Chapter Text
To some people, fate was harsh.
Fate would witness people getting abandoned, betrayed, manipulated and defeated. But sometimes even all this wasn't enough. Why not dump a person into a long coma, only to wake up to the sight of their enemy?
Such was the life of a failed prototype puppet. To Scaramouche, fate was simply ruthless.
Yet when he looked into those emerald green eyes filled with childlike wonder and encouraging glimmer, he couldn’t help but doubt if all hope truly was lost forever.
”Something on your mind again?” asked the God of Wisdom, tilting her head to the side with a bit of what might have been like worry in her eyes. She was sitting on the stone flower in the middle of the main hall in Sanctuary of Surasthana, having just listened to Scaramouche’s report from today.
Scaramouche blinked, shaking the thoughts from his head. ”Nothing much,” he muttered, knowing that she could practically read his mind. ”I assume I can leave now, Lesser Lord Kusanali?”
”Nahida.”
”Whatever.”
Lesser Lord Kusanali — Nahida — sent him a gentle smile and nodded, ”You’ve done your job. You are free to leave now. And make sure you come back soon! There are so many people you should meet, perhaps even get some friends.”
”Heh. In your dreams, Buer. I’m out of here,” he headed toward the doors of the Sanctuary of Surasthana. He wouldn’t let Nahida integrate him into this nation. Yet glancing back just before sliding out of the hall and seeing the God of Wisdom waving at him with a smile on her face made things only harder for him.
After the Sixth Harbinger, the Balladeer, had been defeated in Joururi Workshop a couple of months ago, and then fallen out of Shouki no Kami, he had sunk into a long slumber filled with torment. Yet slowly the nightmares had begun to subside, dimmed by Lesser Lord Kusanali’s divine and gentle glow.
He had heard someone whispering to him for almost the entire duration of his coma, and that was what had eventually pulled him out of it. And when he had finally woken up, those emerald eyes were the first thing he first saw.
What caught his eyes the most, though, was the brightly shining Anemo Vision in front of his eyes. Even now, three months later, he didn’t know the exact reason why he had gotten it right then. If Visions represented the favor of the Gods, then Scaramouche getting one after falling out of the fleeting moment of godhood was truly the epitome of irony.
To say he had been angry was an understatement. But under all the rage of having been stolen what he was meant to hold, there was also weariness and hopelessness. After failing again and again and always going back to the starting point, what meaning was there anymore to his existence?
After weeks of throwing insults and pillows at the God of Sumeru, and she deflecting them with a sad yet understanding smile, he began to… get used to her presence.
She would tell him little stories about Sumeru City. About how she saw a group of desert folk visiting the city led by a scholar with her roots also in the desert. About a pottery maker whose injured father took a boat from Port Ormos to congratulate his son for a successful business. About the fairy tale folk in Vanarana, and the like.
Nahida brought him food he didn’t need and made sure he recovered from his injuries. And when Scaramouche realized he had come to a dead end with his goals and probably now with a bunch of Snezhnaying hunting dogs after his head for failure, Nahida offered him another opportunity: to make up for his mistakes and begin a new life in Sumeru.
Whether he wanted to begin a new life or not, he wasn’t sure. But, having worked closely with Sumeru’s archon for these past few months hadn’t turned out to be something he despised. It was… refreshing, to say the least. Compared to his work with the Fatui.
What kind of tricks fate would cast upon him next was a question for the future. The only option now was to wait and see.
-
After leaving the Sanctuary of Surasthana, Scaramouche lingered in the quiet Razan Garden. The sun was sinking behind the faraway treeline, making way for the moon and the stars.
Looking down at the city below him was something Scaramouche often found himself doing. After weeks of listening to Nahida’s stories about life down there, he now could witness them with his own eyes. At this time of the day, the hustle started to die down. The only signs of life were a few late-night drinkers stumbling forward, or Akademiya students who had been cramming late into the night.
This was the city that Scaramouche had tried to destroy. Or rather, the city whose god he had tried to overthrow. During the god creation process, he didn’t care about the people. His mind was on his single goal of pursuing the Electro Gnosis — nothing else had mattered. Maybe in that regard, he and his mother weren’t that different; both focusing on one single goal while ignoring everything else around them.
