In the midst of the dead of night and beneath the low-hanging moon, the
Scurvy Fishman was eerily quiet. All that sounded was the groggy to-and-fro of the hull cresting the waves and the gentle snores of sleeping crewmates. It was far past a young lady’s bedtime, although Neve could not bring herself to sleep. Her mind was restless, her thoughts bouncing along the inside of her skull like frazzled birds caught in the height of a tempest. Although her cot called to her, begging her to sleep and enter the land of dreams, the young woman was wont to pace about the deck of the sleepy ship. One name drifted along her worries.
Arton.
Izayoi had mentioned he was unwell. How unwell, Neve couldn’t bring herself to ask. There were many things that could make people unwell. A sickness. A chronic illness. A Blight. The concern among the crewmates’ and the others’ faces was enough to drive a stake through her heart. And when Neve’s aching body and relentless mind refused to rest, she found herself rapping upon the door to the swordsman’s quarters.
”Please tell me you are awake, Arton.”There was a brief pause from the other side. A faint groan broke the silence as did the creak of floorboards as he got up.
”Yeah…yeah. I’m up alright.” The tired voice drew closer as did his footsteps until they seemed right at the door. A metallic click echoed through the hall as the bolt was removed and the door pulled towards his room. He hadn’t recognized the voice through the door and other ambient noise.
”N-neve? What are…you doing up?” It came as quite a surprise to see her here at this hour.
Dark bags hung underneath his eyes, dulling the color of what had been a vibrant pair of blue eyes the last time Neve had seen him. His dark brown hair was a bedraggled mess from repeated tossing and turning as night terrors ravaged his few moments of sleep. A thicker linen tunic covered his upper body while a pair of looser pants accompanied it.
Arton had heard that when you go for so long with sleep you start to hallucinate. That was the first thought that had come to his mind when he first spotted Neve. The happiness at being reunited had overcome the fatigue that afflicted him now. It had taken every bit of his strength not to lift her into the air, but it had been temporary in the end. Arton had retreated to his quarters more and more as the state of his condition became more widely known. Now the one person he really didn’t want seeing him like this was looking straight at him.
Neve didn’t know what to expect when Arton finally opened the door, but it definitely wasn’t
this. The woman stared hard at the swordsman, her gaze sweeping him up and down as she entered his room. Slowly, as if not to disturb the tense silence that had passed between them, she closed the door behind her. There was a dense feeling in the air besides the quiet, one that soured the back of her throat and caused the hairs at the back of her neck to prickle. There was no mistaking the smell, the look in Arton’s eyes. The Blight had taken hold of him.
”What’s… what’s happened to you?” she whispered, stepping closer. Her gaze peered into his own.
He felt he was burning under her discerning eye and nearly winced. It had been enough to blame fatigue or even sea sickness, but even he knew the others were beginning to suspect something. Arton knew it was futile to send her away now and moved further into his room to allow her in. It was not as though he had the energy right now to protest.
The atmosphere felt far more intense than when he spoke with Eliane about Reisa.
Those eyes of hers were near impossible to meet but he managed somehow.
”It's, uh, been a hell of a time since you left. I guess I'm still trying to get used to it. An obvious lie that he forced a laugh in a vain attempt to pass it off as a joke. Regret immediately filled him. Under her relentless gaze, he turned his head away in shame at his attempted deception.
”Sorry. I haven't slept much since the party entered Osprey.”Neve cocked her head at him. She didn’t understand him. How could he be so nonchalant about the rot that spread through his blood? He festered before her, and yet he chose to ignore the Blight that slowly destroyed him. She didn’t know whether to yell at him or weep for him. She bit the inside of her cheek, holding her hands together in front of her as her eyes skimmed his frame.
”You… are in so much pain,” she whispered. Her gaze locked on his face again, though this time her eyebrows sunk down towards her eyes and her lips pursed together.
”Show me. Please.”The way that she looked at him made him feel uneasy. He had pushed through the fatigue brought about by this corruption through grit and a fierce determination to keep this party safe. Why, then, was she looking at him like? What was there even to be done? The healing potions he had been purchasing to carry him through had stopped being effective.
Her quiet words caught him off-guard and he felt his chest grow tight. A wide-eyed expression looked back at her. Pain. It had become so familiar he almost didn't notice it. That was unusual. Neve had only just returned and he was already causing her trouble. His eyes narrowed at her question and his hand instinctively touched his left shoulder.
