Chapter Text
It should be today. If you've counted correctly, he should be coming today.
You dust your hands against your slacks, picking at the grime under your nails. There is no point in trying to look presentable, but old habits lead your fingers through your hair, tugging at knots and loose strands until your scalp aches from your efforts. What water trickles through the pipe you allow to splash against your face, each drop bitterly cold on your skin. You wish you had another towel or something, but you settle for your palms and scrub away.
A soft clickclickclick sounds at your ankle. When you look down, the shiny glint of metal flashes in the dim light.
"Yeah, yeah." You open your hands and allow the beetle to crawl into your palm, holding it up to the pipe. "Here, Pog. Nice and clean."
Pog chitters and parts its wings, the droplets far more effective on its coppery underside than your own skin. It begins to scrub at its face with its forelegs, and as you set it atop your head, you hear the telltale creeaaak of his approach. Thirty-one days, on the dot.
The long-eared shadow stretches along the far wall, a demon crawling down the steps. Had you been anyone else, you would have screamed, but you only smile and clear your throat. "Still here, Cyno."
Cyno's hooded figure appears around the corner not long after. "Good." He kneels, allowing the black cloak to spill around his feet as his arms emerge, one supporting a small wicker basket with a single padisarah peeking out. It almost reminds you of that old folks tale you'd heard from Fontaine with the wolf, and you're sure you would have been able to remember more had he not pulled out a beautifully polished apple. "Here."
He has to roll it in. It'd been humiliating the first time, being forced to pick up food off the floor like some common pig. Now, you just pick it off the ground, allow water to trickle down its skin, and sink your teeth into its skin and moan at the taste. You take another deep bite, then another, and you're about to start choking on a third when a waterskin slaps your leg.
"Don't choke," he grunts.
You glare at him. Considering where you are and the way your cheeks bulge with fruit, you doubt you look very threatening. Cyno's harsh glare only proves your point.
Pog chitters as you wash the apple down with some water, scuttling onto your shoulder. Without the need for food or water, it settles for waving at Cyno with one foreleg while lifting its shell to flash its wings.
"Stop challenging him to a fight, Pog," you warn. "He could just electrocute you."
"I would," he agrees. "It would be…over in a flash, Pot of Greed."
Pog only shudders and flutters off your shoulder as you groan, flying wide arcs around your head before landing on the apple core. Balancing on its forelegs, it begins to roll the core towards the back wall, where several other scraps of trash are tucked away into neat balls of dirt. You still haven't figured out how it learned to do that. It's not like it's ever seen an actual Scarab before.
"...there's going to be another transfer soon." Cyno's voice makes your skin crawl. You keep your eyes on Pog as it starts to pack dirt around the core, but yiu can hear his weight shift, leaning closer in a desperate bid to draw your attention. "They're sending two more mad scholars into Aaru Village."
Your jaw shifts as you sink your fingers into the dirt. "Cyno…"
"I will be escorting them this time," he continues. "If the paperwork is approved, then-"
"Cyno."
"-you can be transferred with them-"
" Cyno. " The fruit in your stomach churns, threatening to escape you as you draw your legs up to your chest. When you pull in your right, your achilles' tendon strains against the iron. "It's…it's fine. Really. I doubt they'll change the sentence after all this time." You risk looking at Cyno and flinch at the slurry of emotion in his eyes. Even when you look away, you can feel it sucking you in, a pit of quicksand consuming you whole. "And paperwork disappears all the time. You know how messy Grand Sage Azar's desk can be."
Your arms wrap around your shins, squeezing your body tight in some vain attempt at quelling the pain in your stomach. It's the easier thing to imagine, that the Grand Sage had simply lost your papers in the rush of running the Akademiya, that he hadn't looked at the files and purposefully ignored them for the past twelve months.
…twelve months. That's how long it's been. The only reason you've been able to keep count is through the man sitting beyond the iron bars, who'd sworn to come at the end of every month to make sure you were okay. And based on the lines in the wall, this is his twelfth visit, which means…which means you've been imprisoned under the roots of the Divine Tree for the creation of a mechanical lifeform for a year.
It'd been an accident. That was what you'd told Grand Sage Azar and the others during your trial. It was just supposed to be a toy, you're not sure how it gained sentience, it wasn't on purpose, you swear-
Clickclickclick . Pog trots up the thick length of chain bolted to the wall, wings snapping open for balance. It wasn't supposed to be like this, but you're nothing but grateful as the little scarab prods your cheek with its horn in some form of comfort.
Cyno calls your name as you scoop the mechanical scarab into your hands. "The transfer will happen in a week," he says. "They…they can't keep you down here. Expulsion, yes, but-"
"They already passed judgment," you mutter. "I can't leave." And maybe it's just the pain bubbling in your stomach or your iron tight grip on your legs that causes you to spill out, "You should know, General Mahamatra." It’s a low blow and Cyno flinches like you’d struck him, and you uncoil to reach out. “Sorry. I didn’t-”
“Don’t.” You flinch, but Cyno is glaring at your hand, not you. “The bars.”
