Chapter 3

David nearly gets lost finding the bathroom, but he firmly refuses to double back and ask Lizzy for directions. Thankfully, Gerald is standing outside the open door, and beckons him forward.

“There is a fresh change of clothes for you on the chair, Master David .” Gerald’s voice low and scratchy; David decides he wouldn’t speak much if he sounded like that either.

David nods in thanks, hoping Gerald wasn’t planning to stand outside the door the entire damn time. Gerald nods back, and, thank the Void, strolls away with his nose in the air.

David closes the door, then leans back against it. It’s the first time he’s been truly alone in months.

It was a cruel twist of fate, that he ended up in a job that required him to be around others constantly. He hated other people. The only time he could ever truly relax was when he was completely alone.

Sighing, David pushes back from the door. His clothes are stuck to him with mud and dried blood, accumulated from his time in Coldridge and from his jaunt through the sewers. They hurt to peel off, but David grits his teeth. He throws them in a corner, thinking that they’d probably have to be burned. Those rags would never be clean again.

The scars are a sight he's not prepared for. He knew, logically, that they were there-hell, some were still healing. He could feel them. But he hadn’t been doing a lot of staring at his own naked body in the past few months. It’s jarring to see the bones in his ribs, the bruises, the burn marks on his arm.

The Mark on his hand.

David steps into the tub.

The water is almost too hot, and David is careful easing himself in. He lets out probably the most erotic moan to ever escape his lips, but he’s too caught up in the warmth to care.

He just lays back for a moment, closes his eyes. Feels the warmth spread through his body, and the Coldridge chill leaving his bones.

And he feels old. He feels the burn in his muscles, the strain in his joints. It feels like his bones are rattling, like the very innermost parts of him ache. David cleared forty-two in Coldridge, but he’s always been able to keep up with his job, with the younger guards, with the Empress. Now, David feels his age.

It was bound to happen, he knew. He’d eventually pass the point where his performance would be compromised, where he would be rendered ineffective as Royal Protector. It wasn’t a subject he liked to think about often. He didn’t want to force Sabrina to pick a new Protector, trust them with her life-though it seemed that fate had sorted that part out for them. Nevertheless, he had figured he wouldn’t have to worry about it for at least another decade.

But here he was. Sitting in a hot bath, thinking about how much his joints hurt. Feeling older than the stone beneath his feet.

David sighs and opens his eyes. The water has turned brown.

He grabs for a rag and a bar of soap, lathering up and scrubbing himself vigorously. He’s never been this filthy in his life. He doesn’t remember ever seeing anyone so filthy-though Anthony would definitely be a close runner-up. David had thought his hair was brown at first, it was so clumped and caked with dirt. It had probably never been washed.

Literally, the main reason he had tried to lure Anthony inside was to give the damn kid a bath. At first David was just trying to get a bite to eat in him, had set some food down, gave Anthony some distance while he approached and scarfed everything, maintaining eye contact with David all the while. He had likened Anthony to a wild animal at the time, skittish and distrusting. Unable to really understand what was going on.

David had propped the back door open, beckoned him in, and Anthony had inched his way into their crappy two-room apartment that wasn't even their's. Eventually. They didn’t even have a goddamn tub then; David just used the largest cooking pot he had scavenged at that point to bathe him. He had Sabrina heat pan after pan of hot water on their shitty little stove, having Anthony stand up in the freezing Dunwall cold so David could scrub him clean. It was an oddly fond memory of his.

Having a naked boy sitting in a cooking pot in your kitchen was a very odd thing, once you put it in so many words, and he never quite got over the moment he stood there and realized what his life had become. But it was one of the first times he looked at the two and felt something warm spread within his chest. When he felt lighter. Happy that he had done something, rather than the regret and self-loathing that usually followed most of his actions. Remembering how Sabrina had slid down the wall, bunching her legs up and giving David a tired smile as he attempted to make one of his shirts fit Anthony like a dress. She had fallen asleep right after, her skinny knees tucked up to her chest, curled up by the stove.

And then the memory hurts, and David coughs to rid himself of the block in his chest. It doesn’t work. He gets out of the tub.

There’s a bottle of something pink on the side of the sink and, against his better judgement, David picks it up. He’s always hated perfumes. He always felt like he was choking on them. Thankfully Sabrina didn’t like them either, though Anthony would steal hers and sometimes dab it behind his ears. David holds the bottle out as far as he can and sprays. He begins coughing as something floral fills his nostrils.

Well, hopefully he smells decent enough. David dresses, relishing the feeling of the new clothes, of actual shoes on his feet. He checks himself in the mirror. His hair is overgrown and he desperately needs to shave, but when he looks around for a razor he can’t find one. He’s not stupid enough to try shaving with a sword, not anymore, so he just straps the blade back to his hip and leaves the bathroom.

He feels almost human again. About as human as he’ll ever feel again, David thinks. There’s still an emptiness in him he can’t resolve.

He returns to Lizzy, who's playing some game with Edgar that seems to involve flicking bottlecaps and hitting your opponent. David stands there, unsure of whether this was something he should intrude on. Thankfully, Lizzy sees him standing there and pushes her chair back, getting to her feet and throwing the rest of the caps in Edgar’s face.

“Well, you’re certainly looking spiffier,” Lizzy says, coming closer. “But you can lose the blade.”

