[attr="class","main"]

Though Cillian admired the flourishing beauty of their crater home, he could not help but to fear at how temporary that beauty might be. That it might hide within it a corruption, a curse, as the Tree of Life had once fed the monster at the heart of the Darkest Day. The barrier made him feel no less uneasy. It blocked their own abilities to DYNAMAX as well as that of the League, after all. Pulled their teeth and dulled their claws under the promise of safety.[break][break]

The allegiance, or perhaps simply alliance of the fallen-and-risen King brought a promise of power, but no comfort. Not yet. One had only to look as far as the Ruinous Avatars, or to Necrozma's chosen, to realise that power was often a curse. Indeed, though he was often blind to it, Lugia's influence on Cillian had not been wholly positive. In blessing him, she'd poisoned him as well.[break][break]

Cillian liked Aurelie Lefevre. Perhaps that's what led him to seek her out as she worked. Perhaps it was for Rocket, to gauge her intentions as he'd done with Zev Harcourt before her. Or perhaps it was mere curiosity.[break][break]

He stands in the door, feels the heat from the forge, and knocks.[break][break]

Like some lurking vampire, he crosses the threshold only when invited, shadows curling in his steps. The heat was nigh unbearable, but he doesn't shy from it.[break][break]

"How fares the process?"

[break][break]

[attr="class","aurelie"]

[attr="class","aurelie_body"]She didn't recognize his voice at first. It'd been many months since he initially visited to her shop, after all, and twenty years since he'd ruled in the medieval memory-Galar where they'd both dwelt and first met the Calyrex. A carefree smile curved her lips as she turned around to answer the question.

Then, Aurelie froze when she saw it was Cillian Quinn who'd spoken, feeling as if she'd just swallowed a cube of ice. Her smile drained and her reply froze on her lips as she simply stared at him, overcome with a morass of confusing, chaotic emotions at the mere sight of the formidable, fearsome underboss.

Foremost among those emotions was respect. Quite apart from his underboss position, the man had proven himself a true connoisseur of blades and weaponry, with knowledge nearly equal to her own. She rather liked him for it too; she'd always felt a special affinity for fellow knife nuts and blade enthusiasts.

Mixed into that respect was a healthy trace of fear, because of his all-too-keen understanding of how to use said weaponry, making him a terrifying fighter even without his Legendary patron.

Blades and Pokemon weren't his only weapons, though. The pit of Aurelie's stomach grew cold as Isaac Merlo's voice echoed in her memory, earnest and intense, underlaid by the murmur of the sea. "Cillian Quinn paid me a visit. He slaughtered my Pokemon, put me through a world of pain, and would have shot me clean through the head. It's a miracle I'm even alive right now."

The very thought of it made her angry. Angry and unhappy and betrayed and bitter and conflicted. Isaac had left, and he—the Underboss waiting for a report of her progress—had been part of it, had shot the boy who'd been like a little brother to her, had driven him away.

A chill ran down Aurelie's spine as she stood silent in the middle of the sweltering-hot warehouse full of equipment, beside the foundry full of molten aluminum.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of white. The Calyrex appeared between them, pale and regal. To the red-haired smith's surprise, it nodded its hare-like head to Cillian in a solemn greeting of acknowledgement, as High King to human king.

Somehow, the startling sight helped Aurelie find her voice. "I...It's going well, I believe," she managed to stammer, struggling to keep her voice even and steady. "You're just in time to help me sand-cast the aluminum into the various pieces that will make up the saddle, assuming I...I can assemble those pieces together right."

She looked away from him toward the molds laid out on the floor, not trusting her eye to not betray her maelstrom of mixed feelings. Instead, she gestured to the molds and nodded at the foundry.

"If you would be so kind, Underboss Quinn," she said quietly. "Would you mind terribly helping me bring those sand molds here next to the foundry so that the aluminum can be poured into them?"

