#Least from other ancient settlements

[scarletooyoroi]

???

Did a part of Ekanomiya really get into Fontaine? This architecture is a deadass match up. LOL

Oh the amount of questions I have about this.

[dalishious]

2am reading codex entries in DATV looking for lore answers and damn... The Antaam invasion is way more fucked up than I realized based on what is actually said/shown in game.

Sten from DAO, who was elevated to Arishok, argued against an assault on the mainland of Thedas. So his own generals attacked and badly injured him at his war council, then split from the Qun. (Codex entry: Dragon's Breath and the Antaam Schism)

After the Antaam split from the Qun, the generals and admirals broke apart and became independent warlords. So the Antaam are not actually one big organized force anymore - they even fight against each other. (Codex entry: Information on the Dragon King) (Codex entry: Dragon's Breath and the Antaam Schism) (Codex entry: The Covenant We Grant)

At least a good number of the Reavers did not voluntarily submit to Ghilan'nain's transformation; they were deserters who were hunted down and forcefully put through it. (Codex entry: Warning Against Desertion)

There's a warlord called Isskatari running around trying to destroy all sacred shrines and ruins of early Qunari settlements in Rivain. Kont-aar tried to send a delegation to plead him to stop, but that didn't work out, so now the Lords of Fortune are working for Kont-aar to save as many ancient treasures as they can. (Codex entry: Destruction of Rivain's Art)

The warlord who led the assault on Vyrantium named Staffbreaker straight up ordered his soldiers to slaughter all the enslaved people who first thought the Qunari would free them. Somehow, for some reason, this is why enslaved people in Tevinter are totally cool with Magisters now because they are "the lesser of two evils"? (Codex entry: The Siege of Vyrantium)

[kerryshifts]

omg i loved your “shifting to Italy” post and was wondering if you could do one for ancient egypt? xx (you don’t have to ofc just a suggestion!!)

shifting to ancient egypt? gotch ya.

ancient egypt was a cradle of civilization concentrated along the lower reaches of the nile river in northeast africa.

act i. when are you?

based on your time period, you will have very much different experiences. i’d suggest you to research which one you are more interested in shifting.

predynastic ( c. 6000-3150 BCE ) preceding recorded history, saw the development of early settlements and the emergence of distinct cultures in the nile valley.

early dynastic period ( c. 3100-2686 BCE ) marked by the unification of upper and lower Egypt, the first and second dynasties ruled during this time, establishing the foundations of the egyptian state.

old kingdom ( c. 2686-2181 BCE ) a period of great power and prosperity, characterized by the construction of the pyramids and the establishment of the pharaoh as a divine ruler.

first intermediate period ( c. 2181-2040 BCE ) period of political instability and fragmentation following the decline of old kingdom.

middle kingdom ( c. 2040-1640 BCE ) period of reunification and renewed prosperity, with advancements in art, architecture, and literature.

second intermediate period ( c. 1640-1550 BCE ) another period of instability, marked by the rise of the hyksos and the fragmentation of egyptian rule.

new kingdom ( c. 1550-1070 BCE) a period of great expansion and military power, with powerful pharaohs like hatshepsut, akhenaten, and ramses ii.

third intermediate period ( c. 1070-664 BCE ) period of decline and fragmentation, with various dynasties vying for power.

late period ( c. 664-332 BCE ) period of foreign rule, with egypt ruled by the assyrians, egyptians, and persians.

roman period ( 30 BCE - 641 CE ) egypt became a province of the roman empire, marked by roman administration and culture.

act ii. who are you?

you are in the middle of a society who has a strict social structure, and where your status will shape your daily life and power. you are born with it, and only scribes, soldiers and artisans could rise. from the most protected to the least one:

pharaoh. used as a title for absolute monarch since under the new kingdom, often called horus on earth. had control over laws, military, religion, and land. lived in luxurious palaces with servants, and wore a double crown ( pschent ) to symbolise his status as ruler. the most well-known are tutankhamun, ramesses ii, and akhenaten.

pharaoh’s family. wives, children and sibilings had high-ranking positions in the government and religion.

nobles. were high-ranking government officials, including the vizier ( the pharaoh's chief advisor a.k.a prime minister, who oversaw taxes, justice, and administration ) and nomarchs ( governors, controlled egypt’s provinces and managed local social ).

priests. they played a crucial role in religious ceremonies and rituals, and they held significant influence in society.

high priest: appointed by the pharaoh, held the highest authority within the priesthood, performing the most important rituals and managing the temple's affairs.

wab priests: carried out essential but mundane tasks, such as preparing for festivals and maintaining the temple complex.

other priests: who read funeral liturgies ( hery-heb ) who read incantatory formulas from the book of the dead ( khereb priests ) and those involved in mummification ( paraschists, taricheutes, and colchytes ).

priestesses: women could also be priests, with their roles varying depending on the specific cult or deity.

scribes. highly respected, literate individuals who held important administrative and clerical positions, responsible for recording and documenting everything from daily activities to royal decrees. part of the elite 1% of the population that could read and write. they used reed pens, black ink made from soot and gum, adding red oxide to make red ink, and palettes.

artisans. they lived in special workers villages ( deir el-medina ) and included stonecutters, painters, carpenters, sculptors, jewelers, and metalworkers. they created tombs, statues, temples, furniture and luxury goods.

farmers. made up the majority of population and they walked in fields, growing wheat, barley, flax and vegetables. during flood seasons they usually worked with artisans.

slaves. prisoners of war, debtors and criminals. they worked in nobles households ( cooking, cleaning, taking care of children ), temples, mines and quarries; some could earn freedom and better positions over time.

act iii. where are you?

where you live will shape your experience drastically. normal houses were built of mud-bricks with floors made from earth, and they had living rooms, kitchens and bedrooms, and many of the large objects that we can move around ( like seats and ovens ) were built into the house. there was no gas or electricity, meaning that food was cooked in stone ovens, using a fire for heat. to keep food, pits were dug and food was stored below ground level.

cities, they were the heart of the civilisation. center of political activity, religion, and economic powers. in the cities lived pharaohs and nobles ( pharaohs lived in the ‘great house’ or “per ‘aa. palaces were lavish, with evidence suggesting sprawling complexes with large dining rooms, and other amenities reflecting the pharaoh's status ) priests and scribes ( temple complexes, government departments, and even private households, depending on their specific duties and employers ) artisans and merchants ( often lived in distinct workmen's villages like deir el-medina, located near the valley of the kings ) slaves ( lived in simple dwellings, possibly separate from their owners' homes, or within the same household as servants ) but…… what cities? here some examples.

memphis. the capital of the old kingdom. full of loud markets, stone temples, and busy workshops. the most notorious thing are the white walls, the great temple of ptah, statues, palaces ( huge monuments of pharaohs ) craftsmen’s quarters ( people making gold jewelry, statues, and linen ) the nile docks ( ships unloading grain, wine, and goods from nubia and the levant ) …. one of the official religious centers as it was the worship center for the holy triad of the creator god of ptah, his wife sekhmet and nefertem.

thebes. the city of the gods. religious and cultural powerhouse, full of priests, scribes, tomb builders, and travelers. you’d see karnak and luxor temples ( giant temples with sphinx-lined roads ) street performers, food vendors, and boat festivals on the nile. markets full of incense, perfume, and imported goods from the red sea trade.

deir-el medina. there were around 68 houses, made of mud-brick built on stone foundations. letters, legal documents, statues and tombs tell us about family and working life. many of the men and women could read. women baked bread and brewed beer. the village had a court of law and everyone had a right to a trial. there was a local police, the medjay, to keep order. the people of deir-el medina also had medical treatment. they could get prescriptions of ingredients, prayers and spells from the physicians.

act iv. how is your social life?

we are talking about a very social civilisation….. if you were rich. their daily lives revolved around family, work, festivals, and entertainment, and they knew how to balance duty and pleasure ( fun fact: for them sexuality was sacred ).

marriage. frequently arranged by parents, they were a primarily a social and economic arrangement, not a religious or legal ceremony, where couples were considered married once they started living together, often after a party or celebration. while divorce was possible, it was difficult, and women were often protected from divorce by marriage contracts that placed financial burdens on men.

friendship. was significant aspect of life in ancient egypt, strong bonds and social obligations between individuals, including the idea of ‘friends’ being part of a broader social circle beyond immediate family.

banquets. they were lavish celebrations featuring large gatherings of family and friends, music, dance, and copious amounts of food and drink, frequently held near tombs to facilitate communication with the deceased. they were hosted by wealthy families and nobles. entertainment consisted in harpists, flutists, dancers, acrobats. the food ?? roast duck, fish, bread, figs, wine and beer. the banquets were often held in tents or colonnaded spaces, which were sometimes depicted in tomb. fun fact : particularly during banquets and celebrations, people wore scented wax cones on their heads, which melted and released a pleasant fragrance.

public festivals and religious celebrations. the most well-known festivals were: opet festival ( in thebes ) was a celebration of amun and mut’s marriage, statues was paraded through the streets. hathor festival is a wild party with drinking, music, and dance. wepet renpet ( new year’s ) is a huge nile-side festival with feasts and fireworks, celebrated mid-july. beautiful festival of the valley is a state festival, initiated by mentuhotep ii, and celebrated the bonds between the living and the dead, with citizens strengthening their bonds with the deceased. wag festival involved making paper boats containing shrines to souls and setting them out on the river nile to float towards the west, commemorating the death and rebirth of osiris.

markets. like today, bustling marketplaces were a social hotspot. the steet vendors sold jewelry, makeup ( kohl eyeliner and scented oils ) fine linen clothes, sandals, spices, perfumes, and exotic imports.

music. they usually played harps, flutes, drums, and lyres at parties and religious events while women, were often professional dancers, were hired for feasts and ceremonies.

act v. what are you eating?

bread was a fundamental part of the diet, made from emmer wheat or barley. it was eaten at every meal and was considered a basic element of human life.

beer was a common beverage.

vegetables. were a regular part of the egyptian diet, with a variety of options available, including onions, garlic, lentils, and cucumbers.

fish was a readily available and nutritious food source, it was prepared in various ways, including frying, smoking, and boiling.

fruits like figs and dates were also part of the ancient egyptian diet and were often included in offerings to the gods.

oils were derived from ben-nuts, sesame, linseed and castor oils. honey was used as a sweetener, and vinegar may have also been used. seasonings included salt, juniper, aniseed, coriander, cumin, fennel, fenugreek, and poppyseed.

meat. the wealthy would enjoy pork, mutton, and beef.

poultry, such as ducks and geese.

dairy products, like cheese, butter, and cream.

wine was a product of great importance, offered in funerary rituals and in temples to worship gods and consumed daily by the upper classes during meals and parties.

act vi. what are you wearing?

reflected both the hot climate and social status, with the wealthy adorning themselves with finer materials and elaborate jewelry.

linen. the primary fabric, made from the flax plant, was favored for its breathability and comfort in the hot climate.

wool. while known, wool was considered impure and primarily used by the wealthy for overcoats, but was forbidden in temples and sanctuaries.

jewelry. gold, lapis lazuli, turquoise, and other precious materials were used to create elaborate jewelry, including necklaces, rings, bracelets, and amulets.

women’s clothing. they wore full-length dresses with one or two shoulder straps, which could be pleated or draped. the wealthy often wore flowing, sheer dresses layered with colorful shawls or capes.

men’s clothing. kilt-like skirts ( schenti ) are a wrap-around skirt, tied at the waist, with variations in length depending on the era and fashion trends. loincloth and headdresses.

children’s clothing. they wore simple garments, often loincloths or short kilts for boys, and simple linen dresses for girls.

cosmetics. ochre for lips and cheeks, henna for fingernails, and kohl for outlining eyes and coloring eyebrows.

hair. men and women often shaved their heads, and instead they used wigs.

sandals. while many went barefoot, sandals were sometimes worn.

makeup, particularly black kohl eyeliner, was used by both men and women for both aesthetic and practical purposes, with ingredients like galena and malachite used to create pigments, and cosmetics were also seen as having spiritual and protective significance.

kohl eyeliner. a dark, black eyeliner made from ground galena (lead sulfide) and other ingredients like soot, which was used to outline the eyes. it was believed to protect the eyes from the sun's glare and to repel insects. applied in a distinctive style, with lines drawn above and below the eyes, sometimes slightly arched at the ends.

red pigments. red ochre, a clay that was dried in the sun, was used for blush and lipstick and it was also used to stain nails with henna.

green eye shadow. a.k.a malachite, a copper-based mineral, was ground and mixed with water to make a green eyeshadow.

oil and creams. scented oils and creams were used to moisturize the skin and mask body odor. ingredients included myrrh, thyme, marjoram, chamomile, lavender, lily, peppermint, rosemary, cedar, rose, aloe, olive oil, sesame oil and almond oil.

lipstick. red lipstick was made from red ochre and other pigments, theredder the lips, the higher the social status.

note: don’t forget to script safety things!

[loveanddeephistory]

Trowels and Scales| Rafayel x Archaeologist! Reader

Edit: Ao3 link

Ch 2

About: Lemuria. The ancient civilization that inspired your love of history, and brought you down this road. Placing a trowel in your hands. Upon its discovery, your mentor invites you to join the second phase of the excavation of the underwater civilization. But before you can join, an odd artist enters your life. Uncovering secrets is a part of the job description, but Rafayel holds secrets you cannot hope to uncover alone.

Contains spoilers for: Rafayel's World Underneath stories Long Lost Treasure/Microuniverses, his anecdote Addictive Pain, and his bond Ebb and Flow. Contains spoilers for above stories and portions of Rafayel's story in Love and Deepspace.

Word Count: 38k (whoops)

A/N: This is my first time writing an x reader and my first time writing something this big!!! Huge thanks to this fandom and this silly game for helping me find that spark again.

Divider credit: @thecutestgrotto

You knew better than anyone that the best place for research to begin was none other than the library.

The place was massive. Story upon story, floor upon floor. In the recent technology boom many of the lower flowers held state of the art computers. The database and online archives held hundreds, if not thousands of years of knowledge, all mere clicks away from one another. Meanwhile, the upper floors held row upon row of old books.

The cobwebs hung from every corner. Each stack covered in a generous dusting of dust. But each floor, somewhere around the L section, there were smudges, revealing the dark wood under the years of dust.

You meticulously went floor to floor with your list of codes. Each floor holding a couple more books that you needed. There was no ignoring the downright baffled expression of the librarian when you asked to borrow a cart, but her confusion shifted into a simple ‘o’ shaped mouth when you presented your long list of books you wanted to review. 

Archaeology was a tough job. You recalled your mentor’s words when you first met back in college- archaeology is a non-renewable resource. Once everything from a certain time period has been found, that’s it. It’s gone. You’re done. But the beauty of it was that people were constantly finding new things, new areas unexplored, untouched by humans. 

You rolled your rickety cart, laden with old books, down the aisles.

“J… K… L! La… Lb… Lc…” Your eyes shifted down the specific row until your eyes landed on the book you needed. “Lemurian Legends, Folk tales, and Magic. Fourth edition.” You pulled the book off the shelf, adding it to your cart. The L section featured significantly less dust than the rest on this floor. 

You gave the cart a nudge with your hip, giving it the momentum to start moving before pushing it along. At the very back on this floor sat an unused study area. At least the tables and chairs weren’t covered in dust. The cart creaked and groaned before finally releasing a shuddery sigh once it came to a stop. 

You sit yourself down, pulling your own supplies out of your bag. A journal, a pencil, your phone, and your long list of books. The one thing the books all had in common was the name burned into the inside of your eyelids.

Lemuria.

As a child, the name was whispered as a legend. A fairytale. The mythical home of mermen and mermaids, with magic and technology beyond your wildest dreams. When you decided you wanted to be an archaeologist at the ripe age of seven, a small part of you hoped to prove those schoolyard bullies wrong. That Lemuria was real, and you weren’t stupid for believing in it.

Maybe that’s why oceanic archaeology called to you. You got your diving certification, and your mentor got you connected with the best known underwater archaeologists in the country. 

That’s how you got this upcoming job. It was pretty hush hush, but Lemuria had been discovered. At first it was just a few fragments of sculptures that proved to be much too old for the human settlements from the same time period from the shore. Then it was jewelry unlike anything known from the region, and the surrounding context in the soil proved it wasn’t just blown in from somewhere else. 

And finally, they found it. Ruins of cities. Technology. Life.

You flipped through your journal, your thorough, methodical notes taking you back to that phone call from your mentor.

-

“Hello, Dr. C-?”

“Guess what, kiddo? They found it.” Her excited voice made you pause.

“Dr. C? What do you mean they found it? Who’s they? What’s it?”

“Lemuria. They’ve found Lemuria.” She was breathless. You could practically hear the grin in her voice. Her usually polite but aloof demeanor all but gone. There was no pretense of professionalism. Just the friendliness of your mentor- and your friend. “I know the head of the project, she was looking for divers with experience for the second phase. I gave her your name. Are you open to a job in two months time?”

You look down at the almost empty cup of ramen, your main source of nutrients between jobs. “Absolutely I am. I could start sooner.”

“Perfect. She has your contact info. I told her you were one of my best students, showed her some of your work from field school and maritime training.” Her excitement momentarily faded. “But…”

“But…?”

“There are some risks.”

“Oh I know that.” You shrugged, pinning your phone to your ear by your shoulder. You picked up the ramen, picking at the few remaining toppings in the bottom with your utensil. “I’m assuming it’s pretty deep, so light will be limited. There are always potential risks using submarines or submersibles. And since it’s all underwater who knows the integrity of the artifacts themselves.”

“Not that.” Her voice softened. Lowered. “The news already knows. They were trying to keep this under wraps, but… treasure hunters are sure to be on their way. This is top secret. You cannot tell anyone you are a part of this expedition when it comes. Or you’ll be putting a target on your own head. Are you sure you want to do this? I can tell my friend, she knows the risks and she won’t hold it against you.”

You paused. This wouldn’t necessarily be your first time running into hostility in the field. Whether it was hostile businesses trying to bribe you to turn a blind eye to the history of an area so they could build their high rise, or members of the community threatening you due to past grievances with archaeology as a whole… but treasure hunters? They were dangerous. Just trying to make a quick buck, they'd swoop in and the artifacts would just… vanish. Only to end up in some multi millionaire or billionaire’s home as the next hot home decor piece. And for that kind of money? Some people would kill.

“How much does the job pay?” You asked softly.

“More than I make in a year.” Your mentor responded. “They… took the danger into account.”

You sat straight up, nearly dropping your phone while you’re at it. You juggle it for a moment, your chair squeaking loudly as you jostle about, before catching it.

“I’m in!”

-

Before you sat a stack of the most reputable books on Lemuria you could find. As well as some books on reportedly Lemurian fairytales. 

You knew some of your peers may scoff, but you’d be a fool to deny the importance of stories. The oral tradition. You knew these stories likely were not true. But you knew even better that every good story had a grain of truth in it. Be it a reflection of a real event or person, or a poignant moral or theme. And if you manage to find these grains of sand, they begin to build into something much grander.

You looked around.

“Lemurian artifacts, history of Lemuria, Lemurian language, Dreams and Awakenings of Lemuria, Lemuria:Fact vs Fiction… for a land thought to be a fantasy for years there’s more scholarship on them than I thought.” You were pleasantly surprised. You figured you’d find more fairytales than anything, but you were pleasantly surprised by the amount of scholarship present. 

The trained professional in you told you to start with the language, or the rough histories pieced together. But that little kid in you was greedily grasping at that book of fairytales like it was the last piece of candy in the store.

You flipped it open. The binding was worn. The pages yellowed. But that familiar, comforting scent of a book wafted towards you. And all you could do was breathe in deeply. While you wanted to read these fairytales for pleasure, the professional side of you still nagged. So with a resigned sigh you took notes. The author, editor, and date of publishing. The date of the original version. Translation amendments and edits.

But as you read each familiar story, common threads slowly began to form.

A Sea God. Master of tides, bringer of storms, keeper of fire. There were multiple themes of the battle of Fire and Water. And little blue fish. 

A little blue fish. That’s oddly specific.

In each story where the sea god appears, a little blue fish would announce his presence first. As you got into the later stories you started to notice it. Pages before the sea god appeared, the narrator would mention a little blue fish. 

A kind hearted protagonist would save a little blue fish from a whirlpool. Or an enemy would notice a single little blue fish zip by, before the god made his grand appearance. Time and time again. You made a note in your journal. The last story was the most fascinating of them all. It was of the youngest sea god, and his troublesome years as a child. You were quickly sucked in, finding yourself enraptured in the story.

He was constantly getting into trouble, not understanding the weight of his responsibilities or power. Mischievous, silly, and always up to no good. The story brought a smile to your face, a far cry from your typical focused expression while researching. You could just see it in your mind. A little boy with a fish tail flitting about, causing minor whirlpools, spitting water at birds, and simply causing trouble. From your years of story analysis, you could spot a trickster from a mile away. 

And this sea god, for all his might and power, was quite the trickster god. Sly, cunning, and powerful. While he could sway others to do as he said through power and force, sometimes it was his intelligence that did the trick. These stories painted a clear picture of the understanding of the Lemurian sea god.

He was not to be trifled with. Even if he was just a silly prankster as a guppy.

“A-hem.”

The sharp sound of someone clearing his throat yanked you from your imagination. You immediately looked up. A man, your age, stood before you. He was dressed in a crisp red suit, dazzlingly decorated with roses. His dusky purple hair drifted into his eyes, but it didn’t hide how brilliant they were. Blue. With a hint of pink at the bottom.

“Do you really need all those books?” He lazily pointed at your extensive pile of books before you. “Someone’s just being greedy.” His tone was low. But playful. An obvious sign of amusement.

“Oh! No, not really! I wrote down all their names, so I can come back if you need some of them now.” You quickly closed the book you were reading, realizing how selfish it was to take all of them. “Which ones do you need?” 

His eyes scanned the table, before locking in on the book right in front of you. “Lemurian Legends, Folk tales, and Magic. Fourth edition.” You pick it up and offer it to him.

“I was done with it anyway, you had good timing.” He accepted the book. He let it fall open in his hand, briefly skimming the page. 

“Fourth edition, and they still have work to do… their translations are mediocre at best.” He grumbled his words, his eyebrows furrowing as he zeroed in on a phrase. 

“Oh…” You look down at your notes before looking up at him. “Do you… know the originals, then?” The man snorted, snapping the book shut. 

“Sort of. I know a thing or two about Lemuria. And I know this author is awful at getting the context of certain phrases right.” 

“Oh!” You couldn’t deny the bubble of excitement. Was this man someone who knew more about Lemuria? “I’m actually working on a project about Lemuria right now! Do… do you know a lot?”

“A lot?” He echoed. He took long strides towards you, leaning down so he could look you in the eye. “Yeah. I guess you could say that.” His lips curled up, a glimmer coming to his eye. “I’m applying to be an associate professor at a local university. Art history. I just so happen to read and speak Lemurian fluently, soooo…” He shrugged. “Yeah. I guess I do know a lot.”

There it was. That familiar, glowing buzz that hit you. You love your job sometimes. You stick your hand out with a confident by polite smile, offering him your name. “That’s great! I’m actually an archaeologist doing some additional background research into Lemuria. I’m sure you’ve seen that some ruins have been discovered.”

He eyed your hand, but grasped it and gave a polite shake before promptly dropping it. “Rafayel. Aren’t they doing an expedition down there soon?” You shrugged, grabbing the book on Lemurian language and dragging it closer to you over the table. You open it directly on top of your journal. 

“I don’t know, apparently it’s a pretty small team going on it. But you know there’s soooo many hoops to jump through to get that kind of thing approved.” You recalled the many times you helped a supervisor or client call in for the permits. The government agencies, local businesses, any local groups that may be impacted. Jumping through hoops for the government while appeasing businesses and people alike. You got a headache just thinking about it. “Could take months before they get anyone down there.” It was half a lie. You knew it was being streamlined, and it did make things easier since it was underwater.

But it did momentarily make a frown flicker onto your face. One of the most important jobs as an archaeologist was speaking with the descendants and local communities. They were never obstacles to be overcome, or enemies to conquer. They were allies. And often, victims. You looked down at the treasure trove of books. There were people behind these stories. One way or another. Obviously the humans who wrote or translated them. But somewhere along the way, there must have been the true residents of Lemuria. Would any of their descendants even still be around? Would they want this?

“Uhhhh… earth to cutie.” The purple haired man, Rafayel, lightly tapped your head with the book. “Did you just hear a word I said?”

You quickly shake your head, centering yourself back in reality. “Sorry! Got lost in my own head. No, I didn’t hear you, will you please repeat yourself?” Rafayel looked away, hanging his head while tapping it with one hand.

”I don’t knooooow, you seemed pretty happy to just be in your own head.”

”I was just thinking something… kinda silly.” You shrug, rubbing the back of your neck. “I mean. My mentor always told me and my classmates that the most important job of an archaeologist is to work with the community. Not against them. So, you know, if Lemuria is real, then Lemurians must’ve been real.” 

Rafayel cut his eyes over, his gaze meeting yours through the curtain of purple hair. “Oh?”

”I mean,” you shrug. “Someone had to make all of that stuff. Those people…” You gesture to the book in his hands. “I noticed a couple of themes. Fire vs water, the sea god, and… the animosity between ocean and land. There’s a theory that Lemuria was actually a land based society that fell into the ocean, and it was its remains that people mistook for mermen and mermaids.” You frown. “But… I just don’t buy that.”

”Sooo… what? You think mermaids exist? Some scientist you are.” He scoffed, letting the book fall open in his hands again.

”It doesn’t really matter what Lemurians are, be they human or non human. Would they want this?” You turned back to your pile of books. “Would they want to be found?” The names of the authors on all the books caught your eye. You made a mental note to do some additional research into the authors themselves. Their backgrounds. Their prejudices or biases. Your gaze shifted back to the book right in front of you. The book of language. You flipped a few pages to an unfamiliar alphabet, showing the rough equivalent into the Latin alphabet. You gently nudged the book away, looking back and forth while spelling your name out.

The hairs on the back of your neck came to stand, and soon you felt Rafayel’s presence over your shoulder. He leaned in, looking at your handwriting. 

“You need to connect those two letters.” He pointed between two symbols. “That’ll create the sound you need to replicate your name in the Lemurian tongue. It won’t be exact, but it’ll be as close as you can get in this language.” You flipped your pencil and rubbed the two letters away, replacing them with a more connected version. You weren’t sure what he meant, but as you wrote you steadily wrote one symbol before making the next without lifting your pencil from the paper. Rafayel’s eyes narrowed before slowly nodding. “Better.” His eyes cut up to your face again. “So. When are you going on that excavation?”

”Me?” You pointed to yourself. “Do you know how selective something like this is?”

”Not really.” He shrugged again, his lips tugging up into a smile once more. “Tell me.”

”Well… it’s pretty selective.” You put down your pencil. “Thorough background checks, lengthy interview processes…”

”I’m sure good recommendations are a part, too.”

You hummed in confirmation. “Yeah, big time. Networking is important in this kind of field. Everyone remembers. They might not have a name to a face or a face to a name, but if you fucked up even in field school they’ll know.”

”Field school?” His eyebrows furrowed.

”Yeah! Field school! It’s basically how archaeologists get trained, at least where I’m from. You are working in the field, but it is also an academic setting where you are learning.” You pulled your journal out, flipping all the way back to the front. It was a bound leather journal in your favorite color. You flipped to the first page and extended it to him.

”Those were my notes from my first ever dig.”

”Ugh.” He groaned, scanning the page. “Why are there so many numbers?”

”Archaeology needs math.”

”Gross.” 

You couldn’t suppress a laugh, though you quickly clasped both hands over your mouth. This is a library. Gotta be quiet. Rafayel’s initially disgruntled expression shifted, back into the same amusement he had been carrying with him all morning. “It’s just us up here, no need to be quiet.” He shrugged. He leaned against the table, his eyes trailing over all the books you had laid out. “You say this excavation is selective. But you seem motivated. Think you’ve got a shot?” You removed your hands, what your mentor said echoing in your mind.

”I mean,” you shrug your shoulders, looking down at your journal again. “Maybe? Depends on how many people can go, and the competition. Besides, there’s plenty of other people who would be vying for this kind of position. Hence why I’m here.” You gestured at all the books he was eyeing. “Research.” 

Rafayel’s eyes settled on one of the books on the table. He set down the book of legends, picking up the book on fact and fiction. He dangled it by the edge of its cover, his lips curling in disgust. “I’d… not read this one if I were you.” He held it away from himself as if it was diseased, and you couldn’t help but smile in both amusement and mild bewilderment. He glanced at you, scoffing before putting the book down on the other table, smacking it away. “The author doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Doesn’t cite his sources, doesn’t interview professionals… all just theories and what he thinks to be true.”

”Oh.” You looked down your list of books, finding it. You grabbed your pencil and messily scratched it out, writing what he said down as a note to yourself. “Thanks for that, I’m planning on doing some research into all these authors later.”

“Better sooner than later. You’ve got a good eye, some of these guys are pretty trustworthy.” Rafayel tapped the book of language in front of you. “This author is the best. Her work is great. Well sourced, well written, talks to professionals…” You knew of the few experts in Lemuria out there. Rafayel now being the newest one, and one you’ve now met in person. But they’re few and far between. Plenty of people in the academic world scoffed at them, claiming they were chasing nothing more than fairytales. So while academic scholarship on Lemuria existed, the good stuff was few and far between. You circled the author’s name on the piece of paper, adding five scrubbed stars around it as well. You’ll need to look up her other works.

”You have any more suggestions, Rafayel?” Your eyes darted up again, catching the tail end of a continued glare at the offending book. He turned back to you, shrugging.

”Nah. Not really. Good stuff is hard to find, y’know.” 

You chuckled wryly, looking down at your notes. “Oh, I know.” Your fingers found their way to the necklace hiding under the collar of your shirt. A simple chain in your favored metal, with a single charm. A pearl. Just one. Hell, you didn’t know if it was even real. It caught your eye shortly before graduation. After years of working towards being an archaeologist, all the people saying you couldn’t do it, you weren’t cut out for it, you’d never make it. The worried friends and family asking you to pick something else, be something else. After all that, you promised yourself a momento to show you made it, and remind yourself why you did this.

Your fingers graze the surface of the pearl. It was unique, it wasn’t white. The color felt so suiting, and the chain was your favorite color of metal. It was a no brainer. You bought it on the spot. A reminder of the story that started it all. A reminder of the years of studying and working that brought you to this exact moment.

“Academia hasn’t always been the kindest to those who tried to prove Lemuria’s existence. Always said it was just hopeless fools chasing fairytales.” You dropped the necklace and looked back up. Rafayel’s eyes seemed to catch a glimpse of the pearl pendant, but they popped back up to meet your own. “But hey. People said the same thing of the city of Ur. And of Troy. But those weren’t just stories.” You looked at the book he had picked up, the one you had just finished reading when he approached. “Every story has a grain of truth. Maybe it’s a universal theme, like love or loss. Maybe it’s based on a real person but was twisted over time. Or maybe it’s the setting itself.” You pointed at the book with your pencil.

”And now we know Lemuria was real. Which means Lemurians are real- people lived there. One way or another. And they are what’s important. Not the treasures. Not the statues. The people. Their stories.” Your eyes found their way to Rafayel’s once more. They were locked onto you. Behind the shield of his hair, you couldn’t quite make out what he might be thinking or feeling. He cocked his head to the side, a smirk coming to his face.

”You said it yourself. What if these people don’t want to be found?”

Something about that gaze felt intense. Like a challenge. Or a trap. 

You sighed. “Well. We don’t know that unless we ask. Or find out the hard way.” You started to gather the books in front of you. Between the author Rafayel detested and the book he needed, your pile would be a little smaller. You were certain you could check out this many- or a portion of them and then come back next week for the others. “I’m a scientist and an anthropologist- but I have my beliefs. Sometimes, discoveries just aren’t meant to be made. Not yet. So I guess we’ll see how this excavation goes and go from there.”

You loaded the books onto the cart. The two or three books by the detested author went onto the bottom of the cart so you could return them, while the rest went on top. 

“What? Like… some unseen force will bury the lead, or something?” Rafayel’s voice came from behind you. “Really?”

”Not necessarily. But I’ve had my weird experiences.” You shrugged your shoulders. You went back to your journal, shutting it and securing it with the connected elastic. You tucked your pencil behind your ear, tucking everything away where it belonged. You walked around the edge of the other table, grabbing the rejected book and adding it to your stack of books to be put away. “Things going missing, weird happenstances, tech malfunctioning and refusing to work… I’m not that superstitious. But if a site isn’t cooperating, maybe that’s a hint that the time isn’t right. If that happens, I take all my field notes, do the best work I can, and go home at the end of the day. That’s all you can do.”

”Hm.” Rafayel hummed. “Do others in the field feel the same way?”

”Eh, you’d have to ask them.” You turned to face him, offering him your hand one more time. “It was nice to meet you, Rafayel. Good luck with that associate professor position. What university?”

”The one in town. University of Linkon.” He extended his hand, giving you a polite but firm shake before dropping your hand again. 

“Hey! I graduated from there. You might run into my mentor, she’s the archaeology prof there. Everyone calls her Dr. C. Tell her you met me.” You pulled your hand back, gripping the rail of the cart as you slowly began to push it away. “I meet up with her for coffee on campus from time to time. Maybe we’ll see each other again!”

Rafayel’s eyes left yours. He looked down at the book in his hand, before looking back at you. He smiled. Though it was clear it was only for the sake of manners. “Maybe. Good luck on the dig.” 

You worked your ass off. You got all your background knowledge done and had extensive notes. You got confirmation from Eleanor, the lead on the dig, that you would be brought in for phase two. Additionally, the sponsors for the dig sent you an advance check so you could get all the additional equipment you might need. You had everything you needed up to their specifications, and your training was still good. Which meant the money was yours to use. You used a part of it on groceries so ramen wouldn’t be your only source of nutrients, while the rest was squirreled away in a savings account for the next in-between period you fell upon. 

You were busy reviewing your journal, looking over your notes with a growing glow of excitement when your phone began to ring. 

