Chapter Text
The day Lyney had dreaded had finally arrived. He stood in the dimly lit chamber, the oppressive air thick with the weight of unspoken threats. Across from him, the Knave, her expression colder than the ice she commanded, stood with arms crossed, her sharp eyes dissecting him.
“Well?” she said, her voice carrying the quiet menace of a storm about to break. “The ancient name. Where is it?”
Lyney fidgeted, a rare crack in his usual composed demeanor. Adjusting his hat, he offered a hesitant smile. “Ah, about that, father,” he began, voice tinged with forced charm. “There’s been a... slight complication.” Lyney was aware that he had roughly 5 minutes before the ancient heroes came to beat him into the floorboards.
Lynette, standing to his right, flicked her tail in irritation. Her expression remained neutral, but Lyney could feel her disapproval radiating off her. She shot him a quick glance that seemed to say, “Do not make this worse.”
The Knave’s icy gaze bored into him. “Complication?” she echoed, her tone laced with venom.
“Yes, you see,” Lyney continued, clearing his throat nervously, “it turns out the ancient name is... well... not exactly transferable. Completely useless to anyone except the original bearer. A fascinating quirk, really—”
“Lyney,” Freminet interrupted softly, tugging on his sleeve. “Maybe... stop talking?”
The Knave’s eyes flicked to Freminet, who immediately shrank behind his diving helmet, clutching it as if it could shield him from her wrath.
“You mean to tell me,” the Knave said, her voice razor-sharp, “that after all the resources I’ve poured into this endeavor, you’ve brought me something utterly worthless?”
“Not entirely worthless!” Lyney protested, raising his hands defensively. “Think of the knowledge we’ve gained about—”
“Do not test me, Lyney,” she hissed, her voice a low growl. “Your excuses bore me. And worse, you’ve led others right to us.”
At this, Lynette stiffened. Her calm mask cracked, her ears perking up. “You mean the ancient heroes?”
“Who else?” the Knave snapped. “They’ve been trailing you for days, and now they’re close enough to threaten my plans.”
“They’re not your plans,” Lynette shot back, her voice sharp. “This whole mess wasn’t exactly Lyney’s idea.”
Lyney blinked in surprise at her defense but wisely kept his mouth shut.
The Knave turned her icy glare on Lynette, who stood her ground. “Watch your tone.” she said coldly. “You’d do well to remember your place.”
Freminet shifted uncomfortably, looking between his siblings and the Harbinger. “Maybe we could... leave? Before they catch up to us?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
The Knave ignored him, her focus back on Lyney. “You’ve failed me now,” she said, her words deliberate and cutting. “Consider this your final chance. Fix it, or I will make an example of you that even the Tsaritsa will remember.”
Lyney swallowed hard, his usual charm entirely evaporated. “Understood, father.” He paused, before asking. “Should we just… Give it back?”
She fixed Lyney with a piercing glare before speaking, her words dripping with disdain. “I couldn’t care less what you do with that rock. Maybe take a lesson from it—because somehow, even in its complete uselessness, it’s proving to be more valuable than you.”
With a swish of her coat, the Knave turned and strode out, her presence lingering like a storm cloud even after she was gone.
“She got your ass with that one.” Lynette snickered.
The room fell into an uneasy silence. Freminet was the first to speak, his voice trembling. “What do we do now?”
Lyney let out a shaky breath, adjusting his scarf. “Simple,” he said, trying to inject some confidence into his voice. “We stay ahead of the ancient heroes, figure out how to make this right, and, oh yes, avoid dying at the Knave’s hands. Piece of cake.”
Lynette groaned, rubbing her temples. “You’re impossible.”
Freminet clutched his helmet tighter, looking between them. “I... I think I need to sit down.”
“No time for that,” Lyney said, grabbing Freminet by the shoulder and pulling him toward the door. “We’ve got a head start, and we’re going to need every second of it.”
As they hurried into the darkened streets, the weight of their predicament pressed down on them. Behind them, the twin threats of the Knave’s wrath and the relentless pursuit of the ancient heroes loomed large, leaving no room for mistakes.
Kinich had never realized how much he relied on his Nightsoul blessing until he no longer had access to it. It was as if a piece of him was missing—something that always made movement feel effortless. Now, with each step, the weariness seemed to weigh him down more and more. His feet ached from the constant walking, and he was painfully aware of how much slower he was than the others. Xilonen, Chasca, and Mualani moved ahead with ease, their movements fluid and swift. Kinich, on the other hand, felt every step drag.
