#vaile

Damn it all!

Vaile leapt between one rooftop and the next, landing roughly on his left shoulder as he rolled the landing. No time to focus on the slight sting, he had to push his body past its normal limits if he wanted to catch up. His portals weren’t enough for this mark–he was fast. No way did he want to lose this crafty bastard. 

The trail was heading toward the inner city, where there would be far too many hiding places and possible witnesses–even in the dead of night like now. This had to end before then.

Normally, his targets were none the wiser to his presence, never even seeing his face before their demise. He simply took a bag of gil from whoever wanted someone dead, didn’t ask too many questions, snuck up behind the victim when their guard was down, and a quick slice of the scythe was all it took. Cutting their heads clean off was a sure death; if he was quick enough, he could avoid the blood spray as they went down like the sack of flesh they were. He didn’t only do assassinations, but those tended to pay the highest, and he had a high success rate, so those were the jobs that came to him. It wasn’t a dream job, but he’d given up on dreams long ago. Vaile wasn’t keen on returning to a life of thievery and piracy, so he kept on like this. He’d sailed away from that group of rough and tumble men as soon as he was skilled enough to make a name for himself and live solo. Being a mercenary was dangerous, and it was hardly enjoyable, but he was good at it, and there were a lot of shitty people on this star–so what did it matter to him if he took some out on his own way out? 

Maybe if he was lucky, someone related to one of his many victims would go on a path of vengeance, put him out of his misery. He may even let them.

Twelve knows he’s too scared to do it himself. He felt a rumbling and tingling through his body, an itch in his hand where it gripped his scythe, and the reaper stone attached to his necklace burned hotly against his clavicle in an anger that was not his own. 

Right, right, of course that fucking voidsent he’d made a pact with at far too tender an age would be chagrined by those thoughts–it’d have to find a new, gullible, desperate idiot to make a deal with for its aether fix if Vaile’s body became unusable. If the voidsent wasn’t allowed to die, then don’t think you could get out so easily yourself, Vaile. You deserve to suffer for what you’ve done. Enough! There’s no time for these distracting thoughts, their quarry was steadily getting further and further away. Vaile pushed onward. Another portal jump here, another rooftop vault there, a shimmy down a drain pipe–almost there, almost, his weapon could reach if he got just a bit closer– He was so careful to keep his footsteps light despite the pace, but his target had no reason to keep quiet, and he took his chance to jump down into an alleyway to topple over a crate of empty bottles the first chance he got.  They were close to a tavern now, to the bars and the night markets. People certainly would have heard that, but the question became whether or not a bunch of drunks and tired workers would care. An alleycat could’ve easily made the same noise. 

Vaile surmised that the only reason this target wasn’t yelling his head off already in a bid for safety was that the physical exertion of retreat left him breathless. He saw the heavy clouds of precipitation around his mouth as he huffed and puffed into the chilled evening air. If Vaile were still being smart and cautious, he wouldn’t have chanced it, even with this small window of opportunity available to him. Vaile should have turned away. He should have hid, come up with a new strategy, and tried again another night. They were too close to making a scene at this point, just one curious passerby away from turning this messy. Collateral damage was the worst.  

But he didn’t want to track down this elezen again. He’d be on high alert for a far longer period of time than the client had given him, and he had no other jobs in the queue. If he did it now, then he could still run away and find shelter before morning. 

Vaile liked his chances, but damn was he bad at math. He never did get a formal education. He never claimed to be smart. As Vaile jumped down into the alley to block the elezen’s path, scythe raised up and poised to do its job, a side door leading into the alley slammed open next to him. His arms were already filled with potential energy, and gravity was all too happy to help. A little distraction wasn’t going to stop him from his job, not with a deadly weapon raised like this, and him with his face covered and outfit of all black making him look just as deadly as he was. An adventurer wouldn’t be behaving like this, and he looked nothing like a guard. He couldn’t play this off as anything less than criminal. So he didn’t try to.  Time to be the villain, do the crime. He started swinging, a motion as easy as breathing, and nearly as practiced. A beautiful arc of potential violence. His target, startled by the door, had paused like a frightened rabbit. Perfect. His scythe was right on target. Things hadn’t gone as well as intended, but he could deal with this interloper in a moment– Except he made a mistake. He let his vision wander. Just the tiniest bit, to make sure the person who’d stumbled upon him wasn’t about to stab him down while his flank was wide open. His pact partner was meant to keep him aware, but that wasn’t always reliable. His brain. His stupid, infuriating, piece of shit brain, fucked him over in that moment. His eyes widened in horror, face turning toward the man in the doorway instinctually, even as his arms continued to fall in slow motion. There were a few reasons for his shock. A few unfortunate details he honed in on and couldn’t let go of in time. 

It always came back to him at the most unexpected of times, didn’t it.  

