Chapter Text
Arlecchino sat on the velvet couch, her posture poised, one leg crossed over the other. Her hands rested on her lap, fingers unmoving as her black and red eyes flicked over the twins, inspecting them with quiet intensity.
“Children,” she said, her voice cutting through the silence with unnerving precision.
Lyney bowed deeply, his movements deliberate. “Father,” he responded, his gaze lowering.
“Did anyone follow you?” she asked, her words measured, as though she were expecting an answer that might not please her. Though she trusted her children’s capabilities, there was no room for complacency.
“No, Father. We were not followed,” Lyney replied, his tone steady, but there was a slight stiffness to it.
Arlecchino’s gaze remained unblinking as she observed their response. Then, with a faint shift of her body, she watched Lyney slowly remove the hood that had concealed his face. The soft rustle of fabric was the only sound that broke the quiet. Lynette mirrored his movements, lowering her hood and flicking her ears to catch any sign of pursuit.
When she was satisfied, Lynette’s gaze met Lyney’s, exchanging a silent understanding, the tension between them palpable.
Arlecchino’s eyes lingered on them for a moment longer, her focus unyielding. She had not yet spoken, but it was clear she was assessing them—measuring them in ways they couldn’t fully understand.
“I am assigning you a dangerous task,” she finally said, her tone flat but commanding. “Are you willing to leave Fontaine?”
Lyney stood a little straighter, his voice firm. “We are willing to accept any task you assign, Father,” he answered, though a trace of something unreadable lingered in his eyes.
“Good,” Arlecchino replied simply. There was no satisfaction in her voice, no approval, just the quiet finality of someone accustomed to giving orders.
“As you know,” she continued, “Natlan has suffered a terrible tragedy. But in every tragedy, there is something to be learned. I want you to infiltrate Natlan and bring back an ancient name.”
The twins exchanged a brief, confused glance.
“Father…” Lyney began, the question lingering in his voice. “What is an... ancient name?”
Arlecchino sighed softly, rising from the couch in one fluid motion. Her heels clicked sharply against the stone floor, echoing through the room with every deliberate step. She took a few slow strides, her silhouette cutting a sharp line against the dim light as she positioned herself beside Lyney.
“An ancient name,” she said, her voice steady and composed, “is an obsidian feather, engraved with names, titles—marks of power. That is all you need to know.”
Lyney’s brow furrowed slightly, waiting for more, but when none came, he pressed, “Aaaaand?”
Arlecchino’s gaze flicked to him for a brief moment, her expression unreadable. “And that is all.”
Lyney’s frown deepened, and after a short pause, he asked, “Where do we find one?”
“Why do you want to know?” she countered, her question sharp, her focus unwavering.
Lyney hesitated, then answered carefully, “For the mission, of course.”
Arlecchino studied him for a moment longer before speaking again. “Ancient names are titles given to the people of the tribes in Natlan. They are said to bestow what they call ‘Nightsoul blessings,’ enhancements to their strength. I suspect they grant more than that—perhaps even control.” Her gaze shifted, as if considering something far beyond the room they stood in.
“If my theory proves correct,” she continued, her voice still level, “it may present new... opportunities.”
Lynette, who had been watching silently, turned to Lyney with a barely perceptible nod—an unspoken plea to move the conversation forward.
Lyney’s voice was cautious. “Who exactly are we supposed to... take it from?”
Lynette’s facepalmed in frustration, her patience clearly wearing thin. “I mean—how are we supposed to take it?”
Arlecchino turned toward them with an almost imperceptible tilt of her head. There was no irritation in her gaze, only the same focused calm. “Ask about them. But remain unnoticed. I’ve hired an operative to escort you safely. Alert Freminet. He will join you.”
With that, she turned and walked toward the door. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor was sharp and final.
As she stepped into the hallway, her silhouette disappeared into the shadows, leaving the twins standing in silence, the weight of her words pressing down on them. The air felt heavier now, as if the room itself was still under her scrutiny.
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The sights in Natlan were mesmerizing, though their beauty was tinged with the weight of their mission. Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet sat at the edge of the Children of Echoes camp, the glowing Statue of the Seven behind them casting fiery orange light against the dark sky. The stars shimmered above, but their attention was drawn to the strange, fractured shape of the moon.
“What’s that?” Freminet asked, his tone thoughtful but wary as he pointed to the broken celestial body.
Lyney squinted, trying to make it out. “I have no idea. I already took my contacts out,” he muttered, flicking his lighter open and shut. The rhythmic clicks echoed softly in the stillness of the night.
Lynette turned to him, her usual composed demeanor showing the slightest edge of exasperation. “You took your contacts out *before* sitting on the edge of a cliff?” she teased, elbowing him gently.
Lyney smirked. “You know I’m nearsighted,” he said with a chuckle, casually tossing a pebble at her.
Around them, Natlan's untamed beauty unfolded. The bright green grass was flecked with colorful graffiti, bold strokes covering the surrounding cliffs in a chaotic, yet passionate expression. Towering saurians moved gracefully among the treetops, their powerful forms outlined against the moonlit sky. In the distance, the imposing stadium loomed through the mist, its jagged architecture a stark contrast to Fontaine’s symmetrical elegance.
Everything here was built with a raw intensity that Lyney couldn’t help but admire. Fontaine’s structures were sturdy and refined, its people immaculate in appearance, every detail polished to perfection. But Natlan? It thrived on fire, art, and emotion. Its people painted their walls with zeal, sang and danced through the mornings, and gathered around crackling fires at night to celebrate their passions.
“It’s different,” Lyney admitted, watching a distant flame flicker among the campfires below.
“Too different,” Freminet muttered, shifting uncomfortably.
“At least it’s not so loud at night,” Lynette added, though the relief in her voice was clear.
“You two are so boring,” Lyney teased, tossing Freminet a bulle fruit. The younger boy caught it instinctively, but his fingers brushed against two thin files slipped beneath it. His brow furrowed as he looked down at the papers now resting on his knees.
Lyney stretched dramatically, yawning. “Well, I’m off to bed. Don’t stay up too late!” he announced, standing and turning in one fluid motion. Without waiting for a response, he hopped down the stairs leading back to the camp, disappearing into the shadows.
Freminet hesitated, then opened one of the files. His eyes scanned the contents briefly before he passed the other to Lynette. Wordlessly, she tucked it beneath her legs, her sharp ears flicking slightly.
Lynette leaned closer, her voice low and steady. “I think we’re being watched.” Freminet nodded, then they both departed.
A small rustle was heard in the bushes when they were both gone, a steady foot emerged, followed by a pair of ocelot ears.
Slowly, a figure emerged from the bushes, with deliberate steps, as if they knew this area well.
“They’re up to something.” Xilonen whispered.