Conviction

Aquila welcomes Raum and Reyl back to the office and motions them both to sit. For how simple a gesture it is, the gratitude it inspires in Raum is immense. It means Reyl can’t just say bye and march them both out the door. Does Aquila realise how that works, or is Raum overthinking? No, surely, he realises…

As Aquila leads up to the main topic, Raum abruptly realises that, for the first time in his life, he actively wishes for Reyl to not exist. Half of him recoils in horror at the thought; and a cascade of consequent realisations crash upon the rest of him.

He wants to accept Aquila’s offer. Obviously.

Yes he knows that’s stupid. Okay. He knows. Yes it’s a scheme. Duh. Yes. But for god’s sake.

Just let him try something different.

Just let him have hope, even a bit of it, that there are better things out there than Ordanz.

Oh god please keep talking, and say something so smart and persuasive Reyl would look stupid getting mad at me for saying yes… he thinks at Aquila. Please want me enough for whatever your scheme is that you’ll fight Reyl for me, please, please.

Cold disgust flips in his stomach. Raum’s pride, battered by countless debasements, is already near microscopic. All the same, he can assuredly say that ever hearing his mind conjure those two thoughts is the most repulsive thing he has ever experienced.

Aquila’s speech doesn’t conveniently protract itself. He asks them what their decision is.

Reyl and Raum’s voices overlap. “We’re going." “—I wanna stay."

It’s hard to tell whether Aquila finds their discord funny or concerning. The abrupt tenseness of Reyl’s muscles betrays a fury that she impressively keeps off her face. With a hot surge of sadness and fear, Raum edges on crying, again, but fear overwhelms his usual exasperation for that fact. He opts to keep his back straight, shoulders square, and ignore it even as his face grows redder.

Aquila can accommodate either of them going either way, but he must emphasise, if they split up now, there would be no grand allowances that would keep them in good contact later. He must ask again whether they’re certain of their choices. …And especially, hear that confirmation spoken not with distress, but calm.

Reyl relaxes somewhat and confirms she is going. Raum exhaustedly battles his tears, gasping wispily as he wipes them off his face, trying to compose himself before the sheer embarrassment kills him. Reyl rubs his knee and squeezes his hand under the table in a way he knows is meant to be comforting. His stomach churns.

Aquila, hearing Reyl’s confirmation, retrieves a pen and paper and begins writing a contract for her to sign. He chats casually as he does, and Raum finds himself again grateful that Aquila didn’t offer him to cry himself out in private. The even scritching rhythm of the pen, and the complete lack of judgement — rather, the note of understanding — in his tone soothe him far better than bawling and second-guessing himself alone would.

Well he’s already cried, on the bridge, to the point of near pissing himself in front of Aquila. It’s far too late to worry about dignity.

Aquila passes the finished contract to Reyl. She takes the pen, begins to sign.

Stricken with a sense of urgency, Raum sets his palm on Reyl’s hand, stopping it. The pen freezes halfway through her signature.

“I’m not going," he says, looking to Aquila for approval. Though he might be imagining it, he swears Aquila’s smile quirks with a hint of satisfaction.

The rush of elation that accordingly fills Raum’s chest, though, is not imaginary. He looks to Reyl, and repeats, “I’m not going."

Seeing her straight-on like this, he catches the flash confusion and hurt that bolts through her good eye. Though it’s only momentary, the fact no guilt assaults him, and that his hand upon hers holds steady, astounds him.

It’s when he removes his hand from hers that his throat begins to lock up. But it’s done, and as long as he doesn’t look at her face, he can maintain his composure.

Reyl lets the pen fall to the paper, spreading her palms open in a flippant gesture. Alright, guess we’re doing this, her manner seems to say, as she addresses Aquila almost humorously: “Well, that ain’t tenable."

She’ll have to work with me now, Raum thinks. When—clack.

The sound of beautiful piano music flows up from beside him. Raum double-takes — Reyl is holding the recording, having stolen it from his pocket. He freezes, for just a second, as his mind tries to process this sight. You’re really that desperate? You’re really that driven to stop me from this? This is really, the best option you can see? An immense wave of pity and sadness swells inside him, then ebbs just as quickly, driven out by the deadly urgency of what’s happening.

