Chapter Text
“I heard Miss Hertha went missing!”
“Did she, now?”
Mondstadters really loved to gossip, they thought. The wind hears all, and so too do the citizens it seemed. Their hand stilled over an overripe apple, halfway ready to slip it into their bag before they paused. The fruit stall owner, a young man distracted with lovesickness ninety-percent of the time, leaned closer and attempted to hush the woman he was speaking to.
“Yes! I heard she went up for a mission in Dragonspine a week ago, and has yet to come back down.”
“Oh dear, I hope she’s alright. I really haven’t interacted all that much with her, but she seemed like a good person.”
Gloved fingers twitched over the apple’s tender skin. Their thumb sunk into a bruised part of it, mushy and brown with impending rot. The fruit was polished so cleanly they could almost see their wretched reflection in its sheen.
“She was. A little uptight on the laws, but what can you expect from a Favonius Captain? She was dutiful, that's for sure.”
“Such a shame…not only that, but I’ve heard she’s experienced and reliable, too. I do hope Acting Grandmaster Jean doesn’t struggle to find someone to fill her shoes, Barbatos knows she already does enough work for the Ordo.”
“Poor Miss Hertha…She will be missed.”
An awkward silence spread between the two, so thick with anticipation that it made their spine tingle as if they were being watched. Even the bustle and chatter from the countless other vendors and patrons of the market area seemed too quiet to fill the void that had just been exposed to them.
A Captain of the Ordo of Favonius…someone reliable and trustworthy. Someone good; someone to be missed. Their hand tightened around the apple, the tip of their thumb sinking deeper into the weak flesh. A smile stretched unevenly across their face, dry skin cracking and flaking in bits as their muscles contracted uncharacteristically.
Someone who had a place in this little city. Someone who was gone.
It felt like an offering from Barbatos of peace; an olive branch extended in forgiveness. A second chance. An opportunity for atonement. Life, dangling just before their eyes once more.
Something they would not squander. Could not. This time, they would succeed.
They had to.
The apple burst in their hand. Juice and flesh dripped down their arm. The sudden destruction shocked them into stillness, as they stared at the core in their hand.
“Hey- what are you doing!?”
Without sparing the man a glance, they turned tail and ran, fruit carcass clutched in their hand. They’d pay him back later, for once they had a job, they’d have all the mora they could ask for. They wouldn't need to steal and bargain, nor hide their face with a hood to go into the market. They would be able to stroll through the streets like they owned them, waving to friends and nodding to colleagues.
They could even exist with Albedo by their side.
Pieces of a plan started to fall into place. They could not succeed on their own-- no, they would need help. Like the Fellflower, but bigger. Stronger. More impenetrable and intelligent. A group to rely on for protection, people to defend them if things didn't go their way. What strength they lacked in their body they would make up in numbers. Yes…a group of fakes, just like themself.
Their feet fled, pounding silently against the stone as they fled out the front gates of the city. They were stealthy and fast, clearing the bridge in mere seconds, and weaving in and out of the trees as they made their way back to the place that beckoned them.
Survive, voices thrummed in their ears, Conquer. Steal. Avenge. Live. They whispered a deafening chant, the poisoned blood flowing through their veins beating like a drum. Each step was less of their own, more of a collective. One body shared among hundreds, begging, screaming, bargaining, for life. The cacophony grew painfully, the wails they knew so well pulsing in the back of their retinas. Among it all echoed the voice of Durin, small and meek, yet ironically powerful:
Make him feel our pain.
They gasped out a choked breath, icy air scraping the back of their throat. Their wheezing pants billowed out in front of their face. The sole of their worn boot crunched against the snowy ground, and at once, the voices were silenced.
Inhale…exhale.
Make him understand.
Inhale…exhale.
Give us a reason to live.
A reason to live…a life to lead. Yes, it would soon be theirs. They could practically taste it on the frigid winds of this desolate mountain.
“Hertha…” the name came out of their mouth in a sigh of white breath. “Hertha…”
It wasn’t what they had in mind, but it was a name they could definitely get used to.