Reminiscing about those events made the ever-present dull ache in the place where his heart should be only more noticeable.
The Dendro Archon had healed him to the best of her knowledge, but what Scaramouche hadn’t told her about were the little cracks on the left side of his chest that didn’t disappear — not like his wounds usually did. At times he would forget about it due to his high pain tolerance. But sometimes it would flare up and remind him of its existence.
Was there a future for Scaramouche in this nation that had suffered the consequences of his actions? Though he hadn’t killed anyone here with his own hands, he had caused a lot of trouble for their Archon. And then, during the god creation process, these people were forced into a dream-harvesting operation. But then again, were the ordinary citizens even aware of that?
Was there a future for him at all, in any nation?
He snorted and leaned against the Divine Tree, taking his hat off. Thinking was a complete waste of time – he’d rather fight his mind with fists. There was no need to think about things that were set in stone, because even without knowing the true definition of home, he was sure that this place wasn’t it.
He had no home, no name, and no heart. He was merely a puppet destined to fail every time. The only way for him was to stomp over fate and make his own path. As for what would come after…
”Oh, hey!” Someone’s surprised voice woke him up from his thoughts. He squinted his eyes at a pair of people he had seen a few times while working as Nahida’s… assistant. A pair that was the perfect and the most terrible fit.
The genius, bankrupt architect of Kshahrewar and the proudly weird Scribe of the Akademiya now working as a temporary Acting Grand Sage.
”I didn’t expect to find anyone here at this hour,” chirped the architect whose name might have been Kaveh or something of the sort.
Scaramouche sighed — here goes his peace. He didn’t say anything, turning his head away to gaze at the city again.
The Scribe Alhaitham took a deep breath and skimmed through the garden. ”Is this where you dropped it?”
”I don’t know!” Kaveh flailed his arms in frustration. ”Probably.”
”Next time, I advise you to take care of the keys.”
”Yeah, well, you start looking too!” The architect stomped around, searching for something — keys apparently — around the benches and bushes.
”Need I remind you that I am here only because your key is the only spare key I have to my house? If you are this incompetent at searching for the things you lost by yourself, maybe I shouldn’t let you have one.” Alhaitham crossed his arms and gave Kaveh a pointed look.
”Oh, you!” Kaveh grumbled, clearly frustrated. Only then he seemed to remember that the two of them weren’t alone, and quickly shot a look toward Scaramouche, who was doing his very best at tuning them out.
”Ahem,” Kaveh cleared his throat, changing his tone to a more polite one as if he hadn’t just been yelling. There was also something more in his tone, something like curiousness and… nervousness? The architect couldn’t have known who Scaramouche was, could he?
”Have you by any chance seen a lost key here? There’s a… fluffy keychain attached to it,” Kaveh described.
”A very ridiculous-looking keychain, if I may add,” piped up Alhaitham, earning an angry nudge from Kaveh.
Scaramouche squinted his eyes at them, pondering whether he should answer or even acknowledge the question. Deciding that he’d had enough of his silence disturbed, he simply stood up, put his hat back on, and walked away. ”No.”
Kaveh looked like he wanted to say something and lifted his hand as if reaching out. When Scaramouche was almost out of their reach, the architect called out to him again, ”Hey, you. I’ve seen you strolling around the Akademiya many times, or just sitting alone somewhere.”
Scaramouche looked over his shoulder with eyebrows furrowed in a wordless question.
Kaveh continued, ”If you ever come by the tavern, you should join us for a drink or two.”
Scaramouche snorted, not liking the idea of going to such a crowded and loud area filled with drunkards. Before he left the two of them, he caught the sight of Kaveh’s hopeful eyes and Alhaitham’s more investigative gaze on him. The Scribe looked at him with such inquisitive eyes that Scaramouche almost felt like a test subject again.
Without another word, he left the two of them in silence. On his way down he saw a glimpse of something shiny peeking under a bush with a childish animal toy attached to it.
He walked past it with a smirk. Maybe tomorrow he would see if the duo had succeeded in their search.
