Chapter Text
The Covenant was a strange place. When Turntapp (he finally learned his name from a guard) was giving him a tour of the base, Saparata saw a group of soldiers with diamond swords and armor, his diamonds, head toward the exit. As much as Saparata wanted to ask where the group was headed, he felt it was better not to ask.
The base was small, but not in a cramped way. There was enough space for everything that was needed, and nothing more. That’s why, when Saparata was shown his room, it was actually a storage room of sorts. Turntapp apologized, explaining how there was no other acceptable room.
“Besides, we need to keep you hidden away anyway. Can’t have the whole island figuring out where you are so quickly.” Turntapp said, turning away from him.
Saparata flinches internally at the comment. He is no fool; he knows Island One was more likely not to trust him, but somehow the thought of the empires here hunting him down, too, didn’t pop into his brain. The island has no real quarrel with him; they shouldn’t want him dead. Of course, they could hunt him down to try and win favor with Island Two, another thought he didn’t think of. Perhaps it was a good thing Saprata ran into the covenant first.
He turns and looks around his new lodging. The room is filled with crates, stacked almost to the ceiling. There is enough space in the middle of the room for him to lie down. He sets his meager belongings down and sits beside them. He sighs, letting go of a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He can breathe a little easier now. He was in a strange new place now, yes, but at least no one there was actively trying to kill him, even if some members weren’t happy with him being there.
Saparata still needed a plan. Finding safety wasn’t enough. He needed to get the truth out about Fluxion. A knot lodges in his throat at the thought of him, of their last encounter. Even now, he could faintly feel Flux’s lips.
Come with me, I’ll hide you in my base
He made the right choice, didn’t he? Leaving Fluxion in the swamp? Looking back, the memory felt so sweet, almost sickly, with Saps in his arms, Fluxion promising safety. United, just like in the mines. But in the moment, his actions seemed stilted, rehearsed. An actor hitting all of his cues.
It didn’t make sense either, why hide the scapegoat you worked so hard to create? Unless, of course, Saparata was pinning the blame on the wrong person. That Fluxion didn’t betray his companion so easily. But it was Fluxion and his crew who were with Saps all day, who he left at his house when he went to gather the leaders. Alone for all those hours, enough time to tamper with his roof. And there was the moment in the swamp, where the question hung in the air between them, with Fluxion subtly, silently, answering.
So he did make the right choice, running away. He was right to abandon all he had ever known in the world. It didn’t matter if he was surrounded by strangers or how his only support right now was paid for. None of it mattered because Saparata was right. And he was going to do something about it. He made up his mind, he would go to the other nations and try to convince them to support him. He had to take down Fluxion; he had to try and get his life back.
No matter the cost.
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After a week in, Saparata was going crazy. The covenant had a strict schedule that even fugitives had to comply with. He spent time honing his fighting skills with the militia, barely keeping up with them. Saparata wasn’t a bad fighter; he could hold himself in a fight. He didn’t always live the peaceful, secluded life. However, he was paying for his peaceful life; he was rusty, to put it lightly. The main problem was Saparata’s current state. Despite living only in the swamp for a short time, he was malnourished. His body is skinny, where he was once lightly muscular; now it is bony. With these things combined, he was failing miserably in sparring. His face was covered in scratches from all the times he landed face-first in his sparring matches. His body seemed to be permanently sore.
Despite getting beaten up every day, Saparata was going stir-crazy as well. While he was allowed outside the compound, the people of the covenant didn’t take too kindly to him. Turntapp assured him he was safe under his protection, but citizens didn’t stop staring him down or barely whispering harsh remarks about Saps. It was unnerving, so Saps usually stayed inside the compound. Not that there was much to do. While there was always some sort of meeting happening, he was often not allowed to attend; he didn’t take it personally. He was a stranger to this land; he had no right to partake in their politics.
His main problem was trying to put his plan into action. Saparata wanted to reach out to the other leaders on the island to try and gain support from them. Then maybe Saps could somehow stop Fluxion’s plans. But Turntapp refused every time he brought it up. Claiming it was better for his safety to stay in the covenant.
So, he started writing letters. The only other options were to wander a hostile city or get his butt handed to him in training. So he began to write letters to the leaders of Island One. He finally had a better grasp on the politics of the island after carefully prodding Turntapp about it at dinner two days in.
His letters were mostly him begging for help; he wrote out his story in hopes a leader would pity him and believe him. It was a long shot, but he was out of options. Turntapp was right, it was too dangerous to leave the base, who knows if they would turn him in for the bounty island two put out on his head.
When Saparata finished writing his letters, he snuck out in the night to send them. It felt wrong to sneak through the halls, avoiding the patrolling guards. But Saparata had a feeling Turntapp wouldn’t be too pleased with the idea of reaching out to the other leaders. Any and all attempts to discuss Saparata’s future with him were swiftly shut down, often with Turntapp leaving the room, muttering about his responsibilities he had to attend to.
Saparata understood being cautious, but avoiding all future plans as a whole was dangerous, especially with what the news brought in. There were rumors of Fluxion gaining popularity, and that set Saparata on edge. The longer he sat waiting in the Conevant, the more time Fluxion had to plan.
So was it really his fault when he sneaked into the Aviary to borrow some of the birds to send his letters? He’s just trying to make his predicament better, really, that's all.
Saparata watches the birds fly up one by one into the night sky, each carrying a scroll tied to its leg. It was officially out of his hands now; he could only hope the leaders would believe him.
He tries not to think about how the Covenant will react once they find out about the letters. Maybe it would be best for his letters to get ignored.
After that night, Saparata tried not to think about his letters. He threw himself into training, so at night, he only had enough strength to drag himself to his closet, to exhausted to worry.
Saparata could tell Turntapp was suspicious of his sudden motivation to train, with him frowning every time Saparata ran into him after training, sweaty and bruised. He only hopes Turntapp doesn’t think he is plotting to attack the covenant, a part two of the assassinations from island two.
Two weeks went by with no deviation; Saparata trains, dodges Turntapp’s judgmental looks during dinner, passes out, repeat.
Until one night, a singular letter appears on top of Saparata’s bedding.
A letter sealed with the seal of Westhelm