The cold metal of the barrel pressed against Lance’s temple. Bael audibly shifted, causing Lance to silently plead for the other man to reign in his anger. A sensation of nausea settled into the pit of Lance’s stomach, but it didn’t appear to stem from his worries.

Torian, still standing behind them, began coughing and stepped away from them until he appeared in Lance’s vision approaching the Don’s desk. He pulled the handkerchief away from his face and examined it, eyes widening before tucking it away into his breast pocket.

“Boss asked you a question, kid. It’d be in your best interest to answer him,” spoke the gunman. Much to Lance’s surprise the voice was feminine.

“It’s alright, Obari. Clearly he’s never been in the presence of someone so handsome as myself,” the Don said with a laugh.

The woman, presumably Obari, scoffed as she pressed the barrel firmer against his temple. “If nothing else, call off your dog, I don’t know what he’s doing but he’s making me feel sick.”

Lance’s lips thinned into a line as he strained his eyes to look over at Bael and understand whatever it is he might be doing. The other gangsters near to them also began to either clutch at their stomachs or start a coughing fit. They followed suit with Torian’s idea.

“I think the dog would come to heel if you stopped threatening its master,” the Don said.

Obari snarled low in her throat, but eventually the gun was removed. Lance blinked frantically, first looking at Obari to see the gun was no longer pointed at himself. Getting to look at her, Lance now noticed she was one of the gerudo women that lived by the sea. Typically they took up a life of piracy or other work by the sea, so he was perplexed to find one working for the Valerio.

That was a thought for another day; right now something strange was happening to Bael. Lance placed his hands on the other man’s shoulders and shifted him to place them face to face. Bael’s lips were parted as if baring his teeth like a predator. His eyes were widened, and they were flashing in an unusual manner. His pure blue eyes were flecked with gold. A pristine pool of water now tainted with sulfur.

“Bael? Hey, Bael, look at me.”

His head didn’t move, but Bael’s eyes flickered up to look at him.

“We’re just here to talk, okay? No one’s going to hurt me.”

Obari barked a laugh, but Lance paid her no heed.

“I don’t know what you’re doing but you need to calm down. These people aren’t going to want to work with us if you’re making them feel threatened.”

“They….you,” Bael whispered between strained breaths.

Lance lowered his head to place his ear close to Bael’s mouth.

“They hurt you,” Bael whispered again, this time with a painstricken whine.

“And we’re never going to let them hurt us ever again. Just take some deep breaths. It’s going to be okay.”

Bael, although very reluctant to do so, quickly obeyed. His shoulders heaved, and soon Lance’s own bodily discomfort began to subside.

“Now then, I came here with the intention for discussion,” Lance began, dropping his hands from Bael’s shoulders and stepping forward to the center of the room. “If you’re done making my companion and I feel uncomfortable, we might be able to have said discussion.”

“Where do you get the right to try and command us, you stuffy milksop,” Obari shouted.

The Don raised his hand. “Let’s hear what the boy has to say before we jump the gun so literally. Though, I do find myself with a burning question if you’ll humor me, Mr. Wisteria.”

Lance nodded, reaching a hand backwards to feel for Bael still being close at his side. He gently grasped him by the elbow and pulled him forwards. “If you don’t mind humoring me as well, Mr. Valerio.”

The Don snorted before taking a large puff of his cigar. “Ever seen one of my tribe before? Did you even know moblins walked the land of Termina?”

“No- well-” Lance began, before an obscured memory pushed itself to the surface of his mind. It was a darkened alleyway and one of his best friends was crying. Yellowed eyes stared at him above a hog’s nose, huffing hot wretched breath onto his face. The rest of the memory was a blur.

“I have. It wasn’t a pleasant encounter, truth be told.”

The Don pursed his lips. “That’s too bad, but not that surprising. Your father has been a lot of bad news for my people. Were you aware of that?”

“I wasn’t.” He didn’t know specifics, but knew enough of his father’s tendencies to not be surprised at such an outcome.

“I see. Well, that quenches my thirst for knowledge. The floor is yours.”

“First, to satisfy my own curiosity, um- Miss Obari? How did you know Bael was the source of the sickness?”

Bael looked up, evidently curious to the answer of that question as well.

“Hm.” Her eyes cut across to her boss, who nodded in approval. “I know you inlander types think pretty lowly of us that make our life on the sea, which means you’re probably also unaware of our affinity for magic. Your dog there-”

“Bael,” Lance flatly interrupted.

Her eyes narrowed in animosity before continuing, “-Bael there was radiating some nasty dark energy. It’s impressive he can rein it in as easily as he did, because I would think being around him for any length of time would drain your wellbeing.”

“You’re very perceptive. It was foolish of me to doubt your affinity for the arcane,” Lance answered with a nod.

