Chapter Text
The forest is silent. It should never, under any circumstances, be silent. It makes Edgeworth pause.
Worrying, he thinks to himself. I really hope this isn’t a sign of what’s to come.
The thing about the Woods- the expansive forested wilderness that separates settled, safe land from the whims of fae folk- is that it is brimming with magic. The very soil beneath Edgeworth’s feet is seeping with the foul disease, although it isn’t noticeable here. But it can be. The trees quite literally sing with the wind. The animals grow two or three more eyes than one would typically assume they should have. Plants bend and twist in odd ways to make home for the tiny pixies. Edgeworth hates pixies. They swarm your legs and crawl over your chest and try to seduce you, even though they’re only two inches tall and Edgeworth is not interested in their types at all. Just the thought of them makes him shudder.
The point is, this place should not be deafeningly quiet. Especially not here, not so deep in the Woods that it would take Edgeworth several days to escape in any direction. Yet they are. The trees are still. The sky is overcast, a gentle grayish-blue. The sun has not yet sunken over the horizon. Edgeworth adjusts the cloak wrapped around his armor and pushes on.
When he had received the command, he was quite confused. Phoenixes didn’t actually exist, as far as Edgeworth knew. Most magical creatures had plenty of stories and folktales looming around them, yes. But phoenixes were a breed of their own. Every story that phoenixes featured in were outlandish and wrong. But that hadn’t stopped the man who had come to von Karma manor a few weeks ago. He’d presented Edgeworth with a large leather tome brimming with every last off-handed mention or allusion that existed and seemed so proud of his work, glasses gleaming and smirk etched across his face. But Edgeworth could see the truth behind the book.
Fairy tales, in the most false sense of the phrase. Phoenixes who saved villages or healed the sick just did not exist. No good magical creature did.
And then the strange man demanded not only that Edgeworth find what didn’t exist, but to bring it out of the forest and back to the manor for the man to keep. As if that was what Edgeworth did.
Yes, fine, Edgeworth was a bounty hunter. That was hard to argue against. But he wasn’t just a help-for-hire. He killed monsters. He didn’t seek them out and drag them to places they shouldn’t ever see.
But von Karma had seemed pleased. The cold glare he had given Edgeworth from across the table that told him all he needed to know. You will take this job, it said. End of discussion. That was the end of that.
So he’d followed the book, that absolute farce of an “anthology” if he’d ever seen one, and traveled for weeks just to come to this one spot. Edgeworth comes across a looming tree, its branches hanging low to the earth. They brush the ground in gentle droves. At least the book had gotten something right. However, as Edgeworth touches its bark, it doesn’t even hum back. Something is definitely wrong, he thinks, where has the magic gone?
Something dives at his head from above. He only just barely misses it, ducking his head mere moments before it swoops up and away out of sight. Definitely bird-like. And this is the grove. This is the tree. Edgeworth unsheathes a dagger he keeps in his pocket and creeps along the forest floor.
That is when the viper sneaks out from the brush.
Not a basilisk, Edgeworth checks as he’s running away. Which, thank the heavens and all that is real. If it were a basilisk, Edgeworth would most certainly be dead. He might still be yet, the thing is huge. Maybe twelve feet long and a couple wide. But it’s missing the chicken’s head and feathered tail and holy shit Miles, move out of the way or it's going to eat you-
Edgeworth dodges, but only barely. One of the creature’s spines cuts his cheek. When he pulls away a hand, it comes with blood. He grimaces. Well, then. Edgeworth didn’t wake up this morning thinking that he would be killing any magical creatures today. But he’ll consider it a bonus.
Tossing the dagger aside, Edgeworth instead draws his sword. Mitsurugi, it had been named so long ago. But in the midst of battle, the name of the weapon isn’t important so much as being able to swing and decapitate the viper.
The first swing misses. The second does not.
It pierces just below the thing’s jaw. But it does not die- no, that would be too easy, wouldn’t it? Edgeworth frowns, his brow furrowing as the viper continues to move its large body towards him.
