Chapter Text
The flood came at night.
With no warning but a slight shaking of the earth the water started rising, ripping the townspeople out of their sleep, that would soon run around screaming.
It didn’t take long for them to realize this wasn’t ordinary water, but by the time the first warnings were shouted, the first things packed, it was already too late.
A few minutes were all it took to wipe out the few dozen inhabitants, their screams drowned in the waves, as their bodies were washed away. The few people left to witness their peer’s faces, distorted in agony, watching how their hands dissolved in front of them, hurried to climb high, soon cramping together on a few rooftops.
Nobody heard their desperate shouts, wails getting carried over the Primordial seawater. It knew no mercy, gripping adults and children alike, leaving nothing but ragged clothes, and scratches on walls, that soon too, shall be washed away.
The flood went as fast as it came, this time however, roaring, before being reduced to nothing but a small river, that soon faded away. If there was any seawater left, it would be gone by now. The rainfall that followed was heavy.
All that remained was mud, ruins and more water. No humans.
It was quiet, like a ghost town, ruins standing tall in the moonlight, not a single soul in sight.
The first group of the Special Security and Surveillance Patrol arrived in the morning.
Looking through the morning fog, searching for survivors, but with every further inspection, the certainty that there was no one left set in further, amplifying the eerie feeling.
Small whispers added to the constant noise of metal on stone when construction meka started shovelling away the ruins.
“What on earth-“
“…the Iudex do…”
“…tell the press?”
“Archons.”
As visibility improved with the first light of the sun, an unsettling feeling set in. The duellists weren’t searching for humans or corpses anymore, there were only names to be found out.
That list of names would soon be printed in every newspaper of Fontaine, firstly hung outside of the doors of Palais Mermonia. Gardameks would have to fight off the crowd, people demanding answers from the Chief Justice, who remained silent.
But unlike the last few times, there weren’t any survivors.
Few gardes were still on site by the time the sun reached its peak. One couldn’t even imagine the scenes that played only a few hours ago. The purple haired captain sighed, finally being able to turn a back to the gruesome site, making way for the usually so nosy reporters, who just quietly took some pictures, before looking to approach her in private for some questions.
The fog had disappeared, the list was complete.
56 individuals.
Gone.
Vanished.
Two names weren’t on the record.
All but a few would forget them, not even aware that they had existed.
Arlecchino wasn’t one of them.
The Knave lost two children that night, this wasn’t something they could have saved themselves from.
Spies, they were, tasked with gaining the trust and trailing a target. He too, was gone now.
What went through their minds in their last seconds? Did they see each other die?
She wouldn’t know. She wouldn’t bother herself.
Anger makes you impulsive, sorrow causes you to waver.
The Knave couldn’t afford those emotions, they would only be in her way.
The dead remain silent, but their deaths weren’t in vain. Arlecchino made sure of that. They had accomplished their mission, there would be one less Sinthe supplier. If there was something Arlecchino knew for sure, was that people didn’t simply dissolve.
Some people would still deny the prophecy, ignorant as they were. The Knave has long decided to look for the cause, if they would get in her way, she wouldn’t hesitate to cut them down.
There would be no warning when the next flood was going to happen, and she would be prepared. It would be foolish to hope for a miracle, fate has long abandoned them. Gone was the Hydro Archon, for 500 years, all the House of the Hearth had was each other.
And nobody was going to take that away from them.
The fourth Fatui harbinger grew restless.
Her day was spent withdrawing members from missions, just to send them away into different nations.
Positions were enforced, new operatives stationed all around Fontaine, the chain of command switched.
She visited the earlier ruins of the flood, sampling the water, but there was nothing new she didn’t know already.
Primordial seawater, in connection with the prophecy. Rising, but dissolving only Fontainians, key ingredient for Sinthe, first appearance a few years ago. Seven floods so far, the last three being even more severe than before. Number of victims recorded: unknown. Two of her own.
