coreshorts
coreshorts
Core's Shorts (And Other Probably-Not-Pants-Related Writing)
60 posts
Short stories and character posts for just about whatever I feel like writing. Primary blog is nierfenhimer. Likes and follows come from corelyn-nierfenhimer.
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coreshorts · 6 years ago
Text
Chance
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Wind whipped through the drahn’s hair, violent and unabating. The smell of the sea, the silence of the rock, of the motionless water, washed over her senses. She descended rapidly, eyes closed to the blinding, unnaturally-radiant light that suffused the sea around her and her horns, through the whipping of the wind, the shouts and angry clamour of men from above as it grew more and more distant, eventually drowned out entirely by the rush of air.
Below her lay not water, but rock. She knew well where she was destined to touch down, headfirst. She knew she would not survive. Doubts welled in her mind, but she tamped them down. She wanted to struggle, to stop her descent, but failure, in her mind, rage in her soul, and a horrible, aching corruption welling in her body for not the first, but the second time, all told her one thing: death was her best chance.
Taking a breath as the rocks grew closer, she held it, squeezing her eyes shut as she felt the presence of the ground drawing near…
Holly Morningtide, known once as Hali Naras, or even Asashio no Haruhi, had been given an assignment: as a guard of the Crystarium - the last bastion on Norvrandt against the force of primordial Light and its terrible sin eaters, creature much like voidsent, but aspected to the light, rather than a corrupted, dark nothingness - she was tasked with gaining information on Eulmore.
Tensions had been growing thicker over the last few years, Eulmore’s trade becoming somewhat-strangled by its lord, Vauthry, whose decree had been to focus on enjoying the supposed last days the world had. Eulmore’s Free Citizens and their “Bonded” - indentured slaves, as Holly understood it, bound to their masters for a chance at a “better life”, or at least to spend their last days in relative comfort as they worked for those who did nothing - made the woman somewhat ill, the more she watched them. They had no interest in trade, anymore, but, military might they once were, some still engaged out of courtesy. She was to figure out why things had taken such a turn. No other could enter - not without becoming a citizen - and so it was that she would become one… after gaining entrance.
Trained as a shinobi, a ninja, she made a good spy for the Crystarium Guard. She touted her skill and showed it well, earning her a place of importance as the first of the Crystarium’s agents to sneak into the island. She was to observe the citizenry, to emulate them and take on a persona for as long as she could that would get her ingratiated, then slip away once she could find any information on the goings-on.
For three days, by her reckoning, did she watch the city, hiding amongst the shantytown nearby, watching and listening. She gathered information as best she could. The city itself was accessed by a single bridge, leading to a guarded stairwell. The beach around the small islet was best by yet more of the shantytown: The Derelicts, she learned. She’d find no allies, here. To a man, she surmised, any of them would sell her out for their place amongst the elite, living easy in the gaudy city above. Swimming up to the shore would be difficult without being seen. However, there would be no easy way to get past a guarded gate with nothing but cliff to either side. Being noticed would not be to her advantage, and she was not to cause a fight. Thus, for two more days, she waited…
After nearly a week of camping in squalor, dirty and uncomfortable, she witnessed a ceremony at the gates that drew her attention and gave her what she needed: her in. A pair of jesters, dressed in red and blue and speaking in insufferable rhymes, presented themselves to the shantytown’s residents like saviours, handing out a strange food that felt strange to her. It felt of nothing, and even beholding it from afar, it turned her stomach. They called it meol, and the people were elated. They lined up for it, then they performed, promised, begged to be let in, to earn their keep. In the end, one was chosen: a young drahn girl - a Xaela, she’d have been called back home - was taken in for her cooking skill, presenting a dish she’d made from gathered herbs, meats and vegetables. It was deliciously fragrant, gaining the attention of quite a few, given the living situation. She had to have been saving those ingredients for some time. Holly gazed on from her place in the shadows and felt a pang of familiarity with the girl. Despite the ragged ingredients, the dish was expertly-made. For a moment, she even felt proud of the girl. Then, she was let in. At that point, the guardswoman followed from the shadows. Following them might be her way in, so long as she could remain unnoticed.
Undetected she remained. Up through the doors into the bottom level, she had to take a moment to slip aside and allow herself a moment’s respite from the culture shock. In an instant, she had passed from broken stone and wooden planks from the derelict military ships that once served as part of the nation’s great navy to a decadent, colourful - garish, even - and altogether clean place. All-too-suddenly was she aware of the smell she’d accumulated while hiding with the paupers of the shantytown for so long. Stealth would avail her no longer if she could be sniffed out. She would have to make her entrance somewhere…
She found it. A queue for registration. It was unsupervised once behind the city walls, and so she slipped into the line where a gap formed only briefly, just behind another blonde woman. She quickly patted her hair about to make it as close to identical as she could, given her silver streaks, and there she stood. She encountered little resistance, the man seeming to be preoccupied with the riches that had already surrounded him - promises of a better life… while it lasted - and before long, she was at the registration booth. The other drahn girl had already come and gone, hurried along to meet with her new “owners,” as Holly understood it.
“Name?” rang the bored, vapid question, rousing her from her thoughts. She found herself before a rather well-to-do-looking mystel man with blue hair and very a look on his face of boredom surpassing even his tone.
“...Leah,” she spoke quickly, assuming a familiar role - the anxious, shy girl, so similar to how she’d been so many years ago - before she cleared her throat and stuttered, “L-Leah Arlon.”
“Talent?”
The first word to her mouth wanted to be “chef,” but with the dark-scaled girl having come and gone, that might be too soon…
“Songstress.” This gained a pause from the man, who checked his records then shrugged. Holly’s heart raced.
“Uh… to whom?” he asked, gaining a bitten lip from her in response.
“I-I don’t remember, sir, I… I-I-it was… only mentioned once.”
The man sighed, then pulled up a monocle to check the papers, muttering, “...well, we’ve… two Citizens expecting a songstress. In high demand of late, aren’t you…? Anyhow, you’re either for Ryn-Tokka or Madame Haylin.”
“O-oh! I- I was to see M-Madame Haylin,” she says quickly, “S-sorry, I, ah-”
“Mgh,” the man muttered, looking irate, “You weren’t scheduled until the morrow… Well, whatever. I can take it up with them later. Go on, then. Get yourself made proper. Madame Haylin is on the north terrace, all the way up the stairs once you’re… presentable.”
The man’s disgusted face at her made her want to snap back, but she kept the persona intact, nodding and sputtering apologies before being lead, blessedly to a room with showers and fresh changes of clothes, where some other number of Bonded milled about, ushering those who had been registered along. She, too, was hurried on and shown to a shower and given new clothes into which she could change with some additional commentary on her state of cleanliness. Again, though, she bit back comments and hurried along, eager, really, to get cleaned and refreshed. When she changed her clothes, she bundled up her old pauper disguise and left it. It had nothing she needed, given her gear and weaponry were hidden beneath, in bands of kunai and shuriken. She had elected not to carry any larger weaponry, given the nature of the mission.
So it was she was shown up to the upper levels… and that was where she disappeared once again. The Mistress to whom she was supposed to report, undoubtedly wouldn’t know any better, though she had to feel sorry for the registration clerk who had to explain the next day why a slot had already been filled by someone who wasn’t there. Regardless, she had her mission. It was time to find what she needed to blend in.
A trinket here and there, stalk this woman or that man, then take a bauble or an outfit from their drawers when they’re not looking… and there she was. In just under a couple hours, she’d assembled the perfect look for a free citizen. She restyled her hair, pulling it back out from the long ponytail it’d been in before and up into a tight Ishgardian-style chignon that Dahlia - Odellia, here - had taught her, and, with a bit of pilfered makeup, she was a different woman. Finally, the air was hers to take, and so she puffed out her little chest, lidded her eyes ever-so-slightly, batted her eyelashes and took to a confident swagger around the city. 
The difficult part of the mission was over. She was in, engaging in small talk with the citizenry, snooping with what her sense for aether could tell, every little detail finely standing out for inspection in such a barren, sleeping world, so frozen as it was by the Light, and taking notes in private. A day passed, and she remained awake for the whole time. Exhaustion wore heavy, but she continued with her mission. 
She’d learned much, and all of it was written in her notes. She was resolved to hear more of their Lord Vaurthy, though, and so she stayed a bit longer… and then she saw her once more: the waifish, black-scaled drahn girl - the chef - from before was being lambasted by a lanky man with a grating voice and an all-too-familiar sneer, both speaking on a nearby balcony.
She knew the sneer. A man, once, with such foul intentions as to traumatise her at every turn, to belittle and crush her as best he could with every step, had worn the same. She dared not recall the name for the fury it brought in her. Fury, however, would not be denied.
“And you expect to call yourself a chef?” the man asked, a mixed drink in his hand, freshly delivered by the girl, “The dodo was good, of course...”
The girl looked confused, piping up as if to ask for clarification, a confused look on her face. She didn’t get a word in before the drink was splashed on her, staining her shirt, soaking her hair, and pelting her with ice. She gasped, flailing as if to try and defend herself against the liquid offence.
“Do I look like I want good, girl?” the man hissed in her face as she began to sob, shaking her head and giving a choked “no, sir,” as she reeled from the suddenness of the assault.
“I want phenomenal. We are going to have another talk,” he said, grinning sadistically, pointing to her, then grabbing her roughly by the wrist, which, Holly noticed, was already bruising, the girl’s pale blue skin already mottled with a few bruises that briefly flashed in the part of her dress as she was yanked along.
Fury, however, would not be denied. She was too tired, too worn from the atrocious, ignorant opulence of the place. To see such an abuse, the threat of more atop it, brought back memories within her that brought a terrible flame to her heart, dark and angry and vengeful.
Vengeance, too, came quick, nor would it be denied. She’d already drawn stares as she felt herself move. She was no longer in control. The dark craved vengeance. It called for blood. The girl was no longer real, but a spectre of her past, whimpering and struggling, soaked in alcohol and fruit juices. The man became as Crawford.
The drahn saw her advance first, eyes wide at the woman who approached, wreathed in darkness that drew hushed stares from nearby and eyes ringed with hateful red that caused people to part like butter for a knife. A knife.
That was all it took. With one practised, fluid motion, she loosed a kunai into her hand and let it fly with deadly aim. As the man turned to see the cause of the hush, he found himself struck dead, a black, foreign blade lodged in his temple and out the eye of the other side of his head. His grasp fell limp and the girl was the first to scream. As she scrambled, a panic ensued, and guards came storming the area, several spears thrust within inches of her head before she could react. 
The Might of the Eulmoran military… she thought to herself, then raised her hands in obedient surrender.
“Move!” She was jabbed roughly in the back. Though it didn’t tear cloth, it hurt.
“Now!” A soft cry rang out from elsewhere.
“Take them to Lord Vauthry!”
Them? she thought, then froze, realising the other cry, causing her heart to skip a beat and her blood to chill. Looking toward the girl, she, too, had been surrounded by guards, and in much the same manner. There was no choice but to go along. She would damn the girl if she fought, let alone her mission. Even if she escaped, which she could have, the innocent girl whose life she had just taken from bad to worse in the sake of deluded vengeance would suffer even more. Slowly, she began to march in time with the soldiers, on across the balcony, up a lift, and toward a massive room.
Her senses burned. Sin eaters were surrounding the room. Sin eaters. At the other end, across a vast, empty floor, sat a man more gargantuan and more grotesque than some monsters she had seen: Lord Vauthry sat, reclining against a great, winged lion of an eater, another stroking its plaster-like mane softly.
“Hm-hrmh?!” the man exclaimed in surprise, massively obese form wobbling from the shocked motion he made as the doors were flung open, “What is the meaning of this? Explain!”
“My Lord,” the guard at the head explains, “This woman has murdered a fellow Free Citizen in cold blood. The deceased’s Bonded was brought, as well.”
“Well, what do you expect me to do about this, hrm?!” the man rumbled irritably, “You are here for a reason!” “Y-yes sir, but… she is clearly guilty. Many here witnessed it. It was done in plain sight.”
“Wha- how unbelievably brazen! I can’t believe my ears! You! Woman! What is your name? Speak, this instant!”
She spat the first pseudonym that came to mind: “Vivian Blake.”
“And why, Miss Blake, are you under the presumption that your magnanimous lord would allow you to… to murder another? In my paradise?”
She remained silent, the red still burning in her eyes, ever so faintly. The man felt an awful presence. It was like he was part sin-eater, though, with the whole room practically withered with static, Light-seared aether, it was hard to tell.
Vauthry flailed his meaty arms in anger, setting himself aquiver again, “Answer me, you harlot!”
“I beheld… a wicked man who would harm an innocent. A criminal in, as you say, your paradise,” she said in a low rumble.
This brought a befuddled noise from him, though he looked no less angry.
“You are not here to serve as a guard, woman!” he shouted, already throwing aside her name, “You are here on my good graces to live out your remaining days in PEACE! PEACE! And you have the gall to bring violence upon another? Bring her to me! At once!”
“W-what of the girl, Lord Vauthry?” asked one of the guards. 
The globular man turned his head back to look at the guard with a suddenly-bored expression, then grunted, “There’s no more use for her. There is no place in my paradise for the worthless and the craven. She goes over.”
The girl began to weep bitterly, begging for her life, and as she was ushered out into the room and beyond the line of lounging eaters toward the edge of the open-air room’s edge, Hali shot forward an ilm before she was clubbed on the back of the head and sent staggering forward, dazed.
“Ohoho! So eager to see the death of the girl you damned?” crooned Vauthry, “No. You must be… redeemed…! Come! Come to me, my pet.”
At his command, the eater that had been stroking the lion rose and gracefully stepped through the air as if walking on land to float at the grotesque lord’s side.
“You-... this is… insanity…” Holly grunted as her head spun.
“No, my dear Vivian,” the man retorted as his guards escorted the girl to the edge, “This… is paradise.” 
A trailing scream from off the side of the balcony was suddenly met with a sharp one from Holly as the eater reached out and sunk spindly, gold-tipped fingers into her chest as though they were knives. They felt like knives - worse than knives - and she knew what was happening immediately: she was being corrupted.
“Leave her with me,” Vauthry commanded, “I will watch her redemption… myself.”
The hand pulled back and she slumped forward, gasping for breath as the guards filed out of the room in an orderly fashion. A hand gripped at her chest, no open wounds of which to speak as the gleaming, burning light from the touch faded.
“What- what did you do?” she barely wheezed. Her chest burned within like something had been left in her.
“Redemption, dear Vivian, is an agonisingly slow process, normally, but within my company, and that of my sin eaters, you will turn more quickly,” the man explained with a ferocious grin that plastered his several chins together against his chest and spread his overfull cheeks into a bizarre mockery of a hume’s face, “Oh, it will be gruesome and painful, but when it is done, you will have atoned for your grievous sin… this… atrocity that you have committed against me. Then, you will ascend.”
The Seed of Light, as it was called, was a slow and torturous way to die, body and soul. Those afflicted were doomed to spend days, weeks, even months, sometimes, in horrible agony as their skin began to petrify and their minds slipped away. It was so similar to that day that she had met an eater bearing what felt like a fragment of herself. She had died, then, too, infected with the Light, only saved by her wife’s grief and rage, destroying both Holly and her killer and fusing them back together in a maelstrom of tormented magicks. She had no such saving grace, this time.
“Holly,” Vauthry cooed. She looks up, only to see him, hands resting on his gargantuan gut, a smug look of satisfaction on his face.
“Yes? If you wish to thank me for this chance, you may,” he said, then chuckled, wobbling about as he did.
“-Holly.”
Before she could retort, she heard her name called again. Looking out of the corner of her eye toward where she thought she’d heard it, she spied a brief glimmer.
“Mum!”
“Mum…!” “Hali. Mes etoiles. Come home safe,” Dahlia cooed softly as Light began encroaching upon her vision. Two young half-drahn girls stood with her, one on either side: their twins, Suisei and Ryuusei. When she looked straight at them, they vanished.
Vauthry laughed, “Yes. She’s gone. Over the edge to oblivion, if she’s lucky. Go. See for yourself... while you can.” The smug look made her want to drive a kunai right between his eyes, but she barely lacked the strength to stand.
She glanced back once more. The images were gone, likely a hallucination from the searing pain blossoming in her chest. However, the flame was lit once more. With a groan, she lifted herself to her feet and began to stagger over toward where the girl was thrown. Slowly, she paced toward the edge and leaned against the railing. The girl was gone.
“You see? Consider yourself lucky,” Vauthry said from behind her, still lazing where he was on the great bed-like couch.
One foot made it up onto the railing.
“What are you doing?”
She pulled herself up to kneeling.
“Get down from there.”
She turned. “What are you doing?!”
She looked directly at Vauthy and croaked through the searing pain climbing up her throat from her chest, “Defying you… my Lord.”
“What?!” Vauthry roared in anger, his corpulent arms slamming down on either side of him, causing a surprising amount of rumbling that caused Holly to stumble, “You would cast aside this gift?! My mercy?!”
“Oh... Just... you... watch me,” she rattled, arms outstretched… and plunged backwards off the balcony, eyes closing…
Taking a breath as the rocks grew closer, she held it, squeezing her eyes shut as she felt the presence of the ground draw near. Was it too late? Would she turn anyway? Would she come back at all this time?
No, she thought, No time for questions.
Her final thoughts had her body dashed against the rocky beach below, a gruesome cacophony of crunching and splattering heralding her end. Then, moments later, in wisps of darkness like smoke, all that she was coalesced into a barely-visible ball of writhing darkness that drifted off to sea… and down into it.
Within time, her soul found what it sought: the girl, half-drowned already, her body beaten and bruised as if from a bad impact from the water, and her leg twisted and maimed. She would die within minutes just from the lack of air.
There were no thoughts that passed through her disembodied soul. She had no time to deliberate in that strange liminal space in which she existed. A moment of thought could be hours that the girl could drift if she was unlucky. Within the space of a moment, the soul met the body of the younger drahn… and flesh began to twist. Slowly, painfully, it reorganised itself. Slowly and painfully, the leg mended wrong. Slowly and painfully, lungs filled with water began to function in a new way, for which she had to thank the Kojin of the Blue and her history in Blitzball back in their old home, wherever - or whenever - that was.
Pain shocked her awake as she drifted. Reforming a leg so had left it still mostly shattered and even more deformed. She swam as she could for the surface, but with the strength that she had expended to get where she was in the first place, she couldn’t keep going. As her arms gave out, unable to be aided by one twisted leg, all went black.
“You,” said a familiar voice, “You ruined my life.”
When she opened her eyes again, all around her was yet another familiarity: a manor room, massive and sprawling in every direction. Behind her was a long carpet, two bodies lying on it, spaced out a ways behind her, one crystalline and the other a mangled form of burning, gleaming light that barely looked human. More littered the carpet much further back, but they were shrouded in a strange shadow.
“Are you listening to me?” came the voice - her voice.
She turned forward and peered down at herself. This version of her was slightly shorter, hair tied in a chignon, makeup running, glasses broken, and a simple, but almost gaudily-ornate sundress, splattered with stains of alcohol and fruit juice. Her horns were adorned at the base with golden earrings, set in the centre with black pearls with an amethyst and ruby dangling from the hoop of each. Beneath her were two legs, on which she could only stand on one, the other mangled and twisted.
“You ruined my life,” the smaller Hali repeated.
“I… I’m sorry,” she replied, looking visibly confused.
“I’d waited to get in for so long,” the younger said, and, as realisation dawned, she found herself looking at a different figure altogether: the black-scaled girl, “Why? Why did you kill him?”
Hali found herself unable to respond.
“I didn’t need saving. I… I could’ve made it.”
Hali nodded in concession, sighing and looking away, “I… suppose I should understand that.” “Then why, damn you? How could you do such a thing? Even if he was cruel to me in that moment, you didn’t know him! He was a person, just like you or I were!”
She didn’t have a chance to respond before the girl cried out, accusingly, “Revenge! Is that all you cared about then? Was I just… just some bystander for you to toss aside?”
“No, I-”
“Am I just some body for you to claim?”
“N-no! Listen-”
“What gives you the right?” the girl spat, gritting her teeth and taking a step forward on that maimed leg as if nothing was wrong with it at all.
“I’ve-”
“Got a family. You’ve your… your wife, your children. I see that, now. You do it because you can, because you’re some… bloody pompous immortal creature. How are you any different than the people up there? Better than people like me because you have what I wanted! What I could have had!”
“No, you don’t-”
“No, I get it. Deny it all you like. I see you now, Hali Naras,” the girl seethed, “That was your name right? Your original name. Not any of those fake ones you spout.”
“How do you-?!”
“Know? You made me part of you,” the girl said through clenched teeth, though her lips quivered, betraying the tears that would start soon.
“Not your soul!” Hali protested.
“No, but mine isn’t gone yet… Not yet... “ the girl relented, taking a step back, then asked again, “What… gives you… the right? I didn’t want this…”
“Nothing,” came Hali’s voice again, though it came from beside her.
She turned and saw a most horrifying sight: the remains of her last body, seething with darkness, nought more than splatter and gore with clothes loosely fitted around it, though it soon began to congeal into a single creature. That creature, however, was decidedly not her, but the elven bandit whose body she last stole.
“You have no right,” the man said in Hali’s voice, “Don’t deny your guilt. You’ve gotten too good at forgetting, Hali Naras.”
“Too good. Too good for us, too good for anyone,” the younger girl continued, “What happens to your family? Will you be too good for them, too?” “No!” Hali spat in anger, now, “How dare you!” “How dare I?” the girl said in shock, “How dare you! Thief of flesh, murderer!”
