Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Verso is sitting on the edge of a cliff, catching his breath after slaying a particularly persistent group of Nevrons, when The Paintress moves. It's ever so familiar, but it still catches him by surprise, as the giant figure of his mother stands, changing the number on the monolith from “34” to “33.” Something heavy sits in the base of his throat, making it difficult for Verso to swallow. 

He might just throw himself over the edge of this cliff, for the hell of it. 

He doesn't know. 

Time will tell, he supposes. 

Behind him, the telltale echo of his father's cane reaches his ears. He tenses, but doesn't turn, bracing himself as the sound gets louder and louder, until Renoir is right behind him. 

“And so another year passes. And another expedition comes,” his father says, after a moment of silence. Verso clenches his jaw, but says nothing. It is not as if anything he says will do anything but fall on deaf ears. His father sighs when he gets no response, moving so he is standing beside Verso. He sees the man’s polished shoes out of the corner of his eye, but he refuses to turn, to give his father that satisfaction. He keeps his eyes glued to the new number on a familiar monolith, his hands clenching into tight fists. “I will meet these new expeditioners when they arrive.”

The statement takes a moment to sink in, but when it does, Verso's eyes widen and he whirls around to face Renoir. The man isn't looking at him, also looking out at the monolith in the distance. 

“What?” Verso croaks out. 

“You heard what I said, son, don't make me repeat myself,” Renoir says. “I will end the expedition before it starts. A mercy, sparing them the indignity of a futile struggle.”

Verso can do nothing but gape at his father for a long moment as he attempts to gather his thoughts. 

“You'll kill them all?” he breathes. It is not a mercy. It is inhumane. A slaughter without any hope is no mercy, no matter what awaits them on the continent. 

“A mercy,” Renoir repeats, finally looking down at him. Verso's breath catches at the sight of the look in his father's face, the cold, calculated glint in his eyes. He knows Renoir is serious. If he doesn't stop him, these will be deaths that will haunt him more than the hundreds of others that came before them. And another year will have to go by before Verso can even hope for freedom. 

He scrambles to get up, the palm of his hands scraping against the ground as he stands. 

“You can’t be serious,” he says. “You cannot simply take so many lives at once.”

Renoir doesn’t answer, still looking out at the Paintress.

“Renoir!”

“It's for the greater good, son,” Renoir says with a heavy sort of finality. He doesn’t know what to say to that—Verso can only watch as his father turns, disappearing back into the shadowed cave where he came. 

“For who's greater good?” Verso yells after him, but he gets no response in return, just the clack, clack, clack of his cane against stone. 

Verso scowls as turns back to the edge of the cliff, back to the image of the monolith of the new “33” before him. A wave of emotion crashes over him, just as a particularly large wave crashes on the cliff: an unfettered sense of rage, helplessness, and sorrow.

He lets it all out in a roar, kicking a particularly large rock in front of him off the edge. It’s too far to even see where the rock hits the water, too far for him to make out its impact. Verso stares out at the water, watching as the waves clash against the rock, chest heaving. 

He has to do something. 

He's near Esquie's nest. With any luck, his friend's help can make it so he reaches the expeditioners before his father. 

―

Verso is not going to make it to the expeditioners before his father. He had forgotten that Esquie had lost his rocks, and he is now forced to make it to the shores of the continent by foot. It's still faster than what Verso would have managed by himself, but he's certain his father has found the expeditioners’ landing spot and is already waiting. And now he doesn't have a bird's-eye view to see where the expeditioners are going. 

He can't waste any more time. 

With a deep breath, Verso concentrates, forcing himself to open his sense to the flow of chroma throughout the canvas. The sudden influx of information is so overwhelming it gives him a headache instantly. But he gets what he needs: the expeditioners are headed towards Dark Shores. 

Shit. 

Of all the places to land, they had to choose the place that could easily slaughter them even without Renoir's help. 

“Head towards the Dark Shores, Esquie,” Verso says. “And please make it quick.”

“Okay Verso, here we go!” Esquie replies, turning to the direction of the Dark Shores and abruptly picking up speed. 

He directs Esquie to wait at a small alcove a short ways away from the shores and sprints towards the shores. As he predicted, he's too late—his father is standing before the expeditioners who had just made it to land. Verso considers jumping down to confront him when a flash of red hair catches his eye. 

He freezes. 

There's a hauntingly familiar face amongst the group—a familiar young and unblemished face amongst the group. 

Alicia. 

He had known that Alicia was somewhere in the Canvas, all of the painted Dessendres did, but he hadn’t expected her to be on this expedition. He was supposed to have years until she was to be a part of the expedition, years before he would have to worry about getting her out of the canvas. With her presence, it’s no longer as simple as keeping Renoir from stopping the expeditioners, his father will certainly be trying to get Alicia out as well. 

Verso sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Everything just got a lot more complicated. 

But that’s something he has to file away to process at another time. 

He’s snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of Renoir’s attack. He can only watch as Renoir swings his cane at the unsuspecting expeditioners, the slash of chroma quickly killing an expeditioner in cold blood. Verso’s heart races at the sight, summoning his own sword in preparation to interfere. Before he can act, the concentration of the chroma from Renoir's attack begins to attract a slew of Nevrons to the area, causing everyone to begin fleeing.

As if it wouldn’t have been enough of a slaughter with just Renoir alone. Verso leaps out from where he’d been lingering behind the shipwrecks, giving up any pretense in hiding. The expeditioners have already scattered after Renoir’s first attack, helpless against Renoir’s far superior attacks. They stand no chance against him in the state they’re in, nor do they stand a chance against the Noirs flooding the area, and all Verso can do is take out the Nevrons and hope that some survive. 

