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A few weeks after Endfield Industries' first collaboration with Seš'qa, another message arrives aboard the Dijiang.
Seš'qa's Head of Command formally requests an extension of the partnership. Camille Arno will join Endfield Industries as a temporary operator while continuing his personal investigation into the disappearance of his blood relative. In return, Endfield will grant him unrestricted access to expedition data, Precursor ruins, and records recovered throughout Talos-II—any clue, no matter how insignificant, that might point toward the people he has spent years pursuing.
The Endministrator accepts without hesitation.
He remembers Camille well.
Their first cooperation had been brief, but unexpectedly comfortable. Camille never wasted words, yet conversations with him never felt strained. There was a quiet understanding between them, one forged through formed trust rather than familiarity. The Endministrator also recognized something of himself in the Sarkaz Keeper: someone who had learned that trust could become a liability, and who chose caution over companionship.
When Camille boards the Dijiang very little appears to have changed.
He still keeps to himself.
He still expertly seems to avoid other operators and workers.
He still answers questions with calm, measured honesty that somehow reveals almost nothing.
Yet this time, he slowly opens up a little to the Endministrator, all by himself.
Life aboard the Dijiang settles into a steady rhythm. Camille accompanies the Endministrator on expeditions across Talos-II, lending his Originium Arts whenever ancient Sarkaz witchcraft or fitting situations arise. His expertise proves invaluable to the team, his detective skills a valuable asset to reckon missions and scouting related requests.
In the midst of everything, the Endministrator seems to be paying close attention to the Vampire.
Despite overseeing an entire spacecraft orbiting above Talos-II, he somehow remembers the smallest things. Which operators prefer night patrols. Who skips breakfast before early deployments. Which mechanics are overdue for rest. Camille notices these details without meaning to. The Endministrator never draws attention to them—they're simply part of how he leads.
Especially after his reawakening, it seemed like the man had made it his personal goal to get reacquainted with every soul on the Dijiang as much as possible.
Camille, in turn, becomes another quiet fixture aboard the Dijiang.
He spends idle hours in the archives reading expedition records and Sarkaz texts.
He joins maintenance crews when blood Originium Arts might help stabilize damaged relics, despite insisting it is "merely the efficient course of action."
He rarely seeks company, but somehow ends up in the Endministrator’s office more often than not, even when the man in question wasn’t even aboard the spaceship.
Camille had his own quarters, of course, as did every operator, and yet they suddenly started to feel just a tang too lonely. A strange development, considering he preferred solitude and quiet for most of his life so far.
The Endministrator’s office was usually quiet. Occasionally, Perlica or Fiona would enter with another stack of reports, each one somehow taller than the last, earning an exasperated sigh from the man behind the desk, yet he accepted them anyway. Sometimes, a field operator would stop by to discuss an upcoming deployment, or an engineer would bring in fragments of a new product Endfield Industries was working on that required the Endministrator’s attention.
Otherwise, it remained peaceful, quiet.
Camille found himself occupying one of the benches more often than not.
After a week, the Endministrator had requested for a small lounge to be built in place of one of the seating areas, instead.
Now Camille was lounging on one of the recliners more often than not.
He rarely spoke unless spoken to. Most days, he simply read - the Dijiang had a vast collection of information on most things regarding Terra, which included books on Sarkaz witchcraft that even Seš'qa hadn’t acquired or seen yet. Every now and then, he would quietly annotate one of Endfield’s research papers before leaving it on the Endministrator’s desk with neat notes written in cursive handwriting.
He never announced his arrival.
The Endministrator never questioned it.
Sometimes, Camille would arrive to find the office empty, its owner planetside on an inspection or leading an expedition. So he would simply settle onto the lounge, reading in silence, until someone inevitably poked their head through the door.
“... Operator Camille?” Perlica’s voice pulled him out of his focus, the woman in question standing in the doorway. It was rare for her to not accompany the Endministrator. “... the Endministrator is still in Wuling.” she added.
“I know.” he simply said, looking up from the booklet he had been holding in one hand, his legs crossed.
“... you’re waiting, then?” she inquired once more, his presence clearly puzzling to him. It made sense then, he thought. She was usually accompanying the leader of Endfield Industries, so she wouldn’t have seen him in his office by himself before.
“I am reading.” he voiced, lifting the book in his hand slightly. He knew she wanted to ask questions. He also knew she was too polite to do so.