He had figured out the hourglass, sort of. When he held it up to the sun, it gave him a rough direction of where Lyney was, around seventy percent of the time. But the results were far from reliable—just enough to tease him with hope, only for it to vanish once nightfall came. At night, the hourglass became useless. The lack of his powers left him feeling exposed, vulnerable. It was as if the world had become a little bit harder to navigate without that one constant ability, and it frustrated him more than he’d like to admit.
The others had noticed his struggle, of course. Chasca had asked him more than once if he was okay, to which Kinich always responded with a curt “I’m fine.” He didn’t want to burden anyone else with his troubles, but the truth was—he wasn’t fine.
“How much further do you think he is?” Mualani asked, glancing back at him with a concerned expression.
Kinich glanced down at the hourglass in his hand. He didn’t need to check the sun this time. He had a rough idea of where Lyney might be. “A little further,” he muttered, his voice low. “We’re close.”
Xilonen’s eyes narrowed, and she fell back a few steps to match his pace. “You sure you’re okay? You’re lagging behind.”
“I’m fine,” Kinich said quickly, though the words felt hollow in his mouth. He could hear the weariness in his own voice, but he refused to acknowledge it. He wasn’t about to slow them down further.
She didn’t press the issue, but the look she gave him was filled with concern. “If you need a break, just say so. We can stop.”
Kinich shook his head. “No. We’re close.”
They continued in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the steady rhythm of footsteps and the wind in the trees. But the truth was, the physical exhaustion wasn’t the worst part. It was the nagging feeling that Lyney was always just out of reach, always just beyond his grasp. Every time they thought they were getting closer, the distance between them seemed to grow. The hourglass in his hand felt heavier with every step.
Eventually, Xilonen fell into step beside him again, this time with a small, almost imperceptible smile. "You know," she said, her tone light, "if you ever wanted to talk about what's really bothering you, I’m here."
Kinich didn’t look at her, keeping his focus ahead. “I don’t need to talk about it.”
“I’m not saying you do,” she replied, her voice soft but firm. “But you don’t have to carry everything on your own. Just remember that, alright?”
He didn’t answer, though a small part of him appreciated her words. For now, though, he wasn’t ready to share. There was too much riding on this chase. He had to focus. He had to catch Lyney.
Lynette raised an eyebrow, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She stared at Lyney, who was standing by the window, his back turned to her. The flickering candlelight illuminated his silhouette, but his expression remained obscured.
"I still think this is a terrible idea," she muttered, her tone dripping with annoyance.
Lyney glanced back at her, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. "Ah, come on, Lynette. You’ve got to admit, it’s a bold move," he said, turning fully to face her, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark.
She sighed heavily, her fingers tapping impatiently on her arm. "Bold, maybe. But I’ve seen bold turn into disaster more times than I can count," she retorted.
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "This time, I know exactly what I’m doing," Lyney said, his tone laced with confidence that made her pause.
Lynette arched her eyebrows, her tone flat. "And that’s supposed to reassure me?"
He grinned slyly. "Absolutely. I've got it all planned out. Besides, father said we don’t need the ancient name, what better way to get rid of it?”
She scoffed. "And you’re gonna get Kinich to do it?"
Lyney tilted his head, his eyes glinting. "Precisely," he said, a mischievous gleam in his eye.
Lynette shook her head, an exasperated expression on her face. "Lyney, I swear, if you manage to turn this into another catastrophe—"
He cut her off, grinning. "It’s not a catastrophe if I win in the end, Lynette," he said, stepping closer. His gaze was steady, almost challenging. "I just need Kinich to agree to it, that’s all."
She raised her eyebrows, looking at him skeptically. "And you’re sure he’ll do that?"
Lyney grinned. "Oh, he will," he said confidently. He paused, his expression shifting subtly as he locked eyes with her. "He doesn’t have a choice, really."
Lynette smirked wryly. "And you know that, how?"
Lyney’s smile widened, the corners of his lips twitching mischievously. "I’ve got a little leverage," he said, his eyes glinting knowingly as he pulled out the ancient name.
She raised her eyebrows, her tone skeptical. "And that doesn’t sound like trouble at all, Lyney?"
He chuckled softly, giving her a wink. "Trust me, it’ll all work out in the end," he said, before turning back to the window, a contemplative look on his face.
Lynette shook her head, letting out a small laugh that was half-exasperated, half-amused. "And if it doesn’t?" she murmured under her breath.
Lyney smirked, not looking back. "Then I’ll just have to make it work," he said, his tone dripping with conviction.
Lynette watched him closely, her expression softening slightly. She didn’t know whether to be impressed or worried. But one thing was certain: Lyney was determined, and once he set his mind on something, there was no stopping him.