Flames were silently flickering in the hearth, the wood cracking occasionally. Despite the fire the Knave’s office was cold.
Arlecchino dipped her quill in ink and wrote into the two folders containing information about the deceased.
Killed in action.
Their chapter has ended. A pity.
It could happen to everyone, the children knew about that, yet they never really seemed to get used to it.
Who would?
The envelopes disappeared into a drawer, revealing even more paperwork left to be reviewed, approved and organized. One stood out before all, it wasn’t even the size of the folder, rather the emptiness of it.
The title?
Focalors. Hydro Archon.
She had spent months trying to figure out her whereabouts, piecing together information from decades ago, listing significant places in the history of the Nation, going through every possibility. The only connection she truly had: the prophecy, which was now slowly coming true. It would be the perfect time for the Archon to make her appearance.
All she got was a name.
Focalors.
The Knave wasn’t even interested in the Archon, all that mattered was the Gnosis, as requested by her Majesty, the Tsaritsa. Her meetings with the Chief Justice didn’t seem to bear fruit, but she would be patient, carefully but surely prying away his secrets. And if it took months.
For now, she would be satisfied with the information he had to offer. Monsieur Neuvilette was a man of many secrets, and Arlecchino knew he was hiding something. They’d see who would win the game long term.
This wasn’t going to help.
She took a deep breath, picking up the almost empty folder of the Hydro Archon, and turned her chair away from the huge wooden doors of her office.
There was nothing.
Apart from an organization smuggling Sinthe and claiming it to be the Hydro Archon’s will, only one other thing stood out:
Some mysterious observation towers scattered across Fontaine, used to measure water levels a century ago. Now they lay abandoned in the wild. Her operatives have been tasked with gathering information about them, there were no records about who commissioned building them, only a payment from the Palais Mermonia.
If the Knave’s suspicions were correct, then the Hydro Archon made a few attempts to stop the flood, nothing too significant. That was 200 years ago, now they only posed more questions.
Why did she stop?
Did something happen?
Arlecchino ran her cursed fingers across the picture of a Statue of the Seven, not taken too long ago.
“Hydro Archon, Hydro Archon. Where are you hiding?” she grumbled.
At the sound of a knock on her door she snapped her finger and the fire lit up, sparks flying around before dying seconds later.
Each of her children’s footsteps were easily recognizable, even if they intended to remain hidden. She had felt Lyney’s presence a minute ago, and he shut the door quietly after entering, straightening his posture.
“Speak.”
“Father.” He cleared his throat. “We have received word from the Iudex. Your request for another diplomatic meeting has been approved, your suggested date has been selected.”
“I see. You’re dismissed. If there is anything else you want to add, you may tell me. “ Arlecchino closed the envelope she has been staring at for far too long now.
In two weeks then. Too much time. Who knew what could happen until then?
Lyney paused, still hesitant to speak his mind.
“Father- the children. They are not sure what’s going to happen next-“
“Are you doubting their loyalty to the Hearth?”
He gulped.
“No, no! It’s just- they are asking questions…we haven’t heard from Przheva or Alexandra and-“
Arlecchino spun around in her chair, fully facing a pale Lyney.
“They won’t be returning.” She cut him off. “I thought I taught you better than to ask meaningless questions. This conversation is over, the rest is none of your concern. Rest assured, that I shall handle every problem threatening our House. That includes traitors.”
“Yes Father.” He bowed his head.
Lyney stopped halfway through the door, turning around.
“Was it quick?” his voice was trembling.
The Knave shot him a cold look.
And he left.
Lyney had his answers.
Arlecchino knew that going to sleep now would only leave her tormented with nightmares, voices calling out to her, faces of the dead following her into the darkest pits of purgatory. Work was to be done, and she had a mission to finish.
For her children.
The next hours were spent doing paperwork, and when the load was finally done, she started organizing her desk. Anything to not be idle, to feel like it would be useful.