Hope that some survive and also do not notice his presence in the chaos.

He shoots some of  the further Nevrons before he performs a Radiant Slash, his light chroma performing extra damage to dark Noirs. It’s also enough damage to focus the Noirs’ attention on him and allow for some of the expeditioners to flee.

He weaves and ducks through the ensuing chaos, trying his best to catalogue what is going on around him while taking out as many Nevrons as possible. He swings his sword, Phantom Stars bursting from his blade and incapacitating the Nevrons that have surrounded him, allowing him to move. His mind whirls as he considers his options—he cannot save them all. At this point, he can only save a few, at most. He shoots at a Noir that is attacking at a few expeditioners who had taken shelter behind a large piece of driftwood, before a flash of red hair catches his eye. 

He turns to see Alicia, unconscious. Two large Noirs are rapidly approaching her, and he doesn't think. With a burst of speed, Verso crosses the distance in an instant, grabbing Alicia before the Nevrons can hit her. His right side flares with pain when the hand of a Noir clips him, with him being just slightly too slow to get out of the way completely. 

Verso doesn't stop. 

He runs towards the area he had left Esquie—now that he’s been injured and he has one of the expeditioners (a child, no less), he needs to get away here. He’s done all he can do with the situation at hand, and now he needs to to make the best of the circumstances.

“Esquie!” he calls and his friend comes bounding over. 

“Verso! …You’re bleeding,” he says. Verso shakes his head.

“Not important. Let me on, and we need to get out of here,” he says. Esquie lets out a low noise of distress at his statement, but he lowers himself to give Verso easier access. He climbs on, careful not to jostle Alicia as he settles down. Esquie starts moving, leaving the massacre on the Dark Shores behind, allowing Verso to think on his next actions.

He first assesses Alicia: she has definitely suffered a blow to the head. There is a gash in her hairline and blood staining her collar, but since she’s not conscious, he has no idea how serious the injury truly is. Verso reaches into his pocket, pulling out a healing tint and cracking it open over Alicia. 

The effect is immediate, the wound sealing over and the pain that had been lining Alicia’s face smooths out as she goes from unconscious to simply asleep.

Verso sighs in relief, shifting to let her rest more on  Esquie’s back.

That’s one problem solved. Now for the other…

Verso looks down at the wound on his side from the Noir's hand. He hisses. It's not good. 

‘Not good’ being a severe understatement. 

The Noir has taken a chunk out of his side, deep enough that he can see his ribs. Blood is soaking through his clothes, steadily on its way to soaking his pants as well. His expedition jacket is in shreds, and he picks gingerly at the edges that are stuck to the raw edges of the wound. Even if he had healing tints left, this is far beyond what one could heal. 

He's going to die. 

But he has to hold on long enough to get Alicia to safety first. He takes a deep breath—or as deep as he can given the circumstances. The pain is slowly getting worse and worse as the adrenaline wears off, and he has to stem the bleeding, lest he die and leave Alicia vulnerable. 

“Verver? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, Esquie,” Verso replies, wincing slightly as Esquie shifts. “Can you take us to Noco’s hut in the Flying Waters?" 

“Of course!” Esquie says, picking up speed. The sudden increase in speed causes Verso to jerk in attempts to keep his balance, making the wound on his side scream in protest. He can’t leave it the way it is right now, he thinks, considering the way the flow of blood picks up from being jarred.

He shrugs off what remains of his jacket, trying not to scream as he works his right sleeve off. By the time he's gotten his jacket off, he's panting, sweat covering his face. But he can't stop, or he'll never get it done. He wraps the cloth around the wound, using the sleeves to tie it in place. He forces himself to take a deep breath, steeling himself before he tightens the sleeves in order to put pressure on the wound. 

The pain is instantaneous. He fails to suppress the cry that escapes his lips, and his vision whites out momentarily. He falls forward against Esquie's soft body, fighting for breath as tears prickle in his eyes. 

“F-fuck,” he mutters. 

“Verso?” Esquie inquires.

“It's okay, Esquie,” Verso lies. “Just, hurry up please?”

“Then hold on tight!” Esquie says in response. Verso has barely enough time to tighten his grip on Esquie and hold onto Alicia before his friend abruptly picks up speed. Verso grits his teeth, fighting to stay conscious. Thank god for Esquie, who manages to steer clear of any threats. He'll need to find a very nice rock for his friend after this. 

He spends the rest of time it takes to get to the Flying Waters fighting to stay conscious, forcing himself to take as deep of a breath as he can stand. Each breath he takes sends another fresh wave of agony through his body, making it harder and harder to concentrate. His vision swims dangerously when Esquie lands and jostles him again, and he has to force himself to breathe through it.

Thankfully, his vision does manage to clear, and he manages to stay on his feet when he slides off with Alicia in his arms. Though he does have to immediately put her down on the ground before he drops her.

“Thank you Esquie,” Verso says as he composes himself, patting Esquie lightly on the side. He almost misses, which is concerning in and of itself. “You can head out, now.”

“But VerVer—”

“Esquie,” Verso says, finding it difficult to speak in anything more than a whisper. He knows Esquie can hear him all the same. “It's fine. Go back to your nest and wait for the expeditioners. Help them if they come, okay?”

He's not sure if anyone else survived, but he has to hope that someone has. 

Esquie pauses, but ultimately nods. 

“Okay, Verver,” he says. “Stay safe, okay?”

“I will, mon ami,” Verso says. “I’ll see you later.”

