UnShaekable (FFXII)

IV) Basch the Kingslayer

~1 year before~

"I simply cannot understand why she's acting up."

My brows are strained, pinched together as tight as an Archadian's purse. The oil smeared on my fingertips made its way onto my face an eternity ago when I gave up on cleanliness and dove elbows deep into the inner workings of my baby. Her engine rattles terribly and I motion for the power to be cut. Irritation presses into my chest and it's all I can do not to pull my hair out and scream bloody murder. What could it be? Sweat rolls down Dern's face as he jumps from the side of the Castean, muscles rippling under the beating sunlight and brown hair waving in the gentle, dry wind of the desert.

"Nothing?"

"Not yet," I sigh, throwing my wrench to the ground and kicking the gritty desert sand into the air. The golden grains catch on the hot wind and blast my face. Dern chuckles while I sputter, crossing his arms.

"Patience, Shae. Let me see what I can do."

"Have at it," I reply grimly, falling back onto a scalding, rough rock the color of the old orange peels I forgot outside my camp for a day. Perhaps the skystones are glitching. "I knew something was wrong when we left Rabanastre. Should have gotten the Moogle's—"

"I do believe I found the issue." I sit up with a start, wincing into the blinding sunlight and watching as Dern turns to face me with a broad grin. Between two tanned fingers dangles a mangled ring of gold, dented and crumpled into an odd formation from being crushed between pistons and cogs.

"Are you...?!" My right wrist is nearly bare, save for the silver bangles twisted around each other. Pure agonizing irritation threatens to choke me and I throw myself back down onto the hot rock.

"Forget the accessories next time," Dern laughs, tossing the chunk of soiled gold at my feet. "It may just fetch a pretty price in Rabanastre, you know."

"Much less than it might have before," I reply, resigned. Shaking his head, he walks toward me steadily and pulls me to my feet. Hiding a smile, he runs the pad of his thumb across his tongue and swipes at a black smudge on my forehead.

"Have some hope, Shae. It's something you gravely lack."

I crinkle my nose, recoiling from his touch. The well-muscled man crosses his arms and turns to the horizon, a light, mischievous smile crossing his lips. Sighing, I rest my hands on my hips and fight the urge to grin at his deep, genuine laugh.

"I suppose we'll have to get you a new one, Sweetheart."

Balthier leans around the corner, watching the Judge and his guards walk down the dim passageway. Vaan catches his breath to my left, Fran watching our backs to my right. I frown, listening to the odd chanting echoing from the hallway Balthier watches, but he still appears indifferent. A blue light casts a glow across the rough stone walls momentarily before flashing brightly and fading.

"What's going on?" I whisper.

"They've casted a spell to open a door," Balthier mutters back. "And now they're heading inside, wherever that leads." He straightens, leading the way out into the open. I wince upon hearing him crack his neck, Vaan fighting a smile.

"Time to go," I sigh, watching the soldiers' backs. Finally, I put my feet into motion, being sure to stay ahead of Balthier. I want to see what the puppets of House Solidor are up to. A steep staircase leads down into the dim light of next room. We line up on the stairs and I cautiously peer around the edge of the wall. Chains and cages dangle from the ceiling; one of the cages begins to rise once a soldier touches a golden control panel. The Judge steps forward, staring up at the dangling man before him.