Fragments of Silence: Scaramouche x Aether

Chapter IX: Lost in the Mist

The night was still, the air thick with the scent of pine and earth. Aether lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling of their temporary lodging in Sumeru. Sleep had been elusive lately; every time he closed his eyes, a torrent of thoughts and memories threatened to pull him under.

He exhaled slowly, trying to calm his restless mind. Paimon's gentle snores filled the room, a comforting sound that anchored him to reality. But tonight, the usual comfort didn't come. As exhaustion finally weighed down on him, he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness, the world around him blurring at the edges.

And then, the dream began.

Aether found himself standing in the middle of a dense forest, its canopy stretching high above, blocking out the light of the moon. Mist coiled around his feet, swirling with each step he took. He glanced around, confusion prickling at the back of his mind. This place felt familiar and foreign at the same time, as though it existed somewhere between reality and a memory that wasn't his.

A soft rustle in the distance drew his attention. He turned, catching sight of a figure moving through the shadows. His heart clenched as he recognized the silhouette—slender, composed, with a hat that seemed to belong to another era. Scaramouche.

Aether blinked, confusion washing over him. Why am I dreaming about him again? He'd had flashes of memories before, glimpses into Scaramouche's past that haunted him. But this was different. It was more vivid, more... real.

The forest shifted around him, morphing into a different scene. Now, he was standing in a dimly lit room. Shadows flickered across the walls, and a sense of cold emptiness settled over him. In the center of the room stood Scaramouche, his back to Aether, his posture tense and rigid. Aether opened his mouth to call out, but no sound came.

This isn't right. Aether's thoughts swirled with confusion. He felt the pull of emotions that didn't belong to him—bitterness, loneliness, anger. They flooded his senses, as if the room itself were saturated with them. The walls seemed to close in, and for a brief moment, Aether felt like he was drowning in someone else's pain.

Scaramouche turned, his eyes meeting Aether's. They were filled with a mix of fury and sorrow that cut through Aether like a knife. "Why are you here?" Scaramouche's voice echoed in the space, harsh and accusatory. "You don't belong in this place."

Aether tried to speak, to explain that he didn't know why he was here, but his voice refused to work. All he could do was stand there, locked in Scaramouche's gaze as the emotions continued to swell around him. And then, as abruptly as it began, the scene shattered like glass.

Aether woke with a start, gasping for breath. His heart pounded in his chest, the remnants of the dream lingering like a dark fog in his mind. He glanced around the room, disoriented, his eyes landing on Paimon still asleep by his side. Everything was as it should be—quiet, familiar, safe. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed.

He pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to calm his racing thoughts. What was that? It wasn't like the other times he had seen glimpses of Scaramouche's past. This was different—sharper, clearer, as if he had stepped into Scaramouche's world rather than simply observing it from the outside.

His eyes drifted to the window, where the faint light of dawn was beginning to creep into the sky. He knew sleep wouldn't come again, not after that. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stood and walked to the window, pushing it open to let in the cool morning air.

The forest loomed in the distance, shrouded in mist and shadow. Aether stared out at it, a feeling of unease settling in his chest. Why now? Why is this happening? The memory of Scaramouche's eyes haunted him, and for the first time, Aether felt an inexplicable urge to seek him out—not just to understand, but to see him. To know what these dreams meant.