Right, is the very stupid and poorly timed thought that goes through his mind. I guess this is it then. Good try, I suppose. And that would be a rather pathetic last thought to have, wouldn’t it?
Its jaw is open and it's almost on top of Edgeworth before something red and orange bursts from the sky and shoots itself through the viper’s eye. The viper makes a sound not unlike the scream Edgeworth is currently making as he scoots back further into the glade.
It is the bird. A phoenix.
Edgeworth takes a moment to note the luck of the situation. Then he rushes forward to grip his sword with two hands, pull it out just a bit, and jam it back into the viper’s jaw.
The thing’s eyes widen, then fade. The viper is dead. The bird, which is covered in blood and bits of eye, crawls out of the viper’s eye socket with a sound that’s adjacent to a tired sigh. Edgeworth takes the moment to grab for the bird’s leg. It burns a bit through the gloves.
He swears the little bird rolls its eyes.
It would be cliché to say the phoenix is as light as a feather, but. Well. Sometimes clichés are true. The bird hangs loosely from where Edgeworth is holding it, wings spread without purpose. It almost seems bored. Edgeworth hates those types of creatures the most. The ones with attitudes. But at the very least they’re challenging.
Like von Karma said to do, Edgeworth searches for the tiny set of magically imbued chains and secures them around the bird’s legs. At least that makes it squirm, letting out chirps and trills. Edgeworth places a finger along its chest, pressing down lightly. It’s a reminder. I am much bigger and stronger than you. And weigh one hundred and sixty pounds more. One wrong move and that is it for you, little bird . It stops fidgeting.
With his other hand, Edgeworth checks along the bird’s wing. A single black feather on either underside, said the book. Tucked underneath the coverts. Hidden.
And there it is. Dark, small and condemning.
Edgeworth glances back at the bird’s little black eyes. They are closed. It’s breathing far too heavy for such a creature, only the size of a decently fed falcon. Such a timid creature is the famed phoenix? A myth among magic?
It’s pathetic. The viper took more work.
Edgeworth ponders back to the silence of the Woods. He can hear the faint humming returning now. Where had it gone? He glances at the viper again, narrowing his eyes as he gets a better grasp on the bird, wrapping his hands around it’s folded wings. Did the viper cause the lull in the magic? Was it the phoenix? It’s body is still rising and body in quick succession. The fear is finally setting in.
The thing should be grateful, though. Edgeworth has been specifically asked not to kill the bird. To bring it home alive. Whatever happens after Edgeworth returns is not his business, but the bird has a couple more weeks at the very least.
Edgeworth secures the bird against his side and walks out of the glade, his legs sore and bruised. The phoenix squirms lightly but it’s clearly disheartened. Edgeworth has a feeling that by the time he gets back to his camp this bird will have completely given up.
…
Edgeworth is, for the most part, correct. There’s not much activity once they make it far enough from the tree and back towards where he’s made camp. The phoenix seems almost… sated. It sits limp in his hand, its head resting lightly on his thumb. Impulsively, he wants to touch its feathers. Bird’s feathers are soft, aren’t they? But Edgeworth knows better. Already his gloves are starting to smoke and his mind screams move, you’re getting burned. He pushes through it. This is not all that much pain, he tells himself. You have dealt with far worse.
Edgeworth holds back a shiver. Bad thought. He banishes it to the back of his mind and takes a breath.
The phoenix ever so suddenly shrieks, impaling its tiny and serrated beak into Edgeworth’s hand. Edgeworth, in a moment of weakness, lets go. More blood, he thinks. His hand and cheek are wet with it. The little bird rights its wings and scrambles out of his hand.
And right into his dog’s mouth.
Thank the heavens for Pess.
Her beautiful white snout caught the bird’s wing in what looks like a very uncomfortable position. The phoenix cries insistently. But Pess is careful to not bite down. She simply holds him in her mouth, sitting down on the ground. As she lays her long head on her paws, Edgeworth gives her a smile.