Right. It is invisible to you, but to someone with a Vision, the electro energy crackles with warning. Get too close, the electro brace on your leg will activate, and you’re screwed. Your hand still hovers, almost tempted to reach through just to graze his skin, like always.
You pull away and tuck your hand in your lap, making sure Cyno meets your eye as you say, “I’m sorry. I-I know you’re just doing your job.”
Cyno’s hands curl in his lap. “It’s alright.” His gaze drifts to the padisarah sticking out from his basket before returning to you, and you brace yourself when he says, “I am padi-sorry, too.”
“...I’m just a captive audience now, aren’t I?” you say, unable to keep the smile from your face. “You already used that one before. Get new material.”
“I will take some time to germinate it.” Cyno leans forward ever so slightly. “Do you get it? Like-”
“Like a seed germinating, Cyno,” you answer, a laugh escaping you. There’s a spark of victory in his eye, and you try to savor it before scratching at your bound ankle. The skin underneath has scarred over months ago, but it still aches. “You should probably get out of here. The guards will be back from their break."
Cyno nods, plucking the padisarah from the basket. "I will be back, then." He gently tosses the flower into the cell, caught by Pog's little mandibles. "Once the paperwork goes through, I…I'll come get you. Just wait for me."
Your smile wavers as you nod. "I will." You accept the padisarah from Pog, holding it up to your face and shielding your frown from view. "Be safe."
The young man rises to his feet. In the low light of your prison, his jackal cowl cuts a far more intimidating figure than it should be, but all you can imagine is Cyno when his face was still chubby with baby fat, gagging when you made him try scorpion on your 7th birthday. You'd been taller than him back then. And now he walks with the stride of a predator stalking its prey.
When you hear the telltale creak, you allow the tears to swell, setting the padisarah aside to scrub them away. Pog clicks its mandibles and scurries up your arm, but you set it down and wave a hand. "I'm fine," you say. "Can you put it with the others?"
Pog stabs at your ankle with its horn, then turns and drags the flower deeper into your cell. A single shelf covered with a threadbare blanket remains bolted to a wall, and when Pog nudges the blanket aside, you can see it: a bundle of flowers, withered and bare. The padisarah now makes it an even dozen.
You should bury them, but you know you won't. You always tell yourself whenever he leaves, and then it ends up sitting under your bed until the next month rolls around. There isn't much point in hiding them-your meals are delivered through a small chute, and more than once has your food fallen into the dirt upon its landing-but Pog makes sure to tug the blanket down to hide them from view.
How pathetic.
You force yourself to your feet, ready to return to your bed and just sleep until your next meal when the door creaks again. Your heart drops at the noise. Cyno never forgets anything, which means-”Pog,” you hiss.
The scarab scrambles under the bed just as another silhouette hits the wall. No jackal ears, no muzzle, definitely not anyone you know. Your feet start to step back, but you barely make it to your bed when you hear a soft click .
Your vision goes white. Every fiber in your body goes tense and taught, wired so tight you’re sure it's about to snap. Your right leg feels like someone sent it through a hydraulic press, searing heat racing up your thigh and core and down the other leg while your body hits the dirt. The cells in your body are rattling. Your vision is bouncing. Through the haze of your own mind, you think you can see your own body twitching in the dirt like a bug sprayed with pesticide.
Through your vibrating eyes, you see three figures shuffling into your prison. You try to open your mouth, but all that comes out is a weak, “Uh?” before your vision goes dark.
-
Your skin is tingling when you wake up, itchy under the fabric of a brand new Akademiya uniform. Its sleeves are cinched at the elbow, skirt traded for sturdy pants, and it takes your foggy memory a moment to realize that it’s the old uniform you used to use while working on your projects in your workshop.
And when you sit back, you almost cry. It is a workshop. Not your own, but there’s a giant workbench pressed to a floor-to-ceiling pegboard wall, each hole and arm supporting over a thousand different tools that you would have killed to have during your undergrad. Larger machines unable to hang on the wall are arranged nearby, each framed with a toolbox taller than your own body. There’s only one chair with wheels, which you imagine you can use to roll around on while you’re working, and-
Working. Wait.
Your hands twitch. You’re dead. Or-or dreaming. This has to be a dream. Where are you? Why are you here?
Your mouth opens, ready to shout, but when your throat flexes, your muscles strain against metal. Probing reveals a band three fingers thick encircling your neck. There is no clear indent where it locks, but you can feel the Electro symbol engraved over the nape of your neck. When you bend over and yank your pant leg up, your eyes widen at the scarred ring around your ankle. That’s it. No chain.
“Pog?” you whisper sharply, forcing yourself up. Your right leg feels numb and tingles when you try to put pressure on it, but you manage to take a few steps. “Pog, where are you?”
Nothing. You can’t tell if that’s good or bad. Pog is clever-one time, when you’d gotten sick, it somehow managed to escape your cell to lure a guard down to you. It would have escaped to try and find help, and if not help, then definitely Cyno. It should still be okay, right?
