Chapter Text
It was over, the legacy secured and subsequently collapsed. She was supposed to die along with the rest, her purpose fulfilled. Aurora couldn’t understand why she was spared from her predetermined fate. The thoughts plague her as she stares out the window of the car, gazing at unfamiliar structures of steel and glass as they pass lazily by outside. The world was so different from what she remembered; loud, bright, and arguably more populous than the familiar Azran she was accustomed to. Despite the return of her memories, she continued to feel terribly foreign and lost. She wasn’t even sure if she was allowed to feel this way. To feel at all. There was an emptiness inside of her, a suppression that she couldn’t describe or dissect.
She glances out at the passenger side mirror at Dr. Sycamore’s reflection, his posture characteristically poised and unperturbed by whatever thoughts were swimming through his mind. Aurora couldn’t help but feel a severance between herself and him. Fear, was it? No… Fear was too broad. It was something indescribable, at least to her current self.
Her self-appointed guardian doesn’t speak a word through the entire commute, instead choosing to lock himself into a performative silence. The golem wonders what could possibly be keeping him in such a state, but she doesn’t dare pry. She isn’t sure if he’s still acting.
Beside her, ever-faithful Raymond sits equally as quiet, seemingly content with his own company of thoughts. Though, Aurora senses an unease in him behind his wrinkled facade. The old man appears worried, his posture stiff and his brow ever so slightly furrowed with concern. Out of the two of her advisors, he was the one she felt most comfortable speaking to. Ever since the doctor’s betrayal, she felt as though she had to speak to him as a completely different person, someone untrustworthy and callous. She’d much rather inquire with the one whose intentions she could clearly identify.
“Mister Raymond?” She whispers.
The old man acknowledges her with a grunt.
“Where is it that we are going?”
The butler grumbles, unsure of how to phrase his thoughts. “To a safe place, my dear.”
“What kind of safe place?”
“The master had me procure an emergency shelter some years ago, in the chance that Targent might find us.”
Aurora responds with a simple hum of understanding.
“Don’t worry lass,” the kind butler reassures her. “We will manage just fine here, I promise you.” A gentle smile brims beneath his whiskers. It puts Aurora at ease for a moment, but another stolen glance at Sycamore in the mirror sends her back into an emotionless frown. She returns to staring out the window, wondering if the butler’s promise would hold true.
…
The private car comes to a gentle stop in front of an unassuming brick building, sandwiched perfectly between its neighbors. It isn’t anything to gawk at, though one could argue that it makes up for it with charm. A stout iron gate out front cordons off the sidewalk from the building’s property, leading to a modest yet tasteful garden with a single gangly tree that covers the walkway in dappled sunlight. From the street, one wouldn’t assume anything extraordinary was going on behind its closed doors.
Sycamore thanks the driver as the group begins to gather their belongings, but not before producing an envelope from his breast pocket with a few wary glances. He discreetly pushes the bribe in the driver’s direction, who graciously but stealthily accepts the offer with a nod before returning to his vehicle. Any incriminating conversations overheard, it seemed, would be perfectly preserved within the folds of a few valuable bills.
As the vehicle disappears into the neighborhood, the trio is left to themselves. They stare at the plain building, waiting for the first person to lead on. With a self-motivating breath, Sycamore gathers his things, and opens the front gate. He then produces a lone key from his pocket, fitting it into the lock in the front door. One satisfying click, and the home was theirs.
A musty wall of stale air pours over the group as they step through the threshold. The interior appears to be fully furnished as if it were already lived in, though upon further inspection, a thin layer of dust coats every surface, including the armchairs, sofa, and bookshelves. Clocks on the walls that should have been ticking are frozen in time, their hands paralyzed by lack of maintenance. Sunlight filtering through the drawn curtains illuminates hundreds of flecks of dust that drift lazily through the restricted air. Clearly, the place hadn’t been used in quite some time.
Sycamore clears his throat to break the quiet. “Right, well,” he begins as he adjusts his grip on his luggage. “I suppose we should start settling in.” With permission from his steps, the other two proceed inside, dropping their luggage in the living room. The doctor shrugs his blazer from his shoulders, gently placing it on a coat hook beside the door before making a beeline towards the kitchen.
