Chapter Text
Zeke von Genbu (Bringer of Chaos, et-cetera et-cetera) has gone up against some odd customers in his many years wandering Alrest, but this current scrap truly does take the metaphorical cake.
Actually, you know what? He should probably rewind so the audience has sufficient context. So he does just that - dropping the Purple Lightning Dreamsmasher to the ground, ignoring Pandy’s calls of ‘what are you doing’ and ‘stop that’ and other such nonsense, and closing his single visible eye to better visualize events.
Two Weeks Earlier…
“I truly don’t know who else to turn to,” Mòrag declares.
They’re in a conference room, with… you know, a table and rough hand drawn map of the sunken Titans’ new configuration and all of that boring, background detail. Look, that part doesn’t matter. Let’s just get to the dialogue.
“That’s alright,” Zeke says, equal parts suave, sophisticated and kind. A tough balance for most but second nature for one as heroic as him. “Lay it on me, chum.”
“I’d pursue the matter myself… but we both know who the most powerful Driver in this world truly is.”
“Don’t forget ‘handsomest’ and ‘most mysterious’ and-”
One of his opponent’s little paper dolls brushes up against his face, as if to inquire if the battle is still on. Zeke slaps it away without looking, lightning coursing through the poor thing until it collapses in a pile of ashes. “Not now, I’m having a flashback!”
“He’s what?” the villain cries in an exasperated tone.
“Having a flashback,” Pandora supplies. What a girl. He can always count on her to clarify the situation!
“-and all of that,” Zeke concludes, returning to the scene.
“Yes, of course,” Mòrag says, though even Flashback Mòrag makes it sound sarcastic. Is the Zekenator’s self-confidence truly so brittle that he gets sassed even in his own memory? He’s going to have to work on that.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” she adds briskly, and Zeke realizes to his despair that he’s truly lost control of the flashback. He heaves a sigh and kicks his boots up onto the conference room table and watches Mòrag fast-forward through all the boring technical stuff at triple speed. At least her little squeaky hamster voice is cute.
“-the unregistered Blade Eater carried out a raid on an Ardanian supply depot in Gormott. They're working alone, but my men were somehow under the impression of a full-scale raid. I believe we’re dealing with an illusionist of some kind.”
“Wait, slow down, this bit’s important,” Zeke says aloud to nobody in particular. The Special Inquisitor dutifully returns to normal speed, blinking slowly at the interruption.
“Mòrag, old pal, why do we care if the Gormotti contacted outside help in order to get what’s rightfully theirs? If I were them, I’d have cute fuzzy ears - but I’d also be sick of waiting for the old bastards in the Senate to stop bickering and give me my land back!”
“That’s why I’m sending you and not a common mercenary,” she explains slowly, as though Zeke is an idiot. Rude! “Officially, I must condemn and punish these actions, but between you and me, anything that puts more pressure on the Senate is to Niall’s benefit. I want you to go and evaluate the situation. Use your…”
Mòrag hesitates, looking very much like she’s about to regret the words that will be coming out of her mouth. Zeke gives her his most encouraging grin, but, if anything, this just makes her frown even harder.
“... your discretion,” she concludes miserably.
“Now I remember!” Zeke shouts, his Normal Eye (Still of Justice, Just Not Quite as Shining) flying open. “Ease up on the little paper dolls, chum, I’m only here to talk!”
His opponent sniffs and adjusts his glasses. “I very much doubt that.”
“Thunderbolt Zeke would never tell a lie!”
“You’ve spent the last two days interrogating the Gormotti until one of them gave up my location. Then you took a sword that’s bigger than my entire body, smashed your way through the roof of this abandoned warehouse, jumped down hollering your own name, and started firing lightning out of your fingertips.”
The stranger lifts one arm in a wide, sweeping gesture as if to indicate that the warehouse is currently on fire. Which it is - a few of those bolts had smashed into some wiring and overloaded it. Oops. Zeke’s bad.
“I was just making my Grand Entrance!” Zeke protests. “If I wanted to actually scrap, you’d know about it!”