“Good girl,” he whispers, bending down to give her the affection she so rightfully deserves. Her tail thumps on the grass. The bird trills and Pess growls around it.
She isn’t much of a hunting dog- she’s far too sweet. Edgeworth is surprised she even had the thought to catch the phoenix before it dove away. But he would never take her into the true fray of the Woods- gentle Pess, fighting off vipers and nymphs? Edgeworth will leave that to himself and Mitsurugi. Pess, meanwhile, will stay here in the camp and guard his things. Still in the woods- still in danger- but it’s the least he can do.
Pess traps the bird in her paws and licks its little head. Even though it must be hot, Pess makes no mention of the temperature of the feathers.
With his head practically buried in the warm surface of Pess’ fur, Edgeworth notices the wing that Pess caught is definitely bent in a bad, bad way. But he supposes a damaged bird is better than a dead bird.
He is sure to keep a careful eye on the two animals as he sheds his armor and checks for wounds. Nothing too bad. A few bruises, some cuts that are already starting to heal over. He’s certainly thankful for his strong constitution. It’s been the deciding factor between life or death several times.
When he glances over, Pess is grooming the bird’s wings like an apology. Edgeworth rolls his eyes and slides his gloves back on.
It takes but a moment to snatch the bird up and shove it into the little cage he had bought at the barren market in the last town before the Woods had begun. Pess whines a little. Edgeworth chains the phoenix’s leg to the cage regardless.
“Pess,” he says quietly. “Watch this beast for me. And I’ll give you all the best treats in the morning, darling.” He holds her head in his hands. Her tongue lolls out.
Then Edgeworth lays down and is greeted by the sensation of the earth shaking beneath him, the image of a blade pierced through his kind father’s heart.
…
Waking the next morning, Edgeworth finds the cage intact and the bird still inside. Pess has her nose pressed against the bars and her head resting on the ground between her paws. Honestly, Edgeworth is the most disheveled thing in the Woods this morning. He sits up with a sigh.
The nightmares are constant. It could be considered the only consistent thing in his life- he may be going from forest to forest, village to village, but he will always be followed by the plague of visions when his eyes close.
Edgeworth wipes at his face. There is still a layer of sweat on his forehead and he’s sure there are bags under his eyes. But he still fixes his armor to his body and begins the day.
The phoenix is quiet still. Edgeworth has never seen a creature so unshakable from slumber. Perhaps that’s how it avoided human contact for so long, Edgeworth snarks to himself. It sleeps right through it.
Edgeworth grabs a small treat from his bag and feeds it to Pess, his wonderful girl, and picks up the cage. It’s ice-cold. Impulsively, Edgeworth teaches a hand into the cage and touches the bird with his bare hands.
It is soft, is the first thought. So, so soft. Like silk and velvet under his fingers. But it is freezing. Where did the warmth go…?
He retracts his hand and begins to worry. Edgeworth knows next to nothing about phoenixes. No one really does. He’s still convinced that half of the mythos surrounding this tiny bird is incorrect. But is this lack of body heat something that comes with sleep? Or is the bird dying? Is it some sort of trick?
Not wanting to risk it, Edgeworth reaches in and secures the bird to his hand, wrapping the chain around his wrist. It’s limp. Is it dead…?
No. A slow, slow heartbeat thuds against his fingertips. Carefully, Edgeworth spreads the injured wing out. He might as well.
Edgeworth spends his morning wrapping a makeshift splint around the wing of a phoenix, a creature that rightfully should not exist. A creature that Edgeworth should not be helping in any form or fashion. Pess tries to nose her way to her new best friend- not that Edgeworth is jealous of a bird - but Edgeworth pushes her away.
Suddenly, without any warning, the feathers start to burn against his skin and the bird darts into the air. It doesn’t get too far, though- the chain wrapped around its leg connecting back to Edgeworth is one thing, but the splinted wing doesn’t help either.
