With this, I’ve completed all the OC specials, sort of.
There’s still one more, but the person never sent the info I need so I haven’t been able to write it. I could just ask them for it, but it’s been a while, and I think I bothered them enough at the time (AKA, I’m a asocial coward who doesn’t like messaging people).
Anyhoo, this one’s for @tea-ee. Sorry it took so long. I hope you enjoy! ^^
TW: Mentions of death and violence
The attack had been brutal. All battles were, he knew that, but this kind of mindless destruction hadn’t been seen in centuries.
People milled around the shattered guard, careful not to tread on the innumerable injured member lined up on the floor. Ewelein and her team were working overtime to accommodate the many, many hurt member who’d been caught in the initial blast. Working so hard to keep anyone from joining those who’d passed.
Ezarel looked away from the sight, focusing on the slow drip of his burette. It was calming on the worst of days. The regular drops falling into the beaker, filling it slowly with vibrant colours gave him time to think. To breathe.
Now it felt like choking.
He can still remember the first explosion. How people were literally thrown through the air from the force. The bloody battle that had followed after. He’d gained new scars in that fight. Nothing to be proud about; he’d almost lost his life after all.
But those hadn’t been the worse part of the attack. No. It was the aftermath.
Names were called, people searched for. Some answered back, a few were found. Most were not.
They searched, and they saved and they hoped, but no. They’d lost more than they could’ve ever imagined in less than an hour.
The entire Eldaryan guard brought to its knees by a small group of people and some explosives.
“Pathetic.” He hissed, fist curling against the table.
“Don’t be so harsh on yourself, Ez.” You stood in the destroyed doorway of his lab, a cheeky smile on your face. “You can’t help it.”
He snorted, turning back to the equipment, both appreciating the sudden company and wishing you’d leave him be. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”
“You technically did though.” Sauntering in, you appraised the damaged lab with a raised eyebrow. “Damn, they really trashed the place, didn’t they?”
“It’s still functional. Unlike other areas.” He could feel your body heat as you stood beside him but refused to meet your gaze, choosing to continue watching the steady drips.
“Barely.” A hand delicately landed on his shoulder. At the lack of reaction, you gripped it more firmly – more reassuringly. “You hanging in there?”
He shrugged half-heartedly. “Doing better than the others.”
“The others are barely keeping their shit together.” You retort. “They’re not the best measuring stick.”
“They’re the only one I have.” He finally looked at you, forcing a half-assed smile. “And you? I heard you were pretty close to the initial blast.”
“As you can see,” You gesture to your bandages and gauzes. “I got off pretty lightly all things considered.” He nodded in agreement, returning to the apparatus once more.
Truthfully, he wasn’t strong enough for social interaction. Heavy guilt constantly weighed him down. Questions and scenarios of how he could’ve prevented all of haunted him. The past day’s events had left him lifeless; it was a miracle he was even able to work when all he wanted to do was to collapse and never wake up.
At the same time, he needed the closeness. Needed someone, something, to pull him from the whirlwind inside his head. Needed to be reminded that not everything was lost.
And you seemed to understand that, taking a seat beside him and quietly looking through the forensic results of what little evidence they’d collected. For hours, you both just sat there, in perfect quiet, the only sounds breaking the temporary peace were the sounds of rustling papers or an occasional cough from the floor below.
For the first time in what felt like years, Ezarel was at peace.
“Hey, Ez?” He glanced at you questioningly. “What’s that?”
You gestured to the brightly-coloured bottle in his hands, the finished product of his hours of titration.
“Analyser. Concentrated.” Seeing your mystified look, he explained. “We use it to [analyse and track something based on what we’ve found on the crime scene.”
“Huh. Didn’t know you guys had forensic science too.” You crossed your legs, the documents in your hands placed neatly on top. “Didn’t Nevra say there was no trace at the site though? What’s the point of that?”
“Anything leaves a trace, Y/N. It’s just a matter of finding it.” He tucked the potion on his belt, collecting a few more drafts from the table and gesturing for you to do the same.
The bottles are suspiciously examined, but you load them into your arms, following him out the door. “You've found something?”
“I suspect something. I need the analyser to confirm it.” Down the stairs he went, you jogging to keep up with his long strides.
“And what,” You ask, pausing to watch Ezarel hand the concoctions to the medical staff and injured. “Do you suspect?”
He didn’t answer for a while, continuing to pass out the medicine before pulling you to a quiet corner. “I think,” He stopped, swallowing. “I think we have a traitor amongst us.”
Your reaction wasn’t at all what he expected. Surprise, fear maybe even disbelief. But he got… nothing. Nothing at all. It was like someone had swiped you clean of everything that made you human, leaving a cold robotic shell in your place.
“Y/N?” At the sound of your name you shook your head, expression and life returning to your features but it was too late. A small pit of dread settled in his stomach.