…
The ex-Harbinger didn’t know what kind of force overtook him when he crouched down and picked up the little trinket, his feet leading him back to the garden.
”Is this what you were looking for?” he caught the attention of the architect and the Scribe once more, throwing the key to Kaveh who stumbled forward a bit but caught it nonetheless.
The architect looked relieved and sent a smile to him, the earlier nervousness long gone. ”Thank you!”
Then he poked Alhaitham with his elbow again and shout-whispered, ”See, I told you he could help us!”
Alhaitham rolled his eyes, ”It would’ve been better for you to find it yourself. Perhaps then you would learn to look after your belongings.”
They continued their bickering, and Scaramouche made himself scarce. Kaveh yelled something from behind, but he was already long gone.
In Sumeru, he evaded social interaction like a plague, and when he did say something to anyone, it usually ended up in him threatening to murder them. So in the end, it would be better to avoid people altogether.
Kaveh and Alhaitham would forget about this conversation in no time. It was such a meaningless exchange of few words that could’ve happened between anyone. Only by pure luck did Scaramouche happen to be there.
Little did he know then, that this was a scene that would change his life forever.
-
Sumeru’s forests were large and hid many mysteries, one of them being: why were the Fatui still here, after failing with their latest project in the Akademiya?
During his stroll in the Avidya Forest, Scaramouche realized he wasn’t alone. He stopped in his tracks, detecting five people around him, hidden in the bushes. He simply crossed his arms, sending a pointed glare toward one of the bushes.
When the people stepped out of their hiding places, something sparked in the tips of his fingers.
”Well, look at that,” he mused, a grin spreading over his face — and it wasn’t a friendly grin. ”To what do I owe the honor of your pathetic rag-tag bunch?”
The Fatui officer in front of him sent an overconfident glance his way. ”Lord Scaramouche. We heard that you have been hiding after your disappointing failure. Our most exalted Lord Dottore sent us to pick you up.”
This wasn’t his first rundown with the Fatui after he had woken up. It had become clear very quickly that Scaramouche was no longer considered to be the Sixth. His existence didn’t matter to the Fatui anymore — except for the Second Harbinger, who of course had only ill intentions in mind. And Scaramouche was tired of being his obedient toy anymore.
They left him to rot alone, which ultimately led to him getting a chance at a new life. But this wretched way that things seemed to run in his life didn’t really give him the will to look forward to the future.
”Hah,” Scaramouche snorted. ”He must think oh so highly of you if he thinks you suckers to be capable of doing that.”
”You are no longer a threat to us, little boy,” their leader told him. ”I’d suggest you come with us quietly and give Lord Dottore what is rightfully his.”
What was… rightfully his? Scaramouche wondered what that could mean. ”And if I refuse?”
”Then we’d have to rely on… less persuasive methods.”
The smirk on Scaramouche’s face only widened. He had been acting civil for far too long, anyway. And if it was a matter of self-defense, even Nahida couldn’t blame him for taking care of a few peasants. His fingertips tickled with unused adrenaline, and he stepped forward.
It was time for some bloodshed.
How could he ever attempt to change, to start a new life? And did he even want that?
-
There was a freaking festival in Sumeru City.
During Scaramouche’s five hundred years of wandering across the lands of Teyvat, the biggest festivities he’d been to were the occasional banquets of the Harbingers, where everyone wanted to shred each other to pieces just to gain something for their selfish desires.
That was how he had learned to live his life; by threatening others and evading their attempts at tearing him down. What he saw in front of him now — he had no clue what to make of the situation.
When he came across the sight of it in the city gates, he turned around to leave and come back only when the coast would be clear. The only thing between him and freedom, however, was the hand of the God of Wisdom stopping him from escaping the city.
The streets were decorated with flowers and colorful vines. Some citizens were dressed in vibrant robes, children ran around with decorative butterfly toys, and even the occasional scholars hurried by with Sumeru Roses attached to their hats.
And Nahida called it a small festival: a mere commemoration of some significant day in Sumeru’s history a long time ago. ”A beautiful sight, isn’t it?”
Scaramouche gave her a disdainful look, shoulders slumped. ”Can’t I come back later?”
