#Wisps over the Hidden Stream

[bennusimurgh]

"The Chronicles of Forgotten Light"

Chapter One: The Council of Echoes

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The Council chamber was a marvel of ancient and modern architecture, a sacred space that seemed to

exist outside of time. High vaulted ceilings, soaked in centuries of history, were adorned with glowing

runes that pulsed with life, responding to the thoughts and emotions of the beings gathered below. Soft

golden light streamed into the room from crystalline spheres that floated in the air, shifting colors in

tune with the mood of the discussion.

Representatives from across the galaxy had gathered in this hall—beings of incredible diversity, each

one embodying the unique beauty and power of their race. Tall and luminous, Ethereal beings seemed

to shimmer as they moved, their garments ranging from simple robes to intricate, ornate attire, each

bearing the emblem of their status. Alongside them stood warriors with bronze skin, wisps of smoke in

humanoid form, and metallic creatures that glinted in the light, all coexisting in a delicate balance.

Despite the importance of the topics being discussed, the atmosphere in the chamber was thick with

the weight of bureaucracy—a slow, creaking machine of deliberation that had long lost momentum. The

Council was mired in debates over trivial issues that could quickly wear down even the most patient

listener.

Dundul Kron sat in his seat, his gaze drifting over the assembly, but his thoughts were far from this hall.

His restless mind sought escape from the monotony. And as often, he slipped away to another place,

far removed from the noise and tedium.

With a deft shift, he connected to the collective unconscious and, with just one leap, transported

himself to a bar, leaving the assembly behind. His decisions would be recorded and documented

regardless; why waste energy on being present where the only task was to select the distinctive feature

of a specific model, or to decide why it should have a particular color, with periodic rescan for

additional functions that enhance the model’s ability to perform its assigned tasks?

In this other reality, everything was sharper, more vivid. Here, there were no debates, no endless

discussions, only peace and harmony. The bar where Dundul had transported himself was located on

the rings of Saturn, a place that epitomized tranquility and seclusion, far from the bustle of the galaxy.This bar, hidden among billions of icy and rocky particles, offered a breathtaking view of the planet's

rings, slowly streaming through the vastness of space. It was called "On Saturn's Rings" and was the

embodiment of what could be called the perfect place for those seeking quiet and solitude away from

the chaos of the universe.

The interior of the bar was simultaneously cozy and futuristic, with floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed

guests to gaze out at the endless expanse of Saturn and its famous rings. Beyond these windows, like a

river of time, the distant stars slowly drifted by, creating a sense of eternity and calm.

Tables and chairs, made of soft yet sturdy materials, were arranged so that each visitor could enjoy the

panoramic view. The lighting in the bar was subdued and soft, emanating from neon tubes that gradually

changed color depending on the time of day and the mood of the patrons.

The bartender, seemingly an extension of the bar itself, effortlessly mixed drinks that seemed to absorb

the atmosphere of the place. Each cocktail served here was more than just a drink; it was an entire

universe of flavors and sensations, adjusting to the emotions and thoughts of those who consumed it.

This bar was the place where one could come to ponder important decisions, immerse oneself in

reflections on life and the universe, or enjoy a moment of silence in the vastness of space. For Dundul, it

was the perfect place to meet her—a place where time slowed down, allowing him to focus on what

truly mattered.

Meeting with Sophia was what truly mattered now. She was a beacon of calm in the storm of his

thoughts, her presence a reminder of the beauty that lay beyond the confines of duty. Her deep,

understanding eyes met his gaze, and a soft smile played on her lips as she voiced the question that had

been lingering in her mind.

“It’s fascinating how you understand things as if you’re seeing through layers of reality,” she began, as if

continuing a thought out loud. “I had a strange feeling during my last work. It was as if my brushes were

painting not by my hand, but by someone else’s. Is this what you talk about—the unconscious?”

“It’s similar to what Jung would call ‘the projection of the unconscious onto matter,’” Dundul replied,

smiling slightly. “Perhaps your brushes weren’t guided by your hands but by archetypes hidden deep

within your subconscious. They might manifest through you, as if you were a conduit for their energy. Do

you feel them influencing you?”She pondered this, her gaze drifting to the rings of Saturn outside the window.

“Yes, but it’s a bit unsettling. It feels like there are two forces within me: one striving to express

something I can’t understand, and the other trying to maintain control. Have you ever felt that?”

“Often,” Dundul responded calmly, his voice deep and assured. “It’s the eternal struggle between

consciousness and the unconscious. The second force is your ego, trying to maintain order. But to

achieve true harmony, we must learn to listen to both sides. Have you ever tried talking to these forces

as if they were living beings?”

She nodded slowly, her face lighting up with understanding.

“Talking? I’ve never thought of it that way. But you’re right, they do seem alive. How would you suggest I

begin such a dialogue?”

“Try entering a state of light trance, when you’re on the edge between sleep and wakefulness,” Dundul

suggested, his voice nearly a whisper, as if he were sharing a sacred secret. “In that moment, you can

visualize these forces. Imagine them as figures with whom you can converse. Ask them what they want

to tell you, and listen. You might be surprised by what you hear.”

She looked at him, her eyes once again meeting his gaze.

“I’ll try. It seems like this could be an important step toward understanding what’s happening inside me.

Thank you. I feel a bit more at ease knowing you’ve been through something similar.”

Dundul smiled gently.

“We all go through this, it’s just that not everyone realizes it. I’m glad I could help. Remember, this is a

journey to your true self, and only you can define what it means.”

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, a natural exchange between two souls connected by a deep

bond—a love that transcends the physical, a union rooted in mutual understanding and respect. They

didn’t need words to express it; their shared presence was enough.But as Dundul began to speak again, he felt a familiar tug at the edge of his consciousness. The Council

chamber was calling him back, its sluggish discussions demanding his attention. He blinked, and the

serene landscape outside the bar window faded, giving way to the grand hall filled with beings from

across the galaxy.

He straightened in his seat, realizing that his brief mental escape hadn’t gone unnoticed. The speaker at

the podium had paused, his eyes fixed on Dundul with an expression of curiosity and something else.

The room had fallen silent, all eyes turning toward him. Misael, a figure known for his rare but impactful

interventions, stood at the edge of the gathering, his gaze locked onto Dundul.

Dundul sighed inwardly, preparing to re-engage with the discussion. But before doing so, he allowed

himself one last thought of the woman in the bar and the utopia they both knew—she was so close.

— And don’t forget to stay with me, he thought to himself. — The journey has only just begun.Chapter 2: The First Artifact

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‘‘Introduction and Familiarization’’

Dundul was stationed at an ancient archaeological site located in one of the most remote corners of the

galaxy. This forgotten outpost, which once served as a hub for studying ancient civilizations, was now

engulfed in silence and oblivion. Centuries had passed since the last scientist left these walls, leaving

behind only dust and ruins.

But recently, the station had once again attracted the attention of researchers. Strange energy surges

detected in this region indicated the presence of something unusual, possibly linked to ancient artifacts

that held the power and wisdom of long-lost peoples. Now, with the station becoming a focal point of

interest once more, Dundul had arrived to unravel the mysteries hidden deep within.

This life-sustaining planet had become the subject of investigation due to its unique position and

complex history. Once, Salt III had been part of a great civilization, but now only ruins and enigmas

buried beneath its surface remained. The shift in the planet's axis in the past had led to climate

changes, making it similar to Earth, though with a less polluted atmosphere.

Salt III was surrounded by a massive ring system, reminiscent of Saturn's rings, but with a mystical

touch, as if the planet itself was encased in ancient artifacts. These rings, encircling the planet, created

a mesmerizing spectacle in the night sky, giving everything around a sense of mystery and eternity.

The station was built many centuries ago on the ruins of an ancient city, which may have been one of the

centers of the vanished civilization. The station's main dome, constructed from a durable and nearly

invisible energy material, provided protection from harsh external conditions and allowed the station's

inhabitants to observe the majestic rings shimmering in the night, evoking a feeling of peace and

oblivion.

The planet's terraforming process had begun, but it was interrupted for unknown reasons. Outside the

dome, the atmosphere was still unbreathable, though its composition was slowly changing. A complex

life-support system artificially maintained a favorable environment inside the station. Biomes, where

rare plants were cultivated, played a crucial role in oxygen production. These domes resembled vast

parks filled with diverse flora and fauna, where both exotic plants and rare animals thrived. Thesebiomes not only sustained life on the station but also served as a reminder of nature's vitality, despite

being far from their home worlds.

Around 50 people lived on the station — archaeologists, engineers, biologists, linguists — each a

specialist in their field. They formed a diverse group, gathered from across the galaxy for a single

purpose: to unravel the mysteries of ancient civilizations and use their knowledge to understand the

present and future. The researchers lived in compact modules connected by a system of corridors that

provided easy access to various excavation zones and research centers. Though small, these modules

were designed to create a cozy atmosphere and foster a sense of camaraderie. However, some

preferred to live in townhouses located in the park zones of the biomes, where they could enjoy solitude

and the tranquility of nature.

Despite the harsh conditions, the station became a place where a sense of camaraderie thrived. Those

who lived and worked there became like family. In such extreme conditions, mutual support was not

just a necessity but the foundation of survival. Here, on the edge of the galaxy, amid cold wastelands

and ancient ruins, unique human bonds were formed, built on trust, mutual aid, and a common goal.

In the evenings, when the workday ended, the station's inhabitants often gathered in the central hall

beneath the main dome. There, they discussed their discoveries, shared thoughts, and told stories of

their home worlds. These moments were essential for maintaining morale and fostering a sense of

unity. Dundul, though lost in his own thoughts, could not help but feel the powerful energy emanating

from these people. Their dedication to their work and to each other inspired him to achieve new heights.

At the same time, especially for the sensitives, the station's atmosphere was imbued with a sense of

mystery. Every corner, every ancient mechanism seemed to hold secrets, waiting for their time to be

revealed. Dundul, with his innate ability to delve into the essence of things, could not help but feel this

tension, this call from antiquity that echoed in his mind.

But he needed to complete routine tasks before he could unravel these mysteries. Scanning debris,

analyzing energy fields, checking the operation of old mechanisms — all these were part of the work

that needed to be done to prepare the station for further exploration. These moments, filled with

monotony and sameness, seemed especially dull against the anticipation of what might be discovered

next.

Dundul wandered the station slowly, lost in thought. To him, artifacts were more than just ancient

objects. He understood that their true power lay not in their physical shell, but in what they symbolized.

An artifact had meaning only to the one who created it, and only in that person's hands did it hold truevalue. In Dundul's view, there was no difference between artifacts and totems — they were all merely

reflections of their creators' inner worlds.

Yet despite his skepticism about material objects, Dundul knew that they could be the key to unraveling

deeper truths. Each artifact held a piece of history, a fragment of knowledge that could shed light on

current events. Runes, though merely symbols to him, could still contain hidden power, capable of

opening doors to new understandings.

Immersed in these reflections, Dundul continued his work, preparing for the upcoming quest that

awaited him. With each step, he felt the station's mysterious energy becoming more palpable,

foretelling an inevitable encounter with what lay hidden in its depths.

The scientific team assembled to study the ancient artifacts on Salt III soon faced unforeseen

challenges. Initially, everyone worked in unison, striving to uncover the secrets of this enigmatic planet.

Still, as time went on, internal harmony began to unravel under the pressure of ambitions, fears, and the

unseen influence emanating from the ancient relics.

‘‘New Discoveries’’

The first signs that the station was on the verge of great discoveries came unexpectedly. Routine scans

conducted on the surface and deep within Salt III began detecting powerful energy surges. Initially, they

were dismissed as equipment errors or natural phenomena, but over time it became clear that these

were not random spikes. These energy anomalies were too regular, too powerful, and too purposeful.

Dundul, responsible for this sector, gathered the team to analyze the new data. It soon became evident

that the sources of these surges were located in the ancient ruins, deep beneath the planet’s surface.

Analysis showed that these surges were linked to something more significant than simple artifacts —

possibly to the awakening of a consciousness of an ancient civilization that had been dormant for

centuries in the depths of Salt III.

The more the researchers delved into their study, the more it seemed that their actions were themselves

the catalyst for this awakening. The terraforming process, which had been interrupted millennia ago,

began slowly resuming. The planet's atmosphere became cleaner, more stable; the domes that

protected the station started to disappear as if the planet itself had decided to reveal itself to its new

inhabitants.However, the joy of such discoveries quickly darkened. Along with the awakening of ancient systems,

strange and disturbing phenomena began to occur on and around the station. Researchers started

encountering mysterious visions and indistinct shadows wandering the station’s corridors. These

entities seemed not to belong to this world but were closely tied to Salt III’s past. Some researchers

claimed to have seen fragments of the past, scenes of ancient battles and destruction now coming to

life before their eyes.

On Salt III, everything seemed calm and predictable at first glance, but each day spent on this planet

brought the researchers closer to uncovering what was happening on a much deeper level. The energy

surges detected by the instruments were just the tip of the iceberg, signals that something ancient was

awakening. Initially, Dundul and his team treated these as ordinary anomalies, but over time it became

clear that they were dealing with something that could not be ignored. The awakening of the ancient

mind was not driven by malevolent intent but rather a result of ancient forces striving to return the

planet to its original, paradisiacal state.

The energy enveloping Salt III was like a massive wave that swept through space and time, and with

each wave, it grew stronger, causing changes on the planet and within the researchers themselves. This

energy began to influence people's behavior, not with the aim of harming them but as a natural process

aimed at purification and restoration.

The planet’s power manifested itself subtly, covertly. The ancient mind of Salt III did not seek to control

people directly; instead, it guided them through its energy surges, creating conditions in which they

were forced to act. Each energy impulse was a message, a riddle that needed to be solved. But to do so

required not just strength, but a deep understanding that every action had its consequences. Like an

experienced ruler, the planet did not reveal its intentions, forcing those around it to act under conditions

of uncertainty.

Salt III acted through its energy surges and influence on the researchers' consciousness, compelling

them to make decisions and take action rather than merely discussing possible options. The energy of

the ancient mind awakened hidden emotions, fears, and ambitions within people. These surges were

not aimed at destruction; rather, they forced people to confront themselves, their inner demons, and

shadows. Nature sought not to destroy but to awaken the dormant power within each individual, forcing

them to act and thus cleanse themselves.

‘‘Memories of the Past’’: As Dundul immersed himself in his work, he increasingly noticed that strange

visions engulfed his consciousness. These visions were fragments of the planet's past, where ancientcivilizations performed their rituals, connecting with the forces of nature. The visions did not just come

to him; they took hold of him entirely, immersing him in the atmosphere of a distant time when artifacts

were not relics but living, active sources of power.

In these visions, he saw ‘‘Platunus’’

— a planet that was once full of life but became a victim of its own

technology. He observed how the ‘‘Temple of Energy’’ became a center of birth and death, how energy

meant for creation turned into a destructive force. These visions were so realistic that Dundul

sometimes could not tell where reality ended and illusion began.

‘‘The planet’s awakening’’ became increasingly apparent. Salt III, like Platunus, could become a victim

of its own power if it was not managed properly. But this power did not seek to destroy its new

inhabitants — it sought to restore the planet to its former glory. Dundul understood that their actions

needed to be aimed at maintaining balance, that any wrong move could lead to disaster. And though

they longed to uncover all the secrets of this land, they also realized that their mission required special

caution and respect for the forces they encountered.

With each passing day, more intense changes occurred on Salt III. The disappearance of the domes

opened new horizons for the researchers, but also brought new challenges. The awakening of ancient

spirits and entities connected to the planet’s past became a new reality for those who remained at the

station. These entities were not malevolent, but they could not fully interact with the planet’s

inhabitants without creating discomfort and fear.

These spirits were a mixture of memories and entities, gathered into a single consciousness that tried to

reconnect with the physical world. They were nothing more than archetypal shadows trapped in the

collective unconscious, attempting to restore a lost connection with reality.

Salt III, like a king, demanded respect and understanding from those who dared to step on its surface.

The planet did not forgive mistakes, but it did not seek revenge. It wanted to restore its grandeur, and for

this, it was necessary to understand its needs and goals. Those who could act consciously and with

respect had a chance to see the planet bloom again, returning to its paradisiacal state. But those who

could not handle its powerful energy were doomed to become its victims.

The researchers and Dundul found themselves at the center of this process. They had to act like wise

rulers, maintaining a balance between power and respect for the planet's force. They stood on the brink

of great discoveries, but every action they took could lead to either restoration or destruction. Salt III

demanded not only skill but also inner maturity to deal with the challenges it presented.Dundul understood that he and his team needed to become flexible, like water, to cope with the growing

challenges. They needed to act not just with strength but with wisdom, adapting to changing conditions.

Salt III, like an ancient teacher, tested the patience and adaptability of everyone who dared to enter its

sphere of influence. Like water, which always finds a way around obstacles, Dundul and his team had to

learn to navigate the invisible barriers the planet set before them. But these barriers were not meant to

stop them but to teach them to act with caution and wisdom.

With each new energy surge, with each new encounter with ancient spirits, Dundul's team increasingly

realized that they were not controlling the process but were a part of it. The planet dictated its

conditions but also revealed its secrets to those who were ready to listen and learn. The researchers

needed to become more than just observers — they had to become partners in the great restoration

process.

Salt III, despite its power and grandeur, did not seek to subjugate its guests. It sought to restore

harmony, and for this, it needed allies, not conquered slaves. To achieve this harmony, the planet

required them to have fluidity of thought, the ability to quickly adapt to new conditions, and a readiness

to change their perspective.

Dundul felt how he himself was changing under the influence of these forces. His own connection to the

collective unconscious grew stronger every day, making him more sensitive to the vibrations and

energies emanating from the planet. He realized that they were not just researchers on a mission but

participants in a grand cosmic plan that was only beginning to unfold before them.