Fatigue overcame her, but she bit it down, focussing on the pain her bloodfire constantly shot through her veins.
Not yet.
The moon rose on the night sky.
24 hours since the incident.
Time to move.
The Knave walked down the hallway, only to stop at the common room. With the dim light of the hearth behind him, Lyney was sitting on the floor, telling a ghost story to children sprawled out on sofas around him.
Some were fighting sleep, while others had already given in, drooling onto the fabric. With wild gestures he was engaging his shrinking audience, his sister leaning onto the wall behind him.
A moment of peace.
It didn’t seem like the children were aware of their sibling’s death, but Arlecchino knew of the burden the magician had to carry. Forcing smiles, desperately trying to mask the fear and guilt that came with their passing, knowing that he had to protect the children from that knowledge. Someone had to do it, until they were ready to bear the news.
It usually took a while to forget them, the less they remembered, the smaller the pain. Except for the strong memories. There were always exceptions.
She could hear Lyney’s laughter, too loud to be an authentic one, as he was vividly relaying the story of the ghost of Debord hotel. He would be ready by the time the Hearth needed a new ‘King’.
“…at night, when nobody’s watching she plays the piano, and everyone who hears her loses their mind! And when they realize they can’t be with her… Poof!” Lyney snipped his finger, and the card in his hand fell down as confetti.
“Oh, please you are just messing with us, brother Lyney!” Foltz protested, “Tell us another one!”
“Hmm, but I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet!” he stuck out his tongue. “From trusted sources I heard that you could hear her beautiful melody, if you get close enough to the ghost without looking at her…However! After the performance is over and she leaves, nobody will remember ever seeing her play, let alone the music! Ah, what a tragic tale!”
The children kept watching him, but Arlecchino remained in the shadows.
Oh, how foolish they were. Young. So much to learn.
She turned away, continuing her stroll through the hallway, to the dormitories. There, in the dark, two agents were silently moving some boxes out of two rooms. Belongings weren’t the issue when it came to getting rid of children’s image, the problem were memories, sticking to the very walls of the Hearth, present in every room.
How many times has this occurred?
How many times did they forget?
Although remembering every single one, the Knave didn’t bother herself with reminiscing about the past, let alone fallen children. She couldn’t cater to the dead at the cost of the living.
Sorrow causes you to waver.
Arlecchino stopped in front of the agents, who bowed their head.
“Prepare the room for our future guests.”
“Yes, Lord harbinger.”
She could take in two new children, save them.
Nobody noticed how a crumbled-up picture and a necklace disappeared from the box, the rest would either be burned or made to money. Ironic how it required some sacrifices to keep the flame burning.
It was a lonely walk, or rather flight, to the Poisson cemetery, crimson wing carrying her over the many waves innocently getting drawn to the full moon above. The night was young and when the Knave finally arrived, two small holes were waiting for her. An empty headstone has been placed by the assigned fatui officers; they were gone now.
Arlecchino walked through grave after grave, not sparing them a single look. She knew who lied where and now two more would join them.
How many more would she have to bury?
In the back of her mind, she could hear Mother’s voice, nagging, accusing her.
Shut it out. If she showed even a sign of weakness, she’d get eaten alive. That was one rule she had been raised with, now it was a constant warning not to listen to them.
In such moments of solitude, the voices were louder. And with them, they arrived.
Small, glowing figures, who sometimes accompanied Arlecchino in her loneliness. They played around her, lost souls, shadows of the fallen, which she had previously killed herself.
Quietly they were watching her lay two children to rest, or rather what was left of them. Ragged clothes, primordial seawater all dried up, were lowered into the two holes, soon covered with earth.
“Sometimes it is the most innocent who must bear the other’s sins. We will crush them.” She dropped the picture and the necklace onto the grave.
Rain started dripping onto the paper, the photograph of a smiling group of three was slowly getting blurred.
A testimony of their existence, a tribute to their soul.