“Murderer!” the elven man echoed.
The guilt was overwhelming and the darkness in the room grew thicker. She sank to her knees and looked up. For the first time, she saw what was behind the girl: a door. A great door that once stood chained before her. She had broken those chains long ago, but still, she had no way of opening it.
“Murderer! Monster!” the two chanted, their voice beginning to echo with the phantom of others’ from long, long ago that she didn’t even recognise.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I… what choice did I have?”
“Let go, Hali Naras,” the bandit said softly.
“N-no… no, I- why damn myself when…?” she practically wept in grief over the guilt weighing on her, crawling across her back and threatening to crush her wholly.
“Why damn us?”
“I- I didn’t want to! I didn’t! I- y- you were- the things you did! A-and you would’ve died in any event!” she protested in tears, pointing at each of the two.
“That does not make us yours,” the girl said.
“No… It… it doesn’t…,” she conceded, “It doesn’t…”
There was a long pause where the two left her to weep, her sins weighing on her as she was lost to reflection, before the girl spoke again, “I cannot stop you.”
“Just as I could not,” the bandit added.
“So what will you do?”
“What?”
Hali knelt on that carpet in silence, darkness closing in as she muttered, shaking her head, “I don’t know…”
“Your selfish fear and desire for vengeance nearly drowned you once,” the bandit spoke, “Look around you.”
Raising her head, the drahn peered about, watching as the room was slowly being devoured by writhing black darkness, as if smoke filled with hues of crimson and violet had begun to choke out all in sight.
“You would return to your family. We no longer can,” the elven man said, shaking his head.
“Remember us, Hali Naras,” the girl said, “Remember that we lived.”
Every life is sacred, she had been taught by Kaori long ago, Even if you can’t comprehend them, you must respect them. From her knees, she fell prostrate, forehead touching the blood-stained carpet as she wept, “Forgive me…”
“Forgive yourself,” the two said in unison before, though she couldn’t see, she knew, they crumbled to black ash, leaving two more bodies behind her, “Learn...”
Slowly, she rose, a hand over her face.
No more, she thought to herself in that encroaching darkness, No more. Their names… their faces… I can’t let them be lost. Not like they were. No matter who they were. They died so I could live. No more.
The guilt weighed heavy on her as she stood straight again, saying aloud, “I won’t be a monster to protect those I love. I’ll live to protect them. I’ll live to honour those who I took away that I could live.”
With a shuddering crack from before her, a flood of darkness came pouring out of the great manor doors as they came slowly swinging open, the doors themselves just barely brushing past Hali. The wave of darkness washed over her, but beyond, she saw that flame once more. Crimson and violet in the black, burning bright, were four figures: Dahlia, Vivian, Suisei, and Ryuusei - her flames, her life.
She reached for them, staggered forward against the flood of darkness that threatened to devour her for her avarice, her hubris, and all faded to blinding white.
“Hali, mes etoiles,” echoes Dahlia’s voice in the recesses of her mind, “Come home safe.” Then, white melted away and left only the cold blackness of oblivion.
The door is open, but, this time, I have to earn this chance.
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coreshorts · 6 years ago
Text
Protector
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“E-eh? What? I-I, uh...!” stammered the portly, blond raen, midway through getting clothed that she might don her uniform armour. Having just joined the Crystarium guard not a month or two ago, not a year after their fated arrival in Lakeland in a world wholly unfamiliar to them, Asashio no Haruhi, or “Holly Morningtide”, as she’d begun calling herself in an effort not to have undue attention drawn, had been reporting for regular training exercises.
Of course, there was but a single delay of late - or, more accurately a pair of them - in that, following a peculiar series of events, Dahlia, having gone by the moniker “Odellia Morningtide” in the Crystarium, her wife for nearly two years by then, had borne not just one child, but a pair of twins: Suisei Soleil and Ryūsei Lunette - or, translated from their Hingan first and Ishgardian middle names, Comet Sun and Meteor Moon - or simply “Siana” and “Rhiannon” to those in the Crystarium.
“I said,” the dark-haired witchling sighed, looking somewhat impatient, her Ishgardian accent still somewhat strong, “I need to change Suisei. Ryuu is done, but I need you to keep an eye on her. Here, take the baby.” Once more, Dahlia offered forth the infant, the beginnings of platinum-blonde wisps starting to show in number, uneven scales and tiny nubs of horns having grown in just enough, and curious violet eyes wide open peering around as she burbled idly.
“I-, um, a-alright,” Hali said softly, looking between her tired wife and the two half-auri children, one of whom, with nearly a full head of short, dark hair and dark brown eyes, her own scales and horns starting to grow in just enough to be noticeable, as well, lying atop a pad set down for changing the two.
“It won’t kill you, stars,” Dahlia quipped with a smirk, Hali gingerly accepting Ryūsei into her arms, carefully cradling her, “Besides. I think you’ve died to worse, non? You’re not allowed to leave for good, now, if you could.”
This got a snort and a roll of the eyes out of the self-proclaimed “immortal,” the noise seeming to amuse Ryuu, who began laughing and grabbing at the raen’s long blond-and-silver locks, causing her to wince. Her retort forgotten, all she could do was let out a string of, “Ow, ow, ow...!” This, of course, only served to amuse the baby in her arms all the more, causing her to swing her arms, and, by extension, the hand yanking Hali’s hair.
“Have fun~,” Dahlia cooed tauntingly in response, clearly enjoying not being the only one to be taking care of the girls, for once.
The time spent humouring just one of the twins was an experience far too foreign for Hali, having never really dealt with a child in all her adult life. She generally harboured fears and anxieties that caused her to avoid them whenever she could, always worried that she’d do something wrong and, in so doing, face the wrath of the child’s caregiver(s). Now, however, she was one of those caregivers. Worse, Dahlia - the one woman in all of the world who she feared to cross more than any, mostly for fear of losing her love, though she wouldn’t often say so aloud to any other - was the other. Now, holding a child of her own, she found herself unable to really flee the situation, instead trying her best to embrace the situation, though as cautiously as she did the baby herself.
“W-what do I do...?” she asked the witchling as she sat on one of the nearby chairs in their apartment, the blinds drawn just enough so that the horrible, eternal light of the world outside did as little harm as possible. Ryūsei gave her hair another giggly yank. “Ow.”
“How should I know?” was Dahlia’s response. Preoccupied with changing a dirty diaper on the other girl, all she could do was roll her eyes, hair tied back into a tight ponytail to keep it from her face, especially as she gagged a little. It had been taking some getting used to, to be certain, but the reaction was not quite as bad after a few months of it. “You seem to be doing a fine enough job. If she’s happy, she’s happy.”
“Isn’t there - ow - something - ow! - I can do besides let her - ow, ow! - scalp me barehanded?”
“Ugh. Fine, fine. You picked up a couple toys from the neighbours, non? Find one of those.”
Rising with Ryūsei in her arms, Hali, “ow”-ing the whole way across the room, carefully shifted the little girl into one arm while grabbing for a small rubber rings with various nubs on it, rattling the bits and bobs inside to draw attention.
“How about this, sweetie?” she asked Ryuu with a pained smile, her tone as sweet as she could make it, sounding almost obnoxious were she not talking to a baby, “Try waving this around instead - nnnngh, ow ow - i-instead of momma’s hair, huh?”
This, thankfully, grabbed Ryuu’s attention, and violet eyes immediately diverted their gleeful gaze to stare at the little toy in her mother’s hand. No soon did she sees and hear it that she decided that it must be hers, and, releasing Hali’s hair, began making grabby hands, cooing incoherent baby-speak in what could only be a demand for the thing.
“You know,” Dahlia spoke up, sounding amused, “You’re better with them thank you think. I don’t know why you’re so nervous about it. After all, your parents were wonderful, quite unlike mine own. Ah, there. Much better.” With a small incantation, she lifted the diaper, only to have it immediately sucked through a dark tear in reality, opening by the woman’s magic, summarily sucking the dirty diaper into the void. 
Strange, they had both thought, how doing so never seemed to attract voidsent. At first, it had been done as an experiment once Dahlia was capable of safely casting again. When nothing occurred, time and time again, the witchling had seen fit to start tossing their garbage into it, as if to continue their insults to the very world of nothingness itself as a replacement for killing its invasive, ravenous denizens.
Handing the toy to Ryuu, who immediately began bludgeoning her poor mother in the horn with it, Hali took on a brief dazed look before angling her head to that it was impacting her cheek instead and muttered, “Really? She’s really trying to kill me, I-I’m, uh... pretty sure.” At that, the toy impacted her glasses, knocking them clear of her face and sending Dahlia into a fit of laughter, then Suisei, seeing her mother laughing, as well. After a moment, Hali could only laugh, as well, a softening smile on her face as Ryuu began, instead, chewing on what was until moments ago her weapon of choice.
“...all the things we’ve faced,” Hali muttered, laughing dying down to a soft sniff of amusement, Dahlia walking out from the small bed loft to regard her warmly, “And this is... probably going to be the, uh... s-strangest. And most difficult. Heh.”
“You’re telling me,” was the brunette’s only reply, though it was hardly resentful, the look on her face speaking of a happiness that served to melt just a little more of Hali’s apprehension, “But we’ll make it through this, as with all else. I have faith, mes etoiles. You’ve given me everything I’ve ever wanted and more. We will face this together. No matter where or when or how.”
With a deep breath, the erstwhile shinobi could only look down at the little girl in her arms and smile, saying, “...you’re right. It’d be, ah... awful of me to shirk any of it now. And... a-and I wouldn’t dream of it. Not now. Not ever.”
Looking at the beaming woman and the two tiny children that had been brought into the strange, apocalyptic world in which they’d found themselves, Hali could only feel that apprehension further melting away, little by little, and she cast her gaze out toward the light-bathed landscape outside. She couldn’t be the hunter, the killer, she was any longer. Her honour, she was taught, was to her duty, and to those who depended on her. Now, not only did Dahlia rely on her, despite her considerable power and magicks, but they had two daughters - their daughters, of their flesh and blood and aether - that had to, beyond all else, be assured of a life that could be safe, secure, and, above all... happy.
A new duty called for a new role, and, hers was, above all, as a protector.
(( This short was done as a response to @renataturner‘s post in the Ala Mhigan Born from Blood Discord server! Thanks for the prompt and good luck to everyone else writing their own responses to enter the contest!
Also, of course, featuring @umbralhearts‘s Dahlia! ♥))
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coreshorts · 6 years ago
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Long Game Short
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BANG!
A shot impacted the rock behind which sat crouched a red-headed woman in a suit and thick-heeled boots, her hair tied up into a tight bun. White gloves grasped a revolver, held ready, though she dared not poke her head out yet, hawkish, dark brown eyes closing tight against the subsequent wash of intense flame that exploded from the magicked bullet. The delay was intentional, the fair-skinned woman knew, intended to draw her from her cover prematurely; she knew better from her opponent.
The shot and the roar of the flames echoed off across the coast, momentarily drowning out the sound of the sea far below. The cliffs were hardly the best place for a duel, especially one of this magnitude, but that had, of course been the point: she was at a severe disadvantage, a single rock for cover and the cliffs to her back. The choices were to jump out into the line of fire or to take her own life by plunging down to the sand yalms below.
She feinted, uttering a spell as she drew a single card from her suit’s jacket pocket which was lined with arcane geometries, to produce an illusory duplicate of herself that stood and took aim. A shot rang out, as expected, and it whizzed through the head of the duplicate, right at the throat - exactly what she needed.
Nicole Sol, known more often as Nico, waited scarcely another moment before pulling back the hammer on her gilded black firearm and, whispering a command word, leaned up over the rock and fired a shot downrange. The bullet screamed as the geometries burned upon it by the revolver lit up, a white aethereal tracer cutting a line through the air toward a smaller cliff a short ways up the hill inland. 
Though her assailant had long since fallen prone, taking advantage of the higher ground, the bullet she fired was not meant to strike flesh, but the dirt and stone beneath. It struck true, indeed, several fulms below the grassy hilltop. However, unlike the previous shot that she had weathered behind her cover, this bore no delay, the bullet’s spell activating with a deafening sonic boom which tore through the earth with devastating concussive force.
There he was. Tora’ji Polaali, a miqo’te man with, Nico had known for years, an intense hatred for the woman, had sought to launch a surprise attack on her here to put an end to their rivalry once and for all. Nico had willingly walked into the trap, confident that she could emerge the victor. That confidence remained, even as a bead of sweat rolled down her temple. The rustle of the man’s white coat, its violet pattern of concentric circles like chains and its silver buckles, his short black hair and dark ashen features became visible with the destruction of the ground beneath him. However, as he dove away from the eruption of dirt and stone, the glint of those violet shades he’d always worn tipped Nico off to the fact that she’d been spotted again. With a quick motion, he slammed down the hammer of his own revolver, barked his own command word, and fired.
The resulting shot had Nico ducking for cover once more as the shot multiplied tenfold, a rain of ammunition impacting all around her. If she’d been a second later, she would’ve been riddled with wounds, the duplicated bullets fading and leaving her to bleed out. She had no intention of letting this happen, nor did it. Instead, she used the time that Tora’ji would use to try getting to cover himself to rush further uphill.
As she leapt out of her cover, however, another command word caught her attention, even as the heavy footfalls of the man’s dark-plated boots tore grass up behind him as he sprinted for a new place to hide. Nico recognised it immediately as a seeking shot, meant to curve toward her; the spell would make it much more likely to hit her while they ran.
With the selfsame command word spoken hastily, she pivoted, diving for the indentation in the hill that she had created, and fired a seeking shot of her own. With both bullets magicked to arc toward their targets, they came dangerously close, their seeking magic like opposed magnets, causing them to spiral out of control and create a temporary vortex of aethereal currents that, upon its expiry, left the projectiles falling harmlessly to the ground.
Though neither hit their mark, Tora’ji and Nico had both still achieved their goal in this instance, Tora’ji to find new cover and Nico to gain even ground. There was a long pause before, finally, the man’s youthful voice shouted across the silence to her.
“I know you came here knowing I’d ambush you, Sol,” he shouted, his tone strained and breath short, but still somewhat calm - the man was yet to lose his cool - despite the ongoing firefight, “Out here, though? That hubris won’t help you. You’re no Conservator. You’re a glorified bloody bodyguard for an airhead of a Philosopher.”
“So you’ve said countless times, Tora’ji,” Nico shot back, breathing heavily from the sprint, but otherwise unruffled, herself, “Do you have aught to say that might actually interest me, or can we continue trying to kill one another?”
The answer was another crack of the man’s revolver and a wash of flame that rendered the earth around her blackened and singed, devoid of its greenery. Thankfully, the cover held. The Conservator’s response was quick and ruthless, no command word spoken as she used the time to reload her revolver, leaning out of her cover again to fan the hammer of her revolver, firing six shots in rapid succession as the glint of her self-proclaimed rival’s sunglasses came around the corner of a larger rock just across the hill a ways. 
There was silence for a time after, during which Nico had ducked back into that hole in the cliff side. She had heard no response to the salvo - not of pain nor of retreat - and it gave her pause. Had he managed to anticipate her? There was no time to ponder, and so, instead, she decided to investigate the silence. Drawing the same card from before and conjuring another illusory duplicate that went sprinting out of her cover, she stomped her feet for the first few seconds of its flight, hoping to draw fire, back to the dirt and an ear open to listen.
In the next instant, she had her answer. However, it came in the form of another flame wave that hit at the feet of the duplicate as it fled, kicking up dirt and charred vegetation. Tora’ji had seemed to anticipate even the illusion, attempting to create a temporary disruption so that his flight further uphill, which had been silent until that point, would remain unimpeded. She hardly needed him poking out from over top of her, and so she fled, as well, using the man’s own distraction tactic to her advantage.
“Got you!” came the miqo’te’s voice, and, in the next moment, even as Nico took that queue to lunge out of the way, the blinding pain of a bullet impacted her right side, thankfully dampened by her suit’s enchantments and the armoured carbonweave vest beneath the jacket. It still hurt, though, causing her to stumble and gasp for breath, her ribs pounding with pain just for another bullet to soar past her head. The second shot would have hit her if she hadn’t partially-doubled over, and so, she pushed herself and kept running, pulling back the hammer on her revolver and firing blindly in the direction of Tora’ji’s voice to try and buy herself some time.
Whether by luck or some divine providence, she heard a hiss of pain at her fourth shot. Though the Keeper of the Moon that was gunning for her had similar protections, she managed to keep the score even, as it were, as she managed to make her way to the top of the hill, ducking behind a tree.
“You’re not gonna kill me with shots like that, Sol!” he snarled, pain evident in his voice. Had she wounded him enough to break his stride that much? She smirked a bit despite the continued pounding in her ribs. The bullet with which he’d struck her was still lodged in her suit jacket, and, much as it vexed her to allow it to remain, she let it; despite her commitment to her appearance, her life - and victory over a long-time thorn in her side - was far more important.
She didn’t respond to him, instead just using his taunts to keep tabs on him. He’d always been mouthy, and, as much as she and her partner, Odellia, enjoyed playful banter during confrontation to keep up morale, it was always simply too much, too melodramatic.
Silence ensued again, and, she determined, he was looking for her. She’d lost him. If she hadn’t, he’d have immolated her cover long ago. The tree wouldn’t last to such a blast at he’d prepared for her. Checking her remaining bullets in the pouch hidden beneath her jacket at her belt, she frowned. She’d only three shots left, not counting the two in her revolver. She loaded the remaining three in and took a long breath.
It was just as Tora’ji had planned. It was a long game he’d been playing. First, he’d separate her from Odellia, using the Philosopher’s errand to deliver her report to his advantage. While she was back in the Sharlayan motherland, he’d arranged for a falsified report to demand Nico’s attention: an anomaly in Vylbrand was reported, remnants of the Calamity not moons ago causing an upheaval on the eastern coast to the far south of Costa del Sol. He’d slipped into her inn room just before she was to leave to investigate, depriving her of all she didn’t immediately have on her person: her spare ammunition, her aetheryte pass, her money, and her linkpearls. Though he didn’t get her revolver or the ammunition she’d had on her person while she was at the front desk, dealing with a complaint lodged against her for “suspicious activity” with the Yellowjackets, she’d been completely deprived of all but her firearm and a handful of bullets. With the Yellowjackets performing an investigation of her room and time running short, she had no choice but to appear where Tora’ji lay in wait to ambush her. It had all dripped of his underhanded sabotage, but she’d little choice. She knew he’d have gone through the investigation agency’s reports linkshell, and, when she’d been assigned, she’d play into his hands whether she went or not.
It had been like that for years. Ever since she had been promoted to Conservator, partnered with Odellia - at the time, a budding, but prodigal, Philosopher - and assigned to keep her safe both through assuring her silence on the motherland’s closely-guarded secrets and as an asset, herself. The pink-haired woman impressed her from the start, her apparent spaciness a very clever and convincing front that concealed one of the sharpest women she’d known in a long time. However, Tora’ji had his eye on her, too, and when Nico was promoted from their shared position as Observer to Conservator, then, just moons later, began dating the woman, he became enraged. He began to deny his fondness for Odellia and became hostile to both her and the red-headed Conservator, often sabotaging their jobs, even succeeding, at first. For the first year of Nico’s career as a Conservator, she was constantly in danger of being sent to remedial training or, worse, terminated. After a while, though, she got wise, avoiding the pitfalls her so-called rival had been setting for her, forcing him to engage in a longer, more drawn-out game. This was to be the final scene for it, she knew. Nearly two years had passed, and not even the Calamity in Eorzea stopped him.
It all came down to this moment. She knew she could still gain the upper hand, and, while she was yet unseen, she peeked out toward the last direction she’d heard his voice. However, just as she did, another shot rang out, and, though she managed to avoid taking a worse hit, the shot glanced off of her revolver, the next seeking shot arcing right into its side. The impact wrenched the firearm from Nico’s grasp, the weapon clattering to the ground as she flinched back behind the tree.
Tora’ji laughed triumphantly. “You know, that might’ve been my last shot,” he taunted, walking up the hill in plain view, “if you weren’t such a generous sort.” He opened the cylinder on his own revolver and begin reloading with Nico’s stolen ammunition.
“Now why don’t you come out before that poor little tree turns into a charcoal with you,” he snarled, holding the revolver level and leering over his sunglasses at her. That was that. She had no choice. If she dove for her weapon, the explosion from his firebrand would cook her alive, and if she stayed behind that tree, she was just as helpless as she’d be facing him.
With a resigned sigh, she held her hands up in a motion of surrender and paced out into the open, a stoic expression on her face. She took a long breath and tensed as the miqo’te pulled down the hammer and barked his command word once more. With a brilliant flash and a burst of flame, all Nico could see was fire as the man’s revolver exploded in his hand, sending him reeling backward, just barely escaping his own fireball.
Nico quirked a brow, hawkish brown eyes watching as the plume dispersed. Though he was mostly unharmed thanks to the enchantments he had on his own gear, rendering him untouchable to his own spells, her was clearly stunned, and his firearm was blown to pieces on the ground before him.
“How-?!” he sputtered, looking at his hands in disbelief, rubbing fingers to palms to rid himself of the explosion’s residue, “You-! You did that! You-”
“Knew,” Nico finished, adjusting her gloves and finally pulling that troublesome bullet from the magicked weave of her suit jacket, the hole mending itself as soon as the intrusive piece of metal was removed. “Yes. You give O too little credit. Before she left, she befouled the powder in those bullets you stole from me." “What? They’re... they’re duds?” he asked, straightening up, rigid in shock.