It was this fluidity and adaptability that allowed them to avoid the traps and dangers that could have

destroyed a less flexible and dogmatic team. They had to remain adaptable in their approaches,

constantly adjusting their actions in response to the changes occurring on Salt III. The planet’s energy

could be both creative and destructive, and only those who could tune into its wavelength could truly

benefit from it.

Instead of trying to control the planet, Dundul and his team decided to work in harmony with its forces.

They stopped perceiving the energy surges as a threat and began to see them as signs and indications

that could lead them to uncovering the great secrets of the ancient civilization. This shift in approach

allowed them not only to survive but to thrive, gradually approaching the moment when Salt III would

fully reveal its deepest secrets.Salt III continued to change, and with it, so did those living on its surface. Their mission became not just

an exploration but a journey inward, a dive into the depths of their own consciousness, where the

answers to many questions they asked themselves lay hidden. They needed to become part of this

planet so that it could become part of them, and only then could they hope that everything they had

planned would lead to a successful conclusion.

Ultimately, the success of their mission depended not on how much they learned about the planet but

on how deeply they understood themselves in the process of this knowledge. Salt III was not only a test

of their knowledge and skills but also a test of their spirit, their ability to remain fluid, adaptable, and

wise in conditions that changed every minute.

So they moved forward, attuning themselves to the planet’s rhythm, merging with its energy, and

gradually uncovering the secrets it had kept for many centuries. This journey promised to be long and

difficult, but those who could adapt, who could become fluid like water, could hope that something

great awaited them at the end, something that would justify all their efforts and trials.

The scientific team, gathered to study the ancient artifacts on Salt III, soon faced unforeseen

challenges. Initially, everyone worked in unison, striving to uncover the secrets of this mysterious

planet, but as time went on, internal harmony began to crumble under the pressure of ambitions, fears,

and the unseen influence emanating from the ancient relics.

The Mystery of Artifacts and Their Influence

Energy artifacts revealed their true nature only in the hands of those connected to their creators. This

discovery was not just a scientific fact but a blow to the team's confidence. Some artifacts that had

previously seemed harmless, in the hands of those obsessed with their creators, became sources of

power. These individuals began to feel that they could control the artifact's power, but in reality, the

artifact was controlling them.

Artifacts discovered by the team on Salt III were unique in their nature and action. Each had specific

properties and could strongly influence the environment and even the researchers themselves.

However, as they delved deeper into the study of these objects, it became evident that the power of the

artifacts could have been more unequivocally beneficial. Some, like the ‘‘Misantreon’’ (named after an

ancient artifact capable of awakening the dark sides of human nature), began to sow discord and

mistrust among the team.

‘‘Misantreon’’

, an artifact emitting dark, almost imperceptible energy, was found deep within a ruined

temple and immediately drew attention. Its influence was invisible but palpable: as soon as one of thescientists began to study it, they began to feel inexplicable suspicions toward their colleagues, fear, and

a desire to possess the artifact alone. Initially, these changes were barely noticeable, but over time,

they grew into open conflicts.

Other artifacts, such as the ‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’ (functionally similar to the Resurrection Stone), emitted

a bright energy that promoted healing and restoration. However, its power was also ambiguous: the

crystal demanded sacrifices, as if hinting at the inevitable balance between light and darkness.

The ‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’

— a majestic artifact reminiscent of a lost civilization that may have used it to

revive or restore the deceased. But its bright aura hid a dark secret: every time someone tried to use its

power, they felt something slipping away in return, as if the crystal demanded sacrifices in exchange for

its action.

These two artifacts became the epicenters of conflict. Some scientists, obsessed with the idea of using

‘‘Misantreon’’ to uncover the secrets of the ancient civilization, insisted on further research despite its

obvious negative impact on the team. Others, on the contrary, saw in the ‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’ the key to

restoring harmony on the planet, although its dark sides caused no less concern.

Conflicts Within the Team

As tension within the team grew, two opposing groups began to form. One, led by Dr. Laren, believed

that the artifacts should be studied at all costs, even if it involved certain risks. Laren argued that

without a deep understanding of the artifacts' power, they could not uncover all the planet's secrets.

Her supporters believed that the risk was justified and that the knowledge that could be extracted from

the artifacts was worth it.

The other group, led by Dr. Iris, called for caution. They saw how the influence of ‘‘Misantreon’’ and the

‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’ was changing their colleagues' behavior and believed that continuing the research

could lead to catastrophic consequences. Iris and her supporters insisted that the artifacts should be

isolated and studied remotely to avoid their negative influence.

“We cannot afford to lose our sanity for the sake of discovery,” Iris said at one of the team meetings.

“These artifacts may hold not only knowledge but also destruction. If we’re not careful, Salt III will

become our grave.”

Meanwhile, the artifacts continued to exert their influence on the researchers. Each of them felt the

pressure emanating from the ancient relics. ‘‘Misantreon’’ heightened paranoia and distrust, makingpeople more closed off and aggressive. Some even began to see their colleagues as rivals rather than

allies, leading to open conflicts and quarrels.

The Influence of Artifacts on Consciousness

The influence of the artifacts on the researchers' consciousness became increasingly apparent. Visions

that initially seemed like mere illusions began to invade their reality. Some began to experience an

inexplicable fear of the artifacts, while others felt an irresistible attraction to them. These behavioral

changes intensified, leading to conflicts within the team. Dundul, with his natural resistance to such

influences, began to notice how his colleagues were slowly but inexorably changing.

The ‘‘Shadow of Power’’, an ancient staff capable of subjugating its wielder's mind, became the focal

point of such influences. One researcher, under its influence, began to see himself as a ruler striving for

power at any cost. These visions were so vivid that he began to perceive his colleagues as threats to his

future greatness.

The researchers realized that they needed to protect themselves and their team from the artifacts'

influence. They began creating protective gear designed to block the relics' effects on consciousness.

The team also started training to strengthen their inner resilience and concentration to withstand the

forces contained in the artifacts. Dundul, with his innate mental defense abilities, became a mentor for

others, teaching them methods of resisting ancient influences.

Chaotic Control

At the peak of the crisis, when ‘‘Misantreon’’'s influence reached its zenith, the team faced the greatest

danger. The energy released by the artifact began to break down the station’s defense systems.

Everything seemed doomed to fail. But those who remained sane knew that chaos could only be

controlled by embracing it. The team’s actions, which seemed chaotic and meaningless, were actually

meticulously calculated.

Even the most powerful protective measures could not fully shield them from the artifacts' influence.

When the incident with ‘‘Misantreon’’ occurred, the station plunged into chaos. The dark energy

released by the artifact began to spread at an unimaginable speed, like a living entity seeking to engulf

everything in its path. Everything happened so quickly that it seemed each moment teetered on the

brink of destruction.The team, gripped by panic, froze in terror at the unmanageable force. But those who remained

conscious immediately pulled themselves together. Without a word, as if by an invisible command, they

began to act. The intricate dance of interactions that unfolded at the station appeared chaotic and

unstructured to an external observer, but within this chaos, there was hidden harmony.

Every action was part of a complex plan, with each note played at the right moment. The entire team,

acting as one, began working, creating a symphony out of chaos. They knew they couldn’t fully suppress

‘‘Misantreon’’’s energy, but they could redirect it. At the moment of climax, the artifact was encased in a

protective field and transported to an indestructible vault. This step was necessary to save the station

and continue their mission.

When it was all over, silence reigned on the station. The researchers realized they had encountered

something beyond their understanding. But they also realized that the power contained within the

artifacts could be both creative and destructive. It was important not to suppress it but to learn to work

with it, respecting its nature.

Now they knew their mission was not just a scientific inquiry but a spiritual journey, in which they had to

find a balance between the thirst for knowledge and respect for the forces they were unveiling. Salt III

continued to hold its secrets, but now the team was prepared for new challenges, understanding that

their success depended not only on knowledge but on their ability to maintain balance between light

and darkness.

And only time would tell whether they could uncover all the mysteries of this enigmatic planet without

losing their humanity in the process.

“These artifacts,” Dundul said as the situation on the station began to stabilize, “can give us answers to

many questions. But they can also lead to our demise if we don’t learn to understand and respect them.

We must remember that the power hidden within them can be both creative and destructive.”

This incident was a turning point for the team on Salt III. The conflicts and disagreements that nearly led

to disaster showed how dangerous the misuse of the artifacts' power could be. The researchers

understood that their mission was not only about the pursuit of knowledge but also about maintaining a

balance between the thirst for discovery and caution.Salt III continued to hold its secrets, and each day brought new challenges. However, the team now

acted with greater caution, understanding that every action they took had consequences not only for

themselves but for the entire planet. And though they continued to strive to uncover the secrets of the

ancient civilization, they knew that their success depended on their ability to maintain unity and respect

for the forces they had encountered.

Thus, the station on Salt III became not only a place of scientific research but also an arena where

human ambitions and fears clashed with ancient forces awakened from a deep slumber. And only time

would tell whether they could uncover all the mysteries of this enigmatic planet without losing the most

valuable thing — their humanity.

[hanayori89]

          Sparks Between Fang Marks: Bite from the Beast 2

✨✨✨✨✨🐺✨✨✨✨✨

The distant sound of a man softly humming sifted through the floorboards.

You lifted your eyes, looking down to see your body swathed in a bundle of blankets. You moved your legs to find a pillow placed beneath each one. You groggily scooted upward, needing a better view of your surroundings and wanting to locate the source of the pleasant humming.

You looked to your right, the top of a ladder led to the downstairs, revealing you were in a loft. To the left lay a window. You flicked the blinds open a crack to see a soft trickle of sunlight stream in.

How many days have you been out? And where were you? A lump of panic hit your throat when you remembered your leg, which had been dangling by mere threads of ligament. You jerked upright, thoughts swirling around you as you remembered the wolf and the apologetic rancher with the mouth stained with your blood.

I've got to get out of here. You began to fight against the sheets, distressed.

You jumped out of the bed, all of the blood rushing to your head, causing you to grab hold of the wall.

That was until the wall started to move. You looked up and saw the rancher standing there.

"Ah, easy. You may still be woozy from the blood loss." He set a plate of food down on the side table as he grabbed your shoulders and gently guided you back to his bed.

You looked at the food, your stomach betraying you by growling at the tantalizing grub he had thoughtfully cooked for you.

Then you remembered the blood that was crusted to his gums. You looked up at him, expecting to see him start to howl and jump around on all fours.

But he just stood, his head slightly tilted as he observed you.

"Everything ok?"

Your stomach answered in your stead. He gave you a wisp of a chuckle. "It sounds like you're hungry."

He sat down beside you carefully, as if he could sense your apprehension.

Your eyes remained affixed to his mouth. If only you could erase the blood-stained teeth imprint in your brain, you would be able to actually appreciate the mauve tinge of his lips. He reached over to grab your plate, but you weren't about to let the wolf fatten you up so he could eat you later. You grabbed his wrists, twisting them up and down, looking for any arcane space of gray fur that could be hidden on his body.

You threw his wrists down, distraught. "I know what you are," you maligned him. You finally ripped your gaze from his mouth and looked into his mellow blue eyes. The eyes that matched the mellowness of the wolf before he sank his fangs into you.

He looked away, scorned but not offering any rebuttals to your accusation either. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I really am sorry."

"Aha! So, you are! I'm not crazy!" You slapped the bed, rocking it in triumph.

He grabbed your hand in between his. "Please let me make this right somehow. I feel awful."

You folded your arms. "I don't sleep in strange men's beds, so you can start by telling me your name."

This teased him into a smirk. "You work for the castle, and you don't know who I am?"

He let your hand go, causing a slight stitch of disappointment within you. He looked down at his floorboards, wistful, as if he were counting the cracks in them. "Link." He murmured.

"Link?" He lifted his gaze back upward and waited for the realization to reflect in your eyes.

" L I N K!" You slapped the bed again; the sound of the springs in the bed ricocheting made it vibrate. "That Link? What in Hylia are you doing hiding on a ranch?"

You lowered your voice as if you didn't want a ghost in the room to hear you. "You could have your own place in the castle. You work for the princess too; no wonder you were so eager to help me. But you, that curse, I thought the curse from the twilight was lifted?" You lifted your thumb to your chin in thought.

Link sighed. "I am from Ordon. I chose to return here for the time being until I figure out how to lift the twilight's curse."

"How do you lift it? Why aren't you asking her majesty to assist you? Surely, as her greatest knight, she would. You shouldn't be living like an outcast, Link."

He stood, indignant. "My home does not make me feel like an outcast. I'm more of an outcast among all those folk in Castle Town than I am here."

"Do you really feel that way, or is that your shame speaking?"

He lowered his voice, his eyes flickering with an emotion you couldn't quite read. "Only true love's kiss can lift it. And before you ask, yes, I've kissed many girls, even guys. Sometimes until my lips were raw. You think being a wolf is a curse? Try never being able to fall in love."

A feral streak hit his features, causing you to shift uncomfortably on the bed. He waited for you to offer him some type of consolation or comeback. His lips parted almost in a sneer; one of his canines was slightly protruding, and you wondered if it was even his tooth or the wolf making itself known through him.

"Boo-hoo, you can't find someone you like. Join the club. Quit feeling sorry for yourself and put yourself out there. You'll never find the right person if you're hiding away in exile on a ranch.

"You have an answer for everything, don't you? I'm starting to think the wolf in me bit you for a reason."

His face was suddenly right in front of yours, and small breaths came out of his flared nostrils, daring you to retort. You were starting to think he was enjoying this.

Or maybe you were.

"All I'm saying is that your soulmate may not even be in this village. When is the last time you've even gone on a date with someone from here?"

He paused, seeming to contemplate your question. You grabbed the plate, and a delicious whiff of sauteed pumpkin and berries with cream made you drool. You pierced a piece with your fork before his hand grabbed your wrist.

"I don't let strange women just eat off of my plate, so you can tell me your name first." He gave you a devious grin, and you wondered where the sweet ranch hand had gone.

On the same token, you couldn't deny the giant smile that was also taking up space on your face.

"Y/N." You took your other hand and guided his wrist, and your other hand that held the fork into your mouth. You closed your eyes, purring with delight.

"Well, it's a shame you don't have a lover; they're missing out on someone who clearly knows how to cook." You took another bite; the sound of your gentle moans was a clear appraisal of his talent in the kitchen.

You looked over to see Link staring at you. "What? Blood on my teeth?"

"Alright, I'm done playing nice." He walked over to his bureau and pulled out the vials you had on you. Each one was filled with what you assumed was some of the spring water.

You dropped your fork on the plate with a clank. Link held them out for you, but when you went to grab them, he swiped them away. "Hey!"

"You need these for Zelda, yes? Well, I'll give them to you under one condition. If you think falling in love is so easy, you're going to help me find the one who will lift the curse."

You tried to yank the vials again, but Link spun, pinning them tightly behind his back. He bent down, and with a rough edge to his voice, whispered. "You're at my mercy now."

You raised your eyebrow at him. "And if I don't help you? What are you going to do? Bite me again?"

He cooed, "Yes, only the fang marks are a lot worse when they're coming from my human form."

It was then and there that you decided you almost missed Wolf Link.

Almost.

        ✨✨✨✨✨🐺✨✨✨✨✨

Edited:11/7/23

[sasukimimochi]

i really wanted to post some of my concept art for my hellscape but i didn't really want to do so without doing some changes? i did this one back in 2020 but of course i added in wwx and made some changes to fit the au a bit more [like the bogland pools]. This is essentially a gate to earth from within hell!

i also wrote something for a scene like this with wwx and lwj going through one of these portals a while ago...i actually forgot i wrote it! so i will be adding it beneath the cut :]!

drawn in clipstudio.

Enjoy the writing snippet! :D Please listen to this song while you read, it's basically my theme for this world and i love it to death. i suggest skipping to 4:50 and then beginning to read for optimum experience, but you should definitely listen to the full song it's so good.

This isn't the same portal as in the art, there are multiple "gates".

· ✦ · · ✦ · · ✦ · · ✦ · · ✦ · ✦ · ✦ · · ✦ · · ✦ · · ✦ · · ✦ ·

“Let me lead you into the darkness.” Wei Wuxian teased as he stepped through the maw of the portal, light dancing across their form like fireworks caught in a windstorm. It wasn’t what the angel expected the gates of hell to look like- well, this wasn’t really a gate, was it?

Soon, the angel followed, lips pursed and squinting his eyes in an effort to not get blinded by the flying colors of light. What he hadn’t expected was a sudden drop, but he was relieved knowing he hadn’t walked off the edge. He lifted his head, eyes slowly widening at the sight within.

Past the dancing hues of forget-me-nots and amethyst was a far stretch of land, glows and structures hidden behind plumes of misty magic, almost like smoke but more like a fog. What he could see were the spires and magic crystals extending from the cliff side, a heated wind that tossed his hair about behind him, flowers coated in flames and large pillars in the distance.

Wei Wuxian smirked and grabbed Lan Wangji’s hand, causing him to startle. “Well, don’t just stand there.” He then pulled the other off the cliff with him, wings unfurling in a smooth motion and blanketing the sky with their sheer size.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Wangji cried, having to twist his body so that he could properly extend his wings. When he caught the current his eyes properly opened again, taking a deep breath and sparing the other a glance. Wei Wuxian was gonna get him maimed on accident one of these days. Despite this, his heart was thrumming with excitement.

Wei Wuxian laughed, tucking his wings in and plummeting into the wind stream, hair billowing behind him wildly as he guided them into the best clearing for a proper flight. The flames that sat between his horns roared to life, leaving a tail of flames in his wake in a breathtaking sight.

Billowing flames made way for their wings as they flew, the angel careful to glide near or above the demon to avoid possible burns, but soon found out they were actually not scalding at all. He held out his hand, the colors reflecting on his eyes brilliantly as they swam past his fingers. Little fractals and sparks of light fell over his hand and wing, dancing and swirling in the air in such an ethereal way.

This…this place was hell?

