#liamweek2025d6

[theseinfernalangels]

The Haunting Ordeal of Rosarie Fuentes — Liam Mairi

Synopsis: Today is the anniversary of the day Rosarie Fuentes’ parents were killed in action by General Melgren. When the past comes back to haunt her, she finds solace in an unexpected visitor.

Includes: New OC, some made up spiritual stuff and places because we don’t know many regions in Navarre, angst, the role model/big brother Liam we didn’t get to see for Day 6 of Liam Week 🥹 

November 13th. Generally, I try to avoid people on this day due to its significance, which means that I have not been to any of my classes today. I told one of my squadmates that I’m sick, but I’m not quite sure he —or anyone else, for that matter — believed me.

Everyone knows what happened today. Even if I went out, they’d avoid me either out of hatred or for fear of me tearing them all apart.

“I still do not see how this benefits you.” Taibh’s quiet, husky voice echoes through my mind like an aching lullaby. “Does isolation not make your pain worse?”

“No,” I huff, lowering my head back into my history textbook, right on the page of a fierce Tyrrish queen. “One of two things would happen if I saw people today. They’d either pity me or taunt me, and I don’t need any of that.”  

“Fools,” the dragon growls, shooting waves of frustration down our bond. “A rider like you does not need pity.”

I unconsciously nod my head in agreement. I am Rosarie Fuentes, daughter of Isidor and Gwenael Fuentes. They are Tyrrish legends. Their names alone mean that people should respect me…But they don’t, because their names are those of fallen traitors now. 

Traitors? Please. The real traitors are the ones who decided that the Apostasy was something worth killing people for instead of something to be celebrated. 

I stare down at the textbook before I flip it shut, resisting the urge to put a knife through it. Through anything, really — it would take the edge off quick, but if I started with that, I don’t know how I could stop. And, with the way my aim has been lately, I’d probably break a window. I can’t be a traitor and commit property damage. 

I end up just pacing back and forth in my bedroom, angrily muttering to myself with quiet commentary from Taibh. Despite it being — what, seven years? — since my parents fell in battle together, I still get overemotional about it all. Not like when it originally happened, but it’s enough to be unsettling to anyone who sees, because I don’t get emotional. Ever. It’s odd, to me, because it’s not like I don’t spend every other moment of my time thinking about them. I should be over it by now…But I guess I’m too weak for that.

“It does not make you weak to grieve,” Taibh interjects. He’s silent for another moment before he continues, “Would you like to know something about me, Little Thorn?”

“Sure,” I reply. “Shoot.”

“Two decades or so ago, I lost my dearest brother against a drift of gryphons.”

I pause. Taibh has — had — a brother? It strikes me that I’ve never thought about Taibh as anything more than my dragon — half of my soul, ready for action. It certainly never occurred to me that he has a family, too…Probably because I never shut up about losing mine.

“Oh,” I manage, feeling a bit guilty. “I’m sorry, Taibh. I didn’t know.”

“No,” he amends. “You’re alright. What I am trying to say is that grief does not leave just because time has passed. You are allowed to be upset about your family just as I am mine. I think about Titeciúnaigh every day. Does it not irritate you?”

Ah. So that’s the wave of sadness I feel from him every time he lets his shields down a little too much — cold, aching sorrow that chills me from the bones outward. It comes and goes, but it’s easily distinguishable from my own, which is burning, venomous, and all-consuming.

“No,” I reply. “Of course not. I hardly even notice it sometimes. When I do, it’s mostly physically uncomfortable.”

“Precisely.” The dragon snorts. “And it does not bother me or anyone else that you miss your parents. No more apologies.”

It’s nothing short of an order, so I concede and resume my pacing. Despite my exhaustion, that sinking feeling in my chest doesn’t cease once. Perhaps it’s the rawness of the day, or maybe it’s because I always have this feeling that something is going terribly wrong. Or, it could be that no one has deigned to ask how I am today — but that’s my own fault for locking my door and not speaking to anyone. I’m not very up for a conversation, but the fact that no one has even tried to talk to me kind of…stings?

That makes no sense. I can’t expect anyone to communicate when the only thing I’ve conveyed to my squad is that I want to be left alone. I’m too used to being in Antara with my foster siblings, who took care of me a little too well whenever the sadness became too much to bear. I’ve hardly even tried to forge that kind of relationship with anyone here, besides Taibh. — not even with the other Tyrs my age, which I would probably benefit from considering our circumstances right now. But I don’t need help like them. I can already fight and hold my own just fine. It’s not fair to ask anything of them when I haven’t given anything myself.

 My steps falter a little as I near the window by my bed, the setting sun casting arcs of red and orange through the Moranian sky. My nails scratch at the stone wall absentmindedly. Is this what they saw as they fell, my parents? Free-falling from the backs of their slaughtered dragons, tumbling through the air together whilst Navarrian soldiers watched with glee? The thought makes me so sick to my stomach that I have to grip the wall, hard, to force the rising bile in my throat back down. I take in a shaky breath and slowly lower myself to the ground, just like the Earl of Antara taught me, and tuck my head between my knees.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Hold. Try not to choke. Out.

“Easy, now,” Taibh soothes. “You are okay, Little Thorn. Keep breathing.” A well-meaning surge of warmth floods the bond, but it doesn’t do much to quell this feeling of nausea that continues to eat at me.

“Fuck,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this, Taibh. You need a rider who can actually keep her shit together and not get triggered because of something as small as a sunset.”

“Why do you question my choice in a rider?” He asks, his tone growing firm but keeping that softness to it, quite uncharacteristic for a Red. “I chose you for a reason, you know. Your reaction to traumatic events have nothing to do with it.”

“It’s just—“ I take deep breath in and feel my jaw clench, ignoring that familiar sting in my waterline. “I feel so alone now. Mom is gone. Dad is gone. They executed Charlotte. None of my foster siblings are here. I’m…Dammit.” A stray tear streaks down my cheekbone. “I’ve lost everyone that’s ever been important to me. Lonely doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

I pause for a moment, my breaths shaky and uneven. “And maybe that’s stupid, because I don’t make much effort to train with anyone else who’s marked, but I can’t just make myself get close to someone again. Everyone I care about leaves me, and I have to pick up the pieces every. Single. Time. It’s not fair.”

Taibh is silent for a moment, and for those few seconds, I have the agonizing thought that he thinks my feelings are pathetic and decided to leave. When I hear his voice pick up, though, my heart leaps in relief.

“Well,” the dragon starts, going slowly like he doesn’t quite know what to say. “There is one thing for certain: You are most certainly not alone, as long as you have me. Which is forever, by the way. Even if the world around us turns to rubble, you and I will not be separated.”

I nod along with the sentiment, but I don’t have the heart to say what I’m actually thinking: It’s not the same. Sure, Taibh and me have that ruby red bond between us, glowing and ethereal and strange, but that’s not the same as a friend or a sibling. I miss sneaking around at midnight to climb onto my parents’ roof. I miss going swimming in that stupid little creek that has ice-cold water in my backyard. I miss praying to Dunne for extra power to my parents when they went out on mission.

Dammit, I miss my sister.

Slowly, I feel Taibh creep out of my mind, his meaning unspoken but clear — he’s giving me some privacy to sort things out. I silently thank him and bury my head in my tingling arms, letting my sorrow wash over me in continuous, ferocious waves. That sinking feeling becomes bottomless, dragging me into the depths of my pain with nothing to anchor me to the surface. It’s killing me, I realize — this isolation I’ve set myself into. What I thought would protect me is the thing that weighs me down further, and I’m not sure how much of it I can take any longer.

