#leonra

Granted, at first, you thought it was Bruuno. The stranger had his back to you, a long mess of curls cascading down his back, black coat hanging off broad shoulders, tall thick stature. He gazed out the glass wall, into the vast deep where your lusus swam, somewhere. Upon closer inspection, of course, you were horrifically incorrect. You knew your twin well. He didn’t have a tail. 

The stranger turned towards you as he realized your arrival. His fins pricked up and a warm smile decorated his face. Startled, you tossed your cane up to grip it defensively, hobbling a few steps out of the elevator. You fully intended on closing the gap between you two. But his face looked so similar to Bruuno’s, to Deepbite’s, that it stopped you dead in your tracks. Your blood ran cold for a split second. 

“Leonra, yes? Hello, hello,” He made no effort to get any closer. If the stranger was thrown off, he didn’t let it show in the slightest, “You may know my title. However, you can call me Atllas. It’s lovely to finally meet you.” He folds his hands behind his back, but the tail, eerily shark-like, sways low to the ground. 

“Why are you in my hive?” Your voice is monotone as ever, ringing out against the stone walls. You’ve already deduced who he may be- at the very least a Monark of some sort. You regret only having your foldable cane to defend your property. Your sword cane was with Iji. 

“I’m here to speak with you, of course.” The larger troll’s expression softens into something of concern. It does little to unsteel your heart. You take a step closer, priming the cane to swing, should he try anything funny. 

“I don’t like talking. Leave.” A nod towards the elevator you just left from. “Or I jumpstart your retirement.” 

His fin twitched, the same way Bruuno’s does when he’s caught off guard. Good. In an act of desperation, maybe, the older troll holds his hands up in surrender, “I won’t be long, I assure you. Five minutes is all I ask of you.” 

“I spent my five minutes of Fleet service. Unless you come bearing the news of some untimely deaths, I suggest you leave before I cause your’s.” It took some real guts to threaten a Fleet troll not just once, just twice. You’d just settled back on Alternia, finally getting over the nightmares of being back on that forsaken ship again. There was little you wouldn’t do to keep yourself here. You were a fugitive once. You’d be a fugitive again, if need be. 

The other shakes his head, sighing, “I could never bring myself to do such a thing. I’m not here to talk you into re-enlisting.” 

“Then you can leave.” 

And then, he laughs. The ancestor before you laughs at your blunt nature, finding himself endeared, charmed, and perhaps a little frustrated. Somehow, his laughter sparks something in your own chest. You were never much of a laugher, yet his laughter gets you to chuckle. Your shoulders relax ever so slightly. Your guard was forced down just enough…

…to not notice your lusus swimming closer to the glass wall. His giant fin, larger than the wall itself, slams directly into the glass. Reinforced Fleet-Grade Space Travel Glass, strong enough to withstand your lusus’ banging. You nearly jump from your skin, gripping the cane tighter and closer to your frame. Why didn’t he warn you? He always warned you! The bang is as loud and clear as the message, ringing in your ears. You blink the overwhelming panic from your eyes. The ancestor hadn’t moved in the slightest. 

“I believe you heard MegaDad well enough. Shall we?” Her Beloved Annihilation smiles at you, tail swishing low to the ground. He hadn’t moved an inch. Either unaffected by the scare, or too quick to recover for you to notice. 

You lower your cane back to the ground, forcing your shoulders to relax. You square your jaw. Your heart was still racing, but you are Leonra Monark. And you recover fast. Maybe not as fast at the old bastard in front of you, but you’d be damned before you ever let him witness a moment of weakness. 

Your dining area was nothing more than a slightly wider open space in a different portion of the cave you called a hive. The dining table, however, was not as pristine as it probably should have been for a guest. You had blueprints, works in progress, things to work on, riddled with notes from yourself and your colleagues. You had just gotten feedback on the plausibility of a psionic-powered set of prosthetic legs from none other than Dr. Hanagi Cheong. This was your current assignment, and one you were enjoying thoroughly. Because of such, everything was just…scattered about, no rhyme or reason. As you went to retrieve a glass of water for the old fuck, he found his way to the dining table. You returned to him rather excitedly looking at your designs. 

“This is all your work?” He asks as you approach. You hand the glass to him silently. This was a silly attempt to relate to you, to get you to open up to him. An emotional bid of interest.  

“Not all of it. Prosthetics are just as much medical as they are technical. I am not a doctor, just a man who can do math.” 