“Of course. Though, that you had to overdo it and attempt a spellshot with foreign ammunition is your own folly,” she replied, brushing off her shoulders, walking calmly toward the miqo’te, who responded by reaching to his belt and drawing a hunting knife, snarling defiantly.
“Fuck it. I don’t need a gun to kill you, Sol.”
“I beg to differ.”
With a howl of rage, the rancorous Observer charged Nico. Bringing the knife up to attempt a slash across her neck, he found himself blocked as the Conservator had seamlessly brought up a hand to strike his forearm, stopping the swing short and sending a shock up his arm. With her right, she brought a fist to his chest, the impact leaving him gasping for air. Trying to recover, the miqo’te flipped the knife and brought it down from overhead in an attempt to stab her, only to have the woman slip around to his side and bring an elbow to the back of his head.
“Ungh...! I won-” he started to say, but was cut off as he whirled around by the hell of a boot colliding with this side of his face, knocking him unceremoniously to the ground, where he barely caught himself on all fours. His sunglasses came free of his head, previously held within his hair, rather than on his ears, given his anatomy, making them far too easy to dislodge. The man hissed, bright sunlight causing his nocturnally-attuned jade eyes to squint despite his efforts to keep them open.
“You waste far too much time talking.”
Turning on her heel, Nico made for her gun, walking at a rather patient pace. With Tora’ji scrambling for his lost eyewear, she was under no pressure to recover her revolver quickly, even as he recovered and came charging her again.
“Don’t turn your back to me, damn you!” he yelled, but, as he got close, the red-headed Conservator dropped to the ground, scooping up her revolver, turning on the spot, and fanning the hammer, a knee to the ground.
The first shot went wide. The second just barely grazed the man’s leg. However, the third impacted his hip, throwing him for a loop. The fourth hit higher, slamming into his arm as it came down due to his wild stumbling. The fifth and last shot she had, however, also went completely wide when Tora’ji let himself drop to the ground, rather than keep stumbling, dropping into a roll that brought him within striking distance with that knife of his.
Nico huffed in annoyance, her calm disrupted slightly as she launched herself backward to avoid him and stand up straight. She clipped her revolver into its holster and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Taking a long breath, she held her ground, Tora’ji springing back to his own feet and charging her again with that knife.
He swung hard for her side, and she hopped to the side with the swing, carrying herself out of its range while giving herself more time to avoid it. In the gap left by the enraged strike, she charged forward and brought a palm up for the Observer’s face. The base of her palm impacted his nose, and, with a sickening crunch, he staggered back with a scream, a stream of blood pouring down his face and staining his shirt and jacket.
“Augh! By face! You bitch!” he roared, sounding as if he’d suddenly developed a nasty cold. However, before he could recover enough to make another move, the toe of Nico’s boot hit him beneath the chin, snapping his head backward and sending him onto his back as she hit again with the sole, shoving him hard.
With Tora’ji on the ground, she stomped down hard on the wrist of the hand holding that knife, causing him to release it before she kicked it away from him.
“Kill be,” he said, still holding his bleeding, broken nose with the other hand, staring hatefully at her from the ground, eyes watery behind those sunglasses of his, “add Sharlayad will doh. You’ll be a pariah. Burderig a fellow Idvestigator.”
Nico shook her head, a small, amused smile forming as he spoke. “You’re really a lot less threatening when you sound like you should be abed with a hot water bottle and some medicine.”
“You broke by doze!” he howled in indignation, met only by a nod. “Fide. Do it.”
“Oh, doh- ah, pardon. Oh no. I’m... quite alright,” she said, readjusting her gloves, shaking off the bit of blood from her right hand, the glove magically pristine once more afterward, “After all, you’ve talent. It’s just wasted on pettiness. Killing you would still be a waste of life. I’m, frankly, against it.”
“You sdide little...” he muttered, pausing, as if in thought before he backed off a ways, rifling through his pockets before pulling out Nico’s stolen linkpearl and speaking into it, “This is Tora’j-”
He was cut off as the pearl glinted brightly, bursting next to his ear with such force that bits of his skull went flying from his head, his sunglasses dislodged once more. With blood pouring down his head from the missing chunk the rigged linkpearl took from him, his fingers blown to ribbons, the miqo’te fell to the ground with a heavy thud, dead.
Nico took a long breath and sighed, stepping forward to pick up the fallen shades. She looked at them for a long time, closed the arms, and slipped them onto her jacket pocket. Reaching up to an ornate earring, she activated the hidden linkpearl within it.
“Observer Tora’ji Polaali has been confirmed killed in action,” she said calmly as she drew a small prismatic crystal from a black silken pouch in her jacket, “Target eliminated. I’ll begin cleanup immediately and prepare my own report.”
With a flick of her wrist, she cast the fire crystal toward him, and, as it impacted him, the body combusted in a flash of brilliant, white arcane flame, burning away enchantment, armour and all. Within time, naught remained of Tora’ji Polaali, save for his sunglasses.
This would call for an aesthetic change, for sure. She’d earned it.
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coreshorts · 6 years ago
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From Beyond the Dark
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A chill wind blew through the mountains. A young woman, likely no older than her mid-twenties, stumbled haphazardly through the rocks and and brush, led only by moonlight. Her form was shrouded in a heavy cloak, but it did no more than keep out the cold of the night; if she was spotted, she would be recognised instantly. If she kept moving, however, maybe - just maybe, she hoped and prayed, though she knew not to whom - they wouldn’t catch her.
She stumbled as her thoughts began to wander, and her foot caught on a loose rock. She fell and hit the ground hard, able to do little more in her surprise than fall into a roll, tucking in to keep from injuring herself too badly. As she came to a stop some few feet down the rocky hillside, she found that the rock she’d overturned had bounced off and down further, vanishing over a small drop. Picking herself up and ignoring the searing pain in her ankle, the cloaked woman hobbled her way down to the cliff’s edge to peer over.
Hours had passed, she knew, and between the tiredness in her legs and the pain she felt from her fall, radiating up her calf and pulsating up her side, she resolved to let this tiny bit of cover be her rest stop. Working her way down and around the small outcropping of rock on which she stood, she sighed in relief at the sight: a cave, littered with old bones and smelling faintly of wet fur. She’d stumbled upon a bear’s den, more than likely, but its inhabitant, blessedly, seemed to be away. Tucking in, she slipped inside to find a chamber, slightly larger than the opening, beyond.
Quietly, the woman stepped inside, righting herself as she kicked some bones and brush aside. She had no provisions, no food or water, nothing for warmth but the heavy cloak which had become altogether too stifling in her flight. In the enclosed space, she finally pulled back the heavy hood that hid her features, revealing, at first, long, dark blond hair and skin pale as the moonlight that shone through the den’s entrance. Glinting against the light were steely blue eyes, irises limned with an odd, almost luminescent violet hue, with dark, heavy circles beneath them showing signs of a long history of exhaustion, spanning, likely, back to before her escape.
The blonde sighed softly, and her next step brought with it a wince and a muffled grunt of pain. With her adrenaline wearing off in the temporary safe space, the pain in her side and, especially, in her ankle, had become all the more noticeable. At this, an instinct welled up in her: the darkness - no, something beyond the darkness - called out to her, begged for her acknowledgement. Her left arm shot with pain and she hissed, shaking it as if to rid it of a temporary ache. Eventually, the feeling passed, however, and her mind quieted, leaving her alone in the darkness of the cave to slowly lower herself to the ground, sitting against the rocky wall at the back.
She’d had no time to reminisce, to ponder her flight from them, but there she was. She remembered nothing from her previous life, from before them. She knew she was different than they were. She looked different, knew different things, even spoke different words, but she knew no one else. The last thing she could remember was hands on her, chilling her, reaching through her flesh to embrace her very soul. It was a feeling of emptiness, as if something had been taken away, though she knew, in her mind, that it was quite the opposite. Something had been changed in her, added to her, making her not more or less but different. She knew she was different, at least from how she was before. However, there was a new familiarity with it, and it had called from beyond the dark then, too. She didn’t know what it meant, then, and she still didn’t know. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to know.
Halinara, as she was called, was less a name than a title, or perhaps a role: a Child of Shadow. There were others called the same, but they were all called upon as though it was a name for them, and none ever remembered what they were truly called. They’d invented nicknames for each other, she and the other children, in order to communicate clearly. She was Steel, after her blue eyes that shone like a new blade in the pale violet light of the braziers on the stone walls of the only place she knew as home. She didn’t like it, but it was the only way to identify each other. They followed that line of thinking too, taking names for their eyes. Steel, Amber, Jade, Sea, and Black, they were called. The elders paid no mind, and it didn’t always matter, anyway; they were always “you,” or “it,” or “the Child.” She had cast all of it aside, now. She was no longer a child, no longer a tool, no longer the girl called “Steel” who had been forced into this role.
Pain roused the blonde from her reflection for just a moment, her side and ankle throbbing again, as if to remind her of the urgent matter that the otherwise benign hurts would become if she was found in that little den, by man or beast. The darkness around her called again as cloud cover caused the moonlight filtering through the opening to dim and falter. Something comforting lay beyond, and all she had to do, she knew, was reach for it. It was tempting, and she began to weigh her options. Would giving in make her less of herself? Would it harm her more than it would help? The pain down her arm turned from a sting to a burn. It was a familiar burn - cold, deep, far below the flesh and crawling through her very bones into her core - that had evolved over time. At first it was hot, searing, her flesh scarred and twisted by the molten black stone that had been used to inscribe the runes across her chest and left arm, down to her very fingers, another pushed into her flesh right above her heart where it yet remained, half grown-over with scars. It always burned when the call in her mind began to tempt her. Its siren song called her to draw upon it, to take it into herself and become one.
She feared that nameless, formless entity beyond the dark. It was unknown to her, spoken of only in hushed whispers and tongues beyond her understanding. She knew the words, heard them repeated thousands of times in chants and rituals, sometimes even in conversation among the elders, but she knew so little of what any of them meant, it was all lost. All she knew was the burn, the calling, and the temptation to use what was offered by that which beckoned and the fear of it that came with the call.
It would make her better, they’d told her. It would hurt, but it was necessary - it was all necessary, every time - and that the pain gave her strength to fulfill her destiny. It didn’t matter if that destiny was something she wanted or not. Destiny is not chosen by the destined, they would tell her. She had no say, they would tell her. They were wrong, she knew, but she could do nothing to fight it. Where had she to go? To whom would she run? They made her situation clear: they, together with this “destiny” of hers, were her best chance of survival in a cruel, dark world, stranded as she was in the vast range of mountains, nothing but rock on all sides.
That didn’t matter anymore. Even if she had nowhere to run, she would keep running until, eventually, she tired. She was tired. Her legs and lungs alike burned with a heat that contrasted the cold creeping up to her chest from the runic brands on her arm. She wondered what they were: seals? Perhaps they were a beacon to draw whatever was in the dark. That thought made her shudder. If they were a beacon, would they know where to find her?
The call in the back of her mind strengthened, growing louder, adding thoughts to her own. It told her that she needn’t fear if she accepted it. Gift or curse, it was hers to bear, whether she wanted it or not… and it could be her only chance of survival. That made the young woman nervous. Whether the thoughts were her own or not, they felt alien enough to distract her, causing her to peer about at the gloomy interior of the den again. No one was there to greet her but the darkness and a stray beam of moonlight.
It wouldn’t matter, she realised. Anxiety and exhaustion were weighing heavy. Even her pain, the cold burn fading with the call’s silence once more, her ankle, and all else, began to dull as consciousness slipped from her mind. She’d been running since dusk, and the siren song of the early morning birds, sparse as they were, lulled her off to sleep against that back wall.
Her dreams weren’t always the same, but some were certainly more frequent than others. Some were memories, relieved as if time was rewound, with the pain and torment renewed. Some were memories of another person - another time, even - long ago, perhaps, always from the eyes of a child. Others were indistinguishable. Darkness, shadowy images on a shadowy backdrop, unfamiliar silhouettes, and unintelligible thoughts would run through her head, forgotten by her waking and were left as but brief glimpses back to her dreaming when she woke.
The dream she had that night, however, felt particularly real. As dreams often do, it was mashed together, various concepts and times intertwining chaotically. She found that even she was in flux. She felt younger, perhaps, but found herself out of place with the child she felt she was, stuck once more in the cold, stone prison that once held her after the first manifestation of that dark presence. The bricks of the wall felt nearly as large as she was, painted in blood - her blood - with runes, the bars stained dark red in the same manner. The way the room undulated with every step brought to mind the woozy, faint feeling of having lost so much blood. Another step brought more swaying, the room pitching sharply from side to side, tossing her to the floor. She felt the stones beneath her, followed by nothingness. She was a monster, locked away for her own good. A magical creature made to be penned and used, forgotten until she had another duty, another purpose. It had felt like forever that she’d been trapped. Yet, even with her suffering, she knew no better. There could be no better, not for her.
When her vision returned, the stones were falling away with a horrible creaking, flames of violet mixing with crimson and brilliant yellow to create a cacophony of colour, heat and cold colliding to create fluctuating wind currents that practically sucked the air from place to place and made it hard to breathe, especially as smoke whipped around in the violent gusts. The bars were open and one of the elders stood above her. As he neared to speak to her, his breath was hot upon her face. He exhaled, then choked, flecks blood from between his lips spattering out across her face.
She woke with a start at that feeling. When she brought a hand to her face, she felt something wet. When she breathed, she breathed warm air. She heard another heavy breath, coming large and deep as it washed over her face, and when she opened her eyes, she was at once blinded by the sunlight filtering in through the light behind the form of a large bear before it reared up, blocking the light. With a mighty roar, it attempted to bring a massive, clawed fore-paw down on her.
Thankfully, the start the young blonde was given woke her enough to react. However, the reaction was impulsive. It was instinctive. She knew it without knowing. She did it without thinking. The darkness called… and she answered.
In one instant, she was beneath the downswing of those vicious claws. In the next, she was a shadowy blur that carried her through the bear’s body to it’s other side, where she took form once again, ebon and violet smoke wreathing her form, her pupils narrowed to slits and irises glowing a dark purple. She bared her teeth and struck out with both hands, thrusting them forward and sending a powerful blast of pure dark magic into the beast’s back, sending it flying, bodily, into the wall with a meaty thud. Turning another upward, spears of gloom erupted from beneath it, skewering it multiple times over and leaving the quickly-expiring bear to lay bleeding on the ground with a low, weak rumble.
In a flurry of thought and chaos, it began, and it ended in almost a direct inverse. The sun on her back, even through her cloak, was intolerable, the illuminated stone around her simply too bright to handle. With a sharp inhalation, she darted back out of the light, retreating to the shadows off to the side and stumbling over her twisted ankle, hissing in pain as she nearly tumbled to the ground again. The bleeding bear now occupied her previous resting place, its breathing ceased. The shadowy haze that had engulfed her was lifting and her otherworldly features had begun to recede to bare hints in her otherwise human appearance. Drawing on the last of the shadowy power that had practically infused her from beyond the darkness in that cave, she felt the wounded ankle ease in its throbbing. Yet, even with those shadows - like home, a friend - her mind raced with hypothetical scenarios, the worst of all being that she could be located through her outburst.
She sat back against the wall of the cave, staring at the bear’s smoking wounds. It wasn’t, of course, smoke, but residual dark magic seeping out of it. It would stop, eventually, she knew. It wasn’t her first kill, not like this or otherwise. It had always been beasts, however. She’d never brought herself to kill another sapient being. She didn’t care to think about it any more than that. She found she just didn’t care. Whether it was taught, trained, or just inherent to her for being some kind of killer creature, it didn’t matter.
It was, paradoxically, her lack of concern that concerned her the most. She tried not to dwell on it, however. Her ankle was healed, and she had to keep moving. To where, it didn’t matter; she just had to run. She pulled her hood back over her head and, tentatively, rushed out to greet the sunlight with squinting and pained noises as her eyes found they had no ability to truly tolerate it. In moments, she found herself back in the dark’s embrace, sitting back and cursing to herself. She would have to wait until nightfall, but then, she would move again. For the time being, she made her way over to the fallen bear, pushing it with her feet, back to the wall, to make space for herself and the keep the blood from pooling to that side. It smelled awful, the smell of blood bringing back horrid memories of that prison cell again, but it was warm and it would do. It would have to until she could begin running again… and she had to run.
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coreshorts · 6 years ago
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She was asleep, dreaming. She had to be, or at least hallucinating as she began to doze off. She felt the strange out-of-body sensation for that slow moment that passed like pushing through a barrier of some kind, and then the world asserted itself around her, bit by bit, as she noticed its various features.
It was a manor, strangely familiar, though the Raen, dressed in little more than the oversized shirt and underwear in which she fell asleep, exposing chubby thighs and scaled arms and legs, swore to herself she’d never seen it before.
Portraits lined the walls of the worn and broken-down manor, so distant as to be unreachable, but so massive that they were unmistakable, but they, each, were charred and blackened. A crimson carpet with gold trim spanned the length of the room, from the open double doors far, far behind her that led into naught but a yawning maw of nothingness to the next set of doors that seemed to change their shape every time she looked at them, though were always chained shut. The massive room had furniture, broken down and sometimes in pieces, strewn about haphazardly. Some intersected with the carpet behind her, and she realised her body bore bruises and wounds from when she’s tripped over what was in her path. In fact, a tear in the carpet lay just behind her, soaked in her own blood, she knew. The tear was familiar, too, but she, again, swore to herself, I’ve never been here, so… why?
“Have you? Or’re you simply not rememberin’?” came a familiar voice that caused her spin around.
Standing not ten fulms down the carpet toward the chained door was a knight, a lance strapped to their back. However, the armour was very much that of a dark knight she’d met: iconic blackened, spiked plate with a crimson shawl and wicked, horned helmet. Two purple ears sprouted from it, though, and, as the figure removed their helmet, the familiar voice was placed: Keerith.
“Think. Remember what we talked about, Hali,” the purple-haired Keeper told her with a stern, yet comforting look that soon melted into a smile as Hali felt herself remember facets of the conversation she’d had just the night prior. “Y’got a lot to think about. Got a lot to recall, too, huh?”
“Like… this place?” the Raen asked softly. She realised that, though she was wounded, she felt no pain, here, no fatigue. Keerith nodded.
“Look around a moment,” she said, casting an arm off to the side, “Tell me what y’see.”
As she turned to look around again, the portraits on the walls shed dust and char, as if they’d been burned, though the walls, despite showing wear from age, were not at all singed.
“Remember what those were?” the knight asked her patiently.
“I…” she started, but instead, the lance on Keerith’s back was unsheathed, and the Raen was blown back by a single, mighty swing. She found herself flying backward, away from her body, and landed on her backside on the other side of the tear in the narrow carpet where it’d been sewn back together atop her blood.
As she looked around again, the portraits’ char fell away, revealing face, people. Figures from her past: the Naras Matriarch, the Crawford Brothers, the Immortals, the Fustuarium, Dahlia as she was when possessed by Mirseleiris, and the Outriders. Behind Keerith was one more, though, that she hadn’t seen, even covered by soot: Dahlia and Vivian, their backs turned away. The portraits struck her with a wrenching pain as she saw various gestures or expressions or body language indicating hatred, frustration, and contempt.
“This… this… but it’s not what I deserve,” she protested, standing and walking forward toward her body, frozen as if in time. 
As she crossed the tear in the carpet, each of the portraits around the room on those much-too-distant walls burst into a familiar black-and-violet flame. It licked at them, charring them to nothing. Her heart shot into her throat, however, when she saw that all of the portraits had begun to burn, even that of Dahlia and Vivian.
“No, no!” she cried, and broke into a run, calling out, “I can’t- they don’t deserve that either! They didn’t! Stop!”
She collided headlong with the back of her own body and felt herself stumble, feeling and seeing her arm outstretched, wretched with that same dark flame as it threatened to char her beloved and her sister to nothing but black. The flames died, and the portrait was whole again as her arm dropped.
“Remember yet?” Keerith asked, “Y’know what you’re fighting, now, no less what you’re fightin’ for.” She gestured up, above and behind her to direct Hali’s attention back to the portrait.
The de Bellechier twins beamed down at her, their expressions full of love and affection for the poor Raen, they hands both extended as if to free them of the portrait and offer to bring her with them. Her eyes teared up and she sniffled, the warmth of the two she’d loved so wholly - Dahlia and her sister, Vivian, alike, her family - calling out to her and bidding her to right herself.
Unbidden, she felt and heard herself speak in tandem with Keerith, her own voice different: harsher, sharper, almost angry, “I need to remember. Every night spent feeling loss and guilt and self-loathing. Every morning waking in tears, forgetting, and denying. Every day stumbling and suffering. All of it. I need to remember… me.”
She winced. It wasn’t from pain, or against a light, but almost reflexively. When she looked back up again, a familiar figure took Keerith’s place: Hali, dressed in that black dress she’d come to love so. She wondered why she did, as it was so new, but it came to her as the other her twirled on the carpet, miraculously not ruffling the gold-trimmed crimson at all.
“Yes. That’s why I had this made,” she said to herself, prompting her conscious self to look down and see herself in the same outfit, “To remember. But it didn’t work well, did it?” She laughed a bit bitterly.
“Time after time after time. Every night for moons,” her other side said, frowning and taking slow steps to approach her, hands upturned in a prolonged shrug, “I danced this dance with myself, ignorant. Making my own pleas to my own deaf, deluded mind. Stuck in fear and denial. In confusion.”