It surges through me, this feeling, flooding my veins and screaming a single word: Alone, alone, alone. I’ve never thought about it so intensely, but at Basgiath, where people try their best to kill people like me for some form of sick closure, I am truly, utterly lonely. I like my solitude, but not…whatever this is. 

Charlotte would know what to do; she made it through the quadrant with flying colors. She was one of the most ferocious riders, even when they had her on her knees and lit ablaze. She didn’t scream, didn’t cry — she didn’t even make a noise. How does one even do that?

I need her. I need advice. I need someone to talk to, someone who actually knows what the fuck they’re doing in this godsforsaken place. I can’t cry in my room until my fingers flood with pins and needles forever. That won’t fix shit in the end — and to assume that it will would be like reading my own name off the death roll.

“Shut the fuck up,” I scold myself softly. “Get ahold of yourself. Crying won’t bring them back, and it won’t fix you.”

“No, but you have to admit it’s quite therapeutic,” a voice says, soft but sure in tone.

…Huh?

 I frown and glance at the Taibh’s and I’s bond — still there, obviously, but the light doesn’t pulse the way it normally does when either of us speak.

What the fuck? “Taibh?”

“I never liked to cry much in front of others, either,” it continues, “but you have to let it all out eventually, or you’ll go fucking crazy.”

That voice…It’s not inside my brain. That’s not Taibh. My head raises, but there’s no one here with me—

Until my eyes catch icy blue ones, and my heart stops.

“Shit!” I yelp, palming a dagger and hurling it at the source of the voice while I fling myself to my feet, ready to draw blood. I know my blade lands true, right where it should sink into the invader’s chest, but instead of flesh, I hear it stick in the wood of my bed frame with a dull thunk.

 I whip my head around and stare at the boy who should be dead, who in turn stares at my bed looking almost…impressed. “Awesome aim,” he compliments, turning to me, “but  that’s not going to help you here, I’m afraid.”

I’m hallucinating. I must be. No one could have gotten in here without me or Taibh noticing, and this guy is barely even visible. His form, tall and broad and leather-clad, flickers slightly at the edges, as if he was suspended in a dying candlelight — except for the outline of his left arm, which looks more solid than the rest of him. The blade went through him, so he’s not real. Easy. Factual. Done. I’m hallucinating because of my grief, and I should probably get some sleep before I go even madder.

Noticing my disbelief, he just smiles gently. “I’ve been waiting for someone to see me,” he murmurs, taking in my tense stance. “I guess you’re the lucky one of the bunch, huh?”

“Not real,” I say under my breath, digging my nails into my palms, which feel strangely heavy. “Hallucination. Calm down, Fuentes. Calm the fuck down.”

His eyes, so blue that they could practically be a piece of the sky, soften a little. “Hey.” He takes a step closer and then pauses when my hand flies to my hip for a second dagger. “Breathe. You can’t hurt me, and I won’t hurt you. That’s not why I’m here.”

He tilts his head to study me, a not-quite-there blond curl falling in his eyes. “You must think I’m some sort of illusion, right?” He says, slightly teasing. “Because I can promise you that I’m not.”

Exactly what a hallucination would say. Maybe I should finally go outside and dunk my face in some ice water.

My lack of a reply doesn’t go unnoticed. His bright smile turns a bit melancholy at the edges. “You’re the one who summoned me here, you know. You said you needed to talk to someone. I heard you.”

Nope. Fucking nope. I reach out and tug hard on the bond. “Taibh?” I think desperately. “Please help me. I think I’m going insane.”

A wave of soothing calm washes over me from the opposite edge of the red string, but what Taibh says makes my heart rate pick up right where it left off.

“You are not insane, Little Thorn,” he says, his voice laced with…pride? “You’ve finally manifested your signet, I see.”

“Manifested myself seeing things? That’s kind of a shitty power.”

“No,” he replies, ever patient. “You’re not seeing things. You, my chosen, have been blessed by Malek. You are a medium.”

“Fucking what?” I can’t stop the words from leaving me. “What do you mean, a medium?”

The boy brightens a little, his eyes sharpening in understanding. “Ah.” He nods. “So that’show you can see me.”

A medium? Those are only scammers who pretend that they can contact your dead family for the price of fifty krown. Unless…

“Oh.” 

I glance back over at the boy. The way he just showed up in here out of nowhere, combined with the fact that he’s present but visually not quite here…

“Are you…”

“Dead?” He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck. “Yes.”

Assuming I’m not losing my mind here, I’m speaking to a dead person. Who’s in turn speaking to me. I think I need to sit down, or my brain might go into overload.

“Okay.” I breathe in, deep and slow, and then exhale. “Okay. I think…okay. I — uh...” I start fiddling with my fingers awkwardly. “Sorry? For trying to stab you?”

He shakes his head. “No worries. I would’ve done it, too. I’m sorry for just popping in like that. I guess I’ve been a bit…” He cringes a little. “Antsy, waiting  for so long for someone to talk to me.”

I sweep my gaze over him until my mouth dips into a frown. “But…I thought the dead went to Malek’s realm after they passed. Please don’t make me have a religious crisis and tell me that’s not true.”

The boy barks out a laugh. “No. As I understand it, not all of my things were burned in reverence. So, until they are, I’m kind of stuck here.”

He winces. “I’m not sure how much I can say. Being dead has rules, and I don’t want to damn myself by accidentally spilling things.”

Being dead has rules? I’d call bullshit, but it makes a little sense, I guess. You’re the closest to Malek you’ll ever get, which means He has more control over your fate. I don’t even know this boy, but I don’t want him to be in trouble with the god of death, either. He looks nice enough, anyway.

I settle myself on my bed and allow my fingers to start twisting at my sheets in an attempt to calm myself. “Is it against the rules to ask for your name?”

He drops to sit on my bed, too — but instead of a plop, he just kind of…hovers. “It’s not. My name is Liam. Liam Mairi.”

I straighten instantly. That surname…I’m all too familiar with that one. “Mairi? Was your mother—“

“The colonel, yes,” he finishes. 

I feel a foolish little twinge of excitement rise through me, one of the first in years, excluding Threshing. “We’ve met before, I think. Rosarie Fuentes. Our parents fought together on the front lines.”

He blinks, his expression going far away. “Fuentes, huh?” He looks away in thought before blinking. “We have. You and my sister tried to climb the side of your house once, but she got too scared to come down by herself and made me climb up with her.” His gaze turns wistful at the memory. I feel a bit guilty again; for the five months we’ve been here, I haven’t even tried to find Sloane to talk to her. I don’t think we’re even in the same wing — and I certainly didn’t know that her brother died. He’s  not much older than us, just by a  year or two.

What happened last year?

“My mother never did quite get over your parents’ passings,” he murmurs. “She talked about your mom a lot. I miss my Gwen, she’d say. Gwen needs to get out of Malek’s realm so she can taste this wine.” 

He stops speaking abruptly and cocks his head to the side, the blue of his irises flaring in understanding. “Is it November 13th?”

My excitement dies, and by the way his eyes soften, I can tell my face probably has fallen. “It is.”

Liam’s hand moves to lay on mine, but it passes right through, although I do note that my skin becomes a little chilly under his touch. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “That must be why you’ve locked yourself away in here, right?”

I swallow. “Yes. I don’t like to be around people on this day. Especially not here.”

