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[literenture]

Sho & Imani, after Sho is abducted & brought back to the power plant.

Sho had had no visitors since his grandfather had last come to see him, aside from the regular medical checks—and the doctors all ignored him. The last he had spoken to another had been some days ago, and he passed the time in and out of consciousness. His appetite was nonexistent, and he barely touched the meals provided.

His mind wavered between two extremes. His fear and reverence towards his grandfather, the love and kindness of his newfound family. Which one was true?

His head pounded.

Even with Isidora’s treatment, the wounds from Varuna were slow to heal. With his reserves of en at a minimum, the Eater’s lingering effects left him drained of energy.

Despite the isolation, his mother refused to appear. Sho found himself praying for her to show herself, loneliness eating away at him.

The monotony was finally broken one day at what he assumed was dinner time, though his sense of time had become distorted.

The door opened and Sho remained on his side, staring at the wall as he waited for the meal to be silently placed on his small table. The clack of the tray resounded in the room. However, the following silence stretched on without them exiting, until finally Sho was about to snap at them.

“It’s been a while.”

His eyes widened as Sho whipped around.

Standing there beside his table, dressed in immaculate whites, was Imani. Her long hair had been shorn, leaving a bob of tight white curls around her face.

In all these months, Sho had missed her dearly. Being around her younger sister, Santu, only reminded him of what he had lost. He stared at her, wondering if he was yet dreaming.

“How are your injuries?”

Her tone was distant, and Sho wondered what had happened since he’d left her side. She looked worn down, like years rather than months had passed.

Sho glanced down at his hands.

“Ah. Yeah, I’m fine,” he stammered. “Isidora took care of me. Um, how… have you been?”

He blushed at his lame question, not sure how to speak to her after so long. He wondered what she thought of all that he had done, and guilt rose up in him at having left without a word.

Imani ran her fingers along the tabletop, eyes lowered.

“You seem… different,” she said.

Sho glanced up in alarm.

She was the most dedicated to his grandfather after all, even with some of the things she’d told him. He wondered whether she felt betrayed by his actions. For so long he had wondered what he would say upon seeing her again, but his words dried up like rain in the summer sun.

“It must have been nice.”

She spoke so quietly she may have only meant her words for herself. Her expression was forlorn as she turned to him.

“I didn’t want to see you here again.”

Her statement struck him like a freight train, his world spinning around him. Grasping the bedsheets for something to steady him, Sho spoke hesitantly.

“I’m sorry, Imani. After what I did, you must despise me.”

Her eyes widened.

“No, that’s not—“

She cast her gaze about the room, antennae twitching, before taking long strides over to his bedside. She stretched out a hand, and just when Sho thought she might strike him, placed it gently upon his cheek.

“I can only buy us a few minutes,” she said in a rush. “Otherwise he’ll suspect something.”

“Imani?”

“I had hoped you would make it away from here.”

Her voice was sorrowful as she caressed his cheek.

“You belong somewhere so much brighter.”

Sho was struggling to keep up.

“But I— I ran away. And I left you here.”

Tears welled up in his eyes as his words tumbled out. He stretched his hands out hesitantly, palms hovering over the older girl’s cheeks.

“I ran away without a word. I knew what Grandfather might do, and still I abandoned you.”

His fingers shook as the first tears broke.

“What’s he done…?”

Imani leaned forward, pressing her head against Sho’s. He finally placed his hands gently against her head, cradling her face against his own.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Shh,” Imani shushed. “There, there. If it meant you would be free, I’d take any punishment upon myself.”

Sho’s shoulders heaved as he sobbed.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Imani wrapped her arms around him, patting his back gently as he wept.

“Sho,” she said urgently. “I need you to listen. I won’t let him lay a hand on you, but right now you need to pretend to go along with whatever he wishes.”

Sho sniffled.

“Imani?”

“It’ll be okay. We’ll figure something out. Just, be patient for now, okay?”

Sho’s eyes snapped open.

“You don’t mean…”

His query was met with a smile tinged with sadness. Imani withdrew from him slowly, one finger to her lips.

“Unless I’m with you and give the sign, you mustn’t give away anything. Play by his rules for now. I can’t promise it will be easy, but it will buy me time.”

Sho watched her stand up and straighten out her uniform and hair with curt motions. As she reached the table, she pointed to the tray of food.

“And try to eat. You’ll need to keep your strength up.”

“Imani, I don’t understand—“

She raised her hand.

“Just trust me for now. When have I ever failed you?”

Sho shrank back.

“Okay,” he said.

Imani’s smile flickered across her face before it stilled to a stoic mask.

“Our esteemed Founder bids you well. Please, be sure to eat so that you might regain your strength.”

Sho gave a shallow nod.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to do so.”

“If that is all.”

Imani gave a shallow bow before leaving Sho to his meal.

It was as she said. For now, he must once more don the mask of Prophet and bide his time. He knew well from experience that the Power Plant was not impregnable.

He shuffled over to the plain table and sat upon the metal stool at its side. Despite having no appetite, he knew that Imani had spoken the truth. Better to focus on recovering so that he would be ready if—no, when—the time came.

Without tasting a bite, Sho forced down every piece of food on his plate. Even as his stomach protested, he shoved spoonful after spoonful into his mouth, unable to recall what even he had eaten afterwards.

However, now he had a goal. He could not afford to wallow in self pity forever.

And so, the Prophet prepared himself to face whatever was to come.

Two days after Imani had come to his room, Sho was lying in bed staring at the ceiling when the door opened. His fever had been running high all day, so the sudden sound surprised him. He lurched upright, expecting one of the masked attendants, but to his surprise it was Imani who once again stood there. Sho fought back the giddy smile that pulled at his cheeks, trying not to betray his true feelings. He couldn’t be sure what might give them away to the security cameras.

“Imani,” he said with a hesitant tone.

The older girl took brusque steps forward, bowing before him.

“I am to take you to your new quarters,” she said in a flat voice. “If Your Grace will follow me.”

Sho stumbled unsteadily to his feet, padding barefoot over to Imani. In their time apart, he had grown nearly to her height, and he stared at her expectantly.

However, the older girl only coolly said,

“You will require shoes for the trip, short though it may be.”

She lifted the pair of leather shoes in her hand, passing them over.

“Ah,” Sho gasped. “Of, of course.”

He accepted and sat on the edge of the small bed to pull the shoes on. As he was lacing them up, he glanced toward Imani. She did not meet his eyes, and he wondered whether it was safe to ask her more details of her plans.

The entire Power Plant, and indeed many of Mineshi’s systems, were run by Daikokuten’s M Protocol. Although it had yet to be completed, the system was already capable of monitoring and observing plenty. The security cameras here all ran off the system, and within Daiten’s own properties the Protocol ran the most recent experimental version.

So Sho did not doubt that one wrong word could endanger them both. He swallowed drily as he laced up the shoes. His temples were pounding and the fever made his hands shake, but he managed to tie both.

Once finished, he stood and nodded to Imani.

“I’m ready.”

“Then,” she said brusquely, “if you will please allow me.”

She turned and led him from the room, hands clasped before her. Sho followed her out of the dimly lit holding room. The bright hallway lighting made him wince after so long in the dark, taking a moment to adjust to the glare.

They walked through the winding hallways in silence, Sho following behind Imani. Their heels clicked against the hard floor, the only sound aside from the constant electrical buzz of the lights. The Lotus Eater was her usual stoic, quiet self, and he sensed that something had happened. Still, without knowing they were safe to speak openly, he hesitated to pry too much.

They must have been somewhere in the upper branches, probably the northern side from the lack of lights he could see from the windows as they passed. His hunch was proved correct when they descended in a lift to a floor with full windows.

Glancing out as they passed, Sho could see the mighty (???) river which the (??2) and (??3) rivers fed into. It was night, so he could only make out the mountains surrounding them by the glow of the lights on their sides. Compared to the southern side, it was relatively dark. The heart tree was located at the north of the city where the three rivers met, so one could oversee all of Mineshi from the southward facing windows.

As he was lost in thought, Sho nearly ran into Imani when she came to a sudden stop before a door. She turned toward him and gestured within.

“If you’d please.”

He nodded and proceeded inside.

It was a small chamber not too dissimilar from where he’d been held, with the exception of a large, sealed window overlooking the northwestern mountains. There was also a lamp that provided better lighting, and as he surveyed the room Sho was surprised to see the desk covered in loose paper and a few pencils. He placed a hand on the stack of paper before glancing at Imani.

“This is..?”

Imani bowed her head.

“I thought that Your Grace could use something to pass the time.”

Sho let out a small breath. It wasn’t much, but it made all the difference. He couldn’t help but smile at Imani fondly.

“You know me too well.”

“You are far too kind,” she said coolly. “If it is all to your liking, then—“

“Imani.”

Sho reached out to grab her sleeve, stopping short. His fingers flexed and closed, hand dropping beside him. Imani stared at him, no discernible emotion on her face.

“I… can’t you stay?” Sho asked.

His eyes slid to the floor, cheeks burning at his childish request. As though he were afraid some bogeyman might be lurking under his bed.

After a few moments’ silence, Imani let out a small breath.

“I can’t.”

Her voice shook just slightly. Sho glanced up to see her staring at him with a mixture of sorrow and remorse.

“Of course,” Sho muttered quickly. “I don’t— I’m sorry for being so selfish.”

He rubbed his temple with one hand. His forehead was clammy and hot to the touch.

“Grandfather would be mad.”

There was another brief silence, and then the sound of Imani’s boots approaching him. As Sho looked up he was grabbed in a sudden hug, pulled close to the older girl. Her arms clasped about his waist, hands pulling him towards her. The warmth of her chest reverberated within him as he felt the steady rhythm of her heart against his.

For a moment, Sho just stood there, arms askew. It had been many years since he’d last received a hug from her, and even when they were children it had been a rare occurrence. He stammered as he spoke.

“I-Imani?”

Her chin rested upon his shoulder, cheek brushed against his. After an indeterminate period of time in which his heart hammered in his chest, Imani slowly released him. Her face had a gentle yet sad expression on it, white eyelashes lowered over her dark cheeks.

“You’re burning up. Are you getting enough rest?”

The abrupt change of pace made Sho pause before answering.

“All I do is rest,” he said wryly. “It’s fine. I’m in pretty good shape considering Bashr nearly bisected me. I never expected that he’d…”

He trailed off, glancing at Imani before saying more. She gave a quick nod.

“I guess I thought, we were friends,” Sho finished lamely.

Imani lowered her head, grabbing her upper arm with one hand.

“He can’t refuse your grandfather. Most of us can’t. Even me, if he knew I had any doubts, he’d… Well, you know what he’s capable of.”

He knew she was right, but his side still throbbed as he recalled the night of his abduction. It was not easy to remember the fear he’d felt towards someone he had once trusted.

“Imani, is this… Will you be safe, if you help me?”

Her eyes widened in surprise at his comment before softening.

“Don’t worry about me,” she said quietly. “I won’t make any mistakes.”

“But, Imani…”

Sho floundered before grabbing her arm. As he did so, she winced and pulled away.

“Ah,” he stammered. “Sorry, I didn’t…”

“Mm, no, it’s not your fault.”

She placed a hand on her arm before dropping it. Sho stepped forward, concern in his voice.

“Did you…?”

But Imani shook her head curtly.

“Please don’t worry. I just sprained it.”

Still, she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes, and Sho frowned.

“Was it Grandfather?” he asked in a hollow voice.

He saw her face contort for a moment, nose scrunching as though she’d thought of something repulsive.

“I have to go,” she said at last. “He’s expecting me.”

“Imani.”

Sho gently grabbed her hand. He didn’t quite know what to say, only that he didn’t want her to leave. The fear and loneliness welled up within him, and he had missed her for so long. He feared what would happen to her should his grandfather turn his ire towards her. If something were to happen to her because of him, Sho didn’t know what he would do with himself.

“I wish you could stay,” he said lamely.

The older girl let out a small breath before squeezing his hand.

“We’ll have more time later,” she assured him.

Sho gaped, hesitant to release her. He felt that he had to tell her something, but what, he did not know.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered.

Imani stepped forward and patted him gently on the head. Sho’s eyes snapped up, meeting hers. It felt like she was trying to say something to him through sight alone, though he couldn’t decipher what. He bit his lip, not sure what to say as she released her grip.

“Be strong,” she murmured. “All will be well in due time. And know that, always and evermore, I have been loyal only to you.”

She glanced up to the corner of the room, and Sho bit back his protest at her departure. Her last comment made his heart skip a beat, and he couldn’t get his mouth in working order to say anything.

After Imani had left, he sat down at the small desk with a sigh. Not knowing what else to do, and too uneasy with his surroundings to sleep, he picked up a pencil and started drawing aimlessly.

At least he would be able to keep up with his art, he thought to himself. However, that only made the loss of his family gnaw at him further. He hunched over the desk, clutching his wounded stomach. The scars he had received from the Observer still remained, and Varuna had carved a new injury into his flesh. Sho winced, eyes clenched tight.

He didn’t even know if they were okay. The Lotus Eaters had already broken the barrier once, and found them. What would happen if the Founder decided to hurt them? What could he even do?

His hand moved in a frenzy across the page as his mind clouded.

Valeria was only a baby, and his father had become little more than a mortal man. Just what would happen to them in the face of the full force of Daikokuten?

Sho tore through the stack of papers, scribbling madly as his thoughts grew turbulent.

If something were to happen to them while he was holed up here, would he even know?

His heart hammered unevenly in his chest, mouth dry with fear. He clenched at his scalp with his right hand as his left drew furiously. He had stopped paying attention to what he drew as his mind turned and twisted.

And Imani, if his grandfather were to learn of her treachery, just what would he do to her?

Sho had underestimated the extent to which he had missed her. It had hurt too much to think of her while he was away, and he had been so focused on learning how to live a normal life. Guilt panged in his chest as he thought to his near total disregard of her after his escape.

After all, he had rationalized, she was truly loyal to his grandfather.

Her words at the end suddenly sprang into his head, clear as a bell. They made him pause, and as Sho took notice of what exactly he was drawing he felt blood rush in his ears.

Or rather, who he was drawing.

The page was covered with small, half finished sketches of Imani. Taken by surprise, Sho nearly dropped the pencil. Although he was alone, he felt somehow embarrassed, and he went to check the other pages.

While not exclusively of her, small drawings of Imani showed up on most of the pages he’d drawn. He frowned, rationalizing that she had been on his mind.

Still, he felt warm and overly self-conscious. Her emphatic devotion to him, even to the point of disobeying the Founder directly, made Sho’s stomach flutter. He had never expected that she felt as close to him as he did her, but had he been mistaken? She had seemed for so long utterly dedicated to his grandfather; Sho well understood what it took for her to go against him, and that level of loyalty to Sho himself made his head feel fuzzy.

He knew that it could be a trap, that she might truly be his grandfather’s pawn, but Sho wished to believe in his friend.

Already, he missed her and longed for her company. He had for so long tried to ignore the gaping hole left in his heart after he had left, the space she had once filled. Although life in Daikokuten’s facilities prevented much of the honest and open communication of most friends, Sho could say without a doubt that Imani had always been there for him.

And you never gave a second thought to her well-being, a sinister voice purred in his mind.

He shook his head to clear it.

This time would be different. He would take Imani along with him, and together they could leave behind all they had been through at the hands of his grandfather. She could live with him and his family, Santu could visit, together they could all find some semblance of happiness, free from the Founder’s clutches. He would be sure that she too could find happiness.

He clenched his hands into fists, sweat dripping off his chin. He had pushed himself too far, and his fever was returning with a vengeance. Even getting to the bed a few steps away seemed an arduous task, but Sho took a deep breath and carefully made his way there. He climbed into bed with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes as he lay on his back.

(Imani and Founder scene; Founder wants her to exploit Sho’s loneliness & keep him in check)

Imani returned to the room late that evening with a pot of tea. She felt almost exuberant at having played her cards just right. Now, she would be able to visit Sho as frequently as she wished, all in the guise of fulfilling the Founder’s wishes.

Still, she had to tread carefully. It had been a risk to expose her plans so early to the Prophet, but she trusted Sho, and it hurt to see him so despondent. She knew what it was like to be stolen from your family,

As she went to set the tray upon the desk, something caught her eye. She reached toward the stack of loose paper and picked a few sheets up.

There, in a far more refined hand than she had last seen, Sho had drawn numerous pictures of her. She took in a sharp breath as she leafed through the sheets, eyes wide in amazement. He had rendered her in such gentle detail, one could almost feel the warmth he had imbued the lines with. She traced her fingers across the page, a tender smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Sho had not woken up, so she sat herself in the chair and carefully looked over every page. Some had shaky, frenzied lines, depicting strange shapes and aberrations. However, more often than not, these populated the same faraway landscapes, and Imani wondered if these were places near his newfound home. She stared in wonder.

For so long, they had shared most of their experiences. It was more shocking than Imani had expected to be faced with their lives having diverted so much that she couldn’t even recognize the sights he’d seen. Despite herself, a needle of sadness lanced through her chest at the revelation.

Then again, she had known for a long time now that they were more different than alike.

She clenched her fist as shame rose in her at her own manipulative actions. Sho was a lot more naïve than he seemed, and for a long time, Imani had acted to exploit that. Even after genuinely warming to him, she knew at the back of her mind that she wouldn’t hesitate to use him to achieve her own goals.

And yet, all he saw in her was a dear friend, someone he looked to with admiration.

She had to get him out of here. Before the Founder could harm him, corrupt him. Sho was her only hope.

With a sharp inhalation, Imani stood from the desk, leaving tea and papers behind as she padded slowly to Sho’s bedside. The younger teen lay asleep, breath a shuddering in and out, even as she eased herself onto the edge of the bed.

Sixteen now, Sho’s face was just starting to shed some of that pudgy roundness of youth, his features becoming more defined. He had grown taller than her in their time apart, his shoulders filling out. It was strange to see the small, delicate boy she’d known for so long growing into adulthood. When he was asleep like this, he looked more his age, the wide eyed worry gone but not totally erased from the crease in his brow.

How many times had Imani sat by his side as Sho lay sick? Surely beyond count. And yet, how she had missed the quiet peace of watching over him. She had worried whether he would be watched after properly, and if he was eating well.

Her opinion of the Mask Seller was not an entirely pleasant one, but she had seen how the Painter had treated Sho with respect and understanding, and how in return Sho had seemed to shine under his tutelage. Even before the Founder had told her just who had been involved in the Prophet’s absconding, Imani had held a suspicion.

At least there, he would be safe from the Founder’s grasp, even if she could not watch over him. She had told herself that the pain of his absence was simply grief over losing a key pawn, but here she was now, risking everything just to see him free again.

Had she gone mad? She couldn’t tell anymore.

She watched the rise and fall of Sho’s chest in the thin robe before grabbing the edge of the blanket and tugging it up to his shoulders. After a moment’s hesitation, she reached up and gently brushed away a long lock of black hair from Sho’s clammy forehead. She should trim it for him, she mused. It had grown past his shoulders and his bangs fell into his eyes.

As she fiddled with his hair, Sho’s face scrunched up and he blearily opened his eyes. As he saw Imani leaning over him, he blinked rapidly.

“Ima, ni,” he stammered. “What are you..?”

She quickly withdrew her hand.

“Sorry,” she said. “I brought some tea.”

She began to stand but her wrist was caught in Sho’s hand. As she turned back to him, she noticed just how distressed and feverish he looked.

“I thought I’d be alone again,” he said with a heavy voice. “The silence here, I can’t… I never realized how maddeningly quiet loneliness is.”

“It’s okay,” Imani reassured him. “I won’t be going anywhere. I’m to personally oversee your recovery.”

Sho’s eyelids flickered.

“Then,” he started, “I’ll get to see you regularly? I won’t, be alone?”

“Mm,” Imani said, patting his hand lightly. “Don’t worry, Sho. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Sho gaped at her, and for a moment Imani thought he might actually cry. However, he blinked and slowly let go of her wrist, looking somewhat reassured. Imani smiled.

“Now, won’t you have some tea? Can you sit up for me?”

The Prophet nodded sheepishly and heaved himself upright, a bit shaky but otherwise okay. Imani brought the tray over to him, pouring a fresh cup and handing it to him. Sho accepted and blew a few times before taking a sip.

“How’s the pain been?” Imani asked.

The younger boy mulled it over as he took a long drink of tea.

“Mm, better,” he said finally. “Mostly I’m just worn out lately.”

“It must be a lot to adjust to.”

Sho examined his half-drunken cup as though an answer might be found within.

“It was hard to adjust to anything else,” he admitted. “But after so long, I…”

“Go ahead,” Imani prodded gently.

He nodded, clearing his throat.

“I guess I got used to it. Now, coming back here, it all feels… wrong, somehow.”

Imani’s long eyebrows drooped slightly.

“You must have been surrounded by people who care.”

Sho’s head snapped up towards her suddenly.

“Santu, she helped me a lot. You might not even recognize her now, she’s gotten so tall… Ah, and she’s been studying hard, in the hopes of seeing you again. She wants to impress you.”

His rapid fire speech left Imani a bit stunned. Sho stared up at her earnestly.

“So, let’s, together…”

His voice faltered as his face reddened, but he inhaled sharply and continued.

“Let’s escape, together. I won’t go without you. Not again.”

His insistence had Imani speechless, and she tried to think of what to say.

Of course, if it came down to it, she would not hesitate to sacrifice herself so that Sho alone escaped. However, what good would it do to tell him such? He would only be more likely to interfere and then neither of them would get out. So she let out a small breath.

“Here, finish your tea.”

Imani brought the chair over to the side of the bed. As she did so, Sho’s gaze fell upon the desk and his eyes widened in alarm.

“Those, you didn’t…? I, I was just, mindlessly…”

Imani let out a small laugh before hurriedly covering her mouth with one hand.

“Ah, no, sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean… They’re lovely. You’ve gotten a lot better.”

“Mm,” Sho mumbled.

He still wouldn’t look directly at her, face bright red with fever and embarrassment. Imani smiled at him.

After all, even after all this time, he was still Sho. A bit stubborn, a bit awkward, a bit childish, but her dear friend all the same. It was reassuring, in a way, to see him still retain the bashfulness she knew him for.

As the Prophet, Sho was fully capable of putting on the mask of office; however, she felt happy that around her he acted more his age. It made her feel special, and with another glance askew at the drawings he’d done of her, her heart sped up a pace.

“I’d have liked to see your paintings as well,” Imani admitted. “But your grandfather would have noticed if I brought too much.”

“I’m really not that good,” Sho protested, ears red. “It’s nothing so worth your time.”

[literenture]

Updated this a lil. Sometime after the last run-in with the Lotus Eaters.

Santu hugged her knees, eyes locked on the embers. With a glance toward Sowaca, Rui attempted to ascertain just what could be wrong, but the small god just shook his head. He sighed before putting on his most big-brotherly smile and nudged the girl lightly with one toe.

“Why the long face, kid?”

Her large, bat-like ears twitched and she slowly raised her gaze to his face. There was an uncharacteristic seriousness in her plum colored eyes, and the Observer’s smile faltered. Taking a deep breath, Santu spoke in a halting manner, carefully picking through her limited vocabulary.

“If, maybe, those bad men come back,” she said in a low voice. “Santu is afraid.”

The Observer adjusted his posture, folding his legs beneath him as he took on a more serious expression.

“Of course,” he said with understanding. “It’s not exactly a fun situation. But you know you can still stay with Nozoe and Haike? I don’t want to force you—“

“It’s not that!”

Santu shot forward, her hands on the ground as she stared earnestly at Rui.

“Santu doesn’t want that. To stay with Rui-nii and Sowacchi, you told Santu that…!”

As tears rose in her eyes, Rui raised his hands placatingly.

“I know, I know, I promised you before didn’t I? I won’t just leave you.”

The young girl bit her lip as her brows furrowed, and she sat back on her knees, hands balled into fists clenching her pants.

“But, next time,” she stammered, “Rui-nii needs to take better care. You get hurt too much.”

The Observer’s face relaxed into a helpless smile.

“You don’t need to worry,” he assured her. “I’m strong, yeah? You saw, no matter what, I’ll be okay. It’ll take more than that to kill me.”

Santu did not look convinced.

“It’s not good to get hurt,” she said quietly. “Don’t be so reckless!”

Chastised by her stern tone, the Observer could only bow his head. Sowaca nodded beside Santu.

“She’s completely right. And you know you take too many risks. There is no need to be so merciful to the enemy.”

“No!” Santu protested. “Don’t be mean, either!”

The black cat looked exasperated, and Rui could only empathize.

“Yes, well, true enough, but there’s no need to be so flippant when they’re after your life,” Sowaca said drily.

Santu puffed out her cheeks.

“But killing is bad,” she declared, arms crossed imperiously.

Rui clapped his hands.

“Okay, yes, we’re in agreement,” he said cheerily. “Killing is bad, so let’s try not to, okay Sowacchi?”

“And Rui-nii needs to be more careful!” Santu snapped as she lightly batted him on the head.

The Observer sighed, nodding with one hand to his chest.

“And I’ll be more careful,” he said solemnly.

They awoke to a world painted white.

All about the little cabin was a snowy landscape, glittering in the morning light. Despite the downfall overnight, today was all clear, blue skies and brilliant vistas.

The Ancara mountains grew treacherous this time of year, but they needed to get to the Shepherd as soon as possible, before winter truly set in. Without the waystones in order, and his teacher masking her precise location, they were forced to make the journey on foot.

The view this morning was a beautiful one, but it served as a reminder for the Observer of just how short they were on time. He did not want to risk losing his teacher’s trail before they had gotten Santu’s condition seen.

The Shepherd was, as far as Rui knew, the oldest of them all, and unlike many of his compatriots, she was not human. Indeed, she was what legends might refer to as a dragon, one of those creatures of the age of gods and myth.

Though, her initial appearance might not live up to such grand expectations.

However, her knowledge of the supernatural was unparalleled. Although she was removed from much of the human world, she should be able to understand just what the Founder had done to Santu, and perhaps help get her transformation under control.

Rui just wanted for the girl to live as peaceful and normal a life as could be possible. His teacher had been the one to help him regain some sense of humanity, and he trusted that she could help them now.

So they had risked the mountain trek despite autumn being well under way. If it meant giving Santu some control over her life again, they had to risk it. Besides, Rui did not know just how the experiments she’d been through would affect her in the long term, and he wanted to be sure she was healthy.

Though, seeing her now, she was the picture of health and energy. The cold did not seem to faze her at all, and she immediately began running around in the snow with glee.

“Look, look!” she shouted, waving her arms. “It’s all white! How lovely! Ahaha!”

The Observer watched with a wry grin as the girl gallivanted about. She was dressed in the heavy, fur lined coat they’d picked up in Shinmon, the large fortress city located high on the Ancaran Plateau. It had been pricey, but it was handmade with exquisite care and fine Barongi yak wool. He was glad now they’d sprung for it, though he noticed suddenly that Santu had neglected to don the wool mittens.

Rui cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted from the door frame.

“Hey, where are your mittens? Don’t leave them behind.”

“Ah!”

Santu gasped as she placed one hand over her mouth. Her fingers were reddening already in the cold, and Rui turned back to the interior of the cabin to search for the missing items. Santu had run back to the doorway just as Sowaca jumped up with the pair in his mouth.

“Aw, Sowacchi brought me my mittens! He’s so talented!”

As Santu accepted the mittens from the cat god, Rui shot him a lopsided grin. Sowaca pretended not to notice.

The sun was making its way toward the horizon when the first sign of trouble appeared. It was like stepping into a murky swamp all of a sudden; the ambient en of the place was distorted, muddy and vague. Everything felt fuzzy, and both Observer and Sowaca glanced at one another. Even Santu seemed to sense that something had changed.

“The air feels slimy,” she said with a shudder.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Rui agreed.

He grit his teeth. They had been so close to the vague pulse of the Shepherd’s gate. He knew that if they continued on, she couldn’t be far off, and surely once she was aware of him she’d make herself known.

For a moment he had thought that perhaps this was some new charm of hers, but the heaviness in the air reminiscent of rot felt artificial. Although he couldn’t be certain, Rui sensed Daikokuten behind it. He carefully unbuttoned his overcoat, reaching toward the hilt of the concealed Suiko.

The sensation was not unlike the barrier surrounding the Prophet’s shrine, and Rui hoped that perhaps that meant this too was merely the mark of some Daiten outpost. Better that than a force pursuing them.

Though, how would they be able to have located them, all the way out here? It was in the northeastern most part of Ibaragi in the disputed borderlands with Barong.

Although it seemed impossible, Rui proceeded with utmost caution.

“Santu,” he said in a still voice. “Stay close to me.”

“Mm,” came her meek reply.

A small, mittened hand closed on his loose left one, and Rui glanced down at Santu. Her eyes were wide and her ears twitched at every muffled sound. She was taking great, gasping breaths, and the Observer knelt down before her with a concerned expression.

“Hey,” he said hurriedly. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Santu grasped the front of her coat as she tried in vain to calm her breathing. Her nostrils flared as each exhale frosted before her face.

“It sounds like Bella,” she whimpered. “And something else… Oh, it’s dreadful.”

She stared into Rui’s eye as though pleading.

The Observer winced. If their so-called Ultimate Shield was here, then no doubt the other two had tagged along as well. This was quickly becoming problematic. Wasn’t it supposed to be blessings that came in threes, not curses?

They didn’t have much time if they’d already stepped into the domain of the Lotus Eaters’ Shield. Still, this gave him time to prepare.

The Observer withdrew his shamisen from between dimensions, but rather than strum any melody, he swiftly withdrew the Fang within. With his gate in its current state, he’d be limited to what he could do, and it would require Sowaca’s help. For now, he wanted the god free to keep an eye over Santu. That way, he could draw the enemy’s attention.

They were so close to their goal. Even if Sowaca had to escape with her on his own, Rui trusted that he’d get her to the Shepherd before her next monthly transformation.

His sword ran true.

The last thing Reynard saw before his head was bereft from his shoulders was the glint of steel, and then

Nothing.

His body stood a moment longer, still holding that massive sword in one hand, but it staggered to the ground. Blood pooled about the Observer’s feet and he took a cautious step back. His hands shook slightly from the sensation of blade through flesh, and he shook the blood off with a jerk of the wrist.

“Rui-nii!”

Santu’s voice snapped his attention behind him before he even had time to catch his breath. His eyes widened as he saw Sowaca easily tossed aside by a wave of darkness. Writhing black shadow twisted all around on the white snow, tendrils searching blindly for their prey.

Having engaged with the god, the shadows contorted and shot towards him and Santu.

Rui had leapt forward before he could even process what was happening. A sharp pain erupted from his back as a crossbow bolt landed in his shoulder, but he barely felt it.

He raised the Fang as he dove at the nearest cluster of shadow, slashing it away. There was a slight resistance but the blade bit through as though through cloth.

“Sowaca!”

He shouted as he reached his partner’s side. There were deep wounds in the large black cat’s side, weeping dark blood. Sowaca raised his head at the Observer’s arrival, irritation in his gaze.

“The childling—!”

Before he could say more, a sharp cry broke the frigid air. Rui turned just as another bolt shot past his cheek.

“Rui-nii, help…!”

From off in the distance, he heard Santu’s distressed cry. His heart froze as he made to rush to her side, but he was quickly stopped by the roiling shadow.

“We meet again, Observer.”

Rui grit his teeth and spat.

“Not that I really wanted to see you again, if I could help it. Gettin’ preeetty sick of seeing your face.”

The boy scowled

“The feeling is mutual.”

Rui shifted his blade but before he could take a step forward another crossbow bolt halted him. He hissed.

“Sowacchi.”

The black cat stared at him with three emerald eyes before melting into the wood. With him taking care of the wielder of Houyi, things should be easier. Best case scenario, he could find Santu as well. The crossbow was a particularly nasty piece of work in the right hands, and at the moment Rui could afford no distractions.

He dropped his sword and raised his hands with a lopsided grin even as sweat dripped down the back of his neck.

“Hey now,” he said easily. “You got me good, huh, ‘Prophet.’”

He said the title with a sneer, making the boy’s face contort.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to act so flippant.”

Rui shrugged.

“Unfortunately, that’s just my personality. It’s one reason I don’t have many friends.”

The Prophet scowled, his guarded posture loosening somewhat.

“You sound so proud of something so despicable. Truly, you’re nothing like they said.”

Confusion had colored his expression, but all Rui cared about was that he did not notice his careful procession forward.

“I’d like to think I’m much more dashing in person.”

“You’re scum.”

“No hesitation! Just who raised you to talk to strangers like that!?”

Rui couldn’t hold back the quip, and the Prophet’s furious expression gave him some small satisfaction. He sighed.

“So, what now? You guys got Sabtu. We doing an old fashioned hostage exchange? I’m not really familiar with the specifics, so…”

He took a tentative step forward as he spoke. No reaction from the forest. He hoped that Sowaca was keeping the crossbow wielder busy.

“Do I just stand here? Or do you want me to come closer, put me in handcuffs, blindfold, the whole shebang?”

The Prophet gave a dry chuckle.

“That you think you’ve any chance of bargaining here is proof of your foolishness.”

His tone had turned imperious, and Rui found himself wondering just how old he really was. He had certainly aged since their first encounter over a year ago, but the rumors and his power made the Observer question whether he really was just a boy in his teens. With the Founder behind things, it was difficult to tell.

Still, a part of him hoped he really was just a teenager, one whose emotions he could take advantage of.

“Hah, that’s harsh. We only just met and you’re already being so condescending.”

He took another small step. Just a bit closer.

“And after you asked to be friends the first time we met! My heart is broken, truly.”

The Prophet bristled, forgetting himself for a moment as he gestured at Rui.

“You have no right—“

But that was exactly the opening the Observer had been hoping for.

He leapt with explosive force towards the Prophet. The boy’s eyes widened, mouth agape as Rui closed the gap in a heartbeat. He had drawn Suiko without hesitation, and he drove its vicious edge down straight for the Prophet’s neck.

The Prophet tried to dodge but the blade caught his collar, slicing through skin easily. He gasped and clutched at the wound.

“You’ll tell them to release her,” Rui hissed. “I’m not going to ask again.”

“Scheming beast,” spat the bloodied Prophet.

With the Prophet beneath him, Rui yanked the knife out before jabbing it down once more, barely missing the boy’s throat. The Prophet struggled, arms shoving at the Observer as his shadow boiled.

Sharp, black needles burst forth, piercing Rui’s chest and arms, but he raised the knife again without hesitation.

If he just ended this here, surely that would prevent further tragedy.

He just had to follow through.

“Hah—!?”

He was flung back, hitting the ground bodily and gasping up a cloud of blood. Some distance away, the Prophet stood clutching his bleeding neck. His shadow roiled up around him like angry storm clouds.

“I’ll stop you here,” the Prophet announced with a raised hand.

“That’s my line.”

Rui drew his shamisen in a swift motion. The boy had unwittingly given himself a disadvantage, and time for his opponent to ready his ultimate weapon.

He raised the pick high as his fingers found the right notes.

“A!”

He brought it down, just as—

“Hghk—!”

His throat erupted in a burst of blood, a black stake driven through his neck. As he clutched at it, a massive force slammed into the side of his face. He went tumbling, shamisen dissipating as he rolled to a stop.

His vision was blurry as he tried to stand, but his knees gave out. Blood was flowing out of him rapidly, his limbs already cold and numb. He saw a tall woman he’d thought dead shimmer into sight from between the evergreens.

“Hoh? What have we here? You really pulled through huh?” she said in a sickeningly pleasant voice.

The Prophet approached Rui cautiously.

“If Grandfather wishes, so it shall be.”

The woman—an officer of the Lotus Eaters, Mirabel—laughed.

“You’re a really good boy, huh? Well, so long as you make sure he knows I helped.”

Their voices blurred together in Rui’s head, and he coughed wetly, blood welling in his mouth. If he could just get the shamisen out, maybe…

Suddenly, the world around him exploded. White pressure surrounded him, crushing him and tossing him about like a child’s play thing.

Rui staggered to his knees, spitting blood and loose teeth from his mouth as he took ragged breaths. His vision was stained red, his numerous wounds steaming in the frigid air. He gasped for air as he tore through the snow, clawing with his one remaining arm at the air.

Where was Santu? Where had the Lotus Eaters gone?

His mind raced and his chest roared with pain and loss. He lifted the stump of his right arm, everything halfway below the shoulder gone. The bleeding had stemmed but the wound showed no sign of closing.

So it was true, then. They had god eaters, and not merely the two he had seen prior. The Observer coughed up blood as his head overflowed with thoughts.

He’d surely killed the man they called Reynard. Unless the Founder had come up with an immortality serum on par with Rui’s own healing factor, no human could recover from having his head removed.

The issue was the Prophet. He had not anticipated him making an appearance, and since their last encounter his power had grown immensely.

He staggered to his knees, breath labored.

“Kid!”

He snapped his head up at the familiar voice.

A large, black figure was limping through the snow towards him. Three green eyes looked over him with concern.

“This is bad,” he muttered as he reached him.

Rui tried to speak, but only a sickening wet noise came out. He gripped his torn throat, remembering the end of the battle.

“You won’t be able to get far like this. Let’s find some shelter. We can think about what to do next then.”

He leaned against Rui as a support, despite his own numerous injuries. The Observer leaned against him as he staggered to his feet.

Together, they marched through the forest, Rui barely conscious on his feet. When they found a well under a tree with decent overhang, Sowaca gently helped Rui down before settling into his smaller form.

They curled up together like that as the storm picked up around them.

The morning after the blizzard was blindingly beautiful, raw and fresh and sparkling in the sunlight. Life returned to the mountain, deer and boar, birds aloft. It was pristine and picturesque. With the bright skies one could gaze out across the Ancara mountains from the top of Enmonsan to the lowlands below. The lack of human settlements made for a vast, rugged wilderness with a beauty unmatched.

Among the shrouded evergreens the sound of bells rang out. Small footsteps made their way across the surface of the snow, lifted by snowshoes. The bells stopped briefly and the figure reached up to her hood, pulling it down and tilting her head into the dappled sunlight through the branches. Her breath was visible in the chill air.

She had come out this early in search of something. During the night there had been an avalanche not too far away, but even before that the mountain had felt odd. It felt as though intruders had stepped onto the slopes and disturbed the natural order of the wood. She held her gloved hands to her mouth and breathed, rubbing them together in thought.

That child… was it him?

Her meandering footsteps led her to the base of an evergreen tree, branches heavy with snow. She stood and considered for a moment before kneeling down and parting the needled branches with her staff.

Underneath, tucked away from the snow, was a small figure curled up in a ball with a black cat. His eyelashes and cheeks were frosted with white, lips purple and bloodless. If it had not been for the ragged breaths frosting in the air, one might have taken him for a corpse. The Shepherd sighed and reached out.

The cold and pain did not prevent him from sleeping heavily, so even when shaken, at first Rui did not stir. His mind was stuck in a bleary, almost waking state, coming up just to the surface of the water but not breaking it.

Before him stood the small, pale shape of his mentor. The Shepherd was older even than him—he wondered sometimes whether she’d been here since the formation of the planet, of the solar system. Her appearance was disarming in its smallness, a trick she had taught the Observer to exploit. Her eyes were large and so pale as to be nearly colorless, with a third eye closed on her forehead. Large, curved horns sprouted from behind tall tufted ears, split like a young deer’s antlers and a pale coral color. Her white hair was long as always, trailing behind her and dressed with bells. Petite wings sprouted from her shoulders, and completing her odd appearance was a long scaled tail. Her outfit was a warm, practical thing adorned with fur.

What her appearance did not reveal was just how dangerous she truly was.

“We should have known it was thee, child,” the Shepherd said in a voice like a chiming bell. “What mess hast thou gotten thineself into this time?”

The Observer coughed weakly, chilled blood caked in his mouth. He tried to pushed himself up with his right arm, instead slamming his torn stump against the ground. The pain as bone impacted frozen dirt made his vision white out.

As he fell forward, the Shepherd caught him in gentle arms. Her face showed no emotion, but Rui felt he caught a glint of pity in her pink eyes. She lifted him up in a rough sitting position, cradling him against her. It reminded the Observer of when they had first met in the depths of Kanamori, when he had receded from the mundane world all those centuries ago. Although she was smaller than him, she held him steady and stroked his hair with one pearly-scaled hand.

“Ah, thou was ever a fool. And ye, wake up, gadabout godling.”

She nudged the curled up figure of Sowaca with the tip of her long, prehensile tail. He stirred after a moment, staring up at the Shepherd with bleary eyes. After a moment, his three eyes shot wide open and he lurched to his paws unsteadily.

“O Wise Mother, you—“

The Shepherd shot him a stern look.

“We are nobody’s mother. That title was not our idea, and it is far too reminiscent of that—“

She cut herself off with a look toward Rui. His breathing was ragged, air whistling through his torn throat.

[literenture]

Small piece of Rie & Sho

“Maman, look!”

“Mm, what’s this dear?”

Rie accepted the boy’s excited offering with a warm smile, eyes creasing. He handed her a paper scrawled with a chaotic image, and as she looked down her heart leapt.

“Oh honey,” she said quietly. “It’s lovely.”

The picture depicted three figures, two standing hand in hand with the third some ways off. They were surrounded by tiny little creatures with smiling faces. Rie could immediately tell it was a drawing of her, Sho, and the masksmith. She’d have to show it to Gheriun the next time he came.

Her thoughts turned to the Mask Seller. As of late, he had been showing up less and less often. She had tried to tell herself that the move to the mountains had simply made it more difficult for him; even with his methods, they were located deep in the Rift, making even fast travel hard. However, as time wore on and his visits grew more infrequent, Rie had begun to worry.

They had not even planned to be as involved as they had been, so she supposed she should be grateful, and it wasn’t as though theirs was a relationship of romantic love. They cared for one another as friends and shared a love for Sho, but their lives were their own. Rie suspected that Gheriun had his own personal troubles, though he was careful to keep his life out of their discussions.

Still, the last few months had seen a marked progression of her illness. The dark discoloration had spread, starting from her abdomen and thighs and snaking up her chest and down her legs. Spots had begun to blossom across her body, growing with every week. The other day she had even woken up to see a dark blemish spreading beneath her right eye. It had made her heart stop as she stared into the mirror.

When her remaining attendant had seen her, even she had backed away in horror.

It had not mattered what the doctors said; the others feared Rie’s strange disease, afraid they too might be afflicted. She had lost her small circle of friends and associates, until only her family and Gheriun dared to come near her. The attendant was the last one outside of the doctors to stay by her side, and Rie had been unable to force the woman to stay upon seeing her reaction.

Still, her biggest worry had been what Sho would think, but the boy had carried on as though nothing had changed.

His own health had been turbulent, with bouts of fever following the strange trances he had started to fall into. They fascinated her father to no end, but Rie was only terrified. Sho’s eyes would grow distant as he’d speak in rapid-fire, cryptic prose. During the worst episodes blood would pour from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.

After, he would remember nothing, and would fall into a fever lasting days at a time. The episodes seemed to be growing more frequent the older he got, and Rie could not help but worry even as her father carefully recorded every one.

His attitude toward her son had always been cold and distant except for where his research applied. He would put on a smile and pretend to be a kind grandfather, but Rie could recognize his masks.

Her mind was filled with doubt as to his intentions; for so long he had convinced her of the righteousness of his actions, that this would not only benefit Sho but the world. Yet no amount of honeyed words could stay the growing worry in her chest.

Something about her father’s attitude and actions didn’t add up. Even as her body deteriorated, Rie had begun to investigate everything she could back at the power plant, and even now scrounged the shrine for any shred of information. The questions in her head only grew, clanging about loudly and forcing her awake in the middle of the night. Her dreams had become murky and panicked, seeming to always culminate in something horrible happening to Sho, to him being taken away from her.

“Maman?”

“Mm?”

Snapped out of her thoughts by her son’s hand on her shoulder, Rie turned and grinned. She cupped her fingers over his.

“I was just thinking we should show your father.”

“Mm.”

Sho’s face scrunched up at her words, thick brows like her own furrowing tightly.

“What is it?” she asked.

The boy puffed out his cheeks, glancing away.

“Why’s he never here anymore?”

Startled by his question, Rie grasped for the right thing to say.

“Mm, weeell,” she began, finger to her chin. “You see, he’s really, reaaally busy. He’s working hard so that you can be happy.”

Her son scowled, rosy cheeks contorted. He didn’t look convinced in the least.

“But maman, he should be here. With you.”

Rie let out a small sigh, smiling wearily.

“We can’t always get what we want, dear.”

She patted his cheek lightly.

[literenture]

1656, Amir becomes the Archivist.

“How’s Shinya? You just got a letter from him, right?”

“Mm,” Amir mumbled. “He’s fine, I think.”

“You don’t sound too sure.”

Amir shrugged, wishing his mentor would just drop it already.

“He doesn’t really talk to me much these days,” he admitted.

Farhad raised an eyebrow.

“I thought you two were close?”

Amir frowned and looked away, embarrassed.

Truthfully, he had thought the same, but over the last few months their correspondence had dropped off. Just when he’d finally had a chance to see his friend for the first time in a while, Shinya had been acting oddly. He seemed overworked, with deep bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, but he carried a manic energy as he’d spoken to Amir.

He wouldn’t say just what, but it seemed his research had made some breakthrough. However, something else had been on his mind, and even that good news was soon lost as Shinya’s mood darkened.

“How much has the Archivist told you about what we’re doing here?” he’d asked suddenly.

“Farhad?”

Amir, slightly taken aback, thought.

“Well, you’re all researching different things, right?” he hedged. “And you’re focusing on en and how it works…”

“And? Did he mention why the Observer started this group in the first place?”

Amir pondered that with a finger to his lips, head tilted and brow furrowed.

“I assume to, uh, research…things?”

Frustrated at his lackluster answer, Shinya had sighed and tossed his bangs out of his face. He had not cut his hair in a long time, and it fell in straight, reddish-brown sheets across his freckled face. He glanced up at the ceiling before returning his gaze to Amir. His black eyes seemed bottomless, a void so vast it threatened to suck Amir in. It sent a shiver down his spine.

“So you don’t know, either, huh…”

There was a deep sense of disappointment in his words, and Amir felt like he’d let him down. Shinya looked away as he bit his lip, various seething emotions roiling across his face.

“Shin?” Amir asked carefully. “Is everything okay? You look…”

Unwell, he thought, but he swallowed the word as Shinya turned away from him, one hand against his forehead.

“There’s no helping it then,” he muttered so quietly that Amir didn’t know if he was speaking to him. “Ah, that’s really too bad.”

“You’re kind of making me nervous, Shin,” Amir said. “Are you getting enough sleep? I know you’ve been working hard, but your health is important too…”

He placed a hand on Shinya’s shoulder, and the other man set one of his own atop it.

“Yes, you’re right,” he said in a low voice. “I’m sorry, it’s just been so crazy with Matoba and Arataca snooping around.”

He let out a long sigh, shoulders deflating, then turned a tired smile toward Amir. Still, Amir could not shake the feeling that something was very wrong. He opened his mouth to ask, but before he could, they had been interrupted as Mamoru came to join them.

After that, Shinya had seemed more or less normal, albeit tired and subdued. Amir had not known what to do, and, afraid of overstepping a boundary, he’d not pressed Shinya any further.

That had been weeks ago, and since then he’d only received a rather terse, short epistle. He tried to tell himself that the other man was busy and he was being clingy, but Amir didn’t know what to think of how he’d been acting.

The whole Fair had been on edge with the constant attempts from Matoba Industries and its associate companies to buy them out. They had managed to work out some sort of deal for the time being, but it was predicated on their cooperation and truthfully was merely a stopgap measure. It had sent everyone into overdrive, their research temporarily halted as they poured their collective efforts into appeasing the energy company.

So it made sense that for Shinya, it was an especially difficult time. The Lily Fair was his entire world, he lived and breathed for it. As jealous as Amir got at times, there was a beauty in the way Shinya upheld his ideals. He truly believed in what the Observer and the others were doing, so to see it invaded by some foreign pest was surely unbearable. Amir knew that if the same had occurred at the orphanage, he would be a wreck, so perhaps Shinya was doing as well as he could be.

Farhad watched as Amir mulled over how to respond, waiting patiently. Unable to come up with any sufficient answer, Amir finally sighed and,

“Everyone at the Fairgrounds is pretty on edge,” he started slowly. “And Shin handles so much on his own, of course he’s been busy. It’s not like I mind that much.”

“Is that why you’ve been checking the mailbox every day?” Farhad asked, not unkindly.

Amir felt his ears grow hot and he ducked his head.

“Th-that, I just, I was just mindlessly checking,” he stammered. “Habit. No reason.”

“Hmm.”

Farhad smiled but didn’t press him. He turned to start walking back to the orphanage.

“Well, when we get back, why don’t we get out the board and play a game of…“

His words died off as his pale green eyes grew wide. Amir turned to see what had caused his teacher to have such a reaction, and his heart dropped.

“A fire? That, can’t be…”

Before he could say anything more, Farhad burst into a sprint. Amir followed behind him, mind racing as his feet slammed into the dirt. He had lost sight of the Archivist, but there was only one path to the orphanage, so he took a deep breath and pushed himself to his limits.

He nearly ran into Farhad as he came around a bend. The Archivist was stopped in the middle of the road, and as Amir arrived he whirled around with a panicked expression.

Farhad grabbed him about the upper arms, his pale brown hair falling over his face.

“Amir, I need you to keep going,” he said urgently. “No matter what happens, get to the kids. Nozoe’s gonna need your help.”

Confused, Amir looked into his teacher’s eyes.

“What about you? What’s happening?”

“Go!”

Farhad shoved him in the back just as something heavy impacted the ground where he’d been standing. Amir stumbled forward, gaping, as a figure dressed all in black stood from the spot, a wicked spear gripped in its hands. It had its face covered with an unpainted fox mask, and as Amir gaped it turned toward him and prepared to lunge.

“I told you to get going already!”

Farhad’s voice snapped Amir out of his stupor, and combined with the terror he felt he bolted away without another thought.

Behind him, he heard the sound of a fierce battle underway, and his footsteps faltered. However, he shook his head and picked up his pace. The Archivist was immortal, after all. He had to help the children first. Then he could come back for his teacher.

He fled at top speed, long legs stretched to their limits in the hopes of reaching the building even one second sooner. Low hanging branches whipped by and tore up his face, but Amir didn’t feel a thing. The only thought in his mind was that he had to get to the others.

When at last he burst through the trees onto the flat lawn, he saw to his horror that the entire orphanage was aflame. He glanced around frantically, hoping nobody was left inside.

“Amir!”

A strong voice called to him as he reached the base of the inferno. He turned and to his relief saw Nozoe standing there. The tall, white wolf-god had an uncharacteristically fearful expression on her soot-stained face, and he hurried to her side.

“The children!?”

Nozoe looked grim.

“I got everyone I could, but…”

She glanced up to the fire on the upper floors. Amir stood panting for a moment before he dove into the little fish pond. Before Nozoe could ask what he was doing, he leapt up and into the burning building.

The air inside was dark with smoke, and Amir held an arm over his face as he scanned the room tearfully.

He heard screams and rushed to the nearest ones, finding a young boy named Tomin huddled beneath a table. He grabbed him by the hand and escorted him out to the waiting arms of Nozoe, who yelled at Amir the moment he emerged.

“Are you quite mad!? You’ll die!”

Amir ignored her and ran back into the flames. He heard cursing, a splash, and was soon followed by the forest god into the blaze. The two gestured to one another, splitting up in their search. They pulled another three children from the flames, but Amir could still hear more cries. He headed to the stairs, but they had collapsed due to the fire. He stared in horror at the gaping hole, just able to make out a few huddled figures on the platform.

