Far from them, under the full moon, two men passionate about Allag sat. Now, there were plenty of reasons to keep Nero unable to leave. Most of them being worried about what he’d do, since he was a bit of a cruel guy. But still, G’raha had found himself curious about the other. Thus, he’d slipped away to sit with him, in Neros’ little room. G’raha noted that the bed was unused, the sheets not disturbed. Papers scattered, written in ancient Allagan. Written far too recently to simply be things they’d found.

But if the bed wasn’t used, where had Nero been resting? Nero, right now, sat by the window. Looking out to the tower, with that glazed over look. He barely reacted when G’raha sat next to him, dressed in everyday clothes. “Hey, Nero—”

Nero turned suddenly, his expression a little cold. “What is it, catboy.”

Huffing, G’raha looked outside. “If you’re going to get back there, you should be calling me G’raha. But… it looks beautiful, doesn’t it? The Crystal Tower.”

Nero sighed a little, leaning back. Seemingly no longer compelled to stare out there. “It doesn’t look right. But that’s probably because it’s surrounded by ruins. Why, there should be a city around it.” The way Nero talked, slipping into a long-lost accent, made G’rahas’ ears prick up. “Or at least their imperial palace. It’s in quite a different style to the Garlean one, even if Garlemald tries to copy the elegance and beauty of Allag. For one, Allag wouldn’t have allowed any of these refugees to settle. They would have made prime fodder for Lord Amons’ experiments.”

“…Excuse me?” G’raha said. There was a lot he wanted to question.

“Excuse me what?” Nero replied. Blinking. “What did I say that was so wrong to you?” There was a blink, Nero shaking his head a little. “I was just saying that it does look rather beautiful.”

“No? You were being weird and acting like Allag should still be around,” G’raha said, pouting a little. “While I do agree that some elements of it could improve this era, there’s a reason it fell.

Also, you called the historical figure Amon a Lord.”

More blinking. Nero stared at the Miqo’te for a moment, before shaking his head and looking outdoors again. “I said no such thing. Perhaps you need to get your ears checked, cat.”

“Maybe you need to stop being rude,” G’raha commented, frowning. Looking from the Tower to Nero. His stance was firm, as one of his hands gripped to the windowsill. An odd glow came from his hands, lighting it up… huh. That same glow sort of came though his clothes as well, from his back. Curiously, G’raha poked at the brightest of it.

Nero snapped around. “What are you doing,” he asked.

G’rahas’ ears pricked back. “You’re glowing, Nero.”

Rolling his eyes, Nero looked away – before taking off his shirt. “Yes, I glow. I’m surprised you don’t.” Yes, there was a dull blue glow under Neros’ skin. “Then again, only my brother glows like me.”

Before G’raha asked about said brother, however, his eyes focused. He knew that skin on Nero. That… was not skin. No, it was a synthetic material made in the Allagan empire in its’ final era. Curiously, G’raha touched it again. Yes, it looked a lot like skin, he knew. And it felt like it. Yet, who of this era would know…

Suddenly, an idea. “Nero, stay— stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Nerk tsked, leaning back a little, onto the glass window. “I can’t leave, I’m your prisoner.” Yet, Nero respected that? It felt odd. G’raha dashed off, and Nero looked at his hand. Why did so many people think it was odd? His glow, his deformities. Of course, somebody like Garlond didn’t have them. But Garlond was a nobleborn man, thus, if he had? He could have gotten them tended to, fixed. Just like he fixed his body when it did not conform to how he felt as a person. Just another privilege of nobility and having contacts, Nero thought. But there were plusses to his conditions. He didn’t need to waste his time with sleep or eating. He didn’t need to bother with most forms of armour – he had his shoulder pads built in, and they didn’t hurt to touch like some tumours might. He was unique. Plus, the glowing – the light blue pulses that sometimes turned red? They helped illuminate areas when he was working.

Perhaps he was different. But he was better. Still, the way that Miqo’te acted— why did he care? Perhaps he was going soft. Even if he’d felt the same odd loyalty to Gaius, at times. Was that Miqo’te truly as charasmatic as Gaius? As willing to let him poke and prod at Ultima Weapon?

