Fragments of Silence: Scaramouche x Aether

Chapter XXIII: Unseen Vulnerabilities

Scaramouche woke to the sound of birdsong, his eyes blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the forest canopy. He lay still for a moment, his gaze fixed on the foliage above as he gathered his thoughts. The past day had been an ordeal of emotions he wasn't accustomed to dealing with—a tangled mess of irritation, resentment, and something unsettlingly close to... comfort.

With a quiet sigh, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, his movements silent and precise. The small camp they had made the previous night was still quiet, Aether and Paimon both sleeping soundly a few feet away. Scaramouche watched them for a moment, his eyes narrowing as his gaze settled on Aether. The Traveler's face was peaceful, his usual determination softened in sleep.

How can he sleep so easily? Scaramouche wondered, a frown tugging at his lips. Is he really that trusting? Or just that naive?

He turned away, standing and moving a few steps away from the camp. The air was crisp and cool, a stark contrast to the turmoil within him. As he stared out into the forest, he felt the familiar tension creeping into his muscles—the instinct to stay on guard, to be ready for anything.

But as he stood there, his gaze drifted back to the camp, to Aether's sleeping form. A strange warmth spread through him, unsettling in its gentleness. It was that same warmth he had felt yesterday when Aether had spoken to him, offering words of trust without hesitation. What is wrong with me? Scaramouche clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. I don't need his trust. I don't need anyone.

Yet even as he thought this, he found his gaze lingering on the Traveler, the man who had somehow managed to reach through the walls he had built around himself.

He spent the next hour or so preparing in silence, his movements deliberate and efficient. When Aether finally stirred, stretching and rubbing sleep from his eyes, Scaramouche forced himself to look away, pretending to be preoccupied with adjusting his coat.

"Morning, Scaramouche," Aether greeted, his voice still rough with sleep. "You're up early."

Scaramouche grunted, not bothering to turn around. "Someone has to be vigilant," he muttered, his tone sharp. "Unlike you, I'm not interested in being ambushed first thing in the morning."

Aether chuckled softly, his eyes warm as he watched Scaramouche. "Well, I appreciate it," he said, his tone genuine. "We're lucky to have you with us."

Scaramouche stiffened at the words, his jaw clenching. Lucky? The idea was absurd. He was a harbinger of chaos, a weapon honed for destruction. Yet here was Aether, speaking to him as though he were a... companion. A partner.

He turned away abruptly, his expression darkening. "Don't get used to it," he snapped. "I'm not here to make things easy for you."

Aether merely smiled, a calm and knowing expression that set Scaramouche's nerves on edge. "Noted," he replied lightly, before turning his attention to packing up their supplies.

Scaramouche moved away, his eyes scanning the forest's edge. His chest tightened with a mixture of anger and confusion. Why does he keep doing that? he thought, gritting his teeth. Why does he keep acting like... like he cares?

The rest of the morning was spent in tense silence as they continued their journey, Aether and Paimon occasionally exchanging light conversation while Scaramouche kept his eyes on the path ahead. The forest gradually gave way to rocky terrain, the landscape growing harsher as they approached the border of Sumeru.

It was midday when trouble finally found them.

Scaramouche had been walking a few feet ahead, his senses on high alert, when he heard the faintest rustle of movement in the underbrush. His body tensed, eyes narrowing as he scanned the area. Something's not right...

"Stop," he hissed, throwing out an arm to halt Aether and Paimon behind him. They froze, eyes wide as they looked at him in alarm.

"What is it?" Aether whispered, his hand already moving to the hilt of his sword.

Scaramouche didn't reply immediately, his gaze locked on the trees ahead. Then, in a flash of motion, a group of bandits burst from the foliage, weapons drawn and eyes gleaming with malicious intent.

Aether stepped forward, drawing his sword in a smooth motion, but Scaramouche was already moving. He darted to the side, his body fluid and precise as he intercepted the nearest bandit. A blade flashed toward him, but he blocked it with ease, his movements a dance of practiced lethality.

Protect them. Protect yourself. The thought surged through him, instinctual and overpowering. Scaramouche moved like a shadow, his strikes swift and deadly. He was aware of Aether fighting beside him, their movements almost synchronized despite the chaos around them. Paimon hovered nearby, her voice a mix of worry and determination as she cheered them on.

It was over in minutes. The bandits, realizing they were outmatched, retreated into the forest, leaving the group standing in the clearing, breaths heavy and eyes sharp.

Aether sheathed his sword, turning to Scaramouche with a mixture of concern and gratitude. "Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes scanning Scaramouche for injuries.

Scaramouche stared at him, his heart pounding from more than just the fight. "Why are you asking me that?" he snapped, his tone harsh. "You should be worrying about yourself, not me."

Aether's gaze softened, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Maybe," he said quietly. "But I still want to make sure you're alright."

Scaramouche's chest tightened, an unfamiliar ache spreading through him. Why do you care? he wanted to scream, the words burning in his throat. But instead, he turned away, hiding the turmoil in his eyes. "I'm fine," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. "Let's just keep moving."

As they resumed their journey, Scaramouche fell into a brooding silence, his mind replaying the fight. He had moved to protect Aether and Paimon without thinking, acting on instinct rather than calculation. And now, as he walked, he found himself questioning why. Why did I protect them?

A faint breeze rustled through the trees, carrying with it the scent of pine and earth. Scaramouche inhaled deeply, letting the cool air calm his racing heart. They're not my concern, he reminded himself, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. They're just... traveling companions. That's all.

Yet, despite his efforts to convince himself, he couldn't shake the feeling that had surged through him during the fight. The need to protect, to stand by their side. It was absurd. He was a lone wolf, a weapon. He didn't need anyone, and no one needed him.

But when Aether reached out and lightly touched his arm in silent gratitude, Scaramouche didn't pull away. He simply let the contact linger for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest.

You're losing your edge, he thought bitterly, casting a sideways glance at Aether. But... maybe that's not such a bad thing.

He walked on, his gaze steady but his mind a whirl of confusion. For the first time in centuries, he felt something shifting inside him—something warm and terrifying, like the sun breaking through a stormy sky.