Vardan was certain he wouldn’t survive the remainder of the year. He had already been told people wanted him dead. He already knew he’d broken rules given to him by people so much greater than himself. There was no way out, and nowhere to go.
It wasn’t worth it. That pill was a painful one to swallow, but even he had come to see that. Even he could face that fact. None of this was worth it. Not the false illusion of companionship, not the vague notion of adventure, not the blind hope that he wouldn’t constantly be alone. None of it.
Lifting his head from the table, Vardan peered around his workshop, taking what minor comfort he could in the gentle hum of machinery. Cold unfeeling metal, turning cogs, and the subtle ebb and flow of aether. These were the things he enjoyed. These were the things he’d miss. This was all he wanted, all he had worked for, all that made him happy.
Yet everything it took to get here wasn’t worth it. Try as he might, he couldn’t escape that thought; that unending beratement drumming inside his skill.
With a heavy thump his head landed back on the table, pressing his cheek against the schematic rolled out. He’d just have to keep trying to find some way out of this. Keep trying to find some way to keep himself safe, to keep his sanctuary his. He’d have to keep trying until it killed him. Or they did.
“St-stop! I didn’t do anything!” Distressed, frantic, pleading. Why did it keep coming to this?
Vardan could still hear those footfalls chasing his own, every ounce of poor judgment coaxing him to dare a glance back. Not a single one of them he recognized. Why were they after him? What did he do to deserve this? There was no time to think about that, the alleyway ahead of him demanded attention.
A misplaced crate proved to be an unwelcome obstacle, clipped and tumbled over in a painful display of gracelessly flailing limbs. Vardan scrambled to his feet, giving a brief reenactment of a baby dhamel trying to stand for the first time as his hands and feet slid about on the icy stone below him.
Those strangers had closed in, cackling in his wake as the young engineer finally got stable on his feet and bolted with a panicked outcry. He had to get away. He had to escape what was coming for him.
They just looked like people. They sounded like normal Ishgardian citizens. Yet everything in him screamed that these were demons. These were monsters out for his blood; horrid fiends masquerading as his countrymen. He could feel it crawling over his skin with a chill that put the ice of Coerthas to shame.
“Come back, we only want to talk!” One of the trio called out, voice dancing with the line of humor. It was a lie. Vardan could feel it in his soul; in the heat swelling in his chest. It was a lie; it was poison in the form of words. It was death coming for him, and he was running out of places to run.
The alleyway that was supposed to lead him to freedom instead led him to a dead end, the distress thundering in his chest only increasing. He slapped his hands against the stone wall barring his way, as if hoping to convince it to move, to crumble and let him through. He had to get out of here. He had to get away.
Scrambling for some crates to climb, Vardan quickly found himself grabbed up and tossed, landing with a startled wail in unkind arms. What a woeful song and dance, and he already knew so many of the steps. By some blessing from the Fury he managed to stay on his feet as he was shoved about, his arms wrapping up around his head to take what shelter he could from the impact of fists.
What felt like hours spanned only a minute before the shouting of knights rang down the alleyway. That was all that was needed. That heartbeat of a pause, that pristine window of opportunity.
Vardan bolted, with all the feral haste he could manage he fled, vaulting up onto the stack of crates he failed to reach before, provoking several of the boxes to tumble down in his wake. It was just enough, to give him space, to give him freedom, to give him the lash rush of adrenaline to make it to an aetheryte shard.
The moment his hand slapped onto the stone he was gone, rippling out the frigid realm of Ishgard and into the warm embrace of the Mists. Sanctuary. Salvation. Home… This place was none of those things, but in his rush, it was where he ended up, tired legs dragging him onto the lawn with one sore step after the next.
Vardan wasn’t surprised that everything hurt, that he felt the familiar ache of bruises forming. What was less familiar was the way his shirt stuck to his skin, and the exceptionally sharp pain that came with twisting his torso. A hand groped at his side, easily finding blood, and at the source of it, a knife.
“I… I’m a couple thousand short.” Vardan half muttered, words just barely loud enough for the Hyur clerk on the other side of the counter. All around the shop was filled with parts, tools, and metal delights. Truly the eager Elezen felt like a kid in a candy store. He would have bought everything he could off the shelves if given the chance. Every tomestone, Garlean scrap, and misplaced Allagan artifact. Unfortunately he lacked the gil for that. Fury save him, he didn’t even have enough for what it was he’d come here for.
Upon the counter a node hovered, slowly spinning, giving off a gentle hum as the mechanisms within turned. It was so pristine, or at least as pristine as something found abandoned out in Azys Lla could be. It was perfect, and here he was a few thousand gil short on being able to take it home.
“I-I can make up the difference. Work it off; clean, repair, restock. I’m good with my hands.” Vardan hastily chattered off before the shopkeeper could get a word in. A thoughtful silence followed.
“I got all that covered. I don’t need another person in here in my way.” The merchant eyed this would be buyer before him, a grin slowly tugging onto his lips. “Think I know something you can do for me though...” Oh. Oh no. Vardan knew that look. Knew that tone. “You say you’re good with your hands, but how are you with that mouth of yours?”
Color blossomed across the poor Elezen’s cheeks all the way to his ears. His gaze shifted away from the Hyur on the other side of the counter, staring instead at the node and tomestones he had wanted to buy. The shop clerk was saying something more, but it all went unheard, Vardan having no time for lewd commentary while his mind ticked over every pro and con of the situation. Finding an Allagan node in this condition was rare. Could be a while before one showed up again. But was it really worth this? Sore knees and a bad taste in his mouth didn’t seem like much. In his drawn out silence he lamented his poor spending habits. Really should start saving more rather than spending everything as soon as he made it. Finally, he came to a conclusion.
“I-I want fifty more tomestones added on, then… then we have a deal.” That was asking a lot, he knew, but wasn’t that part of haggling?
“Fifty?! Boy you ain’t that cute. I’ll give you an extra ten, and you don’t start any rumors about this.” The shopkeeper folded his arms and waited.
“Twenty-five.” The real goal. Vardan seemed set on it.
“... Deal.”
With a sigh of shameful resignation, Vardan gave a pat to the node soon to be his before dragging himself around to the other side of the counter.