“You’re… you’re one to talk,” she told the other Hali, “If you’re part of me.”
This got a look of utter glee from the one she recognised, at last, as her darkside, as crimson eyes and an aura of abyss flared up and she clapped her hands together.
“I remembered…! I remembered! Yes!” they both said at once, one in shock and the other in joy, “This is me! You are me and I am you! We are no different! And there is no shame… in being me. Is there?” Both shook their heads, one hesitantly, the other with a wolfish grin.
“I think… that I’m ready,” she told her darkside as it reached out to gently carress her cheek as one would a lover, “Once and for all. And…”
“No forgetting,” they both said at once. Both nodded.
The darkside raised her other hand, both resting on her shoulders, and she did the same, looking up, past her own face to see Dahlia and Vivian beaming down at her, beckoning. Even through the darkness threatening to take command of her very sight with such close proximity, those faces, one to protect with all her might and one whose memory deserved so, so much better, shone like burning beacons.
“Listen to our heartbeat,” her darkside said softly, closing her eyes, “Listen for my voice. Listen… L i s t e n . . .”
Darkness began to take her, rising up over her ankles, pouring from her chest, embracing her, choking her. She wanted to close her eyes. She wanted to wake up. She wanted to run, to deny, to- to fight. 
I have to fight, she thought to herself in the midst, For them.
With the choking grasp of the abyss closing tight around her, those faces, that warmth, almost vanished entirely. She couldn’t see anymore. She couldn’t feel. It became like a cold, dark maw, comforting, yet obliterating.
“This is where I belong,” she heard from her own voice, neither from herself or her darkside, echoing around her, and then it repeated, “This is where I belong.” She sank. She felt oblivion. It was cold and inviting. It was alone.
“Non, mes étoiles,” came a voice, speaking in Ishgardian, its delicate, feminine tone and flowery accent unmistakable as that of her wife, “You do not belong there, but here. With me.”
“Hali, ma chérie,” chimed in another, sweeter voice that she immediately recognised as Vivian’s, “Don’t leave her just yet. She needs you. I am waiting… but the longer I wait, the happier I will be. Go to her, ma sœur bien-aimée.”
“Hali…?” called Dahlia’s voice. She sounded worried, distant. Not like before. She was falling away from her...
No, Hali thought, but the darkness pulled.
She growled, “No.” It pulled.
She roared it, “NO!” Everything stopped.
The hold the abyss has had on her stopped dragging her down and, instead, she felt it fall away. She, too, fell, and landed in a heap on the carpet once more, just in front of the chained door, the portrait of Dahlia and Vivian above her shining with a burning, violet light. It was unlike the darkness, but still cool and comforting. Her beacon, she realised, was here, pulling her back from the brink of oblivion.
“What... now?” she asked herself, reaching for the chains that barred the door before her. Her hand wreathed itself in dark flame and passed through one, then another, and they fell away with a heavy clatter, melted through. However, not all reacted so, and when she grabbed one that she could not melt, she heard a voice again.
“Child of darkness,” came a deep, cold voice from behind her, though when she turned, there was nothing, “You have your beacon, your guiding light in the dark. Do not lose yourself to evil or oblivion, for that is what it means to be a Dark Knight. If you cannot master yourself, the nightmares will never stop. You must prove yourself - master this power within you. You must become more. You. Must. Be. Free.”
She sighed, rubbing at her face beneath her glasses. Great. Now he’s a Mysterious Monologuing Disembodied Voice, she thought to herself, only to feel the tip of a blade press to her throat.
“Mind your goal. If you lose yourself to the darkness, I will destroy you. It is my duty. My charge.”
She had no snarky comeback about immortality for the man who called himself “The Unrelenting”: a tall, imposing figure wearing armour much like Keerith had before - his armour, she realised - and keeping a greatsword’s tip barely pressed to her throat as he warned her, “Master your power, ere it masters you. You will lose your wife, your soul, and all you cherish. You will fail, lest you heed that which keeps you tethered - your light, your love.”
She backed up, but impacted the chains. The Unrelenting lowered his sword and gazed up at the portrait.
“This door will not yet open. You are not ready. You will be,” he said, cryptic as she remembered him in the waking world, though his voice abruptly changed, sounding like her own as he continued, “I will be. Or I will be devoured. Where that leads… not even Vivian awaits.”
The figure turned, began to walk, and the armour crumpled, as though there was no one wearing it, the greatsword all that remained as the armour turned paper-thin, leaving Hali there to stare at that blade and contemplate. She didn’t have long; she was seized by a shoulder and jarred.
“Hali!” . . . . .
“Hali! Please!” begged Dahlia, shaking the Raen awake as she laid in their bed, cold sweats drenching her from horn to tail, her skin nearly a pale blue and her breathing shallow.
All at once, Hali took a deep, laboured gasp, and shot up. The world spun. She laid back down.
“N-no, no. Just… just lie down. Are- what happened? You- you-” Hali blearily allowed Dahlia’s face to come into focus. She was crying, this time, looking panicked.
“How,” Hali coughed as she croaked, “How long was I…?”
“It’s barely sunrise, ma chérie,” the Ishgardian said, worried, “What- what happened? You… y-you started tossing. You woke me up and… then stopped. You were… so cold. You’d stopped breathing for several seconds and I-” She was overcome by a heavy shudder and collapsed against the Raen, sobbing, “I thought you…!”
Hali chuckled tiredly, getting a look of disbelief from the younger girl, “I’m… I’m okay. I know… what happened. What’s been happening… this time. I’m sorry that I… mh… frightened you. Daijobu desu.”
She smiled, taking a long breath and sitting up, guiding Dahlia up with her.
“What… are you talking about?” she asked, only to be met by a smile.
“Do what you need to do with, ah… Aoife and Aedremor,” she said, reaching of to cup the witch’s cheek with a hand and leaning over to kiss her, “I trust you. I love you. And... ahah... I’ve… a bit of explaining to do… but I’m going away for a little bit. I won’t ever be far, and... I will always be there to protect you. I promise. But… I’ve, ah…”
She chuckles to herself at the ludicrous, dramatic thought.
I’ve got a door that I have to open.
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coreshorts · 6 years ago
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How many months has it been?
Wondering to herself, a small Ala Mhigan girl of no more than twenty-and-change summers laid sprawled out haphazardly on a fluffy futon, crammed just barely into a storage closet. A magitek headset covered her ears, mid-length ginger hair unruly beneath it without her usual headback holding it in place. She wore nothing but a loose white shirt, underwear, and a light shawl, patterned in a distinctive pattern popular in Gyr Abania.
With her legs kicked up against a wall, she stared up at the ceiling, twirling her thick-framed glasses in one hand by a stem. She’d been particularly pensive that evening. Strangely, the question she expected to be on everyone’s lips in the Eorzean Free Company where she’d found asylum from her former Imperial comrades was absent - conspicuously so, she felt. She was asked about her allegiances, why she was no longer with the Empire, and what she wanted, but, strangely enough, the circumstances of her having fled were left silent.
“I accidentally killed my boss,” seemed to be enough for them. How was that enough? Was it just Eorzean to simply brush over facts like that when taking someone in? Did they really trust her enough to just let her prove herself on her own?
With a restless, “Bluhhh,” and the thums of her heels impacting the wooden wall of the Outriders’ workshop supply closet in which she’d made her temporary living space, she pondered, thinking back. She’d had to explain it to at least one person since joining, but she expected as much. Hali wanted to know - the target of her late commanding officer’s obsessive, unreasonable hatred - what had happened, to ascertain, and with good reason, that a threat to her own life had been eliminated, regardless of why or how. The thought of the event gave her no small amount of discomfort, and she kicked to the side, letting herself flop entirely on the futon beneath her, one foot bumping a storage crate on the way down and eliciting a distracted, “Ow.”
The Frumentarius sat in her chair at her desk, swivelling back and forth, to and fro, legs bouncing to a beat that blared from the sound system within her office. After she sound-proofed the walls - or, rather, forced a few lower-ranking Architectii to do it for her - no one really gave her much trouble for how she whiled away the hours in the Castrum, directing logistics and running technological intelligence for the IIIrd Legion. She did her work and nobody was bothered unless they opened that door, and that was enough. Nobody opened that door.
Unfortunately, that was the day that someone opened that door. That someone was Mako pyr Hagane, known amongst the Frumentarium as Hotsumi rem Bakuro, the right hand of Zheng rem Diremite, high-ranking Frumentarius and leader of the Fustuarium - the Imperial organisation tasked with taking down traitors and reacquisition of Imperial assets, man or machine - and she looked angry.
That wasn’t what surprised June, however. What suprised her was that Mako had brazenly barged into her office, usually avoidant of the deafening gale of electronic noise and samples that June called music, marching straight for her without so much as a word about it.
The music stopped. The door closed. Before the Mhigan stood a Raen Au Ra, not much taller than the five fulm Mhigan herself, her eyes a dead, baleful stare in a ghostly white that glowed ever-so-faintly. Black hair with faint red highlights framed her face along with thin, blade like horns to either side of her head. She wore her uniform, and in her gloved hands were files, photos. With a silent rage, the Doman woman tossed the folder onto June’s desk.
“She’s alive,” was all Mako said in her very faint Doman accent, her soft, otherwise almost gentle-sounding voice normally frighteningly dead of emotion all the worse when she was angry, becoming an angry, reptilian hiss. Terrifying as it was, June had always found it fitting. Her race aside, June always likened her more to a snake than the shark her alias suggested.
“Huh?” asked the lesser Frumentarius, openig the file, even though she already knew with certainly who the subject would be.
Inside of the folder was an Imperial profile in two formats, one a registration form for one “Hali aan Naras” and the other a target profile - a form with the information of a target to be observed, kidnapped, or eliminated by the Frumentarium - for the same person. The Status field had previously read “Dead” but had been erased caerlessly, the word “Alive” replacing it in thick, angry writing. With it were a few photos. All depicted one of two people who looked remarkably similar, save for the fact that one was a Keeper of the Moon mqio’te and the other was a Raen much like Mako. Both, June had come to understand, were Hali aan Naras, or, as she’d come to be known after she became an Au Ra, Asashio no Haruhi. The first few were older - Hali before she was transformed, when she cooperated with the Empire as an informant - but the rest were more recent. One in particular, having been the last one that marked her death, was a photo of Hali, having been turned to a pure white crystal, crystallised staff in hand. Though unable to get close, even with magitek, the picture was clear. The final, most recent photo, was one of Hali, but having returned to her miqo’te body, somehow, recently observed walking around unharmed.
Mako and Hali had a storied history, June understood, that rested entirely on Mako’s end. Hali was transformed into an Au Ra with some resemblance to Mako by unknown means, and later became a Hingan shinobi under a clan on which they had no information. It drove Mako insane with anger, calling her an abomination, a mockery, and far worse. Her entire self-appointed mission was the track, monitor, and exterminate the other Raen who had little to no awareness that Mako even existed. Therefore, when Hali was found dead, Mako had become a bit easier to work with, even simply neutral instead of always angry or awful.
“But she died,” June protested, looking at the last picture, back and front, “People don’t just come back, do they, sir? I mean, soulkin and all, but she doesn’t look like one.”
“It doesn’t matter, Burrenius,” the grim officer rumbled, “She was spotted, and she is likely weakened from it. You will be taking this opportunity to eliminate her once and for all.”
June’s heart leapt into her chest, “M-me, sir? I- what- what do you mean?” She hated killing. Fighting and sparring were tolerable, but if she could avoid outright killing anyone, she would.
“You have two hours to assemble a team and head out,” was the only reply, “Am I clear?” “S-sir, yes, sir,” she said, not rising and sounding hesitant, “But, uh…” “But what, Frumentarius,” asked the shark-like woman, those soulless eyes boring into June, her tone like an ancient curse.
June gulped, “Is… is this necessary? With everything going on and our resources being redeployed, it’s tactically unsound to draw more away from Aquilonis for a… um. For this. Sir.”
“Are you questioning me?”
June fell silent for a long time, gaze averted.
“Are you questioning me, Frumentarius?”
“...I… no, sir,” June finally said, straightening up despite the sinking feeling in her gut.
“Good. Two hours. Now,” replied the Raen with her cold, awful stare, and she turned to leave.
June waited a few moments, then rose, as well, shutting down her workstation and her office’s magitek before heading out and walking briskly for Zheng’s office. It was three floors further up and down a few halls, but if Mako was sufficiently-
“Eir Burrenius. Where do you think you’re going?”
June shrieked at the murderous tone in Mako’s voice from behind her. The shinobi had waited and watched, and the moment she was out of her office, walking as she was, it was like blood in the water. She hardly had a thought, bolting down the corridor.
“Stop!” barked the order, and then there was silence - horrible silence that meant a shinobi in motion - before June skidded into an elevator, shutting the doors and, pulling her Shadowstone - a small tomestone-like device meant to be a more quickly-accessible version of her primary intelligence device, her Book of Shadows - free from its pouch, she hastily overrode the elevator’s controls to lock the doors and send it upward. The doors closed just in time for two kunai  fly through, one managing to slice shallowly through the Imperial crest on her shoulder but unable to make it through the carbonweave of her uniform proper.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she swore, pacing in a circle as the elevator moved, watching for the others on the Castrum’s security network. Her heart stopped as she found Mako appearing next to the keypad in one, pounding at a button to follow, and she did the first thing that came to mind: she engaged the defence system in the elevator which Mako had taken.
An alarum rang out, declaring an intruder in the elevator, warning that the security system was being activated, and then June felt her stomach shoot up into her throat, nearly vomiting before she could get free of the elevator’s confines. On the security feed, she had expected the faint traces of disabling nerve gas to flood the chamber, knocking the shinobi out for a short time while she could report to Zheng and clear the matter.
Instead, there was fire, there was a scream, agonised and inevitably cut short beneath the roar of the flame jets that had activated, taking the place of what still read in the system as nerve gas. Mako pyr Hagane had been cremated alive.
Seeing what she had done, the Frumentarius, barely resisting the urge to vomit again, began to erase the security footage, disable the elevator, and send hers back for her office. She needed to escape the Castrum before anyone found out. She’d be killed. She’d be worse than killed.
As the alarums died down and a team of Architectii puzzled over the elevator that had been made to server her commanding officer’s tomb, June raced about her office, gathering everything she could carry with her: some clothes, her Book of Shadows, her music equipment, a box of instant noodles, and a few other technological items, and she made for a hangar while the rest of the Castrum was distracted, erasing footage of herself as she went with her Shadowstone.
Once there, she looked around, pained. She could barely pilot a Reaper, and an airship required at least a skeleton crew, even with her manning most of its systems via her Book of Shadows. The only thing she could see that she could take was a death claw. Activating and hacking into one of them, she loaded it with her things, strapped a few extra ceruleum tanks to its chassis, and climbed atop it, holding on for dear life as she set its course for one of the abandoned monitoring stations on the periphery of the Castrum’s patrol routes. It was the best thing she could think of on such short notice, but it would have to… provided she didn’t freeze to death on the way.
The next few months were hellish, cold, and lonely, surviving on nothing but water from melted ice and instant noodles. She had eventually gotten most of the monitoring station up and running, turning it into a very lonely base of operations for herself, but slowly, steadily, and agonisingly, she was starving and freezing to death with no way out.
The Mhigan sighed, now lying face-down in her pillows in the closet. She had survived, at least, even if from a chance encounter with a Raen named Himeyuri in nearby Mor Dhona. She’d walked through the ice and cold al lthe way there, avoiding patrols and nearly freezing to death on the way before hiding out just outside of Castrum Centri. From there, the meeting would save her life, in multiple ways.
She chuckled a little to herself at that, holding a hand to a spot on her cheek just near her lips and flushing a little. They had certainly grown closer, and she couldn’t admit a certain fondness for the Au Ra, but she didn’t like her that way, right? She’d never really been interested in a relationship for herself. It was far more fun to chart out relationships with other people, observing their interactions and ties… as well as sometimes cheering behind the scenes for some couples to become romantically involved - shipping, as it was called in certain circles.
She shook her head, kicking her feet again. She’d lost so much. Everything really did suck. She wanted to be back in her office, with her nice, cushy job, with the stuffy, irritating military, with all her tech and all the world, she felt sometimes, at her disposal. As thankful as she was to the outriders for taking her in and offering to protect her, she missed it all. What she had there was a shadow of the amazing magitek at her fingertips before. She might not ever get it back.
She’d just have to accept her life as a fugitive.
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coreshorts · 6 years ago
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Inexplicable
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She’d been dreaming lately. That, in itself, wouldn’t have struck the Raen as odd if it weren’t for the recurring feeling she got every time, waking with a deep-seated rancour in her heart, recalling all the pain she tried so desperately to hold down. She never remembered details, and that bothered her more than anything.
She lay next to her fiance, the Ishgardian witchling fast asleep, curled up against her, but facing away. Hali lay in silence, in the dark, listening as the cats tore around their house in a late-night craze, either after each other or nothing at all. She smirked a little at the sentiment, the thought rising unbidden, I know the feeling, I suppose. It’s all I feel like I’m doing some days, chasing after nothing at all just for my own - or someone else’s - entertainment.
Rather than amusement, however, the thought brought her sense of resentment back. She scowled to herself, her thick, scaly tail giving a twitch of the side of the bed in her irritation. There was so much injustice in the way she’d been treated for so long. She wondered why she put up with it.
As her tail gave a heavy whump against the side of the bed, it gave her a start and caused Dahlia to turn, groaning softly in her sleep, a hand reaching out for her. When she met it with her own, a sleepy smile crept over the girl’s features as she fell into a deeper sleep once more.
It brought peace, the touch and that smile. They’d worked hard and suffered so much to get to the point where they could both sleep easily like that - or relatively more so, given the issues plaguing Hali’s own sleep. Within a few moments, she began dozing again, and blackness took her.
When she was once again aware, she found herself in an endless expanse, like a manor room where the walls seemed distant, ever out of reach, their expanses covered in cracks and peeling crimson paint, revealing blackened stone beneath. Cracked, and, in some places, crumbling, pillars of dark marble rose ever into the ceiling, shrouded in darkness from its sheer height. Hali briefly wondered to herself if there ever was a ceiling. Beneath her were tiles, like that of a kitchen, ornate and geometrical in design, but where she stood was a vibrant red carpet with dark golden trim. It extended ever off behind her, but before her, it ended abrupty, frayed, as if torn just there.
She stared at it for some time, pondering silently as to where she was, tryig to decide if it was more wise to return along the carpet or to venture past the frayed portion. One by one, notions occurred to her, as if explaining her situation: This room was hers. It had always been hers. It was only waiting for her, and now she was here.
It brought a sense of satisfaction, but it was hollow, as if an empty victory. She felt betrayed. Was there not some reward for reaching her final destination? This place was hers, but felt so unwelcoming. Unbidden, the thought crept into her mind: This was what she deserved. The faces on the portraits on the walls turned grotesque, becoming mockeries of people who had brought her misery. Looking behind her, the face of the old Naras Matriarch leered in disapproval, finger extended as if to shoo her away. Three more set alongside of her, all men of indeterminate origin clad in Thavnairian turbans with faces shrouded, all with weapons drawn and hate in their eyes: the Immortals. On the On another wall were the Crawford brothers, smug and condescending, Maximillian most of all, his stomach an open wound. A portrait next to that shifted unsteadily between two forms: one Dahlia, sporting demonic horns, red eyes, sharp teeth, fur, feathers, and claws, grinning madly, and the other a massive, hulking form with similar features, but monstrously contorted, the same mad grin still in place with a clawed hand holding two featureless bodies in its hands. On the other side was a portrait of the IIIrd Legion, Zheng at their head, staring in cold contempt, the rest faceless, but giving a feeling of the same. A second frame bore a picture of the Outriders, their faces weary and annoyed, fed up as they stood mid-way to turning their backs on her.
When she turned to face ahead, past the torn carpet off of which she had been so hesitant to tread, she found a swirling mass of bloody red and black, tendrils of visible aether and palpable anger writhing wildly in place before taking shape. Within moments, she faced down a familiar figure: herself, standing off of the carpet just a yalm away. Her heart sank. She could go no further, she found herself unintentionally knowing.
“Really?” her reflection asked, irises ringed in hateful red, a flowing black dress with heeled boots, fishnet tights, and fingerless gloves, all decorated in the same dark gold as the carpet beneath her feet, “That’s it? That’s where we stop?”
The angry shade pointed at Hali’s bare, scaled feet on the edge of the carpet, then glared at her. She slowly looked down and, at her feet, lay a body, halfway on the carpet and soaking it with blood from a knife in the stomach. With red hair, similar features to the woman with whom she fell asleep, and a sweet, serene smile, eyes staring lifelessly up at her. Her cold lips were unmoving, but she heard the voice in the air as Vivian - Dahlia’s twin sister who had been tempered… and who Hali killed, herself - repeated her dying words, “I’m… sorry…” Her heart wrenched and she felt herself tear up as the body crumbled to dust, leaving nothing but a blood stain. She could go no further.
“We came this far,” the reflection continued when Hali twitched, unsure of how to respond, “Look at everything we’ve done. Look at all the people who we showed we were better. Fuck the rest!”
“How- how c-can you say that?” Hali argued, tears in her eyes and voice quiet, looking up at her own face, contorted in anger as it stared back at her from that simulacrum, “It’s not enough. I’m… I-I’m never going to be enough. Not… n-not to… make up for all I’ve done a-and everything I’ve failed and… how? How- h-how is this enough?” She was so close to crying. She would, and she knew it.
