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Bambouche, after the loops, outside of the King’s Curse. The warm glow of the lamplights cast a bright sheen across the waters. The stars shine above, winking their secrets away. Siffrin cannot recognize any of them.
The island is across the sea. If Siffrin squints, he can almost see it through the haze surrounding the horizon. The waves wash gently over his bare feet. It’s painfully familiar, in the way malanga fritters are familiar, in the way he used to rest his face in the crook of his mother’s neck when she hugged him.
It’s been a long time since then.
The island is across the sea. He knew he had to have a mother, and a father. The thought feels right. Trying to find out something more about his past feels like trying to put a jigsaw puzzle together in the dark, sometimes, desperately trying pieces until something clicks, and they just feel right.
Well, if the jigsaw puzzle was also constantly trying to erase itself from existence. Siffrin is very grateful Odile had the foresight to start writing down as much as she could find on the Country, including what Siffrin would say before the Universe reached down and stole the rest of the words straight out of his mouth. It makes it easier to stomach, seeing the truth of it printed in stark lightless ink, by the one member of their family who never forgets. The puzzle, shattered on the ground, never to be whole again. The outlines of the picture it once painted.
The island is across the sea. Siffrin wonders what would happen if he just - started walking into the ocean. Until the water became too deep. Until the pressure drowned him beneath its weight. Until he emerged from the other side, dripping wet, finally home. Maybe then, this emptiness in his heart would finally be filled. Maybe then, he’d finally know who he was supposed to be. A person, with a name and a home and a family who loved him and a culture to stand upon, a country to call his own, someone who could smile and confidently answer the question ”Where are you from?”
Siffrin thinks of his present family, currently gathered in Nille’s house while they prepare to leave. Travelling, once more, always and forever. And the thing is, too - Siffrin likes travelling. He likes seeing new places, new things, exploring and moving and always facing forward and never looking back, but, sometimes - sometimes.
He just wants to be somewhere for a while, sometimes. To live in a house with his loved ones, to eat at a table every morning and do odd jobs during the day and smile at locals and be greeted back. To relax in the certainty of having a home at the end of the day, of roots he can trace deep into the land he stands on.
Bambouche is one of the places they’ve stayed longest in in their entire journey, not counting Dormont. Nille has been incredibly kind and thoughtful, deeply grateful to the band of strangers who not only saved her and the country but also her sibling. She’s so much like Bonnie, in a lot of ways. The family resemblance is clear, in the shape of her face, the way her voice lilts, the way she casually teases Bonnie with the easy familiarity of siblings. Of family.
Siffrin wonders if they had siblings, back home. The thought doesn’t quite fit right in their head, puzzle pieces just barely the wrong shape, but there’s something in the way he interacts with Bonnie that feels - almost right. Something almost clicks into place.
Almost. Almost like how he almost remembers his own language, like how he and the King almost said the name of their country. A life filled with almosts is almost a life.
The water nips at his ankles. It’s cold. Siffrin doesn’t step away.
“Siffrin?” a voice calls, distant. Siffrin doesn’t answer.
(Siffrin isn’t really his name, it’s just the name of a tragedy they liked, back - before. Before. Before before before before - time loops and Loop and Dormont, repeating, Dormont, unchanging, the House the lightless walls the wailing King the color of the sky like an open wound - )
“Siffrin!” Footsteps crunching through the sand, heavy, familiar like the beat of his heart in his chest. Something in Siffrin’s chest lightens, expands. The emptiness becomes a little easier to bear.
“Siffrin? You’re shaking,” Isa says, worried. His hands hover awkwardly around Siffrin’s shoulders before he settles them solidly on Siffrin’s shoulders - and isn’t that novel? Finally, Isa’s touching him. Finally, Siffrin is worth touching. Isa’s hands are warm, a little sweaty even through the fabric of Siffrin’s cloak, and Siffrin unconsciously leans into it. The weight is grounding.
Always by my side, even after everything.
“You okay, Sif?”
Carefully, cautiously, Siffrin shakes his head. It’s barely noticeable, barely an admittance, but Isa sees it anyways. He always does.
“Oh, Sif. Do you need a hug?” Another novel thing. Admitting that he needs help, and the rest of his family being willing to provide. Not that they had ever been unwilling before, but the - admitting, is new. The asking, the wanting, the push and pull of not being okay and saying it aloud instead of hiding it under a smile.