His hand trembled there, torn whether to grant the request or cast her out. The memory of the aftermath at the King's castle passed through his mind. Neve would have been the first one he came to if something like this had happened during their journey together. Did he want to shield her from the truth or was a part of him bitter she had left in the first place? It might have been both.
Arton's dulled blue eyes stared intently at her for a moment before he let out an exhausted sigh. Without a word, he undid the fastenings of his tunic and slid it over his head before tossing it aside. Numerous scars decorated his body, some rather severe, but the majority had been received before he joined Team Kirin. Arton turned his back to her and dropped to one knee then the other. There she could see it. A vicious, gnarly bite scar that had long since gone a dark black. Vein-like trials extended from its center towards his chest and all halfway down the arms.
“Satisfied?” The word sharpened to a fine edge.
Neve’s eyes did not move from Arton as he undressed; at that moment, she did not care much for the very fact that he had disrobed in front of her. Her sights locked in on the black taint upon his back, its long, spindly arms trailing over his skin. Its stench became near unbearable now, drawing the bile from the very back of her throat. It almost made her expel her dinner from that night.
Arton… what has happened to you?”How… How did this happen?” Neve said, her voice a dismal hiss as she stepped closer. She was frightened to touch it. If she tried to heal it, even, then what was going to happen? The blonde mage shook her head.
”Couldn’t you have been a bit more careful when I was gone?!”Arton stared at the blank, wooden wall with furrowed brows. It was a small blessing that was what he had been facing instead of Neve’s discerning eyes. He was a dead man walking. Maybe he’s always been. A life on borrowed time. Arton hunched forward hearing that question. Feeling the shock of her words. He couldn’t answer. Not truthfully. One memory seemed to blend into the next and it was hard to think this exhausted. His head lowered in silence. He was a fool. That was how it happened. An idealistic fool too far enveloped in the myth of his own invincibility.
A dozen slain blight-beasts scattered the damp forest ground and yet he had not won. Two bloodied and mangled corpses stood out from the rest. They had been bigger idiots than him, putting their faith in his leadership. His armor was in tatters and was barely holding together as he stared down the maw of a lion-like blight-beast. One final attack. One last desperate move to ensure his allies’ deaths were not in vain. Pushing off one foot, he lunged with his blade and so too did the blight-beast. The expected swipe of rotted claws never came and instead his shoulder ignited with a searing pain as the fangs of the monster sunk in. The weight of its body was trying to pin him down but he planted his feet, screaming in defiance. His blade sunk into his chest and he tossed it onto its side, slipping a dagger from sheath on his chest and sinking it into the exposed neck.
It had happened shortly before the call from Edren’s King reached him. Those miserable days on his own when he had made the mistake of letting others follow him. High quality potions had been enough to offer relief for a time but shortly after leaving for Osprey the Blight had spread too far.
It felt like she had already given up on him once before, but there had been hope. Now a burning, seething anger bubbled within. His hands balled into tight fists and forced his rage through his knuckles into the coarse wooden floor.
”I have done the best I can while you were off doing gods know what! I’ve done everything I can to keep this party alive so forgive me if I got a bit reckless! Everyday I hoped you would make your way back to us and now you’re talking like I already died!” Arton yelled as he moved off his knees and stood, turning around to face Neve. Blight had without a doubt started to take him but there was a separate darkness in those eyes. He squeezed his balled-up fists hard and released a portion of that anger.
”The bite happened before we met. Nothing you would have been able to do anyway. Animosity tinged his words as he walked away from her and picked up his tunic, setting it on his bed properly. He didn’t understand where all this rage was coming from. Neve didn’t deserve this from him. It was getting harder and harder to keep under control.
The creak of the wooden ship filled the quiet that befell between them, and the moans of the hull served well to wrap invisible tendrils of worry around her stomach. It was almost like Arton didn’t plan on answering her– why, she did not know– until he raised his arms and slammed balled-up fists into the wooden floor. The sound of knuckles hitting a solid surface was enough to make her jump in alarm. Neve took a step back, shrinking away at the roar of his words. He was so… angry. So frightened. If only she knew about his wound before she left, she could have maybe healed the bite. Perhaps snip the infection in the bud. But now, the sight of the rotting flesh and the smell of necrosis only deterred her.
”I… am so sorry…” Neve whispered. She gathered the gall to step closer, although she averted her eyes down to the floor in shame.
