The following day, I learned that I could now walk through walls. The horror I experienced after tripping on a loose floorboard in my room and flying through the wall in front of me was heart stopping. It took me a good thirty seconds of standing in a rigid position and staring down the wall I just walked through as if I were a ghost.
With the contract completed and my powers unsealed, who knows what else I was capable of? I tried to muster up the ability to teleport but only managed to make a tense expression that resembled the face of a constipated person. I know that I looked like this because the maid that strolled by, took one look at me and scurried away as if I'd just spat on her shoes.
This particular moment continued to weigh on my mind with embarrassment before I was intercepted on my way to the throne room for the shift of the day.
"Excuse me, Miss Y/N? Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa has asked that you join the Harbingers in the meeting room on their designated floor." The attendant bowed and swiftly passed by me without so much as a glance.
I didn't waste a second and allowed my legs to carry me quickly up to their floor. By their floor, I was referring to the area that housed their personal chambers, meeting room and lounge area. The Harbinger's were generously given only the most opulent rooms and breathtaking views. A bit over the top if you ask me.
As I took my time strolling by each room, I listened for the sounds of brief wind currents and feathery breezes. Any information I could gather, I would gladly take. Whether it be the number of socks Tartaglia kept or the method of colour coding clothes that Pantalone used. The majority were just excited spirits rambling on about the splendour of the Harbinger's personal rooms. Whilst I couldn't just poke my head through the wall for a snoop for fear of being caught, the poems that sang in my ears of the lavish sheets and rich furniture was enough for my imagination to complete the image.
Upon nearing the meeting room, a different sound rang in my ears. My feet halted to a stop as I turned in hopes of hearing that unusual voice once more. This time, it sounded further behind and so I chose to shuffle backwards until I came to a stop in front of a door. I strained my ears and stared the door down with scrutiny. What was special about this room? Actually... Whose room is this in the first place?
'Tis he who will charge the clouds with their thunder. 'Tis he who will capture the bolts like ropes in his hand.
A riddle. My least favourite of the handful of methods the winds try to relay information.
They're entertaining when I have the time and brain space to turn them over but not when I'm already late for a meeting I'm unwelcome in. This riddle will have to wait but I ensured to burn the words into my memory and memorise the location of the door for later.
I bounded forwards and knocked once on the door. A loud and commanding 'Enter' was issued, motioning for me to join the Harbingers in the sound proof room. If you're wondering how I managed to get my hands on their schemes, it was simple really. I only needed the doors to be open for a second and allow the winds out. They found their way back to me with ease and slipped into my head, feeding me everything I needed to know.
The heavy double doors sweeped open and I laid eyes on quite the intimidating scene. Every sinister gaze in the room was on me. A grand number of 11 glares were pointed in my direction. Well, maybe a few less with their strange obsession with masks.
A bundle of books and stacks of papers were laid out on a large round circle. The room was relatively well lit from the diamond shaped windows to the left and the rest of the chamber resembled the blue crystal of the throne room. It was almost just as cold in here but I blamed it on their overly chilling snarls.
"Good morning my Lords and Ladies. I hope to be of assistance today, however my expertise really only lie in music and tales of the land. I understand your unwillingness to work with me but if I may be so bold... Perhaps a new outlook on the situation might be of use to you," I spoke politely with a shrug.
The man at the head of the table, the man who always seemed to look right through me, met my gaze with hard, cold eyes. Those Khaenrian stars that stamped his irises had always unnerved me. He was the most dangerous to me in here, particularly because I was present when the Archons came to deal with the situation during the cataclysm 500 years ago. We hadn't directly met and whilst it was a long time ago, I vaguely recalled glimpsing him amidst the chaos. Unsure if he recognised me at all, I made sure to keep out of his way at all costs. In this moment, he was regarding me with a superior expression.
Finally, breaking the silence, he spoke. "If the Tsaritsa wishes for you to work with us, then we must oblige. Come forth, bard."
I absorbed his deep, ringing voice with a neutral expression before bowing my head and slipping in, shutting the door behind me.
The beady eyes of the Harbingers continued to study me and shred me to ribbons with their blood curdling auras. Unfortunately for them, it hardly had an effect on me after everything I've had to experience. The wars I've been involved in and the enemies I've encountered were spoken of as mere myth and legend these days, however I knew the real hard truth about their nature.