The other Hali growled in anger and reached a hand out to her side, head held low as she glared forward over her glasses. In the hand appeared one of the portraits: Mirseleiris, in his primal form. She held it up in front of her, showing it to her conscious self.
“See this? We killed it. We saved Dahlia. And we lived,” the shade said in anger, punctuating the last word by punchig through the back of the painting right where the void-primal’s face hung grinning in mad glee at Hali, leaving nothing but a fist, wrethed in violent, swirling red aether that began to turn the portrait black from the hole outward until it all grew dark and she tossed it aside. Its frame clattered noisily against the floor, shattering… and then appeared on the wall again.
“Wha-” the shade looked over and stomped a heeled boot in anger, “You can’t be serious! Why are you fighting this fight? You know it’d make things better if you just listened to me!”
Hali’s gaze dropped as she shivered, staring down at the blood-stained carpet that still ended in such an abrupt tear before her, muttering, “I… I dunno.”
“You gave me a chance, already,” the darker Hali rumbled, “What happened to that?”
The knowledge was there, suddenly. She knew the Hali before her. The voice in her head that had been growing louder, the feeling of wanting to just unleash all of her pain and not try to hide herself anymore, all of her anger and rage stood before her, as her. She knew what this was from the descriptions she was given: her Darkside, the persona borne of the abyss that raged within her, brought forth and given a more perceptible form by the soul crystal Naomi had lent to her to help keep her from being devoured by it.
“That may be what I am,” the shade said with a scowl, knowing her thoughts, “But I’m still you. I’m still us. I’m still a part of you, and vice versa. But you won’t accept me. Why?”
“You still lost,” Hali said with a dejected sigh, “You p-promised you, um... could- could win. Against Shadow that night. But y-you lost. We had a deal.”
The Darkside growled in irritation and rolled her red-limned eyes, “That’s not what I meant. You know what I mean. Answer me. Why won’t you accept me? Why does it have to be deals and bargains and games?”
Silence.
“Fine,” she sighed in exasperation, “But you know you can’t outrun this. You’re stuck for a reason.” She threw her arms out wide, staring Hali in the face with a look of annoyance.
“You can’t move forward if you can’t acce-”
“SHUT UP!” Hali nearly screamed, teeth grit and staring daggers at her own shadowy reflection, “Just… just shut up…!”
“If that’s all you’ve got to say to me,” her Darkside said, shaking her head in disappointment, “Then you’ve already lost. Just tell me. If you can’t be honest with yourself, with whom can you be?”
Again, Hali stood in silence, her gaze dropping.
“Exactly,” cooed her reflection, “If the world won’t have you… if it would betray you, look to kill you or worse, why not trust yourself? We’re all we’ve got, Hali. Me, myself, and I.”
She couldn’t respond, even as her eyes drew toward the picture of the Outriders to her right. All of their backs had turned to her, the painting radiating a familiar sense of exasperation… abandonment.
“You’re just setting us up to fail,” the shade sighed, “I’m not going to let that happen. You know that. We have to make it. Even if we can’t truly die, if this keeps up… don’t you think that’d be preferable?”
A pregnant pause hung between them as her Darkside watched her expectantly, before, “...isn’t it already?” Hali’s eyes closed as she tried to look away, but she saw the eyes on her - all the portraits, their hatred, their resentment - including those of her own inner darkness boring into her.
“Then accept me.”
“Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Hali swallowed hard, then answered her own question in barely a whisper, “...because I’m… I-I’m not good enough. I’m too… t-too… weak. I’m falling behind…” The response was for the Darkside to extend her hand, smiling calmly, saying with unnerving gentleness, “Just listen… Listen to our heartbeat. Listen for my voice. Listen…”
She hesitated. There was so much she needed to know, so many warnings she had been given, but if this was the only way, she had to take it. There was no other way she could be safe.
She reached. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached for the hand, out over the carpet’s edge. She didn’t make it. The room abruptly collapsed around her and silent blackness took hold as she awoke, feeling that pain again as it all began to slip from her memory.
“Hali?” came Dahlia’s voice with her notable Ishgardian accent, then her concerned face as she opened her eyes, “Hali? What’s the matter? Are you alright? You were crying in your sleep.”
“Huh?” was all the Raen could muster. Her eyes were wet. She was a bit congested. She had been crying… but why? “I… I dunno… D-don’t, um… remember…”
She couldn’t remember why, but she was certain of what she felt: the pain, the frustration, all completely inexplicable.
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coreshorts · 7 years ago
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Nothingness
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She dreamed. Of course she dreamed. It’s not like she was dead, right? She hoped she wasn’t - that she wouldn’t.
It’d all been so sudden, the events that led up to the Au Ra having been left lying near death in the Shroud. Her Ishgardian lover fared better, but wouldn’t wake. Hali lay on a crude stretcher of tribal miqo’te design, carried back to the Naras encampment, to her family, for care. She’d been left with several horrible puncture wounds from the last manifestation of the voidsent possessing Dahlia, Mirseleiris. Dahlia, meanwhile, was transported back to the Outriders’ house by Dail’a and Fiona, accompanied by the others - Naomi, Otto, T’rahven, Shadow, F’manafa, and Keerith. Both lay unconscious... and would for some time.
It’d started as a visit to the Naras tribe, to introduce Dahlia to her family, estranged as they had all been for the last decade. Hali had planned to propose to her that night, after it was all said and done. That wasn’t quite the result, as it seemed to happen so often for the two.
Encountering a pair of forest witches who had a distinctive interest in Dahlia’s condition, and even confessing to having been connected with it in the first place, they began to assault the couple in an attempt to bring Mirseleiris out, breaking the ward stone that held the creature in check and kept Dahlia safe. Though Hali fought them with all of her strength, she was outnumbered, especially when Mirseleiris took over. With a call for aid, not only did Fiona arrive, but so, too, did the Outriders.
The witches fled, attempting to take Auguste’s staff - once belonging to the old Amdapori white mage with whose rituals Hali had managed to interfere, binding the staff to her own anima and winding up with the soul of the man bound to her - though they were unsuccessful in getting too far before Hali’s aether was torn from her.
When she’d recovered the staff, she had just enough strength left between having had a chunk bitten from her neck, been impaled by shadowy limbs, and beaten down already, that, with the Outriders restraining Mirseleiris, she sealed it within Dahlia once more... but not before a beacon-like spell was cast and one last taunt cackled. Then, Hali fell. She remembered nothing else but blackness and the dreams within them that faded when she woke, weak, tired, and feeling so horribly drained...
She learned quickly that she’d been out for moons. Her family doted over her, keeping her alive as best they could through magic and medicine, until she had finally healed, her body a mess of horrid scars and withered, unused limbs. She looked like a zombie, but the moment she put her linkpearl ring back on her horn, she was stricken with fear.
Dahlia had left the Outriders’ house in pursuit of her twin sister, Vivian. When the Cult of the Hierophant couldn’t breach the defences of the house in which Dahlia, like Hali, had laid unwaking, they instead took Vivian as bait the moment Dahlia woke, drawing the weakened witch out of hiding. When they struck, they struck fast, and she was taken away to their ritual site on the edge of Dravania. 
By the time Hali arrived, it had been far too late...
Silent footfalls brought the shinobi closer and closer through the darkened wintry woods toward the site from which the call for help originated. It was a trap. She knew in her head that it was. It couldn’t be anything else, but there was no other way. No time to rally the Outriders, no time to explain to anyone. As it was... she knew she was too late already. She knew what she’d find.
No, the Raen thought as she ran, her Huton carrying her silently as her footfalls would have otherwise crunched down in fulm-thick snow, No, I won’t let anything stop me or slow me down. If there’s even a chance, I can’t convince myself I’m too late. I can’t be. I can’t be.
The thoughts were colder comfort than the biting wind against her face, masked though it was. Jet black robes fluttered behind her, gloves tightening around the staff that was so bound to her. Her glasses threatened to fog beneath her mask but kept from doing so entirely, likely helped by the soft white glow to her eyes that had come from practising white magic - holy arts - without a proper soul crystal. She knew it was affecting her, but she didn’t know how, nor did she care anymore. This was do or die - the final curtain.
When they approached the ritual site, it was obvious: the trap had been laid out, and the cult was ready. Hali - and Auguste through her - could feel the horrible void energy in the very air. The world heaved and threatened to pull her under, but she continued, even as her very being fought against her.
They had prepared for that. They knew she’s press on, and they took advantage of that. The moment she drew near, even cloaked as she was, she was beset by cultists. Ten... twenty... thirty. She snarled. Everything was becoming a blur, and she couldn’t even remember getting to that point.
Just hold on... August prompted, You’ve faced worse odds than this, have you not? Come, now, show me how you handle things like this.
“...shut up, old man,” the Raen sneered, twirling the staff into one hand and letting loose a burst of holy aether that cleared the air at least enough for her to fight. With another flick of her wrist, a blade of white light, like that of a scythe, extended from the head, and she snarled at the cultists surrounding her.
In moments, they were upon her, and cut down like so much fodder. It was nothing new to her. Killing thrilled her, normally. This time, however, there was nothing but anger and desperation.
“Let... me... through!” she roared, cutting down two more as they threatened to pile atop her, kept at bay by the gales of harsh winds she repeatedly summoned with her enhanced conjury, thanks to Auguste. She was met with inhuman silence. Not a snicker, not a whimper.
Another wave of them came, and then another, and then another. She’d begun to grow tired... and then, slowly, overwhelmed. Blows began to land, dagger strikes that lanced pain through her body - poison, she realised, and likely paralysis poison so she could watch her defeat at the prideful voidsent’s hands - and soon, she faltered and fell, lacking the strength to go on. Her body wouldn’t respond. She couldn’t even speak.
The next moments were spent begin carried bodily to the site, out of her sanctified area, and back into the miasma of void magic. She could do nothing for the nausea and her eyes rolled back. She couldn’t even heave. When she was strapped down to a ritual table, she finally saw her: Dahlia... or what was Dahlia.
“I am so very glad you could join us, little shinobi,” the form spoke, chuckling darkly. Dahlia’s voice was wholly eclipsed by that which Mirseleiris used, her body warped in ways that made her hard to recognise, fur, horns and even a tail sprouted from her twisted form. The creature had taken her over completely. She was gone... and still, Hali couldn’t speak. The figure rolled red eyes and scoffed.
“Give her the antidote,” Mirseleris said, “I want to her when this is finished. I look forward to her screams.” Within a few moments, something was shoved into Hali’s mouth, and she was forced to drink, helpless. Slowly, bit by bit, she regained her motor functions, and began to struggle.
“Now, now,” the voidsent crooned, “Enough of that. I’d hate to kill you before I can use you. We need your aether, after all, now, don’t we.”
“...wh- what?” came the struggle of a reply.
A chuckle was all she got in response, dark and sinister, followed by a sharp pain down her arm as a dagger was brought down, slicing a gash into her. She grit her teeth, groaning in pain as blood began to run down her arm, causing her nausea to redouble. She was being bled for a ritual...
“Now, let’s finish this little game, shall we?” the voidsent crooned, stepping away from Hali and out into the clearing, “’Tis time I claimed my real prize.” With that, Hali felt a horrible sensation as a hand lifted toward her, enacting a spell to begin draining her of her aether... along with many of the cultists. A horrible dark visage began rising as those not being drained knelt and chanted feverishly - prayers, she realised - all the while Dahlia’s body began losing strength, but began to show signs of her consciousness returning as the form rose above her, still connected, but becoming its own, bit by bit. Her expression was desperate. Fear chief among all took its place as tears began to roll down her twisted, unfamiliar face.
With mere moments, it began to take shape - like Dahlia before but with monstrous, great arms covered in feathers, taloned fingers, a much more vicious-looking snake-tail that wove around, peering out from behind the main body, grotesque horns, and a wholly unfamiliar face with red eyes that bore no iris or pupil, as if lifeless. 
In that moment, the area fell into utter darkness, the only things visible were faint, red outlines. However, Hali could feel what was happening as the will of the newly-formed primal before her attempted to crush her soul, stealing her will. However, something within her - a light - beat it back, bathing the area in radiance as she heard a voice in her head, Hali! Hali! Now is your chance!
At first, she thought it might have been some powerful entity, sparing her from the tempering... as, she felt, Dahlia had been. On second glance, however, it was clear that Dahlia was still attached to the creature feeding off of her aether... even as it stopped doing so on Hali’s. Had enough, has it...? Auguste asked, Your aether is no longer being drained. It’s distracted! Now is your chance! You can break free of this, can’t you?
“C-course... I can,” the Au Ra wheezed, and with a careful motion, slipped free of one of the straps binding her. Making two quick mudra, she executed a ninjutsu to form a blade of ice in her hand, cutting herself free before she bolted for her blades and staff.
As the darkness faded, she was met with a chortle, echoing and distorted, as if from some horrible, demonic being, “She lives... but she does not bow. The Echo... So be it.”
“My lord! O boundless one!” called a familiar voice. From nearby, two cultists, having been tempered, released Vivian from the bindings with which she’d been held, the red-head grinning with an unnatural zeal, her eyes glinting red as she called out, “If she cannot be made to see your radiance, can we not convince her? Surely she must see, now, even without your blessing!”
“V- no... n-no, no...” Hali could only stammer, wide-eyed. She knew what this meant: Vivian had been tempered. The dear sister of her beloved was beyond redemption. I can’t... I can’t... Not her. She doesn’t deserve it... She doesn’t...
Hali, Auguste’s voice spoke to her in her mind, despite his inability to read it, You know what has happened. This is no life for her.
“I can’t!” she nearly howled in despair, causing Mirseleiris to chortle and Vivian to grow closer, shushing her comfortingly.
“Hali. It’s okay. It’ll be okay. We can all be together, peacefully. Isn’t that what you want? If Menphina can give herself unto her better, why do you not join us? Dahlia has already become one with him. Everything is as it should-” “No, no, no, NO SHUT UP!” she roared, pulling back before instinctively drawing back with her staff, and, producing a spear-like blade at the end, thrust it into Vivian’s chest. The girl choked, hands pressing to the wound as the weapon was drawn back again. The red began to fade as the malevolent being released her from its grasp.
“Please... F-forgive... me...” Vivian gurgled as she struggled to stay upright, “I... I-I... l-love...” She choked again, then again, and fell forward gracelessly, face impacting the frozen ground hard.
Hali’s heart stopped and her body went cold in that moment, only brought back by the shrill shriek from off to her side of, “VIVIAN!”
There was no time to react. The next thing Hali heard was a scream of utmost fury as a multitude of levin bolts raced through the air toward her, catching her and sending her body limp. All the shinobi could do was scream as she was ravaged by Dahlia’s outburst, the trauma enough to grant her momentary control of her own body, twisted and subjugated as she was.
The scene was nightmarish, cultists either lying dead or chanting prayers to their god, Dahlia screaming in fury and despair, Hali screaming in agony, and Mirseleiris laughing all the while. 
This is the end... I’m finished... she thought to herself, even with her screams of pain, I was wrong...
However, Dahlia’s strength had long since been spent and the last of her aether ran dry, causing her to fall back to the ground in a manner not unlike Vivian, leaving Hali to fall, as well, all the wrong nerves firing from the bombardment of electricity. Little by little, though, she gathered herself and began to stand.
“Y-you done?” Hali wheezed in pain, “’Cause... I think it’s... ngh, m-my... turn.”
There’s nothing else, though, Auguste protested, You can’t fight that thing like this. You realise that you’ve no choice now.
“I know...” the shinobi said, bringing the staff to bear as she began to beseech the land for aid, drawing not only on what it would give her, but herself and Auguste, as well. Holy radiance began to shine from her very being as she rose from the ground.
I don’t know what will happen, the old elezen muttered fearfully.
There was a pang of hurt in her heart. She knew this would likely be the end, but she had to try. There was no other option, now. She finally laughed, almost bitterly, but with resignation to her features as she closed her illuminated eyes and said with a smirk, “Shut up, Auguste.”
The elezen felt the tone more than heard it through Hali’s own horns, and even as a possessor - a spirit within her body, bound to her - her felt something stir. It hurt. He felt pity. Much as she had done, she had so much time ahead of her to atone. Should could have. She wanted to, and he knew. After a long pause, the old man’s voice spoke in her head one last time.
Very well. Godsspeed... Hali Naras.
"You're not finished?” the void-primal rumbled, “Ever a thorn in my side... but this time, I will be rid of you, girl..." 
As he raised a massive, clawed hand, Hali rose further from the ground, waves of holy aether washing out from around her. When her eyes next opened, she spread her arms wide, unleashing a torrent of purifying white light toward Mirseleiris. As it connected, there was an unearthly shriek of pain from the creature. It went on, ever further, even as Hali could feel her body wanting to give up. She’d long since reached her breaking point, but there was no giving up, now. It was do or die.
As the shrieking died down, there was a heavy crash of something crystallised hitting the ground. However, with it came a realisation. She was no longer moving, no longer suspended in the air... and she was losing feeling in her body. She couldn’t even move her head to look as pure white crystal began to replace her limbs, climbing up from the ground beneath her as all but pure light embraced her, searing away all and leaving nothing but a crystalline statue behind.
As the look of victorious relief gave way to a dreaded realisation, the shinobi’s last thought was only, “But... I won...?”
With that last thought came the feeling of purity... and then nothingness.
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coreshorts · 7 years ago
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This is the second time Quel’duar’s been sacked now. Oops.
Only this time, she lost nearly everything. Oops.
Legion
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A sin’dorei woman sat alone, high atop a cliff between Darkshore and the Felwood, images running through her mind’s eye. The war on the Legion had been humbling for her. Time and time again, she was laid low. She had had so little time to protest the appointment of Sylvanas Windrunner - the Banshee Queen of the Forsaken - to the title of Warchief. To have a woman who embodied everything she hated be her ultimate leader was galling… but she had been so distracted…
Emerald flames burned and popped across walls and supporting structures. Crumbling and creaking metal sounded through the thick black smoke, only made louder by the acoustic quality of the massive subterranean structure of the facility. The sounds of battle echoed around her ears, even as they rang from a blow that had crushed the mechanics of her right arm from the elbow down.
It’d been so quiet until just an hour before all hell broke loose, and literally so. There was no warning, no sign, nothing. Just portals - a hellish multitude of Legion portals - opening in every viable area and pouring forth with demons. It was her worst nightmare come true.
Keep reading
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coreshorts · 7 years ago
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Master
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A young sin’dorei paced about a dark room, muttering under her breath with an almost frantic pace. There were many rooms like it in the Thasdal Estate since the family that once owned it threw in their lot with the mad Prince Kael’thas and subsequently found themselves on the wrong end of the campaign in Outland years ago. It left a lot of room, and a lot of empty rooms. It was in one such room that this lone woman walked circles, surrounded by nothing but pitch darkness, a soft green glow from her eyes doing little to illuminate anything as she looked around nervously, pacing and muttering.
“My own master... I don’t serve... I serve myself... Just myself... Won’t take me, won’t me, won’t... not me, not I, not myself, it won’t, won’t, won’t happen. No, no. Never. Never...”
Were it not for its frantic rambling nature, the girl’s voice was soft and almost sweet, but as it stood, Halinara Felu’mal was a troubled soul. Barely twenty-three years old, her studies some five years prior had ended, leaving her free to pursue her own path, and so she did. She had chosen to reach out to the shadow - the Void - that unknowable, maddening nothing that a precious few ever commanded without being commanded in return. She had no guidance, but similarly, she had no one to stop her as the darkness called her, and she let herself dive in.
Now, the particularly heavy-set sin’dorei, in little more than underwear and a large nightshirt, paced about a room, alone, in the home of her childhood friend, Adaliya Thasdal. They, neither of them, had family of which to speak anymore. Hali’s had been wiped out during the Fall just thirteen years prior. It was a miracle that she’d survived. Her family would thank the Light, but she would do no such thing, steeped in shadow as she had become. Even then, the Light had seen fit, in that case, to rob her of everything but Adaliya, who had been lucky enough to keep some of her own family... until, desperate for a way out of their plight, threw in their lot with Kael’thas Sunstrider’s Sunfury in Outland. After that, they were never heard from again, leaving Adaliya alone and the estate in southern Quel’thalas - the Ghostlands - empty and untended.
Now, only one Thasdal remained, and with her, the only Felu’mal. They had met in their studies as the quel’dorei - now sin’dorei - had begun to rebuild, taking on apprenticeships at Duskwither Spire until the academy’s collapse. From there, they moved on, but their studies did not cease. However, by the time Hali was eighteen, she had begun to study the shadow, peeling back her family’s faith in the Light and looking behind it for something else... She grew increasingly anxious, seeming almost paranoid at times, and, within the year, she vanished entirely, leaving Adaliyah alone.
She had no choice, though. There was nothing she could do. It was as simple as a portal - a black, inky portal, stars and nothing and everything all at once, calling to her - and in she went, curiously and recklessly seeking answers. What she found... she could no longer remember. Remembering was torment. It was torture. It was difficult and all too easy, and so she wouldn’t let herself.
Stopping in her tracks, emerald-green glows raised to point to the ceiling as she stared upward, arms hanging at her sides in the darkness. All at once, it was too much. All at once, it was not enough. She felt so empty and cold and alone, and at the same time, she felt connected with everything. The whispers in her head began anew. They were formless, senseless, and yet so, so loud. They threatened to drown out thought. Despite it all, though, the young woman’s eyes slowly eased shut and a broad smile began to creep over her face. She welcomed the voices. To others, they were a cacophony, but to her, it was the sweetest siren song. It hadn’t always been so, to be sure, but just as she let them in, she let them go. She let them flow through her and away, just as they came. 