From his peripheral vision, he saw a hyur like him standing in that doorway: slight of frame, short, with a pair of spectacles drooped down low on his nose (was he up late working again? Always toiling away these days, perpetually exhausted and pushing Vaile away more and more by the day. Was he getting sick of him?), and hair pale and soft as freshly fallen snow. He was backlit by flames, with more near his face as well. The fire crept closer, illuminating his eyes with a sickly yellow gleam, a reminder of what Vaile had done, what he was responsible for and too weak to stop. (You need to run! Get away from me! I can’t control myself, I can’t bear to be the one that hurts you!) Logically, Vaile knew it wasn’t him. He kept tabs on the man over the years, once in a blue moon–and he didn’t live anywhere near this city. A closer look would have easily revealed the taste in attire was wrong, the hair too wavy, his eyes the wrong shade of sky. Even after all these years, Vaile would have easily been able to pick out Axel in a sea of people within a few seconds. 

So he knew. This wasn’t him. 

And yet. 

It wasn’t Axel, but Vaile’s body was reacting as though it were. His knees were suddenly shaking, not wanting to disappoint the man yet again. Nervous at being caught. His traitorous damn brain decided to act up on him, now of all times. It screamed at him, transporting him back to that day when the best time of his life came to an end, when he fucked it all up irrevocably and irredeemably. The day he became a monster, and that he never really came back from. Standing here in this alleyway, ready to act as executioner for the juror with the highest bid, he imagined the real Axel standing there. What he would think.  

Axel would never forgive me, if he’d even recognize what I’ve become. I don’t even know how many lives I’ve ended. I don’t feel guilt or remorse like a good person would. Once a monster, always a monster, and nothing could possibly fix me anymore–Axel, once the light of his life, had nearly been snuffed out by his darkness, was nearly consumed by his flame. Axel, fighting for his life, pushing against him, trying valiantly and futilely to hold him at bay and knock some sense into him. Axel, bleeding out on the ground, breathing harshly, soot-stained and wild-eyed. Foolish. So foolish. So beautiful. The man who was too kindhearted and trusting for his own good. A person who made Vaile believe he was capable of love. He never should have taken Vaile in. If they’d never met, at least that would have been one less person Vaile had hurt. Vaile spiraled, repeating those memories again and again in what must have only been half a second, but dragged on for what felt like bells in his mind. Vaile’s claws digging into Axel, baring his fangs in a snarl. Singed clothing and cinders floating in the air as their home was destroyed. The feeling of believing he was dead by his own bloodstained hands. Checking for vital signs, getting him to safety, and leaving forever before he could wake up. Vaile was a coward then, and he’s a coward now. His heart hammered in his chest so hard he feared it’d burst right through and show the world his true ugliness; his lungs refused to expand, locked up as though in a vice. Time sped up again, blessedly, before he could pass out. His scythe connected with flesh, followed by a wet thud on the ground. Right. He’d been in the middle of an assassination. 

And this not-Axel man had just witnessed it all. 

What Vaile needed to do was get rid of the witness, grab the head of his victim and run, run, run. Collect his bounty. Keep on running. Hide. Try not to panic. Probably panic some more anyway. Sleep for a week. Take on more work, forget about this blunder, and do his job well–without getting distracted by any more silver-haired hyuran men.

Unfortunately, those plans were not meant to be. Vaile’s ears began ringing as screams pierced the winter night. Surprisingly and curiously, the hyur next to him was not the source. No, that man’s mouth was agape as he lifted a torch out into the alleyway to get a better look at the scene (Huh, so that was the source of the flame near his face. Silly me.) It seemed this assassination was more of an attempt than a job well done, as his target appeared to still be alive–if the wailing was any indication. Vaile was finally able to tear his gaze away from the hyur, drawn to the loud noise that was absolutely giving his position away to everyone within a one hundred yalm radius. 

This had gone about as sideways as it could, hadn’t it. It was almost funny. 

No, it was funny. Not just funny–it was hilarious! 

Laughter soon bubbled up and joined the screams. A real fun cacophony for these fine folks trying to sleep tonight. Already he could hear even more noise join the din: the clattering of armor approaching, which likely belonged to either guards or adventurers, neither of which boded well for him. His aim had been atrocious, focused as he had been by not-Axel. His arc must have veered to the left when he turned his gaze, because Instead of the elezen’s head on the ground, it was simply the man’s arm. If Vaile was lucky, the elezen may bleed out to death yet, and he could still collect the gil. Signs pointed to no, though, and Vaile was a pessimist these days, so he did not cling to hope for this job. Oh well.

