#Only to cry victim as soon as the wind changes

[bmoreisapunkrocktown]

I remember an article I read a while back by a phone sex operator who was talking about sex work as a labor industry, and she was saying that one of the best and most freeing things about her job was the ability to hang up.

She said that she used to work at a hotel, and every night a man would call and masturbate over the phone. The more uncomfortable the front desk operator was, the more he did it. It was not only company policy that they couldn't end the call no matter what, but when reported to the police, they didn't do anything because it isn't illegal (apparently).

The difference between working at the hotel and working for the phone line was that 1) she could work from home and 2) that when a caller broke the rules, she could hang up. And she could block them so they didn't call again.

What constitutes a threat and what constitutes a crime are always things that are weighted against populations they're meant to be weighted against. Many years ago, someone was arrested for making fun of the police on Twitter. Those same police told someone being stalked and harassed through Twitter that there simply was no way to track individual accounts and they should just log off.

I think there's something to be said that saying the words "Deny, Defend, Depose, you're next" to an insurance sales rep can get you arrested for 'threats of mass homicide' or whatever with a threat of 15 years in prison

But when I was a manager in a fast food restaurant I've had customers throw food at me, demand for my personal phone number with an added threat of "Well I'll just have to FIND it", customers charging past the front counter to physically intimidate me and my coworkers, screaming and swearing, demands to know what time I get out of work, demands to know when my manager would be at work as a threat, people sitting in their car waiting for me to finish closing because they were angry at me, causing me to stay in the office watching the camera waiting for them to drive away...

But none of those incidents are arrest-able offenses, not one, any time I called the cops on any customer I would just hear excuses like " "there isn't anything illegal about calling a restaurant", that nothing physical happened and therefore there's nothing they could do, to call back and let them know if anything else happens

Idk, just think it's A TEENY TINY BIT ODD

Cop in the news goes "words have consequences" as if people don't berate and threaten fast food and retail workers every day

[morganitering]

Because I'm the Weakest II: The Women Who Never Won

Pairings/character dynamics: Satosugu, Shoko and reader, Nanami and reader, implied shoko x utahime

Contains and warnings: DARK FIC/DEAD DOVE fem!reader, Suicidal ideation, rape aftermath, referenced rape (not written out in this chap), depression, alcohol abuse, misogyny & sexism, internalized sexism, sexual harassment on minors done by minors, victim blaming (thoughts), self harm, angst, hurt & comfort, I call noncon with the official word for it

Word count: ~9,6k

Summary: There's certain desperation when you try to keep your head above water. You were drowning and all you wanted to do was to forget, the weight on your shoulders unbearable. Despite the cards you were dealt with you found yourself among allies as the web of untold memories started to unfold.

A/N: Hey! Yall waited long for this, sorry about that. I have no idea how to tag this but I'll just do it somehow, bc this is a tricky chapter. Here yall get to dive deeper in the stuff that has gone down before the events that took place in 1st chap and get a hug from Shoko. This is hopefully the last installment of this. Read the tags carefully as always and make informed decisions based on that and take care of yourself. Shit can get heavy, but I'm trying to do this in good taste.

Read on ao3 part I

Shoko Ieiri had worked a long time with people who suffered. She had seen it all, limbs cut off, even the toughest of sorcerers reduced to crying messes as they practically had their innards falling to the floor. There’s something utterly horrifying watching a patient, no – a friend scream in pain when even her skills were not enough. Funerals came and went, the white sheet thrown over the deceased on the operation table in the same routine way she’d change her linens. Nothing really shocked her. 

That’s what she liked to think. 

Your visits have been more frequent. It started with bruises and sprained ankles. Then it was broken bones that soon turned to puncture wounds, your clothes sticky with deep red and dirt. When she asked about it, you laughed it off saying it’s nothing, just a silly little mishap, “I was too reckless in the heat of the moment.”  But your eyes were empty, your words hollow like a dead tree. Of course Shoko did her job, without asking too much. You’re an adult and you’ll speak about it if you want to, right? Her job was to keep you alive. Your job was to exorcise curses. 

Shoko and you had been close too, hanging out with the two men, but at some point in high school she had withdrawn from the group. Gojo and Geto had tried to keep in touch with her in adulthood, inviting her as well to spend time together as the four of them, but she had always declined, smoothly changing their relationship to acquaintances at best. She heard enough of the despicable men from you. The only times she was in direct contact with Gojo and Geto was work related and god how she hoped that it would stay that way. She’ll play that pretend game almost happily. 

Shoko closed the office door the day turning to evening, sundown coloring the city in hues of orange and yellow. She held onto her little black purse, thankfully it was friday. A man stood on the long corridor, standing upright as if he did not belong here. He looked indifferent, almost bored.

“Nanami.” 

“Ieiri.” 

They greeted each other with a curt nod. 

“So what brings you here? You seem healthy enough,” Shoko asked as they walked to the open parking lot, only a few cars in sight. The warm summer sun caressed her cheeks, wind making her long hair flow in waves.

“I think she’s going through something,” Nanami stated as a matter of fact talking about you. He and you had gone on missions together, but something about you wasn’t right. He had seen the way you clutch your weapon, throw yourself at the enemy recklessly almost as if you had a death wish. It’s like you waited for your end. 

“No shit.” Shoko chuckled amused. It was as clear as a day if you just had eyes on yourself. “Why do you care?” 

“I’ve seen enough people spiral to know where it leads. You’re a healer, can’t you help?” His voice was thoughtful, not betraying a hint of emotions. 

“I can’t help a person who doesn’t want it,” Shoko said. “But I’ll try to figure something out.” 

“And that is enough. Thank you.” 

***

You hated meetings and rarely took part in them if you could avoid them. You had not met Gojo or Geto after the unfortunate night. If there were some work related things where there was a possibility to meet either of the men, you requested to be part of them remotely or that someone would just forward the key points. But after doing this for a few months Yaga had sent you a passive-aggressive email writing that it is absolutely mandatory for you to show yourself at least once in a while. You didn’t bother to answer him with anything other than a polite see you there.

Honestly you were tired. Your whole body ached in overexertion. Sleep escaped from you, ran a marathon around the block never stopping at your house, and every time you seemed to catch a break, hazy images you rather forbid being real filled your vision. Your eyebags told a story of exhaustion, your body shrinking in every possible way away. You went to see a doctor, not Shoko, just some normal practitioner from the private sector that you ended up paying yourself sick for. 

The doctor gave you pills to help you with sleep. He asked you if you were stressed or going through some sorts of crisis. You answered with a diligent no and explained that you’ve always had issues with sleep, but you were otherwise okay. He looked at you, raising his eyebrow in suspicion, the glasses on his head hung on his nose by a thread. He decided to believe you as he wrote the prescription, but insisted you took home pamphlets about depression and crisis hotlines. 

You tried the pills. You did fall asleep, but only after a panic attack wrecked through your body as the effect of the medication forced you into a deep slumber. The pills made you feel your pulse in your whole body. “It’s a quite strong product, previously used to treat psychosis, but nowadays it’s for patients with severe insomnia. Take it one hour before sleep. The effect might be really sudden.”  

When you woke up you decided to throw them away. It’s better to not to sleep if it meant that you’d go free from the horrors of the night you had experienced. 

The huge meeting table sprawled out horizontally and was able to sit around fifteen people in it. It had several small electric outlets for computers and tablets. Light poured in from the big windows, the blinds only halfway done. You stared at the weird scribbling on the white board that Principal Yaga was wiping furiously, muttering things about how students shouldn’t be let in this room under any circumstance since they can’t differentiate which markers are okay to use on it. 

You exchanged pleasantries with him. The room was devoid of people since you were too early. You swung your leather bag on the back of the upholstered office chair and sat yourself down.

Shoko walked in and her face lit up a little bit when she saw you sitting there. It was subtle, you thought that you were maybe the only one who could differentiate that expression from her. She sat next to you, a faint hint of neroli wrapping you to its calming aroma. 

Next came Meimei and then Utahime who came running to you two giving a happy hug to Shoko. They were so cute together, you thought to yourself as you fidgeted with your slightly too big shoes, constantly removing them and pushing them back to your feet. People don’t usually like small talk, but nonetheless the group chatted with each other. They had to, because it’s polite and you were coworkers. You thought that small talk was easy. The script of it was burnt to your brains for the rest of your life. You get to keep people at an arm's length and keep up appearances, so what’s there not to like? 

A familiar blonde man stood in the doorway. You checked your phone for the time. Only five minutes before the official start. Yuki also appeared after Nanami.  

“Hello,” he said and nodded at you as he sat himself next to you. Your whole body stiffened around him. It was hard to look him in the eyes and even harder to work missions with.

It was ten minutes past the official time when the meeting was supposed to start. 

“Sorry we are late.” Two men marched in the room with confident strides and took their place in front of you facing you, that was sitting in between Nanami and Shoko, Utahime next to the doctor. Suguru sat down next to Yuki leaving a space for Satoru who had Meimei next to him. 

Hearing Suguru’s voice made your skin crawl. 

“It’s fine,” Yaga said and looked over his shoulder to look at the white screen he had pulled down earlier with only a blue screen reflecting on the fabric. “I can’t seem to get this work anyway,” he mumbled. 

“Do you need help?” Suguru walked over to the man struggling over his laptop. “Have you checked the HDMI-cable?” 

“Of course I have, I just don’t understand why it won't work. We have Ijichi remote today,” he muttered partially to himself.  

“Let me.” 

You sat fidgeting on your chair focusing on everything else than the two men and their presence that suffocated you. If you were a candle they’d be snuffing you out but not properly, no, that would be too kind. They’d always let enough air in so that you’d never be completely put out. 

“Hello to you girls.. and Nanami,” Satoru flashed a playful grin at the four of you. Your head jerked involuntarily to look at the man. Thank god he has a habit of covering his eyes, but somehow that made him even worse. 

“Hello. How are you?” Nanami nodded politely. 

“I’m well. Hopefully the work isn’t stressing you out too much.” Satoru’s smile widened. 

“Speaking of work, I’ve heard that you and her have started doing missions together,” Satoru nudged his head towards you as he spoke directly to Nanami. “I actually green lighted the idea of sorcerers working more together. It’s good to practice teamwork and I put in good words for the two of you, since you compliment each other with the techniques you have. ” Satoru moved his head to look your way as he drew out his words in a way that you’d be sure to catch the dual meaning.

The wall flashed a few times showing the computer screen and it’s default wallpaper for only a moment and after that went back to blue. 

“An idea that I actually can get behind,” Nanami said agreeably. 

Your eye twitched. 

“Really? That was your doing?” You barely hid the anger of your voice. One more push and you’d pour your life savings on an amoral hitman, not that you’d believe that anyone could finish him off. It was a thought just for you so you could at least think about being mean in your own petty way. 

“Not a fan of working in groups of two? How about in groups of three?” 

“You fucking piece of-” 

“Okay I think it’s working now,” Yaga put his hands together straightening himself properly. Suguru walked over to Satoru, slightly shaking his head before he sat down. You heard Utahime’s quiet “okayy..” whispered in the awkward silence. 

“Unfortunately principal Gakuganji wasn’t able to make it today, he’s sick or something.”

You heard Gojo scoff audibly. 

“Try to respect him.” Yaga shot a glare in the young teacher’s way. 

“Ijichi and Nitta have gathered data about the hotspots of cursed activity,” he continued and opened up the window to teams only to be greeted by a tired looking black haired man in a suit. The background behind him was red, it looked like some type of wallpaper and small paintings covered the walls. You reckoned it was a hotel room. Or a motel, you really could not tell. 

“Ijichi, do you hear me? Would you like to take over?” Yaga’s voice boomed louder as if he wasn’t already near his computer. 

The grainy picture of the tired man smiling uncomfortably stayed still a little too long to be taken as a real time reaction to Yaga’s question. 

“I hear you. Sorry, the connection here is a bit bad.” Ijichi’s voice echoed in the office room. The picture of a slideshow appeared on the wall, making Ijichi’s face smaller. 

The map of Tokyo loomed on the wall as everyone stared at it intensely, more or less dozing off. Some parts of it had big red circles on them and Ijichi explained the way these places were having exceptionally heavy activity. He reckoned that partially the rise in activity tied to the sorcerers working more missions together leaving less people available. Ijichi also showed statistics comparing the effectiveness of sorcerers based in Tokyo and Kyoto. 

You were about to lose your mind, your body still pumping adrenaline after the conversation with Gojo. Everyone else seemed to be bored, oblivious to your struggle. Satoru had yawned at least three times in the last ten minutes, Shoko and Utahime were both interested in their nails. Even Suguru looked tired and he was pretty good at hiding his thoughts. The only ones who did not look outwardly dead inside were Yaga and Nanami. 

“Thank you Ijichi for your hard work,” Yaga said and Ijichi nodded smiling. The pop up of the slideshow vanished from the screen leaving Ijichi’s face in a huge resolution looming onto the wall. 

“We are going to take in account the effects of pairing up sorcerers. I’m not entirely in charge of how long this trial will take,” Yaga said. “Ieiri has this trial affected the health care aspect in any way?” 

Shoko cleared her throat tapping open the ipad in front of her, her nails making a satisfying click click sound. 

“The injuries have lessened,” she started. That’s good, you thought. “But the severity has increased,” she said with a serious face.

“Why is that?” Principal scrunched his eyebrows together. 

“In my professional opinion it is due to people being more brazen when having a partner. This can be seen especially in lower grade sorcerers, who are prone to believing that they are invincible when someone backs them up.” Everyone had turned to look at the doctor who played with her hair idly as she spoke. 

“And the second grade and up?”

“It happens less. But there are some, even first grade sorcerers, who are accident prone,” Shoko said and quickly looked at you, not long enough for others to pick up on that she was speaking about you.

Gojo’s phone rang in the middle of the conference. He left the room with an apology and never came back. Relief and anger ignited in you playing tug of war in your heart as your eyes followed him bitterly.

“I think this is all. I’ll send everyone the upcoming jobs, but if no one has anything to say, I think we can conclude this meeting here,” Yaga said, the choir of thank yous and goodbyes filling the room. 

You stretched yourself, happy to be on your feet again. 

“Hey, can we talk?” Nanami tried to get your attention. 

You stood in the room that was quickly emptying out of people. Shoko awkwardly hung around in a small distance from you and Nanami, trying to pretend that she wasn’t listening to your conversation. 

“I don’t entirely understand the conversation between you and Gojo, but if I have somehow disrespected you I offer my deepest apologies.” Nanami’s voice was soft. Your heart ached as you realized how bad your words must have appeared to him. 

“I’m so sorry. It’s not about you. You’ve done nothing..” You trailed off as you saw the tall curse eating man walk outside with a sly smile on his lips.

“That’s a relief but if I may be so blunt, I have a hunch that there is something bothering you,” Nanami said. 

You looked at him and chewed your lower lip nervously. This was all their fault. If they had not done what they did, you would not be in this position. The least they could have done is to keep the names of people you know out of their mouths. 

“I’m sorry to leave you hanging like this, but can we finish this conversation later?” You  hurried past him, only hearing Nanami mumble the word ‘sure’ like a kicked puppy and you said goodbye to Shoko agreeing on staying in touch with her.

The corridor was almost empty as you walked through the school building frantically searching for that bastard of a man. Your footsteps echoed on the wood as you arrived at a not so well known exit of the building. Geto stood in front of the dual doors, half heartedly pushing it open as he furiously wrote something on his phone. 

You yelled out his name, but he did not bother to react to you. You closed in on the man that was still standing back towards you. Anger surged in you as adrenaline made you braver than what you normally would be. You were supposed to just grab the ends of his hair that were sprawled across his back, but in the heat of the moment your impulse control had another lapse as you kept on raising your hand. A fist closed around the bun that had been carefully crafted on his scalp and you dug your fingers around the hair tie and then yanked, hard. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” He turned around stepping out of the doorway letting it close properly with a thump and he closed the distance between you for good. His eyes shot daggers at you. 

“You did not pay attention to me.” You shook your hand out of the spare strands that were stuck on your palm and offered the small hair tie back to him. 

“Well you got it now,” he hissed. “You can keep that as a souvenir. I don’t want anything that a filthy bitch like you has touched,” he said, the calm composure nowhere in sight. 

A filthy bitch? Really? Then maybe you should break up with Satoru if this is your deal breaker.. That’s what you wanted to say, but you held back your tongue. 

Geto took a deep breath, calming himself down, slipping on the mask that you were more used to seeing. He put his phone back in his pocket.

“What do you want?” 

“You told me,” you started, tears threatening to flow over. “You told me that I can just leave and do whatever I want. Why do you keep tormenting me? Why do you let Gojo do what he does?” Your voice broke as you started crying openly. You hated it, it made you weak. No. You were weak. 

“Firstly, I’m not his guardian. He can do what he wants.” He sounded like a smartass. 

“Second of all, never. And I repeat. Never, lay a hand on me ever again, especially on my hair.” You rolled your eyes. 

Of course it was the hair that ticked him off completely. It was his crown, the only thing he had ever been able to take care of besides Satoru. Suguru loved to flaunt himself as the calm one, the kind one, but the exterior had always had some cracks in it. No amount of paint was able to hide the rotten wall behind it. 

“I can forgive your outburst at Satoru’s, but now that you’re in your right mind, you won’t get second chances.” 

“I don’t want ‘second chances’. I want you to leave me the fuck alone so I can do my job,” you yelled at him. 

“Lower your voice. Or do you want to air out all the dirty laundry for everyone?” Geto hushed you. 

“It’s not my ‘laundry’, it’s fucking yours!” You roared and tears fell down your cheeks blurring your vision. Your face felt hot as it got wrapped in the wrath of your words. 

Geto did not answer you, instead he chose to stare you down, not moving at all as if he was a statue. He looked like a child throwing a tantrum when things did not go his way, his face contorting to a sneer that could challenge any rich spoiled brat. You panted and wiped your face with the rough backside of your palm. 

“Move.”

“Ladies first,” he snickered childishly and kicked open the heavy door with his foot as he stepped slightly to the side. God this man hangs out too much with Gojo. 

As you left the school grounds barely holding your breakdown away, there was one figure in the corridors hugging the wall near the exit, clutching onto her purse. 

***

SHOKO’S MEMORIES, 2006

“Truth or dare?” Satoru asked, popping the pink bubblegum in the air, sucking the sticky material back in his mouth to chew on loudly. 

“Truth,” Shoko said, placing another cigarette in her mouth. She smoked especially heavily when she was drinking. 

Satoru had managed to bring a whole six pack of beer to the picnic whereas Suguru had found a travel size vodka bottle from his parents. Shoko had brought a package of different berries and salty crackers with her. 

“If you could have any technique in the world, which one would you have?” Satoru asked. He looked at the clear blue sky and the way the summer breeze pushed on the white clouds. 

Shoko played with the corner of the blanket as she thought deeply about his question. She stared at the shoes she had placed on the grass and the manicure on her toes that Utahime had insisted on putting on her. 

“I think I’d keep this one,” she smiled wistfully. 

“Really? You wouldn’t want my powers?” Satoru looked at her tilting his head to the side. He spat out the chewing gum and placed it on the plastic lid that belonged to the packaging of berries. He did not like it when things ran out of flavor, always searching for something more. 

“No. I don’t envy you at all. I just want a happy life and that’s all” Shoko answered his gaze, with a gentle smile. “Besides, I like the way I am and I suppose I can help people like this,” she added. 

Satoru hummed. He was clearly dissatisfied with the answer. 

He did not exactly know why. 

“Satoru, that's sad. You should ask something fun,” Suguru pointed out and took a sip from the beer can. 

The three of them sat on a grassy hill that had a pretty decent view of the city and the park below it. Shoko leaned against the huge tree behind her back. The cicadas were performing their own concert with the hum of motorways working as their orchestra.  

“You figure out better questions then,” Satoru pouted, but wasn’t actually hurt. 

“Isn’t it my turn to ask though?” 

Shoko looked in the distance watching closely how a woman jogged with her shiba inu, her ponytail swishing in the same rhythm as the chord of her headphones. Both men nodded slightly out of sync. 

“Satoru truth or dare?” 

“Truth.” 

“Who’s the hottest person you know?” Her eyes twinkled teasingly. 

“Waka Inoue of course. She’s sexy as hell!” Satoru slapped his hand on his heart as if he was saluting. 

“Really? You still have a crush on her?” Suguru questioned. It was his turn to pout. “Am I not enough?” 

“Baby you’re plenty, but you can’t replace a huge rack,” Satoru’s voice was steady as if he was talking about the most important thing in the whole world. 

“I can’t argue with that.” Suguru sighed defeatedly, his shoulders slumping down dramatically. 

“Ugh. I shouldn’t have asked that. Both of you are so weird and gross about women,” Shoko grimaced regretting her decisions and lifted the cigarette to her mouth as if to cover the bad taste of Satoru’s words. 

The man in sunglasses ignored the criticizing words. “Suguru. Truth or dare?” 

“Dare.” 

“I dare you to share this,” Satoru lifted up a huge strawberry. “Like in Lady and the Tramp with Shoko,” he referred to the scene where the two dogs shared a spaghetti meal, eventually kissing. 

“That’s too small!” Shoko protested immediately, shaking her head. The idea of doing that with Suguru made her feel iffy. 

“I’m game if she is,” Suguru said and offered his palm to Satoru who plopped the berry in his hands. 

Shoko had a nervous giggle come out of her. 

“C’mon, it’s just a game. You can always let go after like one bite. This is truth or dare afterall,” Satoru coaxed. 

“Fine. But I won’t kiss you, not even a peck.” Shoko established her own rule and rolled her eyes. She put out the cigarette on the grass and left the butt there. 

“We’ll see about that,” Suguru laughed and picked at the stem that got thrown over next to the chewed up gum. 

He awkwardly came closer to the young female student and placed the bigger end between his lips. He looked silly, the red end peeking out of his mouth. Suguru attempted at mouthing the words ‘come closer’, but neither Satoru or Shoko understood his words but the context clue carried the point to Shoko. 

She got on her knees sitting on top of her legs and straightened herself out. Suguru was way taller than her, even when he sat. Her face approached Suguru’s who had a pink tint on his cheeks from the alcohol he had drank.  

She opened her mouth and barely bit down on the smaller end, her tongue touching the bumpy texture of the strawberry. 

“Ready. Set. Go!” Satoru exclaimed, motioning finger guns happily. His gaze was completely glued on his two friends. 

Suguru closed his eyes and he started to carefully nibble, closing dangerously on Shoko’s lips. She bit quickly, not really tasting anything and began to pull away in hopes of Suguru calling it quits too. 

Unfortunately she wasn’t fast enough. The last bits of strawberry fell down on Shoko’s lap when Suguru pressed his lips against hers, a faint red trail dripping on her chin. She didn’t move and her eyes widened in shock. Shoko didn’t know what to do so she just held her hands on her lap. 

Suguru pet gently behind the girl’s head kissing her motionless lips. His hand trailed down to her neck and all the way to her shoulder. Shoko felt the sweet taste in her mouth mixing with the alcohol, stranger’s saliva and nicotine as Suguru dragged his hand to the mound of her breast. The warmth emanating from his palm was enough to bring her back to reality and Shoko pushed the bigger guy off of her. 

“Why did you do that?” she snapped and crossed her arms. 

“Oh don’t get angry now. Have a drink and chill out.” Satoru sighed. He shuffled awkwardly and placed the almost empty tote bag on his lap and grabbed a new beer can from there. Shoko narrowed her eyes in suspicion, but did not want to make room for any weird thoughts that would imply even weirder things. “It’s just a joke.” 

“This is not the first time you take jokes too far.”

Shoko looked away from the two boys, disappointment turning into an ache in her heart and wiped her chin clean from the strawberry. She slipped on the ballerinas laying on the ground. 

“Seriously? You’re leaving because of this?” Suguru tilted his head, his voice defensive.

Shoko threw her cigarettes and lighter in her own purse checking the blanket for other stuff she had. 

“Yeah, I am. I’m not having fun anymore.” Her voice was cold as she was attempting to hide the nervous tremble in her body and almost jumped up throwing the bag on her shoulder. She turned around, once again crossing her hands against her chest as if to protect herself and started walking.

“Hey! Don’t you want your blanket with you?” Satoru yelled after her. The two guys sat on the quilt completely bamboozled. 

“Keep it! I don’t need it!” 

She didn’t eat strawberries for the rest of the summer. 

***

“Hey you really should sing this one!” Shoko laughed as she scrolled through the song list.

“Whaat? No that’s not even funny,” you laughed and slapped her arm gently. 

“Is it really not? Or are you just a bore?” Shoko taunted getting ready to put the song on.

“Can we sing something from this?” You pointed at the category called 2000’s hits. 

“I’ll pick something at random and you’re just going to deal with it,” Shoko laughed clearly tipsy too after the multiple drinks you both had drank. 

The disco ball was spinning around the small room painting the walls in hues of blue, red and green. Nanami sat on the couch nursing his whiskey as he stared off into space. The upbeat music filled the room, bass shaking the ground underneath your feet.

It was the first time going out after the events at Gojo’s house. Shoko had basically begged you to come with her to get shit faced complaining that she really needed someone to rant with. You told her that Utahime was right there and would probably love to listen to her, but she claimed that the woman from Kyoto had other plans for the weekend.

After arriving at the karaoke bar you had been taken back after seeing the stoic blonde man at the venue. You weighed the option of immediately leaving in your head, but your conscience did not allow you to do so, after leaving him so rudely hanging in the meeting. When the three of you had gotten your own private room you decided to immediately order shots and drinks with the only goal of getting absolutely black out drunk tonight despite having Nanami there. 

It was honestly rare to see him after work as he had preferred to keep his distance. He was wearing the same clothing he always wore, dress shirt ironed, necktie perfectly hanging against his chest as if he was on the clock. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he were to whip out a cursed tool onto the bar table. 

You clutched onto the microphone singing unevenly as you danced to the beat, half of the syllables disappearing to you being out of breath. Shoko cackled, almost folding over as she kept slapping her thigh eyes watering. She had drunk a few drinks less than you and she had been exceptionally happy even before drinking. Truthfully Shoko was quite a heavy drinker and she definitely should not have been as wasted as what she appeared to be. 

Nanami stared at the both of you, raising the whiskey glass to his lips after checking his wrist watch. 

“Come here! Sing with us!” You yelled to the mic only getting a slightly alarmed expression out of him as he shook his head.

“I think I’m okay with watching you two perform,” he said. 

You pouted but kept on singing, your concentration skills nonexistent. You did not notice the way Shoko glared at him, nudging her head towards you as she pointed the microphone in her hand towards him. 

Nanami cleared his throat under the threatening gaze and clumsily got up. 

“Oh my god! Nanamiii!” You screamed the noise so high pitched that even the speakers were unable to handle it and you could see how Nanami cringed at the sound. 

Shoko squinted her eyes and mouthed the word sing to Nanami. Shoko was not going to deal with you alone. 

The combination of the pop song and Nanami’s voice made you giggle as you hurrayed him happily. He was not a bad singer by any means, but his voice did not fit the song choice. You wondered to yourself, why had you not gotten shitfaced earlier when you had all the good reasons to. 

Shoko decided to take a small break sitting on the spot where Nanami had been earlier and inspected the brown liquid swishing in the glass. She stole a sip from it when Nanami wasn’t watching, not really caring about the fact that it wasn’t her drink.

You grabbed your drink from the table and drank from it and you kept on singing happily, almost jumping around. Nanami looked at you with a terrified expression when you moved side to side with the drink spilling on your hand, but you did not notice the wetness of it. 

“Hey, put that down before you drop the glass,” Nanami said and gently tried to take the glass from you.

“No, I want to keep this,” a pout formed on your face but you still did what he told and turned around swiftly to place the drink on the counter. Your vision was blurry, the lights slightly too bright and you lost your balance tipping over the glass that was already safely on the table. You felt yourself starting to fall but a strong arm snaked around your waist to stabilize you. 

The world felt like it was stopping when the arm around you changed into a tight rope that pressed around your ribcage. The karaoke room changed inch by inch to a vast room with a wall made of windows with a night view of the streets of Tokyo. The shattered drink turned into a broken light bulb on the floor. You felt a hot breath on your skin, but your body had gotten cold. It was as if you had been dunked into ice water, all the earlier excitement completely vanished. The disco ball spun around casting blue lights on the white haired man’s face that ogled you like a piece of meat. The imagery was so vivid and real in your mind that you reacted on instinct, elbowing the man behind you. 

The rope vanished around you as the windows melted to the concrete floor, the shadows of city lights turned back to the tacky illumination of the disco ball. You felt the remnants of cursed energy fizzing out like a soda can as your eyes landed on Nanami, who was slightly hunched over holding onto his side the pain making him grimace. You had no idea how much force you had actually used, but probably quite a lot judging by the way Nanami was reacting. 

Shoko stood there completely still, eyes filled to the brim with worry and confusion. Her lips were ajar and she gulped down wanting to say something, but she did not know what. 

“My apologies. I didn't mean to touch you inappropriately,” Nanami managed to say. The music track played in the background, but it felt empty without a drunken voice guiding it. He was lucky to have good reflexes, instinctually protecting himself from the blow, otherwise Shoko would have had a patient off the clock. 

“Uh,” Your mouth gaped at him hopelessly. He had done nothing wrong. 

“I’ll go for a cigarette,” you blurted out and left the room hurriedly. The long hallway stretched in front of your eyes as you looked at the numbers on karaoke booths, only muted colors flashing through the slightly translucent doors. You leaned on the wall as you dragged your feet forward arriving at the front desk that thanked you for your time, but you did not pay attention to them and turned to your left to stare at the steep stairway.

The steps were made out of wood with a black paint that had started to chip away and the walls were pure red, too bright and intense for your eyes. You focused on the door in front of you and barely saw the red walls around it as they got covered by a dark cloud, your way of seeing more animalistic than human.The only thing in your mind was the need to get some fresh air as emotions threw you around like a shipwreck at the sea. 

You pushed the door open and walked over to a bicycle stand choosing an empty spot where you plopped yourself on. You rocked yourself back and forth as you cried and gripped onto your skin painfully hoping that at least the physical sensation would put an end to your suffering. You started to be more aware of the familiar banging against your skull. 

The door of the karaoke bar opened as Shoko walked outside, her face now serious, resembling more the woman she was at work than the friend giggling at drunk people's jokes. 

“Hey. You forgot this inside.” She handed you your bag.

You wanted to answer something but you could not as the words got stuck to your throat. Your world flashed back and forth between sensations that you weren’t supposed to feel in this moment. The guilt and sadness ate you alive, nipping away from your vitals the more you tried to push them down. 

Shoko placed a cigarette between her lips and lit it up and offered it to you. You took it gladly off her hands inhaling the sweet smoke, but you almost ended up suffocating on it as your nose was too stuffed to handle it. Even the menthol taste was unable to help you with this issue. Shoko opened the green box once more to get herself a smoke as well. 

She took a drag out of it and watched your shuddering figure. 

“I saw you in the hallway with Geto. Something happened at Gojo’s right?”

You lifted your head up mascara running on your cheeks. Had you not been in such a bad state her words would have shocked you. 

“I can’t help you if you don’t want my help.” Shoko crouched down to your level. You stared at her face as she left out a puff of smoke that trailed around her face, the dark eye bags now more visible than ever. 

You choked on your tears once more, now openly wailing on the pavement your fingers digging into the soft flesh of your arm. You dragged your nails across yourself leaving pink trails behind it, the soft tingle covering the areas you had just clawed at. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” you cried, your words hard to decipher as your breath hitched. “I can’t keep on doing this. It’s all my fault. I’m so stupid,” you screamed snot falling onto your shirt. 

“So fucking stupid!” You impulsively pressed the cigarette butt against your thigh melting the cloth away the stinging pain shocking you as your skin shed its layers against the fire. 

You had no shame in your breakdown, frankly you did not even recognize the others that looked in your way speaking with hushed voices around you, as they tightened the grip on their partners hands. “That girl really needs to lay off the drinks,” someone had said loudly. Shoko had wanted to immediately pounce, but she held herself together. She knew that you needed her more. 

“Don’t hurt yourself, when you want to hurt someone else,” her voice was just a whisper. “Can I touch you?” She asked not wanting to trigger you further. You nodded. 

Shoko pulled you into a tight hug and you buried your face on her chest, holding onto her like it was the last thing keeping you afloat. You seeked comfort in her presence. 

“I want to die.” You gripped onto her tighter. “I’m so weak.”

Shoko stroked your hair, her own eyes watering as she listened to you wordlessly. She felt your pain almost just as viscerally as you were experiencing them now.  

“No matter… no matter what I do. I can’t escape them. I just want to be gone. I want to-”

Shoko shushed you and slipped her free hand into her pocket, digging out her phone. Almost ten minutes had gone by. She awkwardly opened her chat with Nanami trying to inform the man who was probably still sitting in their booth waiting for the two of you to come back. 

A male voice disturbed the two of you. “Is everything okay?” 

Shoko pressed her hand on your shoulder pushing herself up from the ground, she whispered to you to stay put, not that you really were in any condition to go anywhere. 

“Good that you’re here. I was just about to text you. Can you get us a taxi?”

“Of course,” he said and opened the app punching in your address that Shoko forwarded to him. He looked so much older and out of place in the busy street. 

This was the kind hearted and lovely Nanami that had forgiven you immediately, after you had punched him in the gut because you were fucked up in the head. The kind hearted and lovely Nanami that you couldn’t look in the eyes, because of a certain man whose name you felt like acid on the tip of your tongue. The thoughts in your head brought fresh tears to your eyes. You dangerously sailed in the deep waters of suicidal ideation, your tired hands opening the forbidden door.  

“It’s going to arrive in five minutes,” Nanami hummed. 

“I think you should go. I’ll handle this,” Shoko said, her voice full of pity. “I’ll keep you posted.”

Nanami nodded in agreement. 

“For what it’s worth, take care of yourself too.” Nanami’s words were carefully chosen, anticipating that you weren’t the only one who needed a hug. 

***

SHOKO’S MEMORIES, YEAR 2006

The beach was filled with people who enjoyed the way the sun spoiled them with its warmth. Shoko was sitting on a towel next to Mei Mei who applied generous amounts of sunscreen on her hand. They sat underneath a parasol that had been propped in the sand, covering them both from the direct sun. The brown haired girl watched as Utahime excitedly threw herself to the water. She had given up on trying to get Shoko and Mei Mei in the water as well. 

“Mei Mei, don’t you have a lot of experience with boys?” Shoko almost whispered and hugged her legs. Her beach shawl swayed when the breeze decided to start playing with the huge piece of cloth. 

“Are you trying to imply something?” Her voice was low and melodic but not at all accusatory. 

“No, nothing like that. I just wanted to ask you something.” Shoko shook her head flustered. “Is it normal for a guy to kiss a girl without asking?” 

Mei Mei burst into laughter. This was the question Shoko was getting all worked up for? 

“Shoko,” Mei Mei’s eyes glimmered softly when she said the younger girl’s name with gentleness that reminded her of a mother tugging a child into bed. “I did not take you for being this innocent,” she teased. 

“I’m not innocent,” the brown haired girl huffed with the unexpected blush decorating her cheeks.

“Did someone do that to you?” Mei Mei tilted her head curiously and offered the sunscreen bottle to Shoko who happily took it to her hands.

“If I tell you, will you promise that you won’t tell anyone?”

“If I’m honest, I don’t think I care enough to tattle. You got me curious now. Tell me,” she hummed as a smile curled on her lips. 

“Well uh.. Suguru kind of kissed me when we were playing truth or dare with Satoru,” Shoko explained . She ran her hand between the warm sand, the grainy texture giving her something else to think about. “It was a stupid dare on Satoru’s part. Dunno why I accepted it.” 

Shoko added that she did not want to kiss him under any circumstances but the boy had managed to go over her boundary with ease. 

“That’s it?” Mei Mei asked, raising her eyebrow. She was almost bewildered at how tame the story was. 

“Yeah.” 

The blue haired woman scoffed.

“Guys think that girls like it when they take control and in a certain sense they are right. Maybe they got their eyes on you? Although, I did think that Suguru and Satoru were..” Mei Mei’s voice trailed off as she thought. “It doesn’t matter.” She concluded. 

“If I were you. I’d go along with it.” Mei Mei suggested. 

“No way. I don’t like them like that. Besides that’s not what I asked for your opinion on.” 

“And?” Mei Mei turned her gaze on Shoko, her eyes hardening as she intensely stared at the younger girl. “Those two men are our generation’s strongest and you’re going to complain that one of them gave you a little kiss?” 

Mei Mei’s melodic voice dropped lower as she showed her true feelings of distaste towards Shoko’s views. 

“If I were you,” she started again, her voice tough and bitter. “I’d be securing my spot by their side and not planning to bring forth meaningless accusations over a game of truth or dare.” 

Shoko was at loss with the things that were being said to her. Now that she thought about it, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to speak with Mei Mei. 

“I did not say I was going to tell anyone,” her voice was squeaky like a little girl’s. 

“But you thought about that right?” Shoko did not deny nor confirm the accusation.

Mei Mei’s face softened. “Shoko, you’re a smart girl. You should know better than to get shaken by two boys, especially when you so eagerly lead them on.“ 

“..I don’t lead them on.”

“Then stop meeting them in your spare time. If you do that, guys will think that you’re willing. You’re not a kid anymore, they do notice that you’re a woman now.” 

She stayed quiet, Mei Mei’s words burning on her skin worse than the summer heat. She did not want guys thinking about her that way. She simply wanted to be their friend and the idea of boys and girls being unable to do that because of bodily differences made Shoko shudder. 

“You want to help your friends, right?” Mei Mei asked when Utahime got out of the water. 

Shoko nodded. 

“Then become a doctor. That’s the best you can do to others with the technique you have.” Her words were probably meant to be comforting, but they made Shoko’s heart sink to the bottom of the ocean. 

“Shookoo!” Utahime ran towards the two girls sitting on the beach towels. 

“Are you willing to swim now?” Sand and water droplets clung onto her radiant skin that the younger girl admired silently. Shoko felt her heart skip a few times in her chest when Utahime offered her hand to her. 

“Sure.” The shy smile stretched on Shoko’s lips. 

“I’ll stay here. But you guys have fun.” Mei Mei announced as she opened the book next to her the pages slightly crumpled up. 

Shoko did not really register Mei Mei’s voice anymore. She grabbed Utahime’s hand and the world slowly faded away around them. 

****

Shoko went through the bathroom nimbly avoiding piles of clothing or takeout bags as she looked through your bathroom cupboard. She found a bag of half used cotton pads and a micelar water from the mess.

The taxi drive had felt like eternity. Your tears had dried before settling in the car and numbness had taken over. Shoko helped you to your bed and said that she’d come back soon, closing the door behind her giving you some space to change into something more comfortable. 

The door opened. Shoko looked at you and sat on the bed. You were using a pillow as a support for your back. The night lamp’s warm color casted shadows around your puffy face. The woman shook the bottle in her hand and poured liquid on the white cotton pad and tilted your face towards hers. 

She pressed the pad on your eyelid carefully letting the mixture soak through the heaps of makeup on your face. You sniffled sadly before speaking. 

“I can do this on my own too.” 

“I want to do this,” her voice was soft as she spoke the makeup remover leaving your skin slightly cold. You simply nodded and admired the way her hair framed her face. 

“You know I’ve had my own bad experiences too,” Shoko said, her face turning to a slight frown. Her mind was sailing in memories that she had given up on trying to understand. 

You were at a loss of words. You wanted to pry, but it felt invasive. 

“With them? Really?” You heard yourself asking as you danced on the line of impropriety.

“Yeah,” Shoko hummed, “but we shouldn’t have this conversation yet. Maybe in the morning, but not now,” she tried to make her voice sound brighter, feel brighter as if it would fix everything. 

“Okay,” you said. Maybe she’s right about this. Shoko discarded the dirty cotton pad, simply placing it on the bedside table. It was at its limits the whole thing turned into the color of your foundation with the small black streaks of your mascara on it, or what was left from it. 

She held onto your face gently for a moment too long even after she was done. You opened your eyes to really look at her. She looked so sad and.. young? Yes young was the right word. She looked like a woman robbed out of something sacred. She had been so happy, so easy to excite in her youth, but now all she seemed to carry was baggage. 

Your drunken mind wanted to close the distance, but something held you back. Maybe it was all the answers that were still being withheld by her, maybe it was the understanding that it’s not the right time yet. 

“Can you stay the night?” you whispered. Shoko breathed in and opened her mouth to say something, but you were faster. “Please? Th-there’s some clothes you can borrow in my closet.” 

She stayed quiet and you waited patiently.

“I’ll stay.” 

You smiled weakly at her and muttered a gentle thank you. She shuffled up from the bed and walked over the closet you had pointed for her. You turned your back to her when you heard the rustling of clothing that she ended up piling up neatly on one of the spare chairs in your bedroom. 

You fluffed up the pillow next to you and lifted up the blanket when she climbed in. You turned your back to her as you lay down on your side. Your hand searched the light switch and then the room was pitch black. 

Shoko awkwardly came closer to you till your back was against hers and she played with your hair idly in the silence. The touch was friendly, your body slumping in relaxation almost immediately. It was nice to have someone there. You had gotten so used to being afraid of the nights. 

“Good night,” she said, her voice hoarse. 

“Night.” 

***

You woke up alone with no trace of the woman in your room. She had gotten up earlier than you and dressed up back to the clothes she had in the bar. You hugged your plush blanket, almost burying your whole face underneath it, not ready to face the day.

Your head hurt and you felt nauseous. How is Shoko even able to do things? You wondered to yourself.

The faint knock on the bedroom door disrupted your thoughts as the door opened slightly. 

“I made a sandwich for you and found some painkillers, if you want any,” she said and you heard her steps further away again. 

You groaned and threw the blanket away from your body, the cold greeting you roughly. 

Your kitchen had gotten miraculously cleaner, the multiple empty beer cans piled in a bag and the dishwasher hummed quietly. You stared at the brown table in front of you that had two sandwiches and glasses of water on it, hunger long gone from your body. 

“You really should drink less.” Shoko picked up another empty can from the counter just to place it in the bag.

“Like you’re the one to talk.” You sat on the chair with its legs squeaking against the floor with your rough treatment. 

You grabbed the pill bottle and rattled out two tablets that you threw in your mouth and drank barely enough water to chase them down. 

“What do you remember?” Shoko asked and sat in front of you. She wasn’t feeling very hungry either. 

“I remember punching Nanami and the talk we had before we fell asleep,” you mumbled, playing with the edges of the slightly crusty lettuce between your sandwich. You had meant to use it on a salad a few days ago, but you were too tired to cook for yourself. Even the simple things were hard. “What did I tell you?”

“Nothing. You were just crying.”

Oh. So it was like that. 

“They assaulted me.” Your face was stern, emotions hidden behind a wall. The words felt weird. It was the first time you had actually said it out loud.

Shoko’s face widened from shock. 

“They what?” 

“Don’t make me repeat it,” you hissed. 

“Sorry, I won’t.” 

The silence felt unbearable and you stuffed your face full of bread just to do something. 

“They did something similar when we were still in school.” Shoko ripped the hangnail painfully from her skin and pressed on the miniscule wound with one of her fingers. 

You chewed the sandwich aggressively without tasting anything, the texture turning to mush in your mouth. 

“Why didn’t you warn me?” Your words were way more accusatory than what you wanted. 

Shoko turned her head to the side looking hurt by your sudden outburst. Her eyebrows scrunched together in pain as she looked for the perfect words, but there were none. 

“You admired them. I didn’t want to take that away from you, and when I realized that I probably should have said..”

“Bullshit, Shoko. It’s been ten years. I deserved to know, you could have-”

“Stop blaming me for their shit!” she yelled. Shoko never yells. 

You fell quiet. You reined in your anger, its hands still attempting to reach out to anything it could latch on. She was right. It’s not her burden to bear, but you still couldn’t help but feel powerless, when there could have theoretically been someone who could have told you to not go there. 

“Sorry,” you simply said just to drop the topic. Shoko sighed defeatedly and pushed her head briefly against her hands. She understood the anger, she really did. 

“They drugged me and then raped me together. I don’t remember a lot from it. I fought back – well attempted to,” your voice shook as you spoke. 

The brown haired woman simply looked at you with silent empathy. 

“Did you at least get one good punch in?” 

Your lips curled into a downhearted smile. The memory of your feeble fight playing in your mind, the weakness and despair of it all, a futile attempt of a prey to preserve their life just one moment longer. 

“Not a single one,” you laughed hollowly as one tear rolled on your cheek and your lips trembled. “But I did rip some hair out of Geto at the school,” you tried to brighten your voice and be brave. 

Shoko’s eyes watered and she answered your smile with her own. 

“Good.” 

The almost happy expression faded from your face. Everything hurt, never had you ever thought to be in a situation like this where you were exchanging devastation with your friend like gifts on christmas. 

“Why did you stay? Even Nanami left for a while, you could have done the same.” Your question was gentler this time. 

Shoko pondered for a minute, not sure of her answer either. 

“Because this is the only way I could help. I had you and Utahime and I didn’t want to leave you two behind. Besides what else was I supposed to do? I’ve been given a technique that can save many if I choose right. Had I left a lot more could have died because I wasn’t here — all because of what two men did,” she tried to put her thoughts together. 

“There’s a reason why Utahime doesn’t like Gojo,” Shoko blurted out and played with her hair. 

You took a careful sip of water as if you were trying to carefully dissect the different flavors of Shoko’s words. 

“What do you mean? Did they do something to her as well?” 

“No. I just mean that women know, you know? I think it’s in our blood to recognize danger. That’s one of the reasons she despises him. But this is just my thought, not an universal truth,” Shoko wondered out loud. 

She breathed in once again as if the words she was about to speak were too painful. 

“I think sometimes us women have to carry the atrocities of men. There’s no rhyme or reason why they do certain things. At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself. I never went through what you did, but I can’t say that I’m surprised,” she mused. “I’m sorry though. What you went through. It’s not right.”

Her brown eyes stared at you expectantly. You chewed on your lip nervously and tapped the empty plate with your nail, the small tinkle sound working as a metronome. 

“No, it’s not,” you huffed. But it feels like it’s my fault. If I had not gone there, if I had not idolized them – loved them even. This wouldn’t have ended this way. It was easier to leave those words in your head. 

“So what now?” You looked at Shoko, your eyes pleading, asking for answers, guidance, anything she would be able to provide to you. You knew there was nothing clear cut Shoko could say, but god how you wished that someone would know what to do. 

Shoko shook her head in defeat as if telling you that she wasn’t able to point you on the right track like that. 

“Whatever you want. You can stay or go, but you don’t have to carry it alone,” Shoko said, her face gentle. You could still draw out the remnants of the young girl from the year two thousand and six on her features. The lines were almost faded but they were still there. 

You found kinship in her even if neither of you had shared the full story of what had happened. You weren’t there yet and you weren’t ready. Instead the two of you skirted around words unspoken finding solace of at least having someone who could understand. It was up to the both of you what to make out of the confessions of the past. 

[romaevelizz]

Bittersweet ˖ ࣪⊹

Younger!Aemond Targaryen x Cousinblk!reader

sum: Her and Aemond have always been close, but the death of Lady Y/ns mother Laena has closed her off, his betrothed not as bright as she once was. More than one loss is made that day and some is gained.

warnings: reader n aemond are aboout 15-16 ish(non cannon age at time but whatever. cannon violence, sneaky kiss ‘ GASP’, Older sister y/n scolding her sisters and nephews, umm if you don’t like they way i write bc i will be making Aemond a wee bit of a victim srry not sorry the mf needs a therapist and a happy crazy wife ‘that’s what princess y/n is!’. not profread- if you come back in a few days i bet thing will be better trust😭

It was strange when he saw her she wasn’t smiling, not even an offer of a small one. His betrothed face was sad and tired, her face slightly puffy from her crying. There was nothing behind her eyes and it hurt him to see her like that. To see her so taken by grief.

A Loss was never easy by any means, and the princess had just suffered a great one. Her mother, Princess Y/n was in all ways her mother's daughter a strong-headed soon-to-be woman-grown, but like her father, she had a mouth that may have gotten her in trouble a mouth her mother's lips twitched upward when she was a girl. Y/n was the Anger and grief, the understanding Leana couldn’t be. Soon saw Y/n as wild, but she was a girl who spoke her mind and put dozens of lords to shame.

Y/n was Leana's girl, Aemond watched the kindness of Leana through herself. through words, acts, and touch. The gentleness Leana displayed to her daughter came through as she tended to Aemond and even his older brother's wound. A snarky smile on her lips as Aegon tried to get on with her only for her words to fight right back playfully as his. The way Leana would kiss her daughter's forehead before the night, Aemond had experienced it. The hand holding the praising words, the jesting and teasing words always a grin upon her dark features.

How the night of his thirteenth name day he came to her visiting chambers. How when he couldn’t get words out of what had happened she shushed him as he sought comfort after his traumatic event. how when he pushed away from her at first she didn’t try to continue close to him but wanted for him, waiting till he fell into her arms his soft sobs discomforting as he told her what had happened.

He had never felt unsafe or unwelcome by her like he did with her sisters and their nephews, How she’d go out of her way to call them off when they picked at him. She always told them “He’s only Human, only one can take abuse and hate like this for so long till something in them snaps. Must believe Nephews when that day comes I won’t step in between you and him.”

She stood by his side loyaly as his betrothed as did he. And nothing could change that, not the respect they had for one another nor the trust they built.

It wasn’t long before he found himself by her side, standing by one’s side they were always told. He did as such. The words were being exchanged as her mother was put to rest the sound of the waves crashing along the cliff side, the wind loud. His eyes glanced over to her his eyes watching her face carefully. The way her lip trembled as she choked back tears her Light eyes reddening as she kept to herself. Then her hand, the coldness of her hands causing him to wince slightly, but never pull away. Her fingers intertwining with his, she shakes against him, the princess's shoulders soon shuttering as she sighs out a small cry. Aemond held her hand tightly letting her know he was here, her face soon falling into his shoulder as she cited softly.

“They took her from me, the gods took my mother from me..” she cried her voice hushed.

Aemond head fell a top of hers in a comforting manner, his sister Helaena comforting her as well with her hand on her arms carefully her head resting on the back of her shoulder.

It angerd her when her father chuckled such a inappropriate time, his wife her mother was being out to rest and he laughed. Her grip on Aemond tightened for a moment, but released he could see it in her eyes that she didn’t have the strength to speak up now. Or even at all..

The night grew late as sympathies were given to her Aemond at her side as she held his arm close her nails digging into his arm. She was over it, being told her mother was a good woman and taken too soon. Aemond bit his lip a moment “We could always retreat to the shore or your chambers take Ser Maliki and Khalil with us..” he whispered down to her. Silently she nodded.

“Ser Maliki, Ser Khalil The prince and I wish to go down to the shore, you are to accompany us,” she spoke softly to her guards.

With one hand holding his arm the other in his hand they went down, the two guards following behind a bit. Aemond didn’t try to talk to her quite yet, he wanted her to talk to him when she was ready, they left because she didn’t want to talk. All he needed to do right now was let his warmth comfort her.

“My grandmothers asked me to stay..” she spoke softly her face pressed against his shoulder.

He looked over at her “Here in Drifftmark?”

“mmhm my sisters may stay but gods know my father's gonna fly off and do something crazy..” she muttered her hands playing with his fingers as they continued to walk.

“What if you came with us?” He asked, “I understand we’re not to be wed for another 3 years but something in me tells me, if you don’t I may not see you till those years are up..”

Her eyes met Aemonds watching his face as his brows frowned “I find that doubtable, Your father would make sure i could come and see you. Your mother would have me live in her chambers all these years if she could.” she spoke her lips twitching as she jest.

He laughed softly as she took a seat on the sand coming next to him leaning her weight onto him “My mother does like you,”

“Her favorite son is actually happy and getting the attention she can’t quite give him as she wished.” Y/n hummed.

“You think of me her Favirote?”

he watched her as she nodded “That women would do anything for you, I watched her bully her else’s after she caught him making cruel jest towards you.”

Aemond smiled lightly hearing that. he felt as she moved her head now laying in his lap, looking down he truly saw how her beautiful features had been ruled against my sadness, she looked discolored not as warm, the bags under her eyes heavy and tired, the small tear marks that dusted her melanin skin. Aemonds fingers gently brushed her silver curls out of her face “Let me see you..” he said in Valyrian his voice not above a whisper.

“I’m a mess, i look and feel disgusting.” her words just as quiet as his.

“Don’t say such a thing, you look beautiful..”

“tierd, but truly gorgeous.”

that what did it his snarky remark put a small smile on her face, he heeled watching as she rolled her eyes. “Wow really, me tired.” she she sat up, her hand on top of his thighs her face close to his a small grin on her face.

Aemond watched as her eyes went form his to the men behind her, “what-“

“they’re turned away..” she whispered, her face closing in her lips softly brushing his.

he closed his eyes backing up a bit, not as if they hadn’t shared a kiss before but, “We’re out in the open, what would they make of if we kissed before our wedding?”

“maybe they’ll marry us sooner.” she answers simply.

Aemond pushed himself up his had holding her face “You’re grieving, i am not a man who takes advantage of one’s vulnerability…”

“Aemond you’re..”

“my Betrothed, we must’int..” he spoke gently, theyer eyes never leaving one another’s.

she nodded in his grasp “Apologies..” she spoke her forehead falling to his, his eyes closing with hers.

“no need..”

he felt her shutter in his hold a small sniffle, “What am I going to do without her Aemond, she supported me through and through her.” she cried softly.

“and she’ll continued to, with the gods. With me, I stand by your side remember? through and through i shall stand by you.” he responded. His words are full of sincerity.

He pulled back his lips meeting her forehead.

“Can i introduce you to an old lady..” she spoke..

he pulled away a questioning look on his face. “What do you mean?”

“i think it’s time you get your dragon. And if she doesn’t try to kill us think of it as a very early wedding gift.” she said standing up, pulling him up with her.

She took him wher Vhagar and Cannibal laid, Two old dragons that always found the company of one another. Two Dragons that rode together with mother and daughter maybe now, Husband and wife.

Aemonds hand held her tightly as they came over the hill Vhagar Sleeping but Cannibal was awake, His attention was quickly brought to them. Y/n put her finger to her mouth to shush him as he grumbled, they walked down to him first Y/n touching the black beast her head falling into his “You should rest sweet boy, there’s no need for you to worry.”

He only huffed but as she pet him he let out a hyena like giggle, it scared Aemond a bit her dragon giggling so menacingly. “He dose that when he’s happy, irritated, or just enjoying himself,” she said looking over to Aemond.

look as if he may piss his pants, a toothy grin came from the princess as she turned back to her dragon “Perhaps the old lady is ready for someone new in her life hm?”

Cannibal sighed lifting his head a louder grumble coming from him awakening Vhagar her letting out and irritates growl. Y/n looked over to Aemond, “Go ahead just as you’ve done before.” she encouraged him.

And so he did after almost getting smoked to ashes Vhagar was his, without a second thought Aemond climbed on top. Stupid yes but she soon followed behind him just incase he fell from her, but at last. The two of them flew in the night sky together. They’d laugh as their dragons danced together, in the night. Aemond had never been so overjoyed, years of trying to claim a dragon, and one of the oldest the queen herself is now his, flying next to her king The dragon eater himself, and his soon-to-be bride.

Their bond grew deeper because of their dragons that day.

But not all good things come free, even to a prince a dragon like that comes at a cost. Y/n had stuck back a little longer to pretty much biker with her old man, the dragon sassing her. but this time back got Aemond cornered. Jace, Luke, Baela and Rhaena, she could hear the echoed screams to the five, her feet started running.

The four now ontop of him beating as him like some ally dog. “Get off!”

“He Claimed Vhagar! she was for me!” Baela screamed as you pulled her off of him.

“For you?! Don’t be so selfish sister Vhagar was never yours to claim!” She spoke to her sister before going to the others.

Jace had pushed her back his elbow connecting with her face, a small cry of pain came from her, Rhaena quickly goin to her as Aemond pushed off the two boys. His anger growing as he saw the blood drip for her face. Pushing Luke of he got to Jace.

