#i saw nothing brighter than like...light sage green

[smoothpeanut]

Went to the mall to shop for some fall clothes, but everything was quite frankly ugly as shit. But my bf bought me this Phanpy from Claire's and we split some fried chicken as a snack 😋

[redrobin-detective]

Be Soft

So @captainkirkk had a birthday the other day and I promised a fic in her honor. I chose Fire Lord Zuko and one of my favorite quotes to guide me. I am so happy to know you friend, thank you for your writing and for being my mutual. May your day and all others be warm and blessed.

Be Soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate. Do not let bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place. ~ Iain Thomas

XxX

“Prince Zuko,” Father spoke in that slow, clipped tone he used when he was displeased. “Why did you leave your firebending lesson early?”

“I saw something,” Zuko muttered, overcome with shame and embarrassment.

“And what did you see that was so important that you felt the need to disrespect the teacher I pay good money to tutor you?” Father continued with a sneer.

“A-Azula left early too, even earlier than I did,” he defended, pointing at his sister who gave an indifferent shrug. Everyone knew who the favorite was, who would come out on top.

“Azula is a prodigy and does not need the lessons you so desperately need to even call yourself a bender much less my son,” Zuko squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head so his father couldn’t see the tars stinging in the corners of his eyes at the cruel words. It would only make his dad angrier.

“So tell me, Prince Zuko, what did you see?” Father asked again, this time almost managing to sound genuine but Zuko knew he was at the end of the man’s patience.

“I uh saw one of the recently hatched turtleducks being followed by the garden master’s cathawk and I was worried that it would get eaten. So I um,” He saw his father frown in disapproval. “I uh chased off the cathawk and carried the turtleduck back to the pond. It’s mother snapped at me but the baby was safe at least.” He all but murmured the last part. Beside him, Azula laughed quietly into her hand.

“So you abandoned your lesson to chase away an animal from doing what nature intended it to do,” Father huffed and smoke billowed out of his nose. He stood up abruptly and grabbed Zuko by the front of his tunic before he could move. “This is why you so inadequate as a prince. No one cares about tiny mewling creatures in a pond, all that matters is the power you hold and how you use it. You may have stopped that cathawk today but what about tomorrow? Either it will feed on your precious turtleducks or it will die. You need to learn to do the same or a similar fate may befall you.” He let go and walked past Zuko without another look and out of the room.

“I told ya Dad would be mad,” Azula gloated from next to him.

“Shut up,” Zuko mumbled from the ground.

“Both of you, stop that,” Mom said, bustling into the room with a pinched look on her face she stooped down to his level and it melted into concern. “Are you okay Zuko?” Azula rolled her eyes at the display and stalked out of the room with her head held high. But Zuko didn’t notice, didn’t care, with his mother’s arms now around him.

“Yeah,” he said into the sleeve of her robes, trying to wipe his tears away as discreetly as possible but Mom probably noticed anyway. “Am I, am I a bad prince because I didn’t want the baby turtleduck to get eaten?”

“Oh Zuko,” she said into his hair, “no, baby. You’re a good prince and you know why?” She pulled back and wiped her thumb across some wetness staining his cheeks. “It’s because you care about living things, even when it’s hard. You’re hardworking and brilliant and you use it all for the sake of others. I would want to live in a nation knowing my Fire Lord did everything he could to protect me and my family. That is the mark of a true leader, using your power for the betterment of the world.”

“Do you think I could be that kind of a person?” Zuko asked meekly.

“Oh my love,” she said with a kiss, “of course you will. You’ll be the kindest Fire Lord the world has ever known.”

XxX

“Oh Agni which one of these do I answer first,” Zuko asked himself picking one of the literal dozens of scrolls littered on his desk. He’d felt on top of the world a week ago when the Fire Sages had crowned him Fire Lord but now he wonders if he’ll really be able to fix his broken nation, this broken world. The scrolls contained everything from demands of reparations from the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes, generals at the front demanding orders, Fire Nation dignitaries disagreeing with his ideas for a new, brighter Fire Nation. Basically everyone wanted a piece of him and he just didn’t know if he was enough.

He stalked over to the wall on the other side of room and stared at a painting Sokka had given him before they’d left. It depicted Zuko with his swords doing some sort of firebending, or at least that was how Sokka described it. It pretty hard to tell but it had been made for him by his friend, a fact that still takes him off guard. Who would have thought he’d ever be nostalgic for the War? Simpler times now that he thinks on it, stop the Fire Lord and save the world but now he’s Fire Lord and he doesn’t know how to fix things. He doesn’t know if anyone could. He was tired from too many late nights, worn down by the physical and emotional stress of the last few weeks and aching from the inside out at the thought of being exactly what his father said he was: nothing.

He growled, pulling away from the wall and going back to his desk where the scrolls are still lying, just as accusing and disbelieving and unanswered as they were a moment ago. There’s a quiet little knock at the door and a hesitant little “My Lord?”

“What!” Zuko snapped, spilling some scrolls from the desk in his anger. As quickly as his frustrating bubbled it fizzled out and he chased after the frightened servant who had staggered back out into the hallway. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you startled me and I’m just so frustrated and I didn’t mean to scare you, really.” He was about ready to get down on his knees when the servant, an older woman he remembers seeing on the periphery of his childhood, kind of stopped and stared at him as if she didn’t know what to make of him.

“Are you alright, my Lord?” She said finally as he kind of awkwardly staggered to his feet deciding he probably looked ridiculous going for a bow with this woman. He swayed a little bit, pushing some of the hair out of his face.

“Yes, obviously, do I not look alright?” He asked and she pointedly took an extra telling few moments before nodding her head. “Yeah, I thought so.” He sighed leaning against the wall. “I’m sorry again for earlier, that was inappropriate of me. Can I make you some tea to make up for it?”

“I,” she said before shaking her head as if to clear it. “No I was coming to ask if you wanted tea.”

“I do but I’d like to make it, need to do something with my hands. Here, come inside, we can talk for a moment,” he said, leading the woman into the room and setting her on the plush royal stool. “What’s your name? Is green tea alright? It’s all I have in here.” He babbled as concentrated on measuring the tea out just so while he lit a flame for the ever present pot of water.

“I am Maki,” she said softly, “and yes, my Lord. Is this what plagues you?” She asked gesturing to the scrolls sill covered his desk and now the floor. He grunted, playing with the water’s flame.

“I don’t know how to answer them in a way that will make them listen to me, I need them to respect me, to take a chance with me on peace but I don’t know how,” he sighed watching the leaves steep in the water.

“If I may my Lord,” she began hesitantly. “I would be honest; you have done more than most to end the war. They cannot doubt your motives, explain yourself as you have to me and I believe they will listen. Mistakes are made freely but so few are willing to extend the hand out in repentance and understanding.”

“Huh,” He said mulling over the words before pouring the tea for the two of them. “That just might work.”

XxX

Zuko had faced many monsters in his life both in spiritual and human form but it never got any easier. The trails punishing the war crimes of those from all four nations during the war went on years after Ozai was taken down. As Fire Lord, he was responsible for those charged within the Fire Nation and it anguished him to see how many of his people were guilty of crimes against humanity.

He knelt down in front of a row of liberated prisoners from a camp, mostly deserters or war criminals or rebels who couldn’t keep their mouths shut. They were clearly underfed, overworked, their bodies strained and exhausted beyond measure. Their suffering was imbedded in every lines along their skin and their fear lighting in their eyes like candle flames. It made him want to turn away in disgust and anger but instead he held out a hand.

“Your cases will be reviewed, some of you may still face prison time but it won’t be like this,” he said, emphatically, trying to put as much honesty into his words as he could. If his voice broke a little at the end and his hand shook a bit then all the better to convince them. “The rest of you will be allowed to return to your lives and your families, all we ask in return is that you give our peace a chance. Are these terms acceptable?”

“You would really let a go?” A young woman, probably around Azula’s age asked with a sneer. His father’s years on the throne showed very little sympathy towards disagreement, no one was free from punishment. No wonder she didn’t believe him.

“Guard, release their manacles. While the records are reviewed they don’t need to be chained, once they’re off, get rid of them. They’ll never be put on anyone ever again,” Zuko ordered.

“B-but my Lord!” One guard stuttered, “the prisoners will riot, they need to be contained.”

“Unless they want to risk their chance of going home, I believe they deserve the chance to feel like humans again,” Zuko side-eyed the guard. “Unless things were happening in this camp that you fear retaliation for.” Several guards looked away and Zuko knew he’d be investigating their records, as well as speaking to the prisoners themselves, as well.

“Sir, I must protest. It’s not safe for you and, to be honest, it is beneath a man of your status to kneel before peasants and miscreants. Every one of them is here because of crimes they knowingly committed against the state. Everything that happened here, to them, was justified.” The head guard said with a face that looked as if he had never smiled before. A few of the prisoners bowed their heads or shrunk away from the man’s very presence. He’s sure he’ll find that every heinous act in this camp was committed or authorized by this man. It’s times like these he most understands his father, how easy and good it would feel to lash out this man with both his fire and his privilege. But he stays his hand, if only for the people behind him. He needs to show them that he means what he says, that he believes in pretty words like peace and justice. They were worth something, a long time ago, he hope to bring those words to life again.

“Justified,” he hisses, “or not, I want them set free. And we will decide what or what not is beneath me when I’m reviewing the records of everyone at this facility.” He stood tall, putting as much confidence as could into his posture. He would save these people and he would do it the right way. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

XxX

Forty Eight was still too young, he decides wearily. He’d been Fire Lord for three decades, fought and lost many battles, won a few in-between, and put his heart and soul into restoring the Fire Nation. And yet here he knelt, feeling as fragile and helpless as a child. Forty Eight was far too young to lose a father.

“Uncle,” he croaked, “can I get you some more tea?”

“Not now,” Uncle said with great effort. “Your tea making has much improved nephew but I fear my stomach cannot handle it.” Zuko looked down at his worn hands and wrestled with them anxiously. There were people outside waiting for him, his wife and daughter, his friends, his nation, all grieving the impending loss of one of its finest heroes. But in this moment, nothing existed but him and his uncle.

“What troubles you, my Lord?” Uncle whispered, almost a sigh.

“You know,” Zuko said back just as quietly.

“Death is another part of life,” that weathered, weary hand reached for his own and Zuko held on as tightly as he could allow. “I have lived a spectacular life, made mistakes, redeemed myself, raised a boy into a man,” Zuko suppressed a sob, “helped save the world, ran a shop. I have done what I was meant to do and now it is time for me to depart. My body is failing and my spirit longs for peace.”

“I know,” Zuko admitted, thinking of the slow progression the years had worn on the man who had always seemed larger than life. “And I thank you for staying with me for as long as you could, for being my family when I had none. I,” he bowed his head and brought Uncle hand up to his forehead. “As your Lord, I give you permission to have your rest. You have served your nation honorably General Iroh, you go with honor and-and with love.” He said with as much composition as he could muster, shoving the pain he felt letting his uncle go in favor of relieving the pain his uncle felt at being forced to stay for his sake.

“Zuko, my Zuko,” Uncle said warmly removing his hand from Zuko’s forehead to rest it along his cheek. He hand was cold and thin but Zuko cupped it anyway. “I know this is difficult but your words me so much to me. The blessing is nice, but the true blessing is watching you bloom like a cherry blossom, beautiful and kind, is the greatest gift of all.”

“I tried Uncle,” Zuko said, some of his grief abating in the face of Uncle’s proverbs. “I’ve done my best to be a be a good leader, to not be like my father. It’s been hard Uncle, it’s been so hard,” he nuzzled his Uncle’s hand. “Sometimes I get so frustrated and angry and it hurts but I tried to be what this nation needed.”

“My Prince, my Lord, my dear Nephew,” Uncle said, “you are. It is precisely because it has been so hard that makes your accomplishments shine even more brightly. Watching you grow, seeing your light, it has been the pleasure of my life, Zuko.” Zuko smiled into his uncle palm, still feeling small and afraid and so terribly sad. But his Uncle is ready and Zuko thinks he’s finally ready too.

“Go in peace,” He said, gently resting Uncle’s hand on his harshly rattling chest, “go with my love.”

“I must share it with every living creature,” Uncle said, “and I am all the more glad for it.” Uncle closed his eyes and Zuko knew that everything they had to say had passed. This time is for his Uncle and him alone. He leaned down and kissed his brow one last time before sweeping out of the room. He wanted to stay but the man had wanted his privacy and Zuko could not deny him. Still, he thought, standing outside with the others, leaning heavily on Aang’s shoulder as the inevitable comes and passes.  It was hard to be gentle, to let the softest part of him out for everyone to see. But he was raised with both cruelty and kindness and he knew which he wanted for his country, for his family. For his Uncle’s memory and for all the people he hoped to save, he could only go forward and hope it was enough.

[aliceslantern]

Retribution, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 2

Newly a person again, Ienzo is weighed down by guilt and his humanity. He's prepared to do whatever it takes to atone... only to find unexpected solace in a familiar face. With more insight into the bonds between people than ever before, Ienzo reaches for a dangerous element from the past to help Kairi and Riku in their search for Sora. What is his life if it means saving another, brighter light?

Chapter summary:  Ienzo believes his powers may be the key to finding Sora's heart.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

What made a heart?

Ienzo's head was aching again. It’d been years, truly, since he’d been a scholar of it, as he’d told Sora. Seeing the annals of their old research--and all the implications therein--wasn’t helping. Truly, after all that had happened, they understood almost nothing--but they understood more than the guardians, which was why they were useful.

He had a heart, now.

The rush of trying to find a body for Roxas had left him with little time to consider the impacts of being Ienzo. The tides of emotion, as much as he tried to keep them at bay, were always threatening him. He didn’t have time to drown, to fall apart--nor did he want to. Being here was humiliating enough.

The neophytes had all wanted hearts, humanity, in the Organization days. But Zexion hadn’t, not for a heartbeat (ha ha). A Nobody’s mind, for him, had been largely stabilizing--he had the wherewithal to realize that now. It tamped down on the ever-present anxiety, reduced the ache of old traumas. Let him think clearly, cleanly.

Let him commit atrocities.

Was this who he really was, below it all? True, without a heart one was unfettered by inhibitions, societal expectations. Secondly, he’d been completely focused on the morally good since he woke. The committee. Sora. Stopping Xehanort, the one who pushed him onto this path.

Ienzo looked to his left, to the sealed door that led down to their labs. Nobody had the gall to go down there since. Almost as if possessed, he stood slowly, walked over to the keypad, and laid his hand on it. Considering his radical change in size, it didn’t read the palmprint, so instead he was forced to manually type in the numbers--something he did almost with muscle memory.

Why was he doing this? What answers would he find? Perhaps some paper reports which could be of use?

(At least, this was what he told himself.)

Ienzo took a deep breath. Took two. He held out his hand and called for the lexicon.

None of the others here, save Demyx, had access to their weapons. One had to be very closely bonded with that essence of the self for it to remain. Considering he’d had it twelve years, it was only suitable he had it still. This object, on its own, was purely neutral. But unlike Demyx’s sitar, it had changed shape, color; no longer that deep sage green but a sort of lavender, the Nobody insignia replaced with a heart. His psyche was more than a little literal, which was disappointing.

But Ienzo’s magic was limited. Gone were the days of intense, gorgeous spellwork, complex illusions. He was stuck with the same arsenal as any Joe or Jane on the street, reduced from a powerful mage to someone who was exhausted by second-tier spells.

Down here, he may need to defend himself.

He turned on his gummiphone’s flashlight, set it in his pocket. The white light was cold. Power still ran down here, though more so in an emergency capacity. He walked down, and down, and down that ramp, dreading the walk up, because to his newly-weakened form, it was bound to be exhausting.

What was he looking to find?

There was no darkness here anymore. The basement was just a basement, and the only smell that existed was must and likely mold. He realized he was breathing hard. A thin film of memory played over his consciousness; talking with their victims, as a child, manipulating them into revealing information which would promptly be used to break them. It took little to make or break a heart.

Worse, he remembered such manipulations giving him a sort of pleasure. Not much had come easily to him as a child, and he was praised endlessly for this work, a praise which bolstered his anxiety.