Nozoe soon joined him, and when he pointed above she nodded, positioning herself as close to the children as possible. Even at her impressive height, it would be a long jump. Still, they had to at least try.

Things went smoothly for the first two of the five on the stairwell, but as the third was working up the courage to jump, a massive crack resounded through the house. Nozoe’s eyes widened, and as she caught the two children who jumped together in fright, she turned toward Amir.

“Get them out, now,” she demanded.

He hurried to do so, planning to turn around as soon as they were clear of the blaze.

However, no sooner had they gotten a few steps away than did another thunderous crack sound out, followed by an immense weight of wood collapsing in on itself with a fearsome whoosh. Amir whipped his head around in horror as the remnants of the orphanage fell.

He stared in disbelief, holding onto the two children in his arms as they wailed. He would have stayed stunned like that for a long while had not a large, shaggy beast burst from the wreckage. It carried a small form in its mouth and gently set it down before crouching and resuming the more humanoid appearance Nozoe usually assumed. She was breathing heavily, bright red blood streaming from her snout as her tongue lolled over sharp teeth.

Amir hurried to her side, but she waved him off.

“She’s not breathing,” she said urgently, gesturing to the child beside her.

Amir turned and saw it was Nena. She lay lifelessly in the grass, blood pouring from the side of her head. Kneeling down, Amir could tell immediately that Nozoe was right. He wasted no time in placing his hands on her chest and pumping before breathing air into her mouth.

“Come on Nena,” he said as he kept trying. “Don’t give up on me now.”

She didn’t respond to him, head lolling with every push as he tried desperately to get her to breathe, to open her eyes, to call out his name. She had always called him her “big bro” and followed him around as he worked. He promised to never be annoyed with her again, should she just come back to them.

Nozoe had led the other children further from the blaze to where the rest of those who had escaped were huddled. She returned to Amir still trying with all his might to get Nena to wake up.

“Amir…”

“2, 3, 4…”

“Amir!”

He ignored her even as she shouted at him. Nozoe put a large, clawed hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged her off and continued.

“You’ve done enough,” she pleaded.

“Just a bit more,” Amir said, voice cracking. “She’s almost here, I know it.”

With one final desperate push, he breathed air into her mouth, and sat back, hoping against hope.

“She’s already—“

Nozoe was interrupted by a harsh cough, and then Nena was struggling to sit up, tears streaming down her face.

“Where is—?”

She was immediately scooped up in a hug by Amir, whose own face was streaked with tears and soot. Confused, the young girl patted him on the back.

“There, there,” she said. “Big bro did a good job.”

Nozoe urged Amir up so that the three of them could get to a safer distance. They joined the rest of the children at the edge of the forest, where they were watching in wide eyed terror.

Amir’s heart sank as he realized that only about a third of the kids were gathered here. However, he didn’t have time to do a proper headcount. He turned to Nozoe.

“I need you to lead them to the old shrine up the mountain,” he said. “I have to find Farhad.”

His tone brooked no argument, and Nozoe nodded uneasily.

“Be careful. Something strange is in the forest tonight.”

He nodded before rushing back up the path toward where he and the Archivist had parted ways. Blood roared in his ears as he ran, and the distance seemed to stretch beyond its limits. He hoped desperately that his teacher would be okay.

As he rounded a bend, his pace slowed, and he let out a long sigh of relief.

The Archivist stood over a crumpled figure, its spear embedded in the trunk of a tree. Farhad’s long, mousey brown hair hung loose of its usual ponytail, wisps going every which way. His face was bloodied, but he didn’t seem to be injured too severely. Amir was grateful to see him, and wondered if he had been too hasty in his concern.

“Ah, you did it.”

At the sound of his voice, Farhad whipped around, but his expression was not one of relief. Rather, his eyes were wide and he looked appalled. Amir slowed his step, confused, as Farhad flung an arm towards him.

“I told you to get out of here!”

Amir cocked his head, but before he could ask anything, a wet thwack sounded, and he stumbled forward. It felt like someone had punched him in the shoulder, not particularly hard, just enough to push him slightly. He started to turn when something was wrenched from within him, and heat spilled down his back. He coughed, moisture spattering his lips. As he tried to take a step forward, his legs went out from under him, and he toppled to the ground.

“Damnit— Amir! Hold on!”

All that he could see was a darkening sky ringed by trees. His strength had left him and he didn’t think he could even turn his head, let alone get out of the way. He saw his assailant tower above him, similarly garbed in black with a blank fox mask. Before he could even blink it had flown over him towards Farhad.

His vision was growing fuzzy and his body cold. He shivered as the sounds of battle grew distant, hoping that the others would be okay. He wanted to close his eyes and fall asleep, but as he was about to he spied movement in the corner of his eye.

With all the remaining strength and willpower he could muster, Amir turned onto his side, before crying out as loud as he could.

“Behind you!”

Farhad, locked in a battle of blades with the knife-wielder, turned just as the spearhead was sent flying past his face. A bright red line opened up along his cheek, spilling blood down his chin. Surrounded and armed only with his curved short sword, Farhad glared at the two assailants before glancing at Amir. His eyes were full of sorrow and regret.

Would have been nice if I could’ve seen you smile one last time, Amir thought wistfully. But at least I got to be by your side, at the end.

He coughed as he slumped down to the ground, droplets of blood spraying. He closed his eyes, wondering just how long it would take for him to bleed out. It would be nice if he could just get it over with. This hurt far more than he had expected.

As he sat there, it slowly dawned on Amir that the Archivist’s numerous cuts and scrapes weren’t healing. His mind was muddy but he was sure that his teacher was slowing down. A deep terror clutched at him as he realized that Farhad might actually be in trouble.

As if to punctuate that thought, Farhad stumbled, and the spear wasted no time as it bore down on him. He managed to half-roll away, but the heavy blade slammed into his calf, splitting it. Amir screamed as he watched, clutching the dirt in desperation.

A strange twang suddenly rang out over their heads, and for a moment everything stopped. Then, as Amir opened his eyes to see what had happened, a force like a shooting star slammed into the ground where one of the masked figures had stood a moment earlier. From the dust, he saw the glint of metal, and then a long, single edged sword cut through the cloud. It lashed out with the precision and venom of a snake, followed soon after by the figure of the Observer. Beside him was a large black panther-like creature—Amir realized that it was Sowaca with a stunned look.

While the two engaged the assailants, Farhad dragged himself to Amir’s side, cradling him in his arms. He brushed Amir’s long black bangs from his clammy face, and Amir saw that his fingers were stained bright red. He stared up into the Archivist’s face with unfocused eyes, trying to steady his breathing. He reached up with a shaky hand to Farhad’s cheek, and the older man grabbed his fingers, squeezing tightly.

“You’re, okay,” Amir wheezed. “Then, everything—“

“Shh,” Farhad soothed with a sad smile. “You need to save your energy.”

“I’m, already—“

Another coughing fit overtook him, and blood filled his nose and mouth. He leaned back, looking at Farhad with a small smile, tears streaming down his face.

“I was happy,” he managed. “That I got, to meet you. That made everything, worth it.”

“Don’t talk like you’re giving up, Amir,” Farhad said urgently.

But Amir knew he was fading fast. No matter what they did, there was no coming back from such an injury for him. He could no longer feel Farhad’s cheek beneath his fingers, nor his hand squeezing his. Everything felt cold and far away. He had completely forgotten about the battle raging just beyond them, fighting his fear even as he accepted that he was dying. His eyelids were growing heavier by the moment.

“…I was really happy to meet you too,” Farhad said in a voice barely above a whisper. “You are, and will always be, my precious son.”

He placed his forehead against Amir’s.

“I’m sorry for burdening you with so much, and for all that you’ll suffer because of this. But I leave everything in your hands.”

In his foggy confusion, Amir didn’t understand what the Archivist was saying. He simply bathed in the small warmth of the other man’s forehead against his, a last remaining link to this world before he must cross over.

“May the Archives watch over you when I cannot. I know they’ll welcome you with open arms.”

The next moment, something seemed to burst inside of Amir’s head, a roaring, screaming pain that made him forget that he was dying. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. His vision burned to white, and in the next instant

everything was still.

——-

The Observer cursed as he parried a knife blow aimed at his neck, sending the blade flying. He ducked beneath a swing of the spear and shot forward toward the disarmed attacker. Behind him, Amir lay grievously injured, Farhad not faring much better. This was not a time to pull his punches, so he adjusted his grip on the sword and brought it up and across the masked figure’s body. It tore through with minimum resistance, and he stepped back, gaping. The only sign of the vicious sword strike was torn cloth, but the skin underneath was bare.

“I thought you said their gates were active?”

“They are!” Sowaca hissed. “How else would they be drawing in en at this rate?”

Before he could get clear, the Observer felt a knee crunch into his guts, sending him flying. He choked up blood as he hit the ground. Sowaca roared in rage, swiping with his claws at the assailant. Unlike his Fang, these could just as easily rend mortal flesh as aberration, and blood erupted from the wounds. Despite the immense injury, the figure made no sound aside from their ragged breaths.

Sowaca howled suddenly in pain, the massive spearhead erupting through his chest.

“Sowaca!”

As he got to his feet, Rui’s hand passed over a hard object. He glanced down at the knife that had earlier been cast aside. Gripping it in his free hand, he dashed towards his companion, staying low to the ground before leaping into the air, spinning with both weapons. The enemy attempted to skewer him with the spear, but their aim was off and it slipped by the Observer with a whistle.

Just like earlier, the sword made barely any difference, but as he followed up with a stab of the knife blood gushed from the figure’s torn neck. The two toppled to the ground in a heap with Rui crouched on top. He raised the knife high, ready to stab it down with fearsome precision, but he hesitated.

In that moment, everything erupted in blinding white light. He was sent tumbling back in the shockwave, knife still in hand. Before he could get his bearings, a wave of heat washed over him. It felt like all the hairs on his body had been set alight, and he instinctively snapped his head around toward where he had left the Archivist and his charge. Sowaca, less badly injured than Rui had first assumed, cast him a grave look.

“Those two ran off, but they might come back. You should…”

He lowered his gaze towards the pair on the ground.

“Fara…?”

The Observer stumbled to his feet, unsteady as he made his way to where Farhad lay crumpled beside Amir. Blood was pouring from every part of his face and ears, streaming down from his eyes like thick tears. Rui dashed to his side, falling to his knees as he grabbed the other man in his arms.

“Fara!”

“Not so loud.”

“Ah…?”

For a moment, the Observer’s heart leapt at his friend’s good health. That was until he noticed the fine lines and fissures slowly snaking across his skin. His eyes widened and he glanced at Amir.

The young man’s hair had gone half-white, an unnatural division along his scalp between it and his black locks. His eyes were closed, but his breathing had steadied. Rui’s hands shook as he looked down at Farhad in his arms.

“Don’t tell me you…”

“Shh.”

The Archivist reached one shaky hand up to Rui’s cheek, cupping it fondly. His thumb ran gently down his face.

“Don’t make me comfort the both of you.”

The Observer gaped as tears welled up in his eye. He shook his head, grabbing Farhad’s fingers and squeezing.

“That isn’t fair,” he whispered. “You knew how to break the curse after all.”

Farhad smiled sadly.

“Let’s just say it’s something of a special case. Besides, I only passed it on, and to someone who deserves far better.”

His eyes slid towards the unconscious Amir, pain and pride both mixed within those pale green orbs. Flakes of skin fell like plaster from the side of his face, and to Rui’s horror, his fingers began to crumble within his hand.

“What am I supposed to do without you?” he asked petulantly, knowing he was being unfair, but not wanting to believe this was happening. “You’re my dearest friend, I can’t…”

“You’ll find a way. You have a lot of people who care about you.”

One of his fingers cracked and fell from its base, shattering into pieces as it hit the ground. Rui cried out in agony, scrambling to hold his friend together as long as he could.

“But, you’re—“

“Rui.”

His voice was feeble but it carried a strength that stopped the Observer mid-sentence. Farhad gave him a weak smile, his crumbling palm yet warm against his cheek.

“Can I ask a favor of you?”

“Anything,” he replied immediately.

Farhad’s gaze returned once more to Amir, eyes softening as he looked at him.

“Will you watch after this child for me? He’s not very good at making friends, and I imagine he’s going to have a very lonely future left to his own. I think the two of you are rather alike in that way.”

The Observer choked back the sobs threatening to overwhelm him. He sniffed, leaning into Farhad’s palm.

“Are you sure you really want me to be the one to do that…? Doesn’t Amir find me annoying?”

Farhad chuckled.

“It’s only because you get him out of his shell. Without someone like you, I fear he’d become a library shut-in in no time. Like a certain someone I know some years back.”

At the memory of Rui’s own reclusive fifty years spent almost entirely in the Library, he couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey, you can’t blame me. I had some pretty good company, y’know?”

“Then you know exactly what Amir will need. If he’s left to shut himself away, I don’t know if he’ll ever return to the world. Please, Rui. He’s still but a child.”

“I’ll do my best,” the Observer promised. “Though I don’t know if I’ll be able to live up to your expectations…”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

Unable to argue, Rui nodded. As he did so, the last of Farhad’s hand gave way, crumbling all the way up to his elbow. He gasped out and started to panic but the Archivist calmly called to him.

“Rui. It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt,” he said. “But I’m glad you came. I was afraid if it was just me, we might not make it.”

“Of course, how could I not—“

“How did you even know to come?”

His question was sudden, and even Farhad seemed surprised that he’d asked it. Desperate to keep him talking, Rui spluttered out an answer.

“Shinya mentioned something that got me kind of worried, so I figured I’d use the strings to get an idea of how you were doing, and…”

The Archivist’s eyes widened and he struggled to get up even as his body fell to pieces.

“Wait, what are you—“

“What did he say?”

“Well, not him so much as Mamoru, or well, that’s who told me—“

Farhad’s face was filled with urgency even as chunks of it fractured.

“Exactly what did he say, Rui?”

The Observer opened and closed his mouth rapidly, trying to organize his thoughts coherently.

“It, something about Arataca, they were doing some exercises in the area, and I thought it was weird because well, why would anyone in their right minds go into Kanamori for something like that? Besides, it’s not like it’s rich in heavy metals…”

Farhad closed his eyes and sighed.

“What?” Rui asked frantically.

“He’s been your envoy to the Three, right? For a while now?”

“Yeah, him, Parvati, Ditmur, and Maria all go together. What’s…?”

“Then, that makes sense. Am I overthinking it?” Farhad muttered to himself even as his arm sloughed off at the shoulder.

“Fara, what?” asked the Observer with growing urgency.

“It’s just… I wasn’t expecting that he was the reason. I guess it makes sense, of course he’d hear any rumors. But… why was there a rumor at all for such a small party?”

“Meaning?”

Farhad’s eyes snapped up to Rui’s, staring intensely. As he watched, one fell within its own socket, but the Archivist forced the words out.

“If there had been more than two, maybe three to four at most, Nozoe would have known. So tell me, how does a rumor spread that can reach even your assistant’s ears about an elite force from Arataca if it was such a small operation? That suggests secrecy of utmost importance.”

The Observer gaped at his friend.

“You don’t mean to suggest…”

“Parvati, Ditmur, Maria, or Shinya. Mamoru might even be in on it. One of them has a better relationship with Arataca than you might know. Possibly, they’re all involved.”

It seemed impossible to Rui, and had it not been his dearest friend saying so, he would have scoffed. And yet, Farhad was pushing himself to his utmost limit on the verge of death to tell him this.

“But, they would have told me,” the Observer stammered. “They know it’s weird for them to come out here—“

“Unless,” Farhad said through gritted teeth, a slight whistle in his voice. Just how much longer would his body hold together? Not knowing what else to do, Rui cradled him closer. All that remained was a featherweight in his arms, and he fought back the despair that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Unless, they were working together with Arataca. I have a bad feeling about this, Rui. These weapons—these fell arms, nobody should know of them outside of a select few of our number, and none would wish them revived. The only literature there is, I’ve kept under seal in the Archives.”

He winced and his other eye collapsed. Despite the horrific appearance, he was able to continue speaking, and did so rapidly.

“We always have such little time when we most need it. But, Rui. One of them is working with the enemy. And I suspect that the Mask Seller may be involved. He’s the only one older than me who might… I need you to believe me.”

The Observer pressed his forehead to Farhad’s, tears streaming down his face.

“I don’t want you to go.”

The Archivist’s mouth softened into a smile.

“It’s been a long time coming. I’d say I got more than enough out of my life. To leave this world in the arms of my fondest friend, besides my dear son, what more could I ask for?”

His tone turned urgent once more even as his throat began to collapse.

“Promise me you’ll figure out how this happened. Speak to the Mask Seller.”

“I promise,” Rui vowed.

He watched, unable to do anything, as the last vestiges of Farhad’s body fell to dust.

“And thank you, Rui,” the Archivist said at the end. “For being my friend. I’m going on ahead, but try not to rush after me. I’ll always love you bo—“

When Rui opened his eyes, all that remained were the tattered articles of clothing the Archivist had been wearing and loose dust which further disintegrated into nothingness. He sat there for a long time, even after Sowaca had made sure the attackers were gone.

“Go make sure the kids are okay,” he said finally in a monotone voice. “I’ll catch up to you.”

“How are you gonna carry—“

“Go on ahead, I said.”

His tone carried a sharp warning, and Sowaca lowered his head. He limped away towards the orphanage.

Rui knew he was being cruel, but right now, he needed time alone. He glanced over at Amir before he set about the unpleasant task of digging about what little remained of his friend. It dissipated like so much smoke under his touch, and he had soon gathered the man’s numerous earrings, rings, and the necklace he had worn about his neck for as long as he’d known him. He placed them carefully into an inner pocket before he set about gathering the clothing. It would need to be washed; any blood that had been spilled before he’d transferred his title hadn’t magically disappeared.

Still, Rui folded everything gently, determined to mend it as well as he could for Amir. He had an idea as to just how difficult things would be for the boy once he woke up. Sudden immortality, and at the expense of his beloved mentor… just how would the sensitive boy react? He was only 22, barely more than a child. Rui sighed, placing Farhad’s garments in a neat pile before kneeling beside Amir.

He stared down at his unconscious face, watching his chest rise and fall.

“Is he an idiot? Trusting me with his kid…”

Rui sighed and scratched his head furiously.

“Ahh, shit. And all that shit back home…”

He frowned as he thought about it. He would have to speak to Nozoe about the long term; it would be good if Amir could ultimately go back to live with her and the kids once Rui had made sure his transformation was complete. Newly hatched immortals could always be a gamble, and rarely had control of their own powers. It would be best if he brought Amir back to the Fairgrounds, at least for the time being.

Still, he felt uneasy as Farhad’s words rang through his head. Would the boy be safe there?

“…and besides, how am I supposed to carry you anywhere on my own?”

He crossed his arms as he stared down at Amir. He had grown much taller than the Observer, with the muscles of an active life despite his somewhat weak appearance. Even just trying to lift him up by the armpits and drag him was difficult, and Rui finally decided to simply wait for Sowaca. He took Farhad’s folded cloak and placed it beneath Amir’s head.

Once they’d spoken to Nozoe, the three of them would take the waystone back. Rui didn’t want to risk knocking Amir around too much with short distance jumps, so he resigned himself to having the boy carried by Sowaca.

There would be a lot for him to do once they returned to the Fairgrounds, and he felt grim at the mere prospect. However, he could not risk Amir’s safety on the off chance that anyone was hostile towards him.

He gripped the hilt of the strange knife he’d picked up. It was curved at the end with one side lined in sharp teeth. Gems of some sort were set into its side, an odd choice on such a brutal looking weapon. They almost looked like eyes, and he felt a strange aura emanating from the weapon.

As soon as they returned, he would have to sit everyone down and have a very, very careful conversation.

He was adrift in a vast sea of grass. The plains spread out in every direction, never ending waves of gold glittering in the dying light of the sun. He felt himself sway with the grass, until he was the grass, his body given way to countless roots and complex systems beneath the dirt, until he was the dirt, cooling after a warm day, cradling the dead and decaying like precious jewels in his bosom, watching after all of the things that crawled about without sight here in the depths. His mind fractured over and over, a never ending mandala of form and function, one after the other. Everything seemed to swell within him until he contained multitudes, a miniature universe in and of itself. Births, lives, deaths, over and over, over countless years, tracing back to a time he could only recall through the most base sensations. Everything fell into itself and out once more, until he had just about forgotten what it even meant to be human.

But then it all came to a sudden halt. Despite the abruptness, it was somehow gentle, like someone had dimmed the ambient noise he had not noticed was deafening him. Not silence, but a clarity unlike the earlier visions he’d seen.

A figure stood before him, face blurry and out of focus. He struggled to recall who it was, even though he felt certain it was someone terribly important to him.

“It’s time to wake up, Amir.”

His eyes snapped open and he gasped as he lurched forward. His mind was racing as he looked around the empty room, not recognizing its high ceiling nor exposed wooden beams. He tried to get up from the bed, but as he did so he toppled over in a heap of limbs and sheets. His shoulder and back throbbed with red-hot pain, and he bit back a scream as he clambered to his knees.

“Is everything— Amir!?”

A familiar voice reached his ears, and Amir looked up to see Shinya rushing toward him. The older man knelt beside him, offering his shoulder and helping him to his feet. Amir grunted as he was set back down on the bed, rubbing his chest.

“How long… how long has it been? Where’s Far—where’s the Archivist?”

“Calm down,” Shinya urged, placing a hand on Amir’s shoulder.

It was like he was the Shinya of the old days, warm and concerned. And yet, just then, Amir couldn’t care less.

“Where is he?” he demanded, voice rising.

“That’s…”

Shinya couldn’t meet Amir’s eyes, and his face had a complicated expression on it. Unable to stand his avoidance, Amir grabbed his sleeve and yanked.

“Tell me, or I’ll go find out for myself.”

Reluctantly, Shinya turned toward Amir. He still wouldn’t quite look him in the eye, and he bit his lip so hard it drew blood before continuing.

“That—“

“You shouldn’t be here, Shinya.”

A low voice sounded from behind him as Shinya whirled around. His eyes widened as the Observer approached them.

“That’s,” he stammered. “I heard a thud, and I was worried…”

“And why were you hanging around up here in the first place?”

Shinya glanced toward Amir and then to the floorboards. The Observer’s face was grim.

“We’ll discuss this later. For now, get out.”

Bowing his head slightly, Shinya headed for the door. He cast one last look back at Amir, an unspoken question on his face. The Observer hurriedly shut the door behind him before turning toward Amir.

His expression softened considerably as he approached the young man.

“I’m sorry, I know this is all a lot at once,” he said in a steady voice. “But can I ask you a few questions?”

“Where’s Farhad?”

The Observer’s face was awash with one complex emotion after another, each only for a heartbeat, but Amir understood. Still, he resisted the dawning realization.

As the pain and exhaustion caught up to him, he slumped down. The other man quickly came to the bedside, helping Amir settle down. He ran a palm over his forehead before settling back with a furrowed brow, gaze cast aside.

“First, can I ask for your name?”

Amir narrowed his eyes, not sure what the Observer was playing at.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

But he shook his white-haired head at the question.

“Please,” he implored.

After a long pause,

“Amir. You know it’s Amir.”

Visible relief flooded over the Observer’s face as he nodded.

“Okay. Good. Can you tell me what year it is?”

Amir rolled his eyes.

“Enough already. I don’t have a concussion.”

“That’s not it.”

The Observer’s tone was soft yet stern. Amir turned his head to see the other man leaning in close. Unusually, his right eye was uncovered, and for the first time Amir found himself staring into a golden iris in a peculiar five pointed shape, surrounded by pure black. Every now and again it would pulsate in a strange way, giving off a dim glow. It reminded Amir of some strange flower.

He swallowed his protests and answered carefully.

“It’s 1656. We’re in Kanamori, southeast Ibaragi.” He hesitated. “Or, we were, when… the orphanage!”

Heedless of the tearing sensation in his shoulder, Amir bolted back upright. He grabbed one of the Observer’s hands in a frenzy.

“That fire… Was that what happened? Did we get them all out? Observer, please, I need to speak to Farhad.”

Desperation crept into Amir’s voice as he clung to the other’s sleeve. His asymmetrical eyes were wide as he begged the Observer, even as a part of him knew that something had happened to the Archivist.

The Observer stared at him with pity in his eyes, but he patted Amir’s hand gently.

“It’s okay,” he said in a soothing tone. “You did great. Nozoe has the remaining—… Nozoe is watching after the kids. Right now, you need to focus on yourself pal. You’re recovering from a serious injury.”

Panting from the effort of keeping himself upright, Amir slumped back against the pillows. There was a damp heat on his back, and he tried in vain to remember just what had happened.

It was obvious that the Observer was avoiding what happened to Farhad. Even in his daze, Amir could tell that much. He closed his eyes as he steadied his breathing, feeling lightheaded and woozy.

“I need to see him,” he said, voice breaking.

Before he knew it, tears were welling up in his eyes. Even those odd three on his right side, which he had so long assumed unable to, shed tears in abundance. He placed an arm over his face, hiding in the crook of his elbow.

“Please. The Archivist, what happened—“

“Amir.”

A warm palm was placed on the top of his head.

“I need to tell you something, but I need you to stay calm.”

Amir sniffed, rubbing his face hurriedly and trying to compose himself. He nodded at the Observer, biting his lip to keep the tears from running.

The Observer looked back at him, scratched his head, then sighed. His expression was grim as he gently stroked Amir’s hair.

“You were hurt, very, very badly,” he started slowly. “You remember the fire, so you know what happened in Kanamori. Do you remember the attackers? The ones in masks?”

A schism of pain erupted in Amir’s head and he clenched his teeth against it as he nodded hesitantly. Vague memories of figures in black floated through his mind, snapshots still distant and blurry. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to remember.

“Those strange weapons,” he said at last.

The Observer nodded.

“Fara—Farhad, he… To save you, he, well, to you, the title? And so he transferred it, er, or, well—“

“Just tell me,” Amir snapped. “Is he… gone?”

The Observer ceased waving his hand about and his shoulders deflated as he heaved a long sigh. His mismatched eyes looked away for just a moment, before he totally destroyed Amir’s world.

“To save you, he transferred his title of Archivist to you,” the Observer said in resignation. “Unfortunately…that meant that his own body…”

He reached into his robes, withdrawing something and placing it in Amir’s palm. As Amir slowly opened his hand to reveal the object, his throat caught.

There was a small pendant on a copper chain. It was in the design of a desert rose, finely detailed and elegant even with the years of wear evident in it.

For the first time, Amir noticed that there was a latch on the small pendant. He pressed it and it sprung open on well oiled hinges.

He froze.

Within was a small, sepia-toned photograph of three figures. One was so large that their face was out of frame, but her abundant white fur gave Nozoe away. Beside her stood the considerably shorter Farhad, his lopsided grin and heavy lidded eyes staring out with pride.

Amir let out a small gasp as he saw the small boy whose shoulders the two had each placed a hand upon. He brought the tiny image close to his face, memories of that day overflowing within him.

Farhad had been so excited about testing out the new camera he had picked up somewhere along the way during his travels. It was an old, boxy thing that stood on three legs, and it took him most of the day just to set it up. By that time, the rest of the children had grown bored and gone off to play.

There weren’t many of them in those days; the orphanage had begun almost entirely by accident and grown slowly over the years.

Amir remembered how he used to shadow the two adults, never getting too close nor straying too far. He had worn a mask given to him by Farhad, a simple papier-mâché item that was his armor against the world.

That day, he had wandered up when Farhad had been busy setting up the camera. Cautiously, Amir had crept closer, step by step, until he was sat within arm’s reach, staring in fascination as the Archivist set up the odd black box.

Farhad noticed him and offered a smile, careful not to spook him. Amir had been flighty in those days, instinctively watching out for any sign of violence. He had slowly lowered his walls since Farhad had brought him to the orphanage, and that day he was the first to break the ice.

“What’s it for?”

The Archivist paused for a moment, glancing over at Amir. The sky was starting to turn amber as the sun marched toward the horizon. He grinned and gestured for Amir to come closer.

“Here, I think it’s all ready. Nozoe, you too,” Farhad added, calling out to the wolf woman standing nearby.

Nozoe snorted and lifted one bushy eyebrow, narrowing her blue eyes.

“Do they not harvest one’s soul? A dangerous toy indeed.”

“Oh come on,” Farhad said, rolling his eyes. “Do you really believe that hogwash? It’s just superstition.”

He cajoled Nozoe into finally joining them, then gestured to Amir.

“Come, come.”

Hesitating a moment, Amir finally stepped forward. Farhad turned him toward the camera, pointing at the lens.

“Okay, so all you do is, look right there, got it?”

Amir nodded with uncertainty. Farhad grinned before he dashed over to the box. He hemmed and hawed a bit as he adjusted things, then, satisfied, he squeezed an odd ball on a line before rushing back to his place beside Nozoe.

“Make sure to smile wide, okay?”

Amir wondered why he’d say that if he was wearing a mask. As they waited, he decided it must be best without a mask, and he quickly slipped it off.

The photo showed him with a bright smile on his face, happiness overflowing from him.

Tears blurred his vision as he hunched over the locket, clutching it close to his chest. The Observer said nothing, merely brushed his hair with one hand as Amir sobbed.

[literenture]

1652, exploring Amir & Shinya’s relationship.

Amir followed the Archivist down the stairs. In the last year he had had a late growth spurt and was still getting used to his height, long legs awkwardly traipsing down the steps. Farhad grinned over his shoulder.

“It’s been a while since you saw those two, right?” he asked. “I was thinking we could head over together.”

“Hah?”

Amir scrunched up his face, not quite following his meaning. The Archivist paused to greet two of the orphans they passed, Nena and Maleki, ruffling their hair fondly. Amir smiled at them as they passed before turning again to Farhad.

“So where is it we’re going?”

“Ah,” Farhad said, stopping so suddenly that Amir nearly ran into him. “That’s right, you were out when the letter came. The Observer asked me to bring him these.”

He gestured to the bag hanging off of one shoulder. Amir had caught a glimpse of its contents, an assortment of books and papers.

“So how about it? Wouldn’t you like to see how your friends are doing?”

“They’re not my friends,” Amir muttered somewhat bashfully.

Farhad smirked at him but didn’t press the matter.

Truthfully, Amir was looking forward to seeing Shinya and Mamoru. It had been six years since they had left, and two since they’d last seen one another, and Amir had missed their company. He enjoyed helping with the orphanage, and saw the children as his own siblings. But since the two had left for the Fairgrounds, Amir had been the only one left over the age of 12. At 20, that made it difficult for him to really befriend anyone. His closest confidante was the man who had saved him from that pit all those years ago, the Archivist Farhad, but there were centuries between them.

“How are we getting there?” Amir asked cautiously.

Farhad’s grin grew wicked as he pointed to the right side of Amir’s face, covered up with long black hair.

“I think it’s about time you learn how to use a waystone.”

They stood before a great arch of carved stone, well worn and covered in glyphs that Amir did not recognize, even with the extensive education in language from the Archivist. He leaned in to get a better look when Farhad grabbed his arm.

“Careful now,” he cautioned. “We need to get you set up first. In fact, I asked the masksmith for a little favor.”

Amir frowned at the mention of the Mask Seller. He was an unusual man, someone like Farhad who had lived hundreds of years, who never revealed his face. Something about him set Amir’s teeth on edge, though he couldn’t say precisely what. He simply did not trust the man.

His thoughts were interrupted as Farhad lifted a pair of masks from his bag. One was his well-worn mask he’d had as long as Amir had known him, but the other was a pristine, white mask with asymmetrical eye holes; one on the left side and three on the right.

Amir accepted it reluctantly, grateful for the gift but uncertain as to its creator.

“This is..?”

“Just a safety measure. It’ll keep you anchored in the event of any issues.”

“Is this really safe?”

Amir frowned as he slipped the mask over his face. It fit perfectly, which annoyed him for some reason.

Farhad placed a hand on his hand and ruffled his hair. Since Amir’s growth spurt, the Archivist had to reach up to him, and it made him self-conscious.

Withdrawing his hand, the older man nodded to himself before gesturing to the arch.

“Now,” he said with a clap. “This one’s in pretty good condition, so we should be fine, but just to be safe…”

He grabbed Amir’s hand in his own. Before the young man could complain, Farhad flashed him a confident smile.

“Follow me, it’ll only be a moment.”

Amir fought his rising anxiety, sweat beading on the nape of his neck. He stared at the stone archway with apprehension, but Farhad squeezed his hand.

“Just trust me.”

The two stepped forward, soon passing under the arch. Amir squeezed his eyes shut at the last moment, holding his breath.

The sensation was something he would later find difficult to explain, though it was similar to when they visited the Archives. However, this was a far more visceral and disorienting experience.

It was like the world itself warped beneath his feet, a pulling sensation deep within his chest sending a wave of vertigo through him. There was a strange pressure yet also a lightness, and electricity sparked along his skin. He felt like his body was melting away, that he was just a mind floating in the void, even his sense of self turning vague and unreliable. It felt like he would dissipate into nothingness at any moment.

Would that be so bad?

His mind felt like it was being drawn toward some place, lulled by some siren song. He felt himself turn towards it.

Somewhere, someone squeezed what must have been his hand. He hesitated.

Then, after how long he could not tell, it abruptly ended. Amir’s eyes snapped open as his foot found solid ground and he stumbled to his knees.

“Hey, it’s okay, we’re here.”

Farhad knelt beside him, clutching his hand. Amir was shaking uncontrollably, nausea rising up in him as he struggled to breath. The mask made him feel claustrophobic, and he ripped it off as he gagged. Beside him, Farhad was rubbing his back and speaking in a calm voice.

“Shh, it’s all over now. I’m sorry, I thought since you didn’t have any issues with the Archives… I should have been more careful.”

As his nausea and dizziness faded, Amir clutched at the Archivist’s hand, blinking away the tears that had sprung to his eyes. He shook his head and coughed.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “It just… took me by surprise, is all.”

He glanced back at the arch they had come from. Rather than the deep wood of Kanamori, they were standing on a grassy plateau. The weather was considerably warmer, and as Amir stood and gazed around he saw that they were surrounded by a vast plain ringed by mountains. Not far off was a lake with a collection of buildings surrounding it, with a floating temple in the middle. If he had never been here before, Amir would not have been able to tell what it was from this distance. However, he immediately recognized the Fairgrounds.

Despite the terror he’d felt mere moments ago, Amir felt excitement and anticipation. He turned as Farhad came to stand beside him.

“Sure you’re okay?”

Amir nodded, unable to keep the smile from his face.

“That certainly beat days of travel.”

As they neared the Fairgrounds, Amir felt his anticipation growing, and he nervously glanced around.

Although they had swapped letters over the years, Amir had not seen Shinya or Mamoru since they left the orphanage. He wondered how they might have changed in the two years since they last saw one another, and whether he himself had changed, late growth spurt aside.

Farhad greeted a few of the researchers he knew as they meandered along the grounds toward a central building. It was an old church-turned-boarding house set up for the members of the Fair. Since he had last been here, they had also built a number of other buildings, and Amir gazed about in fascination.

He was so distracted that he didn’t even hear the rapid footsteps approaching from behind them.

“Fara!”

A small figure jumped onto the Archivist, arms tangled about his neck, the force nearly knocking them both over. Despite the sudden attack, Farhad was laughing.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

The short man who had leapt at him disentangled himself with a wide grin as Farhad gave him a quick hug. Finally, he turned toward Amir.

“Wait wait wait? There’s no way? This isn’t…?”

“Mm, Amir got pretty tall since you last saw him, huh?”

The Observer looked Amir up and down with a critical eye. His long white hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and he was dressed in a Medinan style robe with a scarf loosely bound about his shoulders.

Finally, he scowled and crossed his arms.

“Hehh, so it really is Amir, huh. Damnit, and here I was so sure I’d win.”

Farhad sighed.

“If height is how you win, wouldn’t he have won years ago? I mean, even before his growth spurt, Amir was a few good inches taller than you.”

“Agh! Shut up shut up! I’m not listening!”

The Observer stuck his fingers in his ears and shut his eye. As Amir watched the two banter, he felt a light tap on his shoulder.

He turned to see a man a bit shorter than him, with dark, reddish-brown hair and a face full of freckles. Even after all this time, Amir’s heart leapt as he recognized the other man.

“Shin!”

“It’s been a while, Amir.”

Amir grabbed both of Shinya’s hands in his own, unable to hide his excitement. He grinned wide.

“It has,” he said. “Look at you! It seems things have been treating you well. You have to tell me what you’ve been up to.”

Shinya smiled.

“Yeah, can’t complain. They keep me busy, although I think I’ve already told you just about everything in the letters, so I’m not really sure where to start.”

“Is Mamoru around too?” Amir asked, looking about.

Shinya nodded.

“He should be with Aetna right now, but he’ll be around for dinner. How long are you two staying?”

Amir glanced at the Archivist, still engaged in conversation with the Observer. Farhad noticed his look and smiled warmly.

“We’ll need a few days to go over everything, so why don’t you ask Shinya to show you around?”

At his suggestion, Amir whipped back toward Shinya with an expectant look, hands balled into fists. The older boy’s dark eyes snapped to the Observer, who nodded and shooed him with one hand.

“Go on, have fun with your friend.”

“If you say so, teacher.”

Amir noticed the odd expression that came over Shinya’s face. He wondered if he was being a bother, but then the other man’s smile returned and he wondered if he had simply imagined it.

“C’mon, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

With one last glance at the Observer, Shinya turned and led Amir across the vast lawn.

“So, what’ve they been having you do?” Amir asked as they walked. “You’re always so vague.”

His companion glanced back at him briefly.

“Well, I’ve been working on something with the Observer. I’m not sure if I can really explain it well without showing you, though.”

They made their way to one of the side buildings which looked as though it were once a barn. They walked in silence, and Amir was beginning to worry when they stopped in front of a side door. Shinya ushered him inside.

“It’s a bit of a mess, so watch your step,” he warned.

Amir followed him within, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dim. With a flick of a switch, the room was illuminated with a cool, bluish light. Amir noticed that there were long vine-like tendrils hanging from the ceiling with little budding flowers from which the glow emanated. He was so distracted that he tripped over a box on the floor, falling face first onto the floorboards.

“That’s why I said be careful,” Shinya said with a sigh.

Embarrassed, Amir hurriedly got back to his feet, rubbing his sore nose as Shinya gave him a wry smile. He lowered his head apologetically. It felt like he was making the worst possible impression after so many years, and he wished he could just disappear into thin air.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, really.”

A hand grasped his chin and tilted his face up. Shinya stood close, his dark eyes like wells, tanned and freckled skin cast in a ghostly blue light. His fingers were cool against Amir’s chin, and he could feel his breath against his face. His heart raced, his body frozen.

The spell was broken as Shinya released him and turned. Amir let out a slight gasp as he tried to calm his heartbeat.

“Well, let me show you what I’ve been working on.”

Unable to keep up with the sudden change of pace, Amir coughed and followed his friend.

They were in a workshop of some kind, and Amir saw a metal topped table off in the back. He wasn’t quite sure what it was all for, but he stared in fascination at the various strange objects and thick tomes.

“You mentioned doing something for the Observer,” he said as they walked through the room. “Is this..?”

“It’s part of it,” Shinya admitted. “Though, I do have a few of my own projects in the works.”

“I can’t believe you’re only two years older than me. I’m basically just a glorified babysitter. Not that I dislike it,” he added hastily. “It’s just…”

Amir sighed. He had always felt keenly aware of the other boy’s intelligence, and now more than ever he saw the gap between him and true genius.

However, Shinya waved one hand dismissively.

“It ain’t anything so fancy.”

“Ah!” Amir jumped, pointing. “I was wondering where your accent went.”

Shinya’s eyes widened and to Amir’s surprise his face turned red. Amir put a hand to his mouth, wondering if he’d crossed a line.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“It’s fine,” Shinya said quickly. “Just, you know. I figured it’s better to go without it. Oh, here, let me show you.”

He turned abruptly and produced a hand bound tome, handing it to Amir. He accepted with a nervous glance at Shinya’s face, but could find no trace of anger there.

“This is…?”

Shinya’s face broke out in such an earnest smile that Amir felt his heart flip.

“You can get into the Archives, right?”

Not sure what that had to do with this, Amir nodded uneasily. Shinya’s smile widened.

“Then, will you help me? I’ve compiled everything I could get my hands on, but that’s the only place with a proper collection of anything from the dark ages.”

Trying to understand, Amir flipped open the book, scanning its contents. As he read, his pace slowed, until finally he was simply staring with his jaw left hanging open.

“How did you find all of this?”

Shinya waved a hand.

“I have my ways. But I can only hypothesize with what I have, and it’s not nearly enough. However, I’m sure they’re connected beyond what we’ve been told.”

“But, that’s…”

Amir swallowed drily, trying to keep everything sorted in his head. He looked back to the page he had stopped on.

It showed an illustration of a beautiful, pale skinned woman with long dark hair. She was dressed in a funereal style similar to what would be seen in Ibaragi, crowned with lotuses. Her arms were skeletal and rotting, yet her smile held an eerie peace to it.

However, it was the eight tails, each adorned with a mask, that gave away the identity of the figure.

“The Mother of Monsters,” Amir said in a hushed tone.

The Queen of Nightmares. The Maid of Malice. The Great Calamity. Jeor Danh, or as many called her, Jordan.

There were countless names in countless tongues for that disaster which had plagued the world so long ago, but her visage was unmistakable. During his studies, Amir had been taught of her reign of terror, and how her evil was sealed by a certain so-called hero.

Shinya leaned back against a cluttered work desk.

“I can trust you with this, right?”

“Of course,” Amir said hurriedly. “Anything.”

His friend smiled.

“Could you find out more from the Archives for me?”

Amir faltered, lowering the book.

“But… I only have access to the central stacks. I can’t use the elevator without the key.”

“Then, can’t you borrow it?”

“Farhad would never let me. He says the deeper stacks aren’t a place for kids,” Amir said with a frown.

He often felt like the Archivist treated him far younger than he was. He understood that Farhad had lived a long, long time, but Amir was 20 now, an adult grown, and he wished that his mentor would treat him as such.

Shinya held his hand to his chin thoughtfully.

“What if you didn’t ask?”

Amir gaped at his suggestion, eyes wide. He set the book down on the table and wiped his forehead. Sweat was beading on his skin as he thought of betraying his mentor like that.

“Shin, I can’t—“

“Please. You know I can’t go to the Observer about this, he’d never give me a straight answer. You’re the only one I can ask. The only one I’ve trusted with this.”

Shinya grabbed Amir’s hands, squeezing tightly. He stared into his face with fierce determination, dark eyes sparkling in the light. Amir fought to keep his heart rate under control as he looked away.

“If Farhad found out, I don’t know what he’d do. He’s the only family I have.”

Shinya released one of Amir’s hands and brushed away the black hair covering the right side of his face. Beneath it were three yellow eyes, set one atop the other in a way that would be impossible in nature. He ran his thumb down the side of Amir’s face, tracing his eyes down to his lips.

They stood like that for a minute, eyes locked on each other’s. Amir’s heart felt like it would explode as Shinya’s other hand was pressed to his chest.

“Please,” Shinya whispered, lips brushing against Amir’s left ear. “I can only trust you.”

He pulled away slightly, but Amir found himself grabbing him and kissing him before he could stop himself. Shinya’s lips froze before softening at the touch. Amir closed his eyes, lost in the other’s presence.

They parted with heavy breaths, each looking at the other. Shinya cupped Amir’s face in both hands and returned a kiss of his own, open mouthed and hungry. It sent shockwaves through Amir’s body, his hands grabbing at Shinya’s back.

It ended all too soon as Shinya pulled away, placing his forehead on Amir’s shoulders. They held each other like that in silence, Amir hoping that the other man could not feel how fast his heart was beating.

“Won’t ya do this fer me?”

Shinya’s voice was quiet and reserved, a hint of anxiety mingling with his accent in a wavering tone. Amir did not respond right away, thinking over his options.

It was the first time the other man was relying on him. Shinya had done so much for him, listening to his woes and sending him encouraging letters. If Amir could not even do him this one, simple favor despite all he’d done for him, the shame would follow him for life.

So, with a hesitant gulp, he nodded.

“I’ll try my best.”

To his surprise, when Shinya lifted his face he had a huge smile on it. He kissed Amir once more, briefly, and laughed.

“I knew I could count on you,” he said gleefully. “You’ve always been my closest friend, after all.”

His comment made Amir’s heart leap. Had he really thought of him that way? For so long, Amir had not even known whether he considered him a friend at all, and to be considered his closest was more than he could have hoped for. A shaky smile spread across Amir’s lips, but his eyes darted back to the book, still open to the double-page spread. He gulped as he stared at the matching portrait.

What appeared to be a woman in elegant robes, a three-stringed lute on her lap, was depicted across from the Mother of Monsters. In simple black ink, all one could tell was that her hair was a lighter shade, but what had made Amir’s mouth run dry was the single, black lily sprouting from her right eye.

Or rather, his, because Amir knew that this was the Observer.

The accompanying text was scrawled around the images, diagrams pointing out key aspects and similarities.

But then, if they were somehow related, why had the Observer sealed Jordan away? Why did he continue to monitor and prevent her resurrection?

Noticing Amir’s expression, Shinya placed one finger on the pages.

“I think the Fair has something to do with her. I can’t be certain, but…”

He traced his finger from Jordan to the Observer, eyes softening.

“He once told me he had a sister. He says she died, but what if she didn’t? What if the same thing that sparked his pact with Sowaca was tied to her?”

Amir shook his head.

“But that’s… Farhad told me how he sealed her. Why would he do that to his own sister?”

A complicated look washed over Shinya’s face.

“I can’t be sure, but just because they’re family doesn’t mean they’re friendly,” he said in a dark tone. “Blood relations can hate one another as much as anyone.”

Amir faltered at Shinya’s expression, wondering just what he meant. The other man shook his head, reddish hair swinging above his shoulders.

“Besides, as for why he sealed her away, I have some ideas, but I can’t confirm anything without your help.”

With the subject returning to Shinya’s earlier request, Amir’s stomach lurched.

“But just what am I supposed to look for?” he asked plaintively.

“I can write down what I need specifically, but whatever information you can find about the Mother of Monsters and the times before would be an immense help.”

Unable to protest any further, Amir’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Shinya clapped a hand on his back and smiled.

“I knew I could trust ya.”

That night, as Amir lay in the cot he’d been given in one of the offices, his mind raced with all he had learned today. Farhad was asleep in the next cot over, and Amir listened to his steady breaths as he tried to will himself to sleep.

Could the Observer really be the brother of that disaster? It was hard to wrap his mind around; the myths and legends surrounding Jordan painted a vastly different image from the Observer’s lackadaisical personality.

But Shinya had looked so sure, and he was the one here after all. He had far more experience with the Observer, and Amir trusted his friend.

His restlessness was also exacerbated by the kiss he had shared with Shinya. He would try not to think about it and then the memory would slam into him like a train.

What had it meant? Did Shinya actually think of him that way?

Amir had fought his own feelings toward his friend over the years. Shinya was one of the few people he could talk openly with, and he never judged nor demeaned him. The last thing Amir had wanted was to risk that friendship with his childish emotions.

He traced a finger along his lips, remembering the heat he’d felt then. His stomach felt fluttery, almost like when he’d gone through the waystone. No matter how he tossed and turned, he couldn’t get to sleep.

With a resigned sigh, he sat up from the cot and carefully made his way across the creaky wooden floor. He paused, listening for any signs of Farhad’s stirring, before slipping out the door and down the hall.

He wasn’t that familiar with the place, and had no particular destination in mind, so he settled for taking a walk along the lake shore.

The moons were bright in the night sky, making it easy to navigate without a lamp. Amir made his way to the shore and stared out across the lake.

Even in the dark, he could make out the silhouette of the old temple. It had once been erected in worship of Jordan, though that had not saved it from destruction. The thought of the evil deity made Amir shudder. He clasped his arms.

“What’re you doing up?”

He jumped and whirled around at the sudden voice.

There stood the root cause of his tempestuous mental state, smiling without a care in the world.

“Shin,” Amir said breathlessly.

His friend ran one hand through his dark hair as he examined Amir.

“I couldn’t sleep either,” he admitted bashfully. “So I figured I’d go fer a walk an’—… that I would take a walk.”

“You don’t need to try so hard around me.”

His comment seemed to catch Shinya off guard, his moonlit expression plainly surprised. However, he recovered himself with a smile and shrugged.

“If ya say so.”

They wandered along the shoreline together, Amir just behind Shinya. He couldn’t see the other man’s expression as he started talking, but there was a tension in his voice.

“I hope ya know I didn’t ask ya to do all this fer me fer a silly reason. I wouldn’t if it weren’t…”

He trailed off.

“No, of course not,” Amir insisted. “I know you wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I’m happy that you came to me, truly.”

Shinya glanced back over his shoulder before turning forward again.

“An’ as fer, well,” he said in a stilted tone. “I hope ya don’t think… Gods, I’ve never done this before, I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean?”

Shinya stopped suddenly and turned around. His face had a bashful expression on it as he rubbed the back of his head.

“That is, kissin’, or anything.”

Amir’s eyes widened as his heart jumped.

“Hah?”

Shinya frowned at his reaction.

“What? Is it that surprisin’?”

“Ah, no, I just meant,” Amir stammered. “Me?”

“Why shouldn’t it be ya?”

Stunned, Amir gaped at his friend. Shinya looked away and coughed.

“If ya hated it, I won’t… I didn’t mean ta just…”

Amir shook his head, feeling the blood rush to his face.

“No, I didn’t hate it, not at all,” he said quickly. “I… for a long time now, I’ve, for you…”

He struggled to put it into words, embarrassed and unsure what to say. He waved his hands about as he flailed for the right words.

“That is, you know, you’ve always been there for me, right? And so, I just, if it’s you, I always thought…”

He racked his mind in desperation as he floundered.

“And well, I just haven’t ever, k-kissed anyone, either, or anything… I’m glad it was you.”

He felt his face erupt in heat as he stared down at his boots. His dark hair fell over his face, and he was grateful that between that and the dim light Shinya wouldn’t be able to tell his expression.

The grass crunched as Shinya approached. He placed his hands on either of Amir’s shoulders as he leaned forward.

They kissed for what felt like an eternity. It was chaste in comparison to the frenzy with which Shinya had kissed him earlier, but Amir’s heart fluttered all the same. Shinya withdrew from him and placed his forehead against his shoulder, his hands sliding down to Amir’s chest. With an uncertain hand, Amir tentatively brushed the back of Shinya’s scalp.

“I’m glad,” Shinya said quietly. “I thoughtcha’d hate me fer sure.”

“I could never.”

They stood like that for some time, each listening to the other’s gentle breaths.

“If I can just put this all together, I know I’ll be of some use t’ him. Y’understand, right?”

Shinya looked up at Amir, eyes slightly wild.

“They’re like these brilliant stars among us, an’ they’re capable of so much. Yet he asked fer my help. If I could be even slightly useful fer him, my life would truly have meanin’.”

His voice cracked.

“That they trust us with their identity, they took us in… There must be some way I can repay him. I’ll show ya just what the world can become. Things don’t need ta be the way they’re.”

Finally, Shinya disentangled himself and stepped back. Amir gaped, unsure what to say after his rapid fire comments.

“I should get back,” he said. “I’ve got a lot to do in the morn. Mamoru should be free tomorrow, so he’ll keep you company.”

Amir noticed that he had slipped back into the stiff and formal manner of speaking he’d adopted in recent years. It felt like Shinya had flipped a switch, the emotion he’d shown now hidden beneath a mask. It was jarring to witness, and all Amir could do was nod uneasily.

“That’s fine,” he managed. “I don’t want to keep you from your work.”