*I wanna know- can you show me? I wanna know about these strangers like me!* 

The song you had set for your mentor was ringing loudly. You shut your journal, grabbing your phone. You accepted the call, putting your phone to your ear. “Dr. C! Hey-!” As you greeted her she said your name in a low, firm tone. Your greeting froze in your throat. She never spoke like this. “Yes? What’s going on?”

”Can you meet me on campus in an hour? We need to talk.”

”Dr. C is everything okay?” You were already getting up. You tucked your journal into your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you rushed to the door. You put on your shoes, grabbed your keys, and left. 

“I’m fine. And you’re not in trouble.” Her voice softened, picking up in the concern in your own voice. “It’s important. I’ll buy you coffee at our usual spot. Okay?”

”I’ll be there soon. Do you need anything? Can I grab something for you?”

”No, no. No need.” She released a heavy sigh on her end of the line. You couldn’t recall the last time she acted like this. You couldn’t recall her acting like this… ever. “I’ll see you soon.”

She hung up before you could respond. With your eyebrows furrowed and your lips pressing into a thin line, you hurried out the door of your apartment building. Luck seemed to be on your side. You caught the bus right as it arrived, and traffic was light. While hot, there was a pleasant breeze drifting through the city. The route was familiar. Nostalgic. For a moment you were taken back to those college days. Riding that bus crammed with so many chattering students, the breeze rolling through the bus every time the door opened for new passengers. The way you’d admire the petals dancing in the breeze on a beautiful spring or summer day, or leaves in the autumn, and snow in the winter. 

You hopped off the bus at the same spot you always did. Your footsteps were quick, but didn’t hold the same lightness they typically did. Something was wrong. Dr. C never got shaken up. Never. Nothing got under that woman’s skin. Not easily at least. And the only way you’d know is if you watched her eyes. Her confusion and amusement would be clear as day. But irritation? It would be just the tiniest glimmer in her eye, before she buried it beneath polite but stern reconciliations, or firm reprimands if something was truly wrong.

And worry? You never saw her worried. Never. Even when expensive equipment broke, or an investor threatened to pull out, or someone tried to threaten her. So to hear her actively concerned over the phone? 

It worried you.

You were forced to come to a stop at a crosswalk. You sighed, briefly glancing around. There was an old pet shop at this crosswalk. It was run by the nicest old couple. They worked primarily with old pets needing new homes, and pet supplies. You glanced in, surprised to come face to face with a flurry of fish. They flicked here and there, zipping around the large tank.

But one in particular caught your eye. A little blue fish.

You tilted your head, and the fish flicked to one side. You tilted your head the other way, and the fish followed. You cracked a smile, lifting a hand to wave at it.

”Hey there little guy.” You murmured. The fish seemed to be watching you. “So. Emissary of the sea god, huh?” Your smile widened. “Mind giving him a message from little old me?”

The fish flicked its tail, getting closer to the glass.

”I’m taking that as a yes.” You laughed. You leaned close to the glass. “Please tell Mr Sea God that I’m gonna be near Lemuria soon.” You dropped your voice, verifying no one was around you. “And I’d like to ask for his favor. It’s okay if he doesn’t want to give it. I can take a no.” Your smile widened in self incredulity. Talking to a fish, asking it to deliver a message to a god. 

No wonder some of your colleagues thought you were loopy. 

You leaned away, noticing the crosswalk sign change out of your peripheral vision. You waved to the fish, turning your body to cross the road. In a mere matter of minutes, the bustling city gave way to the college campus. It felt like stepping back in time.

People tossing balls and frisbees, friends studying for exams under and in trees, young couples cuddled on benches lining the path. Any other day you’d take a leisurely stroll, enjoy the beauty of campus. But not today. Today, there was a pressing matter. Your feet carried you along the familiar paths, winding your way to the campus cafe. A popular place to hang out in between classes. Students and professors alike would grab a little pastry and a coffee or tea. Some students would come to study, while others came for dates, or catch up their friends on the latest gossip. 

You swung the door open, the familiar sights, sounds, and smells washing over you.

You breathed in it. It was nice to be back.

You walked in, avoiding the long line as you peeked into the very back corner. Just as you expected, you saw your mentor sitting there, her back to the wall. She was sipping on her own coffee, while an iced coffee sat across from her. Your lips turned up in a grin, making a beeline to her. Your footsteps made her eyes cut up, and everything about her seemed to soften. She put down her cup, coming to stand. She called your name, and in a heartbeat you were at her side, sharing a side hug.

”Dr. C! Everything okay?” You held her shoulder just a little tighter, your smile fading into a worried expression. 

“I’m fine.” She assured, patting your shoulder before gesturing for you to sit down. “I remembered your favorite flavored coffee here. It’s a seasonal special now. You’re lucky they brought it back for the summer semester.” You sat down in front of her, while she returned to her spot with her back against the wall. You picked up the drink, taking a sip. The crisp coolness was just what you wanted on a hot day like today.

”I still can’t see how you drink that stuff.” She shook her head, taking a sip of her own coffee. Hot, with just a splash of cream. You shrug, lifting your cup to her.

”Eh, sweet tooth.” You explained. The two of you tapped your cups together, an unspoken toast. You took another sip, the cool liquid cooling you down. “So.” You dropped your voice, leaning in. This back corner wasn’t very popular. It was near the bathrooms, and the lighting wasn’t great. But it was great for semi-private conversations. “What’s going on?”

Dr. C slowly lowered her cup. She set it down on the table, her eyes scanning the cafe behind you. She smiled, but it was one of her typical, polite, not quite right smiles. “Phase one failed.” She kept her voice low, leaning in closer over the table. “The entire team was down a week longer than anticipated. They never lost contact with the surface- but the people in the submersible say they lost contact.” Her eyes cut to yours. “And everyone responsible has gone no contact. I talked with Sean last before he dropped off the map. But Yennifer, Fred, Eleanor? The others won’t talk to me.” 

Your eyes widened. Your eyebrows shot up, and you quickly put your cup down. “What? Are they okay?”

”From what I’ve heard, yes. Gone into hiding.” She licked her lips. Still smiling, like she was whispering an inside joke. “Sean said he felt followed.” She looked you dead in the eye. “The field notes were modified. The videos corrupted. People are missing.” You kept your eyes low. Thinking. You hadn’t heard from Eleanor since you got that check. You chalked it up to the dig itself, and then of course taking everything back to the lab for testing and analysis. You licked your lips, both they and your mouth feeling very dry all of a sudden. “I’m sorry.” She sighed. “The job is off. I would distance yourself from this project.” Her voice dropped to just above a whisper. “Something is very wrong here.”

”No, no, don’t apologize.” You reached out, resting your hand on her clenched fist. “I know they were all friends of yours. All four of them. Sean, Fred, Yennifer, Eleanor. And don’t worry about me having a job, you know I do plenty of other things. A museum reached out to me to help them ID some artifacts of theirs, and that’s a three month contract that could be renewed. And a science magazine is going to publish some of my work.” You squeezed her hand. Her eyes met yours, and you smiled warmly. You had met all four of them before, albeit briefly. Sean was your stereotypical absentminded professor, though he was brilliant and skilled at his job. Eleanor was quiet but kind, a good reflection of your own mentor. Fred had a great sense of humor and always lit up the room. And Yennifer, though stern, always engaged in conversation with you. You could see them all in your mind’s eye- even smell them. Their familiar cologne or perfume when they weren't on a dig or in the library. Lilac and gooseberries was the most potent scent, every time. The nostalgia hit you like a wave, meeting them in your undergrad years. 

You hoped they were all okay.

“Besides. Whoever was helping to fund this expedition was very generous. Eleanor forwarded a check for me to get all my gear upgraded and ready ahead of time, and any I didn’t use was mine to keep.” You add with a beam. “Never had that happen before!”

Dr. C’s eyebrows furrowed. She opened her mouth before promptly closing it. Her eyes locked on someone behind you. Everything about her shifted. Her smile widened, and her eyebrows relaxed.

She just shifted into polite professional mode.

”Rafayel!” She greeted the person behind you. You quickly turned, seeing the man in question. The same mop of purple hair was the biggest sign. He wasn’t wearing the ostentatious red suit today. Instead he wore a more casual black suit with a loose tie. He still looked the part of a professor- though his face gave away that he was much closer to your age than Dr. C’s. ”Rafayel, good to see you.” The two went and shook hands, both giving a firm shake with polite smiles. “This is one of my previous students,-“ Before she could introduce you, Rafayel chuckled.

”We’ve met.” He smiled, sending you a wink. “In the library. Still working on that Lemurian history project of yours?” You shook your head, coming to stand to greet him in turn. He was holding a thick binder in one arm and a yogurt drink in the other hand. Honeydew melon. He must’ve gotten it from one of the vending machines. 

“Nah.” You shrug casually. As of today, no. “Kinda just sitting and waiting around to hear back about it by this point. I’ve got other smaller jobs to keep me busy in the meantime.” You gestured between the two of them. “I see you both have met.”

”Yeah! Rafayel here came and introduced himself after he got hired.” Dr. C nudged his arm with her elbow, a teasing smile on her face. She was significantly shorter than him, but her confidence and intelligence filled the room just as much as Rafayel’s presence did. “Invited me to sit in on some of his lectures. I should’ve known you two would cross paths.” She pointed at you. “This one was one of my top students.” She teased, her voice light and proud. “Wanted to go into maritime archaeology.”

”Ah, I see.” Rafayel’s eyes gleamed. “Mind if I join you two? You looked like you were having a pretty serious conversation, I don’t want to intrude.” Dr. C waved her hand.

”Nahhhh. You’re fine. Come, join us.” She went back to her seat, while you pulled your chair away so Rafayel could sit against the wall. Dr. C had her back to one wall, with Rafayel to her left doing the same. You sat to Rafayel’s left, your back to the rest of the cafe. “It wasn’t anything too serious.”

Rafayel leaned in. His smile dropped and his eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie.” He murmured. “I heard about it too. I know a lot about Lemuria. I heard about the archaeologists.” He added. His eyebrows furrowed. “Are they okay?”

You and Dr. C share a look.

”I don’t know.” You answer truthfully. “We haven’t heard from them.” Dr. C nodded to confirm.

”They just… vanished.” She added. “The authorities are looking into it.”

”Sure, that’s great and all…” You hummed, keeping your voice low. “But I think I might do some digging, too. I mean… four people dropping off the face of the earth. Video footage gone, field journals edited and changed…” You put a hand on your head. “That goes against everything we stand for. You know Eleanor, she would never permit something like this.” You look up, meeting your mentor’s eyes. Her lips were pressed into a thin line.

”I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.” The man between the both of you spoke. His voice took on a lower tone than you had heard him use back in the library. “If all this stuff is happening… it looks like they don’t want to be found right now. They’re trying to shake someone off their tails.”

”He’s right.” Dr. C turned back to you. “Don’t get involved in this. Not here. Not now.” Her voice was firm. Worried. Giving you no room to argue. “Whoever is behind this isn’t going to care who is or isn’t directly involved. This level of sabotage, or blackmail, or manipulation…” Her voice drifted. “Something a lot bigger is going on here. But it’s not for us to find out.”

You looked down, finding the table much more interesting than their faces. 

“But there are people at risk.” You urged, looking back up again. “What if someone did something to them?”

”That’s the police’s job.”

You scoffed. “Yeah. Right.”

Rafayel blew some hair out of his face. “Listen. I get it.” He cut in. “These are colleagues, or just people who are important to you because they’re in the same field. But you said it yourself. Maybe some things aren’t meant to be found. At least, not here. Not now. Not by them.” You slowly looked to his face. “Maybe they found something they shouldn’t have.”

”What, some cursed treasure?” Dr. C’s voice was mildly teasing.

”No. Something more modern.” Rafayel frowned. “Lots of people just… dump their trash into the sea. Maybe they found something illegal and were going to report it.” You slowly nod. That would make sense. That would explain them going into hiding, the editing, the footage being lost… and it would make sense to leave it to the police, in that case. But something was nagging at you. Something is wrong here. You grabbed your drink and took a few more sips. Your eyes scanned the back of the cafe, since Rafayel and Dr. C faced the front. You looked up, finding a camera in the corner. It had always been there.

You always remembered it being broken. Now, the red light was blinking steadily.

”I won’t press my luck.” You sighed, leaning back in your chair. You cross your arms over your chest, looking away from them both. “I… I’m just worried.”

”So am I.”

”We both are.” Dr. C spoke first, before Rafayel echoed the sentiment. Rafayel sipped on his drink, his eyes scanning the cafe behind you. His eyes lingered on one spot. He finished his drink, standing back up. You scoot your chair to the side, allowing him to come out. “Thanks for letting me join you two for a minute. Keep me updated, okay, Dr. C?” He looked over his shoulder. “Oh! And you’re both welcome to come and visit my lecture next week. We’re discussing Sumerian art history.”

Your jaw dropped. How did he know?! Your mentor reached over and patted your arm, a grin on her face. “You should go! Your second love. It’ll get your mind off of this.”You thought for a moment. You might as well. You had a pretty flexible schedule with these past time jobs. So you might as well. You turned to look at him, offering a grim and a thumbs up.

“I’ll see you then!” You confirmed. 

You turned back around to face your old professor, hearing Rafayel’s dress shoes crisply head out towards the chatter of the rest of the cafe. 

“He’s cute.”

”Oh my gods shut up.” You whipped your head around to hiss at her, but she had that familiar amused grin on her face.

”Just an acknowledgment.”

”Yeah but I know what you’re really saying.” You groaned. “And we just met.”

”Yeah. But you can admit he’s cute.” She grabbed her drink again. “Interested in Lemuria, teaching a lecture on Sumerian art history next week… he seems right up your alley.”

”Dr. C, is this revenge?”

”Maybe a little.” She teased. “Remember when all your classmates would dog me about finding a date? Trying to play matchmaker?”

”Do YOU remember I never participated?” You groaned again. You could feel the warmth blooming up your neck and face. Sure. You could call a spade a spade. Rafayel was cute. And that playful but grumpy personality? Totally your thing. But you just met the guy a few weeks ago. “Don’t take it out on me!”

”I know, I know, I remember.” She finally laughed. Though you felt embarrassed, it was good to hear her laugh. You could tell how heavily this was weighing on her. Maybe it was for the best to avoid the topic for a little bit. You knew all you could know. “I’m just saying. Don’t close yourself off to the possibility. Let yourself get to know the guy. He’s your age.”

”Yeah. And apparently he’s a super famous artist.” You continued to hold your petty grudge, grumbling back at her. “He was just looking for something extra to do so he decided to become an associate professor. Saw it in a magazine.”

”Imagine being so wealthy you could choose to be an associate professor for fun.” She sighed wistfully. You two shared a look before bursting out laughing. 

In your field? Impossible.

”See?” You laughed along with her. “He’s a super wealthy famous artist picking up lectures for fun. Why the hell would he want a sweaty, dirty, constantly bouncing from job to job archaeologist?”

”Who knows?” Dr. C finally came down from her laughing fit. “All I’m saying is he’s cute. Don’t push it away. See what happens. He seemed pretty happy to see you here.”

”Really? I didn’t see that at all.” 

“It’s all in the eyes.” She gestured to her own eyes, her knowing glimmer in them. “I’m not saying anything about his interest. I’m just saying you two have things in common.” She grabbed her coffee cup. She took a sip while glancing at her watch. “Unfortunately I do have a class to teach in an hour, and I need to finish looking over some notes, so I need to get going.” As Dr. C stood, you did the same. She reached out, patting your shoulder with a reassuring smile. ”Let the authorities do their job. I know you’re hesitant. So am I. But this’ll be figured out. I’m sure of it.” She squeezed your shoulder, and you managed to smile in return. You reached up, resting your hand on hers, squeezing it in return.

”Of course, Dr. C. I’ll see you next week at Rafayel’s lecture?”

”Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She grinned back. She grabbed her coffee and her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “See you then!” She turned and walked out. You watched, noticing that familiar spring in her step. Just talking about it clearly helped her feel better as much as it did the same for you. You grabbed your coffee, deciding you might as well walk back to your apartment. You didn’t have anything else to do today, and traffic would be crazy on a Friday evening. 

You exited the familiar cafe, greeted once more by the familiar campus. This was your home for years. Some things changed, but many stayed the same. 

People throwing balls and frisbees on the grass, gossiping with their friends about the people on the sports teams, or complaining about the latest exam or paper. One guy was just on a park bench, scrolling on his phone, his black hood pulled over his face. It brought back the days of college, and you couldn’t help but smile a little wider. Your stroll was leisurely, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of this area of Linkon. The trees planted by sidewalks, and the slowly growing glow of a setting sun. As you walked you heard distant music, almost carnival like. 

You came upon a small carnival with games set up. You grinned, deciding to at least wander around. There were your typical strongman games, or the games with balloons you could throw darts at. An obnoxious teenage boy yelled at onlookers, trying to goad them into trying to dunk him into the tank. But off in the distance, you saw a tank with fish.

You chuckled to yourself as you approached.

”Hello again.” The fish scattered as you approached, save for a little blue fish. Its fins were different, so it surely wasn’t the same fish you encountered at the crosswalk. You looked around, but the person running this game was nowhere to be found. If you caught a fish, you got to keep it. You knelt down by the side of the tank, the fish seeming to eye you warily. You held up your index fingers, bringing them to either side of you. “Let’s play a game. Left is yes. Right is no.”

A part of you couldn’t believe you were doing this. No wonder some of your colleagues thought you were loopy. But if nothing else, it was fun to indulge in your imagination. 

“Fish are emissaries of the sea god.” You said it like a fact. The fish didn’t react. Watching you. Before languidly turning, swimming off to the left. You raised your eyebrows, nodding. “I see.” You hummed. “Alright. Next question. Little blue fish specifically are emissaries of the sea god.” The fish darted to the right. You really raised an eyebrow at that one. “Oh? So that’s just legend?” It darted back to the left, this time swimming calmly. You shook your head. No one would believe you if you told them about this. ”Okay. Good to know. Maybe I should ask Rafayel about that next week.” You pause, trying to think of another question. Your eyebrows furrow, and your lips press together.

”Are the archaeologists okay?” 

The fish turned. It swam in a slow circle on the left side of the tank. You were going to consider this good news, when it slowly swam to the middle of the tank. Then the right. Then to the very bottom right corner, near the gravel. You inhaled slowly. 

“I’m… not sure I should take it from a fish.” You stood up. “But thanks for the assist. I’ll keep that in mind. Tell the sea god I said hi.” The fish flicked its tail and hid in a decoration, almost as if it was turning its back on you. Your expression contorted into a bewildered but amused look. “No need to be rude… I said thanks.” You turned, slowly beginning to walk away. You ran your fingers through your hair, the distant sound of cars and growing traffic adding to the growing cacophony in your head.

Rafayel did mention that the fourth edition still had some translation and context errors. Maybe the “little blue” section was one of them. Your mind wandered back to the most important question. Are the archaeologists okay. It was a slow, steady shift from yes to no. And a decisive no at that. You shouldn’t take a fish’s word for it. Dr. C was right, you need to let the authorities conduct their investigation. Maybe some company got involved and tried to blackmail them. Or they found something weird and inexplicable. Or they found nothing at all and dropped off the map out of embarrassment.

But with each explanation, something gnawed at your chest. No. That couldn’t be right. None of that could be right. Something felt sinister about this. Maybe it was paranoia. But in spite of Dr. C and Rafayel’s warnings, you found yourself more determined than ever. You would get to the bottom of this. 

The week came and went faster than you had anticipated. Between revisions for that magazine article about your journey becoming an archaeologist and the heavy duty research you needed to do to help that museum with their artifacts, you didn’t have time to dwell on much else. Between working on those two tasks your mind drifted to the archaeologists. The failed expedition was starting to make headlines, with people questioning the people who ran it, the people who funded it… It was turning into quite the mess. People pointing fingers, people scoffing and calling the whole thing a hoax and a cover up.

Even the thought of it was giving you a headache. But at least the day had come. You had stayed up a little later than you normally did the night before, hammering out the last of this round of revisions for the magazine before sending it off. It would need to be reviewed one more time. So that meant today you could enjoy the art lecture without work looming over your head.

The bus ride was pleasant, albeit hotter than last week. The full extent of summer was setting in. You wore your necklace, as you always did, but you protected it with a tank top. No need to get it all dirty. Loose, flowy pants kept air circulating as you lightly fanned yourself with the book you brought with you. The bus came to a shuddering halt, the tires and breaks squealing under the pressure. You hopped off the bus, moving quick. *Ding!* You pulled out your phone, the familiar contact photo popping up. Your mentor. You opened the text, finding a crowded lecture hall and a caption.

Get here quick! I saved you a spot! People are fighting to get in!

The sheer volume of people in the room made your jaw drop. You had never seen such a massive lecture hall that packed. Rafayel was a famous artist, so it made sense his classes would be packed to the brim. But this was ludicrous! You shoved your phone in your pocket and your book in your bag before taking off running across campus. Students didn’t bat an eye as you ran, most of them knowing the struggle of being late to class all too well. You bobbed and weaved your way to the art building, flying up the stairs. As you ran posters and artworks caught your eye, fluttering with the breeze created by your quick moves. You were used to clubs and local groups putting up fliers in the stairwell. But for a moment, you thought you saw a single illustration of a little blue fish. 

People were crowding around the door, so you muttered polite ‘excuse me’s until you could shimmy through. You spotted Dr. C, two rows back. She made eye contact and gestured for you to hurry up. You hopped up the stairs, and as she removed her bag you sat down as fast as you could so no one standing around her would try to steal it. The timing was perfect, just as you settled in the crowd around the door parted like the Red Sea. Rafayel came in, once again in that brilliant red suit with the roses. In spite of the weather he seemed perfectly put together. Not a drop of sweat on him. He carried his materials in, the room momentarily growing louder. 

“Professor Qi is here!” You heard one girl a row back whisper. “He’s so cuuuuuute!”

“He’s our professor, you weirdo!” Her friend next to her hissed.

”Oh shut up, isn’t he, like, 24? I’d have a shot.” 

You could practically hear the grin in the girl’s voice. You momentarily cast a side glance to your mentor, who was already looking at you with her signature bewildered side eye. You both averted your gazes, covering your mouths as subtly as you could to not burst out laughing. 

“Good afternoon, everyone.” Rafayel’s voice cut through the chatter. Everyone fell quiet immediately. Raf picked up a clicker, pressing a button so the projector cast a series of images onto the board at the front. A series of ancient artwork covered the wall, all in that distinct style you so adored.

”Today we’ll be going over a bit of a history lesson.” The sudden loud groans of everyone in the audience made Rafayel throw his head back for a laugh. “Woah! Calm down, everyone, I’m not here to put you to sleep! Can you really appreciate art and artistry without understanding its history? Can you appreciate something without its context?” His eyes scanned the room, before falling on you. His amused smile widened. “Trick question. You can.” He turned back to the rest of the class, getting some nervous chuckles. “But! With context and history comes a different kind of appreciation. Different levels of context can lead to new interpretations. And an understanding of the history of art can bring your appreciation of modern art to new heights.”

Rafayel tapped the button again.

You were awestruck to see one of your favorite pieces of art.

At first glance, it may appear crude. Even sloppy. Semi-human figures stood around what might be a field. A person with long hair, a skirt, and wings stood on a rock. Their wings were outstretched. There was a figure standing in water, while others stood or worked in the field. The image below it depicted another favorite. A similar, if not the same, figure. But this time the figure was identifiably female. She looked directly at the viewer, one leg perched on a lion, her leg actually fully sticking out of her skirt. Weapons were lined behind her, and she held a leash to the lion she controlled.

You felt a smile creeping up on you.

Rafayel pointed to the images. “Could someone give me an interpretation of one of these two images?” His eyes scanned the room. But his usually chatty class was silent. Most people had their eyebrows furrowed, trying to make sense of the vaguely human figures. You gave it a moment. Maybe two. Before slowly raising your hand. Rafayel caught the motion from the corner of his eye, before nodding at you. 

“Yes?”

”Both images depict the Sumerian war goddess Inanna. You know it’s her from the eight pointed stars near her in both images.” You pointed at the stars in question. “The one on the bottom, where she’s staring at the viewer? It’s a blatant breaking of the fourth wall, potentially instilling both fear and awe in the viewer. She stands on a lion with a leash on it, proving her power and authority over the domain of the wild. But the lion does not seem to be in pain, just held back. While she is controlling, she is not inherently cruel. In the picture on top Inanna is seen with various other gods of fertility, since she herself is one. Her husband Dumuzid stands in the grain near the livestock, and the gods of water and farming join them in ensuring the harvest and raising of animals goes well.” 

The room remained silent, all eyes locked on you. But you kept your eyes on Rafayel. His eyebrows lifted and he took a step back. “Well.” His eyes scanned the room before he smirked. “At least someone did their homework. Did anyone look over the documents I asked you to glance at before today?” You couldn’t help but chuckle. The rest of the class began to grumble, some people embarrassed they forgot or didn’t do it, while others protested that they did, indeed, look at them. ”Don’t raise your hand the rest of class.” Rafayel pointed at you, his lighthearted smirk making it clear he was just teasing. “I know you know the answers. Anyone else have an interpretation?” You leaned back in your chair, before hissing as your mentor lightly elbowed you in the ribs.

”Show off.” She murmured. But the slight curl of her lip revealed her true feelings. You just pouted, rubbing your ribs.

After your brief introduction to Sumerian and Akkadian art, some of the students began to pipe up. Some noted the composition, while others commented on the way the bodies were shaped. The depiction of the star. Rafayel eventually began to tap through more examples of the art, before briefly touching on the history. Mesopotamia and its numerous civilizations, as well as its importance to the surrounding area. 

The lecture continued, discussing the origin of the writing system, with examples of the cuneiform on the board. With each slide, there was an advancement in the art. An advancement in the writing style. And soon, the art and the writing appeared to be much more familiar to the audience. The language itself was an art. What began as pictograms slowly turned into letters, forming an alphabet of its own. 

“And, as our lovely archaeologist friends pointed out,” Rafayel smiled cheekily as he glanced in your direction. “Those first two pieces of art depicted the Sumerian war, love, and fertility goddess Inanna. Many scholars argue that through cultural exchange and trade routes, she influenced many other goddesses in the region. Including, but not limited to, the Akkadian Ishtar, the Hittite Astarte, and even the Grecian Aphrodite.” He clicked the button again, with art of each goddess from her respective culture and time of relevance. 

One girl in the front shyly raised her hand. “Professor Qi?”

“I told you, you can call me Rafayel.” He sighed, shaking his head. 

“Oh. Sorry Professor Qi- I mean, Professor Rafayel.”

”Good enough.” He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing back that curtain to fully reveal those brilliant eyes. With nowhere to hide you zeroed in. There was something otherworldly about them. It looked like the sun setting into the ocean, leaving a pink tinge in its wake. You tilted your head, examining him.

”I noticed… there’s this continued theme in all this art of love and war. Inanna, Astarte, and Aphrodite… all of them had war aspects and stories, but they were also love goddesses. And it’s reflected in the art, this… contradiction.” 

“Well said.” Rafayel released his hair. “Is that what you see, then? This continued theme of a supposed contradiction in love and war?”

”We… see that in art to this day.” The girl added. Rafayel walked to the edge of the platform the podium was on. He sat himself down on the edge, a gleam catching in his eye.

”Exactly.” It was like a flip was switched. The passion he had earlier paled in comparison to the new fire before them. His eyes gleaming in the lights, his hands beginning to orchestrate an invisible symphony as they illustrated what he said. “Art is art. All art appreciation is interpretation. And the key to appreciation is…” He left a gap in what he said, gesturing for his students to fill in the gap.

”Trust your gut!” A student in the front row exclaimed. Rafayel pointed at him with a grin.

”Exactly. So if you’re sensing a theme, or noticing something you’ve seen before? Call it out! Notice it! Appreciate it, or reject it!” He popped back up to his feet like it was nothing. He walked back to the board, pointing between the three examples. The same image of Inanna standing on the lion, a statuette of the goddess Astarte, and a painting of the goddess Aphrodite. “It doesn’t matter if it’s made of mud or clay, it doesn’t matter if its proportions are off.” His impassioned words resonated with you.

You planted your chin in your hand, watching him control the room with just his words. You briefly tore your eyes away, looking around the room. Everyone was enraptured. Captivated. Like sailors lured in by a siren. Rafayel had the entire room in the palm of his hand. Your eyes went back to the platform, where Rafayel stood. His eyes locked on you. He seemed much calmer, his passion present but bubbling under the surface in a much more restrained way. But that glimmer in his eyes was still there. 

“You have homework.” The room’s buzz turned into a low groan. He chuckled, motioning for everyone to settle down. “Hey, bear with me, this should be fun.” He pressed the clicker one more time. “I want you to find an old piece of artwork, ideally 100 years or older. Then, I want you to be ready to come to class prepared to briefly speak on your own appraisal of the artwork, before and after you find the historic context.” He grinned. “After all. How you felt about the weird winged person with their leg out likely changed after hearing it was an infamous war goddess breaking the fourth wall.” 

A chuckle ripped through the room, and you couldn’t help but follow suit. Everything this man said had you on the edge of your seat. 

“That’s all for today. Enjoy your weekend.” 

It hit you like a bucket of ice water. It was over? That was it? You checked your phone, eyes widening as you realized it had, indeed, been three hours. You put your phone down and turned to Dr. C, who was already looking at you with a knowing grin.

”He’s great, isn’t he?” She lifted her eyebrows in a teasing gesture, but all you could do was agree.

”Damn.” You murmured, looking around the room again. While some people were rushing to pack their things, and a few people had already done the same and rushed out the second he dismissed class, others were beelining it to the front of the room to catch Rafayel. You looked back to the front, finding Rafayel lazily packing his things while responding to students. ”And this guy is my age?”

”Yup.” Your mentor chuckle, nudging you again with her elbow. “I’m just saying, you could probably get a decent teaching job… age isn’t a problem.”

”Yeah but I’m not a super wealthy, famous artist that can just on a whim say oh sure, I think I wanna teach.” You stood up, stretching your arms above your head. Your back popped as well. “Gods, I always hated these chairs…” You watched as students fluttered around him. Some sensible students were just asking for clarification on the homework, or passing by with a polite thank you for the lecture. Others were curious about the art pieces he presented in class, asking for recommendations for more.

You gathered your things, tucking them away into you bag when you noticed the book you had packed. You pulled it out, your thumb sliding over the glossy cover. 

“Oh-“ Your mentor peeked over your shoulder. “Lemurian legends. I remember you were obsessed with the first edition in undergrad.” 

“It was the only edition the university had.” You smile, flipping the book open. “Reading the more updated version was an eye opener. Went ahead and bought a hardcover for myself, but…” Your eyes drifted back to Rafayel. “Raf actually caught me reading it in the library when we met, and he needed it, too. He was complaining about the author still translating things wrong, missing context.” You shut the book and held it up. “I was wondering if he might be willing to help me understand the proper context behind some of these stories.”

Dr. C shook her head, but her warm smile clued you in to her real thoughts. “Coolio. Sounds like a cool project. Hope he'll agree. I’m gonna head out, gotta go and meet my boyfriend.” She shimmied past you, about to hop down the stairs before she paused. “Oh!” She turned and hopped back up them, leaning in. “I heard from Fred.” She dropped her voice. “Just briefly. He was panicking. Acting skittish. I immediately alerted the police. But I’ve heard from him.” Her smile turned grim. 

Your heart sunk. It wasn’t good news, that he was so skittish. But it was news. Hearing from anyone was good news, honestly. You took a deep breath before slowly nodding.

”Okay… it’s something.”

”Ear to the ground, eyes up, stay vigilant.” She added, before turning right back around. She hummed some random tune as she hopped down the stairs, striding to the exit with all the energy in the world. But it was all in the eyes. And even from here you could see how her smile didn’t quite reach them. You shuddered, trying to shake off the chill her words left you with. The room had steadily emptied, and now it was only those two girls sitting behind you that were left at the front of the room.

”Ohhhh Professor Qi~!” The girl grinned, walking up as close as she could get to him. “Could you recommend me some books on Inanna? Her iconography sounded so cool! Love and war, what a badass!” Rafayel smiled. You started to make your way down the steps, catching Rafayel’s eye. For a moment, you saw a flicker of relief.

”I’m not an expert on Sumerian history or mythology.” He spoke dismissively, shrugging while putting something in his own bag. “But my guest here clearly is.” He gestured to you. “Any recommendations?”

You looked behind you, before pointing to yourself. You cleared your throat as the two girls looked at you. They were a few years younger than you, maybe second or third year in college. “There’s the Sumerian Corpus of Literature online for documents translated straight from cuneiform. And different museums that house her artifacts will have extensive history on her.” You grab a marker from the whiteboard, beginning to write down a few names. 

“If you’re interested in her character, you’ll want to read Enheduanna’s hymns to Inanna, like Lady of Largest Heart. Inanna and Ebih is an important myth. Inanna’s descent to the underworld is another important one.” You kept writing. “Oh! And the epic of Gilgamesh of course.” You finished your little list, stepping to the side. Her friend pulled out her phone, snapping a picture of the list.

”If you wanna learn about Inanna, these are all great places to start.” You put down the marker. “Oh! And a good way to know if a piece of artwork from the region is depicting her,” you grabbed the marker again and made a simple eight pointed star. “This is all you need to look for. If you find this, you’ve found her.” The friend took another picture of the star.

The girl was nodding along, but her eyes were anywhere but you. “Cool. Thanks for the tip.” She turned back to Rafayel. “Any other recommendations? Maybe a thorough art analysis of her iconography?”

Rafayel shrugged, his head lulling to one side. His lips curled into a smile. “Nah. You’re on your own for that. Start there, then get back to me with what you find. I’d like to know, too.” He nodded to your list. The girl grabbed her backpack off the table, heading to the door after that. Her friend quickly thanked Rafayel before hurrying after her.

You wait for a few moments, distantly picking up on complaints and mocking laughter about the failed attempt at flirting. You turn back to Rafayel, who had finally dropped the polite smile. He rolled those magnificent eyes, shoving his papers back into his binder much more haphazardly.

”Tactless.”

”Oh she was throwing herself at you.” You snort, making him turn to glare at you.

”I don’t date students.”

”I’m not accusing you of anything!” You put your hands up, grinning at him. “It’s just funny.” He rolled his eyes again and turned back to pack his things. You went ahead and pulled out the book. “I did have a question for you myself, though.”