Not that his family would let him hide it under a smile anymore, now that they know, but there’s a difference between having the truth wrenched out of him from people who know him too well and taking the mask off himself and letting them see what’s underneath. A vast gulf of difference, even.
Siffrin nods, carefully, once. Please touch me, let me be real, let me be here.
Isa sighs like a dam breaking, and then he's in front of them and his eyes are warm and there are arms, fabric, pulling them close, big hands closing around their small, tired body. One settles on Siffrin’s back, and the other settles in the lightless hair on the back of their head, fingers running gently through the unbrushed tangles.
Siffrin doesn’t hug back. He’s not sure his hands remember how to move. But he closes his eyes and slumps forward into Isa’s chest and just listens to Isa breathe. The waves wash in, and out. Siffrin breathes not with the waves, but with Isa’s slow, intentional breaths.
In, and out. In, and out.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Isa asks.
Siffrin hums, quiet. Another difference - Siffrin might actually talk about it now.
In, and out. Another beat of rushing silence while Siffrin contemplates. And finally, makes his choice.
“The island is across the sea.”
“The island?” Siffrin can feel the weight of Isa’s eyes landing on his head. He tries to stifle the desire to hide, to make himself small and unseen. He presses closer to Isa instead, listening to his heartbeat instead of the swell of the waves.
“The - “ my home, Siffrin tries to say, but the words lodge in his throat. Isa hears it anyways, because of course he does, because his family knows, now, the truth long since pried out from between Siffrin’s locked teeth.
Siffrin is from the forgotten island, north of Vaugarde. Siffrin can never go home.
“Oh.” Isa’s hands tighten. Siffrin relishes every inch of contact. “I’m sorry. Were you… looking at it?”
There’s nothing to see. Siffrin wants to cry.
“Yeah,” he chokes out, voice thick. “I just - I thought if I looked hard enough, I’d get to see it again.” One last time.
“Oh, Sif,” Isa says. Siffrin’s hands finally remember how to hug and reach up, hands fisting in the back of Isa’s shirt almost tight enough to tear.
“I’m sorry,” Isa says again, fruitlessly.
Siffrin shakes his head. “Not your fault,” he manages. “...bigger than me, or the King.” The two of them had died trying to undo it, to break whatever spell had surgically excised it from the world. To say its name.
He can still taste the blood in the back of his throat, sometimes.
“I can still be sorry for how it’s affecting you, you know.” Isa replies. His voice thrums through his chest and into Siffrin’s. “You clearly miss it. But - and sorry if this is overstepping - I don’t think standing on the beach trying to see it is going to help,” Isa says, a little wry, and Siffrin snorts a little despite himself. Isa’s become so much braver around Siffrin, lately. Siffrin is so proud of him.
“I know.” Siffrin sighs. “I just….” he doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to. Isa would understand - or perhaps not quite understand, because the only person that really understood was the King, and he’s gone - but grief is a hollow, aching thing, ever-familiar to every person who’s ever lived. Grief for who you used to be. For your home. For your loved ones. For your country. It’s not the same, but the feeling is the same, isn’t it? Like a hole shot through your chest?
“...Yeah. I get it,” Isa says and squeezes Siffrin once, gentle. “It’s tough being in Bambouche, isn’t it?”
Siffrin desperately misses his hat. Not that it would stop Isa from reading him like a book, but the illusion would be nice right now.
“I - a little bit,” Siffrin admits, and even that much is enough to send a spike of guilt through him. He shouldn’t be reacting like this. He should be grateful that he’s gotten a home at all, that the people of Bambouche have been overjoyed to play host to the Saviors of their country, that Bonnie gets to go home and see their sister again and gets to be a kid again, that Nille has been kind enough to let them all stay in her small house while they prepare to leave, that everyone has seemed happier in Bambouche - Odile contentedly reading practically every book in the library, Mirabelle happily exploring the local markets, Bonnie reunited with Nille, and Isabeau wandering delightedly along the beaches. Siffrin shouldn’t be dragging them down like this, shouldn’t feel this ever-present weight on their chest while everyone else is having so much fun. It’s -
“Hey, stop that.” Isa squeezes again, tight, and Siffrin’s spiral abruptly cuts out as quick as a switch being flipped. “It’s okay to not feel so good about being in Bambouche, you know. Nobody’s expecting you to magically be okay after months of looping the same days, and I doubt being so close to the island is doing you any favors.”