“I get it.” He sighs and glances out the window. “On Reunification Day, I made the bright decision to go to the celebration with my friend. To say I was popular is an overstatement.”

Reunification Day — the day everyone else’s parents were killed, and my sister. Great, now I have two days where I need to avoid people. 

“Why did you go?” I ask. “Is it mandatory?”

“Oh, no,” he reassures me. “I was the only marked kid to go. I was watching out for my friend. Her brother died that day, too, and no one likes to be alone on death anniversaries.”

He stops as if catching himself and then raises an eyebrow. “Except for you,” he comments. “Why is that?”

I shrug. “It’s easier. I’m alone most of the time, anyway, so it’s not like it bothers me.” …Bothers me much, anyway. I leave that part unspoken, but as if sensing the words, Liam plucks them straight from my mouth.

“Sure,” he replies, unconvinced. “But you aren’t alone, you know? You have your dragon, firstly, but then you have your fellow Tyrs to look out for you.” He squints. “Unless you haven’t done that.”

I lower my eyes, trying not to squirm in embarrassment under his ghostly gaze. “…Not really,” I admit. “The others in my wing have made it clear they don’t like me.”

“And my sister?” He asks. “You know her.”  

“I haven’t seen much of her,” I try to deflect. “I only saw her after the Parapet, and that’s because she threw a fit about being sorted into a squad with General Sorrengail’s daughter.”

Liam goes quiet, and when I look up, his face is screwed up in a face that I can only imagine is one of either disappointment or resignation.

“Oh,” is all that leaves his mouth. “I see.”

To be fair, you can’t really blame her. I’d be pretty pissed off, too, if I had to share a squad with the daughter of the person who killed my parents and sister. Lucky for me, General Melgren has no children, so I never have to worry about that. 

“So you’ve just been…avoiding your allies?” He asks, raising a stern blond brow.

I try not to flinch at the accusation. “No! I don’t avoid people. That’s a pussy move.”

“Then you should go talk to them,” he encourages. “They’re easy to find. My sister. Bodhi Durran. Imogen Cardulo. They’re the only way I was able to get through last year with my head on straight.”

I stuff my frustration into a little mental box and shove it deep down. “I’m fine” I say through a deep breath. “The others need more help, anyway. Have you seen them fight?”

“Yes,” he replies. “And you can help them learn. That’s how I had it last year. Some of my year-mates, Dunne love them, were absolute shit at sparring. I helped train them since I was pretty decent.”

Pretty decent sounds like the understatement of a century. The way Liam is built, obviously for combat, screams that he wasn’t just good — he was the best.

The way he looks at me, full of expectation that warrants responsibility, has me fidgeting a little with the hilt of another dagger. “There are only two other Tyrs in my wing, and they don’t like me. Said I got off easier since my sister was the only one at the executions.”

His eyes darken. “Bullshit.”

I just shrug. “I can’t help what they think of me. They don’t want me around, so I don’t bother.”

“What about the others, then?” He asks. “They’re not in your wing, but I’m sure they’d be glad to have you.”

My gaze drops to the floor. Honestly, I’m not quite sure how the dynamic is supposed to play out, and that scares me. I’m not a leader, but I’m not a subordinate either; I’m a free-faller, just like my parents. I have no place in the fucked up little family of separatists at Basgiath.

Alone, my veins sing. Alone, alone, alone.

As if in response, Liam’s form turns completely opaque for half of a second before he starts to flicker again. He sighs and looks back at me. Even though he’s not there, not really, I can still feel his eyes trace over me carefully. Maybe it’s because he’s dead, but the air around me feels colder than usual. 

“I guess that’s why you summoned me,” he mutters. “The magic knew what you needed, and delivered.”

Immediately, I feel bad for accidentally bringing him here when he should be…Well, I don’t know what dead people do, but I can’t imagine they want to spend their afterlife with First-Year cadets who have avoidance issues.

“I mean, if you want to go,” I tell him hesitantly, “then go ahead. I didn’t mean to bring you into my bullshit. I just got too emotional.”

As if on cue, his face goes from musing to soft. “No. I’m here for a reason. I know we didn’t know each other well in life, but I don’t leave when someone clearly needs me.”

I swallow back the words that automatically rise in my throat: I don’t need you. Because, really, while my pride screams at me to figure out how this signet works and kick him out, I know that deep down, my power knew I need someone like Liam right now. Magic knows, according to Taibh, and I don’t think it’s the best idea to try and defy it.

When I don’t reply right away, Liam shifts a little closer to me. “Listen,” he begins, his mouth twisting as he searches for words to say. “I don’t get to tell you how you go through the motions here. Your journey is up to you, and you alone. What I do get to do is give you some advice, as someone who’s been in your shoes. Is that alright?”

No, actually. I hate unsolicited advice, especially when it comes to how I conduct myself. Surprisingly, though, I find myself more willing to listen than I’m used to. Maybe it’s the quiet sureness of his voice that reminds me of my big sister, or because he deigned to ask first, or the fact that something about him feels…safe; before I can really think about it, I nod.

“I know what it’s like to be alone,” he murmurs. “It sucks. Don’t pretend it doesn’t, because I don’t like being lied to. It’s okay to like being by yourself, but being lonely is the worst burden to bear in a place like this.”

It is, I want to say. It really is. To go from a loving family to a cold foster home to an actual death trap, leaving no room for other relationships besides the ones forged under fire, has killed a good portion of myself for good. I’m not even sure if I’m that good of a person anymore — any hope of that died the minute I stabbed that boy on the Parapet.

“So,” Liam continues, “here’s what I’ll say. I strongly, very strongly, recommend that you talk to at least one other marked kid, because then you’ll have at least one friend.” His lips quirk into a wry smile. “Well, one living friend.”

I don’t comment on his choice of words; obviously, he means that he’s my ally ��� as much as he can be, being a spirit. But to go to someone now? After Threshing, when dynamics have changed and people are already distrustful as is? I’m more likely to go back to Aretia.

Instead, I just slouch a little, more defeated than anything else. “I don’t think I can. It would look kind of pathetic for me to go begging to talk to someone so late in the year. Allyships have already been formed, and it’s pretty damn clear that I’m not welcome.”

“It’s not pathetic,” he insists. “I didn’t meet my friend Violet until a little after Threshing, and she came to be one of the greatest people I ever knew. And just because a few people have some shitty opinions, doesn’t mean that they reflect that of the entire group.”

He turns to me fully, locking eyes with me with a gentle intensity that practically burns right through me. “Again, I can’t control what you do. Hell, you just manifested and are talking to a guy that died five months ago. But think about it, alright? I can promise you that the effort will be worth it, in the end.”

Will it? I don’t know. I barely know if I can trust him — but, at the same time, something about Liam Mairi screams that he’s a man of his word no matter whether he’s solid flesh or a flickering projection. The energy practically calls to me, catching on to an instinct that I barely registered before — Liam is safe. He knows what he’s talking about. I don’t know him, and I don’t trust easily, but something inside is telling me that he is good, and I would be wise to listen.

That, or maybe it’s because he sounds a lot like Charlotte right now.

I hesitate, and then my voice returns to me, but quite a bit smaller than I’d like. “I know this is completely unfair, but can I ask something of you?”

“Of course,” he replies automatically. “Talk to me.”

I take in a deep, shaky breath. “I…I know we, like, just met. Honestly, I’m still trying to figure out if I’m hallucinating or not.” My hands start drumming rapid lines on my thighs. “I don’t think I can do what you’re asking of me. Not alone, at least.” My request is implicit, enough to be clear of what I want without damaging my pride too badly in the process.

