Lynette reply, the latter now handed the folder to take a gander at the files. They seem like they're sharing the same ease Freminet felt earlier, their figures no longer tense and uneasy with boundless anxiety.

"Very well," Father nodded, finding the answer acceptable. "I'll expect you both to read those files in full by the end of the day. Tomorrow, a carriage will be called around four in the morning to escort you to your new residence. Make sure to be up and ready by then. Once you get to the Court of Fontaine, the coachman will give you a paper with the directions of your new residence. Do I have to repeat myself?"

"No Father," they said.

"Good," she says, untwining her fingers as she backs away from leaning over the desk. "-Then there is just one thing left to cover."

She reaches down an unlocks what sounds like a lower cabinet, closing it before returning to her full stature. She places a thin manilla folder on her desk, a comparatively smaller cluster of papers already filed inside it than the one already in the twin's possession. There's a peculiar red ribbon bow taped onto its corner, bright light reflecting off its shiny surface. It's one you would expect to find taped on top of a gift.

"Open it," Father orders, voice steely and sharp as it always is. Lyney doesn't waste another moment, not questioning the direct order as he took the folder and opened it.

For a moment, the office is silent as Lyney reads on, the only sound present being the faint turning of pages. Lyney's face flickers between emotions, first sporting a neutral passive look, then one of furrowed brows and confusion, then finally going disbelievingly wide-eyed, openly balking at the parchment in front of him. He pushes it towards Lynette, inclining it in a way so she could see it too. Her face goes through the same changes that her brothers went through, if just a bit more reserved.

"You should know" Father informs, unperturbed, "- that this is not a privilege. This is an investment. I expect your results to show it. Your mission relies on blending in, and by having an additional role in your familial unit, it'll only serve to establish those ties further. From what I've come to analyze, I theorized that this arrangement would influence all parties positively, on part pf both productivity and assimilating. Of course, theories can always be wrong."

She hums, tilting her head, "For your sakes, I request that you don't try to prove me wrong."

With that, she leans back fully against her ornate chair, picking her quill back up as she dipped it in ink, "You three are dismissed. Make sure to bring everyone included up to date."

Freminet blinked once, then twice. 'Wait, all three of us? Is she not gonna address me now? Why was I even asked to come here in the first place?'

He has no time to ponder over his thoughts, joining the twin's sides as they lift themselves from their seats. He does not dare to look at them as they walk out, tampering his growing confusion as they usher themselves back out from where they came from. As the heavy door falls shut behind them, Freminet untenses and releases a sigh of relief, at least thankful Father's odd silence on his part wasn't her ire instead. Anything's better than that.

They trot a bit further down the hall, away from Father's door as if scared she'd be listening in even now. Before he can even begin to probe them on what the papers said once enough distance was established, a sudden force all but pummels into his chest, making Freminet wheeze hoarsely as air escapes his lungs. Arms squeeze around his chest, not only picking him up off his feet but swinging him from side to side excitedly.

"Thank you," Lyney cries, voice wobbly and unusually tearful. He sways the younger boy around like a toy, "Thank you thank you thankyou thankyou -"

Freminet balks in shock, hair frazzled and wild from the sudden musings, trying with all his might to peel himself from the boy's octopus-like hold. He feels like a ragdoll in a child's hold, helpless to their flinging.

"Lyney-! What was-" Freminet struggles, scrambling for purchase so he doesn't end up slipping from his hold, "-What -Stop swinging me around! -What's wrong?!"

Why is he acting so strange? Why's he thanking me of all people? Did I do something?

"Lyney stop that. You're freaking him out," Lynette-his saint-comes to his rescue and admonishes her brother, voice soft and dull. Still, he notices her frazzled state, even as she scolds her brother.

Lyney sniffs, finally letting up on his grip and gently placing Freminet back on his feet. The younger boy staggers as he regains his balance, still far too anxious about what just transpired to complain about the older boy's manhandling.

"What was that? " He asks, unable to hide the worry lacing his voice. They didn't seem all that upset, so it must have been some kind of good news. "-You- what did the folder say? Is everything alright?"

"More than alright," Lyney insists, chuckles with a big bright grin. He looks relieved for whatever reason, leaning down as he slid one of his folders from his hold, "-How about you read it for yourself? I promise you'll like it."

Freminet stares at the outstretched manilla folder, eyeing it with an unsure gaze. "Are... are you sure?" he questions, the packets of papers weighing heavily on his hands once he takes it, "I'm- Am I even allowed to open this?"

"You already heard everything that was said in the office just now," Lynette objectively points out, helpful as always. Her disposition seems normal enough, but there's the same light playing over her eyes as her brothers, smiling down at him. "-What's the harm at this point?"

'Oh. I don't know. Father could have my head on a platter, but I guess that's neither here nor there I guess.' he thinks bitterly.

The young diver thins his lips and grimaces in uncertainty, but decides to open the folder nonetheless. The very last thing he was expecting to see upon opening it was a file on himself, a gritty black and white photo of him taken from a kamera pinned onto the top of it. He skims through the cover pages, most of the pages containing general information like his weight and height. It isn't until a fresh new page catches his eye, the paper still warm from where it had been taken from a typewriter.

"The issue following will go into effect immediately," he decides to say aloud, frowning, "Pull court order under the Knave's direction, Trainee Freminet is to be prewritten into a record of legal registries such as but not limited to: hospital visits, identification cards, personal bank accounts, and the rest listed below (See section 5). These files are to be signed of by one Operatives Lyney or... Lynette... and no one else..." 

What? Why is this...

He reads on, clearing his throat shakily as anticipation sets his mind alight. He reads on, a bit faster than before.

"As of this document's finalization, Freminet- '' his voice cracks, hands trembling, "-is -is to formally be referred to as Operatives Lyney and Lynette's biological younger brother during the duration of their mission, living under the legal care of his only remaining family members: his older… older twin siblings."

He tears his gaze away from the paper, feeling small as he looks up to meet his siblings' gazes. They're smiles spread across their face, lips wobbling as they attempted to stifle the emotion surfacing behind their eyes. Freminet could hold in no such emotions, hiccupping breathlessly. For the first time in a long while, his eyes glisten with unshed tears, the emotions he feels too extreme and sudden for him to bottle properly.

He surges forward, all but tackling the older twins as manages to wrap both his arms around each sibling's middle respectively. Lyney and Lynette meet him halfway, turning their embrace into a tangle of limbs and laughs, loud and boisterous now that they had put a good distance between themselves and Father's office. 

'You're not leaving me,' he thinks, the relief he feels unmeasurable, 'You're really not leaving.'

'Thank you. Thank you for letting me keep this much, Thank you thank you thankyou-'

.

.

.

"So. Biological, huh?" Lyney grins widely, playfully slapping the manilla folder against his arm, "-Can't get anymore official than that, can you?"

Freminet's hands tighten against Pers, his heart still thumping against his chest. He doesn't bother to stifle the small smile tugging up his face, wobbly with foreign giddiness.

"Yeah," he nods, voice breathless, " yeah ."

—

Moving out of the Hearth is an unusual experience. 

It takes less than half a day to pack up their belongings, most being their clothes. Apparently, the location they were being stationed at was already decorated and prepared in anticipation for their arrival. Aside from his own mechanical tools and the twins' magic show equipment, they'll be travelling light and only with a few bags. He has a few unfinished projects left in the Mechanical study, but he decides against taking them in consideration to their size and weight.

Some kids from the Mechanical study and the diving team had come to wish him goodbye late the other night, the latter mourning the sudden loss of one of their best divers. They probe and ask questions as to what happened, clearly not having foreseen his premature departure. After all, no child as young as him has been made to leave so early.

They're eventually more-than-forcibly waved off by Lynette, who seemed to have enough with watching them overwhelm Freminet. She asks if he needs any help packing, already having moved most of her stuff out to the hallway. The younger boy thanks her, but ultimately refuses her help. It's not like he's carrying anything heavy, after all. 

Now, freshly woken up by an eager set of twins, he breathes a moment to take it all in.

'I'm leaving,' he tells himself, 'I'm leaving the House and I'm never living here again.'

In all honesty, Freminet had been convinced he'd never get the chance to leave the Hearth. The walls around this place stretched far and wide over him, caging him in a labyrinth full of hunger and melancholy; It felt oppressive and crowded, easy to get lost in when you were so young and little.

Freminet was sure he had been destined to drown in the Hearth's ocean, a victim of it's own manmade natural selection. But, it seemed as if fate had a different plan for him, gifting him two new gentle familiars to get him back on his feet and by their sides. To top it all off, he gets to stay with them now, against all odds. Whether Father truly intended for their arrangement to be purely beneficial to the mission or not, he knows he owes it to her to get this chance. 

The morning is a frigid cold when they exit the Hearth for the last time, billowing gusts of wind weaving through the dark expanse of the late night. Freminet and Lyney take charge in putting their packed suitcases in the carriage, their visions leaving them both less affected by the cold for their respective reasons. Still, they'd rather not stick around and let frostbite creep up on them, quickly ushered into the carriage. Inside, it was cushioned with velvet seats, trapping the heat inside snuggly. Was this the type of transportation Operatives always used?

Once they get settled in, Lyney and Lynette resume a hushed conversation on their end-perhaps too excited on arriving to even consider sleeping-but Freminet finds himself surprised to have no such qualms hindering him. He finds himself perfectly content squished onto the far end of the carriage, Pers bundled against his arms and occupying most of lap space.

The rocking of the wagon is quick to lull him into a light doze, his craned head gently adjusted by someone else's hands to lay on something much warmer and softer. Freminet sighs, snuggling into the heat with a hushed murmur before he resumes his nap.

They reach the Court of Fontaine at around roughly six-thirty in the morning, the sky now a dark gradient blue, most street lights still on and buzzing annoyingly. It certainly isn't Freminet's first time being in the city, but it's the first time he's seen it so barren and empty before. He's lightly shaken awake, grumbling under his breath groggily as he's helped out of the wagon's steep steps. He tries his best to keep his footing, the icy roads slippery under his worn boots.

They manage to get their belongings out without too much fanfare, the ordeal kept quiet along the side of the street. Freminet tries to blink away the sleep from his eyes, shivering as a gust of icy wind gusts right through his thin clothes. Lyney emphatically chats with the polite coachman, probably long having acquired the address for their accommodations by now. How he manages to have so much energy after such a long ride, he has no idea.

After a brief track of three flights of stairs and momentary confusion as to where they were supposed to go, they finally find their designated room and door. It's unassuming and snug in the middle of an apartment complex. The gold plated numbers of the door match the keys they were given, Lyney humming in anticipation as he got it open.

Turns out, their accommodations aren't some hidden underground bunker or Sheznyahan diplomatic building. Father was fully intent on having them pose as the most normal run of the mill civilians in the world, and that so happened to extend to their living accommodations.

An apartment. It's an actual apartment. It's fully furnished and already decorated, the living room and kitchen conjoined into a single large room and a long hallway between it leading down to what looks to be other rooms further down. There's things here that he's only ever read about: a fabric couch, shelves full of old trinkets, a red and white plaid tableclothed dining table barley big enough to fit three chairs.

It's crowded and a bit small. It isn't quite home just yet, but maybe it can be. There's a thick layer of dust from where the word sits in his heart, but he's sure time will bring it back to life. The excitement of their new living courters certainly does an excellent job at distracting him in the mean time.

"Look! The fridge's already full of food!" Freminet gawks, hunched over to get a better look. There was a myriad of fresh groceries splayed out: eggs, parsley, milk, tomatoes, and... an entire uncut loaf of bread? Do people really keep these in their fridges? 

"Looks like we already found Lynette's no-go zone." Lyney's smarmy replay comes behind him, followed by the sound of a smack and then a dramatic yowl of pain.

Freminet snatches what looks to be a brown bottle at the very end of the fridge, frowning as he straightened back to his full height, trying to understand what was on his hand. "There's some juice here... 'Apple Cider: Mondstadt Style'...? Why is it packaged like this-"

"Oh-kay!" he hears Lyney yell, the large bottle all but disappearing as it was snatched from his hands. "-Hands off! None of that now!"

"What!" Freminet cries, at least at the nonexplanation of his actions, "B-but! What even is it-"

"You'll find out when you're older!"

Their own rooms garner equal wonder, Freminet still stuck by his doorway, unsure if he could dare to enter in. Whoever owned or decorated his room beforehand must have been a cartographer of some sort, mounds of maps and books lined all along the walls with shelves and frames. His hands flex into the palms of his hands, already wanting to get his hands on all those sacred book collections. It all looks like an organized mess, one Freminet did not dare invade inside. 

Lyney and Lynette, for the first time of their lives, finally got separate individual rooms, fancy furnishings vaguely resembling the ones back from the Hearth. He can tell that in spite of their excitement, there's a clear whiplash they all experience in the jarring change. And while Freminet may have had a room at some point-small and rickety as it was-that had been an entire lifetime ago at this point. 

The first night they attempt to get settled in, Freminet gets to sleep in his own bed for the first time. The sheets are soft and fluffy, sinking under his weight easily. The blankets are weighted and heavy, shielding him from the cold air while keeping him warm. In spite of being objectively the nicest bed he's ever slept in, Freminet still finds himself tossing and turning around the bed, grimacing at the uncomfortable feeling clinging to him. After about an hour of attempting to fall asleep, he decides he's had enough. He gets up and puts Per's in his place, tucking him in and hoping the penguin will at least enjoy the bed more than him.

He pads into the living room, intent on sleeping on the couch for at least a little. Much to his surprise, it turns out he's not the first one to come up with that idea. He finds the twins huddled in the living room of the apartment, strewn over the couch. Even when the rest of his figure is hidden in pitch-black shadows, he makes out Lyney's wide-awake eyes stare at him, tapetum lucidum eyes reflecting the moonlight's light inhumanly. It's kinda unnerving, but it's not anything he hasn't seen before.

"Having trouble too, huh?" the older boy whispers, "Sorry for not calling you over sooner. Didn't wanna wake you up in case you did fall asleep."

"S' alright," he murmurs, sheepishly scratching at the inside of his wrist, "-is there any space left?"

The reflection of the eyes disappears momentarily, instead replaced by the sound of shifting and shuffling. Freminet quietly pads over, taking the magician's silence as invitation enough. He carefully maneuvers himself onto the corner of the couch, feeling around cautiously before plopping himself down.

Lyney sits splayed in the middle of the couch, having Lynette to his left and Freminet on his right. Lynette's head laid restful over his lap with the rest over her body spread over the couch, while Freminet was curled against the juncture of Lyney's side, knees almost touching his chest as he laid his head on his brother's shoulder. Lyney's left hand lazily hung over the back of the couch, while his right was loosely curled around Freminet's shoulders in a protective hold. Even though the position was awkward, he felt miles safer here than in that lonely bed.

"You sure you're comfortable like that?" Lyney asks, the boy unsure if he was actually looking at him. Unlike Lyney and Lynette, he wasn't born with natural night-vision, so he had no idea what kind of expression the other boy could be making right now.

"Mhm," he hums sleepily, nudging his head further into Lyney's shoulder. His earlier restlessness was all but forgotten, settling as he indulged in the comfortable body heat. "You want me to move?"

"Nah. Course not," he replied factually, "Just worried your legs will be sore by the morning." 

Freminet huffs grumpily, appreciating the boy's concern but too tired to deal with it at such a late hour. "I'm fine," he huffs in a whispers, the urge to sleep finally coming back to him, "M' a tough kid."

Lyney chuckles lightly, leaning to rest his head against Freminet’s blondish hair. The younger boy closes his eyes, enjoying the comforting smell of cinnamon that clung to his older brother. It smelled like home.

"Damn right," he hears Lyney whisper, almost missing it as sleep finally claims him.

—

It turns out, civilian life suits the trio quite well.

They had been chosen to reside in a crowded part of the Court of Fontaine, a busy and packed area located at the Heart of Fontaine. With so many people coming in and out of the city constantly, from tourists to foreign aristocrats, it's hard to keep track of the residents setting themselves among Fontaine. They fit in well enough, and with Lyney almost instantly charming their neighbors and landlords, they were destined to start off their mission on a great note.

Speaking of the mission, the plan to go against a long-standing prophecy is certainly a tall order to fill, and will probably end up being the most convoluted assignment they'll ever have to take on. They have to get started somewhere though, and the twins get a head start into it by doing what they do best: entertaining.

They start offering their services at high-end get togethers; small gigs that were. It was unsurprisingly a popular offer, considering the fact that Fontaine lived and breathed entertainment. Magicians were always on high demand with nobles, especially good ones. Considering Lyney and Lynette were fraternal twins, they already had a clever gimmick that was destined to catch the attention of their audience.

Originally, Freminet did not know what to think of their decision. He knows-objectively-that it's probably their best starting point, both in a brand new career in Fontaine's entertainment business' and in building connections to the noble class of Fontaine. But considering both the twin's... former relationship with hosting entertainment in noble's parties, he can't help but worry the practice will drudge up some unwanted memories. It takes their verbal assurance for his concerns to be put to rest.

"What we're doing now, it's all done in with our own agency." Lynette hums, carefully stirring a spoon in her tea. "No one will ever be able to use us again, Freminet. And if they try as much..."

"...things won't turn out too well for them, to say the least."

Freminet is used to being in his family's shadow. It's hard not to be, when your siblings have always been regarded with so much adoration; their shadows are bound to stretch long and wide. He's fine with that though. He's always hated the spotlight anyways, so he's more than happy his family can bask in it in his stead. To help them when he can is his biggest desire, continuing on supporting their preforming career.

Turns out, his role in 'supporting' them means something different to the twins.

They try to pester him into it-suggestions as a stagehand or assistant brought up more times than he can count-but they ultimately ease off him once he firmly puts his foot down one early morning. He feels a bit bad afterwards, not intending to be so blunt upon seeing their sheepish apologies.

And to some degree, he understands their desires. Taking to performing on a real stage must have been a dream come true for the twins and-well-they simply wanted him to be a part of that, even in a small way. 

Freminet's heart squeezes at the thought, filling with gratitude. Maybe if he had been a bit younger, still unsure of who or what he wanted to be, he would have caved to their persistence. Maybe in some other reality, he's more than happy to settle for an assistant for his sibling's assistant. He's always loved being helpful, so it's not like it's completely impossible to consider.

But there was something about moving into their new apartment that stirred something in him. It was like a heavy ball-and-chain had finally been unlocked and taken off his leg, the new environment far from the Hearth expanding his horizons tenfold.

Freminet walked through the heart of Fontaine-busy and bustling with all manners of life-when he decided he wanted to make something of himself, on his own right.

So, he sets off to get familiar with the diving scene of Fontaine.

One of the very first things he notices is that most divers in Fontaine are actually really old; men with gray beards, stubble, and worn scars becoming common sight. He supposes it shouldn't be so surprising, given the fact that he's never seen a diver outside the Hearth, but it still comes as a shock. It makes him feel a bit out of place, but he knows what he's doing. He's just as qualified to stand besides these men as they are.

His presence is less questioned once he surfaces a few times over, rare ores and materials in his clutch the fruits of his labor. Merchants and Mariners alike begin warming up to commissioning him for trips, the weeks passing with his standing on the scene gradually improving. He doesn't really enjoy the in-person part of those kinds of deals, but he's getting better at handling the conversation

Their new residence is alight with work on all sides, the twins handling their blossoming reputation in Fontaine's performing business and Freminet with his diving expeditions. Lyney even come into possession of a small black cat, the poor thing having been kicked out of one of the banquets Lyney and Lynette had been attending. It had hidden in his hat in fear, refusing to leave and Lyney being too sympathetic to kick her out. She was still just a kitten, no name or family, before quickly finding its way inside the trio's residence. Lyney was still deciding on a name, inclining on writing a letter for Father to request permission for adoption. 

Things are going really smoothly, all around. Even if they have a lot of work to do, they were really starting to get a nice routine in place.

So, of course, something always has to come along.

It was early evening, the sky painted a beautiful pastel blue while the sky was dotted with white clouds. Unfortunately he was the only one here capable of appreciating it, seeing as both of the twins had been sent on a job out in the outskirts of some sleepy seaside town off in the rural areas of Fontaine. Just because they had a bigger, long-term mission now didn't mean they weren't still assigned more common assignments. 

He had to buy a few things as a favor for Lyney and Lynette, their groceries running a bit low now that they've gone through their initial supply. Because of this and his siblings temporary leave, it was up to him to restock some of their basic necessities. It had almost gone without a hitch until it came to the last item on the list: Lynette's tea. The brew was a specific brew of herbs, it's effects specifically picked out by Lynette. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he looked, he could not find it for the life of him. No market stands that sold it or even restaurant boards listed outside.

Vasari Passage was packed with unapproachable people, their dress elegant and finely groomed. Approaching these people and asking about directions for tea felt like he was just asking to get made a fool out of, afraid the noblemen would laugh at his face as if he were a beggar on the street. How embarrassing. 

He felt a bit helpless there, arms hanging heavily with bags of groceries in the middle of the street. Should he keep looking through the market? Ask a merchant hand for directions? Ah, but they all look so busy talking to a bunch of adults...I can't possibly interrupt...

In the midst of his upset, a light at the end of the tunnel appears. There, posted at the street's corner, he spotted a small Melusine strolling along, emphatically waving towards passerby with a genuine grin on her face. She had a white and purple palette, a pink gradient airbrushed against the end of her fur pattern. She look friendly and not busy. Would she be willing to help him?

He decides to test his luck sooner rather than later, hoping she won't suddenly spring into conversation with someone else and miss his chance. He cautiously stops besides the small creature, fidgeting as he tried to get her attention.

"Um, excuse me..." he asks, voice small with nervousness, "Sorry to bother but... I'm a bit lost..."

Almost as soon as she had turned towards him, the small creature practically lit up like a firework. It's like her entire face brightened at just the sight of him. Now that he was closer, he could make out the words 'Menthe' scrawled on her nametag.

"Hello!" she chirped out rather loudly, before swaying sheepishly, "Ah! Sorry for yelling! I got excited haha. Is there anyway I can help you, esteemed familiar?"

Familiar? That's a bit strange, but his confusion is easily forgotten in favor of relief at the prospect of having his plight solved. All she has to do is give me directions to a store and I'll be on my way.

He smiles sheepishly, "I'm sorry but... do you know somewhere I can get a specific kind of tea?"

The Melusine pauses, tilting her head as her hair swayed over her eyes, "Tea? Like... as in an afternoon teatime?" she asked hesitantly.

Well, that's one way to put it, he supposed. Did Lynette drink tea only at a certain time? He's not too sure. "I think so," he decides to say.

"Oh, okay okay!" the Melusine declares happily, understanding dawning on her face as she bobbed her head up and down, "Yes yes, I'll get things set up right away! I understand! I understand!"

The Melusine exclaims happily, curiously tilting her head up at him, "Would you like me to inform Monsieur Neuvillette of the visit? Or would you rather it be a surprise?"

Freminet pauses, hands suddenly freezing up from where he has them outstretched. He catches himself before he can go wide-eyed.

Monsieur Neuvillette? As in… the Cheif Justice? The leader of the Marechaussee Phantom? Iudex and justice-keeper of Fontaine? 

The one that would surely imprison him, Lyney, and Lynette should he find out that they really were? That Monsieur Neuvillette?

There's no way. Does she know who I am? Is this a threat?? Is the Hearth compromised because of me??

"What?" he says, almost unwillingly. The words fall out of his mouth before he can even process it.

"Yeah! Teatime is what you want, right?" She tilts her head, still ignorant to his confusion, "He has them all the time with Miss Sigewinne, but hers are always scheduled. Would you like me to do that for you too? You are his friend, after all."

??? What does that even mean?? 

Is she messing with me? This... this can't possibly be it. Not even three months out of the orphanage and he already sniffed out. How does she even know? He couldn't possibly have given anything away, could he?

"I'm sorry I… think you have the wrong person," he excuses awkwardly, eyes flitting around the street uneasily. Could I make a run for it? I'm not sure if she knows my name, so she might not be able to track me down. 

Oh gods, am I gonna have to kill her? I- I can't do that ! She's just a Melusine for God's sake-!

But the Melusine all but grins, swaying in place adorably as she singsonged. " No-pe! I can sense a friend of Monsieur Neuvillette anywhere! Like Monsieur Wriothesley or Madam Sigewinne! Are you friends with them too?"

Freminet's brain short-circuits, balking at the small creature in front of him. "...you can…sense…?"

"Oh! I forgot humans can't see them!" She grins merrily, straightening back up a bit. She pointed a soft paw-like hand straight at him. "-It's his blessings! You're practically swimming in them! You might even have even more than Monsieur Wriothesley, and he has a lot ." She laughs cheekily, as if talking about something she shouldn't be.

…

Freminet stares at her.

Ah. Okay. 

This Melusine is deluded. Or maybe all those nosebleeds have finally made him hallucinate from blood loss. 

Either way, uneasy relief makes his muscles temporarily untense, certain that the small critter didn't mysteriously know of his true affiliation. The desire to leave doesn't wane though, and he decides to find an out from this conversation as quickly as he can.

"I have to go," he declares simply. The Melusine tilts her head, smile falling into a confused pout.

"Oh? You won't be stopping by?" She questions, "Are you busy? I can just pass on a greeting if you'd like-"

"No," he insists, his tone harsher than he intended. He inhales steadily, backing up  a step to recompose himself, "No- no, I'm- that won't be necessary. Thank you though."

"Oh, alright." She concedes, "Have a good day-!" She yells out after Freminet, the boy already having started walking away. He tries his absolute hardest not to break out into a sprint, anxious now of the possible eyes on him.

Once the street corner is out of sight, Freminet all but breaks out into a sprint, weaving past the crowds of people and finely dressed men and women with a racing heart. Some stumble away from him, hollering unsavory things as he almost crashes multiple times. He doesn't pay attention to them.

Freminet makes it to the apartment, closing and locking the door behind him. He's breathless, leaning his full body against the door as he catches his breath, willing his hands to stop trembling. The apartment lights remain off, leaving the small home only lit by sunlight filtering through half-drawn curtains. Like this, the apartment felt dead and still, his meltdown visible to no one in the barren place.

For once, he's thankful the twins are off on another assignment, as it means the only one privy to his crumbling state being a small concerned Rosseland. She'd come trotting over from Lyney's room-likely having heard the racket he caused coming inside, weaving between his legs as she meowed incessantly. How horrible, that he's managed to burden an entire animal with his concerning behavior. He'd reach down and pet her to ease her worries if he didn't feel rooted to where he was.

To absolutely no one's surprise, he feels a trickle of warmth drip from his nose, recognizing the familiar feeling of a nosebleed. Maybe overexerting himself running here is what triggered it, or maybe it was just his stupid weak body simply wanting to inconvenience him. Not like it's ever managed to accomplish anything else.

He sighs harshly in frustration, hands still shaking as he more than forcefully peels them from the handle. He covers his nose with one hand, going out to search for a handkerchief as Rosseland clings to his feet.

Looks like he'll have to apologize to Lynette for not getting her tea.

—

Time passes since the strange encounter, and Freminet is-surprisingly-able to move on with minimal issue. Mostly because he's convinced himself it legitimately did not happen. That, or that poor little Melusine simply mistook him for someone else. After a myriad of long hours spent contemplating all the possibilities and consequences of his encounter, his cunning mind grasping at straws for a possible solution to this mess, and his former assessment was the only one that made sense. Case closed.

Besides, languishing away over the possibilities did nothing but leave him strained and hopelessly paranoid. His uneasy behavior also elicits some moderate concern from Lyney and Lynette, and he's not really looking for a reason to tell them what happened either. They all have enough on their plates already; his insane interaction shouldn't unnecessarily stir things over.

Time passes and, fortunately, nothing happens. 

Life goes on, and Freminet is more than happy to fall into the familiar rhythms they've established. He wakes up one bleary morning, his schedule finally clear after a busy week running errands. He decides to celebrate by making a proper breakfast platter, even when getting out of bed proves to be more of a struggle than he predicted. His lightheadedness ebbs away a small bit when he manages to get to the kitchen, the bright sunlight pouring in from the room's large window. Freminet's the first one up, as he tends to be.

He props open a cookbook on the cupboard, one he had long fished out from the library-selection bookshelf the apartment had come with. He's not that good of a cook yet, but he's trying to learn for the sake of practical skill. It also feels nice, providing this small thing for his older siblings. He knows it couldn't possibly compare to what they've already given him, but he still finds himself pleased anyways.

'Should he make something sweet? Savory maybe? We might not have milk now that I'm thinking about it...' He scratched himself idly over his loose pajamas, humming to himself. He thinks little over it, deciding on a simple dish before getting to work. He gets to work, and almost completely finishes an hour later when he decides to feed their newest tenant.

"C'mere Rosseland," he murmurs, crouching down with a groan as he opens a cabinet and fishes a can of cat food out of the cupboard. 

The black cat begs in a chorus of meows, standing on her hind legs against his as she all but yowls. She's a lot like her owner: endlessly persistent at annoying you and talkative to a fault. Her and Lyney were basically destined to be partners in crime at this point. How she managed to sneak out of Lyney's room to badger him for food, he'll never know.

The mechanical can opener finally finishes with a ping, Freminet carefully sliding it from the machine. He idly fishes through the fridge and finds an unpeeled hard boiled egg, mincing it before mixing it into the wet cat food. Rosseland cries loudly, basically sitting on his feet restlessly. 

"Be patient," he scolds lightly, setting the spoon down as he wipes his hands. Trying not to stumble over himself, he walks across the small kitchen as Rosseland weaves between his legs, butting her small head while emitting loud purrs. 

She immediately starts eating as soon as he pours it into her bowl, munching away without a care in the world as he watches on.

"Slow down." He murmurs, running a hand over the small of her back. Eating too fast will give anyone a stomach ache; a fact he knows too well. She obviously doesn't listen to him, instead purring happily at the attention and food. 

Maybe I should finally work on Per's upgrades once I finish up here. My schedule's completely open, so maybe I can even start planning for lunch too. Is it too late for that though? Would this be considered brunch-?

"...Ah. Now I know why she's your favorite," a voice behind him muses, barefoot footsteps padding against the sandalwood kitchen. He hears a sleepy yawn behind him, along with some shuffling. "-You spoil her rotten, giving her human food like that. Can she even eat that?"

" Yes ," Freminet murmurs, scowling lightly at the boy's words. It's too early for this. "-Eggs are full of protein, and eggshells are pure calcium. If it really was human food, then maybe I should have given it to you instead."

Outside of the jab, would that be viable? Lyney may appear all human, but he is just as genetically part-cat as Lynette is, considering they're twins. Would it taste good to him?

"Hmm, that'd be mean. Especially after you went through all the trouble of making us an actual meal," he yawns, sleep still clinging to his voice as he approaches Freminet's crouched figure. The younger boy feels a hand thread through his blondish hair, fondly musing it in leeway of greeting. 

"On that note, it smells great in here!" Lyney steps away, curiously investigating the organized mess the kitchen was in. "-What are you making?"

Freminet shrugs, placing his hands on his knees as he attempts to get up. "Just Croque Madames. There's some Bulle Fruit on the table too if you want some-"

One moment he's grunting with the effort to get back to his feet, the next his vision goes completely white. The flash of light starts to fade and he finds himself latched onto the side of the counter, gripping it with the effort to keep himself upright as his legs wobble. The sudden white that had flashed through his vision recedes, allowing him to blink wearily as spots of clarity return to him. The headache-inducing ringing that had assaulted his ears recedes to a dull throb, still clinging to his ears as he gains his bearings. 

'Oh wow,' he thinks, blinking stupidly, 'Is this a dizzy spell?' He feels like he's gonna throw up.

"-Mmmm, sounds delicious," Lyney happily purrs, oblivious to his plight. He sounds clearer, seeming to have perked up with all the talk of food, "-Ah, my favorite little brother Freminet, on his way to becoming Fontaine's next big culinary master. Maybe we can combine efforts, make a whole 'dine and watch' theatre space just for us. It'll get so big, we'll be the one's inviting snooty rich people to watch us! How's it sound?"

"Sounds lucrative," Freminet murmurs, swaying in place as he attempted to blink away the remains of the white spots in his vision. "We're out of eggs, by the way. An' milk." 

Lyney hums in acknowledgement, back still facing him as he was arms-deep in the fridge. "Me and Lynette plan on visiting Chioriya Boutique to pick up our tailored performance uniforms after breakfast. We can pick up some groceries on the way back, if that's fine with you."

"S' alright," his voice slurred a bit, idly licking his lips as he wondered aloud, "Is she... even gonna wake up that early... on her own?"

Lynette was notorious for always sleeping in, her record sixteen-hour nap completely unbeatable to any normal person. Cat genes were apparently a powerful thing, and Lynette's made her nap through fire alarms. 

"Eh. Who knows," Lyney shrugs, a cheeky sort of grin audible from his voice alone, "-but if she doesn't, then I can always just dump an ice bucket on her. That's always an option."

"She won't like that," he informs him with a hum, not bothering to get upset over the suggestion. At this point, Freminet's wise enough to know he shouldn't mess with fate. Karma will probably do it for him.

Instead, he finds himself finishing up cooking, putting away half-full packets of ham and cheese back in their fridge, praying the swaying in his figure goes away sooner rather than later. Once he's done with that, he helps Lyney finish setting their small table, the sound of plates and forks clinking against one another coming in and out of his ears as the annoying ringing in his ear persists. He ignores it, simply hoping that it'll go away fully once he sits down and eats a proper meal. 

He eventually notices Lynette's presence at the end of the hallway, slinking into the bathroom with a hunched sleepy figure and long loose hair, undone from her usual romantic tuck. She looks grumpily grouchy, as she always does when she's roused from a peaceful nap.

Should he already start serving her? Would she appreciate that, or would she rather portion her own plate? He thinks it'd be polite if he served her, but its easier said than done considering the building pressure behind his eyes. 

'Maybe I should go lay down again after I finish eating,' he ponders idly, sinking into the easy mechanical rhythms of slicing Bulle fruit slices. It's strange, how it only feels like he's getting worse as time goes along. Nothing particularly hurts anywhere, so it's probably not that concerning, but maybe he should-

"-m…et…minet…Freminet!" a voice calls, barley registering the noise until it was right up against him. The blonde boy all but jumps at the sudden presence, startled to find his brother suddenly at his side.

"Oh," he chokes out, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Freminet sets the large knife in his hands to the side, momentarily pausing. His voice sounded strange, distant, almost muffled to his own ears, "...sorry, I didn't hear you."

Lyney tilts his head feigning a pout, before breaking out into a big charming smile, like he had been amused by Freminet's words. "Me and…ynette…ask…" he continued, mouth moving on its own as his words became muffled, "...know you…but…with us?"

Freminet blinked owlishly, not even bothering to hide the bewildered look on his face. Did he hear that right? 

"I'm…" Freminet just furrows his brows in confusion, sending the older boy a puzzled look, "...what did you say?" 

At that, the older boy's expression finally drops in cheer, a more confused frown melting into its place. He thins his lips thoughtfully before opening his mouth to talk again, purposefully trying to exaggerate his lip movements for him to read. That, or he was just talking louder.

Still, nothing. If anything, it sounded even worse, not being able to have a vague idea of what he said. Only a muffled sort of sound reached his ears, too jumbled and distorted for him to make out. Freminet shook his head, still unable to decipher exactly what the magician was saying.

Lyney sat stumpt for a moment, looking just as equally confused as Freminet felt. Before he could say anything else, Lyney reached a gloved hand forward and combed the side of Freminet's hair out of the way, tilting his head as if he intending to inspect his ears. 

Freminet-not at all too happy with the sudden contact-was about to bat his hand away when a wide-eyed, alarmed look suddenly crossed the older boy's features. Before Freminet even has the chance to say anything, Lyney's other hand shoots out to grab his chin, forcefully tilting his head to the other side so he could see the state of his other ear.

Whatever he finds must be of equal alarm, because he sees him glancing over his shoulder and yelling something inscrutable. Not even a few seconds later, he sees Lynette all but crash into the kitchen, still clad in her pj's and hair still undone and pooling around her shoulders. She's quick to join her brother's side, cat-like eyes flitting around his face in an effort to analyze what was going on. 

He's gotten used to Lyney's penmanship for close physical contact over the years, usually not minding so much when he decides to poke and prod at him. However, the combined pestering presence of Lyney and Lynette has him a bit overwhelmed. He leans away from their touches, nose scrunched in distaste, still confused as to why they're suddenly acting so panicked.

"M' fine," he tries to placate, in spite of his voice muffled to his own ears. Sure, he feels light-headed and like he's about to throw up, but that's it. Nothing hurts anywhere-no sores, no bumps, no bruises-what could possibly be wrong? 

The twins-obviously-must not believe his half slurred words, continuing to flit about and talk rapidly to one another. Whatever words they share don't reach his ears, their rapid conversation lost under the muffle of water.

Ultimately, Lynette scampers off to get something while Lyney gently takes his arm, forcibly guiding him towards the kitchen sink. Freminet's head swims as he moves, ringing suddenly pulsing against his ears as he catches himself stumbling. Lyney secures his grip around his arm better, his sleeve wrinkling under the tight pull as he pulls him back on his feet.

Once he reaches the sink, a large hand gently guides his head down, moving to then pull his hair back in a small ponytail. His ears pulsed with something warm, and as Freminet tries to pull back and stand back up straight, he's pushed right back down and urged to keep still. He would have huffed in annoyance if he wasn't feeling so utterly wrecked and nauseous. Facing down like this, it makes it feel like his eyes are gonna fall out of his head along with his brain, the pressure in his head mounting by a painful degree.

What in the world is going on? 

It wasn't until a small dark red drop splattered against the sink-innocuous and unassuming-did he register the warm trickle of liquid coming down both sides of his face. Freminet raised a shaky hand to it, feeling the liquid smear and bringing it back down to his line of sight.

There, on the pads of his fingers, was a smear of saturated red, a metallic smell suddenly overwhelming his senses.

Oh.

Oh crap.

Without any given warning, a sudden spout of weakness crashes into him like a bulldozer, the world around him shifting precariously. Another flash of white violently blinds him, the world blurring around it's edges. More drops of blood join the ones at the bottom of the sink, developing as a few drops rapidly turn into a turbulent trickle. 

Freminet feels his knees buckle underneath him, struggling to hold his weight, his hands fumbling to grip and cling onto the edge of the sink in an effort not to fall over. He feels Lyney struggle to keep him on his feet, readjusting his grip as he now had to handle most of Freminet's weight. Freminet picks up in what sounds like a chorus of back and forth yells, the sound tampering off as the ringing becomes unbearable.

Another wave of lightness hits him, and this time, he doesn't have the energy to stay awake. His eyelids spasm then flutter shut, darkness swallowing his vision.

.

.

.

"Alright, can you open your mouth for me?"

Freminet grimaces, uncomfortable with the man's continued prodding. The hospital gown's material brushes uncomfortably against his sensitive pale skin, resisting the urge to take it off, seeing as he was wearing nothing aside from some stripped socks under it. The room was small and a bit cramped, the overhead fixture buzzing annoyingly in the stuffy air.

The only kind of doctor he'd even been to was the occasional checkups done by the Hearth's staff, weighing and measuring his growth along with yearly shots (an unfortunate occasion that made him scared of doctors).

Despite his discomfort, he does as he's told, staying as still as possible as he feels a wooden stick lay flat on his tongue. The young doctor inspects it closely, the medical bed paper crinkling noisily as Freminet shifts.

"The back of your throat looks irritated," he informs him curtly, backing up a step, "Do you ever have trouble swallowing? Talking maybe?"

"Sometimes," Freminet admits, but he figured it was probably more of an anxiety thing. Had his anxiety saved him from some uncomfortable sore throats? Maybe his damned nervousness finally served did something good for him for once...

"-With all due respect sir," Lyney cuts in suddenly from where he sat, sounding like he was trying to keep his tone polite but failing as his impatience bled through, "I don't see how a sore throat could at all be related to what happened to Freminet. He bled from his ears, not his mouth."

Freminet would have scolded Lyney for being unnecessarily rude, but he knows his brother's just worried for him. At this point, it would have been an entire two weeks since the incident in the kitchen, one that left him tired and frail. He had basically become bedridden for two days following the immediate incident, his siblings too worried to trust him into not passing out again and hounding him to his room. 

Aside from that, setting up a meeting with a Fatui doctor was a bit more complicated than it looked, and after such a long wait time, he's sure Lyney's patience has worn thin by now. Both magicians look impatient, Lynette fidgeting with worry while Lyney's brewing irritation rears its head. The most that they wanted now were answers, that's it.

Of course, things aren't as simple as that. "You'd be surprised how many diseases are interconnected. It's vital we explore all avenues in case we may miss anything. I'd say especially so in Agent Freminet's case, seeing as his young age may make him more vulnerable to a larger catalogue of diseases. How old are you now?"

"Fifteen..." He says softly, answering his questions as the man hummed. He reached over wordlessly, inspecting his fingers and nails for any strange oddities.

"What are these?" The man asks, tugging up the hospital gown sleeve to reveal the pale expanse of his arm. There, threadlike red marks line the inside of his wrist.

"Bad skin," Freminet replies simply, uncomfortable with the man's hands around his wrist. He wants to shake him off. "I got it from my Maman." 

"Does it ever hurt?"

Freminet shrugs, "Sometimes. Not a lot but… whenever it gets cold out, it feels itchy. I cover it with bandages around the winter months."

"Is it anywhere else on your body?"

Freminet furrows his brows, grimacing, "Uh, I- I'm not sure. I don't think so."

The doctor hums, the friendly tilt in his voice dropping a bit. "I'm sorry, but you don't sound too sure," he tugs up his cloves, the latex snapping a bit, "-Would you mind if I inspected your body in a physical exam? It'll be quick, I can assure you."

His eyes widen, hands trembling from where they clutched the bottom of his gown. Something drops to his stomach at the prospect, coiling with dread. "Um. N-no thank you, sir." The place's sterilized smell was starting to give him a headache, the insistent probing not helping his mind settle at all. He feels uncomfortable, and all he wants to do is get Pers and dive away from this mess-

"Would you like your siblings to leave?" the man asks gently, tilting his head, "It won't take long, I can promise you that-"

"He said no." a voice cuts off, assertive and sharp. Lynette's tone sounded composed and polite, but he could sense the way it carried an undercurrent of danger. A warning of sorts.

The doctor, well-trained as he is, sees the threat for what it is and backs up, but not without letting out a long sigh. "Very well," he sighs, finally releasing his hold around his arm, Freminet cradling his arm against his chest. "We don't have to do anything you don't desire to do. I simply wanted to confirm it for myself. But if I must go off of young Freminet's judgement, then I'll trust it."

He turns back to him, "Past that, I want to run a genetic test on you, Freminet. The standard process to do that requires a blood sampling." He admits, opening a cabinet and fishing around in it, "-However, I'm not quite comfortable taking your blood when you are in a possibly precarious state, so I'd like to explore alternatives if that is fine with you."

Possibly precarious state? That sounds… ominous. "What alternatives? Are they… shots?" He gulps, already imagining the worst. Needles and Freminet? They got along like oil and water.

"Oh no," the young man chuckles, shaking his head in amusement, "-Just a hair or skin sample. Nothing invasive, I can assure you. After that and some basic prescriptions, you'll be on your way. I'll schedule another meeting once results come back from a lab-"

"-wait, so that's it? " Lyney pipes up suddenly, leaning forward on the waiting chair he had been placed in. He sounds astonished, cocking his head in clear disbelief. "You can't tell us anything? Not even a single thing?! What if what happened to Freminet happens again? What if it happens while neither of us are around or- or while he's out on a mission-"

"I know it's a difficult time right now, Agent Lyney," the doctor sympathizes, tone assured as he cuts off his stream of words, "-but I can assure you, I am here to do the most that I can for your wellbeing. Right now, I need more concrete answers before we proceed with additional medications. Who knows? Maybe the results will come back stating that nothing is wrong and your earlier accident was nothing more than that."

"And... and you're sure of that?" Lynette questions earnestly, truly wanting to believe his words.

"Well, I can't say anything for a fact at this point. Like I said, more testing will be required for that. Should this be a simple auditory injury, then there shouldn't be much of an issue." The doctor held Freminet's chin and tilted it, humming curiously as the peculiar opera mask stared back at the young boy. "Though if it's anything else... it'll have to be delt with in due time."

"As for the loss of consciousness… we can likely safely guess it's a result of some sort of anemia. For that, I suggest you start taking iron supplements along with three square meals a day." The man walks across the small room and crouches on one knee to open a medical cabinet, fishing around until he finds a small zip-lock bag, "-You can have these to get you started. Proceed with caution, however. Taking too all at once many can cause damage to your organs, so be careful."