His eyes shifted ahead, watching as birds glistening with flames fell into glide beside them, the flames wisping off their forms as if they would fizzle out and disappear. Their cries were long and haunting, but in a way, it was also quite beautiful, as were most creatures- but he hadn’t expected that here. Along the ground creatures would dart on their fours to capture prey, climbing rocks or trees coated in ice or fire- this was when he found out those pillars he’d seen were pillars of ice connected to those trees, frosted towards the top and glistening like crystals the closer to the ground they were.

Wei Wuxian whistled to get Lan Wangji’s attention, smiling and dipping below the lines of flames. The angel was worried, unsure if whether to follow, but eventually he took a deep breath and allowed the flames to engulf him.

What they’d flown into was a humongous tunnel of fire, leaves, and flowers- the flames nearly sentient in their movements, weaving around their bodies like snakes or waves.

· ✦ · · ✦ · · ✦ · · ✦ · · ✦ · · ✦ · · ✦ · · ✦ · · ✦ · · ✦ · · ✦ ·

Unfortunately that's it for what i have written of this snip so far, god i love writing about my hellscape its so fun!

See more art/info of COI and my other projects in my MDZS masterpost! ❤

[grimvestige]

TIARNAN IS NORMALLY VERY NICE I PROMISE.

He just also has like three specific things that make him angry, and Fiona managed to do at least two out of the three (and tangentially the third) which is what resulted in him actually drawing his sword cane for the first time. Thankfully, he passed his will save to not do a little violence as a small treat.

Fiona belongs to @theitalianmafia

Timelapse under the cut, along with some context for the scene, cw for swearing. ^^ Reblogs go a long way supporting artists on tumblr!

Tiarnan pauses if only for a moment, seeing Fiona's remorse, the flames licking off of his form only slightly less. Absentmindedly, his hands had drifted to one holding the shaft of his cane, and the other with his thumb hovering over the handle's button.

He still takes one more step towards her, looming over her small form pressed into the wall. "How dare you bait Leon into harming you," his tone still sharp with anger...though there was a barely perceptible hint of anguish hidden beneath the rage as well. But, at the mention of Leon by name, the flames intensify again, as he returns to a louder tone. "Keeva is one thing. My best friend is another entirely."

At this his thumb presses inwards, and a small click is heard moments before a flash of steel comes streaming out of Tiarnan's cane, pointed directly at Fiona's throat. "He’s all I have left from before the rebellion right now. The only one I haven't lost from before getting on this fucking ship." The slightest hint of wisps now intermingle with the flames radiating off Tiarnan now.

[arty-shadow-morningstar]

Who made me a Villain (2)

So um... I forgot to post here so here you go.

[Masterlist] [Ao3]

(Part 1) (here) (Part 3)

--------

Marinette woke up, confused and disoriented in her bedroom. Vivid images of her dreams playing back in her head. People turning into monsters, purple butterflies, her playing hero with a yo-yo of all things and a boy in black who made her chest ache but also filled with anger.

She walked down to the kitchen to get some water, careful not to wake up her parents. It has been a few days since she woke up in a hospital with no memories of the past 3 years or so she had been told.

Marinette put back the cup she used and sat down on the cold floor of the kitchen. The chill felt through her pyjama bottoms, kept her grounded in the world she had found herself in.

Everything felt wrong. Her parents felt distant and there was a sense of uneasiness in the city. The harsh whispers when people thought she wasn’t looking, didn’t help her at all. Something big had happened in the past three years and she had forgotten about it. 

Her room felt empty and lonely. It looked the same with a few minor changes but there was something still missing. Several somethings. If only she had a clue on what it is.

Wait.

Marinette stood up as she remembered her diary. Her past self would have written down what had gone down during the years she can’t remember. She dashed back up as quietly as she could to her diary’s hiding place.

It was not there.

The box was a decoy.

Marinette sighed. Someone, probably Chloe, might have tried to get her diary. Honestly, she can’t blame her past self for trying every way to avoid being Chloe’s punching bag to the point of being so paranoid.

Of course, she wouldn’t have thought that she might lose her memories and forget where the diary is hidden, wherever it is.

She looked inside the box again in hopes of the diary magically appearing when she noticed the inner lining that wasn’t there before.

Why would she put a padded velvet lining in a box that was supposed to be a decoy? Upon a closer look, it wasn’t glued on properly. Marinette had done something like this before for some of her friends’ gifts and she knew she wouldn't make such an amateur mistake. She took out the lining and found a key underneath. There was some writing on the back of the white cardboard which was used as a support for the lining.

‘Under the chaise’

Marinette looked under it before remembering the hidden space she made by removing a loose tile under the chaise.

There was a box with a lock on it and the key was a perfect fit. Inside was her diary and a strange dark blue glass orb.

There were a few ripped pages in the diary. Many of the pages were scribbled out and hard to read. The ones that weren’t ripped or fully scribbled over had words written backwards or in another language she didn’t know. There were many sketches of cute chibi like animals that brought a smile to her face like they were old friends she can’t remember. Then, she found a page that was different from the rest.

Firstly, it was the first one she found that was written neither backwards or in a different language. Written in big bold letters, it read:

‘Break the glass’

Marinette picked up the glass orb, finding it heavier than she thought it would be. As she inspected the glass orb curiously and confused about everything, she wondered. Why did she, the past her, go to such lengths to hide it but leave clues for someone to find?

Nothing made sense and her only answer was to break the glass like the note said. 

Marinette went up to the balcony and once she was there, she threw the orb as hard as she could onto the floor.

It shattered easily. Then, strange blue wisps escaped from it and went into her. Marinette fell onto her knees as memories of the past 3 years, her time as Ladybug and Guardian, crashed through her mind.

Once it was done, tears were streaming down her face as Marinette grieved over the loss of her beloved kwamis. Her only source of companionship in the hell that was Paris was no longer there. She was truly alone.

—---

The girl woke up in her cell, her pillow wet with tears. She sat up, wiped her cheeks and hugged her knees.

Maybe if she had taken on Kagami’s or Luka’s offer to go with them, she wouldn’t be here. It would have made it harder for the Order to track her down and maybe she could have-

The girl shook her head.

No.

It would have only dragged her only friends into the mess that was somehow her life. She wondered if she could pinpoint where it all started going wrong. Was it when Lila appeared? Or was it Hawkmoth? She could not say for sure. It could have been before that when she was placed in the same class as Chloe with Caline Bustier as her teacher. Maybe it was when the once kind Dupain-Cheng couple picked up a starving little girl off the streets who looked similar to their daughter who had died in an accident and named her Marinette.

It was no use thinking about it. She had already decided to leave the past in the past. But the future was still so bleak. While she could get out using magic, based on what she knew about superheroes from Alya’s ramblings (it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to when she thinks of the name. It feels like the name of a stranger). Batman operated Gotham, her new home, and he will probably drag her back if she escapes.

There was a chance she would be released earlier if she played nice but honestly, what use would it be if she ever gets out of Arkham.

She would be an ex-convict with a criminal record so there would still be the same hate and contempt she faced back in Paris if she ever got out.

The girl went back to sleep since worrying about it was no use and something tells her that tomorrow will be a good day.

=====

The dark-haired girl sat alone, eating her lunch. So far, that’s the only thing that wasn’t different from her life in Paris.

For starters, Arkham was nicer than she thought it would be after spending a few weeks here. Clean and neat environment, good food being served daily, mostly friendly staff members and decent cellmates.

Maybe the last one was questionable, considering some of their reputations that she heard about. But they avoided her. Mostly. There were some eyes as she was the youngest inmate currently in Arkham but she was used to it. Plus there was no hatred and hostility in those eyes which made it easier to breathe.

It was different from her imagination of dirty cells with rusty bars, having questionable grey mush for meals and the other inmates picking on her. How sad was her life that this was a huge improvement to being Marinette?

“Hello, sugar. Aren’t ya a little bit young to be here?” A voice suddenly came from in front of her.

The girl looked up in surprise to see two ladies staring at her. The one who called her was a blonde woman with dyed tips, one side blue and the other red, and she had a slight vibe that screamed unhinged. The red-headed woman, next to her, seemed more calm but she had an unusually green tint to her skin. She blinked, unsure if they were friendly or not or if she should answer. After a moment, the girl settled for a wave.

“Ives, look how cute she is. What’s your name?” The blonde exclaimed, “Mine is Harley. Harley Quinn. And this lovely flower next to me is my girlfriend, Pamela. I just call her Red.”

“Hello.” Pamela gave her a small smile to reassure her.

====

Ever since they saw the girl, Harley and Ivy had to know how someone as young as her landed in Arkham Asylum of all places.

After a bit of bribery, knocking out people and breaking and entering, they managed to get their hands on the girl’s files. They expected some type of mental illness that makes it dangerous for her to be around people but trying to kill 14 people in broad daylight was … shocking to say the least. They were also surprised to learn that she was originally from Paris and the only reason she had been sent here was because DNA tests revealed her to be a daughter of the Joker.

Harley and Pamela decided to first observe her and since she was still young, try to prevent her going down the insane clown path as much as possible with their guidance.

For the first few days, they noticed that the girl was very quiet and afraid of making a fuss. Everything about her just screamed depressed and sad.

“You know, Red. I think I figured out the 14 attempted murder charges,” Harley said one day, after observing stalking the girl.

Batman had pulled some strings so they ended up in cells opposite each other under a few conditions. (Such conditions include no more killing people, peacefully surrendering to the authorities and try to get better)

“What about her screams psycho serial murderer like her dad?” Pamela asked, looking over one of her plants, “Honestly, she’s more like a wilted plant that didn’t have sunlight for days.”

“She’s been bullied, Red. The signs are all there. I’m beginning to feel like something fishy is going on.”

Harley began pacing around her cell, “She’s very wary of authority figures so the teachers might have been in on it. She might have been isolated. Parental figures might also have abused or neglected her.”

“You are saying she snapped hard one day and decided to murder her bullies.”

“Like a wounded animal lashing out. But it’s odd. She’s like an empty shell. Like she had given up and resigned to her fate. There's just no rage. No revenge plans. No drive to do anything.”

“I agree that is kinda strange. Or she’s just biding her time and plotting how to finish the job.”

“Normally, I would agree with you but…”

“But what?”

“Her eyes, Red. They look so empty. Ya know that old saying. Eyes are the window to the soul. It looked like everything had been drained out of her.”

“You don’t think she’s going to…”

“Not yet. Maybe sometimes later down the road. It’s hard to tell.”

“Harley, you want to help her, don’t you?”

“You know me so well, Red. She got a rough start so early but she should at least get a bit of joy in her life.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Whatever plan you got cooked up, I will help you.”

“Have I ever told ya that you are the best girlfriend ever?” Harley squealed.

—----

“Um..hello to you too,” the girl replied warily and asked, “Can I help you?”

Harley and Pamela looked at each other before they sat down in front of her.

“Well, nothing really. We just wanted to talk to you, Marinette.”

The girl flinched and then glared at them, “I don’t think I ever told anyone my name.”

“Oh. You are quick, sugar,” Harley exclaimed, “We will be honest with you, Marinette.”

The girl flinched again, causing Harley to pause before making a mental note not to use the name and continuing, “For as long as I have been here, I have never met someone as young as you before. Plus you got that mysterious past vibe going on so I had to find out. A little bit of breaking and entering never hurt anyone. Your file is quite in-ter-res-ting.”

“Then you know that I killed 14 people,” the girl smirked as she brought her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her interlaced fingers.

“Tried and failed to kill 14 people in broad daylight,” Harley corrected and the smirk disappeared, “That’s pretty bold of you. But that’s not the problem here. Why are you here?”

“I think you already know.”

“I get it. 14 people. Nearly killed them. Blah, blah, blah. What I trying to say is murdering 14 people in a very public park where there can be witnesses in broad daylight. Not likely. No one is stupid enough to do that. And I know that you aren’t. I bet that it was in self-defense more than anything. At worst, you should be charged with assault, not attempted murder.  Even then, you should be in a jail cell in Paris. Not here in Gotham.”

The girl blinked, not expecting that.

“Not only that. Even if your father is that bastard,” Harley spat out the word with contempt, “and you are declared legally insane, there are other places that they could have sent you. So why were you, no offence but a girl with no powers, sent to one of the most dangerous places in the world?”

No one had backed her up in the trial. She knew it was Lila’s influence but the fact that people she knew all her life didn’t take her side hurt. Now, in front of her was a stranger who only knew her from a file and was listing out reasons she shouldn’t have ended up where she was. It was comforting to have someone look at the facts for once and not take things as they seem.

The girl laughed, surprising the two women, “I think it’s pretty obvious. I was framed. Fourteen against one. Never stood a chance.”

“What shit are teenagers up to that they are framing each other for murder?” Pamela asked in horror.

“Some of my ‘victims’ were pretty famous with lots of money in their pockets. One supermodel, a daughter of a Mayor and one who ‘claims’ to be daughter of the Italian Ambassador. I suppose that’s why my sentence was pretty unfair. I guess even judging by Gotham’s standards.”

The two sorta knew that from researching about Marinette by illegally using the internet. With the help of a VPN and google translate to go through the news about Marinette’s case, they managed to piece together what had gone down.

“No shit. Gotham may be corrupt but this is just outrageous. Weren’t they your classmates?” Harley asked.

“They used to be nice. And then,” she paused as a dark look passed her face, “I don’t want to talk about that anymore.”

Harley looked at Pamela and they did that couple thing where they communicate without words in the span of a few seconds and know what the other is thinking.

“Hey, kid. Wanna go out with us?”

“Huh?”

“You’ll see in a few days what I am talking about.”

—---

The girl screamed as Harley drove them out of Arkham Asylum like a bat out of hell in a stolen van, hanging on for dear life. 

“ARE YOU INSANE? We are going to get caught!”

“No worries, sugar.” Harley replied calmly, “Me and Red are pre-ty good at breaking out. Besides, today is the Fourth of July so Bats and his nests of birdies got their hands full with whatever Calendar Man got planned.”

The girl’s head spun, either from Harley’s reckless driving or the information that made no sense dumped on her, “I think I’m going to puke.”

Pamela gave her a look of sympathy and handed her a bucket from who knows where.

After a while, Harley pulled over somewhere outside of Gotham City’s borders and the girl fell onto her knees on the ground, “Thank kwamis, it’s over.”

“Don’t be relieved yet, hun. It’s not over. The fun part is just getting started.”

“Huh?”

“This way is out of the city to throw off the Bat brats a bit. We are going back into the City another way.” Harley explained as she pointed out the direction they were going to go.

“Then, can you let Pam drive? Or me. I know how to and you can tell me which direction to take.” The girl wondered if she should make a portal to get out of enduring more of Harley’s driving.

“We are not borrowing another car. We are going to be taking,” Harley dramatically paused “,the Ivy Express.”

“The what?” the girl asked, baffled.

“Show her, Red.” Harley snapped her fingers towards Pamela.

“Alright,” Pamela exclaimed before focusing her powers on the nearby trees.

The branches nearest to them picked them up and flung them. They landed onto another tree where the same thing repeated. 

At first, the girl was terrified over the unexpected method of transport but it was similar enough to her time as Ladybug swinging across Paris that she relaxed a bit and was soon whooping along with Harley.

Where the trees ended and the city started to meet, they stole another car but this time, thankfully, Ivy drove to their hideout which is just an abandoned warehouse the couple had renovated to live in when they were out of Arkham.

Harley opened the doors and exclaimed, “Home Sweet Home.”

“Oh. Wow.” The girl looked around in awe.

The place was a perfect mix of Harley’s brand of crazy and Pamela’s love of plants. Green covered every surface they could, vines wrapping around the support columns and there was a skylight that allowed the light of dawn to filter through. Hammers and baseball bats were hung on a wall and the walls were decorated in graffiti. In the middle of the room was a giant TV and a circular sofa. There was a kitchen in a corner. There was a stairway for a raised platform which acts as a second floor and bedroom.

Suddenly, two brown furry things attacked Harley.

“My babies. Did Selina take good care of you?” Harley cooed as her hyenas licked her. 

“She did a decent job,” Pamela said, inspecting her plants.

“Down, boys. Now, let me introduce you to our newest addition. Sugar, this one here is Bud and the other one is Lou. Bud, Lou, this is…” Harley trailed off, unsure if she should say the name or not.

“Marinette’s fine,” the girl said. She had that name for most of her life. It’s just that for the past year when her name is called, nothing good ever happens. It’s the terror of being found when she doesn’t want to be and when someone tries to find her, it is usually time to ‘punish’ her for something she never did.

“But you don’t like it.”

“Just bad memories. I will get over it.” The girl tried to hide the shakiness in her voice by acting nonchalant and with a smile. It didn’t pass the two women's notice.

“How about you choose a new one?” Pamela suggested, “Like a code name. People called me Poison Ivy and it feels less personal. The only one who calls me my actual name is Batman because he’s Batman and it humanises me or so he says.”

“Besides, now that you are one of us, you need a gimmick,” Harley chimed in, swinging her arm around her girlfriend.

“What?”

“You see, Red got her thing with plants so that’s why people call her ‘Poison Ivy’. I mentioned Calendar Man earlier. His name is actually Julian and his thing is to celebrate holidays in illegal but wildest ways possible. And you know Edward, right? The bald one who we let out before we drove off with you. He does riddles and puzzles stuff as the Riddler. Point is Gotham is crazy, sugar. You need a thing so we can show you the best time of your life while you are here and you ain’t going to get that in that padded room.”

Pamela pushed Harley’s arms off and reassured the girl, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I am sure we can pull some strings so you don’t have to spend the rest of your life in Arkham and without associating with us like that. No strings attached. Promise. Harley gets ahead of herself sometimes. I suggested picking out another name because you seem uncomfortable with the one you have.”

“Sorry about that, sugar. And Red’s right. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to agree.”

“Why?” The girl asked in a soft voice.

“Why are we willing to do all of that for you?”

She nodded.

“Well,” Harley tapped her lips, “you are just a kid. Sorry, kid but in our eyes, you are. And no kids like you deserve to spend their life locked up. Reason 2 is the entire city is corrupt to the core and you need someone to show you the ropes if you are going to stay. Number 3 is because of the Joker. Once he hears about you, I know that bastard well enough that he will want to get his hands on you. Me and Red would be able to give you some protection as long as we are around.”