Liam catches on almost right away. “I’ll be there,” he vows. “I can’t do much to protect my sisters or my friends, but I can help you, Rosarie. You deserve that much.”

His head inclines. “Where do you want to start?”

I swallow, feeling my palms start to sweat with nerves. “Baby steps.”

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.

The steps I take to the commons are slow, methodical. They don’t need to be — I’ve thought out what I’m going to say for at least three days now, and with Liam’s gentle encouragement, I know I’ll be fine.

But the prospect of allowing someone in after so long is overwhelming. I don’t like this feeling, not one bit. But I’m not a child anymore. I cannot let my paranoia get in the way of making connections that ensure my survival, not when there is a fuck ton of people praying for my downfall.

The light of the room is dim, slightly dappled from old raindrops scattered in the window. It casts rays of light on me, warm and comforting, and beautiful shadows on to the person I’ve been trying to track down these past few days, coming around through word of mouth and some investigating on Liam’s part.

I stop before I shake my anxiety and take a step in.

Liam is already there, of course, leaning against the opposite wall with his arms and ankles crossed. Being a spirit, he’s not exactly bound to the laws of nature like us — which makes him unfairly fast when it comes to travelling. I’ve gotten used to it already. No more attempted stabbings on my end.

I stare at him. He watches me. Then, slowly, he dips his head, gesturing ahead of me. He doesn’t even need to speak for me to hear what he’s clearly trying to convey.

You’re already here now, so go for it. I won’t leave.

I nod and squeeze my hand until

my heart stops pounding. I inch little closer, and then a little more, and then a little more.

My teeth dig into my lip, but I clear my throat. “Is this seat taken?”

The girl in front of me startles a little, her hand automatically flying to her hip like mine did with Liam, but she pauses at the very last moment, right before she can put a blade through my head.

Her narrowed, sky blue eyes go wide. “Rosarie?”

Despite myself, I feel a long-coming smile start to spread across my face while Liam just watches us with a bittersweet grin.

I tilt my chin. “Hi, Sloane.”

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[empyreanevents]

Moodboard by @erose806

On The Subject Of Shovels by @myhouse-mychair-myfics

The Haunting Ordeal of Rosarie Fuentes by @theseinfernalangels

Headcanons by @garricks4thwingqueen

Brother by @hamsterboos

[empyreanevents]

Liam, who Xaden Riorson - scariest motherfucker in town - had ordered to be Violet’s bodyguard. Fuck.” LMAOOO

On the Subject of Shovels

@empyreanevents Liam Week Day 6: Brother

Brother!Liam Mairi x Sister!Reader

Ridoc Gamlyn x Reader

You were obviously in love, and it was driving your twin brother crazy.

Liam had been trying to figure out who it was for the past two weeks but you refused to even acknowledge that anything was different about you.

Sighing, doodling hearts in the margins of your Battle Brief notes, the whole shebang. It wasn’t like you.

But you were happy, something that had evaded you two and your little sister for a long while. It wasn’t that Liam didn’t want you dating anybody, he just didn’t think he could handle watching you get your heart broken after everything that had happened to you three. Especially with the way marked ones were treated by the wider student body. He wouldn’t be surprised if whichever boy had snagged your affections had only done so to string you along, make you feel comfortable, and then break your heart when you least expected it.

Or worse.

So puppy dog Liam, as you occasionally called him, turned into guard dog Liam as he began hunting down information.

You and whoever it was you were with were smart though, no one seemed to know anything. Or if they did, they’d sworn to secrecy. He’d asked the squad-mates. Sawyer held his hands up, swore up and down it wasn’t him and he didn’t know who it was. Violet didn’t claim to know anything, likely too busy with her thing with Xaden to have noticed. And Rhiannon only smirked at him. Liam never quite got a hold of Ridoc for his mini interrogations. But Liam figured, if his reputation was anything to go by, he likely had his hands full with his own relationship stuff to have even a clue about yours.

Which left no one and nothing to show for his investigation.

He was finally ready to give up, but had one strategy left. You’d sat next to him at lunch that day when he looked up at you.

“Just tell me who it is,” he said.

You glanced at him sideways, “no.”

“So you admit there is someone.”

“Sure!”

“Then who is it?”

“Not gonna tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“We’re twins, we tell each other everything!”

“And I’m practicing boundaries by not telling you this.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re twins and I know exactly what you’re going to do. You’re going to interrogate the hell out of him and I don’t want you to, okay? Simple as that.” You took a bite out of your sandwich.

“I just want-“

“-To make sure I’m okay, I know. I’ll be-“

“-fine, I know,” Liam interjected, “but you have to get that’s not good enough for me not after… everything.”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“I trust you, yes.”

“Then you can either prove it by leaving it alone, or you can continue your one man crusade to find out who it is. I’m not going to tell you. Sorry to say.”

Liam sighed but dropped it for the time being as Ridoc came over with his tray, sitting across from you.

Without so much as a word to you, he reached over and grabbed a small handful of fries off your plate.

“Hey!” You said, attempting to snatch them back.

“Oops, sorry,” Ridoc said after sticking the pilfered food in his mouth, “too late. Guess they’re mine.”

“You have your own!” You protested though there was no anger in your voice at all. To Liam you looked…

“You’re welcome to take some of mine,” Ridoc reasoned.

“And eat the ones you’ve smothered in ketchup? No thanks. I’m surprised you ate mine without it.”

“You’re no fun,” Ridoc teased.

“I beg to differ. I’m a delight.” Ridoc laughed and you beamed. “You owe me a handful of dry fries tomorrow,” you said the threat holding almost zero weight at all.

Ridoc held a hand to his heart, “I swear I will repay my debt, my lady.”

You shoved Ridoc in the shoulder, the two of you dissolving into giggles as the rest of the squad joined your table.

Liam stared between you and Ridoc. The casual smiles, the easy laughter, the looks on both your faces…

Gamlyn? Really?!

Liam would’ve confronted the boy right then and there, but decided that he’d wait. He’d have to do this delicately. Liam didn’t want you upset at him, but he was older than you by a handful of minutes. He was still, technically, your older brother and with that came a protective streak.

Besides, he’d promised your parents he’d take care of you and Sloane. It was a promise he intended to keep.

With you engaged in a conversation with Rhi next to you, your attention was not on him or Ridoc, so he took the opportunity.

Liam glanced at Ridoc, a hardness settling into his face the other first year had only ever seen on the challenge mat.

Ridoc stared wide eyed as Liam flicked his eyes in your direction briefly. Ridoc gulped.

He knew.

Ridoc had been looking over his shoulder for the next three days. No sign of Liam lurking in the shadowy corners, but then again, that was more Xaden’s thing.

He’d attempted to voice his fear to you once.

You two had been in the midst of a passionate session of kissing when Ridoc said, “I think Liam knows about us.”

“We’ve been so careful though,” you reasoned, kissing his jaw.

“I know,” he said, carding his fingers through your hair, “but, this is your brother. Your twin brother, he knows you better than anyone.”

You stopped, looking Ridoc in the eyes. It was a look he’d seen many times before. The same look that, when he’d seen it the first time, had him forgoing his bed hopping all together.

“We’ll figure it out together, okay. He’s not going to hurt you. Besides, we’re on the same squad. He couldn’t kill you even if he wanted to.” Ridoc’s eyes darted to the corners again so you grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at you, “Which. He. Won’t. Do.”

Ridoc nodded once.

“He’s my brother, he wants me to be happy. And you,” you booped his nose, “make me very, very happy.”