Shinya smiled at him, but it had none of the earlier warmth he’d seen. Amir wondered if it was just a trick of the light.

“I’ll see you later then, yeah?”

“Ah, yeah,” Amir stammered.

He watched as Shinya’s back receded along the shore’s edge, lingering where he stood until the other man had disappeared into the trees and brush. He let out a long breath and ran his hand over his face.

It felt like something had fundamentally shifted in just a day, and he was struggling to keep up. However, he was determined to live up to Shinya’s expectations.

“He’s counting on me,” he mumbled to himself, staring up at the moons.

Surely Farhad would understand, once all was said and done. Besides, he had promised Amir unrestricted access to the stacks once he was an adult. Wasn’t it he who had reneged on his word first? Amir grit his teeth as he began to walk back.

Gears were already starting to shift and turn in his mind, slowly forming a tentative plan of action.

If it was him, he could do it. Farhad trusted him after all. It would be so simple to sneak the key from him without notice.

And so, Amir’s determination grew.

[literenture]

NOW for Lily Fair pieces. These are set roughy 150 years prior to the events of Mirepoix, and surround the origins of the Founder & the Observer’s past.

This one is set in 1652.

“Ah, there y’are Teacher!”

The Observer’s shoulders shot up at the familiar voice. He turned slowly with a sheepish grin as Shinya stormed up to him.

The young man’s freckled face was red with exertion, and sweat dripped down his sharp cheeks. His reddish-black eyes were fashioned into a sharp glare even as he panted, trying to catch his breath as he clambered up the steep side of the old building. As he cleared the wall, he stood clutching his knees for a moment before pointing sharply at the Observer.

“Y-y’knew the representatives from Matoba were coming t’day. It’s useless if y’aren’t there. So what in the eight hells are ya doing up here?”

He gestured to the ruined roof of the old temple. Rui’s grin faltered and he scratched beneath his ponytail of white hair.

“Ehh, really, it’s just sort of a pain. Houlan can deal with it just fine on her own.”

Shinya drew himself up to his full height, towering over the seated Observer. He crossed his arms with a sigh.

“Y’know what I mean… Didn’tcha agree that this was the best way?”

Rui fiddled with some loose debris, kicking his legs off the edge of the roof. It clattered down to the platform the temple sat upon, tumbling over into the lake. He puffed out one cheek and replied without meeting his student’s glare.

“Mm, but really, I think it’s just interfering a bit too much in things.”

Shinya looked exasperated.

“Then why agree in the first place? Teacher, yer—“

“It wasn’t me who wanted this!” the Observer snapped. “Just… Argh, Houlan knows what to do, it’ll be fine. They’ll leave disappointed, sure, but they’ll at least get something out of it. It just won’t involve me.”

He crossed his legs and leaned one cheek on his fist, snorting. Shinya deflated as he came and sat beside the Observer, his long legs kicking off the edge. He leaned back on his hands and let out a long, pained breath.

“If yer so concerned about pleasin’ Ditmur’s faction, ya could stand to be a little more forward about it. Runnin’ off last minute ain’t the best way to avoid conflict in the long run.”

His northern drawl was comforting for Rui after a long day avoiding the stern faced and sly tongued businessmen. He somehow never imagined life among mortals to be so full of bureaucracy, and he couldn’t bring himself to trust them. There was something greedy about the way the Matoba representatives leered at him that made the Observer uncomfortable.

“Ahh, this has all become so much more complicated than I expected,” he lamented, flopping down on the sun-warmed stone.

Shinya watched him with a smile.

“Ya can’t exactly gather a buncha scientists together an’ make discovery after discovery without attractin’ national an’ private interest. Wouldn’t it be better to take advantage of that? If ya don’t trust ‘em, why not head yer own company? I’m sure ya could make some big waves in the energy industries…”

“Have you been hanging around those suits? You’re starting to sound like one of them,” Rui said with mild disgust.

Shinya just laughed and waved a hand.

“Not a chance! Gosh, ya can take things so serious. Jus’ sayin’, it’d be one practical application of the formulae we’ve developed here.”

The Observer let out a sharp breath.

“Sure, if someone here wanted to do that, they’re free to. But I’m just interested in figuring out how what lies behind all of,” he gestured to his eyepatch, “this really works. It has to have some underlying basis, I know I don’t just pull from nothing. If I knew that, maybe I could…”

He drifted off, biting his tongue as he realized he’d overshared. His comfort around Shinya made him let his guard down. As he glanced at the other man, Shinya had a thoughtful expression on his face.

“An’ here I thought it was all just fer fun fer ya.”

Rui flailed his arms and legs.

“Why does everyone think I’m just some frivolous airhead! Of course I have reasons! Far beyond your silly mortal understanding.”

Still lying flat, he crossed his arms and snorted in satisfaction.

Shinya stared at him for a moment before he burst out laughing. Rui glared at him, cheek puffed out defiantly.

“Ah, Teacher, no, I'm sure yer right,” Shinya said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Well, since ya’ve no plans of goin’ to the meetin’, wanna head into town? We can get those pastries ya like so much, with the honey an’ the nuts.”

“Now you’re speaking my language!”

Rui snapped a finger as he shot up, meeting Shinya’s smile with one of his own. His student shook his head, his auburn hair falling over his face.

“I’d like to think that in four years I’ve learned whatcha like.”

“Oh-ho, so diligent, only you’d be so much better if you’d have brought the snacks here directly!”

Shinya stood and held a hand out to Rui.

“Come off it,” he said slyly. “I know ya like gettin’ out.”

“Hmm, sure, but,” Rui said, scratching his head as he stood. “I feel like there are some strange rumors about me…”

“Yer overthinkin’ it.”

The Observer sighed.

“I hope so.”

——

They strode into Kareopol at a leisurely pace. The little port city located on Medina’s northeastern coast was a historical location that had been around in one form or other for as far back as records went. It had never been a massive metropolis, but that had spared it some of the turmoil that had over swept many of Medina’s cities during the dark ages.

The country’s location near the epicenter of what came to be known as the Great Disaster had left much of the northeastern territories barren casualties of the Thalosmir. In almost every direction stretching out from the Fairgrounds and city spread the Sorrows. Kareopol’s location was unique in that it was the closest city to the origin of the disaster by far: somehow it had escaped the direct path of Jordan’s rampage with minimal lasting after effects.

For a while, the region had been completely isolated from the world, save those few who would brave the stormy seas from the north or the terrors that lurked in the lands surrounding it. However, with Jordan’s influence weakening on the world, it had slowly opened up, becoming a safe haven amidst all the destruction of the Sorrows.

Even now, the Observer didn’t know what had stayed his sister’s hand. It was one of the reasons he’d chosen the location in the first place, and its relative inaccessibility only sweetened the deal. The records were few and difficult to parse, with any local records largely written in a language that had long diverged from its parent tongue. Even Rui had little experience with it, and he’d been to just about every corner of the world. It spoke to the area’s isolation that even he would struggle so.

Looking around now, with the sun high in the sky and the first hints of fall in the foliage, it all seemed so peaceful. The valley the Fairgrounds were in was surrounded by jagged, curved mountains unlike any elsewhere in the world. One had to travel along a winding route to Kareopol, bypassing the smaller peaks that matched up to the coast. It was a windswept and steep path overlooking a river, rugged and beautiful.

On foot, it could take two or three hours each leg of the journey, and Rui had insisted they walk. He was hoping to come back later that evening to a home free of vermin. It might have been his decision, but their establishing a relationship with Matoba and its associate companies like Arataca put a sour taste in his mouth.

With Ditmur’s faction growing increasingly restless, Parvati had suggested he attempt a compromise with the companies. It was supposedly a collaborative effort, with the companies sending supplies that war had made scarce. However, they were gaining access to experimental research that went far beyond the typical areas of study.

For Rui, the thought of mortals casually accessing en and the immaterial plane made him deeply uncomfortable. It was bad enough with the small handful of immortals like himself with inhuman powers causing trouble around the world. Not to mention the cost for someone without their augmented gates to even attempt such a thing.

While they had given Matoba plenty of airy explanations of what they did, the Observer had a sneaking suspicion that there had been a data compromise. He had known the risks with running a group like this, and it wasn’t as though other groups weren’t getting close.

What they had that set them apart was he himself.

The sages, the hermits, the whatever-you-want-to-call-thems, all had a sort of unspoken agreement not to reveal themselves to mortals, at least not without being prepared for the consequences.

“Yer gonna get wrinkles if ya scowl like that.”

Shinya’s soft drawl snapped Rui out of his reverie. His smile widened from ear to ear.

“Aww, are we worried I’ll lose my beautiful looks?”

Wordlessly, Shinya sped up his pace until he was a few strides ahead of the Observer. Before Rui ask him what was wrong, he spoke over his shoulder.

“Yer too vain fer yer own good,” he said in a cross tone. “Was only gonna say, serves you right, skipping out on yer big meetin’ jus’ ta stuff yer face fuller pastries.”

Rui stuck his tongue out at him, heedless of the other man’s position. He threw his hands up behind his head, walking with elbows crooked.

“Okay, fair, but whose idea was it to go all the way into town? We could’ve just raided the larder.”

Ahead of him, Shinya’s shoulders slumped slightly. Honestly, he was far too patient with Rui’s antics, sometimes to the point that Rui would act increasingly outlandish to see how much he’d put up with.

It did seem that he was starting to learn how to deal with him as of late, though. He was getting faster with his comebacks, and didn’t get so easily flustered. It was a little disappointing for the Observer, but he supposed it was for the better that Shinya had become more socially savvy. When he had first met the boy, all of 15 years old, he had been quiet and reserved, uttering monosyllabic responses as often as none at all. However, when he and Mamoru came to live and study at the Fairgrounds a year later, slowly but surely, Shinya had started to open up.

Rui glanced towards his pupil. Although he couldn’t see his face, he did notice his ears were slightly red and smirked to himself. So maybe Shinya had simply gotten better at acting tough. There were ways in which the boy—young man, now, at 20–was incredibly mature for his age, his mathematics skills one of them. However, he could also be surprisingly naive and immature about certain things. He had a strangely intense sense of right and wrong, though sometimes Rui questioned just how he decided which was which.

“This way, none of them Matoba folks accidentally runs into ya an’ the whole gig’s up.”

The Observer laughed apologetically.

“Ahh, yeah, definitely don’t want to add any fuel to the fire, good point, good point.”

“Well, though yer the one what started the fire in the firs’ place, so that’s the leas’ ya can do.”

“Gahah, you’re right though so I can’t say anything!”

Shinya sighed so heavily, Rui almost fancied he saw his soul escape. His pace slowed slightly, and he turned to look at the Observer.

“Teacher, it’s fine this time, but,” he started, “ya can’t just dodge ‘em every time they come ‘round, y’know?”

At his stoic words, Rui nodded reluctantly.

“That much is true. Damn, I’m really gonna have to work with these shitheels, huh?” He chuckled bitterly. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of my own actions.”

“Well, that’s why I was thinkin’, an’ I had an idea that involves as little of ya interactin’ with the suits as possible.”

Rui’s ears perked up immediately at that.

“Do go on.”

Shinya ruffled his dark hair, wiry brows furrowed as he bit his lip. Finally, he spoke.

“Well, what if a few of us in the central group act as in-between? That way, ya don’t gotta deal with their shit, an’ you’d have people ya trust, who’re interested in the well-bein’ of the Fair.”

He quickly looked down at his boots, hand still rubbing at his scalp.

The Observer stopped mid-step, a thoughtful expression on his face as he placed a thin finger against his chin.

“Hmm. Actually, that might not be such a bad idea. Gives me more time for snacks.”

His student tossed his hands in the air in exasperation.

“I was thinkin’ more that way ya could focus on, y’know, actual work. An’ that way we can appease the suits. Whaddya think?”

Shinya turned to look at him, a slightly anxious gleam in his dark eyes. In the sun, they shone almost red. He swallowed.

Rui clapped one hand across Shinya’s shoulder, leaning up to do so. He beamed at his astonished pupil.

“See, yer m’star student.”

“Oh, knock it off,” Shinya said, pulling a face at Rui’s shoddy imitation of his accent. “Ya sound ridiculous.”

He shoved his teacher lightly, but a small smile played on his lips. A cool breeze blew through the gorge, ruffling their hair and robes. Rui pulled loose white strands away from his face and gazed down at the winding river below.

“It’s a good idea,” he said softly. “In fact…”

He turned to Shinya with a mischievous grin. The younger man stared back with suspicion as Rui flourished a finger in the air.

“I think you!”

He pointed directly at Shinya’s freckled nose.

“Would be an ideal candidate.”

For a moment, Shinya’s face was scrunched in confusion. However, as the meaning set in, his round eyes widened.

“I couldn’t!” he insisted forcefully.

But the Observer wouldn’t take no for an answer. He shook his head.

“Mm-mm, none of that now. Far as I’m concerned, between you and Parvati, I’m not sure there’s a more dedicated member of our team.”

“But,” Shinya said, hands flailing about. “They’re from Ibaragi. They see me, hell, hear me, they’ll never take me seriously.”

The Observer tutted with one finger in the air.

“Nope, y’see, if they’re gonna work with us, they’re gonna have to get used to who we are, right? If they let some petty bias cloud their judgement, well, we can take advantage of that. They’ll underestimate you, sure, but that,” he pointed once more to Shinya, “we can exploit.”

Shinya stammered as his resistance faltered.

“Sure, but I ain’t so good with people. Ya gotta have some better ideas… Like y’said, Parvati would—“

“I’ll talk to her too,” Rui interrupted sharply. “But Shinya, look. You’ve gotta take more pride in yourself.”

He took Shinya’s hand in his own and patted it gently.

“You’ve come a long way since the orphanage. It’s okay to have a little confidence in yourself, kid.”

Shinya withdrew his hand and stepped back, head slumped.

“If y’say so,” he muttered in resignation. “But, if this all turns into a big shitshow, I’m out.”

“Deal,” Rui said easily.

Shinya frowned at him, expression sullen. The Observer chuckled.

“Don’t look so dour or I’ll feel like I’m bullying you.”

The other man rolled his eyes, his eyebrows arching up impressively.

“Isn’t that whatcher doin’ anyway?”

“Gah! I’m a failure as a teacher!”

Rui grabbed his head with both hands and made an exaggerated face.

“How will I ever explain this to Mamoru? He’s gonna kill me if he thinks I’ve just been wasting your time.”

As he gestured, Shinya cracked a smile.

“Yea, I figure he’d be in a right tiff. S’pose he’ll be pleased if I tell him about…”

He trailed off, face doubtful.

“It’s the sorta thing he’d find impressive. I jus’, if I mess this up teacher, we could be in a whole lotta shit.”

In response, the Observer gave him a lopsided grin, eyebrow angled up.

“And that’s why you’re the one I’m trusting with this. You’re good at keeping us out of the shit.”

They continued on in silence for a while, both thoughtful. The sun was high in the sky by now; by the time they returned it would be nearing dusk. Shinya wondered if maybe they should have dressed a bit heavier. Winter wasn’t as sudden and vicious as in Ibaragi, but the autumn nights could still get bitterly cold.

As the ground leveled out and opened up, the scent of the sea hit them with a brisk, salty brine. They turned a corner and the world opened up to show a sloping meadow leading down to a quaint port city. Its angular architecture gave the place an odd quality, jutting up along the sea like basalt plumes.

To their left and right, the jagged, curved Andalous Mountains arched toward the sea. They were the stalwart guardians of this land, cushioning the twin valleys from the brutal northwesterly winds. A ring of them stretched along the outer bay, offering a natural protection from invasion with the limited safe passages.

As they approached town along the footpath, Shinya suddenly spoke up again.

“Honestly, though Parvati’s a natural choice,” he began, “I was gonna say y’should speak to Ditmur. It’d make him happy, an’ give him somethin’ t’do.”

Rui’s pace slowed and he pulled a face.

“You’re probably right,” he said reluctantly. “He’s good with them, too. It’d keep him occupied.”

Shinya nodded.

“An’ y’can have Maria as backup. She’s always got stars in her eyes talkin’ ‘bout the Fair, I’d say she’s a natural choice.”

“Mmrgh, yeah, but can she really handle Ditmur? I almost feel sorry for her.”

[literenture]

Part 2, Sho lost in false memories. Pretty gory fyi

Floating, fluttering, falling.

His heart was in a state of suspense, a whirlpool of turgid emotion tumbling through the void.

Crack.

The sound of bone, cracking, cracked.

Slice.

The sound of flesh, tearing, torn.

Plop.

The sound of blood, spilling, spilled.

Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop plop plop plop plopplopplopplopplopplopplop—

“Surely that was not nearly enough to end you, masksmith? Ah, and here I had hoped you might prove adequate for configuring this body.”

Sho’s hand held a quivering loop of gut, still steaming from its removal. He felt his face screw up in a sneer.

“Really not sure what I ever saw in you. You’re useless even as fodder.”

He flung the organ away and kicked the limp form of the Mask Seller, drawing a weak groan from the other man. Sho’s heart leapt, hoping against hope that his father might still be able to pull through this. He was the strongest man Sho had ever known, after all. Surely, surely he would not die here.

The Founder knelt beside the masksmith, hands on his knees as he stared down at him. He cocked his head and watched for a moment before snatching Gheriun’s chin and pulling it up. He stared into his barely open eye.

“So, you yet live. How does it feel? To know that your actions alone led you here? That you’ve nobody to blame but yourself? Even if you were to blame anyone else, Sho could have continued living a blissfully ignorant life, free of pain, until its predetermined end. It’s a far better existence than much of humanity.”

“Free of pain?” Gheriun scoffed, a manic smile stretching his cheeks as his eye burned. “Have you really convinced yourself of that, Shinya? If so, you’re more of a fool than I.”

He laughed weakly, but the Founder merely smacked him across the face.

“I told you decades ago to never use that name, yet you’ve been spouting it off quite recklessly, haven’t you?”

He glared down at the masksmith.

“You seem to have built up quite the outdated and nostalgic image of me, but unfortunately, I am no longer the same sniveling gadabout. What I’ve created, all that I’ve accomplished, requires a great man, so I became one.”

His hand drifted along Gheriun’s face, fingers tracing the bumps and ridges on the left side. The Founder let out a sigh in obvious exasperation.

“Weren’t you the one who told me to be less of a naive idealist?”

“Yeah,” the Mask Seller replied. “Unfortunately, I also had a lot of growing to do.”

Sho’s slim fingers ran down Gheriun’s scars to his neck, pausing there.

“It does sadden me that you’d so scorn the gift I bestowed upon you. I did work so hard on it.”

“Go to hell,” spat the masksmith, blood staining his words. “You, damned revenant. Give Sho back.”

For a moment, there was no response. Sho watched on in dread, not sure what was happening on his own face. Then, a terribly out of place thing happened.

The Founder laughed.

Gently, at first, but it grew exponentially until he was positively roaring, tears pricking his eyes as he held his sides. Sho imagined that his face would have had much the same expression as his father’s, had he been able to move it.

Sho had never, in all his life, heard his grandfather laugh. Even the nearest sound he made to one came nowhere near the level of raucous outroar that spilled from his lips. Even more than his cruel possession of Sho’s body and subsequent actions, that settled in Sho’s mind just how little he had known about his grandfather.

Nothing else was said while the Founder was overcome with mirth. Finally, it began to subside as he wiped away a tear from his eye and caught his breath. Sho felt the smile on his face, pulling his lips wide.

“Ah, ah, ah, Gheriun,” he said, the name causing the other man’s eye to widen. “So you were not just acting, then? You truly…hah, excuse me. You who so gleefully abandoned this vessel after performing your bare minimum duties by Rie… Surely you can understand just how amusing that is?”

He continued to chuckle as the masksmith watched him in open mouthed horror. Sho could see that his father had grown shockingly pale, and panic began to rise in him once more.

“You mean it, then?”

The Founder leaned in closer, one hand to his chest.

“That you value this vessel more than our dream?”

Sho was stunned when his father replied without hesitation,

“With all my heart. For Sho, I’d trample all over that pristine walled garden you’ve so tended before setting it alight. My mistake was in trusting you in the first—ghk!”

Around Gheriun’s throat, Sho’s fingers clamped down. The man had lost any strength to even lift his remaining arm, able only to toss his head weakly to and fro.

“I think your foolish prattle has gone on long enough.” His voice had resumed its icy tone. “Goodbye, Gheriun.”

Something flashed, but even as he stared forward Sho did not see what. He felt a weight in his hands, his mind screaming not to look, not to feel, not to think. However the Founder, with no consideration for the inner turmoil, lifted the object. It was quite heavy, and required both—

“Don’t look.”

Even though he knew he could not have turned, his vision seemed to pull back to glance behind himself. There, in the woods, the same black cat from earlier sat beneath a tree adorned with yet another painting. The feline had a somehow sorrowful expression on its face.

“You don’t have to see this.”

Huh?

“It’s just a cruel nightmare.”

Sho’s mind reeled, but the cat’s words only made his attention drift back to the Founder. He had the odd sensation of seeing himself from behind, and he proceeded forward.

“Sho, the painting—“

But the look on his own face locked out the rest of the cat’s desperate words.

The Founder had contorted his young features into a truly frightening picture of bliss. His lips were spread in a satisfied grin as he gazed at the object within his hands.

“In the end, you always were a superb subject. Let your 2000 year story end here.”

A shock. Nerves on fire.

“What’s happening now? Why is he—“

“I don’t know, damnit. It’s like he’s still got those cursed things attached.”

“Rui, turn him onto his side before he chokes!”

Sho was glad that he couldn’t feel the sensations of his own body anymore. He fixated on the large amount of blood flowing down the Founder’s hands, down, down, down, to some large shape by his feet.

“Fucking hell, it’s like he’s trying to reject his own soul.”

“But why would… Sho! Sho, listen to me. You need to come back to us.”

What were those voices he kept hearing?

Reflexively, he turned away from that which he did not wish to acknowledge. His mind felt like it was being torn apart, fracturing under the sights and sounds. Somehow, the smell of blood permeated the air even to his bodiless self. It was metallic and harsh, and he almost laid eyes upon what the Founder held within his hands.

“Sho, damnit, come on. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Was that his father?

For a moment, he turned his view to the painting. Had it come from there?

Surely it could not have come from behind him.

He felt himself stagger forward without legs, reaching without arms to grasp without fingers at the canvas before him.

The image was far more abstract than any of the others, but it shook him to his very core.

There stood a young boy with black hair. His face had an expression of utmost belonging and love, such that he did not recognize it for his own at first.

Surrounding him were two figures in markedly looser relief, their arms twined around the canvas in a protective frame. Their faces were full of love as they gazed down at the boy, guarding him from the darkness beyond.

One was unmistakably his father, albeit without the inkblot. Beside him, the slender second figure evoked a sense of longing from Sho, like he had not seen him in ages and wished only to see him again, to express his deep gratitude. He was not even sure for what, only that the second figure had saved him in some vital way.

The stench of blood had been washed away by the soft scent of rose petals filling the air around him. Sho imagined himself leaning his forehead against the canvas, and his vision dimmed as he cried out for those he had left behind.

He sat at the desk, palms flat on its surface. They were bare of any speck of the bloodshed which Sho had just been witness to. He also noted that while he was in uniform, his body was visibly different, older by some number of years. He had the sense of returning to how it should be, though that confused him.

The other desks surrounding him stood empty save for a single lily placed in a vase upon each. He cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the blackboard. Its surface was bare save for a simple phrase.

SELF INTRODUCTIONS

There in the empty classroom, where the shadows seemed especially long, the bell chimed over the loudspeaker system. He looked up at the speaker, then back to the empty teacher’s podium, and he cocked an eyebrow.

“Ding~dooong, congratulations, commendations. Did you have a safe summer vacation? What sights did you see while you were away?”

A light voice bubbled up behind him.

He recognized it immediately, although he could not place from where. Only that it sent a shiver of dread down his spine. He froze, not wishing to turn around. To his relief, his body obeyed him.

A disappointed noise sounded, and he heard a chair scrape back.

“Aww, you still don’t wanna look at me? Well~ it’s probably better if you don’t, after all. The others say it’s pretty unpleasant.”

“Who are you?” he asked.

The girl behind him giggled, and he heard the swish of fabric. Then, two arms were wrapped around his shoulders. Slender white arms crossed in front of Sho’s chest, and he felt the warm tickle of a breath against his ear.

“Something like, well~ Hah, that’s a good one actually? Something like that. You don’t know me, but I know you oh so intimately, proto-Prophet. I’d like to think you’re something like~ a cool upperclassman I can aspire to? Admire, too?”

He couldn’t follow her lackadaisical speech. She had a whimsical manner of talking, but the sense of danger grew within him. His heart hammered against his rib cage as she squeezed him tightly, lips fluttering against his cheek.

“It’s too bad we didn’t get any longer to play,” she said in a sickly-sweet voice. “But I have to play by the rules too- you know? Next time, I’ll make sure we have lots and looots of fun.”

Her arms released him and she stepped back. Unable to resist, Sho whipped his head around but to his surprise, there was nothing but the back of the empty classroom. When he turned to face forward, he jumped.

On the podium sat the black cat which had guided him throughout his voyage. Now, with his 20 year old memories slowly returning to him, he stared in wide eyed amazement.

“You’re…?”

“I’m sorry you had to see all of that. I did the best I could to get you to the paintings, but it seems it wasn’t in time.”

“No, I…”

Sho thought for a minute, considering all that he had seen. He clenched his shaking hands shut and shook his head.

“I can’t say it wasn’t terrifying. It’ll probably haunt me for the rest of my life. But… I’m not a lonely, scared little kid anymore.”

The cat squinted his eyes in approval.

“It seems you’ve grown in these past five years. However, I don’t have much time. You need to get back soon. You have people waiting for you.”

The cat spoke in a gruff voice, his three green eyes locked on Sho. He flicked his tail, and a door shimmered into sight beside him. Sho choked back a startled shout of surprise as he recognized the door to his parents’ home.

“If it’s really you… what are you doing here?”

The cat—Sowaca—narrowed his eyes in impatience.

“You could lose your soul and end up the empty vessel you saw in these visions,” he said bluntly. “They’ve been working hard on keeping you tethered this long, but you need to get out of here now or you’ll never leave. It’s not over until you do.”

“But,” Sho fumbled, “I can’t just… if you’re here, I have to tell him! Please, for the Observer’s sake—“

“That kid’ll be fine for now.”

Sowaca’s eyes turned fond as he spoke of his long separated partner. He soon turned urgent once more.

“But he won’t be if he loses you here. You’ve got a lot of folks waiting on your return. It’d make any god jealous.”

Sho faltered, sensing the urgency in his voice but unwilling to leave without answers for his friend.

“He misses you every day, even if he won’t admit it.”

“Hah?”

As Sowaca widened his eyes, Sho continued.

“He acts like it’s easy, talking about you, but I know it isn’t. Sometimes, he looks so fragile, like he’s about to break into a thousand tiny pieces. But he still forgave me, who took you from him, and showed me what it meant to be human.”

His hands balled into fists.

“So now I…! I need to do at least this much for him!”

The cat had a stunned expression on his face as he stared wordlessly at Sho. Finally, he let out a frustrated breath and scratched his ear furiously with one hind paw.

“You really did get big while I wasn’t watching. Will you get out of here if I tell you this much? What you did—it’s more like you disconnected me from the normal flow of things. Usually, that’d be enough to end a god, but you’ve been stubbornly lighting offerings to me, keeping me in your thoughts, no matter how much time’s passed, haven’t you? Since you’re my direct line—something like a disciple? I’ll be fine as long as you are.”

His last words spoken meaningfully, Sowaca thrust his chin toward Sho’s home. He understood then that he could not afford to dawdle; it was not simply himself at risk.

Still, just before he opened the door, he turned to Sowaca one last time.

“For still being here—thank you.”

“Okay, okay, now get going alrea—pwahhh!?”

The cat cried out as Sho lifted him in his arms and gave him a tight squeeze.

“For everything—thank you.”

“I get it already, now get a move on! I can’t go with you through the door.”

Sho sniffled as he set Sowaca down, hurriedly wiping at his eyes before tears could form.

“Mm. I’m off, then.”

The first thing Sho saw as he opened his eyes was his father’s worried face. He almost laughed in relief: as miserable as the masksmith looked, he was very much alive.

Although his body ached all over and he felt his left arm in a splint, Sho poured all of his strength into reaching up and grabbing his father around the shoulders. Gheriun looked startled for a moment before he gingerly reciprocated his son’s hug.

“Dad, you’re okay,” Sho said, biting back a sob.

Gheriun patted his back gently, looking baffled but nevertheless relieved.

“I should be saying that to you. Gods above, I was so afraid you wouldn’t wake up.”

“Welcome back, Sho.”

He looked up to see Etienne as the Painter seated himself on the edge of the couch beside him, one palm on Sho’s head. As it brushed against something, Sho realized that he was wearing a mask. He soon forgot this fact.

His emotions became complex all at once. He opened his mouth to speak but uttered only a strangled cry, one hand clawing at thin air.

“Father,” he finally managed.

The Painter stroked his hair gently.

“You had us worried.”

The dam within Sho broke at that moment, and he grabbed Etienne around the neck, tears pouring down his face and staining the wooden mask’s interior.

“I took it for granted,” he said in a husky voice. “But I missed you so much.”

“There there,” Etienne soothed. “You needn’t worry so.”

But his face wore a look of fierce love as he held the sobbing boy.

Nobody said anything while Sho recovered himself in bouts. Although he had yet to tell them of all that had happened, that other world held a firm grasp on him.

He had experienced firsthand a time where the Painter had not graced the shrine with his presence just as Sho needed him most. He had fallen into despair at his grandfather’s hands, lost without anyone to turn to until it was too late.

It was not a simple matter of getting over it, now that he knew it for a dream. By his own hands, he…

Shuddering, Sho sat back on the couch, pondering what to say. He was full of warmth at his parents’ well-being, but what had happened weighed heavily on him.

He reached up to remove his mask, startled to see that it was the gift he had received on his fifteenth birthday. His father had carved and painted it himself, but it had been carelessly left behind at their home after Sho had moved out.

“I was wondering where this went,” he said fondly.

“I found it while clearing out some boxes and placed it in your room,” the masksmith admitted sheepishly. “Though now I’m glad I did.”

“I don’t know why I ever left it behind.”

Sho stared into the mask’s face, fingers running over the careful marks left by his father. He had poured his heart into creating it, and Sho had at first scorned it, then become apathetic. At some point, he had lost track of it entirely.

“Ahem. Sorry to interrupt emotional family reunion time, but there’re a few things I need to ask you.”

Rui cleared his throat and announced his presence. Then, seeing the stern look on Etienne’s face, added,

“If you feel well enough, of course. It is imperative I know what happened sooner than later, however, sorry.”

“No, I understand. It’s okay dad,” Sho said when Gheriun tried to protest. “He’s right. It’s still somewhat vague, but it’s better I don’t delay this for selfish reasons.”

“If you say so,” his father said with lowered eye.

“Is Santu here?” Sho asked, noticing her conspicuous absence.

All three nodded in response.

“She’s watching your siblings,” the masksmith said.

“Then, dad, could you maybe ask her to come in here?”

Hesitating a moment, Sho added,

“In fact, why don’t you watch those two for now. I can catch you up later…”

He couldn’t look Gheriun in the eye as he requested this, causing his father to start in alarm.

“Sho? Are you sure…”

Etienne squeezed one of his thick arms gently, giving him a look. While it seemed that the Mask Seller might protest, his shoulders slumped and he acquiesced to his husband. Gheriun rubbed his scalp but nevertheless stood up to fetch Santu.

While they waited for her arrival, Etienne could not help but ask some questions at Sho’s odd request.

“Why don’t you want your father to hear? Is it something you feel bad about? If it’s relying on us, you shouldn’t.”

“Ah, that’s not it,” Sho muttered. “Or, well, I might, but it’s more…”

He trailed off, staring down at the fingers on his mobile hand. He flexed them as he tried to get the sensation of murdering his own father out of them. It did not matter that it had been the Founder in action, nor that it had been but an illusion playing out within his own head, Sho had watched, had felt, every moment by his own hand.

“Sho?”

The phantom memory made his stomach lurch, and Sho was soon retching into a swiftly retrieved wastebasket while his stepfather rubbed his back. Gasping, Sho wiped his mouth as his body shuddered.

“It was…like I was back in the past, six years ago, but everything was wrong,” he began slowly.

As he spoke, a realization dawned on him.

“Just, how long was I out?”

His eyes widened in alarm, but Etienne quickly reassured him.

“It’s the fourth day since you arrived here with Santu,” he said gently.

It wasn’t the shortest time to be unconscious, but Sho reflected on the relief he felt that it had not been weeks, or even months like in his dream. He let out a small breath before continuing on at the Painter’s look.

“It was like, small things would be different, and it’d lead to larger differences. Because of that…”

His voice lowered in abject despair as he clutched his chest, willing himself to confess what he had done. The Observer’s face looked grim.

“Because of that, by my own hand, I killed my father.”

His admission visibly stunned Etienne, but before the Painter could say anything Santu came rushing into the room. She nearly leapt upon Sho in her joy to see him conscious. He shot Rui and his stepfather a look silently urging them to say nothing of his earlier confession.

“Sho! It’s Sho! You’re okay!!”

Rui had grabbed the back of her sweater, bringing her to a halt, arms outstretched. Sho sighed in relief at seeing her so full of energy. Small scrapes and bruises as well as some wrapped bandages were scattered along her limbs and face, but she had a bright smile and nothing visibly worse than a few stitches.

As she calmed her struggles, the Observer released her to embrace Sho, albeit much more sedately this time.

“It’s good to see you too, Santu,” Sho said with a warm smile, patting her back. “I’m glad that you weren’t hurt too badly.”

“Mm-mm, I’m just hunky-dory! But Sho, you had a bunch of wibbly-wobblies coming out of your face, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I had what now?”

He turned to the other two for clarification, wondering if it had been some vestige of a dream Santu had had the night before. However, each wore a grim countenance and Rui scratched the top of his head.

“My darling little sister may not have the most poetic way with words, but she’s not exaggerating. That god you encountered laid some sort of new curseform on you, which culminated in a bunch of, ehm, ‘wibbly-wobblies” sprouting from your face. And chest, too.”

“What these two are trying to say,” Etienne said with a sigh, “is that it caused an infestation of something similar to thin tree branches which burst from your body.”

The mental image made the blood drain from Sho’s face.

“It was sucking out your soul, too,” Rui added.

“That’s certainly very… vivid.”

Sho shuddered as he imagined it, and he hurriedly ran a hand over his head and chest. He looked down at the silky texture to see a strange fabric wrapped around him. It was familiar somehow, though he wasn’t sure where exactly he’d encountered it before.

“Oh, that.” Rui pointed. “Sasabasari cloth. Your pa had a pretty brilliant idea.”

“The paintings,” Sho said, suddenly certain.

Both his stepfather and the Observer widened their eyes, though Santu just tilted her head. All had various questions writ large upon their faces, though it ultimately boiled down to how?

Sho scratched his cheek, slightly unsure of where to begin. The beginning and end were especially vague, except for the deep horror and trauma of what had occurred with the Founder and his father. He shook his head, scratching the back of his neck as he tried to draw the first thread in the sequence of events. He felt certain that there had been something of particular urgency which he had sworn to do upon waking, to tell someone something, but who or what remained fuzzy.

As his nails scratched at the skin of his nape, the fine hairs there stood up. He felt a strange electrical hum and a draw to reach out into the air just above his shoulder. The action made all three of the others make odd faces. The Observer, especially, turned in rapt attention, eye wide.

While not quite understanding it himself, Sho closed his fingers around something solid just behind him. He drew it forth from over his shoulder, causing Rui to choke out a startled gasp. Sho’s eyes widened when he saw what he held in his hand.

A long, thin sword in scabbard wrought in black and bronze laid there, inlaid with carvings of a strangely feline theme. Rui jumped up, startling Sho into nearly dropping the sword.

“Sowaca’s blessing? But how—“

“Ah!”

Sho shouted, interrupting him as he pointed, remembering with immediacy that scene in the classroom.

“That was it! I spoke to him.”

The muscles of the Observer’s face did an impressive dance as they struggled to find his expression. First he turned bright red, then a sickly green, until his face drained of blood and he went wide eyed. He looked lost.

Sho bit his lip, not sure just what to do when his friend reacted in such a way. Afraid to misspeak, he carefully considered his next words.

“Well, just for a bit, really. But he guided me through everything. Erm, and he told me that he’s still around because I might have messed up when I sealed him, and because, um…”

Sho trailed off sheepishly, but Rui’s state urged him on, so he sighed and,

“I might have, maybe, been observing some things one might be able to construe as possibly worship… so I think it may have led to some misunderstanding.”

His sheepish admission out of the way, Sho waited in silence for a response.

“Heh… haha….”

A chuckle echoed within the room. The next moment, Rui tossed his head back, laughing loudly as he slapped his knee and ruffled Sho’s hair.

“Geez, what’d you do, burn some incense, say a few words? That’s so like you. So he made you a disciple just like that? I guess he’s got no other choice.”

Sho felt his ears redden as Rui rocked him about. He felt rather embarrassed about his acts in memory of the god, as they were more an expression of his guilt than any true reverence. It shamed him to be recognized for such selfish actions, let alone with a treasured sword. He thrust it toward the Observer.

“Please, you should have this.”

To his surprise, although Rui gazed upon the sword with a sad, longing look, he held his hands up in refusal.

“Unfortunately, nobody can wield one of his Fangs but the one recognized—and seeing as that’s not me, I can’t accept it.”

Sho faltered at the regretful smile on Rui’s face. His fingers clenched around the sword’s hilt and he lowered his gaze.

“Ahh, don’t look so bummed, kid,” Rui insisted. “I’m just over the moons to know he’s still around. Not just some new incarnation. You did well.”

Santu had an uncharacteristically serious look on her face as she watched the two of them. Sho understood just how difficult it must be for the Observer, to be unable to so much as speak to the one he’d spent 1200 years with. Sho could not possibly fathom such a length of time. 20 years felt long enough.

Rui, having sufficiently set Sho’s hair askew at every odd angle, stood back and observed his handiwork with a satisfied smirk.

Sho almost expected Etienne to get them back on track, but the Painter simply watched with a warm look on his face. He had seemed so surprised to hear of Sowaca’s status as well, and as he watched Rui mess about with Sho he looked content. Rui scratched his nose a bit self consciously at Etienne’s unabashed expression.

“Ahh, I’m really happy, seriously,” he said. “But I’m sure Sowacchi’d understand, what I really need to hear about is anything you know about this new god. What happened that cursed you, and what, exactly, did you see?”

He knew he was being cruel in the wake of Sho’s narrow recovery, but it would ultimately harm them all if he neglected to be mindful here. Sho understood that much, and so he began.

“The beginning and end are fuzzy, but I know that whatever I ran into wasn’t the god we sought. I suspect she may be an apostle.”

Rui stared, blinking rapidly, before,

“Hah?”

He couldn’t help but scoff. Surely that was a mistake. The curseform which had bound the young man had been intricate and unique, a genius work of forumulaic design that built on a foundation requiring a strong gate. Not the sort of thing a mortal human would have, and even when considering the supernaturals such as himself, he knew of none that possessed quite such an insidious curse. His own shared some aesthetic similarities, but the underlying mechanism and ultimate goal of it was laughable in the face of what had happened to Sho. He had been certain that this was the god’s most wicked attack, but if Sho were correct, then could this really have been caused by human hands?

“Explain what you mean,” he said, voice fraught. “You don’t mean kin, or some kind of offshoot…”

Sho shook his head.

“Mm-mm. I didn’t quite get a, um, look at her,” he admitted with some hesitation. “But she claimed something like, she was with someone else, or had orders. I felt it, though, that she was something closer to me than to an aberration.”

His thoughts still a mess, Sho knuckled his temple as he scavenged amongst his spotty memories. If he dove in too deep, the memory of the Founder’s possession threatened to jump up and overwhelm him, and he found himself shying away from details even as he sought them.

“Arghh, damnit, my head’s a mess. But I’m sure she wasn’t the thing we were after. Though she definitely wasn’t good news, either.”

The conversation hedged toward the particulars of what had happened while Sho had been unconscious. Rui believed that there could be some clues to the perpetrator’s identity and answers to questions within the details of what he had seen.

Sho swallowed drily. He had been gradually preparing himself for the topic to get to this, but he found himself dreading it. So rather than think ahead, he simply recounted what he remembered, as he remembered, in roughly chronological order. It took him a long time, but none of the others rushed him.

As he had gotten to the memory of his fight with the Observer at the power plant, Santu abruptly came to sit closely against him. She put one long fingered hand on his head and patted it. Sho blushed, pushing her back slightly. Even at 22, she had a habit of rather childish gestures of comfort. While he appreciated the thought, his heart hurt far too much in anticipation of what was to come for him to accept her actions. Still, she sat near him, one hand sat close to his own. The consideration helped Sho steel himself as the story vaulted toward its horrific conclusion.

His recounting of the stabbing which he had received from Rui in Mineshi was not much different from the way events had happened in reality. Sho still bore the scars, though he had long since healed from the mental trauma towards the Observer. Their situation had been unusual and fueled by the actions of the conniving Founder.

“Because you weren’t there, dad didn’t come for me for much longer,” Sho said in a whisper. “I never questioned my situation, not seriously. I know it didn’t really happen, but I still feel how it was to be so utterly alone… I had forgotten for a long time now.”

His hand grabbed Santu’s without thinking, smaller than hers but gripped tightly. Sho looked up from the floor to face his stepfather, voice hollow.

“Even after everything, I guess I still wanted to think, maybe my grandfather was just misguided, had gone wrong somewhere, but that he did care about me. Even if only for selfish reasons, if he cared… It was a naive notion, wasn’t it?”

His eyes turned sorrowful, and he saw an empathetic flash of pain in Etienne’s own.

“But it was so much worse… The Dance of the Empty Vessel, and what happened after, it—hk.”

He bit back the sudden nausea that rose in him. Sweat poured down his face in buckets as his heart rate increased as though he’d just run a marathon. It had snuck up on him, and the others crowded about him in alarm, but Sho took a steadying breath and shook his head.

“I’m okay, I just… I’m sorry. Can we do this later?”

His eyes drifted away from the Observer in shame, but Rui only gave a sad smile and nodded.

“Sure thing. In fact,” he clapped his hands, “I think it’s about time we let you get some rest. I’ve been interrogating you for a while now, I really do apologize for it.”

His eyebrows turned up apologetically as he held his hands before his face.

[literenture]

The big honkin’ Sho piece set 5 years after the previous events. Exploring what would have happened had the Painter never entered his life.

This keeps crashing tumblr so it’ll be two parts .

Sho could not move, such was the oppressive force bearing down upon him. His fingers shook numbly and he clenched his jaw as the air around him crackled. His eyes flashed about himself, trying in vain to get a bearing on his surroundings.

Everything was becoming blurry and vague both within and without. He staggered as he took a shuddering breath in the cold. His heart pounded in his chest as he looked about at the foggy forest.

His sense of equilibrium was tilting as his vision shifted restlessly. He opened his mouth and gasped out a foggy breath. His sense of his limbs was distant and detached, and he felt as though he were falling deep under water. As he closed his eyes and accepted the plunge, he felt cold hands close over his heart.

In desperation, he found himself reaching out recklessly with his en, his shadow bubbling and boiling as it shot haphazardly into the trees around him. As he tried to fend off the fuzziness in his head, he also began to absorb all that he could with his gate. It was a careless and sloppy attempt to grasp any relief, and he sought endlessly.

His body lurched forward suddenly, causing him to stumble. He felt an impact like a punch in his upper thigh, and as he ran one hand over the area it came away slick with blood. He stared, unable to comprehend what just occurred. As he stared dumbfounded at his fingertips, a sound like a child’s laugh startled him.

Before he could even turn his head, a huge force slammed into his side, bending his body sideways with a crunch. He choked out a bloodstained gasp before he was sent flying. It was some number of meters before he hit the ground again, tumbling head over heels with inertia. It gave him no time to observe his meager combat training, and as he rolled to a stop he knew he had landed badly. He grit his molars as he went to prop himself back up, but a blinding pain shot through his left arm and down through his shoulder and side.

It hurt so bad that he cried out in pain, crumpling in on himself. His breathing was labored and wheezy, and he felt the crackle of broken ribs and likely other bones as he inhaled in short breaths. When he dared to look at his injured arm, he felt the bile rise in his throat and before he could do anything he was choking up the contents of his stomach.

The arm was twisted horribly, fingertips already turning a dark purple. The humerus was dangling in half, the sight of his arm hanging there making him feel sick. As he recovered himself, he noticed the dampness on his left side. Bracing himself, he looked closer and saw that the impact that had sent him flying had also split open his side. He screamed as he ran his fingers over it, his vision growing even whiter than it was in the fog.

Sho may have been blessed with a highly resilient, and in the right circumstances nearly immortal, body, but he had never grown used to pain and the horror whenever he was hurt. He had had more chances to encounter grave injury than most who survive them yet the past experience only made him fear the next.

Sho was not good with pain. In fact, one could say he was quite horrible in the face of bloody injury. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he fought to stay conscious. The earlier muffled feeling combined with the shock of the wounds compounded and threatened to steal Sho’s awareness away, but he bit on the inside of his cheek. It was a manageable pain, and as he struggled to stay calm his mind raced.

Santu had to be nearby. They had been split apart not long ago, though he was forced to acknowledge that this wood looked far different to the one he had been in the last few days. He hoped against hope that there was no spatial distortion going on to set him further from Santu than time would suggest.

His thoughts came to a sudden end.

“If noon days do trouble you so soon says I as a loon bays afar—hello, Prophet.”

A voice came from so close behind him that he felt the breath tickle the fine hairs on the nape of his neck. It sounded oddly distorted, like it was spoken through an old fashioned voice changer, and he could not place it whatsoever. However, a part of him knew it to be the god they had been sent to investigate.

He also knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that to turn around and face the entity was a sure mistake. Possibly even a mortal one. Sho swallowed drily and kept his gaze focused on the space before him.

“Hmm,” came an amused chuckle, “wise decision. Unfortunately, I’m still going to need you to sleep, o proto-Prophet.”

The being giggled.

“Whether you wake up or not’ll be up to you though, you know? So good luck! Have a safe summer vacation! Come back to class safe and sound and tell us all what you saw while you were away.”

Sho blinked in confusion, trying to keep up. However, when he opened his eyes

He was back at the compound, a child of only 14 yet again. The air felt stiff around him as he glanced about, ears straining to hear the usual sounds of the shrine. It all felt so far away, like it was muffled through water. It seemed to slowly come into focus as he stood there in the courtyard, his breath misting in the early morning air.

“Learned one.”

A voice broke through the dull world and broke his thoughts. The Prophet turned to see a masked woman standing behind him. She cocked her head curiously but said nothing further as she waited. Despite the mask, her gaze was clearly on the boy’s hands.

Sho looked down to see his pale hands covered in dirt. He held them up in the morning light and examined them, trying to recall what he had been doing. A sharp pain ran through his head as he did so, and he cradled his forehead. He gestured toward the attendant vaguely.

“It’s nothing. I was simply admiring the garden,” he lied.

The woman’s body language remained unconvinced, but Sho ignored it as he dismissed her.

The days he spent in isolated study were long and tedious. Sho found himself distracted during lessons, idling doodling in the margins as he listened to his teacher drone on.

He felt frustrated, though if he were to admit as to why it would only shame him. His aides had told him some weeks earlier that they would be having a famous artist come to paint his portrait. It had delighted Sho more than he could say, and the Prophet had spent restless nights awaiting this novel experience. He had always loved art, although he had never been allowed to pursue it and so only made it a secret hobby. As the day drew nearer, he was distracted in his studies and his teachers made note of it. So it was that on the day that Pierrot was meant to arrive, Sho had been informed that the plans had been canceled by order of his grandfather. It made him feel angry and hurt, even if he would have never said so aloud.

Every day was monotonous, every day the same frustration built up in him. So why couldn’t he have one thing that might stir some excitement in his life?

He could not focus on his studies the entire day, and when he was finally dismissed in exasperation by his tutor, he dashed off to his room and fell to his cot with tears in his eyes. He punched the pillow before pressing his face into it. He hesitated before letting out a pathetic excuse for a scream, too anxious even in his despair to let himself be heard. He hiccuped as teardrops rolled down his cheeks.

He felt so pathetic, but some part of him was disappointed beyond words. He didn’t know why it mattered so much to him, but as he sat there he grew colder and colder, becoming numb and dead eyed.

It felt like losing someone, even though he had never known the person at all. He curled himself up into a ball, scratching at his forearm. The scabs already there opened as he picked and scratched, mindless of his actions. He didn’t even feel the pain as he stared into the growing darkness.

That night, and all the entire next day, Sho did not come out of his room, nor did he eat.

“Sho!”

The silence of the forest was broken by the voice of a lone girl. As she trampled through the underbrush, Santu cast her gaze about desperately. They had disappeared off this way, but she could find no sign of her companion.

“Sho! Where are you?” she shouted.

Her throat was going raw and after the fierce battle her body felt as though it was falling apart. Still, she could not just give up. She had to find him. It was her job to protect him, and she had failed spectacularly.

As she rounded a corner, she nearly tripped over a bundle on the ground. She whipped her head around and her eyes went wide.

On the ground lay Sho, unconscious and covered in blood. As she knelt beside him, he coughed up blood weakly. She lifted him up by the shoulders and stared down at his injuries.

“Sho, wake up,” she begged. “Please.”

But he did not answer her, and she saw the red glint under the torn fabric around his wounds. Her hand pressed down on his side and came away slick with blood. The smell was nauseating, and the blood seemed to fester on her fingers. Her face paled as she realized just how dire the situation was.

“Please, you have to help Sho!”

Santu burst into the small mountainside house and shouted without preamble. She carried her friend’s limp form in her arms, and as she entered she came upon the Painter and Mask Seller sitting with their children. The two adults’ eyes widened, and with a single glance from the artist, Gheriun stood and hurried the children off. The younger boy fussed but the older girl, Valeria, hushed him and helped her father escort him from the room.

Meanwhile, the Painter had quickly made his way over to meet Santu as she dashed up on shaky knees. His eyes ran over Sho and he nodded curtly before gesturing to the nearby couch.

“Just what happened?” Etienne snapped as Santu laid Sho down.

Santu stared up at him with fat tears rolling down her cheeks. She sniffled and rubbed her eyes hastily before taking a sharp inhale.

“We, we went to inspect a new god… but it was like nothing we ever saw, and it took Sho, and when I found him, he, and he won’t wake up!”

Her words turned into a jumbled mess as she wailed. The Painter was already cutting away Sho’s clothing to reveal the damage beneath. As he dabbed away excess blood, Santu winced.

There were deep gouge marks across Sho’s abdomen and side, the arm messily broken. It seemed that his clothing had done the job of keeping him all together, and his father’s face was grim.

As they sat there, Gheriun reentered the room carrying a large box. He handed it hastily to his husband before going to Sho’s side. He grabbed his good hand and squeezed.

“Can you hear me, Sho?” he whispered. “I know it must be painful, but I need you to keep fighting.”

“Give me room, Gher.”

The Painter’s voice was stern, and after a moment the Mask Seller stepped back so that he could resume his treatment. He had opened the latch on the box to reveal an assortment of medical equipment, and without hesitation he began cleaning and disinfecting Sho’s wounds.

Santu could only watch helplessly as he worked. Wiping away dried blood revealed the skin underneath, and to her horror it was webbed with a network of black veins spreading out from the injury site. The blood that seeped out was thick and tarry black, and Santu gagged at the smell. It was like the wounds were rotting rapidly. Sho groaned and twisted, his brows furrowed as sweat beaded on his sickly green skin.