“I’m not gonna say I told you so, my prince,” Pandy says, trying and mostly failing to hold in laughter. “But I kinda told you so.”
Even his trusty Blade/best friend/life partner has betrayed him! Zeke groans and throws up his hands in despair.
At that exact moment, the remainder of the roof gives way and a particularly nasty piece of rubble dislodges itself and drops right onto his head. Zeke looks straight at Pandoria, mutters something cool and heroic about avenging him, and promptly passes out.
“... oh look. He’s waking up.” This voice obviously belongs to Pandy. As does the boot that nudges into his ribs a moment later.
“So all Blade Eaters heal at an accelerated rate, not just me. Fascinating.” A second voice. It sounds sort of familiar, but he can’t place it.
Zeke’s eyes fly open - both of them! Some nefarious villain has removed his eyepatch. This is a Problem. He attempts to leap to his feet and confront them - but sinks back down onto the pillow a moment later. The Zekenator never backs down, and all that, but dammit, his head really hurts at the moment.
“Don’t move,” the second voice says, and Zeke blinks until the fuzzy shape constitutes itself into dark curly hair and glasses. Ah yes! The unregistered Blade Eater he’d come here to find. “I think you have a concussion.”
“Sounds fake, but okay.” Zeke decides to play along for now. It really is a nice pillow. He leans back as Glasses splutters some incoherent protest about concussions being very real and established medical science, blah blah blah.
“I think apologies are in order,” Glasses eventually says, hands twisting nervously in the fabric of his scarf. A truly hideous orange - Zeke will have to teach him about proper fashion when he’s feeling better. “I admit I overreacted to your… ‘grand entrance,’ was it? Though in my defense I don’t often receive visitors via the ceiling.”
“Apology accepted,” Zeke murmurs.
This earns him an unimpressed glare. “And what about you destroying my base of operations?”
“Bad luck, that,” Zeke shrugs. “Shit happens.”
“I cannot believe you are the Crown Prince Ozychlyrus Brounev Tantal,” Glasses sighs. It’s a great sigh. He could give Mòrag a run for her money, even.
Zeke winces (and it has only a little to do with his splitting headache). “Oh, please just call me Zeke. All my chums do.”
“Are you suggesting that we are… chums?” Glasses pronounces the word like it’s some foreign concept he’s never heard of. “We were trying to kill one another a moment ago.”
“That’s exactly how I meet most of my chums!” Zeke proclaims cheerfully, ignoring the kid's exasperated look like it's his job. “Now, to business. As I was saying before the Universe so rudely interrupted, I’m only here to talk.”
“So you weren’t sent by the Special Inquisitor to shut down my anti-Ardanian operations.”
“Well… kind of? Look, it’s a tad more complicated than that. Mòrag isn’t a bad sort, really, which is why she sent me to talk it out instead of shooting first and asking questions later.”
“... you did, though. You literally did.”
“You’re not still on about the warehouse, are you? We can get you a new warehouse. The trick is to swim around back instead of paying for it.”
“What are you even talking about - nevermind. I don’t want to know.” Glasses sighs again and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Let’s start over,” Zeke says. He makes a second effort to sit up straight and manages it this time, drawing himself into a regal sitting posture. “What’s your name again? I can’t keep calling you Glasses.”
“You didn’t,” the Blade Eater starts to protest, then appears to think better of it. “Taion. My name is Taion.”
“Taion, old sport - here’s the deal. Nobody is shedding any tears about the Gormotti getting what’s rightfully theirs a little earlier. The Senate will cry foul and bloviate about it but ultimately this stuff is just putting more pressure on them. All well and good! Now, being an unregistered Blade Eater - that’s a bit trickier, eh? I'm sure you've read the new law. You look like the reading type.”
Taion’s got more layers on than Zeke has ever considered wearing in his entire life - shirt and jacket and scarf and probably an undershirt for good measure - and yet his hands still move instinctually to his chest as if to protect the piece of core crystal they both know is embedded there.
“I have my reasons for not checking in. The procedure was not… voluntary, on the Blade’s part.”