David glares and holds it closer. Lizzy just shrugs and turns around.

“Have it your way. Follow me, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

The mill was large, but it was not made for residential use. Still, as Lizzy pointed out, they had managed to make it work. Lydia took a room right above the main area, Thalia and her small staff in the great room on the first floor. The elusive Zhukov had a side room with his own door. Lizzy didn’t mention where Galia slept, so David assumed she slept there as well.

“Trimble’s apartment is over there,” Lizzy points to her right as they exit the mill. “But he’s a fucking bitch so we’re not going to visit him.”

“Trimble is…”

“A nurse. My father’s nurse, for a while.” Lizzy looks angry then, but she snaps out of it. “He’s our resident medic, so there’s some good incentive not to get shot up out in the field.”

David didn’t need extra incentive. The thought of a doctor poking at him made all the hairs on his neck stand up.

“Oh! There’s Ricardo!” Lizzy turns and begins waving. “Hey! Ricko! This is David !” She piques her arms in an awkward half circle, ending with both her hands above David ’s head, pointing to him.

Ricardo is a langy mustached man who is currently very busy hanging laundry, who then turns and lets loose a stream of very angry sounding words at Lizzy. David doesn’t understand him, but he recognizes the tongue. Most of the Empire had a united language, but some more rural areas still had their own dialects. He knows the mountainous regions of Serkonos was home to a few such communities, and spoke much like Ricardo does.

“He says it’s nice to meet you,” Lizzy says while waving goodbye, turning David around and pushing him away. David scoffs.

“Sure he does.”

“Oh, he welcomed you very graciously to our abode.”

David wasn’t in the mood to really enjoy anyone’s company, but if he found anyone in this damn place remotely likable, it was probably Lizzy.

“Does he…?”

Lizzy waves him off. “He speaks our language just fine. He just likes fucking with us.”

The mall is the same as they left it, though now a few lamps burned low to the ground. The sun was setting, David notes. What should have been the last sunset of his life.

Reed is still standing in the entryway, holding a broom, though now there’s a girl a head taller than him bending over and speaking to him in a low, harsh voice David can’t make out.

“And this is Rose!” Lizzy announces, jumping down the last few steps while David follows her like a normal fucking person.

Rose has auburn dreadlocks that are mostly contained by a large bun in the back, but she still has to angrily push a few tendrils out of her face as she straightens up, her face screwed up in petulant displeasure. “My name is Lily.”

“Yeah, but we already have a Lizzy and a Lydia, and that’s just too many names that sound alike.” Lizzy bounds forward and pats her on the head, ignoring how Rose glares. “So Rose it is.”

“Why do I have to be the one who changes their name?”

“Because it sucks to be the youngest, plus you have a middle name that works just fine.” Lizzy grins as Rose pouts. “Anyway, I came over here to-”

“David !” Rose notices him then, snapping to attention so harshly her shoulders seem to bunch up at her ears. Her eyes are wide, almost frightful. David wonders for a second if he could startle all her freckles right off.

“Yep, this is David .” Lizzy sounds exasperated. “He’s on our side, so you don’t need to worry.”

Rose blinks, but she doesn’t relax. “I know he is,” She stammers, then turns to David . “I know you are. I just...I’m just happy to meet you.” She mumbles the last bit, eyes turned to the floor for a brief second before holding out her hand. In the background, Reed rolls his eyes.

David shakes her hand. “Lily, you said?”

She beams. “Well, you can call me Rose if you really want,” She says, smiling at him so hard she might break her face.

“We better leave Rose to her mothering,” Lizzy says pulling David away. Rose quickly moves to straightening out her shirt, several sizes too big for her, just like her brother's.

“Don’t get me wrong, they’re good kids,” Lizzy whispers in his ear as walk. “They’re just weird.”

David thinks that’s a little harsh, but still, he agrees. Lily Rose. Oddly floral. David hated names that were words for other things. He finds it odd that Rose has a middle name-most peasants didn’t.

Hell, the really poor folk didn’t have last names. David hadn’t. Sabrina had her mother’s name, but she refused to use it after she was kicked out. If Anthony had one, he didn’t remember it. Anthony adopted the Stark name when Sabrina did, and Sabrina gave the name to David after she became Empress and could do that sort of thing. She had also gained a few long, stuffy middle names for herself during that time, ones David only used to tease her and on the few occasions where he was angry with her enough to use her full name. Which usually led to his anger dissipating as he listed off her amalgam of names and titles, ultimately dissolving into giggles on both their parts.

The memory hurts. David pushes it aside.

Lizzy jumps and hauls herself over the second-floor railing, and David stands there confused as she raps on a door. “Hey, David ’s here! Come show him the shit you made him!”

She vaults herself back over the railing and lands cleanly on her feet. Lizzy then runs to the opposite side of the hallway without missing a beat and seizes the large, rolling metal door and pushes it up. “Hey loser. We’re actually going to get some use out of your toys now.”

“David ’s here?” A faint voice came from inside. Lizzy pushes the door up farther and bades David to follow her.

The place is littered with crap. Wiring, sheets of metal, tools of various shapes and sizes. David can’t locate the source of the voice until a skinny blond man steps out of a back room, drying his hands on a rag. “David ,” the man says. “We didn’t...I mean, I’m glad you made it to us.”