”If you’re gonna ask me for book recommendations in order to flirt with me, don’t start. I'll scream.”

”No, but it does have something to do with books.” You held up the book, the light glinting on the gilded title. He turned back, his frustrated pout vanishing for a moment. But when he made eye made eye contact with you again he jutted that bottom lip right back out.

“Hmph. That one.”

”Hey, listen, it’s got a place in my heart.” You flipped it open to the cover, where you had written your name in the Lemurian alphabet. Connected letters and all. “The university only had the first edition in my undergrad years here. But it just… grew on me.” You offered the book to him. “I was wondering if you might be willing to help me amend it. I want to annotate this one, write all over it with all the corrections these stories need. All the missing context, details, clues. All the context the author continues to miss.”

Rafayel’s eyes darted down to the book. But he reached for it, taking it into his hands. His fingers danced over the cover, long and elegant. He was certainly a painter, he had the touch of one. Each move decisive. Controlled. His eyes met yours again. And even behind that veil of purple hair, you caught a flicker of something new. Intrigue.

”What’s in it for me?” He quirked an eyebrow and forced a smirk. 

“How about…” You tapped your chin before grinning. “I buy you a drink, and we amend the book?”

”I don’t know. I don’t think a drink is enough to pay for my editing services.” He quipped back. 

“How about a drink, we edit for a bit, then I can help you with something.” You suggested a counteroffer. “Like… I’m an archaeologist and I have ties in the community. Oh! And I’ve got some ties to local history museums. I could help you set up field trips for your class to museums for art analysis lessons. Or help you set up a curator to come for a guest lecture.” You suggested a few more options. With each idea you tossed at him, he seemed to be further swayed. He shut his eyes, a self satisfied smile covering his face.

”You drive a haaaard bargain, cutie.” He cracked open an eye, gauging your reaction. “Deal.” He stuck out his hand, and you firmly grasped it, shaking on your deal. He let go of your hand after the handshake, but reached for the book again. “So. Where do you wanna start?”

”No, not tonight.” You lifted your hands and shook your head. “I know you live out in Whitesand Bay and it’s a bit of a drive. I don’t wanna keep you. I was hoping we could meet up on campus or something to work on all this together. Maybe once every other week? Depending on our schedules.” You shrugged. “It’s not urgent. Just a pet project that came to mind after our first talk. I know translation isn’t a perfect science, you can never really capture the true beauty and intent behind the mother tongue of a phrase or story. But you can get as close as possible with the right context.” You took the book back, tucking it into your bag. 

“Fair enough.” He shrugged, grabbing his things in turn. “Want me to walk you to your car?”

”Nah, I rode the bus here.” You walked out with him, your footsteps echoing in the now empty halls of the building. His crisp footfalls from the soles of his nice leather dress shoes, and your softer footfalls from the worn bottoms of your everyday sneakers. The sounds reverberated in the stairwell, and out of the corner of your eye you saw the drawing of a little blue fish flutter on the wall.

”Let me walk you to the bus stop, then. We can plan when to start working on this translation project.” As he spoke you opened the door, sticking your foot in it so he could exit the building behind you. You pulled your foot away once he cleared the doorway, jogging to catch up with his long strides.

”Honestly, it’s hot, I’d rather walk. The bus is always wayyy too cramped this time of day. And I’ve heard the air conditioning is broken for a lot of the buses right now.” You shrug, grabbing the strap of your bag to readjust it on your shoulder. Rafayel cocked his head.

”Really? You’d rather walk?” He lifted his head. “Suit yourself, I guess. But still. Let me walk with you until the edge of campus.” In spite of the weather, he seemed perfectly content in that red suit. You figured the two of you must be an odd sight. You in your tank and loose pants, him in a flashy suit, walking side by side. You briefly looked around, noticing a couple students glancing up at the two of you before going right back to whatever they were doing beforehand.

Campus was emptier now that the final day classes had let out. Night classes would start soon, though you knew from firsthand experience people were more likely to hang out indoors after their night classes. The cafe, or a dorm, or some local cheap restaurant. The odd student walked by, some too engrossed in their phones or music to pay you and Rafayel any mind. Some folks had their headphones, while others used earbuds. One guy in a black hoodie still had wired earbuds. Huh. Vintage. 

”So. Professor Qi, huh?”

”Oh not you, too.” He groaned, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I tell them every time, Rafayel is fine. But nooooo.”

You continue to people watch while holding the conversation, a smirk coming to your face. “Yeahhhh, get used to it. Especially with first years. Heck, I’m technically on a first name basis with Dr. C but she will always be Dr. C to me.” 

“Yeah, but I’m Rafayel to you. So don’t start.” He huffed, briefly brushing his bangs away from his eyes. You smiled a little wider, catching that glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "It's not like I'm some 80 year old tenured prof with two doctorates." He added with a huff. You laughed, recalling the exact kind of professors like that from your undergrad days.

"To be fair, those profs usually demand first name basis, too. They're just too old to care." You looked ahead again. But your smile faltered. You stopped walking, taking the moment to rub your eyes. Rafayel stopped walking beside you, tilting his head. His eyes darted to the side before returning to you.

“Something get in your eye?”

”No,” You muttered before glancing over your shoulder. A guy with a hoodie and a black backpack had just passed you. You stared at his back for a moment but he paid you no mind. He looked like he had earphones in, judging by the white cord you could see bouncing with each step he took. “Am I crazy, or did that guy already walk past us… twice?” It was the same guy you had noticed with the vintage earbuds. He walked by another time as you were people watching. Rafayel followed your line of sight. His eyes narrowed, but he plastered a smile on his face. He offered you his hand. 

“He did.” He lowered his voice, but his words didn’t match his friendly expression. “Hey, why don’t I just walk you home? It’s a nice night, and the sun’s gonna set soon.” You watched the guy on the hoodie, noticing how his footsteps slowed as Rafayel spoke a little louder for his offer.

You grabbed Rafayel’s hand, plastering on a big smile. “That would be great! Thanks! We can keep talking about that potential book project.”

“Just what I was thinking.” He confirmed before beginning to pull you away, walking a little faster. “Hey, why don’t you give me your number? That way we can send each other updates.” You hurried to match his pace. To an onlooker it might come off as a playful, the way he was tugging you along. But you could feel it. The way the hair on the back of your neck was coming to stand, the pricks you felt on the back of your arms. And you knew he felt it, too.

”I don’t knoooow,” You drawled. Now was not the time to be saying your phone number out loud. “Should I really just give you my phone number that easily?” You looked up at him, and for a moment you saw his eyebrows furrow just the tiniest bit. Before promptly lifting again.

"Oh?" He smirked. "Playing hard to get, are we? Sure. We can play that game." It was unsaid- but you understood. He knew what you meant. He knew that you shouldn't say it out loud, for fear of someone hearing you. "Why don't we take a long way home, then? Forget about a walk. Let me drive you home. We'll have plenty of time to talk in the car." Car. Privacy. You hummed and hawed for just a moment, before sighing dramatically.

"Oh, fine. But I'm not paying for gas, you offered!" Rafayel grinned changing directions to take you towards one of the faculty parking lots. As you two moved you kept your wits about you. Listening to your surroundings. Glancing in reflective surfaces. And every once in a while, you would catch a glimpse of a shadowy figure. Or the sound of a single footstep. Rafayel pulled his keys out of his pocket, approaching a grand, expensive car. You could feel your eyes widen as he unlocked the door. He gestured for you to get in, his eyes now sharp as he surveyed the area.

"Are you sure? These are my running shoes, they're kind of dirty." You suddenly felt incredibly self conscious. Right. This is a super wealthy, internationally famous artist. Not just some guy. His eyebrows furrowed again. He tilted his head to the side.

"Really? Now you're worried about your shoes-?" He sighed. "Get in." 

"But-"

"Get in." He dropped his voice an octave. His eyes sharpened as he looked off in the distance. You didn't argue, grimacing to yourself as you slid into the passenger seat. The door was shut behind you. You went ahead and pressed the lock for that door as well. Rafayel briskly walked over to the other side, to the driver's seat. You watched from the windows how he stared down whoever had been following you. He opened the driver's side door. Before he simply started grinning and winking at the person, then sliding into his seat while shutting the door. The expensive car roared to life as he immediately pulled out of the parking spot. 

You watched from the window as the figure in black leaned against a wall to a nearby building. Clearly watching the car as it pulled out of the parking lot. 

"Don't worry. The windows are tinted. He can't see you." Rafayel sighed, gripping the wheel as he maneuvered the car with ease. The engine purred, and the vibrations of it reverberated through your body. It didn't escape you that you were sitting in a car worth more than your entire college degree. And probably as much money as you've made since then. His eyes remained on the road, but he did briefly glance at you. "You can relax."

"My ass is on a seat worth more than my degree." 

"Don't be dramatic." Rafayel's eyes darted to you again, this time with genuine amusement once more at your slight mortification. "The seat isn't worth more than your degree." He hummed. "Probably just your first three years' tuition." 

"Shut up!" You groaned. But as the car turned onto a road heading out of the city, you sobered up. Back to reality. "Hey, I do need to go home."

"We need to take some twists and turns. Whoever this guy is, I don't think he was following us for me." The observation made your blood turn to ice. You inhaled slowly. You thought back to those archaeologists, and what Dr. C said before she left the room. You fished your phone out of your bag, quickly pulling up her contact. You called her without a seconds' hesitancy.

"Hello?"

"Dr. C, I'm in the car with Rafayel. I was being followed when we left the art building. You're on speaker." 

"Holy shit- are you two okay? Do I need to call someone?"

"No, we're fine." You quickly clarified. Rafayel expertly guided the car through traffic, before finding an old back road. The car moved like water, easily flowing and gliding from place to place. "We're just gonna take a long route back to my place to shake them. Just to be safe."

"Dr. C," Rafayel piped in. "Wherever you are right now, make sure you don't go anywhere alone. Stick with large groups of people you know, and don't go straight home, okay?"

"Do you think this is-?"

"About Lemuria? Yes." Rafayel continued. "Dr. C, you're known to be colleagues with the missing crew. And unfortunately," he glanced at you. "So are you."

"But how-?" You spluttered. Rafayel shrugged his shoulders.

"Dr. C's published articles with some of them, worked on projects together. And you're making a name for yourself."

Your eyebrows furrowed. You could see why he said that. And yeah, Dr. C was active in the archaeological community, so it made sense for people to draw connections. But you never told anyone you were accepted to phase two. Including Rafayel. And Dr. C certainly wouldn't tell him that. You pressed your lips together, humming in thought. 

"I don't think anyone is going to pull any stunts. Just watch your backs for a little bit, lay low. Let this whole Lemurian excavation thing blow over. Give it a few weeks." Rafayel blew his bangs out of his face. With his eyes trained on the road, it was harder to read him. The darkness of the coming night didn't help, either. His eyes became more shrouded, more hidden. "This isn't necessarily a scandal, but I've dealt with stuff like this before. People making wild assumptions and then acting off of that. Whoever was following you might just be some journalist wanting to write about the missing people. Or just some creep on campus. I don't know. Just... both of you, be careful."

Dr. C was silent on her end of the line, and you found herself keeping quiet in turn. Something was very wrong here. Fred feeling followed. The camera in the cafe suddenly working after all these years. And now, someone following you. You didn't even go on the damn expedition. Neither did Dr. C. You blew a raspberry in frustration.

"What do we do?" You muttered.

"Exactly what I told you earlier." Dr. C finally spoke. You could hear a distant mumble from her boyfriend, another professor her age from the university. "Ear to the ground. Eyes peeled. Watch your back. Lay low. Maybe call up some friends to watch your back, too. People you know you can trust."

You slowly nodded. Though you knew she couldn't see, so you hummed. "I can do that, doc."

"Rafayel." She then addressed the man driving, who grunted in acknowledgment. "Make sure my old student gets home safe, okay?"

"Can do." He hummed. "We were just talking about exchanging phone numbers. In case this happens again. Can't promise I'll be in town but if something weird is going on I've got some people I can call to get to the bottom of it."

"Thank you, Rafayel." She sighed in obvious relief. A smile flickered onto your face. You knew she thought of her students as her kids, but with your own age difference it was more like that of a much older sister. You two always had each others' backs, through thick and thin. "You're always welcome in my office, or sitting in on one of my lectures. I know historical archaeology may not be your thing, but you're always welcome."

"I appreciate it." He took a sharp turn, making you grab onto your seatbelt. You watched as a black car flew past, before screeching to a halt. Your heart rate accelerated. You could hear it in your ears. "Same goes for you, I'll always save you a seat in my lectures." He took another sharp turn, sliding between a few buildings before killing the engine and shutting off the lights. He reached out, gently taking your phone and flipping it upside down so the light faced the bottom of the car. "Say. Your old student here told me you were the one who taught the whole you work for the community spiel. That true?"

"Uh- oh! Yeah. I teach that in every class of mine, from intro to graduate classes."

"That's pretty new school from what I've heard." He looked out his window, watching the side view mirror intently. "Archaeologists weren't always so... accommodating."

"You're preaching to the choir." You laughed dryly. 

"That's why I cover it in every class. At the end of the day, I've always thought of what we do as an act of service." There was rustling on her side of the phone. She might be grabbing her things. "We work for the community. Not for whoever might be sponsoring us, unless they're one in the same." 

"It's a service job, in its own way." You agreed softly, a smile coming to your face. "You gotta listen to people."

Rafayel snorted, his eyes still trained on the side view mirror. "Yeah, funny joke. Far cry from how the whole discipline started."

"What, the racism, the classism, the theft?" You shook your head. "You're right. It is a far cry from how it started, and people who think the old way is the only way are still around. But Dr. C and people like her exist."

"Yeah, and people like you, too." Her voice was a soothing reminder. "You can't force anyone to be willing to trust you. The years of hurt and abuse at the hands of this discipline... we'd all be stupid to ignore the effects. Trust and rebuilding take time. The best we can do is extend the olive branch, and be open to conversations when the time is right."

"You can't force anyone to listen. Or trust you." You echoed her sentiment, still smiling. "But that's okay. The best thing you can do is just show up. And listen. The communities hurt for years and years... the anger is justified. More than justified. So hey," You shrugged. "Be mad. Yell. Vent. I'll take it all, can't say the same for other archaeologists, but I'd much prefer a much needed confrontation to put matters to bed than frustration constantly simmering under the surface. Just so long as we can have a conversation about it"

"Exactly." There was a twinge of pride in your mentor's voice. There was more rustling on her side of the call, and you could hear her boyfriend's voice again. "We're heading out now. Gonna take a nice scenic route home. Thanks for the heads up, you two. Stay safe. And call me if you two need anything, okay? Wait. Rafayel, do you have my number?"

"No, but I can get it from our mutual friend here." His eyes finally met yours again. "See ya, Dr. C."

"Bye, doc, stay safe." You smiled, hanging up once you all said your farewells. You flipped your phone back over to do so, before quickly turning it off. Rafayel started the car again, the same low purr warming the engine back up.

"You're good, they're gone." He rested his arm on the back of his seat, looking over his shoulder out the back of the car to reverse out of the hiding spot. "Huh. Maybe the movies are right. You've made some enemies."

"Only way I've made enemies in this field is by debating idiots who think aliens built the pyramids." You huffed. "Or yelling at supremacist assholes. This isn't Indiana Jones. Or Tomb Raider."

"Yeah, I can tell you and your mentor are pretty passionate about that." You caught the way he smirked as his hand glided over the wheel, turning the car around before switching back to drive. He took the car back to the main road, taking a few twists and turns here and there along the way. "You're pretty passionate about this whole making things right with the community thing." 

"Well... yeah." You shrugged. You opened your phone, getting both Dr. C's contact info and your own personal info in one place. "I've wanted to do this... for all my life, really. Decided I wanted to be an archaeologist as a kid, and I just stuck with it." You lifted your hand, the pad of your thumb briefly stroking over the familiar pearl charm hanging from your neck. "Stuck with it for all of school. Even grad school. But... as I learned the history of it..." You sighed. "People were hurt because of this. There were real life consequences. The dehumanization, the depersonalization, of all these different cultures and their people... you can't separate the discipline from how its impacted people." You gently squeezed the chain. "But you can try to improve. To make things right." Your eyes darted to the side. His eyes were locked on the road, only the occasional streetlight illuminating his face. "I'm not perfect." You murmured, looking back out the front window. "But I'm gonna keep trying."

"Hm." He only hummed. 

For a few minutes, a soft silence fell over the two of you. The car was filled with the white noise of the engine running, the tires over the road, the rush of the wind past the windows. The sun had long since set. Only the glow of the occasional street lamp illuminated the interior of the car and Rafayel himself. The orange glow of the lamps cast a warm light over him, making him glow for a brief moment before the light vanished. You turned to look out your window, turning your eyes upwards. The moon was present, a waxing gibbous, but didn't drown the rest of the stars. As your eyes adjusted to looking at the night sky, you were able to identify some constellations you knew. 

"About that little project of yours." Rafayel's voice broke the silence. You turned back to him. "Every other week might be hard for me. On top of teaching, I still host galleries, and my painting schedule is..." He lifted a hand, wobbling it from side to side. "Erratic at best." He found the word he was looking for, offering it as an explanation. "So I can't promise consistency. I fly out of the country for other events pretty often, too."

 You felt a pang of disappointment run through you, but you shouldn't be surprised. He was a busy man, he couldn't just make time to help you with a pet project. Unpaid, to boot. "I get it. No worries, work comes first."

"Did I say no?" He glanced at you for just a moment, then returned his eyes to the road. "You need to listen better. I'm not saying no. Just saying it won't be consistent." He turned onto a road. "You live in an apartment complex, right? You said you took the bus, so it can't be too far from campus." Remembering you never told him your address, you quickly shared it with him as he started to make his way back towards it. He was already heading in the right direction anyway.

"Oh... well, thanks! You really don't need to help me, I just-"

"This isn't a charity, y'know." He smirked. "I'm taking you up on all your offers you made. Museum curators, field trips, connecting me with others in your field. And I might have other ideas in mind for... compensation, for this little translation project of yours." 

"Oh!" You sat up straighter, a grin on your face. "Sure, yeah! I didn't expect you to just help out. This is gonna be great, thank you! Anything come to mind?"

"Yeah. I might pick your brain right back about your job. You and the doc make it sound... almost altruistic."

"Oh, no, no, it really isn't." You quickly shook your head. "Most people know better than to come into it thinking it'll make them rich and famous, academia is not for the faint of heart. Publish or perish. But people generally have this idea of a glamorous life, of constantly traveling, going on wild adventures. But it's a lot of work in the lab, arguing with people who lie about your work, trying to maintain healthy relationships with others in the discipline. And the physical side of it? Excavations can be grueling and hard on the body. Your bones wear out fast. Not to mention there's a lot of corruption, businesses and government agencies getting involved, creepy science groups trying to snatch remains..." You grimaced. "It's hard, and doesn't pay well, so that filters out a lot of people from joining. But you still get plenty of people who join and start acting all holier than thou."

"But your mentor taught you better than that, huh?" Rafayel made a few turns. After your brief stint hiding in an alley, some of the typical traffic of the day had broken up. The rest of the drive was smoother than you anticipated. 

"None of us are perfect. But Dr. C does make a big effort to teach service and compassion alongside the mathematics and science behind it. Radiocarbon dating and dendrochronology won't do you any good if you don't build and maintain relationships with the people you're supposedly trying to help, or the descendants of the community that once lived in the area." You could see your apartment building coming up. You grabbed your phone again and pulled up the document you made with both your and Dr. C's contact info. The car slowly came to a stop outside your apartment building, and Raf put the car in park. 

You two exchanged phone numbers, and he added Dr. C's number to his phone as well. You glanced up, looking at his phone case. You briefly recalled seeing that exact phone case in an ad for a designer brand. It was worth more than the phone itself. You pulled your eyes away, adding his name to your phone. Nothing fancy. Rafayel Qi, his phone number, and a brief note about finding a time to meet up for your first round of fixing the stories in your book. You liked adding unique ringtones for everyone in your contacts list, so you left yourself a note to find something fitting for him. The door was unlocked, so you unbuckled and opened the door.

"Thanks for the save, Rafayel." You turned back to smile at him, waving after you shut the door. Rafayel rolled down the passenger side window so you could keep speaking to him. "I'll text you in the morning, so we can figure out schedules.” 

“I look forward to it, cutie.” He nodded. The window began to roll up so you waved one more time before losing sight of him entirely. You turned around, walking back to your apartment building door. You let yourself in with your key, and you could hear the car pull away only once you were inside and the door was shut behind you. You made your way to the stairs, jogging up them two at a time before reaching your floor. 

Your footfalls were soft as you walked through the hall, turning to your door. You unlocked it, letting yourself in before immediately turning back around and securing all the locks on the door. You kicked your shoes off and wandered to your room, fishing your phone out of your bag.

The first thing you did was text your mentor that you made it home safe, and she thankfully responded with the same news on her end. Dr. C mentioned reporting this alongside Rafayel to admin the next day, though it was likely nothing would be done unless this became a recurring issue. You didn’t want to go to sleep with news like that hanging over your head. So after shooting her a thumbs up, you switched to Rafayel’s contact. You pursed your lips, humming in thought. An idea hit you. You plopped in a chair and quickly googled some of his art, scrolling through pictures of it online. You found his official art gallery in Whitesand Bay, with multiple beautiful pieces presented. There was one piece on particular.

The blues and reds danced together the same way his eyes did. It was hauntingly beautiful. You took a screenshot, taking the moment to edit it down to the exact place where the blue and red met. There, a contact photo. You added it, before switching to a ringtone. He was also interested in Lemuria so ocean themed songs seemed fitting. You added the first portion of Caribbean Blue. 

You opened a text message thread, shooting him something short but to the point.

Hey Rafayel, hope you got home safe! I’ve attached my schedule below, but for an overview I’m most available Wednesdays and Fridays in the afternoon. Looking forward to our book talks! 

You knew better than to expect a response, especially since he should be driving back to Whitesand Bay. You turned your phone off before coming to stand. You tossed your phone onto your bed, letting it bounce as you went off to shower and begin your nightly routine. Memories and images of the last few weeks plagued your mind as you went about the monotony of routine. Meeting Rafayel in the library, Dr. C calling you in a hurry, seeing that little blue fish everywhere, the news about the fellow archaeologists, the camera that finally works again, the hooded man. 

Ultimately, it all started with the rediscovery of Lemuria. 

You showered, dried your hair, brushed your teeth, and washed your face. You flopped into bed at the end of all of it. You picked up your phone, seeing no new notifications for the night. Probably for the best. The phone was turned off and plugged up, as you wormed your way under the sheets to stare at the ceiling until falling asleep. 

The air was warm. 

The flowers swayed in the breeze. Red as far as the eye could see. Flame lilies creating a sea of red, only the occasional sprig of green grass popping out from the rolling waves. As you sat up, the sound of the ocean and a soft voice washed over you. 

The voice started as a soprano. You slowly pulled yourself up, sitting upright. The voice was carried by the breeze, and the notes wrapped tightly around your heart. You pushed yourself to your feet, stumbling upon a newly forming path before you. 

The words were somber. They were in some other language, you couldn’t understand what they meant. But you could feel the loss and pain held in every note. At every footfall, you felt the song changing. Shifting. The singer was no longer a soprano. It was no longer the same singer at all. A tenor chimed in, claiming the song for his own. 

The melancholy that had washed over you only intensified. Silent tears dripped down your face. You looked down, finding your feet hitting sand instead of grass. Your eyes slowly, slowly lifted. The roar of the ocean became the backing music to the solemn lament. The waves came to kiss at your feet. Then your ankles. Calves. Knees.

The chill was welcome.

Your eyes lifted to a rock in the distance, a vague shape resting against it. The source of the song. You reached an arm out, walking towards the rock, right as the figure stopped singing. He sharply turned his gaze to you, his speed inhuman, before jumping into the water. You couldn’t make out his legs. The blood rushed in your veins, and you could feel your heart rate increasing. Without his song, the mood turned from solemn to horrifying. You wanted to run backwards, get out of the water, when a small glowing object darted towards you. 

The little blue fish darted around your legs, not afraid of you in the slightest. It glowed like bioluminescent algae, leading you in deeper. Something was pulling you into the water. Something else was pulling you away. But it was irresistible. You couldn’t deny the little blue fish who had helped you so, could you? Why deny it? You waded deeper, until you were at your waist. Then yet deeper, until you were treading water. 

The glow of the fish did little to illuminate your surroundings. But somewhere underneath you knew something was there. You finally snapped out of your daze, turning to look at the shore. 

When did it get to be that far away?

Before you could turn and swim to shore, a cold hand gripped your ankle and pulled you under. All you could do was scream before your head went under. Your years of training for diving and swimming did nothing. You panicked. But the little blue fish accompanied you, darting around your head. Its light allowed you to make out a few of your surroundings. A webbed hand with blue iridescent scales yanked you deeper, but one swift kick to where you thought the connected head might be made him let go.

You kicked your feet and used your arms, trying to swim back to the surface as quick as you could. But a hand grabbed you again. You whipped your head around, aiming for another kick. The hand was no longer webbed.

It was skeletal. A skull met your gaze, with its other hand holding a weapon, with an oddly familiar gem like feature in it. Your eyes widened and your lips parted for a scream.

You sat bolt upright in bed, clasping both hands over your mouth to strangle the scream that threatened to spill out. The room was bright. There were birds chirping. 

The covers were soaked in sweat. You grabbed the corner of your sheets and threw it off, moving so fast you nearly fall on your face out of bed. Your breathing was labored, and your heart was racing. 

But this was real. You touched your upper arm, then the cool wall, then your face. Real. This is real. You force yourself to take a deep breath in, in through the nose and out through the mouth. Though your heart was still pounding you managed to stand up a little straighter. The sun is out. It’s day. It was a nightmare. You ran a hand down your face, grabbing your phone off of your bedside table. You didn’t plan on living off of ramen for the next few months, so even with these side jobs, it was time to start hunting for your next dig. You groaned, pocketing your phone in your pajama shorts. Back to work it is.

Days turned to weeks, the weeks into a month. Between your two side jobs and hunting for something more consistent, the time flew by. The science magazine had finalized your article and published it in their new edition. But, unsurprisingly, you found it sandwiched between articles about Ever's newest advancements. The print was so small in comparison it hurt even your eyes to read it. It shouldn't surprise you, academia was a cutthroat field. And unless you discovered the next big thing, you'd always be two steps behind those corporate giants.

You took a pair of scissors, cutting out your article and pinning it to your corkboard. Alongside this new edition were pictures and articles and journals you had been a part of. Pictures with friends from field school. Pictures of you presenting at a conference. Clips of your name from some small newspaper referencing you as one of the team members working on some local site. It didn't matter how big or small the job, it all deserved a place. Among all these were letters- notes from other professionals in the field, or a member of the community reaching out to ask more questions about what you do. And there, in the corner, you had printed and pinned a blurry photo of the first discovery of Lemuria. You reached up, taking down the thumbtack holding the picture in place. You flipped the picture onto its back, a saddened smile crossing your face.

Nice to finally meet you, old friend. You wrote on the back of it with the date of the news. You remember your joy, how vindicated you felt. It was real. You were right. All those years of studying weren't in vain. And maybe, just maybe, you might be able to have even the smallest hand in breathing life into its story once more. Your eyes darted to another corner of the board. A letter from Sean, congratulating you on your graduation and asking you to come and work for him as a field technician, affectionately nicknamed a shovel bum, for the summer. Your eyes lowered back to the picture of Lemuria. It was beautiful. Even in its ruins. 

There was no news of the missing archaeologists. The police were still working on it, but nothing was being found. Their homes abandoned in a rush, their homes found utterly ransacked. You heard a filmmaker, who had been interested in making a movie on Lemuria, had also gone missing for a while before reappearing with memories missing. The interview with the news showed him dazed and confused, muttering about nonsense. Dr. C and Rafayel's words came back to mind. This wasn't your place. You shouldn't get involved.

Your lips pressed into a thin line. 

"To hell with it." You muttered, putting the picture of Lemuria front and center. "What's archaeology without a little detective work?" Thumbtacks were added to a small pile, while you tediously organized everything you took down into neat piles so you could put everything back up later. Lemuria remained in the center. You added the pictures and letters of the other archaeologists, Dr. C, and yourself. You added segments of field notes you saved. You grabbed your journal, flipping to the back to rip out a few pages.

A pencil flew across the pages as you wrote down everything you knew. Dr. C making contact with Fred and Sean, but only temporarily. Eleanor reaching out with the money before the excavation. How long they were underwater. The discrepancies in the story. How those on the surface claimed they never lost contact, while those in the submersible claimed they did. A brief check of the Deepspace Academy's website, and a little digging, revealed that Fred, Sean, and Yennifer's professor pages were removed first. Then Eleanor's last. They all quit in short succession of each other, with Eleanor staying the longest. You frowned, writing this information down. That sounded just like Eleanor, wanting to see things through to the end, though clearly something made her change her mind.

The film writer. Tony, was it? He had been contemplating making a movie on Lemuria, and there are claims he made contact with the archaeologists. But the police found him by the ocean, staring at the water, muttering to himself all the while. He couldn't remember the past 24 hours, and much of the past couple weeks had missing memories. The poor man was checked into a hospital to recover, but his memories seemed to be gone. Tony's phone was found with him, and Tony didn't seem to find anything wrong with it. But who knows what could've happened within those now missing memories?

You knew full well that in situations like these, the first 24 hours were the most important. And it had been long since that point. You didn't want to think the worst. Your eyes locked on the picture, of all of them smiling happily at the camera, covered in various levels of dirt and sweat right after coming back from an excavation. Those weary but excited grins, the way they all held themselves up a little straighter in spite of their exhaustion.

You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye with your thumb. You can't think of the worst case scenario. It's gonna be okay. 

Next came coordinates. Readings. Publicly accessible information. Did any company or specific government agency have rights to these waters, where Lemuria lay? Did any diving groups beforehand make their way to this area? You dug and dug, working through all the publicly accessible works you could find. The bureaucracy, red tape, and tedious lingo made your head spin. But it was nothing you weren't used to, it was just like reading through research articles. 

And finally, you struck gold.

In the middle of a court briefing document, between an environmental advocacy group and Ever, the advocacy group claimed that while out on a boat one of its members saw a boat near the same coordinates you had pinned to your board now. The person claimed they saw the boat dumping items into the ocean, before rushing off. Nothing came from the court case, since the boat's gps system put its members miles away from the proposed scene of the crime, and a brief investigation showed the boat's navigation system to be in top shape. 

You scoffed. Sounds about right for Ever. There was always something shady about them. You wrote this down, but only abbreviated. "Ever dumped objects at site" turned into "E.D.A.S". You knew you'd remember what you meant, but to be safe on the back of the paper you scribbled the date and code of the legal documents. Might be worth swinging by the library to print these out for a physical copy.

The cork board before you transformed, from your memory board to a case board. You were no detective, but problem solving and mystery unraveling was absolutely a part of the job description. Your eyes trailed over the pictures and your notes. The camera in the cafe, the man in the hoodie, your missing colleagues, the filmmaker... Something was very, very wrong here. 

Your phone suddenly buzzed, snapping you out of it. You grabbed your phone and lifted it, pleasantly surprised to see a text message from Rafayel.

Rafayel Qi: I've got a reception at my gallery this afternoon, but I'm free after that. Bring the book, we can grab tea or coffee and start with the recontextualization. Meet me at Flux Arts. 

Me: I thought these kinds of receptions were by invitation only? I can sit on a bench outside, I'm fine to wait.

Rafayel Qi: (typing...)

You felt your eyebrows lift as your eyes remained trained on the invitation. Certainly he just meant swing by when the event is done. Your eyes lifted to the corkboard again. Admittedly, there was one more figure you should add to this board. 

Rafayel himself.

From the day you met, your life was thrown into chaos. He knew a lot about Lemuria. But that didn't mean he was necessarily involved... You touched the necklace around your neck. You should keep everything in mind. It's not like he'll ever step foot in your apartment. No worries of him seeing it. 

Rafayel Qi: Then consider this your formal invitation. If anyone gives you trouble at the front doors, just show them this. 

Your phone pinged with a follow up image. A proper, digital invitation appeared, with an official QR code in the corner to authenticate it. Your eyes widen. Dress code, semi formal. You glanced to the corner of the room where your mirror hung. You were far from semi formal at the moment. You looked back to the time the event was supposed to start.

Rafayel Qi: No worries if you can't make it for the event. I can meet you somewhere in town. Bring the book, and clear your schedule for the afternoon, I plan on getting my money's worth out of your end of the deal.

The text was signed off with an animated winking emoji of a little yellow chick in a beret. Your sudden laughter bounced off the walls of your apartment. That was oddly adorable.

Me: Alright, perfect! Thank you!!! I'll see you soon, Rafayel!

With your response sent, you hurried to your closet. Semiformal… maybe something you’d wear to a conference? A nice dress shirt and slacks. And sensible shoes. Yeah. That’s good. Lemurian Legends and your journal got tucked into your bag, alongside some annotation supplies. After weeks of negotiating schedules you two finally managed to match up. Your heart fluttered, and your stomach did a flip. Finally getting to speak to a language expert to make this book as close as possible… you didn’t dare suppress your grin. 

You flew down the apartment, buzzing with excitement. On top of the annotations, you had been personally invited to a reception of his. Obviously it was only for ease of meeting up after the fact, but it was flattering nonetheless. The job often came with attention- though often not the best. People would reference video games or movies, and you’d have to politely correct them that no, you didn’t run around in just a crop top and shorts in the jungle. Nor did you carry a whip. And on the more hostile side of things, sometimes people would accuse you of various things. Being a thief, being a liar, being a pompous asshole… But it wasn’t all bad. You got to meet some incredible people, and having even a small hand in something bigger made you swell with pride. Even the tiniest footnote at the bottom of the report mattered. 

Besides. You doubted you would’ve been able to meet Rafayel if you hadn’t been in this field. Hell. You doubted you wouldn’t been able to meet him if you hadn’t gotten than Lemurian excavation job, even though it fell through. Your thoughts began to ruminate on it as you used public transport to make your way to Whitesand Bay.