The girl was quiet as she thought about what they had told her. She doesn’t know much about Gotham and the two ladies were willing to help her. They even gave her an out.

“The offer about staying out of Arkham and not doing any crime. What exactly does it entail?” she asked.

“We have a friend who will hear us out about your case. He might be able to change your identity or something and get you adopted or into the foster system.”

“NO!” she cried. The girl tried to recover from her outburst by clearing her throat and replied more calmly albeit a tad shakily, “No. No. I don’t want that.”

“I am sure there are some nice people that would take you in. They don’t have to be from Gotham.”

“What if they start to hate me? What if they find out that I am Joker’s daughter and treat me like I am some sort of freak? Then, I will be sent to Arkham again. And- And- ” The girl started to have a panic attack and switched to French.

Eventually, she calmed down and found herself on the couch being hugged by Harley and Pamela on each side.

“I am guessing that panic attack has to do something with the scums you called parents, huh?” Harley asked.

“They are nice people. It’s just,” the girl bit her lip as she realised that no matter how crazy Gotham was, no one was going to believe her about Lila using magic, “they were manipulated into hating me.”

Harley pursed her lips in worry and questioned, “Do you mind sharing with the rest of us?”

The girl took in a deep breath, “You know how my classmates were more or less bullying me right? They told my parents that I was bullying this one girl and they believed my classmates even though I told them I wasn’t doing that. I guess they were disappointed about how I wasn’t the girl they had thought they had raised and dropped the bomb that I was a stand-in for their dead daughter when they visited me for my trial.”

The plants around the warehouse started to shake in response to Pamela's anger while Harley tried to not blow up as she hugged the girl tighter.

“That was pretty shitty of them. You didn’t deserve that. I only knew you for a few days and you are the sweetest, nicest kid I ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

Pamela pulled them closer to her, “I agree with Harley. If I could, I would go over to Paris right now and strangle them with my vines and use their corpses for fertilisers. Human blood is great plant food.”

“Yeah and, Bud and Lou would also love having human flesh for dinner.” Harley chimed in.

The girl rubbed her eyes at the oddly sweet violent offers and said, “Thanks, guys. But I don’t think my conscience can handle people dying on my behalf.”

“Shame. I suppose my more carnivorous children can live with steak.” Pamela commented dryly.

The girl giggled and they all fell into silence. The silence only lasted for a moment before Harley jumped up and headed to the kitchen area, “Okay, this is a good enough stopping point after unloading some emotional baggage. Red, load up some films, will ya? While I will make some popcorn. It’s time for girls’ movie night. Perfect end after an Arkham breakout.”

“Do you have any preferences?” Pamela asked the girl who shook her head.

“I don’t mind anything,” she replied but after a moment of contemplation added, “Except for superheroes.”

“Good news. You are hanging out with two partially-reformed supervillains. We only tolerate heroes but still hate their guts.”

It got a snort out of the girl. Pamela smiled as she began browsing through the options.

“Um..Mdm. Isley,” a shy voice called out.

“You can call me Pam.”

“Oh. Pam, can you tell me who the other heroes are? I only know about Batman.”

Pamela replied, “First off, they prefer to be called vigilantes. Most of Gotham just refer to any one of them as the Bats. Second, I can’t tell you exactly how many there are because there has been a lot of name changing and Batman has like a new sidekick every other month. This is the basics. In the beginning, Batman had one and he was named Robin. Then they were joined by Batgirl. Robin grew up and flew out of the nest and created a new identity which is Nightwing. He now mostly stays in Bludhaven and comes back to visit Gotham once in a while. Then, Batman got another Robin which we call Robin #2. Unfortunately, Robin #2 died because of the Joker…”

Pamela continued to spill tea about the Bat family drama. Harley returned with the popcorn and added details which Pamela missed. The girl was more invested about the stories of the Gotham vigilantes than whatever movie was serving as white noise.

“Okay, okay. So there is Batman,” The girl held up one finger, “Nightwing who is the first sidekick.” She added another finger, “There was a second one who died. We are on the third one right now but there was a fourth one while the third was gone for a while and came back. The fourth one is a girl Robin who used to and also currently goes by Spoiler. Batgirl also got replaced by a scarier version. And there is a Batwoman. Who is also not the old Batgirl?”

“You got them all more or less.”

The girl turned her attention to the movie while Harley and Pamela’s commentary of it was a nice background noise as she organised her thoughts. She didn’t really pay attention to what they were talking about as her mind drifted.

Chances are if she kept spending more time around Harley and Pamela, she was going to run into the Bats at one point and they would not see her as someone on the side of ‘good’. But was that even a bad thing?

The painful truth was that the girl was tired of defending herself. Back when everyone called her the ‘Everyday Ladybug’, it was exhausting. Sure she was nice and kind but that was just what the class needed to drop everything onto her. She was happy to do stuff for her ‘friends’ or did she just do it because the adults told her to?

She tried to be the bigger person and stand on the moral high ground when it comes to Chloe. That only gave her the worst time in school. She followed all the rules and did her best to help the people around her. And all of that didn’t even matter.

Her status as the ‘Everyday Ladybug’ went down the moment Lila whispered a few sweet lies into their ears with what she now knew was thanks to magic that they believed her.

What would even be the point of trying to show that she was a good person to someone who won’t even listen? 

Well, fine if the Universe wanted her to be the bad guy. She would play the part with all she had. Her new name should properly reflect that.

Someone who breaks all the rules. Someone who defies the people in charge. A Rebel.

“Harley, Pam.” The two looked at her with curiosity.

“I got my name,” she announced.

Harley jumped up and clapped her hands in excitement, “That’s fantastic, sugar. So what is it? Oh, is it Raven? But I think that is already taken by a demon chick. How about Night-crawler?”

“Harley, calm down. Give the girl some time to tell us.” Pamela chided her girlfriend.

“Sorry.” Harley sat back down but visibly shaking with anticipation.

“I was thinking of going by Rebel.”

“That is so badass. Why that though? Any particular reasons you can share with us, Rebel.”

Rebel smiled, “I guess if I am going to do this Rouge thing. I am going to do this right. Breaking all the rules cause they are only habits. Plus I can be the Joker’s rebellious teenage daughter. I am not going to be going around Gotham dressed as a clown. No offence Harley.”

Harley cackled, “I don’t mind. I love it.”

“Do you guys have a sketchbook lying around?” Rebel sheepishly asked, “Because I got some great costume ideas I want to sketch out.”

“You can draw?” Pamela inquired while Harley went around to fulfil Rebel’s request.

Rebel replied, “Only clothes. I can do decent art if I try. Fashion is still my passion. It’s one of things from my old life that I don’t hate completely.”

“Sorry, Reb.” Harley came back with a red leather jacket and a domino mask, “No wait. That sounds too close to Red.” She shrugged, “I will think of something. But we don’t have any sketchbooks in the house or paper. Or pencils.”

“It’s fine. What’s with that?” Rebel asked, pointing her chin at the items in Harley’s arms.

“Oh, this.” Harley held up the jacket and tossed it towards her, “This is for your first official debut. I think you are about my size. With the bats focused on Calendar Man, they won’t be paying attention to some stationary store theft. A bit lacklustre for a crime. But baby steps.”

Rebel stared at the mask and jacket. Was she actually going to do this? Step out of the light and go into the dark side.

Pamela noticed her hesitation, “You don’t have to do this. You can back out if you are not ready.”

Rebel shook her head and put the jacket on, “Let’s do this.”

“Atta girl.” Harley then looked over Rebel’s clothes which were the standard Arkham-issued orange jumpsuits, “How about we change clothes first. yeah?”

Rebel looked over herself, “I think that’s a great idea.”

A few hours later, Harley and Poison Ivy were seen robbing the shopping district with a new partner with the name of Rebel.

------

(Part 3)

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taglist: @toodaloo-kangaroo, @iloontjeboontje, @buginetye, @angelwreckedd, @anoires-blog, @ever-since-i-was-young, @shutupandactuallylisten, @its-maemain, @vel-vee, @kashlyn, @officiallydarkgeek, @jayjayspixiepop, @cmouse, @transheso, @thecrazyfantrolls

[jorvikpov]

Thick fog cradles the Jorvegian morning.

The mountains are damp in the mist and morning dew, and last night’s rain is still flowing down the cold stone in streams no wider than streaks of tears down a cheek. Silence lies over every peak and valley, dusted lightly as if with the brush of a feather all across the island by the gentle hand of Aideen. Beyond the wisps of fog and mist, the sun is approaching the horizon, casting Jorvik in a pale lavender glow. Even so, most of the island is still asleep: this time of year, with summer closing in, the day rises long before people wake and falls down long after they rest for the night.

Through a small, stone-framed window hidden away deep in the mountain ranges separating north from south shines the sun, just peeking up above the mountain-thorned horizon and snaking its way through the mist. It casts a ray of soft, golden light all through the room, and a figure clad in shimmering grey moves for the first time in hours to tend to their duty.

In the furthest corner of his room, laid gently underneath a warm blanket upon a mattress of down and under a canopy of the softest Druidic wool, lies the leader of the Keepers of Aideen, smaller and paler than ever. He will wake up soon—he must—but even as the sun shines upon his face, he makes no attempt to move, and so it is to him the figure turns, gently moving the canopy to block out the sun. As the figure moves, their silver-shimmering hood falls back ever so slightly; they are quick to correct its position, but for a split second, the sun shines upon them, too, and on their cheek something glints. Before returning to their position, the figure makes their way to the window, drawing the thick curtains shut and once again letting only candles light the room.

It is in that gentle candlelight that you slowly make your way along the bookshelves. You let your fingers and eyes trace the spines of every book, feeling smooth leather and rough fabric and the minuscule bumps of titles and cover inscriptions little bumps against your fingertips. The pages shimmer with something that makes your heart jolt in your chest: through these tomes courses magic that calls on something deep within you, every one of them begging to be picked out and held and studied for hours, days, or even months on end until there are no stones left to turn between the words.

A thin, golden ray of sun squeezes through the gap between the curtain and the wall, shining upon the worn leather book spines and warming your fingers as your hands move through the light. Familiar runes glow rose gold as your fingers trace over them, and at last your hands move—almost of their own volition—to pull an ancient, leather-bound book from its place on the shelf.

Outside, the mist is slowly clearing to make way for the light, the wind, and the warmth. In a crevice in the mountains, and in the highest branches of a tree, and between the beams and the ceiling of a wooden stable, birds are singing, brilliant and bright.

Little by little, the island finally awakes.

[metallix-mixin]

Carbon Cafe

The cool morning air streamed in breezily through an open window, window blinds billowing gently from wisps of wind as the shimmering sunlight beamed in through the evanescent divide forming in uneven patterns as the blinds parted and relapsed again. My sensors, struck with such divine illumination, forced me awake- and simulated eyes drift open slowly, as if fatigued by my rest.

Undoing myself from the tangle of covers I had somehow ended up within during the previous evening, legs were swung over the edge of my place of ease and onto the meticulously laid hardwood- steelen shoes clicking against it as I groggily translated across the floor, throwing open the blinds fully and overloading my lenses with light. They adjust quickly, and my pace therefore matches- opening the rest of the windows until my modest room is alight with blazing morning sunshine. With laden eyes and stretching limbs, I acquire my attire for the day from its predestined spot- neatly laid out the previous day, cleaned and folded as if it were looking to impress anyone other than my own analytical eyes.

And leaping down from my trapdoor hidden place of rest, into the proper sanctuary of sweet smells and warmth I call my home- I continue my quest- throwing open large, bold panes, and setting up carefully preserved tarts and treats into neatly arranged displays. With a most gentle hand, I chalk words of ‘specials’ and a ‘daily menu’ onto a blackboard stand, and upon the board above my uniquely barren countertops.

With the day’s setup underway, and my sign firmly planted as ‘closed’- I begin making way into my personal workshop of saccharine delicacies and pleasant aromas. Forges alight, I mix and pour alloys of chocolate and flour and sugar into trays, cast into the contained inferno which needs no bellows to function. Carefully crafted decors upon valiant pedestals of soft vanilla, strawberry engravings dancing along their frosted surface. Honeyed mixtures of leaves and sugar make their way into crucibles of steel intended to keep them warm…

Songs of gentle solace quietly erupt from my metallic vocalization, whispering sweetened promises to no one in particular… until-

I am interrupted from my craftsmanship by the sound of gentle ringing bells- and my shop door opening. Frustrated, as I was most assured that my sign was flipped to signify my closure- I stepped out from the divinely smelling workplace. However, instead of a target of rage, what I find to have so rudely interjected my solitary morn was, in truth, a most generous gift from the hands of fate. A vibrant pink fills my oculars, far more sightstealing than any of my most egregious decors- eyes that gleamed with a gentle flame, passionate yet sympathetic- and a smile I will forever wish could be solely directed to me.

Softened greetings are shared between us, as I feel an unnatural heat rising to my titanium cheeks- leaning over the whitewood counter with a bubbling excitement rising to my chest. Despite my adamant refusal to serve any outside of working hours, or dare to stray from my ever gently crafted menus and rules- something about that face drives me to other places, and my logical mind fails to calculate the exact reasons for quite anything I do around it.

With giddiness unmatched, I flick on the griddle behind the counter- no longer legendary in its view to me, as I have a yet vaster enchanted object across from it instead- and into a bowl I cautiously break eggs and pour flour and sugar and sweetness- and from my box of cooled ingredients I grasp a most peculiar fruit. As quickly as it is chosen, it is sliced and diced- its unleashed juices adding to the bowled concoction and tainting it a soft rosy tint. The mixture leaves its container, now bubbling upon the heated griddle amongst butters and oils- flipping over once gently crisped on one side, and then stacking high upon a plate, joined by sliced fruits and powdered sugar.

The dish finds its way to the counter, accompanied by a pair of utensils- and sat upon a stool, my ever welcome guest graciously accepts my creation. In my state of clouded awareness, I only hardly notice the eyes looking in from beyond the reaches of my atmospheric building- and fail to comprehend their whispers and gossiped smirks.

Words are shared betwixt us, and, when it is most unfortunately time for my guest’s departure, I smile warmly and wave to them, as they return the gesture, stepping out into the cool morning.

Now once more alone with myself, I step back into my workshop- removing my saccharine creations from their forges and placing them neatly on displays, visible to those who wish to step inside, or those already browsing my offered treats. Then, with a swift movement, I flip the sign upon my door to read its antithesis, and stand behind the counter- as the quiet breeze is replaced by a morning bustle of cityfolk, eager to receive their breakfasts and brunch- and, perhaps… whisper what they had seen before between each other, their voices soft as the breeze they had just replaced.

I do not mind.

[cartooncadet666]

In the garden, where it was sealed off by the rest of Pac-World and only available to see by those who knew about the area, the scientist flew through the gate where a tombstone covered in flowers and gifts from past soldiers and Freedom Fighters stood still in the ground.

He stared down at the grave, seeing his own name on the very stone, feeling guilty for even working for Betrayus, yet did he have a choice? No he didn't. He was a ghost now, and at this time whenever anyone sees a ghost they immediately assume that they are as evil as that war criminal.

It was 5:00 in the morning, people were still getting up to try and start the day, yet he decided to see if they still kept the same area the same, which they did. Dr. Buttocks hovered down and sat on the ground, finding some newly put cards and toys on his grave, it seemed that despite what he was doing now, people of the Round House and those that fought alongside the Freedom Fighters still paid their respects to him, since he himself never planned to go against his own race.

Meanwhile, a young Pointyhead had just planted his ship near the hidden garden, Axis, one of the youngest ones that participated in the third invasion, and he held the gold traced locket in his hands. He was a nice one, selfless unlike the others, and by curiosity and mainly morals, he decided to try and give back the locket to its owner. So he waddled around the garden, playing a bit in the small stream before spotting the scientist by his grave.

Not meaning to be rude, he quietly made his way towards the grave, accidentally stepping on a twig and causing the noise to make the other slightly turn his head from the sound. Axis breathed in from anxiety and watched the scientist's movements, feeling more off on how calm he was.

"...Hello to you too young man.. Any curiosity being the cause of that?"

Axis froze and winced. "Um.. No sir.. I was hoping to return something to you.. You left it during my kind's invasion..."

Dr. Buttocks stood silent, his hood still covering his back and head, but his medium length hair falling out of the hood anyways. "..Thank you son. Come. Sit with me."

Not wanting to annoy him with his presence, the young Pointyhead obeyed and sat by the ghost, keeping his hands on his lap and looking at the beloved grave. Dr. Buttocks exhaled softly, touching a rose bouquet by its petal and letting the entire thing be engulfed in a calming and soothing wisp, which chirped and went back to dancing in his hand.

"Tell me... Have you ever experienced any kind of depression for great sacrifice?" Axis shook his head in response, watching the wisp dance and chirp happily in his hand.

The ghost brought out his robotic claw and let the wisp give him the energy of the roses. "Have you ever felt weak under someone's control?"

Axis pondered before nodding, listening to the scientist ramble on about more grieving like subjects.

"If you could only know, who I really was, before I arrived in his presence, from out beyond your watch. You would be amazed to find, my old beauty and my worth, what I sacrificed for my own kind, and what I did for their legacy to never burn..."

"Yet... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I should have done more before my life had come to an end..."

"My brother had said to me that this pain will all be over soon.. Yet I wonder what they would think... This was our planet after all.. Our lives had a very high grasp of any fate... So I wonder what I could have done to support them more... I still feel that this world should belong to them.. And their hearts of gold.."

Axis just listened, shocked at feeling tears prick his eyes, than realizing that the atmosphere had suddenly turned very sorrowful, a blue radiance fulfilling every part of the garden, so he let his tears fall. He watched as the wisp started to cry as well, yet the ghost wiped the spirit's tears and let it be in the comfort of his presence.