Bael nudged his hand against Lance’s side. “How did you know?” he whispered while barely moving his lips.

Lance tapped two fingers against the side of Bael’s arm while giving a barely audible shush. “I’m going to cut to the chase then, Mr. Valerio. You’re an important man whose time is valuable, so I shan’t waste it needlessly. Aka is missing and you want to find him. Unfortunately he can’t be captured like you wish to do. In a day’s time he will awaken and destroy the city, cursing those that aren’t killed outright.”

A dull roar of conversation erupted amongst the mafia members that surrounded the Don. Obari, Torian, and the Don all three silently eyed Lance with uncertainty. Obari and Torian both made their distrust visibly known, but the Don was either playing his cards close to the chest or was eager to continue entertaining Lance’s line of thinking.

“Now why would something like that be happening? Aka and his brother have been dead for centuries; since the time of His Majesty, Igos du Ikana. They were reanimated by that bloody imp a hundred years ago, but they were only puppets in his game.”

“To be honest with you I don’t know why it’s happening. My companion and I have contended already with the ancient god of Woodfall, Odolwa. I have no immediate proof of this, but if you were to make contact with Queen Euphorbia you would know my words are true. Aka will rise from the earth whether you act or not, and in the interest of preserving life wouldn’t it be best to act?”

The Don drummed his fingers over his desk, a heavy thumping reverberating through the room. Hushed conversation persisted throughout the room. He took a long drag on his cigar before snuffing it out into the ashtray. With a groan and a wince he stood himself up from his desk, grasping a cane to support himself. He drew nearer to Lance, who was now able to see his entire form.

He was missing his left leg, and all of the flesh not covered by his simple attire was riddled with scars. The Don’s right eye was more bulbous than the other and appeared not to move as smoothly as the other one would.

“Let me tell you a story. Twenty-four years ago a human made a promise to my people. A promise that humans and monsters stood more to lose as enemies than what could be gained as friends. We were frightened of humans, always had been, but we were also tired. Tired of fighting, tired of betrayal. I accepted his offer of friendship, and for a time we were happy.”

The Don paused, coughing heavily into his free hand before thumping his chest and taking a deep breath. “Then my people learned a couple of years later not only were we no longer welcomed in the land of humans, but we were just animals to be hunted now. I lost my eye the day I learned I wasn’t welcome in your home when a man shot me for looking at him. My leg was taken by a curious human who thought if I looked like a pig maybe I’d taste like one too. All of these injuries ache to this day, but it’s nothing compared to the pain of those I’ve lost.”

Before Lance now stood the Don, just barely eye level at his full height but massive in stature despite the wear and tear. He could feel Bael bristling at his side, but Lance’s eyes remained on the old moblin in front of him. “That was roughly twenty-two years ago now that Arthur turned his back on me. Mr. Wisteria, exactly how old are you?”

“Soon to be twenty-three,” Lance answered as his throat became dry.

“Soon to be twenty-three, I see. So tell me again, harbinger of our doom, why should I trust in you? The very act of you taking your first breath damned my family to a life of agony, and now you come to my door begging me to stick my neck out for you? I helped your father protect you once after he threatened to sever ties with Ikana, and still the Wisteria family will not let me loose.”

“Because I-”

“Are you stupid?” Bael shouted, sidestepping in front of Lance as he peered up at the Don.

Obari had already raised the pistol to slam it across Bael’s head but he had anticipated such a retaliation by catching the barrel in his free hand. As she struggled to pry it from his grip, the metal began to sizzle and bubble while the wooden components caught flame. She backed away with a yelp, as did Lance.

“Pardon me, pipsqueak?” the Don asked, taking a step back in surprise. His eyes darted to the now melting gun in Bael’s hand before alighting on its wielder who had stepped in front of him. “Why am I the foolish one?”

“Because when really you’re mad at what a bigoted old man decided to do, you’re in actuality taking it out on a baby just because it’s the easy thing to do. Lance didn’t have any say in any of that stuff happening, he was just a baby.”

Sizzling, liquid metal spattered onto the floor as it dripped down the sides of Bael’s hand. He dropped the remains of the gun once a majority of it had melted away and the remaining husk was turning to cinders. His hand shook off the melt that clung to his hand, with an unfortunate glob sticking to the Don’s cheek.

The Don lifted his cane and jabbed into Bael’s chest with an expression of ire. “Be that as it may it is what Arthur’s son represents that I distrust. A boy with a silver spoon in his mouth whose daddy caused the deaths of hundreds to keep it there. Bah!” Every so often he would shove the end of his cane against Bael, who all the while refused to budge or appear phased by the aggressive gesture.

“If it was up to you, then these cycles of misery and violence should just never end, is that it? Your descendents should reap what you’ve sown then, old man?”