Edgeworth tsks in disapproval. “You’re not getting very far, sorry.” And then he realizes he is talking to a bird, and frowns to himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You don’t talk to these creatures, Miles Edgeworth. They are not worth your time, intones his sister’s voice in his head. It’s a good reminder of what he should be doing, which is pulling down the bird and shoving it back in the cage.
But- mystically- the phoenix seems to understand. It awkwardly rounds back around to Edgeworth with an angry look in its dark eyes, and lets out a sound that’s a bit more admirable than the chirps it was mostly making yesterday. Pess barks back.
Acting against his own advice, Edgeworth continues, “You’re not going anywhere. So I wouldn’t even try, beast. You’re coming with me and that’s the end of it. So stop it with your racket.”
The phoenix- the stupid bird- rolls its eyes. Actually. Physically. As the bird goes to open its beak to inevitably squawk obscenities at him, Edgeworth pulls on the chain and the bird stumbles in the air. That makes him smirk a bit. Prideful bird. He has no room to have sass-
He. Edgeworth shakes his head. This bird is messing with his mind. He can’t wait to be rid of the beast.
Eventually the bird gets tired of barely maintaining a hover and settles on Edgeworth’s wrist. The talons dig in just a bit, burning his skin. Edgeworth winces. The bird seems triumphant.
Edgeworth packs up camp and drags the bird along. The thing never stops moving, always squirming and making things difficult. Already, Edgeworth is tired of this job.
…
He and Pess have a steady rhythm to their walking. After years of companionship, it’s a given. They walk at the same pace and stop on the same beat. Pess nudges his leg with her nose and Edgeworth knows she’s heard something. Edgeworth puts a hand on her head and she looks to see what he wants her to investigate.
The bird messes it up near instantly.
It hums and trills and flaps its broken wing. And because it’s broken, the phoenix cries in pain and looks in agony at Edgeworth. This, of course, distresses Pess, who whines at the bird. She feels bad, Edgeworth realizes. But the bird turns away and refuses to acknowledge the poor dog, resting in the crook of Edgeworth’s arm. And then the cycle begins again. Stupid bird, stupid bird, stupid bird, Edgeworth thinks on repeat.
Edgeworth dumps the phoenix at Pess’ feet when they stop to eat. Pess, pounding her tail up and down, licks the bird’s head. The phoenix looks up at him with betrayal. As if there had ever been any trust to begin with. He smirks from several feet away as Pess grooms the bird. Feathers stick every which direction. Steam rises off her tongue.
When Edgeworth takes the bird back, it breathes out a sigh of relief. So human-like. Magical creatures are usually… different, but this is beyond that.
Edgeworth nods at the bird. It nods back. He winks, the bird copies. He holds one of Pess’ treats in the air, sets it down, and says, “Wait.” The bird does not listen. But it’s purposeful. Deliberate. It waits a long three moments, looking up at Edgeworth with large eyes, then swoops down and eats it.
It understands him. But it’s a bird, he thinks incredulously. A bird… who winks and glares and sings a tune that sounds oddly similar to Greensleeves. What the hell.
Edgeworth wishes that it was Franziska who had taken this job. She wouldn’t be fazed by this. But then he’d be stuck in the manor with von Karma. So Edgeworth decides, alright, yes , a strange bird is just fine.
…
Most mornings, Edgeworth lays still on his bedspread and pretends to sleep. In reality, he’s actually been awake for hours. He’s exhausted. But there’s no rush to move and maybe, just maybe, if he rests for a little while longer he’ll feel a little less drained.
Any sense of the peace he longs for disappears when he hears a voice.
“I know, I know. I get it. He’s your master. But he’s also a giant dick, so. I think this is warranted,” says a hushed voice. Edgeworth stills, listens.
Pess- Pess? - shuffles a few feet away and whines. “This has been a lot of fun. Mr. Edgeworth sure is… interesting, yeah. But I have plenty of places to be, girl. I can’t stay. And I’m starting to get worried…”
They know his name. They know my name. Abandoning the wait and see mindset, Edgeworth makes a grab for Mitsurugi and thrusts it forward. But it hits nothing.