The Prophet coughed, the movement irritating the stitches in his abdomen and the healing wound on his throat. He caught his breath and clenched the bedsheets, sweat dripping off his clammy face.

Twice he had faced the Observer, and twice he had failed. Even having devoured the god Sowaca, his grandfather was endlessly disappointed in him. Just thinking about it made Sho want to curl up into a ball and disappear. He bit back the tears of shame that pricked at his eyes as he stared into his fists.

Why was he always such a disappointment? He had nobody but his grandfather, and he couldn’t even do the least bit for him. Just how useless could he be?

He reached to scratch at his arm, but stopped as he felt an unfamiliar texture. He glanced down to see it wrapped in gauze, and he flushed as he realized that someone had taken notice of his bad habit. The embarrassment shot through him like a bullet along with the self hatred, and he pressed his palm into his forehead, trying in vain not to cry. Wasn’t he 15 now, after all? He shouldn’t be such a baby. His nails dug into the sheets as he wept despite his best efforts.

While he was at his most miserable, the door to the room opened suddenly to admit the person he least wished to see him like this.

His father, the Mask Seller Gheriun, stepped into the room without knocking. He strode right in and stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Sho’s red and tear stained face. The Prophet glared at him with raw hatred even as he sniffed back tears.

“What are you doing here?”

“Ah,” Gheriun mumbled weakly. “I wanted to see how you were doing, and to, you know, for your birthday.”

He was fiddling with a small wrapped package and stammering as he glanced around the room. Sho turned his face away.

“My birthday was last week. In fact, I even got to spend it with the Observer himself. In case you didn’t hear? Or care?”

His father went silent, until Sho finally turned his head to see that the blood had drained from his face. His mouth was open and gaping like some idiotic fish as he stood there.

“Well, still, it’s,” he said hurriedly before thrusting the box toward his son. “I made something for you. I know it’s nothing much, but…”

He trained off lamely as Sho took the gift. He examined it for a moment before timidly unwrapping the ribbon and lifting the top off of the paulownia wood box. His eyes widened briefly at what was inside.

“I don’t know if it’s really the sort of thing you’d like, but I did try to… Sho?”

“Huh?”

Sho brought his fingers to his face and felt fresh tears streaming down. He screwed his eyebrows up and rubbed his eyes in confusion.

“But why am I… it’s just a stupid mask. Huh?”

He had almost forgotten his father was there in his vexation, so caught up in the sudden onslaught of tears. However, as the Mask Seller placed a rough hand on his shoulder, Sho flinched back violently, sending the paulownia box and its contents flying off the bed.

“Don’t touch me!” he hissed, eyes red.

Gheriun recoiled, visibly hurt but he bit his lip. Sho felt his temperature rising, and the wounds on his stomach throbbed after his sudden movements.

His eyes landed on the mask which had flown out from its box to lie on the cold floor. Its three eyes stared up into the ceiling, a cat bearing a wide grin. Something about it made his head and his chest ache even worse than the stab wounds in his gut. He felt sick, and a sense of wrongness as he sat there panting. He gulped down a breath of cold air and brought one hand to his forehead, gritting his teeth.

“Just get out,” he said in a low voice. “You’re the last person I want to see right now.”

His father’s shoulders slumped, but he nodded meekly.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said. “Take care of yourself. Don’t overdo it.”

He left the room with his head hung low as Sho lay back on his pillow. His eyes glanced once more at the discarded mask before he shut them tight and tried to get some rest.

After Etienne had finished stitching Sho up and setting his arm, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and glanced at his husband. Gheriun tilted his head hopefully.

“He’ll be okay, right…?”

The Painter waited a moment before replying.

“I did all that I could here. But even if we got him to a proper facility… what he needs is an exorcism.”

Gheriun’s face paled as Santu screwed up an eyebrow.

“What does that mean?” she asked bluntly.

But the men had sprung into action, the masksmith pulling out a cellphone that was comically small in his large hand. He stabbed at the screen with a finger and put the device to his ear. After a few moments, he frowned and tried again. He finally shook his head.

“It says it’s out of service.”

“That damned..! Always just when you need him.”

The Painter cursed and kneaded his brow.

“Santu, can you call Rui for us?” Etienne asked her in an urgent voice.

“Rui-nii?”

As the Painter nodded, Santu took out her cell phone and tapped at the screen. She brought it to the side of her head and twitched her ears as the dial tone rang out. They all waited breathlessly as it continued to drone on, until, to everyone’s disappointment, it went to voicemail.

“I’ll try again,” Santu reassured them.

She dialed again, and they resumed their anticipation. However, it disappointed them once more with voicemail. This time Santu waited for the default message to end, taking a deep breath. As the beep rang out, she yelled into the phone.

“You need to pick up the phone now or else I’ll never speak to you again!”

With that, she slammed her finger against the screen, ending the call. The two men gave one another uncomprehending glances as Santu stared into the screen.

After mere moments, it lit up with an incoming call. Santu answered immediately, and Rui’s voice rang out.

“Santu? What’s wrong?”

“Sho got hurt by a new god,” she said breathlessly. “He’s not waking up even though he should be, and his dad says he needs to exercise?”

Etienne snatched the phone out of her hand.

“Rui, I need you at to meet me at the house for an exorcism. It’s dire. His wounds are festering and there seems to be a curse within them. I can’t move him, he’s in too perilous a state, but there’s something odd about the blood. It’s turned tarry and black.”

There was silence for a few moments before an audible sigh came over the speaker.

“Okay, I’ll have Santu tell me the rest when I get there. Unfortunately, I’m nowhere near a functioning way stone, so I won’t make it until tomorrow night at the soonest. It’s a good thing you had Santu call me,” he added. “Her phone’s a little special. Otherwise, I’m not sure even the military could reach me right now.”

“You don’t say,” both men said in unison.

Rui gave an apologetic laugh.

“I’ll hurry. How is he doing? Breathing okay?”

“His respiration is ragged, but he’s hanging in there,” Etienne replied. “Santu got him here at a good time. Still, his complexion is poor, and he’s obviously in pain. He should have regained consciousness by now, at least for a moment. Please, Rui, hurry.”

“All right. He’s got you, so I’m sure he’ll be okay. Don’t worry. I’m on my way.”

Sho held the diary in his hands, a sense of dread threatening to overwhelm him. The latter half had been torn out, but the first half seemed to be filled with writing and diagrams on every page. Everything he had read up to this point went in only one direction, but his mind refused to process the conclusion. Despite not wishing to know more, his trembling fingers betrayed him as they opened the cover and his eyes began to read.

He dashed out of the room and ran mindlessly through the shrine grounds, heedless of those he passed as he nearly bowled a number over. His head was downcast as he ran, caring not for his destination. He was simply running from all that he had learned, about his father, about his mother, about his grandfather, about himself.

The Prophet project. That was the name by which his birth had been ordained. Despite his reservations, he had hoped that his parents had once loved one another. The Mask Seller had been useless as a father, but Sho wanted to believe that he and his mother had had at least some emotion between them.

His beliefs had been hopelessly dashed by his mother’s own words. Sho himself had read with wavering eyes about his grandfather’s plans, and the hints of some larger goal.

The Prophet was to be a tool, something created solely to fulfill the Founder’s wishes. His mother had expressed much doubt and self loathing toward the end for her participation in his schemes, though Sho also noted that not once did she express regret for his birth itself. Indeed, the depth of love in her words when it came to her son hurt his heart. It only reminded him of what he had lost.

So nobody wanted me after all, he thought as tears sprang to his eyes. Was my whole life just a project for Grandfather? Did he never love me?

His mother may have originally joined as a researcher and participant in an organized effort to create a lab grown immortal, but she had brien to love him. Any time her thoughts had turned to him, the words flowed over the pages in abundance.

She had been so proud of him. Of that, there was no doubt. Had his grandfather ever shown him even a fraction of the love she had? Was it not just that he was reserved, but that he had never seen Sho as a person in the first place? Was Sho no more than a tool to wield in the palm of his hand with ease? He had certainly acted in perfect accordance with his grandfather’s goals ever since his mother died. He had had nobody else to look to for guidance.

His thoughts were turbulent and soon turned to the Mask Seller. Although he held complicated feelings about his father, Rie had written warmly of him. There was some concern about his distance and awkwardness with Sho, but back then Gheriun had indeed been a larger part of their lives. And besides, had his mother not gone into this expecting the Mask Seller to have little to do with them? He had been meant simply as the donor. But he had tried, in his own ways. The thought was excruciating to Sho.

If my father was such a kind man, then why has he never been in my life? Why did he abandon me? Why does he continue to abandon me?

He clutched his chest and bit his lip, his pace quickening. He felt like his world was spinning and melting around him, his brain was on fire. Just what was he supposed to believe?

As he rounded another corner he nearly crashed directly into a woman standing there. He went to offer a brief apologize and froze in his tracks, throat going dry.

“Sho, child, whatever is the commotion?”

His grandfather stood before him, a critical look on his face. His greying black hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and his high collared outfit was layered with elegant robes and a collar of brass. As Sho looked, his gold lined black eyes narrowed, wrapping a cold hand around his heart and squeezing. Sho gasped and lowered his head.

“I-I’m sorry, Grandfa—“

“You needn’t apologize, dear boy,” the Founder interrupted. There was a stern tone in his voice, and as he noticed the other pairs of feet in the corners of his vision, he realized his mistake and gulped.

“Revered Mother, surely you can use a softer tone,” came another voice that Sho recognized as his cousin, AnShin’s. “It’s obvious the lad’s in quite some distress.”

Sho hurriedly wiped at his face as his ears turned a deep red in embarrassment. He had not expected his cousin, let alone his grandfather, to be in the shrine today. As he struggled to find the right words, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Of course,” his grandfather said with a warm smile. “It was never my intention to speak harshly. Sho, what ails you? You needs be mindful of your injuries.”

“Ah, thank you, Auntie,” Sho mumbled. “No, I didn’t mean to cause a scene. It’s nothing, really.”

He looked away as the Founder’s eyes widened, the light glinting off his irises in an odd way. To Sho’s surprise, he was soon wrapped in an embrace. He froze for a moment, struggling against the urge to sob loudly.

Ah. Was I wrong after all?

“Sho, you know you don’t need to put on airs with me. I’ll always be here to listen.”

It’s so warm.

His ringed hand cusped the back of Sho’s head as he spoke gently to him. Sho squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against his grandfather’s shoulder as he wrapped his arms around him.

“Bit old for a boy to be pampered like that, don’t you think Mei?”

“Uncle!” AnShin hissed. “It can’t be helped. You know what happened to his mother.”

Sho jumped and hurried to distance himself from him grandfather as he realized that LuWen was also present. His uncle, the brother of his aunt’s deceased husband, was a crude man who did not hide his disdain for what he saw as his nephew’s effeminate ways. He did not even care that Sho was the Prophet, was one who was vital to the company that kept him fat and fed in a life of idle luxury. Sho did more work for Daikokuten than LuWen ever had, but he knew that he could not speak back to his elder no matter how much the man said. His uncle sneered as Sho cowered.

“You stay pathetic no matter how old you get. Well, ‘s to be expected when you have everyone blowing steam up your ass over some vague shit you come up with so people can fill in the blanks later. Oh congratulations, congratulations, whatever would we do without our precious Prophet, right?”

As he stepped closer Sho caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath and recoiled. LuWen was heedless of his nephew’s protestations as he continued.

“Is that what they all died for, huh? Some vague words on parchment, scribbles on a sheet of paper by some kid? Was her life worth it so you can live like a sniveling child until the day you die?”

Sho shrunk back at the mention of LuWen’s daughter. Sima had been one of those who gave their lives in the mass suicide that had rocked the cult and Sho’s world six years ago. He still remembered her kind smile and cheerful attitude, and had questioned why she would ever take her life. Why would anyone sacrifice themselves for the likes of him? His uncle had every right to hate and scorn him. While Sho was able to brush off much of the disdain and resentment he received as the figurehead of a religion, when it came to his uncle, who was not only his family but someone who had lost his daughter to said religion, Sho could only cower.

He looked down at the polished wooden floorboards in shame, but that only enraged the man further.

“What, can’t even stand up for yourself? You even a man? Sure you ain’t a girl under those clothes?”

“Uncle!” AnShin exclaimed, stepping forward with his hands out. “I think that’s enough, leave him be. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

LuWen shot him a bitter glance as he made a dismissive glance at Sho.

“I may respect you, Mei, but I will never for the life of me understand why you coddle that boy so. He’s never gonna become a man at that rate.”

“You may not be entirely incorrect,” the Founder said with a cool look at Sho. “Truthfully, I fear the boy inherited none of his mother’s confidence. I find myself at a loss when I think that I may be failing him, that he’s grown up to be so meek. Would that Rie could have been here to see to him herself. However, I protest that your methods would prove any more effective in growing him a spine. It’s certainly done you no favors in that department.”

LuWen bristled but held his tongue. He merely inclined his chin.

“As you say.”

The Founder held the purse strings, after all. There was only so far the man could protest, and so he dropped it. His red rimmed eyes glared daggers at Sho before he sneered.

“Better take care you don’t end up a sniveling girl. Fifteen’s far too old to be crying.”

“It is as you say, Uncle,” Sho muttered, eyes locked on his boots.

He heard his uncle scoff, and then the sound of his footsteps retreating. Once he had left, Sho let out a minuscule sigh of relief. As he looked up, he noticed that his cousin had done the same. AnShin turned his goateed, hawkish face towards Sho apologetically and bowed his head.

“I do apologize for his boorish behavior. It was not my intention to intrude.”

Sho lifted his hands and waved them frantically, blushing.

“Mm-mm, please raise your head. I’m the one who should apologize,” Sho said hastily. “I was running around without thinking, I caused you trouble.”

AnShin furrowed his brow and leaned forward.

“But you’re sure you’re okay? Even I’d want to cry if he said all that to me, and I’m well into my thirties.”

He smiled wryly and patted Sho’s head. Sho just blushed deeper, embarrassed over his earlier appearance. He had only ever had a distant relationship with his cousin, largely a professional one. He was marginally closer to his younger brother, AnShun, but for the most part he had never interacted much with them. That wasn’t to say that they weren’t kind in their own way, but he was mortified that he had shown his tear stained face to the man. He gently brushed away his hand and shook his head.

“N-no, that much wouldn’t make me cry,” he insisted. “I wasn’t, anyway, or well… it’s complicated.”

He brought a hand to his mouth and chewed on his thumb in irritation. His cousin cocked one eyebrow but didn’t press the issue.

As they spoke, the Founder watched on in icy silence. Sho’s ears burned under his gaze, and, catching himself, he knew that he was taking up valuable time.

“A-anyway, I didn’t mean to make a scene,” he said quickly. “Please, don’t let me keep you.”

“If you’re certain you’re all right,” AnShin hedged.

Sho forced a smile and nodded vigorously as his grandfather’s stare turned subzero.

“Mmhm! Really, it was nothing! I’m all better now.”

“It eases my heart to see you recovered,” the Founder said in a flat voice. He placed one hand to his chest and sighed.

“As much as it pains me to do so, we must needs be off. This business matter simply won’t wait. At least, unless you truly need my company…?”

Sho felt a chill down his spine at the way his grandfather’s voice lowered on his next words.

“You do know that I would do anything for your sake, don’t you?”

“It’s healing oddly.”

Etienne’s observation broke the strained silence of the living room. They had partitioned off the section with the couch with a folding screen so that the children would be spared the sight of their brother in this condition should they venture out of their room. Valeria had been doing an admirable job of keeping ((brother)) calm and distracted even though she herself was visibly concerned.

Santu had spent some time playing with them, but she had just come back into the living room to check on Sho. The Painter’s comment confused her at first, but when she looked she saw that he was right. It seemed Sho’s healing factor had finally kicked in, but the skin looked distorted as though burnt, and small outcroppings were pressing up from the flesh as numerous tiny bumps and protrusions. The longer ones were hard and black like thorns, and they looked wickedly sharp. The dark patches of skin had not spread, but those that were there looked more contorted and gave off a putrid scent even to those with noses less sensitive than hers. Santu grimaced at the sight as Gheriun leaned in close to examine a patch of thorns.

“At least it isn’t spreading,” he said without much conviction. “But gods, just what was it you two ran into?”

Santu had told them everything she saw multiple times in the last few hours as day wore into evening, but still she racked her brains for anything she had missed.

“It was one of the modern gods,” she started slowly. “Or, a rumored one. I don’t really know if it was a god, though… The outline was kinda vague? Usually they’re like, god of this, or god of that, you know?”

“So you’re saying it’s worshiped, but you don’t know what for or by who. “

“Mm, that’s it,” Santu agreed. “Well, Sho found out more about it, but I’m not really good with that stuff, so he didn’t tell me much.”

She trailed off as she admitted this, shame seeping into her voice. It quivered as she spoke, but she had long since gotten her tears out. She needed to be strong for these two and their kids. For now, at least, she would not cry.

“I’m sorry, if I just paid more attention to these things,” she said sadly. “No, for letting him get hurt, I’m really sorry. It’s my job to protect him, but Sho always ends up protecting me.”

Her throat clenched as her guilt overflowed. She shut her eyes tight as she lowered her head in apology, hands balled so tightly that her nails drew blood from the palms.

However, she was soon pulled into an embrace by the Painter. Santu was taller than most men, but the artist easily wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her. He let go after a moment and looked her in the eye.

“We both know just how foolish that boy can be. Santu’s a responsible girl; I’m sure you tried your best.” He pressed his lips together. “No, if anything I should be grateful right now. Had you not been there, who knows what could have happened. You’ve saved his neck from his reckless actions countless times, I’m sure this is yet another.”

Gheriun placed a big hand on the young woman’s head and ruffled her hair lightly as he nodded at his husband's words.

“Don’t blame yourself. We need you to be strong right now, for Sho.”

Santu cried out at that but bit back the tears that stung her eyes. Rubbing her face in her hands vigorously, she straightened her back and nodded.

“Mm! I’ll do whatever I can.”

The Painter had brought one hand to his chin thoughtfully as he stood looking at Sho. His son was breathing shallowly and had a pale complexion, and he still refused to wake up.

Gheriun noticed his husband and cocked his head.

“What is it?”

“Mm,” Etienne hedged, “it’s just something I thought of. Gher, what if he’s under an illusion binding him within the curse?”

“You mean a mechanism like one of yours?”

The Mask Seller nodded slowly, although Santu was lost with the conversation.

“Are you saying you might have some way to help?”

Etienne fiddled with his collar, his eyes narrowing.

“I can’t be sure, but let me try something.”

It felt as though Sho was breaking. The truths revealed in his mother’s diaries gnawed away at him day and night, as well as the growing guilt and shame for having failed his grandfather so completely. He wondered at the larger ritual his mother had hinted at among the diagrams and notes, the doubts she had harbored towards the Founder. But there was nobody for him to turn to for advice; the Prophet was an inherently lonely position. Even those he saw daily were distant enough to be near strangers. There was nobody he could speak with about his doubts and concerns. So he lay awake late at night in tears, unable to sleep for days at a time.

What did he mean to his grandfather? Was he truly no more than a convenient pawn? And would it be so bad if he were? After all, the Founder had sacrificed much to raise Sho after his mother’s death. Not even his own father had stuck around. He knew the importance of reverence for one’s elders and he was truly grateful for all that his grandfather had done for him. It was not as though anyone else cared for him. Even if it was just a convenient charade, that was surely better than nothing at all.

His chest panged in misery, and as he continuously fretted he rapidly developed a fever.

His weakness only made him more acutely aware of his own shortcomings. He had only just recovered from the injuries and humiliation dealt him by the Observer when he had brazenly broken into Power Plant No 1, while the Prophet himself was there no less. It had been a grave failure on Sho’s behalf, one which even the acquisition of Sowaca’s strength could not make up for.

After all, even that had been done incorrectly, rushed through without understanding of the underlying principles. He had made a mockery of the formulas in his haste, and as such very little of the god had been properly absorbed. When he had informed his grandfather, the disappointment and lack of surprise in his face shook him to his very core.

That was when Sho decided.

It mattered not if he was just a tool for his grandfather's use, whether the Founder truly cared about him or not. He had been there when Sho’s own father had abandoned him. Indeed, he had given Sho so much even as he ran a busy company and worked hard towards a future that saw humanity free of the shackles of its karma. Was it not a most noble of visions?

How could Sho be so selfish as to want more than that? His mother was long since gone. He was 15 now, he needed to learn to stand on his own without pining for the days of childhood. He would show his uncle and all those who looked at him with disgust that his grandfather had raised him to be strong.

So he knew that he must not fail him again. He was not sure his heart would be able to handle any further disappointed sighs from the Founder. All that Sho had ever wanted was to make his grandfather proud. Instead, he had utterly lost his confidence with his blunders. He scratched at his arm as he stared at the wall.

He would do anything in his power to prove himself. He would see to it that his grandfather could look on him with warmth and pride.

After all, Sho had nobody else.

As the evening wore on, Santu helped put the children to bed and set herself up in an oversized chair set next to the couch which Sho lay in feverish unconsciousness. Before bed, she had watched as the Painter stretched out a long narrow sheaf of some shimmering material and collected his tools.

It had all the air of a ritual as they stood around the couch. The Painter held his brush aloft for a moment before he began to paint broad strokes on the strange material. The paint seemed to shine for a second before setting into the fabric.

As he worked, his husband and Santu had been unable to do anything but watch and pray. Sho remained unconscious, a sickly sheen over his pained face.

Finally, when he had finished filling the length of fabric, Etienne let out a breath and stood back to examine his work. After a few critical moments, he nodded and looked to Gheriun.

“Help me get this wrapped around him.”

Gheriun ushered Santu out while they went about undressing Sho and wrapping his wounds in the cloth. When Santu was called back, she saw that he had been bound about the chest and waist with the fabric, printed side down. Sho’s thin chest rose and fell unsteadily, but he did seem to be breathing easier than earlier. Santu wanted to believe the treatment was working already.

The Mask Seller placed one hand on his son’s black hair, overgrown and standing at odd angles. He soothed it down gently, his face drawn. Santu felt keenly aware that she was intruding on the family in their agony, and she shifted her weight to and fro. Feeling the need to say something, she spoke up awkwardly.

“I’ll watch over him,” she promised. “I won’t mess up this time, I swear.”

She lowered her gaze in shame, but stopped as she saw the relief in both men’s eyes. It was obvious that they trusted her, and that made her heart ache.

“Thank you, Santu,” said Etienne.

Both he and the masksmith had deep bags under their eyes, but they gave her tired smiles.

“Just call up if anything happens,” he added with urgency.

Santu nodded her head deeply.

“Mm! Leave it to me.”

“I expect that you know why I’ve called you here.”

The Founder’s voice boomed out over the room, freezing Sho’s blood in his veins. He had his head held up at an imposing angle, eyes widened as he locked Sho in his sights. His mouth was a flat line. The Prophet shivered under that gaze.

“N-no, Revered Grandfather.”

The Founder’s eyes glazed over with disgust and disappointment. A frigid sigh escaped his lips as he brought one finely fingered hand to his forehead.

“And I had been so mindful as to wait for your injuries to heal… Very well then.”

He clasped his many ringed fingers one over each other before him, elbows propped on the table

“You are aware of your multiple mistakes. I needn’t rehash them here.”

His tone of voice was measured as he continued.

“But, in my endless thoughtfulness, I have decided to present you with an opportunity.”

The Prophet’s throat went dry in dread of the words to follow.

“Be grateful, for unlike you I have not been idle. I have found the escapees. You will have a chance to bring the Observer to me once and for all.”

The floor seemed to lurch beneath his feet as Sho went cold. He fought to resist the shiver of fear that threatened to overcome him, clenching his jaw so hard it felt as though his teeth would shatter.

Of course. He should have seen this coming. There was no question of simply forgetting all about the Observer, and his Grandfather had poured too much into him to allow him to sit back from the hunt. It did not matter that Sho had been nearly killed; this was his duty. His reason for being.

“Due to your foresight in severing the bond with his god, the Observer’s group is unlikely to have access to fast travel methods. Ymhir has already picked up on the scent and has provided me all the information needed for us to launch a successful capture mission.”

As the fear ran rampant through Sho’s head, his grandfather continued to speak, gesturing to a map on the table before him, but Sho could not process the words. He tried to settle his mind down and hoped that everything might stop spinning if he focused on something. Blood pounded in his temples as sweat dripped down his face and spine, he could think nothing except that he was going to be forced to face the Observer again. He had never known such fear, and his knees began to shake.

His flitting vision finally landed on a painting that lined the walls of the room, one of many fine works. The style looked familiar, though he couldn’t place it from where he had seen it. He must have gazed upon it countless times before, but it had never really registered.

Here, overwhelmed by dread, it called to him like a warm room on a winter’s night.

The scene looked to be an artist's self portrait. It was done with rough brushstrokes that seemed immature compared to the works surrounding it, but they had a certain charm and familiarity to them. The face staring out from the canvas was a youthful one, perhaps not much older than Sho himself, rosy cheeked and grinning. Behind him stood a tall form that emanated pride, but the face was vague even when Sho squinted.

Something about it stilled his quivering knees and calmed his racing heart. It was a strange feeling, and Sho found himself letting out a sigh of relief.

The sound made his grandfather snap his eyes towards him, breaking the brief spell.

“Are you listening, boy? It’s vital you do not play about, lest you wish to repeat your previous errors.”

His words came like a whip, causing Sho to flinch.

“As you say, Grandfather,” Sho said hurriedly.

The Founder’s eyes narrowed, the gold in the irises seeming to swirl rapidly. Sho hunched his shoulders as he stood with his head hanging, trying to dispel the fear from his visage.

“Do I need to send you to spend some time alone to reflect on yourself?”

Sho whipped his head up, mouth agape in horror. He could not help but raise his voice.

“Grandfather, you can’t, please—“

“You will not use that tone with me.”

The Founder did not shout, but his words carried such force that Sho staggered. He quickly ducked his head between his shoulders as he grabbed his arm.

“Hk…”

“I see that the other day was not a fluke. Indeed, I have been lax with your discipline of late. I have only myself to blame for your failures.”

He shifted his copious robes as he stood in an elegant, fluid motion, glaring down at Sho. His aunt had not been blessed with height, but compared to Sho’s diminutive stature it stood well above. The Founder’s domineering personality only made him seem that much larger.

He approached Sho with short footsteps as the Prophet cowered, shaking as his back became drenched in sweat. He held out hope for the kind grandfather of the other day, but to his dismay there would be nothing of the sort.

“In my great mercy, let us leave it at merely three days. We shall speak again once you’ve reconsidered your actions.”

He left Sho in a swirl of cloak to be led away by his attendants to the isolation chamber.

It was late in the night when she was awoken by a sound from the darkness. Santu struggled for a moment to catch her mind up with her wakefulness when she again heard a noise, clearer this time.

She leapt up and turned on the light, eyes shooting to where Sho lay writhing and moaning in pain. His brow was furrowed and there was an alarming amount of blood pouring from his nose, eyes, and ears. His chest was heaving in effort as he gasped for breath, limbs twisting in the sheets.

“Sho!”

Santu stood over him waving her arms frantically. Fearing the movements would cause his injuries to reopen. Santu pressed one hand down to his cheek but recoiled immediately.

“Ow, hot hot…”

She looked at her palm in bewilderment, seeing a welt like she had just been burned. She grasped her wrist and stood gaping for a moment before she recalled herself.

She hurriedly dashed out of the room, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor. There was no time to be mindful of the noise she made, and she ended up bowling into the Mask Seller in the hallway. She slammed into him with force, but his large mass stopped them both from tumbling onto the floor. He grabbed her shoulders.

“What happened?”

Not waiting for even a moment, she grabbed his forearm and tugged him along after her.

“Sho, Sho is, Sho..!”

He picked his pace up at her words, and soon the two of them were standing before the couch. Etienne had joined them sometime on the way and he pushed past Gheriun to kneel beside their son.

Sho was moaning weakly, his words incoherent as he twisted in pain. The Painter brushed away a lock of his black hair from his sweat drenched forehead. Santu noticed that he did not flinch as he did so, and she stared at her reddening palm in confusion.

“Sho, I’m right here,” Etienne said as he dabbed at Sho’s face with a cloth, wiping the blood away. “You’re home right now, your father and Santu are here.”

Sho did not open his eyes, but his struggles became less fervent as the Painter spoke. Gheriun soon joined his husband, gripping Sho’s good hand in his own.

“I know you’re fighting, son,” he said quietly, his voice full of emotion. “We’ll keep doing our best, but you’re going to need to give it your all.”

The air inside the isolation chamber was stale and dark. There was nothing there to keep him busy but his own thoughts, and as Sho sat with his knees raised to his chin he begged time itself to move even a little more swiftly.

As the hours ticked by, he heard the voice of his mother.

“Sho.”

He brought his palms up to cover his ears and bunched himself up smaller. She had come much sooner than usual, and Sho’s heart had been unprepared.

“Won’t you show me your face?”

A ghastly hand reached out to stroke his head, and he flinched as a centipede dropped from its exposed ulna.

“Stop it…”

“You’re already fifteen. Such a big, brave boy. Mama’s so proud.”

“You’re not real. Go away. You’re not maman.”

The specter’s dessicated throat let out a horrific mockery of his mother’s shining laughter. It crackled in the darkness.

“Are you eating well? Staying healthy? You’ve grown so tall. You take after your father.”

Sho swung his head up.

“I'm nothing like— hk!”

His throat caught as he came face to face with the thing just inches from him. Rather than his mother’s freckled nose and kind eyes, what stared back at him was an endless void lined with teeth, a slit that ran vertically along where her face should be. Movement came from within, and out scuttled an even larger centipede than the last, its countless legs tracing over porcelain skin. Sho screamed but the thing leaned in closer, heedless of his fright.

“Ahh, you really do look just like him. So handsome, so handsome, our handsome boy.”

He fell backwards and tried to drag himself away, but the creature knelt over him, its faceless head almost touching his own. It reached out its arms, its funereal robes falling back to reveal skin hanging off and exposed bone. Tears stung Sho’s eyes as bile ran up his throat.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen that man, but I recall it still, the ways his eyes caught the light, how his laughter would rumble deep within my chest, his kind and gentle hands covered in calluses.”

It touched one chilly fingered hand to the Prophet’s cheek, its voice taking on an almost manic cadence.

“How he would smile when he thought I wasn’t looking, the promises he made, how he broke them again and again. The way he and my father lied to me, their plans to take you away from me, the hate the hate the hate the hate that won’t let me rest until I see that man burn.”

Sho’s voice died in his throat as the apparition’s fingernails dug into his cheek. He struggled to breathe as it pressed its maw against his face, hot saliva dripping onto his cheek as he stared in terror.

“But maman never thought that,” he squeaked out. “She never hated my father…”

He faltered. For the first time, he denied his own belief. She had certainly never written of that, that much was true. But surely there must have been at least a kernel of resentment for all that she had suffered at the Mask Seller’s actions. His hesitation was seized upon by the specter. It pushed him down onto the floor, knocking the breath out of him.

“Always always always, those same eyes…! I can never escape those eyes!”

Its voice raised in a wail, it wrapped its fingers around Sho’s throat and squeezed, gently at first as though caressing him, but soon he was choking and gasping for air.

“Always staring at me with such pity, such disdain, such disgust. Even when he left, I had to stare into those hated eyes every day. Endlessly, endlessly, as the love he gave me ate away at my body.”

He clawed at the floorboards and the creature’s robes in vain. Just as he felt his strength leaving him, his head rolled back and his eyes locked on something that shouldn’t have been there.

“Shackled to a child with those eyes, that man watching over my every move, and still I won’t be freed!”

On the ceiling above them was a framed painting. This one was in a style more matured than the first but unmistakably by the same hand. It should have been too dark to make out the details, but by some trick he was able to see what appeared on the canvas.

It was a winter scene beside a pond with mountains framing the sky. Snow in abundance like Sho had never seen in person covered the landscape. Beside the frozen surface of the water stood a boy gesturing with a breathless look of joy on his face. His features were difficult to discern, but Sho almost felt certain that it was himself in the image.

In the foreground were two tall figures, one broad shouldered and dark haired like his father, but the other one was unknown to Sho. They weren’t as tall as the presumed Mask Seller, but were still of a considerable height. It was hard to be certain of any details as the two had their backs facing the viewer, but something about the scene drew a pang of nostalgia from within Sho’s chest, and he swore he could smell rosewater.

The pressure holding him down vanished, as did the hands around his throat. Sho coughed roughly, struggling to calm his racing heart as he was left alone once more.

When he looked back up, it was hard to make out the ceiling in the darkness but he was sure it was bare. He wondered whether that had been yet another hallucination brought on by the room. It was nothing like what he usually saw, filled with a kindness unlike the typical cruel figures that visited him here. However, it had left behind nothing but that lingering scent of roses.

Sho grasped his chest in one fist. His heart felt hollow and heavy, like he had lost something dear to him, but he couldn’t place what. It made his head hurt when he tried to place the misgiving, and he soon gave up. He was exhausted by fear and all that had occurred in the past few weeks. There was also what he had to look forward to when his three days were up, and his eventual reunion with the Observer. He shuddered, grabbing his shoulders.

If he could go the rest of his life without ever seeing the Observer’s face again, he would be most pleased.

Early that evening on the second day since they had arrived, the Observer stood over the couch. He brought his face close to the unconscious Sho’s, lifting first one, then the other eyelid. He opened his mouth and looked inside before turning his attention to his bandaged midriff.

Even at 20 years old, Sho was small and thin, though he had outgrown Rui some years ago, much to the latter’s chagrin. Lying there now, Sho looked especially small, and his complexion had not improved.

Heaving a sigh, the Observer leaned back and gestured toward the bandages.

“That was a smart idea. It’ll give him something to anchor to. Otherwise, it might already be too late.”

“It’s that bad?”

Etienne’s jaw stiffened as Gheriun’s face drained of color. Rui crossed his arms, then decided to put his hands on his hips, before finally rubbing irritably at his scalp.

“Honestly? He should be awake by now. I can’t figure out what’s keeping him asleep. That suggests to me he’s in danger of losing himself. He’s already at high risk for becoming an empty vessel as it is, thanks to the Founder’s meddling.”

Rui scowled.

“Anything that’ll keep his soul tethered is important right now. I don’t think I could’ve come up with such a convenient use of sasabasari cloth.”

He looked at the bandages made of the ritual fabric. When he had heard that Etienne had opted to use images rather than text, he hadn’t been at all surprised. Knowing the history between Sho and the Painter as artist and pupil also made the choice of execution sensible.

Why it was that the boy remained unconscious was a total mystery to him. His gate was functioning, in fact it was acting as though it were in active use. Rui wondered whether Sho’s body was somehow keeping his mind trapped there. He had quizzed Santu on all that she knew, but little by way of useful information came of it.

The new gods that had begun to pop up around the world since the Founder’s defeat had been a source of constant headache for the Observer. While many were simply the new forms of gods lost in the destruction of Power Plant No 1, there were a few of new beliefs and fears which had never before been seen. These young gods obeyed far different rules to the rest, and even Rui’s extensive knowledge and experience struggled against their powers.

He racked his mind over the possible identity of the god that had trapped Sho in this state.

“Could it be some sort of theft of identity? But no, that’s not quite right,” he mumbled to himself. “Something with dreams? Did that man have something like that…?”

He ran a hand through his shock of white hair rapidly, shedding pale hairs flying. His face was contorted in frustration as he continued muttering to himself.

“Not to mention,” he added, “the way the flesh and blood have mutated is something you don’t see in a minor god. This has to be something more.”

As something of an expert on horrific ways of getting injured by old gods, Rui had run into a number whose blood or saliva when mixed in a wound caused oddities. Still, this was unique, and when he pressed against one of the protrusions. It was hard and sharp like a thorn and had little give, as if it were deeply rooted. The Observer screwed up his nose at the putrid, acidic scent of foul blood.

Etienne had changed the sasabasari wrapping a third time, hesitating not at all at the extravagant use of such costly fabric. His face was growing more drawn with every piece, but his hand held steady.

Rui continued to poke and prod with great concentration.

As the two men watched his work, both had a harrowed look on their faces. Santu had gone to keep the children attended, though her face had pained him when he saw just how despondent she was. It was obvious that she bore a deep sense of responsibility for what had happened to Sho, even after both men and her beloved elder brother figure had insisted otherwise.

She and Sho had both come from the laboratories of Daikokuten, raised under the harsh eye of the man known as the Founder. The one Rui had once known as a young boy, Shinya. That particular revelation still left a bitter taste in his mouth, and had it not been for those left in his life he was not sure whether he would not have utterly descended from life, once again vanishing into the forest.

However, it was in large part thanks to the people in his life that the knowledge had not destroyed his ability to trust in humanity.

The once kind and brilliant boy genius, Shinya Kagura. His befreckled face had been one close to the Observer during the days of the Lily Fair, his naive efforts at organizing the brightest minds in the sciences in an attempt to better understand his own powers and share his knowledge. He had truly believed that if he stepped down as Observer he could live as part of the world.

Those wishes had been trampled upon, and Shinya had died—or he should have. He had discovered a new set of formulae before that had a chance to happen, and on the verge of death had successfully transplanted his soul into the body of his elder brother.

For 150 years, he lived on in secret, building his resources on the knowledge gained at the Observer’s side. His rebellion had been long and quiet, and ultimately, it had been with Rui’s own knowledge that he had begun experimenting on children both without and within the womb. Santu was an example of the former; she and her elder sister had been stolen from their village in Murghab and forced through experiments that had transformed them into artificial gods. Their power was unsteady, built on false belief, but the results had nevertheless been a success. If the Founder of Daikokuten had been able to continue, just what horrors would he have construed?

Meanwhile, Sho was an example of the latter, and the only known successful case. His father was one of the few immortals capable of siring children; had it been any of the others then perhaps things would not have grown as complicated as they had. Because it was the Mask Seller, an outcast even among their group of outcasts, one of the original settlers of this planet, and one of the oldest immortals, it had turned troublesome.

Rui no longer bore a grudge, but it was difficult for a long time for him to forgive the other man, for his actions at behest of Daikokuten or for leaving Sho to be raised solely by the Founder. He knew now that Gheriun had never had much choice in the matter, but the fact that he chose to be so uninvolved had left Sho open to the abuse he had suffered. The boy had grown up well enough in the end, but Rui had to wonder whether things would have turned out so well without the Painter’s influence on the pair.

Nevertheless, before Etienne had come into his life, Sho had been a boy raised without love whose destiny was one predetermined. It was without regard to his own will, a sort of curse imposed by the Founder. Even now it was harming the boy, leaving him at risk of becoming an empty husk. Not to mention the years of living in vain attempt at pleasing a man that could not be pleased, and the deep rooted trauma Sho bore at his hands. Rui had some idea of what it meant to grow up under heavy expectation, and he knew that it had left scars on Sho, even if he did not often show it.

While Rui had only a rough grasp on the particulars of what he had been put through, what he had heard from Sho and from Etienne was nothing to scoff at. Looking back, Rui marveled at the ease with which he had accepted that the Prophet was as twisted as the Founder, and the hatred he had carried for the all but unknown boy. Wasn’t he supposed to be behind such emotional reasoning? By the time they had first met, Sho had been no older than 12 or 13, but the rumors had started to swirl long before then.

When the mass suicide at the shrine grounds occurred, not even Daikokuten with all its wealth could completely hush it up. With it leaked information on a rumored Prophet, though beyond that Rui had been unable to get more out of the survivors he managed to track down. Even after what had happened and their leaving the compound, their eyes had flickered with feverish awe as they spoke of this Prophet. It had disgusted Rui then, and he had mistakenly placed the blame at the feet of a child, rather than recognizing the Founder’s work.

If he had acted then, might things be different? If he had not been content in his complacency, would he have done as his title stated and observed what was occurring? Could he have prevented what had happened to Santu, to Sho, to Sowaca?

“Ahh no good,” he said, mussing up his hair. “Can’t get stuck in the past now.”

He placed a hand on Sho’s bandaged side, feeling the heat of the injured flesh and the coolness of untouched skin. He closed his eye for a moment, concentrating.

“Ahh, hold on, you can’t go in there right now…!”

The silence in the room was broken by a girl’s loud voice and three sets of rapid footsteps. ((Brother)) burst into the room, rushing up toward Sho with both Valeria and Santu trailing after him. It all happened so fast that nobody had a chance to react before the toddler ran behind the partition. His feet came to a jarring stop as he saw Sho.

“Sho?”

“((***)), come here now, it’s time for bed,” Valeria said in a quavering voice.

She soon followed after her younger brother, stopping just as suddenly. Her eyes widened as Etienne was the first to recover himself.

“Your big brother will be okay,” he reassured them, hurriedly walking up to gesture them away. “What he needs right now is rest, so be good for Santu, okay?”

Santu soon caught up out of breath and reached out toward the children.

“C, come on, listen to your papa,” she said. “Let’s get ready for bed so that Sho can focus on getting all better, mmkay?”

She ushered them with a gentle smile, but the two were frozen in their tracks, eyes locked on Sho. Their faces were masks of horror, and ((***)) had grabbed his older sister’s hand.

“It’s all squiggly,” said Valeria in a small voice. “Is Sho gonna die?”

Her blunt question startled the others, and her brother began to sniffle. Etienne wrapped his arms around them, soon joined by his husband. Together, they shielded the two from the sight of their brother in his dire condition.

“Come now,” Etienne cooed. “Worry not. You know how strong your dad is?”

They looked in unison to Gheriun’s immense frame. He gave his best smile.

“Well, Sho’s even stronger.”

(Observer vs Prophet again, the third painting, Prophet rebels)

When the door had finally opened to the isolation chamber and freed Sho from the terror of his own mind, he squinted blearily into the light. Waiting at the doorway was the poised form of Imani, her hands clasped before her. She inclined her head just so towards the Prophet.

“Our most esteemed Founder sent me to fetch you,” she said without preamble. “I must get you prepared.”

Struggling to catch his thoughts up to her whirlwind actions, Sho followed her at a staggered pace.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Imani glanced behind at him but did not slow her pace.

“You spoke to your grandfather before your retreat, correct?”

The usual euphemism for the locked chamber prickled at him but Sho left that. His thoughts had become stormy when he recalled the conversation with his grandfather, and the task expected of him. It made his mouth go dry and he scratched at his arm irritably. Imani quickly glanced back to the front. She had always had an odd sense of boundaries.

“Then, we’re to go straight there?”

Sho was unable to completely hide the nervous crack in his voice.

“Indeed. We will be arriving by waystone within the hour if we make good time. The advance force is already in position. Ymhir and Mirabel await our arrival. Your grandfather will also be overseeing this personally.”

So his grandfather did not trust him to act alone. Still, Sho found himself grateful for the company of the other Lotus Eaters. When they had lost Reynard, both Ymhir and his superior officer Mirabel Cass had been separated from him and Sho. The other man had lost his life so that the Prophet survived.

They had yet to replace the vacancy left by him after his death, and Sho wondered whether acting with an incomplete unit was the wisest of decisions after all.

Seemingly reading his thoughts in his expression, Imani added,

“I’ll also be participating, this time.”

(Sho is split from the forces, Observer pursued him, Sho flees in terror.)

As he tumbled down the steep incline, the Prophet’s mind flew in free fall. He reached his arms out before his face, protecting it from the scratching branches as they whipped by while he summoned up a protective shell of shadow.

When he finally came to a stop, he slammed into the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of him even with his cocoon. He lay on his back struggling to recover himself when his eyes landed on something out of place in the depths of this ancient forest.

The chime of a bell.

Sho lifted his head and locked eyes with a black cat. A large bell rang from a red braided rope collar. It stared at him before jumping to its feet and walking away. He watched, dumbfounded, but the cat stopped after a few paces to turn towards the baffled Prophet.

He had to follow it. He didn’t know why, but he pushed himself. He had dislocated his shoulder and likely broken a rib or three, but he grit his teeth and staggered forward.

They walked in all but silence save the sound of the bell. Sho began to worry whether he had severely damaged some part of his brain in the fall. This was all far too unusual.

They rounded a copse of trees to reveal an old growth with a mighty, gnarled trunk. However, that was not the strangest part.

There was a painting.

He squinted and stared hard at the canvas that seemed to grow from the very tree itself.

He approached it warily, wondering just how hard he had hit his head. As he got closer the scent of rose petals filled his nostrils, and he limped toward the tree to better see.

As it came into view, the image depicted in paint became clearer. Sho swallowed uneasily.

It depicted a family scene, with five members in the frame. There were two adults with unclear faces, though to his surprise they appeared to be two men. Surrounding them were two toddlers with bright, sunny smiles and an older boy. Sho ran his fingertips over the rough canvas, feeling the bumps and ridges of paint. He thought that the larger man resembled his father, while the teen boy…

He gulped, a sharp pain running through his head. It felt like he was on the cusp of some realization, but a not insignificant part of him resisted. It felt like he would crumble apart at a single touch, his nerves all on fire.

Knees shaking, he knelt down and curled into a ball, palms over his ears. He shut his eyes tight, wishing it all to just disappear when they opened again.

There would be no such luck, for when he did so the cat and the canvas remained. He turned away from the painting and began to crawl away on hands and knees. It was all too much. His head hurt so much. He felt his temperature rising and knew his body was going into overdrive.

The bell jingled, and Sho looked over to see the black cat staring unblinking at him. As he watched, a third green eye split apart its forehead and it opened its pink mouth.

“Wake up.”

“Found you.”

The bitter voice that rang out behind him caused Sho to whip his head around in terror. Standing before him was the familiar form of the Observer, hunched over and breathing raggedly. His face was a mask of hatred as he looked at the Prophet, and Sho felt a shiver run down his spine.

He had never seen such blatant emotion on the Observer’s face. Always, he seemed to have a smarmy comeback for every occasion. Now, his false face had fallen away revealing raw hate.

“For what you did to Sowaca,” he said, hoisting his knife, “and for all that you damned Daiten have done, I’ll see that you repent.”

Sho bit back the rising nausea and fear, putting on a facade of bravery. His shadow boiled at his feet in readiness.

“I won’t hold back.”

The enraged Observer managed a tight smile.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Ahhhh, why won’t you just—“

The Observer slashed at Sho with his knife, narrowly missing the front of his jacket. He clicked his tongue and lunged again, but his frantic actions left him wide open, and Sho ducked down before slamming his palm up into the other boy’s chest. His jaw shut with a clack and Sho summoned up lances of darkness that hovered in the air before being unleashed towards the stunned Observer.

“You—“

“Sorry, but I’m gonna need you to sleep for a bit!”

A huge fist slammed into the side of the Observer’s head, sending his eyes whirling before his body shot out with force. Sho watched, panting and holding his wounded shoulder, as a figure he had not expected to meet here stepped from between the trees. He wore a mask in the shape of a snarling beast, decorated banners and ribbons streaming from the back like a wild mane. It’s terrible visage turned to assess the quivering boy before him before he held out one hand.

“Come, there’s no time.”

Sho hesitated, not immediately recognizing the muffled voice. The figure paused before lifting the mask to reveal his father’s face. It was free of its characteristic growths, instead a mess of scarred and sewn together skin poking out from roughly wrapped bandages. His expression was urgent and he went to tug on Sho’s arm, but his son stepped back.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said in a low voice. “I need to bring him to Grandfather, stay out of my way.”

Gheriun’s mouth twitched and he opened his eye wide.

“You can’t still be saying… Do you have any idea what that man plans for you?”

Sho opened his mouth to tell his father off when the man reached into his robes and pulled out a loosely wrapped stack of pages. He held it out as Sho narrowed his eyes.

“Please, just read this,” his father urged. “We don’t have the time now, but if you’ll just…”

“Maman’s diary,” Sho whispered. “Why do you have that?”

The Mask Seller sighed.

“I’ll explain everything,” he said. “Just for once, please, Sho. I’m asking you to trust me.”

His voice shook with gravity until finally Sho reached out to take the pages from his father. As he looked down, he saw unmistakably that it was his mother’s writing. His head spun and he staggered forward, but Gheriun caught him. So much blood had drained from his numerous cuts and scrapes that Sho’s knees had given out, and he lost the will to fight his father.

He recalled what he had read mere weeks ago, the missing gaps, the burning questions he had held. It would mean betraying his grandfather, and Sho glanced toward the unconscious form of the Observer. It would be so easy to capture him in this state, and yet he sensed that unless he went now, he would never get to read his mother’s final words.

“Fine,” he said at last. “For now, I’ll go with you.”

Grinding his teeth, he submitted himself to the humiliation of letting his father carry him.

He was terrified at the prospect of acting against his grandfather so openly, but a part of him too was oddly elated. It was like letting go of years of burden to run freely without being weighed down. His head swam with the giddiness of it, and Sho fought to keep from mindlessly laughing. After the terror of his encounters with the Observer and the events of the last few weeks, he felt as though he might truly lose his mind.

“Nn, it’s too vague… Guess there’s no helping it. Can’t hold back when he’s relying on me.”

Whether he meant Sho or Etienne, not even the Observer was sure, only that he certainly didn’t care whether the Mask Seller relied on him or not.

He reached to the seal over his right eye, fingers looping under the eyepatch and removing it. Having done so, he inhaled slowly, then opened his eyes.

If asked, he struggled to explain just what he saw through his right eye (and Etienne had asked a lot). It had been difficult for Rui to learn how to use it, and to understand what it revealed, but his research into physics had done some job of elucidating.

There were multiple planes of existence all woven over the top of and within the others. As someone who had originally been human, Rui struggled to process the effects of anything outside of 3D space. Still, the macro and microcosms were rich and varied, and it allowed him to connect more cleanly with the en in the world around him.

He now traced the wisps that emanated from the central bright core of Sho’s wounded side. The filaments extended out and through Sho’s body, spreading further even as he watched. They had reached his face and hairline and nearly to the tips of his fingers and toes. Rui frowned.

“What…?”

His obvious confusion alarmed the other men, and Gheriun grabbed one of the Observer’s shoulders roughly.

“What do you see?”

Rui caught his breath and glanced up at the masksmith, then to Etienne behind him.

“It’s like it’s circulating through his blood..? No,” he corrected himself. “It wouldn’t make sense if that was it. But there’s something spreading.”

“Something?” Etienne’s voice cracked. “Just what—“

Before he could continue, a wet squelching sound was heard, like knives through flesh. All three turned in unison to look at Sho as his voice rang out in pain.

His back arched as his legs flailed out, mouth open in a wordless scream. His eyes were wide open but unseeing, but the most startling change was his skin.

Thick, black thorns had shot out from the flesh itself, reaching out from his chest and face as Sho writhed. His jaw looked as though it would snap from how wide it stretched, his teeth visible as his lips pulled back. His scream ended as he took a ragged inhale, followed by senseless groans of agony. Blood poured from his eyes, nose, and ears in copious amount as the protrusions grew to impossible lengths, burying his features in a forest of thorns.

The feeling that entered his body was one that left him sickened to the very core. He tried to reach out with one hand, then a leg, but his body refused to listen. He opened his mouth to shout, but no sound came out. He stared out, perplexed, but even his vision was not his to control.

In front of him stood the baffled expression of a man he recognized. He was abnormally tall and well muscled, his exposed face roughly stitched together. There was something missing that was supposed to be there, but he could not remember what.

Just who was this man that gave rise to such complex emotion? In fact, just who was he? Everything felt wooly, like he was somewhere deep underwater or lost in a snowdrift. His eyes blinked without his input, and his vision lowered to his hands held out before him.

They were small hands with finely shaped fingers. The skin was stained with blood, the nails dirty and ragged. He could hear his breath as he stood there, and then his vision returned to the man before him.