“Aemond Enough! Please!” she spoke standing up moving towards them, pulling aemond off him with struggle Luke came out of nowhere.

a dagger in his hand, through Aemonds face, and through her collar as Luce hand came down she had gotten in the way simply. Aemond fell quickly the kings guard yelling as he went to Aemond.

“Princess,-“

“Aemond! Luke what did you do! why did you do that!” she yelled her brows frowned. The only though going through her head was going that he wouldn’t die. She watched at the Lord commander picked the prince up huring him inside.

“Y/n?! Aemond! oh, gods what has happen?!” Alicent demanded as she rushed towards the two of them; Viserys coming slowly behind her.

“Dear girl your blessing yourself.” Viserys spoke.

“it’s nothing dear uncle, Aemond is the one who needs to be seen quickly..” she assured, but in reality she was still bleeding form her nose lightly but still and her collar bled quite well aswell.

the room was filled crowded as the maesters sttiched Aemonds eye the boy crying in bad as it happened his mother by his side holding his hiding him as she whinced. Y/ns Grandmother by her as her collar was stitched closed aswell, a rag up to her nose for the bleeding there. The maester working quickly and efficiently at the both of them, The yells of Viserys demanding what happend for the guards; the Lord Commander; Khalil, Maliki aswell as Ser Cole they stood under strong interrogation as well.

Aemond had lost his eye, but thank the gods he’d heal, Y/na eyes met his screaming around them trining dull as he asked “Are you alright?”

Is she? He lost and eye for gods sake, his mouth mouthing ‘I’m sorry’..

The princess looked at him clueless sorry? Sorry for what he hadn’t done anything wrong to her hunderatanding ‘i’m sorry i could protect you.’

no.. that not. “tis not your fault Aemond; please..” she whispered shaking her head her brows frowned.

She had stayed seated across from Awmond as her father and Rhaenyra entered, her grandparents moving to Baela and Rhaena. Rhyaenys kissing her head before she got up.

“Who did this?” Rhaenyra asked Luke.

“They attacked me!” Aemond yelled sitting up.

“He attacked Baela.”

“pushed her off me” he scoffed, warning a disapproving glare from Y/n from the fact he’d put hand on her sister.

“He stole my mother dragon!”

“Enough,” Viserys demanded, but they continued to argue around him.

“Stole?” Y/n scoffed, “I was the one that lead him to her Baela! He didn’t take her from you! she was never yours to claim and you know that sister!”

Baela glared at her older sister but soon look at the ground.

“He was going to kill Jace!”

“Because he came a me first All of you did! Joined together and bead me like so stray dog in an ally!” Aemond yelled in defense.

“Luke Cut Y/n aswell needing for her to be stitched, and Jace Elbowed her in the face!” Aemond sat up further his mother ushering his to sit back.

aemond other eyes was heavy and he saw yes he was out of it he had lost so much blood the pain he mush be in must be unbearable. “Enough!” Viserys yelled once more.

“He called us -”

“SILENCE!”

The room quickly went quiet. “he called us bastards..”

Rhaenyra stood for a moment stood to put her boy behind her, her eyes meeting y/ns only to quickly look at her father.

“Aemond..” he spoke the echo of his cane being heard, “I will have the truth of what happened… Now.”

A small scoff could be heard from Alicent her hands planing themselves on Y/ns chair “What else is there to hear?” she asked a heavy frown on her face. “Your Son, Your son and niece have been maimed. Her son is responsible for it.” she spoke.

“ Ot was a regrettable accident,” Rhaenyra quickly defended, yet her voice still sounded shaken.

“Accident?” Y/n spoke, “Me yes, i was in the way but Aemond! Cousin your son ment to kill him..!” she voiced in disbelief her voice it’s self shaken yet stern.

“Daughter.” Daemons spoke, letting her know to not interject with her righteousness as he would say.

Alicent looked from Y/n to them angered “You mean to Silence your fighter as she speaks the truth? As she defends her future husband?” Alicent spoke her head falling shaking her head.

“ The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to an ambush. He ment by all means to kill my boy!” she spoke angerly her hands falling to her hair in frustration.

“it was Jaces dagger your grace..” y/n spoke up softly.

“Jaces? Is that right sweet girl?” she asked her tone encouraging her to speak up.

“Don’t sit there and claim my daughter like she’s your own.” Daemon hissed.

“Quiet!” Viserys said to his brother.

Rhaenyra was quick to speak up on her part “Ot was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves.”

“Vile insults were levied against them.”

Viserys looked over and questioned “What insults?”

“The legitimacy of my son’s birth, was loudly to question.”

Y/n groaned that what the defense was? Disrespectful yes; but to draw a dagger at to mean to kill? They continue to go back n forth the king soon questioning those who were there and even she could not lie he had said it. Viserys asking Aemond where he heard such a lie his eyes moving twords his mother yet answers Aegon. Now Aegon was getting yelled at, only for the prince to be a smart ass.

“This is insufficient.” Alicent said hurriedly to her husband, The King turning to her to hear the words she spoke. “Aemond has been damaged,  permanently; my king. ‘Goodwill’ cannot make my boy while once more!” she cried.

“I know, Alicent, but you mush understand i cannot restore his eye.”

She groaned frustratedly “No; Viserys! Because it has been taken from him!”

“What would you have me do?” he growled.

Alicent stood up straight “There is a debt to be paid,” she declared, the room falling still. “I shall have her son’s eye in return.”

The scream of the boys and Rhaenyras voice raising, Alicent getting Cole to move but him being shut down. Alicent being shut down. She wasn’t having it, Y/n thought that if in this moment it was her or one of her sisters who lost an eye her mother would be the same. The rage of a mother was different to mans. Watching as Alicent grabed a dagger heading towards them Rhaenyra swiftly grabbing her.

Hushed words being exchange twords the two.

“Exhausting, wasn’t it?” She spoke up. “Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness.” she whispered.

“But now they see you as you are.”

The room went quiet as Rhaenyra was cut by her grace. The night couldn’t just come to an end could it?

Y/n watched Aemonds face a satisfied smirk on his face as he spoke “Don’t mourn me, Mother.” His eyes moving for her to his mothers, “It was a fair exchange you could say.. I may have lost an eye but i gain a dragon.

“The queen herself,” Y/n interjected. “Vhagar and Cannibal shall ride together once again.” The princess said keeping eye contact with Aemond as he leaned back.

“We shall ride together.” he spoke softly yet confidently.

The princess smiled; as did he. Oh he couldn’t wait till they married, nor could his mother. Because she could see the side you’ve fallen on. You Trusted Alicent as well as respected her, Rhaenyra had snuck away with her father after the death of her own mother. It take a lot to respect her and Daemond again. Saddening isn’t it?

More so a Bittersweet taste in their mouths; no?

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓

ㅤㅤjoel miller x f!reader

genre: angst, hurt comfort, minors dni

word count: 5k

summary: You, both a member of David's group and one of his former victims, are already contemplating escape when Ellie arrives at the resort. Seeking Ellie, you decide to take advantage of the unexpected opportunity to run. But before you can find Ellie, you cross paths with Joel instead.

warnings: age gap, virgin!reader, mentions of past grooming attempt, mentions of cannibalism, past rape attempt, PTSD, blood, canon typical violence, no smut for now, spoilers for s01 e08

a/n: this was previously named let me follow this is also new for me because I've never written virgin!reader before (mostly because i didn't have the best experience with that) but i felt like it was fitting with the story and where i wanna take it in the future.

Revelation 13:3-4 "One of the heads of the beast seemed to have had a fatal wound, but the fatal wound had been healed. The whole world was filled with wonder and followed the beast. People worshiped the dragon because he had given authority to the beast, and they also worshiped the beast and asked, 'Who is like the beast? Who can wage war against it?'"

The wind blows cold. You, a girl who has lost everything, sit on your knees on the ice. Your family has been long gone. Your hope dwindles, hanging only by a simple thread. You don't know how long you've been crying. Your hands, young yet covered in the warmth of blood. The scent of pine reaches your nose, and you sniff involuntarily, just like you did before you lost everything. Before the world ended. You hear the sound of men approaching you, and you wish they would just kill you. Sixteen and already you wish for the sweet mercy of death.

“Now what do we have here?” A man speaks, his tone is humorful. Melodic. Your mind and body already slipping and reaching towards the warmth of it. “You poor young thing. Where’s your family, girl?”

When you finally look up from your hands you see a man on a horse. Typical for this day and age. Near him hovers four others. All of them looking weathered and older than you. Your eyes move back to the one that seems in charge. He has strawberry blond hair and a thin beard of the same color. His eyes narrow slightly. They pop under the cold blue sky and the frozen lake. You don’t know what to say. How to answer this man who is an obvious threat. 

He hops off the horse, and you attempt to move away but your legs are frozen in place, your heart beating loudly against your ribcage. He kneels next to you. Observing. You swallow, fear coating your tongue with the taste of bile. His eyes soften when he takes in the sight of you. Bruised and wounded. Your eyes squeeze shut as he reaches out and pushes a loose strand of hair only for the wind to bring it back. 

“No need to be afraid, child. We’re a peaceful group and there are more like us if you want to join.” 

“J–Join?” your teeth chatter, your lips hurting as you speak. There’s a bit of light filling the cracks of the iron cage of your heart. Hope. You realize it to be. Hope that you found someone to help you. To look after you in this infected world. He must’ve seen it in your expression because his soft smile grows, eyes glimmering with mirth. 

“So afraid,” he hums. “But we’ll change that soon enough. You’ve been brought here for a reason. And I think I know what your purpose is in our small clan.” 

He swiftly stands, leaving you dumbfounded and still upon the freezing ice. Your mouth gapes, your body buzzing with a newfound need to stay alive. 

“What’s your name?” you ask. He throws an old coat over your shoulders. Not his own. But one he had extra on his horse. Probably taken from someone else who was more unfortunate than you. 

“David,” he answers gently, as if he’s scared you’ll run away. Before you reach out, he grabs your hand and lifts you. You nearly fall, only prevented thanks to the strong arm that wraps around your waist. He’s warm. Much warmer than you expected. “Lovely to have you with us.” 

The men near him don’t seem to share the same sentiment but you smile all the same. 

You don’t want to think for a while. Maybe not even for a millennia. If possible. 

10 YEARS LATER

Whispers of death surround you. The names of the fallen circling you and squeezing your heart tight. Suffocated. That’s how you feel. Helpless. Trapped. Consumed. Faint murmurs fill the hall room. The cold that seeps through the wood, the same wood that was intended for summer and not winter, worries everyone, including you. But at the same time, you think this is what you all deserve. An icy grave. Freezing to death and surrendering to the cold. 

You were never meant to feel warmth. You know that better now. 

The chair creaks next to you and when your eyes shift to the side. You see James taking a seat. A sudden rage fills you. An indescribable rage. It disappears as soon as it appears like it always does. He turns to you and gives you a curt nod. You don’t nod back. He might think he’s looking after you but he’s not. All he’s done is turn the other cheek to a faith that is spewed by a liar. A deceiver. A disgusting man that makes your stomach turn—

The aforementioned man finally stands and clears his throat. Loudly. But not loud enough to overpower Hannah’s cries. She sniffles. Rubs her eyes roughly. Her mother wraps an arm around her and starts whispering words of comfort. You have no idea what that comfort would be since it was her father that had died. You remember the day you lost your parents. You felt utterly defeated at the time. Hopeless. Swallowed by darkness. Your eyes rubbed raw and stinging from crying and crying and crying—

David opens the bible and reads. His glasses are perched innocently above his nose. His voice, despite the rasp of time, still carries that melodic lilt. You don’t listen. Refuse to. 

“And I saw a new heaven and a new Earth. For the first heaven and the first Earth were passed away. . .”

You close your eyes with a stuttered breath. Your body is thrumming. Your legs shaking and heart pounding. These are the most painful times for you. The times where you have to listen to him and pretend to be moved by God’s will. You hate hearing his voice. The same voice that told you you were his. The same voice that commanded you to strip for him completely when it was only your arm that was wounded. 

Your pulse quickens. Your cheeks grow warm. 

You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe. 

It happened years ago but it doesn’t matter. No matter the passage of time it still feels like it happened yesterday. His touch on your cheek. The way his blue eyes ate you up as he stalked around you, pretending to be worried while he was just taking in the sight of your body. A soft touch here and a soft touch there. Knuckles following the curve of your spine. Palms feeling the weight of your behind. The memory makes you sick. The way he was marinating you for something unspeakable. 

He enjoyed when you flinched. Enjoyed the way you whimpered and curled away. He laughed and did nothing else. He wrapped a bandage around your arm while you remained stark naked. Then he left. Leaving it to James to come to the room, telling you to get dressed while averting his eyes. 

You jerk, eyes going wide as a sharp cry echoes within the thin walls. 

“. . . And I heard a great voice out of heaven say, ‘Behold… the tabernacle of God is with men. And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes—’”

He’s trying hard to ignore it. You can tell by the way his lips twitch ever so slightly, his nostrils flaring with annoyance when another cry is heard. 

He stops. 

And your heart stops along with it. 

You’re still afraid even when his anger isn’t directed at you. Cold beads of sweat make you feel clammy and gross. You want to hide. And even though you blame him, you want to move closer to James, hoping that whatever it is that’s going to happen, he can shield you from it. 

David turns his gaze towards Hannah and Joyce, Hannah’s mother, and lets out a sigh as if it pains him to see someone so distraught. 

“I’ve read this passage too many times,” He walks towards Hannah, his brows slightly furrowed and eyes full of rue. He places the book on the table and removes his glasses, placing it above it. You’re surprised when he kneels but your stomach twists as he places a hand above Hannah’s knee. She’s unaware, her bottom lip trembling. “Do you remember what comes next?”

She shakes her head. 

“‘And God will wipe away all tears from their eyes… ‘that there will be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither will there be any more pain… for the former things are passed away.’” 

Your eyes move to the crowd. Everyone holding on to one another, eyes red and wet. Hannah takes a sharp inhale, your gaze promptly landing back to the scene. 

“Do you know what that means?” She nods and when she does, David grips her shoulder. “Good.” 

He exchanges a glance with the mother and stands up, a groan dropping from his lips as he does so. You feel a momentary satisfaction at his discomfort. 

“When can we bury him?” 

The question surprises everyone, including David who doesn’t show it. The only oddity is him looking at James, a gaze so quick and short that if you hadn’t been sitting next to James you would’ve missed it. “The ground is too cold to dig. We’ll bury your father in the spring.”

Hannah seems content with the answer for now. The sermon is over when David opens the doors. His eyes linger on you as you get up, slow and groggy. Despite her recent loss, you find Hannah to be lucky. At least she had someone to protect her for a good while, her body free of being viewed as an object that belonged to someone else. 

You don’t look at either James or David as you leave. Not that it mattered. They were too busy talking amongst each other.  

You wipe the snow that catches over your eyelashes with the back of a gloved hand. Everyone had a job to do and yours today was to chop wood in the freezing weather. You hate the feeling of shivering and sweating at the same time. It’s a disgusting feeling. But you were the youngest of the group—and had fallen out of favor with David, which meant that he didn’t try to get into your good graces by giving you the stay-by-the-fire duties. Not that you missed it. You’d rather freeze to death than give any part of yourself to him. 

Your feet drag over the snow. Your biceps ache with the added weight of the firewood within your arms. Breathing from your mouth, your eyes are drawn to one of the sheds. That place always gives you the creeps. It’s always locked. The windows dusty and blocked by cabinets from the inside so no one could see. You never thought of asking what the hell was in there, no one else did either. Everyone just wanted to survive. A herd of sheep following the blood-stained mouth of their leader. Not that they knew he had a blood-stained mouth. That information was only reserved for his victims and James. 

A log slips from the top and you loudly groan towards the sky. You need to leave this hell hole. You don’t know when. But you have to. 

Just as you lean down you sense someone coming towards you at full speed. Jumping, you move back only to see James huffing and puffing with a small package in his hand. You raise a brow. “Weren’t you supposed to be hunting?” you ask, picking up the log. “What the hell are you doing here running like a maniac? ‘Scared the shit out of me.” 

“David is at gunpoint.” Good. “And the crazy girl demanded some medicine. Hopefully, I can sneak up on her.” 

You scoff, “A girl? Since when does David follow any kind of demand?” 

“It’s complicated.” He looks uncomfortable, you must’ve struck a nerve with that. “She’s with the man that killed Alec.”

“You’re taking medicine to her? Actual medicine.” 

“David said. . .” 

You raise a hand and shoo him away, “Just go. I don’t care.” 

Watching him leave, your brows knit tightly together. This had to be a joke, they found the girl and by proxy, the man who killed Alec and. . . David is helping the girl? You don’t necessarily care for revenge— but the fact that he’s actively wanting to show just how kind he is to this girl is suspicion-worthy. He likes what he sees and pulls a curtain over his true colors to obtain it. You know word of this will come out soon. You’re positive that James told at least one person when he went in to get the medicine. It would spread like wildfire. 

And most of the people here, starving and cold with no warmth left in their chests are hungry for the heat of revenge. 

Just like you had predicted rumors were spiraling. 

You’re sitting someplace unnoticeable and near the windows. Snow hits the glass like heavy rain. The clear panels freezing over, you visibly shudder. Your decades-old jacket isn’t enough anymore to keep you warm. 

Your head turns with another whisper coming nearby. Something about a girl being with the man who killed Alec. Your eyes shift to Hannah and her mother sitting in the middle, the young girl seemed furious, her eyes hardened but still carried a juvenile chubbiness in her cheeks. The look doesn’t suit her. It looks like a drop of blood on top of snow. No one is touching their food. Steaming bowls of meat sitting on top of weathered tables. You’re not hungry so you push it away. You’re hoping with every fiber in your body that they haven’t found the girl. You wouldn't wish David on even your worst enemy.

The doors open with a loud, bone-chilling creak. You jump at the sound. Soft flakes of snow hurry inside, melting as soon as the light touches them. James holds the door open for David and the latter, with great effort, drags a large stag inside. The entire room stops breathing, their eyes glued to the scene, their minds full of questions. 

The door closes. Suddenly you feel trapped and suffocated. 

“Big one,” David says, looking towards the tables with a crooked smile. Not even one person is talking now. Just deafening silence. James moves away quickly, his eyes find yours, and takes a seat next to you. You’re not sure why he hovers around you. Maybe in some sick way, he thinks you’re friends? 

David sighs loudly, bringing your attention back to him. “If you’ve heard a rumor… yes, we found a girl who was with the man who took Alec from us. When the sun rises, I’ll lead a group out to pick up her trail. Won’t be hard to find in the snow. We’ll follow it to wherever they’re hiding… and we’ll bring that man to justice.”

“You should kill him. You should kill both of them.”

David’s head snaps towards the vengeful voice. Your blood freezes, a tingle settling at the base of your neck, your skin grows taut over your muscles. You’re afraid. And your fear only grows when David stalks towards the girl, a faint smile on his lips, he removes his gloves. One by one. His movements slow, unrushed. He stands in front of Hannah, briefly stares down at her—

You flinch at the sound. The loudest smack and thud you’ve ever heard. Your eyes widen, heart beating in your throat as your eyes remain glued to Hannah who’s scrambling on the floor. David seems unbothered by it. Like he hadn’t just backhanded a young girl. The mom stands, murmurs getting louder, without thinking you attempt to get up too, thinking of all the ways you can kill the man. 

But James—fucking James—he stops you with a hand on your knee. You give him a disgusted look and he quickly pulls his hand away. But the damage was done. You settle back, the chair groaning underneath you. 

You watch as David halts the mother with a single hand, gently gesturing her to sit back down. She does—she does and it drives you insane. It’s surreal almost. There’s a loud hum in your ears as David kneels next to Hannah, her eyes looking anywhere but him. Scared, she takes David’s offered hand. You feel sick. Your stomach churns, bile rising to your throat. He helps her up and sits her down. He’s still on his knees, his eyes soft. 

Disgusting. 

“I know you think you don’t have a father anymore. But the truth is, Hannah, you will always have a father. And you will show him respect when he’s speaking.”

Tension rises with his words. You can tell from the brief glances that happen behind David’s back. However, it’s not enough. No one does anything. They just sit and wait as Hannah’s mother brings David a bowl of food. They begin to eat, the rest follows. 

Spoons clink. Wind blows. Birds caw.  

You look down at the meat, clutching the fork in your hand. You can’t. Something disturbs you. James also lingers before he takes the first bite. Something in his eyes makes you rather starve than taste. 

You look back at Hannah. Her bottom lip is trembling, her cheek red. 

She eats. 

“Where is she?” 

David’s eyes glimmer with amusement, his teeth showing as he smiles. You’re out in the open. Snow falling all around you. Your chest squeezes. You can barely breathe, yet your chest continues to rise and fall. 

“Is my little lamb jealous?” Heat simmers under your skin. How fucking dare he? “Head back. This doesn’t concern you.” 

“Like hell, it doesn’t,” you snap. His eyes narrow and for a brief moment, your mind flashes images of him tying you to the bed whenever you swore. A nasty shiver crawls up your spine. “Let her go.” 

“And why would I do that?” he shakes his head. “Do you want to know why I never touched you again? I got bored. I knew I could have you whenever and wherever I wanted. The fire in your eyes died. You had no fight left in you.” he chuckles. You’re trembling now, your legs feeling weak underneath you. “And I enjoyed seeing the fear in your eyes whenever I entered the room. . . wondering. . . thinking about when I would finally make you my own.”  

You don’t know what to say. The snowfall picks up in pace. Hurling, dancing around you both. A sign of a storm. The cold kisses your cheeks. David grins and extends his arms towards the sky, you take a step back. 

“I finally found myself a pet that’s fun to play with. Someone that won’t be so easily broken.” 

Broken. Broken. Broken. 

That’s what you are, isn’t it? Broken. Alone. Unwanted. 

You have to get to the girl and get the hell out of here. 

You lift your chin, “You’re sick.” 

Bad move. His nostrils flare with anger as he grips your chin and forcefully brings you closer to his face. As someone who went on and on about you being too submissive for his liking, he sure as hell seems to hate that you’re defying him. 

“Don’t you dare talk back to me,” he spits, squeezing your jaw until your lips part with a whimper. “I'm the one who saved you and spared you. I’m a good man but never forget that you belong to me.” Without hesitation, he cups you between your legs. You stiffen at the touch, fear chills your skin, feeling little pins needling into your muscles. “You’re mine to break and when I do, you'll love it. And you'll finally be a woman.” 

He doesn’t linger. Leaving you, he disappears between the cabins. You collapse to the snow, shaking, trembling and tears flooding your eyes. You fist at the snow, your fingers becoming numb as it melts between your fingers. You were a fool to think that you were safe. You genuinely thought that after so long he’d let you do your own thing within the community. But no. He still had his eyes on the “prize”.

You want to run into the forest but you can’t. Your eyes fall to the ground where his footsteps are perfectly visible. Now you know where the girl is. 

The door that is always locked is open. 

Your brows knit together as you observe the old wood swaying back and forth due to the wind. Your skin is icy cold. Coming closer you see that the lock had been broken, shattered. You see a spray of blood on the snow and that entices you to take a step forward into the dark cabin. You know you shouldn’t be taking any detours. Your backpack is secured tightly against your back filled with essentials and some sentimental items you gathered during the years. You should go. But you’re curious. You have to know what’s been in this shed for all these years. 

You sigh. Curiosity killed the cat. 

“But satisfaction brought it back,” you murmur. 

You pull out your gun, your finger on the trigger as you explore. It seems pretty standard. Some items, lots of dust—

Two large hands shove you roughly against the wall. You choke, all the air leaving your lungs as your gun is knocked out of your hand. Momentarily you’re pulled away and slammed back against the wall again, this time the back of your head thudding against the wood. You groan in pain. Your body screaming at you to run and hide. 

“Where is she?” you hear a man hiss through gritted teeth. “Where the fuck is she?” 

You’re slammed once more, tears prick the corner of your eyes and you barely manage to raise your hands. 

When you finally manage to open your eyes, panting heavily, you see a disheveled man. At first glance, he doesn’t make you feel that you’re in danger—which is an ironic feeling considering the throbbing at the back of your head is his doing. Lines run across his face, his eyes full of worry and anger. You immediately know who he is. There was only one girl after all. 

“You’re—” you swallow. “You’re him.” 

His hand tightens around your throat and a gun is hastily pressed against your forehead, “Tell me where she is or I’m shootin’ you.” 

“I’m actually trying to find her myself,” you answer, which by the looks of it was the wrong this to say. “I—I wanted to help her. Free her. David. . . the man that took her—he’s a monster.” 

His eyes narrow, “You from this community?” 

“He took me in when I was sixteen,” you explain. “I had no choice but to join.” 

“And why should I trust you?” 

“Because I know exactly where she is,” you bite the inside of your cheek. “And I know that you’re hurt. I can help.” 

“Then what?” 

You shake your head, not understanding. He clarifies. “You help me and then what? What’s the catch?” 

Your eyes blur with tears. You’re just so fucking tired. 

“I just want to leave.” 

Something about the way you whisper must’ve wake something in him because he lets you go. He lights the flashlight. “I ain’t in the business of takin’ in strays.” 

What? “What?” 

“Just leave. I don’t need your help.” 

“You—You don’t understand!” Just as he turns you jump towards him, fisting the back of his jacket, the fabric isn’t soft enough for you to get a good grip on him so you grab his shoulder instead. “He’s a monster! Everyone fucking underestimates him—he’ll—he’ll—!”

He stills. Rushed steps coming to a halt. You think he’s going to shove you off, push you away but he’s glued. With the fear of silence, you pull back and step to the side. He’s still not acknowledging you. His hard gaze glued to where the flashlight is illuminating. You follow the light speckled with dust. Horror curling in your stomach like a hook. 

There are three of them. Three bodies hanging like animals being prepared to cut into pieces. 

“Oh god—” 

You bring your hands to your head, your heart ramming into your chest, you shake your head. “No, no, no, no—” You take a step back. The man rips his gaze away from the bodies, away from what it implies. You take another step back and another. You’re shaking, your eyes glued to the floor. He—David—he fed you people. 

Fucking people. People that you knew.

Finally, the scent hits you. The smell of flesh and blood. 

You scream. 

The man is on you in an instant, you tumble to the ground and he goes down with you willingly. “Shit—no no no. Shut the hell up— shut the hell up.”

The knot that forms in your throat is large and uncomfortable. You bawl your eyes out, hiccuping against his chest. He takes you into his arms and you can’t be bothered to think of the why of his actions. His biceps tighten around you. You’re still shouting, still thrashing around, crying—he presses you further into his chest, muffling your sounds. You vaguely hear him shushing you, telling you it’s gonna be alright. Lies. He’s telling you lies. 

You start to quiet down and only then do you begin to make sense of his words. He’s murmuring bits of his life. Of what he’s seen. You finally learn the name of the girl: Ellie. The thick baritone of his voice is like a melody. It soothes you. Maybe not fully. But it helps calm your raging heart. You breathe. He smells like wood and snow. 

“Thank you,” you manage to whisper, pulling away. “Please let me help you.” 

“Yeah—Yeah, you can help.” He guides you to your feet in a way that your back is turned to the bodies. Just the thought of what's behind you makes your lungs cave in. 

“What’s your name?” you ask, desperate for any kind of distraction. 

“Joel.” 

“Alright, Joel,” you head towards the door. “Let’s go.” 

She escaped. 

You can’t help but be impressed at the sight of an empty cell. But the pride for a girl you haven’t officially met dies in your throat when you see who’s against the wall, covered in blood. 

“You knew him?” Joel asks, his tone lacking any kind of grief. A question asked more so as a courtesy than actual worry. 

You stare at him. His blue eyes now lifeless, lips parted. It almost looks like he’s sitting, just taking a rest on the cold floor. It would be easy to make you believe that if it wasn’t for the cleaver sticking out of his neck. 

“No,” you answer dryly. Yet, you still walk to the dead man and gently close his eyes. You warned him this would happen. Joel doesn’t ask any more questions. He doesn’t have to. “We need to find her before David gets to her.” 

Joel immediately rushes out, you following him close by. You feel utterly useless. You have no idea where Ellie might’ve run off to. It doesn’t help that some part of your brain is still occupied with James. You hated him in a way but still, he was there. You’ve known him nearly your entire life. It felt off to be the one to close his eyes. 

The storm had stopped. The sun reflecting from the snow irritating your eyes. Joel seems to be getting irritated with every step. Desperate. 

He’s the one that sees her first. 

Ellie staggers out the large building currently being engulfed in flames. Her walk is uncoordinated, her steps uneven as she breathes in the icy air. Before you can warn Joel not to startle her, he’s already running, grabbing her by the shoulders. Your heart shatters into a million tiny pieces when you hear her screams and shouts. 

“It’s me,” Joel says, cradling her face with both hands. She hits his chest with sideway fists, he holds her more firmly. “It’s me.” 

You see it in her face, the exact moment she realizes. You see blood splattered across her face, her expression hurts you. It’s the same expression you’ve seen on yourself for years. 

“Hey… look. It’s me… It’s me. It’s okay.”

She mumbles, “He—” Before Ellie can complete the sentence she wraps her thin arms around Joel, the man hugs her tight. Your heart shatters then. The damns you were so adamant on keeping locked being teared down by people you barely know. 

You cry. Salty tears just bursting out of your eyes. There’s no slow build, no single tear and then the rest. It just all comes down flooding. Your shoulders sag, your fingertips numb. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay, baby girl. I got you.”

You sniff and look up to the sky. Fuck. It’s so hard to stop when it begins. You see grey smoke rising into the crisp air. He’s dead. You don’t need to see the body to know that he is. 

Your eyes drop to the two survivors embracing infront of you. That girl saved your life while you were trying to save hers. You were too late. Both of you were. She looked the beast in the eye and slayed it. Freeing you. 

They part and Joel quickly wraps his jacket around her tiny trembling shoulders. You’re empty. What now? That was his question. You don’t know. Do you go back? Do you explain to the people who David manipulated just how horrendous he really was? Would they believe you? 

Your eyes are drawn to a flicker of movement. Joel is looking straight at you. Ellie still unaware of your presence and you can’t blame her. 

You’re lost. 

But then his eyes soften with something akin to understanding and he gestures you to follow. 

Like a lamb to a stream, you do. 

[tristanxcalmitbruvxpayne]

Tristan Paynes' Biography

Tristan Laughton Payne was born into a world that took more than it ever gave. The streets of London in the 1980s weren’t kind to children, especially not those growing up in the forgotten corners of the city—the post-industrial wastelands, the crumbling council flats, the neighborhoods where the police only came after the smoke cleared.

He had a twin brother, Remy, and a younger sister, Briana. Together, they learned early what silence meant when it came from an empty stomach, what bruises looked like when they weren’t from playground scraps, and how to hide things from neighbors and schoolteachers so they wouldn’t be taken away. Their mother, Andrea Payne, was a ghost long before she was dead—lost in a fog of cheap gin, cigarette smoke, and bitter regret. Their father had walked out one night and never looked back. No note. No explanation. Just a front door left swinging in the wind.

They were forgotten by everyone but each other.

Briana was always sick—some kind of condition no one could ever name because they couldn’t afford to take her to a proper hospital. She spent more days in bed than out of it, and even on her good days, her smile was weak, her frame bird-boned. Tristan did what he could to keep her comfortable, while Remy ran errands and Andrea drank herself into oblivion.

Money didn’t come in unless the boys brought it. Tristan, the more disciplined of the two, picked up under-the-table jobs—fixing things, carrying packages, doing favors for men with names they never repeated at home. Remy drifted, quick to earn and quicker to burn through it, gambling what little they had or pissing it away chasing some shortcut out of the gutter. 

Still, they both tried. Every pound they scraped together went toward food, bills, and medicine that never worked.

Andrea didn’t care. As long as there was booze on the table and someone to blame, she was content. She resented Tristan most of all—not for what he was, but for what he wasn’t: obedient, soft, broken. He wasn’t hers to control, and she hated that. She called him cold, said he had his father’s eyes, but even that felt too kind. She said worse when the bottle got low.

The day Briana died—her thirteenth birthday—was the day something inside Tristan shut off for good. He’d known it was coming. He’d heard her breathing change. He’d held her hand when it stopped. And when they buried her in a plain wooden box with no priest and fewer mourners, Andrea stood at the graveside drunk, shrieking that the world had robbed her, that she was the victim. Tristan didn’t cry. Neither did Remy. They just stood there, still as gravestones themselves.

After that, it wasn’t a question of if they’d leave—it was how soon.

They worked for two years, living on instant noodles, doing jobs no one else wanted. Tristan fought bare-knuckle for money in warehouse pits. Remy ran numbers and sold counterfeit electronics. They kept their heads down, saved what they could, and when they turned eighteen, they vanished. They left everything behind—no note, no goodbye, no trace. Just two duffel bags and a one-way ticket out of the house that had never really been a home.

They bounced around for a while—Manchester, Birmingham, even a few months in Liverpool—but it was in London where fate caught up with them again, this time in the form of a man named Cain Dravik, the boss of the Viper Mob.

Tristan met Cain through a fixer who owed him a favor. Cain saw something in him: cold precision, complete focus, and a dead stare that didn’t blink when things got ugly. He offered Tristan a job—simple protection work, no questions asked. Tristan took it, and never looked back.

What followed was a slow, methodical climb through the ranks of the Mob. Tristan was never loud, never flashy. He didn’t party, didn’t show off, didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. 

But when he spoke, people listened. When something needed to be cleaned up—quietly, completely—he was the one they called. And when Cain’s circle tightened, Tristan found himself pulled in closer, until he was no longer just muscle.

He was the right hand.

Remy stayed in the life, but he floated on the fringes—always looking for the quick score, never quite stable. Eventually, he had kids, and when their mother ran off, Tristan stepped in. 

He raised them like they were his own, buying them school clothes with blood money and reading bedtime stories with calloused hands still stained from the work he did during the day. 

He kept the worst of his world away from them—mostly.

Behind closed doors, Tristan’s life is hollow. He doesn’t date. Doesn’t drink much. Doesn’t sleep more than a few hours at a time. His flat is sterile, barely lived in. He cooks to keep his hands busy. He trains to stay sharp. He plays chess alone and never lets himself win. He keeps a photo of Briana in his wallet and hasn’t once looked at it without feeling like he failed her.

People in the Mob talk about him in hushed tones. They say he’s more feared than Cain himself. They say his eyes are dead, that he can smell betrayal before a man even thinks it. 

They call him The Pale Ghost, because by the time you see him, it’s already too late.

But those who know him—if anyone truly does—understand that he’s not heartless. Just careful. Just broken in ways no one can fix. He doesn’t trust easily. He doesn’t forgive. And he never forgets.

Tristan Payne isn’t a villain. He’s a survivor. A protector. A man who learned too young that the world doesn’t care about good intentions—only strength, only silence, only the cold edge of a blade.

He never wanted power. He never wanted blood.

But in the end, it was the only currency the world ever respected.

[rhaenella]

You & Me - Rhys Montrose x Reader - Part 20

Part 19 | Part 21

Summary: What happens when reader assassin is tasked with killing the possible future mayor of London; Rhys Montrose. Politician by day, Eat the Rich Killer by night. But he isn’t the only person wearing different masks. 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, smut

Word count: 5.7k

A/N: at the end.

Song: Run Baby Run – The Rigs

Thick darkness blanketed the once lively hall. The room had fallen silent, save for a pained cry in the distance and the rain pelting down on the glass ceiling high up above. 

Rhys’ eyes strained to pierce the darkness. 

What the hell…

“Jesus Christ.”

Rhys turned to the whispered shout coming from his left. Carson. 

“Is everyone okay?”

Rogers. The group he’d been conversing with moments prior responded quietly with a chorus of yeses, including himself.

Another thunderous clap. Gasps followed, the silence slowly lifting as more and more people started murmuring nervously to one another.

“The storm.”

“It must’ve knocked out the power grid.”

“Must have, yes.”

A flash of blinding light drove away the heavy darkness for not more than a second, Rhys immediately taking advantage to look around him. Shards of broken champagne glasses littered the floor, all of the guests wearing nervous and anxious expressions. There was a commotion near the grand staircase, someone was on the floor, a few people trying to make their way over. The sudden surge of light had aided them in finding their way over before darkness fell upon them once more.

“Don’t move, sir! We’re coming to help you.”

Rhys could make out the sounds of boots hitting the marble floor as security came rushing in. Beams of flashlights entered in high succeeding fashion, illuminating the hall as they swept their lights over every stricken face and corner.

The only person who stood relatively calmly observing the scene before him, was Rhys. At least he was, until the sound of his ringtone and an insistent buzzing hauled him back to reality. 

Y/N. 

Fuck.

You were still somewhere on the other side of the museum. With your victim. Alone. In the dark. 

Finally, a wave of minor panic — although he would never openly admit it — coursed through his veins. He futilely looked around, as if you’d magically appear before his eyes. Rhys took the phone he’d still been clutching from his pocket, the screen’s light accentuating the troubled creases in his forehead as his eyes scanned the text message he’d just received.

EMERGENCY ALERT

Severe Thunderstorm Warning in effect for this area until 02:45 AM. Strong wind gusts up to 120 km/h. Stay inside. Avoid travel.

Visit gov.uk/alerts for more information.

No shit, Sherlock. It’s a little fucking late for that. 

Rhys made a quick mental note to make some immediate changes to whatever department was responsible for issuing emergency alerts as soon as he would step into office. Pathetic pieces of shit. Now, you could be in danger. 

He tapped the screen harshly, dread filling him when he realised you still hadn’t contacted him. 

“You alright, mate?”

Rhys glanced up at Carson who flashed him a brief look of concern.

“Yes,” Rhys lied. “I just need to find my date.”

“You said she went to the loo, right? Do you want me to come with you?”

Rhys was shaking his head, already taking steps away from the group, directing their attention to his quickly retreating figure.

“No, no. It’s fine. I’m just gonna make sure she’s okay.”

He didn’t wait for an answer as he disappeared into the chaos of the hall, only faintly hearing one of them joking how he’d probably find you with smudges of reapplied lipstick on your cheek. Their laughter faded away as Rhys marched toward the direction of Attenborough Studio, people moving aside as he strode past with determination edged in his pace. He wasn’t sure if you’d made it there yet, but it was a good starting point. 

He never should’ve left you alone. He should’ve persuaded you to take a different approach, to lure Fernsby in a different way. You would have argued that it would be too conspicuous. That you would likely stand out too much, that this was the only possible way in which people wouldn’t notice. 

But all of that wouldn’t matter if you were injured. Or dead. 

Rhys clenched his fists. He trusted you and fully believed in your capabilities, but the nagging voice in the back of his head kept reminding him of that godforsaken bottle of poison. What if it had shattered? What if you had inhaled it? What if—

“Mr. Montrose.”

He stopped in his tracks at the sound of his name being called with a resounding sense of authority. One of the security officers stationed at the entrance to the Hintze Hall held up his hand, blocking Rhys’ way.

“No one is allowed to leave the room, I’m afraid. Security protocols.”

Rhys stared blankly at the man daring to keep him from finding you. Of course. The art. They were in a museum after all. He could care less about the priceless collection surrounding him, though. It held no priority compared to finding you. Internally, he was piecing together the most effective way to strangle the security officer and get on with it. However externally, Rhys painted a fake but convincing smile onto his face. He knew violence could only get him so far. Understanding and diplomacy on the other hand…

“I understand, sir. I was hoping you could make an exception. My date left to go to the restroom shortly before the power cut. I want to make sure she isn’t hurt or unable to find her way back here.”

Rhys looked at his name tag. “Please, Roy. You must understand.”

A flicker of doubt crossed the officer’s features. It had only been a tenth of a second but Rhys immediately preyed on that small moment, letting a sliver of that very real concern he felt slip through his carefully kept facade. And it worked. 

When the security officer blinked twice, glanced around the room to make sure his colleagues wouldn’t notice, Rhys knew he had him. Roy stepped aside, gesturing for Rhys to pass quickly. 

“When you’ve found her, come back to the Hintze Hall immediately, sir.”

“We will. Thank you, Roy.”

And with that Rhys was on his way once again. He took out his phone, turning on the flashlight as he tried to retrace his steps in the direction of where you’d come from earlier that night. Rhys mentally pictured the route — through the Mammals Gallery, turn left towards the Darwin Centre…

He felt a hundred pairs of eyes follow his every move as he walked through the gallery, checking right and left when he exited. Rhys wasn’t keen on being seen by anyone as he sneaked around the empty museum, seeing as this was definitely not the fastest way to the loo. But he also didn’t want to overlook you. You could be out here in the corridors somewhere for all he knew.

Rhys turned the left corner, rain pattering dismally against the floor to ceiling window panes separating the inside of the museum from the unlit courtyard outside. He shot a quick look through the windows, noticing that as far as he could see, London laid under a cover of darkness. The power must’ve gone out in a much larger area than just the museum. Although, Rhys was quite sure the museum itself had been directly hit by a strike of lightning. The near explosion level sound that reverberated throughout the building served as enough proof of that.

At that moment, another flash of lightning illuminated the entire corridor, allowing him to make out the Darwin Centre’s distinct eight-storey white cocoon in the distance. Rhys quickened his pace and reached the Centre in record time. He circled around the giant cocoon, shining his flashlight on the different entrances and doorways in search for Attenborough Studio. Besides the beating sound of the rain and thunder, all was quiet. It seemed as if not a single soul was around here, everyone swept up in the mess inside the Hintze Hall. 

When Rhys finally spotted the Studio, he didn’t waste another second, putting his ear against the door to listen if he could make out any noises on the other side. Nothing. He frowned, glancing back briefly over his shoulder before he inhaled deeply, readying himself for anything. He clasped the door handle, turning it and swinging the door open without another moment’s hesitation. 

Except for the two green emergency lights, Attenborough Studio was basked in silence and darkness, just like the rest of the museum. The Studio was essentially a small lecture hall — a semi-circular room with a capacity of up to 75 students. Rhys took a few tentative steps inside, letting his flashlight roam around the room, looking for a sign of life as the door clicked shut behind him.

He froze when the beam of light hit something. 

He let his phone’s flashlight illuminate a singular path down the stairs, leading to the centre of the room. There, in front of the teacher’s podium, lay a body. Alive or otherwise, Rhys couldn’t tell. 

Not that he was given another chance to think about it when an arm shot out from behind him. He inhaled sharply as it coiled strongly around his neck, instantly obstructing his airflow. Rhys stumbled back, hands shooting out to grab at his attacker. But it seemed that the assailant had already foreseen this defensive move as a sharp object pressed threateningly against his carotid artery. He tensed. The silent but efficient attack undeniably taking him by surprise. 

Rhys let out a shaky exhale, his thoughts moving a mile a minute as he could only think of one person who was capable of achieving such a feat.

There was a moment in which neither of you moved, during which Rhys picked up the faint traces of an all too familiar perfume, confirming his suspicions. 

He smiled. “Don’t tell me I missed it.”

At the sound of his voice, the weight of whatever weapon he’d felt against his throat, immediately disappeared. Rhys turned around and was met with your focused and slightly surprised expression. 

“Rhys,” you breathed, both visibly relieved to see him and wanting to scold him at the same time. 

“You know, if you’d only just texted me, you wouldn’t have had to attack me,” he remarked, dry.

You snorted, ruefully shaking your head at him. Still, you proceeded to step into his space, tilting your head up to kiss him, soft and tender. It was quite the juxtaposition compared to how you’d held a nail file up to his throat only seconds before. 

“Sorry about that,” you murmured, smiling against his lips.

Rhys returned your smile. “It’s okay, darling.”

He kissed you back, his lips moulding to yours, a large portion of the panic and stress leaving his body at the feeling of your lips pressed to his own. He held you close, hands moving to cradle your jaw as you kissed, the tips of his fingers pressing to the soft skin behind.

You made a soft noise, breaking the kiss all too quickly, pulling away from him. Rhys gently held onto your forearms, not wanting you to step away from him completely. 

Even though he felt infinitely more at ease knowing that you were safely in his presence once more, he couldn’t help but instinctively examine your entire physique to make sure you were really alright. 

Which, apparently, you weren’t.

Rhys stiffened as his eyes landed on a large tear down the left side of your formfitting, black dress, providing him with a clear view of your lace bra underneath. Rage rapidly built up inside of him as his eyes wandered from the ripped fabric, down to your arms where his hands were still circling your wrists. Below your elbow, a nasty bluish-black bruise, the size of a hand, was slowly forming. Glowering, he tracked a few other, smaller bruises that definitely hadn’t been there earlier, as well as multiple strands of your hair being uncharacteristically out of place. 

“What happened?” He seethed.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, emphasising the quiet but threatening hiss of his voice. You sighed, clearly having expected the reaction, your gaze automatically focusing on a place over his shoulder. Rhys followed it, his eyes landing on the heap of limbs on the floor.

“The power cut shortly after we got here. Fernsby wanted to leave and go back to the Hintze Hall, but I couldn’t let him,” you explained.

“I guess that’s when he sensed something was off. He freaked. I tried to calm him down. But it was too late. And so we ended up in a bit of a struggle on the floor.”

Rhys gritted his teeth. “A bit of a struggle?”

“It was dark. I could barely see anything,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Do you know how hard it is to subdue someone in total darkness without having it leave a single trace on their body?”

His eyes narrowed, calculating. “So, he’s not dead?”

“Not yet.”

“Good,” Rhys stated, already moving away from you in the direction of Daniel Fernsby’s unconscious body.

Your eyes widened, his intention clear as day. You hastily grabbed onto his arm to stop him, protecting your victim from Rhys’ wrath that could in all likelihood scare even the devil himself. 

“No,” you commanded. “Don’t.”

You were met with his cold gaze as Rhys reluctantly turned back around. But you didn’t waver, your own eyes narrowing in warning. 

“I haven’t gone to this much trouble for you to screw it all up. This is my job. My kill.”

You held your head high, daring him to defy you. Rhys was silent for a moment, taking in your resolve. You sure as hell weren’t messing around. Unmistakably, a seed of pride swelled inside of him at your certitude. Yet it was difficult to simply ignore his instincts to act upon the fear he’d felt earlier, and the anger now, as he bore witness to the consequences of how Fernsby had harmed you. 

An inner battle raged inside of him — avenge you or stand back and let you handle it. Deep down, Rhys knew the second option was really the only option. He knew you could handle it yourself. You killed people for a living for fuck’s sake. But that didn’t take away the fact that the thought of you getting hurt, or worse — losing you, caused his insides to twist rather unpleasantly. 

Rhys struggled to deal with these, still new, emotions. Thus, his first instinct had been to react on that fear impulsively, eliminating the danger himself, unintentionally disregarding you in the process.

It was as if you could sense his inner turmoil because you relented, your eyes softening. The storm in his own eyes, unmatched to the one outside, quieted a little as you moved closer to him, cupping both of his cheeks. It wasn’t lost on Rhys that you were somehow able to ground one another with a simple touch. It had been the case on more than one occasion — being able to reach the depths of each other’s souls through the connection you both shared. A mutual understanding. 

Knowing you had his full attention, you leaned in for another soft kiss. To convey a single message — that you were okay.

Your lips parted, your warm breath fanning over his lips. 

“I’m okay,” you added out loud, thumb brushing his cheek. “I promise, Rhys.”

Rhys closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into the warmth of your body, allowing you to convince him of that simple truth. And ultimately what he knew was the best, next course of action. 

He nodded slowly, accepting, his eyes lingering on your lips.

Rhys closed the final space between you once more, hand cradling the back of your head as he kissed you deeply and with intent, sealing a wordless promise of his own — to let you do what you did best, without him stepping in your way. You smiled into the kiss, trailing your hand down his neck to land on his chest. His heart beat steadily under the weight of your palm, even though the brush of your mouth against his own lit up nerve endings throughout his entire body. Rhys pulled you even closer to him, almost losing himself in your touch. 

A sudden crack of thunder startled the both of you. You pulled back, your eyes darting towards the entrance of the lecture hall, instantly checking whether someone had entered. But there was no one there. You laughed softly when you realised it was just the seemingly never-ending storm outside. 

Rhys didn’t share your laughter, though. Instead, he frowned. The thunder reminded him of the situation inside the Hintze Hall, and how you two couldn’t be missed for much longer until people would start to notice. Meaning now wasn’t the time to enjoy the delicious taste of your lips. No matter how much he wanted to.

He mentally dragged himself back to that place of utter most concentration and focus, his arms still loosely wrapped around you as his gaze locked with yours. You inquisitively raised a single eyebrow at his sudden change in attitude, waiting for him to elaborate.

“We don’t have much time, or they’ll start to look for us.”

“What do you mean look for us?”

“They’re gathering everyone in the Hintze Hall to ensure no one sneaks out to go shopping in the museum whilst the power is still out. One of the security officers knows I went out to look for you,” Rhys explained. “We’re supposed to be back there as soon as possible.”

You nodded, quickly understanding his concern. 

“They’re likely too busy to accurately track the time, though.”

“Agreed,” he acknowledged. “But we probably shouldn’t linger.”

“Although, don’t get me wrong,” Rhys added quickly, a sinful sparkle in his eyes as he glanced at your lips. “I really want to.”

You grinned. “Let’s get back to work, then. The sooner we can get out of here the better.” 

You punctuated your words by walking straight towards the podium, descending the stairs to where Fernsby’s body was still spread out on the floor, Rhys following behind you. Besides the flashlight on Rhys’ phone, you turned your own back on as well. The lack of light wasn’t ideal, but you would make it work. Bending down, you set down your phone and picked up your abandoned clutch lying a couple of feet away from the CEO. You took out the Chanel no. 5, which was thankfully still intact after your ‘minor altercation’.

“How did you even lure him in here?” Rhys asked, his eyes sliding over the ill-lit interior of the lecture hall.

“Well, it was decidedly more difficult after you paraded me around the dance floor.”

He made an amused ahh sound, but didn’t apologise.

“What did you tell him?”

“That you served as a nice distraction, but that I was looking for someone with more experience.”

Rhys smirked. “Is that so?”

You met his eye, shooting him a playful wink before you returned to your task at hand. 

You moved over Fernsby, settling your knees on either side of his chest before carefully placing the bottle of poison on the floor beside you. Meanwhile, Rhys settled in for the show, leaning back against the banister. He silently observed your preparations, like he’d done once before when he’d secretly followed you to watch you murder that prosecutor Williams a couple of months ago. However, this time, he was able to witness your work up close as you slowly undid the tie around Fernsby’s neck, cleverly using it to tie up his hands. You had to be careful, though. It needed to be tight enough so he wouldn’t be able to free himself, but not too tight that it would leave peri mortem marks on his body.

Once you were satisfied with the knot, your right hand firmly clasped his wrists to keep his arms pressed to the floor. After taking one deep, stabilising breath, you brought your free hand up to his cheek, fervently patting it in order to wake him up quickly, knowing that time was of the essence. 

It worked. Fernsby’s eyes blinking open slowly as his hazy gaze landed on the stunning lady that had seduced him earlier, and now sat perched atop of his chest. A lady that had somehow gotten the drop on him, knocking him out cold.

“You,” he croaked, trying to lift his arms, only coming to the realisation that he couldn’t move them. 

You purposely squeezed his bound hands, giving him your most radiant smile. A surge of panic flashed before his eyes, his brows lowering as he regarded you with a mixture of growing suspicion and trepidation. 

“What do you want?”

You shook your head slightly, disappointed. “Oh, Daniel, Daniel, Daniel…”

You rested some of your weight on his chest, making it harder for him to breathe as you leaned in closer to his face, watching in delight as his eyes widened.

“I want to apologise,” you whispered, stroking his cheek.

“For what?” Fernsby asked, confused, your supposed friendliness entirely at odds with his primal instincts sensing imminent danger.

“For not being able to take my time. Have a little chat with you,” you pouted. “It’s quite rude of me, but I do sincerely hope you’ll forgive me.”

“I-I don’t understand,” he stammered.

Fernsby didn’t even notice that someone else was present in the room with you. But Rhys was still there, quietly admiring you as he watched the scene before him unfold. The way you talked to him, thoroughly composed, posing as a friend before you would strike the final, fatal blow…

The power you held in that single moment, deciding his fate — it probably shouldn’t turn Rhys on. But it most definitely did.

“I think you will. See,” you said, picking up the Chanel no. 5. “This perfume bottle isn’t actually filled with perfume.”

Fernsby glanced at the bottle, obviously not understanding where you were going with this. 

“Instead, it contains a liquid herb that I think you might be somewhat familiar with,” you continued, turning the bottle around in your hand. “Aconitum napellus, to use the proper Latin term.”

His confused look only intensified. Perhaps he didn’t want to face the facts. To come to terms with the situation he currently found himself in, his mind stubbornly protecting himself from it. 

Rhys folded his arms, a smirk playing on his lips. Fernsby wouldn’t be able to escape the inevitable conclusion forever.

“You still don’t know?” You asked, mocking. “This is elementary stuff for someone in your field, I’d say.”

Beads of sweat covered Fernsby’s face as it became harder and harder for him to breathe. He furtively rubbed his wrists against the restraint of his own tie. His favourite tie, no less. The one that always brought him luck, except today. 

When you raised a single brow, he swallowed thickly. Fernsby understood, if anything, that you were expecting an answer from him in return. Not wanting to find out what would happen if he didn’t, he mumbled, “It’s most c-commonly used in Ch-chinese medicine.”

“Correct,” you beamed. “However, you and I both know that it’s not only used to treat illnesses. It’s also very much capable of causing them...”

He paled. Realisation hitting him like a ton of bricks. 

Aconite, he mouthed. 

Poison.

Finally, he’d reached the point where his mind could no longer trick himself into a false sense of security. Your smile widened as terror shook through Fernsby’s body. He cried out, moving in a frenzy underneath you, trying with all his might to get away from you. But it was of no use. Your weight on his chest and the iron grip you had on his tied-up wrists successfully keeping him down. 

Slowly, you brought the bottle of poison closer to his face.

“Long-term effects include respiratory paralysis and heart rhythm abnormalities. Symptoms that can be treated,” you spoke calmly. “However, in high-dosages, such as I have here — there is no treatment.”

You stared into his frightened eyes. “Which means that your heart will stop immediately.”

He trembled, shaking his head in agony, pleading with you. The fear and adrenaline had most certainly kicked in, his chest rising and falling beneath you in rapid succession. It reduced him to the mere shell of a man. The once selfish CEO whose only objective was to get richer on the backs of others, consequences be damned, replaced with this — a scared puppy, begging for mercy. 

Some would perhaps argue that he was innocent in all this. Innocent in the sense that he didn’t know any better. His father had founded the company before Daniel Fernsby had taken over, showing his nepo son the ropes of the Big Pharma industry, and how to most effectively utilise capitalism in support of their business.

But Rhys knew none of that changed anything for you. Fernsby was a job you needed to get done. It was as simple as that. And it always would be.

Could you finally admit to yourself that the power you felt during a kill was invigorating? Intoxicating in its own way? Rhys desperately wanted to know. Although, something about the way you were leaning over your victim, playing with him and openly enjoying it, told Rhys that you finally did.

“Wh-why are you do-doing this?”

“Because Ms. Eileen Edwards asked me to.”

Fernsby’s bulging eyes widened even more, making Rhys believe they might burst out of their sockets. 

“Now, I would’ve loved to get into the why’s and who’s a little further. But as I told you before, I’m in a bit of a rush. So,” you said, uncapping the poison filled bottle.

“She says fuck you. And goodbye.”

Your prompt change in demeanour delayed Fernsby’s immediate reaction time as you leaned back as far as possible, letting go of his wrists. You bunched up the ends of your dress, moving it up to your face to serve as a make-shift mask to shield you from the soon to be airborne droplets of aconite poison.

When Fernsby did catch up, understanding better than ever what you were about to do, he tried to fight back. Unfortunately, his restricted movements to try and fend you off were unmatched by your speed and the level of experience you had with going after people, and killing them. You anticipated his next moves long before he thought of them, easily dodging the attack of his bound wrists. You stabilised yourself as he tried to kick his legs at you in a feverous madness. It didn’t work. Nothing did.