Raum lunges forward and he does catch her wrist. They tumble to the ground with a clattering of chairs, wrestling for the recording — it’s tough, Reyl’s strong — when there comes a silver flash, a knife, pain sears across his arm. Fuck! He thinks, as he tries not to reel. It’s not that she’s never beaten him before, but those were always deterrents, punishments, things where Raum accepted he was wrong from the outset. This time, they both want to win for what they think is right, and she’ll happily draw actual weapons to that aim.

Redoubling, Raum pins Reyl down. Sweat streaks down his back and arms, mingling with blood that drips down upon her. She also sweats, and pants, grinning up at him with a look of triumphance.

The room is silent but for their heartbeats and breathing.

Preoccupied with the knife, Raum had forgotten about the recording. The sweat dribbling down his back freezes into knives. Had they struggled long enough for the recording to play out? Slowly, he rears up to peek over the table, braced to see a corpse.

Aquila stands there, quite alive. His expression is serious, in the same way as when he faced Toreas, as he holds his gauntleted hand aloft. Raum follows his gaze back to the recording in Reyl’s hand. The cyan liquid has hardened into a grey, concrete-like mass — rendering it nonfunctional.

Reyl’s eyes widen as she realises her impromptu assassination has failed. Furious, she throws the changed recording at Aquila’s head (it passes straight through), slams a chair against a wall, retrieves one of the chair-legs that breaks off from the impact, and turns towards Raum as if about to beat him with it. The rage is barely controlled and absolutely mindless. Pointless. All this can end in is Aquila signalling guards from downstairs to come up and apprehend her.

Raum raises his hands placatingly and urges her to cool down. The chair leg goes whizzing past his head and crashes into the wall behind him. Raum admires her self-control.

Raking her fingers through her hair, Reyl contorts like a rag and howls: FUCK!!! A stream of subsequent curses and murder threats follow, energetic and forceful, but impulsive and impotent. Whether she even knows what she’s saying is unclear, complete with slamming doors, overturned bookcases, repeated plungings of a knife into a table.

It’s just her temper. Once she vents it out, she’ll be back to normal. But Aquila’s right here. Even if she’s managed to redirect her fury onto every inanimate object in the room, why wouldn’t he arrest her, at this point.

…well, shouldn’t she be arrested, though? Raum wonders. But that’s his brain talking. As established, it’s not stronger than his heart.

Aquila, focused but unreadable, notes that the downstairs must hear the racket Reyl’s making. Explaining the chaos in this room in an acceptable way, even for him, is not very feasible. He urges Raum to act now to move her away or defuse her, since if onlookers come and witness this situation, Aquila will be cornered into arresting Reyl. Truthfully, if he weren’t deferring to Raum on the treatment of his sister, that would be the track he’d be taking already.

Comprehending, Raum nods and hastily ties a tourniquet around his wounded arm. He delicately yanks Reyl, who is presently a spitting whirlwind of kicks and punches, away from a brutalised cabinet and guides her into the hall, down the stairs, past the guards, through a sidedoor, and into an alley for one final round of negotiations.

Blood from Reyl’s reopened wounds drools down her body. She pants, and seethes, but after one last strike against the alley’s brick walls, has seemingly calmed enough to at least stay still.

Raum asks if she’s alright. Reyl doesn’t reply. Disconcerting.

Unsure what else to do, Raum jokes about how shocked the guards must’ve been to see them pass by. She still doesn’t reply.

Raum falls silent. Why did he even bring her out here?

So that she wouldn’t get in trouble, firstly. But then, somewhere between the office and this alley, his imagination had conjured an image. Now that Raum had established he wasn’t budging, perhaps Reyl would accept a compromise. Even if it was one that involved her returning to Ordanz, perhaps for years or even decades, that would still be fine. They could situate themselves upon their paths, and with the benefits of age and experience, reunite and reconcile later. It would be hard, but it’d be a struggle they’d share. And if Raum had truly chosen wrong, he would return to her easily.