He takes an extra second to watch Esquie lumber off before he turns back to Alicia, who is still asleep on the ground. Now he just has to get her into the manor, where she will be shielded from the dangers of the continent. Easier said than done, but Verso has never been known to make his life easy. He bends his knees, trying to keep his torso from moving too much as he maneuvers Alicia into his arms. Verso's vision momentarily blacks out when he stands up again, almost forcing him to his knees, but he manages to stay upright by sheer force of will.

He doesn't have long left, he's sure. He needs to hurry. He starts moving, heading into Noco's hut and through the door that leads to the manor lobby. Just the exertion of walking makes his heart pound, the rapid beating loud in his ears. He makes it to the stairs and curses the fact that none of the Dessendre's thought to put a bedroom on the first floor. They just had to make him climb these stairs. 

He can do this, he’s sure, he’s fought through worse conditions. Biting back a groan of pain, he hefts his sister’s body into a better position in his arms and starts making his way up the stairs. He might as well be climbing a mountain, with how much effort it takes for him to get up the stairs, but he eventually makes it to the top. From there, it's muscle memory to make it to the door of Alicia’s bedroom and depositing her onto the bed. 

It's something he recalls the real Verso doing, bringing his little sister to bed after she had fallen asleep in random places around the house. The memories hit him as he places the girl down, the emotions associated with it enough to make his eye sting. 

He blinks the tears away, trying not to linger on the memories. They're not even his memories, not his sister, and all he has here is a life of nothing but an endless cycle of death and destruction. 

“Fuck,” Verso mutters, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. He doesn't have time for this. He has to get out of here before he's too far gone to make it. With one last look, he leaves the room. As he leaves, he spares a glance at the closed door that holds the recreation of Verso’s room. 

It’s an insult, having it here. His vision tilts abruptly to the side as he looks away, and he falls against the wall. He gives himself a moment to catch his breath before he straightens again, wiping at the tears that had welled up in his eyes in that moment.

Just a little bit longer. He just needs to make it out of the manor. 

One step after the other to get to the stairs. And once he gets to the steps, he just has to go down one by one to get to the bottom. One step after the other.

One step.

And then the next.

And then—he trips, almost missing the next step in front of him. His hand shoots out, grabbing the wall to steady himself. Verso grimaces at the smeared blood he leaves behind, but he knows that it will disappear when he dies. He gives himself a second to catch his breath before starting down the stairs again. He doesn’t trip again, but by the time he gets to the bottom, he’s practically draped across the railing, sweat soaking both his brow and shirt.

Verso pants, fighting not to lose consciousness right at the bottom of the stairs.

He can’t risk being spotted should Alicia wake while he’s dead.

He needs to get out of the manor. 

He just needs to get to the door. 

It’s theoretically not too far. But it might as well be crossing the continent in Verso’s current state. His heart is racing in his chest, fighting to keep beating as his body loses more and more blood. He’s breaking into cold sweat, his limbs trembling as he puts one foot in front of the other. He doesn’t know how, his mind solely focused on moving forwards, but he eventually makes it to the door.

It takes him a moment to actually get the door open, the handle blurring and doubling in front of him. He has to feel around to get a grip, but when he does, he yanks it open, stumbling out the manor and back into the watery environment of the Flying Waters. 

Verso closes the door behind him just as his legs crumple beneath him. His back hits the wood of the door, sending waves of agony pulsing through Verso's body. He closes his eyes, trying desperately not to vomit.

Deep breaths. 

In. 

Out. 

In. 

“Verso?” comes a familiar gestral voice in front of him, interrupting his thoughts. He jolts slightly in surprise, and it undoes any progress Verso had made in calming himself down. He lets out the breath he'd been holding, wincing as he forces his eyes open. He squints slightly at Noco, who is standing in front of him. 

“Hello Noco,” he breathes. “I-I'm in your hut. S-sorry.”

“Verso is always allowed in Noco's hut,” Noco says. 

“Thanks,” Verso says. Noco tilts his head. 

“Is Verso okay?” Noco asks. Verso tries to school his expression, plastering a smile on his face. 

“Yeah, Noco,” he says. “I'm fine. J-just gonna nap here for a bit, o-okay? Y-you can—you can go.”

“No, Noco will stay right here,” Noco says, clambering to sit next to him. “Noco will sit right here until Verso wakes up again. And then Noco and Verso will fight.”

Verso tries to laugh, but it comes out as nothing more than an aborted exhale. He lets his head fall back against the door to the manor as he fights for his next breath, vision starting to dim around the edges. 

“C-can the fight w-wait?” he asks. “I have some-something I need to do first.”

“That is not fair,” Noco declares. 

“E-even if I bring more f-friends to fight?” Verso negotiates. He feels more than he sees Noco brighten at his statement. 

“Friends? You promise, Verso?”

“Promise,” Verso mutters, his voice slurring as he loses the battle to keep his eyes open. The last thing he thinks before he takes his last breath and lets oblivion claim him is that it's nice not to die alone, for once. 

―

Verso wakes with a gasp. His eyes fly open, his body jerking as he comes into awareness suddenly, all at once. He pants, as if his body is trying to catch up on the oxygen it had been missing while he had been dead, and he feels his heart racing. 

His head aches, like it always does after he comes back to life. But other than the headache, a quick check shows him he is intact and unharmed. There is no evidence of the wound that had killed him—he looks as he always has and always will look. His expeditioner jacket, though still tied around his midriff, is whole once more. 

He pushes back the disappointment that always comes with waking up again after dying. He  always has hope, no matter how futile, that this time, the Paintress will let Verso go.  