“Miss Aurora,” Raymond addresses. “Why don’t you take the spare bedroom?”
Aurora stops as she ponders his question. “But… Mister Raymond, where will you sleep?”
“Ohh,” the butler coos. “I’m an old fud, I will sleep here on the sofa. Think of me as a grandfather of sorts,” he chuckles at his own sentiment. “I think I’d play the part quite nicely, no?”
“Don’t even think about it,” Sycamore contends from the other room. “We will make accommodations for you. I’ll not have you sleeping on the sofa of all places. My God.”
Raymond looks back at Aurora. “Ach, so stubborn,” he remarks with a shake of his head as he makes his way towards a storage closet by the kitchen.
Aurora stands by the door as the other two begin to prepare themselves for cleaning. She’s unsure of how to proceed. Should she assist the others? She’s never cleaned anything before. What’s the procedure? The process? She wasn’t given instructions or commands. As she stands by the door pondering, the doctor approaches. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and he’s fiddling with a white cleaning rag in his hands.
“Why don’t you get yourself acquainted with the layout of the apartment?” He suggests. “Try and make yourself comfortable since… You’ll be staying here a while.” He seems to try and muster up a smile, but it only comes out as a sort of lopsided smirk. Aurora isn’t sure how to interpret this. Nevertheless, she takes his advice, and begins wandering through the living room, analyzing every space and surface. She notices the windows facing out towards the street, at the sunlight trickling in from between their drawn curtains. She takes it upon herself to thrust them open. Clouds of dust erupt from their furls, and the living room is flooded with light. Now that the room is properly lit, the others would have an easier time tidying up.
She glances around at the bookshelves against the walls, already pre-stocked with literature of all genres, notably encyclopedias and lengthy fantasy novels. She didn’t expect the doctor to be the type to pursue fiction of that flavor. Next to the shelves was a lacquered writing desk, one that clearly hadn’t seen its fair share of use. Its surface, albeit dusty, was immaculately pristine, without scratches, dents, or blemishes of any kind. From her perspective, Aurora likens the interior of the place to that of some of the hotels she’d seen while traveling with the group on the Bostonius. She wonders if this style of living is typical of modern man.
“Pardon me, dear,” Raymond excuses himself as he interrupts her thoughts with a feather duster in hand. “Just going to tidy up here.”
Aurora nods in understanding and steps out of the way as Raymond gets to work dusting the bookshelves. It seems like the living room would have to wait for her for the time being. She makes her way back towards the kitchen, where the doctor is feverishly wiping down the countertops with a damp rag, his brow furrowed in discomfort. It’s obvious from his tight posture and slightly distressed behavior that he rarely takes up the chore of cleaning, something no doubt reserved for his butler. In his silent frenzy, he spots Aurora standing in the doorway from the corner of his eye. He turns and squints beyond his glasses, which he’s already forgotten were folded and set down on the countertop behind him.
“Is something wrong?” He asks, returning his glasses to their rightful place as he blinks his eyes into focus.
“No. Just looking,” Aurora flatly responds, glancing around at the room. The kitchen is exceptionally small, with chestnut-stained cabinetry, a four-range gas stove and oven, and a refrigerator that takes up way more area than necessary. The counter space is scarce, but a round wooden dining table in the next room over would make for suitable extra surface space if needed.
“Ah,” Sycamore clears his throat. “Well… Raymond and I will be busy for a while. The second bedroom is just up the stairs to the right. Why don’t you have a look? Make yourself acquainted.” Again, another forced smile.
Aurora notices the pattern. Still, she doesn’t pry. Instead, she turns and makes her way up the stairs, each step creaking with age beneath her. At the very top, just to her right where it should be, is a closed door. It sticks slightly as she opens it, leading into a completely dark room that smells of slow, untouched air. From the bit of light from outside, she can see the outline of a bed in the corner, as well as a dresser, a small armchair, and a bedside table. She fumbles around the wall for a light switch, and though she finds one, it’s evident that the electricity hasn’t been operational in quite some time. She flicks it a few times, but to no avail. She hums to herself in thought.