“Stop talking over me!” Lance shouted, earning alarmed looks not just from the Don but from Bael as well as the rest of the room’s inhabitants.

“Mr. Valerio, with all due respect, I have to confess something to you. I don’t care what you think about me,” Lance said in a gentle tone, hands clasped together with a patient smile. “If I let every person that happened to dislike me dissuade me from taking action I would stay trapped in my room and have never left since I was a boy.”

The Don snorted, now wiping the hardened metal piece from his cheek revealing a new wound where the heated chunk had singed his flesh. He removed the end of his cane from poking at Bael.

“Now you asked me why you should trust me, and I’m not going to make a grandstanding speech about monsters and humans coming together for the greater good. What I’m going to do instead” -Lance paused to reach into the breast pocket of his coat and pull out a pocket watch- “is ask for the time, actually.”

All eyes were on Lance, curious yet apprehensive. Several old men shuffled uneasily in their seat as their eyes then drifted to the Don expecting him to provide understanding. The old moblin turned back to look at Torian, who stared back with unease.

“Do what the boy said. Give him the time,” the Don ordered with a wave of his hand.

Torian looked down at his wrist and pulled back his sleeve to observe the time on his wristwatch. “It’s half-past 10 in the morning.”

“Thank you, Mr. Thorne. For why you should trust me, what would you say about a wager? That within the hour an earthquake will shake the entirety of Ikana City. Actually I’ll even be more precise than that. Three minutes after the hour strikes 11 the earth is going to shake, which is the precursor of Aka’s return.”

“And if you’re wrong?” the Don asked, evidently growing tired of these events as he returned to his seat. “If it’s a wager, what would I win?”

“Then you get to do whatever you want with me. You look like you’ve got years of pent up rage you’d love to take out on me. Beat me, maim me, even kill me if you want.”

“You’re awfully confident about this prediction,” the Don stated with a wheeze upon sitting in his chair. “Where does that certainty come from?”

Lance grinned. “Because if you touch me, then he’s gonna kill all of you.” He cast a look back down at Bael who, while not exactly following along with the ruse at hand, appeared eager at the permission to wreak havoc on everyone in this room. His smiling face then returned to look at the pensive Don.

The moblin rubbed his chin, deep in thought, as Torian bowed his head to whisper into his boss’s ear. Whatever it was he said must have not interested the Don as he waved a hand with a dismissive noise. “I don’t see what I stand to lose here really. I don’t have any need to kill you, you’re much too valuable to me alive. 11:03 you said, right?”

“Give or take a minute or two. You know, in case your clocks are off.”

“I’ll take your wager, Mr. Wisteria. You’re a much more interesting man to work with than your father.”

“That’s high praise for me, sir.”

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The room was spinning and Lance’s head was pounding. The Don, Torian, Obari, and even Bael became indistinguishable as his eyes wandered about the room. They were clumsily mixed pigments on a dingy black palette, swirling and mixing into grotesque shades.

Moments before the wave of sickness struck he witnessed Bael get slammed in the head and downed with a heavy knee right above his shoulder blades. His arms were bound, and so were Lance’s. The Don pulled a clock out from the recesses of his desk and spun the knob on its back. He placed it on the desk with the clock face staring at Lance.

“Thirty minutes, Mr. Wisteria. You better hope your little earthquake abides by Ikanian time.”

Lance’s eyes focused on the minute hand as it hovered over the six. His eyes never departed, and soon his mouth began to dry.

He heard Bael’s strained breaths between frustrated grunts, the idle chatter of unenthused mobsters, and the Don’s gnarled fingernails drumming on the wooden desk. As the seconds ticked and the minute hand glided from number to notch, all those sounds faded into obscurity. The only constant was the ticking of the clock.

That which kept him grounded, reassured him of his certainty, had left his awareness. His heart rate elevated, drumming against his skull. Moisture formed at the edge of his vision as he strained to stare at the clock where he placed his faith.

The quicker hand finally outpaced his slower companion, leaving him behind to arrive at the highest point. Mere minutes were the only thing that separated him from that which decided his future. If everything today meant anything, or if it was all for naught. He didn’t want to say goodbye to the Aryn that loved him too, or the Rachel that was beginning to forgive him.

Most of all, he didn’t want to say goodbye to the Bael that took his hand when he was afraid. Who stifled his fear with hardly a word between them. Lance felt like Bael could do anything, but that was definitely his most impressive superpower.

The Don picked up the clock to look at it, breaking Lance from his trance as his head dropped to face the floor. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead, and his lungs burned as he gasped to fill them.

“Coming down to the wire now, son,” the Don said, voice low as he cast his yellow eyes down. “Having any second thoughts?”

Lance, still struggling to breathe, remained quiet.

“Mind telling me why on earth you’d want to come waving such a ridiculous threat at me? For what gain?”

“Quiet,” Lance whispered.