Only now, as the uncomfortable silence stretches on, does doubt seep into this fantasy.

“Jay...?" he tests.

Reyl snaps. “You shit-brained, flower-faced, suicidal retard. Do you understand a single fucking thing that you’re doing?"

Raum’s throat locks. As Reyl’s abuses continue in a fluent, unremitting stream, Raum resists the urge to curl up and submit to her censure. But what else can he even do? Tell her off? She won’t listen. Apologise? He was sorry this hurt her. But that didn’t change it was in his interest to do it, and that he would still return to Aquila.

It’s becoming hard to tell whose fault this argument is.

No, rather, something this serious shouldn’t be an argument. “Jay, stop," he tries to interject, but she just laughs incredulously and continues: “Fucking dipshit, I’m saving your life! But then you go pulling those sneaky boo-hoo bullshit dramatics — how about you stop, for two fucking seconds!"

They’re not dramatics! They’re serious. He seriously thinks staying in Asphodel is better for them than returning to Ordanz. But how to convey—

—Irreconcilable. The word flashes through his mind.

How can this be be how it ends.

Ends? Despite himself, Raum shivers.

Her insults themselves don’t hurt. Finally, it feels like he’s grasped a fragment of that elusive thing called conviction. But the dawning idea that they really may never find agreement on this issue, and because of that they might never find themselves on good terms, or even in each other’s lives again — that scares him.

She’s obviously scared of losing him too. But, goddamn it…

“Know why you’re doing this? You think you know, but you don’t! Here, a freebie, the truth, here’s what goes on in your fucked-up little dickrotten brain," she continues. “You stumbled on a new guy who can manhandle everyone around ten ways to Sunday, and want him to be your new mommy. That’s all."

“But I wanna fuck him too, though," Raum automatically responds, feeling his mind and mouth separate.

“Hah! No you don’t. He’s a featherduster. You wanna think about fucking him, then piss around being sad that you can’t," she continues. “Stupid shit to be sad about, just means you won’t drop him how you do everyone else!"

Raum winces, hands flinching up. Oh god, don’t let him break down here. Her wavelength is sucking him in.

She continues. “Even me in the end, huh."

“Jay, no. It’s not like that. I—"

“Then what the fuck are you doing!"

Irreconcilable. Again, the word flashes.

He buries his brow in his palms and drags them down, as if wiping his face from his skull. He breathes hard to steady himself, refocus. Pleas and arguments to defuse her flick through his mind, but each one tastes utterly fruitless. He redirects to a different, less heated path. “What’ll you do, then?"

“Hah! Right. What will I do, then. Iunno. Guess’m gonna get a knife…"

“Jay."

“…gut open some nobodies for every day you’re still cozying with the Majesty. Eh?"

“Don’t."

“I’m just laying the conditionals," she laughs, tapping the blade of her drawn knife on her palm.

Knowing her, it’s more likely an intimidation than a serious plan. Also knowing her, any serious plan she does make will still involve murders, just more precise ones.

Raum’s blood cools with an uncomfortable realisation, which he simultaneously recognises as a truth so obvious that taking twenty years to face it is embarrassing. She’s evil.

As soon as he thinks it, guilt washes over him. To call Reyl evil is a massive oversimplification. She’s moreso stressed and pragmatic... and possessive… and confrontational… and controlling… with extreme anger issues… which all make her incredibly dangerous…

She should be locked up. Raum is reaching the same conclusion, and moving towards the same action, that he would have resented others for taking not even a minute ago.

Because just as much as he wants to stay away from Ordanz, he wants to stay away from — this. Not Reyl in her whole, but this side of her, that demands him by any means kept under her thumb. The rest of her, he wants to keep in his life forever. But choosing the best while forsaking the worst, he’s beginning to think, is not just greedy, but impossible.

“—You could stay with me if you get arrested," Raum blurts. “Cause I’d visit," he appends lamely.