Nahida giggled at his expression and then turned her gaze toward the street, completely ignoring his inquiry. ”The festivals have long been… rather small due to the old sages’ influence. Because this is the first festival without political restrictions, the people have put forward their best efforts. It’s truly a sight to behold.”
Scaramouche followed Nahida’s eyes back to the bustling city. ”I guess.”
The Archon waved to a group of children who swung their hands to her while running along the street. To Scaramouche, she hummed, ”I am glad you came here now.”
Scaramouche wasn’t. But he didn’t voice his thoughts out loud. He convinced himself to stay here only to make sure nobody tried to attempt any shady business under the Archon’s nose. He could never know what people were thinking about, after all. People’s praise of godhood was a combination of blasphemy and exaltation, and the line between the two was different for everyone.
A jolt of discomfort sprang through his chest, and it took a lot of effort for him not to flinch and notify Nahida of his strange condition.
The God of Wisdom crossed her arms and glanced at him with a thoughtful expression. ”Is there something you are not telling me?”
Scaramouche snickered, unamused. ”Are you concerned about me? I think you’ve done enough for me already, Buer. I’m sure your people wouldn’t be very happy with you if they knew that you’ve been aiding the enemy.”
He couldn’t help the mockery in his voice, but the archon just looked at him with her eyes wide with wonder. She opened her mouth, but was interrupted by a familiar booming voice.
”Hello, you two!” Toward them came Kaveh, waving his hand, and he, too, was wearing a small flower decoration attached to his hair.
”Oh, how nice to see you, Kaveh,” Nahida turned to greet him as if they were old friends.
”You know each other?” Scaramouche couldn’t help but ask after seeing a god sharing such a trivial greeting with a normal citizen.
Nahida’s normal smile was back and she nodded to Scaramouche. ”Remember how I told you that curing you took a lot of effort? Well, I didn’t do it alone. Even reading all of Sumeru’s books about mechanical lifeforms wouldn’t have been as good as prior practical knowledge.”
She then turned toward Kaveh, ”But Kaveh here, as the genius of the Khahshrewar Darshan was more than capable at a task like that. It is thanks to his efforts that we were able to get you healed so quickly.”
And that could mean only one thing…
Scaramouche turned his puzzled expression toward the blond man. ”So he knows…?”
”I do know your identity, O mighty Harbinger,” Kaveh joked with an uptight tone. ”I also didn’t have time to thank you for the other day. Would you be willing to join us at the festival as my thanks?”
Scaramouche couldn’t quite figure out the answer to that – his mind chanted one thing over and over again.
He knows who I am. He knows who I am. And despite knowing that…
Despite knowing that, Kaveh was still here. Why wasn’t he scared? Or angry? Or… something more than giving invitations to a festival!
Nahida responded in his place. ”Oh, you’ve already become acquainted? That’s wonderful!” She clapped her hands as if praising Scaramouche for participating in human contact.
”So, what should I call you?” Kaveh asked him.
Scaramouche blinked, trying to guess if there was an ulterior motive behind his words. But Kaveh looked like the least deceiving person.
”What would you like to be called?” was one of Nahida’s first questions after he had woken up. Back then, he had simply shrugged it off as ”I have no name”.
Because when he was born, he was given no name. His mother had abandoned him before ever naming him, and all the existing ones only reminded him of the past that he so desperately tried to bury.
And because any ties that led to him being called Kabukimono were severed. Kunikuzushi didn’t sound right, considering he hadn’t even succeeded in taking over as a new god, much less destroying a country. And The Balladeer was a name stained with blood, known far and wide over the lands, making people shiver with fear.
The name Scaramouche wasn’t perfect either, but at least ordinary people couldn’t probably connect the name to the Fatui. For the lack of a better name, he just decided to go with that. For now.
”Alright, Scaramouche, would you like to join us for a round at the festival?” Kaveh inquired again once he had made up his mind.
”Hmph,” the puppet huffed. As if he didn’t have anything better to do. From experience, he knew spending time with mortals and their trivial affairs would only bring misery.
”Go ahead,” Nahida chirped beside him, to whom he sent a vicious glare.
