#anyways shoutout to Taliesin's Contributions to Exandria's Lore and the snippets of FCG backstory we have. These two are somehow related!

[blorbologist]

Architects of our demise: Chapter 6

Breaking News: white academic forced to endure nature. Champion of death comments, 'He's being very brave about it'. More at 6.

“And you’re sure?” Percival presses. 

“Yeah, yeah. Of course!”

She does not ask what he’s not sure of. 

(There are a great many that Percival could list: is she certain this oasis is that way? Can she be sure they can leave the Grey Huntress here unattended? Will they make it there alive?)

The last few days have been uneventful; no signs of even a performative chase by peacekeepers, light rain at worst, and little in the way of stimulating conversation between him and Vex’ahlia. She is certainly friendly, and approachable, but after the last attempt he is happy enough to have his space on the ship. They are partners in this grim and blasphemous business, and little more. 

At least there is enough trust for them to sleep properly, taking shifts in the cabin’s plush bed. Percival finds her sleeping restlessly more often than not, eyes darting beneath her eyelids. When he lays down, the sheets are only faintly warm where she was, and smell of subtle flowers he cannot name.

It has all left room for Percival to drive himself up the wall - or up the mast, as it were - with stress. Because he is throwing himself into the wilderness at the heels of a barely-not-stranger.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, feeling the deed crystal carefully. That accounted for he fingers his holstered guns, flicks his thumb over his palm to assure himself the residuum is charged. (Not the least bit reassured, if that was not obvious.) 

Vex’ahlia seems to catch on. Or, no - she likely picked up on his unease twenty minutes ago and is only now taking pity. She lopes back from inspecting what she claimed is a path. 

“Percy,” she implores, “I trusted you to guide us through Aeor. This is my favored terrain; I’ve been doing this for a hundred years.” Bouncing on her heels, she adds, “Anyways! I can always ask my brother if we’re on the right path. Call it a Champion’s intuition.”

Asking for directions is the opposite of intuition. Percival narrows his eyes. She winks. He narrows them further. “Would he help, though? You said this was your goal, not his.”

Does the Reaper Prince even want to resume mortality? It hadn’t occurred to him to consider this, so wrapped up in Vex’ahlia’s wholehearted dedication to this path. But… if this was wanted, why has the god not helped her? 

“I’m not sure,” she admits. Which, admittedly, lends weight to how sure she is of the rest of this venture. “I mean - maybe he knows and just isn’t stopping me, or maybe he doesn’t. I don’t think he’d let me get lost in the jungle, though.”

… This is going to be even more difficult than anticipated.

Prologue | Keep reading on AO3!