Almost as if my lack of fear had bored them, they lost interest and returned to the topic of the hour.
"As ordered by the Tsaritsa, we have crafted a plan that will take place a week from now. We wish for this burdening matter to be over and done with, therefore we've chosen to shorten the preparation time. Please take a look at these notes," said Pulcinella from beside me.
He pushed a large set of papers in front of me that detailed a very simple yet effective attack plan against a gang of treasure hoarders that were supposedly stealing from nearby Fatui camps. As I ran my gaze over all the steps and diagrams and names, the Harbingers conferred in hushed voices around me. I felt a presence shuffle to my side and study my face. The scent of jasmine and lilies perfumed the air nearby.
Lifting my gaze up briefly, I glimpsed the figure of a girl with black and pink hair. A strange criss cross mask concealed the top half of her face and her skin glowed like iridescent water. Columbina. The mighty third Harbinger. A lady with the voice of an angel.
"What do you think, Miss Y/N?" Her lips ghosted the hint of a smile.
So far, the majority of my superiors have only ever referred to me as 'bard' or the ever popular 'Oi, you'. To hear her refer to me by name was a pleasant gesture. I did not return her smile.
"It's simple and should it fail, the losses won't be grave. I believe it will be effective," I nodded with approval.
She grinned at that. Her presence was strangely comforting and much less frightening than the others. I knew better than to underestimate Columbina however. She was the third for a reason. Her voice that rang like a choir in the moonlight was a form of deception. She used it to enrapture and bewitch victims until she sank her teeth into their unsuspecting souls and stole them away from the night. Right now, she wasn't even half of what her reputation framed her to be.
Columbina was still grinning at me like a little girl and I suddenly found myself in an awkward situation with her. Clearing my throat, I returned my gaze to the papers before me and nodded every once in a while when the kindred soul that was Pulcinella would offer me additional information that the others hadn't bothered to share with me. The 11th Harbinger would sometimes chip in and comment on my suggestions with a kind smile. All this took place whilst Columbina stood at my side with a curious expression.
"Please excuse my rudeness, my Lord. But could you explain why Lady Columbina keeps looking at me like that? I'm finding it a little hard to focus," I whispered to Pulcinella.
He glanced over my shoulder at a merry looking Columbina that seemed to be completely intrigued by my every move. Pulcinella chuckled under his breath quietly before tipping his glasses up and leaning towards me with a whisper.
"You'll have to forgive her for her behaviour. She is quite a big fan of your music, Miss Y/N. She often sits on the balcony of the lounge to catch the songs you play every so often in the gardens," explained the little man.
My eyes widened at the unexpected revelation. I have a fan? She... The third Harbinger enjoyed my music so much that she would listen from the balcony? The little dance of celebration my heart did was unexpected. To know that people really loved my melodies was the greatest compensation I could receive for strumming until my fingers went numb.
Without revealing the new information I'd learned about Columbina, I turned to her and gave her a grateful smile to which she blushed happily and fiddled with a diamond on her outfit. She seemed like a rather genuine person and I realised that the impression I had of the Harbingers was different to what I expected. I still disliked them for their blatant abuse of power and exploitation of fear but the few that had shown me small tidbits of kindness were certainly climbing up on my list of more likeable Harbingers.
Sooner or later, Columbina gathered the courage to open with the subject of music and she admitted to loving my tunes to which I responded with a genuine interest in her singing. She was all too joyous to converse with me however we realised we were supposed to be discussing more pressing matters and ensured to talk another time. I was well aware that this time would not happen but I promised myself to play a final song specifically for her and send it up to the window of her bedroom before I made my escape.
We finalised the details of the plan and the list of suspects (that did not include me at all) were produced and allocated different variations of the plan to ambush the treasure hoarders. I still earned disapproving looks from Signora and Pantalone, and on more than one occasion did Dottore try to get a drop of my blood for whatever reason he needed it but the majority of the morning and part of the afternoon went relatively smoothly.
The whole time, I was vaguely aware of the watchful eyes of Scaramouche who seemed to have something to say about everything I said. The only way he would refer to me was with a variety of mocking or insulting names. He was often in opposition to me and successfully shut down my suggestions multiple times to which I clenched my teeth and bit back the insults riding on my tongue. He was being infuriatingly petty about accepting help from a musician but I didn't see him coming up with a better plan than mine. I was positive that I've never once wronged him anyway so his behaviour was becoming increasingly infuriating.