[attr="class","cred"]VEL OF PIXEL PERFECT

[attr="class","main"]

Something was wrong.[break][break]

He's always been good at reading people. Growing up in the environment he had, transitioning from that frying pan into the blazing fire that was Kanto Rocket, it had been a skill necessary to survive.[break][break]

He didn't need to be good to read the open conflict in Aurelie's expression. To see the way her smile fades at the sight of him.[break][break]

Calyrex spares them both a moment to adjust with its appearance, and Cillian inclines his head in kind.[break][break]

He'd planned to ask Aurelie what the problem was, but she speaks before he can decide his best approach. It buys her time.[break][break]

"I have little doubt in a skilled smith such as yourself. Calyrex chose well." Though he speaks to her, he spares the regal rabbit an acknowledging glance as its name is invoked. His golden gaze, brightened by flame, returns to Aurelie.[break][break]

She requests his help, and he doesn't hesitate.[break][break]

"Of course."[break][break]

He takes them carefully, as if they were the world's most precious cargo, and lays them out where instructed.[break][break]

If there is a breadth of silence following, he does not break it even when he finds the words to inquire after her flustered state. He instead gives her the space to broach such a subject herself, first.

[break][break]

[attr="class","aurelie"]

[attr="class","aurelie_body"]It was a strange feeling to be able to give an instruction—albeit the most utilitarian, straightforward, and mundane instruction—to a Rocket underboss, of all people, and have it obeyed. Aurelie wondered if it was all due to the Calyrex's presence following her about.

Or perhaps Cillian was just being sensibly respectful of the molten aluminum and assisting her in order to avoid having any of it splash on him.

After he'd arranged out the sand-casting molds in place, Aurelie began adjusting the mechanisms that tilted the roaring furnace downward at a controlled angle and speed. Having spilled and burned herself badly in the past while ladling molten metal from a crucible by hand, she very much appreciated having this process automated. Soon, glowing aluminum poured into the mold cavities below.

Aurelie took a deep breath as she tilted the furnace back into an upright position and stepped back with a satisfied smile. She watched carefully, squinting her eye against the glare, as the metal cooled and its brilliant glow dimmed.

When she broke the silence, it wasn't to say anything about her feelings. If she'd learned anything about Rocket leadership, it was that her thoughts, fears, and passions were better left unspoken around them. Cillian was here and willing to help, which was what mattered.

Thus, the red-haired smith focused on the processes at hand. "It'll take at least an hour for the metal to cool fully, contract, and set into the shape of the mold. I planned to use that time to pivot to working on the shield."

She nodded toward a propane-powered forge on the far end of the cavernous room, with a pair of tongs and several ingots of dark grey metal set beside it. Then she hesitated for a moment and then—warily, cautiously, as if she expected the gesture would set off a bomb or cause her arm to explode—beckoned to Cillian to follow her.

"If you're interested in helping out further, I could use your advice on the profile and structure of the shield, Underboss Quinn," Aurelie went on. "I'm not a fan of the tower shield design in this case, if the Calyrex is planning to use the shield while mounted.

"So, I was thinking of making a classic kite shield or escutcheon shield instead, with sharpened spikes in the center for offense..." She was dimly conscious that she was starting to babble out of sheer nervous energy but couldn't figure out sure how to stop.

[attr="class","cred"]VEL OF PIXEL PERFECT

[attr="class","main"]

When she beckons, he follows.[break][break]

As an underboss, it was important to know when to defer to those beneath you. Beasts knew best in matters of war. Science was best left to the specialists. And metalworking was best left in the capable hands of Aurelie Lefevre.[break][break]

So when she asks for his advice, he cants his head.[break][break]

"It's far from my area of expertise." Indeed, his knowledge of shields was incredibly basic. He'd never used one even in Galar; the claws she'd crafted for him in that memory-dream had been up-close-and-personal, sheer offense. Such was his style. "But I'm happy to offer an opinion, if that's what you wish. Has Calyrex not expressed its thoughts on the matter?"[break][break]

Really, it seemed best that the king weigh in, but maybe that wasn't its style.[break][break]

"Afraid I've never heard of an — escutcheon?" He repeats the word carefully, his tone lilting in question. "Do you have an example?"[break][break]

In all her ramblings she was, at least, keeping him distracted.