Freminet nods shyly, taking that bag from the man's extended reach. A handful of reddish-tan circular pills pooled at the bottom of the bag, unassuming and tiny. These are actually supposed to make me feel better?

The meeting ends not long after that, Lyney and the doctor exchanging a few papers and Freminet providing the proposed hair sample before promptly being ushered out of the man's office. It stands to look like a standard clinic on the outside, located in an underground flooring to an actual hospital. As soon as they make it out of that stuffy place, Freminet takes a deep breath in and wishes to have to never go back in there. 

In conclusion, Freminet…really doesn't know what to feel, aside from relief now that he is back in his normal clothes. He clutched Pers against his chest, the clockwork's weight easing his unsettled nerves. Lynette has this pensive expression permanently glued on her face while Lyney stews in his own mind, a distant irritated look marrying his face as he reads over the files he was given.

The aquabus ride drags on, and its passengers remain quiet, no one feeling like breaking the silence. Freminet tilts his head and lays it against the seat cushion, staring off into the passing clouds with an uneasy feeling coiling around his stomach.

—

It takes time for things to settle down after that.

Fresh out of the doctor's appointment with no clear answers, the twins are left in a clear state of unease and discomfort. Even when he takes the supplements and properly eats three meals a day-an objective improvement from his former two or one-they still badger him with concerns and worry. It was nice of them, really, but Freminet was really starting to get a little fed up with their motherly hen behavior. Aside from the standard nosebleeds, nothing bad had happened to him since his ear incident, which felt like a long while ago at this point. It took Lyney having a heart to heart with him after dinner one night, while they were cleaning dishes, for him to really understand the depth of his brother's current feelings.

"I dunno. You just went completely limp and I..." Lyney trails off, eyes faraway and unfocused as he recounts the moment. His shoulders sag, as if the memory itself weighs heavily on him, "-I didn't know what to do. Made me feel real helpless, y'know? You were right there, in my arms, and I... I couldn't do anything." he admits, voice thick. 

It had weighed heavily on his heart for a bit, realizing the kind of effect that lazy morning had had on his older brother. For a man who always walks around with a pep in his step-infallible in both mood and presentation-there was something deeply humanizing about seeing that kind of emotional turmoil within him. It ended up making him feel a bit guilty, for both dismissing his fussiness and finicky behavior and for being the reason his brother was so upset in the first place.

It's all his fault.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry dear. I could not give you a good body, a good home. You and I are both so weak, so frail against this cruel world."  

Freminet shivered, almost dropping the plate he was holding. Their conversation continues, the younger boy wishing to forget ever remembering that haunting phrase.

Once it's clear that he isn't gonna fall over and pass out again without warning, the twins and himself cautiously move on to other things. It's easier than expected too, seeing as the excitement of their respective developing lives play out.

The twins are finally getting consistent private gigs, building more and more connections to the entertainment industry of Fontaine. The Steambird even runs an article segment on them, which had been the catalyst of celebration consisting of store-bought cake and drinking on the twins' parts. They're really blossoming out there-as he knew they would-and Freminet couldn't be any less proud.

Along those lines, Freminet himself has been experiencing some career developments. A toy salesman had noticed him on the way to the coastline, physically blocking his path with sparkles in his eyes. He said he was a mechanic from a place called Leschot's workshop, and that he was curious about Pers and where he got them from.

When Freminet had shyly admitted that he himself had created and made Pers, the man had immediately proposed the sale of Pers' blueprints for 'any amount you can name' . When Freminet had obviously been a bit off put and overwhelmed with the sudden proposition, the man had finally backed up and instead given him his business card, asking him to decide and contact him later.

"Call me," he had insisted, polite and posh as he fixed his glasses, "You really do have a talent, young sir. I'm sure many Fontainian children out there would be brought joy by your clockwork toys."

And Freminet… did not know what to do. Pers not only meant a lot to him on a sentimental level, but he's special on an objective basis because he's the only one of his kind of clockwork out there. Pers had been created as a result of his and his Maman's collaborative tinkering-a time of joy and domestic bonding-a small fragment of her memory that's managed to live on to this day. 

There's no copies of him out there, no lookalikes or other toys that could ever replace him.

The twins' had naturally encouraged him to take the deal once he had informed them of it, congratulating him on the brand new opportunity to pursue another avenue they knew he loved. They were natural-born entrepreneurs, and they informed him that the selling of a blueprint like that would mean that a small portion of all the shares would always go back to him. 

A continuous paycheck. A proverbial win-win. 

And yet, Freminet still hesitates. It feels like a moral dilemma, one that probably seemed irrational and moronic to anyone else looking in. It's a good opportunity, a great one even, so why is he being so reluctant?

He considers writing to Father for advice for a small split-second, before deciding that's just about the stupidest, most brazen thing he's ever thought. Maybe the Hydro Dragon? He's fairly hit or miss with emotionally-driven dilemmas, but his advice always makes him feel a bit more at ease. 

'Maybe I just need a small break from this. From the decisions and... 'possibly precarious state's, even for a second.'

Freminet decides the best course of action is to have a change of scenery for a bit, sneaking out the apartment's front door late into the night. The city's streets are desolate and barren, most people have gone home by now. Only the distant barking of a dog and his own light footsteps accompany him now.

Eventually, he makes it to the coastline's edge, the rolling waves partially lit up by the bay's streetlights. Originally, he had debated going diving for a bit, but it seems like the ocean looks a little too unstable right now. 

Besides, it's late anyways. If he showed back up to the apartment soaked and waterlogged, the twins would certainly scold him to hell and back. Just because nothing bad has happened to him again doesn't mean he's out of the woods yet, after all.

He decides to just hang over the coastline's railing, the sound of waves crashing against the edge of the land pairing with the howling salty winds of the night. The sound of the ocean's melody calls to him gently, its unique chorus lulling his nerves like a mother's hand.

Now, he feels no worries or potential decisions to be made clouding his mind. For the first time in weeks, he finds himself completely at peace.

So much so he doesn't realize he has company until a new presence stands beside him.

"A little late to be up and about, don't you think?" A voice behind him suddenly asks, curious and not at all threatening. It sounds deep and regal, almost familiar in a strange way. For whatever reason, Freminet does not feel unease, not even a little. Perhaps the view has enraptured him so much that it finally settled that nervousness always brewing underneath his skin.

"Maybe," Freminet shrugs against the railing, not even bothering to look away from the darkened ocean. "I just wanted to clear my head."

The voice hums, falling silent for a moment. The silence stretches out between the two of them, content to simply watch the dark rolling waves of the water. It looks ethereal, the brine receding into the abyss of the unlit night.

"It really is a nice view, even in the dark," the voice claims. "I find it a shame that many citizens cannot appreciate the lakeside view at this time of day. There's a certain beauty in the darkness of the ocean, when all else goes to sleep."

Freminet hums, understanding the man's perspective perfectly. The ocean has always called to him too. "The mystery that swims under it… we'll never know what it really is. Thousands of years of history washed away, just waiting to be discovered once again." he sighs tiredly, mulling over his words with an inquisitive mind, "Then again... maybe some things are better left forgotten. I'm sure the ocean can have its secrets too."

"Quiet a poetic perspective," the older gentleman hums, approaching closer by a small bit. "-Did you come up with it on your own?"

He thinks of a large reptile, stoic regal face contrasted by expressive eyes and mannerisms. Freminet smiles a slight bit. "Not entirely. A wise friend of mine helped me come upon it."

"Well then, he sure seems like quite the knowledgeable fellow." the man almost preens, a strange proudness present in his voice.

"He's a good teacher, even if he's a bit useless when it comes to moral dilemmas," Freminet confesses.

"Truly?" The voice sputters with a light laugh. Freminet cracks a small grin too, eyes crinkling at the edges as they remain glued to the ocean. 

"Of course I do," he murmurs, tilting his head, "Why wouldn't I say it if I didn't mean it?"

The man barks out a louder laugh, more genuine in its sound. A gloved hand suddenly settles on his shoulder, heavy and congenial. 

"Ah, Freminet," the voice purrs happily, nothing but fondness in his tone, "-you are as much of a joy in person as I knew you'd be."

He stills. Every single bone in his body locks in place, stiff with shock, his heart sinking to the bottom of his stomach. He forces himself to glance behind himself, finally catching a proper look into the mysterious man's identity.

There-staring back at him-is the Chief Justice himself. He's as tall as his files stated him to be, as regal and refined as the documented headlines made him out to be. Even besides the ocean's windy coastline, his hair is perfectly preened and groomed, as if untouchable to nature itself.

'He knows.' He realizes like a punch to the gut, 'he knows my name, he knows my name - he knows what I am, who we are-'

"I told you, remember?" He continues proudly, that horribly tender smile still on his face. His voice is small and gentle now, as if he were talking to a small child. "-That I'd look for you from the coastline? Well… ha, I must admit, I've been passing through here more often than I probably should."

There's a peculiar purr in his voice as he talks, a vague iteration of the inhuman sound Lyney and Lynette are capable of making when they don't notice. Only now, it sounded guttural and lizard-like, the noise reverberating off the walls of his mind like a church's bell toll, the signal for both a service about to start and the forewarning of a horrible oncoming attack.

The man towers above him, the darkness of Fontaine's night swallowing almost his entire figure in its shadows. No light reaches him, save for his eyes and hair strands, of which glow an eerie saturated blue.

And oh gods his eyes . His blinding white irises practically glow like beacons, slitted pupils feeling like they were digging into his chest and stripping him of his bones. The pearlescent hue in it makes the shades flit between pink and turquoise around it's edges, inhuman and utterly illustrious. 

It feels like he's being judged by the Gods themselves, and he-an unclean heathen-laid at the mercy of an Archon's hands. He feels as if at any moment now, he'll be crushed like a bug and his inconsequential existence will cease to exist.

Monsieur Neuvillette stands like a pillar, aethereal and unperceivable to man.

And Freminet has never 

felt 

so 

scared.

"I'm- I-" he strangles out, sweatdropping as he trembled violently, "-bye."

The ludex blinks once, then twice, then pulls his expression into what seems like a sad frown. "Ah. I am sorry," he apologizes, words far too polite, "Perhaps this was not the best way to-"

Freminet does not even let the man finish, already backing up a step or two as the man had spoken. He turns around and breaks out into a full sprint, stumbling over himself once or twice in his hurry to escape. He doesn't dare look back once, scampering his way through the dark streets as his feet burn under him.

A light drizzle befalls upon Fontaine's streets by the time he makes it to the apartment, his clothes having already been partially wet by the ocean's breeze now fully soaked through. His hair sticks to his forehead awkwardly, at least thankful for the wetsuit on his skin shielding his body from a cold draft. 

He reaches the apartment door and quickly unlocks it with shaky hands, not even bothering to be quiet about it this time. He all but launches himself into the living room as soon as he has it unlocked, not bothering to worry about at all about the water he's tracking in. 

His heart races as he puts in all three locks to the door, the finality and perceived safety of it soothing the nonsensical paranoid part of his brain. The young boy places his forehead against the cold expanse of the wooden door, willing his heart to stop beating so fast.

"Fremineeet?" A voice calls from their room, this one distinct with all the familiar charm and vibrato that Lyney possesses, "You better not be thinking about going anywhere! It's pitch black out there and it's raining!"

Freminet quivers like a leaf, the bright glowing white of the man's iris still ingrained in his head like a heated iron prod. 

"I know!" He hollers back, hooking his keys back to his belt. His voice strains from the volume of his response, unused to talking so loud. "You're right! I won't!"

'I shouldn't have' hangs from his lips, cloaking his uneasy mind in oil. Regret pulls at his mind like a dumbell, hands still shaking from where it gripped the handle.

Attempting to recall the encounter now is difficult, mostly because it felt so nonsensical. 'Did that happen? Did that seriously just happen?' turns into 'that makes absolutely no sense. Was I hallucinating?'. 

Why was he talking to him so nonchalantly? Was he faking being friendly so he could catch him by surprise? How in the world did he know who Freminet was? Why didn't Freminet's senses detect the danger earlier? Why was he talking to him like that?

Monsieur Neuvillette had talked to him... like he knew him very well...

"Yeah! Teatime is what you want, right?" She tilts her head, still ignorant to his confusion, "He has them all the time with Miss Sigewinnie, but hers are always scheduled. Would you like me to do that for you too? You are his friend, after all."

Is... is he just... messing with him at this point? Is this a joke?

Freminet trembles violently like a wet dog, fishing Pers from where was attached to his navigator and hugging him in an attempt to comfort himself. It feels like he has just woken up from a nightmare, his hands cold as the scary images remain fresh in his mind.

Maybe… maybe I should take a break from diving for a while.

«────── « ◈ » ──────»

Chapter Text

«────── « ◈ » ──────»

Neuvillette is a regal man.

He prides himself on his keen mind and impartial judgment. A man born with a finely tuned objective lens, able to dissect a situation to its most impersonal basis.

Neuvillette is a regal man, perfectly tailored suit pressed against a well-dressed cravat reflecting his high status. Not a single hair in his face is misplaced, nor a single crease visible in his dress pants.

Neuvillette is a regal man. 

At least… he would be, if he were a man at all.

Masquerading under surface-level makeup lies a slumbering beast, cleaved of his fangs and fins it had previously cherished. Like a bird with clipped wings, or a cat with no claws, he remains the spitting image of what he should be but-ultimately-is not.

Neuvillette is all that remains of the Dragon Sovereign, the rest of his capabilities hidden and blocked by a higher power- higher than him. He doesn't think he would mind it so much -he had to come to peace with it at some point- if it didn't result in him feeling so out of place.

He is no Sovereign in his state, but he is no normal human either. There will always be moral dilemmas that he will not understand, unspoken societal rules that will evade him in reason. He is a fortuitous creature of logic, and in the land of gray-scaled emotionally-driven crime, he stands all alone with no one in sight.

It tends to get lonely.

The Chief Justice had once been regarded as a stone statue of a man, sensitive to a fault but eerily unaffected by some of his own decisions. Sentencing a guilty 'good' man was nothing to him, as was sparing an innocent 'bad' man without a single consequence. To him, all that mattered were the crimes and if they had or hadn't done it.

There had been a murder, a long time ago now, of a merchant who was suspected of having been killed by his senior coworker. The appointed prosecutor had insisted the motive had been relating to a deal the victim had closed out that the defendant had been working on for years, while the man's lawyers had been quick to rebuffed such an idea.

Unfortunately, there had not been enough evidence to convict. The defendant had also pleaded a factual and headstrong case, his alibi not entirely strong but remaining unchanged. While he had previously been temporarily imprisoned for proven conning, there was not enough evidence presented to link it to this specific crime.

Because of this, Neuvillette had quite easily decided to grant a not-guilty verdict, ultimately deeming the man neither innocent nor guilty of the crime. 

He had thought it to be the best option. The Oratrice had agreed with him as well, remaining unchanged in its scales as its ethereal presence gave one final hum. By all accounts of a nonpartisan, he had made the right decision.

But, it seemed for some, that was not the case.

The victim's only son, a grown boy almost at the cusp of adulthood, had had an outburst once the final verdict was read. He had seethed with rage, angry unshed tears pouring down his eyes as his attorneys attempted to hold him back.

He had declared Neuvillette a blind monster, had screamed and insisted on the man's guilt in taking away his father. He had called Neuvillette cold-hearted, one that had no shred of sympathy or humanity in his being, all while the Chief Justice stood upon his podium.

When he had been escorted away by Gardes, his attorneys had gone out of their way to apologize for their client's callousness on his behalf. 

“Please do not punish him, Chief Justice.” They had asked sincerely, bowing politely, “He is only human.”

And Neuvillette… hadn't known what to feel.

He had done everything right, hadn't he? Neuvillette had taken all the physical evidence presented into account, all alibis and testaments into consideration, and delivered a verdict that did not unfairly favor one party over the other. Was that not what he had done? If he had done everything right, deemed fair by most others, why were people still left unsatisfied?

He did not know. No matter how much he thought about it, he could not make sense of the man's illogical outburst, one filled by emotion Neuvillette had never experienced himself. Was that what drove him to act irrationally? Was it some hormonal flare-up? Or am I truly missing something more important?

Is there… a hole in my heart where something else should be? Do I truly lack something to that scale in comparison to humans?

For a long while, Neuvillette desired nothing more than to understand the mentality of those around him. Some days, he wished to be a little more human, to know and experience the world firsthand from their perspective. Maybe then, he'd understand.

And then, the solution to his plight had been all but dropped onto his lap.

He had been doing nothing of note, slowly working through the seemingly endless pile of paperwork on another rather monotonous day. The sun was on the cusp of setting, its final rays lighting up the horizon of the sky. 

It was peaceful, and Neuvillette cherished the undisturbed solitude he'd maintained for a few hours. All the more surprising when it was broken by a sudden voice that came from nowhere.

"Higher powers… please… hear my prayers… I beg of you…"

Prayers, he recognized, feeling as if a millennia had passed since he last heard one. 

It feels like an echoing muffle, the mortal's words reverberating off the walls of his mind like a drained wishing well. Past it all, he could hear the drone of a feminine intonation, raspy and grated with what sounded like overuse. 

Had she managed to find a Sovereign's altar? As far as he had known-most if not all-the Dragon Sovereign prayer altars had been destroyed or repurposed once the Hydro Archon had been set in place. 

"I have had a… long standing battle with an ailment of mine. It's treatable, but I don't have the Mora to afford it. And I… I am unable to provide for my son because of it."

“My husband has left me and all of my extended family members have all passed. I am the only one left now, and I fear my condition will only get worse from now on. I had to watch my own mother wither away, and I would never wish that fate on anyone- let alone my son.”

"Please, help me… I beg of you. Cure my illness…”

“...and maybe then, I can keep him safe.”

Neuvillette-for all his faults-does not lack basic empathy. Quite the opposite, in fact.

While the mother's prayers to him remain unexpected and unforeseen, they manage to strike a cord in him nonetheless. It is a plea made for the care of another, a mother begging for the sake and wellbeing of her offspring. The mother's words echo and reverberate with sorrow, her pain almost potent enough to taste. He-in good conscious-could not possibly refuse such a selfless and desperate plea; one for her own child's sake too. He was more than willing to help.

So, he did what he could. Regrettably, he did not possess enough power or authority to cure the mother's illness outright, an ability that simply required far too much power and authority than he currently possessed. But even with these constraints, he still does his best to help to his maximum capacity.

He attaches what little power he can through the prayer's connection, locking it down with the nearest stable medium it can find: A golden heart-shaped locket around her neck seems like a fine enough choice if any. It seemed like an heirloom of sorts, from what he could tell.

It’s not enough, but such a small blessing should naturally energize and temporarily improve the fine lady’s condition.

Just the following day, the first thing he hears from her is her continuous and watery thanks, likely just having come back to the altar. He can hear the smile in her voice, the sincerity in her gratitude as she thanked him for her improved condition.

“This is… the best I’ve felt in so long. I never thought- ah-” she sniffles, giggling quite sweetly as she bowed her head, “Thank you, thank you, thank you-”

Neuvillette never realized how… nice that was. To use his celestial-given rights to help others in that way. Was this how Archons felt? Was this how Furina felt? No wonder she had such a deep attachment to her people…

He wishes he could do more. No one should ever have to suffer the hardships of a lifelong illness, let alone a mother. He hears her, the way she talks about her son while preening with unabashed joy, and how she wishes she could give him more.

"He's so smart, my little treasure. I wish I could put him in a proper school, but there aren’t any nearby and I doubt I could scrape together the funds for it either way. But I just know it… my boy… he’s destined for greatness. He’ll change Fontaine forever, one day.”

And of course… he also hears more concerning things…

"I pray… I pray he isn't like me. It's foolish to hope that, and- and it runs in the family- but… ah. I can only hope he takes up after his Father in that aspect.”

It's temporary miniscule aid, but it's aid nonetheless. If he can help a mother get back on her feet, then he's more than willing to depart with some of his lackluster powers in return for nourishment. He’d even started to contemplate somehow providing physical aid to the mother, a possible loan or even an order to put both her and her child under the aegis of the Chief Justice himself. 

It’d an unprecedented arrangement that would certainly garner many eyes, and Neuvillette himself was still pondering over the theoretical details and repercussions that would come with it. Still weighing the pros and cons together, the idea had to be pushed back to mull over for a later date as more pressing matters took over, like his current cases and paperwork. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have done that though.

Maybe if he hadn’t waited, things wouldn’t have turned out the way they did. 

With proper foresight, one could say his granting of her prayers had been an outright mistake. Perhaps if he had never listened to her pleas, she would have been able to live the final days of her life in her right mind.

Overexposure to wayward celestial energy-improperly delivered from an unkempt shrine-had intoxicated her mind and driven her to madness. He had been forced to listen to the steady downward spiral of her words, uncoordinated and poisoned with divine energy. Whatever the consequence of his prayer granting had fallen solely on the widow, exuberating whatever condition the maiden already had to an even worse degree.

It was a rapid but enduring decline, one that slowly corroded the mother’s very being. When her silence had grown too palpable, no prayers in weeks, his worry had won against his reasonability and he had decided to connect his presence with her own. What he saw was a sickly bedridden lady, the bed old and creaky as its occupant all but withered in it. 

"Heed my words Celestia…." She croaks out, eyes bloodshot, "The sin of my existence… cleanse it. Return…me… to… the waters…"

"Maman…" a far younger voice mourned morosely, sounding far too tired and drained for its age.  

Even though she wasn’t even capable of going to the altar and praying anymore, it seemed irreversible damage had already been done. Whatever celestial energy she had absorbed was far too powerful for her human body to handle, and it drove her mind to a state of on-and-off insanity. 

'This is my fault' He had realized quite grimly, beside himself, 'I did this.'

The connection had ended as quickly as it began, and the fragile link snapped in the early hours of one unassuming day. There is a hollow feeling in his chest to match the silence in the air.

Through his meddling, he had killed a poor mother and left a small child orphaned. By his own unwavering standards, he is solely responsible for this as the blood lies on his hands. Neuvillette is guilty, and he can think of no suitable punishment that would befit the horrid crime.

While he so desperately wanted to mend whatever was left, he feared further interference would only worsen the situation. He was too scared to aggravate the situation further, but the guilt in his heart would not allow him to simply let the situation be either.  

And so, he did did the only thing he could do, and granted the ailing mother's last coherent wish, a whisper of a thing:

"Whoever you are… Can you… watch over my son? He's a good boy… and… he has no one else to protect him…"

So Neuvillette does just that.

Neuvillette has always been one to learn from his mistakes, and he takes to playing a more… distant role in the child's life. Instead of letting his ethereal power and human image leave nothing to the imagination… he goes about it in a more creative way.

He alters form, changes his appearance to match that of a child's wildest dreams. It's an old form, one he did not even know he could recall so vividly, but it works well. The vivid blue sheen to his scale and fins were one he missed, and it was a sight that at least eased some of the trepidation in his heart.

Like this, he can fit in quite well into the child’s consciousness while remaining hidden, keeping his distance while still being able to keep a close eye on him. 

Evidently, his decision works perfectly. Through the imaginative and fantastical scenarios of a child's mind, a tall fearsome dragon fits in quite nicely with the other anthropomorphic creatures the child seems so fond of. It's strange and peculiar at first, masquerading himself along with these figments, but playing the part of an actor is of no challenge to a Sovereign who's already pretending to be human.

And it pays off.

The boy's name is Freminet. He is pale and gawky, naturally straight blondish hair and splashes of freckles mirroring that of his mother. He is sweet and kind, compassionate to a fault. He likes cupping his hands and holding sea crabs, along with basking in a morning's sea breeze. His favorite dish is homemade Bouillabaisse and his favorite animal is a penguin.

Freminet, as he comes to find out, is also a miserable boy. 

While he looks about eight years old-visible malnourishment stunting his development even further-his worn cheeks and hollow eyes resemble that of features more akin to a weathered adult. Every so often, when no sunny picnics or adventures are to be had, a dull sort of look crosses the boy’s face. It’s horribly lifeless and-while a rarity to catch sight of it-Neuvillette’s heart pangs each time he sees it. 

He tries his best not to work himself up with the worst case scenarios. It takes the constant reminder that ‘Yes, the poor boy's mother and only family just died. Of course he's going to look unhappy.’ to settle his nerves into something bearable. 

Past that, he is quick to remind himself of what happened the last time he overstepped his authority. He needs to keep his word to his deceased mother above all, and he'd never forgive himself if he ended up hurting the boy through his overblown worries. For now, he has to trust that he's presiding in a nurturing safe environment and is simply still suffering the after effects of loss. He seems happy enough interacting with these fictional characters, so he settles on giving the matter some time.

Following that, a new development comes from this unlikely connection: information regarding The House of the Hearth.

Neuvillette has never been blind to the secret under goings of Fontaine; even if he cannot see it, he's covered enough cases and judged enough trials to know there will always be a darker underbelly to the land of Justice. 

Even with his best efforts-laws passed, new regulations set in place-there will always be those slimy and determined enough to find loopholes around such restrictions. 

Before Freminet, he had never even heard of the name of the orphanage before. Not once had the name appeared on his desk, meaning they had never had any incidents or fines filed against them. The file had been so thin and barren, Neuvillette half thought it was incomplete.

Even after digging for some further research, he had found everything to be in order, all paperwork filed and approved by other Fontaine officials. 

Not a single complaint or report on the place was present; early inspections deemed the place large and hospitable, decorated akin to that of a 'large nobles home more than suited for housing children'.  

From the outside looking in, it simply looked like a standard orphanage located in the unmarked mountainous outskirts of Fontaine. Aside from funding from an unnamed company and no official names attached to its localization, there's nothing else of note to question.

A squeaky clean record, by all accounts. 

And yet, Neuvillette could not help the sinking feeling weighing on his heart.

All children with hyperactive imaginations often imagined things, this he knew. Fantastical adventures and tales. It should have been common to expect them to happen, especially from a creative boy like Freminet.

However, with the frequency that young Freminet dreamed was notable enough to raise an eyebrow. For a while, it seemed like Freminet did nothing more than dream, his creativity finding its outlet in wild scenarios- from flying airships to sailing pirate ships. The boy's mind knew no bounds, and Neuvillette had been quite impressed by the boy's ingenuity.

But, after some time, Neuvillette sees past the realization that these dreams served a greater purpose than simple passing entertainment. With the way that worn look would fade from the boy's face, his eyes alight with amusement and what looked to be relief-

It's an escape.  

From what exactly? He could not know.

Young Freminet's living conditions were hard to probe at times, the young boy clearly more focused in seeking out the respite his imaginary friend's brought him than pondering over the state of real life. He hugged and cherished them all so fervently (even Neuvillette himself), holding deep affections for all of them in spite of none of them being real.

The poor boy had even started to imagine his deceased mother, happy and healthy and likely resembling what she once was- and oh how his heart ached at the sight.

"-It sounds like a coping mechanism," Sigewinne had informed him upon his proposed 'hypothetical scenario', busy preparing herbal tea for her patients. "Sometimes, some people aren't ready to let go, and they trick their minds into thinking reality isn't what it actually is."

He thinks of Carole, her sweet and bright  infectious smile, kindhearted genuineness present in everything she did. Neuvillette had deeply enjoyed talking with her, as he did with all Melusine, and confidently predicting her overcoming the struggles she faced.

But then she had died, gruesome and terrible as all death is. It had hurt and he had cried for days-yes-but reality is what it is and accepting it is the only thing one can do. It is basic logic and it is part of life and why would anyone torture themselves like that? 

"Humans just mourn differently, Neuvillette," she had continued with a gentle smile, likely sensing his distress. "If you ever meet anyone going through this… 'hypothetical' scenario of yours… I suggest you simply do your best to be there for them. Lend them an ear, and make them feel like they can rely on you for support. It's a hard time for them, after all."

'Be there for him' ...? 

…

Yes… yes. Neuvillette can do that. 

Watch over him, make sure he's alright. Extend him a silent olive branch.

He has already been doing that, but he supposes he could do it a little better too. With some luck, maybe he can even guide him back to the authenticity of real life. Maybe he can show him how worthwhile it is.

The time for being a passive role in the boy's dream falls away, and a new duty is set in his heart. He won’t let the boy be alone anymore.

Neuvillette is slow with his involvement, deciding to interact more with the boy's figments first in an effort to let it appear more natural. He engages with the dreams as well as he can, playing his role with only moderate clumsiness, before steadily worming himself into a more desired position by the boy's side.

He asks him how he is, how he's eating and how he's sleeping. When he runs out of rudimentary questions, he asks him about his hobbies, his favorite foods, and so on. He makes a point to make his presence more known, to actually interact with the boy instead of staying in the outskirts of the boy's mind.

And young Freminet, bless him, is more than eager to meet him halfway. He engages with Neuvillette's inquiries, not even questioning the new behavior or the strangely personal questions. The boy seems more than happy to converse with him, talking quite casually to him as if he weren't a large hulking lizard older than the sea itself.

He haphazardly attaches himself right by his side, visible excitement tugging at his face when he tells him about his clockworks or his upcoming projects, like small auto-heaters and water filters. He really is a small prodigy, his mind notably quick and fast.

Neuvillette can see the light that reaches his eyes, hear the small muffled laughs the boy tries to suppress. He seems so vibrant like this, when he’s comfortable and chatty. 

And Neuvillette, for a being who isn't often allowed the liberty of friendly human connection given his higher social status, cherishes the bond he has with Freminet. Talking to nobles who only ever chatted with double-sided intentions and talking to a boy like Freminet was like two complete opposites, one a murky sample of Seirai water and the other a crystal clear unfrozen water from Dragonsipne’s caverns.

It was pure, it was honest, and it was never anything more complicated than that.

While he had first started this venture with the sole reason of adhering to his mother's last request, he finds himself growing more and more attached to the boy on a personal level. It’s similar to that of the one he possesses with the Melusines, providing gentle guidance and counseling its own way.

The boy was small and defenseless, with no clear place in the world and equally as confused at a few unspoken societal norms a Melusine would be. 

He had once complained of a sudden hunger pan in the middle of the night, and when Neuvillette had urged him that he really should go eat something, the boy had simply shook his head solemnly and said he had to wait a few more hours for breakfast.

When Neuvillette then suggested a midnight snack, the young boy's expression furrowed into that of bafflement. Even when he had attempted to explain the concept, his confusion simply grew. He looked at him as if he were crazy. 

"Uhm… I'm sorry Mister Dragon…" Freminet had apologized quite sheepishly, small hands rubbing at the irritated skin of his wrists. "Where I'm from, we don't do that. Father days we're not allowed to eat outside of mealtimes… and even then… ah, nevermind. Can we keep playing now please?"

From then on, Neuvillette got an ugly foreboding feeling settling in his stomach. It weighed against his psyche, mind trying to make sense of all the implications.

Was that why he often dreamed of banquets? Of large picnics and fanciful gallas filled with full platters and deserts? Was the boy not being fed properly? Who was this ‘Father’??

That same instinctive urge to nurture and protect reared its massive head, irritated and frustrated when unable to guarantee the child’s protection. It makes the beast inside him deeply uncomfortable, restless when he finds the child just out of his reach. He wants the boy safe , if not for his own peace of mind than for the mother he had destined to death.

But as much as it pains him, his concerns were logistically without basis. It’s not like he could approach a high standing officer and simply say 'Hello. Sorry for not telling you this earlier but I'm actually the former Sovereign of this land and there's this boy I'm mentally connected with whom I believe is being mistreated. No, I have never personally met them nor have any evidence to this. No officer, I can assure you I have never taken any hallucinogens.'

Neuvillette can be quite clueless with how he comes across sometimes, but even he’s not daft enough to realize how bizarre a request like that would be. He does not possess the proper authority to seek the orphanage out for it himself without cause, making him feel quite helpless.

So, in an attempt to offset his worries, he practically coats the boy with his blessings. 

They shackle down to his heart-shaped locket, the Sovereign's energy practically radiating off it like an aura. He tries not to go overboard, keeping it to a similar level he'd give to Sigewinne or the Melusines as a whole, but all it takes is the boy's fluctuating healthiness declining once for his concern to grow exponentially, and for his hand to move unconsciously.

‘The boy prays for nothing, therefore blessing him like this should be more than safe.’ He reasons, ‘I won't make the same mistake twice. I won't allow it.’

Cataloging the orphanage’s presence in the back of his mind, he does his best to keep an eye out for any other notable contingencies. Freminet's innocence was one that was nurtured and protected by lasting lessons of a kind mother. He does his best to support the boy as well, but he doubts he'd do half as good of a job as the former did.

He tells him about these new children, Lyney and Lynette, who he acquainted himself with. He seems unsure at first while speaking about them, but as time passes, it's clear his affections for them grow. He talks about going down to the coastline with them, and dreams of exploring Fontaine’s streets with them. 

He talks about his dreams, his goals in life. It’s clear he doesn’t seem to have an exact position nailed down in his mind, but Freminet shyly admits that he’s quite excited for what the future lies in store for him. His pale blue eyes look farther away, as if staring at something that was not there.

Neuvillette had once read a book on parenting, back when he was first aiding the Melusines to settle into human society. There had been an example in the book, one he had failed to comprehend then, but had stuck with him nonetheless.

‘Watching our kids grow is like helping them first ride a bicycle without training wheels.’ it read ‘-We help them turn pedals, balance themselves, and hold onto them until they can go off on their own.’

‘You'll watch on, endlessly proud of your child but suddenly feel helpless as you watch them take their life into their own hands. We come to realize that here, our children are their own people, and one day we will have to see them off into their own horizons.'

‘It'll be scary, and it'll be different, but that's okay. All children turn into adults one day, the least we can do is help them not grow up so fast, and hold their hands until they find their way.’

Neuvillette had never personally felt this ‘end stage’ of raising a child, seeing as Melusines never properly grew out of their childlike mentality. While they are quite capable of being self-sufficient, they still actively seek out his guidance and presence. 

Freminet however? Neuvillette sees him grow right before his eyes, both physically and mentally. While still quite considerably short, he sees the baby fat on his face slim away and his posture straighten with newfound age and wisdom. 

And the best-worst part? The boy barely dreams anymore. And when he does, it's never large-scale adventures or exciting expeditions, but small domestic meetings localized in familiar settings; a simple field under the stars, the beachside, or even a faceless boardwalk. He talks about his daily happenings and issues he's facing, more often than not mentioning twins he seems so fond of.

While he's quite pleased that the boy has finally stopped investing so much time in his daydreams, he also can't help but feel guilty for missing the time 

‘One day, they'll simply cycle away’ the book had read, ‘-they'll reach new highs and lows without you, and all we can do is look on from afar.’

While heartbreaking, Neuvillette accepts and resigns himself to his fate. He supposes that it'll always have ended this way, and that he had completed his promise to his mother by seeing it through: Freminet was growing up from a boy to a man, and he's found himself a proper spot in the world, a place to belong. 

One day, he'll grow up and stop visiting him completely. Maybe he'll even stop believing in the Hydro Dragon's existence, believing it to be a simple imaginary friend he thought of, just like the rest of the other ones.

One day, that tentative friendship Neuvillette had come to cherish between a young boy will come to an end. And a few decades after that, Freminet will pass away and join his mother in the endless sky.

For the first time in a very long time, Neuvillette feels his age. In the time that it's taken him to learn a lesson, Freminet has experienced an entire fifth of his life. Soon, all that will remain of their time together is the memories only he possesses. 

…

But… 

It's easy to get caught up in what lies in the future, and Neuvillette decides to enjoy the present while he has it. 

Right now, Freminet still asks him for his opinion on some issues he faces, or asks him for advice on what he should do. He still smiles at him and insists on talking about his worries, recalling passing occasions of light Fontainian rain.

Right now, Freminet is alive, warm and whole as he rests against his presence. One day he may not be, and Neuvillette will miss it. 

And that is fine. It's alright to let things go. He's fine with watching from afar, if that's what lies in store for him.

…

And then, one humid night, he meets him for the very first time at the coastline.

For whatever reason, he never imagined meeting Freminet like this, completely organically and randomly. Perhaps the surprise of it makes him thoughtless, too overjoyed and excited to register the fact the young boy would not recognize his human face.

‘I can finally protect you. I can finally keep you safe.’

Never once had he seen such primal fear on anyone’s face.

What a tragedy, that Freminet wears it so viciously when he looks upon his own. 

–

"-Something on your mind?" A voice spoke, a teasing lit in his tone. "Not a lot of people think so thoroughly about their first move, Chief Justice."

Neuvillette blinked, finally remembering the chess game he had been in. Pawns were lined up against a chessboard, his own white ones mirroring Wriothesley's black ones. Neither of them had made a move yet, the Duke lazily slouched over his chair as he patiently waited for Neuvillette to make his play.

Beside them, a full platter of fresh desserts laid organized, the selection ranging from calissons to financiers and strawberry-filled petit fours. Most of it lies untouched, and what has been taken has been made victim of the Duke’s ravenous appetite. The afternoon sunlight beats down from the Iudex’s office windows, lighting the entire room up with warm light.

Ah... Right. Their Cadence Meeting. He must have lost focus again.

"My apologies." He clears his throat politely, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I've simply… had a lot on my mind. I did not mean to take up your time so liberally."

Wriothesley picked up his bishop and moved it to the center of the board. "No need to apologize. I take it you weren't thinking about chess now, were you?"

He blinked, thoughtlessly moving another pawn forward. He wanted to keep his hands busy. "How can you tell?"

Wriothesley hummed with faint amusement, before proceeding to move his queen and eating one of his pawns. "Stupid move," he said sagely. "Checkmate."

Ah. Neuvillette glances below, finding the Duke’s words ringing true. His white king laid pinned by the other’s black queen. He thins his lips, not even bothering to conjure the energy to think of a way to save the game on his part. 

"It's called Fool's Mate.” Wriothesley informs in reply to his silence, gruff voice coarse and heavy, “One of the fastest and easy ways to win in chess. All it takes is three or four moves, and it’s all over." 

Neuvillette tsked lightly, feeling too tired for the man’s lessons right now. "Are you insinuating I'm unskilled, Wriothesley?"

"Of course not.” He idly scratches at his stubble, reaching to take another dessert off the platter, “If anything, that’d just make me a bad teacher, now wouldn’t it?”

“And in being your teacher-” He leans forward, taking his queen and setting it in his king’s place “-I know for a fact that you can certainly play better than that."

He leans forward, inclining his head. "What's on your mind, Chief? Tough case haunting you or something?”

Neuvillette sighed in irritation, “You make it sound as if my life only ever consists of my responsibilities at work and nothing else.”

“Well… it’s not like you’re exactly helping yourself with making that impression,” He adjusts himself against the lounge chair, groaning a bit, “So, if it’s not work related, then is it personal?”

The Chief Justice sighs again, feeling like he’s doing it with more frequency nowadays. “In a way, it is.” he admits, “But it’s not anything unfortunate, I can assure you that. I simply happened to… frighten someone I care deeply for.”

“I’m sorry ? You scared someone?” The Duke says staggeringly, his tone shocked with disbelief. “What, did you jump out of the corner or something? Sneak a fake spider on a Melusine’s shoulder and now you feel bad?”

He all but scoffs at the man’s words. He’s not taking this seriously at all. “Certainly not. I’d never purposefully attempt to frighten anyone, let alone a Melusine. It’s not in their nature to understand the semantics of such a ‘joke’, and thus would be cruel to enact such an action onto them.”

“Then I’m guessing it wasn’t a Melusine?” Wriothesley reasoned. 

Neuvillette pierces his lips, glancing away sheepishly. “No,” he admits dimly.

“It was dark… perhaps he simply did not recognize me.” He shakes his head, “He’s a young boy, and I approached and talked to him as if we were old friends… ah, I really should have thought my approach over more thoroughly.” 

The face of the Chief Justice should be one he figured would be liked by kids, his patronage to justice itself an emblem to his representation for sanctuary. Even past that, he knows parents often encourage their children to aspire to mirror a noble’s success and morality, figuring his role as a prominent face in Fontaine would stimulate that.

‘Oh, but Freminet grew up in the mountainous areas of Fontaine, of course he wouldn’t recognize the Chief Justice! Had he thought of him as a malicious stranger? Had he thought he was going to harm him? Steal from him? Oh dear, oh dear…’

“Well, at least it sounds simple enough to fix.” Wriothesley reasoned, unaware of the spiral the man across him was going through. “Just strike up a conversation and ask about it. If he didn’t realize it was you, then there’s no problem. If they did, you can just apologize. Boom. Problem solved. Everyone’s happy.”

Neuvillette grits his teeth. 

“It’s not that simple,” he laments with tempered frustration, but the Duke continues speaking before he can go on. 

“ Are you sure? Because it sounds pretty simple to me.” He swirls around his own peppermint tea, visibly seeming to savor the taste, “You wanna know what I think? I think you’re getting stuck in your own head again, feeling bad, and then overthinking the results of it. It sounds like you haven't even talked to this boy after spooking him, right?"

Neuvillette's sheepish silence is enough of an answer. Wriothesley sighs, setting down his tea with a clink.

"Look. If anyone knows what it's like to have kids run off because just the sight of your face scares them, it's me. I'm like... practically a few kid's boogeyman." He tilts his head, reclining back a small bit. "If it's important enough for you to loose sleep over it like this, then just talk it out. I promise you, you'll at least feel better over it afterwards."

And that... was a genuinely helpful answer. The man's advice soothed the upset in him, the one that's been clinging to him for days as he bounced around his mind, unaware as to what he should do and sulking in his lonesome. He blinked a few times, clearing away the tiredness still clinging to his eyes.

“I… suppose your advice has some basis. Very well, I shall attempt to resolve this conflict with your advice in mind." With a more brightened disposition, he nods, "Thank you, Wriothesley. I understand this matter may seem unimportant to most, but…”

“No need to thank me.” Wriothesley finished for him, offhandedly shoveling another madeline into his mouth, “You’re a plenty capable guy, Chief. Smart as hell too. Sometimes you just need someone to bring you back down to Teyvat, and I’m more than happy to be the one to do that.”

Ah. There it is. While Wriothesley may be a shrewd and cunning man with a quick mouth, his capacity for honesty and genuineness is something that makes him quite special to Neuvillette. Even after he teases him, he’ll always be willing to show Neuvillette his full support no matter the venture.

There’s no one quite like him, is there?

“Enough of my ailments,” Neuvillette concedes, a genuine smile now gracing his lips, “How is Sigewinnie fairing these days? Is she alright?”

Wriothesley idly stirs his tea, lazily slouched against his chair with an unreadable look on his face. “She’s good. Been doing well, as far as I know.”

At the man’s words, Neuvillette frowns a small bit. “As far as you know?” he echoes, “Your words seem… uncertain. Is everything alright?”

“Quick to assume the worst, aren’t you?” He grins, before huffing out a sigh, “Don’t worry so much; Everything’s fine, just haven’t had the time to sit down with her for a while now considering her newfound workload. Now that that bug has finally stopped spreading around so viciously, I’m sure she’ll get the proper break she deserves.”

“An illness? In Meropide?” Neuvillette inquired with surprise, not expecting the complaint. He supposes it shouldn’t have come as too much of a shock, considering the prison’s humid and damp environment. 

Still, it is unable to stop the concern rising in him. “Are you alright?”

Wriothesley barks out a laugh, sudden and delighted. “No need to sound so upset, Chief Justice. It’s just a common cold is all. All the sick prisoners had to be quarantined in separate sectors while treatments were being administered. It was a damn mess, and I can’t find a good maintenance guy to fix it to save my life”

“-As for your prior question:'' he cocks a grin, tilting his head as light amusement dances across his face, “I’m quite alright myself, Monsieur Neuvillette. Got the immune system of an Sumpterbeast, remember? Like anything could get me down.” 

Neuvillette almost scoffs at that. Such blind confidence. “I highly doubt that. You are only human, capable of falling ill just like any other, and should be mindful of your well-being.” 

“But, I suppose if the issue of this ‘illness’ you speak of is on its way to being resolved, then it’s not too bad. You mentioned some trouble regarding that of a… maintenance man?”

"Ugh, don't even get me started," the man all but groans, before ‘starting’ of his own volition, “-They're all useless. The whole reason prisoners started getting sick was because of some issues cropping up with Meropide’s ventilation pipes.”

“Not a single one of my maintenance guys I had on payroll noticed until it was too late, and even then they didn’t know how to fix it.” he rubs at his face, visibly frustrated, “-Had to fire and rehire a new batch just to get it done, and even then the solution only lasted a few days before it started breaking down again. Think I gotta get someone with proper sense on the team.”

“You’re in need of a mechanic?” he asks.