“It seems that the procedure was a success.”

What he was sure was that it was his own voice that resounded, though he had not intended it. The words made little sense to him, so too for the man whose face furrowed deeper.

“Sh, o…?”

Ah.

His brain jolted and his stomach lurched as Sho regained his name. However, that only raised far more questions.

Such as, if he was the one having these thoughts, then just who was speaking?

His memories of what had happened leading up to now were fuzzy, his inability to recall sending a spike of fear through his chest. He tried once more in vain to move his body, but his limbs were leaden at his wishes. When his voice spoke again, he was distinctly aware of the feeling of his breath through his trachea, the vibrations as words sounded.

“If you hadn’t decided to act so brashly, perhaps this could have been delayed. I was ever so fond of the lad. He had a good heart. Trusting, like his father.”

The terror only grew in Sho, and he wanted to scream out for his grandfather. He didn’t understand what was happening.

His father’s face, bare of the inkblot that had adorned it for all of Sho’s life, drained of all color. His hands twitched by his sides as he opened and shut his mouth mutely, before his expression was replaced by one of incandescent rage. The Mask Seller lurched forward, chest heaving in anger.

“You had no right..! All I wanted was to take him away from all of this, somewhere he could be a child. He has his entire life ahead of him!

A sigh emanated from Sho’s lips, one that drew a sharp sliver of memory at the many times he had heard it before. It did not matter whose lips it came from; he would recognize his grandfather’s disappointment anywhere as the one most receiving of its brunt. The revelation shook him, and his vague sense of self flickered in horror as memories bubbled up through the murky sludge of his mind.

The diagrams, the ritual his mother had hinted at, the missing half of her journal. And, more recently, mere hours ago, his father had stopped the Observer in his rampage and taken an injured Sho from the battlefield. As he had carried him on his back, he had told him all of the Dance of the Empty Vessel that his grandfather wished to perform.

The Mask Seller held Sho in his arms, voice thick with sorrow.

“Fight it, son,” he urged. “I know you’re strong enough. Don’t let him win. He’s taken enough from you.”

Sho wanted to scream at his father.

Why did you wait until now to care? Why did I never think deeper on all that had happened? Why did I never question Grandfather? Why did I have to feel at all? Why was I even born? Why does it always hurt? Why is it dark? Why can’t I move? Why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy—

“..y… now..?”

“Sho?”

Gheriun’s voice caught as he pulled back and looked his son in the eyes. Still unable to move, Sho forced his everything so that he might speak. His mind felt like it would crack under the icy pressure, a deep chill settling into the very core of his being.

“You could’ve…come for me sooner…”

His vision flickered and wavered as hot tears streamed down his cheeks. His father’s face contorted in agony, matching tears coming from his single eye. He nodded.

“You’re right. And I should have. But let me help you now. After it’s all over, you don’t have to live with me if you don’t want to. But you shouldn’t have to suffer.”

His words shook him, and he embraced Sho tightly once more. His huge body trembled with emotion as he held his son.

“So, let’s leave this all behind.”

Sho sobbed at the words he had always wished to hear.

“Mm,” he agreed. “This much has become unnecessary.”

Before Gheriun could react, he reached forward and with horrible precision drove his hand through his thick chest. Sho felt the tearing of flesh and muscle and bone alike as his shadow-wrapped hand tore through all obstacles. His mind went blank at his body’s unexpected action, but once again he had been rendered unable to scream.

His hand suddenly ceased meeting resistance, and the two stood there a moment longer before Sho—no, the Founder—took a step back, withdrawing his arm with a grotesque squelch. Gheriun had an expression of shock on his face as he grasped at the empty hole which had opened up within his chest. He gaped open mouthed like a fish as the Founder examined his gore-stained arm.

“Hmm, it is satisfactory. With further investigation it should prove highly versatile.”

Sho barely recognized his own voice, so cold and clinical as it was. The sight of his father’s blood and flesh clinging to his arm made his mind go blank with searing agony. He wanted to scream, to beat his chest, to tear out his hair, anything to distract from what had just happened by his own hand. He could still feel the sensation of the masksmith’s body tearing like tissue paper at his touch.

“Give him back…damn you…”

Gheriun coughed up a fountain of blood before slumping to one knee. His shoulders heaved with the effort of staying upright, even as his life drained from his body. Sho felt the unmistakable sensation of his gate activating to feast on his father’s own.

“Can’t have you healing up, now,” the Founder said coolly. “Even a healing factor as meager as yours is too much. You’ve become a security risk, you understand.”

The Founder, through Sho’s eyes, stared down at Gheriun as he shot one foot forward and kicked him in the chest. Even Sho’s diminutive size was enough to knock the masksmith back with the wound he had sustained. Gheriun just barely recovered himself, leaning forward on his hands and knees as he struggled to stay off the ground. The Founder placed his foot on the man’s head, grinding the mud crusted boot into his short black hair.

“You always did irritate me, moping about as though anybody forced you to choose this path. You of all people knew what it entailed, to create a god. The Prophet project was simply one aspect, so why have you thrown everything away for it?”

“He’s, my son,” Gheriun spat out through gritted teeth. “I've failed him enough already.”

“That much, we agree on.”

Sho’s vision narrowed as he glared down at Gheriun’s shuddering figure. His brain was screaming out in desperation for everything to stop, for his body to listen to him. The Mask Seller’s hand slipped on his own spilled blood and he fell heavily to the ground. The Founder stepped around to his side, kicking him over into his back with some effort before kneeling down. Gheriun was glaring up at him with undisguised hatred and sorrow both swirling within his murky eye.

“Well then, I’ll be retrieving what I left behind.”

Without the slightest hesitation, Sho’s arm shot forward into the hole in Gheriun’s chest. The sensation of wet, pulverized organs ran over his bare fingers as his hand searched about the cavity, heedless of Sho’s internal despair. The masksmith moved his arms weakly, but they remained near his sides as he choked up more blood.

“Oh stop your whining. This much alone won’t kill you… ah.”

His hand closed around something hard and frigid amongst the heat of the body. Sho felt in horror as his mouth widened in a callous grin. His arm was soon retrieved from the wound, and he wiped his hand down on the front of Gheriun’s darkening robes.

“I’d feel unsatisfied if I’d never gotten this back. It was a gift to me from my dear teacher, after all. Now then, Mask Seller.”

The Founder stood and dusted off his trousers.

“Let’s see just how much it takes to kill you.”

The horror unfolding before them had frozen everyone in their tracks. Their terrible reverie was broken when Santu ran in.

“The kids are asking what’s wrong, we heard… Sho?”

Her eyes went wide when she saw what had become of her friend. The young man on the couch was covered in long branches sprouting from his very flesh. She could make out the rise and fall of his chest through the dense thorns, and his hands clasped at anything in reach. Santu quickly dropped to her knees beside him.

“I’m here, Sho—hk!”

As she grabbed his hand she felt a stabbing, electrical burn through her arms and jolted back. The Observer looked at Santu with a question in his eyes, but for now the most pressing issue was the continuing growth of thorns from Sho’s body. The monstrous growth had slowed, but new branches broke through his skin every few minutes.

When Rui focused through his right eye, he nearly choked out a gasp. The feeling was like looking into the darkest pit, dragging him in toward its yearning depths. From within Sho something was flowing out through the branches, and he sensed a will of desperation. He shook his head and covered his eye, a shiver running down his spine.

“Etienne,” he snapped. “New sasabasari, now.”

He snapped his chin towards Gheriun next.

“You have that mask you made for him?”

The Mask Seller gaped for a moment before nodding vigorously.

“But what—“

“Just get it, fast.”

Confusion writ large on his face, the masksmith did not question Rui further. Instead, he ran from the room. As his footsteps receded, the Observer turned next to Santu.

“You! Crying children duty!”

“Huh? O-okay.”

Santu straightened up and nodded before she followed Gheriun out of the room.

Meanwhile, the Painter had begun his work without hesitation. His brush moved at a furious pace as he marked down strokes across the liquidy fabric.

“I’m gonna need you to give this one your all.”

“You needn’t tell me,” Etienne said through grit teeth. “Don’t I always?”

Over and over again, his hand tore through his father’s body. If not by hand, then using the power in Sho’s shadow. The front of his jacket was slick with gore, and Sho was acutely aware of the feeling as he cut away the Mask Seller bit by bit.

One strike he narrowly dodged in return for a deep gash to his abdomen. He grunted and staggered back. Somehow, he had managed to find strength to get to his feet, but the waterfall of blood pouring from his chest did not bode well.

Gheriun attempted to lunge forward and stop an incoming attack with his broad arm. However, the Founder had sharpened the corner of his hand with shadow, and after a brief moment of resistance it sliced cleanly through muscle and bone, sending the limb flying. The masksmith howled in pain and clutched at his bloody stump.

Why did he continue to resist? Why was he still alive? Even for him, surely this was too much.

Another attack to the stomach, this one connecting with a sickening tear of abdominal muscle and inner cavity. It made Sho want to vomit, but his body continued to unleash the horrors before him.

Sho knew only the vague particulars of his father’s abilities as an immortal. However, he did know that the Mask Seller was not blessed with an excessive healing factor like the Observer’s. While the bleeding had stemmed to some extent, the initial injury shone with especial malice. It seemed less intent on recovery than the others.

With a gaping hole in his broad chest which had once seemed so unmovable, Gheriun coughed up blood and clutched his ragged belly wound. A peak of pink intestine poked out between his bloody fingers as he clutched at his stomach to keep them inside. It was a horrific sight, and the feeling of sticky blood drying on his own hands made Sho’s mind scream out.

Even if he had proclaimed to hate his father, even if he had wished for him to never have been a part of his life, ultimately, Sho had truly only ever wanted for him to look his way. He had lived in the enormous shadow of his forebears, under the constant pressure of his grandfather, longing for another life. One in which perhaps a different fate had awaited his mother and father.

He had been keenly aware of the way his father looked at him, the fear and revulsion that slipped into his gaze when he thought Sho wasn’t looking. For the longest time, Sho had been certain that the reason his father had left was that he blamed the boy not only for his mother's death but the nightmarish events which followed.

After the mass suicide at the shrine, the Mask Seller had stopped visiting regularly, and when he did he could not hide the emotion in his eyes. He had grown more and more distant from his son, and Sho had been convinced that it was because he blamed him for all that had occurred.

And wasn’t he right, in a way?

An insidious voice plagued his locked mind.

Were his deepest fears correct in thinking that he himself was the cause of all of their misery and pain?

If he had never been born, his mother would never have contracted the disease which killed her. She surely would not have been left to rot away, body and mind both withering, with nobody but the son whose birth had been a curse by her side. By the end, not even the priests had wanted to be near her pox-marked body.

Even his grandfather who he had believed despite everything truly loved him, had merely seen him as a convenient pawn, a transitory existence watching over the body he himself would once inhabit. He saw no value in Sho as himself.

Such was evident from the current predicament.

“Just what, happened to you,” Gheriun wheezed through grit teeth. “I’ve wondered all these years. It can’t simply have been the events at the Lily Fair.”

The Founder chuckled.

“You always were the sentimental sort.”

He flicked his wrist, sending gore splattering across the ground.

“Is it your dying wish? To know?” he asked in a sweet voice. “I’m not so cruel as to deny you. Think of it as a memento of our time together to accompany you into the depths of hell.”

“The Shinya I knew would never have considered your methods,” Gheriun said, his voice insistent. “If any part of that man still lives, then please…spare Sho. You wouldn’t do this. I don’t care if you kill me, just, Sho…”

A knee came flying up at the masksmith’s face, landing squarely in his nose with a crunch. In his weakened condition, Gheriun stumbled back before falling to his knee. He tried to stand but collapsed back to kneeling with a stunned grunt.

“You dare to presume my intentions.”

The Founder’s tone was frigid as he stepped forward and grabbed a shock of black hair, yanking the Mask Seller’s chin up. He leaned in close, staring unblinking into Gheriun’s single black eye.

Up close, Sho could make out the lines of stress etched deep into his father’s eternally youthful face. His forehead was creased in anguish as he returned the stare, reaching up with a shaky hand to hold Sho’s face. The palm was slick with blood as it brushed his cheek. A sudden look of warmth came over Gheriun’s battered face, a vulnerability he had rarely displayed.

“Sho,” he said quietly. “Come back now. It’s okay. You’re not unwanted.”

“The contents of this vessel are no more,” the Founder replied coolly. “It’s foolish to continue on with your farce.”

But I’m not, Sho thought frantically. I’m right here!

No matter how he struggled, his body refused to listen. The Founder’s words had caused a spasm to run across the Mask Seller’s face. Sho wanted to wail in despair, to cry out, to warn him, anything.

You’ve done enough, stupid father. What point is there if you end up dead?

If he could have cried, he would have, for the frustration and terror coursing through him. It felt like he was adrift in churning ocean waves, his mind tumbling around. He just wanted this all to end. This nightmare had gone on far too long for Sho’s fractured mind, and he felt himself letting go. If it meant escaping the sights and sounds before him, of torn flesh and exposed organ, his father’s desperate attempts to reach him even now, all of it, he wouldn’t hesitate to die.

The branches turned out to be much more brittle than they had first appeared. Fresh growth would have an elasticity to it that made it difficult to clear and pulled at the surrounding tissue, but for the longer thorns it took little effort to brush them away. He couldn’t be certain that doing so would be to Sho’s benefit, but they were rapidly running out of time. So it was that the Observer began snapping the protrusions.

“If they’re parasitic and come from within him, wouldn’t any careless actions risk rebound on the host?” asked Etienne.

He had an expression of horror at the Observer’s sudden actions, but Rui just snapped.

“Well, we won’t be able to get the sasabasari on if we don’t clear it away. Besides, we’ve no time to think about it!”

The blood streaming from Sho’s face had increased in velocity, and although his moans had weakened, his brow was creased in agony. His breathing was irregular and his chest jerked up and down with effort. If they didn’t act swiftly, his condition would go beyond repair.

“Etienne, I need you to prepare extra sasabasari,” Rui said as he continued to clear space around Sho‘s chest. “Damnit, where is that useless lug of a husband of yours!?”

He cursed to calm his rising nerves, sweat beading on his forehead. The Painter went to work immediately, even as he glanced up time and again toward Sho

Rui grabbed the first length of cloth and struggled to hoist Sho up enough to wrap it around him. If they could just get the heart and brain covered, would that access the root of the problem? He didn’t have time to question it, only continued to tear away the branches.

It seemed to stem the outflow of Sho’s en somewhat, much to Rui’s relief. He had not known what they would have done had Etienne’s fears been correct.

While he was struggling to get Sho bandaged, the Mask Seller returned to the room, panting and out of breath. He held one arm aloft.

“Will this do?”

In his outstretched hand was a carved wooden mask. It had struck Rui as a horrible irony that it mimicked the appearance of his lost companion, Sowaca, when he had first laid eyes on it. Now, he gestured with his chin to a nearby table, grateful for its presence.

“And help me with this.”

Gheriun placed the mask down temporarily before doing as he was asked. He lifted Sho by the armpits so that the Observer could more efficiently dress his wounds and chest. Once he had completed the task, he was about to ask Etienne the status of the next sheaf when the artist thrust it in his face.

“Here, will this do?”

Rui nodded and went to clear Sho’s face of the thorns.

The young man’s fine features, so reminiscent of someone Rui had once known, were distorted into a visage of utmost horror. His eyes would open wide, their gaze locked on something out of sight, while his mouth gaped. Rui tried to be gentle as he brushed away the growths, his fingers caressing Sho’s reddened cheeks to assure himself that they were cleared.

Next, he took the sasabasari cloth and wound it about Sho’s head, wrapping it in layers of the fabric.

Finally, he retrieved the mask and looped the rope over Sho’s ears.

It looked like some strange ritual, and for a moment they all waited breathlessly, fretting the sight of thorns tearing through the freshly wrapped dressings.

One minute passed, then two, and Sho’s breathing began to steady. No new growth could be sighted, and they let out a collective sigh of relief. Rui wiped the sweat from his forehead and let out a small sigh.

“Is that it, then?” asked Gheriun hopefully. “He’ll be okay now, right?”

However, the Observer could only shake his head.

“All we can do now is monitor the situation,” he said. “But I think it’s important you stay by his side tonight.”

Floating, fluttering, falling.

His heart was in a state of suspense, a whirlpool of turgid emotion tumbling through the void.

Crack.

The sound of bone, cracking, cracked.

Slice.

The sound of flesh, tearing, torn.

Plop.

[literenture]

After Sho recovers. Follow up to last post.

Gheriun had noticed a sudden change in his son in the weeks after his recovery. Sho had begun to avoid Valeria, exiting any room she was in swiftly and eating hurriedly or skipping meals outright. He also seemed to be careful around the Painter and Mask Seller, always keeping a certain distance from them. While Gheriun had been elated at his son’s recovered health, these recent changes concerned him.

He had tried asking Sho about it directly one day after he’d nearly bolted out of the room upon Valeria entering it. Gheriun rapped lightly on the doorframe of Sho’s bedroom.

“Can I come in?”

“Mm.”

Sho gestured for his father to enter. Although he had chosen the house in part for its high ceilings, Gheriun still had to stoop to enter any room. His son was seated at his desk, still breathing a bit fast from his quick retreat. He was dressed in one of the oversized cardigans he’d started to fancy, corduroys, and an off-white button up, hair overgrown and unruly. Gheriun took a seat on the edge of the vacant bed and faced Sho, one hand on the back of his head as he tried to get his thoughts in order.

“Have you been feeling all right?” he hedged as an opener.

“Yeah,” Sho responded, eyes on the top of his desk.

“That’s good.”

The masksmith floundered a bit for what to say next. With nothing else springing to mind, he decided to just dive into the issue at hand.

“Say, is something bothering you lately?”

Sho shook his head hurriedly, long hair flying in front of his face. His reticence was even more telling.

“Son, you can talk to me, you know. If you feel like we’re too focused on Valeria, or I haven’t been there enough for you lately…”

“That’s not it,” Sho insisted. “Really.”

“Then, is it something about your sister? Or something we did?”

Sho screwed up his face as he agonized over his answer. Finally he threw up his hands in frustration.

“I just don’t have time to play with stupid babies,” he snapped.

He still refused to meet his father’s eye, and his tone seemed forced. Gheriun reached one hand out to him but Sho flinched away violently. For a moment his chair tottered on two legs before slamming back down to the floor. Even Sho seemed surprised, and he was wide eyed, hands clenched and knuckles white on top of the desk.

“Sho?” Gheriun asked, standing in concern.

But Sho recoiled from him, his mouth twisting into a grim rictus.

“Can’t I get any space around here without always being crowded? Always, always being questioned?”

His voice wavered uncertainly even as he snapped at his father. The Mask Seller lowered his raised hand, not sure how to respond. He could hear the agitated sound of Sho’s unsteady breathing, see the flash of color in his cheeks. Something like fear danced in his dark eyes, twins of Gheriun’s own, and the masksmith was at a loss as to what to do.

“Dad, please,” Sho said in a gentler, albeit still strained, tone. “I just need space. Without you, or anyone barging in whenever you want.”

The expression he held was pained and his father could only wonder at what was going through his head. However, Gheriun also knew that the boy had been through much, and he did not want to overstep himself. Even after being together so long, some part of the Mask Seller worried he might cross some boundary and set their relationship back to zero.

Hadn't Sho just gotten his health back? It should be expected that a boy his age need space, even without the extraordinary circumstances they had all been through. So Gheriun reluctantly took his leave of his son’s room, mindful of the complicated look on Sho’s face and not wishing to add to his burden.

“You know if you need anything, we’re here.”

“Mm.”

Sho’s response sounded oddly hollow, and so Gheriun left him despite his concerns.

Something triggers Sho to run away, afraid of accidentally hurting Valeria or his fathers with his powers.

The sky had opened with a thunderous crack, and within minutes Sho was soaked through to the skin. His large cardigan was heavy with water as he ran along the oceanfront, unsure of where to go or what to do. Out of the pouring rain materialized the shape of a small seaside hut. As he approached, he looked around the place but it appeared to be deserted. Figuring it was his best hope of finding shelter, he rushed under the eaves. With a last furtive glance about, he tried the old wooden door. It creaked open with a groan, swollen in its frame. Inside was dusty and dim, and Sho let out the breath he’d been holding at the sign of obvious neglect. From inside he could see that there were a number of holes in the roof, and water dripped down from the ceiling, but it was infinitely better than the downpour outside. He pulled the door shut behind him, muting the howling wind and crash of the waves somewhat. He shivered as he stepped about the abandoned building. It was little more than one room with a raised wooden floor and fading paint on its walls. It was not easy navigating by the dim light and as he made his way he stubbed his toe on something with a clatter. He cursed as he hopped on his other foot, looking down at what had snared him. His eyes took a moment to adjust and he saw the wooden trapdoor of a root cellar.

Memories of a somewhat odd habit he’d developed in childhood overcame him as he peered into the dingy space. He reached in and felt the cool packed dirt. It was just large enough that he could squeeze himself in if he curled his limbs, and before he could stop to think any better of it he crawled inside. He lay down with cheek against the ground, knees tucked up to his stomach, and took a deep breath. It had calmed him for as long as he could remember to tuck himself into any hole he could and lie among the insects and spiders. It felt like he was somewhere closer to his mother when the rich scent of earth filled his nostrils. It soothed him even now, and despite the chill and the damp he swiftly fell into a deep sleep.

He dreamt that he was deep underground, in a crypt that he had never seen but long known. He ran his fingers along the smooth, cold stone and heard the scuttle of unseen creatures in the dark. In this dream he had the distinct sense of someone calling his name from far off, but it was muffled as though wool filled his ears. He ignored it as he ran forward in the dark, searching desperately though he knew not for what. It was bitterly cold, he sensed that somehow, though his limbs felt numb and his head heavy. He couldn’t stop his pursuit, if he could just round the next corner he was sure that he would be in sight of his target. He needed to know why he wandered so endlessly in a maze of darkness.

“Sho!”

His eyelids stirred, frost covering the lashes. He could see his breath in the dim light, but he felt strangely warm.

He heard his name again, closer this time, but just bunched up tighter into a tiny ball. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

“Sho, damnit, answer me.”

He closed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep.

The next thing he knew he was being swept up in strong arms, his body stiff and unresponsive. He cracked open his eyes to see his father kneeling before the root cellar, holding him up and checking him all over for injuries.

“Gods, you had me worried. What were you thinking? You’re practically frozen. Here, take my coat.”

Gheriun removed his wool jacket and placed it over his son’s shoulders. It was comically oversized on the boy, and he had to hold it closed with one hand. Sho willed his numb arms to move, pushing weakly against his father. He tried to stand but immediately tumbled, Gheriun catching him.

“Careful now,” the Mask Seller cautioned.

Sho furrowed his brows, confused by his body’s lack of strength. It felt like it had only been a few hours, but his limbs were leaden. After a moment’s consideration, Gheriun turned around and presented his back and arms to Sho.

“Climb on. Let’s get you home.”

“I don’t want to go back there,” Sho objected immediately.

“We can talk about that once you’re warm and safe. For now, hop on.”

His tone brooked no argument, and Sho reluctantly slung one thin arm around his father’s neck. He flinched as they stood up. It was a bit embarrassing to be receiving a piggy-back ride from his father at his age, but Sho knew it was that or be carried. The two left the shack and to Sho’s surprise it looked to be early morning. He wondered if his fathers had been out all night looking for him and felt a pang of regret in his heart. The rain had ceased but it was bitingly cold, and the sea was in turmoil.

“Can you tell me why you ran off?”

Gheriun’s question was sudden, but Sho felt too exhausted to come up with a lie.

“Didn’t want to hurt any of you. ‘Specially Valeria.”

His father shook his head.

“Why in the eight hells would you think such a thing?”

“I already hurt Etienne,” Sho said, voice cracking. “I’ve hurt other people. I don’t mean to but my head gets so messed up and it’s like my body just reacts.”

His words made the masksmith stop for a moment before continuing on.

“That’s something we can work on.”

Sho just sighed. He thought his father was being too idealistic about things, especially now that he was back at, if not full, then halfway to complete strength. He might even kill one of them.

Too tired to think about it and what he would do any longer, Sho asked a sudden question that popped into his head.

“How did you even think to find me there?”

“Ah, well,” Gheriun stammered. “I saw a cat and just sort of followed it, and when I saw that shack I remembered a time from when you were little. Your mother and I looked all over for you, until finally the gardener found you in one of the newly dug flower beds.”

Sho could hear the smile in his voice.

“Rie was furious, but really I think she had just been worried about you.”

It was the first time he was hearing this story. He couldn’t remember it at all.

“When was this?”

“You must have been, oh, three or four. You always liked cool, dark places.”

“Hmm.”

Sho considered that. For some reason he had assumed he had developed the habit after his mother passed, but the foggy outline of a memory of her scolding him and dirt under his nails suddenly came to him. His eyes widened. Gheriun chuckled.

“You were always giving your mother the run around, despite how fragile you were. But she loved you so much, Sho. She’d tell you how proud she was if she could see you now.”

Sho wasn’t so sure about that, but he bit down on his remark. Instead he asked his father something he never had before.

“Can you tell me more stories? From when she was better?”

Gheriun obliged his son and launched into numerous recountings of his childhood. Sho was surprised to learn that he had so many; his father had been such a ghost in his life for as long as he could remember. But it seemed like things had not always been quite so distant. Lulled to peace by the masksmith’s cadence, Sho fell asleep before they were even halfway home.

The next time he woke, it was evening and he was back in his bed. He sighed and rolled onto his side, then nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the Painter seated at his desk. Etienne had dark circles under his eyes but he smiled warmly at Sho as soon as he saw him.

“It’s good to see you home.”

Sho felt tears prick at his eyes, and he wiped them away hurriedly. He noticed that someone had changed him into clean, dry clothes in his sleep and wondered at how heavily unconscious he’d been. His throat was sore and he felt somewhat flushed, sure signs of a fever coming on. Still, he managed a weak smile.

“Sorry.”

Etienne’s face turned stern.

“Sho,” he said slowly. “Your father told me a bit about why you said you left. You’ve had a lot on your mind lately, haven’t you?”

Sho shrunk as he nodded feebly. However, Etienne’s voice turned fond.

“You’re not alone anymore, Sho. I would have hoped you’d know that by now, but I know too it isn’t always easy to accept a new life. But you have a family that loves you dearly, who you can talk to any time, and who do worry their heads off when you vanish without a word.”

He had a sad smile on his face.

“I just want you to be able to tell me these things.”

Although his words were warm, Sho felt ashamed for how he had not considered his family’s feelings. He had convinced himself it was the best course of action, before he did any worse.

“I could have killed you. You were just trying to help me, and because I couldn’t control my emotions—“

He was interrupted by a gentle flick to the forehead. He looked at his stepfather in confusion.

“You speak as though these things are set in stone. We all go through some awkward growing as we learn to control our powers. It’s unusual for someone so young to have to do so, so you’re really balancing two very difficult phases of your life right now.”

Sho was unconvinced.

“Yeah, but one could actually kill someone.”

Etienne stared at him gravely.

“I won’t let that happen. I can help you, Sho, if you’ll just let me.”

Tears were welling up in Sho’s eyes. He scrunched his face up and lowered his head, grateful for his longish hair just then. He didn’t know what face to make or what to say.

“It’s when you lock us out that you hurt not only us, but yourself, the most. I know it isn’t easy to trust in others after what you’ve been through. That you’ve allowed me a piece of your life as your stepfather is my greatest pride.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Sho objected.

Etienne gave him a soft smile.

“It’s a parent’s job to worry about their child,” he said gently. “Let me do at least that much for you.”

“I’ve already made you worry so much.” Sho’s tone was shaky. “What if I mess up again in the future? It’d be better if I wasn’t here.”

The Painter shook his head.

“You want to avoid hurting your family by hurting your family?” His voice turned sharp. “How did the last time make you feel?”

His comment made Sho blush and look down. It was true. He had acted rashly without any explanation to those around him.

“We’ve only just got you back,” Etienne continued. “For you to just run off like that… Can you imagine how we felt? We had no idea if you were even alive, let alone safe. God, if you had just come to me, none of this needed to have happened.”

“I’m sorry,” Sho said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I just thought after I hurt you…”

Etienne sighed heavily.

“I’ll be fine. I am fine. What hurts far more is for my son to just…vanish. We won’t hurt you or reprimand you for coming to us with your issues. But you can’t keep pushing everyone away out of fear you’ll hurt someone or get hurt. Eventually you’ll find yourself completely alone.”

The frustration was evident in his voice.

“Sho, you’re barely 15. You’re bound to make some mistakes. But you’re not a little child anymore. You can’t just run off like that. We can always do something to improve your handle on those powers of yours.”

Sho nodded meekly. He didn’t quite know what to say and he felt foolish for how he had jumped to action before talking to anyone. Etienne placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m here for you. We all are. You just have to learn to trust in us.”

He spent two days in and out of sleep, his fever breaking late the second night. As soon as he was well enough, his fathers had insisted on speaking with him. They each had grave looks on their faces as they sat down with their son. The Mask Seller was the first to speak.

“Son, we need to talk about this. All of us. I don’t want you to end up leaving again because we didn’t.”

Sho nodded his head and swallowed dryly. Gheriun continued.

“You got lucky this time, but you could’ve been seriously injured. We had no idea if something had happened to you.”

“I’d heal from it,” Sho mumbled defiantly. “Probably.”

It was Etienne’s turn to speak and he cut off his partner sharply.

“You’re not invincible. Just because you heal a little better than the average person doesn’t give you leave to be reckless.”

Sho flinched at the truth in his words. The Painter huffed out a breath and brought one hand to his temple.

“What happened in the past wasn’t your fault. But your actions from now on are the ones that count. Don’t just throw your life away. You have people that love you and worry about you.”

Etienne massaged his temple irritably. His frustration was palpable and Sho felt his face burning in embarrassment. He lowered his head.

“I really thought it would be the best for everyone.” He hesitated. “It’s not like I’m meant to be here in the first place.”

“Sho,” Gheriun said in exasperation. “This is your home. It always will be.”

“You can’t keep pushing us away,” Etienne added. “I know that you weren’t trying to hurt anyone, but your actions have consequences. Just when we passed this hurdle… You have to be mindful of how others are affected by what you do.”

It was difficult to hear, and Sho curled his shoulders inward in shame. Two hands touched his shoulders and he looked up to see his fathers with one hand each outreached.

“We just want you to talk to us,” the Mask Seller said, his scarred face pained. “I know I haven’t been there for you, but please, let me be your father.”

Etienne’s expression and tone were stern but he squeezed Sho’s shoulder.

“And no more of this foolishness. You had us worried sick. If you want to help this family then be a part of it. Tell us your worries, your anxieties, your frustrations. You don’t need to keep it all bottled up anymore.”

He withdrew his hand and nodded. Gheriun made a helpless smile before leaning back. The two of them kept their eyes on Sho, who was struggling to keep a straight face as tears threatened to break.

“I’ll do better,” he said in a fragile voice. “You guys don’t deserve what I did. I’ll learn.”

Both men nodded solemnly. There seemed to be much each wanted to say, and their expressions were complicated.

“Valeria’s going to need you as she grows up,” the Painter said. “You’re a big brother now, you’ll need to set an example.”

“She misses you,” Gheriun added. “We’ve been keeping her out of your room so that you can rest, but she doesn’t understand.”

Hearing that made Sho’s heart ache. He looked down.

“I’ll make it up to her,” he said. “I miss her too.”

It took him a moment to realize that he was crying and he rubbed at his eyes, frustrated with himself. Gheriun took him in his arms as he cried, patting his head. It was a bit awkward but Sho fell apart, the shame and gravity of his actions hitting him. He had never meant to hurt his family, but nor had he considered them, not truly.

[literenture]

Hmmm I’m changing things up a bit so I suppose this is after the main Founder story?

Around the time Valeria was a little over a year old, the tremors returned. He was washing dishes after dinner when he dropped a plate, and as he tried to reach for it he saw that his hands were shaking. Sho swallowed hard and held them down, willing the episode to pass. As long as the adults didn’t see, they wouldn’t worry. Gheriun had caught a nasty strain of flu, his body struggling to recover. He had regained some muscle over the summer but that seemed to melt away with his illness. Etienne and Sho had been running around with the chores and the now-tottering infant whose energy seemed endless. Any time Valeria refused to sleep, Sho could find Etienne cradling her in the living room, and he would sit with the Painter. His presence always seemed to calm Valeria, and no matter how much sleep he lost Sho was always happy to spend time with her.

It had not been easy though. The Mask Seller was finally able to move about the house again when Sho began getting shortness of breath. He had dismissed it as a cold, but when the episode in the kitchen happened his blood ran cold.

His body had grown a bit, but that also meant that his illness developed without the usual dinner rituals. He tried his best to hide it from the adults, but the next day he woke up with a fever and strange shapes dancing across his vision. He cried out in alarm, tumbling out of bed as he backed away from a strange and horrific face that seemed to come towards him.

The commotion had drawn both Etienne and Gheriun to his room. He could dimly hear Valeria crying from her crib as he lie tangled in the sheets. As his father snapped the light on overhead, Sho winced, but the figures he had seen were gone. He stared, wide eyed and panting, in a momentary confusion.

“Sho, what’s wrong?” Etienne knelt by his side, one hand instinctively going to his forehead before Sho could stop him. His eyes widened.

“You’re burning up. How do you feel?”

“I’m fine,” Sho groaned, but his body fought him. He tried to stand but only managed to get himself more tangled in the blankets. His head pounded and the earlier panic had started his heart racing. It hammered away in his chest and he closed his eyes.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed. There we go.”

Gheriun had come to help his partner haul Sho back into bed. The boy’s limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, like lead weights had been tied to them. His head fell against the pillow, sweat pouring down his neck. Etienne leaned over him and lifted first one, then the other eyelid.

“How’s your vision?”

“It’s fine, teacher,” Sho insisted weakly. “It’s just a fever.”

The Painter glanced silently at Gheriun, jaw set. The Mask Seller knelt beside the bed, one cool hand against Sho’s hot cheek.

“Hey Sho,” his father began, “have the shakes been back?”

Sho didn’t respond, but that was as good an answer as any. Gheriun’s face grew grim.

“You’re not seeing anything that’s…unusual? That shouldn’t be there?”

“I said I’m fine,” Sho said. “I just need rest, really.”

For a moment he was afraid they’d press the issue, but it wasn’t so out of the question with Gheriun’s recent flu. With some hesitation, the two men were assured that yes, he was fine, but please let him be.

After they were gone, Sho fell into a restless sleep. His dreams were filled with strange shapes and unnatural forms, creatures unlike any aberration he had witnessed. They seemed like scribbles on paper come to life, shapes indefinite and undulating. He could not tell when he was awake and when he was asleep.

His anxiety would raise him sharply to awareness, bolting awake with a heart lurching terror. The source of his panic was always vague, yet ever present, a dread that wound itself through him with sinewy fingers. Not even sleep broke its dogged pursuit of him, and Sho cycled between the horror of nightmare and the uncertainty of reality.

Was this what his mother had seen, near the end? When she no longer recognized him, or mistook him for his father, was she hounded by these uncanny visitors? Sho felt himself drowning in memories of those days when she began to lose herself, alone by her side even when she did not know who he was, or cursed someone he wasn’t.

Now he wondered what would happen to him. A part of him had truly, naively, hoped that maybe he’d be fine even without consuming monstrosities to keep his illness at bay. That much, he never wished to do again.

After all, wasn’t that endlessly selfish of him?

A blurry outline took shape around him, slowly resolving itself into a familiar, bubbly young woman he had not seen since he was 8.

Sima beamed down at him, impossibly, her hands spread towards him. As Sho stared in disbelief, others began to shimmer into focus around her, multitudes as the room stretched impossibly to accommodate them. He blinked, and looked down as he seemed to go from prone to standing among them without anything in between motions.

He knew each and every one by name, and he bit back a startled wail of shock as they all reached out towards him. Their faces wore blissful, hazy eyed grins.

Ah.

For the first time in 8 years, Sho was face to face with those who had lost their lives for nothing more than his grandfather’s goals, in belief of he who was nothing worthy of such belief. Together they had trampled over these countless lives, all for the purpose of, what? Creating some vessel for his grandfather, a tool, a weapon. Could he really justify continuing to feed his powers on the lives of others?

The lips parted on all those around him, a susurrus of whispered condemnation for his actions, even as they smiled on.

Sho closed his eyes and raised his throat to the outstretched hands. It was only fitting that they decide his fate, after he had so one sidedly decided all of theirs. He sighed, one panged longing for his family before he was swallowed in darkness.

Gheriun was woken from a restless sleep that night. All day they had tended to Sho, but the boy had slept throughout. The Mask Seller’s mind was full with worries about the Ophelia strain, and whether it had resumed its progress. He could tell that it was on Etienne’s as well, and that night the two of them had a very difficult discussion.

“How much can you tell me about the Ophelia factor?” Etienne asked pointedly. “I only know what I’ve read, and there’s precious little information out there.”

Gheriun poured himself a thumb of wine and swirled it thoughtfully, staring deep into its red depths.

“It’s a manifestation of the prophet Ophelia’s sorrow, or so it’s told. In truth, Ophelia was just the first to develop the disease, and it drove her mad. It also drove her to create a religious organization interested in reviving the twelve faces of Jordan. Ironic, considering, if she had just isolated herself none of it would have spread. She created her own self fulfilling prophecy.”

The name Jordan gave the Painter pause. He was one of a very select few to have some idea of the meaning behind that. The Mother of Monsters was closely related to a dear friend of his, after all.

“It’s not contagious by proximity, nor saliva or sweat. Only blood and through intercourse occasionally, but mostly it’s passed on through children. Once it had spread, all we could do was keep an eye on the populations where it presented and hope it would disappear from this world.”

He sighed heavily.

“But humans are never so logical. Sho’s mother carried the gene, and unfortunately it seems she’s passed it on to him. His grandfather wouldn’t tell me the details of his illness, but I always suspected. It’s more aggressive in those with a Y chromosome, though why is a total mystery.”

“And what can be done? Surely by now some treatment has been developed, we can take Sho to a specialist, or…”

“Have you heard of any specialists for it? No,” Gheriun shook his head. “The most that can be done is relieve his symptoms as they present themselves. If it truly is the Ophelia complex, I know better than most that we’re powerless. And… it was because Rie had the gene that she volunteered. This is all my fault.”

Etienne sat as he processed what he was being told. It seemed so hopeless, but how could they simply give in to self pity? He grabbed Gheriun’s hand.

“There’s no time to despair. We have to be able to do something.” He set his jaw stubbornly. “I refuse to not try.”

Later that night, sleep evading him once more, Gheriun slowly disentangled himself from his sleeping partner’s arms. Etienne wore the exhaustion of recent weeks plainly on his slumbering face, and the Mask Seller ran one hand down his cheek fondly before he stood and wrapped his robe around himself. He needed time to himself, to think and to plan just what their next course of action would be. He slipped downstairs, not wanting to disturb his son. He’d last checked on him an hour ago to discover him resting peacefully.

As Gheriun made his way to the living room, he was careful of his footsteps, using his hands to guide him in the dark. He had poured so much work into their house that he could easily navigate by touch alone. When he got to the big living room, he flicked on the light switch and nearly had a heart attack.

Sitting in the middle of the room where Valeria’s little art table was set up was Sho, his back to his father. He was hunched over sheets of paper scrawling something aggressively. Gheriun could hear him whispering something rapidly under his breath, words indistinct. He reached a hand out to his son hesitantly.

“Sho?”

As he neared him he began to make out some of what he was saying. Sho’s face was wide eyed and slack, eyes darting to and fro out of sync with his movements.

“I regret to inform you that all future deliveries will be handled by our associate company. We thank you for your business. The next stop on the Shokan line is Kichijoji station. Kichijoji station. We can’t forget to be late or else the things teacher says will fall out our ears, plop plop plop, drowning our laughter like rain.”

“Sho,” Gheriun repeated, growing increasingly concerned. He shook his son lightly by the shoulders and his head lolled back and forth but his eyes kept pacing the room as he continued uninterrupted.

“Times gone by as two by two by four by none and we are left here to decipher the words of god. Ah, what a cruel and selfish god that directs our world, our works, our workplace conduct.”

He wasn’t making any sense. With growing alarm, the Mask Seller gripped him by either shoulder.

“Son, look at me. Can you hear me?”

“Can the insect know the man as the man loves the sea and o! Great providence such as we could never know, we thank you kind lord for these your gracious gifts. TV tuning services offered in all forty districts, act fast, time is running out.”

Sho continued to babble incessantly, each sentence running into the next. His hand had not stopped scrawling at the page before him and Gheriun looked at what he was drawing.

It was a horrible mess of shaky lines and scribbled shapes, but it seemed to form some coherent image. Of what, the Mask Seller could not tell, but it sent a needle of dread through his heart.

“In times of uncertainty may we offer you and your loved ones our complimentary package. Packaging materials available for all major holidays, holy days, holy day of our lord who ascends from the deepest sea to bring salvation to our rocky shores. Please be prepared for unusual weather patterns.”

Nothing he was saying made any sense, and in his trance he wasn’t responding to his father’s presence at all. Gheriun tried desperately to rouse him from his reverie but the onslaught of words just continued.

“Will there be time in the morning to pet the neighbor cat? Will mother be mad? Will we get scolded once again for not brushing our teeth? It’s good oral hygiene that is the first step to a hygienic soul. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk to strange shadows in the well? We forget it’s time for evening prayer and must repent.”

Sho’s eyes locked suddenly, staring behind Gheriun.

“He sees you too, Mask Seller. He’ll devour you whole.”

With that final proclamation, Sho fell limply forward. Gheriun had to catch him, as though a marionette whose strings had been cut. He stared down open mouthed at his son’s closed eyes. He was breathing steadily as though he had been asleep the entire time. With a shudder at his final words, Gheriun glanced over his shoulder furtively. There was nothing there. He let out a breath he had not realized he was holding and with a grunt lifted Sho in his arms. Even with the few inches he had gained in height, Sho remained an underweight and small boy, and the Mask Seller carried him back to his room. He set him on the bed and brushed away a lock of his blue-black hair. Here now, Sho looked so peaceful that Gheriun almost wondered if he had imagined everything.

Upon returning to the living room, he gathered the pages that Sho had been determinedly drawing on. Perhaps some answers lie there. He looked over them but could not make heads or tails of what they could mean. With a sigh, he went back to Sho’s room, pausing in the doorway. He decided to sit by his son’s bed for now and let what he had witnessed be processed.

He soon fell asleep with one hand on Sho’s, listening to his steady breathing.

The next time he woke was to his father’s sleeping form slumped over the side of his bed. Sho squinted into the dim light, unsure what had happened. His throat felt dry and his limbs weak, and as he stirred he woke the slumbering Mask Seller.

“Sho,” his father said, blinking rapidly. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”

“Dad,” Sho said weakly. “I had the worst dream.”

Gheriun’s face darkened as he ran one hand through his son’s hair.

“Do you remember yesterday? Or last night?”

Sho thought back but his head hurt too much.

“What happened?”

The Mask Seller looked down at his hands, brow furrowed, considering his answer. It made Sho uneasy and he racked his brain for what could have happened to affect him so.

“Dad..?”

“You had…an episode. Last night, in the living room. You don’t remember it at all?”

Sho shook his head slowly. Had he collapsed again? He couldn’t remember getting out of bed whatsoever. There had only been that dream… he shook his head a bit faster. His father’s face was lined with worry, and it made sweat bead on Sho’s forehead.

“You drew these.”

Gheriun handed Sho a sheaf of paper, each page completely covered in layers of crayon. Sho squinted at them, then froze. They looked just like the creatures he had seen in his dreams.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sho saw a movement, and he whipped his head around. There was nothing there, but his father had an expression of alarm on his face.

“What? Did you see something?”

“It was just my imagination,” Sho mumbled, embarrassed.

Before Gheriun could say anything more, Etienne entered the room carrying a tray with warm food. Valeria toddled in behind him, one hand clinging to his apron and the other stuck firmly in her mouth. She had taken to walking early and with great vigor, and her fathers were constantly amazed at the lengths she could go to get into trouble. As soon as she saw Sho, her face split into a wide grin and she dashed over to him, jumping onto the bed and snuggling up to him before either man could stop her. Grateful for the interruption, Sho gave the girl a hug.

“How’re you doing, V?”

The bubbly infant giggled and babbled. She didn’t make sense but he always spoke to her seriously. Etienne brought the tray of hot porridge and buttery bread and set it on his bedside table.

“How’s the fever today?”

“Better,” Sho said.

He must not have looked very convincing. Both of his fathers glanced at one another, a thousand unsaid words between them. Shifting uncomfortably, Sho took a shaky bite of his porridge. He was immediately struck by nausea and gagged. The flavor was like rot, and the texture made him think of maggots. As he coughed Etienne patted his back.

“Hey, here, drink some water. That’s good.”

It did help wash the taste out of Sho’s mouth. He eyed the porridge and attempted instead a small bite of bread. That too tasted awful, like it was riddled with mold, but when he squinted at it he saw nothing. Until he looked closer and saw the many dancing forms of multi eyed stalks with wide open mouths that seemed to be screaming out. He blinked and dropped the toast as he flinched, but they vanished in a heartbeat. Both of his fathers stood, alarmed.

“Sho?”

His breath was coming fast and he felt faint. What was going on? It had to just be the fever. He kept telling himself that over and over, hands clenching the blanket. His ears were ringing loudly and he could feel a pounding in his head. Words seemed to drift through his mind unbidden.

The seasons back home pass as one and we weep at the loss of the rains. All is lost, all is lost, we regret our excesses with great remorse.

He blinked as he heard other, fuzzier words. It took him a moment to realize that it was his family calling for him. Trying to catch his breath, Sho looked at them. Their faces were distraught. He felt faint.

“Sho? Can you hear me?” Etienne asked in a strangled voice.

Even Valeria had stilled with a look of concern and confusion on her infant face.

“It’s—nothing. I have a headache.”

“Sho.”

Gheriun’s voice was stern. With the fever rising, his thoughts all in disarray, Sho felt unable to hide things further. Not that he had done a great job in the first place. However, he didn’t know where to begin. It felt like he was losing his mind.

“It’s just the fever,” he insisted weakly.

Neither man accepted his answer.

“Please, talk to us,” Etienne said, placing one hand over Sho’s. “We want to help. We…know a bit about the dinner rituals. How can we do it, Sho?”

Sho’s stomach dropped. He had hoped neither man knew about what he had done to retain his immortality. He’d rather go mad than perform the ritual again.

“I won’t,” he said heatedly.

“Son—“

“No! I’m done with all of that. I…I won’t.”

His fathers both looked absolutely terrified, but Sho refused to tell them. It might mean suffering, but wasn’t he used to that? Didn’t he, after all, deserve that? He had trodden over the lives of so many merely for the sake of keeping this illness at bay. Was it not simply what he was due?

“Please, Sho. We don’t want to lose you.”

Gheriun’s voice sounded on the verge of tears. Sho felt a bit guilty but he knew that he couldn’t justify extending his life that way. It would be unfair to all those who had died by his actions were he to continue on with those cruel dinners.

“Please just… I’m tired, okay? Let me get some sleep.”

There was nothing his family could say to him. Sho patted Valeria on the head and nestled into his blankets, turning his back on his fathers.

Someday in July we felt the rumble of the earth as thousands of flowers bloomed around the world.

The words continued to run through his head until he fell into a restless sleep.

Etienne and Gheriun took turns watching after the sleeping Sho. He seemed to be having countless nightmares, crying out as his fever rose. The Painter’s assistants had come to help with Valeria in shifts as both fathers watched over Sho and tried to wrack their minds for what to do.

“I’ll go to the Archives, see what’s there,” Gheriun said finally after much pacing. “You stay here, tend to him.”

Etienne nodded.

“Don’t worry Gher,” he said despite everything.

With a parting kiss, the Mask Seller set off. Etienne checked in on Valeria. Alma, his student and Sho’s tutor, was staying in their guest room for the night to help watch over the infant so that the Painter might keep an eye on Sho. His daughter was sleeping peacefully in her crib, and he let out a breath of gratitude. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about that. He was running ragged after the last few days. It had only been a few weeks ago that they had had that scare with Gheriun, and just when things were starting to get back to normal Sho had fallen ill. Etienne felt so powerless and frustrated with himself and the boy. Why was he refusing to tell them how to help? It made no sense. Sho had struggled with a sort of self inflicted penitence, always harsher on himself than he should be, but this was on a whole other level. He’d been making so much progress, it had seemed like he was finally enjoying life. So why now was he giving up? As a doctor, and even moreso as a parent, Etienne felt overwhelmed by the despair that unless Sho decided to tell him, he would be totally unable to help.

Etienne sat over Sho’s bed, watching him sleep. The boy hadn't been able to keep what little food he ate down, and his strength was quickly draining. As the Painter held his limp, thin hand, he felt a pain in his chest.

What could they even do? Watching this boy he had taken as his own son suffer so was eating away at him. After they had gotten this far, how could Sho just give up? It was more than he could handle. His thoughts were stormy as he sat there.

Please Gheriun, come back soon.

“…ove such as parts the seas…to endless des…”

Etienne’s ears perked at the sound of a quiet voice. He leaned over Sho as he realized that the boy was whispering in his sleep, eyes moving rapidly beneath the lids.

“…sating our deepest desires, those we’ve lost wait and judge as we waste our precious time. Tic, tic, toc, the clock betrays our hidden thoughts and we are awoken to a dream long buried.”

“Sho,” the Painter said, one hand to the boy’s forehead.

Sho’s eyes snapped open and stared at the ceiling before locking on Etienne. They seemed so hollow and empty, like he wasn’t really there at all.

“It’s only time until our bones are laid to rest beneath your feet. Guillermo sends his deepest regards.”

A wide grin spread slowly across Sho’s face, mechanically and stiffly.

“You’re going to lose them all, Marisol.”

In the next moment, his eyes shut and he went limp, but Etienne had stepped back from the bed. What had just happened? He struggled to catch his breath. It would have been impossible for Sho to know that name, so just how..? He stared in disbelief, telling himself that he simply misheard the boy’s fevered words. There was no other explanation.

Gheriun had still not returned the next day. Etienne had gotten barely any sleep, and what little he did was filled with nightmares of the past and the future. Sho’s condition had worsened early in the morning and the Painter had not left his side, even when Alma came to swap shifts so he could get some rest. Valeria was confused with what was going on and cried all day, further gnawing at his nerves. It felt like he was going to be crushed under the weight of his worries.

With dark circles under his eyes, he stepped out from the room for the first time in hours to fetch a cup of tea. Alma was drawing with Valeria at her small table when he walked in, and she shot up when she saw him.

“Master Pierrot, how is he?”

Etienne shook his head. He could not even think of what to say, and his student sagged. It was obvious just how worried she was but he couldn’t bring himself to utter meaningless platitudes. All they could do was hope that the Archives had some record on the procedure, or some lead for what they might do instead. His heart creaked under the strain of it all. What would they do if nothing was found? Would they be resigned to treating the symptoms as they came, watching their son lose his mind and his life? Hadn't the boy suffered enough?

His head was filled with these thoughts as he brewed his tea. His hands shook slightly as he poured his cup, exhaustion eating away at his strength. Alma hovered nearby while Valeria tottered around his feet, tugging at her father’s pant leg desperately. Etienne took a moment to pick her up and hold her, cooing as she fussed.

“Sho? Sho?”

His heart broke. It had been her first word, and as she repeated her brother’s name he fought back the tears that came to his eyes.

“It’s okay my sweet,” he said quietly. “Hush now, we’ll do everything we can.”

As she looked up into his face he could only hope she understood some part of what he said. The next moment however she began to bawl, and Alma stepped forward.