[break][break]

[attr="class","aurelie"]

[attr="class","aurelie_body"]It shouldn't have surprised her that Cillian would be so polite and unassuming, considering that he had always seemed to like and respect her work. Still, Aurelie had thought such a prideful man might bridle at being relegated to fetching and carrying. But to his credit, he hadn't spoken a single word of protest.

It relaxed her a little, which was dangerous. She knew who he was and what he was capable of. Yet still, she had to remind herself to be more on her guard around the seemingly mild-mannered underboss.

When he asked if Calyrex had expressed any thoughts about the shield, though, a quiet, rueful chuckle quickly escaped her lips. "I wish it had!" Aurelie replied, running a hand through her hair and rumpling it. "I asked it right away what exactly it wanted, and I've tried again since, several times."

The corner of her mouth curved up in the ghost of a grin. "And you know very well that I'm not afraid of asking the silly questions that make me look dumb. Do you remember, when you commissioned the claws back in Galar, the first thing I said was..."

Aurelie's brow creased briefly as she tried to recall her exact words, before shrugging and giving it up. "Something like, 'Oh, like that superhero with the durantium claws?'" She did remember vividly that he'd looked at her like she was insane.

"But Calyrex hasn't spoken to me since the first time," she hastened to continue with a grumble. "It watches over me sometimes when I'm working, but if I ask a question, it just looks at me and sometimes points to me. I think a lot of its attention and energy are focused somewhere else."

So, we humans have to muddle along on our own, she thought wryly.

At Cillian's question about an escutcheon shield, Aurelie promptly drew herself up straight, cleared her throat, and would have pushed glasses up her nose if she wore any. Her voice took on a faintly lecturing tone as she visibly warmed to her subject.

"An escutcheon is really just the fancy word for a coat of arms," the red-haired smith explained. "If you think about the shape of a medieval heraldic coat of arms, they usually are displayed on a triangular shield that has a flat, straight top and curving sides that meet at the bottom in a point. That's what I was referring to as an escutcheon shield."

Aurelie shrugged and turned to begin walking toward the forge on the other side of the room, turning around at times to keep her eye on the cooling aluminum in the molds and still talking to Cillian all the while. "Both the kite shield and heraldic shield are classic shapes for jousting and cavalry, which made sense for Calyrex.

"The kite shield is more almond-shaped with a rounded top edge and is long enough to help protect the user's legs. The heraldic shield is shorter, broader, and more compact, so it's more maneuverable but leaves the legs less protected."

Pausing before the forge, Aurelie picked up the tongs and bent to select a single ingot of grey metal. "I hope that all made sense? At least, a little bit?"

[attr="class","cred"]VEL OF PIXEL PERFECT

[attr="class","main"]

"You know," says Cillian thoughtfully, a frown touching his lips, "perhaps it can't tell you. I mean, you remember how it communicated before, right? It had to possess someone. Were you always alone when you asked?"[break][break]

He grows suddenly tense. "Not that I'm offering myself up for possession."[break][break]

Though he wanted very much to aid Aurelie Lefevre, for it was in turn aiding Rocket, the thought of letting Calyrex use him as a mouthpiece was deeply unsettling. He couldn't stand ceding any sort of control to anyone he didn't trust completely, and the High King was not among that small number.[break][break]

"But it might be worth it to try talking to it somewhere... populated."[break][break]

As Aurelie launches into an impassioned lecture on shields, the underboss listens with quiet interest. He was not a smith, had no desire to become one, but he was never above soaking in knowledge he may never use. Learning was as much a passion for Cillian as the forge seemed to be for the smith.[break][break]

When she tells him to think of heraldry, he thinks of his own, a bitterness forming in the pit of his stomach.[break][break]

"Kite shield I know." It was mentioned enough in pop culture for him to identify. "Thank you for the clarification elsewhere, though. Do you know what Calyrex intends to use as a mount?"