Vaile picked up the arm without thinking, his laughter only growing at the ridiculousness of this situation. It was at that moment that not-Axel must have realized Vaile was truly out of his mind and an easy target right about now, because he shook off his shock and, in a fit of vigilante justice, made to charge for Vaile, to catch him so the guards could arrest him or put him down like a dog. Of course, that wouldn’t do for the voidsent bound to his soul, oh no. This was embarrassing to behold. It was time to intervene. Vaile was in no condition to defend himself, still unable to breathe through his laughing-panicking. The pendant around his neck started glowing, and a voice echoed in his head: 'That’s it! I’m taking over, you incompetent and pitiful excuse for a pact partner! Brace yourself, because this is going to hurt.' Darkness enveloped and erupted out of him, swallowing up the torchlight, moonlight, and streetlamps for a moment, before his form was set ablaze like a roaring ceruleum fire. Brightest pink and blue flames coalesced and licked down his form. His face, hidden by a mask, melted away to reveal the fanged maw of his voidesent partner, who had taken its temporary release from the World of Darkness to pilot this body to safety and grant it a blaze of power. The transformation normally didn’t hurt. It looked gruesome and terrifying, but it usually felt powerful, like the heat of the sun on a hot day, but without the burn. Vaile was still mostly in charge during those times, and he could control the balance of power by now, after years of practice. But his mind was so fractured right now from his minor breakdown, that the voidsent was nearly completely in control. It was quickly burning through their reserve of aether to make them impossibly fast and strong, to help them escape by any means necessary. Every one of his muscles strained and screamed in exertion. His lungs felt like they were going to explode. He certainly got hit with some blows and spells in his bid for freedom, but he had no choice but to keep going thanks to his pact partner’s takeover. Vaile was too weak to stay conscious through it all, fading in and out during their escape. He had no idea if there were any casualties from their escape, and he didn’t intend to find out. It felt like one moment he was leaping away from the scene of his crime, in unbelievable amounts of pain, and the next he was laying on the ground in the middle of the woods, staring up at the sky whose stars were fading into the coming dawn. The elezen’s arm was nowhere to be seen, and his pendant was cold to the touch, unresponsive to prodding or thoughts directed its way. The voidsent had eaten as much aether as possible to get them away from the city. Vaile had only been left enough to keep himself alive, or at least that’s what it felt like. 

He had one of the worst headaches of his life, his body could barely move for all the strain it’d been under, and he couldn’t tell if he was ravenous, thirsty, or desperately needed to be sick. He wished to sleep until the next umbral era.  He was completely hidden in this copse of trees. His pact partner was a bitch, but it was good at hiding and took an interest in keeping Vaile alive, so he knew he’d be safe here. He had enough fire crystals in his pack to keep himself from freezing to death if he slept now without making a fire. His brain and body were so exhausted from that clusterfuck of a job that he was blissfully able to avoid thinking too much about what had happened. About his own mental weakness, his past, or how he was going to get enough gil to keep himself housed and fed for the next few weeks thanks to that job going sour. That could be a problem for future Vaile. 

Cahsi had been wary of him, justifiably so, and downright terrified the first time they’d met. 

The thing about Vaile was, he tried so, so hard to be intimidating and off-putting, but he really only succeeded with people who hadn’t gotten to know him beyond a cursory, skin-deep glance.

It’s the getting there that was the hard part. 

Both of them were young and scrawny and full of so much rage and fear--a potent combination, the potential for inflicting so much hurt. She’d barely started adventuring at that point, had less control of her magic than him, his powers honed and refined from the pure desperation of survival. Hers obtained from books and boredom and a need to find purpose in life again. 

She’d been outmatched, back then. And still, the humble adventurer found herself escaping death’s jaws. Where there was a will (and luck, and the mothercrystal’s blessing were certainly boons), there was a way.

The first time they met wasn’t graced with so much a conversation as a heartbeat’s notice before a scythe lodged through her arcanist’s tome, which she’d used as a shield in a moment of stupid brilliance. She was still getting used to the tingle the echo brought, the sudden signals that warned her of danger, whether to  sidestep or take something head on. She hadn’t had time to dodge, but blocking, well. Throwing her weapon up in front of her face had worked. Sort of. 

Left without a weapon, her carbuncle fizzled out with a sad chirp, but it’d worked to disarm her attacker at the same time. The blade stuck (a magician’s tome was far sturdier than any normal book, and its aetheric balance getting disrupted in so rude a manner had caused it to lash out at the offending weapon), and as Cahsi gripped onto her former spellbook with a strength that came from adrenaline and twisted, her attacker was left with naught but his own surprise, hands grasping at the air. 

His expression had been unfeeling, cold, nearly bored when he first struck (which offended her, truly, especially as her mission had been to talk to the group she was sure this guy was from based on his attire, yet here he had been, taking a swing at her with no remorse. She’d been so sure of her demise for that one moment, not a word to be shared between two strangers, just a quick stab and run).

