Dual Wielding

Alright Finn, if you’re not going to show up, I’m going to find you.

Corrin folded his glider and walked away from the edge of the platform towards the ladder. It had been two days since he’d heard from his gliding buddy, and though it could be nothing, he couldn’t shake the twisting feeling in his gut. He knew where Finian’s fathers’ workshop was, so it was time he paid a visit.

Luckily, the workshop was only a short walk away, and soon Corrin had reached the rickety lift which led down to the platform on which the shop resided. Even from above he could hear the banging of a hammer against metal, so there must be someone there. Though he’d only been once, the ramshackle building was unmistakable with its patchwork design and canvas-topped porch.

Getting a better look, Corrin noticed that the building actually had what looked like a smaller, second level. It wasn’t actually connected to the workshop, but rather built atop supports placed into the cliff-face just above the roof of the workshop itself. The only ways up were two sets of wooden stairs, one on each side of the building.

Nothing seemed amiss, and somehow that worried him even more.

He slid past the flap of the entrance and walked into the workshop, seeing the older man hammering away at a rod of metal, trying to shape it into some form.

“Hey,” Corrin said. When the man offered no response, he tried again. “Hey!”

Finn’s father paused, the hammer stopped mid-swing. He turned around and pulled up his goggles. “What? Oh it’s you. What do you want?”

“Where’s Finian?” Corrin asked.

“He’s in his room, just take the stairs to the left when you walk out.” The man grunted. “Hasn’t left it since the surgeon came yesterday.”

Corrin’s stomach fell. Something about the way he’d said that… “The surgeon? Is everything all right”

“You weren’t there?” His face grew tense as his voice grew softer. “Fin– He got into an accident. His legs were shattered, and he’s lost all feeling below his waist... The doctor said he’ll never walk again.”

He said something else, but Corrin didn’t hear it. His body was already moving, out of the workshop and up the stairs. At the top was a small platform and a closed wooden door. Corrin grabbed the handle and pulled, but it didn’t budge.

“Go away dad.” Finian’s voice mumbled from inside. There was no mistaking the tone in his voice. Corrin had heard it before.

“Finn! It’s me, Corrin. Open the door! What happened? He’s lying right?”

There was no response other than silence.

He banged on the door. “Finn? What happened man? Please let me in!”

He kept begging, kept pounding against the wood, but there was no further response. He didn’t stop. If he stopped, he feared it would happen all over again. It was the same as it was back then, with him stuck outside the door as a friend’s dream crashed and burned. Six years had passed, and he still didn’t know what to do.

Eventually, Finian’s father came and pulled him away from the door, dragging him back down the stairs. “He clearly doesn’t want to talk! So enough with the ruckus! I’m trying to work!”

“Work?” Corrin laughed dryly, shaking the man’s hand off him at the bottom of the stairs. “Are you kidding me? Your son can’t use his legs anymore, he won’t come out of his room and all you care about is work?”

“That’s the way the world works. These things happen, and you can’t do anything about them. But you have to eat, you have to shit, and you have to work. That doesn't change.” His voice was quiet.

“But–you’re his father?” Corrin took a step back. “How can you be so nonchalant about this?”

The man turned and walked back into the workshop. “In the end it’ll be a good thing. Now he can focus on running the shop.” The flap fell behind him as he disappeared inside, leaving Corrin frozen for a moment as the weight of those words washed over him.

It’ll be a good thing.

Corrin tore through the entrance of the workshop, grabbing the man’s shoulder hard enough that it would probably bruise.

“What the hell did you just say?” His voice came out low and growly, surprising even himself.

Finian’s father didn’t turn around. “I said what I said.”

“Well I don’t think I heard you right, so I’m going to need you to repeat it. Did you say it was a good thing?”

“I did. And it is. I’ve been telling that boy for years he shouldn’t be gliding. I’d say this is the perfect wake up call.” His voice grew louder, and he turned around on Corrin as he started to yell. “Now he can give up on that stupid dream, stop being such a child, and start living his life instead of throwing it away, flying as fast as he can towards an early grave!”

“He probably wishes he was dead right now! And you can’t even show your own son any sympathy!” Corrin asked.

“I don’t have any! This is the result of his own idiotic actions! He can reap the rewards he should’ve known were coming, and thank the winds they weren’t worse!”

“You’re the only family he has left–”

“And why do you think that is?” Finn’s father roared.

Corrin stumbled back, letting go of the man’s shoulder. For the first time, he got a good look at his face, and though he was angry, his eyes were red and wet.