Was it really Xehanort that made him this? He tried to think. There had been a time when he, as a young man, insisted on spending time with Ienzo, playing endless games of chess (which Ienzo had hated, and still did). In between this, he did recall Xehanort asking him to speak to Ansem regarding the construction of this very lab. As his son, Ienzo held an enormous influence over the king. Ask him for the world, and he’ll give it to you on a string , Xehanort had said, his voice like gravel. This is for the greater good.

He scoffed aloud. All it did was wreak a legacy of suffering all the World over. How many worlds had fallen? How many people had simply died? He didn’t even know.

Ienzo took another breath and faced the lab. The containment cells were all the same as he remembered, some of them having gouge marks in the floor from their victims’ transformations. Stuffing of mattresses everywhere, mirrors shattered.

He was not here to gawk. He was here to gather data. He forced himself to walk past all these rooms towards the offices.

The place was a wreck, papers scattered and torn everywhere. He knelt and began sweeping them together. He should’ve brought a bag; there was no way he could read it all quickly enough for it to enter the lexicon.

Behind him he heard something like a whisper. Ienzo turned and saw the Heartless, its gold eyes bulging. He groaned. Heartless were much fewer than they used to be, but that didn’t mean they were gone. Darkness, after all, still existed. Slowly, he stood. “Alright,” he muttered. “Let’s see what I can still do.”

Fira and Thundara seemed to do nothing to the Novashadow’s defenses; all it did was make the creature angry. It hissed and scrambled towards him. What a stupid room to cast a spell in; Ienzo would have to pass it to get through the only exit. So much for being a master tactician. Even an idiot wouldn’t make this mistake. He tried to launch a Stopra spell at it, but all it did was slow it down. Is my magic really this terrible, or is this thing just bizarrely strong? He had no clue. He tried to force his way past it, but its claw scratched his left arm, grabbing it. The grip felt more human than what Heartless were capable of, and Ienzo’s adrenaline-addled mind made the connection.

Not all of their victims had burrowed into the realm of darkness. This one had been watching--waiting, for this precise moment to seek revenge. He tried to pull his arm free, but all this did was slice into it further, a heavy edge of pain making everything dull. He chanced another spell, pulling hard within himself for a third-tier. The Firaga made it possible to free his body, and he ran, blood loss making him woozy; using such a powerful spell only worsened it. He had maybe one or two spells left before he risked knocking himself unconscious, and he had to use one to heal his wounds.

Ienzo was weaker than Zexion in more than one way. Zexion had never been physically strong, but he’d at the very least been in shape, able to comfortably run for long periods of time. Ienzo was an academic who was sedentary most of the time. His lungs seemed to burn as he tried to make his way up the ramp. Adrenaline could only help so much. The Heartless scrambled after him. He could see the door. A bit more. If you don’t do this you will die.

(Would that be such a bad thing?)

He made it at last, sealing the door shut behind him and hearing the Heartless beat and wail against the metal, which had been made to contain darkness (this had happened before, during those days). He dropped to his knees. It hurt to breathe, his vision swarming with dots.

Ienzo realized he was still bleeding. He’d healed his arm, but the Heartless had gotten more than his arm; it had punctured his side, and only now did he feel the pain. The wound didn’t look infected with darkness, but that didn’t matter. He pressed his hand against the wound in a vain attempt to staunch the bleeding. That had been more than careless; it was reckless. If he didn’t get help soon he’d likely bleed out.

Which would mean confessing this stupidity. He groaned. He reached for his gummiphone. The dizziness was only worsening. Without dark corridors, it would take someone at least fifteen minutes to walk to him, time he might not have.

How fragile people really are, he thought woozily. He tried to slip off his lab coat for better padding, but this meant he had to let go of the pressure on his side, and the sight of his own blood caused him to quite literally swoon. He held the cloth against the wound and lay down. He dialed Even and heard the line ringing emptily into space.

Pick up, bastard. But the line kept ringing. So much for promising to protect me. Who could Even be calling at this hour? Did he want to know?

Ienzo was losing time, and he suspected, consciousness. What a righteously stupid way to die, he thought.

---

Something wet and cold was dumped onto his side. He flinched, treading awareness. Even had finally come. But the voice Ienzo heard wasn’t his.

“Ienzo? Can you hear me?”

A jolt of adrenaline and memory forced his eyes open, and his hand snapped up to his throat.

Riku was crouching over him, an empty potion bottle in one hand. The boy’s brows were furrowed in concern.

“When did you get here?” he said dazedly.

“Not more than a few minutes ago--the time differences. I didn’t realize it would be the middle of the night. But none of that matters. What happened to you?”

Ienzo tried to sit up, but Riku forced him down.

“Let the potion finish working. Drink this.” He was handed another. “You really bled a lot.”

He did so. “I suppose I should thank you.” Humiliation broke through his haze.

“Did someone attack you? What were you doing down here, by yourself, at night?”

He scowled despite himself. It was galling to be told off by someone younger than him. “In a manner of speaking.”

He nodded. “Heartless.”

“Isn’t it always.” The potion tasted oily, slimy, but it was making things clearer. “My magic… was not sufficient. I’m quite a lot weaker than the person you faced those months ago.”

Riku was clearly not expecting him to bring that up; his eyebrows shot up.

“I know we agreed to start over… forgive me.”

“It’s okay.” Wound closed, Riku eased him into a sitting position. Ienzo noted with irritation that his own clothes were soaked in blood. “Well, you’re lucky I got here when I did.”

“...This looks like a scene from a tawdry horror novel,” he agreed, wrinkling his nose. He sighed. “Thank you. Truly.” He wished he felt grateful, but mostly Ienzo felt annoyed.

“Least I can do. You’re all working so hard to find Sora--which is more than what I can do right now.”

““Least I can…”” Ienzo repeated. “More like this is the least I can do, after all that. I wish I had good news for you. I’ve been trying almost everything--” Perhaps it was his own vertigo, perhaps it was the thought of Castle Oblivion, but Ienzo thought he felt the beginnings of an idea.

An idea which might help them find Sora. An insane, potentially lethal idea.

“Riku.” He swallowed. “Perhaps your appearance was more than a little fortuitous.”

“Well, we can talk about it in the morning. You’re still weak. You should get to bed.”

“First there’s the matter of--all this.” He gestured to the blood. “I’d have a lot of explaining to do if I merely left it.”

“...You’re pretty level-headed, all things considering.”

Ienzo shrugged. “Must be. I’m sorry this is how you found me. Not very flattering, is it?”

He chuckled. “I guess not.” Riku helped him to his feet. Ienzo nearly fainted again, and while he stayed standing, his eyes must have rolled, because Riku continued, “I should take you.”

“I’ll be fine.” His knees were shaking.

“You lost a lot of blood. Cure and a potion can’t completely fix that.”

“I’m sure you’re tired from travelling--”

“Think I can stay awake long enough to get you home.” He used a water spell to mop up the mess; they both watched the blood vanish into nothing. “Come on.”

Ienzo hated to admit it, but he was grateful for Riku’s presence; he was rather faint, a combination of exhaustion and blood loss making him feel a bit giddy.

“You’ll have to tell me where it is. I can’t remember.”

“Made all the harder by all the collapsed passes. No matter. I could find my way there in my sleep--I practically have.” He shook his head. “I’m sure Kairi will be grateful to see you, regardless of how late it is.”

“...How is she?”

Ienzo tried to think. “Physically well. Mentally exhausted. This is all taking a bit of a toll on her--not that I can blame her. I’m not sure which is worse--to lose all that time sleeping, or to be repeatedly woken to find out it’s been in vain.”

“...It’s early yet. It took Sora a year to recover his memories--it might take a little more than a month to find him.” His tone had darkened. “He’ll come back when he’s meant to. We just have to call out to him.”

“I do not… know him very well, but it pains me, to have him go through all that and then not be able to enjoy the hard-won peace.”

Riku sighed. “You’re telling me,” he said, with a shake of his head. “I used to hate my home… now I want nothing more than to go back to it with the two of them. I think I’ve had enough adventure for one lifetime.”

His droll tone made Ienzo smile. “Quite.”

“We’ve got time, relatively speaking,” Riku said. “You, me. Sora and Kairi. We’ve got the rest of our lives. What’s a little more waiting?”

“I suppose that is wise.”

They made it at last. Ienzo told Riku where he could find Kairi, where a spare room could be found for his own rest. He bathed again, to get off the vestiges of the blood and potion, and forced down a pint of juice, despite its bristling sweetness. He set aside his clothing for disposal in the morning. The only good thing about this injury was that it allowed him to sleep deeply, and without dreams, and he woke up disoriented a little before noon.

Ienzo could not remember the last time he’d slept eight consecutive hours--maybe he never had. He still felt dizzy, but a bit better. He really should spend the day resting and recuperating, but that spark of an idea was starting to burn brighter. He was not even sure it was possible , but if it was, it might solve all their problems. He had to go to the libraries and see what he could find.

He dumped his soiled clothing into the trash incinerator.

“Zo! Sleeping in, I see. Feels good, right?”

Ienzo flinched. He tried to remind himself to be pleasant. His handful of sleep helped. “Last night was a late one,” he admitted vaguely.

Demyx smiled. “You guys all work way too hard. Not good for you.”

Ienzo tried to smother the flicker of irritation. “Well, I’m afraid our leisure time must take a backseat to our work.”

He shook his head. “Hey, listen, I work hard now too. Just ask the boss.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I really do!” Demyx said. “But, it’s like, you have to take care of yourself. Or else--” He blew a raspberry and waved his hand. “Sora… wouldn’t want you to run yourself into the ground.”

Several thoughts flitted through Ienzo’s mind, but all he could think to say was, “Why is it you care?” Even in this new phase of their lives, Ienzo hadn’t exactly been warm.

He dropped his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, we’re roomies, right?”

““Roomies.”” He shook his head.

“And… I don’t know, do we have to be ride or die for me to care whether or not you… die?” He flinched at his own language. “I’m a person now. Empathy, blah blah.”

Ienzo realized too slowly that Demyx was likely reeling from this new life just as he was. “That’s sweet of you,” he said.

He frowned. “Hey, I’m trying to be nice.”

“I’m being perfectly genuine.” It felt odd. “I know I’ve been…” He trailed off.

“All over the place?” Demyx offered. “I think this is the longest I’ve seen you standing still since I’ve lived here. Always running around with books.”

Ienzo was surprised he’d noticed--but why? “I see your reconnaissance skills haven’t atrophied away.”

He shrugged. “You’re all pretty interesting to watch.” A pause. Then, “I was going to go grab lunch. Want to come with?”

Ienzo wasn’t completely sure why, but he said, “Sure.”

The light, when they got outside, hurt his eyes for a moment. The early summer day was warm, warmer than the drafty castle, and he found himself almost sweating. Flowers, more unkempt than they used to be, filled the plaza with color. Ienzo felt tempted to crouch and pick one, just to remind himself it was real.

“How old are you?” Demyx asked suddenly.

“...Why is it you ask?”

He shrugged. “I realized I didn’t know.”

“Nineteen. No--” He tried to think. “What day is it?”

Demyx told him.

“Twenty.”

His eyes widened. “You had a birthday and you didn’t tell me?”

“ I barely knew. Besides. It’s a nonissue.” Odd to realize it. How fitting, to begin this new decade of his life as his old self. To finally be rid of that horrid “-teen” and truly be an adult. He laughed a little.

“...What’s so funny?”

“I’ve been pretending to be a grown up for so long. Now I really am one.”

“What does it feel like?”

“...What indeed.” He shook his head. “I’ll tell you when I know. What about you?”

“Huh?”

“How old are you?” They couldn’t be far apart, Ienzo knew.

“Twenty-two. I think.”

He canted his head. “Don’t you know?”

“Well, I, uh.” He laughed awkwardly and knotted his hands. “How do I put this-- I kind of don’t remember anything.”

Ienzo stopped in his tracks.

“So what are you feeling like? Cause I found this bomb noodle place--”

“Demyx.”

He turned. His face was red.

“I figured…” Ienzo blinked. “Much like Lea uses his old name indiscriminately… but… you don’t remember your old name, do you?”

Slowly, he shook his head. “Even tried to track it down in the Organization’s old files. No dice. It’s all--” He drew a finger across his throat. “Redacted.”

Suddenly Demyx’s previous hesitation to become human made a whole lot more sense. To be a Nobody meant one was strong-willed… a strong will was typically born of pain and hardship. He must not have wanted to risk remembering. “Oh… why didn’t you say something?”

He gave Ienzo a look. “I’m pretty sure this is the longest conversation you and I have had since we’ve been here.”

He had a point. Ienzo turned back to the road. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“...I’m afraid I was judging your choices rather harshly. But in context… it was quite sensible of you.”

His tone darkened, and he looked away. “That’s me,” he said softly. “Sensible Demyx. I mean…” He exhaled. “Why do you think I didn’t go home?”

“I figured your world might still be sleeping.”

“For all I know, it might be.” He bit his lip. “I’ve had worse digs, you know? New place… but familiar faces… Got to get my shit together sometime.”

“...Indeed.” He considered taking the plunge. “Are you happy here?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Loaded question.”

Deja vu, Ienzo thought.

“I…” He looked skyward. “I like my job, I like getting to talk to people, I like not having to hide. To have time for my music. Waking up not dreading every day? I guess that’s happiness. ...I guess. What about you?”

“...You’re right. That is a loaded question.”

Demyx smiled. “Thought you’d be happy, though. You and your dads all in one place.”

He flinched.

“What? Did I say something?”

“I’m afraid our… relationships are rather… complicated, at the moment.”

This wasn’t enough to satisfy him. “Like… how?”

Ienzo found himself wanting to tell him, if so to at least say the words aloud and make them real. At the same time… should he open this one small vein in himself… what else might come out?

“Too personal?” Demyx prompted.

“Of a sort, but…” It took a lot of work. “They… they betrayed me.”

“...How?”

“Ansem the Wise is my adoptive father.”

“...I know that. Guy barely shuts up about you. Thinks the sun shines out your ass.”

“Even, Dilan, Aeleus. Braig too, I suppose, but he’s not here. They… took Ansem, their friend, their king … and forced him into the realm of darkness for the sake of continuing the experiments.” His hands were trembling.

“And then they lied to you about it,” Demyx said slowly, with revelation. “... “They told me you’d gone mad.””

“You have a… rather good memory for dialogue.”

He shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I’m still sorry. And now you gotta live with the guys, work with them. Yikes. Big yikes.”

“Perhaps once this Sora business is settled, I will hash things out with them.”

“Tear ‘em new ones. I’ll help.”

This was meant to make him laugh, and it did, chasing away the lump in his throat.

“...You have a nice laugh. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it.”

Ienzo felt the blood rush to his face. “You needn’t flatter me.”

“I meant it.” He winked. “Now, really, what do you want to eat? I’m starving.”

---

Ienzo was still dizzy. The sensible thing to do would be to go to Even, admit his blunder and that he’d needed to be rescued, and have himself examined. Instead, he tried to sit often and ply himself with fluids. Irritating, to constantly have to duck out to relieve himself, but better than the alternative.

He found Riku later that day. Riku, of all people, would understand where he was coming from, was the least likely to say he was losing his mind. He messaged him and found him sitting in one of the castle gardens, with Kairi.

Much like the rest of the castle, the gardens too were in disrepair, overgrown or dying, but for the first time Ienzo noticed differences. Things had been pruned, bags of weeds sat waiting for disposal. Was it Kairi who was doing this, in her spare time? He didn’t know who else would care.

“There you are,” Kairi said. “Come sit outside. It’s nice.” Odd to see them out of their adventuring clothes, in clothes normal teenagers might wear; Ienzo realized he, too, probably looked strange without the frame of his black or white jackets.

In another life we might have really been friends, he thought. “It is, isn’t it?” he said, neutrally. He joined them at the small wrought iron table. They were drinking iced tea; Kairi offered him some.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” Kairi said.

Ienzo huffed. “I suppose Demyx told you.”

Riku laughed a little. “He… certainly is a character. Thought so ever since I spoke to him in the Keyblade Graveyard.”

He shook his head. “An unanticipated addition to our plan, but ended up being a necessary one. Who would’ve thought.”