He sighs, stretching out his arms, wincing as his joints crack in protest from being in the same position for too long. It takes him another minute to gather his bearings, pulling himself upright and then to his feet. When he's finally feeling more himself, he rolls his head to stretch it out, puts his jacket back on, and steps out of Noco's little hut. 

The gestral in question is fiddling with something just outside the door, but he turns when Verso exits. 

“Verso!”

“Noco,” Verso responds, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. 

“Is Verso feeling better?” Noco asks. 

“Much better,” he says. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots the body of a dead Nevron nearby, and he raises an eyebrow. 

“Your work, Noco?” he asks, gesturing at the body and Noco nods, holding up a fist. 

“Noco protected Verso!” 

Verso chuckles, looking away for a moment to hide just how touched he is by the statement. It’s not necessary, given that Neurons are never interested in dead humans and he was mostly sheltered by Noco's hut. But the thought of Noco standing by, fending off a Nevron for him…

It's more than he deserves. 

“Thank you, Noco,” he says, bending down to ruffle the little gestral’s hair. “Your new friends will come soon, okay? I'll be going, now.”

“Okay!”

Verso gives the gestral one last smile before he heads off, back towards the original landing zone of the expeditioners. His newly healed body makes it easy to run through the area, dodging and killing Nevrons as he sees fit, making it to the shores in record time.

“Carnage,” Verso mutters as he takes in the scenery before him. “Nothing but carnage.”

There’s bodies all over the place. Some who were immediately slaughtered right off the bat, and then a trail of bodies as they manage to make it further and further away from the beach, only to be taken out by yet another Nevron. It’s a grim sight, and Verso has to fight back the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him at the sight. He can’t let them distract him. 

There’s nothing he can do about them now—he has to find if there are any survivors. And yet the further he gets from the Dark Shores, the more he starts to lose hope that there are any survivors at all. When he passes the Ancient Gestral City with no signs of any surviving expeditioners, Verso stops. He’s not getting anywhere searching blindly, so he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the sensory overload as he looks for any living presences nearby. 

The closest living people nearby are in the Spring Meadows, making their way inland, so that’s the direction he heads towards. Actually knowing the location of the people he’s looking for makes it much easier to find them. He lingers in the tree top, silently trailing two expeditioners—Gustave and Lune, he quickly learns—trying to gather as much information as possible. He learns that the girl who is Alicia is named Maelle here, and is clearly very important to Gustave. He also learns that all remaining expeditioners had agreed to go to the Ivory Tree in the Spring Meadows to meet up, should they be separated. 

A destination. 

Perfect.

With a path set, Verso takes off, clearing as many Nevrons as he can between the traveling expeditioners and the Indigo Tree. It only takes him a second to take out his dagger and carve a message into the Ivory Tree with directions of where to find Ali—Maelle. He can only hope they'll choose to follow them. He then disappears into the trees, getting to work clearing some of the stronger Nevrons between the Spring Meadows and the Flying Waters.

When he’s finished, he makes himself scarce, finding a relatively isolated location to look for signs of any other surviving expeditioners. He finds a presence with the gestrals, as well as another person who is not Lune or Gustave heading towards the Ivory Tree.

That makes a total of five expeditioners remaining of Expedition 33. 

He’ll make sure they get to The Paintress. No matter what. 

Chapter Text

Five expeditioners become four faster than Verso can really comprehend—an Evique choosing to attack one of the expeditioners in plain sight of the others, faster than Verso can interfere. 

It leaves him shaken enough that he takes a step back, reassessing his strategy and keeping a close eye out on the variety of Nevrons around the area. But he finds he can't quite stay away, eventually drifting closer once again, lingering just within range to hear their casual conversations. He quickly learns that Sciel is seemingly lighthearted while also being empathetic and easygoing, while Lune is dedicated, intense, and endlessly curious. Meanwhile, Maelle is so much like Alicia when she was younger and more innocent that it almost hurts Verso to see. His chest aches sometimes, watching Maelle tease the rest of the group, laughing with a sort of carefree energy that Verso has memories of, but he has never actually seen. Then there’s Gustave, a warm, steady and grounding presence that clearly holds the group together. They look to him for guidance, and Gustave manages to rise to the occasion.

There’s a moment of jealousy when Verso realizes just how close Maelle is with Gustave. He can’t help but wonder if Maelle would end up staring in the canvas forever because of him, because her life here is… freer.

But he refuses to let the thought consume him, because while watching them, Verso is tempted to reach out, wanting inexplicably to feel their happiness even in the face of tragedy, to dissect it to see how they keep their optimism. He wants it, so much so it hurts. He wants to preserve it, no matter how irrational the feeling.

And most worryingly, he finds himself fond of them. 

Which Verso wishes he was strong enough to ignore, but he’s not, and he knows he’s going to regret this later on. But given that he’s already halfway down a ditch of his own making, he continues to make the expeditioners’ journey as easy as possible, strategically removing some of the stronger Nevrons, but leaving enough that the group won’t be suspicious or lower their guard.

There’s something therapeutic about hunting with purpose again. 

Something about knowing that his actions make a difference, no matter how small. It gives him a sort of energy that he hasn’t felt in ages, ever since he decided to step away from aiding the expeditioners a few years back. 

He wonders idly if Monoco would feel the same.

Verso is sure Monoco would like these expeditioners, as much as his prickly gestral friend would pretend otherwise. As the expeditioners approach the Stone Wave Cliffs, he considers how to direct them towards Monoco's station, and if he could convince Monoco ahead of time without alerting anyone else. He would probably join given that Noco has decided to tag along, but one never knows with Monoco.