David knew what he was about to say. That he was surprised David survived. He can’t really find it in him to be offended. He predicts he’ll be surprised too, once the shock wears off.

They shake, and Lizzy hauls herself up to sit on a nearby table. “David , this is Jerome.” She motions, and David internally groans. Forget all the L names, he’s going to mix up Jerome and Gerald at some point. He just knows it. “He’s a black market dealer, and has assembled a bit of an armory for us here.”

“I could be totally legitimate,” Jerome quickly states, clearly sweating. “I mean, I could have all my papers in order if I was able to, if the offices weren’t all closed. People need weapons because of the plague, before I just sold oxrush-”

“Jerome.”

“...Yes, sir?”

“I don’t care.”

Jerome visibly relaxes, and Lizzy snickers behind her hand. “Told you, David was a street rat before he was all important and imperial and shit. He’s still one of us at heart.”

“Zhukov told us not to worry about laws while we’re here, that we’d all be granted a full pardon once the young lord sits on the throne,” Jerome explains. “But wouldn’t that be up to Lord Anthony? And he isn’t even here yet.”

“He will be soon,” David says gruffly. “And he’s not going to care either.”

As long as no one was unjustly getting hurt, David couldn’t imagine Anthony caring much about the crimes that would undoubtedly be committed here. They had relied heavily on the black market before Sabrina was considered royalty, so Anthony knew first-hand how much good it did for the people in poverty. Sabrina had focused more on actual injustices as a ruler instead of squabbles over paperwork and certifications, and David can’t imagine Anthony will be much different.

“Enough babble, show him the toys!” Lizzy claps her hands together, looking altogether too excited about murder weapons.

Jerome nods and wipes his hands on his pants. “Right, right…” He begins looking around. “I’m really not an engineer or anything, but I’ve had some help from the Dressmaker, and we’ve made some pretty cool stuff.”

“Who?” David asks as Jerome starts pawing through a crate. The title seems familiar, somehow.

Lizzy claps her hands again, then points to the doorway. “This guy!”

Ah. Now David remembers.

The Dressmaker stands at average height, but his tendency to slouch makes him appear smaller. His ears stick out from his brown hair, giving his creepily mustached face an odd shape to it.

He comes forward to shake David ’s hand. “Lord David . I don’t know if you remember me…”

“I do.” He can’t remember what his actual fucking name was, though. To his knowledge, the guy never went by it. The Dressmaker’s hands are stiff, and they don’t completely wrap around David ’s before he pulls away.

The Dressmaker nods, then continues as if David hadn’t said anything. “I made clothing for the young Empress and little Anthony in their youth. I haven’t worked for your family in a few years, due to my hands being what they are. But I remember them fondly.”

“Appreciate you saying that.” David gets out. The Dressmaker was certainly fixated on the two. David had gotten some uncomfortable vibes from him and refused to let them be alone with him for fittings, but nobody else ever seemed concerned.

He had also once asked for a lock of Billie’s hair. Which the Emperor actually gave him. Maybe that was something normal in Dunwall high society, but David had always found it creepy.

Now, David pushes down the urge to ask if he still had it. He’s not going to go there. And he’s not going to get stupidly sentimental.

“I like to say he’s the mind and I’m his hands,” Jerome says, pulling a few gadgets out and placing them in a row. “He’s a genius with this stuff, but even Anton Sokolov would be useless if they cut off his arms.”

“Whatever happened to old Sokolov anyway?” Lizzy asks while picking her nails. “You think Kaldwin had something to do with it?”

“What about Sokolov?” David turns his head. He had only met Sokolov twice-once for one of Billie’s portraits, and for one portrait of himself Sabrina had insisted he sit for. He was world-renown, but he usually kept himself holed up in the Academy. His inventions would stream out of the place, but Sokolov himself only ventured out when someone begged hard enough to have him paint them.

Jerome turns around. “You don’t know?”

Lizzy throws a spare screw at him. “He’s been in fucking prison the whole time, of course he doesn’t fucking know.” She turns to David . “Sokolov disappeared the same night the Empress died. Nobody told authorities for like, three weeks, but that’s natural philosophy nerds for you.”

“People are saying the Lady Regent abducted him,” Jerome says, his eyes wide. “And she’s making him build more of those death machines. Or she’s working him half to death on a cure.”

“Kaldwin does not give a single fuck about the plague and who dies from it. As long as she has enough elixir for herself, she couldn’t care less.” Lizzy waves her hand, dismissing Jerome.

Jerome, in response, puts his hands on his hips. “Well, then what happened to Sokolov? It can’t be a coincidence!”

“Apparently he disappeared a lot, without telling anyone where he was going,” The Dressmaker says, wringing his hands. “Missed his own lectures and the like. My niece is a student, and she’s complained about it before.”

“So either he got drunk and fell into the river, or the Lady Regent has him locked up somewhere in the Tower.” Lizzy pushes herself off the table. “We’ll have to keep an eye out for old men locked in cages when this is all over.”

David suppresses a shiver at the thought.

“We should show David his coat,” the Dressmaker insists.

Jerome nods and, putting down whatever bullshit he had been fiddling with, turns his back and motions them forward. “This way.”