Ridoc grinned, fear momentarily forgotten in the wake of boyfriend pride.

You hugged him, dropping your head below his chin so he could rest his head on top of yours how he liked.

As he rubbed your arm, he sighed. You were right.

This was Liam he was talking about.

Liam.

The good, honorable Liam Mairi.

Your twin brother.

Who loved you more than anything.

Who had been separated from you in the wake of the Tyrrish Rebellion, and had only just reconnected with you here at this death trap of a school where everyone was out to get the two of you.

Liam, who Xaden Riorson - scariest motherfucker in town - had ordered to be Violet’s bodyguard.

…

Fuck.

Ridoc had made the mistake of sleeping in, meaning he was running late for class. He’d gotten used to you sleeping over in his room, and you were far more schedule conscious than he was. You’d become his very own, very cute, personal alarm clock.

So, without you, this morning he was running very late and very alone.

Ridoc was a sociable guy. He usually was with this friend or that one, it was rare he was ever found by himself. Especially once you’d come into his life in a more romantic capacity.

It was like the whole world was quieter, heavier and duller without you next to him. Rhiannon had teased him endlessly - the only friend who knew about the two of you for fear of word reaching Liam - for being down ridiculously bad for you. Unbeknownst to him, she’d made the same jokes about you.

As Ridoc walked through the halls of Basgiath, lost in his thoughts about you, he didn’t notice the hands reaching out to pull him into an alcove.

He yelped and struggled but the grip that had him was stronger. He mentally gave himself two guesses as to who it was and the first one wouldn’t even count.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Liam said, voice low, “care to tell me why that is?”

“What makes you think that?” Ridoc asked, shifting to break Liam’s hold. Unsuccessfully.

“Because ever since lunch four days ago, you have been very hard to find outside of class.”

“Been busy,” Ridoc said, “if you wanted to talk you could’ve just said.”

“I’m going to talk now, if that’s okay,” Liam said with a calm that made Ridoc gulp.

“You, my friend, have quite the reputation around here.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“So, I think you might have gotten to my next point ahead of me.”

“Liam-“ Ridoc started.

“There is no one in the quadrant I want my sister with less than you,” Liam said.

“I feel like Barlowe and Aetos should be higher on that list than me,” Ridoc said.

The anger in Liam dissipated slightly, replaced by a deadpan look of, ‘really?’

“You’re right, those two aren’t even options.”

“Your reputation raises red flags for me. I’m not going to have my sister’s heart toyed with and discarded for someone else” Liam continued.

“All right, let me stop you right there, asshole,” Ridoc said, “I would never hurt your sister like that! Any relationship of mine that’s ended has done so mutually. They’ve been flings and nothing else. That is not what she and I have. I love your sister, alright?!”

Ridoc had already spun out of Liam’s hold by now, his anger bolstering his movement. Liam stared at him with raised eyebrows as Ridoc flung an accusatory finger in his face. Ridoc didn’t care if the whole of Basgiath heard him. Liam wasn’t even sure Ridoc remembered that’s where he was.

He was shouting now. “Everyone thinks because I like to fuck around and joke with people that I couldn’t possibly care about anything, right?! Ridoc the irreverent asshole, that’s me! Let me get things straight, I care a lot! About a lot of shit! Your sister most of all! I love her! I can’t stop thinking about her! Every time I make a joke, I look at her first to see if she laughed! She means more to me than any partner I’ve ever had! So you can give me the shovel talk if it’ll make you feel better because I respect you and you’re one of the most important people in her life, but don’t insult me by actually thinking that me hurting her could ever be a possibility.”

Ridoc’s chest heaved under the weight of emotion he’d displayed, but he still said, “she’s it for me.”

Liam opened his mouth, but he was cut off by a, “what?”

Standing with your hands over your mouth at the edge of their little alcove, was you. Wide eyes brimming with tears.

“Ridoc?”

“Hey princess.”

“I- You-“

“Meant every word,” Ridoc said softly.

Liam was utterly forgotten behind him, the taller boy could’ve stabbed him right in the heart and he’d never have seen it coming, so complete was his focus on you.

You came up to him, cupping his face, and kissing him softly. When you separated, you looked up at Liam and said, “So, uhh…”

“Something tells me this wasn’t what you were predicting when you set out on your shovel talk,” Ridoc said, “I’m sorry I called you an asshole.”

“Sorry I freaked out on you,” Liam said, still reeling slightly from the speech Ridoc gave. “You didn’t really need it but, you have my blessing.”

“So are we cool, can we go to class now?”

You buried your head in Ridoc’s shoulder, “Aetos is gonna kill us for being this late.”

“It’ll be okay, pretty girl,” Ridoc said, “we’ll be fine. I couldn’t care less now that we can be public.”

You grinned up at him.

“You two are going to be insufferable now, aren’t you?” Liam said, laughing a little.

“You have no idea,” you said.

“As long as you’re happy,” Liam answered.

“I really am.”

“I am too,” Ridoc said, comically raising his hand, “in case anyone was wondering.”

“Shut up, Gamlyn,” Liam laughed.

A/N: Extra proud of this one gang, hope you enjoyed!

[empyreanevents]

This is so cute 😭

I'm not a writer, but I saw people do some moodboards for Slain week, so figured I'd try a few, and the @empyreanevents Brother prompt called to me. I'm sorry to do this to you...

You know these two were up to so much trouble as kids. Colonel Mairi had to get good at runes to keep track of her kids!

[empyreanevents]

This was so creative and amazing! And the end omg 🤧

The Haunting Ordeal of Rosarie Fuentes — Liam Mairi

Synopsis: Today is the anniversary of the day Rosarie Fuentes’ parents were killed in action by General Melgren. When the past comes back to haunt her, she finds solace in an unexpected visitor.

Includes: New OC, some made up spiritual stuff and places because we don’t know many regions in Navarre, angst, the role model/big brother Liam we didn’t get to see for Day 6 of Liam Week 🥹 

November 13th. Generally, I try to avoid people on this day due to its significance, which means that I have not been to any of my classes today. I told one of my squadmates that I’m sick, but I’m not quite sure he —or anyone else, for that matter — believed me.

Everyone knows what happened today. Even if I went out, they’d avoid me either out of hatred or for fear of me tearing them all apart.

“I still do not see how this benefits you.” Taibh’s quiet, husky voice echoes through my mind like an aching lullaby. “Does isolation not make your pain worse?”

“No,” I huff, lowering my head back into my history textbook, right on the page of a fierce Tyrrish queen. “One of two things would happen if I saw people today. They’d either pity me or taunt me, and I don’t need any of that.”  

“Fools,” the dragon growls, shooting waves of frustration down our bond. “A rider like you does not need pity.”

I unconsciously nod my head in agreement. I am Rosarie Fuentes, daughter of Isidor and Gwenael Fuentes. They are Tyrrish legends. Their names alone mean that people should respect me…But they don’t, because their names are those of fallen traitors now. 

Traitors? Please. The real traitors are the ones who decided that the Apostasy was something worth killing people for instead of something to be celebrated. 

I stare down at the textbook before I flip it shut, resisting the urge to put a knife through it. Through anything, really — it would take the edge off quick, but if I started with that, I don’t know how I could stop. And, with the way my aim has been lately, I’d probably break a window. I can’t be a traitor and commit property damage. 