”I wish I had been there to help. But even I can’t refuse the call of the Grovemasters. I can only pray that someone in Brightlam will be able to help you. I’m sorry, Arton. I want to help. I really do. But… my magicks pale in comparison to Blight so deeply ingrained into the flesh of a living being.”Her apology burned him worse than any magical flame. A part of him wanted her to yell back at him. Scream that he was being an idiot. He had been avoiding this conversation since she came back and he could see it had been inevitable.
An exhausted sigh left him.
”I’m sorry too…for lashing out like that. I can’t seem to help it much. Arton turned to face her, managing to regain most of his composure. That was it then. His arms hung loosely at his sides feeling the truth of his reality set in. The frame of the bed creaked as he sat down on it, arms resting on his knees but chose to look directly at her.
”No choice but to keep pressing on then, right? I’ve managed this far so what’s a little longer?” A hollow smile rose on his lips.
There was little chance of curing himself, that much he had read from Neve. He considered himself sturdier than most and with the help of his HP plus materia he had been able to last longer than most. That borrowed time had run out. Arton didn’t want to see the expression in those eyes of hers. A look of pity for a dying man. The blight had already begun to reduce him as such.
”I would have liked a break, just once.” This was spoken almost quietly against the forces of Fate.
Thank Etro he was able to calm himself. Neve wanted to touch him, to hold him and provide him some respite in the darkness of this cramped room. But even she was afraid to touch him. Her mind flashed back to the sickened Mystrel back on the way to Brightlam. How the taint had coursed through his body, rendering him a shade of his former self before he perished. She wouldn’t let that happen to Arton. No, she would find a way to heal him. There had to be a cure in Brightlam. If not, then Skael. If not, then…
”Press on for as long as you have to. For as long as you need to until you are cured,” Neve replied in a gentle murmur, meeting his eyes for the first time since his outburst.
”You must persist. It’ll all be worth it, once Etro turns her eyes towards you. Then, you will be able to rest easy under Her smile.”There was a spark of light buried behind the darkness around his eyes.
”I have been praying every night lately so I hope she hears me soon. I am nothing if not persistent” He couldn't let himself fall to the Blight, not now. If Neve was willing to believe he could be cured, that was enough for him to believe too. Besides, he didn't want to be responsible for anymore of her tears.
Arton parted his mouth to say something else but after a short pause closed it once more. Now was hardly the time to express such thoughts. Not when his fate was so uncertain.
”It really hasn't been the same without you.” He made a silent oath to Etro that for as long as he could, he would never stop resisting the corruption inside him…and he would allow no harm to come to her precious servant.
The fact that Arton was able to keep his faith had been a miracle. Neve had heard of stories of people abandoning their Mother after they had spent a long while under great duress, and she would not have blamed Arton if he had been one of their number. What mattered was that Etro granted her flock strength when they were at their weakest– when the flock diverted from their treaded path, then it was up to her closest followers to lead them back to her embrace. Neve’s eyebrows arched up at his last comment, and it was at that that her smile returned in full force.
”I’m more than glad to have returned, my good friend.”If it hadn’t been obvious before then, Neve had realized how much she had been needed since her departure. She would have to make certain that she wouldn’t leave their side again.
Arton simply nodded with a half-smile, fighting off the fatigue that surged through him now that he had calmed down. One more secret cast into the light.
”We should talk again soon. There’s more I want to tell ya but…” His shoulders and torso flexed as he sharply yawned.
”..I’m not sure I can stay awake now.” Whatever was keeping him awake had seemed to quiet down after speaking with Neve. His limbs were feeling especially heavy.
”I’m trusting you to keep an eye on me now. Don’t want to be accused of being too reckless.” He spoke with a low laugh. It had felt like he had been in a spiral of death recently. Desperately clawing at whatever might slow the fall. Etro had given him a sign. He could not falter. He could not waiver. Salvation would surely arrive if he just kept fighting. Monsters. Valheim. The Blight. Arton would weather this storm.
Ah, so they were all good now. Neve felt her shoulders slump in relief. While concern still babbled within her chest, she was more at ease now that she had recognized the familiar warmth to Arton’s voice. She ran a hand through the strands of her hair, eyeing his fatigued yawn and bobbing her head.
”Of course,” she murmured, now giving him a sincere smile as she backed towards the door.
”I hope to do a good job at keeping you– and everyone safe, from now on.”Her hand fell upon the doorknob. Slowly, as to not make much noise and disturb Arton’s sleepy mood, she opened the door.
”Goodnight. Try to get enough rest. We’ll share more stories in the morn.”
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