There were old mannequins in the back of the shop, odd torsos on poles without arms or heads. David ’s seen them before in shop windows, in tailor’s offices. But instead of fancy dresses, these two mannequins sported the thick coats worn by men on whaling ships. One blood red, the other a deep blue.

“We made two,” The Dressmaker states, standing off to the side. “So pick whichever. Lizzy will take the other one.”

“Oh, so I get the scraps? I see how it is.” Lizzy laughs, not really offended.

David approaches the stands. He reaches out and peels back the lapel of the blue jacket. Jerome steps forward.

“There’s a number of compartments in here,” he explains, taking the fabric from David and holding it out. “Good for keeping extra ammo, explosives, anything you feel like picking up. We’re on a limited budget here, so any supplies you find can help us build you better gear.”

“What about armor?” David asks. The jacket is thick, but thick wasn’t going to stop bullets.

Jerome coughs. “There’s a bulletproof lining sewn in. Galvani weave. It’ll help deflect against any type of damage, though if someone manages to shove a sword through your chest, I can’t help you.”

David almost laughs, but then the words bounce in his head. And he’s revisiting the gazebo, the blade entering Billie’s abdomen, shoving a sword through her, all the blood blood blood…

“Thank you,” he gets out.

The two seem to puff up with pride. The Dressmaker motions to the two coats. “If you’ll try it on, we can get your measurements and make any necessary alterations. Ah, I suppose you’ll take the blue? Like your old uniform?”

David hadn’t had an official uniform, but he did often wear the same coats as the City Watch did, mostly because they were already armored and he really didn’t give a shit. His were mostly a sky blue, though, like the officers who served as bodyguards for Dunwall’s most noble and wealthy.

But he’s not the Royal Protector anymore. He’s here to kidnap Anthony back, and avenge his Billie.

David slips the red coat off its stand.

Jerome raises his eyebrows, but that’s all the indication he gives that he’s surprised. He moves forward and starts his measurements as Lizzy slaps her knee.

“Red, like the blood of our enemies! I love it.”

Red like the Stark line. David will wear her color.

“You must of lost weight in prison…” Jerome mumbles. The Dressmaker stands on his tiptoes to see.

“How much? It must be a perfect fit, if he fails because a cuff is too loose it’ll be our fault.”

“I know, I know.” Jerome bats him away. “I can take it in. I’ll have it ready before David ’s first mission.”

He motions for David to take the jacket off, then snaps at Lizzy. “Stride, your turn. Try the blue one on.”

“I feel so fancy, trying on clothes in Draper’s Ward.” She giggles in an overly-obnoxious manner. David rolls his eyes and turns back to the Dressmaker, who is taking clothing out of a cupboard.

“Make sure these fit,” he says, handing David a pair of gloves without looking up. David quickly fits one over his left hand. He hasn’t paid the Mark much mind, but he realizes he probably should have been trying to keep it covered. Hopefully no one has seen it-his sleeves are long and if someone has, they didn’t care enough to mention it, at least.

David mumbles something about them fitting fine, and the Dressmaker drops a pair of sturdy boots on the ground. “I remember you often wore lifts, so I did take the liberty of adding an extra two inches.”

Lizzy bursts into laughter and David ’s face burns. He bends down to shove his foot in, ignoring her. Two inches was about what he normally wore-that put him even with Sabrina and ever so slightly taller than Anthony. Not that he’d ever admit that he wore lifts out of blatant refusal to look shorter than the Empress he guarded.

“Excellent.” The Dressmaker claps his hands together. “Now, if you’ll just slide those off… There’s just the matter of your mask left, and this is a little embarrassing to admit-”

“He fucking broke it.” Jerome doesn’t bother looking up from Lizzy’s coat. Lizzy, of course, looks up with snark written across her face.

“You broke his mask?”

The Dressmaker’s face is flushed. “Well, I broke one mask. We had two, for both sets, and I was trying out this idea I had for an air filter…”

Jerome sighs. “I told you to let me handle handling the equipment,” he bites, ignoring Lizzy’s eye waggle. “Your hands can’t do it anymore.”

“I know, I just thought…” The Dressmaker sighs and rubs his neck. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. I messed up the filter and now there's no airflow. You’ll suffocate with that thing on.”

“So there’s only one mask and two of you,” Jerome states, looking between them.

Lizzy blinks, then shrugs her shoulders. “I’ll probably just be in the skiff most of the time, David should-”

“Lizzy takes it.”

There’s a silence as they all stare at him in confusion. The Dressmaker seems to recover first. “Well, she won’t be without a mask forever, just until we can make the necessary modifications to another, and she most likely will not-”

“Lizzy will take it,” David repeats, staring at them. “I don’t need a mask.”

Jerome stands up straight and turns to him. “People will know who you are,” he warns.

“If I let them see my face,” David says, slowly. “Then I want them to know.”

He blinks, and David can pinpoint the exact moment Jerome becomes afraid of him.

“I’ll have to dig up a spyglass for you…” The Dressmaker mutters.

David shakes his head. “Far-sighted. Don’t need one.”

Jerome reaches forward and places a hand on the Dressmaker’s shoulders. “If that’s what he says. Let it go,” he says, almost gently.

Lizzy is taking off her own coat, replacing it on its rack. “Probably good you’re not bothering with a mask, doubt your beard would fit.”

