Fragments of Silence: Scaramouche x Aether

Chapter V: Echoes and Shadows

Aether

Aether bolted upright, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His heart thudded in his chest, the remnants of the dream clinging to him like a shroud. It wasn't the first time this had happened since that day. Each night, the dreams, which were vivid and intense, were a tumultuous blend of memories and emotions that weren't his own but felt strangely familiar.

He sat up, pressing a hand to his forehead. The images were already fading, slipping away like water through his fingers, but the emotions remained. A sense of betrayal, a piercing loneliness, a desperation so deep it threatened to swallow him whole. They weren't his feelings; he knew that. And yet, in those moments between sleep and waking, they felt all too real, leaving him in a state of perplexity.

"Traveler?" Paimon's voice was soft, hesitant, her concern palpable. She floated near the edge of his bed, her eyes wide with worry. "Another bad dream?"

Aether nodded, not trusting himself to speak. What could he say? That he was dreaming of Scaramouche's past, of a life filled with pain and loss? That he felt like he was drowning in emotions that didn't belong to him? He had tried to explain it to her once, but the words had become hollow and inadequate.

"You need to rest," Paimon said, her tone more insistent. "You've been running yourself ragged with all this research. Maybe it's time to take a break?"

Aether forced a small smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine, Paimon. I just... I need to keep going."

Paimon frowned, but she didn't argue. She knew better than to try to dissuade him when he was like this. "Just... be careful, okay?"

He nodded, though he wasn't sure what being careful even meant anymore. What was he supposed to be cautious of? The dreams? The memories? Or the growing sense that Scaramouche was closer than he realized, watching him from the shadows?

The thought sent a shiver down his spine, but he pushed it aside. He had to focus. There were answers to be found, and he couldn't afford to let himself be distracted by fear or uncertainty.

He spent the day in the Akademiya, pouring over records and speaking with scholars. They looked at him curiously, wondering why the Traveler was so interested in the Fatui and a puppet from Inazuma. He offered no explanations, only vague answers that left them unsatisfied. It was better that way. The less they knew, the safer they were.

As the hours passed, Aether felt the weight of the dream pressing down on him, a constant reminder of the connection he now shared with Scaramouche. It was maddening, this feeling of being tied to someone he barely knew, someone he had once viewed as an enemy. And yet, the more he learned, the more he understood. The pain, the anger, and the desperate search for purpose all made sense in a twisted, tragic way. It was as if their destinies were intertwined, and he couldn't escape it.

He left the Akademiya as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the city. As he walked through the market, Paimon chattered at his side, trying to lift his spirits. But Aether could barely focus on her words, his mind drifting to the memories he had glimpsed, the emotions thrust upon him.

He felt it then, a tickle at the back of his neck. The sense of being watched. He turned quickly, scanning the crowd, but saw nothing unusual. People bustled about, vendors called out their wares, and life went on as usual. Yet the feeling remained, gnawing at the edges of his awareness.

"Traveler?" Paimon's voice cut through his thoughts. "What's wrong?"

Aether shook his head, forcing a smile. "Nothing. Just... tired, I guess."

But as they returned to their lodging, Aether couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him. Someone who knew more than they let on.

Scaramouche

Hidden in the shadows of a narrow alleyway, Scaramouche watched the Traveler keenly. He had been following him for days now, observing his every move. How he searched through records, questioned scholars, and roamed the city with that ever-present look of determination fascinated and infuriated Scaramouche in equal measure.

Why did the Traveler care so much? Why was he digging into a past that wasn't his to uncover? It made no sense, and the lack of answers gnawed at Scaramouche's mind.

He saw the way the Traveler reacted, the haunted look in his eyes, the way he glanced over his shoulder as if sensing Scaramouche's presence. It would be so easy to step forward, to confront him and demand answers. But Scaramouche held back, his feet rooted to the spot.

No. Not yet. He wasn't ready to face the Traveler, not when his own emotions were such a tangled mess. There was too much he didn't understand, too much he wasn't willing to acknowledge. His feelings were a storm, raging within him, threatening to consume him.

As the Traveler walked through the market, Scaramouche's gaze narrowed. A group of figures moved through the crowd, their cloaks drawn tight around them. Fatui agents. Scaramouche recognized them immediately, and a surge of anger shot through him. They were tracking the Traveler, no doubt sent to keep an eye on him.

Scaramouche's first instinct was to let them be. It wasn't his concern. But as he watched them inch closer to the Traveler, something twisted in his chest. He didn't want them interfering. He didn't want them anywhere near the Traveler.

Before he could second-guess himself, Scaramouche moved. He slipped through the crowd, his steps silent and sure. He approached the agents from behind, his voice low and cold as he spoke. "You're not needed here."

They turned, surprise flashing in their eyes as they recognized him. "Scaramouche—"

"Leave," he hissed, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "Now."

The agents hesitated for a moment, glancing between him and the Traveler. Then, without another word, they melted back into the crowd, disappearing as quickly as they had appeared.

Scaramouche watched them go, his heart pounding in his chest. He had done it again. Intervened and protected the Traveler, all for reasons he couldn't explain.

He slipped back into the shadows, his mind racing. He told himself it was for his own sake to keep the Traveler safe so his secrets wouldn't be exposed. But deep down, he knew it was more than that. He knew it was because, in some twisted way, he didn't want the Traveler to suffer any more than he already had.

"What are you doing to me?" Scaramouche muttered to himself, clenching his fists. "What kind of spell have you cast on me?"

He didn't have an answer. But as he watched the Traveler disappear into the distance, he knew one thing for sure.

He would stay close. He would watch and wait. And maybe, just maybe, he would find the answers he sought.