As their Father, that was the last thing she could do. For each and every one of them. For their background did not matter, in the House of the Hearth they would all be given equal chances and a new purpose. Sometimes, they wouldn’t return.
“Rest in peace. Snezhevna and Snezhevich… my children.”
The Knave turned her back, leaving small figures, the graveyard and her resting children behind. As the rain continued to pour, she asked herself how many more times she would have to return.
It was, however, time to care for the living.
Her way back was equally as lonely. Most of the people had already gone to sleep, only the Gardameks were stomping around in the streets of the Court, cold streetlights illuminating the wet pavement.
Silent as a breeze she crossed rooftops and walls alike, no obstacle in her way too hard. Tiles clacked under her heel as she quietly dropped into the roof of Hotel Debord, her wing assisting her descent.
Arlecchino walked by the giant glass roof, past raindrops drumming onto it before mixing together. Hotel Bouffe d’ete was just in sight, when something else caught her attention.
Utterly ridiculous.
The moon alone was watching her when she found herself a slightly open window, dissolving into ashes just to reemerge on the other side. Arlecchino stepped out onto the carpet of the upper floor, completely dried up, and glanced down to the middle of the hotel lobby.
A silky black piano stood in the middle of the hotel lobby, one which certainly wasn’t here yesterday. It seems as if she had found Lyney’s source of inspiration.
The ghost of Debord hotel.
Normally, Arlecchino wouldn’t entertain the idea of chasing after a children’s tale, but that changed the instant she saw her.
Maybe Lyney did spin a bit of the truth into it, she thought, it wouldn’t hurt to know what the children were up to when she wasn’t there.
There, illuminated by the moonlight falling through the glass roof, sat a figure. Long, snow white hair fell from her shoulders, blue accents distinctly reminding Arlecchino of the sea. Her posture was sunken, and even though her elegant clothes seemed to fit perfectly, it was only when she got closer, pressing her back to one of the stone pillars, that she could see the day-old wrinkles and some dust covering them.
Expensive looking clothing. Nobility of some sort? A businesswoman? An actress?
The woman sat down with grace, frame fragile, as if it wasn’t only her body being tormented by life’s experience. She had a certain humbleness in her features, but the Knave was content with not seeing her face. Patience was her key to success; she would recognize this person again, if she wanted to.
In a slow motion the lady dusted off the few note sheets, before discarding them rashly, the paper slowly fluttering to the ground. The fallboard was opened with a clack, the noise echoed through the entirety of the hotel lobby. The woman flinched, eyes darting from side to side, but at this hour nobody would be disturbed. As if time had stopped, and it was only her and the instrument.
The harbinger kept on observing her silently.
With more determination in her movement, she brushed her blue skirt aside and took place on the seat, fingers gently swiping over the keys, not making a single sound. She shook her head silently before going rigid, fingers frozen, hovering over the black and white tiles.
Arlecchino could hear her exhale shakily.
Then, a note.
Another one.
And another one.
Uncertain, almost as if she didn’t know what she was playing. As if the tunes seemed to lend her some strength the melody picked off, creating a quiet but powerful song.
She didn’t know how, but it felt full of emotion, yet so lonely, the music filling every corner of the room, except her cold heart.
A story of longing, until it swelled down again, save for a quick solo.
As if her fingers have played this part a million times, they danced over the piano with a swiftness even veterans would envy. Not a single sound was out of place, and like a flower in the wind she was waving with the music.
The carefully built tranquillity shattered the moment the mysterious woman hit the next note. It was a key out of tune, and the harbinger allowed herself a look. The pianist’s shoulders were slumped forward, slightly shaking, as if she had just messed up the play of her lifetime.
The note was hit again, the false tone disturbing the blissful aura.
Again, and again she hit it, until she went limp, head sunken, as if she was a puppet whose strings have been cut. All that just to rise the next moment and fix her posture. A false premise lingered in the air.