"Could I suggest that we also analyse the method of opposition the treasure hoarders will use against the attack? Maybe it'll help us deduce which variation of the plan they were given quicker than taking a hostage and interrogating," I suggested with a casual shrug.
"We have very potent truth serums that would reveal precisely what they were told. Any other method would be time consuming and a waste of resources," retorted Scaramouche.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Respectfully, my Lord. If these truth serums are so potent and effective, then why haven't they been used on any hostages from previous, real plans that were leaked? "
I couldn't resist folding my arms and raising my eyebrows. Certainly a bold move on my part but this man was really starting to piss me off and I hated how the winds couldn't tell me enough about him from my time in Inazuma. I only knew flashes of his past but something remained shrouded over his true self and all I could retrieve was a name that he used before the Fatui. Bits and pieces of information that were more like incompatible puzzle parts often cropped up too. Before coming here, I made sure to gather as much information on important figures as possible yet Scaramouche and one or two others seemed to be completely concealed from the eyes and ears of the winds.
"That would be because every single time we attacked, the victims were always miraculously evacuated in time before we could catch a single one," he growled. "And for the record, there was nothing respectful about the way you just spoke to me."
A scowl appeared on his face as well as a thick tension between us. His neck looked extremely nice to choke right now and I wanted nothing more than to drag my fingernails down his face in hopes of ruining his irritatingly good complexion. My anger was bubbling up quickly and suddenly, I felt compelled to win this argument.
"I apologise if my words came off a little... aggressive but it hasn't gone unnoticed that you seem to be absolutely unwilling to accept any of my help, Lord Scaramouche. I'd like to gently remind you that the Tsaritsa is the one who put me here and it would be wise if you heed the guidance she generously granted you," I stated with solid confidence.
By now the room had quietened down to witness the squabble.
"You are certainly starting to push the boundaries, bard. Why on earth would I willingly take suggestions from a fool? I am more than aware of what the Tsaritsa has ordered from us but that does not mean I won't put down ideas that are simply not worth investing in," he responded. His tone had darkened into anger.
I scoffed to which multiple eyes widened and glittered with a new found curiosity. "If this 'fool' hadn't handed over a solid solution to fix this mess, you would be on the receiving end of the Tsaritsa's complaints. I wouldn't be so defensive if you had offered up a plan that levelled mine."
I quickly added 'my Lord' onto the end but his eyes were already glowing a dangerous hue of indigo and a muscle ticked in his jaw with a new found source of irritation.
"Did you really think that because the Tsaritsa is so obsessed with you and your little instrument that we would let you stroll in here and make silly demands as you please? Oh you silly girl... You think you are above us now because you caught the eyes of the Queen once?" he barked out a bitter laugh.
"Twice."
He cocked his head to the side with a dangerous expression. "Excuse me?"
"I caught the Queen's eye twice. Once when I proved myself to be the best musician in the nation and twice when I proved myself to be a better schemer than you. I certainly don't believe myself to be above you, Lord Scaramouche, oh no. But I can confidently tell you that I am here for a reason and it has nothing to do with being the Tsaritsa's favourite. It has everything to do with the fact that I know what I'm doing and you... Well, you seem to be in need of a little help." I looked him up and down.
I think I heard someone choke in the background and another person gasp but I was all too riled up by this ridiculous man that seems to hate me for no particular reason. I know what I'm capable of and that is all too obvious with the way I've made everyone in this room believe that I'm on their side. They think I'm working to catch this traitor when I'm actually just setting myself up on purpose to show them what I'm really made of.
You see, everything I do is calculated. From the way I keep a neutral yet careless expression, to the way I talk politely but bluntly. I perfected my image to fit the role of an easily ignored and irrelevant figure in court. I leave not a single trace behind my work and it is evident from the fact that they simply cannot catch me that I am beating them at this game. The bags of experience in manipulation and deception I've gathered are worth more than some of the people in this room.
For this man to continuously challenge my nerves and put down my every word is insulting and vexing beyond anything. I can only put up with someone for so long and Barbatos knew this when he placed me on the front lines. Right now, I was clamping my mouth shut for the sake of keeping things civil. If Scaramouche wanted me out of here, then he would have to try a whole lot harder because I am not letting such a golden opportunity to reveal my true identity slip through my fingers.