No one. There is no one there. Just Pess, smiling with her sharp canines and her tongue hanging over her teeth. Just Pess and…
The phoenix, head sticking out of the cage. It has wide eyes and its beak is ajar, staring at Edgeworth with fear. As if he had caught the phoenix speaking. No. No, no no no no no. No. Edgeworth lets out a wheezy laugh. No way. That would be impossi-
“Uh,” says the bird. The bird. “You’re dreaming.”
Edgeworth almost listens to it. He almost turns over and closes his eyes to resume his false sleep. But he doesn’t. Because this isn’t a dream. It couldn’t be. But- what is-
“What?!”
The bird grins sheepishly. “You must’ve eaten something really, really gross. Actually, the past few days have all been a dream. A big old fever dream. So when you wake up and I’m not here…”
“How do you know my name?!” Edgeworth practically spits out.
“It’s a dream. Duh.” The bird shrugs, bending down to preen under its wings. “I’m part of your brain. In fact, phoenixes don’t exist. I’m just a figment of your imagination. Stay away from the liquor next time, big guy. Now uh… could you loosen this chain a bit? Since we’re dream pals? And none of this matters. Cause you’re gonna wake up and-”
Edgeworth narrows his eyes. “No. You bit my hand. I know you’re real.”
“I didn’t bite you. Birds can’t bite. We don’t have teeth. Well, most of us, anyways, it’s the weird ones that have teeth…”
“Yes they can- ngogh! No, stop trying to-“ Edgeworth groans, shooting up from his cot and stomping over to the bird. It tries to hide behind Pess, who’s happy mood hasn’t waned. “I know you’re real. Stop your incessant chatter.”
“Rude.”
“You’re a bird! I don’t care!” He snatches the chain from where it’s wrapped in the cage, pulling the bird to him.
“Oh my gosh be careful with that,” it squeals, diving in and out of the air. “It hurts when you pull it too hard, asshole.”
“Good.”
It stops its never-ending movement to huff at him. “You know, I wouldn’t be trying to escape if you were a tad less bitchy. ”
Edgeworth tugs again and frowns. “Such a vulgar creature. Aren’t you supposed to represent life and purity?”
“I didn’t come up with what I ‘represent’. That was all you guys. I am definitely not pure, thank you.”
His brain is about to explode. He wants to strangle this bird and throw himself in a lake. “Stop. Talking.”
“No,” the bird shakes his head. “Now that I can talk, that’s all I want to do! I hated being silent but I was hoping you’d just move on and let me go. Because I was just a normal bird? But no . Of course not. You’re actually quite stubborn, did you know that, Edgeworth?”
“How do you know my name?” Edgeworth pulls the phoenix even closer.
“Uh,” it blinks. “Your dog told me. She’s a real sweetheart but she slobbers a bit too much.”
“My Pess does not slobber, ” Edgeworth growls, then does a double take. He is arguing… with a bird. A talking bird. Taking a deep breath, he starts again. “You can talk to my dog?”
“All animals. It’s a magic thing.”
“Yes,” Edgeworth says, voice light and breathy. “A magic thing. Obviously.”
“So… could you let me go?”
“No,” he snaps. His brow is so furrowed it’s beginning to hurt. “You are not going anywhere, foul creature. I don’t care if you can talk or sing or know my name because you can talk to my bloody dog. Any monster like you will not be leaving my sights now that you’ve entered them.”
The phoenix huffs. “Yikes. That’s… yikes.“
Enough of this, Edgeworth thinks to himself. This is… grating. It was bad enough before. But now that the beast speaks, Edgeworth will never be at peace again. He takes the bird and puts it back in the cage where it belongs, this stupid bird, stupid bird, even though it makes as much goddamn noise as it possibly can. He locks it tight even though it will upset Pess and sits back down on his cot.
“Edgeworth! Edgeworth! Did I upset you? Look, you upset me first with the whole kidnapping thing-“
Regret starts to seep into his body, trailing up his legs and spilling into his brain. This bird was going to kill him.