"I'm also... very curious. I must say, I'm impressed by your species' ability to survive in any environment.. including our own.. Its such a strange trait of yours.."

"How else is being as fragile as a Pointyhead as yourself could live? Stronger than a powerful being such as a spirit like the war criminal himself?"

Axis frowned and stared at the ground, letting the tears pour down his face from the atmosphere's change.

"...But I cannot say anything.. Because this is where it happened... Where I was broken... All to support another being in order to protect those I loved..."

"I know how you feel sir..." Axis said, wiping his glossy eyes and giving a sense of positive energy in the gloomy time they were in. The ghost turned to look at him, his presence representing a fragile being who could shatter at any moment, tears were also dripping down his face, along with his hair falling down his shoulder.

"...I am surprised that any of your race is capable of understanding how I feel.. Its a shame..." He floated upwards. "There's a weapon that Lord Betrayus wants me to make that could destroy anything.... From a Pac-Worlder to a Pointyhead... But you don't deserve that pain.. do you?" He had a gentle and loving smile, one that made the young Pointyhead gaze up with more curiosity.

Dr. Buttocks knelt down and lifted his hood slightly, letting his gentle face and the little wisp to gaze down at Axis with a caring look. "You know... I really shouldn't be here.. But Im glad I was able to come back one last time... I can see through all of your struggles and successes, you will be able to heal soon... Just like me.." Axis smiled and handed the ghost his locket, in return, as a blessing, Dr. Buttocks let the wisp he created to be forever his, and forever, and nothing could ever change it, that same day the young Pointyhead was blessed by an Emoti, a misunderstood being that was able to have someone to understand them.

"Thank you Dr. Buttocks. I appreciate that you were able to come here again. You didn't deserve that fate, even this one. I hope you can heal soon sir." The young Pointyhead grinned, the wisp chirping back at the ghost. Dr. Buttocks smiled gently at him, setting his hood back on his head and handling his locket in his flipper like hand.

"Call me Brandi.." Was the last thing the ghost said before floating back to the Nether Realm.

Axis grinned and let the wisp float around his arm, waddling back to his small ship and starting it up. He then lifted the hovercraft off the ground and sped back into the sky, back to his planet and feeling great for returning something to someone and helping them feel comfort again.

(A few hours later...)

The President was leading a man and his sons towards the hidden tombstone, he was thanking him for coming to the Round House, although he was still uneasy for why he wanted to pay his respects to the secret grave so bad.

"I appreciate you arriving here Mr. Loverman, I hope you enjoy your time here at the Veterans memorial, Pac Man and his friends have been working very much for this to be comfortable to all of you." Stratos chuckled to himself, his guards following not too long behind.

"No, thank you for inviting me Mr. President. It's been a while since my ex wife went missing, honestly I'm glad we're able to share the memory with her. Maybe we can give some more knowledge to the young heroes as well." Sebastian Loverman, ex husband yet still a close friend to Aurora Borealis, who was a loyal soldier to the Freedom Fighters and to the nation for many years, yet strangely just like Pac's parents, she disappeared many years ago with bleak tracks, in her and other Pac Veterans honor, they were hosting a celebration to represent all of the support they had to win against Betrayus's forces.

"Oh I'm sure they will be very grateful for that, we all need to pay so many things back to those we lost, but at least we're still standing." The President clasped his hand together and opened the gate to the grave, letting the other man's sons to go inside and then himself while the guards stayed outside.

Sebastian's eldest of the two, a young adult, knelt down and placed a bronze rose creation by a few pictures, smiling to himself after reading the writing on the tombstone. He gazed up at the President with an optimistic yet sad look.

"Do you think he'll ever try to come back to you if he could?" He asked.

Stratos smiled sadly. "He inspired so many things in our team before his death, I am sure that one day he will come back in our embrace Fadil."

The young man nodded and stood up, looking at the youngest and encouraging him to place his gift down on the grave, which the younger one was often glancing at the President uncomfortably before he knelt down and placed a canvas of some sort.

The canvas had a light grayish blue Pac-Worlder who was sitting by a window with a book in hand, his mustache was curling at the ends, his hair was tied back in a low ponytail with strands of hair sticking out over his eyes, he had red glasses, a prosthetic arm, and a pin in his hair. His eyes were closed, he looked peaceful sitting next to the window, like nothing could harm his soul. At the bottom of the well done canvas, there were words that read: "May you follow the path to comfort again, my oldest friend."

Sebastian smiled softly at his son and side hugged him, exiting the grave with his eldest and the President.

However the youngest stood by a little longer, when he looked back at the tombstone he spotted a trinket on top of the stone, it was traced by gold and it had a little note sticking out the bottom. By pure curiosity, he gently picked up the locket and opened the note, reading the following.

"As long as you follow it as well, I shall see you again, keep on smiling my little angel. You know I'll never leave you son, I will always be here, protecting you as my own child, you can promise that." - Your oldest friend

The youngest smiled and opened the locket, revealing the same man in the canvas side hugging his mother and father while past him and his brother stood in the middle together. He then placed the note inside of the trinket and caressed it, the same gentle smile on his face.

"Skeebo! Come on! We gotta meet Sir Cumference!" Hollered out Fadil, who was waiting for his little brother to exit the grave.

The youngest looked back and ran out, keeping the locket close to his heart. "Coming!" The freckled Pac-Worlder sprinted up the stairs to catch up with his family, leaving the garden alone.

Dr. Buttocks peered from behind a tree, and let more wisps inside of the grave, chuckling to himself. As soon as every wisp had energy from the gifts, they spread out and flew out of the garden while the scientist watched as they hovered out. He turned to face the wisp who had the energy of the canvas and whispered to it.

"Make sure you give him the flower little one." He placed a purple lily on the spirit's head, which it chirped and saluted, then flew towards the direction of the teen through the Round House.

The ghost smiled and put his hood back up, covering his face and floating back to his laboratory.

(Yes... Dr. Buttocks was always a good man in this au, in this au, if Dr. B lived, he would have been the one to raise Skeebo, technically he's his godfather, what do you guys think of this new detail?)

[crymeariveronceagain]

23 and 25 my friend

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture.

Ohhhh gosh. Okay, well. I usually write in my dorm room, sitting on my bed. The curtains are usually open, because while my roommate will leave them shut constantly, I need sunlight to function as a human being. So the curtains are pulled back, and the light is streaming in. Outside the window, there are a dusting of trees and hills that I've never climbed, primarily because it seems like a long walk, and I've just never worked up the courage and resilience. The school president's house is over there, somewhere, hidden behind a grove of trees. I went there once, and it was one of the coolest houses I've ever seen. He also was holding a party. That may have been part of the reason that it was so cool.

Anyways, in my dorm room, I have a ton of posters on the walls, and a tiny calendar. Almost all the posters are of impressionist paintings. They make me a little sad to look at, because I've never seen any of the real paintings. I'm surrounded by cheap reproductions of art that no man could ever buy, anymore. There's a watercolor painting on the back of my heavy wooden door. I did it myself, at a painting night. It's a post-apocalyptic picture of a sunset, with the wreck of a city in a valley, and nature slowly reclaiming what belongs to it. From the ruin, a tiny wisp of smoke floats up, and that's the only way you know that someone survived the horrors that came before. Then again, this was all painted by me, and I, my friends, am not a very good artist.

There are stacks of books on the desk next to my bed. I rarely sit there. It operates like a large shelf, coated in stacks of books and paper and art supplies, filled with pencils and notebooks and my first aid kid and stickers. It's a cute set up, for sure, and I would sit there much more often, if it weren't for a few things. The chair is the wrong height and the desk is an even worse height, so when you sit on the chair at the desk, your legs are stuck, slightly smashed, in between the desk and the chair. It's dreadfully annoying, so I sit on my bed.

My bed is covered in blankets, one from each of my grandmothers, and an ombre blue comforter. It's got pillows and my stuffed animals, who I always feel slightly self conscious about having, except in my head I know that every female college student has at least one stuffed animal, they just be better or worse at hiding them. I situate myself directly in the middle of my bed, and I will say, it's a very comfy place to be. I've got a lap desk my brother gave me for my birthday a while back, and it's cracked and chipped and beat up, covered in pencil dust and nail polish drippings, but I love it and love using it. I'll use it fairly often, if I remember, because it's a lot more comfortable for my back and head and posture. It also says "You're doing amazing!" at the top. I think it was made for a little kid. I don't care.

I've got a light on the edge of my desk, and once the sun starts to set, I have to turn it on. My roommate and I don't talk at all, for no reason except that we never tried, so she'll come in and out of the room. Her side of our room is cluttered. There's chaos everywhere on her side, overflowing bags of food and paper and stacks of books slowly cascading to meet their untimely end at the floor. Mine is mostly put together, except for the sloping stacks of books. Usually I put in earbuds and listen to music while I work, and some days I try to multitask and get two birds out of the way with one stone and listen to a podcast or youtube video at the same time as I write(not a good choice, either the writing will be garbage or I won't get anything out of the video).

The night wears on, and if I'm lucky I'll type out enough of a story to satisfy me. Around eleven, I'll feel my brain start to click off, and wind up watching something on Youtube for real, this time. I'll snap my laptop shut a little bit later than I wanted, originally, and then go get ready for bed, my head filled with a sort of static that usually only happens once you run out of words to say. If I take a shower, I'll have a mental breakthrough and probably write for another twenty minutes after i get out, simply because I know if I don't write down my idea, it will be lost to the sands of time.

Anyways. Yeah. that's what it looks like where I write my stories. :D

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

For a given fanfic character, probably that the Dizznees have a TV. It's irrelevant and I never use that scrap of information, primarily because I fantasize about living in a world without screens to haunt all of our interactions and free time. I don't want people to watch TV mindlessly. I want them to sit around a fire and enjoy each other's company. It's my fanfic writing, I'll do what I want.

For an original character.... uhm. Amy and Tessa met in third grade, after Tessa switched from private school to public school. *shrugs* It means nothing to you, and it's also completely irrelevant to the story about them. It's so focused on their current happening that the past happenings don't matter. Y'all don't even know what story they're from lol. I should post that sometime.

Thanks for the asks! From this ask game.

[banemmanan]

Failed Escape

My first entry for @whumpuary ! I only just came across this, but I'm super inspired to take part. I decided that my new year's resolution was to create all those art and fics that I usually just sit around and think about and never actually bring into fruition. Fingers crossed that I manage all 10!

This is entry No.1, for the prompt: Failed Escape.

Link to Ao3: Failed Escape

Next entry: Held at Gunpoint

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   *click*

   “I got it,” April Dancer muttered to her partner, easing open the cell door just a crack and peering through to check that the coast was clear. She felt a breath ghost along her shoulder as Mark Slate crouched beside her to peek out himself.

   No guard had been posted outside the door and the security cameras were either elusive or non-existent. The two agents steeled themselves, then crept quietly out into the corridor. Hugging close to the wall, they slunk their way along three more hallways and a set of stairs in what could almost be mistaken for an abandoned building. It was as they slunk along their fourth corridor that a distant door slamming broke the illusion. Hearing footsteps echoing from somewhere beyond a bend in the hallway, the two agents quickly ducked through the nearest door.

   The room was pitch black. With nothing to see, the room seemed to fill with the sound of their breathing. A hand fumbled in the darkness, finding its partner’s and holding on tightly. The two agents pressed their ears to the door, listening intently as the volume of the pursuing footsteps rose and fell; passing them by and disappearing around the corner. A minute more of silence passed as the agents waited to see if more footfalls would follow, finally, with a soft squeeze of fingers to communicate that it was time to go, the doorknob was grasped. And twisted.

   And nothing.

   Jiggling the handle confirmed that the door would not open. It was locked.

   Suddenly the lights came on and the two agents had to squint to see through the glaring whiteness.

   The room was bare and grey and rather small, not more than five meters square. A speaker crackled to life in the ceiling.

   “Oh dear, oh dear,” a tinny voice tutted at them from on high, “Did you really think that we’d let you escape that easily?”

   The two agents turned to each other.

   “It’s not one of our finest moments,” April quipped sheepishly, earning her a tentative smile from her partner.

   “You realize of course,” the speaker continued, “that you will have to be punished for this.”

   The smile immediately fell, the agents glanced around the room, their muscles tensing, anticipating some form of attack. A panel sliding away to reveal a weapon, perhaps. Or a hidden door opening up to admit a horde of THRUSH goons. April’s gaze landed briefly on the door through which they’d entred, but there was no lock below the handle in which to jam her trusty lockpick.

   “But don’t worry, I have plans for you, my little friends, so this won’t kill you.”

   A hissing sound filled the room as noxious clouds of gas poured into the room from vents in the ceiling. April and Mark immediately dropped to the floor in a futile attempt to avoid the gas for as long as possible.

   “It will just be very, very painful.”

   The speakers squawk as they struggle to convey the uncontrolled laughter of the disembodied voice of their captor. But the agents weren’t listening. The moment the first wisp of the gas was inhaled, their lungs exploded in pain.

   April would have screamed had she the breath for it. Instead, all she managed was a pained wheeze as she clawed at her chest. Mark grit his teeth and stubbornly refused to breathe anymore, hands balling into fists and diaphragm spasming in protest. The inevitable gasp of air left him shaking as an inferno tore its way through his lungs, ripping a sob from his chest, tears streaming down his face. April coughed wetly against her shirt, pulled up over her nose and mouth to little effect, and curled herself into a ball in a mindless attempt to escape the gas.

   As their lungs struggled for oxygen, the two agents grew dizzy and weak and eventually succumbed to their pain. Already prone on the floor, the two bodies slumped further into stillness. The hissing noise in the room slowed and stopped, replaced by a whirr as a fan somewhere sucked the gas back out of the room.

   The door swung open to admit gas-masked figures that converged on the unconscious agents and dragged them from the room, back towards the holding cells on the floor above. One figure remained in the hallway, face also concealed by a gasmask, giggling quietly to themself as they watched.

[bennusimurgh]

"The Chronicles of Forgotten Light"

Chapter One: The Council of Echoes

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The Council chamber was a marvel of ancient and modern architecture, a sacred space that seemed to exist outside of time. High vaulted ceilings, soaked in centuries of history, were adorned with glowing runes that pulsed with life, responding to the thoughts and emotions of the beings gathered below. Soft golden light streamed into the room from crystalline spheres that floated in the air, shifting colors in tune with the mood of the discussion.

Representatives from across the galaxy had gathered in this hall—beings of incredible diversity, each one embodying the unique beauty and power of their race. Tall and luminous, Ethereal beings seemed to shimmer as they moved, their garments ranging from simple robes to intricate, ornate attire, each bearing the emblem of their status. Alongside them stood warriors with bronze skin, wisps of smoke in humanoid form, and metallic creatures that glinted in the light, all coexisting in a delicate balance.

Despite the importance of the topics being discussed, the atmosphere in the chamber was thick with the weight of bureaucracy—a slow, creaking machine of deliberation that had long lost momentum. The Council was mired in debates over trivial issues that could quickly wear down even the most patient listener.

Dundul Kron sat in his seat, his gaze drifting over the assembly, but his thoughts were far from this hall. His restless mind sought escape from the monotony. And as often, he slipped away to another place, far removed from the noise and tedium.

With a deft shift, he connected to the collective unconscious and, with just one leap, transported himself to a bar, leaving the assembly behind. His decisions would be recorded and documented regardless; why waste energy on being present where the only task was to select the distinctive feature of a specific model, or to decide why it should have a particular color, with periodic rescan for additional functions that enhance the model’s ability to perform its assigned tasks?

In this other reality, everything was sharper, more vivid. Here, there were no debates, no endless discussions, only peace and harmony. The bar where Dundul had transported himself was located on the rings of Saturn, a place that epitomized tranquility and seclusion, far from the bustle of the galaxy.

This bar, hidden among billions of icy and rocky particles, offered a breathtaking view of the planet's rings, slowly streaming through the vastness of space. It was called "On Saturn's Rings" and was the embodiment of what could be called the perfect place for those seeking quiet and solitude away from the chaos of the universe.

The interior of the bar was simultaneously cozy and futuristic, with floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed guests to gaze out at the endless expanse of Saturn and its famous rings. Beyond these windows, like a river of time, the distant stars slowly drifted by, creating a sense of eternity and calm.

Tables and chairs, made of soft yet sturdy materials, were arranged so that each visitor could enjoy the panoramic view. The lighting in the bar was subdued and soft, emanating from neon tubes that gradually changed color depending on the time of day and the mood of the patrons.

The bartender, seemingly an extension of the bar itself, effortlessly mixed drinks that seemed to absorb the atmosphere of the place. Each cocktail served here was more than just a drink; it was an entire universe of flavors and sensations, adjusting to the emotions and thoughts of those who consumed it.

This bar was the place where one could come to ponder important decisions, immerse oneself in reflections on life and the universe, or enjoy a moment of silence in the vastness of space. For Dundul, it was the perfect place to meet her—a place where time slowed down, allowing him to focus on what truly mattered.

Meeting with Sophia was what truly mattered now. She was a beacon of calm in the storm of his thoughts, her presence a reminder of the beauty that lay beyond the confines of duty. Her deep, understanding eyes met his gaze, and a soft smile played on her lips as she voiced the question that had been lingering in her mind.

“It’s fascinating how you understand things as if you’re seeing through layers of reality,” she began, as if continuing a thought out loud. “I had a strange feeling during my last work. It was as if my brushes were painting not by my hand, but by someone else’s. Is this what you talk about—the unconscious?”

“It’s similar to what Jung would call ‘the projection of the unconscious onto matter,’” Dundul replied, smiling slightly. “Perhaps your brushes weren’t guided by your hands but by archetypes hidden deep within your subconscious. They might manifest through you, as if you were a conduit for their energy. Do you feel them influencing you?”

She pondered this, her gaze drifting to the rings of Saturn outside the window.

“Yes, but it’s a bit unsettling. It feels like there are two forces within me: one striving to express something I can’t understand, and the other trying to maintain control. Have you ever felt that?”