Watching his reaction to my words was almost enough to make me flinch. Almost. The gaze that scorched mine was enough to rattle a mountain and the way the room crackled with hot, electro sparks coming from his delusion were hard to ignore. I could've sworn an 'oh shit' coming from the left side of the room.
"Oh how I love it when the inferior step out of line," said Scaramouche who was looking positively homicidal in this moment.
Someone cursed just as a bright flash of purple blinded my vision and disappeared in an instance. It reappeared directly in front of me with mere millimetres to spare, leaving black spots dancing in my eyes. I took an involuntary step back and shielded my face out of instinct. As I waited for something to strike (completely forgetting that I'm literally made of air), nothing came. The moment had happened so fast I lost all common sense and leaped to protect myself. And gladly so because if I'd just stood there and allowed Scaramouche to pass through me like a ghost, then they would have immediately suspected something.
I cracked open my eyes to find a strange scene playing out. Scaramouche was down onto one knee, two hands covering his ears tightly. His form shook slightly and sweat beaded his forehead, electro and anemo still swirling around him. My eyes swivelled to Columbina who was singing a song that I hadn't noticed in the time that Scaramouche had tried to assault me. Her music was hindering his ability to move and once she considered her work sufficient, she brought the ethereal song to a close.
Scaramouche shuddered before collapsing to the ground. His skin was ashen pale and he appeared to be unconscious now. I blinked, trying to gather my thoughts and recompose myself. Did he actually just try to kill me? He is quite possibly the strangest man I've ever encountered. Something terrible must have happened to him to have such mortifying anger issues.
"Does he do that often?" I found myself asking without so much as a single sign I nearly just died.
The Harbingers gaped at me with strange expressions as if they've never seen such a casual reaction to an attack. Nobody said anything as they looked at one another in confusion.
"Uh... Yeah, sort of," chuckled Columbina.
"Thank you for protecting my Lady." I bowed, showing her my gratitude.
"Well, if he were to kill the Queen's beloved musician, we would all be in big trouble. Regardless of what the Balladeer said, your help is certainly appreciated Miss Y/N." She nodded with just as much gratitude; Tartaglia and Arlecchino commented in agreement.
"I think it's best if I take my leave now, Lords and Ladies. I do hope my assistance was somewhat useful as you say. Should you need me, I'll be in my room," I said.
"I think that's wise. We will call upon you again tomorrow as we put the plan into action. You are dismissed," rang Pierro's voice.
I bowed quickly before ducking out of the room and walking away as fast as my legs would take me. I'm awfully grateful they didn't question my bold move of provoking Scaramouche but I'm even more grateful he was unconscious when I left. I cannot believe he tried to kill me for merely making good points! That man needs a leash.
It seemed to me that the other Harbingers were accustomed to his outbursts and sudden homicidal tendencies. If this was going to work at all, I needed to keep him out of my way. It is a possibility that the reason he resents me is that he suspects me of being the traitor. I don't know how he might have wound up with that conclusion but he knew how to find me in the maze, he watched me and my playing carefully in the throne room and he went out of his way to ensure my input was ignored as often as possible. Either he was completely enamoured by me or he knew he was dealing with someone dangerous. I know which one is more likely.
Because I am dangerous. More than any of the oblivious people in this palace could possibly imagine. With my boundless power and experience in both mental and physical battles, I was a great threat to the Fatui. And the best part was that they had absolutely no idea.
They will soon. I want them to know I'm the traitor. I want them to know that they let the one they were pursuing right into their ranks and fed them all the information they needed. It's time they were properly challenged. And then, when I reveal to them who I am, they'll watch me escape unscathed and realise I hold all their precious secrets in the palm of my hand. After that, they'll forever be fearful and paranoid that I might use this against them. It's perfect. That's why I need this to work.
I purposefully wanted to help them spin a plan into the works so that even the Harbingers will be left paranoid by me. It is likely they will send many people to hunt me down but as long as I'm a wind spirit (which will never not be the case) then I'll remain safe in the hands of freedom.
By the end of next week, I'll be fleeing the nation with dozens of bounties for my head. The thought of it makes me giddy.