“Oh yeah. We know all about that,” Zeke says, nodding sagely. For just a moment he lets himself remember - the way Amalthus had played god and robbed Pandoria of her immortality without so much as asking for her consent, like she was some thing instead of her own person - and the resulting scowl is so fierce that Taion actually shrinks back and Pandy kicks him in the shin and hisses “Don’t scare the poor kid!”
“It was the Praetor, wasn’t it?” he asks, plastering a grin back on his face and trying to look reassuring.
“... Yes,” Taion admits. “I was a sickly child. Very sick. I was going to die. My parents exhausted every medical option available to them, to no avail. Desperate for a miracle, they traveled to Indol. Now, I was too young to remember any of this, but I’ve… done my research. Confronted my parents with it. They confirmed my suspicions - that the Praetor did not give her a choice in the matter. I… I left home after that. Couldn’t bear the sight of them any longer.”
“Her, huh?”
“Yes. Her name is Nimue,” Taion says, his youthful features suddenly looking quite old and weary. Zeke wonders how long it’s been. The kid looks about fifteen at most, but Zeke knows firsthand that appearances can be quite deceiving when one is a Blade Eater. He’s going on two decades since his own procedure, with barely a new wrinkle to show for it.
“She’s an Earth-type, originally from Gormott, and - and I could give you all sorts of data about her, but the truth is, I’ve never met her. She saved my life but I’ve stolen hers. She probably hates me - I certainly would.”
“So that’s why you’re here, specifically. Trying to give back, in your own way.”
“Precisely.”
“Well,” Zeke says briskly, “you’re a bit dense, aren’t you?”
“What did you say?” Taion says, bristling from scarf to toe.
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s good work you’re doing, here, but your reasoning is ass-backwards. Knowing old Amalthus like I did, I bet this Nimue gal just woke up with half her crystal missing and nobody bothered to explain why. She doesn’t need some kid playing hero for the sake of her people - she probably just wants some answers.”
“You… have a point, there, actually.”
“It happens once in a while,” Zeke says, folding his arms across his chest and affecting a look of wise benevolence.
“Very rarely,” Pandy adds, ruining his gravitas. (Zeke pouts).
“I could lay off the Ardanians and go looking for her,” Taion says slowly, “which would resolve the situation. But I need something in return.”
“Name it, chum.”
“I need you to come with me,” the younger (?) Blade Eater says, staring at his shoes. “Keep me honest. I’m a coward - if you leave it up to me, I won’t be able to go through with it.”
“Say no more,” Zeke proclaims, leaping to his feet (and promptly almost passing out again, but Pandy is there to steady him). “We accept this quest!”
“I… wouldn’t call it a quest, exactly-”
“Really? How come there’s a question mark over your head, then?”
Taion blinks at him, then decides to just ignore this statement completely, which, fair. “... but thank you, Prince - er, I mean, Zeke. I appreciate it.”
Zeke opens his mouth to reply something heroic and then -
Something happens.
Or rather, something doesn’t happen.
All of the something (whether or not it happened) occurs in the space of a second. If Zeke wasn’t a Blade Eater with unusual sensitivity to ether, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. Even so, it’s hard to describe. It’s like - a momentary surge in the air around him that’s gone as soon as it appeared. Leaving him with the fainest sense of deja vu. Like he’s been here before. Or as if he’s forgotten something important.
“Huh,” Zeke says.
“Indeed,” Taion says. “You felt it, too?”
“Couldn’t tell you what I felt, but - yeah.”
“I’m getting the strangest feeling,” Taion says, “that I should continue to travel with you after we track down Nimue. That it will somehow be to my advantage.”
“Oh yeah?” Zeke says, completely unsurprised. His sheer personal magnetism is a helluva drug. “The more the merrier.”
“It’s odd, though. I have no logical reason to feel that way, I just - do.”
“I have that effect on people.”
“I really don’t think that’s it,” Taion says with a small, but genuine smile, “but we can go with that, for now. Well. Shall we?”
“We shall,” Zeke declares, and strides boldly into the unknown. After stepping over the smoldering remnants of the electrical fire he caused, of course.