She seemed to think for a moment, trying to form the best question without perhaps accidentally offending him. “Reading alone in the Endmin’s office…?” she seemed to settle on at last.
Camille blinked at her, then slowly nodded his head. “It’s quiet here.” he pointed out the obvious, as if it would explain the odd circumstances.
Perlica stared for another moment, before smiling to herself, clearly reading between the lines of his answer. “I suppose it is.”
She left after.
By the third week, no one questioned his presence in the office anymore. It was like he had simply become a part of it.
The logistics staff grew accustomed to seeing the Sarkaz crossing the command deck, carrying a stack of books beneath one arm, his free hand holding a tray with tea. Two cups. Fiona occasionally dropped off snacks without asking whether he wanted any or not, but there was an increase in portions ever since and a knowing glint in her eyes. Even the cleaning crew politely apologised before dusting around the lounge where he usually sat.
It happened so gradually that Camille scarcely noticed the changes.
The Endministrator did.
“You’ve claimed my office.”, the Endministrator’s voice rang out, an amused lilt to it.
It made Camille look up from the report on his lap, eyes focusing on the man behind the desk. “I have not.”, he stated with a furrowed brow.
“No? You continue to use it, even when I’m not present on the Dijiang, as I’ve been informed.”, the Endministrator pointed out now, not even bothering to hide his smile.
There was a pause in Camille’s breathing, he blinked, as if he had suddenly became aware of his surroundings. “I merely occupy the empty space.” he weakly defended himself, voice quiet.
It made the Endmin laugh quietly. “I’ll consider myself fortunate you’re willing to share, then. The company is appreciated.” he said, watching as Camille opened his mouth, then closed it again, before seemingly giving up on words altogether and focusing back on the papers he had been reading. The paperwork on the Endmin’s desk seemed a little less menacingly after.
It seemed to settle into routine more than it had before, afterwards. Occasionally, one of them would strike up conversation - Camille only doing so after the Endmin had assured him at least four times that it was acceptable for him to do so and, no, he did not bother him.
One evening, after returning from a reconnaissance mission, Camille found the office dark. Empty.
The Endministrator had been called to an emergency meeting on the bridge, as per Perlica’s request. He had informed Camille beforehand, when the Sarkaz was mid-mission.
Camille stood in the doorway longer than necessary.
The room was exactly as he had left it that morning. The same unfinished reports he had seen the Endministrator skim over still sat atop his desk. The same half-empty teacup with a drink long gone cold sat next to it.
He stepped inside out of habit. Sat down. Opened the book he’d borrowed from the archive. Read the same paragraph four times.
It was too quiet.
“You know,” Fiona remarked a few days later while sorting supply manifests, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone accidentally acquire a second home in someone’s office.”
Camille looked up. “I beg your pardon?”, he asked as if he hadn’t heard her right.
“The commander’s office.”, she pointed out, her eyes still on the manifests.
“... it is simply convenient.”
“Mhm.”
“The lighting is suitable for reading.”
“Of course. The lighting.”
“It is located practically.”
“Naturally.”
“... the tea is acceptable.”
Fiona couldn’t help but grin as she finally faced the man sitting defensively on the lounge.
“Really? The tea? Which you can make anywhere at any given point?”, she asked, clearly amused.
Camille stopped. For perhaps the first time in half a century, he found himself with no counter argument.
“... right.”, he huffed out with a tone that sounded a lot like defeat and acceptance.
Fiona went back to the manifests after, humming to herself a little too cheerfully and self-satisfied for Camille’s liking. But as long as she didn’t press the matter, it was an acceptable defeat he had to admit. To her, and to himself.
The Endministrator had noticed it first. He always did.
Not the fact that Camille had taken to spending his entire spare hours in the office - that had become so much part of the routine that even Perlica had stopped mentioning it at some point - but the little traces the Sarkaz seemed to slowly leave behind.
Books that had somehow migrated from the archive, now sat permanently atop one of the coffee tables in the lounge.
A fountain pen that certainly hadn’t belonged to the Endministrator sat next to them.
An extra teacup had become a permanent addition to the office, as well.
At some point, the space had truly became shared between the two men. He couldn’t remember giving Camille permission to seemingly permanently settle into his office - as much as a temporary Operator could, anyway - nor could he remember feeling the need to.