“Often,” Dundul responded calmly, his voice deep and assured. “It’s the eternal struggle between consciousness and the unconscious. The second force is your ego, trying to maintain order. But to achieve true harmony, we must learn to listen to both sides. Have you ever tried talking to these forces as if they were living beings?”

She nodded slowly, her face lighting up with understanding.

“Talking? I’ve never thought of it that way. But you’re right, they do seem alive. How would you suggest I begin such a dialogue?”

“Try entering a state of light trance, when you’re on the edge between sleep and wakefulness,” Dundul suggested, his voice nearly a whisper, as if he were sharing a sacred secret. “In that moment, you can visualize these forces. Imagine them as figures with whom you can converse. Ask them what they want to tell you, and listen. You might be surprised by what you hear.”

She looked at him, her eyes once again meeting his gaze.

“I’ll try. It seems like this could be an important step toward understanding what’s happening inside me. Thank you. I feel a bit more at ease knowing you’ve been through something similar.”

Dundul smiled gently.

“We all go through this, it’s just that not everyone realizes it. I’m glad I could help. Remember, this is a journey to your true self, and only you can define what it means.”

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, a natural exchange between two souls connected by a deep bond—a love that transcends the physical, a union rooted in mutual understanding and respect. They didn’t need words to express it; their shared presence was enough.

But as Dundul began to speak again, he felt a familiar tug at the edge of his consciousness. The Council chamber was calling him back, its sluggish discussions demanding his attention. He blinked, and the serene landscape outside the bar window faded, giving way to the grand hall filled with beings from across the galaxy.

He straightened in his seat, realizing that his brief mental escape hadn’t gone unnoticed. The speaker at the podium had paused, his eyes fixed on Dundul with an expression of curiosity and something else. The room had fallen silent, all eyes turning toward him. Misael, a figure known for his rare but impactful interventions, stood at the edge of the gathering, his gaze locked onto Dundul.

Dundul sighed inwardly, preparing to re-engage with the discussion. But before doing so, he allowed himself one last thought of the woman in the bar and the utopia they both knew—she was so close.

— And don’t forget to stay with me, he thought to himself. — The journey has only just begun.

Chapter 2: The First Artifact

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‘‘Introduction and Familiarization’’

Dundul was stationed at an ancient archaeological site located in one of the most remote corners of the galaxy. This forgotten outpost, which once served as a hub for studying ancient civilizations, was now engulfed in silence and oblivion. Centuries had passed since the last scientist left these walls, leaving behind only dust and ruins.

But recently, the station had once again attracted the attention of researchers. Strange energy surges detected in this region indicated the presence of something unusual, possibly linked to ancient artifacts that held the power and wisdom of long-lost peoples. Now, with the station becoming a focal point of interest once more, Dundul had arrived to unravel the mysteries hidden deep within.

This life-sustaining planet had become the subject of investigation due to its unique position and complex history. Once, Salt III had been part of a great civilization, but now only ruins and enigmas buried beneath its surface remained. The shift in the planet's axis in the past had led to climate changes, making it similar to Earth, though with a less polluted atmosphere.

Salt III was surrounded by a massive ring system, reminiscent of Saturn's rings, but with a mystical touch, as if the planet itself was encased in ancient artifacts. These rings, encircling the planet, created a mesmerizing spectacle in the night sky, giving everything around a sense of mystery and eternity.

The station was built many centuries ago on the ruins of an ancient city, which may have been one of the centers of the vanished civilization. The station's main dome, constructed from a durable and nearly invisible energy material, provided protection from harsh external conditions and allowed the station's inhabitants to observe the majestic rings shimmering in the night, evoking a feeling of peace and oblivion.

The planet's terraforming process had begun, but it was interrupted for unknown reasons. Outside the dome, the atmosphere was still unbreathable, though its composition was slowly changing. A complex life-support system artificially maintained a favorable environment inside the station. Biomes, where rare plants were cultivated, played a crucial role in oxygen production. These domes resembled vast parks filled with diverse flora and fauna, where both exotic plants and rare animals thrived. These biomes not only sustained life on the station but also served as a reminder of nature's vitality, despite being far from their home worlds.

Around 50 people lived on the station — archaeologists, engineers, biologists, linguists — each a specialist in their field. They formed a diverse group, gathered from across the galaxy for a single purpose: to unravel the mysteries of ancient civilizations and use their knowledge to understand the present and future. The researchers lived in compact modules connected by a system of corridors that provided easy access to various excavation zones and research centers. Though small, these modules were designed to create a cozy atmosphere and foster a sense of camaraderie. However, some preferred to live in townhouses located in the park zones of the biomes, where they could enjoy solitude and the tranquility of nature.

Despite the harsh conditions, the station became a place where a sense of camaraderie thrived. Those who lived and worked there became like family. In such extreme conditions, mutual support was not just a necessity but the foundation of survival. Here, on the edge of the galaxy, amid cold wastelands and ancient ruins, unique human bonds were formed, built on trust, mutual aid, and a common goal.

In the evenings, when the workday ended, the station's inhabitants often gathered in the central hall beneath the main dome. There, they discussed their discoveries, shared thoughts, and told stories of their home worlds. These moments were essential for maintaining morale and fostering a sense of unity. Dundul, though lost in his own thoughts, could not help but feel the powerful energy emanating from these people. Their dedication to their work and to each other inspired him to achieve new heights.

At the same time, especially for the sensitives, the station's atmosphere was imbued with a sense of mystery. Every corner, every ancient mechanism seemed to hold secrets, waiting for their time to be revealed. Dundul, with his innate ability to delve into the essence of things, could not help but feel this tension, this call from antiquity that echoed in his mind.

But he needed to complete routine tasks before he could unravel these mysteries. Scanning debris, analyzing energy fields, checking the operation of old mechanisms — all these were part of the work that needed to be done to prepare the station for further exploration. These moments, filled with monotony and sameness, seemed especially dull against the anticipation of what might be discovered next.

Dundul wandered the station slowly, lost in thought. To him, artifacts were more than just ancient objects. He understood that their true power lay not in their physical shell, but in what they symbolized. An artifact had meaning only to the one who created it, and only in that person's hands did it hold true value. In Dundul's view, there was no difference between artifacts and totems — they were all merely reflections of their creators' inner worlds.

Yet despite his skepticism about material objects, Dundul knew that they could be the key to unraveling deeper truths. Each artifact held a piece of history, a fragment of knowledge that could shed light on current events. Runes, though merely symbols to him, could still contain hidden power, capable of opening doors to new understandings.

Immersed in these reflections, Dundul continued his work, preparing for the upcoming quest that awaited him. With each step, he felt the station's mysterious energy becoming more palpable, foretelling an inevitable encounter with what lay hidden in its depths.

The scientific team assembled to study the ancient artifacts on Salt III soon faced unforeseen challenges. Initially, everyone worked in unison, striving to uncover the secrets of this enigmatic planet. Still, as time went on, internal harmony began to unravel under the pressure of ambitions, fears, and the unseen influence emanating from the ancient relics.

‘‘New Discoveries’’

The first signs that the station was on the verge of great discoveries came unexpectedly. Routine scans conducted on the surface and deep within Salt III began detecting powerful energy surges. Initially, they were dismissed as equipment errors or natural phenomena, but over time it became clear that these were not random spikes. These energy anomalies were too regular, too powerful, and too purposeful.

Dundul, responsible for this sector, gathered the team to analyze the new data. It soon became evident that the sources of these surges were located in the ancient ruins, deep beneath the planet’s surface. Analysis showed that these surges were linked to something more significant than simple artifacts — possibly to the awakening of a consciousness of an ancient civilization that had been dormant for centuries in the depths of Salt III.

The more the researchers delved into their study, the more it seemed that their actions were themselves the catalyst for this awakening. The terraforming process, which had been interrupted millennia ago, began slowly resuming. The planet's atmosphere became cleaner, more stable; the domes that protected the station started to disappear as if the planet itself had decided to reveal itself to its new inhabitants.

However, the joy of such discoveries quickly darkened. Along with the awakening of ancient systems, strange and disturbing phenomena began to occur on and around the station. Researchers started encountering mysterious visions and indistinct shadows wandering the station’s corridors. These entities seemed not to belong to this world but were closely tied to Salt III’s past. Some researchers claimed to have seen fragments of the past, scenes of ancient battles and destruction now coming to life before their eyes.

On Salt III, everything seemed calm and predictable at first glance, but each day spent on this planet brought the researchers closer to uncovering what was happening on a much deeper level. The energy surges detected by the instruments were just the tip of the iceberg, signals that something ancient was awakening. Initially, Dundul and his team treated these as ordinary anomalies, but over time it became clear that they were dealing with something that could not be ignored. The awakening of the ancient mind was not driven by malevolent intent but rather a result of ancient forces striving to return the planet to its original, paradisiacal state.

The energy enveloping Salt III was like a massive wave that swept through space and time, and with each wave, it grew stronger, causing changes on the planet and within the researchers themselves. This energy began to influence people's behavior, not with the aim of harming them but as a natural process aimed at purification and restoration.

The planet’s power manifested itself subtly, covertly. The ancient mind of Salt III did not seek to control people directly; instead, it guided them through its energy surges, creating conditions in which they were forced to act. Each energy impulse was a message, a riddle that needed to be solved. But to do so required not just strength, but a deep understanding that every action had its consequences. Like an experienced ruler, the planet did not reveal its intentions, forcing those around it to act under conditions of uncertainty.

Salt III acted through its energy surges and influence on the researchers' consciousness, compelling them to make decisions and take action rather than merely discussing possible options. The energy of the ancient mind awakened hidden emotions, fears, and ambitions within people. These surges were not aimed at destruction; rather, they forced people to confront themselves, their inner demons, and shadows. Nature sought not to destroy but to awaken the dormant power within each individual, forcing them to act and thus cleanse themselves.

‘‘Memories of the Past’’: As Dundul immersed himself in his work, he increasingly noticed that strange visions engulfed his consciousness. These visions were fragments of the planet's past, where ancient civilizations performed their rituals, connecting with the forces of nature. The visions did not just come to him; they took hold of him entirely, immersing him in the atmosphere of a distant time when artifacts were not relics but living, active sources of power.

In these visions, he saw ‘‘Platunus’’ — a planet that was once full of life but became a victim of its own technology. He observed how the ‘‘Temple of Energy’’ became a center of birth and death, how energy meant for creation turned into a destructive force. These visions were so realistic that Dundul sometimes could not tell where reality ended and illusion began.

‘‘The planet’s awakening’’ became increasingly apparent. Salt III, like Platunus, could become a victim of its own power if it was not managed properly. But this power did not seek to destroy its new inhabitants — it sought to restore the planet to its former glory. Dundul understood that their actions needed to be aimed at maintaining balance, that any wrong move could lead to disaster. And though they longed to uncover all the secrets of this land, they also realized that their mission required special caution and respect for the forces they encountered.

With each passing day, more intense changes occurred on Salt III. The disappearance of the domes opened new horizons for the researchers, but also brought new challenges. The awakening of ancient spirits and entities connected to the planet’s past became a new reality for those who remained at the station. These entities were not malevolent, but they could not fully interact with the planet’s inhabitants without creating discomfort and fear.

These spirits were a mixture of memories and entities, gathered into a single consciousness that tried to reconnect with the physical world. They were nothing more than archetypal shadows trapped in the collective unconscious, attempting to restore a lost connection with reality.

Salt III, like a king, demanded respect and understanding from those who dared to step on its surface. The planet did not forgive mistakes, but it did not seek revenge. It wanted to restore its grandeur, and for this, it was necessary to understand its needs and goals. Those who could act consciously and with respect had a chance to see the planet bloom again, returning to its paradisiacal state. But those who could not handle its powerful energy were doomed to become its victims.

The researchers and Dundul found themselves at the center of this process. They had to act like wise rulers, maintaining a balance between power and respect for the planet's force. They stood on the brink of great discoveries, but every action they took could lead to either restoration or destruction. Salt III demanded not only skill but also inner maturity to deal with the challenges it presented.

Dundul understood that he and his team needed to become flexible, like water, to cope with the growing challenges. They needed to act not just with strength but with wisdom, adapting to changing conditions. Salt III, like an ancient teacher, tested the patience and adaptability of everyone who dared to enter its sphere of influence. Like water, which always finds a way around obstacles, Dundul and his team had to learn to navigate the invisible barriers the planet set before them. But these barriers were not meant to stop them but to teach them to act with caution and wisdom.

With each new energy surge, with each new encounter with ancient spirits, Dundul's team increasingly realized that they were not controlling the process but were a part of it. The planet dictated its conditions but also revealed its secrets to those who were ready to listen and learn. The researchers needed to become more than just observers — they had to become partners in the great restoration process.

Salt III, despite its power and grandeur, did not seek to subjugate its guests. It sought to restore harmony, and for this, it needed allies, not conquered slaves. To achieve this harmony, the planet required them to have fluidity of thought, the ability to quickly adapt to new conditions, and a readiness to change their perspective.

Dundul felt how he himself was changing under the influence of these forces. His own connection to the collective unconscious grew stronger every day, making him more sensitive to the vibrations and energies emanating from the planet. He realized that they were not just researchers on a mission but participants in a grand cosmic plan that was only beginning to unfold before them.

It was this fluidity and adaptability that allowed them to avoid the traps and dangers that could have destroyed a less flexible and dogmatic team. They had to remain adaptable in their approaches, constantly adjusting their actions in response to the changes occurring on Salt III. The planet’s energy could be both creative and destructive, and only those who could tune into its wavelength could truly benefit from it.

Instead of trying to control the planet, Dundul and his team decided to work in harmony with its forces. They stopped perceiving the energy surges as a threat and began to see them as signs and indications that could lead them to uncovering the great secrets of the ancient civilization. This shift in approach allowed them not only to survive but to thrive, gradually approaching the moment when Salt III would fully reveal its deepest secrets.

Salt III continued to change, and with it, so did those living on its surface. Their mission became not just an exploration but a journey inward, a dive into the depths of their own consciousness, where the answers to many questions they asked themselves lay hidden. They needed to become part of this planet so that it could become part of them, and only then could they hope that everything they had planned would lead to a successful conclusion.

Ultimately, the success of their mission depended not on how much they learned about the planet but on how deeply they understood themselves in the process of this knowledge. Salt III was not only a test of their knowledge and skills but also a test of their spirit, their ability to remain fluid, adaptable, and wise in conditions that changed every minute.

So they moved forward, attuning themselves to the planet’s rhythm, merging with its energy, and gradually uncovering the secrets it had kept for many centuries. This journey promised to be long and difficult, but those who could adapt, who could become fluid like water, could hope that something great awaited them at the end, something that would justify all their efforts and trials.

The scientific team, gathered to study the ancient artifacts on Salt III, soon faced unforeseen challenges. Initially, everyone worked in unison, striving to uncover the secrets of this mysterious planet, but as time went on, internal harmony began to crumble under the pressure of ambitions, fears, and the unseen influence emanating from the ancient relics.

The Mystery of Artifacts and Their Influence

Energy artifacts revealed their true nature only in the hands of those connected to their creators. This discovery was not just a scientific fact but a blow to the team's confidence. Some artifacts that had previously seemed harmless, in the hands of those obsessed with their creators, became sources of power. These individuals began to feel that they could control the artifact's power, but in reality, the artifact was controlling them.

Artifacts discovered by the team on Salt III were unique in their nature and action. Each had specific properties and could strongly influence the environment and even the researchers themselves. However, as they delved deeper into the study of these objects, it became evident that the power of the artifacts could have been more unequivocally beneficial. Some, like the ‘‘Misantreon’’ (named after an ancient artifact capable of awakening the dark sides of human nature), began to sow discord and mistrust among the team.

‘‘Misantreon’’, an artifact emitting dark, almost imperceptible energy, was found deep within a ruined temple and immediately drew attention. Its influence was invisible but palpable: as soon as one of the scientists began to study it, they began to feel inexplicable suspicions toward their colleagues, fear, and a desire to possess the artifact alone. Initially, these changes were barely noticeable, but over time, they grew into open conflicts.

Other artifacts, such as the ‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’ (functionally similar to the Resurrection Stone), emitted a bright energy that promoted healing and restoration. However, its power was also ambiguous: the crystal demanded sacrifices, as if hinting at the inevitable balance between light and darkness.

The ‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’ — a majestic artifact reminiscent of a lost civilization that may have used it to revive or restore the deceased. But its bright aura hid a dark secret: every time someone tried to use its power, they felt something slipping away in return, as if the crystal demanded sacrifices in exchange for its action.

These two artifacts became the epicenters of conflict. Some scientists, obsessed with the idea of using ‘‘Misantreon’’ to uncover the secrets of the ancient civilization, insisted on further research despite its obvious negative impact on the team. Others, on the contrary, saw in the ‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’ the key to restoring harmony on the planet, although its dark sides caused no less concern.

Conflicts Within the Team

As tension within the team grew, two opposing groups began to form. One, led by Dr. Laren, believed that the artifacts should be studied at all costs, even if it involved certain risks. Laren argued that without a deep understanding of the artifacts' power, they could not uncover all the planet's secrets. Her supporters believed that the risk was justified and that the knowledge that could be extracted from the artifacts was worth it.

The other group, led by Dr. Iris, called for caution. They saw how the influence of ‘‘Misantreon’’ and the ‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’ was changing their colleagues' behavior and believed that continuing the research could lead to catastrophic consequences. Iris and her supporters insisted that the artifacts should be isolated and studied remotely to avoid their negative influence.

“We cannot afford to lose our sanity for the sake of discovery,” Iris said at one of the team meetings. “These artifacts may hold not only knowledge but also destruction. If we’re not careful, Salt III will become our grave.”

Meanwhile, the artifacts continued to exert their influence on the researchers. Each of them felt the pressure emanating from the ancient relics. ‘‘Misantreon’’ heightened paranoia and distrust, making people more closed off and aggressive. Some even began to see their colleagues as rivals rather than allies, leading to open conflicts and quarrels.