“Fascinating!” For a moment, you actually felt…happy, under his proud gaze. You shove that down. “I’ve met many Monarks in my time, as you can imagine. I’ve just about seen it all…but never mathematics. I’ve noticed most gravitate towards the arts, music specifically…you’re a rare one, indeed.” 

Your brow furrows in the slightest, “They’re the same thing.” You knew you were falling into the trap of his emotional bid. Fuck, but he struck just the right chord to get you talking. 

“‘Doing math’ is the simplistic way of saying I solve problems. I’ve chosen to solve these problems,” You wave a hand over your designs nonchalantly, “The problem being a reprehensible lack of reliable prosthetics. Because of such, I created a solution for the problem. I make reliable prosthetics. I am more than an engineer. I work alongside doctors, alongside therapists. We identify problems, and I create solutions. My prosthetics do not come from nothing. I draw each piece, I work out the size of each little screw, nut, and bolt. Every battery is categorized, each chip tagged and tested for quality assurance. Not many mainstreamed prosthetics built on a line can say such a thing. I identified a problem, and I created the solution.

“My brother, he has his own problems to solve. He saw a lack of himself in the world, so he created the solution. He put himself in the world, by creating music. Archai identified a problem in the arts, in handling artwork, in tracking and preserving historically significant artwork. He created the solution. They found problems, and solved them. The arts, my sciences, they’re the same thing. I’ve dedicated my life to finding my own problems and solving them. The world is full of them. I am starting here. Perhaps one day, I’ll move away from mathematics and prosthetic design. But for now, these are the problems I solve. Much more complex than just..doing math.” As you stop, you finally notice the ancestor of your ancestor had been watching you speak the entire time. He was genuinely interested, holding stars of wonder in his eyes. 

“Incredible, Leonra. Words…cannot even begin to describe how I feel.” 

You tilt your head slightly, face ever unchanging. 

“You…were given the worst start possible. Had I known of Deepbite’s antics sooner, I would’ve stopped him. I deeply regretted my inaction for sweeps, loathing the fact that I had let you slide under the radar. Truthfully, I had….put off this meeting for so long, I was convinced you would be a mess.” 

Should you be offended that he thought so little of you? 

“Any lesser troll truly would’ve been!” He explained, fins folding down in the same way your brother’s do, “And then I heard you returned to his ship. You went back there, all on your own! I….I can’t even fathom it. Braver than I ever could be. You’ve built such a successful life for yourself despite it all. You’ve done more than just survive, you’ve thrived. It’s…wonderful. I couldn’t be more proud.” 

You stare at the space between his eyes. As he speaks, it’s easy to confuse his face for Imperial Deepbite’s. In a strange, sad way, you allowed this mental picture to form. Saying the things he would never actually say. 

“Tell me, Leo, how did you do it?” The illusion crumbles. Your ancestor is not the one speaking to you. It is simply just Atllas. 

What a funny way to refer to such a grand man. Just Atllas. As if he was a friend, not the ancestor of your own. Such verbiage made it easy to open up to him. 

“I wasn’t alone. It takes a cloister to raise a grub, it took a squadron or three to raise a child. It would be insulting to not credit my success to Obsidian, to Romune and Archai, and everyone else on that ship. Give credit where credit is due.” 

“They didn’t create all of this, did they?” His scarred hand waves over your work, just as you once did. “They got you to this point, certainly. But give credit where credit is due, my love. This is your own work. This is proof alone that you are something incredible.” 

You were silent. Your eyes return to the designs on the table. This was an…unusual feeling. 

“They tossed you the life preserver. It was you who made it to shore. You who saw the world as a series of problems to be solved, and got to work solving them. It’s…easy to think of yourself as a machine, especially in the throws of the Fleet. But, Leonra, can’t you see? You’re so much more. More than you give yourself credit for, more than life ever wanted you to be. That’s amazing. I’m so incredibly proud of you.” Atllas’ voice is firm, but kind. It wasn’t the harsh gravel of Deepbite’s remarks. Atllas was speaking from true admiration. 

“....I suppose so.” You nod slightly. Your eyes trace over the curvature of your blueprint’s lines. The calf was slightly too wide, perhaps by just a hair. Your attention was pulled away from your comfort by Atllas’ hand being held out to you. You eye his hand curiously. Rough, scarred, calloused. 

“That being said, my dear,” Smoke and honey voice washing over you once more, “I would love to know more about them. Obsidian, was it? What an interesting name!” 

Slowly, cautiously, you take his hand. Oh, how small he made you feel. 

“He picked it himself.” You finally meet his eyes again. 

“Is that so?” HIs head tilts, coaxing you to say more.