“Maybe,” he sighs, “The job description for maintenance states you have to know both commercial mechanical skills and clockwork specialization, considering all the Gardemeks stationed at Meropide. If I can’t find anyone with both under their belt, I may have to start trying to resource some of my men from Fontaine's Research Institute.”

“And this is an issue…?”

“Not an issue, just extremely unlikely is all.” he clarifies, “Not a lot of high-ranking mechanics from a cushy place like the Institute would be willing to live and work somewhere as depressing as Meropide. Outside of the Institute, I’m honestly not sure where I’d get any good contenders for the position.

“A definite stance then.” he concedes, taking a sip of his water. The tang of Inazuman bitterness lightens his mood. “-I admire your unwavering standards, seeing as it is a show of devotion to your title. After all, it takes one with big dreams and determination to have the necessary drive skill set for such a position.”

“When I’m older… I wanna make more friends for Pers…” a small voice confesses, a tiny barely-visible smile present on his lips. Even when clear exhaustion pulls at the famished boy’s features, a determined light still reaches his eyes. “And I think… I wanna make some for other people too… kids and grownups…what do you think, Mister Dragon?”

“Hey, what’s with that look in your eye?” Wriothesley suddenly probes, “You’re not getting some sick enjoyment from my predicament, right?”

“Ah, it’s not that. Your criteria simply reminded me of someone.” he says easily, smiling down at his water at the recollection of the nice memory. He was still so little, back then…

“Got a candidate in mind?” Wriothesley perks up, grinning as he raises a brow, “Shoot. If they manage to garner your attention, they must be nothing to scoff at.”

Neuvillette hums, pondering it over. While Freminet may be a prodigy when it comes to mechanics, he surely doubts a boy would fare well under the strict eye of someone like Wriothesley. The man may treat Neuvillette with extensive courtesy, but he’s heard he’s garnered quite the reputation within his own ranks, the word intimidating repeating itself a few times.

Besides, a high-expertise job like that pertaining to mechanics and engineering often requires an official ledger showing proof of education. As far as he knows, Freminet has never had the privilege to receive schooling from any educational body, his status as a poor commoner likely having worked against him. He is a genius, just not on file. 

Maybe if I manage to properly acquaint myself in person, I can help him get assigned in some proper education classes... perhaps even pen some officials with recommendations…

Ah. He’s getting ahead of himself again. For now, it’s best to take things slow.

“Perhaps, but I believe he is too young and not yet experienced enough to serve under your reign. Given proper time and… improved circumstances, I’m sure he’d make a suitable fit in your staff list.” 

“Alright, worth a shot then.” Finally, the man stops slouching and sits up straighter, stretching his burly arms high above his head as he yawns. “So, same supply crates as last time? No need for new components?”

Neuvillette huffs out a laugh, amused by the man’s ever-so casual attitude at the change in discussion. Conversations over the review and renewal of Meropide’s supply and stock was the whole reason these meetings even took place, and yet they still spend eighty percent of it doing and discussing anything but. 

Not like he’s complaining, of course. These meetings have become a sort of highlight in his week (well, technically every three weeks, but that’s here and there).

“Same supply amount.” he agrees, “Are you in need of any new materials from the overworld?”

“Double the restock on all the supply of healing herbs and medications addressed to the nurse’s office. An uptick of three-fourths of toiletries and a single reduction of malware crates. We’re working on replacing that stock to be more self-sustaining.”

“Very well,” Neuvillette determines, finishing scratching into his notes the alterations. They've been doing this for so long, the discussion comes to an end before even an entire two minutes pass. “-Will you be returning now then?”

"Seems like it. Duty calls and all," the Duke grunts, hauling himself up from the velvet chair. He readjusts the decorated jacket hanging off his shoulders, fixing his hair. "Pen me if you need anything from me, got it?"

"Of course," he smiles, “A pleasure to see you, Monsieur Wriothesley. Pass my greetings to Sigewinnie, if it isn’t too much trouble.” 

"You got it.” he calls behind him, grabbing the golden doorknob of his office’s door, “See ya Chief- oh" 

He opens the office door, just to be met with a small crowd of uniformed Melusines, all rapidly backing away from the door. They all stare wide eyed at the duke, some covering their mouth as if to suppress their grins but all saying nothing as they stay rooted in place.

"Uh,” he glances back at Neuvillette, before awkwardly shifting. “S'cuse me ladies," the older gentleman said politely, carefully maneuvering around the cluster of Melusines. 

The man pads off the end of the hallway, disappearing without another notice. Neuvillette’s heart pangs at the loss of good company for just a moment, before turning to the crowd of Melusines with his hands on his hips.

"Now," Neuvillette inclined his head, “Mind informing me why all of you are listening in on me and Monsieur Wriothesley?"

Instead of replying, the Melusines opt to scamper away in a flurry of high-pitched giggles, mischievous and cheeky. They flee around the bend of a corner, their laughter trailing off with them, and all Neuvillette can do is shake his head with fondness.

‘So curious.’ he endearingly thinks. He never really understood the Melusine’s peculiar fixation with Wriothesley, but he cannot say it is not an entertaining sight. The Duke of Meropide-a rugged imposing figure that most shy away from-often crowded by one or two brightly-colored Melusines eager to engage with him. 

The sun has begun to set now, the golden-orange rays of the sun calling to the impending end of another long work day. Neuvillette will soon get to go home and settle himself into bed with another book he’s almost finished with, a chalice of filtered Mondstadt water in his hands as a candle burns its wax.

He idly walks towards the bookshelf in his office, turning to the small section he reserves for the Melusine’s pleasure. He runs the pad of his index finger against the spine of a particularly thick one, before carefully pulling it out.

‘101 Fairy Tales: Entry V of VII (Fontaine Edition)’

It had been old and worn when he first bought it, its former brown cover faded into a sandier color. It’s an old edition and a hand me down he had acquired through a vendor’s sale section, its pricing barely counting as a payment on his part. He had it commissioned to be restored, the book now shining in what must have been it's former glory.

He also knows it to be the same edition a particular young boy had treasured when still under his mother’s care, deeply lamenting the loss of it back when he had been made to relocate to an orphanage. 

He hums as he idly flips through its first pages, pondering over a certain Duke’s earlier advice.

Perhaps a gift is a qualifiable apology.

«────── « ◈ » ──────»

Chapter Text

«────── « ◈ » ──────»

Freminet feels like he's standing still, on the edge of a cliff he cannot see. The breeze blows through his clothing, making him tip back and forth precariously. Lyney's always said he was too skinny for his own good. 

It makes Freminet feel nervous. Really nervous. As if  he's just in a constant state of waiting  for the other shoe to drop. For something bad to happen.

With the encounter with the Chief Justice fresh in his mind, a newfound feeling of eyes set on his back haunts him. Even when he's all alone in the safety of his room, snug in a pile of blankets as he reads a sizable book on the history of Fontaine mechas, he cannot shake the irrational dread clinging to his brain like crude oil. 

It's stupid , and it's dumb and Freminet knows he's just imagining it at this point, but it's easy to let his paranoia get the best of him. His mind may be sharp, but it was also prone to unhealthy bouts of overthinking.

Leschot's workshop business card sat  pinned in the middle of his corkboard, right above a half deconstructed Pers (he was planning to get him some upgrades, but even his usual tinkering has been interrupted by his unsettled state). He's still undecided, unsurprisingly, and hasn't given the offer much thought now that his worries were occupied elsewhere.

It gets better after a while, seeing as nothing of note actually happens, but his anxiety ultimately fails to let up. He's been clutching and smoothing his upper arms, unconsciously self-soothing as he tries not to grit his teeth. He's also been wringing his hands, unable to meet either of the twins' eyes when he speaks to them.

Unsurprisingly, Lyney and Lynette catch on rather quickly to his altered behavior, his guilty mannerisms unable to escape their well-trained eyes. 

It's clear that they've at least realized something must be wrong, but were probably unsure as to what specifically happened, which worked in his favor; Freminet knew that something must have drawn the Chief Justice's suspicions, which meant they had to be ready to face another confrontation at any time.

If it came to it and they were questioned by Gardes, it worked in their favor to have Lyney and Lynette baffled by the unexpected occurrence- it would be a pledge to their ignorance and (by correlation) innocence .

It was a stretch, and possibly unnecessary, but he wanted to give the twins the best chance they had in getting out of whatever mess Freminet dragged himself into. He refuses to compromise the Hearth, to put his family in any more danger than they already were.

So, what does he do?

Well, Freminet learns to keep his mouth shut . 

He never tells the twins of what happened, nor what's gotten him so anxious. No matter the guilt that eats at him or the shame that plagues him, his lips remain sealed.

It's a monumental effort, considering the twins’ capacity for worming information out of whoever they want, especially Freminet. He's always been quite loose-lipped with them, unable to conjure the will nor the strength to keep any secrets from them. He supposes that would be considered a good thing in most other circumstances- not keeping any secrets from his family.

But now? Now he had a goal, a mission of sorts. It's not just his personal issue anymore, but one that fringed along the lines of the Hearth's secrets- and that, he cannot dare to mess up.

Lynette's patient questions of “are you alright? ” and “is everything okay?” spring up with more frequency, while Lyney's comically  incessant probing starts to become more forthright in its goal of getting a clear answer from him. He stops putting up a laid-back act on occasion, and Freminet wonders if he should feel dread at that or not.

They've been-admittedly-patient with him, but at this point Freminet's half scared they're gonna start trying to use interrogation tactics on him. He likes to imagine it'd be an unlikely last resort, but he has to consider the fact that he's never not told them anything for this long, so they've never faced an issue like this with Freminet before. They may rationalize to themselves that extreme action would be warranted in this case, or if they felt this newfound ‘secrecy’ served as a detriment to their work.

Again all unlikely, but Freminet would rather not have to experience such an occasion if it came to be.

He ultimately decides that the best course of action to avoid caving to his guilt is to make himself look and feel more at ease. If he can stop acting like there's a trained sniper constantly locked onto the back of his head, then Lyney and Lynette are bound to get off his case eventually. 

Upon a short consultation, The Hydro Dragon had recommended that picking up new, monotonous skills to pass the time tend to do the trick, and Freminet doesn't see the harm in trying. His friend had seemed particularly relieved to see him for whatever reason, so all he can assume is that even he must have noticed Freminet's new behavior.

All the more reason to change things up.

The only issue is that-surprisingly-Freminet is a little too good at doing boring tasks. He takes apart and rebuilds an old watch in three minutes flat, constructs a book nook in less than a few hours, and even fixes all the vent bolts in their entire apartment complex in a single afternoon. It's only then that the young boy decides he has to think a little outside the box. 

Freminet finds his solution in a small, worn journal he bought at a roadside shop.

Art is something he's never done before. His Maman only ever had supplies around for tinkering and work stuff, and they were too strapped for Mora to waste on art supplies rather than food. The closest thing Freminet ever got to drawing was using rocks to scratch images into the concrete of his backyard, imitating the wonderful images he'd see in his fairytale books.

Art-he finds out-is hard. Really hard. Unlike physical training, drawing is a mental skill that requires finely honing over an extended period of time. There is no guarantee that you'll get better, And there are no strict guides to get him from one point of mastery to another.

He's not very good at it, which is actually a net positive for Freminet. He's always enjoyed a good challenge, loved the trial and error that came with mastering a new skill. It's very different from tinkering, wherein instead of a preset set of steps and instructions laid out for him, art was a process that left it entirely up to the creator to decide- it's really no wonder there are so many styles of it out there.

He's committed to a change in scenery to draw out his ‘creative mind’, sitting in places like the coastline or the city's benches to draw out random objects or whatever comes to his mind, deciding that staying cooped up in his bedroom any longer was gonna make him stir crazy.

His drawings-admittedly-suck, but he gets better the more he does it, which fills him with a special kind of satisfaction. Freminet has never been naturally gifted in the arts, not in the way his siblings were, so it's an impressive feat to have at least marginally prove his worth in it.

Like this, he's just a smidge more alike to Lyney and Lynette.

He tries to shove down the pride he feels at the thought. Lyney's pretend-ego is already too inflated as is, and if he heard him say that…

Anyhow, it serves as a nice relaxer, which admittedly helps momentarily, but it's obviously not enough to quash his anxieties fully. He'd be quite foolish if it were. He has to plan something , some sort of escape plan in case this doesn't all blow over. It's the most reasonable thing to do, and he's sure his overbearing anxieties won't go away until he does so.

It's one early morning that plans change. He had been getting ready to head off and buy a restock of his iron supplements, maybe get some more cat food for Rosseland while he was at it. It's when he's putting on his shoes at the front door, mulling over his planned schedule, that he hears Lyney call out for him.

“Hey, Freminet,” He hears Lyney call from his room, “You left your… journal out here. Oh wow, wait a second-”

Freminet snaps up from where he'd been tying his shoes, panic immediately striking him at the thought of what he's found. He almost falls over from how fast he gets up, stumbling through his doorway.

“Stop! You can't see those!” He protests loudly.

“What? Why not?” He offhandedly flips through another page, an impressed gleam crossing his features, “-You left it out here, and I just wanted to make sure it was yours. Did you seriously make these? Holy crap Freminet…”

Freminet groans painfully, mourning the loss of his secret hobby to his brother's snooping. It's not that he's embarrassed over his art (well, he is a little), but it's more of some of the page's personal content.

"-Hey, hey wait a second! I remember these!" Lyney snapped up, his tone sparkling with vague recognition, "You told me about them once, remember? These are your little… what was it- cartoon friends, right?"

Freminet flushed bright red with embarrassment. " They're not cartoons," he insisted, leaning forward in an attempt to snatch the sketchbook from the magician's evil hands. Unsurprisingly he misses, Lyney's reaction time far quicker than his own.

"Woah woah, don't get upset now! I wasn't trying to be mean," he insisted, idly flipping through the next page, spotting loose charcoal studies of romaritime flowers, "- Wow. This is actually super impressive! Have you been taking secret lessons or something? Is that where you've been sneaking off too?" 

He reaches to swipe the sketchbook back from the older boy, only to be foiled when Lyney holds it up above his head, away from his reach.

"Give- it-! Back!" He wails, frustration growing as Lyney laughs devilishly. 

“No way, not yet! I haven't finished looking!” He declares with a grin, raising the sketchbook further above his head as he mindlessly turns the page, “-Say, you got any drawings of me or Lynette in here? I bet we'd look great in your style. I mean, I know I'd look fabulous, of course, but that's to be expected-”

“-No! I don't!” He cries, swatting at the taller boy on the tips of his toes. ”People are hard to draw, and- and I'm not even that good-”

“What! pshhhh-” Lyney dismisses, flipping to a page full of coral sketches, “Don’t put yourself down so fast! You're a quick learner! I'm sure you'll get it eventually- Maybe you can even start making some official art of me and Lynette's performances. Imagine that! Having the whole world give you and your craft the attention it deserves-”

"Lyneeyyy!" he whines with embarrassment, unable to stop the flush of red coloring his face. 

“Oh my gosh, your face is so red!” He laughs, genuine delight in his voice, “I’m kidding I’m kidding! Man, if this is really what you've been busying yourself with all this time, I wouldn't have gotten so worked up-” 

His words are caught off by a dramatic yelp, his corset suddenly tightened from where Lynette had sneaked behind him and jerked at the laces tight. The older boy doubled over with a wheeze, from which his assistant plucked the sketchbook right out of his hands.

"Don't be mean, Lyney. You know he doesn't like that." she reprimands, stern gaze softening as she turns to Freminet and hands him his book, "Here you go, Freminet."

He all but snatches it from his sister's hands, cradling it against his chest in relief. Lynette, once again, my guardian angel.

"Aw what!” he recovers quickly, “I was just admiring my little brother's art! What's so bad about that?" 

Lynette looks at him with a raised brow, “You draw?” 

Lyney cuts him off before he can even speak up, arms crossed with a touch of smug pride, "A welcomed surprise isn’t it? A master of the arts, that one. I mean, performance is a kind of art when you think about it- and I knew talent ran in the family, one way or another." 

"Why are you saying it like that?" Freminet mumbles with a scowl, unsure if he should feel offended or not. 

"Well, It isn't admiring if Freminet didn't want you to see it," Lynette replies coolly, not seeming to hear her younger brother's remark, "-show some respect. You don't go looking through my stuff so freely either, do you?” 

“No way, but that's just because you're mean.” he huffs petulantly, crossing his arms. “Who even leaves finger traps in their drawers?! A paranoid masochist, that's who!”

Lyney swings an arm over his shoulder, the younger yelping suddenly and scowling as the boy purposefully leaned most of his weight onto Freminet's side.

“-And Freminet here is an angel! Wouldn’t hurt a fly, I tell you. He'd never treat me so callously, you hear?” 

“So you abuse his kindness and continue to mess with him knowing he won’t fight back?”

“What! I don't abuse anything!” He jostles Freminet a small bit, pulling at his cheek like some old grandmother. “Tell her Freminet. Tell her how wonderful of a big brother I am. Tell her that you could have any other older brother in the whole wide world, and you'd still choose me. Go on!”

“I am not saying that.” he grumbles stubbornly, even as the older boy pinches his cheek. He bats at his hand with a scowl, forcing him to let up. 

“Whaaat???? You won't vouch for me?” he protests, nudging him lightly, “ Cmon , I know you don't mean it! I mean, who wouldn't want me as their older brother? I'm like, the best there is!”

“Me” Lynette pipes up immediately, expression deadpanned.

“I think we aren’t the most unbiased sources…” Freminet admits with a murmur.

“Hm. Well, it's too bad for both of you.” He crossed his arms, a smug bright smile climbing on his face, “-because according to a batch of completely legal documents, both of you are my little siblings. No one else's. And no matter how much you whine or complain, nothings ever gonna change thaaat~”

“Like I need a reminder.” 

“Aw, cmon Lyn,” he singsongs, locking arms with his twins as he purposefully invades her space, purposefully trying to annoy her, “Just admit it already. You looovveeeee meeeee. Lovelove lovveeee meee- c’mon, give your favorite big brother a biggggg hug-”

The younger twin scowls and makes a move to shove the magician, but Lyney clings to her waist like a big-grinning octopus and laughs good-naturedly. Freminet doesn’t bat an eye at the ridiculous display, and instead remembers the untied shoe he left at the front door.

“I'm gonna go-” Freminet starts, turning away before being cut off.

“Uh uh, oh no you don’t!” Lyney declares loudly, “Like you could escape me!”

“What-?”

Freminet's eyes widened as he felt arms wrap around his middle. He struggled for a brief moment, shielding his sketchbook against his chest, when suddenly the arms around his middle flexed and heaved his whole body into the air. He yelps out as he's swept off his feet, feeling the air punched out of his lungs as he’’s manhandled.

“Ow- hey!” Freminet protests, squirming in the older’s hold, “-why do you only ever toss me around?”

“Oh, easy,” Lyney replied, smiling against his hair, “Lynette would break my nose if I did it to her.”

“I would.” Lynette confirmed. 

Freminet huffs but accepts his fate, only reaffirming Lyney's statements. He hangs limply in the other’s hold as the twins settle back into idle chatter, the older of the twins comfortable with continuing to hold him like some sack of flour. It’s only when his nose sporadically decides to start bleeding that he puts him down, finally giving him some space as he ushers to clean himself up in their bathroom. 

Water trickles from the sink, the skin on his face irritated from a thorough toweling down. Even with the door closed, he can still hear his siblings bickering amongst themselves, their tones light and easy. Their voices could probably be heard in any room of the apartment, filling up the space with their presence, making it truly feel like a home and not just a residence.

He doesn't move away from the sink, instead staring at his reflection. He reaches to snake his hand around the heart-shaped necklace hanging from his neck.

Freminet clutched it gently, a small smile tugging up his lips. For the first time in a few days, he feels at ease, his mind and heart just a bit lighter as his paranoia let up for just a moment.

He… he really can't endlessly mull over things, can he? While the plausibility of some sort of confrontation happening is certainly high, he has to admit that it has been affecting him quite negatively. The bags under his eyes and exuberated jumpiness is enough proof of that.

‘I can't keep living like this, in some… perpetual stasis.’

Freminet breathes in, and holds it.

Bad things are going to come eventually, as they always do. The best they can do now is prepare for it, and combat it with everything they have.

It's all the more important to cherish the good we have in the present. If not for the Hearth, then for themselves.

Freminet breathes out. 

He eventually leaves the bathroom and sets his sketchbook on his nightstand, before making his way to the kitchen, mulling over what kind of dish Lyney would like for lunch.

—

.

.

.

“The results from the genetic testing have returned. I… I advise you to sit down for this.”

Drip.

"It's called Hereditary Hemorrhagic Telangiectasia."

Drip.

“-It's a genetic disorder that causes abnormal vein connections, called arteriovenous malformations, to develop between arteries and veins. The most common locations affected are the nose, lungs, brain and liver.”

“These malformations may enlarge over time and can bleed or rupture, sometimes causing rather… catastrophic complications.”

Drip.

“It's incurable.”

Drip.

“I'm sorry.”

The old doctor's office is silent, save for the loud leaking of some pipes overhead. 

Their scheduled meeting is much like before, save for the fact that Freminet was spared from having to wear a hospital gown. Thank the Archons .

Of course, that relief is ruined by the doctor's clear cut diagnosis, letting the heavy news settle in the air.

“And…” Lynette starts, tone unreadable, “You’re…certain of this? One-hundred percent?”

The older gentleman sighs, moving to sift through his clipboard. “Well, according to Young Freminet’s genetic test results, his registered geological line shows consistent irregularities and mutations localized in the nervous system. However, of course, there could be missing links in the family tree.” He turns to Freminet.

“Young Freminet, do you recall anyone in your family having any sort of… health issues? Blood-related ones, perhaps?”

He remembers the hum of a soft lullaby. He remembers the brush of long blonde lockes of hair. He remembers the smell of iron, stuck to the frame of an old rickety bed. 

He remembers a stranger, wearing his Maman’s skin, unrecognizable.

“Yes.” he confirms, staving off the horror in his voice. “Yes, I do.”

He clutches Pers on his lap a little tighter.. While it's clear Lyney and Lynette are much more disquieted by the news, Freminet can't help but feel… despondent. Like encountering a missing puzzle piece that you hadn't even known you had.

There's no triumph, no relief at having his physical weaknesses rationalized by something other than his own shortcomings.

How foolish had he been…to so easily dismiss his natural sickliness? It ran in his blood, figuratively and literally now.

“Spontaneous and unprovoked nosebleeds, sometimes on a daily basis, are the most common symptom of early HHT.” He continues, flipping over some papers on his clipboard. “-if your past physicals are correct, your reports state you've suffered from this affliction during your residence at the Hearth, correct?”

In leeway of answering, he tugs a handkerchief out of his pocket and waves it around, ready to clean up his blood at a moment's notice. It already had dried pools of blood soaked into its fabric, flaky and gruesome.

“I see,” the doctor hums, turning to write something on his clipboard. “Iron deficiency, anemia…Shortness of breath… have you frequently suffered from other possible symptoms, like headaches or seizures?”

“...seizures?” He hears Lynette ask, her frail voice coated with a crude mixture of disbelief and horror.

“Just trying to know what I’m working with mam.” The gentleman responds neutrally.

“We would have mentioned something like that happening,” Lyney butts in, tone neutral-sounding the way it does when he usually tries to mask his emotions. “Just the nosebleeds. And the ear incident, of course.”

“Hm. Alright. That’s good,” He writes something down, before an unusual smile tugs up his lips, “That’s extremely good, actually. The frequency of ‘daily nosebleeds’ may be something of a worrying note, but a lack of more severe methods of blood loss is a mark of showing the disease's lack of progression. For going untreated for so long, we're very lucky for nothing worse to have happened.”

“Wait-” Freminet himself cuts off, heart jumping to his throat “Then- am I okay?”

“As of right now? Yes.” “We should start off treatment as soon as possible-”

“Treatment?!” all three declare loudly.

The doctor blinks once, then twice, then a large sheepish grin splits the man’s face. 

“Ah. Had I not mentioned it earlier?”

“You said it was incurable! What else were we supposed to think?!”

“Well. My apologies,” the man smoothes out his lab coat, adjusting the mask over his head, “Hereditary Hemorrhagic Telangiectasia-like most other diseases of its kind-may be incurable, but remains treatable .” He smiles, gesturing his free hand outward. “-Most people with HHT actually manage to live a decently normal life, once put on proper treatment.”

A rope snaps, and Freminet can almost feel the tension in the room ebb away almost immediately. Lyney slouches back and digs his palms into his eyes, while Lynette slumps back like a large weight was just lifted off her back. Even Freminet-who had been stuck in a stasis of shock and detachedness- finds himself blinking back water clinging to his eyelashes.

“So… so everything's fine then?” 

“While it's unlikely for Freminet to enter a critical state at this very moment, his ear incident proves that this disease is enroute to develop" he explains neutrally, "With proper treatment now, however, I'm sure we can curb it as much as possible. Any unfavorable incidents should be a lot less likely to occur."

“I believe the largest  issue that young Freminet faces is the fact that he's already shown severe signs of undergoing worse symptoms. Nosebleeds are a relatively harmless side effect on their own, but to bleed from a place so close to the brain, even once, is especially dangerous. It could be a sign of progression, and if that happens… well, we'll deal with it if it gets to it.”

“The best thing we can do right now is to get young Freminet started on the proper medications as soon as possible. Trainee Freminet is still quite young, and therefore his body remains more susceptible to improvement via treatment.” 

“Hear that Freminet?” Lyney asks softly as he turns to him, shaking his shoulder a little bit, “We just have to get you on a few medications, 

“Everything’s gonna be alright, okay?”

Freminet's knows Lyney, it's also mostly for himself. 

The young boy meets his eyes and nods, trying his best to swallow past the lump caught in his throat.

—

His routine mostly stays the same, all things considered: he wakes up, brushes his teeth, makes breakfast and takes his supplements with it, reads whatever new correspondence Father has sent them (if they have any), does some mechanical work, runs errands, makes dinner, and then he goes to sleep.

Of course, now it's interspersed with scheduled doctor's visits. Every two to three weeks, he's all but dragged by the heels of his feet to the underground doctor's room, where he's sat down and made to receive a shot of something called . 

It's a bit embarrassing, how he'll regularly fight and win against men twice his weight and size, and yet a simple needle manages to strike much more fear into him. He's had to force his eyes shut and look away, clutching his older sibling’s hands in an iron-tight grip, fearing he'll lose whatever breakfast he'd managed to scarf down. The prospect of continually receiving these for who knows how long is one he tries not to think about.

It was either he kept getting shots, or he got something called a ‘catheter’ stuck in the juncture of his arm permanently, which sounded about as appealing as getting a needle stuck under his fingernail. 

'One of the most common symptoms of Bevacizumab is high blood pressure,’ he recalls the doctor describing. ‘It should come in temporary, relatively harmless bouts. Please refrain from ingesting caffeine to avoid raising your blood pressure to dangerous levels.’

For a medication that was supposed to be healing him, it sure sounded like it was doing a whole lot of harm.

He doesn't feel better per se, but the frequent nosebleeds he was so used to getting have turned more into a more rare occurrence, which he figures is a good sign. It would be a lot nicer if he didn't feel like crap every other hour.

Once he started his medication, his fatigue hit him hard. Even on a day when he hasn't left the house, it'll feel like someone shoved him off a train and made him eat the concrete for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It's horrible pins-and-needles at its worst, and it all but leaves him paralyzed in place. 

‘In addition to side effects, you may feel more lethargic once we get you started. That is because your body is growing used to the effects of bevacizumab.’

‘It's a natural reaction, so simply give your body time to settle and it should sort itself out.’

He had shrugged off the caution when he had initially been told. He had no idea just how serious the man had been about it.

One morning early into the medication, Freminet had felt so lethargic that he had plopped himself down on the couch in their living room and proceeded to not move a single inch up until eight pm at night, unable to muster the energy to even stand up and walk.

Lynette had actually gotten so worried over it that she insisted on having him sleep in her room that night, uncomfortable with the idea of leaving him unmonitored in such a state. He was too tired to dismiss her worries, simply deciding to allow the older girl to do as she pleases.

Of course, that was the worst of it. Most of the time, he walks, talks, and acts like he usually does- If not with a slight bit of a tired damper in his demeanor, but it's not as if it was that noticeable from his usual behavior. The only ones who would actually notice as such are his family members.

Freminet goes about life as he usually does, still diving to his fullest capacity and working as a diligent soldier under Father's commands. The only difference now is that he wakes a little later than usual, and his heart sometimes speeds up without warning- which only leaves him sweaty and uncomfortable. He would complain about it, if he wasn’t aware of what the latter side of no treatment looked like.

These side effects feel like a daydream in comparison to what his mother had gone through.

Sometimes he thinks about his Maman, about what would have happened if she had gotten the same access to medication as he does now. Would she have survived? If his biological father hadn't left, would they have had the money to afford it? 

It's not fair.  

It's not fair that he gets to have this chance, this opportunity to escape the fate his mother could not. It's not fair that she had no one there to support her at her lowest, and still had to bear the responsibility of caring for her child all alone. 

Every day she survived off fumes, doing her absolute best to keep on a smile for him, tinkering and singing to him, all the while everyone in her life she needed the most had simply left.

Fate had made him watch his mother spiral, made him watch the person he loved most twist and wither into something unrecognizable. Was she aware of what was happening to her in the end stages? 

‘Would that have happened to him, if not for this chance? Would Lyney and Lynette have been made to watch their youngest brother lose himself to illness? Would he have started babbling nonsense too, striking his siblings in the midst of delirium?’

He's lived through his mother's story. He hopes his own does not have the same ending.

He clutched the heart-shaped pendant around his neck, rubbing the pad of his finger over the intricate golden ridges of the heirloom. Rosseland paws at his leg, begging for attention as he'd remained unmoved from where he stood.

‘At least there's that.’

‘Even if it's not fair, even if she's gone now, at least neither of them will ever have to go through what I went through.’

‘I would never wish that on anyone else…to watch the one you love the most lose themselves…’

He sighs and lets go of the pendant. A purr erupts from Rosseland as he scratches behind her ear.

‘Thank god for that.’

—

Mission assignments are a bit of an art at the House of the Hearth.

At the Hearth, there will always be something for you to do, no matter the skills you have. Father is particularly adept at probing others, cutting away at your excess fat until she finds something she can exploit for her own use. 

She's a master at it, capable of reading others-front and back-almost immediately. It's as impressive as it is chilling.

While the twins and himself may be assigned to one of the Hearth's longest and-objectively-most important assignments, it did not let them escape the confines of Father's considerations. They were skilled and well-trained, and a hefty asset to Father's productions. Even if Lyney and Lynette were official Operatives and Freminet was still a Trainee (due to his young age), it does not disregard his skill.

At the Hearth, everyone had to chip in, and it just so happened to be Freminet's turn. 

He had received one letter with directions, grabbed Pers, got ready, and had bid his siblings a quick goodbye before heading out the door. These jobs never took less than a day, at most.

Debt collecting was a standard practice among the Fatui, apparently especially apparent in the Eastern ends of Teyvat. It was actually one of the more direct reasons the delegation was formed under, allowing them legal residences in countries such as that of Inazuma or Liyue. 

Freminet, for a very long time, was actually a part of most of the back ends of these deals. If a higher ranking Fatui member’s dealings with a person fell through, it'd be up to someone like Freminet to come in and… push in with ‘cleanup procedures’. 

He's learned to get his work done swiftly and mechanically, thus making him a prime candidate in that line of work. Seeing as he wasn't nearly as skilled in theatrics as Lyney and Lynette were, it naturally suspended him to some of the more… straightforward jobs in the Hearth. 

The target’s manor simply was built on the juncture of a coastline, making sneaking into it simple. 

It's an unfortunate thing, that the man begs for his life. Perhaps if it had been anyone but Freminet, then his final words wouldn't have been muffled and suppressed by the partial noise cancellation of his helmet. 

The most gruesome bits are a blur, as they always are on his missions, and the haze in his mind only clears when he's standing over the mangled body of the man he just spoke with. The nobleman he had scuffled with not a second ago was reduced to red shapes, smears of scarlet and blots of dark reds splattering across his front. His face is battered and smashed in, partially unidentifiable thanks to the heavy weight of his claymore.

He tries not to look, tries to save them the smallest shred of dignity. The more he looks, the worse his insides twisted. 

He lets out a shaky breath, eyes swimming as they suddenly blur. Now I just feel queasy…

The cold tile from where he rises is spotted with drops of red, Freminet grunting with the effort to get up. None of his equipment had been damaged, had it? He has to report to Father straight after this, and it would make things a lot harder if he had to take the long way around-

A sharp and sudden pain stabs into his middle, and his vision almost goes completely white like a flashbang. He's barely able to catch himself on the office's cabinet, almost smashing his head against it. A high pitched ringing grapples into him, and Freminet half wonders if someone had actually thrown a flashbang at him.

The sensation that hits him comes out of nowhere, making him clutch a hand around his middle. Had he been injured? No, that's not possible, the man had barely fought back. Had he pulled a muscle? Strained something?

The blonde sways to his feet, grunting as he shifts in place to better regain his balance. There's no time to check for wounds; he has to get out of here as fast as possible if he doesn't want to get caught. He lets his claymore dissolve in a fade of golden light, holding his stomach with one hand as he flees the scene.

He works up the effort to sink himself back down the coast from where he came from, careful to avoid the gardeners idling around the courtyard. The ocean washes away the remains of the man's blood left on his body, ignoring the slight jab of pain in his abdomen as he sunk into the water. 

One moment he's at the water's of the Eastern Fontaine Ocean, the next he's climbing his way onto the pier of the Court's trading docks, removing his helmet right by the heart of the city. The swim over is a blur of waves and pain, and while it diluted a bit when he was in the water, it feels like it's coming back tenfold now that he was back on solid land.

‘Something’s… not… right…’

He sways as he walks along the pier, the hubbub and busy bodies of the Mariners and seaside merchants turning into an unintelligible buzzing in his ears. 

‘I… I should probably call a carriage to go home’ he decides, the thought slowly and barely registering through his hazy mind. He’s fearful he'll throw up if he gets on a carriage, but he's aware enough to acknowledge the fact that he can barely walk in this state.

“Shit, you alright there lad?” An older man asks, suddenly beside him. Freminet blearily recognizes him as one of the older diving men he's become acquainted with, remembering his singular ghostly blind eye.

He tries to respond, to dismiss him in the hopes to leave him alone, but his breath is caught in his throat and his eyes are watering. He gasps his mouth open like a fish, once, twice, before he feels a rush of liquid climb up his throat. 

He instinctively slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle the impending bile before the taste of iron surfaces instead. A flood of red escapes his mouth between the cracks of his fingers, the liquid trickling down his chin as he shakily removes his hands.

His entire palm is smeared with dark blood, a small string of saliva connecting to his stained lips. He gapes openly at the sight, idly registering how faint he suddenly feels.

‘Something’s not right somethingsnotright somethingsnotright-’

He hears new voices, a catharsis of grating loud noise pressed right against his ears. He doesn't even bother to discern what they're saying, too caught up with trying to stay upright. He ultimately fails, and one moment he's taking a step forward, the next he's limply sprawled on the floor.

“-Oh goodness!...What happened…is he-”

“-don't know…boy’s parents?...get him-”

“-omeone contact a Garde!...get a doctor on…losing-”

He blinks rapidly, eyes fluttering as he struggles to breathe through the blood caught in his throat. There were hands on him, moving him, and he didn't even have the energy to lean away from their touch. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, the world fading into a loud ring.

The last thing he registers is the lightness in his body, strong arms picking him up as the edges of his vision are engulfed in black.

.

.

.

He wakes up with a start.

It's not a slow transition, and his mind does not ease him into it. Reality slams into him with a splitting migraine, feeling as if his brain was being forcefully torn in two. The agonizing pain of it was enough to forcefully wretch a pained gasp from his mouth, dried beyond belief.

Noise rebounds around his head, the vague sounds of buzzing and mechanical beeping grating against his ears. The smell of sterile cleanliness and iron is so potent he can practically taste it in his dry mouth.

“...awake…blood…”

“...anesthesia…patient…”

He tries to wretch his eyes open, but instead his eyelids simply fail and flutter uselessly. The blinding light above him burns his retinas, and he feels big blobs of tears uncontrollably flood down the sides of his face from sensitivity.

A deep sense of wrongness blazes through him, his body numb but abuzz with what feels like bone-deep pins and needles. It feels horrible and wrong wrong wrong and he's babbling unintelligently, trying to force himself upright in his growing panic.

“Hnggh-” he chokes out, mouth feeling like it's been stuffed with cotton. “-hahhgh…ahgh…”

He registers what feels like a palm push against his chest, holding him down. He tries to push with all his might, but that turns out to amount to a small nudge in his state. It only drives his terror, his breath hyperventilating as the mechanical beeping increases.

“...Sweetheart…down…”

“...Reacting badly…the anesthesia. Someone put…back under...”

“...B-but! We already gave…the strongest we have-!...”

“...The boy’s midsection…open! Unless you want…get up and start spilling out all…organs on the floor, I suggest you-”

He doesn't have the wherewithal to keep track of the conversation, to even open his eyes and register anything past the blinding light above him, the shapes that dance along it. He senses something press against his lower face, hiccupping pathetically as he reclines back and feels air forced into his nose.

This time, when one of the voices speaks, it's closer and much more intelligible than any words before it.

“Shhh, it's okay sweetheart, just go to sleep.” it says, gentle and kind. “-Let us finish up here, alright? You're gonna feel a whole lot better when you wake up.”

He wants to respond, wants to ask what happened or where he was, but he can't manage to get anything out. He feels the strength forcefully wane from his muscles, the beeping of a machine steadying out as his heart slowed its hammering against his chest. New static clouds his vision, and the world swirls against it.

Before he knows it, he's closed his eyes and plunged back into darkness.

.

.

.

This time around, Freminet's journey back to consciousness is much slower than its previous counterpart.

He's stuck in darkness, unable to find the strength to move past it. His body is no longer lit in a blaze of uncomfortable pins and needles, instead now feeling like he's being weighed down by lead.

Freminet couldn't take anything in even if he wanted to, eyes practically bolted shut and his body mostly unresponsive to his command past occasional shifts. These moments of occasional half-consciousness would last a small few seconds, then he'd be forced right back under the surface of the water and back into darkness.

He hears voices from time to time, unintelligible and undecipherable past echoing murmurs, like they were talking amongst themselves. Familiar smells of burnt cinnamon and lavender flit about from time to time, one's he clings onto in favor of the overwhelming scent of rubbing alcohol.

When he feels a hand clasp onto his own, it takes an embarrassingly colossal effort for him to squeeze it back. It's worth it though, when he feels the same hand proceed to tenderly thread their fingers together. 

Things are a little less scary when he knows someone is there with him.

When he finally finds the energy to open his eyes, he does not find himself blinded by the light of some fixture. Instead, he's met with the sight of simple wooden paneling in a room. When he turns his head, he finds rows of similar unoccupied cots lined beside him. Freminet's eyes widened in recognition.

It looks exactly as he remembers it when he used to get his training injuries. There many cots lined down either side of the vast room, other white beds well-made and untouched. He’s the only patient here, no other soul in sight.

‘The… the Hearth's Infirmary? How did I get here?’ 

The room was pitch black, the dark night sky behind the grand windows bringing only faint  moonlight in. The only light present in the entire room actually was the oil lantern at his bedside, which sat right besides-

Pers!

The clockwork penguin sat unassumingly by his bedside, his large, rotund body half cloaked in darkness. Like a knight bathed in dramatic lighting.  

The relief at the sight of his friend is instinctive, and he’s about to try to sit up and try to reach for him when something tugs to hold him in place. He glances down and-with some horror in his eyes-realizes that there's a large leather belt strapped against his chest over the blankets, tying him directly down against the bed. 

If he were of clearer mind and greater strength, perhaps he could have had the energy to free himself. Even turning his head was a challenge in itself, so he didn't have much hope in that idea. Besides, he doesn't think he's actually in any danger, so it should be fine.

For a long while, nothing happens. The crackles of the light beside him is the only sound present in the room, along with the gusting winds hitting the room's windows. It's really peaceful- he kind of just wishes he could be holding Pers right now. Having him so close yet remain unreachable seems more of a cruel taunt from the universe.

Eventually, he hears the door of the Infirmary twist open, and inside comes a young lady. She had a maid's uniform on, shiny brown hair tucked into a romantic tuck. The candle holder in her hand lit up the room, and she immediately perked up when her eyes met his own.

“Ah! Trainee Freminet, you're awake!” The young maid observes, smiling kindly, “Please do not try to get up. I'll notify the head nurse of your condition right away.”

She's gone before he can even get a word out, the door to the large room closed without a second to spare. Freminet wanes a little into himself, sighing as he resigns himself to waiting.

Eventually the door opens again and, instead of the previous maid, comes in a nurse clad in night slippers. Despite the tired and mused look she possesses of a freshly-awoken person, her sharp eyes are determined and set on him immediately.

“Hello, Freminet,” the lady hums, a neutral look plastered on her face, “Quite inconvenient, that you've decided to wake up in the middle of the night, away from my observation. How long ago did you awaken?”

“Not long,” he admits, strained and throat sore from disuse.

“Why- why am I here?” he asks instead, glancing at the leather strapped across his chest, “-And…and why the belt?” 

“All for the sake of your safety,” she assures, flipping through her large clipboard, “Apparently while you were in the middle of surgery, you regained consciousness and attempted to get up. It's common for younger people to have poor reactions to anesthesia, so do not worry-”

“-S…surgery? I was in surgery?” Freminet asks, voice marred with disbelief.

At that, the nurse frowns. “What's the last thing you remember, Freminet?”

Freminet leans back and momentarily gazes away, frowning. Usually this would be a more than easy question, but he finds himself surprised when he has to put in legitimate effort into remembering.

“I-I arrived at the shorelines and walked along the pier.” “I… I started getting sick, I think. That's all I can remember.”

“Alright.” The nurse sighs, looking over her clipboard, “Let me recount what happened for you.”

And she does. Apparently while he had been out on a mission, a blood clot that had been forming in his midsection randomly burst, causing him to rupture a blood vessel. When he managed to get to Fontaine’s piers, his body was beginning to shut down from blood loss. It was thanks to the help of some charitable Mariners that he got help, calling some Gardes to get him to the nearest hospital.

There, he underwent immediate emergency surgery, not wasting any time when he was losing so much blood. Apparently they had some trouble locating the site of the aneurysm, and it required for his entire middle to be cut open for better access. Aside from the incident of him attempting to wake up, the vascular surgery went off without a hitch.

Freminet was stabilized by the time the hospital contacted Lyney and Lynette, as per his written emergency contact. They contacted Father next and then had him requested to be transferred to the Hearth's grounds for recovery. It was allowed after some consultation, and now here he was. 

“And- and my siblings?” He asks.

“The twin Operatives?” She clarifies, “They've been staying at the Hearth since your admission. Currently they're dispatched on a job, but I'm sure they'll get back before dawn.”

Freminet winces, already imagining what kind of state his siblings must be in. It must have given them a heart attack, receiving a sudden call from a hospital telling them their brother was under emergency surgery. They’ve already been hovering over his shoulder thanks to his medication’s effects- he can only guess how they’ll act once he’s out of this mess.

“If you need anything else, just holler for me.” The nurse divulges, doing a final check on the IV he found out was attached to his elbow, “I’ll make regular rounds and will check up on you if need be. Do us both a favor and try not undo the belt and try to get up. You’ll just end up hurting yourself. For now, I recommend you rest and recuperate as best you can.”

She leaves to give him some privacy, and Freminet is left to his lonesome. He deflates as he lets out a long sigh, resigning himself to his fate.

Time passes by and the sky outside turns from a pitch black to a luminous navy color, early winter chill frosting the edges of the windows. Freminet watches the gentle snowfall outside from where he laid, partially because there was little else to do- and partially because he found peace in observing the natural phenomenon. Like glitter falling from the sky.

After all the chaos he’s gone through, a silent break was appreciated.

While he wished to stay awake in anticipation of his sibling’s arrival, the tiredness that weighs him down feels like lead. Even after not moving an inch since he’s woken up, he already feels exhausted, having no choice but to fall into continuous spouts of fitful sleep. 

The sky’s turned into a gradient of purple and blue a short time later, his upper half allowed to carefully be reclined forward with the help of a stack of pillows. His arms are allowed to be free from his belt bindings, which he’s very glad for. Some other nurse is fiddling with his IV bag when a commotion breaks outside the room, a chorus of muffled voices filling the hallway.

“Sir! Please don’t run in there like this!” a voice cries, “There could be other patients in there resting-!”

“Out of my way!”