“There’s some form of data coming though,” Nero heard, and snapped out of his thoughts, “that seems to imply something is wrong with you.”

Leaning back against the window, Nero laughed internally. “Ah, so you’re running diagnostics, Aulus? Inform me next time. I would have gotten more dressed.”

In his mind, he could hear the comforting sounds of his dear brother. Dear? Well, without each other, they wouldn’t have gotten so far. They both had deformities, were both seen as wrong before they showed their skills. Even if Nero had ascended further up the ladder for now. “Can you recall the shade of red of his eyes?” Aulus asked, “and send it to me? I believe it is lowering your resistance to commands.”

“That sounds strange,” Nero replied, as he complied. Both of them ignorant to how many people couldn’t do this. Couldn’t communicate within the time between seconds. “There. It’s similar to the red I’ve been trying to replicate. I still don’t get why you prefer purple.”

“Because,” Aulus replied with a slight screech, a slight bit of anger, “that colour is one of those… special Allagan colours. You’re the Allag expert, not me.”

True, Nero thought. “And what does your data say about this red? I… can’t seem to think about it for long.”

“…It seems to do the same for me,” Aulus replied, his voice growing darker. “Ask the Miqo’te about it. If it happens with other people, then we may have a good new defense tactic against our projects being discovered.”

“Or,” Nero said, “them asking about me. Still keeping it secret?”

“Of course. I’ve recently been assigned to work with Lux Izunia on a project – and he rambles about this and that, but doesn’t seem to care about my former companion. Face it, Nero – you’re a traitor to the Empire now. And a coward! It’s quite amusing to see their perspective. I’ll send you the audio next time I overhear some.”

“That is not needed, Aulus.” It was said so simply, as Nero could now hear footsteps and giggling. It had been less then a minute, he’d estimate. How slow their words were. “I’ll leave you to listen to this, however. To see what I need to put up with while captive.”

The door opened. G’raha walked in, looking behind himself a little. And even though she had to kneel a little, Bolormaa followed – closing the door behind her. Her tail barely fitting in without awkwardly curling around. Still, the Au Ra lady couldn’t help but stretch out, taking up even more room. Nero kept focused. How could one Au Ra be so big? Their eyes met.

And then, Bolormaa looked down at his odd malformed skin, and her eyes lit up. Leaning towards Nero, Bolormaa almost forgot to speak. “So! G’raha told me about— um, your skin? Can I touch it?”

Before Nero could refuse, G’raha nodded. “Yes, I believe it’s synthetic skin from the Allagan era – usually used to mend injuries. But maybe it’s not? Nero, she won’t hurt you.”

And yet, G’rahas’ desires seemed to make Nero calm. Yes. It’ll be fine, having a stranger prod at his skin. He turned again so his back was showing to her, slightly slumped over. Bolormaas’ hand went to stroke it, and as she prodded at it, her fingers held some of it. “Now, G’raha. You were nearly right. But this seems more like the synthetic skin made to cover prosthetics. That was developed due to the discomfort some showed seeing replaced limbs. Which still baffles me. The difference is that it’s a bit thicker, but—”

Oops. Bolormaa froze – she’d torn the skin she was tending to. But as she froze, as Nero tensed up, as G’raha felt his fur poof up – there was no blood dripping from him. No, it was more like a tear in fabric. Gently, Bolormaa went in to prod more, with her claws, and Nero recoiled. “What are you doing—? It’s going to be a pain to mend that here.” Unlike the two Archon, Nero didn’t seem concerned about the tear. Not freaking out that now, Bolormaa and G’raha could see what looked like a light built into his back. “Honestly.”

In his mind, Nero was also complaining to Aulus. “See what I need to put up with?”

Yet, G’raha was prickling. “Nero, you— what are you?”

Whipping around to face him, Nero gave a bit of a glare. “I am a pure-blooded Garlean. What, have you never seen one before? This close?”

Even though G’raha disliked it, he had noticed how he could influence the man. “I want to look a bit more. I suppose I haven’t seen one this close. But— can Garleans really replace the spine?”