“That damn obsession already killed his mother, and apparently that wasn’t enough! I'm thanking the spirits, the kings, and even the damn winds themselves that they only took his legs and not more. Whether he sees it or not, this is the best outcome.”

“Wait,” Corrin stammered. “You mean–”

“I don’t have anything else to say to you. Get the hell out of my workshop.” He pushed Corrin backwards.

Corrin let him.

The next thing he knew, he was back outside, standing in front of the shop with no idea what to say. In the end, he hadn’t known anything. Even if he knew that the man was in the wrong, he didn't know how to convince him of it. What could he say that could outweigh something like the death of his wife? For once, the air in Precipice felt unbearably still.

Corrin’s eyes refocused on a familiar figure at the edge of the platform facing the open sky. When he looked up the stairs, he saw that the door at the top was open.

Without thinking, he rushed over towards the edge. “Finn! What are you doing? You should be in bed resting! Did you drag yourself out here?” As he drew close, Corrin got the first look at his friend’s legs, and the breath left him.

Corrin had broken his leg when he was younger, and it hadn’t been pretty, but this was an entirely different matter. The bones had clearly been fractured in multiple places, and they were splayed out behind him as he had propped his body up with his arms, looking down at the endless drop below. Somehow it seemed he had found the strength to make it over, dragging his body the whole way.

“If–” Finian’s voice was quiet and empty. “If I go over, do you think I’ll feel it one more time? The wind… will I feel it again?”

Corrin shivered, though the air was warm. He tried to respond, but no words left his throat. All the words of encouragement he thought of just sounded hollow. He wanted a problem he could kill with his sword, but those never seemed to be what plagued him the most.

“Not like that.” All he could do was give voice to how he felt. And he didn’t feel very uplifting.

Finian turned to meet his eyes. They were dead, void of any emotion. “I suppose you’re right. It’s lost to me now, it’s not coming back…”

Corrin didn’t reply. He just sat down on the ledge next to him and stared out over the sea. Together they sat in the stillness, neither one saying a word for quite some time.

"So... I heard about your mother." Corrin eventually whispered. "Is it true?"

Finian's eyes turned out towards the sky. His voice was shaky. "Yeah, she got caught in wind shear and lost control of her glider. I wasn't there when it happened, but my father was. He was never the same after that... When they got married, he'd gifted her a handcrafted glider. He used to watch us fly all the time, and he loved it."

"I'm sorry."

Finian didn't reply. He just kept staring at the sky with his hollow eyes, like he was staring at the body of a loved one.

Corrin wasn’t sure how much later it was, but eventually he stood. “Let’s get you back to your room Finn. You need to rest.” When Finian didn’t protest, Corrin picked him up as gently as he could and started carrying him back towards the stairs.

Finian’s room was small, with a single curtained window. Across from the bed was a small workbench with a chair. On the bench was a box covered in a half-finished mesh of gears that Corrin couldn’t make any sense of, along with loose springs, gears and tools. The wall above it had two older gliders hung up on it, one of which was missing its canvas.

As Corrin set him down on the bed, a thought occurred. “What happened to your glider?”

Finian’s face grew sour. Corrin wasn't sure if that was an improvement or not. “The tail rod snapped upwards, and the canvas tore at the bottom. I can fix the tail rod, but I don’t know how to sew for the canvas.”

“You can learn.” Corrin said firmly. “If you have both the pieces, you can still put it back together.”

“Yeah I guess I can. I’m going to have plenty of free time pretty soon.” Finian forced a small smile, and it hurt Corrin just to look at it.

Silence fell over them again, but eventually Finian spoke up.

“Thank you Corrin. I heard you arguing with my father, and I appreciate you coming to see me. It helped a bit, truly. But… I'd like to be alone now.”

Corrin's throat tightened, but he nodded and made his way towards the door, but with his hand on the handle he stopped himself, turning to look back. “Finn, if you don’t mind, what happened out there?”

“Ah well, it was a great flight.” Finian closed his eyes, tilting his head up. “Maybe the best I’ve ever had. It was like I could hear the wind speaking to me. I’ve never felt such a rush before.”

“Then what–”

“Someone flew out in front of me. They were hanging from the claws of a sunset glider, can you believe that? They flew in against the winds and clipped me as I tried to dodge. I don’t even think they meant to do it.” He let out a single broken laugh. “After all that time, it was just a dumb accident. I can’t even say if I would’ve done anything different. By the time I regained control, I was already hitting the ground.”

“A sunset glider…” Corrin’s veins turned to ice as he instinctively started to circulate his mana. It was the name of the large orange birds that flew out over The Grass Sea. Sorrow bled to anger as he remembered what Wyn had told him about the thief. What were the odds there were more of them?

