Michael walked through the labyrinth of his own mind, absentmindedly tapping his foot as he stood watch outside the Ark.
He had chosen to station himself here, away from the Consort.
'He doesn't want me around right now.'
A safe assumption to be sure, yet one Michael found conflicting for some reason. A quiet friction between his thoughts emerged, and his grip tightened around his halberd.
To think he would ever grow distracted from his obligations due to emotion. Michael almost felt embarrassed.
The city around, pristine, more alive than ever before with the announcement of successful negotiations and a written Constitution blessed by divine hand, made it feel a little more justified.
'I did what I had to do. He would have died otherwise, and I had no way to know what could have happened.'
An objective truth that meant nothing. Not now, as the wind grew a little warmer and kissed his cheek.
The Consort would never speak to him again, what man, what woman, what sentient and sapient being could forgive being drugged against their will, no matter the situation?
"…Damn…" Michael muttered, nigh groaned, and the paragon he was on duty with glanced his way.
It was Jeremy. He looked at Michael, and braced himself internally.
"...You've been awfully depressed oh great Chosen, what's going on?"
Michael blinked, he, depressed? How did he know? Did Charice tell him what he had done?
No, Jeremy's eyes only held a knowing look, an offer to lessen the burden.
"...Something personal." Michael revealed, "It's… Well, fucked."
Michael smirked at his own wording, but how else could he describe this? He couldn't tell Jeremy the truth, could he?
"Charice, right?" Jeremy asked, and Michael went solid, as if he had joined the statues of the bridge stretching ahead of them.
Michael turned with a pale expression.
"How…?"
Jeremy shrugged, "What else could it be, your non-existent wife? And the Consort has been more… Hungry for purpose? Something like that."
Michael had no words, but he searched long and hard, exhaling a soft shimmer of purple dust.
Jeremy continued, "I noticed your… Weird behavior a while ago, when you told me to watch the Consort's room in your stead with another Paragon."
Jeremy's gaze sharpened, eyes twisting with a mixture of worry and preemptive ire as the silence stretched onward.
"Listen man-" Michael began, but Jeremy cut him off.
"No, brother. I know you've been lying. Its hard to lie when talking through magic, and you tried that. But I understand you wouldn't lie without reason, so I tolerated it."
Michael looked down onto the stone, not sure what to feel.
"But suddenly, Charice abruptly jumped into a ritual to meet with the Gods for the first time? Michael, we know you pushed him into it, its easy to tell in retrospect, but… You shoved him and gasped when the man we swore to protect got bruised."
Jeremy sighed, clicking his tongue in irritation as he glanced up and down Michael's stoic form.
"I don't know what happened, but clearly, Charice has been wounded by you somehow. I noticed your look after the ritual, and the way Charice tried to distract himself with our presence."
Michael's jaw tightened with every word, every accusation and judgment earning another wave of righteous fury.
"And what should have I done, then? Watched him die?" Michael spat, and Jeremy's eyes widened a little as he grasped what the stakes were.
"…The ritual almost killed him?" Jeremy muttered.
"Yes!" Michael's voice raised, frustrated and humiliated." What was there to do? What is there to apologize for?! I acted when Charice refused to, and thus I am blamed for it! Even you judged me, when you know nothing at all!"
Jeremy looked him in the eyes, "Well maybe if you told all this to Charice, without the shouting, he would not be so upset. At least acknowledge what happened and express yourself, instead of pouting outside like a self-exiled child."
Michael sighed and promised to think. He had plenty of time.
Said time flowed, for half an hour.
As Michael pondered the nature of consent and Maximus eagerly awaited his release, Willow stepped out of the Ark, into rigid silence.
"G-Good morning…?" She tentatively said, a bit scared to disturb this dense quiet.
"Good morning, Miss. Are you heading out for a walk?" Jeremy asked with a smile, and she nodded.
"Y-Yes, actually. I wanted to get to know the city a bit better and see how things are going – and some fresh air is always nice too."
Jeremy shifted to glance at Michael, who glanced back at him.
"Well, it would be exceptionally rude of us not to grant you an escort. Chosen, why not accompany our most esteemed ambassador?"
Michael glanced between them, and felt pity for Willow, who probably wanted some time for herself away from all this diplomacy.
But then Michael realized, as Jeremy smirked, that if anyone knew a thing or two about Consent, it would be a victim of abuse.