“Miss Aurora,” a voice addresses her from the bottom of the stairs. She glances over to see Raymond peering up at her from below. “Shall I bring you your luggage?”
“Yes, thank you Raymond.”
The butler responds with a smile and a nod, and disappears beyond the banisters. Aurora takes it upon herself to search the rest of the upper floor while Raymond fetches her things. Behind her, just to the right of the second bedroom, is the upstairs bathroom with its door open. It’s quite small, with subway tiled walls, a white bathtub, pedestal sink, and a radiator that juts out of the wall next to the toilet. Opposite the stairs, just beyond the banisters, is another closed door. Aurora decides to investigate, assuming that it might be the master bedroom. Upon opening the equally sticky, creaky door, she’s surprised to find that this other bedroom has two of its own windows looking out over the street, and between them, a generously-sized bed. A large dresser rests up against the opposite wall, and a full-sized mirror looms in the corner adjacent to the bed. The decor is plain, but practical. It seems like this home was never meant for sentiment.
“Here you are, lass.” Raymond announces from behind, carrying her luggage in one hand. “Your bags are quite light, we’ll have to fix that soon,” he chuckles to himself.
Unsure of how to respond to the quip, Aurora instead remarks on the lack of electricity. “The lamps aren’t working.”
“Ah, yes. We’ll have that taken care of right away,” Raymond assures her. “No reason to keep the lights on when nobody's home, after all.”
Aurora glances around the upstairs hallway, taking note of the aged appearance of everything. The wooden floors creak with every step, the walls appear to have been painted over many, many times over the years, and there’s a noticeable lack of the characteristic panache that Dr. Sycamore seems to be so fond of.
“Why this place?” She questions. “It’s so…” Failing at coming up with the right wording, she instead makes her point by shifting her weight on her heels, creaking the floorboards beneath them.
Raymond needed no further clarification. “The master wished to curate a safehouse that was both practical and modest. Can’t have anyone suspecting us. Luxury comes with baggage.”
Aurora ponders his answer. It’s logical enough, that much is certain. Though something troubles her still. “...Mister Raymond?”
The old man hums attentively.
“Why… Why do such things? Why go to such lengths for someone who…” Her sentence trails off as she refuses to finish it.
Raymond peers around the corner, testing to see if there were prying ears waiting from below. Once he’s sure they’re in private, he quietly replies. “I’ve known the master since he was a boy. I’ve watched him grow, succeed, fail… I’ve witnessed pain of his that no man should ever have to witness. It's not that I necessarily encourage his endeavors, I simply want to support him in any way I can. I suppose since I have no children of my own, he fills that space in my heart. Selfish as it sounds.”
“Not at all.”
“Mm…” the old man acknowledges before clearing his throat. “The truth is, I just can’t bring myself to abandon the poor boy.”
Aurora’s brow furrows ever so slightly in thought. “But… He is an adult is he not?”
Raymond nods softly. “Aye... But in my old eyes he's still that little lad digging around the garden, searching for treasure,” he chuckles with a warm smile that soon fades with reflection. He sighs, “Ahh… He’s just lost, my dear. So very, very lost. There’s much you don’t know about him, but it’s not my place to say.”
“I see,” the girl responds in supposed understanding. She turns to head downstairs. “I shall ask him then.”
“Ah-” Raymond stops her before she can solidify her decision. “I wouldn’t do that, lass. It’s quite a… Sensitive topic.”
“Oh.”
“He will tell you when he’s ready. Or, he may not. Oh- What I mean to say is that you should leave him be for now. Let him settle in. It'll be his own choice whether he opens up or not. For now though, why don’t you unpack your things? Make yourself comfortable in your room. I’ll fetch some candles from the cupboard to help with the light.”
…
Nighttime soon falls quicker than anticipated. The household had been so preoccupied with cleaning that they’d barely noticed the sun disappearing behind the rooftops outside. It wasn’t until Sycamore began complaining about the lack of light that Raymond had noticed the late hour. Grabbing handfuls of tealights from the downstairs cupboard, he got to work arranging them throughout the first and second floors, making sure to give Aurora extras for her room.