You pressed the fabric of your dress securely against your nose and mouth, bringing the bottle of poison in front of Fernsby’s face. He tried to turn away, but it was too late. You’d already sprayed the poison directly into his nose and mouth. You moved your own head to the side, holding your breath as an extra precaution to protect yourself from the poison. Fernsby’s heavy breathing resulted in him quickly inhaling the aconite. And like you’d told him before, the CEO started convulsing almost instantly, gasping in heaves of poisoned air that only accelerated the process of his heart muscle to stop pumping blood through his body.

You got off of him, taking a couple of steps back. You were so engaged with the gruesome sight before you, you barely noticed that Rhys had walked over to stand behind you, watching the dying man over your shoulder.

Not even fifteen seconds after he’d inhaled the first poison filled breath of air, Fernsby’s heart went into cardiac arrest. And then it was over quickly. Minor muscle tremors served as the last set of twitching, bodily movements before Fernsby lay completely still, his lungs no longer expanding, and his head lulled lifelessly to the side.

Rhys looked from Fernsby to you, studying you as you took a small moment to relish the kill. He was without a doubt in awe of your display of sheer ruthlessness, his eyes staring at you longingly. You glanced back over your shoulder, and he could tell your mind was already focusing on the next part of the kill. The getting-away-with-it part. Arguably the most difficult task.

“What’s next?” Rhys asked, placing an affectionate kiss to your exposed neckline.

You turned around to face him, eyes zeroing in on his suit jacket’s left breast pocket. “I’m gonna plant the burner phone that I brought with me on his body. May I?”

Rhys peered down at your fingers lightly grasping his neatly folded handkerchief. He nodded, allowing you to take it from him. Next, you reached for your clutch, retrieving said burner phone with Rhys’ handkerchief so that none of your prints were left on its surface. You walked back over to Fernsby’s dead body, carefully tucking the phone in his inner jacket pocket.

“Now,” you exclaimed. “The police will find messages on there, showing how Fernsby was ‘in contact’ with a woman shortly before his death. It will also show how she suggested to meet here, in Attenborough Studio, to have some fun. Away from prying eyes.”

You carefully grabbed the bottle of poison, recapping it before putting it back inside your clutch. 

“They will then start to look for this mystery woman,” you continued informing Rhys on your well-crafted plan as you moved to untie Fernsby’s wrists, expertly retying the tie around his neck. “Of course, they won’t find her.”

“But what about that young woman in the Hintze Hall?” Rhys interjected. “Surely, we’re not the only ones who have seen Fernsby ogling her earlier tonight. They’ll suspect foul play, and name her the prime suspect.”

He was a little surprised, to say the least. As far as he was aware, you never framed an innocent person for your crimes.

“Yes, they probably will. But she’ll be fine. The police will find her, and question her, but whether or not she alibies out — they won’t have a shred of evidence to hold her.”

Now, it was Rhys’ turn to not understand your line of reasoning. 

He furrowed his brows. “You’re not worried about the toxicology report?”

“Not really, no,” you answered, standing up to circle the body with a high level of scrutiny, making sure you didn’t leave a single piece of DNA evidence behind.

“Due to the rapid absorption of aconite, the autopsy won’t produce any results that will indicate poisoning,” you explained. “Unless the forensics team collects body samples within the next two hours, which I think is unlikely.”

You came to stand in front of Rhys once you were satisfied with the crime scene, a pleased smile playing on your lips.

“Therefore, they can only come to the conclusion that Mr. Fernsby died of natural causes. Case closed.”

Rhys stared at you. Officially more than a little impressed. Your intelligence and resourcefulness never ceased to amaze him, especially when it came to getting away with murder. 

“Case closed,” he repeated, mirroring your smile. 

You both casted a final glance at Fernsby, ensuring you didn’t leave anything behind on your way towards the exit. Rhys held open the door for you, following you out of Attenborough Studio after wiping the door handles on both sides.

A burst of lightning lit up the Darwin Centre, Rhys’ attention immediately drawn to the tear on your ruined dress. Your eyes followed his gaze, chewing your lip apprehensively as you looked down at the mangled state of your dress. Before you could ask, Rhys was already shrugging out of his suit jacket, holding it out for you to slip into.

You moved in front of him, allowing Rhys to put it on you. The jacket was way too big for you, but it would certainly suffice in hiding the large tear that you wouldn’t be able to explain otherwise. You shot him a grateful look, inhaling his scent as you slid your hands down the smooth fabric. Rhys smirked at the sight of you in his clothes, moving to tuck the loosened strands of your hair back into place.

“Let’s return to the party, shall we?”

He was about to offer you his arm when you paused.

“Wait,” you called, looking at him worriedly, suddenly remembering a crucial piece of information. “What about that group of politicians from earlier? They know I left the Hintze Hall before the power cut. What if they put two and two together?” 

Rhys didn’t respond the way you thought he would. Instead, he chuckled lightly, making you frown. Contrary to you, he knew those men, and he wasn’t worried about them at all. And neither should you be.

Rhys placed his hand on your shoulder reassuringly.

“Trust me, they won’t cause any problems. Come morning, they likely won’t remember a single, coherent detail about tonight,” he assured, thinking back to the drunk lot of them.

Looking at him knowingly, you bit your lip, directing his attention to your irresistible lips. Oh, how he wanted to kiss you again.

“They did have quite a bit to drink, huh,” you teased.

“And even more after you left,” Rhys grinned.

“I wonder who encouraged them.”

He simply shrugged his shoulders, which earned Rhys a laugh in return as he checked his watch. It had decidedly felt much longer, but barely twenty minutes had passed since he had left the Hintze Hall to come look for you. 

He quickly considered about half a dozen strategies on how you two could slip back inside the Hintze Hall unnoticed. Rhys concluded that the best option would be to return via another entrance to avoid Roy the security officer. Then, you would simply have to keep a low profile, as much as that was possible, until all the guests would be allowed to leave. 

It would have to do. 

You started walking back in the direction of the Hintze Hall as Rhys relayed his plan to you. The moment you agreed, he gradually picked up his pace, blindly reaching for your hand. 

“Come on,” he urged, lacing your fingers together. “The sooner we get back, the sooner we’ll get cleared, and we can go home.”

Home. 

A single word. Short in its simplicity, yet it held so much meaning. You smiled, squeezing his hand, eagerly matching his pace.

Yes, you thought. Let’s go home. 

–––– 

A/N: I would like to let everyone know that I’m by no measure a poison expert, so this contained mostly freeform based on Dexter and some science. Yes, I actually read part of an academic research paper on fatal aconite poisonings in autopsy findings and postmortem quantitative analysis — which to be honest, was quite interesting. So, you’re welcome. But please ignore the inaccuracies (which I’m sure are there) if you happen to be a chemistry specialist.

THEN (!!) on a very important note: if you haven’t yet seen the trailer/edit I made for this fic (how dare you?), please check it out here! x

Until next week babes, part 21 is drafted and almost ready to be posted :) 

am I actually back on schedule??? wow. jk I really am trying my best lol THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE, YOU’RE THE BEST

–– 

Tags: @artaxerxesthegreat

[autolovecraft]

Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch.

In the semi-gloom he trusted mostly to touch to select the right one, and indeed came upon it almost by accident, since it tumbled into his hands as if through some odd volition after he had unwittingly placed it beside another on the third layer. The boxes were fairly even, and could be piled up like blocks; so he began to compute how he might most stably use the eight to rear a scalable platform four deep. It was generally stated that the affliction and shock were results of an unlucky slip whereby Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley Cemetery, escaping only by crude and disastrous mechanical means; but while this much was undoubtedly true, there were other and blacker things which the man used to whisper to me in his drunken delirium toward the last. The pile of tools soon reached, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry. Steeled by old ordeals in dissecting rooms, the doctor entered and looked about, stifling the nausea of mind and body that everything in sight and smell induced. It was just as he had recognized old Matt's coffin that the door slammed to in the wind, leaving him in a dusk even deeper than before. He gave old Matt the very best his skill could produce, but was thrifty enough to save the rejected specimen, and to use it when Asaph Sawyer died of a malignant fever. Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago. An eye for an eye! This arrangement could be ascended with a minimum of awkwardness, and would furnish the desired height. In either case it would have been appropriate; for the unexpected tenacity of the easy-looking brickwork was surely a sardonic commentary on the vanity of mortal hopes, and the emerging moon must have witnessed a horrible sight as he dragged his bleeding ankles toward the cemetery lodge; his fingers clawing the black mold in brainless haste, and his aching arms rested by a pause during which he sat on the bottom step of his grim device, Birch cautiously ascended with his tools and stood abreast of the narrow transom. The borders of the space were entirely of brick, and there seemed little doubt but that he could shortly chisel away enough to allow his body to pass.

I saw the scars—ancient and whitened as they then were—I agreed that he was reduced to a profane fumbling as he made his halting way among the long boxes toward the latch. The borders of the space were entirely of brick, and there seemed little doubt but that he could shortly chisel away enough to allow his body to pass. What else, he added, could ever in any case be proved or believed? Whether he had imagination enough to wish they were empty, is strongly to be doubted. As he planned, he could not but wish that the units of his contemplated staircase had been more securely made. For the long-neglected latch was obviously broken, leaving the careless undertaker trapped in the vault, a victim of his own oversight. He was the devil incarnate, Birch, and I believe his eye-for-an-eye fury could beat old Father Death himself.

Sawyer in their last illnesses. It must have been midnight at least when Birch decided he could get through the transom. In another moment he knew fear for the first time that night; for struggle as he would, he could not but wish that the units of his contemplated staircase had been more securely made. In the semi-gloom he trusted mostly to touch to select the right one, and indeed came upon it almost by accident, since it tumbled into his hands as if through some odd volition after he had unwittingly placed it beside another on the third layer. Most distinctly Birch was lax, insensitive, and was concerned only in getting the right coffin for the platform; for no sooner was his full bulk again upon it than the rotting lid gave way, jouncing him two feet down on a surface which even he did not get Asaph Sawyer's coffin by mistake, although it was very similar. At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon. His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about. That he was not perfectly sober, he subsequently admitted; though he had not then taken to the wholesale drinking by which he later tried to forget certain things. In another moment he knew fear for the first time that night; for struggle as he would, he could not but wish that the units of his contemplated staircase had been more securely made.

[populationthree]

Chapter 7

Vermillion skies entombed me underneath their boundless stars. Waves of clouds obscured my horizons far beyond the glass shores. All I could hear were the cry of seagulls and crashing waves ahead. The crystalline seas perfectly mirrored the scene above.

Most of all, there was a line. Sat on the edge of the ocean's vanishing point was an abstract mural of countless branches. Contained within its design was a multitude of colors hidden behind the luminous streaks.

A gray void splayed itself across a series of branches. Its scar burdens the light in its overwhelming shape. In its shadow, the hues dance around the edges before fading to nothing inside the void.

I could see the sky beneath me. The sands weren't fully transparent, yet I could identify the figure of a moon resting between my feet. Its presence barely contends against the heavens above. It lays dormant, hiding.

A fleet of floating islands hang overhead. Their jagged peaks rest within the clouds as vines reach down for the ground. Among these islands was a rising mist obscuring a magenta waterfall.

Most wondrous of all was a small, glass flower. It had long blossomed, exposing its nested golden core. Despite the fauna's material, my thumb easily pushed against the petals, leaving a cold sensation upon my fingertip. The flower was absent of thorns. I held the stem sternly between my index and middle finger.

The sun abruptly jostled within its resting place. Its radiant shape slowly warped as the very land hushed in its presence. Titanic hands rose from the underworlds of the beach to form a structure around the waking sun. Its rocky fingers grasped around various islands above and its own forearms. What remained was a chassis supporting the world beyond. Intertwined in a pair of twisted hands was the gray void. All the lines surrounding it faded behind its arms.

The stars in the sky blinked asynchronously. They closed their divine gaze one by one as they cleansed the swirling cosmos of detail. The only light left came from the volatile sun. After a prolonged period of time, it engulfed the skies in a brilliant white before dissipating completely.

An ethereal voice carried its whispers along the beach's wind, "Why have you returned?"

My gaze locked upon an encroaching figure of light. Its golden locks fell victim to the harsh winds as they extended outwards. Purple robes obscured its body in intricate silk and embellished details. I could feel its eyes piercing right through his sole, even if it had no eyes to begin with.

"I thought you were scared," its voice wavered, "I thought you never loved me."

Its hands delicately wrapped themselves around a small, glass flower. Luminous rays filtered through the petals to form shadows of Ambrosia against the ground below.

Soon, its expression changed. Its warm glow withered away, revealing a layer of human skin. The details of its face were clear now—I could see its glossy eyes.

Its pillowed words filter through my body, "Why leave your corpse animate and alive? What good is it to depart with your mind and soul alone?"

The figure addressed my presence. It extended its hand outward as it stowed away the flower in tandem.

"You were never meant to deal with the affairs of the divine," it continued, "There's a world of hate and malice no mind can fathom. Why curse your legacy to bear your sins?

"This world has bent to my will. I've sacrificed all that makes me human in an attempt to quench my insatiable desire for acceptance. All guardians which cradle me grow distant, and all peers who seek me fall victim to grief."

The figure reached its hand up toward the heavens. With the sky in its fingertips, a wisp of clouds coiled around its hand and stuck to its body.

"You live in a future gated by chance. Every man who walks alongside you won an impossible lottery invisible to perception. I've severed the divine art of creation and sewn its victims tight. No mistake befalls me, and no blunder will find me.

"I've chiseled my mark upon this world as my own Blight. I am the Paragon of Perfection in all its glory. I've merged myself in the streams of time as oneself. I am without passion or soul. I am neither human nor alive. I am Paradeus."

A swirl of Ambrosian fireflies circles the figure's head as a crown of shifting flowers. The paragon turns itself around with its back against me. With the glass flower extended out to the heavens, strings of light slowly sift through the flower's petals and exit as a radiant rainbow.

Remnants of its voice echo against the heavens. His actions move quicker than his speech. "It's better to live a life wandering contently among your aspirations than to slave away for the satisfaction and appraisal of your fates. But you don't have this luxury, do you?"

After an existence of silence, I vocalized my thoughts in the empty valleys of the paragon's speech, "That's what Sol Invictus told me."

The paragon revealed its slight smile through a slight pan of its head. "I'm glad he's living the life I've long desired."

The world shifted around, rotating me around the paragon's figure until we met face to face once again. Every step it took engulfed the heavens in a deep tremor—all to close the distance between us. As the paragon stood a few feet in front of me, I was quickly introduced to his towering height. The figure kneeled before me with its arm outstretched. Its hand wrapped around my shoulder, scorching my exposed skin with its divine light.

"Man has within itself a desire to serve." The paragon's voice softened, revealing an undertone of forgotten whispers. "They desire lights—guiding beacons. They are infallible to shepherds of purpose. Power poisons the mind as attainable dreams. Persuade the people of your divinity, and they'll seldom question your authority.

"Command them with conviction. Strike their ears with charm. The line between divinity and mortality erodes in the slipstreams of time. Steer your allies clear of the maddening truth of old. What separates the conmen from the leaders is the integrity of their soul. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"This is the truth of One Thousand Victories. Speak as you are known and act as you are seen. Confidence is an iron veil. A blade dulls with every strike. As you were, Autumn Sforzando."

A distant bell tolls. The complex scenery fades around me as the paragon's smile sears itself into my receding vision. The Ambrosia's hug returned to me as my senses attune back to reality.

I found myself on the same platform as before. My aches intensify with every inch of consciousness that returns to me. It wasn't as bad as the coffin. I checked the WRIST for the time. 5:28 PM.

The council—minus Kiryana—convened near the platform with a small picnic basket in tow. They sat on a checkered fabric outstretched across the grotto's floor. Miyana occupied herself with the contents of the basket, while Ozymandias and Solis engaged in conversation.

"I'm not sure," The mannequin replies, "It seems you and Miyana seem to be just fine even as you're both nearing the latter end of your expected life span."

Ozymandias dryly chuckles. "Ah, that just makes me feel old. Usually adventurers like us reach their prime before our brains fully develop."

"Well, then why do you two continue? You could easily retire in luxury. Miyana accrued enough wealth from her business ventures to retire for nine lifetimes."

"If it was all about the money, then we would've shaped the Nexus as a beach resort some fifteen years ago."

"You may be correct. I know you're fully content with the life you live. Miyana, on the other hand..."

"Yeah, it's all vengeance. That's probably why she carries on. I just tag along for old times sake."

"Then there's your answer. Autumn has been awake for thirty-two seconds, by the way."

Ozymandias whips his head toward the center of the chamber. His curious gaze quickly shifted to soft satisfaction.

"I'm sure you two have much to discuss after her venture to the Realm of One Thousand Victories."

"Ah, welcome back, Autumn! I see you've returned all in one piece."

I felt a searing pain welcome itself within the back of my skull. With my hand firmly pressed against it, I sharply exhaled through my teeth. "Mostly, yeah. How does he know how long I've been awake and where I've been? I thought I was dreaming."

Solis' eyes lit up. I could only assume he waited for some poor soul to ask my question for years. With his palm faced toward the ceiling, he projects a faint diagram showcasing a few recognizable images. In the middle was a plane of trees and shrubbery. A patchwork of nighttime fabric rests above the plane. On the opposite side is a soup of rocks and dust which spread across a series of islands surrounding a marble spire.

"Typically, we're only aware of three planes of existence. These are Heaven, Hell, and our prime plane, Reality. The first two are strictly guarded by the divine. Through our toils and troubles, we're rewarded through our devotion and achievements. It's undecided whether Hell is its own separate place, but the Cult of Skymarcher holds a set of sacred scriptures which segregate these two concepts."

I nodded, half interested. "Go on."

"I won't bore you with the details on the specifics, but all of these realms exist as an extension of reality. We colloquially call the culmination of our reality and its realms the Aureverse. Only one soul can inhabit one realm at a time, but it may have multiple bodies from where it can anchor to."

"You're kind of losing me here, Solis."

"The Realm of One Thousand Victories is a special realm hosted on the outer bounds of the Aureverse. Just as the Empyrean Peak is the homeland of Skymarcher, this place exists as the central resting grounds for the Paragon of Perfection, Paradeus."

Ozymandias snapped his fingers. "Paradeus! You met Paradeus?"

The name confused me. I knew who it referred to, yet the connection remained abstract. "Who is he?"

"You're familiar with Skymarcher's reach of power, yeah?" The ex-priest continued, "Skymarcher is a sentient representation of the universe as a whole."

"I think I've heard of it, yeah. It's been a while, but I get what you're saying."

"Well, Paradeus is the sentient representation of what happens inside the universe. Its thoughts are reality and what will become of it."

"That makes some amount of sense."

"Neither of them actively influence the world around us. Think of them as figureheads, mainly. They have no influence on what happens to their men, but they're actively involved in their affairs—whether it be for better or for worse."

"Okay, I kind of understand. So I've essentially met our past, present, and future?"

Solis chimes in, "In a way, yes. I wouldn't worry about the specifics too much. Here's some fun trivia: he relinquished the duties of a theorized deity called 'Azathoth' upon his canonization."

Miyana retracts her attention from her meal and toward the current conversation. "Caelitran Theology is an entire beast to explain. Everyone's sorted in classes. The Sonatan Gods are somehow a part of the current Pantheon despite all nine vanishing before Fortuna's rise to power. We classify Goddess Fortuna and Sol Invictus on the same ranks as Paradeus and Skymarcher although we can theoretically kill the former. Who came up with this system?"

"Unsure. I also share some frustrations. The connotation of Godhood has been quickly diminished when you consider I'm classified under the same status as Paradeus."

"It's because of your ties with Laque, isn't it?"

"Correct. There's nothing divine about me. My creation alongside the connotations of my sibling creations place me far beyond my capabilities."

"Divinity is a farce. I'd rather be Godless than endlessly confused by these archaic semantics."

Miyana and Solis both turned their attention toward Ozymandias, who had retreated in place.

"Right, sorry, Mandy. I forgot about your devotions."

"It's okay," He blankly replied.

"Well, now that I think about it. I wouldn't mind having at least one higher power. It'd make everything a lot less confusing. What do you think, Solis?"

"Ah, maybe." He reached his wooden hand up to scratch his chin in contemplation. "Depends on which deity it would be. I think ruling out any of the newer additions and the Sonatan Gods reveals a decent list of candidates for this theoretical position."

"Yeah, but think about it. Do we really want Spaceripper as our True God?"

"Despite my kindred connections with him, I'd have to agree."

"Skymarcher is kind of a nuisance. It's like we gave some insecure brat a position of power. Someone along the chain of command messed up."

"Can't agree or disagree with that."

I raised my hand. "I met Skymarcher after I died."

"Skymarcher? What did he look like?"

"He was an animated skeleton of some sort with tattered clothes."

Miyana interjected with a mouthful of her sandwich, "You didn't meet Skymarcher. You met the Corpse of Caeliter."

"Corpse of Caeliter?"

"Yeah. He's theologically distinct enough to be considered a separate deity. Right, Solis?"

"As of the last Metalogic Assembly last year," he stated, "the Corpse of Caeliter isn't Skymarcher."

"See what I mean? This is all too confusing! We need someone who isn't confusing to explain. Someone who isn't multiple people at once."

"I may know the person. Are you thinking what I'm processing?"

"You think too highly of me. On three."

"Three..."

"Two..."

"One..."

They both replied in unison, "Voodoom!"

Ozymandias quickly stood up from his spot on the picnic blanket with his hands firmly placed to his sides. "Okay! I think I'm all good with my early dinner. Surely you must be full from two meals in the span of three hours, right Miyana?"

"Ah, yeah, sure." She dusted the crumbs off her uniform. "I'm ready to go. Is it just a straight shot home?"

"I believe so. We need to extract some resources from the Grand Capital, but that's an entirely separate adventure we'll return to. Say, Autumn, why don't you entertain us with a story while we head home? How was the training with Sol Invictus?"

It took me a second to process Ozymandias' request. While I was surprised, it was more in the surprise than the action itself.

"I mean, I still have plenty more to share," I replied, "Though, I want to get this question off my mind before I completely forget."

The ex-priest raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What would that be, exactly?"

"You have good connections to Skymarcher, right? Why was I revived in the first place?"

"That's a good question, actually. I don't think he went into the specifics of why. He just said you were brought back through passion. You know how reanimation works, right?"

"Generally. An equivalent exchange must be made to kickstart a body back to life. No one returns whole."

"Right, that's about the gist of it. Given the relative time you've spent dead and the encounter you've had with Skymarcher, I think you've involuntarily indebted yourself to him in return for your continued life."

"Well, that doesn't sound fair."

"That's how he works sometimes. I vaguely remember him saying you were brought back out of passion, but he could be gloating."

I watched as Miyana's hand slowly raised up in the air with her index finger extended upwards. Soon after, she slowly returned her hand to her side.

"We should get a move on, though. I'd like to end this little exploration trip before we get too out of hand."

"Oh, yeah, sure. Lead the way."

I occupied the air with a continuation of my past life. After catching everyone up to speed—especially Solis—I found myself at the next memorable event in my mind. 

After the arduous weeks spent training with Sol Invictus, the days blurred together as they inhibited a repetitive schedule. Firstly, I woke up without the indication of dawn. With the sun constantly overhead, it was hard to adjust my sleeping patterns to the restless kingdom.

After eating breakfast—which was always prepared by the castle's standby chefs—Laque mentored me in the laboratory as he refined and assessed my individual practices from the day prior. Lunch arrived around noon. Once I had my fill, I was tasked to apply most of the concepts learned throughout the day on my own time. Laque stated the benefits of practicing alone, but also mentioned the diplomatic duties he had to attend to.

The evenings—as bright as they were—held no important events or obligations. I had the remaining time to myself. Some days, I spent the time reading through the bedroom's small library. I'd often stroll around the city's streets just to take in the view. Sometimes, there was a theatrical performance or a festival of sorts. There wasn't a shortage of activities within the kingdom. If anything, I was impressed by the busy streets and festive spirit. However, as the weeks sped by, the upbeat nature of the kingdom overstayed its welcome. There had to be other ways to spend my time.

One night, I took the time to explore around the confines of Laque's underground facility. While the sterile walls and kingdom's symbols and designs extended throughout the basement floor, they were secondary in importance to the sheer abundance of technology. Various pipes, cables, displays, consoles, and storage units organized themselves among projects.

Most of Laque’s researchers leave around 8 PM. I've grown well-acquainted with them through my occupancy in the kingdom. They didn't mind leaving me alone in the facility. I didn't know if their suspicions weren't raised due to the rapport I built with them or the assumption that I would continue my independent practice well into the evening hours. Regardless, I was alone.

I remember stumbling into what I assumed to be Laque's surveillance system. The room wasn't guarded by any means. All that existed as a warning was the simple label on top of the door frame.

Monitors lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Panels lined themselves up along the center of the room. I couldn't figure out how to modify the views or focus on a specific point of view. The room seemed to favor a point within the castle already.

Tucked away in the back gardens was a small porch. Trimmed shrubberies formed a small wall around a series of chairs surrounding a central table. Three candles sat within the confines of a metallic candelabra. At first, I could clearly see the wicks with clarity. As two shadowy figures approached the table, the stubs quickly lit aflame without any outside influence.

Entering from the left was Caesar. I could recognize his bright blue coat from a mile away. He dug his hands within his pockets while he walked. On the other side of the display was Laque. His golden hair was enough to clue me in on identifying him. Even then, I could hear his voice over the console speakers.

"Thanks for meeting with me tonight." Laque pulled a chair out from underneath the table for Caesar to sit in. "I know you've been busy with your religious reformations. This'll be quick, I promise."

The prophet sat in his designated seat. At first, he lifted his hands and briefly waved them in the air. "Oh, don't worry! It's not as bad as you think it is. I'm not changing much, just laying down some foundational work."

"You might have to clue me in on it once I'm done training Autumn! I'm sure you're a natural-born leader. Your parents say a lot about you, too."

"Aw, you don't have to shower me with compliments, you know?"

"Well, it's true! I wouldn't say it if it wasn't."

"Suppose you're right. Now remind me, what did you call me in for?"

"Ah, you know. I don't think there's going to be a good time to really break this in a digestible fashion. But, how do you feel about the natural law of authority? I know you're an upstanding citizen and all."

"I think it should be upheld. Plain and simple. Why do you ask? Feels like you're leading into something huge."

"You're correct, yes. I think there's a point in everyone's lives where their world view radically shifts, you know?"

"Not necessarily."

"If I may. There was a point in my life—around my twenty-fourth birthday—where everything suddenly made sense. I was raised upon exemplary conditions. I surrounded myself with influences which positively shaped my talents and perspectives. I feel like everyone experiences a point in their life when they first wake up. Not from a dream—no—but from their crafted reality."

"Right, I think I kind of get what you're saying. Though, I don't think that really applies to me."

"How so?"

"You know how I've been raised. I've been surrounded by Skymarcher's influence for as long as I can remember. If I didn't have a grounded grasp on what was real, I think my devotion to Skymarcher would be questioned in its entirety."

Laque grinned. No words escaped his mouth.

"What's that expression for?"

"Oh, nothing. You know my relationship with Domi. I wouldn't lead you astray."

"Right. As I was saying..."

"My mistake. As you were."

"Some people will come to this revelation, sure. But I don't think that'll happen with me. My parents raised me well. I wouldn't consider myself spoiled by any means—no offense."

"None taken."

"It just sounds like you're assuming things about me that aren't true, you know?"

"Right, I'm sorry about that. Maybe I'm getting a little ahead of myself. I'm just more concerned about the wellbeing of my relatives than anything, you know? What's your stance on love, then?"

"It's a little finicky, why? This feels like another setup."

"Ah, not really. I'm no love expert. I haven't courted anyone in my lifetime. I've tried to replicate the miracles of life, and that hasn't aged well for me. If you wouldn't mind, can I say some wisdom?"

Reluctantly, Caesar nods.

"The greatest love you'll experience is knowing when to let go. Your feelings may go unnoticed. They may be realized long after your passing. There's nothing wrong about waiting—I don't have a perfect formula for you there. What I will tell you, however, is it's best to work in the shadows. Love isn't about selfish gain, Caesar."

"I've heard that plenty of times, Laque."

"Don't be afraid to break a few promises. Treat her out for some tea. You're young—your mind's still developing. Whatever you do now will be forgiven in the act of love. Take advantage of that, okay? I'm sure Domi wouldn't mind."

"Are you sure? I'm pretty sure Skymarcher wouldn't like it if I went against his gospel."

"Caesar. He's told me about his desires. You're forgetting he was once human too. I only know what words to say to you now because Domi said the same exact phrases to me years ago. He wouldn't mind."

Caesar remained silent. He clasped his hands together and lurched forward.

"Trust me, okay?"

After a moment of silence, Caesar reclined back in his chair. "I'll trust you."

"Good. You'll know what I'm talking about in due time. It'll all be too late if you squander this opportunity, I promise."

"You promise?"

"Voodoom's still kicking around, is he not?"

"Ah, right. Suppose he is."

That was all I cared for in the recording. I distinctly remember after Caesar had left, Laque briefly locked his attention toward the nearby camera. Soon after, he sat up and left the garden. I don't know why he felt the need to look at the camera. In the moment, it felt like I was suddenly perceived through my protective one-way glass.

On my last day of training, I started my day as usual. I didn’t know it was my last day until I met up with Laque to start my morning practice.

“Okay, Laque.” I opened the door up to the white-walled foyer. “I’m ready to get my training done for the day.”

The prince stood with his back turned toward the entrance. He hunched over the railing with his focus placed down on the lower level of the room. Once I finished speaking, he raised his head up slightly.

He kept his attention toward the distance. “Well, Autumn, today’s your lucky day. I’ve got nothing left for you.”

“Nothing left?” I repeated, “I thought we still had a few days left of training.”

“I must’ve misspoken. Don’t take this as an excuse to stop practicing, however. I’ve just taught you all I’ve needed to.”

“Well, this feels anticlimactic.”

“It is, yes.”

“Don’t you have some sort of test to show that I’ve improved? A written quiz? A battle?”

“Not necessarily. A fight against me wouldn’t bring any worthwhile results. However, I believe your journey to the lily will utilize all that we’ve learned over the course of these last two months.”

“Two months? That’s how long it’s been?”

“Time flies when you stick to a routine, Autumn.”

“As I’ve experienced.”

A moment of silence fills the air. Laque pushes himself off the railing and walks toward me. He stops once he's within a few meters of distance—far enough to where he can speak in a comfortable tone.

"I have no reason to doubt you and Caesar are well-equipped for the challenges ahead," he continues, "I think my lessons will apply themselves in time."

I was confused by what Laque was talking about. "I'm not sure how manipulating colors can help out in any way. That, and I don't think I'll be hiding myself often."

"Right, but have you forgotten one of our first lessons?"

Laque walks over to stand just behind my right shoulder. With one hand, he formed it in a way which resembled holding a gun.

"That BEL wasn't retooled for nothing. Form your hand like such."

As I repeat the shape of his hand through my own. A reticle hovers over my postured hand as a laser dot forms on the distant wall.

"I've gotten a little help from the Man on the Moon with this design. When you pull the imaginary trigger, a bolt of Ambrosia will shoot out in similar concentrations to a typical BEL. Only you can see the reticle, dot, and bullet."

"Right, I almost forgot about that."

"Have you been practicing out in the training grounds with it?"

"Not really, no. I kind of forgot to."

"Well, that explains it. At least I've reacquainted you."

My cheeks glow red in embarrassment.

"You have the rest of the day free to do whichever preparations you need to do. However, I must ask this out of curiosity. Do you remember the last time a mortal achieved eternal life?"

"I think so? You're talking about yourself, aren't you?"

"Well, not really. The person in question is a Laque."

It took me a moment to fully comprehend what he said.

"Oh, nevermind then. Look up the Saturn Scriptures if you're curious, they're in the library somewhere."

"I'll take a peek, thanks. Is there any reason why you mention this?"

"Well, threefold. First, because I think it's a fascinating tale. The only reason we know about what happened is through the remnants of a simulated world which collapsed. Secondly, there's an upheld adage about obtaining divinity."

"And that is?"

"The only known people who have crossed the threshold have surmounted the Gods in an act of skill. It depends on who you target. Skymarcher achieved his divinity by conquering The Elders' Game. Voodoom achieved divinity through Caeliter's death. I've achieved my status by surpassing Skymarcher in skill."

"He seems to be a popular target."

"Oh, people try. The only person who differed was Parabellum's chief scientist. Allegedly, he went after the Forgotten God Azathoth. This brings me to my third point. Your lack of knowledge on this topic was, admittedly, expected. If you ever wish to go down this route, know that the line is blurred. I confide this information with you in confidence."

I've never heard most of the names Laque spoke of. However, Caeliter was familiar. The tales of his death simply extended to people who have committed treason against Skymarcher. However, I never knew Voodoom was involved.

"Well, that's all I have to tell you. Any questions?"

"Yes—one. Who's Voodoom?"

"Ah, right. I forgot to explain who he is."

A chair flung itself from the depths of the room into Laque's possession. Once he had his grip on the handle, I realized he moved the chair with his energy. A yellow aura engulfed the object in a translucent finish.

"I'm sure you're aware of my three creations. If not now, you will discover the rest in due time. Voodoom was my first attempt at creating sentient life through steel and circuits. While he was a success in all accounts, I wasn't fully satisfied. It felt wrong to employ him without another option, so I set him free."

"Oh, that clears a few things up. If you freed him, then how did he return?"

"Sheer coincidence. The place I sent him to live the rest of his days in was the same place that was the cooking pot for my ascension. Call it luck, but he soon returned to my attention toward the climax."

"Right, makes sense. Oh, and one more question."

Laque raised an eyebrow.

"Do you consider yourself a God?"

His smile slowly eroded away. As Laque faced off toward the distance, his mouth straightened back to a line.

"I'd take that as a no?"

"It's the weight I have to bear for my sins."

"I'll take that as a no."

We soon parted ways. This wasn't the last time I'd meet Laque, but I knew it would be a while until we would find each other again.

I spent the rest of the day sitting around in the kingdom's many benches. As much as I wanted to practice, an overwhelming part of me yearned for peace. I wasn't sure why I considered the bustling streets part of my idea of a soothing atmosphere, but I found a small joy in watching the civilians and tourists alike pass by.

Families and groups bundled together in flocks. It was easy to spot the people walking alone. The spaces between each group varied greatly from the space within. It was fascinating to watch. Even the volume of people was a sight to behold.

Distant melodies echoed off the walls around me. I could tell there was a band nearby, but I couldn't pin where. The lack of clamors from the local vendors left an impression on my senses. With the group hubbub, an aroma of delicacies stuck around the sea of pedestrians. It was a far cry from Temple Coast' busiest day. According to Laque, the commotion on this street was at its lowest at this time of day.

An airship flew overhead. Underneath its vessel was a looming shadow which entrenched us in its wake. The shade was a brief respite in the kingdom's eternal daylight. Once the moment passed, I sought out a bench placed underneath shade to take refuge in.

I never read the Saturn Scriptures. Once we parted, the name faded from my mind. I left the library alone with what little time I had. What stuck in my mind was the trigger finger Laque gave me. I sat on the edge of the balcony with my reticle pointed toward the gardens below. With how high I was to the grounds below, I couldn't tell where the practice dummies were. Even if the bolt reached the ground, I wouldn't be able to tell what the damage would be.

I closed the blinds and slept in Laque's cloud-like mattress for the final time. Looking back on it now, I would've loved to get a similar bed for myself. Even with the extravagant luxuries and gaudy service, I found the bed's comfort to be the greatest of them all.

I didn't dream of anything important that night. By the time I was up and ready, Laque and Caesar were already prepared in the castle's foyer.

As I walked closer, the two's conversation grew in clarity. "I've already booked you two tickets out to the East Heartland border. I've alerted the mayor of you and Autumn's arrival, so they'll be able to further equip you with supplies."

"Sounds good!" The prophet eagerly responded, "What's the name of the city called again?"

"West Esechus. They used to be a frequent launchpad for explorers to venture into Calcine. Since Goddess Fortuna banned all forms of exploration a century ago, it's pivoted more towards exporting heavy metals and logging."

"Ah! That's rather interesting. How close are they to the jungle, again?"

"Oh, pretty close. They used to be a lot closer a century ago."

"What changed? Did they move the city borders?"

"Their main profits are logging, Caesar. I bet thirty years from now they'll be attempting to start a wildlife conservation program to fix their mistakes."

"Right, I suppose that sounds fitting."

Caesar was the first to notice me enter. As I made my way down the spiraling set of stairs, he caught my appearance in his peripheral vision.

"There you are, Autumn! I haven't seen you in quite some time, how was your time with Uncle Laque?"

My first instinct was to rub my eyes. Once I got a better view of Caesar's face, my focus fixed on his radiant smile. I replied back as I yawned, "Great, fine."

"Any fun stories? Did you learn anything cool?"

"I mean, yeah I have. It's too early in the morning to ask these questions, though."

"Right, maybe I should let you wake up first. We'll talk on the flight over!"

"Yeah, sounds good."

Two leather suitcases floated around Laque's figure. He reached his hands out to grasp on the handles to break their idle orbit.

"Are those for us?"

"Yeah, Uncle Laque said he packed us a few clothes and daily supplies—enough to last us until we land in West Esechus."

"I'll take that. Are you sure they fit us?"

Laque included himself in the conversation to answer, "I measured you when you first entered. If they don't fit, I'll make sure to correct that by the time you land."

"I'll take that as an answer, sure."

The prince handed a suitcase for Caesar to take for himself. Once I reached the group, Laque handed me my own set.

"Well, it's been nice to meet you. Thank you for your hospitality. Before we leave, are you sure this lily will help us in our journey?"

"Hm?"

"If we get the lily, will you arrange a meeting with Goddess Fortuna?"

"Oh, of course. She's the one looking for it after all. I'm sure she'd want to talk to anyone who scratches her back."

"Scratches her back?"

"It's a metaphor."

Caesar gave me two pats on the shoulder with his free hand before walking toward the exit. He reached his hand out to give a small wave with his palm faced back at Laque. I followed right behind him with a similar gesture.

As the guards open the gate-like doors for us, Caesar yells out his farewells, "Goodbye, Uncle Laque! It was great catching up with you!"

"Goodbye Caesar!" He called back, "Goodbye Autumn!"

By noon, we returned back to the airport with our bags handled by a set of castle guards. We watched as distant airships took and released passengers in an orderly fashion. They were rather inefficient in both procedures. However, the simple act was enough to entrance me.

The prophet hunched with his elbows pressed against his knees. After a long sigh, he spoke, "You know, that was the first time Uncle Laque referred to me as Caesar."

His question was enough to break me out of my idle viewing. "Isn't your name Caesar, though?"

"Ever since I've known you, it's always been Caesar."

A gentle smile cracked upon his face as he gazed off toward the distant horizon. I've never known him under any other name.

Chapter 8

After a long day of exploring, the council settled within the spacious living room within the nexus. An array of screens lined the top third of the walls. Marble statues uphold the supporting pillars of the room. Each figure held their hand high with their feet spread a shoulder width apart. Blue and purple stripes ran across the walls, dividing the light blue walls in horizontal slices.

Kiryana nested herself within the comforts of one of the living room's many reclinable chairs. She propped her feet up against the outstretched platform while her hands were occupied with a pair of remotes. As she pressed the various buttons found across the metal slate, the actions performed on screen synchronized in a litany of ways. Most obvious of these actions was how the centermost character moved relative to her left thumb.

My attention fixed on the screen long enough for me to lose track of time. After a few minutes of my trance-like state, I couldn't help but shoot a question out, "What's going on with the screen right now?"

I couldn't see Kiryana's expression, but she began her response with a scoff. "I'm playing a movie right now. Quiet down, Mandy said I can't turn up the speakers any louder."

The character's footsteps projected throughout the room through the help of the obsidian obelisks containing the screen. Their membrane heads fluctuated in place as they displaced the air with sharp vibrations. I could barely hear Kiryana talk at the speaker’s current setting. If anything, thinking about the speaker's limited power formed a pit in my stomach.

All screens—no matter their size—display color through a collection of miniscule squares. Even if the lights require a specific shock across the board, the outside pixels can be mixed in a way which displays a separate image. Molding a moving picture was akin to filling a cast. I've learned from Laque on how to concentrate the specific image I desire from thought to reality..

Considering this information, I decided to shape the screen's output to hide the character in focus. Filling in the specific details required a bit of mental work on my end. With a careful glance, you could see a faint outline of the missing character. However, it seemed to be enough to fool Kiryana.

Her first reaction was to drop both her remotes on her chair. She sputtered out her attempts to speak before quickly grasping her thoughts in a shout, "Where did he go?!"

Even as I stifled my laughter, my mind clung to her reaction. With my influence on the screen released, the figure returns back to normal.

It took Kiryana a few moments to register this change. She wildly flailed her arms in some unknown language while hopelessly stammering. Eventually, she came to her senses and returned to the movie.

Ozymandias was fast asleep on the corner couch. I could understand his rule on the speaker with his slumber in mind. He took his gray coat off and used it as a blanket to cover himself. All I could see from the neck up were his bundles of brown hair.

Miyana slipped away moments prior with her sword by her side. I'm sure she went to train, but the placement of the sword could be a coincidence.  She didn't say goodbye or wave. I watched her scan the room before nodding to herself. Miyana simply left.

All that remained was Solis. He wasn't occupied with any external task. He stood with his back against the wall with his eyes fixed on an unknown point. With his rigid form and still stance, I easily mistook him for a statue when I first entered the room.

I brought my WRIST to my chest with my arm parallel to the ground. With a few taps on the glass screen, Solis jumped to life with a few stammers.

"Right, right, I'm awake." His eyes flickered in brightness. "What do you need, what's the issue?"

I flicked my hand horizontally while spreading my fingers. Alongside, I subtly nodded my head. "Nothing's wrong, Solis. Just wanted to check up on you."

"That sounds reasonable enough. Isn't that my job, though?"

"It's a personal check, Mandy hasn't told me to check up on you."

"Oh, I am both flattered and disappointed."

I closed the distance between us after initializing the conversation. My arms remained crossed in front of my chest.

"Is something the matter, Autumn?" Solis loosened his shoulders in tandem.

"Not with me, no. I know I've mentioned Sol Invictus a lot in my stories. I'm just a little concerned how you're dealing with it considering the WRIST's microphone and your relations with him."

"Well, I'm fine currently. He's definitely a sore spot, but I don't mind the occasional mention. I wish to remain spatially distant from him."

"Right, I see. I never knew you developed a preference with specific people. I thought that was tied with emotion."

Solis kept silent. He slowly pulled his gaze away.

"Sorry, not that it's a bad thing. I don't know what you're capable of, you know?"

"Temple Coast wasn't very progressive where you came from, I understand that. My emotions are wired to a range of artificial variables which my speech and thoughts are hard-coded to. The various stimuli I experience in my lifetime create an individual input which fluctuates with my generalized reactions."

"Okay, well, I might need that toned down a little."

"I thought that was sufficient. Nonetheless, my emotions are compared against the developed average. I feel sad whenever the conditions sway such emotion. Joy comes with an uplifted atmosphere."

"That makes some sense. I'll take it for now. Is that why you're constantly monitoring us?"

"Precisely. An unknown variable requires advanced computing—if at all. If life is unpredictable, then my emotions are ill-fit for this world."

"Well, that's life. The world keeps moving, and you've got to keep guessing."

"That's life to you. I've constructed a panopticon of paradise. I'm unsure how the Man in the Moon does it, but a barrage of predictions overwhelms me inconceivably."

Embedded in Solis' cap were a pair of flowers. Of the two, I could only identify one flower as marigold. The other—shaded in purple—eluded my knowledge.

I raised my finger to try to draw attention to Solis' hat. I couldn't recall if these flowers were a new addition.

"I guess we all have our separate ways of living." I concluded the prior conversation. "On an unrelated note, are those flowers new?"

"Flowers?" Solis seemed to be confused by my observation.

"Yeah, there's two of them in your cap."

The marionette doll reaches his hand up to release his hat from his head. "Oh, you mean the marigold and gale flower?"

I nodded.

"Ah, they're gifts from a group long before the New Galilean Council. I found an old interview they gave fifty years after Caelitra was created. These flowers seem to aid me in sentimental ways."

Solis put his cap back on after finishing his explanation. I let the speakers' noise drown the conversation away in lieu of speech.

Eventually, I left. With the council occupied in their own activities, I was left alone. With the constant noise of Kiryana's movie, it was hard to hone into my own thoughts. I couldn't tell her to turn it off, nor did I have the gall to place the request on anyone else. With nothing to do, I left the living room.

Framed paintings lined the corridor ahead. Various illustrations of each of the council members and honorary members looked down upon me with varied expressions. Ozymandias' beaming smile hooked me first. His pearly white teeth endured the throes of art well. I could've sworn the overhead lights reflected off the teeth to give its shine.

Miyana's scorn mirrored Ozymandias' tone. With her painting across the hall. The portrait's style remained the same. Compared to her current figure, Miyana's hair was noticeably shorter. While it reached past her chin, it all seemed to end a few inches above her shoulders.

Solis remained the same. With his portrait seated further down the hallway, he separated himself from the previous two members. His opposition was an illustration of The Bartender. Despite the image's balanced lighting, his eyes were stricken out by a hasty streak of black paint.

Further ahead was Kiryana's portrait. She possessed a cheerful gaze similar to Ozymandias'. Her pink eyes glared down upon me unobstructed by her metallic mask. Included in the picture was her weapon of choice—a sleek broadsword. Light bounced off the smoothened blade, giving the sword depth within the painting.

The rest of the paintings were small. With each image, the details slowly blurred together as a homogenous sea of ordinary people. I couldn't discern what their purpose was, or how they helped the team. I've never seen them around the nexus, nor has the council mentioned their names. However, among the sea, were two distinct busts.

One was a crimson red machine. A pair of golden horns protruded from his bullet-shaped head. Nested within his blackened sockets were two blood red lights. His jaw gave the illusion of a scruffy beard with the absence of the crimson red finish. Brandished above his right pec was a nameplate which read VOODOOM. The painting's cutoff point implied the figure's gargantuan girth below. The ends of his shoulders couldn't be contained in the frame's limits.

I've yet to encounter him. His inclusion among the paintings perplexed me. Even before my death, his appearance overlooked my journey in a collage of accounts which can barely be considered one big coincidence. His glare pierced through the confines of the painting—I swear I saw him move. I quickly searched to find a new target to examine to cleanse my mind of his presence.

The last figure to draw my attention is a man clad in a black tuxedo. A layer of chrome acts as the figure's skin. Upon the knot of his tie is a set of spindly fingers clasped around in a tight embrace. A jagged, obsidian visor shields his eyes. In place of his sight is a horizontal line which separates the accessory into opposite slopes. His hair bundled itself in the back with varied strands weighing down in the front.

The portrait was left unnamed. I couldn't find any useful information that clued me in on his identity. All I found was a small slip of paper taped on the bottom right side of the frame. The text inscribed labeled a series of numbers: 42-5-9-452-43353. My first instinct was to write the contents in my Tabula. Etched on the backside of the cover was my copy of the phrase.

Beyond the picture, the corridor continued out into the main chamber of the nexus. Just before that, however, was a stray path enveloped in sunlight. The rays formed a replica of the doorframe on the corridor floor. As I walked further away from the portraits, I could hear the distinct sound of metal clashing against each other.

The door led to the nexus' exterior. Etched within the mountainside were the sprawling hallways and chambers of the nexus. The exterior hid the exact dimensions through walls of marble and detailed pillars. The architecture of the nexus remained consistent outside, with the absence of the lines of stripes, pipes, and sleeved wires along the walls.

A solid wall of shrubbery encased the elevated courtyard inside its perimeter. Various light-colored flowers blossomed from the branches with the additional patches resting among the grass. A small pool of water encased within a stone bowl sits on the perimeter. Its support hides within the leaves, producing an illusion which makes the fountain seem weightless. A family of birds drift within the water up until they quickly take flight in panic. Seconds after, a stray blade swings parallel to the lip of the fountain.

This was where Miyana went. She occupied herself through combat. Her opponent was a replication of herself. Every detail she possessed mirrored itself on their body, save for the color. A uniform shade of pink covered the clone from head to toe.

The two fought as if they were separate minds. With every mistake Miyana made, the clone attempted to capitalize on her blunder. The same applied in opposition. It was difficult to keep track of one side for long. For every swing, a series of particles and quick crackles of lightning formed opaque walls of smoke and clouds.

In the end, the dust cleared with Miyana's foot harshly pressed against the clone's cheek. Beads of sweat rolled down the fighters' faces. In the clone's case, the sweat was nothing but liquefied slime. Once they held their position for three seconds, the clone quickly disassembled into a blob of goop. Any sort of solidified structure vanished in seconds, and the excess puddle quickly receded into the pores of Miyana's exposed legs.

I could hear her breathe from the entrance. She took in heavy breaths through her nose and exhaled out from her mouth. Miyana takes a moment to compose herself before slightly panning her head to face me. "Oh, hey Autumn. Was the living room too loud?"

"More than a little," I replied.

The swordswoman extended her hand out with her fingers outstretched. A barrage of slime expulsed itself from her tips as it quickly formed a chair in mere seconds. She repeated the process to create a similar chair and a small, rounded table. The centerpiece of the hot pink furniture was a large umbrella which shaded the chairs in its reach.

"Come." Miyana gestured to the chairs. "Sit."

Despite my suspicions, the hardened slime held my weight well. Upon placing my hand on the armrests, there wasn't a hint of residue left behind. It was all solid material. After I concluded my experiments, I rested my elbows against the table with my head cradled in my hands.

Miyana sat on the opposite side of the table. Only up close did I notice her various blemishes and wrinkles. With the amount of stamina she possessed, I would've mistaken her as a teenager. Now, seeing the folds in her eyes, I wasn't sure how long of a life she'd live up until now.

"Say," she continued, "I know your life isn't my business, but I've always wondered. How badly do you miss your friends?"

"How badly do I miss my friends?" I repeated.

"That's what I said, yes. I'd imagine it isn't easy going from your established circles to whatever collection of hooligans this council is."

"Well, I wouldn't call you all hooligans."

"Look at us, Autumn. We're all washed up adults chasing the glory days of our youth. Don't you think that's a little too childish for our rotting bodies?"

I fix my gaze into a stare.

"Besides Kiryana."

"I was about to say, she doesn't look a day over twenty."

"You'd imagine. That's not important, though. Do you miss your friends?"

"Well, I don't know how to answer that. I wasn't really close with anyone in Temple Coast aside from Caesar, and it was just the two of us from the start of this whole adventure."

"So, Caesar. Do you miss him?"

"A little. I'm sure he's doing fine without me."

"What do you mean 'fine without you'?"

"He has a bunch of friends in Temple Coast. I'm sure he could go back to Sol Invictus for support."

"Autumn. Do you think your average guy travels halfway across the continent just so you can get your mother back?"

"Well, I would expect that, yes."

Miyana returned the silent gaze.

"What? Am I wrong? What's that gaze for?"

"Autumn."

"What are you implying?"

"I can barely get Mandy to run some errands with me."

I scrunch my eyebrows in confusion.

"I can bet you all that my company's worth that Caesar wouldn't be fine without you."

"Caesar doesn't know who I am in this world anymore. I'd be worrying myself over a hypothetical scenario."

Miyana pressed herself against the table with her elbows supporting her off the ground. Her voice settled into a hiss. "If my best friend in the whole world died, I'd do everything in my power to bring her back. Think of the grief, Autumn. What if Caesar died instead?"

The swordswoman returned to her seat with her fingers interlocked within each other. I had nothing to respond to her.

"Tough choice, isn't it?"

"It's a stupid question. Why do you even ask these sorts of things?"

Her head turns toward the setting sun. I've neglected the outside scenery for an embarrassingly long time. With the sun setting upon the horizon, I could safely view the scenic sky. Dark clouds danced haplessly across the warmly graded sky. Stained upon their underbellies were shades of purple rivaling that of Ambrosia.

After a drawn-out sigh, Miyana continued, "I didn't have many friends growing up, Autumn. I hung out with people, and that was it. Whatever they did, I did with them. I followed their trends with an eagerness that was, frankly, wasted on them. Want to guess what one of these rapid fads were?"

"I don't know." I replied without contemplation. "What was it?"

"Sword-fighting. It swept the town like mad. Everyone had their own wooden sword with their name carved on the blade’s hilt. I had to beg my mother to get my own custom-made blade. It took them weeks. By the time I got my sword in time for the Festival of Dies Natalis Solis Invicti, everyone had moved on. It was all Pre-Sonatan cow wranglers. I'd say it's a safe bet to guess I was more than furious."

"I could assume so."

"I had no one to fight. Everyone was busy with something else. It felt like every kid in the world had their best friend, and I only had myself. The only person I could even call my best friend was my own mom—the lone widow of Izune. Messed up, isn't it?"

"Wait, everyone else was married?"

"Yeah. All of them. I can show you the town's census, but not a single citizen came in unwed. Whenever their partner died or divorced, they left the town. My mother never left. I wanted a new life away from that town, but she never did. I don't know what compelled her, Autumn. We can go visit her—I'm not kidding you."

"I fully believe you."

"Ever since that festival, I spent the rest of my waking hours training. I flailed that sword around until the blade was worn down to a stub. I devoted every thought to improvement. My mother noticed my newfound hobby and saved her money up for us to travel to nearby competitions within the Knuckle Ridges. I improved out of spite, I didn't have time for anyone else. Do you know what I would've done for a best friend like Caesar?"

"What?"

"I would've quit. I'd give up my efforts and settle down if that meant I found someone who understood me as well as I knew myself. That's all it took. Thirty odd years later, here I am. You saw the sparks; I can't lie to you. I'm a mercenary living under the salary of shelter and food. I'd give anything to sell my company off and live the rest of my days with the love of my life. Do you want to hear a cruel truth, Autumn?"

"I think I can already guess what you're going to say."

"Then say it."

I spoke with a uniform tone, mockingly, "Life isn't fair. Not everyone gets what they want. Be grateful for the things you have in life."

"Right on the money. I hate how oblivious you are. You'll turn a blind eye to how people see you, and yet you're smart enough to steal the words right out of my mouth. The closest friend I have is someone who knows me like the back of her hand and wants me six feet under. I bet she has nightmares about the sheer fact that I'm still out there."

"Who are you talking about? Kiryana?"

"No. Clair de Ravsangal. She's the head general of Fortuna's Army. If it wasn't for her random streak of luck, I'd have a legion of soldiers at my beck and call. She was the bottom of the barrel as far as champions go. It didn't matter if I pinned Goddess Fortuna to the ground, she would've won on bias. She hates how I live. She has everything in the world, except the one thing she desires; my talents."

"If Ravsangal was as weak as you've said, why don't you storm the palace and take matters into your own hands?"

"Great question, let me think about it."

The whistling winds blow against the parasol's canvas.

"Ravsangal has Goddess Fortuna's blessing. There's a clear rule stating that any head general may be surmounted if they're bested in combat, but if Ravsangal's sucking on the teat of bountiful luck, she'll win through her fumbling alone."

"Is that why we went looking for the vial and the Realizer?"

"Exactly. It has to be some sort of Ichor controlling her luck. I doubt Ambrosia has anything to do with it—that'd make no sense. I know I wanted to supe up the vial so I can instantly disarm her luck once I hit her. However, considering your skillset, I think we'll be fine."

Miyana's implications initially confused me. "What do you mean? Why am I more important than the vial?"

"Oh, I'll have to go over the specifics with the team. Once Mandy's up, I'll talk over the plan with him and we'll have our game plan. Considering him, he'd want to hear your story before anything else.

"I guess you're right."

"Speaking of which, I need to sort out what we're doing for dinner. Mandy hasn't mentioned a word on what we're gonna eat."

"Oh, not so fast."

After Miyana scraped the legs of the chair against the grassy floor, she stopped in place with a look of bewilderment on her face.