One afternoon, after returning from yet another lengthy test-simulation and conference at the institute of material science in Wuling, the Endministrator pushed the office door open with every intention of collapsing into his chair for at least five minutes, before tackling the mountain of reports he already knew were sitting atop his desk.
Instead, he stopped in the doorway.
Camille had fallen asleep.
It must have happened while he was reading.
The Sarkaz sat curled slightly into the lounge, a rather heavy looking book resting open across his lap. One gloved hand still loosely held the corner of the page, as if he had intended to turn it and simply… never did so.
The office light was dimmed - enough to be bright enough for reading, but low enough for a comfortable ambience. The soft light from the natural diorama behind his desk added onto the cozy atmosphere, the soft dripping sound of the little waterfall running down the rocks in rivulets the only audible sound in the space.
Without the perpetual alertness in his expression, Camille looked… younger.
The Endmin slowly stepping closer, careful to be quiet.
Camille didn’t look carefree, not even in his sleep. Just… less burdened, guarded.
As if sensing him, Camille’s eyes opened, instantly finding the Endmin’s own.
Neither wanted to break the silence first.
“I apologize,” Camille was the one who finally spoke up, closing the book in his lap properly now.
“No need for that, you just fell asleep.”, the Endministrator waved him off.
“I did not intend to, especially not in your office.”, the Sarkaz argued, as if he had somehow offended the other man.
“That is how sleep works, most of the time. It’s not a big deal at all, Camille.” A soft laugh left the Endministrator’s lips.
The next morning, Camille arrived as usual.
Only this time, there was a folded blanket draped neatly over the back of the lounge where he always sat. It was red.
He stopped. Looked at it. Then he looked at the Endministrator, who sat at his desk as he always did.
“... What is this?”, he asked. He knew what it was. Could guess why it was there.
“A blanket. In case you fall asleep again. I don’t want you to get cold in my office.”, the Endmin explained. It had made sense, if Camille wasn’t a vampire - a naturally cold-blooded race, especially as a Sarkaz.
He could point out the obvious flaw in the man’s logic, something Camille knew he was aware of. And yet, he knew a kind gesture when it was extended to him. “Thank you.”, he simply said instead.
For some reason, the answer seemed to surprise the man at the desk. He smiled without looking up from the report in front of him, but the brief pause in his hand gave him away. “You’re welcome.”
By now, the crew had developed an unspoken understanding.
If Camille wasn’t in the archives or out on missions… he was probably in the Endmin’s office.
If the Endministrator couldn’t be found on the bridge or was deployed on Talos-II… there was a good chance that he had retreated to his office as well.
Perlica didn’t bother announcing herself for once, hands full with reports, mind occupied by something she had to remember to tell the Endministrator. She simply walked inside the office.
“I’ve brought-”, she paused abruptly.
The Endministrator sat at his desk, reviewing deployment schedules. Which was nothing out of the ordinary.
The strange thing, however, was Camille. Sitting beside him in another chair, translating what she assumed were old Sarkaz manuscripts, while occasionally comparing it with Endfield’s expedition records, noting down something on papers that looked a lot like the ones they used for submitting official records for the archives.
Neither looked up. Neither spoke.
The only sounds were the turning of pages and the quiet scratching of pens across paper, along with the tapping of Endmin's fingers on his keyboard.
“... am I interrupting?”, she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No.”, both men answered at the exact same time.
Camille’s pen stopped over the paper.
The Endministrator cleared his throat.
“Alright, then.”, Perlica chuckled, stepping in close to put the documents she had been carrying onto the desk. She looked at the two of them, then. “You know,” she started, “it’s remarkably peaceful in here these days.”.
“It usually is.”, the Endministrator responded, glancing at the stack of papers with clear disdain, as if they had personally offended him.
“It is a lot quieter here than on the bridge.” Camille pointed out.
“I wasn’t talking about the silence.” Perlica laughed now, clearly amused by their antics - and their oblivious cluelessness.
“... no?” Camille mumbled out, uncharacteristically quiet.
“No.”
As she left, she couldn’t help but smile to herself. She had never been one for gossip, especially not regarding the Endmin’s… personal affairs. But Fiona would definitely be interested in the strange encounter she had just walked into.
Inside the Endministrator’s office, a second presence had slowly made a home there, formed out of trust and accompanied silence.