~~~
Later that night, I realised the riddle that whispered its way into my head earlier had gone forgotten. I cursed myself for not being more mindful but the Balladeer's attack on me earlier had left me shaken. I knew I couldn't be hurt but I've never seen speed like that before. That was much too close for comfort and if he had reached me, they would immediately question why my body was entirely hollow to the touch.
Luckily for me, the Harbingers and the Tsaritsa had been invited to the opening of the Grand Theatre where a performance dedicated for the Archon would debut tonight. This gave me the perfect opportunity to slip by the Harbinger's floor and catch the words of the riddle once more. Perhaps I could even get an idea of whose room lay behind the door. It's likely the owner of those quarters was partially the answer to the riddle.
Once I'd arrived on the vacant floor, only silence clouded the corridors. Even the winds had calmed down from earlier and seemed to sleep the night away once the moon had shown. The quiet was unnerving to say the least but at least it would allow me to identify any footsteps before they reach me.
Remembering which door held the riddle, I chose to hover on the air and skip through the corridor with steps made of anemo. My presence here would be concealed should any passers by interrupt my sneaking around.
I paused in front of the rich brown door that showcased a carved pattern I noticed earlier. At first, the pattern appeared to be random swirls and slashes but upon squinting, an image started to take shape. It looked like a boy whose limbs were tied by puppet strings and where his heart would be, only a gaping hole lay present. I blinked and the image returned back to irregular patterns. Perhaps it was enchanted?
'Tis he who will charge the clouds with their thunder. 'Tis he who will capture the bolts like ropes in his hand.
There it is again. There seems to be a theme of stormy weather in this riddle. 'Thunder' and 'bolts' reminded me of electro and the strange words definitely referred to a 'he'. That rules out any of the female Harbingers.
Glancing up and down the corridor, I ensured no one was around before I walked right through the door. It was still uncomfortable for me to walk through walls but it was certainly proving useful for me.
Upon appearing on the other side of the door, I scanned the empty room. My gaze snagged on a large queen sized bed. The four posters and shimmery fabric screen that enveloped the bed was fit for royalty. I was growing more jealous by the second. In fact, the entire theme of the room with the lightest purple threads and dark grey fabrics was enviable. Rich brown furniture decorated the room and various golden ornaments completed the decor.
As I continued to study the room, the riddle would tell itself over and over again until it really was stamped into my memory. I was growing more and more irritated by the wispy voice that sounded on the air. Let's make this quick.
Tiptoeing around the room, I tried to get a glimpse of any personal items that would allow me to identify the owner of the more than luxurious room. I had my suspicions already but I really hoped this time I might be proven wrong. Unfortunately, how likely is it that the Harbinger who dresses from head to toe in shades of purple and keeps a large electro symbol on his chest isn't the man who sleeps in that bed? Geez, my week just keeps getting better and better.
A flutter in the corner of my eye had me turning my attention to the window that was slightly ajar. A wavy breeze billowed against the sheer curtains and I felt compelled to come near those winds. Maybe they would be feeling kind today and would lend me some information.
I edged closer only to catch sight of the breathtaking view past the window. A steep valley covered in powdered white forests and a meandering glacial river was the view one would see every morning from this window. With the full moon out and casting a pearly gaze over the hills, it was more like a painting than a moment in real life. Stars freckled the night sky however I wasn't here to ogle the view so I stepped away hastily.
Glancing down, I found myself faced with a mahogany study. On its surface was a stack of papers very neatly and precisely stationed on the corner of the desk. One ink tipped feather was held upright in a pen holder and a pot of black liquid rested beside it. So he was a perfectionist, huh? Splendid.
I made a mental note not to touch or move anything. If he really was a perfectionist as I assumed he was, then he would instantly notice a change in the positioning of his items. Whoever 'he' was anyway.
Not a single frame or painting or personal item was visible out in the open of the large room. I almost resorted to sticking my head into the set of drawers on the right wall but something stopped me.
A sound. Not the whistled riddle but a different noise. Footsteps? Shit. Why now?
I caught the sound of muttering from an irritatingly familiar voice. A jolt in my instincts had me rushing towards the nearest safe hiding place. If this was the owner of the room returning, I could not be caught here at any cost. The nearest 'hiding' place was only a matching mahogany wardrobe on the other side of the room.
I cursed myself for not controlling the anemo energy as the papers on the desk fluttered lightly, messing up the perfected pile. The door flung open in an instant as a figure stormed in, muttering under his breath profanities.