“Sorry, sorry. You surprised me so much I zoned out for a moment.” You said, scratching your cheek. Your expression goes from bashful to serious as you return to the topic at hand. “Didn’t we deal with the traitor already? Leiftan’s gone and there’s no one else with a motive, right?”
Muttering how it’s just a theory and you should keep it yourself for now, he slunk away. He didn’t want to consider it, even hypothetically, but your reaction…
“Damn.” He growled, fingers raking through his blue locks. “They’re a suspect too.”
-
Logic was a bitch. It was unforgiving, cold and indifferent. No matter how you look at something – in the end, no matter how you wanted – objectively, the truth never changed.
Usually, he loved that. But now it made him sick.
No matter how he spun it, looked at it, broke it down and build it up, the conclusion never changed: you were the traitor.
You were the one on guard duty that night. The closest to the blast, but relatively unharmed all things considering. You had the motive, you had the skills. You didn’t have an alibi beyond your own word.
“Damn it!” The desk shook from of the force of his punch, it’s trembling slowly steadying even as his breathing did not.
He didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t.
You were so kind, so sweet. Even with the wrongs they’d done to you, he couldn’t imagine you resort to such senseless violence.
And the others wouldn’t either. Even if the circumstantial evidence screamed that you were a danger to the guard, nobody else would believe him. He’d need physical proof of your betrayal before e could talk to anyone else about this.
But where could he find his proof? What would he do if he didn’t find anything?
A steadying breath. “One step at a time, Ezarel.”
The obvious place to search was the blast site, a small alcove on your patrol route. It was less of an alcove now and more of a gaping hole in the wall.
There hadn’t been enough time to properly fill the void, so the hole had a few strips of flimsy tape ‘covering’ it that did nothing to block out the chill of the night.
Almost as if it was cursed, people avoided the area, some going as far as taking a longer route just be saved the walk past the painful reminder of their loss.
The lack of people and chill of the night air made the entire area far creepier than it should, and for a moment, Ezarel considered leaving the investigation until tomorrow.
But this couldn’t wait.
At first, it seemed the place was barren of anything useful. Some shrapnel here and there, a little-dried blood the clean-up crew that missed. Nothing he could use. Then he saw it.
Your knife. A once beautiful silver blade he and Valkyon had taken great pains to craft for your last birthday, now it lay on the ground blackened. And lying next to it…
“Flint.” This was worse than he thought. Before this point, he’d thought your role would be limited to a mole of sorts. The worst you could’ve done was the rest of the attackers in. But this…
“You aren’t supposed to be here.” His blood froze. Behind him, you approached. You moved too quickly for him to react, to quickly for him to comprehend what you’d done until he spied the blood-soaked blade in your hand.
He collapsed, a hand pressed against the wound in his stomach.
“_-____....” You appraised him with that same cold, robotic look from before. The blood staining your hands didn’t seem to bother you at all.
You both stared at each other, one with the pain of betrayal, the other with nothing at all.
“Why- why would you do this?” The question is spat out with his blood, the words are dripping with pain.
“The stabbing or the betrayal? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure they’re both pretty self-explanatory.” You turn away, bending to pick up your knife. A shadow of melancholy crossed your features as you stare at it, turning it in your hands.
“You betrayed us! Why?”
“Of all the- Are you serious?” You laughed – a bitter, harsh bark that sounded so wrong from your mouth – clenching the knife so hard he could see rivulets of blood run the blade. “The potion? All the times you’ve used me as bait? The way you leave me to pick up the pieces every time you’ve finished ruining my life?“
“Your grudge is against us: the captains. You shouldn’t have gotten innocents involved.” He just has to keep you talking. With such copious amounts of blood spilt, there’s no doubt Nevra would find him soon; he just survives until then.
Your face crumples so suddenly, he’s taken back. “I didn’t want to… all those people…” Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but there’s a wet glint in your eyes. You square your shoulders, eyes narrowing. “I had no choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
“God, you sound like a bad action flick.” You snort, kneeling beside him. Let’s make something clear: I didn’t want this. Or for all those people get hurt. But-“ Gone is the soft, almost apologetic look, replaced with bitterness and anger. “If it means you suffer, even a little, I’d do it all over again. You understand? You people took everything from me. I’m repaying the favour.”
He tried to speak, to protest, but something blocks the words. He could only stare into your hateful gaze with dread. This person you’ve become… he’s afraid. Of what you can do. Of what you will do.
“_____.” You both turn to see Ashkore, standing just outside the hole, arms crossed. “We’re leaving.”
“You-! You’ve been working with him?”
“Obviously. We share an interest in your demise.”
“You’ll never get away with this.” He managed past the pain and dread. His defiance only amused you though; a giggle just as acrid as the last escaping your lips.
“I think you’ll find I currently am.” You push yourself up, standing tall over his vulnerable body. A foot is raised, and he flinched. “Don’t worry, Ez. Nevra’ll here pretty soon I’m sure. You won’t die today.” You smiled radiating pure malice. “You don’t deserve the luxury. Goodbye.”
Then your foot came down and his world turned black.