[break][break]

[attr="class","aurelie"]

[attr="class","aurelie_body"]At the underboss' question about whether she'd always been alone when addressing it, Aurelie started to respond with an interjection. But then she fell silent and tilted her head to one side, thinking about the situations where Calyrex appeared to her. A thoughtful frown creased her brow, mirroring the one Cillian wore.

"Hmmmm," she murmured at last, pensively. "I suppose that's worth trying..."

Clearing her throat, the red-haired smith added, "I was about to say, I haven't had any control over where or when Calyrex appears! He does what he wants—which you'd expect of a king, I suppose. So far, he's only shown up when I'm working in the forge, possibly to check my progress.

"But..." Aurelie paused and pursed her lips in speculation. "I'm so used to working alone, so I don't usually have a particularly well-populated workshop. You're the first person who's actually come in here and talked with me! And since you're not a willing host...not that I blame you at all..."

That would probably be the biggest hurdle, honestly, she reflected. Finding someone who would agree to be Calyrex's mouthpiece. Well, that and getting Calyrex to actually come when she called. Even as she looked around now, the elusive King Pokemon had vanished again.

Aurelie let out a sigh and turned around again to switch on the forge. It had been an immense relief to find a propane forge here, rather than the more traditional—but also messier, more temperamental, higher-maintenance, and less precise and consistent—coal forge. As the forge gradually heated up, she eyed the metal alloy ingot held carefully in her tongs.

With her gaze focused elsewhere, she missed any sign that Cillian might have given of his bitter feelings about the coat of arms to which he could once lay claim, long ago. She did look up again, startled, when he asked about Calyrex's mount.

"Oh! I assumed of course Calyrex would be riding a Glastrier, just like it did when we first met it in that...twenty-year dream we all had," Aurelie replied, raising an eyebrow. "Or whatever happened to us at the Ancient Tomb."

She winced a little at the memory of the ice horse Pokemon running amok and lashing out at them with GLACIAL LANCES, one of which had struck and disabled her beloved Gallade. The Calyrex hadn't been able to keep it under control back then, but perhaps, without the toxic effects of the poison that'd been killing them both, the High King would be able to ride it safely now.

Placing the metal ingot into the now-blazing propane forge, Aurelie raised her voice to be heard over the roar of the gas and flames. "My preference would be to create the heraldic shield for Calyrex," she ventured, watching the metal slowly soften and deform in the heat.

"I think it provides better protection without compromising mobility, both on foot or while mounted," she went on, still not looking at Cillian. Glints of reflected fire danced in her single eye as she gazed steadily into the forge. "And its maneuverability makes it a better base to attach spikes, so that it could be a reasonable offensive and defensive tool."

[attr="class","cred"]VEL OF PIXEL PERFECT

[attr="class","main"]

Cillian laughs. It's a surprisingly warm sound coming from such a cold, stoic individual; it melts some of that ice from his exterior, a fondness creasing lines around his eyes. He's thinking of Lugia.[break][break]

"Yes, legends do tend to operate on their own schedules, don't they?" He could no more command Lugia than the he could the weather.[break][break]

But even though she explains her solitude, he does not rescind his staunch opposition to being possessed. It had taken months for him to be comfortable with the psychic connection he had with Lugia, and that was more presence than possession. Any invasion of his mind was unwelcome.[break][break]

"And off he goes again." A softer chuckle. "Well, no news is better than bad news. You must be getting on all right."[break][break]

Remembering the Glastrier, Cillian shrugs. "I wasn't sure if it still had the Glastrier. I'm still not sure how long ago all of that happened. I mean, I know how long ago it was for us, but." He grows suddenly wistful. "It's good to know some people remember it, still."[break][break]

Were it not for Amor Rose's painting, he'd have already forgotten his daughter's face. The faces of others are lost to him, as with many of the details of the castle they'd possessed and the city they'd protected. Even now, he's unsure which memories are of his real Circhester, and which occupy the strange dream-memory space, instead. The mind was a funny thing.[break][break]

"You'd know best, I think. Besides, it seems the heraldic shield would be aesthetically pleasing, as well, and you can never go wrong with a solid aesthetic."[break][break]

It's not as if he was constantly surrounded by his SHADOW MIASMA solely for function, after all.