"The little bitch. How dare she spill wine on me?! She will pay for this one day," spat the Sixth Harbinger, slamming the door behind him.
I made an educated guess and predicted it was Signora who spilled the wine. She had a liking for it and a disliking for Scaramouche.
Then, at the realisation that my theory was true and the owner of the room was indeed him, I bit back the urge to groan into my hands. Why of all people did he have to be behind the riddle? Was it not enough that he had tried to kill me and resented me from day one?
So... Scaramouche would supposedly give the clouds their thunder and hold bolts of lightning like they were ropes? Strange. That sounds like only something a god could do...
A whopping realisation slammed into me. The puppet on the door was likely Scaramouche, right? And there was a hole in his heart as well as puppet strings holding him up, controlling him. Years ago when I was strolling through Inazuma, I heard whispers of tale. A tale about an eccentric wanderer who emerged from a domain beneath a mountain after a long time in slumber. When I followed their murmurs to the mountain, I learned of a mansion by the name of Shakkei Pavilion that once acted as a case for the body of a divine being. It confused me at the time because the stories contradicted each other. Was it an eccentric wanderer or a divine being? After this, a third story caught my attention as it described the path a broken puppet took down the mountain, away from this particular mansion. Feathery strands of anemo that looked like snapped strings flowed away from the area.
All three stories spoke of a man leaving this nook beneath the mountain and at the time, I passed it off as a confused spirit who was sharing myths. But maybe... Maybe they were all the same person. The name that I learned as Kunikizushi was what Scaramouche called himself once upon a time. And if I recall correctly, he was also referred to as a wanderer before he befriended a swordsmith. Furthermore, I couldn't find any other information about him, almost as if his real identity was concealed. It would make sense that any information about him was hidden if he was a divine being. Especially if he had anything to do with an Archon of the land specifically... But what about the puppet story? How did that tie into all this? And the hole in his heart was obviously important here too.
My thought process came to a screeching halt as Scaramouche's aura shifted from angry to cautious. His eyes were staring at the desk I'd just been standing beside and once again, I cursed my carelessness. Slowly, he walked towards the dishevelled papers and eyed them with a look enough to make a grown man cry.
From the small crack in the wardrobe doors I watched from, I prayed he wouldn't come over this way.
My eyes were back on Scaramouche when he pushed the light curtains out of the way to shut the window that was open just the slightest bit. The relieved sigh I released would have blown the wardrobe doors open had I not been careful.
He did something I should have anticipated next. Once beside his bed, the Harbinger gripped the bottom of his wine stained shirt and lifted it over his head, revealing a shirtless upper body. My jaw hung open.
I blinked, looked away in shock before looking back. I know I shouldn't have looked. I know I shouldn't have been in here at all. Despite knowing all this, I couldn't keep my gaze from travelling down his body.
His skin was light and almost perfect. His form was strong and toned but not to the point that he was shredded, it was just enough to compliment him nicely. He had an attractive set of abs and a very well suited set of broad shoulders. Scaramouche's biceps were often covered with the sleeves of his shirt but now... I could see the strength that was cloaked by the fabric. The tendons and muscles shifted with every move he made.
He turned his back to me and stretched a little before strolling over to a big set of drawers and pulling out another shirt of the same design but with small variations. My eyes latched onto the purple electro symbol at the back of his neck, slightly covered by his indigo hair. I didn't fail to notice the X scar that was faintly crossed over it. It was the only imperfection that was visible on his exposed skin and I frowned at the sight of it.
Ok, maybe it's time to get out of here. I've mostly gotten my answers; I only need to piece them together and figure out what the riddle is trying to say.
As I turned my back to leave through the wall behind me, a single sound had me freezing to a stop. It almost felt like someone had thrown a rope and strung it around my neck, dragging me back. My eyes widened as I strained to hear the faint sound again. I swallowed at the repetition of it. There's no way...
My head whipped around to set my sight back onto the crack in the door. I felt warm all over at the sound of the Sixth Harbinger humming a particular melody I played yesterday. The strings I strummed as I played for him in the gardens. That was the tune he was humming. Every note passed by his lips as he pulled a new shirt on and fiddled with his messed hair. He had no idea of the effects this was having on me right now.