Her body trembled with anticipation and impulse alike. What would happen? Would she give in to the whispers, commanding her to obey, to prove her loyalty to the void’s enigmatic masters - her masters - or would she remain her own master? To fight was to die, and to allow it was suicide. In that, she did as she had learned during the time she could not remember: she stopped existing. One cannot be commanded if one does not exist, and so, her mind blank, she stood, smiling, eyes shut, senses dull, as all she could hear became whispering so loud it might well be a waterfall around her.
It was like a dream - a dream of nothing - and just as it began, it ended with a single, formless, soundless voice.
She comes.
Turning on her heel, Hali opened her eyes to peer as another set of fel-green glows appeared around the corner. When the lights were turned on, she didn’t flinch, but Daliya did. Standing in the centre of the room, dusty and neglected furniture pushed to the edges and a beaten-down path worn in the rug from what must have been hours of pacing stood a ghostly-pale girl with dark circles beneath her eyes. Blond hair draped down and around her shoulders, reaching down all the way to her backside. She had a distinctive pear shape, her weight giving it a more pronounced curvature thanks to what amounted to far too much stress-eating and far too little exercise. The most startling thing about her, however, was the wide, saucer eyes with which Hali stared, arms hanging limply at her sides as she stood, teetering forward and back, forward and back, already having been staring intently at the other girl, even before the lights had been turned on.
Daliya was left speechless in the doorway. Having gotten up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, she had noticed Hali’s absence and, immediately after, gone to search the house for her. Though not as heavy as Hali, she bore a soft hourglass figure, giving the air of a similar lifestyle to that of her housemate, albeit with far less stress-eating. Ruffled black hair fell in a messy, bed-headed bob, and she looked fairly disturbed. The expression did not last long, of course. She was used to such things. So it was that she took a few tentative steps forward, causing the blonde to straighten up and smiling, looking fairly exhausted.
“A’mael,” the younger of the two began, stepping forward, “How long have you been up?”
Though Hali was nearly twenty-three, Daliya was just eighteen yet. They had spent most of their lives together, however, thanks to their time spent in schooling together, Hali’s own education having been delayed by the Scourge’s sacking of their home.
The taller girl stared across the room at the doorway, through Daliya, before looking to her and responding in a wavering, uncertain tone, “I... dunno. What time is it? I dunno. I’m here now. Yeah, I think... I’m here. Yeah. Uhh... should... we should sleep. Right?” The girl slowly looked down with the same expression, much like a deer in headlights, staring at the floor before her, a hand finally raising to scratch at the back of her head before she stretched, eliciting several visceral pops from her joints. She was in pain. When did that happen? Always. It always did. It always was. Was it the shadow, or just her own mind? She had no idea. It was best not to ponder.
“Right,” Daliyah said, crossing the room toward her and reaching up with a well-manicured hand to gently place it upon Hali’s shoulder, “Come on. You’re back with us for now? You’re alright...?”
“Mm... yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” the blonde muttered in response, her expression slowly softening to one of exhaustion. She nodded, and began to walk with Daliyah toward the door before asking, “Where’d I wind up...?”
“Uncle’s study,” was the raven-haired girl’s response, “It’s not far from our room. Come on.”
Hali grunted in tired affirmation, following. Bed sounded wonderful. She felt as though she hadn’t slept in weeks. It likely wasn’t so, but with how sore she was all over and how she had felt like a kodo had used her for a bed a few too many times, she couldn’t tell. The whispers, though receded to not be deafening, remained. They always remained. She simply didn’t have the time or energy to heed them, however, not then. One thought remained in her mind, though:
I won’t submit; I will make this mine, and I will be my own master.
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coreshorts · 8 years ago
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Bond
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She wanted to return. She said she would. Therefore, she did. Stealing away into Amdapor, this time, alone, to investigate the ruins of the once-great civilisation. The last time she was here, it was for a matter far more dire, and assisted by the one person whom she trusted most in the world. However, this time, she crept about on her own, silent and attentive, a bit of conjury keeping the wind around her moving, directing mould spores away from her; the few that made their way to her filtered through the mask beneath her hood harmlessly.
As she had before, Hali made her way into the depths of the ruins, sneaking past wildlife that seemed to repopulate far too quickly for her liking - it was already quite crowded again after she and Kaori had cut their way through in search of the Wardstone to protect Dahlia from her possessor - and heading for the place they had come across once before: the inner reaches of the city, still pristine and guarded by its gargoyles and golems.
To her dismay, as she drew closer to that magicked door that they had puzzled open before, she found yet another host of reanimated magi milling about aimlessly, staves clutched tightly. However, amongst them was a different figure: a man that felt... living - ancient, even, his aether mismatched even to his surroundings. It moved so strangely. In his hands was an ornate staff that he seemed to be using to work some manner of magic to bring the bodies - including those Hali and Kel had slain on their last foray into the forbidden ruins - back to an animated state, their expressions slack beneath tattered and worn hoods. In order to stop the bodies, she could just stop him. Her presence was disliked by the elements, and she could feel them warning her not to tamper, as before - she and Kel were barely tolerated for their trespass the last time - but perhaps she could gain some kind of favour by eliminating the man bringing these bodies back, and maybe even learn something in the process... Creeping up and through the legion of undead magi the man had been raising, she got a better look at him from her hidden position: He was an older man - an elezen - with heavy scarring on his hands and a bushy salt-and-pepper beard flecked with dirt. His robes held many different reagents in pockets and loops around them, including dried herbs, pouches, potions, and more. He concentrated heavily as Hali approached. She noted the stab wounds around the neck of the body, instantly recognising her own handiwork with a soft smirk.
Blades drawing silently, she pounced, jamming one blade down into his back, just behind and through his heart. The other drew up and jammed into his throat before tearing a gushing wound in the side. He dropped like a sack of rocks, and, with him, his thralls, as well. However, even as she took in the overwhelmingly joyous feeling of so many creatures' aether, especially that man's, released and dispersing all at once, she was drawn by a continued presence. Not all of the aether around him dispersed. In fact, it began to drain into the strange gem situated atop his staff, still clutched tightly in his hand.
She identified what was happening quickly. The staff had, she felt, some kind of effect to it that gathered a significant portion of his aether - his very soul - and was attempting to automatically resurrect him by returning the aether to him. Even his wounds, she noticed, upon inspection, were very slowly healing from the inside out. It must have been some kind of powerful white magic, she felt, but, if that were the case, would the Elementals not have raged? What stopped them?
She pushed the question aside and began investigating the staff, looking for some method by which she could stop the resurrection process. Her answer, she found, however, was not on the staff, but inside of it. The large purple gem at the top was a focus, but within it was a distinctly different presence that seemed almost to act on its own. Pursing her lips, the Raen began attempting to shatter the focus. First, she attempted to smash it with a rock. Then, she attempted to crack it open with a kunai. Growing frustrated, she attempted to wrest the staff from the dead man's grasp, and was met with a vicegrip. She growled, getting angry, and, drawing her kunai back, back to sever the fingers around the staff, one by one.
No longer able to grip the staff, the digitless hand flopped to the side, some kind of tension relaxing, and the staff was released. With it released, the flow of aether, too, stopped, a massive well of it remaining in the staff's focus, swirling about the secondary focus-like object within. The nature of that second source she felt, however, still remained unclear, only growing worse with the swirling, chaotic aether contained in the focus.
"I say," echoed a deep, masculine voice, "You are an unpleasant young woman, aren't you...?" Hali froze, looking around, then to the staff, then to the man on the ground. Suddenly, as her senses failed to help her locate the voice's source, her heart leapt into her chest. She looked down again into the staff's focus, deeply, squinting.
"Oh, don't tell me you're a mute, as well," the voice in her head said, "Come, now, explain yourself!"
"Wh-what the fuck," Hali hissed, peering around, then dropped the staff.
"Vulgar, as well, I see," she was taunted, "But at least you *can* talk, if not somewhat shakily. Your tongue seems not quite as sharp as those blades. That hurt, you know. Quite a bit."
"Sh-shut up!" the Raen yelled from behind her mask, beginning to panic, "F-fuck! I d-don't... stop! Get out! I-I'm not e-exactly up for possession, arsehole! J-just go back to being dead!"
"Rude," chided the man's ethereal voice, "I wasn't up for dying, you know, but I was not given a choice in that, either. You are, however, mistaken, my dear murderer. This connection is merely superficial, you see. You cut off my transference and managed to link your own aether with mine within this staff. That said, I would very much appreciate it if you might return this staff to my other hand. You know, the one from which you haven’t severed all the fingers. Honestly! Have you no decency, girl?”
“...pass,” the shinobi muttered, picking up the staff and looking it over, “I... what is th-what’s... in this? Who a- ...are you?” She tapped the gem in the head of the staff, finally feeling the tendrils of living aether that wound their way about her, through her, as if connected. It made her very uncomfortable.
“Well, I suppose I’ve naught better to do than play Twenty Questions with my killer, so, very well!” the man said mockingly, “I am Auguste Corsaint, Amdapori survivor and a very powerful mage, if you would imagine! You caught me at a bad time, of course.”
“...y-yeah,I’m sure,” Hali muttered, sighing.
“Well, you do the calculations, young lady! For how long have I lived if I survived the floods? Hmm?” Auguste asked impatiently, “I have acted as caretaker for this place for longer than your greatest great grandmother has been alive! I have survived the reawakening of Diabolos and countless raids on this place by feckless adventurers, as they are so-called!”
“Okay,” she replied, swinging the staff about, bored, “Wh-what’s with the staff focus? I-it feels weird. Th-this... is white magic. Right? B-but the, um, Elementals’ m-magic uses wood a-and... you know. Pretty shite focus.”
“Well, perhaps for untalented stabby-types such as yourself!” the former “caretaker” mocked, “The secrets of white magic are not for your types. So go on, now. Return my to my body. Hurry up!”
“...and... A-amdapor was... made by... all that, I mean,” Hali mused thoughtfully, pointing to the once-again-sealed door, “Was d-done with... white magic?”
“Well of course it was, you dreadfully slow girl,” Auguste said through the staff’s bond to her, “Now go on! As much as this conversation has been a... change, given the last odd centuries, I would rather be alive again, thank you very much.”
Hali looked at the staff, then down at the body, then back at the staff. Walking over toward the body in its massive puddle of blood on the floor, her steps made to avoid it so she didn’t leave too much of a trace (or ruin her poor boots), she twirled the staff once. She then began to walk away, returning to the entrance.
“What? I- now see here! I- you- Help! Hey! I’m being stolen! Someone?” Auguste’s voice called in her head, “Oh, bugger all. I should have invested my time in allowing myself more... freedom in this state. Or at least an actual voice. Young lady, know that I greatly dislike you.”
“J-join the, uh... club,” Hali muttered with a chuckle. She wanted those secrets. Auguste could have his rest. Perhaps she could force his aether out with one of her- She paused, thinking.
“What is it you intend to do, might I ask...?” he asked dangerously.
“W-well, n-not have my mind read, a-apparently,” Hali said with a smug grin, staring forward. Nice timing. Suspicious, but good.
“I- that’s preposterous! What do you take me for?!” Auguste cried, sounding strangely insulted.
“Heheh. N-nevermind,” the shinobi giggled, walking for the entrance, the man in the staff falling conspicuously silent. Hali smirked to herself. This staff was a key, as was Auguste. White magic seemed incredibly powerful, and it was closer to her roots. Even if she couldn’t practice it personally, she would certainly learn more, one way or the other.
She would have these secrets, starting with this strange aethereal bond...
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coreshorts · 8 years ago
Text
Mine
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Her mind turned again and again to the sight of the younger girl, slowly withering, her normally plump, hourglass figure starting to shrink, her eyes heavy with dark bags, porcelain skin almost ashen. When she felt her, it was was even worse. Her aether slowly draining away, she felt as though she was constantly slowly dying, something dark and vicious welling up within her to take her place.
The first time the shinobi had noticed her Moon begin to wane, she had frantically begun searching for answers. She needed options, ways to combat what was being done, that she could grasp and bring to bear against this panic-inducing problem. She was given a small number, some of which were far more preferable than the others.
Hali was forced to settle upon an option which was the best she could hope for in such short notice: She had been told by a close friend - an incredibly accomplished mage by name of Naoh Tayoon - that her best bet without outright killing the girl she had come to so adore was to obtain a charged Amdapori Wardstone. However, the ruins of Amdapor were heavily-guarded and access strictly forbidden. She, herself, had one, but it was not charged, and the only person who came close to knowing could not remember.
"...charge one...” Fiona had muttered over the private line, “I- I think I remember. Just- nnnh. I remember doing it. I don't remember how."
The only other solution would be to use an Onmyouji ritual which not only required multiple practitioners, but would cut the girl off from her aether use entirely - forever - even though it would mean that she could never be possessed again. It was beyond that last thing that Hali wished to do, and the half-elezen’s response chilled her blood.
"...we should keep it in mind. Just in case."
Thus, she turned to Naoh, who instructed her on where to search in the ruins to find Wardstones. She was, after all, not only a shinobi, but one of very high aether sensitivity, which would help her not only infiltrate the ruins, but potentially locate a stone, as well. Loathe to go alone, however, she brought her former teacher - her best friend and sister in the shadows - Kaori, seeking her help to sneak in and out while keeping one another safe.
It was a fortunate thing that she had. The ruins of Amdapor were crawling with horrible creatures. Due to the way the entrances and perimeter were guarded, the two were forced to take a back route through the abandoned keep in order to access the city. 
Though it was suspected that the keep ruins might hold what they sought, it was quite the opposite. The absence of long-established Amdapori artefacts of white magic to stave off the Mhachi void magic and wild beasts that roamed the area has left the entire structure to be overrun by the void in the wake of multiple attempts by the Lambs of Dalamud - some of whose reanimated corpses they had found, already slain - to summon their god back to the star.
Hali found it funny. If Dahlia truly was Dalamud incarnate - if she was some kind of god, they were all wasting their time. She almost thought to tell the mage upon her return, but not knowing her relationship with the cult, she assumed to likely be negative.
It was rough going after they’d fought their way through the maddened flora and fauna both, both of which fought them at every turn in the overgrown keep. She had visited once before, but it had never been quite as overgrown as it was then, she’d thought. By the time they reached the passage needed to slip through catacombs and into the city, Hali had wound up sick nearly twice due to the sheer amount of corrupted aether in some areas. Guarding the passage, they had even encountered a powerful voidsent who struck Hali as mildly familiar. A man she had met before, named Resh, who had been heavily voidtainted and even possessed, bore a very similar voidsent which could materialise separately from his body. Fortunately, the two shinobi made short work of most things in the keep, void included.
The passage put them right by the entrance to the city, and the two made their way down. Mould assailed their lungs, giant insects assailed their bodies, and doubt assailed Hali’s mind. The investigation of the keep had proven fruitless, but her initial scouting of the area around the Lost City had some promise. Deep within the city, she could feel something, and it was very close to what she sought. For a mercy, it had begun to rain, clearing much of the spores in the air, but bringing out insects much larger than either of the two Au Ra. However, they managed to dispatch most of them with ease, even having moments to admire some of those less hostile.
Despite their skills in combat, it was no easy task. In what Hali regarded, in hindsight, though not at that time, as a stroke of irony, Kaori had been assaulted by a massive moth - a creature almost resembling the guardian spirit of their village - and stuck down. Thankfully, Hali had managed to bring supplies enough to complement her admittedly-weak conjury, which, she had found, grew significantly easier and more potent in the ruins, which gave her some hope. Once Kaori was healed properly, her arm set and functional again, and Hali’s panic abated, they moved on.
Continuing deeper in, they were best by ever-increasing wonders. A seemingly-bottomless chasm surrounded them with platforms that connected with aethereal bridges, old wards still present, lingering from when their source stones were once in place, though nothing remained within them for them to protect. Hali’s hope grew again at that, and ,especially,when they found a host of voidsent and reanimated magi who had been attempting to breach a heavily-warded door. After having cleared them out, the two were able to set to work on breaching the door, themselves, seeming unaffected by its protecting wards.
What they saw on the other side was something akin to another world. Blissful, pure, and almost heavenly, they had found themselves in something akin to another world, constantly shifting ivory and gold pillar surrounding bridges and platforms that seemed to manifest from nothing. Sprites of pure light and torches of white fire that sang melodically lined the bottomless - and skyless - expanse of pure radiance.
The two shinobi found themselves almost unnaturally enraptured by the purity and bliss of it all, resolving themselves, one day, to return, though their aims were significantly different. Kaori wished to calm herself and to find inner serenity to better herself, but Hali found herself giggling at the thought of a pocket world created by mortals; it was her ticket to unlocking secrets that would allow her to shape reality to her whim, and she would, one day, have those secrets.
They, finally, reached what seemed to be a council chamber of sorts, empty of all things but a massive winged statue, armed with stone sword, shield... and three charged Wardstones - smooth, red, fist-sized stones that emanated a pure aether - set in its breast and behind both hands. In her excitement, Hali rushed in headlong, Kaori on her heels. The statue, like many others, was a gargoyle, enchanted by Amdapori magic, inset with Wardstones to make it effective against voidsent in the War of the Magi, she assumed. Fortunately, between their skill with ninjutsu, despite the stone being highly resistant to their poor blades, dinged and damaged from assaulting stone creatures, they managed to exhaust the statue’s animating magicks.
Prying the still-gleaming stones from the statue, Hali made one last attempt to contact Naoh, asking how to work the stones, and what she could do with three, rather than one. There was no response. Wherever they were in Amdapor, they were cut off entirely from the outside world. She and Kaori decided to beat a hasty retreat, vowing to return in the future in order to pursue their goals in that wondrous place.
When they neared the entrance to the Lost City, Hali’s heart jumped into her throat as a familiar presence became apparent in the patterns of aether around her: Dahlia. However, it was not simply her Moon. Her aethereal presence had all but winked out, and swirling about it in a writhing, chaos mass was the void-tainted aether of the voidsent that had possessed her, driving Hali to their task in the Lost City in the first place. Kaori and Hali immediately followed their shinobi instincts and made themselves scarce, watching the warped woman, clad in a strange outfit and mask, descend the stairs toward the landing where Hali has used her Vanishing jutsu to hide herself from him.
“Naras... wasn’t it? Come out...” the possessed woman crooned in an unmistakably male voice.
Hali’s heart pounded in her hiding spot. Dahlia’s form had shifted ever-so-slightly in the imbalance between her aether and that of her possessor. Her normally-mis-matched green and brown eyes had turned a deep red, one darker than the other, the edges dark and almost sunken. Her nails had grown into long, sharp claws, and she had a terrible, deathly pallor to her. The voice that came from her was not her own. It was Mirseleiris.
Securing the stones to herself as she frantically called Naoh for help over a linkshell that she knew Dahlia did not have, she was given an idea: all she had to do was get them close, so if she could grapple Mirseleiris, the stones would be able to do their work and suppress him, forcing him into stasis within Dahlia and giving her back her body and her control so long as they remained near. From time to time, she threw a small rock, skipping it on the stone stairs to make it seem as though she was sloppily fleeing further into the city. Fortunately, it seemed to distract the voidsent.
“[Kaori,]” she had said in Hingan over that same shell, “[I am going to do something very stupid. I am counting on you to back me up.]”
“[I will do what I feel is necessary,]” the other shinobi had said, adding, “[Trust me.]” Trust was something Hali had learned to put in Kaori. Though she could hardly trust the whole of the world - it was, after all, most assuredly out to get her in any way possible - she trusted Kaori to be able to handle things, every time.
Having slowly climbed atop the archway above the city’s entrance, she leaped from it, using a Shukuchi to rapidly get closer to Mirseleiris as he searched for her, taunting her. Arms wide, one Wardstone tied tightly to each of her palms and one affixed to the chainmail beneath her ningi, she attempted to embrace Dahlia’s possessed form, only to have the voidsent controlling her move her quickly away.
“Another new trick?” he crooned, then, realising what she had attempted to use, the proximity alone causing his head to spin, hissed, “Wardstones...”
Kaori, however, had been ready, and popped up from a ledge below the landing on which they had engaged Mirseleiris. Grabbing Dahlia’s ankles, she wrenched the Ishgardian’s legs from under her, causing the voidsent to tumble and temporarily release his grip on her. When she landed, it was Dahlia’s voice again, claws and eyes changing back slowly as Mirseleiris‘s presence faded.
However, when Hali straddled the girl, beginning to affix the Wardstones to her, she wound up in, she realised, a trap. Mirseleiris quickly took control of Dahlia again, one hand shooting forth to try and slash at her face and the other attempting to take her by throat. Thanks to Kaori’s quick reaction, smascking the first strike with the spine of her katana, the swipe only managed to tear part of Hali’ hood. However, the voidsent managed to take the heavyset Raen by the throat, choking her with vicious claws sinking into the skin at her neck.
Hali did everything she could not to lose control. It was chaos. It was fear. It was pain. It was rage. The thoughts had started to become murmurs, voices telling her what to do.
Kill her. Kill them both.
Knock her out.
Kill yourself.
She could hear Kaori, but no matter how she tries, she could not understand what she said amongst the din. Then, it got worse as a scream shook her very soul: Dahlia was screaming. Before her, Kaori had thrust the tip of her blade into the mage’s abdomen and drawn it clean, causing her to begin bleeding profusely.