His beard. Right. David ’s hand flies to his face. “I was going to shave.” He tries to justify.

The Dressmaker clears his throat. “I could give you a shave. A haircut too, if you’d like to get rid of those snarls.”

“Dude, you want to hold a razor to his face? You’d fucking slit his throat.” Jerome scoffs.

Lizzy slaps David on the arm. “If you wanted a haircut, you could have just fucking said so.” She runs to the door, the three men trailing confused behind her as she leans out of the doorway and cups her hands. “Hey Rose, you little bitch! I got a job for you!”

David stands there awkwardly as Lizzy shuffles around them, pulling a chair over in front of Jerome’s gadget table. “Go ahead, you guys can give David your presentation.”

The two shrug to each other as Rose trudges in. “What the fuck do you want, Lizzy?”

Jerome stifles a laugh. Rose seems to notice David then and stands up straighter, her face turning red. Lizzy waves a pair of scissors in the air. “David needs a trim. You think you can provide?”

She blinks. “Uh, yeah. I guess so.”

“Rose is pretty decent. She cut my hair,” Lizzy says, motioning to her half-shaved head and limp clump of hair. “Don’t worry, I wanted it like this.”

“Hers was fun.” Rose pushes back her sleeves, taking the scissors from Lizzy. “How short do you want to go?”

David is long past caring about his hair. “All of it.”

Rose gets to work, and David does his best to keep his head still while his eyes follow Jerome. He shows David the sword he’ll be using, something akin to an Overseer’s sabre without the bullshit inscriptions. Mines that can stun his enemies into unconsciousness, springrazors if he wants them to die a bloody death. A canister of chokedust that will confuse more than harm, giving him time to make an escape or attack. Typical assassin fare.

The wristbow, however, interests him.

“It’s silent,” Jerome informs, fitting it over his own hand to demonstrate. “You just have to bend your hand forward like this to ready the shot, and it will fire once your wrist is fully extended.”

“Impressive.” David had something similar when he lived on the streets, stolen from one of the local gangs. It was a piece of shit. He loved it. It was easy to conceal, so he could hide it under his sleeve and go pretty much anywhere without a fuss.

The Emperor had pitched a fit about it, though. Said something about how people needed to know where the shots came from, that his job wasn’t about stealthy kills. Made him get rid of it.

Well, having a Protector that did everything by the rules didn’t save his daughter.

Rose puts her scissors down at the same time Jerome does the wristbow. “We have a pistol for you, of course,” he continues. “Just in case. But we figured you’d prefer a quieter approach.”

“I do.” David states as Rose slaps at the back of his shirt, brushing away any stray hairs. “Thank you.”

Jerome swallows and smiles. “Of course, sir. It’s an honor to help.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lizzy pushes him aside. “Now shoo. It’s getting to be David ’s bedtime.”

“I hope I did alright on your hair, sir.” Rose steps back. “I’ve never shaved a man though, so I’m afraid I can’t offer that.”

“S’fine.” David runs a hand over his beard, deciding not to tell her he was never going to let anyone hold anything sharp to his neck again.

“We can see how much he’s balding now,” Lizzy laughs, coming forward to grasp the front of his hair. “Outsider’s balls, we could play hockey on this forehead.”

David shoves her arm away.

Rose tucks her hands behind her back and turns to leave, but Lizzy holds her hand out to stop her. “Oh, wait! I almost forgot to ask you. Did Zhukov mention where the hell he was going today?”

Rose turns back and shrugs. “He said something about scoping out the first target. He was...vague. You know how he is.”

“All too well.” Lizzy rubs the bridge of her nose. “That’s all he said?”

“Afraid so.”

“Cool. Can you make sure there’s a fresh razor in the bathroom tomorrow? For David ?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“Fucking call me ma’am again and I’ll knock out half your teeth.” Lizzy pats her head affectionately. “Night night, Rose-gold.”

Rose sticks up her middle finger as she walks away, and David resists the urge to smirk. Servants had been stiff and proper to his face for the last decade, but he knew what they were like when their bosses weren’t around. He missed seeing this side to the common people. It was amusing. It was real.

“Been a long-ass day.” Lizzy yawns as she grabs David ’s arm. “I’ll show you to your room. Night, asswipes!”

“Good night, Elizabeth!” If David hadn’t known how oblivious the Dressmaker could be, he would have sworn he was trying to get stabbed. As it was, Lizzy torques her body around to glare at him as she walks away. The Dressmaker, however, just stands there confused, as Jerome muffles his laughter with his hand.

The mill is quiet. Most of the lights are off, only a few oil lamps giving off minimal light. One window is lit, and David can see Galia’s blonde head bobbing around behind it. He looks up and sees the stars.

“What a day, huh?” Lizzy doesn’t turn back to him.

David doesn’t take his eyes off the sky. “You said it.”

They shoved him in the attic, it turned out.

“This was chosen to give you privacy,” Lizzy mocks. “Or at least that was Thalia’s lame-ass excuse.”

“This is fine.” David waves her away. It was the middle of winter, so at least it wouldn’t get stuffy and hot.

Lizzy shrugs and turns away. “You look like fucking shit. Get some rest, old man. I’ll drag you out of bed when we need you.”

She leaves then, and David lets out a breath he’s probably been holding all day.