“Ah, there there, it’s okay. Your da’s got everything under control, right?” she said, trying to distract the infant.

Etienne tried to smile, but his head was screaming. He rocked Valeria back and forth but her tears wouldn’t stop.

“Hey now, don’t worry, Sho’s strong,” he said, trying to convince all of them. “He’ll be okay, and then you can play again. Please, Valeria—“

An ear piercing shriek sounded throughout the room, coming not from the infant but back within the house. Without a moment’s hesitation, Etienne passed his daughter to Alma’s waiting arms and then dashed out of the kitchen, knocking the teapot to the ground in a crash as he did so. Burning liquid spilled over his legs and feet but he didn’t feel a thing. He ran full tilt to Sho’s bedroom, entering to see the boy pressed up against the wall, looking absolutely terrified as he struggled to breathe. Etienne hurried to his side.

“Sho? Sho can you hear me?”

“It came into the room,” he cried, tears streaming down his horrified face. “I told it not to, but the next thing I knew it was Grandfather and I just thought—I didn’t know! I promise I didn’t know!”

His words ran together in a jumble and the Painter couldn’t follow what he was saying. He looked around, but the room was empty. Had it been another hallucination?

“I just wanted to apologize, I just—I thought—I didn’t think it would come in. I didn’t mean to!”

He gasped out a sob, throwing his hands over his head as he cowered. Etienne reached out to him but Sho flinched, breathing erratically.

“It’s in my head. I can feel it, crawling around in there. But I didn’t think it would come out. And it keeps coming closer. I can’t get the words to stop, my head is going to burst, and then it’ll be free and everyone will be hurt. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault!”

“Sho!” Etienne shouted desperately. “Sho, look at me. You’re okay. Nobody’s here.”

He heard a sound and turned to see Alma standing in the doorway, still holding Valeria. The Painter was aghast.

“Get her out of here,” he snapped, startling them both. He didn’t have time to consider it though. He couldn’t let Valeria see her brother like this. If she was left only with his memory, let it be the good times. Not this.

He turned back to Sho, whose nails were digging deep into his scalp, drawing bright red blood. Etienne knelt on the bed and grabbed either wrist in his hands.

“Sho. I need you to listen to me. You’re okay. You’re just having a hallucination because of the fever.”

“You don’t get it, you don’t get it, you don’t get it,” he stammered, resisting Etienne. “If I’m here it’ll come for you all. I brought it here, it’s my fault, I invited it in. Everything’s so screwed up in my head.”

He groaned in pain.

“It’s—within expectations weather should hold for the upcoming week and starting in early Se-Se-September expects a bountiful harvest expects a bouncing babe expecting departures—“

He cut himself off sharply, biting down on his tongue.

“Sho,” Etienne started, but he was cut off.

“I can’t—stop it. It’s all coming through. It might be too late. I don’t know anymore! What is this? What is this?”

His words melted into loud sobs and gasping breaths. Etienne finally managed to pull his hands from his bloody scalp, and Sho looked up at him with such despair it threatened to drown him.

“It’s going to come. It’ll kill you all.”

“It’s just the fever,” the Painter pleaded.

Sho’s face slackened, and for a moment Etienne hoped that his words had reached him. The next moment however, Sho shoved him away with surprising strength. His expression was filled with an anger that took the Painter completely by surprise.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” Sho shouted. “None of this would be happening if you had. I’d rather have died that way than this. I don’t even know who I am sometimes. I forget Valeria’s name.”

His voice was shaking with rage, at his fathers or at himself Etienne could not tell.

“All I do is cause you all pain! It would have been better if I’d died then!”

He fell into a coughing fit, and despite his outburst Etienne gently placed his hand on his back. However, Sho once more swiped him away.

“I hate you. I hate you! Why did you ever talk to me! You should have just done your fucking job and left. Why did you have to complicate everything? I should be dead already!”

He coughed again, harder, and when he removed his hand from his mouth it came away covered in blood. He was shaking but wouldn’t let Etienne say a word or come near him.

“If you hadn’t interfered, Valeria wouldn’t be in danger. As long as I’m here, none of you are safe.”

His voice was faltering, and it was obvious that his strength was flagging. But his diatribe continued.

“I hate you.”

“Sho—“

“I hate you!”

Sho’s voice broke as he shouted, his heart roiling. As he did, dark spears suddenly rose before him, and before he could stop it they had flown into the Painter’s gut. Blood gushed out of the wounds as Etienne gasped. He brought one hand to his wrecked abdomen, both of them in shock.

Etienne’s ears were ringing as he took in the boy’s words, his difficulty breathing, the not insignificant amount of blood he’d coughed up, the fact that there was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do to help. And now he was standing impaled on dark blades. He was transported back to his time as a mortal man, the constant loss that came with the plague, the brutal oversight of the man he so loved. Would he be doomed to sit and watch as this boy he considered a son broke under an unforgiving illness? It was too much. He felt like his heart was being torn apart. Blood flowed over his hands as he gripped his stomach. His mouth ran dry as the ringing increased. A quiet laugh sounded in his head like a bell, slowly growing in strength. A voice rang through his head. And the next thing he knew—

Nothing.

Sho heaved as he watched Etienne. The older man was frozen with a shocked look of horror across his face. Sho knew he had gone too far, but he had to make a point. He had to die. His fevered brain didn’t know exactly why, only that if he didn’t something horrible would be unleashed on the world. His fathers had called them hallucinations, but he knew better. Something was coming.

He had not counted on hurting him though.

Sho was having a hard time getting his breathing under control, hand held out toward his stepfather in horror of what he had just done. Etienne sat still, unmoving, just staring as blood poured from his wounds. Sho was about to speak when the Painter’s eyes rolled back in their sockets. His jaw clenched and he spasmed suddenly, then fell forward. Concerned, Sho grabbed one of his shoulders.

“Teacher..?”

Etienne’s body lurched upright, and he spread his arms wide as tendrils of smoke rose around him, encompassing him. It shifted and swelled until finally settling into a solid form. Where Etienne had been was a large, muscular man, even larger than the Mask Seller. He wore a long coat covered in blood, and his face was scarred with pox. His wounds had vanished. His eyes were wide and manic as he grinned at Sho.

“Ah, what’s this? Highly irregular! I’ve never seen anything like it.”

The voice that came out of the man was huge and booming, unlike anything Sho had ever heard from the Painter. It immediately sent him into a cold sweat, and his breath caught in his throat. The stranger brought one hand to his chin as the other propped up the elbow.

“Curious, very curious indeed. Let us begin examination of the patient!”

Before Sho could do anything, the man had pinned him back and peeled one of his eyelids wide open, peering into it. He was so strong that Sho could hardly budge, and his presence was crushing. The whiplash from terror over what he had done to fear of what might be done to him rocked through Sho’s core.

“Hmm, how strange! There seems to be a new layer developing just beneath the iris, but I’d require a decent light to know more. And what’s this?”

He leaned in so close he was almost touching Sho’s face with his own, wide oozing sores taking up Sho’s field of vision.

“Odd. Something seems to be moving in there. Just what is this, lad?”

Sho was frozen in fear at the presence before him, struggling to catch his breath.

“Now, cease your messy breathing! Calm now. You will answer me.”

The bloody man’s tone was icy cold, and Sho was convinced that if he did not calm down and answer him something bad would happen.

“I-its called the Ophelia factor,” he managed. “I don’t know anything about it. But it’s making something happen or—I don’t know what’s happening, I just—“

“Enough useless filler,” the man boomed in that uncanny voice. “I see. That is a new illness. Is this what’s become of the world? Very interesting!”

His grin widened and he lifted his hand, flourishing an oversized and wicked looking bone saw. It dripped with blood as though freshly used, and he held it before Sho as he held the boy by his throat.

“Surely if I take a little peek inside I’ll find some answers.”

Sho wriggled in his grip. He was gasping out and desperately clawing at the man’s hand but his struggles were in vain.

“Let… go!” he managed but the man just clenched down on his throat. His eyes closed, and he thought he would faint right there.

“Now now, we can’t have you struggling.” The man grinned wickedly. “Maybe I should start with a leg? An arm? Surely you don’t need them all.”

Sho tried in vain to get free of his grasp, mind racing. His vision was clouding with shifting shapes, and he choked out a meager breath. If he had just listened to his fathers and not been so stubborn, could this have been avoided? Sho tried to open his gate and draw from the well, but he knew it was pointless. He was totally out of power.

“You don’t have a right to Etienne,” he gasped.

The man’s face screwed up in thought, and a slow, fumbling laugh bubbled up in his broad chest. He loosened his grip on the boy, causing Sho to cough.

“Who now? Hmm, the subject is being difficult. Well.”

With a flick of his wrist he sliced open one of Sho’s forearms. Blood welled up from the deep wound as Sho recoiled. He gripped his arm to himself, whimpering in fear as the man laughed.

“Feeling better now? A little too much blood excites a man.”

“What are you?” Sho hissed.

The man blinked, then grinned.

“Why, a doctor of course. Doctor Guillermo, at your service.”

Memories of conversations with the Painter began to trickle back into Sho’s mind. He grit his teeth through the pain as rage bubbled up in him. Was this the man who had caused Etienne such pain? The one who he had spoken of with such a hurt expression? Sho whipped his head up and glared.

“You…damned revenant,” Sho spat. “Go back to the hell you crawled out of. Let my father go.”

He was slapped across the face, ears ringing. The man lifted his bonesaw.

“Don’t you deign tell me what I can or cannot do with my property,” hissed the bloody man. “Now stop struggling and let’s see what we find inside.”

The light glistened off of the saw as it swung down. Unable to do anything more Sho lifted his arms over his head. He waited for the blade to bite into his flesh as he cowered.

“Stop this now!”

There was a metallic clang and a clatter, and when Sho looked up he saw his father. Gheriun had his arms around the strange man and was struggling to hold the saw in place.

“Ahhh, my replacement,” said the doctor with a wild grin.

“That’s enough,” Gheriun grunted. “You’ve done enough. Your care is complete!”

The larger man froze, then gave an extravagant bow. In the next moment his form shimmered and shifted, wisps of smoke peeling off in layers. As it dissipated it left behind the form of the Painter collapsed in Gheriun’s arms, wounds opening again. The Mask Seller let out a sigh, holding him gently. The commotion had drawn Alma, whose eyes went wide at the sight.

“Did he appear?” she asked without preamble.

Gheriun nodded.

“Check on Sho for me,” he instructed before carrying Etienne from the room in a hurry. Alma ran up to Sho��s bed.

“Are you okay? Let me see that.”

She took his cut arm in one hand and winced.

“Let me get the aid kit. Just a moment.”

After she had left the room, Sho sat in stunned silence. He had never seen anything like what had just happened and a cold sweat overcame him. His mind was a sea of words overflowing and churning within him.

Past due we had our mistakes arighted, the oncoming squall will prevent vehicles…

He shook his head and clenched his bedsheets.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

He jumped as Gheriun entered the room. His father held up his hands.

“It’s okay now.”

Alma nearly bowled the Mask Seller over in her haste.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said. “Here, I brought the kit.”

“Thank you Alma.” Gheriun accepted the small box. “Can you go check on Valeria?”

With an uneasy look, the Painter’s apprentice nodded.

Alone together now, Gheriun brought the kit to the side of Sho’s bed and cut off the dangling sleeve to examine his injury. The blade had cut deep into his flesh and blood was still seeping from it. It dripped down his arm and elbow, staining the bedsheets crimson. Sho winced as his father wordlessly dabbed at his cut with an alcohol soaked cloth.

“What was that?” he asked finally.

Gheriun sighed.

“It’s his own version of a curse. Things he hasn’t let go…”

His voice was distant as he placed butterfly clasps to close the wound.

“He’s just under a lot of stress.”

Sho looked down, ashamed.

“It’s my fault,” he said quietly.

“You can’t keep blaming yourself,” was his father’s response. “You hurt more than yourself when you do.”

“But I—I tried to kill him. How can you not hate me?”

Gheriun had finished wrapping Sho’s arm.

“Please son,” the Mask Seller begged. “How do we fix this?”

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Sho shook his head, placing his hands over his ears. He couldn’t do this anymore. In his fever riddled state he didn’t know what the answer was anymore. When he had been faced with a sure death, his heart had cried out, desperate to live. He knew it was selfish, but…

“I’ll tell you,” he whispered. “How to do it. The Dinner.”

For a moment there was silence, and then he was pulled into a gentle hug by his father.

“Thank you.”

He could hear the tears in Gheriun’s voice. How could he have been so blind to how much pain he was causing his fathers? Sho wept into Gheriun’s shoulder as his father patted his head.

“There, there. It’ll all be okay now. You’re going to be okay.”

Etienne’s condition had stabilized despite the massive damage Sho had caused. A few more of his assistants had come to help Gheriun with caring for Sho, Etienne, and Valeria. The Mask Seller had finally managed to get in contact with the Observer, and he made a strange request of him; to obtain an aberration and bring it to them. Rui had not batted an eye at the odd request, only agreed and told him he’d be there in three days.

Sho was still having episodes, crying out nonsense and flailing in his half-sleep. Alma had started to sit by his side now that they had more hands on deck. Her presence seemed to calm the boy, and Gheriun took the opportunity to see to Etienne.

The Painter’s wounds were healing, albeit slowly. He had regained consciousness in fits and starts, and today as the Mask Seller walked into their bedroom he was awake with a book in hand. Valeria had come and cuddled up to him, avoiding his bandaged midsection. Etienne read aloud in a sonorous voice, but as Gheriun entered, he stopped and closed the book, one finger holding place.

“Hey,” Gheriun said lamely, holding up a hand.

“Hey yourself,” replied the Painter with a sad smile. He turned to Valeria.

“Why don’t you go play with your aunties and uncles? Come now.”

As he ushered the toddler off the bed, Gheriun led her to his masked assistant. Left alone in the room, the two men stared down in silence. Gheriun was the first to break it.

“Sho, he’s… he’s really sorry for hurting you. And so am I.”

Etienne shook his head.

“I know he didn’t mean to,” he said. “There’s too much power for such a small body, and his emotions are…well.”

“Still,” Gheriun insisted as he sat beside the Painter. He grabbed his free hand and kissed his fingers.

“Also he told me. How to save him.”

Etienne’s eyes widened and he dropped the book he was holding.

“Why didn’t you say that first?” he asked, wincing as he moved. “Then..?”

The Mask Seller nodded.

“It’ll be okay. Sho’s going to be okay. The Observer is taking care of it.”

“I’ll have to thank him,” said Etienne as he leaned into the pillows supporting him.

However, there was more Gheriun needed to ask of his partner. He was reluctant, but it had gone too far. His son had been hurt. He sighed heavily before speaking.

“Etienne, I need you to tell me. Just who was that? It’s the second time he’s appeared, and…” He reached up and ran one hand through his wiry hair. “Please, my love. I need to know.”

The artist stared into his hands for a long moment, and Gheriun was not sure whether he’d get an answer at all. The man did love his secrets, and in truth there was much hidden between them. However, he had tired of secrets.

Etienne began to speak, so quietly at first his voice was a whisper.

“My mentor. He’s… a part of me.”

The Painter brought one hand to his chest and gripped the front of his shirt, gritting his teeth. He whipped his head around and fixed Gheriun in his stare.

“Give me time. When this,” he gestured to his bandaged abdomen, “has healed up a bit more, I’ll show you.”

Gheriun nodded.

When Sho opened his eyes after the ritual, the first person he saw was Valeria, soon followed to his surprise by Santu. They had both fallen asleep on either side of him, Valeria easily fitting under one arm while Santu was half on top of him. She was drooling far more than the literal infant, but before he could get annoyed he heard a sound from his left. He turned his head to see not only his fathers but the waiting forms of the Observer and his art tutor, Alma.

“You’re awake,” Gheriun was the first to say.

“Good morning sleepyhead,” said Etienne.

“Why’d you have to go and worry us like that!” was Alma’s flustered but teary exclamation.

“Yo,” was all Rui had to say.

The commotion had woken his sister and Santu. When she saw that he was up, the batling gave a big toothy grin and pulled him into a rough hug.

“Sho!!!”

He could practically hear the extra exclamation points she put into it and winced, blushing lightly at the close contact. He managed to get her off of him, but let Valeria stay wrapped around him.

“Sho!” his sister babbled happily.

The next moment, he was pulled into a bear hug by the both of his fathers. To his surprise they were each crying openly.

“Gods, you had us worried,” choked out Gheriun.

Etienne held the back of Sho’s head gently in one hand.

“You stubborn child,” he chided lightly, but there was only warmth in his voice.

Before he could stop himself, tears welled up in Sho’s eyes. He had not meant for things to get to this point. He had caused his family pain once again. If only he hadn’t been so stubborn…

“I’m so glad to see you both,” he said, crying freely now. “I was so afraid. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, idiot,” said Rui. “We’re all glad to see you.”

Remembering the others there, Sho tried, and failed, to get his tears under control. Since when had there been so many people in his life who cared about him? Some of whom he’d hurt, more than once even. Yet they’d still shown up to greet him when he woke up. He knew he didn’t deserve to be so happy, but he was suddenly grateful he was alive. For so long he had just survived, despising life, the only support in his life an abusive and unloving grandfather. How had he ended up surrounded by those who loved him? He sobbed as he clung to his fathers, grateful for their strength and presence.

“I’m sorry, Etienne,” he choked out. “I didn’t mean to… to hurt you. You saved me when you came to the compound. That’s the truth. Please don’t hate me. I’m so sorry.”

“Hush, my child,” Etienne said, but Sho could hear the tears in his voice. “You’ll always be my beloved son.”

The words made Sho begin crying anew, uncaring of the audience. The others were also tearing up, save the Observer, though for his part he had removed the smug look from his face.

“Come now,” said Gheriun as Sho’s weeping calmed. “We’re all glad to see you up, but you’ve got to eat something and then rest. You’re still not out of the woods.”

The others were ushered out of the room, though not before Santu gave Sho one more claustrophobic hug and a pat on the head.

“Good job!” she said magnanimously, giving him a thumbs up and audacious wink.

Etienne turned to him with a small bowl of clear broth once the room was empty.

“Can you try and eat some of this for me?”

Sho nodded, and with the Painter’s help took a spoonful. To his relief, it tasted like a lovely warm chicken broth with some bright ginger undertones. He let out a sigh.

“Is something the matter?”

“Mm-mm.” Sho shook his head with a bright smile. “It’s wonderful.”

Etienne returned his smile, and soon Sho had managed to finish most of the bowl.

“Don’t force it. You did a good job, son,” Gheriun said as he brushed away the hair from Sho’s forehead and gave it a light kiss.

“Dad,” Sho protested, but the Mask Seller just broke into a teary grin.

“Allow a father a few overdue moments, okay? I’m just so relieved that you… that you’re here.”

He reached out and held one of Sho’s hands. Etienne placed his own on top.

“Thank you, Sho,” he said. “For fighting so hard. You can rest now. Just focus on getting your strength back.”

“Okay.” He hesitated. “I really am sorry.”

“Don’t worry yourself. We all say and do things we regret. It’s inevitable to lash out at those close to you.”

His statement seemed to have a question in it, and Sho grabbed him in a tight hug.

“Thank you,” he said. “For everything. I’ll treasure always that I have you in my life and our memories together.”

The Painter patted his back.

“And I you. Now get some rest. You have a long time ahead of you to make many more memories.”

Sho hesitated.

“But, Teacher, are you okay?”

Etienne nodded.

“Don’t you worry about me. Get some rest.”

As Sho was recovering from the ritual and his illness, the house gradually quieted down. Rui and Santu had decided to stay over to help out with any adverse effects, and Alma was staying in town just in case they needed another hand.

As night fell, Gheriun and Etienne were at the table. Valeria had finally fallen asleep, and now that the Painter was back on his feet, it was time for some answers.

They sat for some time over cups of chamomile tea, the tension in the air palpable. As Etienne set his down he let out a long sigh before locking his eyes on Gheriun.

“It’s time I told you. About him, about my past.”

He shook his head.

“No, time I showed you. Will you go with me?”

He brandished his paintbrush. It took Gheriun a moment to understand, and when he did he nodded.

“Anywhere.”

With one last look to his partner, Etienne began to move the brush through the air. The room around them shifted and dissipated, and before them appeared a scene like out of a painting. As Gheriun watched they were pulled inward, and they were standing in a dusty street. It looked like somewhere southwest of Grand Lake, judging by the architecture. It looked straight out of a picture book. Gheriun let out a breath in amazement, before his eyes alighted on a figure standing before a magnificent church. It was hard to tell their features from this angle, but they were tall with long flowing hair pinned up, dressed in a sort of style Gheriun had seen in some of the rural areas of the peninsula. They appeared to be a tall, incredibly handsome woman. Despite himself, Gheriun was transfixed. She had bronze skin and her hair was shiny black waves undulating in the golden light. Her chin was held high but her gait was somewhat unsteady as she approached the doors of the church. She slowed and took a deep breath.

“Who..?”

The Painter smiled softly.

“Me, in another time.”

Now that he said it, Gheriun could see the resemblance. When the figure turned their head his mouth went dry. Standing there was a younger Etienne, face free of the plague scars and eyes glittering. He looked so full of hope, so innocent and free. Gheriun wondered just what had happened to him since.

The young Etienne adjusted the luggage in his hands, took a deep breath, and stepped through the heavy wooden doors. The world melted around them, running down in rivulets of paint and reforming on the canvas before them.

Now inside the church, the younger version of the Painter approached the figure of a huge man. He was decked all in doctor’s whites, a cowled overcoat and shiny leather boots. His face was lined but kindly, and he welcomed Etienne with arms spread.

“Welcome to Rosarito, o child of god.”

As the man turned, Gheriun’s stomach went cold despite the warmth of the atmosphere. He knew that face, although here it looked far more normal than the manic and bloody Doctor he was familiar with. He felt himself step forward as though to prevent Etienne from going to him, but the memory easily passed through him as though he weren’t even there.

“It’s pointless,” said the Painter, the real one beside him. His voice was bittersweet. “It already happened. This is but an echo of the past.”

Helpless to do anything but watch, Gheriun turned back to the scene.

“Doctor Guillermo,” the younger Etienne greeted the doctor with a rosy grin. It was so difficult to watch. The doctor gripped his proffered hands in his own huge ones, shaking them vigorously.

“Welcome, dear Marisol. We are blessed to have you among our flock. Your talents have not gone unnoticed.”

Gheriun was mortified to see the blush that rose on Etienne’s pox-free face as he glanced down and brushed a strand of dark hair out of his face. Still, even he could see that the man was not only ruggedly attractive but had a vast charisma. It reverberated even in this shadow of a memory. Did Gheriun not know all too well what it meant to be young and in love with the wrong person?

But he had also seen the specter that remained of the Doctor, and it terrified him.

His thoughts were a stormy sea as they watched.

Gheriun was led through a labyrinth of memory, helpless to change the events as they passed before him. He watched with a careful reverence, knowing just how much Etienne was trusting in him. There was some spark of jealousy, yes, but even more so a sort of deep sorrow that he had not been there. He watched as the studious young Etienne, before he had even taken that name, struggled so hard to live up to his master’s expectations.

At first, it all seemed normal enough for the times. The Mask Seller had visited the central city-state of Rosarito before the Plague—it had flourished in the arts and sciences, a leading force in the scientific renaissance. Seeing it in vivid hues was breathtaking, like a film from the past playing all about him. When the tree-lined avenues bloomed it was with vibrant shades of red, orange, purple, and blues. The trees that appeared so gnarled and mean off-season now became decked in rich robes, shedding flowers on the cobblestone. The warmth in the early evening air was pleasant, and the sound of music could be heard throughout the city being played from cafes and rooftops. City dwellers climbed to escape the heat, seeking outdoor spaces and pools of water to relax in comfort after a long, hot workday.

The Painter beside him spoke suddenly in a voice thick with longing and nostalgia.

“It was a beautiful city. You never found time to be bored.”

As he spoke the colors seemed to deepen and the sounds took on a depth to them. Voices rang across the dusty streets as people of all ages and all backgrounds hurried to their destinations to escape the midday sun. They came upon a plaza with a massive carved fountain depicting women with the bodies of birds holding urns in their half-wing arms. The square was stuffed with beautiful stonework and tiles with brilliant designs on them. There were stalls set up along the hexagonal square and six main streets came together here.

They watched the young Etienne weave amongst the crowds, dark eyes filled with wonder. There were even some who recognized him from the clinic and thanked him for his service to this or that family member. It was both sweet and heartbreaking to see how easily he used to smile.

The differences between his past and current selves were much deeper than appearance alone. The Painter had lost something beyond words. Gheriun could understand that feeling, and he found himself gripping his partner’s hand. Etienne gave him a thin smile. It was jarring to see the two versions of him side by side; the pale, scarred, and hollow eyed Painter, and the tanned, bright eyed, beautiful young Marisol.

“It was so wonderful,” the Painter continued. “There were cafes lining many streets—my village did not even have a restaurant. But here, you could do anything, be anything. It was my dream to come here.”

He sighed, his voicing turning sorrowful.

“I got much more than I bargained for. I wonder, what did I do to deserve it? What was my fault? If I just knew that then maybe… maybe it would be easier to let go.”

“You didn’t—it wasn’t your fault,” Gheriun insisted. “You did your best.”

“Hmm.”

The Painter just turned back to the projection.

They continued through the square when Etienne suddenly broke out with a laugh and pointed out a group of kids crouched by the fountain.

“Gher, take a look at this,” he said with a smile. “Ah, it was such a little thing, but.”

They got closer to the group and Gheriun tried to peer over their shoulders. They were playing a game of dominoes, and one in particular seemed to be gloating over the others. Etienne pointed to him.

“I remember, because he was cheating. Quite badly, I might add!”

The Mask Seller wasn’t sure if the other man was more annoyed at the cheating or the lack of tact. It was nice to see him smile though. Gheriun had been so caught up in his own worries that seeing his partner happy felt like a small respite from the storm.

The young Etienne, long hair pinned back and dressed in patterned layers and a long skirt stepped up behind the cheater. He considered for a moment before speaking, tugging lightly on the youth’s arm.

“Huh,” he murmured. “Odd, could have sworn it was… ah.”

He grinned mischievously before giving the other sleeve a tug, and from within came tumbling numerous tiles surreptitiously hidden within. The other children raised their voices in unison.

“I told you it wasn’t the same tile he put down!”

“No way!? Did you do the same thing last week? You totally owe me!”

“Yeah, yeah!”

After the scene with the dominoes, Gheriun took a moment to appreciate the sight of the young Etienne. He had a look of satisfaction on his face and a charming lop-sided grin.

“You look pretty pleased with yourself,” Gheriun remarked with a smile.

Etienne laughed again and nodded,

“In a way, I suppose I was. It was just…” He sighed. “It was such a lovely day. And it was rather fun.”

The sun began to set on the square as the scene dimmed.

Etienne was not the only student under Doctor Guillermo; the man had a handful of them. One, a woman named Iska, stood out to Gheriun in her closeness to the young Painter. She took on an almost big sisterly role despite being all of five foot nothing. She had come from up north, where women were often second class citizens and any education had to be done in secret. Since coming to Rosarito, her personality had flourished and she took her training seriously. Often she would stay up late simply to help tutor the others or listen to their woes. She had a calming atmosphere about her, and Gheriun was grateful to see someone who seemed to care about Etienne’s wellbeing.

One thing that stood out to Gheriun was the way scenes would suddenly change, the tones shifting discordantly as the Doctor’s disposition would fracture without warning.

Etienne bringing him objects he’d requested, only to be lashed out at and reprimanded. Etienne brewing tea only for it to be splashed at his feet in disgust for some trivial reason. Every time, Gheriun felt more than saw the pain it caused his partner.

As they traversed deeper into the maze of memory, the relationship between Etienne and his mentor progressed. It was difficult for Gheriun to see the way the Doctor would lash out at him, and in shame he recalled his own past words toward the Painter. He swallowed dryly.

There were times when Iska sensed that something was off, and would simply brew the two of them a pot of tea. She did not ask him any probing questions; she merely offered a spot of warmth when things were stressful.

Guillermo found any excuse to humiliate and tear down Etienne. His episodes grew more frequent and intense in nature. Yet afterwards he would shower his student in love, and he used every chance to endear himself to him. He drew the younger man to him, slowly drawing him into his arms. And Etienne was hopelessly struck with the man, his talent, the side of him that was so tender and loving. As they became deeper involved with one another the Doctor grew possessive of who Etienne associated with. Anyone outside of the priory were immediately suspect. He would question Etienne on where he’d been and with whom. His attitude would turn aggressive on a dime and he’d go from praising his student’s talents and treating him with love to screaming at him and hitting him. Bruises began to blossom across Etienne’s body in a gruesome map of abuses suffered. As they watched him beaten and bloody, Gheriun could not fathom how his partner had not batted an eye.

“How can you stand to watch this?” he finally asked. “How could you stay throughout all of this?”

Etienne took a long, hard look at the Mask Seller.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

His voice was grave, but Gheriun gave a stern nod.

The scene shifted to one of the Doctor’s quarters. It took Gheriun a moment to realize what he was seeing, and he took a sharp intake of breath.

On the bed before them, Etienne and Guillermo were entangled in a mess of limbs. Etienne’s eyes were closed and he gasped beneath the Doctor. Guillermo was kissing him tenderly, hands grabbing at Etienne’s exposed breasts. As they moaned and grasped at one another, Gheriun could not help but turn away. His face was burning and his heart racing. Indeed, it was more than he had hoped to see. Etienne considered him with a deadpan stare.

“It was my first love,” he said, voice cold. “I hadn’t ever left my little town before, and he seemed to shine so bright…”

Even without looking, Gheriun could hear the younger version of his partner gasping out another man’s name. He knew he was being cowardly, and with a dry swallow he moved his head stiffly, robotically, back to face the memory. It was true that despite his erratic treatment before, the Doctor was caressing Etienne with gentle hands. It was painful to watch.

“I was called a harlot, and maybe it’s true,” Etienne said. “But god, I truly believed this was what love was like. I believed that the pain was merely due to my own faults. I’m not sure you can understand what it’s like, for many of us raised as girls.”

It was true, and Gheriun thought immediately of their daughter. What would it be like for her, growing up? The world today was much different from that of the past, but it was not always a kind place.

“We are told that any hurt wrought unto us is earned, a natural product of our being. And back then we didn’t have the words for people like me. I didn’t quite know where I sat, or how to express myself. I’m grateful to know my children will grow up in a world much different from those times.” Etienne nodded to himself and then sighed. “But I was enamored with the man. It may seem foolish now, but back then I truly thought that I had found love, and despite his anger and his wrath, that he loved and valued me.”

Gheriun could at least understand the desperation of first love, the way it blinds some. Some like himself. He bowed his head.

“But then, I was naive. He was an idol to me, and perhaps I put him on something of a pedestal. I just wanted so desperately to be wanted, to be needed, to be loved. And here I thought I was so lucky that a man such as he would fall in love with someone like me.”

The nuns of the priory were another source of camaraderie whenever the Doctor became harsh. When they first laid eyes on Etienne they were in awe of his height and looks. They preened over him like a gaggle of hens, much to Gheriun’s amusement. To his surprise, they were also the ones to first suggest painting as a hobby to Etienne. He had taken to it hesitantly, but was soon spending any free time he had working away at a canvas. Especially after Guillermo had hit or berated him. It seemed to ease his stress, and Gheriun watched in fascination as his skills developed. What had begun as a way to pass the time soon blossomed, although his time was limited. In those early days at least, Etienne found solace among the nuns and the paint.

The Doctor soon noticed the paint on his student’s fingers, and during a group session took the chance to humiliate him.

“Ah, I see young Marisol here finds finger painting a more productive use of her time than, oh, I don’t know, studying the arts of healing.”

His false grin soon fell.

“We will speak of this later.”

When Etienne entered Guillermo’s office, the scene turned sharp and harsh. The Doctor’s face was dark, sharp black lines hiding his eyes. He had his fingers steepled before him.

“Sit,” he commanded in an imperious voice.

His student sat, back ramrod straight.

“Now,” began the Doctor. “I don’t think I need to explain to you what an insult I find this. You are not here to play around. You are here to devote yourself, body, heart, and soul to saving others!”

He slammed a fist down on his desk, making Etienne wince. But he was not finished.

“You dare waste my valuable time with frivolous activities. I did not accept you here to idle away your time.”

“Sir, I—“

“Silence!” roared Guillermo. He stood, breath heavy as he tried to control his temper.

“You are now on double shifts. I’ll hear no complaints.”

Etienne bowed his head. Sweat was beaded on his forehead and his hands balled into fists.

“Yes, sir.”

The scene before them revealed itself to be that of the Painter in the Doctor’s personal quarters. He was buttoning up a pair of the man’s trousers and looking over himself in the mirror. He pulled his hair back with one hand as he kept the large pants up where they were meant to be with the other. His eyes were zipping up and down as he turned to and fro. Beside him, the real Etienne chuckled.

“Ah, a foolish little experiment,” he said.

The younger version of him had found a belt and was looping it through the belt loops. As he buckled it he adjusted the waist slightly and looked up with a nervous smile. Gheriun felt his heart skip a beat. It was strange to see his partner as he had been before the plague and his horrific death. Still, he didn’t find either more beautiful; he was totally enrapt with the Painter. He just mourned that it had so hurt the other man.

Suddenly, the door swing open to show a furious Guillermo. He looked about ready to strangle the young Etienne, but then a cruel smile came over his face.

“Oh isn’t this cute,” he said with a sneer. “You’re playing dress-up.”

Etienne’s face had drained of color.

“He was supposed to be out for the next three days,” explained the current Etienne. “So I had thought…”

He trailed off as Guillermo approached his younger self. He towered over him and his body was well muscled. He grabbed the collar of Etienne’s shirt roughly and shoved him up against a wall. His voice was low and dripping with malice as he spoke.

“You believe you deserve the respect of a man? Or is there something that gets you off about this?”

Guillermo pressed hard against Etienne’s collarbone with his forearm as his student clutched at his jacket desperately and coughing.

“Please—“

“Already pleading like a silly little girl? Aren’t we something.”

The color around them gradually seemed to drain and shift to sickly hues as the beginnings of the Plague made themselves apparent. It all began with one odd report from the seaside town of (??).

As Etienne read aloud the report Iska had sent them from (??), his voice faltered. He glanced up to Doctor Guillermo for some sign of what to do. The doctor’s face was furrowed in thought and he gestured for Etienne to continue, which his student did after some brief hesitation.

“…the family described has been ordered to quarantine, however I fear that their interactions with the broader public and status as traders poses some risk to public health, being located as they are in a central food supply area of the greater city. Doctor?”

Guillermo’s expression had darkened.

“We’ll set off at once,” he said in a grave voice. “Pack for a few days. Bring your mask.”

At that, the blood drained from Etienne’s face.

“Is it that bad?”

The Doctor stood with a grunt.

“Let’s pray not.”

They decided to visit the town themselves to confirm what the situation was. As they readied themselves to leave, the young Etienne hedged a question.

“Do you have any idea of the cause?”

The doctor shook his head slowly.

“It’s something we will need to see. Come now. Do not forget your mask.”

Etienne foisted the bag containing his flower-filled, long nosed mask, and they were off. The scene melted to that of a rural seaside village, sun beating down on the tall grass surrounding the settlement. As they approached they could see ships of various sizes on the water. The buildings were largely constructed of plaster and wood support beams. There wasn’t much to the town, and everything radiated out from a well in the town square. Despite how small it was, it was an important stop for many international ships on their way to the main ports in Rosarito or Pampuda.

They arrived late in the afternoon and were greeted by the town’s mayor.

“Thank you for coming to our small settlement,” he said, wringing his hands.

The Doctor nodded.

“Can you show us to the afflicted’s abode?”

The mayor wiped sweat off his wrinkled forehead tanned dark by the sun, and swallowed before nodding.

They were brought to a house located eerily close to the well that was the heart of the little town.

“Like a body afflicted at its very core,” commented the Painter.

Gheriun could only nod.

The home was a more modern two story with brightly painted wooden beams. Inside however the atmosphere was grim. They had donned their plague masks before stepping inside, the odd bird-like faces obscuring their own. They were greeted by a shawled woman in tears and a man who looked like he had not slept in days.

“Oh, god bless you doctor,” she said.

She had black hair that was greying at the temples poking out from her slightly askance head covering and her black eyes were rimmed in red.

“Our son Nicolas had been running a fever the last few days,” she explained in a rush of words. “But then, the other day he fell unconscious and these bright red marks appeared. Now they’re black and he’s struggling in his sleep and oh doctor what do we do?”

“Calm now,” said the imposing Guillermo. “I will inspect him for myself. Can you lead me to him?”

They were brought to a dimly lit room on the second floor. There was a boy lying in a bed whose black hair was plastered against his sweat drenched face. The two doctors approached the patient, Guillermo kneeling beside the bed. As he pulled back the sheets he froze for a moment. Even witnessing it as an illusion, Gheriun winced at the sight.

The boy was covered in dark black boils, blooming together in clusters.

“Just what could cause this?” Etienne asked his mentor hesitantly. His voice was muffled through the mask.

The Doctor’s face was grim as he muttered.

“Let’s hope it’s an isolated incident, for all our sake’s.”

It was as they were about to leave that Doctor Guillermo removed his mask. They had left the infected family and were now visiting on the other side of town an acquaintance of his. The man’s son had been dealing with an odd lethargy and Guillermo had promised to give him a look. He insisted that the symptoms were completely unrelated to the suspicious outbreak they’d overseen earlier. He did have a point; those had been rapid onset and with very visible symptoms. Still, Etienne shifted on his heel as the Doctor performed his close examination. He felt uneasy, like they were standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff.

“Well this is very unusual indeed.”

The Doctor’s comment snapped Etienne out of his reverie.

“Sir?”

“There seems to be quite the irritation in the throat, the lymph nodes are horribly swollen. Curious. When palpated, they feel solid.”

The patient squirmed in his grasp.

“It it bad, doc?”

Doctor Guillermo’s face split into that sunny grin of his.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much. You’ve probably overworked it. I’ve got just the tea that will get those lungs clear in no time.”

Within weeks of their visit to the seaside town, Iska was dead. She had stayed there even while those still able fled to the city. It was a similar story across the countryside, and as villages fell in turn the survivors fled on to the next settlement, bringing with them this disease. It was rapidly becoming too late to attempt a quarantine, and not everyone was even convinced the concept would work.

The number of infected and dying rose only higher. Even as illusory memories the stench of death was enough to overwhelm you. Bodies were at first hauled off to mass graves, then burned, but eventually they were simply left to pile up in the heat.

Gheriun watched as Etienne fought in vain against the onslaught, his colleagues slowly falling to the plague.

Many of the firsthand records had been lost to the massive burns that had occurred in the later stages of the plague. However, it was ever more horrifying than the Mask Seller had heard. He knew only the Observer who had seen anything, and the other man refused to discuss it. Any time the subject came up, Rui’s face was a stony mask and he quickly changed the subject. Let alone the Painter.

That day, Etienne was at the clinic treating the ever growing wave of those in need. It was miserably hot, the sun glistening off of the surface of the brick and mortar buildings around them. Etienne was sweating over a patient when he was summoned to the side office of the clinic by another nurse. As he got there, his pace faltered.

A proud looking woman stood there, chin held high. Her pregnant stomach was thrust forward and on display prominently, almost a threat. Before he had even reached her, the woman was striding toward Etienne in a rage.

“You think I’m so blind,” she hissed. “But I’m no fool. I see what the two of you are up to.”

“Madam, please—“

As the young Painter raised his hands, the woman slapped him hard against the face. The sound rang out through the small space.

“You harlot. How dare you touch my husband, you filthy little tramp.”

Etienne ran a hand across his bright red cheek, eyes wide and stunned.

“I don’t—“

“Don’t you try to lie to me,” she said, raising her hand again. There were tears in her vivid eyes. “I saw you two… I saw you together! You filthy slut, how dare you go after a married man? A man whose wife is pregnant? Have you no shame?”

Although she was considerably shorter than the Painter, Etienne shrunk back. He didn’t reply, but his silence seemed only to further anger the woman. His modern self spoke.

“I had no idea,” he said in a quiet voice. “I’d always thought… but of course he was married.”

Gheriun’s eyes widened as he realized who the distraught woman was.

“Her name was Emelia,” Etienne continued. “She wasn’t a bad woman, just… it was a complicated situation. I remember feeling like the ground had fallen from under my feet. My stomach felt hollow and cold.”

He gave something like a laugh, a bitter, distant sound.

“And she was pregnant? Here I was, imagining our future together, and the entire time he had been married. I had without meaning to stepped in and broken an entire family. Of course she was angry.”

[literenture]

A moment of peace before Valeria’s birth.

Sho lay with arms sprawled to his sides in the snow, watching the flurries descend. They melted on his tongue as he stuck it out in the cold mountain air.

His thoughts were as fuzzy and dim as the sky above. The nearer it got to the birth of his younger sibling, the more restless he got.

Would he be in the way? He knew his own health had struggled and been a source of stress for the adults. He still had time though, his gate was managing to stutter along.

However, he knew he was on a time limit. Just how long did he have before he became a burden on his family?

“Well well well, if it isn’t Sho.”

His vision was suddenly blocked off by the upside down face of the Observer. Rui’s cheeks were red with cold, but he had a sly grin on. Before Sho could say anything, he grabbed his exposed sides and tickled them.

“Hey! Stop that!”

Sho struggled to get up and away from the overly jubilant Observer. As he caught his breath and stood up, he turned around to glare at Rui. The Observer had on a wide smile, but there was something sad in his eye. Sho bit back his frustration and cocked one eyebrow.

“What are you doing here?”

Rui raised one hand to his heart in mock hurt.

“You wound me! Would you rather I not be?” Rui’s grin faltered. “Ah, but if I’m bothering you, it’s not like I’m trying to keep you company or anything, idiot.”

“Was that last part necessary..?”

Sho looked the Observer up and down. He seemed smaller, somehow, reserved in a way. His shoulders were hunched and there was something fragile about his expression. If anything, Sho felt he could relate to it. He clenched his fists against his sides and shook his head rapidly.

“Mm-mm, you’re not bothering me. Did you come from home? How is he?”

Sho’s voice came out strained, and he coughed to hide his concern. The Observer shrugged and sighed.

“Oh, he’s just fine,” he said blithely. “As much as I hate to admit it, that masksmith is pretty okay to him, that bastard, goddamnit.”

Rui’s face soured at the mention of Sho’s father, but he quickly glanced toward the younger boy.

“I didn’t mean…”

But Sho just laughed.

“No, he is a bit of a pain,” he said. “I have years of complaints I could air about my father.”

Rui dusted the snow off his knees before looking up at Sho. There were complex emotions in his eye that Sho was unable to read as the other man stood there silently.

He finally broke that silence with a heavy sigh.

“You know,” he started hesitantly. “It’s okay if this is all a bit much. I know I..”

The Observer bit his lip and glanced away.

“I guess I’m feeling a bit lonely? So I can only imagine how it must be for you.”

Sho stared at Rui open mouthed until the Observer scowled at him.

“Wh-what? You look so stunned, it’s creeping me out.”

“Oh, I just didn’t expect you to say something that wasn’t completely frivolous,” Sho admitted.

Rui balled his hands up into fists and stomped the ground, his breath steaming in the cold air.

“Just what sort of character do you think I am?! Wait, maybe you’re right? Am I just the comic relief…? I might be in trouble!?”

As he stood there fuming, Sho burst into laughter once more. Rui played up his act until Sho was out of breath, wheezing as he watched the Observer’s farce.

Finally, when he had played it out, Rui patted Sho on the back until he caught his breath. He wiped tears from his eyes as he turned to the Observer.

“Thanks,” he said. “I think I needed that.”

Rui gave a lopsided grin.

“Well, if I’m to play my role I may as well do it well.”

“Yeah, you’re best when you’re being frivolous.”

“He didn’t even hesitate before striking me down!”

Rui clenched his chest and spun around before falling into the snow in a dramatic display. Sho laughed as he watched him go up in a plume of dust.

Rui came back from messing about with Sho to find the Mask Seller hard at work cutting lumber in the yard. The man had untied his robes to hang about his waist, exposing his broad, scarred back despite the cold. Steam came off the sweat on his skin and his breath misted in the air as he worked. The Observer lifted a hand in casual greeting as Gheriun took notice of him and paused to wipe his forehead.

“Ahoy there,” Rui said lightly. “I just got back from having a manly heart to heart with your son. Actually, I might be doing an even better job than you, what’s that? Maybe you should watch out I don’t steal away Etienne’s heart.”

The masksmith scoffed at his banal comments and waved his hand dismissively.

“Sure, sure.”

“Didn’t even bat an eye!?”

Rui stuck his tongue out at Gheriun, eliciting a chuckle from the other man.

As one of the few people even older than him, the Mask Seller had largely been an enigma throughout his long life. The man had visited the shrine where Rui and his sister grew up and even carved for them their signature masks, but until he became involved with Etienne he had remained on the periphery of affairs.

When Rui had discovered the man’s connections to Daikokuten, he had thought his friend insane, even moreso when he’d learned that Gheriun was also the father of the Prophet.

However loath he was to admit it though, Rui had been wrong in his initial assessment of both of them. It irritated him to say, but the masksmith had done much to brighten the life of one of his dearest friends. He still considered him a bastard of ill repute, but that was just because he had become Etienne’s beloved partner and taken so much of his time. It was something that the Observer would have been unable to do for the Painter, but he still felt a pang of jealousy about the situation.

“You were out when I stopped by earlier,” Rui continued. “Etienne’s gotten huge, are you two going to have a giant baby as well? Won’t you consider the rest of us? Even Sho’s gotten taller than me, damnit.”

“It was good of you to come see him.”

The loneliness in Gheriun’s voice as he totally disregarded most of what Rui said stopped the Observer in his tracks. He lowered his arms and tilted his face up at the masksmith, squinting his eye.

“Oh no no no, you don’t get to look like that.”

The Mask Seller started and looked at him in confusion. Exasperated, Rui crossed his arms and huffed before pointing sharply at Gheriun.

“You don’t get to be lonely, okay? You took my best conversation partner from me, and I’ll never forgive you, in fact, I’ll kill you, asshole..!”

“You let your true thoughts in at the end there.”

Gheriun scratched his head furiously, the scars on his muscular arms glinting in the light.

“I’m not lonely, in fact I’d argue I’m probably the happiest man alive.”

“Bastard, save some happiness for the rest of us.”

“But well,” the Mask Seller continued, ignoring Rui’s outburst. “I guess with the pregnancy and everything with Sho, we’ve had less time together.”

“Good?? Give him back to me damnit!”

Gheriun cleared his throat loudly.

“Being that as it may, that we get to be together at all is enough of a blessing.”

“That’s disgustingly sweet!?”

Rui grabbed the sides of his head and groaned as he twisted at the waist. Without regard for his distress, Gheriun stared up at the house with complicated emotions.

“I can trust you to watch after them, can’t I?”

“Hah?”

Rui lowered his hands and frowned but Gheriun stopped him with a serious look, pointing to his face. A network of scars ran along it and down his neck to his chest, a memento of the Founder’s curse.

“I’ve lost my blessings. You’re the only one I’d trust. We may have had our differences, but I’ve known you since you and your sister…”

He trailed off.

“Since you were mortal. That’s why I can trust you.”

Rui furrowed his brow.

“You aren’t seriously saying what I think you’re saying, right?”

He laughed a bit but soon ceased at the look in Gheriun’s eye. Before Rui could say anything, the masksmith gripped his shoulders.

“Please, Observer,” he said in an urgent voice. “No matter what happens to me, promise me that you’ll watch over my family.”

The Observer was aghast at his words, and he gaped at the other man. Finally, he grabbed one of his large hands and pulled it off his shoulder, scoffing.

“Asshole, look after them yourself,” he said in a huff. “That’s your job. Don’t go foisting it off on me, even if I am cooler and Etienne likes me more.”

Gheriun looked alarmed and hurt but Rui continued before he could speak, jamming one finger into his face.

“Look! In the first place, it’s not like you’re some old man. At least not physically. Nor are you sickly. You always did keep disgustingly in shape. So I refuse to hear a single word of this.”

He threw his arms over his head and spun on his heel in frustration before pointing off in the distance and turning back towards Gheriun.

“You’ve got a teen kid with loads of trauma who’s gonna need his father. Unless you plan on abandoning him again?”

He knew his comment was unfair, but Rui had to hammer it into the man’s thick skull one way or another. The hurt evident on Gheriun’s face showed that he was succeeding.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It doesn’t matter how you meant it,” Rui said. “You can’t think like that, period. Being prepared is one thing, but you’re resigning yourself to your grave with talk like that. I won’t forgive you if you go off and die on Etienne.”

“From the one who was saying he’d kill me, that’s a bit…”

“Right, I’ll kill you if you die, so better not!!”

Gheriun sighed as Rui held his fingers up to the sides of his head like horns and flared at him. However, the air of solemnity that had earlier possessed the man seemed to have passed. He smiled wryly at the Observer.

“I can’t tell sometimes if what you say is wise, or just entirely frivolous.”

“Not you too!?”

Rui put on an expression of shock as the Mask Seller chuckled.

Having successfully done his good deeds in cheering up both father and son, Rui crossed his arms with a sense of accomplishment.

“Ah, you’re still here?”

Rui looked up and Gheriun turned around. With one hand positioned at the swell of his large belly and the other against his partner’s arm stood the Painter Etienne. Visibly nearing the end of his pregnancy, the man’s eyes glittered from behind his mask. The Mask Seller’s face melted into a dopey smile, and Rui mused at how in 800 years he had never seen the man so human. It reassured him that he would do well by his friend.

“I was just heading out,” replied Rui. “Just had to finish catching up with my old war buddy.”

Etienne cocked one eyebrow at this but made no comment.

“You’ll let me know when to expect my brand new nephew?”

“Why do you sound like you just want the pregnancy to be over?” Etienne asked wryly.

Rui stuck his tongue out and rubbed the back of his head.

“Rather, I’m just excited to see a swarm of tiny Etiennes all around me.”

“And since when did anyone say anything about a swarm.”

The Painter glanced at Gheriun who just blushed and looked away, though he noticeably did not protest to the idea.

Ah, aren’t they just the picture of bliss.

Rui smiled as he watched the two. While it pained him to get less time with the artist, he rejoiced in knowing that the man was surrounded by those who loved him. Even Sho spoke of him as a father, his eyes full of reverence. Looking back, Rui could not quite believe how things had turned out. It certainly had not been his expectation those many years ago when he had learned of the one unearthed by Amir. It was sad in some ways to see how things had changed and those who were no longer with them, but the sorrow was outweighed by the immense joy he felt to see Etienne happy.

[literenture]

Sho abducted, preparations for the battle against the Founder.

Sho had been running himself thin trying to assist his guardians after the birth of his sister, but he was happy for the first time in as long as he could remember. It was hard work, but it made him feel useful to be able to do something to help, and he had immediately been enamored with the tiny infant.

Before her birth, Sho’s mind had been wracked by fears of abandonment and that he would be tossed aside, but as soon as he held her in his arms, one of his fingers gripped in her entire hand, he felt such love he could not describe. He had never felt so protective of another, and he wanted to be the best big brother he could to make sure she never had to go through life alone. Sho knew all too well how hard it was when you had nobody else.

The Hearthmother had stopped by to check on Valeria’s progress and see how Etienne was faring. Gheriun was a nervous wreck, always worrying more than necessary about his partner. It made the Painter irritated, and on more than one occasion he’d had to point out that he had only given birth, he wasn’t some delicate flower. And besides, the Mask Seller was the one struggling to adjust to his new life without the benefit of powers. He was a mortal man now, and one who had only recently gone through a major experimental surgery himself. It was as though he were projecting onto the other man.