“WHy... WOn’T... yoU... lEavE HeR?!” her body screamed in a disturbing dual voice, one belonging to Dahlia, the other to Mirseleiris, his grip slipping between the mageling’s intense pain and the Wardstones weakening him.
“W... why w- won’t... youhhhh...” Hali wheezed amongst the chaos and pain, before finally being released as Dahlia wrested control once more from her possessor. 
With the time the distraction gave her, she began fastening the second stone. The chaos in her head reached another crescendo as, Dahlia now fully in control and aware of her state, began screaming in agony again.
“Hali... Kel... help...! GahAHAhAHAhAhAHAHAAH!” she pleaded before Mirseleiris began to emerge again, mad dual-toned cackling beginning again, “She’s mine, mine!”
That tipped the scale in Hali’s head from fear to blind rage, and she screamed in response, “SHE’S MINE YOU WORTHLESS SHITSTAIN! SHE’S MINE! I’LL SODDING KILL YOU FOR THIS!” She couldn’t help, after the fact, remembering what she had yelled and how, deeply embarrassed at such melodrama, but she couldn’t help herself. Her mind was slipping, and fast.
“TheN If I cAn’T HAVe hER, I’Ll taKe hEr WIth mE!” the dual voice cackled maniacally, and the claws that had gone to Hali’s throat when, instead, to Dahlia’s poised to tear her own throat out in desperation.
Kaori had busied herself with activating pressure points and calling out to Dahlia, given Hali’s panicked and addled state, in order to try and help. At the same time, despite the start of a protestation from the other Raen, the hand holding the third stone rose, abandoning attempting to tie it to the girl’s choker, and came down hard on the side of her head, immediately knocking her out, as Hali, too, attempted a rather desperate manoeuvre, giving in to the voices as they screamed at her to do it, do it, do it, DO IT. 
Mirseleiris could tell what was coming and, instead of attempting to prevent it, lashed out one last time with claws and a kick, sending Hali reeling backward as not only did she gain two deep gashes across her nose and an eyebrow, she was hit in the death wound at her stomach, sending a massive cramp through her that caused her to lose her breath and fall over.
Silence, however, was the next sound, rain falling lightly upon the three, heavy breathing from them all following the struggle. Hali recovered just enough to carry Dahlia, and they managed to return to the Bountiful Chest. All three were in dire need of healing. Kaori’s arm was still in poor shape from the behemoth moth’s awful bites, and she had some minor wounds and inhalation of mould besides. Hali, too, suffered from inhaling the mould, though not as much, but the slashes across her face and puncture wounds around her neck required treatment. Dahlia’s were, thankfully, only superficial thanks to Kaori’s skill with her blade and proactive tactics, save for the concussion from Hali’s desperation.
Hali, once healed, could only lay in her bed in the medical ward and cry, her mind racing. They had done it. Dahlia could be safe - or even just relatively so while the stones were near or on her - until they had a more permanent solution. They had discovered in their hunt amazing things beyond description. Hali had a new lead into bettering herself, even to the point gaining the power to alter reality to her whim as she had seen done in Amdapor. Yet, she still could not stop panicking.
"Oh, gods, what did I do? She's going to hate me. This is all my fault... Fuck! Why did I say anything?! I knew he was listening! I shouldn't have done any of this... I should leave her alone, but... is she okay...?” she thought to herself on and off in a mad train of thought between bouts of panicked crying.
Slowly, eventually, once she had overheard that Dahlia had been healed and her concussion faded in the process, she shakily got up from her bed, sniffling, to move a few beds down toward hers. Silently padding across the floor on the other side of the curtain, she carefully climbed into the bed in which Dahlia slept. She curled up next to her and just cried, silent and shaking, almost afraid to touch her but still wanting to be close. Everything was still chaos. She needed something.
She’s not yours, you worthless creature; she is my Moon, and, with any luck, will always be mine.
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coreshorts · 8 years ago
Text
Moon
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A pen rested in an inkwell atop the desk in the centre of a dim room. Snoring softly, a tabby cat curled in her lap, a young Raen woman rest against the back of her chair, fin-like horns resting against its back, tail tucked around her side and twitching lightly in her sleep. A vague smile graced her features, makeup slightly worn away, smudges faded, as if wiped away by hands, her silver-streaked blond locks tousled and messy. A pair of thick-rimmed, narrow reading glasses was perched upon her nose, the heavyset woman having dozed off in just an oversized blouse, the silken dress and its accompaniments that she had worn before tossed over the dark wooden partition by her wardrobe.
Before her, ink dried on paper, a small notebook open on the desk. It was one seldom-used, only several pages in, and the writing within seemed different from the norm for her. Where often, such notebooks would have exciting, wondrous works of fiction or nigh-unbelievable stories from her own life and exploits, here only resided some minimalist lines of test, carefully written and worded.
The book before her was one of poems and songs, and a new one seems to have been penned in the late night hours before Hali had finally succumbed to sleep, likely helped there by her cat, Finn, curled up and purring on her lap.
The Moon and Her Shadow
You fell once, And I fell too. We both broke then, I think. I remember screaming. You remember fire.
Where had I gone, I wonder? And where were you? We spent so long wandering. I remember seclusion. You remember flight.
You fell again, But this time I was there. Nothing could help you. I remember curiosity. You remember concern.
Noise at first, So many words were shared, And you became real. I remember confusion. You remember calm.
I fell again, But it wasn’t bad. I’m learning to like it. I remember emotion. You remember teasing.
Time continues on, But we’re more than that. We’ll be there at the end. I remember expression. You remember trust.
If you are the Moon, I will be your Shadow. Will you fall again? And if you fall, Will you fall for me?
The ink dried slowly as Au Ra and cat sat together, the latter having fallen asleep on the former and lulling her off, in turn. There was a lot on her mind when she returned to her room that night, but, instead of the churning, chaotic anxiety that often wracked her, she was content and happy. She had felt - and continued, then, to feel - things she had never felt before, and though she didn’t understand, a part of her no longer cared to do so.
The Ishgardian girl with whom she’d grown so close was real and was as close to hers as any one person had ever been. Her mind had raced, egged on by an alcohol-inspired lack of impulse control and a moko-fuelled confidence, that night. She said things she didn’t think she’d ever say and did things she never thought she’d do. Even in the wake of their influence, however, her regrets were insignificant in comparison to her satisfaction.
Was Dahlia crazy? Maybe. Was she, herself? Likely. They both probably were, and, she figured, that was okay. They had both gotten a taste of how far down that rabbit hole went, and neither had turned away. Instead, they continued to peer down. It didn’t matter whether the girl was the moon or just thought she was. Hali had smiled at the thought as it occurred to her.
The mage would be her Moon.
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coreshorts · 8 years ago
Text
“You’re already dead.”
From a character writing prompt:
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Noisy. It was so noisy. The world screamed and heaved and threatened to devour her from inside her own head. She never had the presence to question it. The laughter drowned it out. Whose laughter was it? It always sounded like hers. It felt like hers. 
Kill him. 
She stared at the face of the man, his expression strange and empty and blank as he asked, "What is wrong with you?" His voice wasn't like she remembered. The noise was wrong. It was familiar through the haze of the laughter, through the din of the world's agonising shrieks in her head. She clutched the knife harder, holding it to herself with both hands. It was warm. It smelled nice. It felt nice to hold. 
It would feel better to shove it into his chest. 
Her eyes drifted downward, a drunken feeling washing over her as the world moved. In that instant, it stopped screaming. No. It didn't stop screaming. It was screaming louder. It was becoming deafening. The laughter was drowned out, barely audible. Why was the laughter there? What was funny? Nothing about it should be funny. He didn't deserve to die. 
But it would feel good to kill him. 
That's right. It would. It brought silence. Sweet, sweet silence was always her reward. She knew the world would stop. Everything would be okay. She just had to put that knife in him. He stood there, the empty expression fixed on her. 
"Why?" he mouthed, but there were no words. Only more noise, like someone taking a hammer to a steel bowl next to her head. Over, and over, and over, it rang and made her head throb, even though there was no pain. The world pulsed, as if it had a heartbeat. She no longer did. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she didn't feel it in her chest. She felt it in her feet, in the ground, in the air, in her eyes, in her brain, in her hair, in him, in the knife... 
Do it. 
The laughter began to get louder, a sweet, melodic, familiar tone that was as frightening as it was comforting. It felt like pain. It felt like home.
"You mustn't," protested the voice that didn't belong to the man. It occurred to her: it was her voice. She had to take it back. It was hers. How dare he take what was hers. She would carve her voice out of his throat and take it back. The laughter grew louder and the man grew closer. 
"You can't," he said, attempting to deny her in the voice he stole from her. The laughter grew louder and the man grew closer. She felt happy. Amid the screams of a dying world, amid the chaos and banging and noise of existence as one, amid the shivering and quaking and pounding of the heartbeat of a universe, she could feel herself smile. It was good. 
"But you're already dead," crooned the world as one, and as the laughter continued, the man faded away, taken to the ground. Again, and again, and again, she drove the knife into his throat. She would take back her voice. She would stop him from making the noise. She would make the world quiet again. Everything would make sense. It would be okay. 
What started as a slow rumble that grew into a cacophony of noise too loud to bear and too thick think suddenly gave way all at once. The universe reestablished itself and the world became silent. All that remained was the laughter - her laughter. Her hideous, deranged giggling had become almost like screams of hysteria. She was warm and wet and sticky, covered in blood and red and the remains of a man who didn't deserve it. Her face was warm and wet and her eyes stung with tears that flowed freely in a combination of terror and madness. Her whole body tingled with the feeling of a man's aether draining away into the earth below much like his blood as it pooled from the wounds she'd inflicted. 
As everything became right again, it became wrong. She had killed a man who was not meant to die. He was just a passerby. She remembered. Her head had pounded and her stomach had turned, and then he arrived... and then, he departed. She turned and vomited.
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coreshorts · 8 years ago
Text
Learn
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“I’m afraid,” she’d said, “That they might... What if they try to kill me?”
The Raen smiled ominously beneath her hood, “Then I’ll kill them first.”
The voidsent, Mirseleiris, who inhabited Dahlia’s body and constantly vied for control, be it for direct experience with the world, attempts to isolate the Ishgardian, or just for the sake of having some form of power, had made itself known in front of a group tasked with eliminating a different voidsent in Yanxia. Mothra had been beaten down, the giant moth-like demon beaten to within an inch of its existence before putting Dahlia to sleep with a strange song. It was then that Mirseleiris took control and the girl’s body contorted violently, black tendrils of pitch-like void-tainted aether finding purchase about the thing and draining it of its own stolen aether until it was nothing more than a husk.
Those around them were horrified. Hali had cut a deal with the Onmyouji, Sasori, in order to allow it and keep Dahlia safe for the moment. In exchange fore her own services as a shinobi, Sasori would help her when the time came to deal with Mirseleiris.
The standoff was tense. The look of confused disappointment Kaori had given Hali was heartbreaking, and her tone moreso when the girl had threatened the Confederates accompanying them with a swift death should they lay a finger on Dahlia. There would be a lot to explain to her former teacher. The only other from Gold and Glory was Aedwen, a newer member, but an Imperial medicus. Hali feared that she might take that back to the Empire in order to have Dahlia exterminated as a threat. She would have to be watched.
The walk back to Namai was one tinged with anxiety and uncertainty. Dahlia feared retribution for the presence, no less the actions, of the creature within her. Time and time again, Hali reassured her: no harm would come to her; she would kill anyone who tried.
I want to think it’s romantic... she’d thought, But... it’s just another excuse to kill.
The thought was interrupted by an admission of guilt from Dahlia’s part, “I won’t hesitate to kill them to protect myself or you, either, you know.” The tone in her voice made Hali’s heart wrench; Dahlia really had no idea how messed up she was, did she? She had no idea how easy it would be for her to simply kill those who threatened either of them. Her conscience was as withered as that moth demon had been.
“Why don’t w-we, um, g-go for drinks. Um, a-at the springs,” Hali had suggested, “I think we, uh... b-both need to relax after that, huh?” Dahlia seemed enthused by the idea. The Bokairo Inn would be a good stop on their way back to the Shirogane Branch of the Gold and Glory offices.
After taking a moment to retrieve their things from the inn where they’d left them for convenience, they met. Hali realised rather quickly that she hadn’t planned on seeing quite that much of the very full-figured mage and her worry about her gratuitous scars - especially the death wound from her dealings as Katsu with a particularly lethal Venture in the Sagolii - when Dahlia accidentally dropped her towel. She declined to ask about those she saw on the other girl, given they seemed to be a deal different that her own.
The feeling was a strange one. For someone who had no interest in anyone for the most part, save for some aesthetic appreciation, she found herself staring from her peripheral vision, the feeling of a sudden dropping in her chest, like her heart had skipped a beat making her pause and her face flush a deep crimson.
Though she got over it, the curiosity at the reaction remained, even as they sat, talked, and drank. For a time, it was idle conversation, back and forth about conjury, Hali’s past as a miqo’te, drinks, and more. It darkened for a time as the concern about what had happened not a bell before was brought back up, but, after a few reassurances, the topic changed to food and drink again.
Then, the topic that Hali had been dreading came. Not days before their weekend trip to Kugane together, she had been written into a list of karaoke singers for an outing she attended with the Outriders. Naomi had penned Hali in to sing, knowing both the Au Ra’s ability for it and persona as a songstress. The shinobi would have been far less vexed by it if she hadn’t chanced to run into Dahlia at the very same place. They’d sat and drank and talked... until Hali’s name was called.
The anxiety-stricken Raen had nothing else to sing but a song she’d had stuck in her head, and it was all-too-related to her own anxiety and feelings for the mage with whom she’d been sitting all night. After her song, she returned to find the girl blushing and flustered, though they talked a deal more throughout the next bell.
When the topic of the Fighter’s Forge, a training event held in the Shroud, came up, they group opted to leave for it, and Dahlia, already mostly-drunk off of the umeshu that Hali had bought as a means to help her calm down, went along. The training session was short, and Dahlia spent most of her time in a drunken stupor, though she still had her wits about her enough to cheer Hali on in a crack spar against Naomi. When they left together, she was asked if she and “her girlfriend” wanted anything to eat before they went, and, though Dahlia was oblivious, Hali coaxed her off in a fit of shy anxiety.
Thus, she had dreaded the moment when “her girlfriend” came up, and it had, as Dahlia asked her, leaning on her and cuddling into her in the springs, about a restaurant they’d been discussing. 
“Have you ever gone with your girlfriend?” she asked, causing Hali’s heart to leap into her throat.
The ensuing back and forth was almost painful. Despite her insistence that she didn’t have a girlfriend, Dahlia continued to press, asking for whom she sang. When Hali said Naomi had signed her up without her knowing, she took it to mean that Naomi was her girlfriend, causing Hali to become ever more flustered as she denied that, too, repeating that she was, in fact, without one. Eventually, she became too flustered to speak and clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Are you well?” Dahlia had asked, then started to stand. In her panic and fear, Hali had assumed she was getting up to leave and shot up, begging her to stay before, finally, forcing herself to try and explain.
“It’s... it was...” she started, then simply finished with, “...you.” The Ishgardian’s face with a mixture of mild surprise and confusion as she asked for confirmation, to which Hali affirmed that she had, indeed, sung for Dahlia, and that she had been referred to as her girlfriend. However erroneous, it still struck a chord with her when it was said, and, explaining it as best she could, she waited for the negative reaction she expected.
It didn’t come. To Hali’s continued anxiety, Dahlia’s response was tame and nearly unreadable for the panicked Raen, prompting from her repeated apologies in the lack of anything better to say.
“No apologies,” she said, cuddling back up to the flustered, confused shinobi, “It’s okay. I am not bothered.”
The relief was mild, but it was there, when she had said that, and, though Hali was tense, with a few errant sniffles to try and clear her head of the impending fit of crying, she tried her best to relax again.
As the night grew late, they had begun to speak of when to retire before the alcohol wore too much on them with the heat of the springs. Hali couldn’t even word a response before an unexpected shock rendered her stark still, freezing solid in the otherwise hot water. The feeling of Dahlia’s lips pecking her cheek flipped her mind upside down, having been entirely unexpected, and with no idea of how to respond, she sat there for a long moment, eyes wide and face nearly as red as a tomato. Her heart seemed to beat with some insane, erratic rhythm and she felt butterflies in her stomach for possibly the first time that she could remember. The only thing she could manage was nervous giggling for nearly a bell after, between the shock, the alcohol, and the exhaustion from the night before.
It was unexpected, to be sure, but it was welcome. For perhaps the first time, her heart had sent her reeling for someone with whom she could have a legitimate chance - someone for whom she felt things she had not felt with anyone else prior - and it was wonderful. The nagging doubt remained for the rest of the night, though: what now? She knew nothing about love or how to do anything related. She could barely function as a person. Her thoughts drifted from possibility to possibility, from plan to plan, before she arrived at once simple conclusion:
If it was for her, she would do whatever it took to learn.
(( With @umbralhearts‘s Dahlia! ))
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coreshorts · 8 years ago
Text
Dismantled
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“You could not have come at a better time,” the middle-aged Hingan midlander had told her, “I require your expertise, now, more than ever.” His features were drawn, hints of frustration pulling his brows taut across his forehead, jaw set, and tone soft, but tense.
The man before the heavyset Raen was wealthy man named Takeda no Kazumoto, a merchant and daimyo of Hingashi. She had spent much of her time on the his estate, set on its own little private island, much like her own village, doing one of the things she did best: cooking. She had been brought on, officially, as a member of the cook staff so that she could, along with Tadayori, the daimyo’s trusted friend and adviser, act as his eyes in the shadows. Much of her early missions after being brought on under his command involved silently accompanying him to some locations for trading deals or simply for leisure. She had not had to do anything taxing, until now.
With a polite bow, Hali, known to her lord by her Hingan name, Asashio no Haruhi, or “Haruhi of the Morningtide”, in honour of her mentor and sister in the shadows, remained respectfully at attention as Kaori had taught her and awaited her instructions silently. She had been summoned to the library and beside him stood the rather tall Raen man known simply as Tadayori. She had evaded the older shinobi’s gaze just barely when she underwent the trial that took her to the very estate at which she had come to happily serve as both chef and shinobi. The severe expression on the other Au Ra’s face, though not directed at Hali, made her somewhat nervous.
“A ship has been waylaid,” he explained with a distant frown, “The overseer of the last shipment of textiles bound for Kugane was sent back with a missive from the Red Moon smuggling ring. They are demanding a ransom. Tadayori can tell you more.”
The older Raen spoke up, giving his younger counterpart a nod, “They have seized the ship and its crew and are holding them hostage on a remote island approximately sixty malms from here. They intend to sell off the textiles for their own profit while keeping the crew and money already earned. There are approximately sixteen crew members. Two have been executed for resistance. The ship’s captain has also been executed as a warning.”
The younger shinobi frowned, looking concerned at that, and, picking up on it, Tadayori added, “They are not known for this kind of blatant barbarism. Since the reclamation of Doma, however, and the increase in activity from the Confederates, they have been driven farther from the Ruby Sea and have begun engaging in more questionable activity. It is unknown why, but it is my suspicion that they are under new leadership. If that is the case...”
Hali canted her head slightly, following Tadayori’s gaze as he looked to Takeda, who finished, “This new leader must be investigated. I do not ask this lightly, but if it is confirmed that Soratsuki no Shigetoki is no longer in command of the Red Moon, and this his successor is reforming the them so, this successor must be dealt with. A clear message must be sent that such barbaric actions have no place amongst these isles.”
Hali bowed and Tadayori nodded, before she said in fluent Hingan, “I will ensure only absolute and efficient success.” It had become her favourite phrase to use, and it seemed to please both Takeda and Tadayori, the two of whom finally gave a small smile at the utterance.
“Then I will trust you with this task, Asashio-san,” he said, bowing respectfully to her before gesturing to Tadayori, “You will not be alone for this. Tadayori-san will be working nearby to rescue the captives.”
“It will be your mission,” Tadayori said, “to investigate the meaning of this attack and to ensure that such a thing does not occur again. The means you use are yours to choose.”
“If either of you also locate the shipment or money,” Takeda added, “It will be better for all of us.” Tadayori and Hali both nodded to the affirmative before the two shinobi set about their preparations.
Three ships in total were boarded to keep their trail secret. One returned them to Kugane. Another took them closer to Bukyo. The third took them from there just a bit further to the south and west again, passing through the waters now supposedly terrorised by the Red Moon. The ship, however, carried little more than lumber, and went wholly unmolested, as Tadayori had explained before they had set off.
A small bribe was paid to the ship’s captain both for their passage and the rowboat they would use to cross the final five malms to the island. The elder shinobi had humorously chided her that being a stowaway was not always beneficial, though she agreed. The final detail she was to given for this mission was also discussed on the way, and that was the description of the man supposedly in charge of the Red Moon. An older man, wizened, yet lively, with one eye and a burn scar that covered the opposite side of his face was who she was to find. If another was in his place, then the Red Moon could be confirmed as “under new management,” as was said.
Upon approaching the island, a familiar ship, as well as several more, were seen. Only the one belonging to the severed trade route was docked. Some eight ships patrolled the island, all clearly armed. The approach was slow, methodical, and patient, drifting through a gap in lantern light during the darkest part of the night. By the time their path would have been given away by the ripples of their rowboat, the waves had already churned them away.