“Come again?”

Lance closed his eyes, near to voiding the contents of his stomach as the spinning hastened. “I said be quiet. I don’t want you to miss it.”

The Don snorted. “Are you drunk, kid? Sipped a little too much liquid courage first thing in the morning and decided to play a little game with gangsters?”

“He said shut up,” Bael interrupted. He quickly yelped as the knee to his back dug harder.

“Muzzle him while you’ve got him pinned.”

Bael’s grumbles became muffled as he squirmed against the rag that was stuffed into this mouth.

The alarm clock rang. Every other sound in the room fell silent. The Don gently pressed down on the clock to cease the incessant ringing and he let out a small sigh. He grabbed his cane and brought himself up from his chair once again.

Lance’s head hung down once again, willing the earth to make even the slightest shudder. He’d lived through Ikana’s demise more times than he could count, he was certain he knew the timing of every major event.

“Stand them up. These boys are going on a long walk now. Oh, and Torian, get our mayor on the phone for me.”

Lance was roughly brought to his feet by the immense strength of Obari, who both towered over him in height and whose muscle mass outmatched him entirely. Bael was lifted up with even less ceremony by the person who’d been holding him down, who Lance just noticed was a goron. He’d had the full bodyweight of a goron on him for thirty minutes and only whimpered, whereas a normal person would have been crushed to death.

“Watch your step, old man. Wouldn’t want you to fall,” Bael chided.

Lance looked back at Bael silently with an obvious question on his face. How? How could he still hold faith in his plan, when Lance could hear his belief trickle away to the tick tock of a clock.

Bael only grinned at Lance with damp bangs obscuring his eyes. But Lance didn’t need to see them to know that look on his face. The look that said ‘don’t worry, pretty boy, it’ll all work out’.

Well, maybe Lance was embellishing it. Yet if his mind lingered on the idea he could hear that smarmy voice saying those words as if he were recalling the words to a beloved song.

“What do you think Daddy would give to see his precious baby boy home safely, hm?” The Don said, nudging Lance’s leg with the end of his cane.

“If anything, he might just pay you to get rid of me. Discreetly, of course.”

“Is that so? After what he gave up to have us clean up that mess of yours a few years ago, I don’t think he’s that interested in throwing you away so easily.”

“Mess? What are you talking about?” Lance stammered, brows furrowed as his wrists pulled against the restraints.

“It’s part of the deal that it’s never to be spoken of again, and I’m a moblin of my word. To put it simply, people like that girl don’t go away quietly on their own. Her and her mouth won’t be causing you problems anymore. If you get out of this one, that is,” the Don answered with a dark chuckle.

“Wait, is Morr-” but he was unable to finish his burning question.

Dirt and stone from the ceiling above began to fall in as the back wall split and shifted. The earthquake arrived just on time, give or take a minute or two.

Except one little problem. Lance forgot to consider the logistics of the earth shaking and breaking while they were underground.

Just as Lance was about to verbalize the thought, a snapping sound came from behind Bael. He pushed the goron who had been holding him up away, tipping him over onto the ground. Quicker than lightning, Bael snatched Lance’s arm and was dragging him away to the door they originally entered.

The Don had fallen to the ground, and in the commotion they were able to slip away before Obari could reclaim her grip on Lance’s arm. In the hallway the collapse of the ceiling was progressing even more quickly. Yet, infallibly so, Bael knew exactly what to do and where to go.

Nyx flew out from her hiding spot and led the way with her guiding light. Mobsters were shouting behind them, both attempting to flag them down and call out to each other to evacuate. Adrenaline kept the two of them ahead by a decent margin.

After several minutes of roaming the putrid darkness, the strain caught up with them both and they stopped to gasp for breath.

“Did you know that was going to happen?” Lance asked.

“Not exactly, but I had a hunch with all things considered.” Bael pulled out a concealed knife and began slicing at the rope still binding Lance.

“You even snuck in a weapon,” Lance whispered in awe. “Why did you let me do all this without mentioning anything?”

“You were so proud of your idea and I didn’t want to spoil that,” Bael admitted with a crooked smile. “Plus, I think this all works in our favor. They know, at least deep down, what we’re saying is true. And it’s let me find something I’ve been looking for since we first came here.”

“What’s that?”

“Maybe you just think I’ve been running us around in circles, but I’ve actually been following something. Something that’s crying out for someone to find it.”

Lance closed his eyes to allow his hearing to focus on any sounds, but the only thing he heard was the earth settling from the disturbance. And ticking, that noise still irritated him in the back of his mind. He opened his eyes once more and looked down at Bael in confusion.

Bael’s face, illuminated only by the lilac light of Nyx, appeared eerie as the shadows cast over him. Lance shivered but he wasn’t cold.

“It’s Ao, and he’s looking for his brother.”