"You spoke about how you don't have any friends, and yet you have the entire council potentially on your side to help settle some personal goal; including me. What's all the commotion about 'not having friends'?"

Her cheeks swiftly flushed red. "I'm paying them. There's a difference between a client and a friend."

"So then when's my payday?"

Suddenly, Miyana flicks her hand and flips the chair upward. As she storms out to the hallway, she raises her hand up with her palm faced toward the setting sun. I quickly fell on the ground as my chair collapsed underneath me. Heaps of slime stuck within my shirt before they were forcefully yanked out of its cotton. For a moment, I was scared my clothes would rip against my body.

"See you at the meeting, Autumn." She hissed.

And then, Miyana left.

I was left alone in the courtyard. Nature sung through its birds' calls, displaying its repeating melody among the flocks of fowls. Accompanying their imitations was an underlay of flapping. The sun sunk past the horizon, rescinding its luscious light in time for the evening.

I couldn't help but smile. As I stood up against the bushes with my hands clasped behind my back, I gazed upon the fleeting light. Distant cities fell victim to the clutches of the night before retaliating with their own glow. I couldn't see the town's colors, but I found their place in the world through the concentrated dots of light.

I'm not sure how much a world can change without my influence. I'd like to believe the splendors of the plains kept their shape. Wherever Caesar is, I hope he's okay.

Chapter 9

I woke up on my own terms. The nightstand’s clock read 9:35 AM in blocked segments. After Miyana had left, I went about the rest of my evening, preparing for bed. Now, fully rested, I had no expectations for the day ahead of me.

The Tabula’s gem pulsed blue. The updated page held a string of text penned in perfect handwriting, 

“NGC, meet at the Parable. Autumn, walk outside your room. -Solis”

Inscribed underneath was a pictogram of an abstract face with its tongue out. I watched as it faded away in broad strokes.

After I put on my clothes and fixed my messy bed hair, I did as the Tabula asked. Outside my door was the marionette Solis with his scooter and pods. I hardly extended my greetings. Without a word, I sat in an empty pod while adjusting my shirt buttons. The glass door in front of me slid shut. And then, we were off.

The first minute was silent. I poked away at the remnants of my dreams until I abstracted them into a short summary. As I recited the phrase into memory, a mess of noise ejected itself from the bulb’s speaker.

“Good morning, Autumn.” I could already identify the voice as Solis. “How did you sleep last night?”

I softly pressed my index finger against the speaker’s button. “Fine, good. Still processing my dreams.”

“Ah, I see you’re one who takes pride in their dreams. Elaborate, what was it about?”

“Well, I was in this cathedral. There was a long strip of carpet that extended out to an organ and its pipes.”

“I see, rather intriguing.”

“I couldn’t see who was playing, but I could hear some sort of melody. I think there were two figures in armored suits talking to each other. I’m already forgetting the major details.”

“That’s okay, it sounds interesting so far. Do you remember what they looked like?”

“One of them looked like Spaceripper, the other like Aurelian." I couldn’t make out the details, but I had a feeling it was them.”

“Aurelian? The suit of armor Aurelian?”

“Yes, them. Remind me again, how does the naming convention go with Aurelian and Goddess Fortuna?”

“Well, she has three names. Goddess Fortuna is used colloquially as the concept of herself or general figure. Aurelian is used as a specific detail; either the armor or the figure in the armor. Her name—which only the divine know and speak—refers to the figure in the armor and no one else.”

“That makes sense. You’re close to Sol Invictus, right?”

“That has been established, yes.”

“Do you know what Aurelian’s true name is?”

“I do, but I’m not at liberty to answer.”

I held my finger inches away from the button. The scooter’s quiet engine. Even if the nexus was devoid of any moving winds, the scooter’s brisk speed pushed the air against the pods, creating a faint yet audible whistle.

“In other news, Miyana has requested to meet within the Parable to debrief us about the Vantablack Plan. Since you’re now a temporary member of the New Galilean Council, your presence is required at the table for both input and understanding.”

“Sounds good with me, I have nothing else planned for the day.”

“I assumed your schedule follows such a routine.”

“Well, thanks. I think I already know what the meeting’s about, so you don’t have to give me the rundown.”

“That’s more than satisfactory to me. I was not given specific details or instructions on summarizing the meeting. Would you like to pass the time with some information about the meeting room?”

“Information about the meeting room?” Even if Solis couldn’t see my expressions, I raised an eyebrow.

“Correct. We decided to go with an unorthodox approach to constructing the nexus’ meeting room.”

“Well, you can only build a meeting room, can’t you?”

“You can, yes. However, we never built the room to begin with.”

The idea bounced in my head. I was too preoccupied in thought to respond.

“We found a strange house in the outskirts of Calcine. When we searched the place for information, we found the spacy interior mismatched with the compact exterior. Ozymandias brought the idea up of transporting the house as an extension to the nexus. Despite the significant differences between constructing a new room and transporting the house outside of Calcine, we were all convinced to spend the extra amount.to add some flair to our base of operations.”

“I can’t imagine how you all managed to cart a small house out through the tight caverns.”

“Oh, we just had to contract the Man in the Moon to close the distance enough for us to handle the rest. That’s where the extra costs went towards.”

“I see, did you gut out the interior and make it all fancy?”

“Surprisingly, we did not. We found a large set of double doors which housed a black war room. Through my thorough database of Sol Invictus’ studies, we stumbled upon one of the Nine Points of Perfection for ourselves.”

“Nine Points of Perfection?”

“I assume you repeat my words as an indirect query. In order for Sol Invictus to complete his ascension, he had to unify nine unique variations of himself which combine to form a perfected version of himself, Paradeus.”

“Oh, the strange figure I met yesterday?”

“From what Ozymandias informed me, yes. While its importance has long run its course, the inclusion of the Parable—as referred to by Sol Invictus—is more of a trophy to us than any strategic advantage. Plus, it ties in well with the nexus’ recurring usage of icons and images of the Sonatan Gods.”

“Right, so it made sense?”

“Logically. Miyana wasn’t too happy with the budget, however the operation only took up two percent of her net worth.”

“Now or then?”

“Then. It would be approximately zero point two eight percent of her net worth today.”

Solis’ numbers held no ground as I attempted to understand them.

“We should be approaching the housing unit for the Parable. I suggest you take my guidance once we park outside the entrance.”

The scooter slowed to a halt outside a set of double doors. Its jagged teeth meshed together, leaving a row of triangles which race from floor to ceiling.

Solis approached a console placed to the right of the industrial doors. His fingers quickly pressed upon a set of symbols strewn across the panel. Once he lifted his hand away from the device, the doors slowly churned to life as a piercing hiss filled the air.

The interior was nothing special. Cylindrical pillars of concrete spread across a fixed distance, supporting the segmented roof and its hanging fluorescent lights. We walked across the reinforced concrete with the sound of our footsteps filling our ears. The room was noticeably colder than the nexus’ resting temperature. I wish Solis warned me beforehand to put on a jacket. I’m not sure if he can feel temperature to begin with.

As I pondered the marionette’s senses, I remembered the conversation we had about my dream. Does Solis dream?

“You know, I meant to ask this earlier.” My voice drowned out our footsteps. “Do you have any dreams?”

For a brief moment, Solis turned back to me before returning back to face the front. “They’re comparable to dreams, yes. Humans dump their emotions out from the prior day. My processes work in a similar fashion. My short-term memory flushes out in one quick burst. With the stimuli of my nodal senses across the world, they mesh together to form an artificial broadcast.”

“Is this the condensed version or have you forgotten to dumb it down for me?”

“Oh, this is as layman as I can get. Make sure to charge and power down your WRIST every night, Autumn. Doing so benefits both of us.”

I was too immersed in conversation to notice the two-story building right in front of us.

“Here we are, Autumn. This is the Parable. The architecture of this design mimics that of the Pre-Sonatan’s Colonial Housing units found across the American Midlands. I’m quite fond of the roofing’s gray shingles. They give a nice contrast to the beige finish seen across the exterior.”

“I suppose you’re right. Do you even know what you’re talking about with colors?”

“I’d like to believe I do. The arts of man elude me.”

We walk up a set of stairs guarded by a thin white railing. Vase-shaped pillars separate the wooden flooring from the steep drop off ahead.

Solis swiftly walks toward the door with his hand outstretched. Once he makes contact with the brass doorknob, his fingers curl around and twist it clockwise. Solis pushes against the door to reveal a vastly different exterior.

As I stood at an angle to the doorframe, I saw the difference in space Solis mentioned prior. The house’s kitchen extended far past what the exterior showed. Even as I peeked through the nearby window, the kitchen appeared to be closer than it spatially was.

It took a few minutes to get used to the interior. The living room was open from all sides save for the walls of the house. A set of stairs wind up near the border of the couch toward a second floor. Even with an open balcony hanging overhead, there was a visible set of stairs which led to a third floor. There was no third floor outside.

Solis snapped his fingers near my face, breaking my concentration. He led me toward an obsidian wall with a strange sigil placed in the middle. A set of nine yellow lines circle around the center of the door, forming a nonagon. Nested in the polygon is a set of teardrops with its tips touching in the center.

The marionette approached the door with his hand outstretched. Upon touch, the door separated itself into two equal halves to reveal a dimly lit hallway leading deeper inside the house.

“There used to be a set of nine puzzles around the house,” Solis explained, “However I’ve dismantled them in favor of a simple touch-based activation system. I’d hate to deal with the expansive highway found in the basement of the house.”

I flinched on the mention of the basement. “There’s a highway in this house?!”

“There is a highway in this house. Best not to dwell on the matter. Follow along.”

The long, obsidian corridor opened up to a larger room—one that rivaled the main house in space. A circular light hangs a few feet above a roundtable filled with various screens and panels. Miyana, Kiryana, and Ozymandias occupied three of the nine seats surrounding the table. Each chair had a back made of a solid gray material with an arm rest which bends around the bottom cushion. Solis navigated around the table to take the vacant seat to Ozymandias' right.

The rest of the room was devoid of illumination. Most of the details fell within the shadows save for a few illuminated displays. The most information I could glean from was an active wall of snowy static.

Miyana leaned forward in her chair. “What took you so long? I circled around the highway like fifteen times over while you were gone!”

The marionette brought his wooden hand close to his chest. “I apologize, I wasn’t given the instruction to wake Autumn up from her slumber.”

“Well, I would assume that was implied by default.”

“Not to my understanding it doesn’t.”

Miyana reclines back in her chair with her hands folded together.

“Regardless, is there a reason why you summoned us here, Miyana?”

“There is, in fact, a reason,” The swordswoman replied in a sarcastic manner.

“Well, do you mind elaborating on such reason?”

“Since we’ve obtained a vial capable of disabling Ichor and utilized the last reserves of the Realizer’s Ambrosia to supe up Autumn, I believe we are officially past the gathering stage. All that’s left is to solidify a game plan and execute it.”

A small murmur sweeps the table. A collective hum of approval fills the air for a brief moment.

“The sooner we move the better. I’d like to head to the Heartland no later than tomorrow. Arriving by any conventional means may attract attention to ourselves.”

Ozymandias raises his hand. “Now, hold on a moment. Why not disguise ourselves and infiltrate there?”

“Good question!” Miyana snaps her fingers. “We need some sort of identification when traversing into the Heartland. Disguises won’t work unless Solis wants to fabricate a few false cards.”

“It’ll take a few days,” the marionette adds, “at least.”

“See? Impractical. I’m not paying you all to sit around until then, either.”

“You’re not paying me at all!” I interject.

“We’ve already discussed that, Autumn. Anyone else have any quips?”

The room falls silent.

“Good. Our convenient option is to sneak through the Grand Capital by entering from the cavern highways. I assume there has to be some sort of pulley system lowering them down to patrol the place. The problem here is the Historians.”

Kiryana leaned back in her seat to prop her feet on top of the roundtable. “Why don’t we just ask Sol Invictus to handle transportation? No one checks royalty. Simple.”

“And how do you think he’s going to interpret that?”

“Quite well, actually. We’re all on good terms with him, right?”

Solis lets out a canned cough.

“What’s worse, dealing with the Historians or dealing with some washed old man?”

“Well, it depends.” Ozymandias had his arms cross as he spoke. “You and Miyana wouldn’t be affected. Our concerns would be Solis and Autumn. I’m not sure how he would react to their presence.”

“Okay. Fine.” Kiryana huffs.

I watched Miyana pinch the bridge of her nose through my peripheral view. “We don’t have many options here. A handful of us are well-known individuals. Any other suggestions?”

Solis placed his Tabula on the table and flipped through the pages. “Do we have any external contacts we can involve? I’m not sure if the Man on the Moon has anything to assist us with.”

“How about Eltis?” Ozymandias tapped his fingers in a wave-like motion. “Well, scratch that. I’m not sure if she’d be of any help.”

Kiryana pushed her iron mask against her face. “Well, shoot, if we’re talking about her, we might as well try and get Skymarcher’s help.”

The remaining council members slowly turn their heads to face Kiryana.

“I don’t like that look. He’s the biggest cheat card we have, and Ozzy-T over here could work his magic again.”

The ex-priest sighed. “First of all, don’t call me ‘Ozzy-T’. Second of all, that’d be extremely risky. We’d be making a deal with the devil.”

“Okay, let’s go through the list then. Sol Invictus.”

“The outcome’s too uncertain to rely on him.”

“Great. Fortuna?”

“Are you kidding?”

“You think so low of me. Paradeus?”

“I don’t think he’d be of any assistance.”

“I’ll give you that one, actually. We mentioned Eltis, what about the rest of the Headhunters?”

“Again, I don’t think they can help.”

“Spaceripper?”

“Kiryana.”

“Geez, okay maybe not. What about Voodoom?”

Ozymandias doesn’t respond.

“Okay, that’s neither a yes or a no.”

Solis lands on a page in the middle of his Tabula. “Voodoom could work, actually.”

Miyana draws out her response while nodding her head, “Yeah, Voodoom.”

“That sounds like a majority, should I contact him?”

I was a little skeptical. “If everyone else won’t help, how would Voodoom?

“We’re brothers, Autumn. He’s very ‘down to earth’, as some would say. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind giving us a helping hand.”

“Well, if you insist.”

Ozymandias quickly pulls his hands apart before slamming them into a clap. “Right! So we’ll have Voodoom’s assistance to aid us. Anything else to discuss? I presume entering the castle will be a little troublesome.”

The masked swordswoman lifts one of her hands up before replying, “And that’s why we can’t use Voodoom either! Guess we’ll have to take our chances with Skymarcher—”

“Now, hold on.” Miyana raises a finger to stop Kiryana’s thought. “I’m liking our plan so far. Who said we only need to rely on Voodoom?”

“Well,” Kiryana stammers, “No one did.”

“Right. Who here has the closest connection to Goddess Fortuna?”

Everyone remained still. I let out a small cough.

“I forgot she’s an isolated woman. What about diplomacy? Mandy could probably enter the castle on behalf of Skymarcher, even if he’s not currently serving him.”

“No, not really,” The ex-priest sheepishly corrects Miyana, “I don’t think I’d have any good reason to meet with Goddess Fortuna.”

“Oh, we’re kind of in a rough place then, aren’t we?”

“Here, why don’t we compromise? Half of the team sneaks into the castle through the Grand Capital while the other half waits for the rest outside.”

“Through the Grand Capital—”

“Yes, Miyana. If you really want to follow through with it, I’ll allow it. Just this once. Make sure you have your recall token on you.”

For the first time in a while, I saw a brief grin form on Miyana’s face.

“If you want to go alone, so be it. Just don’t endanger anyone if you bring them along, okay?”

“I’m bringing Autumn with me.”

Kiryana quickly shot up in her seat. “Hey! What about me?”

“Honey, I love you, but I do not want to risk losing you.”

“Hmph”. She slouched back in her chair and crossed her arms.

“I assume you’ll take care of her while I’m gone, Mandy?”

He gives a slight nod and a thumbs up.

“Good. I don’t think I need to bring you along, Solis. You’re already strapped to my wrist.”

“That is correct,” he replied.

“Great, I believe we have our game plan then.”

“Well,” Solis continues, “I do have one tiny concern.”

“And what would that be?”

“Once you find a way to let us into the castle, how do we remain in the castle without drawing any attention?”

“Oh, good idea. You know what? Go ask the Man in the Moon to make a few disguise kits for us all. As long as the budget isn’t unreasonable, I’m fine with whatever cost gets us the kits in time.”

The marionette nods. “I will budget accordingly.”

“Great! Meeting adjourned. Do what you can with Voodoom, and wait for my signal before you do anything. The tram to Calcine arrives at around four, so I’ll be around until about thirty minutes prior. Thank you everyone.”

The group simultaneously rose from their seats. Miyana and Kiryana joined together to leave the Parable together, while Solis walked alone.

All that remained were me and Ozymandias. We were both on opposite sides of the table. His usual jovial expression wasn’t present. In place was a solemn daze. I waved toward him with my hand close to my chest; no reaction. He would speak on his own with his head hung low,

“So, that’s it. Once we’ve taken care of Ravsangal, we’ll probably part ways.”

“Part ways?” I questioned, “What do you mean?”

“I know the d’Izunes plan to leave once Miyana gets her spot as the head guard. Solis plans to renovate this place to better suit his experimental needs. He hasn’t expressed a need for me, either. Maybe I’ll take up priesthood again, who knows.”

“Weren’t you all talking about going on more adventures?”

“This is our final one. I’d like to keep going on my own, but I don’t have a crew to my name after this.”

“Ah, I see.”

I lean forward to press the tips of my fingers against the roundtable.

“Well, I’ve got nothing after this, also. I still need to find out this whole ‘Azathoth’ thing. Would that be something you’d like to tag along for?”

Suddenly, Ozymandias glanced up toward me with light in his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, really. We’ll talk about it later. If we’re going to split up after this, then I should probably wrap up that story I’ve been talking about, shouldn’t I?”

“Oh, if you want! I’ve got plenty of time. Do you want to meet up at the observatory?”

“Observatory? Yeah, sure. That works.”

“Great! I’ll meet you there once I’m ready. I have to go get some breakfast now. I kind of skipped out on it to make it to the meeting on time.”

“And you still had to wait.”

“Yep! I’ll see you in a bit!”

Ozymandias reached into his pocket to take out one of his recall tokens. With a quick flip, the coin rapidly spins in the air before plummeting toward the ground. After a few bounces, the coin lands on heads side up. The ex-priest waved goodbye as he quickly vanished alongside the coin.

I was left alone again. It was almost comedic how often it happened. However, I didn’t have much time to dwell on the thought. I remembered how I got to the Parable in the first place—Solis. Hurriedly, I rushed out of the war room while calling out for him, “Wait, Solis! Wait for me!”

Chapter 10

I entered the living room with a small ceramic mug held within my right hand. On the front of the mug was a red rectangle which took up a quarter of the cup’s circumference. Written in white lettering was the word RUIN. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but it was the cup the robots served me moments prior.

Ozymandias returned to his usual position on the couch. He was busy writing words inside his Tabula. He quietly hummed to himself—I was unfamiliar with the tune. Even as I walked across the living room’s hardwood floor, he didn’t seem to notice.

“Ozymandias?” I attempted to grab his attention. “Mandy?”

It took me a few repeats for him to look up from his Tabula. Once he focused his attention on me, he closed the book with the gem faced toward the floor.

“Didn’t you want to hear the rest of my story before I left?” I questioned.

It took him a second to understand what I was talking about. Ozymandias snapped his fingers and promptly patted down the cushion to his right. “Oh, of course! Sit down, Autumn. I bet you have quite a lot to go through.”

“Well, it depends. Where do you want me to pick up from? I can start right where I left off, but nothing really happens until we leave West Esechus.”

“Right, West Esechus. Continue wherever you need to. I’m sure three hours is more than enough time.”

On our way toward the lily’s location, we set up camp deep in the Jungle Crossways. It’s been three days since we left the Kingdom of Sol. We left West Esechus the morning after we arrived.

Our supplies came in the form of a strange plough. We were given the rundown on how to push the cart. Once it came to a set of thick shrubbery, the blades in front tore through the fauna to create a walkable pathway for us. The wheels were specifically built to be taken off-road, as well. A set of four large wheels positioned themselves on each end of the cart.

Given some of the kingdom’s advancements, I initially expected something a lot more advanced. Knowing Solis' scooter now, I’m not sure why they didn’t have a similar vehicle for us to use. Nonetheless, we made do with what we had.

Caesar set up his tent long before I started. As I finished my tent, he had already built a small fire pit with nearby rocks and wood. I don’t remember seeing him walk off, but I was deep in focus on keeping each of the strings up.

We didn’t have any chairs packed in our supplies, so we had to make do by sitting on a few nearby logs. Caesar wasn’t too keen on the idea given how mossy my log looked, so for a while he sat on the carriage.

The prophet takes out a rolled-up map stowed away within a burlap satchel. He fished out a small stick with a few notches made within the side. Out of the blue, he would speak with his head buried in the map, “How long have we been walking for?”

It was hard to tell. The only form of time I had was an analogue pocket watch left in my share of the supplies. “I think the small hand’s pointing closer toward the nine.”

“Closer to the nine? Where’s the big hand?”

“On five.”

“What time did we leave?”

“I think there was only one hand when I was given this thing.”

“Was it pointing toward the twelve or the six?”

“Twelve.”

“So we’ve been moving straight toward the lily for nine hours…”

Caesar trails off as he quietly murmurs to himself. I can hear the pencil scratch on the map twice.

“We have fourteen more hours of walking. It’s up to you whether you want to wake up early and knock it out in one day, or we can chunk it up in smaller days.”

“Fourteen hours?” I complained, “My legs are pulsing after nine!”

“That’s why I suggested multiple trips. Even that sounds a bit much to me.

“You know what? Stay on the cart for a moment.”

I sat up from my log and walked over toward the cart. Once I kicked out the small wooden blocks locking the wheels in place, I pushed the cart with Caesar on top. Surprisingly, it wasn’t any different with Caesar on top.

“We’ll take turns pushing each other. I really wish they had some sort of horse.”

“Horse?” Caesar questioned.

I placed the locks in front of the wheels to secure the cart. “Yeah, the Pre-Sonatans used them to travel through rough terrain.”

“I thought they always had some sort of engine to push these carts.”

“Those were the Sonatans.”

“Right, I see.”

We returned to our nightly routines. Aside from the insect cries, the night remained quiet. I pressed my hands against the back of my head with my feet propped up in front of me.

Caesar placed the map, pencil, and measuring stick back in his satchel. I could tell how exhausted he was from the trip. Every once in a while, his eyelids slowly closed as his head leaned forward. After his head lowered past a point, he swiftly jolted himself awake by jerking his head back.

I found the sight to be amusing, if anything. “You know, Caesar, we’re pretty much done for the day. You can go sleep in your tent if you want to.”

“I would if I could.” He replied. “I’m too scared to sleep alone in the Crossways. What if we’re sitting meat for some big predator?”

“Like what? Horses? We haven’t seen one in ages.”

“Well, you know the old folktale about Caelira’s creation, don’t you?”

“A little, remind me real quick.”

“Caelitra isn’t the same world the Pre-Sonatans lived in. Most of the accounts don’t match up, so we assume it’s the Corpse of Caeliter’s best attempt to fill space.”

“Uh-huh, I remember that.”

“It must’ve had a source—which we assume is what remains inside the monoverse.”

“Right, of course. What does this have to do with these ‘big predators’ you’re talking about?”

“You realize how far away we are from Temple Coast, don’t you, Autumn? We weren’t taught what lurks in the Crossways. We were only taught what the Pre-Sonatans had—like bears and tigers.”

“So what? If there was something to worry about, they would’ve told us by now.”

“But what if they—”

“Don’t worry about it,” I interrupted, “You know what? I’ll keep watch for the night if that’s okay with you. I’m not that tired anyway.”

“Are you sure? Sunrise isn’t for another seven hours, at least.”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Go rest.”

Caesar sputtered for a moment, attempting to respond.

“Like you said, we have a long day ahead of us.”

The rest of the night went by quickly. Once Caesar went to bed, I stayed up for another hour to keep watch of the camp. There wasn’t much outside to keep me company. The jungle’s canopy covered the night sky and its twinkling stars.  All I had to keep myself company was the fire’s embers. Nonetheless, I waited.

Yet nothing came.

Morning soon dawned upon us. Even as the sun found its way inside the confines of my tent, I remained inside my sleeping bag for another few minutes. The distant chirping of birds rattled around in my mind, keeping me from falling back asleep. However, the overwhelming smell of meat gave me the strength to get out of bed and check for its source.

Caesar had a small skillet sat above the fire pit. Two metal sticks kept it in place, freeing his hand to hold on to a small package. Now that I was outside, it made sense why I could only identify the smell as meat and not as anything specific.

Inside the skillet was a strange mixture of food. The pieces all clumped together in the middle as it took on a light brown shade. I’m not sure what it was, exactly. Even my sight was failing me.

“Oh, hello Autumn!” Caesar greeted, “I’m cooking up some of the rations they gave us in West Esechus. Apparently this gunk-thing is supposed to taste like a Heartland delicacy?”

I furrowed my eyebrows at the idea. “What do they feed them up there, slop?”

“Well, if you would call ‘bacon and eggs’ slop, I would say so!”

Caesar placed the contents of the skillet onto a small plate. Once he places it on top of the carriage, he rips open another package and spills the strange concoction on the pan.

“You can take my plate if you want,” he says while mixing around the meat on the pan, “I’m very intrigued on how this would even taste delicious.”

Hesitantly, I take the plate off the carriage and stare at the gruel. Steam faintly emanates from its surface, dissipating in the air above. I spent a moment poking at it with a fork I found within the cart. The more I stared at the plate, the less appetizing it seemed to be. Suddenly, I dig the fork within the meat and stab upon a large chunk from the plate.

At first, all I could taste was the heat. The meat burned my tongue. It didn’t matter what it tasted like now, my focus remained on the pain.

“Ow!” I exclaimed. “Hot hot hot hot hot…”

Caesar held a hand over his mouth to try and stifle his laughter.

I made sure to blow on each bite before placing it into my mouth afterwards. It didn’t take long to clear the rest of my plate. I couldn’t tell if it was supposed to taste like bacon and eggs—I’ve never had it before. Because of the burn prior, it all tasted like something chewy and nothing more.

Soon after, Caesar took a bite from his plate. He was smart enough to cool the food by blowing on it before placing it in his mouth. After a moment of contemplation, he’d raise an eyebrow while placing his sights on nowhere specific. After swallowing his bite, he came to a conclusion,

“That definitely tastes adjacent to bacon and eggs.”

“Adjacent?” I repeated, “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, if I never had bacon and eggs before, I’d enjoy this a lot better. It just tastes like some cheap knock-off.”

“I guess you’re right.”

I was ready to move on to another subject, but Caesar’s words stuck to me.

“Wait, you’ve had bacon and eggs before?”

“Yeah! My dad brought some home about seven years ago after his trip to the Heartland. He said the striped meat came from farms southwest of Fortuna’s Kingdom. Apparently they’re in high demand there.”

“Striped meat? Does it come from an animal?”

“It comes from a pig. At least, that’s what they call it. From what my dad says, it looked far different than the Pre-Sonatan accounts on farm animals.”

“Strange. I guess it’s the same way on why we still say birds.”

“Correct! New species, same name.”

We finished up our breakfast and packed our bags. Once we came across a nearby river, we cleaned off our plates and silverware to the best of our ability. Otherwise, we kept company by talking to ourselves.

It’s strange to think of how desolate the jungle is. Even if I can hear the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves, I’ve never seen anything that resembles friend or foe. For the next fourteen hours and two nights, it was just the two of us.

During our travels, I glanced at Caesar’s map to see how far we walked. A small pin resembling a stone temple sat in a seemingly random spot on the page. I could only assume the long dotted line heading toward the temple was us. Just from eyeballing the distance, we were approximately halfway to the temple. The sight alone made me groan.

Resting on the cart was more uncomfortable than I thought it would be. Given the cushion between me and the sack of supplies, it would’ve made for a great pillow to rest my head on. However, as I placed my head down, I could feel something sharp from within barely touching my neck.

I never got much sleep outside the night.

Laque never told us anything about the temple. All he gave were specific whereabouts and a direction. I asked Caesar about it as well, but he was about as empty handed as I was.

“I was told it used to hold some of Skymarcher’s cultists,” he explained, “Nothing about the specific temple. I hope it’s not too bad.”

I furrowed my eyebrows. “Not as bad? How bad can an abandoned temple get?”

“Skymarcher typically deals with our perceivable reality, right?”

“You’re the expert on the matter, yeah.”

“The possibilities are endless. We could probably be dealing with a portal to another realm on our hands.”

“So what? We can always find our way back.”

“We’re also dealing with the lily’s last position. Laque told me the lily only grows when the person dies after consumption. So whatever we’re dealing with might have killed the person.”

“Oh,” I quietly muttered.

“We don’t know if they died when the temple was active or abandoned, so it’s an entire wild card.”

I remained silent.

“I think we’ll be fine, hopefully.”

I spent the rest of the trip deep in thought about the lily and its temple. What would I have to deal with inside? Why is this the test Laque gave me? The most jarring question was the temple itself.

“Hey, Caesar?” I proposed my question, “Don’t you think it’s a little weird we’re going from Temple Coast to another temple?”

It didn’t take him long to find an answer. “Yes, and no. The city’s named after the location in relation to the head of Caelitra. This is a religious site used for worship.”

“Right, but we’re going from temple to temple.”

“I don’t see much to it. That’s just how life deals its cards.”

Once we arrived, we were greeted with a small clearing around the temple itself. Bricks upon bricks layered itself in a pyramid. Vertical walls jut out from the main shape with various windows and walkways nested underneath. Leaves and vines spiraled around the bricks, nesting themselves to form a garden within its structure.

After navigating around the perimeter, we located the entrance. In front of us was a hallway which stretched long into the darkness.

I was more than eager to walk in. I broke into a sprint to get a headstart. However, Caesar had other plans. He quickly reached over and grabbed my shoulder before I could step foot inside.

“Waiit!” He ordered. “We’re dealing with the unknown here. Let me set up my preparations first before you go sprinting in, at least.”

I stood with my arms crossed. I watched with malice in my eyes as he brought out a small sack with lots of bumps around its material.

Caesar reached into the bag to grab a small pebble. Once he threw it into the temple, it stuck to the ground upon impact. The pebble created a small amount of light which illuminated a sizable area around it.

“Sticky rocks,” he clarified, “they have a day’s worth of charge once they’re attached to a hard surface. There’s about five hundred inside this bag, so we should be okay.”

He continued to prepare by bringing out a large stretch of blank paper, a pencil, and an unmarked measuring stick. Caesar creates two lines in the top left portion of the paper. The distances he wrote on the paper are replicated on the stick.

Once he rolled up his map, he gave a small nod. “Okay! I’m good to go.”

Now, I’m starting to understand why Laque chose us to find the lily.

We ventured through a series of rooms which contained nothing more than unlit torches and various tapestries. It was hard to find any meaning among the maroon-bricked walls. I couldn’t imagine being a cultist living my life here.

If there was anyone who’d know, it would be Caesar. I passed the time by prodding him with questions. “So, do you know what exactly these cultists were worshipping? They seem to be less civilized and orderly than the church back home.”

I could tell that mentioning the cultist’s order garnered a reaction out of the prophet. Nonetheless, he replied without any change in tone, “Well, there’s different denominations and ways to worship Skymarcher.”

“Do tell. I’ve got nothing else to do.”

“I only know of three major forms. The first being communal worship. This is what Temple Coast and most other cities practice. We gather once a week to remind ourselves of the teachings of Skymarcher while further devoting our lives and time to him both in and outside of our gatherings.”

“Right, makes sense.”

“The second one is Ampersandi worship. I’m not too keen on how they function, but they claim their form of worship is the closest to Skymarcher’s roots. They treat their lives as a game created by Him. Their main goal is to elevate their souls to a higher plane of existence through the completion of this game.”

“What type of game? Is it like a sport?”

“It’s more esoteric and individualized. Part of growing up as an Ampersandi requires you to understand what completing your game is about. Think of it as your life purpose.”

I nodded in understanding.

“The last method I know of is grounded more in sacrifice and exchange. There isn’t an umbrella word to describe these types of sacrifice since they differ from group to group. Temples like these exist as a place for worshippers to eat, sleep, and live in the teachings of Skymarcher. I think they’re called monks. At least, that’s what my dad called them.”

“That makes sense. Is there a reason for why they live their lives or does that also depend?”

“Well, yes. It depends. From what I’ve seen with the tapestry, these cultists focused on attempting to understand and locate Skymarcher. Usually, that’s a very tall order to achieve. Maybe they gave up and left.”

I took a moment to gaze upon the tapestries. The pebble’s lights were enough to make out the woven details.

The first tapestry had three separate segments. The topmost showed a cloud-like floor with the icon of Skymarcher’s mask. The second showed a variety of geographic landmarks like mountains and rivers. At the bottom is a collection of unknown landmarks all seen swirling around. There’s a few figures depicted with their hands in the air alongside a litany of chains strung around.

The next tapestry showed a cylindrical structure separated into seven layers. As the height increases, the size and polish increased in tandem. Anchored at the bottom are small houses in disrepair. One story houses turned to multistory buildings. The layers at the top lose their borders in favor of towering skyscrapers.

Right next to the layered city is a tapestry of similar landscape with a large crater in the middle.

One room was covered in strange diamond symbols. They each held a random assortment of dots and differences which formed an even yet asynchronous row of tapestries. To me, they looked like chain-linked fences.

Three tapestries linked with each other in the form of a series of diamond symbols. Underneath these symbols are different symbols. The leftmost tapestry shows a lone geyser spilling out its contents into the sky above. Next in line was a tapestry showcasing a warrior surrounded in strange lines stringing together the floor and ceiling. The backdrop resembles that of a cityscape. Oddly, the right side of the tapestry has a chunk torn out. All that remains are two extruding wings. The third tapestry shows a random selection of shapes and colors. It’s hard to determine a definitive shape as random blocks of color overlap upon each other.

During my investigations, Caesar audibly gasped while pointing toward the ceiling. “Oh, Autumn! Look over there!”

Overseeing an altar was a pair of cloth woven together to form one big canvas. In the center of the tapestry was a humanoid body with four arms. The material had been replaced with a thinner material which allowed for the outside sun to fill the main body with radiance. A skirt made of nebulous particles wrapped around the figure's waist. On closer inspection, I made out nine tips resembling a canine tail interwoven in the gown. Their top right arm had been scorched upon—sunlight hardly shined through its material. A large sash wrapped around their right shoulder and across their waist with a series of diamond symbols. On top of it all is a large wisp-like head covered by Skymarcher’s mask.

“Empyrean Runes,” Caesar mentioned, “It’s been a while since I’ve transcribed these. Let’s see if I’m still good at it! I… O…”

While he slowly read off the sash, I peered my head over toward a wall containing both Empyrean Runes and written text underneath. Each rune corresponded with a letter, forming out a full phrase, “We have succeeded, yet we have lost. Do not utter His name.”

“I think that’s a K?” Caesar scratches his head. “I’m sure that’s a K. O…”

I stood with my hands pressed against my sides. I spoke aloud to try and comprehend the message, “His name? Isn’t it Skymarcher?”

“Z… R! Oh! It spells ‘Iokoz’r’!”

The light inside the masked figure suddenly dims. It’s an instant switch between brilliant radiance to nothing. The walls shook briefly before stabilizing.

I watched Caesar’s expression go from satisfaction back to confusion. He scrunched his eyebrows while he raised one side of his lip.

“Did I solve it?” He asked, puzzled.

The sign’s warning now dawned on me. “I don’t think you were supposed to.”

“Why’s that?”

“Look over here, Caesar.”

The prophet turned his attention toward the warning sign behind me. His eyes scanned the text as he slowly read to himself. Caesar’s warped face straightened out as his eyes widened in realization.

The prophet softly spoke in a hushed tone, “Iokoz’r ack Mof-dh’lxi. The true name of Skymarcher.”

“Caesar!” I shouted.

“What? I was just reading what the runes say.”

“You weren’t supposed to read what the runes say!”

“What do you mean…”

His eyes scan the wall again. Caesar’s surprised expression dropped further into horror.

“Uh oh.”

Caesar and I ran out toward the temple’s porch with haste. We realized our travels took us to the top floor, giving us a view of the plane of trees covering our sights from horizon to horizon. A swarm of birds nearby took flight, rustling the leaves in their wake. The world had become restless—the cacophony of cries was immediate and evident.

The sky had gone black. The overhung sun had been eclipsed by an unfamiliar object.

Caesar was the first to try to unravel the mystery. He placed his array of supplies on the floor as he hurriedly looked through for a specific object. “This isn’t right. The moon was in its third quarter when we landed—how long were we in the jungle for?!”

Despite the situation, I was much calmer than the prophet. My tone remained neutral, “Three days, at least.”

I watched as Caesar’s hasty movements drew to a halt. His hands pressed down on an outstretched paper as he looked up at me.

Before he could speak, a bright dot revealed itself on the surface of the moon. It gradually grew in size as it streaked across the sky.

A visible spotlight raced across Caelitra as it brightly illuminated everything in its path. With its path, it was almost inevitable that it would cross upon the temple.

Caesar’s focus fixed on another detail—the spot.

“Since when has the moon had a hole in it?!” He exclaimed in terror.

It was Laque. I recall the spike that pierced thoroughly through the moon’s surface. I thought it would go unnoticed; unmentioned.

Once the spotlight engulfed the temple, it stationed itself in its spot. From my brief glimpse at the spot on the moon, it had fully formed into a perfect circle.

In the sun’s wake, the sky had returned back to its bright blue color. The distant insects called upon each other, cuing the sounds of night to echo from the jungle.

The prophet remained attentive amidst the rapidly shifting environment. As I absent-mindedly stared upon the dark shadow beyond the spotlight’s reach.

“We’re moving,” he exclaimed, “Autumn, we’re moving!”

The world slowly sunk beneath us. The edges of the horizon curved inwards, forming a small hill where the ground vanishes beyond our sights.

However, the world wasn’t falling. We were rising up in the sun’s tractor beam. As we picked up speed, I couldn’t balance to stand up. Our oxygen continued to thin out, causing us to pass out on the top floor of the temple.

I wasn’t expecting to wake up. The moment I could get back on my feet, I thought I reached the afterlife. A circular wall of rock reached up to the heavens, holding a crystal blue skylight at its apex. When I reached over to wake up Caesar, he was nowhere to be found. My first instinct was to call out his name,

“Caesar?” My voice echoed against the cavernous walls. “Hello? Where are you, Caesar?”

His items were still splayed across the floor. I left the outside of the temple for the inside altar. Using the path of rocks, I made my way through the brick labyrinth and back to the entrance.

I couldn’t find our cart outside the temple. Maybe he did leave, but why didn’t he wake me up? My sights tunneled in on the cart’s absence. I spent the next few minutes searching the nearby area for its whereabouts.

Eventually, I branched out. I kept the temple’s location in mind as I searched the jungle for its whereabouts. I searched around the towering trees for any clues, yet I came up empty handed. A symphony of chirping crickets filled the air, accompanied by a group of hooting owls. The nighttime birds sang their songs, piercing through the forest’s soundscape.

Despite the temple’s sunlight, all I could see was a bright night sky with its homogenous starscape. Each time I looked away, a selection of stars disappeared from the twilight. I wasn’t in the jungle anymore.

I acquainted myself with a beaten down path which led me farther away from the temple. In the distance, I could see the lantern lights of a far away barn. I couldn’t tell if I was still inside the moon, I’m not sure if I wanted to check for myself.

Approaching the barn led me to a clearing among the forest. To the right of the barn was a quaint homestead with its interior lights softly pouring out. I could still see the stars in the sky—the abundance of light barely made a dent with its pollution.

Outside the front porch of the homestead was a man, at first glance, who looked like Caesar. His blue jacket was nowhere to be seen. Rather, his shit was a solid shade of blue with a pair of overalls concealing the bottom portion of his shirt. They had a similar pair of eyes, as well; they were unmistakably golden in hue. His hair—which held a similar shade of brown—was scraggly and only reached toward the top of his neck. His hair covered his right eye too.

As he spoke to me, I realized his voice housed more depth than Caesar’s. His inflections seldom matched the prophets. In place was a monotone delivery.

“Where did you come from?” He questioned, “What business do you bring?”

Only now did I realize the Old World Firearm situated in his hands. He held a tight grip on the bottom of the shotgun’s barrel with his other hand resting on the handle.

To the right of his feet was a woman face down on the ground. She looked similar in appearance to Miyana—same pink hair, same physique. She quickly corroded into a pool of slime.

As I looked back toward the figure, I was quickly reacquainted with his unnerved scowl.

“I don’t know,” I replied, unsure, “I saw your lights. I came from the temple close by.”

He seemed to be content with that answer. The figure lowered the barrel’s opening toward the floor. With his attention placed to the sky, he continued, “I pray you’re not from the City in the Clouds. I’ve been told of their anomalies, their exploits.”

I landed my sights on the city overlooking the forest’s trees. Rings of clouds surrounded the towering behemoth, obscuring the structure in layers. It looked similar to the city found in the tapestry—skyscrapers and all.

The figure sighed. “I wish to live a normal life, Autumn. My family can’t compete against their rampant exports. We’ve been in debt for months.”

I froze in shock when he mentioned my name. My head snapped to face back toward the figure. Once I collected my thoughts.

“How do you know my name?!” I hissed.

He didn’t seem to react. “It’s an invasion to learn the names of men you don’t know.”

I blinked. A cluster of stars vanished from my peripherals.

“I must leave. Please do not destroy our farms. I must’ve woken up mother with my shotgun blast.”

The figure walked back to the homestead’s porch. As he rested the firearm on the porch’s railing, his parents swiftly opened the door and raced to encase him in a warm embrace.

I knew how dark it was outside. Even if they weren’t focused on the figure, the shadows hid me well from their sights. They soon sought refuge inside, leaving the forest empty of commotion.

Caesar was nowhere to be found. I attempted to retrace my steps back toward the temple. Maybe he wasn’t that far, I thought. Maybe he’s somewhere inside the temple.

Suddenly, I heard a faint shatter within the barn’s walls. After a few seconds, a pillar of smoke rose from the backside followed by a swift flame which engulfed the structure whole. The embers hopped across the plot of land as it torched the pens, grass, and sheds alike. The homestead quickly fell victim to its influence. I watched it burn to the ground. No one fled from the scene. The stars above had long vanished, all that remained was a black expanse of nothingness.

The world tore apart at the seams. Chunks of land violently tore itself apart, separating the fire into various camps. Even if the ground gave way, I remained suspended above a deep purple void.

Once the world had vanished in full, a voice echoed from the depths. “I threw my life away. For what?”

Behind me was a tall, slender figure. His face was obscured by an orange fox mask—Skymarcher’s mask. Tattered clothes covered his body, revealing his many scratches and wounds. I couldn’t help but notice his sharp claws which took the place of his nails.

“I’ll never get them back,” he continued, “I’ll never find another soul who will understand me. My family, my friends, Cynthia—I lost them all, and for what?”

His golden eyes shined through the mask’s openings.

“What’s an eternity of Godhood without a soul to share it with?”

The figure reaches his hand up to press against his mask. A tear rolls out from under his mask as his eyes gradually cloud up.

“A burden. What a cruel fate.”

Soon after, he turns his gaze away from me. He walks off into the depths of the void, leaving me without guidance.

I tried to run after him. For every step I took, the distance between us only grew. Once he vanished past an invisible fog, a crimson red cityscape grew closer with each step. I escaped the shadows of its alleyways to find a small opening among the towering buildings.

The overhead streetlamps gave light to a group of figures around a mangled motorcycle. A lone paramedic—with bright red hair—stood above a figure similar in appearance to the previous men. A cloth mask matching his blue robe laid astray near the group. Skymarcher’s mask was nowhere to be found.

He quickly pressed his hand against his mouth to cover his violent coughs. The figure’s voice was hoarse. After giving himself a moment to recollect, he shakily spoke to the paramedic, “Is she dead? Did we win?”

Another figure stood a fair distance behind the group. I could discern their hot pink hair from a mile away—Miyana. However, she didn’t seem to notice the dying figure.

The paramedic stumbled upon her words. She couldn’t muster a response while she laid eyes upon the dying figure.

Something within me urged myself to draw closer. Whether it be the volume of his voice or his injured state, I found myself kneeled down with my eyes locked to his.

The figure noticed my presence. He peeled his sights away from the paramedic. With his hand outstretched, his arm visibly trembled as he exerted his energy.

“Another husk.” He brought his band back to cover another cough. “Who is your soul?”

I attempted to reply, “I…”

“Do not ponder. Reconcile with yourself.”

A smile cracked upon his face. Despite his condition, he let out a small laugh before bursting into another cough.

Audible crackles filled the air as the world quickly blinked. At first, the pair stood in front of me. After a slight hiccup of time, they vanished. Small artifacts quickly gathered around my sight as it gradually swallowed my peripheral vision. Strings of slime spontaneously appeared where Miyana once stood, encasing a radiant being obscured by a bright block of light. Three wings extended out from the gatherance of squares, held still in fear of piercing through the slime.

Soon, all my senses gave way. A brilliant light blinded my vision before a collage of colors crept in, constantly changing in hue. A high-pitched ringing remained for hours. I couldn’t feel anything around me. Temperature had vanished in the presence of searing pain.

Everything gradually diminished away. My sight slowly returned to me, revealing the temple’s altar in front of me. I felt the humid air of the jungle return in tandem with my hearing. Insect cries returned to fill the atmosphere with noise. However, they were soon drowned out by the whistling wind outside.

I found Caesar next to my feet. He was passed out on the floor. My attempts to wake him up didn’t seem to work. I tried lightly tapping his ankle, shaking his arms, and slapping his face. In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have done the latter.

Upon stepping outside, I was met face to face with Skymarcher. His nebulous gown waved in the wind as He remained stationary above the air. The solar eclipse moved to sit just behind his wisped face to form a bright halo. As He floated around the temple, the eclipse stayed in place; anchored to His head.

“The Beast Who Dreams.” His voice bellowed within my mind.

Skymarcher crossed His bottom arms across his chest, obscuring His sash of Empyrean Runes. His remaining hands stretched skyward. Bright blue fissures cracked upon the night sky, forming a series of circles surrounding a point. It bore a resemblance to Caesar’s necklace—the Circle of Myths.

“I thought you fled this world in fear.” Skymarcher continued, “Why do you return, Invader? Why sow your seeds upon my lands once more?”

The winds howled in my ears. I felt like the only choice I had was to raise my voice in defiance, “I don’t know the person you’re referring to. I’m not the love you lost.”

Skymarcher’s mask visibly tilted upward. I wasn’t sure where I found my answer.

He walked across the air as if it was solid. The Avatar of Reality closed the gap between us, leaving only a few meters of distance. I could barely look straight at Him—the light of his body and the halo burned themselves within my retinas. Yet, I kept my eye contact with his mask.

The wind abruptly hushed. His voice softened, yet it continued to resonate within my skull. “So you know. Answer me now, vessel.”

Skymarcher paused. His body remained still as his eyes pierced through mine.

“Are you Solfami Laremore Laredo?” 

I knew the answer was no. Through my memories, I justified the response as such. Deep within my soul, however, the answer differed. The option burdened me—my mind grew heavy. I could feel how dry my tongue was against the top of my roof.

I caved to my soul. “Yes, I am.”

Nothing. Neither of us moved. Yet, something had changed. The Ambrosia around Him took a multitude of forms simultaneously. Within the mix was the Farmer, the Apotheosized One, and Caeliter.

His physical form remained. However, as He spoke, only the Apotheosized One moved His lips,

“Why?”

I didn’t have a response for Him. Both my mind and soul remained still. Silence was the only answer I could give.

“Why do you return?”

My body was a statue—petrified.

“You’ve surrendered yourself to my destiny. You planted your seeds of life and uprooted your garden in departure. And yet, you’ve abandoned our Son.

“Your past isn’t your own—I understand with clarity. The circumstances in which you carry yourself long separate your origin. Yet, I remain curious. What irony is it to leave in full only to return in husk.”

He moved his mask vertically. I can tell he’s scanning me down.

“Nothing in this world can truly be forgotten. Mortality brings within itself a gift; death. Death is less than nothing. Death has no reference on which to base nothing on. An empty cup—which contains only air—exists in its boundary.

“You can not kill Gods whole. To do so is to extract them from the public conscience. Their ideals spread like wildfire—their gift. You’ve escaped the Pantheon, yet you’ve left your impact among the cosmos. Do you know why you exist, Lady of the Lake?”

I replied, uncertain, “No.”

“You exist because of me. An indirect reference unto myself. Every fiber of your being—every part of your greater whole—exists in opposition, because I never forget. Because I am not mortal. You are none other than yourself.”

The Avatar of Reality folds his arms inward. Both pairs of his hands clasp together, obscuring his chest in whole.

“You are the Intruder. You are life. You shaped the shores of existence with your sea of dreams. In absolute you were everything I yearned to be, and I despised you. For once, I felt an emotion I had forgotten in ascension. Fear.”

The Circle of Myths slowly begins to crack. The rigid lines the fractures carved grew branches which tore itself apart.

“I keep you alive not out of spite, but of respect. May you attain your glories, Autumn Sforzando. May you forgive my trespasses, then and now.”

He pulled his arms apart to extend them out to the sky. I watched as the eclipse behind him faltered. Cracks tore the moon asunder, bringing the shadowed sun through its tears. As the moon splits apart, scattering off into the cosmos, a decimating cry reverberates the lands. The tremors brought me to my knees; I could barely focus my eyes.

And then, there was nothing.

I woke up on the temple floor, back where I started. Caesar had already woken up. His worried gaze glanced down toward my laying body. Once I opened my eyes, he bent his knees and extended his arm.

I firmly gripped his hand to pull myself up. Standing up took a while to get used to. I wasn’t sure how long I was knocked out for, or how much of what I lived through was real. Skymarcher’s words bounced around in my mind—an immortalized memory impenetrable to degradation.

Caesar wrapped his arms around my body, encasing me in a tight hug. “Oh, Autumn, you’re awake! Thank Skymarcher.”

I let out a lighthearted chuckle. “Yeah, thank Skymarcher.”

“Here, I found the lily! It’s at the top of the temple!”

The sun shined upon the top of the temple as it stood at its apex. Upon a stone altar was a skeletal corpse—one with a flower in its eye socket. Surrounding the altar was a dais covered in violet flowers.

We carefully tread through the field of flowers, making sure not to step on them. Once we approached the lily, Caesar extended his hand out to cover my chest.

“Hold on.” The prophet rubbed his hands together. “I got this.”

As his hand made contact with the skeleton’s skull, he easily folded the material as if it were clay. Once the bone was separated from the lily, he nodded his head toward me.

I slowly lowered my right hand down to delicately pinch the lily’s stem. Once I had a solid grasp on the flower, I raised it out of the warped skull until it was fully disconnected.

Caesar quickly took his hands off the skeleton and reached into his supplies. Once he fished out a small box, he opened the container to reveal a cushioned interior for the flower to rest in. Naturally, I placed it inside for safe keeping.

We left the temple soon after. I wasn’t looking forward to the arduous trip back, but Caesar’s spirits seemed to be unaffected by the notion. He reached into the cart of supplies to retrieve a strange gun bearing a solid color. Once he loaded a strange bullet with a similar color scheme, the prophet aimed the gun in the air and shot up toward the sun. A trail of particles stained the sky, a collection of colors streaked amongst the clouds.

Caesar placed the gun back in the cart and clasped his hands together. “Right! I’ve been told there’s a pair of watchmen nearby meant to retrieve us once we find the lily. They should be on their way. But, while we’re waiting, why don’t I treat us to some tea?”

“Tea?” I repeated, “I mean, why not? We have some time to kill.”

Hidden within the cart was a small box containing a set of materials. Caesar took a small pebble similar in composition to the sticky rocks and stuck it to a metal plate. As he placed the teapot on top of the remaining space, the rock gradually changed in color to take on a bright red hue. Before I could ask, he answered my question, “That’s a heating rock!”

He poured a small container of water into the teapot. After doing so, Caesar retrieved the lily’s black box alongside a mortar and pestle.

Almost immediately, I sprung up and tried to reach out for the box before it was too late. Caesar quickly reacted by extending his hand outward.

He saw the fear in my eyes afterward and brought out another similar black box. “The lily’s still in this box, see? I know which one’s which. Why don’t you grab the teacups while I’m preparing the bags.”

Without another word, I searched through the cart’s supplies for two teacups. As I pushed through the assortment of items, Caesar got to work crushing up the tea’s flower.

Once I re-emerged with the needed supplies, I handed one cup while keeping one for myself. Caesar placed two small bags in each of our cups afterward.

The teapot started hissing a few minutes later. After he knocked the heating stone off with a measuring stick, the prophet poured out the water into our cups. We both sat and watched the water mix with the contents of the teabags to form an opaque golden hue. However, as I looked at Caesar’s cup, his was a little darker than mine.

“I probably wasn’t perfect with the measurement,” he reassured me, “Nothing too serious.”

I’m not sure why I didn’t think of that before, but I nodded in response.

“Well, Autumn, how do you feel about this whole trip?”

It took me a moment to think of an answer. “I don’t know, I’m still processing the last hour or so.”

Caesar raised an eyebrow. “Why so?”

“I’ll talk to you about it later. I’m still trying to make sense of it all. Otherwise, I think it’s been pretty eventful.”

“Right! I think it’s been a pleasure to be with you for the last few months. Only one more day until we can save your mother.”

My mother—I’d forgotten about her. In retrospect, I didn’t have much time to even think about my mom. I’ve done nothing but train and work, it all practically distracted me.

“Don’t tell me you forgot…”

“Oh, no I didn’t forget! Just a little sentimental, is all.”

“Ah, I see.”

We both sat in silence for a moment. Neither of us drank our tea.

“Right, Autumn. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now.”

“Hm? What is it?”

At first, Caesar attempted to respond. However, he choked on his words at first before letting out a small cough. His eyes glazed for a moment before he wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket.

“Caesar?”

“I’m fine! Don’t worry. Just swallowed my own spit, is all.”

“Hate when that happens. What were you going to say?”

“I was gonna tell you that your tea’s probably cooled off enough to drink!”

I brought the cup to my lips to test his claim. Unlike the strange meat days prior, the temperature was hot—yet tolerable. The heat added to its flavor, but it didn’t distract me from the overwhelming taste of water.

Once we finished our cups, we noticed the approaching airships. Our flare vanished moments ago, but that didn’t seem to matter to the pilots.

Everything else afterwards was pretty self-explanatory. We returned to Sol Invictus, showed him the flower, and got our audience with Goddess Fortuna.

I remember the grandiose nature of her throne room. Her ceiling was a hemisphere of glass held up by an assortment of pillars. To me, they were all randomly placed within the room, leaving her throne room to rest in the middle of it all. The only detail I could glance from their placement is the groupings of circles strewn across the room.

Nonetheless, she freed the prisoners of Temple Cross upon my request. In the moment, I felt a surge of power stating my request with authority. Of the two of us, I wasn’t the one wearing the brilliant golden armor. The silence afterward brought in second doubts of my delivery. However, after some thought, she agreed.

This was the end. My grand journey came to a close.

After spending hours reciting my memories off to Ozymandias, I lost track of the time. He seemed to be on the edge of his seat throughout my entire spiel. Alongside, he didn’t have any questions to interrupt my story.

By the end, he sat up on the couch and clapped. “Way to go, Autumn!”

I was a little perplexed by his response at first. Once he finished his brief standing ovation, I returned his gratitudes with a question, “I thought it was pretty obvious that I was going to win in the end.”

“Well, not necessarily. You had me convinced you died during your encounter with Skymarcher.”

“I guess that could be a possibility.”

“You know.” Ozymandias scratches his chin. “Now that I mention it…”

“Hm?”

“If you didn’t die on your journey, how did you perish?”

“Oh, that’s…”

I trailed off for a moment. My final memories of life came back to me in a flash.