With an internal groan, he turned to Willow.
"Miss Moss, if you would allow me."
Willow's lips quivered a little, head spinning as she tried and failed to come up with a reason to say no.
"...Okay…" She finally sighed, and Michael knew the feeling all too well.
They began their walk, past the bridge and the waterfall that fell around it. It was a beautiful sight, one Willow admired for a second, before feeling the sting of awkward silence.
"So… Sir Michael…" Willow began, "How have you been lately?"
Michael smirked at that question, where to begin?
"I have been… Alright. Merely some personal troubles is all."
Willow blinked, her thumbs playing with one another as she drank in Michael's poker face, one that betrayed how much control he had to exercise over himself.
"...I see, I must admit… W-Well If you're okay with it… Would you like to share?"
Michael took a deep breath in and out, debating. She is a diplomat, a foreign adversary with unknown intent, but she is also a victim Michael saw at her worst first hand.
And he needed her. Her thoughts, perspective, her help.
"…If you'll allow me, then yes. But let's keep walking first."
They walked up the stairs leading from the bridge, past busy stalls and running children as blacksmiths and tailors alike worked.
The air was warm, thick with the scent of fresh stews, spices, medical herbs, oils and molten steel.
"Forgive me for interrupting your free time." Michael began, dark metal armor absorbing the light.
Willow blinked in surprise, the anger of something deep inside her mellowing, "Oh... Ahem, it's… Yes, it's alright."
Michael sighed, how would he bring this up? Maybe he should just deal with it himself – he would manage just fine, surely.
Before he came to any regretful conclusion though, Willow spoke up.
"W-Well, since you joined me, and it seems this topic is hard… Why don't you help me first?"
"...Of course, what is it?"
Willow clapped her hands, "Well! How do I say this… Just don't be too alarmed, but when I first came here, I saw this… Disturbing creature in the carriage. Black, inky… Foul even, and since then-"
"You've been hearing things, having weird thoughts, maybe hallucinating?" Michael interrupted, eyes flickering purple as something in her gut rumbled.
"Whoa, how did you know?"
Michael shrugged, "You are a shaman, so its not anything to be shocked about… But judging by your expression, you were not aware."
Willow's eyes were wide, and her mouth a little agape.
"I'm a what?!" Her voice was a mixture of shock, curiosity, and concern. It earned a few glanced, which made her fluster in embarrassment.
"Is it… Harmful?"
Michael shook his head, "Not at all, the spirit is stronger than you, but seeing that is has remained rooted in your stomach and has not tried to possess you or escape… It seems loyal."
Willow gave a long, relieved breath, resting her hand on her stomach reflexively.
"Whew… Thank goodness, that is a relief. You seem really wise, Sir Michael."
He smirked, "I'm really not."
"Oh yes you are! Even wise people have their quirks-" Willow's voice faded from Michael's ears, the word "quirk" guided his mind back to Charice.
His gem-like eyes, sweet gestures, affectionate soul. And wondered, 'What was I expected to do?' Not with anger, but with grief, perhaps only the tiniest pang of regret, which was then swiftly repressed.
"...Uhm...Hello? Michael, Sir?" Willow waved a hand in front of his face, and Michael blinked back to reality.
"Ah. Sorry. I mean, my apologies."
Willow's lips twitched into the tiniest fragment of a smile, "Oh, please be casual, its… So much more comfortable, really."
He nodded, "...Alright. I can do that for you."
They now walked through the middle ring of the city, further away from the gorge, Ark a looming titan nonetheless.
Willow looked at the river that ran next to them, cutting through the city. They had watched the waterfall earlier, split into two shortly before the staircase leading up from the bridge.
Here, it was a bit calmer, quieter, with the occasional plankton or weed flowing in the crystalline liquid.
Willow knelt at the edge, putting a hand into the water to feel some of the moss growing just underneath – it shimmered green as it seemed to reach to her, so subtly she didn't even notice.
"Maximar really it pretty. It's so weird, nothing makes sense but it always feels like something makes it make sense… Or maybe I'm just talking nonsense."
Michael watched, quietly, prompting Willow to glance at him with a questioning look.
She didn't even notice that her accursed dress, this symbol of her nigh enslavement akin to a prisoner's shackles, had a hole in its lower back. Tasteful and convenient, designed to let a man tear it apart.