But when she’d taken his scythe in her own hands, the book still stuck on the end, his face instead morphed into fury with a flash of something else. Not scared of what she might do, no. Something worse, unexpected. Something like relief. Like something bad and possibly irreversible might happen to him, and he would welcome that outcome.

She took pity on him, in the way she knew how. Channeling the tome’s frenetic aether toward that which pierced it, through and out, she guided it into the scythe, destroying both it and the book in the process. Nothing but sparks and cinders and smoke. It would have looked heroic and impressive if it hadn’t burnt the hell out of her hands in the process, the yell she let out as much from pain as it was intended to scare him into backing off. Her gloves covered the damage well enough, anyway, and she had the gift of accelerated healing. She’d be fine soon enough. At least nobody would be returning to the lifestream today, not if she could do anything about it. 

It was terrifying, mostly because she recognized that look from her own reflection in the mirror not that long ago. Maybe still, at times. After the Calamity had taken her family, and Theia most of all, Cahsi had. Well she had not turned to unsavory deeds, but she could easily imagine a universe in which she had. It was a blur, those first few years, could barely call it living. She’d turned to skin and bones and studied her tail off to become an arcanist because at least it was something to fill her time. Theia would have found carbuncles cute. It kept her mind from deteriorating. And since adventuring, it had started to get better. She was still cold, still distant, wouldn’t wish to admit it out loud, but she had come further along a path that felt right compared to this assailant in front of her.

Not that she knew it, couldn’t have at the time, but Cahsi had crossed paths with this redheaded man during his darkest time. Just a young midlander with a patchy beard, freshly healed scars, and eyebags covered up with smudged eyeliner. Back when he’d found himself running around with a gang of thieves who just couldn’t give up on the days of piracy, no matter what Merlwyb decreed. He’d shed the blood of innocents and he likely would again. He was lost, found, and then lost again. 

She leveled him with a glare that gave the impression she wouldn’t give him what he wanted, not today. He was going to live, by her grace. He was going to see that not everyone retaliated violence with more violence.

Despite the urge to hurt her that she’d seen in his gray and gold eyes, he’d given up quickly enough. She got the feeling he’d attacked her as an instinctive lashing out, to protect himself, but that he didn’t truly wish to hurt her.

She’d let him go with a hastily, sub-par crafted scythe (there was only so much she could do when her main skills were with goldsmithing, after all). He hadn’t thanked her, but he hadn’t tried to attack her again either, and his frown had been less angry and more tired, neutral, so she’d counted it as a win. 

She still didn’t trust him, would be a fool to trust a would-be murderer so quickly and wouldn’t for many meetings to come, and he obviously felt the same, but there was something there. That tiny seed of kinship she could feel trying to grow and nurture itself. There was a man who was broken and angry like her. Maybe, just maybe, they could figure out how to be less angry and broken with one another’s help, instead of drowning in it. And maybe she didn’t want to do that, comfortable in her sorrow. She was still deciding. It was easier to keep people away, hurt too much to get to know someone. Who knows what this stranger wanted, anyway. They'd likely never meet again.

They’d talked. Purely business. She’d been sent on a mission, after all. He’d snarled and he’d threatened and he raised fists a few times (they tussled, briefly, but her stamina and recovery was better, and she outlasted him until he was a panting, tired mess pinned down by her sharp knees in the dirt, and he’d finally relented to being civil about things, glares ineffective against her.) He was more bark than bite, even in that first meeting. Once he was without weapon, the murder attempts stopped completely, no matter how angry he looked or sounded!

She’d gotten the information she needed about the group of pirates he belonged to, he’d convinced her she owed him for destroying his scythe (which, again! He tried to kill her with! But his gang of bad-doers were going to try to kill him for giving up their intel, for failing them, and how was he supposed to defend himself without a weapon, his death would be on her hands--).

She refused to think of him as interesting. Infuriating,  yes. Too much like her, too close to home, maybe. She hoped he’d turn away from the life he’d gotten mixed up in, hoped that when she reported back to the yellowjackets that they would take care of that gang and that redhead would somehow escape, reform, or at least live. 

That wouldn’t be the last time they met, but it would be their most hostile encounter. One day, Cahsi would be used to someone trying to kill her on their first meeting, and she would learn to roll with it. A regular occurrence for the Warrior of Light. It was something new and exciting at that point in her journey, though, and not something she could forget (and therefore would needle and tease the man relentlessly about it, eventually). One day, she would learn that his name was Vaile, and that hers was Cahsi. One day, they would consider one another comrades, as unbelievable as that would have seemed that first meeting.

And one day, one day, years and years after hardship and pain, it would happen. It would.

After that first meeting, he was simply ‘the angry redhead with the scythe that tried to kill me’, a pirate who didn’t seem to belong in that role. He was someone she hoped found a purpose, a way to help people more than hurt them, somewhere to fit in and belong and feel cared about enough to want to care for himself.