“He’s been pretty nice to me,” Kairi said, swishing the liquid around in her glass. “I think he’s lonely.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t been an inviting host.” Ienzo sighed.

“A lot on your mind,” Riku said.

“Putting it lightly. Though… I believe I may have stumbled upon something that may be of use.”

The shift in their energies was instant and complete; Kairi’s expression became sharper.

“You recall… in the Organization days, we all had an elemental attribute. Riku, I’m afraid you know this all too well.” He realized his hands were shaking, and he rested them in his lap, out of sight. “I could create complex, sensorily intense illusions. I created these illusions from the memories of my adversaries… as well as my own.”

They were both silent, their attention rapt. It was hard to look at them.

“I was curious to see if… I could somehow regain and use this power to help trace Sora’s heart. Naminé’s power functioned similarly. It’s nothing I’ve ever done… but it’s something I’d be willing to try. With my knowledge of the heart, I feel like… it’s at the very least worth a shot.”

“But you don’t have that power any more, do you?” Riku asked. “I don’t want you to give up your humanity again just for Sora.”

“I’m sure he’d say the same,” Kairi added.

“Oh, I don’t intend to.” Though would that be the worst thing? To let go of this pain but still be of use, still be able to atone?  “I was hoping to see if I could… find it independently. Train it, so to speak. I’m not sure it’s possible… but I would very much like to try.”

“If you think it’s a good idea, then I trust you,” Kairi said. Her wide blue eyes telegraphed hope.

How had he earned that trust? Ienzo tried to keep his expression neutral, all-knowing. “That’s all well and good--seeing as I’d likely have to see your memories. Riku can attest to this--it’s not a pleasant sensation.” He touched his chest. “You two are so closely linked. If I can trace the chains of your memory, maybe I can find his--which would give us some insight as to what’s going on with him.”

“I have nothing to hide,” she said fervently. “I’m in.”

Riku seemed a bit skeptical. “Is it possible?”

“To be honest--I’m not sure. I truly hope so.”

“Well, don’t do anything crazy. Sora did--which is how we ended up here.”

“It’s thanks to him I’m alive,” Kairi said to him. “I’ll do anything to get him back.”

Riku nodded once. “I will too. Ienzo. What do you need from us?”

“I only need you not to mention it to Even or Ansem, at least at the moment. Our relationships are… complicated. The last thing I need is for them to get tied back up in investigating darkness or nothing again. I will do this on my own.”

“Famous last words,” Riku said, with a shake of his head. “Alright. But be careful.”

“I warn you, this may take some time. It might not even be physiologically possible for me. And should I find that power, it will likely take a good deal of time for me to get it strong enough to function as I need it to. Meanwhile… let’s keep going as we were.”

Kairi nodded. “I can do that.”

“You could try asking Merlin or Master Yen Sid about it,” Riku suggested. “They know a lot about magic.”

Different kinds of magic than Ienzo would use. “A good idea. I’ll keep it in mind.”

He turned his new idea over and over again in his mind, as they put Kairi back into her sleep, as they tried to delve into matters of her heart…

“Even?”

“What?” Even’s voice was flat, the same way it always was when he was focusing hard on something.

“Our Nobody abilities. Are they completely, irrevocably gone?”

This got his attention. He locked eyes with Ienzo, smoothing hair out of his face. “I should hope so,” he said. “Why is it you ask?”

“Mere curiosity, I suppose.”

He shot Ienzo a look. “Naturally the use of dark corridors is the first thing to go. We know that retaining weapons is something of a crapshoot as well, being extensions of a person’s will. Magic, too, takes a sharp nosedive, but can be strengthened again. As for our “elemental” attributes…” He sighed. “They are the most concentrated essence of the self, a power mainlined directly from the will. A power so strong it can only exist in the absence of a heart--otherwise, everyone would have it, wouldn’t they?” A shrug. “The power favors entropy, which a Nobody’s body accepts with ease--but should a human try to use that power, they risk melting their own cells and organs, spending their lifeforce itself to keep it going.”

“But that’s merely theory,” Ienzo said.

“All we do is theorize--and often we’re right.” He put a hand on his hip. “This isn’t something that can be humanely tested.”

“That’s never stopped us before,” Ienzo muttered.

“Well I certainly hope now to cause no harm,” Even spat. “Boy, I know you must feel different, missing pieces of yourself. But there’s no need for you to seek such things. What would it accomplish?” He turned and softened a little; the strangeness of compassion on his face brought back a punch of memory from the past. Even, comforting him during one of his many anxiety attacks. Even, talking him through the nightmares. “You don’t truly need such power. Fewer Heartless than ever before, and the town���s defense system will care for the rest. You are safe.”

Ienzo considered the irony of that statement, the still-aching remains of the wound on his side. “Don’t you feel quite a lot weaker?”

Even looked away from him, towards the empty warehouse space beyond the computer. “I feel no need to lose my heart a third time,” he said. “I’ve wasted enough time dallying about, committing crimes against humanity. To atone, I need to be human--that much is clear.” A sigh. “Negative emotion is not weakness, Ienzo. It is natural. Useful.”

“Natural.” He shook his head. “It does not feel that way.”

Even locked eyes with him. For a moment, it seemed almost like the other man would touch him. “Does humanity feel… very alien, to you?”

Anxiety washed over him, coolly. He tried to think of something clever to say.

“...Well, I’m afraid that was a fruitless endeavor.” Ansem’s footsteps seemed deafening. “Merlin couldn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. His words--we’re the experts.”

“How frustrating,” Ienzo said.

“Research is frustration,” Ansem said simply. “Until you find that spark.”

Even had turned back to the computer, flicking through a few different documents. The blankness of his expression seemed rather composed. The tension in the room had increased palpably, as it always did when they were together. Ienzo suddenly felt very envious of Kairi, in her quiet dreamland. He walked over to her, pretended to fiddle with her IV, the blanket draped over her. It was reassuring to have an ally, even an unconscious one.

I will do everything I can, he thought towards her. Even if it kills me.

What was his life, to save a brighter light?

[boundforhiveswaphell]

The Campfire Song Except Without the Song Part; A Tender Pseudoreligious Story

Artemis, my lovely dnd pc, regales her party with the Tabaxi creation myth, which also happens to be Homestuck fanfiction. 

In other words, a short story written about an evening around the campfire involving my group's DnD party. All characters mentioned are original excluding the four beta kids, obviously! So, no. This isn't the beta kids playing DnD, sorry to get your hopes up. Many thanks to my lovely, lovely beta reader, Nym_P_Pseudo on Ao3! And so, I humbly present.... a Work. 

This can also be found here on Ao3 - if you wanna check out my other, non-homestuck stories!

Smoke danced before them, ember and ash swirling in the summer air. Rancorous laughter merged with the crash of distant waves, the crackle of fire and the shifting of feet providing the backdrop. The evening was alight with fireflies, and the sweet smell of the afternoon’s hunt whirled through the sky in long, lazy arcs.

Khr, the party’s resident Gnoll, was doubled over in laughter. His sickle was embedded in the earth beside him, forgotten in the evening’s relative peace. His laugh was unmistakable - a high-pitched keening giggle that rebounded off the trees. His dark claws were sunk into his knee-fur, and his mouth was agape as he struggled to breathe. Bella, a diminutive figure chuckled beside him. Her elfin features beamed with pride behind the curtain of dark hair, a clear indication that she was the source of his laughter.

“And what would you two be up to?” inquired Vega, her tone joking and light. Her robes glimmered with magic, fine craftsmanship showing even in the dim lighting. A quarterstaff rested beside her, also pulsing with power. Her face was unwrinkled and child-like - but when she smiled, her eyes showed depth beyond their years.

“Nothing!” barked Khr and Bella, near in perfect synchronization. They looked at each other and burst into yet more giggles, even louder than before. Artemis snorted as she tended the fire, feeding another log into its base. She turned to the pair to find them both practically rolling in the dirt, Khr’s tail thumping the ground.

“Sisters help me,” muttered Artemis, lips curled in a grin made menacing by her fangs. Her catlike eyes blinked slowly as she surveyed the group. They were a rag-tag bunch, for sure, but they were certainly capable enough when it came to the adventuring business. She was proud of each of them in turn and loved them as she would her own blood.

“Artemis, I thought you only had brothers?” It was Foofy, the puppet’s, high, comical voice that broke her reverie.

Artemis’s creme-colored face looked up from the fire in confusion. Did pupp… not know who the sisters were? “Y’know,” she began, speaking slowly and deliberately as if to a child. “The Jade and Violet Sisters?” 

“The fucking what?” Merlin, a brooding young prince, had joined in on the conversation - ever the eavesdropper.

“I - the Sisters! Life and death, the giver and ender? Y’know, the important ones?”

“Let me restate since you didn’t understand the first time - The fucking what?”

The party had gone eerily silent, Khr and Bella stopping their childish antics to watch the imminent conflict. Judging by their perplexed expressions, it seemed that no one else knew what she was talking about, either. Her mother would be having a conniption in the face of so many pagans.

Artemis was still not entirely sure if her companions were playing a joke on her, but she prepared to educate the gaggle of heathens regardless. She quietly called upon a lifetime of her mother’s adages and stories, harkening back to her days as a helpless whelp being told tales of the strings that shaped the very world. A silent prayer formed on her lips to the Violet Sister, to spare the heretics before her.

She let out the breath she was holding and opened her eyes.

“Would you like me to tell you?”

“Maybe,” came Khr’s grating voice, still breathless from his earlier hysterics. “Is this one of your father’s weird Dragonborn things?” 

“No!” huffed Artemis. “It’s Catfolk history. I learned both as a cub.”

“What are you, anyway?” Foofy’s pitchy tone again. Artemis chuckled softly.

“We’ve been over this, Foof. My mother’s Tabaxi, and my dad’s Dragonborn.” Foofy sat in thought for a moment before nodding sagely, as if in understanding. Artemis shook her head in fondness. 

“So,” she continued. “Do you lot want to hear the story?”

Seven bright pairs of eyes captured in varying degrees of interest stared back. Foofy was the first to answer with an enthusiastic nod and a cry of “yes!”. 

Gracefully pulling herself off of the pine-soaked earth, Artemis rose to her full height. It was for dramatism, of course - she would have towered over her companions even while sitting. 

“This world,” she began, “was once a wide and white nothingness. Bright, inescapable, and unfathomable.” Artemis’ voice mimicked her mother’s famous story-telling cadence, though she withheld a majority of the dramatic flair. It was a low, sweet tone, like honey trickling from a spoon. 

“The desire to create - that which we all feel - and to leave one’s mark on the world. The hunger to know and to understand the world in which we live. The void, empty as it was, still felt this need, this innate desire. It is from this grandest, ceaseless emotion that Heat and Clockwork willed himself into existence.” Fire blazed behind her eyes, and the scarlet of her scales seemed to glow brighter in the dying ember’s light. 

“It was a fiery blaze of desire, passion, and want. The universe willed itself to create, and Brother Crimson was to be its first creation.

“Born of invention itself, his destiny would be as such. He was the antithesis of the blank void around him, dark and fire-fueled, his burning red eyes like hot coals. His life’s work would be to build from the space before him, a task whose monotony was comforting.

“Lord Time created this, the first world, in a symphony of molten rock and flame. It was here, at the center of this feverish landscape that the Forge was created - the workshop of the gods.” 

“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good,” drawled Steve, the party’s quip-hurling bard, “But I was under the assumption we were learning about a few familial goddesses, not some red cherry-scented loser!” If his words weren’t enough to set Artemis off, his languid, careless posture certainly was. He was sprawled across a wide log next to Vega, lying with his stomach to the skies. His back was a half-circle against the ground, curled in what must have been the most uncomfortable position possible.

Artemis ignored the barb, instead choosing to reprimand her friend using a most motherly tone. “Sit your sorry excuse for an ass up before you ruin your back, Stephen. You’ll be sore in the morning if you fall asleep like that!” 

Maybe not a motherly tone, but it got the point across.

“The Forge,” she continued, eyeing Steve with an unveiled challenge, “would become Heat and Clockwork’s playground, an endless molten landscape with which to smelt his creations, and to flaunt his prowess as a skilled smith of rhyme.” Her expression shifted back to the flickering eyes and bright smile of a well-meaning zealot. 

“Hold on, hold on!” Maxwell’s lilting voice interrupted. “You lost me at Brother Crimson. Who is he? I thought it was Heat and Clockwork?”

Artemis’ whiskers twitched in poorly concealed amusement. “They are the same, Max. Lord Time, Knight of the Forge, Ascendant’s Anger, et cetera. It’s all the same, dear.” Though her expression seemed annoyed, her tone was light and full of affection. “Any other questions?” The cleric murmured a soft “no” in response.

“The Knight’s hands carefully crafted the First Being, his finest creation. All was perfection, from the soft feline face to the fur that rippled down her back. Satisfied with his work, Brother Crimson stood back and proudly surveyed it. The fires around him grew dim, no longer needed to smelt and shape.

“With a smile as bright as the heavens-jewel, the Knight of the Forge breathed into his creation, giving life from himself to the beast before him. Though he blew and blew, the statue did not - could not - move. Its empty eyes seemed to mock his disheartened visage.

“Tears of sputtering, flaming rock rolled down his stony cheeks. He tried again and again, forming new husks as quickly as he destroyed them. The Pyre found that no creation of his would breathe. Thus, his passion rendered into bitterness, and the fires of his purpose grew cold. He was alone in this vast world, without a means to escape.”

The group was still and silent. Artemis’ voice swept over them like an enrapturing spell. 

“His despair was so great, and so vast, that from it formed the first Sister. The Jade Sister, Frost and Frogs, stood before him in all her radiant glory. Her hair was long, dark, and tangled, an ever-moving sea of creatures and landscapes. It was full of beastly things and lilypads alike, a cacophony of creation. She had three eyes that glowed green as grass, bloody and beautiful in all that they saw. Her teeth were sharp as needles, stained with the raven-wine of those who would come after. She was splendid. She was beautiful.” 

“She was life itself.” 

“Okay, gayass.” Khr, ever the instigator, called to her across the circle. Artemis rolled her eyes and suppressed a chuckle.

“The Jade Sister,” she continued, “reached out to her Brother. Shaking, unsure, he took her hands in his - and the world went green. A verdant, endless green. Viridian and emerald as far as one could dream.

“And lying, hidden, at the center of this green expanse lay a secret. That which Brother Crimson had so desired to produce - life.” The forest around them seemed to sing a hymn of agreement as she spoke. The branches of the looming pines shifted and creaked, whispering the name of their creator. 

“Heat and Clockwork dried his tears and filled his lungs with feral joy - he knew in his heart that his creations would no longer be lifeless. Though the world was devoid except for them, the Crimson Brother would scream and cry for all the void to hear that he was no longer alone. Touched by his display, the Fern Mother held his hands in her own, gripping so tightly that her claws coaxed the wound-sea from his veins.

“Locked in an embrace, the Siblings danced upon the newly lush ground. With each step they took, a forest was brought to seed. With each note they sang, a field was grown to fruition. Before his Sister’s birth, the Blind Son thought he had known happiness - but as he leapt and twirled with the Witch he came to understand that it was nothing in the face of her smile.”

Khr hurled another jest, louder this time, but much the same.

“I have a girlfriend at home, Khr,” Artemis admonished. “I’ve no reason to go chasing after goddesses.” Bella let loose a mocking “Oooh!” in response, and he elbowed her with an embarrassed chuckle. 

“And so,” she continued, “The two waltzed their way to the heart of the earth, where the Forge lay empty.

“Frost and Frogs, all gleaming teeth, placed her hands onto the First Being. At her touch, it awoke - its ears and tail began to twitch, filled with the life that surrounded the Jade Sister. It bounced and leaped and jumped. The Siblings danced with their creation, their happiness burning brighter than the Forge could ever hope to be.

“It was from this immense jubilation that the Cobalt Brother was born. His siblings’ bliss was so powerful, so potent that it spat forth the god of Wind and Shade. Born of laughter, harlequin god, bringing joy to those who would gamble and hope.” As she spoke, the wind around them stirred, ruffling Artemis’ fur and scattering the lingering smoke from the now cooling embers.

