Chapter Text
The foliage is thick, the fog even more so, and Chip has to fight to find his way through the forest. The air is humid, causing sweat to gather at his temples, but he doesn’t spare a moment to wipe it away. He already knows where he’s going, just as he knows he has to move quick, otherwise the one waiting for him will get impatient.
The undergrowth rustles with the movement of insects. Every now and then, Chip will catch a glimpse of those accursed fire-bugs — demons, actually — and a shiver will travel down his spine. It was wrong of him to lie to Gillion like that, to twist his hatred of evil into a humorous situation, but Chip was only half-lying. Insects are demons.
Gillion. The name sends a bolt of clarity through Chip. He speeds up, swatting a stray branch out of his way with more ferocity than appropriate, and it snaps. Gillion, among other reasons, is why Chip is wading through this forest like a gods-damned ranger instead of—
Of—
What was he doing before he got here, anyway?
Chip entertains that train of thought for a second, then drops it. If he can’t remember, it’s probably not important.
The sun is hanging low in the sky when he finally arrives at his destination.
It’s a hut. A very, very familiar one.
Chip doesn’t know how long he’s been walking — more than an hour, probably. More than enough for the heat to make him woozy. He catches himself on the wall of the hut, trying to catch his breath. It doesn’t work. The air is thick with moisture from the fog, and every ragged inhale only suffocates him, exhaustion seeping into his bones like poison. Fucking hell. He never should’ve come here.
“But you’ve already made it this far,” someone says from inside the hut. The voice is richer than wine, darker than the depths of any jewel Chip’s stolen. “Why don’t you come in?”
The door swings open on silent hinges. The room beyond is cloaked in shadow, lit only with a few dim lamps. And as Chip takes a step forward, the door clicks shut behind him, leaving him alone with Niklaus Hendrix.
Niklaus doesn’t look like what Chip expected. Chip was envisioning someone larger, someone more vicious-looking, someone strong enough to take down Gillion with ruthless ease. What he didn’t envision was a handsome tiefling with gold piercings in his horns and a silk shirt that’s been unbuttoned far too low. For the spectre that’s haunted Chip’s crew at every step, Niklaus looks… normal.
“See something you like?” Niklaus says, and all appearance-related thoughts fly out of Chip’s mind.
Chip stares Niklaus down, his fists balled. This was such a bad idea. “Shut up.”
Niklaus raises his hands in mock surrender. “Calm down, I’m just joking.”
“Well, I’m not laughing.”
Niklaus chuckles. He’s seated at a table, Chip notices, and the only seat available is the one opposite him. The other furniture in the room are covered with valuable-looking knick-knacks; jars of oddities, incense burners, jewellery boxes, and more. All of it would surely sell for a fortune.
Comforted by the thought of money, Chip settles into the seat opposite Niklaus.
“So, Chip,” Niklaus says, spreading his hands in welcome, “What did you come here to ask of me?” His rings catch the light, and Chip’s fingers twitch with the urge to swipe them off.
He takes a deep breath. “Why can’t I find it?”
Niklaus tilts his head to the side, eyes glimmering. “Find what?”
“Don’t pretend,” growls Chip. In one swift motion, he’s slamming the compass onto the table. “You know exactly what I mean.”
“I do,” says Niklaus. A knowing smile flits across his face. “I just want to hear you beg.”
Chip grits his teeth. He glares at Niklaus, putting every ounce of his vitriol behind it, but the tiefling remains unbothered. When it’s clear that Niklaus isn’t going to say anything, Chip has no choice but to concede.
“I’ve been sailing west,” he says lowly. “I’ve been sailing west for so long, but I still can’t find anything.” He pauses, wondering if that’s enough for Niklaus, hoping that he won’t have to come out with the whole truth, but—
Niklaus’s smile widens. “And?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t pretend,” parrots Niklaus, throwing Chip’s own words back at him. “You know exactly what I mean.” The shadows of the room seem to lengthen, gathering behind Niklaus, sharply contrasting with his white grin. “Tell me the whole story, Chip.”
Fear makes itself known to Chip, breaking out across his skin in goosebumps. He’s in the presence of someone much, much more powerful, and he’d do well to remember that. He laces his fingers together to keep from his hands from shaking. Takes a shuddering inhale.
“The compass,” he starts. “It’s been moving differently. It doesn’t work as well anymore.”
Niklaus leans forward greedily. “Where is it pointing to?”
Chip stays silent.
“Let me rephrase myself,” says Niklaus. “Who is it pointing to?”
A coral crown, a wide grin, the arc of a broadsword slicing through air—
“Gill,” Chip rasps out, fingernails digging white crescents into the backs of his hands. “It’s pointing to Gill.”
Niklaus cups a palm over his ear. “Sorry, I didn’t quite hear you.”
Chip stands up so abruptly his seat falls over. Fear is a spreading frost, telling him to sit down, to stop causing a ruckus, to apologise and grovel, but the rage in him burns hotter. “I’m not saying it again!”
Niklaus just laughs.
“Stop laughing!” Chip shouts. He wants to destroy something. He wants to tear Niklaus’s horns clean off his head. He wants to smash all those delicate jewellery boxes and grind their contents into dust with his heel. “I’ll leave! I really will! Some fucking wish doctor you are, just laughing at your — your patrons like this!”
“The heart is a fickle thing, is it not?” laughs Niklaus, his eyes bright with sadistic mirth. “Desires come and go. It’s the natural progression of things. You don’t need to be so… agitated.”
“But this desire shouldn’t be going away,” protests Chip, pressing a hand to his heart. “Arlin, the Black Rose… I can’t just abandon them!”
“And you expect me to have a solution for that?” Done with the laughter, Niklaus stands. He reaches inside his pocket and lifts out an elaborate stopwatch. It’s gold, of course, and there’s a circular image etched on its back. It’s not a regular shape — there seems to be an interruption at the top, something jutting out like horns, but before Chip can make sense of it, Niklaus tucks it back into his pocket.
“I can’t change the direction of the tides any more than I can divert that compass,” he says. “It’s your heart, Chip. Only you can find the answers.”
“That’s bullshi—” Before Chip can finish his sentence, Niklaus is crossing the room in two strides, his hand shooting out to grab Chip’s wrist. His grip is bruising, and when Chip tries to yank away, he doesn’t budge a bit.
“What are you doing?!” A fruitless tug. “Let go of me, or I’ll—”
“You can’t do anything here,” says Niklaus. “This is my domain. Stay still, or it won’t work.”
Before Chip’s eyes, a crescent moon begins to take shape on his skin. It’s accompanied by an unpleasant itch, and when Chip raises his other hand to scratch it, Niklaus grabs that one too.
“Consider this a favour,” he says, amusement colouring his tone. “I’ll help you, free of charge. All you have to do is keep Gillion — my champion — alive.” Then he laughs, like he’s in on some private joke.
Chip bristles at Niklaus’s casual possessiveness. Gillion is the champion of the undersea, a hero to his people, and he’s certainly not Niklaus’s pet, so what gives Niklaus the right?
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Your heart is torn.” Niklaus locks eyes with Chip. His stare seems to pierce right through Chip’s exterior, ruthlessly assessing, like he’s pinning a butterfly to a board, and Chip can’t do anything but flutter and flutter. “You are at a crossroads. You refuse to make a choice, so I will give you an incentive.”
“What—”
“Destiny,” hisses Niklaus, and Chip’s vision starts to wobble in the dim light, “or desire?”
When Niklaus finally releases Chip’s wrist, the colours of the room bleed into each other, and the world fades out like a dream.