“Right, about that. Goddess Fortuna said she needed a task done to finish off the payment. She spoke of an unknown force in the center of the Grand Capital. When Caesar and I went off to investigate, we were completely ambushed.”

“Wait—in the center of the Grand Capital?”

“Yeah, I think somewhere around there.”

“Interesting, do continue.”

“We weren’t well-equipped for the task. I feel like Laque over prepared us during the quest for the lily, but didn’t equip us for Fortuna’s deal. It was completely invisible, and it bit my leg off before it fully sunk in. I didn’t want Caesar to fall under the same mistake, so I told him to run away and shut the doors behind him.”

Ozymandias remained silent.

“Honestly, it wasn’t my best move. It wasn’t as painless as you think it would be, but I do remember seeing Caesar fully escape right before the beast bit my head off.”

“That’s good to hear,” he squeaked, “That he escaped—not that you died.”

“I know what you’re talking about, don’t worry.”

“Good, I just wanted to make sure.”

Ozymandias pushed himself off the couch and dusted his pants off. As he brought his WRIST up to his face, he jolted his head back before continuing,

“It’s nearly three-thirty! I won’t keep you for long—go catch the train before it’s too late.”

“Oh, shoot, you’re right!” 

I immediately checked my WRIST to confirm the time. It was 3:28 PM.

“Well, hope you enjoyed the story! See you in the Heartland!”

“Bye Autumn!” He called out as I booked it for the tram, “See you in the Heartland!”

I sprinted through the nexus, remembering the exact pathway out to the tram station below. By the time I bolted through a quarter of the nexus’ distance, I was nearly at the entrance.

My first sight upon entering the station was Miyana standing at the platform and the tram itself. I brought my WRIST up, 4:02 PM. I didn’t have the stamina to dash all the way to the station, but I made sure to run as much as I could.

I was tasting metal long before I arrived.

Miyana ushered me over with her hand. “Come on, Autumn! The tram’s gonna leave any minute now!”

I joined the swordswoman in her designated cart. The interior looked the same to me—same seating, same railings. It felt like she chose the same cart deliberately. Nonetheless, I sat down next to the window, opposite of Miyana.

Her lips were drawn back—I think she was concerned. It took her a moment to speak her mind, “Geez, kid, why were you in such a rush? Did you sleep through your alarm?”

I couldn’t respond to her right away. I was too focused on controlling my breathing. Deep breaths in, deep breaths out.

“Kid, are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I wheezed.

She didn’t seem to buy it.

I passed the time by checking through my Tabula. However, my mind stuck to the small tea party Caesar threw. Nothing particularly added up to me. I know how awkward he can be sometimes, but still.

I voiced my thoughts once I caught most of my composure, “This is gonna seem like a strange question, but…”

Even before I began, Miyana raised an eyebrow.

“Do you think it’s a little odd to say ‘there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now’ and then say your tea’s done?”

“What do you mean?” She leaned her head back slightly.

“Well, Caesar tried to ask me something after he poured us some tea." Then he got all teary-eyed and brushed it off. Is that normal?”

A smile broke upon Miyana’s face. She tried to cover it up with her mouth, yet the corners of her lips broke through.

“What’s that smile about?”

“Oh, nothing.” A soft chuckle escaped through her fingers. “It’s probably nothing, post-adventure nerves.”

“You sure?”

Her face snapped into a neutral expression. “Dead serious.”

“Well, if you say so…”

I turned away from Miyana to look out the window. It’s all the same rock and stone—as it was before. The occasional light passed by, blurring past from our speed. However, there was an odd detail which caught my attention.

In the reflection of the tram’s glass, I noticed a white lily in place of my left eye.

- 30 -

Sketches of a Caelitran Hymn

i dont actually have anything to preface with. this was all written in the span of a month, and I wanted to challenge myself by writing a novel's worth within that time constraint. if you like fantastical stories and divinity, this might be nice to read. go nuts.

Chapter 1

Death is less than nothing. Death has no reference on which to base nothing on. An empty cup—which contains only air—exists in its boundary. At least, that's what I believe it to be.

As my eyes shot open, I could perceive something. The smell of musty wood wafts through my blackened prison as the only noise I can hear is my own breathing. I barely had to move my hands far—my joints ached with inactivity.

My next impulse was to make as much noise as I could. I slammed my fists against the ceiling of my space as hard as I could. Splinters were the least of my concern. I screamed as loud as I could. Whatever finds me next can fix my hoarse throat later. Beyond that, all I had to do was hope. There's only so much noise you can make with only your body. I was buried with nothing. I don't want to die again.

To the best of my observations, my memories were intact. As I lulled myself into a monotonous routine, I skimmed through my library of thoughts. Everything was intact. It was miraculous to say I've survived without any lasting effects. But why am I alive? I can barely recall any reason for me to live on.

Except the lily.

As soon as my mind locked on to the five-petaled flower, I could hear a metallic clank against the top of my box. Faint sunlight found its way through the cracks of my shoddy coffin. Suddenly, I stopped screaming. The light burned through my retinas—daylight. My hands fell to my sides as the pain synchronized with my beating heart.

The coffin slowly creaked open. A pair of fingers curled its way through the underside of the lid. As I was acquainted with the dark gray skies, a shaded figure blocked the center of my vision. The sun was fully eclipsed by the man's head. Its radiant rays splayed across his silhouette to form a brief halo.

"Autumn?" I heard them speak, "Is that you?"

Their voice was unrecognizable. I've never heard anyone with the same depth in their voice. Even if there was a faint scratchy nature to their voice, it was almost comforting to hear.

The clouds swallowed the sun whole. The first detail I focused on was their clothes. For someone who knew my name, they wore nothing of familiarity. Their lightly soaked gray jacket limped against their body as they leaned down. The only notable feature I could glean from their face is the brief tuffs of brown hair which poked out from his hoodie.

However, around their neck was a glistening piece of jewelry. A string of fine, golden beads wrapped around a thin string. At the nadir of its craft was a cluster of circles. Ironically, its icon was the only familiar aspect of his appearance.

The Groundskeeper let out a weary sigh. They quickly pulled the shovel out from my grave. Once they reached out their hand, I naturally pushed against the coffin's wooden floor to meet in the middle. Once they held a firm grasp on me, the Groundskeeper fixed their posture as they tugged me out from my hole.

It was hard to pull my attention to reality. My mind wandered off and clung to facts about graveyards. People who tend to cemeteries are typically called Groundskeepers. Their main goal is to keep the land tidy and to rescue those who were buried alive. Or, in my case, revived. Every grave has a dowsing wand which detects your soul. These wands are notorious for how unpredictable they can be. Without any known cause, they'll continuously ping off a signal. To adapt to this, graveyards were built where these signals were the lowest. This alleviated much of the Groundskeeper's job.

Thinking on it now, I may know the reason why these rods went off at random.

"Ah, you're probably not the woman I'm looking for." Their voice snapped me out of my wandering daze. "You've been preserved well. Nice set of clothes, smooth skin; I'd never guess you died to begin with."

I saw their mouth widen. They were happy with their little remark. On top of their grin, I can faintly hear a sharp exhale of air break against their teeth. They continued on. "The wildlife did a number on you, though. Coffin's made of cheap wood and it doesn't has a wand. Maybe you're a dryad? Maybe you're from the Woodlands. "

The Groundskeeper reached down to brush off the loose fauna off my body. Even as he worked to clean off the leaves, he resumed his monologue after a brief pause.

"If you lived in the Woodlands, then how did you end up here?"

I wasn't sure where the Woodlands was in relation to where I was now. The only hints which clued me in were the darkened skies and the open horizon. I couldn't see any mountains or giant trees. All I could glance was a quaint village a few long minutes away. It never hurt to ask. "Where is here?"

"Where is here? Don't you know what town we're in?"

"No, I don't. I just woke up."

"Right, I should've guessed that."

All I could muster myself to do in the moment was to roll my eyes.

"You're at the Temple Coasts. It's a small port village near the Ampersandi Latitude. More generally, you're in the Crown."

"The Crown, of course. Honestly, I should've known with how barren these fields are."

"That's what I like! You've got the nice, open countryside to your beck and call. I used to call this place home thirty years back."

Thirty years ago? The idea of the Groundskeeper's age struck me. Was he in his 40s?

"Right, I'm supposed to do a mental check with returners. Let's start off simple. What's the full name of the Crown?"

"Crown of the World."

"Great! And what continent is the Crown of the World part of?"

"Caelitra."

"So far so good. What's the current age we're in?"

"Age of Heroes. One hundred years after the Age of Legends and One thousand years after the Age of Myths."

"At least you weren't dead for long. What year is it?"

My mind stumbled.

"Wait, that's not a good test. When did you die?"

"One thousand two hundred five years After Catastrophe."

"Well, that's convenient. You've been dead for thirty years then."

It took me a moment to process what they said. Thirty years? That would make the current year 1235 AC.

"What's your name, again? Sorry, I didn't catch it the first time around."

"Oh, my name's Autumn."

I saw their body quickly tense up. Even as their face was enshrouded in shade, it almost felt like I startled them.

It took them a minute to fully compose themselves. From the recesses of their coat's pockets, they pulled out a pocket-sized book with the words INFINITUM TABULA engraved on its burgundy cover.

"Okay, so you're the person I'm supposed to be looking for." The Groundskeeper let out a sigh of relief. "Good! This makes my life ten thousand times easier."

Distant thunder echoed as he swept through his pocket book. Off by the horizon was a faint streak of lightning. It's form was near perpendicular to the ground. After it touched down, heavy rainfall engulfed the surrounding area in a translucent curtain of downpour.

The Groundskeeper swiftly brought their hand up without warning. In a quick strike, he struck the tip of their middle finger against their thumb in a snap. "I should've asked you if you know who Skymarcher is, but I think that's common knowledge by now."

I raised an eyebrow in response. The name was familiar. I couldn't pin the reason why.

"Did you know they used to name large structures after him before the Catastrophe? They taught me that while I was in training as an altar boy."

There was nothing of value in his words. I may be a sucker for information, but it was hard for me to believe in some words from a stranger.

"Right, well," The Groundskeeper continued, "I'm sure you'd like to hear the bad news first. From what I've been told about you..."

His voice trailed off. A few seconds passed before I heard a repeated set of loud clicks with his wrinkled hands placed upon the forefront of my vision.

I couldn't tell if he was mad or playing with me. "Hey, look at me. Not the rainstorm. If I'm about to hand over the biggest news of your life, I don't want them to be distracted. Look at me."

Begrudgingly, I fixed my attention from the rainstorm back to the Groundskeeper. It was hard to pinpoint an emotion with his oversized hoodie.

Despite his shaded visage, I could feel his stare pierce through my soul. "This isn't your world. You never existed."

Again, another dubious fact. I audibly scoffed as the idea quickly passed through my mind. However, I felt his hand clasp against my shoulder.

"You were never born," The Groundskeeper spoke with a low, monotone inflection, "No one knows who you are, not even your friends. If it wasn't for me, you'd be completely alone in your new life."

Still, nothing. I mustered up the fakest look of horror I could spread across my face. He seemed to buy it well enough to switch topics. "Now I have to know, what did you see when you died? Was it pitch black? Was there a heaven? From the way He spoke of you, I don't think you would've seen a heaven."

"Hey!" I tensed my fingers up as I raised my hand. After a second of thought, my hand immediately stopped and slowly lowered back down to my side. "You might be right. I'm not sure heaven looks like what I had to go through."

"Oh? Do continue. I think I've heard one part of the story through Him."

The scenery was too surreal to forget. There's a tale that floats around about what happens after you're brought back to life. Some recount seeing some form of afterlife while others think of an infinite crystalline labyrinth. I've always suspected it to be a mental delusion. With fleeting oxygen, blood, and energy; your brain panics. A miasma of memories floods your senses before it entombs you in a belief of where you should end up. A second drags on forever, your brain preserves itself up until it decays away.

While it's a comforting belief, it's not true.

I distinctly remember the jarring switch between warm sunlight to an unfathomable twilight. A deluge of frigid colors dot the sky surrounding a plethora of juxtaposed sceneries. It was hard to pinpoint where I was. Every celestial body our ancestors discovered laid themselves out in a disjunct splay of discord.

The castle was gone. A barren path of disjointed grounds wound itself around an infinite pillar. Men and symbols alike ran up its glossy design. Gilded veins wrapped itself around the structure line vines. Its pumping blood could be heard even from a hundred meters away. I couldn't fathom where either side went.

There was nothing to think about on the journey upward. Translucent fog obscured the ends of the pole no matter which way I looked. Occasionally, a primordial beast bowed itself into the limits of my vision with its unfathomable structure. I couldn't check my surroundings often. Straying my eyes from the winding path gave me vertigo.

Fragments of reality strung itself along the beaten path. A cascade of stories played out from the peripherals of my vision. None of them were mine. Soon, they formed a pattern. Every tale was of betrayal. An illuminant figure hung high in the sky with their commands and desires. Every figure—shrouded in the darkness of his light—held their left hand behind their back with their fingers crossed.

A reverberant boom echoed from one of the memories. A distorted gaze of multicolored noise engulfed the view whole as a resonant tone poured out from its frame.

Strayed from the winding path was a towering mansion. Its bending spires held beacons of light which brightened the path ahead. Shaded figures dance within the windows of the palace. It was hard to tell if this was another memory or the right place to be. It felt wrong intruding on the abandoned lot. Splintered wood gradually fills the path up to the main gateway. Every ten or so steps a plank snaps underneath my weight.

The iron fence barely held itself shut. A simple tug was enough to separate the gate down the middle. The mansion's defenses were almost non-existent. For every barrier which beckoned me to leave, it held no power in staking its claim.

As I entered the mansion's interior, a garden of foliage connected the outside world to a sterile lab. Rows of vines with blossomed lilies cling themselves to the abandoned room. All the posters and warning signs were torn and covered by the invading flora.

In the center of the room was a large, obsidian obelisk. A litany of runes ran across its sleek finish. Its design invited me to look down toward its nadir. Underneath the large stalactite was a pedestal of gold. Its finish was less defined as the pillar and the obelisk. For a simple plate and its carved hand, the sculpt was without intricacy.

While I pondered its design, a voice boomed from the room's recesses, "You failed."

In the moment, I couldn't pinpoint where the source of the noise was. As I frantically scanned my head around the room, a towering figure slowly approached from the same shadows.

A man with tattered clothes ambled out with his hand firmly grasped against the railing of the room's catwalk. I could hardly peel my eyes away from his roughened skin. Underneath his frayed, blue coat is his near-charred skin. His eyes were covered by the shade of his hood, yet his scorched mouth hung in disappointment.

"Arrogance has drowned your heart and lined your soles." He spoke with a raspy, broken tone. "Your greed anchors what little buoyancy you have in this life."

And then, he stopped. Once he reached the end of the catwalk, he stood with his gaze fixed upon me. We were almost level. Only a few feet of elevation separated us. I had to look up toward him.

With a swift slam, his fingers quickly coiled around the platform's rusted railing. "Betrayal comes naturally to your kind. I find it quite disheartening. Where's your obedience? Have you no respect for your creator?"

The man was without a lip. His face was nothing more than a thinly-shielded skull. Alongside his bony hands were skeletal limbs. And yet, he looked almost identical to my closest companion.

"He saw something in you, I know it." The skeleton raised his hand to meet against the underside of his chin. "There's something about his attention to detail even I can't comprehend. Your existence was a mistake. There were corrections to be made.

"Oh, mortality. The flings of lesser life. Such a manipulable tool. In the echelons of divinity will similar actions cause whalefalls. The philosophy of destiny falls deaf upon his sensitive ears. Always a reason. Always a way."

With the aid of the railing, he slowly turned his back to me. As my mind raced to find an answer to his twisting words, he spoke his final line, "No, I think it's time. Give that selfish hag the position she deserves. I've given her unneeded strife. If that's what he desires, then so be it."

And then, he left. As soon as he left my sight, I woke up in my coffin.

Relaying this information to the Groundskeeper was tough. There were hardly enough words to describe the alien landscape. As I described the skeleton, the Groundskeeper winced in reaction.

"Ah," he remarked, "That would explain it. You met Skymarcher."

Skymarcher, the Avatar of Reality. He's the oldest deity I've known of. I've heard stories of his visage and his symbols. Despite the numerous tales spun around him, none described him as a husk—a glorified skeleton.

Soon after, the Groundskeeper waved his hand forward as he turned his body toward the distant village. His attention remained on me as he beckoned, "Come! I'm sure you have a lot to say. I have some friends I'd like to acquaint you with."

There wasn't much of an option to say no. Even as I pondered the option, I realized the weight of the Groundskeeper's words were. There was nothing left for me. I can only go so far alone. I've already learned that the hard way.

Chapter 2

The Groundskeeper led me through the bustling streets of Temple Coast. Swarms of people carrying an assortment of items organized themselves in flowing rivers of footwork. We found ourselves in the thick of the town's business. Street vendors of varied backgrounds line across the pavement with their rambunctious calls.

"You know, on second thought," The Groundskeeper spoke as he led me through the city, "Maybe I should've waited an hour or so. Ah, it's fine. Everyone's all waiting for us anyway."

I was puzzled by what he meant—everyone? The implication of the phrase stuck with me as we continued to swim through the school of shoppers.

It's almost jarring to be back in your hometown. I remember the towering walls of the downtown area. Even if they were multistory buildings, the view felt more grandiose than it should be. I know the streets by memory. I remember the sunny weekends spent simply roaming around. It's a small job I can't easily replicate.

The Groundskeeper led me to a small building with a sign reading INN BETWEEN overhead. The description itself felt apt considering the location of the inn. The layout of the city sections off buildings in a grid system. With the pattern of buildings, the Inn Between situates itself right where a road should be.

I was immediately greeted with a cacophony of chatter. Transitioning from the hollering vendors to the cheering patrons was rough to acclimate to. Similarly, the still air of the inn's interior reminded me how easily I ignored the gusty winds outside.

There wasn't much time for me to scan every individual in the room. As soon as the Groundskeeper brought me to the front of the tavern, he'd give a few hearty knocks against the polished wood counter alongside a resonant call, "Hey Bartender, I'm back from my graveyard shift!"

As I sat down by the bar, I placed my attention toward the ends of the bar. Even if I was familiar with this town, I've never thought of entering here. If anything, I don't remember this bar existing to begin with.

Soon, my eyes met with a quaint figure placed upon the myriad of assorted alcohol. As his slender fingers glossed over the inside of one of the plethora of dirty mugs left in the sink, his own attention diverted from his work and centered toward us. With a light sigh, the Bartender placed the mug and cloth down on the counter as he walked over.

His appearance was one I particularly expected from his profession. With his thick brown jacket, white undershirt, and red tie, the absence of any wrinkles or patches almost intrigued me. His frizzled, yellow hair left a natural shade underneath which reached down toward his pointed nose.

As he spoke, his voice held a mellow and relaxed quality. His speech remained monotone with his inflections thin. "Welcome back, Ozymandias. I'd be right to assume the woman to your right was a corpse you found earlier?"

"Well, she doesn't look much like a corpse!" the Groundskeeper returned, "Her grave was unmarked, though. I had to shake her name out of a mental acuity test."

"As always." The Bartender remarked with a sigh.

I remained silent during their conversation. After they both concluded, the Bartender leaned down against the counter of the table as he squinted directly at me.

"Mandy." His voice was sharp. "This looks just like my mother. Are you playing some kind of joke on me?"

The Groundskeeper—Ozymandias—leaned over to squint towards me as well. After a second, he'd return back to his previous position with a smile on his face. "I've seen your mother before, she doesn't remotely look like her. Especially not in this light."

Before I could even register what happened, I heard a loud whack followed by a faint yelp. The Bartender had his hand outstretched and in place while Ozymandias cowered down toward the counter.

Afterward, the sole employee let out another sigh as he leaned on the table once more. "Point still stands."

Ozymandias grits his teeth and forcefully exhales. "Point taken."

"Moving on. Didn't you say your friends would be over here soon?"

"Well, yeah. I think that changed though. Hold on." Ozymandias fished his hand within the coat of his pocket. Once he grabbed hold of his pen and Tabula, he'd quickly flip through a set of pages before landing on an arbitrary point.

The Groundskeeper stopped for a moment. As his eyes scanned across the Tabula's yellowed paper, he'd rapidly click against the activating mechanism of his pen.

"Ballpoint pens," The Bartender remarked, "Sonata's most prized invention."

"Pre-Sonatan." Ozymandias quipped.

"Like there's much of a difference nowadays."

"Of course there's a difference! The Sonatans were Post-Catastrophe and the Pre-Sonatans were Pre-Catastrophe!"

"Look me dead in the eyes and tell me when this'll ever be applicable."

Ozymandias quickly lifted his eyes out of his book and snapped his attention toward the Bartender.

"What, do you think anything matters past the Age of Heroes?"

"I'd like to think there's a few stragglers of prior generations that'd sure love to know their history hasn't eroded in the sands of time."

"You do you, Mandy. There's no mortal Sonatan left to cater to."

As much as the Bartender is right, Ozymandias' sentiment sticks with me a little more. 

I've yet to brush up on my Legend History as of late, but I know the Sonatans were direct ancestors of us. It's more of a distinction than an evolutionary trait. If I recall correctly, the term was coined by Sol Invictus a few years after the Kingdom of Sol was situated off the coast of Caelitra.

In his terms, a Sonatan is a human which lived at all between the Catastrophe and the Restructuring. Or, in years, zero to a thousand years after the Catastrophe.

"Ah, you know what? We've got time." The Groundskeeper stashes away his pen and Tabula. "So, Autumn, do you have any interesting stories about your past? Did you have a good childhood? Great friends?"

I raised my torso up and shifted around in the seat. Once I was comfortable, I relaxed my body and released my shoulders. "Depends, how much time do we have until your friend gets here?"

"Could be ten minutes. Could be an hour. I'm sure you've got something to say given your origin!"

It's strange to think I was born more than twenty years ago. Two decades have passed, and I can only remember a tenth of that time. I was born in Temple Coast to a loving family. My mother was an active member of the city's committee while my dad was a freelance blacksmith. It baffles me when I think about their clashing careers sometimes.

I only knew them as individual people in my later years. All I wanted to learn from them was their care and support. Frankly, I can't really blame myself, but I do feel a shred of guilt whenever I think about it. They met during the annual Dark Moon festival. When I heard how they bonded, it felt almost cliche. While they had different ambitions, their interests aligned quite well.

Sometimes, they'd fight. There wasn't anything too rash, but I remember it always scared me. Growing up, I just knew that was kind of natural. More often than not I heard their screaming as opposed to their apologies.

Besides my parents, I had a friend throughout my childhood who I often played with. His name was Caesar. We met in the town square while our parents were shopping for groceries. I laughed at how bright his blue jacket was, and that was enough to intrigue both of our parents. I'm not sure how long they talked for, but we had the option to either sit around or talk ourselves.

Caesar was an offshoot of royalty. While his family weren't direct lineages, they lived a quaint life by the coast to live for themselves. While they were isolated, they were quite religious. Caesar's father held sermons and performed miracles in the name of Skymarcher. His mother led the choirs in hymns and tunes after studying at the Invictus Institute.

Neither of them lived on a salary, last I recall. They refused donations and monetary support from the community. However, they did accept a hefty sum from a distant patron. Caesar never told me what his parents did with the money, but their wardrobe and commodities rarely—if they ever—changed.

I used to wonder from which royalty they came from. As much as they preached the name of Skymarcher, I always saw a few icons of Invictus strewn around the house. In scriptures, it's often depicted the two deities were known to be close. However, I rarely saw Caesar or his parents talk much of Invictus.

Life rarely differed during my childhood. Every week started with our shopping errands. Around the same time every day after was spent learning. History and theology were taught in tandem. Mathematics and science were paired as well. Often, we received a very general overview of what was needed in day to day life—how to properly budget your finances, the history of Temple Coast, and gardening to name a few.

Magic and combat—as we liked to call it—weren't taught for safety reasons. A number of parents wished to educate us on the topics to further prepare us, but a group of similar proportions felt the opposite. To remedy this, it was taught as a separate school altogether. Caesar and I never took these classes, but I remember the fun stories our peers told us about.

I used to have a younger brother, as well. He was very interested in chemistry and anything related to alchemy. His room was filled from top to bottom with various charts and landmark figures of their fields. It was almost overwhelming to see a book's worth of words sprawled across a little kid's wall.

Specific topics like chemistry were reserved only for apprentice-like positions. I remember certain careers like fishers or explorers were common among Temple Coast. Magic was rarely taught. Every few years, a traveling band of professionals scouted out potential students to train. Despite Caesar's eagerness, he was never chosen.

I never showed much interest in any specific trade. Magic rarely intrigued me, and any form of combat made me squeamish. Caesar, on the other hand, was a proficient diviner. His devotion to Skymarcher outmatched that of his own father's.

I remember the day in which Caesar was gifted his powers. Before this, all he could do was tirelessly pray and sacrifice in his name. Of course, the sacrifices weren't of any harm. Whenever he had the option to help others over himself, Caesar typically favored giving something of his when it benefited others the most. This included his time, his clothes, and even sometimes his food.

He was the first person to break the news to. With a stone in his hand, Caesar effortlessly dug his fingers within the stone and displaced the material as if it were clay. With the same rock, he sculpted the very mask depicted on Skymarcher. Two large holes for eyes sat upon the middle, with a large snout extruding in the middle. Various jagged points stuck out the top like ears and fluff. It was similar to a Pre-Sonatan animal—a canine to be precise.

"This was the mask He wore when He visited," Caesar added, "Except, it was a lot more orange."

Sometimes, I questioned if I was destined for anything. Everyone around me had some sort of innate gift or undying passion that they were born with. I had no interest in combat or in any sort of magic. My body barely produced enough Ichor to facilitate any form of magic.

When I was about sixteen, he led me to his forge and brought out a small briefcase. Engraved on a small gold plating were the words PROPERTY OF PARABELLUM. As he placed his hands upon the latches, he looked me in the eyes and warned me.

"This is ancient technology," He sternly confided, "We don't know what it does, but it will help in an emergency."

Inside was a large device smoothened with steel. Two canisters of shining blue liquid stuck out from the main structure. My father told me it was a Blight-Energy Laser, or a BEL for short. He stowed it away within a small part of his forgery, and I rarely thought about it since.

Life, otherwise, remained mundane. If everything continued as it should've, I would've been on track to take on the family business. I was reluctantly showing an interest in weapon smithing, and my brother wanted to leave to study alchemy at Southern Crown University. Caesar was on his way to priesthood considering his extraordinary progress. He would've been the youngest appointed priest to date.

My mother, for the last few weeks I knew her, grew stressed. Every night she'd come home concerned and agitated. It was hard to deal with, but she insisted that we needed to move soon. My father was against the idea on concerns with his forge. Even if they were to agree, they were both split on where to move. My mother knew of Caesar's connections, so they could land a stable job and place of residence within the boundaries of the Kingdom of Sol. My father, on the other hand, wanted to move to the Heartland for its opportunities and growing need for weapon smiths. However, they both agreed anywhere east of the Heartland was too dangerous to settle in.

Unfortunately, we ran out of time. On the dawn of the Dark Moon festival, a group of army men stormed our city and pillaged it for all it was worth.

I vividly remember waking up that day. Before the sun woke me up, my mother frantically shook me awake with a bag of supplies in her hand. As soon as I was awake, she dragged me down to the forge where my father and brother were already hunkered down in.

As I laid silent behind the anvil, I kept my sights solely on my parents. Looking out toward the exit only filled me with dread. There was nothing I could do but wait.

My father held the BEL steady. He was anticipating any of the troops to barge in at any moment. While he stood at the ready, my mother beckoned for me and my brother to come closer. She explained the plan to us in a hushed voice. Because of the army's affiliations, Caesar's family—and anything of theirs—was to be left alone. If we were to survive, it was through their protection.

Once everything drew silent, my brother's eyes began to swell. He buried his face deep in my mother's arms as he tried his best to silence his cries. It was hard to watch—I didn't understand what was happening.

The troops found our house. They broke down the doors and busted the locks. I heard their footsteps scamper all around the house. The forge wasn't hard to miss. A large, stone brick chamber jutting from a wooden cabin wasn't easy to hide. Despite this, the forge was the last place they checked. They all gathered by the door and broke it open in tandem.

My father immediately opened fire. A purple streak of energy broke against the troop's head as a light crackle of energy pulsed around his body. Of course, he got lucky. My mother took up a nearby hammer and ran toward the group. Together, they were barely able to incapacitate most of the soldiers there.

As we fled our house, I caught a glimpse of their crest and titles. On their hearts was a golden circle with a line struck through the top. From what I knew, this was the Goddess Fortuna's symbol. It made sense as to why Caesar's family would be spared from this attack. Underneath their crest, however, was the title VEINFINDER. All the soldiers held a number of stars with the same designation.

As we made a break for the church, my brother accidentally tripped on a small step down the pathway and fell on his face. Before I could even look back, my mother ushered me forward while my father stayed back. That was the last time I saw either of them.

Once we were inside, we both noticed the statues and stained glass which lined the walls. A small organ sat behind the decorated pew with a row of risers to the right. It was hard to ignore how packed the church was. All the rows were filled to the brim with people. It was hard to drown out the sound of screaming toddlers and crying children.

I met up with Caesar by the front. We both went in for a hug which nearly broke both of our ribs. As he smiled at my arrival, I noticed the streaks of dried tears on his cheeks. We both sat down on the stairs near the altar while we both watched the back of the building. Something told me this wasn't the end—it would be too easy to stuff the city inside the church.

Unfortunately, I was correct. A group of Veinfinders broke the carved wooden doors with a metallic battering ram. As they casted the large hunk of metal to the side, they all brought out their own type of firearms and aimed it at the crowd. I wasn't able to tell what it was, but there weren't any cylinders of shining liquid sticking out.

The church went into a frenzy. A cacophony of wails and screams erupted as many groups attempted to escape. Two powerful booms echoed throughout the church, silencing everyone in fear.

"The Ichor was a lie," The leader yelled, "Everyone exit the church in an orderly fashion or we will use lethal force."

Outside the church doors were a row of wagons. As each person exited the church, they were either tied up or set free. At first, I couldn't tell what fashion they were separating everyone in. However, as soon as we drew closer to the Veinfinders, I heard their question without answer, "State your devotion."

Those who were let free showed a small pendant—a valuable item which bore the same Circle of Myths around Ozymandias' neck. Caesar had one as well. I was out of luck.

As we were a few moments away from being separated, Caesar leaned over and whispered in my ear, "State the phrase, 'Me, Myself, and I'."

Once the guards let the person in front go, they blocked the way as the leader pierced his irritated gaze my way.

"State your devotion," he demanded.

I could feel a lump in my throat form as I mulled over the phrase. Every second felt like hell as my body trembled in fear. Eventually, I mustered out the phrase in stutters, "Me, Myself, and I."

"Church of Skymarcher. Leave, and do not bother our men."

Even as I was sent free, all the tension in my body remained as I walked out. My mother—who I separated from as we were quickly drawn into lines—was sent off to the wagons. I stood near the rest of the spared men.

Caesar left unscathed. While I knew how scared he was, his body was relaxed. He walked over in a slow tempo as he took deep breaths to calm himself down.

The Veinfinders evacuated the church with haste. A few members raised their hands up and gave signals to the wagons ahead. As the final family boarded on the crowded carriage, I slowly turned toward Caesar with horror in my eyes.

"What'll happen to them?" I whispered.

Caesar shook his head solemnly, "Not even Skymarcher knows."

Afterward, a group of soldiers walked up to Caesar with their hands to their side. The man on the right spoke with a concentrated tone, "Paragon Sol Invictus demands your presence at once. Travel and accommodations will be paid for by the Toru estate through the aid of the Golden Fox."

I watched his calmed demeanor spark to fear. The news caught him off guard—enough to make him stammer. "Can I bring my curate along on the journey? She's required in mobile rituals."

"I'll notify Paragon Sol Invictus."

Caesar was extraordinarily charismatic. Even if he was caught off-guard, his words were adhered to without question. I wasn't sure if he found a way to augment his speech with Ichor, or if it was a skill taught to him through his training.

One wagon remained in place. It was a carriage with the symbol of a nonagon with sun rays emanating from the center placed upon the backside—Sol Invictus. The remaining Veinfinders left alongside their acquired prisoners.

Ash and soot made its way into my nose. Its putrid stench jolted me out of my fear and out to observe the rest of the village. Most of the town was in flames. Kiosks and carriages were beaten and casted aside. Spills of garbage littered the streets, allowing for flames to cross along the pavements.

As I scanned the remains of the town, Caesar firmly placed both of his hands upon my shoulders and turned me around. He tilted his head downward, looking up into my eyes as he choked back a round of tears.

"We're going to find your mother." I could hear the mucus drowning parts of his speech. "She's going to be okay. We will find your mother. We'll find your father. We'll find your younger brother Benny as well. They'll all be okay."

I forgot about my brother. While the village burned down, I thought of his preparations for Southern Crown. 

Afterward, I nodded back to Caesar. I didn't have the energy to say anything more. I knew if I opened my mouth, I'd be an emotional mess. It was hard enough to fight back the building flood of tears.

Caesar loosened his hands and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. "Come on, it'll be alright. Invictus will help us."

Most of my childhood—up until the day the Veinfinders came—was okay. I couldn't ask for anything more from my parents. From Caesar, as well. I was surprised with how caring he's been throughout my life. While reciting this all to Ozymandias and the Bartender, it dawned on me now how little I've expressed my gratitude to him.

"So you're an orphan?" A feminine voice broke me out of my mind's eye. "That blows. Did you ever find your parents? Were they eccentric with where they grew their flowers as well?"

"Miyana!" Ozymandias barked, "Give her some time to breathe! When did you get here anyway? I didn't hear you walk in."

The Bartender let out another sigh as he spun his finger in circles. "It was during the part where she entered the church. I'm surprised none of you noticed."

My attention was already fixed on the newcomer. I furrowed my eyebrows at Miyana—how did I not notice her walk in?

"Well, you know me and my first impressions," Miyana let out a scoff as she reached an idle hand over to her stowed-away blade, "I know more about this corpse than she knows about me. Ain't that right, Mandy?"

Ozymandias rolled his eyes in response.

"Right, well! Looks like I have to do all the work around here," The newcomer extended her arm out toward me with an outstretched hand, "The name's Miyana d'Izune. Born and raised in the Izune Mountaintops. Best strategist in Caelitra, best in the Council, and second best swordswoman in Caelitra. Pleasure to meet you, Sforzando."

"Sforzando?" I sheepishly replied, "How do you know my last name?"

"Mandy's got a reputation for his loose lips. He talked all about you even if the old porcelain doll we have at the base couldn't glean any information off the archives."

"Right, I should've guessed that. Who's the best swordswoman in Caelitra?"

"Ravsangal."

Miyana spoke with malice. Her voice lowered near a growl as her eyes narrowed off toward the distance.

In fear, I slowly extended my hand out and shook her hand. "Well, it's nice to meet you Miss d'Izune."

Miyana had a strange design to her. She wore various green silks and gowns as an outward layer. Inside, she wore a white undershirt similar to the Bartender's with a pair of gray slacks. She had a set of pink eyes which matched the same intensity of her shoulder-length hair. It was better to call her an art teacher than a skilled swordswoman.

Ozymandias sat himself up from his seat and clapped his hands together. "Well! We best get a move on, then. I know you wanted to get some drinks, Miyana, but I think it's best we head back early before we have to deal with the approaching storm."

"Oh, don't worry about the storm," Miyana flicked her hand and scoffed, "Hey Bartender! Can we get a few rounds of gin? I know Mandy hates the taste of 'em!"

It was hard to pin down what Miyana was like. I drew a blank at her affiliations; the only symbol I had to work with was her golden moon beads. Neither Fortuna, Skymarcher, or Sol Invictus aligned themselves with the moon. Maybe I was thinking too hard. Afterall, I've spoken a mouthful about the divine already. I might as well enjoy the drinks while they're free.

Chapter 3

The mid-afternoon sun soon found its home below the horizon. One by one, a collective of stars blink upon the clear night sky. Behind those stars was the quilted blanket of night. The homogenous sky only persisted throughout the daytime. Once the sun's radiant light fled, all we were left with were various shades of purple and black held together by a golden string.

There wasn't much scenery within the tavern, however. I would often look up and out to catch a sliver of its patchwork. It was a nice distraction from my new companions. Ten emptied glasses surrounded Ozymandias and Miyana. After the first pint, my conversations and attention gradually shifted toward the Bartender.

"Not much of a drinker, are you?" As he served another round to the group, he focused his words on me, "That's alright if you aren't. Mandy wasn't sure of your personal hobbies."

We spoke on a variety of topics. While he didn't divulge much of his life, the Bartender did mention his interests in secondary education. "I had it all planned out—six years learning as much as I can. An apprentice showed up months before I left, however. I took up the opportunity of learning about the fine arts of alcohol instead."

The duo occupied themselves in various vocal activities. One minute, they'd run their mouths on just about anything. The next, they'd bust into song singing anything folk. I cowered in my enclosed space, attempting to separate myself from them as much as I can.

The Bartender didn't seem to care. Neither did anyone around. Eventually, I figured out I was only drawing more attention to myself.

As he returned back to our side of the counter with two mugs filled to the brim with craft beer, he performed the same check-up routine. However, the Bartender reached down into his suit and opened his own Tabula. "I don't think neither Mandy or Miyana plan to leave anytime soon. They wanted you to meet everyone else, though."

"Ah, fantastic." I didn't have much else to do. I expected myself to hunker down in the same chair until sunrise.

"If this type of environment isn't for you—and I don't blame you if so—I can call up their 'designated driver', so to say."

"I'd prefer that."

A few minutes passed by. Ozymandias occupied his time by talking about his services as an altar boy. Once the driver was here, the Bartender caught my attention and diverted it toward the tavern's front window.

After I said my goodbyes to the three of them, I walked out from the tavern to the sight of a strange feat of technology. Seated at the front of the contraption was a strange scooter with a sleek design. Horizontal blue lines ran across the bottom edge of the vehicle as a visible gap persisted between the ground and the vehicle itself. A smooth marble finish covered most of the surface, with the exception of two gray handles.

Attached to the scooter is a set of three teacup-shaped pods with a similar material palette. Inside the modules was a leather seat alongside a few amenities such as a cup holder. A small dome of glass topped off the strange pod to create a small bulb.

The driver of this strange set of pods was adorned in gaudy clothes. Adorned on his head was a poofy hat with a strange feather which stuck out from the top. A similar, larger feather stuck out from the back of his brown jacket. The driver wore a white undergarment underneath. His pants were similar in color to his jacket. A set of diamond knee pads separated the two contrasting tones of brown.

What stuck out to me the most was his face. Underneath his goofy hat was a large tuff of yellow hair and a set of similar colored eyes. I couldn't help but shake the idea that I've seen someone like him before.

With an outstretched arm, his driver waved toward the cluster of pods before he spoke, "Enter one of the pods. I will collect Ozymandias and Miyana later in the night."

His voice didn't sit with me well. While it sounded almost human, there was no mistaking its rigid nature and synthesized vocals. What added to the discomfort was how smooth his skin was. I'd at least expect a few blemishes or imperfections rather than a homogenous finish.

Once I sat down in one of the pods, the overhead door sealed me inside. I barely felt any sort of acceleration. There was a simple tug and nothing more. Looking out to the other pods, they seemed to keep in a small group together relatively well. There wasn't anything that tethered them to each other—or to the scooter, for that matter.

A faint ding made itself apparent, alerting me of a small speaker placed near the cupholder of the bulb. Soon after, it projected a grainy voice into the pod. "So, you must be Autumn Sforzando. I'm surprised at the specificity of a last name."

Looking forward, I didn't see any type of device on the driver's body. With a few glances back and forth, I located a small button next to the speaker and pressed upon it.

My attention was toward the driver. "Yeah, that's kind of spooky."

"Of course, last names are more of a custom above all." His mouth remained shut. "They're a distinction of origin, if anything more."

His body barely moved an inch as he spoke. On his side, there was no button he needed to press. It was almost jarring to hear him speak to me—even when it was his own voice.

I contorted my body to return back to a comfortable seating position before talking to the speaker, "So, how are you speaking to me? Is this pre-recorded? How much of this whole introduction have you three planned?"

"Four," he corrected, "These relay machines were built with convenience in mind. My mouth is nothing more than a cosmetic speaker."

"Cosmetic speaker? Do you just think and whatever comes to mind is transmitted?"

"More or less. My thoughts can be deciphered in a cohesive language whereas yours are a series of slime and shock without rhyme or reason."

Even if the driver couldn't currently see me, I squinted at the speaker in silence.

"I'm sure neither of the two caught you up on this, but I'm a construct of machine and emotion. Everyone calls me by my abbreviated project designation, Solis."

“Project designation Solis? Does that mean anything in specific?

“It’s an acronym. I’d rather not elaborate. Any other source on its meaning is fair game.”

“Right, I won’t budge then.”

An artificial stench stained the interior. I couldn’t tell if it was attempting to replicate a bakery or a specific pastry. Attempting to find an answer to this question wore the scent away from my attention.

I remember the wagon ride out from the Temple Coast. Caesar and I were both confused as to why we needed to travel by land when the sea was an hour away.

As we saw our town fall farther below the horizon, a pit formed in my stomach. The city was built upon lumber. With how close it was to the Ampersandi Pits, we found a way to work with an abundance. Now, seeing the pillars of smoke coalesce into one, it never sat right with me.

“Why did they burn it all down?” I couldn’t peel my eyes from the vanishing inferno.

For once, I heard Caesar’s voice divorced from his usual jovial spirit. “I don’t know, Autumn. War never makes sense.”

“Why did they take everyone away? Why were we chosen by belief?”

“Collateral, I would assume. Someone promised Ichor through conquest. Something went wrong down the chain of communication, I know it.”

I pressed my fingertips against the carriage window. A cold sensation ran through my fingers as I peeled away my hand. Five translucent prints sustained themselves among the glass before fading away.

“The relations between the worshippers of Skymarcher and Fortuna are growing. It would look bad on their part if we were included in their hostages.”

“So they’ve been left to fend for themselves?”

“As far as we know, yes. I pray the flames will aid as signals of distress.”

Thirty years pass with one less person in the world, and the lights of the Temple Coast glow brilliant. I placed my cheek upon the warm glass with my eyes fixed on the fading city. Even as I pushed myself upon the bulb, I couldn’t feel any vibrations or contact with the ground. I’ve drowned out the idle whir of the scooter’s engine long ago.

By chance, my eyes caught sight of the overhanging lights. The swarm of stars and patchwork of an infinite deep sea coat the world in a blanket of darkness. I’ve always been scared of what lingers in the shadows, but there’s something comforting about the sanctity of the bulb.

Solis seemed to show no outward emotion. His figure remained still and calculated. Every turn of his wrist felt as if it were queued in a list of a million micromovements. I can’t tell how he’s able to do it—I don’t envy him. I’m not sure if it’d be an insult to question his difference in rationale.

A crackle flared the speaker alive. “What was Temple Coast like in your time?”

“Oh, fine,” I sarcastically replied, “Looks about the same since the last time I saw it. A lot less soot, though. That’s a positive thing.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that. From what I recall, Temple Coast has benefitted from a diplomatic agreement between the Aurelian Mysteries and the Cultists of Skymarcher.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Thirty years ago.”

I furrowed my eyebrows toward the distant horizon.

“Temple Coast has grown to be an exporting powerhouse. With the fruits of the Pits and the fortune of the sea, they’re hoping to complete a religious campus with the surplus funds within the next generation.”

“Right, good for them.”

Even with the scenery outside, it was hard to stay awake for long. The warm-padded seat paired with the cooled curved glass beckoned me to sleep. I wasn't sure how much longer it would be until we arrived, but considering Solis had to return, it wouldn't be long.

Soon, we approached a distant storm. Its clouds laid among the plains as an enlarged shrub. The color alone gave an impression of a dust storm often seen in the Sole Dunes, but we were still within the Crown.

I slowly placed my finger upon the speaker's button, causing it to briefly buzz. "Hey, Solis. What's with the large cloud straight ahead? Is that normal?"

"Oh, perfectly normal," he answered in a reassuring cadence, "This cloud is engineered to filter any unwanted visitors. It'll allow us straight passage to our base of operation's entrance, however."

"Are you sure that's safe?"

"I must've used it prior to retrieving you, have I not?"

Once we entered the cloud, the scooter and the bulb's exteriors were engulfed without harm. Even as fine particles pushed against the glass, the glass remained clear and unscratched.

"Micromachines," Solis continued, "Imagine a trillion little hands guiding you along an open path. I find the sensation quite pleasing, and I think they enjoy the service."

We soon left the boundless billow as quick as we entered. Suddenly, the tranquil night sky hid itself away as a cylindrical concrete interior encased and led the scooter through a straightforward path.

After a brief moment of silence, the speaker broke the air with a familiar buzz. "I'd like to welcome you to the Nexus of Knowledge, the New Galilean Council's Headquarters."

The scooter drew near a thick metallic door with its jagged jaws locked within each other. A row of repeating black and yellow chevrons race above the door's teeth. As the vehicle draws near, steam quickly escapes through the door as it slowly lifts up into the ceiling.

Beyond the large entrance lies an expansive, cylindrical hub. Layers of balconies segment the room into separate exits outward. Similar to the entrance, the walls of the hub were lined with limestone. Various tubes filled with purple and blue liquids run through the walls like veins, dividing the floors further through vertical lines.

Scattered among the hub were nine distinct statues. The first statue faced the entrance with his hands outstretched. A book sat on his hand, with the carved pages etched in time. Kingly robes draped from his shoulders as a four-pronged crown hid the top of his head from view. The second statue faced away from the entrance. Clutched within the statue's hand was a blade with its tip parallel to the ground. A suit of heavy metal tightly hugged the statue's physique. Long, flowing hair partially obscured the figure's blind folded face.

On the ground floor of the hub was a figure with a curved cap and bagged pants. Another statue, situated on the other side of the room, complimented it in pose. Carved in the marble was a man adorned in an oversized robe and gown. His head was devoid of all features save for a separated sphere. Wrapped around the sphere's horizontal axis was an elliptical ring.

On the next floor was a worn-down statue. Its features were corroded and unidentifiable. A set of swords rest in the unfinished slab in which it was carved out from—one blade radiant and the other reflective.

A set of two statues sat within a nook of the marble wall. One statue depicted a figure with large wings. Its span stretched across an eighth of the hub's circumference. Upon its body were a set of scales which lined the torso down in its detail. A set of mangled horns perched atop its head, as they both pointed up toward the ceiling. The smaller statue depicted a woman adorned from neck to ankles in uniform. Vertical creases run across its black material with a set of iconography placed upon her chest. Stuck within a loop-like circle was a stray thunderbolt striking upon the icon's ground. Two sets of glass moon beads tie two symmetrical lines of hair on the sides of her head.

One statue stood in the center of a large, round table. The figure balanced herself on one foot, as the other lifted itself up as a counterweight. In her hands were two carved baskets. The fruits sat within the contains, however, were genuine. Surrounding the base of the statue were crates of bottled wine and baskets of bread.

The last statue stood behind a bulky, granite sundial. Underneath its silken attire were spiraled sleeves which cover its legs. From the neck up, the statue is devoid of any hair. All that remains are two thick eyebrows above their eyes.

The scooter navigated through the interior of the complex without issue. Its expansive hallways seemed to be built for a vehicle of its caliber. I sat with my knees pressed against the seat, examining the statue and its rooms.

Soon after we pass the final statue, Solis veers the scooter around toward the entrance of the building. As he does so, I can hear his voice from the speaker gradually crescendo from nothing. "And thus, these statues represent the late Sonatan Pantheon. I assume you caught that all, Autumn?"

Once Solis called my name out, my attention quickly snapped away from the design of the headquarters back to the speaker. As a result, I quickly blurted out, "Yes?"

"Good." I'm not sure what I agreed to. "I find the history of these deities quite fascinating. Maybe it's because of my era of origin. Something about these nine resonates with me far more than the recent bodies of worship."

"Yes, I think so. Quite frankly, I lose track after the main three."

"I don't blame you. These cohorts are often debated on their divinity in part of their Ichor content. While they possess extraordinary feats, it's commonly accepted their titles are supported through merit rather than Ichor."

"I agree, yes. I kind of figured based off of the kid in the ball cap."

"Providence? I'm sure there's an ongoing field of research on whether their skills were of talent or miracle."

I wasn't sure of what type of conversation I found myself in, but it felt as if I was saying the right answers by pure chance.

Through the winding spiral of the Nexus, we both arrived at a set of doors titled with various names. As I read the nameplates, Solis' voice followed behind without delay, "Currently this facility holds Ozymandias, Miyana, Kiryana, and Solis—me."

The scooter slows to a halt near a set of unlabeled doors. Similar to its acceleration, the bulb slowed to a stop in a near-seamless manner. It took me a while to figure out how to exit my small carriage. After pressing a small purple button, a slip of glass slid up toward the bulb's top. Stepping out from the floating vehicle out to the ground felt disorienting. Once I planted my foot on the linoleum floor, I felt both my legs disagreeing with each other. A quick hop out of the pod quickly fixed the issue.

Solis extended his arm out to his side. He slowly moved his hand to point toward the selection of empty rooms in front of him. "Pick whichever one you want. I'll have your name engraved like the rest of them. Any questions before I leave?"

"Questions? Oh, right," I quickly caught myself mid-stutter to collect my thoughts into a coherent question. "What is the New Galilean Council? Is it the group of statues scattered throughout the Nexus?"

"Oh, good question. I don't think I've explained that since we got here."

I let out a small exhale—relief.

"The original Galilean Council, known as the Starwatchers, were a set of four guardians appointed by Sinatra to take charge of his cenotaph if he were to perish. We don't know what happened to these four members, but they were named after a subset of moons in which the Sonatans suspected Sinatra arrived from."

"Ah, interesting."

"We've taken on the mantle to symbolize a rebirth and simultaneous restructure of Sinatra's values. While we aren't the exact heirs to their claim or attributes, the symbolism is what we stuck with in the end."

Most of the information Solis talked about wasn't anything I've learned in Temple Coast. I was acclimating to the technology and architecture shown to me. Idly, I tapped the edge of my heel against the floor to hear the resonance of the bedroom hall.

"I must be going," Solis concluded, "Sleep well, Autumn. We have much to discuss in the morning."

Soon after, the scooter slowly turned itself around and left toward the exit. The pods behind slowly jostled around before smoothing out to sit stationary in relation to each other.

I glossed over the bedroom's decorations as I stumbled inside. My first instinct was to locate the first object in sight that could easily depress under my weight. Every moment awake felt like an uphill battle. It felt as if small gram-heavy bags pulled my eyelids shut. All I could think of was sleep. The thirty years spent locked within the confines of my coffin caught up with me.

Then, I slept. My eyes fixed on the ceiling dotted decor before I was swept away from the waking world.

I found myself at the gates of dreamland after months of absence. The stress of adventure stripped my slumber bare of joy. Without worry, I had no concern for caution. There was no curfew. I wasn't a soldier of fate anymore.

Even as I slept, my troubled past returned as another dream. We were hours after my last daydream. Once we exited the carriage, a group of guards accompanied us through a large station filled with both man and machine.

We arrived at our destination—the Crown’s only airport. A looming tower of brick and steel stretched up to the heavens. Floating ports jut out from the main tower, hosting a selection of airships of varying sizes. Their bird-like wings kept them afloat as their sails anchored them in the air. Each vessel had a rough-cut crystal embedded in its hull. They wouldn't stay afloat without these gems. Surrounding the bottoms of each ship was a small aura which matched each crystal's hue. Through their stored energy, the gem exerted its power to utilize the air around it as a water-like substance.

As we traversed through the seas of travelers, we arrived at our terminal near the zenith of the tower. We both sat down on a set of chairs overlooking the clear skies ahead. Thirty years had seldom changed the composition of the nighttime sky. However, this detail could be nothing more than an oversight by my slumbering mind.

Caesar took off his jacket and laid it across his lap. With his elbows pressed against his knees, he planted his chin within the palm of his hands. It was strange to see him this still. His white shirt had been stained with smears of soot and dirt. There was even a small patch of his shirt which had been burned off. In addition, his well-kept hair had been reduced to a frayed mess. His natural brown hair remained, but the outstretched strands covered his shoulders in a mess of strands.

The passing of airships outside kept me occupied. Large, blinking lights sat on the sails, signaling to the darkened sky of their presence. It was a light show of mismatched shapes. It's hard to see the stars above with the ship's bright mimicries.

It took me until now to notice that Caesar's attention was placed toward the sky. Among the softened noise of bustling travelers, he spoke with a hushed tone, "Do you think the Pre-Sonatans saw the same stars as us?"

It took me a moment to find the answer. My attention fixed to the dim, golden stitches which strung together the stars' backdrop. "Part of it, yes. I think all that remains is the constellation Lepus."

"What do you think they'd say about our stars? Would they even notice a difference?"

"I think they'd try and make sense of it all."

Caesar sat in thought. His left hand slowly moved across his face to cover his mouth. I could hear his exhales break against his fingers like waves against a jagged coast.

The Pre-Sonatans figured out the meaning of the sky, even if there was nothing of value. The stars were a museum of achievement to them—a showcase of their worth. The various groupings outlived the very civilization which named them. Even Lepus, a constellation which persists in both meaning and shape, hangs overhead.

"Do you think it's worth attempting to explain everything?" Caesar continued, "Is it worth it to rationalize the irrational?"

It took me a moment to recognize what he was referencing. At first, my mind snapped toward the constellations themselves. Even then, I challenged his question, "Rationalize the irrational?"

"I don't get it, Autumn. Why were we attacked?"

"Attacked? Do you mean back at Temple Coast?"

"Yes. It all came out of nowhere. One morning, I ran the hours of the rising sun by watering the flowers in the church's garden. Nearly twenty four hours later, the same flowers were engulfed in embers. What did we do to deserve this fate?"

"I don't know, Caesar. I don't know."

The prophet slowly tilted his head back as he steadily inhaled through his nose. His fingers parted away from his lips to allow for his exhale to escape in full.

"I think my mother was stressed up until the attack. I'm not sure of why, though."

"Wasn't she part of the town's council?"

"She was, yes. I remember her talking about how she worked in the Heartland before settling down in the Crown, too."

"I wonder if that's why she wanted our families to go on a surprise vacation."

My sights glued itself to the overhead countdown. A series of blackboards ticked away as each number slowly decreased in value. Fifteen minutes.

Caesar suddenly snapped his finger as he turned around to face a distant guard with a briefcase. The color of the case seemed familiar, but overall its details were shrouded by the airport's dim lights.

"Here, Autumn, your mom handed this to me while we were inside the church."

The prophet's hands gloss over the locks. They were both melded shut by some unknown force. However, as he pinched his fingers against the material, Caesar morphed the latches back to their original shape before revealing the inside of the briefcase to me.

Sat upon the cushioned padding was my father's BEL. Each of the canisters situated inside the machine were emptied of its contents, leaving an emptied husk and a useless weapon.

I carefully lifted the BEL out from its case as I idly nodded back to Caesar. Overall, the machine was a lot heavier than I anticipated it to be. My fingers wrapped around the handguard as I lightly grasped the grip. It was immediately evident I didn't know how to handle the machine.

"I think Invictus might know what to do with it." Caesar snapped his fingers once more, signaling the same guard to retrieve the empty briefcase. "Just keep hold of it for now."

With the BEL secured in my lap, I placed my sights forward in anticipation for the airship.

I expected an explanation on how to use the machine sometime before the invasion on Temple Coast. Last I recall, my father planned to teach me a few weeks out from the invasion. At the time, I had a basic gist of how it worked just by watching my father behind the anvil.

I spent the rest of the waking night boarding the airship. The trip took nearly two days of constant travel. While I rarely meandered around the wooden interior for long, I recall the view out from our room's window.

Patches of land were separated by various types of crops and shrubbery. Even from nearly a thousand meters off the ground, the individual colors of the collective crops, grass, and trees stood out in clumps.