A half formed plan starts to brew in his mind as he kills some of the cultists that occupy the area. Since the death of the expeditioner by the hands of an Evique, the rest of the journey has gone rather smoothly. Verso has been able to keep a good distance ahead of the expeditioners, and it seems they are much more alert as well, more prepared for what's to come because of the disasters that had befallen them before. 

Verso exits the cave ahead of schedule, feeling the weight of the past couple of days without sleep. He’s been too restless to truly rest since waking up after his death in the Flying Waters, catching only a couple minutes of sleep when he’s truly too tired to keep his eyes open any longer. 

He sighs. 

There's a small alcove a little ways away from where he is, where most Nevrons are too large to fit, so he can spare some time to try and get some rest. He ducks into the crawl space and sits down, keeping one of his swords summoned in case a Nevron does actually manage to get inside. As prepared as he can be, he rests his head against the stone and closes his eyes.

He doesn’t expect to actually fall asleep, but he must have, because he’s woken by something shaking him. He reacts immediately, grabbing his sword and swinging in the direction of whatever is touching him, but stops when he actually sees who’s before him. Alicia is standing over him, panic written all over her face.

“Alicia? What?”

She doesn’t pay his sword any mind, tugging at his sleeve. Verso dismisses his blade, letting Alicia drag him out of the alcove. They arrive at the top of a cliff, where Verso can see Esquie waiting in the waters below with Lune and Sciel, while Maelle and Gustave are chatting at the edge. 

Verso quickly realizes what Alicia had brought him here for. He senses Renoir before he even sees him, and he can practically taste the man’s chroma in the air. He’s preparing to attack, and out of the corner of his eyes, he sees a glint of white and black aiming towards Gustave.

Verso doesn't think. He just moves. 

He leaps down, grabbing Gustave by the collar and hauling the man to the ground, out of the way of Renoir’s attack. His upper chest suddenly feels like it's been set on fire, and he knows instantly that he'd been struck. They hit the ground together, the force of Verso's body on top of Gustave's enough to break at the joint, clattering across the ground. 

The man starts to reach for it, but Verso knows there's no time. 

“Get up, get up, go,” Verso hisses, scrambling to his feet and pulling both Gustave and Maelle towards the edge. He doesn't give them time to prepare themselves—they don't have time to prepare—before he practically throws them both off the cliff. 

He watches as they plummet towards Esquie, and for a moment, Gustave's gaze meets his, wide-eyed and terrified. Verso refuses to let his face give anything away, keeping his own expression impassive as he steps away. He can feel his shirt sticking to his skin from the blood saturating it, with blood starting to drip down his arm. 

Renoir’s attack had hit him just below his collarbone, going straight through him. There’s not much he can do at the moment, but it does make everything more difficult. Still, he summons his sword, turning to face his father.

“Fighting in that state?” Renoir says.

Verso holds his sword up. Renoir’s face twists, caught halfway between annoyance and amusement. He swings and Verso parries, returning it with a rather weak Blitz. 

It goes wide, and leaves Verso fighting for breath, his legs giving out and causing him to fall to one knee. He coughs, causing liquid to fill his mouth, bubbling past his lips and down his chin. 

Blood. 

Renoir’s attack must have nicked his lung. It's only a matter of time before he drowns in his own blood, but before then, he'll hold his father off. 

He's died in worse ways, doing worse things. 

Renoir walks forward. standing above him, and Verso tilts his head up to look him in the eye. The man raises an eyebrow at him and Verso grins—or more so bares his teeth—at the man. He's sure he looks on the verge of feral, with his hair in disarray, clothes torn, and blood staining his hands, torso, and teeth. 

“Must you, Verso?” 

“Always, father,” he says. He coughs again, causing more blood to flood his mouth, dripping past his lips. Verso grimaces at the taste of iron that coats his tongue and he spits out what he can onto the ground. It splatters across the stone, glistening against the dark material. He slowly pulls himself upright, keeping his left arm close to himself as he stands. He summons his blade to his free hand, pointing it towards Renoir. He's not going to last much longer, but he's never been one to give up. Even if every breath feels like he can't seem to draw enough oxygen. 

“You choose to go down this path? To forsake your family?” Renoir asks as he swings. Verso parries the blow, the movement causing his chest to scream in pain. 

Verso spits out more blood that had begun to build up in his mouth.

“Our ‘family’ has not existed in a long time,” he says. “You made certain of that.”

“And your sister?” Renoir asks. “Maelle, is that the name she goes by here? How long are you still willing to let this charade go on?”

“Charade?” Verso echoes quietly, feeling a bubble of outrage start to grow. “As if the Paintress is not maintaining a charade? As if I am not a charade?”

His chest heaves by the time he's done speaking, black spots filling his vision, but he forces himself to stand straighter in the face of his father's scrutiny. He refuses to let the man see any weakness. 

“Verso—”

“Hypocrisy is never a good look, Renoir,” Verso says. Renoir is silent for a long moment before he shakes his head. 

“You do not truly understand what you seek,” Renoir finally says. 

“Don't patronize me, father,” Verso replies. “Stay away from the expeditioners.”

“I don't need to stay away from them, son,” Renoir says softly. “I'm sure you'll all come to me.”

Then, without giving Verso any time to respond, he attacks. Verso tries to move, but he's too slow, his movement too impaired to stop the attack from slicing through his throat, blood pouring from the wound. He falls forward, the sudden massive blood loss enough to make it impossible to stay upright any longer. He hits the ground, his sword clattering to the ground next to him before dissipating. He lays there, watching as Renoir looks down at him for a moment before turning and walking away. 

His vision starts to fade, just as Renoir disappears from view. He can feel his heart struggling to beat, trying to keep up with what little blood is left in his body. At least this time he dies quickly, Verso thinks, as he feels his heart stop and everything fades away.