The Influence of Artifacts on Consciousness

The influence of the artifacts on the researchers' consciousness became increasingly apparent. Visions that initially seemed like mere illusions began to invade their reality. Some began to experience an inexplicable fear of the artifacts, while others felt an irresistible attraction to them. These behavioral changes intensified, leading to conflicts within the team. Dundul, with his natural resistance to such influences, began to notice how his colleagues were slowly but inexorably changing.

The ‘‘Shadow of Power’’, an ancient staff capable of subjugating its wielder's mind, became the focal point of such influences. One researcher, under its influence, began to see himself as a ruler striving for power at any cost. These visions were so vivid that he began to perceive his colleagues as threats to his future greatness.

The researchers realized that they needed to protect themselves and their team from the artifacts' influence. They began creating protective gear designed to block the relics' effects on consciousness. The team also started training to strengthen their inner resilience and concentration to withstand the forces contained in the artifacts. Dundul, with his innate mental defense abilities, became a mentor for others, teaching them methods of resisting ancient influences.

Chaotic Control

At the peak of the crisis, when ‘‘Misantreon’’'s influence reached its zenith, the team faced the greatest danger. The energy released by the artifact began to break down the station’s defense systems. Everything seemed doomed to fail. But those who remained sane knew that chaos could only be controlled by embracing it. The team’s actions, which seemed chaotic and meaningless, were actually meticulously calculated.

Even the most powerful protective measures could not fully shield them from the artifacts' influence. When the incident with ‘‘Misantreon’’ occurred, the station plunged into chaos. The dark energy released by the artifact began to spread at an unimaginable speed, like a living entity seeking to engulf everything in its path. Everything happened so quickly that it seemed each moment teetered on the brink of destruction.

The team, gripped by panic, froze in terror at the unmanageable force. But those who remained conscious immediately pulled themselves together. Without a word, as if by an invisible command, they began to act. The intricate dance of interactions that unfolded at the station appeared chaotic and unstructured to an external observer, but within this chaos, there was hidden harmony.

Every action was part of a complex plan, with each note played at the right moment. The entire team, acting as one, began working, creating a symphony out of chaos. They knew they couldn’t fully suppress ‘‘Misantreon’’’s energy, but they could redirect it. At the moment of climax, the artifact was encased in a protective field and transported to an indestructible vault. This step was necessary to save the station and continue their mission.

When it was all over, silence reigned on the station. The researchers realized they had encountered something beyond their understanding. But they also realized that the power contained within the artifacts could be both creative and destructive. It was important not to suppress it but to learn to work with it, respecting its nature.

Now they knew their mission was not just a scientific inquiry but a spiritual journey, in which they had to find a balance between the thirst for knowledge and respect for the forces they were unveiling. Salt III continued to hold its secrets, but now the team was prepared for new challenges, understanding that their success depended not only on knowledge but on their ability to maintain balance between light and darkness.

And only time would tell whether they could uncover all the mysteries of this enigmatic planet without losing their humanity in the process.

“These artifacts,” Dundul said as the situation on the station began to stabilize, “can give us answers to many questions. But they can also lead to our demise if we don’t learn to understand and respect them. We must remember that the power hidden within them can be both creative and destructive.”

This incident was a turning point for the team on Salt III. The conflicts and disagreements that nearly led to disaster showed how dangerous the misuse of the artifacts' power could be. The researchers understood that their mission was not only about the pursuit of knowledge but also about maintaining a balance between the thirst for discovery and caution.

Salt III continued to hold its secrets, and each day brought new challenges. However, the team now acted with greater caution, understanding that every action they took had consequences not only for themselves but for the entire planet. And though they continued to strive to uncover the secrets of the ancient civilization, they knew that their success depended on their ability to maintain unity and respect for the forces they had encountered.

Thus, the station on Salt III became not only a place of scientific research but also an arena where human ambitions and fears clashed with ancient forces awakened from a deep slumber. And only time would tell whether they could uncover all the mysteries of this enigmatic planet without losing the most valuable thing — their humanity.

[invisible-hand]

Chapter Four of my @thorkibigbang fic The Serpent's Kiss is now up! Including a little snippet to go with 💁 ❄️⚡🐍

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With little else to do as the wedding day drew nearer—other than chasing himself in ever-tightening mental circles of panic and despair—Loki fell back on what had always done, and retreated into Asgard's royal library. The smell of weathered paper, leather, and mildew had long been his favored companions, and the ancient librarians—some of whom remembered when Odin had been a child, countless millennia back—were ever tolerant of his mercurial moods and eccentricities. Light streamed through high windows and glimmered on dusty motes just the same as the silvery wisps of their hair. 

He experienced something close enough to a moment of peace with a pair of them tottering around before him, muttering and whingeing while they piled ancient tomes on transformation arts and Jotun physiology into his arms: to approach his predicament through research was to cast over it a rational, detached air. 

Jotunheim And Her Peoples

The Dynamic Art of Potion Assisted Transformation

Sexual Diversity Across the Nine Realms

Advanced Internal Bodily Transmutation

Loki tucked himself into his favorite hidden corner amongst a tumble of pillows and got to reading. 

[multistoty]

Charlotte Branwell Open Rp

Charlotte had freed herself for a small moment to catch a breath. Mortmain captured had been solely put on the inhabitants of the London Institute. The woman was against going to brawl with any of her fellow shadowhunters over something like position. It was already in breaking with tradition for a woman to be in charge even if Henry was technically at the helm. Fighting over appointment would just be uncivil and prove her doubters right. They thought woman were too emotionally to lead. Anyone who had become a guest in their house could see that. Will and Jessamine were constantly squabbling like cats and dogs. Will came home at all hours of the night smelling like alcohol and bad news. James, or Jem, was one of her few well-behaved wards though his health was compromised. Tessa had been a dream even though her past brought about many questions. She too pulled this fighting spirit out of the Herondale. Then there was Henry.  A man she loved and who loved her just as fully. Even a glimpse of his messed up red hair made her grin. Fingers longing to run gently along his face to free him of oil from his newest creation. Sophie was family aswell, while paid to clean and cook. That wonderful woman was as much her responsibility as anyone else. It got hard after some time to have everyone around you rely on you. The buck always stopped at her desk. Peoples lives and health as much a result of her choices as anything else. The children did not call her mother, but they were as much an extension of herself as anyone else. Shouldn’t she know what they needed?  The brunette should be able to protect them from pain and loss. The sharp pang of Jem’s fleeting health was just as painful as a demon’s tentacle through your side. It wasn’t often that she pulled herself in the quiet bed of rocks near the stream. The walk to it was a long distance and not comfortable in any dress. The time usually wasn’t made for something like this either. The wind wipping her perfect updo into small wisps in the coolness of the small body of water fell over her clothed form. The place was difficult to reach but opened to the overpopulated streets of London. Still- It was nice to have no one to study or fret over. If only people said what they truly mean. The sound of footsteps pulled her thoughts away though. Hand falling to the side of her skirt where the knife lay hidden. A shadowhunter must always come prepared. “Who goes there?”

[gildedserpentsnovel]

Chapter One: 

The Herculea Conservatory School

It felt like the coldest morning in Spring, and I wanted nothing more than to fall back asleep. My bedside window had been left open, just a sliver, and the cool, thick breeze kissed my face awake, despite my protests.

Dearest Mary had been gently rapping at my door with her soft - yet determined - paws for who knows how long. Through the slivers of my eyes, the light was still dull, and the two suns had barely started their dancing journey across the sky, only now just peeking over the forest horizon. 

I reluctantly sat up on the edge of my bed, pulling the thickly padded quilt around my shoulders and wiping the sleep out of my eyes in a daze. With a sobering stretch, I brushed the heavy dark velvet curtains away from what they had still covered of the lightly frosted window and saw the silver rays of light, streaming through thick waves of morning fog, make their steady and slow climb through the garden. Tiny sparkles of crystal light danced among the newly branching vegetable stalks and tiny newborn flower buds nestled in the thickly manicured hedges. It was at this time of day that the dark emerald of the forest barrier and gardened grounds was at its most vibrant. It was enough to make me catch my breath before the chill of the damp morning air swept across my face with its familiar silver slap. 

In front of the window was a small white candle, held in a silver ornate holder, with four jeweled legs. Beside it lay a delicate box, equally as detailed and engraved, holding a tin of soft white powder. The table was bare, cleared of my room’s ordinary mess of books and half-scrawled parchment, save for these two items - two very important items - and I let out a defeated sigh despite my best efforts. 

For the past six days since my seventeenth nameday, I was to place a tincture of the fine silvery-white powder in the palm of my right hand and carefully blow it on the waxed white wick of the candle. And today, same as the last six times, nothing happened as the white powder swirled past the candle and out of my window into the thick morning air. Despite my best efforts, another defeated sigh parted my lips as I wiped the rest of the dusty particles off my desk. 

This was the Ritual of Solia - a rite of passage of every young man and woman in this realm. Ideally, the fine powder would ignite the flame with vivid color - each designating one of the specific high houses in the realm.

If it was to glow with a vivid purple, I would be matched with the Tumet, a guardian of space and time. His school existed in the clouds, with silver and mechanical wings flying high through the mountains, dancing in the shining suns as twinkling clockwork. Patrons walked the chilly cobbled streets in the sky-island in sharply tailored capes among the carved cathedrals of high academia. I had never seen the flying school myself, but my father had told me stories when I was young of witnessing the air-beast crossing through the night sky when he was at one of his posts. They learned Time Magic there - a delicate craft, only learned by the most intelligent and curious of the realm.

Next of the main four pillars was Myrot, champion of the sea. His flame was a deep blue, twinkling playfully on the candle. The Myrot School was hidden deep under the black sea of Noor. I had heard stories of webbed winged creatures wisping its disciples under the unsuspecting cool water, only to be met with a decedent pearl city of splendor hidden in the dark, lit with dazzling lights strung between the high coral towers. The effervescent city taught water and other elemental magic - but they also boasted as masters of trade and fortune within the realm. 

Then was the dazzling red flame of Selphena - guardian of fire and forge. Only the fiercest of warriors, in both spirit and body were chosen by Selphena. Hidden in the cold dark mountains of Sine was the onyx-black school. Pillars of oppressive obsidian formed the tall, brutally carved gate. Winding tunnels warmed by magma-light carved deep into the tallest mountain, where underground coliseums held matches between red velvet warriors with golden-filigree masks. This was my father’s school, where he learned to wield a magic blade of silver to protect himself against whatever creatures loomed at the outer Barrens.   

It had been years since I had seen him last - the only sign of him being quick-jotted charcoal notes brought by a slim and sickly-looking messenger crane every other month. I still had the last one pinned above my bedside table.

Dearest Ones,

Another cold night - Missing you all. I’m safe. 

Mira - Can’t wait to see what house chooses you. 

Hope it’s Selphie too - (Ha - Ha!)

Send crane when you know.

Have to go now.

Father

I sometimes find it difficult to remember his face. His cheekbones were high, and nose was sharp, with a purple scar though the bridge. My raven, often-matted locks matched his own unruly hair. Growing up, he told me stories of training in the fiery castle of the Selphena school and dazzled me with tales of exploration and wonder. He had seen the entire realm in his studies, while I was left to dream in the confines of our manor - no matter how grand it was. 

Last was the emerald green flame of Herculea, who dwelled in a lush, overgrown marble castle. There were two sorts of disciples who trained under Herculea, those who learned to heal through their magic - using the earth’s lifeblood to coax any sort of magical ailment, and those who trained to become the fiercest of beast riders. Followers could also naturally speak freely with animals in their own tongue. 

My mother was one of Herculea’s chosen, and she was so proud when my oldest and only sister Limenta, only a toddler at the time, had taken to having long conversations with little Mary in the garden. Limenta would sit there, with Mary’s small kitten paw in her own small hand on the wooden bench behind the estate. I remembered watching them, so full of envy from behind the thick hedges, my little face hot and blotchy from my toddler tears. For a while, I remember pretending to speak with Dearest Mary, her patient mews humoring the one-sided conversation - only to have my sister see, pointing and laughing before running off to tell mother.

Along with her natural gifts, my sister was lucky enough to also inherit my mother’s silken auburn curls, and today I would see her in person for the first time in many months. The celebration for Limenta and the other disciples in the Herculea Conservatory School was an honored tradition, as much as I did not want to attend. It was today that they would show off what they had learned in the past year before leaving for home, or abroad studies for the short springtime break soon to come. It was a rare occasion as the school was seldom open to outsiders.

I sat there for a bit, pulling the quilt to my chin, staring at the wax candlewick with my nostrils flared before slamming the window shut. 

No flame for me. No school for me.

The past couple of days, my mother had tried coaxing me, explaining “Some people just take longer than others to get chosen.” But, never had I seen that in all of my reading - not once.

I stretched with a yawn, letting the blanket fall to the floor with a soft thump. The mirror in the corner of my small room seemed to taunt me as it caught a glance of my mess of hair and tired eyes over bony shoulders. I was a mess. I surrendered and braided my long black hair in a thick knot behind my head, too sleepy to brush out the knots. 

It was then that Mary’s persistent tapping paw was joined by a much louder and more frantic knock. 

“Mira! Poor Mary has been calling on you all morning. Are you awake yet?”

Before I could answer, my mother, already dressed in a silk black cloak with her rich auburn red hair perched perfectly upon her head, holding the spoiled-fat old “poor” Mary in her coddling arms swung open the door. She must have been up for hours.  

“Oh dear - You aren’t even dressed yet. And look at that hair!” 

I watched from the mirror as my mother undid my hasty braid and began to brush through it with her slender fingers. I watched silently as her eyes caught sight of my bedside table - candle still the same as it was on the day she excitedly gave it to me. I couldn’t meet her eyes.

Somehow this all felt like my fault. Had I done something wrong to upset the guardians? Or was I just too ordinary - too plain for any of them to take any interest in me. I wasn’t sure what possibility hurt the most. 

She seemed to sense my discomfort though, and her expression softened as my reflection met hers. 

“Mira, they would all be lucky to have you. They’re probably fighting amongst each other in the clouds as we speak - just at the chance to have you. In the meantime, though, I’m lucky to have you here with me for as long as I can,” she said.

A soft mew came from Mary, the ash-black bundle of fur now resting peacefully on my still-warm pillow.

“See? Dear Mary agrees. Who else will warm her bed in the morning if you’re gone,” laughed my mother.With great effort, I was finally ready for the public eye. Mother had tamed my hair into a delicate braided bun, held tight with a silver bangle. She had even fetched me a heavy black cloak to match her own. I couldn’t help but feel like an impostor in these ornate clothes - but I knew this was important to her.

This was her chance to show me off. Maybe if I made a good enough impression, I would be picked for entry right on the spot. I couldn’t help but smile at the notion.

The schools themselves had no say in the disciples they received - that was up to the four guardians themselves. No amount of fancy clothes and pretty hair would make a difference on this visit. It’s said that guardians already know where a child fits before they can even speak. 

I couldn’t help but worry though as I picked at the delicate gold embroidery on my sleeves. Mother noticed and playfully swatted at my arm as we made our way on the crooked stone path to the road in front of our gate. 

It had warmed a little since I had awoken, and the little chirping insects were as loud as ever in the still-moist grass lining the pathway. The old ebony wood carriage waited for us on the overgrown cobblestone road outside. The huge black horses tapped their fur-shoed feet impatiently as mother closed the heavy gate behind us.  

“Be back soon, Mary!” she called through the metal bars.

Mr. Krain, our ancient, but dependable driver, was waiting beside the carriage, the wooden door already held open by one of his lanky arms. The deep and oppressive lines in his worn face betrayed his kind demeanor. I have always remembered him having this same stone-carved face, even when I was a child.

“Off to see the old stompin` grounds, Miss?” he said, whistling through missing teeth. He held out a bony hand to assist with the high step up through the door. 

I eagerly took his held-out hand since Mother was still distracted with the gate and I made a clumsy jump inside the warm cabin - anything to avoid the impending small talk. 

It took until they started reminiscing about their old Herculea professors for me to tune out. They could talk for hours and hours - always about the same things. It was impressive, really. 

I pushed my nose against the cold-fogged glass, hoping the pig-face I was making would be enough to snap her out of it. But no. Apparently, we weren’t in as much of a rush as she made it seem this morning. 

It was Mr. Krain who seemed to notice me in the corner of his eye as he cut the conversation short. Embarrassed, I swiftly wiped the condensation away with my sleeve - hiding the evidence. 

“As much as I could spend all morning out here with ye, Miss. Best we get going,” he said, and I caught a wink as he turned to climb the front of the cart.

It was a short ride to the esteemed Herculea Conservatory School, although a bit bumpy. The winding cobblestone road turned into a tight muddy path through an endless tall evergreen forest. Rows of tall trunks and heavy canopy darkened my view, hiding what lay just beyond and even the bright morning rays struggled to get through to the forest floor. The branches scraped against the roof of the carriage as I looked out the window, wiping off the condensation every few moments to see. 

When it became almost too thick to pass, we were suddenly out of the forest and in a lush, overgrown meadow - bright early morning light causing me to squint to see. My breath caught in my throat. It was more beautiful than I remembered.

White and gray dappled horned horses grazed among the green and yellow, overgrown wild grass. Leather winged imps sat upon them, lounging in the hazy spring suns. I could see a little one braiding a mare’s hair, standing on its tiny, clawed toes to add a decoration of yellow wildflower. It wasn’t often that you’d see such rare creatures in such a state of relaxation.

As we rounded the small path, I spotted the grand, ivy-covered marble pillars of the front entrance. Overgrown trees crushed through the thick stone of the ancient and opulent ruins. The school surrendered to the forces of nature around it, working with the ancient earth - not against. 

The polished carriages of visiting families speckled throughout the meadow seemed so garish and out of place. I watched out the window as a black-robed student directed our cart through the mud to a free space; a huge raven on his shoulder flapped its wings in annoyance every time he gestured his arms.