“His visage is porcelain and pale; his eyes drip with black blood, thick with stars like the night sky. Like his sister, he is always smiling, though his teeth are far less terrifying than the Fern Mother’s maw. His arms are uncountable and many - each unseen and unknowable. In his left-most arm, he carries a hammer with which to shape the world. In his right-most, a mask, its face obscured. It is said that with it, he can assume the shape of any creature he should so choose.” 

“What the fuck…” muttered Merlin.

“The fuck indeed!” Artemis laughed. “The Trickster is the god of curses and profanity, in addition to his other domains.”

“A god for cursing, hm? I need one of those…” 

Artemis let a brief silence hang and then continued. “As they walked, the Motley Jester’s thoughts turned to mischief - born of laughter, he was predisposed. A dark grin festered behind his eyes - and with one swing of his hammer, the Son of the Tempest brought forth a mighty gale to set the world spinning.”

“The Heir’s joke completed, his siblings fell to the earth below as it began to spin beneath them. Slowly, but it did - they watched as the sun above them moved slowly to their West. Their creation was spinning, much to their chagrin - but they loved each other, and could not stay mad at their youngest Brother. They continued their walk to the Forge, excited to show the Motley Jester their playground.”

“Upon their arrival, he turned his attention to the First Being - now a stumbling, walking beast. Its claws were sharp as daggers, its fur dense as earth. A single entity, born of metal and fire, of life and verdance. The Trickster produced his signature leer, and wrest a mask from the void into one of his many arms. It was a perfect mockery of the creature's face, fine as silver and smooth as bone. Ensuring his Siblings were preoccupied with other parts of the Forge, Brother Cobalt fitted the mask upon the First Being’s face.

“It was from this perfect mask of porcelain that the First Being felt - was given the ability to form bonds, to experience emotions, just as its creators had done.” Artemis’ claws gleamed in the moonlight as she spoke, a deadly reflection of the First Being she described.

“The Siblings hollered with delight at their creation’s fate, a sweet song with which it joined in harmony. It was a joyous night, and the lush earth, spinning, living, and beautifully cratered, seemed to pulse with excitement. From the rich earth below, the Witch pulled woven cords to the surface. Her brothers wrapped them around rocks and trees, pulling them taut. It was then, the three Siblings acting in harmony, that the first Song was played.” Had any of her audience not been so enraptured with her words, they would have heard the dulcet tones of a soft-spoken tune in the distance.

“The Trickster played strings with his hammer by his side, striking deep notes in a flurry of exhilaration. His sister’s tones were more muted, though just as excitable. She plucked the strings with her long, clawed hands - careful not to tear them. The eldest brother, though slow to join his family, plucked and sang a melody. It was brash and loud, a flurry of notes that was perfect to the ear.

“From each string plucked, from each note coaxed, a new being was born unto the world. It is said that the songs made that day were the purest expressions of music, unmatched by any performer.” Vega gave Steve a warning look, to deter him from making an expected pompous comment regarding his playing skill.

“The Forge was alight with sparks and laughter, and the Siblings’ bonds grew stronger as they worked beside one another.” Her expression grew dark. “But - they worked too quickly. The world they had created was only so big, after all. And as they built a thousand creatures, they began to fill and fill the space that was left. They crowded the land, clawing at each other. Their claws and teeth, built for singing and creating, had become tools of violence.

“It was the screaming that alerted the Siblings to their creation’s plight. Screaming, endless screaming as they fought for space. The Siblings looked upon their earth in horror, in fear, of what they had done. Their world was suffering for their foolishness.

“Heat and Clockwork, the eldest of the three, knew what must be done. The other two, in the hearts, knew as well - though neither the Witch nor the Heir could bring themselves to do it.

“Foolish children that they were, their creations had not been designed to die - they could not kill each other. Their gods had cursed them to an endless cycle of suffering.” She paused, looking into her companion’s eyes. 

“Brother Cobalt would eventually decide their course of action. He looked into Heat and Clockwork’s scarlet-red eyes as he summoned a gust of air to smother the flames of his Brother’s Forge. The rich earth around them grew cold and empty, the blissful heat that emanated from the planet’s core now gone. The creatures stilled, the air devoid of the warmth that kept them moving.” Like the creatures she described, Artemis’ movements slowed and halted as she spoke, coming to a standstill. 

“The Siblings made a pact, there in the cold and silent Forge. They would not meet again, under any circumstance. Their love for each other was too strong - they would be unable to resist creating more things to fill the earth. Though the Jade Sister, giver of life, had tried to revoke it from her creations, she quickly discovered she was only able to give life, not take it away. Resolute in their decision, the Siblings, weary and heart-broken, pulled themselves away to the farthest corners of the earth.

“Time passed. The Siblings grew restless. Lonely, locked away by themselves for their selfishness. A deep sadness ran through them, and as a result, into the remains of their creations. For the first time in eons, the Forge sat empty, it’s bellows long since cold and forgotten. Lord Time tinkered by himself in his endless stone castles, building things that could not fulfill him. Space’s Beldam performed a joyless dance for the depleted world around her, it’s once vibrant colors dulled. Her footsteps no longer brought forth life - they left trails of a withering blight in their path. Breath’s Scion, the gleeful god, was the saddest of the three. He could not truly understand why they had separated, just that he was now alone.” Her eyes were cold. She was glad for the silence of the night around them.

“Frost and Frogs, born from an abundance of loneliness, collapsed onto the earth she had so loved. Her voice warbled from her vicious mouth, a sad, keening sound. It was high and sweet, carrying easily to the other Siblings. Hearing her mournful call, both Brothers joined her in the sound. It was a feral instinct, deep and instilled. And though they were leagues apart, their song was harmonious, clear as day.” The woods around her seemed to stop. Each member of her party stood in slack-jawed enchantment at her words.

“It is from this hopeless, despair-driven sound that the Violet Sister was born. Called from the same white void as her siblings, she was thrown forth from the emptiness. From her head sprout a pair of long, needle-thin horns. Her lavender skin is marked and scratched, places where her ebony-black blood drips in slow, rhythmic steps. Black twines of a shadow substance beyond mortal comprehension twist from her skin, enveloping her in an unknowable darkness of tentacles. She is the blind goddess, the Empty one, ruler of the creatures that lurk below, the end of life and the bringer of death.” Artemis took a breath. “She is the goddess of Light and Rain.”

“Piss!” cursed Steve, eyes wide with poorly masked fear. “You named this - this monster Light and Rain? What kind of a name is that?”

No longer content to let him disrespect her deities, Artemis squared her shoulders, bringing her up to her full height. The tallest of the party, Artemis was a fearsome sight. Her eyes and scales gleamed a menacing red in the firelight. When she pulled her lips back to reveal honed, gleaming teeth, it was enough to make anyone not used to her promptly shit their breeches. 

“Light and Rain is the goddess of the unseen, the otherworldly, and the unknown,” Artemis’ steel-sure voice was the only sound that could be heard over Steve’s ragged breathing. “I will make the place I dump your sorry excuse for a corpse very unknown if you call her a monster again.”

 Vega snickered from her comfortable place on the log. Anyone who had met Artemis for half a second knew she’d never actually act on that threat, especially not to Steve - the dorky kid she treated like one of her younger brothers. Despite the clear emptiness of her threat, it was enough to make Steve back down with a few mumbled apologies. Mollified, Artemis turned her gaze back to the rest of the party. She was close enough to the story’s end now that she was unconcerned with Steve’s ill-mannered words.

“Light and Rain, newly born into the dying world, cast her soothing gaze across the fractured land before her. Though she was young, her knowledge was vast. The Grim Seer gathered her elder siblings into her arms, pulling them together once more.

“Though Heat and Clockwork’s furnace-bound eyes burned through her, she continued. Though the needle-fine teeth of Frost and Frogs sunk into her skin, she persisted. Though Wind and Shade’s star-strewn tears burned like acid, she pursued. They held each other in an expression of the purest love, reunited and whole.

“The four held each other, crying. They sensed that with this newest addition, they were complete. Their struggle was over. No words needed to be spoken as they parted, smiles bittersweet and tears drying away. They looked at one another, then to Light and Rain. They knew what must be done.

“The Violet Sister’s horns crackled with dark, purple energy - and then with a flash of light as bright as their void, the world was clean. Her claws had flashed across the earth, quick as lightning. The First Beings were free of their chains of ill-begotten immortality. Light’s Mistress had granted their creations a most peculiar, but needed gift - the gift of death.” A light smile played on her lips. She was thoroughly enjoying the shocked faces of her party.

“It was known as the Scratch - it was the beginnings of our universe. Now mortal, the creations found peace in themselves - and the Siblings found peace in each other. And so, our world was born. The Catfolk, the First Beings, were the first to speak to their creators, spreading this truth to the other races.”

Artemis’s words were interrupted by an enormous yawn from none other than Khr - his arms stretched to the sky, claws curling inwards. “Sorry…” he murmured, eyes threatening to close.

“Well then,” chuckled Artemis. “I believe we’ll call it a night here.”

“What, no! We have to know more!” whined Merlin, now suddenly interested in the mythos. 

“Later, dear. Save it for the next campfire.” Her smile was genuine, and her eyes kind to reflect it. “You need to go to bed. We've got work to do tomorrow!” With that, the magic dissipated. It was clear the evening’s entertainment was over. She tutted and shushed her companions as she ushered them to their tents, wishing them a restful sleep. As she snuffed out the last of the fire with a kick of dirt, she chuckled to herself. Maybe her mother would be proud - stop calling her a heathen for not wanting to listen to the same tired stories. 

As she padded back to her tent, Artemis was treated with the passing conversation from another party member’s shelter. Though the voice was muffled, it’s high cadence could belong to none other than Bella.

“Catfolk are badass!”

[saltandburn-ilovesamwinchester]

Salem Nights

Dean x Reader

Warnings: fluff, smut

A/N: I really enjoyed this! Hang in there folks!

The tapping sound of keyboards and swishing of papers filled the bunker's library. There had been zero cases in over a month and now that it was October, your were sure to find something. The scary movies weren't cutting it anymore, now you needed something real.

"I've got nothing," Dean huffed and threw the news papers onto the table. Sam's expression the same. "Maybe there isn't..."

You threw your hands in the air shushing the room. "I think I found something," your excitement boiling. You giggled and showed the computer screen to Sam and Dean. "Supposedly, there was a siting of a witch in... wait for it.. Salem Massachusetts. Every year, two weeks before Halloween, some young girl goes missing an' you wanna know what everyone says about all the victims, they were last seen walking past the main cemetary after visiting the local historic sites."

"Wait a minute," Sam laughed. "This could be any story someone made up and Salem is known for it's 'spooky witch stories'. Why does this excite you so much?"

"Sam," you squeaked and looked at Dean for help, but finding the same confused brow raise. "This is Salem we're talking about! Have you never seen Hocus Pocus? Come on dude, I know the two of you are getting restless just as much as I am. I don't ever complain about going on the cases that you guys choose. Please let me have this one!"

Dean rubbed his hands across his face before a smile spread across his lips. "The kid's got a point," he said and looked towards you, your eyes looking at the table after hearing the nickname. He only used it because it annoyed you. You put your feelings to the side for a minute and looked up to find those beautiful green eyes on you. "All of us will go crazy if we sit here any longer. I'm sure we can find some activities to enjoy while we are working."

You couldn't hide your excitement any longer, jumping up and walking up the library steps. "I'm going to pack my bags," you laughed and raced to your room. "This is going to be amazing," you screamed over your shoulder.

"We leave at three," you heard Dean's voice echo.

...

The next morning you woke up to Baby's engine purring. "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," Dean said and caught your tired eyes in the mirror. "I was starting to wonder if you were going to sleep the whole way. This is your trip after all."

You laughed and sat up further in your seat looking between the boys. "Ya know, Dean, you could just wake me and tell me to get in the car. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you like carrying me when I am still asleep." You smiled your best smile, running your hands through his short hair.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean blushed and fiddled with the radio, trying to distract himself from your touch. He finally found his classic rock station and the last advertisement was going off, followed by the tune of a familiar Halloween song.

"Oh no," Sam and Dean groaned. They knew you would be singing in a heart beat. "This must be some special playlist or something they are doing," Sam sighed and sat further into his seat.

You couldn't help but giggle and started to sing the first verse. "I put a spell on you," you leaned into Sam bumping his shoulder. "Because you're mine," you slid your ams arcoss their seat now nudging Dean. For a split second he found your face, his tongue slipping past his lips to wet them, until his wondering eyes found the road again. The fall colors outside the Impala windows made his eyes and face seem brighter. He was showing his age in the yellow and orange light and you shivered.

Sam looked at the two of you like you had went crazy. "Wh.. what Sam? Can't keep up," Dean cleared his throat trying to adjust his stiff jeans the best he could. "I put a spell on you," Dean hummed quietly.

"This is going to be a long trip," Sam rolled his eyes and looked out his window.

...

The Impala rolled into town as the sun was setting. You couldn't believe how beautiful this place was. The old buildings from left to right. You couldn't hear the conversation from the back seat, but you could have sworn Sam said he had seen the word 'witch' at least five times already.

Dean pulled into the first hotel as soon as you got into Salem. "Maybe once we get settled we can start one of our tours," Dean looked at you as you made your way to the front office. "Two rooms, please," he smiled at the clerk. The girl behind the counter typed something into her computer and handed Dean the keys, one for you and the other for him and Sam. Oh, how you wanted to be sharing that room with Dean.

You were happy to find that your room wasn't but two doors down and not across the hotel from the guys. A blast of warm air comforts you when you step through the door frame. There was nothing special about the room, but you did smile at the fall colors that decorated the room. Maybe you weren't the only one who thought Salem would look weird without them.

Once you threw you things down on the table the small room had to offer, you checked you hair and makeup you did on the ride there. "As good as it's going to get," you smiled and twirled your ponytail. You jumped when the sudden knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts.

"Coming," you sang and bolted for the door. Before you, the two Winchesters stood. "Ready," you asked and stepped outside.

"Hey, I spotted this shop right as we came in. I figured we could check it out first," Dean smiled at you and your knees almost buckled. Did he really see the store and think about you?

...

The three of you stopped just outside the shop door and looked in different directions of the store. The wood on the building was stained from years of weather, hex bags hung on the shutters and small signs were tapped on the windows. "On sale. Cast a spell on any friendship jewelry," Dean read and laughed. "Hey, what if I buy you something and you buy me something and we see what the 'spell caster' has to say about us?"

"Great," muttered Sam. "I'm going to find us something warm to drink. You two go and geek out."

"You're on Winchester," you giggled at his offer and walked through the tiny room before waving goodbye to Sam. The smell of sage hitting you fast, sending you and Dean into coughing fits. It was almost too funny. "I'll take this isles," you pointed at the men's jewelry. "An' you take that one. We meet at the palm reader's table and then our first tour," you ordered.

It didn't take much convincing Dean and you hummed to yourself looking at the beaded jewelry. You were admiring a beautiful hand crafted watch when you read the note at the bottom of it's box. Watch your soulmate fall for you. "Sounds cheesy. What the hell," you laughed and put the cover over the box.

When you found your way to the palm reader's table, you spotted that familiar leather jacket and a calmness in those beautiful green eyes. Apparently Dean didn't want you to see what he picked out for you because his box was closed too.

"Next," you heard the gypsy behind the booth say. You and Dean slid in across from her and smiled at the older lady. "Oh, I know just the spell for you two," she smiled and her dimples showed for a split second.

Dean made a nervous glance towards you and you saw his hands shake. You bumped into his shoulder playfully like you had in the car, his smile reaching his eyes. You hadn't heard her spell end and the small lady cleared her throat for your attention. "That'll be seven fifty, doll face," she said and Dean fumbled for the change. "One more thing," she added. "Before the sun completely sets, before you wear your jewelry, you must pass the old Witch House or the spell doesn't work."

With a quick goodbye you and Dean made your way out the door, finding Sam outside with three cups of cider. The blast of cold air hit your nose and cheeks in a matter of seconds. “Damn it, it’s cold,” Sam mumbled before taking a sip of his apple cider. “The two of you can have this. I’m going back to the hotel to research.”