—

Verso comes back to himself slowly this time, first aware that he's no longer laying face down on the wet stone. He's slumped against the wall now, so someone must have moved him. He takes a deep breath, biting back a groan at headache pressing against his temples. 

It takes him a moment to orient himself, registering a warm, heavy presence leaning against him. He opens his eyes, squinting at the meagre light shining into the entrance of the cave. It makes his head hurt even more so he turns away from it, only to be met with a mouthful of hair.

He tries not to sputter as he looks down to see his sister, who is resting against him, head against his shoulder. 

“Alicia,” Verso mutters, and his sister lifts her head. She tilts her head at him, her eyes assessing him as Verso straightens. “I'm fine.”

She punches him on the shoulder, far harder than Verso expected and he doubles over. 

“Alicia!” 

She stands, crossing her arms and glares down at him. 

“Look, there really wasn't time for any other methods of intervention,” Verso defends, holding his hands up in surrender. “And… at least this time father finished it off quickly?"

Alicia’s face contorts into one of disbelief and she gears up to punch him again. Verso scrambles to get out of the way. 

“Alright, alright, Alicia!” he placates. “I'll avoid being killed again, okay? I promise.”

Alicia doesn't look at all convinced, which is fair, given Verso's track record. Verso tries to plaster an innocent expression on his face, one that will hopefully assuage at least some of Alicia’s doubts. He hopes she can't see that his head is still killing him. 

“I don’t do it on purpose,” he says. 

Alicia’s face scrunches, enough that he can see her nose wrinkle underneath her mask. 

“Oh come on,” he tries to defend, but ultimately gives up—he can't lie to his sister, no matter how hard he tries. She knows him too well. Instead, he opens his arms, inviting her for a hug. 

His sister does a good job pretending to resist for a moment, but ultimately, she practically falls into his arms. Verso is quick to wrap his arms tightly around her, burying his face into her hair. Alicia makes a quiet noise, one Verso interprets as her need to verbally express her disapproval with his methods. 

“I know,” he says and Alicia lifts her fist, thumping him lightly on the chest. “I know.”

He lets Alicia stay for as long as she wishes, and when she pulls back, he places a quick kiss on her forehead. She looks up at him, and then materializes a familiar prosthetic arm, holding it out to him. Verso blinks at it for a moment. 

“Ah,” he says. “Well, I guess there's no point in lingering in the distance now anymore, is there?” 

Alicia shakes her head in agreement. 

“Well, my dear sister, would you be so kind and show me to the expeditioners?” he asks. If he doesn't have to track them down and make his headache worse, it's all the better for him. Alicia huffs, failing to look away before Verso can catch her smiling. 

She steps away, beaconing him to follow before taking off, leaving him scrambling to catch up. 

“Alicia!” he cries in outrage, and he can almost hear her laughing at him being carried through the wind. Alicia leads him away from the cliffs, but thankfully the expeditioners chose not to cross the ocean. They stop a small distance away and Alicia gives him an expectant look. Verso gives her a small grin as he steps forward, lingering at the edge of the camp. He watches the small group of expeditioners who are packing up their things, chatting quietly amongst themselves. Even from a distance he can pick up on the somber mood that weighs heavily on the group, likely from the brush they had with death the night prior. 

His grip tightens on the prosthetic arm in his hands, considering the best course of action. How does one introduce themselves after everything that had happened the night before?

He can't help but think of all the ways it could go wrong, has gone wrong in the past, from simple scorn to… the business end of a blade. He's watched these people, and he's relatively sure they wouldn't react too poorly, but one never knows for certain. 

He’s startled out of his thoughts by Alicia nudging his shoulder.

“Just give me a minute, okay?”

Alicia shakes her head and pushes him forward. Verso, caught off guard, takes a step to balance himself and steps on a stray branch. It snaps under his foot, the sound loud enough to alert the expeditioners of his presence. He sees the way they all stiffen, instantly on guard.

Well. 

Not like he has much of a choice now, does he? He gives Alicia a glare and gets a huff in return before he takes a deep breath and steps out into the open.

—

Gustave had thought he had been prepared for his expedition. 

He had trained for years, researched all he could, trying to ensure that he’s as prepared as possible. Logically, he had known no other expedition had made it back alive and therefore, there’s very little he actually knows about the continent. And yet, and yet, he had thought he was prepared.

Then almost the entire expedition had been wiped out almost immediately after making it to shore. And then Gustave was leading three people, including Maelle, through unknown territory. 

It gets easier. 

It does.

It’s never easy, but with the remaining members of the expedition, they manage to find a gestral village, befriend a strange creature named Esquie, and begin to make progress in getting to the Paintress. He’d begun to let his guard down (which was stupid, in hindsight), until suddenly, he’s being tackled out of the way of an attack that definitely should have killed him. 

The man with the piercing grey eyes haunts Gustave’s every thought. He finds himself tossing and turning in his bedroll, trapped in the moment from when he was tackled to the ground to when he landed on Esquie. 

His head spins with unanswered questions as he replays those moments over and over in his head. 

Who is he? Why did he save them?

Gustave knows a fatal wound when he sees one, and the gaping wound in the man's chest had definitely been a fatal one. Had this unknown man died for him? The very thought makes Gustave feel vaguely sick. 

His missing arm also weighs heavily on his mind—without it, he's just about useless in a fight.  

He lets out a long breath, turning to his side to see Maelle, who is curled up next to him, brow furrowed but still clearly asleep. He smiles at her, gently brushing some of her hair out of her face before he sits up, giving up on sleeping altogether.