[break][break]

[attr="class","aurelie"]

[attr="class","aurelie_body"]Cillian's warm laugh, as well as the understanding look that crossed his face as he commiserated about Legendaries, startled Aurelie, even though she was intellectually aware that neither was a response to her wit or insight. Nor was it even a novelty. Despite his power and status, he'd never acted particularly snobbish or superior toward her but rather polite and professional.

Still, it was unsettling to have him chatting with her so collegially. So kindly. Against kindness, she had no defenses. It disarmed her faster than any trick and broke her more easily than any hammer.

Thankfully, the underboss showed no sign of using his kindness as a weapon against her just yet. Aurelie swallowed and managed to smile tremulously when he speculated that she and Calyrex must be getting along well enough, if not communicating too clearly.

"To be honest, I don't know if Calyrex still has the Glastrier either," she replied candidly, tilting her head thoughtfully to one side. "Or if it will have one in our world, just because it did when we...first met it.

"But still, I agree with you. I think the heraldic shield is the most practical and aesthetically pleasing choice." Aurelie's smile this time was genuine and bright. "Thank you for talking it over with me, sir. One of the perils of working alone is that you tend to go round and round in circles second-guessing and doubting yourself, without someone to check your sanity."

Struck by the wistful tone of Cillian's voice as he spoke of memory-Galar, she found herself thinking back on the experience as well. "I don't remember very much of our lives in that other Galar either," she mused quietly. "And it fades faster the more I try.

"But some things do stand out, still. Like Calyrex's death. The Glastrier incapacitating my Pokemon. The crowning of the kings of Motostoke." She sighed slightly. "The foundry and manufactory I set up. The attack by Necrozma. And of course, the final battle."

Wordlessly, Aurelie stoked the gases of the forge and blocked off the far end with fire bricks, her hands protected by thick leather gloves. She seemed unaffected by the scorching blasts of heat that radiated from the forge. If anything, her gaze seemed clearer and less pensive as she studied the metal inside and focused on the practicalities of the present instead of the puzzles of the past.

Calmly and unhurriedly, she checked her phone and set an alarm. "It should take about fifteen more minutes for the metal to reach forging temperature. Let's check the aluminum and see if it's cooled enough to be handled."

The red-haired smith beckoned again to Cillian, this time handing him a second pair of heavy-duty tongs. "How are you with jigsaw puzzles, sir? I have a strong feeling that assembling the pieces of the saddle into a whole will be a lot like that."

[attr="class","cred"]VEL OF PIXEL PERFECT

[attr="class","main"]

"I'd say you could ask it, but, well..."
[break][break]
A chuckle and a smile, a joke shared between them.[break][break]

Though an adept actor, the geniality isn't all for show. Her bright smile sparks his own to remain, more genuine than it had been before.
[break][break]
"I know that feeling all too well. My husband," whom she'd certainly met in the dream, if not in the flesh, "has to endure my prattling for much the same reason. He's good about it."[break][break]

Tempest Quinn was good about a lot of things. He put up with things that would scare lesser folk away. Cillian was lucky to have him, he knew. And they'd been lucky to have Dottie. He can't picture her face, but finds some comfort that he'll go home to Amor Rose's painting of her and remember anew.[break][break]

"I remember my own crowning well." It was surprising, since it had been one of the earliest occurrences. But then, as Aurelie Lefevre said, certain things stuck out more than others. "I remember restoring the Rookery, tending to the flock. I remember a lot of my time spent with Lugia." He remembered, too, how the Guardian had longed for home. For her Seas, and not those frigid waters of not-Galar. "And my husband. Maybe it's easier with them, since they're..." Real. He doesn't say it, though. It feels disrespectful to the daughter he'd only sort-of had. "Since they're still with us."[break][break]

He watches Aurelie work as he lapses into melancholic memory.[break][break]

When she hands him the tongs, he takes them with the care practiced by one that's never held such tools. His attention seems sharper, now, focused.[break][break]

"I haven't done a jigsaw in a long time." His tone is ponderous. "I was very good at them, though. I do love puzzles. Instruct me however you wish; I'll do what I can, and leave to you what I can't."