Kaveh grabbed a hold of his arm with an over-excited smirk. ”Great—”
Scaramouche flinched, yanking his arm away from his grasp. ”Don’t touch me.”
Kaveh pulled his hands up in the air apologetically, ”Sorry, my bad. Shall we go?” His tone changed into a more polite one, and his apology seemed genuine. Awkwardly, he placed his hands behind his back and leaned toward the city in an invitation.
Scaramouche sighed in defeat – but not before sending a sharp glance at the god beside him. You will pay for this, he was trying to project to Nahida. But she simply smiled and waved goodbye, before something in the crowd caught her attention, and she headed off again.
Scaramouche had no choice but to follow the architect, staring holes to the back of his head and wondering how he still was there. If Kaveh truly had been aiding Scaramouche in his recovery, it meant that he knew who Scaramouche was. And more importantly, what he was.
He knew that Scaramouche wasn’t human, but merely a failed puppet. As a Khahshrewar scholar, had Kaveh been filled with curiosity and excitement at getting to play around with a complicated mechanical structure that had been beyond his imagination? Had he viewed Scaramouche as a chance to learn and test out new things?
The thought made his body shiver, and while shaking his head to get rid of it, he noticed that they were already at Lambad’s Tavern – whatever Kaveh had been rambling about had gone completely past his ears.
As they walked in, a warm smell of spicy dishes filled the air, and the loud chatter, clinking of cutlery, and vibrant tune of music made Scaramouche want to leave this place immediately. However, beyond the disdain, a feeling of nostalgia crawled into his mind. Seeing people act so close with each other, some sitting in others’ embrace, some playing cards against each other, and some laughing in their little groups woke up a feeling that he would not acknowledge.
”Over here,” Kaveh led him to a table with a short green-haired girl, an eccentric-looking man with long ears, and another man with white hair peeking under a jackal headpiece. Though all of them looked somehow familiar, Scaramouche had only seen glimpses of the General Mahamatra in the city — but they had never met face-to-face.
As for the long-eared man, Scaramouche had an inkling that he knew the fox somehow. He just couldn’t remember how. Looking at the green-haired girl made something in Scaramouche wary. He was almost certain he had also seen this one before. But the feeling of familiarity was so brief that he wondered if it was just his imagination.
When the two of them arrived, the trio placed their eyes on the stranger lingering behind Kaveh, and it was almost laughable how the atmosphere changed. The girl who had seemed so lively before suddenly turned very timid and met Scaramouche’s eyes only briefly. The fox gazed at him with curiosity and something so complex that Scaramouche couldn’t quite comprehend.
The Mahamatra, on the other hand, faced him with so much animosity that had Scaramouche holding back an amused grin. How he had offended the head of the Matra, he wasn’t sure. But after getting only those pitying smiles from Nahida, and the uneasy yet respectful glances from the people he had seen in the Akademiya, receiving such enmity again felt quite refreshing. He practically basked in it.
”This is the friend I was telling you about,” Kaveh began a round of introductions, and Scaramouche was once again surprised by the choice of words the architect used. A friend? They’d barely talked to each other before!
He felt the need to voice his thoughts out loud, sending a glare toward the architect. ”I am not your friend.”
”Well, I consider anyone who has helped me a friend,” Kaveh sat down with an overly bright smile on his face.
What a hypocrite, Scaramouche thought.
The introductions were just a waste of time. Scaramouche didn’t need to know the names of these people to whom he’d probably never talk again, and neither did they need to know his name. The less people knew him, the better.
The architect’s smile was soon replaced by an annoyed expression when he looked around. ”Is Alhaitham still not here?”
”I’m sure he’ll come, eventually,” said the fox, Tighnari — as Scaramouche came to learn. The Forest Watcher resided in Gandharva Ville, along with the girl, Collei. ”He’s never missed our dinners.”
”Or then he’ll come up with a reason not to come,” Kaveh muttered.
While he ordered a glass of wine, Tighnari, and the Mahamatra — Cyno — started a round of Genius Invokation TCG, a game Scaramouche knew nothing about and wasn’t interested to know either.