He does his best to stay as quiet as possible, creeping to the edge of the camp to look out into the distance. The area is silent, almost oppressively so. He massages at his stump—his prosthetic had broken at the elbow, but he removed the attachment altogether to prevent it from getting caught on his clothing. It feels strange, messing with his balance to have it missing. He’d long since gotten used to his metal arm being slightly heavier than his real one and had adapted to the mismatched weights. Now that it's missing, every movement feels like he’s overcompensating.

He hasn’t been this unbalanced since he’d lost his arm in the first place.

“Hey,” comes Sciel’s voice from behind him. “Can’t sleep?”

“Could you?” Gustave asks.

Sciel chuckles as she takes a seat beside him.

“I’m surprised any of them are sleeping at all,” she says. “But… at least we’re all here, right? How are you feeling?”

Gustave bites his lip. That’s a loaded question, isn’t it?

“You don’t have to answer that,” Sciel follows up. Gustave sighs.

“I don’t know yet,” he says. He smiles over at Sciel. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll hold you to that, Gustave,” she says. “For now, how do you feel about some company?”

“I’d love it.”

With Sciel’s silent company, the rest of the night passes relatively quickly. Sciel’s presence beside him helps to silence some of the more destructive thoughts, making it easier for him to sort through the past twenty-four hours. 

He wonders if the others would be okay with going back to the scene of the crime finding his arm. As well as finding… his saviour’s body and burying him.

He considers how to bring it up with the group as they pack, when a loud crack sounds not too far from their camp.

Gustave freezes, his heart racing.

Is it the white-haired man from yesterday?

Had he come to finish what he had started?

“Gustave…” Maelle says beside him, her voice trembling slightly. 

“It’s okay, Maelle,” he says quietly. They all turn to the source of the sound, weapons summoned and ready for whatever—or whoever—may come out of the trees. It seems like they’re all holding their breath, tense, when out comes the man from yesterday, holding his hands up in a universal gesture of peace as he carefully steps closer. 

“Hey. I just wanted to return this,” he says, ignoring the outstretched swords as he holds out Gustave's arm. 

For a moment, no one speaks. 

Then Lune, never the one to pass up the chance to get answers, steps forward. 

“Who are you? Where did you come from? How did you get that expeditioner uniform? Who was that old man from last night and why does he want us dead so badly? And how the hell aren't you dead—Gustave told us about what happened last night,” Lune drills, punctuating each question by stepping closer and closer to the man. 

The poor man is beginning to look rather overwhelmed by the onslaught of questions, so Gustave quickly gets rid of his weapon and moves in between the two of them, gently pushing them apart. 

“Hey, hey, one question at a time, alright?” he tells Lune, who glares at him, but ultimately surrenders with a huff, falling back slightly. Gustave nods at her in thanks before turning back to the stranger, smiling at him. 

“I don't believe we've introduced ourselves,” he says. “Gustave. Thank you for bringing this back.” He chooses to leave the other thing he should probably be thanking the man for on the back burner, focusing on the current issue at hand. He takes his arm from the man, who is still holding it out. A quick assessment tells him it's not as damaged as he expected—he can definitely fix it with the tools he has on hand. 

What a relief. 

“Verso,” the man introduces himself quietly. 

“Verso,” Gustave echoes, thankful to have a name to go with the face. It's not a common name, and it immediately sparks a memory. “Verso from Expedition Zero?”

He looks up to see a look of shock cross Verso's face. 

“I—you—how did you know?” he asks. 

“Gustave's an expert on the history of all the expeditions,” Maelle pipes up. “He's lame like that.”

Verso's gaze flickers over to Maelle for a moment before coming back to Gustave, eyes wide. 

“I see,” he says. 

He still looks rather thrown off guard, so Gustave chooses to take the lead.

“Why don’t we sit?” he asks, gesturing at their half-packed camp. Verso nods, following as Gustave leads and sitting across from them. 

“You’re right,” Verso starts when they’re all seated. “I don’t know how, but some of us stopped aging. And we weren’t affected by the Gommage, either.”

“Some of you,” Lune echoes. “Like the man on the cliff.”

Verso hums. Gustave mentally runs through all he knows of Expedition 0.

“Then that man would be… Renoir,” he says. Verso blinks at him, face blank.

“Yes,” he continues. “He believes his immortality is a gift from the Paintress. Killing her would mean killing him, too. And he likes to live forever.”

“And you?” Lune asks. “You don’t want that?”

“Burying everyone you know, while you live on… can wear you down a little bit,” Verso says and Gustave feels his heart break for him. He can only imagine… if Verso is from Expedition Zero, then that means he’s spent sixty-seven years out here. 

Alone.

Gustave can’t imagine the toll the loneliness would take on him.

“Our goals align, then,” Gustave says. “Did you… maybe want to come with us?” Verso gives Gustave a little smile.

“I was hoping you’d ask,” he says, and Gustave is struck for the first time by how handsome the man is. Without the fear and pain marring his face, Gustave finds momentarily captivated.

“Gustave! You’re really going to let a stranger come with us?” Lune asks. 

“He did save Gustave,” Maelle says quietly. Lune deflates for a moment, but she keeps glaring at Verso, distrust clear in her gaze.

Verso doesn’t seem to mind, giving Maelle the same soft smile he gave Gustave moments before.

“If you want to get to the Paintress, your best bet would be to go through the quarry to the North. The Forgotten Battlefield,” he says, looking down at his hands. “But there’s a very strong Nevron there that’s managed to kill many expeditions in the past.”

“We’re strong,” Sciel says. “We can take it.”

Verso lets out a quiet laugh.

