Hermit Special

A Shocking Truth

Author's Note: In this AU fanfic, Weisz's wings are a metaphor for the dreams and trust that Hermit lost many years ago. If you're at least somewhat familiar with the ship, this will be pretty obvious, but I still wanted to mention it.

(The name of the fanfic is, of course, inspired by the Hermit Special move, where Weisz gets wings on Arsenal when Hermit commands him.)

Other notes at the end of the fanfic!

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In a small hidden village, nestled deep in the emerald forests of Eldermoor, a young couple lived together in a modest stone cottage. The young man was named Weisz, tall, lean, and blonde—a type who always tried to be helpful despite being quite solitary. The girl, petite in both body and height, with beautiful sky-blue hair, called herself "Hermit," though her real name was Mio.

The two lived in their humble home, built at the edge of the village in the forest, yet close to the imposing mountains of the kingdom. Their house reflected the peacefulness of their quiet lives, in their small, tranquil world, with their simple work and the rare outings they allowed themselves among people. Everything between them was absolutely ordinary—except for one secret, one that no one in the village knew: Weisz had wings. Majestic, colossal wings that glittered in the golden sunlight but had the purity of moonlight, as though drawn from the essence of the heavens themselves.

The blonde had always felt like an outcast because of his wings. They made him different, even strange in the eyes of those around him. Most days, he kept them tightly folded against his back, hidden under a cloak, and only at night would he spread them in all their splendor, but only in the safety of their home, away from prying eyes. It was Hermit, his dearest companion and the only one who knew his secret, who took care of them with great tenderness, as if handling the most fragile thing in the world. She would brush them, massage the tense muscles at the base of the wings, and make sure they were healthy. She understood them, perhaps even more than he did.

He remembered the first time he had shown them to her. Anyone else would have run away, but the girl was particularly fascinated. So much so that the night he revealed his secret to her was also the night they made love for the first time, under the moonlight, in the meadow near a lake. Never had there been an intensity stronger than that, not even a ring on her finger back then.

Because yeah, Hermit was different too. She was educated and could read, something that set her apart from Weisz, a simple, illiterate country boy.

She had come to the village long ago, reserved, often lost in thought, but her delicate hands were always gentle and sure as she cared for him. The young man had always wondered why she was so passionate about taking care of his wings, why her expression became so solemn and bittersweet when she worked on them. He had never dared to ask her what had happened. That feeling seemed too personal to explore.

Moreover, Hermit had always maintained a certain distance about it, a wall of privacy that even he, as her closest friend at first, and later as her lover and husband, had learned not to cross. She never let him into that private space, and he respected that decision.

But fate, as it often does, had other plans.

One late afternoon, after a long day of work in the village, Weisz returned home. The cottage was bathed in the soft light of the setting sun, casting long shadows on the wooden floors.

Hermit wasn't in the kitchen or near the hearth, where she usually sat working on some delicate invention or reading one of her old scrolls. Curious, Weisz walked down the narrow hallway toward the dim light.