Slowly, he sits down on the bed. A real fucking bed, with blankets and a pillow and shit. Toes off his shoes and slides his socks under the covers. Lays his head on the pillow. The bed is hard, lumpy, but it’s far more comfortable than his slab of stone in Coldridge.

Tomorrow he’ll get up, go meet with his allies for breakfast. Work out a plan to rescue Anthony. Strange. Less than twelve hours ago, he expected tomorrow to be the day he died.

It’s too much, too much for David to process. He half-expects to wake up and be back in his cell, the jailers waiting at the door to take him to the gallows.

David can’t get too wrapped up in thinking about that. He falls asleep instead.

The color of early morning light shined in, but it was dark. David can’t tell what time it was.

They hadn’t told him what time his execution was scheduled for. Should he assume morning? Did he still have time to go back to sleep?

The light was all wrong. David opens his eyes fully and nearly startles out of bed.

He wasn’t in his cell. No, the air here was different, heavier. But empty. David knew, logically, what this place had to be. Did that mean his wish had come true? Had he passed in the night?

The room comes into focus, and David is confused for a second before the events of the previous day come rushing back to him.

He’s not dead. David can’t really find it in him to be grateful for that.

He gets up. His legs feel stronger than they were yesterday, but the ground is less sure of itself. It’s solid beneath his feet, the floorboards even with each other, but it all might change its mind about that before David takes his next step.

He doesn’t know what waits for him on the other side of the door. What he’ll see. He sucks it up and pushes the door open.

The world is breaking apart. The floorboards gradually disappear until they drop off into nothing, the walls worn away and exposing what lies beyond it. And it is endless. Shapeless.

The Void.

David swallows. He’s not afraid. He’s given up fear long ago.

The Void is what he imagines clear to look like. Nothing for so long in one direction, and at some point his eyes don’t know what to pick up on. It’s not white. White would imply the presence of light, of other colors. They’re not there, but they’re not entirely absent either. It appears blue at the beginning, a soft, washed blue that is like and so unlike the sky. But the blue is just a trick of his eyes, because there is no color here. There’s grey. Emptiness. Nothing.

His ears pick up the sound of wind, but when he focuses, there’s only silence that reaches his ears. The air here is still. There’s a humming he can’t pick up on, can’t pinpoint, but David feels it in his bones.

Blinking doesn’t seem to drain him here. He’s no longer tired, Blinking from rock to rock. There’s a presence here, watching him. David moves closer.

Something tangible up ahead, real. A roof of blue. David moves towards it, knowing in his heart what it is, what it has to be, but still hoping against hope it wasn’t.

It was. The gazebo.

He Blinks in before he has time to really think about it, and immediately feels like someone has swept his legs out from under him. Because the gazebo floor is red with blood, and lying in the middle of it all, is the Empress.

Her eyes are closed, her lips barely parted. To breathe, it could be. Her hair still neatly styled; her shirt barely ruffled. David could believe she was sleeping if it weren’t for the hole in her stomach. For the blood fanning out from her body, moving through the cracks and divots in the stonework without ever seeming to grow in size.

She must have tasted the blood, welling up in her throat from the pierced organs in her abdomen. Billie’s mouth is red with it. He could pretend she was wearing lipstick if David didn’t know she avoided heavy makeup, and preferred shades of brown for her lips anyway. It was less flamboyant, more natural. Sabrina had always thought red lipstick made her look like she was bleeding.

David stands there, his hands dangling at his side. Unsure of what to do. He wants to touch her, yes-gather her in his arms, hold her one last time. Touch her face and maybe she’d wake up. Or maybe she would dissolve into the mess of bones and blood they’ve reduced her to.

She looks so real. People called her beautiful because that’s what you called Empresses, but David believed it wholeheartedly. He was never one to admire, neither men nor women, but Sabrina was always different. She held a beauty for him that no one else could ever compare to.

He steps forward. Her blood splashes under his boot, and David makes the mistake of looking down. The blood is moving, stretching across the pavilion, liquid squiggles turning into words that surround Billie’s body.

YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER

YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER

YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER

YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER

YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER

YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER

David turns and flees.

The next island has the makings of a wall and a roof, but they have no color and David passes right through them. There’s trunks on the ground, fancy furniture and decorative partitions. A bed turned on its side, its mattress bare on the floor.

An older man, fine ruffled clothing and a prominent nose, frozen mid-scream. Two guards work to subdue a young man-a boy, really, one holding him by his shoulders and the other grabbing his wrist. The boy is shrinking away, terror clear on his face.

Anthony.

David stares for a long while. He reminds himself that this is proof Anthony is alive, that he’s okay. But it’s overshadowed by the anger that takes root in him.

He doesn’t know who these men are. But he’ll find out. And he’ll put the same fear on their faces before he sees them dead.

David reaches out to touch Anthony’s face, but decides against it. He’ll see him again soon. He’ll save him from this. As soon as he can. David gives Anthony one last look before Blinking away.

When he sees Delilah, he’s overcome with the urge to strangle her. But he stands back, takes a breath. He knows he cannot touch her from here, but he still wonders if she could feel it if he does.

Delilah paints, her hands wandering a canvas taller than she is. Her hair is shorter now, combed back from her face. She wears a necklace of flowers and rings on her fingers. He recognizes the sigil on her signet ring. The symbol of the House of Lurk.