The door to the infirmary is slammed open, nearly flying off its hinges with the force. On the other side stumbles in Lyney, winded and breathing hard. Had he ran here?

What’s most shocking, above all, is that his brother’s front was almost completely covered in blood. Both his sleeveless white ruffled shirt and corset laid stained with red, splatters of scarlet droplets soiled in what looked to be an impact hit. No doubt, it was not his own blood.

Either Lyney does not realize his current state of dress or does not care about it, because it’s clearly a low priority to him right now. When he spots Freminet from where he's reclined, he all but sags in relief- like a weight was suddenly lifted off his shoulders. 

“Freminet” he breathes.

He stumbles over himself in an effort to get to him, stopping short just at his bedside. Even though he can tell Lyney wants to embrace him, he instead opts to kneel down beside him and grasp at his hands. He holds them gently but firmly, like he was something precious.

“Thank god, thank god-” he said shakily, combing a hand over his hair as he peered into his eyes, “H-how are you? You’re alright, right?”

“I’m fine.” He mumbles, a little stunned by the sudden display. Freminet had been expecting Lyney to be worried, yes, but this? He’s acting as if he just woke up from a coma or something? Ah, I really made him worried…

Lynette pads in just a few steps behind Lyney- appearing slightly winded as she came up on the door. She was in a similar state of dress as her brother, at the very least the blood less visible on her black dress. Upon seeing both her twin kneeling on the floor and her youngest glancing up at her, the rigidness in her frame seems to ebb away as she untenses. 

Wordlessly, she padded up to his unoccupied left side, dipped down and wrapped the upper half of his head in a careful hug. The smell of lavender envelops him, comforting and familiar. She was obviously being considerate of his state, only hugging him momentarily before peeling herself off of him. 

“You're both dirty,” he whispers, voice ragged from disuse. He grimaces as he glances at his older brother’s face, specks of dirty and blood dried over his face.

The older boy barely bats an eye at his statement, not even looking sheepish or guilty at the blood coating him. Instead, he simply thinned his lips and squeezed his hand.

“Just got done with a job,” he says curtly, figuring the statement explanation enough, “Didn't have time to clean up.”

“We came as soon as we heard you were awake.” Lynette adds. “We're sorry if the sight upsets you.”

Freminet shakes his head. “It's fine.” It’s not anything new for him, after all.

Both twins move to sit on opposite ends of his cot, giving the younger some space yet each still respectively holding his hands. He appreciated it, seeing as the smell of rubbing alcohol was really starting to overwhelm him.

“How are you feeling?” Lynette asks instead, changing the topic, “Nothing hurts, right?”

Freminet shrugs. “No, uh…I can’t feel anything,” he raises his arm, gesturing at the tubes taped onto the juncture of his elbow, “-said they put me on a bunch of anesthetics.

“It must have been scary, suddenly waking up alone at the Hearth. They said you woke up around midnight. Is that true?”

“Yeah,” Freminet confirms, gesturing to his middle, “It sucked more waking up to a belt tied around my chest. Kinda freaked me out a bit.”

“We figured that’d be the case,” Lyney huffs, crossing his arms with what looks like thinly-veiled frustration. “We have been talking about it with the nurse since Monday. Said it might make you start panicking, but she insisted. Mentioned something about some incident during your surgery-”

“-Monday… you said that happened Monday.” Freminet suddenly realizes, turning to Lynette, “But that can’t- I thought I did my mission on Monday- Wait, what day was I admitted?”

“Late last Monday, you were transferred to the Hearth.” Lynette responds.

“And what day is it today?” he asks.

He sees her momentarily glance at Lyney, eyes unreadable, before looking back at Freminet.

“...Monday.” she admits.

Freminet leans back, stunned at the news. “I’ve been sleeping for an entire week?” he asks, voice hushed.

“They said…you were in a precarious state.” Lynette admits, suddenly sheepish with the reminder. “They… they had to keep you under while they figured out what kind of painkillers they could actually give you without reacting badly again. Better safe than sorry, right?”

Freminet's eyes widened, a realization dawning on him. “The nurse said you've stayed here since I was admitted. That- does that mean you've both been here for a whole week? What about your shows? Our appearance?”

“What, were we supposed to just go back home to go about our day knowing you were about to be put under a medically-induced coma?”

“Lyney,” Lynette warns harshly, sending her brother a glare.

“What? It's the truth.” He shrugged, completely unbothered by his sister’s stern words. He leans in, facing his sister with a scowl, “What, you want me to lie? Say I cared more about some mission more than my own brother? Say I slept like a baby this whole damn week-?”

“Guys…” He tries to diffuse, already sensing the mounting tension. 

“-Don’t start,” Lynette replies just as fast, ignoring her brother's protests as her ears pin back, “You’re upset and you’re feeling emotional right now, so don’t start putting blame on me-”

“Damn right I’m upset. You think I’m gonna lie about that? Hide it? Just- bottle it up and stamp it down like I do with everything else? Just because what? -You think I'll scare him?”

“Lyney, just listen to me," she insists, "you’ll make him feel guilty-”

“Well, Freminet should know he has nothing to feel bad about!" He counters easily, "Maybe I don’t feel like lying right now either. Gotta be honest sometimes right?”

He proceeds to turn his attention towards Freminet, leaning into his space as he clasps his hand. “Listen to me Freminet, and listen well:” he begins, red slitted eyes peering directly into his, “nothing- and I mean nothing -could possibly be more important than being here for you right now. If I was ever hurt and bedridden, you wouldn’t leave me to the wolves, would you?”

“What?” Freminet balks, completely baffled and a bit confused by all this, “I- of course not-”

“There, easy as that then!” He declares, backing up a bit, “Don’t ever feel like we should be prioritizing other things when you’re hurt. Don’t feel guilty on behalf of our decisions.”

Freminet glances away, unable to meet the boy’s eyes as he stares at his bedsheets.

“You got that?”

His lips thin, then he sheepishly nods.

“Good.” He lets go of his hands then, the intensity in his voice ebbing away as he nods to himself, seemingly satisfied, “Good.” he repeats, sighing rather loudly.

Silence permits after that, the tension in the air not quite dissipating. He’s not sure what Lynette’s expression must be, seeing as he’s keeping his gaze trained down, but he can hear the anxious flicking of her tail. It kind of feels like he just got scolded, even if all Lyney was saying was technically trying to give him some peace of mind. Gosh, he really shouldn’t be so sensitive…

Before he can say anything, he hears Lyney let out a long drawn out sigh. He rubs the bridge of his nose, hunched over where he sat on his cot.

“I… I’m sorry, I-” He dips his head down and rubs at his eyes, frustrated with himself, “Sorry Freminet, I- I didn’t mean to get- shit-”

He grimaces, scrambling to assure his brother, “No- it’s fine. Don’t- please don’t feel bad.” He glances away, “I- I can only imagine how I’d react if I were in your place. Thank you but- it’s fine. I understand.”

“Still…” the older wanes.

“-It’s been a stressful time for everyone,” Lynette confirms. “Now that Freminet’s awake, we can at least know the worst has come to pass, right?”

A catharsis of agreement comes from that, and Freminet feels like he’s finally coming down from the tense atmosphere. He leans back and simply relaxes, indulging in his sibling’s presence while trying not to feel too sick over the numbness in his entire body. He's still plenty tired, but the exhaustion is easier to ignore now that his siblings are with him.

They catch him up on what he's missed: One or two small-name reporters approached the twins over the incident, fearing it to be some peculiar ‘murder’ attempt (in classic Fontanian overdramatics), but both refused to comment on a single thing- as they've been taught to do. Apparently, the old Diver that first noticed Freminet's state had been the one to deliver him to the local hospital, and went on to contact Lyney and Lynette with questions over how he was doing. It was a nice sentiment, all things considered, and he’ll be sure to assure him of his wellness the next time he happens upon him.

Aside from that, while Freminet knows he couldn't have controlled what was happening to him, he still wishes it hadn't been such a public incident. Even if most reporters didn't bother to write anything about it-considering the lack of updating information or freely available records on Freminet's identity-it was still bound to draw some eyes. 

Accident or not, he's put the Hearth under the spotlight more times than he'd like nowadays. 

Leisurely chit chat continues after that, the twins temporarily leaving to change out for a fresh set of clothing while Freminet’s own bandages get changed. The nurse recommended he turn away for the process and-while unsure of how he should feel about that-does as he’s told. It’s right as the twins sat down again after that that the door to the Infirmary opens again, this time revealing a surprising figure.

Their doctor-Freminet’s doctor, to be specific-comes into the room, posture strangely rigid and tense.

“Hello there,” he greets politely, clearing his throat, “Are you all doing well?”

All three of them give a chorus of confirmation, even if they seemed a bit confused at his presence. He nods, satisfied, before turning and zeroing in on Freminet.

“And are you alright now, Freminet? Not having any issues currently?” he asks.

He shrugs. Aside from being tied down to a bed and numb all over, he feels fine.

“Well, nothing of note is always good news in the medical world,” he nods, adjusting the mask on his face, “I can assume all three of you have been…informed as to the circumstances of Freminet’s arrival here? Everything?”

Once again, agreement all around.

“Good, good...” he murmurs, setting down his professional handbag and reaching in it to pull out a clipboard, turning to Lynette and Lyney, “I fear there is additional information I must inform Freminet of in private, and must ask both of you to temporarily leave.”

“What?” Lyney asked, frowning a small bit, “Why can't you just say it now?”

“Patient confidentiality," he reasons, tone cool and professional, “As family, you may be privy to a substantial part of the information, but… there are certain things that even I can't disclose so liberally. I hope you can understand that.”

Freminet glances uneasily at his brother, spotting the frustration that bears down on Lyney- his jaw tense and his expression pinched into a thin scowl. He seems to war with himself for a moment, but ultimately ends up letting it go as he tsked under his breath. 

When he turns to Freminet, his expression immediately eases, brushing a gentle thumb against his knuckles. “We'll be right outside, okay?” He assured, Lynette nodding close behind him. Freminet mirrors the action, and gives his brother a reassuring hand-squeeze.

With that, the twins step away from him and do as they're told, quietly filing out of the room and closing the door behind them. That left Freminet alone with the doctor, the large room quiet.

As the silence stretches on, Freminet wonders if he should be the one to break it, too curious to know what actually happened. Before he can get to it, the doctor lets out a long stretched-out sigh, before doing something rather unexpected:

With deft fingers, he takes off his masquerade mask, revealing the tired face of a exhausted man. Despite looking what he can assume to be a young adult, he had wrinkles and sunken features belonging to that of someone much older. The white hairs in his hair is much more visible under this light, no doubt having grown in from stress.

He looked tired, disheveled like this, and as he soothes a large hand over his drained face, he looks more human to Freminet than ever before.

“I'm sorry.” He says eventually, pinching at the bridge of his nose, “-I'm sorry, I-I'm just…give me a moment…”

He eventually lets out another puff of air, before moving to fish something out of his lab coat. He draws out another set of papers and glasses, adjusting them over his face.

He sits down on the edge of his bed, a respectable distance away as he attached the new documents to his clipboard.

“Now, Freminet,” he starts, “-know that everything that I say here has not been told to anyone else. I am legally not allowed to without your express permission. 

He tries to ignore the warning bells ringing in his mind, dread climbing up his spine as he straightens to attention. “Is it… bad?” he asks. 

He doesn't answer Freminet. His tired eyes bore into his own, before looking down to read off of his clipboard.

“Freminet, when I was informed of your situation, it had been shortly after you were transported to the Hearth." he begins, "-Seeing as much of the heavy lifting had already been done by on-scene physicians, the first thing I did was ask city surgeons that attended to you for an analysis of the incident- along with any possible anomalies they found during the procedure.”

He continues, “-I mostly just wanted to know what exactly happened to your body, what could have caused it, and if medication fluctuations were needed because of it.” He continued, shuffling through his papers, “Much of what I received was what I've already divulged: your aneurysm, the suspected additional blood clots, and some general information about the surgery.”

He clears his throat, “However, there were some… notable discoveries made in the midst. The surgeons reported that your blood vessels were observed to be ‘unusually thin’. Do you know what that means?”

“N-no sir.” he admits, shying away from his gaze.

“That means that they're simply easier to rupture." he explains, "-From one small scuffle to landing on your feet incorrectly, a blood vessel could rupture and burst. It's a mutation that we're simply born with, one that progressively puts you in danger the larger you grow in body mass- other people with your condition tend to start having these issues around your age.”  

“Oh,” he says simply, completely stunned. “Do I… have to take more medicine now? Like… with the other disease?”

The older gentleman gives him a sad look, breaking away from the professional doctor-talk-mode he had set off in.

“No, Freminet,” He explains carefully, “Your Hereditary Hemorrhagic Telangiectasia is very different from this. While HHT is a blood disease that can be treated and controlled with proper medication…thin blood vessels remain untreatable. It's a mutation you get from birth. Nothing changes that.”

“Oh…” he says, despondent disappointment and confusion hanging over him.

“On its own, thin blood vessels can be livable with little to no physical activity, but… with your prior condition taken into account, it would naturally suspend your veins into snapping. And… and I have to say this now, I sincerely apologize for not pushing for further examination. Had I known this, I would never have prescribed you bevacizumab and put your life in further danger by increasing your blood pressure- and my negligence is what could have possibly increased your chances of an incident happening by much more than it already was.”

"A-and that was?"

He shakes his head, switching tunes, “To be frank, I'm incredibly surprised an incident like this hasn't occurred  much sooner, given your state. You have been very fortunate, Freminet, but I fear we will have to work off of more than fortune if we do not desire to repeat these events.”

Freminet tries not to pout with frustration, or make any sort of unhappy face. He doesn't feel all that ‘fortunate’ when he's literally strapped to a bed, prodded full of drugs and stitches.

But his bitterness is easy to sweep aside, not when his heart races in its panic. Not when the dread gets stuck in his throat, clamping it shut over the mans dangerous implications for himself.

“Am I… gonna die?” he decides to ask outright, needing an answer. He's tried to keep his voice hushed, but his vulnerable expression no doubt gives away his true feelings.

“Not now.” He assures him, “And with proper medication and physical regulation- not for a while. But… as your body grows and your veins fail to keep up with a bigger surface area…”

“-perhaps it's…best we do not let things sneak up on us.”

The Fatui doctor extends their gloved hand, a folded small pamphlet in their grasp. Freminet reaches over and plucks it from their palm, inspecting it.

‘Voluntary Euthanasian: The Peaceful Ending You Deserve.’

It was an all white paper, simple black letters typed in the middle of the front page. Despite being a simple pamphlet, it feels like the weight of the world lies in his hands.

“I will not hide the reality of the situation from you, Freminet,” He admits slowly, the young boy unable to meet his eyes as he stares at the pamphlet. “-Your situation, as it stands, is… bound to result in death. It may not happen in a short time from now, but I cannot lie to you when I say improvements are feasible."

 “And… I've seen what it's like. To suffer like that. I was a pediatrician before joining the Fatui… I've seen what it's like to have your own child die a slow death. I've seen enough mothers cry over their deceased children to fill out a chart-”

Rapid flashes of his Maman flit into his mind, her youthful complexion melting away into the husk that she became. 

More terrifyingly, the faces of Lyney and Lynette follow close after, the former bearing a broad ecstatic smile while the latter shares a smaller, pleased one. 

He recalls a distant thought, one he had mulled over the later stages of his medication:

‘Even if it's not fair, even if she's gone now, at least neither of them will ever have to go through what I went through.’

Freminet's hands tremble, creasing the paper.

“And- and I promise you. I swear, I will do my very best to give you the longest, most fulfilling life you can. I'll have to prescribe you something different than Bevacizumab-”

“Thank you.” He interrupts without even looking at him, voice thick with emotion, “-can… can you leave now? And- and take this?”

He wants it out of his hands- out of his sight- out out out-

The man quiets, then sighs. “Very well.” he says gently, giving him some space as he takes the paper from him, “Write me a letter if you wish to reach me, alright?"

The man packs up and takes his leave, giving a terse goodbye to the twins by the door. The pair filter back into the room without another word, returning to his side. Unsurprisingly, the emotions of his prior conversation must be reflecting on his face, his hands trembling still as his eyes remain perturbed.

“Hey hey-” Lyney rushes to his side, gently coaxing his hand onto his, “-is everything alright?

He closes his eyes and scrunches his face, the sight of his siblings unbearable at that very moment. He shakes his head and allows his hair to hang over his face like a curtain, slouching his shoulder against his brothers.

“-Freminet?” he asks again.

“Can… can I hug you?” mumbling through the emotion in his voice.

Freminet wasn't one to actively seek out physical affection- so for him to ask for it, the twins must have gotten a sense of the deep upset inside him. To display himself like this, even with his internalized fear of weakness, is a true mark of his despair.

And yet, “I'm sorry big guy, but I'm not so sure you should be moving yet.” he combs a hand through his hair, “-Is there anything else I can do for you? Freminet?”

He doesn't bother responding, doesn't think he could if he tried. There's a sizable lump in his throat and he fears he may start crying if he says another word.

Instead, he grasped weakly at the olders glove, tugging on the leather material quite feebly. Lyney-catching on to what he wanted- pulled back and undid the velcro of the glove and pulled it off. He scooched himself forward until he sat right beside Freminet, stretching out his now-exposed hand.

He was not used to crying so openly, having only done so in the confines of the underwater world. To them, Freminet hadn't so openly wept in front of them for years now, his emotional tears having dried early into Father's training. 

In the Hearth, crying meant weakness. Emotion was saved for those who did not know better, people who did not have the struggle in darkness the way they did- all for their safety. Fontaine relied on them to bring justice to its hidden underbelly, and that required them to be as professional as possible. 

And yet here he was, shaking with the force of his sobs. He threw his forearm over his face at the shame of his display, no doubt imagining how pathetic he must look right now.

Freminet grasped at his warm hand, tugging it forward until it rested against his cheek. He did not let go, instead holding it there as he fought the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. He sniffled wetly, then once again, before the pad of the olders hand began to rub against the expanse of his face. It could have been Lynette's now that he thought about it, but in the end, it doesn't matter.

He's lucky his body was still laced with all sorts of painkillers and anesthesia- all the jostling from his hiccupping would no doubt be irritating his stitches painfully.

His cries eventually pitter into nothing, the feeling of exhaustion leaving him drained and empty. He keeps his forearm draped across his face even as his tears dry, either unable to face the music yet or simply too tired to do so. 

He hears murmurs of a hushed conversation, shared between the two oldest perched beside him, likely trying not to disturb his tentative moment of peace. He doesn't have the energy to try to listen to what they're saying, too busy wallowing in his painful misery to bother. 

—

Day-to-day life becomes a little strange, when you know you're going to die.

You stop worrying about so many little things, finally realizing how inconsequential it all really was. Things like career prospects and Mora spending suddenly feel so trivial, not when you're living on a timer.

Why does it matter? Why does anything matter? 

In the end, he did end up having to get a stupid catheter in him, attached to his hip instead of his forearm. Something about ‘draining remaining fluid’ in him or something post-surgery. It's as intrusive and uncomfortable as he thought it'd be, and it prevents him from properly moving on his own. 

It leaves him unable to do many things other than lay on his bed and let his mind occupy his thoughts. 

It’s a recipe for disaster, obviously. With nothing to keep him busy, the darker edges of his mind take hold- new and old thoughts corroding at him like rust on metal. It leaves him helpless to the growing rot inside him.

He doesn't tell the twins. Obviously he doesn't. He doesn't want to see how they'd react, hear what they'd say or what they'd do. 

He doesn't know if he prefers it, honestly.

Because while he's grappling with the possibility that he could just drop dead at any moment, Lyney and Lynette still attempt to go about their day as if as if nothing is wrong. They still banter, still make digs at each other, and-worst of all-still worry about the little things. Like they still matter.

Freminet’s new behavior doesn't escape the twin’s gaze. Obviously. He's not exactly trying to hide it, and the twins are too smart to miss it. 

They don't ask him questions, don't probe him either. Freminet figures they must believe his recent behavior is a result of the recovery he's suffering through, the strain of being weaned off the painkillers and feeling the entirety of his medications.

And it makes sense too.

Because even Freminet does not recognize himself when he looks in the mirror.

He's as pale and gawky as he remembers, but there's a shallow hollow in his cheeks and his eyes look sunken in. His freckles look darker against his ghostly skin too, and the veins along his wrists are painted an angry red.

He looks like he's just five minutes away from throwing up all his organs. He feels like it too, which probably doesn't help things at all. 

The long stretch of thick, black stitches line along his, an almost 20-centimeter-long slash cutting him in half. The skin around it was red and horribly blemished, a sight he only gets to take in when he has to change his bandages.

“It'll scar over,” They said.

“We did the best we could to treat it,” they said.

Freminet does not even blink at the news. He can't find it in himself to bother.

He's dying soon anyways. Who cares?

It makes him forget the little things, sometimes.

Groceries and separation of laundry, his medication and career plans.

And sometimes, it's the little things that are all he can pay attention to.

The call of the mourning doves outside. The croaks of frogs outside. The sounds of a windchime in the middle of a day. If all else fails, the sounds of nature always soothes the soul.

Now, Freminet sat resting against his designated chair in the dining room, slouched and transfixed on the leaking spigot of the sink. Tap water escapes it in a rhythmic trickle, tapping the metal surface of the sink each time it drops. Aside from it, no other sound could be heard from the small home.

On an average day, Freminet would have fixed it by now. It's an easy fix that simply consisted of tightening screws under the counter. He could have had it done by now, if he wasn't so fragile.

Freminet would probably live past his early twenties, if his body wasn't so fragile.

A cup full of water is placed on the table in front of him, along with three white pills placed beside it. There's no food for him tonight- won't be for a long while, not while he still has this catheter in him.

Lynette finishes setting up his ‘dinner’ and leans down towards him, pressing a gentle kiss on the crown of his head.

“Feel better, okay?” She mumbles, “Tell me when you finish up here so I can get you back to bed.” 

Freminet nods jerkily, blinking slowly. Technically he's not supposed to be up and about on his own, having to have Lyney or Lynette escort him by the arm whenever he desires to go anywhere. It’s a bit embarrassing, especially when he has to go to the bathroom, but he reasons he’d probably fall over without the support. 

She doesn't question what could have possibly been so interesting about some leaky sink, doesn't try to talk to him in an attempt to make him feel better (he likes to think she already knows it won't). She simply deposits his medication and momentarily shares his company.

It's the best either of them can do.

Still, Freminet lets out a sigh at her words, not particularly excited to return to the confines of his bedroom. He's already been there, unable to walk on his own, effectively bed ridden from the pills and pain. At least Rosseland keeps him company now, glued to his bedside and bringing him dead birds. The latter isn’t that appreciated, but it’s the thought that counts…

In spite of his thoughts, he still reaches out and loosely embraces Lynette back, pressing his face against the crook of her neck from where he sits. Lynette holds him back a little more firmly-still conscious of his state-and runs her fingers through his thin hair.

The contact is nice, as momentary as it was destined to be. Both of them may be used to physical contact thanks to Lyney, but neither of them vied for it either.

Eventually, she peels herself from his side and leaves. Maybe she should have turned on the light before she left, considering the blueish-gray darkness the end of a sunset provides.  Whatever, it's not like he's gonna bother her just for that…

Freminet stares at his cup, unmoving from where it lays.

It's Lynette’s own cup, the one Freminet had made for her on her birthday. It's simple earthenware clay he got from a merchant, his fingerprints still indented into it because he was an idiot of a kid who didn't know how to make pottery properly. He painted it with blobs of cats in the hopes of covering up the blemishes, but he did a shoddy job of that too.

In spite of the rightful mess it had turned out to be, it was still fully functional, and her birthday had grown too close for him to get her anything else. With a shamefaced, sheepish blush of embarrassment, he presented the mediocre cup to his sister the following morning.

Lynette-in her usual unexcited indifferent voice-said she loved it.

As bad as he may have thought it turned out, it had been a gift made with love. For a boy with so many words always stuck in the back of his throat, he couldn't have thought of a better way to display his care.

He loves the twins. They were his family.

For a very long time, he had thought he would never get that again. 

But now? Now he'll have to leave them too, just like Maman left him.

'Will I wither too?’ He thinks, ‘Will I lose my mind? Start… start losing sense of where I am, who I'm talking to? Will I start lashing out too? Will I scare Lyney and Lynette as well?’

No. 

No, no that….he can't put them through that. Not Lyney and Lynette.

The process of losing someone you love before you truly lose them… he doesn't want to make them go through that. 

His Maman had been a kind and gentle soul, her love for him endless and her protectiveness everlasting. It had been her illness that had twisted her into an unrecognizable person, mangling and puppeteering her body like a second skin.

It was horrible enough going through that himself, solely caring for his sickly mother when she barely even resembled herself. 

Does he even want to get that far along? Had his mother, too, wished for an end to her misery? In the midst of her mindless rambles… had she begged for the pain to stop too? 

Does he want to go through that too?

Does he want to put Lyney and Lynette in the exact same position he had been? 

Would they… would they remember him like that too? As some… foreign presence occupying the sickly body of their little brother? Would they regard their earlier memories with fondness, even while he was still breathing and withering on a bed, no longer himself?

Would he be conscious enough to be forced to watch it all unfold?

…

…

…

He clutches his upper arms, shaking at the goosebumps lined against his cold skin. He trembles violently, teeth creaking with how hard he was fitting them.

If he could curl up into a ball and hide under this very table, he would.

Instead, he opts to struggle his way to his feet, breathless and biting his lip in an effort to stifle his noises of pain, and making the trek back to his room on his own. He doesn't have it in him to call Lyney or Lynette to help him right now- he refuses to have them see him like this.

Freminet shuts his door as quietly as he can, suffering through the minute-long ordeal that is laying back down on his own bed. Once he does, he ignores the sweat sticking to his body and opts to throw his covers over his head, all in an effort to chase away those dark thoughts that cling to him like parasites.

Desperately, he closes his eyes and forces his breath to even out, before doing what he does best:

Freminet sinks, away from reality and into the warm waters of his dreams.

-

.

.

.

Neuvillette, while putting in his utmost efforts to understand the minds of man, cannot say he knows all things human. 

Now, that's not to say he hasn't gotten better; living and breathing amongst them certainly has improved his behavior and intonation to better fit what was to be expected of him. He likes to think he's perfected that portion, actually, finding smiling and frowning quite natural reactions.

What he most struggles with now, admittedly, is understanding the depth of the human mind. The train of thought for many common man is very different from Neuvillette's own, the very fact having made justice seeking a very complicated process in legal court for a long while. 

The Iudex would like to think he's improved over time, slowly but steadily, and yet…

He cannot seem to make sense of the human mind when he most needs it.

Initially, when Freminet had started dreaming again, he could not have helped the relief at seeing the boy. The first time he had felt that familiar tug at the back of his consciousness since that day at the coastline, it had occurred right in the middle of a court proceeding. Obviously he could not connect with him at that very moment, but as soon as the hour recess was called, he was scrambling to thread his hands through the mental connection.

He had been relieved, to see that the boy still had yet to shut him out. Perhaps he really hadn't recognized him then? Afterall, he hadn't exactly made it obvious that the boy's beloved Hydro Dragon and the famous Chief Justice of Fontaine were one in the same. Ah, he's probably spooked the boy to death hasn't he… he'll have to make it up to him then.

Unfortunately, whatever release he found at being by the boy's side again was… quickly replaced with concern.

There is a strange uncanniness to these newfound daydreams, a more exaggerated and high-pace for these adventures, much like how they were when he was younger. The returning entourage of characters Freminet calls his ‘friends’ act overbearing and loud, as if to cover the noise below it. 

The last time Freminet had dreamed so viciously-new adventures, more and more, day after day-was shortly after the passing of his mother. 

Has something tragic happened to someone he loves again? Or was it something more?

Neuvillette has heard of things like these, mostly in passing from Sigewinne's early studies- diseases of the mind. He has heard the consequences of extremes ‘loneliness syndrome' and the like. He may not remember much, but from he could gleam from it, it seemed like... a sad fate, worse than many.

He had initially chalked up Freminet's behavior as simply going through a rough patch and seeking out comfort, but what if it's not?

Perhaps the strangest thing of all, to top it all off, was Freminet's dissociation from the events of the dream. He looked at his ‘friends’ and their rambunctious banter and escapades as if he weren't there, only watching a play. He did participate from time to time, but it looked like it took a lot of energy from him if he did. His eyes were sunken, face remaining unamused and expressionless as he numbly analyzed the events unfolding in front of him. 

Was the boy weak in real life? Did he not even have the energy to participate in his own adventures?

This was all not to mention the state of the boy himself.

Freminet looks terrible . His hair is thinned and his skin in a porcelain white, his cheeks missing that signature sunkissed blush laid over his freckles. A weight seemed to bear down on his entire body, hunched posture making him look smaller and younger than he has in a very long time. 

The only silver lining in any of this is that Freminet does not look gaunt, meaning that at the very least he is getting nutrition properly.

(Neuvillette is quite lucky smells do not carry over into dreams, or else the scent of blood that clings to the boy would make itself apparent.)

 He holds himself by the ends of his billowing sleeves, looking as if he can barely keep himself upright. The boy looks weak and-by his own behavior-likely feels it too.

‘Something’s not right.’ His senses tell him.

Neuvillette decides to go about things slowly, not wishing to overwhelm the boy when he's clearly in a fragile state, even if the Iudex simmers with worry. He backs out of joining the anthropomorphic characters in their adventures, instead opting to sit his massive reptilian body beside the blonde. 

Even when he does not move, Freminet still startles when Neuvillette attempts to make polite small talk. The Diver can chat well enough, but seems to quickly retract back into silence when Neuvillette stops carrying the conversation.

He opts not to push, and to hope the boy comes to on his own. Even when distortions continue and his doubt grows, he does not force the boy to change his behavior. He can talk when he's ready.

Things come to a head five days into the dreams.

Whatever creative streak the young boy had been possessed with had quickly trickled out, falling to the static and distortion of the world around him. Sometimes there was no sky, instead replaced by an infinite fog that hides the world away. Now the environments lay vaguely recognizable-an ice cream parlor, a bench by the Fountain of Lucine, a creek by the mountains-but it's as if someone had left it to its barren shapes and colors, erasing the details of the walls and floors.

The worst of these places, perhaps, was that not a single soul occupies them. 

No characters, no animals, not even winds were present. Sometimes it felt as if there was simply no air flow in this place, stuck in a foreign stillness. As if everyone else had simply disappeared.

It's uncanny and extremely unsettling, and all Neuvillette can think about is the kind of mental state Freminet must be in to come up with such a place.

Today, they're at a beach- at least, what resembles one. They're both sat at the edge of a simple coast, the waterline stretching infinitely across both of their sides while the sunset lowered past the horizon. The usual sounds of rolling waves is present, even when the water in front of them barely recedes into itself. 

Freminet sits besides him, wrapping his arms around his knees. He looks as bad as he looked the day before, the only dark part of his ghostly skin being his eyebags now. 

"It's a nice day out," he starts, even when there is no sun out at this point, "With the winds so cold from winters grasp, one can find enjoyment in the warm heat of the sun. I often sunbathe under the sun too, though I've admittedly not been able to do it as often." Not when he was still swamped with cases back in the courts.

Freminet hums, but says nothing more. Neuvillette continues.

"Have you been out and about lately? Diving a lot?"

"It's winter," he responds simply, voice tired, "The lakes are frozen over."

Neuvillette nods. He already knew that, of course, but an easy answer like that was just the entry he needed. "Ah, that must be unfortunate. Do you miss it?"

Freminet shrugs.

"Do not worry, there'll be plenty of more winters for you to explore past the ocean. I've even heard some of the older generations of divers learned how to dive past the ice surface, but I assume it's still quite dangerous if you don't have the experience," he nudges the boy slightly, "Maybe you can try it when you're older?"

He sees the moment the boy locks up, freezing up and going rigid as he grasps tightly at his own limbs. Neuvillette mentally reels back.

Back up, back up, start somewhere else, somewhere easier…

“Did you know that I have narcolepsy?”

Now that makes Freminet take a pause. “...what?”

“It's true!” he declares, brightening as he launches into a spiel, “-specifically only around the winter months. You see, dragons-like many other animals-hibernate during the colder seasons of the year. For me, I used to swim to the bottom of the ocean and find myself a little cave, horde some food supply, and falling asleep for weeks at a time. If I attempt to avoid hibernation and continue about my day, my body will decide for me and randomly fall asleep as to momentarily replenish my energy."

He may be overblowing it a small bit, seeing as it doesn't happen that often-most of the time it's during the lull of paperwork hours or court recesses. If he were to fall asleep in court, it would no doubt be a display of unprofessional measures- that's why he so often drinks water with extra electrolytes before trials. The Melusines have taken to throwing blankets over him should they find him asleep at his desk, and Sigewinne has reported his random bouts of sleeping were a 'much needed break his body demanded of him' and that 'he should listen to his body more'.

What a caring group of little ones, those Melusines.

“Oh,” he murmurs, managing a small frown, “That's… that sounds rough. I'm sorry.”

Ah, dear boy. Always apologizing for things that do not warrant it. "Do not apologize, I've learned to live with it. It may be quite... disabling from time to time, but after so long I fear I would find it stranger if I didn't go through that."

He nods, looking on into the oceans edge. “Being a dragon sounds hard.”

"Hm. In some ways, I suppose," he reasons, deep voice sounding slightly mournful. "Do you wanna know what the hardest part is?"

"What?" 

"The fact that I'll never truly understand what it means to be human." He declares with a soft tone, his voice a quiet somber. "I adore all things human, but often find it difficult to place myself at their level. Things like social norms and emotional thinking can escape me in comprehension, and it's taken many years for me to learn and understand what a human can be born knowing."

The Hydro dragon starts to turn towards him, raising his large head towards the smaller boy. Much to his surprise, the lizard lightly knocks the bottom of his snout against his forehead, "-I can sense the conflicted emotions within you. Tell me what's on your mind, child, and I promise I will answer to the best of my ability. Do not let yourself suffer in silence."

Freminet raises his hand to place it a hand against the Dragon's maw, a pleased reptile-like trill emanating from it as soon as he starts running his fingers against the scales. Even as he idly continued the gentle ministration, his eyes remained unfocused and faraway, looking to be disconnected from the moment.

"Where do we go when we die?" He asks bluntly, tone despondent.

The question catches him off-guard, making the trill in his throat stop. He peels himself from the boy and raises his head, pondering over exactly what he should say. 

"Well…" he begins slowly, as if picking his words carefully, "It is impossible for anyone to be certain with what lies beyond the veil for humans. I am quite the old creature-ancient by some standards-and yet even I do not know the truth of this matter."

"Oh," Freminet says simply, unable to stop the disappointment that hangs on his shoulders.

"-But," he begins again, "I've heard some creative iterations from humans as to what it might be. My personal favorite…well…"

He suddenly raises his head, turning away to look back up to the beach's sky. The starry night sky meets his gaze, a sea of flickering lights enveloping the faux sky.

"...I like to believe that we join the stars once our body passes, and that all of our loved one's are simply joined in a sea of stars." He smiles, recalling the easy explanation. It was simple, but poetic and easy on the soul- one that seemed acceptable for young Freminet. "-From high above the sky, our old friends and family members can watch over us and keep us safe. An allowance to live life alongside us, through us as they observe us from another world. It's all a theory, of course, but I must admit I do like it quite a lot."

"The stars, huh..." young Freminet murmurs, mirroring his raised head, "I...never...huh..."

They share a moment of silence, simply enjoying the view from the sand underneath them. Neuvillette ponders over the boy's pensive expression, wondering just what must be going through his young mind. Had someone from Freminet's life passed? Was that why he asked? Is he trying to bring some peace to himself? It'd make sense if it was...

"...Freminet?" The Dragon inquires.

"Hm?" 

"While I always find your inquisitive curiosity novel and endearing more often than not," he informs him, careful in choosing his words, "-I also cannot help but feel concern over your line of questioning. May I ask… has anything happened to bring about these thoughts?" 

The boy does not respond for a second, giving pause as he seems to think over his words. Neuvillette hopes he's not about to close off again, not after working so hard in dropping his walls. Before he can fully start to worry, he speaks again. 

"I just wanted to know, I guess," he admits, idly kicking at the sand at his feet, "I've uh... been going through some stuff regarding...it..."

Ah. So someone from the boy's life has passed.

It's no wonder then, that he's thrown himself back into his dreams- it's the exact same response the boy had when he was younger, faced with the same dilemma.

Oh, but what could he even say? ‘I'm sorry for your loss’ perhaps? No, that won't do. He knows Freminet well enough now, and he knows his condolences would only rebound off his ears. He needs something that can make an impact, something he knows would soothe his worries once and for all.

“Everything passes eventually.” he decides on eventually, voice gentle as he speaks, “-And while it may make us sad and upset at the moment, it's simply a part of life.”

“We will always miss our loved ones dearly, but we can take comfort in the fact that they are no longer in any pain." he continues, "That simple fact means the world to most, after seeing what they've had to suffer through.”

He thinks of what poor Freminet had to witness when he was much younger, caring for his ailing mother. He thinks of the fact that it was his fault, for putting him in that position. He wanes in posture, but continues in steadfast.

“When we love someone, it hurts to see them suffer. Of course, sometimes it can come completely unexpected. Death is impartial, and it makes it all the more important to cherish the moments we have with them."

It's what makes living so worthwhile, so beautiful at the end. Human life and their short lifespans had long since taught him to cherish the present for what it was, to never take a single thing for granted or to miss a single opportunity. His long lifespan had seemed like a burden for a very long time, until he changed his perspective and thought of it more as a chance to get to experience the world to its fullest. It's what got him so involved in the scene of Fontaine, and what made him unafraid to form bonds with so many others, like Young Lady Navia and Monsieur Wriothesley.

‘Ah… goodness, this conversation has made me feel so sentimental so suddenly…perhaps I should contact Wriothesley and have him bring over Sigewinne for a bit later…’

“Are… you scared of dying, Mister Dragon?” Freminet asks him suddenly, seeming curious in his answer.

“It is natural to fear death.” he inclines his head, pondering, “-But it's not so bad.”

He thinks of the day he'll pass, far far away in the undefinable distant future. He imagines meeting many long passed friends, old and new, humans lost to the gentle grasp of time. 

Everything ends eventually, and the end of Chief Justice Neuvillette will come too. The waves will reclaim this identity, and the next, and the next; whether he comes back or not is up to his dragon nature.

“I'll have many old friends waiting for me when the time comes for me to rest.”

It's only then that the boy looks at him, glassy eyes unreadable as he seems to mull over his words.

“I have that too,” he admits, fisting a hand through the mounds of sand besides him, “...people waiting for me.”

Neuvillette smiles sadly, recalling the endless love of a mother lost to time. He's also possibly shouldering the death of another loved one-per his prior hypothesis-but he knows better than to probe the boy now. He has suffered enough as is.

“And I'm sure they'll be ecstatic to see you, when they do.”

Freminet thins his lips, reflecting for a moment before continuing. 

“Mister Dragon?”

“Hm?”

“What are…the stars like?”

“My guess is as good as yours,” he chuffs with a laugh, raising his head to gaze at the faux sky. Light pollution has often clouded Fontaine's skies, leaving the endless expanse of this one a sight to behold. 

“-but who knows. Perhaps it is a place where we can explore our wildest dreams, adventures we can go along with people who have also come to pass. Without the strains of our corporal bodies and a new fresh slate, I'm sure anything is possible. ‘The sky's the limit’ as they say…rather literally in this sense.”

He actually manages to get a huffed laugh from the boy with that one, which makes him preen with glee at the small success.

After such a long discussion, Neuvillette would proudly say he's managed to successfully bring ease to the boy. He sits criss-cross on the sand, the former burdened look in his eyes no longer weighing him down, instead finding his gaze trained to the starry night sky. 

Though, a small, pensive look remains, and Neuvillette decides the boy's had enough worrying for one day. He dips his large scaly head down, massive maw nudging gently against the boy's blonde head of hair, poking him away from his thoughts.

“Be brave, Freminet.” He insists, hoping the reassurance in his voice makes up for this form’s lack of facial expression, “Everything is going to be alright.”

Freminet does not respond for a moment, and then another. Instead, he raises his hand and places it against the Dragon's maw, an unconscious reptile-like trill emanating from him as soon as he starts running his fingers against his scales.

“Okay.” He nods. There's something solid in his tone, like he's finally made his mind up about something important, insisting it to himself. “ I believe you. Thank you, Mister Dragon…I think…I feel better now.”

Neuvillette feels a smile tugging up his face, feeling like throwing his arms in the air and cheering. Freminet has suffered so much in his life, and Neuvillette has always felt rather helpless in the fact that he often could do nothing more than be a voice piece for his complicated emotions. 

To know that he's finally actually managed to ease that burden, even if just by a little, finally soothes something in that overprotective endlessly-frustrated part of his dragon brain; the same one that desires to scoop the boy up and hide him away from the cruel life Neuvillette himself had set him up with.

He deserves to live- without pain or strife. Even if he is a big boy now, Neuvillette will never fail to see him as that small little child he had met many years ago.

“You're most welcome, dear boy.” he croons.

«────── « ◈ » ──────»

Chapter Text

«────── « ◈ » ──────»

Freminet has always prided himself on his self reliance- that assurance that in spite of his small stature and mousy appearance, he still possessed the wit and sharp mind it took to survive whatever he faced. 

He was a member of the Hearth, one who did well in carrying his own weight. He never put himself into a situation where he had to rely on anyone else, not really anyways. His physical weaknesses could be excused for that.

But now… 

…weak veins…weak arteries…

His weaknesses delved deeper than just surface level flaws, past his skin and into his blood. Every part of Freminet was an unfortunate thing, from his shaky voice to even his veins now. 

How was it possible to be born with this kind of misfortune? What could he have possibly done in his past lives to warrant such a fate? 

Had everything he worked for, everything he learned, all the books he read and all those hours spent training his frail body into something salvageable- was it all in vain? 

Did he really overcome everything…win all those fights…just to die from this?

In the dark unlit hours of the night, only the thoughts swirling around his brain kept him company.

Freminet, a boy who thrived on his own hands and feet, had been left immobile and left out to dry. To die - destined to fall and collapse under the shaky structures of his own body.

The news had taken days to settle fully in him, pulling him further and further down into a dark murky place. He went about his waking moments in a dull stasis, the world drained of its colors. The light did not reach his eyes the same way anymore, not when he was so far from sunlight.

His siblings tried to keep him company, when they were overseeing his state. It was more of a challenge for them than expected, seeing as Freminet wasn't really engaging with them past a few surface level questions, but the twins were anything but stubborn. 

Sometimes Lyney would camp out at Freminet's desk, clearing out a small space to silently do some paperwork for Father. Lynette would come in to change his bandages and give him a few updates on their performances, but she made sure to keep her distance in fear she would invade his personal space.

They were being cautious, but they always made sure not to leave him by his lonesome for too long. 

All it does is make the feeling in his chest heavier.

‘What did I do to deserve you two?’

All the more reason to save them from what's to come. All the more reason to…to…

He would appreciate their efforts, if it were any other situation to say the least. It's strange, but he honestly feels better when he's alone. Unburdened. Just him and Pers, and the endless sea that drew him below.

People say that it doesn't matter how many times you get knocked down, so long as you always get back up. It had been Freminet's mantra for a while, seeing as a strong gust of wind could sweep him off his feet. 

For the sake of his siblings, for the sake of the Hearth , for Lyney and Lynette - Freminet would always always get back up. No matter the horrors he saw-the brain matter, the screams, the endless slaughter of fathers, daughters, sons, and mothers- 

He was a horrible person, a killer , but as long as he had a home to return to, he would stay and do it again and again. He would keep fighting, give his last breath to the Hearth, as payment for their kindness.

The meaning of that phrase feels a bit too literal now. 

By current predictions, Freminet is not expected to live past his early adult years. If he's lucky. 

If he's not? Then he could all but fall over and die tomorrow. 

One wrong move, one wrong jump, one wrong step-

Just like that. Just like that.

And it makes him wonder: “What now?”

What could he do? What could he do? If the doctors say he can't be fixed, then he can't. Simple as that. He's broken on a foundational basis, and there are no such tools or parts that can fix him. Not anymore.

Was he supposed to go back to the way things were? Just ignore it? 

Freminet hadn't known what to do. His body had all been dragged along the bottom floor of rock-bottom, and Freminet has not faced despair like this before- all consuming and debilitating.

He cries a lot, those few days.

He can't go underwater to hide his tears, not in his state, so he settles for ducking under the covers and muffles whatever noises escape him. 