Your first two meetings. The first was entirely by chance. You both needed the same book- the very one you had in your bag at the moment. Though this was a personal copy and that one was a library’s. Then, meeting with Dr. C in the cafe to discuss the disappearances. Both times it was a right place, right time situation. From there, the invitation to his lecture and the subsequent ride home in his car. And now? An invitation to his gallery.  Your eyebrows furrowed. You glanced in the window of a shop as you walked, taking a moment to take in your surroundings. Ever since that night you’d been a little extra vigilant. But you hadn’t noticed anything strange. Your trips to the museum you worked for were uneventful. And when you went to research in the library you still would have an entire corner to yourself. Though you figured you should still watch your back.

You were deep in thought the entire trip. Hopping from bus to bus, thinking all the while. Once you pulled yourself out of your thoughts, you found yourself in front of the luxurious gallery. It was clearly a modern building, with a very pristine exterior. You made your way up to the doors, pushing them to let yourself inside. Gleaming white walls were covered in gorgeous works of art, each brushstroke filled with some kind of intent or emotion. People in nice clothes milled about, some discussing or debating the meaning behind the art, while others simply admired it.

You took a few steps in before realizing there was a man in front of you. You quickly paused, looking up at him. He wore a grey suit, a black top peeking out from under the jacket. His bangs fell into one of his eyes, but his polite smile still made them gleam.

”Welcome to Flux Arts. I don’t believe I’ve noticed you visit us before.”

“Oh!” He didn’t seem to be questioning or hostile, but you fished your phone out of your bag and opened your chat with Rafayel. You selected the picture and turned your phone around to show it to him. “I’m new, this is my first time. Rafayel invited me-?” The man sighed, his polite smile vanishing. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

”Ah. Yes.” You furrowed your eyebrows and glanced around. He opened his eyes again, catching your expression. He lifted his hand. “I’m sorry. Let’s try this again. I’m Thomas, I’m Rafayel’s manager. He told me you’d be coming.” His introduction didn’t soothe you. You kept glancing around, trying to spot the artist. “Listen. Whatever project it is you’re working on with him, it’s got him excited. But I need him here for the reception.”

It clicked.

“Oh, I’m not here to try and steal him away or distract him!” You hurriedly explained. “I offered to wait outside…”

”No, no, that would distract him even more.” Thomas looked over his shoulder, scanning the people mulling about for that familiar wavy purple hair. Once he knew he wasn’t there he turned back to you. “Listen. We just met, but I need you to do me a massive favor. If you can find him, find a way to incentivize him to stay put until the end of the exhibit today. Please. I can’t keep making stuff up for him if a client wants him and he’s nowhere to be found.” 

You took the moment to bite the inside of your lip. You didn’t want to laugh at the man’s misery, but it was a little funny. First Rafayel’s petulant pout while teasing him after the lecture, then the artsy birb emoji, and now the fact he’s hiding or trying to escape his own art gallery. This man was an enigma. 

“I’ll see what I can do. We’re not friends, I don’t think we are anyway, so I can’t promise he’ll listen to me.”

”He is my friend and he won’t listen to me.” Thomas huffed, but his lips curled up. “Just try. Thank you. I’ll keep looking for him and send him your way if I find him. Feel free to look around while you look for him.”

”He can’t be that hard to find…” You murmur. But you wandered off to the gallery before you. You kept your phone out, going ahead and texting Rafayel.

Me: Hey, I’m here! I just talked to Thomas and he said he didn’t know where you were. I really wanna look around! Your stuff’s great.

You kept it short and sweet, hoping the flattery would give you a leg up. You tucked your phone in your pocket. You were no art connoisseur. But you could see the beauty in each piece. Some seemed to have each brushstroke be slow, deliberate. Precisely planned out. Like how he had touched the front of your book after the lecture. Or how he had guided the wheel of his car in and out of each street while evading potential pursuers. 

Others, however, were wild. Chaotic. Each stroke an act of anger, or sorrow, or pure vengeance. A brief glance from another angle showed the literal depth of the stroke, as if he had forgotten his strength for a moment and warped the canvas after applying too much pressure. If art is emotion, then every single piece in this room was a priceless masterpiece.

But one caught your eye. The painting you had saved as his contact photo. Where red met blue. In person it was clearly much more red, in the photo it came off a little pink, hence why it made you think of his eyes. The painting itself no longer looked like the Flower Moon rising out of the ocean. 

It looked like the remains of a sacrifice.

A shudder ripped through your body, from the top of your spine down to your toes. But you couldn’t tear your eyes from it. The colors swirled together, haunting you, but beckoning you towards it. The faint melody of your nightmare suddenly came back to your mind, and the vision of the skeletal merperson holding you underwater appeared in the forefront of your mind.

The red of the flame lilies. The blue of the water. The swirling fog. Blood in the water. It wasn’t your blood. Whose blood was it? You could see them- your friends. Your colleagues. Were they dead? Was it their blood in the water? Were they the sacrifices needed to keep Lemuria’s secrets locked away?

You nearly jumped two feet in the air as a hand suddenly clasped your shoulder. You whipped around, your breathing erratic, as Rafayel quickly held both hands up and took a step back.

”Woah-! Hey! I said your name three times.” He displayed his palms to you, gesturing for you to take a deep breath. Another shudder ripped through your body. You could still feel the fog clinging to your skin, the way the waves lapped at your body. But you did as asked. You took a deep breath. As you slowly exhaled Rafayel wrapped an arm around your shoulder, guiding you to another part of the exhibit. “You okay?”

”Yeah, I…” You put a hand to your head as he guided you to sit down. “I just had a really weird reaction to that painting. What the hell was that?” Your question, though pointed, wasn’t accusatory. Just confused.

Rafayel sat down beside you, propping his elbows on his knees. “I was playing around with color and emotion, and I think that’s my most evocative piece yet. Based on a dream. People tend to have… extreme reactions to it.” He propped his chin on his hand, watching you as your heart rate slowed and your breathing returned to normal. “What did you see?”

”I saw it before today.” You admitted. You sat up straighter, allowing yourself further room to slowly calm down. “A picture on the official website. The lighting made the red look more pink, so at first it made me think of your eyes. The more I thought about it, the more it reminded me of something that happened during field school. It was in May, and we were on an island. So the night of the full Flower Moon my mentor, some fellow students, and I walked to the beach. The moon was pink, and the way it rose out of the water… it was just…” You couldn’t find the word for it. But his slow nod indicated he understood.

“In person? That’s red. Blood red. Blood in the water.” You wet your dry lips. “Whose blood? Mine? A sacrifice?” Your eyes darted up. “The...  others?”

His eyes flickered. But he nodded again, more resolutely. “I know who you mean.” He dropped his voice. He looked away, looking off in the distance to a gaggle of rich folks eyeing different pieces. One man approached the very painting you had been discussing. He seemed utterly enthralled with it, and demanded to buy it on the spot. Thomas scurried over, displaying his palms. Even from this distance you could hear the apologies and the ensuing argument.

"I'm sorry, sir, that painting is not for sale. Multiple of these other pieces are, however! Anything with a green-"

"No! Where is Rafayel?! How much does he want for it? One million? Two? I can outbid everyone here!" The man looked around, before laying eyes on the man beside you. He stormed over. You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. "Rafayel, that piece is simply exquisite, I have the perfect place in my home for it! How much do you want?"

Rafayel crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't even grace the man by coming to stand, remaining sitting beside you. "Nothing." His voice changed. It was cold. Indifferent. "It is not for sale."

"Three million? Four? Name your price." The man got louder. "I have to have it. I'll commission you to recreate it. I don't care. What do you want?"

"Do you need to see your doctor, Mr. Raymond? I don't believe you are understanding me." Rafayel finally stood, taking a step towards him. "You may speak with my manager. All paintings on display are marked for sale, or not for sale. This painting is not for sale." 

"Five, six? Do you need billions? I can do that." The man grew frantic. Thomas hesitantly approached, reaching a hand out before pausing. Rafayel caught his eye. Raf's back was to you, so all you could see was Thomas's eyes slowly drifting to the floor, his hand lowering. 

"Mr. Raymond. The painting is not for sale." Rafayel's voice dropped an octave. His voice sent another shiver down your spine. An unspoken threat hung in the air, but the old man was either too bold or too determined to notice. Or care. He didn't appear to be very old, maybe approaching his forties. 

"Seven. Seven million." Raymond stuck out his hand. "Don't be stupid, son. That's more than it's worth. But I'm feeling generous." You sat up straighter, opening your mouth. The condescending tone in Raymond's voice didn't escape you, but Thomas caught your eye and firmly shook his head. You closed your mouth, then opened it again to protest, but Thomas's look sharpened. No. You slowly shut your mouth. 

You couldn't see Rafayel's face. But you could see him extend his hand, shake Raymond's, then drop it immediately after. "Thank you for your generosity." His voice was thick with sarcasm, but Raymond's face lit up in glee. "I'll begin the preparations for it to be transferred to your home once the exhibit is over today. You will hear from Thomas for the paperwork in the coming days, then we will discuss a suitable crew to move it."

"Smart boy! Maybe you're not so bad for an upstart. I will say, your negotiating skills could be better." Raymond clapped a hand on Rafayel's shoulder, and you could see every muscle in his body tense. He grasped Raymond's wrist, pulling his hand off as if he was holding the edge of a piece of garbage. "But maybe there's hope for you, yet. I look forward to your next collection." Now satisfied, Raymond returned. A new swagger in his steps, proud as a peacock for wearing down Rafayel's defenses. 

You didn't bother hiding a scowl. Rafayel turned back, wearing a matching expression. He came back to the bench, sitting down more heavily than necessary. He ran a hand over his face, pushing his bangs back momentarily. "Where were we?" You caught the tail end of a wry smile.

"You were asking me what I saw in the painting that guy just bought." You nodded to the painting in question. "I was saying I saw the pink moon rising out of the ocean from a memory, your eyes, and a bloody scene hinting at something more nefarious. But you said it yourself, the key to appreciation and interpretation is to trust your gut, so-” His eyebrows lifted, and his eyes caught the glimmer of the light.

“You remembered?”

”I took notes.” You managed to smile, your heart rate finally evening out. “I guess… if we’re going off of our guts, then my first inclination would be the thing to go with. Your eyes. Yeah, your eyes have that pink in them, and the painting is more red… but that junction where the red and blue meet, where the warm and cool colors meet…” You tried to find your words, taking a moment to pause. “They say the eyes are the window to the soul. Something about this painting feels like it’s the window to your soul. Specifically. There’s something you want or desire depicted in it.” Your eyes lifted, finally meeting his. 

And for a moment- you found a flicker of intrigue in his eyes once more.

”I could be way off base. You mentioned it was based on a dream.” You shrug, averting your gaze again. “But… it reflected a desire back at me.”

”Oh, so seeing my eyes made you desire something?” Rafayel’s voice took on a sing-song, teasing tone. He shifted closer to you on the bench, cocking his head to the side. His lips curled into a boyish grin. 

You huffed, crossing your arms over his chest and looking away. “I- yeah. I guess so. The flower moon.”

”What was it about that moon?”

”Field school. It was hard. It was long, and difficult, and I didn’t always get along with everyone I was there with.” You sighed, recalling the memories. Good and bad. “But there, under that moon… we danced. Sang. Told stories. Laughed. Cried. Played in the ocean. And for a moment, all the stress of the job, all the stress of the lives we all had melted away. A far cry from the past few weeks I’ve had recently.” You could feel a prick come to your eyes. You looked up again, finding Rafayel’s eyes still trained on you. That teasing, boyish grin had faded. Replaced by something that felt… softer. Sincere. He subtly nodded. 

“It is from a dream. But it is kinda is about desire, too.” Rafayel confirmed, his voice low. “Something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.” His eyes cut up. You followed his gaze, finding the old man shaking Thomas’s hand as they discussed the price and delivery of the ornate painting. “I won’t bore you with details.”

”You wouldn’t bore me at all.” You protested. “If you can sit through Dr. C’s lectures on historical archaeology then I can easily sit through your explanations.” Rafayel snorted at the comparison. He lifted his foot, crossing his leg. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, a faux-offended expression crossing his face. Accompanied with a profound pout.

”I am wounded. How dare you compare those.”

”I think you misunderstood. Or maybe I should rephrase.” You laughed again, this time scooting a bit closer to him yourself. “It’s easy to listen to someone talk about something they’re passionate about. Even if you don’t understand, you can enjoy their pride and passion.” You grinned. “Dr. C always made her lectures fun. Cracking jokes and engaging in banter. And honestly? You get this glimmer in your eye when someone gets you going, like in that lecture.” He cracked an eye open, looking at you over his shoulder. His exaggerated pout slowly vanished, his lips turning downwards into a more surprised expression. His eyebrows furrowed and his one open eye narrowed.

”How do I know you’re not buttering me up, huh?”

”I could make up some bullshit to say about your art, about how profound and complex it is, and it truly reflects the state of our society through the color… blue.” You adopted a superficial, pompous voice while sitting up straighter. You jutted up an index finger. “A perplexing choice, but a clear reflection of the creator’s-“ He finally broke character, leaning over and covering your mouth with one hand. 

“Enough.” His shoulders shook with a barely suppressed laugh. Your pompous voice did its job. That grin was unlike the professional and polite smiles he had offered before. Finally, you got a hint of something true. You glanced down at his hand, debating between biting him or maybe licking him. You knew neither would be appropriate so you just gently placed a hand on his wrist. That alone made him pull his hand away, so you did the same in return.

“Okay, okay, I’m done.” You laughed. “I promise, I’m done.”

”Good. You’re not bad at art analysis.”

”Being in my field makes you a jack of all trades.” You shrugged. “Field technician, scuba diver, writer, researcher, detective, artist,” You counted off the miscellaneous skills that could come with the job before shrugging. “Oh! And trowel dart thrower.”

”Trowel darts?”

”Trowel darts.” You nodded sagely. “You keep your trowel sharp at all times. I specialize in maritime archaeology but my first bout of training was on land, so I still help out from time to time. You need your trowel sharp to cut through roots and keep edges nice and precise. Of course, off the clock, that also means drawing a target in the dirt back at wherever you’re staying, and seeing who’s got the best aim.” You grinned as you explained. “All in the flick of the wrist. Like throwing daggers. But more on theme.” 

“Sooooo, if I ever run into an excavation, I should keep an eye out for any trowels being thrown at me? Is that what you’re saying?” Rafayel cocked his head again. Every time he did that he looked like an adorable puppy cocking their head from side to side. You swallow the comparison and keep it to yourself.

”Oh that or shovels. Or machetes, if you’re in a densely wooded area.” His eyes briefly widened and he nodded his head.

”Machetes. Got it.”

”That’s enough about my job.” You waved away the topic at hand. “Don’t want anyone thinking those are thinly veiled threats. Just acknowledgements the job is dangerous. I’m glad I was able to come for the exhibit itself.” You looked up again, admiring the handful of smaller artworks adorning the room. 

Rafayel scoffed, as if your dismissal of your own job irritated him. “Nahhh. Your job is better than sitting in this stuffy gallery hearing rich folks argue about which wrong interpretation of theirs is better. Or getting badgered into selling a piece.”

”I thought there is no wrong interpretation?”

Rafayel rolled his eyes, a soft groan escaping his throat. ”When your head is so far up your own butt all you see is crap you’re bound to have some crappy opinions. Including on art.” He scowled. You laughed in surprise at his comparison, but he had a point. You shook your head at him. You glanced at the time on your phone, there were still a few hours left. Rafayel already seemed irritated at the people milling around. And the interaction with Raymond clearly set him off further. You had agreed to help Thomas out, but at the same time, the only thing that came to mind was that book. You went ahead and pulled it out, along with your journal. His scowl dropped, now replaced with a glimmer of curiosity as he eyed your journal.

”Your first batch of field notes. Why bring that?”

”These were actually a copy of my first field notes. Dr. C has my first field notes back in the archaeology lab on campus, same with all my classmates from field school. I got her permission to rewrite all of it into this journal here so I’d always have reminders of how far I’ve come.” You crack it open, flipping through the pages. “I’ve also added some more personal entries, some stories from field school I kept out of my official notes. It’s just become my everyday notes journal nowadays.” Rafayel leaned in, peering over your shoulder to glance at your notes. Flickers of names passed by as you flipped through the pages. He looked up at you again.

“We’re gonna be stuck here a while. I already tried to make my escape and Thomas dragged me back.” He tossed a glare at his manager, though even you could see it was only halfhearted. “Tell me some stories.”

You hesitated. He’s a famous artist, what would your stories have on him and his life? But that look in his eyes, when you explained your own thoughts and feelings around the art, came to mind again… You flipped back to the start of your narrative, skimming through to remember some of the finer details. “Okay, so to begin, there was this fucking raccoon that loved harassing Dr. C on this island…”

People faded into nothing but colors and blurs of movement. Hours faded, but neither of you seemed to notice. Each page in this journal, though smeared in ink, dirt, and tears, formed a vivid image in both of your minds. Colorful characters, and even more colorful finds. Stories, relationships. Jokes. Rafayel was leaning over laughing, his shoulders shaking. 

The light in the room had slowly faded, the warmth of the sun replaced by the cool, harsh lighting of the fluorescent bulbs. The low chatter that had been your background music for this conversation had gotten quieter and quieter, before vanishing altogether. Soon, only a single pair of footsteps accompanied your mutual laughter. You looked up, finding Thomas approaching with an expression reflecting both frustration and relief. Rafayel's laughter was cut short.

"I'm glad you stayed the whole time." Thomas crossed his arms over his chest. "Raymond bought the painting. He already signed the paperwork."

"I heard." He sobered up quick. It was like watching the man switch between masks, flipping it on and off with ease. The amused glimmer in his eye vanished. His eyelids lowered, his eyebrows raising into an impassive look. "I'll sign the paperwork for the sale tonight."

"I'll send you everything I need from you before the end of the day." Thomas confirmed. His eyes narrowed, his eyebrows furrowing, his lips curling down. "Are you sure-?"

"Dead certain." Rafayel shrugged. He got to his feet, buttoning his suit jacket once more as he came to stand. "Raymond wants it, so he'll have it." The colors Rafayel's voice typically held vanished. The passion in his lecture, the amusement from your talks... there was a hollowness to his words. Thomas's eyes momentarily flickered to you. He smiled.

It didn't reach his eyes.

"Thank you for your help today." Thomas turned his body to face you. Rafayel scoffed, reaching up to lightly play with his own bangs.

"I can't believe you asked someone to babysit me like some child..."

"I was gonna be here anyway! It's not every day I get to talk with the creator of the exhibit himself." You shrugged. You tucked your journal back into your bag, and Rafayel in turn turned to face you. He extended his hand, helping you come to stand.

"I owe you some translation notes, and you owe me some more information on your job." A hint of humor entered his voice again. His lips curled up, but his eyes were trained on the painting that had just sold. You didn't know if it had a name. You didn't think to look- or ask. But something about it just... felt off. However, that felt fitting in its own right. If it was truly a reflection of desire, it ought to make people uncomfortable. You took his hand, standing up. Unlike with Raymond, Rafayel released your hand but allowed it to hover momentarily. Not immediately trying to escape as though your touch was diseased. 

Over the course of the afternoon, the lighting in the gallery changed. From the beautiful sunlight adding to the experience, to only the fluorescent lights lighting up the place. Thomas glanced out the window and his lips twitched into a frown. "If you two are heading out, better be fast. Looks like a summer storm is about to hit us." You and Rafayel both followed his gaze. Dark clouds roamed the sky, and the trees outside swayed in the wind. You quickly fastened your bag, taking long strides to the door. 

"Thanks for the heads up, Thomas! It was nice to meet you!" Rafayel was quick to follow, his long legs allowing him to catch up with ease. Thomas lifted a hand, exchanging a farewell of his own before the two of you made your way out the door. The wind was steadily picking up, and the sky responded with a low rumble. You extended a hand, but didn't feel any rain. "Where were you thinking for our little talk?"

"There's a cafe down the road, good tea and coffee." Rafayel pointed down a sidewalk, still walking briskly. "Its gonna pour any minute now."

"It is, but a little rain won't hurt us." You quickly followed, jogging to match his speed. "Running in the rain can be fun!" A roll of thunder answered you, much closer this time. "See? Even the sky agrees!"

"You know, for a scientist, you're not what I expected!" Rafayel called back, breaking into a bit of a jog. Another roll of thunder. A few drops landed on your head and shoulder, and you broke into a run alongside him. 

"What? All stiff and professional? Ha!" The rain began to fall steadily. "Hell no! We're professionals when we gotta be, but not all the time!" The steady rain turned into a downpour. You laughed, grabbing your bag and holding it over your head. "Go, go, go!" Something about the rain seemed to wedge its way behind the mask. Rafayel laughed back, both of you running down the sidewalk in the pouring rain. You ducked under a cover, putting your bag down. The cover of your bag did its job, the objects inside perfectly dry, in spite of becoming an impromptu umbrella. "Besides," You shrugged, coming to stand. "Archaeology is kind of the weird step sibling in science. It requires a lot of the hard, physical stuff. The biology. But you also get the so called soft sciences, the social sciences, anthropology. You need to know soil composition and the impact of sea salt and weathering and erosion. But you also need to understand social theories and history." You pulled your bag over your shoulder again, watching as the rain continued to pour from your small shelter. 

The cover over the bus stop didn't stop the rain from hitting the both of you, not with this kind of wind. Rafayel poked his head out, watching the clouds roll by even though he was being pelted with rain. In spite of his bangs growing soggy and his clothes getting wet, he stepped right back out into the rain. You stayed under the cover a moment longer. You reached a hand out, reaching for his arm. Just before you could touch his sleeve, you paused. You slowly lower your arm and pull your hand back. Instead, you step out into the rain with him. The downpour slowly lessened into a steady rain. It still soaked your hair and clothes, but it no longer pelted your skin. The cool rain was a nice contrast to the warm weather. 

You lowered your head to look around. Whitesand Bay. It was a beautiful area. In the distance you could make out a beautiful white building, the fabled studio and home of the peculiar man beside you. The gates were always shut, likely for his own safety and privacy. Your eyes darted up to him. His eyes were shut, his head leaned back. He seemed to be more at ease with rain streaming down his face. 

"We should get inside before we both catch a cold." You spoke quietly. It felt like you were speaking to the water itself instead of Rafayel, but he hummed to acknowledge your words anyway.

"Sure. Cafe's right over there." His eyes slowly opened. His typically wavy bangs were straightened by the rain, clinging to his wet forehead. He reached up a hand, pushing them out of his eyes. They were distant. Focused on something else. You opened your mouth, only to get rainwater in it. You shut it and followed him. Neither of you felt the need to run or hurry, even with the threat of a cold hanging over your heads. The walk was slow and steady, like the ongoing rainfall. Up ahead, in a small dip near the road, a puddle had formed.

You took longer strides, all of a sudden ahead of him. You took a hop and splashed into the puddle with both feet. You heard rapid footsteps and barely moved out of the way in time for Rafayel to do the exact same. You looked forward. There was another puddle. You scurried towards it, and another set of footsteps quickly followed. You hopped into the puddle with one foot before hopping out, Rafayel mimicking you. You turned, catching a growing smile on his face. He looked ahead. You followed his gaze.

The mother of all puddles sat there before you.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

Both of you set off running.

"I'm gonna beat you!"

"No you're not!"

You both laughed, your pounding footsteps on the ground adding to the cacophony of noise. Laughter, running feet, rain, distant thunder, cars racing by. It was close, you two were neck and neck. And with a jump, you both landed in the puddle, sending fresh rainwater everywhere. The grin on your face made your cheeks hurt, but you couldn't stop. Rafayel's eyes glimmered in the faint light, and his lips shifted from a grin to a smirk as he splashed at your feet. "Told you I was gonna beat you!"

"No you didn't! We tied!" You splashed him back, kicking at the water and wetting the bottom of his pants legs further. The cold water didn't bother him in the slightest, and he only splashed you right back.

"Nuh uh! Did not!" "Uh huh! Did too!" 

Another distant roll of thunder accompanied your laughter, the sky seeming to echo your joy. A lash of lightning lit up the sky, momentarily putting that light right back into all pairs of eyes present. The sudden flash sobered you up. You looked down the road, seeing the sign for the cafe Rafayel certainly was alluding to. You grabbed his arm, starting to tug him along. 

"Okay, okay, we need to go inside! We're both gonna catch a cold, Thomas is gonna kill us."

"It's fiiiine, I can work from home, a little cold isn't gonna kill me, y'know." Rafayel didn't protest, walking along with you at a brisk pace in the rain. It had lightened further, now only a drizzle compared to the deluge you had been caught in mere minutes earlier. You made your way down the road, soon entering the refuge of the cafe. It was surprisingly warm, which was a relief after the cool rain. "Drink's on you?"

"Yup, that's what we agreed to." You confirmed. The two of you made your way to the counter, selecting warm teas since you were both soaked to the bone. The cashier looked baffled, but accepted your payment without commenting. Once you got your teas you found a warm spot tucked away in a corner. Rafayel sat with his back to the wall, facing the rest of the cafe while you sat across from him.

You pulled the book and the annotation tools out of your bag. Highlighter, pencil, pen, and some sticky notes. You put your journal on the table as well. While you grabbed some napkins and began to pat dry your skin, Rafayel reached across the table, picking up your journal. He undid the elastic and began to flip through it. You shook your head but didn't stop him. 

"I didn't realized archaeologists could be so..." He paused, his eyes scanning over pages as he casually flipped through. 

"Nerdy? Dumb? Goofy?"

"Thoughtful. But yeah, those, too."

You laughed, patting your forehead dry. "Sounds like you didn't really have the best opinion of us."

"Can you blame me?"

"Oh no, not at all." You shook your head. You dried your hands as well grabbing the book you wanted his help with. You flipped to the first story, already preparing all the tools you had laid out on the table. "Archaeology has a dark past. And unfortunately it still can be weaponized against people. That's why Dr. C and I are so adamant about how we go about things, working with the community and not against them."

"Mm hm." His eyes remained trained on your notebook. "But not everyone thinks that way."

"An unfortunate reality, but one that is changing." You nodded your head. "The older voices, the ones primarily espousing foul rhetoric... they're dying out."

Rafayel snorted. "Literally."

"Literally and figuratively." You confirmed. "People are realizing that the discipline can be, and is, so much more than its roots. That when done in collaboration with the communities, or even better, led by the community in question at any given site, it yields better information. More accurate, with more context." You took a sip of your tea. The warm liquid went warmed you from the inside out. 

"When we met, you joked about the existence of merpeople." Rafayel's eyes cut up. "Raymond, the guy who nagged me to get me to sell him that painting... he has the skeleton of a merperson on display. Some people say it's just an evocative art piece. Some say its real." Your nose crinkled, and a deep frown etched itself onto your face. 

"Ugh." You grumbled. "That's... I don't know how to feel about that."

"You work with remains." He hummed, turning back to your journal as if it was a fascinating piece of fiction. "Why does even hearing about it bother you?"

"Because remains shouldn't be displayed. Not in my opinion, anyway." You turned to the first story starring the infamous little blue fish. The one you saw in the pet store, the carnival, the stairwell, and in your nightmare. "It just..." You put the book down. Your skin was crawling with the mere mental image. "It often feels dehumanizing. Depersonalizing. Relegating a person to just their remains, then showing them like a trophy. Even as an art piece that just-" You shuddered. "What a creep."

Rafayel laughed, though it was low, dry. "Looks like we agree on something." He finally put your journal down, sliding it back to you. He grabbed his tea, taking a sip. Those eyes, so bright and colorful, were hooded. His gaze was distant. Unfocused. "He is a creep."

"I don't like how he touched you." You added. You grabbed your pencil, moving a bit closer to him just so he could see the book better. "He was peacocking. Showing off."

"I could feel you glaring daggers behind me, thanks for the backup but I handled it." He finally looked up at you again. "Don't worry about that creep. Hubris will get him eventually."

"That I believe wholeheartedly." You scoffed. You finally shifted the topic, tapping the book with your pencil. "Now. Let's take out our frustrations on someone else- this translator." Your lips turned up, and his managed to do the same. "I actually had a question first. Throughout these legends I noticed a little blue fish would always be mentioned before the sea god. Is that a thing? Is it specifically a little blue fish that's an emissary of the sea god, or is it a mistranslation?"

Rafayel reached over you, grabbing the pen you had also laid out. He uncapped it. but used the bottom of it to point at the book. "Yes and no. All fish are emissaries of the sea god, but the color can have a meaning as well." He pointed at the page. "Blue fish were favored by this iteration of the sea god, though I have seen other versions where it was a red flammula, specifically." You grabbed a sticky note and wrote this all down, adding it to the page.  

"I'd love to see your sources some day." You flattened the sticky part of the sticky note with the edge of your nail. 

"Eh, maybe I'll show them to you, maybe I won't. Not like you're gonna publish this anyway." Rafayel leaned in closer, eyes scanning over each line of text. Slowly but surely, he began to offer alternatives, not quite line by line but just about. The little blue fish could be amended to any kind of fish, same titles and names could be swapped out. You flipped page to page. You knew you would only be able to scratch the surface in a single afternoon, but some of the amendments could be extended to the rest of the book so it would not need to be said again. 

Soon enough you came to the story of the young sea god and his mischievous deeds. He scoffed. "You might as well rip out that story entirely." He grumbled. He sat back in his seat, crossing an arm over his chest while reaching for his tea with his other hand. "Not relevant."

"Why? That sounded less like an academic critique and more like a former bad kid grumbling." You lifted your own tea, your voice light and teasing. Rafayel huffed again. But it lacked the playful air his pouts usually held. He seemed... genuinely irritated at the moment. Eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed, and a tiny pout overshadowed by genuine irritation in his eyes.

"You don't know the first thing about me. Seriously, you're better off ripping that story out. It's not true, or important."

"I don't know you?" You cocked your head. That was what stuck out to you. You tucked the sticky ntoes in the book to act as an impromptu book mark, pushing the book away for the moment. "I mean... you're not wrong. I don't really know you. I don't think you want me to know you." His eyes darted up. Remaining on your face. But you resumed speaking in spite of his skeptical stare. "I know a few things. You're a well known artist, you're not a fan of flying, you're a passionate teacher, you've gained an interest in archaeology, and you love Lemuria." You named off a handful of things on your fingers. "But you're right. Those are all kinda surface level things. We've interacted... four times now?" The library, the cafe, the lecture, and now. "Neither of us really know each other. And, if I can be honest, its like you're wearing a mask around me. I've picked up on a few things hidden behind the mask. You're selective on who you allow to touch you, especially where and how long. You enjoy childish things like jumping in puddles and the artsy birb emojis. You're very level headed, even in scary situations, like when I was being followed."

You watched his face as you spoke. The minor pout slowly retreated, and his eyebrows slowly relaxed. His frustration appeared to melt into pensiveness. Curiosity. 

"You're right." You confirmed. "I don't really know the first thing about you, Rafayel. But I'd be more than willing to learn. If you'll allow it. If you'll have me." His eyebrows lowered again, but his eyes had softened. Confusion? Intrigue? A flash of fear? What was it that you saw in those eyes? The pink mixing into the blue?

Blood in the water.

You shuddered, the dream from the other night springing back into your mind. You grabbed your tea, averting your gaze to it. You took a long sip. It's gone cold. It was better than nothing. You finished it in one go, finally putting it down as a newfound silence settled over you. This was unlike the silence in his car. It was heavy. Suffocating. Blood rushed to your cheeks. Did you overstep? Was that too much? Too forward. You steeled yourself, looking up to Rafayel. His eyes were distant, and he wasn't looking at you. Watching the front of the cafe closely.

He began to pack your things for you, putting them all together. 

"I don't really know you, either." He admitted. "I made a lot of assumptions about you upon meeting you." He gestured to your bag. You opened it and began to put all the supplies into it. "I hate to cut this short, but we have company." Rafayel leaned in, dropping his voice. All the hair on the back of your neck came to stand, but you didn't react. You just kept putting everything away in your bag, before reaching in. You kept a tactical knife around. Cutting through roots, cutting through packaging, self defense. You switched it from your bag to your pocket. You came to stand, taking your mug and his in hand. Rafayel followed suit and immediately joined your side. You finally turned to face the rest of the cafe, spotting two men sitting together at a table not far away. One held a newspaper, hiding his face. The other idly scrolled on his phone.

You peeled your eyes away, looking impassive as you returned the used mugs before stepping out. Rafayel remained beside you all the way. The rain had stopped, and the sun was poking out again.

"Let me walk you to the bus?"

"Mm hm."

The exchange was brief, btu nothing more needed to be said. Not now. You two began to walk. You could feel your wet socks and your shoes beginning to dig into the back of your heels, and the general sogginess of your clothes was making you uncomfortable. You'd need to go straight home to shower and change. You didn't go out of your way to jump into puddles, but when you two approached one you didn't resist the urge to put your foot down a little harder than necessary, leaving a splash in your wake.

The walk to the main bus stop in Whitesand Bay that would take you back to Linkon wasn't far away. But the appearance of those two men made every second drag on.

"Thanks for letting me look through your notes." Rafayel broke the silence. His crisp footfalls from his nice shoes were one of the few sounds around you. Hist steady gait a constant companion. "Probably should've asked first."

"You're fine." You dismissed his concern with a wave of your hand. You settled your hand over your collarbone, settling on the charm on your necklace. The single pearl. You felt his eyes on you, so you turned to look at him. His eyes were slightly narrowed, trained on the pearl around your neck.

"A pearl?"

"Ah- yeah." You cupped it to show it to him, dangling from the chain. It was simple, a piece of metal connecting it to the chain. "Don't know if its real... Probably isn't, but it means a lot to me. Got it right before I graduated. Little momento of hey, I made it, remember why you came this far." You explained. You two approached the bus stop, and once you came to a stop he leaned in close. You could see his individual eyelashes, the depth of his eyes. The way his bangs had begun to curl now that they were drying. He frowned deeply.

"Oh yeah. That's fake."

"You think I have the kind of money for a real one?" You scoffed, now holding the fake pearl to your skin. "Besides, I don't have to worry about damaging it now that I know."

"All those years of studying, and training, and researching... and you want that represented by a fake pearl?" He seemed downright offended by the mere concept of it. You held the charm a little tighter.