She paints Billie, her skin a kaleidoscope of colors. Mouth open, her lip and right eye swollen. Injured, brutalized even. Colors of fire in her hair and blues of the ocean where her heart should be. Delilah smirks while she perfects the dead look in her eye.

David doesn’t think he can enact a death that would do her justice.

He doesn’t know the people in the next island. A girl pulls along an older man, perhaps her father. Bloody tears streaming down their faces. Behind them a flaming bolt that will end their lives suspended in the air.

He can’t quite make sense of the next one. An old woman in a fur coat stands in front of a fire, leaning over to extract something white from the coals with a pair of tongs. He can see the flames reflected in her milky, blind eyes, and he shivers. Behind her watches three women, and David recognizes them as Galia Fleet, Lydia Boyle, and Rose Copper. Galia looking more annoyed than scared, Lydia leaning forward in interest, and Rose just looking worried.

He pays it no mind, for now. He’ll think back on it if he needs to, and not a second before.

The people in the next scene are a mystery to him from afar. He can’t make them out, can’t make his eyes settle on any one detail. They are motionless, but they are not still.

It’s not until he’s standing right before them that he recognizes them. The woman, dressed in black with decadent buttons of gold. One hand gripping her blade, the blade, and the other having just rolled out a grenade that sits suspended in the air, never to hit the ground. The damn beak in her mask.

Her partner-a man, David can tell-stands with her back-to-back. Hood up, his sword at the ready. His left hand clenched. David can see the glow, so faint under his glove, but it's there. When he peers up into the man’s hood, he finds the face of a skull staring him down.

He’s seen them before. And he’ll kill them too.

When David steps back and looks around, he’s surprised to find the golden faces of the Abbey surrounding them. They circle around the couple, pistols and swords at the ready. The woman’s grenade was meant for them, rolled out at their feet.

They are not whole. The two murderers in black are the focal point here. The Overseers that serve as their opponents are already fractured, body parts having faded from existence. David knows they are not destined to survive this fight. The couple in black will slaughter them all.

He’s seen enough.

The final island-and it must be the last one, as David can see no more-is small, room enough for him to take a few steps as he Blinks in. There’s a menagerie of fabrics, purples with intricate patterns stitched in gold, trailing off over the side. It hangs there, mid-air, blasted back by some unknown force. Or presence. Suspended in time. All surrounding a figure of driftwood, and the singing piece of bone upon it.

He had been too far away to have been hearing this in the beginning, but what else could it be? It cries out for him. And the moment David touches the rune, runs his hands over the pattern etched in it, the Void is silent.

And then his ears explode with sound. There’s a gust of wind he cannot feel, and the Leviathan Himself is before him, sitting on the shrine as if it were His throne.

David can hear the music of the bones, a chorus of it, together and louder than anything he could imagine. He wonders if the boy Himself has the bones of a whale, if He Himself is a rune. If David might tear Him apart and find His ribs and skull already carved in ancient languages. If maybe that’s why the Outsider Himself seems to sing.

“Hello again, David .”

His voice is familiar, but different. It carries a strange echo here. Unworldly.

The Outsider folds His legs and leans forward, His terrible black eyes never leaving David . “It’s been a while since I visited you in prison, my friend.”

It hasn’t. “We’re not friends.”

He raises his eyebrows then, leaning back. “Oh?”

And then He’s gone in a flurry of black and dust. David doesn’t bother to look around, and in a moment he’s startled by a figure at his shoulder, hovering in mid-air.

“Because I gave you the power to fight back.” David should know better by now, but he still has to reign in his gasp. The Outsider’s thin figure bent over at the waist, black eyes staring down at David ’s. “The power to escape your death. To take revenge. To save the boy you love like a son. Most people would consider us on friendly terms by now.”

“I’m not most people.” David says gruffly.

The Outsider might have laughed, if such a being were capable of it. “Clearly.”

They stare off for a moment, then the Outsider fades away once more.

“The greatest of rivers are often fed by unmeasured sources.” David is expecting it this time, and he whirls around to find the Outsider walking the air around the island. “The Wrenhaven, for instance, originates at Raseri Lake, a place so shallow that on days where the water is clear, you can see the remnants of the flooded town that made the place their home, before it sank and filled with rainwater. From that tiny body of water casts a river that flows throughout the continent and has spawned countless civilizations from its banks. It all comes back to that source, but once the water has left its shores, the river is free to make its own path.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” David says. The Outsider just smiles, and disappears again.

“You will play an important role in the coming days.” The voice is behind him, and David has to turn around. The Outsider floats with His back to the islands of Dunwall, gesturing out to the activity taking place there. “You will encounter great trials, and face many hardships. Seek the ancient runes bearing My Mark in the lonely places of your world, and at the shrines raised in My name, and they will grant you power beyond those of whom you fight against. For this purpose, I bestow upon you another gift.”

David tries to tell Him that he doesn’t want His gifts, but the Outsider is gone.

Behind David , there is a different presence now. He turns and notices that the altar is no longer empty.

It’s a small thing, but it draws him. Seems to pulse with power. David ’s feet move of their own volition, reaching out for it.

The presence is familiar to David . He knows it. Knows her.