I end up just pacing back and forth in my bedroom, angrily muttering to myself with quiet commentary from Taibh. Despite it being — what, seven years? — since my parents fell in battle together, I still get overemotional about it all. Not like when it originally happened, but it’s enough to be unsettling to anyone who sees, because I don’t get emotional. Ever. It’s odd, to me, because it’s not like I don’t spend every other moment of my time thinking about them. I should be over it by now…But I guess I’m too weak for that.

“It does not make you weak to grieve,” Taibh interjects. He’s silent for another moment before he continues, “Would you like to know something about me, Little Thorn?”

“Sure,” I reply. “Shoot.”

“Two decades or so ago, I lost my dearest brother against a drift of gryphons.”

I pause. Taibh has — had — a brother? It strikes me that I’ve never thought about Taibh as anything more than my dragon — half of my soul, ready for action. It certainly never occurred to me that he has a family, too…Probably because I never shut up about losing mine.

“Oh,” I manage, feeling a bit guilty. “I’m sorry, Taibh. I didn’t know.”

“No,” he amends. “You’re alright. What I am trying to say is that grief does not leave just because time has passed. You are allowed to be upset about your family just as I am mine. I think about Titeciúnaigh every day. Does it not irritate you?”

Ah. So that’s the wave of sadness I feel from him every time he lets his shields down a little too much — cold, aching sorrow that chills me from the bones outward. It comes and goes, but it’s easily distinguishable from my own, which is burning, venomous, and all-consuming.

“No,” I reply. “Of course not. I hardly even notice it sometimes. When I do, it’s mostly physically uncomfortable.”

“Precisely.” The dragon snorts. “And it does not bother me or anyone else that you miss your parents. No more apologies.”

It’s nothing short of an order, so I concede and resume my pacing. Despite my exhaustion, that sinking feeling in my chest doesn’t cease once. Perhaps it’s the rawness of the day, or maybe it’s because I always have this feeling that something is going terribly wrong. Or, it could be that no one has deigned to ask how I am today — but that’s my own fault for locking my door and not speaking to anyone. I’m not very up for a conversation, but the fact that no one has even tried to talk to me kind of…stings?

That makes no sense. I can’t expect anyone to communicate when the only thing I’ve conveyed to my squad is that I want to be left alone. I’m too used to being in Antara with my foster siblings, who took care of me a little too well whenever the sadness became too much to bear. I’ve hardly even tried to forge that kind of relationship with anyone here, besides Taibh. — not even with the other Tyrs my age, which I would probably benefit from considering our circumstances right now. But I don’t need help like them. I can already fight and hold my own just fine. It’s not fair to ask anything of them when I haven’t given anything myself.

 My steps falter a little as I near the window by my bed, the setting sun casting arcs of red and orange through the Moranian sky. My nails scratch at the stone wall absentmindedly. Is this what they saw as they fell, my parents? Free-falling from the backs of their slaughtered dragons, tumbling through the air together whilst Navarrian soldiers watched with glee? The thought makes me so sick to my stomach that I have to grip the wall, hard, to force the rising bile in my throat back down. I take in a shaky breath and slowly lower myself to the ground, just like the Earl of Antara taught me, and tuck my head between my knees.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Hold. Try not to choke. Out.

“Easy, now,” Taibh soothes. “You are okay, Little Thorn. Keep breathing.” A well-meaning surge of warmth floods the bond, but it doesn’t do much to quell this feeling of nausea that continues to eat at me.

“Fuck,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this, Taibh. You need a rider who can actually keep her shit together and not get triggered because of something as small as a sunset.”

“Why do you question my choice in a rider?” He asks, his tone growing firm but keeping that softness to it, quite uncharacteristic for a Red. “I chose you for a reason, you know. Your reaction to traumatic events have nothing to do with it.”

“It’s just—“ I take deep breath in and feel my jaw clench, ignoring that familiar sting in my waterline. “I feel so alone now. Mom is gone. Dad is gone. They executed Charlotte. None of my foster siblings are here. I’m…Dammit.” A stray tear streaks down my cheekbone. “I’ve lost everyone that’s ever been important to me. Lonely doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

I pause for a moment, my breaths shaky and uneven. “And maybe that’s stupid, because I don’t make much effort to train with anyone else who’s marked, but I can’t just make myself get close to someone again. Everyone I care about leaves me, and I have to pick up the pieces every. Single. Time. It’s not fair.”

Taibh is silent for a moment, and for those few seconds, I have the agonizing thought that he thinks my feelings are pathetic and decided to leave. When I hear his voice pick up, though, my heart leaps in relief.

“Well,” the dragon starts, going slowly like he doesn’t quite know what to say. “There is one thing for certain: You are most certainly not alone, as long as you have me. Which is forever, by the way. Even if the world around us turns to rubble, you and I will not be separated.”

I nod along with the sentiment, but I don’t have the heart to say what I’m actually thinking: It’s not the same. Sure, Taibh and me have that ruby red bond between us, glowing and ethereal and strange, but that’s not the same as a friend or a sibling. I miss sneaking around at midnight to climb onto my parents’ roof. I miss going swimming in that stupid little creek that has ice-cold water in my backyard. I miss praying to Dunne for extra power to my parents when they went out on mission.

Dammit, I miss my sister.

Slowly, I feel Taibh creep out of my mind, his meaning unspoken but clear — he’s giving me some privacy to sort things out. I silently thank him and bury my head in my tingling arms, letting my sorrow wash over me in continuous, ferocious waves. That sinking feeling becomes bottomless, dragging me into the depths of my pain with nothing to anchor me to the surface. It’s killing me, I realize — this isolation I’ve set myself into. What I thought would protect me is the thing that weighs me down further, and I’m not sure how much of it I can take any longer.

It surges through me, this feeling, flooding my veins and screaming a single word: Alone, alone, alone. I’ve never thought about it so intensely, but at Basgiath, where people try their best to kill people like me for some form of sick closure, I am truly, utterly lonely. I like my solitude, but not…whatever this is. 

Charlotte would know what to do; she made it through the quadrant with flying colors. She was one of the most ferocious riders, even when they had her on her knees and lit ablaze. She didn’t scream, didn’t cry — she didn’t even make a noise. How does one even do that?

I need her. I need advice. I need someone to talk to, someone who actually knows what the fuck they’re doing in this godsforsaken place. I can’t cry in my room until my fingers flood with pins and needles forever. That won’t fix shit in the end — and to assume that it will would be like reading my own name off the death roll.

“Shut the fuck up,” I scold myself softly. “Get ahold of yourself. Crying won’t bring them back, and it won’t fix you.”

“No, but you have to admit it’s quite therapeutic,” a voice says, soft but sure in tone.

…Huh?

 I frown and glance at the Taibh’s and I’s bond — still there, obviously, but the light doesn’t pulse the way it normally does when either of us speak.

What the fuck? “Taibh?”

“I never liked to cry much in front of others, either,” it continues, “but you have to let it all out eventually, or you’ll go fucking crazy.”

That voice…It’s not inside my brain. That’s not Taibh. My head raises, but there’s no one here with me—

Until my eyes catch icy blue ones, and my heart stops.

“Shit!” I yelp, palming a dagger and hurling it at the source of the voice while I fling myself to my feet, ready to draw blood. I know my blade lands true, right where it should sink into the invader’s chest, but instead of flesh, I hear it stick in the wood of my bed frame with a dull thunk.

 I whip my head around and stare at the boy who should be dead, who in turn stares at my bed looking almost…impressed. “Awesome aim,” he compliments, turning to me, “but  that’s not going to help you here, I’m afraid.”