"It's fine. Its not like anything is gonna come of it anyway. What with this stalking and the others being... gone," You finally just said it, choking on the word. "Dr. C is right, and so are you. Something is wrong here. I need to keep my distance. My intentions don't matter, I just need to put my nose to the grindstone and find something else to focus on." He turned his nose up, scoffing right back.

"A fake pearl... we're doing something about that."

"We aren't." You corrected, adjusting your bag. "I appreciate the help today, and thanks for letting me come to your exhibit, Rafayel. But its like you said. We don't know each other." You could see the bus in the distance. It was right on time. And with Rafayel beside you, you doubted whoever was following you at the cafe would do anything to you now. Too many people around anyway.

"But we can." His voice caught you off guard. You turned back to face him. Something about him had softened. Though in the blink of an eye, he seemed to go right back to what he had been like before. "I mean- you're useful to me, and I'm useful to you. Who knows? Maybe we'll find other things in common. You're right. I like art, I like teaching, I like artsy birb... I liked reading your journal. I liked hearing your stories, and your interpretation of my art." He leaned in again. "You're not what I expected of an archaeologist. I don't like being proven wrong." The bus finally rolled up. "But you might be an exception."

Your heart was pounding. Your ears and cheeks grew warm. You lifted a hand, resting it against your own cheek. You could feel how hot it was under your touch. You could hear the door to the bus open, and a few people hopped off. You snapped out of your stupor, looking away from him. You waved, taking the first step onto the bus before he called your name.

"Text me when you get home, okay?" You looked over your shoulder. He was smiling, and for once, it made his eyes fully glimmer. You nodded, managing a smile in return before hastily making your way to a seat. You sat down, burying your face into your hands. None of that went the way it was supposed to. Second guesses and questions flooded your mind as the bus finally began to move once more. You peeked through your fingers, finding Rafayel still waiting outside. He lifted one hand in farewell, waving as the bus slowly began its journey back to Linkon. You lifted a hand in return, slowly waving as his form got smaller and smaller in the distance. Once he was too small to make out in the distance you turned to face forward once more.  

As much as you were overthinking every interaction you had had with him, you found your mind also drifting back to more practical things. The excavation you were applying for. The pay wouldn't be as good as what the Lemurian excavation was offering, but it would certainly help make end's meet. Since Dr. C had been asked to be a temporary help, you figured you had a good chance of getting an official field technician position. This time around they'd also provide near site housing, and a stipend for groceries for the crew. It was on land, but at least it was something. Something to keep your mind and hands busy, something to keep it off the other archaeologists, and off of whatever the hell Rafayel was up to in your life.

The jungle conducted its own unique symphony. The hum of all the bugs, birds, and other animals. The whistle of the wind in the trees. The low growl of the truck slowly driving over gravel. Your team had become the choir accompanying the symphony, singing along to some song at the top of their lungs. The wind whipped past, cooling down all of you from your long day of work. Starting shortly after the sun rose and stopping just before the height of the heat in the mid afternoon. 

The truck came to a stop outside of your accommodations, and people began to pile out of the truck and the truck bed. You swing your legs around the side, patting the truck twice to signal to the driver everyone in the back was getting out. You dropped down, taking off your kerchief to wipe your face of the sweat and dirt. "Alright, everyone! You know your assigned tasks. Tech folks, take the equipment in and get it ready to charge. Water folk, empty and clean the container for tomorrow. If you finish early and others need help, pitch in. Those of you on dinner duty, go get cleaned up and start cooking once all of that's done."

It was a small but good crew. Dr. C as helping run the excavation for a couple of days, but you would be there the whole time. A couple of younger archaeologists, students, were also present to learn a few things. You took off your backpack, grabbing your trowel and tucking it into your belt as you approached Dr. C. She was unloading the truck as well, sweat dripping down her back.

"Hey Dr. C, you got a minute?" She looked over her shoulder, but nodded her head. You gestured for her to follow you, another one of the more seasoned field technicians overseeing the rest of the crew while the two of you walked away. You walked to the edge of the forest, just off the main road near the house you were all staying at. You pulled a smaller journal out of your pocket, cracking it open to show her some numbers. "I think some of the students are getting themselves confused, they were-" Your eyes darted up, looking at her when you registered the look on her face. She was looking at something. Her eyes narrowed. Eyebrows furrowed, and shoulders tensed. Not from the long day of work. 

She saw something.

You licked your lips, but kept talking. She would stop you if she needed you to. "They were getting mixed up with the absolute value. I mean yes, we're digging down, but you can't dig negative five centimeters." You flipped a page in your field notes. You rubbed your forehead with the sleeve of your sun shirt, noticing a streak of grime come off. Post dig showers were mandatory, and you couldn't wait to hop into yours. "So some of their numbers in their field notes are off, I was hoping to borrow yours so they can cross reference and how those corrected-"

Without another word Dr. C pulled out her trowel from her pack and threw it at a tree. You threw your notes to the side and grabbed your own trowel, turning to do the exact same as a familiar mop of dusky purple hair entered your vision.

Rafayel had moved faster than you thought he could, dodging the trowel. It hit the tree, now wedged into the wood as he held his hands up. "It's just me! It's just me, I though you could see me coming from the road-"

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" You interrupted him, still holding the handle of your trowel tightly. You moved slowly, going and picking up your field notes before tucking the smaller book into your pocket again.

"I-"

"Rafayel, before you say anything, just know you're gonna be in trouble no matter what you say." Dr. C sighed in exasperation. She took a few heavy steps forward, her work boots making the gravel crunch a little louder. Rafayel turned, pulling her trowel out of the tree before offering it back to her. She took it, her eyes narrowed at him. "So just be honest. Honesty will get you into less trouble." His eyes darted to you, as if he was asking for your help.

"I was just in the area, too. I remembered you said something about going on a new excavation, and I was in this general area for supplies for my paintings."

You pressed your lips into a thin line, pointing your trowel at him in a mock-threat. "Bullshit." You huffed. "I didn't tell you anything about this excavation. All I said was that I'd be out of town and wifi would be bad."

"So I put two and two together." He protested, still keeping his hands where you both could see them. He gestured to a pack at his waist, the way it sat implying there were things inside. "The rest of this area is open to the public, and the nearby beach has some great stuff to make pigments out of. I've been here before, I'm not-"

"What, following me?" You scoffed. "You realize how this looks, right?" He sighed, his hands still up.

"Okay, fine, yeah. I was here for supplies, don't flatter yourself. You can check my pack here. You'll see."

The crunching of gravel along the main road caught your attention. You turned, surprised to see a black truck pulling up. It didn't have the same markings as the vehicles used by the people who ran this site. You glanced back to Dr. C. Her expression had changed, her eyes no longer narrowed at Rafayel, but at the truck. She wordlessly dropped her arm, still holding her trowel tightly as she marched over to the truck. It was slowly pulling up in front of the house, where other members of the crew were finishing off cleaning off their boots before going inside.

From this distance you couldn't quite make out what was being said. But you could see the tenseness in her shoulders, the way she held herself taller, made herself bigger. You turned back to Rafayel. Any facade he had been trying to maintain was gone. "You wanna know why I'm really here?" His voice dropped. That lower octave he used with Raymond back in the gallery. When he noticed you were being followed. It was your turn to put two and two together.

"But- how?" You stammered. You didn't share your location with anyone, you didn't tell anyone you were coming to this site. And you needed clearance to come to this part of it. Whatever checkpoints and safeguards that had been put in place clearly didn't do enough. You turned back to that black truck, seeing one man get out of the passenger seat while the other remained behind the wheel. The man was dressed nicely, and he was extending what looked to be a business card to Dr. C. She was smiling, but held her hand up as a sign of rejection.

"Come on." You muttered, gesturing for him to follow you as you began to approach the situation hesitantly. You couldn't hear Rafayel behind you, but you felt like he was still following. He was good at being quiet. Maybe too good. As you approached the conversation, Dr. C was gesturing for everyone else to go inside.

"... I'm just saying, Hannah, you ought to consider it. Ever pays well, and the employee benefits would be a lot more than any individual excavation could give you. We've been watching your work for a long time, and with how much expansion we've been doing sometimes we need to do some shovel testing on sites before we build a new facility." The man conducted himself with the charm of a snake oil merchant. It made your skin crawl, the way he was subtly leaning in closer to her. "Not to mention being a professor isn't the best pay, either. You'd have a lot more flexibility in your schedule, you could still teach, but-"

"You're not supposed to be here." You interrupted him, standing across from the two of them. The man turned his head towards you. He didn't seem too surprised. If anything, the way he smiled, he seemed excited to see you.

"Oh, I recognize you!" His chipper tone did little to stop the way a shiver crawled up your back, digging its icy hands into your skin. "You're the one who wrote that article on your journey as an archaeologist into the Linkon Science Report! Nice to finally meet you, I'm Carter, I'm one of the medical scientists for Ever." He extended his hand to you, but you simply held up your filthy hand in response. 

"Probably don't want to touch me." You smiled, but it was a sharp warning. "I'm a little dirty." 

"A little grime doesn't bother me." Carter quickly put his hand down. "Shows you're hard at work. Anyway, I was just talking with Hannah here about a job opportunity. The offer is open to you, too, and everyone on site. Ever is looking for some reliable archaeologists to help form a team of on call professionals. Ever has been expanding so rapidly, we're just getting a hand into everything! Not to mention with the construction of new facilities we sometimes need to do a brief shovel test to ensure we're not building on important grounds." His smile was superficial. You were used to these kinds of people in the trade. Thinking they could buy off archaeologists for whatever goal they had in mind.

"Nah, but thanks. I've got steady work right now, don't feel like I'm cut out to work for Ever." You shrugged your shoulders, flipping your trowel in the air before catching it by the handle. "Dr. C, did we bring in the equipment to sharpen the trowels and machetes? I might sit on the deck and give everyone's gear a touch up before dinner tonight." It wasn't subtle. You weren't trying to be subtle. 

"We did." Dr. C responded, her typical smile on her face. Pure professionalism. Your own was a flatout mockery of the man in front of you. "I think that's a good idea."

"Woah, hey, no need for that." Carter laughed as though the two of you had made a joke. "I'm just here making an offer." His eyes darted from you to Dr. C, then to the man behind you. "Oh! I didn't know this dig was open to amateurs, taken up a new hobby, Mr. Rafayel?"

"No, landlubber history isn't in my wheelhouse." Rafayel scoffed. It was still in that lower register of his. The hair on the back of your neck stood up, feeling him slowly approach until he came to stand in front of both you and Dr. C. "I think these two made it clear enough, but I'll clarify, just for your sake." He tilted his head. In a flash of dazzling pink light, he summoned a blade with his evol. "I don't need a trowel or a machete. Get lost. You're not welcome here."

Carter held both of his hands up, the smile vanishing from his face. "Woah, woah!" He tried to gesture for Raf to calm down. "I'm just here on behalf of my bosses to make an offer to fellow scientists! Academia is a rough world, publish or perish. But we take care of our own!" He looked past Rafayel to you and Dr. C beside you, his eyes pleading for backup.

"I'd hardly call anyone who willingly works for Ever a scientist." You spat, not bothering to bite back your venom. E.D.A.S. Court case 896318. Your note remained burned in your memory. "At least not one with an ethical backbone." Carter sighed, dropping his hands.

"I think you're all jumping to conclusions, seriously, take my card. Maybe heat exhaustion is kicking in. Why don't you go and clean yourselves up, then really think about it, hm?" He pulled out his card, trying to reach past Rafayel to give it to you. But Rafayel merely snatched it, burning the card the second it came into contact with his skin. Carter gasped and jumped back, watching the pink flames incinerate his fancy branded card.

"That won't be necessary." Rafayel kept his blade out. You held your trowel, and Dr. C had a hand on hers as well. Carter's eyes darted between the three of you, before he nodded.

"Alright. Seriously, though, you two. Think on it. You deserve better than surviving paycheck to paycheck and dig to dig. Give Ever a chance." He walked back to the passenger door, hopping into the truck. He shut the door, but while leaning out of the open window, he flashed all three of you a warm, kind smile. One that made his eyes crinkle, and you could see a single dimple. But no matter how warm his expression looked, it felt like a bucket of ice water just got dumped down your shirt. "Don't lose this chance." With that, the truck started again, making its way down the road. You watched it closely, your grip on the handle of your trowel only tightening as it vanished into the trees.

"There's no way in hell they had clearance here." Dr. C murmured.

"I memorized the license plate." You hummed back. You finally tucked the trowel back into your belt, your lips pressing into a thin line. "Wouldn't be surprised if it was fake, though." Another flash of pink fire appeared, and as you turned to face Rafayel, he made his dagger vanish. He turned to face you and Dr. C in kind. Nothing about him was the same as when you met him. The mild amusement he always carried with him was gone, now he seemed dead serious.

"That's why I'm here." He finally admitted. "I've... encountered Ever before. They asked me to do a commission for an office space, I said no, they've held a grudge ever since." He shrugged, speaking so casually it was like he was talking about the weather. "Dr. C, someone was at your office asking for you. And another person was trying to press Thomas for answers on when he last saw you." Rafayel pointedly looked at you. "Something is weird. I couldn't get in touch with you, so I came here."

"Last I checked you still don't have clearance to be here." You protested, but that icy feeling was slowly blooming all over your body. Every hair coming to stand at attention, goosebumps all over you in spite of how hot it was.

"I have my ways." Rafayel gave a non-answer, messing with his hair again. "Listen." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Something is wrong here. Like- really wrong. They shouldn't know you're here. I don't know why they're so insistent on you. But I think you both should take your own advice. Lay low for a bit." You and Dr. C exchanged looks.

"That's not really an option right now." Dr. C explained. "I'm helping to lead this project, I can't just run off."

"And I do need the money." You added. "Those other jobs held me over but I can't just give up this kind of money."

Rafayel hummed. He put a finger to his forehead. tapping it. "Okay. Hear me out." He looked up, meeting eyes with Dr. C. "Say you had a family emergency, but leave your notes here for your superiors. Go straight home and go into a media blackout for a couple of days." He turned to face you. "Do the same. Family emergency, go home, blackout. I'll handle the money."

"Absolutely not." You protested. "I'm not-"

"Would you rather continue to be stalked?" Rafayel cut you off, putting a hand on his hip. "At least until this is figured out, just accept it. Dr. C and I already alerted the campus authorities the first time we were followed. I can alert them again so other students aren't targeted. You should tell the security of your apartment building, too, that you've been followed recently." 

"I'm just- this is," You stammered, putting a hand to your head. This was still about Lemuria. It had to be. Ever. Ever is definitely involved, you were nowhere near a big enough name for them to come after you. But your association with Dr. C and the others from that excavation? That could put a target on your head. Or at least make you a person of interest. And the last thing you wanted was to be on their radar. "I have some savings, I can-"

"No." Rafayel stopped you before you could continue. "Let me help you." He looked over his shoulder, eyes trained on where the truck had vanished. There was a faraway look in his eyes for a moment. But they snapped back to reality, turning back to you. "Consider it a loan."

"I can't afford to pay you back for that."

"Then don't think of it as a loan- its..." He backtracked. "A gift."

"Gifts don't come without expectations." You continued to protest, before a familiar hand on your arm grounded you.

"Thank you, Rafayel." Dr. C's clear, resolute voice grounded you in reality. "We have our pride. We like taking care of ourselves. But," She looked at you. "We need to lean on each other. Especially when things look shady." She turned back to him, her dark eyes glinting in the light. "We'll take the help. But we'll find our own ways to pay you back."

"I can accept that." Rafayel confirmed, slowly nodding his head. "I'll hold you to that."

"Hey, I might be able to bring in some pottery sherds and manuals on the different styles through time and space." Dr. C immediately offered, an option, starting to drag you towards the door of the house. "Guest lecture if you don't feel like teaching for a day? Or making some connections? We'll figure it out. We'll pack our things and let the higher ups know." She stopped just before the door. Your eyes were still trained on him. This entire thing felt weird. You and Rafayel hardly knew each other, why was he willing to stick his neck out for you like this? He must really be expecting something in return. But what did you have that he could want? 

"We'll touch base before the blackout." You found your voice again, speaking resolutely. Rafayel met your eye. He nodded, turning his back. He did a mock salute, holding up two fingers in farewell.

"Good luck, archaeologists. You'll need it."

As he walked away, you found your eyes trailing after his figure. The way he moved so nonchalantly, so effortlessly. Did his hips sway a bit when he moved? A sharp elbow to the ribs snapped you out of it, and you caught your mentor's gaze. Any other day you knew she would tease the shit out of you.

But for once, her eyes held no amusement. 

"Go shower, then pack. I'll call the higher ups. They'll send our replacements by tomorrow morning." She nudged you inside with a more gentle hand, the door shutting behind you after you removed your shoes and left them on the porch. People were busy flitting about, some chatting playfully with the others, some calling out instructions for help in the kitchen, yet others trying to act like they weren't watching the whole scene unfold from the screen door. 

You brushed past all of them, ignoring the teasing looks and the confused mumbles. Shower, pack, finalize field notes for the day... You had your schedule.

Shing, shing, shiiiiing-

The steady sound of metal being sharpened joined the orchestra of the night. Night birds cawed and crooned, grasshoppers hummed their nightly song. And you were the featured artist, the occasional spark lighting up your face as you sharpened a machete on the front porch. You held it up, checking the edge in the faint light coming from inside. Another guest artist chimed in, a symphony of swearing and laughter that accompanied a game of cards against humanity. 

You smiled, shaking your head. 

You and Dr. C agreed to not tell the crew the full truth of why you were leaving. Just that you both had sudden emergencies pop up, and you likely would not be reachable for the foreseeable future. Everyone was saddened and disappointed, but they all wished you both well. You were nearly suffocated with concern and the well wishes, as well as tentative asks for your phone number or mailing address to stay in touch. The cool night air was your reprieve. 

You put the machete back into its sheath. You came to stand, attaching it to your belt before putting everything away. Shovels, trowels, machetes, and root clippers were all sharpened and ready for the next day. With that done you found your fingers drumming on the wood of the porch. There was so much work to be done. You didn't like the thought of being dependent on Rafayel, on his generosity. To survive whatever the hell was going on here. But what other choices did you have? He was suggesting you do a blackout for a reason. 

Your feet moved before your mind did. Those heavy work boots crunched on gravel, leaving a path of footprints in your wake. The trees swayed. There was no moon. Only the stars above and the distant crash of the waves guided you, though you had your phone if you needed a flashlight. You knew the rules. Always alert someone if you were going somewhere alone, especially at night. Scorpions, snakes, and other creepy crawlies were sure to say hello if you didn't watch your step.

But like a siren's call, something beckoned you to the ocean. 

Gravel gave way to dirt, which gave way to sand. The dunes rolled, echoing the tides you could hear in the distance. The soft crunch of gravel turned into the soft shift of sand, hissing and sliding with every step you took. Now in the grace of night you could wear your tank top, your necklace poking out. Resting on the top of the fabric, catching the light of the moon. The pearl is fake. You frowned as you recalled this. It really didn't matter, in fact, it was probably for the best. That way, you wouldn't have to feel too bad if something happened to it.

You walked to the edge of the water, watching the waves come to kiss the bottoms of your boots. They were waterproof, so you stepped in just a little bit more. You didn't feel like walking back with wet socks or getting stung by a scorpion, so you opted to keep your shoes on. You turned your gaze to the horizon, where the constellations vanished. These past few months had been the most tumultuous time of your life. Fred. Sean. Yennifer. Eleanor. 

Dr. C. Rafayel. You.

A heavy sigh escaped. You crouched low, letting your hand dance along the water's surface, when a distant splash caught your eye. You froze. 

Blood in the water.

You didn't move. That nightmare coming back. The siren song. The sea of red. Flame lilies. Blood. Skeleton.

Little blue fish.

A little blue fish darted towards you. You didn't dare move a muscle, watching it as it approached. It had lost all shyness, now boldly darting between your legs and around your black boots. You gaped at it, but it simply zipped in front of you before finally calming down. It seemed antsy, flitting back and forth before you.

"...hello again." You breathed. You slowly sunk your hand deeper into the water, offering it to the fish. "It's been a while." The fish flitted around your hand, but never got too close. You kept your hand exactly where it was. "I'm starting to wonder if the sea god is mad at me.' You murmured down to the fish. "All of these horrible things, all of this bad luck... And it all started with the rediscovery of Lemuria." 

It all started there. And that fateful day in the library.

Your fingers twitched, but the fish was unbothered. "Tell me. Have I done something wrong?" You looked back down at the fish. Unlike the one in your dream, this one didn't share the otherworldly glow. It was simply a little blue fish. Any fish could be an emissary of the sea god, after all. But it seemed you had a penchant for the blue ones. The fish flicked its tail, now swimming above the palm of your hand. This was the closest one had ever gotten to you. "You wouldn't get this close if I had..."

You scoffed at yourself. "What am I doing?" Some scientist you are. Talking to a damn fish. But watching it settle, moving around your hand, growing more and more comfortable by the minute... You hissed, a sharp pain tugging at the nape of your neck. The chain of the necklace had gotten caught in some hair. You didn't lift the hand the fish was so content with, fiddling with the chain with your nondominant hand. But it must not have been clasped all the way. The moment you freed it from your hair, the chain fell. You gasped and tried to move fast to catch it, but the fish was faster. You couldn't tell if it had been startle by your sudden movement or gasp, but it zipped away. And in the faint light, you could just make out the chain of your necklace being dragged along. 

You blindly groped around the water for a minute. Maybe it was the low light playing tricks on you. Maybe it was exhaustion. There's no way a fish stole the necklace. Worst case scenario the chain fell on its head and it zipped away. You stood up, squinting, hoping to see a glint of light. A reflection in the water. But even after shining your phone flashlight around, there was nothing to be seen.

You rubbed your neck, feeling bare without it all of a sudden. You were grateful the pearl was fake for this exact reason, but... that was still important to you. You slowly stood up, brushing your wet hand on your pants as you stared out at the ocean. In a place like this you were used to feeling eyes stare back. You were never really alone. "Guess you are mad at me, huh? Maybe you take offense to the fake pearl, too." You dryly joked to yourself. You turned, walking out of the water, slowly treading towards the house. The waves came in, seemingly nipping at your feet, trying to follow. But you just kept walking.

Come tomorrow, the wind and waves will have erased you from this place. But maybe, someday, some other archaeologist will find evidence of your existence in a necklace hidden under the waves.

The days were long and lonely. The nights offered little reprieve. Further discussions with Rafayel and Dr. C both led you to believe a two week blackout would be for the best. No social media, no leaving the apartment, no nothing. Food delivery only, and meal prepping with groceries delivered. Typically, this might be a dream come true. Two weeks to rest, to not have to worry about anyone but yourself. But it meant your only companion was your mind. 

That corkboard stared you down. Every time you passed by your desk those pictures would burn themselves into your mind. Their faces. The names. Ever. The people who came to the excavation. The people following you. E.D.A.S. It made your head spin.

You were just coming out of the shower when you caught your phone light up on your bed. You weren't supposed to respond, but you did peer over the screen to see who said something. Rafayel's contact photo surprised you. What was up with that? You picked up your phone, still scrunching your hair with your towel. But the second you went to open the text, it vanished.

The user has deleted this text.

You narrowed your eyes. You went into your phone and found multiple missed calls from the man, as well as multiple deleted texts.

Rafayel: ignore everything i sent u, i'm ok

You eyed your voicemail. You hesitantly tapped on the most recent one, letting it play. It was late. The buses would still be running, but not for long. Surely if something was up he'd contact someone in Whitesand, not you here in Linkon.

The audio started with rustling, like he was tossing and turning somewhere. Coupled with low groans. Your eyebrows shot up. He sounded like he was in pain. He muttered your name, breathless, gasping as if he couldn't breath. You hurriedly grabbed some outdoor clothes, throwing everything on as fast as you could. He sounded like he was in pain, and you could hardly make out what he was saying. It was an exceedingly hot night, with a lack of humidity, even down at Whitesand. You grabbed your keys and hurried out the door, flying down the stairs. You called hit number, holding your phone to your ear as you jogged straight to the bus stop. You were lucky, it was the last bus of the night.

"Hello, you've reached Rafayel's voicemail. If this is for art commissions, requests, or interviews, please reach out to my manager Thomas. If this is a personal matter, I will get back to you when I can. Leave a message after the tone. Beep!" Any other day you might find his voicemail endearing, but the fact he didn't pick up even after just texting you left you feeling more anxious. You plopping yourself in a seat, your hair still wet, in clothes you just managed to yank on before flying out the door. Your fingers trailed up to your collarbone, searching for the familiar charm. Your fingers pinched down on air, nothing in your grasp. You looked down, remembering that your necklace was gone.

You frowned, sitting back in your seat. Right. The little blue fish. The more you reflected on it, the more ridiculous it was. Did that fish steal your necklace once it fell into the water? It couldn't have. It is a fish. If anything, it got spooked off and the necklace got moved from the flick of its tail. Or it fell on the fish. It didn't take it. You slid your fingers around nothing, still searching for the reassurance of the chain or the charm itself, even knowing it was long gone. Likely buried under sand off the coast of that island somewhere. If nothing else, you hated to litter. Your mind was in a whirl. 

The bus stopped. You pulled out your phone. How had you already arrived? You didn't question it, getting up and hopping off. You typed in another number, calling someone else. You held your phone up to your ear, keeping your voice low. You were supposed to be in a blackout right now, so you still needed to be careful. The line rang a few times. You didn't have Thomas's personal contact info, so you were just hoping he might still be at Flux Arts, if you were lucky.

"Hello, you have reached Thomas at Flux Arts. If you are contacting us for-" You hung up before the answering machine could give the prerecorded spiel. Fine. You walked up to the gate of the gorgeous house, once again struck by your very different tax brackets. You peeked around, looking for some way to buzz in and let him know you're here, when the gap in the gate caught your eye. You hesitantly reached out, ready to set off an alarm as you nudged the gate. But it slowly swung open with a low groan. 

"He didn't lock the gate." You didn't know if it was his own forgetfulness or if someone else was already inside. Your heartrate skyrocketed. You opened the gate the rest of the way before shutting it behind you, your panicked footsteps reverberating on the path as you ran up to the door. You didn't bother to knock, testing the handle, and finding the door was unlocked as well. Your breath hitched. You threw the door open and went inside, shutting the door behind you as you quickly walked in.

"Rafayel?" You called his name, looking around. "It's me! You're being weird, are you okay?" The scene before you was an artistic mess. Canvases and paintbrushes lined the floor, mortars and pestles here and there with the most unique and vibrant pigments you had ever laid eyes on. One was a brilliant, unique vermilion. It made your skin crawl.

Blood in the water.

You swallowed, goosebumps crawling over your skin. You kept going in further, still calling his name as not to spook him when you found him. You poked your head into one room, then the next. And you couldn't find the artist anywhere. You found what you knew to be his bedroom, which was less of an artistic mess and more of just a flat out mess. Clothes everywhere, discarded scribbles and drawings. You pressed your lips together. Now was not the time to judge him. 

"Yandere this, tsundere that, you need to do your laund-ere." You grumbled your half assed pun as you returned to your main goal. Finding Rafayel. You knew it wasn't your place to snoop, but after looking from room to room with no sign of him you felt it was only right to keep looking. You kept your phone out, now dialing Rafayel's number again. Back in the main area you heard a tell tale buzzing, so you followed the sound until you looked at the back of the couch in the studio area.

You dropped your phone, swallowing a yell as you found him unconscious on the floor. "Rafayel!" The shout didn't rouse him, so you hurriedly came to his side. His white dress shirt was left open, revealing the many moles decorating his body, like the brightest stars in the night sky. His lips were parted, taking shallow breaths. You put a hand to his forehead. He was burning up. You knelt down, wrapping your arms around him to hoist him up the same way you did the sandbags on a site. Albeit, he was much bigger than a sand bag. You managed to get him on the couch, his eyebrows furrowing from the disturbance.

"Rafayel, Rafa? Hey, hey, it's me." You perched yourself on the corner ot the couch. He wasn't waking up or saying anything. You hurriedly stood up, grabbing your own phone again. You dialed the number for Flux Arts again. As soon as the voicemail message was done you left a brief message of your own. "Hey, Thomas, it's me. Rafayel was acting weird and I found him unconscious in his home. I'm gonna stay with him until he wakes up." You kept it brief before hanging up. You wish you knew anyone else to call. A local friend of his, a family member, someone nearby. You could call paramedics but something in you felt like that was the wrong choice. While you had your back turned to him you heard him groan again, so you quickly turned around.

Something was shimmering on his neck. You frowned, wondering how you missed it when you picked him up. You sat back down, assuming it was some art supply that got stuck to his skin. But as you looked, you saw more of them appear before your very eyes. These weren't rogue scraps of paper, or paint, or any other art supply. Rafayel's brows furrowed further, and he was breathing heavier in his sleep. 

"What...?" You felt breathless yourself. You adjusted your position beside him, leaning close enough to analyzed the shimmering objects on his skin, but not touch him. Your lips felt dry. You slowly lifted a hand, finding some of the objects on his cheek, on his neck, on his chest, arms... They were few and far between, scattered across him as he seemed to glow in the pale moonlight. The distant sound of crashing waves infiltrated his home, though they were much quieter than they normally would be. It was a low tide tonight. One the lowest of the year. You hesitated, lifting a hand. He didn't seem to like touch. He was selective with it. But you gently ran the back of your finger over his cheek, first. The objects on his skin were smooth when your finger went down, but jagged when you went up. 

"Scales?" You murmured. He lifted his face, pressing against your finger as you gently touched his warm skin. You lick your lips, shocked. You turned your eyes to his neck next, gently pressing two fingers against his pulse, against the scales on his neck. Rafayel's eyebrows furrowed further, moaning in his unconscious state. Something tugged on your heart, he seemed so uncomfortable, like he was in pain even while unconscious. Next, you gentle tapped his cheek, trying to see if that would rouse him. But the closer you looked at them, the more reality finally settled in.

The pieces slowly fell into place. His appearance at the library. His interest in Lemuria. His surprise at your perspective on archaeology. the initial hostility. He was keeping an eye on you.

While your thoughts ran wild, reality slowly settling in on you, those brilliant eyes finally opened. Relief washed over you at first, a smile crossing your face. "Rafayel, you're awake-"

"Huh?" His brows remained furrowed. He didn't fully face you. Everything in his body was coiled, taut and ready to jump. He slowly turned to look away. Your eyes softened, but you didn't chase him. You were in his home, right beside him. He had every right to be wary. 

"You called me." You explained, your voice soft. "You kept sending and deleting texts, and your voicemail... you sounded like you were in pain." Your eyes trailed down to the scales on his skin. There's no way... But your eyes turned back to him. Showing nothing but confusion and concern. "I was worried. I found you unconscious behind the couch. And these... these things, they just showed up on your skin. Do they hurt?"

"You-" He cut himself off. "You wouldn't usually be able to touch me like that, you know."

"And normally, I wouldn't." You assured him, putting your hands where he could see them in your own lap. "But, are they-"

"Shocking, isn't it?" His voice was low. Suspicious. Wary. Was that a twinge of fear? There was a slight shake to his voice, one he couldn't hide even in his fake nonchalance. "All those legends about the Lemurians, they aren't just fairytales." The confirmation was unlike anything you could have dreamed of. His hooded eyes, trained right on you, watching your every move, left only the pink in the bottoms of his eyes visible. Only the tiniest hint of blue surrounded them.

Blood in the water.

You put a hand to your head. Things were falling into place. The book. His own interest in the archaeologists that went missing. His behavior. How he acted around Ever. 

"I..." You whispered, trying to find your words. Before you sat the biggest proof of your years of work. A Lemurian. Rafayel, the Lemurian. Your heart was pounding, your stomach twisting. Was this all some sick loneliness induced dream you were about to wake up from? "I..." You reached up, trying to grasp your necklace again, but once more you remembered it belonged to the sea now. You slowly lowered your hand, grasping your own shirt instead. Wringing the fabric.

"Yeah," He quietly acknowledged your inability to say anything. "You can think of me as a lost pearl that washed up on the beach." Questions suddenly flooded your mind. Lemurians could have legged forms? Were there others? How did they feel about Lemuria being rediscovered? Were they angry at the archaeologists? Were they the reason why they're gone? Does he have a tail? Can he have a tail?

Some of the questions felt less pressing. But he still didn't seem all that present. "So..." You decided a more lighthearted question might be the most appropriate. "You do have a tail?" It seemed to somewhat work. His eyes opened a little wider, and his characteristic half scoff half laugh fell from his lips. 

"Yup." He confirmed, finally fully facing you. "Whenever I cry, my tears turn into pearls. I can kill anyone with just a song. And those scales you touched are the sharpest weapons in the world." Everything he said sounded like it was ripped straight from the Lemurian Legends book. There had been theories that the concept of sirens across multiple mythologies actually came from Lemurians, but most academics brushed it off as fairytale nonsense. 

"But that's- that's straight from the legends book." You cocked your head. Not disbelieving him, just surprised. He laughed again, his lip curling into a half smirk.

"You noticed? I guess you're not as gullible as you seem."

"No, I believe you." You corrected him. You looked at the scales on his cheek again. "May... may I touch you? Feel your forehead? You felt really warm earlier, you may have a fever."

"Don't." He jerked his head away, even though you hadn't even raised your hand. "Don't just... touch me wherever. It's rude." You quickly nodded, again keeping your hands where he could see them. He held his own hand up defensively, like he was ready to do something if you did try to touch him. "You humans truly are greedy." His voice was low, an unspoken insult hiding behind the more blatant one. "Always exploiting other species once you discover their weaknesses. Your kind are the worst." His eyes lowered, landing where the missing necklace once sat. He tilted his head.

You pressed your lips together. "I know." Your voice softened further. "Taking things that aren't ours. Taking advantage of the weak. Whether it be material culture, like your art, or..." Your lips curled downwards. "Or the people themselves. Academia, anthropology, archaeology... they haven't always been the kindest to you and your kind. They come in, take your things, harm your people, then come back claiming you were all too stupid to have done all these incredible things yourselves. You can cry pearls, make sharp weapons, and create amazing art." Your eyes were locked on his. He was looking you dead in the eye. The usual glimmer you managed to find, mirth of some kind, was gone. He was dead serious. And his eyes locked on yours made a shiver crawl down your spine. "Why would anyone want to let you, and your kind, get away?"