You inhale slowly, glancing around the workshop. There’s a bed with an actual mattress and comforter, a small wardrobe…even a nightstand. Another doorway leads to a toilet and-You almost trip over yourself as you rush into the walk-in shower, armed with dozens of scented products. When you turn the knob, you yelp when a blast of icy water douses you in the face, but it quickly dissolves into elated laughter. A shower. A real shower.
You don’t stay for long, afraid to run out of whatever water there is, and digging through the wardrobe reveals another set of clothes for you to change into while the uniform dries. The mattress sinks under your weight as you stare at your scarred ankle. Whoever grabbed you and put you here has provided all the amenities of a nice hotel; they must be planning to keep you here for a while.
Did…did Cyno have something to do with this? Did he somehow convince someone to move you out of your cell? There’s-That can’t be right. The sages had unanimously voted to place you in the roots of the Divine Tree for a reason, it’s been a year, and they literally just electrocuted you. Why would they move you now? Better yet, why would they upgrade you?
Well, not exactly upgraded, you think as you tug on the collar, but the point still stands.
As you think this, you hear a quiet whirr from beyond the wall. A regular, pale-looking wall opens up to the left of you, and you stumble to your feet when Grand Sage Azar walks inside, Setaria flanking his side like always. They both look exactly like how you remember during your trial: blank-faced and immaculately dressed.
“Sir?” you squeak. “I-What-”
Grand Sage Azar holds up a hand, silencing you. Your head bows quickly, but with the choker in the way, you can barely breathe. “I did not give you permission to speak, criminal,” he sneers. “You would do well to remember your place.”
“Yes, sir,” you force out and force your chin down further. “Forgive me, sir.”
“So long as you remember.” The Grand Sage scoffs and walks further into the workshop, Setaria at his heels. You track him through his peripherals, watching as he stands in the center of the room, eyeing the walls much like you had. “Tell me, does this bring back memories for you?”
You carefully lift your chin, brows pinched. “Sir?”
Grand Sage Azar huffs. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” He turns sharply towards you. "You were quite the prodigy for desert folk. Are you not excited to be among your tools once more?"
You force your face to relax as you nod, doing your best to not glance at Setaria. "I-I am, sir," you say, this time with a hint of honesty. "Thank you, sir." But why? sits on the tip of your tongue.
The Grand Sage only scoffs and nods to Setaria, who turns to the door they'd entered through and barks, "Bring it in."
A cluster of Eremites come shuffling in, but your focus hones in on the rectangular crate dangling between them. If you didn't know any better, you would have assumed it was your coffin.
"I'll make this brief," Grand Sage Azar says as the men head towards the workbench. "Rather than allow your talents to waste away, I am giving you a chance at redemption." They drop the crate at its feet, the thud echoing around the room. "Fix this machine and you will earn your freedom. Fail to do so? Well…" The man scoffs. "I doubt I need to explain where you will go."
Your mouth dries as the Eremites leave the room. There it is. They'd been keeping you around to repair something, and if you didn't, then-then back to the roots you go. "I understand, sir," you force out and bow. "T-Thank you for the opportunity, sir."
Grand Sage Azar hums, a pleased smile on his face. He steps towards you and, just as you're rising from your bow, gently restd his hand upon your head, giving you a soft pat that sends tremors down your spine. "I knew you were destined for greatness," he says, "ever since we chose you. Don't disappoint me now. Understood?"
Your mouth falls open, but with his warm hand on your head like it once was when you were several years younger and barely reached his hip, all you can manage is a nod and a weak, "Yes, sir."
And the sage smiles before pulling away, marching towards the door. "Setaria, fill them in on what they need to know. I'm returning to my office."
"Yes, Grand Sage." Setaria bows her head as the man leaves. Once the door slides shut, the young woman rises and turns to you, expression cold. "You."
You flinch as you do your best to recall what you know of the girl. She'd been from Aaru Village and…that's about it. She'd never been one for socializing, even when it'd just be the desert children in the room, and once she'd been selected to join Grand Sage Azar's entourage, she practically disappeared from your life. "Hi," you respond. "What, uh, what's going on?"
Setaria rolls her eyes, a perfect copy of the Grand Sage's expression as she strides over to the crate. You follow slowly, and when she glares at you, you can only stare back. "Well?" she says. "Open it."
You catch yourself before you can roll your eyes and limp over to the crate, cramming your fingers into the lid until it gives way. As the lid falls away, you hear the sage's assistant speak.
"You will be provided with a specialized Akasha Terminal to complete your task," she explains. "Three meals a day will be delivered to you. You are not to step foot into the elevator. You are not to tamper with your collar. Failure to comply with these rules will result in the collar's activation. Once a week, we will deliver any components requested for the project, if and only if they are approved by me. Understood?"
You blink slowly, mind attempting to process the string of words she'd thrown your way. Your attention is still on the contents within the crate. Most of it is dismantled, charred. "Um…yeah." You clear your throat and finally look up at the assistant. "Do I have a deadline?"
Setaria only frowns. "If you are as skilled as you were when we graduated, then this shouldn't take long at all."
With that, she turns and strides out of the room, leaving you alone with the broken puppet in the crate.