In a room this big, everything seemed to be focussed on her, like an invisible audience, giving only the woman meaning.
She cleared her throat, before attempting to replay the passage, again pressing the keys carefully.
There was something about her, uncanny, that made her hesitant to already piece together a picture of who she was. She looked so young, but tired, a tiredness of the spirit, that didn’t come from the lack of sleep.
Definitely worth a ghost story.
The piano stayed quiet, and instead the woman in blue started humming, arms wrapped around herself, head thrown back, she looked straight up into the balemoon, cradling herself under its cold light.
Her mask cracked.
A lonely tear slipped from her eye, glistening like a star. She opened her mouth, almost as if she wanted to say, or sing something, but out came nothing but a long sigh. Abruptly she kicked herself back, the noise of the chair screeching back was louder than anything so far.
Arlecchino could see her clenching her hand, frustration present in her every feature, even though she tried not to let anything slip through. She slammed the fallboard down, and sprinted out of the hall, away from the spotlight nobody was watching. The only thing following her was the sound of her heels clacking against the stone floor, but that too faded away.
The Knave was alone.
Interesting. How very interesting.
Slowly leaving the shadow’s safety she knelt down and started collecting the scattered note sheets. For someone who didn’t want to be discovered she sure left a mess.
Careless.
Arlecchino couldn’t bring herself to feel pity for such a sorry act, and without sparing the piano a last look, she too disappeared into the darkness.
With a series of knocks she announced her return to the Hearth. It was way past midnight, most of the children should be asleep by now. Not one was there to open the door, so she let herself in, immediately spotting a curled up Lyney sleeping on one of the sofas.
One sign of weakness and you’ll get eaten alive. But not this time.
“You can come out now.” She said with as much authority as necessary to make him realize his mistake.
The sleeping prop dispersed into cards, and the real Lyney stepped out taking a slight bow, earlier glee completely wiped away.
“Welcome back Father.”
“Too stiff. Artificial. You’d have a knife on your throat before they even get to inspect your clone.”
Lyney’s head dropped.
“Yes Father.”
Hands behind her back she walked towards him, until she stood next to him.
“You can hide better than that.”
Arlecchino took another step before turning back.
“Say…that sure was an interesting story you told the children earlier. You wouldn’t happen to know more about its origin, would you?”
“Story?” he laughed nervously, seemingly no idea what she wanted from him.
She was all too familiar with deception, Lyney had no reason to lie.
“The fireplace? Debord Hotel?” a cold undertone slipped into her voice. She wouldn’t be made a fool of.
“We were just playing. Father, I don’t know what you are talking about…Please.” Fear was present in his every feature, tension visible.
“Oh? The cursed ghost? No?”
“Who?” his eyes widened, afraid of not being able to live up to the Knave’s expectations.
How peculiar.
She laid a clawed hand onto his shoulder, and Lyney flinched, not daring to move a muscle.
“Ah, forgive me. It’s been a long day. Do tell, did you spot anything during your show today? You have my undivided attention.”
The magician gulped.
“The Iudex gifted a piano to the hotel. Still, the people are losing trust, there are rumours that he is not even able to do anything to stop the floods. We could use this to our advantage…”
“Those decisions are mine to make.” Arlecchino said, “I expect a more detailed report tomorrow, rest now. You are dismissed.”
When she finally removed her hand from his shoulder, it almost felt as if a heavy burden was lifted from him.
Lyney mumbled a quick “Yes Father.” and hurried to his room, this time to get some real sleep.
Soon Arlecchino found herself in her office again, once more staring at Focalors’ folder. The fire had died down, only ashes remained.
Could it be?
She pinched her nose; more information would be required.
Maybe she should start investigating the drug smuggling.
Should she ask Childe to…? The thought was discarded as quickly as it came. Her partner was careless, incapable of handling anything that didn’t require excessive fighting.
It would be time to tug on some strings in her web of intelligence, scattered across Fontaine.
This was going to be a long night.