I’m hallucinating. I must be. No one could have gotten in here without me or Taibh noticing, and this guy is barely even visible. His form, tall and broad and leather-clad, flickers slightly at the edges, as if he was suspended in a dying candlelight — except for the outline of his left arm, which looks more solid than the rest of him. The blade went through him, so he’s not real. Easy. Factual. Done. I’m hallucinating because of my grief, and I should probably get some sleep before I go even madder.

Noticing my disbelief, he just smiles gently. “I’ve been waiting for someone to see me,” he murmurs, taking in my tense stance. “I guess you’re the lucky one of the bunch, huh?”

“Not real,” I say under my breath, digging my nails into my palms, which feel strangely heavy. “Hallucination. Calm down, Fuentes. Calm the fuck down.”

His eyes, so blue that they could practically be a piece of the sky, soften a little. “Hey.” He takes a step closer and then pauses when my hand flies to my hip for a second dagger. “Breathe. You can’t hurt me, and I won’t hurt you. That’s not why I’m here.”

He tilts his head to study me, a not-quite-there blond curl falling in his eyes. “You must think I’m some sort of illusion, right?” He says, slightly teasing. “Because I can promise you that I’m not.”

Exactly what a hallucination would say. Maybe I should finally go outside and dunk my face in some ice water.

My lack of a reply doesn’t go unnoticed. His bright smile turns a bit melancholy at the edges. “You’re the one who summoned me here, you know. You said you needed to talk to someone. I heard you.”

Nope. Fucking nope. I reach out and tug hard on the bond. “Taibh?” I think desperately. “Please help me. I think I’m going insane.”

A wave of soothing calm washes over me from the opposite edge of the red string, but what Taibh says makes my heart rate pick up right where it left off.

“You are not insane, Little Thorn,” he says, his voice laced with…pride? “You’ve finally manifested your signet, I see.”

“Manifested myself seeing things? That’s kind of a shitty power.”

“No,” he replies, ever patient. “You’re not seeing things. You, my chosen, have been blessed by Malek. You are a medium.”

“Fucking what?” I can’t stop the words from leaving me. “What do you mean, a medium?”

The boy brightens a little, his eyes sharpening in understanding. “Ah.” He nods. “So that’show you can see me.”

A medium? Those are only scammers who pretend that they can contact your dead family for the price of fifty krown. Unless…

“Oh.” 

I glance back over at the boy. The way he just showed up in here out of nowhere, combined with the fact that he’s present but visually not quite here…

“Are you…”

“Dead?” He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck. “Yes.”

Assuming I’m not losing my mind here, I’m speaking to a dead person. Who’s in turn speaking to me. I think I need to sit down, or my brain might go into overload.

“Okay.” I breathe in, deep and slow, and then exhale. “Okay. I think…okay. I — uh...” I start fiddling with my fingers awkwardly. “Sorry? For trying to stab you?”

He shakes his head. “No worries. I would’ve done it, too. I’m sorry for just popping in like that. I guess I’ve been a bit…” He cringes a little. “Antsy, waiting  for so long for someone to talk to me.”

I sweep my gaze over him until my mouth dips into a frown. “But…I thought the dead went to Malek’s realm after they passed. Please don’t make me have a religious crisis and tell me that’s not true.”

The boy barks out a laugh. “No. As I understand it, not all of my things were burned in reverence. So, until they are, I’m kind of stuck here.”

He winces. “I’m not sure how much I can say. Being dead has rules, and I don’t want to damn myself by accidentally spilling things.”

Being dead has rules? I’d call bullshit, but it makes a little sense, I guess. You’re the closest to Malek you’ll ever get, which means He has more control over your fate. I don’t even know this boy, but I don’t want him to be in trouble with the god of death, either. He looks nice enough, anyway.

I settle myself on my bed and allow my fingers to start twisting at my sheets in an attempt to calm myself. “Is it against the rules to ask for your name?”

He drops to sit on my bed, too — but instead of a plop, he just kind of…hovers. “It’s not. My name is Liam. Liam Mairi.”

I straighten instantly. That surname…I’m all too familiar with that one. “Mairi? Was your mother—“

“The colonel, yes,” he finishes. 

I feel a foolish little twinge of excitement rise through me, one of the first in years, excluding Threshing. “We’ve met before, I think. Rosarie Fuentes. Our parents fought together on the front lines.”

He blinks, his expression going far away. “Fuentes, huh?” He looks away in thought before blinking. “We have. You and my sister tried to climb the side of your house once, but she got too scared to come down by herself and made me climb up with her.” His gaze turns wistful at the memory. I feel a bit guilty again; for the five months we’ve been here, I haven’t even tried to find Sloane to talk to her. I don’t think we’re even in the same wing — and I certainly didn’t know that her brother died. He’s  not much older than us, just by a  year or two.

What happened last year?

“My mother never did quite get over your parents’ passings,” he murmurs. “She talked about your mom a lot. I miss my Gwen, she’d say. Gwen needs to get out of Malek’s realm so she can taste this wine.” 

He stops speaking abruptly and cocks his head to the side, the blue of his irises flaring in understanding. “Is it November 13th?”

My excitement dies, and by the way his eyes soften, I can tell my face probably has fallen. “It is.”

Liam’s hand moves to lay on mine, but it passes right through, although I do note that my skin becomes a little chilly under his touch. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “That must be why you’ve locked yourself away in here, right?”

I swallow. “Yes. I don’t like to be around people on this day. Especially not here.”

“I get it.” He sighs and glances out the window. “On Reunification Day, I made the bright decision to go to the celebration with my friend. To say I was popular is an overstatement.”

Reunification Day — the day everyone else’s parents were killed, and my sister. Great, now I have two days where I need to avoid people. 

“Why did you go?” I ask. “Is it mandatory?”

“Oh, no,” he reassures me. “I was the only marked kid to go. I was watching out for my friend. Her brother died that day, too, and no one likes to be alone on death anniversaries.”

He stops as if catching himself and then raises an eyebrow. “Except for you,” he comments. “Why is that?”

I shrug. “It’s easier. I’m alone most of the time, anyway, so it’s not like it bothers me.” …Bothers me much, anyway. I leave that part unspoken, but as if sensing the words, Liam plucks them straight from my mouth.

“Sure,” he replies, unconvinced. “But you aren’t alone, you know? You have your dragon, firstly, but then you have your fellow Tyrs to look out for you.” He squints. “Unless you haven’t done that.”

I lower my eyes, trying not to squirm in embarrassment under his ghostly gaze. “…Not really,” I admit. “The others in my wing have made it clear they don’t like me.”

“And my sister?” He asks. “You know her.”  

“I haven’t seen much of her,” I try to deflect. “I only saw her after the Parapet, and that’s because she threw a fit about being sorted into a squad with General Sorrengail’s daughter.”

Liam goes quiet, and when I look up, his face is screwed up in a face that I can only imagine is one of either disappointment or resignation.

“Oh,” is all that leaves his mouth. “I see.”

To be fair, you can’t really blame her. I’d be pretty pissed off, too, if I had to share a squad with the daughter of the person who killed my parents and sister. Lucky for me, General Melgren has no children, so I never have to worry about that. 

“So you’ve just been…avoiding your allies?” He asks, raising a stern blond brow.

I try not to flinch at the accusation. “No! I don’t avoid people. That’s a pussy move.”

“Then you should go talk to them,” he encourages. “They’re easy to find. My sister. Bodhi Durran. Imogen Cardulo. They’re the only way I was able to get through last year with my head on straight.”