He only allows his emotions to seep over the sink when his siblings aren't around, usually when sleep evades him, and even then- even then -he has to make sure he doesn't get carried away, not when the high stress has a chance to spike his blood pressure and god he really doesn't wanna rupture another blood vessel while he's still recovering from his first one-

What a mess. 

There's no going back from this, is there?  

It scared him. Scared him beyond words, the thoughts he had. He spent his days escaping reality as often as he could, imagining his old friends back together in a feeble attempt to escape. Just for a moment.

But even then, it seemed not even that could soothe his pain. Freminet could not keep up the mirage for the life of him, the ends of his dreams fraying as he lacked the mental clarity to keep them stable and concise. Plots were lost halfway through their stories, their environments lacking the luster they once had.

His one safe haven crumbled alongside his reality, no longer soothing him the way it had in his adolescent years. His reality crashes down alongside him, and Freminet has to wonder if this is what it feels like to be utterly hopeless.

In the end, it takes just one conversation to guide him back to solid land.

The Hydro Dragon, a spectral among his friends, had been sure to stick close by in the midst of his episode. Perhaps it was a last ditch attempt of comfort from his mind, knowing he always felt most soothed by his scaley friend's presence.

He had looked at him, an inexpressive face somehow still conveying sympathy and kindness. There was a patience with which he spoke with, endless wisdom in every single sentence he spoke.

“Everything passes eventually.” 

He had said.

“-And while it may make us sad and upset at the moment, it's simply a part of life.”

It's easier, he finds out, to understand things when they're put into simpler words. A simpler perspective.

“When we love someone, it hurts to see them suffer. Of course, sometimes it can come completely unexpected. Death is impartial, and it makes it all the more important to cherish the moments we have with them.”

Maybe it was because he was the first one he breached the topic with, or maybe it was simply his friend's impartial yet sympathetic manner in which he spoke. 

"...I like to believe that we join the stars once our body passes, and that all of our loved one's are simply joined in a sea of stars." 

‘The stars, huh?’

It was a different point of view, not at all alike to the one that's been haunting him for days on end now. Freminet correlated death with bloody sheets, dry painful coughing, and utter loneliness in its aftermath. He related death to a cold hand, one that would take loved ones and never ever give them back; a bleak eternal disappearance.

Is there really… something that nice on the other side? Is Freminet even worthy of entering such a place, after all he's done?

Would he really see Maman again? Would she forgive him after all he's done? He doesn't want to leave the twins, of course- he can't imagine himself being anywhere else besides their sides.

…but…does he even have a choice in the matter anymore?

"-From high above the sky, our old friends and family members can watch over us and keep us safe. An allowance to live life alongside us, through us as they observe us from another world. It's all a theory, of course, but I must admit I do like it quite a lot.”

He doesn't know what to think of it. He acknowledges his friend was quite cautious in telling him it was a simple theory, but thinking over the prospect as fact eases something in his heart that has been weighing on him. 

The Dragon’s theory at least made it sound much more peaceful than the conjuring of his brain was providing- familiar violent and red. It's hard to believe anything can be peaceful, after experiencing something like that.

Freminet doesn't really know if he believes it, but…

He touches the heart-shaped locket, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the gold intricate ridges of its design.

…if dragons and imps can exist, then maybe it wasn't so hard to believe there was something magical on the other side too.

He feels lighter, after his friend's conversation. It feels like it was just the thing he needed, the right words to say and the best reassurance he can be given. 

Freminet gets his catheter taken out after a long week without solid food, and the nurse attending to him-regular visits becoming commonplace-orders him to start with softer meals before eating any heavier foods. She gives a few papers to Lyney, has a short conversation over his dietary options, before promptly excusing herself.

Freminet thanks her before she leaves. She's been very kind in attending to him, and it's only polite to give his thanks. 

Unfortunately, even though he's regained a good chunk of his mobility, he still needs help with things such as laying down and sitting. He also can't stretch, should he desire not to tear his stitches. They're still annoying and itchy as ever, but it's a lot better than before.

But given his new freedom, he must confront one of his own earlier, more pressing questions.

“What now?”

Obviously he can't really…do much about his current predicament. Freminet specializes in fixing clockworks, not humans. Where could you even start, fixing your veins? The Doctor Operative said it was a ‘mutation’ and couldn't be helped…

And now he has to wonder, is he just gonna have to wait it out? Will his symptoms develop and get worse, like Maman’s? He's sure there has to be at least some sort of medicine to help the side effects, but…

…Was it even worth it?

He ultimately decides on penning a letter to his doctor, wanting a clearer and more concise measurement as to what he should do and what could be done. While he had given Freminet a rather… concise explanation back at the Hearth, he figures there's no harm in asking again now that he wasn't caught in the throes of shock.

‘He had mentioned getting him started on other medications. Could there be something, anything that would work? Maybe if I underwent multiple treatments, my odds would be better…’

Unfortunately, the man's response was rather unsurprising. He gave Freminet as many possibilities they could go into that could positively influence his state-new treatments, new diet restrictions, new workload limitations-but ultimately, it seemed like nothing could curb the end result. Only prolong it.

He'll die eventually anyway, essentially.

He grits his teeth, crinkling the inked letter in his hold.

Freminet has always been one to fear the unknown, and dying-he wagers-has to be the greatest unknown of all. If even the Hydro Dragon doesn't know, then how could anyone?

But it seems now… now he had no choice but to confront reality. Death will be lingering in his shadow from now on, and while it stalks everyone indiscriminately- it's taken a liking to him. That's just how it is now.

He can't help but think back on that reflection he had a handful of days ago, the one that provoked his initial spiral. Revisiting it now with a clearer mind…

He remembers the white pamphlet that was handed to him, white and unassuming. The weight of it could drag him to the center of Teyvat.

He shivers.

‘There's an obvious answer to all this, and you already know what it is.’

‘You're just scared.’

Freminet is going to die sooner rather than later; this he knows. But does he really want to go through a spiral similar to Maman's? Loose himself before his body catches up with the rot inside him?

Past that, he also had to think critically and objectively about this situation.

He was a member of the Hearth first and foremost, and his own self after. He had to think of the betterment of the family before anything, and his extermination was a logical conclusion if any. 

‘It is of no use, if funds spent on my health would be for nothing. All these medications should go to someone else- someone with a fighting chance.’

‘Someone who is not himself.’

It's a resounding statement, and one that locks in his decision with pure cold factual logic. No matter how he feels about it, how scary it is, he can't let himself rot like this.

He's certain now, now that he's been put in this situation, that his Maman only fought as hard as she did to stay alive for his sake. There had been no one else to take care of little Freminet once she had to leave, so in spite of her direct circumstances, she fought with all her might against a disease destined to claim her life.

How brave she had been. How fearless. 

Too bad it had all been for nothing, seeing Freminet was still left to fend for himself. Her efforts had been fruitless, even if she did what she thought was best.

He holds his locket in his hand, gripping it with white knuckles.

‘I'm sorry Maman’

‘I wish I could be as brave as you’

‘But I'm not putting anyone else through what I went through, especially not Lyney and Lynette.’

It takes him two days to work over the draft of his letter, 

Euthanization requests in the Fatui were, as he comes to find out, a surprisingly simple process. It shouldn't be all that surprising he figures, given the kind of operations the Fatui uphold. Just filling out a few sheets and a letter and then boom, he's free to die without much fanfare. 

Of course though, he is Freminet, and no problem he faces could ever be so simple.

He'd send in a formal letter of approval to his superior, and then he would send in a one-sheet request form to his doctor for confirmation. 

Which was where things got complicated.

Because while thankfully his superior wasn't Lyney or Lynette (thank actual god) or anyone around him-

His superior was Father.

And Father always tended to make things complicated.

Usually it’s Lyney who takes care of correspondence between them and Father, meaning he hasn't even directly conversed with her outside of personal meetings. 

While he would say he's plenty informed as to who Father is as a person, it's difficult to predict what her attitude would be to such a request. He can only make assumptions as to what she'd like to hear on this matter, meaning he doesn't even know if he should appeal to her on an emotional level.

Could Father even feel anything?

‘Father is a lady of logic’ he reasons to himself, trying to soothe his worries, ‘She'll understand once I explain everything to her, if she even asks. He can say he does this for the betterment of the Hearth, which is not a lie but not the entire truth either.’

It's what he assumes is what she'd like to hear. The Hearth was always her top priority, after all.

Going off on assumptions wasn't particularly favorable, but it was the best he was going to get.

Filling out the request form was easy- it's the letter that starts to give him trouble. He's stuck on the draft, continuously scratching out sentences and rewriting it over and over again. He gets too emotional at times, and it's hard to avoid talking about what happened to his Maman.

He has to be logical, and be reasonable. That is what she'll want. That is what she always wants.

No emotions, no weakness.

At one point he actually thinks he's making headway, almost 2/3rds of the way finished before a single red drop splotches the parchment underneath him. When he brings his hand up to his, it's to absolutely no one's surprise to feel it wet and trickling with blood.

He chokes out a laugh. 

It's a frustrated, angry sound though, and he snatches his paper and crumbles it into a ball, falling back down to the trashcan below to join the others.

It takes one long, full day for him to finally complete the final draft- finally decently alright with the contents within it.

It takes him three days to actually send it once he's finished it.

He does other things-reworking Pers's attack module, lubricating his tools, cleaning his room two times over, cleaning the kitchen three times over- and he still doesn't send it. Every time he thinks of mailing it to Father, he scrambles for another excuse to delay it, to put it off just a bit longer.

He keeps holding it, rereading it over and over again in search of any imperfections. Freminet knows that there aren't any at this point, but he can't help but look anyways.

‘This is for the best.’

He crinkled the page in his hold, hands clammy and slightly shaky.

‘For Lyney and Lynette, and for the Hearth too.’

‘This is for the best- for me and for everyone.’

Maybe if he says it enough, he'll finally convince himself.

It all comes to a head when the mailman comes the next day to collect their correspondence. The silver sigil on his hat marks him as one of Father's men, even if his friendly demeanor and unassuming looks says otherwise.

He had finally collected all the courage and calmness he could muster, finally deciding to rip off the bandaid and get it over with.

When the man plucks the letter from Freminet's extended fingers, a violent wave of regret and panic suddenly washes away whatever semblance of calmness he tried to uphold. He reels himself in, even when his heart continues to hammer and his hand grasps at nothing at his side, as if wanting to snatch the letter back. 

In the living world, Freminet is as still as a statue, looking a little frazzled but ultimately unmoved by the action. Lyney is more than happy to talk to the man for him, making idle chit chat in his stead.

The man takes off his hat and gives a polite bow to Lyney, bidding them both farewell, and marches right back out the front door- closing the door with a stark finality.

Freminet suddenly ducks his head and presses against Lyney's chest, hiding away, too overwhelmed with emotion to speak.

“Oof.” the older boy huffs, a smile in his voice, “Feeling clingy today then? Alright then.”

His older brother does not ask him what's wrong, nor does he probe for a reason for his distress. It's surprising that he doesn't, since Freminet knows that he's acting quite strange, but perhaps he's simply chalking it up to Freminet's already finicky mood. Even if his injuries are healing up shockingly quickly, recovery was still a process.

Instead, he opts to hum silently and comb a gentle hand through his little brother's hair. Eventually Freminet relaxes, but still 

I really don't deserve you. Either of you.

He grabs at his brother's free hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb over his knuckles in a rhythmic motion.

I guess fate agrees with me.

—

It takes a few days for anything to happen after that.

His surgery scar-surprisingly enough-had healed up rather fast, almost unnaturally so since his stitches has been taken out. It still leaves an angry red blemish across his skin in its wake, but once he'd been freed from those imprisoning black stitches, he's mostly in the clear to get back to some semblance of normalcy. Count your blessings, I guess.

Lyney and Lynette badger him into taking the adjustment ‘slowly’ and ‘smoothly’, and now that the excitement of filing for his own death has come to pass, he lets himself enjoy their company as much as he can bear. It's a nice aftermath at least, but he doesn't allow himself to think about things with them in depth. Not now.

He goes on walks often, following the baby steps of physical recovery from his surgery. He doesn't go far at first, but honestly he feels fine enough and strangely energized for just having his stomach punctured. 

He mostly strays by the coastline or the towering guardrails, accompanied mostly by Lynette on his longer walks. Lyney's too busy managing some show stuff, and honestly, he really prefers Lynette to be here. She never says much to him, simply straying beside him and helping him if need be, and Freminet purposefully comes here to have a moment of peace.

 Maybe she's just the same way. Maybe she has to take a break too.

The sights are beautiful, and Freminet forgot just how much he loved that ocean breeze. He's been avoiding this place since that one night with the Chief Justice, and it really is a shame- the place is beautiful and he always feels at peace here.

“Are you excited to get back to diving?” Lynette asked then, staring at him as he gazed out onto the coast. “Now that you're not sick anymore, it must be exciting.”

Freminet hums but does not respond. Lynette does not take it to heart.

When they get back home, it's to Lyney waving around an immediate notice from Father for all of them to report to the Hearth physically. The letter came along with a personally called chariot

“Been awhile since our last summons,” Lyney pondered on the ride, posture slouched and arms crossed. “Mh. What do you think it could be?”

“It seemed rather urgent,” She mulled over, casting her brother a curious look, “Did you pick a fight with someone again?”

“What? No!” Lyney denies.

"Hm," is all she says, tone neutral and dull.

"Hey! Don't 'Hm' me! C'mon, why's that even your first guess?” He grumbles in retort, “That should be like… your third one at least...”

Freminet half pays attention to their conversation, instead relaxing under the crook of Lynette's outstretched arm. Maybe he should be engaging with them- give them his two cents.

But deep down, Freminet fears he knows exactly why they're being called. He trembles, desiring nothing more than to hide away from sight.

It's sundown by the time they make it to the Hearth, tucked away in the outskirts of one of Fontaine's endless forests. Lyney helps Freminet get out of the carriage, careful not to jostle him, while Lynette tips the coachman.

When they get inside, they're ushered into Father's room. A few kids greet them on the way, surprised to see the twins here right now. Freminet, like always, falls back behind them to let them handle the interactions.

She updates them on some leads she's gotten for their mission, sightings on a strange sort of water supply that may be going around. While it is all arguably useful information, it doesn't feel particularly summons worthy- like it could have fit in a letter instead.

“-expect a new reconnaissance mission regarding this matter to come once further information has been gathered.” She finishes.

“Yes Father,” they all say in unison.

She nods, accepting the response. "You two-" she gestures towards the twins, "-are excused. Freminet, please stay behind."

He doesn't see the questioning glance that the two give him, but they ultimately leave without much fanfare. Freminet does not even turn to watch the twins leave, and when the door shuts behind him, he is left in the room alone with Father.

She stares at him, her eyes unrelenting. He tries to calm himself, reasoning her heavy gaze has always been present and that she is not purposefully burning holes into him.

"I can presume you already know why you've been called here?" Father asks.

Freminet tried not to fidget, tried not to look away or break his stance.

“Yes Father,” he manages out, clearing his throat.

She tilts her head, as if to twist her crosshair eyes deeper into his head. When she finally breaks eye contact, she's looking down on a familiar open letter on her desk.

“-After a deep analysis of my situation, I believe it is in the best interest of the Hearth and everyone within it that I am expunged from receiving continued medical assistance and continued aid.”  

“-to go a step further and get the situation over and done with, I have come to the decision that the best course of action for me at this time is to opt for euthanasia- under my appointed doctor's recommendation.” She drops his letter again and straightens, looking at him dead in the eyes. “I hope my reasoning will earn your consideration.”

Silence follows the reread statement, neither of them following it up. Freminet doesn't particularly understand why she's reading out his own letter, nor why she was saying it in a way that made it seem like he was in trouble.

He had explained himself. He had appealed to her own priorities. Everything was purely logical- so why did she seem angry now?

“What a peculiar letter.” she drawls, smoothing down the creases on his paper, “-I must say, it is not often I receive such a curious request from my own children. The wish of oneselves death… under the reasoning of ‘saving resources’. Is that right?”

He's swallows thickly,

“It's what I believe is best, Father,” he admits quietly, hands clasped behind his back.

She hums noncommittally.

"And your siblings?" Father peers, piercing gaze tunneling right through him. "Do they know of this? Of your requests?”

"I… have refrained from informing them." He says simply, trying his best to keep his voice steady. "They only know of my current diagnosis, but are unaware as to the…request forms I have made."

"Good," Father, finally breaking eye contact as she turns her attention to a typewriter beside her. "Denied."

…

"What?"

"Your request form," she continued to explain, not even bothering to look at him as she focused on her typewriter, "-It's been denied. That is all.” 

His mouth hung open, then closed with an audible click. He stayed rooted in place, watching on in stunned silence as the refined lady busily typed away at her paper, the sound of the typewriter’s keys filling the space between them.

“-As to why a doctor would even suggest such a thing is beyond me, and is a clear violation of his contract by overreaching his authority. I'll have the remains of that issue sorted soon.”

For whatever reason, a sudden wave of anguish hits him. His throat tightens in on itself hard enough to hurt, swallowing around it a painful endeavor. There was a mounting pressure building behind his eyes, blinking rapidly as he tried to will it away and…

Oh god were those tears?? No no- he can't cry now. Not in front of Father. Not like this.

"You are dismissed. You can return to your post now." She continued, not looking up from where she worked, "I'll order an agent of mine to draw a wagon for you so you can return to the city."

But he did not move.

"-Refrain from mentioning this to your sibling. Anyone, for that matter.” She sounded neutral, if not a small bit or irritation present in her voice. “Consider this matter not only closed, but strictly classified as well-" 

"Father." He pleads.

The sound of keys clacking stopped. Heavy silence hung heavily in the air, a sudden cold tension coiling around his shoulders like a snake. She finally flicked her eyes up to gaze at him directly in the eyes, and Freminet tried not to tremble under the force of it.

He was playing a dangerous game here. The biggest rule you could break under the Hearth's roof was questioning Father's words, disobeying her direct commands. 

Him persisting upon the problem could be deemed insubordination, and who knows what they'll do with him then.

But he can't let this up. Even if he's being rash and stupid- he can't let this be it- he can't-

"Freminet," she spoke carefully, cross hair eyes burning into his skull, "-Do you have something you would like to add?"

He straightens himself, forcing the hands poised behind his back to stop trembling. He dug his fingernails into the meat of his palms hard enough to hurt, willing his mind to focus and to just. stop. shaking. 

Crap. Maybe he can reason with her. He had foregone emotions on a formal basis, but he's desperate and maybe if he explains himself, she'll spare him a sliver of pity.

"When my Mother died… she died a… slow and painful death," he starts, already regretting not having prepared for this better, "As her only family, I- I was the one that took care of her during her final days. I was the one placed under the responsibility of keeping her alive, even when- even when she deteriorated. This- This disease that runs in my family, it- it changes you. She was unrecognizable in her final days, and if my case is anything at all like hers...”

He shook his head, "If Lyney and Lynette are made to suffer the same way I did… it would be at the detriment to the mission. Not only would my deteriorated state leave me unfit to complete assignments cleanly, but…surely seeing me in such a state would be rather distressing, for Lyney and Lynette both. It was for me."

He thinks of her eyes, her beautiful hair and priceless smile. He thinks of what ended up happening to her, dried and twisted, a bed caked in blood-

“I can't make them go through that. I can't,” he insists, ducking his head and twisting his hands into the end of his shirt, “Please, Father, please reconsider-”

“Stop talking.”

He shut his mouth with a click, gritting his teeth as he sweatdropped.

A horrible silence filled the air, heavy and oppressive. He still has his head ducked, and it feels like a guillotine is swaying just about his head, ready to come down.

“Raise your head.”

He did as he was told, once again scorched and frozen by Father's unrelenting gaze- like a butterfly pinned by needles.

“Freminet,” she starts slowly, “Were you aware that when your condition stalled within the Hearth's halls, the medical ward insisted on having you put into a medically induced coma?”

It's a strange question, one that catches him off guard by the sheer unrelatedness to their current conversation. Nevertheless, he responds.

“I did, Father,” he confirms. He had heard it in passing, but he had no idea his condition had apparently stalled.

“The Hearth-as self-sustaining as it is-does not possess the equipment to proceed with such a thing, and we speculated on having you transferred back into Fontaine's Court to accomplish as such.”

His heart plummets. For real?

“That's-!” He gawks, “That- that would have- the Hearth's identity-”

“-would have been put in jeopardy, yes.” “Submitting you back to an institution such as that now that it was outside of an emergency would have our name officially on record and-therefore-traceable. However, given your condition and status, heavy consideration was given and ultimately was put in the process of going into effect.”

“Furthermore-” she continues, unperturbed by his shock, “Did you know that I had originally intended to deploy you to Snezhnaya once your eighteenth birthday had come to pass?”

Now that makes his jaw drop, openly gawking at the older lady.

“I- what?”

She hums, going back to her typing for a moment, “Yes, early into your stay at the Hearth your above-average capabilities in technology had been acknowledged. A Harbinger by the alias ‘Sandrone’ had mentioned she was looking for ‘competent wards’ to work towards her technological goals." 

She adjusts the slide on the typewriter, a loud ding ringing out, “Your file was analyzed for quite some time- seeing as you generally met her criteria. Of course, when you received your vision, your candidacy was upscaled into a more…serious consideration.”

That's…wow…

He tries to imagine a world where that had actually happened, a world where he had been made to stay behind at the Hearth-away from Lyney and Lynette-only to be displaced a short four years afterwards. And while he's never been privy to sacred information regarding Father's colleagues, the notorious reputation of most Harbingers wasn't the most difficult thing to grasp.

“However, I eventually decided against it.” Father says simply, not sounding regretful in the slightest, “-Sandrone is infamous for possessing a fickle mood, and has been known for a streak of… abusive malpractice regarding her understudies. You would not have been able to grow to your maximum potential under such a state.” 

She shakes her head, “For one reason, I decided you would not be able to effectively handle such treatment…”

She tilted her head. “Would you like to know the other reason?”

Freminet thinned his lips. Father continued without a fuss.

“It was because I recognized your capabilities could be most effectively used by keeping you right here, and not under someone like Sandrone. The Hearth always does its best when its children are kept within its grasp, and you are no exception.”

Her tone grew less intense, yet equally as insistent.

“You are exactly where you need to be, Freminet, and I will make sure you are kept here, supported and well-cared for,” he face contorted with rage, almost snarling, “-and I will not have careless fools influence the mind of my children into walking into a premature death.”

“That's-!”

“Tell me Freminet,” Arlecchino snided, the whiplash in her sudden harsh tone shocking him like a bucket of cold ice, “ Who do you think you are , questioning my decisions? Especially regarding a matter as serious as this.”

“I- I know-”

“ -Do you want to die, Freminet? Is that truly what you desire, what you've requested for? Is that it? Was one diagnosis enough of an excuse to? To make a reach as callous as this with the hopes I'd sign off on your death?”

“No!” He cries, horrified by the accusation, “No no- it's- it's not that-”

“-had you even thought about it? Your siblings? How would they feel? Or are you simply too blinded by your own excuses to consider anyone else's perspective-”

“I DON'T WANT TO DIE!”

A stillness fills the air after his shout, the room around them mirroring their silence. Something burns within his head, the mounting stress grilling into him.

To his horror, he feels a wetness form around his eyelashes- the telltale sign of tears welling up in his eyes. He ducks his entire upper body back into a bow, ignoring the strain in his scar in favor of hiding from Father's gaze.

“I… I don't…” He croaks wetly, sniffling, ‘I don't want to. It's… the last thing I want.”

A pause, and then “Then why? Why right now, at this very moment?”

“I don't have a choice.” He spits, gritting his teeth as frustration tugs up his legs, “The doctor said that- that I could die at any moment. One wrong move, one wrong step, and it's over…”

A death sentence. Freminet has been given it in full. 

“My responsibilities, my work,” he lists, “-the Hearth, my Siblings, Lyney, Lynette, you Father-”

He feels his heart break, crumbling as he takes in everything he stands to lose. He doesn't want to argue with Father over why he should die, but he has no choice-

“I love my life here. The Hearth has given me a purpose in life, and a home to return to… I would never leave it if I could,” he bows lower, squinting his eyes almost to a painful degree. “-but that decision has been decided for me. I- I'm just trying to do the best thing that I can do…the only thing I can do now, and that is to make this simple a-and easy for everyone.”

He sniffles loudly, hiding the shame in his face as he bows lower.

“Please… believe me.”

He does not dare move from where he stands, hands digging crescents into his own skin with the effort it took not to tremble. His tears were silent, and neither spoke another word for a long moment.

"You're condition," she starts again, tone leveled out into a more indifferent voice. "Tell me about what that doctor has told you."

And so he does. With the weight of her direct command hanging over him, he makes sure to miss no detail; he tells her of his nosebleeds, his diagnosis, his predicted life expectancy (which is not a lot).

Arlecchino listens intently, eyes unblinking and expression betraying nothing but cool professionalism. Once he finishes, she allows silence to fill the space between them. 

“I see,” Father says eventually, breaking the silence, “-I believe I understand now.”

All the bones in his body went rigid as he heard Father get up, the sound of a chair scraping against the wooden floor ringing out. He dared not move

“Straighten, Freminet,” she ordered, and he did as he said. “Now, look at me.”

He gritted his teeth in an effort not to wobble his lips, casting a glance towards the older woman as she loomed beside him. 

He almost jumps when Father suddenly crouches down, kneeling on one knee beside him to be at a closer eye level to him. Like this, he's actually a little bit taller than her.

Under the light of the afternoon sun, lightening her sharp features in a soft warm glow, Father has never looked so…

…human.

“I want you to listen to me, and I want you to listen well. What I'm about to say is very important,” she says, voice uncharacteristically gentle.

"We are all given life to experience it to its fullest. Life is sacred, and it is only under the orders of Justice that we have any merit in cutting it short. That is what we do in the Hearth.”

"The Hearth’s main mission was established with the direct intention of saving lives, to stand for the right to live every single one of our days to its very end." 

"-To intentionally seek to die is not only a betrayal to the very life your mother sacrificed herself to give you, but to your Family here as well. How would Agents Lyney and Lynette feel, if they heard you entertaining such things?”

Freminet grimaces deeply, and looks away.

“Know that this is not a mission of pure combat, Freminet, but one of skill and wits. If I didn't think you were essential to it, then I would not have placed you on it.”

“Even with these developments, nothing changes.” she says, like it's a fact, “You mustn't act as if your life is over at this very moment, no matter the diagnosis. No resource is 'wasted' keeping you alive."

"If you don't realize that simple fact," she inclined her head, eyes digging into his very core as she studied him, "...then perhaps you simply aren't as bright as I'd hoped you'd be."

Freminet deflated with a long-suffering sigh, glancing away sheepishly, as if scolded. He feels a long perfectly manicured nail reach out and ghost over his face, tucking loose strands of blondish hair behind his ear.

“But…I understand you Freminet, the way you think.” “You have always been quick to flee, from the gazes of others and the sight of gore, but I should have known better than to question your loyalties. For that, I apologize.”

He almost balks at the older ladies words, stumped. That has to be... the single time he's ever heard her apologize to anyone. He's never wanted to leave the Hearth sure, but... he doesn't really blame her for making assumptions. It's not like Freminet's made the best argument for himself...

“There's no way out for me.” He shrugs, feeling as useless as he does helpless, “I couldn't run if I wanted to.”

Within a moment, she finally seems to allow human expression to seep in through the cracks of her face, letting out a long sigh as she reclined back.

"Alright," she starts, voice unnaturally soft, "-How about this? Every time one of my carriers comes to your station to pick up your correspondence, write me a letter. Keep me updated on your condition, any arising issues or concerns you may have. Those alternative medications that the doctor recommended? Take them. Direct orders, understand?”

“Mhm,” he manages, “Yes Father.”

She tilts her head, shifting an inch closer. He's surprised his body doesn't immediately urge him to get away.

“And the twins? Do you plan to tell them at any point?”

Freminet thins his lips, eyes glued to her shoes. 

“I'm…” he mumbles, “I-”

If he told the twins, he's honestly not sure how things would go over- nothing good surely. It's not a good feeling, keeping something so big and important from them, but he's not sure he could handle the fallout.

It feels like… it would change everything. The worry, the sadness, he's already fed up with it as is. Freminet's done with changes.

 “I don't think so,” he decides.

Father nods acceptingly, "Then that is your decision. I will not challenge it.”

She moves to extend her hand outward, palm open towards him. Freminet blinks at it with an unsure eye, but shyly places his hand in hers anyways. Her thin long hand clasps his with gentle reassurance as if holding something tenderly.

“I want to ask a favor from you, Freminet. Is that alright?”

Oh. A…favor? Not an order? 

“What is it Father?” he asks, his voice low and meek.

“I want you-” she starts slowly, an unfounded tenderness to her voice, “-to wake up every day with gratitude, and to be thankful for everything you have in your life. Not a lot of children like you are privileged enough to get second chances.”

She rubs the pad of her thumb over his knuckles, sharp pointed nails careful to mind his hands. The cold contact of her rings bites into his skin, but he can't find it in himself to pull away.

“And I want you to live your life to the fullest.” she adds, “Doesn’t matter if it's bound to end soon. You still have time, and you're still here. Make the most of it while you can. Live with no regrets.”

Freminet sniffs, blinking away the drops in his eyes. He nods, mumbling unintelligible words under his breath.

“Repeat yourself, dear Freminet.” She presses.

“I will, Father.” He glances at the floor, embarrassed over the red flush that no doubt coats his face. “...and…I apologize for my tears. It is unbecoming of me…”

“That is quite excusable, Freminet,” she dismisses easily, “While most tears are a result of frailty and weak constitution…I believe a topic as heavy as this one is worthy of a few moments of weakness. After all, there is no greater sorrow than losing your family.” 

Freminet sniffled, the reality behind her words making something ugly and upsetting sink into his stomach. 

The Harbinger continues, ignoring his silence, “You are not only a soldier to my heeding, but a family member of this House- hence that is what makes you worthy of support and consideration. Do not forget that ever again, you hear me?”

He struggles to get himself composed again, wiping the last of his tears away and clearing his throat, before responding.

“Yes Father,” he says, acknowledging her desires.

She nods, satisfied with his answer. "Go on then. Return to your post at once," she ordered, "-I'll alter your scheduling appropriately. Your will is right on my desk. Mail it to me once you've updated it to your liking.” 

He nods, eyes red and puffy but tears dry. He would have given her a proper 'Yes Father' but his throat is rubbed raw from his crying and Father seems to have become lenient with his responses- at least at this very moment.

"Good," she says simply, returning back to her full imposing height. Whatever softness she wore during their discussion was gone, the shadows returning to her pronounced features. The rare moment had ended, her features returning and locking into their standard cool and calculated piercing stare. 

Hidden danger emitted from her again in an almost perceivable aura, but… perhaps it just simply follows her wherever she goes.

“Should I learn that you've inquired on this prospect any further, then you'll be reprimanded with the harshest punishments I can employ." she says coldly, no tenderness to be found in her words, "My word is law, is it not?"

"It is Father," he replies, returning to a more neutral state after collecting himself.

“Mh,” she hums, waving a dismissive hand towards him, "-then get out of my sight. I've had enough of this conversation."

It's as clear a dismissal as he's ever heard. He takes off his beret and bows, before soldiering out of the room. He does what he's told, and that's the end of that.

He decides to go to the bathroom to clean himself up before he goes off to find his twins, wanting to at least look presentable before he does so. Unsurprisingly, he looks like a right mess when he first sees a mirror- flushed face and red-rimmed eyes staring back at him.

He splashes cold water on his face and towels himself down, appreciating the brief reprieve. Everything is still settling in, and the whiplash of emotions he's just gone through has left him tired and exhausted.

‘I'm ready to go home now,’ he thinks, staring at his dried face in the mirror. 

It's not hard finding Lyney and Lynette’s location, having occupied themselves holding a makeshift magic show for some of the younger children in his absence. He locates them in the lobby by tracing out the sound of applause, all but following them wherever they go.

Lynette spots him first after their final bow, face remaining inexpressive save for her eyes brightening. She gives him a small smile, ducking to press against his side like an actual cat.

“Everything go okay?” She asks hopefully, taking in the sight of him. If she notices his ragged appearance, he can only hope his lighter demeanor assuages any worry within her. 

Freminet nods, and it's… not a lie, surprisingly.

It feels a lot less… eventful, returning back home. The carriage ride back lasted long enough for them to arrive in the midst of the early night, the streets alive with their usual hubbub.

It's not as hard to breathe anymore, he finds out as he steps through the front door. The air here, which not a day prior was stifling and annoying, now felt cool and clean. While Lyney and Lynette get to their routine bickering, Freminet stays by the front door to just spare a moment to take it all in.

His home. Their home. It's different from the Hearth, because it's theirs and not anyone else's. It's chock full of their own personal touches: Lynette's collection of tea sets, Lyney's show notes cluttering the dinner table, Rosseland's cat toys dotted around the floor, and even Freminet's own half-completed blueprints forgotten by the wayside. He should clean up later.

The air smells like sandalwood, and light makes it feel warm. It feels like home.

It wasn't like he was over the moon with the prospect of dying, but he was doing it for a good reason. ‘It's for the best ’ he had convinced himself.

And Father has simply argued against him, argued in favor of keeping him alive and wasteful. He has seen a side of her he's willing to bet not a lot of people have gotten to see, and it's made him conflict with himself. 

Overall though, it was a… comforting conversation. Surprisingly comforting, for someone like Father. He's known her for years, respected her and followed her command even when he believed her to be nothing more than a walking ball of mysteries and hidden dangers.

Was it all true, what she had said? Is his life really so important to her… that she scolds him so viciously for even thinking of ending it?  

He had thought her an impartial taker of lives, driven by straightforward objective code, but perhaps there was more emotional morality within her reasonings than he thought.

“You are not only a soldier to my heeding, but a family member of this House- hence that is what makes you worthy of support and consideration. Do not forget that ever again, you hear me?”

Has being a child of the Hearth really been enough to earn all that? Was he truly worthy of it, to continue to press on even when they both knew it'd be fruitless?

It's all so strange, and while the thought of no longer dying immediately unconsciously soothes something in him, it's only served to scramble his thoughts further. He's glad to be here, back in his apartment, with his family, but... does he really get to enjoy it? 

A few days later, when he attempts to pen back the doctor regarding his next batch of medications, he receives a letter that states that he's no longer allowed to contact Freminet, and that his services will now be transferred to some other local doctor affiliated with the Fatui. 

He feels stumped when he reads the letter, unsure of how he should feel.

The feeling of relief was undeniable (Idon'thavetodienowIdon'thavetodienowthankgodthankyougod-) , but so was the growing dread in the pit of his stomach. The whole entire reason he had been looking into the doctor's suggestion was because he feared what would happen eventually, and just what it could destroy in its warpath.

His body is one thing, but what about his mind? What would his siblings think, when they saw him in such a state?

Freminet had hoped that at the very least if he had to die, he would die as himself- and not in the way Maman had. He's never had a lot of pride or respect for himself as a person, but it's his own person that has led him to accomplish this much. 

His inventions, his intuition…could just anyone have befriended the twins? Maybe, but if anyone could, he sure was lucky it was him.

But now?

Now… now he simply had no choice.

What a horrible life he's led. Freminet had lost his first family to an illness, and now he's destined to lose his second one through the exact same way. 

He had to witness the horrors of watching his Maman wither and die on a bed, all while he was too helpless to do anything. Now that he's finally- finally found a place for himself with the twins, they'll be wretched away from him too. Forced to watch him become something he isn't.

His life has been a catharsis of misfortune over and over again, and now it's destined to end early just as things have started to look up for him. 

Upon reflection, it's clear to see just how sad it all was.

.

.

.

But…

If he got the option...

...would he live it again?

He looks up from where he'd been idly flicking through a book, not really reading from the spot he's been seated at their dining table.

Freminet has lived a miserable life, and if his Maman's experience was anything to go off of, he's sure his death will be too. 

It'll be painful and it will hurt, but that just means that he really did find something to live for, something to make all the pain and struggle worth it. He didn't want to admit it earlier, but he clings on so feverishly to his life because he's desperate to not let go. 

Of his siblings, his friends, his life… he doesn't wanna say goodbye…not yet…

Lyney nudges the back of Lynette's knees with the heel of his foot, causing her to buckle slightly. He quickly comes to regret it, laughter turning into ungraceful squawks as Lynette moves to smack him with a wet towel in retaliation. They continue their bitter display, devolving into childish yanking and shoving.

Freminet smiles for the first time in a while, small and barely visible as they run through their usual antics. Fondness fills him at the familiar scene, and he has to wonder how he had convinced himself he could leave this so quickly. He clutches Pers tight against his chest, and he thumbs at his locket with his free hand- the small weight light but present.

'If I was given the option to live whatever life I wanted…'

'I'd choose the ones with you both every single time.'

–

"Am I hearing you correctly?" Lyney asks, eyebrows raised with astonishment as he grins brightly, "You actually want to come and run errands with us? Did I wake up in a parallel universe or something?"

Freminet can't help the sheepish grin that overtakes him, awkwardly scratching at the back of his head. 

"It's fine if you don't want me to," he placates softly, messing with the end of his shirt. “-But… I've been recovering really well and I thought…uh…it'd be nice I guess…”

In the midst of his hurry, he had already gotten dressed and ready to head out without even asking the twins if he could come. He flushes, embarrassed over his own eagerness. "I can just stay home if you want-"

"Nope! Too late! No take-backs now!" Lyney declares firmly, swinging an arm over his shoulder and pulling the shorter boy against his side. "You're coming with us now.”

"Lyney, don't shove him around. And you can't make him if he doesn't want to," Lynette scolds lightly, already looking done with her brother's behavior. When she turns to Freminet, her bored gaze softens at the sight. "You sure you wanna come? We're not going anywhere exciting or anything, just some shopping."

Freminet nods, "Mhm. Yeah, I'm sure. Kinda getting bored of having nothing to do in here anyways…"

While he knows it's an excuse, it's not exactly true either. He has a lot of stuff planned, some things marked out for the near future.

But… that can wait a single night. He'd much rather spend it in the company of his siblings.

“Been getting stir crazy huh?” Lyney muses, nudging at his side, “-Guess it had to come sooner or later, introvert or not. I know if I was stuck inside for too long, I'd probably start running up the walls with boredom. You'd see footprints all over the walls!”

“That's just because you don't know how to use your free time effectively.” Lynette refutes numbly.

"Oh yeah? And what would you do with this so-called ‘free time’?"

“Easy,” she tuts, "Make as many different kinds of tea as I can."

Lyney scrunches his nose, "Seriously? You'd burn the house down with your luck."

"I'd burn it down with you in it," she says without missing a beat, no real bite in her words. She opens the front door, already looking to leave. “Now, are you quite done? I'd rather get back before sundown.”

"Wait!” He catches up, tailing his sister, “-Now that Freminet’s joining us, how about we go and make a night out of it? Maybe have some dinner by the main street? Oh! I heard there was this one really good Liyuean restaurant that just opened-”

His rapid chatter fades away as Freminet loses his focus, instead busy admiring his older brother’s excited expression. He was obviously happy Freminet was joining them outside the house- a rather rare occasion when it's done out of his own volition.

“-I want you to live your life to the fullest.” he remembers Father asking, “Doesn’t matter if it's bound to end soon. You still have time, and you're still here. Make the most of it while you can. Live with no regrets.”

'I'll do that,'  Freminet thinks, watching as Lynette sends her twin a routine annoyed look, 'From this moment on, I'll live every second of this life with no regrets.'

'I'll see you soon Maman,' he promises, squeezing Lynette's hand as he catches up to her. ' I'll meet you by the stars soon enough. Just give me a bit more time, alright?'

—

Dearest Father,

Enclosed within this letter-in addition to this note-is my updated will, per your guidelines and recommendations. Thank you again for the provided references.

In addition to my will, I have a small request I'd like to make if it is not too much to ask:

Please expunge all on-record connections to the Hearth on my forged files- along with my genealogical relation to the twins. Should my demise come more suddenly than expected, the Hearth may be put under investigation and threaten its secrecy.

Please do not inform Operatives Lyney and Lynette of this.

Sincerely,

Freminet Snezhevich

—

Freminet,

Your letter has been looked over and formally updated on our records. Your wishes will be adhered to when the time comes.

Your request has been considered and approved. Removal of public information may take a duration of time, so remain idle for further update.

Operatives Lyney and Lynette have access to most if not all Hearth documents-seeing as they have access to all resources for their mission-but that information will only be disclosed should they inquire on it further.

Refrain from overexerting yourself. That's an order.

Best regards, 

Your Dearest Father

«────── « ◈ » ──────»

Chapter Text

«────── « ◈ » ──────»

It's a strange thing, having to go back to normal after everything that's happened.

It's easier than he thought it'd be, but at the same time it's also so much more difficult than he could have imagined. 

On one hand, getting back to a routine he was already so well-acquainted with was a comfort he could not deny. Such mundane chores like drying clothes and making shopping lists served as a place of normalcy for him- and after so much having happened recently, it's almost exactly what he needs.

On the other hand, it felt strange to do it all under the guise that he hadn't just tried to get himself euthanized. He thinks it a crime of sorts, when he sits besides his unaware siblings-Lyney’s laughing at Lynette's faux scowls, talking about their performances and dinner plans as if he hadn't been close to leaving them so prematurely.

Would they have been mad at me? Would they have understood? Would they have thought there another way, even when there clearly wasn't? 

He supposes there's no point in thinking about those kinds of things anymore- he's not going to get euthanized and that's final. Father's disapproval made sure of that.

Their discussion had stressed him out quite a bit in the moment, but it had also been very… eye-opening. 

It made him realize just how tunnel-visioned he had become, soley feeling as if he had no other avenue than to hit the eject button as hard and fast as he could. Perhaps it was the fear of the inevitable, the simple thought that ‘there was no other choice’ that made him so resistant to any other prospects.

His drive had been paved by desperate thoughts, fueled by his usual overthinking and kicked into high-gear by his lack of control. It's kind of crazy looking back, realizing just how quickly he had escalated things himself. 

He understood why he did it, and he wouldn't have been completely opposed to actually having accomplished what he set out to do, but…

If Father hadn't put her foot down, I'd probably be dead right now.

She had asked- not ordered -him to do a lot of things with his life, whatever remains of it at least. She had asked him to alter his own perspective and take a wider-scaled view on the pastures below his feet.

“I want you to live your life to the fullest.” she had said, “Doesn’t matter if it's bound to end soon. You still have time, and you're still here.”

“Make the most of it while you can. Live with no regrets.”

It’s…inspiring, her words. It's all still really scary, and he still feels rather helpless from time to time, but it's easier to calm himself and to settle that lump in his throat. Not thinking about it too hard helps keeping a brighter outlook, and he admittedly feels a lot better when he isn't mulling over the details.

Think less, and live in the present.

Appreciate what you see, right here, right in front of you.

“Heyyy, you've been staring at me for a long while now.” Lyney grinned, finally looking up from the dining table where he was penning out a letter. “-Something on my face? Or am I just a sight for sore eyes?”

Freminet grunted, turning the page on the large cookbook resting on his legs. “Your tattoos’ weird.” he lies. 

Lyney squawks, jumping to the defensive, “Well, I happen to think it's great!” He huffs, “You're just jealous you couldn't match with me and Lynette- You still can, by the way, in case you're just feeling left out-”

He scowls, burying his face further into his book, “I am not having a diamond permanently imprinted on my face.” He grumbles, “-still scared of needles too, so I'll pass.”

Lyney clicks his tongue in distaste but still reaches to ruffle his hair- speaking to his true emotions and fondness past his irked front. He wonders if Lyney does it on purpose, just to assure Freminet he's never really upset with him, or if it's just a subconscious action to comfort him.

He can never really know with him.

Live in the present, and live in the moment. 

Do something great, achieve something wonderful. There's no better time to do it than now.

The joy of being surrounded by his family, unchanged, makes him thankful to be alive. Things might not be looking up for his condition, but at least he gets to spend whatever time he has left with the people he loves the most.

-It's that thought that makes Freminet decide early on that if he's living on borrowed time, he's going to make the most of it while he can. 

Aside from his diving prowess and the work he's done for the Fatui, nothing else about him was particularly of note. Changing things around like that makes him realize just how little he's actually done, and-upon reflection-how his own timidness has likely stumped a lot of possibilities for him. 

Freminet could die tomorrow and barely anyone would notice.

He has to do something bigger, something that would cement himself somewhere. If he really is going to die, then he'd rather do it with no regrets- just as Father said.

Leschot's business card still sits pinned in his corkboard, staring back at him innocently. Freminet remembers the offer of that particular salesman, one he had been far too large of an offer for him to be comfortable with- scary enough to drive him towards the coastline where he had a rather unfortunate encounter with a certain judge.