Reyl grins snidely, about to mock the ridiculousness of that statement (good to see she’s steady enough to find things humorous…), when her expression abruptly sobers, then flips dumbfounded. For how stupid it sounds, this idea would secure her more reliable influence over Raum than anything she could conceivably finangle by herself. The problem is she is so adverse to even hypothetically being at another’s mercy that she just can’t do it.

She backs up a step, looks at him askance. The tapping of the knife stops.

She seems ready to run.

Hesitating, Raum asks what she’s thinking.

Reyl offers one last time that he step in beside her, and stop being a dumbass.

Otherwise, get back in the hall.

If he’s truly committed to this path, then lunging forward, and seizing her now, is the correct course. …What if he pretends—

She twirls the knife, readjusts it into a firmer grip. Her expression drops into one of analytical cold.

—Nevermind.

If he makes a move for her, she will actually kill him, he realises, dumbstruck.

It’s contrary to everything she’s been saying so far, but the look is unmistakable. It rattles him so much, the actual low feasibility of him winning unarmed against her doesn’t even enter his mind as he withdraws into the guildhall.

He glances around, shaken. The entire room feels like an alien dimension. He needs to reach out to someone, tell them what’s happened, but everyone looks and sounds like strangers, distanced a thousand leagues from him, speaking foreign tongues. The air presses against him shiny and thick, like a mass of cellophane, and moving through it is like trudging through mollases. His teeth chatter to the root. He shivers like a pruny old man. Panic screams through every nerve in his body, telling him he is drowning, dying, and that the only pocket of solid ground and breathable air, remains right outside the doorway he just crossed, with Reyl.

GO BACK TO HER NOW YOU IDIOT GO!!! RUN TO HER! HUG HER! RUN AWAY WITH HER! NEVER LET GO OF HER AGAIN SHE’S YOUR SISTER YOU LOVE HER HURRY GO NOW NOW NOW!! APOLOGISE A THOUSAND TIMES KISS HER FEET SHE IS RIGHT LISTEN TO HER DO IT NOW GO GO GO!! YOU’LL DIE HERE! HURRY!

Gasping for breath, Raum turns for the doorway. Where before it had opened to the alley, all that lies beyond it now is a pitch black void.

GO ANYWAY!!! SHE’LL BE RIGHT THERE!! GO!

He’s trying! It’s hard! The ground undulates under his feet with the consistency of jello. Suddenly he finds himself back in the middle of the harbour, floating on that salvaged board. But it’s night, and out of the dark sky, there descends a congregation of wormlike, feathered creatures, looming over him with interest and burbling. Sludge sloughs off their skin into the water.

Great! Nice to meet you! Piss off where’s the goddamn door!

A white cube rises out of the harbour. It grows larger, and larger, until Raum’s fingers scrape its surface. This is the exit.

No. This is a trap, a colder, sterner voice interjects like a blade, slicing through the chaotic din. The cube spikes violently into a stellate mass, sharp and uninviting. Raum flinches away; the board rots into dust, and he sinks messily into black water.

Raum’s heart kicks as vigorously as an unstable bomb. The scales of a serpentine creature overlay themselves on the bottom of the ocean, shift, move, and glitter with an iridescent sheen. The sight of it disgusts him. He struggles to move, or paddle away, but the water wrestles against him like tar. Tides from the creature’s movement batter him about, but otherwise he is trapped, like a fly locked in amber.

Help!!! He opens his mouth to call out, but the thick water flows in and hardens like concrete, gagging him down to his throat.

You have to help yourself, the voice chides.

HE CAN’T!!! AND BESIDES!!! HALF OF WHAT PEOPLE ARE IS THE PEOPLE THEY KNOW. CALL YOURSELF AN ISLAND; YOU’RE BASICALLY DEAD.

I suppose so, it concedes.

So help him! Please.

But nothing replies.

The water quakes, churns, crushes, smothers. He’s dying.

Aquila.

Where’s Aquila.

Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila

Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila

Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila Aquila—

With the terrible shriek of a tormented animal, wisps of blood blossom in the water around him.