I stuff my frustration into a little mental box and shove it deep down. “I’m fine” I say through a deep breath. “The others need more help, anyway. Have you seen them fight?”

“Yes,” he replies. “And you can help them learn. That’s how I had it last year. Some of my year-mates, Dunne love them, were absolute shit at sparring. I helped train them since I was pretty decent.”

Pretty decent sounds like the understatement of a century. The way Liam is built, obviously for combat, screams that he wasn’t just good — he was the best.

The way he looks at me, full of expectation that warrants responsibility, has me fidgeting a little with the hilt of another dagger. “There are only two other Tyrs in my wing, and they don’t like me. Said I got off easier since my sister was the only one at the executions.”

His eyes darken. “Bullshit.”

I just shrug. “I can’t help what they think of me. They don’t want me around, so I don’t bother.”

“What about the others, then?” He asks. “They’re not in your wing, but I’m sure they’d be glad to have you.”

My gaze drops to the floor. Honestly, I’m not quite sure how the dynamic is supposed to play out, and that scares me. I’m not a leader, but I’m not a subordinate either; I’m a free-faller, just like my parents. I have no place in the fucked up little family of separatists at Basgiath.

Alone, my veins sing. Alone, alone, alone.

As if in response, Liam’s form turns completely opaque for half of a second before he starts to flicker again. He sighs and looks back at me. Even though he’s not there, not really, I can still feel his eyes trace over me carefully. Maybe it’s because he’s dead, but the air around me feels colder than usual. 

“I guess that’s why you summoned me,” he mutters. “The magic knew what you needed, and delivered.”

Immediately, I feel bad for accidentally bringing him here when he should be…Well, I don’t know what dead people do, but I can’t imagine they want to spend their afterlife with First-Year cadets who have avoidance issues.

“I mean, if you want to go,” I tell him hesitantly, “then go ahead. I didn’t mean to bring you into my bullshit. I just got too emotional.”

As if on cue, his face goes from musing to soft. “No. I’m here for a reason. I know we didn’t know each other well in life, but I don’t leave when someone clearly needs me.”

I swallow back the words that automatically rise in my throat: I don’t need you. Because, really, while my pride screams at me to figure out how this signet works and kick him out, I know that deep down, my power knew I need someone like Liam right now. Magic knows, according to Taibh, and I don’t think it’s the best idea to try and defy it.

When I don’t reply right away, Liam shifts a little closer to me. “Listen,” he begins, his mouth twisting as he searches for words to say. “I don’t get to tell you how you go through the motions here. Your journey is up to you, and you alone. What I do get to do is give you some advice, as someone who’s been in your shoes. Is that alright?”

No, actually. I hate unsolicited advice, especially when it comes to how I conduct myself. Surprisingly, though, I find myself more willing to listen than I’m used to. Maybe it’s the quiet sureness of his voice that reminds me of my big sister, or because he deigned to ask first, or the fact that something about him feels…safe; before I can really think about it, I nod.

“I know what it’s like to be alone,” he murmurs. “It sucks. Don’t pretend it doesn’t, because I don’t like being lied to. It’s okay to like being by yourself, but being lonely is the worst burden to bear in a place like this.”

It is, I want to say. It really is. To go from a loving family to a cold foster home to an actual death trap, leaving no room for other relationships besides the ones forged under fire, has killed a good portion of myself for good. I’m not even sure if I’m that good of a person anymore — any hope of that died the minute I stabbed that boy on the Parapet.

“So,” Liam continues, “here’s what I’ll say. I strongly, very strongly, recommend that you talk to at least one other marked kid, because then you’ll have at least one friend.” His lips quirk into a wry smile. “Well, one living friend.”

I don’t comment on his choice of words; obviously, he means that he’s my ally — as much as he can be, being a spirit. But to go to someone now? After Threshing, when dynamics have changed and people are already distrustful as is? I’m more likely to go back to Aretia.

Instead, I just slouch a little, more defeated than anything else. “I don’t think I can. It would look kind of pathetic for me to go begging to talk to someone so late in the year. Allyships have already been formed, and it’s pretty damn clear that I’m not welcome.”

“It’s not pathetic,” he insists. “I didn’t meet my friend Violet until a little after Threshing, and she came to be one of the greatest people I ever knew. And just because a few people have some shitty opinions, doesn’t mean that they reflect that of the entire group.”

He turns to me fully, locking eyes with me with a gentle intensity that practically burns right through me. “Again, I can’t control what you do. Hell, you just manifested and are talking to a guy that died five months ago. But think about it, alright? I can promise you that the effort will be worth it, in the end.”

Will it? I don’t know. I barely know if I can trust him — but, at the same time, something about Liam Mairi screams that he’s a man of his word no matter whether he’s solid flesh or a flickering projection. The energy practically calls to me, catching on to an instinct that I barely registered before — Liam is safe. He knows what he’s talking about. I don’t know him, and I don’t trust easily, but something inside is telling me that he is good, and I would be wise to listen.

That, or maybe it’s because he sounds a lot like Charlotte right now.

I hesitate, and then my voice returns to me, but quite a bit smaller than I’d like. “I know this is completely unfair, but can I ask something of you?”

“Of course,” he replies automatically. “Talk to me.”

I take in a deep, shaky breath. “I…I know we, like, just met. Honestly, I’m still trying to figure out if I’m hallucinating or not.” My hands start drumming rapid lines on my thighs. “I don’t think I can do what you’re asking of me. Not alone, at least.” My request is implicit, enough to be clear of what I want without damaging my pride too badly in the process.

Liam catches on almost right away. “I’ll be there,” he vows. “I can’t do much to protect my sisters or my friends, but I can help you, Rosarie. You deserve that much.”

His head inclines. “Where do you want to start?”

I swallow, feeling my palms start to sweat with nerves. “Baby steps.”

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.

The steps I take to the commons are slow, methodical. They don’t need to be — I’ve thought out what I’m going to say for at least three days now, and with Liam’s gentle encouragement, I know I’ll be fine.

But the prospect of allowing someone in after so long is overwhelming. I don’t like this feeling, not one bit. But I’m not a child anymore. I cannot let my paranoia get in the way of making connections that ensure my survival, not when there is a fuck ton of people praying for my downfall.

The light of the room is dim, slightly dappled from old raindrops scattered in the window. It casts rays of light on me, warm and comforting, and beautiful shadows on to the person I’ve been trying to track down these past few days, coming around through word of mouth and some investigating on Liam’s part.

I stop before I shake my anxiety and take a step in.

Liam is already there, of course, leaning against the opposite wall with his arms and ankles crossed. Being a spirit, he’s not exactly bound to the laws of nature like us — which makes him unfairly fast when it comes to travelling. I’ve gotten used to it already. No more attempted stabbings on my end.

I stare at him. He watches me. Then, slowly, he dips his head, gesturing ahead of me. He doesn’t even need to speak for me to hear what he’s clearly trying to convey.

You’re already here now, so go for it. I won’t leave.

I nod and squeeze my hand until

my heart stops pounding. I inch little closer, and then a little more, and then a little more.

My teeth dig into my lip, but I clear my throat. “Is this seat taken?”

The girl in front of me startles a little, her hand automatically flying to her hip like mine did with Liam, but she pauses at the very last moment, right before she can put a blade through my head.

Her narrowed, sky blue eyes go wide. “Rosarie?”

Despite myself, I feel a long-coming smile start to spread across my face while Liam just watches us with a bittersweet grin.

I tilt my chin. “Hi, Sloane.”

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