He tries to shake off the memory, and instead opts to snatch the small paper from where it'd been collecting dust.

A man by the name of Alberre is the one to answer his phone call, the one he had made from their landline. He was loud and passionate and Freminet had to hold the speaker away from his ear as the man thanked him extensively for his willingness to reach back and contribute to Leschot's inventory.

That same night, a few hours after the phone call, Freminet collects all of Pers's old blueprints and reworks them for commercial use- removing all the attack modules and cryo resonance implemented into him. He doubts any reasonable adult would want a toy equivalent of an ammo box in their child's grasp. 

He also decides to simply make a copy of this newly declawed Pers design, in case Alberre wants a physical product to evaluate. She's a beautiful thing, a fresh teal coat smoothe over her shiny exterior shell 

Her name is ‘Bleue’, and she is magnificent.

“You two get along now,” he warns, holding Bleue and Pers side by side. He clunks their round bodies together in the vague imitation of a side hug.

He reasons to himself that it's not so bad, selling off Pers's blueprints.

At the end of the day, it's not really Pers he's sharing. A toy clockwork may look and act the same as him, but all of them are different in each their own way, made individually to cater to their new friend's personalities- like Freminet and Pers.

“Don't get jealous, alright?” he assures his little friend, gently poking him. He's been watching him work all night, “-I promise I'll never forget you.”

Pers was made with the endless love and care of a mother and her son, all for the sake of keeping one boy a little less lonely. Now he has the chance to give that sort of experience to other kids out there, one's that might have just been as unfortunate as him. 

He keeps that train of thought up until the moment he's walking into Leschot, an old cardboard box taking up most of his arm space. In it, Bleue and his blueprints sat safe inside- protected from the elements. He also brings Lyney and Lynette with him, who had insisted on accompanying him once he told them what he was doing (after a heap of congratulatory fanfare, of course).

(He doesn't turn them away, seeing as he needed an adult signature to officiate the deal anyways. It'd also be much more nerve wracking going alone, and having his siblings with him is  never something he'd turn down.)

“-Masterful work, good sir!” Alberre praises emphatically, examining the clockwork toy with his coworker. “I knew Brek said he caught a good one, but I had no idea it'd be this good. Amazing!”

Freminet flushes heavily, the emphatic praise so overwhelming that it almost forces him into glancing away. Lyney, sensing his state, picks up the slack and appropriately butts into the conversation for him.

“A prodigy in the making, I can assure you.” The magician grins genuinely, lightly elbowing his side. “He's been working on the little guy's design for a few long years now, so with such ingenious work at play, you'd agree that the price for such a trademark would be a necessary discussion, no?”

And it's just like that, with a few charming words and a bit of glazing on Freminet's behalf, that somehow -for no good rhyme or reason- Lyney manages to haggle the men into paying almost double of the original price they had initially offered him. He doesn't know why he did that (it's not like they're strapped for Mora with Father's funding) but he's willing to bet it was mostly for his own amusement-judging by that sly twinkle in his eyes.

“My little brother puts his soul and heart into all his work.” he defends with a big huff, “-No way would I let it get sold at such a low price! His stuff is practically priceless!”

It'd have been a heartfelt sentiment, had it not been used as a blatant excuse for Lyney to mess around with those poor employees. Freminet hadn't even cared about the Mora in the first place…

After all the fanfare, it all ends faster than he expected- a few paper's signed, some patent clarifications, and a reestablished percent cut is all they need before they're right back out the door, with heavier wallets and no box in sight.

Lyney shakes his shoulder vigorously with pride, and Lynette gives him a polite round of applause. It leaves him sheepish, but also glowing and warm inside- in spite of the blatant cash swipe the former pulled off. He breathes out a sigh of relief, finding the whole ordeal surprisingly a lot less stressful than he'd expected.

Once he's gotten over that hurdle of such a momentous occasion, he rewards himself with a little bit of downtime. He still makes himself go out often, still draws and tinkers, and still waits for his next assignment from Father. 

(He waits…and waits…and waits, but nothing ever comes. He supposes that while he is feeling better, Father would rather avoid having such a weakened pawn back so soon on her board. She'll give it some time.)

Before he knows it, he makes it an entire three months without a single incident regarding his illness. The new doctor he's seeing-who had promptly been informed of his current condition-had actually analyzed this new development and said if this good luck streak kept up, he'd likely get a reanalysis of his predicted life expectancy. 

Apparently it was common to see more consistent deterioration of his body after an incident such as his; when it starts, it tends to get worse. Past his usual nosebleeds he's had since childhood, no further developments on his symptoms was apparently incredibly rare at this rate. 

When Freminet had gotten that letter, he had to physically stop himself from jumping up and down with happiness, instead settling for a big dopey grin that probably made him look like an even bigger idiot.

He had hugged the sibling closest to him, that having been Lyney-who was more than happy to reciprocate the physical affection, Freminet's open joy apparently infectious enough to invite Lyney to dangle him up in the air while he caught him in a bear-hug. He hadn't even asked why he was so happy-

The days shine a bit brighter, and the clouds over Fontaine block the warm sun a little less. Freminet finds himself basking under it a little more often.

And maybe it's because he's here-riding off of his high-that he decides to do something a bit…bolder.

He decides to shift gears, and turn his attention to the hulking mission him and his siblings have been assigned to. 

The file for their mission is ever filling, snaked in a secret hidden compartment in the apartment's ventilation system. It's late afternoon when he manages to pull out the massive file, sneezing loudly as he dusts it off and peels it open.

He spends all night going through it, analyzing every single file it provided with equivalent vigilance- from miscellaneous water import reports to PH trackers of Fontaine's lakes. It's all rather lackluster, and in the end it gives him little to no leads on it.

Freminet acknowledges the fact that it's incredibly unlikely that he'll actually manage to accomplish anything substantial with the simple material that's in his possession. It's a monumental ask- not when they've only made this much progress after years of work. 

It feels like an endless maze, one he's fumbling through with the sophistication of a blind man. But, after hours of sifting, one file finally manages to catch his attention. He had almost thrown it aside, only sparing a cursory glance over bits of information before halting to a stop.

He grabs the paper and reads the page more carefully to himself, frowning, before rereading it again. It's barely a page- half a page even- and yet there is something about the topic's content that bobs at the more inquisitive part of his intuition. 

Of course, the page's topic just so happens to be covering a highly coveted one, and there's barely any information on it that he can get a proper dig at. Public documents on it are written as ‘strictly locked’ to the domain of the people- much to his ire.

‘Documents and information regarding this have not been publicly disclosed. As far as the public knows- It is a secret that remains to the Hydro Archon’s and her closest confidants.’

If it's locked with this kind of security, then he doubts it's safely locked away within the vaults of Palais Memoria- unreachable to prying eyes. The Hearth won't be able to dig up anything for this, even if Father herself asked. 

Additionally, there's no way in hell he can actually manage to pry something from the God’s lips. The Hydro Archon is a public figure and a celebrity- one that acts on her own will and hers alone. According to records of interviews and the like, she's never answered questions that didn't regard herself or her own opinions. There's no way she would answer to him of all people.

So, considering that, it automatically displaces the target to a more feasible scale- her confidantes.

Which is still impossible, his mind reminds him with growing frustration. The Hydro Archon has never publicly affiliated herself with a group of people on a personal level, meaning it'd be unlikely she'd had confided in anyone on a professional level considering her status.

‘This is hopeless,’ he admits miserably, ‘No records of family or friends. Do Archons have families? Unlikely. Besides, the only person that's ever even seen with Furnia is a similar noble class with considerable frequency is the Chief Justice, and there's no way he…’

He pauses, and his eyes widen.

He slams the file shut, as if it would smash the thought down as well.  

He instinctively wants to shrug it off, more for its utter irrationality and lunacy than his 'personal’ fears regarding the man. Freminet is a smart and calculated individual, if nothing else, and he fully understands just how utterly insane of an idea it was to ask help from him of all people.

The Chief Justice- who he knows is on his tail, his identity literally being spoken right back to him from the man himself. The anxiety that grapples him at the reminder is pure and just, still remembering how his body had practically begged him to run away.

And yet… and yet…

Nothing. After so long, he hasn't done anything at all. He'd figured after finding Freminet out, he'd be booted to Meropide in less than a day- like a smug admission only let out by the detective at the end of the novel, right to the criminal’s face.

And yet…

…

If Freminet really wants to follow this one lead,

It's the only chance he has.

It takes about two days for Freminet to work up the nerve to go on his next mission.

Unlike all his other ones, this one was directly self appointed- not one given to him by Father. He already has all the paperwork ready, a story ready to be spun, and a proper plan to execute. He spent hours mulling over it, as best he could.

Even with all his preparations, there was no way for him to be 100% confident in its success. He was working off of assumptions, ones that would cost him greatly if they end up being incorrect.

But the lead was too good, and if he succeeds here, there is no doubt he'll be able to make strides in their mission’s progression. Seeing as he's working against both time and his own deteriorating body, there was no moment to spare. No more hesitation.

The steps of the Palais Mermonia lay in front of him, the bright sun beating down against the asphalt below him. The administrative building contains some of Fonatine’s most powerful highly-skilled, well-trained forces, likely bearing what has to be the highest authority of the land. It’s the headquarters of both Fontaine’s investigators and police force- both no doubt desiring nothing more than seeing an organization like the Hearth buried six feet under.

For someone like Freminet, It’s the equivalent of walking into a sleeping lion's open jaw. If they find out what he is, he’ll be detained and arrested in a matter of seconds. 

And yet, as foolish as this is, only one thought really haunts his mind:

Lynette’s gonna kill me.

He schools his expression and swallows past the lump in his throat, willing his legs to make his way up the steps. The Gardes posted along the entrance barely pass him a glance as he makes his way through, his unassuming appearance not giving note to his intentions here.

Even after working up the nerve, his hands still tremble. He knows what lies inside-not just the Maison Gardiennage or the Maison Ordalie-but the particular boogeyman that sits at the throne of it all. The one that’s been haunting him for far too long now.

The main hall of the Palais Mermonia is long and large, filled with both businessmen and women flurrying about its tables. The sounds of low murmurs and conversations light the air in its humdrum, occasionally broken by the scratching of pen on paper and the loud ding of typewriters. Is it always this busy inside?

No one bothered to acknowledge his presence, most men too occupied with their own work to spare glance at the young boy. He awkwardly snaked between them, apologizing quietly whenever one would bump into him in their hurry- all until he came across the end of the room.

The front desk was royally furnished, looking more like a concession stand than a consultant's desk. For a moment he thought it empty, not immediately spotting anyone behind the front desk, only to jump in surprise when two blue ear-like rhinophores popped up from under the desk.

“Just one moment please!” a Melusine behind the desk spoke, grunting with the effort to set a box down on the counter, “-Madam Angelique, Meropide clearance has finished! Please deliver this to Monsieur Augereau on level two; he’s working with the Maison Cardinalice this week. You got that?”

“Yes mam,” a feminine voice calls out, a uniformed woman suddenly sidestepping him. It's only when she scurries away, large box in her hands, that the Melusine addresses his presence.

“Sorry about that.” The blue-patterned Melusine tsks, dusting off her coat, “Office rearrangements are always such a hassle- makes the mail all mixed up.”

She turns to the typewriter up by the stand, jamming away at the keys. She hasn't even looked at him once, apparently far too busy for eye contact. “-So. What can I help you with young man?”

He clears his throat, finally gathering up all the courage he has to speak, “I'm here to see the Chief Justice.”

She nods, typing away and looking up, “And do you have an appointment scheduled?”

He had considered doing that a bit ago, but his nerves always got the better of him. It'd probably have been a safer bet, but considering the official written attachment that could be linked to his profile had spooked him away from the idea.

He cringes, suddenly feeling sheepish. “Ah- no, I do not mam.”

She tsks, typing away, “Well then, I'm afraid a meeting with the Chief Justice would be impossible at this moment- he has a very long list of people he's constantly meeting and can't afford impromptu ones.”

“And…how long would it take to meet him?”

“As of right now?” She glanced away at a paper, analyzing it briskly, “Roughly a month. Perhaps more.”

Freminet groans in defeat. He had been planning the meeting between himself and the Chief Justice so extensively that he failed to consider just how he was going to properly worm himself into his presence.

It's honestly not as long as he feared it'd be, but shaving away so much time like that while he's already on a timer? Frankly-and as morbid as it is to think-he can't even guarantee he'll be alive by then…

“I'll put you down for a proper wait list,” the Melusine decides for him, taking his despaired silence as answer enough, “-What is your name?”

Screw it, better than nothing I guess. “My name is Freminet Snezhevich mam.” He explains, the faux surname falling from his lips with ease.

At that, the diligent Melusine perks up, finally looking up to meet his eyes. Almost as soon as she takes him in, her frame immediately eases in what he could only guess to be recognition- a small polite smile tugging up her lips.

“Ah,” She waves, smiling pleasantly, “My apologies, dearest familiar, I did not realize who I was talking to. Freminet was it?”

‘She knows who I am.’ He realizes, faintly wondering if he should feel horrified at that.

He shakes his head, deciding that it was more of a headache than it was worth. Her friendly and cordial reaction to him was all he needed to know he wasn't in any immediate danger with her.

“It was,” he confirms, awkwardly clearing his throat. "Do you... need to see anything else?"

“Mhm, no,” She types something out on a new paper, resetting the machine with a ding, “Alright, let me jot your name down real quick...” she hums, and as soon as she finishes, she turns back to him.

“Monsieur Neuvillette’s office is directly to your right from here, you can't miss it,” she pulls out a typed sheet from the typewriter, filing it away diligently, “It's about to be his lunch hour, but I'm sure he would not mind the company. Next please!”

Freminet nods, understanding the dismissal for what it was. As he walks, he almost deflates with the relief that hits him. The hardest part is over... hopefully... unlikely...

Of course, the small moment of celebration is rather short-lived. He has a plan, and he can't risk failure of any kind- which means he has to stay focused.

He knows that Neuvillette is not a man to be met without preparation, especially when it comes to the Hearth's interest. His status as the symbol of Fontainian authority makes him possess a spider web of connections and-by correlation-classifies him as a fountain of information. 

Extremely useful information, no doubt.

Mismanaging a meeting like this could result in dire consequences. While he may have already purged all his publicly available files connecting him to the Hearth, Neuvillette had known what he was a long time ago now. There's no hiding from him, surely.

To summarize it: a lot is at stake, if not the mission than his own neck. For all he knows, Sedene could have already called for security to have him arrested- or the Chief Justice himself will give him a one-way trip to Meropide as soon as he walks through those doors.

He knows who I am… so he must know I work for the Hearth. Nothing else makes sense.

Freminet, frankly, risks losing everything being here. The Hearth-and by correlation-his siblings, his Home.

And yet he's here.

Because the thing about high risks is that they often come with high rewards, and while Freminet is no gambler, he's scraped up all his rationality and good favor for this bet.

The Chief Justice has been known to give lighter sentences to younger folks, especially children. He was also known to have implemented all those labor laws regarding underage workers, alongside the Melusines treatment within the populace.

If anyone were to make it past his defenses, it'd be a small innocent child- young in age and timid in demeanor.

He makes it to the two doors of the office. ‘CHIEF JUSTICE' is engraved on a gold plaque, signifying who resides on the other side. The golden-crested doorknob mocks him, daring him to open the door.

-And who better to act as a young, pitiful child than Freminet? He's already plenty that outside of the masks.

He takes a deep breath, heart hammering in his ears, and pushes open the door.

The door swings inwards with a loud creak, revealing a large royally-furnished room. Long blue curtains pull apart to reveal a huge tainted window, afternoon light cascading into the room from it. Right under it, a large furnished office desk sits- filled to the brim with papers and desk ornaments.

But of course, none of that matters. As soon as he enters the room, his eyes are immediately glued onto the gentleman behind the desk, recognizable suit pressed and signature white hair basically demanding his attention. His eyes are downcast, too focused on the paper he's signing to even spare him a glance.

“Sedene, while I thank you for coming in for a reminder, I am well aware of the encroaching lunch hour-” he sets his pen in his inkwell, folding the paper into an envelope, “-I promise I'll take a break soon enough, I simply need to work through a final batch of papers.”

Ah, he must think he's the Melusine up front. Is she his assistant? Does the Chief Justice skip meals often? It is a busy job, He must work late often…

Still, the longer he stands here unoccupied, the more he knows his nerves will grow. So, he swallows past the lump in his throat and gathers up all the courage he has.

“I'm not Sedene, sir.” He manages out, voice deceivingly calm. He does say it a little low, which makes him fear the man might not have heard him, but he's proven wrong when  man all but snaps to attention.

His eyes were comically wide, thin pearlescent eyes meeting his own. His raised brows betray his mostly neutral expression, the momentary shock of his presence able to break his calm demeanor. 

“Freminet,” he speaks out eventually, fumbling over himself, “I- I must apologize. I did not realize it was you that- um… ahem.”

How strange it was, to catch a man like the Chief Justice by surprise. He's only ever seen him cool and collected, upholding the perfect neutral front for all to see- to see him have to regain his composure feels like he's managed to accomplish something impossible. It almost eases the rapid beating of his heart.

‘He still remembers your name,’ his brain notes, reminding himself of the stakes of this situation, ‘stay on guard.’

He manages a polite smile, sheepish but still keeping his calm expression. “Sorry to interrupt, Monsieur Chief Justice. You aren't busy right now, are you?”

Neuvillette, to his credit, schools his expression almost immediately- surprise turned into inquisitive curiosity. “Ah, no I am not. Not at the moment.” he continues, forgetting his prior work, “Is there… something I can do for you?”

“Ah- ha…” he gulps, suddenly feeling as if he's lost most of his willpower but still urging himself to continue with the act, “Um. I-I must admit, it's a bit of an strange request, and I can assure you- I'll understand if you can't-”

“Nonsense,” the man continues, giving him a placid smile, “Whatever it is you need, I'm sure I can approve it for you."

And wow, is the amount of power Neuvillette is giving him right now-bending so easily to his whim-unorthodox. He had been banking on sympathy- pity perhaps to earn his cooperation, but wow is this a lot. 

“I was hoping um…you could perhaps share with me a bit of technology.”

He reaches into his bag, sifting through his papers and files, “I've recently partnered with a place called Leschot's workshop, and am working as an active sponsor for them.” he eventually finds what he's looking for, pulling out the forged document to be analyzed, “We were uh…looking into everyday household items we could draft up for public use, and were hoping for a bit of knowledge regarding some specialized technology.”

“A sponsor you say?” he smiles, paying a cursory glance down at the paper he's still holding, “That's wonderful news. And it sounds like you're doing important work too,” he straightens again, expression pleased, “-while I'm no engineer, I can still attempt to aid you as best I can. What would you like to know?”

Well, moment of truth.

“The Oratrice, sir.” He confesses, heart hammering in his chest, “I-I'd like to know more about it, and if you could answer a few questions of mine regarding it.”

Silence permeates the air, and while Neuvillette may not look angry or irked, he does look…stumped. A bit upset, but it didn't seem directed towards him.

“The Oratrice?” the Chief Justice echoes, frowning a small bit, “I'm- I am sorry, but I'm afraid I can't help you on such a matter. As the Chief Justice, it may be my duty to work alongside the Oratrice and use its judgment to reflect my own, but that does not make me privy to its internal structures. I was not the one to construct it, after all.”

“Oh,” he said simply, unable to not feel disappointed. The feeling in his gut grows the longer the man's statement sinks in, and his hands clutch the paper in his hand hard enough to crinkle it.

He'd worked so hard to get to this point, likely having taken what has to be the biggest risk of his life and for it to actually succeed- just to fall right before the finish line.

‘Damn it,’ he thinks, thinning his lips, ‘Damn it!’

Monsieur Neuvillette, as if sensing his upset, gave the boy a sympathetic look. He tapped his foot up and down pensively before his face f]seemed to v]brighten, an idea seemingly popping into his head.

“However-” he starts again, “I do know someone who does.”

Before Freminet could even ask what he meant by that, the older gentleman reached over and pressed a button on what looked to be a speaker machine. A loud buzz rang in the air as he did so, and he leaned to speak into the microphone.

“Sedene,” the man says, speaking towards the button, “-please call Lady Furina to my office. There is a matter I wish to discuss with her.”

“Right away, Monsieur Neuvillette.” a grainy, feminine voice spoke back.

Freminet's heart sank to the floor, passing the crust and mantle, before landing at Teyvat's core. Pure unbridled terror sank its claws into him, wondering what he just gotten himself into.

‘There's no way,’ he thinks, face pale as a ghost, ‘This can't be real. I'm having a nightmare. There's- There's no way he just called the Archon in here-’

Before he can even finish his own thought, a loud barrage of banging slams against the door hard enough to make him jump.

“YAHOO! OH NEUVILLETTE!” a cheery voice calls from outside, only slightly muffled by the doors of the office, “I heard from a little birdie that you were calling for me! If you needed some company, you could have just asked!"

A grimace overtakes the older man's features, irritation marrying his face with seeming recognition. Before he can even say anything further, the office's door is quite literally kicked open.

Inside comes a haughty lady, striding in with the full confidence of a runway model. She's dressed down in a dark blue suit, her white blue-streaked hair bouncing along with her steps. He recognizes her from the countless magazines and pictures he's seen, but seeing it in person...

“Ugh, that dumb door of yours always damages the soles of my shoes," she huffs, sauntering past Freminet without even a glance, "You should replace them with something easier to open.”

“Perhaps you should simply avoid kicking open my door, Lady Furina.” He insists, irritation slinking into his tone. Based on the Archon's unperturbed expression and the Iudex's tired but accepting eyes, Freminet gets the impression this happens a lot.

“Oh please,” she dismisses animatedly, “Opening a door normally is so overrated. It's not nearly flashy enough for my style. Besides, if I didn't open it with my kicks, how could you possibly tell it'd be me opening it?”

“Oh trust me, I'd know. Your presence is quite hard to miss” He assures her, tone sounding quite genuine. “Lady Furina, while I do enjoy your company on most days-if it is not without interruption, of course-the reason for your call is not actually one of leisure.”

“Oh?” She blinks, heterochromia eyes turning and widening once spotting Freminet- who was basically standing right beside her at this point. “Oh!”

“I called you here to meet a very special guest of mine,” when he turns to glance back in his direction, a smile tugs up his lips. “This is Freminet, and he'd like to ask you a few questions.”

“Ohhh, special you say?” She turned to face him, her bravado almost visibly hiking up as she made eye contact with him. “I had figured my Iudex wouldn't have scheduled a meeting during lunch hour- but seeing as you are a ‘special guest’ by Neuvillette’s standards, then I'm sure it's all for a good reason- he doesn't get a whole lot of those, considering he's as good at connecting with people as a flat cardboard box.”

“Lady Furina,” he growls in warning.

“Oh, come one! I'm just teasing,” she laughs off, not at all disturbed by the Iudex's reaction. 

He knows what the Hydro Archon looked like, of course-her image not particularly scarce due to her own extricates-but seeing her in person, face-to-face, was a whole other matter. Freminet had expected he'd be scared, if not intimidated, but…

He feels nothing. Aside from the casual anxiety that creeps up on him when he's forced to meet new people, there is no oppressive fright that bears down on him or pressure from the atmosphere- not at all similar to the moment he had met Neuvillette.

‘She seems so…personable. Pushy and arrogant maybe, but…not at all what I was expecting.’

“My name is Freminet. I-it's an honor to meet you, madam.” He takes her hand and bows, as customary, “-I am an official trainee aiding in Leschot's business and workshop, w-wherein we specialize in everyday commodities and mechanics. I was wondering if you were open for a quick interview.”

“Oh, an interview!” She cheers happily, sounding overjoyed at the prospect, “Why of course! Why didn't you just say so earlier? I'd be more than happy to answer any questions- after all, there is no other being in Fontaine as radiant and auspicious as the Archon herself.”

There's that reported ego talk. He thinks he sees Monsieur Neuvillette roll his eyes, but it could have just been a trick of the light.

While she does seem eager to get to questions, she still seems aware enough to ask him questions beforehand. “But I must ask-and I do not intend to be rude-but what makes a mechanic of all things feel as if they could aid in their craft by interviewing me? I mean, I am a lady of the Opera and not one of cogs. I am quite curious.”

Well, here goes.

“Nothing special,” he gave a sheepish smile, ducking his head in what he hoped to be a friendly manner, “I was wondering if you were open to discussing the Oratrice, and perhaps the process in with how you built it.”

For just one quick moment, the smug prideful smile that had sauntered upon the archon's face drops- before tugging back up into a large beaming smile, riddled with hidden anxiety and nervousness.

“Oh- ha! Haha! T-the Oratrice, you say? That old thing?” Furina shakes her head, waving her hand around dismissively. “I am-ahem-deeply sorry, but while I am not one to turn down questions from my lovely civilians, I must say the crafting of the Oratrice is a strictly guarded topic that cannot be divulged to just anyone-”

“-Oh, none of that now, Lady Furina.” Monsieur Neuvillette butts in, shaking his head. “Surely you can just answer the boy's questions? Freminet is a dear friend of mine and can be trusted to do nothing malicious with information. I'm sure you can afford to spare a few details on your own handmade contraption. 'From one mechanic to another' as one would say.”

He looks back down at Freminet-who had taken to anxiously pulling at his fingers-an encouraging smile now on his face. “Go on. Ask any question you may like.”

Something strange sinks in his chest, soft and warm but choked with the tar of guilt. Neuvillette, whatever his impression of him must be, just spoke up for him- a boy he barely knew. He made a testament to his character and his intentions, confiding in the Archon’s secrets with the assurance of a kind sympathetic man.

To be lying to the face of the man who just stuck up for him against an Archon… how can Lyney and Lynette handle lying to innocent people so often?

A sheepish look crosses Lady Furina’s face, looking rather uncomfortable but clearly feeling the pressure to accept the proposal now that Neuvillette has spoken up for him. Freminet chases the end of the rope before it slips through his fingers.

“We can start with simple ones, if you'd like.” he insists, not wanting the deity to start walking back now, “No need to go in-depth, if you're not up for it.”

“Oh…” Furnia seems to stress, but eventually seems to collect herself with a sigh. “Oh, w-well…alright then. I'll answer to the best of my ability.”

Freminet almost goes boneless from relief, but he keeps his face calm and polite. Crap, he’s really doing this, huh? In hindsight, he really should have brought something to record all of this. 

“Thank you so much,” he says genuinely, “This means a lot- more than you likely think.” try saving the entire country.

Furina waves him off, huffing with some remaining irritation. “Just- lets start, okay? First question.”

“Right,” he clears his throat, sifting through his stapled packet of papers, “Uh- let’s um…start with a basic one: 'What was the Oratrice originally designed to do?'”

Furina seems to at least know how to answer this one. “Well, in rudimentary terms, it simply serves to deliver judgment with accurate sentences at the Opera Epiclese.”

“And does the Oratrice operate exactly? Does it have a specified power source?”

Furina continues, surprisingly unperturbed despite her initial nerves, “It converts people's belief in justice into Indemnitium, a power source used in the Court of Fontaine and Erinnyes.” She waves a hand around, “Fontaine’s beliefs in right or wrong have never strayed far from the usual moral obligations found anywhere else.”

“-And if this were to change, would you fix it?”

“Of course!” she declares, smiling pridefully, “It’s unlikely, but you and all the citizens of Fontaine can rest assured that your Archon is always looking out for you. In the Land of Justice, nothing is more important than the plays of a court- it would be a fast and easy fix, no doubt.”

Sounds all well enough. “-And how would you go about fixing an issue like that?”

“I…” Furina paused, frowning for a second before sheepishly smiling, “What?”

“You said it’d be a ‘fast and easy’ fix, right?” He repeats, trying not to seem like he’s probing too much, “-I was just wondering how a process like that would look like, even with rough estimations. If the Oratrice is anything resembling common machinery, I should be able to feasibly understand the basics of it.”

Furina visibly flounders, “Well, that- it isn't basic! You wouldn’t understand even if I tried to explain!” she cries out, but there’s a visible drop of sweat clinging to her irked brow, “-ugh, why would a small workshop even need to know that about a truth-and-lie detecting machine? What would you get out of that?”

Ah, he’s setting her off. I have to back up, and fast.

“I can assure you, Lady Furina, the people of Leschot's are not out to impede on your power or authority.” He placates her, tone calmer than his clammy hands would entail. Oh god, please don't start shaking, please don't start shaking. “We believe if we can replicate the prowess of the Oratrice, t-there could be a lot of good that could be given to people. Stuff produced by smaller operations, like couple's counseling and therapy...” 

He tilts his head, offering a sheepish placating smile, “I can ask another question if you’d like. We can move on if that’s what you want.”

Furina visibly wanes, but she still doesn’t look all that happy. She waves a hand outwards, grimacing, “Please, do that.” she asks, almost pleading.

He nods, accepting the change in subject matter, “How exactly is the Oratrice able to get a clear-cut decision on a case? How does it decide who’s guilty and who’s innocent?”

“The Oratrice has a designed consciousness of its own,” Lady Furnia explains with a subdued tone, seeming to be much more comfortable with this line of questioning, “-It delivers its judgment with the analysis played before it at the Opera Epiclese. It’s not a mind-reader though, so it relies on the case presented to it to come to a final decision.”

“Okay,” he nods, “Can you perhaps tell me why this happens?” 

“I- w-why wouldn’t it happen?” she asks, tense, “-That’s what it was designed to do.”

“I'm not asking in that kind of literal sense.” he shakes his head. “I can’t imagine with a judge as powerful as the Chief Justice and the analyzed human rationality of a court and jury would such a machine be truly required.” 

He continues, “Did you really feel it necessary to create, or does it serve…some kind of other purpose?" And then, either because he feels like he's on a roll or because he needs a silver bullet, he bets it all and asks, "Perhaps... something regarding some sort of prophecy?”

A wide, ashen and pale look overtakes her face. Freminet grips the paper in his hand.

Got you.

“-Oh…haha! Would you look at the time!” Furina declared loudly with an anxious laugh, glancing at her wrist (even though there was no watch there), “I'm late for my lunch! I'd hate for my food to go cold, so it's best to get going.”

“Lady Furina-” Neuvillette starts, sounding mildly displeased. 

“-Sooo sorry for cutting things short,” the Archon says to Freminet, outright ignoring the Iudex, “It's been a pleasure, truly! I do hope my Iudex's special guest has found his answers satisfactory.”

He blinks, and she's all barreling against the office's door and leaving- departing their company with a slam of the door and a cheery “Toddles~!”

Silence permeates through the air, the tension that had been mounting during the encounter. Freminet finds himself too stunned to say anything, reflecting on the fact that that really just happened. The quiet is broken by Neuvillette instead, who lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Curse you Furina,” he grumbles, sounding uncannily like a disappointed dad. He looks back at him, a resigned look in his eyes, “-I must apologize on her behalf. Lady Furina, while a very impassioned individual, tends to be quite… flippant when she wants to be.”

Freminet thumbs at the files in his arms, glancing away thoughtfully. “I didn't know the Hydro Archon could be so…evasive,” he observes, murmuring more to himself.

“I can assure you she usually does not act so thoughtlessly- she is quite kind, even if she does not show it so openly.” He shakes his head. “-In any other circumstance, I would have personally provided you with the Oratrices's blueprints as an apology for all this, but I fear even I am not privy to such items.”

Freminet wanes, thinning his lips a small bit. “It's alright, I understand,” he assures softly, appreciating the sentiment from the man. I already have more than enough to make up for it.

Neuvillette continues then, a brighter look in his eyes, “Would you like to stay for lunch? It was supposed to be earlier, but I'm sure an extended break would not hurt anyone.”

Lunch? With the Iudex? Sounds like a panic attack waiting to happen... “Ah- s-sorry about that,” he apologizes sheepishly, trying to back out as smoothly as he could, “I've already impeded enough- I can just leave.”

“Nonsense. You haven't impeded at all, I can assure you.” He smiles gently then, kind and open, “Having you come here today has been a wonderf- ah, welcomed surprise. I had not thought you would come seeking me out in such a manner is all.”

'Yeah, well, that makes two of us.' He thinks tiredly. He wonders how much longer this day will be.

 “Nevertheless, it is your decision, and I do suppose you'd rather leave before it gets late.” He surmised, finally standing from his seat and to his full height, “-May I escort you to the exit?”

“U-um!” He gawks, suddenly sweating. He really would rather not be seen next to the Chief Justice- press release is honestly the very last thing he needs right now- “No, I! Um-!”

“Do not worry,” he smiles placatingly, gesturing towards the door, “I understand that being seen with the Chief Justice could result in some unwanted media attention. There's a back entrance to the Palais Mermonia, If you'd rather go through there. I know the way.”

“Still I-” he tries to reach for excuses, already wanting to leave the situation, “It's fine, I- I'd… I'd hate to take up any more of your time-”

“You've done no such thing,” he promises Freminet, walking to stand beside him, “-Come, it's the least I can do.”

Freminet wanes with a heavy sigh, finally seeming to accept his fate. He's never been good at rejection, has he? “Well…alright…”

—

If anything, he’s at least thankful for the sight that awaits him once they make it outside. Per Monsieur Neuvilette’s promise, they make it outside after walking down the beautiful winding halls in the Palais Mermonia, royal furnished space cluttered with the busy bodies of its workers and Gardes. He’s still plenty paranoid that they’re gonna jump on him at any time, but having the Chief Justice walking alongside you must automatically delete anyone’s hypothetical suspicions.

They come to the splay of a beautiful garden, expansive in its greenery and colorful array of flowers tucked in every corner. Local flowers like Rainbow Roses and Lumidouce Bells flood over the hedges, alongside a section of several foreign varieties- like Cecilias and Padisarahs. Butterflies fly along the air, the sound of the streaming fountain 

“It’s beautiful,” he says, too stunned to say anything else. 

“Isn’t it? The Palais Mermonia has biweekly gardeners hired specifically to keep upkeep along this space.” he explains, more than happy to start his long-winded infodump, “Many of the Palais’s employees enjoy having their lunch here, and often host small get-togethers once their workload has lightened. It’s closed to the public due to the presence of foreign vegetation, out of fear an invasive species would make its way out onto Fontaine’s local life.”

“...I thought the Palais in general was locked to the public,” he says, mostly to himself. “With the kind of security all around the Court, I doubt someone would be vying to break into a garden just because of some plants…”

It's at that moment that Freminet realizes just how utterly stupid he's being engaging in this conversation in this way. He really should not be explaining to the Chief Justice of all people just how much he knows about the security at the Palais Mermonia- the place he works at. He's actually begging to get arrested at this point.

Luckily for him, Neuvillette does not catch this. Instead, he looks quite unalarmed to be engaging in this conversation with him- happy even.

“You'd be surprised,” he hums with a smile, “Plenty of people get arrested for illegal imports- the ecological consequences of such a simple thing as flowers is surprisingly astronomic.”

They continue to walk through the edges of the garden, a visible gated door hidden along its side. The older man's cane clacks against the asphalt as he walks, frame tall yet poised.

“Here is the exit,” he declares, gesturing to the unassuming gate in front of him, “It's a one-way door, so be sure you're not leaving anything behind, alright?”

Freminet grunts, patting the satchel at his side, “I'm not,” he assures him. He wouldn't be seen leaving behind evidence if he could help it.

“Then you're all ready to go,” he smiles, “It's been nice seeing- ah, wait a second-” he declares suddenly, and the tone makes Freminet jump.

“Is something wrong?” He rushes out, suddenly nervous as to why the man needed to pause like that. Did he remember just now- who he was? Is he going to arrest him?? Oh, and just when he thought this was going off without a hitch-

“Oh no, I simply remembered something I meant to give you back in my office.” He reassures him, gesturing back to the building, “I'd hate to take up any more of your time, but would you mind waiting here for a moment? I'll be quick, I promise.”

Is he serious? Is… is this a joke? 

“Go ahead,” he says faintly, mostly because he's not quite sure he can deny the man even if he wants to. The older gentleman nods and takes his speedy leave, leaving him alone right beside the gate- completely unguarded. Nothing but the sounds of tweeting birds and rustling leaves keep him company.

Freminet shifts in place, glancing at the door. It looks simple enough, a lock that's been temporarily left open likely due to work hours. 

If he really wanted to… could Freminet really just… leave? Slink away, completely undetected? There are no Gardes around currently, and no one would see him leave. He already has everything he needs on him, and there was no one that could stop him if he tried.

But…He would also be leaving Neuvillette. 

The man said he… he had something for Freminet. What that could possibly be, he has no idea? Would it be a box? One that when he opened, he got an official call to court for all the murders he’s ever committed? What a nightmare that'd be. He's been going along with this well-enough, acting and lying with the intention of getting information, but he's gotten everything he needs now and he's starting to get tired of keeping all of this up. The anxiety of the encounter and actually registering the fact that he basically just interrogated an Archon is catching up to him, and it's really freaking him out and he just wants to go-

But...

He can also finally get his answers.

'Why haven't you arrested me? Why haven't you come for the Hearth yet? Why are you being so kind, even when you know that I'm... I'm a...'

"Ah, there you are," that deep voice hums, cheery in spite of his baritone voice, "My apologies if I kept you waiting."

He turns to find the Chief Justice, a pleasant smile stretched across his face as makes his way towards him. There's a decently large package in his hands, wrapped in brown parchment paper and pressed flush against his side. Freminet thins his lips, nodding in way of a greeting. No running now...

"Here you are," the man offers, suddenly extending his hand and offering the package. The quick movement makes Freminet flinch violently, and he avoids the man's gaze in fear of him having caught the embarrassing movement. Instead, he busies himself with taking the offered gift, unsure of what he should do with it. He settled for tucking it under his arms too anxious to open it now or to stuff it in his bag. It doesn't feel like anything dangerous...

"I hope you like it." Neuvillette settles for saying, even when Freminet does not respond. The young boy nods awkwardly, not exactly sure what to respond with.

"I'll..." he starts, clearing his throat, "I'm just going to..."

"Oh," the gentleman nods, accepting his clear desire for departure, "Alright then. I've had a pleasant time chatting with you, Freminet. Please, be careful when returning to your home."

Freminet nods again, murmuring his agreement. When he turns to leave towards the exit, he glances over his shoulder to see the man peacefully walking back to where he just came from, humming to himself. 

Just like that? He's really letting him go... just like that? No pulls or tricks?

It's not that he was excepting some sort of ambush- against his paranoia's worst predictions, but he had expected at least some sort of confrontation. The Chief Justice had just allowed him to waltz on into his office, ask for an 'interview' from the Archon herself (and vaguely threaten her), just to walk on back with no consequences to be found. Hell, he didn't even want anything from Freminet, no money or favors in return for his basically free service. 

Would he have really trusted...just anyone who did this? Obviously not- of course not, so what makes Freminet so special?

He can't walk out of here with no answers, none at all. He'll be living the rest of his remaining days with confusion, unanswered questions, and he cannot accept that, no matter the consequences- 

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” He calls from across the yard, willing up all his courage. The man halts in his walk, and turns to face back towards the younger boy.

"Yes, Freminet?" he asks, tilting his head, "Are you missing something?"

He starts, voice thick past the lump in his throat, “Why are you…being so nice to me? Why did you see me today, allow me to talk to Miss Furina?”

Monsieur Neuvillette tilts his head, pondering over his words. “Well, you were asking for the Oratrice, weren't you not?” He clarifies, “I know Furina may have given the occasional lackluster answer, but I had thought it sufficient. If it wasn't, then I can look into further-"

"No- no not that-" he stresses, too frustrated to care for how rude he's being, “That night…by the coastline…you- you knew my name, knew my face,” he shivers, haunted by the memory, “-h-how…how did you know me?"

"I...ah..." he starts, glancing with what seemed to be sheepishness, "Well, to tell you the truth, I must admit that that moment was not the first time I had heard of you."

I knew it, I knew it knewitknewit- "Please, just tell me the truth, stop lying-" he pleads, "Are- are you going to finally arrest me-?”

“Arrest you?!” The older gentleman fully gawks, eyes wide and furrowed with confusion. It would have been quite the comedic sight, seeing the usually poised and stony Iudex completely dumbfounded, if he didn't feel caught off guard as well. “Seven Dragons, of course not! I- why would I ever even do that?”

…what?

Does he… does he really not?

He seems to let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in what seemed to be frustration. “Freminet, I…” he grimaces, “I am truly sorry, if that is the impression I have unfortunately given you. I can acknowledge that-out of context-my actions did seem rather strange and even frightful, but in no shape or form have I ever even entertained the idea of arresting you-”

“-Then please,” he asks, almost begging, “Please… tell me the truth: How do you know me?”

He’s really pushing his luck- pushing it too far and he’s going to get himself in some serious trouble but he can’t stop because it’s all so confusing and he has to know. He has to hear him say it, for his own sanity, he has to finally have the man explain himself and finally tell him why he’s been treated like this for no apparent reason- If it’s not for the Hearth, then what? What could it possibly-

“Freminet,” he starts, “the truth is…I was an…acquaintance of your mother.”

The world outside his ears goes deaf, a low ringing overtaking it. The admission was so shocking, so utterly unexpected, that it completely barrels into him like a freight train. All the emotions that had been storming within him disappeared all too suddenly, leaving a cold and desolate blankness.

“Oh,” he chokes, unable to say anything else, “...Maman?” 

The sound is broken and small, the ancient call of her parental title not having been spoken aloud in likely years by no one but himself. Her face flashes in her mind, the memory of her hair and smile beautiful and untouched by reality, and it makes him bite down on a keen of pain. It just makes everything else around him feel all the more raw and real- far too real-

“She ah…worked at the Court of Fontaine for a short while as an engineer.” He continues on awkwardly as if he hadn't dropped a metaphorical bomb on him. "She um... she and I became pleasant friends before she had to move away to the mountainous edges of Fontaine. Heard it was because of some... financial issues. We kept in contact though, and she would...often write about you."

And...it all checks out. Her debt...her move...no one would know that unless they knew her personally. He'd figure his Maman would have at least mentioned something about the Chief Justice being her friend at some point, but perhaps she had eventually lost the ability to even remember him. She sometimes forgot Freminet, and he was her own son...

Everything makes so much sense when thinking about it like that. If Maman had already talked about Freminet to Neuvillette, then of course he'd already know about him- along with having a reasonable incentive to befriend him.

“I…” he gawks, feeling like his jaw is broken and stuck, “I- ah-”

“I can prove it to you, if you cannot believe me.” he swears, gesturing to the package he had handed Freminet, “-simply open your present.”

The young boy was still, unsure of what to do or even say. He glanced at the hefty package in his arms, shifting to get a better look at it. He glanced up at the Iudex for one sparing moment, then he looked down and got to work ripping the wrapping apart. As he did so, the dark brown leather peeked over the paper, its shiny golden ridges framing the book with a familiar golden glow. His eyes widen, recognizing the cover from a time long past.

‘101 Fairy Tales: Entry V of VII (Fontaine Edition)’

“This…this is!” he gasped, eyes as wide as a dish as he stared down at the sight. He looked up at the Iudex, disbelieving shocked gaze making the man look away sheepishly. 

“It took some time for me to realize my mistake, the first time I met you. I had realized that I had deeply frightened you- knowing your identity and telling it back to you in the dead of night. I…admit, I failed to realize just how frightful of an experience that may have been,” he shakes his head, “A good friend of mine recommended I seek your forgiveness, and I remembered a certain book your mother once mentioned you liking-”

“Thank you,” he cuts him off, gripping the book so close to his chest he feels its imprint on his skin through his clothes. “Thank you, I- I’m- this means so much to me I- I can’t even-”

“No need to get yourself worked up now,” he says gently, slender hands holding the side of his shoulder. “Your gratitude is appreciated, truly, but this is a gift from me to you. The most that I can hope for is that it…perhaps gives me another chance.”

“Another ‘chance’? For… for what?” He asks eventually, voice thick as he attempts to clear it.

The older man smiles, delicately dusting off his shoulder, “Admittedly, I… have not made the best first impression for myself.” he says, “With this, I hope that you can forgive me for my transgressions, and for any pain I may have caused you as a result of our encounter. I am sorry, truly.”

Freminet gawks for a moment, holding the book close as he glances away, “I- I’m not sure-” he hesitates, thinking about what this could all mean in relation to the Hearth, “-I’m not-ah…”

“You don’t have to give me an answer, if you’re not comfortable saying it,” Neuvillette speaks, even as a hint of disappointment specks in his eyes. He reached for his breast pocket, a fountain pen in his hand, “How about this? Give me your book for a second.”