“I can’t wait to see it, then,” he says. And with that, to Gustave, it seemed like it was set. Verso is a part of Expedition 33, at least in Gustave’s heart.

—

Gustave decides to take advantage of the time it takes to travel across the ocean to fix his arm. The damage is mostly superficial, which can be solved later. Parts of the hinge mechanism of the prosthetic had snapped from suddenly bearing all of his weight, but he had brought plenty of replacements, so it’s as simple as connecting a new hinge joint to the arm and then attaching it back to his stump.

He keeps half an eye on the rest of the group as he works. Maelle spends most of the time watching the scenery pass, while Lune splits her time evenly between helping Sciel with her anxiety and glaring at Verso when she thinks he isn’t watching.

The man in question settles near Esquie’s head, looking like he’s fighting sleep with every fiber of his being. Gustave has to bite back the urge to scold the man when he sees his head drop before he catches himself for the umpteenth time.

But the man is virtually a stranger, and he doubts he would appreciate being nagged by a mother hen.

So he pretends he doesn’t see it, and focuses on his own work. He manages to fully repair his arm (or as repaired as it's going to get without a fully equipped workshop) by the time they reach land. The sun is starting to set when they step foot on land, and Gustave is feeling sore from sitting all day. 

Though he’s not going to complain about an uneventful couple of hours.

“Let’s set up camp for the night,” Gustave suggests as they gather their bearings in the new area. He gets a couple noises of agreement, so they start unpacking their things to spend the night. Sciel and Lune are working on starting a fire when Gustave realizes that Verso is no longer nearby, and a quick survey tells him that the man is sitting at the edge of the camp, looking out at the water.

He finishes his role in setting up, leaving the girls to prepare dinner to go and try to get to know their newest member. (He would help, but he’s been banned from touching food after he managed to make some of the biggest abominations known to Lumiere whenever he’d tried to cook in the past). He tries to make his footsteps as loud as possible to notify Verso of his presence as he approaches.

Verso turns when he gets close, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I realized you don’t have a bedroll,” Gustave says in lieu of a greeting, taking a seat in the sand beside the man. He gets a small smile in return. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Verso says. “I always carry my essentials with me.” 

Gustave nods, letting a comfortable silence fall between them for a moment before he speaks again.

“I never said thank you,” he says. “For saving me. So thank you.”

“Don’t—I—there’s no need,” Verso stutters out. Gustave shakes his head.

“There is,” he says, and Verso scratches the back of his neck, looking away.

“Okay,” Verso says, and doesn’t say anything more. Gustave wonders if he’d made a mistake, reminding Verso of something that is probably even more traumatic of him then it had been for Gustave. He finds his gaze drifting down to the man’s chest, where he’s certain Renoir’s attack had hit. His expeditioner jacket is fully intact, and there’s not a hint of blood anywhere on the material. Did the blood simply disappear after he… dies? Did the injury leave a scar? Verso has a scar on his face, so what leaves a scar and what doesn’t?

He’s itching to ask, but he doesn’t want to be rude. Still, the image of the man’s piercing grey eyes meeting his, blood pulsing from a wound in his chest as he throws Maelle and himself off the cliff is still seared into his mind. And now he’s sitting in front of him, seemingly unscathed. It’s hard to reconcile.

He hears Verso clear his throat, snapping Gustave out of his thoughts. He suddenly realizes he’s been staring at the man’s chest for a long time, his eyes flying back up the man’s face, who looks vaguely amused. 

“It’s healed,” Verso says. “You want to check?” 

Gustave flounders for a moment, but he finds his gaze once again drifting towards his chest. 

“Can I?”

It's Verso's turn to gape, the amusement on his face giving way quickly to one of shock. It’s only for a moment, though, the expression flitting across the man’s face so quickly Gustave almost misses it. The amusement returns as quickly as it disappeared, accompanied by a small smirk.

“If you insist,” Verso says. Gustave’s eyes widen as the man undoes the belts of his outfit, unzips his jacket, and untucks his shirt. He pulls his shirt up to reveal an expanse of smooth, unblemished skin over rippling muscle. Gustave feels his mouth go inexplicably dry as he stares, momentarily distracted. 

It is really interesting, to see no sign of a wound that Gustave was sure had run the man through. No scar, no blemish, nothing. He reaches out, his hand meeting warm, smooth skin and hard muscle. 

Truly fascinating. 

Then he catches himself and quickly snatches his hand back, feeling his face flame with embarrassment. 

“S-sorry,” he stutters and is met with a warm chuckle. 

“That's okay,” Verso says, letting a painful silence fall between him as he drops his shirt and gets dressed again. Gustave can't help track the man's long, thin fingers as he tucks his shirt back in and rebuckles the belts on his jacket. He glances back up at Verso's chest for a moment before looking away. 

“Did it hurt?” he asks before he really thinks about it, and then curses his own stupidity. Of course it fucking hurt, what is he even asking. But Verso just laughs again, running a hand through his hair. The light from the setting sun behind him catches him just so, making his tanned skin look like it's glowing, hair shining. 

God, he's beautiful. 

“Nah,” Verso says. “Nothing I'm not used to.”

Which… is not really an answer to Gustave's question at all, and is frankly, quite concerning in its implications. He frowns, considering what to say in response when Sciel calls for them. 

“Boys! Dinner is ready!”

“Guess that's our cue,” Verso says, standing up and holding out a hand towards Gustave. He accepts the hand, letting Verso pull him up as he files away the end of this conversation to be revisited at a later time. At the moment, he doesn't want to disturb the tentative peace that has managed to settle throughout the group, even with the promise of a deadly Nevron waiting to meet them.