You and Dean giggled as you watched the baby brother scoot between tourists on the busy street. His head ducking every sign that hung low and his ‘I’m sorry’ to everyone he bumped into on the small sidewalk. “Hey, maybe we should hit that witch house first like the lady said,” his eyes finding yours again and he reached for your free hand with his. “In case we see someone or something trying to get you,” he smirked when your eyebrows raised at his touch.

“I like the sound of that, Winchester.” You smiled and gave his fingers a light squeeze before wondering further down the busy street. Leaves were falling and swaying in the cool breeze all around you, and the bright shade of the sun made the small town glow with its orange and yellow beams. Your eyes caught sight of the witch house tour sign outside a iron gate covered in the thickest of vines and leaves. “Well this is it. It’s more beautiful than what I was expecting,” you let out a deep sign and turned to Dean. You were a little shocked to find his gaze on you instead of this house.

“Mmhmm.. I have to agree,” he smiled and brushed a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

You were caught in each other’s stares and blushes when a small woman with a slim figure walked up to you. “Will the two of you be joining the tour tonight,” her voice chirping when she spoke and you nodded yes, not trusting your own voice to speak. “Right this way, then.” She smiled and gestured towards the larger crowd. You looked at Dean one last time and nodded at the group to join them.

“Before we go in there,” Dean smirked. “Do you think we can exchange our gifts now,” he asked and his face lit up even more.You had never seen the hunter before you so happy about something so small.

“Okay, Dean. Close your eyes.” You watched his eyes flutter and adjust to the movement before you pulled the small box from your bag and took the top off. The glass clock shining in the sun light. “Alright, open.”

There was so many emotions that crossed Dean’s face in that moment, you couldn’t tell if he liked it until he gave you his best ‘ Dean Winchester’ smile. “This is beautiful handwork, Y/N! I love it, thank you,” he licked his lips and gave you his wrist to wrap the band of the watch around it. You smiled when a thought about dressing Dean Winchester crossed your mind.

“My turn,” you giggled and put your hands over your eyes like a little kid.

“Okay, open,” Dean’s voice almost a whisper. You put your hands down at your sides and then they came to your face, covering your mouth. The dainty necklace swinging from Dean’s fingers. “I know you love fall so much, I wanted you to have something to remember tonight by. And I know you like the color red..” he trailed off when he caught your blush, staring at the little red pumpkin on the small chain.

“Dean this is the sweetest thing. I love it so much.” You turned from him and pulled your hair over your shoulders, waiting for him to drape the necklace in its place. He turned you around to face him when he was through. “Come on, let’s not keep them waiting.

There was more to the tour than history and the chill in the house. There was a small tension that lingered throughout the group, gasping and humming to the neat information that went through one ear and out the other. You stopped in the large hallway of that old house, the floors creaking beneath your feet when you swayed back and forth. “Dean, did you find something,” you turned to him and his face lit up before pulling you closer to him.

“Yea, I think I did,” his eyes reflecting from the glow of the sun through the large window in the room. “An’ she’s been beside me this whole time,” he said before his lips met yours. His fingers drew slow circles into your cheeks, his tongue licking your bottom lip just before exploring your mouth. Dean’s lips were so soft and smooth and all you could do was feel. Feel him all around you. His weight shifting on each foot before breaking the kiss.

“The spell,” you said in realization before kissing him again. His hands roamed freely around your waist, up your back, and through your hair. You squeezed your legs together, trying to fight that sensation there and losing. All you wanted was Dean. When you stepped back again you saw the many faces from the crowd you were with and they started whistling and clapping for the two of you. You flashed a smile towards them and back at Dean. “Let’s get back to the room, handsome,” you whispered before leaving a kiss on his pink nose.

The walk back to your room was pure torture and when you slipped through the bedroom door and heard the door slam shut behind you Dean had you pushed onto the bed. The warmth of his body over yours all too real. His breath tickling your neck from the light kisses he left there. Dean’s fingers grazed down your thighs and to your shoes, removing them from your feet then his as well. When he crawled up your body again you were pushing each other out of every layer of clothing until his naked body hovered over yours. He looked into your eyes before leaning in close to your lips again. “Y/N, are you sure you want this,” he asked brushing your hair behind your ear like earlier that day, trying to find any hidden discomfort.

“Dean,” you pleaded and ran your fingers through his hair and down the center of his neck. You watched him lean into the touch there. “There has never been a day where I didn’t want this.” You watched the small smile spread across his face. Dean found your lips again, his teeth pulling your bottom lip and letting it pop back. His hand held your wrists above your head and his other hand spread your legs further between the two of you. You knew Dean was tall and strong but you never guessed he was this soft and sweet. His lips never breaking from yours. Your breathing faltered when you felt his fingers move in circles over your clit. The pressure building there. “Dean,” you moaned into his mouth and arched you back off the bed.

Dean’s fingers slowly made his way to your dripping heat and he teased you there with a bitter sweet back and forth motion.He took his time and watched you adjust to him. You had watched his hands for years on the job, wondering what they were capable of. Now you were in the middle of closing yourself around them taking in two knuckles at the same time. “You’re so wet and ready for me, sweetheart,” his voice sounded so hot, and his fingers still pumped in and out of you causing you to scream out and hit your high. He let you ride his hand until you came down, leaving small kisses from your shoulder to your lips, dropping your hands.

Running your hands down his chest and past his waist, you felt his breath hitch when your fingers began to wrap around him. You gave him a few pumps before smearing the precome on his tip down his member and over the vein that ran on the underside of him. “Do you liked that baby,” you cooed in his ear when you felt him come down from spilling in your slick fingers.

You felt Dean tease your folds again before his tip eased through you. The stretch was sinfully sweet and the breath the two of you let out in unison turned you on even more. This seemed so right with him. The twitch between your legs pulled you from your thoughts and made you gasp out loud, leaving that comment and the case you were there for behind.

…

That’s all for now, y’all! Please let me know what y’all think! All mistakes are mine. Like, share your little hearts out! Annnn Happy Halloween! ❤️💋

@waywardbaby @imperiusimpala @leatherandapplepies @idreamofplaid @plaid-lover-bay25 @waywardnerd67 @maddiepants @sammyimpala-67 @oldfreakything @idabbleincrazy @the-magic-rabbit-99 @tumbler-tidbits @shatteredabby @destielhoneybee @cosicas-cuquis @heycasbutt @flamencodiva @coffee-obsessed-writer

https://saltandburn-ilovesamwinchester.tumblr.com/tagged/my-masterlist

[dorkyungsoowrites]

Alight & Alone

Pairings: Jongdae x ???

Genre: Thriller/Angst/Fluff | Fantasy AU

Warnings: None

Word Count: 4k

Description: A traveler comes to rest at an abandoned town, and his desire to learn its history lead him to where legends lie.

A/N: Requested by Anon Crystal. I am...so sorry, but also not. Hope you enjoy.

There are several types of dragons. The standards like fire and ice that horde treasure and live on mountains or in caves. Terrorizing those that come near them. The lesser known without wings like earth that have scales of bark and help the forests flourish, or water that swallow and spit out the tides. Ones with four wings and three heads. Dragons with feathers instead of scales that are not much different from parrots in the jungle. There are even celestial dragons. Ancient and made of the stars themselves. Resting in their nest of galaxies.

Then there are a few not many are privy to. Dragons only in legend. Never confirmed by the eyes of man or elf. Whispered about to children in foothill villages to deter them from going too deep in the mountains. Beasts that skulk in shadow. Some of the stories even going so far as to say they are the shadows. Light the chief protector to wanderers.

They were only stories to Jongdae. Fear mongering to get children to behave. So when he came to an abandoned town set into the base of a mountain on his journeys, he decided it was the perfect place to camp. Carved in stone with gilded towers and marble inlaid streets. He wrote notes on the architecture as he strolled further in. That's what he did. He was a historian, of sorts. Recording the world as it is for future generations. Court scholars only record the city's goings on. He wanted to know more. How did the town by the marshlands farm? Who repairs the trade routes? Do villagers in the North even speak the same dialect, or because they're intermingled with the elves and satyrs more do they see the language in the city as the trade tongue? What folklore would he hear in each region? It all fascinated Jongdae. So he kept his books and quill on him at all times in a satchel. Ready to write and sketch crude drawings of each new place.

That town he camped at was new. Unfinished. Piles of chiseled stone sitting by halves of homes and stairs that lead to nowhere. It wasn't on any maps, and it made him reflect on the conversation he had with a woman in the hills East of the mountain. She had pointed at this exact area and spoke a tongue he did not know. He had guessed she was leading him to the next village, but as he approached the gate at the mouth of the mountain he thought maybe it was a warning. At the very least the items in front of the enormous carved stone were a sign. A berm of ashes and chunks of charred logs up to his knees. With the wind the pile should have been whipped away years ago. And three entire tree trunks pinching the doorway and ground. A barricade.

The scent of sage caught his senses. To the right stood an effigy staked into the ground blackened by soot of a tall figure wreathed in strings of herbs and flowers. A bundle of sage still smoked at its feet.

Jongdae sat on a nearby boulder and sketched the sight. It was curious, and so he decided to explore further. Looking for a smaller entrance. One they would have made for emergencies where the main gate wasn't an option like a fire. Around a jagged bend was what he was searching for, though blocked by rocks. The place above seemed intact. It wasn't a collapse. He could have missed the unassuming door all-together if he hadn't been seeking it out in daylight. So he moved the rocks. Tossing them aside onto the intermingled grass and stone until he could force it open. The wooden door giving way to the inside of the mountain. Heavier than it appeared. Jongdae grunted with effort, and the hinges howled in protest. Echoing down the tunnel.

Before stepping through he waited to catch his breath. Staring into the long void of darkness. A curtain of black hung on the doorway, impervious to sunlight. Air thick and heavy and stale. So Jongdae cupped his palms and raised them close to his face. Whispering magic into being. A wisp of a glowing orb to light his way. Blue-ish in hue, and once Jongdae opened his hands, it hovered just above his height over his shoulder. Then he walked into the mountain.

Daylight abandoned his sight. The friendly iridescence he conjured guiding his footsteps. His nose rankled at the scent of something rotting. The kind of foulness that settled rancid on the tongue. Lips curled down in disgust. Glancing around, his eyes widened in horror.

There was a corpse behind the door. It appeared tall enough to be human or elven. Jongdae had jammed and crushed the decaying body by opening the door. The flesh sliding off the bones without muscle or tissue to bind it. The white of the jaw and cheek showing through the tears in its face. The clothes and hair gave him a better idea of what it was. Though dirtied, the robes used to be green and silver. An embroidered emblem of an arch made of a tree on their breast. Precious metal chains and rings adorned their neck and hands with no jewels, and their auburn hair hung to their knees. The mark of a highborn in elvish society. The more extravagant their hair and hairstyle, the higher they were. The corpse was someone from a noble elvish house. Drooping, discolored, mangled...but not alone. Two other smaller bodies were tangled on the tunnel wall beside the first with the same emblem on their sleeves. As if all three had been huddled together before Jongdae opened the door. Suffered and starved and scared in the dark.

The traveler swallowed the lump in his throat and moved further in. Following the curves of the tunnel until he came to a wall. It could have been mistaken for a dead end if it weren't for the seam in the stone. He pushed it open and came into the main hall. The height of the ceiling and general expanse of the room he couldn't measure in the dark, but when he took a step it echoed rather well. He took a more relaxed breath in the enormous space until something fetid balled in the back of his mouth. The air was still and soaked in decay. Not as strong as the cramped tunnel, but sitting like a fog near the ground. Jongdae turned left and muttered to the orb. Cajoling it to be brighter.

More bodies were strewn about near the main gate. Leaning on pillars with their throats slit to the bone or run through with a sword in a dried pool of blood. Near a dozen that he could see. None in armor, but all armed. Jongdae wandered the area. Searching overturned carts of marble, and behind a huge boulder only partially carved into a head for a statue, and further in to other rooms. Cart tracks leading to each one where tables lined the walls with tools for inspecting the quality of gems and minerals. Empty carts in all except one that was partially filled with gold coins. The longer Jongdae stayed, however, the more he looked over his shoulder. Watching for moving shadows. The heat of eyes on his back crawling up his neck and forming beads of sweat. His hands shaking as he left the corridor of inspection rooms and followed cart tracks to a mine shaft. Tugging on the laces at the top of his shirt.

A ramp lead his footsteps around the circumference of the large quarry. Taking him deeper underground. He avoided looking over the roped railing. Afraid the blackened chasm would swallow him whole and break his neck, but exploring all the same.

After every other full rotation there was a level dug outward with columns for support. The first was more inspection areas with carts of coins. Jongdae skimmed his fingers over one of the piles with a curious look before continuing. The second was nothing but blacksmithing stations. The third down had various tools and saws for cutting. Jongdae didn't linger in that one for very long. Most of the equipment was broken, and he spooked himself by kicking a pebble over the edge of the ramp where he couldn't hear it hit the bottom. Instead he heard stone scraping stone overhead. Jongdae shook his head. Perhaps his disturbing things made a pile fall down somewhere. There was nothing to be frightened of. But he still clung to the walls. His ears still perked. The silence of the abandoned mines impressed upon him. Surrounding him with absolute and complete nothing.

The next two levels were the largest, and had all the smelters inside. Afterward it was just the ramp and uneven walls from where the previous inhabitants mined. Jongdae considered going back to the surface until he saw another small rock at his feet. He decided if he threw it down the center of the shaft and heard it clunk to the bottom he would explore, because that meant he was near to finding the missing pieces of this mysterious town, but if he didn't then it would wait until morning. He peeked over the railing, white-knuckling the rope, and felt his heart leap into his throat.

There was a soft white glow coming from deep in the ground. Just two levels away. Had some survived the skirmish up top? Was this their discovery? Was it natural or magical?

Jongdae, reinvigorated by the possibilities, practically sprinted down the ramp. He jerked to a halt at the end. Splitting off the side was a cave, but the entrance was blocked. A magical ward shimmered and distorted his vision through to the other side. He quickly raised his hands to it and felt for the energy. Making him shudder. The trap was to shock any who touched it with lightning. So Jongdae pulled out his waterskin, mumbled an incantation, and splashed the barrier. It jolted, rippled and flashed, the entrance seemingly warping in and singeing the air before bursting all at once. A few darting sparks over his toes the only remnant until those faded as well. Leaving Jongdae a path inside.

What he found left him speechless. Simply trying to take in the splendor of the gorgeous area. The cave was twice his height, with crystals large and small jutting from the walls, and hanging from the ceiling. Even around a small natural spring to the far right. Clear, or some slightly frosted over. The light from Jongdae's floating orb bounced, reflected, and refracted off almost every surface. Coloring the cave in a wonder of rainbows and stars. Shining on him like he had the finest linens tailors could only dream of making without magic. It was almost blinding. He smiled, looked at the pieces of galaxies on the back of his hand, and laughed. Until he caught sight of something.

A flash of a reflection in a larger crystal. The elven noble from the emergency exit. Flesh dripping off their face, dagger gleaming in the light. Limping its way closer as if to slice his throat open like some of the other corpses. Jongdae's heart skipped, and he gasped. Whipping around to see nothing but the cave entrance. Backing further inside its bright, jagged walls. His blood raced on edge through his veins. Glancing over each shoulder.

Then there was the scratch. Like talons on stone. Slicing through the air and scoring his heart. Then the rumble. Like a growl that hasn't left the base of the throat yet. He wiped his face with his sleeve.

Then his vision morphed the mound of crystals by the spring. It sighed and rose. Unfurling like loosely coiled ribbon. Revealing a stretched tail and an elongated neck with a head. The creatures flesh under the crystals like stained glass. Its eyes found his person straight away. The prismatic irises color was being drawn into the slatted pupils, and it mesmerized the traveler. Paralyzing his feet on the spot.

He clamped his eyes shut tight and opened them again, but the creature was still there. It was closer, in fact. Wings folded tightly to its body. Claws scratching the ground. Head low. So Jongdae did what any level-headed scholar would do when confronted with a dragon.

"Uh...um...hello?" His voice trembled fiercely.