Freminet hesitates, not wanting to remove the storybook from his arms, but he figures the man isn’t going to do anything bad after just gifting it to him. He hands the Chief Justice the book, and the man carefully opens it to the first page. He uncaps his pen and begins to write, the scratching of the pen filling the air.

“There we go,” he says eventually, capping his pen and handing the book back to him, “All done.”

Freminet takes the storybook back, opening it to peer curiously into it. On the back of the cover of the book, a single large set of numbers fancily inscribed onto the page with fresh ink.

“Is this…” he analyzed the paper, frowning with confusion, “Are you giving me your number?”

“My personal one- you won't have to worry about Sedene putting your line on hold.” He tilted his head, “I cannot guarantee I will be able to answer during work hours, but I will try my best anyhow. Feel free to reach me any time afterward.”

“But-” he stuttered, still unsure, “...why? What for?”

The gentleman smiles and bends down on one knee, making himself eye level with Freminet. This time, the young boy does not shy away in fear. 

“I would like for you to call me, if you ever face any trouble. No matter the kind of situation, alright?” he tilts his head, thin animal-like eyes staring into his own, “It's the least I can do, after everything.”

Freminet shuffles in place, holding the strip of paper close to him. Under the warm afternoon light, the Chief Justice looks like a stark contrast to the one he saw that night- the one that haunted his worst nightmares for days on end.

He had looked nothing short of a monster, judgment and raw power in his gaze alone making him feel weak enough to crumble under the weight of it. Freminet had never felt such visceral fear then, feeling as if he'd die right then and there.

But now? Now all he sees is the warmth of a gentle giant. His figure still breathes with authority and command, and his regal poise is everlasting, but here under the light, he can see the gentle humanity that draws him near- one that promised protection from the elements and whatever else came to be.

Now, instead of judgment, Neuvillette’s presence promises protection- somewhere to run and hide under. He promises safety.

And Freminet…he's never really had that, has he? A place to run to. Not like this, at least…

The closest thing he could think of was Lyney and Lynette’s shared bed when they were little, back when he used to sneak under their covers alongside them when he had nightmares. But that had been a childish, temporary sense of safety- they couldn't really protect him when they were all stuck in the same ditch.

But this…this was real.  

‘Turn him down,’ his logical mind screams, ‘It doesn't matter if he knew Maman- his attention and presence could spell disaster for the House of the Hearth. He could shut everything down, and he'd destroy everything you've ever known, everything you've worked for-’

‘Would that be so bad?’ a smaller, almost microscopic part of his brain supplies. ‘Aren't you tired of killing people? Destroying families? Don't you want it to end-?’

He stomps out the thought before it can even finish, brushing under his mental rug. He can't let himself think like that, not even for a moment. It's too far, he's thinking too much again, and all he needs to do right now is just. say. no.

Yet, when he looks into the Chief Justice's eyes, he senses nothing but pure empathy and genuineness. It's almost blinding, really.

He clenches his teeth and shivers, holding the book closer.

Neuvillette frowns then, as if sensing his hesitancy. He switches his approach, gloved hand moving to clutch the one gripping his book.

“-You don't have to accept right now, if you'd like.” He assures him, “Just…keep it on your person in case of an emergency. I… I can understand if-after all this time-you'd perceive me as unreliable as a source of aid.” He glances away, eyes regretful, “Perhaps I should have sought you out sooner-”

“No,” he says, because he does like his life as it has been. If the Chief Justice had tracked him down earlier, he would have never met Lyney and Lynette, and no price could ever be put on that. “I'm- I'm glad it's now. I understand why you uh…waited. Until now, I mean.”

Even if he dismisses it, he can't help but wonder what life would have been like if Neuvillette had met him much earlier. He doubts anything major would have occurred, but maybe he’s wrong. He’s been wrong on a lot of things regarding Neuvillette so far. 

“I did not want to uproot your life any further than it already was,” he confirms for him, voice soft as sadness tinges it, “Her passing…I can only imagine the kind of turmoil it's caused you. It must have been so difficult for you.”

Freminet thins his lips and nods, throat suddenly thick with emotion. “Yeah,” he breathes, keeping his voice steady. “it…it was.”

“She cared very deeply for you. More than she did herself.” He adds on, posture tense and looking far away, “She…she was a devoted woman and a spectacular mother. It is a true dishonor…that she could not live a long, proper life.”

Freminet sniffles, blinking as he feels tears form in his eyes involuntarily. Shame bubbles up in his skin, ducking his head under his billowing sleeve to hide the display of weakness. Crying in front of the Chief Justice… how embarrassing…

“Oh dearest,” he laments sadly, spotting the tears in his eyes, “I'm sorry, I did not mean to make you cry. I simply wanted you to know how much your mother loved you, and that…ah…” 

He shifts his kneeled form closer, wanting to be closer but still making sure not to crowd him. “I'm sorry,” he echoes again, seeming a small bit hesitant, “Would you like a hug?”

Freminet shakes with his silent cries, sniffing loudly. This conversation was getting too deep, too raw for him and it was making him too emotional and irrational. The offer of physical comfort sates something in him, and suddenly he’s desperate for the reassurance.

His body almost moves without his permission, not thinking too deeply about the consequences he may face as he paces forward. Without acknowledging the fact that he had been terrified of this man not a single day ago, Freminet dipped his head against the man's shoulder and wrapped his hands against the large man's back, dwarfed in his size. He smells like expensive perfume and a fresh ocean breeze, like the coastline. It’s familiar and endlessly comforting.

Neuvillette returned the hug, holding him gently as if he were something precious. He soothes him further as his frame shakes with his silent cries, keeping him close as his emotions overwhelm him. Had this been Father, she would no doubt be ordering him to stop crying immediately and temper his emotions for better use. Neuvillette however... 

“Shhh, it's okay.” He murmurs against his hair, combing a hand through his hair. “Everything’s okay now, just let it all out.”

The man breathes kindness and patience, and Freminet simply cannot believe this man was the same one from the coastline.

His words made him duck his head further against his shoulder, small noises finally worming their way out from his lips- no matter the effort he made to trample them. Instead, he squeezes the man tighter, shoulders shaking with emotions that wrack through him. Time feels like it passes in a slow drawl, the sound of the fountain's water the the rustling of trees filling the silence between them (aside from his own small cries, of course).

Eventually, time passes and so does his crying fit. He eventually peels himself from Neuvillette's shoulder, sniffling with the remains of his crying. 

"Are you alright now?" he asked cautiously, to which Freminet nodded. His eyes were red-rimmed no doubt, face flushed from the aftermath of the emotions he felt.

"Mhm..." he sniffled, voice strained, "Thank you."

“Of course. My offer still stands, by the way,” he says, "Even if it is imposing, I can promise you I will not turn you away. If anything, you could also approach any Melusine and ask for my audience- they will understand implicitly."

Freminet frowns lightly, curious, "Are they like... your servants or something?"

"Seven Dragons no," Neuvillette huffed, his statement apparently so shocking that it makes him laugh, "-excuse me, perhaps did not word myself properly. Melusines are free and sensitive creatures, one's that belong to nature rather than anyone's rule- I would never dare attempt to change that. They are, however, protected under my title, and answer to me in a cordial sense. They see the world differently from us, and will immediately know that you are connected to me as well."

Well, that's...certainly something. It also explains all the strange interactions he's had with Melusines thus far- just how perceptive are they? "I'll... keep it in mind." he decides to say instead, his question not entirely answered but figuring it was the best he was gonna get anyways.  

"Very well," he says, carefully extending his hand towards. Freminet does not stop him when he gently takes a hold of the heart-shaped locket hanging from his neck, instead holding his breath in anticipation. "-Good luck Freminet. Please take care of yourself, and I hope to see you again sometime."

Freminet nods, eyes glittering with the remains of its wetness. That last bit of what he said was a little strange, a pang of familiarness coming from it, but he was far too emotional now to even bother asking about it. 

‘He only knows me through his connection to Maman,’ he reasons to himself, as if he were trying to convince his own mind, ‘-Therefore, the Hearth is not at risk, hasn't been this entire time. Lyney and Lynette are safe.’

‘There's no harm in this, surely.’

‘Let me have this.’ 

‘Please, just this one thing. Let me have this.’

.

.

.

Dear Father,

I was able to claim the acquaintance of Chief Justice Neuvillette upon the proposal of a formal interview directed towards the Hydro Archon- I am to believe they are extremely well acquainted, and acts as high-standing consultant to the Archon. Further inspection suggests their relationship to be personal, but to what extent I cannot say.

He was a kind and hospitable man, and I am to believe he holds a deep fondness for many Fontanians- per observed through his records. However, his intentions and agenda remain relatively unknown, outside the fact of retaining peace among citizens, and therefore should continue to be treated with caution in a professional sense.

As for the Archon herself, her interview was…enlightening. I have found her to be at all what I expected-which was loud, abrasive, and with an impersonal touch of arrogance- but also something much more. I found her to be rather timid and quick to drop character once confronted on more complex statements. Much of what we see in the public is not to be believed, and I am to hypothesize that her overbearing behavior is an act she willingly puts forth. I have no proof of this, simply my intuition.

Intimidation, however, was not my intention with the Archon, so I was careful to remain civil in hopes of getting a better analysis of the Oratrice. However, the longer she went on avoiding answering my questions, I found my patience waning, and I pushed with greater invocation. Even then, she did not order me to stand down, nor did she smite me from where I stood for my blatant disrespect. 

Instead, she cowered and clutched at her cravat with white knuckles. She looked a moment away from crying from frustration. I almost felt bad for her.

I was able to get a few answers, not from her own mouth but from my own senses, so please, pardon me if I am wrong:

I am almost completely certain that the Oratrice is connected to the prophecy. I asked it directly to her face if there was a connection to be had, and she could not give me an answer.

Past that, if even the Archon who claims to have built it cannot explain the process or materials of her own creation, then I can only believe it did not come from her own hands- therefore implying some higher power to perhaps be its creator; One's authority she cannot overturn. Perhaps she is a puppet in all of this as well- the puppeteer still unknown.

As for the Archon herself, she is a special case. She does not come across as an ancient being, one who has been alive to soak in wisdom and knowledge as he implied age would. What this means in the end, I cannot say or know, but it is best to keep her true personality in mind when conducting with her. Her powerless display may be an act too, for all we know. She is the Archon of Fontaine, land of facade- she cannot be judged on a human standard.

Further analysis must be conducted for further conclusions regarding this matter. I've done my best, and I must ask of you for forgiveness for not coming to you sooner for approval on this mission.

Sincerely,

Freminet Snezhevich

.

.

.

Good evening Freminet,

While I do believe punishing you would be the most appropriate action-considering your blatant investigation without higher approval- I will only excuse it only on this occasion. Next time, do seek me out lest I put it on your record.

Nevertheless, I cannot deny that you have made great strides in your mission. The conformations within your letter-if true-are invaluable and will be noted. I’ll have further Operatives investigate this in my own time.

Garnering an audience with an Archon while maintaining your civilian persona is no easy task- let alone one you managed without my direct influence. By managing this, you have progressed the mission without putting the Hearth at risk- a tall ask and a surprising yet welcomed success.

From now on, it is my advice to stay away from these higher officials. Encounters like these are considered once-in-a-lifetime to the common man- let us keep it that way. 

I will make do with the information you have provided me, and shall rearrange our plan of action accordingly. 

Good work Freminet. 

The Hearth-and Fontaine as a whole-will come to appreciate your sacrifices when the time comes. Your efforts shall not be forgotten.

Signed, 

Your Dearest Father

—

'STEAMBIRD NEWS! CATCH IT ALL HERE!'

‘Record Highs In Fontaine! Sunniest Spring In 10 YEARS!’

‘Local Fontaine Researchers report of an abnormal change regarding weather patterns, noting a particular alteration in a lack of cloud patterns for the past week- a peculiar occurrence considering spring's usual rainy season.’

‘Many Researchers are questioning if this is perhaps a bad omen or a result of Fontaine's waterways being affected by pollution, or if it's drawn about by a change in temperature across Fontaine's region of Teyvat. Others just seem to be grateful for the early summer season, eager to take a dip in Fontaine's crystal clear oceans.'

“Should this keep up for longer than a few weeks, we could be looking at a potential drought.” Sir Rowan-specialized meteorologist-reports. "For now, however, that remains speculative- and a problem to be dealt with should it come around."

‘Could this be a result of a lack of recycling? Perhaps there are other elements at play? Have the seasons gone topsy-turvy? Tune in next time to Steambird for further updates! We publish and report news every single day!'

«────── « ◈ » ──────»

Chapter Text

«────── « ◈ » ──────»

“You didn't have to come with me,” His older sister reminds him, glancing at him neutrally, “-you do know that, right? It's barely a ten minute walk, and I'm not planning to get a whole lot.”

Freminet scratches his wrist sheepishly, yet can't find it in himself to feel regretful either. “Yeah, I know,” he acknowledges silently, “I just wanted to.”

The hustle and bustle of the Quartier Lyonnais’s street fresh markets were alive and well, the air abuzz with all sorts of smells and aromas. He doesn't usually come through this part of Fontaine-the tight streets and overcrowding customers usually enough to overwhelm him-but he really wanted to come with Lynette at least once. His sister had much more experience coming through here, considering the fact that this was where she usually bought her main tea supply from.

“Do you want to stay with me? Or do you want to go off on your own?” Lynette asked, glancing away at the crowd around them, “It's not that big of a place, and I'm sure you won't get lost, but…”

“Packed,” he affirms for her, shaking his head, “Can I just… stay with you? I'll stop and look around if I find something interesting.” Probably just some cogs to supplies, maybe a good book…

“That's fine,” Lynette accepted, tail flicking, “Stick close, okay?”

Navigating the street is a long process, going from booth from booth, snaking along the edges. There are vendors calling out prices, conversations between parties yelled over one another, and plenty of pushing and shoving that has him practically glued to his sister's side. 

It's a bit of a miserable experience for him, but it's mostly bearable when he gets to see such a large variety of things all being sold in one place: from candle holders to homegrown honeycombs, to full-on artifact sets and crystalfly catchers. There are books for sale too-something a bit more down his lane-but it's all mostly highly-dramatized novels and romance stories- nothing that really manages to catch his eyes.

They eventually make it to Lynette's stand of preference, the arid smell of heady spices and aromas wafting in blends of steams and smells. He tried not to let it overwhelm him, instead busying himself by looking at what was on display while Lynette made her purchase.

The stands had a large array of things on display, from candles to incense sticks- even an entire diffuser was put on sale. The main products were displayed first and foremost, a myriad of leaves and herbs individually wrapped in triangular pouches of nylon. 

Aside from all the big labels pasted on them, he has to wonder how tea-lovers are ever able to differentiate one tea from another. They all look the same… do they even taste any different from each other?

“-Something catch your eye?” Lynette suddenly peers beside him, seemingly finished with her quick purchase. She looks over his shoulder, down to the assorted cubbies full of pouches.

“Mhm. Just looking,” he responds in a murmur, shifting from side to side with a small frown, “-Why do people even like tea so much? Is it really that good?”

Lynette tilts her head, pondering, “People with ranged tastes tend to experiment in their pallets, and tea is a particular taste that requires a lot of experimentation to refine- and I just so happen to have a refined one.”

“Then how come Lyney doesn't like it?”

At that, his sister scowls, “Lyney wouldn't know a good pallet if it hit him in the face. He also just happens to be irritated by the smell of tea, but to what extent, I can't be sure,” she sighs, “It's fine if you don't like it though- Lyney just has a bad habit of dramatizing his dislike of something for the sake of being melodramatic.”

“You're telling me…” Freminet murmurs, already well-acquainted with the older boy's behavior.

Lynette shakes her head, “In any case, I just happen to like how it tastes, and I think that's reason enough.” She tilts her head, humming lightly, “-But if I were to give a more objective reason, I suppose there are plenty of benefits to drinking tea that can give you health-wise.”

Freminet blinks, curious, “Really? Like what?”

At that, Lynette visibly perked up- clearly eager to dive into a topic she was passionate about. Freminet almost smiled, happy to have provoked such a genuine reaction from the chronically flat-faced girl.

“-White tea hails for Liyue, and its only ingredients are tea leaves- making it one of the least processed around.” She explains emphatically, “It's shown to have a high level of antioxidants, and it's also good for your teeth- containing fluoride, catechins, and tannins.”

“Herbal tea is also really good- processed with herbs and spices in addition to tea leaves.” She gestures to larger packets, all labeled neatly, “-Chamomile improves sleep and relaxation, ginger helps relieve joint pain, and hibiscus lowers blood pressure while staving off sweet cravings,” she huffs in vague irritation, “-Lyney would probably say I could use the last one...”

“Sounds great,” Freminet hums, genuinely interested, “-Can I try a few? The hibiscus kinda sounds nice.” He's needed to keep his blood pressure low anyways.

Lynette turns to him, looking genuinely surprised, “Oh, you're serious?” 

“Yeah?” he questioned, raising a confused brow, “Why would I ask you about it if I wasn't?

“I thought you were just being nice by listening to me ramble,” she admitted sheepishly, glancing away, “-you also once said you didn't like tea, and that you ‘found the smell nauseating’ when I drank it, like Lyney.”

Oh, had he really said that? It doesn't sound unlike him, but it was a rather callous comment to make when considering his sister's clear love for it. How long ago must that have been? Stupid Freminet…

Ultimately, he supposes it doesn't matter in the end. He shifts his feet uneasily, anxiously glancing at the floor.

“Ah, well…maybe I just didn't get around to giving it a proper chance.” He reasons, “I… want to try it, if that's okay. There's no harm in it, right?” he looks back down at the packets, “Besides, It'd do me some good, trying new things…”

“Perhaps,” she admits silently, tilting her head at him before asking more loudly, “Hey, are you okay?”

Freminet blinks, stopping short as he feels a sudden shift in the conversation. He casts a questioning glance at her, confused by her sudden question. “Yeah…?” he says slowly, “What do you ask?” 

Lynette actually looks away at his questioning gaze, suddenly looking a tad nervous and unsure, “Forgive me, it's just… I can't help but notice you've been doing a lot of things out of your comfort zone as of late- like the Leschot's ordeal and going out more often,” she says, “I'm happy you're trying new things, but I can't help but notice that it's all…rather out of character for you.”

“Oh.” Freminet says dumbly, unsure on how to respond.

Had he… really been that obvious? Or was Lynette simply just that good at detecting when something was amiss? Was it her training? It had to have been.

He has to admit, it probably would look strange to anyone looking in on his situation- a chronic homebody with social issues and responsibilities, suddenly turning around and engaging in all these activities he'd never have beforehand- like visiting and aiding Leschot's on occasion and attending more public events with growing frequency. 

He'd have thought it would have been brushed off since nothing he was doing was a particularly bad thing, but perhaps to keener well-trained eyes…

…the change would be a cause of concern- a suspected reason that must have been behind all these decisions. People like Freminet don't tend to suddenly change out of the blue.

“Ah…” he chokes, awkwardly clearing his throat, “Um- I…uh-”

“It's not a bad thing,” she assures, hoping to ease his worries, “You know I'm happy for you either way, I just… wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Still, she didn't sound all too sure of herself, perhaps she just wants to check up on him.

Freminet thinks he'd be pretty surprised if Lyney or Lynette started acting out of character. He'd like to think he could notice, as unlikely as it was. He'd assume the worst too, his nature to overthink drudging up worst case scenarios and haunting him until the behavior let up.

Is Freminet okay? That’s a pretty resounding no, considering he’s got less than a dozen few years predicted to live, but right now? All this? Trying all these new things, experiencing the most of everyday since he wouldn't want to waste away what he has left? 

Still sounds like a fat no, honestly. It's all been rather exciting and it all feels quite fulfilling, but he has to admit: he does feel rather burnt out.

Worst of all was probably keeping it all to himself, like some dirty secret. The latter was worse, of course- who knows what kind of hell Lyney and Lynette would raise once they found out the true extent of his illnesses -but perhaps carrying this burdensome load silently was doing more harm than he thought. Perhaps he's grown tired of keeping silent.

Maybe…maybe he can share it. Just a little.

“Well, it's…” Freminet starts, bumbling over himself slightly, “I'm…just…trying to distract myself, I guess.” he admits blindly, surprisingly truthful for even himself, “This whole… ‘being sick’ thing... I guess it's been messing with me. I can't do a lot of physical stuff, can't go diving too deep or even train for too long… It's debilitating.”

Freminet looks down, tired eyes hung heavy with the truth. “Distractions help a bit, and I really am trying to adapt as best I can, but… I don't know, I guess I can't help but feel a little… helpless.”

After all, Freminet has always been one to face his challenges head on, working twice as hard as anyone to make up for his inherent weaknesses. He'd worked so hard to get here… and for what? To die anyways?

Perhaps it was due karma, for all those lives he's taken- of which he cannot even remember their names. For that, Life had set about killing him in the most excruciating manner possible: drawn out and silently.

Maybe I really do deserve this.

“Oh, Freminet,” Lynette's gaze softens with a sad look in her eyes, one that makes regret twist into his stomach. Ah…perhaps he shouldn't have said anything after all. Still, when the cat hybrid outstretched her hand, he took it without hesitation. 

“I'm sorry,” Lynette apologizes, even when she's done nothing to him. Empathy burns in her eyes, even when the rest of her face remains impassive, “-I know it must be so much, and trust me when I say I wish I could take it all off your shoulders.” She confesses, “I've tried my best to help, but… is there anything else I could do to help? Anything at all? I- I'm sorry, I'm not the best at this...”

“Ah, no, it's- it's not your burden to carry, honest.” he backtracks, “I don't want you to feel guilty or feel like you have to do something for me. You listening to me is more than enough for me.”

She frowns, “Still, I'm sure there's something that can be done. Is your medication not working?” She asks attentively, “Do you think you need another adjustment?”

That would have been an idea, honestly, but given his old doctor's prescription had been thrown off the table, there weren't a lot of things out there he could try that wouldn't mess with his blood pressure. Even now, his ACE inhibitors and potassium replacements were all taken to regulate his blood pressure- not exactly to deal with his HHT. There wasn't much that could be done about that at this point without possibly harming him in the process, and Freminet just had to accept that.

It was all a losing battle anyways.

“No,” he murmurs, sighing, “-I'm fine with what I have, really. Please don't worry about me, I'm doing pretty well right now, all things considered.”

Maybe he really shouldn't have said anything at all, if it got Lynette to start thinking so guiltily. It's no one's fault he was like this- it was just a bad luck of the draw. He already has enough negativity surrounding the whole thing to deal with himself- he should probably avoid bringing anyone else down while he was at it.

“-You two buy something else, or are you two just gonna keep loitering around my damn stand?” The shopkeeper suddenly asked, coming to poke at the two now that she had finished ringing up someone else. “I got customers to see, so buy or beat it!”

Freminet immediately shys away at the lady's harsh tone, while Lynette returns to her steely unaffected self. She apologizes briefly, before fishing out her wallet and asking for a batch of a dozen hibiscus tea packets. "Sorry mam,” Freminet whispers morosely, almost cowering behind his sister as she made her purchase.

Lyney happily greets them both when they both get home, waving to them from the dining table- letters and correspondence all scattered about. He's neck-deep in a Steambird newspaper, seemingly particularly interested in the gossip column.

“You got more tea than usual,” Lyney hummed, still busy reading, “-Didn't you say something about how important it was to buy them ‘fresh’ ? What's the point in that? And just what did I say about moderation Lynette? Don't tell me you forgot already!”

“Put a sock in it,” Lynette huffed, gracefully ignoring him as she marched to the kitchen- where she was assumedly going to squirrel her stash away, “-Half of this is for Freminet.”

“What!” The older boy cries, scrambling up his seat and latching on Freminet's shoulders- still busy taking off his outdoor shoes by the front door, “-she's lying, right Frem? C'mon, tell me she's lying-”

"What?" Freminet says, genuinely confused, "I just wanted to try it-" 

Lyney doesn't even give him the time of day to finish. He dramatically crumbles to his feet, clinging to Freminet's shoes like a man deceased, “Oh, my baby brother…poisoned and infected by my own sister's influence…ah, the agony…”

“Stop it,” he scowls, having enough of the older's overdramatic act. He's lucky enough neither of them are in public, because Freminet knows Lyney would never waste an opportunity of making a fool of himself like this. “You probably couldn't care less. You're just messing with me.” Freminet calls out, having had quite enough of this.

“No! No way! Why would you ever even think that?” He tearfully confessed, pulling at the edges of his shirt, “Does my little brother truly despise me that much? Oh, what have I done to deserve such treatment from my own flesh and blood?”

“Drop the act or I'm not making you dinner tonight.”

Immediately, the older boy's crocodile tears stop, and his misery is all but forgotten in the next second- a catlike grin suddenly taking the place of his former wobbly frown- the damn sneaky liar . He stands to his all height, hands on his hips as he whistles lowly.

“Man! Cold as a cryo slime, this one. You're no fun anymore.” He lamented, crossing his arms with a reminiscent smile, “Ah, I miss you when you were little, still so quick to believe me- back then you would have apologized to me straight away, said sorry for upsetting me. What could have possibly changed?”

“M’ not a kid anymore,” Freminet flushed with embarrassment, irked by the reminders of little-him's former behavior. Lyney's habit of lying had come in fast and swift, shortly after he first started going on missions, and it shamed him to know he was too damn slow on the uptake to realize it until much later.

Clearly though, Lyney disagrees with him.

“Yeah, well, say that all you want- you'll stop being a kid when you stop needing my signature on all your documents.” He turned around and tutted away, waving a dismissive hand over his shoulder, “-enjoy your tea if you want, just don't brew it while I'm around! The smell just gets everywhere, doesn't it?” He complained the end more to himself.

—

Days come and go, and before he knows it, a full three months have come to pass since his surgery- technically three months since he's received a mission at all afterwards. His scar hasn't healed over all that nicely, but he had already come to expect that.

It leaves him with a lot of spare time- most he doesn't know what to do with, unsurprisingly. It's not in his nature to just dawdle about, not really accomplishing everything- and he's already done most of the big things he's wanted to do already (Leschot's Pers deal, his impromptu interview with the Archon herself-). 

Aside from diving, drawing, tinkering, and cooking, his schedule is looking freer and freer every day. 

He's already read enough mechanical books to possibly fill out an entire library (and garner himself a Masters In Mechanical Engineering-), and he's filled two entire sketchbooks with drawings, front and back (Using references really has helped him improve a lot-). Diving is always a pleasure, as it's always been, but he's cautious in not delving underwater too far for too long- in consideration to his rather precarious state. 

Naturally, that leaves him with one thing to occupy his time:

Cooking and baking are an art form in their own right- a skill most people would shrug off initially, but in actuality takes a lot of time and effort to master. It seems simple on the surface, but it actually takes a lot of practice to get it right. People may say they're good at cooking, but it's actually really obvious to tell who can't do it past a mediocre level.

Now, Freminet wouldn't call himself a master by any stretch of the imagination, but he has been working very hard to improve as best he can. He spends his spare time blanching vegetables, braising skewers of meat, and basting it all over with its own residual fats. When he's not cooking, he's reading and annotating actual cookbooks, scouring the pages for new recipes to take on.

He'd say it's all paid off, for the most part. In the span of just a year or two, he's made visual and gustatory strides in improving his dishes. He can always get better, but Lyney and Lynette seem more than happy with everything he's made as of now, which is all he was hoping to accomplish honestly.

Today he's making tarte tropézienne, a 'slice of Fontainian Heaven'- according to all the cookbooks he's read over. It consists of a halved brioche filled with a mix of two creams, thick pastry cream. It's a difficult desert to create- taking days to complete when making it from scratch. The Sango pearl sugar he managed to snag was actually the whole reason he decided on taking on the challenge- the rare import too good of a find to simply put to waste.

To create this dessert, there are three separate parts to the recipe: the brioche, the pastry cream and the whipped cream. The brioche was likely the most difficult part of it, saying it'd take a minimum of two days to complete. He decides to get started on that first, and to just make the creams on the side as he worked.

He created a “sponge” by blooming or activating the yeast in warm milk, then sprinkled it with granulated sugar and adding eggs in afterwards while it was in his stand mixer. He adds flour, salt and butter, then mixes it in the mixer for a few minutes- the dough will be sticky and yellow in color once he began covering it with plastic, planning on letting the yeast rise overnight. Freminet is focused and honed in on getting the pastry cream started, so honed in that he doesn't notice a shadow looming behind him.

“Whatcha’ making?” a curious voice asks suddenly, the fright of the sudden presence almost making him drop the cream.

“Archons, you scared me,” he hisses, turning to glance at the offender. Behind him stands Lyney, leaning over to cast a curious look over his shoulder. 

“My bad,” he dismisses, not sounding particularly regretful, “-Silent stalk, y'know? Comes with the whole cat-hybrid thing?” 

Sounds like an excuse. Freminet scowls a small bit as he gets back to work. “I'm making tarte tropézienne. It's... a process, but I'm sure I'll get it." 

Lyney whistles, “Tough one tonight. What's the occasion?”

"I managed to get some Sango Pearls last time I was out," he explains, switching hands with the saucepan once he felt his head spasm from weakness, "-I also just wanted to challenge myself, and figured I could take it.”

“Atta boy! Never settle when you can always do better. Ah, how well I've raised you,” He grins, inching closer to the sweet smelling condensed milk, “ And what a wonderful way to repay me for all the sacrifices I've made- ow!”

“No touching,” he demands sternly. Freminet may allow Lyney to get away with a lot most of the time, but that was just unsanitary. “Only once it's done. You haven't even washed your hands.”

“So mean,” he whines and sniffs, dramatically rubbing at the spot Freminet had swatted his spoon at. He immediately drops the act a second later, grinning with clear amusement and not at all hurt by his strike. “Do you need any help then?”

“I'm fine, I got it.” he says instead, “-Don't you have any plans to get to?”

At the mention of the topic, Lyney's smile drops to something more awkward, glancing down and clearing his throat, “Going on a mission,” is all he says, shoulders dropping by the smallest amount, “Leaving later tonight.”

Ah. It's a solo mission. He's probably trying to soak in all the stress-free interactions he can get before running off and working his magic, both literally and hyperbolically. 

“When will you get back?” Freminet asks, hoping it wouldn't be one of his longer missions.

"Three days. Might be more if I experience any delays," he says decidedly, grumbling as he hangs off the side of the counter.

“I'll save you a slice when I serve it then,” squeezing at the saucepan in his clutch, finding his grip strangely weak. I took my supplements today, right? "It should be done by tomorrow, but I'm sure it'll be good cold too."

“Oh no, what?! I'm gonna miss it when it's done?!” He cries out loudly, sounding quite distressed, “Who's gonna taste test my wonderful brother's baking now?”

“ -Don't worry Lyney, I'll be sure to enjoy it for you.” A monotone voice calls from down the hall, where he assumes Lynette is styling her hair. “Down to every single slice…ah, I mean bite.”  

“Glutton,” he hears his brother murmur under his breath, scowling with annoyance. “Make sure she doesn't swipe too much while I'm gone, alright?” 

“Sure,” he agrees, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “And you're sure you're ready for it?”

"I'm always ready for anything." Lyney boasts proudly, "Father said I'll start taking on more missions, now that I've had a bit of a clearing on my performance schedule. Can't say I'm particularly excited for it, but I'm sure it won't be too bad at the end of the day."

Freminet frowns, not particularly overjoyed at hearing the news. "I wish you didn't have to," he said decidedly, tone as neutral as he can make it, "It sounds draining."

"Aw, but you both make it worth it!" Lyney declares, hands on his hips, "I mean, what other Fatui member can say go back home to a clean house and a five-star meal hot and ready to go? At this point, I'm shocked you haven't gotten some mission posing as a chef or something. Father's gotta rethink some strategy here."

Freminet huffs out something that could resemble a laugh, admittedly bemused by his brother's speculations. "I hope not," he admits, "Cleanup is what I do best. Can't say I'm great at most else."

"Ah well, it's fine to not be extraordinary at killing people. Can't say that's a skill that's to die for- depending on the situation I'm sure." Lyney sighs and shakes his head.

“Now that I'm thinking about it, it has been awhile since you've last gotten a mission letter,” Lyney grinned, a teasing tilt in his voice, “Must be a dream for you, getting to stay all cooped up in your room all day. I'll have to make sure you don't commit to this shut-in bit of yours.”

“Like you'd ever let me,” Freminet huffed in a grumble, “I've recovered enough to go back on missions at this point, but it is strange that I haven't even gotten a request at this point…” he murmured. 

Even with consideration of the full extent of his illness, he'd figured Father would ask him to do something . There's plenty of work for the Hearth that doesn't require physical labor, after all. 

“Probably a good thing, y’know… considering what happened last time,” Lyney murmured, not sounding particularly ecstatic at recounting the memory, shaking his head and bouncing right back, “Let's just look on the bright side then! Look at you now! With so much free time, you've really managed to accomplish a lot.”

Freminet sheepishly looked away, “I- it wasn't that much…”

“Are you kidding me? Don't sell yourself short now! That whole Pers fiasco at Leschot? That practically came out of nowhere! It was so out of character for you, I almost didn't believe it!”

Freminet frowned, trying not to pout petulantly, “Is it really that hard to believe?”

“A little bit,” Lyney admits, smiling good naturedly, “Believe it or not, but I've known you longer enough to know where your boundaries lie. Your comfort zone means a lot to you, and I think I learned the hard way to respect it.” 

He grinned slyly, a teasing tilt in his voice, “-Remember when I chased you up and down the Hearth, thinking I could get you to talk to me if I haggled you enough?”

Freminet groaned at the reminder, puffing out what could be deciphered as a laugh. “I was terrified of you back then. Did you even…use your brain?”

“C’mon, you know I was kinda hard headed back then. Cut young-me some slack.” He leans in and wraps an arm around his shoulder, “-Plus, look at us now! Maybe if I hadn't chased you around like a banshee, we wouldn’t have become brothers.”

Freminet groaned, but did not shake off the contact. He flexed his hand around the pan, trying to get a better grip on the handle again. His other hand is feeling strangely numb, and he decides to add cornstarch to let the liquid simmer.

“What I mean to say is,” the older boy clarified, “-I'm proud of you, Freminet. So proud. Always have been, of course, but I guess it's a little more special to see you apply yourself to your maximum potential.”

“I knew you could do it.” He hummed, pride clear as day in his tone. 

His heart swells at the unexpected admission, the tips of his ears read with embarrassment. Even as he has his head ducked sheepishly, Freminet actually manages a dopey genuine smile at that. 

“You're gonna be a great Operative one day, you know that?”

Ah.

It's like the smallest crack forms on a glass panel, and suddenly Freminet's mood drops back down to Earth. He's quite grateful he's not facing Lyney right now- he'd get sussed out almost immediately by the drop in his smile.

"Right," he says, clearing his throat, "thank you Lyney. That... means a lot, coming from you."

"Of course," Lyney replied smoothly, tone soft and genuine as he looked over his shoulder.

Time draws on after that, the atmosphere returning to something lighter as the sounds of kitchen hardware and sizzling take place of the conversation. The kitchen was warm with afternoon light, peaceful in spite of his body buzzing with a strange numbness- one that only seemed to grow as the time grew on-

“-Hey hey! Careful!”

The declaration was so sudden that it made Freminet jerk harshly, the saucepan already half off his grip slipping from his hands. Lyney barely catches it on time, gritting his teeth as he manhandled the bottom and dropping it onto the stove like hot coals.

“Oh my god-” Freminet bleared awake, shocked and suddenly worried, “I-I'm so sorry- are you okay Lyney?”

“M’ fine,” he groaned, shaking off his hand, “Didn't burn me- harder to burn Pyro vision holders, remember?”

“Still…” he murmured, trying to ignore the way his hands still tremored. Had I lost focus, just like that? Why didn't I notice it slipping?

“The real question is: Are you fine?” Lyney asks, turning to him with pinched eyes, “What even happened there? You blank out or something?"

Freminet shakes his head, “I'm fine, really I-” he stutters, “I don't know I…my arms, they just ah- jerked forward- I don't know…”

He tries to think about it, and wonders if some sort of muscle spasm suddenly made him jump forward like that. I haven't had any caffeine by accident, have I? The doctor said that could make me jittery and elevate my blood pressure, and I've been careful to avoid it, but I can't be sure. Was it something else? One of the ingredients?…

“-Hey,” he suddenly hears Lyney call, “Hey! Freminet!”

“Oh,” He startled at the loud voice, jumping at the feeling of hands landing on his shoulders. Lyney's standing in front of him, likely having forcefully made Freminet face him. When did that happen? “Sorry, I- I didn't hear you…”

That, decidedly, turns out to be the wrong thing to say.

Lyney’s eyes widened, a sick recognizable sort of Deja vu crossing his pale expression. Before Freminet realizes the implications of his words, Lyney's arm shoots out to grapple his chin and force his head to the side, tilting it to get a better look.

“Hey…” he whines at the manhandling. Lyney ignores his complaints, instead opting to comb his blonde hair away from his face.

“Your ears aren't bleeding…” he murmurs while carefully observing the side of his face, a short burst of relief. It was quickly shrugged off though, Lyney's concern still persisting. “-Do you feel bad? Nauseous maybe? Something off to you?”

Now that he's really thinking about it, he does feel kinda off, but only a little bit, “I'm fine, I think,” no nosebleeds, no nothing - “I-I'm just a bit shaky. Probably just need to eat- take my supplements too.”

Lyney thinned his lips, but ultimately let up a small bit, “Alright,” he decided, “Alright, how about you sit down? Just in case.”

Freminet frowned, glancing away, “Uhm… no, no I'm- I'm baking. I'm not done, and I can't take a break until I finish making...making...”

What was he making again?

“...ey…Hey! Freminet!” 

“-tropézienne!” He jumps, his slow mind finally clicking in place, “I was- I was making the pastry cream for it. That's right. Ah, sorry I… forgot for a second.” 

Lyney gives him a strange look, one that tells him he doesn't believe him, but he smiles nonetheless. “Okay, that's fine, no need to be sorry,” the older boy placates, a strange look in his face past the wide smile, “Here, how about you go lay down for a second so you can clear your head? Take a breather. I'll get you some water too, yeah?”  

No, no he wasn't done yet. He can't stop right now, the stove is gonna go up in flames and it's gonna burn the… the…

...

...What was it again? 

“Right,” he eventually says, ignoring the way it felt like his eyes were going to fall out of his head. The world is tilting quite strangely, and he feels his brain pulse against his skull quite painfully. Ah, a headache then. “Right, I'll… sounds…yeah…”

He tries to turn around, twisting his legs against his body, but before he can even put his foot down in front of the other, the world blurs and tilts precariously.

One moment, he's crumbling and crashing headfirst into the floor, the next he's laid out sprawled on the hallway floor, shaking and convulsing violently with his eyes rolled into his head. He shivers and jerks turbulently, his muscles spasming and jerking out of his control- like someone's soaked him in water and electrocuted him.

The ringing in his ears persists, and the black swirling blots in his vision overtake his sight. A strange noise burns against his ears-sounding like a long, drawn out whine-before faintly registering that it was coming from himself. 

Familiar voices filter through the deafening ringing his ears, the sound garbled and muffled as if underwater.

“...how many…minutes on…clock?”

“...T-two…limit is five, right?”

“...hat’s right, any more and…hospital…”

He tries to listen and understand, to climb back out of whatever water he'd been plunged under, but it no longer feels as if his body is his own. 

It feels like an eternity before whatever's possessed him starts to pass, his uncontrollable jerking growing less and less frequent and the ringing in his ears no longer completely deafening. His mind is released from the moment, leaving his body limp and utterly drained, heaving for air.

He finds himself laid on his side, finally able to recognize the skewed view of the apartment floor - the cold wooden floor pressed against his cheek. His jaw pulses with a dull ache, realizing he'd been gritting his teeth during the entire episode. His eyelids fluttered open with great effort, vision wobbling for a second before he managed to spot both his siblings hovering by his side.

“...e's coming down now,” Lyney's voice replied, clearer now and less muddled as the ringing in his ears receded. “Hey big guy, happy to have you back with us.”

"M'... what… ha-" words refused to form around his mouth, his tongue thick and clunky. It felt painfully dry and raw, as if someone had stuffed coarse cotton into it. 

"Shh, take it easy," he says, placing a careful hand against his shoulder. “-Try not to talk right now. You have to give your brian a moment to rest.”

His brain? Rest? He tries to sit up a bit, hands trembling underneath him with the effort, but he was ultimately eased back down then a firm hand pressed against his chest.

“Don't get up. Stay on your side,” another voice suddenly adds in, its usual dull tone audibly shaken. Lynette. “-Is…does he still have to do that Lyney?”

The older boy seems to take a moment to collect himself, carding a hand through his hair in a gesture to soothe his nerves. His hands barely shake as they do so. “I- no, I don't think so. I read it was only the seizing subsided, so maybe it's fine now. Here, help me get him into a recovery position-”

Wait- wait, ‘Seizing'?

He wants to ask what's going on, to ask what just happened, but any attempt made to talk simply gets caught in his throat, instead coming out as a wounded sound- scrunching his eyes against the raw flood of pain that pulses from his head. Ow, okay, that hurt-

“C’mon, what did I just say about talking?” He hears his brother lightly admonish, earning him a pained whimper from the younger boy. He feels his arms and legs maneuvered around, his own hand carefully tucked under his head.

A long while passed like that, the trio huddled on the hallway floor as Freminet struggled to relish in the aftermath, his body burning with heat but his hands and legs uncomfortably cold- pins and needles all over. He'd curl into himself if he could, but it's like his body protests every single movement he attempts to make just for the sake of it.

It's only until his chest stops heaving and goes into a lull of steady breaths that he talks, this time unimpeded.

“What-” he starts, voice cracking, “what…happened?”

Lyney looks at hima little sadly, brushing his hair aside carefully, “You had a seizure, Frem,” he explains slowly, “Caught you before you fell, so you didn't hit your head at least, but… yeah.”

“R…really?” he croaks, disbelieving.

It might have been because he was disorientated at the time, but for whatever reason, Freminet wasn't able to dredge up a clear recollection of the seizure when it was happening- only bits and pieces. It's as if his brain simply failed to record the memory, the record player of his mind going scratchy and grainy when he attempts to remember it.

Cold dread suddenly hit him, recalling his former doctor's old words:

‘Seizures are one of the most dangerous symptoms for Hereditary Hemorrhagic Telangiectasia.’ 

‘Right now, your body seems to be managing your current symptoms well enough, but should more alarming symptoms start to appear, it'll be a mark for a progression in deterioration- which we'll have to figure out how to combat…’

The reality of it sinks in.

‘I… I really am running out of time…’

There's so many things he hasn't done yet, so many things he hasn't tried yet. He hasn't gotten enough data on the Oratrice yet, nor the mystery behind the matter of dissolving itself. 

And even if he doesn't die from a burst blood vessel, his body is gonna start making things much harder for him anyways. In the state that he lives in, with all his issues, he always tends to forget the just how 

‘I'm not done yet.’

Freminet thinks he deserves praise for managing to keep himself calm; if he lets his nerves get the best of him now, he thinks he might end up having a panic attack, it would just temporarily increase his blood pressure- and then that legitimately has the chance to kill him. The deep-seeded ache and exhaustion in him helps keep his mind placid, the aftershocks of the seizure making the muscles around his neck tense and untense rhythmically. 

Lyney and Lynette are talking again, but he's too drained to focus on their conversation, instead opting to close his eyes and struggle through what remains of the shakiness in his limbs. It's not until someone's shaking his arm that he summons all the strength he has, peeling his eyes back open.

“Hey,” Lyney says, dipping down so he can hear him more clearly. A passes a hand through his bangs, looking into both his tired eyes, “I'm gonna put you in a recovery position so you can rest up for a bit. After that, Lynette's gonna pick you up and get you to your room so you can get some shut eye. That sound good?”

Freminet blinks slowly, moving his jaw but unable to get the energy to get it open to say anything back. Instead, he reaches for his brother's hand and presses it against his forehead, sighing and closing his eyes as he reveles in the blessedly cool touch. 

He hears someone let out a sigh, another soft brush against his cheek-before carefully peeling away, the contact ending sooner than he'd like. 

He doesn't really know how much time passes after that, the passing of time strange and skewed to him. Eventually he feels a hand start maneuvering him upwards, small mutterings deaf to his own aching ears. He's taken off the ground and hung limply in the air, all until he feels himself set down on a soft mattress, dipping under his weight. He blinks his eyes open, spotting Lynette as she fiddles with the clock besides him- possibly turning off his next alarm.

He hears a stern voice from the hall, loud enough for him to hear but too muffled to make out. He blinks strangely.