Urgh. Nero turned again. Let the Miqo’te touch his wound. Stretch his skin – it was more stretchy then other skin, G’raha noted quietly. This wasn’t flesh. It was that sort of synthetic skin, him and Bolormaa could debate the sort later. And with that, he could stretch the small scar and see—

“Nero. There’s— you’re— Bolormaa, you’re not gonna believe this.”

Bolormaa peered in. Stared. Before her eyes widened and she collapsed backwards. Even though he was unnerved, Nero laughed a little. “I suppose she didn’t expect it. Ah, I’ve also been asked to forward a message to you.” A beat, as Nero listened to Aulus’ anger. “If you dare harm me, the might of the Empire will be focused on you. They’re watching, after all.”

“Well, if they’re watching,” G’raha said as he tried to seem cool and collected, “they know that this place is where they failed before.” G’raha continued to peer, his tail swishing under the moonlight. He could trace metal, pure metal that was the sort rumoured to be used in… “Hey, Nero. Mind if I ask you about your past?”

Nero sighed. “If you must, catboy. Why, want to hear about my trauma? Not that you likely have any.”

Grumbling, G’raha weighed up a few options, before: “I’m an orphan who had a lot of his theories dismissed and was bullied for my red eye.” Just. Straight up said it. “If not for being an Archon and having a lot to study, I probably would have turned out pretty bad.”

Nero tsked, even if his expression softened. “What is with that red eye?”

“You just said the Empire is listening. Can’t tell you,” G’raha pouted.

Nero waved a hand. “Fair enough. What do you want to know? What is there to know? I was from a lowly family, worked my way up, then got overshadowed by Garlond.”

G’rahas’ hands left the small cut. “But before then? What about your childhood? I— I’m just trying to figure out where you came from.”

Leaning back more, looking back to the Tower, Nero made a quick movement. (He didn’t want his brother overhearing.) “I don’t remember much before my teenagehood, catboy. My parents said I wasn’t too remarkable, except for my expertise in Allagan matters. When I started showing those? Well, I was their so-called ticket to a better life.” There was something resembling love in Neros’ voice. He cherished them. “Hah, but now I’m seen as a traitor? They’re hopefully in hiding.” Yet, there was something that made Nero concerned. He finally gazed down at the unconscious Au Ra sprawled on the ground. “…she has the Echo, does she not? Perhaps you’ll get to ask her.” As Nero spoke, there was an odd metalic sound from his throat.

G’raha didn’t quite like to jump to conclusions. But everything he’d put together… his hands wringing a little, he looked to Bolormaa twitching on the ground, then back to Nero. “I… don’t want to… well, I’ve got a theory, Nero. But to figure if it’s the truth, I’m going to need to do something a little weird.”

“Weirder then all of this?” Nero chuckled. “Listen, cat— G’raha. You’ve gotten me curious. Do whatever you want.” As G’raha hesitated, he noticed how relaxed the man in front of him was.

And so, gently – but still rather grossly – he began to carve a seam down the synthetic skin. In order to allow it to be mended – it had to be after this, right? But he stopped when he got to Neros’ pants – moving upwards now, to the back of his neck. He ignored the rumble in Neros’ neck, as he moved his claw across it. He could ignore the movements, the sound. It was a dissection. With the person alive.

Thank the twelve that Nero had the sense to close the curtains to the world outside, shifting a bit uncomfortably as he did. The cut though his neck was done, and G’raha paused. There were two options to… to skin the guy. He could cut though the arms, or he could treat the skin like some form of twisted tank top. He paused. Before noticing Bolormaa beginning to wake. His fingers froze again, worried about being judged. Before he gulped, and began to trim around his arms. What Nero would think of as tumours, but were more clearly shoulder pads hidden by this false flesh.

As the cuts were complete, G’raha gently pulled the skin back. His suspicions were confirmed. “You’re— that isn’t the body of a Garlean.” A gulp. An odd fear filled G’rahas’ whole body. “You’re some sort of automation, Nero.” How would the man respond? But before Nero could react, would react, Bolormaa spoke from the ground.