[break][break]

[attr="class","aurelie"]

[attr="class","aurelie_body"]Aurelie couldn't help chuckling in amusement at the underboss' knowing quip on the futility of getting a straight answer out of Calyrex. Then she listened, rather moved, as he pensively pondered their time in dream-Galar. Part of her marveled and wondered at the depth of emotion he showed. Surely, it couldn't be genuine—certainly not totally genuine. But she simply didn't know him well enough to be sure.

Zev Harcourt had been convincing too, after all, at faking warmth and sincerity. She probably would never have guessed his true nature if he hadn't chosen to drop his mask around her. Somehow, Aurelie didn't think that Cillian possessed that same level of cold, monstrous ruthlessness—but she wasn't sure.

And would it be worse if he did? Or would he be more appalling to face because of his very humanity, at once blackened by cruelty and violence, yet also brightened by love, loyalty, and compassion?

Aurelie could only pray to Arceus that she would never have to find out.

His hands, the hands of a killer and a loving husband alike, took the tongs from her as they both turned back to the sand mold where the aluminum was cooling. Suppressing the shiver that ran through her in the stifling heat of the workshop, the red-haired smith bent to remove a piece at random. It took her non-rider's brain a moment to recognize it as a stirrup.

Adopting a businesslike tone, she said, "All right, so I'll lay this piece here, and then we should look for the matching stirrup on the other side. Ah, yes, it's over there. Can you grab it, please, sir? Thank you."

The red-haired smith delicately removed a curving section, which she took even longer to identify as the saddle pommel. "Here, let's take everything out of the molds and lay them out on the mat here. Then, after that, we can start fitting pieces together like a jigsaw.

"Although I neglected to include a box lid showing the complete finished result," she chuckled wryly, shaking her head. "Let's see if I can remember all the parts of the saddle that I molded. There's the seat, the cantle, the base, the side flappy things—uh, I mean, the flaps—the girth strap..."

Metal clinked as they arranged the different, separate aluminum pieces onto the mat. A frown formed on Aurelie's face as she struggled to visualize how they should all fit together. She pulled and pushed the pommel, seat, and cantle parts together.

"So, what do you think, sir? The seat should be attached to the pommel, right? It goes...underneath, I think? Like this?" The smith looked up hopefully at Cillian.

Then, in her pocket, the alarm on her phone started beeping. "Oh! The metal for the shield should be done heating. I'll go pull it out and start hammering," Aurelie announced with obvious relief. "Would you mind continuing to work on assembling the saddle parts, please?"

[attr="class","cred"]VEL OF PIXEL PERFECT

[attr="class","main"]

Ignorant of the turmoil within her, Cillian offers no open insight into his emotional depth.[break][break]

But in riding, he offers, "I'm actually quite familiar with saddles."[break][break]

His mother had owned a stable of Galarian Rapidash; showhorses, mostly, though few were suitable enough in temperament to ride. The memories of her teaching him to ride were some of the few fond ones that clouded his hatred of the woman.[break][break]

"Pommel at the front, cantle at the back, the gullet beneath. If this is a traditional Galarian saddle, which I'd imagine you went for given the, ah, circumstances?" A soft laugh breaks up his speech. "I should be able to puzzle it out."[break][break]

So, when she asks him to do just that as she goes to work on the shield, he inclines his head.[break][break]

Scarred hands, the very same that had sought to end the life of Isaac Merlo as they'd done so many others, carefully assemble the parts of the saddle to the best of his recollection. Time spent in the dream of not-Galar has refreshed old habits, and he thinks the final product will be correct. Hopefully it lined up with Aurelie's memory just as well.

[break][break]