As she finished up her examination, the midwife nodded at Gheriun. Her short-cropped, dark brown hair lay against her pale cheek as she adjusted the stole around her shoulders. Her red eyes flickered in the light.

“Well, papa’s doing very well,” she said with a smile. “Not getting much sleep though, I gather?”

The Painter laughed.

“No, but I have a lot of help around the house.” He looked toward Sho. “And she’s a surprisingly good baby. I expected much more wailing.”

In response, Valeria hiccuped and giggled as though pleased. It made the Hearthmother grin.

“I’ll say. Don’t go on spoiling her now.”

“Before you go,” the Mask Seller interrupted, “I just, shouldn’t he rest for a while before returning to work?”

It had been the subject of some arguments between the two men. Etienne was determined to resume his workload as he saw fit, but Gheriun worried incessantly.

“Well, I’d say it depends on how Pierrot feels,” the midwife said pointedly. “It’s his body. He should know his limits better than most.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him,” Etienne said in irritation. “I’m not going to overdo it. Valeria’s my first concern. But I can’t just sit around doing nothing, Gher.”

His voice was desperate to get through to the Mask Seller, to reassure and assuage his fears. Gheriun crossed his arms and grumbled a bit, but finally nodded.

“Just…take care of yourself, okay? Don’t go overexerting yourself right out the gate.”

“Trust me.”

Etienne placed one arm on Gheriun’s and looked into his eye. With a frustrated scowl the Mask Seller threw up his hands.

“I do, I do,” he sighed.

Sho whistled, slightly out of tune, as he strolled down the lane home. He was bundled up against the late winter chill, breath frosting in the air. He wore a thick scarf knit for him by the Painter, and swung his light grocery bag to and fro.

Going into town for supplies had become one of his favorite activities despite initially being terrified of all of the strangers. However, they had become fond of the new family, and treated them all warmly.

While at first he’d needed Gheriun or Etienne with him to brave going into shops, he now did so, maybe not easily, but with enjoyment. Casual conversation was still difficult for him to navigate but Sho was learning to enjoy meeting new people.

Here, nobody knew who or what he had been, nobody expected anything of him. They all treated him as a normal child, and while he was still learning the language, the villagers were enthusiastic about teaching him.

As much as he loved his family, he found moments to himself like this healing. It was a chance to collect his thoughts and ruminate on all that had happened the past few months.

In truth, he still found it difficult adjusting to a life so outside of his experiences, and he struggled with fear and self doubt. He was trying his best, but it was nice to be able to let down his shoulders and not worry about how he came off around his guardians.

It wasn’t that he was displeased and hiding it, rather he simply did not quite know how to act. For so long his entire existence had been a performance for the benefit of his grandfather, and left to his own devices he struggled to know how to express himself honestly.

He was grateful for the patience and understanding of his new family, but there were still times that he’d prefer to be alone with his thoughts.

He had become so wrapped up in his own head that it took him a moment to notice the change in the air.

The world around him went silent. The suddenness of it all made Sho freeze, and he whirled around.

Nothing.

He let out a sigh, assuming it to be some sort of animal, when something slammed into him from behind.

Sho gasped, breath torn from his lungs, and went tumbling forward into the snow. He rolled to a stop, head slamming into the ground, and stared in a daze. Without a chance to even question what was happening, a sharp pain erupted in his side.

He screamed, suddenly all too aware, as the blade of the cursed spear Varuna sliced through his side and pinned him to the ground. Its wielder stood over him, eyes cold.

“Bashr,” Sho gasped out. “Why..?”

“Sorry,” was all the large man said before another figure strode up to join him.

“Hey Prophet,” said the short, wiry Lotus Eater known as Ayumi. “Or, ex-Prophet now.”

Sho was struggling to keep up with everything, trying to summon the last reserves of en at his control.

It was useless; Varuna was still stuck in his side and it ate away at the pitiful remnants of Sho’s powers. Even his gate struggled to pull from them, instead leaking en rapidly. He coughed up a splash of dark red blood onto the snow.

“Oh, sorry about that,” Ayumi said in her sing-song voice. “Can’t take any chances, y’know.”

She placed a hand over the hilt of her blade, Charon. If she drew that it would be no quick and pleasant death.

Sho’s heart clenched in terror; he had trained alongside the Lotus Eaters as one of them and knew all too well the cruelty she was capable of. His shadow sputtered weakly but otherwise did not respond. His fingers were growing cold. A resignation rose in him as he realized there was nothing he could do.

“Just kill me,” Sho hissed.

That seemed to amuse the shorter Lotus Eater and a wicked grin spread across her face.

“We’re not here to kill you,” she chimed. “Your dear grandfather misses you oh so much. It’s about time you came home, isn’t it?”

Sho’s blood froze as she spoke and he cast a glance toward the direction of his home before he could stop himself. Following his gaze, Ayumi’s grin widened.

“Oh, he knows about them all right. Even the child.”

At his expression she burst out laughing, endlessly amused.

“You didn’t really think our Founder would be so blind as to not know? You truly are a fool. But no worries, his kindness is as deep as his knowledge. If you come with us now he’ll spare them all. Isn’t that nice?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth wolfishly as she clasped her hands together in a chipper manner. Her entire personality was a sham of innocence, but she could not hide her cruel nature when after her prey. Sho had never had the opportunity to experience it from the other end, and he quivered in fear. Ayumi just shrugged at him.

“Well, enough chatter. You’re coming home. Now will you come easily, or will we have to chop off a few limbs first?”

Every part of Sho felt numb. There was no disobeying his grandfather. He knew that better than most. Why had he thought he could so easily run away from his destiny?

He had been born for one reason only, and that was to be his grandfather’s loyal tool. He owed it to him after all. Just because he hadn’t been warm to him did not mean the Founder did not love him.

That’s right. That’s what this was.

Sho had just acted out of line, selfishly, and that’s why he had to be disciplined. But his grandfather must surely love him. Why else would he be so magnanimous?

Sho’s mind spiraled, consumed by the flames of a trauma that always flickered just beneath the surface. With one last look towards the family he had briefly known, Sho grit his teeth and clenched his fists in the snow. He coughed again, bringing up more blood. Finally, with resignation in his voice, he spoke.

“Take me to him.”

“I’m disappointed in you, my boy.”

Sho lay strapped to a table, shirt off, as the chief medical officer of the Lotus Eaters, Isidora, bent over him tending to his wound. The boy stared blankly at the ceiling, feeling empty.

They had brought him directly to Power Plant No 1 following his acquiescence. Travel had been fast with Daikokuten’s experimental waystones, and within the hour he was on the examination table deep in the array of buildings that surrounded the base of the skeleton of the heart tree of Mineshi. His grandfather was already there waiting when Sho arrived carried by Bashr due to his blood loss.

The first words out of the man’s—in his aunt’s body—mouth felt like another stab in the gut, and Sho felt himself break out in a cold sweat. He tried to focus on a particularly interesting stain on the metal ceiling amidst the pipes and bars across it. It wasn’t helping much.

“Do you know how worried I was when I was told you had disappeared?” he intoned sorrowfully. “Not a word, nothing, only to learn it was your own father who stole you from us? Who betrayed all that we’ve done for him?”

He sighed and shook his head, the rings adorning his pinned hair shaking and catching glints off the greenish artificial light.

“I don’t know what sort of lies he and that glorified concubine of his filled your head with. You always were so naive. You should know I only ever wanted what was best for you.”

“Father told me the real reason I was born,” Sho said, unable to stop himself even though he knew it was a foolish act of rebellion. “And I found maman’s diary. know that I’m just your body double like auntie.”

Despite all that he had learned, saying it out loud still brought tears to Sho’s eyes. He had wanted for so long to believe that his grandfather was just a stoic person but that he truly did love him. Now he no longer knew, yet he still wanted so desperately for it to be true, for this all to be some great misunderstanding, even as he was stitched up due to the massive injury inflicted at his grandfather’s instruction.

The Founder laced his ringed fingers together thoughtfully.

“And? You believed such a thing? As you can see,” he said, spreading his arms, “I’m quite satisfied with my current form. You know only those who agree to it are chosen for this heavy burden. It is forced upon nobody.”

That made Sho hesitate. It was true, all his life he had known his aunt to be the next in line for the Founder’s blessing, and she herself had been proud of the fact. But why would the Mask Seller and Painter lie? No, even more, his mother had written of her discovery of the information shortly before her death. She would never make up such a fact.

Unless Father lied to her too, whispered a voice in the back of his head. Unless he really did just have her fooled about his true intentions, just as Grandfather had claimed so many times. Was the Mask Seller truly the kind man he had appeared to be these past short months? Or had Sho been fooled in his naïveté?

He shook his head. No. No, he couldn’t let his fear take over now. If he was going to die, it would not be as his grandfather’s eager pawn. But how would he be able to escape? He couldn’t let the Founder take over his body, that much he knew. It would spell doom for his family, and many others besides. His grandfather's plan and the completion of the M Protocol was no peaceful world order, but a hierarchy of power that would see hundreds of thousands or millions dead. It might even have the potential to destroy entire worlds. Even with what little he knew, that much had become obvious in the past year. All that Sho had learned and all that he had secretly known came together in his head, and he clenched his jaw.

He had to find a way to prevent that, no matter what it took.

——

They were sitting in the living room waiting for Sho to return when Valeria started bawling. There was no apparent trigger; one moment she was happily babbling in her crib, the next she was completely inconsolable.

Gheriun lifted her up and rocked her gently, shushing her.

“What happened?” Etienne asked as he walked up to them.

“No idea,” was the Mask Seller’s baffled response. “Could she have hurt herself?”

The Painter’s face was a mask of worry as he realized something while looking over the infant.

“Isn’t it a bit late for Sho to be getting home?”

He was right. The sun had long since set, and dinner was overdue. They had been so content in the quiet of the house that time had completely slipped by. Gheriun’s face darkened.

“I’m going to go see where he’s at. He’s probably just dawdling by the pond,” he said without much conviction.

Something was off. As soon as the Mask Seller was outside he knew it. The snowy landscape was too quiet. He hastened down the lightly dusted path, willing his weakened body to move ever faster.

He came upon a small rise in the path and paused for a moment to catch his breath and survey his surroundings. No use running around like a headless chicken. He leaned against a thin tree and looked around.

At first, he did not see anything, but something out of the corner of his eye nagged at him, and he looked straight down the path.

There was a sickeningly large pool of blood there in the moonlight. His heart sank, and without another thought he bolted toward it.

There were signs of a scuffle, a quick one by the looks of it. The blood had cooled and begun to coagulate there on the snow. His first thought was an animal, but the tracks soon proved otherwise.

No. No no no no no.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. His hands gripped at his chest as his heart hammered, and he felt faint as he dropped to his knees.

This couldn’t be. It had to be some mistake.

And then he saw the boy’s hat and shopping bag.

Gheriun howled in agony and bent over himself, forehead pressed to the bloodstain. He felt like the world was ending right there.

It had to be him. Somehow, that man had found them, halfway across the world, and just when they had relaxed he had struck. What had he done with Sho? The amount of blood on the ground made Gheriun feel ill. Had he killed him for leaving? Stolen his body away to puppet as a marionette?

The Mask Seller’s fists curled tightly into balls. He ground his teeth, holding back another sky piercing cry.

This was all his fault. He had been so selfishly focused on Etienne and Valeria that he hadn’t adequately protected his son. Gods, if only he had gone with him, or checked sooner. Why hadn’t he felt anything? Shouldn’t a father know if his child has been…

He couldn’t fathom it. Just when they had become a family. Just when they were healing.

As he lie there in the snow, rapid footsteps approached him from behind. He did not look up.

“Gher, what— My god!”

Etienne cursed as he saw the bloodstained snow. Valeria, now sniffling lightly, was strapped to his back. He knelt beside the Mask Seller and placed one hand on his heaving shoulders.

“What happened?”

“That man,” Gheriun managed through his grit teeth. “He’s… he’s killed him.”

The Painter froze, but then he reached down and lifted Gheriun’s face to him.

“Listen to me. Sho’s stronger than you think. They’ll want him alive. It wouldn’t make sense to kill him.”

Still, his voice wavered as he spoke. This was not an inconsiderable amount of blood, and they both knew how weak Sho had been.

The moons hung brightly in the sky, oblivious to all that occurred beneath. The two men sat there until Valeria snapped them back to reality with a cry.

The snow had started up again, flurries rapidly descending around them and melting into the stain on the ground. They stood there, unable to decide what to do next.

“Standing here won’t solve anything,” Etienne said at last. “We need to contact the others.”

He reached a hand down to help the Mask Seller to his feet. Gheriun’s eyes wouldn’t leave the ground where his son had lay, where he may have spent his last moments, completely alone.

Just how scared had he been at that moment? Had he called out for his father? His inadequate father, who had been blithely unaware of what he was going through.

The masksmith felt like he would be torn apart by the raging emotions within him. He staggered until the Painter caught him.

“Stay with me Gher,” he pleaded. “We need to keep our heads clear. We’ll find him.”

“Not if they have him,” despaired the Mask Seller. “We barely got him away the last time. They’ll have brought him to the power plant.”

He was shaking with rage and fear, his heart thudding in his chest. He could not get the image of Sho lying broken and bloody, all alone, in the cold depths of winter, out of his head.

“Rui’s infiltrated once already,” the Painter said patiently. “Surely he’ll know a way…”

But nothing Etienne said could clear the fog of despair that had overcome the Mask Seller. His own heart was heavy with worry, but they had to stay focused or Sho truly would be lost to them.

Arriving home to their empty house only made it set in further just how big their loss was. Gheriun looked ghastly, the strain of the previous months catching up to him and etching itself onto his face. Even as they sat and fed Valeria, the Mask Seller was sunken into himself, distant and unresponsive. The outpouring of grief had given way to a deep resignation. It was as though he had completely given up on any hope of his son’s safe return. Etienne couldn’t have that. He needed him to try.

They had no idea where the Observer was just then, but Etienne placed a letter in the mailbox and hoped it would reach Rui immediately. The Observer had never been very good at keeping up with the interdimensional mail but all the Painter could do right then was pray.

He cursed himself for not listening to Rui’s advice and getting a phone. Sho had the only phone between the three of them, the two older men baffled by the modern technology no matter how patiently Sho guided them through it.

The night passed by in a slow tension that strained them each to their breaking points. While Etienne paced, sometimes cradling Valeria, sometimes wringing his hands, Gheriun was still as a statue. He sat with hands crossed over his knees, staring into the middle distance. He looked like he had aged years in a matter of hours, and his usually strong face dissolved into a patchwork of fault lines and anxiety.

They did not get any sleep that night.

The two of them checked the mailbox with impatience, trudging back and forth through the snow as the steady flurries buried even those frequent tracks. Their nerves were fraught and near to snapping, and so they passed those blurry hours largely in silence.

Before he knew it, Gheriun had fallen asleep in the armchair as he sat and waited for any reply from the Observer.

As the only one of them to have ever breached the walls of the power plant and come back, he was their only hope.

So he and Etienne had spent restless hours waiting for a response.

By midday, the exhaustion and fear must have caught up with the Mask Seller, and he fell into an uneasy sleep.

His dreams were amorphous and vague, but they all featured his son’s death. When he was awoken from his nightmares, he cried out in immediate panic.

“It’s okay Gher, it’s only me. Rui’s heading here.”

Gheriun blinked his eyes rapidly as the Painter’s words set in. In his state it took him some time before the meaning made any sense to him.

“He is..?”

Etienne nodded solemnly.

“He’ll be here within the hour.”

The Observer had not been exaggerating his timeframe. As the snowfall made to turn into a proper blizzard, there was a knock at their door. Both men hurried to answer it, the Painter reaching the doorway first and cracking it open. A cold wind tore through the room and they hurriedly ushered the bundled figure of the Observer into the warm house. He shook the snow off of himself and began taking off the layers he wore there in the stone entranceway. Gheriun bit back annoyance at his consideration; all he cared about right now was getting his son back.

Rui finally stood with cheeks flushed red from the cold, and was led to the sitting room so that they could discuss the matter at hand.

“So tell me, just when did you discover that Sho was missing? What did you find at the scene of his disappearance?”

The Observer didn’t mince words, getting to the point immediately.

“It must have been around, oh, half past six? It had just gotten dark, and we had expected him back by then.”

Etienne didn’t hesitate in his answer, even as Gheriun’s own throat closed up at the thoughts of what they had discovered. He bit back his emotions and clenched his fists until the knuckles turned white. His partner soon placed a steady hand over his own and Gheriun remembered to breathe. It wouldn’t help anyone to break down now. He knew that, but…

“As for what we discovered after that…”

Etienne’s gaze slid over to the Mask Seller.

“There was a pool of blood on the path home,” Gheriun said quietly.

Heedless of his turmoil, Rui continued with his clinical questions.

“When you say a pool, just how much do you mean? Was it fresh? Do you know for certain it was his? Maybe the boy’s just run off somewhere and—“

“Of course I know it was his! You think I’d just…”

Gheriun couldn’t keep from raising his voice, but Etienne squeezed his hand and he inhaled sharply to collect himself before continuing in a steadier tone.

“His hat and the shopping bag were both there. Etienne made the bag himself. And…” Gheriun squeezed his eyes shut. “The blood had already started to cool. It was about so large.”

Gheriun gestured. Rui made no remark or response to his earlier outrage, just nodding at his explanation with an “I see.”

“Then, it’s most likely he’s still alive as Etienne suspected.”

Despite themselves, both men couldn’t help but let out their breath in unison as the Observer made his deduction. However, he quickly raised a finger to quell their relief.

“Unfortunately, without Sowaca, I won’t be able to repeat the same trick I used last time to get inside the Power Plant.”

Just like that, their faint glimmer of hope was snuffed out. Gheriun felt himself grow cold. He had been right after all, there was nothing to be done, he had failed his son so completely and now—

“That doesn’t mean I don’t have some ideas of alternative measures, though. It’ll just require a bit more manpower.”

“Why couldn’t you have led with that to begin with?”

Etienne’s voice snapped as he questioned his friend, who only held his hands up placatingly and attempted an apology.

“Sorry, my bad, I just didn’t want to give the wrong idea,” Rui said quickly. “I’ll be frank, I’ve no idea if any of my plans have even the most remote chance of success. I’d be lying if I said otherwise.”

“It doesn’t matter to me if it’s only a naught percent chance,” Gheriun said. “Even if I have to give my own life in exchange, I will get Sho back.”

“Gher…”

But the Mask Seller was adamant. He stared directly into the Observer’s uncovered eye, jaw set. Seeing his determination, Rui lowered his hands and nodded curtly.

“Well, with the warning out of the way, as far as I see it, there are three options with the best chance. The explanations are a bit tedious, but, well, let’s see…”

[literenture]

Beginning of part 2, after Sho escapes the compound.

Sho woke in the middle of the night struggling to breathe. He sat up in his cot in the studio, confused about where he was. His mind raced to catch up and he almost called out for Rana when he recalled himself. With one hand clutched to his chest he curled up on the side of the cot, waiting for his breath to calm down. His heart was racing in his chest and he felt light headed. For a moment he was lost with what to do, but he waited to catch his breath before he stood up and stumbled into the small kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water with shaky hands.

He’d been plagued by nightmares since leaving the compound. He found himself lost with what to do with his time without the strict schedule of the Lotus Eaters. As he stood his vision swarmed and he sat heavily in one of the chairs. He had been running a mild fever for days but had been afraid to let his father or the Painter know. So much of the time Sho was terrified of somehow disappointing them, especially his teacher. He had never felt so understood, and it made him uneasy. Would Etienne discover just what a monster he was? Would he abandon him too? He wondered if his father would change his mind as well.

The insecurity paralyzed him and as the days passed his fever grew worse.

Now he was shaking with chills, clutching his arms around himself. He quivered as he tried to sip at the water. His hands would not listen to him and shook uncontrollably unless he pinned them in his armpits. His teeth chattered in his jaw.

“Sho?”

He jumped, startled, as the Painter appeared in the doorway. He was draped in an elegant robe and long sleep shirt, hair mussed from sleep. Sho hastily composed himself.

“Teacher,” he greeted. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

His voice shook slightly but he swallowed hard, trying to clear his head of his fears.

“I was up,” Etienne said, waving a hand. He came closer to Sho and eyed him carefully.

“Is everything okay?”

Sho hesitated, hands in his pockets, trying to think of what to say. The stress of trying to come up with a proper response made his throat go dry and he coughed.

Growing up, he had been made to hide his emotions and keep up a stoic face. Showing his fear or insecurity only led to him being punished with lectures and isolation. It made it difficult for him to properly express himself, and as he stood there sweat beaded on his forehead. There was a look of concern on Etienne’s face as he reached out and placed one cool palm against Sho’s cheek.

“You’re burning up,” he said. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“I can’t sleep,” Sho blurted out. “It’s… my mind won’t stop. I keep thinking about Grandfather, and maman, and I…”

He stopped, voice dying in his throat. He looked away in shame. The Painter just sighed and ran his hand through Sho’s hair.

“You can talk to me about it. Come, you sit here and I’ll brew us some chamomile tea.”

Etienne had spoken to Sho only vaguely of his past, but it was obvious even from that that he felt a deep empathy for the boy. He had said before that he was reminded of himself as a young man, which flattered Sho to no end.

While the Painter set about preparing the tea, Sho attempted to collect his thoughts.

“Everyone leaves me,” he began unsteadily. “Eventually they become scared of me, or they’re torn away from me. And I can’t help but think, it must be my fault. There must be something wrong with me. And I just feel so guilty for abandoning Grandfather without a word. I know… I know that he never…”

He trailed off, throat closing around the words. Even now it was so difficult for him to accept that he had never been wanted, not truly, that he was just spare parts. His heart strained against the thought, and he clenched one fist to his chest, breath coming fast.

“But he still raised me. He was there for me. My father… does he even truly want me here? Am I just in the way? I mean, he just sees me as an obligation, right?”

He felt dizzy from fear of the answers to his questions, but he couldn’t stop his barrage. Etienne listened patiently, preparing two cups of tea with honey and setting them down on the small kitchen table as Sho spoke.

“I thought at least he and maman were…” He hesitated, but the Painter was unperturbed. “Well, I thought they at least loved each other, once. But not even that’s true. I was just a project. An experiment. Maman said she loved me, but I wasn’t born out of love. I was born to be a tool. And I did everything Grandfather asked.”

Tears were running down his cheeks as the shame of all he’d done welled up in him. His voice sped up as he went until he was at a fever pitch, breathing hard.

“But it turns out I wasn’t wanted, not truly. By anyone. Not even my mother or my father.”

Etienne waited as sobs overtook Sho’s tiny frame, one hand stretched across the table to take Sho’s. He spoke gently.

“Your life doesn’t belong to anyone but you. What matters most is that you follow the path you choose. Not your grandfather, not your father, not me. Your father and I will be there to support you no matter what, of course, but we want for you to find what makes you happy.”

There was a deep current of empathy underpinning his every word. Sho clutched his hand in both of his own shaky ones, his body shuddering with tears. The Painter gently pushed a cup of tea toward the inconsolable boy.

“Take a deep breath now. In through the nose, out through the mouth. That’s right, just like that. Now have a spot of tea before it goes cold, it’ll make you feel better.”

He was right. As Sho sipped the lightly sweetened beverage his tears slowed and he was able to hold himself more steadily. Still, the emotional outburst had drained him, and he felt himself growing more lightheaded.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” said the Painter. He stood with a grunt, his belly swollen and awkward, and went to Sho’s side. With a twirl of fabric he slid his robe off his shoulders and over Sho’s. When he tried to protest, Etienne just ruffled his hair.

“It’s chilly out here in winter,” he said, standing there in his long sleeved shirt. “Better that you stay bundled up, I have others.”

The robe was soft and warm fleece, with a downy texture to it. It smelled of old roses and Sho felt his eyes flutter.

“Come on now, let’s get up before you fall asleep where you’re sitting.”

The next day, Sho’s fever had grown considerably worse. He tossed and turned until he was awoken by the sound of his father and Etienne’s hushed voices. Odd for the Mask Seller to be up so early. Sho groaned and tried to sit up, but his arms gave out from under him as soon as he put his weight on them. He tumbled and slipped out from the cot, falling to the floor with a crash.

“Sho?” came his father’s concerned voice.

The two men exited the kitchen and rushed over to his crumpled form. He tried to wave them off, but his limbs were sluggish and unresponsive. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing them to respond, but he just succeeded in working up a sweat as he gestured feebly.

“Hey pal, how are you doing?”

Sho felt awkward any time his father used such phrases, but right now his annoyance was overshadowed by his alarm. It had been a long time since he had had a fever episode, and now, far from his grandfather, he realized he was scared.

All his life, he had known he was sickly, but with what exactly was never made clear to him. He simply went through any treatment his grandfather prescribed, and it had always worked.

Now he realized just how little he knew of his own body, and the uncertainty gnawed at him. His mother had been plagued by severe episodes of fever and weakness, followed by vision issues, before her illness had incapacitated her. He had been so little it was hard to remember specifics, but could he have what she did? It made his heart grow cold and before he knew it his body was shaking.

With Gheriun’s help, Etienne knelt beside Sho, one hand shot out to take his temperature. After a moment, his eyes widened and he nodded to the Mask Seller.

“He’s burning up. Help me carry him to the bedroom, it’s more insulated.”

“I’ve got him,” Gheriun said, waving the Painter off. He lifted Sho easily into his arms: despite his weakened state, the Mask Seller had little trouble with his son’s small and underweight frame.

They carried him into the bedroom and to the bed, Etienne throwing the comforter back and piling up pillows. Sho protested weakly as he was carried like an infant and set lightly upon the bed. His body felt like it was on fire, all his muscles burning and straining. He coughed and pain tore through him, so severe it stole his breath. With a groan he turned onto his side and curled into a ball.

“Sho? You hear me?”

He whimpered in response to his father’s question. The sound of footsteps hurriedly leaving the room could be heard as he spoke.

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” Gheriun said, though worry sat at the edge of his voice. “I’m right here.”

One of the Mask Seller’s enormous, calloused hands reached out and gripped one of Sho’s oh so gently, completely encompassing it in its mass. He brushed away the hair on Sho’s forehead.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I should have been paying closer attention.”

It was still jarring to hear his father apologize so earnestly for his mistakes. It wasn’t as though he never had, but whereas before Sho had been able to dismiss it, now it made him realize that his father wasn’t the uncaring man he had presumed. He had simply been caught in a difficult situation with no bearing on how to give his son the best possible life. He had truly believed that life was with the boy’s grandfather.

Footsteps entered the room, and a cool, wet cloth was placed on Sho’s forehead. He gasped but the feeling was pleasant on his burning skin.

“Here, can you sit up for me? I’ll help.”

Etienne wrapped his arms under Sho’s armpits and hoisted him up against the pillows so that he was propped up. He held up a cup of slightly green liquid.

“I need you to drink this for me. It won’t taste good, but it’ll help.”

Sho nodded weakly and with the Painter’s help drank the mystery liquid. It tasted awful, but it was warm and soothing as it went down his throat. He coughed and spluttered a bit as he finished it.

“Good job,” Gheriun said. His face was lined with worry and he kept looking to Etienne desperately. It made Sho feel more concerned. Did he really look so bad?

His mind felt fuzzy as he leaned back into the pillows, exhausted by even so little activity. He coughed again.

“I’m sorry,” he managed. “I didn’t mean…to cause trouble.”

“Shh, hush now,” said Etienne, patting Sho’s hand. “All you need to worry about is getting yourself some rest.”

“Sorry,” was the last thing out of Sho’s mouth before he slipped under the waves into sleep.

After Sho had fallen into a fitful sleep, the Painter let out a long sigh and turned toward Gheriun.

“What is it?”

For a moment the Mask Seller said nothing, only held one hand over the scarred left side of his face. He looked lost in thought.

“Gher?”

“His mother… She had a certain genetic disorder, in fact that was one reason she was, ah, chosen.” He waited to see if Etienne would say anything before continuing. “But I was never told he had inherited it. Maybe I’m being paranoid but…”

“What disorder?”

Gheriun shifted uncomfortably.

“It’s incredibly rare in boys,” he prefaced, “so I’m sure it’s not… but she had the Ophelia factor.”

Etienne’s eyes widened, and he glanced back at the sleeping figure on the bed. The boy looked so small now in his oversized bedclothes, what little weight he had on him drained by the fever.

“But surely… it would have presented itself by now? I mean he was raised up to prophet before the age it would…”

“It’s imperfect,” the Mask Seller said. “I don’t know the details, but what if removing him from the compound was the trigger? What if I’ve doomed him by taking him away?”

“You don’t know that,” Etienne said gently, one hand on Gheriun’s arm. “You’re jumping to conclusions. For all we know, it’s just another fever. You know how he gets them.”

But something was nagging at Gheriun, some incessant worry. He looked away.

“I knew the risks,” he mumbled. “For Rie, and for Sho. But I didn’t care then, I just. What’s wrong with me?”

The vitriol and self hate dripped from his voice, so deep and piercing it took Etienne by surprise. He spoke calmly, trying to assuage the other man’s fears.

“Gher. Look at me, Gher. It’ll be okay,” said the Painter sternly, placing a hand on either side of Gheriun’s face. “You’re getting caught up in your anxiety, and it’s making you think the worst of everything. But he’s a strong kid, he’ll be okay.”

He craned his neck up and settled his forehead against the taller man’s, before kissing him lightly.

“He’s going to need you to be strong for him. If he woke up and saw your face right now, it’d only make him worry. Come on, let’s let him rest. Help me put together a pot of soup.”

With one last reluctant look toward the resting figure, Gheriun nodded and followed his partner out of the bedroom, shutting the door to keep the warm air in. They made their way to the kitchen, minds buzzing with worry.

As they settled into the rhythm of preparing the meal, the nervous energy in the air dissipated somewhat. Gheriun had to sit part of the way through, the anxiety having sapped his diminished strength.

It would just be a simple stew of rice and chicken, with a few green vegetables and some ginger added in.

They checked in on Sho as they worked, but he had fallen into a deeper, peaceful rest. Both men were grateful to see his breathing steady. The studio soon filled with the rich scents of garlic and ginger and sharp lemongrass.

“You should speak to him later, once he’s feeling better,” Etienne said as the soup simmered on the stove. “Ask him the details on his history with illness, what he’s been told. If I have the history of symptoms, perhaps we can figure out what’s going on and what we can do.”

Gheriun nodded a bit stiffly. His mind was still racing with the possibilities, and the guilt that if it was what he feared, he had only himself to blame. Just how much damage could he inflict on his own child? Would the one on the way also be doomed to a life of misery and pain, all because of the Mask Seller?

The Painter sensed some of the other man’s discomfort and stood behind him, arms draped over his seated shoulders. Gheriun let out a rattling sigh, tension running through his muscles.

“Come, let’s take this to Sho and see how he’s faring.”

They entered the room, Etienne carrying the silver tray with soup, bread, water, and a fresh cup of herbal tea. As he set it down on the bedside table, Sho stirred and opened his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Gheriun asked nervously.

“I’m okay,” Sho said after a moment’s hesitation.

Etienne placed the back of his palm against Sho’s forehead and then cheek, and shook his head.

“Still burning up. Are you in any pain? How is your breathing?” he asked clinically.

“It’s—“

He was interrupted by another violent fit of coughing, and gratefully accepted the Painter’s offer of water. He stared down at his hands for a moment as the two men waited for his response.

“Better. But it hurts.”

Sho felt pathetic admitting to it, but his body was wracked by pain. Every muscle and every bone felt raw, and when he coughed it brought tears to his eyes.

[literenture]

I’m missing a big chunk of what happens between Sowaca’s death & this but, uh! Around the end of part 1.

The compound was eerily silent when they arrived. The Painter looked to the Mask Seller and nodded. They stepped forward as one, ascending the shrine stairway. As they passed the gate at the top, both felt the immediate wrongness of the place. It was deathly still, and a frost crusted the wisteria flowers in full bloom. None of the usual birdsong and bustle of the many lives under the roofs here could be heard. The Mask Seller put one hand before the Painter.

“Something’s not right. You should wait here while I scope out ahead.”

“Where you go, I go,” Etienne said with finality. There was no arguing with him.

“If things go south I want you to get out of here fast. Promise me at least that much. Not for you,” he added as the artist opened his mouth. “But for the future.”

Etienne locked eyes with him from behind their masks, but finally nodded. The Mask Seller let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. They proceeded inward. There was absolutely nobody around, and other than the occasional dropped item, no sign there ever had been. The knot in the masksmith’s gut tightened as they made their way to the inner temple.

Here the Mask Seller stopped them at the moon viewing room. He turned, removed his mask, and grabbed the Painter by either arm, staring into his eyes.

“Let me speak to him first. I’ll go ahead. It’ll be better that way.” He put his forehead against his partner’s. “Just trust me, Etienne.”

The artist reached up and grabbed the masksmith’s oversized hand in his own slender one. He let out a world weary sigh.

“I do. I’ll wait here. But the moment anything seems wrong, come to me.”

“I promise,” Gheriun whispered, and with a parting kiss, he was off.

He soon reached a grand courtyard in the center of the grounds and came to a stop. There, back to him, seated on a large rock in the middle of the yard, was the uniformed figure of the Prophet. From here it was easy to see just how small he was, but there was something outsized about the shadow he cast.

“Sho.”

The Prophet twitched, head lolling to the side, but otherwise didn’t respond. The masksmith stepped toward his son, hand outstretched. As he came within the range of his shadow, the boy’s shoulders flicked and a sudden sharp pain ran through the Mask Seller’s arm.

He stared down at the thick black thorns that had burst through his muscled forearm. They seemed to pulsate and twitch in the dim light, and sprouted up from the shadow that was now roiling and churning like a living thing. Just how many aberrations had the Founder forced his son to devour, to create such a hideous conglomeration of spirits? The unleashing of en was sickening and full of malice. Sho stood up from the stone he had perched on and turned around.

“Wipe that name off your filthy tongue,” he snarled. His face was contorted in rage, eyes wide and hateful. He shot one thin arm forward and pressed it against the Mask Seller’s chest. Gheriun moved to dodge but could not completely avoid the lance of darkness that shot out from Sho’s palm and pierced his shoulder. He grunted and rolled away, snapping it off in his muscle. He reached up to tear it out.

“Please, I don’t want to fight you,” he pleaded, but it only fueled the Prophet’s anger.

“Oh, is that so?” he shouted. “Well maybe you should have considered that before you decided to take every fucking thing from me! What more do you want? Get out of my life!”

With that last comment a barrage of black needles rose above the Prophet, aimed at his father, and went flying. The Mask Seller dove behind a decorative boulder, narrowly avoiding becoming riddled with holes. He realized then that he had left behind his mask, and cursed. Without it he would have no protective spells to help him out. It would be up to his muscle alone, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to get close enough for that to make a difference.

As he was going over his options, he missed the tendril of darkness that snaked up his ankle and pulled him out of hiding. He went flying into a thin tree, knocking it over. He coughed up blood as he hit the ground. The Prophet stood over him and aimed a kick square in his father’s jaw. The boy might have been small and sickly but the steel nailed leather boot managed to knock a tooth out and split his lip. He spluttered and put one hand up, but the Prophet just kicked again and again, harder each time, until he was out of breath and Gheriun’s face was a bloodied mess. A few of his fingers had been broken in the scuffle as well, but he had not struck back, just allowed the blows to rain down. He had hoped it would give the boy some sort of relief. Instead, it only seemed to work him up further, but still Gheriun attempted to speak to him.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of this. Please, I don’t want to fight you. I want to make it up to you, for all—“

“Shut. Up.” The Prophet kicked him again. “Shut up! You have no right! None! You’re six years too late!”

The Mask Seller backed away, getting unsteadily to his feet, his hands held in front of him. He was bleeding everywhere, blood mixed with the inky black residue of the mushrooms.

“I know. And I’m sorry. But please, you can’t stay here, your grandfather… you don’t understand what he’s trying to do. He’s just using you.”

“Grandfather has been the only one there for me,” Sho said heatedly. “While you’ve been off living as you please!”

“Sho, please—“

“Don’t call me that!”

As his voice broke, Gheriun stumbled forward, a huge presence knocking into him. He stared down at a massive mouth bitten into his side, blood already seeping from the wound. Even Sho looked surprised, and as he stumbled back the mouth let go and returned to his shadow.

That was when the Painter stepped in front of the Mask Seller.

“Sho, please. We’re here to apologize. Me and your father.”

“My father?” came the low voice of the Prophet. “Hah! You should know just how little he cared for me. I trusted you, Pierrot.”

There were tears in the Prophet’s eyes now, though he hurriedly wiped them away. The Mask Seller grasped at the Painter, eyes wild.

“I told you to wait!”

“And I told you to come to me if things went sideways. You forgot this, by the way,” he said, handing Gheriun his mask before turning back toward the enraged Prophet.

“Sho, killing your father won’t solve anything. You know what your grandfather is doing is wrong. I know you’re smarter than that.”

“You don’t know anything about me!”

The Painter’s expression softened, and he looked upon Sho with such a depth of love it took both father and son by surprise.

“I know that you’re an intelligent, sensitive, kind young man who has been dealt with more cruelty than anyone deserves,” Etienne insisted. He stepped closer to the boy, heedless of his partner’s warnings, arms spread. “I know how much my actions must have hurt you. I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything to deserve that. You’re not the monster your grandfather says you are.”

“You don’t know anything.”

Before anyone could say another word, the Mask Seller let out a strangled, wet cry. As Etienne turned, he saw a harpoon of shadows sprouted clear through the masksmith’s thick chest. Blood welled and seeped up through the wound and poured from Gheriun’s mouth as he tried to speak. The Painter’s eyes widened and he rushed to his side as the masksmith collapsed. The huge spike twitched, tiny barbs coming off of it making it impossible to remove. Not that he would if he could; it looked like it had pierced at least a lung and was very close to his heart. Etienne felt his own grow cold as Gheriun gasped and reached up for him. He held his hand firmly, blood covering them both.

“Get… away….” the Mask Seller managed.

“Stay here. It’ll be okay.” Etienne kissed his hand with shaky lips. “I’ll take care of everything for you.”

“You should listen to him before you get hurt, teacher,” the Prophet snapped.

Etienne set about stabilizing the Mask Seller as best he could, drawing his paintbrush and with quick efficient movements summoning some humanoid assistants and a roughshod stretcher. It would have to do for now—he just needed to get him steady and out of the way. Within a few practiced strokes he had brought forth his helpers, checking over Gheriun with one last kiss before he stood and turned toward the Prophet.

“I wish this could happen another way,” he said sorrowfully, brush held in front of him like a slim rapier. “But I’m going to have to teach you a new lesson.”

“And just what—“

The Prophet’s contemptuous comment was cut off by a flurry of movement and from the gestures sprung forth a sudden onslaught of attacks from the Painter. His illusions were a horrifying deluge of the Prophet’s deepest fears. The boy stumbled back, caught completely off guard. Etienne did not hesitate in grabbing the upper hand while he could and with a step forward he pressed his advantage. Gheriun was losing a lot of blood fast, and he was weak right now. They could not risk the Founder finding out and finishing him with the curse. This had to end now, for all of their sakes.

However, the Prophet was not pulling his punches, and after a brief moment of hesitation he had drawn up multiple long whips of shadow to throw at the Painter. He could dodge the first few but eventually wound up with a few heavy blows to his side that he managed to protect with his arms. Grunting with effort, Etienne twisted nimbly midstep to narrowly avoid a particularly vicious onslaught. The boy was growing more bold as time wore on, a wild, manic look to his face. His actions were flailing but numerous, making up in multitude what they lacked in accuracy.

When the Prophet began throwing up javelins of darkness from around the Painter’s feet, his patience wore thin.

“Let’s stop this now Sho, before one of us does something we regret.”

“Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up!”

After one blow nearly impaled the helpless Mask Seller in his creaking bed frame Etienne knew he must end things. His mask shimmered as its shape elongated into the avian form of the plague doctor while his paintbrush turned into a hideous, oversized bone saw. The illusions around the Prophet took on a more sinister tone; the form of a woman half eaten by maggots screamed Sho’s name as he looked on in horror. He sent a wave of black splinters through the air, a few impaling the Painter’s thigh but thankfully they were shallow enough. He needed to completely shut the boy down before he caused irreparable harm.

He inhaled deeply, then dashed around Sho’s reach, drawing his attention as he set up more illusions. He used his own blood to bring form to those shapes, and a wave of women with warm brown hair and half rotting faces sprung up around Sho, their half decayed arms reaching for him and grabbing his limbs. He screamed and tried to fight back, but every time he saw the face of the figure he shrunk back further. However his actions had grown only more frenzied and dangerous in his panic.

“This doesn’t have to continue,” Etienne pressed. “Just say the word, Sho.”

But the Prophet just shouted in rage and a deep resonating sorrow, sigils burning within a circle of shadow below his feet. He moved in unnatural, jerking motions, his lips working rapidly in a chant as his hands traced characters in the air. His eyes had glazed over, as though he were possessed. Something writhed within his shadow, tentacles of darkness struggling to burst outward. Very, very not good. Etienne glanced back just once toward Gheriun, took a deep breath, and dove forward.

He brought the bone saw down on the growing rune in the air, bearing down with all his strength. The air sparked and fizzed between them, but Sho’s eyes were still distant, his lips moving so rapidly it was impossible to make out the individual words. With a guttural shout, the Painter summoned all of his reserve strength, his rage, his pain, his heart, his everything into this strike. For the sake of their future, let this be the end.

For a moment he hung there, suspended in the air against the crackling sigil. Then there was a bright flash and air rushed inward before just as rapidly expanding out in an explosive force. It flung them apart, Etienne managing to catch his step, Sho tumbling over himself and bodily hitting a pillar suspending the perimeter corridor. As the dust settles, the Painter dashed forward, not wanting to risk the boy recovering and lashing out again.

He need not have worried. As he reached him, he saw that one of Sho’s legs was broken, twisted horribly, and he was covered in scrapes and bruises. It was more than he had wanted to hurt the boy, but he had been left little choice. Etienne slowed as he neared, one hand extended toward the cowering, bloodied Prophet.

“Please teacher, stop,” cried out Sho, now a hunched bundle of wide eyed terror. Tears were streaming from his eyes as he cringed before the Painter. He looked younger even than his teenage years, a terrified child lost and searching for family wherever he could find it. Should he knock him out first? Could he trust him?

Etienne hesitated, and in that moment, the Prophet struck.

Five shadowy tendrils whipped out and pinned the Painter to the garden wall, all limbs immobilized. One sharpened tentacle split open the mask covering his face with a resonant crack. Mouths burst from the tendrils and bit down on Etienne’s flesh violently. As he struggled to free himself, he looked up and saw in horror the Prophet crouched before him, staring wide eyed at him, a wall of black knives hanging in the air behind him. They were all aimed directly at him.

“You never trusted me with anything. You didn’t care. Grandfather told me everything. You just wanted to use me.”

It sounded as though he were trying to convince himself of the justice of his actions. If the Painter could just find the right opening…

There was no chance of Etienne getting out of this. He looked over to Gheriun’s limp form, and closed his eyes.

“Sho, you know that’s not true. Please, just talk to me.”

When he opened them again, he saw Sho hesitate, but the look in his eyes told him he would strike sooner or later. As the boy raised his arms, Etienne cried out.

“Please, Sho, I’m with child. Don’t do this.”

The Prophet froze, then faltered. His eyes blinked rapidly as he processed what had just been said, and his arms lowered. He grit his teeth and looked for a moment like he would let his anger win, but as tears poured from his eyes, the countless daggers that had been poised to strike melted into his shadow. He collapsed to the ground and sobbed, fists clenched at the cold earth. The tendrils holding Etienne up dissipated and he fell roughly to his knees.

It was as though something had burst deep within the boy, and all those years of pain and loss had broken him. The spear inside of Gheriun dissipated as well, allowing the Painter’s powers to work more efficiently. He sighed in relief, and turned toward the Prophet. Pressing a hand to the worst of the bite wounds, he strode forward and knelt in front of the boy.

Sho was sobbing and tearing at the ground, at his hair, at his skin, breathing heavily and hiccuping between tears.

“That’s it, isn’t it. Nobody wants me. I just hurt everyone. Grandfather was right. I don’t deserve a family.”

“Hush now,” Etienne said, reaching out to the boy, heedless of his own wounds. They weren’t as bad as they had seemed at first, and he wondered how much Sho had held back.

“Why do you think we’re here, you foolish child?”

It was the first time he had ever admonished the boy, and the Prophet’s sobs silenced for a moment as he cowered further into a ball, his fingernails drawing blood from his scalp, broken leg skewed awkwardly to the side. Etienne reached both arms around the small figure, embracing Sho gently.

“It’s okay. Nobody’s abandoning you. We came here to ask you to leave,” the Painter said quietly. “Why don’t you ever listen to me when I tell you not to assume the worst of everyone?”

That made Sho burst out crying anew, and he threw his arms around the artist. Etienne held his tiny body as he quaked and shook.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, I know. But we need to get going. Your father—Gheriun needs proper medical care. You can settle your score later. We need to get you away before the Founder finds out what’s happened.”

“But Grandfather won’t hurt me… will he?” asked Sho, uncertainty heavy in his voice.

“I don’t want to sit here and find out. Now, can you be brave for me while I set your leg?”

For a moment Etienne wasn’t sure whether he had made it through to the battered child, but finally Sho sniffed and nodded.

“We can get to the Highway from inside the sanctuary,” Sho told him.

“Thank god,” breathed the Painter as he conjured another mobile unit of assistants to help Sho get about. “Try to bear with it.”

Etienne waited for Sho to lead the way forward, the Mask Seller’s stretcher coming up behind them. The nearest entry point that either of the men had been familiar with was off mountain. Sho’s tiny body was severely weakened after their fight. However, there was a new determination to his shoulders and a clearness to his eyes. He looked like he had a goal to call his own, one other than harming his own father. Etienne had to believe in the boy’s true nature.

They had been moving slowly through the inner sanctum for some time when Sho stopped abruptly, panting as he leaned against the two animated assistants.

“This isn’t right. We should have been there by now.”

Alarm began to creep into Etienne’s chest. He had put down the monotony of their passage to his unfamiliarity with the depths of the shrine, but they had been going so long in a straight line. Surely, on this limited mountainside, they should have had to turn at least once by now? He glanced down at the half conscious Gheriun, who seemed to be trying to say something. In that moment all hell broke loose.

The lights flickered and went off all around them and the walls seemed to warp, closing them off. Both Sho and Etienne let out startled gasps as the sound of a familiar instrument rang out along the corridors. The shamisen strummed again and the lights shot back on with a brilliance that was unnatural for their bulbs.

The Observer stood in the middle of the hallway before them, single uncovered eye blazing. He looked like he was barely standing up, all bruised and bandaged where his skin was visible. The Painter stared, uncomprehending, at his old friend.

“Rui, what—“

He said nothing, just strummed the instrument again and was behind them, knife drawn and aimed directly at Sho. In the harsh light it took a moment for the artist’s eyes to take in what he was seeing as the fell arm Suiko was driven directly at Sho’s heart.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as he cried out, but the blade was caught in one large palm before it could reach the Prophet. The Mask Seller had blocked it, the weapon trapped deep in the meat of his hand. He closed his fingers as best he could to still the knife and grunted.

“Observer, stand down.”

Rui hissed and tugged feebly at the hilt of the weapon, but it did not budge. He dropped it and stepped away, reaching again to draw his shamisen. Etienne made sure Gheriun and Sho were steady before he stepped forward, exhaustion heavy on his exposed face. He didn’t know what was going on, but he had to stop things before Rui could get a chance to draw his sword.

“Don’t make me fight you.”

“If you’re protecting that brat, you’re in my way,” Rui said grimly. He reached up and tugged off his eyepatch roughly. As he opened his right eye, a tendril sprouted from its golden iris and bloomed before their eyes, a lily stuck grotesquely out of the center. It stayed open, unblinking, even as his black left eye moved independently. Oily black roots spread out across his right cheek, roiling as with his unsteady emotions. The Painter knew of the animosity between Observer and Prophet, but that should all be over now that Sho was no longer under his grandfather’s thumb. If he could only explain. Yet Rui was staring with naked animosity, such uncharacteristic hatred that Etienne nearly didn’t recognize him.

“He’s not after you anymore,” he tried to say. “It’s okay, you don’t—“

“Oh, well then everything he’s done is just fine then. Everyone he’s hurt, all he’s killed!”

Sho shrunk back, eyes downcast, as Etienne tried desperately to piece together what was going on. All he wanted was to get Gheriun to safety and to rest and let his little family heal, so why was one of his best friends now standing before him with such anger? He drew himself up, ready to fight once again if need be.

“There’s no bringing back the dead. But he can have a chance to—“

“To what? Heal, grow up, make happy new memories? Off of Sowaca’s corpse?”

That comment froze the Painter’s blood. He glanced from Sho back to the near feral Observer, and knew he wasn’t lying. Sorrow filled him as he realized that they had acted too late, and that the Prophet had committed one final act for the Founder’s grand plan. The shame was written plainly on Sho’s young face.

Rui stared at the three of them before laughing bitterly.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you. Well. I’m sorry Etienne, but I won’t be letting him walk out of here.”

“Then you leave me no choice.”

The two stared at one another, poised to fight. Sho hobbled forward then, his chin held upward, eyes ablaze.

“If you hurt them, I won’t stand by. You can do whatever you want to me another time.”

Rui stared open mouthed from one to the other, frustration and confusion written on his expression. He wore his hurt and sense of betrayal openly, staring forlornly at the Painter.

“If it’s for Sowaca’s sake, I won’t hold back.”

Rui was stood poised over Sho, the sharp clawed hands of his scarf aimed downward, when he jerked to a stop as though struck. Stood before him was a teenage girl with dark skin, long reddish brown curls, and two oversized ears, arms spread wide.

“That’s enough, Rui.”

Santu blocked his path to the collapsed Prophet, her eyes fierce in the dim light. The Observer grunted in annoyance, eyes burning into Sho.

“He killed Sowaca,” he stated. “He almost killed you, too.”

Santu shook her head, curls bouncing.

“Sho was nice to me while Santu was at the Power Plant. He’s not a bad guy!”

That seemed to make Rui snap and he flung his arms outward.

“Then what!” he shouted. “I’m supposed to just let him walk free? After all he’s done? You think someone can just change like that?”

It was Etienne’s turn to speak.

“He has his whole life to repent for what he’s done. But surely you of all people know what it’s like to be manipulated so.”

That struck a nerve deep in the Observer. The Painter was one of a select few who knew any details of his past. The roiling scarf twisted in the air about him, turning back over him like twinned snakes.

“It’s no excuse,” he hissed. “He has no right to get off, losing nothing. It’s unfair!”

Even Rui knew he was being unreasonable, but his voice broke as he stood there.

“Sowaca was my everything. He was my best friend. He was there when I had nobody.” Tears were brimming in the Observer's eye. “He was my only family.”

“Santu’s your family too!” Santu said, frustration in her voice. “Rui’s not alone! You just push everyone away!”

Rui’s face screwed up in anger.

“If you don’t move, I’ll make you.”

“Stand down, Observer!”

A new voice broke through the air, one Etienne did not recognize. From the darkness emerged a figure of medium height with bright red hair. She had a longbow raised in the air, arrow aimed at the Observer. Santu spun on her heels, eyes wide.

“This is not what we agreed upon,” the red headed woman said. Closer now Etienne could see numerous scars upon her freckled face. Her voice brooked no argument.

“I don’t recall agreeing to anything,” Rui said through gritted teeth.