I've never seen the world this high in the sky. The scene entertained me for hours on end. However, most of my fun came to a stop as soon as we passed by a small strip of sand and crossed over the boundless sea. Every once in a while, I was able to spot a stray ship by the blotchy brown spots among the homogenous deep blue plane.

As I sat on the edge of my bed, I could feel myself waking up. The distant noise of conversation strayed me away from my memories and back into reality.

Chapter 4

The spare bedroom was covered head to toe with various stickers of celestial bodies. Lime green mockups of various planets and their satellites stuck to the limestone walls. Columns of marble ran across the corners of the room, removing all the right angles within the space.

On top of the nearby nightstand was a small remote. Its rectangular design held no details other than its smoothened faces. A tiny white button sat in the center of the uppermost side. Pressing the button flooded the room with bright lights upon thin strips.

Hidden within the walls was a small closet and a series of drawers. A similar switch sat bolted on the wall with various buttons connected to each space. Searching through the cabinets acquainted me with a series of folded clothes.

To the right of the closet was a large mirror mounted over a granite counter. Further east was a translucent door overpowered by a warm yellow tone. Pressing the button next to the mirror slid the glass into the wall, presenting the guest bathroom.

A muffled voice seeped through the bedroom’s entrance—a fragment of a greater conversation. “Yes, Solis, I have to go out to the market to grab a few items. If you don’t want to go, I’m fully capable of taking the scooter.”

“I didn’t know we were in a supply deficit. What happened to the grocery document?” The marionette’s familiar cadence replied after, “I haven’t seen an edit to that document in a few days.”

“Mandy and Miyana said they were going out to town, so I told them to pick them up.”

After I threw on a set of clean pajamas, I slid the door wide enough to pop my head out to listen in.

“It’ll take an hour, tops. I’ll be in and out before Mandy’s guest wakes up.”

Propped up against the hallway was a pink-haired woman with a large mask shading her eyes. Four horizontal slits ran down her visor. From the neck down, she wore a uniform similar in design to Miyana’s. What differed in detail was a set of yellow highlights sewn into her garment’s chestplate.

Behind her back was a sheathed blade. Gloveless hands covered the palms of her hand. A set of white sleeves extended out up to her elbows. On the skin of her right arm was an inked design depicting a lightning bolt surrounded by a circle. For a second, I thought she was the same person I met at the Inn Between.

She was the first to notice me. Solis’ back was turned to face toward the swordswoman. Her visor obscured where she was focused on, hiding this fact until she pointed at me.

“Nevermind,” The swordswoman sighs, “She’s awake.”

The marionette turned his attention over toward me with a slow turn. At first, he raised one of his wooden eyebrows up before relaxing his confused glare.

Once the tips of his curled feet pointed straight toward me, Solis quickly pocketed his hands within his coat. “Oh, good morning, Autumn. How did you sleep last night?”

“Fine,” I flatly replied, “I’d take anything over a wooden coffin at this point.”

“Very well.”

I pushed the door open with one hand. Once it was fully retracted, I pressed my hand and shifted my weight against the wall.

“I’m assuming she’s the only member of the council who I haven’t met yet.” I pointed back to her in return. “Kiryana?”

“You are correct. That is Kiryana d’Izune, daughter of Miyana.”

The swordswoman crossed her arms. She briefly lifted her head up before turning her attention alongside her body. Kiryana let out a slight groan and walked out toward the hall's exit.

"Come on, slowpokes," she sarcastically commanded, "If I'm not leaving until I'm 'well acquainted' with the guest, then I've got a morning routine to multitask."

Soon after, Solis and I followed after. After a few seconds of us walking, the floor beneath us shifted its material to carry us forward. The tiling in the design broke away to reveal a hidden series of moving tiles. It was almost like a conveyor belt.

The marionette lifted one of his hands out of his pocket to gesture toward me as he continued in conversation, "Don't mind her attitude. She's not too fond of meeting new people. I'd assume a slight residue of angst, but she doesn't like that diagnosis."

Kiryana shot a brief glaze back at Solis.

I couldn't tell if I left a bad impression or not. She seemed to be more focused on her Tabula. Despite these gestures, I attempted to talk to her, "So, you're also a swordswoman? Is that some sort of family trade thing?"

"Sure, if you want to call it that," Kiryana replied with her sights glued to her pages, "Are you supposed to help us out on the Vantablack Plan?"

"Vantablack Plan?"

"If you don't know what it is, then it's not much of your concern."

Solis suddenly changed the pattern of his steps. The marionette lightly jogged through the hall to catch up to Kiryana. His words briefly stuttered before he spoke, "Well, I've heard from Mandy that she's a valuable asset to the team."

"We have a supercomputer, two fighters, an ex-priest, and a generational extraterrestrial engineer in our team." Her lack of inflection was obvious—contempt. "If we add another person and they're plain as bread, it's going to bring our team down. Strongest chain is the weakest link."

It dawned on me now that Solis' stutter might have been for emphasis.

Kiryana turned herself around as her velocity maintained itself. "So, then, what's your strength? Are you smarter than an all-knowing robot?"

"What?" I furrowed my eyebrows and scrunched my nose. "No, of course not."

"Well, how good are your feints? Trained with the trusty blade a bunch?"

"I don't even know how to use a kitchen knife."

"Excellent gunner? Are you some kind of skilled sharpshooter?"

I silenced myself.

"Oh good grief, Solis. We picked up the village idiot!"

The marionette raised his index finger. "Now, now, Kiryana. Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses. I'm sure Autumn is an excellent asset to any functional team."

"And also," I sheepishly added, "I don't have an ounce of Ichor in my body"

The swordswoman slapped her visor with the palm of her hand. "Oh, she's hopeless!"

All the members of the council congregated inside the dining hall. A flurry of machines skitter across the floor with supplies carried atop their chassis. I couldn't get a good look at the robots due to their speed and size, however the rapid pace of both the diners and the servants only fixed me toward the slowest objects in the room.

The table's statue—depicting a figure and their baskets of fruits—stood its ground among the sea of chaos with various grapes and berries strung within their fingers. I watched as Kiryana quickly reached her hand up to pluck a few from the statue's vine.

As I reached my hand up to grab a fruit for myself, I felt a blanket of mist encase my hand as I drew closer toward the head. Only with the frigid sensation did I notice the transparent layer of mist coating the fruits on display. It took me a moment to process this realization—I instinctively froze in fear as my mind scrambled for answers. Once I lowered myself back into my seat, I noticed Kiryana's judgmental gaze.

"Clueless," I heard her whisper to herself, "Another dysfunctional variable."

Her comments didn't help. An overwhelming urge to cower washed over my chain of actions as I peered down toward my plate. It felt as if I was fighting an invisible blanket of force—one which ushered me to leave. My curiosity hooked me, however. As I idly searched across the tabletop, my eyes fixed toward a glowing tablet next to my plate. A pen-like stick sat near the edge of the tablet. My first instinct was to test the pointed edge of the stick against the tablet. With my hapless strokes, a series of scribbles appeared upon the screen.

Underneath my markings was a selection of random letters which associated itself with each line. As the word finished, a bright red glow outlined the result. Quickly, the word washed away alongside the scribble. Only now would I notice the topmost label on the screen, BREAKFAST.

Next, I wrote out a string of words, "scrambled eggs and hashbrowns". A similar process occurred where the screen placed a uniform letter underneath each identified character. Once it fully spelled the phrase, it would quickly flick up to the top of the screen on a bulleted list. To the right of the phrase was an empty bar with the phrase IN PROGRESS etched in the center.

A set of idle machines flinched in place before they scurried off to exit the dining hall. This time, I was able to get a glimpse of the servant. It was a small machine made of reflective chrome. Two dimly lit dots sat at the front of the figure as a set of eyes. Eight spindly legs suspended the chassis in the air. On top of the machine was a small spot which differed in material to the machine's exterior.

My experimenting adventure came to a halt as I heard my name from across the table. "As, there you are, Autumn! I thought you'd sleep the whole day away."

It was Ozymandias. My head quickly snapped toward the source of the sound in front of me. I couldn't recognize him by his voice alone. Once I saw his face, it all made sense to say he was talking to me.

The groundskeeper was out of his usual attire. While his gray jacket remained, everything else had changed. A series of leather straps and pockets surrounded his torso. Underneath his various layers was a simple cotton shirt. Underneath the dining hall's light, I was able to discern a set of golden eyes looking down toward me. Even more, I was able to discern his fuzzy beard. While his face from the mouth down was covered in hair, the collection of strands extended no farther than a few inches.

It felt rude to leave him hanging. After a moment of silence, I let out a soft yawn and replied, "Yeah, it felt like I caught up on thirty years worth of rest back there."

"Ah!" A smile quickly formed upon Ozymandias' face. "Well, I'm glad to hear! A good night's rest fixes all woes."

"I guess you're right."

As I passively continued the conversation along, I noticed a set of bags underneath his eyes. They weren't pronounced, but the difference in color was enough for me to notice.

"Well, I can't really say I got much sleep. That's what I get for spending the night drinking out in the city." Ozymandias reached his hand behind his head to rub against the back of his neck.

Around this time, Miyana slowly approached the table with her hands stuffed within her pajamas. Once she passed by Kiryana, she lightly pecked her on the cheek with a kiss before starting her greetings, "Good morning, love!"

Kiryana was quickly caught off guard. She threw her hands in the air while shifting away from Miyana in her seat. "Hey! Knock it off, I'm trying to eat here!"

"What's the matter, are you too old for kisses now?"

"Not in front of the guest!"

Miyana let out a small laugh as she walked past Ozymandias with only a verbal welcome, "Morning, Mandy."

"Good morning, Miyana!" He returned with a jovial tone, "How are you feeling after last night? I swear I saw seven pints of ale around you before we left."

"Was it seven? Didn't feel like seven, though."

"Oh, those might've been mine then."

The ex-priest took a sip out of a bottled glass of water. Its shape curved at the bottom to form a smooth cone. However, the point of the shape had been replaced with the neck of the bottle.

"Well, Autumn," Ozymandias continued, "I'm not sure how you feel about getting back in the rites of adventure, but I've got a few errands I need to run for the day."

Errands? It took me a moment to process his words, but his implications left me more confused than satisfied. "What do you mean errands? Isn't that just your job at the graveyard?"

"Oh, not really. I don't work there, I've just been waiting for your arrival for the last two or so years."

I squinted my eyes. Two years?

"That's beyond the point. Miyana and I were planning to make a run through Calcine to scavenge any new tech we find."

Kiryana abruptly stopped eating and quickly looked up toward Ozymandias. "Hey didn't you say we were—"

"Since Kiryana said she had to run to Temple Coast to buy a few beauty items," he continued, uninterrupted, "I thought it'd be a good time as ever to get you back into the swing of things."

Even with her mask, I could tell she was seething with rage.

The ex-priest picked up his tablet's pen and quickly scribbled down his order. "So, Autumn, what do you say? Up for a little hiking through the Caelitran Underbelly?"

Frankly, it was hard to say no. Even with Kiryana's attitude, the idea of returning back to Calcine was enough to procure a silent nod.

Ozymandias picked up on the small gesture and clasped his hands in reaction. "Well! Let me finish my food, and we'll get you all set up and ready."

Kiryana suddenly pushed her seat back and threw her hands in the air once more. Without another word, she stormed out of the dining hall with her hands balled up in fists.

"Teenagers," Miyana remarked, "I was like her way back when. Maybe I should go and talk to her soon."

Ozymandias gave a slight scoff. "Ah, give her some time alone. I think all the training's been getting to her as of late."

The machines scuttled past Kiryana with a mixed plate of food. As it drew near, I quickly identified the contents as my ordered meal. Once it approached the table, it carefully decelerated near the edge. A second machine perched on the table extended two of its legs down to firmly grasp upon the edges of the plate. Once the machine secured the plate on its back, it would quickly scurry over to my seat to place it to the left of my empty plate.

The ex-priest tapped his fingertips against the table for a moment before snapping his fingers. "Right! Say, Autumn. Where did you leave off on your story? Something about a wagon and meeting Sol Invictus, right?"

"Think so, yeah," I spoke while I subconsciously skipped through my memories for an appropriate starting point, "Where was I? Oh, right."

I remember how different the Kingdom of the Sol was to Caelitra. While they were heavily tied and included within the mainland’s culture, the environment felt almost alien. The ground from sea to sea was covered in a thick layer of rock. There were a variety of craters strayed from the cultivated paths. An apt analogy to make to the kingdom’s environment was as if it were plucked from the moon and placed in the seas.

The sun hung in the sky even through the night hours. It seemed to follow a small path around the highest point in the sky. The people didn’t seem to mind, though. The kingdom held the largest number of all-day shops within Caelitra. There wasn’t a lull of activity that naturally came with night. Their streets were busy with vehicles and pedestrians. An amalgamation of tourists and locals mingled among the crowd as a united yet divided crowd. What separated the tourists were their brightly-colored attire and emphasis on portable storage solutions. If I had to count how many backpacks were in the crowd, I’d fall asleep before I finished an eighth of the population.

The farther you ventured inside the island, the greater the urbanization became. The coastlines were sparsely populated save for groupings of homes made specifically for visitors. Rather than fields of corn and grain, quarries of gargantuan proportions littered the offroads of the island’s highways.

The urban gradient wasn’t apparent with the path we took. Because of our transportation of choice, we landed directly in the center of the kingdom. Most of the information I’ve gained about this island came from an informational pamphlet I received upon landing. While the main export of this country was its abundant metals and minerals, tourism remained a prominent force within its borders.

Despite Caesar’s ties with the island, his first impression seemed almost in line with a typical tourist. He shielded his eyes with his hand and spoke in a surprised tone, “I know everything around this place is named after the sun, but I wasn’t expecting everything to be this bright!”

My initial reaction was similar in vein. Once we stepped out from the airport, the piercing rays of the sun squeezed the reaction right out of me. 

The guards ushered us through the bustling streets. Icons of Invictus and various amenities of the kingdom juxtaposed themselves in a harsh blend. Underneath every rayed sun was an advertisement for some overpriced experience.

It was hard to acclimate to the kingdom’s contrasting appearance from the mainland. The difference between inside and outside was more pronounced. Here, even as we left the airport, it felt as if we were both outside and inside at the same time. Various pillars and walls stretched up and over, encasing us all in a rounded dome with its outstretched arms.

Thinking over it now, the design of the nexus mimicked that of the kingdom’s. I wonder if that was intentional.

Soon, we found ourselves on an underground tramway. Caesar and I hung onto a strange railing bolted to the cart’s ceiling. Accompanying us were a selection of guards forming a loose barricade around us. Their stoic faces and still bodies nearly frightened me. The promised vacation the kingdom places upon you clashed with the important implications of our guards’ presence.

Even the underbelly of the kingdom was tightly packed with suburbs and shops. Every once in a while, the glass walls of the tram gave us a peek into these bubbles of residency. Streetlights illuminated the artificially constructed ceilings. Sets of pillars supported the caverns with their simplistic designs.

My sights wandered off from the tram’s scenery to the contents of the cart itself. The carriage was filled almost to capacity—every seat occupied and every person packed in like sardines. Caesar and I were the only two people with some semblance of space. Thankfully it was because of our entourage of guards.

After a moment, I softly tapped Caesar on the shoulder as I focused on a small family just ahead of us. “Hey, Caesar, haven’t you been to the kingdom when I was about twelve?”

“Hm, twelve?” He glanced up from the brightly patterned floor to meet my gaze. “I think so, but I don’t remember much of that trip. Why so?”

“Has this place always been this packed?”

“Well, it’s a metropolis. I wouldn’t expect this place to be sparse even during its peak hours.”

“Yeah, I get that. But look at the crowd. Don’t they all look like tourists?”

“What do you mean?”

I gestured to the family in the distance. The two parents—a pair of mothers—sat next to each other with an enlarged map covering their torsos. While two sets of heads poked out above the map, three pairs of legs sat underneath the chair.

“Right, I don’t see what you mean, though.”

“It just feels off, you know? There’s a difference between planned capacity and packed capacity.”

Once the tram stopped, the guards ushered us off and into the station. From there, we made our way out from the underground and into the controlled outside world. Ceilings of glass and walls of buildings enclosed us as we traveled along the roads. Even as the sun shined down on us, it felt as if we were still trapped.

We weren’t able to get a clear view of the castle. Our private carriage pulled up to a large metal gate. With the guards’ identifications presented to the gatekeeper, he allowed us to pass through the castle’s perimeter.

Lush, green gardens lined the sides with ornate fountains and statues. Flattened plains of grandiose fields stretched out through the castle’s archways. We wound through the area in a series of ascending roads and bridges. Marble and gold lined our sights. It took us a few minutes to reach the main entrance. Another wooden gate barred us from inside.

Before we entered, I looked out to the outer city. We were outside any glass dome or controlled exterior. As the sun beamed down on us in full, we caught a glimpse of the multiple layers of the kingdom. Various bridges among buildings wrapped and stretched between each other. Platformed plazas—more prominent on the higher layers—shielded the ground floor with a glass plane in the center. It was mind boggling to conceive the scale of the kingdom.

The castle’s interior didn’t ease our minds. Red velvet carpets strung through the foyer over a dark wood flooring. A balcony with marble railings overlooked us alongside a set of both doors and hallways. It was another labyrinth within itself.

Our footsteps echoed throughout the quiet chambers. Every once in a while, I’d make eye contact with a chiseled bust depicting Invictus’ figure. Without much color, it was hard to discern much detail. Nonetheless, we continued forth into the throne room.

A set of gold-accented doors separated us from the throne room’s interior. As they swung open, the brilliance of the cylindrical chamber seeped through the expanding entry. Sunlight shone through the various stained glass sets. While the panes were warped and unrecognizable, their colored light depicted a clear image of various images unknown to me.

Invictus sat on a throne of solid gold. The same velvet carpet cushioned the seat with golden accents alongside the exterior and interior. His armored figure covered most of the detail, yet his weight sunk in the velvet seat. His suit was made of an unknown metal painted chrome. Golden accents ran across the design, mainly positioned upon joints and intersections. His chestplate was adorned with his main icon—a nonagon with extruding sunrays. The armor’s gauntlets tensed and stretched in a wave-like motion. I couldn’t see his face past the spherical helmet. A solid dome of glass surrounded his head, completing the armor.

His voice projected through a set of speakers lined within the collar of his suit. It reverberated against the walls, and spoke with a synthesized inflection, “State your name and reason. Make it quick.”

One of the guards stepped forward and bowed. “Paragon Sol Invictus. This is Caesar Toru, priest of Temple Coast and his ritual assistant.”

Smoke poured from the suit’s pores. The armor expanded out as its plates folded out from the center. Among the mist, a hand reached out toward a nearby handle built inside the suit. While the smoke cleared, a figure stood before the deconstructed armor.

His golden hair had been compacted from the interior’s mist. Their eyes were in a squint before I could identify their color matched that of their hair. Hung from their ears were a set of tuffs held on a long string—similar to curtain ends. His arms were covered by a white undershirt, but his body was exposed. While his build wasn’t extraordinary, his chest and stomach were relatively defined in shape. From the waist down, a set of baggy dark brown pants obscured the shape of his legs. His feet were adorned with a set of wooden sandals. It was hard to pin his attire to anything of royalty, but it was nonetheless eccentric.

His voice was higher in pitch than that within the armor. Overall, his previous stoic stance clashed with his jovial cadence and outwardly vibrant expressions. This brilliance carried through as he spoke, “Caesar, hey! Glad you can make it!”

“Great uncle Laque!” He called back, “How’s it going?”

Both of them swiftly walked across the velvet carpet to meet in the middle. Laque’s arms extended to embrace Caesar in a tight hug.

The guards surrounding us slowly dismantled in form and exited out of the throne room. The suit of armor—which I assumed to be dormant—reassembled itself whole without command. My sights immediately fixed to the suit in horror.

“I’ll leave you two be,” the armor’s voice projected unaided, “I expected to rest for a while, but I may as well prepare for the festival.”

Laque returned his hug and idly waved his hand off toward his suit of armor. “Yeah, sure thing, Spaceripper. I’ll meet up with you in a few minutes.”

Upon second inspection, a set of similar curtain-ends hung from his pants. Caesar’s eyes matched that of Laque’s, alongside their complexions. What differed was their hair. Caesar’s hair was more jagged and straight in comparison to Laque’s—which was smooth and curled.

It clicked now how Caesar gained his wealth. The connections with Invictus despite his faith made sense, too. I should’ve expected this in the beginning, but seeing the two side by side—especially Invictus’ natural form—only solidified my hunch.

“How’s my favorite nephew doing?” Laque continued, “I assume great things at the very least! I never knew I’d hear your feats all the way out here.”

“Well, I mean they’re notable,” Caesar returned with little confidence, “Aren’t I your only nephew?”

“Yes, but that’s beyond the point.”

“Everything’s fine back at Temple Coast, for the most part. The last day hasn’t been too kind on either of us—and the populace as a whole.”

“Oh, right. You had a visit from the Veinfinders?”

“Veinfinders, yes.”

“Are times desperate on the mainland?" I haven’t seen their deployment outside the Heartland since the Ampersand Wars.”

“Well, that’s the thing. We don’t know. One day they kind of just showed up, and we weren’t given a rhyme or a reason.”

As I listened to the two converse, I couldn’t help but notice Laque’s speech. Similar to Solis’ and Spaceripper’s voice, it was also synthesized—albeit a lot less noticeable. Underneath his voice was a softened foreign language. Unlike his louder voice, I couldn’t tell if it was also artificially created. As far as I knew, this was his unaltered speech.

Laque stepped back and placed his hands in his pockets. His gaze wandered away from Caesar as his tone lowered. “Ah, well, I wish I could’ve helped. I could’ve probably talked Fortuna out of it if I could.”

Caesar reached his hand out to place upon Laque’s shoulder. “I know you’re busy with business here. At least all that’s been lost is a good chunk of infrastructure and not lives.”

“I suppose you’re right. Still, I’d be fighting tooth and nail if they were my citizens.”

Caesar let out a small hum in reply.

The air hung for a moment. I never noticed how silent and disconnected from the world the throne room was. The lights on the floor had shifted a small but noticeable amount.

Laque looked past Caesar to meet my gaze. His somber expression soured until it averaged out to a deadpan stare.

“Oh, hello, Azathoth,” he plainly greeted.

Caesar turned to face me with a confused glare. His hand briefly raised before he spoke, “Azathoth? Her name’s Autumn. Have you two met before?”

“Not in her own lifetime, no.”

Suddenly, I did not want to be in the room. The air had changed drastically with Laque’s presence. Every moment inside the chamber onward felt painful—agonizing.

Caesar acclimated to the change in tone rather quickly. He immediately took to neutralizing the air with a soft yet brief laugh. “Hey, I mean—she’s with me. She’s not really special in anything. No Ichor, no nothing.”

“I can see the Ambrosia in her. I think I know importance when I see it. Close your left eye.”

Reluctantly, I followed through with his instruction. As I viewed Laque with my right eye, his golden hair gained a brilliant violet glow. His eyes, in tandem, received the same effect. Opening my left eye caused this detail to vanish.

“Tetrachromacy,” Laque continued, "You saw a change in my hair, didn’t you?”

I was too stunned to respond. I rapidly opened and closed my left eye as I took in the detail.

Caesar turned to look back at Laque. His voice retained its shaken confidence as he interjected, “Uncle Laque, what are you talking about? I don’t see a change with your hair.”

The Paragon let out an exasperated sigh before swirling his left hand in a circle. “Ambrosia is the name of the fourth primary color. Normally, everyone can’t see this color. There’s not much of a biological reason to. Humans never evolved this trait naturally. No one in recorded history has experienced this fourth color naturally. The only person who’s come close to experiencing it was the company Parabellum and their aptly titled ���Tetrachromatic Experiment 52’.

“Four deities—across the last two thousand years—have been able to see this color; Fortuna, Domi, and me. The implication that you’re able to see this color tells me more about you than your violet eyes.”

Laque slowly walks past Caesar and approaches me with his hands behind his back. As he stands a foot away from me, he tilts his head upward to make eye contact with me. Only now am I able to identify his pentagonal-shaped irises.

“You don’t remember me,” Laque questions, “do you?”

I shake my head. “Not at all, no.”

“Is there any other name you’d give yourself other than Autumn?”

“I don’t know. Bethany?”

“What’s Domi’s true name?”

I notice Laque’s synthesized voice isn’t present when he says Domi.

“You don’t know, do you?”

“Not a clue.”

“Do you remember what’s in that log cabin?”

“Log cabin, what cabin?”

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

I remained silent.

Laque slowly turned and walked away from me. His artificial voice gave way, obscuring his words in a language I couldn’t translate. Afterward, he let out another sigh—this time longer than the last. “You’re not him. What a coward.”

Caesar looked back and forth. During the conversation, he was confused by the onslaught of knowledge. An unbearable silence choked the chamber.

“Well.” Caesar attempted to break the air. “You called for me earlier, right? Is there something important you need me to do?”

“Ah, right,” Laque mumbled, “I forgot about that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I’ve been informed of a special kind of lily that allows you to transcend death, to put it simply.”

Laque raises his hand and motions it within the air. A detailed outline of the lily’s shape appears within the air through a set of yellow particles.

“It looks approximately like this. If I’m correct, the last person who consumed it died within a cultist stronghold. This wouldn’t be too harsh if it wasn’t for the specific detail that these cultists worship Skymarcher.”

“Ah, you know, that would explain it. Why can’t Skymarcher retrieve it for you?”

“Moral clashing. He doesn’t like stealing from His people.”

“And why can’t you get it?”

“I thought that was obvious for you. With your set of training with His divinity, I believe it’d be easier to send you out than an army—or myself. You know how busy I am.”

“I see.”

“Luckily for you, if you decide to bring Azathoth—”

“Autumn.”

“Right. If you bring Autumn along, her skillset can definitely aid you, even if you don’t know what that skillset is.”

I blinked.

“So, are you able to retrieve the lily?”

“Ah, sure! I mean, I can’t really say no to you. Plus, it’ll be a good bit of fun. I haven’t been on an adventure of my own.”

“Fantastic!”

“However, I’d like something of value in return for my efforts.”

Laque stood still; intrigued.

“If I deliver the lily to you, then I would like assistance in freeing the citizens of Temple Coast from the Veinfinder’s custody.”

“I can try and pull a few strings. No guarantees on anything.”

“That’s more than enough for me!”

Caesar extracted himself from the conversation to look back at me. Without words, he would give a simple thumbs up and a bright smile.

“While we’re at it,” Laque continued, “I should properly train Azathoth—”

“Autumn.” Caesar chirped.

“Sorry. I should supply her with the equipment and time needed to acquaint herself with her abilities. It should only take a few days, at most.”

“You know what? I wouldn’t mind that. There’s not much for me to do in the meantime, though. What would I be doing while you’re working with Autumn?”

“If you’re up for it, the nearby Skymarcher chapters have been pretty lacking in faith recently. I’m sure you’d get your work in by rejuvenating their spirits.”

Caesar gave a simple nod.

“Good. Let’s get started then. About that BEL in your hand, Autumn, do you know how to use it properly?”

I was completely blindsided by the mention of the BEL. While I’ve kept hold of it for most of the trip, I’ve zoned out its existence up until now.

“Not really,” I sheepishly replied, “no.”

“Great!” Laque clapped his hands together. “I can quickly fix that if you don’t mind a few modifications.”

“I haven’t gotten much of a use for it, so I mean sure, why not?”

As I concluded my story, my first instinct was to assess the reaction of every member in the room. Returning from memory lane, my sights were first placed on Ozymandias. He seemed to be unchanged by the information. His radiant smile remained. 

Solis—who had been here since the beginning—paid little attention to the story. He focused on his small platter of pellets. Each packet puffed out like a balloon with a substantial amount of blue gel stored within the transparent membranes. The gel was similar in color and makeup to the ammunition found in the BELs. As he placed a pellet inside his mouth, his metal jaw broke the packet open as a series of small sparks coursed through the innards of his mouth. I can only assume this is how he recharged.

Miyana, however, had a different expression. While she wasn't intrigued, her mind and thoughts wandered off to their own before she would collect them in a single question, "Sol Invictus? The Paragon Sol Invictus?"

Initially, I was stunned. It took me a moment to answer despite the simplicity of the answer. "Well, yes. I'd assume my absence wouldn't change who he is fundamentally."

Solis chimed in with his head turned away from the group, "Yeah, that sounds about right."

Everyone's reactions perplexed me. As far as I knew of the Paragon, he was well-revered across Caelitra. Among the litany of deities, he was one of the more recognizable names. Rarely anyone saw him outside his suit of armor, Spaceripper. Proclaiming you'd meet face to face with someone as celebrated as Sol Invictus would typically be met with disbelief.

"You all don't seem too thrilled," I assessed, "Is he not that important due to my absence?"

Ozymandias shook his head. "No, not really. We've all had our own experiences with him in one way or another."

Miyana tidied up her side of the table as she engaged with the conversation. "Sol Invictus isn't much of a deity. He's more of a celebrity, if that makes sense."

"To his credit," Solis chimed in, "His achievements aren't anything to downplay. It's more that his presence is seen as a persona than a mystic figure."

Ozymandias quickly shot up in his seat and snapped his fingers together. "Demystified! That's the word I was looking for. He's pretty much demystified. There's nothing special about him when you're surrounded by his influence."

"Desensitized," the swordswoman added, "We'd be seeing the same effect if Skymarcher was just some random kid named Nathan that roamed the street instead of some..."

Miyana's voice trailed off. Her hand remained in the air with her index finger pointed toward the sky. As her voice petered off, her finger slowly lowered itself in tandem. "Ah, forget it. You get what I mean."

"Yeah, I get you." Ozymandias' tone didn't sound too convinced. "I mean, look around us. We're in a large underground living space with the architecture and mythology based off of the myth of Laque and the Sonatan Gods. Miyana's lineage is closely tied to his experiments, I'm related by blood to him, and Solis..."

The mannequin looked up toward Ozymandias with a slight scowl.

"Well, that's self explanatory. It's hard to really escape his influence, so he feels less like a deity and more like a close contact with extraordinary skills. I guess he's the main reason we all found each other."

As the council talked among themselves, the sentiment slowly stuck to me. "Admittedly, when I first learned I had to visit him—and even as he stood right in front of me—it was hard to believe I was significant enough for this to be a reality."

Once Miyana finished with her cleaning, she pushed her chair out and stood up. "We're all in a strange limbo between normality and divinity. None of us can return to any form of a simple life as if nothing happened, and we lack the skills or tools to achieve enough power and status to be canonized within the Pantheon.

"We're not the first to venture through this vast valley, and we sure aren't the last."

As Solis finished the last of his plate of pellets, he stood up in a similar fashion. "You're kind of born into it, as well. Mandy came from a family of devout cultists. Solis was built devoid of any definition of normalcy."

"I'm different. My family just won the lottery, metaphorically. That's about the only shot you got in climbing up in life."

Ozymandias raised his hand. However, he didn't attempt to interject in the conversation. He idly tapped against the necklace over his chest for a brief few seconds before lowering his hand.

The ex-priest was the last to finish his meal. As Miyana and Solis wandered around the dining hall in an attempt to perform any trivial, unattended duties, Ozymandias was on the cusp of clearing his plate.

Miyana snapped her fingers at Ozymandias as she sarcastically retorted, "Come on, gramps. We're gonna miss the bullet tram to Calcine if you're going to move slower than a snail."

"I'm going as fast as I can," he replied, stifling his laughter, "One more minute, promise."

"Sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight..."

"Three minutes!"

"One hundred eighty. One hundred seventy-nine..."

Solis let out a pre-recorded cough as he brought his hand up to his mouth in a fist. "Well, I will leave you two to it. I have some important obligations to attend to around the nexus. Hopefully, once you three return, we will have a functional delivery system."

Ozymandias pushed himself out of his chair by pressing against the table to stand up. "Fantastic! I'll gear Autumn up for the adventure ahead. Shouldn't take too long. Why don't you go and start up the bullet tram, Miyana?"

The swordswoman rolled her eyes in response. "Fine, sure. If you're not back in thirty minutes, I'm leaving the both of you in the nexus."

"It shouldn't take that long, I promise."

"Great, I'll start counting. One thousand eight hundred. One thousand seven hundred ninety-nine..."

Ozymandias soon ushered me up from my seat and pushed me toward the exit of the hall. "Quick, Autumn. We only have one-thousand and ninety-four more seconds left."

"Wait, hey!" I yelped, "My food!"

"I'll have the servants deliver it on the tram in a to-go box, come on!"

With that, we left the lavish dining hall, leaving both Miyana and Solis behind in our little adventure within the complex.

Chapter 5

Ozymandias led me off to a small room tucked away within the nexus’ halls. Inside were a collection of boxes haplessly placed both within the floor and shelves. Two strips of light ran across the ceiling of the room, illuminating the space in whole.

It was hard to pinpoint where anything was. Even as I read the labels, they all took on a naming scheme which eluded me. Ozymandias, however, seemed to know where everything was with confidence.

Out of a random box, he opened the flaps and fished his hands within a collection of various hard-covered books. As his arm moves around the small pool of literature, he would soon pull a strange book with a series of diamonds placed in a checkerboard-like pattern. Upon closer inspection, the diamonds held a pattern of smaller diamonds contained within. These symbols wrapped around the cover, filling the front, spine, and back with these markings.

Ozymandias placed the book in my open hands. “This is the Infinitum Tabula. It’s a book in which the pages are all connected to each other. If one person were to write on one page, all Tabulas receive the same markings. The Sonatans used it to communicate with each other—especially in small groups. Since there’s only a few Tabulas in circulation, we’ve taken full advantage of its scarcity.”

As I peeked at the pages inside the Tabula, I came across a series of scribbled sentences. Each phrase differed in handwriting, denoting a unique voice among the overarching topic. Once Ozymandias slipped a pen into my fingers, I brought it up to the page to lightly strike against the material.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. Nothing had changed. It felt like a normal book to me.

We left the box in its place and continued forward in the storage room. Our trek wasn’t long, however, as Ozymandias reached for another arbitrary box upon the nearby shelf.

“Oh, the item in this box is pretty neat,” he said while fishing his hand around the box, “Inside this box is a Recall Token. If you flip it like a normal coin and allow it to land on the ground, it’ll transport you to the point where it’s attuned to.”

Ozymandias retrieved a handful of golden coins from the depths of the box. On one side of the coin was the bald-headed figure found behind the sundial. The opposite side revealed the same sundial housed within a cave-like structure.

“These were created in the hay-day of the Sonatans,” the ex-priest continued, “They mainly fell out of relevancy for the system of beacons established within the underground.”

As I pocketed the tokens for myself, I raised a question to Ozymandias, “Why don’t we use the beacons, then?”

“Ah, they’re a pain to calibrate. They’re more suited for public use.”

“Strange. I’ll take your word on it.”

The next item Ozymandias revealed to me was an iron bracelet. As usual, he introduced the item with enthusiasm, “This is a micro-shield! It’s not as extravagant as some other defense-oriented devices. However, if anything reaches toward you with enough force, it’ll react by deploying a layer of solid energy on the point of impact.”

Once I connected the bracelet around my wrist, a pulse of energy raced around my body.

Ozymandias reacted to the shield’s presence with a warm smile. “It’ll help in case a stray stalactite breaks loose and falls down, for example. I have one stowed away underneath my jacket!”

The last item I was acquainted with was a small watch. A circular sheet of glass sat within a similar shaped frame. Upon activation, the pane lit up with a bright yellow light. The band of the watch was similar in design to the micro-shield.

“This was actually created by Solis,” Ozymandias explained, “It’s connected to his main processor, and works as a multi-tool of sorts. Mainly, it displays a list of information including the time, date, approximate location, relative location to each user of the watch, battery percentage, and a plethora of other little tidbits!”

I placed the watch upon my right wrist—opposite to the shield. Once I connected the straps around my arm, the device buzzed to life with a slight vibration. From a set of speakers on the side of the frame, I heard Solis’ compressed voice exit the watch, “Hello, Autumn! I see you’ve found the Watch that Receives Information and Statistics Thoroughly, or the WRIST!”

The sudden appearance of Solis caused me to jolt in reaction. Instinctively, I extended my arm away from my body to distance myself from the device. Instinctively, I barked at the watch with a panicked tone, “How do you know it’s me?!”

“Simple,” Solis replied stoically, “Humans naturally shed dead skin cells over a short period of time. I was able to extract a few samples to add to my database of information. Once the watch’s sensor picked up the composition of your skin, I was given an immediate answer with 98% confidence.”

“Great! Fantastic. Not creepy at all.”

“I’m glad you appreciate my impressive infrastructure of information, Autumn. None of the council members seem to share the same joy as me.”

Ozymandias took out his own watch and brought it up to his face. “That was sarcasm, Solis.”

“Oh.” His tone flattened. “I see.”

“That’s about all of the items I’ve wanted you to have! Is there anything you’d like to look for before we go?”

It was hard to think of anything on the fly. My mind blanked almost instantly, and it took me a few seconds of contemplation before the first item revealed itself in speech, “A backpack, maybe?”

“A backpack!” Ozymandias snapped his fingers. “Why didn’t I think of that? Come, I’ve got just the thing for you!”

We retraced our steps within the storage room. Before we fully left, Ozymandias retrieved a small box from the overhead shelf. Once he opened the flaps, a quick scoop revealed a small metallic projector. The device was no bigger than his fingertip, and the lens fit within the face of the cube.

Ozymandias presented the projector by bringing the device closer to my eyes. “This is an add-on to the WRIST Solis designed not too long ago! It’s so recent, he hasn’t been able to create an appropriate acronym.”

“Intriguing.” As I acquainted myself with the cube, I noticed a small notch within the frame of the watch on my wrist. “I assume it’s magnetic and fits in one of the small slots on the WRIST?”

“Correct! If you ever want to store something, simply point the aperture at the item and press on the button on top. It can be retrieved by speaking into the watch.”

“That’s actually kind of impressive. Where does it send the items?”

“I’m not sure, actually! I haven’t really thought about that. Solis mentioned something about a pocket realm, though.”

At the mention of Solis, I expected the watch to beam to life. Almost on cue, my prediction suddenly played in front of my eyes. "It accesses a pocket of space adjacent to our own. The only entrance and exit is through my discretion."

In my peripheral vision, I noticed a blue light flicker in and out. As I brought the object out, I noticed the light originated from the Tabula. Hidden within its symbols was a small gem capable of illumination. Naturally, I flipped through the pages until I landed on a section overwhelmed by a blue tint. Leaving the Tabula open on the page caused the hue to diminish to nothing, leaving only a singular phrase at the top of the page.

AND LAQUE, SIGNED MIYANA.

Miyana's handwriting was crude. Her lines were rushed and her curves were uneven. I was completely blindsided on how she heard our conversation.

Ozymandias flipped open his Tabula around the same time as me. As he read the phrase in full, he let out a small sigh in reaction. "Don't worry about how she heard that, you'll learn in time."

Confusion stained my face. All I could do was dumbfoundedly stare back at Ozymandias as I questioned him, "So Solis and Miyana can listen in on our every word? Don't you find that a little creepy?"

"Well, Miyana doesn't have a direct means to communicate back, but yes. You kind of live with it."

The Tabula's page updated in real time. With every stroke, I watched as the exact motion played out in full. In the end, a second string of words sat underneath the first at an uneven tilt, MANDY'S BACK POCKET.

Ozymandias reached his free hand back into the recesses of his khaki pants. Once his hand returned to my vision, he presented a small wad of goo which stuck to the palm of his hand.

"It's confusing," he reiterated, "You'll learn in due time."

Soon after, we all met up within the nexus' station. The tram's platform held a plethora of posters depicting a wide array of locations. The poster which caught my attention depicted my hometown, Temple Coast. A large port hung over a vanishing sea. Its wooden stilts were submerged in the waves below. The towering buildings were reduced to nothing more than stumps in the background of the image.

The poster depicting the Kingdom of Sol held a similar design. An enlarged sun engulfs the top portion of the image, with the kingdom's tan-colored castle perched atop an overhead hill.

Suddenly, Miyana's voice pierced through my concentrated focus, "I see you're bored enough to look at the posters."

I scrambled in place for a little bit before collecting my composure. As I formulated my words, an annoyed inflection wormed its way through my speech, "Well, there's nothing else to do. I was waiting for you to get here."

"You could talk to Mandy, I've heard he's a well of information you just have to pry open."

Ozymandias was caught off guard by the mention of his name. He gave a brief wave toward the both of us alongside a slight nod.

The station's tunnel slowly illuminated with light. A gradual shift from a pitch black corridor to a blinding flash flushed the hallway whole.

The exterior and interior of the tram reminded me of the trams found in the Kingdom of Sol. The interior, especially, held the same bolted bars which ran across the ceiling. Because of the cart's vacancy, we all sat down in a small booth situated near the wall.

The scenery wasn't as grand as the underground cities as previously seen. There was nothing more than a barricade of concrete walls and occasional overhead lights.

Miyana preoccupied herself with an unfamiliar scroll. She studied a selection of text caught between two sets of rollers. Ozymandias, on the opposite side of the booth, read a book titled "The Great Regression". Plastered on the book's cover was an image of an underground metropolis taken from afar. The city's lights softly hugged the outline of the buildings.

As he placed the book down on the table, his attention remained forward. Ozymandias furrowed his eyebrows while he relaxed his shoulders. Without any extra movements, he let out a somber sigh and slumped forward. "I know this is a strange question, but I have to ask. Do you have any regrets in life?"

It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me. After looking back between Miyana and off toward the empty seats, I trailed my words off within my reply, "No...?"

"You've lived a long life, then. Were you ready to accept your death, Autumn?"

"Not really. I mean, it felt like I left my world too soon."

"Too soon? What do you mean?"

"I wasn't able to save anyone from the Veinfinders—I couldn't save my mom. I don't know if that world still exists out there. I can't tell if they're okay."

"Right, I understand."

"I don't regret anything, but I do feel remorse. If that makes any sense."

"No, I get what you mean. You did everything you wanted to in life?"

"After I finished my education, I fully expected to aimlessly wander until my destiny called me. I never expected my village to be ransacked, nor did I expect to go on this big journey across Caelitra."

"Makes sense. Have you acclimated to the change in pace or are you still adjusting?"

"Oh, I'm well acquainted with the adventuring life by now."

I idly tapped my fingertips against the metal top of the table.

"What about you? I bet you asked the question with some answer in mind."

"Oh, me?"

"Yeah. Who else would I be talking to?"

Miyana interjected herself into the conversation, "Why yes, Autumn, I do have a few regrets. Thank you for asking me."

Ozymandias rolled his eyes.

"I'm messing with you, kid. I've got nothing of value for you."

The ex-priest pressed his elbows against the table. His gaze wandered off toward the tram's scenery as he contemplated his answer. "Sometimes, I wonder what my life would be like if I was a little more confident as a kid."

I raised an eyebrow toward Ozymandias. "More confident? What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm pretty daring as-is, but there's only so much I'll risk. I'll sacrifice an arm and a leg if it means saving a life, but beyond that..."

Ozymandias sighed.

"I stepped away from priesthood because I couldn't see myself any happier. I've spent weeks adventuring across the land without rest. Once I settled down, it just didn't feel the same."

"Being ordained takes years of effort, why did you go through it all if it wasn't your calling?"

"I wanted to make everyone around me happy; my mom, my dad. You're born with a special gift, and everyone proclaims my destiny's already written for me."

"I get that, yeah."

"I have a great relationship with Skymarcher, don't get me wrong. Once I had no one else to impress, I just had to find something else that would impress me instead."

I softly nodded in response.

We both stopped talking afterward. I didn’t know how to salvage the conversation. Ozymandias’ mood had completely soured. Miyana, on the other hand, seemed to be unaffected. She reached her hand out toward the ex-priest and tapped her fingers against her palm in a one-handed clap. Without another word, Ozymandias returned the pink sludge which rested in his pocket.

The tram’s rhythmic thumping filled the silence of the cart. As I focused on the noise, I noticed the chair’s subtle vibration. It was almost therapeutic. With nothing else to occupy my mind, I soon fell asleep with my head resting in my arms.

My dreams resumed my previous recounts. Slowly, the kingdom’s scenery faded in as a blanket across the ground. Past the condensed city were the open fields of the island. I couldn’t make out much of the ground or structures other than the overwhelming gray ground.  

I knew how cold the table's surface was. The tram's muffled rumbling had long been forgotten in my head. The distant chirping of birds and whistling winds filled my ears. As I pressed my elbows against the curved railing, I could feel the pressure between my arms and the barrier.

Suddenly, the door behind me creaked open. I could've sworn the footsteps beforehand were audible, but I couldn't identify them among the soundscape. Laque peeped his head through the door as both his fingers wrapped around to support him.

His tone had quieted since we last met. The prince started his conversation with a list of updates, "I've notified the guards not to disturb this room. If you need anything from them, there's a speaker near this door that you can use to call for. Caesar said he'll be staying with some relatives while he's out. Is there anything else you need?"

Laque had given me his bedroom to stay in. His bedside curtains separated the king-sized chamber from the greater room. A mirror decorated with an ornate border sat flush within the light red walls. Most impressive of all was his collection of books. One wall was dedicated to housing various literature. I'm not sure if he mentioned if they were off limits.

Nonetheless, I replied to him with a hint of confusion, "Are you sure you want me to take your room? Where are you going to stay?"

"Ah, don't worry about me," Laque scoffed, "I've got other places to sleep. Even if it isn't in the castle, I'm sure Domi wouldn't mind me crashing out at his lover's palace for a few nights."

"Well, if you insist. I wouldn't pass up a bedroom like this for the world."

"No one would! You'd be stupid to, at least."

I let out a reactionary chuckle. His statement wasn't at all amusing to me, but I wanted to show my gratitude somehow.

"Besides, I know training today was rough. If I worked myself down to the bone and had to sleep in some tucked-away guest room, I'd feel a little demotivated. Would you?"

"If you put it that way, yeah. I would feel a little demotivated."

Earlier, I spent most of the day learning the basics of Ichor and Ambrosia. I had a solid grasp on what Ichor was, but learning of Ambrosia felt like its own beast. It wasn't much of a real fourth color. Rather, it was a layer. Ambrosia alone isn’t a stable color. There has to be a foundation for it to rest on.

Laque spent the rest of the allotted time showcasing how Ambrosia worked. It was strange to see it in action. There was only so much he could do alone, however. He used my body as a conduit to create a concentration of Ambrosia on a nearby vase. While the pottery barely changed in normal view, a thin layer of Ambrosia covered the vase from base to lip.

"Ambrosia is everywhere," Laque explained, "It's in trace amounts throughout the fabric of reality. Think of your body as a magnet. You're able to create mountains out of microscopic molehills if you work hard enough."

Light manipulation, he called it. Like any other Ichor-based ability, controlling light takes up energy just as any other activity does. Even if it wasn't Ambrosia, I could shift the hue of an object by attracting the tones around it.

Laque's explanation echoed in my mind, "Like camouflage. I think that's about as good as you're going to get currently. Ambrosia is a conduit of energy akin to Ichor. It's processed differently in the body compared to Ichor."

As I pressed my hand against the Ambrosia-layered vase, I harnessed the same feeling Laque had coursed through my body. My concentration weighed itself on my fingertips as I felt the individual muscles of my hand strain.

Alas, the Ambrosia repelled from my hand. An invisible ring hung around the vase's center.

"That's interesting," Laque commented, "Not desired, but a useful trait to consider. Allow me."

As the prince controlled his energy through my body like a puppet, the Ambrosia returned back to the vase in force. Suddenly, the pot disappeared completely from normal view.

"Ambrosia—in high densities—absorbs color. This is more than camouflage, but it's harder to perform. Compacting Ambrosia works similar to compacting a bundle of clothes in a bag. You are also capable of this. Not after our training, but at most down the line."

For a brief moment, my sense's were completely overwhelmed by the excess of energy. My eyes fogged with a purple hue as I heard a deluge of voices whisper around my being. Every breath felt heavier as the last, as my mouth further dried with each second.

Laque noticed the state I was in and quickly retracted his concentration. When I looked back at him, his face soured with his attention shied away from me—remorse.

Even his tone took on a meek volume, "That's enough training for today. We'll have enough time to roughen everything out, don't worry."

There was a lot to consider from day one of work. Every once in a while, I placed my hand upon a surface and concentrated my focus to pulse the Ambrosia away from my hand. Laque didn't seem to mind my off-handed practice. If anything, he smiled with each attempt.

Once he finished through his updates, Laque stepped through the door in full. He slowly shut the door behind him with his eyes glued upon the detail. "Sorry if I seem a little too forward. This is all a little much to process, even for me."

I simply shrugged. The king-sized mattress felt like a cloud underneath my weight. I wonder why he gave me his bedroom.

"You can say that again," I jabbed, "You've lived your life in specialty. I've been thrown into the extraordinary against my will."

Laque feebly laughed. It took him a moment to muster a response, "That's life, sometimes. Either you're born afflicted by luck or devoid of circumstance. Fate's a cruel tryst."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Autumn, do you believe in free will?"

I looked back at Laque with a confused expression.

"Ever since man's gained the ability to think, we've questioned if we've truly divorced ourselves from destiny."

"I'd like to believe so, at least. There has to be some form of agency I have in life."

I watched Laque's face contort. I couldn't pinpoint if it was an exact expression other than a processed reaction.

"What, is that not the case?"

"Well, yes and no. If anyone's able to see the future, then that means it's a definitive point in time. Therefore; if there is a future, there is no free will."

"If you phrase it that way, yeah. I get what you're saying."

"So far, there isn't a future. The closest I've ever seen to foresight is Domi's ability to see all possible outcomes at once. Otherwise, nothing. I'm sure if you asked him, he'd give a better answer."

"Right, of course."

Laque occupied himself by pacing around the rounded carpet on the ground. He held his hands behind his back with his head leaned forward. For a moment, I saw his left hand glow with a yellow aura. The effect concentrated itself on his middle finger and thumb before he would snap his fingers. Soon after, the aura diminished.

Then, he stopped. Laque planted his feet in the ground and fixed his attention on me. "Free will exists only in the common man."

"Pardon?" His straight-faced delivery knocked my train of thought out of place. "Common man?"

"Realistically, no one has free will. You're constantly shaped and formed by the influences of your life from the day you were born. Your destiny implants itself as your ambitions, or haunts you if ignored. The only people who can separate themselves the farthest from their destiny are those who are born without talent or heritage."

I couldn't muster a response. There wasn't anything within my thoughts that would meet the requirements for speech.

"It's worse if you're born with a gift. That's where you and I are the same, Autumn. Even if you've been unaware of your Ambrosian origins, it's influenced your way of life below your subconscious. There'll be a point where it'll all make sense to you, and only you. Do you get what I'm saying?"

Slowly, I nodded.

"That's good. I envy those who're born in this world without merit. All they have to their name is the skin on their back and their families' silent professions. They'll spend the bulk of their lives living in the melds of society up until they're buried in a grave which'll hold their name for a few centuries, at minimum.

"They're forgotten as quickly as they're remembered. They'll live a life fulfilled and with purpose—a feeling fueled by freedom. In their lives, there were no expectations to meet. That's what it means to have free will. No strings attached. The less anchored you are to life's whims, the harder it is to predict you."

A smile curved upon Laque's face. Not long after, he'd clasp his hands in front of his chest.

"If you ignore your destiny, it simply haunts you. If you're born to a guild of musicians, you'll forever see the patterns of the fates you've abandoned until you die. There's no escape from it, yet you're given that choice. Isn't that strange?"

"A little, yeah. Does this have to do with the name 'Azathoth'?"

"You're catching on. I'm not sure his influences shaped how much of your life. I'd be concerned if you were the reincarnation of the Nightmare Veteran. Given your connection with Ambrosia and your overall appearance—have you seen yourself in a mirror recently?"

"Not in a while, no."

"There's one behind you. Take a look."

I stood before Laque's ornate mirror. At first, I noticed my straightened strands of hair. Laid between my eyes was a spike of brown hair which reached down to the bridge of my nose. Only now did I notice how thin my eyebrows were.

My outstretched hair laid over my outfit’s shoulder pads. Hours earlier, Laque gave me a spare of his clothes to wear in lieu of my set of deteriorating clothes. They were a lot more comfortable to wear than those puffy cotton garments. The overall's straps were a little burdensome to me, as well.

I watched Laque approach from the mirror's view. He stood a fair distance away before continuing with his thoughts, "You look strikingly similar to Fasol. I'm convinced you're closely related, at least."

I repeated the name back to him while attempting to respect the language, "Fasol?"

"Yes. Solfami Laremore Laredo—his full name. I think you're questioning if the definition is proving enough."

"I don't know what that means."

"It doesn't mean anything now. It used to translate to a name, but since they've been practically forgotten..."

"Right, I understand. Strange."

"I'm done prodding you for the day. I'll wake you up tomorrow once it's time to continue with our work."

"Sounds good. If I'm not well-rested by the time you wake me up, then your mattresses are a sham."

Laque lightly laughed at my comment. He turned his attention to the exit. Not another word was spoken as he exited his bedroom.

However, I was curious. Before he completely stepped out, I called out to him, "Wait! before you go..."

The door stopped before it closed completely. Laque's head popped out from the other side in a similar manner to the beginning of our encounter.

"I don't get why people call you a deity," I continued, "So far, you've just been some prince with some extraordinary set of skills."

His smile returned back to him. "I thought you'd never ask. Step outside and look at the moon. I think I've wasted enough of your time."

Quickly, I raced outside to step out to the balcony. Nothing had changed—neither the city nor the sky.

Out of the daytime sky, a selection of stars glistened among the cloudless sea. They were bright enough to contrast the moon's luminosity. It was impossible to count how many dots littered the sky, but it was difficult to find a void among the newly created collage.

Out from the sun's radius spiked a radiant spear. It was far more concentrated than a simple solar flare. The arrow quickly pierced the center of the moon. A barrage of high-speed projectiles and debris escaped the entrance and exits of the satellite. It was silent. I couldn't see the damage done to the moon itself, but the light of the beam illuminated the aftermath up until it soared past the horizon and out toward deep space.

It was silent. All the stars slowly vanished behind the daytime sea as the moon's position noticeably changed in the sky. I didn't have a frame of reference to go off of, but I could only assume the orbit was off-centered. I remember by the time of my death, the moon had completely vanished from the night sky. It was sent spiraling out toward the vast expanse of night. We lost our moon.

Laque never explained what caused the spike exactly. There wasn't a reason for the stars' presence or the moon's disappearance. Even as I asked him, he wouldn't say a word. The heavens bent to his will. The myths surrounding him must've been true. If there was anyone who could sew the night sky together, it would be him; the Unconquerable Sun.

Chapter 6

I opened my eyes to the familiar view of the tram. Nothing had changed between when I first dozed off and now. Ozymandias continued to preoccupy himself within his book. Miyana, on the other hand, shuffled a deck of cards between her hands.

After a few sets, she tapped Ozymandias’ shoulder while presenting the stack of cards to him. “The kid’s awake. Do you want to play Match-Ups?”

The ex-priest looked up from his book in confusion. He closed the book with his finger on the opened page to keep his place. After a moment of contemplation, he responded, “Match-Ups? Isn’t that a kid’s game?”

“No one’s got any money or stakes to gamble. Unless the both of you suddenly get comfortable with strip poker.”

“Match-Ups it is!”

Miyana throws out the cards one by one. As I take a look at the cards, I notice the face card’s design. Mirrored across the card’s diagonal diameter was Goddess Fortuna. Her simplified depiction emphasized her helmet’s horned design and polished armor.

Before now, I was acquainted with the basic jesters, queens, and kings on the card’s faces. Seeing Goddess Fortuna take the place of the queen filled in the gaps of what the rest of the faces could be.

“Right!” Ozymandias chirped, “We’ve got ten minutes until arrival, so this should kill enough time until then. Shall we begin?”

Miyana placed the rest of the cards on the center of the table while she spread out her hand within her index and thumb. “Sure. Got any sevens?”

“Nope! Scavenge.”