“No…”

His hands close around the object, shaped like a heart. Hard, and brittle. Small enough to hold in one hand. The presence overwhelms him, and the shrine comes apart at the seams and blows away.

‘We shouldn’t be here,’ Sabrina Stark’s voice calls out to him, clear as the Void. ‘No one should.’

David throws a hand over his mouth to stifle his gasp. Then he keeps it there, for he’s sure he’s going to puke.

At first, he has the terrible thought that it’s actually her heart. Gone stiff with death, calcified by sea water. But after a moment, he recognizes the charm. A talisman simply carved into the shape of a heart, the figure of a rat hewn from the top. One of Billie’s few possessions when David first met her. A friend had stolen it for her as a gift-Deirdre? Yes, Deirdre-and she had treasured it long after they became separated. She still kept it after becoming Empress, locking it away somewhere safe in her quarters. She had used her position to look for her friend, but was unable to find her. All she had left of her was the talisman. It was Billie's most treasured possession.

And now, it was her prison.

David ’s hands shake. He wants to destroy it. Cut it open with his sword, wide enough to release her, but also terrified at the thought of it being harmed. Of Billie’s voice going silent again. Of losing what was left of her.

“Oh, Billie…” David runs his hand over the talisman. “What are you?”

‘I am tired. How long must I remain here?’

David swallows. “I don’t know.”

A pause. Then, ‘What have they done to me?’

He doesn’t know that either. But he refrains from saying.

David looks up then, at the endless expanse of the Void. His hand clenches automatically, and Billie’s voice again rings out.

‘There are no stars in the sky here.’ she says, incredulously. ‘There is no sky.’

David watches, then squeezes the talisman again. “You know this place.”

‘It is the end of all things,’ She tells him, like a secret. ‘And the beginning. Time, as you know it, is meaningless.’

David is silent. He wonders, silently, but Sabrina still seems to hear his thoughts.

‘This is the place where witches and heretics, all those who practice the dark arts draw their power. And this place is their doom.’ She adds, boredly.

There’s another gust of wind, and David turns to face the Outsider once again.

In his hand, the talisman vibrates. ‘He is all things. Cradle songs of comfort, bones gnawed by teeth. Don’t be afraid, but be wary.’

David holds out the talisman. “Let her go.”

The Outsider just continues to stare. Impassive. He smirks without a muscle in His face so much as twitching. “No.”

Tears threaten to spring up in David ’s eyes, but he swallows and blinks them away, as always. “You can’t...this isn’t right. You can’t keep her here.”

“That’s beyond my power, David . I don’t choose who tethers themselves to the mortal plane and who passes into nothing. Sabrina Stark has always been a woman who had her choices taken from her, a pawn in games played well above her head. But she always finds a way to take them back.”

David just shakes his head. “It shouldn’t be like this. She should be at peace.”

He knows that, knows that it’s not right, not natural for Sabrina to still be here. That people are not meant to live on past their deaths, and that she’s surely suffering for it. It wasn’t his place to keep her here. He wasn’t worth drawing out her living death.

But he feels relief that the Outsider can’t free her. That he can hold onto her voice. That the choice to extend her suffering or strengthen his own is not his to make.

And he feels incredible guilt for that as well.

‘Summon me to your hand,’ Sabrina whispers. ‘And I will guide you when I can.’

He doesn't want her guidance. He was supposed to guide her, protect her. He never wanted this.

And yet, his fingers close protectively around the talisman. Unnatural or not, he couldn’t deny that having her voice again was a blessing. And he did not have the strength to ask the Outsider to take it from him again.

“What is she?” David asks, tracing the wooden idol with his thumb. “Is she a ghost?”

“What Sabrina Stark has become is unprecedented. She has broken through the hollows of the world, and become one with them. Now, she is transposed within herself.”

“That means nothing to me,” David mumbles, still staring at the talisman.

The Outsider doesn’t change His face and there’s no exasperation within His voice, nothing to indicate He’s losing patience. David still feels as though the Outsider is talking down to him. “She has become a being of two places. One eye to look upon the world, and another trained on the Void.”

David says nothing. The Outsider seems to take his silence as confusion.

“She can see it all. The Void breaking and spreading through all the cracks, like seawater sinking an old ship.”

She’ll see everything. If she has a heart left, it might break.

“I’ll fix this.” He whispers it to her, stroking the surface of the talisman. “I’m going to save Anthony. Protect him. I know what to do,” he soothes. David brings her talisman to his lips. “I’ll avenge you, I promise.”

‘I ask nothing of you,’ she tells him. ‘But to remember who you are. And who you could be.’

David swallows. Above him, the Outsider raises His hand.

“Now, I return you to your world, but know that I will be watching with great interest.”

“Is that what this is to you?” David lowers Billie's talisman, but he keeps his grip on it. “Entertainment? A game? Just trying to see what kind of chaos you can spread?”

“No, David . You’re the one who will either draw blood or spare it. Those decisions will forever be yours; I will not take those choices from you. But it is a choice I very much look forward to watching you make.”

“Then what is this, then? Why are you doing this?” David yells.

The Outsider smiles. Actually fucking smiles. “My dear David ,” He practically coos. “Think of it as a curiousity.”

Then the ground disappears beneath his feet, and David can see nothing but the Void.