As I finally stepped down the creaking narrow stairs of the carriage, my senses were hit by a wave of sweet wildflower pollen, and I couldn’t help but sneeze. The morning fog may have dulled it, but still not enough to quell my allergies.

All this untouched, untarnished beauty made me feel like even more of an outsider. I felt like I was seeing something I wasn’t allowed - a secret place for the gifted - the chosen. Mother seemed to sense my hesitation though and grabbed me by the arm to pull me to the entrance.

“Come on now, your sister said she’ll meet us in the front parlor,” she smiled.

The main entrance was flanked by two tall white dogs with particularly long noses. As we stepped forward, one nudged the tall glass door open for us to enter. I made a slight bow in thanks, before Mother grabbed my hand, pulling me forward in an almost sprint through the uneven broken marble white floor. 

I had a chance to look up, seeing the light from outside come through the open atrium in thick beams, dancing along the ivy-rich high ceiling. In front of us was a grand and ancient marble statue of Herculea herself - stoic but smiling, face hidden under her veil, and hands outstretched in greeting.

“Strand! Strand! Is that you, my love?” Mother called out, still pulling me as we weaved through the reuniting families. 

I scanned the crowd, looking for who she might be calling to, when I spotted him.

There, on the small stairs, in front of the crumbling feet of Herculea, was a massive black bear. I felt my knees lock - an ultimately unconscious reaction, but Mother continued to pull me forward with a jolt.

“Come on now, Mira. I want you to meet my dear Strand,” she urged.

The bear leaned back, then forward, rocking himself upward upon seeing Mother. She then dropped my hand, and walked to the massive animal, kneeling at his feet. She put her hands on top of his giant paws, then said something I couldn’t hear. The bear then responded by making a blood-chilling, drooling and guttural roar that ricocheted off the tall ceilings, causing a wave of shocked silence around the room. In response, Mother giggled to herself and patted his furry leg playfully. 

Mother beckoned me closer, almost annoyed with my seemingly impolite distance, and I made a few brave steps forward.

“Strand, this is Mira - my youngest daughter. Mira, this is Strand, my dear friend when I was doing my studies here,” Mother smiled warmly between us, “He was my professor in one of my first classes here - teaching Diplomatic Animal Studies.” She put another agitated palm on my back, pushing me forward even further. I could feel the beast’s hot breath on my face now.

 “Uhm,” I hesitated despite my best efforts, “Hello, Sir Strand. Pleasure to meet you.” I bowed my head slightly. 

This caused Mother to giggle, and I couldn’t help but send her dagger eyes. Was I supposed to know bear etiquette?

“So polite, isn’t she?” Mother beamed. She then gave the bear a hearty pat on his shoulder. “We should catch up soon, dear. But alas, we have an appointment to make, and someone is waiting for us. Please tell the wife I miss her dearly.”

And with that, we were off. 

Of course, Limenta was also even more beautiful than I remembered. Her long, silky, auburn hair framed her perfectly pale and freckled face, dark emerald eyes - no need for any powder or makeup. She was the best parts of Mother and Father, all rolled into one delicate, tall, ethereal being. She was sitting in the “Parlor” - an overgrown conservatory with high curved windows forming a softly lit ceiling. Naturally, she was casually having a conversation with a cooing mourning dove when we spotted her. She was wearing the long, flowing and plunging pale green graduation dress that Mother had specially made for her, tied in delicate weaves around her waist, and as expected, it fit her perfectly.

Upon spotting us, she made a slight, almost coy smile, and slowly got up from the wicker stool from which she sat. She bowed her head slightly to dismiss herself, and the dove flew back to the ivy rafters. 

Everything she did seemed so graceful, so purposeful. It was hard not to find it annoying, oppressive even. I accepted early on that she was Mother’s favorite. But alas, today was her day - so I held my tongue.

“Mother!” Limenta beamed, arms stretched out. She pecked Mother on both cheeks in greeting. 

They then held hands, eagerly chittering away at each other for what felt like a lifetime, and I tried to distract myself by looking around the room. I wandered the parlor, looking out the tall windows, watching people walking the grounds outside in the meadow. I watched as a family walked with their son, father smiling proud and tall as they walked side by side, his hand slapping his shoulder every few steps.

There was another family at the tree line, crouching down to watch two young and winged imps play-fighting each other in the air. I wanted to get a better look, so I went to the farthest window in the parlor, but it was still too high off the ground. I stood on my tip toes to no avail. 

There was a large root jutting out of the stone wall at my feet, so I stepped on it to climb just a bit higher. But, as soon as I placed my other foot on the wood, my full weight was too much to bear. 

There was a large Crack! and the dried root cracked from the wall, falling to the ground. I stumbled only a little as I touched the stone floor again in relief, but something was very wrong. The chattering families around me suddenly went silent - all eyes now staring at me. 

I hesitated, then bowed my head slightly, “My apologies -” I started, only to be interrupted by my sister. 

Limenta pulled my face up from my bow, my head in both her hands. Her eyes were wild with fury in a face I had seen many times before. The real Limenta. I held my breath.

There was a sharp SMACK as Limenta slapped my face. She then put my face back into both of her slender  hands, pulling me closer and leaning into me. 

“How dare you be so completely disrespectful,” she seethed in a whisper in my ear, “You have made a fool out of yourself and a fool out of me by association.”

I waited for more, but Limenta pulled her face back, nostrils still flared. Her hands dropped to her side, and she turned away, hastily walking past Mother - who, as expected,  rushed after Limenta to console her on her very special day.

 Maybe she was being easy on me since we had an audience. I touched my hand to my now-hot face and swallowed the gathering tears in my throat. I refused to cry. 

I watched as a white dove flittered to the windowsill beside me, possibly the same that Limenta was conversing with when we first arrived. It paced back and forth, cooing. Was it comforting me? Admonishing me further? I shook my head and apologized once more - feeling more out of place than ever. 

The grounds had been cleared and filled with neat lines of wicker chairs while the eager students lined up beside one another in the grand pavilion. A fantastically large tree, more than three carriages wide, spiraled behind a modest broken pillared stage - leaving us all in its grand shade. The stage itself was empty - aside from a tall white crane wearing a golden capped veil resting on a small podium at the center. I had returned to picking at the now frayed embroidery on my sleeve, but Mother was far too anxious picking at her own to notice.

Limenta and the other students beside her were waiting, rather impatiently, to see if they would be chosen by the guardian herself, Herculea, for servitude during the summer season. Each wore the delicate cloth gowns, loose shirts, cotton or linen, in the style of Herculea. Each naturally elegant, sometimes decorated with an accessory of dried flowers or even a bodice made of woven tree bark.  

Only a select few, five or six at most, of the most promising of the class would be chosen to assist with the war efforts as either healers or beast riders in the outer fray of the ghastly Barrens.

The seats began to fill in around us as the families trickled in. I was grateful that the seat to my left remained empty. I sighed and stretched my legs out, still looking down at my feet. I absently put my hand to the side of my face that Limenta slapped. It was still a little warm. Maybe it would be best if she was sent off - maybe then I would see her less. Maybe she wouldn’t come back.

I watched the happy family I had spotted from the window take a seat in front of us. The proud father was boasting to anyone who listened that his son was able to ride a bearded silver wyvern at only eight years old. He then pulled down the corner of his collar to reveal a healed burn scar across his chest.

The lad made the damned beast light me up when I tried to get him to come back inside from playin’ all day! 

The parents around him politely nodded, nervously exchanging glances. I couldn’t help but smile. 

That was the first time that I saw him.

To my left, sitting alone in the tall grass, chin resting on his bent knee, sat a man. He wore plain, all black clothes, down to pointy-toed leather boots to match his long legs. However, in contrast, he wore an intricate golden mask, with metal golden flowers and leaves delicately covering his eyes and most of his face. Loose chains fell around it and into his dark, wavy hair as it fell to his shoulders. His jaw was pale, sharp, but soft pink dancing at his high but slightly gaunt cheeks.

It was then that he moved, ever so slightly, and I inadvertently jumped with surprise. I was staring. But I couldn’t help it. He was unlike anyone I had ever seen, and I hadn’t even seen his face. 

I leaned forward, placing my head in my hands, resting my chin upon my palms. I was embarrassed. Had he noticed me looking? I took a deep breath and straightened up in my chair, deliberately staring forward with perhaps too much intensity and silently begged for the ceremony to start soon. 

I saw slight movement in my periphery - but dared not look, swallowing hard. My heart started to beat so loud, I was almost afraid that the people around me might hear.

“Is this seat taken?” spoke a low voice to my left.

I turned my head and looked down to see the man, still on the ground, with his elbows on the empty chair beside me. His sharp chin rested in his palms, and there was a sly smile on his rose-red lips. 

My mouth was open, but no words were coming out, resulting in a bizarre choking coughing noise. If there was a dagger beside me at this moment, I would have very well stabbed it through my chest. But alas, the best I could do was shut my eyes tight and give a curt nod. I turned my face away from him, feeling my face grow hot. I was possibly the color of salmonberry at this moment - if not almost purple with embarrassment. 

“I’ll assume that’s a no,” he spoke in the same velvet voice before jumping up to sit beside me. 

He looked awkward, sitting on the small wicker stool. His long legs bent but still almost touched the row of seats in front of us. His arm brushed up next to mine and I felt a static rush cascade into my stomach. 

Should I move away? Should I play coy and ignore it? Should I throw up?

He seemed to notice my discomfort though and crossed his arms in response. I relaxed in relief, untensing my stiff shoulders. Why was I being such a fool? What was wrong with me?

It was then that I felt a cool finger on my cheek, and slowly turned, trying in vain to hide my horror. 

“Who did this?” he spoke, gently tracing the mark my sister had left on my cheek.

But I was not brave enough to answer. I looked up, studying the intricate golden mask, but his eyes were hidden deep somewhere behind the filigree. Was he a student of Selphena? The golden mask was similar to the illustrated ones in Father’s books, but this one was far more intricate than any I had seen any warrior wear before.

And how could he see? Was it enchanted? I could only guess, but part of me was grateful his face was mostly hidden. I would surely dissolve if he was this close to me without barrier. 

Before I could answer, I was snapped out of it by the voices growing around me. The proud father in the row in front of us was now standing - whistling and clapping with enthusiasm. Mother was also stirred from her meditative fidgeting and was shaking my arm.

“The crane is waking up! It’s starting Mira! It’s starting!” she cried.

[hearthedungeons]

These three short demos, none of which come in any longer than 15 minutes, represent the start of a very promising project which address the period of history in which Vikings occupied England. These tracks share a similar language, which seems to clearly represent the more jaunty "medieval ambient" sound of Fief that has been so widely imitated in the last several years - but with some unique touches that make the music stand out.

The 4 short tracks of the first demo are distinguished with the syncopation of their melodies. While harmonically very traditional, the music moves along with lots of simmering energy due to the way melodic lines weave around the beat. The standout here is "The Fall of Bloodaxe", which demonstrates a great fusion of the energy of this lighter, more video-game inspired sound with the more traditional 'distant battlefield' atmospheres of old school DS, with some percussion sneaking in to clarify the imagery as this track progresses. A quality first effort, although barely 8 minutes - luckily Land Spirit had more up its sleeve.

The second demo, "Wisps over the Hidden Stream", seems to have started recording the day the first demo was released - sometimes this is a troubling sign. But a quick listen to opener "Starlight through Winter Trees" dispels that notion. This track makes a lot with a very minimal idea, with an arpeggiated chord progression that feels like it could be inspired by some 80s goth rock tune. This track introduces sparing elements - building strings, another kind of dulcimer sound offering a two note counter melody, and something to fill out the bass. This track works extremely well, and here is where I start to get mildly frustrated that some of these tracks are so short, given the strength of the ideas at their core. The following track "Wandering Marshlands" is built on a lengthy synth loop with four distinct phrases, with subtle variations as it goes through to keep the loop from fatiguing the listener. Here, the middle section is driven by a simpler rhythm, although even this is given some syncopated bounce with the use of some subtle delay, the kind of thing which really drives the music along.

With the middle two tracks, "Rounding the Headland to Ilkolmkill" and "The Fallen Drengr", we start to hear some lengthier work - both tracks are approaching the 4 minute mark, and demonstrate this composer's ability to develop ideas and spread them out more gradually over a longer length - in particular the way a melodic idea is passed to another instrument on "Ilkolmkill", or just the more gradual build of atmosphere with "Drengr". To my ear, this proves the success of this project is not just freak inspiration captured to tape, but that combination of inspiration and self reflection that helps to push DS to the next level. Overall the more contemplative sound of this release demonstrates a nice contrast from the more jaunty beginnings demonstrated by the first release.

Finally, we have "Through the Eternal Woodland", released about a month following the previous demo. This one can certainly be credited for not immediately retreading the ground of the previous two demos. To my ears, it focuses much more on mysticism than on earthly deeds, due to the more prevalent synths, which seem to be either sequenced or arpeggiated. While there is still a lot of strong melody and atmosphere, I'm not left with as profound an impression of this release as with either of the previous two. Take "The Hag's Potion", in which the melodic elements demonstrate a lot of the same strong syncopation, but with an excitability that feels somewhat more chaotic. I have the same critique of "The Apothecarist". I want to emphasize that I appreciate the artist for trying something new, sonically and compositionally, and each of the tracks have strong elements to them. But the melodies here don't grab me in at all the same way - they feel a bit more random, a bit less intentional, and the way each element interacts with the other is less ecstatic.

I am indeed eager to see what a full length or longer EP from this artist would look like. We see across these three tracks a demonstration of some great talent in composition, arranging, and atmosphere - but the latter of these three demos feels at times like someone is trying to force a charge out of a drained battery. The good here, though, is really good, and that should be reason enough to keep an eye on Land Spirit in the future.

[mask-of-ire]

25 Wood Elf City Adventure Seeds

by Robb at readytorole.com

The birds the elves use to deliver messages across the city have slowly been losing the color in their bright, beautiful feathers, and the birds themselves appear to be growing sluggish.

The vintner has created a new wine that everyone is clamoring over! However, the queen is inexplicably paranoid about the new drink.

The streams and rivers that run through the forest near the city have started to turn purple, and nearby vegetation are now becoming purple themselves.

Will-o’-wisps have been reported to be seen in the city late at night by several children, but the elders just think the children are playing games or are seeing fireflies.

A thick fog rolled in a few weeks ago and still has not dissipated. Furthermore, several people who have gone into the forest to try and figure out what is happening haven’t returned.

The normally peaceful centaur have become aggressive towards the elves who hunt and forage for the city, not through violence by through mockery and threats. This shift coincided with the changing of seasons, though it has never happened in the past.

Last week was a festival in the wood elf city, and during it all the druids turned into animals. However, now a week later, they either won’t or can’t turn back and are exhibiting more animal behaviours.

After a magical experiment went awry, the local squirrels have gained the ability to blink in and out of existence. They also seem to have gotten smarter, using this new ability to steal food and work together.

Spring is in the air! That means it’s the time of year when the dryads come out and play friendly tricks on the elves… or at least it usually is, where are the dryads?

After it’s realized that a prominent elf in the city has gone missing, they searched his treetop home for clues. They found a hole into the tree which is apparently hollow and leads deep underground.

A half-elf has appeared in the city as an emissary for a nearby human tribe who wish to join the wood elves. The elves soundly reject the idea, but the half-elf isn’t taking no for an answer.

The queen has come down with a sickness that the priests and druids have not seen before, though have heard of it through legend. The problem is the rare herbs needed to supposedly treat it are believed to grow in the area that trolls have taken over in recent years.

Usually it’s no big deal when the clouds of smoke from a nearby volcano drift over the forest, but today they started raining droplets of lava all over the city!

An elvish botanist recently returned from a trip to a dwarf city, planting new flowers with petals that resemble gems. Things don’t go well when animals try and eat them.

Someone has been setting up pit traps covered with leaves around the city, and the guards have not been able to find out who. It was all more a minor convenience than anything, except this latest pit had spikes at the bottom, killing the elf who fell in.

Unbeknownst to the elves, a new species of butterfly has invaded the forest and is releasing a toxin that is causing the entire city to descend into madness. Just last night several hunters attacked their own druids who had shapeshifted, killing them even after they shapeshifted back.

A young tailor who stayed up late during a full moon saw another elf turn into a werewolf. When he brought this to the guard’s attention, he was informed the elf was a druid and probably caught a glimpse mid-transformation.

A dark aura has risen over the nearby lake, turning the ground swampy. A scouting party ran into some lizardfolk, including a shaman performing a ritual to transform the forest into swamp. Oddly, the lizardfolk were friendly to the elves when they met.

Tension has arisen in the city between those who would disclose the location of their somewhat hidden city to increase trade and exports and those who want to become even more hidden at the expense of affording some luxuries.

A treant has traveled from a faraway forest to make this one their new home. The only problem is they want to plant themselves in the city square and now refuses to unroot themselves.

An avatar of the deity of nature appeared in the city yesterday before burning down the home of an elvish family with holy fire before disappearing with no explanation. The family survived, but lost everything they had.

After meeting a half-orc during his youth, an elvish blacksmith has recently been making battleaxes to practice with. This is looked down up and viewed as a waste of city resources as the blacksmith should be making swords for the city guard. He still secretly continues to produce them, and has a small following of elves who are also curious.

One of the few forest gnomes who is welcomed and lives in the city has recently befriended a few too many snakes, and has woken up to his home being covered with the scaly beasts. He doesn’t want to see them hurt, but the elves are threatening to evict him and kill the snakes if he can’t get them to leave himself.

Unlike his stoic parents, the prince of the city enjoys wine and partying a little too much, and has caused some damages to homes during his latest outing. Of course, he is not responsible for the damages, which is causing those who have sustained damage to demand recourse from the royal family.

For the past month, the city has slowly been moving through the forest- or rather the forest has been moving around the city almost like a river flowing around rocks. At the current rate, the trees will have shifted completely away from the city in less than a few weeks, leaving the city exposed!