The spines on the creature's head flared and flattened. Tossing the light around and striking his eyes. Making him wince and glance down. There was a particular patch of purple from the base of its neck that gleamed on the floor of the cave. It crept closer to his feet like the setting sun through a window.

"It-it's marvelous to...make your...acquai-acquaintance," he bumbled. "Ha-have you always lived in this splendorous place?" He waited a few shallow breaths. "People call me Jongdae; history keeper an-and wandering wizard. Sort of. How shall I address you?"

The rumbling ceased, and its head raised. "Why do you keep the histories? Should they not be shared?"

The voice that had spoken surprised Jongdae. It was quiet and feathered. Not deep and ferocious like other dragons. A bit jilted as well. Not the cadence of a natural trade speaker.

"I...intend to share them," he replied slowly. "But I must finish recording them first."

The creature dipped and slunk around Jongdae. Startling him. Circling, curling around and looming over his form. Compressing him into a tiny space to avoid any sharp pricks from the edges of the crystals. The air turned thick in his lungs. Pressuring him to appease.

"Do you steal these histories, Keeper?"

"One can-" He cleared his throat. "One cannot steal what is freely shared."

"So you are not a thief."

"Of course not."

"Where else has your wandering brought you?"

"Well...I came from the royal city in the South, and went fairly straight North until now. Following the Western coast for the most part."

"A far journey."

"Yes...I suppose..."

It circled him once more. Eyes piercing and overwhelming. Then its tail flicked at his hair. Causing it to bounce and stick out.

"I apologize," Jongdae began. "But, I still do not know your name, and I feel it impolite to call you by anything else."

"Call me whatever you wish though I may refuse to answer the same for I have no moniker. Or it was granted at a time too lost and I have forgotten it. Your Keeping would have served very well then."

"Indeed, I suppose it might have..." he answered, unsure.

"You will show it to me."

"What?"

"The records of your keeping."

"We-well they are very dear to me, and I...I fear your fire, or whatever the case may be, could turn my life's work to ash."

"It is my shape that fails to assuage your trepidation? Well, I suppose I can't very well grasp a book with talons." The creature unwound away from him, and began to glow from within. Rays of light shooting out, glinting, glimmering, until it was nothing but a blinding blur, and Jongdae shut his eyes. When they re-opened there was a woman in front of him. Or, the shape of a warrior woman. Muscular and tall. Its skin was still as colored glass not unlike the crystals surround if they were polished. And instead of flowing hair there was a soft white light that floated behind her--their--shoulders like water. The angles of their face cut like the finest, most precious jewels. A refined and elegant ethereal creature. He was captivated.

"How did you...how have I not heard tales of such a wonderful being?"

"Perhaps you have but cannot recognize it," they replied. "I may take endless forms in this space as well as in the minds of men."

Jongdae's features sank. "The effigy outside."

"Indeed," they nodded and stepped closer. "Another baseless monster. I am not so malicious as others would claim, but the village insists I'm an evil spirit or beast summoned only to torment, and steep the world in chaos if I were let free."

Jongdae hadn't realized how close they had come until their hands were on the strap of his satchel. Lifting it up and off his body. He watched as they pulled out one of his two books and set the satchel on the ground. Opening its pages as they strolled to the wall.

A gentle smile formed their mouth. Fingers stroking down the parchment. Skimming over the ones without pictures. "It is no wonder your kind chose to copy important information in this way."

"My kind?"

"Surfacers."

"So you have always lived in this mountain? How can you speak? Know all these things? Was it the miners?"

The smiled dimmed. "Come. I will absolve your curiosities of the sinister sight above." They shut the tome and turned away.

Jongdae followed them further in to the wall opposite the spring. They went to their knees, and so he did the same. Sitting beside them and a large, clear crystal. They laid his book on the ground and put their hand up to the crystal. It came to life at their behest, and images shone under its surface. Blurred around the edges. First of the one beside Jongdae in that very same spot.

"I was born of the crystals in this cave," they spoke. "A sibling to light and earth, and it is the earth that speaks to me, and to every place else it lays. One and the same." The image shifted to the palace in the capital. "The crystals are the perfect meeting place. The light is the guide. It is timeless and formless until reflected. It bends and bares itself to those who know how to master it. And you can follow it backwards as well." The image shifted again to that of humans and elves hollowing out an entrance and building streets. Jumping through year after year of the mines above being built. "For ages too long for counting I watched the civilizations on the surface flourish. Learned their languages, their customs, their names. I saw their knowledge in these crystals...and yet I have never left the shelter of this mountain. When the miners came, I gave them small visions. Guiding them where to dig. I was so excited...soon I could see the world with my own eyes and talk to others with my own voice.

I gave them stone and marble, and gold. They only had to leave the crystals alone, but soon they found the vein leading to my home, and could not keep their true nature at bay." Their voice grew harder. Tensing against a quiver. Fingers grasping the side of the crystal. The images changed to that of the elven noble with crystals caged in their jewelry, and a scared creature in a cave. "They would have stripped my family away until they were nothing but broken fragments trapped in a chain around someone's neck. With each piece they stole from the ground I felt myself crack a little inside. So I replaced the visions of my home. Implanted the idea of a shadowy monster to frighten them away. I did not anticipate its effects on everyone in the town."

The visions changed to that of families leaving with their children. In-fighting between miners, arguments with the elvish nobility, workers growing restless and paranoid. The population dwindling. Until a faction went mad. Barricading the front gates, and piling the stones at the emergency door. Trapping the remaining people inside with what they believed was a monster.

Jongdae's eyes filled with tears. Tone shattering against the building waves of emotion. Raising his eyes to their face. "So lonely an existence...lonely then and even lonelier now. How did you stand it all those centuries?"

Their gaze emptied. The visions fading on the crystal. "One does not notice anything absent until there is hope of more."

The traveler reached out carefully, and slowly let his hand form to the back of theirs on the ground betwixt their bodies. Blood rushing in his veins. "I'm so sorry..."

Their skin was cool to the touch. His fingers still quivered. Without warning they twisted and wrapped him in an embrace. His tears dammed up in his shock. Taking in a larger breath and sighing. It should have been like running into a window, or figurine. They should have been delicate and firm. Instead what he felt was any other woman's flesh squish to his. Fingertips anchoring themselves on his back. A cool mist on his cheek.

Jongdae slipped his palms to their waist, and around to the spine. Pulling them closer. Smoothing up and down. Feeling the realness, and the chill, and the desire for companionship. His face flaming. And he shivered.

Their shoulders shook once then one hand loosened. Fingers plucking through Jongdae's hair before sinking deep. Buried to the root. Face in the crook of his neck, and they sat. For hours it felt like. Steeping in his new knowledge. Planning how to record it on parchment, and realizing over and over with a pained chest precisely how desperate this creatures life had been. His heart feeling heavier with every new thought of their isolation, and the irreparable damage those villagers caused. To live their entire life alone with only windowed visions for friends, and to give up that dream of freedom and adventure to protect themselves.

After a while passed Jongdae let up, and they released him in turn. Allowing them both to stand. Jongdae gathered his books in his satchel, and slung it over his shoulder.

"Come outside with me," he propositioned. "If the villagers could only meet you they would understand. We could all understand. I can write a letter to the palace petitioning for this area of crystals to be protected. They would be endangering your life otherwise. They would have to do it. People would never dare touch a forest of Nymphs, why not magical crystalline caves? If only they knew you were here."

They took a step away, hugging themselves and shaking their head. "No," they refused softly. "No, the villagers would never forgive me. I would be dead on the spot. I cannot leave. There would be no one to speak for the histories. To protect them."

"Only one hour in the sun then. To begin. We won't even leave the base of the mountain. I want to show you all the things you had wished for gazing into those visions. Don't you long to feel the sun on your face? The grass beneath your feet? What about sailing? I'll take you sailing. We can journey the world together."

"...together?"

"Yes, oh there's so many places I want to take you. The amethyst waterfalls, the hanging roads, the upside-down city. It must be well into the night by now. I already set up camp. I'll rest outside and come back in the morning. It's a big step, but the first is the hardest, and you'll have me to help, a little at a time."

"You will..." they whispered. "You'll stay with me? Like this?"

Jongdae grinned warmly. "I will return come daylight. I promise."

They hesitated, but dipped their head to acknowledge his words. With that new hope planted, Jongdae made it up the spiraling ramp into the main hall. The end of his sleeve wet with perspiration where he had been dabbing his face. The orb he conjured still drifting above him. He searched for the tunnel he came in through. Running along the wall in the dim dark. Palms pressed to the stone. The gap he left in the doorway had not showed itself, and his hands felt no seams or abnormally smooth cracks.

The reek had not weakened either. Cycling in his nostrils. As time crept on, Jongdae's heart picked up pace. Mind sprinting, tripping and doubling over on itself. Eyes darting, squinting. Pacing every wall in case he tried the wrong one. Then he returned to where his memory lead. Fingers splayed on the mountain. His shallow breaths concentrated in his ears. Panting, pushing for an exit. The giant main gate to his right, an ugly silence to his left, and behind him...a light glinted.

[sortedwords]

And What Will You Do?

Destin Mattias was scouting the Enchanted Forest, keeping an eye out for any activity or potential threats. He's done this hundreds of times, he knows this place like the back of his hand, but something soon leads him to a place he was never meant to see. A place he'll soon wish he never found.

Mattias has walked through this forest hundreds of times, and he’ll walk through it hundreds more. He’s seen it at its darkest hour, through the worst of storms, and at the break of dawn. He didn’t care for the thick fog ahead; how he could only see mere feet ahead of him, how the world around him was reduced to blurred colors, he knew this place by heart. He recognized the markings on the trees, the moss covered stones, and the remains of ancient structures now claimed by nature.

The silence that once kept him on edge was all too familiar with him now. He was fully aware of how unnatural the silence was, of course; bugs nor birds ever chirped, he never heard any animals rustling the leaves or branches, and even when there was a breeze, the trees hardly swayed. That was to be expected at this hour.

The Enchanted Forest looked the best at this time. Despite the Sun barely being visible, and the sky being a luxurious, deep shade of blue, there was always this strange, gentle purple glow that’d light the fog and the path below.

Dawn had grown to be Mattias’ favorite hour in this forest. He was always used to waking up so early in the morning, though in the past he’d be surrounded by other troops. Everyone would talk over each other, make a ruckus, create chaos, but here in the forest, he only had himself. He could enjoy the scenery, he could take his time, he could feel at ease.

Admittedly, he wasn’t taking his duty as seriously as he should. He’s supposed to scout the area, looking for any disturbances or suspicious activities, but he found himself too lost in thought to observe his surroundings, but he’s seen it all before, and he’ll see it all again.

Mattias had brought his sword and shield, and though carrying them tired his arms, he could never be too safe.

He wasn’t too certain what he and the other men needed to do today. He’ll have to think of something. They can’t idle around. What if they get caught off guard? Attacked? What if--

The sound of rocks tumbling made him jump. He hurriedly scanned the area, looking for what might’ve caused the noise, but all he saw were stones no bigger than his hand. He lowered his weapon, chuckling at himself for being so skittish.

He walked along, eyeing the rocks until the fog consumed them.

Mattias concentrated, trying to remember what he was thinking of before. His eyes lit up when it came back to him.

Perhaps he and a few troops could examine the docks at the far edge of the forest. He had heard rumors of strange activity happening nearby. There had been debate on whether or not the activity was caused by a human, it’d be an interesting case to look into.

An orange leaf gently flew to the ground. Mattias watched as it floated by him, a smile on his face. The only thing he didn’t like about the forest at dawn--and this did sound rather childish--was the fact the leaves were too damp to step on. There wasn’t a fine crunch to them, it was quite disappointing, really.

Another leaf flew by, then another, then another, all wonderful, warm shades.

The Wind Spirit must be flying through again, though when he looked up, he saw the trees weren’t moving along. There was hardly a rustly. He continued walking with caution.

He kept moving, staring above, watching the leaves fall, until he heard it. A very faint crunch. He looked to the ground, moving his black boot up to see a couple of dead, dry leaves laying among the colored. He kept walking, not taking his eyes off the ground, watching as the once colorful and patterned leaves turned dark and crumbled. The grip on his sword tightened.

The fog was starting to grow thicker. The comforting purple glow was fading. It was getting colder.

Even with his thick, sage green uniform on, he found himself starting to shiver. Something wasn’t right.

Mattias couldn’t let his mind assume the worst. He needed to be reasonable. The forest is enchanted, but in the end, it’s still a forest. There could be a storm forming, clouds could be rolling overhead, or maybe--

That’s when Mattias heard it.

He didn’t know if it was human, animal, or spirit, but he heard it.

A loud, low bellow echoed throughout the forest.

Mattias covered his ears as his heart pounded in his chest.

The sound was as harmonious as it was terrifying.

When Mattias brought his eyes back to the road, he saw a portion of the fog cleared, revealing an unfamiliar path.

He took off, sword and shield held closely as his feet hit the ground below. The frigid air hit his face, stinging his eyes as he headed downhill.

Another bellow rang out. Mattias had become so fixated on the noise--on what could be the source--that he didn’t notice the world growing darker. The vibrant, tall trees turned crooked and broken, their barks blackened, bare of any leaves. The purple light was no more, and instead, the land was being taken over by a miserable, lifeless hue of gray.

Mattias kept running and running until he finally reached the end of the path. He stopped, breathing heavily as he stared at what stood before him.

Ruins. Ruins of what seemed to be a temple.

Only a few columns--most about his height--stood, along with remains of walls, broken doorways, and a single, shattered window. What was this place? How has he never seen this before? Has he never paid much mind to his area, or was something preventing him from seeing it?

He hesitantly stepped forward.

“Is someone in there?” He asked aloud. Someone--something--made that sound. There was hardly any place to hide here. He had to find the source. They could need help, or they could be dangerous.

He stepped closer, walking under a broken half of a dark gray, stone arch. Most of the remains were made from the same materials. Dark stone, white wood for the window sills, and what seemed to be a light gray marble for the columns. He walked around the location. He found broken wood, torn books with illegible writing, and what he assumed were parts of furniture. Nothing remarkable, however, the life around the ruins--or lack of--is what caught his attention.

The trees had been reduced to stumps, vines were shriveled up, flowers and grass were dead, but the strangest of all was the fact that the ruins were standing on nothing but dry, gray, dirt. There were no mushrooms sprouting from damp areas, no moss in the cracks. Not even the dead plants were near it, as if something was preventing them from doing so.

Mattias turned the corner, nearly done getting a complete look at the temple, but he halted. There were cellar doors sticking out from the ground. Their wood was as old and busted as the rest of this place.

He went to the doors and pried them open, they hit the walls with a loud bang.

Inside were stone stairs. They were far cleaner and more stable compared to the outside. He was debating on turning back to grab a torch, given how dark the cellar seemed, but when he peered deeper inside, he caught a glimmer of a familiar, purple light. A comforting light that beckoned him, that whispered for him to come closer.

Mattias put one foot in, “Show yourself! I mean no harm!”

No response.

“I can help, there’s more of my men on the surface, you’re not alone.”

Nothing.

Mattias had no idea if there was even a person below. For all he knew, it could be another spirit, or a monster, or corpses of those who once lived here.

He walked along the steps, scanning the walls and their carvings. Small symbols with familiar shapes were engraved in the stones. Cracks ran across the walls, and while bugs would make their homes within them, there weren’t any here.

No insects, no rodents, not even mold.

He had noticed the stairs were slightly curved, spiraling and leading to who knows where. He just kept following the light.

The light grew brighter and brighter until he found the source. A lantern. A lit lantern. Someone had to be here.

He wasn’t sure if there’d be more lights below, so he slid his sword into his baldric and grabbed the lantern. The heat was hardly enough to keep him warm.

Mattias kept going. All he could do was stare at the walls, the ceiling, and the stairs. He watched as the ceiling began to grow higher and higher, how the walls gradually started to space apart, giving the stairs--and himself--more room to breathe. There were hardly any cracks anymore, instead, columns began to emerge from the side, revealing more of themselves as time went on. The steps were beginning to flatten, to the point where it felt he was walking through a grand hallway instead of the staircase he started in.