As thanks, Kaveh treated him to dinner. Or rather, he recommended Scaramouche charcoal-baked ajilenakh cake – which Scaramouche didn’t quite understand, because it wasn’t dinner, and also; who the hell enjoyed anything that tasted burned? The sweet and sugary jam inside it made Scaramouche regret his life decisions once again, but at least the not-savory food distracted him from the lingering pain in his chest.
He did his best to stay quiet during the whole dinner. Tighnari and Kaveh did most of the talking with Cyno still glaring at Scaramouche and not focusing on the conversation a whole lot. The topics of the conversation were absurd, and Scaramouche kept himself busy trying to come up with an excuse to get out of there.
But as Kaveh excused himself from the table, the atmosphere became even more awkward.
They listened to Kaveh’s loud mumbles as he exited the tavern. ”I swear to god, if I find Alhaitham reading somewhere once again, not bothering to show up—” he grumbled, under the influence of the small amount of wine he’d had.
Tighnari just shook his head at him with an amused expression on his face. Then he slammed a handful of cards to the table, looking at Cyno with a vicious grin, ”I win.”
”What?” Cyno looked puzzled, his eyes darting between his deck and the cards Tighnari had used, as if unable to comprehend what had happened.
”You have been far too distracted,” Tighnari pointed out, not elaborating but the meaning was there; distracted by shooting daggers at Scaramouche. Cyno didn’t seem bothered by his words, instead starting a heated conversation with Tighnari about how it couldn’t be possible that he had lost.
To say the whole dinner was awkward was an understatement. Scaramouche knew he had ruined whatever friendly gathering they were supposed to have the moment he laid his eyes on this table. With the most loud and obnoxious one now out of the table, there weren’t enough people to keep the conversation going around all of them.
Scaramouche glanced at Collei, who had mostly stayed quiet, only sometimes saying a word or two to Tighnari. When her eyes briefly met Scaramouche’s naturally cold expression, she immediately looked away again. He squinted his eyes at her.
Where had he seen her before?
Not in the city, at least. Scaramouche had also never been to Gandharva Ville. He once again cursed his brain for the information that had gotten hazy after he fell from the Shouki no Kami.
When he glanced at the others and saw Cyno’s eyes on him once again — this time with an even fiercer expression — he stared back without blinking an eye. Who knows how long their staring competition would have lasted, if not for something Tighnari said that caught Cyno’s attention away from Scaramouche.
Scaramouche took a bite of the terrible charcoal cake in front of him and almost choked as it hit him. He had indeed seen Collei before. It was years ago when she had looked so much different than now, but it definitely was her.
When the word came to his mind, his thoughts twisted in knots, a gasp leaving his mouth.
Dottore.
Just as his mind was about to be consumed by memories linked to the Second Harbinger, Kaveh’s voice crossed across the tavern like a charming melody, calling them to join him outside.
The table cleared out, with Scaramouche following them like a robot. Mind overwhelmed by black dots of thoughts and hands trembling slightly, he stepped outside and barely acknowledged that they were going further into the city.
Alhaitham had joined them, saying that he wasn’t hungry, while Kaveh pulled them toward the Grand Bazaar — apparently, there were supposed to be big performances tonight. An idle chatter filled the air among them, yet Scaramouche couldn’t focus on it at all.
His mind chanted one word over and over again. Dottore. Dottore. Dottore.
Why? Why was that name still in his mind? Why couldn’t he simply forget?
It was pathetic.
Oh, come on, a voice in his head said, you wouldn’t want Nahida to see you in this state now, would you?
Oh, that’s right. If Nahida saw him as he was now, she’d surely think of it as pathetic. He had caused enough problems for her already. When he pictured those emerald green eyes in front of him, the feeling in his chest suddenly began to dissipate.
Grow up, he told himself. Haven’t you made enough of a fool out of yourself already?
A calm voice hummed beside his ear, ”The Bazaar is such a loud place. My ears are going to explode from all the noise.” It was Tighnari looking pointedly at Kaveh with crossed arms. He had slowed down from the group, walking beside Scaramouche at a relaxed pace.