"Was that Lyney?" He asks suddenly, voice all but destroyed. Lynette casts him a glance, tired and drained.

"He's calling Father from the landline right now," she says, "He's going to request a pardon from going on his mission for your sake. It might take a bit, so don't worry about it."

“Did I…upset him?” Freminet manages to ask, brows pinched.

Lynette pinches her brows with confusion, “No, I- Of course you didn't-" she shakes her head, "He's just concerned. And scared. He's sad because he's scared.” She looks away, training her eyes on the floor with recollection. “I was scared too. One moment everything was fine, and the next I suddenly heard a bunch of commotion and Lyney shouting for me, and…”

He hears the way she trails off, as if recalling the memory itself haunted her. She shakes her head, as if in an attempt to shake off the thought.

“Lyney read some stuff about it, apparently. Seizures, I mean. He said we had to keep you rolled onto your side. Something about keeping your airways open so you wouldn't start choking.” 

“Even then apparently you started gritting your teeth, and we realized you- you weren't breathing properly, and-” she twists her tail-end in her hands, “Lyney said that it wasn't uncommon for that to happen, but that if more than five minutes passed and you were still seizing, we'd have to bring you to emergency care.”

Wait, Freminet stopped breathing? All those black spots in his vision…had he actually been passing out? 

“I'm sorry,” he says, clutching at the blanket in his grasp.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” She says, stroking her thumb against his face. Her eyes suddenly draw inwards, a glint of sadness flashing long enough for him to spot.

“What's wrong?” he asks.

Lynette pauses for a moment, tilting her head to gaze at him. A small, sad frown twitches on her lips, her expression wounded and mournful.

“Nothing, just…” She slowly reaches forward, gentle fingers tucking his hair behind his ears, “-the blood vessels around your eyes burst.” 

Oh. Had they? He hadn't even felt them go. Then again, that pins and needles feeling all over his body generally doesn't allow him to feel much.

She shakes her head, “Those are harmless, I remember, but… it's sad. Please rest more.” 

Freminet does not know how to respond, so he simply nods instead. 

—

It takes a long time for things to go back to normal, unsurprisingly. 

His life is essentially put on halt the few days following his seizure, finding himself no longer even allowed to leave his room for long periods of time- all but herded back to bed by his siblings to get a little more rest.

Not like he minds all that much. The first two days after his seizure, Freminet is all but dead to the world- only managing to stay awake for a few odd hours during the day before succumbing to the clutches of sleep. Even when he does manage to get on his feet, he's mostly stuck in a groggy daze, too drowsy to register much other than the urge to sleep and to throw up anything that dares to enter his system.

Lyney talks to him, he thinks. About his doctor and getting in contact with him- something about ‘looking back at his old genetic tests’ and plans to get him started on ‘plausible medications’. 

Freminet retains just about none of it, going one ear out the other. He thinks Lyney knows it too, and is simply going over his ‘plan’ in an attempt to straighten himself out too. 

He wasn't the only one left frazzled, no doubt. He can see the tired look stuck in his eyes, boring down on him and showing on his face when he doesn't think he's looking. Freminet would feel bad for burdening him, if he had the energy to do so.

He only leaves his bed to use the bathroom or to eat, otherwise spending all his time in the company of his bed and Rosseland- having designated herself as his personal prison guard while also using him as a heating pad (He doesn't mind the cuddly company, of course).

It's only until the third day that he really manages to wake up with any semblance of energy, finally able to hold a proper conversation without mumbling or feeling sick halfway through. Lynette still dutifully shepherds him back to bed, like a well-trained herding dog, but makes sure to keep him company in exchange. 

(They share a cup of tea together, and Freminet finds himself pleasantly surprised with how much he ends up liking the hibiscus tea he picked out- it's tart and a bit sweet, the taste reminiscent of the cranberries.)

“Lyney's been a bit busy with a few things, but don't worry,” she assures him, sipping from her cup, sitting on the other end of his bed, “-you haven't missed much aside from that.”

They're both equally on his case, but he'd say Lynette is far more unbendable than her twin is. Whenever he goes to get himself some breakfast, she appears right behind him and offers to bring him some 

He tried to make himself some tea with the packets he bought back at the fresh market, and he ended up stupidly grazing his hand against the boiling kettle's steel- making him let out a loud yelp before gritting his teeth and hissing in pain.

Not a second later, he hears something muffle and drop, before he catches Lyney all but barreling against the kitchen wall in his haste to get here from his room- hard enough to make a hung up picture shake. Lynette is not at all far behind him, able to make the turn without face planting into the wall.

“What is it? What's wrong?” Lyney demands, eyes honing in on where he was clutching his hand, “Let me see.”

“Just a graze,” he mutters, looking away as Lyney snatches his hand to assess the damage, “I- I should have been paying more attention…”

“First-degree burn…” Lyney identifies, frowning but visibly untensing. He shakes his head.

“How about I take it from here?” Lyney asks, managing a crooked smile before turning to his sister, “Lynette, go help hold his hand under the bathroom sink. Bandage it once you're done too.”

“Got it,” Lynette accepts, carefully grabbing at his uninjured hand and tugging it towards their shared bathroom. He digs in his heels for a moment though, still wanting to speak up.

“But-” he protests, even as he feels himself being pulled away, “But- the tea's smell-” 

“It's nothing,” Lyney insists, shooing him off like a cat with a broom, “Now go. I'll bring it to your room once it's ready.”

Unfortunately, that incident actually manages to get him banned from the kitchen without ‘adult supervision’ - which is dumb and stupid because he's no doubt the most well versed at handling the kitchen’s cookware.  

On top of it all, it's patronizing . He understands that his siblings simply worry for him, but it's not like he's helpless either. He's not some dumb kid anymore! He knows what he's doing!

Suffice to say, now that he can't stress cook as often, he has a lot of spare time to himself now. A lot of time to think.

The last time he had been crowded into his room, it had been a few months ago- back when he was still recovering from his surgery. Back then, he had been essentially rendered bedridden, his

But of course now, Freminet is kept in his room now because neither Lyney nor Lynette want him out and about. Technically he's more than allowed to go anywhere else in the apartment, but actually leaving to go outside is mostly out of the question.

Which…was fine. More than fine. He was a born and raised homebody- he wasn't exactly dying to get out of here, even if he can get stir crazy from time to time.

Still, with so much spare time, he's obviously left to mull over recent developments and what they mean for him. He honestly should have seen this all coming- the doctors had warned him, said he was lucky there hadn't been any further more serious symptoms developmenting with his illness. 

And Freminet? Luck never tended to stick by his side. He should have figured, sooner or later, something to this scale was going to happen. Hell, Lyney had thought it sooner, and had planned ahead in case of an emergency. Perhaps it was just in his nature to worry like that, the leader of their little trio.

He may feel fine now, but if this keeps up… Freminet might have to start making preparations sooner rather than later.

It's a little horrifying, having the reality of it all sink in. Everything and one has been telling him-all his doctors, his letters, his prognosis-but having it so blatantly spelt out to you by your own body settled a new kind of impending doom he hadn't experienced before.

He'd gotten so busy doing all these new things for himself, all these fun distractions that he had momentarily stopped thinking about what he had been trying to avoid in the first place. 

Freminet is going to die soon, and there's nothing he can do about it.

Right. He… he forgot about that for a second.  

He has to prepare accordingly, and has to have things ready. He should probably actually start operating on the thought that he could die any moment now- lest he lets things go unsaid. Not a lot of people get the chance to know when they're gonna die, after all.

There's a lot of things he hasn't done, hasn't said yet- and while he can't do much about the first at this point, there is one thing he could do about the latter.

He fishes out his fountain pen and a hefty stack of parchment paper from under his desk, laying it all flat along his desk, all waiting to be written on.

And he does. He writes and writes and writes- for special occasions like birthdays and hallmarks to yearly celebrations like holidays. Each time he finishes one letter, he folds it and stuffs it in a letter- already thinking about the next one he ought to write.

Freminet tries his best not to ramble, but it's hard- he has so many thoughts and it's difficult to keep them all contained in an organized manner.

He writes about his thoughts, his desires, and about how sorry he is that none of this could have been avoided.  

Almost all his letters are directed towards Lyney and Lynette, unsurprisingly. He tries to write an individual one for each, even for their birthdays. It's a spectrum of letters, some happy and others sad- all ending with comforting words on his end. He hopes he's been able to get his unbridled love for them across well enough- his adoration for Lyney and Lynette both was probably too large to ever fully get across on paper.

He apologizes for not saying anything sooner. He explains his reasoning, and his thought process during it. He hopes that they can find it in themselves to forgive him.

He writes one formal one for Father, thanking her for her generosity after all these years. He thinks about writing her an informal one too, but he decides to avoid it. She wouldn't be too interested in that kind of thing, he thinks.

He also writes one for Monsieur Neuvillette, just for the sake of it. He hasn't known the man for much time on a personal level-actually feared him longer than he's been acquainted with him-but he's been nothing but courteous to him the entire duration he's known him. After Maman's sudden death, the least he deserves is a heads up for when it happens and to not bother with the thought of Freminet past that. He thanks him for the book, while he's at it. Just because.

He goes at it for days, almost a full week of nonstop writing, only interrupted by the few visits the Hearth's nurses make to check up on his condition. At some point a while later, he's deemed well enough for his well-intentioned ‘house arrest’ to ultimately let up- his doctor mailing him new medication he could start regarding his seizures. It tastes as bad as he was dreading, and Freminet adds it to the ever growing list of pills he has to take. 

The twins seem happy to have him back on his feet too, even if they badger him with ‘keeping safe’ and ‘not staying out of the house for too long’ - plus a new curfew suggested by Lyney (which he feels isn't entirely necessary, considering Freminet's never been one to willingly stay out for so long anyways).

A little extra caution doesn't hurt anyone though, and Freminet's siblings had already been plenty overprotective before his seizure. He wants to stay as healthy as he can too, so it's not like he's about to protest against any precautions. 

A sense of normalcy slowly starts to come back, the days starting to pass just as they had the days prior- Lyney and Lynette going out on private shows and missions while Freminet stays at home. Now though, instead of simply cooking or doing chores around the house, he's writing letters with the intention of comforting a future set of twins that will mourn his own death.

It's a bit morbid, when he thinks about it, but that's just his life now. Apparently. 

Things stay like that for a long while, all until one day Lyney calls him over to the living room, announcing some big news.

“-A reconnaissance mission? All three of us?” Freminet asked, wide eyed.

“Yep! Can you believe it?” Lyney confirms, waving a written letter at him, “And it's this very night too! Apparently Father got some weird client request the other day for some hired assassins. She turned them down, and now apparently wants some eyes on the place. Something about some concerns, seems simple enough.”

“But…all three of us?” Freminet echoes, cautious and unsure.

 “Honestly, I was just as surprised as you were,” Lyney laughed, tucking the parchment into his back pocket, “Not that I'm complaining, of course- I mean, when have we ever gotten to go on a mission together, all three of us? Probably never, now that I'm really thinking about it.”

“That's because reconnaissance is our specialty, not Freminet's,” Lynette interjected, before glancing his way, “-No offense.” 

“None taken,” he says easily, still a little stunned at the news, “-Where even is it? Am… am I gonna have to use some fake identity?” Sue him, he's never done reconnaissance before.

“It's at a banquet venue- apparently celebrating some rich businessman's year-high profits,” he tilts his head and grins, reaching behind Freminet's ears, “-and as for the identity part, well-”

“-Tada!” he cheers, “Two personal invites from the event organizers themselves! And an additional plus one ticket! No need for fake identities when they want the real thing there.”

“You guys were invited already?” He gapes, plucking the golden paper from his brother's extended hand, “-that's… wow.”

Lyney grinned smugly, elbowing him lightly, “Pretty impressive, right? Thanks to all our hard work, Lynette and I have made a pretty good name for ourselves in the private gig business." He says, “We already did a show for the venue's organizer once, and I guess they wanted to have us over as a gesture of charity. Then again, maybe they're just trying to shmooze us up to try to get a free gig from us.”

“As if. There's way too many people going there for them to actually go for us like that,” Lynette tsks, “You overthink too much for your own good.”

“Hey!” He pouts, “I'll have you know I overthink a perfectly normal amount!” 

Freminet hums, butting in, “-Maybe… maybe you two should keep your distance from me.” He admits, scratching his head sheepishly, “Reconnaissance isn't really my thing, and I'd hate to blow your cover…”

“Already thinking about the worst case scenario, are we? Don't be so pessimistic, you'll be fine!” Lyney shamed with an encouraging smile, before flattening it into something a bit more serious, “Besides, we have to make sure nothing bad happens to you. Someone's got to keep an eye on you, one way or another.”

“I agree,” Lynette pipes up almost immediately, “I can do it, if you want.”

Freminet sighs dowerly, but ultimately accepts his fate. His siblings are stubborn when they want to be, and he has the feeling they won't budge on this no matter what he says. Still, he wishes he didn't have to burden them, even with this…

“Can I see Father's letter?” He asks, “I want to see the invite list for a second.”

“Oh, sure,” Lyney agrees, offhandedly fishing in his back pocket and handing him a folded paper as he turned to his twin, “Guess this means we have to dress up too! I've been eyeing that suit I got from Chioriya's Boutique in my closet for a while. It's just been collecting dust there! Now’s the perfect chance to try it on for size. Oh, I bet it'd look great with that handkerchief you got me-”

The twins continue busily talking, exchanging comments and ideas over their form of dress for the banquet. Meanwhile, Freminet dutifully unfurls the folded parchment, intending for a simple cursory glance at it.

‘Dear Lyney,

This letter's contents are to be made. Before I do so, however, I'd like to make note that I'm thankful to know Freminet's recovery has come swiftly on your end. Your previous letters have been quite disorderly with their structure, and I can only hope this development will aid in bringing down your tumultuous state. Please refrain from accosting his doctors again- they were appointed by me for a reason.’

Freminet blinks, confused as he frowns. ‘This isn't the mission's letter’ he realizes, yet his mind urges him to continue reading on.

‘In any case, admonishing you over this matter is not the point of this letter. I ask of you to have discretion regarding what I am about to share with you, as it is of the highest importance. 

You have always been quite the character, Lyney. I've watched you grow and develop since your youngest years and adapt to the surroundings accordingly. Even then, I knew there was something incredibly special about you. 

Almost as soon as I set my eyes on you, I knew you were special- not like your siblings. Even when you were just a child, I recognized that dangerous look in your eye when you shielded your sister- they promised me nothing but death and suffering, should I dare lay a hand on you. There was a dangerous animal within you, one that I could not ignore.

Lyney, I want you to become the next Father of the Hearth. My time is a limited thing, and I'm afraid my dealings in Snezhnaya have only grown since Inazuma’s Gnosis has been acquired. I've been looking for candidates capable of taking over for me during my time away, and-undeniably-my eyes have been drawn to you. Your battle prowess is not anything to scoff at, but your calculating and shrewd nature within conversation is what assures me the Hearth's secrets are safe under your care. 

This is a period of change, of new beginnings. Should you agree to uptake this position, a majority of your missions will be rescheduled for my time- where I can teach you the true inner workings of the Hearth. Know that the change won't be immediate, of course, but your answer would ensure the start of this process.

There are other Operatives that I have available to ask, so do tell me of your decision in a timely fashion.

Sincerely, 

Your Dearest Father’

.

.

.

Something cold and dead settles in the pit of his stomach, dread writhing within the depths of his heart. Pale and face ashened, he looks up to his siblings, ignorant and still blissfully conversing away.

“-You think I should style my hair?” Lyney asks, “Ah, I like the one-side braid a lot, but maybe I should do something outside the box. Maybe just a basic blow dry? You still have your curler, right?”

“I do. You can use it if you want, but only after I'm done. I think I'm gonna go with my hair down.”

“Really? I thought you preferred having it up.”

“I do, but it's a special occasion, right? I wanna look my best-”

“-Lyney's gonna take over the Hearth?”  

Dead quiet meets his statement, and he watches with bated breath as his siblings turn to face him once again. Their eyes were wide with shock, clearly not having expected his question. 

Lyney slowly uncrosses his arms and reaches behind himself, stiffly patting at his pants pocket and fumbling around for something in it. He fishes something out and reveals a folded letter, identical to the one handed to Freminet initially.

“Ah,” he laughed stiffly, smile wobbling tightly as his voice remained unreadable, “Oops… wrong letter.”

“I'll…give you two a moment,” Lynette excuses herself, snaking past her brother to return to her room. 

Silence is the only thing left with them, the stillness of the living room high with tension. There's a horrible pressure bearing down on his shoulders, his limbs listless with shaky lightness. Lyney keeps himself still, the unreadable look in his eyes contrasting that horrible fake smile he always wears when he tries to hide- faker than usual.

“Freminet-”

“Tell me you're not gonna do it,” he says morosely, his heart and mind desperate for an answer. Lyney wouldn't…he couldn't! “Please, please just tell me…”

Whatever his brother was going to say was cut short, his mouth opening and closing dumbly. He sees his front crack, brows pinching with an almost sad look in his eyes. It was answer enough.

“Freminet, please listen,” he starts, smile shaking along the edges, “I can explain everything to you-”

“Oh, Lyney,” he says, and suddenly looking at him is too much of a challenge. He brings his hands up and buries his face in his palms, offhandedly dropping that cursed letter on the table besides him. “Oh my god, Lyney-”

“Hey hey hey! C’mon now, don't do that now,” his brother cringes, voice suddenly teleporting in front of him. "It's not as bad as it sounds, I promise! It's just an offer for now- I haven't even accepted yet- Freminet, come on-”

‘For now’? ‘Yet’? 

He's going to be sick. Freminet's legitimately going to be sick, the horror in his chest too much to bear- too heavy for his weak heart to handle.

“I don't understand- I can’t-” he sniffs, choking on his own breathes, “-why, why would you ever-” 

“It's- it's- Freminet, I-” he apologizes, sounding genuinely distraught, “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have sprung this up on you so suddenly. I was planning on telling you eventually- honest! But you were still recovering from your seizure and the time got away from me and please just look at me Freminet.”

He feels fingers gently pry at the hands on his face, and he reluctantly allows them to peel them away. He opens to find Lyney's face inches away from his, kneeled down and his expression pinched with distraught. When the older boy meets his eyes, a hesitant nervous smile tugs up his lips.

“There you go. Much better, right?” he says gently, lips twitching. “Listen, I know this is all a big shock right now and it all seems super scary, but please just hear me out, okay?”

Freminet sniffles, still clutching Lyney's hands within his own. Eventually, he reluctantly nods.

“Okay,” Lyney confirms, nodding dumbly, “Okay- okay, alright. Alright, I- I'm- ah-”

The older boy curses and hangs his head for a moment-seemingly unable to know where to start-before jumping back up and surging forward with renewed energy, having decided on another strategy.

“OK, okay, listen-” he shifts toward, clutching his hands, “Listen, I've been training under Father for a long time now, alright? Years at this point. That means I know a lot about her job, even if she hasn't revealed everything to me. Realistically, it probably wouldn't be that different from what I already do." 

“Think about it, Freminet.” he pleads, “If I take Father's position, then you two would be safe . You won't ever have to be scared about being shipped out to Snezhnaya, or- or being punished for anything ever again! You'll get the best healthcare I can dredge up for you, and- and you'll never have to worry about anything dangerous ever again.”

Freminet balked, horrified by his brother's explanation. “Is- is that seriously why you're accepting it? For us? Our safety?” He shakes his head, rejecting the mere idea, “What about you? What will happen to you, what you'll have to see- to- to go through? Lyney-”

“None of that matters,” Lyney insists, shaking his head emphatically, “You two are the most important things in my life, remember? Besides, we've been doing these kinds of things for most of our lives. What's one simple promotion going to change?”

No, no he can't possibly think that, can he? All three of them- they might be Fatui, but it's thanks to their current mission and circumstance and the position they've been able to manage has kept them away from the worst of that dark life. He's heard the rumors- the things they say they're made to do- expendable weapons, more so than what they are now.

And…if Lyney accepts this, he's putting himself front and center, locking himself into this life of endless slaughter and murder, throwing himself off to the deep end-

If Lyney accepts this, there's no going back. He'll never be the same, and this temporary reprieve will all be over. 

“No, no Lyney- Please, please, please please-” he begs, “You can't accept it- they're- there's nothing we can do if you do. No escape from this-”

“-Has there ever been?” Lyney pleads, trying his best to make him see his point. He shakes his head, as if he were disciplining a stubborn little kid. “I know what I'm signing myself up for Freminet, and- and I accept it. I've given it enough thought. Just- just trust me on this Freminet. Trust that I know what I'm doing, that I can manage myself well enough and to just please- please don't look at me like that-”

“NO! No, I- I can't let you-!” he sobs stubbornly, gripping his brother's hands, “Please, please- I don't need medicine, I need you here, living life happily, like a normal person! It's what you deserve!”

“When have we ever had a normal life?” He retorts easily, eyes sad, “Freminet, be realistic. This is just the life we live in! And since we can't do anything to change it, we might as well adapt as best we can, set ourselves up well-”

That lightheadedness is back, threatening to leave him dazed and faint. He's- he's actually going through with it? Who would… ever do that to themselves?

Had he worried him that badly? Was this…all Freminet's fault? Was he not only destining himself to death, but his brother’s chances of a normal life as well? Just because he's sick?

Freminet was sure of a lot of things, and he knew he would never forgive himself if he fated his siblings to… to this. Just because he tricked them into thinking he had a fighting chance?

Freminet had tolerated the Fatui life, embraced and managed its burdens- only because his siblings were there with him to face it together. If slaughter and senseless murder was the only thing he needed to do to keep them together, then he would just have to do it. But now? Now that he's thinking about the ‘afterwards’? 

Lyney and Lynette…they should have no reason to stay…once I'm gone.

He can't let this happen.

“I'm- I can't let you give yourself up like this- there must be something- something else-” 

“I would like for you to call for me, if you ever face any trouble. No matter the kind of situation, alright?” he smiles, kind and genuine, “It's the least I can do, after everything.”

His heart stops, the idea striking him like a bolt of lightning.

Neuvillette.

Yes- yes, he- he could get Lyney out of this. Subjugation from Father's command is almost impossible for someone as vulnerable as any of them to pull off, but only by themselves that is. She'd strike them all down at the mercy thought of going against the Hearth. She was intolerant of betrayal, seeing it as the rule above all others, and she was sure to be rid of them swiftly- no matter the kindness she'd shown beforehand.

But- but someone like the Chief Justice, on the other hand, he- he has the power necessary to save them- to rescue them from this life of slaughter and to save Lyney from the life he's signing himself away to. Father's influence reaches far and wide, but she cannot possibly touch them under the right hand man of an archon-

Yes, yes yes it could work. He could do it. Neuvillette had offered- Neuvillette had cared - when no one else ever did. Surely he would understand once he explained everything to him. He could do it, he could save Lyney-

“I know how to save you-”

The Magician stops then, eyes wide and clearly taken aback, “Freminet-”

“I know someone- someone we can go to-” he mutters rapidly, suddenly lightheaded with adrenaline, “It'll be hard, and- Father will tail us, surely-”

“Freminet-”

“-and you'll have a lot of eyes on your back, but I know how to do it, I know I know I know how-” he talks fast, hands shaking as he's hyperventilating, “-there's a way out, I- I finally know a way out, and I promiseyou- I'llsaveyoufromthis,allofus-!”

“FREMINET!”

A hand reaches over and curls his hand around Freminet's collar, tugging him up roughly in a way that makes him stand on the tips of his toes. He gasped and fumbled, grabbing at the hands twisting into his shirt collar, Lyney's own enraged face staring daggers into his own-

“Freminet, what the hell are you saying?! Do you even hear yourself talking-?!”

-The older boy grabbed the back of his collar and yanked hard enough to trip him. His meager meal laid pressed against his chest as a hand snaked into his hair, gripping it tightly before slamming his head against the cold tile floor-

"-NO!"

A sudden onslaught of primal fear pushes him back, grabbing the wrists of the older boy and throwing himself backwards, managing to free himself from his hold. His back crashes against the zentique cabinet behind him, rattling the decorative artifacts inside.

"Freminet-?!" The boy cries sternly, sounding completely shocked, but the call of his name only urges his panicked state. Freminet presses his bruised back against the cabinet, raises his arms over his face and shields his face from whatever retaliation was to come.

“Don'thurtmedont'thurtmepleasepleasepleasedon'thurtme-” he babbles incoherently over his sobs, quivering violently with fear.

It's not until a beat or two passes-hands shaking violently and his chest heaving with fright-does his fear-addled mind start to finally catch up with him. He stops breathing suddenly, lowering his arms slowly, away from his flushed teary-eyed face.

Lyney stands there, hand stuck outstretched mid air as if unsure how to approach him. He looks heartbroken, disbelief and hurt clear to see on his face, as if realizing what he'd just done-

"Lyney-" Freminet breathes out, panicked as he realizes what he's done, "Lyney- I- I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm so so sorry- I just- I didn't mean-"

The rambling apologies pitter off as he practically runs into Lyney's arms, hugging him tight without a second thought. Lyney takes a moment to pass through the shock and reciprocate the contact, carding a hand through the back of his hair.

"Shhh, it's- it's alright," the Magician gently responds, the voice coming from above him, “It's okay, don't cry, please don't cry. I forgive you, okay? Water under the bridge.”

He sniffles and nods, his face pressed against his brother's shirt, staining it with his tears. Still, he continues to cry, shoulders shaking as the shakiness in his limbs and the emotional high persists. Lyney does not speak, nor does he attempt to offer words of comfort- instead simply continues to hold him tight and close, his hands tangled within his hair.

It takes a long, long moment for the emotions within him to finally settle, pittering off into hiccupping sobs as he remains plastered against his brother. He finally manages to peel himself from the embrace, and his brother lets him go just as easily.

“Feeling better?” He asks, voice soft. When he sees that Freminet is incapable of responding, still a tad bit too choked up, he continues, “I'm sorry, I- I shouldn't have gotten so angry all of a sudden. Sometimes I forget that you're- that I'm not- I didn't mean to-'' he shakes his head, frustrated at himself for not getting the words out right, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have scared you. That's... that's really unacceptable on my end.”

“S’ okay…” Freminet manages to say after a moment, dipping his head and drying his tears against his arm. He's not upset with Lyney- he wouldn't have expected himself to react like that either. In fact, he's never been even come close to reacting like that with the twins. They've always been so kind and considerate of him... they would never hurt him like that...

“No, it's not okay,” Lyney determines, still looking hurt, “Really, I- I shouldn't have grabbed you like that, or raised my voice. I just panicked, and I was stupid and- and..." he shakes his head again, "I'm sorry. I promise I won't do it again- swear on my life. Will you forgive me Freminet? Please?"

Freminet sniffles, unable to manage a proper answer past the lump in his throat. Instead, he nods, and Lyney visibly untenses at the gesture.

“You know I love you, right?” He says after a moment, squeezing his hands, “You and Lynette…I love you both so much. More than the entire world. You both mean everything to me.”

He tightens his grip on his hands, almost to a painful degree, “-that's why none of us should think things like that, you get me? You know why.”

‘There's no escaping the Hearth,’ he knows is what he means, ‘Father will punish us for thinking like that, for going against her. You know what she'll do to you.'

They live at her mercy, and they stay together thanks to her kindness.

It was a rash thought, he realizes in hindsight. Neuvillette may be an extremely caring and powerful individual, but there's no way he would willingly stand against someone like Father- that'd just be abusing his kindness to the most dangerous degree. Just because he's powerful doesn't mean he's invulnerable, and he couldn't possibly put himself in that position just for three orphans he barely knows.

Freminet not only would have killed his siblings by running, but the Iudex as well.

Freminet quivers. Stupid thought. What a stupid, stupid thought, I can't believe I actually said that-

“Look at me.” the older boy repeats, snapping him from his thoughts from the seriousness in his voice. Once he met his thin-slitted eyes, intense carmine into his own, he continued, “-Tell me you understand. Promise me you won't think things like that again, for all of our sakes.”

“I- I promise,” he swears, quivering even as he tries to keep his voice steady.

“Good,” he smiles again suddenly, clearing his throat, that intense look in his eye still there- making him look uncanny. “Good. I- I'm glad you understand.”

He presses the pad of his thumb over his cheek, wiping a stray tear off it as he chuckles stiltedly. “Aw, don't cry now. I hate it when you cry. Scolding you is already hard enough as is.”

He softens just by the smallest bit. “You're a good person, Freminet, and you follow orders like a well-oiled machine. I know you might not like it, but you have to bear it, okay? We all do.”

‘It's the only option we have.’

“It upset you a lot though, thinking about what it'd do to me, huh?” He sniffs fauxly, crocodile tears springing into his eyes, “- Ah, my little brother is so sweet, so caring. I always forget how big your heart gets! I'm so lucky, to have gotten such a wonderful little brother like you-”

“Please, don't act like that…” Freminet cuts him off, perturbed by the mask his brother is playing. He can't stand it…

“Haha, sorry sorry, force of habit,” He tilts his head, cat eyes reflecting the light above him as he smiles widely, “But really! I meant everything I said though! Scouts honor!”

Freminet resists the urge to sigh in defeat, already feeling the headache forming behind his eyes. Before he can call it quits, he feels Lyney pat a hand on his shoulder, roping his attention back on him.

“And Freminet?” he says, suddenly growing serious again, “Please. Don't worry about me. I'm an adult and-I say this not to be mean or make you feel bad-but you and I are very different people, Freminet. Seriously.”

He strokes his hair gently, fixing the shirt collar he gripped into disarray. His touches are light and gentle, as if he's scared to come close to him now. For someone he knows is contact-heavy, it breaks Freminet's heart.

“-You're a good kid. You like art and tinkering and reading fantasy stories. You do all your chores and you cook a mean meal for us every day.” He persists, genuine in his words, “You're kind and empathetic, and human. And I… I'm not any of those things.”

Freminet wanes, brows pinched, “Lyney…”

“I'm not lying when I say that,” he tilts his head, running a hand through his hair, "I know you can tell. You're real smart Freminet, probably smarter than me and Lynette. Perceptive as hell too." 

He taps his forehead, “-Don't let that get you in trouble now, alright?”

Freminet nods, despairing as he rubs at the spot, “Alright…”

The older boy squeezes his shoulder encouragingly, patting his back happily. Freminet wants to hug him really bad right now- to urge to just seek comfort overwhelming him-but he knows he probably shouldn't. Lyney has his own limits too, and it might just stress him out further if he did so.

"How about we stop talking about this?" Lyney suggests softly, "I don't think either of us really enjoyed that, so let's just forget about it. I got some ideas of what we could do for the mission tonight. Can I go over them with you?"

Freminet looks away, drawn brows and thinned lips barely hiding his upset. On one hand, Freminet doesn't want to just 'forget about it'. It's a very serious issue that Freminet knows he has to address. He knows the kind of stress Lyney puts himself under, the weight he must feel for singularly burdening himself with the strain of responsibility. He knows what will happen too, if he doesn't intervene.

But on the other hand, it's clear Lyney's willing to be stubborn about this. And Freminet is weak, to loud voices and negative emotions directed his way, especially from his big brother.

An olive branch. That's what he's giving him.

He lets out a long-suffering sigh, the feeling of defeat hanging over his head.

"Alright," he says placatingly, soft and a slight bit reluctant. "What do you have in mind?"

Lyney visibly untenses, his smile hiking up a smidge as a small bit of genuine relief leaks through. He reaches over and muses with his hair, the action familiar and domestic.

'Atta boy' the gesture screams, loving and marred with gratitude.

Freminet tries not to feel like a failure.

—

It's early afternoon by the time he's squirreled away in his room, deciding to sink into the familiar rhythms of his mechanical gears and tools just to destress. On top of that, he decides to rework Pers's inner joints, re-tightening his bolts- and easy a simple fix, something that he didn't have to think too deeply about. 

He probably won't be finishing today, considering tonight's mission in just a few hours, so he'll just have to leave his friend by his lonesome for a few odd hours.

It's a few minutes in that he hears the door to his room open, making his heart jump to his throat. He untenses quickly though, realizing it was just Lynette- a cuddly Rosseland in her arms.

“Hello,” she says.

“...Hi,” he says back, reclining back a small bit.

Lynette's tail flicks, looking a little unsure as she glances around, “Can…I come in?”

Freminet thins his lips but nods nonetheless, turning back to his work as he hears the door shut behind her. Before he can focus back on Pers, a sudden furry mass jumps up onto his legs from the floor below- Rosseland’s purrs motoring even before he's even pet her.

“She was waiting outside your room.” Lynette tells him, sitting on the edge of his made bed, “I…can put her outside, if you want.” 

Freminet shifts in his seat, feeling guilty at the prospect of kicking the feline out. “It's fine,” he decides, bringing a hand up to pet her. Her impatience apparently wins over, because she shoves her whole face against his outstretched hand, his lips twitching with the ghost of a smile as her purrs pick up steam.

“Did everything turn out okay between you and Lyney?” Lynette suddenly asked, her tone light yet inquisitive. “I heard a bit of commotion, but I…didn't want to intrude.”

Freminet glances at the floor below him, brows pinched as his gaze marred with unhappiness. “I…we had an argument.”

Lynette blinked neutrally, her face unchanged. “Really?” 

He nods.

“It was about Lyney's promotion, correct?” She asked, sounding a small bit sad. “You disagreed with him then?”

So she knew already. He had figured as much, seeing that she had excused herself when he made his discovery rather than interrogate Lyney further- like he did.

He's not at all surprised, and he figures he shouldn't be upset either. Lyney and Lynette are a two-in-one combo, of course he'd tell her and not him.

“Are you really fine with him doing this?” He asks instead, shoulders heavy. The question is still weighing on his mind, the decision his brother has made haunting him. Lyney in Father's place... it sounds so horrible...

“No, not really,” she admits slowly, shaking her head in resignation, “-But at the end of the day, I can't stop Lyney if he's dead set on doing something. His decisions are his own- whether I like it or not.”

Which…certainly was one explanation. He understands her point of view and knows she's likely the most well-acquainted with Lyney's sheer stubbornness and drive, practically a duplicate of her own. She wasn't over the moon about the prospect, much like himself, but she clearly lacked the same kind of urgent panic that seeded deep within Freminet.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Lynette offers.

Freminet sighs, watching as Rosseland jumps off his lap and into the crevices of his room. He turns and undoes the cryo-infuser within Pers, trying to better maneuver his chest cavity. He sets down his tool for a moment, thinning his lips.

“I told him that he shouldn't accept it.” he says after a moment, swallowing past the lump in his throat, ”That a position like that… it'd cement him into the Fatui, and it'd…change him. I told him… that if it comes to that, it'd be better if he…left.”

Now that manages to get a reaction from her, her thin cat eyes blowing wide and open- her expression pale and ashen.

“We can't do that,” She responds quickly, her eyes full with panic as she responds immediately, “-none of us can- you know that.”

Just like her brother, he can tell she's thoroughly freaked out by even the notion of leaving the Hearth- an understandable perspective. People that leave the Hearth... things don't tend to work out for them.

“I know,” he grimaces, hands tremoring, “I was just… really worried, I guess.”

Lynette shakes her head, tone low- almost like a whisper, as if she were scared someone would overhear her. “Please. Be careful when you say things like that.”

Freminet shies away from her gaze, shameful and scorned. “I know…” he says, “I- I'm sorry.”

“-What brought this on? I know the news must have been shocking, but I never thought you'd… suggest something like that.” Lynette inched closer, tail flicking anxiously behind her, “Did something happen? Did someone say something to you? Try to bribe you? Was it on a mission?”

Neuvillette's face flashes in his head, gentle gaze looking right through him. He sweats.

“N-no,” he denies as he looks away, not sounding particularly confident, “No, I- it's nothing. I'm sorry-”

“Was it-” She begins, before seemingly thinking over her words, “Was it…your seizure?” she says, whispering, “-was that why you…”

Oh. Oh. She thinks he's losing it, doesn't she? 

Lynette doesn't know the full extent of his health issues, but she knows he suffers from something that could kill him should he mismanage himself. And with these new symptoms cropping up now… does she think he only suggested such a thing because he feels like he's running out of time? She's not exactly wrong, but…

“I'm scared, Lynette. I'm scared for…what might happen to us in the future.” He says, “Not just for me, I guess, but…”

He tightens a bolt too much, and Pers's joints squeak in protest. He quickly undoes it and rubs at the spot in way of an apology.

“-what’s gonna happen to you two once I'm gone.” he shakes his head pressing his lips together, “I guess I…never really thought about what happens next, not while I was too busy just…surviving every other day. Now I have to think about what happens if I leave too soon and…” 

He clears his throat, “The things I've had to do…to see…” he shakes his head, rubbing his arm against his sleeve, “I didn't realize how much time had passed and…now it's too late…”

“Oh, Fremi,” Lynette mourns, almost visibly hurt by his words. She steps an inch forward, gently holding his head between her hands, “Please, please please don't talk like that. You're fine, and you're still just sixteen.” 

“-Having a seizure, being sick… it's been scary for all of us, but it's not the end of the world.” She presses the pads of her fingers against his cheeks, stroking his skin like it was something precious, “You still gave so much left for you, and- and Lyney's just trying to make sure you have the best odds possible. We're going to make it through this, you just have t stay positive.”

Freminet wanes, unable to meet her eyes. He doesn't know how she'd react, if he suddenly broke it to her that he's been unable to take any kind of medication at all. 

“M’ tired, Lynette…” he says instead, tone drained and sorrowful. He doesn't have to lie about that- he knows how he must look, how his muscles feel like lead and his head filled with water, “I'm so so tired, and I'm so sick of this.’

‘I really, really really don't want to die.’

“Oh, Freminet.” His older sister mourns, expression pinched painfully. She extends a hand out, but holds it there, as if unsure how she could possibly comfort him at this stage.

“It's fine, I'm fine-” he bats away, collecting himself as best he could, “Just some thoughts in my head. Please, don't let me burden you with this anymore.”

"They aren't just thoughts though," she argues, the sad look in her eye growing despite his efforts, "By saying them, they're words now, and that means it was weighing on your mind enough for you to have to say them out loud. How long have you been thinking like this? Having thoughts like these? They're extremely concerning, I think. You talk as if you're... you're just destined to..."

"Please... Freminet..." she asks, changing trajectory, "how can I help you? What can I do? I'm... I'm not very good at this..."

Freminet doesn't have the willpower to look at her, to even face her. His cowardliness is rearing its head, and he tries his best not to feel sick the longer it goes on.

Lynette eventually acquiesces to him, and simply sighs in defeat, “I… I won't prod you anymore if you don't want me to, but please remember you can talk to me. Keeping everything inside you isn't healthy, and I just want to make sure you're okay.” she adds in quickly, "-and you're not a burden to me, by the way. To either me or Lyney. Never have, never will be. Please, tell me you understand?" 

Freminet pinches his brows and looks away, unable to handle the pure genuineness in his sister's words. “I know…I will.” He said softly, feeling sick at not knowing if he's telling the truth or not.

“Good,” she replies with a satisfied nod, mulling over her words for a moment “-And please, be careful with what you say to Lyney,” she cautions, “He might seem fearless and unbothered on the surface, but it's actually really easy to scare him- especially when it's about us. He loves us so so much, so much that it makes his heart full and ready to burst. And when you start poking at his heart and putting it in danger, he gets scared it'll rupture, and… he starts to act rashly. Does things without thinking it through.” 

That's…one way to put it. “Does he get angry with you too?”

Lynette looks away at the floor, “Sometimes, I-” She shakes her head, “Lyney has a lot on his plate, and he's… dealing with a lot of things. Things we'll probably never understand. You'll have to forgive him, if he can't regulate himself for a moment. He tries his best, I can promise you that.”

Ah, so it's true then? He always figured that Lyney was struggling silently, but hearing that come from Lynette's own mouth…

“I'm sorry I…” he starts, unable to not feel ashamed of himself, “I didn't know-”

“-And that's okay,” Lynette eases him, “Lyney's a really complicated person- the only reason I know this much about him is because I've lived with him my entire life.”

Freminet nodded, accepting her explanation but not feeling any less guilty about it. He was practically raised alongside the siblings too… He should have figured things out sooner…

"-Don't look so sad, okay?" Lynette tells him then, spotting his gloomy expression, "Lyney's too sensitive for his own good, even if he'll tell you otherwise. He should have expected you to be upset about this, and he's dumb for reacting the way he did. He'll get over himself soon enough, so don't worry about it, okay?"

Freminet huffed, not exactly over the moon over the reassurance but feeling hopeful at the prospect of just moving past this. "I understand. Thank you Lynette."

“-And…Freminet?” She asks suddenly, pleading gaze meeting his own, “Please, be careful what you say to me too. I'm not rash like Lyney, but… it's easy to scare me too, sometimes.”

He pinches his brows again, feeling like the world's worst brother once again, “Lyn…”

“Don't apologize. Just take to heart what I've said,” she sighs, shaking her head. “Let's stop talking about this for now, okay? We can keep talking later if you want, but I think a change of pace now would do us some good- and we still have a banquet to get ready for.”

Ah, right. The mission. It'd almost slipped his mind. “-Isn't it at night? Why would we have to get ready so soon?”

“It can take someone a long time to get ready, especially taking makeup and hair into account,” she smiles then, a small barely-visible thing, “Do you know what you're going to get dressed in?”

“Ah…” he looked away, suddenly feeling very sheepish, “I uh- haven't spared it much thought, I guess…” 

Lynette shakes her head fondly, not at all looking surprised. “I thought as much. Would you like some pointers? I could use some help doing my hair too, if you don't mind.”

Freminet managed a small, thankful smile at that, “Of course.”

«────── « ◈ » ──────»

Chapter Text

«────── « ◈ » ──────»

Time of day: 02:27 AM

Location: Palais Mermonia- Interrogation Room

Status: Recording●

The sound of a camera suddenly flickers to life, live footage grainy and buzzing with silent white noise. 

The screen is centered and directly focused on a fairly young lady, her dress wrinkled and her delicately styled blonde hair sticking out at odd angles. Her makeup-assumedly having taken her hours to prepare-now sat smudged and ruined, mascara smudged where tears had dried. There is a large navy blue blanket draped over her shoulders, her frame shivering as her gaze hangs with mellowed sorrow.

A few noises are heard in the backdrop-papers shuffling, a chair creaking, before an off-camera voice speaks.

"The time of day is 2:28 AM, we are here at the Palais Mermonia for an official eyewitness statement. I am here with Lady Navia of Spina Di Rosula. You're here out of your own volition, correct?”

“I…um, yes.”

“No need to get nervous. I just wanna go through this statement with you, alright? It's just a verbal agreement to have on record, acknowledging that you understand we haven't pressured you into talking with us- basic procedure.”

"Ah- I- I understand, sir. I'm- pardon me for my behavior- it's- I…”

“It's quite alright Lady Navia, no need to apologize. It's been a rather long night for all of us.” Papers shuffle, then, “How about we start somewhere simple? Can you tell us how the night began?”

“I…yes- yes I-” she clears her throat, “I can do that...”

.

.

.

5 Hours Earlier, Venue Entrance

Getting to the venue posed little to no issue for the trio, arriving through a sleek horse-drawn carriage- blending in with all the other ones caravaning in. Freminet nervously glances out the window, realizing just how many attendees were crowding around the entrance. Was it always this packed?

Lyney was dressed in a finely tailored suit, clearly made to suit celebratory occasions such as this one. He wonders how many of these he must have in his closet, the countless after-parties he hosts no doubt keeping that number at least above six.

Lynette's plain black dress was modest but elegant, the embroidery around the back delicately woven in a floral pattern. The gold jewelry weaved between her romantic half-up and down hairstyle making her look like royalty. Freminet had helped her get ready, so he knew how much time and effort she put into getting the look she wanted- he was happy for her too.

Freminet himself? Nothing all that fancy. He was able to find a simple black suit in Lyney's closet, but it sits rather ill-fitting on his shoulders- about a size or so too big. Lyney's not that stocky of a guy either, so it just goes to show how lanky he is in comparison. It's a nice suit at least, even if it's not made for him.

Unlike all the other times they've traveled by one of Father's carriages, they specifically made sure to get one that matched the royal aesthetics of a party such as this. The coachman comes around and helps them individually step out, keeping his form locked into a bow.

The venue entrance was crowded, the clacking of horseshoes and turning of wheels against the cobblestone driveway chaotic but manageable. There was a long line starting from the entrance, decreasing slowly as guests were let inside.

‘Stay close’ Lyney mouths to both of them, analyzing the crowd lining up to the venue entrance. He flattens the wrinkles in his suit, rolling his wrists before filing into place- tickets in hand.