This chapter was written in collaboration with Scylla.
Sunlight slipped away into a moonless evening, with only the gentle rocking of the glowing lanterns as a guide in endless sea of clouds. Soon this would all be over. From Ben’s words, it was no doubt that the whole of this Allagan venture might be brought to light in front of Eorzea. He seemed concerned that the both of them might be… in trouble.
Then what? I did not do anything wrong! It was NOT my fault!
Afterall, Amon had practically kidnapped her, taken advantage of her muddled state and tried to open the tower. It was all his fault, and he would be appropriately punished and most certainly locked away in some aether-dead mountain prison. That was, until he would manipulate some other poor good-hearted idiot into doing his bidding and escape yet again.
Amon’s already working his wagging tongue and sob stories. Ben is eating straight out of his hand… he might escape before we ever get back to Gridania.
Scylla did not trust the man in green, apparently the new darling of Gridania’s secret authorities. There was something unsettling and otherworldly underneath the green folded robes marked with spilled tea stains and cookie crumbles. She could feel as if his aether had been manipulated… disguised as if she was staring at the shadow of a creature with something to hide.
Someone needs to dig further in on this guy.
But for now, she had greater concerns. She limped, holding most of her weight on her rod, back to small wood-framed storerooms in the hold area, where Amon had made his quarter. She clenched her fist, tightening it into a fist.
I’m not Ben. I’ve known Amon nearly all my life, and I know when he’s trying to get out of trouble.
Scylla’s fist slammed on the door harshly.
The Amon who held regret for anything died long ago. All that is left is the mask.
And this meeting would only prove it.
Amon was taken on board the airship, too tired and battered to argue. They gave him a cabin, tended his wounds, and even provided a change of clothes – good thing as his previous garments had been shredded in many areas where Scylla had attempted to run him through with anything not nailed down in the lab in Azys Lla.
Bits and bobs were bandaged, and he had a few bruises to show for it. But really, the archmage had taken the brunt of her own anger in the end.
He didn’t fully understand her fit of rage, but he couldn’t entirely blame her. She’d seemed very set on punishing him, and even that luxury had been taken from her.
No one bound Amon or kept him from leaving his cabin. They didn’t need to. His change in clothing came without any sort of facial cover. Knowing no one, not even the man who came to their “rescue” and called himself “Ben,” his anxiety at not being able to obscure his face from a whole fleet of strangers mounted and grew until it keeping it under control was his main focus.
It was all he could do to stay holed up in his cabin, curled with the sheets over his shoulders and head in a makeshift hood. Even then, he jumped at the sound of any approach near his door.
So when the demanding pound came, Amon nearly fell out of bed. Instead, he hid deeper under the bedclothes and tried to level his voice, but it still sounded jittery and paranoid.
“A-aye? Who’s there?”
“Open the door, Amon.” Scylla grumbled. “Someone has to take out the rubbish.”