Something about the songs I played was that because they are linked to me via anemo, they are virtually a part of my body and soul. Therefore, it makes sense that Scaramouche humming it right now was reflecting on me and making it feel as if his fingers were brushing the skin of my arms and wrapping around my body. My breathing was becoming unsteady as I felt the sensation shift to graze my cheek softly then skitter down my neck. It was on my mouth now, so feathery and light it would have gone unnoticed by anyone else. But I felt it as if he was standing right in front of me, running a thumb over my lip tenderly.
Mind you, I haven't been touched for 2000 years in such an intimate way. No one can actually touch me so this feeling had me rooted to the spot with trembling hands. I swallowed and exhaled quietly before forcing myself to leave the room. It was almost as if my mind was the lyre being played with the way he hummed it to perfection. My skin was hot all over.
I need to get out of here.
I wasted no second rubbing my eyes and snapping myself out of the trance before covering my ears and stepping through and out the nearest wall. The sound of my tune on his lips dulled but still ricocheted at the back of my head. Once I was long out of reach of the sound, the feeling on my skin died away and the heat that blazed my cheeks disappeared. As soon as it was gone, I sighed with relief.
I don't want to experience that ever again. I don't crave physical touch like that anymore and it is completely unimportant to me. Touch like that is intimate and expressed between people who value each other. I can't have someone like that and they can't have me so I choose to banish any thoughts that ever intrude my brain.
Instead, I began fiddling with the new found information. So I know that Scaramouche is Kunikizushi who is also the eccentric wanderer who is also a divine being of some sort and at the same time is suggested to be a puppet with a hole in his heart. Now it is evident that he doesn't have a physical hole so it's likely just metaphorical but what else would go in the place of it? Furthermore if he's a divine being, then he was either brought down from Celestia or created by an Archon. He's from Inazuma which highly suggests it has something to do with Raiden Shogun, especially because of the golden electro accessory showcased on his chest. Now the puppet strings...
Well, if he really was created by the Shogun then he needed to serve a purpose. She's not the type of woman to waste time creating useless beings which therefore suggests he was supposed to complete an objective. The winds by the mountains called him a broken puppet, meaning that he didn't do what he was supposed to. This could be why he left to wander but what was it that he needed to do for the Archon?
Come to think of it, I have yet to actually meet the Shogun. If I recall correctly, the original Electro Archon died in the chaos of the Cataclysm and her twin sister took over. Barbatos often needed someone to gossip with about godly business and I just happened to be his only trusty confidant so I was privy to many of their interesting secrets.
For the life of me, I truly cannot understand what Scaramouche might have been used for. It's obvious that something was supposed to go in the place where his heart is supposed to be and he was intended to be controlled by those puppet strings. Maybe not literally, but you get the idea. If he was a divine being then he could basically be classified as a god, or more likely a lesser god. But to be a god, they needed either a gnosis or divine powers bestowed upon them. I'm unsure of the second possibility but something about the first idea was gnawing at me...
Once my head hit the pillow, I tucked my hands beneath my head and stared at the ceiling. What am I missing? I can't seem to come up with a plausible theory for this. What did the riddle say again?
'Tis he who will charge the clouds with their thunder. 'Tis he who will capture the bolts like ropes in his hand.
Earlier I realised that this sounds like something only a god could be capable of. As far as I'm aware, only the Raiden Shogun can create thundering storms. And afterwards, I concluded that to have godly powers, Scaramouche would need a gnosis if he didn't already have divine powers. But if Scaramouche were to be given a gnosis along with his divine body, then wouldn't he essentially become the Electro Archon? He would be able to do the things in the riddle with that power. The gnosis would basically work as a heart for him wouldn't it? Is that... Wait a second...
Those words muttered by the winds weren't a riddle. No... They were a prophecy. It has yet to happen and the words strictly said 'he will'. Is this actually possible?
Scaramouche wants to take the Electro gnosis for himself and use it as a heart, making him the Electro Archon.
It's wildly far fetched and possibly crazy from the random bits of information I know but... The Balladeer has always been a power hungry man with a god complex of sort. When I think about it, his perfect skin and strange glowing eyes did often remind me of when Venti used his Archon powers. Scaramouche is definitely someone who would do something that risky and drastic. Whilst I don't understand how the puppet part fits into this, I know something else completely now.
Scaramouche is a traitor of his own.