“...progress report...”

G’raha knelt by her, Nero seeming to tense up at the tone she spoke in. “Bolormaa. Bolormaa, what did you see?”

Bolormaa did not react. Her eyes - oddly blue, almost as blue as the light inside Nero - were flickering open and closed. “From the twenty-four who… twelve will be kept… the others donated… WEAPON Project…”

Twitching, Bolormaa looks right at Nero. Her words soft, filtered from what she had seen. “Out of the subjects, the twelve selected have the ability to manipulate matter. If these are…” A cough, as Bolormaa tried to sit up. “…their forms can be modified though time… but there is… there is no time to let them grow.”

Suddenly, Bolormaa grabbed the person closest to her, who happened to be the startled G’raha – who let out a yelp. “It’s a smart idea, isn’t it? To use automations to—!!” With that last sound, with a half-laugh, Bolormaa seemed to shake off the vision. Eyes turning from glee to horror. “…G’raha? G’raha!” Her entire body began to tense, before she began to weep. “I— I— G’raha…”

“Calm down,” G’raha said, feeling himself beginning to panic. “What did you see? It’s— related to this, isn’t it.” Nero was peering over, holding some of his skin in his hand. (He was fine. He was fine. Perhaps he wasn’t a Garlean. But that was fine. Wasn’t it? Had to be.)

Her breath half-caught in her throat, Bolormaa tried to smile. “Well. I… I saw Allag, G’raha. The real Allag from back then.” Holding up a hand, Bolormaa was wiggling, even if she was in a panic. “There were scientists. They were carrying a bunch of… eggs? But they had mechanical things in them. Are eggs still eggs if they have mechanical things in them?” Even in her state, Bolormaa couldn’t help but ask the important questions. “Anyway. He… Ser Amon… Ser Amon was there.”

G’raha began to rub Bolormaas’ back, for tears that never came. It was strange. They barely knew each other, but he wanted to comfort her like she was one of his closest allies. His heart ached to see her in a panic. “You saw— the actual historical figure, Amon?” G’raha asked quietly, no longer focused on Nero, who was listening intently.

Bolormaa nodded. “I— I did. He was talking to the person I was seeing the vision from. I don’t know who they were.” Should she have? A forgotten person, who worked with him? “I think it was before— well, from the environment, it was before Xande had been brought back. The Tower did not exist, because it was not there. A-Anyway… he was telling them about plans for these eggs. The Children of Omega, he called them…”

Both of them were interrupted by Nero, talking in an oddly tense way. “Stop. Sounds like you were seeing quite the personal moment, lizard.” Not only was there a tenseness, but Nero was speaking in that nearly-Allagan way that Bolormaa had been. “And before you ask – no, I don’t have memories of then. But it seems familiar enough.” Familiar enough to shake him to his core.

Bolormaa stared at Nero. G’raha did as well, but softer. “Then— you’re one of them?”

Nero shrugged, looking at the shuddering lizard and the comforting catboy. Before gripping some of his synthetic skin in his hand. “Maybe. Maybe not. Even if I’ve got this body? Clearly, I’m still Garlean.” A pause. “It’s what I made of myself. If people around me knew about this, then things would have turned out a lot different.” Had his natural advantages helped? Perhaps. If he was truly this Allagan device, of course he could work with them. His hands tightened. “But this changes little. Except now it makes sense why the Tower calls me.

It wants me back? Then I’ll show whoever wants me how much better I’ve been then them. I don’t know why they left me out here,” Nero said with a bravado common to him, “but I’ll make them regret it.” Even now, arrogance laced every word. Nero closed his eyes, before a bit of sense came over him. “Are either of you able to… stitch me up?”

That got Bolormaa out of her shock, the horror she saw that she could not put into words. “Oh, right! I’m able to! Um, it will leave scars, probably.”

A snort, as Nero rolled his eyes. “You think? Just make sure they look good.” A beat. “Oh, they’ll look impressive either way. Far more impressive then any scars either of you two have.”