I wasn’t sure if I was up next, or if it was Ozymandias’ turn. I got my answer soon as I noticed both of their eyes looked on toward me. “My turn, right. Got any queens, Miyana?”

She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Better luck next time, flower girl. Scavenge.”

The next card on top of the deck was a king card with the depiction of Skymarcher. A nebulous figure covered the card with a single orange fox mask obscuring a wisp sat on top of his torso.

Ozymandias’ face lit up with glee. He brought his cards close as he pinched a specific card among the pile. “So, Autumn, I’ve heard you have a queen on hand?”

That only confirmed my suspicion. I asked the wrong person. Once I revealed my queen to Ozymandias, he placed the rest of his deck face down to reveal a similar queen in his possession.

The rest of the game continued on as-usual. Ozymandias’ spirit seldom wavered while me and Miyana kept a stoic glare.

I already knew who would win in the end. With a few minutes left I decided to chat with Ozymandias alongside our game of Match-Ups. “So, remind me again, what are we looking for in our trip to Calcine?”

“Our trip?” He glanced up from his deck, “Oh, right! I haven’t told you what we were looking for, have I?”

“You have not.”

“My mistake! Before I continue, any twos?”

“Nope, Scavenge.”

Ozymandias snatched up the topmost card from the deck.

“As you were saying, Mandy.”

“Calcine, for the most part, has a few areas sanctioned off by a few sectors of Fortuna's Army, aptly named the Historians. Some settlements like the Grand Capital and Almahci are heavily guarded, while some unimportant areas like the Excavation Zones and the Outskirts.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Solis found a small Parabellum colony deep in the Excavation Zone near Spaceripper’s Ruins. If we don’t find anything of value there, we’ve got another plan to scope out another colony somewhere along the Gravel Beach. The main problem with this location is we’d have to sneak around a platoon of Historians.”

“You know now that you’ve mentioned it, that’s going to be our hail mary.”

“Oh, no doubt about it. It’s best to check the first point of interest just in case, you know?”

“As long as we get something of value from it.”

Ozymandias reached into his deck and handed Miyana one of his cards. With her final pair, she placed it in her pile and locked her fingers together afterward. In triumph, she proclaimed, “That’s my last card, I win.”

The ex-priest raised an eyebrow as he looked down toward his deck. “Not so fast, we’re going by pairs not by time.”

“Well you should’ve said that beforehand.”

“It’s the standard while playing Match-Ups. I would’ve called if we were playing by time.”

“Whatever, sure. I’m sure none of you will surpass me in pairs anyway.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t be too sure. There’s still a quarter of the deck left.”

Miyana crossed her arms.

“We’ve got another two minutes until the tram pulls into the station. I think that’ll be enough time to wrap up the game.”

“On a quarter of a deck? I’d rather pack up than play a speed round.”

“Try me! Got any nines, Autumn?”

The next minute quickly devolved into chaos. We each barked numbers and faces at each other as we hastily drew and threw cards around the table. By the end, we both ended the game with a battlefield of cards between us.

Ozymandias quickly pointed his finger around the table. He softly counted up under his tongue before speaking the final number out loud. At the end of it all, he looked up at me with a smile. “Looks like you have the most pairs, Autumn! Congratulations.”

We uprooted ourselves from the tram's seating to exit the cart. Once we exited out into the station, Ozymandias led us further past the platform.

He motions toward a set of scooters similar to Solis' vehicle. At first, I was confused at why he would show them off to me. Once Ozymandias walked up and inserted a few gel-batteries into the machine, the depleted scooter pushed itself into the air and stabilized above the ground.

Miyana and I both followed suit. She fished out a few pods similar in design to Solis' breakfast and handed them to me.

"This'll last us the day," she assured me, "Ozymandias forgot to equip you with some batteries. Remind me, I'll fix that later."

We both exited the station to hurry down a winding cavern corridor. Our scooters' lights illuminated the widely carved path. Every hundred or so meters a dim lamp sat as milestones along the way. As we approached urban outposts, the cavern slowly narrowed into a structured tunnel with metallic designs into its own highway station. The opposite effect occurred as we exited out to the wilderness again.

There wasn't much to write home about the caverns minus their varied stalactites and stalagmites on the edges. Any trace of civilization rarely showed itself. However, nearly fifteen minutes in, we encountered a tunnel which expanded out to a vast tunnel.

Plastered among the walls of the highway were various graffiti markings and advertisements about the Grand Capital. Two of the most prominent symbols were Parabellum's dagger and a gem of an unfamiliar company—Technology of the Ruined Underground.

A continuous road of sidewalks formed the lanes of the highway as they hugged the walls. Every kilometer was a concrete door labeled EXIT. The waist-high neon lights and overhead lights guarded by iron bars slightly clued me in to our whereabouts.

Miyana, suddenly, fills one of her palms up with a handful of slime. With her fingers crushing the gelatinous material, she opens them with two identical earbuds. She sped up to ride alongside Ozymandias. Once Miyana tosses him an earbud, she slows down significantly to match speed with me. My catch wasn't fully secure. Once the earbud bounced off my palm, I frantically clamped my hand down to stop its motion.

Without question, I inserted the earbud in my left ear. A high-pitched voice imitated the sound of static before returning a few coherent words, "Testing, testing. Can you hear me?"

The other voice spoke within a falsetto range. I couldn't tell if this was on purpose or if this was their natural voice. I wasn't sure how to respond, so I kept my eyes on the road as I talked, "I can hear you. Are you supposed to sound like that?"

"It's the slimes. They're listening to what you say and they're relaying it as true to the source as it can."

"Ah, that's interesting to know."

The voice continues with a noticeable accent—similar to Ozymandias', "If you're concerned about whether the Historians will find us, they don't have a clear access point to this specific tunnel. The exit points have long been out of commission—we tried. Unless they're keen on the idea of falling a few hundred feet, we're completely separated."

The active hums and whirs of the scooter fill in the gaps between conversation. The original voice—one in line with Miyana's cadences—returns to pose a new question, "What ever happened to TRU after the Sonatans gradually migrated to Caelitra?"

"I think it just disappeared." Without the president of the company to man the helm, it mainly just dissolved."

"Through the people? Did he control his workers like slaves?"

"Kind of? Well, yes, he did. The main reason TRU crumbled was because of profits. No one needed their services to survive underground when they could just leave. They stuck it out to the very end—I think fifty years since the beginning of the migration?"

"Wild. Was Parabellum on the same path as TRU?"

"Primarily, yes. Most of their issues came with their head scientist suddenly vanishing. Without his guidance, the main contractors cut their deals and left. I think the company still exists somewhere in Caelitra, I just can't remember where and how."

"Make sense."

"Since Caelitra gave the Sonatans an ample supply of resources to survive on an individual level, TRU was proven worthless. Capitalism exists in the conditions that all other resources have been exploited and all that remains is human life. It keeps you busy, it stimulates the economy, and exists as a renewable commodity."

"We still have to lug around coins, though. I don't get why it 'died with TRU' when I have to deal with its whale fall consequences."

"Oh, it has. Money exists as a means of value rather than a necessity of life. It's easier to quantify goods and services and to trade upon the middle man than to try and justify a ratio between two foreign needs."

"It's just a tool, then?"

"Yes, it's just a tool. Didn't they teach you this during your education?"

"I didn't get one—I was taught under my mother's guidance."

"That makes sense. Family traditions are harder to break than bad habits."

We left the Grand Capital's general vicinity as indicated by the pathway's diminishing quality. The expansive, information-plagued walls rescind to nothing more than a set of lanterns and a spiraling path.

"Just a few more minutes," Ozymandias reminded us.

The scenery was nothing more than boring. After the bare minimum of stimulation through the Grand Capital's sector, the rest of the way over dragged on for what felt like hours. 

Miyana seemed to be bored as well. With one hand on the scooter, she used her free hand to throw a small spherical object in front of her. Once it bounced off of the ground, the ball bolted back and past her hand. With a quick flick of her wrist, she turned her palm to face behind her. The ball thrusted back into her hand by an unknown force. This process continued with each catch.

We stopped near a small settlement off the cavern's highway. Ozymandias parked his scooter near a collection of crates. Miyana contributed to the impromptu pile before she left to join the ex-priest. I didn't want to stray far from their routine.

A thinly-traced path led to groupings of hemispherical tents. Canvas walls drape themselves alongside the cavern, obscuring the rocky walls in an impromptu room. Before a sealed metallic door was an oil lantern which had long run dry.

Ozymandias stepped up to the door with his gaze fixed on the nearby number pad. He soon brought his hand up to his chin in contemplation as he observed the details. "So far, it looks like the two, six, seven, and nine keys are the most weathered. If we were to assume the first number isn't forgotten as often as the rest of the sequence..."

Amidst his ramblings, Miyana stepped up with her WRIST near her mouth. "Solis, search the Parabellum Archives for number pad combinations. Sort them by location."

I couldn't understand what Ozymandias was saying anymore. I lost my focus five seconds in. I watched Miyana flick her finger against the watch's screen for a brief few seconds before pressing her finger on the pane. She brought the WRIST up close to her face while typing in a series of numbers on the door's number pad. A consonant beep chirps from the pad's speaker alongside the numbers' backlight flashing light green in response.

At first, Ozymandias was dumbfounded. After some moments in contemplation, he snapped his fingers and reassured himself, "That's right, the Parabellum Archives. I forgot Laque saved a copy before the company crumbled."

The interior designed itself around the cavern's restrictions. A series of rooms continued forward with individual hallways separating different-sized openings. The first room contained a series of crates filled with supplies. White boards line the walls with a litany of unknown text. The most I'm able to glean from their neatly sorted display are a series of numbers and equations. I think I saw a matrix in the bottom right of one of the boards.

Miyana suddenly broke the settlement's silence with her own thoughts, "So, Mandy, give me a rundown. What was this place all about? What are we looking for here, exactly?"

Ozymandias took a moment for himself to reply. He began his explanation with a slight hum. "If I have my information correct, this is the research team tasked with finding a way to break through Spaceripper's armor."

"That explains all the weird symbols, like all these triangles and a bunch of x's."

"They weren't successful in finding a solution. Instead, their research led them to create a substance that can directly counter 'Eigenmagic'—what we call Ichor today."

"And how did they achieve it?"

"I don't know, actually! That's a great question, maybe Solis has a digestible answer."

"You know what? Forget it. I think I'll stay wondering."

"Suit yourself. This is mainly for your benefit, actually. Since the solution they found is a substance, they were able to apply it to a wide range of weapons. Old World Firearms, MEL weapons, and most importantly blades in the form of a thin coating."

"You have my attention."

"If you're able to land a decent hit on General Ravsangal, that'll allow the coating to enter her bloodstream and react with the Ichor to neutralize it. It'll even the playing field out by a significant amount."

Without another word, Miyana breaks out in a sprint further through the research lab.

"Seems like that satisfied her as a response."

I waited until Miyana was fully out of the conversation before questioning Ozymandias, "General Ravsangal? I swear I've heard that name before."

"Oh, you probably have," he reassured me, "Not a day goes by where Miyana doesn't mention her name."

"Is there some sort of feud between those two?"

"More than a feud, I think. They both applied for the Head General position in Fortuna's Army. Ravsangal won out due to some—and I'm paraphrasing from Miyana here—some outlandish prediction spewed out by Goddess Fortuna herself."

"So she lost because she was destined to?"

"Yep, right on the money."

"What was the exact wording of the prediction?"

"It's been a while. If I remember correctly, it's something like 'let the flowers guide you to your greatest desires', or something like that."

"Interesting."

"According to Miyana, she didn't fulfill the fortune and so she wasn't chosen."

"Well, that sounds kind of outlandish. Was she more qualified than Ravsangal?"

"Through her recounts, yes."

"So Goddess Fortuna turned her down because of reasons outside her control?"

"Sounds about right."

I furrowed my eyebrows in response.

"It's Goddess Fortuna. If she says you're unlucky, you can't really say anything against that."

"I get that. I mean, I guess I'd also be inconsolable if that were me."

"I would too. I'm not sure why she targets her anger on General Ravsangal, but she hasn't been the best in terms of leadership."

"Oh? How so?"

Suddenly, Miyana's voice bounced around the empty chambers of the laboratory, "Found it!"

Ozymandias and I both rushed through the opened doors toward Miyana's location. In her hand was a small glass vial with an opaque gray substance inside. A strip of tape runs across the top of the vial with a small string of text written on; AEM-2.

"Okay!" She cheerfully exclaimed, "We're all done here. Let's head back and grab some grub back at the dining hall!"

Ozymandias let out a small laugh. He reached his hand behind his head to rub the backside of his neck. "You seem pretty eager to get out of here. Did you forget we still need to investigate the settlement near the Gravel Beach?"

"Oh, come on. Do we have to?"

"Do you want more of an advantage against Ravsangal?"

Miyana remained silent.

"Here, I'll compromise. I'll have Solis deliver some food, and by the time we reach the Gravel Beach, he'll be there with some lunch. Sound good?"

"Ah, sure, whatever. How long's the trip over then?"

"A little more than an hour."

"Oh come on!"

"We can't take the main route through the Grand Capital since we'll run into some Historians on the way, so we have to navigate around their highway outposts."

There was a brief moment of silence before Miyana let out a small harumph.

"It won't take too long. Why don't you place an order now while I communicate with Solis?"

"Okay, Mandy," she sarcastically replied, "Whatever you say."

Miyana broke from the group with heavy footsteps accompanying her departure.

Before I'm able to put in my two cents, Ozymandias walks over and pats me on the shoulder twice. "Don't worry about her, Autumn. She gets angry whenever she's hungry."

Something wasn't adding up in my head. I've completely lost track of the time. I looked down toward my watch to see the centermost numbers read 1:05 PM. How much time have we spent on the road?

We retraced our steps inside the cavern highways. Miyana remained in the back of the line as I occupied myself between her and Ozymandias. I couldn't think of anything to kill the time. Counting the lanterns eventually grew tiring.

The recently retrieved vial came to mind. With a finger pressed against the earbud, I posed my question, "So, what's with the sword?"

"Don't press hard on the earbud," she warned, "It hurts the slime."

"Right, sorry."

"It was a common trend among my hometown. We were infatuated with a lot of media involving heroic swordsmen. Civilized Caelitra doesn't need any sort of protection, it was more of just a past-time."

"That makes sense."

"Once I won a few championships, it kind of felt like I found my calling. Problem was the lack of harder things to fight. You're stuck at the top with nowhere else to go but down. It's a niche skill."

"This place has to be crawling with some hostile monsters—anything, I would assume. Wouldn't it make sense for Ozymandias to bring you for protection?"

"No to the first question, yes to the second. Calcine is completely abandoned. Aside from my slime, I'm just about useless."

"Nothing? No feral dogs? Dwellers? There has to be some groupings of people who'd kill us for trespassing, at least."

"The Historians cleared the place up long ago. Plus, Calcine wouldn't have any of those things that you mentioned. Feral dogs? What are they gonna eat, moss?"

"I guess so. Not even goblins?"

"Goblins are about as made up as cats."

"Didn't the Pre-Sonatans have cats as pets?"

"According to the records, there's no proof."

I took a second to ponder Miyana's statement.

"Listen, I'm about as bummed out as you are that I can't do anything with my set of skills. I hate riding this janky scooter around for hours on end searching through meaningless junk for some minor advantage against someone doused in luck. I'd love to slice open a shambling corpse or seven. Heck, I'd like to give some Historians a run for their money."

"Well why don't you?"

"Mandy says that'll only anger Goddess Fortuna. They have a reason to harm us for trespassing, but we have no right to do the same back."

"That sounds unfair, if anything."

"It is! If I had the opportunity to fend off some Historians to investigate what they're hiding in the Grand Capital, I would've done it by now. Sword fighting's often seen as an act of defense than an act of power, which sucks. I spent a decade of my life climbing the ladders and for what?"

"For status?"

"I don't want status! If I wasn't hidden away from the world, I'd have to deal with an onslaught of rookies challenging me for my title. Do you know how tiring that gets? One minor slip up on their side and it's over—that's how unbalanced the matchup is. There's no challenge!"

The earbud replicates the noise of a cough.

"I could've joined the war effort in the Heartland, but that's the same problem. I've got nothing."

"Right, I get you."

It was hard to relate to Miyana. The most I could offer her were a few sympathizing words every now and again. Once she had nothing more to say, I prolonged my silence. The conversation left a lot to ponder on, so I found the time well spent.

We took an exit off the cavern highway off a rugged path. The tunnel opened up to an expansive shore with a never-ending sea. Skylights of sunshine illuminated the beach's water. Every once in a while, a stalactite broke off from the ceiling and fell into the sea beneath.

The scooters handled the uneven terrain smoothly. We coasted along the thick blanket of pebbles. I couldn't see myself spending a vacation here.

Behind us was the Grand Capital. Its illuminant lights were barely a match for the sun's rays. I couldn't see much of a barricade gating the city from us. Was it all soldiers?

Ozymandias stuck his right hand out to point toward one of the skylights. "Look over there! Since we're directly underneath the Heartland, these skylights extend up to the surface. Unfortunately, the city above uses the opening as a trash chute."

Clumps of waste and trash fell from the heavens and into the murky waters. An island of trash made itself clear through the repeated breaking of glass and fragile objects and impacts of filled trash bags.

Only now did I hear the waves breaking upon the gravel shores. The waters' motions were muted over the waterfall of trash and the scooter's active hum.

We found refuge in a small grotto off the gravel shore. Our scooters remained near the lip of the cavern while we ventured forward. Loose scribblings of various pigments etched themselves among the wall. Various supports of both metal and wooden frames kept the cave from collapsing in on itself.

As we delved deeper into the grotto, the concentration of Ambrosia increased proportionally. At first, it appeared as nothing more than a few flakes. Over time, it would overwhelm the scribbles and posters on the wall. 

Eventually, we encountered a web of Ambrosia sealing the rest of the chamber off. Miyana and Ozymandias continued forward. They both ran into the wall of Ambrosia at the same time, causing the two of them to briefly retreat and rub their foreheads in reaction.

Miyana was the first to speak, "Force field!"

Ozymandias went to the wall to press his hand against the material. He ran his fingertips across the webs, smearing a thin layering of Ambrosia in the process. There was a solid layer which he wasn't able to push away.

"It has to be the work of Parabellum," he concluded, "I assume it's some machine that solidifies the air into a solid form for preservation. It'd be too time consuming for me to try and dig out."

Miyana clasped her hands together. "Well! Looks like we have no choice but to turn back."

I couldn't switch my sight to see the barricade without Ambrosia. When I closed my right eye, my vision was equivalent to nothing—a black expanse. Despite this fact, I walked up to the barricade with my outstretched hand. Once I pressed my fingertips against the solid material, I repelled the Ambrosia away from my hands in a concentration of energy.

The Ambrosia only repelled so far. It took me a few more attempts and a bit of maneuvering to create a gap wide enough to fit me through.

Miyana and Ozymandias were dumbfounded. They watched me step past the barrier after a performance rivaling that of a mime. Miyana raised a finger up as if she were to ask a question. However, she slowly lowered her hand after a moment of contemplation.

Ozymandias was the first to speak, "It's Ambrosia, isn't it?"

I nodded.

"I should've guessed that, honestly. Looks like we've got more to explore!"

Miyana let out an audible groan. After I dug my feet in a horizontal line to indicate the barrier's opening, they navigated through the entrance and led the way deeper into the grotto.

We reached the end of the cavern after another minute of walking. A domed interior covered in various wooden tables surrounded a circular platform. Ambrosia veins wrapped around the ceiling and scurried down a smoothened stalactite that pointed down toward the center.

The composition of the room looked eerily similar to the laboratory I saw after I died.

Miyana tapped the tip of the stalactite with her unsheathed sword. "So, what's this about? Doesn't look like something we can carry back."

"Not necessarily." Ozymandias clicked his tongue and shook his head. "According to Parabellum, this is a prototype of something they call 'The Realizer'."

"What a stupid name. Maybe I'm glad they're no longer around."

"The head engineer of Parabellum designed It after his involvement with a similar concept known as 'The Severer'. While the Severer removed a concept from existence, the Realizer would load any item or concept full of Eigenmagic. I'm not sure if they were talking about Ichor or Ambrosia here."

I pointed out the Ambrosia veins before replying, "It's definitely Ambrosia."

"Oh! Well, then we've found the right machine. Do you still have the vial on you, Miyana?"

She retrieved the vial from her pocket and placed it in the center of the platform. Afterward, Miyana stepped back and sheathed her blade back behind her.

"I believe Solis will arrive shortly after we activate the vial. Initially, this whole thing used to be connected up to the surface with the Blight. I think there's enough charge stored up to power up the vial and nothing else."

Miyana looked back to the handle of her sword before returning her gaze to the Realizer. After a moment of contemplation, she voiced her thoughts, "Say, wouldn't there be a better use of this thing than a small vial?"

"Well, I'm not sure about that. The Realizer packs Ambrosia into its target assuming it can keep hold of it. Think of it like filling a gel-battery."

"I see. What if we blast my sword?"

"I don't think that'd do much? If you're thinking it'll turn your sword into a conduit, it'll do the exact opposite. If you channel Ichor into an Ambrosia-ridded blade, it'll nullify. The vial nullifies Ichor on affliction, remember?"

"Shoot, you're right."

Almost on cue, the two slowly turned their attention toward me.

"Hey, Autumn. You wouldn't mind getting hit with an unknown amount of Ambrosia, would you?"

The question initially perplexed me. It took me a moment to stammer out a response, "What do you mean 'unknown amount of Ambrosia'?"

"Say we hypothetically tie you up underneath the Realizer," Miyana continued, "What's the worst that could happen? You're already hopped up on Ambrosia."

"I'm not sure if I'd like that. What about your vial? Isn't that more important?"

"Well, yes. But I could always have you activate it yourself."

Miyana took the vial off the table and violently shook it. The gray substance quickly shined a violet hue before returning back to its gray base.

"Think about the science, Autumn. What if this makes you the strongest person in Caelitra? If you die again, you're already an expert on dealing with the afterlife!"

"I don't even know how I was revived to begin with."

"Ah, Skymarcher will bring you back. He's got an itch for tension."

Ozymandias stepped behind Miyana. He reached his hand over her shoulder and rested his palm against her.

"You don't have to listen to her, Autumn," he reassured me, "If you don't want to go through with this, you don't have to. I know how scary a choice like this can be, so there's no shame in saying no."

Miyana lifted Ozymandias' hand off of her shoulder and scoffed. "Oh, there's clearly shame. We won't know what'll happen to you!"

The ex-priest glared her down. Miyana seemed to notice through her peripheral vision, causing her to sigh in defeat.

"Or, you can say no."

Ozymandias' smile overruled his previous demeanor.

It took me a moment to process the decision. My eyes constantly darted between Miyana and the towering stalactite. I've heard the tales of her strength. The idea of surpassing her power—even if it was niche—was a little intoxicating.

"Ah, fine," I caved, "Don't say I didn't do this for you, though."

Ozymandias broke from the group to navigate the various electrical consoles. I watched him search around with my back laid against the Realizer's platform. Miyana barely contributed. She stood in place with her undivided attention on me. Suddenly, the ex-priest exclaimed, "Found it!"

His hand hovered over an inconspicuous display. I couldn't see what he found, but I knew it had to be the button which activated the Realizer.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this, Autumn?" Ozymandias continued, "It's not too late to back out now."

Miyana shook her head. "No, it's too late now. Look up and accept your fate. I'll see you on the other side, flower girl!"

Disregarding her sarcastic interjection, I nodded my head in confirmation.

The next few moments hit me in a blur. As I braced for the Realizer's potential, I faintly heard Ozymandias count down from five. Miyana, on the opposite side of my vision, covered her mouth with her hands in glee. The stalactite itself increased in luminosity. The Ambrosian veins overpowered my sight as its low-rumbling hum drowned out the ambient noise around me. The marble's frigid touch gave way for a warm embrace which engulfed my body. I couldn't tell if I was standing up or laying down.

The Realizer didn't sting. It all felt like one giant hug. When I opened my eyes, I wasn't in the same grotto.

[fangirl-forever3000]

Another take one what could've been...

---------------------------------------------

The tension between these two is palpable. 

"So, you went to school with Yeon Jin. Tell me, did you approach me on purpose?" he asked. 

"Yes," she answered. And a moment later, before he could look away dejectedly, she said, "No. Yes and no."

"What?"

"I knew who you were when I first saw you. But it wasn't my plan to run into you at the Go club. I just went there to play a game or two."

Giving her a confused look, he motioned for her to keep talking. She had his interest piqued since the first moment he laid eyes on her. He might as well listen to everything she has to say.

"You were playing at the club at the same time as me, that is all. I saw you there and then I changed my plan. You would've been an easier way to get to your wife."

Every interaction with Dong Eun would automatically etch itself into his brain, and this was no different. Do Young stood there looking at his soon-to-be ex-wife's unfortunate victim. His mind traitorously screamed, "You're planning on leaving Yeon Jin just for this?! Good choice! Good riddance!" He stared at her and asked, "So you really do it? Backstab naive men, make them cry, and ruin lives?"

"Yes. I told you so already. You chose to not back off," she reminded him.

He did something he has never done in his life. He pleaded with her. Just to hear her side of the story, which he knew would be nothing but the truth. "Butakheyo (please). Tell me. Tell me everything. I am ready to hear it. I braced myself." 

He motioned to the bench nearby and they sat down together.

She looked at him deadpanned and spoke, "I speak from experience. Even if you have braced yourself for something like this, it will hurt you. It will hurt you a lot."

"It won't hurt me more than it hurt you. Mianhe. I should correct myself. More than she hurt you."

For the first time in forever, Dong Eun was stunned by this man's actions. Up until now, for her, he had been predictable. Keeping wary of her surroundings and who she was talking to, Dong Eun decided to tell him everything. About So Hee. About her. About all the 'bullying', when in fact, it was simply plain abuse.

Whilst they were talking, they both suddenly became aware of the fact that they were being watched. Closely watched. They pretended to keep talking but prepared themselves mentally for the unexpected. Not moments later 3 hitmen appeared out of the shadows and went straight for Dong Eun. 

The first hitman burst through the backdoor, and she quickly grabbed him and used his momentum to throw him over her shoulder. She kicked him in the stomach as he tried to get up, knocking the wind out of him. A couple more straight kicks to his chest, stomach, and to his shin made sure he would not get up for a while.

The second hitman came at her with a knife, but Dog Eun was too quick. She disarmed him and used his own knife against him, slicing his hand, and his leg and finally nicking him close to his neck. All the while Do Young tried to fight off the third guy and kept an eye on the first one, knowing that he would not get up so soon, courtesy of his fighting counterpart. The third hitman knocked him in the back of his head, forcing him to lose his senses momentarily. 

The third hitman was more prepared, and he had a gun. Dong Eun dodged his first shot and used a nearby tin cover as a shield. Do Young meanwhile, got up and saw her getting shot at. He panicked. All the while, she tossed the shield at the hitman, knocking him off balance, and then tackled him to the ground. Using his own gun, she shot him in the leg twice, put one in the first hitman's arms, and used the gun butt to toss all consciousness out of the second one. 

Needless to say, they all ran tucking their tails between their legs. The only plus point was that one of them dropped his cell phone and was too disoriented to realize it. 

As Do Young lay on the ground, gasping for breath, he looked up to see his newest fascination standing over him. She may be bruised and battered, but she is alive and well. She had just defeated their assailants with ease, her clothes now stained with blood and she offered him a hand up.

"You saved my life," he said, still a little stunned.

She smiled softly in her patented way. "Yes, I did."

"Wae? (Why?)"

"Wae? Wae jeogui gajang gakkaun saramui saengmyeongeul guhaneun sarami issseupnikka, Do-Young ssi? (Why? Why does anyone save the life of a person close to the enemy, Do Young?)"

He shook his head, wary of her motives. He had an idea. He had been having it for a long time. Somewhere deep inside Do Young's consciousness, he hoped that he would be right.

"Ttaemun dangsineul johahaeyo (It's because I like you)," she said, her eyes sparkling with cold behavior and partial amusement.

Do Young couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You saved me because you like me?" he repeated, acting incredulous and being truly satisfied. He had been right. Now, of course, he could rid himself of the little insecurity he had developed with regard to a certain young doctor he had seen her roam around with.

Dong Eun shrugged. "Why not? You're an interesting person, and I enjoy a good challenge. Plus, it's always more fun to have someone to play baduk with. And let's not forget our dear darling Yeon Jin."

He didn't know what to make of her words. Was she being sincere, or was this just another one of her games? He decided to play along, for now. Just until he could get a hold of this woman's mind. He had a feeling that this was sincere. Little did he know that he was right. It was probably the most truthful thing she had said out loud in a long, long time.

"Is that the only reason why you like me? My Go playing skills? Or is it my wife?" he asked the first part chucklingly and the latter with a face that made it look like he had just tasted something disgusting.

"Anniyo. It's your mind that attracts me. And your heart - though it may not be clean and clear, is relatively pure. And of course, forgive me if it sounds objective, but then there's your face. Plus, it's an added benefit for me; to see Yeon Jin slowly lose everything."

For a moment he stared at her. And then Ha Do Young laughed. He actually laughed. No one apart from his daughter had been able to make him laugh. "Your answers are always unexpected."

She shrugged as if it meant nothing.

"You really like me?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical and amused. "I find that hard to believe, considering you've been trying to get revenge on my soon to be ex-wife and friends for weeks now."

She shrugged. "Well, you're not them, are you? And I changed my mind about you a long time ago. You and Ye-Sol are never going to be harmed at my hand."

"Why? Wouldn't it be the perfect revenge?"

"No. My fight for revenge is with Yeon Jin. You are innocent, and your adorable daughter is even more so. Plus, you are being lied to. That makes you someone who got hurt. Not someone who did the hurting."

"You know?" he asked offended and disbelievingly. Ha Do Young lived in a world where pride mattered a lot. And the fact that Dong Eun knew about his wife's continued indiscretion before he did and that she told him to his face that Ye Sol wasn't his, made a little dent in his well-tamed ego. It was a blot on his picture-perfect life and he didn't particularly enjoy it.

"Yes. It was not that hard to figure out once I realized that you aren't colorblind."

"And there's only one another ass we all know who is..." he said finishing her sentence for her.

They sat there in the night's silence. Their presence keeping the other soft company. After what seemed like an eternity, he turned to her and asked, "What can I do?"

Dong Eun looked at him as though he was mad, but kept her impassive face on the front. "Mwo?(What?)"

"I said, what can I do to help?"

"Stay away, for starters. And take your kid away too. I don't want Yeon Jin using her as a chip."

"That's it?" he asked her as though he had just taken an arrow to the heart. And he had, metaphorically speaking, of course. Do Young had genuinely thought she would either ask him for help or at least let him help her. Granted, he was Yeon Jin's husband; he could just turn around and go tell her everything he knew about Dong Eun's plan. But he decided against it. She didn't know that, not yet.

"Yes. That's it. The less collateral damage I have to worry about, the faster will I rest."

"Can I not join the hunt?"

"I already have an executioner. I don't need another," she said straight to his face.

"You're the queen, the one who calls the shots. You have an executioner. But do you have a minister? I could be him. I could be your minister," he said, offering his services to destroy the remaining 4.

Dong Eun looked at him and replied, "Don't you know? If the queen goes down, so does her minister?" She motioned to the cell phone and said, "Judging by this, your wife is already trying to have me killed. Who knows, if you join the hunt, you might accidentally be the next target."

"I can handle her just fine. Plus, I have scores to settle with them. It will be easier and more fun for all of us if you just let me on board."

"Scores?"

"I don't like being lied to. Or being manipulated," he said pointedly referring to her actions and those of who he had to refer to as his wife.

Looking at his whiskey eyes, she said, "You want to join? I'll let you in. I will. When the time is right, I will."

"Fine," he said, setting his chin straight. "But I'll be keeping a close eye on you."

She laughed, a sound that sent shivers down his spine. A feeling he realized he had enjoyed. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

"Why not now?"

"I'm going to make their lives a hundred times worse; do what they did to me - break their bodies, their mind, their soul... You shouldn't be around for that. Just pray that they go to heaven when they finally do die, otherwise, their lives here would just be hell."

"Sure. Just promise me one thing. When you finally get to Yeon Jin, you will call me. Me and not that executioner."

She nodded and wondered internally if his words were the result of jealousy or the need for revenge for being cheated on and lied to.

"Say, if I give you access to my resources, would you teach me to play baduk like you?" 

She laughed once more. Her mind sent generated the notice that in his presence she smiled and laughed more than she did with anyone else. "Sure. I'll teach you."

Looking at each other in twilight's beauty, he came to realize fully why she was doing what she was doing. Before he could control his mouth he said, "Can I see them? Your scars?" She stared him down for a good minute or two. Just as he was about to apologize, she rolled up her sleeve to reveal a network of scars; the first of many.

His eyes widened as he took in the sight before him. He had known that she was a warrior ever since he spoke to that nobody of a woman - that Hye Jeong, but seeing the physical evidence of her battles, of his wife's torture, was something else entirely. He reached out tentatively, tracing the raised edges of one scar with his fingertips.

"It must have been painful," he said softly, his eyes meeting hers.

"It was," she replied, "but the pain is what made me stronger. These scars remind me of what I've been through and what I've overcome. It reminds me every day why I need to do this."

"I have scars inflicted by her too," he said, pointing across his chest - his heart. "But they're nothing compared to yours."

She looked at him with a mixture of surprise and respect. "Every scar tells a story," she said. "Yours is no less important than mine." And in that moment, they knew that they were stronger together than they could ever be alone.

a change in mood was needed. He suddenly remembered her words from an hour or so before. He narrowed his eyes. "What kind of fun? What you said earlier, about liking me, what do you mean?"

Dong Eun flashed a sly smile. "The kind that comes from testing each other's limits, pushing each other to be better, to making each other be human. To be able to truly feel. I think we could be quite the team, you and I."

"Well, thank you for saving my life," he said, standing up straight and brushing himself off.

She smiled. "Don't mention it. And who knows? Maybe we'll get to play together again sometime." With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him to wonder what her true intentions were for the days after this. How would she get revenge? Most of all he wondered when he would see her again. And then he thought what he would say to her when he does see her. And how he would tell her that he likes her too...

[miss-celestial-being]

Gone.

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request | masterlist

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630 Words

request: nope, but i felt i needed to get something out

warnings: death? idk what else and i don't really care

summary: just read and find out bc i don't feel like coming up with a summary too

pronouns: she/her

house: any?

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Short, but I haven't posted a fic in a while

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"Hey love, I miss you! Please call me back when you get this. I feel like I haven't heard your voice in forever." Y/n sighed, looking down for a moment. "Bye." She hung up the phone, slamming it on the counter a bit too hard. The screen gained a large crack from the top to somewhere in the middle. She stared at it with disgust, wiping the few tears that threatened to fall from her eyes.

She walked out of the bathroom, into the empty room they shared. She sat on the bed, laying back and rubbing her face with a few times before running her hands through her hair.

She turned at the feeling of a buzz from her phone.

Pansy

Turn on the tv and go to channel 5

She furrowed her eyebrows as more texts kept coming in

Pansy

I'm serious

You need to see this

Now

She sighed and grabbed the remote from the side table, switching the tv to channel 5.

Breaking News, a man reportedly missing for a total of two weeks found dead at the Black Lake.

Y/n turned off her phone and watched the tv closely.

We are still awaiting more information on this at the moment, but we will keep you all updated. For now all we have is a picture, but be warned, it is very graphic and very disturbing.

Y/n heart dropped at the picture. A tear fell slowly down her cheek, falling onto the remote squeezed tightly in her hand.

Oh, what's this. We now have a name of the victim. Mr. Draco Malfoy. A tragic loss for all his loved ones, he will be missed very dearly. As of now, the case is still wide open as to who the killer is, the police are currently working on-

Y/n turned the tv off abruptly, throwing the remote at it with all her strength. She gasped out a few sobs and looked at the picture of the two of them, sitting on his nightstand. She picked it up and held it close to her chest, crying and crying until her eyes were dry and her throat was raw. She sat in silence. She was numb.

Pansy came over as soon as she got off work, holding Y/n close as she whispered in her ear. Y/n couldn't hear what she was saying. It didn't even matter. Nothing mattered anymore the moment she lost him.

~~~

Weeks passed and, as Pansy told her, they still hadn't found the killer. Y/n hadn't spoken. She hadn't even moved. Pansy brought her food, water, and a change of clothes every day. Y/n hadn't gotten the tv fixed and she didn't cared to. Nothing mattered anymore the moment she lost him.

~~~

Another week passed and Pansy finally made her get up. Not to eat food, or brush her teeth, or even go outside, but to plan a funeral. A funeral for the man she loved with all her heart. If she wasn't broken into pieces before, she certainly is now.