They landed upon the shore and, both working together to take the boat to hidden location in the trees about the island, split up to go about their individual missions. There was to be no communication via normal means: no linkpearls, communicators, or otherwise. Instead, Hali had been instructed how to leave specifically-worded messages through clues in the area for times like this when they were to work together.
The island itself was built like a fortress. Palisades of large logs, all with sharpened tips and illuminated by torchlight every few paces, surrounded the small shack-like buildings at the isle’s centre. Six buildings in all, including the dock house which lay just next to the captured and docked merchant vessel. Tadayori would likely be headed there first, the younger Raen surmised. Thus, she headed for a larger building set at the back with the heaviest guard.
The large building was two stories as opposed to the others at only single-level shacks with ramshackle paper screen walls. It bore weathered, ornate walls that looked like it could have once been something more beautiful than the hovel it appeared to be. It even seemed to once have had a third story, judging by the supporting pillars and bits of wall that remained. However, a multitude of wooden planks were nailed up with straw to simply give the building a makeshift roof. Heavy wooden walls, amado, were set in place around the perimeter of the building - normally storm shutters normally meant to keep out the wind and rain, but reinforced to keep out attackers, it would seem - and there was only one way in, guarded by two alert-looking men in heavier armour with pikes. Fortunately, however, unlike her first infiltration, these guards had not been made alert, and many appeared either tired, overconfident, or just simply lazy. They were thugs more so than real samurai.
She would not be using the front door, however. Despite the well-lit palisades around the building, it would be far easier to take the back way in. The guards behind the building, as she watched, seemed lax. The only ones that ever went behind the larger building were there for breaks or to slack off. One was asleep against an amado panel, his lantern off. Simple enough. The palisade was the only thing keeping her out, and that would be easily bypassed.
She took a few steps back and began gathering aether in the shadows, a single mudra held before her for a few seconds before she vanished completely, a Shukuchi spell taking her up and over the palisade and to the very edge of the building where she grabbed onto the edge with both hands and slowly pulled herself up. The area was not lit, nor did the lighting below risk exposing her, it seemed. The guard below had not stirred, and she managed to remain silent as she slowly ascended the roof.
The next problem, however, made itself quickly evident: despite the ramshackle appearance of the roof, it was sturdy, built up and held together with lashings that would have made the stingiest sailor proud. They did not budge for her. Her best bet was to try slipping in through the narrow spaces to either side where the slanted roof left room for air. Both sides, however, were out in the open, lit by torchlight from below and in full view of the two guard houses. one to either side of the building. Chances would have to be taken, though, thankfully, none of the guards seemed particularly inclined to turn their gazes heavensward.
With a few deft footsteps and a turn, she swung out over the edge of the roof, briefly illuminated by torchlight as some few strands of straw drifted gently down and landed on one of the patrolling guards below. With a grunt, the man simply brushed it off, thinking little better.
Once inside the low roof structure, Hali was forced to practically crawl once she could twist herself to do so. Once she did, however, she came face to face with something that nearly made her scream: a hornet nest nestled in the very top arch of the makeshift roof. Every alarum in her head roared to life at once. Sweat beaded on her forehead behind her stolen Imperial filtration mask and she froze still as a statue, a tiny squeak the only noise she could make as she turned about just under it, only to come face-to-hive. There was no activity, the insects within all either having taken to dormancy in the colder fall moons or simply having moved on. She couldn’t bear to find out. With a stiff and shaken crawl, she pressed herself flat against the charred floor beneath the roof - it seemed the third story had burned away, much like she found herself wanting so desperately to do to the rest of the building for its infernal infestation - and shuddered as the corpses of long-dead insects crunched near-soundlessly beneath her armoured gloves and boots.
Eventually, however, she found the hole where a stairwell used to be, and, peering down into the darkened room below, dropped down with a muffled thud as she hit the floor. She found herself at the end of a hallway, a ladder sitting on the ground beside her with some few more hornet carcasses littering the floor besides. Ignoring the shudder-inducing sight and crunch beneath her boots, she slinked down the hallway, focusing her potent sense for aether to try and pick out nearby signs of life in the rooms around her. However, all she felt were three below. Two moved, one did not, and that, she figured, was her target. One, however, was approaching the stairs, calling back about a sound he had thought he heard - likely Hali’s rapid escape from the hornet-infested attic.
She ducked into on of the two rooms, fortunately finding their shoji doors without locks. Slipping into the one, she found what appeared to be some kind of office. The dark made it hard for her to make anything out, but the feeling of the space around her suggested things that made her nervous: an officem perhaps, but it felt from the way the air’s vibrations reaching the Auri girl’s horns that someone or something sat the desk not several fulms to her left. She proceeded carefully, until the sound of a guard approaching the door and light from a lantern alerted her to hide, and she ducked behind the desk to find shelter.
Immediately, even through her mask’s filter, the smell of death was almost overwhelming, turning her stomach, and, even in the dark, she could make out the form of a man’s corpse, leaning back against the wall. It couldn’t have been more than a few days old, but the smell was still overpowering. she flattened herself to hide beneath the low Hingan desk and the small armoire beside it just in time for the door to slide open and lantern light to flood the room, illuminating the features of the dead man above her.
“Hmph,” came the annoyed grunt of a tall, grizzled Raen with half his right horn missing, severe, red-ringed green eyes staring at the dead man - at the former leader of the Red Moon - before sliding the door shut and returning to the hall to check the other room.
Soratsuki was dead, and that answered the first question as she hurriedly, but silently, made to escape the choking and pungent odour that caused her to hold her breath for as long as she could. That left one more room and then the man below. He had two guards. They would have to be distracted. She didn’t want to cause a scene and have the whole camp on her.
One guard was in the next room. That meant she had a very short amount of time to disable him. Slowly, she slid the door open and foud herself staring at the man’s back, his scaled tail whipping in annoyance as he leaned into a room stacked with crates and purses. It seemed that was the room with the more valuable shipments and payments. Takeda’s koban would be in there, if not his textile shipment, as well, if those weren’t still on the anchored ship.
Slowly, she got up behind the guard, a good fulm taller that she was, wakizashi in hand. She was cleared to dispatch of any of the Red Moon as she pleased, and the easiest way to rid herself of these guards was, simply, to kill them. The Raen girl had no qualms with this. Death was something she enjoyed administering and, especially, feeling in her victims. With a precise and lethal strike, she raised an arm and drove her blade through the man’s neck before immediately tearing it out. His throat immediately filled with blood, choking off his ability to call out an alarum, and she eased him to the ground, back into the room with the other dead man. The tatami beneath him drank in the blood, just as Hali drank in the feeling of the man’s aether draining away.
One guard down, she waited. It was only a matter of time before the other was sent looking. Minutes passed, however, and no word was said below. She had even had time to clean the blood from the floor in the hall to cover her tracks. She began to get nervous. Was she expected? Was there something at play that she didn’t know? Had she missed something? No new guards came to replace the old one. Perhaps he was expected to retire. A change in plans had to be arranged.
Slowly, she crept to the top of the stairs and listened to the level below, much like a child past her bedtime might scout for the movement of her parents below. There was little movement. The very faint sounds of a quill on parchment and the occasional rustle of coin below made it clear that the motionless figure was counting money. She began to form a mudra to hide herself, making herself all but invisible for a short while, but paused as two sets of footsteps entered the lower level and a gruff, dark voice began a conversation.
“...you are to have two guards at all times when you count my money. Where is Yasusuke?”
“I- m-my apologies! He left to investigate a noise. I lost track of time.”
“Idiot! Find him! If he is slacking, I will have the rest of his horn and your head!”
The timid-sounding man who had been sitting at the desk, she surmised, was not the leader, but a treasurer. The leader had just walked in the door. Now, the remaining guard with the treasurer flanked the new leader while the timid man ran for the stairs, forcing Hali to back into the shadows as the short, nervous little man entered the upper hall. He paused in the darkness before the first door before letting out a shudder. It seemed he knew who was supposed to be inside, and his hesitation gave the hidden Raen her chance. However, despite the high she rode from the previous kill, she noticed something that gave her pause: his wrists bore shackles. He was a prisoner, and likely one of the ship’s crew. Instead of drawing her blades, she struck forward and clapped a hand over the man’s mouth to silence him.
“You do not belong here, do you?” she asked in a hushed tone, and the man, breathing sharp and fast through his nose, now, shook his head, “Then you will report nothing out of the ordinary. Your guard is not here. Do this and you will have freedom. Do you understand?”
A frantic nod from the man prompted Hali to release him before fading back into the darkness. He hesitated a moment, as if debating on what to do, but when the faceless shinobi drew toward the edge of the shadows, he nodded once more and shakily walked down the stairs.
“He is not here,” came the nervous, choked report, “I cannot find him!”
The sound of flesh on flesh was the reply before the thud of a body hitting the floor met the Raen’s sensitive horns. She frowned behind her mask, disappointed, but at a beaten hostage was better than a dead one, she figured. The sound of shuffling and the feeling of two moving bodies gave her reason to suspect that the man had been moved back to his spot at the desk to resume counting koban before two sets of footsteps came storming up next.
Thinking quickly, Hali ducked into the makeshift treasury and left the door enticingly cracked, as if someone went haphazardly inside and forgot to close it entirely. Threatened treasure might draw attention, after all, and, moments later, it did. The door flew open with a rattle and a Roegadyn man peered in, his face contorted in rage. He was a large Sea Wolf man, nearly as tall as the Raen man she had laid low earlier, but twice as bulky, his exposed arms, torso, and head covered in scars where it was not in tattoos. Two of the fingers on his left hand were missing, leaving only half of his middle finger, his index finger, and thumb.
With a huff, eyes flashing with anger, he stepped into the room and Hali dropped from her hiding spot above the door, wedged precariously above the doorway and hanging on to a rafter through pressure alone, both wakizashi drawn to plunge straight down into his neck. The man let out a startled choking noise and fell forward to the tatami with a heavy thud. However, the Raen atop him had no time to savour the feeling of his death as a tall midlander came jogging up the hall to check on the disturbance. What he got, however, was a kunai between the eyes that stopped him in his tracks, both of Hali’s wakizashi discarded for just a moment to give her the ability to quickly react.
She retrieved her blades from the floor to either side of the slain Sea Wolf and the face of the midlander guard, wiping them off on the latter’s shirt before stowing each properly. The sound of footsteps walking up the stairs began again, prompting her to drag the midlander’s body quickly into the treasure room with the slain leader, and, moments later, another Hingan man, older but battle-hardened with a lantern in one hand and a katana drawn in the other, rounded the corner.
This katana may have proven effective to block a strike or a thrown weapon, but it was unable to stop Hali’s most-practised jutsu: Hyoton. As he crept down the hall, she kept just out of sight, performing the mudras: Ten then Jin, before executing it from the shadows created by the lantern light beyond the open door. The air glimmered ominously around the man before suddenly flash-freezing him into a jagged ice form. Concentrating for but a few moments, one more execution mudra was made, and the ice form cracked and crumbled, the frozen man inside shattered with his prison. Three guards and the current leader of the Red Moon lay dead in the upper level of the building, and she remained still for just a moment longer, savouring the feeling of the aether and smelling the blood of the dead on the air. It was exhilarating.
There would have to be an example made, however, and soon, she began to arrange the still-bleeding bodies in the room with the former leader’s decaying corpse. The Roegadyn man was postured, though it was difficult with his bulk for the smaller Raen to move him, on his knees in dogeza. The three guards lay around him, hands clapsed over their chests, and in his back, the Hingan letters for “unforgivable” were carved with a kunai as many times as she could fit the word. It was gruesome, but a part of her enjoyed it, her mask the only thing hiding the madness in her eyes and wicked grin. The still-lit lantern of the second guard was placed on Soratsuki’s desk to illuminate them all.
After setting the scene and cleaning herself up, she moved downstairs to find Tadayori waiting with the prisoner, his features completely obscured. One of the amado at the back of the building had been pulled loose by the elder shinobi, and he nodded out that way before guiding the shackled, nervous man out. Hali, meanwhile, pointed upward as his gaze lingered on her, making signs for “target”, “dead,” and “treasure” in the silent cant she had been shown for communication between the two. 
He nodded in understand before responding with “return,” and “guard.” She was to guard the area until his return. Simple enough. Taking to the shadows once more, the next half bell went by without issue. Then, Tadayori returned, giving her a nod and gesturing for her to lead. Upon entering the hall above, she made the sign for “target,” pointing to the door where the bodies had been laid to convey their message, and then “treasure,” before pointing to the other. The next few moments were spend going through crates and identifying what was necessary. Most was simply foodstuff, but there were several large purses of koban and a few jewellery boxes of valuables to be taken. The food, meanwhile, was dumped over, leaving it to spoil on the floor. With nothing else remaining, the two shinobi made to leave.
On their way out, Tadayori chanced to see Hali’s handiwork in the other room, staring for just a moment before shaking his head and following her out, several small boxes and bags in tow before the male Raen led her along a path through the camp to keep them low and hidden before arriving at the merchant ship in the dock. The hostages had been escorted aboard and were waiting, and the shipments it carried were still in place, to Hali’s relief. The last issues was how to get the ship out without causing alarm. The docks were conspicuously empty, and Hali knew better than to question, but how would they get past the patrol ships?
A very faint smile was visible in Tadayori’s eyes as he gestured out toward the open sea, then gave a questioning motion. He was asking her how they should deal with the patrols. A rowboat was easy enough to sneak past, but an entire merchant ship? That would be impossible to sneak out. She was left to ponder that question while Tadayori motioned for the rescued crew to get the ship moving. Fortunately enough of them remained to allow for decent navigation back toward Bukyo. The question of how to deal with the two ships in their path remained, however, and it was one for which she had no answers. They would simply have to improvise. Tadayori seemed to be of the same opinion.
As the ship departed, they were, predictably, approached by one of the patrol ships, and a man from just yalms away, cannons pointed for the merchant vessel, yelled over, “That ship is not supposed to leave! What are you doing?”
Tadayori approached, shrouded by the darkness but still fairly visible in the distant lantern light as a silhouette with his cream-coloured horns and tail, and called out in return, “The ransom is paid. The vessel is being returned for collection.”
A laugh rumbled through the air as the distant midlander chuckled, “You are a very poor liar. Show your face before you and your cargo are blown to pieces.” The silence that dragged on was deafening, and action needed to be taken. However, with eyes on Tadayori, he could do nothing. It fell to Hali to intervene, and a tingling feeling already made its way up her arms. The captain of the hostile ship was the first of four on deck. Two cannoneers manned the forward guns, torches held and ready to light the fuses of their cannons. A navigator stood farther back, and the captain himself stood at the very edge of the bow.
There was no time needed  to deliberate. The ship was small with only a token crew manning it besides, likely to keep it fast. It would be easy for men not prepared to be ambushed. With a gathering of aether, she performed another Shukuchi, jumping her instantly to a spot on the ship just behind the first cannoneer before driving a blade up through the back of his neck and into his skull. In the ensuing chaos, a single mudra was made before a shuriken was sent flying across to the other. The thrown weapon multiplied in size and blazed with aether as it approached the female cannoneer, leaving a massive gash in her neck and causing her to fall overboard from the force of the impact, the water slowly staining red in the darkness. The torch from the first fell from his hands, only for Hali to kick it to the side and over the edge, as well.
With a shout of shock, the captain drew a katana and charged for the murderous Raen. She turned to him and watched, single wakizashi still in her off hand. The aether around him churned and swirled, and as his arms came up to deliver a slash for her chest, she moved with the aether, reading his movements before they could occur with a low, demented giggle. When the blade whizzed through empty air, her own found purchase in the captain’s stomach. She withdrew it, then thrust it in again, and again, and again. Several deep stabs in quick succession with the blade forced him to drop his own in the shock that overcame his body, and he fell to the deck of the ship, bleeding out before she stooped down and slit his throat.
Meanwhile, the navigator had begun to panic and found a pike with which had charged the woman slaughtering his crewmates. However, by the time he reached her, a kunai found itself lodged in his neck, much to Hali’s surprise. It seemed, with the cannons no longer posing a threat, Tadayori had chosen to assist her. In the wake of the slaughter, she spent but a moment revelling once more in the aether of the fallen as it drained away before using one more Shukuchi to return to the ship.
“That was brash,” the elder Raen scolded softly once the ship began moving again, though his words were not harsh.
“It would have been worse to leave our survival to chance,” Hali responded in the same hushed tone, “The mission must be completed, no matter the cost.”
Tadayori went silent, bowing his head as they pulled free from the smugglers’ territory. She was still young and still learning, and she knew this. Even Kaori wished to instil in her the weight of a life, to make her see that all people were people. However, that was not something she felt she could ever comprehend - at least not without losing her mind in the process - and the matter, further, was unimportant at any rate.
Her mission was completed, and with it, the Red Moon would slowly be dismantled.
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coreshorts · 8 years ago
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Entry #1: Spectre
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It was a quieter night than those to which was was used. After all, most of the Raen’s nights were spent either in a kitchen or lurking amongst the shadows, fulfilling some job or contract. Others were spent in disguise, frequenting bars, taverns, or places of business as one of many different faces or names.
Tonight, that was not so. Tonight, she sat, alone, peering down upon the Hingan city of Kugane from so high above that no sound reached the shinobi, perched atop the towering spire of the Shiozake Hostelry. Everything was tiny. The wind, though it whipped at her ever-so-steadily, passed about her horns with little more than whispers. Though the city below her was alive, light and sound and aether all intermingling to create the vestiges of a populated trade hub, only the light and the faint traces of the aether of the world below reached her.
It was here that she thought, reflected on herself and how far she had come, at least once every few days. She would scale the tower, out of sight of the Sekiseigumi, her dark, muted purple armour blending her into the darkness of the late night, two separate scarves - one at her neck and one at her belt, swaddling her light, cream-coloured horns and tail - and a large hood to hide her blonde hair. It was always an arduous task. A tower so tall was ever an obstacle for her, and every time she scaled it, she was forced to stop at least once to catch her breath. However, she made it to the top every time.
Barely a year ago, she would not have even made it up the outer wall to the first of the awnings she used to ascend. Barely a year ago, she was a frustrated, timid girl, struggling with gifts that crippled her as much as they cooperated with her. Barely a year ago, she was not even a Raen, but a miqo’te - a Keeper of the Moon - exiled from her tribe for being useless to its then-Matriarch.
Now, however, through trials and training, through sweat, blood, tears, and endless determination, she had become a shinobi. No more was the would-be mage girl, struggling to make scribbles in books produce chaotic effects that were a far cry from what she hoped, the would-be Blue Mage who nearly lost her life and her soul to a creature she let into herself for the sake of power, and the lost, confused girl who didn’t know what she wanted of her life. 
She had gained purpose. That purpose was given a place. The place gave her a name. It gave her comrades, and it gave her peace. She would fight for her village, for her clan. The Shiroga - White Moth - Clan of shinobi, so recently given a fresh breath of life through not only the efforts of her mentor and best friend, but by her own hand, as well, had become, in the last moons, a potent driving force. It had become her home, and through her home was given a mission to restore it to the greatness she felt it deserved to be.
She was the most senior member of the village of but four. Even her mentor - now called sister through the bonds of the clan - who led the village was a few years her junior, at least chronologically. When she had been changed, the former miqo’te had felt, her very physical age had been altered by some several years. She no longer looked a woman of twenty-seven summers. She barely looked twenty. It was part of her second chance, she felt, and seldom questioned it, despite the agonising and painful process which had brought it about, not to mention the malicious intent that had begun the process.
How long, though, she wondered, could she continue to be honourable, as the woman she so cherished - her sister-in-the-shadows - had described it? She was to keep to a code. Her impulses and her own malicious inclinations were to be curtailed, used only in the line of duty and never for purposes which would bring shame upon the village or the clan. It was a fear that stayed with her. Could she keep to the code? Was she really worthy of it, mad and bloodthirsty as she could be? She wanted to be good - wanted it more than anything - for her clan, her growing family. She wanted to make her best friend proud of what she had created in her. She feared that, after too long, perhaps she would not see an powerful ally, but a monster of her own creation.
Doubt and anxiety were her constant companions, and they loved to intrude. They clung, ripped, and tore at the confidence she’d worked so hard to build. They were like animals, nipping at her heels. Worse was when they acted as one, picking out flaws and magnifying them, making them seem insurmountable, fundamental failings that she could never move beyond. She knew she had to conquer them. Part of her even knew they were often wrong. 
The Raen woman who called herself Asashio no Haruhi peered down at the world below, her scarf pulling free from her horns to be tossed gently by the wind. It was a new name that she called herself, and yet far more fitting. Haruhi of the Morning Tide, a name taken in honour of her teacher - her sister in the shadows - to replace that which she used in her former life, in Eorzea: Hali Naras. She had many other names, but many were as ghosts, personas in her mind that she used to become elusive, as bid the traditions of the village. The name she chose for herself, however, was important. It signified a change. It was to mark her improvement, and to help her move on. Like the morning tide in which Kaori had been found in her youth, her old self would be washed away, shedding the identity of the exiled child, unworthy of the name of her birth tribe, and leaving only the new, finally knowing home - a place she belonged.
At times, however, it felt empty, only a futile gesture to push away the failure she once was. The doubt settled, gnawed at the pit of her stomach and clutched at the back of her mind. It wanted her to return, to become that failure once more. She would fight it, and she would win, battle after battle as it came to her. However, she knew, the war would never end. That doubt haunted her, and likely always would.
It was her own personal, permanent spectre.
(( Starting a challenge for the month to get myself writing again after a brief hiatus! Check out the challenge here and follow @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast for the prompts and more! ))
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