“Oh? Then let me remind you.” She drew the arrow to her cheek. “It’s an order of protection, not execution. Stand down.”

Santu tried to position herself somewhere between the Prophet and Observer while blocking Rui from the path of the arrow. She looked from each person to the next rapidly.

“We don’t have to fight, please.”

“Observer. Now.”

“Oh piss off, Huntsman,” the Observer hissed, one hand reaching up to his shoulder.

In the next moment so much happened that Etienne could not fully recall it later. The arrow was loosed directly at Santu, but it seemed to flicker in and out of existence before sprouting through the Observer’s throat. Blood spurted out as he fell backwards, scarf falling with him. Santu spun and ran to him, while Etienne dove toward Sho. The so-called Huntsman strode forward calmly, notching another arrow and standing before Rui’s writhing form.

“Sho, are you okay?” Etienne asked as he knelt beside the boy. The fight had been brutal, and had it not been for the interference of the others Etienne was not sure whether they would have made it.

Sho stirred, eyelids flickering. Blood was streaming from his nostrils and the corners of his eyes, and he seemed dazed.

“Is it over..?”

Etienne glanced over to where the Observer was bleeding out onto the floor, the fight gone completely out of him. It was time for them to leave.

“It is, child,” the Painter said, wiping sweat from Sho’s forehead. The boy gave a weak smile.

“Everyone’s…okay?”

Etienne nodded.

“Let’s get you guys out of here.”

[literenture]

Yeah there’s a reason Sho finds Rui terrifying after he already nearly beheaded him & then in this basically guts him oops

Sho was in a state of frustration after he had seen the captive Santu off to bed. He found himself pacing the hallway outside of his own quarters, too restless to sleep.

The things that she had said to him reverberated in his head and brought out memories of similar words spoken by the Painter.

It was so easy for them to speak like they knew anything. They at least had those who loved them, they had lived beyond the walled garden he had been raised in. Without his grandfather, Sho had nothing. Even the Painter had eventually left him in the end. If Santu did not wish to accept his kindness, so be it. He would be cruel if that would procure results. He could not afford to disappoint his grandfather any further.

Everything about Santu threw him off. He had expected a miniature Imani, yet she could not have been more different. He had heard that she had been the vessel for a god worshiped in blood, but the atmosphere around her was completely unexpected. She must have been older than him, yet she acted like a child half her age. Despite that, she seemed to see through him, and that frightened him. He had hoped to take advantage of her apparent lack of awareness but she had denied his offer, choosing that vagabond over him.

Why? Why did everyone choose anyone but Sho? Wasn’t he supposed to be special? Didn’t he hold the title of Prophet for a reason? He was surrounded by those who revered him, and he had comrades. Yet his teacher and confidant had left him, and not even his grandfather seemed to have time for him, let alone his father. No matter how many joined the shrine, no matter how its once emptied halls filled, Sho was completely alone.

He winced as he bit too hard on his thumb, drawing blood. As droplets formed on his skin, Sho watched, transfixed. Compared to the recovering wounds on his neck and shoulder, which still hurt even now, the pain was insignificant. Still, he found himself feeling unsteady, and his chest felt tight.

His thoughts were broken by the sound of hurried footsteps approaching him. He quickly shook the cuff of his sleeve out and slowed his pacing.

To his surprise, it was Imani herself who appeared in the hallway. He felt somewhat annoyed to be seen by her right now, and he was about to complain when she spoke.

“It seems that someone’s intruded.”

Her words froze Sho in his tracks. He turned robotically, eyes frantic.

“What are you saying…”

Imani just nodded.

“They found her already? There should have been time…”

He chewed on his bruised thumb, his other hand grabbing the rim of his cap.

“We need to get her back before Grandfather arrives.”

“But you alone…”

The Prophet tilted his head in displeasure, but Imani did not back down. She saw the rage that flickered in his black eyes, the way the edges of his mouth strained, but she held her chin high, her own expression cold. For a moment it looked as though the younger boy might actually lash out at her, though her time by his grandfather’s side had well prepared Imani for any such action. However, he soon broke eye contact and cast his gaze down, frustration plain on his red face.

“I don’t have time to waste on you,” he hissed. “If you can’t do anything about it, then simply stay out of my way.”

“But your grandfather—“

“Doesn’t need to know until he returns.”

Although she was tempted to argue further, Imani did not relish the thought of letting her sister go just as they had finally found her. She did not trust the Observer to keep Santu safe. So she bit back any further protest and simply nodded.

“Bashr and Ayumi should still be nearby. I’ll send them after you as soon as I can.”

——

The wind tore through the thick branches of the heart tree, threatening to send them flying off into the night. Santu clung to Rui as they made painfully slow progress down to the trunk. Ahead of them stood the tall figure of the Huntsman, marking the path and leading them along a rope guide.

They had tens of meters to go before reaching the wing they could descend from, and for now had to traverse along one branch as wide as a highway down to the rooftops of the research facility. Although the path was wide, the wind and unsteady footing made for a treacherous journey. Santu clung close to the Observer, Sowaca keeping a careful eye on her.

It felt as though the wind would steal the very breath from her lungs. She buried her face in the scarf that Rui had wrapped around her and soldiered on. They had only a bit more to go before reaching steadier footing.

As they stepped onto the sturdy roof of the next set of buildings, Santu let out a shaky breath in relief. The trunk helped block out some of the wind and they were able to walk at a better pace.

They were nearly to their destination when the Huntsman raised an arm, stopping them. The Observer could not hide the irritation from his voice as he spoke up.

“What is it? We don’t have time to stop here.”

The red-haired woman scowled at the much shorter Observer.

“Aren’t you being a bit too lackadaisical about this?”

Santu felt Rui tense up against her as she stood with her arms wrapped around him.

“You’re the one… We’ve gotten this far, we can talk about my methods once we’ve gotten away from here. It’s only a matter of time before the local Protocol restarts.”

“That’s exactly it,” replied the Huntsman, one hand messing up her hair. “Shit, this doesn’t seem a little too convenient to you?”

The Observer glanced at Sowaca, unable to respond, and the Huntsman barked out a bitter laugh.

As if in answer to her incredulity, a fissure broke through the concrete below them. Santu was shoved away from Rui as it widened, stumbling into the arms of the Huntsman as something burst through the roof. The concrete crumbled around them as she was pulled back from the now gaping hole.

Standing in the light leaking from the hole was a short figure. Its outline was difficult to make out, writhing and twisting in the dim light. It stood in front of Rui and Sowaca on the other side of the hole from Santu and the Huntsman, who had drawn her bow.

“I’ve got this,” Rui shouted. “You protect her!”

In his hands he held the gleaming blade, Suiko, and his jaw was set in determination. The shifting figure that had attacked them settled into a coherent shape, and Santu gasped as she recognized who it was.

“Sho?”

Her surprised shout caused the figure to whip its head towards her, and she met the dark eyes glinting with gold of the young boy she had just shared dinner with hours earlier. His mouth twitched as his visage darkened.

“But Sho is, not bad,” Santu continued desperately. “Santu told him, Rui-nii is a good man, it’s okay—“

“You just won’t get it no matter how many times you’re told,” Sho snapped at her.

Rui’s eye had widened throughout the exchange, and he stole a quick glance toward Santu.

“Santu, you’ve met this… thing?”

It was the Huntsman’s turn to speak.

“Just who the fuck is this kid, Observer? It’s like my gate’s being pillaged.”

She had a pained expression on her face, and Santu saw that her hands were shaking slightly. Rui raised his knife in preparation to attack.

“Unfortunately, we happen to have the Prophet itself standing before us.”

As he spoke, he dashed forward. The tiles where he had just been standing exploded as lances of darkness pierced them. Sho—the Prophet—clicked his tongue and raised an arm. Tendrils of shadow swarmed around it and formed into a barrier as Rui’s knife came down upon him from above. As he was distracted by the attack in front of him, the Huntsman loosed an arrow. The Prophet just barely raised his other arm in time to erect another barrier, but it was no use against her. The arrow flickered out of existence and then reappeared from his blind spot. As it bore down on Sho’s throat, his eyes widened. Santu screamed as she expected the flash of blood.

However, it never came. The arrow simply melted into Sho’s body without a trace of harm. The Huntsman dropped her arms, eyes round in disbelief.

“He’s an en eater,” she muttered.

Her voice was shaky, and Santu realized that she was breathing hard. Across the gap, the Prophet laughed as he launched an attack from all sides at the trapped Observer. Sowaca leapt forward to swipe away the dark tendrils that came at them, but they were each scratched and bruised by the attack.

Santu felt like her heart would break apart. She had wanted to believe that Sho was a good person, and she knew that he wasn’t all bad. She couldn’t understand why he was doing this.

“You brought me plenty to dine on this time,” Sho said with a laugh. “As if you didn’t have enough of a handicap already.”

The Observer jumped back as the Prophet lunged at him. The two were dangerously close to the edge of the building as they skirted the hole in the roof. As Santu and the Huntsman watched on, Rui waved frantically towards them.

“Get out of here already,” he shouted. “I'll deal with him.”

Before anyone could react, Rui flung himself at the figure before him. They each made a strangled shout of surprise as the Observer knocked himself and the Prophet off of the rooftop. Sowaca leapt after them without hesitation as Sho let out a startled scream. The three of them fell down into the darkness as Santu was grabbed away by the Huntsman.

——-

Falling through the air, Rui could not tell which way was up and which was down. Stars seemed to stretch out above and below, the only sound the air rushing by his ears and a scream from the figure in his arms. He had acted without thinking, determined only to distance this thing as far from Santu as possible. He wouldn’t forget the danger posed by the one they called the Prophet.

Just before impact, he was forced away from the boy he fell with by an outward pressure. It dulled his velocity enough that Rui avoided becoming a stain on the pavement, but he still broke through the roof of the building he impacted.

He coughed weakly as dust rose up around him. Sowaca was soon beside him, urging him to his feet.

“He’s still out there, kid.”

“Ahh, it just couldn’t have been that easy, huh.”

As he staggered up, he heard footsteps from above him and winced. He turned just as they stopped above his head and brought his knife up against the barrage of black blades that tore down upon him. Suiko easily deflected the mass, tearing through any remaining as Rui surged towards their source. He burst through the roof to the startled gaze of the Prophet. The boy had lost his hat somewhere during the fall, but aside from the dust on his uniform he looked none the worse for wear.

“Shouldn’t that have been at least a little more effective!?”

Rui couldn’t hide his shock and disappointment, and the Prophet looked as though he thought he were mocking him.

“You just can’t get by without your nasty tricks, can you?” the boy asked bitterly.

“I’m not the one going around kidnapping people, y’know?”

His comment only made the Prophet visibly angry, and Rui sighed. He lifted his knife with a wry grin.

At the very least, now the other boy would be unable to draw from the Huntsman’s gate. He was strongest surrounded by powerful opponents, so one on one was always preferable. Sowaca raised his hackles as he circled nearer, but Rui shook his head sharply. In his condition, it would be too risky for Sowaca to engage with the Prophet.

“Get small and hide.”

“What are you saying—“

“Sowaca. Please.”

His voice was so strained it was on the verge of breaking. Sowaca hesitated a moment longer before nodding and in a flurry of shadow he transformed back into his diminutive form. He sprang back and dashed off just as an arm of darkness plunged toward him. Rui turned his attention back to the Prophet before him.

The boy’s face was twisted in rage, his dark eyes glinting in the dim light. Before he could send another mass of shadow towards him, Rui leapt forward, knife at the ready. He sliced down at the Prophet’s outstretched arm, aiming to bisect it from the shoulder, but he was stopped by a thick shield of shadow. He cursed and used it as a platform to leap back just as a lance pierced the space he’d just been in.

His close and long ranged combat ability was too high. The last time that Rui had fought him, he’d had the element of surprise and been in better condition. Now it felt like the Prophet had increased his own abilities, much to Rui’s chagrin. He had only one choice, even if it was risky with his compromised gate.

He reached behind his shoulder and drew forth his shamisen from between space. He sheathed Suiko as he took up the pick in his other hand.

The Prophet’s face contorted, and he raised his arms warily. Rui smirked.

“Oh right, you never got to see me use her, huh. Well this is your lucky day!”

He brought the pick down on the three strings, a mournful note resounding through the rubble strewn warehouse. The shadows around the Prophet’s feet bubbled restlessly, but before he could react a force slammed into him from the side, knocking him across the room. His small body impacted a degraded machine with force, even as he wrapped himself in a cocoon.

Rui gave him no time to react. He strummed out the next few notes mercilessly. Even with the most basic of songs, the damage his shamisen was capable of was immense. The Prophet barely had any time to react as he was tossed to and fro. Even with his cocoon of shadows, he was soon spitting up blood as he struggled to rise to his knees. His shadow writhed as though in pain, tendrils spreading haphazardly all across the warehouse.

His counterattacks were useless in the face of Rui’s shamisen, and his shadows were sent ricocheting off into the darkness. As he struggled to his feet, Rui sent the Prophet flying across the vast room.

He paused to catch his breath, eye locked on the dust around where the boy had impacted. He waited as sweat dripped down his chin, hand at the ready.

“That thing really is no good, huh.”

A voice sounded from behind him, and the Observer saw that there was nobody within the dust. He bit back a curse.

“I guess if I eat this, it won’t really matter, will it?”

Rui froze, hand hovering above his shamisen’s strings, feeling a cold hand grip the pit of his stomach. He turned his head and his mouth went dry.

The Prophet stood, bloody but grinning, holding in his hands the limp form of a black cat. His shadow writhed about his feet with anticipation, multiple mouths opening their wicked maws in the ground.

The Observer’s eyes widened and he reached his hand out, time freezing before him. He willed his legs to move, if he just took one more step, if he just reached a bit further.

“It’s my win, Observer.”

Before he could complete even a single step, the Prophet swallowed Sowaca in shadow.

The moment that the cat vanished into the maw, something inside of the Observer snapped. His gate felt like it would devour him whole, and his right eye burned in its socket. The very blood in his veins felt like it was on fire, and he gasped as he fell to his knees, his shamisen vanishing from his hands.

Memories tore through his mind unbidden, hundreds of years together suddenly disappeared. He grasped at his chest in agony as his brain shuddered from the sense of loss.

“Hmm. That wasn’t as hard as everyone made it out to be.”

A callous voice cut through the din inside the Observer’s head, followed by steady footsteps. Unable to even lift his head, Rui clawed at his eyepatch, tearing it away, but the pain only worsened. His eye pulsated and twitched, tendrils sprouting out from the iris in haphazard motions. A foot was placed roughly on his head, pressing his face into the rubble.

“You were never anything special after all,” the Prophet continued in a low voice. “And yet you dared cause Grandfather such trouble. Do you even know what I…”

But the Observer wasn’t listening. He bit down hard on his inner cheek, the taste of blood filling his mouth. Disembodied words echoed within his head.

How long are you gonna sit around crying for, kid?

It’s you and me against the world.

No matter what, I’ll

Always be there.

Rui’s world turned red.

He did not know how long he had been out, but when he came to he was sat over the unconscious form of the Prophet. His knife was in one hand, covered in blood, and after a moment he cried out and stumbled back.

The boy’s stomach was cut open, stab wounds covering every inch of his exposed abdomen.

“Ah.”

What had shocked him back to awareness was the pain in his own abdomen, and Rui saw that he had narrowly avoided being skewered through by the familiar form of Varuna, receiving a minor slash. Before him stood the helmeted knight, and the Observer quickly stepped out of range. The man did not pursue him, instead kneeling before the bloody figure of the Prophet.

He was not in the same full armor as the last time they had met with one another, but the helmet was unmistakable.

Rui’s mind raced as he tried and failed to get his thoughts working again.

——

Bashr had been awoken by an out of breath Imani not long after he had fallen asleep. Her usual unflappable attitude was gone, and while one could not call her frantic outright, she was undoubtedly worked up.

It soon became apparent as to why.

Bashr arrived at the half-destroyed warehouse to find his worst fears embodied.

On the cracked cement floor, the Prophet lay sprawled with arms and legs askew. He was pinned down by the Observer, still stabbing that wicked knife he carried into the boy’s stomach. He did not even notice as the large Bashr approached the horrific scene, so focused was he on destroying the one before him.

Wasting no time, the knight launched forward with Varuna, fully intending on ending it there. However, the Observer’s reflexes were like the devil’s himself, and he jumped away just in time. He made quick distance between the two of them. Bashr froze, knowing that he would be expected to pursue the quarry before him, but his eyes wandered to the unconscious figure beside him.

Sho’s chest was rising and falling with great effort, and even with his healing factor it would be difficult for him to pull through from such wounds. Even if he acted now, the boy might die anyway, but Bashr could not simply abandon him. It would have been better for the Founder had Ayumi been the one sent after the Observer, but Bashr was grateful that had not been the case.

Keeping one wary eye on the ragged Observer, he knelt beside Sho. The wounds were deep, and as Bashr pressed a hand he felt just how many there were. Something that was not quite rage flashed through his eyes, and he raised his voice toward the Observer.

“If you run now I will not pursue. I suggest you do so.”

Disbelief flashed across the other man’s face, but it was obvious that he was in no state to fight. With one last hate filled glance cast towards the Prophet, the Observer turned and vanished into the night.

Bashr returned his attention to Sho, tearing off part of his Lotus Eaters uniform and wrapping it around the boy’s abdomen. It would do little to help but keep everything together, and he quickly picked him up and made his way to the nearest lift. There was no time to waste.

Bashr could not say that he was close to Sho, but he felt a fondness and protectiveness for the boy. Even if he was incapable of the broad range of normal emotion, Bashr knew that the Prophet was an earnest child despite the way he acted. He thought his being a part of their ranks something pitiable, and he found himself looking after Sho whenever he had the chance. There was not much he was capable of doing, but now at least Bashr could choose Sho’s well-being over any broader mission objective.

The Prophet was painfully light in his arms, made only lighter by the loss of blood. He barely stirred as they went, head lolling limply. One of his hands gripped weakly at the front of Bashr’s shirt, fingers slick with blood, and his breathing was irregular. Still, it was obvious that he was fighting to survive with all of his strength. It was fortuitous that they were only a short distance from the medical centers of Power Plant No 1; as long as Sho did not give up before then, he would be in the care of the best medical minds Daikokuten had to offer. Bashr just had to hope that he would hold out until then.

Rui made his way through the network of warehouses and down into the subterranean maze sprawled along the roots of the heart tree, panting in exertion. His mind was ablaze, and he couldn’t think straight. All he knew was that if the knight’s partner was not here then she’d be after the others. He had no time to waste.

Thankfully, he knew where they would be headed. He could only hope that the Huntsman would be able to handle the Lotus Eater who held a matching set to his Suiko—knives of the Chimimouryou line. With the Prophet out of the way, Rui doubted even those would be able to harm the sturdy Huntsman. He was far more concerned with Santu.

A sharp pain ran through his skull, and he winced as he ran. His right eye had not ceased its frenetic activity, sprouting arms and vines that twisted rapidly. His vision was a mess as his eye became unable to focus, shifting between planes and frequencies in a nauseating sequence. Rui was forced to put his entire being into getting to his destination, unable to lapse in attention for even a moment lest he lose his way.

At the very least, it provided an escape from the reality of the situation, and the sense of loss that burned throughout his body.

So time passed in a senseless blur, focused entirely on getting each foot in front of the other and one breath in after another. By the time he stumbled upon the rendezvous point deep within the sewer system that ran in a maze among the tree’s roots, his body was alternating hot and cold in rapid succession.

When he did not see Santu or the Huntsman there, he nearly fell to the ground in defeat. If after all that they had not even managed to succeed in their mission Rui wasn’t sure if he would know what to do. He opened his mouth and let out a strangled laugh, delirium threatening his jumbled consciousness.

“Rui-nii?”

A small, scared voice shook him from the edge he had tottered on, and the Observer turned. He could just make out the shifting outlines of Santu and the Huntsman, but the immortal’s gate outshone the young girl and made it difficult for him to distinguish the two.

“Gods, what happened to you?” the Huntsman asked.

But Santu interrupted the woman before she could ask more. In a frightened tone, she stammered out a question.

“What happened…to Sowacchi, and Sho?”

There was pure terror in her voice, although he couldn’t make out her expression. Rui placed a bloodstained hand over his eye and squinted until his vision came into focus.

Santu’s face was twisted into wide eyed horror, and she stood half behind the Huntsman with her hands gripping her sleeve. He saw now that they were trembling, and even the red headed woman had a grim look on her face.

Confused by their reactions, he stepped forward.

“We can talk about that later, for now we need to get out of here.”

He reached one hand out toward her.

“C’mon, Santu.”

But before he could get close, she shuddered and stepped back. The Observer was speechless and he stood opening and closing his mouth soundlessly. He glanced toward the Huntsman, but she wore a look of revulsion on her face.

“That, that’s not your blood, is it? Shit, that kid…”

“Hah?”

Rui could not keep the scorn from his voice as he snapped his face up towards her.

“It’s not like you didn’t try to kill him too? In fact, since when do you have a problem killing abominations? In self defense no less? Ah? Are you going to lecture me after what that monster did to Sowaca?”

The Huntsman frowned and brought one hand to her mouth.

“Calm down, Observer, and just wait a—“

Rui felt something snap inside him like a thread, and he tossed his hand away from his face in a sharp motion. His loud voice echoed in the empty drain.

“You ask me to calm down after he took my partner from me? And you dare question how I dealt with it?”

He stepped forward with one shaky hand on the hilt of his knife.

“You probably find this situation one to rejoice in, is that it?” he snarled. “Answer me, Huntsman!”

“Ru—hk!”

Santu let out a startled cry, freezing the Observer in his tracks. As he stood there, the Huntsman mumbled out a response.

“If you’d just let me talk… It’s just, you were grinning. Covered in blood like that, anyone would be unsettled.”

Rui let out his breath in a sudden sigh, shoulders falling. He realized then just how he must have appeared, although he hadn’t known he had had a smile on his face. He shuddered at the thought as a flash of himself plunging his knife into the Prophet again and again shot through his mind. Before he could do anything else, his stomach lurched and he lost all strength in his legs as he stumbled to his knees retching. He clutched his shoulders and shook violently as the feeling of stabbing the boy reverberated through his hands. Rui felt like molten lead coursed through his veins.

For all his earlier bravado, even he knew he had gone too far. Killing was not something he took lightly even for aberrations, and monstrous though he may be, the Prophet was a human boy. If Sowaca had been around to witness it, surely even he would have been disgusted at Rui’s act of mindless rage. He had not simply killed him, but done so horrifically. Of course Santu would look at him with those eyes.

Sho’s sleep was restless. It felt like he had been unconscious for countless years, and memories of events he had never witnessed plagued his dreams.

He saw a magnificent shrine with red-painted beams and overflowing with white-robes priests. He saw a girl whose face he could not discern, black hair waving in the wind as she hid dark purple bruises on her pale arm. He saw countless nights of solitude with only the company of a small, black cat by his side.

The pain was what drew him back to himself from the scattered nightmares. He gasped as he opened his eyes, unable to move more than his head. His vision swam as he tried to recall where he was and what had happened.

He was sure that he had defeated the Observer. So then had they also recovered Santu? His head throbbed with half remembered events and dreams bleeding together. Had he pushed his body too far? But he had consumed the god Sowaca, so it shouldn’t have drained him this much. He struggled to move his arms and felt a sharp pain throughout his body.

“Do not perform any useless actions. It is lucky that you did not lose your life, even with what you accomplished.”

Sho’s eyes snapped to his side, where his grandfather was seated. His face was stern and frowning, and a cold sweat immediately came over Sho.

“I, the Observer, is..?”

The Founder closed his eyes and sighed, visibly disappointed.

“Bashr prioritized you over stopping him, a wise decision, as painful as it is to let your efforts go to waste. However, if my eyes do not deceive me, it seems you deserve some commendation despite acting so recklessly.”

His gold-lined eyes snapped open and fixed upon Sho.

“You did well to take in the Observer’s bound god. It should make our future efforts that much easier.”

Despite the pain, Sho struggled up to his elbows.

“Then, Santu?”

His grandfather shook his head.

“For now, she has eluded us. Perhaps if you had waited for Ayumi and Bashr, they could have stood together.”

His words sent a chill down Sho’s spine, and he fell back to the bed in a cold sweat. The Founder was heedless of his shame as he continued.

“If you hadn’t managed to capture that god, you would be dead right now, all because you decided to act in spite of Imani’s warning. Can you tell me what possessed you to act on your own in such a manner?”

Sho bit his lower lip and closed his eyes for a moment, but when he opened them again his grandfather was still looking at him with disappointment. He let out a shaky breath.

“I just thought that if I didn’t go, they might escape… I didn’t want to let that happen.”

“Yet by acting without thought, that’s exactly what did happen.”

The Founder raised his hands and sighed sharply.

“Sho, you acted in total disregard for your own safety, and that had grave consequences. You must understand how I would feel, were you to lose your life.”

His words were harsh, but they brought warmth to Sho’s heart. It meant that he cared. He lowered his eyes and nodded stiffly.

“Yes, Grandfather,” he said. “I understand, it was foolish of me to act on my own.”

The Founder considered him, his eyes of deep coal lined by bright gold staring out from what was once the face of Sho’s aunt. They were cold and distant as black holes, but they were a source of comfort and awe for the boy. After a moment he nodded curtly.

“If you understand, then all is well. Focus on recovering your strength.”

He turned to leave without another word when he was stopped suddenly by one of Sho’s hands gripping his sleeve. The Prophet gasped and released the hem as he realized what he had done. His ears burned in embarrassment at his childish act as the Founder gazed down coolly at him.

“Will that be all?”

Sho could only nod weakly.

“Yes, Grandfather.”

[literenture]

Santu in Power Plant No. 1, reuniting with her long lost sister & meeting Sho.

The room that Santu found herself in was cold steel and dim, greenish light fell over pipes and grates. A few orange, yellow, and red lights shone from the interface on the wall, blinking irregularly. She shifted her wrists uncomfortably, the metal shackles clinking against one another.

The hours drifted by in a blur, the windowless room making time feel vague. Santu shivered and curled up, trying to pull her head into her sweater. The room was chilly and foreboding, and as she waited her mind raced.

How long had she been here? She tried to recall but her head felt fuzzy. Her large ears twitched at the ringing silence, interrupted only by mechanical clicks and whirrs. Her stomach growled loudly in the dark, and she bunched up tighter. Would Rui come for her? Or was she going back to the shrine? She shuddered at memories of her life before the Observer.

“I don’t want that,” she said into the empty room. Tears stung her eyes.

“Rui-nii, save me…”

Exhaustion tore at her heart but the terror she felt made her wary to sleep. They had been struck suddenly, giving Rui little time to respond amidst the snowfall. Memories of the vivid red wounds across his throat and watching his disconnected arm sail through the air made her throat clench up in fear. Would he be all right? She had seen him shrug off grievous wounds, but the Lotus Eaters carried weapons capable of causing him serious harm. Santu shuddered, trying to dispel the panic in her chest at the thought that Rui might have been killed. It was impossible, she told herself, wiping away the tears as she bit her lower lip.

Mind going around in circles, before she knew it Santu had drifted off. Her face bore the lines of anxiety even in sleep.

“Little sister. Wake up.”

Santu stirred and went to wipe the drool from her mouth when she remembered the manacles. She shot up, suddenly alert, and stopped short as she saw who sat before her.

Poised like a doll, her long lost sister Imani was seated in front of her, one hand toward Santu. Despite the visible changes that had occurred since they’d last met, she knew immediately that it was her. The tall feathery antennae that sprouted from her forehead and her strange irises as well as her growth into a young woman could not hide from Santu her identity. She blinked hard and shook her head.

“It’s really Ima-nee?”

Imani smiled thinly and nodded.

“Here, I’ll take those off for you.”

Santu rubbed her sore wrists and ankles after the shackles had been removed.

“What’s Ima-nee doing here? It’s been so long since Santu saw you!”

Her sister looked at her with sadness in her eyes.

“Just how isolated did they keep you? Did they bother giving you language lessons? I don’t remember the old tongue…”

She glanced away, brow furrowed, but Santu was just happy to see her. As soon as she could she wrapped her arms around Imani’s strong shoulders.

“Santu’s happy to see you!”

Her sister smiled thinly.

“Welcome home, little sister. Come with me.”

She was led down cold, monotonous hallways to a larger room with a massive arching glass dome and wall. Santu gasped and ran up to look out, the view so stunning that it momentarily took away all caution. Beyond her spread a vista of multicolored lights, the reflections of millions of windows like stars in the night. The city spread out down and away from her point of view, airships running advertisements over and among the tall skyscrapers. As she followed the glass up she saw a dark sinuous cluster of shapes spreading out and away, studded with lights and the outlines of buildings. She spun back to Imani and gave her a questioning look.

“Mineshi,” said her sister coolly. “We’re in Daikokuten’s Power Plant No. 1. It’s built into Ibaragi’s eponymous heart tree.”

Santu let out a breath in amazement as she tried to take in the sheer size of the tree.

“It’s so big! Santu didn’t know trees grew so large.”

“Not anymore,” said Imani, sorrow in her voice. “They’ve all long since died. Only their corpses remain.”

It made Santu sad to think about such impressive things dying. She looked up to the tree, now able to see that its twisted and gnarled shape was bare of any leaves. She could see the moons beyond its spreading arms. Imani walked up beside her, staring out at the view. One of her hands reached out and gripped Santu’s.

“They’re such pitiful beings.”

“Who?” Santu asked quizzically.

“Humans. They take and take, not knowing what they do to the world.”

Santu was taken aback by how angry her sister sounded, and winced as the grip on her hand strengthened.

“They’re ungrateful and cruel. Such a foolish race.”

“Big sis…”

“They have no interest in their place in this universe. They’re always looking for more, never satisfied. It’d be better if they never came here.”

“You’re hurting Santu!”

Imani blinked and withdrew her hand.

“I’m sorry, don’t mind me. Say, are you hungry?”

Mind swirling with her sister’s odd behavior, Santu hesitated. Her stomach spoke for her however, grumbling loudly. Imani smiled, but it looked somehow fake.

“Come. We’re keeping him waiting.”

Santu was led to a smaller private room off of the main viewing room, where she was immediately hit by the smell of all sorts of succulent food. Drool filled her mouth at the scents of roasted meats, fluffy rice, and herbs. There was a large table taking up much of the space covered with assorted dishes. Each looked more appetizing than the next; fresh, sliced fish, still raw and soaked in rice vinegar, roasted poultry and steaming white rice, creamy stew and bright green vegetables, and more. Santu swallowed hungrily. She was so busy taking in all of the food that at first she had missed the figure seated at the other end of the table until he spoke up.

“So you must be Santu. I’ve heard so much about you. I suppose this is our first proper introduction.”

A small, androgynous boy was looking at her with dark eyes that seemed to suck her into their swirling depths. Three moles were arranged with one beneath either eye and the third beside an upturned mouth. He was dressed all in black with gold trim, a smartly cut uniform jacket and black cap emblazoned with a sigil on its front, black hair hanging down the sides of his face and sticking out from the base of his hat.

She felt as though she’d seen him before, and panic rose in her chest at her foggy memories. Had he been one of the ones on the mountain? It all felt as vague as a dream, and she stared openly at him.

As Santu looked at him, he smiled, and she smiled back, waving. Imani was stoic and silent beside her.

“The leisure is all Santu’s.”

The boy stared for a moment before he burst out laughing. Not sure what was so amusing, Santu grinned. Her sister just sighed.

“Do you need anything else from me?” she asked the raven-haired boy.

He waved half heartedly.

“Go on, I’m sure Grandfather is wondering where you are.”

Imani bowed deeply before turning to leave. Santu grabbed her arm before she could.

“Where is big sis going?”

“I’ll be back later. Be a good girl for me and enjoy your dinner, okay?”

“Mm,” Santu mumbled, letting Imani go reluctantly.

Alone with the stranger, she turned back to the table. The boy gestured for her to sit, which she did a bit hesitantly.

“So,” he said cheerfully. “Welcome to Mineshi. I hope the journey wasn’t too unpleasant. Please, don’t hold back, help yourself.”

Santu wanted nothing more than to dive into the meal, but her guard was up around the stranger.

“It was horrible,” she grumbled, playing with a fork. “They hurt Rui-nii.”

Her companion’s face fell, and he shook his head.

“I am sorry for that. But you must understand, after you were abducted the company feared so very much for your safety.” He sighed and swirled his water glass idly. “By such a violent criminal, no less.”

“Rui-nii isn’t a criminal!” Santu objected. “He’s a good person! He never scolds Santu, he makes tasty foods, and he’s my very favorite.”

For a moment the boy’s gold-ringed eyes widened as though surprised, another, murkier emotion swirling therein. However, he soon recovered himself and put on a thin smile. Santu was beginning to get the impression that few of his expressions were honest.

“But he is a criminal; a wanted one at that. You don’t know just how many people he’s hurt. I know what it’s like, to be raised in a small box. You want so much to believe in anyone who shows you the least kindness.”

His eyes were distant as he spoke, and Santu was surprised by just how sad he looked.

“People will try to take advantage of your naïveté, lying to your face because they only see you as a tool. But here you can be free. Join me, Santu. Let’s be friends.”

He extended one hand over the table, but Santu recoiled.

“Santu doesn’t even know you.”

A look of surprise came over his face, and his hand fell.

“Ah, that’s right. Where are my manners?” He thought for a moment. “I’m Sho. It’s good to meet you, properly.”

Santu considered him at length. Alarm bells were ringing in her head, certain that his words hid the truth.

Rui had warned her of the danger that awaited if she were to be captured by Daikokuten, and when she had been separated from him he had been badly hurt.

But what if Sho was telling the truth, and Rui was a bad man? She felt so confused after the events of the last few days. Imani was here, after all. If these were the bad guys then why was her sister with them? She didn’t look like she was being forced, and now here was Sho, who seemed like a nice boy despite her anxieties. Santu eyed the food, feeling lightheaded from hunger and her swirling thoughts.

“Please,” Sho said, “do eat. It’ll go cold otherwise. Or are you afraid it’s poisoned?”

He speared a piece of crispy broiled fish on his fork and placed it in his mouth, chewing and swallowing with a grin.

“It’s really good! I promise.”

A loud growl escaped Santu’s stomach to her embarrassment. Unable to resist any longer, she took a forkful of rice and after consideration some of the fish that Sho had partaken in. She brought her fork to her mouth and took a bite. The bright flavor of lemon and thyme mingled with the sweet, fluffy rice in a medley of flavor. Before she could stop herself she was shoveling food into her mouth, grabbing forkfuls straight from the serving dishes. Sho watched with a sparkle of amusement in his dark eyes as he took to eating more in a far more demure manner.

They sat there together in silence as they ate, and when she was so full she thought she might burst, she set her fork down with a pleased sigh. She caught herself and slammed her hands over her mouth. Her dinner companion raised one thick black eyebrow quizzically.

“Is something the matter?”

“Zoya-nee says never to sigh thoughtlessly,” she said in her best big sister voice, one finger raised. “Or else your sole will escape.”

“A fish? Oh, your soul. That’s an interesting way of looking at it.”

Sho gave her a smile and Santu felt very pleased with herself. From his appearance she assumed he must be younger than her, and so it was up to her to be a good example.

He leaned forward on his elbows, head propped on his hands, and considered Santu at length. She tilted her head.

“Is something on Santu’s face?”

Sho shook his head.

“Mm, no, just, it’s been a long time since I saw anyone enjoy a meal with such gusto. I’ve always heard that watching someone eat with joy adds spice to your own food. I guess that’s true.”

He had a soft look on his face that made him look even younger. Had her earlier impressions been wrong? It was hard to believe someone with such a kind smile could be evil. Santu felt conflicted, not sure what was right anymore. She toyed with her utensils, thinking hard.

“Sho is nice,” she said, looking at the tabletop. “So why stay here? Aren’t they mean? Yubari was horrible.”

There was silence and she looked up. Sho’s face was stormy, thick brows furrowed as he stared into his hands. There was a complex expression in his eyes.

In the next moment it was gone, and he had a stiff smile on his face.

“It’s my home,” he said finally. There was something strangled about his voice, and despite his expression he looked pained. Santu wondered why he was forcing himself so much, and for whom.

“It’s not so bad! Grandfather is here, and I have…friends.”

She could hear the uncertainty in his voice at the last word.

“Yubari is a backwaters. I promise it’s much nicer at my shrine.” He clapped his hands together. “I know! Why don’t you come back home with me? Everyone listens to me, nobody will be mean to you. We can have fun every day, it’s beautiful too. There’s a bunch of places to play, and really tasty food.”

Despite how nice it sounded, Santu didn’t want to go. Even Sho seemed to be uncertain of the words as he spoke. She just wanted to be back with Rui, even if it meant eating canned food and sleeping outdoors. It wasn’t fun every day, sure, but when it was it was the best, and she got to see all different things. Sho was nice, but if it meant going back to Daikokuten, she didn’t want it. Besides, even he seemed unhappy in a way she couldn’t place, like he was stuck here against his will but had just convinced himself otherwise.

A thought occurred to her then, and she leaned forward.

“Sho should come with Santu,” she said eagerly. “Rui-nii really is a good person! Santu knows he’d like Sho too. We could have adventures, it would be fun!”

It had sounded like such a good idea in her head, but the boy just looked shocked. For a moment she thought he might agree, but then his hands clenched into fists and he grit his teeth.

“I can’t,” he said quietly. “I have a responsibility to my congregants, and my grandfather. It would be selfish.”

His face was dark with conflicted emotions.

“Besides, the Observer wants me dead. He’s already tried to kill me once already.”

His words shocked Santu, and she hesitated.

“Rui-nii wouldn’t…”

Silently, Sho reached up to his collar and unbuttoned it. As he parted his jacket to reveal his neck and shoulder, Santu gasped. There were bandages wrapped around his neck and gashes deep in his flesh with black, vine-like tendrils creeping out from the sewn wounds. They curled around his shoulder and over the base of his throat, with offshoots and what looked like thorns. Santu’s stomach sank.

“He attacked me with that knife of his. Suiko, I think it’s called. You might be familiar with it.”

It certainly didn’t look like he was lying, and the wounds were real enough. She had seen the damage Rui was capable of.

“But, but,” she insisted. “He only ever hurt people to help Santu. He isn’t mean.”

Sho’s face fell.

“Well, I didn’t do anything to deserve having my head chopped off.”

He made a slicing motion with one finger across his throat.

“That seems pretty mean to me.”

Santu could only nod weakly. He did have a point. She bit at one nail as she tried to reconcile this in her head. Sho looked a little sad at her reservation but he pressed on.

“He killed a friend of mine. He’s hurt those close to me. He even tried to kill Grandfather.”

He ticked the crimes off on his fingers.

“It seems to me that he’s pretty keen on murder. I don’t think that’s the sign of a good man. How do you know he won’t kill you too the moment he tires of you?”

“He’d never!”

Santu’s hands slammed down onto the table, shaking the dinnerware as she stood. Her voice shook and she was breathing hard, feeling dizzy at all that she had been told. Her dinner companion gave her a forlorn look as he buttoned his jacket back up. He merely sighed at her outburst.

“It doesn’t seem you’ll believe me,” he said, tone lonely. “Ah. That really is too bad. I’d hoped this might be easier, but maybe I was too naive?”

His voice lowered, as though talking to himself, and he brought one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Santu held her breath as she stared at him.

“I suppose it is asking a bit much, so soon,” he said at last. “I’m sorry for putting such pressure on you.”

He gave Santu a weak smile, but there was anger in his eyes. She shivered and sat down slowly. Her appetite had fled her entirely.

“Why is Santu here?”

His shoulders dropping as he let out a sharp breath, Sho closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they had cleared of the earlier emotion she’d seen within.

“You don’t understand what a precious person you are. Grandfather himself believes in you. Of course he was worried when someone who’s caused nothing but hurt abducted you.”

“Santu doesn’t know this ‘grandfather,’” she said stubbornly. “How can he care about Santu?”

Sho clenched his jaw before responding.

“He wouldn’t have dedicated so much to rescuing you if he didn’t care. You should be grateful.”

His voice had sharpened, complicated feelings boiling just beneath the surface. She knew it must be a sensitive topic, but Santu was sure that this was an unusual situation regardless of what Sho said.

“Santu wasn’t rescued. Bad people hurt Rui. Daiten are all bad people!”

“And what would you know! You, who was raised in idle bliss, who is beloved, just what would you know!?”

In a sudden outburst, Sho slammed his hands down on the table and stood so abruptly his chair fell back. In a mirror image of just minutes earlier, breath coming hard, he lost his composure.

“My own grandfather put more time into making sure you were okay than he’s even spent with me. And you dare scorn that? All because of some violent vagabond you barely even know?”

There was disbelief, rage, and a deep loneliness swirling within his black eyes. His breath was ragged and he paused before picking his chair up and sitting in it heavily, head down.

“You don’t get it at all,” he said quietly. “There are people who care, who worry about you, and you’d just…spurn that completely?”

His voice was full of confusion and pain, the earlier mask completely fallen away. Santu watched in trepidation. She felt bad that she had said something to hurt him, but she couldn’t follow his logic at all.

“Rui-nii and Zoya-nee and Sowacchi care about Santu,” she said hesitantly. “They’re probably all very worried right now. Can’t this grandfather just let Santu go home?”

“Haa.”

Sho sighed through his nose, then lifted his face. It had returned to a mask of friendliness, though his smile felt forced and cracked.

“I guess that’s as far as we’ll get today, huh. Well. Maybe you’ll understand if you give it some thought and speak with Imani. Grandfather should be able to see you tomorrow. Surely then you’ll understand.”

It felt like he was trying to convince himself just as much as her, but Santu remained silent. With a sigh, Sho stood up once again and walked over to her. Up close, his small stature became even more obvious, and Santu had to tilt her chin down when she stood to look him in the eye. He beamed sunnily.

“I’ll show you to your quarters for the night.”

[literenture]

Not sure exact placement & timing of this, but uh, Jordan shows up!

They sat huddled together out of the rain, doing their best to stay warm. Rui wrapped his scarf around the three of them, Santu by his side with Sowaca in her arms. He watched the young girl as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

“Get some rest. We have a long day ahead of us.”

“Mm,” Santu mumbled groggily, burrowing her damp head into his shoulder.

——-

Santu heard a thud from behind her. She snapped around and her eyes widened as she saw Rui lying on the ground. He was pushing himself up with some effort as she ran to his side.

“Rui-nii!”

He raised a hand towards her worried face.

“It’s nothing, Santu. I just tripped is all.”

Despite his insistence, it was clear that he was breathing heavily and struggling to stay on his feet. There was a sickly sheen to his face. Beside him, Sowaca was silent and grim.

“Don’t over do it, kid.”

“I’ll be fine,” Rui said, voice strained.

He was not convincing either of them, and Santu set her foot down.

“Santu is tired now,” Santu said, pointing to herself. “Let’s rest?”

Rui looked exasperated and she expected him to insist on continuing once more, but to her surprise he nodded. Sowaca let out a visible sigh of relief.

“It looks like the rain’s only going to get worse. Let’s see if we can find a dry spot to spend the night. No point risking walking blind in this forest.”

She was relieved to hear him agree, although concern still tore at her heart. His shoulders heaved as he leaned against his staff, barely able to stand. It took him a moment to catch his breath, but when Santu tried to come help him he shrugged her off.

“I can walk at least that far, it’s fine,” he insisted.

Santu bit her lower lip, standing near his side as they made their way slowly along the overgrown mountain path. They had to pause as they went, Rui with his weight on the improvised walking staff. The weaker he got, the weaker too Sowaca got, until Santu had to scoop him up and carry him.

She was beginning to worry when her ears pricked up. Her head snapped around, eyes wide and searching.

“Over there.”

She tugged lightly on the Observer’s sleeve and pointed urgently.

—-

“Santu can make dinner, so just rest okay?”

Rui made no response, but nevertheless she began to rifle through their packs. They had some rice cakes left and a bit of dried squid that she found disgusting but Rui had a taste for.

As she rummaged her mind began to run in circles, worrying over just what she should do. Rui sat with his eyes closed, one hand on Sowaca who sat in his lap. His chest rose and fell erratically and even sitting up seemed to be a chore.

They sat beside the fire eating in silence. Santu couldn’t help but glance over at Rui throughout the meal. Ever since their run in with those Fell Arm bearers he’d been especially quiet and introverted. No, even before that, something had been off. Had he been injured worse than he’d claimed? But it had been a few days, surely by now they’d have mostly healed up. Not to mention the redness in his cheeks and the effort he put into even simple tasks.

There was also Sowaca’s condition. The small cat god spoke little, and much of the time he just slept beside the Observer. Rui’s face was full of concern as he stroked his sodden fur.

Times like this, Santu could not help but feel as though she were an intruder. She tried her best not to be overly worried, but her anxiety was obvious in her actions.

She was so lost in thought that she jumped as he moved. Not even bothering to remove his wet clothes, he’d pulled out one of the blankets and turned on his side, curling up around Sowaca.

“Rui-nii is okay?” Santu asked timidly.

“You say ���are you okay.’ And yes. Dandy. Just let me get some sleep.”

His voice was tired and on edge, freezing Santu in her tracks as she approached him. She hesitated before placing one hand gently on his forehead.

The skin there was clammy and hot, white hairs slick against his head. His eyebrows furrowed at her touch, but as he saw the expression on Santu’s face his own softened.

“Really, don’t be such a worrywort.”

His weak smile did little to calm her nerves, but Santu just nodded.

—-

His fever hadn’t gone down in days as the ever pouring rain drowned out the world outside of the cave. It was like they were lost in some timeless place, and Rui was locked in an endless battle with his fever. Checking the bandages, Santu winced. Rather than healing, the wounds he’d sustained in the battle had festered. There were dark black veins framing each cut, and every day they grew only more.

Sowaca, too, seemed to be suffering from some illness. He slept most of the time, and had little appetite, though he put on a good face for Santu. Still, she wasn’t fooled. She knew something was terribly wrong.

It had been nearly an entire day since Rui had lost consciousness. He had moments where he’d wake up in his delirium and say things Santu didn’t understand. Seeing him so frail and so shattered was terrifying to her. She’d been unable to sleep due to worry. Nothing she did seemed to help, and without Rui to guide her she had no idea which powders and herbs in his pack were safe and which weren’t, aside from one simple herb you ground to make an ointment for mild scratches. It was no use on deep piercing wounds, but Santu still tried it. She decided that she’d ask Sowaca the next time he woke up.

It didn’t matter that he’d said he couldn’t die. Santu could smell it, that sickly sweet scent of death. It was like he’d given up on trying and accepted his fate, and she couldn’t have that. How could he leave her behind like that, after promising to always be by her side? Her heart felt like it was being torn apart and crushed.

“..Rin…”

Santu whipped her head around to Rui. His eyes were closed but his face was screwed up in pain. She knelt down beside him.

“I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

She had never heard his voice sound so childlike, so fragile, as though the slightest breath might shatter it. It shook her to her core. Gone was the confident joviality and measured tone that didn’t quite match his appearance. Now he truly sounded like a lost child.

“Shhh, it is okay,” she said hesitantly. “Rui-nii is only good. Not a bad man.”

Although he didn’t respond, his brow relaxed slightly at her touch. Santu sighed, worry filling her. She remembered what the Hedgewitch had said about sighing, that a little of your soul escaped every time, and inhaled sharply. The Observer needed her, she knew that, but what could she even do?

Her stormy thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of a bell. Her ears perked up and she stood and ran to the mouth of the cave, hands cupped to better hear. She could have sworn it was Sowaca’s bell, but he was in deep sleep beside the Observer.

As she stood there, the sound rang out again and she whipped her head around.

There, in the rainy forest, stood an ethereal white fox. It had red markings on its face that reminded Santu of an off color version of Rui’s mask. The fox looked straight at her, then turned and trotted off. For some reason Santu knew she should follow it, even if that meant leaving Rui and Sowaca for the time being.

“Santu is getting help, so hold on!”

With one final glance back at the cave, Santu ran off after the spectral fox.

As she ran she caught glimpses of it through the rain and the trees, and when she lost sight of it she simply followed the sound of the bell. They wove through the dense underbrush, the fresh spring growth impeding her way as she dashed uphill. Her long tail flailed about, barely keeping her balance on the slopes. After what felt like hours, but couldn’t have been more than one, she stumbled out of the wood into a small, flat clearing. Tall sentinel trees surrounded the place, and in its center was a small pond with a large tree at one end, its roots spread into the water. The rain had calmed to a drizzle as they walked.

The fox stood at the edge of the water, beside which stood also a woman dressed all in stark whites. Her robes were wrapped in the funereal style, right over left, and her skin was pale as porcelain. She had long, jet black hair that framed her masked face.

The mask was the near perfect inverse of the Observer’s: whereas his was a black jackal with golden accents, the woman wore a white and red mask not unlike the fox that stood next to her. Santu approached warily, uncertain what this woman was doing so deep in the mountains, let alone how she’d gotten here without a speck of dirt on her pristine clothing.

The woman stepped forward.

“You must be Santu. I’ve heard all about you.”

“Who are you?” Santu asked hesitantly.

The woman raised a hand to her chin in surprise.

“Oh, my apologies. It’s been so long since I spoke to anyone, I’ve forgotten my manners. You know my little brother.”

She reached up and grasped her mask, lifting it from her face. Underneath, her face took Santu by surprise. It looked so much like the face of the Observer who had rescued her.

“They call me Jordan,” the woman continued. “But you can call me Rin.”

She grinned, her red painted lips widening. Her face was expressive and kind, and Santu found herself trusting her in spite of herself. Besides, if she were really Rui’s sister, didn’t that mean she was like a big sister to Santu as well?

However, something felt very off about the situation, and Santu checked herself before she fell into a trap.

“Rui-nii never said he had a sister,” she said, eyes narrowing.

That made Rin’s face fall, and she looked away, one hand holding her other wrist.

“Ah, I suppose that’s to be expected. We’ve had a, well, complex history.”

Santu wondered what that meant. It was all too much to process, but another worry exploded into her mind.

“Rui-nii is hurt bad! And Sowacchi is sick!”

She grabbed Rin’s hands in hers and looked into her eyes, pleading.

“They need help. Santu doesn’t know what to do.”

Tears welled up in her eyes and her chest clenched as she thought back to the pitiful Observer. She gripped Rin’s cool hands in her own, words failing her. The woman squeezed back and gave Santu a stern look.

“Alcona will help you carry him,” she said, gesturing toward the fox. “But you need to get them to me.”

“Will Rui-nii be okay?”

Rin smiled sadly.

“He will be. He’s strong.”

——

They made good time getting Rui and Sowaca to the pond. Alcona had changed into a larger form and pulled a large, sturdy sled of leaves. It was a bumpy ride but time was of the essence. As they broke the cover of trees and came upon the clearing, Santu gasped in relief. She was breathing hard from the anxiety and exertion, and wanted nothing more than to collapse right there, but she followed Alcona to the edge of the pond.

“Help me with this,” Rin said, kneeling and scooping her arms around the Observer’s limp form. Santu got his other side and together they eased him into the clear water of the pond. He was shivering with fever and cold, and Santu worried that the water would only make it worse but to her surprise it was warm to the touch.

Next, Rin cradled the unconscious Sowaca in her arms as she gently set him next to Rui. He had not stirred throughout the entire journey, even now barely twitching as he was set in the shallows.

With the Observer and the god in the pond, the two sat back. Santu was exhausted and splayed on the grass, still catching her breath, before a question bubbled into her head.

“Now what?”

Rin sighed and shifted, placing her brother’s head in her lap as she knelt in the water. Santu noticed that her robes remained stainless.

“We wait, and we believe in them.”

——