That is what Michael stared at. With nothing short of contempt for those who allowed it.
"Miss- Or rather, Willow, since you like our city so much, maybe we could get you one of our more traditional dresses? Anything at all, just…"
'Just not this.' Michael spat to himself as his vocal cords hesitated, chained by politeness.
Willow, seeing his look, hearing the offer, stood up and dusted herself off.
"That would… Yes, I really like that idea. Wearing the same dress, albeit different sets of it, is tiring."
Especially when it was made with such ruthless intent in mind.
"It must be tiring." Michael's tongue slipped, and he quickly restrained himself.
"…" Willow didn't say anything, instead she nodded, "Yes, well… Obsidian and my… Father… Have given me opportunity no lesser woman would ever have. I am… Grateful."
She tried to make it sound sincere, but the thing deep within her refused to let it be so. Instead, she came off as strained, tense, soul stretched taut.
The city stretched around them, spices and metals, stalls and shops, gave way to humble family homes – marble with blue roofs, guards aiding citizens and young love blooming in the security of the Arks gaze.
They saluted Michael as he walked by, and he gave them the respect they deserved by saluting back every time.
"Your hand will fall off if you have to salute again." She smirked, and he chuckled.
"Would you like to salute for me, then? My aching joints would appreciate it."
"You aren't even that old." Willow rolled her eyes, realizing the casual gesture happened only after her words.
He simply laughed softly, his low voice crackling.
Only then did a pregnant silence descend, as Willow glanced at her escort, and he glanced at her.
A silent offer came, and Michael finally spoke.
"I did something… To someone who trusted me."
He began, and they slowed their pace, the scent of sweet honey filled Willow's head as Michael kept his emotions cool.
"I had no choice, they would have died, but… I hurt them. And when they wanted me to apologize-" his hand tightened into a fist, halberd shaking, "-I didn't do it. I have nothing to be sorry about… But it is true that I… Did what I did."
The river grew stronger, Abra's shadow passing over their heads as he flew high above.
"I refuse to say sorry, but I also… Don't know what to do. I am far from tender or soft, and I fear the consequences another mistake will bring."
He looked Willow in the eyes, her first time seeing them shaking ever so subtly, "I could lose everything. All the sacrifices, my family, my home, all of it for nothing. Lost in the service of… Of what?"
The world was bright, clean, stained by the imperfection that gave it meaning. And Michael could only see its shadow.
He breathed out, silence returning.
Willow pondered, deeply, unsure what to say – until she sighed too, a flower-scented silver dust escaping her lips. It smelled like spring, new beginnings. It inspired a simple thought.
"…Wasn't it all for this?" Willow quietly asked, motioning to the city around them with her head.
"I'm not sure exactly but… When I look at Maximar I see a very happy city. People are smiling, merchants are setting out into the world, the future looks bright…"
She gulped, her fingers interlocking with one another as she held her own hands. "It sounds like this Friend or whoever trusted you, you did what you had to do to save them… I was saved, in a way by… Obsidian…"
She admitted, painfully.
"But I don't think that means what you think… O-Of course you had good intentions! But, savior and commander are different things…"
She carefully drank in his expression, almost scared to mess up this chance for a connection, a real one. One not forced upon her, not commanded to her.
She gulped, imagining Obsidian's bulbous ego, his sincere belief that everything he does is justified.
"Try to do what feels right, but please don't forget how it will feel for other people, or you might just... Make things worse and feel like a hero for it."
Michael's face betrayed nothing, he instead grimly stood.
Willow's heart swelled with panic, she had fucked it all up. Now she would never seduce him, surely this damn spirit gave her the audacity to speak up so freely.
Cursed thing, she had to dial it all back, quickly, before it was too late.
"A-At least that's what I've been told when I was young! Maybe I'm wrong and am talking nonsense again…"
Michael stood in heavy silence, a shadow cast upon his expression.
"…I will think about your words. Thank you."
He turned heel and took a step before speaking again, facing away.
"I will not forget your new dress. You deserve better."
And with those words, Willow was finally alone, left with her only companion, its scent that of sweet sugar, and a liberating security that stood in contrast to her insecure fear.
'I did a good thing. He will be okay now.'
Something inside her whispered, and she knew, absolutely, that it was true.