"Do you really want that?" His eyes were trained on yours. He was a cornered predator. Not at his full strength. Vulnerable. But still dangerous. 

"What?" You whispered.

"Master." The whisper sent another shiver down your spine. You lifted your hand, leaning back. But he caught your wrist before you could move, his eyebrows furrowing in pain. "I don't-" He groaned, holding you fast. "I don't feel so good, help." His eyes squeezed shut, clearly in pain. You licked your lips and held still.

"How can I help?" You whispered, urgency rising up again. He slowly pulled your hand closer, his eyes cracking open.

"Don't hold back." He instructed, hesitantly bringing your hand to his cheek. "Share your warmth with me." In spite of his high body temp, you knew full well it was easy to get chills while sick. If he was even sick. You hesitated as well, but with his explicit permission gently pressed your hand against his warm cheek. He sucked in a breath, letting your hand rest there before he guided it to the side of his neck. You mimicked your actions, gently touching his neck. He was clammy. He groaned, his eyes squeezing shut again for a moment, before he guided your hand down. To his collarbone. To his chest. Lower. You gasped, pulling your hand back as he tried to make it go lower still. But he held your wrist tight, wanting your hand on his skin. You yanked your wrist back.

"Your fever has gotten worse." You quickly stood, taking a step back. "I'll get an ice-" Before you could speak, he grabbed your arm again and yanked you right back down into his arms. You gasped, falling right against his chest as he clung to your wrist. Nothing about this felt threatening. He wasn't trying to pressure you- he was trying to cling to you. He was desperate for something. He clung to your hand, pulling you as close as he could with it. You knew your blade was in your back pocket. If he went too far, you could get to it in time. But he was strong. Stronger than he looked. In spite of everything in you blaring that that was a bad thing, your concern for him prevailed.

"What?" He caught your bewildered look, his eyes still trained on you. Watching. Waiting. "Don't you know the stories? Imprisoning me and keeping me as a Lemurian pet? Taking my scale so I'll make all your dreams come true? I can't even run away... do whatever you want to me." You did know the stories. Those were the ones you chalked up to being just fairytales. But the way he said it, the vitriol mixed with something harder to identify... He held your arm close, leaning in. He was in your space. His face so close to yours you could feel every breath he took. Your own breath hitched, gently tugging your arm back.

"No, no, I don't want that." You gently assured him. "You deserve better than that."

His eyes brightened. Though only for a moment. His eyes shifted to the hand in his grasp, looking at it closely. "Aren't you curious about the Lemurians? Come closer if you want to know more." The bait was set. You were curious, no doubt. You had been taught to always listen to the community. And if you were ever going to engage in Lemurian Archaeology again, you needed the insight of the community you now know for a fact exists. So you carefully shuffle closer to him on the couch. He accepted your answer, still staring at your hand. "Every year, there's a day when the ride in low, and it flows in the opposite direction. It's when the Lemurians are at their weakest." He pulled your hand closer, nuzzling his face against it.

"Even the most feeble human can kill us once they know of this." Your breath hitched again. You slowly relaxed your hand, fingers twitching with reluctance before gently resting against his forehead. The sound you made caught his attention. His eyes darted up and settled on your face, even as you gently stroked a lock of hair away from his face. "If you want to push me away, kill me even... I can't stop you." 

Your eyes widened. "No, Rafayel-" You looked down. His shirt hung open, allowing you to feel the waves of heat radiating off of him. "I can practically feel the heat radiating off of you. Are you really okay? Do I need to take you to the doctor?" The question felt foolish the moment it fell out of your mouth. Of course you shouldn't, who would you even call? Who would know how to help a Lemurian without handing them over to become test subjects somewhere? Rafayel scoffed, finally releasing your hand and leaning back on the couch. With a bit more personal space back you sat up straight, watching as he glared off into the distance.

"You don't know how dangerous this is, do you? You still have time to care for someone else." The blatant call out made your face flush red in embarrassment. This was certainly not the time to admit to anything. But he kept talking. "Not all characters in fairytales live happily ever after. Maybe the mermaid set a trap from the very beginning... in order to take the sailor's life." Your breath hitched again.

You knew, in this story, you were the sailor. "Then, the library, when we met..."

"The fear in your eyes tells me that you're regretting coming here. Am I right?" He cut you off. You took it as a silent agreement. You licked your lips. The blade was burning a hole in your back pocket. He wasn't holding onto you anymore. He wasn't moving as fast. He caught you off guard once, but not again. But you took a deep breath.

"No. If you actually wanted to kill me, you wouldn't have waited. You had me alone on multiple occasions." You watched his face, eyes locked on his. "You're not feeling well. We can finish this conversation in the morning if you're more coherent. I'll stay here until you get better." His eyes widened. He didn't seem to expect that response. "Rafayel. I'm sure you have every reason to be wary of me due to my occupation and the fact I'm a human. But I will do everything in my power to never hurt you."

He watched you. You slowly lifted a hand, hovering it over his cheek, but not touching him. He made the connection himself, nuzzling into it. "Promise?"

"Promise."

"Then you can stay, at least until the sun rises." He pressed his head against your hand as hard as he could, nuzzling into it, rubbing his nose against your wrist. He shifted, slowly trying to lie down on the couch. You moved around with him, sitting down and making yourself as small as you could in the very corner. But it didn't seem to bother him. He laid down, putting his head in your lap as his breathing slowly began to even out. You moved your hand from his cheek to his forehead. Fever was still there, it didn't seem to improve or get worse, which was a relief of its own. 

"Sleep well." You murmured. You doubted you'd get any sleep of your own. Your mind was swimming with questions that demanded to be answered. Did he have a hand in the disappearances? Did he know who did? Were you next for finding out his secret? But as your eyes settled on his face, contorted in a fitful sleep, you couldn't find it in you to be angry. The questions would be answered. In the morning, once the sun rose.

The crashing of the waves and the caw of seagulls engulfed the room. The soft, warm light of morning caused you to stir. The crick on your neck reminded you of where you had finally managed to fall asleep, your head leaned back at an awkward angle on the back of the couch. As your eyes slowly adjusted to the sunlight beaming in, you found a blue blanket draped over you. You blinked, bleary eyed. The paintbrushes and messes sprawled across the room were the reminder you needed for your location. You inhaled, stretching your arms over your head. The blanket fell off your shoulders, so when you stood up you grabbed it off your lap as well. You folded it nicely.

Unsteady footsteps brought you to the kitchen, where you could hear soft humming. The sizzle of the food in the various pans met you as you paused in the entryway of the kitchen.

Rafayel stood there, his back to you. Looking at his skin it appeared all the scales from last night were gone. A part of you wanted to call the whole thing a dream, but the fact you woke up in Rafayel's house to begin with suggested otherwise. You took a step in, causing him to pause and turn around. His eyes revealed he was a little tired, likely from his fitful rest the night before. Other than that, he looked and sounded like he was back to his normal self.

"I said you could stay until sunrise, y'know. It's morning now." He used a utensil to point out a window, the morning sun illuminating everything as far as the eye could see. "I'm fine now."

"I can see that." You approached slowly, not sure how welcome you were at the moment. "I can go, I just wanted to ask a few questions."

"Not sure I can answer all of them, but sure, shoot." He shrugged nonchalantly, going back to his cooking. You looked down, noticing he had set aside two bowls.

"I'll start with the most important ones, then." You nodded, leaning against a nearby counter to watch him. "First off. Last night was real, right?" He didn't respond with words, a soft hum being your only confirmation. "Okay. So... you're a Lemurian. How much do you know about the missing archaeologists?"

He paused. His muscles didn't tense, he didn't freak out. He just looked over his shoulder at you. Smiling. "More than I acted, less than you think."

"Okay." It wasn't the answer you were looking for, but it bled into your next question. You pushed yourself off the counter, taking a few steps closer to him. "Was a Lemurian behind their disappearance, or is it Ever?" Even that didn't seem to catch him off guard. He began to serve the two bowls, filling it with the best looking seafood porridge you had seen in your life. 

"Ever." He confirmed. 

"I knew it." You slapped your thigh, looking away sharply. "We need to alert the authorities, we need to-"

"We need to eat something." He thrust the bowl against your chest, making you quickly take it. "But you're right. Ever dumped some old weapons at the site, so when the archaeologists found them, they hunted them down." 

"If you know this, that means you were watching them, too." It came out more accusatory than you intended. You inhaled sharply, and got a whiff of the porridge. You hesitantly sat down, taking the provided utensil to begin eating. "I'm sorry, that came out worse than I intended. I just meant it neutrally. I can't say I blame you."

Rafayel leaned against the counter, watching you as you began to eat. His bangs were pulled to the side. You could see his face better. He was beautiful, truly beautiful. It was no wonder there were so many myths and legends surrounding Lemurians, mermaids, and sirens if they were all based on him and his people. "Yeah, but they weren't the only ones." He tilted his head, a smile creeping up on him. "I was keeping an eye on you and Dr. C, too."

"You really shouldn't be telling me this." You huffed. "Was that the real reason why you were at the library?"

"No, I had no idea who you were. You just had the book I needed. But I put two and two together while we were talking, and figured you might be important, too. But you really surprised me." He took a bite of his own food. You were eating slowly as he spoke, nodding along. "The whole work for the community bit is cute, y'know?"

"Cute?" You shook your head at his word choice. "I get it. You have every right to doubt me. But I'm serious. I knew there had to be people behind Lemuria, and I'm admittedly not surprised they aren't humans. What... what are you gonna do about Lemuria?"

"So long as Ever doesn't want the weapons found, they'll do the dirty work for me, keeping people away." He shrugged. "Buuuut, when those two idiots followed you to that excavation to try and hire some of you... They're up to something."

"I'll put money on it that they're trying to hire archaeologists they can bribe into destroying or hiding evidence." You grumbled. "Right up their alley."

"That's where you come in, cutie." He pointed his spoon at you. He put it and the bowl down, holding up his fingers in a frame as if he was about to take a picture of you. "You wanna work with the community? Here's your chance. You'll be our archaeologist, helping us keep Ever away." You leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest.

"And how do you expect me to do that? I don't have the kind of big name that'll get me recognition, and as much as I'd love the authorities to help, they'd easily be bought off. They've already done it before in court, messing with evidence back when they dumped all of this stuff."

"That's where I come in." He squinted, getting the angle just right between his fingers. "I don't expect you to do it alone. We'll work together on this." He flexed his thumb, as if he was capturing the picture of you. He dropped his hands, pulling a small box out of his pocket. "Think fast." He threw it, and luckily you caught it. You looked down at the box in confusion. You slowly began to open it, finding a folded piece of paper and a chain inside. You pulled it up. "You told me that old necklace of yours was a momento from college, a sign of how far you've come." As he spoke, the charm caught your eye. A brilliant pearl, shining in the light. A wire tail was wrapped around it, connecting it to the matching chain. You slowly slid your thumb over it, your eyes locked on it. "A little fishy told me you needed a new one." Rafayel approached you from your side, extending a hand. You gently placed the chain in his hand. He undid the clasp, wrapping it around your neck so the charm dangled between your collarbones.

"Lemuria's been found." He murmured beside your ear. "Now, help protect it." 

You rested your palm over the charm. It was cool against your skin. You whipped your head around, flustered by how close Rafayel was to your face as you did so. But you held his gaze, steadfast, ready. "What can I do?"

"What you've been doing all along." He smiled, tugging on the chain playfully. "Listening to the community. Warning others in your field about Ever. Sticking up for us. For me." He kept his eyes locked on yours. You watched those eyes, the brilliant setting sun melting into the waves. The warm red and cool blue melting and intertwining. You slowly nodded your head. You two were so close. You could feel his breath on your face, see individual eyelashes. 

"I can do that." You murmured. He truly was a work of art. "May I ask one more question?"

"Sure."

"Last night. All the-" You turned red just thinking about it. The words on the tip of your tongue. "The affection. Is that something that always happens that day of the year, or..." Rafayel's cheeks and ears bloomed a bright red. There was no staying cool this time around. He looked away, his bottom lip jutting out.

"Nevermind, I take it back, no. You can't ask me another question." He crossed his arms, leaning away from you. You exhaled a laugh. 

"Noooo, no taking it back! I just," You rubbed the back of your neck. "You weren't acting like yourself. Or, at least the you I know. You're just- it feels like you're always hiding something, other than the obvious." You gestured to him. "I just... I just want to be clear. On the same page." You finally said it. "Was your behavior last night because you're attracted to me?" He appeared even more caught off guard by how upfront you were. The red only deepened, and his lips parted as if he was about to protest. But he sighed.

"Fine. Yes. On ebb day we seek the comfort of our mate, or whoever we are interested in." He refused to look at you as he said it, his eyes trained anywhere and everywhere else. "I didn't mean to spam you like some horny teenager."

"You didn't, you weren't feeling well." You stood up, joining him. The pearl he gifted you glinted in the light, making him crack an eye open to peer at it. "You needed some companionship. Rafayel, I..." You sucked in a breath. "I want to help you. And I want to see where this goes. We come from two different worlds, in just about every meaning of the phrase. But I promise you, I'll listen. I'll be here for you. I won't hurt you." You lifted your hand, holding it near his face, but not touching him. The silent invitation extended. His eyes trailed from your face to your hand. Wariness. Anger. Fear. All that and more flickered through his eyes faster than you thought possible. But the invitation was accepted as he gently pressed his cheek into your hand, closing his eyes.

"Promise?" He murmured.

"Promise." You whispered back.

The seagulls cried in the distance, and the crash of the waves provided a soulful song to be the background music. And somewhere in the ocean, a little blue fish hid away a necklace with a fake pearl among the ruins of a once great empire.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Settlement: Kaelvalon, Throne of the Once and Never King

Artsource 1 Artsource 2

Despite it’s dusty summers, muddy winters, and reputation for being a brutish backwater among other inhabitants of the kingdom, the rugged province of Drigveria holds a beauty and dignity all its own. This is no better exemplified by the province’s capital of Kaelvalon, which presides over the surrounding wilderness like a gemstone emerging from course rock.

Built as a safehold during an age of monsters and warlords by the hero Kaelrik, this sturdy bastion and the town that surrounds it is the best place in the badlands for a group of adventurers to find work, shelter, and a few homey comforts before setting out on their next expedition.

Who’s Hiring: 

Increasing dangers on the road lead a pair of ambitious merchants to hire the party as escorts, bringing them into conflict with the corrupt soldiers who’re supposed to be in charge of keeping the roads safe. 

Early in their travels the party will meet a royal surveyor looking to explore the rugged terrain of the province’s wilds. A good friend to have, if you don’t mind the espionage he’s doing on the side. 

An ambitious noble wants the party to search the skeleton of a titanic dragon to find the fabled weapon that killed it. He’ll pay well, and absolutely won’t betray them. 

While visiting the market the party see an acolyte of the goddess Istus telling fortunes, when she divines for them, she demands they make pilgrimage to a temple in the mountains, a temple it’s rumoured to be impossible to reach. 

Rumours of arcane artifacts lead the party to an isolated orcish village built in a crumbled wizard’s tower. To win their favour, the party must investigate why one of their traders has gone missing in human lands. 

The ruler of Kaelvalon, the Marquess Talmis Younge, has a problem. Or rather, three problems that are going to make eachother infinitely worse. The first is that she’s trapped in a loveless marriage to a man named Selvin who she dare not divorce for fear of angering some of her most vital bannermen. The second is that she’s having an affair with an orc named Irgyr, who happens to be one of the clan leaders of her people’s traditional enemies. The third is that after years of “diplomatic meetings” with the clan leader, she’s fallen pregnant with her lover’s child, and the due date is approaching. She doesn’t want to give up the child, but giving birth to a halforc out of wedlock will be all the fodder Selvin needs to raise support and oust her from power.   Perhaps the party could be convinced to look into her husband’s dealings, if they can expose or fabricate his involvement in some kind of treason or illegality, she’ll be able to break from him before shit hits the fan.  

From the statue in the town square to the toasts still raised in his name, the legacy of the hero  Kaelrik’s looms large in the heart of Drigveria’s people even centuries after his death. Once merely a wandering adventuer, Kaelrik’s dauntless defence of the innocent in an age of war saw him hailed as a hero and later crowned as king of a fledgeling realm. 

All legends must end though, and after defeating warlords, wizards, and the challenges of the wilderness itself, Kaelrik gave his life plunging into an ancient dragon’s maw to impale its heart upon his blade. 

Or at least, this time he did. 

Beyond his own bravery and skill, one of the keys to Kaelrik’s success was his relationship with a woman named Nyramie, an oracle of Istus: goddess of fate. What began with duty and fellowship blossomed into love, and each time Kaelrik went into battle he would act upon Nyramie’s divinations, however impossible they might seem, to seek the best outcome for the people they protected. 

The last time he came to her, Nyramie wept. The goddess had revealed to her Kaelrik’s ultimate fate and the oracle broke, at once faithful to her patron’s plan and raging at the betrayal, the years of hardship and sacrifice and the future they had hoped to share all snatched away by divine edict. Contradiciton met miraculous power and Nyramie’s heartbreak fractured time; one outcome where she stayed silent and left Kaelrik to his fate, and another where she forged a destiny defying artifact in the form of a jagged red crystal. While holding it Kaelrik would be able to see all possibilities that led toward his victory, and would be able to survive his clash with the otherwise invincible wyrm. 

What Nyramine could have never predicted was what would happen to Kaelrik once untethered from his fate and given a tool that would provide such easy answers. His victories mounted and his kingdom spread, as he became a warlord to rival and then exceed any of those he’d fought. A desperate fight for survival turned into a quest for supremacy, and when the borders of his dominion were secure, Kaelrik’s ambitions turned intward. He was as fearsome a king as he was a hero, and he ruled for centuries thanks to his elven blood and Nyramie’s gift, becoming crueler as time and necessity hardened his heart. 

Eventually his subjects had enough, the outer reaches of his kingdom rising in rebelion and descending upon his capital of Kaelvalon with such force that there was no possibility for Kaelrik or his loyalists could fight his way out. No possibility, save the one the crystal showed him where he used its power to pass across the divide of time, to the fork where he had never established his kingdom. It required great and terrible sacrifice, but he managed it… and at some pivotal moment, Kaelrik the once and never king will emerge into the province of Drigveria through a crimson gate along with his legion, and will set about building his kingdom anew. 

Future Adventures: 

Chronal anomalies will begin popping up in the prelude to Kaelrik’s arrival. Strange red lighting storms, artifacts from the other timeline drifting through, to say nothing of the various extraplanear entities that might be attracted by such disturbances. 

Kaelrik’s emergence happens shortly after Talmis has given birth to her child, posing a direct threat to her legitimacy as a ruler and giving her detractors one HELL of a symbol to rally around. The once and never king is all too happy to embrace these new supporters, overjoyed to find a populace that adores him the same way they adored his younger self. Add to this his distrust of the orcs of Felstar’s Faultering, who turned out to be one of the factions that rebelled against him first. 

To defeat Kaelrik, the party will need to lay their hands on the presentworld mirror of his objects of power: his crown ( in Talmis’s possession), his sword (lost in the dragon’s skeleton), and his crystal (buried in the heart of the impossible to reach temple of Istus). When these items are assembled not only will they give the party an edge in combat against him, but they will also (at the right hour, we’re in full prophecy territory here) summon the ghost of Sydagul, the dragon that was to be Kaelrik’s doom in the first place. Queue the party fighting on top of a castle against an extratemporal tyrant while a skeletal dragon the size of a mountain bears down on them. 

If you’re considering what to do for your next adventure arc, consider having all the temporal shenanigans unleashed by Kaelrik’s meddling attract the cannibalistic god of entropy, who’s cult is liable to start popping up in those continuity-orphaned soldiers who’ll flee to the hinterlands when their boss bites the dust. 

[blueiscoool]

Huge Roman 'Jigsaw' Reveals 2,000-Year-Old Wall Paintings

Archaeologists have pieced together thousands of fragments of 2,000-year-old wall plaster to reveal remarkable frescoes that decorated a luxurious Roman villa.

The shattered plaster was discovered in 2021 at a site in central London that's being redeveloped, but it's taken until now to reconstruct this colossal jigsaw puzzle.

The frescoes are from at least 20 walls of the building, with beautifully painted details of musical instruments, birds, flowers and fruit.

The art is revealing more about the affluence of the area where they were found - described by the team as the "Beverly Hills of Roman London".

There are also clues about who the artists were: one fragment is scored with the Latin word Fecit, which means "has made this" - but the piece where the name should be is missing.

The Museum of London Archaeology (Mola) team still hope the vital piece will be found as they sift through the fragments.

"It's one of the biggest - if not the biggest - assemblages of Roman wall plaster and paintings we've ever found in Roman London," said Han Li from Mola.

The largest of the frescoes, measuring about 5m by 3m, has a lower section of pale pink, dotted with specks of paint to imitate marble. Above are rich yellow panels with soft green borders.

The wall paintings are adorned with candelabras, stringed instruments called lyres, white cranes and a delicate daisy.

There's also what appears to be a bunch of grapes, but archaeobotanists believe that this is a plant that grows locally - mistletoe.

"That is actually quite interesting for me, because you're seeing that the Roman painters are taking a classical idea and they're very much putting their own North West European, or local, twist on it. I think that's magnificent," says Han Li.

He spent many months with the jumble of plaster, meticulously examining each piece to put together what he describes as "the world's most difficult jigsaw puzzle".

The fragility of the ancient fragments made this even more of a challenge.

"You have to be very careful because you can only assemble the pieces a small number of times before the plaster starts to be damaged and it flakes off," he said.

"So you have to be quite sure before you join the pieces that this is the piece that may fit."

The Romans founded London in AD43, and the villa was built soon after, dating to the first or second century when the new city was growing rapidly.

The archaeologists think this grand building may have been home to a wealthy family or a hotel for rich travellers passing through Londinium.

They've been comparing the frescoes to others found across Britain and Europe, and they believe they were created by a group of highly skilled painters who travelled the Roman empire.

"They've come to Roman London where there was a building boom, with many houses and many buildings going up that required painting. And they went around essentially taking on huge commissions of work," said Han Li.

"It's amazing to imagine that their work is now again visible to us 2,000 years later."

The artists' exact identity however will remain elusive until the missing fragment bearing their names is found.

The plaster was found in Southwark, just south of the Thames. A stunning mosaic and Roman cemetery were also unearthed at the site, which was being excavated in preparation for a new development.

This location, outside of the central hub of Roman London, is also revealing more about how the city was spreading out.

"There was this thriving, bustling settlement quite early on in the Roman period, and it's almost the kind of wealthy suburb - the Beverly Hills of Roman London," said Andrew Henderson-Schwartz from Mola.

"And what this shows is that the Romans are committing to London. They're investing in London, and they're seeing it as a place to settle in, a place to stay. It's not just a kind of provincial outpost."

There's still much to discover from the fresco fragments, helping archaeologists reconstruct the story of the UK's rich Roman history.

By Rebecca Morelle and Alison Francis.

[veebeeboo109]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{The past you have lost.}

Read on ao3. Part One.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Violence

Chapter 20: The Story Erased

Dimensions are funny. They don’t have distinct shapes. Not spheres or ellipses. Their edges are not so easily defined, and as they float in a vacuous void they sometimes align. Intersect. They mingle. Tickling at each other with the edges of the undefined borders.

On the edge of creation itself, dimensions get funnier. More absurd. The timelines written and fates unfold in ways that don’t make sense. Absurd in every way– the words unreadable even to the author. 

It’s in this peripheral timeline that your past lies. Nestled in an indefinable polygonal universe where myths and stories overlap like the plaited upper crust of an apple pie.

The planet of your birthplace is a scorched, war-torn place. The surface is covered in vast towering forests filled with deep, ancient magic and monstrous creatures. Oceans with gluttonous waves that only the very bravest dare to sail lest they be swallowed up by its wrathful gods. Expanding deserts of scorching sand are broken up by wide rivers, giving birth to lush fertile valleys. 

Kingdoms rise and fall. Settlements and villages claim to be under the protection of kings are flattened and raided by insurgent clans. All vying for control of the planet. Powerful people willing to destroy the land beneath their feet, and then lose the people who would serve them if it means they get to sit on the throne. 

Zayne has been fleeing this war his whole life. Running from the call of the deity he is blood-bound to serve. Only through magic and arcane arts has he found some semblance of sanctuary. Through years of hard work and isolation, he’s carved out a place, safe from the plundering, the fighting, the brutality. 

A large hollow on the inside of a mountain. A cavernous space with only two entrances– one that is shadowed and hidden by an illusion deep within a darkened forest. And the other, only escapable through miles and miles of tunnels that leads out on the other side to a desert.

There are little vents, barely the size of a goat that leads up to the surface, letting beams of light in. Well-placed crystals reflect that light to bounce around and illuminate the vast cavern. 

There are pools along the southern side of the cavern for water, and enough exposed soil to have a garden. Zayne intends to spend the rest of his life hiding here. He uses magic to build himself a house. A single room cottage is just enough for him. That’s all he needs. He has to remind himself at least once a day. This is all he needs. 

But there’s some thread woven in the fabric of his soul that seeks to help others. He’s strong. He’s capable. The power he wields could save lives, and this haven he’s found could keep them safe for generations. 

So, he begins to plan. He carves runes into walls of the cavern, plies them with magic to make this place undetectable. To make it firm. Unmoveable. Unfindable. He uses the gift of foresight that he had thought lost to him to find his first group to save. 

Master of Fate. Foreseer. They call him names of fables and legends. A man who comes at the perfect time and brings them to his sanctuary. His little house is paired with others. His cavern becomes a settlement, and the plain folk work to make this place safe from the world outside. 

You stumble into his sanctuary one cold winter day, wrapped in a thin cloak and shoeless. You are with a small group of refugees, uprooted by a recent series of razes by a group of barbarians. Your village has been destroyed, and any family that you may have had is long gone. 

Zayne greets your group as he does all of them. Informs you of how things work in this place, and how to best put their skills to use. You don’t even look at him, shivering beneath the ochre colored threadbare cloak. He sees your shivering shoulders, your bare nearly frostbitten toes and something twists in his chest. 

He reaches out to you, offers to help you. He wraps your feet in bandages and speaks gently to you. He tells you that he can find you some shoes, and come spring, there will be enough hides to make some new ones. 

When you finally meet his eyes, Zayne feels his fate settle into place. Sealed with hot wax and pressed with the imprint of your fingerprint.

He doesn’t indulge in the desire to be close to you, no matter how much it may nag at home. However, you are not one to deny yourself, and you follow him. You follow him around like a kitten, padding behind him on your misfitting shoes one of the other women gave to you. 

You help him with his chores. You mimic the movements of his hands when he reinforces the magic that protects this place. You ask him what the symbols in the books mean, and he realizes you’re illiterate. 

Zayne resigns himself to his fate. His fate that results with the two of you sitting up late into the night, his little cottage illuminated with a single tallow candle and a small fire in the heart. He shows you the symbols you were so curious about, and gives you passages to practice until you’re reading with ease. 

Next comes the magic. The runes that he writes are an unnameable language, and they’re impossible to understand for someone without the gift of magic. You don’t understand it, but the runes still light up for you. It’s like watching someone pick up an instrument they’ve never touched before and play. It’s sloppy, but it works. The music you play when you write the runes doesn’t have to make sense to you, but the intention remains. And it’s strong. 

Unwittingly, you become secondary to Zayne. When you walk along the paths of the settlement, people associate you with him. They respect you, they adore you. They thank you for helping and offer you things like a deity receiving offerings.You deny them all, happy to help. 

It’s a sign of peace, when children get into mischief. Stories and rumors that spread through little lips to little ears mean they feel safe enough to make up nonsense. 

The story of one of the pools being haunted reaches your ears, and you tell Zayne the outlandish tale some of the children bestowed to you. That a shadow lives in the heart shaped pool at the very edge of the cavern. It pulled one of the teenagers into the depths when they’d started throwing rocks at it, and they have a bite mark on their leg from it!

Zayne gives you a disbelieving look before he turns his attention back to the mortar and pestle. Grinding beetle thoraxes into a mush to add to a poultice he’s been working on. He makes a comment that children can be creative and returns to his work. 

A few weeks later and more stories of the heart shaped pool, and your curiosity finally gets the better of you. You go to the pool, expecting a large fish or even a trapped seal– so you bring some dried fish with you. 

There is indeed a shadow in the pool. Swirling around in its inky depths, barely illuminated by a refracted beam from a crystal nearby. This is one of those that goes unfathomably deep, and you see the long, serpentine shadow spin around the limited space. 

You keep a few feet away from the edge and toss a dried fish onto the water’s surface. The desiccated carcass of the mackerel floats and sends tiny ripples across the crystal surface. You sit down onto your knees and wait, watching it float lazily until thwip! Faster than lightning the fish is snatched and the surface of the water is barely disturbed. 

With glee in your heart, you toss another. And watch as that one is snatched too. When you throw the third, it’s snatched but then tossed back at you. Hitting you squarely in the face with a wet, fishy slap.

Aghast, you stand and go to the edge of the water, and that is where you meet Rafayel. 

He’s an agitated thing. Hissing at you that you and the rest of your lot should be bowing to him. That he is the god of the tides and the swells!

You note that he’s in a little pool, and so he’s not the god of much right now. He splashes you with a wave that nearly knocks you off your feet and disappears beneath the water. 

You return to Zayne soaking wet, and you see the dark haired man laughing at you with his eyes. 

It takes you another month to convince the god of the tides to speak to you again. More mackerel is offered as well as some berries you’d found while out in the forest recently. The summer had made them fat and sweet, and Rafayel devoured them ravenously. 

You go to the pool once a day, in the evenings before bed. And eventually, Rafayel is there to meet you. Resting on the edge of the pool with his head on his crossed arms. He pesters you constantly, teasing you for dressing too plainly and for the lack of berries when you don’t bring any. 

He talks of his kingdom. A wondrous, luminous civilization at the bottom of the ocean untouched by the wars and desolation above for centuries. Only recently as the pollution begun to reach their waters, and Rafayel had set out to find its source. To recon and return. However, he got stuck. A leviathan chased him to these pools and in the battle that hollowed out this cavern decades ago, it sealed him inside. 

You don’t know if you believe his tale, because it would mean Rafayel has been here far longer than Zayne. That this sanctuary was carved by happenstance in a battle of deities. What an outlandish fable!

Late in the summer, when the heat has reached its peak, a band of armed soldiers comes rushing into your sanctuary. Some of the plain folk panic, because they recognize the colors of their cloaks and the sigils on their golden armor. 

Zayne intervenes, and the soldiers fall at his feet to beg for sanctuary. They have defected from their king and seek only peace. Peace, and aid for the one they carry on a rudimentary stretcher.

The man lies unconscious, heavily bleeding and his wounds poorly tended to. The sight of his ashen pallor makes your stomach twist, and you’re promising aid before Zayne can stop you. 

The Prince of Philos. That’s what the people whisper as you lead the knights and their unconscious ward to a tent. The others who usually tend to the wounded refuse to help you. They refuse to help him. The young man who’s the heir to the throne of a kingdom so hell bent on owning this planet that they’d sooner see it destroyed than in someone else’s hands. 

But a man shouldn’t suffer for the sins of his father, that’s what you tell yourself at least. You’re not a healer by any means, but Zayne has books and you’ve seen enough of war to know how to clean a wound. How to sew up separated flesh. How to wrap it tight, but not too tight. You know what infection smells like and how hot a body can get before it dies. 

Xavier is tough, and you learn his name when he wakes up on the third day. It’s a brief moment of clarity and he thinks he’s dead for the majority of it. In whisper-soft tones, he asks if you’re an angel, and you laugh and tell him no. 

It’s five days of tending to Xavier before Rafayel can’t take it anymore, and shows up at your door with a furrowed brow and human legs and demands to know where you’ve been. 

Overcoming the shock of his altered form is one thing, but he’s also very very naked. He scoffs at you when you try to cover him with a blanket, but eventually you're able to get to cover himself with one of your old cloaks. He wraps it around his waist and ties it, like it’s a favor he’s doing for you and not basic modesty. 

Rafayel is not pleased that you’ve been neglecting your daily visits to play sick nurse. He’s very nonchalant about the sorry state of the prince, nudging him with his foot and scoffing at him. He tells you it’s a waste of time, and that you’d have a much better time if you spent it with him. 

You make your disdain for such talk plain. Telling this so-called god that if he has no care in his heart for the wounded then he should return to his pools and stay there. You have no interest in spending time with such callous people. 

Rafayel huffs and leaves your tent, but he’s back in less than an hour. He plops himself down next to you, giving you the silent treatment for the remainder of the afternoon but sighing heavily. 

Eventually he starts to help you, bringing in washbasins of water to clean Xavier’s wounds, and even helping you apply some poultices and bandages. Even though he complains about it, Rafayel’s work is perfect and gentle. He whines about helping clean Xavier’s hair, but still holds the prince’s head with a cradling touch. 

Zayne visits often, and has to, on multiple occasions bring you to bed to prevent you from sleeping on the floor of the healing tent. He carries you some nights, and other nights Rafayel does. 

It’s not clear when Zayne’s house because your house too, and foggier still when it became Rafayels. The sea god returns to his pool often, but many nights he can be found next to you– claiming a necessity for body heat even in the midst of summer. 

It’s a full month before Xavier is lucid, and you’re not sure how to interact with him when he’s awake. He’s a quiet man. Soft-spoken but not docile in the slightest. He takes what you’ve done for him very seriously, and when he’s able to get out of bed, the first thing he does is kneel before you. 

There’s sweat on his brow from the pain of such movement, but determination set in his cerulean eyes. Then and there he swears his life to yours. Your sword. Your shield. His life is your, for you have spared him and brought him back from the brink of oblivion. 

It’s a lot to absorb. Being at the central point of such dedication makes you a little dizzy, and you try to deny him at first, but what’s done is done. The oath has been made. The exchange signed in blood. He is yours– now, and forever. 

The armored soldiers that had brought Xavier into the sanctuary have incorporated into the settlement well. They have joined in hunts for meat and game, and take turns in shifts guarding the entrance.When they hear Xavier has risen, they rush to his side. 