”You can manage a one night, right?” Kaveh pleaded, eyes sparkling with hopefulness.
”And we can always leave if it gets too much,” Cyno added with an assuring smile.
Scaramouche blinked out of his thoughts and turned toward Tighnari. The fox met his gaze with a serene expression and whispered, ”Everything alright?”
The puppet’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t expected Tighnari to notice his mental tumult, much less address him about it. So like the conversation specialist he was, he ended up glaring at the Forest Ranger. ”I’m fine.”
Tighnari didn’t seem bothered by his sharp tone of voice and only hummed in acknowledgment before following the others. And Scaramouche, called by Kaveh, had to join them to the exquisite clearing inside the Divine tree, where merchants, musicians, and dancers lifted the atmosphere to another level.
It was warm and loud — people strolled around, most of them gathered around the stage. Different smells of spicy foods wafted in the air and a flowing melody of different instruments spread through the Bazaar, along with the lively chatter of the citizens.
And through it all, he never got to know what was the reason that demanded a celebration of this size. When he asked Kaveh about it, even the architect had no idea. ”No matter how small an occasion, we have to make sure to enjoy the entertainment and discounts to the fullest!”
Both Collei and Tighnari looked like they didn’t quite enjoy the crowded place, so they, along with Cyno, went further to the edge of the Bazaar. Scaramouche would’ve done the same if not for Kaveh making sure he stayed with him and Alhaitham.
”What do you think?” Kaveh asked him, motioning toward the stage filled with a group of dancers and musicians. ”Quite beautiful, right?”
Scaramouche shrugged with a pointed expression. ”Too many people.”
”We should’ve come on a different day,” Alhaitham pointed out dryly. ”Even my soundproof earpieces have trouble dealing with this ruckus.”
”Oh my god, you guys!” Kaveh sighed in exasperation, though there was a lively spark in his eyes. With a wide smile, he glanced back at Cyno, Collei, and Tighnari huddled up at the edge of the clearing, then at Alhaitham and Scaramouche. ”You’re unbearable.”
He took them away from the mass of people, looking for a specific food stall. And while Scaramouche didn’t necessarily hate the atmosphere, the number of people and all the noise started to feel overwhelming. So when he got the chance, he slipped out of the crowd and headed toward the doors leading out.
But before he could reach them, something was placed on his hand. Kaveh gave him some sort of bread with colorful fillings wrapped into a pocket of paper. He met the puppet’s gaze and smirked. ”See you.”
Then he was gone, and Scaramouche stepped out of the Grand Bazaar. The night was livelier than usual, but it was considerably calmer out on the city streets than it was in the Bazaar.
Absentmindedly, he wandered through the streets and out of the city to the vicinity of the suspension bridges leading toward Chatrakam Cave. He nibbled on the pita bread Kaveh had given him — a lot better option than those burned cakes he had tasted earlier that evening.
At the edge of the cliff, he turned around and looked back at the towering tree supporting the city. Lights illuminated the night sky, and a distant chatter wafted with the wind up to here. But it was all just background noise to him, and he sighed in relief. Quiet of people, and quiet of memories. The thoughts, however, remained.
A new life, huh?
Thinking of it in the past would’ve felt distant and prohibited. Even when Lesser Lord Kusanali had first offered him it, he couldn’t believe his ears. Because before, there was no such thing as starting over. If you failed, you would be a goner — no second chances.
It was not only what he had been told by other people, but also a rule he had set for himself; he could not fail under any circumstance. If he did, his existence would prove useless, as worthless as his mother had deemed him to be when she had abandoned him.
So of course he thought all of it to be over when he had fallen. He wanted it to be over. For months, he hated every bandage, every painkiller and every smile Nahida had granted him.
Until he didn’t.
Not to be sappy or anything — Scaramouche hated his life. This world was a hellhole; that was an undeniable fact. But if that hellhole could offer him even one genuine smile, even one hand to grasp, maybe it was worth it.
The wind pushed past, whispering of future encounters; of smiles and cries; of banquets and breakdowns; and most of all, of a maple-adorned mystery carrying his heartstrings.
Go on, Scaramouche thought, Show me what you’ve got.