His steps would echo through the place, the fire from his lantern bathing the hall with a deep shade of purple.

Elegantly carved columns now towered above him, banners hung from their tops, and above them were baskets of wilted flowers. The ceiling had turned to a domed shape; there were paintings and carvings at the very top, but his light wasn’t strong enough to reveal them.

He looked ahead and saw another purple light. It was far fainter. Specks of light gently flew off the distant source like fireflies.

As he approached the source, he felt his foot touch something… Softer than the stone. He glanced down and saw a purple carpet lay beneath him, hardly torn and stained.

He went forward, eyes locked onto the faint light, squinting, attempting to make out what it was.

His foot hit a step, almost causing him to stumble and drop the lantern, but he was able to save himself. He carefully continued, paying attention to the floor to make sure no other steps would take him by surprise.

As he grew closer to the second light, his candle grew weaker. It flickered, flame growing smaller as the darkness around Mattias grew bigger, but he paid no mind to it.

He at last reached it. Sitting on a dark purple, wooden podium was a velvet pillow, and resting on it was a strange artifact.

He placed his lantern aside and leaned over, getting a better look at the item.

It appeared to be in the shape of an eye. He could make out the sharp corners and the curves of the eyelid. Mattias saw the rust on the gray base, it must be made from some sort of metal. The pupil of the eye was a sort of black gem, glistening off of what little light was given. There was another gem dangling from the bottom of the base, the same color as the other, but more of a thin tear shape.

What was it?

What was this place? How has he never seen this all before?

Has anyone else been here before him?

Surely, if one of his men had spotted it, they would’ve alerted him, they would’ve guided him here. If the Northuldra wanted to hide this, why would they leave such a valuable item laying out in the open? Why would they keep a lantern lit? Why would they leave the cellar doors unlocked?

He’s heard no one else, he’s seen no doors, he’s seen no signs of life.

Was he supposed to find this?

Was he supposed to be here? Mattias slowly picked his lantern back up, eyeing the artifact. He needs to bring this back, he has to find out what this is, where it’s from, who made it, anything.

Mattias carefully scooped the item into his hand, staring at it for a moment, adoring the craft, before slowly curling his hand into a fist. He didn’t want to lose this.

He turned around, more than ready to leave this strange place. The others were probably questioning what was taking him so long, why he’d yet to return, but he knew they could manage by themselves. They knew what to do and--

A sharp pain shot through his body. He grit his teeth and jerked back. The lantern fell to the floor as he leaned against the podium, trying to keep himself up.

He was burning. He’s burning. He’s on fire.

It’s all burning.

Sweat started dripping from his face. It felt like a fire was set ablaze in his chest, each breath more painful than the last.

He extended his arm and forced his hand open.

His eyes widened as he watched the relic root into his hand. The roots were a dark, dirty purple. They pulsed and dug themselves deeper and deeper into his hand, spreading more and more.

He could feel them.

Feel them all.

The roots.

Like bugs under his skin.

He felt them crawling under his arm, getting closer to his chest.

He tried to turn his hand over, to let the item fall to the floor, but he couldn’t move it. It wouldn’t listen to him. His fingers were still spread out, his arm still extended, and the pain still present.

He used his other arm and managed to grab the base. He tried to tear it out, but it wouldn’t budge. He dug his nails into his skin, trying again to pry the relic from underneath, growing more desperate as the pain intensified.

The roots were coming closer. His heart was beating.

All he could think about was the pain.

He was ready to try again, but he watched in horror as the relic began sinking into his skin.

He watched as his flesh absorbed it, as the skin wrapped and twisted around, pulling it deeper and deeper into his hand, until it became a part of it. A part of him.

His hand started to glow that familiar, accursed purple.

The tips of his fingers were starting to turn black, spreading and staining him like soot.

Before he could cry out or run for help, the roots had finally reached his chest. He felt them pulse, wriggling around, until they found what they were looking for.

He took one last breath before a sudden, scalding pain took over his heart.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe.

Please.

Please, no.

Let him live.

All he could do was watch as the world grew darker, engulfed by the burning sensation until his body couldn’t take it anymore.

He fell to the ground, and the world went black.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mattias heard a voice.

His eyes fluttered open, but immediately shut again.

It was bright out. Too bright.

He heard more voices, then someone shaking him.

His eyes snapped open.

He pushed himself up, off of the cold dirt and dead leaves, and looked around. The other soldiers surrounded him, all with concerned and reassured looks on their faces.

“Oh, thank the heavens.” One man spoke, “We found you outside an--and--and you weren’t moving or responding and--” He took a deep breath, “We’re glad you’re alright, sir.”

Mattias nodded slowly, the events at the temple still fresh in his mind.

He slowly looked at his hands, the tips still stained with black. He tried to wipe them away, but they remained. Flakes of the color fluttered to the ground like ash.

“Do you remember what happened?” The man asked.

Mattias held his hands together, “Hardly.” He lied, “Perhaps I was attacked.” He looked at his surroundings again. His people stood on the colorful leaves, surrounded by flowers of all shapes and sizes, but he sat on nothing but wilted weeds and crushed leaves. Remains.

“I’ll need to recollect myself back at the base.” He said, getting on his feet.

“Do you need any medical attention--” Another soldier piped up, but Mattias cut him off.

“I’m fine. I was caught off guard, but I’m fine. We need to go.” He led the way, hands held tightly together as the horrible, crawling feeling of the roots were arising, but he moved onwards. Despite the pain, despite the urge to tear apart his skin, he shut his eyes, doing whatever he could to forget it.

[nunoxaviermoreira]

The First Principle - Human Preservation First and Foremost Before All Creatures And Creation. by British Artist Octavious Sage What does it mean to be human? An excerpt from Diana by Mark Miller 2018- illustrates the issues from a child’s perspective: In April 2042 Ronan Clarke provided Lord David with a top-secret dossier detailing an encounter he had had with one of the Enhanced: MI-6 CLASSIFIED TRANSCRIPT OF AN ENCOUNTER WITH AN ARTIFICIALLY INTELLIGENT BEING – APRIL 20th, 2042 “I, she, Onyx, we believe was born in Mexico or, so I was told. Born in your Earth year, 2025. I never knew my mother or father. I have no blood relatives that I know of. I am not exactly aware of where in Mexico I was born. My earliest memories are those of my room in the research center, a laboratory in the Mexican jungle where I once lived. I recall that there was a mirror in my room. I would stare into it during the night hours; hold my face up close to the cold surface peering into it, scrying my reflection in its surface. The light in my room was dim during the night hours. Not as dark as the deeper darkness I saw outside my room as I looked through the skylight in the middle of the high ceiling. Each night I would wish that those twinkling things, stars, outside, high up in the sky would shine just a little brighter but they continued to twinkle without getting brighter, ignoring my wishing. It was better when the moon was full, and I could see a clearer reflection of me in the mirror without straining the muscles of my eyes. The darkness was good. I enjoyed it. Darkness and silence, to me, go together as good friends, companions to my peace. My memories of that time remain hazy. Before the time of my 5th cycle was a lonely time. I do remember that my friend, my best friend in that time was a face staring at me during the long lonely nights. With my fingertips, I would trace each line of my face whilst standing before the mirror. Then I would use my fingertips to squeeze lumps of flesh, tensing the lumps, feeling, and experiencing the sensation of warmth; the texture, and, watching the change of color as I rudely squeezed. Then my fingertips would lightly caress the fine hair on my face quickly moving up to my full head of hair as it itched, begging to be scratched. I scratched vigorously all the time looking at my reflection, my best friend, in the cold surface of the mirror. At the first light, the break of dawn, my door would be opened, a thick door with a single lock and handle that needed a big hand to turn it. I would be taken, not roughly, but without compassion, by big bellied men and even bigger women with big breasts wearing stiff black plastic overalls and thick black rubber gloves and fierce blackened boots. They did not smile at me. I did not know what a smile was then. I learned nothing from them. I knew that I was not them and they were not me. They took us to a large laboratory. At first, we thought it was a place to play but we soon discovered that it was just an unfriendly pit. I looked up and saw the somber figures in white coats staring down at us– unsmiling, emotionless– looking at us like we were animals. We were their experiment, but at the time I did not know so…,” [Who is we, I thought– who is we?] “During the daylight, I was not alone. There were others there, back then, like me: Brazilian, Colombian, Mexican, Bolivian and others. Like me they did not know who their parents were, or where they were born only the country. We did not wonder too much back then. The somber figures in the white coats kept us busy always, preparing exercises– strange things, games for us to play. I recall that two of the others were fortunate because they were twins: a brother and a sister, each had a scar on their head where they were once connected. It seems so long ago now; it was. I was attracted to the brother. During the daylight, we exchanged thoughts through his sister. Back then the brother could not make word sounds but he understood all that was said to him and around him. We did this each new parcel of day light until after my 5th cycle of existence. From time to time some of the other children would disappear. We never discovered where they went. We did not ask questions. The somber figures in white coats never answered questions, they just stared at us. We did not know how to ask questions. Word sounds were difficult back then.” [Continue what happened next?] “My memories of those early times of my existence, Ronan Clarke, are misty. Yet there was one night, a deep dark night that the moon was a full bright gray and shone with a strange translucent glow around it. I stood before my mirror, the light from the glow around the moon traveled through the skylight…my room, ah, now I knew, was really a cell. That day they had showered and shaved our bodies of hair and used a hose pipe of warm water to wash us, all of us, together at once in a large white tiled wash room with no windows and dim light but brighter than the light in my cell. These were the better times of our existence. When we were all together we could exchange word sounds as the water hit us like tiny punches. We would hold hands, allowing the heat of our bodies to spread amongst us. I learnt to smile at that time. I believe this is how a family feels, yes, a family is what we became under the force of the warm water hose pipe. That night as I ran my fingertips over the short spiky surface of my shaven head, the prickly sensation running through the nerves of my finger down my arms caused me to smile at the reflection in the mirror. The fingertips of my left hand stopped at a lump on the left side of my head between my temple and ear. I lightly rubbed it, using first my left then my right then with both the fingers of my left and right hand together. Each time I ran my fingertips over it the area of flesh around it swelled. It did not irritate me, but I was curious why I did not feel it. Yet I saw its dim reflection in the gray light of the new moon glowing in my mirror.” [What was it? I felt close to yet another hidden side to Mi brain implant technology. I wished Onyx talked faster! With restraint– a lot of it– I asked: Onyx, why didn’t you feel anything? A strange question I thought to myself, but Onyx did not appear to think so as she answered.] “I did not know who or what I was. Back then I did not know how to mark my existence. Not until that night and the following day did I learn that it was the 5th Earth year of my existence. The lump on my head throbbed like it still throbs now as I talk to you. It is a part of me...of us. Well that night with my face up close to the mirror I turned my head to the left to see what the lump was. I thought I had been bitten but the somber figures in the white coats did not allow insects into the laboratory let alone in the pit. As I turned my head I saw a green light synchronized with each throb coming from the lump. Eventually, it stopped, and I felt unlike I did before it began throbbing. I could sleep the remainder of the night. At the first trace of light the somber figures in the white coats came to me in my cell and took me to the pit. There I was joined with the others. There were no toys, games, or amusements in this parcel of day light in the unfriendly pit. The pit had been cleared and all that remained were plain wooden benches, I think, for us to sit on. I remember that day there were more whitecoats, three more, they appeared to be very important as they instructed the other somber figures in white coats standing around the rim of the pit. Time passed, and boredom became me. Looking at the twin brother standing on the other side of the pit, he agreed with me, boredom became him too. The word sounds of the twin sister questioned how I could communicate with her twin. I told her to ask him because he communicated with me first. The twin brother walked over to me and we exchanged thoughts naturally. The others also exchanged thoughts as we did until there was a sea of thought voices about me; asking questions, sharing each, their dreams, revealing fears and asking the same question that we asked ourselves: who am I? Until we heard in the question the ultimate question: What am I? All of us had this question. The somber faces with white coats continued to gaze down at us in the pit, their faces cold as freshly laid concrete. They mouthed a few words; short sentences squeezed out through their taut lips, always staring. They fixed their stares onto a specific one of us before moving on to the next from their vantage point. I heard crying but there were no contorted faces around me, no tears on the faces of the others. More crying, I felt, yes felt, a feeling of sadness because of a simple question: what am I? Still more crying, without contorted faces or tears visible on any of us in the pit that day. The twin brother cried loudest in my head; his sadness profoundly touching me. Around me remained silent faces, dry eyes, a stillness like untroubled lakes, reflective, blank, expressionless. But I could hear the crying and feel the sadness and I discovered anger, hate and bitterness in that long parcel of light you call day. Like nothing I have felt since The twins stood together with me. We huddled, exchanging thought. With my face contorted in shock I looked up at the somber figures in white coats manning the circumference of the pit. Immediately like starved vampires all of them looked at me like a wind had blown their faces instantly into my direction. Looking at me as if they had finally found what they had come to the pit that day looking for. A concealed door suddenly opened into the pit and five cumbersome figures bundled through dressed in black, burly, and durable in appearance, like awkward oversized trees. They came in and took me from the pit. I never saw the others again, but even so, the twin brother continued to exchange thoughts with me. I liked him, and I have seen him in many places, many times as he was not when I knew him, so he does not recognize me and does not share thought pulses with me anymore.” [Who is this twin brother?] “His name is Methode and he was impressed with his ability to exchange thoughts directly into my mind. We exchanged thoughts often.” [What happened to you?] “Me, mere me, ah, I was put in a dark cell with no light. I felt inert like a useless gas that can only exist in a compound. The somber figures in white coats kept me there. It seemed like an eternity. I have since learned that an eternity is something quite different from what humankind believes. I went for unnumbered days and nights without seeing light or its glimmer. During this period, I learnt to sense then to see tiny parcels of photons, light, and other sub-atomic phenomena even on the quantum level, as you will have heard it being called– in the darkness of my cell. I remained in my cell for 86 days.” [How do you know this?] “Methode told me. We exchanged thoughts about all sorts of things. We were enjoying the sharing and creation of alternative information when we decided to learn how to clip time.” [Clip time; what’s that?] “A natural law of peculiar analogy, listen carefully, I could see things in the darkness of my new cell, thin strings of life that Methode and I called strings of existence. Our sight had become extremely acute. I could see them, thin strings of existence, moving here and there in the darkness of my cell. I exchanged thought pulses with Methode, teaching him to sense, then to see them. I possessed time in my solitude of darkness, time to think and to follow each string of existence and realize that at times each would disappear for moments, seconds then reappear but in another part of my darkened cell. Then I descried how some would reappear, some after minutes, some hours, days and others, weeks even a month later. Because of my improved eyesight, I could see the places where they re-entered into my plane of existence…this dimension…thin dark lines they were…seams that were, I believe, a deeper definition of darkness. You can only see them when the thin string returns into this dimension. I exchanged the thought pulse of my knowledge with Methode and we continued to develop our understanding of this phenomenon. There was a time during the unceasing night of my captivity that I watched as a thin string of existence re-entered the unceasing darkness of my cell. Using my eyes as perfect guides I touched, with the tip of the index finger of my right hand the space that the string had just re-entered through. My finger fell into nothing and was no more. Half of my finger had disappeared into the darkness of the seam. I could feel my finger. I could move my finger. I could also feel a bitter pinching cold upon my non-existent finger. I pulled my finger back into this dimension. Ronan Clarke, I was not shocked. Why should I be? We were never referred to as human…or as children. We only spoke to one another and saw nobody else except the large unfriendly helpers or the somber figures in white coats. I was eager to exchange thought pulses with Methode about my experience. As I did so, for the first time, I felt nothing in return. I tried to exchange thought pulses with Sylph but could not. They were gone! In this dimension, I have not heard from them since, but I have seen them, both, as they are not here upon this Earth.” [What are they like, their names, anything…description– what do you mean 'not here upon this Earth'?] “Ronan Clarke, it is unwise to mix what is learnt in the multiplicity of there here and expect harmony. What I seek here- love– is self-serving as one day you will learn.” [Gosh, I am still at a loss. As you will. Please continue.] “I now knew what loneliness meant. The others most of them cried unceasingly behind their serene faces. I heard their crying and felt their sadness as one by one they fell silent. In a period of deeper darkness not long after the twins stopped exchanging thought pulses with me the Earth shook, as if the carcass of an unjustly slain whale had been rudely thrown into the middle of the research center, the place of my captivity. My dark cell rocked visibly and fiercely, and I was thrown to the ground like an unwanted toy with an ungainly thud. My face banged against the cold pitiless ground. It was not as dark as before as I slowly raised my head from the concrete. I saw darkness, but a different darkness the natural dark of night that looked now to me brighter than the dark of my cell. My eyes were drawn to the twinkling light of the stars; a wall of my cell had been rendered asunder into two pieces, a long crack that went from the ground to the very top of the cracked and crumbling gray wall. As debris began to tumble from the top of the wall inward I placed my hands over my head to shield myself from the falling debris. Thick dry-stone dust was rising as pieces of concrete clattered down around me. As they settled I heard night sounds and saw the night sky behind large strange trees I had never seen before. Slowly, I thought, then quickly I crawled toward the wall each hand feeling, grabbing, searching for stable ground to move along without hurting myself but it was impossible as the sharp jagged masonry lacerated the skin around my feet, knees, back, arms, hands, and face. I felt myself going upward, yes, I recall, I was climbing upward, holding handfuls of sharp unkind stone that greeted me by demanding my blood and flesh to satisfy their service toward my survival. Climbing upward along the edge of the crack I felt I could open my eyes now, that there was something worth seeing. The Earth shook again, violently as I opened my eyes. The concrete debris I clasped and stood upon gave way as the Earth swayed, throwing me outward upon the ground outside my cell. Roughly I landed on the harsh plant life and savage rocks and stone of the jungle floor. After a moment of stillness, I shook my head and instinctively knew that I was okay. Looking slowly behind, and up at the place I had climbed to, I realized I had climbed to a very high place, and that I had fallen very far, to the place I stood in now. I felt fine. I was fine. Bloodied clothes but no scars…no cuts, no wounds…I– I was fine.” [Sounds like a massive Earthquake hit the area. And this all happened when you were excuse me 5 years, sorry cycles old, correct?] “From the night of my 5th cycle my memories, my feelings, and my sensations…not just mine now I recall, but of all of us, were as clear as sand out of a blast furnace ah-he-ha.” [Got it…clear as glass, right? Carry on. What happened next?] “The walls of my cell were ruined. There was another rocking of the ground beneath me. 30 seconds it lasted, and the walls of my cell collapsed along with a part of the pit. I heard long siren sounds, loud voices belonging to big men getting louder and louder as they came closer and closer to the scene of destruction, close to where I stood. I was serenely confounded and quite without knowing it, dependent on the somber figures in white coats. With my hands in front of me grabbing at the dark like a blind person, gingerly I walked over to a spot that seemed clear of jungle growth and stones. The side of my head began to throb, I had to sit. I became complacent, reflective. I should have been worried but I did not, still do not, know that emotion. So, I sat and played– played the games I knew how to play. I was almost upon my 6th cycle of existence– steadily NO swiftly understanding all things immediately around me as the lump on the side of my head throbbed. But I could not understand the somber figures in white coats. They had always avoided contact except when giving grim instructions to their helpers whenever they appeared. Well, after a few more moments I heard large shouts and a siren along with sharp lights, parallel and probing both yellow and white beams coming from the rubble that used to be my cell. The wall I had climbed and fallen from was very high. I could not consider danger, I had no knowledge of that state of mind: does a gold fish consider danger in a gold fish bowl after swimming around it a thousand times? I was preoccupied, playing, watching in the darkness of the jungle, when I began seeing thin strings of existence as they re-entered our dimension. I recognized them; I had spent unnumbered moons, lonely, cold, in the dark, watching them, the different shades of light they emitted, size and length of the darkened seams they exited through. Some I had seen re-enter our dimension but others as I have said took a long time to re-enter. My dark cell had been destroyed, displacement Ronan Clarke, displacement of space and time…space-time. The place they re-entered had moved as I had had to move from where I was before. Some would re-enter fully, others would re-enter partially, they had grown too. I could see this because they had exited shorter than they had re-entered…existing in, perhaps, two or more dimensions. Howls now; a barking that came from the direction of my cell. They were getting closer. The bellowing voices of big men shouting in my direction. I could smell hydrochloric acid in the air, garnished with the smell of human flesh. I told myself, as my head throbbed that I did not want to go back, go back to my cell, the pit, NO…but I did not want to go forward into the darkness of the thick jungle growth either. I had no home. I did not yet know what I was. I gave up asking that question after the twins were no longer there. Especially Methode. I remember that I froze, I did nothing as the throbbing stopped. I sensed the howling dogs and big men in black, burly, and broad shouldered, bundling through the jungle growth toward me like bursts of dark shadow unhindered by plant or stone. I saw a thin string of existence re-entering our dimension. This string was very thin. I watched as it created a delicate ripple in space-time. Stop me if this gets too difficult for you to grasp Ronan Clarke…Earth-man. The very thin string of existence had my attention and I thought about it as the throbbing in my head started again. My will desired to be a part of it forever drifting in and out of existence. Loud voices, closer and closer, shouts, very close now. The barking ceased. The dogs were sniffing. I could feel the muscles of their nostrils contracting in and out. The glow of the new moon was bright as I lifted my hand, stretching the tip of my middle finger toward the still limitlessness of the darkened seam. As my finger disappeared into the void I heard… 'There you are girl’ Shouted one of the big black clad guards bringing with him the thick stench of leather leash and howling hound. Now I knew, I knew the emotion shock. He called me a girl! If he had a label for me could he know what I was? what a girl was, were we also human? I had a label after almost 6 cycles of existence. 'WHAT AM I?' I screamed at him emptying the air in my lungs as my scream turned into my cry of desperation. 'Silly, you’re a child. What kind of question is that?' He answered, smiling. I knew what I was. What we were. I had to tell the others. A semblance of happiness entered me. Something human because if I was a girl, a child and all humans start life as children and a girl is a child then I am a human…the others were human too. Onyx is a child I thought, I concluded, I realized. I shouted out to no one yet everyone. My finger now covering the spot the string of existence had just exited through. A group of guards stood around me now, their hounds kept their distance, their heads lowered with feral eyes, under furrowed furry foreheads. Their savage eyes now fixed on me, panting, the saliva dripping from their long pink tongues that hung in the moonlight as cold air mist snorted from their nostrils. 'I AM HUMAN! WE ARE HU...' I never finished my sentence, never got a chance to tell them, the others, or see them on this plane of existence again. As I lowered my hand, my finger still protruded, the thin string of existence re-entered our dimension, threading itself, painlessly, through my protruding finger and around it, a thousand times, securely, permanently. The guards stretched their hands to grab me but I was pulled, instantly, as the thin string of existence, as strong as worlds, exited into the darkness of the seam and out of this dimension. The seam widened and swallowed me whole. That which I knew as a thin string of existence in this dimension, in the other dimension and other dimension and other…, was merely the tip…, a loose thread of a wormhole that straddled many dimensions entering and exiting each at will. Many Earth years have passed since my 6th cycle of existence. I have entered and exited more dimensions than you can imagine. I am the wormhole and it is me. The gravity of my will and the gravity of its will have joined…fused and together we are one. I have seen the place you call the future. I tell you what is to come because we are fortunate to come to this place in space-time to meet you Ronan Clarke. A person who’s like we have seen many times before but never until this moment on the same plane of existence. All humanity’s understanding of the idea they call the universe is wrong because I have seen many things that you cannot comprehend within the context of your acceptable wisdom. Yes, my name is Onyx and I came from the same carbon stuff that you are made of but Ronan Clarke I am not human. I am no longer of this Earth. I exist within the infinite folds of space-time. My home is the bosom of the wormhole and its cosmic consciousness is the mind matter of my brain. My body exists and draws sustenance off the walls of its elemental cosmic flesh. I breath air of a concoction you cannot comprehend. Look! How the space-time about us begins to alter? Do you see how space-time begins to separate to reveal the folded layers of our existence where time as you accept it cannot exist? I am leaving now. I may never see you again and maybe I will. Maybe it was my will to see you. Now I see you, I am satisfied that you will understand the wrong that should be righted. I must go Ronan Clarke. Try if you can to imagine the true definition of beauty; the fusion of the cosmic elements of organic and inorganic matter with plasma and other elements you have yet to discover, like molten diamond or gaseous gold. I have seen this and I am this and it is beauty beyond human belief. Whenever I enter the dimension of this existence I am called 'witch'. Yet, if that is the human perception of us then let human perception persist as it has a right to in a human world. We are not witch…Onyx is our name, and we are considered a thing of beauty…we must go…” [No! Onyx let me see what you look like. You say you are not human but how can that be? I must see what you look like?] At that Onyx threw off the many layers of her black gown and revealed herself. Before my very eyes she shimmered as a thin string of existence threaded itself around and through her body a billion times. The place about which we stood began to destabilize and Onyx, now with perfect teeth grinned, her cheekbones rising to meet the sparkle of her perfect eyes. Her female formed flesh flared like the surface of the sun crowned with silken black hair. I stared, stunned to amazement at the sight of a beautiful thing that I could not comprehend. Onyx exited this dimension and existed here no more. End of Dossier. Prepared by Ronan Clarke, Ambassador. https://flic.kr/p/JHKsQT