The two men had gotten themselves into a gentle argument over who would claim the master bedroom. Raymond assured that he would be just fine sleeping on the sofa, even expressing mild excitement at the thought, only for the doctor to immediately argue against it. The two bickered for what seemed like hours, until Raymond finally accepted his assignment to the master bedroom. When questioned by Aurora, he simply stated that he didn’t mind, though he wished the doctor wasn’t so damn stubborn, to which he pardoned his language in front of the girl.
As the household settles in for the night, Aurora attempts to make herself comfortable in her new environment. She climbs into bed, shimmying beneath the covers as she tries her best to act natural in her disconnected state. She’s not sure exactly how a person is meant to sleep in bed. She recalls the many nights spent on the Bostonius, gazing for hours out of the portholes at the black expanse of the atmosphere as the rest of her companions drifted comfortably to sleep. It isolated her, knowing what she was and what she could never be. She could shut herself down, deactivate for a calculated amount of time and pretend to rest while her guardians dream comfortably in the other rooms. The thought, however, doesn’t satisfy her. Everything is so unfamiliar. So distant. She doesn’t enjoy the feeling. As she processes her thoughts, her hands gently grasp at the sheets, attempting to ground herself into a sound state.
Knock, knock, knock…
She glances up as a soft knocking at her door interrupts her thoughts. Sycamore is peering through the doorway, his glasses shining against the candlelight. He musters up a soft smile as he leans through the doorway. “May I come in?” He gently asks.
Aurora silently nods.
With her permission, the doctor steps in. “I see you're getting comfortable," he remarks as he fails to choose what to do with his hands. "Is... Everything to your liking? I know it's not as luxurious as the Bostonius, but I hope it suits your needs at least."
"Everything is fine, doctor."
He, yet again, forces another smile, this time appearing more pained and uncomfortable than anything else.
Aurora takes note of this. "Is something the matter? You seem restless."
"Ah," Sycamore coughs as he shakes his hands out at his sides, finally putting them to rest crossed over his chest. "No, no, nothing's the matter, I'm just a bit... 'Out of my element'. I haven't seen a peek of this old place in... I don't know how long."
The girl hums in acknowledgement, flickering her gaze across him as he stands stiffly in the middle of the room. "Um... Doctor?"
Sycamore perks and draws his attention back to her.
“What should I call you?”
He blinks. “Pardon?”
“Your name. What should I be calling you?”
The doctor’s forced smile falters, twitching at the corners, unsure of how to proceed. His face is both unreadable and painfully blunt, something Aurora wonders would be more comfortable if it were obscured from view.
Sycamore takes a self-motivating breath. “You… Will continue to call me Doctor Sycamore.” There’s a hint of reluctance hidden in his tone. “‘Doctor’ is also acceptable.”
Aurora peers down at her hands resting stiffly against the sheets. There’s an uncertainty bubbling up deep inside, something unfamiliar. Distrust? Disappointment maybe? Ever since she was spared by the Azran, it seemed like every feeling she’d experienced prior to the fall of the sanctuary had been washed away. Like a chalk-covered sidewalk stripped clean by the rain. It was… Uncomfortable. “Why did you take me with you?”
Sycamore frowns. It’s clear that wasn’t the question he was expecting from the girl. He opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. His eyes flick back and forth, filing through his thoughts before finally settling on a reply that makes his posture stiffen with an uncanny steadiness. “You are the last remaining piece of functioning Azran technology,” he recited. “There’s value in you still. Only a fool would have left you behind.”
Aurora peers up at him. What her face lacks in emotion, her eyes make up for in intent.
Sycamore quickly glances away to avoid her gaze, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a quick clearing of his throat. “Right, well… I suppose if you’re properly accommodated, then I have no need to continue humoring you.” He ends his thought by turning towards the door, stopping just before stepping out of the room. “Remember to blow out the candles when you’re done. Don't leave them all burning unsupervised.”
Aurora nods in acknowledgement. “Goodnight, Doctor Sycamore,” she says.
But a reply never comes…