Read like a blinding book. Siffrin huffs, slightly put out despite himself. “But I shouldn’t be feeling like this. I should be happy, cause you guys are too.”
“That’s… not how it works, Sif.”
“It should be. And - I don’t want to drag you guys down, either, I just - ” how can he describe the hollowness Bambouche opens in him? Everything in the town is so familiar yet also not, like every piece of furniture has been moved two inches to the right. The tang of sea salt in the air, the crash of the waves, the darkless beaches, the smell of fresh-caught fish in the markets, the laughter of children running across the sand, the kites flying high in the sky, Siffrin knows it knows it knows it and yet.
The sand is darkless, instead of lightless. The stars have no names. The language the children laugh in is not his own.
The sea still smells the same, though. Siffrin breathes in and catches the sharp salt of it in his nose, between his teeth.
How can he possibly put all that into words?
But he gives it his best shot anyways. For the sake of himself, for the hollow aching in his chest, where a star used to beat.
Promise me you’ll talk to them. Please.
“It’s all - so familiar. Like I’ve seen it all before, but I haven’t because I can’t remember, because I’m not allowed to remember. And everywhere I look, it’s like - a reminder of what my home might’ve looked like, if I could just remember it. But I can’t, and it. It hurts. A lot.”
“I’m so proud of you, Sif,” Isa says abruptly, voice warm, and Siffrin really wants to cry - oh, wait, he’s actually crying.
“Wait - no - that’s not what I meant,” Isa blurts, panicked. “I - I’m just really glad you told me, Sif! Because you’ve been trying so hard to get better at talking to us about your feelings and that was a lot of feelings and I’m so grateful that you’re talking to us about it now and especially really deep and heavy stuff like that and it came out on accident and please don’t cry, Sif, I’m really sorry -”
Siffrin surprises the both of them by laughing. “I get it,” Siffrin says, leaning just far enough away from Isa that he can scrub away his tears. “It’s okay, Isa. I’m just… feeling a lot, right now.”
Isa smiles, a little shakily. “Okay. Good. Sorry about the random blurting! Please keep going!!”
Siffrin shrugs, still smiling. Trust Isa to always cheer him up. “I mean, I said most of it already. Not too much more to add.” He carefully tucks the I’m proud of you away back in the depths of his memory, gripping it as tightly as he can. He forgets a lot of things, both important and not, but he hopes he doesn’t forget how Isa sounded when he said it, that warm upwelling of something Siffrin isn’t quite brave enough to name.
Proud of him. Siffrin doesn’t feel like someone that deserves pride, but he’s increasingly realizing that it’s really not his choice to make. It’s the choice of the people around him - the real living people around him, their smiles and their heartbeats and their love, freely offered, their homes, freely given, their lives, easily moved around Siffrin, enveloping him as a part of their family. Their home.
And ultimately: the island is gone. Siffrin’s home is gone.
But nobody said he couldn’t make a new one.
You’re not only made of where you’re from, Siffrin. You’re yourself, too.
Siffrin squeezes Isa back one more time before letting go. The waves wash over his feet again, currents pulling and tugging, but the water doesn’t feel as cold as it did before. The smell of salt is farther away, less prominent and more just… there. Mere qualia, instead of a reminder of what once was.
“We should probably head back,” Siffrin says, smiling at Isa. “I’m sure Bonnie has dinner ready for us by now.”
Isa rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “I actually came outside to get you for dinner….”
“Oh no, it’s been ages. Bonnie is going to kill us,” Siffrin dramatically laments, and Isa laughs, hearty and loud. The sound settles something in Siffrin’s chest as though a sun-warmed stone had been dropped straight into his ribcage, heavy and steady and safe like nothing else.
“We should probably actually be heading back, though.” Isa says, still chuckling. “The Saviors of Vaugarde, defeated by a preteen.”
“Well, Bonnie’s also technically a savior, so.” Siffrin steps away from the waves and back towards Bambouche. Isa follows at his side like always, and together they walk back towards Nille’s house, where everyone is waiting for them. Back towards home.
Halfway to Nille’s house, Siffrin quietly offers his hand to Isa. After a moment’s hesitation, Isa takes it, and Siffrin smiles brightly, swinging their hands gently back and forth between them.
His home smiles back, nearly blinding with the force of it.