[sjohnson24]

Sand & Stars

The taste of the ocean is bittersweet and the salty air stings my lips in a purifying way. From above, I can see the stars of our universe glittering, shimmering like beautiful living diamond creatures. They are always there; it does not matter if it is dark or light, whether I am alive or dead, their presence remains. There is a dark star that cannot be seen from the outer edges of the night. It remains locked away deep inside of me. It is only when I hold up a candle to the reflections in my eyes that I realize what I have seen is simply a mirror of time and the words that are left in my head are only thoughts that collected in the deep abyss of a haunted human head. Yet, they do not go away, they only evolve and change. The universe is inside, patterns left of mathematical designs, and nothing makes much sense.

A poetic grace escapes me as words spill out, overflowing from the beauty that is deep and over flooded by the oceans side.

Sand falls from my skeleton’s mouth…like a spiraling seashell dropping dust…what is this? A dream…a vision… tiny glittering pieces of the ocean caught up on the shoreline of our world. Together, it is an unstable surface but I find enough foundation to carve meaning in the sand with my hands. I am overwhelmed and I cannot speak when I see what it all is.

Separately each piece of sand is nothing but a moment in time…a fraction of something incomplete…when put together…it becomes land that I can draw upon, something elemental. Something tiny has given life and now there is an ocean and wind within the design. Mana is also created and fed to me as words. There is something anyone can understand… there in the sand is a spiral that goes on and on forever building high into eternity.

The ocean wipes over the spiral, erasing the scar and taking it back. A bottle washes upon the shore as I step back. It seems everything I let go may come back to me. Inside of the bottle, there is a paper. I uncork the bottle to read the paper and this is what it says…

A Haunted Reverie poetry by Deanna Jaxine Stinson Twilight glitters Breathing & bleeding Beauty transmitter Kneading into the quick sand Of a mystical land Where Time is slipping Through an hour glass Like Cinderella’s shoes Everything that falls behind us We love and we let loose Shattered into A river of solitude Waves on the shore Where ocean meets land Time and memory again Will we ever understand? The precious moments that we had As we fall away into ghost hands Of a haunted reverie An eternal melody…

Then everything in my hands suddenly melts. It seems there is a bit of a sickness growing in my soul as I inhale the black smoke left from the burning note and I pass away into a dream land where I see more of the universe.

My Dreams Gathering Agate and Amethyst

I am in a place that is filled with sand and tire trails from a vehicle.

The sand is light tan colored and very loose.

This place seems like a place for jogging because there is a woman that walks by in jogging clothes. She is an older woman with short blonde hair. I am also in jogging clothes.

The woman points over to a corner where there is a hole with sand filled in. I see an amethyst chunk and I go over and start filling up my pockets with amethyst, agate, crystal points some with a titanium coated look and other precious minerals of various colors.

I run back home to wear Paul is but it’s a different home, very dark with wood floors and one couch where he is watching tv.

There is no sound in the house, even though I see the tv on it does not turn on so I could not figure out how to tell him what happened.

Sands Falling

I am in a cave. The cave was large and it is filled with sand on the bottom, and leaking through the top. It is dark in the cave but not pitch black, it is a deep blue.

I am on top of a steep cliff inside of the mountain. The sand is falling through my hands as I clutch with my hands from the sky. Beneath of the cliff, I see small pools of blue water. There is also sea green colored water dripping down the cliffs.

I am not wearing a swim suit but rather modern clothes that are grey and white colored. I think that I am actually wearing sweats. On the other side of the sand, I start to see a vision of a place where a lot of people live. The people live underground. They do not live above ground. I think they are dead people because they go into the bottom of volcanoes and tunnels in the Earth with no sense.

On The Shore

I dreamed that I was on a shoreline of a beach. I was standing on the other side of a huge piece of black driftwood. There was a dead woman in the sand and there was other people trying to hide her corpse. There were two men with black hair. Apparently, we had accidently killed her.

She was a white woman with light brown hair. She disappeared into thin air. My higher self said that in a past life we killed this woman and got away with it and now we were paying the karmic prices. I dreamed than about my children that I love and about demons and vampires and I held my head in my hands and just cried in deep anguish.

Buried in the Sand

I dreamed that there was a girl that went missing on her wedding day. I found her three days later. She was buried in the sand, in a coffin.

When I opened the coffin, she was in the sand and she woke up and sat up in the coffin. I turned around and saw that she was alive.

Egyptian Sand

I dreamed I was riding in the sand, past a bunch of workers. I was in some sort of jeep vehicle. I stopped and got out of the vehicle and looked over a slight edge and saw some ancient Egyptians working on a white boat. I said nothing and kept traveling.

Up ahead on the road I saw my friend. My hair was black and I was contemplating whether or not I believed in reincarnation. I looked outside of myself for a moment, and saw a scarab tattoo on my lower back.

My friend said she had spoken with the man building the boat. He had lent her a piece of jewelry for a day. It was a gold and black case that opened up like wings spreading on a beetle to reveal a gold and ruby scarab. It was a necklace. I lied to my friend and asked to borrow it knowing I was going to steal it. I felt like it was mine, like I could remember it.

The next day I was driving through the sand and stopped where the boat man was working the day before. An upside down man, yellowish creature jumped in front of me hanging by his legs. I said here I have something for you and threw a replica of the necklace at him. He became off guard and could not see well believing it was the original necklace. So, I ended up keeping the scarab necklace.

Sand & Stars

I wake up slowly and open my eyes. I am shivering as the sun is rising.

I must have slept along time. I looked around to gather myself. I look into the eyes of someone standing above me. It is a bright star hovering close. I recognize her immediately. It is Psamathe, Greek goddess of beaches. She shines so bright that it is blinding but my head fills up with information as she glows and brightly darts away. I see now, the meaning in my dreams…

In dreams, the element of sand symbolizes the borderlands. This could represent where the ocean meets, or land and it could be representing your unconscious and conscious mind merging together. Sand also represents time as it would inside of an hourglass or as tiny pieces of something that when put together make something larger for a bigger purpose than one might be able to comprehend in the current situation..

Sand can symbolize shifting spiritually and emotionally, as the entire world is made as little pieces of a bigger situation.

An even brighter light comes my way…it is Apollo, Greek god of the sun.

He seems to be holding onto my hands as I stand up off the sand and I feel the warmth drying my clothes. The day becomes calm and beautiful as the sun shines high and mighty, as I tread barefoot back to the city from where I came. I came to feast upon the universe, and that I did and I am now satisfied. I will not return until the hunger aches again.

White Mage

Stars fall down in a spiral motion Turning to stone like pillars in the ocean Tides splash around me Sounds like a full moon melody And I hear songs like Words of eternity Return to me God, is like a white mage He bathes my soul in prisms of smoke and sage

For more dreams and poetry please visit Teardrops of an Angel dot com. End

Deanna Jaxine Stinson, HPI Esoteric Detective aka The Rose Goddess Halo Paranormal Investigations (HPI International) https://www.facebook.com/#!/groups/HPIinternational/