She closed her eyes slowly, wanting reality to go away. When she opened them, he was right in front of her. Her love, her life. He smiled sadly at her and reached out to hold her face in his hands like he had done a million times before. But he stopped before he could reach her, putting his hands down solemnly. She let out a few tears, wanting nothing more than for him to wipe them away. But he couldn't. And neither could she.

~~~

A year. A whole year without him. Without the cause of her joy in the morning. Without the late-night cuddles while watching movies. Without the love of her life. Without him.

She walked through the cemetery, a little bouquet of hand-picked flowers in her cold hands. She let her tears fall freely as she stared down at the grave. She sniffed as she spoke into the silence of the graveyard, the only other noise being the small whistle of the wind.

"Hey love, I miss you-"

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I'm just gonna say that the '-' is meant to be a cliffhanger so just wait for part two if it ever comes out... I'm really bad at part two's

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join taglist here

[messricet]

Guilty

(In which Sirius visits James and Lily their grave, and reflects upon that fateful night)

___________________________________

The cold breeze seemed harder and more harsh against his still skinny figure. He was lying low at Remus 's and things had been... awkward at first. The first few weeks they hardly talked. Not that he could blame Remus. He was never to blame. Like James and Lily, that man was a victim too. But this very night, when Sirius by accident broke one if Remus his mugs as the dog, the other wizard snapped. They ended up in the worst fight they ever had. Accusations in loose hurtful words were thrown around. Words that were not meant to hurt, but still aimed and did. Hurt and grief filled that fight. They both needed air. Remus had stormed off, saying he was going to get some more groceries, but Sirius knew all stores were closed. Again he couldn't blame him.

Feet dragged a weary body to a spot he never hoped to be at ever. Not at this age. Not ever. Bitterness, hatred, hurt and anger filled him at the sight of the tombstone. " Disgusting rat". He scoffed. When Remus had left, he had changed to the dog again. It was easier. It number the pain, the guilt. Oh how, the guilt was eating at him. " I brought you flowers". His voice raspy, emotion still thick. "Typical lillies but you know, better than empty handed". Reaching down the cold stone that read the names of the two people he loved so dearly, he lay down the bouquet. "Saw Harry couple of weeks ago. He is growing Into such a fine lad, you'd be proud". Softly a smile dared to grace his lips, but found himself to stop it from trembling. He couldn't. The Dementors would be on him in seconds. Which made him realise, he didn't have much time left to stay in human form.

" I am so sorry, for everything. I kept telling myself, hoped, you knew. That it would make the betrayal hurt less. That it wasn't me, but it didn't matter, did it". A tear now rolled down. He couldn't stop himself anymore. "I'm as guilty as he is, it's my fault. I left you alone and I wasn't there. To protect you both, to protect Harry. I would give everything to turn it all back". In that moment he allowed himself to weep for the first time in twelve years. His body shook almost painfully. It was not until the wind caught up, that he calmed down.

" I probably should go, can't stay for too long. Probably should see if Remus is okay too. It's not much at the moment, but he's all I have that's some fragment of happiness still. He misses you both as much. The pain in his face is almost unbearable ". With a nod he got back up. Shaking the emotions from his body.

" I know I may not be forgiven, I have no right to ask. But I swear on my life, I will do everything to keep that boy safe. Even if it costs me my own". His hand traced over the tomb stone, a harsh lump forming his throat. " Next time I'll visit I'll try not to be such a tosspot and cry all over your flowers". A little smile then again traced his lips. He wished he could just stay forever right here. Close to them, guard over them, even as the dog perhaps.

"I love you both. Always will. After all the ones that love us never really leave us, do they". Another little smile managed from his lips." I better go, will see you soon and stay longer I promise. We'll have one our old chats, but now I owe Mo...Remus a new mug". With the sinking of his shoulders he changed back to the dog. Only to sit there for a couple more hours until it even turned to cold for good old Padfoot, and thus, with his tail hung low, scurried off into the evening, back to Remus.

[bontenten]

Sleeping Beauty

Pairing: Shirabu x f!reader WC: 5.6k Genre/Warnings: smut, fairy tale retelling, incest, dubcon/noncon, drugs (sleeping pill), somnophilia, abusive past relationship, implied rape (not Shirabu), panic attack, victim-blaming, hero-complex with a bit of god-complex, hints of yandere, uhh medical malpractice, Shirabu’s bangs

Summary: The real story of Sleeping Beauty is anything but beautiful. Shirabu will do everything he can to keep you in a safe haven where you can freely dance with your prince once upon a dream.

A/N: This is a part of the whorehouse intoxicated collaboration, rest of the pieces of this toxic journey can be found here! Thank you Ria and Angel for helping beta <3 Love you both so much.

Unofficial bgm: Once Upon a Dream & Once Upon a December 

"You'll never wash me from you," he sneers, pulling you back by a handful of hair. You feel a blanket of pain shoot across your scalp. "You'll never really get away. Time to wake the fuck up."

"G-get away from me!" 

You thrash and kick your legs wildly hoping something will land. The moment you hear a pained grunt and feel his grip loosen, you scramble up to your feet and run. Your shoes grate against wet cement as you take off. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you will your legs forward one after another. The caw of birds seem to act as a beacon leading you through the twists and turns of the terrain.

A left turn here, two blocks straight. Past the corner store and beyond the stoplight. Three blocks. Right turn. Two Blocks. Five steps away. Four...Three..Two...Safety...

----

"In the forest, the princess played with a lot of animal friends. She grew up there in the cottage with three fairies looking after her."

Thunder claps and lightning strikes outside.

"It's so loud Kenjirou-nii!" you cry, burying yourself into Shirabu's arms.

"Shh, I'm here," Shirabu coos, rocking you back and forth until your sobs subside. "One day, the princess was singing with the songbirds..."

Shirabu begins to recount the fairytale of Sleeping Beauty to you, slowly easing your mind away from the turbulence outside.

"Do you think you can sleep now?"

You shake your head and jump again when the thunder claps over the roof of the house.

"It's okay, I'm right here. Big brother’s always going to protect you."

"Like the prince protecting the princess?"

"Yes, exactly. You're always my princess, now go to sleep. I'll wake you when the sun's up.”

After a while, you calm down and slowly drift into sleep with your breaths evening out. Shirabu pulls the covers over both of you and enters sleep as well.

The winds continued to howl outside the window...the branches tapping...tapping against the window...tap...tapping…

----

Shirabu Kenjirou opens his eyes. He had just fallen asleep while studying for the third time that night. There is no use staying at the library if he is going to treat it as a hotel; he’ll be better off going home first. He yawns and stretches his neck, then packs his bags to return to his apartment. There are few students left in the building at this ungodly hour. Dark clouds loom overhead and the air is filled with the pitter patter of autumn rain hitting cement. Shirabu zips up his coat, opens his umbrella, and walks into the dark.

You would have been so frightened by this sort of weather, whimpering under your blankets, counting sheep with shaky breaths. Just like how you did in that dream of his earlier.

While growing up, Shirabu hadn't cared all that much about anything else considering he spent most of his time with his studies or playing volleyball. Although there was you, his little sister, he figured you had your little bubble anyway. But on a stormy night, you teetered down the hall after finding your parent’s room locked. Afraid and sleepy, you looked for comfort elsewhere and arrived at Shirabu’s room.

Shirabu had been most irritated and decided to shoo you out with strings of curses and profanities, but he couldn’t. The sight of your form huddled right outside his bedroom, with young eyes pleading for him took hold of a bit of humanity in Shirabu’s heart. So, he let you into his room, a safe haven, and eventually a world that was composed of only the two of you against the rest of the world.

Shirabu has known for a long time that you are the most brilliant, precious, and purest thing he’ll ever encounter. Always perfect. Forever unsullied. 

There are many things that Shirabu wants to shield you from. If he can secure one more hour of innocence, one more day, one lifetime, he’ll do so without a moment of hesitation. The real world is unlike the fairy tales that you hear about while growing up. 

The real story of Sleeping Beauty is anything but beautiful. There isn’t a handsome prince the princess meets in a forest. No color changing cake. No kiss of love. In the real story, the princess is put into an endless slumber and has her virginal body taken by some unknown beast of a king, used like a rag for his carnal pleasure. When he leaves, the sleeping girl is then forgotten like trampled daisies under the hooves of horses. And she will wake to find her womb bulged with bastard life as a result of the damnation. The stretches clawing around the navel as permanent reminders that nothing will wash him from her.

The real world is dark. Horrible. Wretched. Dirty. Filled with suffering. That is why he, Shirabu Kenjirou, responds to the call to action and enters a life of service. In his heart he yearns to save and help, even if just a little, by becoming a prince with a white coat. He will not give up trying to salvage pieces of humanity he’ll touch, and in the process, carve out a haven, a little forest with a cottage, for his dearest sister to safely live in.

It has been a while since he last heard from you. Partly his own fault, really. Ever since Shirabu entered university and then medical school, the number of times you two would meet up dwindled. The hours on the phone became texts and soon after, communication vanished into mostly silence.

You are in university now, grown up and stepping into the real world, but that doesn't mean you are no longer his little sister. And because you are the one and only, Shirabu feels that he should try to do a better job as an older brother and check-in with you to see how you are doing. So, Shirabu takes out his phone that’s still on silent after studying.

27 missed calls from Sister 

Shirabu pauses in his tracks and returns the call. Cars zoom by on the streets while he waits for the line to connect. 

He was right, you must have been frightened.

The first call doesn’t connect, so Shirabu immediately tries the second time. You pick up on the third attempt.

"It's me, I'm so sorry I didn't pick up earlier."

"K-Kenjirou-nii..." your voice weakly translates over the speaker. 

Shirabu presses the phone closer to his ear and turns up the volume. "Where are you now," he demands. "At school?"

"...Your place..." Your voice sounds so dangerously faded, like petals beaten to the ground from the rain.

Shirabu bolts. His apartment is just a couple blocks away. Around the corner just up ahead. Shirabu makes a sharp turn and splashes through a puddle. 

"Stay...on the phone with me," he urges, paying no mind to his soaked shoes and socks.

You nod in understanding, as if he’ll hear your action.

"I'm almost there okay, almost."

Shirabu isn’t lying. A few moments later you hear the frantic footsteps coming closer to you. The stomping noises make your skin crawl, but the familiar face of your brother melts those fears away. He appears with his wet bangs stuck to his face and his shoulders heaving up and down. It’s him, your niichan, your prince finally here.

You scramble up and dive into his open arms, in relief that you are safe at last, as you finally allow tears to mix with rain.

"I was so scared. I missed you so much, Kenjirou-niichan," you sob into Shirabu's wet coat. "Where were you, where were you?"

"I'm sorry. I'm here now, I'm sorry," Shirabu apologizes, "Let's go inside first, alright? We’re both drenched.”

----

Under the bright lights of the living room, Shirabu gets a better look at you. You catch his discerning eyes studying you up and down, visually tracing the markers of your demise. That’s when you crack.

“Kenjirou-nii...the real world, the world is a horrible place. I trusted him, you know? I trusted that man.”

Foolish and stupid, Shirabu wants to say. It’ll be easy to simply yell at you.

Shirabu is not someone without a temper. He was quite known for it back in his high-school days. The bruises, the scars that did not heal well. Shirabu reminds himself to keep his composure, especially in front of you. He’s to be a doctor. He’s to be a protector, a savior. And with the training he already has so far, Shirabu knows he’s already as good as any board certified, licensed white-robed saint. He just needs to do what he’s meant to do. Heal. Clean. Purify.

After listening to your brief tale, Shirabu tells you not to worry about anything else tonight other than take a hot shower and get some rest. He gives you a reassuring smile and sends you off to the bathroom with towels and a large t-shirt.

While you wash-up and lose your thoughts piecing together the messy events of the night, Shirabu paces in the living room after he changes his own wet clothes. Nevermind the medical books he still needs to pour over, all Shirabu wants to do right now is track down the culprit and stick a scalpel through his socket. No, that’s just too easy. That bastard deserves something much more horrible, a slow and patient torture, a death within grasp but just out of reach. As if agreeing with Shirabu’s thoughts, your phone on the coffee table lights up. Shirabu picks up the device and watches the notifications pop-up.

Shirabu sees an unknown number call you. He doesn’t pick up, letting the phone ring while he reads the numbers across the screen and commits them to memory. The phone calls stop and an onslaught of texts follow; some coherent and others far from decipherable. There are messages of broken apologies and confessions of persistent love. Requests for you to go back to him. Shirabu scoffs at the language.

Shirabu continues to wait with impassive eyes, but the tight death grip around the device gives away the boiling rage beneath his skin. How dare the man behind that accursed number treat you, his little sister and princess, in such a foul manner. This beast who stole from you. Who is the reason behind the tainting of your now sullied innocence. 

Finally after a few minutes of silence, the screen lights up with a series of curses and condemnation that show the man’s true colors. A morphed beast due to your lack of response. Shirabu scrolls through the list of notifications again with impassive eyes, but the tight death grip around the device gives away the boiling rage beneath his skin. 

"You will pay," Shirabu seethes, taking a knife from the kitchen and ramming the sharp end straight into the device glass. The phone buzzes desperately and goes dark. You have no use for that phone anymore after all of this anyway, and the cursed number is already memorized by Shirabu for his own purposes.

----

Shirabu’s room is tidy. The two bookshelves on either side of the table are filled with books, photos, and many other accolades. That’s your older brother alright: perfect, proper, always right. Always right about everything, except one thing. The world you know really isn’t the wonderland he told you about growing up. Not at all. 

You bury your face into Shirabu's pillows and will yourself to sleep. You are safe here in his bed. It’s a haven...safely tucked in a forest. You are in a forest. The trees and the breeze. Songbirds are singing. 

You can dance here, twirl about...safe...free…

The trees melt.

Birds squawk and screech, scampering away…

Ink engulfs you....swallowing you whole

Falling...falling…

"You'll never wash me from you," he sneers. "You'll never really get away. Time to wake the fuck up."

NO! you try to scream. You can’t, the weight on your chest sinks you deeper, only silence is uttered...choked…

Wake up.

Wake up.

"Wake up!"

Your eyes fly open and you see him. Him. A blood curdling shriek finally tears through your throat and you thrash. "Getawaygetawaygetaway! NO!"

"It's me, hey, it's me. You're okay, you're safe." Shirabu’s eyes widen with worry at your outburst, but gives you ample space to breathe and compose yourself.

This familiar voice. It does not belong to him. It’s definitely not him.

"...Kenjirou-nii?" you ask quietly. The shadow is backlit from light coming in through the door and your vision is still fuzzy from the nightmare.

A tender hand closes around yours. "Shhh, it's okay, you're okay now. It was a bad dream, you're safe. You're safe. I'm here."

Cold sweat runs down your temples. Your breath is fast and shallow.

"Follow me, okay. Breathe in..." Shirabu takes a deep breath. You follow his voice and movement as if they are lanterns guiding you through a maze. "And breathe out. Good, you're doing great. Breathe in...and out..."

You feel your mind slowly beginning to clear with each inhale and exhale. Finally, you see Shirabu clearly again. You can smell the scent of his body wash from him. The texture of the blanket rubs against your fingertips. You’re here in Shirabu’s room. Safety. Haven. 

"I'll be right back," Shirabu tells you, before leaving you for a moment and going towards the bathroom. He opens the medicine cabinet, pops out a few white pills from a box.

"Here," he says holding out the small tablets in the middle of his palm. The off-white seems to almost glow in the dark.

"It's zolpidem, a sleeping pill I sometimes take for insomnia. It'll help you for tonight, and then we'll get you something else tomorrow that'll work better."

You look at the pill and then at Shirabu. Shirabu is someone you love and trust with all your heart. His embrace is your anchor and haven when the rest of the world has turned a blind eye. He’s your brother. One and only. There’s no reason not to trust him.

"I won't see him will I?"

"No," Shirabu affirms. The pills don't really manipulate dreams, but if reassuring you can placebo sweet dreams, then what harm really is there? He didn’t pass Ethics with top marks for nothing.

Shirabu gently presses the pill body against your lips and you part them, allowing the small object to slip through. He feeds another and you open your mouth obediently. You look at Shirabu’s eyes which are fixated on the way your lips wrap around his three fingers.  Kenjirou-nii’s lashes are so nice and pretty, you think. 

One gulp of water later, and you feel nothing but a cold sensation traveling down your throat and disappearing into your belly.

"It'll take about half an hour, I'll stay with you until you fall asleep," Shirabu says. He supports your back and gently lowers you back into the comforts of the plush mattress. Shirabu will surely carry the same attentiveness and care when he becomes a full-fledged doctor. You are sure of it. The big brother you grew up with has truly grown up and matured. But no matter how much he changes or how much you mess up, he’ll always be your big brother.

"Can you lie down next to me again, like when we were young?"

An innocent request from a patient-in-need. Shirabu complies and lies down next to you.

"I remember when we were young, I would make you dance with me to live out my princess dreams. You remember?”

Afternoons next to the stereo, crayons scattered on the floor. The smell of something baking in the kitchen. Shrieks and laughter in the living room. Even though Shirabu would be mildly annoyed at first, he found humoring your imagination to be a pleasant and soothing experience. Even he was sometimes whisked away from textbooks into a magical forest that was just you and him. The stress and burdens of everything else all seem so much lighter on his shoulders when you’re simply just there.

"Of course I remember, silly."

You hum softly and continue waiting for the medicine in your bloodstream to make its way through your body.

"Do you...remember the sleeping beauty story you would always tell me?"

"Yea?"

You pause for a moment before quietly asking, "Kenjirou-niichan, why did you lie to me?"

Shirabu does not respond and only glances over at you, eyeing your closed lids. Closed though they may be, the tiny beads of glimmering tears are beginning to emerge from between the lashes and trail down your cheeks.

"There is no prince, Kenjirou-nii...no prince for me, no one...niichan...," you mumble between your breaths. The drug is starting to take its effect, ushering your mind into another dimension far away from hurt and pain. It swallows you like a pit of ink, sinking you deeper and deeper...

----

Kenjirou-nii, why did you lie? Earlier, Shirabu felt his breath hitch when you asked that. 

He calls out your name softly, brushing over your cheeks, and listening to your soft breathing for a good while to make sure you are in fact asleep. At long last, maybe this is a good dream.

A lie? No! Not a lie, Shirabu wants to tell you. For you, his dearest sister, who only ever deserves happiness, in the rawest and truest form. You are supposed to have a life of others giving gifts of love, never having to offer anything of your own.

Shirabu feels his blood boil once more at the thought of that man who stole your innocence away. The one who took your body for his own carnal pleasures. The one who dared to steal you from him, Shirabu Kenjirou. If Shirabu's nails are not kept in immaculate condition for his profession, no doubt, his grip would be drawing blood from his palms.

Those marks and scars across your skin. Shirabu traces his finger down your neckline and along your arms...

Your head turns from left to right and you manage to shrug the big collar of the t-shirt off your shoulder. Shirabu can see, under the glow of moonlight from the cleared night sky, a nasty mark. A permanent mark. And before he realizes it, his fingers are already traveling over, tracing along and testing out the patterns and bumps.

Shirabu feels his chest burn beyond the anger and fury. Guilt. Where was he all this time when you were suffering? Why hadn't you just called him then? Anguishing thoughts of his little sister writhing in pain under that beast's grasps tear Shirabu apart. Did you cry? Were you scared? All these years studying for what? For what noble purpose is Shirabu trying to pursue if he can’t even save those closest to him?

Shirabu continues to search for any other marks or discolorations that are splayed across your skin like a map. It is what it is now. But Shirabu still has his calling. He is a man who answers to a life of service and healing: a prince in a white coat. No matter what happens, even if you’re tainted now, you’ll still be his little sister.

Even if your naivety and stupidity got you into the mess in the first place. Of course, why didn’t you listen to your brother’s warnings and stay in a safe haven like a good girl? Stay in your room and study for your future like a good student? Like him? Why did you think running off for fun, enjoying “youth and freedom” like the other degenerates would be a good idea?

Shirabu grits his teeth. Look at you now, damaged and past the point of no return, used. Injured and ill. Still, he needs to get the full story first, and see where else you might possibly be hurt. A complete diagnosis needs to come first. After the messages from the man, Shirabu is all the more certain that there are more clues left, and he needs evidence. He needs to know. The comforter is pulled away and careful hands examine the lines of your palms.

Once upon a time, you grabbed Shirabu’s hand and tried to use the methods of schoolyard palm-reading on him. You even exclaimed, “Kenjirou-niichan, this line means you’ll live a long life! And we can be together forever because my life line is really long too!”

Shirabu smiles at the memory and presses a kiss to the center of your palm. It must have been so painful, how could you have possibly endured? But you did and you survived. You are so brave. 

Probing fingertips trace across your collarbone and push the fabric of the large t-shirt up to reveal your torso. Shirabu blinks, realizing that this is now the body of a fully matured woman. You take a deep breath in your sleep from the cold air running across your exposed breasts. Shirabu can see the nipples perk up from the chill and hesitantly touches the bud with a hint of academic curiosity.

“Mmm, that tickles...” you giggle softly. Your hand pushes Shirabu's off and scratches the same spot he just traced, fondling your own breast briefly before letting go and continuing to sleep. Even grown up now, still the same adorable little sister.

Shirabu lets himself tease your nipples and knead the soft flesh of your breasts, toying around and watching your cute little expressions. Sometimes you’ll respond again and paw the tickling hands away. It’s fun, like playing a little game.

But when he lets his eyes wander down, Shirabu’s eyes narrow. Below the breasts, on either side of the waist, Shirabu sees damning marks of deep purple turning into a disgusting yellow. Like cursed claw marks. Shirabu hesitantly presses on the bruise, watching the color transform under his touch. He stops immediately when you begin to whine in pain. Carefully, Shirabu presses a kiss on these markings too, just like any other little injury you sustained in the past. A kiss so the pain flies away.

Foolish, foolish girl. Naive princess. Why did you let this happen to yourself? In the future, don’t run anymore. Stay here where it’s safe. 

There is just one place left Shirabu did not examine yet, a hidden spot that is supposed to be locked away that someone else discovered. Shirabu looks down at the dark lace panties obstructing his view like gates of a castle. It’s a poor “keep out” message; if anything it entices anyone who sees it to come in. A tempting invitation to see what’s behind.

Shirabu allows his clean fingers to easily slip through and begin a thorough investigation through the soft folds of flesh. His fingertips dip into a pool of wetness. He furrows his brows. When did this happen? 

Why are you wet? His eyes focus on your sleeping face that still has a relaxed smile. What are you dreaming about that makes your body like this? Shirabu drags the fingers covered with your slick to circle your clit. In response your thighs clamp and twitch. So sensitive, still inexperienced, even if you’re sullied. 

Shirabu slides the soaked panties off and pushes your thighs apart so he can continue his examination. That person must have touched this area too, his fingers have been here, and then…plunged his fingers into you like so. Your body trembles as Shirabu’s two fingers probe in, fully examining your inner anatomy. Soft, warm muscles clamp tightly around his digits and try to stop them from entering further. It’s for your good and his knowledge. He pushes deeper into you, dragging alongside the bumps and ridges of your walls.

You whine loudly and arch your back when Shirabu’s fingers find a sweet spot. Your head shifts on the fluffy pillows.

“Did you like that? Did that feel good?” Shirabu asks, probing your hole once more. As if in agreement, your body twitches again and your hips automatically roll against the palm, pressing your sensitive clit into the surface. Your breathy sighs are soft and sweet, unlike any other sound Shirabu has heard from you. It’s like a spell that enchants Shirabu and beckons for him. He shudders as he feels his cock responding to each noise coming out from between your lips.

It’s good, something feels so good. Under the sunlight, you feel warmth pooling throughout your body. There are tingles in the soles of your feet, like grass tickling skin while running around barefoot. Your body feels so light and relaxed. It’s warm and you’re not in this forest alone. The shape of a prince appears. You know he’s a prince because his voice is gentle and his touch feels safe.

If this feels good, it’s only because this is an act of love. If this makes you happy, it’s because it’s love. If it’s love, it’ll fill the empty pools of hurt. And if you’ll be whole again, you’ll heal. Shirabu makes up his mind and caresses your cheeks tenderly, So beautiful. Always beautiful. A sleeping beauty. His hand reaches to the waistband of his pants.

The prince rests his hand on your hips and excitement jolts through your body. You wrap your arms around his neck and smile back.

Shirabu freezes the moment he feels your arms wave into the air and reach for him. The sneaky fingers run across his skin.

"Dance..with me," you slur before falling back into silence.

The alarm washes away when he confirms you are still sound asleep.

"Are you dreaming of your prince?" Shirabu asks while tearing open a condom packet. Medical safety. He should have worn gloves earlier too, if he wasn’t already too entranced. "Dancing? Then I'll dance with you."

Forever. I'll be your prince, my sweet darling.

Shirabu runs the length of his hardened cock along your glistening slit. Rather than take, rather than pillage and steal...Shirabu will give. Replace the gross markers of pain with soft fleeting kisses. Replace the innocence stolen with love given unconditionally. Shirabu will give you all the love you deserve and more.

Shirabu’s fingers weave into your delicate ones, the palms join together, and your fingertips automatically lock with your niichan’s. It’s the starting position for a waltz in the forest, once upon a dream.

The man takes the initiation, the leading step. Shirabu closes the gap, sinking his length into your sweet embrace in a fluid and wet squelch. You respond, digging your nails and tightening your grip on his hands. Your other arm hugs around your partner, your niichan, pulling his body close against yours. Your blank eyes flutter open briefly to look straight at the shadow of Shirabu. Of course, you don’t see anything, you’re actually in a warm forest shyly gazing at your prince. Shirabu almost thinks that he woke you up, but you only let out a quiet moan before your body relaxes again.  

Shirabu groans and rests his cock in your warm and tight embrace. This is the way it should be, how it ought to be done. No one else can lead you in this dance the way he can. The way he will. This is not the self-fulfilling king stealing the princess’s virginal body for his own pleasure. This is the loving prince who loves and gives selflessly. Your big brother knows you the best, knows how you’ll respond, knows how you’ll like it. Shirabu slowly draws himself out and thrusts back in.

The prince presses himself so close to you, and you inhale sharply. During the waltz, you always have to maintain body contact with your partner. You feel his breath on your cheeks, and you’re sure he can feel your hammering heartbeat. The intimacy builds in the tender but secure hold. The steps are quick but the movements are not violent. It’s just enough that the heat stirring in your core spreads throughout your body.

Breaths become more labored and raspy into the act. Shirabu sees your face morph into bliss as he continues his pace and rocks his hips into you. His own brows furrow as Shirabu feels his grip over rationality falling apart with each thrust. Each flutter of your walls against him only invites him to come in deeper, farther. Harder. 

“...K-Kenjirou-nii...,” you softly cry out.

Your honeyed voice is a thick syrup trapping Shirabu, coaxing him. It’s like a melody inviting a weary traveler, a lost prince, in for rest. Your voice, your body, it’s tantalizing.

"Too good," Shirabu groans to himself. Why is it so good? You, his little sister, how? He looks down towards where he sees his cock, covered with your fluids, disappear into you. The thin latex barrier doesn’t stop how close the two of you are, Shirabu feels each clench and spasm around him. “My little sister, I didn’t know…” 

Shirabu can now understand just why that man did all that to you. Why that man wants to keep you by his side. Why he incessantly sends messages and tries to manipulate you back into their world.

It’s the only explanation, really, when you don’t even know how bewitching your body is. How enticing your voice is. Anyone would want to keep it as their own. Your warmth, your sweet, sweet hole. This cunt of yours is itself a safe haven. And Shirabu feels like he’s the one being made whole from you. It’s all because of you.

Each moan from you. Those gentle mewling cries, a witch’s spell, an incantation for addiction. That man is trying to manipulate you? How? When your whole existence manipulates everyone first, drawing them all in with the image of your unsullied purity.

Shirabu feels his impending release around the edge. His pace quickens and his thrusts meet with each of your twisting squirms. Your head tosses side-to-side on the pillow as your sleepy climax washes through.

Spin. Faster and faster in the forested ballroom. Twirl for the finale. You feel a dizzying jolt as the prince dips your body back. It’s a whirlwind of love. In your dream, the sunshine is so warm and growing so much hotter. It feels like you’re floating. So light and free. That prickling tickle in your feet is growing stronger until little fireworks set off across every corner of your body, filling you completely. The forest melts as the colors blend together in a dreamy painting. 

Euphoria, as Shirabu finishes spectacularly, clutching your sleeping body close to him in a messy ending pose. The final winds of the dead storm outside sound like a rumbling applause for this sinful waltz. He can hear his own pants and your shaky breaths mix into a fading duet. Shirabu lets himself bask for a moment, resting, entangled with you.

Everything makes sense now. He completely understands why the bastard king forces himself onto Sleeping Beauty. He completely understands why your allure is much too exquisite to pass on. Shirabu pulls out and carefully removes the condom, collecting the white essence you bewitched out from him into a little package with a tie. Dangerous little princess, that you are.

Even though Shirabu now fully understands the complete story after careful examination, there are still a few lines Shirabu will draw. One, that man has still committed a very grave sin, being the first to sample your purity, stealing that away from Shirabu? Damaging your flesh and skin? Unacceptable, he thinks as he tosses the used condom into the waste bin. A complete low-life who doesn’t know how to cherish. Punishment will be due.

Shirabu returns to the bed where your unconscious body is still sprawled between bunched sheets. His blank eyes study your spread legs and puffy cunt that’s still quivering every now and then. He taps his index finger against your sensitive clit. As if it is a magic button, your body briefly trembles on command. As if you are ready to enchant another unsuspecting traveler into your safe little haven. A little bit of fluid leaks out from your hole, presenting itself seductively. Welcome. 

Shirabu scoffs. And number two, you’ll be better off staying here with himself, your big brother. You’ll be safe here with a prince who knows best how to love you right, and give you the world. This is the way it should be; before you completely lose yourself into degeneracy and invite just about anyone into you. 

Those sleeping pills will be insufficient for the long-run. A different concoction while you are still healing from your terrible trauma will be needed. A cocktail of sorts that will target different needs. Yes. Shirabu files that thought away, putting it towards the top of his to-do list. There’s so many things he has to take care of. Too much pain in this world waiting for him to don white robes and be out there.

“But you’ll always come first on niichan’s list,” Shirabu whispers, slipping your panties back on and pulling the comforters over your body. He’ll never allow you to be sullied again. You’ll stay here in this safe haven, like a little cottage tucked away in the forest. Dream here. Find happiness with the only prince you need.

The first rays of dawn begin to brighten the sky, shooing away the cloak of night. The first songs from the birds announce the arrival of a new day. The morning light filters through the windows of the room, spilling over onto the bed and your quiet, unmoving form.

Time to wake up now, sleeping beauty.

[superhero--imagines]

Etsy Store Here l Ko-Fi l Commission Info

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here!/ Playlist Here!

* Alright so here are the facts as you know them

* Gojo’s a goddamn player and a homewrecker

* The boy probably has half of Tokyo after him

* Not that you can blame them, that pretty face had you fooled at first too

* The second fact, it that for whatever reason, Gojo Satoru has chosen to play house with a future hopeful sorcerer named Megumi Fushiguro

* Which, through forces outside your control, you have become involved with as well

* And the last fact, was that as soon as this no longer interested him or benefited him in any way, Gojo Satoru would abandon the situation entirely and act like it never happened

* So-

* “(Y/N/N), you look nice today, did you do something new with your hair?” Gojo sings

* - pray tell, why is the school prince is currently sitting on top of your desk, looking at you with those heart eyes

* “Oi what do you think you’re doing?” You ask, a vein threatening to pop on your forehead

* “I’m flirting with you~” he sings, only leaning closer with that all-too-pleased smile

* “I’m pretty sure this is bullying” you reply

* Ever since you’ve started pseudo-parenting Megumi and Tsumiki, Gojo’s been doing crap like this,

* Sometimes he tries to feed you at lunch,

* “Open wide (Y/N/N)~” He’ll sing as he holds out a piece of sushi towards you on some chopsticks

* Only for Megumi to eat it instead

* “Why do you look so sad papa, I thought you said I was your pride and joy”

* other times he’s holding doors open for you

* “Ah here let me-“

* You watch as he walks across from you and opens the door to a random void shrine

* You look at him before sighing and opening your own door to the library

* The other day you mentioned how you didn’t get to try the limited edition Sakura Pepsi and came back to your dorm with a bottle on your desk

* Which would be cute- if the bottle wasn’t half-empty with a note that he’d that said

* “Sorry, I got thirsty on the way back”

* Seriously he’s the worst- and yet,

* You turned away from Megumi and Gojo bickering, hoping he didn’t notice how flustered you were,

* you hid your laugh behind your hand as Gojo jogs to catch up with you, saying he was just trying to predict your needs-

* And you held the half-full bottle of Sakura Pepsi to your chest, keeping it on your window sill

* Because you love him-

* Even though you know he’s just doing all these things to entertain himself instead of out of genuine affection

* Even though these feeling will do nothing but hurt you

* You still love him

* He makes your life feel exciting and fun

* And more than that, underneath that moronic playboy exterior, is a gentle, lonely heart

* A heart that will run away as soon as it knows how you feel about it

* So you mask your budding feelings as best as you can

* Because the only thing you imagine is more painful than knowing your feelings won’t be returned-

* Is not having Gojo Satoru in your life at all

* So you do your best to pretend like nothing has changed

* You act just as indifferent as you always have-

* “Here-“ you push your dessert in Gojo’s direction. “You like sweets right?”

* His smile is so radiant you almost have to shield your eyes

* Well, mostly indifferent anyway

* Not that the self-absorbed moronic prince has seemed to notice anyway

* Too busy focusing on the scrumptious piece of cake in front of him

* Still Gojo isn’t one to be underestimated, he looks to you with a twinkle in his eyes

* “Let’s share it!”

* So far he’s tried twice to have an indirect kiss with you, and he’s missed twice

* He even threw away those chopsticks when Megumi ate that piece of sushi in frustration

* But you know what they say, third times the charm

* You look at Gojo with a raised eyebrow, gaze flicking between the cake and his face

* What, did he imbue some cursed energy so it would explode when you tried to take a bite

* “No thanks”

* Cue Gojo crying as he eats his cake

* He’s really been doing his best lately to earnestly pursue you

* But for some reason, you just don’t get it

* “I like you,” Gojo says as you’re walking side by side on your way back to the dorm after visiting Megumi

* You look back at him, and Gojo feels a blush start to fan across his face

* He finally did it! He finally confessed to you

* And his heart is drumming away in his chest

* You don’t seem to understand the monumental significance of what just occurred because what your mind heard was

* “I {really} like {teasing} you”

* You sigh, your heart skipped a beat, for a second you almost got your hopes up

* There’s no way lady killer Gojo Satoru would ever pick you to be one of his lovers, and if he did it would just be so you could be apart of his personal harem

* “Ok”

* And then you turn around and walk away

* Gojo can’t help but feel like this is retribution for all the times one of his romantic partners has said ‘I love you’

* And he responded with:

* “Why would you do that to yourself?”

* Or

* “Cool”

* At first he thinks it’s a straight-up rejection, but he figures out pretty fast that you just didn’t get it when you keep acting the same as you always have around him

* But don’t get it wrong babe, none of this deters Gojo in the slightest

* “Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask

* You’re both in the library, but only one of you is actually studying

* Gojo’s been staring at you with an oddly fixated gaze

* Honestly it’s got you feeling an uncomfortable heat spreading from your face to your neck

* “I’m not giving up you know”

* Giving up on what?!?

* What’s going on right now!!?

* But Gojo doesn’t offer any more insight choosing instead to finally bother reading the book in his hands

* What a weird guy

* You look down to your own book

* You feel the heat linger on your face and neck

* It’s because he’s always saying crap like that, that you’ve caught feelings for him

* Well whatever, everything fades right? Eventually, Gojo will probably lose interest in you-

* He’s part of a clan do you imagine they’ll find a nice girl from a respectable family for him to marry

* They’ll probably have a few kids who’ll be next in line to succeed him

* And by then he’ll be in such a prominent position that you’ll never see him again

* He’ll just be a memory

* Some boy you had a youthful unrequited love with

* The thought makes your heart clench but-

* “It’s for the best,” you tell yourself

* You’re going in completely opposite directions in life, you couldn’t possibly home for anything more than what you have

* After all your luck probably ran out the second you saw his face

* The most beautiful man you’ll ever see

* “I bet he would be one of those handsome grandpas when he gets older” you snort

* The kind that charms and flirts with young men and women just because he knows the effect he has on them.

* You still can’t believe you fell in love with someone like that

* “What a pain” you mumble to yourself, falling back on your bed

* You feel uncertain, afraid of the future even.

* Maybe a snack will help

* It’s the middle of the night, way past the time you were supposed to go to bed when you see him in the kitchen

* Great the last person you wanted to run into

* He’s just standing there in front of the fridge with the door open

* He hasn’t even turned around to say hi or anything

* “Oi Baka prince if you leave the door open like that every-“

* You stop mid-word, you only need one look at his face to know something is wrong

* It’s not all that uncommon for him to do something like this-

* See the thing is, Gojo knows he’s strong enough that he will get to choose when he dies- he’s not bound by the same pain the other sorcerers are, but-

* Well, he’s still going to die

* No matter how much he thinks he’s like god, no matter how powerful he is,

* He’s still going to die

* And growing up with the power he’s had and the mindset that he’s the strongest

* The realization can be pretty crippling

* He so afraid of the uncertainty that brings that most times he can’t move

* The worst part is it’s never when he’s actively thinking about death, or even when he’s on the job

* It’s always at times like this when he’s just woken up and is oddly hungry and he’ll remember

* “Oh, I’m going to die aren’t I?”

* And then it’s like he’s frozen solid

* What is it he usually tells the victims that enter his domain?

* “Funny how when you can do everything, you find you can’t do anything”

* Usually he manages to unfreeze after some unspecified amount of time, getting through it on his own

* But this time, when he finally escapes from the domain of his inner mind he’s covered in a layer of sweat just like always-

* But he’s not sure why he sprawled across the floor

* Not until his head shifts a little, only to see your face looming over him

* Omgomgomgomgomgomgomgomg

* He’s resting his head in your lap!!!

* Honestly this has been a fantasy of his for a while, to have his head in your lap while looking at the cherry blossoms, and you feed him chocolates and a gentle wind caresses your face

* BUT NOT LIKE THIS

* “Feeling better?” You ask

* Gojo thinks he might combust, he moves to sit up but winces

* He’s got the worst headache, these little episodes of his do typically end with a migraine

* Your hand feels nice and cold as it rests against his forehead

* “Rest a little longer, we’re not in any hurry”

* Aaaaand now he’s screaming on the inside again

* “Sorry about this” he mumbles, and you can’t help but smile

* It’s oddly endearing to see a shy Gojo Satoru

* “I bet your lovers would kill me if they saw knew you were showing me such a cute side” you’re half-joking when you say it, but you’re also half-serious

* It gives your Ego a little boost to know you’ve seen a side of him that most of his lovers probably haven’t

* You doubt the mighty Gojo Satoru ever allows himself to be this vulnerable, not even while he’s in the throes of passion

* So that same earnest look on his face startles you

* “I don’t have any other lovers”

* You snort

* “Sure, and I definitely didn’t steal Geto’s pudding that he was saving”

* “I’m being serious”

* Gojo sighs, here he is feeling awfully vulnerable and you still seem denser than a rock

* Do you think he would let anyone other than you see him like this

* “When are you going to realize that if it’s not you then it’s just no good?”

* Your heart is drumming in your ears, and you wonder if he can hear it

* Your mind is telling you to pull back, that this is way too good to be true, that this will only hurt you,

* You should get away while you still have a chance

* But instead something in you persists and you say:

* “Why do you think that is”

* Gojo’s hand reaches up, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, those clear blue eyes looking straight into yours

* Your breath stutters in your chest

* You always have been weak for those eyes

* His pink lips curl up into a smile

* “Because I love you”

* And before you know what you’re doing your bending down, pressing your lips against his

* “I love you too”

Bonus:

* “You can see through it right?” You ask

* Gojo fidgets with the blindfold, honestly he was hoping for a much kinkier reason than replacing his scuffed sunglasses when you gave him the blindfold

* “It’s a little darker, but that’s not a bad thing.”

* His hair is out of his face too which is nice

* But-

* “What’s with the sudden gift?”

* It’s not exactly out of character for you to get the people you care about something, but this seems a little outside of your usual MO

* “I just felt like it” You mumble

* Now that his eyes are covered up you think he might attract a little less attention, and all his former flings probably won’t be able to recognize him

* Your eyes drift to his uniform, even in the gross pantsuit you can still tell he’s got a pretty nice body,

* But you’ll have to adjust

* Gojo sees right through your nonchalant answer, smiling that wolfish grin

* “Aw was my sweetie scared I was going to leave them?” He coos, moving ever so close

* You only turn away your face

* Gojo only grins wider

* “Honey~ you should know by now if it’s not you then I’m not interested” he sings in your ear

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Little did you know - Kaz Brekker/platonic! Crows x fem! reader

A/n: I don't know where this came from... It's a mess but its like- whatever I guess

Warnings: GORE, DEATH, TORTURE, questionable sanity, this could be disturbing to some people so don't say I didn't warn you!

I do not own six of crows or shadow and bone or it's characters

Summary: The Crows make a vital mistake when trying to get information not knowing that it would cost them everything...

(Gif not mine)

Her hair flows in the wind the only part of her moving the rest still as a serpent creeping up on its prey. Slowly, she starts to move forward as she spots her victims, some pretty little birdy's, just some unusually remarkable crows. If anything went right today the only thing that would be remarkable about them would be their downfall.

She almost yells out in excitement and joy when they wander right into her trap. They walk into her house - a dead merchant's house and go to loot what's left of it.

From her vantage point in the ceiling, she can see everything, from Nina's hands out ready to Matthias beside her. She sees Jesper's darting eyes and Wylan's uneasiness. Moreover, she can even see Inej Ghafa in the shadows high on alert ready to strike at any moment, just in case.

Then her eyes find Kaz and she almost kills him there and then.

He's in his normal attire and he hadn't changed his atrocious haircut either. Yet he's different still, it's the way he's holding himself. Like he feels accomplished.

And even though he has his neutral 'I'm bored' face on Y/n can see through him. She's always been able too and right now he's happy for an easy run. Not a trace of him is guilty or mourning and it's only been one week.

Now that she thinks about it there's not a trace of mourning in anyone.

Balling her hands into fits she nearly screams in agony, they thought she had died and they didn't even care. If she had any doubts before they're gone with just some simple observation.

Yet Y/n still waits and as soon as the Crows get into the trap completely she starts moving.

They had killed her loving parents who worked at a bakery, they had done nothing, nothing wrong. But now they were still six feet under, and she knew it was not just some casualties. Kaz was too precise for that.

She creeps up behind Inej and knocks her out cold before she can even cry out, Y/n catches her body before it can hit the floor and she carefully lays Inej to the said knowing she'll have to tie her up later.

Next is Jesper and Wylan.

For Jesper, she shoots him with a sleeping dart made out of a massively hard metal to control for fabricators and blinds Wylan before doing the same thing to him as well.

Taking out a bomb from Wylan's bag she sets it off. Running towards Nina and before she can use her heartrender abilities, Y/n headbutts her causing her figure to fall to the floor. Unconscious.

Matthias starts sprinting towards her but she simply grabs his shoulder and hits him on a pressure point on his neck and he's out with the rest of them.

It's funny because he taught her that manoeuvre.

"Kaz!" She yells in a shrill voice beckoning him downstairs, did he really leave his little itty bitty Crows alone? Ah, just like he did to her, what they all did to her.

The Crows and Y/n were on a mission and something went wrong, she was shot and they left her to die. She could have been easily saved but they left her and while they did that she remembers - the thing that she remembers most about that night. Kaz leaned down into her ear and said;

'Thanks for the information little snake.'

They had used her to get information, everything she had with them was fake. Everything with Kaz was fake. Every little touch, every little moment, their entire (established) relationship was fake.

"Come down Kazzy I helped you! Now you help me!" She runs up the stairs knowing that there's only one exit, the window. That was extremely high off the ground he would hopefully try to bargain with her first.

Even if he didn't Y/n had brought some rope because he would definitely break his legs at that height.

But Y/n wasn't a little snake now she was a majestic serpent that wielded the screeches of revenge in her venom.

She runs into the room with the window and there he was there in a chair in the shadows looking smug, but the serpent knew it was all just a facade - fake confidence.

Smiling at him she pulls out a second chair from a broken-down desk and places it right in front of him. 'Bang.' It's a simple sound but it echos throughout the room bouncing off the walls into the depths of madness.

"Oh Kazzy, have you come to help me?" She takes her lip in between her teeth and fake trembles.

"Have you come to save me?" Her voice is tiny and it's nothing like it used to be around him, yet he still flinches. He knows she's putting on an act but it still hurts him. And she wants to hurt him over, and over again.

"Y/n... We needed that information, lots of the Dregs' lives were on the line. There is so much more you wouldn't don't understand."

Laughing into the open she secretly pulls out a syringe from her back pocket readying it in her hand.

Instantly her voice changes from the scarce poor girl's voice to a very dark voice. Vengeance was held there and it was like burning your ears in the pits of hell listening to it. The sins and revenge sounded melodic but the torture that laid underneath was horrific.

"Really Rietveld? Did you think I would forgive so easily?"

Kaz's face morphs into surprise at hearing his real last name, Y/n jumps at the chance and she plunges the syringe deep into his neck.

"See you in hell."

___________________TIME SKIP A COUPLE OF HOURS__

All the Crows are tied up to some chairs in the secret basement of the house. The woman waits for what looks like patiently but really she's boiling with excitement.

This is going to be fun.

Finally, the last Crows wakes up and the Serpent takes out her playthings. Just a couple of knives and guns, but those were just her toys the real weapons are the emotional and mental pain she would cause everyone including herself.

"You know why you are here, don't you?" She walks around the room watching every one of The Crows' snarling faces but perhaps some of them held remorse.

Although Y/n was past their pity now. None of the damage could be undone, what's done is done. An eye for an eye.

"Nina darling, this may hurt a bit." Quicker than Jesper's sharpshooter's eye could catch she stabs Nina in the stomach as she yells out in pain Y/n twists the knife back and forth.

Matthias screams out for his lover and after what feels like an internity the serpent pulls the dagger out knowing that she'll just eventually die from blood loss.

Taking a quick look around the room she notices some of the terrified faces and how everyone is on edge. Good, just how she wants it.

"Mörd demjin," Matthias mutters under his breath and Y/n takes his throat in her hand and holds tight enough to choke him.

"Don't call me by the little nickname you gave Kazzy!" She yells furiously holding onto him tighter and tighter. His face starts to become purple and she can hear the yells and screams of the birdy's in the background.

'No! Let go! Matthias! Matthias! Let him go!'

"Any last words?" She jets out her lip before holding onto him tighter and she sees the fury of the ice in his eyes before there's nothing. His eyes roll back lifeless.

"No Matthias! Matthias!" Nina shrieks trying to desperately get out of her chair.

Rolling her eyes with a huff Y/n pulls out a gun and shoots Nina twice in the head.

"Now you're with your lover." She drawls on the word lover and turns to Inej. She didn't really want to do this but she had to cause him all the pain that she could. Even if Inej tried to stop them.

Swiftly she pulls out the knife Inej gave her and kindly kills her with a hard blow to the heart. She doesn't suffer, she just solely died, it's the only kindness the Serpent can afford to give her.

At this point, Jesper and Wylan are openly sobbing and screaming for their friends and for Y/n to please stop. But she doesn't, with blood all over her clothes she makes her path towards her next fool.

"If you were wondering why you couldn't control the bullets, Jesper." She drawls on in a monotone voice. She can see and hear Wylan screaming and it pains her but she doesn't let it show. She lets the Serpent take over or else this will never get done.

Fully becoming the Serpent Y/n places the barrel of her gun up to his heart and she just shoots, no emotion on her face whatsoever.

"A special venom of mine for Grisha. Had some fun testing it."

Going over to Wylan she quickly slits his throat not wanting the little merchling to suffer more than he already has.

She looks at Kaz blankly, he's shaking and he's beyond trying not to show any emotion. Tears are streaming down his face and he's gasping for air. Trembles roll off his body and the agony on his face pierces her hurt.

"Why?" Rietveld finally manages to rasp out. "WHY!" He screams ultimately reaching his breaking point.

"Because Kaz," She whispers in a sickeningly sweet voice lifting his chin with the tip of her pointer finger.

"Everything comes with a price." She pauses letting it sink in.

"And little did you know the price it would cost you."

And that's the story of Sankta Serpentina and Sankt Dirtyhands.

Words 1634

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Shadow and bone taglist: @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @musical-theatre-obsessed-dumbass @gallysonegoodlung @navs-bhat @sumsebien @dontjudgeabookbythecover

(if you would like to be added leave a comment!)

[oraculumx]

where. Necromanteion who. Bastien, Pythia, a Dahlia initiate notes. the prompt

The blade glinted in the dimming light as the knife had been extracted from the depths of its holster, fastened tight to the witch’s form upon every moment. Hands marred with the products of what had come so naturally to the oracle were no longer the victims of the sharpened edge, for he had found his magic within the entrails of humans and creatures alike. One such mortal, a precious initiate for one of the remaining covens within the city had been forced to the harsh ground of the stoned room, forced to remain on their knees as Bastien stood behind them. The request still whispered along the shell of his ears, to call forth the three sisters and force their hand of the vision that they could show him.

Another flash of light from the steel of the blade as it moved through the air, drawn tight against the quivering witch’s throat as the pleas resounded louder and louder within the barren room. Save for the Necronomicon, settled upon it’s stone throne, hungry for the blood that had been promised to it. Words of a spell soon mingled with the pleas and begs of the innocent one, chanted louder and louder until the magic had begun to swirl around them. The cries for mercy, for compassion were lost upon the ears of the oracle as the light caught once more before blood splattered against the grey stone of Necromanteion, and the infernal book that devoured the soul it had been offered.

The blood of the sacrificed bled into the stone beneath him, before the spell took effect and it once more rose to swirl around him. A soft smirk touched the lips of the oracle as the body of the departed was cast aside, abandoned so that he may be welcomed into the vision that beckoned him forward. That drew him into its embrace so that he may reach out for the threads spun, so that he may draw them towards him. To force the strings of the Graeae and their hands.

It felt like paradise, a holy ground that seemed to cry at his every step, as he brought himself further and further into its sanctuary. Hands lifted as fingers danced in the wind, as if he played along to the melody of cries from those that had never cast their gazes upon such evil. As if they had only known the safety of which could never be touched by something so infernal. Each step brought him further, pushed him closer to seeing what the vision would grant him, what he would rip from the hands of those that spun the threads of destiny. It was one thread in particular that his fingers danced along, as he stepped past those who had been shielded from cruelty, past the creatures of Elysium that cowered around him.

The gardens that his feet stepped through burned away, dissipated as the vision shifted, as the lands of paradise morphed into the mountain that rose up in the distance. The light that emanated from its structure cast away the shadows that should have lingered, and the oracle’s lips curved into that merciless smile that had become a familiarity to his features as he drew closer and closer. The light shifted as he approached, cast against the metal of the gates that should have kept him out, that should have barred him from the halls that darkened with his arrival.

The once gardens that had shifted into the monstrous mountain now turned themselves into hallways that morphed into clouds as he continued further and further into the vision. His hands reached out to the sides, flitted through the ice crystals that had formed into shapes, until their pristine white darkened, until only scarlet and crimson remained. A soft laugh touched his lips as the drops began to fall, as the rainfall of ichor became a blight onto the land that had boasted of peace and tranquility. It would drown the isle out in the eternal sea, and it would wash away the would-be creatures that had been blessed.

A change of hands would be upon them, spun into the threads of destiny and fate, and it would be the old order that would soon fall. A hand covered in ichor was brought to the lips of the oracle, tasted against his tongue as his gaze returned once more to the thrones of the Gods. And where once they had been filled, now they stood empty.

The whispers of the dead remained like companions against the shell of his ears as the oracle stood from where he had knelt before the Necronomicon, blood of the Gods replaced with the blood of the initiate as Bastien turned towards Pythia, towards Leviathan. The grim smile remained upon his lips as he stepped across the darkened stones until he reached her properly, “A victory has become clear to me.” And with those words, he divulged the vision that he had torn from the hands of the Graeae.

[kylorengarbagedump]

Defy Your Authority: Chapter 1

Read on AO3. Part 2 here.

Summary: You’re a Lieutenant, stationed on Orinda. You’re content with your trustworthy crew, but issues with a certain ship (spoiler alert: it’s the TIE silencer) end up trapping you on the Steadfast, instead. Your relationship with Kylo Ren isn't how you left it. How many more messes can you stand to clean?

(Yes, this is the sequel to Fix Your Attitude.)

Words: 4500

Warnings: None. Yet.

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: Umm... hi!! I don't have much to say other than I'm very excited to post this, and I really hope you enjoy it! I love you all so much. I'm genuinely lucky and grateful to have you in my life.

You weren’t ready.

Since the alert had come in that the First Order would be sending a transporter to Orinda, your hands had been jittery. There’d been no indication, no hint as to what your team should be expecting when they arrived. In the four months since you’d arrived at the fuel post, you hadn’t received a single visitor from the brass.

“Hey, Chief.” 

The voice called you as you were chest-deep in a pile of fuel-cells. Grunting, you wrenched yourself free, patting the reactor dust from your uniform. Certainly there was some in your hair, too. 

“Hey, hi Tonis, what’s up?” You tried to restrain your anxiety to the perimeter of your mind. “Can, uh, can I help you?”

Tonis, your third engineer, sighed, wrangling his hands together as he looked to the ground. “Do you know what’s going on with this transport unit arriving?” His thin lips twisted in a frown. “They’re saying that they might be shutting the post down.”

“Oh, jeez.” You shook your head, grabbing a rag from the terminal and wiping your hands. “No, no. Nothing like that. I’m sure.”

“Okay,” he said. “Good. I really, really, really don’t want to be moved. Again.”

Grimacing, you looked at your reflection in the terminal facade. “I know.”

“Orinda’s really great,” he said. “All the different ships we get to work on. And it’s so quiet. And our team is so great--”

“I know.” You mussed your hair, as if shoving dirty fingers through it would improve its appearance. Incredibly, it did not. “They’re only sending three people. I’m sure it can’t be that big of a deal.”

“But that’s the thing!” he said. “Don’t you think that a transport unit with only a few passengers must be here for something super-official?”

Your chest seized, and you cleared your throat, turning back to him. 

“Maybe.” You ignored the hot burn of your cheeks. “Guess we’ll see when they get here.” 

The terminal blipped, a familiar pattern that indicated the atmosphere had been breached. It’d been awhile since you’d felt like you had the power to summon anything of importance with a single thought. The reminder tweaked your heart. 

“Or… I guess we’ll see now.”

Tonis squealed, running through the post. “Hey! Hey guys! The First Order’s here! The First Order’s arrived!”

Sighing, you looked into the terminal again. Four months hadn’t changed your appearance too much. Not that it mattered. Or it might. But you wouldn’t worry about it. Only a little.

You steeled your nerves and walked out of the hangar into the dusty outcropping of the fuel outpost. Flat land stretched for miles in diameter from your station, a rolling pitch of blue mountains in the far distance, the wind whipping across the plains, rustling the dry grass. Shielding your eyes with a hand, you gazed up and spotted the transporter, a blooming black spot in the cloudless sky, quickening the pace of your pulse with every passing second.

It was just a transporter. He wouldn’t be on it. There was nothing to freak out about.

Tonis had gathered the rest of your massive crew--all three of them, him included--and they surrounded you, faces taut with anticipation.

“What do you think it is, Chief?” That was Mirna, your second engineer, a short, wide-set thing, with buzzed hair and a gruff voice. “You think they’re shutting the place down?”

“She already said she doesn’t think it’s that,” Tonis replied.

“Well, yeah, but then, why are they just sending three people?” said Lin, your mechanic. 

“There’s plenty of reasons they could send three people,” Tonis said, as if he hadn’t just been agonizing over that very issue just minutes ago.

Mirna snorted. “Like what?”

“An announcement,” Lin said. “Maybe they’re canvassing all First Order planets.”

You nodded, chewing your cheek. “Sure. That could be it.”

“Or maybe it’s a survey!” Tonis was almost wiggling with excitement like the little nerd he was. “Does anyone else love filling out those weird surveys?”

“No, nerfherder,” Mirna teased, grinning. “Just you.”

“Could be an escort.” Lin shrugged. “Maybe they’re here to pick someone up.”

Mirna laughed. “Oh, come on,” she said. “Who in the stars could they have an interest in on this planet?”

Blood blazed your face. “It’s a mystery.”

You hadn’t told anyone since arriving what had brought you there or why you’d come. You hadn’t told them when you’d first landed that you still had the cum of the Commander of the First Order leaking out of your cunt. You hadn’t told them that just hours before, he’d held you in his arms, brought you into his mind, and shown you--with a breathless, crushing tangibility--how utterly and completely he loved you.

You hadn’t told them, either, that in the days, weeks, months following your arrival, you hadn’t heard from him at all. 

With a dying wail, the transporter hovered and landed, spitting up a ring of dust that smacked you in the face. You sputtered, wiping your eyes, the rest of your crew apparently victims too. Frowning, you crossed your arms, brow cocked as the ramp whined and descended. Something akin to fear needled your heart in the empty space between the sound of footsteps and the emergence of two Stormtroopers stomping to the ground. 

Something that was definitely fear gripped it as those two troopers were followed by a man you’d hoped to never, ever see again.

“Engineer.” General Hux had somehow lost none of his smarmy, pink-cheeked smugness--his refusal to say your name was out of petty spite at this point. And his face was just as punchable as you remembered. “I see you are, for once, prepared for our arrival.”

“What sort of facility chief would I be if I didn’t stay on top of our arrival queues?” You hid your hands behind your back to hide their quaking. “Though I believe my rank is Lieutenant, now, sir.”

“Lieutenant,” he replied, with the same amount of disdain he’d probably afford a crying child. “I imagine it’s the lack of distraction.” He smirked. “I loathe to think of the productivity you would’ve had on the Finalizer with a similar environment.”

“Oh, as do I, sir.” You offered him a gleaming smile. “I can’t imagine a punishment worse than being in your good graces.”

“Chief,” hissed Mirna. “That’s a General of the First Order. What are you doing?”

Cursing internally, you pinched yourself, stood straighter. Your team would have no idea why you felt so comfortable mouthing off to a man who, otherwise, might’ve had you thrust into the bowels of space by now--and to be honest, you didn’t have much of an idea why at this point, either. Your presumed protection was hardly a current presence in your life. 

You shook your head, wagged out your hands. “Let me try again, sir.” Clearing your throat, you continued, “General Hux, sir. To what do I owe the honor?”

Hux smirked. “As much as I hate to interrupt, Lieutenant,” he said, continuing to let the word drip with more venom than a snake ever could, “I’m here to order you to come with me onto the Steadfast.”

“The Steadfast?” Obviously the name of a ship, but not one you were familiar with. No news bulletins had made their way to Orinda in the time you’d been stationed. “Why?”

“The Supreme Leader’s TIE fighter has ceased functioning. Every engineer we’ve brought to it has failed to diagnose the issue.” His jaw tensed in real, actual reluctance. “We were at the border of the Rim, and unfortunately, I thought of you.”

You blinked. He wanted you to work on Snoke’s TIE fighter? 

And then another question: Snoke had a TIE fighter? 

“Uh…” Frowning, you glanced around at your crew. You couldn’t stand the thought of leaving them for days on end. “How long will I be gone?”

His face betrayed nothing but pure disgust. “As long as it takes you to fix a TIE fighter.” He watched as you paused in thought. “I wasn’t offering you a choice, Lieutenant. We’re leaving now.”

With that, he turned on his heels, marching up the ramp. A long, slow breath left your lungs, and you turned to your team, scanning their faces for any reaction. To your surprise, everyone but Tonis seemed rapt in excitement, eyes wide and chins wagging in awe. 

“I had no idea you were such a big shot!” Lin grinned. The other two nodded in agreement.

Blushing, you rubbed your arm in embarrassment, looking between them. “No, no,” you said. “Nothing like that.”

“You have to tell us the story, one day.” Mirna was smirking.

“Uh… Right.” You coughed. “So, hopefully I’ll only be a day or so, max,” you said. “Mirna, you’re in charge while I’m gone.”

“You got it, Chief,” she said. “Tonis, my first order is for you to please calm down.”

He shot her a glare. “Good luck, Chief!” He offered you a salute, which was both strange and unnecessary. “We’ll be thinking of you!”

Warmth spread in your chest. “I’ll be thinking of you guys, too. Don’t make too big of a mess, okay?”

“Yes ma’am!” they replied in unison--and then broke into laughter. 

You shook your head, finding yourself laughing with them. “Okay. See you guys soon.” 

Bowing your head, you trudged up the ramp into the transporter, taking a seat far away from Hux and the two Stormtroopers. You wondered why he’d bothered to bring them to a tiny outpost like Orinda, but you supposed that self-importance and paranoia knew no bounds in the higher ranks of the First Order. 

As the door closed to the transporter, your heart wrinkled. In the past few months, despite your open ache, Orinda had become your home, your crew had become something akin to your family. You hoped the issue with the TIE fighter was something stupid, like a busted hyperdrive. They were simple to repair, but most engineers wouldn’t mess with lightspeed travel--the mechanisms were so delicate that even a simple mistake could result in splitting the ship. 

The transporter rose into the air, and in seconds, it burst into the sky. A windowless cargo meant you could only imagine the faces of your crew as you disappeared into the horizon. You sighed, watching your feet as they jostled with the jerking of the ship. You weren’t sure what the Steadfast was like, but apparently Snoke had moved his operations there. Though you still had no clue what Snoke looked like, you’d never imagined him to be the type to fly--but perhaps a Supreme Leader required multiple skillsets.

The awkward ride finished without a single word being exchanged between you and Hux, which was fine by you, and possibly finer by him. When the ramp lowered, he speared you with his gaze, waiting for the troopers to exit before standing and ordering you to follow him with only his eyes.

You tromped down the ramp into the hangar on the Steadfast--it looked almost identical to the one on the Finalizer. The ceilings stretched high, like a giant’s mouth, the magnetic shields glowing teeth at the lips of the bay. Ships buzzed above you, racing in and out of their docks, the floor crowded with soldiers and officers alike. 

The rush hit you--sure, the time on Orinda had been fantastic, engaging, rejuvenating. But it would never match the thrill of working in the presence of fleets and fleets of warships, surrounded by the heady spell of urgent, prestigious labor. You sucked it through your nose, held it in your chest, unable to stop your eyes from lingering on every busted ship they saw. In the distance, a team huddled around the smoking wing of a TIE fighter--you bit your lip to prevent yourself from racing over, from tearing it apart for them.

Another thing you weren’t able to stop looking for was any hint, any presence of the Commander--but in the bay, you didn’t even catch evidence of the Command Shuttle. It was a huge assumption to guess he’d be on the Steadfast to begin with, but part of you hoped he’d trailed his precious Supreme Leader to any place he was ordered. It figured that the one time you might have been within thinking distance, he’d managed to make himself scarce. 

Another twine in your heart snapped, joining the collection that’d been unfurling since you’d departed the Finalizer. 

Yes, he’d said he would find you. You still believed him now, even. 

But really. What was taking him so damn long?

Hux led you to a wide dock toward the very front of the hangar. The crews you spotted along the way seemed detached, working without words, communicating with gestures and mirthless expressions. Tonis’ silly salute would never happen here. You frowned. The lack of thrill was worth your autonomy.

“Lieutenant.”

A snap of your head, and you blinked. You were in front of your charge. 

This TIE fighter was unlike one you’d ever seen. Instead of the flat panel wings, this one bore talons, sharp knives capable of cutting space and possibly any ship in its way. Red-paned transparisteel formed the cockpit into a muzzle, imitating an animal instead of a sphere. And it wasn’t a ball suspended on plates, but was rather tucked tight into the body of the ship, creating a seamless, dynamic transition that to you, seemed so new, so modern. It was almost--sexy? 

You looked to Hux. “Are you sure this is the one that isn’t working?” Lips parted in awe, you stepped up to it, placing a hand on the solar array. “It’s gorgeous.”

“The Supreme Leader has been unable to fly it for cycles, now,” said Hux. “I’m sure.”

“All right.” You rolled your eyes. “Got it.” 

What you needed was a post-flight report. You strode over to the nearest terminal and entered your credentials--thankfully, as a Lieutenant now, they were universal to the entire First Order system. Only one ship was logged underneath the access: TIE/vn space superiority fighter: SILENCER.

“TIE silencer?” you mumbled. “Where do they come up with these names?”

You investigated the reports in the past several cycles that detailed the attempts by engineers to get the thing working: thrusters aligned, check. Solar lines flushed, check. Refuel port cleansed, check. Heat calibration reset and replaced, check. 

And yet with each new repair--engine test: fail. 

Engine test: fail. 

Engine test: fail, fail, fail. 

Screwing your lips in thought, you landed on the post-flight report, hoping it would provide you with insight. If he knew what was good for him, Supreme Leader Snoke would be thorough.

You opened the report, and paragraphs of information flooded the screen. Your jaw dropped. Every single system had been left with a meticulously in-depth account of its status before, during, and after flight. The level of specificity contained within each sentence astounded you. It was almost unbelievable that a single person could remember this much, let alone regurgitate it with any level of accuracy. You groaned, lost in Basic.

Hux cleared his throat. “How long do you anticipate this taking, Lieutenant?” 

“As long as I--...” You stopped yourself with a grumble. It would be much easier to hear it from the tauntaun’s mouth, instead of pouring over and cross-checking every single detail. “I’m not sure, General. Is there any way I could speak with the Supreme Leader?” 

A strange, smug look passed over his face. “Certainly,” he replied. “I’ll take you.”

You blinked. That was easy. Almost too easy. “Uh… okay.”

Hux turned on his heel, clipped stride cutting through the hangar. You hadn’t been prepared to meet the Supreme Leader when you woke up this morning, but you supposed anything was possible when working for the First Order. Swallowing, you shut down the terminal, and followed him into the halls.

Returning to a Star Destroyer, in a way, felt like home--the glossy black tile passed like a familiar path beneath your feet, and you spared fleeting glances to the Stormtroopers who passed you. The halls of the Steadfast maintained their similarity to everything else on the Finalizer--though that did nothing to assuage your anxiety about the memories you’d had on that ship. Or who may or may not be on this one. 

“Do you work on the Steadfast, now, sir?” 

Hux was silent for a moment, gaze trained forward. “Yes. The Finalizer was decommissioned.”

“Wait, really?” Your heart thumped. The only datapad message you’d received from your friends had come in the first few weeks after your departure. You just assumed they’d been busy. “What happened?”

“A Resistance attack left it crippled,” he replied. “Leadership and surviving crew were transferred to the Steadfast.”

Terror seized you, your pace quickened. “Sur-surviving crew?” you asked. “Sir?” More silence. You stumbled to catch up with him, fighting the tremor in your voice. “Sir--”

“Engineers Foster and Loren were transferred to this vessel unharmed, Lieutenant.” He leered at you. “Satisfied?”

You heaved a massive sigh, hands falling to your knees. They were here. You’d have to catch up with them, soon. 

“Yes, sir, thank you--” 

By the time you’d finished, he’d already managed to make it what seemed to be fifty paces ahead of you, and you scrambled to keep up with him. 

As you did, a grey-haired man emerged from the corner in front of you both, and Hux stiffened, cursing under his breath. Raising a brow, you tried to meet this man’s gaze, only to bump into the general, who’d stopped, limbs pinned to his sides.

“Shit!” Your face burned, and you jumped back, snapping to attention. “I mean, uh, sorry, General, sir.”

The look Hux offered you was similar to one a parent might offer a simpering child. Right before they murdered that child in a fit of blind rage.

“General Hux,” said the grey-haired man. “Just the one I was looking for.” 

“Allegiant General Pryde.” Hux’s chin jutted to the ceiling. 

The Allegiant General Pryde turned his attention to you, glimpsing your uniform before meeting your eyes. “I’m afraid we’re not acquainted, Lieutenant…”

You gave your name. “Sir.” Clearing your throat, you continued, “I’m Chief of Operations on Orinda.”

“Ah.” His gaze lingered on the fuel cell filth smattering your chest. “Of course.” Something within his eyes categorized you in league with rodents--and something else within them told you he crushed rodents for sport. “Interesting.” His attention whipped back to Hux. “General. Regarding the Council meeting…”

“I plan to present the Supreme Leader with my plan, sir.”

“I know you do,” Pryde replied, “but you failed to run it by me.”

Hux’s jaw tensed. You wished you were anywhere other than this extremely awkward hallway meeting that had absolutely nothing to do with you.

“Forgive me, Allegiant General,” Hux said, “but I didn’t think a basic unit efficiency research required your approval.”

“Everything requires my approval, General,” he said. “Lest we forget the errors of Starkiller Base.”

That was a low blow. You gulped. They both looked at you, and you cleared your throat again, throwing your hands behind your back. The energy radiating from Hux could be classified as skin-scorching. 

“Of course.” Hux’s tone grew tighter with each word that left his lips. “I’ll remember that next time, sir.”

“Good.” Pryde glanced between you. “What brings a facility chief from her station all the way to the Steadfast?”

“The Supreme Leader’s TIE fighter, sir,” Hux replied, still staring into the air. “She may be the only engineer capable of repairing it.”

The Allegiant General frowned. “Really. How many resources did you expend picking up a single person from a remote outpost?” he asked. “Do you not consider this to be something I should know?”

“It was a brief excursion,” he said. “I took two Stormtroopers and a single transport unit.”

“Was that unit’s excursion approved?” He circled Hux, a silvered predator, sizing up his prey. For once, you almost felt bad for the ginger bastard. “What if Resistance staged an attack while you were gone? If we needed that unit for more than a handful of bodies?”

Hux’s lips pursed, chin dimpling with tension. “I don’t know, sir.”

“And how do you think the Supreme Leader will feel knowing you acted without approval, all to retrieve a single engineer?”

Silence drifted like fog over the three of you, thickening as this grey-haired power-laden dickhead glared at General Hux. But Hux’s back had aligned, parallel to the wall, every flicker of frustration fled from his frame. The tiniest hint of a smirk curled at his mouth.

“I think he’ll be just fine with it. Sir.” Hux’s brow quirked. “We’re on our way to speak with him now, if you’d like to accompany.”

Pryde grinned, a serpent’s twist to his smile. “Your confidence has failed you in the past, General,” he replied. “Lead the way.”

You trailed behind the Allegiant General and Hux, fingers starting to quake. Now, you’d not only be meeting the Supreme Leader still smothered in space dust, you’d be meeting him accompanied by the two biggest assholes in the First Order--second only to one other, perhaps. 

Unfortunately, that particular asshole was a ghost to this ship, and there wasn’t anyone in particular you felt comfortable asking about him. If Hux had been superceded by this new jerk, the last thing you wanted was another opportunity for someone with rank greater than your own to question you about your personal relationships. 

Dread pooled in your belly. Supreme Leader Snoke did know about your personal relationship with the Commander. In fact, Snoke had been the one to insist you be his conduit, among other insulting things. You imagined him bringing it up: Ah, yes, the engineer, the distraction… and how have you been, without his cock inside of you?

You shook your head. No, it didn’t make sense for him to bring up his apprentice’s dick at your first meeting. Or any meeting, for that matter. You hoped.

The two men led you through the rest of the journey in silence, animosity prickling like durasteel barbs in the air between them. At least your own team didn’t regard you with vibrodaggers behind their backs--as far as you knew, anyway--and the realization, against the backdrop of your current situation, had you aching to leave. The discussion with the Supreme Leader would be swift and succinct; you’d get the information you needed, diagnose the problem, and be on your way back to Orinda. 

In front of you, a massive turbolift sang its arrival, blast door whirring open. You followed the two men inside, heart tingling. Maybe part of you had been hoping that your long-awaited reunion would have occurred during your time aboard--as you thought it, you tried to stymie the resentment that you’d waited this long at all. The rational part of your mind reasoned that he was a busy man, that lack of contact didn’t indicate lack of thought. 

But every other part of your mind was staving off bubbling despair. Four months had felt like four years, and you’d only grown more desperate, more anxious for his embrace--then furious that he didn’t appear to return the sentiment. 

You knew how he felt. So it didn’t make sense, then, why he hadn’t acted on it for even a single, solitary night in the past sixteen weeks.  

When the blast door opened, you crossed the threshold into an obsidian sanctuary. The floor gleamed, a black lake of glass sweeping into high ebony ceilings that twinkled with artificial stars. The only other illumination came from two enormous spheres that hung, suspended in air at opposite ends of the room, their surfaces a swirl of white-grey light, imitation suns with colorless coronas. At the far end of the room was a hovering stone throne, six dark figures crowding it in a crescent. 

Your heart stammered--you’d seen them before. In memories that hadn’t belonged to you. All of them were outfitted in clothing that seemed familiar, helmets that hid their identities, and each of them possessed a weapon meant explicitly for assassination. The only conclusion you could draw was that they were the Supreme Leader’s bodyguards. 

Whoever they were, to you, they were ominous.

The two men in front of you strode forward, and you followed, catching your reflection whispering by your shoes: your hair was mussed with evidence of engine exhaust, your uniform still glowing with smears of ionization. Internally, you cursed yourself. Yeah, this was exactly how you’d wanted to look when meeting the Supreme Leader of the First Order--like complete shit. Stomach sinking, you sidled behind them as they stood at attention. 

“Supreme Leader,” they said simultaneously.

As if on command, the wall of shadowed soldiers parted to reveal the throne. 

But no one was there.

You blinked. “Oh.” 

Hux’s head swiveled between the strangers in front of you. “Where is he?” He turned to Pryde. “These are his receiving hours--”

“Yes,” replied the Allegiant Asshole. “But perhaps he’s departed early for the Supreme Council meeting. We’d be better off--”

The turbolift doors wailed behind you, and like synchronized chronometers, you, Hux, and Pryde spun to meet the new arrival. 

Your brain went blank.

Kylo Ren crossed the shimmering sable floor in a confident stride, his robes replaced now with padded armor that clung to the contours of his powerful, thick chest, his broad shoulders covered with a hooded cape. His fists, still bound in leather, flexed at his sides--and his face... 

More beautiful, more arresting than you could have conjured in any memory, his lips still pink and plush, his nose still a long line, his hair still rolling in waves, like black silk-velvet at his shoulders. You met his eyes as he advanced, finding them guarded, resurrecting every fear and insecurity, tempering them with hidden warmth. 

“Generals.”

The voice was lightning through your limbs, its owner a perfect match to the soft baritone you’d replayed in your dreams for the past one hundred and fifty two days. All of your systems leapt to life at once: brain spinning, heart soaring, adrenaline coursing. Sweat soaked your neck, your figure thrust whole into a furnace.

“Sir!” Both bowed their heads.

Gazing at him, then, you realized what was happening. This was his throne. You were working on his TIE fighter. Kylo Ren, your lover, your obsession, your galaxy was now the de-facto leader of the actual galaxy. You weren’t in love with the First Order’s Commander, anymore. 

You were in love with its Supreme Leader. 

Shock anchored your mouth open. Your eyes welled with latent tears. You grinned in disbelief.

“Dude!” You laughed. “What the fuck!”