“I see.” Corrin turned back towards the door, hiding his face. "I’ll be back to visit you sometime soon.”

Corrin walked out. Rage sunk into his body as the gears in his head spun. A pure accident would've been one thing, but now he had someone he could blame. The bird would've been flying against the flow of gliders, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized Finian likely wasn't the only one hurt. He’d wanted a problem to solve with his sword. This wasn’t one, but it would be close enough.

He returned to the inn and waited. Kei and Wyn would be back from their investigation, and when they did, he’d join them. But after sunset, Kei returned alone, saying Wyn had stayed behind to help deal with a plague outbreak.

Sounds like something he’d do.

“He’s probably going to end up working too hard like an idiot,” Corrin said.

“You think?” Kei didn’t seem to think so.

“Definitely.” Corrin tried to inject some humor into his voice, but he just couldn’t find it. “Even if he doesn’t realize it himself, he’s probably still feeling bad about us showing up late to save you guys. And he was weird about this sort of stuff even before.”

“I already told him that wasn’t your fault!”

“I know, it’s just how he is. He can’t help himself.”

“I’m surprised.” Kei admitted. “I didn’t know you were so good at reading people.”

“I’m not. Just him.”

“I see. So you’ll be joining us tomorrow then? Why the change of heart?”

Corrin wasn’t a good liar, he knew that. But Kei didn’t know him very well, so he stifled the anger as best he could, forcing a small smile onto his face. “Well I figure I should probably help at some point right? After all, catching criminals is kind of like a spirit knight’s job.”

She seemed to believe it, and he was able to make it through the rest of the night and the following morning without her catching on. He didn’t sleep that night; he didn’t feel tired. So, for the first time, he was ready before Kei, waiting outside her door when the sun rose and they left for the docks.

The information had been easy to come by. When Kei threw the guild’s name around, everyone was more than happy to talk to them. Though he lacked the context for what was going on, Corrin understood when she’d come to a conclusion. One man had come up far more than any other: a “tamer” living in the hollow Kei told him about. Corrin had to hold himself back from leaving immediately, but he didn’t know what the man looked or sounded like; he’d need Wyn to confirm it first.

By the time they got to the hollow and met with him, Corrin’s anger hadn’t cooled, but it had grown more quiet. It simmered under the surface to the point where he was fairly sure Wyn wouldn’t notice. Even if he did notice though, he wouldn’t know why.

As expected, Wyn had been unable to resist helping, and by the bags under his eyes Corrin knew he hadn't slept either. He didn't get why Wyn wasn't burning spirit fire, but it would make things easier for him.

The simmer heated to a boil as they reached the house, and Corrin felt his fist clench involuntarily. Even as he tried, he couldn’t stop his mana from circulating faster. His body was tense, no matter how he tried to relax.

The thief opened the door. He was an older man–relative to them, and he didn’t seem at all surprised to have guests. “You’re early. Thank you for coming. She’s just inside. The last batch seems to have worked well, she was able to eat some bread the other day.”

What is he rambling on about? Corrin thought. Let’s get to the damn point.

As they talked, he looked past them into the room, scanning it for anything that could confirm his identity a second sooner. Unfortunately, the room was empty. There was a kitchen table with some half-eaten food, a cabinet–nothing out of the ordinary.

Kei interjected. “Sir, would you happen to know anything regarding an incident at a warehouse two days ago?”

A look of guilt flashed across the man’s face as his eyes darted to the side–towards a part of the room Corrin couldn’t see.

Corrin didn’t miss it though, the way spirit fire lit up behind Wyn’s eyes, the way his stance shifted in preparation. It was all the signal he needed.

With a sharp intake of breath, his mana flared up, shoving his anger into motion. He sprang forward and slammed into the man’s stomach, tackling him to the ground. His sword wouldn’t satisfy him here, so he didn’t bother drawing it.

The man tried to struggle, but he stood no chance, he couldn’t fight Corrin any more than a child could. Corrin grabbed the front of his shirt, drawing his fist back as his vision tinted red. With a heaving of his will, he managed to pull the mana away from his fist, using every bit of self control he had not to kill the pathetic creature in his grasp.

“You bastard!” He roared, slamming his fist down.

His arm caught, held fast from behind as Wyn yelled at him. “Corrin! What the hell are you doing?”

Corrin grit his teeth. It was stupid, and he knew it. Fighting here wouldn’t fix Finn’s legs, and maybe it had been an accident, but he didn’t care. For that moment, nothing else mattered, he just wanted something to hit. And he wanted to hit it as hard as he could.