Xavier promptly informs them that their fealty now lies with you. You are their master, and it is up to you to decide what to do with them. Xavier is no longer a prince. No longer their liege. He is just a man– and he smiles softly like a man with sudden airy freedom when he says those words. 

After talking with Zayne, he appoints them to the rotation of guard and hunters. Letting them decide where they are most comfortable. This is a sanctuary– people should be free to do as they wish. Though, when Zayne tries to suggest Xavier join the watch or the patrols, the fair haired man informs the Foreseer that he will remain at your side. The others can protect the sanctuary, and he will protect you. 

Zayne consents to your new sworn shield, a part of his heart soothed by the idea that you have protection when he’s not there. For so long, it had just been the two of you. From dawn til dusk you were by his side, but it is as he feared. You are radiant. And all who come into contact cannot help but be drawn to your light. He was bound to have to share eventually. 

But you always return to him. At the end of the day it is his house you come back to. New rooms have been added on, and there is more space than there once was, but you always find him. Share meals with him. Share stories of the friends you’ve made and the antics the sea god and prince get into. 

Xavier and Rafayel pose issues for the sanctuary, in Zayne’s mind. They are powerful, and their loyalty is to you. There is nothing to guarantee that they would come to the sanctuary’s aid if it came under attack. This unsettles him slightly, wondering if– should the sanctuary somehow pose a risk to your life, what actions would your new companions take? 

It takes almost a year before Zayne opens up to the others. Before he offers to break bread with them and offers them more than a few words of conversation. Xavier is strikingly intelligent, and they share an affinity for the written word. Xavier’s knowledge of politics aids in Zayne’s management of the sanctuary, and, eventually, Zayne calls Xavier his friend– and not just your guard. 

Rafayel takes offense at the rudimentary way the sanctuary has been set up. No thought at all to the aesthetic or design of it all. When Zayne informs him of its utilitarian nature, the sea deity scoffs and says that it is fine. He is here now and can make this place as lovely as it deserves to be. 

Time and care is put into this place by all of them. Altered in ways like a signature, molded around their overlapping desire to keep this place hidden, safe, and self-sufficient. 

Men of great power seem incapable of leaving no trace. Something indelible in the way they walk. Footsteps branded into the earth leaving behind folklore and fable. Tales of heroism and danger to both teach and delight the young and the old. 

It is another story. A rumor. That brings the fourth of your lovers to your side. Like the whispers of Rafayel’s pool that drew you to him in the first place, another round of hushed stories told by the youth is spread. 

This time, the children whisper of the tunnel– the gully, as the plain folk name it. Carved once by a long winding river that cut through this place but has long since dried. It runs for miles and miles beneath this mountain and beyond, leading to the desert.

They say that there is a beast in there. Lying in wait in the darkness, waiting for the unfortunate day that the sanctuary is breached and the people try to escape. Maw opened and waiting for the people to run inside and swallow them whole. 

When you hear one of the older teenagers spooking the young ones with this far off tale, you interrupt them. Telling them no such beast exists, and that there is nothing in the gully. Nothing but darkness. They should be ashamed of scaring the children like that, and you promptly send them to the shallow pools to do laundry as punishment. 

Though, you hear it again. The group who tends to the gardens speak of rumblings. Vibrations beneath their very feet when they grow close to the gulley’s entrance. Could it be? The hydra come back once more? Waiting until it is strong enough to devour the lot of them?

You ask Rafayel, and he laughs at you. That hydra is long dead. Each and every head severed and rotted beneath the soil, giving nutrition to the very food you eat now.

Curiosity gets the better of you once again, and you venture to the mouth of the gully. It’s hard to find a time when you’re not being followed by Xavier or Rafayel– or both, but the very wee hours of the morning you have some time. 

Standing at the mouth of the gulley, you feel the vibrations beneath your feet. Not large, barely discernible, but there. The softest of rumblings and it’s rhythmic– like breathing. 

You come back the next morning, and it’s still there. Though sometimes, it gets stronger. Like something taking in a large inhale and exhaling. Snoring, maybe. Whatever it is, it’s large. Large enough to make the very earth around you tremble with its sleepy breath. 

You voice your concerns to Zayne. Something is in the gully, you tell him. Something big. Zayne gives you a look and laughs softly, telling you not to believe the excited tales of children. 

It’s nearly autumn, and there are herds of animals that traverse the forest. Grand hunts are planned with every capable hand being forced to attend. The sanctuary cannot waste this opportunity for a feast of game. The meat alone is undeniably precious, but the pelts. The bones. Every part of the animal is needed to get through another winter comfortably. 

So, you wait until the men have gone. They’ve brandished their bows and their arrows and set out. Xavier leaves you with his blade, and Rafayel with a scale. Telling you not to be foolish and that they will be gone for only a week. Zayne goes too, relying on you to keep the magic in place in his stead. A large honor and a show of his respect and trust in your abilities. 

The gulley is pitch black. There is no light reflected past the first ten feet, and so you wield an orb of starlight in your palm. A simple spell that Zayne taught you and Xavier helped you perfect. But it’s like the gulley swallows it, the light only emanating barely past your body. 

You call out softly, Hello? You whisper to the darkness and the darkness replies. A low, rumbling growl of warning. It rattles the walls around you, pebbles from disrupted earth falling from the ceiling. 

You press on, because you must. And you come up on a fiend. A beast of ebony and crimson. Resting curled like a cat, with its tail around its armored back. Thick as a soldier’s shield and sharper than any steel. A dragon lifts its head and bares its teeth at you, and the heat of its breath hits you like a flame. 

In your utter terror, the light in your palm vanishes, sending you both into the darkness.

By the time you scramble to conjure another, there is a man in place of the best. No longer sitting curled as wide as the gulley can hold, but mountainous tall. His claws reach out and grab your face and dig into your face, he demands to know why you intrude on his domain.

Foolishly, you reply that you didn’t. That this place is part of the sanctuary where you live. The dragon is amused by your terror and lets you go, telling you to turn away and to not come back. He disappears into the darkness, and you run for your life back the way you came. 

There’s a week until Zayne and the others return, a dragon could decimate this place. Rain fire and destruction like rain from above and leave nothing but rubble for them to return to. You have to do something. Appease the dragon and beg for him to spare your sanctuary. 

So, you steal the remaining dried meat from Zayne’s stores and pack it into a bag. You recall stories of dragons liking shiny things, and you pack another bag of crystals from the collection you’ve created over the years. The prettiest and most colorful born from the cracks of the cavern. 

When you return to the dragon, his laugh is dark and deadly. He asks you whether you long for death or simply too stupid to know when it stands before you. 

You throw the bags at his feet and fall to your knees, begging him to spare your sanctuary. You didn’t mean to disturb his sleep, and you’ll do anything for him to leave the sanctuary alone. 

The dragon seems neither impressed nor moved by your display of groveling. He calls you pathetic, but takes your offerings anyway. He tells you that a fiend is not satisfied by one meager sacrifice. To satiate a beast, you must feed it often and plenty. 

You ask what he wants, beg him to name a price. He laughs at you, and tells you to try again tomorrow. He wants to see what you come up with. 

The rest of that week, you go everyday to the dragon’s lair. Bringing him trinkets and things you can scrounge up that he might like. You bring him more food– fresh berries and baked tarts. You bring him a blanket you stitched, embroidered using thread Zayne had given to you. You bring him more crystals that you fashion into a bracelet for him, the way Rafayel taught you to keep the gems from falling.

The day before the others are set to return, you’re shaking with anxiety. Zayne could possibly reason with the dragon, but Rafayel will certainly try to fight him. Xavier too, if need be. 

Only blood and death awaits if you do nothing. So you do something you haven’t done since coming to the sanctuary, you arm yourself. You tae Xavier’s lightblade and some dusty armor and haphazardly tie it your chest. 

When the dragon sees you again, you look like a doll put together by child’s hands. The blade in your hands is too heavy, and the armor hanging off your body. But the fire in your eyes burns him the same as it would from any warrior. This display– gazing upon a woman with the determination to protect what she loves– is the best offering you’ve brought him yet. 

Amused, he asks what you intend to do with that sword, and you reply you will do what you must. The protectors of the sanctuary are to return within a day, and you will protect them. If the dragon desires destruction, he will have to kill you first. 

The dragon informs you that it is you that assumed he desired to destroy anything. You who begged on hands and knees for him to be merciful when he had done nothing but sleep too close to your home. Though he admires your effort, the sanctuary was never in danger from him.

He laughs at the shocked look on your face, and tells you that he has finally decided on his price. He shall have you. For the remainder of your mortal years, he shall have you at his beck and his call. Whenever he wishes to see you, you will come. For that is what he desires. 

You ask him if he plans to leave, and he says not far. This sanctuary is home to his pet now, and so it should be protected. He shall find a place higher up on the mountain, and the mere sight of him will ward off even the most bold of raiders. 

He leaves you feeling foolish, and you sit and wait for the others to return. 

When Zayne, Rafayel, and Xavier return, they’re in a hurry. Shedding filthy clothes from their hunt and searching for armor. For weapons. A dragon is circling over their mountain, and they must prepare. 

Sheepishly, you tell them what happened. That you met the dragon and he is here to stay. He won’t bother the sanctuary so long as you visit when he calls. There is quite the uproar– each one having their denials. It’s a night of yelling, from all of you. You argue that it’s the least you can do. If the dragon had wanted to kill you, he would have. You think he might just be lonely. 

The dragon doesn’t call for you until a month later, and it comes in the form of a raven. Flying into the sanctuary and finding you helping tan some of the many hides the hunters had brought. 

You follow the red eyed raven out of the sanctuary and into the forest, up a winding path and to a high up ledge. The wind is strong and the cave the dragon lives in is shallow. It’s cold and hardly a home, but you don’t comment. Not this time at least. 

This visit, you bring him a bag full of more crystals and some fresh meat this time. And in return, he gives you his name. It’s not pronounceable in your tongue and so you call him the closest name you can. Sylus. 

He preens when you name him, and you’re starting to think your assumption was right. He’s lonely. This fearsome beast did not make this wager for want of cruelty or sadism, but because he likes to be around you. 

Autumn brings with it harvests. Wild gourds to find, and nuts to gather. The leaves begin to change and the wind gets a little sharper. There are days when you venture out without Xavier, and you’re not sure how Sylus knows but he always seems to because he will find you. Sitting high up in the trees and watching you pick at fallen acorns.

Weeks go by and eventually you comment of Sylus’ living conditions. His bed is nothing but a couple furs, and he has nothing to protect him from rain coming in. Winter is approaching, and his little cave is hardly shelter from it. 

You form a plan, and it takes a while to get everything in order. Getting a reclusive dragon down from the mountain and into your sanctuary isn’t as simple as it sounds. This isn’t a puppy you found while wandering the forests, it’s a fiend. One that the people will fear if they aren’t properly prepared. 

So you start in a similar way to how you found him, with rumors. You use Rafayel and his way with words to weave stories of the dragon that protects your mountain. The sea god finds the dragon interesting, and desires to meet this other creature from legend. So, he helps you with this plan to bring the dragon down into the cavern below. 

Xavier is reluctant, he does not trust a dragon on principle alone. It takes him longer to warm up to the idea of him living in the sanctuary with you all, and you only convince him it’s to better protect everyone. If Sylus feels welcomed by the settlement, he’ll feel more inclined to protect it. 

Zayne is, oddly, the hardest to convince. He is so cautious and worries what adding yet another large personality will do to the mix. It’s bad enough having Rafayel here, who could level this place if his whim willed it. Having another man who could end everything they’ve worked so hard to build? No. 

You decide better to ask forgiveness than permission when it comes to Zayne. So, the very last thing to do before Sylus moves in, is tell Sylus that its happening. 

You wait until he calls on you again. Its the day after a heavy rain, and you nearly slip on the damp rock and the way up to his nest. The raven that accompanies him caws at you in aggravation when you slip again, and you’re clinging to the cliffside by the time you reach the top. 

Sylus never touches you. He avoids it as much as he can, but he grabs you the moment you’re close enough, and laughs at the way your knees tremble from the dangerous climb. You spy his cave, and it’s exactly as you feared. His nest is soaked, the little fire he’d built nothing but wet kindling, and you can see the way the rain poured in, pooling at the back. 

He notices you’ve come empty handed this time, and you tell him its because you have an offer for him. 

When you tell him to come back with you. That you have made room for him in the sanctuary he laughs at you the loudest yet. A fiend? Walking into your idyllic little cavern? The people will riot. They’ll flee, thinking it better to risk raiders than the maw of a dragon. 

It takes some convincing, and you have to hold his hand when you come down the mountain together. You can feel his hesitation, even if it doesn’t show on his face. He fears how the people will react when they see him. He cannot hide his horns, his tail, his claws, but you assure him he doesn’t need to. 

With you leading him, the people recognize the dragon. The stories you’ve spread have integrated themselves among the settlement that they people are overjoyed. They’re nervous, as Sylus is a tall and imposing figure, but they welcome him.

Zayne is not pleased when Sylus comes into his house, knocking his horns on the entryway. But you stand fast, saying that if he sends Sylus away, you will go with him. This only makes Zayne frown harder, and for a few days, he doesn’t speak to you. 

Things feel precarious, and winter sets in. Zayne feels distant, and Sylus is tense. Xavier is steadfast is his guard and his counsel. He offers you some advice that maybe, maybe they feel like you might be choosing one over the other. Declaring your intent to follow Sylus would have wounded Zayne, who values you highly.

You realize you’ve hurt Xavier too, when he tells you this. So you make efforts to make amends. You assure Xavier that you have no intention to leave the sanctuary, or him. Not for anything. 

Rafayel and Sylus form a tenuous friendship, The sea god is intrigued by the dragon, but Sylus, you learn, was not raised among his kin. He doesn’t know much about dragons beyond which he’s discovered himself. This intrigues Rafayel more and so they spend time comparing their…less human qualities. 

Making amends with Zayne is….tedious. It takes time for him to forgive you for threatening to leave, and for going against his command of ‘no dragons’. You dedicate more time to studying with him, learning the runes and getting up earlier than him to go through the rounds of reimplementing magic so he doesn’t have to. Even then, it’s a month before he speaks to you again with any length.

You keenly feel the loss of his companionship, and it frays you. So, one night you do something you haven’t in years. You silently enter his bedroom, and crawl into bed beside him. It’s cold, you mumble. And you and Zayne both know he’s a poor source of warmth. He doesn’t push you away, and holds you like he’s missed you. 

Winter is a time of huddling together. Forging bonds over fires and finding the way the pieces fit together. Sylus and Xavier have a competitive spirit with one another. They find themselves at odds. The five of you grow closer. And Zayne’s one room cottage becomes a proper house. With two floors, multiple rooms, and even little study filled with books. 

Their combined magic makes the sanctuary nearly impenetrable. No one, not even the strongest of sorcerers could detect the magic hiding the entrance in the forest. No one, not even the fiercest warrior, would dare tread upon a mountain circled by a dragon. And no one, not even the boldest of gods, would interfere upon the sea god’s new claim. 

The love between you is fragile. As fragile as the seedling sprouting in the spring. The winter passes by in a fever of feather-light affection and tentative kisses. You aren’t sure how to navigate this, and neither are they. It goes unspoken and unnamed, but there is a loyalty forged between the five of you that burns as hot as a dying star. Steadfast as steel, and hard as adamantium.

It’s summer again when the dream breaks. Nearly five years after Sylus had joined, he came rushing into the sanctuary after having patrolled the expanse of his domain. It startles the people he sprints by in his rush to reach your home. 

An army. He cries. An army approaches from the west with banners of white and silver. At least a thousand strong. They did not stop in their march when Sylus approached, and did not cow when he roared at them in warning. His draconic form was not frightening because they’d expected it. 

They’d been found. The sanctuary was in danger. Plans had been made for this occasion, but to actually have to use them? Your stomach turns with nausea as Zayne jumps into action. He and Xavier are the leaders in this, and they set to work immediately. 

They send scouts down through the gully, the people must be evacuated, and it’s the only way. A pair of their fastest runners are sent, but they return too soon. Barely a mile down, the gully hase caved in. There is no way out. 

When Rafayel goes to scout himself, he detects the remnants of magic. Stinking of destruction and sulfur. Someone caved it in on purpose, and made sure to do so with the rest of the tunnel too– there would be no digging out. 

The five of you try to avoid a panic in the people. They look to you and your group. With wide, fearful eyes they seek to find answers– for which you have few. 

Do you fight? Even with the strongest of warrior you have too few. Too many would be lost, and the sanctuary would be rubble. Fleeing is the only choice, but how? How to exapce with hundreds of people into the woods? They would be not only at the mercy of the elements, but the creatures that roam as well. 

An envoy arrives ahead of the army. A man clad in black armor with a silvery banner. His presence broaches the protective wards outside. There is much debate on who will meet him, and it’s eventually decided that Zayne and Xavier will. 

You, Rafayel, and Sylus stand at the very edge of the entrance out of sight. You hear the envoy hand Zayne a rolled parchment with demands. This settlement has not declared allegiance to any kingdom or god, and must do so to remain. 

Bend the knee to Astra, god of stars and stories. The envoy declares, Declare your allegiance to his service and his worship, and declare Astra the rightful ruler of Philos and the cosmos. Only then, will your settlement be spared. 

Zayne does not reply. The sound of parchment being unfolded could be heard and the terrible silence of it being read makes your heart pound. 

The scroll is crumpled and tossed to the grassy forest floor, Your message demands sacrifice. Payment for time unserved. Zayne’s voice is a deadly blade, and it’s a wonder it doesn’t kill the messenger. 

Astra demands your priestess. The one your people worship instead of him. The envoy informs, like he was going to go through this whole meeting without mentioning that tidbit of information. 

Zayne informs the messenger that no deal will be struck today, and to return to his master with a request for better terms. 

The three of you are caught eavesdropping when Zayne and Xavier return back to the shadows of the cavern, but no one speaks. 

Astra. One of the gods in this endless war. God of stories, he calls himself. Formless but with a handful of powerful priests as his agents to command his army. He seeks to control Philos and its kingdoms. To erect temples to his worship throughout the land– at least, that’s the story. 

He could just be a man. A man claiming godhood and enough people believed it to make it true. Rafayel is offended by the claim and says as much as you return home. 

You’re barely in the door before you say what they’re all fearing. That you’ll go. If it’s you that Astra’s demanding, then it’s what you have to do. 

Zayne’s sanity is on a knife’s edge, and he– along with the others– vehemently denies this. You won’t sacrifice yourself. They won’t allow it. 

What other choice is there? You say. The sanctuary. Everything you’ve built here. All the lives– the families that have been made here. The children born and raised in this safe haven. They are worth protecting. If your sacrifice keeps this place safe then it’s an easy bargain to make. 

Arguments ensue. Debates of morality and the worth of a single life. The option between giving allegiance to an evil god or attempting to flee is heavy. There isn’t a right answer, and there are too many wrong ones. A horrible game of rolling the dice and there’s no winners. Everyone is going to walk away from this table bloody and penniless if they don’t come up with something. 

Of course, it’s Zayne that comes up with an answer. After you’ve gone to bed, Zayne stays up through the night tearing through the tomes and texts he’s collected through the years. The book he stole from his birthplace– a city in service to Astra– that he’s refused to open all these years. 

He’ll use the god’s power against him. The god of stories will find his story rewritten. It’s a spell written only in theory, because in practice it cannot be done. Shouldn’t be done. It uses the user’s own life force to unravel the timeline they are in, to become nothing but an author to rewrite the word to their desire. A powerful, heinous spell. 

Sylus finds Zayne pouring over the texts and brings it to the attention of the others. While Zayne intended to do it alone, the others won’t let him. To truly unravel a thing like Astra, he will need more than his own mortality can provide. 

Sylus offers his own. Use his unnatural life. Use his soul. Undo this fate of almost love. Keep you safe. Keep the others safe. The sanctuary could burn for all he cares, but you….you have to live. 

Rafayel inserts himself saying that it would take the life of a god to kill another. That only Rafayel’s life force will be enough. Use him, and rewrite a world without this war entirely. Write a story where the world is peaceful and lovely. Where no one has to die. 

There is no agreement when it comes to these things. Whose life is worth losing? Who’s soul is worth sacrificing? It is an unanswerable question, and it is clever Xavier that finds an answer they can agree to.

Zayne must be the one to enact the spell. Only he, as a former agent of Astra can work the runes and weave the magic needed to do this dastardly thing. He puts you, Sylus, Rafayel, and Xavier into an unnatural sleep before he sets to work. He doesn’t say goodbye, none of you do– because if it works, then you’ll meet again. 

It is no simple trick, unweaving the tapestry of a universe. And more than a simple life is cost by the caster. The very threads of the universe they exist in are untied. They are stripped down to the barest of silk with the power of Zayne’s magic. 

Rewrite this story. Zayne sets the intention, and the runes he writes burn away the molecules of his flesh. Reality around him shifts, matter comes undone, Time stopped and rewound.

A new story is written. One without war. Without Philos and its greedy king. A timeline cleaned up of the filth this one was filled with. No Astra. No raiders. Not even a sanctuary, because it never had to be. The people that filled it are free to live lives full of choice and sunlight. No caverns and scrounging for food. 

A better life. A better story. 

Zayne signed his name and sealed his fate. Relinquishing the last of his memory to the demands of the spell. He was able to preserve the minds of those he loves, but he won’t remember any of it. In this new universe, he will be just as unaware as the rest of them. 

However, just before the supernova. Before the final page. Another line is written. Another hand writing in lines unintended by Zayne and the others. Another name was signed, and the story….changed. 

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[blasphemousclaw]

Speaking of different Hornsent cultures, do you also think Midra is a part of that culture as well? The ghost in his manse dies suggest they're both Hornsent

I do think Midra is meant to be a part of the hornsent culture, yeah! Not only do the manse spirits and the inquisition storyline suggest that he's hornsent, but his manse is FULL of architectural details that you can find across all hornsent settlements!

We have to mention first though that Midra doesn’t have horns (and it doesn’t seem like Nanaya has horns either under her headscarf?), but it does seem that there were hornsent in Belurat who did not have horns... technically, “tower folk” might be a more accurate way of describing them in that regard, though the game seems to refer to the culture and those who lived in the Lands of the Tower collectively as both “hornsent” and “tower folk”: “Long ago, Queen Marika commanded Sir Messmer to purge the tower folk” (Leda). “Scorpion simmered in a black soup. Traditional meal of the hornsent” (Scorpion Stew). I'd guess that it was just less common, and not as well regarded, to be hornless, so the culture is still pretty defined by having horns even if it's not a universal trait (again, the hornsent aren't a species, they're just people who are very strongly affected by the Crucible's influence, just like how the animals of the Shadow Lands can often be found with horns too).

Anyway back to Midra – because he doesn't have horns, it is possible that he wasn't born hornsent and simply adopted the culture. Nanaya though has an extra cultural detail that makes me feel like she might have been born into hornsent culture... “Nanaya” was the name of an ancient Mesopotamian goddess of love! The hornsent civilization is extremely heavily inspired by ancient Mesopotamia, especially Babylon: the name Enir-Ilim comes from the Akkadian name for Babylon, Bāb-ilim — “the gate of the gods,” and the Tower with its Divine Gate is pretty obviously a reference to the Tower of Babel… so the fact that Nanaya has a Mesopotamian name, when we know the game used other words from ancient Mesopotamia for the hornsent, makes it VERY likely to me that she is a native of the tower lands! But even if Midra and/or Nanaya aren’t tower folk and originally came from a different culture (some have theorized that they’re numen), it’s pretty clear to me that they’ve at least adopted the tower culture due to all the visual and story details associated with them and their manse.

Architecturally, the Manse very obviously uses a lot of the same stylistic details as structures in Belurat and other hornsent settlements. The front door to the Manse has the same metal relief design as the doors in Belurat:

(Midra’s Manse front door; Belurat front door)

the Manse is also decorated with the same spiraled columns that are a staple in all hornsent settlements, as well as the same spiral tree motif that can be found on walls and stone tablets in Belurat: 

(Midra's Manse library)

(Midra's boss room; Manse front room)

(Theatre of the Divine Beast, Belurat)

(Small Private Altar, Belurat)

Midra's robes are pretty nondescript, but Nanaya's outfit absolutely screams hornsent; there are so many details in her outfit evoking the hornsent culture. The decorative trim on her robes have a spiral design, which is a motif found in a lot of hornsent art and architecture:

(Enir-Ilim)

and the twisted fabric framing Nanaya’s face reminds me of the twisted drapes found in the Theatre of the Divine Beast and Enir-Ilim:

(Theatre of the Divine Beast, Belurat)

(Enir-Ilim)

Midra and Nanaya had a lot of hornsent followers who lived in their manse who you can still find as spirits and shades. The dialogue and item descriptions related to Midra and his followers make it very clear that when the inquisition stepped in, the violence they were committing was against their own people:

"I beg you stop. Haven't I taken enough? Are we not brethren, common in our line? And yet, you offer only cruelty... I ask; what crime did great Midra commit?" (Manse spirit NPC)

"A glove stitched together from the flayed skin of the victims of a butcherous bloodbath. [...] Forged of an unyielding, black impulse toward revenge fostered in those who were hunted down as heretics by their own brethren, these are the weapons of the utterly downtrodden." (Madding Hand)

and yes, I think Midra and Nanaya are included in this! There’s kind of a pattern in the hornsent civilization of the elites (represented by the inquisition) suppressing different subgroups within their own culture for not adhering to the status-quo: this includes the Curseblades, the Lamenter, and Midra and his followers. I wonder if Midra held some independent beliefs that had nothing to do with the frenzied flame that made him suspicious in the eyes of the inquisition? He was known as "Sage Midra," and had a great library in his manse... it makes me think that he was some revolutionary scholar and thinker who inspired a lot of hornsent to follow him at his manse. I wonder if him not having horns and still having so much influence over other hornsent could have been seen as a threat to the inquisition’s image of (horned) supremacy??

[metamorphesque]

For those who are confused about the situation in Artsakh (part 1)

To anyone even remotely knowledgeable about the history of the region, the azerbaijani claims that Artsakh belongs or belonged to them, or that they are the natives of the land, sound not only incorrect but also hilariously pathetic. The earliest evidence of Artsakh’s ancient history dates back to the earliest stages of the Stone Age, specifically the Acheulean and subsequent periods (800,000 to 100,000 years ago). These include stone and bone tools found in the caves of Orvan-Msoz, Tsatsakhach, and Khoradzor. Excavations of settlements and tombs from the Bronze and Iron Ages (Stepanakert, Khojaly, Karkarjan, Amaras, Madagis, and the valleys of the Khachenaget and Ishkhanaget rivers) indicate that this area was part of the Kur-Araxes cultural system formed in the 4th-3rd millennia BC. The Kur and Arax are rivers in the Armenian Highlands; Arax is even considered the “mother river” of Armenia and is referred to as “Mother” in many Armenian poems and songs.

Artsakh was the northeastern boundary of the region where the Armenian people formed ethnically. This has been mentioned many times in the works of Strabo (64 or 63 BC – c. 24 AD, a Greek geographer, philosopher, and historian), Ptolemy (c. 100 - c. 170 AD, a renowned Greek geographer, astronomer, and mathematician), and many other non-Armenian geographers and historians. For over 3000 years, Artsakh has been inhabited by its natives, the Armenians.

You might ask, what do these historians write about the azerbaijanis? Well, nothing—because azeris did not exist back then and wouldn’t exist for at least the next 3000 years. How, then, could they have been the natives of the land?

Furthermore, aren’t azeris Muslim? In that case, how is it that right after Armenia adopted Christianity as its official religion—being the first nation to do so—many churches were built in Artsakh, not mosques, but churches? For example:

Gandzasar Monastery (4th century) and St. John the Baptist Church (1216-1238)

Dadivank (4th century) and Katoghike (9th-11th century)

Amaras Monastery (4th century)

St. George Church of Tzitzernavank (4th-5th century)

Gtichavank (4th-13th century)

Monastery of Apostle Yeghishe (Jrvtshtik) (5th century), Mataghis

Vankasar White Cross (5th century)

Kataro Monastery of Dizapayt and Holy Mother of God (5th century)

Mokhrenis Okht Drne Monastery (7th-17th century)

Kolatak St. Hakob Monastery (9th century)

Tsori Holy Savior (9th century)

Tsamakahogh St. Stephen (9th-10th century)

White Cross Monastery of Vank village, Hadrut (10th century)

Desert Monastery of Elisha Kusi, Chartar (12th century)

St. George Church of Jankatagh (12th century)

Khotavank (12th-13th century)

Holy Mother of God Nuns' Monastery of Karvachar (12th-13th century)

St. Savior Church of Poghosagomer (12th-13th century)

Shoshkavank Holy Mother of God of Msmena (13th century)

Horeka Monastery (13th century)

Kavakavank (14th century)

And many, many more. It pains me to tears to say that these churches, along with hundreds of others, are being destroyed by azeris to wipe out the evidence that Armenians lived there, pushing their false narrative that they are the natives of the land. Since the 2020 war, azerbaijani forces have destroyed over 570 Armenian cultural sites, with 3 to 4 monuments being demolished weekly—not to mention the desecration of both old and new Armenian graves.

So, the next time an azeri tries to argue that they are the natives of Artsakh and Armenia, just laugh at their faces. I’m sure I’ve got socks in the back of my drawer that are older than their “nation.”

[ranticore]

visored longwing harpies & the hall of faces

I did say there was no exclusive global culture on Siren shared by humans of a certain body type, and I lied, because there is One.

The early settlers on Siren were the unaltered human workforce of a certain megacorporation. While an almost unlimited budget was poured into the dodgy gene programs, since that was why they chose to settle a planet so far out of the reach of The Authorities, everything else was done pretty cheaply, including the settling itself. In order to map out their new home planet, incredibly cheap mass-produced aircraft were used by pilots. These aircraft could be made quickly and easily at the settlement site because they lacked a flight computer or any real sensors - or any equipment at all in the cockpit. Rather than a multitude of different equipment loadouts on an aircraft that would take time and effort to swap out or maintain, the pilots instead used these visors which were universally compatible with the one-size-fits-all aircraft. It's kind of like how it's easier to just carry a phone around with a calculator app than it is to carry a phone and a calculator, even if the phone app calculator experience sucks by comparison.

The visors were the real expensive kit, each custom built to a pilot's exact needs and flight style, and they were built to last. the aircraft fell apart in the following centuries but the visors remained, hyperlight plastic powered by the planet's native star, and something interesting happened. The remains of the first settlement were largely inaccessible to anyone but longwing harpies, and these harpies had the right head shape to fit the visors. Many of the pilots had filled their visors with video and photo files from home, from Earth, like a worker decorating his cubicle with photos of his family. Some had been decorated on the outside, as well, resembling birds. The harpies that found the visors obviously tried to use them. They found themselves experiencing visions of strange worlds, recordings of long-dead pilots and ATC, and found that each visor can interface with every other one, no matter how far apart. Each visor came with its own callsign, its own name, which has remained for thousands of years - and because of this, each visor is considered by the cultures of Siren to be a named character with a distinct personality (eg. the swan visor was cygnus2, it is known now as Signastoo)

I keep posting the map and it needs to be redrawn but essentially every red triangle is an ancient telecomm tower. These became the only remaining waypoints on the visors' HUD and mapping software, meaning that 1. a true global culture could emerge, with longwings gathering at these sites, and 2. visored longwings became the gold standard for navigation on Siren. In a world that is basically just water, that's a big deal.

There exist only a few thousand visors (about 3k I'd say). The unused visors are kept in the Hall of Faces, the ancient aviation bay at the first settlement in West. Because of how water levels and land structures have changed over the years, this building exists on a mesa that rises another few thousand feet out of the water, with sheer sides, and is utterly inaccessible to anyone but a longwing harpy. When a visored harpy dies, the visor is returned here. If you want to claim a visor, you need to hold an interview with one of the elders at the site, who will test you rigorously to see if you can inhabit the character of one of the visors. If not, too bad. If you do get it, it's yours until either you die or you do something considered 'out of character' for the wearer of that particular visor. It is DEEPLY discouraged to steal a visor off anyone because it would be largely impossible, given how they all can communicate (imagine a gigantic worldwide discord server where the location & name of every person is known at all times... the drama is likely insane but at least if someone steals a visor, everyone will know about it)

not every longwing desires a visor because it comes with a lot of responsibility alongside its automatic prestige, and you can't really give it up once you have it. also there's always the possibility of being diagnosed with a super annoying, glitchy, or hated visor character lol. but among the roughly 2700 visored harpies on Siren there does exist a global culture exclusive to them. they chat to one another long-distance, engage in closed-practice ceremonies where they all get high and look at videos of Earth, and essentially become a class outside the mundanity of normal life on Siren. to the rest of the population, they basically become telepathic wizards

Terwyef's visor (first pic) is called Scrappercharlee and is one of the more common models, tho it has been decorated over the years with extra bits. Scrappercharlee is a bit busted and half the HUD is missing. Miakef's visor (second pic) Signastoo is one of the very fancy and well-known ones, it's shaped like a swan's head and likely belonged to a high-ranking pilot who could afford a bit of frippery and showmanship back in the day. Birds do not exist on Siren and harpies are mammals so the swan itself is symbolically meaningless, but the bird-style visors introduce the idea of 'a bird' in the abstract, and this has been imbued with its own form of meaning by harpies.

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Snowed in

Adar x reader

A meeting with Adar took a quite pleasant turn thanks to bad weather.

Winter was in full swing. Most of Middle Earth's lands already covered in a thick layer of snow.

Mordor was next on the list, the reports of a storm closing in quickly spreading from one uruk town to the other. Some had found their settlements already with a light dusting of powdered snow overnight.

Your new home, once Tirharad and now the main uruk settlement where Adar resided, expected a storm soon.

Everyone was expected to either stay in their homes or at their workplace as to not get caught in the freezing snowfall.

And yet here you sat, patiently waiting for Adar to finish up his task before he'd discuss your needed things as advisor of all things mortal.

"Lord Father, Adar.." You stepped up beside him at the table. "You have been at this for days now, at least let me try to assist to we can discuss our planned items."

You wanted nothing more than to put your hands on his shoulders and squeeze. Undo some of the tension built up over days of not leaving his desk to work through winter plans. But you knew better than to touch him without permission, and you were not in the mood to lose a hand over something as small as this.

"Winter will be harsh. Wirh our current ways we will not have enough food to make it to spring." Adar's head hung low, hands in his hair as he let out a frustrated growl. He was the leader here, their Lord Father who had saved them and now couldn't even manage to get them through one winter after finally settling down..

"Adar, if I may.." With a slight tremble you reached for the papers that weren's stuck under his elbows and looked them over. The amount of details that were thought of, calculated and are being actively monitored were some of the most well done you had ever seen.

"Wait, what if we.." You dlid one of the papers back under Adar's nose, getting his attention once more and started laying down ideas. With each one you could see Adar's ears perk up, no longer drooping in a tired manner.

The ancient uruk was impressed, seeing a positive in this mess now. "So, I take you would have men take care of this? As it is their field of expertise. My uruk know nothing of this, so I also hope you will find someone who is willing to teach them."

Scribbling along, you both crossed issue after issue off the list, solving multiple at once with something as simple as what you suggested. You got so into the task it just kept going and going until a harsh gust of wind broke the door lock, making it slam against brick and have you both rush to close and secure it.

Adar watched you shiver and sulk. It looked like you stared at the storm outside through the wood paneling of the door.

With the door secured, Adar led you to the fireplace. It only downed on him now that mortals handled cold way worse than the uruk, and when your shivering wouldn't stop he offered you a large fur blanket.

Adar gave you time to get back to temperature, but quickly noticed you were too tired to continue your previous task.

All the while, you sat with your gaze on the fire. Your mind racing at how physically close you had been just now with your body between him and the door as he held it closed while you secured the lock. Oh you wanted to endlessly daydream about ways that could have escalated if you just weren't such a coward and confessed how you felt for your leader.

Adar had put your combined works aside for now and stared from a distance. Your tired frame, hunched over near the fire was a view he enjoyed. You fit well in his home, and once more he felt like a part of his mind cleared. He always saw mortals as lower creatures. Perhaps it was a remnant of his elven days that never left as he compared them now to the strength and endurance his uruk had.

But the mortals had smarts, techniques and ways of survival he had never in his long lifetime needed. And somehow he had never filed you together with the others. Not with how you presented yourself and willed to help both halves of this community Adar had built.

No, Adar saw you higher than the mortals, and now started to see a positive in having you as his equal.

There, in the safety of Adar's home, two minds raced. Silence took over the place, only the crackle of the fireplace sounding in the corner.

A contrast lay in the room.

On one end, close to the door and far into the shadow where small tabletop candles had burned out. Where the cold creeped through the cracks in the doorframe stood Adar, who's mind fought wether the human would even care for the ancient monstrosity rhat had captured her and forced her to live in his wretched lands.

Words of his children floated by. Words of his affection towards the mortal advisor. He had always dismissed them, for he knew he respected her for her openness towards the uruk, and her clear vision of how the two kinds would live alongside. But his uruk felt it was affection. Some even dared to call it love and it had Adar almost act on their teasing multiple times, but always shut it down just in time for her not to notice.

And on the other, covered in firelight and warmth sat you. Head unable to stop screaming to pull him towards you into the comfort of the blankets you sat on.

Voices of the many female uruk you spend time with spoke all at once. The eldest ones who joked about your longing stares. And the ones who you assumed shared your age, who made every suggestion under the hidden sun to get his attention. To go talk to him and charm him. To wear that pretty dress and seduce him. Surely Adar would be excited to lay with a pretty lady in a pretty dress, as they said.

But why would a being with such skill and life experience, with such knowledge and power be interested in a mere mortal? It was your last thought before your body gave in to sleep.

Adar didn't need sleep as much as you did, so he sat and watched you, read once again over your scribbled notes until he heard something.

You were shivering. The fire had gone down to smoldering coals and he had barely noticed the change in temperature. Yet you suffered in the cold.

With a new plan in mind Adar moved to the bedtoom, where he rid himself of his armor and left him in just his trousers and undershirt. Bare feet padded along the wooden floorboards on his way to pick you up. His bed was warmer, and if he took the furs you had already laid on and warmed with yoir body heat he could make sure you stayed warm.

You hadn't stirred awake during his process which eased his mind, but still you would not stop regain warmth. He had stayed inthe room with you, watching to calm his own mind that cursed at him for failing you so badly.

He thought of his children. Hoe would they respond if they knew their Lord Father was failing at the simple task of keeping the mortal from freezing.

His children.

The youngest ones who'd all pile up together and huddle up for warmth, sharing body heat.

Lords, he was an idiot.

What? No. There was no way you'd be okay with it. You'd wake up and demand to leave, unable to be that close to a foul creature like himself.

He had to. He knew it would work, so pushing every burning curse from his mind he removed his shirt, laid it over the furs you slept underneath and used all he had left of his elven self to be as light on his feet as he could, crawling into bed with you.

You stirred. You woke up and Adar mentally tore himself to shreds for ruining your sleep.

"Adar?" You didn't dare to turn and look, and a confirmed hum made it so you didn't need to.

"You were cold. I hoped to keep you warm." In his anger he disconnected himself from you and earned a sad almost whine, feeling you press your back against his chest once more and grabbing to find his arm and pull it against you.

Adar's arm. The one you had never seen uncovered, always hidden underneath long sleeves and that large gauntlet.

"Thank you." A quiet mumble was all you managed, Adar's warmth already affecting you. Not that he had heard you. Not with his full focus on your fingers tracing his twisted, scarred arm with the most gentle touch he had ever felt.

So there it was. The one action that disspelled his demons shouting he would never be loved by another. You cared for him like he cared for you.

With a soft, shaky breath he pressed his lips against the back of your head. "Sleep well." He uttered against your scalp, pulling you tighter against him and nuzzling into you.

It was overwhelming, how you were being handled so gently and with such love. So your differences never truly mattered after all.

You both slept better than ever. So much that you slept long past the storm outside, much yo the worry of Adar's children.

Glûg was the one tasked with checking on him whenever he did not show up and dared not to wake you both.

Once the two of you had gotten ready to leave the house, the whole town was in celebration of their Lord Father finally having taken home the fair mortal lady.

And the women happily informed you of uruk breeding habits, leaving you red-faced and fleeing the scene.

[whencyclopedia]

Saga

The Old Norse word saga means 'story', 'tale' or 'history' and normally refers specifically to the epic prose narratives written mainly in Iceland between the 12th- and 15th centuries CE, covering the country's history as well as Scandinavia's legendary past. A few sagas were also written in Norway but in either country their usually anonymous writers shaped their stories in high-quality, nuanced prose, leading the saga to now be considered one of the prime vernacular literary genres of Medieval Europe. Poetry is generally included, too, which helps point out the influence older, oral traditions of storytelling are thought to have had on the saga's development.

Although the heyday of Old Norse saga composition lay in the 13th century CE, the tales often dive back through the ages into the times of ancestors, heroes and legendary kings, spanning from prehistory through the Viking Age (c. 790-1100 CE) – including the settlement of Iceland – to the writers' own times. History and fiction are often mixed in a sort of Gordian knot that is hard to disentangle, and the stories have as their playground not just Iceland but also Scandinavia, the British Isles, the North Atlantic (including Greenland and North America), the Mediterranean, Russia and the Middle East.

In our present day sagas are not only perfectly readable and enjoyable but also still feel relatable, probably due to the fact that they focus on the everyday life of everyday people. Wealthy farmers, for instance, get tangled up in such things as feuds, go on exciting and often character-shaping journeys, or experience a variety of down-to-earth problems from within the predominantly agricultural society they are a part of.

The Old Norse sagas can be arranged into the following main subgenres, each with their own favourite topics and features, which are frequently referred to by their Old Norse name by scholars:

Fornaldarsögur – 'Legendary sagas', 'Sagas of ancient time' or 'Mythical-heroic sagas'

Riddarasögur – 'Sagas of knights'

Konungasögur – 'Kings' sagas'

Íslendingasögur – 'Sagas of Icelanders' or 'Family sagas'

Samtíðarsögur – 'Contemporary sagas'

Origins of the saga

The quest for the origins of the Old Norse saga takes us beyond the realm of the tangible collections of parchment that prevail from the 13th century CE onward and into a murkier, harder-to-trace past. Before 1250 CE, only a few sagas can be proved to have existed in writing – Egils Saga, telling of the life of the Viking Age poet Egill Skallagrímsson, is one of them – and these fragments allow us to pin down the (late?) 12th century CE as the likely beginning of the textualisation process. From this time onwards, saga composition probably became an exclusively Icelandic phenomenon, and it is from 1350 CE and beyond that the majority of our extant manuscripts originate.

As for what exactly prompted the process or where the stories first came from, we can only hazard educated guesses. In the early 20th century CE, Swiss scholar Andreas Heusler came up with two alternatives that long divided the academic community: on the one hand, the 'freeprose theory' suggested the sagas were essentially oral texts handed down through generations before being recorded in writing in the Middle Ages, while on the other hand, the 'bookprose theory' held that the sagas were created in the Middle Ages, although partially based on oral sources. Today, neither is deemed sufficiently accurate, but the valid takeaway is their shared emphasis on the existence of an oral tradition that fed into the later, written one – something present-day scholars actually agree on.

This oral tradition hails back at least to the Viking Age, when poetry was often performed for the elite. As a lot of the sagas take place on a Viking Age stage, too, it is not hard to envisage some Viking Age stories surviving orally until medieval authors picked up on them and shaped them into their own written versions. The Icelandic scholar Gísli Sigurðsson even explains that 'oral traditions continued to feed into written ones throughout the period of Icelandic saga composition.' (Clunies Ross, 47-48). Although Iceland was already Christian by this time, Icelandic (Old Norse) was the favoured written language and this also goes for the sagas. This love for the vernacular ties in with a broader Western European context, too: from the 12th-14th centuries CE, a vigorous textual, vernacular culture flourished there, and its courtly romances and other works may well have reached Scandinavia, perhaps soliciting a response or impacting saga composition.

Continue reading...

[filialdisciple]

#in hindsight maybe i couldve made this an ancient greece hermes and time traveller!luke thing

.....?!!?!!??WoW so cool pls feed us more luke go back in time?Hermes too??

Luke made a mistake. He should have known better than to accept the strange kindness and welcome the villagers had given him when he stumbled into their settlement. He should have known better than to trust them without invoking xenia¹ instead of excusing their manic behavior as his own paranoia acting up.

He isn't sure what he would have done if they hadn't let him stay in one of their guest rooms—travelling back in time put a huge strain on your body and mental state, go figure. Luke thinks he might have slept out in the wild, which wasn't a great option either.

At least here, he had been fed enough food to last the Titan Army a month and a bucket of questionably clean river water to rinse himself off. Even if they only did it to raise him up as a human sacrifice to "honor and please the gods".

Luke let them dress and drag him up the hill to the temple at the top of a nearby hill. Inside the small space, Luke saw a makeshift altar with an unflattering statue of Hermes sat behind a flat stone slab with dried bloodstains coloring the gray stone a dirty brown.

Luke waits for the priest to reach towards the ceremonial knife and loosen their hold on him. He takes him by surprise—pretending to be docile was such a pain—when he pulls out a knife he picked up and hid under his robes and rapidly jabs the blunt end into his head, cleanly knocking him out.

Luke walks over to the other food offerings that the villagers had left around the altar before Luke came in. He eyes the fruits in front of him. Would the god care if he took one out?

Before Luke could decide, a presence made itself known around him. The hair on his arms stood on end as a light, threatening touch lands on the back of his neck.

The voice, airliy sings out. "Why, hello, little thief."

Luke instinctively glares at the man before him. His face was shadowed by his petasos and only the early glow of a white eye showed through the unnatural darkness.

"Oh?"

Luke doesn't like the intrigued tone. There was a light whoosh of air and Luke finds himself nose-to-nose with a younger version of his father. His youthful face stood in dichotomy with the empty, coldness in his eyes.

Luke doesn't dare breathe. The hand on his neck tightens and Luke knew without a doubt that the man in front of him could snap his spine in a heartbeat.

"You're my—"

"Step away from my son."

The young Hermes' eyes sharpened, an unnatural smile curling across his face as he moves back to look over Luke's shoulder. "Your son?"

Sensing the god's distraction, Luke stole a glance back and was instantly filled with fury, bitterness, and relief all at once.

Hermes—his biological father, not the monster-like man in front of him—stood at the entrance of the temple. "Luke, come here. Now."

Luke doesn't think he's ever heard Hermes sound this tense. He shifts his body a bit, but the other Hermes strengthens his grip to a painful degree that Luke fails to bite back the pained sound from escaping his lips. Shit, this was definitely going to bruise.

The older Hermes lets out a controlled breath. Luke can see the way his cheek twitches in restrained anger. "Luke, close your eyes."

Luke isn't stupid enough to disobey this one order. Not when he could feel the charged atmosphere of two gods challenging each other.

Fuck, Luke thinks to himself, not daring to draw the attention and ire of either version of Hermes. All he needed was a single moment to slip away and run away.

He never realized how...less...the gods have become in the modern times until he felt the full force of divine energy engulfing the temple. Even with his eyes closed and his arms covering his face, it felt as if the sheer raw power was trying to melt through his skin and bones.

A hand grabs Luke's arm and his stomach lurches as his body becomes weightless. The wind sharply whips past his skin in that familiar way when he used to fly with Maia, his winged shoes.

"You can open your eyes now, Luke."

Luke is greeted by an unfamiliar sky. Stars scattered across the expanse of blues and purples in glowing clusters. Luke thinks he could trace constellations and find planets easily with this much clarity in the sky.

Luke swallows, his throat dry. "Why are you here?"

It was only supposed to be him. Bleeding from his self-inflicted stab wound and lying against the cold floor of Olympus, Luke had made peace with himself. He was going to die. He finally made his choice.

But then Kronos pulled the last of his energy to bring upon Luke "one last curse" for betraying his master before fading away.

Instead of greeting the Underworld, Luke found himself centuries into the past where gods weaved themselves among mortals and treated humans like games and passing entertainment.

"Hermes." Luke clenches his jaw. "How are you here too?"

Hermes doesn't look at him. "I bargained with the Fates."

With dawning realization and dread, Luke watches as the goldy glow fades away from Hermes' skin. Hermes makes eye contact with Luke, emotions indiscernible.

"My divinity in exchange for your life."

»—————————–✄

¹Xenia: 'guest-friendship'; ancient concept of hospitality [towards travelers, foreigners, and people outside your household].

[noirandchocolate]

It's the winner of my poll, so I hope you'll enjoy a nice big post about...

Yiga Clan Mask Culture and Traditions Headcanons!

History

The Clan adopted the practice of wearing masks fairly early on after their founding 10,000 years ago. Veils were already worn by powerful Sheikah monks as a symbol of martial prowess (being able to fight with hampered or absent sight), wisdom (being able to "see" what others could not, despite or because of a self-imposed "blindness"), and asceticism (being humble and near-anonymous). Those among the ancient Sheikah who worked as assassins, spies, guardians, and interrogators for the Crown also tended to wear masks covering at least part of the face. So, when the Sheikah who decided to defy the ancient King's genocide banded together to form the Yiga Clan, taking to wearing masks and veils to obscure their identities was a natural choice. The early Clan's face-coverings were among the first items they painted with the Inverted Eye that became the symbol of the group's defiance of their prior role as Hylia's chosen protectors and servants of the royal family.

The original Master Kohga, who had been the Chief of the Sheikah settlements around Satori Mountain, never actually wore a mask! (The practice of doing so had not fully standardized yet.) Instead, he took up wearing a veil to honor his grandfather, Monk Mogg Latan, and as a sign to those who would ask him and his people to shed their heritage, that he would not back down.

However, the First Master did provide the origin to one aspect of his successors' masks: While Sheikah who were considered masters in their chosen fields (including monks) traditionally wore a hairstyle featuring five long ornamental sticks, the First Master chose to wear six, as a symbol of a) his people's split from the Royal Family (cut an arrayed set of five sticks straight in half and you end up with six sticks--the formerly central one broken down the middle), and b) their continued claim to the power associated with the number three (note that the Sheikah monks found in Shrines (and Maz Koshia) all wear/display six golden bracelets). As you know, the current Master mask now features three horns on each side!

As time went on, in addition to providing protection and anonymity to Clan members particularly when traveling outside their main "hideout" base in Karusa Valley, the masks also became a unifying aspect of membership and family within the group. In other words, the masks are not only meant to hide one's face from outsiders, but to signal to insiders the bond between them. All within the Clan may don the mask, all may wear the same "face." All carry the symbol of the Inverted Eye. All are working together, all are playing their part. The Clan as a whole is quite a collectivist culture; the masks are one very obvious aspect of that.

The current mask designs have been in place for several millennia now, but it did take some time for the style to "settle" into this level of tradition and immutability. The Yiga have quite ancient scrolls and artworks depicting their ancestors wearing different styles of masks, including curved rectangular ones mimicking the shape of ancient monks' veils, and more complicated and demonic or deity-looking masks for Masters. During one period a few centuries into the Clan's existence, another Hylian monarch (this time, a Queen) sent troops across the kingdom to search for any remaining Sheikah (remember, Kakariko Village was "hidden" to most) to eradicate them. The Yiga began to appear "out of nowhere" to wreak havoc and sow discord among scouts and military camps, wearing masks painted with the inverted eye and large, red, smiling mouths. Quite unsettling!

How They're Made and How They Work

Masks are crafted of wood and, in the case only of the Master, an overlay of molduga bone. All those taking up the job of craft-work among the Yiga learn to make masks, but there have always been a few specially trained masters of the art who create masks and associated ornaments for the Master, Right Hand, presumptive Heir, and any spouse (Mistress or Consort) of the Master. These in particular are expected to be perfect, both in their specially-measured fit to the wearer's face and in their symmetry of shape and inlaid, painted design. And so, training to make them goes beyond the ordinary mask-maker's education, involving a great deal of practice but also meditation. A keen eye for detail and steady hands are paramount. These crafting masters are highly regarded, and often take on new names related in some way to their teachers', when they achieve their new position.

Yes, the masks are solid wood. Yiga are able to see "through" them using magic. The vast majority of current Clan members share a heritage that allows them to use magic (a subject for another post!) at least to some degree, and this Sight skill is one of the very first things Yiga are taught--whether as young children or as new additions if they join as teens or adults. As with many Yiga abilities (again, to be discussed in the future!), Sight has an accompanying rune/talisman that will keep it going perpetually. This is etched into an "active" mask when it is given to its owner. So, the owner puts on the mask, instantly starts the...for lack of a better word "spell," and then the rune keeps the ability "flowing" for as long as the user wishes.

Those vanishingly few Clan members who are completely devoid of magical ability must ask someone else to activate the rune for them. Unfortunately, their Sight through their masks is impaired by the fact that none of their own energy is being used to power the rune as it "flows." Such members do not take on/are not assigned to roles that will take them outside the Karusa Complex, as masks are absolutely required for such positions. Instead, they stay home, usually wear veils instead, and work within the Clan in other vital ways.

Current Designs

All Yiga masks save those for the Master and Right Hand share the same basic curved oval shape that contours around to cover the sides of the face, again for anonymity and conformity. Really the only difference about those two, too, is the addition of horns. All masks are marked with the Inverted Eye.

One other slightly different mask is that worn by the Heir, which is additionally marked by a curved slash of red down the sides of the face (most prominently visible in profile). This marks the Heir as one who is working to grow into leadership and one day wear a horned mask.

The horns on the Master and Right Hand's masks have that curved shape because they are meant to not only be horns, but flames. As in, flames of righteous fury against those who betrayed the Clan's ancestors, and the purifying flames of destruction they've hoped would purge the Kingdom of its ruling class! The red inlay of them of course matches the red of the Eyes, but also symbolizes the burning core of the Clan's intended vengeance.

The Master has three horns per side, and the Right Hand has one, so perhaps you've wondered: is there a two-horned mask? Why yes! I headcanon that there is! It is reserved for a Right Hand who is also the Heir. Which is not a very rare occurrence, since a Master would likely hope to rely on their Heir as their second-in-command, once they're of age and they've proven themself to be reliable, skilled, and powerful enough. (Great training to be Master themself one day!) Our current Best Guy Kohga remembers this mask as the one his father wore during his early childhood before his Nana died and Dad became Master. Kohga himself was also eventually given the two-horned mask when he became his father's Right Hand.

He was very proud to wear it.

He did not get to wear it for long.

The metal side ornaments on Yiga masks are meant to resemble fangs, and are meant to add an edge of ferociousness to the Clan's appearance. Even members who are not actively working in more martial positions wear them--a style similar to Footsoldiers', but with the subtle difference that the center ridge of their three-ridged design is red, instead of the top one.

Footsoldiers' ornaments are straighter and dagger-like, evoking their prowess with smaller, more concealed weapons and bows. The top ridge colored red indicates that they are in a martial position and their work--and if necessary, their bloodshed--protects the more "civilian" population of the Karusa Complex.

Blademasters' ornaments are curved and sharper, a show of their ferocity with larger, well, blades. Although usually hidden by their hoods when in they're in full uniform, their ornaments do still feature the three ridges with the top one in red.

The Right Hand's ornaments share the basic shape of the Blademasters', but are segmented more smoothly down their whole length, with the final, sharp segment at the tip in red. These show that the Right Hand is at the top of the martial hierarchy of the Clan, at the forefront of the Clan's protection and ready to stain their weapons ("fangs") with the blood of their enemies.

Finally, Master Kohga's ornaments' more hooked shape are similarly meant to represent curved fangs, but the more rounded, shiny red end-pieces are meant to evoke skill not only with weapons but with the special arcane techniques only a Master is trained in. The larger, round, red center of their five-ridged design shows that Master Kohga is the central figure for the Clan--not just the Chief or "top banana," but someone who lives among their people and keeps them together. Powerful, deadly, but also a unifying force.

Traditions Surrounding Masks

As suggested above, Yiga children start wearing veils and practicing using the Sight technique pretty young, so they're prepared for donning their masks when the time comes. Kids officially get their first masks at the very start of the year during which they'll turn eleven. Depending on the Clan's birth rate for a particular year there might be only a few getting masks or there might be a big group. Getting one's mask involves...

A trip to Satori Mountain with Master Kohga! The Mountain being a very important place for the Clan, it has been chosen for the children's (usually) first time leaving the relative safety of Karusa Valley. The Master takes them to the sacred spring among the sakura trees near the top, where they remove their veils and put on their first masks. This ceremonial part of the trip is fairly short, and involves a pledge to stay safe beneath the mask and to work to the best of one's ability for the Clan. Then, the kids get to have some fun exploring, doing some fun little tasks set by the Master--things like "pick four different kinds of mushroom" or "find the tree marked with the Eye." This is meant to give the children not only a chance to practice using Sight out in the open, but the opportunity to get to know the Mountain...and...well, to run around being kids rolling in grass and climbing trees, out in the world under the sky, using the basic tracking and stealth skills they've been learning through their childhoods. (This is truly another of the current Kohga's favorite days of the year. Man loves the kiddos.)

Once you've received your mask, you're also considered old enough to start doing more involved chores around the Complex and figuring out what jobs and roles you might want to start really training for. So it's a Coming of Age kind of event! Children's mask ornaments are again the same as footsoldiers' and civilians', but they have the lowest ridge painted red. Under the protection of everyone else. They'll have these until they turn sixteen--another milestone.

Clan members are expected to keep their faces covered or disguised even at home, once they have been given their first masks. I've said it before but it belongs in a post on this topic: one's true face is, after that age, reserved for one's very immediate family. Parents, grandparents, siblings, spouse, and kids/grandkids. So, when a child goes up Satori Mountain at the start of their special year, the moment between when they take off their veil and when they put on their mask may be the last time they see the real faces of their friends with whom they share an age. Honestly, it's quite poignant, a sort of shedding of one's childhood self and taking on of a new identity among the Clan.

After death, a person's final mask is kept for their family's area down in the Clan's ancestor shrine halls. Masks are cared for by family members as part of specific festivals and are brought out for various events like weddings and funerary rites within the family. Since so much of a person's energy flows through their mask over the time they wear it, it's believed to still carry a part of their essence. So it's felt that ancestors are especially "present" and watching over you, when you visit your family shrine, or when their masks are made a part of your special days.

Yiga masks are quite tough, and broken and outgrown ones are burned at home. Those who are assigned to jobs and missions outside the Valley must be adept at the disguise technique, but if one's mask is broken to the point it can no longer be worn and it is at all possible to break away from one's task, one is supposed to return home to retrieve a new one right away.

((Sooga's insistence on wearing his cracked mask is considered quite unusual and odd. It's honestly only permitted because he is the Right Hand and thus his horns and uniforms already make him stand out. He did have it reinforced and repainted after the incident. I gave his stated reasoning for keeping it in a prior post, but...it's also because he was initially ashamed at having broken the work of a master craftsman so shortly after he received it. To this day, years later, if pressed he will say that his mask is serviceable so there is no need to trouble anyone. Of course, now more than ever anyone would love to make him a new one, but...that's Sooga for you. T-T))

Married couples traditionally remove each other's masks on their wedding night, before shedding any remaining disguise. This is a profoundly intimate show of love and trust. Even within a marriage, consent must be given before taking off one's spouse's mask.

Once you turn sixteen, in fact, no one is allowed to remove your mask without your express permission. Even when you're disguised under there. That includes parents and romantic partners. It's considered incredibly rude and childish especially after that age, to grab at someone else's mask to try to remove it.

That said, poking at or rapping on someone's mask is just silly behavior between friends, and caressing a masked cheek is loving. Also, touching masked foreheads together is a gesture of closeness between family, friends, and partners. Especially with a romantic partner, it's like a masked kiss. Yes. It's true. Yiga bonk foreheads like kittycats. (/silly, not really)

Because Yiga tend to spend a lot of time with their faces--even their fake faces--covered up, as a culture they tend to be quite expressive with their bodies and vocal inflections. They don't have facial expressions to rely on for communication purposes all the time, so head-tilts and hand gestures and other body language are adopted from an early age to get one's point across. Of course this doesn't mean they don't know what facial expressions are and mean (don't be ridiculous)--they know those things too, for when they're using an unmasked disguise and for dealing with other races. Just...they tend to talk with their hands a lot and can tell another Yiga's intent or emotion by how far they're tilting their head or how they're leaning their body. In fact, not gesturing as much or using subtler postures is just as much considered "reserved" or "quiet" among the Yiga as simply keeping one's volume down. There's nuance in these things, that outsiders might not realize.

Yiga doing espionage have to sort of mitigate these instincts/learned behaviors; they can sometimes come off weird or unsettling, otherwise! Think of those travelers you may have seen on the roads...how they wave and call to you a little too enthusiastically, and smile just a bit too wide... But surely they're just friendly! You should go over to them and talk. If you're lucky, they might even sell you some bananas, at very fair prices!

And the last thing you see, will be the blood red of the Inverted Eye.

And there you have it! A whole bunch of headcanons about Masks! Hope you had a good time reading!

[mclalan]

A small estate map of Northeast Wolderness, a wapentake within the County of Humbershire.

Pentascarth Peaks

River Wyn

Bridburn Orchard

Bridburn Abbey

Firley Village

Grinholm Mill

Skunlington Town

Skunlington Castle

Pentascarth Peaks

Pentascarth Peaks is an ancient evergreen woodland that once dominated Wolderness, but centuries of agricultural expansion have driven it back to the five hilltop peaks. Some say that Wyrms slumber within each of the five peaks, while others more accurately claim that the peaks mark the boundary of the Wolderness wapentake.

Both Bridburn Abbey and Skunlington Minster claim rights to the forest, leading to obvious land disputes. But while mortals argue over who owns what, the woods remain home to forgotten, ancient goddesses— though the monastics seem to agree on this being just superstition.

River Wyn

Leading down from Pentascarth Peaks is the River Wyn, cutting through Humbershire on its journey east to the Lyre Estuary. The Wyn boasts giant crabs with some allegedly growing to a formidable fifteen feet. But if you're tempted to go crabbing, beware of the water spirit Catharine Wart, who drags unsuspecting victims beneath the Wyn's currents.

Bidburn Orchard

Nestled within an oxbow is Bridburn Abbey's apple orchard. The monks began with the principle of ora et labora, or 'pray and labour,' but if it also produces apples so delicious and plentiful that kings from across the seas are willing to pay a pretty sum for them, then who are the Valynites to say no? Whether it's Wyn's blessed waters or the lay brothers' tireless work, the orchard certainly hasn't hindered the abbey's rise to fame and fortune. Just don’t get caught scrumping from it, or the monks will have your hand off.

Bridburn Abbey

Bridburn Abbey houses the Valynite Order, which seems more preoccupied with power and business than strictly worship. With extensive landholdings and significant influence in the region, the abbey functions as the principal rural manor of Wolderness. As a result, it has become the largest and wealthiest abbey in all of Humbershire. But beyond just collecting tithes from the surrounding peasants, the monks are skilled in land management, particularly in assarting the land of trees and marshes.

Firley Village

Firley Village, named after the fir trees that once grew in the area, is an agricultural settlement situated on the glebe of Bridburn Abbey.

A large plot of common land lies to the west of the village, while smaller plots are located south on the opposite bank of the River Wyn. While the villagers grow a rotation of barley and vegetables, they're best known for they're prized oxblood-coloured sheep, whose wool appears black but shines red when catching the light. You'd think the village would grow fat from the wealth of this highly sought-after wool, but as the village falls under the manorial holding of the abbey, it is the abbey that reaps the wealth.

Grinholm Mill

Grinholm Mill, a growing hamlet owned by the Rolleston family, offers a much more reasonable miller's toll compared to the one up by Bridburn Abbey. They've become quite popular amongst the peasants of Wolderness, (well at least by miller standards), as well as wealthy. Although they pay their tithe to the abbey like everyone else on this side of the river, they are perceived to have undermined the abbey’s milling soke monopoly—much to the abbey displeasure.

Skunlington Town

Skunlington is a prominent market town, both wealthy and influential, with a history that stretches back to the First Age. It's located behind a small range of hills that shield it from harsh weather and provides a natural defence, with an added Royal Castle on the highest peak for good measure.

The castle is about the only Royal influence in the town however, as Skunlington holds charters that grant it a degree of autonomy from the Crown. The town is governed by a council of Merchant Guild Aldermen in coalition with the Provost of Skunlington Minster. But despite this apparent independence, the town is practically in the pocket of the Archbishop of Humberthorpe, the capital city of Humbershire.

South of Bridburn Abbey, across the River Wyn, lies the land controlled by Skunlington Minster’s estate (marked in purple on the map). The large tract of empty land between Skunlington and Bridburn Abbey is an ongoing contention, as both estates claim it for their own. The bickering has gone on so long that the land has turned fallow. But the biggest source of contention is how Skunlington controls the river toll for use of its docks, with particularly extortionate prices for Bridburn Abbey. Rumour has it that Bridburn Abbey might just build a whole new town of its own, south of Skunlington, just to avoid paying this toll!

Skunlington Castle was strategically built in the First Age atop the highest hill on Pen-y-Skun for its vantage point overlooking the whole of North Wolderness Dale—crucial in the Woodsy War against the pagans. However, these days it’s the Crown's administrative center for Wolderness, run by the Under-Sheriff. Here, secular law is enforced, tasks such as collecting taxes for the Crown, raising levies, chopping off heads, that sort of thing. There’s a lot of overlap with the ecclesiastical courts however, sometimes resulting in collaboration and other times in clashes.

Skunlington Castle

But it’s not all work. The castle also serves as the hub for the gentry afterall, and they're not exactly know for their hard work. So the castle hosts games, jousts, fairs, that sort of thing, and a bed for when the King comes to visit.

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Ancient ‘Puppets’ Discovered atop El Salvador’s Pyramid

Archaeologists have uncovered five ancient small clay figurines resembling puppets atop the largest pyramid at the ancient site of San Isidro, El Salvador, a discovery that could reshape the understanding of Central American cultural connections.

The figurines, dating back to around 400 B.C., may have played a role in public rituals, challenging long-standing beliefs that ancient El Salvador was isolated from neighboring civilizations.

Uncovering the past

San Isidro, located in western El Salvador, remains one of the country’s least-explored archaeological sites.

Unlike its neighbors, such as Guatemala and Honduras, El Salvador’s ancient history is poorly documented due to a combination of dense modern populations and layers of volcanic ash that have buried potential excavation sites.

“Very little is known about the identities and ethnolinguistic affiliations of the creators of ancient settlements that predate the arrival of Europeans in the early 16th century,” said Dr. Jan Szymański of the University of Warsaw. “This gets worse the further back in time we look.”

To bridge this gap, Szymański and fellow researcher Gabriela Prejs conducted the first excavations at San Isidro. Their work led to an unexpected find – a ceremonial offering resembling a burial site, but without human remains.

The location of the tableau and the hollow figurine body in the excavation on top of Cerrito 1, north at the top

A rare discovery

Inside the offering, researchers discovered five clay figurines, marking only the second known discovery of such artifacts in their original placement. Notably, one figurine represents a male figure, making it unique among similar finds.

Three of the figurines feature movable heads, resembling ancient puppets. Researchers believe they were part of a staged performance, possibly used to tell stories or convey messages through ritual ceremonies.

Three of the five figürines have movable heads with a protrusion and socket allowing for movement

“One of the most striking features of the puppets is their dramatic facial expression, which changes depending on the angle that we look at them from,” Szymański said.

“Seen from above they appear almost grinning, but when looked at from the level angle they turn angry or disdainful, to become scared when seen from below.”

Challenging historical assumptions

Similar figurines have been found in western El Salvador and southern Guatemala, while other objects in the offering, such as jade pendants, resemble artifacts from Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and Panama.

These similarities suggest San Isidro’s leaders maintained connections with distant regions, exchanging goods, traditions, and possibly even religious practices.

For years, scholars believed that ancient El Salvador was culturally isolated. However, the discovery at San Isidro indicates otherwise.

“This discovery contradicts the prevailing notion about El Salvador’s cultural backwardness or isolation in ancient times,” Szymański said. “It reveals the existence of vibrant and far-reaching communities capable of exchanging ideas with remarkably distant places.”

It adds to growing evidence that pre-Columbian El Salvador was part of a complex and interconnected world. As researchers continue to study San Isidro, they hope to uncover more clues about how its people engaged with their neighbors.

By Nisha Zahid.